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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » Guidebook

it's too much
Private The Heimasborg 
you died screaming,
yet the monster who took your place was silent —
After leaving the Portal after gods know how long, Aedion had finally managed the trek back to the North. He had been here for years, only having been sucked out when the North became reachable again – plopping him back into his least favorite place in the entire world. The Portal. After spending too long there he decided to try and regroup at his last known location, Heimasborg. The strange place of connecting caverns, quite different from the intoxicating fumes of Ennuyenda. Instead, this one was chilled and rather comfortable for the man who had been born with far too much hair. He also found that he enjoyed remaining in his wolf form when he was here – it blended in better, was less of a distraction, and he didn’t have to worry about his wings freezing to his body.

He reached the entrance of the main cavern he had always ventured to, shaking the snow that had fallen onto his pelt. Growling quietly to himself, he remembered how much he hated the change in seasons, and actually preferred the darkness that had crept over the land. He had been in a deep sleep, enjoying the sweet silence that the ever changing land had to offer. Now, he had to deal with both the seasons and enacting his revenge on the Helovian’s that had crossed into his world. The godkillers he had called them when they first arrived to steal parts of his world for their own.  Sunstealers he had called them when the land grew dark and treacherous. Now he needed to learn how to begin the ascent he had for his vengeance.

Finding the spot he had originally stayed in, he searched for anything left over from his travels, grumbling into the night as his pelt turned teal. His pale eyes dancing over the icy cavern walls to reveal nothing. A deep growl reverberated deep within his throat as he found nothing left at all. Anger grew within his chest as he began to grind his sharp teeth together. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to center himself as he tried to decide the next course of action.


— you are a weapon; and weapons don't weep.


@Valkyrie <3

Valkyrie the Hopebringer
She stood in the storm

Despite the valiant shrug of resolve gathered about her broadened, white, masculine shoulders, Valkyrie could neither have anticipated nor prepared herself for the intensity of the freezing cold which followed on from the miserable soaking rain of Drench. It was worse than Sunnmōre’s frightening, thrilling extremes, trapped between the murderous combination of high altitude and winter; black ice paths ascending the wind ravaged precipice, penetrating chill whose silent breath could rob an exposed heart of rhythm under guise of long, black nights.

Shieldmaidens are fiercer and more formidable than ice…

—a line that she fed herself, now, regularly, to nourish her strangled willpower.

The self-appointed fighter for female emancipation, (relevant) social justice and freedom, had hunkered down in the dank dimness of the highest cavern she’d been able to locate beneath the savage slopes of the Heimasborg—the perfect frozen throne in a fairytale ice castle—though after about the third week of waiting, it occurred to her that the bitter weather was not quickly going to ease. It took a great deal of meditation, more still blunt bribery to convince herself to rise from the warm nest of fallen feather and groomed hair she had woven; Valkyrie’s stomach rumbled and the emptiness hurt terribly, yet less than the bone-penetrating cold that had consumed the falling valley outside her window.

The haze of white suggested that snow was still falling.

Skin, which by now had sprouted a good amount of thicker, insulating fur, trembled reluctantly—viciously—but the brawny limbs folded together beneath the throb of her fleshy breast broke free suddenly, forcing joints aligned into action. Before the time taken to even blink, the winged girl was hovering at height above the hard floor of her cavern, stretching the stiffness from each screaming appendage and rolling the sudden surge of returned warmth through her core; from nose to tail.

Of course, there was still the issue of foraging.

Valkyrie shuffled wearily to stand just short of the gaping mouth of the room where her beloved spear had fallen and laid since the first night. The veil fell heavily beyond, though the fact that it was not invading her space was a celebrated bonus—no wind. Drawing a long, contemplative breath and choking promptly, for the air was unbearably freezing, burning, the young horse persuaded her pale hooves to trace a circle back towards the rear of the cave. Descending into the eerie, dark tunnel beneath the mountainous realm which was the Heimasborg, Valkyrie tried to focus on more positive thoughts—like conquering mankind and hanging Hope’s head like a chandelier in her throne-room.

At least two levels down, for the passages, she’d learned carved a hidden labyrinth between caverns through the depths, the Shieldmaiden hesitated her course and paused with puffing nostrils turned to the stone beneath her hooves. “Hoofprints…” she whispered coldly into the still, darkness which surrounded. The scent of the stranger lingered heavily about the tracks, and with ears flattened cautiously, unpleasantly, the young creature strained to view the corridor looming ahead. “…an intruder.”

This is my castle!

Practising an extreme amount of caution (for the Rift it seemed, was famous for monsters borne from darkness), Valkyrie stepped forward to continue her ascent, now, towards the frozen wilderness outside. As she passed one lichen-lit cave, and then another her striking eyes scrutinised each space carefully, searching for the one who had passed through, ahead. As her gaze fell through the presumed-to-be empty cavity of one of the largest rooms, towards the end, the white woman's blood suddenly ran cold. There was movement in the shadows near the furthest wall away, the glinting of something’s eyes.

Valkyrie’s mind reached promptly for her spear—

There was no answer, certainly not the comforting clink of bound leather against her parted, waiting teeth. “Ugh…” she moaned, shoulders slumping beneath the ache of frustration, “I left the blasted thing back in the tower…”

and when the wind did not blow her way,
she adjusted her sails.


