ℊℓоω
ɴᴏ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss
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Post by ℊℓоω on Dec 6, 2018 17:46:36 GMT -5
even the gods fight necessity
Hello there! So this is a really casual semi-advanced roleplay. If you're interested in joining in, just post below and we'll chat about where to place your characters!
Plot This is a story about Vikings. Basically there are two tribes, both in political unrest. One is led by a pair of young men, twins whose father recently died, by the guidance of their mother. The other is helmed by a tyrannical king and his children. These tribes are in opposition to each other and are in the midst of a much anticipated war. They are fighting over territory supposedly, but really this is a war of egos and stubbornness. The action begins when the tyrannical king, who fears he is on the brink of destruction, is told by an oracle that he must sacrifice one of his children to the gods if he wishes to succeed. The sorcerer of the other tribe recounts to the twins and their mother. In this prophecy, however, the child he sacrifices is meant to be the lover of the twin who will one day become king. So if they are to win the war, they must prevent the sacrifice from happening.
Meanwhile, the gods are behind the scenes, leading the tribes into further turmoil. The Norns have informed Odin that the war, if fought to the point of a stalemate, will usher in a new and bloody age of men. He forbids the other gods from interfering, knowing that their involvement would only further complicate the issue. But gods aren't very good at staying out of human affairs, are they?
Characters ℊℓоω : Tribe One: Tryg Svenson (m) [one of the twins], Ragneid/Frigga (f) [mother of twins, goddess in disguise] Tribe Two: Hjalburn/Tyr (m) [warrior, god in disguise], Yri (f) [daughter of the tyrant king] 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 :
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 6, 2018 18:03:21 GMT -5
ok, I'll take the other twin :3 and a god or two. Let me go see which ones I want
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 6, 2018 18:08:21 GMT -5
Freyr, maybe Freya. Ugh I kinda wanna use Fenrir or Hel xD
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 6, 2018 18:10:55 GMT -5
lol ok, then I will use Freyr and Fenrir for now
I need to take a nap :3 be back later
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 6, 2018 22:49:35 GMT -5
woop woop
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 6, 2018 23:40:29 GMT -5
Yes please ^^
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 6, 2018 23:54:22 GMT -5
Nah yolo
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ℊℓоω
ɴᴏ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss
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Post by ℊℓоω on Dec 7, 2018 0:59:12 GMT -5
Grimsdalr The tendrils of night retreated to the forest’s depths. A gathering of crows lingered in the white branches of a birch tree as gray light slinked across the land. The first glint of color was of red. Blood, not yet dry, caught the morning light.
“They'd be fools to strike again without gathering more troops.” Tryg Svenson crouched down beside one of the dead. It was an enemy soldier, a man who had seen many winters. His weapon, an axe, lay beside his blueish right hand. “I’m guessing they lost a quarter of their numbers.”
“It was a well-fought battle, my lord,” wheezed Strima. The old man was as pale as the dead in the cold of the morning. His gnarled fingers shook as they clutched his staff. His fox pelts and golden embroidery were little protection against the chill of early spring. “We are indeed one step closer to glory. The bones say it is so.”
Tryg smiled, and straightened. The seer’s words affirmed what he had hoped: he and his brother were on the verge of a decisive victory. Before standing, he reached across the dead man and placed the axe into his frozen digits. It was too late to ensure he would enter Valhalla, but the weapon would provide him much needed strength in the afterlife.
“I think it appropriate, then, that I allow the wounded to return to Hlioum.” When standing, he was over a foot taller than the seer. His armor bore barely a knick or scratch from three seasons of fighting. The breastplate depicted a roaring bear towering troops of men who wielded spears and shields. The Sven family color of ruddy red was stark against the black leather of his doublet. Tryg warmed his core by crossing his arms, eyes flickering back to the camp and the promise of a fortifying meal.
As he was turning back to the camp, he heard Strima clear his throat softly. “I think it is important that a sacrifice be made in order to give thanks. A pig, perhaps, or a horse, would be an adequ-”
Tryg dismissed the old man’s words with the wave of a hand. “Yes, yes, of course. A handful of my men will help you in your preparations. For now, however, what I want most is to eat and rest.”
“Careful, my lord, of growing too comfortable. This war is not yet won and confidence will be to the detriment of the losing party.”
Tryg examined the face of the seer for a moment, face unreadable. “Yes of course,” he said softly. “Now, let us share in some ale and good company.”
They had settled in the small village of Grimsdalr until the end of winter. Their ships, each with a roaring bear on the mast, were moored in a nearby river. A mixture of clans had gathered, though all fought for the name of Svenson with the promise of glory and silver. Three long years the battle had waged, and the loss of their king two months prior still haunted a number of the men. For now, however, the night’s victory provided a much needed boost to the sullen troops. In the camp near the town, men sat tending to their wounds and sharpening their blades. Few women were among them, only the rare shield maiden and the wives too stubborn to let their husbands journey unaccompanied.
Tryg settled beside the fire before his tent, where his companions were roasting a rabbit and sharing a drink. Their cheeks were red from laughter.
The forest, 3 miles from Grimsdalr “Freya, watch over these men. Help them find the halls of our ancestors.”
A young woman knelt beside three fresh graves. Her palms were stained deep purple from grinding a mixture of berries and spring flowers. Her cloak had long since fallen into the dirt, exposing her white arms to the cold. Her dark hair was unbound and wild. No tears fell from her golden eyes, which bore down into the soil as hot as irons.
Soon she would stand and wipe her hands on her white dress, leaving smudges of blues and purple. The troops were scattered throughout the forest. Men, in defeat, repel one another. Yri did not understand it, but it affirmed what she had long since known to be true: men were the weaker sex in many ways. All pride and machismo. But they crumbled in the face of defeat.
