#Hyrthyml Isil

[rhotdornn]

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn

B A S I C S

Name Rhotdornn Haerkoen-Hyrtfyrsyn (HHHI) / Rossechon Iavaslachion (Western HH) / Etarellion Hyrtfyrsyn (Eorzea)

Nicknames Princeling (HHHI) / Hendunar (Western HH) / Lion/Boss (Eorzea)

Age Late twenties/early thirties

Nameday 14th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race Native Sea Wolf

Gender Male

Orientation Heterosexual

Profession Fleet Captain, tavern proprietor, holding Director, embassy ambassador (this one he is trying to shed)

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair A deep, pronounced crimson with brighter highlights of tangerine emmeshed within; lavish, luxurious texture, incredibly thick of mane and attentive of personal grooming, equally so for his beard.

Eyes True crimson; both the hair and the eye colours are a dominant Hyrtfyrsyn trait, carried over from the males thus predominantly.

Skin Seafoam-white, pale as marble, unblemished by other hues, a trait passed onto him by his mother.

Tattoos/scars Plenty across his body–most notably the scars lining his wrists, a deep slash across his chest (though the chesthair makes it difficult to notice) and a runic tattoo as of recent curling around his right arm.

F A M I L Y

Parents

Ma – An enigmatic entity even to his peoples; the Haerkoena of Hyrthyml Haer-Isil, ever shrouded in mystery. Many perceive her as a sickly woman, while others question her motives–yet all in common fail to understand why she has no will to appear publicly, in court or elsewise, without the attendance of her chosen husband-companion. Her hair is said to be of unmatched ink-black; and her skin glistens in the bare moonlight. Next-to-naught is known of her, save that she never speaks, even when in reliable company.

Hyrtfyr II Syhrachtynsyn – Rhotdornn's giant father of a man. The Haerkoen of Hyrthyml Haer-Isil, his power is absolute–and his temper, perilous. Stern, proud, yet fair–previously the ruler of the Autumn Court, his ascent to the throne has sliced a rift between his sons and he, Dornn more than all–whose childhood was oft weighed down by the near-impossible demands of his father.

Siblings

Generation I – males:

Rhotdhem Hyrtfyrsyn – Dornn's twin, Dhem–and his sheer opposite. Born of cheer, uncaring for trouble and ever courting mischief, he has ever been a pain in his brother's side; a pain borne all too gladly, despite their soured relationship. Dhem may suffer to be in Dornn's shadow, but he has proven time and time again the kinder and emotionally smarter of the twins. His chosen craft is that of carpentry, as an incredibly skilled shipwright and engineer.

Rhotorn Hyrtfyrsyn – Where Dhem hides his kindness well, Orn cares less so. Though he respects Dornn more, Orn wears his mastery over arcane on his sleeve–and loudly, at that. A Lore-Master unprecedently gifted in the art of Storm-lore, he is quite dismissive of Dhem and his empathy; much to the worry of Dornn, at times. His chosen craft is of a scholarly sort–revitalizing lost scripts and texts from bygone ages, and deciphering their meanings.

Generation I – females:

Rallyrwyda Hyrtfyrwyn – Though not her given name, she is the eldest of the first three sisters. Pragmatic, polite, and savvy in all things diplomatic and navigation, she mirrors Dornn in many ways–doubly so in the way of saying very little with many words. An enjoyer of fine, deep wine, dresses and music, one would be hard-pressed to find a more sophisticated member of the family. Her chosen craft is that of cloth–a seamstress of envious hands, her fabrics often decorate only her closest of friends back Home.

Eyriloef Hyrtfyrwyn – If Rally is Dornn's mirror, then so is Eyri Dhem's–the propensity for mischief runs deep within her, and though she may not be as lazy as he, her tongue cuts far deeper. A Lore-Master prodigy, often shunned by Orn for her whimsical approach to their profession, she is a friend to all animals–all, with an incredible wariness of bears for unknown reasons. Her chosen craft is goldsmithing–specifically so of glass, and enchanted glass besides. What it may produce varies from patron to patron.

