top of page
Basic Info
Bio, Genesis
Bio, The General
Bio, Memoirs

Message to her general.

Many a fool regard an eternal voyage to be a boon. However, few can conceive the malediction lurking 'neath the veneer. I've experienced a myriad of tragedies and travesties alike during this unremitting odyssey. The inanity of kings and the viciousness of their folly unendingly weigh down their constituents' futures. The wickedness of a selfish generation leaves behind the greatest mark. Those stoked with avarice to the point they pick up all the grain in the field and leave none in the storehouse for those that follow.  The story never changes, only the actors and the most minute of particulars. I've come to see life as an excellent pollinator—an exchange not of the material world but the intangible facets that steer our strides. I've discommode many, however, never without purpose. If left unchecked, the appropriation of one's desire can only lead to misery. This epiphany, while seditiously circumvented for a time, can't be forever deferred, merely delayed.  Power is a thing many pang after, yet few can adequately define it. Fools surmise it to be the capability to destroy. How quaint. Such hypotheses only highlight the dearth inherent in their sagacity. Nevertheless, I've come to understand the burden of such pursuits. Strength isn't brawn, nor is it the spells one can hurl. No, it's far more subtle and scarcely detected. It's the ability to use words and circumstances to contort others to your will.  A dolt pulverizes their opposition and crows as if it's a marker of triumph. Meanwhile, those who possess true strength need only eradicate their opponents' drive to fight. Tell me which epitomizes mastery more. The utter obliteration and the closing of your enemy's eyes? Or the nuanced art of influencing them so they might see the world through your lens? True fidelity isn't the sword to the throat. Fear, while a powerful motivator, can only result in erosion. But the persuasion, so when they throw themselves onto a blade of their own volition and express gratitude with their dying breath, is the zenith of power. How befitting that my taint took on the form of a spider. An animal that spins its web and waits for its prey to surrender itself onto that filigree so willingly. Manipulation carries with it a slew of negative connotations. However, anyone who derides such sway is a nit. No tool is inherently evil. All implements within one's arsenal can disseminate untold ruination or deliverance. What makes something iniquitous is an amalgamation of the intentions and the consequences of its application. The heft of authority I bedeck in the form of a crown devoid of wanton aims, donning that symbol out of servitude. For those who are mortally inclined, their lives are ephemeral. And who better to improve their transient existence than one unsusceptible to time? I don't mantel this responsibility lightly, nor do I do so to slake some infantile want for a legacy or domination. I adopt it simply because someone else might get it wrong. And the cost for ineptitude is high indeed. Do you contest my assessment? You need only look at history's chronicles to substantiate my claims' soundness. Nonetheless, words are cheap and hold little value. But one's actions express volumes and can verify one's declarations. The Verdant Dynasty is a dream made real. The metamorphosis wasn't without a great deal of sacrifice. Nevertheless, all those girdled by my webbing know amenities, freedom, and security that would make their ancestors redden with covetousness. A unified identity that rewards diversity under a single umbrella hasn't been without episodes. However, those incidents are immaterial when contrasted with the dividends civilization received. The halcyon of yore fails to compare with the elation I feel now. Reason is undying. All else perishes. Life is not a meadow. It's mountains, lowlands, and canyons. There is a grave blunder in permitting fear to dictate our actions—however, equal spades of stupidity to discount it. And no spirit is free unless they can command themself. But beware of the temptation of laxity. Complacency or inaction is what fuels the death of a person. And despite my long odyssey, I've never witnessed a nation that profited from extended periods of unrest. These truths I've learned through yesteryear's stumblings—both that of my own and the leaders of the past. But how could I have accomplished so much? I learned to swallow my pride and accept the slaps of companions over the kisses of enemies. Be wary of those who say sweet things; they're often not your friends. Surround yourself with no men willing to oppugn your thoughts, for edification can be culled through the democratization of ideas. And should your comrade befriend your adversary, I counsel against conversing with them any further.  But how should one respond to aggressors? There is no need to stress the outcome of a thousand conflicts if you remain cognizant of yourself and study your enemy. Materialize as weak when you're at your best. And powerful when most debilitated. Your plans must be impenetrable, not due to a stroke of subterfuge on your part alone. But due to the bravado and pomposity of your enemies. The fault in such logic isn't the imposing of constraints on one's own intellect. But the failure to regard the infinite idiocy that beset others.  ​ The takeaway is this. By being subtle and mysterious, one can be without shape. And, in turn, become masters of both their and their opponent's destinies. Just as the ocean retains no constant form, so must we be ever malleable to the changing of the tides. And as a leader, one must swear to govern by example. It's best to be feared by your enemy and treasured by your allies and people. Anything else is nothing short of failure. And should you meet a swift end? I advise confronting that rendezvous with dignity, for there are fates far graver than an exit from this rancours world.

