from_the_west: (Default)
delande and nemanda, pre-alistar, and also, pre-pride. request was for what happened after delande called nemanda beautiful.


There were plenty of obvious, pragmatic reasons, socially relevant, politics-and-power-based, make-maithre-and-aithre-proud reasons why Delande should take interest in Nemanda Murtagh A'Lir. This was good, because it would not give her away to show it; it was in her, by birth and by training to immediately be drawn to trace the specific lines of power to the hands that held them.

Nemanda held many of those lines. )
from_the_west: (Default)
gavian and lugh. >_>; i actually posted this last night, but as far as i can tell, the post acted as if it were backdated, so i'm trying again. my apologies if this is your second time seeing it. this particular lj is plagued with tech issues, so i don't think i'll be going in for a plus lj in the future.


"GAVI!" Lugh exclaimed as he strode in, waving a scroll grandly. "So good to see you!"

The sigh that followed was quite audible. And the dryness of tone after could've been used to sop up half the world's seas and still been thirsty for more.

Read more... )
from_the_west: (Default)
this one's...well, start of the pride, really. lugh meeting delande. i should up icons for them at some point that is not tonight because it took me forever just to get a posting window. >=\


The one they'd sent was distractingly beautiful--and young. The first part made him suspicious of what Titania might be up to--the second made him wonder what in the infernal waking dark was Oberon thinking. )

the pride.

Mar. 25th, 2009 10:48 am
from_the_west: ([the pride] nemanda murtagh)
[n.b.: originally posted here.]

some little while after the first; or possibly longer. time is funny thing, on the isle.


Lilith had somehow managed to gather up most of their attention entirely for herself, like a greedy child offered a handful of sweets. )
from_the_west: (Default)
[n.b: reposted from here.]

In every land, hardness is in the north of it, softness in the south, industry in the east, and fire and inspiration in the west.


She had barely escaped the desert in the east with her own skin; she knew she was headed in the right direction when the rain began. She didn't stop running. She knew better than that. She ran until the soles of her feet split upon the rough earth, she ran until her breath clawed at her raw throat and her heart faltered in her chest, her arms went numb, and she could scarcely hear over the sounds of her own exhaustion; she strained to hear anyway, even knowing that it was useless, for her sisters hunted in silence. She recklessly claimed the heart and soul of a lone boatman to get passage across the rocky, wind-tossed Short Sea, and left an empty, staring thing, still pleading feebly for her return, to mark the place when she stepped to solid ground. She dropped briefly to her hands and knees in shaky relief. That one act of violence, of unlawful possession, might serve to make her a great deal less welcome. It didn't matter. She could not think of her reception, could not think of anything beyond reaching her destination. She had nowhere else to go. Her options had narrowed to the space of a single door.


Most faery tales start out with a once upon a time. But that would imply that these things had only happened once. )


from_the_west: (Default)

May 2010

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