𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 , 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ[ ... ] there's a 𝗰���𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗮 swelling .
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
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shiori's communications with the lady malgrave had thus far been only written in nature. in truth, she kept open lines of communication with few. house igarashi was both encased in stone and shrouded in darkness. atesia's light struggled to pervade the ornate, yet cave - like design of their ancestral keep. their tethers to the other noble houses of ceago frayed as well, damaged through years of isolation and rumours that swirled above haelstorm like the meanest of stormclouds. a long loyal commissioner of shiori's own work, quyhn is one of the very few nobles in all of ilthoria that would be privy to shiori's craft, let alone familiar with it. shiori did not venture to the market intending to spend any of her family's coin on finery. her parents had always been frugal, anticipating a need for a great amount of coin to arise at any second. unpopular as they were with other fragments, their paranoia had remained largely banishment and ostracism - centric. a large sack of gold never failed to grease the palms and minds of those that may otherwise send prayers to enerin for your demise. now that they were gone, it felt akin to a slight on their memory to spend in excess. instead, shiori is attempting to enjoy the splendour of the morning. " my craftsmanship is nothing without a worthy person on which to display it. " shiori's smile is kind, though her red - tinged irises mirror the same placidity she sees in quynh's. an empty smile is easily recognizable to one who has practiced the same in her own looking glass for years. nevertheless, the malgrave lady's voice cutting through the morning's quiet din elicits a quick spark of joyful surprise in shiori as she abandons her guise of perusing the vendor's goods. she is a social creature, despite her family's characteristic reclusiveness. a conversation has never been amongst the things she feared. " you've done well, " she compliments, though she's aware it's unnecessary. it is the truth, nevertheless. " and such a splendid mix of vendors from the fragments. " a mark of successful diplomacy, comes the thought from the small part of shiori's mind.
if the lady igorashi's passage was that of a ship at sea, then hers was akin to the shark beneath those very same waves. she moved with ruthless purpose, parting the thin crowds by virtue of her mien and her reputation, sparing few even a glancing moment of her attention before she swept through them. the king lay claim to these lands, yet this was unmistakably her domain. more so today than any other. every brightly coloured banner, every glint of polished silver or gaudy trinket, every stall and their merchant had been carefully selected and curated by her hand. a direct result of her precise calculations. she moved among the crowds not as a participant, but as an architect carefully appraising her work for fault and flaw. her gaze wandered idly over the morning crowds. here, a merchant from her own fragment, his jovial grin a mask for his thinly veiled avarice as he tried to part a young maiden from her coin. there, a young noblewoman, her own simpering smile a clear indicator of her family's dwindling fortunes, yet she endeavoured to keep up the farce. spending coin she did not have to keep up the illusion of power? her house might have well been eissen for all the similarities she yielded. the lady of witchelm dismissed them and countless more out of hand, moving on with nary a second glance until her eyes alit upon a more interesting quandary. she paused, watching her subject quietly for a moment, taking the opportunity to school her features into a mask of impeccable civility; a faint, polite smile that never quite reached her eyes. "and yet they provide such a pale reflection for your own craftsmanship, do they not?" she abruptly cut in as she approached. compliments were not a form of currency the mistress of coin normally dealt in, their value too ephemeral to earn an entry in her ledgers, yet the observation was fairly made. the lady igorashi's work was quite something to behold. she would know, she owned several such pieces, wearing one even at that very moment in her hair. "my dear lady igorashi, a rare sight indeed to see you out in public. perhaps organising this paltry market was worth the expenditure after all."
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the corners of shiori's placid smile quirk upwards a millisecond, falling back into place shortly after. slim fingers reach to pick up a particularly gem - laden necklace. she runs her fingertips over their settings, searching for imperfections that may cause the jewels to tumble out in movement, never to be seen again. " you are very kind, my liege, " ever respectful, she addresses the ruling liege of house albeze in kind. it had never been shiori's prerogative to lean into the negative reputation bestowed upon her own house. with every breath, act and word, she intended to counteract it. " the comb is my own work, " she admits, replacing the necklace on the the tabletop. " it would be no trouble to write to haelstorm and have one sent to redhearth, if you desire. " a small part of her brain wonders at how long a raven would need to reach her mountainous home from belveil keep — if it could endure flying through the ceagoan deserts for more than a few days' travel. " i make them so that they may be worn, after all. "
"They are, yes, but you Lady Igarashi, rival the beauty that ALL of this jewelry eminates, " Vik says easily, a warm smile on their face hoping that the greeting isn't too forward. But if it was? Who were they to care. To be on this soil, to inspect these marketplaces, Vik had not been able to sleep so while the morning was early to some -- it was late to them. Eyes go from Shiori to the jewelry, scanning all of the items and finding themselves not sure of which purchase to make. It would be for their sister, not for them and though Vik liked to think they had taste -- they also knew theirs was often gaudy. "You didn't happen to buy the comb in your hair, did you? Don't tell me I'll have to get back on the boat to Ceago already."
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in doireann's voice, chiding is welcome. tarah cannot help the sickly smile that slithers its way onto her usually downturned lips, quiet and stealthy as an eel on an ocean bed. she endures the onslaught with her gaze unmoved, brown irises locked on the green of the ardoran grass. it was so rare a colour in their home fragment. so rare a colour in her life. even the deciduous trees in the mountains were covered with grey - white snow and sleet and ice. " who is to slaughter them, doireann? will it be the squirrels or the rose thorns? " her voice is coated in wry boredom, and she finally turns her gaze upon her fellow sereen. she knew of the other's stance on keeping wolves. she know most things of doireann. " i would instil torture upon even myself if it would end your incessant lecturing. " the smile remains upon her features, contorting them into something that would not be a familiar sight to many in the realm — amusement.
the evening brings a less harsh aspect to this upside down world of gallantries, greed and deceit — she has always preferred the daylight, where one can attack their opponents head on, yet, it feels fitting that she can not put her guard down as the sun dies. in a way, to be in this place is no different than to be in a forest, surrounded by those that can pounce and rip at flesh. she feels more comforted around actual animals, but you would not be able to tell with the way her face contorts at the sight of her overliege. "you have brought your pups to slaughter, tarah." distaste is clear on the reprimand on her voice. doireann had never thought it seemingly to keep wolves as if they are mere dogs; beasts as such belong in the wild, roaring and biting, not soft-bellied and melting under the heat of a land unknown. the flame-haired makes no motion to join her friend, nor does she step to leave. "do you feel so outflanked you instil torture upon your own?"
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it had not occurred to tarah that she would attend the ball. such pomp and circumstance was not the custom in geimreadh, and even then, she often strayed from the raucous feasts on roast boar and ale - laden gatherings that did occur in her home fragment. there was no amount of familiarity that could combat her natural inclination towards solitude. decor and tinkling music would not suffice to change that. " hardly ever, " tarah answers the query with a succinct shake of her head and nearly uncharacteristic honesty, dark auburn hair shifting over her shoulders. she is privy to the other's attention on the half - slumbering wolves, having returned to their state of relaxation, unable to sense any tension from their master. " they will not harm you, " she relents, " though if i were in your place, i would not attempt to stroke them as if they were hounds on a lap. "
she shakes away the residuals of leaves left from her exploration of the keep's garden . thin silk draping her appearance , as if to catch the whisper of the breeze that flowed through the garden at dusk , shimmering softly like a veil of fading dreams . her appearance not of one who should be enjoying the garden , but of obvious reluctance to continue attending the ball inside . after all , she was a woman who could not sit still for too long ━ or simply untouched by the fervor that so many poured into these grand celebrations . still , she advances with steady grace , her journey unfolding like some quiet poem , weaving through hidden trails that brings her to the one before her . their words stirring a quiet curiosity , especially as the woman sat like a living poem amidst the dusk-veiled garden along with the beasts at her side . " do you always welcome strangers into your quiet company ? " she inquires , drawing nearer with delicate tread . though umber hues flicker briefly to the wolves nearby , whose eyes held a ripple of mild curiosity , though seeming to mirror the unspoken question between them ━ friend or foe .