Tyloef Hyrtfyrwyn – The youngest of the three, though in no manner a mirror to Orn–Tyl holds the most potent of mastery regarding Soul-Song; a rival to Dhem indeed, despite her younger age. A sweet, gentle and innocent soul, she beholds the world in all of its awe and wonder, giving no quarter to the darkness that it holds. Her chosen craft is that of weaving tapestries that tell the history of their nation, and that often hang in the main courtroom of their home-keep.

Generation II of the siblings involves a different get, though are best reserved for their own tales, as there are 17 children in total.

Grandparents

None that they know to be alive.

In-laws and Other

None. Dornn is very strict and critical over forging non-family bonds in Eorzea. Back Home, he has a small brotherhood of Rangers under his call, as well as a former in-law which he killed.

Pets

A veritable zoo. Beloved by all things born in nature, he reciprocates in kind–as such, his large house has a dedicated space for all the beloved companions he has accumulated over the many years of his adventuring. His most notable are his chocobo Sternoss/Bannadir(Eorzean), gryphon hatchling Rannaskar, and gryphon mount, Galladross as well as Ferryar, his loyal red-panda.

S K I L L S

Abilities

Blade-mastery - following in the footsteps of his many-scores legendary grandfather, he aspires to be a Weaponmaster, specializing in swords of all sorts currently. His greatest strength lies in sizable zweihanders and dual-wielding of one-handed blades.

Second Sight - Eye of the Hyrtfyrdyn - One of his bloodline abilities; allowing him to sense the pulsation of aether as it is converted into neurological commands from his opponent's brain, his mind is able to temporarily gain insight into their next strike's direction.

Soul-song - his Homeland's northern boon; Rhotdornn's specialty lies in Words of Command and Words of Power, and the signature of his Rhythm is a clear crimson hue, his voice-power sits between a baritone and bass, the dynamic of his Rhythm is crescendo, the tempo of his Rhythm flows from Andante to Marcia moderato and the theme of his Rhythm involve folk-tales and epics brought to life.

Kingsvoice - the final stage of his Rhythmic abilities, inherited from his father. A combination of Words of Power and Command, it unshackles his prowess within Rhytmic battles.

Naval warfare - tutored in the art of naval sparring and skirmishes by the brightest minds of his Homeland from all walks of life, he possesses an uncanny instinct beside for enforcing highly dangerous, yet highly effective battle strategies and sudden maneuvers on open and enclosed waters.

Hobbies

Animal husbandry - as an avid collector of companions far and wide, his enormous house has a whole wing dedicated to his beloved friends of nature; and his 'collection' is oft ascribed to a rumour of speaking their tongue.

Culinary expertise - or cooking, in short. An avid critic of all-things-edible, he pridefully guards the Sea Wolf tradition of culinary, wine and mead-making excellence. He knows good food, and most oft it is his–a testament to this being BARR!'s menu, designed by him.

Diplomacy - once thriving as an uncompromising, cunning Aerslaentean envoy and chief of their embassy in Eorzea, now he seeks to rid himself of that mantle and eschew higher society anew.

Music - the least surprising of all given his Homeland, he is an avid player of the piano and skilled enough with a flute and harp; countless days in the castle were lost to the practice of two of these, no matter how many obligations he was beset with back then.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Reliability. He may be direct, brutally so, candid and at times abrasive; otherwise vague, discreet and rarely speaking his mind openly in higher company; but one thing is certain–if he values you, you will find value in his companionship. A problem-solver through and through, he will give you no choice but to see his value through deed, not word.

Most Negative Trait: A whole sleuth of them, but his stubbornness brooks no contest. You will be ill-pressed to find a harder-headed redhead than that of Hyrtfyrdyn's get... Especially the men. Paired with his bottomless sense of pride in his peoples and race, it can, and has, made for a lethal combo.

L I K E S

Colors: Deep, rich crimsons, oranges and noble whites.

Smells: Fragrant maple, fresh saw-wood, crashing, fresh sea-spray.

