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Literature Text
The tall dun tinted grass swayed as the young family conversed, the mother keeping her eyes and senses on the plants that she was using the Force to maintain and benefit, the father watching his lovely wife and rambling about the finances and how to support their growing family, and their little son busily watching his parents' legs and trying to keep up. The mousy brown haired fellow was barely old enough to run without falling, and even then some days the energetic tot failed at that. In the current second, there was a idyllic peace to a late day on the farm after a great deal of physical and spiritual labor, and lulled into a false sense of security they simply enjoyed one another's company until danger almost literally reached out and struck them.
"Probably," Keiran conceded, then hissed as his eyes went huge. "BULL!"
He hadn't even felt it coming. More importantly, enmeshed in her metaphysical endeavor, the far stronger Lyssia hadn't felt it either, and Jahaal had no means to differentiate danger from normality- his powers weren't any more developed than his body in some areas. Lyssia instinctively rushed to place herself between the bull and Jahaal, trying to wrap some of her remaining power around its mind to calm it, and hissed herself in a less literal and more emotional fashion. "Bull? GET BACK!"
The alpha nerf was not actually on a rampage or fleeing predators and was in fairly docile state despite its overbearing speed to start with; startled by Lyssia's hold, he charged mostly past her rather than straight at her, but grazed her with a horn tip to the head and knocked her to the ground. The blonde woman, unlike a Verpine rifle, bounced once and again before stilling, eyes wide from the hard impact to the front and back of her head, but suffered no adverse effects from the bull's hooves or tramping and in fact was mostly just stunned and windless. The bull continued on his way at a less brisk pace as Lyssia confirmed she was alive with a hearty groan.
The healer, feeling useless, knelt and hugged her while carefully cradling and inspecting her. It was with great concern at finding via Force Healing that the inside of her skull was bruised that he asked, "Lyssia? You okay?"
Lyssia groaned a little, holding her temple with one hand and bracing herself with the other, as she tried against his hold to sit up. "I think so."
The onetime spacer and Jedi blinked at him, suddenly startled, and looked around. In a somewhat louder puzzled voice she demanded of the man pinning her still, "How do you know my name? Where am I?"
The hugging man felt her head again in an attempt to see if he could Heal the swelling around her instinctual blocks of his own feeble amount of Force energy. He allowed the concern to heavily enter his voice and alter it near to the point of breaking as he answered the questions. "Manda'yaim. Xadro's farm. We're on Xadro's farm. I'm your husband, Lyss'ika."
The warm brown eyes of the cold-feeling toddler as goosebumps rose along his skin unbidden, heart sinking with the sun, and he tugged at her as he piteously cried. "Mommy? What's wrong?"
The injured woman struggled to piece these things together valiantly, confused, disoriented, and steadily more upset by the moment. "Wait, what?"
She winced slightly and rubbed her head again, unsure how she even knew what these words meant. Biting his lip, the man let her go physically and reached for her in their Bond, trying to touch her memories and stammering both from effort and emotion. "We- we've been in love a long time-"
A long mewl ended his sentence in place of words in Mando'a, basic, or any other language.
Pushing away from him in multiple senses she gave him a blank stare, her memories a hazy, white, static-filled, and incoherent mess. None of them were at all comprehensible. And she did not find she knew this man.
Nearer to clinical, hyperventilate-and-babble distress than he had been since his bouts of insanity in prison, the onetime Gray Jedi man continued his efforts in the multiple avenues of the Force and resisted leaking tears with his jerking breaths. "You don't know who you are, honey?"
He felt a damn fool for saying it aloud. Of course she didn't- he could feel that. Even he could feel that.
Lyssia felt the distress, though how she did eluded her, and she didn't know its source; she pushed back in the Force, lashing out instinctively like one untrained. A series of mostly weak and flailing and inconsistent emotional pushes, with a single physical one, ensued as she curled up with her arms over her head. She rocked in place.
Keiran rolled back a few feet; untrained or no, Lyssia was always stronger than him in the Force, and he was still raw and off-guard. Now more than ever. He had forgotten a rule of pragmatism, if not proper Jedi training- 'distract, demoralize, destroy' was a rule of Dark Jedi and Jedi hunters. The worse things were, the worse they would get.
Ignoring Daddy's tumble the young son fled to comfort and be comforted, hugging her waist tightly in spite of his insufficiently little arms and her protective ball. He snuggled in as close to his natural bastion against BadThings as he could and trembled. "Mommy, mommy, it's okay, buir. Everything's will be okay... Mommy...??"
