#dávdna

[crowthatwalks]

Thank you for the kind words, I jad a lot of fun with this!

MASSIVE THANK YOU to @crowthatwalks who gifted me a portrait of Dávdna! You're literally the sweetest and I find your art style very pretty 🥹

Dávdna is my newest baby—well, not quite baby anymore seeing as they're 123 years old—that I'm so proud of. I'm looking forward to playing out their story through writing, and in turn, sharing some vignettes of that on here ⛵

[fruitssalad]

KAASSSS!!! Ahhhh *screams internally* I'm so excited you've hopped on board the oc ask train, and prevented me from working more on my Dávdna, but I forgive youuuu 🥹🥹🥹

Please can I have:

Naveed - 32 or 33

Jacinth - 12

Aurel - 16

Eli - 47, 48

AH:FDJDS OOPSIEEE!! Im a procrastination enabler..🥰 (my ass should b drawing rn too oopsss)

ALSO THANK U BESTIE FOR SHARING THIS ASK GAME W ME💕

answers below >:D

Naveed

33 - Would they like to have a ghoul if they don’t have one?

He misses the ghouls they had back home 😔… But has been thinking about making some new ones since they’re here for the time being. The only thing stopping him is that he really just hasn’t found the right mortal yet. Although he thinks he’s found one that’s proven to be quite useful. An uber driver who’s helped him make an exceptional getaway a few times already. (INCLUDING the time his adversary attacked their car with a gun and a motorcycle.)

Jacinth

12 - What happened that lead up to their embrace? (CW: drugs, dominate… murder…. yeah…😔)

They were supposed to be playing a show with Lexi and Murphy. They did, then things start to go a little fuzzy. There was something about being taken to a back room, drugs, talking, sitting, listening... They found out later they were back there for a few hours, kept in place by some sabbat member who was bored. When he was tired of playing with them they were let out. Leaving through the back alley. The man sat from the rooftop and watched them go before deciding to put an end to them. He killed lexi almost instantly ( hehe sorry bestie @knowncorpse <3 thinking abt her leg and throwing up) then murphy who put up a solid fight before his head met a brick wall, and then Jacinth who tried to push him off before running and getting mauled in the parking lot. Thats how Francis found them at least 😭

it was a rough night…

Aurel

16 - How good are they at acting “alive”?

(ur hurting my feelings DS:LJDSF:LJ) Aurel isn’t quite sure anymore. He’s been this way for so long he longs for the feeling. Craving it and immersing himself in it through books and art and music. He pretends, in his poems, that he is alive, copying what he sees mimicking the beauty, the sorrow, and the drama of mortality. Everything is seen through his rose coloured glasses— so while he’s a force of personality, it comes across as well as a crazed actor performing a script.

Eli

47 - What are their desires?

He wants to, step by step, build himself up. Prove himself to his Mawla and make sure they can achieve their goals— together. Amos saved him from himself, so it’s only fair he return the favour. 🥰

48 - Detail things about your OC you spent a lot of time on!

RESEARCH! I tried to read a lot abt the victorian age and shove it into my brain. Specifically information about immigration at that time, LGBT ppl, and disabled people. Trying to put his story in a historical context is a fun challenge.

[saturnselkies]

Spring Beckons

[pathofthesramana-blog]

Meet Dávdna’s parents, the High Sramana, Viggu, and his wife, Edel! Concepts by Mayenna Sophie and @monsiearts

[porcelainseashore]

Ailo, Dávdna’s sire, has succumbed to the Beckoning, and heads up shore to see them before he leaves. Although he does not mention it, Dávdna knows this is the last time they will see him.

As they mourn, Ailo joiks them. He has loved them as a father, a mentor, a friend, a lover—maybe even something that transcends love. In return, they have loved him back, without the need for fanfare or words, unconditionally.

Ohhhh Kelsey this is SO BEAUTIFUL!! 😭 I’m amazed by how much you can convey through your art. Thank you for drawing this piece for me 🫶

Ailo saying goodbye to Dávdna for @porcelainseashore... thank you so much for commissioning me! Mariner Gangrel are so cool?!

