ᴇꜱᴄᴜʟᴇɴᴛ

vaingloryhq // 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘦

[chaoswithinthestars]

Location: Marbrook Timeline: Leading up to the Harvest Starter: Open

This chilly weather and snow dotted grasses are distracting. Khaos wanders around the beach, looking for anything shiny. Pretty stones that reflected the light just right against gray rocks. It’s reminiscent of the sky, and once more, they swallow down the feeling looking up creates. They hadn’t realized their time here would be forced longer than they desired. So be it. The more they wandered such a place, the more disorder which would eventually follow.

Plus, this was everyone’s home. Far from the quiet of space and the social calling couldn’t be too terrible to endure. They frowned. Perhaps it would be a little bothersome having to be reminded of everyone’s ‘importance.’ What mattered of titles? What mattered of their existence? 

Boring. This would be terribly boring.

Something finally caught their eye, and they crouched down to wipe the white specks from the surface of the item. They carefully examined the stone, which had a line of bright blue through it.

[cadavre-diadem]

the chilly air settled into bones like a playful hound nipping at the heel though one was an annoyance while the other a beloved enclosure, snowflakes gliding down from the sky to land on the earth — or the tongue since the mage decided to indulge such childish behavior for a short moment as she walked — tugged insistently at her wistful memories like a child at their mothers’ skirt to procure attention. something of which she titled bitter and shoved away in favor of the upkeep towards halfward lightened mood. however with the many different beings stuffed in a metaphorical jar, the label written across it in a gentle script. concord. agrafena doubted how long peace would gaze at them lovingly, if this new yet old home would be as welcoming.

“ do you know what larimar means? “ she hadn’t meant to approach them from behind, or had she, knew the peril of such impolite action as not introducing oneself first before making sudden inquires and yet did so anyway, eyes down turning only afterwards as if in a sudden near mock puppet show of apology.

then back upon the stone in grip, like caught in fascination or disgust.

“ rather lovely it is, I’m sure you have a wonderful collection to add it to. “

[godweary]

location: charmire timestamp: 001. welcome to estonia. featuring: thanatos starter: open

it had been at least thirty years since he’d been back. thirty years since he’d last opened up his book shop in estonia ( not that he didn’t move it around. ) and yet, not a single speck of dust. only the smell of old books. he hangs his long coat on the hanger next to the door before taking out a very thick notebook from behind the counter that contains all the sales he’s made within the last hundred years or so. ( the rest of his records are in the basement, of course. )

he starts to hum as he counts, only stopping when he hears the bell notifying him of a potential customer entering his shop. he looks up and offers a small smile before giving them a nod. “ welcome, ” his voice oddly warm for a god of death. he can sense they are no mere mortal, and so the veil lifts allowing them to see the sign that points to where all the supernatural books are. “ if you are looking for something specific, please do not hesitate to ask. ”

[cadavre-diadem]

agrafena couldn’t remember the last time she made the venture to let her foot pass the threshold of a library or his book shop—any book shop for that matter—not that the woman was under the notion of being unable to enter due to spell or something equally dramatic. she just hadn’t the time for a calm evening surrounded by the scent of old tomes, the quiet or the gentle rustle of a turning page. fingers twitched for that long longed for phantom feeling gaining momentum like the demented woodpecker of a heartbeat then slowed once the bell sang in her own ear. a sweet welcome.

“ thank you, “ sage hued gaze turned from him, to the sign, then back again with a curved edge to lips threatening to bubble over into a soft thing reflecting the warmth the building and it’s owner provided. “ a peruse through the garden should provide something for my palate. “ then agrafena moved languidly, took a step in the direction indicated, words once more rising from her lips and carrying. “ the volume about the firebird’s was...intriguing. “

[bloodyxshores]

Character: Medea (Open) Location: Oceanid Apothecary Timestamp 002: Settle Down 

Medea flipped the sign on the door to open with a sigh, making a few last minute adjustments to her wares before returning to her perch at the counter where she had been bundling herbs. Truth be told, the harvest had been excellent for business, what with the influx of magic-users and other supernaturals in addition to her regulars. However, she couldn’t help the unease that settled into her bones as the energy in the city bubbled and brewed. The sorceress had only just resigned herself to life in Estonia within the past decade or so, as modern medicine made it more difficult for her to rely solely on the mortals and wandering mages for business. It may have been one of her longest tenures yet, but it still felt foreign living among the civilized after so many centuries on her own. As comfortable and constant as life had become, the community hadn’t felt any more like home than any of the others she had settled in. At least she could keep herself busy with work and some harvesting of her own. She steeled herself for social interaction as she heard the entrance bell ring, customer service voice well primed after centuries of business.

                                                             “Welcome…”

[cadavre-diadem]

agrafena found a flaw in her plan to let the hut roam while she went to make a hefty purchase due to her low supply of certain ingredients, it’s restlessness sinking into her own bones and causing an ache she desired to be rid of lest she gain a headache in skull and so with rushed word and loopholes poking through like pits in a cheese or the easy untanglement of thread the mage allowed it to go, waving it off, no doubt chicken feet were headed for ashthorne’s forests reminiscent to their own outside of estonia. she just hoped it didn’t cause a ruckus. couldn’t recall either if such a thing could pine for anything, though it might have been her own desires bleeding through the cracks in the home’s structure.

