Fimbulvetr

Ren

Character OTS

OTS 1
OTS 2

Björn & Lirr

Couple OTS


Event chaos and calamity

#1
I KNOW THERE'S BEEN STIGMA 'ROUND ME,
I KNOW YOU HEARD THINGS ABOUT ME ―
A rousing sense of concern plagued the boy during much of the early morning. Snow fell and winds whipped harder than usual. The fine powder only continued to climb higher as the day went on, making it quite the task to travel through. Thick plumes of snow assaulted his visage, gathering quickly as if to blind him. With a curt shake he dislodges most of it before tossing his gaze over his shoulder, watching as his people shuffled about in a futile effort to keep warm. The temperature had dropped so low that he could even feel winters icy sting through the parts his dire wolf cloak covered.

Trudging through the swallowing depths of pristine snowfall he stood near the cliff face, head tipped to look down below. His crimson serpentine gaze squinted against a strong zephyr whilst eyeing a patrol of guards carefully leading a few of tryggr's denizens higher up the hold of berg-risi. The blizzard was proving itself to be relentless, and so he had put the order out for his kingsmen and given messages to ravens to bring the people closer together so that he may keep a watchful eye on them during the course of the storm. But was it soon enough? A thunderous crack ricocheted through the howling winds and gained his immediate attention.

Hellish eyes grew wide as copious amounts of snow and debris could be seen cascading down the side of the laurel alps. Sucking in a quick breath the young sovereign's chest tightened as his gaze then snapped down towards the vulnerable hold of arrhule down below. Tywin! He uttered the name breathlessly as the safety of his newest jarl crossed his mind. Had the man received his message in time or been notified by one of his guards? The bulk of the landslide and all that it carried slammed into the side of berg-risi with a show of raw power, jolting the boy were he stood at the edge.

Teetering on shaky rubine hooves the boy king found himself slipping off the edge of his mountain. A panicked yell burst forth from his parted maw as his limbs flailed and wolf pelt billowed in the wind. He thought that surely he would fall to his death, until he felt teeth wrap around the majority of his barrel. Within the sheer panic of his plummet he did not see Naveed sprinting his way only to fling himself of the mountainside to catch him in his maw. The hellhound threw his arms out, hoping to seek purchase anywhere he could. Massive paws scraped against slick stone, jolting the pair about in a pinball like fashion.

Finally, Naveed's paws caught some outcropping for a few precious seconds. It was enough to slow their decent so that once they fell again into the thick blanket of snow they landed heavily with nothing but bruises. The whole event was too quick to process and once he hit the snow laden ground he felt the wind rush from his lungs. With a groan Andante pushed himself to stand before carefully eyeing his familiar laying winded, but otherwise okay. His breaths were ragged as he leaned his visage down to bury within the obsidian fur of the hellhound's face. Thank you my friend...you, you risked your life for me.

A rumbling chortle vibrates within the hound's throat as Andante peels himself from his companion. The clouds were parting, allowing him to see the damage done to his kingdom. The land was in near shambles as he peered over the edge assessing the wreckage and his heart gripped at the thought of those he held close to him. Looking around frantically he called out over the wails and screams of tryggr. Iracebeth, Ezera, Vlad!! Andante barked as a soft lupine wine leaked into his vocals. Hel, Brynja, Zuriel?! Are you alright? The sovereign called, voice dying in the wind. Please, be alright...
Tag: @[Andante]

#2

The Valley's vinters were never easy. Every single equine born in this hellish place understood that after autumn dies the true test of survival begins, but... Hel squinted her eyes, those sharp golden visionaries sharp as they fought for purchase through the blistering snow squalls. She could feel it in her bones that this storm wasn't to be ignored. Brynja's word of Fenrir's return had shaken Hel. They had grown with stories of the black beast's hatred and insatiable hunger and understood that if - when, she supposed they should have used now - that demon ever rose to the mantle to challenge Espen there would be consequences. Not for those immortals on high but them, the denizens of the Valley. And Hel would bet her very life that this blinding storm was only the precursor.

She forced herself away, tossing her gaze back towards the boy-king as he paced upon his throne. House Tryggr was one edge, just like their sovereign. While his concern for his people was refreshing in comparison the history of the West, it was like an infection. When panic and anxiety settled in him it only rippled to the rest of them in due time. That's how it worked. Disarm the general, give them reason to worry, and the soldiers would flounder. But Hel refused to flounder. Of course there was a prickle of trepidation along the back of her nape. Others thought her crazy, but she felt as if the seams that kept them separated from Helheim were running thin. Death was on the horizon, be it friend, enemy, or some poor fool who hadn't made it back from Slidr Lake in time. Blizzards like this didn't descend on the Valley for all to tell stories.