[porcelainseashore]

Memento Mori - The Cardinal North

Author's Note: Fyi, I used the prompt “Haunting” as I was originally going to submit this for @vampemoqueen’s WoD Hallozine, but ended up choosing another entry. Shoutout to the lovely @childofmalkavians for their art direction on my cover image!

“Memento Mori” is about Dávdna’s (or Dagny, as she was once called) near-death experience as a child, and how that resulted in her future sire haunting her throughout the years.

“Eh, Dagny, stop that,” her father called out. There was a stern edge to his voice, weary, and worn like cracked leather. He sucked his teeth, yellowed from tobacco, which he sometimes chewed or smoked in his pastime.

Her humming mellowed into a sigh before sputtering out like an extinguished flame. She knew better than to upset him further when he addressed her in that tone. He turned his gaze back towards the horizon, crow’s feet splaying out at the corners of his eyes as he squinted—searching, hoping, wandering.

It had been a long day out at sea, casting lines and nets, but each time they came back empty handed—peculiar for what was considered the prime cod fishing season. It was that period of the year where the days were short and darkness swept across the windstricken landscape of the region they called home: Romsa. With nightfall approaching, whatever light they had was fading. They would need to set sail soon.

One of the men said Guolleipmil was angry. The people have been taking too much and giving nothing in return. And that was when the god would withhold any catch as punishment.

“Her singing attracted a bad omen,” another one accused, his eyes narrowing in Dagny’s direction.

“Pshh!” the skipper snapped, his patience wearing thin as he came to his daughter’s defense, silencing the man with a single hand raised in the air.

“One last try,” he urged, his broad, calloused fingers already working through the fishing tackle. “Then we go.”

Murmured whispers broke out among the crew, but their actions betrayed their words, hands and feet busying themselves at their stations as if on autopilot, one step ahead of where their minds were at present.

“Dagny,” her father whistled low through his crooked teeth, his hand lethargic and weighty as he motioned for her to join them.

Folding her legs in, she pressed her palms against the wooden floorboard of the deck, smooth and cool against her clammy skin, pushing herself up onto her feet. She didn’t want to disappoint him when he’d fought with eadni—mama—to bring her along on one of his many fishing trips, instead of leaving her at home to tend to the farm, like a good little girl should. Dagny was at the age of restlessness, where the world was an oyster, and everything had to be explored, at least once. 

Áhčči had quelled the tumultuous waves surging underneath mama’s calm veneer. “Let her be,” he had said, his gruffness replaced with warm velvet caressing her shoulders. “She is all we have...”

Papa longed for a boy, even though he had never mentioned it out loud. But Dagny knew. And she couldn’t fail him—not now, not ever. 

She darted over, taking on her gloves like a second layer of skin before throwing the hooks out, watching it sink out of sight with the plummet attached at the end of the line. Her hands slipped into a repetitive pattern, pulling the cord taut between her fingers, checking every so often if anything would bite. The practice itself was meditative, her eyes turning glassy like the gentle swell sloshing against the hull. 

They said her eyes were waterlogged—too pliant and weak. She would go places, but never gather any moss. Yet there she stood, legs rooted to the ground, listening to the waters rolling in like the rhythmic tick of a grandfather’s clock, comforting, in silence. Apart from the occasional flock of oystercatchers overhead, they were relatively undisturbed. Time grew sluggish. The blistering winds pierced her cheeks and crystallized on her lashes.

There was a glimmer on the surface, maybe it was the last rays of sun catching on the ripples. She rubbed her eyes, once distant, now focused on the spot where the light had blinded her. And it reappeared, that unearthly sheen—a secret morse code, beckoning and luring her like prey.

Someone called her name. A deep voice, like her father’s, except… it wasn’t her name, not quite. She jerked her head in each cardinal direction, but the men were still, like marbled statues, lost in space and time to the twilight hour. Papa was nowhere to be found.

“Dávdna…”

Again.

“Čahcerávga,” she muttered under her breath, knowing them as one of the many who had perished at sea.

Don’t answer. She had been taught not to.

But a force tugged at her from within the bowels of her chest, and she felt compelled to speak. “Bures?”

There was no response.

“Hei?” she tried again, but nothing stirred. Not even the men tried to shush her. Were they still around?

Something bobbed in the waters below. She leaned over the railing, watching bubbles froth in the foam. A monstrous face flashed across her vision and she gasped, dropping the line she had held as it slid carelessly into the open sea.