“ just an old friend coming to visit, no reason to use such a nauseating tone.” was agrafena even able to use such familiar terms? tug at the string of friendliness despite it’s unknowns, although the words were not followed by anything other than professionalism, something like the white walls of a hospital. clinical. like that affectionate designation did not leave lips. “ picking up an order and to pry if anything new came in, could always make use of the experimentation. “

[starkhorn]

“There’s another here.”

“Amunet. Serpent. Hidden one. Know your master. Your lover. Your master.”

[cadavre-diadem]

── IN THE NAME OF THE MOTHER the high council is prepared to welcome ( AGRAFENA OZORO ), ( SHE/HER ) to the harvest. however, in myth they were once known as ( BABA YAGA ), as a ( MAGE ). we might have mistaken them as ( EVA GREEN ) appearances may be deceiving, with immortality being so common among supernatural community. this being has walked the earth for ( UNKNOWN ) years, and their face reflects an age of ( FORTY-ONE ). as we prepare for the harvest they have found refuge in( BLIGHTBIRD ) and are noted as a ( RESIDENT ) they’re known for ( 'ATTENDING TO' THOSE THAT SEEK HER OUT AND BEING A FREELANCE JEWELER ).

⇢ 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍;

full name: agrafena maev ozoro meaning:  ❛ feet first & she who intoxicates ❜ nickname(s) | aliases: fena, bone mother, the hag | tsaritsa of the wood occupation; current | former freelance jeweler, scavenger | unknown affiliation | alignment: unknown | chaotic neutral  disposition { positive }; jovial, percipient, venturesome disposition { negative }; abstruse, reserved, esurient

tw: mention of blood, tw: death, tw: body horror? ( tagging it just in case )

× upon her sanguine arrival into the living plane the ice cold, thin, bony hands ripped herself out of the world's womb using blunt serrated nails, it was a quiet occurrence in the means of notice regardless of the appalling nature of the deformity, not a cry passed her lips nor a scream at least not from her. the earth in time however would weep as one such as her tread upon it.

× baba yaga is a name that crawls up the spine, a paranoiac glance left, right, down, and up in order to make sure the murmur did not summon the creature who flies on a mortar and wields a pestle. as names are a powerful entity and are to be hoarded by one such a she with a greedy, insatiable stomach. not even a whisper is secreted away between lips. designations teased with as if a game of cards.

× the witch in the woods, the hag with iron teeth, bone mother, tsaritsa of the night yet never yaga the good are few among many titles the mage has acquired like a noose given the tales that spread far and wide via travelers, heroes, and royalty of her reputation either a benevolent wise teacher or janus faced crone inclined to feast on your flesh if so much as provoked into a sudden whim to execute so. lips curled into a grin that stretched and stretched wider. ear to ear. even farther. smile like that of a wolf. eyes like that of an owl. teeth like knives that gleamed to the idea of drinking up spilled by her hand blood.

× specifically the woman lives in a chicken footed hut that was once an egg, toeing the edge of blightbird, a fence of mortal bones with varying stages of decay leading up to the plot of land where her home usually is as the house is prone to the appetite to stroll or dance to unheard tunes, to fill it's belly on whim. the chimney is always alive, smoke wafting upwards into the sky and a iron pot perched above a fire inside. to place upon the words of summoning however, “ little hut, little hut, turn your back to forest and your door to me! “ stops any motion and the house will drop immediately to allow entrance into its maw. even if the mage is not there she feels who is in her abode, her soul crawls with the many feet that have found their way inside and touched the floorboards.

× agrafena ozoro is a name she procured from a previous victim years ago, stole, seized, plucked from her small bones as the corpse had no need for it now. baba yaga wears it as her own, fits into it with water like ease. has almost gone through with a full accommodation by taking forth the ghost of the human’s personality as well to better assume the act. unfortunate then, that she even appears to wear her skin. despite eyes being too empty, too husk like when she fiddles at warmth.

× in spite of being from the cloth of solitary the mage is all to eager for interactions of any kind, nearly becoming a thing that fills her up like sustenance would her stomach. though that too could be a double-edged sword in terms of which meal one would become. estonia, the mother, the harvest, the summons that called her forth baba yaga answered with the notion of peace, of slipping the veil of agrafena the nurturing onto features before the doors open and she steps down the aisle. not entirely vacating her nature. 

[fairytellers]

Baba Yaga, in Slavic folklore, is a supernatural being (or one of a trio of sisters of the same name) who appears as a ferocious-looking woman. Baba Yaga flies around in a mortar, wields a pestle, and dwells in the forest in a hut usually described as standing on chicken legs. Although she is mostly portrayed as a terrifying old crone, Baba Yaga may help those that encounter or seek her out. Her faithful servants are the White Horseman, the Red Horseman and the Black Horseman.

[evaggreendaily]

Eva Green photographed by Yelena Yemchuk for Violet Magazine.

[cadavre-diadem]

ᵗᵃᵍˢ.