She pushed away her poison thoughts. She would find her father and her brothers. They needed to regroup and quickly, attack before the Svenson clan had time to generate suspicion. When her eyes flickered upward, they fell upon a warrior standing some distance into the trees. She did not know how long he had been watching her. His sword was slung over his back. Blood stained his collar, but he did not seem to be in pain. Hjalburn, their greatest fighter. He was of a clan far north, a stranger to the king until he was called upon to fight. He dipped his head, and she swore she saw a flicker of a smile.
She furrowed her brow and strode toward her father’s tent.
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 7, 2018 3:29:44 GMT -5
[ I got distracted lol I will reply tomorrow ^^ ]
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 7, 2018 19:40:51 GMT -5
Grimsaldr
His chest rose and fell as his body fought to stave off the effects of exertion. Kjorn Svenson’s pale green eyes scanned the battle field, searching for any other enemy who sought to die at his feet. In each hand he held a single sword, its point curving slightly to the sky. The blades were expertly crafted, though the gleam of the silver in the dawn’s brilliant light was tainted by the slick, dark maroon blood that coated the surface. The blood, still wet and fresh, dripped from the edges of the blade towards the ground below, which had already been soaked through by the blood of the fallen. It had been a glorious battle; the enemy had fought hard and valiantly, but Kjorn and his twin had proven to be the leaders of a better army. In the distance, Kjorn’s pale eyes saw the murky shapes of those who had survived the battle, but now sought to flee. His upper lip curled; there was no honor, no valor, in fleeing your enemy. Odin would see their cowardice and strike them down. Only the bravest, the fiercest fighters would stand at the All-Father’s side when Ragnarök fell upon the earth.
Like his brother, Kjorn was outfitted in the colors of his tribe – the colors of his father’s legacy. Black and red, as stark as the night breaking the day. The leather of his doublet was black as well, though it had been decorated with different designs stitched into with a dark red thread. His breastplate was similar to his brother’s but a tad different: instead of a great hulking bear, bellowing its rage and power at the army of spike-wielding fools who sought to topple it, Kjorn’s armor had been decorated with a different scene. A great wolf had been imprinted into the metal, depicted as leaping high to swallow the sun. Only one wolf in all the nine worlds was ever depicted as such, and it was the god Fenrir, son of Loki, the wolf who was said to be fettered in bonds unbreakable until Ragnarök loomed on the horizon. Only then would the wolf break his bonds and unleash his rage upon the world, racing across the horizon with his maw wide open, devouring everything in his path – even the sun. When the Æsir and Vanir stood against the wicked sons and daughter of Loki, and against Surtr and the Naglfar, Fenrir was fated to swallow Odin alive during the battle.
Kjorn deeply respected the gods and held Odin as the highest of them all. The legend depicted on his armor spoke of his dedication to them; only the greatest warriors would stand with the gods at the end of the world, and Kjorn sought to ensure that he was among those numbers. Though Odin was destined to fall, Kjorn would fight alongside the All-Father and do his greatest to strike the wolf Fenrir down.
His nostrils flared, tingling slightly at the metallic tang in the air. The ground had been fairly soaked with blood, so much so that it had turned nearly black. Kjorn’s armor was covered in little cuts and nicks, but none had managed to land more than a glancing blow against him. He’d waded through the ranks of the enemy as if he were a god himself. He flicked as much of the blood from his weapons as he could before he returned them to their place at his waist. He made the sign of the gods over the battlefield, blessing those who had fallen. Perhaps some of them would be chosen by the Valkyrie to ascend to Valhalla; he did not know. They’d fought well, but none had matched the skill of Kjorn, his brother, or their men.
With his blessing given, he turned on his heel and returned to the camp. His pale gaze searched the faces of the men and the few women who were there, looking for someone in particular. He spied his brother and beside him stood the old, hunched form of the tribe’s seer. The old man was draped in furs that would do little to stave off the incoming cold, but that was beside the point. As Kjorn drew closer, he could hear the man’s words.
“-or a horse, would be an adequ-“ Tryg waved the old man’s comments off with his hand, but Kjorn’s jaw locked slightly.
Sacrifices to the gods were necessary of course, but he’d be damned if he’d let that old see sacrifice a horse. Kjorn was rather fond of the magnificent beasts; when he was a young lad, he’d taken to carrying for the horses of his family alongside the stablemaster. He’d been fond of the animals then, and he had held on to that fondness throughout the years. As he drew even closer, Kjorn fixed his pale green gaze on the bone-reader, expression sharp. “You will not be sacrificing any horses tonight, Seer. A pig or a goat or two – no horses.” His tone was flat, brooking no room for argument. As much as Kjorn respected the gods, he didn’t believe they wanted horses sacrificed to him. Most didn’t share his opinion, considering that the most prominent view of horses was that of livestock. Kjorn understood that – respected it even – but he would not be allowing any horse to be slain in his camp.
Satisfied that the Seer understood his order, Kjorn turned to follow his twin.
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 9, 2018 0:58:47 GMT -5
( welcome )
( yea about as chill as it can be lol )
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Post by dietmountaindew on Dec 9, 2018 1:05:48 GMT -5
{Are you guys still accepting people? This looks really cool!}
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Bisexual
Venom
Feeling a bit venomous
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Post by Venom on Dec 9, 2018 1:08:24 GMT -5
( welcome ) ( yea about as chill as it can be lol ) Thank you! I love just the overall chillness of it plus Nordic/viking stuff so yay!)
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 9, 2018 1:16:41 GMT -5
( yup Vikings and their history are awesome )
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