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The day was gorgeous, as usual. Avra usually managed to find the beauty in all types of weather, but this was by far the best: bright sky shining out of silky blue, the slightest breeze rustling through the air like the pages of a book. Many of Avra’s tapestries featured the sun in some way, whether prominently or sneaked into the corner like a tiny trademark. She found it quite difficult to resist the urge to weave tiny flecks of gold into her work, though the color was hardly easy to come by. The brighter the better, in her opinion.
Avra smiled as she set up her marketplace stall for the day, laying out each scarf and tapestry to highlight the strengths of each. Her newest lay in the center, proud and prominent and somehow bright despite the darker edges. The night itself was stitched in inky blues and purples across a blackened canvas, swirling with stars of the brightest hues and the heroes of legend etched in the sky. In the corner lurked the sun, swirling brightest of all and threatening to drive away the darkness of the rest of the piece. Avra’s work always told a story, and through her work, each story would be remembered for decades to come. As it should be, she thought, and smiled at the jewelry merchant to her left as she settled down to work. Idle hands would never be remembered, after all.
She chatted to the jovial man as she stitched—a newly commissioned piece, simple enough, just flowers etched on a little dress—and hummed lightly when it was his turn to speak. Silence was idle, and sound was lovely. The man took no offense, she was sure; after months of spinning wares side by side, he had grown used to her bird-like ways. Sometimes she caught him staring when he thought her otherwise occupied, and though she smiled in return, Avra knew this man was not meant for beauty or finer things, and that was all. It was her dearest intention, however, to make each person realize their part in the greatest tapestry of all, and so she would never dare to crush his little fantasies, as futile as they might be.
By midday the dress sat folded neatly in the embroidered bag at her feet, ready to be delivered to the kindly father who had requested it. The poor man, with no wife and only one daughter to keep his legacy alive. Perhaps if she was lucky, he would love her work enough to let her stay a night or two, and teach his daughter to sing. Her accommodations were always precarious at the best of times, but she had grown quite bored of the tavern owner and his wandering hands and was keen to move on as soon as possible. Honey brown eyes peered down at the small pile of coins in her bag, wondering how much longer it would take for them to grow. The life of a nomad was wonderful and thrilling, and Avra knew she was lucky to see as many different homes and perspectives as she did. Still, a deep longing for something more seemed caught in her throat. A grand house with a garden, bursting at the seams with colors. A consistent lover who yet never grew boring. A slice of life to call her own. Her eyes now rose to the bustling square, smiling serenely at each of the passerby. Any one of them could become the next adventure, lover, friend. They could commission a masterpiece or walk by and miss the colors. Avra did not weave the thread of fate, but followed closely behind with a needle at the ready.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The day was gorgeous, as usual. Avra usually managed to find the beauty in all types of weather, but this was by far the best: bright sky shining out of silky blue, the slightest breeze rustling through the air like the pages of a book. Many of Avra’s tapestries featured the sun in some way, whether prominently or sneaked into the corner like a tiny trademark. She found it quite difficult to resist the urge to weave tiny flecks of gold into her work, though the color was hardly easy to come by. The brighter the better, in her opinion.
Avra smiled as she set up her marketplace stall for the day, laying out each scarf and tapestry to highlight the strengths of each. Her newest lay in the center, proud and prominent and somehow bright despite the darker edges. The night itself was stitched in inky blues and purples across a blackened canvas, swirling with stars of the brightest hues and the heroes of legend etched in the sky. In the corner lurked the sun, swirling brightest of all and threatening to drive away the darkness of the rest of the piece. Avra’s work always told a story, and through her work, each story would be remembered for decades to come. As it should be, she thought, and smiled at the jewelry merchant to her left as she settled down to work. Idle hands would never be remembered, after all.
She chatted to the jovial man as she stitched—a newly commissioned piece, simple enough, just flowers etched on a little dress—and hummed lightly when it was his turn to speak. Silence was idle, and sound was lovely. The man took no offense, she was sure; after months of spinning wares side by side, he had grown used to her bird-like ways. Sometimes she caught him staring when he thought her otherwise occupied, and though she smiled in return, Avra knew this man was not meant for beauty or finer things, and that was all. It was her dearest intention, however, to make each person realize their part in the greatest tapestry of all, and so she would never dare to crush his little fantasies, as futile as they might be.
By midday the dress sat folded neatly in the embroidered bag at her feet, ready to be delivered to the kindly father who had requested it. The poor man, with no wife and only one daughter to keep his legacy alive. Perhaps if she was lucky, he would love her work enough to let her stay a night or two, and teach his daughter to sing. Her accommodations were always precarious at the best of times, but she had grown quite bored of the tavern owner and his wandering hands and was keen to move on as soon as possible. Honey brown eyes peered down at the small pile of coins in her bag, wondering how much longer it would take for them to grow. The life of a nomad was wonderful and thrilling, and Avra knew she was lucky to see as many different homes and perspectives as she did. Still, a deep longing for something more seemed caught in her throat. A grand house with a garden, bursting at the seams with colors. A consistent lover who yet never grew boring. A slice of life to call her own. Her eyes now rose to the bustling square, smiling serenely at each of the passerby. Any one of them could become the next adventure, lover, friend. They could commission a masterpiece or walk by and miss the colors. Avra did not weave the thread of fate, but followed closely behind with a needle at the ready.
The day was gorgeous, as usual. Avra usually managed to find the beauty in all types of weather, but this was by far the best: bright sky shining out of silky blue, the slightest breeze rustling through the air like the pages of a book. Many of Avra’s tapestries featured the sun in some way, whether prominently or sneaked into the corner like a tiny trademark. She found it quite difficult to resist the urge to weave tiny flecks of gold into her work, though the color was hardly easy to come by. The brighter the better, in her opinion.
