Feb 14
deltasona stuff
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Tajikistan
seen from United States
seen from Chile
seen from Japan
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seen from China
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
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seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Poland
deltasona stuff
drew chesk(deltasona) in @nicoccat's junkyard AU
i like this au... like... a lot
made a pippins oc purely to ship with my deltasona. they look exactly like every other red pippins. they're polite and pretty well-organized, which is why chesk wanted them as their assistant
made myself a deltasona! their name is chesk, they're a spellcheck program and tenna's editor-in-chief... and only editor...
they were originally in cyberworld, housed in a little usb stick plugged into a laptop in the computer room. they were there for... like, forever, until younger(i'd say 10-ish? not sure if the school is solely a high school so this might change) kris stole the usb and attempted to jam it into tenna's oldass ports. it didn't work or fit, and they put so much force into their jamming efforts that a significant part of the stick broke off and got stuck in tenna's port. so now they're just tied to him
originally they kind of hated him for being torn away from their home, but as they stayed there more they realized
tenna would probably tear down all of tv world if he knew someone working there hated him
tenna's kind of... a pitiful kicked puppy and they felt bad hating him
^backstory portion edited
their body is technically not real, it has a physical form but it's not, like. real. they have to expend a small amount of energy to keep it up.
they look like this when they don't keep their body up👇
Manija
Six Realms: Chapter Ten
Author: Ashleigh
Format: AU - on-going
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Coiriuil & Idalia
Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure, Romance
Description: Set in mock-medieval times. Two different breeds of elves co-exist within the Six Realms – Evanians are the descendants of the Old Ones and the Five Fathers, blessed with magery (the control of magic drawn from specific elements) – Devonians are the physically superior and mentally equal warriors that serve in the private armies and security of Evanian Highlords. Aurel is the heir to copious wealth following his father’s, the Highlord of one of the most prosperous Great Mage families, passing – the only condition is that in order to attain legitimacy and gain control of the family and its wealth, he must abide by his deceased father’s wishes and wed a Highborn lady. His only problem? He’s in love with another girl. Will their forbidden love triumph, or will they been torn apart by the forces at hand?
-
Growing up in the Feuer Realm awarded one the ability to withstand considerable grievances. The heat, for one – dry and arid as it washed over the beachfront, sweeping down through the Erde Realm to settle in a humid cloud of heat and dust in every home and store across the Realm. Foreigners who couldn’t adapt to desert-like landscapes didn’t last long.
Brunhilda’s body had been honed to withstand heat and scorched climates, but only for so long. And wandering aimlessly without water for two days took a certain toll on the body.
She was making her way steadily through the thick underbrush of the Erde Forests, using the stars as her guide. Walking at night yielded her two advantages; the heat had dulled to a temperature verging on chill, and in the murky pitch she was nearly invisible.
But, as made apparent by the low orange glow ahead, not everyone was as concerned with inconspicuousness as she was. Slowly to a wary prowl in the lightening dark, she edged closer to the light, fearful for a brief second that the slave traders had doubled back to hunt her down. But there were far too many men here to constitute such a small party. She counted at least twenty huddled around a fire, and more bustling in and out of tents. They looked to be wearing armour, but she couldn’t make out the insignia or colours in the flickering flames.
Brunhilda smiled. Where there were armoured men, there were bound to be horses. And if she managed to steal just one horse, she could cut her travel time down to under a day.
She ducked beneath the underbrush, making her way swiftly to where a few horses were tied to a tree, heads bobbing absently as they shifted aimlessly. She froze at the movement, watching with baited breath as a figure formed from the shadows, running an inattentive hand down the nearest horse’s flank before dropping down onto an upturned log. Brunhilda glared, chewing her lip irritably. She was going to have to knock this guy out if she had any hope of getting away with this.
She watched as his hand fell to his hip, drawing out a thick half-sword, laying it across his knee as he took up whistling a low, sombre tune. His back was to her, so he didn’t see her emerge from the shadows, and the horses gave no inclination that she was approaching.