Diary of an eternal voyager.

"To those that elect to read. Below is the manuscript that contains the insight I've amassed during the interminable expedition."



I remember my days as a young girl living in a coastal village. Life back then was simple and without worry. My father often warned me about the heartaches besetting the world. However, they always seemed so distant and as mythical as the sagas of old. The sea brought us life; its waves lapping across the shore always seemed so tranquil. Nevertheless, it was all a lie.  One day, foreign soldiers entered our little paradise. It was then that I realized those stories my father often forewarned me of were all too real. The beach turned red as blackened fumes polluted the cerulean sky. I was weak back then; I wailed while sitting amongst the dead. Eventually, the invaders found me and took me under their yoke. I spent many years as a slave. Those once placid waters seemed like a dream, a distant memory.  War begot more misery and conflict. The southern invaders swept across the jungle with extreme prejudice. My peoples' weapons were ineffective as they were unceremoniously butchered like cattle. The soil was drenched crimson as the greenery of the wilderness became blackened by soot and ash. One day, I broke free of my bonds and raced into the jungle. There, I was picked up and traded one cruel master for another.  The people I served now sought retribution. Against my will, I was conscripted into their resistance and handed a spear. The banners of both my masters were unremitting in their depravity. My body was used to satiate their carnal hankerings as my value as a woman was forever blemished. I was navigated across the board as if I was a pawn. I watched people die while these alleged "kings" played their little game.  The body quickly recovered, but the mind was hardly so resilient. I learned that day that the complacency of my village had doomed us. The threading of language and subtle pushes protected me from meeting my end. However, perhaps it would have been better if my story had concluded there. One day, we marched like hogs of war to a dilapidated ruin. The trepidation was palpable as this site held grave significance to our people. One by one, we accepted what was to come. We held the line against those southern outlanders. Their suits and weapons of metal made our most valiant efforts meaningless. I was powerless to thwart their sanguinary pursuit of violence. My comrades all fell as those of us unfortunate enough to survive were brought to our knees and forced to watch as the primordial heart, our most sacred of relics, was bashed to dust against the stone walls.  What should have been my end had been postponed- Not by the tender touch of a higher being but by a shadow that spread across the battlefield. Overhead, I witnessed it, a massive tower of twisted and rotting flesh and bone. And before I could process what was transpiring, we were all sucked skyward and into its lesions. Inside I woke, that putrid odor still etched onto my mind. Others had survived between both sides as we stared across this world of biomass. We were enemies before this point. However, realizing our situation, we worked together to find a way out. Somehow, we knew that those outside were falling victim to that eldritch edifice. They were depending on us, and if we failed to take it down from the inside, the totality of existence might very well be doomed. Gathering the weapons we had, we trekked across this foreboding yet alien world.  In the distance, we noticed a beating heart on top of a mountain of tumors. After much dispute, we agreed to scale it and attempt to stop its vile cadence. I ascended first, not from bravery but because I was deemed the most expendable. Once up top, we began poking, punching, slashing, and gnawing our way through the sinew. That repugnant taste still lingers in my mouth to this day. Large spiders and other such insects were dispatched to stop our onslaught. What happened next was a blur. Many died, but I kept hacking and ripping my way deeper into the walls of the beating organ. Eventually, I felt one of those monsters leap onto my back before darkness. We awoke by the great river. The eldritch edifice sunk into its depths as we four survivors were oblivious to the taint we now bore.  I returned home, foolishly thinking things could return to those blissful days. The sea was different, as was my father. We never talked much; despite living next to each other, it seemed we were worlds apart. The years went by before one day, I felt extreme pain in my back. Legs, like that of a spider, ripped through my skin. The people I once saw as my family looked at me with horror.  That was the last time I saw my father. And that look of shame still weighs heavily on my heart. I fled, never to return. For a millennium, I wandered- an eternal voyager, the fox without a hole and the soul without a purpose. I never asked for any of this, but when did the universe care for our input? And rather than become consumed by the miseries of this undying malediction. I sought to direct that negative energy to create positive outcomes.  I mourned through this undying odyssey. During my travels, I met many faces and names. I witnessed the rise and fall of oceans, the formation of mountains, and the entropy of empires. History may be keen to omit their stories, but I’m not so quick to forget. I’ve had countless lovers and buried a legion of children. Death and my lingering by their graveside had become routine.  I lived many lives. Sometimes I was a mercenary; other times a soldier. I donned the mask of a savant, the work ethic of a laborer. I hiked many miles in a plethora of shoes. I told many harsh truths and whispered sweet lies. However, I started to notice a pattern emerging. That while the names and faces may differ and the particulars might slightly shift. The same tragedies and travesties kept materializing on repeat.  I tried warning the world, but they weren’t inclined to listen. It was maddening to behold the same stories and the same outcomes with little variance. Notwithstanding my intervention, history appeared intent to keep running on that same wheel. Ironic that the world has changed, yet the people who inhabited it haven’t. It was then it dawned on me, a most stupendous of epiphanies. If the world were to alter its trajectory, it wouldn’t come from changes in its environment alone. But within the shifting of the people's hearts. And how would I introduce such a chance? Through language and culture.  That is why I returned to my motherland and united the tribes. I had to play the long game. Patiently, I abided on my web, meticulously plotting each step. Milestone after milestone had been achieved. However, I had no clue if the experiment would prove successful. And whenever I felt doubt, I would look at the faces of my people to regain my resolve. Heavy is the crown, but heavier is the price of failure. Funny, despite thinking I was a free woman I now realize that I’m still a slave. Although this time, the chains aren’t physical.  Your belief in my account is immaterial. Just like my wishes, your opinions mean nothing in the eyes of the cosmos. After all, we're all just pawns in some cruel game. A cyclical pattern of interminable anguish. However, not anymore, as I wish to break the whole deal and change the world for the better. The advantage of immortality is that you have the time to wait and plot. One way or another, I will stem the tide and return those violent waves back to the placid ones of my childhood for the world to share. Even if only for a day. That will make all my suffering worth the cost.