A deep exhale plumed hot steam from her nares, but the brume was ripped away by the winds. Once more her gaze turned back to the king and that massive beast of his, and she concluded it may be best to stop him. At least if not for his own sanity, for the sanity of his people. Shifting, her armor creaked and moaned. The leather wasn't a fan of the cold, no matter how many winters it had lived to see, but the bite hadn't stopped her yet. The first of her knees had only just rose above the thick layer of snow when the sickening crack shook the air. She tarried only a moment before lurching forward, bounding through the snow that had almost reached the small of her barrel. Coming to the far end of Andante's cliff-throne, Hel found herself sucker punched with disbelief. The Laurel Alps were cascading down in a plume of white and black. She knew it to be the soil. The West had always been plagued with malleable grounds that couldn't be trusted. But... the sheer breadth of it was sublime. It swept through the ravine Arrhule cut both into Tyggr's lonely mountain and the alps themselves. From a distance, it seemed the avalanche may have possessed the power to wipe it from the map and leave a blank slate, but the Tryggr commander hadn't the moment to consider such a disaster.

Tremors shook the ground beneath her hooves, and before her mind had the time to comprehend that the avalanche's fall had enough girth to shake all of Tryggr's loose sod, Hel was slipping from the mountain. It was instinct that had her rear, but it was her steady self-preservation that blinked her the necessary feet away to keep her from toppling from their castle with the king and his dog. The king! Duty rattled the shackles of her incredulity and terror, and like a bullet (albet mildly disoriented), Hel shot back through the path she had already forged after the boy. But his garnet and black image was consumed by white powder and the leaping hellhound, lost to the mare before she had a chance to save him. "Boy-king!" she roared, her legs churning through the snow. But that snow gave way to air, and some feet of the cliff below her hooves fell away. The dreads at the crown of her nape slapped at her face and the icy bite of the mountain air stung her hide upon her first collision with the ground. Fire erupted in her shoulder and her teeth grit against the pain. But it was far from over... hooves literally over head she rolled down with the crumbling mountain. Once she attempted to blink again, but her trajectory and lack of understanding purchased her only two feet, and some salvation from the rapidly overwhelming shifting ground that threatened to consume her.

Hel wasn't entirely sure where their landslide took them, but it deposited her bruised and beaten but not far from the young boy she'd sworn fealty too. Blurred vision and nausea had plagued her, temporarily incapacitating her as she rolled the last few yards until finally colliding with a tree that had managed to remain steadfast against the calamity. It was Andante's cries - names of those she recognized and those she did not - that slowly drew her from her triple vision. Shaking herself, the three swirling images finally aligned into a distorted but manageable view of what remained. Pulling herself to her hooves, Hel stumbled her first few strides forward. A hiss escaped through her grit teeth, her shoulder fiercely sore but otherwise protected against actual damage. The pauldron there had nearly been torn through - slivers and shavings of leather lay upon it, held on simply by the expert tanning of the artisan who had crafted it. "Andante!" she barked, limping through the loose soil. Felled trees rose from the ground like pikes, gravestones to the eternal resting place for the timbers that lacked the strength to stand. Massive holes gaped in the grounds around them, and it seemed the entire side of the Tryggr's lonely mountain had been painted black with soil. Tremors shook the ground at her feet, and she knew that the damage was still rippling through the hold. Fuck... she cursed, throwing her weight over a fallen tree. She spied the massive beast that had bonded itself to their king, lingering close to a tattered but still alive colt. "Boy-king," she coughed, suddenly aware of the dirt in her throat and how raw it felt. "We cannot stay here. The grounds are still loose." her voice fought through a wince as the battle hardened warrior tossed her good shoulder into one of the split logs, resting her injuries.

She'd need it. The night was still young.


W C: 1099
T A G: Andante
M U S E: 4/5
V O I C E: Milla Jovovich
O O C: whoops
HEL

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Hel]

#3
Lirr's stay in Tryggr was short lived, never one to stay in one place long, but his invitation dried up first, forcing him back into the throws of the cold cold world of the valley. It had been a few days, remaining grounded for the most part as the cold tried to claim it's deathly grip on his bones. For a moment, the harsh winds from the west that usually bore against him in rage just... ceased. But it was not but a few minutes, enough to cause the curious boy to turn and look towards the mountains in the distance. However that moment of silence was like a cruel joke as darkness overtook the lands of Tryggr, a storm erupting from earth and sky as if the gods themselves shook the lands. The Earth cracked and gave way to the whims of vengeful beings as the wind tossed and turned, a child throwing a fit as it pushed show of the mountain sides only to pile more of it's frozen tears on top of it's destruction. He could only watch on with horror as it was beaten until unrecognizable. He couldn't bear to watch as the winds came back full force and then some, the cold cutting him like a blade, pushing him back where he stood. No matter the direction he turned, the world was angry in it's wintry angst and determined to make it's rage known to those who inhabited.

With little other option, he laid down by a tree, his legs tucked beneath him, head tucked in his wings, trying to shelter himself from the majority of it all, too far from any threat of burial under capsizing snow shelves. It was not an endless storm though. Lirr was covered, looking more like a rock dusted in snow than any equine. But as the wolf like howls of the wind died and the world as frozen as ice, he rose. Snow falling from his obsidian hide in chunks. The soft crunch as it hit the ground pounded in ears like a mock war drum. With the storm as violent as it was, it might as well have been a war. Once again, silence. No birds, not wind, only grief. The mountain side painted in a new light, so tragically beautiful like that of a Shakespeare play, but not one full of magic and wonder than ends happily ever after, no no, like the ones that leave the audience wishing for a happy ending, but getting nothing more than a bloody end. Forcing everyone to look the painful truth of life in the face as it bares it's ugly fangs.

