π»πΈπΌπΈπ½π°π»π΄πΌπΏπΈππ΄π is a dependent, multi-muse blog for @courtlieshq, painstakingly wrought into existence by NERO ( thirty+, she/her ). any interaction by those not affiliated with above group will be, regrettably, ignored.
// introducing the errant souls . . .
β vyros dβmarhΓm. β / intro.Β mirror. inspo. tag.
( second in command of the night court, 390, he/him + starsiren )
β baek do-hyun. β / intro.Β mirror. inspo. tag.
( archivist/librarian of the starlight court, 350, he/him + daemati )
β lasher sigrund β / intro. mirror. inspo. tag.
( commander of the winter armies, 350, he/him )
β saionji ren β / intro. mirror. inspo. tag.
( third in command of the autumn court, 290, he/him )
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ren stops in the doorway, scratching his temple with the kunai he'd been spinning idly on his thumb. the way the young lord seems to panic, the paranoia seething off of him in black, susurrous tendrils β what the hell was going on here? a part of him considers just finding another place to crash, but the louder, drunker voice in his head pushes all that aside. he crosses the room, giving the young lord a quick side-eye as he passes.
If she was going to find out any information, Saylee knew she needed to speak to as many other fae as possible. While she knew not everyone would be receptive, it still meant that she had to try. Winter had been through enough already, and she wanted to be sure that she could do it justice with information. Being a high lord had its perks, but it also had it's downsides, knowing that other fae wouldn't necessarily open up to her. Or perhaps it was that they'd feel the need to. Saylee relished in the fact that others underestimated her and never expected that with a soft spoken attitude that she could unleash a completely other personality underneath her.
"That's an excellent way of putting it. Whomever has stuck us here has a plan, that much I know. There wouldn't have been a mysterious voice terrorizing all of us otherwise." Looking down at him, she was curious, wondering if she should suggest he speak with her archivists as well. Perhaps together they could figure something out. "Perhaps I can set up a meeting between you and my archvists. Together, there will be a solution. Here in the winter, we tend to look for patterns in the snowflakes and the icicles. They tell us of how the ground and the Earth has changed."
"as above, so below," he agrees. "it would be interesting to see how the data correlates. if there are mirrored patterns." a pause. "if you don't find it too presumptuous, have you considered hosting a council with all the high lords & ladies present? since this is your court, you likely know the safest, most private space to gather. i think it would feel most natural if the invitation comes from the high lady of this court." do-hyun closes his book, hand resting slack upon the worn, leather binding. the thought occured to him that archivists and commanders alike should at least entertain combining their efforts β if a great, fell swoop would destroy them in their divided, scurrying state.
"it must be difficult, being at the center of this. balancing suspicions, managing the fear and derision your court is enduring because of what's transpired. the other courts were dealt a kinder hand, in that regard." dohyun runs his fingers through his ink-black hair, then tugs his heavy cloak tighter around himself to guard himself from the cold. "i don't envy your path, my lady."
astoria would prefer to go fly with the birds, disappear into the skies. and yet, she will not. because this is not her home, where her best friend is safe, where they are free. this is not her home where she is one of many seraphim, but instead she is one of few β noticeable. so wandering up to the aviary, where her own crows have made friends with some of the birds of the winter court, is the closest she will have to flying with her own birds back home.Β
she has not seen another soul in this space, for the majority of her time here, and when she has, she has often remained hidden, preferring the company of the animals, rather than her fellow faeries.Β
animals are familiar, predictable, trustworthy.
