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Atlas Treasure Salvage

Synnaquinn's picture

Just a piece.


It shouldn’t have surprised me. I could still feel Kharris’s eyes. The usually playful sparkling hue was flat and serious. Angry even. Hell, I even knew why.

Because I had used Iloam.

Tinksa's picture

Big plans.


Tinksa kicks open the garage door with her plate boots. She sent Boom out ahead of her, letting him get a close look at the area. Boomstick chirped and she cocks an oversized ear at him.


“Well? It's empty, whadda ya expect? Let's get to work” She cocks her small hand cannon, loading a few explosive clips. The gun was as big as her, but she held it with complete ease. She rubs the tip of her pierced nose with a wide grin for Boomstick.


Synnaquinn's picture

The Hourglass


(Once again, bear with me. This is a conglomerate of a few days of rp, it is long and probably spotty. I don't have a chat logger. And too much went on, not to post a blog.)


Synn stared across at the blurred landscape as the Hog sped through the lush landscape of whatever route, Tiradell was taking on the way back to the City.


Are we going to torture him?”


A part of her lurched and frolicked at the thought of seeing what Tiradell would do to Ryojin. Tiradell had leaned against her, shaking slightly. He looked lost.

Synnaquinn's picture

The Crypt.


(Warning. Mature Themes.)


“Iloam says he is a monster, but I do not see it,” declares Maras, staring out of the sweeping trees of Eternal Spring.

Synn looks at him quizzically for a moment for before they had been speaking of Asarel. Of his darkness, but somehow they had gotten onto the subject of Iloam. She looks out over the grassy hills, and laughing trails of waterfalls, relaxing back in the Hog. Iloam's birthday was coming soon. She needed to get him something.

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