#ianuaria

[hearthfirehandworks]

Ianuaria of the healing spring,, player upon the pipes, I praise your gift of recovery.

[moonarches]

Lady Ianuaria devotional moodboard bc i'm feeling her this morning

[scythedelic]

Just saved "Shadow of the Black Jaguar" by #Ianuaria to my Spotify Library

[immortalwanderer-a-blog]

The marauders had made short work of any towns that once resided within the valley. Pillars of acrid smoke, tinged a sickly green, waft towards the sky. There are no panicked screams, to desperate cries. There is very little chance that there is anyone sentient left living within the ‘Valley of Life’ as the locals call it. Ianuaria frowns as she casts yet another blessing over the burned out remains of a village, wishing peaceful rest for the poor souls who were ruthlessly slaughtered. None were spared. Young, old, with child or not, not even the animals were spared. She is reminded far too much of what happened so long ago, and she frowns heavily. “Kiran,” she calls, voice sharp and commanding, but not harsh. The taller being, armored and elegant, turns immediately from their watchful position. Their feline-like ears swivel slightly and they stand and trot over, steps oddly light despite their size. “Yes, Mamae?” they respond as they come to a stop. They kneel and rest their arms upon their planted leg, crimson eyes focused upon the robed silhouette of their mother. “I need you to track these barbarous fools. They must be stopped, lest they raze the entire valley.” Kiran, as they have been dubbed, nods and transforms easily into a massive feline-esque beast that begins to search the remains of the village. The feline-shaped half-breed trots through the remnants, silent as the void. Ianuaria follows as her child sifts through the ruins, overturning massive carriages and uncovering half-destroyed rooms. They find a stray article of clothing, a torn patch of rough fabric that has lost most of its color, and despite its singed edges and nearly overwhelming smell of rancid smoke, a faint scent is still able to be recognized. The fabric is lifted and taken as they search, ‘nose’ flared as they try and find a trail. They growl as whatever scents are blocked by the stench of smoke and charred wood, burned metal and the stench of burned hair and skin. Without the wind in their favor, there is no chance of catching a trail, not with all the lingering scents. And they relay this to their mother before returning to search. Ianuaria walks close by, blue-green eyes searching as the huge trees shiver with the wind, the vegetation slowly changing their angle as the wind shifts with the beginnings of a storm on the far horizon. The sun shines silver lines around the edges of the clouds and the Healer smiles slightly. It seems that their favor is changing.

[hearthfirehandworks]

Ianuaria is a Celtic goddess worshipped in Gaul; she was honored at a healing sanctuary she shared with Apollo. She was depicted as a young woman with curly hair, carrying a set of pan-pipes. Apoll…

[derhead]

[katartchive]

Ianuaria (2013) C. Orexis (2014) The Eddy (2014) The Organist (2013) Imparium (2014) Caitlin T. McCormack

[fieldsofstone]

To Ianuaria

I call to Ianuaria of the sun-bright smile and the wavy hair, joyous and fearless, eager and sure, lady of new beginnings, goddess of new hope, with eyes wide open you take up the day, you greet each dawn with expectation, each setting sun with satisfaction. Good Ianuaria, gentle of countenance, pleasing of voice, music is your language, free of words yet flawless in discourse, pure in meaning, abundant in feeling; by turns you soothe the spirit and rouse the senses. Goddess who plays upon the pipes, lady of the springs, I offer you my words of praise, I honor your name.