βi prefer our own court, our own home.β never any crowds, though. she turns slightly, when she realises it is do-hyun and not a stranger from another court joining her. βat least the ones who are actively trying to figure things out are somewhat useful. if only for eavesdropping. the ones who are acting as if this is all normal, or who are just complaining are not helping in anything.β because at least those searching might come up with something useful eventually.Β
the spymaster's attention drifts down from the heavens, his focus like a falling feather, until it lands on the second of starlight's court. she seems to fit here among the winged souls, and just like those creatures, she is an ancient presence. an old soul. she is bound by gravity, but bears it with grace and strong shoulders. in his own way, he admires her β in the way he might admire a new sky, pink & blooming with uncharted stars.
do-hyun's arms cross over his chest. "as do i." his dark eyes glint. "but i know that dwelling here will not release me from whatever spell holds us." there is a challenge there β do not get too comfortable.
outside, the clouds swell and contract. the skies churn in the frigid atmosphere, swallowing the moon & the stars, blanketing them in the a suspended vale. "they're simply making themselves feel better, operating under the delusion of control," he mutters. "to me, it feels like a time to be observant, self-reflective, to evolve. a new power has entered the realm; we will not overcome it if we remain the same."
trying to pretend that sheβs fine is exhausting. she hates having to put on a brave face every time she has any risk of being around anyone else, that she canβt just be. her family had all known she would be the high lady. her parents had prepared her. but they were supposed to live longer. they shouldnβt have gone when they did. her mother had deteriorated once her father died, had faded away until she was skin and bones. and perhaps it makes her a bit jealous that they were so in love, when every time she starts to feel like she might find someone, they die. and if they donβt, she runs. because of the stupid curse. and while sheβd had her handful of flings, she tended to grow attached in one way or another, even if just for the friendship involved. and when sheβd taken her fatherβs place, sheβd stopped, focusing all of her energy on taking care of her court.
now, she stands across from a row of targets, probably not intended for visiting high ladies. certainly not for high ladies who snuck away from their guards. she tosses knives. sheβd trained in hand-to-hand and with swords, but her father had been nervous, when sheβd been young. heβd decided sheβd have to learn to fight after sheβd been taken, but always wanted her main weapons to involve longer distance. so sheβd learned archery, but when sheβd taken a liking to knives, heβd just insisted on she learn to throw them. even though she was inclined to fight in closer range with them as well.
the high lady doesnβt look away from her target, even as she senses movement, simply flinging the knife, which embeds itself in the centre of the target, before she spins to face the newcomer. βi hope youβre not here to tell me iβm not supposed to be out here.β she knows perfectly well that plenty of fae are concerned about their high rulers.
taking a leisurely stroll across the rooftop of the barracks ( it had proven a great place to nap, eavesdrop, and provided a rare perspective of which others rarely took advantage ), ren spots movement in the training yard. it had been largely unoccupied in recent weeks, which the swordsman found strange, considering the circumstances. part of him wondered if a lack of trust between the courts discouraged training in common, open areas. that question was probably above his paygrade; his experience came down to: we give you a target, and you bring them down.
the part of him that preferred the assassin's perch was comfortable with that. his emotions weren't engaged. it was a job to do, and he could keep himself untangled. the part of him that wanted to be a part of something greater than himself squirmed. that part of himself was still an 8 year old orphan boy, suffering the sting of silvertree discipline with a smile.
the horizon of the rooftop revealed the high lady of dawn, hurling a glinting blade to the center of her target with remarkable precision. he dropped to the hard, cracked ground of the training ring with a sharp whistle; a signal he was impressed. "it's not my place to tell a high lady where she shouldn't be." he smirked lazily. "deadly aim you've got there. i'd hate to be on the other end of your ire."
