Fimbulvetr

Poppy

Character OTS

OTS 1
OTS 2

Aishe & Evandr

Couple OTS


Private twisted paths - Event

#1

arête spyridon

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

A murky current holds her captive, the twisting waves of pain and confusion building into a crescendo that bursts in a spray of white behind closed lids. Memories become distorted, some faces become smudged as though viewed through a fogged pane of glass; others remain clear as a perfect summer’s day. She furrows her brow, wrinkles creasing the skin as she resists opening her eyes. No. The word is not spoken, though for a moment she thinks she voiced it in her confusion. A warm body pressing against hers does not register as a possible threat, after all, what could possibly threaten the queen? There are always numerous guards about to protect their king’s favorite…this is all simply the remnants of a nightmare that too often plague her sleep. A voice murmurs something but comprehension is missing while she remains in between alertness and sleep.

Dark lids flicker as she allows that cloudy wave to drag her further under. Recollections of an ancient past blur with the recollections of a more recent time; a kaleidoscope of memories. She sees faces that prior to this event she thought never to see again and in ache-fueled dissonance, she embraces the lost and welcomes the inaccurate timeline forming in her brain. The sensation of being shifted startles her from viewing her most cherished moments of life; still muscles twitch and fight to wake up. She remains unconscious. It is easier to accept what her mind spins as truth than to attempt pushing through the black cloud guarding reality.

I am resting in the gardens.

The labyrinthian structures appear, a rare smile graces pinked lips (visible even to those who observe her physical body), and she feels warmth spreading throughout her body. A trickle of cold seeps through the paradise built by an unsteady mind; her brow furrows a second time. Why am I cold? It is never this chilled here. She contemplates this but does not poke that shadowy muck. Limbs, stiff with deep cold and pain, stretch a bit before contracting against her prone form. Again, a voice prods her and this time it is familiar. Pale, pupil-less eyes crack open to see a sweeping disaster of nature’s fury; snow, ice, and earth. With a start, she lurches to her feet and grinds her teeth against the trembling pain coursing through her.

The land does not look familiar to her. Wide eyes take in the destruction and assume it is the reason why she cannot determine what part of the world she is in. We must be visiting. Arete jolts a fraction, realizing there is another standing near. The voice.. She sweeps her gaze around to look at the man standing there. Her brain whispers, fog clears, and she speaks quietly. ”Tywin!” Her voice retains the huskier qualities he will know, but there is a lightness to it not heard in far too many years. White gaze scours his form, taking note of injuries and she frowns at the crimson marring his back before letting her eyes roam the surroundings. She does see the figure she hoped and alarm builds in her chest. The queen’s voice is pitched low, worry apparent in the tone. ”Where is Tetsuo?”

He must be nearby, he never leaves me for long while visiting.



TAGGED: Tywin
WC: ---
MUSE: 2.5/5
OOC: Short & mediocre. I'm sorry <3


coding © soupi
manip © clay-ish @ dA




Powerplay within reason permitted!
Tag: @[Arête]

#2


Tywin Traegur

There is a flicker of alarm when she does not initially respond to the prodding, but ever collected in the face of adversity Tywin does feels only the ghostly gauze slip along his mind's eye before dissipating. He'd have to be more forthright, stronger. A snort releases a puff of white steam as Tywin applies a little more pressure, his recantation of her name stern and demanding. All it took was one, or perhaps she was stirring already, but upon another observation the midnight mare's lids twitched. Tywin fell still, watching with an intensity unrivaled by marksmen. Following her lids her muzzle tensed, pulled back, and even murmured the word 'No'. The eldritch hessian took a step back. He was not compelled out of fear to retreat, no. She was witnessing, experiencing, something that Tywin could not perceive. Still she stirred and jostled, her facial muscles reacting to the phantom image behind the curtain. Then she smiled.

An obvious furrow pinches his brow, nape arching slightly as he observes a moon that he is unfamiliar with. He'd seen Arête smile before. Already his consciousness conjured up an image of their swirling bodies and distant, melodic music. She had trilled in laughter then, a commodity of a smile upon her velvet lips, and somehow even then was different from now. And as quickly as the start had begun, she was ripped from whatever labyrinthian dreamscape she'd been enjoying, violently thrust back into the reality that was the calamity of this frozen hellscape.

Still he watches her, his muscles unbelievably tense. For a moment he tries to will them to untwine, to try and relieve the burning ache along his back, but they refuse his commands. Feeling not unlike the broken trees behind him - lacerated, upturned, and disheveled - he witnesses an Arête not his own. The depth of confusion, if not wonder, in her eyes is foreign. A lightness shrouds her that he had previously considered entirely devoid to her. When she finally realizes he is there, her gazing sweeping across the surrounds with greedy, devouring eyes, she startles. Within something breaks and his mind cannot comprehend what it means. His visage visibly tilts, a cold, now distant, curiosity. The space between them suddenly felt miles apart, and his mind's eye echoed with shattering even as she exclaimed his name. Never in their days had she said it with such freedom, abandon. Neither does she scoff and assess his injuries and stains in the hovering, maternal manner like she had previously. "This is not my Arête."

He has heard of amnesia before, of injuries temporarily altering the memories and minds of others, but he'd never had first hand experience until now. It was the only logical explanation, whether he wished it true or not. A morbid curiosity brews in him and he feels a need to avoid it, to ignore the parts of him that itch to explore and probe. Tywin does not like it. He does not like any of it. There is a moment she surveys again, ignoring him now, all to consumed with something she cannot find. Then she declares it, husky tones drenched with fret. "Where is Tetsuo?"

A sudden need to preserve not only himself but her shields him and the guise he wears so expertly falls upon him in a natural fade - disconnected, disinterested, and forbearing. While the latter half of his mind furiously quips about the existence and knowledge to know who Tetsuo is, the practical and methodical portions of him know amnesia is a fickle thing. Obviously consumed by new reality, it wouldn't serve well to challenge her perceptions. They'd never make it back to Berg-Risi if so, and who knew if the landslides had actually finished. "Perhaps we will find Tetsuo" - he does not assign gender, uncertain still, his voice restrained and monotonous - "But we cannot stay here. We must move." Assuming his role, albeit secretly, Tywin's baroque appendages lift over the snow. Each muscle groans with ache, and his steps demonstrate so. His back screams from the new found movement, but he is surprisingly numbed to it. Even the cold seems to bite a little less.

W C: 692
T A G: Arête
M U S E: 4/5
O O C: didn't proof read this -finger guns-
powerplay allowed
within reasonable limits!

Tag: @[Tywin]