Alligator

internet crocrodile

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HELLO INTERNET

I’m Alligator

she/they

I post from an extemely dark dungeon so most of my words seem strange and the grammar always gone wrong, but welcome

I like ttrpg&crpg&muskerteers&cats

It's absolutely fine to chat I won't bite

thanks for reading

[silicon65]

Gef the Talking Mongoose

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brothers&sisters! and my favorite girls

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my character after the campaign and her ...I don`t know, maybe girlfriend or maybe ex-girlfriend. she was an NPC in this campaign, I slightly changed her name and personality and background.

They have the..."what happend after the whole thing"story but it is too long to translate, i just gave up

no spoilers

[ashengem]

It's time for a photo dump of my sweet baby Patches!

Behold! The baby:

And here's a video, sound on for soft purrs!

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I uh I made(or I paid someone to made my drawings real)these, I don`t know how to say it in english but guess I can travel the world with musketeers

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:D

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commander&sosiel (yes I made them woman for 2 pictures I am truely sorry but I would do it again)

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Lord captain&Jae Heaydari if they were in Heathers the musical

translated some of my comics(and memes) into english <3

[ninesolswug]

Tiny

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im not sorry

[kuutamosonaatti]

Magic lantern slides (ca.1700 - ca.1830)

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i got a new character but in dragonlance world

waiting for the campaign to begin

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Jae: I want to know—will she feel fear? Will she hesitate? Is death truly the only thing that can stop her advance? Must her own heart be on the brink of stillness to stir her sorrow?

Ariel，my RT: I keep returning in my thoughts to a volcanic eruption that once struck my homeworld. Blazing fire fell from the sky like rain; black and ashen smoke, mingled with brilliant flames, blotted out the heavens. For an entire week, my army and I groped through nights of near despair. The ice and snow beneath our feet melted under the heat, creating the illusion of rainfall—yet it was only tears and sobs that flowed in place of raindrops.

When we finally reached the hive city, we found ourselves facing catastrophe: bodies aflame and crimson, bodies wailing in agony; fire everywhere—red and white, two severed colors scattered across different reaches of the city’s surface. This snowbound world had greeted its first summer. The city I swore to protect, the wasteland I loved, my people—nearly overturned in a single night. Even though I forged walls of countless bodies of flesh and blood, walls no xenos or beast could ever breach, and guarded them with my own hands, disaster still arrived.

Never have I felt such defeat, such paralysis. Since accepting the duties of a Rogue Trader, I have asked myself—again and again, as relentlessly as I revisit this memory—am I truly a leader? A pathfinder? A politician? A Queen? Do I truly possess enough strength to protect the fledglings who shelter beneath my banner?

Had I remained merely a general, I could have coldly blamed the deaths of soldiers on their own incompetence and failure. But as a general, can I accept that the ravages of flame were, in truth, my own dereliction of duty? As a leader, can I admit that the people who died because of my flawed decisions also bear the mark of my failure? Nothing is ever airtight—not even power and arrogance. I spent half my life pursuing these two human qualities, only to discover that they are insufficient to protect the people behind me; they offer only the illusion of complacency.

Madness itself is the undertone of my character—it keeps me lucid, keeps me strong, keeps me capable of abandonment. And yet, is there even a single chance, just for a brief moment, for me to break free from this absurd, tyrant’s prison?

Jae: Perhaps she isn’t thinking about it at all.

[dailycatsblog]

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our campaign ended perfectly! here`s the rest of her story

(spoilers alert)

Those devils who survived beneath her greatsword and spear may still remember the sight of her striding through Avernus clad in black battle armor traced with dark patterns, or wearing the Hellrider plate engraved with the holy sigil of Skerrit. By then, she had lost nearly all memory of the Feywild—indeed, even of her own identity—and wandered the Material Plane sustained only by her faith in Skerrit. This was meant to be a journey of remembrance, yet the obstinate centaur proved through her actions that she harbored no regret for her past: were she placed in the same circumstances again, tempted by the so-called greater good, she would make the same choice without hesitation.

The headstrong paladin believed herself merely swept into the journey to Avernus by chance. She cared nothing for the fate of Elturel; her only curiosity lay in discovering who her kin were—those who had once followed Zariel. When, exactly, did things begin to change? When she obtained that shield? Or when she reluctantly allowed the fleeing human woman to join the journey? It is hard to say whether she ever felt anything special for Reya. In the eyes of the warrior-mercenary Melanie, this kind knight under pursuit was utterly out of place on the battlefield. She was still in training, perhaps not yet knowing what slaughter truly was, or who counted as an enemy. Her needless naivety stirred Melanie’s disgust: to send a childish innocent into battle was nothing but a waste of resources.

What, then, did she think Reya ought to do? Remain on the Material Plane, far from conspiracies she did not understand, crossing blades only with forthright knights in honorable duels? At least, that was her hope. What was terrifying was that the other woman harbored an equally unrealistic idea. Amid Reya’s extended olive branch, the custom-made ring, and the gentle persuasion embodied by the golden shield before her, the redeemed paladin never appeared. As stated before, she would make the same choice again. The terms offered by Gargauth were both tempting and fair; for a paladin who bound herself to others on the Material Plane solely through contracts, accepting a devil’s bargain was only fitting.

Was her bond with Reya truly so deep? She barely even knew her. Two stubborn warriors, each convinced by her own judgment that she could drag the other out of the mire; two fighters who both saw the other as unbearably arrogant for daring to offer salvation—should they conspire together, or go their separate ways? Clearly, to Melanie then—and now—the road of destiny had room only for her own four hooves.

The devil granted her power, making her his favored vassal, his general, his pride. In return, the devil demanded Zariel’s life, along with Melanie’s soul and loyalty. After Zariel’s death, all of this came to pass: her lord bestowed upon her the greatest honors, and she fashioned Zariel’s skull into the helm of her armor. The devil would fulfill every wish of his general—and she had only one. If Elturel truly fell into the River Styx, then at the very least that damned, naïve Hellrider should be sent back to the Material Plane. How long could a rider who had lost her order truly endure?

As a knight in Gargauth’s service, she raced across the front lines of the Blood War, harvesting souls to feed the battlefield’s ever-hungry maw. These helpless yet precious souls gradually became the sole measure by which she judged the value of all things. Her unwavering loyalty to her lord was beyond doubt; a single contract became her only rule of action. She would follow Avernus’s new ruler to every corner of the Nine Hells, until he was overthrown—or until her life reached its end. One day, her cunning master would surely transform his general into a devil herself… or had she already begun to resemble one?

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a year later after finishing the book i found that Mordaunt is a cute little bomb and an absolutely mama`s boy

i made up these lines for him imaging what he might think behind those eyes, trying to figure out more of his motivation

by the way i think he`s a fluffy scorpion