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thequeennadine

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About thequeennadine

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  • Minecraft Username
    Quessinost

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    CA USA
  • Interests
    Dungeons & Dragons, Forgotten Realms, Elves.

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Dubh Ainmhí
  • Character Race
    eLf

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  1. IGN: Quessinost Category: Visual Art! Work: link version (i think imgur and the forums might compress it soz) I've not taken many chances to go on any Event related adventures, but I have had my own journey in being welcomed by an amazing community in the Vale of Nevaehlen. And subsequently delving into the terrifying delirium that are some of our... eerier magicks, here! The piece represents a conflict seen inside my character, as she sets off for a new adventure, away from this awry portent, and the brewing threat of war. Or, directly towards it!
  2. "O' First Cousin of the Freakiest, I would thoroughly enjoy an item autographed by Malik. Similarly, if you would offer an invitation towards him for me, I would appreciate it. There is to be a party held at some point or another, planned by myself and the wayward figure that is QARD. You and your cousin are both encouraged to attend! Adoringly, Dubh Ainmhí."
  3. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE SCHISM “What was once a charitable people scattered like roaches into crevasse, clan, and cairn alike, seeking shelter in the places where none others go save for need. Mali’ wrought for themselves an existence of cruelty and mindless fear, despising each other within their hearts- for they each served as an eternal reminder of their fallen state. Their sire was gone and they were now hunted, surviving each day in huddled terror and abundant mistrust. Rue the day that wrath burned hotly enough in one of our kin’s bellies to spur them towards revenge. For as swiftly as a hand was raised to lash out in violence, we were damned to shrivel and die from within.” - Dubh Lorelei, A Record of Sorrow Words wrought of my mother’s memory, scribed above in a labor of love, leveled towards my kin. Mali’ of Nevaehlen, please, hear me and understand. The pamphlet pinned below was delivered to several individuals, locations, and response-boxes. Each was written on my parchment, by my direction, and was cast forth by my bird. It was not my intention to feed into the vicious cycle of seclusion and exclusion, however. By no means did I expect real, sweeping banishments to come of this. The Vale of Nevaehlen is strong, and it will never fall prey to such ridiculous delusions. But that does not mean the sad reality it faces is any better, kin; it does not mean that this unequal, unorderly, unchecked status quo is any less threatening. A friend, a sister, a daughter of our community was cast out. Without a trial. Without the chance, even, to offer any goodbyes. Shortly after, we were warned off- by silent missive- from following in her footsteps. From associating with the banished and shunned, lest we suffer in kind. All the while, more brazen injustices were kept from the public eye. When shoved into view, these accusations were approached tepidly, bereft of the fervor their uglier nature demands. Few were capable of focusing on the raw truth of these issues, and instead took to the safety of hidden nooks. All too comfortable in their correctness. In not having been named for their crimes, they assuredly found peace. It remained unknown to you all that Miven, our dear Matriarch and the leader who has given so much for us all, was likewise tied to the likes of Qard by way of binding contract. This is an issue no more, surely. The same might be said about many of the issues outlined in my pamphlets. But if Vinwë was judged for a folly so-old, and without a chance to appeal to her family, her community, where is the line drawn? These are my pleas, to my kin of Nevaehlen. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Do not cast eachother out into this wartorn, fetid land. We have cowered and readied ourselves in the face of repugnant Malinor’s threats. Do not pretend that the world is a safe place for a discarded Nevaehli, not now. Do not allow your betters to levy judgment without your say. They must not pretend our community, our family, is unfit to take care of its own. Demand a right to trial. Do not stand by and allow your wooden walls to be cast in silver, or pearl luster. The value of a community as ours is not in its uniformity. It is in the purity of our love. Abandoning a member of the family for their differences, as opposed to trying to help them improve, adapt, or teach you in turn, is a vile symptom of perverse arrogance. At this point, I know. Unity is only ever a lie fed to us by would-be tyrants or foolish idealists. We are fragmented as a people, and a heavy burden is set on us as a result. What few elven communities do exist, must be fair, and prosperous. If nothing else, I hope we can all agree on this. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Desperately, Dubh Ainmhí
  4. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was a listless few weeks for Ainmhí, after her realization of the truth. Days of idling about the Vale with neither destination nor purpose. Clinging to her familiar haunts; spaces found on the fringes of conversation, but hardly ever in their depth. She had decided to give little fuss. After all, indulging herself in the ambience of their lives was far, far preferred to the loneliness of her trek before the Vale had come along. On one late afternoon, the mali' found herself sat alone, looking out over the cloud-dappled sky. She had settled herself in a small 'park' by her home, content to waste the hours after communal story-time. This lazing in the sun filled her with its usual fatigue. Light failed to seep wholly through the wraps of her blindfold, though swiftly went from warming her skin to tinging it a wary red; similarly, it left her mind in an ailing haze. This fugue state hovered over her for the better length of an hour. When the sun began to set and the sky's blue hues tinged crimson, she stirred. Introspection and a sense of pessimism had pervaded her rest, both coming to a head in that moment. There was a certain arrogance there, as Ainmhí chose to remove her blindfold, and take out her journal. The tool of her entry to the Vale, and the vessel by which she had kept her accounts of each of her neighbors. She decided to spend the ending hours of daylight as her own, writing. Despite its dangers, she vowed to watch the sunset eagerly. "My hours of chatter with 'Birch' come to mind, in these waning hours. He seems comfortable with his debilitations, if not totally positioned as their master. These offers I receive, of alchemical crutch or dubious replacement. Does he receive the same? Do all broken people, at some point? Whatever drives those all-too-common folk to deny a helping hand, if not a lack of opportunity? I pray for these people that it is not this same arrogance I feel. There can be nothing else driving me to such idiotic abandon..." - On The Nature Of Weaknesses, - Journal Excerpt - By time the sun disappeared behind that horizon, the woman had set her head to the grass, and fallen asleep beneath its glow. Dry tears on her cheeks, as amidst the onset of a restless sleep, her acceptance had come undone. Blindness setting on for the better part of five decades was terrifying. The idea of waking up to face it, even more so. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "... wonder if my memory of sight will linger, in my dreams. Will the vistas of non-reality still be lush with color and lucidity? Or will memory of these things be lost to me, alongside my view of the waking world?" - A Mind's Eye, Blind? - Journal Excerpt - ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Come the sun's rise, the woman donned her blindfold again. With an odd kind of smile, she made about the Vale. Her skin was burnt and would ail her for days to come; yet, there seemed a glee about the ailing woman. Her eccentricity drove her to travel about more, and to interact with all the rampant, pointless gesticulation of her like. Many a nights she spent in the tavern, scribbling away at her journal with a renewed, scholarly fervor. A strangeness might be noted by some, however. She did all this while utterly blind, by penalty of the cloth. Years of practice had perhaps worked in her favor. "The emptiness of light begs an abundance of flesh." - The Revelation. - Journal Excerpt - ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  5. thequeennadine

