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.

▶︎ 9.9.18 We are holding an activity check! (Read more!)

8.15.18 New and improved spotlights have arrived! Vote for your Of the Season now! (Read more!)

07.25.18 Please welcome Cinder and Agrize to the staff team!

07.24.18 Mandate updates, House leadership, and new layouts! Whaaa? (Read more!)

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!)

Autumn Year 501 | The heat has broken, and the trees of the Valley begin their transition from emerald to citrine and rubine. The temperatures steadily drop as the progression of Autumn claims all of the Slidr River Valley and plunges it into the hallowed solstace. Snow already weightlessly falls from the sky on cold nights - especially to the North and West. The Laurel Alps and Frior Mountain Range begin the process of wrapping themselves in thick white blankets of snow, leaving the once purple snowcapped border of the continent a stark white crescendo on the horizon. To the East, the heat wave has finally broken. The staggering temperatures have fallen simply from the harsh miles of wind sweeping from the mountainous vales and into the bowl of the desert. Those huddling in the Frekr Oasis for salvation will find the nights frigid. Best light the plinth fires and stock up for the winter, for it is just around the corner.

▶︎ 10.17.18 Higurashi Kagura is now the Jarl of Grosugr!

10.15.18 Vromme is holding a House meeting! (Read more!)

10.11.18 Ambrosius is holding a grand party! All of the Valley is welcome! (Read more!)

10.06.18 The Challenge for Vromme's throne is complete! Congratulations, Bones! (Read more!)

09.17.18 Vromme's throne is once again empty! Will someone come forward to claim it? (Read more!)

09.01.18 Autumn has descended upon the Slidr River Valley and Vetr Wasteland!

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!

Character of the Season


Thread of the Season

Blood Moon Falling!
Ad & Aff Plotting Updates FAQ Mandates Outpost Lore Discord

[O] dancing in the limelight

7 Winter ❅
played by Kagome
460 crystals
34 posts
From across the way the dark phantom continues to eye the steady flow of guest making their way into the party. They are all enjoying one another's company from what he could tell and all seemed rather well. Drawing his attention away the beast's gaze skimmed the décor and lining of flowers, allowing himself to just enjoy the ambience of the atmosphere. Was this how the characters felt in all those stories he read felt? Starry eyed and mystical? Caught up in a world full of what seemed like whimsical fantasy? Even if his visage could outwardly express it, there was a budding warmth of fleeting happiness that flickered within his false heart.

Another deep sigh of content fell silently from his nares as he turned his ethereal gaze back to the wooden table. There was a moment of pause where he wordlessly debated grabbing another pastry from himself for they had been quite good. Helga did a fantastic job with all of the deserts tonight and he would have to thank the woman later for making his first desert one that he will never forget. Maybe he could even talk her into making him some more at a later date. A hint of amusement glittered within the phantom's eyes before dying away and he began to peruse the table until he heard a soft feminine voice.

Eldritch harks turned in the direction of the chestnut woman before his eyes did. But once they met with the violet hue of her own Nevermore felt his brow lift ever so slightly. Just moments ago he was wondering if she would show and yet here she was. The appearance was just as strong as the apology as he watched the mare bow to him, keeping her eyes toward the ground. While he did carry the title of regent he felt no need for her to grovel in such a manner. He remained silent, his mind taking him back to the memory of her retreating backwards and listening as a cry fell from her lips. They were the only two around, that night. So if she was not running from him, what was she running from?

Her visage rose and his gaze remained upon her, cool and calculating as he searched for some sort of answer there. He found none, just the face of a woman honest in her sincerity. However, he still wished to know. The specter's smooth sculpted head turned to watch as Caelian called for the beginning of music and a soft inhale could be heard as he turned to face the woman again. If it is thine heart's desire, thou can explain thy actions that night. Nevermore murmured, his tone even and calm as always whilst drowning in accented notes of his romainian tongue.

The broad of his neck took on a swan like pose as his nose tucked into his chest. Swinging a taloned forearm behind him he bowed deep to the chestnut mare just as she had done to him. The tassels of his of his elegant throw grazed the ground and he briefly gazed back at her prior to speaking. I apologize, for I didst introduce thyself upon our first meeting. Thy name is Nevermore, Regent of Ambrosius. The dark man uttered upon rising, harks focused entirely upon her as a crack of a smile touched his fanged lips. It did not last long as he turned his gaze in the direction of the dance floor, watching as others slowly tricked towards its center. Formalities aside, doth thou wish to dance?

