The council had outlasted its usefulness. The dynasty experimented with the concept of democracy. It resulted in stalling, internal squabbling, and officials so hungry for power that they betrayed their constituents. Republics, for all their appeal, were dreadful systems of governance. They were prone to rot and bloat; the officials favored their party over the people. No longer were the discussions about ideals or policy. Instead, they were used to gain favor and stuff one's pockets. Many within the council opposed the spider's edicts and auguries. They opted for personal gain over the prosperity of future generations. What inanity and avarice it took to sell the future for today's indulgences. Valerna had grown to hate them. The very system she pitched was erring and preordained to be tyrannical. The transgressions of today and tomorrow would be justified as benefiting the republic. No more; the time for cleansing out the corruption had dawned, and she'd see that the fatuousness of her naivety was thoroughly ousted. Providentially for the council, Valerna wasn't without a mite of compassion. She'd extend an olive branch, a test to gauge if perhaps her outlook was misaligned or skewed. She sat idly by as they gathered, the seats gradually filling as the expected prefaces ensued. The Araneae remained muted throughout the discourse as she reposed within her mental webbings. Her legs overlapped one another as she reclined into her seat and assumed the role of an observer. She presented a placid deportment while her arachnoid leggings preened her auburn mane. The initial discord wasn't what interested her—pointless squabblings between piggish nobles aspiring to commandeer the chaos to project their influence. An hour passed before the test would manifest itself. The once vocal chamber went quiet as they eyed the proposal submitted by their fellow members. Florentina Jorgenskull had become a point of contention. Her recent conquest of the swamp was celebrated by the people but seen as a threat by those who held power. It stood as a beacon that one outside the court could hold sway over the people's wills. That one needn't need their blessing to enact changes that might imperil the status quo. Valerna rose from her chair, her bone mold and spider silk clinging faultlessly to her buxom build as she sashayed to the eye socket. That portal granted her amber jewels a humbling look across the sprawling metropolis. Most assumed she was recusing herself, given the familial attachment. It was a logical conclusion, given she had done so in prior proceedings. The giantess spun her lip piercing with that split tongue as she listened to their debate. The matron kept still, enduring their harsh criticisms and character assassination. The guards who encircled the chamber maintained their military bearing. These men and women were loyal to the chieftain and tethered to her by an oath and their own volition. The council had waned in support over the years. The main culprit was their inability to hearken to their matron's warnings of the defiled. Those abominations attacked, and when they did, the only reason it was repulsed was due to her circumvention of their policies. Florentina also didn't obey, having determined the reports to be credible and prepared in secret. The populace had initially considered their leader to be insane. With age, she became increasingly paranoid and jumped from the shadows out of fear. In truth, the defiled's incursion saved her rule and strengthened her grip on the hearts of the citizens—something she may have utilized to induce echoes that pivoted the commoner against the parliament. Their minds were settled as they voted to exile Florentina. The council members closed their books, only to be met with the din of Valerna's footfalls. Their eyes looked over as the matron stood confidently by the adjacent eye socket. Her body leaned against the edge for support as she presented them with a still profile. "Is something wrong, Matron?" A mothkela aired, his voice met with stoicism as the others glanced at one another from bewilderment. "Do you recall once asking me what death was like, councilor? I promised to one day answer. Death is like standing atop the peak of a misty mountain, the gale roaring around you, only to discover yourself buried alive beneath the cold snow. Trapped, powerless, and alone. It's knowing what you should say but never finding the words to say it. It's the choir of all things overpowered by a great silence—the hearing of pedagogy bereft of the essence. It's like having the energy of youth, only to feel the shadow of age weigh on you. It's to understand that you're fragile, a thing so effortlessly disposed of. It's like having someone beloved with whom you've shared, invested, and sacrificed everything for, only to have them spurn you and erase everything you once were." The mothkela was confused about where this came from. An emotion shared as the others awkwardly cleared their throats. "Thank you, but I fail to see how your ramblings hold any significance on what has been discussed today. Unless there is something I missed?" The members chuckled at his quip, a frail endeavor at seizing control. However, his victory wouldn't