Valerna's philosophy regarding bonds.

“Friendship” I've happened across many souls during this pilgrimage. And no matter how much I strive, I can't keep others at bay. The need to feel something is paramount. Almost as powerful as their curiosity. It's sad to watch the effects of time on their bodies. At first, few believe my claims. I don't fault them; the saga of my life isn't typical. However, they all bear witness to my unaging body. Some foolishly designate me as blessed. I never chide them. The allure of remaining fixed to this life is often romanticized. Instead, I chortle it off and enjoy our days together. It isn't until they arrive on the edges of those timeless shores, entangled within a state between worlds, that the mood changes. Death is a funny thing. I've attended many expirations, and yet everyone behaves differently. Some struggle against its clutches, while others appear serene. And when faced with this limbo, I often lean in and tell them a lie that I'll meet them on the other side of that river one day. Although, that 'morrow never comes. And when standing alone on the beach, I look out across the sea only to wonder, are they still waiting? Could it be that somewhere in that other world, they're doing the same? But no matter how patient they are, they'll one day realize I'm not coming. And while I'll never forget them, perhaps they will forget me? Forgive me… I can never go there. I can never escape this world. I can never see you again. "This is not goodbye. It's just the start of your journey. We'll meet again." My final lie to them. But maybe one day, I'll find a breach and step through the threshold. But, when I do, will I find them gathered and waiting? Or, perhaps, they would have already moved on? "Family" If there is one thing I've discovered during my ambling, it's the power of family. Many a time, I looked upon those more mortally challenged with covetousness. Few could know the kindness of the macrocosm, and even fewer would care to accept it. If there were one thing most cruel concerning this bitter world, it would be the passing of a child. And yet I've been subject to this agony more times than I care to acknowledge. With each generation buried, I find myself becoming benumbed to the sensation. However, once the body is lowered into the earth and I'm alone, like a tidal wave, it hits me full strength. Notwithstanding what I am, I'm not immune to the influence of grief's undertow. And try as I may to deny its inescapable current. I'll ultimately discover myself submerged under that familiar sea. But why would I subject myself to such torture if the outcome is predetermined? Simple, because the fleeting years of placid waters make it all worth the inevitable shifting of its surface. I've learned that while I might have no destination, I do, however, get to choose the roads I take. And so, for now, I'll watch over my girls as they gradually age. Comprehending full well that one day I'll be swept by the swells of their departure. Regardless, that storm has yet to arrive. And so, for the moment, I'll cherish our time on this beach and lull under crisp cerulean skies. "Love" Love is an emotion I seldom experience. My time wayfaring athwart this globe has made my heart a bit calloused. The gelid winds of sequestration from that amorous theater whittle me to my core. And every so often, I aim to escape its wintry bite. I'd unfurl my budded heart and permit it to wallow within the rays of the spring. The kiss from loves dew revitalizes these withered roots. Invariably, the euphoria never lasts. The change of seasons often fills my heart with despair. ​ Nevertheless, looking back, I can say, in all honesty, it is worth the blighting of these petals. Even now, while I share my flower bed with Niazmina, I've come to treasure our time frolicking about the pasturage of time. She is my jungle lily. A single beauty that the scythe had spared for a wayward voyager like myself to esteem. And while I wish to pluck her from the soil of this world and into my own. I dare not put the delicate rose through such hardships. Instead, I'll keep her within this field and water her with my adoration. And when the day should unfailingly arise when her beauty will wilt. I'll remember this blossom, not for how it appeared during its final winks. But for the glamor that glistened under the sun throughout our time together. Niazmina, thank you. You're the one good thing in my life. And rather than squander our season together out of fear of what tomorrow might bring. I've chosen not to die under such dread. But to live for once…

