#worldborne

Finally

Over 1000 hours

I love this game

I got a new pc for the first time in 10 years, and the first thing I did was slap mh world on it.

               there was a certain softness that fell upon her countenance,  just as snow blanketed the lands of freljord,  a gentle wintry veil and all of its endless ethereality,  as she regarded the vastayan.  her skin prickled as a soft current of electricity raced throughout her body in a shiver,  rattling the chains of her wings as she shuddered.

               it was instinctual,  something of habit,  as her hand reached for the soft tail curling around her side.  her fingers softly closed around it,  handling it with the most delicate touch as she smoothed down the silken fur.  she leaned her body closer to the looming figure that had appeared by her side,  touching her shoulder against laika’s arm before leaning even further to rest her head against the other.

               her eyelids closed,  long,  midnight lashes fluttering as they fell upon her ivory cheeks.  the corners of morgana’s lips were rising,  ever so slightly,  into the most subtle smile of contentment as she began to hum a low,  sweet melody as she continued to absentmindedly toy with laika’s tail.

it’s not unusual for her to wake up in the middle of the night due to someone needing aid, her little cottage within the shroud was known as a sanctuary for many - from woodwailer to poacher, she treated them all without questioning them.

opening the door with a yawn, she is about to ask which idiot stumbled into a trap again, but when she sees the roegadyn her words get stuck. instead she simply pulls her inside the cottage, gently guiding her to the bed she had reserved for her patients. “don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s my job.” she assures laika with a soft voice, hurrying over to her potions.

    ‹ NEVER ONE TO FASHION HERSELF ALL TOO FOND OF GIFTS; mayhaps the mere idea of getting some was more bewildering than anything else / birthdays had yielded PRACTICAL presents; new parchment, scrolls, quills, tomes that detailed some scriptures of the arcane. Never once had granted bestowals been anything but useful – now that one had lost the capability to see, even practical presents as such had been stripped of their merit. Thus she had settled with letting birthdays pass unmentioned; why, ‘twas not like it would cross people’s mind to think of some ridiculous celebration whilst more pressing matters were at hand. -- her very identity was an enigma after all, not meant to be solved. 

     The only exception, of course, being fellow scions. Those that had come to traverse the gap between Source & First, naturally. Why, they recalled a name, mayhap a date & once former preferences. Recall Tataru surprising you with cake & tea; only to be joined by the rest of their entourage. Not that aforesaid date was anywhere near today yet one could not help but ponder about such a thing when being faced with the situation at hand. Whereas the Night’s Blessed knew better than to knock at her door presenting a bouquet of wildflowers or something just as fatuous, Laika, however, did not.  

     ❛ they are certainly overpowering. ❜  aetherial sight offered naught but their warrior; a simple gleam against the flickering light of occult candles placed ever so conveniently around one’s working place; a single finger set onto some parchment speaking of black magic & the very impact on its surroundings, a tome meant to further her knowledge of ambient aether. She had recalled something similar found in Gubal alas, her memory had truly began to wan; to refresh what forbidden magic had oh so effortlessly dissipated thus took most of her day’s effort. ‘twas perhaps why flowers could not spark any joy; there was no trace of aether left now that they had been plucked from the very earth that had harbored roots & proper nourishment; aye, they would wither & die, left to rot in a worthless woman’s care. -- brows furrow, a single dip of her chin allowing blind glance to focus on other’s towering frame, idle hand risen to perform a petite wave. ❛ as ... beautiful as they may be, I am ill-suited to handle flowers of any kind. Why, their very existence is ... well. ❜

     Ah, she stops herself for but a second, the tail end of muttered sentence stuck in her throat. -- meaningless. You meant to say meaningless. Whisper it underneath your breath, this... wretched, wretched word. To think that, what once belonged to the very matters she cherished more than anything else, had now become prosaic & pointless prompted sentiments she could hardly explain. As if being the victim of a jab against the shoulder / a gut punch; inner eye had long projected images of rich fauna, of forests & lakes & green planes there to give sparse dreams some shape & form. Color. -- ‘till even her dreams had grown dark. There, cue a drawn sigh simultaneously to chin’s descent. Jaw set, a flutter of lids shielding scorched glare from other’s perhaps disheartened sight. -- she would not know; could not read warrior’s reaction or anything of that kind. 

     How peculiar; to think that a mere bouquet of flowers could have such a harrowing effect. Mayhaps she was right to detest gifts these days, for what were they if not a grim reminder of a life she could not have. Of an existence, nay, a person she could no longer be. -- the Hinterlands; with all its fragrances & blooming life, petite coves & glades etched into an otherwise indomitable wilderness. Ah, no matter where those flowers came from [safe to assume it was Ill Mheg; why there was no other alternative], they did remind her: on strolls alongside sister dearest, merry chants cast under tribe sage’s discerning glare. Divine spirits dancing & twirling ‘till it was time to leave & all that came after. Tragedy, separation, a grief she could not fathom. -- blind glare wandered up, a simper worn on stoic visage.