Vethysnia
'Royal Phoenix'
Narghile
 
The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower, and bright are the windows of night in her tower.
Royal Phoenix joined on 01-21-2017 and is played by Tasha.
They have accumulated 24 posts ( Find All Posts ), 3 threads ( Find All Threads ), and they were last seen 10-20-2017, 01:24 PM.
Age: VIII
Gender: Female
Species: Canis
Tribal Rank: None
Spiritual (magic) Rank: Conceiver
Biped Syndrome: Yes
Stones ❂: 591.85
Items:
Other
 

the voice
Play By: Nerissa Kamoy Irving

I n t r i n s i c s

Birthplace – The Gold Serpent Clan of the Rajasthan Steppe Birthright – Holy Shamaness of the Rajasthan Steppe, daughter of King Mussama
Cosmic Alignment – Centauri Alpha, 8th House
Gene Pool Zodiac – The Jaguar
Lineage – Kin of Yemaya
Mineral – Moukaite
Aroma – Poppy-Pollinated Coffee

A c c e s s o r i e s

Gold ball chains
Anubis arm cuff
Undying white lily
Black clay war paint
Cow bone wide tooth comb set
Under-tail satchel

M y t h o s

  • Power :: "Even absolute righteousness, most times, means absolute power. To conquer evil is to seek the same vein sought by its own tendrils."

  • Justice :: "My wisdom lies in knowing when to lay down my brandished blade, and when to use it."

  • Essence :: "A key unlike any other, one I am desperate to decipher. Or at least, to know, and to touch."

  • Virginity :: "It is a gift, and a curse, to mate me and to mate with me. It is a sealing bond, one shrouded in the lore of my celestial pedigree. Above all, to love me in any way will incur great suffering. Neither my destiny nor my fate, despite my bloodline, resemble any form of true innocence."

  • Procreation :: "Sacks of flesh...able to feel and think as I do, weighing me down yet lifting me high above. The concept tempts, how it does. But we as beings move farther from our primal need to reproduce the more we realize what a cruel, and bitter world into which we would be birthing our fragile children."

  • S o r c e r y

  • Receptor of Void :: The root of her power dwells in the concavities of natural darkness, wherein the tiniest hint of light can tip the scales between fate and destiny. Within her she carries the expanse of cosmic vacuum, her orifices oft morphed into portals. Sometimes these succulent, divine views are filled with stars and nebulae, others it is the terrifying, and forceful consummation of pure, unrelenting nothingness. It is from this blackened pit of astral gorging that she receives the omens of which she once spoke unto her kin. This power is still incredibly weak, only pushed to the mere limit of fortune telling. She will seek to tame, and master this strength further as the Isle continues to test her.

  • 99 Hands of Oshun ::
  • Appearance
     
    هذا الصباح انتقلنا الشمالية
    مرة أخرى
    من خلال الأدغال غريب.
    ونحن نعلم أن العدو ما زال يتبع:
    في الليل نرى نيرانهم،
    بعد يوم غبارها.


    This morning we moved North again
    Through strange bush.
    We know the enemy still follows:
    By night we see their fires,
    By day their dust.


    Q u a d r u p e d
    The silken seamstress of gold beams of sunrise and sunset hue strewn violently across sky canvas. First the color of pure light, warm and radiant with the oily glow of satin shine whose luminescence tapers to the dark mantled cosmos of night's fathomless brigade.

    Her eyes swallow and consume, their blackened pits with slits of gray sapience warding off those who cannot resist her enigma, and coercing them further into a deathly grasp alike.

    Her slender thigh bears the birthmark scar of Pluto, whose underworld kingdom would forever be kept at bay and the mercy of pure unrelenting brightness.

    Profuse plumage bustles in the richness of grapes, of a reminiscent tall regal headdress donned only by they of such privileged and hereditary ancestry.

    And a white orchid; for purity, of course.


    B i p e d
    Youth, inexperience; how they taint her flesh, sully the wisdom perpetually frothing and effervescing beneath. Quilted with smooth, flawless seams with the dark, each roving curve of lithe, supple skin kissed with endless sun and ostensibly reflective, perhaps even glowing when thriving with health.

    With a stature so diminutive, upon two legs she is oft deemed harmless, the beauty flaunted unknowingly by her person mysteriously beguiling and frightening alike. A crown of coiled, dreaded hair flays wildly from the pillars of her neck and skull, long, relentless, so richly embraced in cocoa hues they appear woven with the blackest of astral darkness.
    Personality
     
    هذا الصباح انتقلنا الشمالية
    مرة أخرى
    من خلال الأدغال غريب.
    ونحن نعلم أن العدو ما زال يتبع:
    في الليل نرى نيرانهم،
    بعد يوم غبارها.


    This morning we moved North again
    Through strange bush.
    We know the enemy still follows:
    By night we see their fires,
    By day their dust.


    I remember my thoughts as I gazed upon sheltered loft at the seas chaos forever careening and eroding my family's shore. How I stood there each morn and eve, contemplating succulent life, sifting the scales of death, weighing my prosperity, by aeons of blood shed and the tears which I've graciously dried. They say my heart pumps this body full of frigid ice water. That I fear not pain, not death, or the faint ambrosia of the unknown. Oh yes, this shell remains stoic, so the bruised flesh beneath may continue to bleed an endless river for the weak.