Avra smiled as she set up her marketplace stall for the day, laying out each scarf and tapestry to highlight the strengths of each. Her newest lay in the center, proud and prominent and somehow bright despite the darker edges. The night itself was stitched in inky blues and purples across a blackened canvas, swirling with stars of the brightest hues and the heroes of legend etched in the sky. In the corner lurked the sun, swirling brightest of all and threatening to drive away the darkness of the rest of the piece. Avra’s work always told a story, and through her work, each story would be remembered for decades to come. As it should be, she thought, and smiled at the jewelry merchant to her left as she settled down to work. Idle hands would never be remembered, after all.
She chatted to the jovial man as she stitched—a newly commissioned piece, simple enough, just flowers etched on a little dress—and hummed lightly when it was his turn to speak. Silence was idle, and sound was lovely. The man took no offense, she was sure; after months of spinning wares side by side, he had grown used to her bird-like ways. Sometimes she caught him staring when he thought her otherwise occupied, and though she smiled in return, Avra knew this man was not meant for beauty or finer things, and that was all. It was her dearest intention, however, to make each person realize their part in the greatest tapestry of all, and so she would never dare to crush his little fantasies, as futile as they might be.
By midday the dress sat folded neatly in the embroidered bag at her feet, ready to be delivered to the kindly father who had requested it. The poor man, with no wife and only one daughter to keep his legacy alive. Perhaps if she was lucky, he would love her work enough to let her stay a night or two, and teach his daughter to sing. Her accommodations were always precarious at the best of times, but she had grown quite bored of the tavern owner and his wandering hands and was keen to move on as soon as possible. Honey brown eyes peered down at the small pile of coins in her bag, wondering how much longer it would take for them to grow. The life of a nomad was wonderful and thrilling, and Avra knew she was lucky to see as many different homes and perspectives as she did. Still, a deep longing for something more seemed caught in her throat. A grand house with a garden, bursting at the seams with colors. A consistent lover who yet never grew boring. A slice of life to call her own. Her eyes now rose to the bustling square, smiling serenely at each of the passerby. Any one of them could become the next adventure, lover, friend. They could commission a masterpiece or walk by and miss the colors. Avra did not weave the thread of fate, but followed closely behind with a needle at the ready.
A return to Vasiliadon brought Anastasia with a bubbling sense of curiosity. What might have come up in her absence? Fresh off the boat from Colchis, the day was young and beautiful, just like Anastasia herself. It was no sort of day to be recovering from travel. No, the lightening of the salt in the air and the growing noises of bustling city life were enough to energize Anastasia of the Siren's Song.
The smile cast upon her lips couldn't be missed as her hazel gaze latched onto oddities and baubles made available for perusal within the expanse that was the Agora. More than that, the baubles drew her gaze, perhaps, for too long. She played a coy game, darting forth to flash a wink and heated words at a much older merchant. It was as she spoke that her fingers dashed just out of sight, snaking a particularly lovely bracelet. Easily, she latched it to her wrist before she pressed her lips to the merchant's cheek and promised him some more of her attention later.
"I'm so sorry, good sir, but I have to see everything! I won't forget you," she breathed, sultry tones given to plain words, but already, she'd forgotten the merchant's face once she turned away. On the path out, she linked yet another bracelet to her wrist, then let her legs carry her through the Agora to another side of it altogether. Placing distance between enamoured and quickly-to-be enraged merchants was a necessity. To become the crowd and pilfer through it like water through a clepsydra was, while not a particularly simple feat for the noteworthy bard in the ensemble she was in, could be achieved through a bit of ingenuity. The woman fingered a simplistic fabric at a different stall, sliding it from the post it was hanging on before a fluid turn sent her in a different direction. Throwing that fabric over her head like a shawl, she slipped between figures and made her way towards another wing of the Agora.
Abandoning the fabric some time later, Anastasia kept her gaze flickering from side to side, attentive for the figure of approaching merchants before she lookedto another one that was quite distinct from the rest. It wasn't often she saw a woman on the seller side of a wares table, and she seemed to engage quite well with patronage. As she discussed something (certainly, the siren was too far to hear her), Anastasia raised her hands to her hair. Undoing the braids that kepy her hair out of her way during her more nefarious actions, she fanned it out now. Letting the tresses fly over her left shoulder, it left Ana's right entirely exposed, the azure chiton she wore pinned at the other and cinched at the waist with a white, embroidered line sash. Some time passed, with Anastasia never quite forgetting the pretty merchant girl as she perused yet another table. When she was freed from her obligations and looked onward was when the siren decided it best to approach.
A lovely merchant girl was someone the siren had to know. It was uncommon enough to be interesting, and the look of her. Anastasia couldn't help how her gaze flickered to and fro, the easy smile coming to her features as she finally went along. Of course, it didn't linger for long. Instead, her eyes grew wide with a shade of disappointment, the smile turning to almost a sort of pout before she asked,
"Have you finished with commissions for the day, miss? I suppose I could return tomorrow."
Of course, that wasn't what she wanted. Whether or not the girl was done with her work, Anastasia found the curiosity well up within her. To know and retell tales was a bard's passion, and this girl was the next tale she sought after.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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A return to Vasiliadon brought Anastasia with a bubbling sense of curiosity. What might have come up in her absence? Fresh off the boat from Colchis, the day was young and beautiful, just like Anastasia herself. It was no sort of day to be recovering from travel. No, the lightening of the salt in the air and the growing noises of bustling city life were enough to energize Anastasia of the Siren's Song.
The smile cast upon her lips couldn't be missed as her hazel gaze latched onto oddities and baubles made available for perusal within the expanse that was the Agora. More than that, the baubles drew her gaze, perhaps, for too long. She played a coy game, darting forth to flash a wink and heated words at a much older merchant. It was as she spoke that her fingers dashed just out of sight, snaking a particularly lovely bracelet. Easily, she latched it to her wrist before she pressed her lips to the merchant's cheek and promised him some more of her attention later.
