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Name: Eira Queen of the Hunt
Age: 28 Years
Gender: Female
Rank: Queen
Flock: Wolfings of Norns
Species: Griffon
Bird Type: Harpy Eagle
(view spoiler)
Feline Type: Bengal Tiger (White)
(view spoiler)
Appearance:
Mostly, Eira is a stony gray color with her head feathers and beak being darker gray/black. The front of her wings, her hind legs, and tail are white and stripped with black. Her eyes are a vibrant orange/red/yellow.
Abilities: (Stealth/Speed/Hunting/Etc)
< < STEALTH > >
Eira is light-footed and darkly hued, she makes no sound when she moves and her already dark colored feathers makes it harder to spot her in the darkness.
< < HUNTING > >
Living in her flock since she was a cub, her ability to hunt has been honed and practiced upon for 27 years. She wasn't given the title "Queen of the Hunt" for nothing.
< < SWIFTNESS > >
Her wings fling her quickly through the forest and her feet carry her at amazing speeds, she is certainly a speed devil. Despite the forests of her home being so thick, Eira has grown a talent of flying through them like a bat.
Personality: Outwardly stony and cold, Eira takes a while to trust someone. She tends to be suspicious but, not without a fair reason. A stranger might describe her as a quick-witted and short-tempered queen. Though one of her flock would also claim her to be a figure of justice, understanding, and a helping claw whenever someone needs her. To Eira, her flock always comes first. Though, she's never had cubs so, perhaps this philosophy will change.
She's a strong female and greatly dislikes being demeaned or disrespected in any way. Eira could be a saving grace but, if you push the right buttons, she could easily become one's worst hell.
History: Raised within her flock, Wolfings of Norns, Eira was born to the flock leader, her father, and a powerful himtheki, her mother. She was born with 2 other brothers, Bjarke and Eerikki.
Eira was planned to be the heir since her birth and was treated as such. She was given more attention during training times and, when the time came around, always beat her brothers in spars. Mostly, she was trained by her mother towards the beginning of her training. Though her mother always had the best intentions, she tended to be quite harsh on the child.
When Eira was almost a year old her mother, Eydis, had instructed Eira to live out in the wilderness alone for a few days. Another time she had told Eira to swim all the way out to an island that is a sizable distance from Embla, recuperate there for a few days, then fly all the way back.
Despite this, Eira loved her mother intently and was determined to prove herself to be a powerful warrior. She would do anything to fulfill the dream her parents had for her.
1 year and 7 months into her training, a threat from eastern territory began a brief war. Her mother had joined this battle, as did her father. It was during this battle that Eydis was killed. Slaughtered, in fact, by the leader of the invading flock. He did this on purpose for he knew that she was mated with the leader and no war wound could amount to the pain of grief.
Her father, Frode, devastated by this death, closed himself off in a waterfall cave and refused to exit up until his own death at 50 years old.
Eira's brothers were given the option to fight for the position of flock leader but, both had decided that Eira was a better option to lead the flock into glory.
Plagued by the death of her parents, Eira quickly became known as "Queen of the Hunt". She rules with an iron claw and refuses to loosen her hold on the lands her mother's blood is spilled upon.
Lineage:
Mother:
Eydis [Himtheki/Deceased]
Father:
Frode The Silent King [Flock/Territory Leader/Deceased]
Brothers:
Bjarke [Himtheki/Wolfings of Norns/OPEN]
Eerikki Himtheki/Wolfings of Norns/OPEN]
Thegn/Himtheki Mentor:
Eydis [Himtheki/Deceased]
Geir [Thegn/Wolfings of Norns/OPEN]
Drang Apprentice(s):
None
Relationship Status:
[Single/OPEN/No Crush/OPEN]
Other:
Theme + Art to be made soon
Name: FumoAge: 17 Years
Gender: Male
Rank: Thegn
Flock: Open For Flock
Species: Griffon
Bird Type: Secretary Bird (view spoiler)
Feline Type: Clouded Leopard (view spoiler)
Appearance: (view spoiler)
Abilities:
Stealth: Fumo is silent, walking on his talons and claws so quietly you can hardly hear him walking across snow. His coat doesn't help him hide very well but that's why he loves the winter time.
Speed: Fumo isn't a very fast runner, but flying in the air is a different story. He's quick and agile, able to fly through trees like it's nothing. But one thing that stops him is rain. Rain is the worst.
Hunting: Fumo isn't a very good hunter. He only preys on small mammals and sometimes birds, not eating large meals unless necessary.
