i will not be updating this blog anymore. as it stands i don’t really care to return to darp and can’t see myself wanting to for the foreseeable future. i have various reasons behind it. i will miss writing with those of you i got to write with, and i’m sorry for not getting to finish our threads. so, as of now, it’s an archive or whatever.
i will not be updating this blog anymore. as it stands i don’t really care to return to darp and can’t see myself wanting to for the foreseeable future. i have various reasons behind it. i will miss writing with those of you i got to write with, and i’m sorry for not getting to finish our threads. so, as of now, it’s an archive or whatever.
i will not be updating this blog anymore. as it stands i don’t really care to return to darp and can’t see myself wanting to for the foreseeable future. i have various reasons behind it. i will miss writing with those of you i got to write with, and i’m sorry for not getting to finish our threads. so, as of now, it’s an archive or whatever.
i will not be updating this blog anymore. as it stands i don’t really care to return to darp and can’t see myself wanting to for the foreseeable future. i have various reasons behind it. i will miss writing with those of you i got to write with, and i’m sorry for not getting to finish our threads. so, as of now, it’s an archive or whatever.
i will not be updating this blog anymore. as it stands i don’t really care to return to darp and can’t see myself wanting to for the foreseeable future. i have various reasons behind it. i will miss writing with those of you i got to write with, and i’m sorry for not getting to finish our threads. so, as of now, it’s an archive or whatever.
i will not be updating this blog anymore. as it stands i don’t really care to return to darp and can’t see myself wanting to for the foreseeable future. i have various reasons behind it. i will miss writing with those of you i got to write with, and i’m sorry for not getting to finish our threads. so, as of now, it’s an archive or whatever.
i sifted through tags and hope i didnt miss you answering something similar, but i was wondering how high priest, or chosen one would be said? i was looking through the lexicon and was going to string the words together but i figured since they are more so titles, there might be more formal ways to say them?
I’m sorry for how long this took, but I had to think a lot about it, and how exactly Elvhen would convey the meanings of Priest, sage, etc.
The official title for Priest or priestess would be Sul’anasha or Tuelanen - servant of the creators. In practice, priests/priestesses would simply be called ha’hren, similar to most respected individuals, rather than their official title.
High Priest would be Raj’sul’anasha or Tuelanen - Lead servant of the creators. In practice, they would be called Raj’ha’hren.
Chosen one, such as a chosen one of the creators, would be Elithem sul’anasha. Chosen servant. Over the centuries, this would have been condensed into the title of Elithanasha.
Again, sorry this took so long.
Sathem.
They are called brothers. They are called Twin Souls.
They are both these things, and they are neither.
They never say it, but they begin. They begin as all life begins; in the inchoate formlessness of the Void. The Beyond breathes life into this nebulous thing from which two gods, in foetal harmony, will be given shape, wearing the trappings of fleshly things. When they are divinities ascendant, they do not claim to be celestial beings, skin of interstellar dust and wreathed in crowns of starlight. They simply are, as though they have always been. Life withers beneath the gazes of the twins when wondering thoughts of lesser elvhen wonder too much.
That they begin at all is a dangerous thing – a weapon wielded against those who claimed to be endless and divine. They do not bleed, it is said instead. Blessed ichor filters through blue-green tributaries, the long tracks of their veins pulsing beneath their flesh.
{ but they do bleed, as all elves bleed. they were born, as all elves were born }
This one soul coalesced into a pearly egg, laden with living purpose. The egg split. The soul followed. Now there are two, identical in all things, burdened with half a soul. They were meant to be a single soul. They were meant to be brothers. But life takes as much as it gives, and an infant brother dies before he ever really began. The twins are not complete when they are alone; not fully themselves when not together. This soul, untethered, slips between worlds, threading through the Weave of the Beyond. It finds a vessel, overlays tissue and bone and spirit. It is chimeric, and takes from this new child. Takes of it. Whatever they had been before, whatever they might have been, they are destined to be bound to their twin soul, their brother in shadow.
