Fantasy 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 — HEROES OF THE NEW ERA

[neon reverie]

The Zenua Trials

applications

application info.

Requisite
1. Full Name:
2. Also Known As:
3. Age: (18-50)
4. Gender:
5. Sexuality:
6. Clan:

In-Depth
1. Visuals (height, looks, style, etc.)
2. Role In Clan (what occupation do they have? why or how were they chosen as a representative?)
3. Brief (a description of your character, in a couple paragraphs, to give us a good idea of their vibe!)

Trials
1. Item of Choice (if any; they will get to bring one item into the trials)
2. Worst Fear (WAIT! READ THIS! Don't post this in your CS. Instead, slide one of the GMs a DM with this information!)

roles.

Hyeon

taken

+1 on Intelligence. You are the light that shines with knowledge, the one who, before anyone else, has heard those whispers divine again. It is a heavy duty to carry, but you do so nonetheless, that’s who you are — a protector of history and knowledge, the great oracle.

Daeya

open

+1 on Wisdom. You are the waves that go with currents gentle and serene, surrounded by other sacred blues. Will you sail or stay where it is most tranquil? Be the tide that flows or wrecks – or maybe both – because the seas are never just gentle, and never just unruly.

Shízu

open

+1 on Constitution. You are the roots settled deep and durable, the flower pretty but poisonous, or the predator lethal. There are tethers to consider, but remember this: no matter what you do, or who you are, you are still Shizu; a force of nature.

Shinsora

open

+1 on Charisma. You are the air that goes everywhere, holding no vast ground or home. Nomadic and free. you go where your muse leads you, which can be as fickle as the wants of those limited by mortality. You are the art and music of life, the poems and stories of Zenua.

Dülaan

open

+1 on Strength You are the fire that burns and destroys, originating from where colds seeps deep and mountains tower high. Barbarians, they name you, but don’t let that dampen your pride, for you can show strength where there is weakness and valor where there is fear.

Yūrei

open

+1 on Dexterity. You are the shadows that stalk, the dagger in someone’s back, or the false veil surrounded by truths. Maybe you’re one of them, tasked to kill or spy. Maybe you’re not. But a shadow you are, and maybe you can show them that not every darkness is of terror.

extra information.

none of the roles are genderlocked but please keep in mind certain traditions in the clans (ex: it's very rare and typically frowned upon to have a female warrior in shizu ) and that you need to have solid reason/context to go against them.

please use either descriptions, realistic fcs or realistic aesthetics for character visuals.

you can always add things to this cs or keep it simple & brief. just nothing too barebones; we do want to have a good understanding of what your character is like!

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Xed]

Shen Long

#son of shizu

♡coded by uxie♡

Full Name: Shen Long
Also Known As: Shen
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Clan: Shizu

Visuals: Shen Long has a very lean and lithe body with strong legs. He is not very muscular and of average height, just reaching 5'8. Numerous small scars litter his body from his time as a warrior. His hair is short but messy and he usually wears clothes that are on the fitting side without too many loose articles because of his blindness.

Role In Clan: Shen Long was once a warrior of Shizu but after losing his sight and teaching himself how to heal in secret, he has now become an occasional poison maker and clan outcast.

Brief:
Fastidious, stubborn, determined, resourceful, flexible, understanding, secretive, cautious, calm, proud, sharp, rational, resilient

Before he lost his sight in one of the many conflicts that plagued Shizu, Shen took great pride in his prowess in combat and poison making, his ability to defend his people and be of service to his clan. He had a strong sense of responsibility and a firm belief that it was the role of men to protect. Becoming blind and put in a position of vulnerability, where he was the one protected rather than protecting, clashed with Shen's strong sense of responsibility and in a clan where the roles and expectations were made explicitly clear, Shen felt like he lost his place in the clan, his identity, everything. He was treated by his clansmen with honour for his sacrifice but also pity for the misfortune that had befallen him when he was barely in his 20s. He despised the pity and concern they showed him even as he knew it came from a good place and he much preferred the subsequent scorn that they treated him with after learning he had broken the clan's taboo and learnt healing, because at least being treated like the clan's greatest embarrassment meant few if any cared enough to show him concern or pity and remind him of his blindness and make him feel helpless or worthless. He didn't mind becoming an outcast because nothing could make him feel more outcast than the loss of his role and identity. That overwhelming sense of worthlessness and helplessness in the immediate aftermath of losing his sight and place in the clan, of feeling like nothing more than a burden, pushed Shen to learn how to heal in secret, to make himself more useful, to increase his worth and make up for the sense of inferiority he felt to his peers. He knew his actions if discovered would likely be regarded as an embarrassment but his struggle and despair over the loss of the role that made his identity, and his worth was greater. He was also driven by a hope that maybe, just maybe, if he learnt healing, he could find a way to restore his sight and reclaim his original place, because even though he eventually came to terms with his blindness and learned to adapt to it, a part of him didn't want to give up and fully accept that he could never be a warrior of Shizu again. Learning to live with his blindness increased Shen's resourcefulness and flexibility. It has sharpened his other senses and made him keenly attuned to his surroundings. He is very cautious and still holds onto several beliefs from his days as a warrior, such as how one should never reveal their weaknesses to anyone, especially an enemy or member of a different clan, but that doesn't mean he is completely averse to taking on what he believes to be necessary risks. He rarely shares his thoughts or explains himself properly and has never willingly divulged his blindness first because of his belief about weaknesses and his desire not to be treated as an invalid. Shen is more aware of his impairment and limitations than anybody and he usually doesn't try to push himself too far beyond his limits, but provocations from others regarding his blindness, whether that be in the form of excessive concern or something else, can lead him to push too far, just to make a point that he is not helpless. Learning healing and breaking the strict rules and taboos opened up Shen's formerly rigid thinking and has made him more understanding and open minded, that maybe there shouldn't be such rigidity about what men and women can and should do respectively. Shen can be very stubborn and is extremely particular about doing his job properly, whatever that may be. He generally carries himself in a calm manner because he believes that if he lets himself be guided by his rage or emotions and loses the ability to think with clarity, he will be at a disadvantage. Despite losing his sight and role as a warrior, Shen has occasionally trained himself in secret, not wanting to lose his feel for his weapon or combat.