Textures: Sturdy metals, flexible leathers and straps, cozy, warming furs with great fluff.

Drinks: Sweet, rich, autumnal mead. Deep, textured red wine–swinging from dry, to at times, a delicious port wine, depending on his predicament. Otherwise, a milky, creamy vodka and a smokey whiskey-rum will settle him into a cozy, fireplace-lit night by the hearth.

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: No, and avoids it diligently; however engages, at times, in a crushed, secret blend that he pours into his pipe, allegedly helping his lungs recover from previous ailments.

Drinks: Like a shark drinks water. Though he sees no deliberate goal behind it like maintaining the storied Hyrtfyrdyn tolerance to inebriation, he knows to instead simply enjoy the drink for what it is - a spoil of the earth and a blessing for the weary traveler. It is a deeply-interwoven cultural habit, at that; wines, meads and ales are strictly tied to many facets of Hyrthymlian lives.

Drugs: Nothing, save for the aforementioned herb he crushes into his pipe on occasion.

Mount Issuance: Revoked after his status as a wanted man by the Maelstrom and Ishgard was reinstated; not that a sailor has much need for land-legs, if he knows his craft.

Been Arrested: Once almost in Ishgard during a ball infiltration, and once successfully right after the Calamity, as he washed up unconscious at Moraby, by the Maelstrom. There, he was faced with his final penalty for his harrowing harrying in prior days of their fleets and Ishgard's nobles–join the ranks of the Barracudas as their Navigator, or face the noose. His head on his shoulders to this day stands as a testament to his choice.

Thank you for the wonderful tag @viiioca! This was mighty fun, so I pass the torch to @bad-moen-rising, @nalukaixiv, @travelchronicler and whoever sees this, consider it an open tag – make sure to tag me back so I can read it properly!

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Hyrthyml Isil Remastered]

Among the first batch of parchments rolling off fresh from the press, comes the new, and improved, charted record of the elusive waters of Hyrthyml Isil, and all of the islands belonging to its reach. Replete with details of flora, fauna and the whereabouts of certain protective wards, this detailed script will prove useful to any and all that wish to brave the wilderness of the lands and tides heretofore thought vanished to the waves of Aerslaent.

Exclusively available to the patrons of the Embassy, may this depiction serve to safeguard your and yours to the promised, lost haven. Reprinting and acts of sharing are strictly prohibited.

Fair winds and clear skies, The Hyrtfyr Embassy

We’ve come a long way, and not necessarily in a poor fashion. Looking back on the original, first rendition of the map…

…one can not help but feel nostalgic–and proud. The new iteration of the map remains true to the original source material, expands on existing regions, and is enriched with new, and more complex areas whose lore is yet to come.

The new map offers more to those keen to look deeper within, especially when depth of field is concerned, as well as the level of the sea, and things of such nature–though it may warrant a deeper zoom-in, regardless.

[rhotdornn]

[Tender Little Hearts II] - Sapling

Wayward lodge, The Step Autumnsfall aerst-eve, third Moon, Seventh Astral Era

The last ribbons of golden sunlight gradually seep behind the cracks and nooks of the mountains overhead. Spring always held sway over these distant shores, so far removed from the mainland... For even in Autumn’s advent could one stumble across fields replete with reds and whites, and yellows and blues; a tapestry of colours in bloom. From boundless glades brandishing beds of petals, inked in all hues of the rainbow, to harrowing peaks of stone and iron, maintaining solitary vigil over us who oft dwell ‘neath their crooked boughs... It truly did hold this unfathomable allure, a getaway haven above any other far and wide... Well, ‘s long as you valued green plains o’er roofs o’ maple crowns, or vast kingdoms of seamless snow that is...

I know I did. At least on that day.

It all began not unlike all other, grand adventures--with small feats. Naught more than a little ‘Dear diary,’ here, and a doe-eyed observation there... Oh, and ‘course, not wanting for a spirit of adventure and mischief o’erlong, nay...