Valerna's thoughts on Purpose and Free will.

Given how long I've traveled, you would think I'd know the meaning of life. Unfortunately, such answers have slipped through even my webbing. During my expeditions, those of studious mind would often pose this inquiry once the truth was revealed. And without fail, I left them disgruntled. Nonetheless, after mulling over this question for some time, I've reached a possible solution. However, it isn't as straightforward as academics might prefer. I believe we are here to do one thing: pave the road for the next generation. And while morality might be hard to define, I feel there is one foolproof metric to assess a people. An immoral civilization is selfish. They consume the fat of the land and never once consider what scraps would be left for their children. While a virtuous one ensures the stock houses are full of grain and plants trees so their offspring might one day relax in its shade. But how to do so is admittedly not so evident. How does this connect to the meaning of life? Simple. Both we, our children and the environment are one. And the only purpose is what we create while tending to all three in harmony. If one should supersede the other, then only suffering can abound. To care not for yourself is to accept a wretched existence. Spurning your babes will tarnish your legacy and future, for they will not forget your cruelty. And to desecrate the planet will guarantee that all will pay the price.  Many have retorted, claiming that the problems and anguishes of this world never change. Or, to quote those philosophers, "there is nothing new under the suns." But to them, I pose a counterthought. Maybe it isn't the cycle that we should focus on fixing. Instead, perhaps we should look inward and tend to ourselves. If war, rumors of war, plague, and famine are destined to occur. Then the thing that can change is us. Who I believe often contributes, if not outright triggers, these obstacles. "Free will." The burden of choice is one scarcely explored by the average man. Many people go about their days oblivious of the ripples they leave in their wake. Existence is nothing more than an infinite sequence of chains that spreads throughout time. Every person that has existed culminates in any single snapshot you single out. Intelligence brings with it an obligation. Unlike the wild beast, we're charged with the illusion of a single choice. Every organism is forced to devour to survive. Existence is impossible without paying the price—a fee we exert on others. It is a system rigged against us from the start. The truth of truths that many vie over to unearth isn't shrouded behind some ephemeral curtain. No, it is all around us. People are connected, and they move together toward a single fate. And though it can be shifted, replaced, altered, or postponed. It's impossible to be entirely circumvented.   People will often reminisce over the past and consider that road not traveled. Despite our diverse histories, cultures, philosophies, and beliefs, that phenomenon is universal. Have you ever halted to consider why? The answer is simple; it is the universe screaming a message. Each choice we make destroys one timeline and creates another. Billions of lives are cast into the void. Their stories are never told. The question remains, should we have the right to wield such power?  Earlier, I mentioned the burden of choice and the heft of free will. No matter your selection, the outcome will be the same. The only unknown element is which universe is gobbled and which is left to float within the rivulet of time. And even if somehow you could freeze it all and exist without end. I promise you your fate will be equally, if not more so, tragic. And so, whether you choose to love life or hate it. All roads lead to one thing, obliteration. And that is the truth of truths. We are equally creating new realities as much as we are suffocating them. And even the simplest of us and the most mundane of choice erases innumerable souls from having a shot at living their own life. I wonder if perhaps there is a way to break this chain. A mode by which we can cast off this yoke and find an alternate resolution.

