The world remained suspended within a fleeting wink of tranquility- a great calm before a most severe storm, the squall of which would shake the very foundations of the globe. Florentina, however, wasn't blinded to reality's ambivalence. The serenity prescribed, while welcomed, did little to conceal the true purpose of life. Hextor catalyzed the verification and propagation of her philosophy. It stood as a beacon of hope, a light to those who held the spirit of a warrior. Many might denounce the fenland as abhorrent, a province of decay and pestilence. In their eyes, it is an eyesore, a blight. Nonetheless, Florentina beheld it as beautiful, the ideal embodiment of this rancours world. That's why she laid down her roots and began the creation of a new power. She desired to send forth her gospel across the four corners of the planet. Those apprentices she took under her wing were to serve as apostles, living testaments. They were experiments of sorts, hence their diversity. The blonde wondered if those born under different conditions could spark a righteous flame. Unfortunately, their bodies were weak. But that presented a most tempting opportunity—the chance to sculpt their miserable mortal coils into something fearsome. The training had already commenced. Two months had passed, and so far, all they did was march and work out without a day off. The uneducated among us might consider the primary purpose to be the refinement of the flesh. While true, it wasn't the main drive behind her uncompromising expectations and training. No, Florentina wished to test their grit and spirit. She longed to reconstruct their earthly vessels and their mind and spirit. Today would begin like any other—a loud blaring horn at four in the morning to rouse the apprentices from their slumber. The diva stood in her backyard; her body bedecked in her signature shielding of shell and web. Those malachite eyes stared coldly at her abode while she began to count out loud. Etienne and Roha both had two minutes to get dressed and be outside. Flora's voice was booming, slipping through those secured walls to underscore the importance of punctuality. Her muscles flexed against the spider silk and bone shielding as she settled her arms underneath her bosom. Those forearms supported her bust as it puffed with pride. Those fingers clenched the spider silk and her biceps as she waited. The cadence in her voice grew in its demand as time passed. The soundscape of the bog was rather pronounced this morning. The slimy willow trees in the distance were barely visible as the sun had begun creeping from over the horizon. The heavens were still dark, with the faintest glow of pink inching from the edge of the welkin. The cold air was soon to be usurped by mugginess. The distant buzzing of insects and the cries of the birds painted a sense of isolation. Florentina kept a composed expression throughout her waiting. And should they make it or time or not, they'd be met with a disappointed glint in those malachite eyes. Flora remained silent, as she often did, almost as if waiting for the students to open with an introduction or greeting. The towering brute paced back and forth as her side faced anyone who joined the formation. Her presence, demeanor, and silence were all a projection of her authority, a methodology by which she commanded respect and dominance over every facet of their relationship. Civilians might see this as indifferent or cold. But they couldn't have been further from the truth. While a worthwhile tool, kindness held no place in this sacrosanct ritual. Etienne and Roha must be ready to face the coming darkness alone. And anything that hampered that aim increased the likelihood of their death. In Florentina's eyes, given she is mentoring them, their blood is on her hands if she should compromise it for privileged sensitivities.

Ever since that blasted locomotive the diva felt she was becoming soft. Foolishly she had welcomed squatters into her home. Buzzards that munched on her food and were questionably mentally lacking. Florentina had accepted the herculean feat of whipping these louts into shape. It had become a pet project of hers. If the inquisitor could work a miracle they'd unwittingly propagate her gospel and superiority. Who knows, one of them might even demonstrate themselves as a useless asset for the state. Florentina mulled over this as the morning light crept over the horizon. Her chiseled form was left bare as she prepared a cup of coffee. A ritual of sorts that the freeloaders had likely grown accustomed to. Without mortification she stood nude, her obelisk of flesh dangled between those legs as she loitered by the door. The aroma of the brew and its bitter taste heralded a most auspicious day. The furlough she had been granted provided respite and time for soul searching. And she intended to make use of every second. The routine was always the same. A light breakfast before the crack of dawn. A cup of coffee while she watched the sun inch from the borders of the world. Afterward, she'd begin her workout for a few hours, then swim and sunbathe, before sparring. Come the afternoon she sometimes went hunting with her raptor. The adorable critter still sleeping in the bed she had custom built for him. Then she'd prepare the game, cook dinner and read. Frequently one of her various suitors would arrive, and she'd thunderously and mercilessly rail into her. Flora would throw her out, shower, sleep, and repeat. The hobo's she had taken in like strays had altered her habit, albeit slightly. Sometimes they'd interact and talk. Occasionally they'd express interest in becoming a student. A proposal she had recently begun to seriously entertain. In truth, the blonde had already begun piecing together a roadmap. A boot camp to hone their flabby bodies into the chiseled pinnacles of masculinity. The giantess finished her brew before settling the empty container on the table. The door slid open as Flo stepped out onto her patio. The soundscape of the marsh greeted her while her malachite eyes scanned the perimeter of her property. A hefty sigh followed as she took in the crisp morning air. Today would be humid, and perspiring only motivated her to push herself even harder. This snapshot of serenity wouldn't last as the monk reflected on her life so far. Florentina felt compelled to disobey her routine. Perhaps instead of training she'd interact with one of the bums? She'd keep silent as she dropped to her knees. The giantess performed a split as she loosened those impressive muscles. That corporeal vessel contorted in various ways to showcase her pliability. The legs wrapped behind her nape as the diva walked on her hands. Those ripped ligaments formed a V while she paced back and forth, groaning. Feeling loose, the giant relaxed, standing upright with her legs spread wide open and those hands on her broad hips. Florentina embraced the kiss of the sols as the crooning of the birds welcomed the new day. There she'd remain, denuded and devoid of shame while presenting an air of wholeness. But one thing was different about her. Something that the giantess hadn't noted. She had grown overnight. Now standing thirteen feet. A sign of the changes occurring in her body due to the artifact she allegedly wolfed down. That, or she was experiencing puberty all over again...

Ever since that blasted locomotive the diva felt she was becoming soft. Foolishly she had welcomed squatters into her home. Buzzards that munched on her food and were questionably mentally lacking. Florentina had accepted the herculean feat of whipping these louts into shape. It had become a pet project of hers. If the inquisitor could work a miracle they'd unwittingly propagate her gospel and superiority. Who knows, one of them might even demonstrate themselves as a useless asset for the state. Florentina mulled over this as the morning light crept over the horizon. Her chiseled form was left bare as she prepared a cup of coffee. A ritual of sorts that the freeloaders had likely grown accustomed to. Without mortification she stood nude, her obelisk of flesh dangled between those legs as she loitered by the door. The aroma of the brew and its bitter taste heralded a most auspicious day. The furlough she had been granted provided respite and time for soul searching. And she intended to make use of every second. The routine was always the same. A light breakfast before the crack of dawn. A cup of coffee while she watched the sun inch from the borders of the world. Afterward, she'd begin her workout for a few hours, then swim and sunbathe, before sparring. Come the afternoon she sometimes went hunting with her raptor. The adorable critter still sleeping in the bed she had custom built for him. Then she'd prepare the game, cook dinner and read. Frequently one of her various suitors would arrive, and she'd thunderously and mercilessly rail into her. Flora would throw her out, shower, sleep, and repeat. The hobo's she had taken in like strays had altered her habit, albeit slightly. Sometimes they'd interact and talk. Occasionally they'd express interest in becoming a student. A proposal she had recently begun to seriously entertain. In truth, the blonde had already begun piecing together a roadmap. A boot camp to hone their flabby bodies into the chiseled pinnacles of masculinity. The giantess finished her brew before settling the empty container on the table. The door slid open as Flo stepped out onto her patio. The soundscape of the marsh greeted her while her malachite eyes scanned the perimeter of her property. A hefty sigh followed as she took in the crisp morning air. Today would be humid, and perspiring only motivated her to push herself even harder. This snapshot of serenity wouldn't last as the monk reflected on her life so far. Florentina felt compelled to disobey her routine. Perhaps instead of training she'd interact with one of the bums? She'd keep silent as she dropped to her knees. The giantess performed a split as she loosened those impressive muscles. That corporeal vessel contorted in various ways to showcase her pliability. The legs wrapped behind her nape as the diva walked on her hands. Those ripped ligaments formed a V while she paced back and forth, groaning. Feeling loose, the giant relaxed, standing upright with her legs spread wide open and those hands on her broad hips. Florentina embraced the kiss of the sols as the crooning of the birds welcomed the new day. There she'd remain, denuded and devoid of shame while presenting an air of wholeness. But one thing was different about her. Something that the giantess hadn't noted. She had grown overnight. Now standing thirteen feet. A sign of the changes occurring in her body due to the artifact she allegedly wolfed down. That, or she was experiencing puberty all over again...

