Fimbulvetr

Radames

Character OTS

OTS 1
OTS 2

Andante & Iracebeth

Couple OTS


Private Take What You Can Get

#1

Rost
far horizons, a winter's tale


The damn fury of Vinter had returned without reprieve in sight. There was a brief moment where Rost considered that perhaps this would be another one of those fabled freezes of old that consumed the Valley for years. While Rost had enough cloaks, armor, and wood to keep his hearth fires roaring through the coming months, food and shelter otherwise - when the winter winds and snow inevitably did border fatally catastrophic - was another question. So where else did he have to turn? Ambrosius, of course. The eldest house in the valley and the only house that was within an hour or two's travel from his forge. He'd need their protection come the below zero months to come. Curse him to Helheim, it was almost nearly there. The snows had been rougher then he'd ever seen in his years and the temperatures were steadily dropping every night. Wasn't much time now before the real hard times began.

Bear cloak drawn beneath his armor, thanks to Brynja's generosity months prior, the robust male powered through the current thick of snow with ease. Alabaster clung to his feathering in sharply cold, icy collections, reminding him of his purpose here. Things were quiet, more quiet than he had anticipated, but it was convenient. The free passage into the Northern kingdom was a completely fortunate stroke of luck. Thick, coarse locks itched beneath his leather armaments, and when the silver beadings happened to brush the downy Vinter coat his blue roan hide had produced it was like a prick of ice. Columns of white steam billowed from his nares where the long whiskers on his muzzle were dusted with ivory where it froze to the shafts of hair. It was going to be one fucking cold winter indeed... Higher he climbed into Fjollotr, unsure the last time he'd even stepped his shod hooves here. The evergreens were laced with ice encrusted snow, their boughs low, and the peaks and cliffs showcased their own frosting in the bright daylight. Despite the foreboding strength of the fresh season, at least it was a pretty day.


W C: 348
T A G: Ianthe
M U S E: 2/5
O O C: speed thread for the win

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Rost]

#2
Ianthe
Lady of The Lake
The bitter cold as snow and ice descended upon them had kept the former noblewoman cloister up in her own safe haven. One would think that having been born in the mountains, bred from stock that had roots that hailed from the long lines of Ambrosius kings of old, that Ianthe would be quite used to frigid Vinters.

Well, you would be very wrong.

Perhaps it was the result of being an only child. Constantly pampered and coddled, never having to do much for herself since the moment Ianthe took her first breath. Or maybe it was due to her dainty, yet alluring conformation - which was likely the case, though the lilac mare staunchly refused to believe in. Delicate, maybe, but she could still hold her own! She had been doing quite well for herself despite no longer being a lady of the court, something her parents would both be proud and appalled by. Living like some hermetic commoner. My, how she had fallen.

The cold was what drove her out, for firewood wouldn't collect itself. Bundled up as best as she could be, Ianthe begrudgingly trudged from her hideaway to seek out viable wood for kindling. Decked in heavy clothes and furs of white, the lilac lady was surprisingly free from her usual veils. Her heavy silken hair was still pulled back in her normal up-do, keeping her angelic features free so that she may see better. Ignoring the few silky flyaway strands that framed her face and delicate neck, her rosy vision was unencumbered by her hair or a veil. She figured she would need to be able to see as best as she could, anyway. There had been rumors of wolves afoot since the arrival of Vinter. It would not do to be caught unaware.

A curse escapes her lips the further she travels down the mountains. The snow had fallen heavier than she had expected. She struggled valiantly but knew she would have to cut her trip short or risk freezing to death in the snow. Her saving grace is that the sun is out, allowing Ianthe to keep track of how much daylight she had left. Tripping rather indelicately, she kicks at the snow in a rather unladylike tantrum. All the wood she has found are twigs, which are hardly useful, and surely she will freeze to death in the night -

Her brief flare of anger is forgotten as her rose-colored gaze falls upon a dark figure amongst the blinding white snow and evergreens. She doesn't know him, for he certainly looks nothing like the others who call the Ambrosius holdings home and certainly doesn't look like he belonged among the soaring peaks. He is rugged, dressed in furs, and seemed to be handling the cold rather well. Lucky duck. she thought, finding her hooves moving on their own accord towards him. Forgetting her original goal, Ianthe finds her curiosity outweighing survivalism.