Fleeting faces danced through his brain. None with names, but they were all lives. He paused on a pale stallion with blush skin and blood eyes, full of rage and loyalty. But it flipped and his eyes widened. He started to move, a few steps slowly, but quickly picking up the pace before in a full on run. He started to spread his wings, feel and hearing a strange cracking sounds as small bits of ice came free of his feathers. The remnants of the storm had coated his wings in a frail sheet of ice. Andante, the hellish king with the kind eyes, he was still up on that mountain and Lirr was not going to just sit by. He would not fight for the land of Tryggr in a thousand years, he hardly fights for himself. But Andante was not his King, Andante was his friend and he could leave no friend behind to suffer at the hands of angry deities.

Thrusting himself up into the sky, he opened his wings of night wide, lifting himself higher into the sky. With no storm winds to toss him about, the sky was his fasted way of arrival. Vlad' previous warning of flying towards the mountain was long since tossed to the wind as the whole of Tryggy lay in shambles below him. Lifting into mockingly clear skies, clear as if gods were wanting to look down at their vile handy work, Lirr soaring ever closer to the upturned grave. His dark shape casting a foreboding shadow as if death itself had come streaking across the sky to personally collect the souls of those less fortunate who were claimed in the storm. The forest in shambles, trees torn and strewn about, ends pressing towards the sky like teeth ready to finish the job. His heart sank in his chest as he scanned the strange mix of snow and dirt looking for signs of life. It was hard to tell much of anything in all this mess but finally he saw indents in the snow as something slowly came out of the hole. Though covered in the frozen concoction, the strange shape was a familiar one. It was hard to mistake the shape of the king's antlers and spiny body. He came nearer, banking, his hind wings shifting to keep him balance as he started to circle the incident. A second equine rose from the mess near him, calling out his name, only furthering his suspicions. Like an angel of death, Lirr's body of night descended towards them, the gold adorning him becoming clear as he approached. He didn't even make it to the ground yet when he worried voice called out to the young king. "Andante! Andante are you alright!?" He slowed down as he reached the ground, hovering for a moment before letting his ink hooves feel the concoction for the first time.

He kept a short distance when he approached, not wanting the gust from his wings to stir up anything around them and for a brief moment, his frail frame was held up on top of the thick mess, but it suddenly decided not even he would be spared it's icy touch and he sank like a rock in water. It had snowed well over his head and he almost completely disappeared into it, only his wings sadly sticking up from his Lirr shaped hole in the ground. He was still for a moment before he started to shuffle and move, slowly clambering out with much effort. As his head bobbed up, he still seemed far more concerned with Tryggr's king. "Andante! Are! You! Okay!?" Each word only erupting when his gold painted head bobbed up before disappearing again. It took him a moment or two, but he managed to climb up enough that the snow only rose much of the way up his barrel. He was heaving slightly, his tired, cold wings laying sadly on top of what remains of the mountain. He stood there, mist cuffing his nares as he searched Andante from head to tail for injuries. It wasn't until he was satisfied with his companion's well being that he turned to the femme leaning against a tree. "Are you okay?"


Andante Hel
Tag: @[Lirr]

#4


Tywin Traegur

Tywin needn’t the raven from their sovereign to fully understand the depth of peril surmounting upon Tryggr. Rumbles had shuddered through the grounds, faint but there, since the start of the storm. Squalls had beat upon Arrhule’s high, precarious cliffs, casting gauzy illusions of specter’s fabrics as the snow hissed into their ravine home. The snow accumulation alone was proving perilous, and it was between the usually soft hours of late morning that the Arrhule Jarl called the small amount of hold members to him. What forces of kinsmen had remained in the ravine after the new sovereigns rise gathered and Tywin could only watch them with his stalwart but emotionless observation. ”Arrhule,” he began, for the first time commanding the collective as their leader rather than their equal. The pinch of satisfaction was lost to him in the eyes of the beast; snow still billowing down upon them with stinging bites of sleet and ice, and the winds howled through the stones like Fenrir’s children. ”Our king, his grace, commands us to Tryggr’s Berg-Risi, and I do not intend to disagree with him. As your jarl, I implore you to leave behind your worldly possessions and start the journey."

”And yourself, sir?” A bannersman inquired from the front, his voice nearly swallowed by the gales. Tywin’s hardened, unfeeling gaze swept to the brute. The black threads of his mane webbed about his visage so that his usually striking sapphire eyes were forced to slits for preservation, but the gems struck no weaker. ”I will not leave until the guards have verified everyone has committed to the road.” There was an emphasis to everyone that Tywin did not restrain - his voice had risen so all could hear him, his visionaries lifting to sweep through the crowd. There was one in particular he hoped had understood this message. A plume of steam rose from his glacier nostrils but was snatched by the whistling zephyrs as they raced through the ravine. “Evacuation begins immediately.”

No one seemed to tarry. Those that had also felt the creeping dread coming with the building snow immediately set their sights to the open road, huddling in family groups as they took to the thick wood of the West for some salvation from the thrashing winds. Though the intentions were pure, time was of little essence, and failed the people of Arrhule. Some still dwindled still, convincing those afraid to leave their home that they had no other options. With slits for eyes not in malice but simply to squeeze some visibility through the whiteout snow Tywin watched them, his thick winter pelt crawling with a desire to set his own hooves to the climb - but duty came first. It had always been his dream, afterall.

