"There is no unity that tyranny can mend.
It is better to break in mutiny than bend."

Beltaine is a seeker of truth and student of theologico-political philosophy. Should she detect a fallacy in the cornerstones of her culture, regardless of any imposed sanctity, she will scrutinize it just as she did the social structure she was raised under.Unlike many of her countrymen who yet harbor xenophobia as was perpetuated by their tyrannical Archbishop, Beltaine had grown detached and discerning the more involved she became with the war. She quickly takes to the company of outsiders, finding their perspectives and experiences enlightening.

The air was brisk and sterling. It cradled over miles of coniferous trees and mountainous terrain with limitless expanse. In all her grim experiences, never had she thought remnants of death could so graciously beckon her. Blankets of snow purged the floor of blemish, nigh paralleling the vastness of all seven heavens.She nestled atop a rotting log and drew her knees to her chest. Sharp wetness bled through the layered fabrics of her garb and hair prickled on the nape of her neck, but trivial discomforts no longer mattered here. She could smell an icy hollowness that stung her sinuses, and the chimes of warping frost resonated in her ears.This was her private crystalline sphere, a compact universe where she dwelt among wildlife dashing the stillness with puffs of splendid white. Like the soft descent of Nymeia's own stars, flakes kissed her face flushed with heat. She sought to remain as unshaken as the surrounding headstones. To absorb the frailest stimuli with every sensation.The perpetual winter on the outskirts of Ishgard had imprinted itself on her fonder memories. A walk through the cemeteries was all that was necessary to enter a surreal plane of peace despite how regrettably fleeting the moment had to be. Nor haunting the tragedies preceding the graves awaited her on the other side.

ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇxɪʟᴇᴅ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴜʀ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜɪɴ
ꜰɪᴇʀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ
ʜᴇɪʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴡʏʀᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪɴ.ᴍʏ ᴡʏʀᴍ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɪᴅ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ
ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴇɴᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ
ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ
ꜰʀᴇᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟɪꜰᴇ'ꜱ ʀɪᴠᴇʀ
ᴜɴʙᴇᴋɴᴏᴡɴꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴜᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ
ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ɴᴏʀ ꜱɪʀᴇᴅ
ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ.Where words fail, music speaks.To beguile the time,
Look like the time —
bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue.
Look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under't.Beltaine is known as an ariose pariah. While allowed within city walls, she is ignored if not outright avoided. Labelled a traitor to Ishgard for joining Iceheart's harriers during the Dragonsong War, as well as a traitor to heretics for attempting to reintegrate into Ishgardian society post war.In recent times, she has forgone the glamours which hid her draconic features acquired from partaking in the blood of Nidhogg's brood. Considering her unfavorable reputation, she doubts such visual changes were hardly noticed.She hears the dragons' songs, and counters its lure with songs of her own. Songs that proclaim the everlasting love of Shiva and Hraesvelgr with beauty and joy.Likely due to having lost her own beloved to the Holy See, when Beltaine hears Nidhogg's song, instead of rage she becomes overwhelmed with his grief for his sister, Ratatoskr.An electric and existential energy pulsated throughout the atmosphere when she entered the grand, stone temple halls of the Arrzaneth Ossuary.This was where she coaxed herself every day to face the reality of mortality, appease the macabre but compassionate deities of these domains, and spend intimate time with the remains of their new vassals. Ceremoniously cleansed and dressed them for viewings with their beloved, and lastly lay them in their final resting place.To make the repercussions for their death the mission of her life.For her, when one addressed the departed, their souls heard. They were the precious children of the Star and deserved equal treatment of respect and dignity post-mortem as they did alive. As silent victims, she appointed herself responsible in ensuring their voices carry over.The Dragonsong War's impact on her culture's system of death had made her more attuned with her own transience, as well as the transience of those she loved. It readjusted the tenor of her grief and reintroduced power into that which had once left her utterly powerless.There was a strange peace that surpassed understanding the moment she learned how to embrace the bittersweet inevitability of the Lifestream and the darker facets it encompassed.

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Terms

✒ Beltaine was designed to be a supporting character and is largely reactionary. I'm not apt at weaving plots/story-lines on my own, but I am open to collaborative brainstorming.✒ Mature content such as violence/gore, ideologically sensitive themes, and suggestive situations are permitted so long as they’re not gratuitous.✒ However, under no circumstances will I partake in erotic role-play.✒ Any other actions that may have a direct and severe negative impact on my character (e.g., physical/psychological damage) must first have my expressed approval. God-modding and meta-gaming will not be entertained.✒ Otherwise, I fancy sharing an adventure, philosophy, or even a drink.✒ Mare code is available for those involved in recurring rp with me.Thank you for respecting these preferences.

Credits

✒ Gifs were edited by Assassin1513

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Hooks

GREENTHUMB - She can often be seen frequenting Ishgard's cemetery and cathedral, evidently hired to assist with grounds-keeping by the clergy. Where there is flora, she is nurturing it. Despite Ishgard's frigid climate, flowers seem to flourish beneath her touch, and she regards them with a maternal tenderness, as though they can sense her.BOOKWYRM - An element not immediately noticeable to her ensemble is a tome in which she will indulge on a nearby seat. Her quiet attentiveness while managing such doesn’t necessarily indicate disinterest in socializing with pedestrians.Contrarily, should one genuinely inquire on one of her better days, they may just find themselves engaged in discussion more extensive and impassioned than bargained for.SONGBIRD - She is a proficient harpist. On occasion she will grace (or curse, depending on how one looks at it) taverns with an impromptu performance. Her set-lists are largely classical and folk in genre. The fearless few who linger and listen are encouraged to sit close, and should they be so moved, even dance.