It all began on a sunny day, a normal day by all accounts, I assure you, honest.

With a spirited lad, and his hunger for the world--among other things.

The royal court of Autumn, a terrific place, you see... They held all of these halls and keeps of splendour, bathed in vibrant strokes of the paintbrush, and the Great-forges, the Haer-fyr being the grandest of ‘em all, differed very little. A proud folk, a hearty folk--aye, they found succor in those decorated marbles and draped halls...

...Yet, they also were none the wiser to another quarter, one far more rustic, under Hyrtfyr’s belt. There, in the secluded midst of The Step, laid the Wayward roadside lodge... A rustic cabin, homely and tranquil, long-removed from the troubles that ailed the shores of the Mainland.

That is where, upon that day, a flighty Sea Wolf had made his escape from the familiar life that cradled him thus far, and with no more than eleven summers to his name, did he steal away, under the veil of night, a ship of silver sail and mallorn timber; or had he merely joined a well-versed crew secretly so? Frankly, memory oft eludes me on these matters...

I am but certain the former sounds far more tell-tale worthy, I’d say...

Yet, as the break of dawn sprang ‘hind the jagged pillars of the mountains, so too did he find himself upon this blessed, remote soil. While Roegadyn cubs may’ve been left wanting for stealth, this slippery Wolf honed his own skills throughout the better part of his childhood--fleeing ‘twixt chamber and hall with varying success, at first.

And where did the road take him? Well, of course he knew... In a sense. His destination was made known to him, albeit the course--not so. His day wasted away in exploration, and as morn waxed to midday, had he already learned of the fruits and the flowers that made their peaceful home there. As midday turned to wane into night, however, did he finally chance upon the steadfast planks and crude cobblestone that lined the foundations and walls of the beckoning homestead. A keyturn here, a few cursory glances there... And to bed he went, wholly spent and content, sinking away into dreamscape’s hold...

...Would that he awoke the same fashion--at least, as far as his feelin’ of accomplishment went. As his vibrant hues began to squint open, did he drink deep of the crashing sunlight; of the specks that flitted from window to floor, of the gentle wind that lulled the shutters.

Of the looming silhouette, colossal and terrible, perched by his bedside, with arms in a lax fold atop its breast. Yet, a gasp he could not withhold, no matter how hushed--his instinctive fear entrenched him firmly, forcing him to spring back in his covers. This, of course, was noted by the stalwart shade, now visibly sitting upon a pulled-up chair.

Its bulk soon gave it away--a male Sea Wolf, through and through, his skin brandishing a light tint of seafoam, and his fiery mane long, at ends sharp, with two great braids running past each side of his face, each encased in a metal cask near the bottom. It was the brittle clatter of these very cases that announced his attention steering towards the cub.

“Well, well, what d’ve have here, then... Rise an’ shine, lil’un.” His deep, powerful voice gently ushered into the wind, an unbecoming serenity yielding from his lips.

The child’s jaw unhinged gingerly, for as he took in the form of the man afore him, he could make no mistake; from the runic insignia upon his braids, to the war-paint cherishing his lower eye, even momentarily bereft of crown--the Haerkoen, the Greatking of Hyrthyml stood afore him. The youth was swift to knit his brows in frustration, pulling up the covers in a feeble attempt to remain concealed.

“Your--uh, your... Majesty, what... Brings you ‘ere...” The Sea Wolf feigned a cough, muffling his juvenile voice faintly.

“Oh, you know...” Began the larger Wolf, a single brow flicking up in quizzical amusement. “Making certain my ‘subjects’ are happy and content in all matters. Oh, and seein’ as you’re wholly satisfied with lounging the day away ‘ere by your lonesome, figured I’d take up the undying duty of delivering you this coveted... Journal, which someone simply must’ve stolen from ye--no way you’d e’er be clumsy enough to forget it by yourself... Mm? It belongs to you, I trust--especially so, given the detailed plans o’ yer lil’ flight to the Step littering its pages, and all.” 