Finally, a kinsmen had returned to Tywin, with words not entirely confident that the residents had all at least started the trek. The boy shook in his thin leather armor, a good amount of frost lacing the sweat that had gathered beneath it. With a curt nod, Tywin dismissed him and followed behind. Both were forced to raise their knees high to dig through the feet of snow, some drifts billowing to their chests and higher. Once again the creeping sense of trepidation clawed and gnawed at the back of the jarl’s skull; fear fought to be felt for the second time in the man’s life but he willed it away. He could not lose his head. Leaders were expected to remain calm in the face of emergency.

A crack echoed through even the howling winds. Its sickening ring seemed to take hold of Tywin’s bones and rattle them; if not truly perhaps mentally. The hessian halted immediately, passing only a quick glance to the wide eyed and young guard (he gambled only a quick glance before hopping through the snow at a hurried pace). But Tywin faltered. He stood, audits swiveling atop his visage, not only listening but feeling. There was no slow build to the rumble. It was devilishly fast and consuming. The icy powder at his chest shook and pebbles tumbled from the high cliffs. Wagering his life Tywin turned around. Claps of thundering muddied snow raced through the ravine, gaining ground at speeds no equine could match. For a moment he thought to call to the people, tell them to run, but there was no justification - they could not hear him over the deafening roar and surely already bore witness to the calamity chasing them.

Plumes of alabaster powder billowed skyward, engulfing the jarl as he thrust his bloodied wings into existence - self preservation had finally spurred to life by fear, the second fear he’d ever felt in his life. Simply parting his wings, the wicked pressure built at the front of the landslide sent him tumbling skyward, leaving the young guard behind and beneath. Tywin struggled to right himself, his vast wingspan fumbling through the haphazard currents, but eventually found some purchase to propel him higher and higher. The air stung his lungs the higher he climbed, thinning it seemed with every foot gained in retreat. But he couldn’t stop - his heart beat with his wings in a rage, a rage to have his home stolen from him and the people of Arrhule suffering to such peril. He could only hope that those who had heeded him had gained enough ground, salvaged by the forest, that they may miss the crushing pounds of the landslide.

Pulling his wings to his sides, Tywin slipped through the howling winds over the trees as they jostled with the upturn of the soil. Some part of him could not tear himself from the wreckage, would not spare a second to cast his glance away. Some Arrhulans he spied, racing before the onslaught of angry earth as it barreled through Tryggr - some were lucky, having chosen paths that put them just to the edge of the disaster (they he watched lurch from its path, only to tumble several feet until ultimately safe). Others? They were lost simply from the monstrous cloud of white powdered snow. Within him his chest seemed to wrench, twisting uncomfortably with a sickening grasp that refused to yield. Did a thrice-broken moon escape the catastrophe?

W C: 1058
T A G: Arête and Victoria
M U S E: 5/5
O O C: Tywin has not regrouped with the survivors at the base of the mountain and is still surveying for others from above.
powerplay allowed
within reasonable limits!

Tag: @[Tywin]

#5

arête spyridon

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

A rumble draws her away from the quiet contemplation she so often finds herself in during the hours just before sunrise. A call of alarm goes up mere seconds later and it jolts her into action. Spectral wings flare out in a mass of shadowy feathers as she stands and moves to a nearby opening to look out at the darkened skies. She runs through various scenarios powerful enough to cause the earth to tremble, but the season leaves no options she is familiar with. Arete grew up surrounded by flame and heat and none of life’s journeys brought her to a land with such a severe cold season as this one. The rumble repeats yet again, and fear trails an invisible claw down the length of her spine.

She whirls away from the makeshift window and with a single thought, black armor encases her in preparation for whatever will greet her outside. Depression’s fierce grip eases slightly at the shock of seeing the terror etched so clearly on the faces of the citizens of Arrhule. A sense of protection expands in her fractured soul, one felt only during the times when she held a position she never wanted; a queen. Memories trickle in, flashes of scenes better left forgotten or held closely to her crumbled heart but never explored. They are pushed away as a crimson drop mars the pristine snow bank to her left and her gaze swivels instantly to the air above.

High above the gathered populace, she sees Tywin observing the evacuation. Pinked lips curl into a snarl and she releases a growl robust enough to cause a few shuffling their way past her to pick up their pace. She huffs out a frozen breath and launches herself straight into the air, not to speak with the man using a cursed gift, but to find out what is coming their way. The sight that greets her is horrific and her flight stutters a fraction of a second. Acres upon acres of land are barreling their way and she knows in that moment that not all will survive this day. His words drown out the dull roar building in her head and she immediately turns to head for Berg-Risi, spectral wings viciously beating against the currents attempting to draw her back to the chaotic depths overtaking the area.

