#prythian.intro

[acaentha]

𝐈  𝐀𝐌  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐃  𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓  ,      𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇  𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄  .

 &.   AESTHETICS  ,   BIO  ,  COUNTENANCE  ,  CRACK  ,  INTERACTIONS  ,  MANNERISMS  ,  PRYTHIAN   &.   STUDY  .

     ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  ACANTHA  VALIATHAN  of  THE  AUTUMN  /  NIGHT  COURT,  the  LADY  OF  THE  AUTUMN  COURT  AND  SPYMASTER  of  THE  SUMMER  COURT.   when  the  HIGH  FAE  /  SHADOW  WRAITH  is  glamoured,  she  bears  a  resemblance  to  ANYA  CHALOTRA.   the  30  /  550  year  old  CIS  WOMAN  is  reputed  to  be  PRAGMATIC  and  WILLFUL,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  FRIGID  and  VIRULENT.   if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  A  WOMAN  OF  BLACK - EYED  FIRE  IN  A  FIELD  OF  SAINTS  AFLAME  ;  HORIZON  GONE  GODLESS  ;  SKY  BLACK  WITH  DEVOTION  ;  LOADED  AND  RAVENOUS  UPON  THE  SLAUGHTERHOUSE  OF  BATTLE,  A  PLUMED  BEAST  WITH  FANGS  OF  FIRE  COME  TO  SWALLOW  THE  LIGHT  ;  BONES  SHELTERING  COLD  MARROW  IN  A  LANDSCAPE  OF  CRUELTY  ;  WHITE  FOAM  FLUSHING  OVER  SHIPS  ;  OVER  THE  LOST  BODIES  BLACKENING  THE  SEA  AND  A  FUNERAL  PYRE  ;  THE  GREY  AFTERTASTE  OF  ASH  AND  ITS  FORGOTTEN  SMOKE  ;  THE  SALT - WOUND  OF  EXILE  ;  SEARCHING  FOR  DEATH  IN  EVERY  NIGHTSHADE  STARE.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THEMSELVES,   where  they  conspire  to  REMOVE  HERSELF  FROM  HER  LINEAGE  IN  BLOOD  AND  NAME.

[sunswcrn]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the continent  welcomes  KAZAKIR EHEKATL of  ADRIATA,  the  NAVAL COMMANDER  of  THE SUMMER COURT.   when  the  HIGH FAE  is  glamoured,  he  bears  a  resemblance  to  TENOCH HUERTA.   the  40  /  712  year  old CISGENDER MALE  is  reputed  to  be  PERSONABLE  and  INCISIVE,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  CALCULATING  and TEMPESTUOUS .   if created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness of  THE LOW HUM OF A MOURNING SEASONG, THE PRESSURE OF THE SEA AGAINST ONE’S THROAT, THE DISSONANCE BETWEEN SOFT EYES AND BLOODIED HANDS.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies with  THE SUMMER COURT,  where  they  conspire  to  PREVENT MORE LOSSES THROUGH WHATEVER MEANS NECESSARY.

BASICS .

full  name.  kazakir ehekatl. age.  forty.  / seven hundred and twelve years old. hometown. adriata. current  location.  summer court. status.  unmated. orientation.  pansexual/panromantic. siblings.  two younger siblings. WC. languages spoken.  the  common  tongue . allegiance. the summer court.

APPEARANCE .

hair  color.  black. eye  color. dark grey. height. 5'11 | 180 cm .  scars.  scars on shoulders, two parallel scars that trace along his right cheekbone and go into his hairline. style.   teals, greens, whites, golds, coppers, and blues. netting, shells. gifts from the sea. loose fits over tighter fits for when he goes into the water. pierced ears, tongue, and nose.

MISCELLANEOUS .

alignment. neutral good . strengths.  personable. incisive. thoughtful. hopeful. weaknesses.  calculating. tempestuous. stubborn. aesthetic. the low hum of a mourning seasong, the pressure of the sea against one’s throat, the dissonance between soft eyes and bloodied hands. red seafoam. a broken trident. shaking hands of assurance, red under his nails and in his eyes. a smile in the darkest depths of the ocean. song  inspiration. tempest ( deftones ), con la brisa ( foudeqush ), sun killer ( spiritbox ), porque yo ( pahua, eva de marce ).

