thomasstalsworth
Thomas Stalsworth
"Ain't no place I ain't been, ain't no place I can't go again." -- Multi-muse blog for 'Stalsworth' WrA : Alliance.
564 posts
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clippingmaker
Clipping Maker - Leading Image Editing Studio
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Lowering the price down to 25 USD for a half body cell-shaded piece. Times have gotten super tough with my fiancé quitting work and I didn’t actually realize how tough until tonight. I’ll be doing these as fast as I can while still maintaining quality.
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Emergency Vet Commissions
Hey guys, I had to take my baby boy to the vet today as yesterday he was unexpectedly leaking bloody urine, and then stopped being able to urinate throughout the night. We tried calling even hours away to get him into an Emergency Vet but the one here was closed, and others were at capacity. Our own vet couldn’t take us in, so the Neighbourhood Pet Clinic was kind enough to take us in the morning when they opened. The vet was able to help him urinate with assistance, and also did an ultrasound to determine he has crystals and sediment in his bladder but THANKFULLY was not blocked. He’s on buprenorphine for pain management, and urinary vet food for wet and dry. The total bill was a little over $500 + me going back and getting his pain medication which was $27. This isn’t a huge amount but with only one person in the household working F/T thanks to COVID, it still hit us pretty hard given how unexpected it is and we’re still recovering from Piper’s $1000+ emergency vet bill from her accident with another dog (she’s recovered now, hooray!). Plus we have to follow up and get more testing done soon if he doesn’t improve.
Thus, emergency commissions are open and I’m making them hella cheap compared to my usual.
Bust: $15 USD
Half Body: $25 USD
Full Body: $40 USD
Will draw couples. If you want something but don’t see an option for it, please message me. We’ll see what we can do.
I also have a ko-fi for if anyone is feeling generous. I normally abhor asking but in this case, I will for my fur baby.
https://ko-fi.com/whimsicalme
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Parley
On the southern coast of Westfall were numerous rocky edifices and reefs to accompany the sandy shoreline. Most prominent amongst them was the small, shallow-water island which housed the eponymous Westfall Lighthouse. A towering structure that was certainly showing it’s age in helping ferry travelers along the western coast of the Wrynn kingdom.
While there was no imposing, glittering bulwark of the ocean to be seen – which is to say, the Chauncel was not present in the waters off the coast. Perhaps such wasn’t a surprise. Whatever foulery of delving, digging, excavating and flooding allowed the vessel to be interred within the depths of the old Deadmines likely made it difficult to trot out without firm purpose.
All the same, even though the Reverend’s flagship was not present – he was. Waiting on the shoreline of the rowing dock which sat on one end of the Lighthouse’s meager island, he stood flanked by a cohort of his most zealous followers; each bore his hand branded on their face.
The rowboat caused the water to slosh as it came to a stop at the little dock that had been built for just that; a rowboat. It hadn’t the grandere to dock a ship such as the Dancing Dolphin or the Chauncel, and that was with the assumption they wouldn’t run aground on the rocky shoal.
Calloused hands tied the boat to the dock, before she climbed out. Adjusting her red coat with the trim of gold and white– a birthday gift, and bearing the colours of the House in which she took such care for– Abighail, looked around the area, lips pursed. With confident gait, Abby made her way across wooden board and stopped just short of the shoreline, where the Reverend was. Thumbs came to rest and hook upon her belt as she canted her head to the side. That was as much of a greeting as he was getting from her.
“And there she is,” the Reverend proclaimed with a sweeping gesture. The pot-belly of his stomach swelled with his common garments. A shirt befitting a swashbuckler, albeit stretched out and worn by constant sea-travel. He wore his trinkets and holy symbols of myriad denominations more than he wore proper clothing, in truth.
The assembled ‘earnest’ of his feverish elite did not speak. Whether it was by the branding of their face or other, subtle magics which influenced them more than mere loyalty – one could only presume. All the same, the half-dozen or so stark with scarred faces stood aside the Reverend with fearsome providence.
“I take it by your arrival you are amenable to our earlier agreement, and shall endeavour to perform affably to fill it out – as I am want to engage the same in proper, mercantile exchange?”
