#oc: ashiri

[ansu-gurleht]

Under the long shadow of Red Mountain, she tried to escape.

Ku-vastei bolted upright on the makeshift cart, only slightly disturbing her bunkmate, Malcius, who let out a small moan. She swung her swollen, deformed legs over the edge of the cart as it was being pulled by Qismehti’s guar, and jumped off. She didn’t quite stick the landing, her knees buckling and sending her careening sideways into the harsh ash and igneous rock of Molag Amur.

“Hey!” Llethym shouted from the rear of the small convoy.

Qismehti whipped her head around to see what was going on. Quickly she pulled on the guar’s reins and brought the convoy to a stop. She leapt from her saddle and pursued Ku-vastei.

“Ku!” Qismehti shouted as she caught up with the limping Argonian, who hadn’t made it very far. She placed a hand on her shoulder to spin her around -

- and spin around she did, swinging her now-massive, mutated arm at Qismehti. It caught her off-guard, hitting her square in the jaw, and sent her down to the ground.

Qismehti jumped back to her feet, one hand clutching her face, the other reaching for the axe on her hip. But she calmed herself. “What are you doing?” she slurred through her wounded jaw and the hand cradling it. 

“I’m not going to let you kill me!” rumbled back Ku-vastei, before turning away to continue fleeing. 

Qismehti sprang forward and tackled Ku-vastei to the ground, with great effort. “We’re trying to help you!” she mumbled painfully as she wrestled with the Corprus-stricken Argonian. 

Llethym arrived momentarily, and stood helplessly over the two rolling on the ground. After Qismehti managed to shoot him a furious glance, he jumped into the fray to help. The three writhed in a dense mass of limbs, the sane two struggling to hold Ku-vastei down as she punched and kicked and clawed and bit. 

“I won’t let you kill me!” Ku-vastei roared, sounding just like a mad Corprus beast. 

Finally, a grey hand arrived to land on Ku-vastei’s thrashing head, and green light pulsated from between the fingers. “We’re not going to kill you,” said Ashiri. “You’re not going to die.” 

At these words, Ku-vastei slowly calmed until she stopped resisting altogether. 

Llethym and Qismehti, bruised and scratched and bit, helped Ku-vastei to her feet, and Ashiri led her by the hand back to the cart. She made sure her patient was secure, clutching tightly to Malcius, before she returned to Llethym and Qismehti.

Llethym was examining a particularly nasty bite mark on his forearm. “The n’wah better not have given me the blight,” he said, to no one in particular.

“Transmission from wounds is rare,” Ashiri assured. “Most cases like this are caused by particular curses. Like the one Gares laid on our friends here.”

She seemed prepared to elaborate, but she was stopped by an unexpected and strange wail. They turned towards the cart, perhaps expecting another getaway attempt. But all they saw was Ku-vastei, wracked with weeping.

“I’ve never heard her make those noises before,” Llethym remarked.

“Never speak of it,” Qismehti said sternly. “She’s in great pain.”

Haunted by the howls of divine suffering, they carried on to Tel Fyr.

[vosh-rakh]

Ku-vastei watched lazily as young Hla-eix and the Duke’s daughter, Derelayn, play-fought in the palace courtyard. Derelayn was bigger than Hla-eix, being a few years older, but Hla-eix kept pace with her. The clacks of their wooden toy swords clashing resonated throughout the empty space. Ku-vastei was proud of her daughter’s skill; she recognized several short blade maneuvers she had taught her herself.

Ku glanced at her wife lounging nearby, casually reading a book. Ku-vastei thought she must be very lucky to have such a lovely wife and daughter. (Being Hortator was a nice plus, too – at least when she had a moment to breathe like this.)

But the feeling was short-lived. A sudden jolt of pain spiked up her right hand, permanently encased in Wraithguard. With her left hand she reached for the glass of cold marshmerrow juice on the small table next to her, and took a mighty swig. No healing potion, but a decent analgesic. The pain slowly subsided in descending throbs until it was barely noticeable. She flexed her hand to make sure. A bit tight in the fingertips and crook of the thumb, but manageable. Watching the interlocking plates and joints shift, she had an idea.

“Girls!” she shouted across the courtyard. “Come here.”

Hla-eix and Derelayn dropped their swords and approached seated Ku-vastei.

“Yes, mama?” asked Hla-eix, expectant.

At the same time, Derelyan asked, “Yes, Hortator?” She seemed nervous, like she thought she was in trouble. And the fact that the girl still called Ku “Hortator” after all these years bothered her.

“Tell me,” Ku began, “What is on my right hand?”

The girls fell silent and thoughtful. After a moment, Derelayn offered, “Lord Vivec, Hortator?”

“No, Derry,” said Ku, patiently but without smiling. “Vivec is my left hand.”

Hla-eix lit up and suggested, “Oh! It’s Uncle Arry!”

“No, Eix,” said Ku again, shaking her head. “Aryon is my right hand, yes, but you’re not thinking literally enough.”

“Ohhh,” Hla-eix gasped, a long, drawn out sound. “You mean Wraithguard!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” said Ku, still not smiling. She raised her right hand, the back of Wraithguard facing the girls. “Eix, do you know what it does?”

“Yes, mama!” Hla-eix said, eager to show her knowledge. “It keeps you safe from the power of Sunder and Keening!”

“And what would happen if someone without Wraithguard on their hand attempted to wield Sunder or Keening?”

Hla-eix frowned and her voice became solemn. “They would die, mama.”

“Hm,” muttered Ku with a slight nod. With Wraithguard, she pulled Keening from its sheath on her hip. “This,” she said, brandishing the profane dagger, “is Keening, what laid low Dagoth Ur with its final sting to his heart.” (She was so used to the lie she had told Vivec after that fight that she told it everywhere – none but Azura could prove her wrong, and she didn’t seem interested.)

“Ah!” gasped Hla-eix, leaning in close.

“Wow!” added Derelayn, also leaning in. “It’s so pretty!”

“Don’t touch!” Ku warned suddenly, raising her voice. “You would die!”

The girls recoiled in fear from the blade, frightened by Ku’s volume.

“You mustn’t be careless with the profane tools,” admonished Ku. “One wrong move and –” She quickly tossed up Keening, catching it in her bare left hand.

“Mama, no!” cried Hla-eix, lunging forward to stop her mother’s apparent carelessness. Derelayn burst into tears immediately.

Ku-vastei pulled back Keening from Hla-eix’s reach, and burst into laughter. “You thought I was in danger!” She returned the dagger to its sheath. “It’s a neat trick I learned by accident once – the gauntlet protects my whole body!”

But now even Hla-eix was crying big, angry tears. From behind came a shout from Ashiri: “Ku-vastei! Stop frightening the children!”

“Oh, it was just a bit of fun, I didn’t mean to –”

“Girls, come to mommy. It’s okay, sweets. That’s right, come here and give me a big hug.”

Ku rolled her eyes. Kids these days. So sensitive.

[firstofficertightpants]

All the art fights I've done since it started! Ashiri - Skysscribbles

BakerDee - AstroNumbers

Murmur - ziggyballoons

Kyle - superteddy

Eira - ArentIFynny

[voistly]

i have a couple questions!!!

- you pick your colors so well for your art. how did you learn to do so?

- I want to know more about your OCs!! I love hearing about people’s lore lol

1: thank you! this is a very big question that i've thought about sharing more in depth before but became a very overwhelming topic. there's so many ways to explore colour that it's hard to capture in a single pdf let alone a single post. i'd like to return to that project, but here's a little summary for the mean time:

through a strictly technical perspective, i started off learning colour harmonies. these are the most basic introduction to colour theory. they are useful but they're difficult to apply if you don't know how light works... learn different colour systems and the physics of light. i really recommend colour and light by james gurney as it goes over this better than i can.

what i find important is learning how to blend the technical knowledge with symbolic meaning. in other words, ask yourself what kind of story colours can tell and how you can achieve it. different meaning can be extracted depending on where you put colours, how much you use them, how you relate a colour to a specific subject, what the history of that colour is, etc! don't just think about if colours look nice but if they make you feel a certain way.

sorry this is a very basic answer, but if you had any more specific questions or wanted me to explain my colour choices with a specific artwork i'd be happy to do so.

2: my main project right now is called xyril's city (though lately i've been considering renaming to xyril's labyrinth). xc is a story that takes place in the 1980s and it starts off with kid forteman, a farmer in ashborne, ohio, trying to find out why her crops and livestock are getting sick. she puts the blame on acelle corp, a company that recently moved into town and flushed out all of the local businesses. after kid gets fired from the farm, she decides to confront acelle corp at their headquarters in montross, new york. in montross, there is... a lot going on. acelle corp is trying to take control of the entire city which conflicts with the interests of unions and the lebub family, a crime syndicate and the former power of montross. kids made it her job to investigate montross politics & the role of acelle corp in everything.

lately i've been working on the characters in lucky lebub's hotel & casino (which this piece takes place in). jasper's official title is casino floor manager but his actual role is the right hand man to the head of the lebub family, slade. sweet talking, charismatic, always enticing people into another game. he's having an affair with ashiri whose official title is... just an employee. does everything, from cooking, cleaning, waitressing, escorting, etc. her secret job is organ harvester, though the only person he harvests organs from is himself because he has regenerative abilities. he inherited his late husbands debt, so she has to take on a bunch of roles to pay it off.

[skyscribbles]

Happy Valentine’s Day from Ashiri!!

[gcmblingdice]

Watched Rurouni Kenshin: The begining and it woke up Kenshi. For the most part Kenshi shared a similar path canon wise, as she was originally just a female version of kenshin.

But ya girl deadass hopped on that demon rumor that they would give and ran. So later on I plan to write out a brief summary. However notable changes:

Who the fuck is Tomoe. She takes her to an inn, but not the one the ishin shishi are at

In a relationship with Katsura (i refuse to erase that ship even tho my friend Night has dissappeared 🥲 and after i stopped usibg msn messenger i havent found him since like rip come back. But he gave me permission to have ownership over his oc Night so i can keep that plot.)

Kenshi is a fire demon.

She was born with an ability to control chaotic energy and negative space.

Lol killed the slave traders in a rage unlike shinta.

Continues to kill

Has descended into a deep madness.

She ran away to lie low.

BEFRIENDED OKITA SOMEHOW???

Met Ashiri for the first time after escaping from the torture of being forced to talk when she got captured.

THIS WAS WHEN SHE WAS LIKE 15 BTW. she joined the fight at 13 (i think kenshin waa 12??)

Her sword style is hiten, but modified.

She killed Hiko whoops

So she begins to make her own.

Has fucked Saito probably.

Didnt stop killing

Did wander around Japan a lot before she heads over seas.

There is more but I need to sit down and really like try to piece together her entire bio because when I made her it was early days of forum sites/chat sites.

You made a post. Someone responded. Each refresh was a new slew of replies and u couldnt hit back to see previous messages. Well also at this time no one really plotted. You went with the flow. Which is how a lot of confusing shit happened to poor Kenshi t b h. This woman was like "let me live"

The world said no. And honestly her storyline was my favorite to write. Her arcs ans growth are by far things I wish i could relive, but ill settle for rewriting. Heart this if u interested to know more.

[cappuccinogirlfriend]

19 23 28 32 42 50 for the oc questions!!

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

Embry Lavellan means so much to me because she overcomes so much fear and hatred after becoming the so-called Herald of Andraste and ends up blooming into a confident, brave, compassionate person who sticks up for her beliefs no matter what, and it was so interesting focusing on how her relationships with the Inner Circle develop from bitterness and loathing to unconditional love and trust.

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?

I started making Brianna a few years ago and tbh tried way too hard to make her angsty and edgy so she was this cold-hearted badass femme fatale without much character development or originality. And now she’s a goofy, caring, passionate combat babe who’s still a badass but with extra humour, silliness and a more distinguished look.