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omar tries to linger around with his court as they all are gathered together, he really does, but after a second it's hard not to want to stray and find some peace and quiet. he's quick to slip out and he thinks that he's lucky enough not to catch anyone else's eye while doing so, but the immediate stiffness that usually follows when usually realizing he's not alone melts away once he recognizes the voice of the other. if it were anyone else the man would have been a bit exasperated at being followed. he felt as though he had been bumping into almost everyone while they were all here in winter, it was a bit much for the introvert to take. but his third had seen him through a lot so...he had his privileges...whether the fae would actually admit to them or not. that didn't keep him from letting out a deep sigh, though, trying hard not to let the other see him crack a small smirk at the comment, trying to save it by crinkling his nose a bit at the thought. "uh...don't think tonight's really the night to put them all to...shame like that just yet...you, um...are you holding up?"
the end of his pilfered cigarette sparks to life on inhale, embers blazing red. ren's eyes narrow on the commander, his head tilting to the side as if he's trying to read fine print situated a mile away. without being able to name them specifically, ren is aware that he and omar share some similar wounds. similar threads tugging at their viscera, deviating their programming. but there are differences, too. while ren knows how to disappear in a crowded room, and conversely, how to draw everyone's attention, omar simply retreats. seeking solace.
ren has been that man, and so, he keeps an eye on omar from a distant place of understanding.
plumes of smoke leave his lungs and dissipate overhead. "i just made enough money to buy a fleet of ships, so you tell me." truthfully, ren is just surviving & perhaps it's all he's ever done β float along the surface of whatever bullshit is unraveling below. "judging by the escape route you took, i'm guessing this is all a bit much for you." he offers omar a cigarette, just on the off-chance.
"or i've just interrupted a complicated, romantic rendezvous."
callum was in the middle of searching through any book that seemed promising enough for anything that had to do with the ice temple and its practices, anything that could help him figure out what he needed to know about the silver box he had opened not too long ago. he felt like he had no more time left to drown himself in his guilt, he had to move forward and try to find a way to...unfix his mess...or else he was going to cave into himself. he closes one book with a sigh, sliding it back into place before wiping out the next one when his eyes shot up to the other who just opened the door, the pair now just looking at it each other and all callum could really do was stand up straighter and clear his throat and nod in acknowledgement. "I, um...was just trying to...keep myself busy, you know..? different courts, different...temples, and all..."
the thousand headed dragon had few blind spots, but reading was a skill he'd never actually acquired. sure, he could fumble his way through his signature when an 'x' wouldn't do, and he recognized common words one often sees in cities and towns: tavern, no entry, closed. one of his fellow soldiers had started teaching him, but the times they could meet discreetly were so ..inconsistent, ren gave up in frustration. thus, his reading level remained very elementary.
if he felt an answer he was looking for could be unearthed from script, he had become accustomed to shaking down whoever intercepted the note or read the text. it wasnβt worth the time itβd take him to sound out the letters, put together the information.Β but he never really expected to find himself walking into a library or archive just for the hell of it. everyone was so desperate for answers, they were actually reading. it amused him.
he also didnβt expect to walk in and immediately find himself locked into a staring contest. "riiiiight." ren took a few steps forward, leaning his elbow on the splayed book on the counter between them. his eyes dropped to the pages, then lifted to meet the man's.
Her aching body protests as she drags herself into the bar. Liv hurts in all the best ways, but it doesn't make moving in this state any easier. Already swinging a bottle of bourbon by her side, she gives a sloppy salute to the barman, along with a sultry, half-lazy smirk. Looking around, her eyes land on Commander Lasher and her mouth goes dry. She couldn't say when the exact moment was, or what exact day he had caught her eye, but she couldn't have waited any longer to approach him if she tried. And when she'd seen him fight for the first time... well, let's just say she almost jumped him right there. Liv wasn't much of a beggar, but she'd even considered begging mercilessly on her knees to see the way he moved in the sheets.
Grinning, she slumped over, no longer shy around himβespecially with the amount of alcohol already in her system. Liv plopped down on his lap, one arm wrapping around his neck and her other holding the bottle up to her lips as she took another swig. "Commander, how lovely to see you here." One finger wraps in his hair as she takes a long look at him...at all of him. "How are you holding up, anyway?"
the commander lifts a stark eyebrow as liv slumps into his lap, weaving herself around him like a snake in a pomegranate tree, a dangerous feline toying with her prey. the smell of alcohol on her breath, the unfocused gaze β it had worked on lasher as a young man, before he'd built a bastion around his heart, before he'd pulled away from the precipace of a first love with singe-marks on his palms.
everything's different now. he's different.
