#ramal

[matchstick-if]

Could you do 5, 6, 7, and/or 19 for the Extempore crew?

5. 6. Is there any significance behind their hair/eye color?

I didn't think too hard about the Extempore crew's hair/eye colors. The drawings came first, before characterization, so I was mostly going with what worked visually.

7. Is there any significance behind their height?

Lei had to be the tallest, for obvious reasons (bracket based humor). Ali's built to fit in vents. Ramal is 5’9 for no reason.

19. What is your favorite fact about your OC?

Lei - Despite their prickly disposition, Lei has a pretty wide circle of friends. They keep unintentionally befriending people.

Aliyah - Ali is a big collector of useless things. If it's pretty, it goes on display. Her apartment is one step short of hoarder territory.

Ramal - Ramal is incredibly skilled at applying makeup. If the cops find out he can shapeshift, they're going to tell the church.

[underfiends]

Tweety Bird

I told you there'd be more of these guys. Have another blurb of Ramal from the D&D campaign that @peppermintpinklemonade is DMing. There's just a small cameo of @hannrenn's little guy, but they're there. Couple triggers in this, so be careful and enjoy!

I’m making camp when the sound starts up: a steady chirp, high pitched and three in a row. My hands pause the familiar motions of starting a fire, ears straining to hear it sound again. There’s nothing for a while, just the silence of the forest. The hoot of an owl, but that’s not what I’m waiting for.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I swivel my head, trying to locate where it’s coming from. The sound is odd, echoing strangely. It isn’t a voice, or the squeak of a rusty cart wheel. It could be a monster of some sort, and in that case I need to be ready for when it attacks. I slowly put away the shard of flint I’d been about to use. I gather up my belongings into the small sack I’ve been using for the past few months. The bottom is beginning to strain; I need to replace it soon.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I whip around, teeth bared in a snarl, claws out and ready to swipe at anything that lumbers out of the dark. It really is dark, even with my natural ability to see everything in a brighter light. The shadows of the trees shift and stretch, yawning out towards me. Their bare branches reach out for me like grasping fingers. They curl towards my armour, and I feel a sharp sting where black touches leather. I scramble back, nearly falling over as I trip over my feet in my haste.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Something is wrong, so very wrong. This isn’t right. The trees are sharp, dark, dangerous things, reaching for me, trying to get their branches caught in my clothes and pull me towards them. Towards the ever growing black that makes up their trunks, a horrible gnashing of teeth made of bark. The world starts to spin, panic nearly blinding me. My breath comes in short, quick gasps, and a haze settles over my mind.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I pull on the warm magic in my bones, summoning a sword made of obsidian and rivers of magma. The red glow should light up the area around me, allowing me to see what it is I’m fighting. This must be some sort of magical darkness, and if I could just see where it’s coming from I can dispel it. My hand closes over nothing. Ice settles in my veins; I don’t need to look down to see that there is no longsword in my palm, no magic rushing to my fingertips at my command. I feel cold, so very cold. There is no hot breath in my ear, no warm touches dancing over my arms and shoulders.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

She’s abandoned me.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

My patron, my companion; the one who promised to be mine as I was hers. She’s gone. She left me, just like-

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

“SHUT UP!” I roar into the trees, fighting back the sting of tears. I feel choked, breathless, constricted, constrained. My claws dig into the skin of my palms.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

This time, I clench my teeth until I hear something crack. I don’t feel the pain, everything far too muffled and distant. My eyes dart among the darkness as it closes in. Black ink spills out between the trees and swallows them up, dripping towards me. The thick liquid pools around me until I have nowhere to go, my frantic scrambling useless when a step in any direction would mean a step right into the waiting pool.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