BIOGRAPHY .

more ocean water than blood in him, his mother used to say. born the eldest in the ehekatl family, the summer court’s finest shipmakers, kazakir took to the sand and sea far more quickly than he took to walking. his father was a builder and his mother, much like him, was too restless to stay on land for too long. it became a pastime for them, taking the ships that his father built and testing them at sea where both thrived in stranger tides. when his siblings were born, he carried on that tradition with them.

at sea, among the waves and the water-wraiths, his mother taught him the importance of learning the way of water. it was his family’s duty to provide the ships that guarded and fought for the summer court, their reputation a fearsome one. his mother was a fighter, his father a builder, and somewhere in between, was kazakir.

as gifted at building with words as he was his hands, his connection with both people and the sea earned him a position as the naval commander of the summer court as favorable eyes turned to his family. within its inner circle, he felt at peace. there he could be both sea and shore, just as he always had been.

in time, once the lesser fae rose and the summer court rose with them, his talent for warfare made itself known. just as the sea could embrace, it could also drown. just as the sun could warm, it could also burn. and under his command, the summer court’s navy was a guardian to its people and a bane to its enemies.

but war makes warriors weary and when the fighting was over, the night court having so generously splitting their forces, kazakir observed a sea more bone than salt. by whatever means necessary, whatever it took, there would be no more. a torn hope rests inside him and shifts with the tide.

[faebanes]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  MAXON  LAVIER  of  THE  DAY  COURT,  the  SECOND  IN  COMMAND  of  THE  DAY  COURT.   when  the  SERAPHIM  is  glamoured,  he  bears  a  resemblance  to  REGE  -  JEAN  PAGE.   the  32  /  547  year  old  CIS  MAN  is  reputed  to  be  ALTRUISTIC  and  ERUDITE,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  WARY  and  IMPASSIVE.   if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  GREAT  WHITE  WINGS  SPREAD  TO  BASK  IN  WARM  SUNLIGHT,  IMPISH  GRINS  OFFERED  OVER  THE  TOPS  OF  ANCIENT  TOMES,  &  A  STOIC  FIGURE  SILHOUETTED  AGAINST  THE  RISING  SUN.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE  DAY  COURT,  where  they  conspire  to  SUPPORT  THE  RULING  FAMILY  AND  RETURN  DAY  COURT  TO  ITS  FORMER  GLORY.

BASICS .

full  name.   maxon  lavier  .

nicknames.   max  .

age.   thirty  two   /   five  hundred  and  forty  seven  .

hometown.   the  day  court  .

current  location.   under  the  mountain  .

status.   unmated  .

occupation.   second  in  command  of  the  day  court  .

gender.   cis  man   /   he  +  him  .

orientation.   bisexual,   biromantic  .

parents.   demaris  lavier   (   father  ,   deceased   )   &   astiri  lavier   (   mother  ,   deceased   )  .

siblings.   none  .

pets.   a  young  pup  name  solara  that  he  came  across  last  winter  and  who  trots  at  his  heels  endlessly  now  .

languages  spoken.   the  common  tongue .

allegiance.   the  day  court  .

APPEARANCE .

hair  color.   black  .

eye  color.   warm  amber  .

height.   6  feet   /   182  cm  .

scars.   a  jagged  scar  along  his  chest,  a  handful  of  spots  along  his  wings  from  the  war  where  feathers  don’t  grow  quite  right  anymore  .

style.   loose,  light  -  colored  (  often  creams,  whites,  and  tans  )  clothing  ;   favors  a  lot  of  button  -  downs  that  are  always  shamelessly  partially,  if  not  half,  unbuttoned  ;   wears  a  lot  of  items  with  gold  trim,  as  well  as  several  golden  rings,  bracelets,  and  necklaces  .

MISCELLANEOUS .

alignment.   lawful  neutral  .

strengths.   altruistic,   erudite,   passionate  .  

weaknesses.   wary,   impassive,  over  -  protective  .

aesthetic.   great  white  wings  spread  to  bask  in  warm  sunlight,   impish  grins  offered  over  the  tops  of  ancient  tomes,   stoic  figure  silhouetted  against  the  rising  sun,   golden  rings  twisting  absently  as  gaze  sweeps  a  room  .

media  inspiration.   anthony  +  benedict  bridgerton   (   bridgerton   ),   maxon  schreave   (   the  selection   ),   tba  i’ve  never  consumed  media  in  my  life  .

