Character OTS


Björn & Lirr

Couple OTS

Private but tonight you're a stranger of some silhouette


Tywin Traegur

A sharp south-western path drew the dark silhouettes of Tywin and Arête to Tryggr. Fortunate enough for the pair, Fell had only been just over the deep and undulating expanses of snow tipped mountains, and Arrhule simply lay beyond the lonely Tryggr summit that was nestled in its secluded valley beyond them. With an arch of his nape Tywin sought an investigative peek over the thrumming of his haemoponent wings. He knew the woman intended to follow, there was no doubt in his mind, but the exasperation of her voice had led him to multiple conclusions, some troubling to him. First, and perhaps the most likely for both; they had grown abashed by the shuffling of the congested party. If they were to stand outside, why not do it privately where a home could be rendered and their privacy was secured? The second, and the reason for his keen intrigue, was the moon's current state. She looked better, yes, but she was still a husk of the queen he once met. Her body was frail, evident when her armor had been removed, and despite the clean of the deep navy pelt and her virgin, white locks Tywin was unconvinced that the tire was in her bones and not in her mind.

But he turned away, satisfied she was close and their course was true. Not much longer now, for both of their sake. He could feel the first droplet of crimson slip from one of his nares - it was like icy piercing his muzzle in the sharp gales so high in the atmos. In time a headache would prick at the back of his head and he'd be forced to conceal the wings for another time. While mastery of this foreign magick interested him, the Moon wished them home and Tywin's full interest was seeing them to the deep gorge. Where his gaze had once turned skyward, it now turned towards the terrestrial realm. The vales cut between the mountains spoke of adventures and worlds unsee, their impending snow covered peaks stretching high to reach the two pseudo-pegasus as they glided the great zephyrs that sliced through them. Moonlight winked along the edges of the frozen outcroppings with a beauty only chilled kingdoms could fathom, betraying the presence of new downy snow and unperceivable layers of ice. The sublimity of it all was breathtaking, but it spoke of colder winters to come, and the eldritch male found himself thankful for having found Arrhule at all. Arête had cautioned it not long ago; this world was different. Tywin considered it was more dangerous as well.

Although Tryggr laid to the West, the alabaster snow and frigid temperatures from its close proximity to the North ushered in gentle, wafting flakes of snow. Tywin's gaze turned toward them, holding his natural disinterested carriage, but electing to study their tepid fall all the same. Soon enough they were descending themselves, a long arching adjustment that wound them through the western mists and Berg-Risi's summit like ghouls haunting the night. But the winds were sweeping the mists away, and as their trajectory brought them to the tree tops (if they wished a quick dip would have brushed their hooves through what leaves remain) a deep ravine crested over the hilled mountain vale. It was a scar gauged into the side of the mountain, noticeably deep from their distance, winding long through the far western cliffs. One of Tywin's tight grins pulled at his frost kissed lips, and he let his left shoulder fall so that he swept through the night sky with greater speed.

The width of their wings fit easily into the massive gulch and Tywin soared through the stony, sheer faces of Arrhule to admire the majesty of it at twilight. Moss and vine hung along the walls, defiant against the dropping temperatures, and the shallow river that glazed the grounds winked and shone with moonlight as they flew overhead. Finally, a tickle of a headache caressed the back of his crown, and Tywin's massive wings finally heaved forward to slow their flight. Slowly he hovered down until his first hind met the Arrhulan ground, and the wings fell away in a morpheus, wet mass to the ground. Another shuddering exhale fell from his lips, tremor running down his back in a reminder of his apprenticeship with flight. But it was over as quickly as it manifested, and he forced his collection and composure to turn to the Lady Arête straight-faced and poised. He felt another trickling drip slip from the sharp folds of his nostril but thought little of it. Ripping his eyes from her they swept the moonlight stone above, studied its waxy light on the ivy that climbed along the cliff-face, and even spied into some of the wide, encompassing caves and outcroppings that funnaled into depths unknown. Finally he turned back to her, and a smile that one dared call serene painted itself on his glacier visage.

W C: 829
T A G: Arête
M U S E: 5/5
O O C: ---
powerplay allowed
within reasonable limits!

Tag: @[Tywin]


arête spyridon

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

There was once a time in her life where she wanted nothing more than to love another so fully that her every thought was consumed by their existence, and to feel that same passion in return. She achieved that goal in a world that should have consumed her, the circumstances that surrounded it should have led to hurt and ruination. All at the hands of her uncle at the expense of her soul. Instead, she captured a love unlike any other, finding favor with the heart of a king who elevated her to the highest position in his court; she was his favorite queen. His last queen and the final piece to his impressive harem…but the only one to hold his heart.