Item of Choice: satchel of healing herbs and poisonous plants
Worst Fear: A warrior should never reveal his weakness.

 

[cavitea]

praise to daisini

built on the anvils of Dülaan

Altan, golden son.

♡coded by uxie♡

╰┈➤ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: Altan Khünbishiin, golden son born from monster remains.
𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐀𝐬: a man of the forge; the widower who mourns in iron; Altan, Golden Son
𝐀𝐠𝐞: in years unkind and words unspoken the moon aligns with the age of forty.
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: male
𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲: a widowed heart only reminisces about floral scents and dimpled cheek
𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧: Dülaan

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞: A lump of clay sat itself on a potter's lathe, unwilling and stubborn to yield as heavenly hands beat and slapped in the form of arms, of legs. Rounded cheeks are brushed with a calloused thumb, the softened melancholy of sanded-down smile hidden beneath the bristling black of hair. It extends beyond a hardened chin into blackened thickness that is darted with the silver of mental ailment and age, coiled tightly into bushels. Molded over and over again there is the bone of a father, flush of a mother; something that belongs entirely to him yet pulled from the flickering sparks around.

Scars and burns decorate themselves comfortably along the hardened skin of one close to the fires and intimate with the hearth. In the weathering of leather age shows itself in crow's feet and a stoop to a muscled back. He hardens himself with each swing of a hammer, extinguishing the rose boot herb of a past withered into a hand empty of gold.

He dresses in the warmth of a biting cold, leather wrappings on exposed hands focused into bending metal. A chain hangs loosely around his neck, a tucked away reminder seen only in the slivers of his creations.

The fire reaches upwards, pushed down under stone and away from the furs.

One day it'll cover the bended and broken skin, flames lapping in harmonious victory over one that forces them to bend. For now he wraps the leather tighter, pulls on another layer.

Safe.

𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧: A creature of anvil and fire from when softened hands could clutch the haft of wood and point to flaws in metal. He has belonged to the forges under the guidance of many, wielding brick and stone as extensions of a hungry soul. It was unfortunate, really, to be chosen as a representative. As if the spinning forces above wished to pull at strings wound taught for the convention of naming.

Something good must come out of something named so bad. His father was merely a stepping stone to guarantee this, a withering memory of a man with little encouragement. Names are so telling, after all; they are words so sacred to those with everything at stake. Gold will bring fortune and with it, prosperity to those desperate to cling to blood-soaked rags. He will go to spare them, a martyr with nothing to lose, if anything.

𝐀 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞: Silence lingers in the hearts of forges. Cacophonous ringing of smiths supplying their people with a means to fight, a means to live and prove again. Together they stand alone in their work, warriors of the backline and slaves to the stones before them. Reprieve comes only when the flickering heat begins to taste the ice around them once more, sputtering as an elderly would.

Muscles will move in their solidarity, crunching and rolling themselves through the motions of a break barely spared. Dawn to dusk work happened, dawn to dusk work was needed. Every fight saw losses and every throat needed a blade. Sharper, always; stronger and better. Crackles of flame remind a weary heart of the fuel needed to finish, to never die.

He breathes in once more and stokes the beast.

The innocence of charcoal is snuffed by a maturing flame, heat rising in an unhinged jaw to latch onto the fuel. It's an all-consuming force, a danger he has known too well in his life, too intimately. Burnished rings hang like a hangman's sentence on his collar bones, a reminder of the cradle unfinished and forgotten behind shame; a reminder of the stone sharpened by unfallen tears. It is contained here, elsewhere rampant, uncontrollable. Everything he has known belongs to the licking entity asking for more power; everything has been lost to it.

A tool, they call it. They'd praise it and shape it and he would bury the dead.

Ringing bells scratch heated metal as again a hammer hits it, commands it. It pulls away from the smile he once knew, the bubbly laughter anticipated. The flickering monster next to him is pushed down to an unreceptive gut.

You must not give in.

This was the way, it always had been. His sweat fed the generations below him, his body creaked to provide the honor they gripped in bleached bones to. Another strike and the metal bends, as it always has. Forever he will hammer, roll his shoulders, hammer again. Judge, jury, and the executioner of the desperate souls clawing only in a fight to survive. Everything wants to live, he'll remind himself; once he could have strongly considered himself of such narrow mindedness.

Flames flickers her tongue out again, lapping at the moment of uncertainty. It is dangerous to be weak around something so strong. A calling has selected him, for purpose of good or ill and he must answer to fate once more.

Another slam of metal on metal and the sharpness mirrors the drops of iron in his mouth. He'll remember the weapon untouched in his home; it rests on a widowed hearth with the cry that it was still meant for greatness. Not for the spring grasses it was made but a wilting autumnal leaf. Hands settle themselves along pointed edge.

For them, at least then.

For them.

𝐈𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞: A composite bow free of his metal handiwork is something he brings only out of honor, a show to the rest. The string rests as it has, untouched in years, brushing along the remnants of dust allowed to linger on edges.

Wood remembers, though.

As does he.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫: teehee, just kidding.

 

[ravensunset]

don't die so far from the sea.

scroll

choi min-seo.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking. — John Masefield.

summary

01

You are born a half-hour after your brother. You are born in his shadow, you are born his second half. When you are both young, you share your faces; only your clothes tell you apart. But you are told you are different. You are dressed up differently, you are played with differently. For some time, you are young, and you don’t understand this when you notice it.

You are someone important. You find this out early, but you do not yet know just how true it is. Your mother takes you up to the balcony, where you face the sea and taste its salt-breeze, and she says, this is ours.

You are given private tutors, and many of your classes you share with your brother. You compete, but kindly, playfully, you know you have each others’ backs above all. Your failings earn more disapproving looks, and his successes more pride, but you try not to mind, not so much. You skip stones into the ocean. You are told to play with other children, too, both of you are, and you find you are able to make friends. You laugh and joke with the other girls, you braid each others’ hair. You try not to wonder why they like you, whether they were told to.

He remains your best friend. When he is taught to fight, to wield a trident as both a weapon and a tool, you are not. Not at first. You find him after his lessons and he smiles at you, because he knew you would ask. You tell no one, and you train with each other deep into the night. Some mornings, you show him how to weave, and he takes to it faster than you do.

You learn to sail, though you are not permitted to sea. Still, you have quick fingers, and you weave knots naturally. You once leave your room at night and board a sailboat, and you think about taking it far, far away, before anyone can stop you. You know you would have to go alone. You are not ready to go alone.

Another conflict breaks out along your trade routes. All your life, you are told to value peace, to avoid conflict when you are able, but you watch the fog roll out across the ocean, your ocean, and you think you would kill to protect it. You think if you had your way you would go to war, and you would revel in conflict until everyone knew better than to touch you again. You think you could rule a clan. You can’t. You are just a girl.

The sea plays at your fingertips. It waves, rocks back and forth. Some days it is violent, some days it is peaceful. You ask it why it failed to instill the latter into you.

Your father meets with his advisors, and you are not permitted to sit in. Once, one of them asks you to have tea. You sit on your floor across from her and look at the lines age has worn into her face, and she studies you intently. She calls you pretty, polite, says your parents have raised you well. She calls you intelligent, and you can see she knows what it is that you want. Before she leaves, she tells you to be patient, that she knows what life for a young woman is, and if you stay in your place, you'll come out alright. You wish you could follow her advice.

Your brother goes out to sea. You ask, you nearly beg to be allowed to follow, but you are not. You have never in your life been so alone. He is your world, and he leaves you behind. You are hurt, and betrayed, and irrational, and you do not show it. You know how even the smallest admittance of emotion will be exaggerated, misrepresented, looked down on, but you think there is not much to exaggerate. You feel like everything you have ever feared being called.

You are near almost everyone you've ever known, and you are utterly alone. You are a half-hour behind him. You are a world behind him.

An alliance is called with your neighbors, and for the first time, you think something is being done right. Everyone knows of Shízu warriors; you only wish you, too, had such a reputation.

There are many meetings held, some of which you help host. You watch them hungrily, you admire their strength. You catch, once, one of their representatives, and you ask for a favor. You promise you will return it. The gift you are granted is small, but it is strong, and it wards off some of the powerlessness you've been feeling so long.

You swim in the ocean. You think your hair will always have salt in it. The sea is yours: you can hold your breath for minutes, you can open your eyes underwater and ignore the sting. You put your head under and you shout, because you cannot be so loud above the water. You do not want to surface.

Your brother returns. You've missed him until your whole body ached, but even with his presence, the ache does not leave you.

He does not respond to you as quickly as he used to. You wonder if he can still read you. You know you can still read him. You convince him to train you, and he resists longer than he used to. He overpowers you much easier than he used to. You look at his face, and you try to say, we are the same. You wonder if you still believe it.

When the prophecy comes, it comes as no surprise that your brother's name is nominated, and then selected. You look at him with wide eyes, with love and with envy. He is confident, he smiles easily. He is young, and strong, and charismatic.

You cannot be left behind again.

You accompany him to the ritual. You laugh with him in the early morning. He trusts you still, but you are just a girl to him, and he does not know what that means. You use the gift you have acquired: you slip something into his drink. You both arrive, but he is on shaky feet, he collapses to the floor. There is something wrong, and there is no time to correct it.

Take me, you say. I am in my prime, as he is. I know of peace and of customs and diplomacy, I know of history and of sailing. I am the daughter of Daeya, I will serve it faithfully. And you do not have time for anyone else, you say. Takemetakemetakemetakeme, you think, until the words lose meaning. By some miracle, or rather, by thoughtless panic, you are accepted.

You did not forget about the consequences. You know Shízu poison will be found to have made him ill. You only hope nothing will break beyond repair without you, and once you return victorious, nothing else will matter. You are ready, now, to go alone. It could not have happened any other way.

profile

02

requisite...

⎈ Full Name: Choi Min-Seo
⎈ Age: Twenty-Seven
⎈ Gender: Female
⎈ Sexuality: Lesbian
⎈ Clan: Daeya
⎈ Faceclaim: Kim Ok-bin

appearance...

A girl plays on the island she calls home. Her cheeks are full with youth, her features still soft and boyish. Mud stains her clothes, is streaked across her cheeks. She is still young enough to be permitted it. She is with her brother, or with the other children, and she is laughing. Her smile is bright and bold, and she speaks easily, commanding the children in her game of choice. There is mud and grass and salt in her warm toned hair, and she is free of any worries.

The tide shifts. Those days are long gone, erased like a drawing in the sand after a wave passes.

