#sidna

[aliwoah-art]

Sidna Vos: Sidna is a monk of who was given to the Monastery that serves Fina,the lady of fate, in the pathfinder 1e game that she is in. She also just recently in game had her Oracle awakening due to the party getting trapped in a time anomaly and having to cycle through death a couple times before escaping it. She is an abyssal tiefling who was raised by her two dads, Grouse ( a big infernal Tiefling) and Ilien (her elf dad). Voted second most party member to have anxiety.

[cryke-art]

heres some older art of heather and sidna !!! they r my ocs and i love them

[Image Description: two drawings of heather and sidna. the first drawing is a sketch of the two of them standing next to each other. sidna is a tall chubby Black woman with poofy natural hair and a wide smile. she’s wearing a tshirt that says “you’ve cat to be kitten me right mow” with an arrow pointing at it that says “heather’s shirt”. heather is a short thing white woman with unevenly chopped light hair and rectangular glasses. she’s wearing a hamilton tshirt. she has a scar over half her face and only one arm.

the second drawing is a bust drawing showing them leaning in to kiss with heather’s face hidden from the viewer. behind them is a background made up of the lesbian flag on top closer to sidna, and a bisexual flag on he bottom closer to heather. colour-wise, sidna is dark-skinned with dark black hair and heather is pale with sandy blonde hair.

[crazymiraclecat]

Inuit mythology Aesthetic - Sidna goddess of sea.

[nekocrispy]

Commission: Jackolin and Sidna

Shaded sketch commission for Arsith8!

_____

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[grohebathtaps]

J. Sidna Allen House, Fancy Gap, Virginia 1

J. Sidna Allen House, Fancy Gap, Virginia 1

Some cool home interior design images:

J. Sidna Allen House, Fancy Gap, Virginia 1 Image by David Hoffman ’41 This is a creative commons image, which you may freely use by linking to this page. Please respect the photographer and his work.

[This set contains 8 photos] The J. Sidna Allen house (1911) in Fancy Gap, Virginia is a timber frame one-and-a-half-story Queen Anne on a brick foundation.…

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[galleykitchendesigns]

J. Sidna Allen House, Fancy Gap, Virginia 1

J. Sidna Allen House, Fancy Gap, Virginia 1

Some cool home interior design images:

J. Sidna Allen House, Fancy Gap, Virginia 1 Image by David Hoffman ’41 This is a creative commons image, which you may freely use by linking to this page. Please respect the photographer and his work.

[This set contains 8 photos] The J. Sidna Allen house (1911) in Fancy Gap, Virginia is a timber frame one-and-a-half-story Queen Anne on a brick foundation.…

View On WordPress

[wsrpkitty]

Skinned Knees

“I’m not angry.”

Prefect Bascus doesn’t sound mad. She never does--only annoyed. Inconvenienced. When Taryn says nothing, Bascus just sighs.

The prefect pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Taryn.”

Taryn, still, says nothing; her eyes trained are downwards, her face is obscured by a mop of pale blonde hair.

“Look at me, for Scions’ sake.”

Slowly, Taryn looks up, fixing her bright magenta eyes on Prefect Bascus.

Linsia Bascus is a highborn woman in her forties who dresses as if she were half her age--and who always wears the same nauseatingly strong perfume, which Taryn is convinced is supposed to be toxic.

Right now, Bascus looks tired. No, disinterested. This is an inconvenience to the prefect--she’d definitely rather be doing something else than disciplining yet another esper brat for acting out. Taryn waits in silence for Bascus to speak again.

“ ... why did you do it, Taryn? I only want to know why. That’s all. Really, I hate this stupid ‘silent game’ you always play,” Prefect Bascus sighs again, tapping her pointy nails on the cold marble of her desk. Taryn loathes the sound.

“I already told you,” Taryn says, in a small voice. She inhales, making an effort to speak louder, more forcefully. “Six times. It’s because Aydin deserves it!”

“Aydin Tartaros. The seventh-year boy--he isn’t even in your class, Taryn, why did you bloody his nose?” Bascus frowns. Still tapping. It’s incessant. She does it on purpose.

“He’s been making me sick! He does something to my food!” Now Taryn raises her voice, putting as much indignant nine-year-old energy as she can into her words. “Whenever we take meals mine always makes me sick and nobody else’s makes them sick!”

Prefect Bascus groans. “Really, Taryn? How many times have you tried to push this nonsense? Even if the young lordling Tartaros would do such a thing, there is no way he possibly could.” The shrewish prefect pinches the bridge of her nose. “If you keep doing this then I’m going to have to explain to his House who keeps hurting their precious heir--”

“I’m not lying! I know he’s doing it!”

“Have you seen him tampering with your food, Taryn?”