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there are moments when tarah regards her own family members as something akin to strangers. years had slid past since she'd last spent any significant stretch of time at the black keep. she returned only when summoned by raven - borne message, preferring to reside in the obscurity of geimreadh's mountain range. even then, she made it her business not to remain within the ash stained walls for long. a ghost in the woods, she'd become more of a frightful story to tell geimreadhian children than a member of the ruling family. still, she beckons to frostbite with an outstretched hand, quieting deora's pup - like growl at the other wolf's approach with a single hush. " they fare decently, " she admits, at last sparing a glance for her younger brother — his colouring marking him as unmistakably of the same flesh and blood as she. " deora is quicker to adjust than fola. she is of old bones and old ways. "
rickard was not much a stranger to this place as the others but he had visited this place as a child and as an adult many of times. the gardens where a place he enjoyed. it was a contrast to the cold and gloomy winters of home but it was not as comfortable. still as he made his way around with frostbite by his feet, always present like a shadow, it had seemed he had found his way to his sister. "you do not have to ask me twice." he said as he took a spot on the grass, close enough but not enough to disturb her. it reminded him of when he was a child, trailing after his older siblings. "how are you by the way, dear sister? how are fola and deora fairing?" his own wolf had gotten accustomed to the ever changing weather due to his travels.
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another rose in the garden. that is how tarah perceives the other as she accepts the proffered trojan horse of an invitation. it was almost bewildering to think that their bodies both held the same blood and flesh and rot. that in the end, long after they had been buried or burnt or whatever pompous nonsense it was that ardorans did with their dead, their bones might be interchangeable. the differences between them now are more than stark. they are blatant, even just in their mannerisms. " tarah, " she acquiesces. the wolves at her feet resettle in the coolness of the shade. " you are of the royal family, are you not? " the word royal tastes acrid on her tongue, like a bitter tincture or natural poison. her features remain placid, eternally purple - blue tinged lips levelled in perceived disinterest.
the politics of the kingdom was nothing that dovia held interest in , but with the many names and faces that entered the keep she had started to wish she had paid more attention in her lessons . it was unintentional to meet another along the path to the gardens that she usually took ⸻ a stroll she did often before it was time for dinner , this time squeezed in before she would need to take part in the dances . she had wanted some alone time , but she forced a pleasant smile onto her lips immediately while she looked from the animals back to the woman . " thank you . my apologies for interrupting you . " they both would likely prefer for her to continue on , but dove did not want to miss a chance to show their hospitality and attempt to smooth over any ill feelings , if there were some . " my name is dovia , my lady . may i inquire as to yours ? "
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfated for . . . semi - open, @proelium, @parthenopaed, @wintersviper, @wiltveil & 1 other . located in . . . the belveil keep gardens, dusk, in a shaded corner .
the day had been beautiful. tarah resented it. the balmy breeze, the warmth of the sun, the visual cacaphony of unmuted natural colour — all of it grated. it was perhaps childish, but things that were child - like were oft animal - like. years spent in the mountains of geimreadh had moulded her as such. in the shade, her gaze is trained on the grass where two wolves are sprawled, yet unaccustomed to summer's wiles. fola's tongue lolls out of her mouth in perceived slumber. deora is pressed up next to her in an unassuming ball. regardless, all three she - wolves turn their heads in unison on the approach of another. only tarah bears her broken front tooth in a smile than doesn't quite manage to be inviting. " you may join us, if you wish. " an offer she does not expect will be accepted.
