Avatar of Tracyarmav
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    1. Tracyarmav 9 yrs ago

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Recent Statuses

6 yrs ago
Current I hate waiting...
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7 yrs ago
Dar'manda
8 yrs ago
Feeling flaccid
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9 yrs ago
Responsibility belongs not to the name stenciled on the mantel, but to the one who carries the mantle.
9 yrs ago
"Strike me down, and I'll not fight back; Threaten my brothers, and even death will not protect you from my wrath." -- Blackswordkirito I couldn't have said it any better myself.
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Bio

25/M/GMT-5

I average 1-3 posts per week, usually per RP, but sometimes total.

Most Recent Posts

Gwillim Gunnvaldr
Husband of Scyrvensrel Talyrrth-Gunnvaldr @Amethyst and [?] of [TBA] [@"?"]
Interacting with: Scyrven @Amethyst

That evening, saw Gwillim polishing the armor his mate liked to wear. She intended to use it for the tourney tomorrow and he wanted her to look absolutely striking. His own armor had been carefully seen too before the journey and was standing on a rack in the courner of the room glinting from the shadows, as Gwillim worked by the light of setting sun. He wore a pair of thin cotton trousers that came to his knees, with a plain broad leather belt, while he worked. His wife was seeing to her hair at the moment with several attending slaves. He was careful to wipe away the grimey dust of the road, and courtyard below, a smile dancing across his lips as he recalled the match they'd had. Alfhildr had apperntly been challenged by a boy a few summers older than her, a fool of a lumbering ox, strong in muscle, sinew and bone, true. Alfhi had trounced him handily by all accounts, using her speed and wits to outmaneuver the bigger boy. Gwillim was quiet proud of his girl for that. Her first challenge, unofficial though it was, and she'd won easily. He was oiling the leather now, and working the tough hides in his thick calloused hands. The scales were of excellent quality, taken from some of the more vicious creatures hiding in the crags of the Spine Mountains. Those mountains were impassible to Gwillim, no matter how many paths he tried to cut, something always stood in his way. It was a wonder that Drakken had ever found a way across.

Still, it wasn't Geminia that Gwillim wanted access to, no he wanted the trail of the Anathos. The legendary warrior swarms that had been threat enough to unite all drakken. But their trail lay across the spine from his family's lands so there was nothing he could do about it. he would try traveling south this year, searching for his own path to the Anathos. Gwillim checked the clasps and straps next, if one these failed it could cost him his wife, and she was worth far more than a hundred brides. Even if she didn't find him appealing, she understood him, and he her. True it wasn't everything he'd hoped for, but... it was still so much more than most got. He would not begrudge her for liking the company of other women more than his. So long as she was willing to fight with him, he would be content. He looked forward to the paired tourney tomorrow. Most of the younger Drakken disdain the paired tourney, thinking the reliance on a team mate to be weakness. But the king valued it all the more, as it showed which of his Drakken lords could work together, could set aside difference for a common goal, no matter how briefly.

Satisfied that the armor was spotless and ready for the tourney, he hung it on it's own rack. Stepping back he did a quick check to be sure that all their gear was there, and it was. He then went to the small balcony attached to the room to enjoy the last of the sunset, that glowering eye that reminded them all of the mother's hatred for her first children. He liked watched the hatred fall below the horizon, hoping that one day, the eye might see the land for what it was. That the mother might remember the works of her own hands, and forget her hatred. But it was just a dream, and he knew it. So he turned his mind to the opponents he and his wife would likely face in the tournament tomorrow.

So a woman in an electric cart ran into me knocked me down, skinned up my leg it's swollen and bruised. Says "you need to watch where you're going" and drives off.

😑😡


cranky old fart isn't she? sorry you got run over, I hope your leg heals quickly.
Gwillim Gunnvaldr
Husband of Scyrvensrel Talyrrth-Gunnvaldr @Amethyst and [?] of [TBA] [@"?"]
Interacting with: Scyrven @Amethyst

Hearing his mate’s voice, Gwillim turned and met his wife’s gaze. A smirk creeping across his face as he saunters her way, throwing his hands wide as he accepted the challenge.

