Best Of

Xiran said:

Descriptions

Lisaera, the Sacred Mother
As straight-backed and towering as the proud aspen tree - and nearly as pale as well - the Sacred Mother Lisaera manifests with a commanding presence, Her moonlit aura burgeoning with the menace and protectiveness of a thorny bramble patch, or a wolf with bloody teeth bared. Silver eyes circled by luminous limbal rings flash, their lunar starkness doing little to relieve the severity of Her other angular features: high cheekbones, thin lips, proud nose, a narrow face. By contrast, the Goddess's fingertips are soft and Her movements graceful, as though every step and gesture were born from ceremonial intention. Upon the backs of Her hands, leafy patterns like chainmail sleeves climb as far as the middle knuckles, viridescent colours suffused not with ink but vibrant and wild energy that bleeds into Her surroundings.

Ribbons of liquid moonlight tangle through Her night-black tresses, ravelling into two thin, parallel braids that draw back from Her left temple and join behind a slender ear. Kissed by the wind and sky, the rest piles unbound away from Her face and down Her back, wild and heavy.
She is wearing:
a vine-wreathed crown of frozen moonlight sitting poised upon Her brow, veiling Her features in a shroud of sterling luminescence
a fur-lined jerkin scrolled with silver moonlight, layered over a tunic that softly glimmers
a skirt spun from moonlit skies skimming the tops of Her bare feet
a belt of silver plates slung over Her hip
a heavy sterling torc ringing Her neck with snarling wolves at Her throat

You look at a vine-wreathed crown of frozen moonlight that Lisaera is wearing:
Radiant upon the Goddess's brow, this crown of cold moonlight musters itself into needle-sharp diffractions of lunar energy. Each pinpoint of light glints like a collection of spectral crystals, shedding pale luminescence that shrouds all below it in a stark veil of glittering silver. Ethereal vines climb about its many fractal spokes, thick and green, their verdant leaves rustling whenever whispered to by the wind.

You look at a fur-lined jerkin scrolled with silver moonlight that Lisaera is wearing:
Sculpted from a protective black material and layered over a tunic woven from silver ferns, this jerkin envelops the Goddess's form with surprising fluidity, swathing Her torso and upper legs with inscrutable midnight skies. Moonlight scrolls along either side underneath the arms, exquisite in its detailing: sterling lines follow the contours of glossy leaves that shift whenever She moves. Upon the shoulders, thick tufts of grey fur rise like hackles to ward against the cold - or impending threats.

You look at a skirt spun from moonlit skies that Lisaera is wearing:
Impossibly and bewitchingly fluid, this ankle-length skirt comprises nothing less than the midnight skies themselves, patterned as though the heavens have been drawn down to flow effortlessly about the Goddess's limbs. Far from pitch in darkness, thousands of stars glow upon its black ripples like gemstones, casting minuscule haloes of iridescence about themselves. Piercing shafts of moonlight likewise pleat its expanse, revealed in the ethereal winds which often tug against its hem, independent of any physical influence.

You look at a belt of silver plates that Lisaera is wearing:
Threads of glimmering moonlight bind together this silver belt, the insubstantial but cold links forged to rest behind each gossamer-thin plate. Subtle engravings etch into the surfaces of the discs, the enchanting scenes playing out through them constantly shifting, leading the eye with a sense of almost-familiar nostalgia that loses meaning whenever it changes. Sitting loosely about the waist and hips of the Goddess, it clinks lightly with Her every step, filling the air with a chime not unlike a delicate bell.

You look at a heavy sterling torc that Lisaera is wearing:
Braided from cords of heavy sterling silver, this pale torc gleams with an enchanting glow all its own. Its surface radiates preternatural coolness, rimed between metallic folds with a veneer of frozen moonlight that frosts and fades with the turning of the sun. At either of its open ends, a pair of snarling wolf heads bristle with ferocious protectiveness, challenging one another over the hollow of the throat.

---

Maylea
She is a radiant immortal and glows with effulgent life, a powerful sense of vibrancy emanating from Her presence. There is something thoughtful and introspective about Her expression and Her brilliant golden eyes, as though She gazes farther into the soul, brushing aside the impermanent layers of existence to seek the truth within. Streaks of deep blue wind through Her chestnut hair as it falls straight down Her back to the hips, several shorter locks dangling forward to frame Her heart-shaped face. A thin line crosses the skin of Her left forearm, the only remnant of the scar from a savage bite. An aura of power plays about Her slender frame and sets Her tawny skin aglow in faint, prismatic hues.