He left little time for his conversation partner to respond before outstretching a single iridescent raven wing to drape over her withers. Come, I think it will be...fun. He finished after fishing for the right term. He had always read that dancing was a fun experience when shared with others, and he quite enjoyed the pastime himself when alone. Gently he lead the strawberry blonde to the designated floor, retracting his wing to his side once more. Yielding his haunches Nevermore stepped close to Èibhlin, visage looming overhead as another ghost of a smile graced his features. Just follow my lead. Moving closer still the phantom took the first steps to begin their waltz, slow and careful as he ushered them about to the grandeur music.
000 words. tagged. Èibhlin


Eng Commoner
8 Spring ✿
played by Soupi
120 crystals
20 posts

davaros arud

down the rivers of the windfall light

When was the last time the Houses had all been under the same metaphorical roof? When had been the last meeting between Ambrosius and her sister House, Vromme? Davaros wasn't entirely confident he could recall a time during his life but it all changed when the three eyed raven came to the flood plains with the invitation of such an event. Not in all his years had he trekked into the Northern realm, and it seemed... well... high time. A man that found little in material value, his modest preparations were a chilled bath in the Vromme rivers and hours of deep meditation. Lately, he'd found himself distracted by emotions and wonderings not entirely custom for a man such of his sage nature. So, not only did he wash away the accumulated filth of the wet season in the raw aqua, but he too found himself grounded again.

Beneath his hooves, the malleable peat surface gave way beneath his weight and phantom fingers graved the thin, leathery hide wrapped tightly around his appendages in the form of pond weeds. The gentle flow of the river - aided perhaps by Kagura's spirits - slipped across his hide as if taking particular care in his cleanliness. With a deep draw into his lungs, the kirin plunged his visage beneath the waters surface while the golden rays of autumnal day were still high enough to dry him. His knees bent, and most of his embodiment fell beneath the mirror-like surface of the river. There, his emerald eyes opened to the blur of murky water, before his legs stretched again and surface him, as if the river had given birth. Slipping from the icy waters, rivers lacing his stonewash hide and jade carapaces, Davaros took to the high grounds where the zephyrs billowed most and the sun could wrap him in his rays of dappled light. And of course, he shut away those brilliant emerald orbs of his, and dropped his mug to his chest in meditation.

As the sun crested mid-day, he set off again, mostly dry, and procured one of the last lilies from Smár Lake.

As the stars speckled the sky Davaros finally came to the scene of the event. Upon his approach the sweet melody of music escaped through the canopy of floral decorations, and the soft glow that radiated from twixt their petals promised both ambience and warmth. Careful to keep the Vromme lily from damage, Davaros crept around the veil of flowers until a wide enough break from catching upon one another offered him easy entrance for his impressive rack of brass tines. Dipping below, the music crescendoed louder as it was no longer muffled by the boundaries, and the sweet aroma of fresh desserts and apples rushed his nostrils. Everyone had taken to their best attire it seemed, but it did little to phase the scholarly male. Rather, he felt at home as simple as he was with but a single lily on his lips. Scanning the room his emerald eyes landed upon the visage of his new friend Kagura, and he took a moment or two to admire the beauty in her fine silks. But she was preoccupied by the crowned, not of their home but presumably Ambrosius, so he turned away again.

A small pond sat vacant and lonely, and the stag traipsed forward, the golden light from the overhead light casting bright highlights along his faintly sparkling carapaces and antlers. At the waters edge he lowered his muzzle, placing the water lily into the calm waters, and provided it a small nudge so that it slowly spun towards the center. A fresh smile on his face, he took to an aimless direction, pulling up besides a mare primped and polished with pearl and gauze. He offered her a smile on his stone lips, a "Good evening," to her and her company, before taking to a halt some distance away. There he stood, sigh on his breath, contented to simply experience the party and its grandiose.

TAGGED: Ianthe and Higurashi Kagura for mentions
WC: 671
MUSE: 3.5/5
OOC: finally jfc

coding © soupi
manip © aliyaahgrl @ dA

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.