But of course my love, ‘twill be a pleasure as always!

His saunter turned suddenly into a sprint, though Scyrven seemed to be about to do him as he had the boys. But the pair locked horns, and tumbled convincingly enough, they both sprang to their feet and tossed fists and booted feet at each other, while blocking and dodging the other’s blows. Minutes passed, and occasionally the pair would tumble and roll across the ground before rising to continue the fight upright. The cousins watched in awe, and Alfhildr too watched carefully, though she seemed less awestruck by the performance and more eager to memorize every little detail. Blades sprang from sheathes suddenly, though no blade found flesh, each one being knocked out of the wielder’s grasp and into the air… a moment later half a dozen blades of various sizes were being juggled between the two combatants even as they seemed to be throwing a furious volley of punches and kicks at each other.

The adults smirked at the show, most confident they could do as well, or close enough, if given a competent partner. The children watched amazed as both husband and wife tracked the movement of every blade, each fist, and foot, so precisely despite the speed at which they traveled. And what’s more it seemed to cost them no extra effort, as both were smiling wildly now, eyes locked as they danced about the floor. Then flames began to leap around and between the two, as they danced, struck, and juggled. The fires never seared or scorched either, and impressive feat considering Scyrvern’s wild hair. Then came gusts of wind, and streams of water, raging about the pair as if the very elements were at war with each other. Through it all, no serious blow was landed to either party. Still, it was plain to see, it was from no lack of effort on the part of husband or wife. Sweat ran freely from both, as the hot sun, belts of flame, and exertion all worked to tax their well toned and fit physiques. Dust from the earth rose to mingle with the sweat in grimy streaks on faces and necks, while hair became matted to damp skin. Still the pair strove for minuets more, seemingly able to continue indefinitely.

Suddenly it was over, and Gwillim and Scyrvensrel each caught three blades as they came down. Right hand, left hand, and toothy grins clasped their blades in turn. Scyrven’s blade passed between her teeth and down her throat, but she’d done this before, and pulled it out without earning even a scratch. Gwillim’s blade, significantly broader and longer, had been caught so that it lay across his mouth, parallel to his lips. Both were breathing heavily, but were otherwise not sorely taxed by the performance, despite the heat and dusty conditions. Gwillim winked playfully at his wife, as he sheathed his blades, and turned with her to take a bow before the gathered audience, to the cheers of the youngsters and polite applause of the adults. The performance had required skill, focus and excellent timing on both their parts, and both had performed flawlessly. It was due in large part to the trust they had in each other. They weren’t lovers, not properly anyway. They were more like blade brothers; they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses and how to maximize and compensate accordingly. It was an uncommon strength of bond between them, and they knew it. Both hoped Alfhi would find as much with her mate in time, but that was some years away yet.

Gwillim linked his arm through his wife’s as he escorted her off the playing field so the youngsters could resume their mock battles. He asked if she would like to bathe before the evening’s festivities with the princes, he may have hinted at a good deal more, but was very careful to keep his voice from traveling beyond his wife’s perception. He would happily follow her lead, if she wished to retire with him, or go his own way if she preferred some solitude after the long journey. Still, a good soak to help the muscles relax would do them both good, particularly after the long performance… Alfhildr scampers over to them, but is sent to watch her cousins, and if she should perchance get into mischief to do so without getting caught. Scyrvensrel and Gwillim were last seen walking towards their rooms, calling for water and a very large tub, to be drwan up. Servants scurried to comply, lest they suffer the heat of both the sun and their master's wrath.