last. The spider peered down at them with domineering eyes and an uncomfortable silence. She maintained this, robbing the flow of discourse to reassert her prominence over the situation. "You judge her; you hate her. Why? What would you have done?" It didn't take long for them to piece together who she was referring to. The councilors felt a mite of empathy. After all, Valerna was a mother and Florentina was her spawn. "Chieftain, we understand you might disapprove of this deliberation. However, sometimes, it is better to do nothing than force action. That's the truth of things. Your daughter invaded lands and is seeking to change our nation. She did so without discussing matters with the council. Be fortunate that we haven't ordered her execution. Exile, while a challenging thing, is preferable to true justice." "There is no truth in the creation. There is no magnific epiphany, no grand secret. You made a strange, unique choice, and know that is the true lesson of strength. To turn away from power that isn't your own. She's beautiful to me, my exile. A dead speck in creation, an emptiness by which the elders might be denied. I see in her the potential to see the system die. Why? Because I detest the system, I abhor that it seems to have a plan, that it will control everything to obtain some measure of design. I've brought truth when countless lives have been lost, and the council condemned it. The arrogance, as you have passed judgment on her, I've come to do the same to you all. Do you wish to witness the teaching of the desert's wars? Of all the conflicts and tragedies that cry out across time? Let me show you, those who have only seen the world through blind eyes. See it through the eyes of the one you seek to exile." The guards unsheathed their weapons as they surrounded the councilors. Their shields made a wall as they inched closer. The halls erupted into pandemonium as fear plagued their hearts. Their spears, now a thicket of death, closed in. "Traitor!" One cried from within that throng. Livestock destined to face their inescapable slaughter. "There are dark pockets of this world where few dare to explore. Inconvenient certitudes that breeds malice from those incapable of compiling the truth. This delegation is a coalition of hate and greed—an assemblage designed to line your pockets and advance your solipsistic and wanton appetites. At best, hatred is a fragile alliance that can only lead to division and tribalism. A path the desert walked, an odyssey I've watched many a nation chart. One that always ended in complete ruination. You fail to consider the ebbing of life. When one creature feels pain, it instinctively lashes out, forming a cycle of barbarity and despair. And when one mourns, it is the way of life to disseminate that suffering like a disease. I sense it; it's like a low rumbling before a great temptest. I won't stand idly by and permit you to repeat the cycle, to propagate that destructive system." Their cries swelled as the space between them and those spears diminished rapidly. "We've only done what was demanded. Call off your guards. Let us discuss this!" Another pleaded. "It's such a humbling thing to stumble and an even more humiliating to admit it." Valerna added, those eyes watching as the tips began to plunge into flesh. Those points skewered them as their blood gradually pooled onto the floor. Calmly, she strutted forward, daring not to avert her gaze from this moment. Their thrashing against the inevitable died down as, one by one, they gave up the ghost. One remained the moth from before, his body squirming among the dead of his cohorts. "I-I am..." he hyperventilated. "I-I am councillor..." "In the end, once the darkness claims you. Know that you were nothing. Merely a shadow on the wall. One whose power didn't stem from your actions but from the authority with which I and others imbued you with." Valerna raised her foot and slammed the sole of her boot into his skull. She pressed down, splattering it before looking over at her men. "Dispose of the bodies. Send word that the councilors are dead. Inform the people. Tell them the truth, that impassiveness is death. That the council refused to allow us to arm ourselves and prepare. That the spider had to terminate them to preserve their today and their children's tomorrow. Spread the word that we're at war and every second can be the difference between a tomorrow or our extermination." They nodded and raced off. The commander stayed behind as he approached his chieftain. The two turned and stared out the eye sockets across the city. "It's time. The board is cleared. My enemies, domestic and foreign, have been reduced to ashes. One last adversary remains—the final obstacle precluding the world we envision. It's time we face it, cast off the will that has imprisoned all life." The two remained silent, admiring how quiet the parliament's fall had been and relishing the sweet silence of triumph.

Here is our template,(https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RVczrOZn8y3IjWySNbt7I59kgIgt8Rlkajihr8CkHtE/edit?usp=sharing) feel free to modify it as you wish or use another one if you prefer. This is here for those who require one.

My character sheet simplified.