A hand lashes out of the darkness and I cry out in fear, flinching back; back right into the ink. My foot sinks right down to the knee, bringing me crashing down onto the only free bit of ground. More hands dart out in front of me, reaching for me. Sharp fingers stretch and strain as I lean back, barely an inch from my face. One of them grabs onto my wrist, sending shards of ice through the point of contact. As I try to pull away, another hand grasps onto my other wrist. A hand grabs my shoulder, and another latches onto the collar of my shirt. They grasp and they hurt, and they start to pull me towards the trees. The ink around my foot trails as I’m slowly dragged through the dirt towards the shadows. A scream tears from my throat as I thrash, throwing myself any way I can, and yet still the hands pull.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Something grabs onto the leg still submerged in the ink. In a blink, I’m ripped from the hands’ grasp, their nails tearing into my skin. And then I’m falling, thrown away from the safe ground, down into the black inky void. I can’t see anything; the dark far too oppressive. Wind whistles past, whipping my hair all around and tearing at my dress.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Impact with something hard and solid forces the breath from my lungs. I lay there, wheezing, staring up into a dimly lit ceiling of gold decorated with crystal chandeliers. A hand reaches for me and I flinch back, scrambling to my feet and looking around. I’m in a giant ballroom, surrounded by people in masquerade masks and fine clothes. The floor is sparkling marble, and the walls and ceiling are shining gold. There are round tables scattered about, draped with white tablecloths. Everyone is dancing.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

A hand takes mine, and another settles on my hip. I turn to see a man of portly presence, tall and well built. His upper face hidden by a violet mask with light pink gems, a perfectly trimmed brown goatee framing grinning lips. My free hand settles on his shoulder. I stare into his green eyes and feel sick. I smile back at him.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

He spins us right as a fast song begins. It’s one meant for one of the man’s clubs, not a ballroom. The people around us continue to sway in slow circles as we spin and step around them. He pulls me in close, until I can smell his rosey perfume and the pink fur of his collar tickles my nose. When he lets me pull back, he has his teeth bared. The sharp white needles send a spike of fear down my spine.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

He leans in close, until his nose is pressed against mine. We are only spinning now, like a child’s top. His eyes are staring into mine. They’re green, so green. Green is all I can see, that vibrant green that makes bile rise in my throat and makes my lungs clench around the gaping nothingness in my chest. There is a necklace around my throat, something made of crystal and covering all of my throat and upper chest. It’s like a hand around my throat, squeezing. All of the air is sucked out of the room, and still all I see is green.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Quick as a snake, he pulls back and spins me. I turn into that child’s top, spinning round and round. The world melts, music warping and warbling into laughter and screams. The gold spins and warms. It gets hotter and hotter until it's dripping down and down, turning nearly red from the heat. I plant my feet to stop the spinning, and the room is on fire. The man is gone, and so are the dancers. I look behind me, see those white tablecloths charred to black as the flames rise higher and higher, licking up the walls and dancing across the crystal chandeliers.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I turn back around. There are figures in the flames. They are the ones screaming. I stumble back, and they lurch forward. Their screams rise, turning into howls and snarls. They reach towards me, faces long and mouths gaping as the flames melt the skin from their bones. Once again, I turn, this time to run, and slam right into the waiting arms of a corpse.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Its skin is blackened and peeling, clothes and hair long burned off, all distinguishing features lost to the fire. Its fingers are nothing but bone, grasping my face. I grab one of the hands, bare my teeth in a snarl, and surge forward to bite down on the burnt digits. A crunch and a crack, and warm blood fills my mouth. I rip and tear into flesh, spilling more and more red over the marble floor. I swallow it down, gulping greedily and snapping the bones that get in my way.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

There’s a gasp and a gurgle. I freeze, the blood settling in my stomach like a rock and turning to ash in my mouth. The skin under my hands is pale, smeared with blood, but free of even a single speck of soot. My heart pounds harder, nearly bursting from my chest. I can feel the ice moving sluggishly through my veins as my eyes are drawn up. I stare into the terrified face of a child. White-blonde hair frames a familiar face.

Chirp-

I shoot up, then crash to the ground as restraints tangle around my arms and legs. I thrash around in a blind panic, ripping and tearing fabric shackles to pieces. I scramble against the hardwood floors, wide eyes darting around and panting breaths making far too much noise in the quiet room. I see walls painted a soft brown, and a maple side table with an unlit oil lamp on it. There’s a bed in front of me, black sheets tossed about and scattered on the floor in shredded strips. The room is a light grey, the light of dawn trying to stream in through the curtains that are drawn over the windows.

There is a pause as I stand there heaving, then a far too familiar twittering chirp. My breath stutters, mind going blank in panic. It came from outside.