BIOGRAPHY .

trigger  warning  for   :   abuse,  death  during  childbirth,  war  mentions,  parental  death  .

your  parents  met  long  before  your  birth,  settled  on  an  island  in  the  erythrian  sea,  a  pair  of  seraphim  that  thrived  amidst  a  community  of  faes  of  all  types  and  mortal  company,  and  though  not  mates,  loved  each  other  more  than  words  could  ever  describe.

they  traveled  frequently,  many  of  which  landed  them  on  day  court  shores.  enough  so  that  they’d  eventually  come  to  settle  there,  warriors  hoping  to  find  peace  in  the  land  of  fae.  your  father  took  to  apprenticing  along  the  renowned  inventors,  and  your  mother  spend  day  after  day  in  one  of  the  many  libraries.

well  received,  it  was  almost  a  century  before  your  mother  fell  pregnant  with  you,  a  blessing  for  both  your  parents  when  they  hadn’t  been  trying,  then  more  than  eager  to  welcome  you  into  the  world,  into  this  new  life  that  they’d  built.

but  as  it  progressed,  it  became  a  much  harder  pregnancy  than  anticipated,  and  though  it  should’ve  been  a  simple  birth,  there  had  been  too  much  blood  loss  trying  to  get  you  into  the  world  and  your  mother  never  got  the  chance  to  see  the  light  she’d  created,  and  you  hold  no  memories,  no  knowledge  of  her  bright  eyes  and  too  -  knowing  smile.

your  father  was  not  an  unkind  man,  and  he  tried  to  hold  onto  that  love  for  your  mother,  that  love  for  you  that  he  still  held  when  she  carried  you,  but  you  were  not  foolish  enough  to  miss  the  way  his  gaze  could  grow  cold,  distant,  or  the  way  words  came  out  harsher  than  they  should’ve.

you  grow  up  spending  hours  in  the  great  libraries,  and  beyond  teaching  you  how  to  fly,  to  strengthen  your  body  in  the  same  way  you  strengthen  your  mind,  your  father  distances  himself.  he  pours  more  of  himself  into  his  work  than  he  does  your  relationship  and  as  the  decades  and  centuries  pass,  it  is  all  but  non  -  existent.

he  raises  his  hand  against  you  only  one,  in  the  middle  of  a  heated  argument  in  your  youth,  declarations  of  how  your  mother  would  hate  the  man  he  had  become  in  her  absence  enough  to  earn  you  a  split  lip  and  a  black  eye.  he  doesn’t  apologize,  and  neither  do  you,  and  the  fissure  between  you  only  grew.

you  become  well  -  known  around  the  court  for  your  charm  and  flirtatious  attitude,  for  the  way  it  hides  that  ache  of  loneliness  that  comes  from  the  lack  of  family  you  seem  to  have.  it’s  a  reputation  of  note,  but  there  are  a  select  few  that  see  the  soft  heart  and  kind  eyes  beneath  the  cocky  attitude.

perhaps  it’s  why  you  find  such  a  home  in  the  company  of  the  ruling  family,  the  siblings  you  never  had,  the  family  you  didn’t  have  to  walk  on  eggshells  around  knowing  you  were  the  blame  for  all  the  existing  cracks.  you  found  a  home,  and  before  long,  a  place  in  their  inner  circle,  too.

second  is  a  position  you  wear  with  pride,  a  promise  to  protect  the  only  home  you  have  every  known,  and  the  family  that  nearly  treats  you  as  their  own.  you  take  it  very  seriously,  even  if  that  cheeky  attitude  never  fades,  and  many  find  it  easier  to  become  endeared  to  it  than  anything  else.  it  even  becomes  something  of  an  asset  when  it  comes  to  working  with  the  other  courts.

when  the  war  came,  you  fought  diligently  alongside  your  court,  alongside  the  mortals,  aiming  for  their  safety  and  the  peace,  and  for  it,  you  earn  the  scars  to  tell  the  tale,  despite  how  gallantly  you  fight  with  your  seraphim  blades.  a  jagged  wound  across  your  chest  from  a  foolish  close  range  attack  in  the  height  of  battle,  and  a  handful  of  spots  along  your  wings  from  attacks  that  ensured  the  feathers  do  not  grow  quite  right.  nothing  that  affected  your  ability  to  fly,  but  certainly  enough  to  make  it  hurt  like  hell  for  a  while.

and  when  your  father  dies  during  the  war,  you  cannot  bring  yourself  to  mourn  him,  more  stranger  than  he  ever  was  a  parent,  even  if  his  loss  is  still  a  continuous  ache  in  your  chest.

TLDR .

seraphim  born  and  raised  in  the  day  court,  dead  mom  facilitating  life  -  long  daddy  issues.  has  six  big  sexy  feathered  wings,  tends  to  keep  them  all  tucked  as  close  to  his  body  as  he  can,  tends  to  only  have  two  on  display  at  any  given  point  in  time  (  save  for  special  occasions  ).  massive  flirt,  big  little  shit  energy,  can  and  would  do  anything  for  the  people  he  cares  about  (  including  being  willing  to  lay  down  his  life  because  what  does  he  have  to  lose  ).  is  trauma  coded,  but  also  wholesome  supportive  brother  coded,  and  has  a  good  heart  underneath  it  all.  has  sexy  glowing  seraphim  blades.