We don't occupy a nation, but ideals. Be not mistaken; our culture and tongues comprise our true motherland, not some arbitrary border drawn on a map." -Valerna Jorgenskull- The smell of putrefaction hung heavily in the air. And while most commemorated their victory, The chieftain wallowed in introspection upon her webbing. Notwithstanding her ambitions, Valerna never anticipated what would follow should they somehow break the cycle. The defiled represented her greatest foe and the source of her purpose. But with their defeat arose new questions. The solutions to which she was forced to confront head-on. The world had weathered the storm, and although it was wounded, it would rebuild. The spider had seen it countless times before. The will to survive and recover was something that emerged amidst the ashes. Time and time again, tragedy, like a raging forest fire, culminated in the regrowth of the brush. And it always resulted in the strengthening and advancement of society. Valerna swayed on her web within the cranium palace. Those eyes of brown gawking from the shadows and through the eye sockets. Those openings served as portals overlooking what remained of the boneyard. The devastation of her capital was equally humbling yet terrifying. Outside, the people cheered and lifted their spirits. However, to the monarch, this wink was bittersweet. She had hoped the activation of the tower would wipe away all taint, including that of her mutations. Yet, she remained, unable to atone for whatever sin beset her with this curse. The matron hadn't died. Nor did she feel as if her condition had been remedied. And without a lodestar to guide her, the giantess feared she'd eventually descend into madness or villainy. Immortality, while often romanticized by fools, brought bouts of delirium. The burden of an unending journey would have pulverized a lesser woman. And while it would have been easy to slink away and vanish behind the horizon. The call of responsibility wouldn't permit her to take the easy road. Those talons plucked her filigree. The strings' vibration rang out like a harp while the mind considered her legacy and history. The tale of the spider was clouded in both mystery and falsehood. Seldom would she divulge her odyssey, leading to bards fabricating narratives to stitch together a record. They told a great story. However, it wasn't her saga. Yet, the imagination of her people provided them solace. And who was she to tear it asunder? Nonetheless, she now thought over the truth. Valerna was born in a small coastal village. She was but a child when her hamlet was overrun by foreign soldiers. Ripped from the bosom of her elders, she was forced to espouse their culture. With each new yoke, her overlords changed, along with the lens by which she saw the world. Her thoughts, personality, and how she defined right and wrong. It was then Valerna realized a truth, ideals can destroy. On repeat, the exchanging of banners led to the ruling by foreign cultures. Valerna watched as she and her people died and were repurposed into something new. While still a young girl, she was stripped of her culture, the foundation of any developing child. Her country, family, thoughts, and identity were stolen. However, Valerna realized the truth through the constant metamorphosis. Words and thoughts, while immaterial, influenced the material world. And ever since civilization dawned, every society has held onto the same belief. When people unify underneath a single will, they transcend the limitations imposed on the sum of their parts. And what tools were best to accomplish this lofty ambition? Language and culture. She'd conquer the world not with the sword but by infiltrating their languages. By laying siege to discourse, Valerna could watch as society trekked down the path she desired. And bit by bit, much like her younger self, they also changed. She had found the way, and the world would become one and whole. Slowly their differences withered. One's tribe, species, and even their tongues were made increasingly irrelevant. And now, with the defiled eliminated, serving as proof that her experiment worked. The world that Valerna had envisioned could finally become a reality. No longer need she creep within the shadows. The foreign threats were eliminated. And the people's belief in her is, for the moment, absolute. The eternal voyager had won. And though the cost was high, their sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. The long game, while fun, had concluded. All other players were wiped from the board leaving only one left to remold the future how she saw fit. And if this was given to anyone else, they might get it wrong. And so, who better to pave the road forward? Then the one who had weaved the web that now girdled all? Valerna smirked, reclining in her hammock of webs. Her bosom inflating and deflating from content. She had won. And while she initially thought of herself as lost. She had discovered purpose...