10 Winter ❅
played by Soupi
100 crystals
2 posts

far horizons, a winter's tale

It just so happened that the one time he'd decided to descend from his Espen forsaken forge had been the opportune time to receive an invitation to an Ambrosius party. Yes, you read that right. A three eyed raven halted his retreat back to his hearth fire home and bequeathed him an open invitation to a gala in the Ambrosius holds from the very sovereign of the state himself. For a moment, the dirtied and gnarled blacksmith simply "harumphed" at the idea of trying to rub shoulders with the nobles. Perhaps he was invited by mistake? There had to have been some sort of error... no king or queen that had sat on the Ambrosius throne had met him in the last several years. An audit flicked forward, and he considered that maybe - just maybe - this king really had made the mistake of inviting the entire valley into his home. A deep rumble of laughter spilled from Rost the fateful day of the event, his mug shaking back and forth. "Fool of'a king, doesn't know what he's openin' his durs too."

Surely inviting Vromme and Tryggr was only gunning for some sort of slip. Some sir or lord would make the wrong comment to a fine lady, and the Houses would be back at each others throats again. Rost had seen petty squabbles well and true from the noblemen in the past. It seemed, of all, the commoners were the only ones with their heads not up their asses. How could he miss the genuine catalyst for another doom's day amongst the plebeians and their banners?

While many others bathed, coifed the threads of their manes, or even searched and procured outfits for the ball, Rost found little preparation save for a drought of his homemade mead. With it's hops stink on his lips, the roaned stallion grumbled to himself, throwing on his leather work, then turned North.

Surfacing at the event, the beast of a blacksmith dipped beneath the whimsical entrance with a chortle on his lips. "Must be busy in the holds, ta think of sumfin like this," he muttered to himself. His coarse beard ticked and tacked as the decorative (but dulled, etched, and sullied) metal bands met with the bounce of his unrestricted gait. His iron eyes, deep towards the centers like the anvils of his forge and umber around outer ring like rusted ingots, scanned the happy faces of the party. Another chuckled, short and constricted, burst from his muzzle. "No ones that happy," he murmured into the thick of his own chest hair. Squinting through the dimness of the lighting, he spied the one item thus far that meant anything to him: the food. Helga had long been the Ambrosius baker, and freelancer if you knew how to make an old crone feel good about herself, and Rost had missed her sweet pies and tarts. Iron-shoed hooves threatening to crack the stone beneath his hooves Rost hurried towards the wooden displays of the menu, greedily licking his whiskered lips. Only once he passed a glance towards the dance floor where the "real magic was happening", before turning back towards the honey glazed treats and iced apples. Again, his moist tongue slipped from his lips and lapped them, his mind overwhelmed with what to eat first. "Aaah, bless ya, Helga, and whatever witchcraft ya posses for such fine tarts."

W C: 565
T A G: @[Everyone]
M U S E: 3/5
O O C: His speech is written to showcase his accent, they are purposeful errors

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.