A sharp cry pierces the air, the sound one that turns maternal instincts back toward the danger, a spark of cerulean bleeds into the white hue of twin eyes. A young girl is scrambling to take flight after her parents, but her wing is caught, on what Arete cannot see, but she does not need to. She swings upward a moment before turning towards the earth and drawing her wings tightly against her sides to plummet toward the youth. Utilizing aerial skills taught to her by Ozereus, she slams into the ground and instantly pushes at the log she now sees is trapping the girl. Making quick work of it courtesy of adrenaline, the moment she is free, Arete pushes her into the air. She looks to her left, at the wall of white mud and snow bearing down on her and flees into the sky.

She does not climb fast enough.

Pure chaos slams into her and the thrice-broken falls.

She is swept away quickly by the frantic current, her head periodically breaking the surface as she fights to free herself. A well-placed rock strikes the slim space between her faceplate and the panel covering her cheek. The impact blacks out her vision for a second but she shakes her head and continues her attempts to stay at the top of the landslide. The adrenaline fueling her leeches away bit by bit, pain distracting her from her goal and the world fades at the edges of her sight. Blinking hard, she attempts to clear it before realizing it is both the edges of unconsciousness and her blood marring her vision. Arete swallows and in a last-ditch effort, summons shadowy appendages and uses them to change the direction she is heading.

To her immense relief, it works, and she begins to move diagonally through the compacting snow, towards the outer edges of the bedlam where the likelihood of survival is far greater. At she reaches the outermost portion, her strength finally leaves her, and cerulean eyes fade to a sickly white while charcoal lids flicker rapidly open and closed. Her trajectory should carry her towards Berg-Risi and that is all she can hope for at this point. Tense muscles relax as she falls into the welcoming embrace of blessed darkness; her last sight a pair of glacial lips.



TAGGED: Tywin
WC: 779
MUSE: 4/5
OOC: Ahhh amnesia time -cackles-


coding © soupi
manip © clay-ish @ dA




Powerplay within reason permitted!
Tag: @[Arête]

#6
I KNOW THERE'S BEEN STIGMA 'ROUND ME,
I KNOW YOU HEARD THINGS ABOUT ME ―
Crimson eyes skimmed around the breadth of his territory once again, watching as his people mourned the loss of their loved ones or scurried along in a panic. He found himself tossing a glance somewhere behind him. Where he heard an all too familiar voice screaming his name before dropping the infamous title of boy king. There were only two individuals that dared to call him that. Obsidian harks pulled forward as he finally laid his eyes upon the form of Hel staggering her way towards him. Hel! Moving forward as quick as he could through the thickened snow he closed the gap between them, looking the battle hardened mare over for any visible injuries.

He was satisfied to come across no open wounds but the heavy limp in her step still caused him grave concern. Are you alright? Nothing is broken? He asked quickly, his attention briefly ripped away by one of his leather bound kingsmen quickly approaching and standing by as patiently as possible. Gazing at the older man he nodded his head, giving him permission to speak. Straightening himself he bowed quickly, given the circumstances, and began to relay his message. "My king, we searched but we could not find the golden horned filly, nor her mother before the avalanche hit..."

A deep sense of dread greater than before began to sink heavily withing the realm of his chest and fear twisted in the pit of his stomach. A thick lump caught within his throat, one that he had difficulty swallowing as his heart hammered frantically. Nostrils flared as he tossed another longing gaze down into the destroyed ravine below. His limbs itched to run, to find them, he dared not think the worst. Ezera was his family and Iracebeth meant more to him than he even knew. Are you sure you check everywhere? He questioned his soldier, whom nodded sincerely. Just then Andante's attention flickered back to Hel as she suggested that they move locations.

What about the others? I cannot leave them. Those down in Arrhule had the biggest hit and I can't even see the stream of blar anymore. There is no telling what brekka looks like, we need aerial search parties. What kind of king flees and leaves his people behind? He questioned, his voice fighting back a crack of emotion over the potential loss of both gold threaded unicorn and her gunmetal daughter. Upon finishing his sentence he witnessed a dark shadow swoop over him and land not too far off. Turing his attention toward the bounding figure, Andante's brows rose in surprise. Lirr! Yeah I'm alright, are you okay?
Tag: @[Andante]

#7

"Aye, I'm fine, konge", Hel responded, her molten gaze flicking between the two males that had gathered. She was unable to hid the distrusting glare in her vision as she studied the gilt marked pegasus but his familiarity with Andante was satisfactory enough to let her chagrin be. There were other matters to attend to, and worrying for the commander's health while she still stood and breathed were far from priority. The leather clad kingsmen that approached them stole her stare, her hard gaze honed upon the brute through a haphazard veil of her dreaded crown. Golden horned filly? Her mother? Hel's brow furrowed, digging through the haze in her mind for the images and names of both. They had held importance to the king, and by proxy their safety was roped into the protection of the kings guard. At the end of the day it wasn't their immediate peril that concerned her - not in times such as these. But with Andante simply battered and bruised, perhaps she could make an exception.

At least all of the calamity proved enough to shy away the shadows and monsters that haunted her wake and sleep.

Unsurprisingly, emotion flared in the young sovereign. Hel could only expect such from someone his youth - to be otherwise would have spoken of greater tragedies in his past than someone his age should witness, and the burnt coated mare shoved herself from the tree. Seemed a man hunt was in order. Rambling thoughts fell from Andante's lips, and Hel exchanged a quick glance to their winged acquaintance upon the crimson haired boy's desire for aerial scouting. There was hesitation in Hel that did not manifest itself physically upon her, but may have been found in the way her gaze scanned the other youth. Could they trust an outsider? More so, in the circumstances, did she really have the ground to stand on to deny his help if offered? Her kin had always been the driving force behind Hel's motivation, Tryggr's dominance and well-being more so than that, and even faced with loss and grief the commander found an unwillingness in her core to share the security of their House with outsiders.

