#afk arena oc

[m0thisonfire]

"Perform with Passion! It's what drives us all!"

"Make way! Undead Ringmaster comin' through!"

I finally got a comm of Caramele!! Done and knocked out of the park by the wonderful @ballpitbee ! Thank you again so, so much!! (ノ ^ ▿ ^ )ノ

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Nightmare Parade - FAKE TYPE

[jacktherippy]

Afk arena self insert!! He's a seal derg

[shortstrawberryartzsblog]

I decided to redesign my one AFK oc, Valentine, bc I really didn’t fw their old design 😭😭😭

Anyways, rebranded them into more of a cupid-like celestial

[hiddenrose04]

one of the many self inserts

[avtordarkhell]

Ivan, get your fantom ass. Inquisition go to you.

[bippityboppity69]

I'm mad about Edgy Talene for several reason so I have decided to put out my own Hypogean OC! I encourage you all to share Hypogean ideas you have!

This is Rhys, originally the Forgotten. I'm just posting a bit of their backstory, maybe how they look and such later. Funny enough, Rhys was going to be in my AFK Arena story but I decided to not go there because I could not figure out certain chapters and interactions.

How long had it been?

What a silly thing to think of. There was no sun or moon in this cave. No stars that twinkled in the night. No birds that sang at morning light.

Time did not exist here.

The only company they had was their own pain. It had become nothing more than an annoying buzz. At least it was better than listening to nothing.

Five purple eyes lingered over the chains.

Piercing pain. Betrayal. Why did their siblings do this? Why did Father not help?

A long exhale left them, fur as black as an oil slick gently moving. How long would they have to stay here? Alone. With nothing but pain and faint memories. Sometimes they would drift to sleep if but for a moment.

*Crunch* *Crunch*

What… was that sound? It almost was like…

“Whoa. What are you?”

Someone else was here.

All their eyes locked onto the sight before them. A mortal was standing in front of them. Eyes wide with shock as they held their arm. A strange red staining it. What did mortals have that was red? Blood? Was that it?

“Uh, hey there.” A strange sensation on their fur made them growl. “O-okay no touchie!”

Touch? Was that what it was? They… forgot what touch felt like.

“Why are you chained up?”

Ah yes. How could they forget. Zolrath and that damn Celestial Orthos had erased them. Mortals would not remember them. Nobody would.

“Do… you have a name?”

Names meant remembrance. A way for memories and history.

One of the first things they had lost.

The mortal was still here. Waiting and watching. Were they always like this? Maybe? They couldn’t remember.

“Well uh, I kind of fell down here.”

A huffing chuff left them. Mortals were still clumsy it seemed.

“Might be able to climb back up.”

They watched as the mortal walked to where they had fallen in. A small fabric parcel was picked up. It seemed to hold several items, how intriguing.

“Well, um, I’m gonna climb on out.” That was fine. They would forget as soon as they left. They always did. “But! I’ll try and come back tomorrow!”

Tomorrow did not exist here. Neither did today or yesterday. This was a space forgotten by time.

“I uh… you just seem lonely.” What was that odd tone in their voice? “I hated being alone and I’ve got nothing better to do so… I’ll see you tomorrow!”

They watched the mortal leave. What a quaint little thing. Mortals were so funny. Settling back down against the cave floor, they drifted to sleep.

They always dreamed the same thing.

Darkness.

It was always just d-

“Hi buddy!”

What?

Opening their eyes to a strange and alarming sight. The mortal had come back? Was this a trick of Zolrath? That bastard loved to mess with him.

A warm hand on their muzzle confirmed this wasn’t a trick. How was this mortal here? Everyone was supposed to forget them. This place. How?

“I know I asked about your name yesterday.” Yesterday? “And I got to thinking maybe you don’t have one.”

They did have one but it was taken.

“So… I want to give you a name!”

When could mortals bestow names? Was that a new thing? Could they always do that?

“What do you think about Rhys?”

A name. They had been given a name. Letting out a huff, the mortal seemed taken back before smiling.

“Rhys? Okay! I had some more but if you like it!”

The Forgotten was no longer.

