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Topics - 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫

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Private Threads / [ TENDER RAIN | PRIVATE ]
« on: April 04, 2018, 04:07:48 PM »
It’s the sweet, alluring scent of newly harvested fruits that she assumes draws the large, foreign creature near, warm eyes watching her with the most intent of gazes as sharp, golden framed fangs dig into the soft, supple flesh of a recently peeled mango. There’s a pleasurable noise that rumbles deep within her throat as she takes yet another, oblivious bite, juice immediately dribbling down her chin and onto her dampened chest-wrap as she enjoys the bliss that accompanies another well acquired meal. She’s still somewhat soaked from her earlier slip-and-fall into the pond across from her, thin clothing material the slightest bit see-through, long, wild locks of hair clinging desperately to her pretty, freckled face, beads of unwiped water rolling down exposed abdominal muscles. However, she doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, legs crossed securely against one another as she instead focuses all of her attention onto the collection of compiled succulents. Perhaps that’s why she’s unable to hear the steady clack of hooves against grainy soil, gradually drawing closer, and closer…

There’s an immediate shift in her composure as a hot, hay-reeking huff suddenly hits the nape of her neck, shoulders tensing, the rest of her body snapping into a completely rigid state. Without a moment of hesitation, heavily tattooed fingers reach for the metal spear at her side, hands gripping it with such intense vigor that she swears she can feel the exact moment her knuckles start turning white. She has half the mind to smack the thing away with the blunt side of her weapon, the gesture perhaps enough to startle away whatever is now chewing on the end-strands of her hair. She’s just about to do it, too, when a quiet, neighing noise startles her enough to turn around completely, fiery, amber eyes going wide. They’re face-to-face now, all air escaping her lungs in a mild panic, strangely shaped teeth barred like a fierce animal. It’s a horse, and he seems more interested in the fruit she currently holds rather than hurting her.

It’s not much of a consolation for Solene as she realizes the reason behind his closeness, unspeakable swear words escaping from her mouth and out into the open as he shamelessly prods at her hands. There’s an obvious flinch on her part, but she takes apart the fruit anyway, making sure there’s no seed for him to choke on before cautiously moving it his way. It’s consumed in seconds, and she takes this opportunity to crawl away, back dragging against the ground, only to be once again followed by this incessant imbecile. He wants more. “Begone, ya’ giant brute! I 'ave nothin' left for ya'.” She swats the air, trying to increase the distance between them, and she’s met with frivolous, noncomplient licks. “No, doh’ do that!” Words are muffled, tone tinged with an unfamiliar combination of fear and annoyance. She hates horses.

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Character Creation / 「 NOTES | THE SORCERESS. 」
« on: March 05, 2018, 11:05:45 PM »
SOLENE DIOR LECLAIR


「  EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH TURNS TO GOLD    ☼ 」
STATUES AND EMPIRES ARE ALL AT YOUR HANDS, WATER TO WINE & THE FINEST OF SANDS


WHEN ALL THAT YOU HAVE'S TURNIN' STALE AND IT'S COLD.   
TEMPLATE BY @SILENT
NOT FOR FREE USE

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☼ — SOLENE DIOR LECLAIR & ❝ THE SORCERESS❞
                                                                                                                                                               

STATUES AND EMPIRES ARE ALL AT YOUR HANDS / WATER TO WINE AND THE FINEST OF SANDS / WHEN ALL THAT YOU HAVE'S TURNIN' STALE AND IT'S COLD / OH YOU'LL NO LONGER FEEL WHEN YOUR HEART'S TURNED TO GOLD / WHO CAN YOU TRUST / WHEN EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING, YOU TOUCH TURNS TO GOLD                                  


 

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Northstar District / DEEP INTO YOUR HEART & SOUL — INTRODUCTION
« on: December 09, 2017, 12:39:20 AM »
/ it’s her first appearance so this can be considered a joining kinda ?? lmao i just wanted to make it interesting :^)

It only takes two and a half minutes – from her brisk walk through the jungle’s lush foliage, through the tangled vines and torn over roots, to her entrance into the old-fashioned city scape – for her to decide that she hates this place. If you were to ask her why, she most likely wouldn’t be able to provide a definitive answer, unable to pinpoint the exact reason behind her already strong opinions. Nevertheless, the feeling is there, and it leaves a sour expression on her pretty, freckled features as she strolls casually along the winding, dirt paths of the region’s main camp. Perhaps it’s the humidity, the damp warmth leaving her caramel skin sticky, the long, messy, black ringlets that make up her hair, rising in volume. It’s like a lion’s mane, wild and untamed, falling freely against her hips and sticking out in all conceivable directions. It could possibly be the wildlife, creatures lurking in every conceivable corner, a long, wooden stick in hand as she whacks those who dare get too close, yelling in a unique, unheard tongue. Or maybe it’s how much this godforsaken place manages to feel like home, her stomach churning with an uncomfortable sense of unwanted familiarity that she swiftly shoves away. And just like that, it’s gone.

There’s no time to dwell on the matter, and instead she continues along her merry way, bare feet stomping up a storm, the golden bracelets decorating her ankles providing a soft jingle while she moves against the gradual flow of residents and into their quaint, little shopping district. Hands on her hips, the Obeah practitioner stumbles upon what she deems a suitable spot, and proceeds to set up her own, measly, beige tent, hell-bent on trade. She'’s beginning to run low on major necessities, so what better way to restock than to attract some willing customers with what she does best; sorcery. Yes, that’s right – sorcery. It’s an old kind of magic -- spiritual. One with ancient, religious roots that keep her connected to an island she barely remembers, and a mother she once knew, long ago. By the time Solene finishes it'’s late in the evening, and she soon becomes vividly aware of the ache in her legs, teeth clenching together as she both lights and hangs the last of the decorative lanterns, the distinct heat of fatigue flushing gold painted cheeks.

The flames give an eerie flicker once, twice, and illuminate the scratched-in signs hanging from her puny abode, flat wood reading “Psychic readings, Charms, Spells, Herbs & Remedies.” Scattered across her clothed, foldable table are various homemade necklaces, and hand carved trinkets, varying in both shape and design. Beside them are an assortment of crystals, from simple quartz to more elaborate gemstones, their surfaces smoothed over nicely. Then there’s the herbs, varying from far off regions dried out and placed into skinny, glass test tubes, sealed shut with a cork, and preserved. Around the tent, chimes are arranged, trinkets for warding off evil, giving off gentle, soothing sounds as the dance willingly in the breeze.
 
It’s certainly not much, but it’s enough to leave the girl satisfied, the corners of her lips curling slowly as she takes a seat on her stool, lighting a pipe of pure jade before drawing it to her gold painted lips. She exhales, and a puff of smoke follows, the obvious smell of nicotine followed by lulling traces of lavender, a process that continues several times as she waits patiently, listening for the shallow murmur of spirits from the beyond.

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