━EARTHEN

#taerrine ind. priv. kostia kom boudalan & niylah kom trigedakru of the cw's 100 as portrayed by riley

[taerrine-blog]

SAVIOURSE.

her hair burns gold when the sunlight dies  ;  how the city sharpens it’s darkness for wanheda  &  ready their spears. this is her decision. the crowd parts  &  the scouts pray,  &  there’s a song. she’ll accept the flame. luna won’t  ;  she’s abandoned the blood  &  there’s no commander. the clock ticks  &  devours the time  ;  sweeps the leaves of spring into summer as the mountains deepen  &  the skies streak in red. it’s praimfaya, eschaton ―  THE LAST DAYS,  and there’s no commander.  ❝  wait,  ❞  she looks at gaia, the flame in her hand  &  lexa so close. clarke will be the next commander. she will unite the thirteen clans  &  save humanity. but the throne doors open  &  she sees her ― a girl in azgeda robes with a distinct smell of mountains. her rejection hurts, but there’s no choice. luna won’t take the flame  &  clarke is the only night blood left. this is for  lexa’s legacy.  ❝  there’s no commander,  ❞  she warns. the words settle in the room  &  leave a thick ink of silence. she steps towards the girl with eyes like the sierra at dawn. she will be the next commander. watch clarke crush the sky &   stars  &  reave a new darkness. the clock ticks.  she killed the commander   &  mother nature’s fairest flowers.  ❝  we don’t have a choice.  ❞

 she feels that  familiarity of forbidden flame once again hum beneath guise.  standing there upon sacred altar, daunted by a false revelation.  a girl with a faulted halo burning wildly beyond recognition.  beyond what was expected.  whispers of contempt rose, gathered clans indulging conveyed suspicion in justified inquiry.  their peoples most sacred of traditions turned into another ploy concocted by wanheda. this unity was already mounted on a grave of lies.   amber hues examinefallacious ascendant / finding sincerity in deliberate vocalization turned desperate. she needed to stopscathing hopelessness. if the dead could speak they’d weep ; how they’ve fallen.  malignant phoenix wore dermis just as she did the departed. haunted again and again by the beckon of survival. by the necessity of being crowned savior.   & yet divinity would not be set so easily.      ❛   you think you are our last hope?  ❜

[taerrine-blog]

* &   @pyrrhica

                  lips upturn in a careful expression ;  optics reflecting trees,  vines and the freedom of the forests.  she knows better then to interrupt  /  careful observer-- silently retaining the ways of people she wouldn’t quite yet call her own.  there clarke sat,  busied with the task far too weighted for the small expanse of her back to shoulder alone.     ❛  why don’t you take a break?   ❜  soft intonation set in offering.   &  rebuttal would not be tended to lightly.   careful palms meant for mending reached to grip that which had the intent to solve  ;  caressing from wrist to index.    ❛   i’m sure looking at it with a fresh set of rested eyes will solve more than blankly staring.  ❜   even a leader needed to be reminded of their own well-being.  that they still had needs beyond fulfilling their station  &  beckon of their people.  that was what niylah was:  a silent un-expectant reprieve from judgement. 

[gyllenhal-deactivated20220721]

[justcallmetomi]

[taerrine-blog]

* & @uncrucify 

           blaspheme,   muttered curses.  wanheda,  skaikru,  klark.  ice scalded where warmth once seared.  void lingering in soft susurration– thou shall not pass.  veiled figure moves through booming city ;  a shadow, wraith born escapist  (  shattered not by cinder but frigid crystalline  ) senses keen to listen,  gathering information, obtaining all that was needed to determine whether wanheda was friend or foe.  watchful optics settled upon the presence of sky born intruders, nose wrinking conclave gathering  /  fleimkepa standing proudly upon throne donned altar.  dissonance reverberating within brittle bones.   blasphemy!   finally, at the apex of demonstration wraith steps toward light.  at a time she may have offered peaceful tribute,  a way all of them could walk away without bloodshed.  no more– venom coated muscle.  exhaustion creasing brow, teeth bared.    ❛   this is really your solution?    ❜   calm despite growing storm.    ❛   to allow an outsider one of our most sacred traditions—  why not ask how wanheda’s blood has become  sacred.   ❜   gaze follows,  finally laying claim to death’s own. 

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Let me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals.

Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals 

[nayalycia]

[taerrine-blog]

nayalycia:

“I fight for no one. I fight for death”

[taerrine-blog]

CAERMINE.

they returned from a sabbatical in  the sahara dust.  they lied and told heda that it was to train, but they spent a week on a sand-claimed  statue of liberty  and speaking of a unified peace.  one clan.  a harmony as thick as the forest of trigedakru and  a city of freedom.  lexa admired the sweet-tongued rein costia spoke of, and in her ears, she heard a siren of  the wind and water.  a harmony of the clans and  no more war.  the tower was quiet when they returned in the evening with all the sand shaken out and sangeda robes traded for noviciate clothes. instead of going to the bunks, they’d gone to the cartography room, the loneliest room in the tower. no one ever comes into the room. heda sees no reason to when he views the world as his.  but, it is a sanctuary of quiet as the night burns gold incense in scarlet flames. lexa pulls a map of  the twelve clans  and their lands from the shelves, and carefully unrolls next to luna and costia. it was not good. ❛ an alliance with the other clans is impossible.  it’ll start a war. ❜  she advised, pointing to the borders of ouskejon and louwoda kilron. in retrospect, the idea of a coalition was good ―  in theory,  but impossible to execute. it was like a difficult puzzle : what clans can’t be together and which clans have formed an alliance. 

triple trouble triumvirate : @taerrine / @maerine. 

days spent alongside lexa and luna were amongst deeply cherished memory.  dusted gold left over from their excursion adorned dark mane / limbs heavy.   amber hues watching digits move in silence  ; observing each border.  appreciatively listening to the thrum of melodic intensity.  costia may not have been a warrior nor a natblida ; however,  she possessed an ideology that was emboldened in company of like minded companions  (   being apart from the other initiates gave peace of mind, lacking fear when expressing opinion  )   fleimkepa,  devoted to those of the blood.  to the great ascension of of the next commander.  overseer of conclave &  guardian of the sacred temple.  one day she too,  would aid in the next heda’s ascension.  costia’s  devotion to belief tethered intricately in shared bond.  peace was not an option--  but a solution.  something to unite them--  something  void of violence and bloodshed.  or so, this was their aim.   ❛  it isn’t impossible!   ❜;   swift to interject,  tenor remaining soft despite impassioned thought.  ❛  not when you offer them something more.  we find clans who have like minded ideals... ❜  gaze first turning to luna and then lexa.   ❛  -----we aren’t all so different.   ❜

[taerrine-blog]