mourningcomess

[mourningcomess]

These roses in the monastery's gardens were a far cry from the ones she used to frequent in the Grannvale Empire. Of the luxurious and opulence, of grandeur older than time could tell, the Grannvale Empire's castle sang a ballad of affluence that only a measured elite could enter. Ishtar, being privy to this select few, often frequented the gardens with her beloved. Such a sight was forever etched into her memory.

That she should have to deign to go to this pitiful garden! Ishtar was no less than a princess, by birth and ability - the prize of all of Friege. Yet looking around the gardens, she saw no semblance of what she was worth. Tch. Whatever. This was all she was going to get in this new life. No longer did she sit high above. No, she was not much higher than a peasant.

So she walked onwards in these pitiful grounds, glancing to and fro at the flower beds. As she made way around a corner, a hot flash of crimson caught her eye behind another arch of roses. Curious. A somber lady poked her head further without making much other movement. What could only be called pure bewilderment stretched out across her features as she stood disoriented in the greens. 

Lord Julius?

No.

It could not be. But he appeared to be pleasantly enjoying his tea. Yet, how could his appearance make any sense? And moreover, how would she align herself? Ishtar came to this world to be redeemed and yet.....when she saw his gentle visage, that curve of the lip, those deep vermilion eyes that seemed to know all - even his very presence beget a comforting lull for her - a place she had to return to - it was far too difficult for Ishtar to pull herself away. Just as the ocean pulls a tide, she would come back to him. Always. It was hardly a matter worth debating over. Just as she knew there was a demon underneath the mask, she knew she could never live without being by his side so long as he breathed.  It wasn't a choice. Lord Julius was where she needed to be.

Ishtar stepped from behind the greenery and beheld the man in all his splendor.

"Lord Julius," she called sweetly, voice like honey. 

@finalfullmoon

by your side (again)

[mourningcomess]

The idea of a wedding does not bode well with Ishtar. While she is merely an anonymous face masquerading within the Pearl Sholes community, the topic of love and romance draws her spirit back to Jugdral. The princess was not yet sure how to feel about her recently single status. So much of her life, every step, every breath she took, was in devotion to Lord Julius. To step back from it all and think of herself alone was almost far too much to bear. 

Alone. That's right, she was alone. While a wounded animal could lick its wounds, Ishtar did not have the opportunity. She had to save face and keep walking. Within the prestige of a community such as Pearl Shoals, there was no time nor breadth to feel sorry for oneself. She had a mask to keep up. And while acting as a bodyguard was the furthest thing from her thoughts, the employees told her of how she'd be very handsomely rewarded. Ishtar was no longer the star of Friege; she could hardly afford time to refuse.

So she stood while the clock ticked on the bride's entrance. The whole affair was lavishly overdone, rather irritating in a way that the mage felt smote down by the romantic aftereffects. How was she going to last? Ishtar eyed the proceeding bridesmaids and the exit. It certainly would be more interesting if someone would crash the venue. A click of the tongue, and she slammed her fist down on the gate.

"Of all the places to be stuck......the pay is hardly worth this damnation." @umbralexemplar

damnation be welcome

+1 / pearlescent

[mourningcomess]

Pearl Sholes was different from what Ishtar expected. Well, it made a lot of sense under this whole duty and justice thing, the more she thought about it. But being inside the community reminded her more and more of home and invited uncomfortable thoughts. Was it not also the Empire and House Friege that also profited from similar means? Ishtar was no saint, but she could tell these types of things were wrong. She had participated in and condoned a system that enabled so many wrongs. The Empire had profited off of the backs of the people, off of its children, and its oppressed. This she knew. And never did she raise a hand. 

But neither could she merely mope around and think about how many wrongs she had wrought. For now, the princess would merely investigate. Sleuthing around and talking up chatty nobles wasn't exactly difficult for her. Ishtar was used to playing the part. Going undercover in Pearl Sholes was not her first choice, but surely it'd be over in a heartbeat.

It's when she's relaxing at a cafe along the main street, beverage in hand, that she sees another student from the monastery. Ishtar does not know many students yet, but she's seen this one here and there. The flowing locks are kind of a dead giveaway. The mage pauses to consider teaming up; as much as she thought she would be good at this, her investigation is going nowhere. 