8 Autumn ☁
played by Eden
20 crystals
3 posts
Alone. Yes, that’s the key word,
the most awful word in the English tongue.
Murder doesn’t hold a candle to it
and hell is only a poor synonym.
When Vladius first took ear of the party that was to be held in Fell (wherever that was) by the House Ambrosius, he was loath to attend. There was only one reason as to why he was here, and that was his sister. She was his priority now. He had to find her, and then the two of them had to figure out some way to get home. For surely, if there was a way in, there had to be a way back out. But when the strange looking three-eyed raven let slip of an open bar, Vlad was quick to perk up. He was itching for a drink, and the idea of there being alcohol at this get together, or whatever it was, was too great for him to pass up. The fact that it was free was just an added bonus.
He thought to inquire the help of a tailor, but he needn't bother. No one here knew or cared for him besides Vitaliya, and he knew not to expect her appearance at such an eloquent gathering. It'd be the last place she'd ever go. Never one for finery either way, not even during combat when his brothers would all done great suits of armor, Vlad cared naught for smooth silks and boiled leather. He did, however, prefer to arrive with a clean coat and well combed out tresses. Taking a few hours to prepare, he soaked in a river not far from where the raven's message had dictated the location of the event. Scrubbing the grime that he'd obtained from the bowels of the great tree that the crescent mare had referred to as 'the Bifrost' from his legs and polishing up freshly trimmed hooves, he soon found himself before the entrance of a cave.
A gleaming rose gold, he left his mane to curl as it was want to do. Falling to meet the ground, the luscious locks lapped at his neck as he stepped inside. The roar of a nearby waterfall was his welcome, and he edged around it as the other guests no doubt had. Faerie lights lining the tunnel, he spied a decorative wall of flowers. Warm light spilling through, he could make out the soft trilling of a harp and the echo of conversation. Lips quirking slightly as a single draconian wing stretched forth to part the veil of white decorative buds, he entered the room. It was beautiful, to say the least, and the effort was not lost on him, but he was hardly here to marvel at the decor.
Brilliant, rogue-pink opals were quick to case the room for a fountain or even a cask of wine. Satisfied with what he found, he leisurely made his way over toward an assortment of desserts. Refined, as any prince should be, the arch of his neck was poised perfectly, his stride eloquent. Even the subtle bounce of leather wings was finely exaggerated. Reaching out once more with the same appendage as before, he grasped at a cup and brought the divine liquid to meet his tongue. Sighing graciously, he settled into the backdrop of the bubbling party, offering only polite greetings to those who dared approach him and avoiding the searching eyes of lustful women as best he could.
Vlad was content to observe the goings on in quiet solitude, but when sharp eyes found even sharper wolf teeth, his curiosity peaked to a point that could not be ignored. Mind brimming with questions, he watched the masked gentleman wade his way through the crowd, watched as he held a brief conference with a glacier faced stallion, and after him, a spritely looking filly.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on their conversation, but the fanged stallion already held his attention regardless. Abandoning his glass of delicious red wine, if only for the moment, he strode over to the couple. Rosegold, leathery wings trailing out beside him, his movements were slow and deliberate, the gentle sway of his pleasurable gait drawing even more eyes as he moved away from the bar, slinking off to a quieter corner of the room where a gilted filly and the masked gentleman both hovered. Brows raising slightly to expose the dark of his sclera, velveteen lips turned up in a lopsided grin; he wore a smirk. “Aren’t we all kings and queens of distant realms?” Vladious interrupted, the husky undertones of his voice a vast contrast to the lady who had only just spoken. Settling off to the side of the young man who’s head carried a heavy crown, he followed the line of topaz eyes. To say that he was hardly surprised to hear of Aréte's title as a dowager queen would have been an understatement. He had sensed the aridity that noblewomen of higher stature often tended to carry, it followed them, ever looming like that of an unmaskable musk. Not only the ladies but lords too. It was the difference between common folk and those of royal blood. “I had the displeasure of making her acquaintance when I stumbled upon the Bifrost.” Though he spoke the truth, his face remained placid. There was no ill intent in his eyes, and in fact, appreciation was all that burned from within their ancient depths. She was a refreshing change from the women of Castle Reichenstein. Where most practically threw themselves at his feet, begging for his attention, she was distant and cold, and he could respect that. Of course, those were merely just his outward observations as she remained cordial throughout the whole ordeal, even when his temper flared up.
Only when the filly began again did he turn back, but when he spoke, it was not her that he addressed. “I’m curious, will you tell me what sates your thirst? Be it the arduous wine King Caelian,” he paused to nod at the lady, “as you say,” before continuing, “has so graciously offered, or might it be of a more unwholesome variety?” A knowing glint in his eyes, the crinkle in his brow made the smile he was wearing look almost downright devious.

Iracebeth Andante Arête • WOW okay! Sorry for leaving a bit of this vague, I'd had enough of Vlad trying to take over my mind towards the end of this.


Sovereign ♕
2 Spring ✿
played by Kagome
900 crystals
60 posts
He spoke to the frosted stallion and, of course, he received a reply. However the response was a little too delayed in his opinion and the disguised boy-king could not help but wonder if sophisticatedly dressed man was distracted by something or someone. The signs were there, reluctance of eye contact and a single hark twisted his way rather than both. Then there was the subtle change in tone from the placid voice of their last meeting to sharp and to the point. Mhmm... The crimson haired lad hummed quietly in response. For the party really was in so many words quaint and endearing.

A single brow rose mildly as the gentleman decided to note the attire that adorned his frame. A slight incline of his visage allows the lengthy curled strands of his forelock to fall across one of his eyes, a faint smirk resting upon his velvet lips. A budding noble soldier I may be, but I am still a young man of class and sophistication. The king picked me to be one of his closest right hand men for a reason, Tywin. There was an idle flick of his leonine tail, allowing the crimson waves to brush the ground before falling still once more. A single nod answered the man's oncoming inquiry of his council with the king. It still amused him to some degree that he could flip his status at the drop of a hat and no one would know the difference.