She stiffened, already frightened herself, but found herself unable to Push Jahaal or strike him, some mental block within her soul getting in the way of her emotions and preventing her from making any aggressive action toward the child. She reached a hand out tentatively down and toward him from over her face, curious in a odd sort of way, wild-eyed and breathless. "Why-"
Lyssia jerked suddenly before she fell limply to one side, unconscious, thanks to a well placed stun shot from an unseen gun barrel. Seventy five meters away where the farmland and edible grasses for the nerfs became hard trees and hunting grounds, a green durasteel
armored bounty hunter stepped out from behind cover and trained one blaster pistol each on Keiran and Jahaal. The tall human man scoffed and walked toward them, his unerring accuracy already proven wordlessly. "And here I thought Mandalorians were supposed to be tough."
He jerked his head toward the woods and several fringe-looking types, including a leather-chapped Togorian, came out of the trees. He offered a cold gaze and a drawl as weapons barrels trained on vitals, just out of range. "Now, we don't have no quarrel with you - just taking her back to her proper owner. If you don't put up a fuss, neither of you have to die. Understand?"
Keiran frantically, to the visible amusement of some of the slavers, searched for his lightaber and his weapons, and found to his eternal shame he had left them at home. There were reasons for the Tenants, and he had no means to save his family now. Lashing out with what Force powers he did have would be too slow and it would get his little boy drilled through, not to mention his hapless and currently indisposed helpless spouse.
If he'd have had fur it would have been on end and certainly his hackles were up, but he found himself unable to speak or act clearly. No matter what he did, someone would get hurt. Maybe pleading would reduce the damage while he thought of a plan. Keiran begged, "Don't take my family. Please, please, ..."
At that moment Keiran would more than willingly have tried to go the dark side to save her with the plagues and life-leaching and other foul Healing antonyms it offered him offensively, but he fears=ed the damage it could do to his impressionable and far stronger child AND to his memory-less wife. That, and he was also unsure he could kill them all.
And only killing a few, while better in the means of honor, meant condemning his family.
With the innocent courage of the naive little one, Jahaal ignored his buire's plight and pleading, and walked right up to the Togorian mercenary while smiling in misunderstanding curiosity. The infant wanted to cling to his mother and never let go; at the same time, he wanted to know more, and the furrball looked fluffy. He could always run back to Lyss'buir. He chirped happily as he petted the somewhat startled-looking mercenary's leg. "Kitty!"
The massive Togorian snarled quietly and bristled, shifting his projectile weapon's aim from the father to the son and claws unsheathing.
The apparent bounty hunter spokesman bashed Keiran from the unconscious body and easily hefted Lyssia, then unceremoniously half-threw her over to a larger man in the group. He snorted at the display nearby and offered a tad of sage advice. "You may want to get him away from my furry friend there before he decides that those little hands annoy him. We'll be leaving now. If you DON'T want us to take anything more, you won't bother us."
It went without saying that such individuals would more than gladly take more- property and life, perhaps, or freedom. Keiran reclaimed his child slowly and carefully without making any displays of violence, his soul dying inside. Half the group splintered off in the direction of the space port while the other half stayed long enough to give the 'carry group' a head start, keeping Keiran pinned down and unable to call for help. The last thing the sensible guns-for-hire wanted was for him to get reinforcements or assistance.
It was easy preying on an unarmed man and baby in a hostage situation. If he had his armor, however, or worse called in groups of the beskar clad bloody warriors, the bounty hunters were well aware of the highly lethal consequences that would fall on their heads. Mandalorians were combatant by the very nature of their religion and lifestyle- the slavers would be shot and torn to bite sized pieces, roasted, and crushed under unfeeling metal boots for this if they didn't avert it.
They came damn near maiming the pair for caution's sake before they took off at a fast clip as well.
The little boy wailed loudly, fuzzy comfort and mother both gone rapidly, and stuck his fingers in his mouth as his eyes near-dilated and quadrupled in size. "Where are mommy going??"
Keiran, finally free to move, had fallen into what Lyssia had once affectionately deemed 'panic-must-save mode'. "Jahaal, son, I need you to run. Get to your ba'buir Xadro's house as fast as you can and stay there. Tell him they took your buir. Get help. I- I need to get-"
The bereft hybrid stumbled woozily physically and mentally as the effect of the stun blast finally carried through the Bond, albeit dampened. "I'll take you home, Jah'ad."