"I'm so sorry, good sir, but I have to see everything! I won't forget you," she breathed, sultry tones given to plain words, but already, she'd forgotten the merchant's face once she turned away. On the path out, she linked yet another bracelet to her wrist, then let her legs carry her through the Agora to another side of it altogether. Placing distance between enamoured and quickly-to-be enraged merchants was a necessity. To become the crowd and pilfer through it like water through a clepsydra was, while not a particularly simple feat for the noteworthy bard in the ensemble she was in, could be achieved through a bit of ingenuity. The woman fingered a simplistic fabric at a different stall, sliding it from the post it was hanging on before a fluid turn sent her in a different direction. Throwing that fabric over her head like a shawl, she slipped between figures and made her way towards another wing of the Agora.
Abandoning the fabric some time later, Anastasia kept her gaze flickering from side to side, attentive for the figure of approaching merchants before she lookedto another one that was quite distinct from the rest. It wasn't often she saw a woman on the seller side of a wares table, and she seemed to engage quite well with patronage. As she discussed something (certainly, the siren was too far to hear her), Anastasia raised her hands to her hair. Undoing the braids that kepy her hair out of her way during her more nefarious actions, she fanned it out now. Letting the tresses fly over her left shoulder, it left Ana's right entirely exposed, the azure chiton she wore pinned at the other and cinched at the waist with a white, embroidered line sash. Some time passed, with Anastasia never quite forgetting the pretty merchant girl as she perused yet another table. When she was freed from her obligations and looked onward was when the siren decided it best to approach.
A lovely merchant girl was someone the siren had to know. It was uncommon enough to be interesting, and the look of her. Anastasia couldn't help how her gaze flickered to and fro, the easy smile coming to her features as she finally went along. Of course, it didn't linger for long. Instead, her eyes grew wide with a shade of disappointment, the smile turning to almost a sort of pout before she asked,
"Have you finished with commissions for the day, miss? I suppose I could return tomorrow."
Of course, that wasn't what she wanted. Whether or not the girl was done with her work, Anastasia found the curiosity well up within her. To know and retell tales was a bard's passion, and this girl was the next tale she sought after.
A return to Vasiliadon brought Anastasia with a bubbling sense of curiosity. What might have come up in her absence? Fresh off the boat from Colchis, the day was young and beautiful, just like Anastasia herself. It was no sort of day to be recovering from travel. No, the lightening of the salt in the air and the growing noises of bustling city life were enough to energize Anastasia of the Siren's Song.
The smile cast upon her lips couldn't be missed as her hazel gaze latched onto oddities and baubles made available for perusal within the expanse that was the Agora. More than that, the baubles drew her gaze, perhaps, for too long. She played a coy game, darting forth to flash a wink and heated words at a much older merchant. It was as she spoke that her fingers dashed just out of sight, snaking a particularly lovely bracelet. Easily, she latched it to her wrist before she pressed her lips to the merchant's cheek and promised him some more of her attention later.
"I'm so sorry, good sir, but I have to see everything! I won't forget you," she breathed, sultry tones given to plain words, but already, she'd forgotten the merchant's face once she turned away. On the path out, she linked yet another bracelet to her wrist, then let her legs carry her through the Agora to another side of it altogether. Placing distance between enamoured and quickly-to-be enraged merchants was a necessity. To become the crowd and pilfer through it like water through a clepsydra was, while not a particularly simple feat for the noteworthy bard in the ensemble she was in, could be achieved through a bit of ingenuity. The woman fingered a simplistic fabric at a different stall, sliding it from the post it was hanging on before a fluid turn sent her in a different direction. Throwing that fabric over her head like a shawl, she slipped between figures and made her way towards another wing of the Agora.
Abandoning the fabric some time later, Anastasia kept her gaze flickering from side to side, attentive for the figure of approaching merchants before she lookedto another one that was quite distinct from the rest. It wasn't often she saw a woman on the seller side of a wares table, and she seemed to engage quite well with patronage. As she discussed something (certainly, the siren was too far to hear her), Anastasia raised her hands to her hair. Undoing the braids that kepy her hair out of her way during her more nefarious actions, she fanned it out now. Letting the tresses fly over her left shoulder, it left Ana's right entirely exposed, the azure chiton she wore pinned at the other and cinched at the waist with a white, embroidered line sash. Some time passed, with Anastasia never quite forgetting the pretty merchant girl as she perused yet another table. When she was freed from her obligations and looked onward was when the siren decided it best to approach.
A lovely merchant girl was someone the siren had to know. It was uncommon enough to be interesting, and the look of her. Anastasia couldn't help how her gaze flickered to and fro, the easy smile coming to her features as she finally went along. Of course, it didn't linger for long. Instead, her eyes grew wide with a shade of disappointment, the smile turning to almost a sort of pout before she asked,
"Have you finished with commissions for the day, miss? I suppose I could return tomorrow."
Of course, that wasn't what she wanted. Whether or not the girl was done with her work, Anastasia found the curiosity well up within her. To know and retell tales was a bard's passion, and this girl was the next tale she sought after.
Few people of interest came to speak with Avra as the afternoon wore on. Some tried to place a commission but offered insultingly low prices. Others came to look and walked away with their minds and hearts full but their pockets empty. A precious few left with smiles on their faces and a tapestry or ornament in their bag, and Avra gave each one of them a small piece of her heart, too. It was a wonderful thing to spread beauty and love across this small piece of the kingdom.
Between each charming conversation, the merchant felt her fingers itching for a task. To spend even a brief time without creating something beautiful well… it was a tragedy that Avra could not excuse. She was about to reach for a spare bit of fabric when finally, someone interesting approached. The woman was beautiful, there was no denying it, and Avra’s fingers itched all the more to engrave her likeness on a canvas. She walked with a confident freeness that lent itself well to stories and legends and her face seemed to almost demand attention. Avra felt the lightness in the air fade with the other woman’s smile and found herself longing for the sun to return to the sky.