"well, unlike you, i'm still sober. so not great," he mutters, muscled arms locking around her back and beneath the crook of her knees to lift her easily as he stands. a few solid steps, and he lowers her down into the arms of a deep, leather sofa opposite him. "definitely too sober to fall for any of your tricks, liv." he draws away from her, snagging her bottle before reclaiming his seat in the creaking wingback.
"what the hell're you drinking anyway?" one whiff of the putrid stuff, and he discards it on the oaken coffee table. pushes it aside. "cauldron's sake, that could keep a fire burning for centuries! here," he pours her a crystalline tumbler of sweet bourbon, and offers it to her, an uncharacteristic edge of seriousness in his cobalt blue eyes.
"to what should we drink? errors of the past? hindsight? we've too damn many of one, and too little of the other."
β closed starter for regulo ailin ( @rxguloailin ) / ππ πππ
β scene: common room for autumn court's inner circle, 11pm.
since arriving, ren had opted to stay in the barracks, never having gotten comfortable with the plush comforts often provided to a high family's inner circle. tonight, however, he'd instigated a brawl that landed him banned from the austere quarters until further notice β the justice of which he was not quite sober enough to determine.
following directions given him by a rather impatient sentinel, he stops when he catches sight of regulo. leaning in the door, he raises his eyebrows in question. "is there a sofa i can sleep on in here?"
β closed starter for omar finnigan ( @commanderofthefall ) / πππππ πππππ
β scene: balcony outside the great hall, during a feast
having made enough money to fill yet another leather purse on his belt, saionji ren thanks the idiot cadre from dawn for their sportsmanship and excuses himself from the banquet table. as he moves through the room, he pockets a silver case of freshly rolled cigarettes as well as an engraved flask of some rare sourmash whiskey ( cheers, E.J.N. ) β all while looking for the nearest exit. it's then that he sees autumn's commander, omar finnigan, slip out onto a balcony, the door well-concealed by several layers of draped tapestries. ren considers his options a moment, then makes his way through the labyrinth of tables and follows suit.
for some reason, ren often finds himself curious about omar's well-being. but reasons why he does anything are always deftly glossed over.
outside, he's expecting to feel cold air, but enchantments keep the balcony suffocatingly warm. the third lets out a disappointed "tch" when he realizes. after working those soldiers free of the tesserae in their pockets, the bracing night air would have been a nice reward.
"commander," he mumbles around the cigarette in his teeth, sidling up behind the man and leaning his hips back against the balustrade. "don't tell me you're witholding those sick dance moves of yours from these haughty foreigners. that stale atmosphere in there could use a swift kick in the ass."
knowing omar's disposition, ren is obviously joking. but his delivery is dry, muted. perhaps difficult for one to discern the sarcasm.
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β closed starter for saylee pΓ‘gos ( @ofstarsfalls ) / ππ ππππππππ π ππππ ππππ’
β scene: training ring, late morning
training in the cold is a brutal thing. the biting air ravages the lungs, the skin becomes dry & brittle β bleeds easily β and the muscles grow weary and ache more quickly due to dehydration. most surprisingly, to those who aren't accustomed to the conditions, a pretty nasty sunburn is a real possibility even when that great tyrant star is hidden behind a veil of thick clouds.
since these events began, he's seen a great number of arrogant soldiers from other courts getting their ass whooped. and he's won a few too many (unfair) bets.
"let's go, saylee! pick up the pace." his voice booms, filling up the space. "you've got one more set, and i'll release you. let's go!"
speaking to a high lady like this β well, it took a great deal of time to get to this point. at first, it was a delicate balance. was she truly looking to become strong, or did she simply want others to think she could hold her own? lasher figured out quickly that his high lady had a lot more depth, cunning, and complexity than she liked others to think. it was a strategic approach to keep one's true nature safely guarded, and it was one lasher had come to respect and understand.
when she finishes her set, the commander walks in a wide arc around her, stopping when he's at her back.