But again... did she have a choice?

A pained, constricted exhale left Hel's nostrils as she straightened herself, favoring her injured appendage as she turned with her head held high and gaze piercing to the unknown pegasus. "Seems we are in need of your services, if you're willing, stranger." Her focus tarried on him only a moment, before turning to assess the damage. Those that survived grieved loved ones (whether they were dead or simply miss remained to be seen) or ambled like mindless fools too shaken from the event to recoup as quickly as their commanding forces. More kingsmen were emerging like soldier ants from their hills, stumbling and tripping about with their own injuries; others armor were spied in the wreckage but lacked their owner. "Kingsmen, to your commander!" Hel's rasped voice barked, dryer now from the dirt and mud that had attempted to suffocate her. While ache still plagued her, the revived femme stood as straight and tall as her frame allowed. Mud and dirt smeared itself along her already muddied coat, while other areas were darkened with the damp of snow. Those within ear shot pushed closer, drawn not only by the demand of their superior officer but the image of their sovereign as well. Hel scanned them again, displeased with the lack of familiar faces. But she fought the displeasure and unease.

To act array would send the collective into chaos, and Andante was already reeling.

She turned back to him, her pivot ungraceful with the hindrance of her limp, and jarring as she turned her leather adorned visage back to the king. "We are yours to command, your grace. We must look for the remainder of the House - your family and others."


W C: 655
T A G: Andante and Lirr
M U S E: 3.5/5
V O I C E: Milla Jovovich
O O C: ...
HEL

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Hel]

#8
Ah, this was a kingdom, a herd, a family. For a brief second, he'd completely forgotten until guards gave unsatisfactory news to the worried sovereign about someone. He could only imagine to pain and worry that was welling up in the hearts of many as they search for their lost loved ones in this catastrophe. As if on cue from his mind's pained wandering, the bronze female addressed him in an albeit none too happy way. Lirr could feel her sharp gaze on him and a slight shiver ran through his body. It was understandable they those in Andante's court that were close to him would be suspicious of his presence. Knowing that didn't make him feel any better though. He'd turned his gaze back towards Andante and his gaurdsmen, but was torn back to Hel as she mentioned needing assistance. He blinked at her a few times as all the pieces settled into his head. "Yes? Yes... Oh, yes!" He was trying to figure out just what he could possibly do to help, but after the second yes he connected the dots that he was the only one with wings in this rag tag group of survivals. Finally understanding, he tried to shuffle himself further up and finally managed to get up enough in order to take to the skies. He stood, the snow still trying to ensnare him as it engulfed him up to his knees. The wings, a blanket of darkness that had been an ill omen for the beings of the valley in their time of catastrophe were exchanged for a beacon of hope to those trapped and lost.

They dipped lightly, tips gracing the snow as he drew them up, ready to take to the skies. "Flying is something I can definitely do. Just point me in a direction." He's not sure if he could actually be of much help in the actual rescue of someone, but he could at the very least lead the rescue parties to those in need of their assistance. Hel and the kingsmen stood at attention for their king's orders, a pillar of normalcy to anchor him in this moment of vast change. They were a a rock to support him as the house of Tryggr picked themselves up and dusted them off. Lirr was no rock though, more of a soft, feathery shoulder and he acted as such. He stepped up at Andante's side hoping to offer words of hope. "We'll find her, I promise." He offered him a slightly nudge before bounding forward in between Andante and the gaurdsmen. His wings unfolded up and out, his body tightened like a coil before erupting up in a blur of shadow as his wings lifting him once more into the bitter bite of the air. It didn't take much to get him up and flying, but hung around, circling the group, awaiting direction, orders, something.



OOC Andante Hel
Tag: @[Lirr]

#9


Tywin Traegur

As quickly has his consternation had manifested the very idea that Arête may not have managed to escape the storm, his sapphire eyes caught wings. A couple were spiraling back towards the storm, their faces contorted with horror, until a blissful reprieve arrived in the slow ascent of a foal - she had been left behind, and in the chaos, only just now had her parents noticed. There was no time to chastise them. Garnet wings swept back, curious how such a frail thing could have managed to escape the visceral storm, only for those icy claws of dread to sink deeper into his chest as the buffeting white clouds and surging masses enveloped the girl's savior. Without hesitation the jarl folded his wings inward and plummeted from the skies. Wind ravaged his sides with pummeling fists no mortal could see, but the eldritch hessian's motivation stood the beating. Tywin wasn't the type of man to harbor malice, especially considering hazy, potential futures brewed in his silent pondering, but there was a fire lit in his belly now. It burned there on hot coals, threatening to turn all those projections of a future that had Arête in it to ash.

Any other time he would have stopped himself, considered this foreign feeling and the intensity of which it rose. Emotions for Tywin could never be described as intense, but here it was, simmering and slowly burning the inside of him as he let his dead weight carry him through the whipping snow.