28. Your most dangerous OC?

My three Dragon Age protagonists Hartley, Liara and Embry are the three of the most powerful women in Thedas and could definitely destroy somebody without even lifting a finger, so they can definitely be extremely dangerous if you’re on the wrong side of them. Scarlett and Sylvia run the Institute with Scarlett being affiliated with the Minutemen and Sylvia with the Railroad, so they’re undoubtedly two of the most dangerous people in the Commonwealth while Brianna is dangerous not just for leading New Vegas, but out of sheer dumb luck, willpower and combat experience. When it comes to sheer evil, my raider OC Violet is the most dangerous because she kills indiscriminately and becomes a very high-up member of Nuka World.

32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why?

Brianna and Grace would be perfect for a zombie survival horror game because they’re a hilarious and ridiculous duo who love the pants off each other. Brianna would be the bad-mouthed badass combat hero while Grace is the funny but concerned clever one.

42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods?

Probably Grace because she’s a geek and soaks up all kinds of knowledge, and also Ashiri because she loves to learn about all kinds of culture.

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want!

All of my Dragon Age OCs are eventually united together in ways big and small. Since Embry is the Inquisitor, she becomes an ally and friend to my Hawke twins and has a few meetings with my Warden Hartley every time she comes back to visit Leliana. Ashiri is one of the surviving members of Clan Lavellan and works for the Inquisition as a spy, while Khalidah is a Bull’s Charger and Buttons is a smuggler.

And because I’m a sucker for OC interaction, my Fallout OCs unite too! Brianna and Grace reunite in the Commonwealth to work together with the Sole Survivor twins and ‘defeat’ the Institute.

[breezy-autumn]

Commission for @DogggyG ! Featuring his OC Sol and my OC Ashiri having a nice Autumn Smooch 🍂🍁🍂 Thank you for your support!! 💖 #DigitalArt #Autumn #Commission https://t.co/rV86eW05jl

[ansu-gurleht]

i was thinking about this last night:

i don’t think hla-eix had a bad childhood per se but her parents were really not suited for being parents. ashiri has wine aunt energy and ku has weird uncle energy. they were not really the kind of people who had any business having a child together. but they had help from aryon, who is surprisingly a good paternal figure, a vivec, who is also a weird uncle but in a slightly more paternal way. also the duke vedam helped a bit since hla-eix was friends with his adopted daughter (technically great niece? i think? his brother’s son’s daughter) derelayn. ilmeni was probably around sometimes too and she is okay with kids. qismehti visited occasionally but she is really awkward with kids. llethym is TERRIBLE with kids so ku kept him away for the most part

[ansu-gurleht]

happy mother's day to ku-vastei and ashiri! hla-eix killed somebody and left their corpse on the mantle for you!

[ansu-gurleht]

just occurred to me i don’t know what ashiri’s been up to in 3e634. i think i’ve been assuming she’s dead somehow but i don’t know why or how or when she died

[ansu-gurleht]

also i think i’m just gonna drop the “-khaan” from ash’s name. it kinda just makes her name “ashkhan” with extra steps? which isn’t what i intended at all and i don’t really care for it

[ansu-gurleht]

i think ashiri knows divayth. they’ve probably known (and hated) each other for centuries

[ansu-gurleht]

i just remembered i never decided what exactly happened to ashiri's tribe. hmmmmmm

[vosh-rakh]

There is a body in a coffin, but unlike in the dreams, it is not hers. This gives her no relief. It is a blessing that the coffin remains closed, but a necessary one. His body is too horrific for any of them to stomach.

They hired the Imperial priest Aunius Autrus from Wolverine Hall to give Malcius his last rites, in the Cyrodiilic tradition. Also present was Nibani Maesa, who quietly invoked the names of Daedra he didn’t worship. But her presence gives Ku-vastei small comfort, and she is clinging to any comfort she can find.

They had decided to bury him in the northern Ashlands, far from civilization, to avoid anyone digging him up and spreading the divine disease. Aunius complained about the trek from Sadrith Mora to this isolated yurt the entire way, but has settled into his duties as officiant of this funeral. 

