#kerro

[thecollectibles]

Sphinxes by Oksana Kerro

[thenyandrawsnstuff]

The silly

[celestialtrolls]

Just a regular guy who drives fast, gate crashes concerts and hears the never-ending whispers of the elder gods

How much attention does Kerros pay to them? Hm. Well, maybe he can't hear them over the music.

[comms]

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Sebastian Crowe’s Guide to Drakkenheim - Dragon of Netherwind by Oksana Kerro

[kassaneiti]

Suomitumpussa on se hyvä puoli että botit on helppo erottaa oikeista tyypeistä.

Suomalaisilla on yksi tai useampi näistä:

1) yhdysanaväännös url (esim: nannipihatyot ja jos ollain ei oo semmosta niin tästäpä ehdotus uudelle urlille)

2) vanha mutta hyvä meemi url (esim oispakaljaa tms) /tai muu suomihomma url (esim aleksiskivi)

3) maaspesifiä meemisisältöä riipumatta mikä fandom kyseessä

[salmiakkisaatana]

Hihi bussi ajo mun ohi vaik heiluttelin

[dragonnest-art]

How many shrimp do you have to eat before your skin turns pink?

[gwynbleiddyn]

i am so excited to gnaw at datv lore and context like a rabid dog discovering bone marrow for the first time but specifically because i am very interested in kerros' self-perception as a dalish elf

rion was (is... was.... somewhere in between) dalish if you look at it objectively, but he was also a ephemeral city dweller and wanderer, and a templar, and a warden, and everything and nothing much at all packed into a broken little body of an elf lacking identity outside of his titles

kerros grew up in that shadow, regardless of how much love and care it held - it still dampened his worldview prematurely, to a point where being dalish is not a facet of his character yet. so how will he react to the elven gods? he has memorized the shape of elgar'nan's branding on his father's face. it is a static thing, unchanging, even as time carves lines into skin. is he marked this way forever? beholden to a set of ideals that will now be turned on their head? kerros has no markings yet, in the tradition of clan severan who only claim their vallaslin after a significant event, and i wonder if he ever will after knowing what their intended use was and whatever else emerges from the elven pantheon's presence in veilguard. but like vallaslin is not what makes a dalish elf, right? what else is there? the language? the nomadic nature (or semi-nomadic, in the case of clan severan) forced upon them by orlais? is it the endless pursuit of a lost time, a lost culture, a lost power?

in his mind, kerros doesn't have those connections that inform his identity outside of 'son of the warden-inquisitor who also has pointy ears' and im just very excited to see how fucking damning it's going to be sitting in the cradle of the death of arlathan (tevinter) surrounded by reminders that his storied gods are real all while being pushed and pulled in the direction of the promised land where the dalish regain their history, when his heaven is already here and it looks like a floating city of ships in the glittering rialto bay

[vieraslaji]

Minä: Yritän keksiä sanoja joilla selittää sitä et mun aivoissa on jotain rikkinäistä, koska mulle ainakin suomen kieli ja englannin kieli ei oo niin erilainen kuin aina sanotaan. eiku alun alusta suomen kieliopissa oli täysin järkeä mulle ja mun käsityksen mukaan, useimmiten voi suoraan kääntää yhdestä toiseksi. mut miten "to prepare into" voi olla suoraan käännös "to prepare for":sta? siis mä aattelen et mun aivot toimii hieman epäsuorasti --

Isäni: No, me ei tietä mistä sä tulit, me löydettiin sut kynnykseltä metallissa pelastuskapselissa.

[celestialtrolls-moved]

I started making these style icons back in 2020 and now I've started again to use them for icons and whatnot

This is the same style I'm drawing other people's characters in for my quadpage but i finally got a neat set of 12 of my own trolls so I'm posting them now

are these all really trolls though? ...hm...

[thecollectibles]

Weaver by Oksana Kerro

[celestialtrolls]

A Day at the Fair

[precursor]

Infiltration was not your forte, especially through these means. Your usual route was out of reach and left you no choice; no matter what you searched, what keywords you used for the database records of Suits Carnival, the information was minimal. Despite the fact that bigger subjugglator organisations were supposed to be fleet-compliant, all that was written were things that even an idiotic outsider could have found out by looking at a map, and rough estimations with no basis in reality.