Many a fool would dare to challenge her authority. Ever since she was a young girl, Valerna had glimpsed the folly of kings. No matter how great, all empires were subject to the law of entropy. However, if one could rule with unconditional prudence and reposition themselves amidst the bedlam of the world. A truly eternal dynasty may verify itself as possible. The defiled was a means to an end. And with their arrival came much chaos. And with that chaos came great opportunity. The world was overdue for a change. The perpetual need for a metamorphosis couldn't be abated, merely deferred. Those great genealogies that once lorded over Valerna's people were swept clean from the board. The defiled scoured the deadlands, the desert, and the northern regime. All formerly worthy adversaries were reduced to nothingness. For all its negative connotations, conflict supplied a great need for innovation. However, this presented quite a conundrum. A nation left without contest is doomed to wither. Yet chance or divine providence smiled upon the spider. Nysoesa, Florentina, and Zelena requested to gallivant north and implant their mark on the world. Many within her court opposed the very notion. With a great deal of smugness, they anathematized their yearning for autonomy as a mode to erode the dynasty's foundation. While polemic, her acceptance had riled those within her court. Chaos, her dearest comrade, was given a new body to inhabit. The upsetting of the status quo ensured her constituents would remain devoted. A society without a threat is destined to procure its foe from within its fold. And a house divided against itself could only cave in. The tribunal escorted their congregation to that promised land of milk and honey without a single exhibition of resistance. The hubbub within the senate was nothing short of irksome. Their shortsightedness epitomized itself without a mite of self-awareness. They were blind, power-hungry nits whose vision of a harmonious world could only lead to ruination. Pathetic, how could they discount the annuls of history? Discord was a way of life. And try as one may to alter reality, nature always discovered a way to preserve its dominion. How quick men were to spurn the wisdom of a woman. Their barb, while uncivilized, wouldn't ruffle the arachnid. While they wrangled, she retreated from the summit to reflect. Confidently, Valerna sashayed across that throne room. He heels ascending the steps that lead to a table. And on that surface was a single board. A game often played by children to hone their intellect. Few ever questioned its presence within the palace. And that was for the better. Valerna perched herself upon her webbing. That mesh took the form of a hammock as she swayed back and forth. Those brown eyes studied the board, and on each piece was a symbol. Some former competitors' insignia was known, while the world forgot others. The spider, on the other hand, wasn't so quick to forget. She leaned forward, pulling from her bosom a new piece before planting it on the center of the board. The tribunal, while perhaps clever, their superseding was long since considered. The matron got comfortable as she released a strand of web from her spinal feelers and yanked her bone harp close. Gingerly, she plucked their strings while she waited. The others may have been self-absorbed, but there was one within that gaggle of geese she expected more of. Notwithstanding his loyalties, she'd be disappointed if he didn't approach her privately to air his grievances. One could even say disillusioned regarding the potential she had long since observed within the pup. Assuming he failed to emerge into her burrow. Whatever his choice, the spinner of webs would keep playing her harp as she abided. That acute mind brooded over a great deal as the chieftain relished this solitude. Knowing full well it couldn't last for perpetuity.

"We don't occupy a nation, but ideals. Be not mistaken; our culture and tongues comprise our true motherland, not some arbitrary border drawn on a map." -Valerna Jorgenskull- The smell of putrefaction hung heavily in the air. And while most commemorated their victory, The chieftain wallowed in introspection upon her webbing. Notwithstanding her ambitions, Valerna never anticipated what would follow should they somehow break the cycle. The defiled represented her greatest foe and the source of her purpose. But with their defeat arose new questions. The solutions to which she was forced to confront head-on. The world had weathered the storm, and although it was wounded, it would rebuild. The spider had seen it countless times before. The will to survive and recover was something that emerged amidst the ashes. Time and time again, tragedy, like a raging forest fire, culminated in the regrowth of the brush. And it always resulted in the strengthening and advancement of society. Valerna swayed on her web within the cranium palace. Those eyes of brown gawking from the shadows and through the eye sockets. Those openings served as portals overlooking what remained of the boneyard. The devastation of her capital was equally humbling yet terrifying. Outside, the people cheered and lifted their spirits. However, to the monarch, this wink was bittersweet. She had hoped the activation of the tower would wipe away all taint, including that of her mutations. Yet, she remained, unable to atone for whatever sin beset her with this curse. The matron hadn't died. Nor did she feel as if her condition had been remedied. And without a lodestar to guide her, the giantess feared she'd eventually descend into madness or villainy. Immortality, while often romanticized by fools, brought bouts of delirium. The burden of an unending journey would have pulverized a lesser woman. And while it would have been easy to slink away and vanish behind the horizon. The call of responsibility wouldn't permit her to take the easy road. Those talons plucked her filigree. The strings' vibration rang out like a harp while the mind considered her legacy and history. The tale of the spider was clouded in both mystery and falsehood. Seldom would she divulge her odyssey, leading to bards fabricating narratives to stitch together a record. They told a great story. However, it wasn't her saga. Yet, the imagination of her people provided them solace. And who was she to tear it asunder? Nonetheless, she now thought over the truth. Valerna was born in a small coastal village. She was but a child when her hamlet was overrun by foreign soldiers. Ripped from the bosom of her elders, she was forced to espouse their culture. With each new yoke, her overlords changed, along with the lens by which she saw the world. Her thoughts, personality, and how she defined right and wrong. It was then Valerna realized a truth, ideals can destroy. On repeat, the exchanging of banners led to the ruling by foreign cultures. Valerna watched as she and her people died and were repurposed into something new. While still a young girl, she was stripped of her culture, the foundation of any developing child. Her country, family, thoughts, and identity were stolen. However, Valerna realized the truth through the constant metamorphosis. Words and thoughts, while immaterial, influenced the material world. And ever since civilization dawned, every society has held onto the same belief. When people unify underneath a single will, they transcend the limitations imposed on the sum of their parts. And what tools were best to accomplish this lofty ambition? Language and culture. She'd conquer the world not with the sword but by infiltrating their languages. By laying siege to discourse, Valerna could watch as society trekked down the path she desired. And bit by bit, much like her younger self, they also changed. She had found the way, and the world would become one and whole. Slowly their differences withered. One's tribe, species, and even their tongues were made increasingly irrelevant. And now, with the defiled eliminated, serving as proof that her experiment worked. The world that Valerna had envisioned could finally become a reality. No longer need she creep within the shadows. The foreign threats were eliminated. And the people's belief in her is, for the moment, absolute. The eternal voyager had won. And though the cost was high, their sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. The long game, while fun, had concluded. All other players were wiped from the board leaving only one left to remold the future how she saw fit. And if this was given to anyone else, they might get it wrong. And so, who better to pave the road forward? Then the one who had weaved the web that now girdled all? Valerna smirked, reclining in her hammock of webs. Her bosom inflating and deflating from content. She had won. And while she initially thought of herself as lost. She had discovered purpose...