Personality: Fumo is. . . well complicated. His emotions fly from left to right in seconds and he can change from a good friend to one of the worst enemies you've ever had in a flash. He'll flirt with just about anyone he meets if he's ever stuck in a bad situation, being if someone was about to kill him he'd make some cheesy joke to try and get out of it. Fumo can fight, yes, but he usually doesn't use it unless completely necessary. This male doesn't seem to understand the fact that some people need space as he always tries to get into a conversation if he was in the mood. If anything, his actions always depend fully on his mood. If he's mad, he won't talk to anyone. If he's happy, he'll definitely try to talk to people. If anything, Fumo wouldn't mind having someone to constantly talk to. But that might never happen, ey?
History: Born to a couple of Griffons that lived in the woods by themselves, no flock to call one's own and a cave to call home, Fumo grew up this way. His own father started to train him and make him into a sort of warrior that could at least defend themselves. But Fumo learned more than what he was taught through practices by himself within the deep forest that surrounded him all his life. He learned to live off small amounts of food and how to life off all parts of the land. He would sleep in trees and make small leaf beds to take refuge in. Once his mother died from an unknown cause, Fumo left his father to take on the world by himself. So far, it's been going alright. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?
Lineage:
Mother: Leonar [Deceased]
Father: Haggar [Alive]
Thegn Mentor: Haggar [Alive]
Drang Apprentice(s): None
Relationship Status: Single/Open - Pansexual
Other: n/a
Name: SolamenAge: (Years, Months are optional) 5
Gender: Male
Rank: (See the Rank Information thread if you're confused about this) Outsider
Flock: (If it applies, otherwise leave this blank) Open i guess
Species: (Griffon, Opinicus, Axex, Keythong?) Griffon
Bird Type: (Raven? Blue Jay? Etc?) Osprey
Feline Type: (Serval? Lion? Etc?) White lion
Appearance: (Description Or Image) Solamen is an almost pure white griffon. Exept for the stripe that comes from his eye to where his feathers end. he has deep blue eyes
Abilities: (Stealth/Speed/Hunting/Etc)
Stealth- 3/10
Speed- 9/10
Hunting- 3/10
Personality: Solamen is a clumsy, shy griffon. He is also an artist, and a perfectionist. He loves to draw animals and paint landscapes. Once you get close to him, he starts to tell you all his secrets, and he's really funny, in a dirty-minded kind of way. He also has a lot of random thoughts, wonderous, mysterious things.
History: Solamen is mostly looked down on by the flock. His opened mindedness is being sterio typed by a lot of griffons. Solamen's parents recently passed away due to a sickness. He has no siblings.
Lineage: None/Deceased
Thegn Mentor: Unknown
Drang Apprentice(s): None
Relationship Status: Unknown
Other: none
I have edited this, it used to be Shaman but I want him be an outsider.
Mod
Name: SolaceAge: (Years, Months are optional)27
Gender: Female
Rank: (See the Rank Information thread if you're confused about this) Outsider (Wants to join a flock, but never built up the courage to enter a territory and request to join their ranks)
Flock: (If it applies, otherwise leave this blank)
Species: (Griffon, Opinicus, Axex, Keythong?) Griffon
Bird Type: (Raven? Blue Jay? Etc?) Falcon
Feline Type: (Serval? Lion? Etc?) Cheetah
Appearance: (Description Or Image)https://www.google.com/search?q=hawk/...
Abilities: (Stealth/Speed/Hunting/Etc)
stealth 5/10
speed 9/10
hunting8/10
building 9/10
fishing 4/10
fighting7/10
tracking2/10
Personality: Solace knows she was born a fighter. she is kind to those she meets, mostly because she doesn't meet many people. she likes to hunt not with stealth, but with pure speed, because she almost always outruns her prey, unless it hides, because she can't track anything without actually seeing it. When a person she meets is hostile, she will fight back. she is also very stubborn, and it is hard to gain her full trust.
History: Solace can never remember her parents, just that they abandoned her at birth. ( she was originally part of a flock, but never had a naming ceremony and was abandoned. she had to name herself and pick up speech by spying on other griffons.) she was lucky to survive, and tought herself, fed herself, and looked after herself. now grown up, she doesn't mind being alone.
Lineage: (Mother/Father and possible siblings:Grandparents/Aunts/Uncles are not required)unknown
Thegn Mentor: (Past or present mentors, if this doesn't apply leave it blank.)
Drang Apprentice(s): (Past or present apprentices, if this doesn't apply leave it blank.)
Relationship Status: none
Other: none
Mod
Since I'm the leader of Wolfings of Norns, I'm just gonna go ahead and approve you but, in the future, make sure to check a Flock's Page before making a character under them, some may have applications!
I would also appreciate a little more history. Perhaps explaining the death of his lineage or why he likes birds so much. It could even be a brief and simple description of his path in growing up in the flock. Applying a good hearty history shows me that you are invested in the character and are more likely to stay active!
Once you fix that, you're all good!
Name: Ásvaldr, Lord of the Southern Mountain Peak.Name Meaning: "Divine Ruler".
