snarfables » Clan | Lair | Nesting Grounds

snarfables' Clan

LAIR PURGE ! LAIR PURGE !

Mighty Lair

of the

Abiding Boneyard

Clan Info

『 Froth-Bitter Lair 』

_{leo ✩ she/her they/them ✩ writer

speaks

english | little german

currently into

warriors, soul eater, true crime, rimworld

timezone

FR +16}

_{things to do:

- finish lore

- finish bio (lol)

- start a hatchery

- start a store}

_{needed/wanted:

- gen 1 imp

- bios for everyone

- all primals

- so many scatterscrolls}

_{gene projects:

- Dragon ID: 51715565 laced, ghost

- Dragon ID: 48552851 gembond, facet}

_{reminders:

- STOP BUYING THINGS! ! !}

𝙇𝙤𝙧𝙚.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖥𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁-𝖡𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖫𝖺𝗂𝗋.
𝖣𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗄𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇.
𝖫𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖤𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗐 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖦𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝖣𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇. 𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝖣𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖱𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 𝖻𝗒 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖠 𝖦𝖺𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍, 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗌𝗄𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖯𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗓𝗓𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄.
𝖣𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉, 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗎𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗌, 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽, 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖽𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍.
𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖥𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁-𝖡𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖫𝖺𝗂𝗋

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝖻𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌, 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈. 𝖫𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖣𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇.
𝖥𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍, 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖳𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗋𝖺, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒.

𝖥𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖸𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖦𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗄𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.
𝖡𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖳𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗋𝖺, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗏𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗒. 𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒, 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖦𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖺𝗅.

𝖴𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗆𝗌, 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗍.
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖼𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗈𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝗎𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗀𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗍 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌. 𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝖾, 𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖲𝗄𝗒𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗏𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗈𝗓𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌.

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍, 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗂𝗋.
𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽.