#ceriza

[fransen-art]

Cheery x Tamagotchi 🍥🍒🌳

[realstardust]

Re-made my girl Ceriza when she was a faun and by the end of her storyline when she is a wild elf. 

[petirrojo57]

Finished and now off having a restful soak!

I was beginning to think this color combo was jinxed for me when I started row 2 of the colorwork portion & realized I had misread the chart (How?!) and was loathe to tink back more than the 15 stitches of the 2nd row, so I started combing thru #AndreaRangel’s book, #alterknitstichdictionary, for a pattern that would work instead with the 1st row mistake and I discovered she did something that should be in every charting book! There’s an index for patterns by stitch and row repeats! I was saved and continued on with a new pattern: Curtains (Appropriate, as it was almost curtains for my patience!)

The yarns are both Malabrigo Rios, in Coco and Ceriza (for a a little chocolate-cherry ripple thing) and it’s another for @hatsforsailors

[my-moms-garden]

mom’s ceriza 

[jukemaid]

dead hand

the aether is rapidly draining. daevas are born in mass numbers regardless.

high priest baldur meets with a dead woman for a discussion where there is no happy ending.

post 6.0 update

words: 1743

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“State your name, Daeva.”

“Ceriza.”

“Was that always your name?”

“No.”

A breezy answer. She threads her fingers through her hair, locks long and smooth. Delicately twirls it around her digits and lets it go back to sitting over her front. She sits cross-legged, her clothing consisting of layered monochrome silk fanning at her sides and around her seat. Her foot taps soundlessly to a steady, slow rhythm.

“What were you called before?”

A smile. It's too sweet. “It's rude to ask questions you know the answers to.”

Baldur swallows, forces himself to relax. Her presence feels wrong in ways he has difficulty putting into words. He is old, but she feels ancient. She feels young. She does and doesn't belong and it takes too much willpower just for him to shake off the need to check to see if she even casts a shadow.

“Humor me, then. On what you remember, before... this.”

“You'll have to be more specific!” She chirps, her legs uncrossing and heels clicking onto the floor. She tucks hair behind her pointed ears, looking at him with an unreadable, yet pleasant expression. “We've done this song and dance many times, High Priest. How should I know which 'this' you could possibly mean?”

He can't hold back an astonished breath: “You do remember.”

Her smile becomes too sharp for her face. Her eyes had always been that way.

“I remember loop after loop of lifetimes and starting over, inevitably, before reaching the climax of any particular story. It changed every time, but the movement was clockwork from place to place, fulfilling requests and climbing the ranks. There were countless heroes, mothers, daughters, widows, sisters-- sometimes if I was particularly lucky, I would be slaughtered not long after I woke and was saved the tedium of yet another disappointing end.”

The halls feel significantly colder when she goes silent. Baldur does not sense magic, not any more or less than normal, but the sharp taste of aether rests in his throat and it makes him feel nauseous. The less of it there has been in the atmosphere, the more sensitive humans and Daevas alike had become towards it. Some to horrific degrees resembling illness. Allergies.

“You lived more lives than can be counted. It's not a kind fate to be subjected to.” He attempts to change his approach. Sympathy. Compassion.

“Oh, you think so? Do you think you should have stopped me, then?” Her question is light, innocently curious, but it feels like he's been struck a mortal blow.

“I wasn't aware of your situation, not as I should have. You were-- you were different. Every time. I didn't believe it could have been you, each time. The similarities were there but--”

“Oh, it wasn't me each time.” Frost shoots up his spine. He crosses his arms to disguise a shudder, despite knowing she would notice.

She hums thoughtfully, unnecessarily emphasizing it with a quizzical tap of her fingertip against her cheek.

“There was a girl. A young woman. She was very troubled. She enjoyed fighting and it made her an ideal candidate for your war. She had nerve and reckless bravery, but she asked questions. She pushed too hard. Poked around where she shouldn’t have.”

Her impossibly yellow eyes are bright but cast no light nor reflect it.

“But she had a lot to lose, so she listened. She listened and obeyed and kept her mouth shut and she was destroyed in the first cataclysm that sank entire continents into the sea. Wrong place and wrong time, as they say.”

“She was destroyed,” Baldur repeats, ignoring how his voice falters.

“The thing about aether is that it's a finite source. We all know that. But what does that mean for the immortal Daevas, constantly adding to their ranks and constantly dying and resurrecting as nothing more than hollow vessels of constructed, solidified aether? Easy to dispose of since they leave no trace. Sucked into the oblivion where their soul should have been taken, had it not been forcibly yanked back into a fresh fake body, ready to be sent off to die once more. That technology has been perfected.”

She idly runs her hands down her garment, tracing the decorative lace in visible appreciation. Baldur’s jaw is clenched shut and he cannot speak.

“What does that mean for Daevas, unfortunate enough to be caught in a catastrophe so immense, so realm-fracturing, that it's impossible to fully restore their soul? What do they become then, when whatever's left of them re-enters the shell of someone who would have found death there a mercy?”

“Is that what happened to you? You were-- you were stationed in--”

“She was caught in a tragedy, surely. But then it reappeared with her face and with all of her skills at its disposal. It was incomplete and felt nothing, had no personality. It was a broken glass figurine attempting to fit the pieces into place and pretend it was whole. It did not question orders. It did not hesitate to kill. It was extremely convenient and was a perfect soldier, wouldn't you say? They made use of it.”

Her lips pull into a smile again, her eyes closing and head tilting minutely to the side. Baldur feels nothing from her but that persistent chill. She is beautiful and disturbing in equal amounts. He is speaking to something inhuman. Not a Daeva, not a ghost.

“It was destroyed in the second cataclysm caused by the Dragon Lord of the month, but it was honestly better that way. Something so abhorrent shouldn't be allowed to exist.” The venom leaks through, seeping her words in its toxin and dribbling into the air around them. Baldur wants to get up and leave. Wants to pray to Aion in secondhand words that have lost hope every time he has uttered them.

“Then the loops started. They all wove together, eventually, after so many lives and so many deaths and so, so much aether spent on an illusion to continue the fight. I believe I was a cleric, at one point. There's delicious irony in that.” The chuckle she nearly hisses through her teeth is cruel. The facade is slipping and Baldur sees the monster residing in a young woman's form. Forced to exist by powers she does not control.

He finds his voice, however weak. “You are a songweaver, currently.”

“Of course!” She says excitedly, “I love music. I've always had a knack for magic, as well, and it suits me. The dresses are wonderful. Much better than that nonsense armor.” She lifts a leg in demonstration, the toe of her heels pointed outward. The fabric of her outfit slides easily over her knee and sways delicately.

Enough.

“I don't understand. You're aware of all of your lives-- aware of everything that happened to you. To her. Why are you here then, playing along? Why do you continue to follow orders and complete your missions so thoroughly? If you harbor resentment towards your destiny, towards us, why--”

She laughs, a ringing noise that carries. Even further underneath this entity, Baldur catches the smallest glimpse of a girl he met for the first time so many hundreds of years ago. Bright eyed, scrappy, and eager to make a difference. Her hair was long too, but curled at the ends. ... Didn't it? She had cut it so many times. Come back with something new. He had difficulty remembering.

This being wears her body, wears her face. She maintains the facade, but for what, he doesn't know. He is unsure of what information he thought he would receive from her. He is unsure what she is or why he risked meeting with her. There is not a single thing to be gained. She is the anti-thesis to any light that she had formerly been, in Aion’s grace.

Her demeanor changes suddenly, becomes inelegant and crass. She leans forward, elbows on her legs and hands curling over her knees, gripping them. She is there again, in this thing's eyes that glint with malice. They share her hatred. The feelings of betrayal that sat in her chest and were piled upon exponentially with every rebirth she was forced to bear.

“You're a fool, High Priest.” Her voice is dark and slick like bubbling oil. Uncountable individuals, all long-since killed in battle, stare him down, all of them coming together as one at last.

All except for the originator, who kicked off this curse by becoming a victim in a war she did not deserve.

“The answers are all in front of you, but you shy away. You hide in a capital that has fallen to pieces, just like our race. Our world. The air is thin and your people are suffering; the aether stripped from their bones. Your Daevas are withering while the Dragon continues gaining strength. The tragedies will continue, and you will experience loss after loss until there is nothing left. Until the Lords are forced to participate in their war at last, only to find an empty wasteland and ruins and dust where they had convinced so many there would be a future. We are dying out, High Priest, and it cannot be stopped.”

Baldur stands sharply, urgently enough to alarm nearby guards who all brandish their weapons. They are simply following orders. They are fools, just as he is.

“What would you have me do then? What will you do? If this fatalistic vision of yours comes to pass-- what is your motive for playing along, if it all ends up being for naught?” He nearly finds himself begging to this creature of death and aether, impossible and incomprehensible and in so, so much pain.

She looks at her nails with a critical eye. Taps her foot against stone tile. The sound of rushing water in the temple is near deafening.

“I'm just along for the ride, whether I like it or not. But still... I'm curious to see how it will go. I am no prophet after all-- just one lone woman.”

She looks up at Baldur, the gleaming eyes of a bird of prey seeing through him.

“I want to watch this world shatter and be destroyed by its hubris. I want be there when it ends.”

[karkatvantassfantrollreview]

Name: Ceriza Kavris

Blood Color: Teal

FOR A TEAL BLOOD, HER OUTFIT IS APPROPRIATELY COLORED. KANAYA WOULD APPROVE.

Strife Specibus: Fankind (as in those fans with the blade tips :P)

DOES THIS SORT OF MIRROR BIRD WINGS? IT'S OVERDONE IN JAPANESE FANTROLLS, THOUGH IF YOU PLAY IT RIGHT, IT COULD WORK.