Basic information.

Full Name: Valerna Jorgenskull (real name, Cicilly Del'Henberheim.)  Nicknames: Vally girl, the boobarian (A joke name amongst close friends.)  Titles: Breaker of wills, the shatterer of bones, Weaver of webs, Scriber of flesh, Queen of the Verdant Dynasty, The Spider.  Race: Giantess tainted with Arachnid elements.  Gender: Female Pronouns: She/Her Day of Birth: unknown Age: 2070​ (Estimated) Hair: Auburn Skin: White​ Eyes: Amber Ethnicity: Russian and Mayan (Earth Equivalent) Voice/Accent: The song that's attached to this page. At the bottom for mobile, and top right for PC. Height: 13' (Can be 7-19ft pending if she uses her powers.)​ Weight: 2500 Lbs​ Place of Residence: The Jungle​ Place of Birth: The Jungle​ Alignment: Neutral​ Relationship: Married (Polyagamous) ​Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Economic status: Upper Class Vocation: Tactician/Philosopher. Artistic skills: Valerna plays a bone-body harp with spider webs as strings. And has a penchant for writing. Personality:  Valerna is methodical; she takes her time threading her linguistic web while she observes those around her. And while her species might be famed for their ferocity. The chieftain mastered control over her lesser impulses. This temperament further facilitates her reserve deportment. That soft series of pushes she delivers is seldom utilized with nefarious drives helming them. She has long since ascertained the nebulous nature of rectitude. She kept her moral compass aimed toward the realization of her envisionments. ​ Perspicuity, strength, beauty, cleverness, and being well-mannered are all descriptors many have appropriated to sum up, her character. And while such terminologies might suffice, they scarcely encapsulated the totality of her essence. Who is Valerna Jorgenskull? A vapid forerunner that is justifiably followed by the ever more pertinent and profound inquisition of what is she? But as a bellwether, one thing of certitude chimes outward. That honeyed idiosyncrasy is an equally valuable mechanism for her craft.​ Valerna is very subconscious about her figure. She bedecks herself in her culture's habiliment with pride. Nevertheless, outsiders often chide, mock, or see her as an object to assuage their libidinal hankerings. This has led the giantess to question her worth as a person. The unfettered ridicule and disdain are unremitting. The sheer vitriol and mental toll has left deep scars that have marred her person. Secretly, she wishes others might gain the sagacity to peer beyond her exterior and see the woman she truly is. Instead, they're predisposed to evaluate her worth superficially by fixating on immutable traits instead of the contents of her character. Appearance: Tall, voluptuous with flawless skin.​ Distinctive Marks: Her stupidly large bust. And absurd curves. Lip and split tongue piercing. Traits: Tactician, Honorable, Romantic, Well-read, Domineering Faults: Stern, depressed, mildly paranoid NonCombative Skills: Linguistically inclined, web harpist, Singer, Poet, Philosophy. ​Senses: Racial Abilities Weakness- Shows favoritism to beastkin and sentient monsterkin and finds their cultures fascinating. And her body is vulnerable to forces that would stop an organism on earth. For example, one Warhammer strike unmitigated on her chest will break her ribs and perforate her lungs. Equipment- Bone armor Magically modified to have 2x steel tensile strength, in the shape of an Arachnids carapace/Chitin. Aside from her fist, Valerna's favorite weapon is a Macuahuitl.   Martial Style: Muay Thai and using her spider rope to assist with hand-to-hand combat

RP Rules for DM

About the author and rules if you wish to RP.

