Fimbulvetr

Radames

Character OTS

OTS 1
OTS 2

Andante & Iracebeth

Couple OTS


Private protection

#1
I'VE GOT WAY TOO MANY FEELS, WAY TOO MUCH EMOTION, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT'S REAL ―
It was wonderful being back within the territory of ambrosius again, truly it was. But he could not seem to shake the feeling that it all might have been too good to be true sometimes. Some days he found himself wondering if everything would change and they would haul him back off to the lands of the wastes battered and bruised. The thought alone made his healing scars fill with a phantom ache that time alone could not seem to heal. The specter closed his eyes, willing the all too fresh memories of his exile to go away from his mind's eye.

His visage turned to look out and beyond the curtain of the waterfall he slept behind, his expression thoughtful if one could call it that. He had heard that there was a new blacksmith that had set up show within ambrosius' hold and he wondered if the new citizen could help him with his mental trauma. Yes...perhaps. Maybe the blacksmith could fashion him some type of armor, anything to help him with his current insecurities. A heavy sigh fell from the phantom's nares as he pushed himself to stand.

Vast wings unfurled from his sides and stretched wide within the hollow cavern before retracting back to his sides. It was time to pay this fellow named Rost a visit. The strange combination of scraping talons and clopping hooves filled the air as Nevermore cantered forward before lunging into flight. Water from the falls washed over his starlit form as his wings caught the current, allowing him to glide in the direction of the forge in the distance. Guided by the smell of smoke and iron he coasted on the winds for a time wondering if this all might have been some sort of mistake.

Regardless, he had come this far and there was no need to turn back now. His feathered limbs grew tired but he had finally made it to the glow of the man's workshop. He hastily descended, landing hooves first before his talons landed upon the snow laden ground. Stepping high Nevermore approached the archway, poking his head inside whilst looking around. Is there a Rost here by any chance? I require some armor if thou can provide it... The once regent called, buffeted by a cold wind whipping past.
000 words. tagged. Rost
Tag: @[Nevermore]

#2

Rost
far horizons, a winter's tale


It felt good to be home. After a brief reprieve in the holds of Ambrosius, Rost had made the climb back up to his family's home with a belly filled with good meal and body warm with the help of some fine commoner mares. The fires hadn't died in his time away, but burned in smoldering, garnet embers, eager to drink up fresh oxygen and burst back into life with a bit of fiber to gnaw on slowly. Rost had had his fill, so eagerly he went to the log pile and filled the earth. More eagerly he rose a shod hoof and collapsed the bellow. With a rush of air and embers, the fires of the hearth reignited and bathed the frozen, stone cave with warm light. With anticipation he eyed as the red glow consumed the coals, and all that had once been black burned a citrine red. "Good ta be home..." he murmured to himself, unseen telekinetic appendages reaching up to undo the strappings of his armaments, before hanging them on crude pegs along the far wall. Warmed by the fires of his trade, the blacksmith swept an admiring panorama of his ancestral plot, then sighed.

Rather than rely on the powers bestowed upon him by his blood right, Rost had taken to tactical practice once more. It was smart to keep one's skills honed, and while the finer items procured in this forge manifested through the boundaries of his arcanum, smaller items or less ornate orders were a quick way to keep his unseen hands busy and trained. Hunkered over an anvil, the iron ingot of Rost's eyes were far too enamored with the shape forming in the red-hot iron to notice the flurry of wings just outside his doorstep. An audit flicked, curious, but ultimately paid the sound no more mind than he would the wind. His smithy's hammer fell, clanking against the refined ore that would soon become a balanced and clean dagger, when the stranger bid his request. But a man used to patrons milling through his establishment on their own time, Rost continued to hammer at the morpheus piece of metal until its color began to fade slate blue. Finally he straightened his nape with a dull groan, vertebrae cracking, and used his phantom touch to place the dagger back in the confines of the hot forge.

With a red halo of light cresting his features, the baroque stallion turned to face the wicked crow of a stud before him, eyes squinting into the dull sunlight of the cave's mouth as it strained his eyes. He himself was no more than a near obsidian shadow against the roaring flames and embers, matching that of his seemingly unlimited supply of coal. "Aye, come in, lad." Rost bellowed, the distance twixt him and the entrance too long a walk to wager the blade's shape. Without waiting to investigate if the man would come closer, he pricked the now white-hot metalwork from the hearth and placed it back on the anvil, the hammer sweeping up next to him as if grabbed by the muscled, burly arm of a troll. Once, twice, thrice he hit the dagger before pivoting around so that his back was not so rudely to the potential customer. He had spoken of armor, after all, and armor pieces littered the floor along the corners of this well hidden blacksmith.  Through the embers, still striking the softened metal, Rost tossed another rusted iron gave to the pegasus male - that he expected would be closer, but not too close... not many liked the look of those burning cinders flying with abandon. "M'names Rost, laddy. And I can forge ya armor, fur a small price." Another rattling clang erupted as the hammer met the to-be-dagger. "Whose asking fer it?"


W C: 638
T A G: Nevermore
M U S E: 4/5
O O C: ...

powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Rost]

#3
I'VE GOT WAY TOO MANY FEELS, WAY TOO MUCH EMOTION, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT'S REAL ―
The warmth of the forge upon his visage was more than welcome as he continued to glance about. Thankfully he did not need to wait nor look too far, for his ears were met with a voice tough as nails and full of gravel. His luminescent lavender eyes snapped in the direction of a dark hefty stallion tending to a bit of heated metal. The man beckoned him inside and Nevermore wasted no time accepting the offer into the quaint little forge. Warmth blanketed the phantom as he felt the sting of winters hold melt off of him and bring proper movement to his limbs again. With a shuffle of his wings the raven righted himself and made himself presentable.

Slowly the once regent eased his way through, eyes locked upon the variety of endless tools and impressive projects both finished and unfinished. Traversing the gap from the door to the innermost part of the cavern Nevermore stopped short, eyeing the bearded man silently for a moment before offering him a single nod. Of course he would have been a fool to believe that something such as armor would be given to him for free. A pleasure, Rost. My name is Nevermore and the armor would be for me actually. The raven voiced over the clang of the man's hammer meeting steel.

He shifted for a moment, allowing his leonine tail to curl beside his hind leg before continuing on. I was hoping for a near full body design. I've heard that you've done great work. From what i've seen they were right. The phantom murmured as his voice trailed off to spare another glance at the things held up on the walls. The rumors certainly did not disappoint. Now his only concern was if this fellow would actually be up to the task now that he knew his name. A bit of anxiety began to bubble up within the man's chest yet he suppressed it well. With a soft huff he turned to face the burly stallion once more. How much would something like that cost?
000 words. tagged. Rost
Tag: @[Nevermore]