[gditrisha]

HEARTSEASE | CHAPTER 2

CHARACTERS: Estrilda, Thane, King of Ranhorn, AFK Arena OCs - Belta (OC), Lord Vrelle (OC), Lord Dafriard (OC), Adré La’xriene (OC), TAGS: Betrothal, Marriage Proposal, Marriage Interviews TRISHA NOTES: This story was prompted by a song of the same name. Listening to "Le Papillon Solitaire" by Franz Gordon while reading is optional but recommended! Here's Chapter 2! PROLOGUE | WRITING MASTERLIST  |   HEARTSEASE MASTERLIST

It had been two years since that evening, the peculiar wisp-like entity Estrilda dreamt of and the simultaneous celebration of Dura’s Dawn Banquet and her eighteenth year. 

Most women residing in Ranhorn come across well-to-do men and continue their lineage before reaching their twentieth year but Estrilda, who was already two years in on her marrying age, had not the slightest interest in searching for a lifetime mate. The House of Rayne and its mandate to train the next generation of soldiers, captains, and generals of integrity was her priority, reading proposal letters was the last thing on her mind and daily agenda.  

Upon her guardian’s strict instruction, it was bumped to the first on her list for the day. Estrilda lounged in her late father’s sun-lit study skimming through piles upon piles of letters asking her hand yet again in marriage. 

Every bachelor from the nobleman's son to the simple man selling cheese in the town square would send neat, and highly likely ghost-written, letters on parchment stating the finest they could provide as well as reasons they would best suit her.

The letters embossed with family insignias sealed with wax were of utmost significance as these particular letters hail from nobility. For such fortunate men, this would be a sure ticket to marriage interviews. Estrilda currently held three in her hand: one from Dafriard, one from La’xrien, and one from Vrelle. 

The insignia of the Dafriad’s was that of a hairy, wild boar with its tusks larger than its head and sharp hooves in a sprint. 

Dear Lady Rayne,

I’ve heard heroic tales from my father and head of the House of Dafriard. He told of the time you valiantly vanquished the Hypogeans.

Now that you’ve placed your mind to use in the art of war, it is time to settle. At times such as these, it would be in your best interest to make decisions based on power and strength. Someone with such prowess should choose a partner with humongous brawn. We will become an unformidable force not to be reckoned with, the Dafriard kin would become stronger through our union consequently resulting in offspring of unparalleled breed. …..

Breed?  

“I am not livestock, Sir.” Estrilda affirmed as she discarded the parchment in her bin. 

The insignia of the La’xrien’s was that of a golden goblet with grape vines encircling its rim with a veiny yet svelte, out-stretched hand adorned with jeweled rings holding the wine goblet high.

My fair Lady Estrilda Rayne, 

As I saunter through my vineyard and envelope myself in its bountiful harvest, I ensure to set aside a single cluster of grapes solely for consumption - my consumption. Out of all the abundance the fruit provides, I chose the perfect and unblemished one. If you are what you eat then eating beautifully is quintessential. 

That being said, out of all the women Ranhorn has to offer, I have set my eyes on you. The most perfect fruit from the harvest. It is my mission to aim for the best, to attain the most beautiful woman to be with the most beautiful man in the kingdom. ….

Attain? 

“I am no reward, Sir.” Estrilda discarded the second parchment in her bin.

The insignia of the Vrelle’s was that of a bountiful bundle of wheat tied with string which is tucked in a cornucopia filled with fruit and nuts. The arrival of this letter intrigued Estrilda more than the Dafriard’s or the La’xrien’s letters since the Vrelle family hailed no sons. 

Dear Lady Estrilda,

Hope this letter finds you well. We’ve been hearing stories of the conundrum you face through father and his conversations with Sir Thane. 

My sisters and I deeply empathize with you. Selecting a worthy partner is quite the struggle, a suitable husband is difficult to find, and receiving sacks of letters can be quite tiresome. 

Marriage amongst nobles is crucial to the kingdom of Ranhorn and its  economical affairs. It is heavily established on mutual gain wherein both houses benefit from one another while ensuring it is in line and in service to the king and the kingdom.