They will find one another again. It will take them years, and a childhood filled with a hollowness they could not explain. An ache in the chest, a ghost in the bones. They haunt the Beyond like phantoms, hunting for something they do not understand, brushing across emotional imprints that feel familiar. When they meet at last, it is the coming together of a single soul, split in twain and scattered across continents.
{ They do not say it. They do not need to. But they feel , to their marrow, that they will not allow anything to come between them - to rip them apart, souls hurtling through the Void - so long as they yet draw breath. }
so tell me, how does heaven taste?
Dirthamen - Keeper of Secrets
Speedpaint for ofdirthamen (and also his brother needed the counterpart) :>
(Dirthamen)
The clamor of birds is akin to the rush of a stream: it could mean both good an ill. The stream fat with rain slithered with the recklessness of a well fed snake, it’s winding form consuming more and more, until all the rain has drained from its veins. The call of birds could signal death, disruption, or even dispute– but not this time. It is the cry of acknowledgement that rings high to the sky, gliding over inky wings even as the air glides beneath them, and the symphony is abandoned with descent. Wings spread, catching at the air, and talons spread. The bird gives way for the man, his bare feet sprinting across the earth, and the magick he bears trailing behind him in a faux mist. The earth knows him, sees him, and the mouth that opens to swallow the entry of Dirthamen’s Temple whole yawns in greeting. Flagstones comprise the mouth’s teeth and tongue, a broken door repaired with a passing touch leads him away from the maw, and into the depths.
Only an intruder would alarm him, much like the fools that had blundered into the Temple not long ago, and had mistakenly broken his bonds. They had placed his body onto pedestals, repeated words that did not belong to them, and he had escaped his prison. The prison of live flesh that would likely never mend, not by his hand, and the anger of worshipers who had thought his desire was what they called theirs. He is not alarmed, his leggings damp with flowing water, and Veilfire lighting the walls as he passed. The child he has taken as his own knew not such exertion such a short time ago, but no longer. His intake if breath is not from a winded form, but of awe. He approaches with caution but does not leap forward, nor does he prostate himself, for he is no slave. He treats this reuinion carefully, with concern coloring his soul. The Veilfire plays off his skin, draws out the speckles of pigment that once had not belonged upon him, and sharpens the proof of his undying loyalty: smooth vallaslin.
“Andaran atish’an Our Father– I am most joyous upon your return.”
“ And so you have returned. ”
He speaks with little emotion, tone hushed yet it is carried throughout the hall. Facing away from where the young elf would enter, the god turns his head to glance over his shoulder. The body is far from what he would ever expect, but he finds amusement in it. Young and spry, still growing- in a way, he believes it fitting.
The corner of his mouth curls so faintly, but his shoulder blocks it from view. While Dirthamen does not want to admit to the relief he feels, he cannot deny it. The return of his Chosen marks a new beginning for this world, and the revival of the old. He finds not hope, but reassurance in the resurrection. He plans to rebuild, and he now knows he cannot be stopped.
He sighs quietly, head turning away. “ You were expected here long ago -- but I will not fault you. ” nor will he fault himself; he knows at whose feet blame lies, and justice will be brought.
The thought is pushed aside as he turns to face his most devoted follower. The curl to his lip has faded. His chin inclines and he stares with hooded eyes. “ Regardless, you may find me impressed; I anticipated your revival to be by my hand. ”
Baits for his attention with a plate of lasagna.
im j ust.
walks away.
talking about elgar’nan’s vallaslin and then
[2:02:08 AM] Birby ᕕ( ՞ ᗜ ՞ )ᕗ: that is some straight up braveheart bullshit and u kno it aint no one look good in that sans mel gibson and could u imagine him as an elf no okay [2:02:50 AM] dirthameme: i forgot what mel gibson looked like and all i pictured was danny devito and im chOKING
🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 that's for u if u get me another G.D. animal for me birthday
🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪
what u get for disrespectin me
