[veridian]

OOOH!! Marking!!

[Calibri]

Mark??? Hmmm

[lysander]

HMM MARK?

[S-S-Sweets]

Mark if I have time?? Big oof.

username:
kalon name:
human form:
explanation [500 words max]:

[Rorrim]

Mark!!

[royalpoppy]

username: royalpoppy
kalon name:
human form:
explanation [500 words max]:

[OriGalaxii]

username: Lexxa_Astral
kalon name: Persici
human form:
explanation [500 words max]:

Res as the demigoddess of Peaches-

[Yuroshi]

Mark

[Micki.]

quick mark tbhmicki

[Northstar.]

username: Northstar.

kalon name: Perondir

human form:

by the amazing, and incredibly talented Aey <3

explanation [500 words max]:

His robes are stitched with the threads of his people - each holds a life, a name, a tale. Some primordial threads are weak or faded, yet still held tightly within the weave. If you look closely, you might see where threads of life were mended... or broken.

Upon his head is a heavy crown, woven with gilded peach branches and golden leaves. It is heavy to remind the bearer of the people they carry, always.

Sometimes... the robes are too heavy upon his shoulders.

"Why is that, uncle?" she asks. She looks exactly like his sister did at that age. Sometimes it's a bitter thing, and others, blessed.

"These robes carry all the responsibilities of our kingdom. To wear them is to carry our people through famine and drought, war and madness." She asks as many questions as his sister did at that age. He prays she doesn't inherit the madness that befell his only sibling. He could not bear to lose her, too.

"Don't you ever get tired?" Her face is twisted in boredom, small and round. As king of Asgaelven, he understands this. There are none her size to play with. Fae children are so very rare- each a treasure guarded fiercely by the people.

King Perondir smiles, a small twist of his lips.

"You know Vail, as king.... Sometimes I may put down these robes. Not the responsibility, you understand. But these, stuffy, ceremonial drapes can sometimes be hung up for the day." An elegant wave draws a passing manservant near. The gaudy, cumbersome robes are removed and carted off. Perondir's clothing beneath is just as fine, yet not nearly as bulky.

"Why?" his niece asks. She questions everything, as he's taught her.

"Well, so I can play with you, my little nosy niece! Tag!" The ancient fairy king boops her nose and races down the hall. Servants titter and giggle as their king flies past, the child a few, fiery footsteps behind.