I envy commoners to be quite frank. Their union is not founded on beneficial gain nor stature. It is seldom forced and seems hardly rushed. I consider myself fortunate enough to have met my husband-to-be, someone who will love me genuinely regardless of title. He is a sweet young man who owns a beautiful jewelry shop in Ranhorn’s bustling square. I delight in the thought of introducing you to him. Will have a messenger send the formal invitation to our wedding the soonest. Someday, I hope my case is the same not only for my sisters but for you as well, my dear friend. 

Love Always, 

Telvina Vrelle

P.S. Tarinne and Tilliene pressed and dried a few flowers from our garden and placed it in a small, separate parchment for you. Turn it to tea and serve with a decadent slice of dessert.

Pressed and dried flowers were tucked in a small compartment made out of paper. The scent of zesty flutterwisps, sweet bluebops, and earthy thistledspots made Estrilda miss her once blooming garden ever since its reconstruction as training grounds. She brushed the thought off with a sigh and placed the packet on her table as she picked another letter. 

A strong scent whifts as she brings the paper near. The letter had musk that was too much to the point the perfume had oiled, leaving sticky residue on her fingertips. It stained the parchment making it look rotten to the eye. 

My Dear Lady Estrilda Rayne, 

O, Knight of Valor, how I long to rest thine weary and worried head on plump bosoms. ‘Tis sheer bliss to be given the once in a lifetime opportunity  to caress smooth, beautiful thighs and have thine lips against sweet folds. Tasting the divine nectar from the northern tulips of thee -

RIP! RIP! RIP! 

Apparently, the contents were just as unappealing. Estrilda tears the letter in half then into quarters. She signals one of the servants who happened to be passing by. He sees her from the corner of his eye, stops in his tracks, then heads to the room. 

“Yes, master? How may I be of service?”  

“Do me a favor, good lad, and dispose of this. Burn it in the hearth, turn it into compost, perhaps use it to remove the feces from the stables. I never want to lay eyes on it again.” The servant holds his hands out to get the torn pieces of parchment, bows then leaves. 

Estrilda sighs as she wipes the poignant residue off her fingers. She sniffs the pressed flowers to drown the remnants of the over-oiled perfume. She opens another letter to which she does not bother reading in entirety, filing it in a box along with other proposal letters that had been previously received but left unanswered. 

The books sprawled on her desk varied from warfare tactics to lyrical poetry to heavily annotated cooking journals - all of which were irrelevant to the task at hand. She stacks the book by type leaving a picture book in the middle.  

Estrilda looks at the leather-bound book with the title Le Papillon Solitaire engraved and finished in gold ink. She opens the book to see the illustration of a lone butterfly perched on a flower. The book that previously belonged to Estrilda’s mother had a distinctive charm to it. The corners garnered lines with the amount of times the pages had been flipped. The leather along the book’s spine garnered weathering with the amount of times the book had been opened. The words had garnered specific pronunciations in Estrilda’s head with the amount of times her father put her to sleep while reading it. 

“Alas, the lone butterfly sought throughout the land for beauty, never realizing the beauty it owns...” 

Everything seemed to be as it were except for the butterfly illustration at the back of the page. It had been painted in vibrant orange and yellow. 

Was it always like this?

“Good day, milady. Your afternoon tea.” Belta enters the room carrying an assortment of freshly baked tarts and a teapot filled with hot tea. She slides the stack of books to the side to make space for the tray.

The delicate blend of florals and the scent of caramelized fruits filled the room with bubbly energy, it made the atmosphere light and Estrilda’s shoulders less tense.  

“I believe there’s nothing quite like a delicious cup of tea, this brew would do you good.” Belta pours some in a gold-rimmed cup and places a few tarts on a saucer. 

“How does one even respond?” 

“I’m sure you will get through this, milady.” Belta hands Estrilda the tea and tarts. Wiping her hand on her apron, Belta retrieves some of the books to shelve it in its proper place. 

Estrilda cups the ceramic ware in both her hands. The warmth courses her body sending a sense of serenity then a small nib at the fruit tart and, indeed, all is bliss. As she slowly paced the room with a cup in one hand and a fruit tart in the other and her entire left arm holding the book close to her chest, a happy hum escaped her lips.