Oh, he knew the words to pick at times... While mostly stoic, in the few instances where he could, he’d feed his own twisted amusement until every last drop was siphoned.

“What’re you doin’ ‘ere! Don’t ye have some important errand t’ attend to anyroads...” Barked back the child, the frustration of his own, flighty nature, gnawing at the back of his mind--how in the Seven Hells could he forget his most prized possession!?

“Nortstyr Rhotdornnsyn,” Thundering swept his proud voice, as ire rose and grew ripe in his burly throat, and akin to a whip he barked back, “The most important, unending duty o’ mine rests with my son, my daughter, my wife and my peoples--and none may come inbetween.” The quivering of the shutters would quell in the aftermath, as he assumed a much more resolute, hushed decibel. “Gather your belongings. We are to set out.”

While the rolling thunder instilled him with dread, the King ever knew the blood that ran in the child’s veins--and how a simple spark could give way to an unquenchable flame of anger. Not that he had been any different in his childhood, anyroads.

Off came the covers, and with a swift swipe of his arm did he snag back his adventuring journal--greedily pressing it to his chest, plumes of fire nearly seeping through his nostrils, as his own anger began to boil. 

“I am not leaving! I barely got here, lil’alone findin’ the place besides. I have no mind to go home yet.” Baleful daggers were shot towards the larger Wolf’s crimson hues, who only reprimanded him with a proud smirk. It did occur to the younger’un then that his senior wore less so a royal garb or anything alluding to his status--no, a simple, leather jacket, dark trousers and journeying boots was all he required for this task.

“I ne’er mentioned returning home just yet, my son. Come, while the dew is still fresh, and the ground rousing awake.” Into his arms he would guide Nortstyr, reassuringly guiding him off the weathered bedside. In bewildered wonder did the child glance up to the figure of order, and for the first time in a long, tiresome while, did the light of morn wash over not the High-king, but his father. Together, they would eat and make merry still, at the expense of the mature Wolf’s love for cuisine--before setting out into the wild.

There, after a longer trek drowned in rising laughter and, past halfway of the route, a piggybacking, did they at long last reach their quarry--an aged, immense oak, resting upon a sizable glade--a glade entirely cradled and embraced by the arms of the mountain. A quiet brook trickled and bubbled nearby, running off into a timid pond at the far side of the verdant plateau.

“We are come, at last. The Ahldeyha, or Old Oak, in short.” Spoke the labouring male, squeezing the child’s ankles within each fist affectionately. He gave him little room to ask his queries, for he knew what puzzled the cub’s mind. “You see, back when I was no more’n a lil’un, I fell into the same woes I seem to have cast upon you... My Pa was awfully invested in running everything, yet even in spite of it all, he noticed my turmoil... And while he did his best, it hardly sufficed.” Rhotdornn’s lips curled into a nostalgic smile, as he gazed up the terrible crown of the lush giant ahead, slowly taking his approach.

“So one day, o’erloaded as we both were with our burdens, our duties--I was stolen away, in the naught o’ night, by a mysterious figure cloaked in shadow... An’ next thing I knew, I awoke in that very cabin, with ol’ Hyrtfyr by my bedside, in these... Farmin’ trousers an’ suspender vest. I’ve never quite seen him out of his royal attire afore then, either.”

Nortstyr found great irony in this, if the devilish smirk upon his lips gave any indication. “Like father, like son.” He jabbed lower, prompting his father to rustle his legs playfully.

“Aye... Suppose it runs in our blood. An’ so we made away, an’ he took me to this place... A thing of beauty at night, as you’ll witness yourself. And together, we... Well...” Bracing both of his palms against the smaller one’s sides, he’d gradually pry him off, softly allowing him to find his own footing once more upon the gentle, dew-crowned blades of grass. From his large palm, at last, he’d unearth the smallest of seeds, to which the youth took immediately, taking it away as if it were the most brittle of all things.

“We made a promise or two to eachother, and dug into the earth together a little seed--no bigger than the one in your hand, my little lion.” Dornn’s hand soon proudly sat atop his son’s fiery locks, ruffling them with unwarranted affection.

