princess_of_ida: (1)
Deathwarden Ianthe Tridentaruis ([personal profile] princess_of_ida) wrote2030-05-28 06:33 pm

IC Inbox

Three for the gleam of a jewel or a smile.



text/audio/video/passive aggressive notes
seaboard: (⌜𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-03 06:31 am (UTC)(link)
It does. But are there too many hours on it? I am not sure. I have never seen anything like it! It's so clever! It lights up too, sometimes.
seaboard: (⌜𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-03 06:50 am (UTC)(link)
I am not sure. How many hours are meant to be in the day?
seaboard: (Default)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-03 07:28 am (UTC)(link)
Oh.

It has 28. The watch. It counts 28 hours.
seaboard: (⌜𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-04 02:36 pm (UTC)(link)
I will just set it back in the morning to keep it running the same, then.

[ hum, hum, hum. it's just! so neat! ]

Dinosaurs. Is that what they are called? Do they come from space, too? Have you seen them?
seaboard: (⌜𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-05 07:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ She thinks for a minute. ]

Oh, I think we have some of those!

Is the Woolly Mammoth a type of these creatures?
seaboard: (⌜𝚃𝚘 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-05 02:50 pm (UTC)(link)
That would make sense, I have spoken to some whales and turtles, many of whom are hundreds of years old, they tell us of the changes that happen. And of what has not.
seaboard: (⌜𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-06 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
[ Please hold while that translates into iron age.

Or you know, doesn't. ]


Cursed air circle?
seaboard: (⌜𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-06 07:01 am (UTC)(link)
[ She frowns, trying to understand it as she explains, and yes, that does make a little bit more sense. ]

I follow, I think? Everything would die, the waters would boil, the land would be sick?
seaboard: (⌜𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-07 12:16 am (UTC)(link)
[ That is such an awful thing to hear she cannot quite - cope in the idea of it. ]

Perhaps yes, often what lives in the depths is so beyond all living beings of the surface. Much of what troubles them, is not even an idea to life in the deep.
Edited 2023-12-07 00:17 (UTC)
seaboard: (⌜𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-07 02:52 am (UTC)(link)
... I cannot imagine such destruction as you speak of it. But... if it should help...

I would ask for discretion. This is matter of the mystery rites, reserved only to the highest of my family, as only we are able to have forms that allow us to go to such depths, even of our own people.

But I have seen the places in the deep, myself, at the bottom of the Great Sea. The old First-Child guided me there himself, with my younger sister, as we came of age, now my brother does it. Where the Sea-Father took the sparks from the Land-Mother when she danced creation to her own splintering. At the deepest places, first it goes cold, and then it becomes very, very hot as you reach the place where the Sea hides over Land, this is the place of their union.

There at the bottom is the nursery of life. Where the first beings were cared for, from long, long before there were birds or beasts or snakes or fish. No trees or flowers. Certainly long, long before man.

They are so small, so fine, so delicate as to feel like they would break if you breathed on them too harshly. Yet strong, for the pressure at the bottom of the ocean is immense, it could crush even iron.

[ that overwhelming pressure Ianthe had felt that day was in part how they endured it, by embodying it. ]

Those creatures, at the very center, made at the very beginning, they have existed long before the follies of man, and they are fed from the heat and hot-poison air that breaks out from the land below. What would kill all other life, sustains them, and continues the cycle. So what would surely kill all other beings, in that place, would never hurt them. From them, all life comes, from the greatest of forms to the lesser of creatures, all will be born once more, even if it might take centuries and centuries for it to occur.
seaboard: (⌜𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚘⌟)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-07 03:09 am (UTC)(link)
I will be there.

--

[ As well as the conversation could go, given her own lack of ability to truly confront anyone unless it had gone past all reason (or her zadza was playing up -) she is as good as mood as could be expected.