Age: 31 Years.
Gender: Male.
Rank: Territory Leader.
Flock: The Talons of Ovar.
Species: Griffon.
Bird Type: Harpy Eagle.
(view spoiler)
Feline Type: Snow Leopard.
(view spoiler)
Appearance:
(view spoiler)
Abilities:
Stealth:
- Blending almost perfectly within his snow-covered environment due to his natural born color palette of white and dark grey hues, Ásvaldr is capable of almost practically disappearing in snow-covered and mountainous terrain, especially whenever there is heavy snowfall or blizzards occurring at that very moment. Walking on the very pads of his toes and the tips of his sharpened talons, his approach often goes unheard unless he purposefully makes his presence known to others. However, in good company, he tends to try not to seem as if he is sneaking around so much.
Speed:
- While Ásvaldr is certainly not the fastest sprinter in all of the land, especially when it comes to terrain such as flatland, or Gods forbid, marshes and wetland, his expertise lies firmly in his exceptional talent at scaling steep and snow-covered cliff-sides of the mountains that he calls his home. Like much of the rest of his flock, his body is naturally adapted for flight through heavy snowstorms and strong wind, allowing him to have a clear advantage over those that are not as experienced in flying in such perilous weather conditions.
Hunting:
- Having been left on his own to fend for himself in his days of training underneath the near insufferable, "Learn-As-You-Go" teaching habits of his Thegn, Ásvaldr was given a great multitude of opportunities to hone his hunting craft within the unreliable domain of his territory, with failure being the best teacher he likely ever had in terms of nearly plummeting to his death in his attempts at catching spry mountain goats or tripping face-first into the chilled waters of the river and going meal-less to boot as the fish slipped right through his claws. Presently, his sister still holds far more skill when it comes to the hunting of most prey, but he can still very hunt for himself at least enough to ensure that he has something to eat if he were ever alone.. again.
Battle Strategy:
With frequent instruction by both his father and his Thegn, Ásvaldr's mind was carefully molded to think methodically and to recognize both an opponent's strengths and weaknesses. With the patience to wait for the right opportunity to strike and the willingness to learn how his foe thinks in order to predict their next course of action, Ásvaldr's sharp intelligence and knowledge in the art of attrition makes him a formidable piece in any battlefield.
Personality:
Filled to the brim with a righteous passion and certainly not lacking in every bit of sparkling charm that one could possibly hope to muster without appearing too flamboyant, Ásvaldr considers himself to be humorously witty and often likes to entertain young cubs, when he has the time for it, with outlandish stories of valor and heroic journeys that his father had once passed onto him when he was but a young one himself. Comfortable in his own skin and perhaps even a little too prideful, Ásvaldr is a patient and opportunistic creature that prefers to sit back and watch events unfold rather than get personally involved with them unless he finds the right moment or reason to do so. While he is methodical and does what he can to make sure that he plans out his decisions carefully before the commits to them, his ambition as his flock's king should not be easily overlooked.
As a leader, Ásvaldr is viciously protective of those within his flock when it comes to potential threats from external forces, and would never hesitate to do everything in his power to strike down a foe that he did not deem worthy of life. It is not uncommon for him to occasionally display shows of strength or wit among other fellow territory leaders, and even those of higher-ranking within his own flock in order to discourage them from potentially challenging his authority as the ruler of his lands. Nonetheless, if one were to ask any number of Griffons residing within his territory what he was like, many would still respond quite easily that Ásvaldr was a king with a gentle heart and a powerful claw, willing to protect his flock no matter the circumstances. Be it even with his own life.
Of course, this doesn't mean he'd just throw his life away at the drop of a feather at the first sign of significant danger. As a natural-born negotiator with a, dare I say, manipulative silver tongue, Ásvaldr will always choose diplomacy over immediate combat no matter what the situation unless he has no other choice.
But woe to those that take his desire for a peaceful solution as a sign of weakness, for they may very well soon meet the deadly sharp curved tip of his talons and the ferocious ripping bite of his beak if they are not wary of the deceptive strength of the formidable leader of the Talons of Ovar.
History:
As the firstborn of the fourth generation of a long lineage of proud and successful leaders of old, Ásvaldr was set with high expectations from the very moment of his birth. Beloved by his father as his next heir and adored by his mother as her first cub, Ásvaldr's life was filled with all the splendor and riches that his role and future position allowed him to receive at such a young age. To say that he was a tad bit spoiled at the time would be.. a modest understatement, to say the least. Doted upon and cherished, Ásvaldr, in his naive and trusting youth, would have never been able to even imagine the utter hell that he would be put through the moment that he became the apprentice of a very old and very irritable tattered feather-duster by the name of Signy.
It was the first day of many, many.. many rude awakenings for young Ásvaldr as his torturous training with the elderly Thegn continued to progress over the years. There were no more gentle croons and affectionate coos once given so freely to him by the older females of his flock as they gathered around him to earn his favor. No more hearty meals of delicious goat meat available to him from dawn till dusk, and certainly no more leisurely days basking in the sun while he meticulously preened his feathers for hours on end in order to look his best wherever he may go. No, no. None of that. Not anymore. It was quite the opposite, actually.
The memories of his days as a Drang still haunt him to this day whenever he remembers all of those times that dear old Signy woke him up in the unholy early hours of the day by smacking him in the face with a slimy cold salmon that she had meant to be a sorry excuse for a breakfast before forcing him to join her on a treacherous hike up to the peak of the tallest mountain in their territory, where the weather was as fickle and unpredictable as luck; one moment it could be perfectly sunny with only the slightest hint of snow in the air, and then the next thing Ásvaldr knew, he was forced to cling onto the ice-covered rocks for dear life as the winds howled and tore at his wings, threatening to send him flying off to Gods' know where. Blinded by whipping snow and half frozen by the time they got to the peak, Ásvaldr always dreaded reaching the top, for he knew what was to come soon after. After a few minutes rest huddled together in the blizzard, Signy would always instruct him to sit tightly and remain at the peak till nightfall, and then proceed to make his way back to the flock.. in the pitch black darkness. The first few times she did this and abandoned him up at the mountain peak, Ásvaldr had never been able to successfully make his way back, and even when he was close, the mountain never seemed to fail in throwing confusing and infuriating obstacles in his way.. and he's forbidden Signy to speak a single word of that one morning that she discovered him half stuck in a tight crevice and buried up to his neck in fresh snow in his attempt at finding a nonexistent shortcut.
Yet despite the chilling odds piled against him and Signy's firm unwillingness to let him quit, even if she had to literally drag him up to the peak a couple of times in the past, Ásvaldr eventually began to slowly make more progress as he grew familiar with the terrain of the mountain and it's subtle paths. He memorized the landscape and the recognizable marks that they held, he grew more aware of the weather's tricks and tells and figured out how to prepare in advance for any upcoming snowstorm hurled at him time and time again.
And Signy couldn't have been more proud of the little brat that had been nearly ruined by the constant attention he was lavished in when he had not yet come close to deserving the smallest speck of it. Seeing his true potential finally coming into the light, Signy's treatment of young Ásvaldr began to improve in turn as she became more attentive of his discomforts and troubles, even offering a little help every now and then when she felt that he really needed it. In order to prepare him for the leadership that he would soon be faced with once his father relinquished his title to his next heir, Signy taught the eager prince everything she knew when it came to not just surviving, but flourishing in the severe climate of the high mountain peaks that they flock called their home. Prime hunting sites and techniques, battle strategy and tactics complimented by actual spars against both younger and more powerful Thegns than herself in order to utilize the knowledge she gave him to its fullest.
She would have never admitted it, but Ásvaldr always knew somewhere in that craggy heart of hers that she saw him more as a grandson rather than just another one of her apprentices.
On the morning that his sister, Valkyrie, was born into the world, Ásvaldr knew almost immediately that he had more responsibility now than just constantly being trained for a role that was nowhere near in sight due to his father's dependable strength and health. Now an older brother, Ásvaldr made a personal oath to his kin that he would do everything in his power to make sure that she grew up as happy and as loved as he had when he was but a cub. In little to no time at all, or at least it had seemed like that to Ásvaldr, his sister had grown into a beautiful and capable Drang, with a far more lenient Himtheki having taken her under her wing much to Ásvaldr's secret jealousy, though Signy always used to jab at him by remarking with a shrill laugh that it was because his sister was just that much more skilled and obedient than he had ever been at her age. Yet, Ásvaldr knew somewhere inside of himself that her admirable effort was not only for the praise of her mentor or the flock, but for the approval of their father.
Having wanted another son only to be burdened with an unnecessary daughter in its stead, the leader at the time gave his second offspring sparse attention in comparison to the affection and pride he held for Ásvaldr. And while their mother did what she could to make her two beloved cubs feel equal in her mate's eyes, Valkyrie was never satisfied with their father's lack of care, or even recognition of her strength. She trained herself for hours on end until she could go on no longer and collapsed in exhaustion. She joined the earliest patrols and was often the last to sleep during the night-watches, having little to no time for herself. To think that she had remained as strong as she had for so long under such strain was an impressive feat in and of itself, but no one knew this fact more than Ásvaldr himself. It pained him greatly to see her push herself to such lengths to please their father, but he knew that out of all of those in their flock, he had the least right to say anything about it. It was him that always had their father's affections, after all.By the time that his sister was close to ranking up beyond even her own mentor's status after having proven her exceptional discipline and worth within the flock as one of their finest of warriors, it had soon come to a point that not even their father could completely ignore the unhealthy and worrisome fatigue Valkyrie seemed to carry heavily on her shoulders wherever she went. She was restless, she was listless. There was nothing Ásvaldr could do to make her even show him a hint of a smile anymore, and it was finally at that point that he knew that he needed to confront the source of her turmoil to spare her from any more self-torture.
It had been a cold, ominous night when Ásvaldr had gone out in search of his father to speak with him about Valkyrie's deteriorating condition. When asked, those of his flock had spoken of his father's departure into the mountains to investigate a strange report of a gravely ill Griffon that had somehow struggled its way into their territory and was in dire need of treatment. Not willing to let the matter go so easily, Ásvaldr set out in the direction he was given towards the dens where the Clerics often gathered together to discuss various methods of treatment and to simply chatter. If not for the chilled gale to dull his sense of smell as he eventually reached the entrance of the Cleric den that he had been told his father had sheltered the sickly, bone-thin Griffon, the nauseating stench of rancid feces and death would have been enough to make him retch as he peered inside cautiously to see the backs of three of the flock’s best Clerics muttering hushed prayers under their breath with closed eyes. His father, his expression twisted with something akin to pity and barely-concealed disgust, stood further in the den before the body of the now deceased Griffon that they had tried to save, but treatment had come too late, it seemed. Yet, what was most concerning to Ásvaldr was the smell. Though the afflicted Griffon had likely only died two, maybe even one hour, after his arrival to the Cleric den, the air was rank with the heave-worthy scent of a rotting corpse that had been slathered in fecal matter. He was no Cleric, but even someone as ignorant as he was in the art of healing could tell that there had been something very wrong about what had caused the Griffon’s demise.
Ásvaldr chose not to reveal his presence at the Cleric’s den that night. Opting to speak with his father in the morning than disturb him in that moment, Ásvaldr returned to the comforting pelts and feathers of his den to try and forget everything about that dead Griffon that had been his skin prickle and crawl with wrongness and how the stench of its body seemed to cling to his feathers long after he flew far away from where its corpse rested. Yet until the second his mind drifted into sleep, Ásvaldr repeated silently to himself, “It’s over now, there’s nothing more to be done.”
Two mornings after the incident, the Clerics that had tried to save the diseased Griffon were found dead within their dens, rank with the sickeningly familiar rotting scent as the corpse they had buried. There was no other explanation for it besides contamination, but the only healer that had been spared from contact had been one in training as a medic, and too young and inexperienced to know the solution to keep the sickness from spreading. The territory leader and a couple others of the flock had already been exposed to the body during the death ceremony, yet even under the threat of meeting a fate as grim as the one that had befallen the unknown carrier and the Clerics, the leader calmly ordered those of the flock to remain within their dens until a solution was discovered to treat the ill. Ásvaldr remembered the way everyone, including himself, looked up at his father as if he was the light of hope in this time of uncertainty and fear when he spoke this, but for some reason or another, Ásvaldr could not help but feel a sense of dread creeping into his chest when his mother herded him and his sister quickly into the den, catching just a moment’s glimpse of his father’s expression falter into one of fatigue once the crowd dispersed.
Another two days passed, and more and more signs of the disease had already begun to show within the flock. The elderly and the young, at first, and nothing too concerning. Lethargy, slowness, stomachaches. As young as the medic was, Ásvaldr vaguely remembered his name to be Birger, he continued to make a truly valiant and undaunted effort to alleviate the symptoms in every way that he knew how up until the point that he too became too ill to treat the others.
Five days after, those that still had the chance to escape the death that now so suddenly and frighteningly plagued their flock began to try and make their desperate escape, but his father forbad it with the consequence of execution in order to keep whatever sickness that was ravaging the flock from spreading into other territories and taking more lives.
By evening after the seventh sunrise had set below the mountains, the camp was as quiet and as peaceful as death itself. No one dared to leave what little protection they had left within their caves in the slight chance that they could hide away from the epidemic until it eventually passed. They now ignored the bodies that littered the pathways and the rocks just outside their homes, terrified that if they even tried to pass over them, the disease would claim them too.
On the eighth day, the territory leader, Ásvaldr’s father, was found dead.