He stumbled off toward help, the tired toddler all but leading the longer legged man by the time they reached the outskirts of the town Keldabe. Drala encountered the pair in town between the farm and the rest of the Ijaat clan's housing in-city and could instantly tell that something was wrong. Sharp and alert, the doctor shook her adopted brother and gathered him close from his erratic path. "Keiran. What happened?"
Jahaal answered in place of his woozy and distraught progenitor, wailing and crying like... well, his age group, actually. "THEY TOOK MOMMY!"
Drala immediately scooped up Jahaal and hugged him tightly, murmuring soothing words to her nephew that the rational woman did not wholly believe herself. "Don't worry, little one. We'll get her back."
She looked up at Keiran slowly as she cradled the little one. "We need to get you to our buire."
She held Jahaal with one arm and guided the clearly bumbling Keiran with the other, not trusting his wooziness to keep him on track, as the tiny Force Sensitive continued to sob in his ba'vodu's hold but began to calm. His father, however, slowly began listing a litany of failures in an effort to get himself cognizant again, and hung his head. His voice was almost inaudible when he finally let it out.
His words carried even for such a quiet tone. "I've failed the Six Tenants. And I didn't even fight. Buire would be right to shoot me."
Drala's scalpel-edged stare locked sharply on Keiran once more. "Don't talk like that. You'll have time to beat yourself up later - right now we need to try to figure out who took her, where they are and where they're going, and how to get her back."
She turned the corner and rapped sharply on the door to Ren and Panaex's home. A howling, rage-of-hangover noise ensued from within, along with pounding footsteps. "ARRGHHHH KKKKKLLER GRAAAAAAH!"
Bloodshot eyes met them on the opening of the door. "Yes?"
Drala, unfazed by howls and rage, spoke dryly but truthfully. "Sorry to wake you up so early, buir, but something happened to Lyssia - she got taken by someone."
She nodded at the two companions she took with her. "I found them in town, looking like death warmed over."
Jahaal hadn't yet run out of tears and offered in a plaintive cry, "The kittyman and the meanman and the bigguy and the others!!"
Keiran monotonously recounted what came to mind foremost. Tears of his own started up as his head went down. "They mentioned returning Lyssia 'to her rightful master'. They were slavers. I couldn't s-s-stop them. I was unarmed, and if I used the Force it could have- hurt her-"
Drala and Keiran's mutually adoptive father, Panaex, blinked rapidly and then spat a set of words in a rather different and more lucid tone. "Slavers. Lyssia gone. Be right back."
"REN!" came the summoning call loudly as the older man hurried inside. "REN!"
The woman in question lurched out of the bedroom, wrapped up with a sheet and blanket draped over her. "That sounds like a tone I don't want to wake up to, Panaex. What's going on?"
In unison the Mando'jetti members left, father and son both, answered in mournful tones. "Lyssia got taken."
Panaex placed on his gauntlets and began to armor himself. "Slavers. None of the di'kutla little ones were armed."
To this Keiran, who had barely just become a Mandalorian when Lyssia was pregnant with Jahaal and was still getting used to the armor, let alone the Tenants, muttered something even more miserably under his breath. Old Ren sat down heavily, staring at Panaex, then Keiran, and gave a long sigh out. "Manda bless."
Drala contained a wince and maintained her bearing as ever, but decided this was not something the little boy needed to see or hear. Particularly if her swearing parents did anything. "I'm going to take Jahaal over to Xadro's, see if I can't find him and let him know what's happened."
Drala left swiftly with the mewling child. Keiran buried his head in his hands with a tiny squeak and miserably revealed what he had meant to tell them with Lyssia more happily later this very evening. "And to make things worse she's pregnant again. What do I do, buire?"
"Probably," Keiran conceded, then hissed as his eyes went huge. "BULL!"
He hadn't even felt it coming. More importantly, enmeshed in her metaphysical endeavor, the far stronger Lyssia hadn't felt it either, and Jahaal had no means to differentiate danger from normality- his powers weren't any more developed than his body in some areas. Lyssia instinctively rushed to place herself between the bull and Jahaal, trying to wrap some of her remaining power around its mind to calm it, and hissed herself in a less literal and more emotional fashion. "Bull? GET BACK!"
The alpha nerf was not actually on a rampage or fleeing predators and was in fairly docile state despite its overbearing speed to start with; startled by Lyssia's hold, he charged mostly past her rather than straight at her, but grazed her with a horn tip to the head and knocked her to the ground. The blonde woman, unlike a Verpine rifle, bounced once and again before stilling, eyes wide from the hard impact to the front and back of her head, but suffered no adverse effects from the bull's hooves or tramping and in fact was mostly just stunned and windless. The bull continued on his way at a less brisk pace as Lyssia confirmed she was alive with a hearty groan.
The healer, feeling useless, knelt and hugged her while carefully cradling and inspecting her. It was with great concern at finding via Force Healing that the inside of her skull was bruised that he asked, "Lyssia? You okay?"
Lyssia groaned a little, holding her temple with one hand and bracing herself with the other, as she tried against his hold to sit up. "I think so."
The onetime spacer and Jedi blinked at him, suddenly startled, and looked around. In a somewhat louder puzzled voice she demanded of the man pinning her still, "How do you know my name? Where am I?"
The hugging man felt her head again in an attempt to see if he could Heal the swelling around her instinctual blocks of his own feeble amount of Force energy. He allowed the concern to heavily enter his voice and alter it near to the point of breaking as he answered the questions. "Manda'yaim. Xadro's farm. We're on Xadro's farm. I'm your husband, Lyss'ika."
The warm brown eyes of the cold-feeling toddler as goosebumps rose along his skin unbidden, heart sinking with the sun, and he tugged at her as he piteously cried. "Mommy? What's wrong?"
The injured woman struggled to piece these things together valiantly, confused, disoriented, and steadily more upset by the moment. "Wait, what?"
She winced slightly and rubbed her head again, unsure how she even knew what these words meant. Biting his lip, the man let her go physically and reached for her in their Bond, trying to touch her memories and stammering both from effort and emotion. "We- we've been in love a long time-"
A long mewl ended his sentence in place of words in Mando'a, basic, or any other language.
Pushing away from him in multiple senses she gave him a blank stare, her memories a hazy, white, static-filled, and incoherent mess. None of them were at all comprehensible. And she did not find she knew this man.
Nearer to clinical, hyperventilate-and-babble distress than he had been since his bouts of insanity in prison, the onetime Gray Jedi man continued his efforts in the multiple avenues of the Force and resisted leaking tears with his jerking breaths. "You don't know who you are, honey?"
He felt a damn fool for saying it aloud. Of course she didn't- he could feel that. Even he could feel that.
Lyssia felt the distress, though how she did eluded her, and she didn't know its source; she pushed back in the Force, lashing out instinctively like one untrained. A series of mostly weak and flailing and inconsistent emotional pushes, with a single physical one, ensued as she curled up with her arms over her head. She rocked in place.
Keiran rolled back a few feet; untrained or no, Lyssia was always stronger than him in the Force, and he was still raw and off-guard. Now more than ever. He had forgotten a rule of pragmatism, if not proper Jedi training- 'distract, demoralize, destroy' was a rule of Dark Jedi and Jedi hunters. The worse things were, the worse they would get.
Ignoring Daddy's tumble the young son fled to comfort and be comforted, hugging her waist tightly in spite of his insufficiently little arms and her protective ball. He snuggled in as close to his natural bastion against BadThings as he could and trembled. "Mommy, mommy, it's okay, buir. Everything's will be okay... Mommy...??"
She stiffened, already frightened herself, but found herself unable to Push Jahaal or strike him, some mental block within her soul getting in the way of her emotions and preventing her from making any aggressive action toward the child. She reached a hand out tentatively down and toward him from over her face, curious in a odd sort of way, wild-eyed and breathless. "Why-"
Lyssia jerked suddenly before she fell limply to one side, unconscious, thanks to a well placed stun shot from an unseen gun barrel. Seventy five meters away where the farmland and edible grasses for the nerfs became hard trees and hunting grounds, a green durasteel
armored bounty hunter stepped out from behind cover and trained one blaster pistol each on Keiran and Jahaal. The tall human man scoffed and walked toward them, his unerring accuracy already proven wordlessly. "And here I thought Mandalorians were supposed to be tough."
He jerked his head toward the woods and several fringe-looking types, including a leather-chapped Togorian, came out of the trees. He offered a cold gaze and a drawl as weapons barrels trained on vitals, just out of range. "Now, we don't have no quarrel with you - just taking her back to her proper owner. If you don't put up a fuss, neither of you have to die. Understand?"