Peace was a delusion conceived by spineless louts to refute the antagonism ingrained into the fabric of the universe. Regardless of their place within the natural hierarchy, every entity was bound to this tenet. The struggle to survive was irrefutable, and from such tribulations, life blossomed. Progress without conflict appeared as nothing more than whimsical thinking. Organisms adapted to the ordeals strewn across their path. Some overcame such hurdles, while others weren't so fortunate. The ebbing and flowing of life is perpetually standing on a knife's edge. Many a savant would decry war. They were quick to label it as a net loss. And while the lesser facets of such conflicts were unmistakable, few possessed the sagacity to highlight the advancement it birthed. While sanguinary, the fires of ambivalence toiled as a catalyst for progress. Untold technologies were begotten within that womb, the benefits of which bettered even the commoner's life. The corpses of soldiers were the brick-and-mortar that empires were built on. And their sacrifices were merely a footnote within the chronicles of history. Freedom was liberally prescribed to all, yet few knew the cost. Revoltingly, the upper and lower classes surfeited on the harvest that bloomed from their blood. And seldom did they consider a single name of the soldiers who perished for their luxury. Notwithstanding prosperity and the allure of tranquility, those few and proud saw beyond the veil. The illusion, while appealing, concealed a disheartening truth. At any moment, the seeds of chaos might bud, and their garden of prosperity might be choked. Florentina was a gardener. She shouldered the responsibility of her station. It was a thankless job that roused many to denote her as unvirtuous. However, through the sweat of her brow and the uprooting of those weeds, the naysayers basked in the warm rays of serenity. As an operative of the red sap, the diva often bore witness to the lesser inclinations of civilization. The rot persistently strove to eat away at the root of their society. The giant was a tool of the state, a weapon unleashed to defend the realm. And the myriad of threats tormenting their jungle was both foreign and domestic. Throughout her missions, Florentina had been dispatched to deal with all manners of monsters. And while most were keen to construct beasts as the face of such abominations, the diva knew that reality was far from so shallow. The greatest of demons didn't don horns, fangs, or claws. No, they wore the skin of men but harbored a blackened and putrified heart. Chaos was a gradual descent into entropy to the laypeople. But it was a quick route to power to assiduous and cunning minds. For if there was one thing she had gleaned during her time in service, one would be a fool to let a tragedy go to waste. Incrementally, she watched as houses matured and bloomed in the garden. One by one, the scythe of justice decapitated them. Yet, those few who flourished have a few traits in common. Attributes, while detestable, underscored an inconvenient certitude. Power presented longevity. Not just brawn or the amount of bannerman under one's yoke. While these were valid instruments of strength, they didn't guarantee a continued existence. However, what did was something nuanced, adaptability. The capacity to give and take ground depended on the season. To appear vulnerable when you were strong and formidable when you were weak. And that's what separated a great predator from an apex. And the agent aspired to be the pinnacle hunter. The hunt was the one thing that delivered with it a pittance of solace. And it was here, sequestered from the hubbub of society, that Florentina discovered a connection. Confidently, the giantess trodded down the road—a pathway where the brush was kept at bay due to the natural traffic of the wilderness. The verdant canopy was thick, providing much-needed shade as the towering mass of muscles relished the reprieve. Her chiseled build was clad in the armor of spider silk and bone. The osseous material is vibrant in hue and resembles a tortoiseshell's pattern. Secretly it paid homage to the turziens, shelled reptilians that inhabited the bog. Florentina remained alert as she trekked along, those gloved palms brushing against the foliage as those attentive eyes surveyed the scene. The calls of wildlife and the beauty of the jungle mesmerized most. But the monk knew better than to fall prey to its snare. In nature, the most beautiful of things often proclaimed lethality. And prowling just beyond the veneer of placidity was always a ravenous predator. Abruptly Florentina desisted in her stride, the blonde squatting down as she investigated the mud. The imprints of quarry and their predators were visible on the earth. She smiled, admiring the perpetual bout that signified a balanced ecosystem. The sleuth deemed most below her. Nevertheless, she wasn't ludicrous enough to dismiss their shared symbiotic nature. Mediocrity required excellency to lord over them. And those considered elite couldn't subsist without the grub squirming at their heels. The inquisitor was different from most maidens. And the distinctions exceeded the surface. In contrast, many dames might have fancied the image of a knight whisking them off their feet. The diva scoffed at such notions. In her mind, if one was to be delivered from destitution, they could only discover salvation via their own hands. Physically, she differed not just in her muscular build but in her unique birthing. And it was that flap over her groin that concealed her ambiguous gender. The hiding of that addition wasn't done out of shame. No, Florentina had come to terms and embraced what she was. The giants, despite their faults, were quite open-minded concerning such matters. But the other races, they were more improvident and narrow-minded. The atomic blonde obscured it to circumvent aggression or odd stares. And being a representative of the red sap, public relationships did matter—a facet of her line of work she scarcely admitted. Gradually, those brawny thighs flexed as the diva stood upright. Her face winced due to an injury she had sustained. A wound that is hidden from sight to avoid an appearance of weakness. Grousing a slew of profanities under her breath as Florentina composed herself. She had to conclude her mission; she needed to deliver her report. And the defiant operative would be damned if her story would end due to a flesh wound. Those sharp eyes examined her surroundings as she moved to a nearby tree. Florentina leaned against its rigid bark as she closed those eyes and sighed. A gentle breeze kissed her sweaty skin as it cooled her temperature. That pause served as a mode by which she could build up confidence and some energy before making the long and arduous hike back to her abode. The thought of besting this challenge inspired a smirk across her striking visage. The harrowing events of that train left the operative momentarily slaked. Nevertheless, it also ushered with it a semblance of forlornness. Despite Florentina's slew of accolades, the diva was alone. And no amount of work would remedy this fact. She groused, mumbling with the psithurism as an audible cloak to drown out her speech.