There was no time for mourning over the loss of their leader, for Ásvaldr knew that if there was going to be any future for his flock, he and what remained of his family needed to leave while they still could. Signy, the old lovable crone who had simply refused to die during the first wave of the disease despite her age, though Ásvaldr had not been surprised after all he had seen from her over the years, agreed with Ásvaldr’s risky decision despite how it defied the king’s last orders before his death. If there flock was to have any spark of hope and salvation left, it now lied within Ásvaldr and his sister, Valkyrie. However, their mother, inconsolable after the news of her beloved’s death, refused to leave his father’s bedside despite their pleadings, saying nothing in response to their desperate begging as she stared sorrowfully down at the withered corpse of her mate even though her tears blinded her from seeing him clearly. Ásvaldr had to eventually drag Valkyrie from the den as she wailed for their mother to join them, but only silence answered her cries in the end. To quell her struggling and pained whimpering as they set off into the night, Signy swiftly struck Valkyrie on the side of her head by shoving her against a nearby tree without warning, almost inciting a curse of indignation and anger from Ásvaldr, but he held his tongue as he remembered what they had set out to do. They could not draw attention of those few that remained, or they would risk the inevitability of them being followed and potentially spreading the disease that they knew still lingered around every corner of their home. Carrying Valkyrie on his back the rest of the way till they reached a secluded part of the mountainside to make their way downwards to the forests below to seek out an old and trusted ally of his father’s that Signy had met once more, their hushed voices immediately silenced in trepidation as they heard the sound of quiet rustling following behind them at a distance. The steps sounded uneven and unhurried, which only seemed to increase Ásvaldr’s apprehension as the thought of one of the diseased having seen them crossed his mind. He could feel the tension of preparation in Signy’s posture, her claws digging into the rock as she stared with wary, but focused intent on the location of the noise; he knew that she would kill the Griffon if they were sick, and he wondered for a brief moment if he would try to stop her once she acted, but he knew that he wouldn’t. He had seen all that the disease had done to its victims, and death by the claws of a another would be considered a mercy in comparison to what would happen later on if the sickness was allowed to take its course. What came from the brush was what they had expected, but what had made Signy pause was what had been clutched weakly within the Griffon’s grip. A little bundle of furs, concealing a newborn cub. Ásvaldr’s heart twisted at the realization of what the mother’s intentions had been in following them, and her eyes spoke everything she could not bear to say as she slowly laid herself as low as she could to the ground and offered her cub to him in a silent plea. Take her away from here, take her away before the sickness steals her life first, the mother’s eyes said to him as she slowly drew away her claw and left the cub at Ásvaldr’s feet. The Griffon laid still after that besides the slight movement of quietly wheezing breathes, the trek having sapped what had been left of her strength. Her unfocused gaze remained solely on her cub until she drew breath no more, and Ásvaldr was left with a choice. Well, there was no real choice to be made, actually.
Mercifully, Signy did not utter a word of protest or reprimand as Ásvaldr ever so gently picked up the bundled up little cub and pressed her close to the fluff of his chest to keep her warm against the chill of the mountain air. He could feel her eyes on him even as he refused to look at her directly, questioning him on whether he knew the potential consequences of his choice if he fulfilled the mother’s wish to save her cub. The mother, in her last moments had given him this task. Ásvaldr knew not who the father was, but what he did know was that he had likely already passed. Peering down at the little cub’s sleeping face, Ásvaldr could sense his uncertainty slowly melt away into determination and tightened his hold on the cub to keep her safe for the flight ahead. ‘Sigrid, her name will be Sigrid.’ He spoke silently in his thoughts as he stood at the edge of the cliff, his wings unfurling slowly to test the wind as he stared out into the great mountainous expanse, wondering how long it would be until he would be able to return to look out again and see hope for the future of his flock.
As it would turn out, just hours after Ásvaldr and the others fled down the mountain to escape the disease, something.. Or someone, set the entire camp ablaze in clouds of black smoke and cleansing fire that one would think could touch the heavens. Ásvaldr could see the flames from the treeline as he stared up at the trailing smoke, the sense of loss swelling in his chest even as he flew further and further away from the cliffside, tearing his eyes away from the sight as he followed Signy down to the forest.Much to Ásvaldr’s subtle surprise, their destination was only a few miles deeper into the depths of the forestry part of their territory, wedged between two ancient trees that acted as the signalling of the entrance to a moss-curtained cave carved meticulously out of a large boulder. Fatigued and out of breath from the dead weight of Valkyrie on his back and carrying Sigrid so tightly to him, Ásvaldr’s landing was more on the rougher side than he would have liked as he stumbled and failed to regain his balance, skidding heavily on his side to protect the cub from the brunt of the impact and rolling his sister’s unconscious body from him, but thankfully Signy had been there to keep her from being too injured from the fall. Leaving them to rest, Ásvaldr watched as Signy tentatively approached the entrance of the cave and bow low as she got to the very edge, her eyes cast downward in respect as she called out a name that he did not recognize. ‘Verdandi, she said. An ally of my father..’ Ásvaldr found himself waiting with baited breath as he slowly lifted himself up into a laying down position with Sigrid cradled protectively in front of him, shifting closer to stretch a wing across his sister’s shoulders as much for his own reassurance as it was for her own even as she slept quietly through it all.