Keiran frantically, to the visible amusement of some of the slavers, searched for his lightaber and his weapons, and found to his eternal shame he had left them at home. There were reasons for the Tenants, and he had no means to save his family now. Lashing out with what Force powers he did have would be too slow and it would get his little boy drilled through, not to mention his hapless and currently indisposed helpless spouse.
If he'd have had fur it would have been on end and certainly his hackles were up, but he found himself unable to speak or act clearly. No matter what he did, someone would get hurt. Maybe pleading would reduce the damage while he thought of a plan. Keiran begged, "Don't take my family. Please, please, ..."
At that moment Keiran would more than willingly have tried to go the dark side to save her with the plagues and life-leaching and other foul Healing antonyms it offered him offensively, but he fears=ed the damage it could do to his impressionable and far stronger child AND to his memory-less wife. That, and he was also unsure he could kill them all.
And only killing a few, while better in the means of honor, meant condemning his family.
With the innocent courage of the naive little one, Jahaal ignored his buire's plight and pleading, and walked right up to the Togorian mercenary while smiling in misunderstanding curiosity. The infant wanted to cling to his mother and never let go; at the same time, he wanted to know more, and the furrball looked fluffy. He could always run back to Lyss'buir. He chirped happily as he petted the somewhat startled-looking mercenary's leg. "Kitty!"
The massive Togorian snarled quietly and bristled, shifting his projectile weapon's aim from the father to the son and claws unsheathing.
The apparent bounty hunter spokesman bashed Keiran from the unconscious body and easily hefted Lyssia, then unceremoniously half-threw her over to a larger man in the group. He snorted at the display nearby and offered a tad of sage advice. "You may want to get him away from my furry friend there before he decides that those little hands annoy him. We'll be leaving now. If you DON'T want us to take anything more, you won't bother us."
It went without saying that such individuals would more than gladly take more- property and life, perhaps, or freedom. Keiran reclaimed his child slowly and carefully without making any displays of violence, his soul dying inside. Half the group splintered off in the direction of the space port while the other half stayed long enough to give the 'carry group' a head start, keeping Keiran pinned down and unable to call for help. The last thing the sensible guns-for-hire wanted was for him to get reinforcements or assistance.
It was easy preying on an unarmed man and baby in a hostage situation. If he had his armor, however, or worse called in groups of the beskar clad bloody warriors, the bounty hunters were well aware of the highly lethal consequences that would fall on their heads. Mandalorians were combatant by the very nature of their religion and lifestyle- the slavers would be shot and torn to bite sized pieces, roasted, and crushed under unfeeling metal boots for this if they didn't avert it.
They came damn near maiming the pair for caution's sake before they took off at a fast clip as well.
The little boy wailed loudly, fuzzy comfort and mother both gone rapidly, and stuck his fingers in his mouth as his eyes near-dilated and quadrupled in size. "Where are mommy going??"
Keiran, finally free to move, had fallen into what Lyssia had once affectionately deemed 'panic-must-save mode'. "Jahaal, son, I need you to run. Get to your ba'buir Xadro's house as fast as you can and stay there. Tell him they took your buir. Get help. I- I need to get-"
The bereft hybrid stumbled woozily physically and mentally as the effect of the stun blast finally carried through the Bond, albeit dampened. "I'll take you home, Jah'ad."
He stumbled off toward help, the tired toddler all but leading the longer legged man by the time they reached the outskirts of the town Keldabe. Drala encountered the pair in town between the farm and the rest of the Ijaat clan's housing in-city and could instantly tell that something was wrong. Sharp and alert, the doctor shook her adopted brother and gathered him close from his erratic path. "Keiran. What happened?"
Jahaal answered in place of his woozy and distraught progenitor, wailing and crying like... well, his age group, actually. "THEY TOOK MOMMY!"
Drala immediately scooped up Jahaal and hugged him tightly, murmuring soothing words to her nephew that the rational woman did not wholly believe herself. "Don't worry, little one. We'll get her back."
She looked up at Keiran slowly as she cradled the little one. "We need to get you to our buire."
She held Jahaal with one arm and guided the clearly bumbling Keiran with the other, not trusting his wooziness to keep him on track, as the tiny Force Sensitive continued to sob in his ba'vodu's hold but began to calm. His father, however, slowly began listing a litany of failures in an effort to get himself cognizant again, and hung his head. His voice was almost inaudible when he finally let it out.
His words carried even for such a quiet tone. "I've failed the Six Tenants. And I didn't even fight. Buire would be right to shoot me."