So your hand had been forced, and you had gone to visit the grounds themselves. Your fleet uniform had been set aside, donning your usual garb that you took to go sailing instead, topped by an inconspicuous dark hoodie. And the pièce de la résistance: face paint. You knew that walking into a carnival without some kind of face paint was a foolish endeavour, a way to be inevitably noticed faster than you could even search for ‘Creator Ceremiré’. So, a sloppy design was drawn on your face with disgusting oily make-up, forming something resembling a skull… or maybe more of a panda. You had aimed for a skull, but the dark circles painted around your eyes just made you feel stupid instead of potentially intimidating.

But, perhaps it was enough to get you in the gates, and at that point, what did it matter? From your personal research, conducted with your own hacked satellite, Suits Carnival was a sprawling mess of tents, caravans and buildings in construction, somewhere transitioning between an army of travelling clowns and a full-fledged city. There would be plenty of places to sit out of view to instead try and figure out what your ancestor looked like, and then to observe her powers in use.

-

Approaching the carnival itself is a nerve-wracking experience. You drove most of the way, hands clamped to the steering wheel, knuckles white. As you got closer however, your typical crystal growths started to seem from your skin, bonding your hands to your car, and you had to park it somewhere further afield before you started turning it into a useless statue, transformed by anxiety.

The extended journey time did not help your nerves, but one foot goes in front of the other, and the other, and the other, feeling each step inside your ribcage, and eventually, you see the walls of the city in the distance. There’s no feeling of relief that washes over you however, the sheer scale of the task you’ve set yourself dawning on you.

You hadn’t told anyone your plan. Obviously, telling Aelynn would have been foolish; she would have intervened somehow. But you didn’t mention it to your moirail either, and you are well past the point of beginning to regret that. You’re almost certain he could have given you some advice on how to approach a hostile - no, don’t think of it that way, it will only make you feel worse - unfamiliar carnival. You were alone. If you were spotted as an intruder, no one would even know what had happened.

It’s too late to turn back. It’s too late. The gates are in view of your real eyes now, a steady stream of people coming in and out, a van driving past you and flying right through without stopping. Was there no guard, no security? You keep your expression as blank and serious as usual, a task you had perfected from hours of dealing with your superiors in the fleet, and walk straight in, past the real subjugglators, their idle chatter not even making it past your ears as your heartbeat takes the stage.

The hardest part was done, was it not? You’d technically infiltrated the city safely. It makes you want to laugh from the ridiculousness of it. What the hell were you even worried about anway? This was a huge city, of course they weren’t taking IDs at the gate. Where did you think you were again, a fleet base? A weight lifts from your chest as you walk straight down the main road through the centre of the city, figuring that you’ll be able to see almost everything from there. How hard can it be to find someone who calls herself ‘Queen of Hearts, Ceremiré Nostam’? That’s not the name of someone who knows what subtlety is.

In your premature celebration, you don’t see the pair of men that take notice of you, eyebrows furrowing as they exchange a look. It isn’t until one of them, a tall, imposing man with horns that sweep behind his head and a white club symbol on his sleeve approaches you with a stride that way exceeds the speed of someone simply going about their business that you take notice, turning barely in time as he reaches towards your head.

A yelp of alarm escapes as instead he ends up grabbing your arm and yanks you towards him. You barely keep your balance and stumble, your left arm flailing about as a useless counterweight.

“Bold for a new face to wander around.” The sentence is short, but what goes unsaid is enough to send your neurotic brain into overdrive, and while once your mind would go blank at a moment like this, instead, you can feel something, a build up of energy, heat, power, and you almost know that at any second, your arm is about to burst with crystals, and you can barely even hold yourself back and he’s staring at you and waiting and you need to say something or he’s going to kill you and that’s going to be it and his grip is so strong you can feel your hand growing cold as the blood supply goes short an-

“Take it easy Haeren, this one’s my idiot.”