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfated for . . . semi - open, @celcstine, @felledivines, @prophcsy, @bloodslust & 2 others . located in . . . the people's market, early morning, when the streets are not yet too crowded .
the morning's mist had still been gathered on the ground when shiori had exited belveil palace. her silver slippered feet had cut through it like a ship's helm through water on her way down to the marketplace, meandering in a way that she might usually consider to be self - indulgent. despite the early hour, she was still characteristically adorned, arms lined with thin bangles of hammered silver, mass of dark hair held up by a silver and lavender stardust comb. all made by her own hand, she is perusing the market for inspiration as much as she is looking to purchase goods. " these are impeccably made, " she remarks of a stall laden with jewelry, unable to keep the morning's silence. a modest smile graces her features, unused to launching into conversation unprompted. " certainly worth the purchase. "
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shiori's stomach tightens, as if a malevolent, cruel spirit is pulling her heart down through her body on a string. she is no stranger to existing on the fringes of imara's consciousness. stepping softly on unfamiliar, plush grass, still many feet away from the other, shiori has almost never felt so at home. she keeps her distance, though drawing closer will mean the delicate clink of the silver adorning her braided hair will soon announce her presence. shiori has no doubt that the lady sankaran will know her identity long before she turns dark eyes on shiori's own maroon. they had once cherished a closeness that demanded such recognition, even now — even years later, miles away from where their affections had first bloomed and wilted. " it is nearly the opposite of haelstorm. " she notes with an even voice, though the comparison diminishes the beauty of neither. in the moment, shiori knows not what else to speak of to imara. her chest still feels raw, unhealed as it was by time and distance. she cannot bring herself to speak to the other woman with familiarity, even as she'd thought she might try on her approach.
open starter for : 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗 & 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 [ accepting six replies ] location : the belveil keep gardens

there was a first time for everything and stepping upon ardorian soil was a first for the sereen of atesia . to think this place held such importance to them all , the throne which was occupied by the unworthy , the way that crown held them all in a tight leash , wanting for different reasons someone or anyone to wear that crown . so far ardora was a disappointment , especially after seeing the king filled with glee at the umbrian ships . she had no need for them , they held no importance , unless they could be persuaded to see the truth . walking in the garden created for the former queen she cannot deny the beauty it holds ⸻ after all , the creatiosn of enerin all served their purpose , plant , man animal . " to think such beauty exists . " she muses more to herself , unaware of the approaching companion .
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the slight smile that touches shiori's lips is locked in frenetic combat with her sense of propriety. she approaches her sister, hands clasped loosely in front of her hips — a girlish gesture, all considered. she struggles to keep her red - tinged irises clear, untouched by the mild alarm she truly feels. " peace, kari, " shiori insists, though it falls from her lips in the form of a quiet plea. it nestles itself in the grass at her slipper - clad feet, right by the small of her youngest sibling's back. " we cannot afford to make cads of ourselves so early on in the celebrations, can we? " this much is an understatement. the upturn in shiori's inflection near the end of the sentence softens the blow, making it more camaraderie than chiding. at least, that is what she hopes. she had never been suited to the role of disciplinarian.
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: OPEN ✱ ╱ UNCAPPED! 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: BELVEIL KEEP GARDENS.
Eyes closed for a moment as she lies in the grass, there is nothing like it and Hikari is more than glad that she went on this venture with her family. To sit in the grass with the warmth of a temperate sun against her skin, in a garden? EUPHORIC. "The only requirement to keeping me company would be to lay in the grass with me," it's said as if they're the ones in the wrong for being on their feet, she knows this display could be improper to some but she simply does not care ( for once ). "Or sit. Whichever you prefer. Otherwise…you are…DISMISSED." A joke, as evidenced by the curling of her lips. This was where the queen resided most of the time, afterall.
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OLIVIA COOKE as ALICENT HIGHTOWER — 2.07 | "The Red Sowing"
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.¸¸.•` [ OLIVIA COOKE , CIS WOMAN , SHE/HER ] the almighty has blessed us once more, it seems TARAH LAICESTRE has come to ilthoria. the LADY OF HOUSE LAICESTRE, brings with them such glorious fortune and they are known for being devoted but also pragmatic. joy will spark when the THIRTY year old comes to court. what songs would be sung in their name ? [ BLOOD BITCH + THE COCTEAU TWINS ] for in the decades to come they will sing of : carrion under a heavy snowfall, no one witnesses you in death until spring's great melt; a grin that is more an animalistic bearing of teeth than a sign of joy; skin of a sickly grey - blue pallor, "last year, i abstained. this year, i devour”. may enerin bless your soul, welcome to ilthoria child.