I throw the curtains back, hissing and recoiling as light assaults my eyes. Blinking away the spots, I squint through it and desperately search for what’s making those noises. There, just outside the window of my room at Magnus’s tavern, is a tree whose leaves are still growing back from the winter that has just let up. Sitting among the branches is a small brown and grey bird.

I sigh and run a hand over my face, then press the heels of my palms against my eyes. I take a moment to breathe, then draw the curtains back over the windows and start the process of cleaning up my mess. It was just a stupid dream. It was nothing, only my mind playing tricks on me. And as I leave my room to go find new sheets, slamming the door in the process, I lock away the lingering images of green eyes and white-blonde hair.

[denorteanorte]

Política Obrera con Marcelo Ramal presentó su lista hacia las PASO en San Isidro

La encabeza la docente sanisidrense, Margarita Cuellar. La acompañaron el precandidato a presidente, Marcelo Ramal; y el precandidato a gobernador bonaerense, Pablo Busch, del sindicato de Alimentación. El acto tuvo lugar en un local partidario en Boulogne. “Estamos seguros de que, más temprano que tarde, el pueblo trabajador va a enfrentar este ajuste con una fenomenal reacción popular (…)”,…

[sraamy]

"Informamos que este trem permanecerá parado aguardando a liberação!" Quem nunca!?? 🤭😅🤣 #trem #japeri #engenheiropedreira #ramal #supervia #viagem #logoali #felicidade #casal #casalfeliz #humor #humorbrasil (em Engenheiro Pedreira, Rio De Janeiro, Brazil) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmJu_SFLtfb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[jujuygrafico]

Morales con sindicalistas azucareros de La Esperanza y Ledesma

#Jujuy #Política #Gremiales | #GerardoMorales con #sindicalistasazucareros de #LaEsperanza y #Ledesma

El gobernador de Jujuy, Gerardo Morales, recibió la semana pasada a dirigentes de los sindicatos de Obreros y Empleados del Azúcar del Ingenio La Esperanza y de Ledesma, a fin de tratar la situación de los trabajadores en la zona del Ramal. Escenario habitacional, prestaciones sanitarias e infraestructura en lotes y localidades donde habita la familia azucarera, fueron los temas…

[lahuellaverde]

Portacazas realizado en serraje con 12 ramales 8€ más gastos de envío.

Me llamo Itzíar y tengo una tienda en Càlig, Castellón. Puedes visitarnos también en FaceBook e Instagram La Huella Verde o contáctame al 697669150 🤗 Pídeme más fotos si lo necesitas.

[nununiverse]

Ramal Black. Shad (Rashd) Mims

[lepetitdragonvert]

Songs of Childhood by Walter de la Mare

Longmans, Green & Co

1923

Artist : Estella Canziani

[rebu72]

Drool factor

[recka24]

[matchstick-if]

Ramal:

Aliyah:

Lei:

[underfiends]

Watch Me Breathe

Posting an actual story for the first time in months. The muses and I have been engaging in extreme combat and we have finally begun peace talks. Next we will band together to torment my friends with more angst. For now, have a fluff fic of yet another batch of D&D characters. Ramal is mine, Val is @hannrenn, and the DM for these two lovely dumpster fires is @peppermintpinklemonade. Hope y'all enjoy!

There’s a chill in the air; the softest of nips on an otherwise gentle breeze. A cloud shifts, golden light chasing away those cold touches, dappling ashen grey skin with a rare brush of colour. Oranges and reds bloom in the dark of closed eyelids, so much softer than the brilliant burn of flame.

A breath in, lungs filled to burst. A breath out, and with it goes a lingering tension through corded muscle. Fingers of warmth run over dark skin and chase the breeze through even darker hair. A puff of hot air against a pointed ear; a soft tap on one arm, then the other; an echo of laughter meant only for one person, only for them, just here in this moment of calm.

When their eyes open, there is only red. A red mirrored by the petals of scarlet catchfly scattered about, bundles of leaves and flowers growing on cracked boulders at the base of a rocky cliff. The hot breath and warm fingers turn into the press of hands on their shoulders, a constant companion showing that she is still here.

