#nadja azelas

[aroundeorzea]

#carefree highlander girls

here’s your new perfect desktop background :3c

(with sildih)

[aroundeorzea]

must. level. my barbie. of dooooom.

(seriously tho she looks cute and all but you should hear her laugh)

[sichore]

♚ ✖

a memory of something paranormal - Nadja

They weren’t staying long in the forest. Not wanted, Mother says in all her briefness, before taking her deeper into the woods. They reach into the sky, caging, pressing. Unsettling. Grass is not green, Mother says. The leaves are red. This was the site of our last great victories, before being pushed back. Use it well.

Nadja is alone and for the first time feels small compared to the sentinels towering over her. Those thoughts are pushed down, locked away, and her hands spread, and her mind and soul opens.

But.

This time, she feels them. Hears them. Her eyes open and at some point it became dark, but she sees. Lights at the corner of her vision and - there. A wisp of mist even though the air is dry. The trees are quiet, watching, and there’s the distinct feeling of… belonging. A clink of armor and a murmur at her ear. She’s surrounded and unsure of why they choose to gather until there’s a hand on her shoulder, or - those are fingers running over her scalp.

There’s a tickle at her throat that threatens to tighten, a deep knot of what could be yearning deep in her gut. She is acknowledged. Welcomed. Daughter.

She inhales, exhales, inhales again. They fade into mist. Her gate start to open.

a repressed memory - Leurun

The pain isn’t worst of it because at least through the agony she still feels human. Like this she would welcome the howling and the fire that threatens to tear her from the inside. Gods, anything but this. She can’t move, can’t speak, she has no energy to spend to even scream and besides, her throat is dry and raw. She can’t tell light from darkness or even who or what she is. The bed is soaked from fever, she’s drowning, disgusted. And awake. Definitely awake.

The words are still being recited and they may as well be imprinted into her skin. They gave up on her long ago and yet the rites still go on and all she can think is that Thal must not want her in this state.

[sichore]

sagolii-snowflake replied to your post “>vaguely talks of righteous pally things >oh that sure is a tiddy blog...”

tiddies tho

indeed

[sichore]

that beast meme reminded me of how I sometimes associate characters with certain animals and in game ones specifically aaand it kind of escalated from there

griffons (gryphons?) are symbolic to Nadja in quite a few ways I could elaborate on until new canon on Ala Mhigo josses them haha

[sichore]

"You don't have to do this," Nadja says quietly, watching his fingers and the wisps of green magic knit together her torn knuckles, and she has lost count of how many times she has told Owyne that this is not necessary. She never truly breaks herself in the name of attaining the might of her mother's god; just pushes herself to the brink, so that bone and flesh, when healed, are stronger than before. The way it has always been.

"This would be the first piece of evidence the Brass Blades look for, once they catch wind of this latest occurrence," Owyne replies, and normally there would be a certain quirk to his lip as he spoke, amused despite being perpetually worried about the ways Nadja would take matters into her own hands. But the faint humor rings hollow this time, and she believes this has more to do with how these days, his eyes would drift from her face towards the scar on her brow, hauntingly stark because there had been no one to treat it quickly enough.

She looks up expecting to see a worried countenance and hunched shoulders; still bearing the weight of the sky that had flamed and crumbled moons ago, even though he has also gotten better at standing tall, mostly, usually. Instead, she wonders which of them is more surprised to find the other staring back them.

And there is that moment, again, where a space that has nothing should something, and could be filled. Yet it is there that her minds stops, and so she doesn't move. It's akin, perhaps, to staring at a deep, dark pool, foot hovered over the edge, even though she cannot see the depths and has not ever considered swimming before.

This time, his gaze drifts down, then lower still, back to his work. Nadja follows his line of sight, thinking the moment has passed, but the magic has long since stopped, and now he simply holds her hands.