Dec 6, 2025
Isone semi-transformed. This is actually an old drawing but still love her design. Maybe is just an excuse to dress her up idk hahaha
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Isone semi-transformed. This is actually an old drawing but still love her design. Maybe is just an excuse to dress her up idk hahaha
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I just love the, political marriage trope. There is so much to it, there are so many implications, ways to use it, how it twists the already existing relationships. The politics of it, how a union can set so many things into motion. Especially if the people somewhat know of each other and have a whole new relationship to figure out.
Vision of a pale woman with raven hair, clad in gold chainmail and breastplate taking on the battlefield, fierce and scary. She almost seems like a mirage of righteous fury, fueled by anger and pain. She is not hateful towards the enemies, just swift death approaching as painless as possible. Every night she prays to her godess for the souls of those who fell that day, no matter on which side. She is angry at the forces standing against her, oppressing this land, but never the soldiers she encounters.
The Sixth Keeper of the Sun Tower has taken a side.
It is believed that the War of the Ancient Trees was ended by the famous words of An'Chéad Ghaoth Halerion "If I shall fall, let me fall gracefuly for house Demercius and our future king. May his valor bring us to our homeland."
They were never sure which homeland he ment, Izran that they had lost already or the place they haven't won yet.
But it didn't matter, the news of Halerion's death had rippled through the conflict. The most loyal and beautiful of all swordsman was killed and the elves turned on each other even more. Field by rage leaving only carnage behind the Izreans started winning a breakthrough in the century of war.
But a sudden and unexpected decision took place, Valanor Demercius surrendered. Proposing the Treaty of The Second Name, saying that "The swords and soil had seen too much prescious blood and our kingdom is worth more than a broken crown."
The rest of the tale of the prince in exile is rather a solem story, even when Nuala bore him a many children he never seemed to find joy in his family, he was disappearing like a wraith as was reported by those who were still welcome in the princes' presence, and there were not many.
In his death, as was his wish, he was buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in the Izran Woods.
It is this historians question and concern if there is something obvious that we are missing. Why would an experienced and belove leader as Ghrian Láidir Demercius fold a winning hand for a title that ment nothing to those who had survived.
But the answer may be simple, dear future monarch, sometimes the wellbeing and insurance of survival of you own people is more important than your war.
['Notes on Rulership and Warfare' by An'Chéad Brainse Mirvan, The archive of Sunpoint Library, Golden Orchard]
The more you run away from a backstory, or if I can see your character slipping away from the world, usually their morality can be in question, consequences do not really matter to them or I feel like they need to be somewhat grounded to the world. The bigger I'll go with a backstory twist to hit you in the face, lovingly, with it. But in general I love doing big things with my player's backstory, it's a gift for you and honestly if they were not so fucking special, would they be heroes of this story in particular?
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Plotting scheming big time, welcome to level 10 my beloved.
"Je t'adore," he repeats nuzzling into her palm like a tired cat, letting out a relieved sigh. It has been too much and not far enough for so long, but now, nothing else matters. Nothing else ever did.
"Take Me Back To Eden by Sleep Token" is so their song so feel free to listen to it while you read.
“I have not cut my hair since the last time I saw you,” she almost whispers as she wants him to know, but is too terrified to speak. Hoping it will soften him, he looks so stern, so cold. Not at all the lighthearted prince she once knew.
“Your seat is still waiting for you in the council room, I could not bring myself-,” his voice breaks and she finally dares to look up at him. Tears on the brink of falling, falling like she fell centuries ago for the son of a king she was sent to kill, line his eyes full of stars, “it had waited for you, as I have.”
“I thought you would never forgive me.”
“I had forgiven you the moment I realized what you had done, but you were already gone,” descending the few steps leading to his throne to meet her eye and carefully holding her face, wiping away the tears of sorrow, guilt and joy mixed together, “My love, My moth, My star, the only star in the dazzling night sky worth looking at.”