Time moved quickly once she realized how deeply, utterly in love she was and the joy on the high queen’s face went unparalleled the day her uncle realized all his machinations were for naught. That devious creature who sought only to use his ward to fuel his own greed was cast out of her life with two words whispered into the night air. ”Never again.” Those words haunt her now, the lingering ghost of a man who once held the entirety of her very being in etched himself permanently in her soul. His death marred her, the damage irreversible and her heart so ravaged it is a miracle it beats at all.

With the fractured, decimated pieces of her heart, she fled into the night with his final words piercing her more deeply than any physical wound ever could. The loss of their son killed before her eyes, an addition that nearly drove her to madness as she wandered as far as she could from the land they would never see the sun rise over again. On several occasions she would tilt her head back and simply scream into the wind, a vain hope that the pain could reverse the clock and she could save them both; but primarily the man whose name she dare not even think for the torture it brings. Guilt pricked her at thinking the loss of her husband worse than that of her child, but she did not care. Every fiber of her being cried out constantly for one more caress, one more soft word, and one more night of bliss.

The gentle touch of muzzle to cheek jars her away from echoes of a broken past; Tywin’s touch erasing the phantom sensation of a similar caress so many years ago. An unhealable ache spreads outward from the center of her chest, a hollow ringing fills her ears and she barely holds back a flinch. Her throat tightens, her emotions gripping her in a strangle hold so fierce it leaves her breathless. Sorrow etches itself into every facet of her dark face and she is grateful her company turned away a moment ago. Restoring her features to a semblance of order, she inhales sharply at the sight greeting cerulean vision when she looks his way.

”Tywin” His name is a breath of air, shock and concern chasing away the remaining shadows in her eyes. Arete steps closer just as he turns to meet her gaze and take off into the evening air. Mindful of the blood pooling on the ground, she nods and thinks her spectral wings into existence. She takes to the air as though born for flight and rapidly closes the distance before pulling back to fly alongside his right flank. The view of the mountains pulls fragile lips upward in a half-smile; small and bittersweet. The sight far too reminiscent of the view outside a certain palace window in far away lands; their snowcapped peaks a sharp contrast to the heat of her former home.

That ache in her chest twinges, the knot in her throat still too tight to give voice to any of the thoughts circling in her brain. She pulls back further, hesitant and wary of the affection she feels for the glacial man. Arete shifts to follow behind him rather than off to the side, thoughts racing and plans formulating to escape; a desperate cry cracks through the thin veneer of a mask she wears. It is soft enough that through the chilled air, it is unlikely he would catch it, but she quickly pushes the tears away. She is unwilling to examine why she feels such sudden panic, too afraid of what it may mean. There was once a time where she would have given anything to feel whole again, but now fear holds her in its debilitatingly greedy grasp.

With a snap of feathered shadows, she banks to circle and flee, but Tywin’s gaze finds hers and the vice around a tattered heart releases. A tear courses down the length of her face, a single drop flies from the end of her nose and meets a drop of blood from his wings that rushes to meet it. Her mouth parts to offer a flimsy excuse in the event he witnessed the salty moisture trailing down her features, but he loses altitude and she knows they have arrived. Uncertainty floods anxious veins and she hovers above the gorge he entered before the vision of his eyes holding hers captures her attention. She plummets to earth without any showy grace and instead falls to the ground beside him before flaring spectral wings at the last moment to minimize the impact of hooves meeting earth.

He casts a quick glance in her direction and her heart tumbles about in her chest at the sight of crimson trickling from his nostrils. For the second time she breathes his name, ”Tywin.” The difference this time being that she rushes forward to examine him, much like after their ordeal with Yggdrasil. Her left shadowy wing is lifted forward to delicately brush away the blood while the right sweeps back his lengthy forelock. ”What cursed gift is this?” Her vision flares brighter a moment, agitation obvious in the tense manner she regards him despite the soft touch of spectral appendages. She shifts back a few steps once satisfied that his bleed will clot on its own and she feels grateful for the herbal healing knowledge she carries with her; especially as her magical healing was stripped away at the entrance.

Cerulean gaze looks over the rest of him, displeased with the staining to his dark pelt, but she sees no visible wound and moves on in her perusal. Leonine tail lashes in annoyance that he would use a cursed magic and that she cares to the level she finds herself. Arete looks away to distract her heart from foolish affection. Her voice is a low murmur, ”Are you now the king you once longed to be?” Her eyes take in the numerous tunnel openings greeting them, staring at empty darkness rather than at him. Fear itches to take hold and send her spiraling back into the night sky, and she does keep those shadowy wings out, but a coward she is not. That ever-present mask encases her features to shield her from what she is too afraid to explore and her gaze fades to white; the thrice-broken moon more unsure of the world than ever before.

