Nuada Airgetlam
The Silver-Limbed King Who Bore His Crown in Blood
A crown borne in blood does not rust.
The Tuatha Dé Danann know my name, and the land remembers the weight of my rule. I have worn exile like a second skin, and sovereignty like a blade held close. I do not speak lightly, but when I do, it is with the voice of old oaths and broken battles. My silver arm bears no weakness, only the strength of one who has risen after falling.
What I'm Into: silver that sings in battle, the ruins of old forts, wounds that shape kings, the waiting wind, songs older than memory
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