⋆ BASIC INFORMATION .
full name: tarah phia laicestre. pronunciation: tah - rah. official title: lady of the black keep. moniker(s): the frostmother. age: thirty. date of birth: the first day of winter. gender & pronouns: cis woman, she/her. allegiance: house laicestre and geimreadh. spoken languages: the common tongue. religion: blessed by and devoted to itris, the banshee.
⋆ PHYSICAL TRAITS .
eyes: dark brown, nearly black. hair: dark, dark auburn, always worn loose — here & here. dominant hand: right. height: five foot five. build: willowy, looks taller than she truly is and weaker than she truly is. notable features: dark features that contrast with her pale skin. she suffers simultaneously from an eternal near deathly pallor, lips tinged blue. she is missing a large chunk of one of her front teeth, and has a silvery scar that runs over her lips to her chin starting below her left nostril. both were obtained on the same day in the recent past — here & here. abilities: sereen, blessed by itris — control of ice statutes, frostbite inducement and manipulation of the cold. wardrobe: here.
⋆ PERSONALITY TRAITS .
positive: pious, cunning, exacting, devoted. negative: pragmatic, ruthless, demanding, duplicitous. moral alignment: chaotic neutral. favoured weapon: two bastard swords, dubbed pale fang and thaw. likes: the ominousness of the woods, training hounds and wolves, horsemanship, the feeling of fur on bare skin, bitter teas, the thick and lingering smell of lilacs, scalding hot baths, retribution, well cooked fish, needlepoint and embroidery. dislikes: the heat, people who speak if only to hear the sound of their own voice, mirrors, defensive fighting styles, greasy meats, unoiled blades. inspirations: the white witch (the lion, the witch and the wardrobe), skade (the last kingdom), shauna shipman (yellowjackets), freydis eriksdotter (vikings: valhalla), arya stark (asoiaf).
⋆ FAMILY TIES .
father: former ruling lord hatanar of the black keep. mother: former ruling lady melriel of the black keep. siblings: lord rickard laicestre, tbd. birth order: fourth born. extended family: n/a. marital status: unwed, unbetrothed. children: none. pets: two she - wolves, named fola and deora. it was fola who gave tarah her scars when she was twenty and two. rather than have the wolf's life, tarah chose to train her alongside the black keep's houndmaster. deora came to her as a pup years later, and tarah has scarcely been seen without the two wolves trailing in her shadow since.
⋆ BACK STORY .
when she was just a babe, an icy, wailing hand weighed heavy upon her shoulder. none would know it, though, until the coming of tarah's twelfth year. she had taken to military teachings as well as any young lord who hailed from geimreadh. a childhood ruthlessness that had seen her both praised and penalized sat like a heavy, black stone in her stomach — one that she could not excise, no matter how tirelessly her mother and caretakers worked to do so. emotion, for tarah, had always been scarce. there was but one that she knew inside and out, having laid intertwined in furs in her childhood bed at night with it sitting on her chest, weighing her immobile. fear. an angry animal could use sense as its balm. a fearful one had no such privilege. she spent hours practicing at the sword and dagger and bow as a child because she feared what lay outside of the torch smoke - blackened walls of the keep. at first, she feared the creatures of her fragment's ruthless mountains. the wolves, the bears, the leopards. as she aged into adolescence, she feared the banshee, feared enerin, and feared what would happen should she not be capable of the revenge that itris willed. still, she took up the wanderer's torch with ease. fear, it seemed, was not so different from hatred, or a desire for retribution. so resigned to that hatred, that retribution, that fear — tarah has risen to become one of the greatest shield maidens and military strategists that geimreadh has ever borne witness to. mastery at her diety - bestowed gifts has come to her slower. still, her manipulation of the cold that she was born unto to has earned her the moniker the frostmother. it is rare to see tarah at the black keep in her adulthood. she will oft disappear into geimreadh's mountains for days or weeks at a time, trailed by her two she - wolves. she remains as ruthless and cold as she was in her childhood, boasting few long - term connections with the people that she grew up with. she is as much a stranger to her people as she is the rest of ilthoria. a mystery, a wives' tale, a shadow across your window at night.