Time had never felt slower. Suddenly the racing landslide felt as if it was crawling through the west, a massive, snailing presence sent to crush them slowly rather than bury them without warn. Time and time again Arete's visage burst from the sullied snow only to be drug back below, and hotter and hotter the fire inside him burned as he plummeted down. Almost upon her he witnessed her wings wisp to life, altering her trajectory towards some semblance of hope, ripping her towards the creeping edges of the calamity. "Clever." his mind quipped amidst the chaos. Finally Tywin's wings shot back open with a spray of rubine drops, and he soared along the surface of the upturned earth until he was close enough to touch it. The landslide tore and jerked the blue-khol mare around, ripping her below before she fought back to the surface again, making it near impossible to grapple onto her with any sort of security. Perhaps it was the illusion fear created, but there were times he wagered she saw him - and her own alarm made the fires' heat rise. Slowly the torrents weakened and as he drew ever closer, the depths beginning to thin, and Tywin stole his chance.

As she broke surface again, eyes on him but distant and unseeing, the stud let himself collapse into the tapering storm. Trees were racing towards them as the true nature of their peril steadily came back into focus. Tywin's gemstone gaze offered the oncoming wood only a glance before plunging himself into the slide. At first the undertow simply ripped him below the surface, but his hinds scrambled and scraped under they found some purchase and he shoved himself back skyward with wheeling fores. Gasping, his wings yanked through and above the snow. Throwing his back to the trees he ripped back his icy lips and grabbed desperately at the thrice-broken moon. Her vision had gone blank, her lids drooped so that darkness and unconsciousness may have overcome her, and perhaps it was best. Obsidian fangs latched as gingerly as the could, his hinds still forcing himself above the surface as his wings wheeled above the snow. Tywin pulled the once Carinae queen close, both with fang and then hooking his fores over her once close enough-

Pain exploded across his back and an ungentlemanly grunt escaped with what air he had in his lungs when the jarl finally collided into the tree only for the weight of Arete to follow suit. They slipped slowly from the bark, the thick fir groaning and moaning in protest as the landslide forced it to bend beneath its will. The entire forest rose with an ominous chorus of dull cracks and groans as they protested the weight of the landslide; some stood the test, while others snapped and crashed. But, as he had thought, the trees were slowly the storm, and by Arete's spark of genius they had managed to stagger towards the quieting sides. Lungs burning for air but his nostrils seemingly paralyzed temporarily from the impact, Tywin could only focus on what his feet were doing. His fores slipped from her, the tug of the landslide thinning enough that his hind daggers were scrapping uncomfortably across the frozen forest floor. Extending his weight into them he rooted himself, pushing forward and pulling the mare close again by wrapping his nape around her and pinning her to his chest. Having become disfigured from the pain, his wings retracted back to their previous state and began, beating furiously forward to keep him upright.

Finally, finally, the ground shivered and slipped from them, and settled, and the immediate fire in him suffered to embers. Heaving pants raked Tywin's sides as the adrenaline began to fade and fatigue took the mantle. His legs shook beneath Arete's dead weight, buckling to lower her to the ground as smoothly as possible - but even he staggered. Those cursed wings of his fell, staining his sides and the snow with an almost inviting pink, and the Arruhulan Jarl was forced to take a moment. His appendages quivered beneath his own weight, suddenly so very aware of the strain and stress they had been under, and his back cried. He tossed a cursory glance around, spying no others, before his knees truly collapsed and he let his bulk fall to the ground. "Just a moment... I only need a moment." Labored breath slipped in and out of his lungs in columns of steam, unable to capture and contain the frequency of his gulping gasps. As a quiet of abandonment fell over the West, the discord of the landslide fading what seemed as quickly as it begun, Tywin rose his muzzle from where it had rested on the ground. Sweat riddled his fores extended and pulled him from the ground with a stagger, but he wouldn't allow tire to ground him. He inched closer to the quiet mare, still trying to steady his heaving breaths, and for a moment he looked at her. There was a disquiet that reminded him of the dead, but his logical frame of mind refused to assume such. Lowering his visage beside her, he laid it gently there (ignoring the flickers of his father's manic, teal eyes in his mind) to listen. The audit closest to her twitched, but attentively waited. A steady heat wafted against the sides of his from her breath confirming she was in fact still alive. Finally the fear was receding, the tight, latching grasp it had in his chest crumbling with a rising resolution. He closed his eyes, considering the luck on their side that had kept them (for the most part) unscathed, letting the weight of his crown rest there besides hers a moment longer. Still, more warm, slow breaths slipped from her nostrils. She was alive.

Even without an audience, Tywin re-assumed the mantle of jarl, snapping himself up and away from Arete - but not stepping away - to sweep a glance through the trees. The eerie silence that plagued the West was all consuming. With the crane of his nape that he used to look behind him, the scraps and lacerations at his back from the tree became visible - they were bright red beacons cast along a black dorsal, and only just now began to sting. If he could have growled, or was the man too, perhaps he would have. But stoic and brooding, Tywin swept his visage back to the moon at his hooves, his long, tangled mane nearly brushing against her.

They couldn't stay here.

