𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 - 𝒶𝓅 @urvun-blog - Tumblr Blog

#`(ooc)#[ puts out a tiny like to plot starter call ]

ofrevas:

Something here makes their skin itch. Too still, too cloying, the air itself pressing in as though to give the illusion of breathlessness. Did something hide here? Were they foolish in deciding to come alone? Were this place Mythal’s, nothing would be able to shield itself from detection. Here, though, is everything alien, antithetical, perhaps even hostile, and with every step Alanari feels more the need to turn back, to return to the light beyond the eluvian.

They do not have the luxury of acting on whims and their own discomfort, though, and ignoring the building pressure to flee, step away from the mirror. Rather than frigid stone, their bare feet meet with earth: still cold for their liking, but hardly more than an irritation. They’re here for a specific purpose, after all. Alanari takes their time in examining the chamber, reaching out with hand to leave their mark on ageless stone and transient flowers, all the while searching for some way deeper into the ruins: surely this is room is not all there is.

No, of course not. There was more, through covered arches, and beneath coated floors. Stones protect precious earth, earth so black that roots paler than a deathly pallor seemed to be even brighter, and they spread like glittering webs over more. To assume a forest is simply what is seen is foolish; they tread on dirt as much as they tread on the mycellium that feeds the mushrooms that huddle under branching shade. Fruits hang out of reach, but the mushrooms reach up regardless, even as their gills close as a disturbance nears. They have touched the Orchard.

The Orchard welcomes all.

A patch of sunlight illuminates flowers that dot heavy vines, the vines weighing an archway. The sunlight reaches even as flowers suddenly retreat, the room sighing as flowers pull back into the safety of shifting vines. The Orchard accommodates to guests, opening a path that had been closed only out of convenience. The archway was not crumbling, not as vines held it secure, and the vines that had filled it previously retreat into another room. The room was no more grand than the last, but perhaps that was by the presence of trees. Branches had an origin, now, and their paled bark and hanging fruits could pique the interest of any. Even the one that was hidden in the canopy; watching.

#ofrevas #`(ic)#`(v:amelan)

@ofrevas

How long has it been, the spirits may wonder, since another has been here. There are no more foot falls, no longer a scrabbling of claws upon stone, or uncanny howls of beasts better left alone. The Spirit no longer walks among the halls, by paw or by foot, and the corpses sit in a peace that has long been feigned. The dragon comes and goes, the sylvan creak and move, yet something lingers. How long has it been, the spirits may wonder, since you have been here. Es has no answer for them.

The ruins are grand, deteriorating in some regard, but not all. Where once there was purity in white, there is purity in flora. The roots of the forest invade sturdy walls, embracing them like old friends, even as they pull them apart; stone by stone. Much remains, yet nothing stand unclaimed. Layers of wind swept earth cover pristine floors, fine layers of moss growing here and there, and where the sun dares shine? Flowers turn their face upwards in a semblance of thanks. The temple is grand, but not untouched.

No tomb this old is ever untouched.

#ofrevas #`(ic)#`(v:amelan)

underwata

#`(musing)#`(bel'annar'is)#`(queue)

White Vallaslin is a gift from Falon’Din.

White Vallaslin is made from a mixture of blood (normally the elf receiving the Vallaslin, or a priest who helps apply the Vallaslin, depending on the situation) and the lyrium sap found within the roots of trees from The Orchard. Any elf that wishes to bear white Vallaslin must petition for the right before the priests of Falon’Din and Falon’Din himself. The process to earn the right to bear the white Vallaslin varies between occurrences, as well as the person’s rank, whether they are a priest of Falon’Din or Dirthamen, and their record of servitude. White Vallaslin is rarely seen ‘alone’ on a priest, sans upon the Orchard tending priests, even though that is not ‘true’ Vallaslin.

El’las’in was white Vallaslin in addition to his red and black Vallaslin, as he petitioned for the right to have the white Vallaslin later in his priesthood.

#`(headcanon)#lethanaviir #ellasin

Urvun does not have traditional Vallaslin.