When you have one of those days where you want to curl up in a hole and stay there


Aww, sorry. I know those days too well. I hope you're feeling better soon.
Gwillim Gunnvaldr
Husband of Scyrvensrel Talyrrth-Gunnvaldr @Amethyst and [?] of [TBA] [@"?"]
Interacting with: Scyrven @Amethyst

Gwillim Gunnvalder stalked through the streets, towering over most of his peers, his mate matching his pace. He was never fond of the capitol city, Železna Kri. He visited only when he was required too. He much preferred to be out in the wilds, than cramped into this reeking and filthy city. Gwillim couldn't see more than stagnation and decay in the walls around him, but it was the way of things. He was glad his father had won the honor of being a warlord and so had private lodgings away from the lesser lords, eager to scrap with anything that moved and breathed. Gwillim grew tired of wasting his time and efforts on such pathetic opponents, his own mate Scyrvensrel could best most of them with only one arm. At last they arrived at the family palace, of sorts, and left the clamoring, clogged streets behind. Gwillim grunted in satisfaction, and saluted the head of the family guard, briefly locking horns with the slightly shorter drakken. Then he bid his mate make herself at home, before heading to the family shrine, to pay his respects to the gods.

Leaving the shrine he noticed the family had set about their usual flaunting of skill and wit. With matches against eachother, in groups or as individuals. The elders kept watch, lest serious injury be caused by family, before the real testing was done in public as proof of worthiness should any challenge the prince’s judgment on who had earned their brides. He strode confidently towards his father, but was intercepted by two younger cousins determined to prove their mettle against him. He checked to be sure it was just the two of them he was challenging before taking the time to enjoy tossing the small boys about. They weren’t weak, or udersized, they just couldn’t match Gwillim pound for pound, and neither had the experience to get his mass to work against him. Gwillim repeatedly sidestepped charges, cuffing the lads behind the head or shoulders to send them tumbling in to the dust. Eventually they advanced as a pair, but by now were to worn out to be much of a challenge to their much larger cousin. Gwillim held the at bay with ease, mocking them until their father came by and urged them to try their luck on less daunting foes before taking on Gwillim.

For his part, Gwillim resumed his path towards his father. His way was not blocked again, and he soon arrived, nodding and grunting in greeting to the man that had sired him. His father was shorter than he was, though only by a few centimeters. His father grunted back, and continued watching the boys play. Later they would discuss the pros and cons of aligning with either prince, but for now talk was centered on which of the boys was most likely to survive long enough to become a strong Drakken warrior. Though, even this was often little more than a grunt and a sharp gesture of the horns at a particular boy. The boys knew to leave their real strength for fighting other drakkan, but they played hard all the same, the better to be ready to fight others. In a few more decades Alfhildr would join the boys, and Gwillim meant to see to it that she’d hold her own. His daughter was growing stronger every day, and he pushed her to excel in her training. And so far she had met every challenge with exuberance, if not skill or grace. But those were coming along, or so Gwillim hoped, though his idea of grace would not be recognizable to most gems.

Gwillim wondered where his mate had wandered off too, she was welcome anywhere in the compound, excepting the bedrooms assigned to other family members. Actually, there were probably a few who wouldn’t mind welcoming her into their bed chambers, thought Gwillim wasn’t the least bit concerned that his wife would stray. He had long since learned of her preference in companions and respected her preference… It was odd, yes, but it didn’t make her weak in any way and she still played her part, giving birth to their striking young daughter Alfhildr. Gwillim hoped she’d find some … pleasure in the Gem bride he was looking forward to earning this reaping. He’d done each prince a minor task in his lands, and both had promised a bride, but he suspected those promises would only hold true if he pledged loyalty to that prince’s cause. Still, he might get to steal a bride the one granted proved too… unsatisfactory for Scyrvensrel.
"Despite Olynna's best intentions when it came time to give the women to the Drakken, Adorabella was chosen. It was soon after she learned of her true heritage and with Olynna went to visit her parents. They were, of course, disappointed that she had been chosen but so happy to see her. She and Olynna stayed with the Honara family. Adorabella learned she had a couple of other sisters who had been given away in the same style that she had been.

Her family began to teach her the ways of nobility and to make her a proper lady. She is not sure about this life of nobility and often finds herself failing in the social graces she should have been taught. The clothing and lifestyle are so very different. She longs for the days in which she could run wild through the trees and taste freshly picked fruit."


Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't chosen brides dragged off the same day/week they are chosen? I thought that was part of the conflict, the daughters being snatched away with few, if any, every getting word back, much less returning in person. Just trying to make sure I have the right idea in my head. @WeepingLiberty@Ellion@Obscene Symphony
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