“I have never finished with commissions,” Avra said, populating the sky with her own bright smile in the absence of a partner. “Was there something you had in mind?” She gestured vaguely at the wealth of pieces adorning the table, running a loving hand across some of her favorites. Avra clung to the word commission. It would be wonderful, of course, if an existing piece caught the woman’s eye and made its way from her table to spread beauty like its fellows. But commissions were something else entirely, made with the buyer’s likeness and passions in mind. Commissions were infused with specific bits of her heart, not just the affection she held for every tiny story.
There was no way to put her excitement into words, but Avra did her best. “I think…” her eyes delicately scanned the woman and the thought came to her head like a torch bursting into flame. “Sea foam, perhaps? With each shade of blue more vibrant than the last.” Her voice rose excitedly, lighting on the potential customer’s eyes, “Your eyes have a light to them, miss, that commands to be noticed, decorated.” The words would sound cliché from anyone else’s lips, but Avra’s eyes were wide and earnest and she meant every word.
She saw beauty in every little thing, and had for as long as she cared to remember. Her job was to create beauty yes, but the best way by far to accomplish that task was to highlight the beauty that already existed. The woman in front of her already knew she was beautiful. Everyone that laid eyes on her already knew it. It was Avra’s job to embellish that beauty until no one could pretend she was not radiant. Such a model was rare. Avra’s fingers began to itch again. A chiton would be best, of course, if the woman could afford it. Avra wanted to adorn as much of her body as possible—leaving, of course, the shape and skin desired by the world. If not, perhaps a sash, or embroidery work on an existing cloth. Anything, anything, everything.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Few people of interest came to speak with Avra as the afternoon wore on. Some tried to place a commission but offered insultingly low prices. Others came to look and walked away with their minds and hearts full but their pockets empty. A precious few left with smiles on their faces and a tapestry or ornament in their bag, and Avra gave each one of them a small piece of her heart, too. It was a wonderful thing to spread beauty and love across this small piece of the kingdom.
Between each charming conversation, the merchant felt her fingers itching for a task. To spend even a brief time without creating something beautiful well… it was a tragedy that Avra could not excuse. She was about to reach for a spare bit of fabric when finally, someone interesting approached. The woman was beautiful, there was no denying it, and Avra’s fingers itched all the more to engrave her likeness on a canvas. She walked with a confident freeness that lent itself well to stories and legends and her face seemed to almost demand attention. Avra felt the lightness in the air fade with the other woman’s smile and found herself longing for the sun to return to the sky.
“I have never finished with commissions,” Avra said, populating the sky with her own bright smile in the absence of a partner. “Was there something you had in mind?” She gestured vaguely at the wealth of pieces adorning the table, running a loving hand across some of her favorites. Avra clung to the word commission. It would be wonderful, of course, if an existing piece caught the woman’s eye and made its way from her table to spread beauty like its fellows. But commissions were something else entirely, made with the buyer’s likeness and passions in mind. Commissions were infused with specific bits of her heart, not just the affection she held for every tiny story.
There was no way to put her excitement into words, but Avra did her best. “I think…” her eyes delicately scanned the woman and the thought came to her head like a torch bursting into flame. “Sea foam, perhaps? With each shade of blue more vibrant than the last.” Her voice rose excitedly, lighting on the potential customer’s eyes, “Your eyes have a light to them, miss, that commands to be noticed, decorated.” The words would sound cliché from anyone else’s lips, but Avra’s eyes were wide and earnest and she meant every word.
She saw beauty in every little thing, and had for as long as she cared to remember. Her job was to create beauty yes, but the best way by far to accomplish that task was to highlight the beauty that already existed. The woman in front of her already knew she was beautiful. Everyone that laid eyes on her already knew it. It was Avra’s job to embellish that beauty until no one could pretend she was not radiant. Such a model was rare. Avra’s fingers began to itch again. A chiton would be best, of course, if the woman could afford it. Avra wanted to adorn as much of her body as possible—leaving, of course, the shape and skin desired by the world. If not, perhaps a sash, or embroidery work on an existing cloth. Anything, anything, everything.
Few people of interest came to speak with Avra as the afternoon wore on. Some tried to place a commission but offered insultingly low prices. Others came to look and walked away with their minds and hearts full but their pockets empty. A precious few left with smiles on their faces and a tapestry or ornament in their bag, and Avra gave each one of them a small piece of her heart, too. It was a wonderful thing to spread beauty and love across this small piece of the kingdom.
Between each charming conversation, the merchant felt her fingers itching for a task. To spend even a brief time without creating something beautiful well… it was a tragedy that Avra could not excuse. She was about to reach for a spare bit of fabric when finally, someone interesting approached. The woman was beautiful, there was no denying it, and Avra’s fingers itched all the more to engrave her likeness on a canvas. She walked with a confident freeness that lent itself well to stories and legends and her face seemed to almost demand attention. Avra felt the lightness in the air fade with the other woman’s smile and found herself longing for the sun to return to the sky.
“I have never finished with commissions,” Avra said, populating the sky with her own bright smile in the absence of a partner. “Was there something you had in mind?” She gestured vaguely at the wealth of pieces adorning the table, running a loving hand across some of her favorites. Avra clung to the word commission. It would be wonderful, of course, if an existing piece caught the woman’s eye and made its way from her table to spread beauty like its fellows. But commissions were something else entirely, made with the buyer’s likeness and passions in mind. Commissions were infused with specific bits of her heart, not just the affection she held for every tiny story.
There was no way to put her excitement into words, but Avra did her best. “I think…” her eyes delicately scanned the woman and the thought came to her head like a torch bursting into flame. “Sea foam, perhaps? With each shade of blue more vibrant than the last.” Her voice rose excitedly, lighting on the potential customer’s eyes, “Your eyes have a light to them, miss, that commands to be noticed, decorated.” The words would sound cliché from anyone else’s lips, but Avra’s eyes were wide and earnest and she meant every word.