Beady, pitch black eyes peered back at him from the shadow of the cave as a quiet voice with a subtle husky undertone answered back, addressing Signy and telling her to rise. Ásvaldr had been too far away to hear the exchange of their soft-spoken conversation from where he was, and nor could he clearly see the figure hidden within the cave, but he knew that whoever it had been, their inquisitive, calculating stare had still never left him and his sister even as they spoke with Signy, who’s expression was difficult to read up until the moment it briefly changed into one of sorrow, letting Ásvaldr know that she had just informed Verdandi of the death of his father, and it what it meant for the territory now that he was gone. There was a long silence between the two of them as Verdandi seemed to process this information, each second feeling like another eternity to Ásvaldr as he waited to finally be addressed. To be told what was going on and who this Verdandi was and what she had been to his father, and what he was supposed to do now. As if sensing his desire to be spoken to, the one named Verdandi called to him unexpectedly, causing him to almost flinch as he was broken from his thoughts and lock eyes with the Griffon’s wise, if not disconcerting stare. Making a soft, clearly unimpressed tittering noise, she limped out into the light to reveal the front half of her form, the sparse light from the moon glinting in her black eyes and making her sleek obsidian feathers seem to shimmer shades of royal purple. A raven, severe and critical, was what Ásvaldr could tell from her at first glance, and he couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible that she and his father could have been close in any sense of the word. The way she observed him so coldly made him feel small in comparison, but he refused to seem cowardly as he held her stare, hoping that he did not look as obviously uncomfortable as he felt under her scrutiny. ‘Ásvaldr, Son of Orvar.. I was beginning to think that you would never show up. However, it is unfortunate that you’ve had to face such troubling times in order to do so.. My name is Verdandi, Daughter of Maevil. I was once a cleric of your father’s flock before I sought out a life of solitude to spend the rest of my remaining years, but I suppose that will have to wait now that your father has passed. Come inside, there is much to discuss and the dawn will soon be upon us.’ She had said to him, curtly but not lacking in a subtle hint of sympathy.
As much as Ásvaldr wished he could simply lay down on the excruciatingly tempting nest of moss and pelts he spotted at the very back of Verdandi’s cave on a narrow outcropping, he forced himself to pay attention to Verdandi’s explanation of his responsibilities and tasks that would be placed upon him if he chose to take his father’s place as the territory leader, and what would happen if, when Valkyrie awoke, decided to try and take the position for herself, as tradition allowed. Exhaustion aside, Ásvaldr could feel the tingle of adrenaline flowing through his veins as he tried to imagine what it would be like to go back to his flock and just.. Announce himself as the new leader, just like that, and that was only if there was anything still to go back to after the fire extinguished. His thoughts floated back to the fate of his mother between Verdandi’s words, even when he was getting the feeling that she was beginning to become impatient with how distracted he was, and she had repeatedly whacked him on the shoulder with a quick slap of her wing when she caught him in a daze. By the time that he had been released from Verdandi’s lectures and instructions in preparation of his ceremony, an hour and a half had passed, leaving only a few more before the sun rose over the horizon and marked him as the new leader.. As long as no one chose to challenge him for the title. Valkyrie, having awoken sometime during his time with Verdandi, had been filled in by Signy of the recent events, and as Ásvaldr entered the small nook that Verdandi had examined his sister’s head wound, her ghost of a smile was strained at best and wobbly with grief as she murmured his name with a tone that sounded like something mixed with barely restrained misery and remorse. They pulled each other into a tight, anguished embrace as he felt his sister’s body tremble with sobs, pressing her cheek against the crook of his neck and cried and cried until she eventually fell asleep in his claws and he carefully laid her back down into the nest; for the next five years, he would never see her shed a single tear again.