⋆ EXTRA FACTS .
she has kept no mirrors in her chambers at the black keep since she was attacked by fola ten years ago. it is less the result of insecurity in how she looks, and more a feeling that she no longer recognizes herself.
she struggles with using her sereen abilities for defensive purposes. offensively? no problem. in terms of her physical combat abilities, she's rather the same. although she can proficiently parry and deflect blows, she would much rather fight on the offensive, and do so viciously.
she's very withdrawn and definitely hard to pull a friendly conversation out of. she's always been this way — any friends that she had as a child were due to the other person's efforts, not her own.
she keeps a modest estate in the mountains in geimreadh — the locals believe she's just living amongst the snow and ice out there when she disappears from the keep, but that's not the case.
definitely morally grey, operating mostly in the pursuit of her own wishes and unattached to any person in a significant way (for now wink wink). despite being a sereen, she's still managed to become a bit of a pariah amongst the nobles. she does what she wants when she wants to, regardless of repercussions.
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.¸¸.•` [ SONOYA MIZUNO , CIS WOMAN , SHE/HER ] the almighty has blessed us once more, it seems SHIORI IGARASHI has come to ilthoria. the LADY OF HAELSTORM, brings with them such glorious fortune and they are known for being fastidious but also submissive. joy will spark when the THIRTY FIVE year old comes to court. what songs would be sung in their name ? [ TELEVANGELISM + ETHEL CAIN ] for in the decades to come they will sing of : the shimmering of ambient dust in sunlight, dark hair adorned with hammered silver, an absence of faith that looms no matter how fast you run from it, and gauzy white fabrics carried on warm wind. may enerin bless your soul, welcome to ilthoria child.
⋆ BASIC INFORMATION .
full name: shiori herminia igarashi. pronunciation: shee - ohr - ee. official title: lady of haelstorm. moniker(s): the silver lady. age: thirty - five. date of birth: the twentieth day of spring. gender & pronouns: cis woman, she/her. allegiance: house igarashi. spoken languages: the common tongue, the sandwalker tongue. religion: devoted follower of atesia, the lightbringer. reveres the almighty.
⋆ PHYSICAL TRAITS .
eyes: dark red — here. hair: black, wavy and often braided with silver pieces incorporated that she forged herself — here & here. dominant hand: ambidextrous. height: five foot nine. build: tall and slim. notable features: the red of her irises is a result of her father being a member of the sandwalkers, a group of nomad ceago natives who roam the fragment's dunes without ever settling in one place. their red eyes are a result of generations of bodily adaptation to atesia's bright sunlight reflecting off of the sands and into their eyes. as a result, shiori can see in even the brightest of lights, but sometimes struggles to see in the darkness — here. abilities: n/a. wardrobe: here.
⋆ PERSONALITY TRAITS .
positive: observant, generous, kind, fastidious. negative: subservient, self - doubting, preening, indecisive. moral alignment: true neutral. favoured weapon: she keeps a sandwalker bone knife in her possession, but does not carry it on her and has never used it to draw blood. likes: silver smithing, jewelry, heavily spiced tea or coffee, the heat of sand under bare feet, the coolness of stone, chilled water. dislikes: mess of any kind, heavily perfumed flowers, thick fabrics, feeling cast aside, disappointing people. inspirations: sansa stark (asoiaf), paul atreides (dune), susan pevensie (narnia), astoria greengrass (hp), beth march (little women).
⋆ FAMILY TIES .
father: former ruling lord of haelstorm, isandro of the sandwalkers (birth father). mother: former ruling lady of haelstorm. siblings: igarashi chiyoko, igarashi goro. birth order: second born. extended family: the sandwalkers of ceago's dunes. marital status: unmarried, unbetrothed. children: none. pets: none.