She saw beauty in every little thing, and had for as long as she cared to remember. Her job was to create beauty yes, but the best way by far to accomplish that task was to highlight the beauty that already existed. The woman in front of her already knew she was beautiful. Everyone that laid eyes on her already knew it. It was Avra’s job to embellish that beauty until no one could pretend she was not radiant. Such a model was rare. Avra’s fingers began to itch again. A chiton would be best, of course, if the woman could afford it. Avra wanted to adorn as much of her body as possible—leaving, of course, the shape and skin desired by the world. If not, perhaps a sash, or embroidery work on an existing cloth. Anything, anything, everything.
Ana held a healthy respect for artisans. They looked to Apollo for inspiration in their doings, each seeking the epitome of their craft, to be touched by the sun itself in the midst of their efforts. To bring joy through the creation of physical objects was foreign to Ana herself, who sought to impress Apollo with her actions, with her fables. The sort of worship that was repeated, over and over in order to be affirmed.
Incapable of such permanent offerings, Ana was maybe a bit jealous of the merchant. But, she let the feeling pass, instead far more intrigued at the idea of learning more. More about her commissions, but more about her, as well. A curious creature, asking a curious question. What did she have in mind? She considered her options up until Avra offered her own suggestions, already meandering about on how best to compliment Ana's beauty with her beautiful embroidery.
"Can you do that? That sounds wonderfully realistic. Particularly fitting for a nymph, arisen from the tides."
Ana so loved her little fable, woven about herself. Often enough, it caught her that bit of extra attention, for the people of the world longed for the myths and legends to be real, to capture them in their hands or their eyes and allow themselves a diversion from the physical and tangible.
"Your eyes have a light to them, miss, that commands to be noticed, decorated."
Anastasia almost melted at the bit of praise. Such attentions from such a lovely girl... it was difficult for Anastasia to separate propriety from intrigue, and Avra might catch the hint of heat glimmer within those hazel eyes as Anastasia met Avra's gaze with her own. Words that might've sounded cliché to some whirled within Anastasia's thoughts, cemented within by the visage that Avra provided.
"How you flatter me, miss! I was already looking to buy, but alas, you've sold me all over again," she admitted, allowing a giggle to brush past her lips.
What Avra spoke of seemed a rather expensive task, but... what harm was there in a bit of splurging? She honoured Apollo, praised Hermes, basked in the splendor of Poseidon and draped herself in his legends... Surely Anastasia of the Siren's Song needed a dress to further facilitate her legends.
We can call it a business expense, she rationalized, as if her shopping whims needed any sort of justification.
"If you'd like, miss..." she trailed off in search of an offered name, hoping that the merchant would satisfy her curiosity in that much.
"We could discuss the matter further over a drink? Your ideas sound very intricate, and I find myself oh-so-fascinated," she admitted, a grin catching her lips as she awaited the merchant's answer.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Ana held a healthy respect for artisans. They looked to Apollo for inspiration in their doings, each seeking the epitome of their craft, to be touched by the sun itself in the midst of their efforts. To bring joy through the creation of physical objects was foreign to Ana herself, who sought to impress Apollo with her actions, with her fables. The sort of worship that was repeated, over and over in order to be affirmed.
Incapable of such permanent offerings, Ana was maybe a bit jealous of the merchant. But, she let the feeling pass, instead far more intrigued at the idea of learning more. More about her commissions, but more about her, as well. A curious creature, asking a curious question. What did she have in mind? She considered her options up until Avra offered her own suggestions, already meandering about on how best to compliment Ana's beauty with her beautiful embroidery.
"Can you do that? That sounds wonderfully realistic. Particularly fitting for a nymph, arisen from the tides."
Ana so loved her little fable, woven about herself. Often enough, it caught her that bit of extra attention, for the people of the world longed for the myths and legends to be real, to capture them in their hands or their eyes and allow themselves a diversion from the physical and tangible.
"Your eyes have a light to them, miss, that commands to be noticed, decorated."
Anastasia almost melted at the bit of praise. Such attentions from such a lovely girl... it was difficult for Anastasia to separate propriety from intrigue, and Avra might catch the hint of heat glimmer within those hazel eyes as Anastasia met Avra's gaze with her own. Words that might've sounded cliché to some whirled within Anastasia's thoughts, cemented within by the visage that Avra provided.
"How you flatter me, miss! I was already looking to buy, but alas, you've sold me all over again," she admitted, allowing a giggle to brush past her lips.
What Avra spoke of seemed a rather expensive task, but... what harm was there in a bit of splurging? She honoured Apollo, praised Hermes, basked in the splendor of Poseidon and draped herself in his legends... Surely Anastasia of the Siren's Song needed a dress to further facilitate her legends.
We can call it a business expense, she rationalized, as if her shopping whims needed any sort of justification.
"If you'd like, miss..." she trailed off in search of an offered name, hoping that the merchant would satisfy her curiosity in that much.
"We could discuss the matter further over a drink? Your ideas sound very intricate, and I find myself oh-so-fascinated," she admitted, a grin catching her lips as she awaited the merchant's answer.
Ana held a healthy respect for artisans. They looked to Apollo for inspiration in their doings, each seeking the epitome of their craft, to be touched by the sun itself in the midst of their efforts. To bring joy through the creation of physical objects was foreign to Ana herself, who sought to impress Apollo with her actions, with her fables. The sort of worship that was repeated, over and over in order to be affirmed.
Incapable of such permanent offerings, Ana was maybe a bit jealous of the merchant. But, she let the feeling pass, instead far more intrigued at the idea of learning more. More about her commissions, but more about her, as well. A curious creature, asking a curious question. What did she have in mind? She considered her options up until Avra offered her own suggestions, already meandering about on how best to compliment Ana's beauty with her beautiful embroidery.