“Your tarts are a treat as always.” 

“You’re too kind. Luckily, I finished the laundry earlier than expected. Did not want to waste any spare time thus I made a fresh batch just for you.” 

“How I hope to hork down tarts throughout the day, that there weren't many letters to read. They just seem to pile up regardless of allotting time in my busy schedule for it.” Estrilda sits by the window overlooking the training grounds where the men moved in unison with every order.

“Seems to be quite the struggle, milady. Men can be quite...persistent.”

“There you are, my sweet!” Ulric squeaked as he sprinted towards Belta, hugging her from behind then planting a kiss on her cheek unaware of the extra pair of eyes in the room. 

“Ulric!” Belta exclaims as she drops a book. Her cheeks have turned cherry red as she informs Ulric of Estrilda’s presence. 

“Where?” Ulric searches the space and spots Estrilda sitting at the nook by the window sipping tea, eyes glued at the couple.  

“Lady Rayne! I mean General. I was...We are...well,” Ulric sputters then clears his throat as he lets go of Belta. Belta bends to pick up the remaining books and slide them in the available space.

“My apologies, General.” Ulric says as he stiffens his stance. 

Estrilda laughs. 

 “At ease, Ulric. Though I must say I do consider myself quite intrigued witnessing this interesting development between you and my lady-in-waiting. Never took you for the persistent type. Little word of advice, I suggest you keep any display of affection away from Thane. I once caught him rolling his eyes at my parents when I was a kid.” Estrilda smiles behind her cup as she reminisces the instance. 

“Duly noted.” Ulric clears his throat and bows. 

“Correction. I rolled my eyes in fondness not disgust.” Thane had entered ever so quietly that not even the keen Knight of Valor noticed. 

“Welcome back, Sir Thane.” Belta curtsies then prepares tea and tarts for him.

“Thank you.” Thane scans the room, assessing its slightly messy state, as he approaches Estrilda. 

“I see you're quite busy, I presume, reading proposals from your prospect husband.” Thane retrieves the book from Estrilda’s lap.  Estrilda tries to get the book back but Thane had already tossed it to Ulric which was then handed to Belta. 

“If you loathed any display of affection then why do I have to pick a partner? How sure are you that my future husband and I won’t be capable of affection? Nay. Promiscuity?” Estrilda grabs a few letters arranging it to mimic the shape of a fan. 

“Your parents were vocal and rather expressive of their love and I tolerated, for the lack of a better term, of their interactions though it could be quite an eyesore sometimes especially in the midst of training. The latter, however, you keep behind shut doors, lock and key. But enough of that, it seems your marriage interviews would have to wait.” Thane announced as a messenger followed behind. He is carrying a silver platter with a letter laying flat in its center. The messenger clears his throat  to draw the attention of everyone in the room. 

“A letter from his majesty, the King of Ranhorn, requests Ranhorn’s Knight of Valor and esteemed General, and Lady of the House of Rayne, Estrilda Rayne’s presence at the palace to discuss concerns pertaining to the celebration of Dura’s Dawn Banquet. As part of the royal council, your attendance is a must.” The messenger raises the platter and Estrilda retrieves the letter and adds it to her makeshift fan. The messenger takes his leave.

“I see, apparently, it is today. Belta, has my armor been polished?” Estrilda inquired as she fanned herself.

“It has been polished, milady. However, it is not fit for counseling with the king. Allow me to find something more proper than your day dress.” Belta hurried before her lady could object. 

”And I shall have the horses ready as soon as possible.” Ulric salutes. 

“Ready the coach. We would not want to tire ourselves.” Thane instructs. 

“Right away.” Ulric dismisses himself leaving a bothered Estrilda and her doting guardian in awkward silence. Estrilda stares blankly on the maroon carpet, slowly fanning herself as her eyes follow the patterns. 

“Is something the matter? If facing the council troubles you, I’m quite sure you have enough resolve to speak your mind.”

“Resolve?” 

“What of it?”

“Then...I disdain the idea of getting betrothed.”