Hello, I'm Matsu. I should divulge some details about myself. I'm a roleplayer and artist. I've been rping for over two decades now. Other tidbits about myself are that I'm a female, born and raised in Afghanistan, and English is my third language. Despite this, I'm confident my ability to paint a scene and portray a character ought to suffice. I'm seeking a fellow writer to pen a long-term story with. I don't care about your gender or any such details as I find them immaterial. Your length isn't crucial to me, as RP is collaborative and not competitive. Regarding the story itself, I like to discuss such details with my partner. I find it challenging to create a narrative that doesn't favor my creation when I don't have half the cast. (Or more.) I'll elaborate more on that later. If you wish to see my world use the buttons at the top of the page, I can send the link. Nevertheless, exploring that universe is optional, and I’m more than fine delving into your setting. What I'm looking for in a partner. 1) 18+ 2) Must have a character sheet. 3) It must be an OC not tied to a fandom. 4) I only do fantasy grounded in some logic. 5) The willpower to read and commit. 6) Your post time can fluctuate. Communicate with me if you need time; I’m patient. 7) At least two paragraphs from my partner. (Proper paragraphs.) You can send your creations right away if you desire. If you elect to contact me, I'll send my character sheet then. I understand some might denote my lack of a "plot" as a negative. That's fine. I am just not fond of putting you into boxes such as but not limited to... "You will play this race, this role, this gender. We will fall in love. these things will happen, and this is your backstory." I fancy more fluidity and feel giving my partner more control over the OC they wish to create or use has proven immeasurably more beneficial. Things I will not be interested in. 1)  Smut 2) CRP without reason 3) Wish Fulfillment, self-inserts, power fantasy. 4) Godmodding 5) Metagaming 6) Not playing a role.  7) Mary/Gary sues 8) Not respecting my OC’s autonomy. 9) Forcing dice/stats on me Regardless if we thread a saga together, I wish to thank those few who have read this sheet in its totality. If you have constructive feedback, feel free to reach out to me. We only approve if we welcome critiques.

Valerna's Philosophy: 

Valerna was a slave from birth, predestined to grovel under the yoke of others. From a young age, she was stripped from her mother's bosom, forced to tarry and wallow within the darkest recesses of society's depravity. The master/mistress she served changed, and with it, the languages she spoke and customs she swore fealty to rang insipidly. With each new post, the mind grappled, clawing desperately to assemble some semblance of identity. That one commodity and luxury is taken for granted by so many was never bestowed to this auburn-maned beauty. Uprooted without culture, the unassuming child had to fashion her personage from the somber pits of her thraldom. It was through the utterances of her tongue, the way she spoke, that punishment could be diverted. This awareness sowed a seed, one that would take time to germinate. Words, while immaterial, held power exceeding that of the whip- the hearts and souls of men could be bent with just a suitable series of subtle pushes. Those perceptive amber eyes peered beyond the mask her overlords wore. Her saga of woe, while perpetual, would expire and turn a new chapter. While most might solicit strength through their muscles, inferring that the sacking of cities and the butchery of their foes were the pinnacles of power, Valerna reached a wholly differing conclusion, recognizing merit in the pursuance of a contrary route. One's tools, if so finite, were destined only to crumble in due time. The Giantess didn't dispute the necessity for such savageness- no, instead, she queried if their over-prescribed nature was judicious. Language led to knowledge, and it was through reading that the true scope of her world gradually slithered into view: Any chimp can crush a skull; any fool can ransack a hamlet; even a modest mage can set an establishment ablaze. What was it that the former Matrons lacked, and what made a good queen?  Wisdom was what they all lacked. And what is wisdom? Knowledge and its proper application. The capacity to ascertain when to push, speak, tread carefully, or even sow seeds of chaos within one's ranks.

What is a life? What is death?

To an immortal being (age), the meaning of these words takes on a very different form. To Valerna, life is an exchange between individuals, not of worldly attainments but immaterialism. To be more precise, it is the pollination of memories and feelings. Given this conclusion, she doesn't rule for her legacy or govern for power alone. Instead, the spider strives to girdle all within her protective web to ease the ephemeral embers that are their existence. Through this sheltering and the advancement of technology and culture, the denizens might know a better life, no matter how fleeting. She vicariously gleans satisfaction in their smiles, understanding that while perhaps unimportant in the eyes of the cosmos, she had a hand in the construction of a more leisurely journey. To Valerna, death is something she can't fully understand. She doesn't waste her time constructing ideal paradises waiting beyond the veil. To her, one's expiration is an event of joy mixed with tears that many define as mourning. Nevertheless, having meandered this bitter world, she has come to see the purpose of our cessation. Life is a prison, but death is a release. All things die not once but thrice. The first passing occurs when the body dies. The second comes to fruition once the corporeal form is returned to the earth. And the final and often overlooked layer of death is nuanced. It transpires when no one recalls your name or deeds. This is why she carries her locket. Inside it is housed the diamond remains of her fallen children. That way, she will never forget their faces and their stories. To Valerna, this implies as long as she holds them dear and basks them within a mother's love, her deceased offspring will never truly die. It's a reminder that everyone goes away in the end. And that her empire is dust unless she can make others' lives a bit easier. But the only thing that doesn't vanish is the hole, and the hurt death leaves in its path. That vacuous void may only be filled not with sorrow. But the flickering memories of better days and moments that are eternally shared...