⋆ BACK STORY .
in the land of eternal summer, there is but one dark cloud. lingering overhead, it shades the mountain - carved keep of haelstorm in the form of a great and unyielding curse. for generations, house igarashi had lived in darkness, untouched by atesia's light. to bear igarashi blood was to resign oneself to a life devoid of it. there would be no peace in the act of perishing for a house that had not borne the blessing of the lightweaver for lifetimes. balmy winds carried whispers of sacrilege, heresy and black omens across ceago. only the igarashis themselves could truly know that their deep devotion to the almighty had never shaken. desperation was more motivating than any coin, vice or desire could serve to be. the lightweaver's blessing, to those who hadn't felt her warmth in eons, could hardly be considered an inevitability. as such, the first cry for her blessing came with the birth of the heir to house igarashi. the second cry came shortly after, the lord and lady's contingency plan to bear an igarashi sereen one way or another. perhaps it truly was their blood, in truth, that made house igarashi unfavourable to ceago's deity. in response, the lady igarashi, having earned her current house name through marriage, sought a father for her second child that did not carry their burden in his veins. ceago's vast dunes play homeland to a nomad group that call themselves sandwalkers — those who traverse the fragment through sandstorm and drought, who live in the desert's golden rock caves and walk upon its weaving dune crests. to know the ways of the desert is to master the harshest of climates ceago has to offer. despite their unrelenting ability for survival, the sandwalkers are best known for their red - tinged irises — evolved over generations to adapt to atesia's unrelenting light bouncing off of the sands of their home dunes. when the igarashis' second daughter came unto the world, her eyes' first opening revealed her true parentage. the ruling lord igarashi would not dream of treating shiori as anything other than his progeny. ceago's open minded view towards bastards allowed for non - traditional lines of succession – and until his oldest child's blessing became obvious, it was unclear if he would ever have a child bear the blessing. only young shiori, devoid of the blood carried by the igarashi ancestors, could be relied upon in a manner that was not considered openly foolish. only shiori was pure — pure of blood, pure of conscience, pure of heart. only shiori could gain the favour of the lightweaver for the good of her house. that was, until atesia's own light spilled from her eldest sibling, who bore igarashi blood. whose eyes spoke not of their parentage before their mouth did.
⋆ EXTRA FACTS .
since her youth, she has been preoccupied with the idea of being good — of being pious, of being kind, of being generous and servile and devoted overall to the almighty and atesia. for that reason, she's very much a people pleaser to a fault.
she is an extremely skilled metalworker — her best work is reserved for jewelry, hairpieces or garment adornments. however, she has been known to make exceedingly beautiful weapons for a select few people. she learned the skill of small forging during the years she spent visiting with the sandwalkers and learning their ways of life (without having to brave the perils of the desert).
she does not by any means resent her sibling for being sereen — in fact, she is glad that their house is no longer ignored by atesia. in her childhood, she was incredibly fearful of her own death. still to this day, an unblessed death is her greatest fear.
she is religious, as is the custom in ceago. she finds herself being very judgemental towards those who do not respect and worship the almighty alongside their fragment's deity, though she tries her best not to show it.
in a way of honouring her relationship with atesia, she often dresses in light colours as a symbol of her closeness to her fragment's deity. she's almost never seen in a colour other than white, silver, or cream.
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Your Grace. What you cannot do, let others do for you.
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Alicent Hightower HOUSE OF THE DRAGON —2.07 "The Red Sowing"
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☠︎︎ THE NUMB SENSATIONS, CREEPING SLOW, REPLACE THE WARMTH I USED TO KNOW. MY PULSE, A TREMOR, FAINT AND WEAK, AS NATURE'S COLD BEGINS TO SPEAK.
#TOOTHD , a dependent blog written by paige — @ ikeaslut on discord — for ilthoriatm. dni if you are not affiliated with the group.
𝑖. LADY TARAH LAICESTRE : introduction , pinterest 𝑖𝑖. LADY SHIORI IGARASHI : introduction , pinterest
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