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Many a fool presumed war to be a construction of intelligent life. Yet, one look at the natural order dispelled this misconception. Regardless of its complexity, every organism is birthed under a single truth. From prey to predator, none escape the gelid grip of that Darwinian tussle. That to survive, they must skirmish with their environment. And those the macrocosm deems inept are condemned to oblivion. Florentina was one such soul caught within that most primal of calls. Another speck cast adrift within the astral winds of an irate universe. And at any moment, she too could be swallowed by the fires of war that had baptized her. The downpour of blood soaked the foundation of any society. The kerfuffle of acrimony is the bedrock by which civilization rose. The bedlam of conflict functioned as the catalyst that propelled a nation to new zeniths. Those malachite eyes beheld the world under such a lens. Flora deemed those who withered under the pitiless heat of battle to be unfit. Individuals deserving of the fate rendered onto them by an apathetic system. And while perhaps cruel, the reality of our existence isn't dependent on our erroneous positions. She fought and held the line while many scholars philosophized. Wordlessly, she bore the yoke of condemnation and the moral grandstanding of nits. Highfalutin and virtuously, they dispensed with their "righteous" indignation. They imprinted their labels while clueless that they could only do so due to the bodies of soldiers that made up the bricks of their society. And whenever the enemy was at their borders. The dearth of their drivel seemed inescapable. The diva had tasted the hedonism and sanguinary facets of existence. Not once shying away from the inconvenient characteristics of our world. It was a thankless job. A duty she assumed, knowing that others might get it wrong. And the ramifications of which were far-reaching. The warden of the north, a moniker many foreigners might assume was an empty platitude. However, the giantess took it seriously and bore that appellation with pride and distinction. And despite her self-assuredness, the princess understood she couldn't achieve her rightful place alone. Nysoesa, her wife, was one such ally. Zelena that cephalopod paved the way for a more diplomatic approach with the Memorians. And lastly, there was Kan-Xib-Yui. A turzien, who, while not the brightest asset. His fidelity and countenance coerced the reptiles and amphibians to capitulate under her rule—all of this and more coalesced and germinated into a coalition. The diva soughed, her eyes ranging across the horizon as her forces assembled along the northern border of the bog. How ironic that this murky fen stood as the birthplace of her legacy. That she, the prime of beauty and power, governed such silt. While an effrontery, the experience was...humbling. This outpost was to serve as the launching point of her expansion. Florentina wouldn't march south and risk the ire of her neighbors. No, she'd take advantage of the vacuum left behind by the defiled invasion to push northbound. There, she'd bring her hive and implant the kernels for the new world. And the word of this expedition traveled with the blessing of the Verdant Dynasty's matriarch, her mother. Who would answer that call and brave the necrotic swampland? Who would marshal the courage and resolve to bend their knee to her new empire? Perhaps none. But either way, this was her last kind deed before withdrawing from this nation of ingrates—the final lifeline for any itinerant souls who aspire to take not the easy but the difficult path. @gumbo

Florentina | Whitesand Empire(https://www.verdantdynasty.com/florentina) Click to view NSFW 18+ Florentina Jorgenskull (Red Sap) Played since 2012