Of course, I've spoken to him. The youth drawled, his attention slipping from the man he conversed with and trailing behind him to see a woman clad in armor like a second skin. So he was distracted, he assumed as much. Well, there was no need for them to continue their conversation any further. Almost as if right on cue the Traegur son politely excused himself from his presence. Of course. Andante uttered toward Tywin's retreating frame. A light sigh fell from slightly parted jaws as the boy turned himself about, watching silently as the party continued.

The strum of slow music nearly pulled a yawn from the youth's lips as he wrestled to keep it from surfacing. Silver hooded lids stood at half mast as he watched others slowly pull to the center, preparing to dance with their chosen partners. Briefly the boy wondered if his life would have been like this had his mother and father remained on the throne back in Elysium. Surrounded by high officials and attending lavish parties every other week, he could only assume. I wonder how they're doing, or if they are even still alive. The thought to himself idly until he heard Iracebeth's voice break the silence surrounding him.

With another blink of his scarlet eyes Andante's gaze once again skimmed over the ivory haired woman Tywin stood before. His brows pulled together as he tried to find an image of the once queen in his memory but alas he found none. Hmm...there's no telling. His interest did not lie with a random stranger his potential prospect waltzed with, but with Iracebeth herself. She was actively speaking to him and had been the one to initiate conversation at that. Did this mean she wasn't angry with him anymore, or was she simply saving face in the light of the party?

Unsure, the black phased king found his line of sight dropping towards the ground. Should he be the one to apologize? During the seconds the gilt filly spent watching other dance he battled internally with himself before finally swallowing his pride. An apology should be in order, no matter who was mad at whom. Poised to do just that his jaw clamped shut the moment Iracebeth spoke again, ushering in the name and title of the king that hosted this very gathering. Immediately, the hellhound's gaze pinpointed the ebon stallion, snake like pupils slit into paper thin lines as he waltzed with a woman dressed in an assortment of treasured silks.

So that was Caelian and he was a king to boot. He scanned the opposing male, taking in every little detail he could capture. Jealously began to fester within him as he ripped his attention from the humble king, fur along his nape and shoulders rising in faint anger. Scrawny little thing isn't he... Andante muttered whilst a snort expelled itself from his nares. Rows of sharp teeth clenched together, causing the muscle in his jowls to pop as he looked out into the crowd, noting a few more newcomers. A dark robust man that drooled over the assortment of food, another clad in shimmering sea green scales and a woman adorned with pearls.

Of course during his evaluation of the Ambrosius king he had missed the entrance of an aristocratic individual gifted with draconian wings. Apparently said man had sashayed his way towards both Iracebeth and himself and was standing there all along, talking. It was only now that he had simmered down a tad that he managed to realize the individual there. Blood red eyes give the pale being a once over, his gaze lingering in the fangs that protruded from his blush colored lips. Soon a question was popped in his direction, and the boy's harks gave a subtle twitch. It was oddly worded but the hound was no stranger to the carefully placed verbage.

His eyes trailed toward the table that held their casings of assorted wines and decedent foods. Within the corner of his peripheral he watched the gunmetal filla standing beside him and decided to delicately word his response. If he could help it he wanted to spare his best friend the details of his raw diet. There is nothing here I would be remotely interested in indulging in. But, to each their own. The boy king answered, gaze falling back upon the newcomer that sought his attention. I can only assume you feel the same. Am I correct? It looked as if this party wouldn't be altogether terrible after all.
000 words. tagged. Tywin Iracebeth Vladius


3 Autumn ☁
played by N A K I
20 crystals
3 posts
I am F I R E, I am D E A T H

He needed no such invitation. Morgoth did what he wanted, when he wanted it. He took and never returned, for he was a dragon in the skin of a prince with limitless possibilities. Or, so he'd have you think. Regardless of the case, the black and grey stag had managed to escape his tangle in the bifrost and entered a new savory world that--to him--was ready to be reaped of everything it had to offer.

He would take with an iron fist once he gained his power back.

