#paper army

[thatonesimp-e]

yapping session about my paper army

Lovely lovely paper army boys

What could he do, should've been a rockst-

No I'm not quoting a songgggg whaaaaaat????? Why would I do thaaaatttttt?????

[capsensislagamoprh]

Anyone wanna hear more of the story of a time traveling sorceress and the idiots she encounters along the way?

[lady-nightmare]

[beauty-funny-trippy]

Catzilla 🆚 Paper Army

[capsensislagamoprh]

Paper Army (3/?) "Sorcha," ground the dragon's voice from somewhere inside the mirage of a man.

"Uncle," she called back, pulling a smile onto her lips. "Good to see you. Nice human illusion. Is it new?"

The great dracolitch did not answer the direct question. He never did. His glowing eyes fastened on her. "What do you know of history?"

"History? I mean, I did okay in the exams, if that's what you're on about. Not exactly my ace subject. I mean, I'm not studying to be an archeologist."

Murry huffed a reply that sent papers flying. As the human apparition plucked forms from the air, neatly piling them back in order, its mouth opened and closed in a parody of speech. "I suppose that will have to do. Through that door," he said, indicating a mahogany egress pushing itself out of the wall at his will, "you will find clothes. Pick out something that suits your taste."

"Okay," she said skeptically, already heading towards the selection. "What's going on? Is there a celebration I have forgotten about?" Again, no answer. Turning her attention to the selections offered, she wondered about the old-fashioned cut and positively archaic lines. It was on the tip of her tongue to inquire, but after a long moment of crackling silence, she knew she'd get no reply. She'd only find out what was at the heart of all this by playing along. "I don't see any shoes," she called out a few minutes later. As the expected silence greeted her, Sorcha shoved her half tied boots back on.

"Murry?" she called out. "Murry, there are no shoes-" she got no further. A hand slammed into her back, ice-cold and painful. Stumbling, she turned, trying to figure out who and what. The scorch of brimstone stuck in her nostrils as the teleportation circle activated, pulling her down, even as it locked her into place. Then the floor fell away -  and Sorcha with it.

[mercoglianotrueblog]

Zelensky and Brussels want war

Zelensky and Brussels want war

Trump knows Zelensky doesn't want peace,not even EU. They want World War III and try to hatch a plan to invoke NATO Article 5 to force Trump

#Medvedev: a #rabid animal has bitten its own owner

#Starmer,#Macron send their young "paper army" to #Ukraine? ha ha

C.#Heusgen:#Munich a partial nightmare for Europe

#USAID in #EU sauce to promote Brussels' € 1 bn agenda: #woke #diversity #inclusion https://salvatoremercogliano.blogspot.com/2025/02/zelens

[capsensislagamoprh]

Memorial Day (US) weekend is over. May take me a week to get the next one up. Until then, feel free to SUFFAH! SUFFAH with the OCs! Also, enjoy and have a delicious treat. (*^ ‿ <*)♡

The Paper Army (6/?)

