Welcome to Slidr River Valley, home to the strong, the brave, and the resilient. Challenging the odds surmounting against them, the Houses of equine fight in a power struggle for ultimate control over the Valley. With the Bloodless fading away after the First Great Winter of Three, Fimbulvetr, the Slidr River Valley is in a state of discord as the Houses throw themselves into an arms race for power. From predators to the gods themselves every day ushers in a new obstacle to overcome. Fimbulvetr is a literate intermediate-advanced fantasy horse role-play with a survivalist concept. The environment is designed to work against your characters as they move forward in their journey through the arcana riddled realm of Slidr River Valley. With an immense history and lore, we encourage our members to create locals and "outsiders" alike.

▶︎ 07.02.18 Mod auditions, SWP updates, and OTM announcements, oh my! (Read more!)

06.25.18 OTM nominations are open for July! (Read more!)

06.10.18 A much needed (brief) update has been posted. (Read more!)

03.27.18 Several OOC actions can now be redeemed for crystals! (Read more!)

03.21.18 The Slidr River Valley now has a (wip) map! (Find it here!)

03.12.18 Fim has some new staff! Congratulate Briallu and Randalin next time you seen them! (Read more!)

03.05.18 Moderator auditions are upon us! Think you can benefit Fim as a staff member? (Read more!)

02.28.18 Clarifications have been made to the "How To Join" section of the guide book, and OTMs have been announced! (Read More!)

02.25.18 OTM voting has opened! Select your winners today! (Read more!)

02.21.18 OTM nominations are open! (Read more!)

02.14.18 Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Fim is announcing Auditions for the Ambrosius Sovereign and a new Spiritborne! (Read more!)

02.13.18 "Kcsssh, Houston, we're ready for landing..." You heard it! The new Fim is open! (Read more!)

Summer Year One | The sun is high and it is long, and with it as are the days. Summer has claimed the entirety of the Slidr River Valley and in doing so has cast higher, comportable temperatures throughout the Southern and Central territories. The Western still boasts snow capped mountains, but mud slides are frequent and they are heavy. The North remains green, just warm enough to cultivate and brood the new life there, but the further you tred the lower the temperatures fall, their mountains still ice cladden and snow tipped. The East, the poor souls, is sweltering. At night the temperatures drop to the Valley's daily warmth. Little can be done to add comfort, and each day the Oasis becomes drier and drier...

▶︎ 06.14.18 SWP alert! The gory remains of killings litter the Red Wood's Last Stand. What could this mean for the Valley? Read more!

05.15.18 Vromme's throne has been claimed! All hail Geminus!

04.28.18 Vromme's throne is empty and needs a new Sovereign! (Read more!)

04.07.18 Strange forces awaken in the territories! What ever could have caused them? Ambrosius, Vromme, Tryggr, and Exiles. And Andante takes the Tryggr throne!

03.13.18 An Ambrosius Sovereign rises; long live Caelian!

02.15.18 An aurora borealis is shining at Smár Lake! Check it out!

Character of the Month


Thread of the Month

Blood Moon Rising!
Ad & Aff Plotting Updates FAQ Arcana History Graphics Discord

[O] loathe to enter


7 Autumn ☁
played by Randalin
30 crystals
1 posts
Tywin N A K I tiyre

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She hated this place already.

Who in their right mind permitted a tree to grow as large and unruly as the one before her? Her ears flickered in annoyance while a smile danced across her lips; her uncle would have the owner’s hide for letting it get so out of control. The twisting, cave like root system disturbed her perhaps more than the overall size of the tree; it was unnatural to have so many roots above the earth. She was already contemplating plans to quickly pass through this territory; the whole of it felt off and strangely dangerous. She has passed through numerous places of various environments throughout the last several years; lands filled monsters and mayhem, but none gave her quite the same chill as this one. Not to mention the rain.

The rain had not let up since she first spotted the damned tree and she wholeheartedly blamed the thing for her soaked skin and dripping jewels.

With a roll of amethyst eyes to weeping skies she finally approaches the closest opening under the tree, she stared and cursed it for a solid ten minutes before convincing herself to budge. Muttering under her breath she steps into the inky darkness, pausing after entirely under the curling branches to allow her eyesight to adjust. Tripping is not on her agenda. You’re procrastinating. With a long-suffering sigh she snarkily replies to herself, Thank you for that observation. The fact that she is mentally speaking with herself is by no means lost, but that’s the way she has always been; she finds it amusing. Eibhlin developed the trait after fleeing her betrothed; it’s hard to hold a conversation with anyone but yourself when living on the run and too afraid to interact with others.

