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I've decided to do this meme with Igna, to add to the collection of these memes with my Isaldian OCs. Also she has a lot of hair to style :P
Most of the time her braid goes down to her waist, and in the least to her shoulder blades, so her ponytail would also be very long. She looks better than I thought with twin tails (provided they're low, lol). I imagine she has to do something with her braid so that it doesn't stick out of her helmet, so her having it pinned in a bun was long overdue.
A braid crown in her region is a hairstyle reserved mostly for married women, and she associates it most closely with her grandmother (with whom she has a, uh, difficult relationship). Both of her parents have naturally wavy hair, with her mother's hair texture being more curly and voluminous. If I give her more flat waves and make her hair a bit shorter, she starts to look very, very much like her father.
As for the bare forehead, she has a reason for wearing bangs, and it's that she has a forehead that easily dominates the conversation. A griffon could land on it, if it tried hard enough XD
Now, short hair are a hurtful topic. She's very intentional about keeping her hair long - it's impractical, to the point it could become a liability, but together with earrings it's the only luxury she affords herself in her looks. Spellbreaking, however, is an extremely dangerous business, and sooner or later she was bound to have a slip up. She ended up injured badly enough that her hair had to be completely shaved just to look after the wounds properly (and to be honest, this loss was the least of her problems in that moment). It's safe to say that if one sees Igna with short hair, she's either in recovery, or just freshly back on her feet.
On a more fun note, here's Igna with hair decorated by her younger cousin.
I'm not tagging anyone personally, but absolutely feel welcome to do it, if You feel like it! The template's under the cut :)
Wesołego Święta Niepodległości! Wspominałam kiedyś, że powinnam wbić Argo w mundur ułański, a tak się składa, że akurat jest okazja. Pod czytaj dalej wersja alternatywna, bo nie mogłam się zdecydować czy elfie uszy nie psują kompozycji, i porównanie z oryginałem, czyli Wspólnym Posiłkiem Wojciecha Kossaka.
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Happy Independence Day! I mentioned once that I'm going to dress Argo in an uhlan uniform, and what would be a better occasion than this? An alternative version (because I couldn't decide what to do with his ears) and comparison to the original ("Common Meal" by Wojciech Kossak) under the cut!
niestety, Kossak namalował taką mnogość obrazów pod tym tytułem, że nie mogłam znaleźć lepszej reprodukcji, więc tymczasowo musi być ta.
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Unfortunately, Kossak painted multiple paintings under the exact same title, and I couldn't find a better reproduction, so this one will have to do.
A small illustration I've done for my entry for a worldbuilding tournament! I've written a short text about the Scorchwielders, the only dwarves in Isaldi who are capable of using active magic. They're able to conjure great heat through the palms of their hands, but their ability is volatile and difficult to control, which is why they usually have to wear protective gauntlets (often enchanted). The ability causes a tell-tale charred discolouration on their hands.
Scorchwielders have an odd social position, especially in the largest dwarven religion, kathem. While fire is essentially considered a sacred symbol, the birth of a scorchwielder is considered to be an omen of a dwarven house losing divine favor.
Master Arren: "Oh, by the way, has someone heard from Eberre? He didn't show up at this year's tournament."
Eberre, showing up at the general assembly with his new apprentice:
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A short in-world legend, explaining how the Samhrans (the nation from which Theria comes from) believe shapeshifters came to be. Parts of Samhran cosmogony as a fun bonus!
The picture without text
A long time ago, in the times beyond the peoples' memory, the gods have created the world. They tied the Sun and the Moon to its axis, a giant tree. The Sun was pulled by two dogs made of pure fire, and the Moon was their bait - it was pulled by a silver reindeer, sculpted from starlight. The Father of the World, pleased with this arrangement has left it be and went on to do different things.
Ages have passed, kingdoms and peoples have risen and fallen, and the Sun and the Moon were spinning. The gods waged wars, killed monsters and feasted, and the Sun and Moon tirelessly ran along its trails. One time, when the gods were feasting, a drop of their mead have fallen off their table and made a golden pool. A man named Annes have found the pool and drank from it, and has seen the life in things surrounding him. He understood the world the way no one else had before, and he's seen the chains binding the Sun and the Moon. Thus, Annes has become the first shaman. He called out in his bewilderment and so loud was his shout, that the reindeer that pulled the Moon reared up and the chain that held him broke. The dogs started to thrash and they freed themselves as well. The Sun started circling the sky chasing its own fiery tail and it ran like this for seventy two nights. In vain have Annes begged the gods to fix what he's unwittingly broken - the father of the gods was old and tired. He didn't have the strenght to catch the mischievous dogs anymore and his sons were busy with infighting and struggle for power.