You were so laser-focused on your own impending doom that it completely knocks you out of your terrified state as a sturdy hand wraps around your shoulder, pulling you slightly away from ‘Haeren’ who regards the intrusion with a dark glare. The feeling in your arm, your chest, your heart, the power that was overwhelming you simply dissipates.

“More of a red flag if anything.” But your arm is released, and you pull it close to your chest as you’re guided to the side of someone somewhat familiar.

“Kerros?!” The voice that leaves your mouth barely sounds like yours, squeaky from the fear and cracking from your rushed attempt to collect yourself, and the dog-boy glances at you with an eyebrow raised, before continuing his conversation with the club-wearing man of few words. He’s relaxed, not even batting an eyelid and giving you a slightly reassuring shake as you reel to catch up with reality.

This… wasn’t a person you expected to run into. You didn’t expect to see anyone you knew, and while saying you ‘knew’ Kerros was a stretch, you were aware of him and had seen him in passing a few times, since he was, after all, your twin sister’s moirail. One of them, anyway. But surely, there was no way Aelynn was in a quadrant with someone that was actively a subjugglator? Your mind starts reeling again, but you see Kerros glance your way as some of the more physical symptoms of your distress begin to rear their head, and he wraps up his conversation.

“Anyway Hae, been great to hear your many words of wisdom as always, I’ll sort this one out, you go back to glaring at every poor passerby, yeah?” A raise of the hand in goodbye - a gesture that is not returned - and he turns away, pivoting you towards a sideroad. “Come on you.”

-

It’s not until you’ve turned a few corners that he speaks again, his calm face slowly turning a little tired, worn. “Funny seeing you at the Devil’s sacrament.” His tone is very clearly sardonic, but seeing him drop his act makes you feel a little bit better, no false pretences remaining. “We’re both dead if Aelynn hears about this, y'know?”

You stare at him a few moments longer, before you turn your head to look forward, taking a slight step away to lose his hand on your shoulder. He lets go without resistance, his hand dropping back into his pocket, but he watches you as you try and get your composure back, your expression slowly returning from wide-eyed panic to your usual facade. “Should you be here?” The only sentence you manage to form, and it’s accusatory at best. You would bite your tongue, if that wasn’t an exceptionally foolish idea.

“Should I be here? I live here. Don’t tell her that, or else I’ll drop you right in it with me.” He smiles, but you know well enough that it’s likely a real threat. “I’m taking you back to my place now, you can’t wander around like…”

He regards you with the expression of an artist examining a stain on a canvas, grimacing momentarily before averting his gaze back to the road ahead. “Like whatever the hell you’ve decided to do. You didn’t do your research before coming here, did you? And I mean real research, not begging the fleet to hand you the information on a silver platter.” He finishes his sentence before you can interject, and your face goes warm at the way he just so blatantly calls you out. Aelynn definitely complains to him about you, you can tell. “I thought you were the one with the brain cell, but you’re not so different.”

You don’t know how insulted you should be at that, but before you can come up with a reasonable protest, you’re crossing a driveway towards a small wooden house, something that looks like it might have once been on wheels, but been settled into the ground. Kerros pulls out a clump of keys from his pocket and opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first. Probably because he thinks you might make a run for it, and honestly, it’s not a terribly incorrect assumption to have. You’re not not considering it. But this is truly a hostile city, and you’re not sure you would make it out again.

No choice but to accept your fate, and you walk inside.

-

[kasuaalipelitelevisio]

Hmmmm

Im not gonna draw conclusions because this is just a small questionaoire with no indication of anything

[kinuskikakku]

Nyt kun on kesä muistakaapa, että asunnon sisälämpötilan noustessa 32 asteeseen tai tämän yli, lakisääteisesti olet oikeutettu vuokranalennukseen.

Vuokranantajat tai muut tahot eivät tietenkään tällaisesta sinulle kerro.

(… ja nyt toivon et tää tieto ei ole vanhentunut ja et Orpo ei oo poistanut tätä säädöstä)

[gwynbleiddyn]

Kerros Severan-Laidir sounds suitably impressive and completely jarring