Regardless of what these locals wanted, gold plated hooves carried him with a regal air befitting the titles he so vehemently clung to. Despite his exile from the Black Tower, Mory was still a prince at his core. He grew up with a silver spoon in between his teeth, under the careful eye of a father renown for malice. He looked down his nose at the others as he past; such trifle to be decorated like they were here to dance and be merry. Morgoth saw the potential in affairs such as this; one could enter and discover secrets beyond measure, to size up the world he entered in one swift glance.

A king, nobles, common-folk. It was all the same.

He was like shadow along the edges of this cavern, slit eyes watching with cold intent. He was akin to a snake among the roses, waiting to strike with harsh words should anyone rebuttal his presence. Thankfully, no one seemed inclined to do such a thing--or perhaps he was mildly annoyed at the lack of such turbulence. Morgoth thrived in chaos and died a little when things were peaceful.

Perhaps, once he'd had enough drink, he'd be relaxed enough to cause a bit of trouble himself. A brightly colored eye flashed to one of the many workers tending to the whims of the guests, and he couldn't help but remark: "If this is what you natives call a party, I am severely disappointed int he lack of live sacrifices." And before he could read the disgruntled almost horrified expression on the worker's face, he took a swig of (he would call it cheap) wine--or whatever this was.

OPEN--i don't even know


8 Winter ❅
played by Randalin
25 crystals
6 posts

arête spyridon

"for all the things that you're alive to feel"


The quietly spoken word ensnares the moon. Her features, wrapped in forced serenity, soften and her eyes flare cerulean for the smallest of moments; armored head tips to the right. A fraction, a ghost, the whisper of a smile crosses grey-pink lips, pleasantly surprised to find that he identifies the autumn scent. Her skin tingles with the desire to touch. A flicker of horror passes through her brain but the softness to her face remains unchanged. This is Tywin. She reminds herself that he is unlike any other and not to be lined up alongside the rest of the populace.

Lips part, words poised on the tip of a rose tongue, but their host calls for attention and her mask slips easily back in place. She does not pay the boy-king any mind, sparing not even a glance in his direction, but rather keeps her steady gaze locked on the man who asked for her attendance. Her eyes do not stray from his, though he looks to the ruler, and amusement sparkles in pale depths. She sees the mild agitation and is pleased to know he feels the same at their interruption. Music strums to life and her heart skips a beat in remembered panic; she shifts tensing muscles to unlock them.

The broken moon does not hear the present chords, she hears an echo of the past buried so deeply within her fragmented soul that a cry nearly tumbles from her lips. It is held at bay-- barely. The music that night started mere seconds before the betrayal that cost her the life of both her mate, her reason for breathing, and their son. Devastation longs to show itself on frozen features, but she cannot and will not permit that perfect mask to fall. Arete stares, unblinking, at Tywin without truly seeing him. Then the refined, clever, and always collected man snorts. The spell of a nightmarish past is shattered and her brows pull together as the world speeds back up.

She realizes he is now returning her stare, that upward curvature of his icy lips drawing her back into the moment. His question startles her, but she takes it in stride and thinks of the last time she danced. It saddens her to think of Tetsuo, her first love, but she can recall those snippets and smile through the cracks in her heart. In some ways, Tywin reminds her of him. His regal air, the calm manner he handles situations, and the way he stares at her; sincerely seeing her and now how she may benefit him. An ache builds in her throat, her huskier voice made rougher than usual, ”It has been quite some time.”

Arete, decision made, steps further into his space.

Cerulean swirls into white eyes and she lowers her head, a brief bow given with time enough for him to reciprocate.

She presses closer, touching the tip of her nose to his just once; a custom from her homeland. Hooves slide back and to the left to place them on the space created for this purpose; he follows and it brings a half-smile to her lips. A fresh song fills the night as her gaze locks with his. The beat is that of a waltz and the pieces of her heart tremble with a joy that has been missing for quite awhile. The familiar rhythm courses over her skin and without a moment’s hesitation, they begin to dance. His left legs come forward while her right slides back and they are moving through the crowd with ease. The curve of her mouth lifts higher and the twice-queen feels free She knows the sensation will not last, but for this night she will enjoy the company of the only soul hers cares to see.

To her immense shock, a light laugh fills the space between them; it comes from her.