“No!” she cried out, scrambling to salvage the rest of the tackle, clutching onto it for her dear life as the cord entangled itself around her fingers.

Without warning, the boat keeled on its side and she lost her balance, plunging headfirst into the murky depths of saltwater. Frantic shouts of commotion came from the vessel and she saw the crew’s distorted faces reflecting back at her from the world above. They popped up next to each other like scattered stars in the sky—so magnificent and beautiful, she could stay here forever.

“Man overboard!”

The yell cut through the air like a knife, sharp enough to reach the pit she was falling through. It ripped her from her reverie the way a patch of hair would be torn from her scalp. She shook her head, limbs awakening from their temporary slumber as they powered into motion.

Dagny had always been a strong swimmer, but little did she know that she was caught in the middle of a cross sea. And even she was no match for that.

Pockets of water swirled around her as she struggled violently against the undercurrent. It resisted her like thick sludge, clinging onto every part of her body, coaxing her to stop, to surrender, to accept that this was where she would finally meet her end.

The freezing temperatures numbed her flesh, lulling it back to sleep. Pressure filled her eardrums as she was sucked deeper into the briny abyss. How far had she fallen? Her mouth flew open and she screamed and screamed. But it was silent—no sound could travel here, not in this godforsaken place she had once considered her second home.

So cold…

Tired…

Give in…

Her soul would be offered to Čáhcealmmái now.

She could hear her heartbeat quietening, eyes falling heavy as her lungs burned. Yet she carried on, defiant in her pathetic, feeble paddling. The nerves in her fingers twitched and her muscles spasmed, but she continued moving.

“I’m still here! I’m still alive!” she wanted to howl.

In return, she felt scaly, webbed claws hook onto her oilskins, shredding the fabric and scratching her back. The next minute, she was hurled upwards, yanked from the womb of the ocean’s belly as she rose to the top.

Amid the flurry of activity, a pair of glowing embers greeted her from beneath the waves, like pin prick dots of a blazing sun. Globs of saliva drooped from elongated fangs in sinewy strings, dissolving into the tide. She should’ve been scared, she should’ve turned away and bolted, but she didn’t. Instead, she reached out, delirious, noticing how the fire flickered in those eyes. But before her hand could draw any closer, the creature shrieked, pushing her back as it disappeared as quickly as it came.

Floating on the water’s surface, Dagny took her first gulp of air, reborn.

When she was safely hoisted up onto the boat, her father lunged forward, grasping her frail body in his arms as he pressed his lips desperately into her wet hair. “Mu mánná…” he choked. 

My child.

She peered up at his sore, reddened eyes, and his grip around her tightened. It was only then that she realized it was the first time she had seen him cry.

━━━━━━━━━━━

For a long time afterwards she searched for answers. A sprinkling of hints or clues as to what she had witnessed down below. 

“Be grateful that the spirit spared you,” she was often told.

Whatever questions she had were put to rest, buried six feet under, unspoken and unheard of, as if it had never happened at all. As if one could only will something into existence by acknowledging it. If only it were that simple.

Those eyes, like scorching coal, haunted her wherever she went. She could never shake off the unsettling feeling of being stalked—from the shadows, the blurry figures in her peripheral vision, or the glint in a smiling fox’s gaze, like she had been branded to the bone. In her sleep, she dreamt of those demonic eyes, the same eyes that belonged to her savior, and the strange name it had called her.

Eventually, she grew up, taking after her father like a replica. Though she had flown from the nest, making a life for herself in another coastal town down south. He sailed less now in his age; she sailed more.

One night, she found herself back in the same hometown where she had spent most of her childhood years. It was enroute along the course they had mapped out beforehand. While her crewmates hogged the local bar, crass and blustery with their swollen faces, she slinked away, paying a rare visit to her old man.

He was thrilled to see her. Mama had passed a few years ago and he missed company.

“You’ve cut it short,” he remarked, eyes crinkling as he thumbed through the ends of her hair. His toothless grin proud, as if he had raised a son in place of a girl.

“Come and live with me, áhčči,” Dagny suggested. She had made the offer countless times, but he was stubborn, ox-headed.