[fyrebringr]

✧  ˚    ·        .   the  continent  welcomes  soliana  valiathan  of  the  autumn  court,  the  high  lady  of  the  autumn  court.  when  the  high  fae  is  glamoured,  she  bears  a  resemblance  to  priyanka  chopra.  the  33  /  558  year  old  cis  woman  is  reputed  to  be  courageous  and  fair - minded,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  hotheaded  and  cynical.  if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  a  shining  red  apple  that  fills  the  mouth  with  worms  upon  taking  the  first  bite,  the  burn  scars  of  a  forest  fire  as  they  begin  to  heal,  quick  lips  and  faster  hands.  whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  the  autumn  court,  where  they  conspire  to  continue  to  rebuild  her  court.   (  penned by olivia , graphic psd .  )

B A S I C S:

NAME : soliana valiathan .

NICKNAMES : soli .

POSITION : high lady of the autumn court , former commander and general of the autumn court armies .

AGE : 33 / 558 .

PRONOUNS : she/her .

HEIGHT : 5′ 3″.

ORIENTATION : pansexual/panromantic .

BIRTHPLACE : the forest house , autumn court .

STATUS : unmated??? she doesn't want a mate as she fears it would weaken her stance as high lady. the thought of a mate also scares her simply because letting someone into the depths of her heart and soul sounds...terrifying. (potential connection) .

ABILITIES : fire manipulation , winnowing , glamouring , high lady beast form , military and soldier prowess .

PRIMARY WEAPONS : dual wielded katars . ( image )

F A M I L Y:

adranus valiathan → father (deceased) → former high lord of the autumn court .

??? → mother .

acantha valiathan → half - sister .

utp valiathan → half - sister (wanted connection) .

nitya valiathann → half - sister .

B I O G R A P H Y :

Being first born to a high lord could have been a saving grace from a father who was more destructive than the flames he wielded, but the moment the first child of the Autumn Court was declared a girl— Soliana's father called her fodder before daughter. The former high lord was as traditional as he was loyalist, and he knew in the very depths of his shadowed soul that a daughter would never rise to rule the Autumn Court. So he continued to sire children, always trying for the son that he was certain would be his heir...always disappointed when he bore nothing but daughters. Instead of treasured heir she would become another body in her father's battles, one that was raised to thank her enemies for the scars they left and return them upon their own skins tenfold with blades that moved as a blur and fire that burned bright enough to blind.

While she was raised in a warrior's image she would always be denied her truest strength. Soliana's power grew just as a true heir's would from the day they first appeared. They were dismissed by her father and his court, chalked up to nothing but her impressively powerful pedigree. While he denied her burgeoning abilities to Soliana and the public he became increasingly paranoid behind closed doors as his daughter's fire grew to rival his. It was a reminder that he would not be high lord forever, that a stronger one would come to steal his place no matter how hard he tried to defy mortality. More than once the thought of killing his daughter before she surpassed him crossed his mind, but with every sun that rose and set he found more creative leashes and cruelties to ensure that no such thing would ever come to pass.

Soliana had been gifted fire, strength, and speed, but her most surprising ability came in the form of commanding. The proudest day of her life wasn't the one that raised her to high lady through some barely understood grace of the cauldron, but the evening she was named general to all her father's armies. And yet her greatest pride was fringed with doubt the moment her father waged war against the mortals along with Hybern and his armies. Soliana had gotten by easily enough by focusing on her soldiers and the lives she was responsible for keeping alive even if the battles were not her own.

But war amongst courts, kings, and queens were something of an entirely different nature. Pride told her that she would win against any who dared raise a sword against her court, but logic made her wonder what the price would be for such transgressions. Mortals held no special place in her heart, and despite her father's evil she was staunchly loyal to the court that had harbored her on the rare occasions she managed to escape his wrath. She would never speak her doubts aloud, but she could not find a way to starve the voice of dread that whispered there were too many who would not see the end of this war.

That instinctive voice was proven right while she stood on the last battlefield, bloodied and smeared with the grime of war. She watched while her father's life was snuffed out like a forgotten candle. Her father's lifelong denial had left him without a favored heir so while the light fled her sire's dying eyes even Soliana did not know where it would land— where the mantle of the Autumn Court might settle. The general got her answer when her limbs flared with a power of the likes she'd never felt before despite her already renowned abilities. She'd been ready to pledge herself to another, to continue the fight as the Autumn Court's general for as long as she was bid to do so and her eyes widened as her fire kindled. A pillar of dancing, prismatic flames rose unbidden from her spot on the field, marking the new high lady for all her battered court to witness while shock dulled her senses.