The girl stops. Bascus watches her, exasperated.

Taryn sullenly shakes her head ‘no’.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you,” Bascus drawls, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Stop trying to get that boy in trouble, Taryn. You make so much work for me, and it isn’t my fault you ended up here.” Taryn winces, but says nothing else. The prefect looks at her indifferently. “Okay, Taryn?”

“ ... could you please just tell somebody for me?”

There’s a long pause, and a longer sigh, but Bascus nods. “Fine. I’ll try alerting the board, If it will keep you out of my office for the next week.”

“It will. I promise.”

The students of Meditora sleep in dormitories on the far west side of the academy grounds, right next to the taiga. They are separated by year. Taryn’s room is among the third-years.

Two days following her last visit to the Prefect’s office, Taryn lies in bed in the middle of the night, caught in that liminal space between ‘not quite awake’ and ‘not quite asleep’.

She has almost managed to completely drift off when something seizes her by the arm, and pulls her harshly from her bed.

Taryn lets out a sharp cry which is cut off by a hand wrapped around her mouth, and as she tries to wrest free she is inexplicably constricted with invisible force. Immediately Taryn knows this must be Cevia and if it’s Cevia then that means Aydin must have told Cevia to come after her--

The girl’s thoughts are cut off by being dropped to the floor and then dragged by this telekinetic chain holding her captive. Cevia Vaelar, a fifth-year and one of Aydin’s lackeys, has Taryn effectively bound and gagged--she can’t say anything because air just won’t go into her lungs and she can’t even turn her head to see where she’s being taken--

Cold, hard tile turns into cold, hard ground as Taryn feels herself hit snow. They have left the dormitory building. Cevia is taking her into the woods. If she could just move, breathe, anything--

Then the invisible chains release her and Taryn tumbles across the freezing ground, coughing and gasping. The girl starts to shakily get to her feet, only now able to look around and get a look at her assailant.

Cevia--a girl no older than twelve, long dark hair, chilly eyes--steps back, raising her gloved hands as if she is about to flatten Taryn into the snow again.

“Let her stand,” a boy interjects. Aydin Tartaros steps into view from behind an ice-cloaked tree; with him is another fifth-year--Vexus. The entire trio is here. Taryn can feel herself shivering, and not from the cold. She loathes it--loathes how they know she’s afraid.

She stands up, staring at the other children, too frightened to move or speak.

Aydin folds his arms, making himself look about as imperious as a thirteen-year-old can look. “You really went to the prefect, Teventi? She doesn’t even like you. She’s sick of you. You make everyone sick of you. It’s only fair you should get sick sometimes, too.”

That gets her. Taryn finally speaks, and her voice cracks as she tries to sound strong: “I knew it, I knew you’ve been doing it, you--”

She’s cut off by an unseen battering ram, sending her stringy self hurtling backwards. Taryn catches just a glimpse of Cevia’s hands lighting up with flame before she hits the snow again, and she scrambles to get up, turn around, and run away.

As soon as Taryn takes a step in the opposite direction, she is dragged by her foot back towards the other students, scrabbling pitifully at the snow as she goes. Her heart is racing. If only someone saw, or heard, if only anyone--

Just as she feels the heat, just as the invisible bonds pin her to the snow again--

There is a yell of shock followed by panicked wailing.

The telekinetic chains disappear and there is no one looming over her. Taryn rolls over, unsteadily getting to her feet, to behold the scene.

A ghastly, vaguely-lupine creature has Aydin Tartaros pinned, viciously tearing at the boy’s chest with ethereal teeth while he cries out.

As soon as Taryn realizes what she’s done, the creature freezes, and Aydin lies there, not moving. The snow is spattered with red.

Cevia and Vexus both stare for a few moments before they turn and run.

Taryn is left alone in the woods with the spectre, sinking slowly to her knees, shaking like a leaf.

The girl’s creature pads over to her, pushing its snout into her hair.

"Look at me.”

Taryn does not look at Bascus.

The prefect may well be staring holes into her head.

“What do you have to say?”

Taryn remains silent for a minute or so. Finally, she speaks, her voice a croak. “... did I kill him?”

Bascus frowns. “No.” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “Were you hoping that you had?”

The girl shakes her head.

“ .... well,” Bascus sighs, “I can tell Lord and Lady Tartaros that, but I do not believe they will be any less angry.” The woman falls silent again.

“I thought they were going to kill me.”

“Perhaps, but there’s barely a scratch on you and yet Aydin is hospitalized.”

“ ... I know ...”

The prefect studies Taryn for a few moments, then shakes her head. “... perhaps he did deserve it. But, Scions’ sake, girl... if you are going to get even, then be more subtle about it.”

Taryn stares downwards.

“ ... okay.”