Min-seo watches her reflection in the water. Her pointed chin, her dark eyes, the definition to her cheekbones— the features she has grown into seem unfamiliar to her. She does not smile so much, now. Sometimes her lips will turn up at an amusement, but it does not reach her eyes. She’ll smile when asked to, when she is in public, will smile as she is meant to, but she has not mastered the art of making it seem true. A sense of thoughtfulness, of dissatisfaction, seems locked deep into her eyes, a cold gaze mirrored in the blue sea.

She looks pretty, she realizes, and she resents it deeply.

The water is disturbed as her hand swipes across it, ripples distorting her visage. Water drops stick to long fingers. Min-seo’s hands are far from unblemished, marked with years of weaving and knot-tying, and even secret practice wielding swords, tridents. They are as quick as she is. Despite this, they are sheltered. They have never truly seen the reality battle, only the theory of it. She touches a finger to her lips, tasting the ocean.

Ripples shrink and disappear, the water going back to a soft stillness. Min-seo stands, showing her full height. She is not short by any means, having outgrown her mother but despite it, she had not caught up to her brother. Her hair is pulled back, neatly braided, as it usually is: though, still, rarely by her own hands. It is clean, now, looked after, but the taste of salt cannot be scrubbed from it.

The fabric of wine-dark robes flows around her. Her steps are silent against the grass, silent as she slips back home, closing the door behind her, having had only the short moment to steal away.

role...

Min-seo is the eldest daughter, and youngest child, of Daeya’s leader. She’s been raised to be an educated, polite woman, to represent the daughters of the clan. Like her mother, she is tasked with helping to run the household, to entertain guests and help maintain political relationships and a positive image through it, though she has little political advocacy of her own. Her brother, skilled and charming, was meant to be Daeya’s representative. After he fell ill the day he was meant to depart for the trials, she was permitted to go in his place.

item...

Min-seo brought with her a large net, one of the ones used for fishing in Daeya. The knots and rope connecting it show elements of the country she is representing. Min-seo figured she would be unable to bring a weapon, and not knowing what the trials would be, elected for a tool she thought could have various application as well as be specific to her clan.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[draconicheart]

the son.

the overseer.

kazuki saitō.

The stare of a fox moments before pouncing. The sharpened edge of a dagger. Black silken fabric. A slight smile from someone hard to impress. The smell of jasmine and ozone. Purple hydrangeas and wisteria flowers. Being simultaneously lonely and finding the comfort in solitude. A haunting flute melody drifting on the wind.

the basics.

name

Kazuki Saitō: From Japanese 和 (kazu) meaning "harmony, peace", 希 (ki) meaning "hope", 斎 (sai) meaning "purification, worship", and 藤 (tō) meaning "wisteria".

nickname

Kazu, Fox

age

Twenty-Four

pronouns

He/They

sexuality

Bisexual

clan

Yūrei

the visage.

height

175 cm (5'9″)

weight

59 kg / 131 lbs

hair

Ruthless black hair. Keeps it short, but still gets in his eyes and stands on end. Relentlessly attempting to tame it.

eyes

Amber and cunning, with a sharp gaze.

features

Wrinkles his nose when he smiles; rarely does so. Moves quietly and precisely, smooth and pointed.

body type

A ectomorph body type: slim and lithe. Hidden under layers of flowy robes and fabrics.

the shepherd.

the closer look.

Role In Clan

There are different words other cultures and clans have used to attempt to interpret the role an Overseer plays - coroner, mortician, priest, funeral director - but none exactly grasp the weight the position holds. Dying, to the Yūrei clan, is a sacred process directly involved with their god, Seikami. As such, there are rituals to be performed in order to adequately send off the deceased and aid their living family in their process of grief.

As the name implies, the Overseer arranges these intricate rites to ensure that both the dead and the living are able to navigate their path. The Overseer is responsible for preparing the body for its funeral, arranging the proper burial rites, dressing the temple or whichever location appropriately, interacting with the deceased's family, and - perhaps the most unique and striking of the Overseer's duties - performing the Song of Parting to help guide the deceased's remaining spirit to Seikami's domain and to aid the living family with their journey of grief.

The Song of Parting is a melody that is difficult to describe by those who hear it. It is - at once - joyful and morose, a finality with the hints of a new start, nostalgic while looking forward, the beginning and the end. The song is meant to inspire catharsis in both the dead and the living, having reflected on the life they lived with the comfort knowing that they may rest in Seikami's domain while awaiting their next journey.

Why Were They Chosen?

In short, it's because Kazuki is simultaneously important and unimportant.

The position of Overseer is one unique to Yūrei, and culturally significant to the denizens thereof. Kazuki knows the weight of his role and has played it well thus far. He has climbed the ranks in the years since he had been assigned, and even though he is a young man he has already had the privilege to send off several high ranking officials. Yūrei is a merit-based society, meaning that opportunities to prove one's worth are needed - to test one's mettle.

But also: Kazuki is not a politician. He comes from a relatively common family where the only significance came from his father as an assassin - a failed one at that. In these tenuous times it's best to keep Yūrei's trump cards up their sleeve, keep the assassin's hidden and poised to strike. Likewise, if there's any betrayal from another country or the trials prove dangerous and the boy Overseer who went as a token of peace gets martyred by the villainous other clans, Yūrei will still be able to stand strong. It would be sad, a holy man of Seikami to be killed in such a way, and the tragedy will be mourned by all, but the generals and soldiers and leaders will be there to keep Yūrei running nonetheless. Kazuki is ever eager to please and has no state secrets to leak, intentionally or not.

He's loyal to Yūrei. Devoted to her in a way that rivals Seikami. Eager to prove himself a different man from his father - to fix his father's mistakes. Perhaps this will prove a test of fealty.

Woe be him if he fails.

Item Of Choice

Kazuki would bring his flute - sacred as it be. It's similar to that in style of a ryūteki - a transverse flute made of dark wood, polished to a pristine shine and decorated with carvings of leaves falling, floating in the breeze.