Another sigh and another upward roll of dulled eyes.

Move on, Eib.

Grumbling at her brain’s commentary, she continues walking, the sound of the rain becoming softer and softer the further under the blasted tree she goes. A skittering sound gives her pause and she wishes she had her cousin’s unique ability to see perfectly in the blackest of rooms. Marco’s ability of course came with consequences involving daylight, but he was brilliant at their night games. She snorts as she quickly becomes lost in the memory from a long dead childhood; her footsteps careful though she hears no more alarming noises. The village’s youth often played games together while their parents did ‘adult tasks’ (as they were called by said adults), but the rules were clear: always return home before the last ray is swallowed by the night and never venture alone. As with most rules, there was an exception to the first; on one evening a week the adults would stand around and keep watch over their antics under the cover of darkness. Her cousin Marco quickly became known as the “king of night” by the rest of the children and he shone beautifully on those nights; the only time the playing field worked in his favor.

I wonder how he is doing? The thought poked at the carefully guarded bubble of pain-inducing memories and quickly she moved back into the recollection of games with her favorite cousin. The idea of never seeing him again too horrible even years later.


7 Winter ❅
played by Kagome
350 crystals
20 posts

All things are working for my good

Silently, Nevermore stood with his pupiless gaze solely fixated upon the stormy skies. There was a slow blink of his purple visionaries as his gaunt visage twisted with contemplation. Why did it rain? Of course he knew that rain provided life to all things but why? Did the clouds weep because it withholds some form of emotion and it is simply releasing it upon the earth? Is that why the skies became a bitter, sulky grey, and the thunder echoed its complaints? Did all weather hold some form of emotion? Perhaps he was simply over analyzing things again. And it was this thought alone that pushed him to remove his gaze from the rain above.

With his raven hair slick and weighing down his nape he lifted his visage higher to keep the inky stands from brushing the ground. Now soaked to the bone he rose drenched wings to give his head some form of covering from the ruthless downpour. To see him he must have looked like an impressive albeit pitiful sight to see as he stood there, scoping out a better means for covering. It was too far to fly back to the humble lands of Ambrosius in this unpredictable weather, which left him with the only option of waiting it out. Feathered tail snapping a spray of liquid from his hinds he decided to ease his way into the oh so welcoming roots of the bifrost.

It had been a while since he last plunged into the depths of the gigantic tree. In fact he had not set foot inside the colossal bifrost since helping his king, Caelian, escape. Would he really be so keen on going back in a second time? Yes, of course. After all, he had nothing to lose. The talons of his clawed hands clicked and scraped against the wood grain and stone flooring while the hooves of his hinds clopped along. It was a strange symphony, but an oddly pleasant one at that. Glowing eyes scanned the walls while amethyst tinted breath exited his nares and maw. An old hymn lost to the sands of time spilled from his lips, filling the dark void with a soft melody. Perhaps he would simply waste some time down here and emerge once the storm was over.

tag: Èibhlin // notes: Notes go here
( © wyatt )


Immortal Spring ✿
played by NPC
920 crystals
69 posts

be swift!

Something is happening!

As the pair unwittingly made their way closer in each other's directions, the great tree watched in anticipation. Perhaps to allow them one meager glimpse of salvation? Dangle them from cleverly set hooks outfitted in its favorite bait- treachery. Unable to help it's distasteful nature, illusions began to take shape within the earthy bowels of the tunnels.

As the sodden female worked her way ever deeper, her jewels and their trappings tinkled together like chimes in gentle semblance of music.
Clever as any living beast, the tree began weaving its lies.
As Éibhlin's footsteps thudded softly in the softening loam of the cavern floor, the reaching darkness ahead seemed to thicken and shift, and from its endless maw drifted the softest strains of a lullaby. As sweet and aching as any mother's song, the notes seemed to emanate from a single tunnel, as if begging the girl to follow after. Meanwhile, from the opposite network of catacombs, that same haunting melody seemed to dance around the folded wings of the ambrosius regent- toying around his ears and leading in one single direction.

Would the duo take the bait and search out the source of the tune? The tree could not take the bitter chance of failure.

With vicious glee, the ground in the tunnels seemed to quake and rumble, massive sounds booming from above, behind, below- the sound of the earth breaking around the roots of the tunnels. But what was real? The stones and dirt that showered the two travelers seemed quite real indeed- what was behind them seemed to collapse in on itself like a deflated lung, sending out plumes of choking dust and debris. The only clear way through the trembling earth was towards the music; but what lay in wait?

Would the pair take a chance in the devious tunnels, or follow the haunting possibility of hope?

@[Éibhlin] Nevermore

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