“As we gave birth to a new life that day, so too did our bond grow, replenished with new life, new hope... And as our sapling grew greater an’ greater, so too did it nourish and strengthen the ties that bound us. A simple ritual, to be sure--but on this enchanted glade... You need little more than a bit of love, care and determination to see the smallest of saplings burst the mightiest of branches. Great feats oft spring from the smallest, most humble beginnings. Remember this, my child.”

The child nodded but once, awestruck as he had become from the intimidating shadow, blotting out the rays of daylight’s break near-wholly. “Aye, I... Think I un’erstand.” He slowly muttered, honouring the seed within his palm with an impressed, if not slightly fearful, glance. But in the end... It mellowed out, ultimately finding greater comfort than intimidation in such a small, timid thing.

Rhotdornn guided him ever lower, with one palm on Nortstyr’s back, and another patting a malleable patch of heavenly-soft ground to boot. With a bare palm each did they endeavour to draw out a smaller hole, none too far from the great Oak, gingerly lodging the seedling within the firm mouth of the earth. Rhotdornn slowly guided Nortstyr’s steps, piece by piece, showing him even as much as to how to pat the land together, how to straighten up the stalk... And from the nearby, gurgling brook did they draw water, sprinkling it across with due diligence, to tide the newborn life over, until new clouds were to blanket the sky, and pour clear rains upon the fertile soil.

At long last, they’d merely sit upon the ground, enjoying the peace that spoiled their senses vehemently. At long last, Rhotdornn spoke once more.

“The deed is done, Nortstyr. We ought to think of a name for it, I reckon... But that can wait. ‘Tis funny, in a sense--e’ery time I visit this spot, I visit a life I’ve given to one, while in the company of another... Much like my father, I’d say. Mayhap one day, even you will... Or you may yet unravel the magicks that stir within this place at dawn and dusk. Or you might chance upon a fetching lil’ witch and bring her hither to solve the mystery... Among other things.”

A sharp fang protruded from the roof of his upper lip, as his lips spread in a subtle grin, offering the smaller Wolf a little nudge with his elbow. Nortstyr scoffed, unused--and nearly unsettled--to witness his father in such informal chatter.

“Hrmph... As if. Besides, didn’t uncle Ornn say that adventure waits for no Wolf!? And so, none will hold me in one place with the world so large and ripe for the taking. Besides...” He quizzically peered up at his father, ever so innocently blinking upwards. “You mean to tell me sis an’ I were planted in the soil, too? Is that where Roegadyn children come from?”

Rhotdornn near-froze up, billowing a long breath out of his nose at the assumption. A long sigh followed thereafter, as a profound chuckle stirred his chest boisterously. “...Eh, let’s... Leave that mystery fer ‘nother day, can always ask one of your uncles or aunts--not Dhem, though. Never Dhem.” His brows knit together in a flat line, half-lidded as he had grown at the mere idea of his twin granting any... Quality advice in hindsight.

And so did the waning of the Sun, and the waxing of the Moon, finally come to pass. Together, did the two set out once more, homeward bound--hopeful glints for a brighter future twinkling in their eyes.

Signed, Nortstyr Rhotdornnsyn

[ The lower section of the entry appears to have weathered a few drops of liquid at the very bottom of the signature, bearing a more recent addition. ]

I miss you, Pa...

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Remastered Aerslaent Map]

[The Rainlanders of Aerslaent Fellowship], under the patronage and due aid of the [Hyrtfyr Embassy] will soon be releasing, hot off the press and still freshly inked, new and visually improved cartography pieces detailing the lay of the land around the Northern Empty, with the first volume tied expressively to the First Land. 

However, given the vast number of islands and settlements about the land, any and all members of the [Fellowship] are welcome to contribute to the fresh issue of maps by detailing the whereabouts, geography and notable features of their homes within the Blank. 

Submissions, too, are welcome to those with roots physically removed from the Empty, so long as the selfsame roots persist in their Aerslaentean settlements.

We hope to hear of and pen many new and perhaps even uncharted homes soon.

Ever at your service, and your family’s, The Hyrtfyr Embassy

Before you stands the uncropped version of the new and detailed Aerslaent map, reworked from the original map;

Into the following:

It was reworked with incredible accuracy as far as the depicted landmass is concerned, aiming to provide a faithful and true depiction* of Aerslaent under a magnifying glass (at least, until Square Enix deigns to make a proper map for it).

As was mentioned, this map serves a second purpose--not only to detail canon Aerslaentean settlements and those that uphold its culture, but to also showcase player-made content, worldbuilding and brain children of those calling, or having once called the Empty their home.

Beneath this part, I will include a cropped version of the map, for easier visibility, having left a bit of space there should folk express an interest to pin their own islands to the south, but any direction is welcomed regardless.

*Hyrthyml Isil and Aerstisil are both player-made locations, and are exempt from the statement.

[hyrthyml-isil]

[An apothecary shoppe within the southern settlements of Hyrthyml Isil]

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Hyrthyml Isil] Brynholl Aesthetic for the Court of Spring

[rhotdornn]

[The Lay of Light]: Part [II] -- Silver Winds

[Part I]

[Accompanying music theme]

Child of Winter, and the flakes it bore Already flitting away Fleeing with the wind that saw them soar Once more lost, condemned to stray

The crash of roaring currents, lapping over stone and root by the waterfall, dissuaded her step little and less. She had come here on the account of a summon, and on that account she’d remain, until the council was concluded.

The plateau of their meeting place had been carved out of eight pillars, suspending a tall roof above their heads. Upon it, the gentle lines of a maple leaf had long since been drawn out—peering overhead, as if watching over the events beneath with a wary vigil. Eight pillars, indeed, had been planted into one—for the platform was suspended tall, with four staircases climbing up against it, and from its circular edge would these pillars scrape towards and court the heavens.

With her flowing dress in swift pursuit of her languid, voiceless step, the lady soon bade her way upwards. Hair of enchanting silver waxing and waning against the gentle stream of wind whispered throughout the first—and last—bastion of the valley that stood fast at the throat of Gwaith-i-Nanduirion. Beyond these blazing forges and tranquil falls lay a forsaken refuge, long since abandoned—its sculptor and bane both unknown to most scripts and scrolls alike. Such landscape reeked of treachery and demise, so it came as no surprise that none would see the haunt’s peace disturbed. No, beyond locked gates it’d remain, the truth of its fate kept shy of mortal eyes until all days were counted, and the land’s breath was all but spent.

Yet on this day, the sun would still wash over cool stream and dewy pasture green. No darkness would teeter overhead to thwart the morn, and sink the hearts of man.

As her mind drifted back and forth, swaying betwixt possible causes for such an abrupt audience, Light had failed to notice the mounted steps winding down to none swiftly. Atop the minuscule tower, the company had gathered—and of no small prestige were their garbs, and their emblems and weapons, too. Their posture bespoke discipline and virtue, nobility and elegance—yet might and authority were imparted more on some than others, all the same.

“Loetrliht Wintrammwyn,” the first booming voice beckoned. “You are come at last, for which you have my gratitude.”

Her golden hues would strain upwards, fending against the setting sun. A polite dip of her chin she saw fit to grant, yet naught further. Before her stood a Sea Wolf clad in steadfast armor—a lancer of high rank, if the eye deceived her not. In truth, she soon recognized the visage of one particular Aerstspyr Fyrterbyn, commander of the Autumn’s Lance, and personal envoy to the King himself. His crimson-golden mane gave him away from leagues on ahead, as did his authoritative glare all the same.

“Ah... Aye, I am come, swept once more off winding road and rippling wave, bound for home yet young a knave...” Light never took kindly to code and rules fit tightly enough to choke one’s life out, and Autumn’s Court would, come certain encounters, strike her no more, no less, as such.