Well, whatever. Ishtar gets up and sits down next to the student. If he screams, then she'll leave. Her tone is absent, casual. "You're from the monastery, right?" Ishtar asks. "I... am, too." It feels wrong to admit that, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Anyways.....how is your work going here?"

@moriddyn

redolent of darker images

+1 faith / pearlescent

[mourningcomess]

It's unusual for Ishtar to venture too far from the abyss. Her internal alarm system has already registered that far too many from Jugdral are here. Not that she's feeling particularly bad about herself, mind you, but she'd rather soak in the darkness of the Abyss than face others' anger and frustration. The whole thing Ishtar feels is a general numbness about herself and her actions, running through her whole body like a slow, debilitating river.

Perhaps that's why she decides to leave for a change. The numbness is all-consuming, choking even, and it frustrates Ishtar that anything should control her. She needs to feel something. Anything. Well, it's not as if she's particularly well-versed in the monastery by now. Or if she even has a preferred dwelling spot. She simply is here, the academy being some sort of cage.

Ishtar stops in the marketplace, but glassy violet eyes take no interest. In her past life, she had all the riches and glamour at her disposal. Now, she desires nothing. She eyes the area slowly, but casually shopping students and faculty only serve to irritate. That is when Ishtar notices a familiar face out of the corner - one who stands out, nonetheless. The princess merely watches for a moment, but Sonya is far too keen to only be watched, turning around and matching her gaze.

"Nothing special," Ishtar says, arms folded, and tapping her fingers against an arm. 

"I'm hardly so delicate," the princess continues. "Yet what are you here for?" It interested her far more than topics of herself. The mage's gaze turned to the stall beside Sonya. 

"Looking for dresses?"

bathing in the bargain bin

non-mission task: excavation (heavy armor+1)

[mourningcomess]

Ishtar listened carefully to the woman's explanation. Under these circumstances, she had no choice but to adhere to these words. Very well. She was in no mind to play games, but if that was the only way to exit, by the Gods...

Ishtar had attacked the doors in the room she came from with all her strength. This was all the more disconcerting. She had to wonder if these rooms were some sort of spell, yet nothing this immaculate came to mind in her knowledge of magic. Well, not that it'd help her right now. She needed to focus on getting out and cooperating with this woman as much as possible.

"Very well," Ishtar says with a nod. "I did try the doors in the room I came from, but they were rather unreceptive. Let us try the doors in this room."

It wasn't particularly as if she had anyone to return to beyond these walls, but she had just begun to live again. Violet eyes examine the room. Several pairs of doors awaited them. 

"Stand aside," the princess starts. "I shall test my magic on these doors. However, I would appreciate it if you could strike right after."

is this an escape room or do I need to call my private guard

+1 any skill

[mourningcomess]

may activity check

passed / failed / hiatus

+1 monthly activity point --> allocated to reason

[mourningcomess]

It's almost as if the moment between them ends too soon. But Ishtar knows that she's the one who said it should be this way. She can't very well back down on her own claim. Still, the way Tine is so downcast makes her chest ache. She never wanted it to be this way. She never wanted to make the girl hurt.

But this is the path she chose, is it not? It's far too late to have regrets. Regrets of any kind.

Ishtar takes one last look at her cousin. She does not know what circumstances have led her to the monastery, but she hopes that Tine is doing well. Once this ball is over, they're far less likely to meet.

"Thank you, Tine," she mutters. 

Even if it was only a small respite of closeness, she enjoyed it. It reminded her of far-bygone days. Those days would never come back, though.

"I suppose it's time I go, then," Ishtar announces. "I bid you a good evening and the rest of your ball."

Mournful eyes tear themselves from the younger girl. They must become the cold, dispassionate ones of the goddess. The ones that followed Lord Julius's orders and wrought a hell upon Jugdral's land. The earth will certainly not forget her, its soil etched in blood and grief. How could she? "Lord Julius..." Ishtar mumbles, glancing at the dark ocean sky. End

Don't tear me apart

[mourningcomess]

Ishtar delights in the compliment. For all her lost glory and title, she still loves to idle in worldly pleasures. That time is not lost on her, the time when Lord Julius took her to tides of grandeur unknown to most. A grin sets in on the raven's face. This very well could do. She can appreciate one who knows taste. 