The inn was empty. Twin chains hung limply down, the sign that normally swung from them propped lamely against the building. For a moment Dhampir was unsure of the location's legitimacy. Sorcha gave the wizard a glance, and seeing his confusion, peered through the open door. No one was at the dusty bar. "Are you sure this is the place?" she asked. "Only, it doesn't seem like it's very popular. Or open." Dhampir searched the street for any building with remotely the same description as the one before him. "It must be." "So, do we just go in?" Dhampir began to answer when an almighty clatter from somewhere in the back drew his attention. Carefully approaching the swinging service doors, they heard disastrous banging, sharp curses, and the clamor of something being violently - and repeatedly - struck. As one they leaned just that little bit closer, and with a shared glance, silently walked into the kitchen. A kitchen being actively destroyed. "Filthy rats!" screamed a heavily mustached man. "How can I keep my inn open with you racing about, scaring the customers! I cannot!" A pot went flying as a large rodent scampered towards a hole, dragging a chain of sausages. Another seemed to be making off with the contents of the fruit bowl, while a third somehow flung a knife. Ducking under the butchers block, eyes bulging, the inn keeper resumed sputtering a litany of inventive phrases, shaking his fist in the direction of the vanishing pests. After a few moments of caution, he snatched up a cloth and began to wipe his himself clean. There seemed to be a bit of pottage on everything below the knees. Slowly the mustached man became aware of the two loitering in the doorway. "Who are you? The rat catchers?" he grouched, dignity in shatters. "Only, I ordered you last week! What took so long?" For a moment, Dhampir considered telling this trades person exactly who he was, to demand the room and meal he'd pre-booked. Then he looked to Sorcha. He had bespoke his room and board, but not hers. Given her sudden relocation, he doubted she had the correct coin to pay her way. Playing rat-catcher was no small indignity, yet he could not bring himself to abandon her to a strange landscape. Dignity warred with practicality. "They are here to help you with the rat issue," came a clear, slightly echoing voice. "That is what you want them to do, yes?" Dhampir searched the room, looking for the source of the comment. "I am sure that you agreed to a fair price already, being the clever businessperson you are." Sorcha's eyes darted from corner to shadow to flame. A large baking hearth dwarfed a small figure scrubbing at the pots. Tapping Dhampir's arm, she pointed to the strange sight. "Five measures each," said the small form, "wasn't that what you were saying? Bonus twenty if the problem went away for as long as it reasonably can?" Dhampir's practicality soundly trounced his dignity at the scullion's words. With a huff the publican gave the strangers a questioning glance then drew himself up, seeming reluctant to acknowledge the shadowy figure. "Well? What is it? Are you the rat-catchers or just some nosy gawkers here to make light of my misfortune?" he demanded. Dhampir calculated quickly. He'd only seen three rats, but knew there would be more. There were always more. He could calculate a fair exchange of at least thirty measures, and if he could eliminate a nest, the bonus twenty. It was small money, but it was more than enough to see to both his and Sorcha's arrangements. Before he could speak, he heard Sorcha say with a smile that didn't quite reach her voice, "Yes. We're here to help you with the rat issue. Sorry we're late." "Good. You have to provide proof that you took care of the matter, of course. I have a pub to take care of, and rooms to ready." Jerking his head in the general direction of the fire, the landlord continued. "Dela will give you details. I want this all cleaned up as soon as possible. The staff won't come in until the rats are gone, and I have a very important lordship coming to stay." "An extra ten coins if it's done by nightfall?" said the dirty figure from somewhere about knee level. Dhampir drew back. Sorcha bent her fingers into claws. The scullion was far too sneaky for either of their liking. The innkeeper seemed used to being snuck up on, only rolling his eyes. "Fine! Fine. You get those rats taken care of with enough time to ready this place for his lordship, and you can have the extra ten coin." "On top of the twenty extra for solution based longevity, and the five coin a head," clarified the small being. The landlord looked as if he'd bitten into a particularly sour lemon. Stomping his foot, hands balled into fists, he burst out, "Fine! Fine, yes! Just take care of it! I have to go polish the sign." And with that he stormed past the would-be rat-catchers, leaving them to the task. "This way then," declared the rough clad thing that must be Dela. Heading towards a large barrel and pushing with all their tiny might, they managed to move it just enough to reveal a trapdoor. Sorcha quickly moved to help, while Dhampir considered what he was seeing. The hood of the cloak was too high, the hands too small. Despite the dirt and tattered slippers, there seemed to be an air of care on this stranger. Something needled him about it, he just couldn't figure out what it was. "Dhampir, come on. Don't make us do this alone," Sorcha broke into his thoughts with her hand-on-hip glare, as Dela kept trying to move the barrel. Putting suspicion aside, he made short work of the barrier, throwing open the door. The sounds of water and a deeply unpleasant stench began to assault their nostrils. Without hesitation, Dela put one foot on a ladder rung, descending into the darkness below. Sorcha shared a speaking glance with Dhampir. Seeing nothing for it, they too began to sink into the city below.

[capsensislagamoprh]

What’s this? No one asked for it? Suck it up, buttercup. The Paper Army (5/?)

Golden Star was a bustling metropolis with a reputation for trade. The cold realities of business could break, or make, a fortune. It was a brutal bet with the city the second it was in sight. Dhampir knew the risks when he stepped through the Mountain Gate. What he did not expect was to be accosted on his way to Cheapside, and by a misfired teleportation spell, no less.

Sorcha didn't know where she was. She barely remembered landing on the pale man. Her insides felt unhinged, reality swaying in pops of colored lights as her brain tried to make sense of her senses. "That's not real, is it?" she murmured, eying bright red hair as she removed herself from a strong grip.

"What isn't?" Dhampir grunted, pulling his hood back in place.

"Your hair. It's, like, clown red."

He stared at the woman, looking for any flaw upon which he could base a scathing retort. There was none. Her hair shimmered with golden highlights. Her eyes were bottle green, skin smooth. He watched as she shoved her foot against a wall, tying her thick boots. Shapely legs. Was there nothing he could use against her?

