#cesta rosewood

[thornbolts]

Blog Roll

Has that time come around again? I think so. This is for the new folks!

Art by haimeart

Character: Remington Thornbolt Tumblr: @thornbolts Race: Forsaken FC: Melanie Scrofano Occupation: Fence Macabre caravan master, bounty hunter, merchant, and hired gun. Description: Sharpshootin’ Westfallen legend turned forsaken after the razing of Stormwind and the Thornbolt family’s immigration to Lordaeron. Head of the Fence Macabre caravan. She’s a neutral-aligned undead that doesn’t care about the faction war, only concerned keeping her caravan folk safe and will gladly kill anything that tries to hurt her people. Often travels all around Azeroth, selling anything from bone charms, creepy curios, and adventuring gear alongside her folk to Alliance, Horde, and anyone else in between. Activity: Very active (Horde RP main) Preferred RP: In-game, Tumblr, Discord Cross RP: Accepted, though likely won’t get along with anyone averse to Undead.

Credits to David Lozeau

Character: Gregory Thornbolt Tumblr: @thornbolts Race: Forsaken FC: I mean... a skull? // In life: Jon Bernthal Occupation: Hired muscle, monk in training, sawbones Description Remington’s skeleton father, a hardened soul that’s had a gun in his hand since six years old. Gregory is an old-fashioned gentleman despite his unsettling skeletal experience. Often cares for his birds that make their homes in various parts of his anatomy. Raised in rural Elwynn, hardship isn’t unfamiliar to him. Recently, he’s been studying in Pandaria to become a monk to help him cope with his undead state. Activity: Infrequent Preferred RP: Tumblr, Discord Cross RP: Accepted, though likely won’t get along with anyone averse to Undead. Also seeking a monk master!

Art by haimeart

Character: Cestalia (Cesta) Embersoot Tumblr: @embersoot Race: Ren’dorei FC: Gin Wigmore Occupation: Optometrist, Engineer // Legion Tech Specialist, Mercenary, M.E.G.A-sponsored Death Racer Description: A blind warlock-engineer hailing from a maverick house in Silvermoon city inspired by Gnomish and Dwarvish steam technology, Cesta was a bonafide quel’dorei raised to appreciate the grime, soot, and bolts that is the art of tinkering. Often feeling like a gnome in an elf’s body, Cesta constantly finds herself in wacky projects, jobs, inventions that almost always involve her risking her life, all too eager to seek the next source of adrenaline. Activity: Semi-active Preferred RP: In-game, Tumblr, Discord Cross RP: Accepted

Art by biteythevillain

Character: Angrin Strifetamer Tumblr: @strifetamer Race: Ren’dorei FC: Joanne Froggatt Occupation: Physician, Teacher, Martial Instructor Description: Former spellbreaker and Farstrider captain that always had a burning need for knowledge when away from the fighting, eventually mastering the Illusion, Evocation, and Transmutation schools of arcane magic alongside medicine. An advocate for learning in any of its forms, Angrin currently works as a physician and sponsored scientist, utilizing her eternal hunger for knowledge to her benefit. Activity: Semi-active Preferred RP: In-game, Tumblr Cross RP: Accepted

Character: Chortlerip Tumblr: @chortlerip Race: Laughing Skull (AU) FC: Laurence Fishburne Occupation: BBQ Pitmaster, Brawl’gar Fighter, Butcher Description: A surprisingly intelligent and well-spoken laughing skull mage with a penchant for anything meat. Rumored to have once torn a genesaur apart with his bare hands. Another rumor has him occasionally talking with various other bone masks he keeps on his person, giving each of them names and personas. Voted best smoked boar ribs in last year’s Orgrimmar Pitmaster Invitational. Rank 7 Brawl’gar fighter. Activity: Infrequent Preferred RP: Tumblr Cross RP: Accepted, though he may be very averse to practitioners of the Light. Also, he probably won’t like vegetarians.

[embersoot]

Make Yourself & Your Muse

Tagged by: @irielle-firine

Tagging: @glitchphil, @unabashedrebel , @magistrixvoidchaser, @littlestcreampuff, @madnessofthefirmament

[flo-machina]

Send 🍿 and my muse will tell yours exactly what they think of them at that moment. (Fnipper to Irielle & Imara)

Fnipper on Irielle: "I heard she's disappeared. This is extremely inconvenient for me. She's one of the best at what she does, and people in her line of work you can rely on are in extremely short supply. I haven't the time to spare cycles on her disappearance, but I've informed Cesta that she should look into it for everyone's sake. They're close, or whatever, so I'm sure she's got a personal stake in the matter, anyway."

Fnipper on Imara: "For the first time ever I'm vaguely curious what a demon tastes like and I'm not certain why."