"all right. strong work. you're free to go. [...] but the offer still stands. you pin me, and i'll give you a week off." he crossed his arms over his chest and tries to hide a blooming grin.
the commander is impressed to find the bar empty of his restless soldiers. as his boots roll across the scarred, wooden floor, he takes it as a personal victory that he worked them hard enough that, by midnight, they've fucked off to bed, eager for a good night's sleep before another grueling day of drills. he's exhausted himself β muscles burning, mind overclocked, energy tapped β but the uncertainties unfolding in his beloved home have him desperate for familiar companionship.
one scan of the room, and lasher realizes liv hasn't arrived yet. part of him wonders if she'll show.
he bypasses the bar for now β throwing up two fingers to hector, the barman β and makes for the ratty wingback near the hearth. the one he's spent so many hours in, it feels like leaning into mother's arms when he sits down. the fire's warm, and the din of the room seems to dampen the rising dread in his chest. soon after, hector delivers a bottle of bourbon and two chipped glasses.
"you're a good man," lasher proclaims.
hector rolls his eyes and shoots back: "and you're a monster, if your soldiers are to be trusted. it looked like you put them through hell today." lasher grins. "if the world's ending, winter court's army is going to meet the devils at the gate."
she had a tendency of making them run away from her.
But, this time... Yu didn't knwo what to do. She wanted to visit a library. Maybe go back to the docks. Hell, even ask around GlΓ‘ta for answers from commoners. Someone must have seen something. Heard something. Anything. She would have been willing to grasp at straws, now, if it provided her with answers.
instead, the moonless night beckoned.
Still, it looked like she wasn't the only one with the need for a fresh, brisk air. As the man spoke, Yu gripped the black furs of her warm coat tighter around her and came to stand close to where he stood - her fingers instinctively grazing the hilt of the dagger tucked in her belt.
"I fear you might be optimistic of the predicament we find ourselves into. This is no limbo. No hope for better things to come, if we earn our penance. This is the threshold of Hell and I fear we may only sink deeper." she spoke, casting a glance at the cloudy sky. The hues of the dusk deepened and it would not be long before the stars pepper the sky.
once you hear us, you will never be sane again.
"What are you looking for, then, if no answers are to be found? Better questions?" Yu asked.
chatoyant eyes follow her movements β drawing her furs around her in defense, the twitch of a hand undoubtedly testing the presence of a blade. she is an asp, coiled and ready to strike, and yet dohyun sees blooming sadness in her eyes. she is haunted by the events that have transpired, possessed by them. compromised?
"perspective is a singular experience for us all," he answers, hands flat & slack upon the tops of his thighs. "we are bearing witness to a story that hasn't been told before. everything that has happened to us, so far, has been outside of our realm of control or experience. we've been rendered powerless by it. is that what hell means to you?"
dohyun does not fear the abstract; it would be foolish to try and outwit a force whose moves can't be charted yet. what bothers him is that he cannot see any trace of it in the stars. there is no familiar thread, no coordinating events in known history. this is something altogether new, and that simply means change.
kingdoms falling. death. war. famine. trials and tribulations. but such is life.
"i'm looking for a pattern." one hand lifts to trace his sketch of the night sky. "this archive charts the heavens back a thousand years, and i've detailed the major events that transpired in the realms under those skies."
a pause as he turns his eyes back on the woman at his side. "but better questions never hurt. what would you ask, if you were given one question?"
IF IT HAD BEEN ANY OTHER SITUATION, SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE GONE TO PESTER HER SECOND IN COMMAND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. But, to be entirely fair, this was no normal situation. What made the matters worse ( or perhaps better? she couldn't tell. ) was the damning fact they were on foreign soil. This was no Night court. These walls did not comfort her, these beds and chambers and drinks did not soothe her. Even their nights were different. More muted compared to those in Velaris and Hewn city.
perhaps it was the rot in the air - the sickly green fog.