"Hey!" Shaking out her skirts, Sorcha slapped his shoulder. "Are you listening? Where am I?"

"Terribly sorry. Your appearance was quite startling," he said, pulling himself together. "This is Cheapside in Golden Star."

"No, it isn't. I've been there before. This is not it. Where are the lights? The bars? The clubs?"

"The clubs? I do not know what association you are looking for, however I am sure it is easily found."

Sorcha stared. Then she began to take in details. The awnings in colorful layers, the way this stranger was dressed, the faint sound of horse-drawn carts. A dim glow caught the edge of her dragon's sight. Focusing on it, she gathered her thoughts. The glow was imitating from a simple garnet, set in hammered gold, about the man's thin wrist. A bonded item. So he was a wizard. A wizard? Realization wept over her, filling every bone with dread. There were no practicing wizards in Cheapside. They all got whisked off to schools where they would be taught to use their gifts for cooperations... as it had been for thousands of years. "What time is it?" she said with a facade of calm.

Dhampir turned to view the shadow cast at the edge of a building, holding up his first finger and thumb.

"No! No," clamored Sorcha, the beginnings of panic starting to set in. "I mean, what time is it? What year?"

"Four thousand seven hundred three, A. A."

Her jaw fell. "You've got to be shitting me. Four thousands? Like, not even double digits?" He looked unfazed. "You're not, are you? You're not kidding. This is the four thousands. I got ducking sent back to the Four Thousands?! Why? Why Murry! What did I ever do to you?!" she raged towards the empty sky.

"It is obvious you are confused, out of time."

"You think?!" she growled, running sharp red nails through her hair, tangling them in the chignon. Freeing the knot with a yank, the locks running down her back in metallic waves, she began to pace, muttering several curses Dhampir didn't understand. Kicking the wall, Sorcha dammed it, and everything nearby. When her tongue slipped into Draconic Dhampir intervened.

"You're dangerously close to summoning something. The authorities, a demon, who knows." Leveling a fiery stare on him, Sorcha punched the wall with immediate regret. Shaking her stinging hand, she stomped in frustration, with whimpered growls. Moving forward, Dhampir carefully dwarfed her golden palm in the cool cage of his spidery digits, noting how she stilled, alert and warry. As he reached under his cloak, pulling a small phial filled with shimmering blue liquid, he quietly spoke. "This is a healing potion of some small ability." Catching her gaze he asked, "Will you allow?"

She nodded, fascinated by the careful motions. It was as if he knew a single misstep could burn his soul. Drop by drop, the liquid spilled onto her abused knuckles. Blood coagulated, scabs formed, became scars that faded, until it was almost as if the wounds had not happened at all. It burned like an ice wind on wet skin.

"Most people don't walk around with healing potions on them," she said quietly, flexing the taut skin of her hand.

"Most people do not plan to walk into danger."

"You do?"

"If I have to," Dhampir answered, corking the vial before tucking the precious liquid away. Sorcha caught a glimpse of the heavy book on thick chain, anchored to the back of his belt. More confirmation.

"You're a wizard."

"Yes. I graduated from the Arcane Academy in Taliax."

"Oh. You're oddly nice for a demon."

"I am not a demon," he said with rigidity. "I am human. Not all Taliaxians are possessed or involved in dark pacts."

"I just - " She stopped short, motioning to her eyes while indicating his own pink orbs. Her hands dropped lamely to her side. "Well, never mind. Hey! Thanks for fixing my hand."

"You're welcome." Dhampir watched her embarrassment combat pride and took pity on her. "I am Dhampir N'Re-" Stopping himself, he shook his head. Better to not let his name flow freely. He put on his most diplomatic smile.  "Just Dhampir. And who might you be, sorceress?"

Sorcha was taken aback. He'd figured out what she was and didn't seem phased by - or inclined to be uncomfortably pushy about - it. This human was clearly perceptive. And understood keeping secrets. "Sorcha. Sorcha Windsong," she offered. "Look. I'm sorry about falling on you. I wasn't expecting to travel today. Now I'm here, and I don't know what to do."

Dhampir watched her, felt the energies that gathered to her golden skin, seeming to settle in the crook of her eyes. Another outburst of panic could cause great damage. Sorcerers of all sorts were wild beings. "You may accompany me if you wish," he said soothingly. "I am headed to an Inn. I will not be there long, but it will give you a place to start."

A sharply brilliant smile kissed her lips as she looped her arm through his and grinned. "Lead the way."