[haimeart]

Commissions for @thornbolts

Remington Thornbolt belong to  @thornbolts

Cesta Rosewood  belong to   @embersoot​

[millybooks-blog]

Capítulo Cinco: Lar dividido 

    Spencer acordou no chão de seu banheiro, sem a menor noção de como fora parar lá. O relógio à prova d'água marcava 18:45 e, pela janela, o sol do final de tarde projetava longas sombras no jardim deles. Ainda era segunda-feira, o dia do funeral de Ali. Ela devia ter caído no sono... e andado enquanto dormia.Ela costumava ser sonâmbula crônica — seu estado piorou tanto no sétimo ano que tivera que passar uma noite na Clínica de Avaliação do Sono, da Universidade da Pensilvânia, com eletrodos ligados ao seu cérebro. O médico disse que era só estresse. Ela se levantou e jogou água fria no rosto, olhando-se no espelho: cabelo louro e comprido, olhos verde-esmeralda, queixo pontudo. Sua pele era perfeita e seus dentes eram brilhantes de tão brancos. Parecia estranho que sua aparência não demonstrasse como ela se sentia péssima.Ela examinou a equação em sua cabeça mais uma vez: A sabia sobre Toby e sobre A Coisa com Jenna. Toby estava de volta. Logo, Toby tinha de ser A, e ele estava dizendo a Spencer que mantivesse a boca fechada. Era a mesma tortura do sexto ano, tudo igual.Ela voltou para o quarto e encostou a testa no vidro da janela. À sua esquerda ficava o moinho particular da família, que não funcionava mais havia muito tempo, mas seus pais amavam o tom rústico e autêntico que ele dava à propriedade. À sua direita, a fita com a frase "Não Ultrapasse" pintada em letras pretas ainda estava por todo o gramado dos DiLaurentis. O santuário de Ali, feito de flores, vela, fotos e outras bugigangas em homenagem a ela, havia crescido, engolindo todo o beco.Do outro lado da rua ficava a casa dos Cavanaugh. Dois carros na garagem, uma cesta de basquete no quintal, a bandeirola vermelha na caixa de correspondência. Mas lá dentro...Spencer fechou os olhos, lembrando-se do mês de maio no sétimo ano, um ano depois da Coisa com Jenna. Ela tinha entrado num trem para encontrar com Ali na cidade, onde iam fazer compras. Estava tão ocupada escrevendo uma mensagem de texto para Ali em seu sensacional Sidekick novo que só cinco ou seis paradas depois ela notou que havia alguém do outro lado do vagão. Era Toby. Encarando-a.Suas mãos começaram a tremer. Ele havia estado no internato o ano todo, então Spencer não o via há meses. Como de hábito, o cabelo dele caía sobre os olhos e ele usava fones de ouvido enormes, mas alguma coisa nele naquele dia parecia... mais intensa. E mais assustadora.Todos os sentimentos de culpa e ansiedade sobre A Coisa com Jenna que Spencer havia tentado enterrar voltaram à tona. Eu vou pegar você. Ela não queria ficar no mesmo vagão que ele. Ela colocou uma perna no corredor, depois a outra, mas o cobrador entrou na sua frente, de forma abrupta.—Você está indo para a rua Treze ou para a Market East? —rugiu ele. Spencer encolheu-se de volta no banco.— Para a Treze — sussurrou ela. Quando o cobrador saiu de vista, ela deu uma olhada para Toby de novo. O rosto dele se abriu em um sorriso enorme e sinistro. E, um segundo depois, sua boca estava impassível mais uma vez, mas seus olhos diziam: Espere...só...para... ver. Spencer se levantou rapidamente e passou para outro vagão. Ali estava esperando por ela na plataforma da rua Treze, e quando elas olharam para a parte de trás do trem, Toby as estava encarando.—Vejo que alguém saiu de sua prisãozinha — disse Ali, com um sorriso malicioso.— É sim. — Spencer riu da situação. — E ele ainda é um perdedor com P maiúsculo.Mas, poucas semanas depois, Ali desapareceu. E aí não foi tão engraçado.Um barulho de assobio vindo do computador de Spencer a fez dar um pulo. Era seu alerta de recebimento de e-mails. Ela foi verificar, agitada, e clicou na nova mensagem. Oi, amor, não falo com você há dois dias e vou ficar louco de saudade. — Wren Spencer suspirou, sentindo algo se agitar dentro dela. No instante em que pusera os olhos em Wren — sua irmã o levara para conhecer os pais em um jantar de família — alguma coisa acontecera com ela. Era como... como se ele a tivesse enfeitiçado no segundo em que se sentou no Moshulu, tomou um gole de vinho tinto e a olhou dentro dos olhos. Ele era inglês, exótico, engraçado e inteligente, e gostava das mesmas bandas indie que Spencer. Ela sabia... e, pelo jeito, ele também.Antes de Melissa pegá-los dando uns amassos na sexta-feira à noite, ela e Wren haviam experimentado vinte inacreditáveis minutos de paixão. Mas, por causa da fofoca de Melissa, e porque os pais de Spencer sempre ficavam do lado da irmã, eles a proibiram de voltar a ver Wren. Ela estava louca de saudade dele também, mas o que poderia fazer?Sentindo-se meio grogue e instável, desceu as escadas e passou pelo longo e estreito corredor, que a mãe havia transformado em galeria e onde expunha as paisagens de Thomas Cole, que herdara do avô. Ela entrou na cozinha espaçosa da família. Seus pais a haviam restaurado para que se parecesse como era em 1800 — exceto pelos eletrodomésticos de última geração. Sua família estava reunida em volta da mesa da cozinha, cercada de embalagens de comida tailandesa para viagem.Spencer hesitou ao entrar. Não falava com eles desde antes do funeral de Ali — ela havia dirigido sozinha até lá e mal os havia visto mais tarde, na frente da igreja. Na verdade, ela não falava com a família desde que eles a haviam repreendido por causa de Wren, dois dias antes, e agora eles a estavam evitando de novo, passando a jantar sem ela. E tinham companhia. Ian Thomas, um antigo namorado de Melissa — e o primeiro dos exnamorados de Melissa que Spencer havia beijado — estava sentado no que deveria ser o lugar de Spencer.— Oh! — guinchou ela. Ian foi o único que olhou para ela.— Ei, Spence! Como vai você? — perguntou, como se jantasse na casa dos Hastings todos os dias. Já era difícil o suficiente para Spencer que Ian estivesse treinando o time de hóquei dela em Rosewood, mas aquilo era bizarro.