"Can you do that? That sounds wonderfully realistic. Particularly fitting for a nymph, arisen from the tides."
Ana so loved her little fable, woven about herself. Often enough, it caught her that bit of extra attention, for the people of the world longed for the myths and legends to be real, to capture them in their hands or their eyes and allow themselves a diversion from the physical and tangible.
"Your eyes have a light to them, miss, that commands to be noticed, decorated."
Anastasia almost melted at the bit of praise. Such attentions from such a lovely girl... it was difficult for Anastasia to separate propriety from intrigue, and Avra might catch the hint of heat glimmer within those hazel eyes as Anastasia met Avra's gaze with her own. Words that might've sounded cliché to some whirled within Anastasia's thoughts, cemented within by the visage that Avra provided.
"How you flatter me, miss! I was already looking to buy, but alas, you've sold me all over again," she admitted, allowing a giggle to brush past her lips.
What Avra spoke of seemed a rather expensive task, but... what harm was there in a bit of splurging? She honoured Apollo, praised Hermes, basked in the splendor of Poseidon and draped herself in his legends... Surely Anastasia of the Siren's Song needed a dress to further facilitate her legends.
We can call it a business expense, she rationalized, as if her shopping whims needed any sort of justification.
"If you'd like, miss..." she trailed off in search of an offered name, hoping that the merchant would satisfy her curiosity in that much.
"We could discuss the matter further over a drink? Your ideas sound very intricate, and I find myself oh-so-fascinated," she admitted, a grin catching her lips as she awaited the merchant's answer.
Avra never shied away from attention, and the beautiful woman before her was so complimentary. She deserved compliments and legends in return. “A sea nymph?” Avra’s own voice swelled with interest. Had she truly guessed the proper color, completely by accident? It seemed too good to be true. Whether the lady was a genuine nymph was of little consequence; she believed it, and so it would be Avra’s job to make the world believe it, too, with her heart. “Even more magnificent…”
Avra’s already warm smile grew even further at the sound of her potential customer’s light laugh. There was beauty in everyone, yes, but one did not need to look far to see it in this woman. Everything about her; her jaw, her smooth skin, the mysterious twinkle in her eye… Avra could create a true legend from her, effortlessly. A dress for the commission, but Avra could see the tapestry that would follow; a scene reminiscent of Aphrodite’s birth. Perhaps the woman would even make her way into Avra’s own personal tapestry… the idea was thrilling. A bit of sea foam, or a bright star, hidden away amongst her other encounters.
“My ideas are always intricate, especially when they involve plans for enhancing such beauty!” Avra exclaimed, easy smile brightening once again before turning apologetic. “I would love to discuss it further—I hope you do not mind waiting while I pack up my art?” Art, not wares. Wares were things designed to be sold. Art was created to be beautiful, and sold to those who saw its beauty, too. “I will not take long, I promise.” Still, there was much to pack. Avra’s fingers were nimble, but these tapestries, scarves, decorations— they required a loving hand. She worked quickly, but took her time to fold each piece into a bundle without disrupting a single thread. The embroiderer placed her art into a few large, extremely decorated bags, looped across her shoulders.
Her eyes cast back for the enchanting nymph, catching the woman in a questioning gaze. “Did you have a place in mind?” Avra would prefer not to end up in the tavern she currently inhabited each night; the barman might grow jealous at the sight of Avra laughing with someone besides him. The other taverns, while filled with similar history, Avra had at least left on good terms and a kiss on the cheek. A current lover, though, was a different story. The man was generous and attentive, if a bit too jealous for Avra’s tastes. She did not wish to hurt him with the sight of her. “I am at your disposal, Miss Nymph.” A promising end to a wearisome day.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Avra never shied away from attention, and the beautiful woman before her was so complimentary. She deserved compliments and legends in return. “A sea nymph?” Avra’s own voice swelled with interest. Had she truly guessed the proper color, completely by accident? It seemed too good to be true. Whether the lady was a genuine nymph was of little consequence; she believed it, and so it would be Avra’s job to make the world believe it, too, with her heart. “Even more magnificent…”
Avra’s already warm smile grew even further at the sound of her potential customer’s light laugh. There was beauty in everyone, yes, but one did not need to look far to see it in this woman. Everything about her; her jaw, her smooth skin, the mysterious twinkle in her eye… Avra could create a true legend from her, effortlessly. A dress for the commission, but Avra could see the tapestry that would follow; a scene reminiscent of Aphrodite’s birth. Perhaps the woman would even make her way into Avra’s own personal tapestry… the idea was thrilling. A bit of sea foam, or a bright star, hidden away amongst her other encounters.
“My ideas are always intricate, especially when they involve plans for enhancing such beauty!” Avra exclaimed, easy smile brightening once again before turning apologetic. “I would love to discuss it further—I hope you do not mind waiting while I pack up my art?” Art, not wares. Wares were things designed to be sold. Art was created to be beautiful, and sold to those who saw its beauty, too. “I will not take long, I promise.” Still, there was much to pack. Avra’s fingers were nimble, but these tapestries, scarves, decorations— they required a loving hand. She worked quickly, but took her time to fold each piece into a bundle without disrupting a single thread. The embroiderer placed her art into a few large, extremely decorated bags, looped across her shoulders.
Her eyes cast back for the enchanting nymph, catching the woman in a questioning gaze. “Did you have a place in mind?” Avra would prefer not to end up in the tavern she currently inhabited each night; the barman might grow jealous at the sight of Avra laughing with someone besides him. The other taverns, while filled with similar history, Avra had at least left on good terms and a kiss on the cheek. A current lover, though, was a different story. The man was generous and attentive, if a bit too jealous for Avra’s tastes. She did not wish to hurt him with the sight of her. “I am at your disposal, Miss Nymph.” A promising end to a wearisome day.