    Quessinost

    Lorelei was an outcast of Haelun'or who had discarded her true-elven name and medical practice in great shame. The herbalist, after many years of solitude, was approached by a troupe of nomadic wanderers- fellow elves. These travelers, mixed in their demeanors and heritage, came to Lorelei from the nearby settlement on Arcas' stony southern shore. Quite a few of their number were ill with some sickness of the heat. The fever had even afflicted children in their number, some of who were too young to stave it away themselves. As such, the party had traveled to meet the rumored healer-hermit of the wood. She eased their suffering. With ease a tea of root and heady spices was brewed, staving off the sickness. Lorelei's payment, by her unusual request, would come in the form of Ainmhí; an orphan of the troupe, barely old enough at the time to recall the exchange today. Ainmhí, raised from then on under the doting watch of the hermit Lorelei, would grow up rambunctious and curious. She learned of the culture of her people, which were all elves- considering the girl's mismatched traits of raven hair, pale skin, sky hued eyes. She was uneasy with the seeming self isolation of her then mother, often striking out to cause a ruckus amidst the people beyond their secluded home. With maturity, the curiosity and far-sighted view of her heritage only grew. By the leisure of brightening relations between the High Elves of Haelun'or and their fellow descendants of Malin, Ainmhí was even allowed a brief stint of study of her mother's once-home. Unfortunately, the easing of relations would do little to quell the disturbance wrought of her meddling with the high-browed elves. Escape from the discipline of her betters was only earned by the grace of Lorelei's presence, who took the brunt of her people's disappointment on herself. The already disgraced healer was put away, or worse, to ensure she never again besmirched the supremacy of her birth, nor anyone else's. Escape from sharing this judgment, thanks to Lorelei's sacrifice, set Ainmhí on the road. Her interests stubbornly turned from learning the intricacies of her people. From upholding traditions, and bettering the masses, she turned to the eerie unknown. She would find some purpose to master in the forgotten, unutilized things, like her mother had by using isolation to master herbalism. A road of eschewing the well-trodden guide in favor of fortune-teller, or charlatan. Of consistently running into misfortune after misfortune, brought on by her own unwillingness to use the methods tried and true. There will assuredly be a value in what she finds, if only, or for the very reason that it is hidden. Or, she will stop running out of excuses to chase, and puzzles to solve.
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