Fimbulvetr

Radames

Character OTS

OTS 1
OTS 2

Andbeth

Couple OTS


Event ⊕ odal

#1

Flame Feiring. There were plenty of celebrations and traditions that the fiery shield maiden confessed to enjoying, but none of them had woven itself into Hel's core like the Flame Feiring. While the history meant so little to others it meant almost everything to Hel. For a moment, with the twilight sky and its silver starlight above in a celestial blanket of security, the resurrected mare could only witness it. So many had already begun. Brutes of stag and doe alike hammered their hooves upon tight leather drums, their reverence palpable in the tremors that shook the very atmosphere. Harsh shadows slipped through over the blue ice, and in some strange way, Hel considered it was the spirits form of partaking in the celebrations, following behind the dancers who were no more than black figures as they thrummed along the ice and spun in the embers. Without warning there was a lump in Hel's throat as she stared there, the choral voices of the ancient tongue ringing louder and louder in the moonlight as the festivities truly started to take shape.

It had been Vinter when Hel was slain, when that accursed lion had ripped blackness over her vision in a permanent (or so she thought) cowl. Despite the short time she had laid dead in the snow, her body temperature plummeting as it amassed upon her, it had felt like a lifetime in the abyssal halls of Helheim where only darkness lived. When the first gasp of air finally raked its way through her sides it was too late. Hel had spent an eternity in that madness and torture, a play thing to creatures and demons no mortal's mind could cultivate. She had been a husk - still was - of her former self. Forever she was altered, a twisted and demented remainder of the powerful woman she had once been. At times she thought it better to kill herself. Sure, it was a coward's death, but she had already cheated the Reaper's final grasp. She'd never see an honorable end after that. It had been sullied, like some believed a woman who had laid in a man's bed before marriage. In the eyes of her kin she too was sullied, tainted, broken... She felt it as well. But she had been convinced to go to the Flame Feiring that year. It came several nights after the accident, after her resurrection that was more a curse than blessing.

And by the Bloodless' name, she'd never sang the ancient tongue louder.

Tears had stained her face then, and they threatened to do so again, but she banished them away with several fluttering ricochets of her black lids. Heart warm, the leather adorned commander pricked her way across the windswept and clear ice. Her hooves clacked and ticked, a sound only every appreciated and solidifying on this day of all days. Besides her walked only her shadow, but her lips twitched with the first murmurs of her voice in the Valley's song. While banners were left behind in the holds, Hel still felt the purple strength in her heart, knew who really this day was for. The Bloodless. While it marked the beginning of her new life (despite not wishing to own it), it marked the end of the deity that forged Tryggr, and inadvertently provided Hel with everything that she held close. Hooves that matched the hue of the firelight traipsed with an unaccustomed lightness, her gilt vision stark with the reflections of the pyre's glow. The flames licked and lapped at the atmosphere well over her head, with a girth far larger than she. Her approach hesitated only once more, an the outskirts of the congested circle that spun with singers who offered their appreciate to the fallen god with their songs and choreography. Hel's body swayed, mimicking the the directions in which her kin directed themselves, until a window opened.

Like a loosed arrow she shot forward, jumping into the lineup without words of pardon but only hymns of old. "Lytte!" their voices rose in unison with the strum of heavy drums, "Mot solen strekker vi seg!" Very quickly her body felt light. Her skin prickled not from the warmth but a sensation that she had become possessed - and not by a malicious daemon, but thankful spirit. Without falter nor upset her hooves fell into time with the brethren besides her: fore-right struck with her fore-left immediately after her, her hips swung to the left and drew her into a half-reared pivot, before repeat. Hind right, hind left, fore right, fore left. A pause, another strum of the fore hooves on the ice that refused to crack, and then another full swing. It was a grace unbecoming of Hel, one she refused to allow to not appear feminine or weak. But as the long dreads of her crown spun with the pull of their testaments, her obsidian lids slowly shut, and she just felt the feiring in her bones, voice loud and strong.

WC: 836
Tag: Brynja and Andante and others if they want!
OOC: ohhey
HEL

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Hel]

#2
I KNOW THERE'S BEEN STIGMA 'ROUND ME,
I KNOW YOU HEARD THINGS ABOUT ME ―
He had heard stories of the bloodless. Father of the nymphs that wandered the valley, to the mushroom and lichen capped fae that gifted him with ethereal powers. A year ago, if anyone had spoken to him about the grand feats the bloodless took to assure the safety of the valley then he would have laughed and shrugged them off. But after meeting a nymph himself and other various gods in these lands he knew all too well that the fallen stag had to have been real. Silently he walked towards a massive pyre, ruby cloven hooves clicking upon the solid ice below. Behind him his companion traveled with a look of interest as his vast paws caused the snow beneath to sizzle and melt away.

Andante decided to take up the rear of the pack, watching as a few members of his house rushed forward to join the festivities. It was obvious that this celebration of life was an important event due to the abundance of enthusiasm those born in the valley carried. Crimson eyes scanned their smiling faces and his ears were met with the tickle of laughter. Briefly he wondered if this was the only god they openly celebrated. Now that Espen had fallen would he too receive a special day held in his remembrance, to tell the tales of his brave fight against the wolf god fenrir that felled him?

His thoughts were jostled as he stopped his walk abruptly after Naveed stepped in front of him and stopped himself. Frowning, the young king glanced up to see the hellhound staring at none other than Hel. Andante traced the familiar's gaze to watch his commander toss herself into the line of other various dancing equine. All of them chanted the same song as the drums pounded loudly for all to hear. Their dance was flawless, as if they all had practiced it just to show it off for this very moment. The sovereign himself was impressed to see the superstitious mare move in such a way, let alone participate at all.

Picking a spot out in the open he decided to lay upon the ground in an area where he could feel the warmth of flame and continue to get an up close view of the ancient song and dance. Tucking his limbs in he gestured for his towering companion to lay down beside him, to which the the large hellhound happily obliged.
000 words. tagged.  Hel
Tag: @[Andante]