Avra never shied away from attention, and the beautiful woman before her was so complimentary. She deserved compliments and legends in return. “A sea nymph?” Avra’s own voice swelled with interest. Had she truly guessed the proper color, completely by accident? It seemed too good to be true. Whether the lady was a genuine nymph was of little consequence; she believed it, and so it would be Avra’s job to make the world believe it, too, with her heart. “Even more magnificent…”
Avra’s already warm smile grew even further at the sound of her potential customer’s light laugh. There was beauty in everyone, yes, but one did not need to look far to see it in this woman. Everything about her; her jaw, her smooth skin, the mysterious twinkle in her eye… Avra could create a true legend from her, effortlessly. A dress for the commission, but Avra could see the tapestry that would follow; a scene reminiscent of Aphrodite’s birth. Perhaps the woman would even make her way into Avra’s own personal tapestry… the idea was thrilling. A bit of sea foam, or a bright star, hidden away amongst her other encounters.
“My ideas are always intricate, especially when they involve plans for enhancing such beauty!” Avra exclaimed, easy smile brightening once again before turning apologetic. “I would love to discuss it further—I hope you do not mind waiting while I pack up my art?” Art, not wares. Wares were things designed to be sold. Art was created to be beautiful, and sold to those who saw its beauty, too. “I will not take long, I promise.” Still, there was much to pack. Avra’s fingers were nimble, but these tapestries, scarves, decorations— they required a loving hand. She worked quickly, but took her time to fold each piece into a bundle without disrupting a single thread. The embroiderer placed her art into a few large, extremely decorated bags, looped across her shoulders.
Her eyes cast back for the enchanting nymph, catching the woman in a questioning gaze. “Did you have a place in mind?” Avra would prefer not to end up in the tavern she currently inhabited each night; the barman might grow jealous at the sight of Avra laughing with someone besides him. The other taverns, while filled with similar history, Avra had at least left on good terms and a kiss on the cheek. A current lover, though, was a different story. The man was generous and attentive, if a bit too jealous for Avra’s tastes. She did not wish to hurt him with the sight of her. “I am at your disposal, Miss Nymph.” A promising end to a wearisome day.
The light of @apollo shone like a beacon from this woman.
The patron of artists, of music, and of the unbridled joy to be found in most media of expression, Anastasia considered herself among the fortunate who could show his glory as a tangible light for others to warm their hearts with. However, it was those chosen []artisans[/i] like the woman in front of her, that could create and worship him in a way that could with proper care be nurtured through the generations. A tale, a legend, a song, or a poem was a fleeting thing, digested and let to fall away. It was left to the listener to spread the legend or to harbour it in their soul.
Ana envied those who possessed such talents as to weave their love for Apollo into the world itself. Was Avra among those who understood this? Many, it seemed, forgot the Gods in the midst of the pressures of day to day light, but immediately as she listened to Avra's reception of her words, the smile curled upon her lips. A believer, but more than that, one who found easy smiles and a lovely voice as well. Immeasurably curious, but moreso in being among a form of kin, Anastasia found herself drawn in and was ever so willing to revel in it.
She was articulate and tasteful in her delivery, imbibing her tone with just enough flattery as to pass off her apology. The storyteller let one shake of her head be the answer, quite pleased to hear the turn of phrase. Packing up her art. Commissions, while the reality of such a profession, was not the sole, or even primary, goal in making such a thing. Reverence, but more than that, a deep love for what she did layered her words and served only to pull the siren deeper. Was Anastasia the songstress who lulled others to her, or was it Avra? Perhaps it was Ana's indulgent nature in all things, but she drank in every words, watching for a moment as the artisan packed up her artwork before she turned her attention skyward.
"Take your time."
A breath filled the bard's lungs as she tilted her head, letting a lithe throat bare to the sunlight, kissing her pearly flesh as her chest rose with the intake. She took a step backward before tipping her weight, arching her spine before the landing on outstretched palms. The skirt of her peplos just began to fall as she shifted her weight once more, letting her legs return to the earth and slowly stretching out her back so that she returned to an upright position with more than enough time to spare. Once Avra's gaze and words directed back towards her.
The question was a fair one. Ana, truly, had little idea or destination in mind, merely the opportunity to let herself fall into words and reverie with another whose heart swelled with an easy affection that seemed to reverberate from her as a palpable force. The wide smile caught her lips as she hummed in thought, letting the melodious sound vibrate against her closed lips before she turned her attention towards the falling sun. The shadows were turning, becoming thicker and longer. Anastasia held no distaste for the night, but to see a lover of Apollo in his light held a sort of poetic justice for her to recount in future tales.
"I am at your disposal, Miss Nymph."
There was an unconscious chill of pleasure at the admission, and Ana feared that her jaw might lock and grow sorer and sorer at the smile that seemed fixed into place.
"The destination is often less appealing than the journey. If it suits you, miss artisan, we could find a bottle and walk until the sun sets. From there on, who knows where the world might find us?"
Offering a wink towards her beautiful opposite, Anastasia drew closer, tipping her head until her lips pressed so very nearly against the skin beneath Avra's ear. However, the siren was careful not to make contact with her interesting companion.
"I am Anastasia, of the Siren's Song. Would yourself and the Gods see it fit, lovely creator, as to bestow your own name upon these ears?"
There was something to that first utterance of an entrancing person's name. It forged a connection that could span the stars.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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The light of @apollo shone like a beacon from this woman.
The patron of artists, of music, and of the unbridled joy to be found in most media of expression, Anastasia considered herself among the fortunate who could show his glory as a tangible light for others to warm their hearts with. However, it was those chosen []artisans[/i] like the woman in front of her, that could create and worship him in a way that could with proper care be nurtured through the generations. A tale, a legend, a song, or a poem was a fleeting thing, digested and let to fall away. It was left to the listener to spread the legend or to harbour it in their soul.