— Eu estou... bem — disse Spencer, seus olhos correndo de um membro da família para outro, mas ninguém estava olhando para ela... ou explicando por que Ian estava se entupindo de comida tailandesa na cozinha deles. Spencer puxou uma cadeira para o canto da mesa e começou a colocar um pouco de frango com capim-limão em seu prato.— Bem, hum, Ian. Então, você está jantando conosco?A sra. Hastings lançou um olhar penetrante em sua direção. Spencer fechou a boca, tomada por uma sensação quente e sufocante.— Nós nos encontramos no, hum, enterro — explicou Ian. Uma sirene o interrompeu e Ian derrubou o garfo. O barulho parecia estar vindo da casa dos DiLaurentis. Havia carros de polícia por lá o tempo todo.— Que coisa de doido, não? — Ian passou uma das mãos pelo cabelo louro cacheado.— Eu não sabia que ainda havia tantos carros de polícia por aqui.Melissa lhe deu uma cotovelada de leve.—Você já tem uma longa ficha na polícia, morando lá naquele lugar perigoso que é a Califórnia?  — Melissa e Ian tinham terminado porque ele se mudara para o outro lado do país, para fazer faculdade em Berkeley.— Não — respondeu Ian. Antes que ele pudesse continuar, Melissa, de um jeito bastante próprio, mudara o assunto para outro tópico: ela mesma. Ela se virou para a sra. Hastings.— Bem, mamãe, as flores no memorial eram da mesma cor que eu quero pintar as paredes da minha sala. Melissa pegou uma revista Martha Stewart Living e a abriu em uma página marcada. Ela estava sempre falando sobre reformas; estava redecorando o sobrado na Filadélfia que os pais lhe haviam comprado como presente por ter entrado na Escola de Administração da Universidade da Pensilvânia. Eles nunca fariam nada parecido com aquilo para Spencer.A sra. Hastings inclinou-se para ver. — Encantador.                      — Muito legal — concordou Ian.Uma risada de descrença escapou da boca de Spencer.O serviço fúnebre de Alison DiLaurentis tinha sido naquele mesmo dia e tudo o que elas podiam pensar em conversar era sobre cores de tinta? Melissa virou-se para Spencer. — O que foi isso?— Bem... quer dizer... — gaguejou Spencer. Melissa parecia ofendida, como se Spencer tivesse mesmo dito alguma coisa rude. Ela agitou o garfo. — Esquece.Houve outro silêncio. Até mesmo Ian parecia meio ressabiado com ela. O pai tomou um grande gole de vinho.—Verônica, você viu a Liz por lá?— Sim, eu conversei um pouco com ela — disse a mãe de Spencer. — Achei que ela parecia fantástica... considerando tudo. Por Liz, Spencer entendeu que fosse Elizabeth DiLaurentis, a tia mais nova de Ali, que vivia naquela área. — Deve ter sido horrível para ela — declarou Melissa, solene. — Não posso nem imaginar. Ian fez um hummmm de empatia. Spencer sentiu seu lábio de baixo tremer. Oi, e eu? Ela queria gritar. Vocês não se lembram? Eu era a melhor amiga de Ali!Depois de alguns minutos de silêncio, Spencer se sentiu menos bem-vinda. Ela esperou que alguém perguntasse como estava indo, oferecesse a ela um pedaço de tempura ou, pelo menos, que dissesse "saúde" quando ela espirrasse. Mas eles ainda a estavam punindo por beijar Wren. Mesmo que aquele dia fosse... aquele.Uma bola se formou em sua garganta. Ela estava acostumada a ser a favorita de todo mundo: dos professores, dos treinadores de hóquei, do editor do livro do ano. Mesmo o rapaz que tingia seu cabelo, Uri, dissera que ela era sua cliente favorita porque o cabelo dela pegava cor de um jeito lindo. Ela havia ganhado vários prêmios na escola e tinha trezentos e setenta amigos no MySpace, sem contar as bandas. E mesmo que jamais pudesse ser a favorita dos pais — era impossível eclipsar Melissa — ela não podia suportar que eles a odiassem. Especialmente naquele momento, quando tudo em sua vida estava tão instável.Quando Ian se levantou e pediu licença para dar um telefonema, Spencer respirou fundo.— Melissa. — Sua voz estava estridente.A irmã olhou para ela e depois voltou a brincar com a comida tailandesa em seu prato.Spencer limpou a garganta.— Será que você pode falar comigo, por favor?Melissa mal moveu os ombros.— Quero dizer... não posso não posso ter você me odiando. Você tem toda razão. Sobre você sabe o quê. — As mãos dela tremiam tanto que ela as manteve presas debaixo das pernas. Pedir desculpas a fazia sentir-se nervosa.Melissa dobrou as mãos sobre suas revistas.— Desculpe — disse ela. —Achei que isso estava fora de questão. — Ela se levantou e levou o prato até a pia.— Mas... — Spencer estava chocada. Olhou para os pais. — Eu realmente sinto muito... — Ela sentiu as lágrimas se acumulando em seus olhos. O rosto de seu pai esboçou uma sombra de simpatia, mas então ele desviou o olhar depressa. A mãe colocou o que sobrara do frango com capim-limão em um Tupperware e deu de ombros.—Você cavou sua própria cova, Spencer — disse ela, enquanto levantava para levar as sobras do jantar para a enorme geladeira de aço inoxidável—Mas...— Spencer. —A voz do sr. Hastings parecia dizer pare de falar.Spencer calou a boca. Ian entrou trotando na cozinha com um sorriso enorme e abobalhado no rosto. Ele sentiu a tensão no ar e seu sorriso se apagou. —Vamos lá. — Melissa ficou em pé e segurou o braço dele.—Vamos sair para comer a sobremesa.— Claro. — Ian deu uma batidinha no ombro de Spencer. — Spence? Quer vir junto? Spencer não queria mesmo ir — e pela cutucada que Melissa deu nele, pareceu que ela também não queria que a irmã fosse, mas Spencer nem teve chance de responder. A sra. Hastings disse, rapidamente:— Não, Ian, Spencer vai ficar sem sobremesa. — O tom de voz dela era o mesmo que usava para repreender os cães.— Obrigada de qualquer forma. — Spencer tentou segurar o choro. Para disfarçar, ela enfiou uma garfada enorme de molho picante de manga na boca. Mas escorreu pela sua garganta antes que sequer precisasse engolir; o molho espesso queimando enquanto descia. Por fim, depois de uma série de barulhos horríveis, Spencer cuspiu aquilo num guardanapo. Mas quando as lágrimas pararam de cair, foi que ela viu que os pais não se aproximaram para ter certeza de que não estava sufocando. Eles simplesmente haviam saído da cozinha. Spencer enxugou os olhos e olhou para o nojento bolo mastigado que tinha cuspido no guardanapo. Era daquele jeito que ela se sentia.

[thornbolts]

🍿 (Cesta & Imara)

Send 🍿 and my muse will tell yours exactly what they think of them at that moment.

The warlock-engineer tilts her head at the name. “That’s what that demon hunter’s called? I can rightly appreciate a woman that can probably kick my ass. That’s pretty hot. But eh. She wants to eat Voz. That’s a pretty big turn-off. I feel we could still be friends given the right circumstances.”

@imara-blackflame

Thank you for the ask, @ms-winford !

[thornbolts]

Blog Roll!

Remington Thornbolt (Horde-side RP main -@thornbolts)

Up to sixty followers! Y’all blow me away with how much y’all like my deaders. There’s a lot of new folks around, so I’ll be posting up who’s who!

Art by biteythevillain

FC: Melanie Scrofano

Remy is my Weird West-inspired Forsaken gunslinger, death magic and witchcraft-flinging mercenary, Argent Crusade veteran, and head of the Fence Macabre traveling caravan with a heart of gold. If she isn’t one of the best sharpshooters on Azeroth, she’s definitely within the top ten.

She was raised on the rural forest border of Elwynn Forest and Westfall. Where other kids would go to school and play tag, she was hunting game with a rifle in her hands from age ten. She’s a kind soul who truly does want to leave Azeroth in a better place than when she found it despite her scars, her undeath, and all the horrors she’s seen. Remy goes against the grain, an unliving example that not all Forsaken are evil.

I learned to love the rot, and Remy is my first dip into Forsaken RP. I couldn’t be happier with her, and I’m blown away by the reception. She’s the easiest of my characters to have a friendship with by far regardless of Alliance or Horde!

Gregory Thornbolt (Horde - @thornbolts​)

Art by David Lozeau

FC: Literally any human skeleton

Gregory is my barber-surgeon, widower, monk-in-training, bowler hat-wearing undead skeledad. He’s a gentle giant, caring for his five birds that make their nest in his rib cage, eye socket, or skull. He’s Remy’s father and can be overprotective of her and the Fence Macabre, much to Remy’s chagrin. He’s a lot more introverted and quiet than his daughter, so it’ll take some effort to get him to wiggle out of his bony shell.

Gregory’s easily the most philosophical, calm, and collected of my characters. If you need a sawbones or someone to have a deep discussion with, bone father may be your go-to. I’d like to RP him more, but he’s mostly been played through tumblr asks and RP prompts.

Cesta Rosewood (Alliance-side RP Main - @embersoot​)

Art by dreamfoiled

FC: Gin Wigmore

Cesta Rosewood, formerly Embersoot, is my up and coming blind void elf warlock biker, occasional optometrist, and demonologist. She’s my only Alliance character. She’s an adrenaline addict who seemingly can’t get enough of risking her life, but she’s bent on not falling to fel corruption and lust for power. She’s dedicated to doing this right this time.

With a motto of “Born to lose, live to win,’” she’s survived death races, rough and tumble mercenary work, criminal life, warlockery, and she’s won over and over with pure guts, moxie, and the out-of-the-box ingenuity. Though she’s mostly retired from her life of crime. She’s a bit guarded and cynical of folks, but she’ll have your back until the end if you can knock down the wall she surrounds herself with.

Cesta lets me channel my zanier side and my love for heavy metal. She was my second-ever RP character that I’ve recently brought back to life! If you’re looking for something off-the-wall, Cesta might just be your go-to.

I’m open to any pre-established relations with any of my characters and would love to see y’all interact and RP regardless if we’ve only met through tumblr!

As always, stay excellent, y’all!

[thornbolts]

🍿 (Cesta & Irielle)

Send 🍿 and my muse will tell yours exactly what they think of them at that moment.

“I like her. She may have come with a lot more baggage than I thought but uh...” She scratches at the shaved side of her head. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m okay with being a sidechick. Heart ain’t in a real good place to really commit to anything more. Just so long as we enjoy time together, is there really anything else needed? I’m just--I’m fuckin’ worried, okay? I come back from warlockery training and dying over and over to... suddenly my friend has gone missing due to some Nightmare shit? What the hell is that? We gotta find the shit outta her.”

@irielle-firine

Thank you for the ask, @ms-winford !

[embersoot]

Her End of the Bargain

"Cesta,

The time has come sooner than expected. I have been called away from the one whose name I never told you, the one to whom I owe my own power.

Once again, I have been drawn away to the Legion's realm. I do not know when I shall return.

You have access to my home, Bruunom holds the key. It is absolutely imperative that you protect that house and everything in it. Secure it further, if you can. I would prefer it if you stayed there for the duration as well. Yes, you're allowed to have guests. No, you're not allowed to drink my whiskey.

I will die, or I will return. I do not know. But it is time for you to hold up your end of our bargain:

Live by my example, practice my teachings, and be a beacon of common sense in our eternal ocean of megalomaniacal morons. Show the other Netherlords (the real ones) this letter, and let them know I have charged you with stewardship of my affairs. Don't let Ritssyn give you any guff about it, and give Lulu my regards.

If I die, my affairs are yours until you die. Take that for what you will. I will probably survive, though, I have far too many things to do, you know.

Take care. Stay in control. Survive whatever comes... And know that I am proud of you.

- Professor Fnipper Folkor Zookenheimersteinbergbaum"

The letter played out audibly in her mind as her blind eyes stared forward. The warlock-engineer wrung her grip around the head of her cane. Fnip held his end of the deal. Now, it was time for Cesta's.

She chuckled. Her old self would've made off and ran. But her present self? She was no longer a coward, afraid to uphold her end of the bargain.

Over the months, or even years, time was always strange in the Rift, Cesta died over and over in her training: Incinerated, her soul ripped out, feasted on by felhounds, crushed by an angry felguard, cleaved in half by her mo'arg, a mechanical mishap by the Voz squad, and more. But soulstones were abundant. During her training, she was functionally immortal. Each time, each death, she grew in power.

The ren'dorei had grown into her role: demonologist, a bearer of a felfire torch. But still, Cesta felt a yearning, her companion throughout all those deaths, her teacher, gone. For now.

Tears didn't befit a warlock. Emotion was a vulnerability she couldn't afford to show in the Rift.

"Voz," her tone was slow and deliberate. "Get my shit."

"Right away, mistress!" The wyrmtongue gulped, scurrying off upstairs to the bedroom to gather his master's sundries.

Downstairs, the warlock stepped into a profane runic circle. Cesta chanted in a rasping, discordant demonic. Felfire flared at the circle's perimeter, snaking its way toward the center like a flame chasing gasoline.

As the flame ignited the center, the floor under the warlock's feet crumbled. Cesta plunged downward, through the horrific wormhole that was the Twisting Nether.

Burnt sulfur. Cesta knew this smell well as her feet met the fel-scorched rock below. Dreadscar Rift. Here, she needed no cane. Everything was as bright as fireworks, odd-shifting shapes, and silhouettes she could easily make out given the sensitivity training she underwent here.

The ren'dorei slipped by the various other warlocks. In-fighting was forbidden here. Any rule-breakers were fed to the felhounds or worse: An eternity churning in the digestive acids of the impmother's stomach.

There weren't many fights in the Rift.

Vozraal arrived like a paratrooper, a large footlocker of his master's belongings gently fluttering down beside him by parachute. He waddled beside Cesta, dragging the container behind.

"Where are we going, mistress?"

"To fulfill our end of the contract."

( mentions: @glitchphil )

[embersoot]

The Rule of Two

Do not attempt to master these magics alone. There is only one dark lord in this universe, and he will crush you underfoot. Do not fall victim to your arrogance. Combat it with education.

Pure fel--It smelled like sulfur and choking smoke. While Cesta Rosewood touted her ability to endure a variety of environments, she couldn’t help but cough every time she came back here.