She couldn't tell. She wasn't sure if she'd wanted to tell, either. Talia had been her oldest non-Night friend and they've grown as close as sisters over the years, the decades, they've known each other. The voice knew who to threaten to make her afraid. Whatever it was, whoever it was, it knew it would do no good to threaten the people of her court, her siblings and commanders - she had protected them all too well with her dark magic and the endless, impenetrable walls around their auras and their physical bodies ( even if strengthening them requires quite a strain from her, she's willing to bear it. )
but, this was just too much.
"I had, but a nightmare woke me. The voice I hear in my dreams now haunts my waking hours. Whatever ill magic had orchestrated the events of that death and out muddled memories, it's crossing lines again. It is on the move. And I fear my darkness is powerless against it." Yiren dares not to voice it, not yet, but she knew her commander - he'd understand the unspoken.
she was terrified for the first time in over a century.
the storm raging inside of her is immediately apparent to vyros. in the palms of his hands, he feels the cold pooling, a physical manifestation of his need to act, to move mountains, to chase this foul energy down and rend it into ash. the part of him borne to a ruinous winter house feels somehow responsible β that he should be able to name this fell magic, understand its origins, its weaknesses, its motives. but the great well of strength and determination in him is not enough.
this goes beyond sheer brute power and will. it exceeds the capability of even the brightest archivists and seers.
"you are not powerless, yiren. your shadows have kept us safe since this began β and i know you must be weary, but you cannot succumb to it." the timbre of his voice is soft, rare for the second, but still resolute, unwavering. he chances a step closer, but his fists clench at his sides in a bid to keep him from crossing lines of his own.
to reach out and touch her, to comfort her as he longs to do ..ill advised. foolish.
"fear is the force at play here. fear of the unknown, fear of what we cannot see or predict. we are in a labyrinth right now, and this ..entity is biding its time, waiting on us to lose hope." vyros tilts his head slightly, his eyes searching hers for the fountain of strength he knows lies within. "lean into your darkness, into the shadow, into the unknown. be the abyss that encompasses everything."
his voice drops even softer. a whisper. "you needn't be afraid when you hold all the power."
At this point, Saylee was getting frustrated, unable to find answers. Each fae that approached her made her nervous, tugging at that gnawing feeling of anxiety she tried so hard to hide. Winter was her home, and here it was being used for some nefarious plot, one that she couldn't push aside. She couldn't simply use her powers and end it, or hold a conference and convince everyone that nothing would shatter their perfect image of Prythian. They had zero answers, nothing that could guide them to an understanding of what exactly to do next. This frustration burned inside of her, like an icicle threatening to melt. Saylee was feeling helpless.
Trying to find a quiet space, she finds herself almost lost in her own court, unaware of where she's going, or what she might find. Because now, it didn't feel like her home at all. It was a shell of what it used to be, now tortured by this voice and presence that was ripping away everything she knew. Saylee hadn't expected anyone to have left the party, for fear that the safety might be shattered again. "Purgatory? It sure feels like that. I've been looking for answers all night. I'm sure my archivists are as frustrated with me as I am." Saylee too a step closer, smoothing out her dress. "What all have you tried, if I may ask?"
when the high lady of winter stops at his side, do-hyun stills. not because he is intimidated by those that hold power, but because the woman beside him is at the heart of this court, the court in which they are now trapped, suspended, cursed into helplessness. while he's not ouright suspicious of her, he cannot dismiss her as a cynosure in this chaos. a focal point around which everything else spins into madness. what strings has she tugged from her seat of power? if she is not a player in these wild circumstances, she has been poised to struggle in the aftermath.
the archivist silently hopes the other courts do not lose faith in her. fae are always so eager to throw the blame.