Spider form- The chieftain sprouts eight feelers (From the spine), allowing her to scale walls and employ them to grapple prey and block/parry blows. The body is embellished in a reddish bone mold with a crown resembling chitin, following the same restrictions expressed throughout the sheet for her skeletal material. (See Magic section) The hemocyanin in her blood makes it blue. Humans have red blood because the molecule attached to the oxygen contains iron. For spiders, the molecule attached to the oxygen contains copper, which alters their hemoglobin's hue. Valerna can fire strands of webs from the tips of those spider ligaments, which she can use to trap her meals, pull herself to higher terrain, grab an item, or web sling, or attempt to escape an attack. Alternatively, with enough time, she can spin a web most useful as a setup before an engagement due to the three-turn duration this arduous process takes. These sprouted extremities are composed of pure osseous matter and can be impacted by the spinner's skill set, serving as an extension of her will. A spider’s muscles pull its legs inward, but cannot extend them out again. Instead, it must pump a watery liquid into its ligaments to push them outward. A dead spider’s extremities are curled up because there is no fluid to extend the legs again. This is how she retracts and expands them. This manifestation permits the weaver of webs to communicate and subjugate spiders to serve as mounts or pets. Lastly, this Araneae consumes the blood of her prey and slurps up their innards as a delectable soup for nourishment. Be it a man or a cow, all can provide sustenance to the vessel. Spider Webs/Physical Brawn: For its weight, spider silk is stronger than high-grade steel (Val’s is 10x inspired by the Bark Spider.). This organic material is one of the most unbreakable known natural fibers in the world; industries are exploring its potential for making bulletproof garments. Above all, arthropod threads are light and flexible. Given the thickness of the web are 3-inches, and spiderman's is 1mm, he can stop 3,142 Newtons. When properly adjusted for the overall volume, it can halt upward of 18,239,084.1889 Newtons (On Earth with real webbings and physics, no magic applied.). Some arachnoids eat and reuse their webs; Valerna is one such Arachnid. We usually see spider silk as solid webs, but their trappings come in liquid form. Once this spider silk comes in contact with the air, it hardens. This allows the Araneae to build their webs. She can fire these ropes a distance of 530ft at 90mph or 132fps meaning in 4 seconds, it will hit the max distance. In contrast, tiny spiders in real life have been known to launch them at 80ft (Can provide a citation.). This silk may hoist upward to 3,500 lbs above her head or with her meshing. The leggings of these profound hunters operate independently from the brain. So the construction of such elaborate nettings can be woven independently. In summary, the ligaments have a mind of their own. If you find this OP let me explain; an Arachnid the size of spiderman would be the same; wired has a good physics breakdown on it. In truth, this is a nerf; given her mass and delivery method, it would go further and faster. But quantifying an unknown creature is outside my purview and expertise, so this would have to suffice. Lastly, spiders can ionize their filigree, forcing it to split apart. They use this peculiar evolutionary ability to construct parachutes and kites, which they utilize to fly. These curious insects have traversed up to a thousand miles employing this method and can steer using their legs. Given Valerna's volume, she can only achieve this by forming a "slingshot" (As some spiders do in nature) to fling herself and then appropriate the before-mentioned method to gain a version of flight. Due to physiological limitations, she can't exceed 50 gs, or a max velocity above 360 mph once accounting for breaking the sound barrier, drag, and air resistance. When web-slinging, the same G forces limitations apply and speed limitations. Any more and she will suffer immense injury or tear her extremities from their sockets if not welcome death. Spider vision/senses: I opted to go with the Wolf spider's vision for clarity, with the fact that species of salticids (Jumping spiders) can see both UVA and UVB light and in the dark. Spiders have tiny hairs called trichobothria that sense electric fields, like human hairs rising in response to static electricity. When a spider senses the field is strong enough, it will climb to a high twig or blade of grass, spin a silken line, and take off. Valerna can detect electrical fields within 60ft of her location and their buildup. She can also use them to balloon her webs to fly. They can also feel photons. Making them ideal for sensing light/electrical-based attacks. (60 ft) Spider jumping/agility: Jumping spiders use their abdomen muscles (Not legs) to bound across immense distances, over 50x their total length. This would be absurd, and so to keep some balance, I have decided to nerf her entire range to 60ft, which is roughly double that of the current human world record long jump held by Miguel Echevarria (8.83 meters). Her max speed is 40mph due to her athletics, use of extremities, and leg span. Martial training- Due to her time in the jungle, her ears have been trained to pick up on the soft sounds of disturbances. As such, Valerna can detect the general direction of bowstrings being drawn, twigs snapping, foliage rustling, and footsteps within 250 feet of her location. The weaver has been trained extensively in hand-to-hand/martial weapons, capable of grappling, subduing, or assaulting her opponents with a barrage/flurry of powerful kicks/punches. She often utilizes this to take the fight to the ground, mount her opponents, and bash their skulls open against the solid earth. Another favored method is to strangle and fracture the target's neck. Her muscle memory honed through centuries of combat; in short, fight first think later served her people well in the Sands and the Jungle climate.