[wsrpkitty]

Witching Hour

POV: Sidna

Under Nix’s moonless night skies, the taigas more closely resemble mausoleums. Skeletal trees, sheathed in permafrost, claw at the starfield overhead.

It has been approximately twenty minutes since I last caught sight of the Mechari who has been following me.

A light blizzard helps conceal tracks, but that isn’t going to keep me safe forever. In those twenty minutes two things have been made clear: One, this Mechari is not one of the prefects. Two, he is not going to stop.

So I can’t stop, either.

Until I reach an impasse.

I finally pause to catch my breath after straight jogging through these woods for near a half hour. The air, still thick with flurries, is frigid at this late of an hour. I can no longer feel my face. I stoop to plant my hands on my knees, trying to take in breaths that don’t feel like needles ravaging the inside of my lungs.

Minutes bleed past. At last I stand again, and look ahead. I look into the ominous maw of the sica grove.

Of course. Having to cross this particularly dense section of forest was going to be inevitable based on the route I chose. The trees themselves shoot straight upwards and crown into a thick canopy laden with stiff, needle-like foliage.

All of it is encased in ice. The leaves form daggers, precarious and ready to fall at the slightest disturbance.

I take a few shaky steps backwards, and half-fall, half-sit in the snow, sitting up against a mound--which might be a rock, or perhaps a shrub, or anything. The blizzard and the gloom conceal all in these woods.

I try my best to think: Crossing the sica will require great care and strategy, and time, which I almost certainly do not have enough of. My inorganic pursuer will not be daunted by the forest in the same way I am.

This was poorly planned. I grin wearily around my gloves as I try to bring some warmth back to my face and compose myself. I would laugh, if it wouldn’t quite literally bring the forest down.

Think. I can make it if I move slowly, but if I move slowly I’ll be caught before I ever make it. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. I’m going to die.

Without warning, the snowfall transforms. Soft, dainty crystal flurries down through the trees. Almost immediately, I feel the horrendous burning in my nose and I exhale, vacating my lungs before the knives enter those, too. I waste a few seconds panicking and scrambling blindly for the backpack, eyes squeezed shut, to find the mask--there! I pull the mask over my face and fumble to affix the goggles.

Huddled up against the snow-mound I waste another minute and a half coughing. Blood seeps from my nostrils, staining the inside of the mask. Uncomfortable. I’ll live. For now.

Acrivitreous hail--more affectionately known as razor snow--swirls and tumbles from the sky. The larger fragments reach the ground and coat the top-snow in a fragile, glassy film, while the small flecks drift slow and dense, suspended in the viscosity of Nix’s frozen air.

I can scarcely see through the silent, motionless blizzard. I will myself to stand again, and take a few steps towards the sica. The coating of hail cracks and breaks under my boots--an unbearable sound in Nix’s usual blanket of silence.

Cautiously, I glance up at the canopy. The icicles tremble, but none dislodge. None yet.

But now I shall have to cross even more slowly. I’ve wasted time, so much time, I have to go. Go now!

The glass breaks underfoot as I march under the looming canopy. In two minutes I take all of seven steps. My eyes never leave the needles overhead. All the years spent training in woods like these, and I have never reached the level of hyperfocus I have now. Funny how desperation works.

The prickling feeling of eyes on the back of my neck never leaves, although I know my pursuer hasn’t reached this far yet. It won’t be much longer. If I can--

In a silent flash the sica is illuminated, all bone-white teeth and shadows, before plunging into gloom yet again. Thunder follows--a distant but all-too-sharp crack. I hear the first leaf fall and pierce the glass precisely four meters away.

I turn one hundred eighty degrees and sprint out of the canopy. Glassy ice shatters and adds to the cacophony of the rain of knives.

Somewhere close to safety I stumble and roll several meters, the deathly cascade subsiding behind me with only a ringing in the ears.

First I check my mask--not compromised. I don’t appear to be wounded, but I suppose I’ll find out for certain soon enough once the adrenaline wears off.

This was the worst possible hour to attempt a runaway. Perhaps this is foolish. It almost certainly is. It’s too late now.

Dimly, I can feel a presence approaching. It may be the Mechari--it might be one of the local fauna. It doesn’t matter which. I’m not staying.

Lightning pops--I count the interval in seconds before the next flash. Roughly fourteen. Needles rain from the sky mere meters away from where I sit.

Can I cross the entire grove in fourteen seconds?

No.

Must I cross the entire grove in fourteen seconds?

Yes.

Rising to my feet, I stand at the very edge of the canopy, my heart pounding in my ears. I hike the pack up higher on my shoulders, waiting.

Another flash lights up the taiga, followed moments later by thunder, and one more hail of knives.

I lurch forward beneath the canopy and run.