"I'm glad you know style when you see it." It's just the over-the-top mourning look she needs. The other words from the lady's mouth go unaddressed. Though Ishtar still has questions. 

It can wait for now. She pauses to see what the other will do - what turns she will take in this chaotic cage known as the ballroom. Each action is its own invitation to something else. Ishtar wonders if they will become enemies down the line. There is something curious in the way this woman carries herself, though, and it impresses her.

"Ishtar," the thunder mage pleasantly offers with a grin. "I do hope you enjoy the ball now."

[ SWEET BUN TRIO ]

She stops herself from popping the middle bun with mere moments to spare. The storm must have swept away her logic alongside beauty, otherwise there was no way she’d end up with this trio of pastries in hand. Even if her stomach is speaking louder than her mind, there are so many other options of cuisine to dine on.

Although…the sweets may be far from her tastes, but they do look cute in presentation. It would be a waste to simply dump them, and placing them back would only meet her with even more awkward looks tonight. The best option would be to give them to someone as a gift, but who could possibly…?

The answer miraculously comes into sight in the form of a grim raven. With no hesitation, Sonya pivots to face the black-dressed lady eye-to-eye and holds out the plate of sweet buns.

“Here. Take one, two, or three of them, Three preferably,” she immediately offers, pushing the plate subtly closer and closer to the lady. Most other women liked the sweetness of these things, even if the taste was long-lost to Sonya herself. She couldn’t picture anyone better to settle the buns with.

“Oh, also,” she quickly adds on, pulling off a turtle charm from her bracelet and setting it aside on the plate. “Not for eating. Just thought it’d look good on you, dear.”

Ishtar has had enough of the ballroom. She looms near the corner, obsurcing sight and hoping the night draws near. There's too much ups and downs, too much uncertainty in the whisper of this eve. She cannot hold it in any longer. Her body grumbles with the frustration of one ready to give in. The ocean was certaintly pleasant to look at yes....but now she'd like a break. Performing the spectacle of Ishtar was not an easy task.

And so she overshadows the ball, a tufted bird with no vendetta to exact. Ishtar stands with increasing anxiety, hands and fingers unable to contain the underlying tension. But no. She was a princess. 

The arrival of a stranger is always swatted away. Ishtar is ready to seethe and scratch, but the woman does not appear suggest much menace.

A sweet bun?

The item is plopped into the princess' hands. Just like that, the thunder mage had no idea she was hungry. She stares at the item, its soft texture and fullness, and wonders if its okay to start eating. Then again, why did this woman gift her food?

"For me?" Ishtar asks. "Why?" A glance is all Ishtar needs to know that the woman is not dressed to the ball's standards. It would only anger her more if this woman was taking pity on her for some reason or other.

But she doesn't have much reason to refuse at this point. Ishtar settles for taking a piece of the sweet bread and tasting it. It has a pleasant subtlety she can enjoy. Just when she thinks the woman is done, she offers her charm.

"Well, thank you," the thunder mage responds. "You must have good taste. I suppose I should offer you my charm as well." Retrieving her allotted charm, she hands it to the woman.

"Your name?" Ishtar nearly demands. "We might as well get acquainted."

[mourningcomess]

[ SWEET BUN TRIO ]

She stops herself from popping the middle bun with mere moments to spare. The storm must have swept away her logic alongside beauty, otherwise there was no way she’d end up with this trio of pastries in hand. Even if her stomach is speaking louder than her mind, there are so many other options of cuisine to dine on.

Although…the sweets may be far from her tastes, but they do look cute in presentation. It would be a waste to simply dump them, and placing them back would only meet her with even more awkward looks tonight. The best option would be to give them to someone as a gift, but who could possibly…?

The answer miraculously comes into sight in the form of a grim raven. With no hesitation, Sonya pivots to face the black-dressed lady eye-to-eye and holds out the plate of sweet buns.