In these times there lived a great warrior, named Hannem. The young gods, who didn't want to bother with the problems of the world, turned to him with a mission: he was to bind the Sun and find the Moon. Hannem was strong and quick-witted. He managed to fulfill his task. With deception and force he bound the reindeer and the dogs back to the great tree, and the Sun and the Moon returned to their places. The gods were pleased, the world was saved, and Hannem went back to his fighting in the mortal world. He lived long, he had many women, who had many children with him, and later he died and his lands were taken by the other heroes, hungry for power and glory. But they say mortals shouldn't touch godly matters, and there has to be some truth in it. Hannem in his struggle with the starlight reindeer have touched the Moon, and in his struggle with the fiery dogs he's touched the Sun. He's fulfilled a divine quest, and so, unbeknownst to him, he had become more god than human. His descendants were stronger than humans, but they were wild and cruel like animals, and their skin turned on them so that they resembled wolves and wild cats. There was nothing of the gods in them, but in their veins there remained a droplet of the blood of the world - the blood of the stars from the starlight reindeer and the blood of fire from the sun dogs. They were tireless and restless like sunfire and their strenght waxed and waned like moonlight. They couldn't live among people - they got into fights and raided their neighbors, and they knew war like nothing else, so everyone feared them.
Finally, the local dukes have lost their patience, and having invited sons and daughters of Hannem to a feast under a pretense of peace offering, they got them drunk and slaughtered them. No one has survived out of the generation of the demigods, but one of them managed to curse the murderers with his last breath, for breaking the sacred rule of hospitality. "May this blood never wash out off the face of this earth!" he shouted. "May your children always wear its brand!"
There's always weight in the words spoken in anger, and those were also sealed with a half-divine bloodshed.
The dukes got scared of the curse. They razed the hall to the ground and burned the bodies of the slain. The settlement was abandoned, soon its ruins became overgrown. The ashes scattered on the wind. Peace came to the land.
Some years later, rich times came to the land. The murder was long forgotten, and the local lords, the descendants of the dukes of yore, expanded their domains and founded new villages. Soon the settlers were sent to the small forest on the hilltop, where once stood a settlement. People ploughed a small grove, and they sown wheat in the soil that was sated with blood of Hannem's children. The wheat has grown, it was milled to make flour, and the flour was made into bread, which was eaten by people. One after the other, the children on these lands, whether lord of peasant, were born with animal eyes, touched by stars and fire, by the Sun and the Moon. Some were killed, other survived. And on the soil watered with blood that should've never come to be there, those, who are neither man nor beast are born to this day.
I've been tagged by @wolfsong-the-bloody-beast! Thanks for the tag and I'm very sorry it took me approximately million years to reply.
As I'm recently on a wave of creativity when it comes to Isaldi, I'm going to reply for my favourite guy to torment I mean, my favourite elven noble, Argo. These are going to be really random and I hope I haven't mentioned them before (or maybe, not in-depth).
While he's pretty capable of taking care of himself, throughout his life at home Argo never had to prepare meals. This, combined with the fact that elves tend to have tough stomachs and a sense of taste working a little differently than humans do, makes for a truly horrible cook. His former master, Gendrain, asked him to cook dinner exactly once, after which Argo was officially banned from doing it ever again. He's able to eat what he cooks and doesn't poison himself with it somehow, but for others it ranges from bland, through awful to borderline inedible. The only exception from the rule is rice and some types of groats - like many elves he's mildly gluten intolerant.
(On the closer inspection it was not only unseasoned, unsalted and not fully cleaned, but also undercooked. Suffices to say, he quickly got himself banned from cooking without close supervision.)
2. He's never tried jousting and has no intention to. Besides not having a proper equipment for it, he thinks it'd be too risky for his horse.
3. Among his people it's a custom to shave down the strip of hair that runs along the spine. Since elves technically can raise their hackles, and their society isn't keen on big displays of emotion, letting the hair grow in is considered to be an unkempt look. Argo finds keeping it shaven to be an unnecessary hassle. It serves as a bit of a visual reminder of the separation from his home, but also he just might like it better that way.
4. Living in the court, and later on the road has taught him a constant state of vigilance. He's got a little bit of a hair trigger - he's capable of reacting very quickly if something unexpected happens, but he has a hard time truly relaxing and letting his guard down. Unless he's absolutely dead tired, he's a very light sleeper.
5. Speaking of which, he developed a specific routine that helps him get enough of sleep on the road without sacrificing much safety. As Signae, his starbound horse, can wake him up using their psychic bond, when they travel alone Signae gets his deep sleep in the evening when Argo's awake, and grazes throughout the night. If Signae, having way more acute senses than his rider, notices anything suspicious, he wakes him up.
The Sun Dogs and the Star Reindeer, the illustration to this text, but without the text itself. It's also two-sided, so I wanted to show how it looks flipped!