The Reverend’s voice, sluggish and drawn with the heritage of the region by which they were occupying, Westfall, carried well against the froth of the coastline.
The Captain’s gaze flit over those assembled with the Reverend before she looked back to him. “You first,” she stated simply, allowing for an elongated pause before she elaborated. “You promise what ought be impossible. Therefore, you will be providing full evidence that you can actually deliver upon your word. I will see Moray and I will see O'Grady. In th’ state you promised. Only then will you get what you want.”
A sour, sucking sound wracked the Reverend’s ugly mouth. He drew in the briny, if dry, coastal air of his homeland before he took turn to reply to her demands.
“You would ask that I perform the nigh-impossible, a task requiring of the enormity of undying faith that yet I alone can provide, before you even seek to allot a morsel of our agreement to me? I will forgive a momentary over-reach which is burdened by youth.”
The Reverend, laden with trinkets holy by all make and measure, narrowed his gaze at her through the waft of his scorched brow. “An eye for an eye, girl.”
“Yet you would ask for me to divulge and give that which only I possess to you? Of which you know I have? Before what sounds like impossibility is provided?” A slender brow notched with a small scar raised upwards. “It sounds to me like nothin’ but a bamboozle otherwise. A ploy t'take an’ take an’ take. As that’s all pirate ilk do.”
“I stand firm. Provide, or I shan’t,” she asserted.
Keep reading
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Resident swampsage takes time on the coast to enjoy the coast.
Also known as an excuse to draw @abighail-stalsworth in her tidesage robes.
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An amazingly and wonderfully drawn Abighail, art’d up by the talented WARLOCKRY_ on twitter. Absolutely loved commissioning this artist. They were very easy to work with.
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Shields for @abighail-stalsworth / @elaianna and @kaerlic-ironshield
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it’s fuckin wimdy @abighail-stalsworth
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The Annual Harbor Games Returns for it’s Fifth Year!
Save that Date and join us in Boralus for another incredible weekend of seafaring games and revelry!
Who will be our new champions?
Do you dare to challenge our previous winners?
Come and test your mettle in races such as Monkey in the Rigging, and Tow the Line! Or perhaps you all about that teamwork? Well then, grab a partner and start practicing for the Great Dinghy Derby or the Cannonball Run!
**This year the Harbor Games will be on the Moon Guard server, with anchors available for Wyrmies, instead of the other way around. Main prizes can be won by both servers.
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Something Important
“Sad to say I haven’t hired anyone, but I have come here for something rather critical.”
Earlier in their conversation Lane had already told her in jest to not ask anymore questions. It was in jest that Abighail didn’t ask, though there was concern mingled with her intrigue. They had only just moved into the office space in Bridgeport but two weeks prior. What had gone wrong already?
Having been asked to join him, she left the office space behind them– lending to further confusion– and went with Lane. Up the rocky road that twisted and winded around, making a comment about how such winding roads were nice for horseback. Scenic.
Where Lane stopped was cause for a degree of surprise. It was atop the wooden bridge that looked over the sound where he had turned and when she joined him up atop the rail he asked her if she saw it. Squinting, Abby looked over the sound, trying to figure out what ‘it’ was. She saw nothing in disrepair. Nothing to call upon her immediate attention. Nothing to draw concern.
Listing off what she did see, each was phrased as a question. The water? The station? The sharks in the bay? The monastery? While she scrutinized the view, she hadn’t seen Lane reach into his pocket until he was holding out a pink seashell for her.
“It’s just the water. Just the sound that feeds into the ocean. Pretty.”
“Never ‘just’ th’ water,” she mused.
A smile touched Abighail’s lips. She remembered their conversation just a few days prior. She remembered the hopeful, perhaps-too-romantic notions of a silly girl– herself– and fond thoughts. She remembered a suggestion, that needn’t be now, or soon, but something for their future. Not a wedding. They weren’t to get married, for reasons she’d accept to no longer delve into, and that was okay. But what if they skipped the ceremony, the paperwork, the expectations? What if they spoke words before the Tidemother as witness, holding their shells, and cast the shells out to sea, to Her, memorializing their words, their decision. Very few people would understand, she was sure, but it wasn’t for them to understand. It was just for her and Lane. He said to give him some time to not think about it, and then said he would consider it. She told him he needn’t even consider it if he didn’t wish, but he assured her he would consider it. That alone had meant worlds to her, and she told him that day that no matter the answer, she appreciated that he’d even consider it.