Their silhouettes casted long shadows upon the ruined remains of their camp as Ásvaldr and the others, including Verdandi, reached the sheltered cliffside just as the sun’s golden rays began to rise over the mountains. The short bursts of gusts caused by the flapping of their wings blew ash and snow into the wind as they touched the ground, and in the light of morning they could now truly see what the fire had done to their home. The corpses that had been left to rot on the ground had become nothing but ash and charred bone, their scent faint and disappearing as smoke wisps blew gracefully in the breeze. The pelts, sparse trees and underbrush and other comforts had been burned away, but their caves remained in defiance of the destruction. Ásvaldr wandered slowly through the camp alongside Valkyrie towards their home, where their mother had last been seen before they left to seek out Verdandi. Laying beside their father’s ashen corpse had been their mother, clutched loosely in her claws, a torch. Valkyrie exchanged a glance with him, but there was nothing more to be said. It had been a parting gift to them, a cleansing for the future. Pressing his side gently against his sister as she hung her head low, eyes closed in mourning, Ásvaldr’s attention was slowly drawn to the soft whispers of voices collecting just outside the cave. Turning slowly, his eyes widened at the joyous and uplifting sight of what remained of his flock as they gathered around each other with smiles of relief and murmurs of celebration at the return of their leader’s heirs. There could have been no more than seventeen of them left, out of the thirties that had once been the glorious community of their flock, but to Ásvaldr, there could have never been a sight worth celebrating more than their existence as he approached them with a similar confident posture he had always seen his father use when he addressed the flock. Head held high and shoulders squared, he came out into the light and joined the crowd as they parted for him, occasionally brushing their wings and claws against him in reverence and fondness. He could hear his name being called with the same amount of respect as they had once uttered his father’s name. A whisper, at first. Rising and rising into an elated cheer as he continued to walk towards Verdandi and Signy, who waited for him at the edge of the flock with Sigrid cradled safely in Signy’s arm. Looking down at the little cub, sunlight cast upon the young one’s sweet face, he noticed for the first time her dark amber eyes blinking back at him curiously, a little smile forming as she chirped happily and outstretched a tiny claw out to him to brush against his beak. He could not see Valkyrie within the darkness of their cave as the crowd further blocked his view of her form, but he still remembered all the love he had felt the first time she had opened her eyes as a cub and looked up at him with a similar happiness as Sigrid had. He hoped, one day, she would come to find her smile again.
Looking at his flock once more, he glanced at Verdandi for the last confirmation. She nodded, but made that familiar titter as she opened her beak to speak, ‘Behold, Ásvaldr, Son of Orvar, and let him be recognized as the new territory leader of Ovar’s Hook! Ásvaldr, Lord of the Southern Mountain Peak!’ She announced in a crystal clear and ringing voice, her voice carrying over the cheers of his flock, his family, as he felt himself outstretch his wings to their full length in pride as he made a victorious cry to the white, swirling clouds above.
Lineage:
- Mother: Idunn - Deceased.
- Father: Orvar - Deceased.
Siblings: :
- Sister: Valkyrie.
Thegn Mentor: Signy - Deceased.
Drang Apprentice[s]: Sigrid.
Relationship Status: Open.
Other:
He often treats Sigrid like a second sister, but many often comment that he dotes on her much like a father would.
His favorite prey to dine upon is goat.
His least favorite prey is fish, especially salmon. Cold, slimy salmon.
Aaaaaah, I used wrong titles here and there.. I'll fix it when I get my hands on a laptop.
Okay, I think I got it this time.
Mod
;0 I'm so glad you think so. It took me literal months to get it finished because I wasn't satisfied with making it any shorter. The process was so painful, but I feel accomplished.
Name: LarcenAge: (Years, Months are optional) 35
Gender: male
Rank: (See the Rank Information thread if you're confused about this) folc
Flock: (If it applies, otherwise leave this blank) wolfings of norns
Species: (Griffon, Opinicus, Axex, Keythong?) griffon
Bird Type: (Raven? Blue Jay? Etc?) woodpecker
Feline Type: (Serval? Lion? Etc?) panther
Appearance: (Description Or Image) black. very, very black, and with a long beak.
Abilities: (Stealth/Speed/Hunting/Etc)
building 7/10
PECKING HOLES IN TREES! 10/10
stealth 6/10
speed 4/10
intimidation(not always on purpose) 8/10
Personality: larcen likes all birds, and will often be found drilling holes in random trees for birds to nest in. he is generally very kind, but even though he cant fight, he has a problem with forgetting not to look like he wants to drill a hole in your skull and feed it to the birds.
History: born and raised in flock. his parents mysteriously dissapeared one day, and about a year later their bodies were found near the reach of magni. it was larcen who found them one
day when he was following an owl, and since then he has become interested in what they do, following them, drilling holes in trees for them to live in, and just watching them.
Lineage: (Mother/Father and possible siblings: Grandparents/Aunts/Uncles are not required) very dead. very, VERY dead.
Thegn Mentor: (Past or present mentors, if this doesn't apply leave it blank.)
Drang Apprentice(s): (Past or present apprentices, if this doesn't apply leave it blank.)
Relationship Status: none
Other: learned different bird calls and uses them to attract birds.
Name:
Age: (Years, Months are optional)
Gender:
Rank: (See the Rank Information thread if you're confused about this)
Flock: (If it applies, otherwise leave this blank)
Species: (Griffon, Opinicus, Axex, Keythong?)
Bird Type: (Raven? Blue Jay? Etc?)
Feline Type: (Serval? Lion? Etc?)
Appearance: (Description Or Image)
Abilities: (Stealth/Speed/Hunting/Etc)
Personality:
History:
Lineage: (Mother/Father and possible siblings: Grandparents/Aunts/Uncles are not required)
Thegn Mentor: (Past or present mentors, if this doesn't apply leave it blank.)
Drang Apprentice(s): (Past or present apprentices, if this doesn't apply leave it blank.)
Relationship Status:
Other: