Character OTS


Björn & Lirr

Couple OTS

Event The trail that we blaze

He was excited. All preparations had been put into place and the set up for tryggr's event was finally complete. The court had been well groomed to perfection. Deep lines created clear cut sides for each team while massive stone hoops were attached to the the walls high above. The mountain side itself made for a wonderful spot for spectators to watch from, allowing them a birds eye view of the sport that was soon to be played. Truthfully, he had no idea such a game existed until an older tryggr denizen that had come from beyond the valley began talking about it. It was then that Andante had fallen in love with the concept of such a challenging and strenuous sport.

His invitation for all of arrhule, brekka and berg-risi to come watch and take part in the event had already been issued, explaining the rules and how the game was to be played. But there was another letter addressed to Tywin specifically asking the jarl if he would be up to the challenge of representing arhhule during this friendly hold versus hold event. Of course, the young king held his own motives as to why he chose the Traegur man and not anyone else. For starters, he had to make sure that he was correctly executing all the skills Tywin had taught him thus far. Otherwise he was failing his mentor and falling short as a student.

Brightly colored headdresses created specifically for the game were laid out for the teams to wear as part of the sport's original tradition. Large bowls filled with vibrant crushed berries to create a sort of temporary paint were also provided. Andante had the length of his mane and forelock plaited tightly against his neck so that the head piece of his choosing would fit nice and snug. Keeping true to his nature he allowed his crown to be adorned with the image of a fiery hellhound with black and crimson feathers accentuating and sweeping down the curve of his next. Garnet tribal paint also marked his wolf grey body to add a bit of flare and intimidation.

Naveed carried the large rubber ball to his side, dropping the object before taking a seat. It wouldn't be long now, and he could already see a few of berg-risi and arrhule's citizens milling about and moving to their seats. An exciting spark of electricity seemed to dance within the air as wide grins and colors supporting their chosen team were worn. His attention panned back to the large stone circles hovering a good several feet above him and only one thought crossed his mind. To get that ball through that hoop.
000 words. tagged.
Tag: @[Andante]


The idea to host a neighborly game of sport, at first, could have seemed a rather far-fetched and childish promotion. But, not long after the ravens of Huginn and Muninn had arrived with the details of the even Tywin quietly applauded the hidden tactics. While Tryggr had licked at its wounds long enough and on the surface had healed, the tragedies had run deep and lacerated the hearts of the people. There was an almost exhausting whiplash between the demeanor of the Arrhulans prior to the invitation comparatively after. The hold buzzed with excitement. Kingsmen and commoners alike approached Tywin with inquiries for assignments on the team. The ancient sport hadn't been unveiled in generations and many were eager to please their grandfathers' ancestors by participating. Of course, a foreigner sitting on a minor throne in a foreign land, Tywin was in no frame to dismiss their wishes. His affirmations only continued to fuel the now fiery warmth of the people. Andante had successfully cauterized the emotional wounds remaining after the landslides with what some elders still griped as "child's play". "Well done, your grace."

To abide by tradition, Tywin commissioned a headdress as the opposing challenger in the king's game, and it awaited his arrival to Berg-Risi the day of the match. Already the denizens of his hold had departed in the early morning light to ensure they had proper vantage points for the display and Tywin could have sworn there was never a moment where the lonely mountain of Tryggr was ever so loud. Murmurs, laughter, gossip, and boisterous laughter filled the autumn touched plateaus of the West the entire procession to the king's home and it seemed nothing but fitting, and cathartic. There were moments on the hike that he wished to reflect on the what had transpired in the last several months, but he thought ill of it. The solstice was upon them. This time last year he'd been a bannerless man attending a gala with company he'd come to desire. Now, he traipsed into manicured plot of land set aside specifically for the event with a mantle of Baron, a hold his own to command, but still companies to be desired.

Arrhulans and Berg-Risi people alike were strewn along the field, some on ridges higher for a bird's eye view, and others dangerously behind the markers that cut the finality of the playing space. A youngster may have felt small beneath the eyes that did fall upon them, curiously watching as players entered the field, but Tywin's carriage remained elevated. Every vision that fell upon him seemed to amplify the gravity in which he commanded the ground beneath his feet, seemed to accentuate that despite the obvious handicap he held no apprehensions he could not compete. His marred and blurry eye had once again been covered. He'd become fond of the finesse found in eyepatches and other coverings. While he had no physical scars besides the delicate white burst in his iris that tangled both beautifully and grotesquely with the startling blue there was some similarity shared between the accessories and the healed lacerations found on warriors. There was no crazed experience or dramatic battle behind the injury, but it showcased characteristics he wanted displayed: elegance, strength, perseverance, and power.

Wrought from ossein and a light metal, a half mask growled with phantom fangs at the defined edge of his jowl and stretched back across the left side of his face. Fine filigree etchings and embossings constructed the elaborate but vague visage of a feline skull, both beautiful and nightmarish. Upon request it'd been dipped and painted with black berries and coal, staining it a matte and consuming obsidian. From behind his left ear, where the piece did stretch and encircle for security, a stag's antler extended. It cupped closely to the adornment, tines menacingly constructing parapets around the left side of Tywin's visage. From the bottom hung tightly bound tassels of sanguine - darker than Andante's but not entirely committed to burgundy - hung in decoration to add flash to the coming momentum of the game. It was smaller than the headdress of the sovereign, but constricted to smaller real estate and just as effective - in his opinion.

Tywin's mane had remained down on the journey, but now, in the final moments before the game, the upper half rose around him, pricked with invisible telekinetic fingers, and buried in a large and tight bun to keep it from straying into his way. Across the field he through his singular optic's stare, catching that of the finely painted king. It was to be an interesting and entertaining day for, perhaps, months to come. After a short, quiet moment of observation he tore his petrifying vision away and swept the crowds: he wondered if a thrice broken moon cared for such things as this and would show today as he silently watched Arrhulans paint themselves with the colorful berry pastes. He wondered who would stand victorious in the end.

TAG: @[Andate]
WC: 834
MUSE: 4/5
VOICE: Mads Mikkelsen
OOC: Whoops
Image: magtox
Table and Coding: Raven
powerplay allowed
within reasonable limits!

Tag: @[Tywin]