Urvun’s vessels were always clearly decorated in some memorial to esh patron God, such as the staff es carried, or the plants es would grow from esh body. Some vessels were never deigned to be ‘important’ enough to fully decorate (see: war time vessels) and some simply ‘expired’ before they could be decorated. If es lacked Vallaslin at any given time, it was not in an act of offense of esh God; it was a matter of circumstance. For when es choose a vessel to inhabit for a longer period of time, that is when es would wear esh ‘true’ Vallaslin.

Urvun’s Vallaslin, like all the Vallaslin of the priests chosen to tend to Falon’Din’s Orchard, is not made of blood. The Vallaslin is not based on blood, as most Vallaslin is, but on organic life. The ‘Vallaslin’ is actually the sap running through the roots of a seed that is planted somewhere inside the priest’s body; usually within the upper torso or abdominal area. As the seed grows the roots stretch out over the priest’s body, with some growing just beneath the upper layers of skin, giving them the appearance of an ‘all over’ Vallaslin. The roots that grow close to the surface of the priest’s skin are thin, causing very little obvious protrusion as they first grow and establish themselves across the priest’s body. As the priest ages and the seed (now most like a type of plant blooming out of them) fully establishes itself, the roots begin to grow thicker, and the ‘Vallaslin’ becomes even more apparent.

The roots are all white in color due to the lyrium sap that runs through them. The lyrium both feeds the priest’s energy, as much as the seed feeds off their energy. Depending on the priest’s complexion, the roots may not be explicitly visible under their skin, especially when the roots are young and still establishing. Yet, no matter the complexion, the roots would be visible if the priest used any sort of magic, as the roots would then glow in response.

The seed never stops growing into a plant and the roots would never stop branching out over the priest’s body. Older Orchard tending priests may be seen with roots having grown into their eyes, removing their physical sight, as well as roots beginning to snarl up their joints. When an Orchard tending priest’s time has come, they are given the ultimate reward of becoming one with the Orchard.

The seeds from what they become are then planted within new priests and the process begins anew.

#`(headcanon)#`(bel'annar'is)#lethanaviir #body horror cw/#[ what if I didn't forget cw tags ]

#`(ooc)#[ puts out a tiny like to plot for starter call ]

Priest of Falon’Din Urvun the Orchard Keeper

#DARP #dragon age rp #`(promo)#[ idk why the link won't show but it's there c': ]

won-der-land89

#`(digitalis)

[7:46:30 PM] suηѕнιηє нαllα: IDK THIS ONE LOSER CALLED LETHANAVIIT AND YAMAKAGASGI [7:46:37 PM] suηѕнιηє нαllα: YAMAKAGASHI [7:46:47 PM] suηѕнιηє нαllα: LETHANAVIIT--- [7:46:49 PM] suηѕнιηє нαllα: Fuck [7:46:54 PM] Senka: Your One True Sin: YOU FUCKIED UP klfhkjg [7:46:56 PM] suηѕнιηє нαllα: I have to go SKDJDHDHDGFJGKHKGJSHS [7:47:04 PM] suηѕнιηє нαllα: BYE [7:47:08 PM] suηѕнιηє нαllα: Bye. He endhdhsjalsk [7:47:10 PM] Senka: Your One True Sin: POSTS YOUR SHAME

#`(ooc)#(skype)#[ logs on just to post this and shame Sam ]#lethanaviir #caps for ts

floralls

enchanted place by Msjunior- slowly catching up

#`(musing)#`(orchard)#`(bel'annar'is)#`(queue)

sandsvendor100

Tapir Has Simple Desires: Small, Concealable, Quiet, Deadly, Leave No Trace

#`(musing)#`(digitalis)#[ urvun: c: ]#`(queue)

prophetry

‘ Speak, then. ’ The Herald spreads her hands, fingers splayed, across her desk; smoothing parchment against the supple wood. ‘ There’s no need to be nervous. ’ A lie, though one concealed by an amiable manner and maternal smile.

urvun-blog

“As you wish, Inquisitor.” An order to speak is headed, but not out of obediance. If two snakes hiss at each other, wouldn’t it be wise to hiss in accordance? Dissonance would only be a displeasing note to esh day and hardly worth the effort to invoke it. “There is a blight among your herbs. Your elfroot is stricken and will perish if not tended to properly. Those who tend to your garden ignore the signs-- or perhaps are merely sightless in such regard.”