“I meant at the palace.”

“Thane. I am not fashioned to be a wife, I am not fashioned to be...a mother.” The last few words hung in the air and left an unpleasant aftertaste on her tongue.  

“As I’ve said before, the physician only stated a possibility. Their conclusions are not set on stone.” Thane disagrees as he sets the cup down.

 “I was born to fight and fend.”

“Yes, you have proven that. I am not imposing on you to wed any time soon. I just want you to take your pick. Only then will the persistent pestering of suitors cease. Small talk with them is the bane of my existence.” 

“Seems like a rather selfish and shallow reason to be honest.”

“Estrilda. Should I pass in an untimely fashion, I’d die with ease knowing I’d be leaving you in the care of someone. Someone who can continue fending for the House of Rayne when I’m gone.” Sir Thane implored as he brushed off the specks of puff pastry stuck on the corner of Estrilda’s mouth with his thumb. 

“Capability is not an issue. Is my happiness not even worth considering?”

“We shall discuss this another time. Go get dressed.”

 Estrilda pockets Telvina’s letter and tosses her makeshift fan made of proposal letters into the bin. She storms out of the study and into her quarters where a beautiful yet constricting gown is laid out on her bed while Belta arranges pearls and other accessories on her dainty nightstand. Estrilda touches the fabric and feels the toughness of its mid area. 

“I agree to wearing this but time would not permit a corset.”

Dolling her mistress up was better than not. Belta discards the corset and substitutes it with a silk bustier. She then closes the blinds and shuts the doors to assist her lady in getting dressed.  

A steadfast palace stood in the heart of Ranhorn. Its walls fortified and its king resolutely seated in a room dressed in intricacy: of gold details, marble statues, and an ethereal echo resounding from even the slightest footstep. 

 Courtiers in attendance for lunch - too in love with the sound of their own voices and the weight they deem their words bear - insists the annual Dura's Dawn Banquet be more grandiose than its previous celebration.

"Your Majesty, we only have ‘til the morrow to make the preparations. If I may, I nominate myself to continue making this exquisite occasion a reality." Lord Dafriard imposed while savoring the flavors of the last couple bites of his meal. 

"Indeed. Postponing the banquet would be a bit of a disappointment, so do let me take this daunting task off your shoulders, your highness. I am an expert at hosting extravagant parties and you, my good friend Dafriard, would know." Lord La’xrien points out while indulging his poached pears and pomegranates in a sweet liquor reduction as another plate with half-devoured ribs is whisked away by one of the palace servants.

“Quite true, father. Our cellar has the best wine in all of Esperia. Libations can be catered by the barrel.” His son, Adré, suggests as he raises his drink. 

Lord Vrelle takes a gulp of wine, a catalyst to courageously give an opposing response. "My King, if I may, I appeal for you to reconsider.”

Eyes filled with discontentment from the House of Dafriard, House of La’xrien, and some courtiers seated in the king’s council landed on Lord Vrelle. Their stares were filled with threat as if to say ‘Silence yourself’. Lord Vrelle, though slightly fazed, stood his ground and continued to appeal for the celebrations’ temporary postponement. 

“It has only been two years since Dura's Dawn. I, along with everyone in Esperia, acknowledge the triumph it has brought our land but we cannot deny that there is still a lot to be done. Give all our resources the opportunity to regain ample quantity. Allow the neighboring lands to heal. Open the ports for trade not just amongst men but other factions." 

"Our kingdom has everything we could possibly need. We have fat stock, fresh produce, fancy textiles, fine wine, and the next generation of warriors being trained at the House of Rayne by the kingdom’s greatest general. A tad leisure will not hurt." Lord Dafriard enumerates before downing yet another glass of wine. 

"The rebuilding of Abandoned Port and the current construction of Ranhorn's docks are under my father's jurisdiction. Send a letter our way and…we'll take your suggestion into consideration." Adré draws circles on his wine glass' rim with a finger, its smoothness keeping his utter annoyance at bay.

"With all due respect, Lords, Your Majesty, but pillaging a large fraction of what we have, which could provide for the kingdom and its neighboring lands for months, to be horked down at a single feast would be careless." 