She is wearing:
a woven sari edged in prismatic embroidery draped upon Her radiant form
a trailing rainbow sash tied loosely about Her waist
an armband of twining vines wrapped about the upper arm in a vibrant network
a sky-hued bluebell tucked in Her chestnut tresses
a translucent crystal bindi gleaming with prismatic colour between Her brows
an anklet hung with crystal chimes lightly resting against Her bare foot

You look at a woven sari edged in prismatic embroidery that Maylea is wearing:
Woven of ethereal gossamer thread, the fabric comprising this sari is as light as air, almost floating over the body below. Wrapped neatly around the waist, it falls gracefully to the wearer's ankles in generous folds of downy softness. Drawn from the waist around the back and chest, the decorated tail of the garment is folded at the left shoulder and allowed to dangle down the back, leaving the right shoulder and both arms completely bare. The elaborate embroidery along the trailing hem of the sari is vaguely metallic in nature, refracting the light in prismatic shades of colour.

You look at a trailing rainbow sash that Maylea is wearing:
As the rainbows formed in the sky are composed of arcing motes of various hues of prismatic light, so is this sash, formed by some divine hand. Seemingly plucked from the sky itself, the sash extends far beyond the form it encircles, leaving faint remnants of light to shine where it is has trailed.

You look at an armband of twining vines that Maylea is wearing:
A network of thin vines wraps around the bearer's upper arm, clinging like a second skin. As vibrant and fresh as though still planted in the earth, the vines form a beautiful filigree knot centred across the tricep. Light faintly glistens across the greenery, cast from several tiny flowers blossoming along the edges of the living braid.

You look at a translucent crystal bindi that Maylea is wearing:
Barely the size of a seed, this small crystal shard is a faceted oval flattened along one side. Its pristine depths are almost perfectly clear, though a slight milky light glimmers within the depths, drawing attention more to what is around the actual bindi than to the bindi itself. Worn between the brows, it refracts the faintest light in a subtle display of prismatic colour that dances across the forehead of the wearer in enigmatic patterns.

;_; I missed the anklet

Lisaera, the Blessed Maiden

Like a moonhart sapling just beginning to realise its potential, the thin sprout of a youth manifesting here exudes the unabating brightness of Lisaera, the Blessed Maiden. Possessing irises like twin moons encircled by rings of sterling lambency, Her eyes sparkle with the urgency of youthful curiosity, and they are wide - almost too wide, better suited to a predatory owl surveying the entirety of Her domain. Silver brushes Her skin with a dewiness that sparkles across Her gangling frame, appearing at times like freckles, or like moonlight splashed across a glassy lake. Dappling the backs of Her hands and centred above Her brow, leafy patterns form crescents of viridescence which emit their own faint illumination, alive with wild energy.

Embraced by a fluttering cloud of silver mooncloak butterflies, a wild tumble of midnight hair pulls away from Her face and down Her back. Two small braids frame Her cheeks, falling no further than Her jaw, their ends tied off by delicate silver clasps.
She is wearing:
a belt of silver plates slung over Her hip
a heavy sterling torc ringing Her neck with snarling wolves at Her throat
a gown of gossamer moonlight skimming the tops of Her bare feet
a braided silver band encircling Her head with lustrous beauty
a hooded, fur-trimmed cape warming Her shoulders, fastened shut by a moonglass charm
a fluttering earring of the mooncloak butterfly through Her left ear

You look at a belt of silver plates that Lisaera is wearing:
Threads of glimmering moonlight bind together this silver belt, the insubstantial but cold links forged to rest behind each gossamer-thin plate. Subtle engravings etch into the surfaces of the discs, the enchanting scenes playing out through them constantly shifting, leading the eye with a sense of almost-familiar nostalgia that loses meaning whenever it changes. Sitting loosely about the waist and hips of the Goddess, it clinks lightly with Her every step, filling the air with a chime not unlike a delicate bell.

You look at a hooded, fur-trimmed cape that Lisaera is wearing:
Stitched together from softened leathers, this dark cape enfolds the shoulders in an embrace of simplicity and warmth. Though hooded, its head covering sits lowered, pooling instead between the shoulderblades in an abundance of silver- flecked fur. The same plush lining rims the bottom hem, brushing against the elbows and chest at its lowest and fullest fall. Mimicking the waxing gibbous's uneven globe, a single moonglass charm serves as the only concession to ornamentation, and it fastens the front together at the sternum. Nestled into its eyelet hook, the captured bead sheds its light in diffuse rays that radiate from within its very heart.