#prophetry #`(ic)#`(v:uralas'falon)

lethanaviir

How can he be but pleased, when he feels life stirring on all sides? Flowers uplift their petals to bask in the radiance of his passing, expelling carrion fragrance and the scent of death. Heavy foliage bends at but the lightest brush of his fingers, drooping with splendid, burgeoning fruits, juicy beneath a rich film of fleshy skin. And beneath his feet, fat tubers germinate, fed, as his Orchard is fed, by the willing faithful, who have given birth to so much beauty in their death.

He exhales, and the Orchard sighs with him, responding beneath his coaxing touch and the brilliance of his presence.

The minutest of gestures, an offering of his grace, bids the friend of nature forward. It is an awesome thing, to be granted the god’s favor. There is a new heaviness to the air, a suffocating, cloying weight even in a place suffused a clamoring multitude of an empire’s arboreal bounty. Falon’Din’s presence is the path forward, a lightness in the chest, a relief and joy. He eases even as he consumes, a fixed point around which the Weave bends.

urvun-blog

GLORY, glory; he comes to them.

If the people scream HOLY the Orchard shall surely mimic it, but not in such crude words. Exaltations of the tongue are grand, like the hammering of drums that invoke fitful wars, but loud. The Orchard is quiet, a place to rest, and to sleep. The greatest noise here is a murmur, a dull roar that is as sneaky as the snake slithering through the underbrush, or the worms that writhe through the dirt. The people form lines, chains of worship, and the ants mimic them. The people dust color to word, bright and brilliant, and the butterflies mimic them. The Orchard is a reflection of life; a reflection without visible flaw.

Open palms close, for esh begging has been answered, and fulfilled. He is kind, burdening esh excitement without complaint, and without chastising tone. He is far too kind. A nod of understanding sends esh hair forward again, the peat woven between esh inky strands burdening a sudden influx of growth, for the excitement within esh is too much to contain. Simply too much!

Es is a personification of esh own coffin.

Es moves before him, not that he needs someone to lead the way, but because esh had been beckoned to. Even if es did not show him the new additions to the Orchard it would not have taken him long to find them. The Orchard holds no secrets from it’s creator; from this God. The Orchard parts for esh and blooms; brilliant whiteness springs from deep green and soothing umber. There is more whiteness-- ahead. Structures, akin to large deep mushrooms, tower over the priest that stalls beside them, careful footfalls bringing esh close enough to reach, and the giant structures to reach back. A crudely constructed hand envelops esh own and the brightness of lyrium glows from within the fruiting body; from deep within the unseen mycelium that consumes the earth beneath them.

“They are new-- timid, but strong! The lyrium benefits them.”

#lethanaviir #`(ic)#`(v:uil)

rebelliontales-blog

‘With gloves.’ Sera mumbles, gaze falling to focus back on the green & purple of the plant. Healing matters did not matter to herself, it was the poison part she was more interested in. After all she was a Tempest. Possibly there would be a time when she needed said plant, though working with something that could burn ones skin off, apparently, she was not jumping at working with. With a flick of her hand, she turns away without care, ‘Put ‘em in a grenade, that’ll shoo the enemies away.’

urvun-blog

“Oh!” The violence is hardly a deterrent to esh, but perhaps unexpected. Daisies rarely wield swords after all. “Ah, but if it exploded on you, the burns...” Like a doting mother es frets, woven fingers clenched tight and palms gliding across one another in nervousness. Yet this figure, one who had come to help, nettles into the underbelly of the Inquisition with perfectly poised ideas. Injections of irritant can make the body heal and grow stronger; implementation of forgotten knowledge will be similar, for there is a reason it was forgotten. “If you could put it into a grenade that mists... it would be good for an ambush.”

#rebelliontales #`(ic)#`(v:uralas'falon)#[ ahh!! thank you so much!!!// ]

heartstringed-deactivated201705

#`(musing)#`(bel'annar'is)#`(digitalis)#`(queue)

nailartbyaya1gou

10% off coupon code “10PERCENTOFF” etsy shop Aya1gou.etsy.com

#`(era'elgar)#`(queue)

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 - 𝒶𝓅