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Wyrdsister

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About Wyrdsister

  • Rank
    Newly Spawned

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  • Discord
    Wyrdsister #5096
  • Minecraft Username
    Wyrdsister666

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    Canada

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Fatima Roshani ul'Ihram
  • Character Race
    Human Farfolk Qalasheen

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  1. Wyrdsister

    Arcas Mapped

    My baby a master artist omfg ; w ;
  2. “At the twilight, a moon appeared in the sky... then it landed on earth to look at me. Like a hawk stealing a bird at the time of prey... that moon stole me and rushed back into the sky. I looked at myself, I did not see me anymore. For in that moon, my body turned as fine as the soul. The nine spheres disappeared in that moon...” Fatima sat by her husband’s grave, wreathed in the white silk of a mourner. She cried and stood vigil by his grave for a long, long time. She would say so many things she had never gotten to say, never gotten to understand until Khalid was gone... and say her thanks for so much more. “...and the ship of my existence drowned in that sea...” She thanked her God for the tears He gave her, for they were a mark of a true love. She thanked Him for the pain, for it was a remembrance of so much joy. Inna lillahi, wa inna ilayhi raji'un.
  3. Axolotyn are a bit more out there. You’re not gonna find much in the way of reference art or skins for them, but for these guys you’re better set. I think it’s a great way to incorporate more of the recent Aquatic Update into the map. I’d play one for sure
  4. Fatima nodded in approval as she watched the Fursaan Al-Saqr march past. Among them were some of her children, and her husband... with their discipline, and their strength, she had no doubt they would be able to face the harshness of the world. With their brotherhood, and their wisedom, she had no doubt they would not waver. “Haiya a'lall falah... and may we ever pray for peace, but be ready for war.”
  5. Shutting down hate speech in one thing, shutting down all speech is another. #FreeHongKong.
  6. “In traditional Chinese culture, qi or ch'i (simplified Chinese: 气; traditional Chinese: 氣; pinyin: qì) is believed to be a vital force forming part of any living entity. Qi translates as "air" and figuratively as "material energy", "life force", or "energy flow". Qi is the central underlying principle in Chinese traditional medicine and in Chinese martial arts. The practice of cultivating and balancing qi is called qigong.” In the context of Chinese tradition, it’s considered more akin to natural science, separate from traditional Chinese magic.
  7. “Yet more proof the Morsgardians see politics as an extension of extortion...” a resident of Talon’s Grotto muttered, folding up the latest copy of the letters that detailed the intrigue before tucking it away into her silks.
  8. Fatima ul’Ihram al-Nabeel sighed as she looked over her children, twin sons not yet six, playing on the carpet of her home in the Grotto. She read over a copy of the letter, remembering standing in the cold wind of Morsgrad beneath the Ashtree on her visit their years ago, before her marriage. The people there had been as warm and hospitable as the chill had been bitter and cold... should they now be turned against each other? How could they punish and blame the people here, without even knowing who was responsible? She gently lowers a silver spoon into a cup of fragrant tea, watching steam rise and twist in the air past her silken veil, murmuring to herself. “We will lose, they will lose... Iblis will be the only victor if this war comes to pass... fear of war, and pain of loss have clouded all our judgements. The ones responsible for this, whether they are a traitor in our midst or Morsgrad’s, whether they leaked this knowledge or butchered women and children on this caravan... “We can only pray Allah’s judgement is swift. And no more innocent blood is shed.”
  9. “Pedar sag khâreji...” Fatima swore harshly under her breath, narrowing her eyes as she flipped through the letters that had made their way into her hands through the mercantile routes. She leaned an elbow against the stack of leather-bound books set atop her merchant’s stand – any trader in information worthy of their trade comes to know of the newest publications before the ink has yet dried. “We would wager our finery that this Acolyte was the man we spoke with on that last caravan journey... and here we thought it strange for a Canonist to show curiosity in others’ ways!” “Damn...” She tossed the script aside, muttering to herself in her heavy accent and odd pronouns. “We will not speak of our faith with any more infidels, lest they twist our words against us like this one... his mind is corrupted as his false Church, and all its priests which corrupt the pure words of the Prophets and invent to justify their power.”
  10. Wyrdsister

    Wyrdsister666

    She was far too young to remember the migration as anything but a blur of chaotic, whirling anxiety and uncertain voices whispering in the night, firelight playing shapes across the cloth of the tent. When she grew older, however, she grew aware that the older children often had fathers. Only her mother and sister survived, it seems. Fatima was of the Ihram, an obscure and isolated tribe, even by Qalasheen standards, and the journey to Arcas was harsh and fraught with heartache and misfortune. She grew up knowing only her family as a home, and seems to carry a sort of nervous restlessness if staying in one place for too long – as a girl her only friends were books and a single sibling, her older sister Sayyida, with whom she frequently expressed their deep bond by tormenting each other and fighting at every opportunity. When they weren’t fighting, they were scheming – plotting pranks and heists, explorations and adventures. Her mother had her hands full. Faith was always in her blood, it seemed – a general wonder at the world, a gratefulness for life. She remains a deeply religious woman – though with her own mystical, esoteric flair. Her mother taught her faith, and books taught her about the world. Precious and few, her mother would surprise her with a new one on special occasions, and Fatima knew just how much they cost in a life of itinerate drifting and little coin. They were peddlers, at times worthy of being called merchants. At other times they were pilgrims – her mother loathed the term ‘beggar’ and would not except handouts, only alms – or simply wanderers, willing to do whatever work put food in their stomachs and gave them somewhere safe to rest. Then the wars came, distant citadels with distant nobles vying for power, and wrecking havoc across the land in the wake of their ambitions. In times of unrest and uncertainty, it is often easier to find someone else to blame, someone present and visible. It helps if they are an outsider, who you don’t understand. Fatima’s mother was murdered by a band of butchers, and she and her sister Sayyida fled into the wilderness for a time, staying alive by stealing. Sayyida changed. She took on something of her mother’s strength, and did things... Fatima isn’t sure how to feel about. All she knew is that her sister did them to protect her. They survived – and as things got easier, they grew older, into women, and in time parted. Sayyida had found a good man, and wished to settle down and join his tribe, leaving her past behind her. Fatima wasn’t... ready for a new family. She said her goodbyes with her beloved sister, and promised to keep in touch – and then was left alone and uncertain. For the first time in her life she had no responsibilities, but no direction. A talented, bright and experienced young woman, she has never held a stable employment or known anyone outside of her own people. Eventually, tired of ruminating and worrying, she did what she knew best. She put her feet on the road and began to wander, letting the Creator guide her path.
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