“Here. Take one, two, or three of them, Three preferably,” she immediately offers, pushing the plate subtly closer and closer to the lady. Most other women liked the sweetness of these things, even if the taste was long-lost to Sonya herself. She couldn’t picture anyone better to settle the buns with.

“Oh, also,” she quickly adds on, pulling off a turtle charm from her bracelet and setting it aside on the plate. “Not for eating. Just thought it’d look good on you, dear.”

Ishtar has had enough of the ballroom. She looms near the corner, obsurcing sight and hoping the night draws near. There's too much ups and downs, too much uncertainty in the whisper of this eve. She cannot hold it in any longer. Her body grumbles with the frustration of one ready to give in. The ocean was certaintly pleasant to look at yes....but now she'd like a break. Performing the spectacle of Ishtar was not an easy task.

And so she overshadows the ball, a tufted bird with no vendetta to exact. Ishtar stands with increasing anxiety, hands and fingers unable to contain the underlying tension. But no. She was a princess. 

The arrival of a stranger is always swatted away. Ishtar is ready to seethe and scratch, but the woman does not appear suggest much menace.

A sweet bun?

The item is plopped into the princess' hands. Just like that, the thunder mage had no idea she was hungry. She stares at the item, its soft texture and fullness, and wonders if its okay to start eating. Then again, why did this woman gift her food?

"For me?" Ishtar asks. "Why?" A glance is all Ishtar needs to know that the woman is not dressed to the ball's standards. It would only anger her more if this woman was taking pity on her for some reason or other.

But she doesn't have much reason to refuse at this point. Ishtar settles for taking a piece of the sweet bread and tasting it. It has a pleasant subtlety she can enjoy. Just when she thinks the woman is done, she offers her charm.

"Well, thank you," the thunder mage responds. "You must have good taste. I suppose I should offer you my charm as well." Retrieving her allotted charm, she hands it to the woman.

"Your name?" Ishtar nearly demands. "We might as well get acquainted."

[mourningcomess]

The air that separates the two of them is infinite and hot and suffocating. Ishtar wants nothing more than to be close to Tine but also to be far away from her. She knows that the comfort of her cousin is not something she deserves at this juncture, and yet Tine refuses to leave.

So what can they do?

How can Ishtar convey that she cares but keep Tine at a distance? It's all too confusing and jumbled. The light of the photoartifex stares in Ishtar's eyes, disorientating her. And it's all too startling to know that Tine is one of the only few family members she has left.

With Ishtore gone, there is only so much left. Perhaps she is a fool for turning the girl away. Tine is likely the only person who sees her as redeemable.

So they settle for leaning against each other. Ishtar allows the younger girl that comfort while she leans against her too. 

This is the warmest I've felt in a long time. 

"I'm ready too," Ishtar tells the photographer. The machine whirs to life, and a light goes off. 

"That's it then, I guess?" 

Don't tear me apart

[mourningcomess]

He'll do as company for the dance. Ishtar doesn't care much either way. They weave their way onto the dancefloor easily, and the movements are as mindless as she has always memorized, ingrained into her body like the stitches that make up her dress.

Yes, acting the picture of the noble lady is every part of who Ishtar is, who Ishtar was. But with no title, it comes to ask why she must still put on the act. 

"I must," Ishtar replies, adjusting her posture. "I must continue to remember what a noble lady does and does not. I cannot allow that to leave my memory, or I will have nothing. The others will have won, and I will just be a burnt memory with nothing to hold onto."

She doesn't know why she tells this man this information. He'll probably forget, never see her again. It's easy. 

"I have my dignity too," she tells him.

so.... what is your favorite pokemon?

-> toaball2025

[mourningcomess]

Ishtar does not know what she did to end up in this strange, desolate room. Sure, she is not exactly the most remarkable person under any circumstance......but she did for all intents and purposes, come to this academy for a second chance at life. So why, by the Crusaders, was she whisked away to this strange arena with no exit?

And not for a lack of trying. The princess had shoved, pulled, and kicked at multiple levers and doors. Nothing really budged. She'd event attempted to press some magic on them, but it did not exactly do the trick, either. Oh no. Was she stuck here?

