#thavnairian

[benevolentspacehands]

Lady in blue and gold 💙💛

[mythriteshah]

Pg. 7: Dragonsong Robe

MODEL: Thiji sor Higuri

Against all odds and every circumstance, the Satrap of Radz-at-Han had successfully liberated his dearest sister from the horrors of the Thirteenth shard. In a poetic twist of irony, Lady Azdaja - who shepherded her erstwhile brother Vrtra throughout Etheirys's history - now walks (and flies) among the children of Thavnair in a new form. This was necessary, however, for Lord Vrtra would sacrifice one of his own eyes to grant his sister a corporeal body, that she may witness the hard work her brother had done in her centuries-long absence.

In commemoration of this incredible event, the Higuri Regalia and White Wings (@lizardywizard) would reconvene to deliberate on a design to close off their fashion line, and after many moons, they would come to a decision: an armored robe, woven with, and forged in, the most exquisite Hannish fabrics and metals, dyed in the smaragdine and sanguine hues of the two rulers of Radz-at-Han.

The Dragonsong Robe is the final piece to close off this dedication to the First Brood - finishing at long last with Azdaja. Made exclusively with Thavnairian materials, this Near Eastern ensemble provides both form and function; protection and mobility. Despite sharing likenesses of Lord Vrtra, this was intended as Ser Dione Averre wanted for this attire to serve as a symbol of the loving bond shared between kin. The two scaled leather strips of Vanadinite wrap around the wearer's chest, whilst an additional assortment of silvery scales coil the rest of the body.

Honoring their shared past, the robe is further adorned with a single armored pauldron, modeled after Lady Azdaja's former visage as a great wyrm. A clawed hand grasps the wearer's other shoulder in a protective gesture - a reminder of the devotion these two share, and a promise of safety as the two watch over one another. Two orbs of "Gilded Giantsgall" line the cuffs of each sleeve, shaped like a dragon's eyes that further honor the sacrifice of Lord Vrtra to assure his sister's safe return.

The Diamond Sultan himself, Thiji Higuri, was chosen as the model for this penultimate garb, and has been dubbed an emissary of dragonkind for his service. Despite being seldom seen in any colors that aren't ice blue or silver-white (least of all, red), such trifles are unfounded as the Dragonsong Robe plays a greater role not only in the realm of high fashion, but in the continued relations of man and dragon. As such, he has considered this a proud addition to his wardrobe.

Midgardsormr, Great Father of Dragons, may rest easier now knowing that half of his beloved kin yet live. The Dragonsong Robe is no doubt a welcome and satisfying conclusion to this clothing line, for Radz-at-Han prospers once more. Pick one up today and be honored in the annals of Hannish fashion - and be safe knowing that you are watched over and loved!

(Credit and thanks to https://sapphrix.carrd.co/ for the creation of this masterpiece!)

[regniersoldati]

A Hannish Date

Another GPOSE photoset I did between me and my friend Leevye!

[anamsgith]

Excuse the broken henna as I give my Thav girl some appreciation for a change =u=

[zodiac-age]

Resource: Thavnairian/Hannish Names

One of our lovely members has compiled a list of all Hannish/Thavairian names that can be found in game at this point. Feel free to check it out HERE and give them some love!

[lettersnorth]

[autumnslance]

I also nabbed the Dancer Barding for Snowlight; she’s been wearing the Shiva Barding so long it’s like a second skin...but given Aeryn’s heritage, and also the story I wrote for Eden 8 Refulgence, perhaps it’s past time to set the old barding aside and move onto a new look for the goodest girl.

Who is almost maxed out in level now. Soon!

[idanwyn-et-al]

(XIV|21-1: Foster. Sonorous River.)

Hushed conversation wove a melody within the caravan’s cramped wagon circle, the cookfire’s crepitation providing an offbeat harmony. Sonorous River kept his ears open as he removed his starched-stiff jacket, tucking within it a sachet of dried lavender and mountain sage. He could feel the worry of his fellow Nuhayr, flowing from them like water from a glacier, the streams growing bolder as each layer of their finery was stripped away, surrendering to the late afternoon’s lurid heat.

River couldn’t blame them. The life of travelling merchants was feast or famine, even for his caravan which sold some of the finest textiles to be found anywhere in Thavnair. During the spring and early summer, it was a little bit easier, as the open-air markets in Radz-at-Han thrived, the wealthy flocking to the port city to escape the punishing inland heat. As summer waned, though the weather was still hot in the afternoons, those with gil worth chasing scattered back to their distant manors, their manicured gardens with diverted streams giving them life, beauty, unspeakable luxury. Though the Nuhayr caravan was currently making camp in one such garden, it had taken all of their carefully-honed skill to make it past the gate. 

They’d passed others on the road who weren’t so lucky, who spat forty-upon-forty curses about the Lady’s supposed stinginess, knowing they were meant for a rocky roadside camp, a supper of salted meat and dusty dates. Meandering River, the wagon boss and Sonorous River’s uncle, was a more determined sort; canny, patient, and genuinely kind. Even so, River could tell the older man was struggling to keep the Nuhayr’s spirits up; the firelight illuminated the deep creases beneath his eyes as he stirred the bland, nutritious stew that was to be their evening meal.

Strangely, River felt a burst of optimism and strength. They’d made it within the walls, after all, allowed to set up in the merchant’s courtyard that were as much a fixture of these gardens as gilded fountains, as bitter-orange trees whose flowers were a poetic shorthand for young love. He knew it was tiring for some of the Nuhayr to perform as they did each day, putting on the gilded-thread costumes and playing the part of carefree merchants here to sell bored nobles not just cloth, but the lands through which it had travelled. The illusion of freedom and wealth was quick to fade when the wagons circled at night, but such shows of open weariness and despair weren’t common. 

River knew what part he had to play, now; a different costume, but one much easier to don. Unpacking his hammered dulcimer from his wagon---it was worth the space, the caravan had agreed---he heard some of the undertones of exhaustion and bitterness turn to hushed delight. He could do this for them; for himself, too. Play the delicate instrument with his large-yet-deft hands, and sing with his voice that they all said was gifted from the thousand-thousand gods. His music filled the camp, lyrics to foster hope and strength, and then swelled like a summer’s tide to fill the garden, eddying around the ornate spires of the Lady’s home. 

In short order, everyone in the household was crowded at the windows, peeking through the settling starlight to try to catch a glimpse of the music’s origins. River was vaguely aware of this, too; his music brought back whispers of the hearts of his listeners, those drawn into the tale he wove. He smiled, and focused his intent on his Nuhayr, his caravan, his people.

They made the sale the next day, enough to keep themselves and their chocobos fed for two moons. Sonorous River refused to take credit, deflecting all attempts to give him such. Deep down, though, he nourished a little seed of pride. This, he could do for them.