Llethym had complained, too. He had walked alongside Qismehti on her guar to ensure that the coffin-laden wagon arrived in one piece. But now he is quiet, free from the curse of his quick wit. Qismehti is, as ever, inscrutable, solemn and slow to speak. Her face is the same stolid mask.

Aside from the priest and wise woman, only Ashiri-khaan speaks, and, having known Malcius the least - and also owing to her nature - she is irreverent and restless. This agitates Ku-vastei the most. Doesn’t she realize what had been lost? Doesn’t she feel it as the others did?

Of course not. She wasn’t roped into this silly charade of incarnation, this game of the gods. Ku-vastei can’t bring herself to resent her, though. Instead she aims higher, and points the blame at Caius, then higher, laying it at Azura’s feet. She feels agitated that Nibani dares invoke her name here, over this corpse.

But as much as she wants to cling to it, anger becomes a slippery thing. She can’t even be bothered to direct her wrath towards Dagoth Gares, or Dagoth Ur. All she feels is the hollow in her chest, burning like a lung without air. 

Do they know? she thinks. Do they know he’s really gone, for good? She has no faith in any afterlife. She has tried, several times, to muster it. But every time she comes up short. Now she must contend with a life without him, her comrade, confidant, best friend. It’s a miserable life, and she can’t fathom living it. 

Just as she’s about to collapse into her bones, just as the floodgates threaten to burst -

She doesn’t notice Ashiri approaching until she’s standing right in front of her, her breath tantalizing Ku’s scales. “Ku-vastei?”

Ku is too tired to be startled. She looks around: Aunius and Nibani are busy comparing religions, but Llethym and Qismehti glance their way. Llethym whispers something in Mehti’s ear and chuckles emptily, but Mehti socks him on the shoulder for it and admonishes him. 

She rubs her eyes and answers, “Yes?”

“Come with me. Let’s get out of this dreary place for a moment.”

Before Ku has time to answer, Ashiri has grabbed her by the wrists and is pulling her outside the yurt.

The night is moonless and dark, the outside of the yurt lit only by two standing torches by the flap, rolled open to admit the breeze. Ashiri drags Ku as far away in these dangerous Ashlands as she dares, and at last they come upon a cairn, a stack of stones marking some important place. 

“What is this?” Ku-vastei asks. She’s seen cairns like this one before; they are often markers on paths to important places.

“Be careful, dear,” Ashiri says, pulling Ku back. “Don’t fall in.”

Ku-vastei tilts her head and obeys. Then, curious, she casts a night eye spell.

There’s a six foot long and six foot deep rectangular hole in the ground here in front of the cairn. As Ku raises her head and looks around, she sees more cairns - hundreds of them.

“It’s a graveyard,” Ku-vastei notes, somewhat shocked at the number of burial plots.

“Yes,” Ashiri sighs, “where else would we hold a funeral?” She kicks the cairn at the head of a nearby plot; it stays perfectly put. “And it’s not just any graveyard. It’s mine.”

“Yours?”

“My clan is buried here,” Ashiri says plainly, without emotion. “I buried them here. Each and every one, nearly one thousand years ago.”

“Oh,” Ku-vastei says, unsure if she should offer condolences.

Ashiri laughs, noticing. “It was a thousand years ago. And they were s’wits, one and all. The only ones who didn’t deserve it were the children.” She waves Ku over to the cairn she kicked, and kneels next to it. Ku follows suit. “See the etching here? Old Velothi writing. Well, ‘writing’ might be overgenerous.”

Ku-vastei sees three small markings underneath a name carved in an angular Daedric script, faded to near-illegibility by time and ashstorms. “Three years old?”

“The small ones mean months.” Pivoting quickly, Ashiri rises and approaches another cairn, beckoning Ku to follow. This one has another name Ku can barely make out, and a series of markings underneath.

“Is this like the Cyrodiilic numeral system?” Ku-vastei asks. 

“Close,” says Ashiri, smiling. “The iya represents one month. The jeb represents one year, the cess represent three years, the ekem represents thirty. The oht represents one-hundred. So this gentleman, our last ashkhan’s father, was -” Ashiri paused to allow Ku to scrutinize the markings.