"When is celebrating a glorious feat ever careless? Especially when there is a surfeit of sundries." Adré retorts. His indiscretion garners a glare from his father across the table, piercing eyes hinting for him to keep quiet. Adré sips wine to seal his mouth shut. 

“It is not careless at all lest leisure surpass the needs of Ranhorn and its people.” 

The courtiers turn their heads. A well-dressed woman with an odd addition of a piece of cloth covering her mouth stood a few feet away from the table and its guests. Estrilda gathers the side of her gown with a hand then bows.  

“General.” Lord Vrelle stands, puts his hand to his heart and bows. 

“Lord Vrelle.” Estrilda acknowledges by mirroring his gesture.

“How pleasant it is for you to join us. And here I was expecting you'd be clad in uniform but I must say femininity suits you.” Lord La’xrien’s bleak demeanor miraculously livened. The attendance of a woman apparently made the luncheon a tad more bearable for him. 

“Indeed, it does.” Adré approaches Estrilda to take her hand but she immediately steps back, motioning her hand in front of her and keeping him from taking any step further. 

“Forgive me. I have not been feeling too well. I’d regret you catching my cold.” 

“Nothing but a tiny risk I’m willing to take.” With Adré towering a few inches taller, he takes Estrilda’s hand to plant a kiss. 

“Come dine with us.” Lord Dafriard insisted while raising a huge chunk of meat impaled on his fork. 

“That won’t be necessary. I sent for her here so you may all listen to her proposal to which I have agreed upon prior to today. General, if you will?” The king offers the floor therefore instructing the courtiers’ mandatory attention. 

Estrilda adjusted her stance to exude a posture of confidence. She removes the cloth in better hopes of having the words, especially the weight it bears, be heard. 

“Celebrating a glorious feast is not careless, however, we can not deny that our land is in need of healing still. I only hope the process was faster.” Estrilda retrieves a parchment. 

“An elder and good friend of mine from Yggdrasil has sent us a warning. In a vision, he speaks of a coming famine. Though its arrival is unknown, it will be best to reserve most of the kingdom’s resources. I leave the day after tomorrow to see how Ranhorn can be of aid.” She pockets the letter and coughs to clear her throat. The king signals a servant to hand Estrilda a goblet filled with water to which she accepts, quenching her thirst before continuing. 

“Tomorrow, I celebrate my twentieth year and you are all invited to a banquet to be held, by His Majesty’s generosity, in his own abode. I have opened my private reserve to feed my guests and the preparations are taking place as I speak. I know it may not be a grand feast fit for a glorious feat but I will see to it that everyone has had their fill. That I guarantee, my Lords. Postponing Dura’s Dawn would be of best interest in the meantime.” She adds. 

Silence filled the entire space. Lord Dafriard wipes his mouth and clears his throat. Drowsiness had dawned and all he wanted to do was go home. 

“If the king has already decided upon this, I will not oppose.”  

“Any banquet is better than none at all. I assure you Lady Estrilda, my father and I will be sure to grace this event.”

“It is settled then. You may take your leave if you do so wish. Your formal invitations have already been sent to your homes.” The king informs and bids his guests adieu. Lord Dafriard bows and is escorted out of the room. Lord La’xrien walks over to his son, their conversation too far for her or Thane to eavesdrop. 

“It is lovely to see you again, Lady Rayne. Sir Thane was right when he said you’d grown to be a wise woman indeed.” Lord Vrelle approaches keeping a comfortable distance as per Estrilda’s wish. 

“Thane said that? A bit hard to grasp but it is, nonetheless, appreciated.” 

“Glad you were able to convince the other courtiers.”

“Oh no. I only supported your suggestion further, Lord Vrelle. So the gratitude you’ve extended me belongs to you. I look forward to seeing your wife and daughters, Lord Vrelle. I’m sure they will have a wonderful time.” Estrilda hands four invitations to Lord Vrelle. 

“They would be delighted, Lady Rayne.” Lord Vrelle bows and leaves the hall with a happy heart. 

“We should return. You have pending proposals to read.” Thane called to Estrilda as he stood waiting for her at the doorway.