“I won’t go any further south,” he scoffed, clearing the phlegm from his throat as his mouth twisted in disgust. 

They spoke differently there; they lived differently. That was not his home. He would rather die alone than surrounded by a community he didn’t belong to.

When he headed to bed, she wandered off, aimlessly ambling along the shore. She stepped over the seaweed and debris that had washed up along its banks, twirling the neck of a liquor bottle between her fingers. The faint strains of drunken sea shanties echoed from a distance as she sat upon a half-forgotten log sunken in the sand.

The sulfur smell of the sea calmed her. She took a swig, scrunching her face as the harshness stripped her throat bare. There was always dried fish blood under her nails, no matter how hard she scrubbed, and flakes of scale embedded in her clothes. She’d grown accustomed to the odor of sour wool and stale sweat—this was her life now. But she couldn’t help but wonder: was there something more?

A shift in the breeze caused her to shudder, and she heard that damn name again.

“Dádvna…”

It carried the scent of something new, something foreign, and along with it, a sense of unease—one she had tried so hard to suppress, time after time. 

Just as she picked herself up to leave, there was a loud gurgle and a roaring whoosh, and she found herself slipping, face hitting the ground as she was dragged by her feet into the brackish waters. She thrashed about, swiping at whatever it was that had caught her, clawing her way free. 

But it didn’t let up, holding her in a vice-like grip, too powerful for her to overcome. All at once, she was taken back to the time she had nearly drowned as a child, flopping like a dying fish, only to be released back on land. All of it amounting to this.

How apt.

And she laughed and laughed. Bubbles escaped from her mouth as seawater suffocated her lungs. Through the darkness, she saw the same blood red eyes that had haunted her over the past decades, and she threw her arms open, welcoming it.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Endnotes

Thank you for reading!

I’ve tried to do my research on coastal Sámi communities, as well as their language and mythology, which I hope I’ve portrayed respectfully. However, if I’ve made any mistakes, I’m happy to receive feedback, so I can correct them accordingly.

Dividers by @strangergraphics

[porcelainseashore]

i wanna ask about dávdna 👀👀👀👀 1, 3, and 4 pretty please!

Ahhh thank you for asking about my newest creation 🙏🙏🙏

Here's a little tidbit in exchange! Back in the days of Norwegianization of the Sámi, she was called Dagny, but these nights they go by Dávdna (she/they), as a way to reclaim their lost identity.

1. What clan is your OC?

They are Gangrel. To make things even more complicated, it is hinted that their sire was a Mariner and also a Sámi Gangrel, who have distinguished themselves from the Norse Gangrel, due to the historical tensions between both groups.

3. Are they more “traditional” or do they break barriers?

Let's just say she's never truly fit the mold, both in her mortal and Kindred life. During her childhood, she was a bit more dreamy and idealistic than the rest, despite her harsh living conditions. Later on, when her culture was assimilated, she fought she fought back through a defying silence as a form of protest. Silence when others pressed her for information about her people, silence when she was forced to speak in Norwegian as opposed to her native language, etc. Even then, during WW2, they were able to put aside their differences and joined their previous colonizers in a resistance effort against the Nazis, because they knew it was for the greater good. Up until today, they have not picked a side in Kindred politics, and is probably considered Autarkis by the rest—a privilege they can somewhat afford due to their more isolated surroundings.

4. What generation are they?

They are an ancilla of 10th generation, which also means that their sire, being an elder, has recently succumbed to the Beckoning.

[porcelainseashore]

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Hi, I'm Porcelain, welcome to my blog!

✨ VtM Secret Santa Writers 2024 ✨ SIGN UPS OPEN!

Interests... Vampire: The Masquerade, Kult: Divinity Lost, AMC’s Interview with the Vampire, horror games in general

Writings... VtM Writings

AO3 | Leon's Masterlist —on hiatus

🩸 VtM OC List 🩸

Dávdna — Gangrel skipper of Sámi origin, who was part of the Norwegian resistance against the Nazis

Gael Romilly — Ravnos runner with an addiction, working for the Winter family in Amsterdam's underbelly

Kai Bautista-Hughes — Ventrue violinist obsessed with perfection, adores toxic relationships, has their eyes on the prize

Wynter — My Hecata courier and troublemaker from Night Road

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[saturnselkies]

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