To her right, loud guffaws of laughter rose from the direction of the bonfire, and the man’s head came up, perhaps a small smile curling in the darkness. She couldn’t see anything but a vague silhouette, and froze – her breath halting in her chest. She waited a few terse seconds, but the man gave no indication that he had seen her. Brunhilda started forwards again, her stomach clenching into fierce knots. Something wasn’t right, but the man ahead had gone back to cleaning his weapon and the immediate area was void of anyone but her and her victim. Then she noticed it; the whistling had stopped.
She froze two steps behind him as his low murmur crept through the darkness. “I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,” he said gently, calmly, half-turning his head over his shoulder to glance back at her.
He rose to his feet, not that much taller than her, and her gaze alighted on the blood red hair that fell into his eyes as he smiled. Her hands clenched, her body shifting in a relaxed stance, ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation.
The man chuckled low, sheathing his sword and stepping cautiously towards her. “What’s your name?”
She didn’t waste the time trying to reply, her fist striking out into the darkness and clipping him soundly on the cheek as he shifted a second late. She didn’t wait for him to recover, her left hand already going for his sword. Her fingers curled around the handle just as she realised there was in fact no sword to take.
It came to a rest against her ribs, catching on the frayed material of her dress as his hands closed around her left wrist. He held her steady, smiling down at her as he shifted the sword in his grip. “Don’t feel too bad,” he said lightly. “It would look pretty bad if you managed to steal from a lieutenant.”
She struck up, landing a flat palm to the underside of his jaw and snapping his jaw shut with a muffle grunt as she spun on her heel, pulling in closer to his side and winding her leg around his. Her left wrist was still caught firmly in his grasp, her arm laid across her stomach as she heaved back. She wasn’t going to wait for him to recover.
He hit the ground hard, dragging her with him, but didn’t land as she’d hoped. He kept his breath, untangling a limp enough to hook around her waist, pinning her to him as she tried to wrench herself free. She twisted, jabbing her elbow into his unarmoured side and hearing a curse fall from his lips.
He hooked his ankles together, locking them tight around her waist as she managed to wrench her bruised wrist free. He tossed his sword away, to her momentary surprise, and seized her wrists.
“Stop, just stop,” he yelped, wincing as her elbow slammed into his rib again. He sighed, laying his head back in the dirt, and cursed softly. “My name is Maschesk,” he said, “I’m a lieutenant to the Great Mage of the Feuer Realm. On my father’s honour, I swear I’m not going to hurt you, alright?”
She froze at his words, and bolted upright when he unwound his legs, spinning on him as he pushed to his feet.
“Not so fast,” he said sharply, taking her upper arm as he ducked to meet her wide eyes. “What’s your name?”
“I know where Aurel is,” she said, meeting his gaze.
-
Idalia scratched her steed’s dapple grey neck, smiling at his nicker, and glanced up at their company. Adelheid was faithfully stationed on her left; Coiriuil was just ahead, talking with his lieutenants; to her right, was Brunhilda.
She’d been brought to their tent nearer to midnight, under a half-blood lieutenant’s watch. She’s been bruised and scratched, and look liked she’d crawled through half the underbrush in the Erde Realm. From the brief story she told them, she apparently had.
Idalia couldn’t help but feel a spark of resentment. This woman was the reason Aurel had had the misfortune of being abducted in the first place, and sold into slavery. But she was also the reason that they knew exactly where to head to get answers and a decent heading, even if the prospect of recovering Aurel meant that her own fate was sealed. She couldn’t deny, somewhat guiltily, that nestled somewhere amidst that resentment was relief.
Idalia clenched her hands in the reins, shaking her hair out of her eyes, and blushing when they met Coiriuil’s. He had turned halfway in the saddle to smile back at her, and chuckled now at her reddening cheeks. He slowed his chestnut mare, falling back to her side.
“Doing alright, my lady?” he inquired with a grin. “Not too flustered in this heat?”
Idalia shot him a soft glare, fixing her attention ahead. “Don’t you have lieutenants to bicker with?”
“I do, but I think they can manage to ride in a straight line without me for a few minutes while I see to our honoured guest’s wellbeing. I wouldn’t want your delicate complexion ruined, my lady.”
Idalia stifled her smile. “How far are we from Sklavestadt?”
Coiriuil sighed, almost in disappointment, and straightened in his saddle. “We should be there by mid-afternoon. From there, we’ll have to investigate into Aurel’s location.”