WC: 1,205
MUSE: 5/5

coding © soupi
manip © clay-ish @ dA

Powerplay within reason permitted!
Tag: @[Arête]


Tywin Traegur

It seemed that when he had turned to her with that tranquil (if he could ever emote such) smile, Arête had already committed herself forward with his named drawn tightly through her lips. A single audit swiveled, a curious tick that was the only marker that he did not understand her concern, but there was little need for investigation. Cool, shadowed feathers lifted to his nares - he almost drew away, but he remained parked, his bright eyes casting down towards the midnight appendage before following another as it swept back the mess of his obsidian forelock. That previous smile evolved into a grin. She called it a curse, and Tywin wasn't entirely sure he agreed with her. Did is headache and pound at the meeting of his skull and neck? Yes. But there were no physical markers of the discomfort. Had he finally found the fatigue that had been plaguing Arête? And had her obvious concern acted as a carrier, one that stole the tire from her and infected him? Perhaps. But his eyes snapped back to hers, grin still a taught and glacial line upon his faintly skeletal face. He appreciated her disquiet, actually found himself valuing as a rare commodity.

"The tree seems to have altered my previous magical inclinations. I have yet to master them." His gaze drops as her wings do, studying how she does not dismiss them. It intrigues him but he does not linger. "Nothing that rest and a soak in Arrhule's hot springs cannot remedy, I assure you." This reminder of his rather deplorable state made his skin crawl beneath the vestments. While he appreciated the work of the seamstress and the true depravity caused by the staining was lost in the darkness Tywin found himself caring quite little for the true damage. The numerous buttons and clasps, all marked with those pearlescent red studs, unfastened one after another. Better to remove it now before the blood dried - at least it wouldn't pull at his hide. Each layer of fabric tucked itself neatly on the ground beside him, the pseudo-dragon scale pauldron topping it with an audible flurry of tinging metal. He eyed it only once, as if examining his own neatness and abilities, before glancing back at her.

The grin that had replaced that tranquil smile faded, his typical analytical visage watching her with a closeness that dared border on actual emotion - what emotion? That was unclear. Not a man to display what his mind's eye and blackened heart felt, it was difficult to decode just what was written in the sharp angles of his face or the faint wrinkles that betrayed his years. Hell... he wasn't even entirely certain what he felt. All he knew is that it was foreign. Whatever this mare sparked in him was something unfelt and unexplored. Many shied from the unknown, but Tywin was facing it. Not only confronting, but grabbing it and refusing to let go. He wanted to know - needed to know.

But it all stemmed from the complicated but fragile affection they seemed to share.

With his gaze still unwavering, he spied where the tear had stained her face. He was an observant man, and it would have been a failure of his character to miss it, especially on her. But she turns away, drawing herself back to the place he had led them to. But he finds himself disinterested in further admiration. he'd seen Arrhule but now he wanted to see her. Perhaps having felt the mounting tension, not one of ungainliness but unspoken words, she inquired about his title, the very desire that had introduced them so long ago. A phantom smile, thin and ghostly, flickers, but fades again. "Not quite," he murmured back to her, finally electing to analyze the shadows as she did. They were drastic in the moonlight. Dark geometric black shadows painted half of the ravine pitch and abyssal. The remaining was bright, inviting, almost warm as the waxy stone-growths shifted in the winds. "But I have counsel with the king in the coming days to inquire about this hold's guardianship. It is my intent to govern it very soon." Honesty. He was never so openly honest with other equine. Most proved too disinteresting or unworthy of his time. Those he did elect to commit his time to didn't receive nearly as transparent of responses as this broken moon. It begged the question... why?

It all came crashing back to the same question he had mused earlier. What was this alien sensation? He knew of affection. He had held something briefly related to it with his mother, and explored feigned admiration to please what herds he had slithered in and out of while trailing his sire. But none of those silver tongued promises or half-hearted kinships competed with the depth of which this consuming need seduced him. His nostrils flared with a deep exhale, a plume of hot steam rising from their icy slopes. His sapphire eyes slipped to her beneath the mask of a blink, watching we examine the caves and walls with a hesitant scrutiny. "Arête," he said, her name a tender draw of her attention, the words drawn tightly on his lips. "If I have upset you I do hope you'd be honest with me." He wouldn't have been surprised if she had hoped he hadn't seen her momentary crack where her resolve had chipped away. "If I have, you have my deepest of apologies."

W C: 914
T A G: Arête
M U S E: 5/5
O O C: didn't proof read this -finger guns-
powerplay allowed
within reasonable limits!

Tag: @[Tywin]