It was something she'd never anticipated, and she was left sorely underprepared after a lifetime of being pushed aside. But when she stood in the center of the neutralized territory the very next day she realized the battle was no longer her father's. Overnight it had become her own, and the lives she loved and cherished were even closer to resting in the palms of her hands than they'd ever been before. So when the other lords demanded surrender...she gave it to them. She told herself that it was the only way to save the remainders of the Autumn Court while their armies lay in ribbons much to the anger and resentment of her pride.

Soliana now heads a court that is still recuperating from their losses as well as one who is divided on whether she is worthy of being high lady. The Autumn Court has long clung to the loyalist values of old, and those beliefs include standing behind the virtue that high lords should be just that. Lords. Nevertheless there are others that are eager for the changes Soliana is striving to bring, and those that are willing to follow her into the cleansing fire of a new era.

T L D R ;

never thought of as heir despite her showing powers that would tell of a blossoming high lady because of her father's traditionalist views.

was the general of the autumn court's armies before and during the recent war. had to leave the position when she became high lady

wasn't necessarily ANTI mortal or anything like that- just wanted to keep her soldiers alive and the Autumn Court safe.

just as surprised as everyone else when she became high lady...oops.

[aureattes]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  KAMELYA  AVENTIA  of  SPRING  COURT,  the  LADY  of  SPRING  COURT.   when  the  HIGH  FAE  is  glamoured,  she  bears  a  resemblance  to  SUDE  ZÜLAL  GÜLER.   the  23  /  349  year  old  CIS  FEMALE  is  reputed  to  be  GENEROUS  and  CREATIVE,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  SELF - CRITICAL  and  VULNERABLE.   if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  RUNNING BAREFOOT IN THE GARDENS OF THE SPRING COURT, FEELING THE GRASS AND EARTH GIVING HER WILL TO LIVE; THE FRUITY - FLORAL PERFUME THAT ALWAYS FOLLOWS HER, NO MATTER WHERE SHE IS; THE FEELING YOU GET AFTER HELPING SOMEONE, KNOWING YOU DID YOUR BEST AND WAS ABLE TO TRULY HELP.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE  SPRING  COURT  /  THE  MORTALS,  where  they  conspire  to  DO ANYTHING NECESSARY TO HELP AND PROTECT THE PEOPLE FROM SPRING COURT, BEING THEM FAES, MORTALS, NYMPHS, OR ANY OTHER CREATURE.

                      𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐒  ⸻   𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓  ⸻   𝐏𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐌

                                                          penned by nare .

[ofwisteria]

𝐢 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 --

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✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  RHIANON AVENTIA  of  THE SPRING COURT,  the  LADY of  THE SPRING COURT.   when  the  HIGH  FAE  is  glamoured,  she   bears  a  resemblance  to  BRUNA   MARQUEZINE.   the  30  /  583  year  old  FEMALE  is  reputed  to  be  ALLOCENTRIC  and INSIGHTFUL,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  RETICENT  and  INTRANSIGENT.   if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  HOLY WATER AND HELLFIRE IN EQUAL DOSES — WHAT ONE RECEIVES IS WHAT THEY SURELY DESERVE ; DUST COLLECTED ON THE DELICATE VISAGE OF A MARBLE STATUE, ITS WEATHERED HAND REACHING TOWARDS A LIGHT THAT WILL ALWAYS BE JUST OUT OF GRASP; THE SILENT DEFIANCE OF A CHIN HELD ALOFT IN PRIDE AND BROWN EYES GLITTERING IN WORDS LEFT UNSAID; THE ANCIENT ACHE UPON THE SHOULDERS OF ATLAS, EMBROILED WITH THE KNOWLEDGE AND RESIGNATION OF A BURDEN THAT WAS NEVER DESIRED BUT HIS ALL THE SAME.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE SPRING COURT,   where  they  conspire  to  MAINTAIN THE WALL IN THE NAME OF PROTECTING BOTH THOSE IN THE MORTAL LANDS AND MEMBERS OF HER COURT.