As they twirl across the floor and around other dancers, she catches the subtle scent of wine mixed with the flag of fall; dry leaves. The aroma enthralls her; a picture forms in her head. A goblet of dark wine, garnet in hue, sits on a table while a man stares into a roaring fire on a chilly autumn evening. A content sigh is released and she steps closer to inhale another lungful of that delicious scent without missing a single step. It calms the chaos ever whirling in her heart and mind. Midway through the beautiful song, Arete stills and watches him follow suit. For half of a second, she simply stares at him with bright eyes.

Then she slowly shifts, her muzzle moving to slide along his to trace a path up his cheek to where it meets his neck. She murmurs softly, ”Thank you.” She does not explain and likely will not, but she felt compelled to thank Tywin for the gift of joy, no matter how brief. The gentle caress continues, soaking up a rare moment where she is truly herself, down the length of his greyed neck. She rests her head on his withers in a quick embrace before the changing song breaks the gesture and drives her back. The smile on her face dims a touch, unsure if she overstepped her bounds and not caring for the feeling of being unsure in the first place; she pushes the discomfort away.

”Would you care for a second dance?” The words fall from her tongue, unplanned. Eyes the color of tropical seas watch him for any sign of annoyance but she does not recant her question. Arete feels the crowd moving around them, some jostling for a better position near the dancing boy-king, others simply clumsy in their attempts to dance, and many simply lost to the thrill of a ball. Her eyes flicker once to the side when another couple spins too close and she follows up her first question with another. ”Or perhaps, we can step out for a minute?” Her gaze darts to the open cavern roof and the twinkling stars before returning to his, If only he could fly. The quiet rooftop a place she would very much like to see.

WC: 1051
MUSE: 5/5
OOC: Arete's armor

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manip © clay-ish @ dA

Powerplay within reason permitted!


Sovereign ♕
3 Winter ❅
played by Flurry
1,075 crystals
51 posts

where they spin lies into fairydust
The night wind rustles the flowers around the dancers, a soft brushing of noise fills the spaces between the beats of the music. Yet, Caelian does not see it, he does not feel the breeze as it lifts the light hairs of his mane, blowing around the black metal set upon his head. Diamonds twinkle against the dark of his body, his cloak swishes around him as he turns in elegance and grace. Never once do his polished, obsidian hooves step upon the fabric. Always, his movements are agile, lithe, beautiful. The world seems to swirl around him as two equine’s gazes interlock, orange gazing into blue. The vivid mare held a smile to her face, a beautiful display on confidence and an air of mischief. Her voice is low, yet it carries far enough for only the freckled stallion to hear. Her words were soft, kind, and a compliment unheard of to the sovereign. Flattery, it was working, though. A smile crossed his lips, soft, it made his eyes squint in a very slight way.

Their eyes never broke contact. All throughout the elegant dance, their steps precise and attractive, their gaze remained constant. As she began another remark, her gentle voice filling the air around them just enough so only they would hear, his ears strained to listen. He was slightly surprised by what he heard, it was as if she’d read the turmoil within his heart, the war within his thoughts. He leaned ever closer to her, their muzzles ever so close to touching, though never did. Caelian could feel the warmth of the mare in front of him. A gently sly smile found his lips as he began. ”I have not been the same since the death of my dear friend.” If he could get closer, he dared to try, moving a centimeter, his muzzle barely gracing the top of her nose, before he pulled his face away, tilting it slightly. They were still quite close, but now he could read her expressions. ”There is a… voice. Ever present, ever constant.” A glint blinked through his eye. What was it, mischief? Malice? Playfullness? ”It is… different.” Finally, his gaze broke with the mares as he watched the gentle swaying of the wisterias around him, the music filling his ears. When he turned his eyes back to those firey orange ones, the smile returned. ”Its not a good thing to have a voice in your head. Would you mind not telling anyone?” The question was sweet, his accent light and smooth as always.
434 WORDS FOR Higurashi Kagura ― why is he actually bipolar


10 Autumn ☁
played by Soupi
75 crystals
26 posts

There’s a moment that her eyes flare the same hue as his is at the very center of his iris - where it encompasses the black hole of his pupil that absorbs every fraction of her image before him. And, in that moment, as they stood there as sentinels unwilling to yield, he remembers the first time he witnessed Arête. That day he had prepared for the fiery breath of a dragon to bathe his skin in the flames of wrath for his unspoken, dawning vengeance for a kingdom he had once thought to rule. He’d prepared for blood, fury, and sweat. Perhaps even to die trying for fate was always uncertain. But he was not met by a drake, nor any beast resembling that thereof, but a doleful moon. Off his helm had come, and words spilled from his mouth not in malice but earnest and genuine respect. And for what? She’d but walked into that arena, willing to face him and defend her home against intruder. But Tywin found himself immediately disarmed.