Yet, here they stood, a seashell in her hand, and one in Lane’s. Reaching into her bag, she rummaged before picking out a ridged scallop shell; yellow with sandy-coloured speckles. She always picked the yellowed shells when she found them. She hadn’t admitted it, but they reminded her of his eyes. Even gold could be found in the ocean’s wonders. She held the shell out for him to take. While her heart warmed that he had taken the time to find two gorgeous shells, it was a shell from each love that was accepted by the Tidemother. Perhaps She wouldn’t mind, but on the off chance She did?
Keeping his gaze on the sound, it was Lane that spoke first. “You’re my… I love you very much, Birdy. No matter what. An’ if you’re happy, then I’d be happy too. So let’s keep it that way for the rest of our lives.”
Abby’s expression bloomed into a wide smile. Unlike him, her gaze wasn’t on the sound, but on him. “I love you very much too, Lane. An’ I’d like to keep it that way too, for the rest of our lives. Which I hope.. is still quite long. I’m not done enjoying life with you. Not even close.”
Smiling at her, Lane asked if she was ready. She was, but she cautioned him to use the shell she had given him. Silly little things concerns. “Any last words before we cast them to th’ Tidemother?” she asked. She had a tendency to jump the gun, and for once, slowed herself down to ensure she wasn’t. A rare occurrence. Winding up his throw, Lane said his last words, which earned a laugh from Abby, before he threw the shell as far as he could into the sound. “I’ll stab anyone who makes this hard for either of us!”
Raising the pink ridged shell she was given, Abby gave it a little peck, before reeling her own arm back and throwing the shell to join Lane’s in the sound. Soft words were murmured to the Tidemother, before she looked to Lane who wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, an arm slipping around his back. With a kiss pressed to her temple, Lane spoke again. “As I said: Extreme importance.”
“I could melt from happiness. Just dissolve into a puddle.”
“Don’t! Abby, I don’t have a bucket!”
@lanerakes
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Admiral Thomas Stalsworth
By Same-van-Rijn
A gift for @thomasstalsworth for being such a great guy and putting up with me and my writing for four, going on five years!
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Stalsworth Family Oil Portraits
*Young Stalsworth Children not included
Duchess Elaianna Stalsworth, Sister/Lady Abighail Stalsworth, Admiral/Duke Thomas Stalsworth
By Same-van-Rijn
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Abighail Stalsworth by @karrah_e on Twitter
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Been waiting to post this, but, they were a little bit cute tonight at Conquest, and so I’ll post it now. Seems as good a time as any.
@abighail-stalsworth & @lanerakes
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A simple parcel, packaged and plain. Such minor straddling of brown, crinkling paper and white twine drew up an unassuming item. It was a box -- that was quite clear by shape alone. But with the dying of twine undone and knotting unsaid, paper peeled or folded back -- the parcel opened at the top. It was a dull, little affair of cardstock in thickness bearing only to the matter of requirement for passage by post. A box opened, with a stoppered vial and a letter to accompany within the interior.
What was obvious to be done other than examine? Surely, that was the meaning of the parcel. The vial was stoppered with a thickened cork closed with wax. It was unique only, in truth, for that wax -- which was doppled in silver and auburn. The needling of heraldic memory could almost make the pairing of hues for a particular flag of house. … But then again, perhaps not.
The fluid inside of the vial was viscous, flowing at that speed which molasses would envy. A caustic color, the fluid was ill-suited to the eyes and surely would be worse to any other sense given the sealant keeping it from the air. Grace be to thickened glass spun up to survive the hassles of Kul Tiran postal services. It looked ill.
The letter was more forthright, as it held no curious colour and was written in plain script.
To the Duchess of Stormholme, Lady Stalsworth ne Nesbitt, Elaianna by good stature,
I should imagine that there is no proper timing to this missive, so it may suit us both to be simple in terms. Unfortunately, for all the levies of distaste to my spectral being, ‘inarticulate’ was never one of them. So by penmanship you should be, by requirement, to endure.