She loathed coming to Dreadscar Rift, but she knew she was at least safe. There was no killing on these grounds. Anyone who broke this rule was promptly strapped to a post, incinerated, and their soul thrust into a gem where it would serve as the defecating grounds of the nearest imp swarm for all shitty eternity.

Her surroundings were bright. No need to use her imitated echolocation and no need to see through Voz’s eyes. She stepped confidently and briskly through the charred grounds and into the center of an intricate-looking runic circle. Only one display of power was needed to activate it. The elf snapped her fingers, green fire sparking from the fingertips. The ground disappeared beneath her, sucking her in. And a mere fraction of a second later, she was spit out straight onto her feet on one of the adjacent rocky islands.

“Fnipper Folkor Zookenheimersteinbergbaum. I have a request.”

[ @glitchphil ]

[embersoot]

About Cesta!

Name: Cestalia ‘Cesta’ Rosewood

Age: 373

Race: Void Elf

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Homosexual

Marital Status: Single

Server: Wyrmrest Accord

Physical Appearance

Hair: Ghostly white, side shaved on the right; shoulder-length

Eyes: Milky white; clouded irises

Height: 5’9”

Build: Toned

Tattoos/Scars: Too many to list. Numerous tattoos covering her entire form, many of it profanity, biker ink, runes, and random designs.

Accessories: Large black-tinted round glasses, a silver pocket watch 

Face Claim: Gin Wigmore

Personal

Profession: Warlock, Clockmaker, Watchmaker, Occasional Optometrist

Hobbies: Fel and shadow magic, heavy metal, mechanohog racing, taking things apart, tinkering

Residence: Stormwind City; Dreadscar Rift

Birthplace:  Silvermoon City

Languages:  Common, Thalassian, Orcish, Eredun, Goblin 

Qualities: Assertive, innovative, confident. Cesta will refuse to be looked down on and is not a stranger to conflict. She thrives in such situations. She’s known for knocking down traditions and overhauling things she sees as outdated in her eyes–a reformer by all senses of the word.

Flaws: Very hesitant on truly opening up and lowering her defenses. She often assumes most anyone she comes across is in it for themselves. Pessimistic and cynical, wary of anybody promoting altruism or otherwise offering kindness without something in return.

Fears: Loss, hyenas, losing control, becoming powerless

Relationships

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Deceased

Siblings:  Qoren Embersoot (sister)

Other Relatives: Drianna Rosewood (cousin)

Pets: Vozraal ‘Voz’ (Wyrmtongue), her seeing eye demon often polymorphed into a calico cat.

Traits

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded  / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / callous / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / uncultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

Additional Information

Smoking: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

Drugs: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

Alcohol: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

RP HOOKS

Biker - Former president of the defunct Iron Lynxes motorcycle club. The group was a rowdy mercenary group with hearts of gold. The group disbanded shortly after the Cataclysm. Even if her gang is no more, she has a penchant for high-speed mechanohog races and risking her life, an adrenaline addict who can’t get enough.

Curse and Affliction specialist within the Black Harvest. She’s successfully reversed chronic curses despite how long the person has been living with it. She’s shown natural aptitude in shadow and fel magic despite how comparatively inexperienced she is compared to the other Black Harvest members.

Embersoot Member - Her family, the Embersoots, were a house of mavericks in Silvermoon City, enamored by engineering. They are influenced by Dwarvish and Gnomish steam technology and is one of the household names as it pertains to engineering within Silvermoon.

Occasional Optometrist in Stormwind City. Despite her blindness, she uses a polymorphed wyrmtongue-to-cat Vozraal as an aid to give glasses prescriptions. Her clinic is small, located in a small nook within the Mage District, and it serves both as a front for her more unscrupulous activities in warlockery and a reliable way of making legitimate coin.

OOC NOTES

Cesta is an alt character and comes second to Remy and Gregory over at @thornbolts.

Run on PST and fulltime college student. Replies may get sporadic to non-existent during exam weeks.

Always up for pre-established relationships. Just holler!

[thornbolts]

🍿- ALL OF THEM

Send 🍿 and my muse will tell yours exactly what they think of them at that moment.

(For those who have interacted with Ero!)

Rem - “Ero? Can’t get a good read on her. But she’d make a fine bounty hunter if she focused that... just overall...” She motioned her hands in a wide circle. “Weirdness inta bounty huntin’.”

Cesta - “Ey! That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Back in the mercs, she was a pretty good hunter. A bit creepy and maybe intimidating, but she was good at what she did.”

Angrin - “A controversial figure in my life that appears to want to do good, but I can’t condone her past. Is it enough to forgive her past completely? Likely not. But... I would protect her all the same, as she has protected me. She is family.”

Thank you for the ask, @madnessofthefirmament !

[thornbolts]

Character Overview!

Up to nearly forty followers. That’s insane! Back when I made this tumblr, I was originally intending to only get a few close friends. I’m so thankful for the support. This still feels surreal. I didn’t even know tumblr RP was a thing until we were making a tumblr for the Fence Macabre. So from the bottom of my heart: Thank y’all, and y’all are awesome.

