misbegottendreamer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
misbegottendreamer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2024-04-10 07:11 pm
misbegottendreamer) wrote in ph_logs2024-04-10 07:11 pm
Listen, and Remember
Who: Drelasa Veloth and you
What: Starting a new life, one again.
When: April general
Where: Various
Warnings: To be listed in individual threads, will include mild mentions of blood and other injury
The Sound of Nails, A Hymn to the Winds [OTA Infernal Arms and Armor]
It isn't fancy work, but it's honest.
She works the metal with a tireless arm, occasionally putting a bare, clawed, gray-skinned hand to it and humming to test its structure. If she's satisfied, she begins extruding nails from it; if not, she continues to fold and hammer it, all the while singing softly to herself.
"I pray for the herder
That whistles to his guar at play.
I pray for the hunter
That stalks the white walkers.
I pray for the wise one
That seeks under the hill,
And the wife who wishes
For one last touch of her dead child's hand.
I will not pray for that which I've lost
When my heart springs forth
From your soil, like a seed,
And blossoms anew beneath tomorrow's sun."
A Voice Cries Out For Nerevar [OTA, Empty Pockets]
Back in Skyrim, she would spend every evening she would performing at inns and taverns to collect what coin she could. She's not sure what the custom here is, but she's heard the Empty Pockets is the most acceptable place to perform publicly. When an opening comes up, she takes her place and begins to sing her little heart out, with a voice long-trained in carrying across the Ashlands.
"Luhn-silvar, hortator,
Azura'm gah'amer,
Panthi-seht, sharmat-dra,
gahjuli Nerevar
Osuhn almese sut ohm
yalif sul devahr,
Nerevar."
She seems to have woodwind accompaniment, though it's unclear from where it's coming from.
The Wounds We Bury, the Things We Carry [OTA, any clinic]
"Excuse me?" she asks, walking into a clinic with her hands clasped. Her bandages are sodden with blood.
"Would it be possible for me to get these changed, muthsera?"
What: Starting a new life, one again.
When: April general
Where: Various
Warnings: To be listed in individual threads, will include mild mentions of blood and other injury
The Sound of Nails, A Hymn to the Winds [OTA Infernal Arms and Armor]
It isn't fancy work, but it's honest.
She works the metal with a tireless arm, occasionally putting a bare, clawed, gray-skinned hand to it and humming to test its structure. If she's satisfied, she begins extruding nails from it; if not, she continues to fold and hammer it, all the while singing softly to herself.
"I pray for the herder
That whistles to his guar at play.
I pray for the hunter
That stalks the white walkers.
I pray for the wise one
That seeks under the hill,
And the wife who wishes
For one last touch of her dead child's hand.
I will not pray for that which I've lost
When my heart springs forth
From your soil, like a seed,
And blossoms anew beneath tomorrow's sun."
A Voice Cries Out For Nerevar [OTA, Empty Pockets]
Back in Skyrim, she would spend every evening she would performing at inns and taverns to collect what coin she could. She's not sure what the custom here is, but she's heard the Empty Pockets is the most acceptable place to perform publicly. When an opening comes up, she takes her place and begins to sing her little heart out, with a voice long-trained in carrying across the Ashlands.
"Luhn-silvar, hortator,
Azura'm gah'amer,
Panthi-seht, sharmat-dra,
gahjuli Nerevar
Osuhn almese sut ohm
yalif sul devahr,
Nerevar."
She seems to have woodwind accompaniment, though it's unclear from where it's coming from.
The Wounds We Bury, the Things We Carry [OTA, any clinic]
"Excuse me?" she asks, walking into a clinic with her hands clasped. Her bandages are sodden with blood.
"Would it be possible for me to get these changed, muthsera?"
The Music of the Spheres [OTA, a hillside near town]
This is the hillside where she first danced in the air, beneath unfamiliar stars, without the help of the more familiar magics. She comes out here every few evenings, to sing to the stars and dance beneath the unseen heavens. Perhaps someday she will learn their names, but she hasn't found a book on the heavens in braille yet, and harmonic navigation doesn't work for reading words off a page.
Wildcard: PM me on Discord (redheadednimbus) if you have other ideas!