I won't spend ink on ‘who’, as you surely understand this letter’s author by the timing and peculiarity of the post. So then, by requirement, I will move onto the item laid unto parcel herein. The vial, that is, as you in possession of both eyes should yet have deduced present. I did say I would introduce you to the second half of the poison, didn’t I? I am nothing if not a creature of my word, and so here it is. I thought it more fitting and sportsmanlike to offer you at least a chance to discern the venom before it is drawn into your blood.
Go on, then. I’m sure the wheels are turning in your treacherous skull. What to do with it, which apothecary is best on the take of your coin purse to promulgate to mind a cure-all. And as much as I’d enjoy the will they, and yes, the wont-they, of such an affair -- were I you? I’d spare the alchemist their retainer. There’s nothing that stops this particular, and joyously effective, toxin from its course. Go ahead, study it. Know it well, like the back of your ironclad, velvet-lined gloves.
It won't help you.
Unless, of course, you do as you are asked -- by requirement.
There is a muddling of ink in the midst of the letter, there toward the end. It looked as if someone had written something but crossed it out, blotted it with their inkwell before continuing.
Ten bells in the evening, Hangman’s Point, on the border of Drustvar. The fourteenth. I suspect the sight of noose and rope will be quite nostalgic for you. Bring no one, not even steed.
And, if as I am certain you are considering, you decline -- prepare for bloody constraint. A red flag over the topsail, as I’m certain you will understand, Jenny.
@elaianna
Letters, receipts, envelopes and mild parcels. So much mail reached Stormholme it was a wonder that no couriers ever broke their ankles. But rare was it that a proper package arrived to the Duchess' specific attention. Thus, as per standing orders, it was quarantined and set aside in the garrison where the wards of the Duchy's estate were thickest. In fairness, the package wasn't elaborate or threatening. A box without return address, only marked with 'Duchess of Stormholme' in block script.
It was at the garrison where the package would sit.
And sit.
And sit.
Days went on before the Duchess found the time to accept such a trifling matter as a package. Her days were busy with work for the company, work for the duchy, maintaining an ear to the ground for the whispers of on-going events in Stormsong Valley-- of which some seemed to venture so far as Drustvar. To say nothing of how busy motherhood kept one.
Having found no urgency to the package, Elaianna found herself days later, heading to the garrison to receive the unexpected parcel. It was, admittedly, a vague mention of reminder from her children’s governess, Andritte, whom had inquired on if she had ever found out what it was.
Here and now, she had intention of discovering its contents. If for no other reason than to cross off another thing from her ever-growing to-do list. The package was left in a small command office for her, atop a table, when she had made her reason for arriving known. Flanked on either side of the room were two guards, dressed in the blue, white and gold colours of Stormhollow.
It was only then that she would open the package.
@thomasstalsworth
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To the Duchess...
Ciralin stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her with arms crossed over her chest. In her left hand she drummed a quill against her right arm. Scraps and crumpled papers littered the area beside her. Garnering an occasional, bitter scowl from the elf. There was nothing she wrote that seemed to properly explain what it was she wanted to get across. This was her last piece of parchment though, and she’d be damned to visit the shop again for more in the same evening.
With a resounding sigh, Ciralin leaned forward once more, she dipped her quill into the inkwell and pressed the tip to the paper.
Dear Elaianna.
There are no words I can write that I know you would believe without viable proof. As much as I would prefer to tell you this in person, I am unable to make it to Stormholme at this time.
I have returned. Though in my absence it seems much has changed. I do not recall much of anything that lead up to my apparent demise. Though it was disclosed to me that I was not the only one.
Ciralin paused and took a deep breath, blinking back tears. She was still coming to terms with the knowledge that Sigurd was gone too. Joseph didn’t tell her how it had happened other than there was an explosion of sorts. Every time she tried to remember anything about the events that lead to her death, there was a heavy brain-fog.
She sniffled once and ran the back of her hand across her eyes clearing the blurring tears away before returning to her writing.
I would also like to apologize for my behaviors in a time where I might not have been coherent. As a Steward for your company, I realize how fatal that could have been on the image of Anchor Trading, as well as the members. I ask only for your forgiveness, though I understand if it is not easily given.