But she is glad to see Ianthe, glad to have the distraction. Ever her practical self, she still makes sure to dress nicely when she goes to visit Ianthe for the night. Hair braided but without her veils, her nicer skirt, and knows to call out her voice rather than try the door.
]

Ianthe! I am here!

[ Basket under one arm for dinner, she waits for the door to open. ]
seaboard: (⌜𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-07 03:55 am (UTC)(link)
[ In she comes, about to ask all the usual questions about how she is, how her last few days had been. All sorts of typical nothings to talk about.

Thinks there the purpose is otherwise though, when Ianthe immediately turns her towards the bedroom -
] Ianthe, let me take my shoes off at least before we -

[ And then she sees it, and then she stops.

It was like the air was stolen out of her lungs. Her heart going so still, so quiet, it was like she could not hear it at all, but oh, could she feel it, as she looked across the painted sea over the wall.

Her breath stuck, swallowing down as she stepped away from Ianthe's hold, towards it. Her fingers lifted like she went to greet that painting as if it were real, as if it were an old friend. So utterly, and completely entranced for one moment, so beyond herself.

She lays one hand against it, finding it only to be the wood of the wall that stands as the canvas, but she hardly cared. So without the sight of waves for so long, even just to see it in a painting, for a moment, is balm on her heart. The tears hitch, leaking at the edge of her eyes as she leans her forehead to the wall, as if she could tip herself through it directly into those waiting waves as she just breathes there, she just holds and looks at the delicately painted white-tipped waves and imagines the sound, she brushes the sand of the shore, and remembers the feeling of the grain between her feelings that had seemed to fade over the weeks away.
]

Hello, my Great-Father. [ She whispers as a child does their prayers, knowing it is not the same, not even caring that Ianthe sees her like this. This raw, profound emptiness that for a moment is so exposed, this ancient, sacred longing that left a pit in her over the months here now that spills from her lips. Her faith so absolute, and her love is pure to it. ] Sea-Father, Land-Mother, one of your children is here, She Who Sings the Ocean to Prosperity. I am sorry, I am so sorry, that I have been away, to be so far from your glory and give of sacrifice in your honour. But I pray to you still, Holy-Father, I hope you hear me, even so far away. I go to the lakes, and the wells, I give my bread and my flowers to these lesser depths that they may find you. I have your dreams, and hope that means you know me still - all my hope I have. Least amongst your children, I ask only that you remember me one day, to please do not forget me, when I return and grant me place still in your realm as your servant.

[ Her eyes close as she says the prayers she has said nightly since she arrived, turning her cheek into the wood, the tears spilling hot on her face but she does not care as she holds herself against that image for all it means to her. ]
seaboard: (Default)

[personal profile] seaboard 2023-12-07 05:04 am (UTC)(link)
[ She does not flinch or fold away from the touch. Instead, she lays her arms over Ianthe, and turns her head to kiss her forehead briefly, pressing the tears against Ianthe's cheek. ]

This is my Tuerintis, Prince Ianthe Naberius, [ she continues, brushing her thumb over Ianthe's wrist as she talks. ] I name her so because she has hair like gold of the butterflies of home, like them she is beautiful and yet, is drawn to the dead. [ Why she has chosen the name, all this time later. ] She is Death-Guarder, Death-Embracer, Death-Strider, Saint of Awe. Who Weaves Skin as Silk. Born of Twin-Bodies. I love her, Holy Father, she embraced my soul and the-soul-that-is-you, in whole, without fear as is done by Old Songs.

[ She squeezes Ianthe's hand tightly a moment, fond, caring. ] I ask you, on her behalf, to bring safe tides to her sister. One who is known by the name of Coronabeth, Heir to the Third House, who was thought dead by name but not in flesh. She will be found in Time's Realm, where they sail their ships. Guard her as that of my own family, I give her Blessings of the House of St. Loe, so she knows fair tides and bright skies, quick winds that never tear, and a hull that never rots, so she may return one day, to Ianthe, safe and whole.

cw: mild-ish blood sacrifices

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