Fetch Modus: Quill Modus. Each item is seperated into two feathers, and when she retrieves the item all the feathers are tossed into the air. She has to catch the feathers out of the air before they hit the ground, otherwise the item will eject and break as if it had crashed from a long fall.

NOT BAD. I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING WRONG WITH IT. IT SOUNDS LIKE AN AWFUL MODUS TO DEAL WITH, THOUGH.

Abilities: Her vision is a bit better than other trolls, and she likes it that way. Although sunlight/other strong light tends to be very overwhelming to her because of this.

YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL WITH THE SUNLIGHT THING. ALTERNIAN SUNLIGHT BLINDS YOU. NOT HALF-BLIND. NO, IT COMPLETELY BLINDS YOU. SHE COULD WITHSTAND ARTIFICIAL LIGHT BETTER THAN MOST TROLLS, THOUGH. AFTER ALL, TROLLS ARE NOCTURNAL, WHICH MEANS THAT OUR EYES ARE BETTER ADJUSTED TO DIM LIGHT.

Quadrants: None so far, although is contemplating a matespritship with a seadweller (another fantroll of mine). She seems to be getting pale-zoned, however.

Trolltag: descendingTalon

THE TALON PART OF HER NAME SEEMS A LITTLE BLUNT. MAYBE YOU COULD REPLACE IT WITH PLUMULE? IT MEANS A BIT OF DOWN, WHICH IS A TYPE OF FEATHER.

Quirk: Preceds every line with a ":>" birdface or some variant depending on her current emotion/mood. Capitalizes the first letter of her line and afterwards uses no more capitalization. No punctuation. Makes as many bird puns as possible, however horrible and obnoxious they may be, and when she is stressed or upset they become ever more obtuse.

AH, THE AWFUL PUNS, HOW I DO DESPISE THEM. HER QUIRK SEEMS A LITTLE BLAND, THOUGH. YOU COULD POSSIBLY SPICE IT UP BY haVing her capitalize Words that contain things that reseMble birds in flight. SO PRETTY MUCH HAVE HER CAPITALIZE HER MS, WS, AND VS. 

Hemospectrum: She respects it, and is cautious around highbloods, but doesn't go out of her way to bully lowerbloods. She doesn't see the need to make unnecessary enemies, lowbloods or not.

SHE IS SMART IF SHE DOESN'T MAKE UNNECESSARY ENEMIES AND IS CAUTIOUS AROUND THOSE MORE POWERFUL THAN HER.

Lusus: A large hawk, big enough for her to ride on without hindering it's flight much. Has four wings instead of two. She's nicknamed it 'Featherbrain' for it's tendency to do rather stupid things, although it does it's best to protect her. Often goes out at night to find prey, although during the day it stays around to keep an eye on Ceriza.

I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING TOO HORRENDOUS HERE.

Interests: Ceriza loves flying on the back of her lusus. It is by far her favorite thing to do when it's around. But aside from that, she does a substantial amount of weapon training; protecting herself is important with a lusus that leaves rather often. As well as these, her tall thin hive has a room with many windows at the top and she likes to go up there and see what's going on around her hive.

THE WEAPON TRAINING IS A GOOD IDEA. IF YOUR LUSUS DOESN'T PROTECT YOU VERY MUCH, THEN YOU HAVE TO LEARN TO FEND FOR YOURSELF.

Personality: At first meeting she is wary, sarcastic, even a bit snappy, and won't take her eye off of you. But once she warms up to you she is rather spontaneous and easily distracted, often changing the subject of a discussion without meaning to. Her train of thought can definitely fly off the track into the wild blue yonder. But she is far from silly. When a serious situation arises, she takes up a surprisingly pessimistic view of the world; if something can go wrong, she'll immediately assume it will. This point of view tends to persist until she has something close to proof of her safety, and her friend's.

WHEN YOU ARE IN A WORLD WHERE ALMOST EVERYONE WILL TRY TO KILL YOU, BEING WARY IS A GOOD THING. HER PERSONALITY IS VERY GOOD.

Lusus Relationship: She feels like she keeps it out of trouble more than it does her, but she does have a grudging love for the creature that raised her, underneath the scolding she often delivers to it. It isn't very bright but it generally tries to protect it's troll.

Title: Maid of Heart

Planet: Land of Clouds and Wheels

Consorts: Draco Lizards (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flying_dragon)

Moon: Prospit

OVERALL, CERIZA ISN'T THAT BAD. 

[realstardust]

Ceriza Elassidil and her husband Dhaun’telrin from a DnD minecraft roleplay server we used to play at. She’s a bard and used to be a Faun and her husband is a Rouge that used to be a Drow but is now a Dark elf and the Elassidils were the wealthiest most influential family of that server outside of npcs.