“Lady Estrilda.” Adré approaches before she could head out the door. She regrets not having played deaf to his call. Estrilda turns to face him. 

“Allow me to sponsor a couple barrels of wine for your twentieth. How much would you want and I'll have my men deliver it.” Adré asks Estrilda in an attempt to impress her. 

“I appreciate the offer but it is the host’s job to provide all of their guests’ needs.” 

“And with the best, you shall. I insist." 

Wanting nothing more than to evade her suitor’s persistent presence, Estrilda smiles then nods in agreement. 

“I’ll have my men deliver the barrels directly to the palace’s stock room. I’ll see to it that only the best graces every cup, especially yours.” Adré approaches Estrilda hoping to plant a kiss on her cheek to which she covers her mouth with the cloth. He plants a kiss on her cheek regardless of her previous warning then briskly heads through the doors. 

“Bold that one. Seems playing sick did not work. If he does not catch your fancy, then there’s plenty of suitors to choose from once you continue reading the letters.” Thane offers his arm for Estrilda. Though still irked by his doting to find a husband, she links her other arm as they slowly make their way down the steps.

“You witnessed what happened, I do not have the wits nor will to push through.”

“Estrilda.”

“Fine. After dinner?” 

“All right. After dinner.”

“After dessert?” 

“All right you may continue afte-“

“After evening tea?”

Thane rolls his eyes, surrendering to her protest. 

“Let me finish...you did well back there. Your choice of words seemed to have garnered attentive ears. Thus I’m granting you a brief break. You may continue your search after the celebration of your twentieth year.”

“Really? Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Poor choice of words. I leave for Yggdrasil by then.” Estrilda banters as she boards the carriage with assistance from her trusty footman. 

“Would you care to repeat that?” Thane asked as he sat across her.

“Onward, Philip!” Estrilda instructs and with a swift flourish of the reins, Philip sent the horses sprinting. 

As the carriage made its way through, Estrilda peered through the window and observed able-bodied men carrying lumber on their backs while some with wooden wheelbarrows towing the remaining debris to the side to pave way for new, sturdier structures. She got a glimpse of the women tending to their green garden yet to be filled with homestead fair. The children ran bursting in playful screams and laughter as they reenacted Dura’s Dawn with branches to mimic weaponry, wide planks functioning as shields, and old shirts tied to sticks as banners. Despite the reclamation and the work it entails, Ranhorn was alive.

TRISHA NOTES: I don't know how many chapters it will take to tell this story but I will see it through. Just something to note:

My writing process is quite erratic. The goal is once I find my muse, I HAVE to jot everything down before I forget - dialogue, action, scents, feelings. This story comes to me in the form of a movie and I've got tons of scenes playing in my head like Dr. Strange searching out that 1 in 14M possibilities. So I appreciate your patience in advance.

PROLOGUE | WRITING MASTERLIST  |  HEARTSEASE MASTERLIST

[illumina-ruler-of-graveborns]

Illumina, Goddess of Conspiracies, Immoralities, Wisdom, Threats, Trickery and Death: [Slowly ages, currently 100 years old] Illumina started out as a kind priestess who healed the sick and lame, and saw the goodness in everyone. That was until she became ill with an incurable disease. After visiting numerous doctors, priests, healers, alchemists, desperately praying that some miracle would save her, yet none occurred. In one final attempt to save herself, she turned to Annih and begged, groveled and pledged undying loyalty towards him and his goal to destroy Dura. Annih, pleased and amused at the young woman's weak cries of mercy, changed her into a goddess, corrupting her in the process. Annih left the newborn deity to fester in the agonizing realization of her situation, insanity and shame eating away at the last bits of innocence from her mind. No longer was she serving the light of Dura, but the ever-consuming darkness of the God of Death's shadow. Illumina used to have tan skin, straight warm black hair, and brown eyes; now she is 12 feet tall (can alter her size to be tall as she wants), has jet black hair, greyish-pale skin, glowing green eyes hidden behind a black lace mask, dark burgundy lipstick, green face paint, jet black wings, and two grick-like worms on the back of her shoulder blades. She changed her white priestess gown and veil for a dark green-blue gradient tattered dress that drags behind her. She walks barefoot, and wears various adornments, such as her old prayer beads as arm and ankle bracelets, a jeweled belt, and thick, rusty prison cuffs. Her powers consists of: a fireball attack that gets bigger with every level-up, an illusion spell that causes multiple copies of herself to appear (number of copies increase as she levels up), a floating green orb that absorbs the health of all enemies and heals her by 15%, and an ultimatum ability where Illumina casts a curse that has a 50/50 chance of either causing the most powerful enemy to instantly die or 100% heals all allies and adds attack/defensive buffs (she doesn't like to play fair). Her basic/melee attacks are using her gricks to bite or fling around opponents.