The instrument would pose no obvious risk to the other nations, allowing Kazuki to show he means them no harm and, therefore, not be targeted if tensions begin to run high. However, if there is danger in these trials, it would be beneficial to have a means of sending them off properly with a Song of Parting.

the body.

"How did he die?"



Kazuki's question hovered like a moth in the night air. He seemed to catch their home - that doubled as an orphanage - at a rare time where the only noise was the glare of the moon as it beamed through a hole in their tiled roof and danced about the room. His face enlightened with porcelain quality, a kind of seriousness to it that he would mature into far too early. His mother's face remained encased in shadows, frozen as if the night was in the dead of winter. She seemed eager to let the seconds drip by slowly, glaring at one of her many household plants as if willing the flower buds to erupt spontaneously into blooms, then the petals to wilt and break off the stem, falling ever-so-slowly, their impact with the ground imminent and all-encompassing -



Cries broke through the night, and Kazuki seemed to hear the release of a breath. "Kazu, you get Saki." The boy had already turned and made his way to the crib with practiced haste, dodging through the foliage that littered their home to scoop the infant up into his arms. It was almost a comical sight of a young boy hardly any bigger than the babe in his arms working to calm her.



The house, of course, awoke to its regular chaos. Kazuki's mother flitted about, the Caregiver once more assuming her role that never really ended. Kazuki stayed with his mother after the house quieted once more, long after all the other children had gone to sleep. He always seemed to have a quiet intensity to him, but this time it was different - more pointed, expectant; his mother had her head dipped and kept him at her back, as if avoiding his eyes.



The Caregiver could not hold out her cold shoulder for long, however. She whirled around suddenly and scooped her son up into her arms. She lifted him high in the air and together they twirled around until they grew dizzy. She blew raspberries on his face and and he laughed so hard it was a miracle the house did not awake once again (how Kazuki used to laugh! A melodic thing, full of the joys of life and like the auditory sparks of a firework. Now he tends to sit in a calming silence, tampered by the weight of life and death on his shoulders, burdened holiness).



Kazuki's mother drew him close and the two embraced, feeling each other's racing heartbeats and hearing their beleaguered breathing. Their laughter died down and the ever present specter that loomed over their heads since Kazuki had opened his mouth not hour prior settled on them as one might snuff out a flame. The air grew thick with anticipation, suffocating.



Kazuki felt his mother pull away from their embrace, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes (he was always such a serious boy). She reached out to cup his face with a sad smile. Her fingertips gently grazed his cheek as if she were afraid she'd break him. "My little fox... You know how you scare me so?" Kazuki nods. "You move so silently, I do not notice you. Like an owl in the nighttime, or even a -"



"A fox!"



"Yes, or even a fox," she smiled and leaned forward, resting her forehead against her only child's and closed her eyes.



Kazuki left his open, but could find no answers in her face. "... How did he die?" The repeated question sounded smaller this time. Weaker. Kazuki felt cold.



A beat of tense silence passed. His mother shifted once more, pulling back and running her hand through his hair in an attempt to push back an unruly strand of hair out of his face. She did not hide from his gaze this time. "... Your father was a wonderful man. He was kind, thoughtful, loving. He loved you, Kazuki. And he loved Yūrei. He devoted his life to our clan, and they sent him to travel far and wide. His skills with the knife were next to none, and he moved like mist. He was excellent at his work. It was awful work. But it was for the good of Yūrei. For us. And he was great at it."



"... Until...?"



"... Until he was caught."

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[DeepBlue]

Placeholder - Female Shizu

 

[Sear]

Spoiler: Liu Hualing - Shizu

Name: Liu Hualing

Also Known As: Hualing

Age: 27

Gender: Cis-Female (she/her)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Clan: Shizu

Visuals:

to bring attention to herself or not to. small, with tumbling black strands pinned back up, sweeping fabrics of darkened greens that mirror similar depths in peering eyes, and a burn scar that lines one palm; impacting the ability of slender fingers, criss-crossed others that attest to a life of nicked fingers and scorched skin. there is hidden strength beneath careful layers, and steady hands.


Role in Clan:

There’s a chime that echoes when you enter, met by a fleeting smile as you’re ushered to a selection of the finest teas.

And you wonder and you wonder - what power do the fragrances spinning your head round have?

And in the midst of conflict, it was to be a place of escape from the chaos of bordering lands. From the surname that weighs heavy on an aching back, haunted by the grieving rites of the past.

It had been a risk taken under the threat of bloodshed; a hastily scrawled scroll shoved from a weathered hand into one untouched by callouses of battle, a handle placed into the other.

Done in secret, under the camouflage of night - roles were reversed and the skill of how to twist the art of healing into a weapon of destruction was passed down.

Poison and healing. The sides of the same coin - unforgiving in their partnership. That which could bring one down to its knees in a singular touch, could bring one up.

In the name of sacrifice, of lineage on its last dying breath, she will heal the tarnished name.

Brief:

As undisturbed as the surface of a white porcelain cup placed gently on a table. Of ripples spread across the surface that then quiet, hushed by the lingering smile and softly chosen words. She is the calm before the storm, a slow moving grace that exists with measured precision.

It is a calm that tethers on a string, a chaos that embodies Nuhua, and is concealed with the air of mystery that escapes even the most talented of tellers peering at the depths of porcelain cups and scattered leaves.

Bitter experience has taught that safety comes from within, from secrets held behind clenched teeth,

and if her hand can turn a drink into the last one one sips, what is stopping another from doing the same?

Item of Choice: a blade of steel dipped in what makes one burn and fester; a gift passed down from hand to hand in the name of family from times beyond even the eldest now

 

[iridescent.]

goto

— ryuusei

full name: goto ryuusei
also known as: ryu
age: twenty-three
gender: male
sexuality: pansexual
clan: shinsora

in depth—
visuals.
a man whose pale skin has been tanned from long hours spent under the sun, whose black hair shines hints of brown when hit by its rays, whose brown eyes are constantly poring over parchment, whose 5’11” frame is perched up against the roots of a tree with legs tucked under him as liquid color hits paper.

role in clan.
born with an ability to capture his surroundings like no other before him, ryuusei has used that gift to create. create what, you may ask? not music, not poems. paintings. people from all different groups of shinsora flock to his own in order to watch him paint, each left as awestruck as the next as they observe him capture the landscape around him as if it were mirrored onto the canvas before him. so when it came time for the trials, they had to send someone to make them proud. and who better than the greatest painter in the land?

vibes.
he follows the sun, calls the grassy meadows home, sings with the birds, swims with the fish in the river. he spends hours under the shade of the trees, blending colors together in a way never before seen by man, creating landscapes and universes that will be viewed by generations to come.

when the sun returns to its resting place for the evening and is replaced by the moon, he pulls out the canvases he’d painted on during the daylight hours and begins to tell the inspiration behind each painting. they listen. they all do. the men, the women, and especially the children. they are lost in the stories, completely enraptured by the silken voice that tells them how the suns rays are at the perfect spot for painting at a particular time, or how if you get up early enough, the dew on the grass will begin to drip and becomes the perfect muse for the next painting.

trials—
item of choice.
saishiki-fude
a paint brush with very soft bristles. ryuusei has had this particular paint brush since he was a child.

coded by reveriee.

 

[SavannahSmiles]

filler

filler

filler

filler

• ...
• ...
• ...
• ...
• ...

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  Nari.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  sometimes in the waves of change, we find our true direction.

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  How Far I'll Go

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  Cover by Izzie Naylor

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  full name

  
  
  

  Jeong Nari

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Also Known As

  
  
  

  The Gentle Lily

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  clan

  
  
  

  Daeya

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  gender

  
  
  

  Female | She/Her Pronouns

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  age

  
  
  

  Twenty-One

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  sexuality

  
  
  

  Pansexual

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  faceclaim

  
  
  

  钟曼菲

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  appearance

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hair style

  
  
  

  WIP

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  eyes

  
  
  

  WIP

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  complexion

  
  
  

  WIP

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  physique

  
  
  

  WIP

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  attire

  
  
  

  (Will add a Pinterest board)

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  height

  
  
  

  4'11" | 150 cm

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  weight

  
  
  

  100 lbs | 45 kg

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  eye color

  
  
  

  Brown

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hair color

  
  
  

  Dark Brown

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  psyche

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  ☾ personality ☽

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  WIP
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  ☾ likes/dislikes ☽

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  『 LIKES: 』WIP
  
  
  
  『 DISLIKES: 』WIP
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  ☾ Worst Fear ☽

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  ➳ (Will DM)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  background

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  backstory

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  WIP
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Role In Clan

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  WIP
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Item of Choice

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  WIP
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  gallery

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  HC'S

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  ↬ WIP
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  relationships

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  relationship

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rutrum interdum velit a consequat. Sed posuere nisl dolor. Nullam ullamcorper mollis luctus. Mauris id mattis dui, eu eleifend augue. Donec consequat, mi in dignissim bibendum, urna est aliquam nisi, ac ultrices nisi ex vitae risus. Donec congue vel nisl eget vestibulum. Sed a feugiat nulla, vitae posuere enim. Quisque blandit neque leo, vel gravida lectus facilisis ut. Nullam pharetra sem ex, non ullamcorper nunc posuere quis. Vestibulum tellus eros, aliquam at tempor sit amet, blandit ut dolor.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  relationship

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rutrum interdum velit a consequat. Sed posuere nisl dolor. Nullam ullamcorper mollis luctus. Mauris id mattis dui, eu eleifend augue. Donec consequat, mi in dignissim bibendum, urna est aliquam nisi, ac ultrices nisi ex vitae risus. Donec congue vel nisl eget vestibulum. Sed a feugiat nulla, vitae posuere enim. Quisque blandit neque leo, vel gravida lectus facilisis ut. Nullam pharetra sem ex, non ullamcorper nunc posuere quis. Vestibulum tellus eros, aliquam at tempor sit amet, blandit ut dolor.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

♡design by natasha., coded by uxie♡

 

[arthur morgan.]

THE EMODIMENT OF LONESOMENESS

#shinsora or yurie

# fc here

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

THE BLAZING SPEAR

BATTLE IS AN ART LIKE ANY OTHER.

WORK YOURSELF AS YOU WORK THE STEEL.

♡coded by uxie♡

╰┈➤ THE BLAZE MET THE GALE AND SO WAS BORN

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: Temujin Ganbaatar/Tetsujin Hagane-Yusha, the blood of two clans running in his veins
𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐀𝐬: The Blazing Spear, The Son of Wind and Flame, The Rising Star
𝐀𝐠𝐞: In the flower of his youth, a young man stands at the age of twenty.
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: Male
𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲: At his age, to chase jade beauties is only natural, no?
𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧: Dülaan or Shinsora

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞: To look upon the Blazing Spear is to see a flowering youth, filled with the strength and spirit found in those for whom the world was young and new, and all its fruits lay before them for the taking. Tall and broad-shouldered, but with a certain toned fitness that hints at the swiftness that carries him through battle. Upon his body is a mix of Dulaan furs and Shinsoran silks worn in a rakish cut, a statement of bold fashion that flouts norms and defies imposition. He bears a few scars upon his body, the marks of valor, and his hands are rough and calloused as might be expected of a warrior and smith.

His face is a blend of Dulaan and Shinsora features, sharp and keen. Tetsujin's eyes seem to always be gazing to the horizon, searching for something that lies just over it, framed by hair groomed in the fashion of a gallant. There's a perpetual smirk on his face; as if he's won a game no one else knows how to play, found a treasure no one else could see, won a battle no one else could face. Temujin strikes an image of the heroes of the old, who rode into battle singing the songs of their fathers, who carved their stories into memory in blood and boldness, such that their tales would echo for ten thousand years.

He is a man who would shake the world with every step.

In battle, he is a poet with a spear. Each thrust is a well-placed word, every feint and parry an artful turn of phrase. He takes the martial arts for just that; an art that is as deadly as it is a wonder. To face him is to face a firestorm, his blows raining upon his opponent, while his footwork controls the distance so that he is in a position out of reach of his opponent's blade, or able to block and deflect retaliation. With light feet and a swift spear, blending the technqiues of Dulaan and Shinsora, has made something of a name for himself on the battlefield, his style rather distinctive and recognizable for its uniqueness.

𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧: Shinsora is a clan of free-spirited artistry, Dulaan a clan of fire and steel. Where they meet is born the Blazing Spear, a man who wields his lance and his hammer with equal dexterity and refinement. A warrior and smith both; he crafts for his clan weapons and armor of refined beauty that perform in war as well as they do in a performance. Swords and spears, sabers and helms and breastplates. His signature stamp, of a spear encircled by wind and fire, is placed prominently on each one, a proud statement of who forged these armaments and whence their origins come.

And when the call of battle is sounded, and his clansfolk find themselves threatened and in need of another blade, he is the first to draw steel. Lightly armored and spear in hand, he is a familiar sight to his clan's warriors, ready to face any foe to earn his name. There are no odds too great, no mission too perilous for Temujin, and it is in this way that he has earned the respect of the band of Shinsora his mother belongs to, even if the rest of the Shinsora may not look on him so kindly. He cares not. He is who he is, and he refuses to bow to harsh words and cruel gazes.

What is Best in Life?: The wind whips through his hair as he rides. The thunder of hooves resounds. Behind him were ten of his clansmen, in front of him, twenty foes. He and his crested over the ridge with lances leveled and banners held high, but still outnumbered. A fierce grin forms on Temujin's face as the clash of parties looms close. Good. Yes, Good! He liked these kind of odds. The Blazing Spear laughs as he gestures with his spear, calling the men behind him forward, as he rides into the teeth of the foe. Ten meters before contact. The enemy has recognized their danger, and are counter-charging. Temujin levels his spear, bracing it under his shoulder. Five meters. He can see the whites of their eyes staring into his, shocked at the sudden ambush of a smaller number of opponents, but full of the will to fight.

Then they meet.

Temujin's spear tastes first blood, the young warrior leaning to the side as a hostile spear is deflected off a pauldron at the same time. Temujin pulls off to the side, pulling his spear free and leaving a corpse fallen in the dust. Three of his foes pursue him, their stallions neighing as they give chase. Temujin turns and begins to fend them off, his spear whipping through the air as it clashes with his foes' own. One hand on the bridle, one hand on his weapon, he rides so that he faces them not all at once, but in ones and twos, turning their hunt into a series of duels. His second kill is not a man but a horse, as he slits one steed's throat with a swing, sending the beast and its rider toppling to the ground. The other two riders are forced to halt, the steeds rearing back. They make to return to the chase, but it's too late.

The Blazing Spear has already gotten away.

Off in the distance, the rest of Temujin's band is retreating as well, having done what damage they could. After the raid last week, this would serve as an effective reprisal and warning of what would occur if further raids occurred. And for Temujin, it would make for another good story.

𝐈𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞: A spear of hardwood, with a blade of shining steel. A work of art that is as practical as it is beautiful, with a ribbon of red and white silk flowing as a tassel. It bears the marks of Dulaan and Shinsora both proudly, its design a blend of two worlds.

Theme:

 

[mother of sorrows]

hirawa no nene

shinsora

the war-writing lady

♡coded by uxie♡

Age: 25
Gender: Cis Female
Sexuality: Bisexual

Short, portly, with the round face of a daintly watching deer, Lady Nene has the grace of a carefully painted brush stroke. If not beautiful enough to stop a warrior's breathing, she is still pleasantly gentle to look at; her eyes are charcoal and her cheeks are flushed from sweet words, holding a smile so sincere it is hard to remain wholly unaffected. her hair is long enough to pool beneath her ankles, thick and attentively taken care of. Color drips from every fabric, layers upon layers of green, orange, red, blue; her attire is not easy to move in, but it is traditional and proper in a way Lady Nene minds.

○ ○​

A woman both highly restrained and deeply emotional.

The chains are there for a reason. Had she none, she might spill out of her body and not be able to find her way back in. There are a lot of things she wants. Her words are echoes of emotions that can't ever be fully explained, and no one seems to truly understand the way she stumbles for meaning. If she is to be misunderstood, then Nene will say nothing at all instead - she is desperate for an explanation and yet painfully unable to provide one. There are many lies in her, countless hopes that make her stare into the dark corner of her room when she ought to be asleep, and you could never adequately explain just what sort of person she is.

Lady Nene is a writer. This is the simplest and only accurate description of her.

○ ○​

There is no small family with the name of Hirawa.

Cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents, brothers, sisters all live under the same rickety, vivid roofs of caravans. The youngest of them argue over who sleeps by the window and the oldest of them rest by temporary fires, sipping tea and blaming the weather for everything. They travel where the work leads them, selling books and scrolls, fixing weathered brushes and mending dance shoes; Nene sat in the lap of her grandparents as they showed her what paint goes where, how words bring meaning, held a knife in her hand carefully and dragged it to put form into wood. Her limbs were gently fixed into place to follow the music and they only scolded her a little when she wasted candles to read further into the night - and when Nene started to write, they all smiled and asked her to tell them about it.

It was silly stories, at first. Fumbling poems. The awkward steps of a crane out of the egg. But once she started she never stopped, and when she was a stubborn, wild girl of seventeen, she finished a story for others to read.

It was stupid. It was awfully bad, cliched and written with all the smugness of a teenager thta didn't care to hear she is wrong. And now, even years and plenty of regret later, it's still all she hears about.

○ ○​

Item of Choice: A small, ornamental knife. Not meant for actual combat, but just small enough to pick locks. Not that a lady would know how to do that...

 

[Uxie]

ye-hee.

lively priestess of gyebal

name.

Moyun(Seika) Ye-hee

a.k.a.

Bright-eyed Librarian; Bearer of Whispers; Or to those close to her, Xixi.

affilitation.

Hyeon

age.

Twenty-three

gender.

Female

sexuality.

A bibliophile, first and foremost.

faceclaim.

art: 伊吹鸡腿子 / Zhu Xudan

Pristine skin dressed in fluttering white robes, a sanctum of innocence and curiosity with fingers that seem to have only met the fragile pages of dusty old books. Soft wisps of bangs shade a twinkling stare, and heart-shaped lips are often seen curved into a dimpled smile. She speaks far too often for one who serves Gyebal, but the halls of the temple have grown accustomed to the melodic tones of her musings, as it has to her carelessly carefree gait; Wide eyes that besot you to answer her every question, and the reward of rosy-cheeked mirth should you successfully hold her interest.

Yet, beneath her glimmering gaze lies a careful keenness, because despite her demeanour she is still a Hyeon— One who has charted the stars, studied the gods, and watches you ever so carefully. If you miss the Cheshire quality in her smile, you might forget that as she is, in every part, lovely, merry, eccentric, just as she is calculating, clever, sharp; She is both mouse and owl, prey and predator.

of silence.

The gods are there, and they are always watching.

It began when she was a child — The inkling of a gentle breath that seemed to carry meaning when she first knelt before the Gyebal; Again, when she was tending to her mother's garden; And once more, when she hummed a song to her father's Shinsoran guqin songs. Divine whispers were not always prophecies, she would come to realise, and those that did foretell the future were so trivial they barely qualified.

(They said it would rain today.)
His fingers trace symbols on her palm, his touch light. (Who, dear?)
(The flower fox spirit.)

Her father smiles. It is the same smile he gives when she presents him with one of her poorly-written poetry drafts.

Perhaps that was why they had chosen her — Who listens so closely to a child's ramblings?

They are there when she first enters the temple, when she is taken under the wing of a kindly higher priest (He sports her father's smile whenever she tells him of the gods' words); They are there when she devours every book that sits upon the temple's infinite libraries, scouring every tome relating to their mythos (Nuhua seemed particularly upset that she was described as temperamental); They are there when she takes her first vow of silence, the only voices that continue to whisper to her throughout (They are impressed someone as talkative as she even lasted a month); They are there when she assembles meaning into gestures, a little present for her father (Only Gyebal was really impressed by this one).

Their whispers and musings echo in her every step, their presence a constant despite the haphazard nature of their messaging.

A constant chatter, she would remark, until it ceased. It was the morning after the banishment of the Shinsora nomads that her world is plunged into silence. The birds still chirp and the waves still rock, but there is an unshakable unease that settles upon her world; The stifling, deafening absence of whispers from the realm above. The first months after, she finds hope in the smallest signs — A breeze that tickles her cheek, or a comforting quiet that fills her being — But she is not stupid enough to cradle the most pathetic flicker of a flame in search of a truth that no longer is.

The gods are there, and they are always watching.

Are they? Perhaps, not anymore.

(It's a little silly, isn't it? Shameful, even, for a daughter of Hyeon to be disturbed... almost — afraid of silence. But this is different, if you have heard what I have. There is nothing more horrifying than this sort of nothingness, and surely, they will feel it too in a matter of months. This soundlessness... It is a warning. An omen.)

She lets out a sigh. It carries weight, far too much than she is assured she may bear. Her fingers trace a character along his palm, brushing across his skin in a faint, hopeless dance.

' 末 '

(Perhaps the end is nigh.)

role in clan.

❝ The others should feel lucky I was sent... They'd have died of boredom with anyone else. ❞

A scholar, a librarian, and certainly the most interesting cheerful member of the Hyeon clan; A protector of knowledge who endlessly seeks it; She is one of the many who manage the temples, one of the few who preserve the libraries, and the sole recipient of the gods' divine messages. Ye-hee has held a strong spiritual connection to the deities above since her youth, although her own ties have not been able to survive the punishment of Zenua. They look upon her with fair, fond gazes, but she is a human, still, and no mortal may be spared from the trials. Although, she seems more than happy to take on such a task— What knowledge-seeker might pass up a peek into the divine?

worst fear.

try asking gyebal instead lol

item of choice.

A war fan; The Hyeon weapon of choice, though not one she is particularly talented in using. She'd probably hold her own in any fair fight with it, but she laments her chances again any properly trained fighter. A book is much more her taste, but she finds no one book will grant her enough wisdom to last the trials — Call it optimism (or hubris) that she believes she can hold her odds in any closed-book challenge of wit.

 

[Lillian_4]

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[World In A Puddle]

郭梦洁

Guō Mèng Jié | Shízu

© REVERIEE

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