No. No. Stay calm. Ishtar. There must be a rational answer to this. The princess took a deep breath and calmly exalmined the arena once more. With a few more tries, she was able to pry open one of th weaker looking doors. Which.....only led to another room with more doors???

Ishtar stamped into the next room with gusto. She was gonna get out of here!! But instead, an elegant woman with black hair a sword was inside. 

"Do you know the way out?" Ishtar asked, hand on her hip.  @astrasword

is this an escape room or do I need to call my private guard

+1 any skill

[mourningcomess]

Ishtar hasn't been long in the monastery, holding herself up in the Abyss and trying to gather what strength she can feel her in fingertips. But winter is already at the doorstep - frost becoming the day and chills blazing through the air. There is no hiding from the elementals, no matter how deep one burrows in the ground.

So Ishtar ventures upstream for once. It's an unpleasant experience to go about the school in vibrant daylight; the mage sojourns through the many fields and paths with a listless air of twilight. She has nothing, she wants nothing, there is nothing.

It's only when a small gathering of students buzzing with exciement catch her attention that Ishtar stops. Violet eyes lower to the frozen ground and subsequent pond. They seemed to be making a game out of it. The princess ventured further but only watched.

"How fun...." she mused, watching a ginger-haired girl. Would she, too, take up the lake? "To be free for a moment. To glide under the sky like a bird...." @classybrawler

upon great wings

[mourningcomess]

Ishtar smiles wryly at Lord Leif. He who stays crowned as king and lies high and mighty above her, and yet they occupy the same space. Though Ishtar knows the damage she has caused. She knows how her house played an instrumental role in occupying Thracia. She knows it well. Oh, the days when her life was glory and riches and being led around by Lord Julius. 

And her time on the battlefield, of course. Ishtar did love a good fight. The power, the surge of magic. How it overcame her, and she was the undefeated champion. Until.

Well, now she's just a nothing with a wine glass. Ishtar holds it to her lips, wondering what she could possibly say to this boy. Is she just trying to start a fight?

She'll have to get over her fallen title at some point. Princess and heiress no longer, Ishtar is merely a woman in a gown for the evening. Nor a goddess of any type, merely a ghost haunting the ball. 

"Well, I'm glad you're so agreeable."

Ishtar gives pause, taking a sip of her wine glass and watching the crowd dance for a moment. "Not specifically. But can't I say hello to a familiar face?"

@mourningcomess sent:  The evening stretches on longer than Ishtar can fathom, but the ballgoers don't show any sign of fatigue. Ishtar finds herself feeling colder by the moment. The roar of the waves and the salty air suddenly make her feel exposed and chilled to the bone. It's to the drinks table that she retires with a glass of mulled wine. Something's got to warm her up. And the gown she's picked out is not suited for this purpose. Well, it would be deigning of her to wear something unpleasant. Whatever. Only a few feet away, violet eyes notice a head of russet hair a warm-hued eyes. She's seen them before, on and off the battlefield. How many familiar faces must she run into this evening? "Having a good evening, Lord Leif?" Ishtar teases, running a finger across the table. "I guess there's a time and place for every noble." She's never picked him for the ball going type, but then again, they only saw each other with sword and magic against each other's neck. Well, he can't do anything to her now. "I suppose I might as well say hello, given that you're high status and all. But let us put aside our differences for the evening. I'm just here to enjoy myself." Ishtar throws him her award-winning smile. "Shall we?"  ( ethereal ball — second half. )

      Sufficiently dry and presentable again, Leif sees himself taken out of one storm and into another. Face to face with the Goddess of Thunder, the meeting is as striking as it is sudden.

Goddess she might be, the holy blood unable to be denied in her veins, House Friege is under a different duchess now and Grannvale ruled by another man than her intended. 

“ ...You have my greetings as well, Ishtar. ”  His eyes follow the path her finger runs along the table. A knot of tension runs through him, the seconds ticking by. This is far more her battlefield, the stories known far and wide of the Imperial Prince parading his lover in the finest silks and jewels money could buy whilst Leif and many others lived caked in mud and blood.