Drala's scalpel-edged stare locked sharply on Keiran once more. "Don't talk like that. You'll have time to beat yourself up later - right now we need to try to figure out who took her, where they are and where they're going, and how to get her back."
She turned the corner and rapped sharply on the door to Ren and Panaex's home. A howling, rage-of-hangover noise ensued from within, along with pounding footsteps. "ARRGHHHH KKKKKLLER GRAAAAAAH!"
Bloodshot eyes met them on the opening of the door. "Yes?"
Drala, unfazed by howls and rage, spoke dryly but truthfully. "Sorry to wake you up so early, buir, but something happened to Lyssia - she got taken by someone."
She nodded at the two companions she took with her. "I found them in town, looking like death warmed over."
Jahaal hadn't yet run out of tears and offered in a plaintive cry, "The kittyman and the meanman and the bigguy and the others!!"
Keiran monotonously recounted what came to mind foremost. Tears of his own started up as his head went down. "They mentioned returning Lyssia 'to her rightful master'. They were slavers. I couldn't s-s-stop them. I was unarmed, and if I used the Force it could have- hurt her-"
Drala and Keiran's mutually adoptive father, Panaex, blinked rapidly and then spat a set of words in a rather different and more lucid tone. "Slavers. Lyssia gone. Be right back."
"REN!" came the summoning call loudly as the older man hurried inside. "REN!"
The woman in question lurched out of the bedroom, wrapped up with a sheet and blanket draped over her. "That sounds like a tone I don't want to wake up to, Panaex. What's going on?"
In unison the Mando'jetti members left, father and son both, answered in mournful tones. "Lyssia got taken."
Panaex placed on his gauntlets and began to armor himself. "Slavers. None of the di'kutla little ones were armed."
To this Keiran, who had barely just become a Mandalorian when Lyssia was pregnant with Jahaal and was still getting used to the armor, let alone the Tenants, muttered something even more miserably under his breath. Old Ren sat down heavily, staring at Panaex, then Keiran, and gave a long sigh out. "Manda bless."
Drala contained a wince and maintained her bearing as ever, but decided this was not something the little boy needed to see or hear. Particularly if her swearing parents did anything. "I'm going to take Jahaal over to Xadro's, see if I can't find him and let him know what's happened."
Drala left swiftly with the mewling child. Keiran buried his head in his hands with a tiny squeak and miserably revealed what he had meant to tell them with Lyssia more happily later this very evening. "And to make things worse she's pregnant again. What do I do, buire?"
Literature
To Repair the Broken
Trailing her fingers over the dusty hard wood counter top, the heart inside her expanded, swelling full of regrets, of anger, and of sorrow. Tears brimmed her eyes before cascading down her cheeks like small waterfalls, never ending as the rain kept falling from her eyes.
Her fingers picked up chunks of dust upon those small ravines on the pads, dirtying her once pure body, just as the memories soiled her peace of mind. To breathe in the musky air was to inhale poisonous gasses from the past.
She took three steps farther into the room, away from the counter, before she sank down to her knees, surveying the sight before her eye
Literature
We Are The Old Empire
We are the old empire:
romantic, eternal, classical,
in love.
Literature
Death?
In the end I will not run
I will embrace it with open arms
For that is all you can do
Sure some may be sad
But you must always think about yourself first
Otherwise you will become corrupted
Lost
Your end will come quicker and no one would notice
So In the end I will not run
I will embrace it for that is all I can do
Suggested Collections
This, again (or not again. I don't think the author's note actually survived. ._.), is before most of the latter stories in the RP. Before Jakaan met Yillani or even Serue. Back before the twins were born. To re-emphasize, this be a history bit, not a new preggers.
Keiran, due to events of this segment of the RP which shall be uncompiled later, cannot actually make Lyssia have kids again
co-played/wrote this with several of her characters and was also the one to archive, and donate, this set of stories. Should only be a few more now.
A: [link]
B: [link]
C: [link]
D: [link]
E: [link]
F: [link]
G: [link]
H: [link]
I: [link]
J: [link]
K: [link]
Keiran, due to events of this segment of the RP which shall be uncompiled later, cannot actually make Lyssia have kids again
co-played/wrote this with several of her characters and was also the one to archive, and donate, this set of stories. Should only be a few more now.A: [link]
B: [link]
C: [link]
D: [link]
E: [link]
F: [link]
G: [link]
H: [link]
I: [link]
J: [link]
K: [link]
© 2011 - 2024 DarthVengeance0325
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Ah! Oh no, Lyssia!