Idalia glanced over at him. “Shouldn’t you be calling him ‘my Lord’?”
Coiriuil laughed. “He’s my friend, not my Lord. Not all of us were raised in the halls of palaces, my lady.”
“You weren’t raised for your position?” Idalia asked, unable to deny the shock in her tone. In the Wasser Realm, the lieutenants of the legions were chosen before reaching majority, and trained to serve their Lords with their lives.
Coiriuil cast her a crooked grin, pausing to duck under a low hanging branch. “I was rescued from the streets by Lord Feuervierte.”
“Aurel’s father?”
“The one and only. I was Aurel’s age; we grew up together. When the time came for him to choose his commander, he chose me. I don’t owe him anything, and he owes me nothing. He’s my friend, and I only want what’s best for him in this world.”
“That’s very noble of you,” Idalia said softly.
Coiriuil’s smile was harsher this time, lined with concern. Despite his best efforts, his worry showed in his eyes. “And you? What do you think of him?”
Idalia laughed, but it was a little short. “He’s lovely, I’m sure. I haven’t had much time to get to know him, but he seems compassionate, polite, and…tired.”
Coiriuil surveyed her silently. “You’re very good at reading people, my lady.”
Idalia smiled gently, glancing down as embarrassment flushed her cheeks again. “My father thought so too.”
“So what do you think of me?” Coiriuil asked, and she met his cocky smirk. But beneath the bravado, she could see an intensity that marred the indifference.
“You’re brave,” she responded lightly. “You always assume the best of people, even when they don’t of you. You’re brash, but not selfish. You don’t care for a man’s status, but you do for his reputation. You’re intelligent, impatient, unmannerly, and unflinchingly loyal.” Her blue eyes rose to meet his, snaring them. “You would give your life for him; for any of these men. You’re noble,” she decided, and spurred her horse forth, leaving him to stare after her, dumbstruck.
Six Realms: Chapter Five
Author: Ashleigh
Format: AU - on-going
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Coiriuil & Idalia
Genre(s): Fantasy, Adventure
Description: Set in mock-medieval times. Two different breeds of elves co-exist within the Six Realms – Evanians are the descendants of the Old Ones and the Five Fathers, blessed with magery (the control of magic drawn from specific elements) – Devonians are the physically superior and mentally equal warriors that serve in the private armies and security of Evanian Highlords. Aurel, the heir to copious wealth following his father’s, the Highlord of one of the most prosperous Great Mage families, passing – the only condition is that in order to attain legitimacy and gain control of the family and its wealth, he must abide by his deceased father’s wishes and wed a Highborn lady. His only problem? He’s in love with another girl. Will their forbidden love triumph, or will they been torn apart by the forces at hand?
-
*Note: “mi’les” is an abbreviation of the term “my lesser”, and is traditionally an epithet used derogatively to highlight a difference in rank between one in power and one with little or no authority.
Coiriuil sat back on his haunches, trailing fingers through the dirt. He could feel the mid-morning sun on his back, tracing warm fingers through his jacket and heating the leather. He sighed, raising his head to survey the empty clearing, his gaze lingering on the rock and fallen logs, eager for a sign of disturbance – or returning figures.
There was no sign that Aurel had wandered off, or for that matter, that he’d ever headed home. He could only assume Brunhilda was with him regardless of where they were. And the boots printed heavily in the dew-sprinkled soil at his fingertips gave him a pretty good indication of exactly where that might be.
He’d brought a small band of six men out with him this morning, when he’d discovered upon waking (admittedly, quite considerably late in the morning as it was) that Aurel had yet to return. He had led the troop himself, and twenty minutes later, here he was, crouching amidst the disturbed leaves and twigs with trepidation clenching in his gut.
“Sir,” Chesk muttered at his side, “we’ve got company.”
Coiriuil rose to his full height, his hand dropping instinctively to his hip and tracing the wrought iron handle of the sword sheathed there.
An assortment of about twenty horses was cantering across the field, slowing to a trot as they neared the group of assembled men. Coiriuil recognised their crests before he recognised their leader. His brow etched into a frown as he approached the nickering horse.
“My Lady,” he addressed her, meeting her inquisitive blue eyes and inclining his head respectively. “What brings you out here?”