That being said, for all the new folks, here’s what’s in store for y’all!:

Remington Thornbolt (Horde-side RP main - @thornbolts)

FC: Melanie Scrofano

Remy is my Weird West-inspired Forsaken ranger, gunslinger, death magic and witchcraft-flinging mercenary, Argent Crusade veteran, and head of the Fence Macabre traveling caravan with a heart of gold. She was raised on the rural forest border of Elwynn Forest and Westfall. Where other kids would go to school and play tag, she was hunting game with a rifle in her hands from age ten. She’s a kind soul who truly does want to leave Azeroth in a better place than when she found it despite her scars, her undeath, and all the horrors she’s seen. Remy goes against the grain, an unliving example that not all Forsaken are evil. 

I learned to love the rot, and Remy is my first dip into Forsaken RP. I couldn’t be happier with her, and I’m blown away by the reception. She’s the easiest of my characters to have a friendship with by far regardless of Alliance or Horde!

Gregory Thornbolt (Horde - @thornbolts​)

FC: Literally any human skeleton

Gregory is my skeleton barber-surgeon, widower, monk-in-training, bowler hat-wearing undead dad. He’s a gentle giant, caring for his five birds that make their nest in his rib cage, eye socket, or skull. He’s Remy’s father and can be overprotective of her and the Fence Macabre. He’s a lot more introverted and a quiet than his daughter, so it’ll take some effort to get him to wiggle out of his shell.

If you need a sawbones or someone to have a deep discussion with, skeledad may be your go-to. I’d like to RP him more, but he’s mostly been played through tumblr asks and RP prompts.

Cesta Rosewood (Alliance-side RP Main - @embersoot​)

FC: Gin Wigmore

Cesta Rosewood, formerly Embersoot, is my up and coming blind void elf warlock biker, occasional optometrist, and curse and affliction specialist. She’s my only Alliance character. She’s an adrenaline addict who seemingly can’t get enough of risking her life. Cesta lets me channel my zanier side. A former biker gang president and two-time champion of the Mirage Raceway Death Runs, Cesta will stop at nothing to get her adrenaline-fueled fix. 

With a motto of “Born to lose, live to win,’” she’s survived death races, rough and tumble mercenary work, criminal life, warlockery, and she’s won over and over with pure recklessness and guts. She’s a bit guarded and cynical of folks, but she’ll have your back until the end if you can knock down the wall she surrounds herself with.

I’m open to any pre-established relations with any of my characters and would love to see y’all interact and RP regardless if we’ve only met through tumblr!

As always, stay excellent, y’all!

[embersoot]

Honesty - Cesta

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name:  “Cestalia Olivia Embersoot. I go by ‘Rosewood’ nowadays. People don’t get to know my house name unless they’ve proven themselves trustworthy.”

Eye Color: “Milky white, with little pockets of glittering void stuff in the irises. It’s weird. I just wear glasses to cover them up.”

Hair Style/Color: “It’s white at the moment, but I dye it every color under the rainbow. Got it styled into a side shave. I’m rather fond of it now. Lets me show off my wilder side while still being comparatively professional if need be.”

Height: “Five feet and nine inches. My sister Qory got the jackpot at six feet even. Don’t ever tell her, but I’m very jealous.” 

Clothing Style: “For one, always a pair of tinted round glasses. Don’t ever leave home with them. From there, depends on the day. If I’m mainly working on the clinic, a tunic, cravat, and sweater vest. If I’m mainly going off on my own business, leather jackets or vests with spikes on the shoulders and finger less gloves.”

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears: “Becoming weak. Becoming unable to keep someone else from being taken from me. Being overshadowed by Qory.”

Your Guilty Pleasure:  “The death races. I can’t get enough of them. I never feel more free or in control than when I’m behind the wheel of whatever contraption the sponsors have for me, and I’m dodging bullets and missiles.”

Your Biggest Pet Peeve: “When people try to muscle in and try to solve my problems unprovoked. I can deal with my own conflicts. I’ll tell you if I need help.

Your Ambition for the Future: “Learn more about what I can control. The demons, the fel, the curses. I don’t quite know where to use these gifts most effectively. I don’t know if I’d ever want to settle down. It’s just not my style. I’m going to go out in a blaze of glory, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “Where the hell’s the whiskey? VOZ!”

What You Think About the Most: “My surroundings. I listen to every single sound and take in every smell and touch around me. The sensations soon take shape into things I recognize: objects, people, animals...  I’ve gotten pretty good at it after two years. I can tell people apart by the way they walk and how they smell before they even speak.”

What You Think About Before Bed: “I need to fix that damn creaking window one of these days.”

Your Best Quality Is: “My daring. I don’t give a damn about the risks. In fact, don’t even tell me the risks. Don’t tell me what to expect. Let me face each and every one of them, shove a grenade down each one’s gullet, and walk away from the explosion with the biggest shit-eating smirk ever.”

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: “Single. If I’ve got multiple people, that means I need to split my attention. That means I can’t make the other ladies fall as far for me~”

To be Loved or Respected: “Respected. It’ll suck ass that no one’ll ever truly like me, but at least I won’t get a pig sticker in the back if I look the other way.”

Beauty or Brains: “Why not both? If they’re hot, funny, lighthearted, and not uppity? Sign me up.”

Dogs or Cats: “Cats. Don’t like the barking.”

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: “Hell yes I do.”

Believe in Yourself: “Can’t do what I do without stupid confidence in yourself. Fake it till you make it. Ain’t ever heard truer words spoken in my life.” 

