age: 24

birthday: 62nd of rekindra in the year of 1476 a.r.

occupation: stillward of galaneth

location: hidden rootbound sanctuary, yan'drtir

faceclaim: lu yuxiao

The midwives spoke little that morning, fussing in hushed tones over the labouring Isakora. The air was thick, still—like the earth and stone surrounding them was holding its breath. When the child came, she entered the world soundlessly—no cry, no gasp. Her limbs did not flail. Her body did not tremble. She was as still as the earth, eyes open, serene as stone. Not sleeping. Not lifeless. Watching.

But before fear could seize in their hearts, the tremor came. A groan from within the earth, deep and ancient. The walls shuddered and cracked, sacred carvings split. The ceiling began to collapse. Dust and rock fell like judgment from the sky.

And then—a sound.
A cry.

One sharp, piercing wail rang above the destruction. It came from the newborn.

Just once.

When the dust finally settled, ruin lay across the sanctuary. Bodies of Stillwards lay where they had served. The sacred hall was shattered. But where the child had been born—where Maerrel, Isakora, and a handful of others stood—there was nothing but peace. A blessing, they insisted, from Galaneth herself. The cry had not been one of a child. It was clear, commanding, impossible. It had split the chaos. Then commanded the stone to hold its breath.

And so they named her Isaneth—to honor the goddess and the blessing bestowed upon them.

in stillness, servitude

writing style: 3rd pov, length varies

activity level: pretty mid tbh

pm to plot.

call me by my user or my character's name. it's been awhile since i've been back here lmao. gimme a sec to get used to it again.

activity level + muse will be a little shifty, and i'm generally the most online mon-fri. please feel free to poke me if i dont respond within a week. i like to do the read, reply in my head, and forget to send it out irl.

preference for plotting so i have a general idea of where things are going. happy to explore most things. idk, just hit me up. fr.

x

cilantro

moss covered stones, worn books, warm tea with herbs, comfortable silence, simple fabrics and soft textures

dislikes:

oil lamps that burned too long, closed doors with whispered voices

maerrel aehmyr, head of house & stillward (npc)

isakora aemhyr, stillward of galaneth (npc)

maerlus aemhyr, the firstborn, stricken from ledgers

the secondborn, devoted heir apparent

isaneth aemhyr, the finalborn, the blessed

it's the little things that she holds close to her heart:

collecting pebbles—smooth, odd or beautifully imperfect stones. piled safely on a corner of her desk. gathered from quiet walks, memorable moments, gifted from children passing through the sanctuary. each one a memory etched in weight and shape.

keeping dried flowers pressed between old books. delicate remnants of flora who names she couldn't remember. But it didn't matter, for it was the people that gifted them and the moments they marked that mattered most.

when the hush of the sanctuary falls away and the world forgets to watch—she hums. soft and aimless, half-remembered melodies woven through reverie. it isn’t a hymn, not exactly. but it carries something sacred all the same.

market — velitaeh daranteh — in progress..

??? — corvus valuna — awaiting starter