"Admiring the view?"

tagged: Rost
notes: n/a
"Ianthe speech!" Ianthe thoughts!
Tag: @[Ianthe]

#3

Rost
far horizons, a winter's tale


Perhaps anyone without the Valley’s blood running in their veins would have abandoned this remote climb and elected for safer alternatives. But Rost knew of all Houses in the Valley the Ambrosius were the most resilient come Vinter time. What was their words again? Our Fires Burn Strongest? ”Aye, but are they hotter than my forge flames?”, he huffed into the cold atmos, a curl on his midnight lips as fond memories of his apprentice years past circulated at the forefront of his mind. He’d never abandon the flames there. Not once had his family allowed them to snuff. Cold had not touched those stones in decades, he’d almost wager centuries. But he was no hunter, and hardly dexterous enough to be called a forager. So the fiery bellies of the Ambrosius he needed.

And what luck? The Ironforger had not even crossed the final boundaries to the royal holds were the denizens huddled when he caught sight of a pretty lass. She proved his previous considerations true; nimble legs churned quite child-like in anger at the depths of snow despite the dazzling white furs and fabrics drawn across her lavender hide. There was a couture about her, one typically seen of courtly women, and Rost hadn’t dissuaded himself that she did not belong to such a group. But her rosegold eyes eventually found him as he pushed closer, his own dark russet pair unwilling to leave a picture of beauty such as her own. With clouds of steam rolling from his ice bitten nostrils, he came to a halt before her at more than a respectable distance, a charmed smile upon his bearded lips. ”I am now, lass, I assure you.” He simply could not help himself, despite the intention of his journey potentially weighing upon the treatment of this stranger. ”What’s-a lass such as yaself doing out in the wilds? If ya don mind me sayin’, ja aren’t the type to be wandering around willy-nilly.” He paused, those iron ingot visionaries of his greedily admiring her figure despite the dress. ”Be you a maiden of Ambrosius? I seek their counsel.”


W C: Enough
T A G: Ianthe
M U S E: 3.75/5
O O C: mobile response sorry for errors!

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Rost]

#4
Ianthe
Lady of The Lake
Maybe she should have been more wary of strangers just cropping up in the mountains of Ambrosius like spring daisies. There had been so many lately that Ianthe had a hard time of keeping up with who was who, but then again, Vinter had come...so new faces looking for somewhere safe to endure the snows wasn't all that surprising. Besides, she had made a new friend! Though "friend" was a loose term for...whatever her relationship with the former renegade Marrow was, considering just the thought of the freckled stallion made her heart flutter. Ianthe shook her head to chase away the thoughts - how inappropriate!

Doe-like eyes had to peer up at the stallion, given his taller stature. Rose colored eyes studied him as discreetly as one could. Despite her layers, Ianthe felt rather dwarfed in comparison to him. He looked like he had spent his entire life scaling mountains and doing hard work, and looked better equipped to handle the harsh lifestyle of the North. His voice was deep and despite his common tongue, his compliment wasn't wasted. Periwinkle lashes fluttered as Ianthe dipped her head demurely, knowing she would surely be blushing if one could see it. A rogue if she had ever met one, (a rather handsomely rugged one at that,) yet Ianthe found she didn't mind being in such company.

She giggled coyly despite herself. "Well, I live here," Ianthe replied warmly, rose-gold pools dancing with mirth. "I was just out to get more firewood - it just so impossibly cold, you know? Oh! Where are my manners? My name is Ianthe." There was a pause as the former noblewoman tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. A new face for the holds? That was an interesting prospect. "I'm sure the king wouldn't mind me speaking on his behalf if it's not too terribly important. What do you need?"

tagged: Rost
notes: n/a
"Ianthe speech!" Ianthe thoughts!
Tag: @[Ianthe]