She proclaims herself as the ruler of all Graveborn characters, and although she may be bossy and has no tolerance for being criticized by her "minions", Illumina does sympathize with most of them and often lends a shoulder to cry on. Outside of her job of helping Annih, Illumina likes to create and experiment with spells and incantations, enjoys reading a good book series in her Library of Knowledge, eating desserts (dark chocolate is her favorite), and create conspiracy theories and prank on mortals. She does have a few crushes on some of the Graveborns, and with some exceptions, the hero characters as well. Despite her hating Annih in the beginning for causing her to suffer while she transformed into her godlike state, Illumina is starting to gain feelings for him due to his strange kindness and sympathy towards her; but, after meeting Thoewyn and Kalene, she decided to stop pursuing Annih for a while, and have those two lovely women as companions. [?]

"Just accept your fate, death is a part of life, and yours is inevitable."

"With Life comes Death, and with Death comes Vengeance."

"Mirror mirror on the wall, is the image you show real at all?"

"Although my soul was spared at the clutches of Death, I won't be as merciful on yours..."

[babushkiii]

meme with my comfort characters to get back into the swing of doing art again feat. the lovely bastard who committed many war crimes and little bunny man who is here make friends with everyone he meets

[ivisnim]

hi this is my AFK Arena's OC's. ehhh. bye......

(The second one was created a long time ago, so he doesn't have a good design TT)

[geatmos]

Merlin's Style

[m0thisonfire]

Getting back to Afk Arena also means bringing Caramele back every now and then. My son, my poor punching bag. Five years as a brainworm, going on six.

[shortstrawberryartzsblog]

Found some old art of old Afk Arena oc designs and decided to bring them back with some redesigns bc yeah

Holy shit I’ve been away for a long time lollll but here

First one is Lavinia who’s supposed to be a Lightbearer, and I kinda forgot her story so Imma have to rewrite that bc yeah but for some info:

Age: 13 y/o

Moniker: “The Young Blood”

Phrase: “Did I catch you off guard?”

The second one is Aphilia, who’s supposed to be a Wilder, she was just someone I came up with but forgot about and I wanna do more with her now bc her design was pretty tbh.

Info:

Age: 24 y/o

Moniker: “Light of the Forest” (I changed it after I finally finished and I don’t feel like editing it lolll)

Phrase: “Fresh air, fields of flowers, mossy trees, all so lovely…”

[thebluester2020]

I swear I’m working on the Stardew doodles but I just had to share my Magister from AFK with her my number one boo Viperian 😌✨

[avtordarkhell]

Adelaide - oc for AFK Arena

Aggressive, celestial, tank, inquisitor

[bippityboppity69]

The Forest Mother

It's a painting and a bit of lore for my fanfic.

I painted one of my OCs? It's a tree. It used to be a Ya, but it is now a tree. Anyway, this is the Forest Mother. She was supposedly one of the first Ya to enter the forest and create the Wilders. When she passed, the area she was buried grew into a massive oak tree. Thus, the Forest Mother lies inside the Tomb of Ancients. Forever able to watch over the Wilders who passed.

In my story, I decided to give the Wilders a strange death. When a Wilder dies and is planted in the Tomb of Ancients, their body turns into a plant. It can be a tree, a shrub, a flower, any plant. Then their soul would go to the Forest Mother, so that she could guide them up to Dura. On some days, if the lanterns shine bright enough, you can even see them.