"it matters less what we try and more what we see. this is an issue of vantage. whatever entity or force is behind this is operating from the high ground β they can see the whole chessboard, and we are bound to your court." his eyes flash as he turns his focus to her, curious of what she might know, what her archivists have revealed. "i'm trying to find a pattern in my logs," he says, his voice quiet, far away. "the stars foretell everything if we aren't too obtuse to see."
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FACETS OF STONE REFLECTING MORNING LIGHT & A SHARP, FIRST BREATH, THE SCREECH OF A DIVING HAWK ECHOING IN EMPTY VALLEYS, A RESTLESS SPIRIT AS HEARTBREAKING AS THE DYING SUN.
// π»π°ππ·π΄π ππΈπΆπππ½π³ β ( commander of winter court armies + second son of noble house sigrund )
s t o n e . e a g l e
Underneath the sparkling sky, did you see LEO SUTER being tipped by the Cauldron? No, that's just LASHER SIGRUND, who is the COMMANDER OF ARMIES from THE WINTER COURT. I heard that on most days they're FEARLESS and SPIRITED but if you catch them on a dark night, they can be WAYWARD and HEADSTRONG. But if you really get to know them, you'll know that they vibe with FACETS OF STONE REFLECTING MORNING LIGHT & A SHARP, FIRST BREATH, THE SCREECH OF A DIVING HAWK ECHOING IN EMPTY VALLEYS, A RESTLESS SPIRIT AS HEARTBREAKING AS THE DYING SUN.
CHARACTER. Lasher Sigrund.
GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cis male, he/him/his.
AGE. 35 / 350
SEXUALITY. Heterosexual.
BIRTHDAY. 21st Day of December (Sagittarius Sun, Leo Moon, Capricorn Rising)
PLACE OF BIRTH. Oresthrone.
RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Unmarried.
OCCUPATION. Commander of the Armies of Winter / Second-born of House Sigrund
EDUCATION. Fearsome battlemaster & strategist. A master of longswords. Wields two along with a great shield. Well-versed in managing an army, cadre, or fleet, basic skills in blacksmithing, leatherworking, first aid, and smithing.
SPEAKING VOICE & ACCENT. A deep, rumbling voice thatβs quite gravelly and distinct. Capable of a booming roar that can gain the attention of an army when necessary.Β
HAIR COLOR & STYLE. Chestnut waves that coil to his shoulders, rarely perfectly kempt; there are often stray hairs loose and flyaways.
EYE COLOR. Ocean blue.
EYESIGHT. Hawkeyed.
HEIGHT. 6β3β.
WEIGHT. 220lbs
BUILD. Broad & muscled.
TATTOOS. Sigil-like tattoos across chest, back and arms, and up his neck β common among warriors and mercenaries. Not befitting a young lord.
PIERCINGS. Earlobes & cuffs.
CLOTHING STYLE. Utilitarian leathers, vests, and linen tunics. Heavy army when suitable.
DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS. Deep scar that drags from his left brow, across his eye, and down into the meat of his cheek.
SCENT. Leather & amber musk.
POSITIVE TRAITS. Adept, independent, headstrong, fearless, good under pressure, loyal, skilled, free-spirited, passionate, adventurous. (Lesser known:Β gentle, kind.)
NEGATIVE TRAITS. Stubborn, wayward, rebellious, unpredictable, mischievous, easily bored, restless, careless, noncommittal, devilβs advocate.
LIKES. Games of strategy and skill, training, sparring, learning new (controversial) things, blacksmithing, hunting, adventure, making innocent trouble, conversation that pushes boundaries, individuals who are unafraid to break the rules, animals, camping, campfires.
DISLIKES. Court politics & intrigue, dishonesty, judgmental individuals, feeling vulnerable, false manners, irrelevant traditions and rules, feeling idle or underutilized.
FEARS. Feeling trapped, betrayal.
MORAL ALIGNMENT. Neutral good with flares of chaotic neutral.