BASICS .

full name: rhianon aventia. age. thirty / five hundred eighty three years old. birthdate.  may 6th. current  location.  the spring court. status.  unattached & unmated orientation.  pansexual / panromantic occupation.  lady & political advisor. family.  two half-brothers. an unknown father, likely out there somewhere. a sorely missed mother. pets.  a finch named briar — an undoubtedly loyal creature, albeit a clingy one (and a needy one, at that)

APPEARANCE .

hair color.  dark brown . eye color.  brown . height.  five foot nine . build.  long and lithe, almost fluid in her stillness – not unlike the long tendrils of a willow tree floating on a new spring’s breeze.  style.  she’s quite fond of gossamer and chiffon, particularly in soft, muted pastels.

MISCELLANEOUS .

zodiac  sign.  taurus . hogwarts house.  ravenclaw . alignment.  lawful  good . strengths.  allocentric ,  insightful ,  pragmatic ,  dutiful .   weaknesses.  reticent ,  intransigent ,  moralistic ,  performative . aesthetic.  holy water and hellfire in equal doses – what one receives is what they surely deserve  ; dust collecting on the delicate visage of a marble statue, its weathered hand reaching towards a light that will always be just out of reach ; the silent defiance of a chin held aloft in pride and brown eyes glittering with words left unsaid ; the ancient ache upon the shoulders of atlas, embroiled with the knowledge and resignation of a burden that was never desired but his all the same.

BIOGRAPHY .

tw  –  infidelity, death, grief & depression

an unmistakable sense of otherness is a beast that boils beneath your skin from your earliest memories. you are a puzzle piece warped at its edges, just close enough to fill in the holes of an otherwise complete picture but far enough to make your existence feel cramped and uncomfortable – a product of your mother’s indiscretions against a husband that she never desired in the first place. it’s a fact that your 'father' never lets you forget, imbued in every aversion of his gaze and twitch of muscles in the set of his jaw, like a silent accusation of a betrayal you had no option but to be complicit in.

what your father lacks in affection, your mother possesses in abundance. she carries strength and softness in equal measures, a gentle hand with firm boundaries, and a just sovereign worth committing fealty to. you treat her very existence like folklore, acting as a shadow following in her wake and clinging anxiously to the gossamer of her skirt as if she’d slip through your grip like mist if you loosened your grip for even the barest of seconds.

she humors your clinginess, perhaps sensing how you practically ache for belonging. it’s like she sees through you, understands your every curiosity and desire – every need and fear – like they are her own, and frequently before you know them yourself; she nurtures your inherent curiosity, cultivates your sense of kindness and pride like she does the fine rose bushes in her palace gardens. granted, she doesn’t leave your brothers wanting for attention, either, but there’s something in the wistfulness of her gaze as she ponders you that makes you wonder if you mean something different to her altogether.

you ask about your father – your real father – once only, framed as a passing thought as she tucks you into bed one night. you’re still young - too young to know better - but your curiosity and thirst for knowledge have already been well-established. while you shouldn’t expect any different of her, her response is cryptic and flimsy, a gentle dismissal to get out of giving answers that she simply cannot offer you. However, the tenderness in her gaze as she bids you good night tells you everything you need to know about the affair without requiring as much as a word.

you start your education early, and you latch onto it with fervor. knowledge is power in your world, and you quickly develop a particular affinity for the books of your family’s library. literature becomes an escape, a quiet retreat to quiet your overactive mind and allow your imagination to run rampant. while your interests are wide-ranging and eclectic, poetry quickly becomes your first love. the wordplay, the use of language to paint masterpieces out of intangible emotions, the beauty of its simplicity – to an overactive mind and heart that lives in vibrant color, you feel there is no passion more fitting.

the word ‘precocious’ is one that you quickly make a home of, an identity and point of pride that you wear like a badge of honor upon your chest. ‘uncompromising’ and, more succinctly, ‘difficult’ are also descriptors you often find yourself saddled with. These criticisms are far from undeserved; your need to be right and inability to hold your tongue when struck with conviction is proof enough of that. 

Thankfully, a few (hundred) years and a healthy dose of maturity manage to teach you the value of impulse control, at the very least. Those years teach a multitude of lessons, from the subtleties of political intrigue, a keen sense of quiet, piercing perception, and most importantly, the art of shouldering that delicate balance of softness and steel — an understated, unassuming sort of power — that quickly become your greatest weapons. it won't be long until you're using those skills for the betterment of the court both at home and on diplomatic visits, especially as the telltale signs of imminent conflict begins to emerge on the horizon.

there's no moment of hesitation at the outbreak of war, no question that there was simply no other option than to back the mortals and fight for a better, fairer future for all. it's a noble cause that your mother champions without as much as a second though, a conflict that your 'father' pays for with his life on the front lines, and one that quickly pushes both your family and your court to its very limits. you learn that war is costly, and while you never question whether it will all be worth it when all is said and done, it's a sobering reminder that war is anything but fair.

you contribute with everything you can, and in tapping into your strengths, you bury yourself in diplomacy and logistics, in plans and alliances and numbers. it feels like the least you can do, and even though you regularly find yourself worn and exhausted at the end of each day, it doesn't feel like enough. ( truthfully? you're not sure that you'll ever feel it's enough. )

nobody is prepared for the bombshell that comes in the form of your brother scrambling home, hand-in-hand with a lady of the autumn court and declaring that he'd found a mate in her. from an objective view, you find it beautiful - a story of star-crossed lovers against the world made real - but the realist in you can't ignore knot of dread in your gut and the deep understanding that there was nothing good that could come from something like this. Still, your mother doesn't hesitate to open up her home and family to the girl, and between your trust in her judgment and your desire to support your brother in his decision-making, you allow your misgivings to fall to the wayside.

you'll come to regret that decision when that night comes. part of you wishes you could forget that night, push the memories of the screams and the chaos and the blood - oh, cauldron, the blood - out of your mind altogether, but it remains in vivid, painful detail. your mother, your high lady, slain in the middle of the night by a high lord drunk on power and the desire for revenge. to this day, you're still convinced that she took a piece of her with you as she passed - a piece you're still not sure you'll ever get back.

the loss of your mother is an all-encompassing sort of grief that doesn't hesitate to raze your entire sense of being in one fell swoop. it leaves nothing but ash in its wake, and if you weren't so hung up on your pride, you would've likely collapsed under the weight of your despair. there is nothing poetic about your rage, nothing beautiful about your sadness, nothing helpful about your pain; it's enough to sap the world of its color and to shatter whatever fragile optimism you still possessed.

you're a pro at masking, at pretending and feigning in the name of playing the game of diplomacy, and in the name of getting your court through the war and keeping it together for the sake of your family, you allow your political tactics to bleed into your personal life. you pack it all - the sadness, the anger, the resentment - away into a neat little box and tuck it deep into your mind in favor of something more palatable, and while you make a great actress, there's something off about it - a new sense of somberness, a distance, and severity that hadn't been there before. you assume that few notice, but perhaps they choose not to ask.

the war has ended, the wall is up, and yet peace is still far away. creatures lurk in the spring court, itching for any gains they can make on broaching the wall, and with a new high lord in place, you're aware that your people are in a vulnerable position. you've dedicated yourself to securing safety by ensuring the treaty's success and by any means necessary.

[dcybrck]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  IONA  RUHN   of  THE  DAWN  COURT,  the  MILTARY  GRUNT  of  THE  NIGHT  COURT.   when  the  LESSER  FAE  is  glamoured,  she  bears  a  resemblance  to  FIVEL  STEWART.   the  24  /  300  year  old  CIS  FEMALE  is  reputed  to  be  SPIRITED  and  ADAPTABLE,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  PRIDEFUL  and  QUICK - TEMPERED.   if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  INTENSE  DRUMMING  BENEATH  YOUR  OWN  SKIN,  LEGS  FAILING  INCHES  FROM  THE  FINISH  LINE,  EMPTY  BIRD'S  NEST  AND  YOU  WITH  BROKEN  WING.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE  NIGHT  COURT,  where  they  conspire  to  PROTECT  THEIR  COURT.

BASICS .

full  name.  iona ruhn. age.  twenty four.  / three hundred years old. hometown.  the dawn court. velaris, now. current  location.  under  the  mountain . status.  unmated. orientation.  bisexual, biromantic . siblings.  none. languages  spoken.  the  common  tongue . allegiance.  the night court. koray, specifically.

APPEARANCE .

hair  color.  brown . eye  color.  dark brown height. 5'5 | 165 cm . scars.  a large one across her back from the attack she sustained on the edges of the day court, before being rescued and brought to the night court.  style.  training clothes and leathers. rarely ever in a gown or dress as it's impractical to her. often in shades of dark blue or purple, as well as greys and blacks.

MISCELLANEOUS .

alignment.  neutral good . strengths.  running, fighting, getting back up again, using a blade. weaknesses.  her pride, vanilla, pretty girls, and praise. aesthetic. girl holding blade to defend a broken home from monsters, gazing up at the skies longingly, legs failing inches from the finish line, empty bird's nest and you with a broken wing.  song  inspiration.  should've could've would've ( taylor swift ), forsaken ( paris paloma ), pink pony club ( chappell roan ), graceland too ( phoebe bridgers ). 

BIOGRAPHY ( tw mention of parental abandonment, violence )

born to a high fae who cared little for the shameful bastard child she'd made, iona was left to the streets of the dawn court. raised by strangers who time has slowly erased from her mind, she was taught how to be scrappy. the biggest survives and the littlest gets nothing. iona being smallest of the lot learned quickly to bite, claw, and wreck to claim what she needed to live. led to a girl with a chip on her shoulder against the world, a fight within her eyes, and a prideful attitude that never allowed her to back down from an insult. never knew how to bite her tongue. not even when she's run out of the dawn court by the lot she'd grown up with, cursing them angrily before running for the day court. 

the day court was nowhere near as kind to iona, struggling to survive in a court she knew little about, inching closer and closer to the border. till one day her attitude catches up to her, picks a fight that she had no chance of winning. a blessing from the cauldron that they don't kill iona, instead leaving her bleeding out on the edges of day court territory. the young fae had been certain this would be her end, angry at the world for never even giving her a chance to live. and then koray had appeared, wings and smile that spoke of a cauldron sent seraph. and despite the bruised ribs, iona breathed a little easier for the first time in her life. 

given a second chance, iona did not question the gift of being allowed to remain within the night court and train with koray. there was nothing else for her to return to, and the training that she began gave her a sense of purpose. a goal and future that iona had never once dreamt for herself. it was not easy, still isn't, with the odds stacked against her. but iona began to smile more, allowed herself to let others in, and made a promise to herself that one day she'd lead armies like her friend ( father ) does. the war was difficult but iona is too focused now on the future to dwell on it. 

summary:  iona is a spunky little lesser fae initially from the dawn court but refuses to think of her life before koray & the night court because it wasn’t very much.  left injured on the borders of day court after she picked a fight with something she was ill equipped for. saved & then imprinted like a baby duck on koray. found that learning under him & the illyrian ways give her a sense of purpose. pushes herself twice as hard to not disappoint him. has been slowly opening up to people more & allowing herself to trust some. thinks it's a bit rude that she doesn't get to have wings like an illyrian but pushes herself to not let that stop her. still has an attitude but it's less sharp and more sarcastic.

WANTED CONNECTIONS ( bare bones, sun head empty now )

mate: listen i want in on this mate bond stuff happening with repressed feelings too.

friends within and outside of the night court: bonus points if you help her train ! 

old " friends " from dawn or day court: people who knew iona from her days in either court, would probably notice she looks healthier and less angry now. potentially iona avoids them to prevent having to acknowledge her previous life. 

flings/casual stuff: let the baby not bat kiss some people. 

literally anything & everything!!

[azraehl]

𝐈  𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑  𝐍𝐎  𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋  ,      𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖  𝐈𝐒  𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐒𝐎  𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘  .

  &.   AESTHETICS  ,   BIO  ,  COUNTENANCE  ,  CRACK  ,  INTERACTIONS  ,  MANNERISMS  ,  PRYTHIAN   &.   STUDY  .

     ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  AZRAEL  MAZHAR  of  THE  COURT  OF  DREAMS,  the  HIGH  LORD  of  THE  NIGHT  COURT.   when  the  HIGH  FAE  /  ILLYRIAN  is  glamoured,  he  bears  a  resemblance  to  ALPEREN  DUYMAZ.   the  30  /  576  year  old  CIS  MAN  is  reputed  to  be  CUNNING  and  STRATEGIC,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  APATHETIC  and   MERCILESS.  if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  VIOLET  EYES  THAT  BURN  WITH  A  SACRED  DARKNESS  ;  WHERE  INSIDE  SOMETHING  SEETHES  AND  CLAWS  BECAUSE  IT  CANNOT  STAND  THE  SUN  ;  BECAUSE  WINTER  CAME  AND  BROUGHT  WITH  IT  ONLY  COLD  STORMS  AND  ALL  OF  HIM  ;  HIMSELF  WHO  CAN  FREEZE  THE  WIND  AND  DARKEN  THE  SKY,  HORRORS  WHICH  SHOULD  HAVE  BURIED  HIM  ;  DARK  THINGS  SLUMBERING  WITHIN  ;  THEIR  SOFT  FEATHERY  TURNINGS  ;  THEIR  MALIGNITY  WHICH  BOWS  BEFORE  NOTHING  BUT  HIS  CROWN,  AND  ONE  WHO  ANNIHILATES  AND  ASHES  AND  TERRIFIES  ;  WHO  FEARS  NO  EVIL  ;  THE  SHADOW  IS  HIS  AND  SO  IS  THE  VALLEY.  whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE  NIGHT  COURT,  where  they  conspire  to  ENSURE  THE  NIGHT  COURT’S  VITALITY  AND  SAFEGUARD  THE  SECRET  OF  VELARIS.