She applaud herself

Astarte

of

5 y/o xlarge Female
Lucien, Male Raven
© rettamkrad
written with the muse, inspiration and love for Inanna-, Astarte, my character created to the vision and characteristic of how I perceive dearest Inanna.
Of course. She is found amongst the finest valley of them all. Found within the light itself, where the stalks of large sunflowers raise over twice her height. The floral aroma twined in her porcelain pelt. She relished within the aromatic cloak, the fragrance of the sunflower and pollen amazing when she went through the tall meadow in a slow, perhaps thoughtful prance. Her blush elegant and angular visage neutral with a soft, idle gaze forward. Lashed lids relaxed as she pondered with swiveling audits atop her horny crown, listening occasionally for Lucien's return.

She thinks of her purpose here- and at first an indifference warps her. She thinks of successors by far, her linage. Personalizing her existence on Nidria, confiding in her ability to create her ideal order here. Naming the path she walks on- but she pauses for moment, peering down at her dainty pink toes with judgment-, scattered light making way to the terrain from above as they glisten on her pale talons that splay. She snorts forcefully, her lavish dragged tail whipping to the left as she expelled her discomfort with the association of her thought. How her nature would not let this be: could not be. Unfinished, unstated, undone. She would start from nothing to bring forth what she had envisioned. 


A coven. To be apart of one, to sovereign over one. A racist taste to it, perhaps only for the ligh children. The affinity the purest of them all, Astarte deemed. Her will ought to manifest and it was here, among the stalks of sunflowers, did her determination conform. A set mind, an unchangeable promise to herself to highlight her very existence. To maintain order, remembrance of true individuality. She wanted to separate herself, and her kind. 

She wanted power. And so it was.

& with that, she resumed her soft trot. Mindful, entrusting, and absolutely patient with herself. Nothing was going to stop her now. Not ever.





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Ethos

Acquisitor of Dei Gratia

5 y/o xlarge Male
© Eclair
One for sorrow, two for mirth
♦ ♦ ♦
Awhile, it has been, since he left the bounds of Thatcher Woods. Everything settled here fairly well, he would say. And so, within this very week, did the giant shine up dusted boots and hit a worn yet neglected trail. He patrolled the coven’s territory thrice, ensuring his scent drenched the tracks he left behind. Why, where would he go? That he would ponder while taking his exit. His tail draped itself onto his lower back, a gentle breeze combing through the delight clinging onto its fine hairs.

Very few could outmatch his height... yet here stood flowers twice the size of him. Ethos stopped before crossing the border of this land. Golden sunflowers in which towered and guarded the sweetness of their sector. Frequently had he and his sister gotten lost within these flowers. A certain time his mind brought forth—a memory painted in rose and innocence. How they couldn’t track their mother for an entire day, but kind these humongous daisies were. Tickling away the panic and smiling down with the warmth of a rising sun, he had no reason to fear this place. Neither did this place have reason to fear him.

One by one, the sunflowers bowed away as the mundane snaked his way through them. The meadows shouldn’t be too far from here now. Those grasslands had his heart. Although he no longer had to call it his home, it remained his little retreat. 

He let the orchard’s aroma smother his senses. However, there was a hint of something that stood out from the honeyed air. His olive eyes withdrew their line of sight from the path he followed. A leash was handed to his nose as Ethos followed this peculiar scent.

Between and beyond the thick stalks of these flowers did he somewhat see a light figure. A ghost, he first thought. However, what apparition liked to tangle within the sun’s rays? Pupils slitted as eyes narrowed. His ears lowered, and the man’s body drew closer to the earth in a crawl. In silence, he moved; the sunflowers moving over for him with less quickness. Though, he would only let two meters separate him from the stranger before plopping his belly onto the soil. His tail curled similar to that of a curious cat. He waited while watching this horned wolf trot on through. Then his maw broke open. “Where are you headed?” he queried. Ethos still rest hidden behind many stalks, but he shouldn’t be hard to miss.

"Speaks" | Thinks
•• | ••
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Astarte

of

5 y/o xlarge Female
Lucien, Male Raven
© rettamkrad
It's not by scent, not even audio, that she becomes aware of the mundane. It was the familiar feeling of silencing that pauses the flow of magicka- her magicka. The very essence of beauty and power. It dims her aura, as it flickers then stabilizes with the help of the bright sun. Actively fueling her power with the convenience of sun bathing- though still her magicka felt limited. To what extent, was not known. Not yet.

She halts then- her feathered paws abruptly stopping as her fur animates with movements, swaying as her plush fur wavers in the breezes that confront her now still physique. Her tufted audits swivel and turn, as they catch a too close for comfort voice. A stranger, presumably male,- a mundane. Her own orbs press, searching downward at the ground as she towers above it with a sleek, angular visage that is neutral upon expressions. Cupping ears and furry cheeks that create a cavern around her light, beautiful face as she finally glances down at him ahead by a few feet. First, catching the glisten of his nose ring; how mundanes had an oddity appearance almost always. Their jewelry never seen before by the light queen. Thus she judges almost instantly, her face secretive of this. Of course with no real magick, they(mundane) had to catch up some how. Fashion was a good make-up. And that was just for someone who appreciated style.

Minutes have settled them in, she, finding her effeminate voice once again. "No where in particular." She tells the truth, her eyes glued on the other with a distrustful tint to them. Watchful of him as she decides to step back about three feet to create a spacious barrier between them. Plus, his magick silencing was making her quite weary. 

She allowed her indifference to be visible, though not harsh. As if allowing the other to be, like a worm amongst the butterflies.



art by luni©
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