ELEMENT. Spirit of fire, wielder of ice.
BEVERAGE. Enjoys ales and black teas.
FOOD. Favors nuts & berries & dried/salted meats or hearty stews.
CHARACTER HISTORY.
RISE, LORD LASHER OF HOUSE SIGRUND β TAKE HEART & LOOK SKYWARD !
It should not have come to you, the role of lordling, the second son of a great house, for you are an errant, wild thing β the one who does not fit, who does not belong, that chars the edges of what holds you and breaks draping chains. And yet, you love the land of Oresthrone with all your heart. Those deep mountain halls laden with precious ore, the bitter cold and craggy trails β who would speak for those that scrape out a life in the hollows of the great mountain but you? You, who feel at home with dirt under your fingernails, with pain singing in your limbs, and freedom ripping at your hide. So, you learn to fight, to forge, to claw out goodness from the core of the earth, your duty to the land & the commonfolk of your beloved village, a master all its own. A drive like a flame bellowed & stoked in the cage of your ribs. Growing, incessant, hungry to catch.
Β Β Β Β You make your place among warriors at a young age, built for war, brave of heart, sturdy of convictions and footing. You would not wield the fate of the spare, so you carved out a fate of your own, a destiny divined by the callouses on your palms, the scars that form constellations across your body. Some won from misadventure, all well-deserved. It is your place, wrought by your own hands β you are a free-hearted man, capable of cutting his own fate from the mantle that dragged you down since birth. Wielding sword and shield, no one may remember the second-born of House Sigrund, but they will remember a champion and Commander of The Winter Court.
PERSONALITY.
O MOUNTAIN, YOU ARE A VESTIGE OF LIGHT !
You follow a different sort of light. A distant, thrumming force. A gilding in your veins that demands the most of every moment, the highest reward of any encounter. Itβs a hunger, really, insatiable and demanding, pushing you to achieve more, to outlive the great shadows that layer into absolute darkness over top of you. Challenges keep you focused, the unobtainable your greatest desire. This incessant voice inside of you that tells you to push yourself to the brink is what has brought you what you desire most: capability, belonging, strength, courage β and so you continue to follow it. Your war for freedom makes you seem magnetic to some, unbearable to others. Being unpredictable, delighting in waking sleeping bears, itβs a dangerous business, but itβs fulfilling β like drawing the sweetest sap from the driest bloom.
Β Β Β Β Β Beneath the lionine roar you have made of your life, there is a yearning you havenβt named. A desire to be seen and understood, a need to be known for the man you are, beyond titles and accomplishments, beneath stone and earth.Β
Β Β Β Β Your kindness and compassion are often traits unseen, so harsh are the lines you have driven into your countenance, but it shows in your love of people, of animals, of the earth and its precious secrets, the sea and its unknowable depth. When you are not smithing blades or swinging them, you are a friend to hawks and eagles, to fawn and fox, hound and equine.
β closed starter for xu yiren ( @mooncfxu ) / ππππππππ πππππ
β scene: common room in the night court chambers, past midnight
restless fire ripples in the large, stone hearth. it's a hearty flame vyros has tended well into the night, because he can't bring himself to sleep. the shadows in the room dance, leaving all that isn't touched by the warm glow to the arms of darkness. the planes of his face are alight, the amber in his eyes glittering.
at some point, he shed his heavy armor β hours ago when he considered lying down and chasing sleep, a battle forfeited β opting for a loose, gray tunic, leather pants, worn gauntlets, and boots. his wild, pale hair is uncharacteristically tugged into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, and he's settled deep into a leather sofa. kingkiller rests against the arm of the sofa, ready should the need arise. on his knee is an extinguished churchwarden pipe, long since smoked to ash.
vyros never expects to be found at this hour in such a ..relaxed state, but of course, it's his high lady that discovers him.
his spine straightens, and he gets to his feet. "my lady, i thought you'd retired for the night. are you all right?"