Lisaera, the Hallowed Crone:
Moonlight pierces the air about Lisaera, the Silver Goddess, shrouding Her within its pale glow. She wields a knotted moonhart lantern in Her left hand.

Despite the moonlit aura that glitters brightly around Her, the hunched figure of Lisaera, the Hallowed Crone swathes Herself in a veil of darkness it does not shatter. Where flashes of it show, Her pale skin puckers like willow bark, every wrinkle ponderous, ancient, and deep. Though Her figure speaks of an elder's fragility, Her every gesture is purposeful, Her every step filled with unyielding, terrible power that belies it. Round eyes narrowed by the weight of millennia shine with an argent brilliance; their limbal rings glow, carving through shadows like the sickle moon cuts through the blanket of night. Her hands are ungloved and Her feet unshod, permitting glimpses of the leafy tattoos painting the tops of each, verdancy trapped in a cycle of withering and death.
A strict plait of braided silver hair drapes over Her shoulder, falling to Her waist. Strewn with grey owl feathers that gleam darkly in comparison, its severe knots allow nary a strand to slip out of place.
She is wearing:
a long, dark cloak embossed with shimmering moonlight draped around Her shoulders and down Her bent back
midnight robes trimmed in dark furs and owl feathers concealing Her frame completely, leaving only Her knobbly knuckles bare
a black shroud of mourning threaded with silver light cowling Her features, letting little but Her eyes peer through
a lustrous moonglass periapt gleaming at the hollow of Her throat

You look at a long, dark cloak embossed with shimmering moonlight that Lisaera is wearing:
This long cloak is a midnight blue, almost black in colour, with shimmering silver patterns shifting and dancing upon its surface, causing the entire garment to appear to be flowing. For some reason the cloak does not lift with the wind or stir at all as the air swirls around it, though it does ripple with seemingly no manipulation while the air is still.

You look at midnight robes trimmed in dark furs and owl feathers that Lisaera is wearing:
Flowing layers of ethereal darkness form the elegant folds of this enigmatic, all-concealing garment. The simple pleats and stitches of the robes shift and waver like liquid, billowing slightly with the passing breezes that ever surround the Goddess's form. Black furs, luxurious and practical, trim the sleeves, deep cowl and hem of this piece, cushioning the grey owl feathers which fall within their bristling warmth. Cascading to fall elegantly in waves and crests, these diaphanous robes trail in gossamer rivulets that gradually fade into mist behind and beneath Her.

You look at a black shroud of mourning threaded with silver light that Lisaera is wearing:
Threaded through with silver light, this shroud drapes the wearer's features entirely. The gauzy material, woven from the shadows of starlight, ripples with its own ethereal breeze and as the wearer moves, it flexes instinctively to prevent unnecessary tripping.

You look at a lustrous moonglass periapt that Lisaera is wearing:
Alive with the stillness and relief of an illuminated night sky, this moonglass periapt radiates a gentle coolness that never warms, not by hand and not by sunlight. An argent fire burns within its core, lustrous and bright, pulsating as steadily as a heart's vital beating. No matter the time or weather, its light never fully dims, instead waxing and waning with the phases of Mother Moon. The cradle encapsulating it comprises the same pristine silver as the braided chain from which it is suspended, affixed to allow it to swivel. It has been worked with a Goddess's touch, covered with little sigils and images that ebb and flow as water across its filigreed surface, their meanings skimming the periphery of understanding. Perfectly round and extraordinarily smooth, glossy beads of midnight black trail a small distance up either strand away from the periapt, three upon the left and three upon the right, their depthless darkness catching and reflecting the light.

Leaning Her weight onto Her snarled moonhart lantern's long and sturdy pole, Lisaera peers toward the heavens, eyes narrowing. She clucks her tongue, then shakes Her head. When She speaks, Her voice is thin and creaks like wood. "It is about time for Us to take care of this, hm?"

You look at a knotted moonhart lantern that Lisaera is wielding:
Burly with knots bulging from its length, this lantern is sturdy enough to be used as a walking staff. Here and there, dying moonhart leaves still cling to their tender perches, brilliant gold and crimson in hues and awaiting their allotted time to fall. At its head, the wood crooks in on itself like the curled tip of a fern's frond, providing a place for a lamp to dangle. Wrought from silver with misted moonglass panes, its orb contains within an eternal lick of moonfire, the argent flame luminous, flickering, and never dying.

! I'm missing her hair, aah!