Whatever moniker it went by these days, this providence was a land that flowed with milk and honey. And while the peasants who anointed this hamlet as home may conceive themselves as struggling. Yet the drudgery they experienced was dwarfed by the enmity of her motherland. Here, within this seaport girdled by expanses of green pasturages and farmsteads, chimed forth joviality and an ameliorating ambiance. The crooning of birds, the spectacle of vibrant flowers, and the crisp cerulean skies were an affidavit toward the region's placidity. Nonetheless, beneath this veneer of tranquility lurked a shadow. And while most might remain oblivious to its weight, Valerna had trekked this globe long enough to find their attitude as suspect. The din from the bazaar rang out, wafting athwart the acoustics on the back of a warm breeze—the redolence of the sea, the crashing of its waves against the coastal rocks evoking better days. This wayward soul is an eternal voyager. And the recollections of yesteryear amalgamated, forming a murky pond. Yet despite her mirthful sashaying, the giantess wallowed within the depths of despondency. She was an apparition, a phantom of yore that trekked from generation to generation, perpetually entangled within the ambivalence of this plane. The kerfuffle she endured wasn't carried out of self-pity or some melodramatic stupor. No, she languished within it with the aspirations of disseminating kernels of change. Valerna Jorgenskull, the one without a home or purpose to call her own. Had born this cross to vicariously glean merriment through the evaporation of woes that beset this rancours world. Within those copper orbs, if she was damned to tarry without end, she might as well invest it to make others' lives a bit more tolerable. They may be oblivious of her sacrifice, but their psalms of adoration were immaterial. And, more than likely, would cheapen the altruistic route she adopted. Through the ingestion of such a philosophy, that all too elusive nomenclature dubbed as purpose might yet materialize. She'd sough laboriously, snaking between the traffic of locals who went about their mundane affairs unperturbed. She needed her poison, the swill that might hush the murmurs of brothers and sisters gone. Eventually, her persistence was rewarded as the Araneae discovered herself standing outside a middling establishment. This lair or iniquity reeked of inebriation and sorrow. Nevertheless, a sanctuary might reside inside. Once more, the wayfarer inspected her surroundings. Her sights took in the weathered road and buildings of this intersection. Before she sequentially strode forward, scaling up the steps of stained stoned. Tentatively the giantess reached out her hand, clutching that handle of bronze only to push the barrier open. That fetid stench of cheap booze and desperation surged from that gaped maw. Her nostrils flared while that forerunner of vice laved over her. Standing by the door for a second, her voluptuary sculpture was enveloped by the ambient light. And while she might have reconsidered her decision, the spider saw little prudence in retreating now. Valerna stepped forward, slipping beyond the threshold as the door slammed shut. Her full-figure bedecked in armor of bone and hide that hugged her curves. Across her habiliment were feathers vivid in hue, originally belonging to that of an enlarged peacock. Silently, she inspected the vestibule only to swagger beyond and across the tavern. The drivel of the denizens was ignored, along with the periodic stare stoked by hedonism. The traveler being a giant, saw no discomfiture in experiencing the pleasures of the flesh. And so their sparse prolonged gazes elicited no ire and seldom a second thought. Her steps desisted while the web weaver roosted within an empty booth tucked along the corner—the distant flickering of a crackling fire pierced the shade, underscoring the weary sojourner's visage. Relieved, the redhead leaned into the cushions and relaxed her muscles only to cross one leg on top of the other. Now comfortable, Valerna would mull over her gut instinct. Was there something amiss with this picturesque settlement? Or was it possible that paranoia chiseled away at her sanity through her decades of traveling? Regardless, for now, this outlander knew one thing to be sure, that she needed her libation of choice. And what better way to pass the time than frolicking within one's needs? The arachnoid had arrived early, and while her general might be concealed amidst the sea of faces, she wouldn't vex. No, the loyal pup would seek out his mistress if he were present. And once thy commenced this meeting, the lady of the jungle could