“...Three-hundred and forty-seven,” Ku-vastei says, “and five months.”

“Right,” Ashiri says. “He was the oldest mer in the clan.”

“Was,” Ku-vastei says, glumly.

“You obtain a certain measure of perspective, living as long as I have,” Ashiri says, placing a soft hand on Ku’s shoulder. “I have no doubt that you’ll live just as long as me, if not longer, with your new…advantages.”

“But what great cost for these ‘advantages.’”

“I know,” says Ashiri.

Suddenly Ku-vastei embraces Ashiri. “I’d rather not have paid it,” she whispers into her neck.

“I know,” says Ashiri.

After a long, silent - but not still, as Ku-vastei is wracked by quiet sobs - moment, they disengage from each other. 

“Ku-vastei,” Ashiri says, offering something to Ku in the palm of her hand. Ku takes it; it’s a small chisel. “I thought you might want to do the engraving on the cairn.” She turns her head away to look over the field of graves. “I think you’re the only one who knew how old he was, anyway.”

Ku-vastei closes her eyes and reflects. Then she nods, rising to approach Malcius’ cairn again.

Carefully, carefully, she inscribes the only thing she can think of.

“MALCIUS MARALIUS

 48

 THE MAN WHO DESERVED TO LIVE FOREVER”

[vosh-rakh]

the bitter coast

After being healed of Corprus, Ku-vastei rested a while in the Bitter Coast. She had made Ashiri-khaan stay away; she needed to do this on her own. She only allowed a few visits during those few months, all that kept her connected to the outside world.

She did not go into town anywhere, not in Gnaar Mok or Hla Oad, not even in Seyda Neen to stock up on supplies at Arrille’s Tradehouse. She stayed in an abandoned hut she found along the coast, and she lived completely off the land. She ate mudcrab and rat meat, snacked on flies, dried slaughterfish scales, and scrib jerky. She drank seawater boiled mostly salt-free on hard-fought fires. (Flame catches poorly in the marsh.)

Mostly, when she wasn’t hunting and scavenging for food, she would languish in cool pools, nothing but her nostrils and eyes cresting the murky water, and she remembered. Her scales absorbed many things she’d never experienced, from the waters and from the sun - a remembrance of things long lost. Not only the things the Dunmer had taken from her people, but things the Marsh had taken from her people. Some days they blended together as one. Those days made her uncomfortable, unable to reconcile the difference, or lack thereof. But she forced herself to remember anyway.

Often she remembered Malcius. She tried to remember the lotus, and not the mud. The bright triumphant smile on the day he helped her free a group of slaves under his rules: no killing. His face, soft under candlelight, as he rolled his fingers through a rosary, counting prayers to Mara under his breath. His hands, surprisingly strong and calloused for a man of the cloth, fumbling through alchemy under her instruction.

But the mud stained every petal of the lotus. She could see his face, swollen from the sickness, becoming a mindless monster before her eyes. The erratic spasms as his “cure” failed, choking him on his own blood and fluids. His eyes searching the vaulted ceiling of Tel Fyr for Mara, and finding her nowhere. 

She would reach for her Corprus-scars, where the growing flesh had subsided and the scales weakly grown back over, and weep.

In her journal she would try to write. At first just what she did that day, as normal. She tried, a time or two, to write about Malcius, but failed to even start. How can you put a life into words? The floor of her hut became littered with crumpled aborted attempts.

Her sleep was fitful. Often she dreamed of him. But worst was when she dreamed of losing Ashiri too. She would jump out of her cot, run into the pitch-black marsh, screaming her name, but all she heard back was the distant cry of cliff racers in the hills.

Being alone made her feel invisible, like she was another fly buzzing about the marsh. She couldn’t decide if she liked the feeling or not. She would wonder if this is how it felt in the Black Marsh, but knew that for her people, in the Black Marsh, you were never alone. Even if it weren’t for your tribe, even if it weren’t for the Hist - when you wept, nature wept with you.