Princess Ishtar, the belle of any ball she graced. Perhaps except this one.

But because she is accustomed to these types of affairs, she plays by those rules as well. If she survived her fall and still has the magic of her holy weapon at hand, she could fry most anybody in an instant. But a party such as this is not a place for a Goddess of Thunder nor a Master Knight— only their titles as a fallen princess and a prince respectively.

But let us put aside our differences for the evening. I'm just here to enjoy myself. Shall we?

“ That's fine by me but... ”

They are peaceful by decree of a birthday. Whether or not this would be true for always is another point entirely. Whereas Ishtar wears a stunning smile, Leif keeps his face etched in stone, uncertain how much to exactly give.

(Did Tine or Lord Seliph know of Ishtar's presence tonight?)

“ ...Is there something you're looking for from me? ”

[mourningcomess]

"Change....?" She doesn't know about that. Once you died, you were gone - a lost echo to the world. Yes, Ishtar agreed that death could​​​​​​have meaning, but this new idea had her stumped. A frown paints itself on her face while she waits for Darios to continue. Perhaps he will elaborate. 

"I see," she responds. "But not everyone has the luxury to enjoy all the tides of life. Some have other callings to answer to." Ishtar's view dithers to the sea turtle. They weren't that much different. "We all want a purpose," she continues, "But whether it has veracity and truth is waiting to be confirmed."

The mage nods. She can't fathom why he's so attached to that small creature. Everyone dies in the end, even sea turtles. 

"Shall we make the trek, then? I will accompany you. It is the least I can do." 

"It usually does." That's what he liked to think. "Whether for someone else or for the person who died. If nothing else, it will bring about change in most cases." His finger rests lightly on the small creatures back before he cups his whole hand over it. "But in that same vein, the little joys of life will be missed out entirely. All that it will have known is suffering." It was interesting to think on if nothing else. "Is it better to have lived and lost than to not live at all." He nods gentle and starts the trek there. "I'd like to keep it if I could, but I don't think it would survive the way back to the monastery. At least it might enjoy a brief respite in the corals before it's taken by nature."

[mourningcomess]

For the longest breath, Ishtar didn't know if Tine would release her. Ishtar was pleading, begging for Tine to give up hope. To forget any kindness Ishtar had ever done her. Please, do not think my soul is worthy.

But words only do so much to change the mind. She could see on the mage's face her being torn. Perhaps it was better to leave it to rest for now. At any rate, Ishtar was not going back to Jugdral any time soon.

The walk to the photo-artifex is slow and calm. Ishtar has to wonder if she's deprived herself and her cousin of sweet days like this, of days when life is a bit kinder. But there is no turning back anymore. The blood won't dry.

Tine only requested one photo, so Ishtar only needs to stay for a moment. Yet coming in the girl's close proximity made her question so many things. Should she try for a more affectionate pose or maintain her distance? Would acting kindly only steer Tine in the wrong direction, thinking Ishtar could be redeemed?

In the end, Ishtar opts to stand to the side, hoping this won't kindle any flames in the girl's heart. 

"Whatever you're okay with. Just let me know when you want to take the picture."

Don't tear me apart

[mourningcomess]

Ishtar is not going to stand there meekly while Sara wields the cane of justice. There is no holy ground here, just two girls with silver hair and magic running through their veins.

Whatever guilt or remorse Ishtar might feel, she tucks that into her pocket for now. If she is to face Sara, she cannot show weakness. She must present a steel-hard face. Plus, the entire idea of Sara pitying her has the thunder goddess ticked. Minutes and seconds stretch on between the girls as only the sound of waves can be heard. They roar with all the intensity of an angry god.

How dare Sara think she is better than her? They all had to make difficult choices as children, as teenagers, as adults. Ishtar would carry her burden through. She doesn't care to ask for another chance or beg at Sara's feet. This is not what Mjolnir's wrath does.

"I see. So that is what you are posturing at," Ishtar returns, folding her arms. "Well, let me just state that I don't want your pity. I know my hands are drenched in blood," a pause. 

"I'm just looking to survive here," the mage continues, unfolding her arms and taking a step. 

shades of gray