Believe in Love: “I... guess? Yeah. Love’s a thing in the same way grass is green.”

Want Someone: “A few, yeah. But, well, most of them just turn out with me giggling with how attractive their voices sound or admiring the way they smell. It sounds more creepy than it actually is.”

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: “Yes! Qory and I once tried to start a band! We came up with ‘Fel-lectric Sharkteeth.’ Played a couple bitchin’ songs, but it never took off.”

Done Drugs: “Of course, just like most anyone else living. Don’t actively seek them out. Like to keep my reflexes sharp for when I’m riding.”

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: “Not ever. Never will ever. I am what I am, and I don’t really give a shit if I fit in somewhere or not. I’m real to myself first and foremost.”

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: “Black. Was it obvious?”

Favorite Animal: “Gargoyles! Most metal shit I ever seen. Flying fuckers that puke out shadow? Hell yeah.”

Favorite Food: “Pretty much anything fried or horrendously unhealthy for me. Reminds me of the food stalls back at the flats. We had unhealthy shit like greasy pizza and hot dogs all the time, and I loved every damn second of it.”

Favorite Game: “Easy. FOOTBOMB!”

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: “October Twenty-sixth.”

How Old Will You Be: “Fuck. I stopped counting. Maybe in my three-hundred and seventies?”

Age You Lost Your Virginity: “Like... Mid twenties? I think?”

Does Age Matter: “If they’re hot, I don’t really give a damn.”

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality: “Laid back. Not minding a bit of danger. Maybe a bit deranged like me. Never holds me back if I want to have a bit of danger-filled fun.”

Best Eye Color: “Irrelevant. I literally give no fucks to eye color if I like a person.”

Best Hair Color: “Refer back to the eye color question.”

Best thing to do with a Partner: “What do you think?”

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: “The feeling being in danger brings. It makes my chest soar, and I can’t help but cackle like a damn maniac.”

I feel: “Weak without my sight. But the fel has amplified the other senses. I don’t need my sight to truly see.”

I hide: “To protect Qory.”

I miss: “Everyone from the Lynxes. We’ve mostly gone our separate ways, and I feel a bit empty without them.”

I wish: “I had the power to put the fucker that took Leothys from me in the dirt permanently and wear his skull as a cod piece.”

Tagged By: No one! Just thought this’d be fun after I did it on @thornbolts

Tagging: @bigdumbchicken(any!), @glitchphil (Fnip!), @ms-winford (any!), @latildarommel,  @monster-of-master, @knownashaunt, @tilnathiel, @the-real-arcanist-val (any!), @the-soiled-dove (GET AERI UP IN HERE!), @ranekvilmas

[embersoot]

Familiar Profile: Vozraal

Name: Vozraal

Age: Adult

Race: Wyrmtongue Demon

Gender: Male

Sexuality: “NO!”

Marital Status: “I SAY NO!”

Physical Appearance

Hair: Bald

Eyes: Fel green

Height: 3′1″

Build: Fun-sized

Tattoos/Scars: Burns all over his torso and back. 

Accessories: Two rings adorning the right horn, horn tip covering the left horn, a pair of comically tight goggles given to him by Cesta, Gnomish army knife, key ring, backpack

Personal

Profession: Seeing-Eye Demon, Servant, Butler, Footstool, Occasional Calico Cat

Hobbies: “Taking care of mistress, seeing for mistress, building things for mistress, keeping mistress safe, is mistress reading this?”

Residence: Rosewood Optometry Clinic, Stormwind City

Birthplace:  Twisting Nether

Languages: Demonic (Fluent), Eredun (Fluent), Common (Passable), Orcish (Passable)

Qualities: Loyal, faithful, humble, dependable

Flaws: Chaotic, whimsical, distrustful, overprotective

Fears: “Disappointing mistress!”

Relationships

Spouse: "No!”

Children: “NO!”

Parents: "No remember!”

Siblings: “Bozraal, Mozraal, Jozraal, Fozraal, Tozraal” The wyrmtongue continues until every first letter in the alphabet is used. Then he moves onto demonic letters. This continues until you stop him.

Other Relatives: Cestalia Embersoot (Master/Boss)

Pets: “Goldfish named Fries!”

Traits

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded  / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / callous / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / uncultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

Additional Information

Smoking: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

Drugs: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

Alcohol: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

[thornbolts]

2. If you have multiple muses, if you seriously had to pick ONE (MAYBE two) to keep, who would you keep? GET SOPHIE'S CHOICED M-EFFER

FUCK

It’d be a toss-up among Remy, Cesta, and Angrin, with heavy favor toward Remy and Angrin, the battle of the mains. I can’t ever truly get rid of Angrin. She’s my baby, and she’s my first RP toon.

Remy, however, is my present main. There’s too much going for her to just up and let her go. I have something truly precious and unique with her. Something I suspect has never been done on the server before.

Cesta is my secret labor of love, my dark horse. She’s near and dear to my heart as well. She’s who I pour all of my rebellious tendencies, love for heavy metal, and my overall zaniness into. 

So after contemplation, I would keep Remy and the second slot would be a split between Cesta and Angrin.

THERE’S YOUR ANSWER, @glitchphil