note — all are welcome, but please, be aware that Cake and I do have characters in AO and EM (aka, no claiming from EM pls). Also, please wait until Clodovea and Hana have been posted before bringing in your recruits!
Un tirra ual — the Land of Flowers ; the name danced upon the morning’s birdsong, but the bright and melodious trills were not what Saoirse Visala listened for. Green eyes scanned the early morning skies, skimming across tendrils of cloud until, at last, a flash of black sparked against the pale backdrop. The bird—a black-winged kite—gave a cry and banked, swooping low until it alighted on Saoirse’s pale shoulder in a flurry of trills. The lioness listened closely, gaze sweeping once in the direction of the sand bar that lay before them before turning back to where two of her cheeks—her children—awaited.
The small group had arrived under the cover of night, and while motherly—albeit, selfish—instinct had urged Saoirse to press onward, a whisper of the Great Winds had given her pause. Maybe, just maybe, the winds had whispered, this land—what lay beyond the stretch of sand and mist—could be the salvation they were looking for — what so many others in their now ravaged tribe were looking for.
“Artwh, Vizzishi,” Saoirse trilled softly as the black-winged kite alighted to the skies once more. Thank you. She watched the bird disappear amongst the clouds, then motioned for her daughters, @Clodovea and @Hana, to rise. As they laid beneath the stars, Saoirse had done her best to prepare them for what was to come — what might unfold. These lands were, undoubtedly, unlike their homelands; peace and equality would not reign as it had within their meadows and forests. Saoirse hoped for these things—such precious, familiar things—to gift to her daughters, their family — but the jeweled lioness was a pragmatist; she knew the likelihood of what—or who—was to greet them.
“Maka,” Come, she chirped, smiling softly. She pressed her nose to their cheeks in reassurance, and together, mother and daughters began the trek across the sand. Though she remained outwardly calm, tension roiled within her gut; her gaze shifted as quick as a hummingbird, flitting to and fro; here and there; left to right. With keen awareness, Saoirse studied the red rocks that rose up in the distance—noted the continuation of the rocks as the range curved inland—and as they neared the gap in its center, it became clear to the lioness that they had arrived at some kind of gateway.
Saoirse drew to a halt. “Kuuraa & shey,” Watch and listen, she instructed, the series of chirps and trills a whispering melody, “Leer keyta bwitidara cabe yel nani oowal que tirra.” Study their ways so we might understand this land. And with that, she returned to her guard, watching; waiting — the hope for their future but a tiny flame burning within her breast.
+10 - notable landmark x2 (1/2)
+5 - learn full name/rank x2 (x/2)
+5 - study landscape of area x2 (1/2)
Un tirra ual — the Land of Flowers ; the name danced upon the morning’s birdsong, but the bright and melodious trills were not what Saoirse Visala listened for. Green eyes scanned the early morning skies, skimming across tendrils of cloud until, at last, a flash of black sparked against the pale backdrop. The bird—a black-winged kite—gave a cry and banked, swooping low until it alighted on Saoirse’s pale shoulder in a flurry of trills. The lioness listened closely, gaze sweeping once in the direction of the sand bar that lay before them before turning back to where two of her cheeks—her children—awaited.
The small group had arrived under the cover of night, and while motherly—albeit, selfish—instinct had urged Saoirse to press onward, a whisper of the Great Winds had given her pause. Maybe, just maybe, the winds had whispered, this land—what lay beyond the stretch of sand and mist—could be the salvation they were looking for — what so many others in their now ravaged tribe were looking for.
“Artwh, Vizzishi,” Saoirse trilled softly as the black-winged kite alighted to the skies once more. Thank you. She watched the bird disappear amongst the clouds, then motioned for her daughters, @Clodovea and @Hana, to rise. As they laid beneath the stars, Saoirse had done her best to prepare them for what was to come — what might unfold. These lands were, undoubtedly, unlike their homelands; peace and equality would not reign as it had within their meadows and forests. Saoirse hoped for these things—such precious, familiar things—to gift to her daughters, their family — but the jeweled lioness was a pragmatist; she knew the likelihood of what—or who—was to greet them.
“Maka,” Come, she chirped, smiling softly. She pressed her nose to their cheeks in reassurance, and together, mother and daughters began the trek across the sand. Though she remained outwardly calm, tension roiled within her gut; her gaze shifted as quick as a hummingbird, flitting to and fro; here and there; left to right. With keen awareness, Saoirse studied the red rocks that rose up in the distance—noted the continuation of the rocks as the range curved inland—and as they neared the gap in its center, it became clear to the lioness that they had arrived at some kind of gateway.
Saoirse drew to a halt. “Kuuraa & shey,” Watch and listen, she instructed, the series of chirps and trills a whispering melody, “Leer keyta bwitidara cabe yel nani oowal que tirra.” Study their ways so we might understand this land. And with that, she returned to her guard, watching; waiting — the hope for their future but a tiny flame burning within her breast.
+10 - notable landmark x2 (1/2)
+5 - learn full name/rank x2 (x/2)
+5 - study landscape of area x2 (1/2)
| code to pine |
It was not at all in Clodovea's nature to be silent, but there was something about the towering red rock gate in the distance that held the girl's voice captive. Any time she set her eyes upon it, her stomach became alive with activity; the tickling butterfly wings of eager excitement and the cold wriggling worms of anxious anticipation alike. She had leaned on @