The wind picks up, whistling through the trees that have grown and thrived in this deep ravine between two mountains. The cold is more apparent now, raising goosebumps on their arms. They could don their leather armour, cover up to trap the heat against their skin, but it is peaceful here. The presence of an armoured warrior is not needed among the vibrant greens and browns of maple trees and buckthorn. There is no danger beneath the strangling vines twisting over wet earth.

Red eyes drift back to red petals. There is one patch of flowers close enough to touch, close enough to see the sticky hairs all up the stem. A memory floats to the surface, of a roughened voice one hot summer day.

“See those hairs, kid? They’ll sting you if you touch them, and your hand will hurt for days.” They remember Magnus had been crouched down next to a shallow riverbed, the heels of his boots dug firmly into the rocky ground as he pointed out the vibrant red flowers. Then, as if summoned through sheer outrage, a hand had smacked him upside the head.

“You idiot! That’s stinging nettle. They’re completely different, how could you have fucked that up?” Rhetta glared down at the man now rubbing his head, hands posted sharply upon her hips. Suddenly, like the flip of a switch, she looked over at them with soft eyes and a kind smile. She folded herself to hover at their height with her eyes trained on the flower. “This is a fire pink, Ramalek. Also known as a scarlet catchfly. Don’t worry, it’s safe to touch, however the stem is a bit sticky. That’s why people call it ‘catchfly’, because it catches flies on its stem and leaves to protect its nectar.” She reached out to brush against a petal, pulling it back just enough for them to see the sheen of liquid hidden in the flower. Then Magnus had said something–the words lost to time–that had left her sputtering indignantly, and the two bickered all the way back to Magnus’s tavern.

That had been years ago, back before they’d taken their new names by the blood of the slain. Before a ghost from their past had resurfaced, had turned out to be alive. Just the thought has them feeling winded and wrong-footed; as though the world is going to slip from underneath them and they’ll wake up to find it was all a dream. Panic begins to swirl just below their skin, prickling their mind. Their fingers twitch, and then a warm hand intertwines with their own, and heat presses all up their side.

A breath in, until lungs are fit to burst. A breath out, and with it the wave of panic settles.

They know where their travel companion is; the one who is a miracle. When they return, red eyes will fight off a swell of tears. The creature of dark grey skin and black hair will don their leather armour and settle back into the role of a savage beast. But for now, Valentine is off in the distance, crouched beside a small pool of algae-choked water, touching the surface every minute or so to watch the tiny tadpoles scurry away. Ramalavikfeng can stay where they are, and their armour can stay on the ground beside them.

There is no place for anything other than peace and calm here, among the green and brown and red. At the base of a cliff, backed by a forest growing in the ravine between two mountains, looking at a brilliant red flower that is close enough to touch with a sticky stem and leaves. Here, where the wind has eased back down to a gentle breeze.

There is a nip in the air. Summer is fading, and autumn is on its way. Perhaps Valentine would be willing to visit Magnus and Rhetta.

[dude-storm]

Ramal Black

[jujuygrafico]

Proyecto multipropósito Río Grande Inferior para abastecer de agua al Ramal

#Jujuy #Institucionales | Proyecto multipropósito #RíoGrandeInferior para abastecer de agua al #Ramal

El gobernador de Jujuy, Gerardo Morales, se reunió con representes del BID, del Ministerio de Obras Públicas de Nación y la CoReBe para avanzar en la concreción del proyecto Río Grande Inferior que favorecerá el desarrollo económico y social de la zona del ramal a partir del aprovechamiento del agua.El mandatario provincial recibió en el Salón Blanco de Casa de Gobierno al Subsecretario de…

[odk-2]

Johnny and The Hurricanes - Storm Warning (1959) Bill Ramal / Tom King from: "Johnny and The Hurricanes featuring Red River Rock" (LP) "Johnny and The Hurricanes featuring Red River Rock" (EP)

Instrumental | Instrumental Rock

JukeHostUK (left click = play) (320kbps)

Personnel: Johnny Paris: Saxophone Paul Tesluk: Keyboards Dave York: Guitar Lionel “Butch” Mattice: Bass Tony Kaye: Drums

Produced by Tom King

LP Released: October, 1959 EP Released: 1960

Warwick Records

[nununiverse]

Ramal Black (Shad Mims)