@Aedion - Val is going to complete her trial (in 7 threads before this), as soon as I throw the last post up, so she can use telekinisis now... If it changes I'll edit it. Sorry it's long and rambly.
you died screaming,
yet the monster who took your place was silent —
The wolf inside him perked up once there was a shift in scent. Ears flicked forward, his nostrils flaring to scent further as his sharp canine teeth ground against one another. ’I am not alone.’ He thought bitterly, his large furry tail sweeping over the ground as he moved toward the scent, lowering his body toward the ground. It was easier, now, with his wolf form. The joints and way they moved made it much easier to stalk prey than his equine form. He still missed his wings, however, but they probably would’ve gotten in the way with this search.

His pale eyes scoured the opening from which he came, not quite seeing anything but not giving into just one of his senses. His nose and ears were most helpful with this scenario. Sliding down to his haunches, he crept toward the opening before hearing a strange murmuring past it he didn’t quite make out over his sharp breathing. His focus changed instantly to work on the loudness of his breath as to not give himself away.

Who goes there?” The deep voice of his rumbled through, distorted slightly through his canine shaped mouth. The only thing he had with him was his short sword, but it had been misplaced during the shift – probably somewhere in one of his many bundles of fur that adorned his body and he didn’t have time to search for it. At least his teeth were sharp, and he was huge in comparison to the others he’d met. He should do fine if an attacker were to challenge him. At least he hoped so.

He remained low to the ground, his joints ready to spring at a moments notice. “I don’t take kindly to intruders in my own home.” As if to emphasize, he let the baritone of his voice finish with a reverberating growl, a sound that danced around each of the icy walls as he waited.


— you are a weapon; and weapons don't weep.


@Valkyrie <3 he's in his wolf form currently, hiding out in that one room xD


i am the vanguard of your destruction
Bitterly cold nights that rivaled those of his homeland—


Enough rain to wash every ounce of flesh from his skin—


A heat haze upon the horizon; mirages and hallucinations, chasing visions of white birds across dry, cracked earth, his skin smelling of salt and his mouth tasting of salt and his eyes crusted with salt—


Screaming into the blizzards; throat raw, voice raw. Long, dark days, giving way to longer, darker nights. His hoof prints tracking lonely lines across the face of the Rift, some twist of fate and the subconscious steering him from company and light. His concerns, only two: finding his one bird, and keeping the other alive. Browsing through the snow, looking for slumbering rodents, not forage.

A skeleton of a horse, dead too many times over and losing count. A dark void, where hope went to die.

fast forward

He stopped screaming a while ago. The sun and the rain and the blizzard, again, never answered him, and neither did she. The place where she had existed remained empty and cool, smooth—not even a scar, not even a bump in his consciousness, to indicate where she had been merged with his soul for so many years.

Some days, he even forgot she had existed at all. The hours stretched without him thinking about her, the warmth and anxiety of Diego a blanket wrapped around his rent mind. Then, all of a sudden, he would recall her, maybe see her in the false light of dawn, a ghost from his past: elegant and white and the first ray of sunlight slanting across the horizon, glimmering in the dragon's head upon her back.

She was never there, and the cycle of self-loathing started all over again.


When the rains started falling, melting the flesh off his bones, the darkness of the north rained away. It was hope-killing; each time the Rift expanded, so did his search area. He wandered mountains that wept red, screaming her name into the thin air, leaving his blood all over the range as he stumbled and fell, again and again and again.

He spilled onto a tundra, a permafrost blessing, and he scoured every inch of it.

And then he found it.

Myrkdalurinn, the dark valley, for it was almost always cast in shadow from the looming Heimasborg.

He couldn't believe it, not even as he stepped reverently into its caves, not even as he found the scorched alcoves were braziers had been burning, the planning room with the huge stone slab in the middle, the familiar view of the familiar valleys below the windows, framed against the unfamiliar and distant mountains.

It was empty. No sign of the Frerinn, no sign of the Magnar. No sign of Sarazheha.

No sign of what had happened to the hard-won peace he had won for his people and the bears.

No sign of Irma. (No sign of his little brother.)

fast forward

While still gaunt, he was no longer emaciated; the offline survival drive had kicked in, demanding he eat, drink, eat, sleep, as the hours he wandered his home in a stupor turned to days, weeks, and whatever else came after that in this cursed place. The freezing rain turned to snow, the northern lights casting colorful lights into hallways that should've been alight with fire and loud with conversation.

The one owl remaining with him rode upon his scarred withers, testament of a life spent in the presence of birds. His eyes smoldered with fire, Mauja's with ice, breaths frosting into the air.

The clop of hooves against stone. A moaned complaint, too far away to make out; the breath of something larger, a soft shuffle of paws and the barely audible click of claws. “Who goes there?” the presumed monster rumbled. Dead-souled, Mauja stared from the shadows, wrapped in them, thinking of Osiris pinning him in the Deep Forest of Helovia.

He wasn't even sure this one was a wolf.

Just that it was big.

“I don’t take kindly to intruders in my own home,” it went on, and Mauja, still dead-souled, kept on staring.

It felt like the seconds slowed down, or maybe that was his heart, preparing for a surge. Maybe it was the dry tinder of his mind waiting for a spark.

Or maybe it was just the nothing residing in his bones. He breathed; he blinked; he watched and he waited, thinking he should've felt something—some arbitrary, male need to piss on his territory, a desire to butt heads with this stranger just to feel something—but he remained empty inside.

He turned his head to the side, his blank gaze sweeping the cavern.

[ woops surprise mauja ]
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here