#5

Rost
far horizons, a winter's tale


As much as her light and airy laughter stoked some of the old coals in his own chest that had gone quite black, Rost managed the creeping desire to pursue the woman heavily. Perhaps it was her answer that intrigued him... He had been correct in assuming she hailed beneath the golden banner, but it seemed even those in the recesses of the remote Ambrosius kingdoms still had need of resources. He had just denounced himself a forager, the adventuring sort, but this damsel seemed far less equipped to be scavenging for firewood in the high hills and slopes of Fjolltindr. But there was some hilarity that the ironforger wouldn't let die here in silence. "There's plenty of wood, ma'am." Those ingot eyes of his swept again, setting their rust laced corners upon the thick trunks of the mighty fir and evergreen that claimed the realm as their own. They were thick and of abundance, docorating the twisting and turning angles of the mountain kingdom with a trimming of deep, rich emerald despite Vinter. But those warm eyes of his slipped back to the lass, a smirk upon his hairy lips. "But you don't seem to be carrying an ax." The man rumbled with a chuckle, the strappings of his armor whining in protest against the stretch in the nearly sub-zero temperatures.

He had no ax, but he had a brute strength she did not. Thick, feathered hooves dusted in snow picked through the thick blanket of alabaster down, bringing him some strides closer to the pretty opal face of hers beneath all that fur. "A pleasure, Ianthe. Ma name's Rost. And I'll make you a bargin..." Another of his charming smiles split across his rugged face, cracking the supple points of his visage to betray his age. "I need a banner to swear fealty too. Perhaps you could speak for your king after all - I seek only kinship and nothing else. In return, I'll help you find your fire wood." Rost nodded unnecessarily at the finality of his proposal, but it emphasized his sincerity well enough. Besides, he wouldn't be the first local to turn away his neighbor. Always the alluring comedian, the brute of a man cast his muzzle to scout, peering through the thick troves of trees and as if he had the eyes of an eagle and saw things this petite femme could not. He nodded his head, as if satisfied, and turned back to Ianthe. One fore stepped forward, leaning him closer to her with a playful smirk. "I'll even carry it back for you."


W C: 431
T A G: Ianthe
M U S E: 3.75/5
O O C: mobile response sorry for errors!

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Rost]

#6
Ianthe
Lady of The Lake
For a moment, she can forget the cold that nips at her cheeks and the snow that is progressively making her legs grow number. After having not seen a friendly face in so long - how long had it been again? - Ianthe is more than pleased to find someone to burn the long Vinter day with. A rather handsome stranger, too, though she would never admit that out loud. How scandalous! There was something about his rugged, robust appearance that was inherently wild and unrefined that one wouldn't normally see in the citizens of Ambrosius holdings. He was different in a way that was like a breath of fresh air. Full of surprises, too, for offering to help her find firewood.

Of course, after pointing out her embarrassing lack of skills when it came to finding wood.

If one could see her blushing, she knew her cheeks would be aflame. A bashful giggle escaped her, feeling a mix of chagrin and amusement at his assessment. "You're right," she admitted, petal pink eyes following the path Rosts's gaze had swept. "Though I must admit that even if I had an ax, I would be a pitiful weilder. I don't think I have the strength to even lift one!" The lilac mare shimmies her shoulders subtly, pushing the white fur draped around her higher up her neck as a particularly frigid gust of wind wrapped itself around her. This had to be the harshest Vinter yet, she mused. Perhaps harsher than all the ones her parents had ever faced.

Ianthe's gaze sweeps back up to Rost at his proposition, her eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "That hardly seems like a fair bargain, Sir Rost." It's all in jest, for the twinkle in her rosy gaze gives away her faux aloofness. He would do all her heavy lifting for her to make sure she wouldn't freeze to death for a night, in exchange for a good word to the king? Well, she certainly wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "But I accept your terms - the more friendly faces in our House, the merrier. I hope you don't mind me chattering in your ear. It's been some time since I've had company."

tagged: Rost
notes: chatty Ianthe xD
"Ianthe speech!" Ianthe thoughts!
Tag: @[Ianthe]

#7

Rost
far horizons, a winter's tale


Seemed the Vinter chill couldn't freeze the joy in the hearts of those who felt content's warm touch. While Ianthe may have been correct in her accusations that the deal was hardly fair, there was little else to be debated. Far quicker than he had originally anticipated, he found himself with a leg in the Ambrosius house. While the forge nestled itself in the high mountains of the Frior Range, and within the boundaries of the North, there was almost an amnesty that his kin had. No matter the face to come and require assistance at the forge, the Dwalin clan was happy to provide. Now, with a fetching lass' word to speak for his nature, it seemed that Rost and his forge's longevity were sealed.