    Fleeing not from neither fantasy or reality, she has found his place among the tender threshold of dream and awakening, a creature familiar and entirely at ease within realms untold, midst views unseen.

    She is literally the mouth-like gateway to both everything and nothingness, and her reach, both kinetic and metaphysical, is frighteningly grand.

    Those who wish to escape the sheer precision of her honed psyche and temptingly merciless sagacity must build walls, moats, and carve deep rivers in order to keep such invasive intuition at bay.

    Mistake not her generosity, and kindness. Queenly and mindful, she is highly attuned to the emotions and needs of others. Fairness, and justice, are held dear to her beneath the seething waves of depths rarely foretold.

    She is also not above the painful act of sacrifice, whether it is the existence of another for the good of the many, or herself for similar purpose. Her intent may wax mystery, but the core of its writhing volition time and time again proves pure and unadulterated.

    She absorbs all; utilizing all forms of energy and blessedly sending it back to its sacred origin to be recycled once more. Beneath the veils, constructs, and carefully placed compulsions, she has the potential for miraculous healing, and yet has found far more personal satisfaction through means of conflict.

    Through years of individualized and unique self inflicted and intrinsic discipline her deepest desire is to purge the suffering that plagues her, and oft seeks to perform the same for those who surround her.

    Puerile, yet strangely seasoned, the woman is a pertinent incarnate of the great web that binds all and any.
    History
     
    هذا الصباح انتقلنا الشمالية
    مرة أخرى
    من خلال الأدغال غريب.
    ونحن نعلم أن العدو ما زال يتبع:
    في الليل نرى نيرانهم،
    بعد يوم غبارها.


    This morning we moved North again
    Through strange bush.
    We know the enemy still follows:
    By night we see their fires,
    By day their dust.


    Vocally enscribed by King Mussama of the Rajasthan Steppe
    cohesive memory documented the night of Princess Shamaness Vethysnia's disappearance

    The sheer power in this girl...how was a father to truly reckon so early on? The signs were there, but all men who adore their kin do anything for their happiness, no matter the cost. Mad, no? I sacrificed everything for her, and she demanded more, and rightfully so.

    Surely you wonder why I side with my betrayer, and the answer is simple. Her answer was forever pure, forever anointed with the sacred oils of unrelenting truth, and whatever prophecy came from her lips, be it lyrical or the spitting of a viper, all who knew her well wisely revered her omens.

    Omens...how can I even reduce them to that. Whatever she uttered, would eventually come true. Either my daughter really could foretell the future, or even more frightening, she could bend the very universe to each whim she machinated. But such is the desperate speculation of a tired, senile old man, for my daughter, too, was a wise and modest woman, generous, compassionate.

    But wrong her, and her cold distance would fester like a seed, and she would surely watch with a semblance of deep, repressed pleasure as they who took her for granted writhed without her divining presence. She was destined for greater things. Grander things.

    She would steal away in the night, silent with a glacial breeze and darkness in her wake (so fitting of her, so appropriately my beautiful daughter), only this time never to return. Even now, I truly believe it was not she who forsook us, but us unto she, ergo, she would search to find the ultimate source of her miraculous gifts. How I long for her happiness.

    How I long for her safety. How I long for her to find what she so desperately sought.




    Birthed, trained, humbled, and then inflated by two distant but mindful parents, she became the woman she is within the near utopian confines of a seaside desert tribe with rich unearthly heritage. She never sought to be isolated in her childhood, but it was discernible from her evocative, heeding, and strangely independent nature that the others in her generation would find the young woman hard to assess. Gifted in the ways of the seer and masterful in dominating the more volatile elements within herself, she would, in the years that followed, earn the recognition of the tribe's spiritual leaders.

    And eventually, on the sixth sun cycle after her entrance into the world, she would be given the title of High Shamaness, the youngest in over a century. There was, growing within her, a ruthless and idealistic sense of justice she felt she must fulfill, and she also found herself wary of the idea of staying in one place for the rest of her finite existence. She would observe her own tribe now rife with the seedlings of resentment, knowing how much they sinned each day by wasting their potential. Sometimes she almost longed for death, for the release of her soul into the great beyond, to at last become one with the great mystery that would certainly envelope them all after their long journey of fleshly becoming.

    Her mind was sharp, senses honed, intuition a ceaseless ethereal machine, but they would never be enough if she confined herself to one life, one way, one ending. She, without emotion, announced her plan of embarking on a trek of new truths to her tribe, and they gave her no rebuttal for the decision. When she set out that night the next full moon graced the skies, her father wept for her eventual and safe. But perhaps she was never to return. There was a world out there, a world that suffered and thrived and constantly shifted within the sands of time and circumstance. She wondered if it was wrongful to feel such wanderlust. Yet to deny it would be an insult to her craft.

    For months she remained alone, by then a great distance separating her from what was once her entire origin. At last, she washed up upon the shores of Eshteth, exhausted and invigorated, sensing the seeds of chaos even from afar, each aging border laced in a harrowing omen of ripened malevolent energy. There was a budding fruit of fear within her for what she would encounter. And yet, she entered despite this. Fear is only feasted upon by the feeble.

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