For any further questions, as I’m sure there will be many, please seek me out in Stormwind. I will meet you any where on your terms.
Sincerely,
Ciralin Roseshadow
There. It was done.
Before she decided she hated it, she dusted some powder over the letter to dry out the fresh ink and promptly placed it into an envelope that had been addressed earlier. She laid some fresh sprigs of lavender freshly purchased onto the backing before pouring a purple wax, similar in colour to the herb into the center, and pressed a rose seal to stamp the envelope closed.
Hastily, she pushed herself from her seat and managed her way down the stairs of the tavern she stayed in, bringing the letter to the innkeeper with prompt instructions to deliver it, along with a gold tip. Ciralin then made her way back to her room and slowly rolled onto the bed. She stared at the canopy of the bed above her as anxiety gnawed at her insides.
“Soon. Things will make sense soon.”
Mentions: @elaianna @brandstonethings @woesofwolves
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THE CAPTAIN
The Basics ––– –
NAME: Abighail Stalsworth
AGE: 23
BIRTHDAY: May 4th
RACE: Human (Kul Tiran)
GENDER: Female
SEXUALITY: Demisexual
MARITAL STATUS: Courting
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Taken
Physical Appearance ––– –
HAIR: Strawberry Blonde
EYES: Dove grey, left eye is a glass eye designed to look close to ‘real’
HEIGHT: 5′8″
BUILD: Athletic, toned, lacking in curves/unshapely
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Freckles. A small tattoo on her back of a compass surrounded by a ship’s wheel with an anchor hanging from it, and a swallow caught in the ropes trying to fly off, embellished with seastalk blooms. Scar notched into her left brow. Scar hooking upwards on the right side of her jaw, towards her eye/nose. An anchor shaped brand below her collarbone the side of a splayed out hand. Burn scars around both wrists. Scars diagonal on her back from a bear claw.
COMMON ACCESSORIES: A necklace with a seastalk bloom pendant. Bandolier filled with water jars and a water bladder, holding a tidal kris. Deadringer. A leather satchel dyed blue with tentacles and a bell depicted in white on it.
Personal ––– –
PROFESSION: Captain of the Dancing Dolphin. Foxrun Station Harbormistress. House Karfrost Liaison. Tidesage.
HOBBIES: Sailing, playing violin or kalimba, ‘adventuring’, dice games, collecting shells.
LANGUAGES: Common. A little bit of Draenic.
RESIDENCE: The Fens, Wetlands. Also rents a room at the Golden Keg in Stormwind.
BIRTHPLACE: Stormsong Valley, Kul Tiras
RELIGION: The Tides
PATRON DEITY: The Tidemother
FEARS: Fire, Not Measuring Up, Trolls, Ghouls
Traits ––– -
extroverted / introverted / in between.
disorganized / organized / in between.
close minded / open-minded / in between.
calm / anxious / in between/
disagreeable / agreeable / in between.
cautious / reckless / in between.
patient / impatient / in between.
outspoken / reserved / in between.
leader / follower / in between.
empathetic / unemphatic / in between.
optimistic/ pessimistic / in between.
traditional / modern / in between.
hard-working / lazy / in between.
cultured/ un-cultured / in between.
loyal/ disloyal / unknown / in between.
faithful/ unfaithful / unknown / in between.
Additional Information ––– –
SMOKING HABIT: never/ sometimes / frequently / to excess.
DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.
ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess
RP Hooks ––– –
Abighail is the Captain of a privateering and salvage vessel. She is happy to take on contracts for either job! If you need a wreck salvaged, or something salvaged off of a coast? She’s your girl.
Recently, Abighail has been involving herself in the politics of Stormwind’s nation just to keep herself and her Lord informed of the going ons and progress of the City. Political friends?
Tidesage. Abighail is new to the order of Storm’s Wake, and a novice Tidesage. Other Tidesages (or followers of the religion) may recognize her for what she is on account of the water jars she carries, her tidal kris and deadringer. On occasion, she can be seen with her abyssal lantern as well.
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Abighail Stalsworth
Captain of the Dancing Dolphin
Art by @the-zombee-cat
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