Our fires burn fiercest, his mind considered pensively as another one of his sunny hearthstone smiles lifted the edges of his wrinkled lips. "I welcome the chatter, lass. Ma forge 'as been lacking in company, and I'd wager ya have lots to share." Without further adeiu, the brutish stallion swept his nape in mock elegance to the side, gesturing the lady that he would follow in tandem at her behest, but truly he did not wait. Those thickly matted pistons of his rose high above the snow banks. Alabaster powder clung to his pitch pelt as if eager to steal away his warmth, but he paid it no mind. The task at hand would keep them warm, himself more than his new lady friend, so the snow was of little concern.

Although it could be wagered that these months were the most perilous of all in the Valley, Rost much appreciated the picture they painted. Soft blue blankets with their silvery highlights sat upon all of the North's fir and evergreen. Deep emerald needles peeked below this downy sheets as if pondering when the sunny months may return. The inches, if not foot or so, of virgin white snow crunched beneath their hooves as they made their progress winding through the trees at a pace unhurried and at their own leisure. While to those unacustom to scouting for provisions that ensured their survival may not understand his haphazard path, Rost's iron vision remained sweeping and observant. Only nimble trees would do, not too large and thin of branches - they were easier. While larger logs would burn longer, it didn't necessarily promise hotter flames. He had given his word in aid, and he intended to prove his worth without a doubt in his character.

"So, tell me." he cooed, "How many bodies are we warming?" It was both an investigative but necessary question. Three or four logs would hardly keep her cozy through the night, and well... No one ever said Rost wouldn't pursue a lady.


W C: 461
T A G: Ianthe
M U S E: 3/5
O O C: ---

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Rost]

#8
Ianthe
Lady of The Lake
For a moment, Ianthe wondered how many there truly were in her house. There was a new sovereign, she knew that for certain. The handsome adventurer she had crossed paths with many moons ago had secured a place in Ambrosius as well...but the lady wasn’t so sure about any others. There was certainly none of the old families left in the north, save herself. She was the last of a proud long line of loyalists and quite possibly the last of the “old” blood left.

What a depressing thought.

Rose hued pools blinked, bringing herself back to the present. There was little use for such depressing thoughts when she was in such pleasant company. A soft, chagrined chuckle escaped Ianthe, though he gaze glimmered with delight. “Oh, I’m not so certain about that. Life up here can be quite mundane. I could easily bore you to tears.” With little prompting, the lilac mare picked up a brisk walk in order to keep abreast with Rost as best as her thin legs could with how deep the snow was. It was a good thing she was quite graceful, otherwise Ianthe was convinced she would have fallen flat on her face by now. Ianthe was determined to hold her own in this regard, rather than utilizing the deep ruts Rost left in the snow.

“How long have you been in the valley?” she inquired conversationally, her head tilting to the side in curiosity. Surely if he was from the north, she would have known of him or the family he hailed from. Maybe he was a newcomer, or a soul that had fled another house. Whatever his story was, the lilac mare she was in no place to judge. That would be for her sovereign to decide; the only thing Ianthe could do was put forward his case. At least it was an otherwise pleasant day, if one overlooked the amount of snow on the ground. Ianthe tried to follow his gaze, as if mimicking his method would allow her to learn, but all she found was a lack of understanding.

Maybe she was best off lingering around courts. Survivalism was definitely not her strong suit.

Her mother would have clutched at her pearls out of propriety, though Ianthe knew there was logic behind his question. It only made sense to know how much wood he would need to gather for her. “Just enough for one, should suffice I think. It’s only myself in my little mountain hold.” There was a brief pause as Ianthe trailed off, unable to help but wonder...No. That was improper and unbecoming of a lady like herself - yet who was going to stop her? Certainly not any ghosts. The noble woman’s gaze cut back to the stallion at her side, peering coyly at Rost through dark mauve lashes. “Though I suppose I could be convinced to entertain another body or two.”

tagged: Rost
notes: None
"Ianthe speech!" Ianthe thoughts!
Tag: @[Ianthe]