Idalia dismounted the horse with all the ease of someone who had ridden before she could walk. Coiriuil took a step back to let her pass, startled by her fluidity as he numbly took the reins. She tugged off her gloves, her gaze sweeping the clearing bathed in morning light.
“So he came here last night, did he?” she inquired, and Coiriuil was taken aback.
“I’m not sure that’s an appropriate topic–”
“He’s to be my husband, is he not?” she responded curtly, and Coiriuil was once again rendered speechless by her brusque, fearless attitude.
“Yes, My Lady.”
“Then I take it upon my honour to see him returned,” she replied lightly, her boots crunching across fallen leaves and twigs as she crossed the glen. Coiriuil could only stare in wonder, and he quickly passed off the reins to a nearby soldier, a grin curling his lips. He caught up to her, matching her stride.
“I meant no disrespect,” he insisted, but the smirk marred its sincerity a little.
She met his expression with a deprecating, teasing smile. “When was the last time you made contact with Aurel?”
“Last night, shortly after you did.”
“And you had no idea what he was doing out here.”
“I didn’t say I had no idea.”
He was spared the interrogation by a figure that rode up on horseback, and Coiriuil simply stared. She had forsaken her regular garments – fine dresses of silk and satin – in favour of durable cotton and leather. She now sat perched upon a black steed with her gloved hand firmly fisted in its rain, her back straight and posture perfect. She gazed down at his dumbstruck expression with something close to antipathy.
“Honestly,” Adelheid muttered, curbing her horse as it fretted absently, “You’d think they’d have never seen a woman on a horse before.”
“I’ve seen many women on horses, ma’am,” Coiriuil responded politely. “I’ve just never seen one wearing colours.”
She glanced down at her chest, where a loose chest plate was splashed with the brilliant shades of blue and white crest. Another piece of silver armour was protruding from her left shoulder like a severed wing, a vambrace encasing her lower right arm in molten silver. There was a sword on her left hip, tracing the curve of her leg down to the stirrup.
Her next look was decidedly more deprecating. “What do you think happened to the Great Mage?”
Coiriuil cocked his head, surveying her a second longer if not just for the pleasure of watching her patience ebb. “I think he was abducted.”
“Abducted?” she repeated incredulously.
“Aurel would have returned home upon the designated time otherwise. As he has not, I can only assume he was prevented from doing so. The most probable answer is abduction.”
Adelheid brought her fidgeting gelding around, meeting his gaze with a dead stare. “And who would you suppose would abduct a Great Mage? What purpose could it serve?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Coiriuil replied, catching her off-guard. Beside him, Idalia chuckled quietly. “There are political motivations, economical… But judging by the state of those boot prints, I’d say they were slave traders.”
Adelheid followed his gesture, directing her horse as close as she dared to survey the evidence without disturbing the dirt. At least five tracks of boots, by her estimation, three heavier than the rest.
Coiriuil came by her horse, rubbing a gentle hand across its withers, patting its flank to calm it. “If you look closely, three of those boot-marks are deeper than the others – more prominent. Such erosion occurs when one is wearing steel-toed boots; which, unless my memory fails me, is footwear worn frequently by slave traders, mi’les.”
He’d barely managed a smug snicker before the heel of her boot was connecting harshly with his shoulder, throwing him to his knees in the dirt with a curse. “Call me mi’les again, coward, and I’ll show you what a steel-toed boot feels like against your skull,” she muttered low and icily.
Coiriuil chuckled harshly. “Lowborn, I presume then?”
“Adelheid of House Regenmeer,” she introduced. “Firstborn daughter of the Lord of Regenmeer. Learn to address your superiors correctly.”
“Maschesk of House Rotehre,” Chesk called over, his brow raised as if to goad her to a fight. “What’s your point, mi’lady?”
“Let’s stay focused,” Idalia suggested, projecting her voice to ensure it reached the soldiers whose hands had dropped to their scabbards at Adelheid’s outburst. She turned to Coiriuil. “So you assume slave traders abducted him? Where would they be taking him?”
“Wherever they’d get the highest price.”
“The Erde Realm,” Adelheid concluded, her eyes alight with intrigue. “It’s the largest city for slave trading in the kingdom.”
Idalia met Coiriuil’s gaze, a smile twisting her lips. “When can we ride?”