Ana envied those who possessed such talents as to weave their love for Apollo into the world itself. Was Avra among those who understood this? Many, it seemed, forgot the Gods in the midst of the pressures of day to day light, but immediately as she listened to Avra's reception of her words, the smile curled upon her lips. A believer, but more than that, one who found easy smiles and a lovely voice as well. Immeasurably curious, but moreso in being among a form of kin, Anastasia found herself drawn in and was ever so willing to revel in it.
She was articulate and tasteful in her delivery, imbibing her tone with just enough flattery as to pass off her apology. The storyteller let one shake of her head be the answer, quite pleased to hear the turn of phrase. Packing up her art. Commissions, while the reality of such a profession, was not the sole, or even primary, goal in making such a thing. Reverence, but more than that, a deep love for what she did layered her words and served only to pull the siren deeper. Was Anastasia the songstress who lulled others to her, or was it Avra? Perhaps it was Ana's indulgent nature in all things, but she drank in every words, watching for a moment as the artisan packed up her artwork before she turned her attention skyward.
"Take your time."
A breath filled the bard's lungs as she tilted her head, letting a lithe throat bare to the sunlight, kissing her pearly flesh as her chest rose with the intake. She took a step backward before tipping her weight, arching her spine before the landing on outstretched palms. The skirt of her peplos just began to fall as she shifted her weight once more, letting her legs return to the earth and slowly stretching out her back so that she returned to an upright position with more than enough time to spare. Once Avra's gaze and words directed back towards her.
The question was a fair one. Ana, truly, had little idea or destination in mind, merely the opportunity to let herself fall into words and reverie with another whose heart swelled with an easy affection that seemed to reverberate from her as a palpable force. The wide smile caught her lips as she hummed in thought, letting the melodious sound vibrate against her closed lips before she turned her attention towards the falling sun. The shadows were turning, becoming thicker and longer. Anastasia held no distaste for the night, but to see a lover of Apollo in his light held a sort of poetic justice for her to recount in future tales.
"I am at your disposal, Miss Nymph."
There was an unconscious chill of pleasure at the admission, and Ana feared that her jaw might lock and grow sorer and sorer at the smile that seemed fixed into place.
"The destination is often less appealing than the journey. If it suits you, miss artisan, we could find a bottle and walk until the sun sets. From there on, who knows where the world might find us?"
Offering a wink towards her beautiful opposite, Anastasia drew closer, tipping her head until her lips pressed so very nearly against the skin beneath Avra's ear. However, the siren was careful not to make contact with her interesting companion.
"I am Anastasia, of the Siren's Song. Would yourself and the Gods see it fit, lovely creator, as to bestow your own name upon these ears?"
There was something to that first utterance of an entrancing person's name. It forged a connection that could span the stars.
The light of @apollo shone like a beacon from this woman.
The patron of artists, of music, and of the unbridled joy to be found in most media of expression, Anastasia considered herself among the fortunate who could show his glory as a tangible light for others to warm their hearts with. However, it was those chosen []artisans[/i] like the woman in front of her, that could create and worship him in a way that could with proper care be nurtured through the generations. A tale, a legend, a song, or a poem was a fleeting thing, digested and let to fall away. It was left to the listener to spread the legend or to harbour it in their soul.
Ana envied those who possessed such talents as to weave their love for Apollo into the world itself. Was Avra among those who understood this? Many, it seemed, forgot the Gods in the midst of the pressures of day to day light, but immediately as she listened to Avra's reception of her words, the smile curled upon her lips. A believer, but more than that, one who found easy smiles and a lovely voice as well. Immeasurably curious, but moreso in being among a form of kin, Anastasia found herself drawn in and was ever so willing to revel in it.
She was articulate and tasteful in her delivery, imbibing her tone with just enough flattery as to pass off her apology. The storyteller let one shake of her head be the answer, quite pleased to hear the turn of phrase. Packing up her art. Commissions, while the reality of such a profession, was not the sole, or even primary, goal in making such a thing. Reverence, but more than that, a deep love for what she did layered her words and served only to pull the siren deeper. Was Anastasia the songstress who lulled others to her, or was it Avra? Perhaps it was Ana's indulgent nature in all things, but she drank in every words, watching for a moment as the artisan packed up her artwork before she turned her attention skyward.
"Take your time."
A breath filled the bard's lungs as she tilted her head, letting a lithe throat bare to the sunlight, kissing her pearly flesh as her chest rose with the intake. She took a step backward before tipping her weight, arching her spine before the landing on outstretched palms. The skirt of her peplos just began to fall as she shifted her weight once more, letting her legs return to the earth and slowly stretching out her back so that she returned to an upright position with more than enough time to spare. Once Avra's gaze and words directed back towards her.
The question was a fair one. Ana, truly, had little idea or destination in mind, merely the opportunity to let herself fall into words and reverie with another whose heart swelled with an easy affection that seemed to reverberate from her as a palpable force. The wide smile caught her lips as she hummed in thought, letting the melodious sound vibrate against her closed lips before she turned her attention towards the falling sun. The shadows were turning, becoming thicker and longer. Anastasia held no distaste for the night, but to see a lover of Apollo in his light held a sort of poetic justice for her to recount in future tales.
"I am at your disposal, Miss Nymph."
There was an unconscious chill of pleasure at the admission, and Ana feared that her jaw might lock and grow sorer and sorer at the smile that seemed fixed into place.
"The destination is often less appealing than the journey. If it suits you, miss artisan, we could find a bottle and walk until the sun sets. From there on, who knows where the world might find us?"
Offering a wink towards her beautiful opposite, Anastasia drew closer, tipping her head until her lips pressed so very nearly against the skin beneath Avra's ear. However, the siren was careful not to make contact with her interesting companion.
"I am Anastasia, of the Siren's Song. Would yourself and the Gods see it fit, lovely creator, as to bestow your own name upon these ears?"
There was something to that first utterance of an entrancing person's name. It forged a connection that could span the stars.