regale the kitsune with her adventure. Still, she wondered if Watari would chide her? The queen had, after all, snuck away without an armed escort. A risk, while outwardly senseless, established itself as unavoidable if the chieftain expected to obtain that relic. And now, with the index in hand, she felt a sense of achievement. Valerna placed her order for a blood martini while her spindly talons brushed through those claret locks. An expression of egotism cemented itself across that striking countenance. The predator was convinced that the fruit of her toiling would prove beneficial. However, it remained unseen if her comrades would feel the same. A moot point, given she'd triturate their disbelieve by exhibiting the use of that "trinket" should doubts surface. And so there, within the confines of those walls. The spider unwound and yielded herself to that song—a paean to the wanderer that came only from a tavern's atmosphere.

The paucity of self-indulgence had whittled the arachnoid to her core. Her time was often invested in manners regarding the bigger picture. The fickled nature of others often fostered with it destructive aims. And while outwardly her federation might appear tranquil, the thread weaver wasn't one to adopt complacency. Valerna had witnessed many times how things tended to succumb to entropy. If her umbrella state were to endure, it demanded continuous prudence and awareness. Yet, in lieu of her reputation, Valerna Jorgenskull was still very much a woman and panged after the same things all ladies yearned after. For too long, she had abided within the tenebrosity of her lair, weaving quite the filigree to keep her empire from tearing apart at the seams. This solitude sowed seeds of temerity, internal plights that led the spider to second guess her crusade. Recently, she had opened her heart to another, a jackal who had been appointed as her chaperon. Their time together materialized as promising, convincing the nonnative to extend an offer. The spider had left her heart wide open, all for the hopes of feeling an emotion long since deprived of her, love. There, within her lodgings, the auburn-haired beauty donned her most gorgeous attire, lit the finest scented candles, and even prepared a meal famed within her homeland. She had hoped that such exposures to her culture might guide Niazmina to dismiss the propaganda she had surfeited on. Alone she waited, nervously playing out how things might transpire. The pale beauty was rehearsing the event within her mind as if preparing herself for failure. The hours crept on by. Initially, Valerna duped herself into believing maybe her duties were responsible for her tardiness. Yet as the sun settled beyond the horizon, she sat alone in the darkness. The spider came to terms with the truth. Her monstrous appearance and foreign attire must have repulsed the necromancer. Ironic, the chieftain had subjugated nations, led the development of industry, and built up a superpower from nothing. Yet was powerless within the foray of matters regarding the heart. She rose from her seated position, blowing out the remaining candles while cleaning up the mess she had created. Only to once more crawl into her cold web and sleep as she had lived, alone. Come morning, she would be gone, traveling from Emerald city to Nirvana, the sands capital. Upon her arrival, it was the typical fanfare, although this time, it chimed hollow. Alone, she organized her dwellings by laying out various trinkets of her homeland—artifacts that granted a fleeting glimpse into her history as a hunter, wanderer, and sovereign. Once she had finished reorganizing her quarters for a future meeting that she conspired. The pale beauty stepped beyond her room, perching upon the balcony overlooking this familiar metropolis. Her curvaceous shape is bedecked by emerald and sapphire gemstones and a kaleidoscopic array of feathers. These prized possessions made up a stunning headpiece and a cascading dress. The jewels glued onto her body, and the painting underneath seemed to twinkle under the ambient light. Her risque habiliment was equally as regal as it was titillating, the ideal analogy to illustrate her people and their culture. Yet, notwithstanding her bold choice of attire, Valerna Jorgenskull felt anything but colorful. Privately, she still quarreled with that rejection. Her mind replayed that event on loop as if trying to locate where things went awry. Ultimately she didn't blame Niazmina; instead she kept the onus fixated on herself.

Character Sheet click to view (https://www.verdantdynasty.com/valernasimplified) Valerna Jorgenskull played since 2005. Verdantrain is the password to view her