Magic Preface

Flesh magic is the ability to manipulate one's flesh, as well as that of the deceased. It is broken into two categories though only one applies here. Bolstering, the modification of one's body, and the grafting of STUDIED extremities onto the vessel. She cannot manipulate the tissue of another, as their chi/magical harmonization is not the same as such. Outside of perhaps another bone gear (Depending on locational rules), she will be unable to influence or contort another host/PC vessel. However, if blood is on the ground, that no longer qualifies as being under the player's control. For balance's sake, blood on the body also can't be altered in any way.  The osseous armor she wears is defensive (Able to deflect piercing/slashing, as well as arrows/bolts much like Plate, can) but is mainly offensive. Utilizing it for exploding the pauldrons (For example) or forming new arrows/equipment from the material (Once ammunition or gear is extracted, the armor on the extremity is gone as it was consumed.). By default, the bone on her body and gear is always at 2x tensile strength of steel; once an object is manipulated, it stays as such. A way to understand this concept is how the bending of metals works; your character doesn't need to pour energy to maintain the smith's efforts. ​ All buffs last one turn if not specified. Otherwise, the exception is bone manipulation for the reasoning above. However, altering the shape of an item forever locks it, as constant manipulation will considerably wane the tensile effect. One alteration is acceptable; two means it's now just normal bone. Three or above, it will become brittle and crumble in her hands. The strength buffs are focused on amplifying lifting and grip; her punches "breaking bones" is naturally existing strength assuming she is hitting a typical human, unprotected outside of the femur, which is the most rigid bone in the human body. Any such "claims" are subject to the opponent's physiology and, of course, their ability to describe said anatomy for their character. So if having bone akin to iron rods, her punches will no longer break them but still damage the soft organs and muscles of the body.


Alter Self (Racial)- The Giantess can use her Chi to decrease or increase her height by 50%. This allows her to blend in easier or increase her presence. Once the height is achieved, she can maintain it at no cost, only able to alter her size once per fight. Bone manipulation (Racial)- The Giant can alter any Bone Armor or Weapons by imbuing it with her Chi. Granting it the ability to be 2x tensile strength than steel or elongating its size and reach up to twofold. The Machiavelli can also make minor changes like curving them, adding spikes up to three inches in length, or exploding outward in fragmented debris like a claymore (80ft in length, 40ft in width.). The temptress can manipulate the calcium in her body, allowing her to coat the outside in a redbone armor from neck to toe.  Able to draw from the lactation stored within her large mammary glands to expedite the creation of the armor (Once per fight, she can spawn her armor.) Water stride- Valerna will bend the water from within the soil and in the air around the soles of her feet. Using this moisture, she can "skate." Doubling her speed. She can also use this to slide across the surface of any body of water. Unthreading fate- The giantess can assemble the moisture in the air to superheat her webs. The ropes will then scorch any exposed flesh it touches. The victim will suffer third-degree burns; if not removed, they will gradually burn to the bone. Eventually, becoming fourth-degree burns. Leaving nothing but blackened tissue within two inches of the contact point. (Escalation occurs in two turns after contact.) Brood mother- Valerna can beseech her arachnoid offspring to aid her. (Two total.) They will assist her in combat but serve a deadly function. On command, via clicking her split tongue, they will burst and disperse forth a cloud of simmering blood, organs, and carapace shrapnel. The area of effect is limited to 80 ft for each spiderling in a spherical space. (May only use twice in battle) Vapor- The monk can discharge a scalding water vapor mist from her palms or arachnid ligaments. That haze of death will surge forth, and on contact, it causes second-degree burns to any flesh it touches. If the target fails to flee the area of effect, it will escalate to third-degree burns. (60 ft long, 20 ft wide in a cone shape. The burns raise a degree per turn of exposure.)

bottom of page