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Wyrdsister

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About Wyrdsister

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    Newly Spawned

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    Wyrdsister #5096
  • Minecraft Username
    Wyrdsister666

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  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    Canada

Character Profile

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

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  1. A short piece of authorship has been spread to many libraries and bookstores, a sort of open letter to the people of Arcas and its scholars... “I beg you forgive an old woman her ramblings... and hope these words find you well. بِسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ I do not know where my father is buried. Yet I know my mother is buried in Atlas. I was born there too, but all my life has been here, in Arcas. I have found love in Arcas, raised my family here. It was here I was married, gave birth, shed blood for comrades, and helped build a nation from nothing in the sands. Now this land may very well be destroyed. In my life I have been many things – a foreigner, a wanderer, a poet and a mystic. To most I am a Qalasheen. To some I will always be, above all, a mother and a warrior. I was there when two of my nation martyred themselves, fighting alongside so many others who made the harshest of sacrifices to defend our world against the Void Horror, at the last battle. I was a young woman then, brave and terrified all at once. I knew nothing of the machinations of the arcane, the vast endeavours to study and halt and fight what seemed to be tears in reality, but what I saw that day changed me. I know it changed many others. I saw Dwarf, Elf, Orc, Human, and all others standing and fighting together against that which would have, should have, sent any sane man running for their lives. I still do not understand all that came to pass that day, but I do know the Descendants had help from mysterious forces, perhaps divine, perhaps something else – of this I know not. What can be said for certain is that we all fought together, and triumphed, even as all hope seemed lost and the world as we knew it seemed to be tearing itself apart. Arcas was saved, and now once more is threatened by forces that seek its destruction. Our destruction. Malfire burns on the horizon even as I write these words. I have seen firsthand the consequences that come with the scouring of worlds, the fleeing of entire races as refugees, be it a blessing or a curse. The Descendants carry the scars of a world lost in their hearts and souls, of a life taken from them and a heritage wiped away. Our graveyards are small and humble. They do not hold the countless legions of lives lost to us, only in our memories and our dusty tomes do they live on. The largest nations to the smallest villages are all the children of those who fled chaos and destruction, displaced and torn from their homes and the homes of their fathers. The sacred sites of the past exist for us only in stories, yet the crimes of the past live on, the grudges and the hatred still haunt us. If we could only walk the earth of Aegis, the lands of our collective origin, how different would our lives be? If we visit the tombs of our most ancient ancestors, see the first Cloud Temple where the Descendants first took breath and walked as mortals, tie our souls to the marks of history? Would we realize just how foolish our petty squabbles are, compared to millenniums of lives lived amongst each other? I can think of only one way to find out the answer to these questions. To do so will require doing what has never been done before in our knowledge of history. To defy and prevent the destruction of a world, our world, and prevent our forced exile from the lands we have fought and bled to make our homes - this is the undertaking I have dreamed of. Once I read the words of a scholar, who declared the Descendants to be nomads – some, like us Qalasheen, once lived as nomads in the truest sense. living beneath the stars, raising their tents on lands untouched by brick or plow. We chose this life. Yet every nation in this world has been uprooted, not by choice, but by necessity. Before Arcas was Atlas, before Atlas the land of Axios, through the ages back to Aegis... perhaps even further, to lands lost to time, inhabited by those who came before our species? Ours is a cycle of upheaval, of destruction and rebuilding, of fleeing endlessly into unknown horizons. Is this cycle God’s gift to us, a defence against stagnation, a promise of rebirth? I cannot claim to know. It can be debated to death by scholars before me and after. But to flee from a fight does not sit well in this heart. Perhaps I am stubborn, foolishly so, to propose what has doubtless been called for dozens of time by scholars lost to the flood of ideals and philosophy written across the ages. It is this very fact, that of so much knowledge lost to time and the fires of change, that makes it seem almost equally vital for such an undertaking to require a complimentary task of collecting and preserving our cultures and histories, should we indeed be forced to flee to a new world once more. We cannot risk losing everything, should the chance present itself to live another day, another cycle, in a new world. This declaration, however, maintains that to accomplish a victory over annihilation itself would be a triumph for our nations and for our God, worth risking our lives for. To finally break the cycle, to keep all we have built, to live in the world we were raised in, loved and lost in, to find out what we can achieve without having to start over again – that is worth dying for. For what we have accomplished in Arcas, building anew from nothing that which can be compared to the glories of the past, and even achieving newly found wonders of innovation and triumph, begs the question: what could we accomplish with twice that time? With a foundation to build upon? With a world of nations united by a victory against the forces of annihilation itself, free from the fear of destruction and exile? I expect your doubts at this proposal. Indeed, I welcome them. Debate is the lifeblood of ideas, ideas the soul of our cultures. Among my people there is a word – Ikhtilaf, difference, disagreement. It is not discord but harmony and growth to us. I suspect, also, that the words I write may very well be ignored. So be it. I write as a woman who has felt the oncoming of death, who knows and embraces mortality. The author and poet seek immortality in memory preserved by ink, mind, and word: though it be in vain, for only Our Creator is truly undying. I hope only that someone will read these words, and perhaps carry the dream of the nations united against the darkness in their hearts. Perhaps even pass it on to their children, their friends, their loved ones. I seek to leave a spark in the minds of but one soul, at least, before I leave this world. Maybe one day we can live in peace, without fear of an end beyond that which found my husband – surrounded by those he loves, holding the hand of his wife, with a smile on his face. He was a warrior with courage in his heart, as so many have been across the history of every race. He died a warrior, but a father too, and a lover of peace and life. He will always be with me. And no matter what the coming days bring to us all, I pray God will always be with you. الله يكون معاك - Fatima al’Ihram al’Nabeel, Humble Servant of God.”
  2. Wyrdsister

    Arcas Mapped

    My baby a master artist omfg ; w ;
  3. “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.
  4. 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
  5. 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.”
  6. Shutting down hate speech in one thing, shutting down all speech is another. #FreeHongKong.
  7. “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.
  8. “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.
  9. 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.”
  10. “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.”
  11. 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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