He was not a man to believe in the construct of love at first sight. No… it was a child’s ploy to trick princesses into falling for corrupt dukes and suitors. But Tywin did believe in admiration and reverence. Those two blades cut deep into his side, as if she had distracted him with her overwhelming aura and it allowed her hired assassin ample time to slink behind him. Though the field was far different that day when when their paths first crossed, Tywin, finds her willing again. Closer she came, and he did not yield nor shy as her velvet muzzle brushed his, leaving phantom warmth from the sliver of contact. Perhaps other men would have misunderstood, pursued, pushed themselves into the lady’s space upon the invitation, but he remained tall, the coals relit upon his icy smile.

As her hooves slip back, his right fore slipped into the absent space she’d left him, and they begin to dance.

Their floating waltz began and remained seamless, as if they’d studied the choreography together for hours in preparation. The rotations carried them like phantoms through the ground, but since his gaze had found her again after the boy-king’s gestures it failed to waver away another time. And, perhaps for the first time, he witnesses a smile on her rose grey lips. It draws a broadened echo upon his own, wrinkling the edges of the glacier marks that sharply pronounce his facial features. It is small, but grows, fed by some their unison and the mood of the room, and he finds it beautiful. But he does not comment, and he is unsure why, but also finds himself unwilling to allow his focus to stray from the shared moment, the shared space between them. And as quickly as he is mesmerized by her smile, a trill of laughter escapes the Moon and Tywin is astonished more at his own parroting.

Inside his heart was warm, thawing that chilled exterior he’d worked meticulously to erect over the years and he does not fight to reconstruct it - not now at least.

Again and again they twirled, banners of obsidian and marble billowing their coattails and blood red capes rolling and undulating but never ceasing because they to do not cease. And again she came closer, a soft, untroubled sigh upon her lips, and Tywin is reminded again how pleasing her perfume of marigold is as he takes a small, covert inhale of it. His muzzle twitches, almost expectant of another touch, but he does not pursue it to her flesh but rather hesitates just before. Behind his lids, an image burned away the image of her standing in that marbled coliseum, and it was the face of his father; wicked, fangs bore, and descending. So Tywin hesitates, does not touch her, for he did not wish to be like the man who had sinned him to birth.

But it did not matter. The music continues but the near black moon does not. Stilled, again they  are statues of themselves, unrelenting mountains who’ve come to grow so high that their valleys have been forced to grow upon each other, suffocated for space. Her eyes stared into his but Tywin does not find himself bored with it, and wonders how many more times she would have to do so for the very thought to cross his mind. But she draws nearer, her caress intoxicating, and his muzzle presses into hers just so, acknowledging the touch and offering his gratitude wordlessly. Silently still she follows it back to an embrace, his nerves snapping with ice and fire beneath his skin. A testament of her appreciation is murmured and he does not immediately wish to reply. Was the moment perhaps fragile to him? Rather he leaned gently - so very gently, as one would touch the petals of a flower - his visage slipping along the filigree etchings of her armor until he wrapped her matching her caress with his own. There is only a brief pause, and it was here he found himself capable of speaking again. “Of course,” he whispers.

But as quickly as they had become intertwined, the song pales to the end, and the embrace also finds its wake. Tywin did not like what he saw on her face afterwards: the fleeting but still very present faint in her smile. A moment passed, then another, but no more could as a query fell from her lips. A second dance? The grin on his visage blossomed, winks of the fangs below threatening to show themselves but he has lived long and hard hiding them and does so again now. Before Tywin has the ability to answer, he and the Carinae Moon are invaded by another pair still twirling in dance, and he too finds his gaze piercing after their image as they disappear back into the crowd. ”Or perhaps, we can step outside?” He turns back to her, finding her gaze lifted upwards to the moon window above, and a grin claims his expression. He thought a moment on the dramatic flare of conjuring his new found wings, but decides against it. It would draw too much attention.

And it seemed a moment he wished to keep private.

“Outside it is.”

W C: 1053
T A G: Arête
M U S E: 5/5
O O C: Continued here

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