Another glance around, Tywin tossed his gaze to the sky. There. Someone was circling high, barely visible through the snowy wind, but still so abyssal against the white it would have been impossible to miss him. Instantly Tywin's gears started turning: he couldn't call to the pegasus, surely the distance was too great to hear. The trek could be made easily by wing, but no coaxing or promises would have made him abandon Arete here. The trek could be made on foot, getting them closer to the pegasus' view, but Tywin didn't think he had the strength to carry Arete, or even lift her from the ground. As much as he was compelled to garner the strange flyer's attention, he had to gamble their discovery to try and wake the unconscious moon. Electing for a tender approach (he knew in his soul he was willing to amplify the needed strength to wake her if needed, but refused to do so out the gate), he lowered his mug back to the unicorn's visage. Sweeping brushes with enough pressure to jostle her were applied in succession with a graveled and constricted, "Arete," slipping from his glacier lips with each moment of contact.

W C: 1.552
T A G: Arête and Lirr
M U S E: 5/5
O O C: ---
powerplay allowed
within reasonable limits!

Tag: @[Tywin]

#10

Tryggr settled.

The crisp scent of wood hung in the air, littered with the damp stench of peat and sod. What trees had managed to remain standing through the ambush of elements stood now in a skeletal reminder of what once had been. From above the devastation lay opened like a blooming flower - but this was was twisted, smelled of discord, and kept thorns bared. The last shuddering trembles faded as sparkling, powdery snow fall slipped betwixt the pine needles of the trees and fell towards the floor. Where once a great roar of the mountains had torn the sky asunder, silence now reigned. Where once the world was a chaotic body of moving parts, now there was only a stillness. It was the after shock, the moments that cascaded slowly after a climatic event where everyone - the Valley included - started to comprehend what had just happened.

None of this had been visible to the girl trapped below the grounds. The depths of the damage and the irreparable caverns laying bare in the twilit moonlight weren't even afterthoughts. Nay, they weren't on her mind at all. No. She stood there, shell shocked and groping with her arcanum for the obsidian Rook when that hidden world opened to her.

With a blink, no longer did roots hover inches from her face, covered with spittle spewed from her lips with her hoarse screams, but the entirety of Tryggr. Disoriented and her equilibrium shattered, Iracebeth swayed back in the dark recesses of those caves. She could feel it, feel her weight as it slipped from one appendage to the next, feel the dust in her lungs, even smell the dampness of it's frost. But what she saw was the black branches of firs cross hatching the starlit sky, and what she felt was waves and waves of frustrated confusion from her bonded. 'Rook!' her subconscious choked, piquing the phantom enigma that was the corvid's own consciousness. Her mind was battered with question marks, the color of reds and yellow in alarm, but most startling of all panic. Rook could not move his own body. But there was no signal of pain, no signs or sensations of injury. Iracebeth grew only more confused.

She tried to blink her eyes, flutter away this foreign connection, but it only veiled away Tryggr once, twice, thrice, until it remained in her vision. 'I've... I've taken control.' she muttered back to him. Back in the cavern her lips twitched with silent words and her body finally quieted. Rook hammered her again with question marks, throwing them with such weight her head threatened to ache. But she quieted, sent waves of urgent scolding, and thought about moving her head from side to side. The open expanses, crippled with calamity, slid by in a panorama. 'By the Firstborn...' Iracebeth's subconscious mind gasped, the desperation that had clawed away at her chest now ceased. 'I can get us out.

Trying to fly was easier after establishing Rook's cooperation. They worked in tandem, a give and take of mental and arcanic energy that propelled his black form through the mountain skies. While the unfolding reality that was the state of her home threatened to pull her away time and time again, the golden woman refused to pause. She had to find someone - find Andante - and get them out if her mother was to survive. As Rook dipped along the lonely mountain of Tryggr, from the ruined heights of Berg-Risi and downwards, his cries rained through the suffocating silence. Caw, caw, caw. Faster and faster he swept through the trees, searching without prize for anyone who could help. But with the growing distance that drew them apart, Iracebeth and Rook's connection weakened. It wasn't until a pegasus took to the sky, their gilt marks lustrous against the monochromatic landscape, that they knew where their solace lay. 'I can't, Rook', Iracebeth's voice panted into their shared headspace. 'I have to stop.' Exclamation marks burst at her, growing in height as she began to ebb away. In the final moments, she accurately reflected Blar, the last few things they had seen before plummeting, then went black.

Rook's croaking cries echoed through the trees, pitched and alarmed as his feathers ruffled. Through the trees he descended until a small party of equine broke through the remaining trees. Their voices were high, emotional, and their auras reeked with panic. Rook was sure his own presence spoke the same, but he hadn't the time to consider it. Catching a familiar face, that of the chrome horned boy with garnet hair, the corvid swept up to him. Caw! Caw! Caw! he cried, wings whipping through the air so that his feathers ruffled audibly against one another. Caw! Caw! Caw! he cried again, hovering in front of the sovereign's face, before throwing himself back and soaring through the trees towards the below stream. Caw! Caw! Caw! his tiny voice cried, urgency and alarm his only language.



WC: 835
Tagged: Lirr and Andante
OOC: Tying this thread in

powerplay allowed
within reasonable limits!
Tag: @[Iracebeth]