“We shan’t waste your patience o’erlong. The council is set to begin soon.” Fyrterbyn issued a rigid slam of his fist against his breast in honoured greeting, his honeyed gaze glazing over the few empty seats yet remaining. Light, too, began to wonder as to where their occupants were—one in particular pestering her mind incessantly as of late.

“Master Fyrterbyn,” she abruptly chimed in, wrapping her hands together before her abdomen. “I shan’t be long.”

Awaiting neither reply nor permission, the swelling stubbornness in her mind implored her to retreat—and her receding step bore her down the well of stairs with greater haste than it saw her ascend the same shortly afore.

Wander. The one thing the Roegadyn had ever come to know. Wandering. Through bush and fern, thicket and verdant screen she’d strive onward, braving a longer road under the guidance of her instincts. At last, a clear lake would spread before her—the clash of water storming from a fall nearby tickling her ears with seductive nostalgia.

There she had come to meet him the first time—seated against the bark of a tree by the shore, deeply snared in slumber and contentment, with a mane as molten and blazing as his infernal namesake would suggest. The Moon loomed above his noggin, and the stars clung direly to the lake’s surface—a wall of mountains encircled the other end of the lake, from which the steady stream would seep and soar.

“Someone’s up awfully early.” A low, calm bass ripped her from the nostalgic current, however sweet and reassuring it might’ve tasted. Turning her glimpse over her shoulder, the female would spot the very same male with arms crossed beneath his pectorals, sporting a hint of amusement upon his lips. “Not that a wanderer’s token trait is aught but a restless nature.”

“D—Lord Rhotdornn,” swift to correct herself, the Sea Wolf would spring to her most convincing greeting yet—tapping her fingers against her collar, and gingerly dipping forwards. “The land whispered of thine steps, as I had come to hope it would.”

“You know...” Stretching a lax step onwards, the male would peer across the brilliant lakeside with his wit busied on another matter. “For someone so detached from rank and authority, you certainly invest no small amount of effort into your etiquette.” A small, coy smirk would creep up to the corner of his lip. “Worry naught. We’re by our lonesome. I’m still just Dornn.”

“Just Dornn.” She affirmatively rehearsed, her lips drinking in a sweeter smile of the words. “Well, just Dornn... Might thou tell me, then, what this meeting shall entail, given the perfume of urgency surround it?”

“I shall, yet it best be done on our trek back. The other lordlings will grow weary—or worse yet for some, bored—if we tarry too long. Come, let us away.” His albino-pale hand would extend to greet her own, which would lock their fingers together with nary a second wasted.

“...Arst thou hinting that Rhyll of Spring and Blyss of Summer shall attend, too?” Her voice, now laden with a string of curiosity and worry alike, inquired—yet a tug of his limb saw her worries quell. If all four of the representatives were summoned in one haven, the matter must not’ve been light, she deemed.

“Chance has it. Hopefully they’ve arrived in the meantime—I mean not to entertain Dhem’s and Rhyll’s unpleasant undertakings for long.”

“Very well. Hath aught changed with thy arrangements for the oncoming voyage?”

“Aye.” He sternly nodded, withdrawing a moderate breath into his lungs.

“The Lord of Autumn better not have grown shy on me.” She teasingly retorted, yet his own sentiment came swift and quiet; drawn in by the pull of his arm, she’d remain in his embrace, and the Sun would peer over the misty mountain tops, capped with drifts of snow, to see them joined in a heartfelt kiss—with the male submitting his heart to her, and in turn, being awarded with no shortage of her own. In the wake of such affection, a low whisper would pluck from his heart strings.

“I mean to spend my days with you. Yet, let us not delay now... We’ll dust over this matter once the company disbands. You’ll be spending the night here, I trust?”

“...Mm. Would that happen to be an invitation, or order milord?” She’d playfully probe him anew, setting unto the path that led them back.

“Depends on your answer.” And with that, the pair would march onward, with courage high and and affections burning bright within their youthful hearts, and in their trail, a breath of snow would dash; nipping at their heels would this silvery wind follow, as the day only began to unfold.

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Seeking Aerslaent]

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Legacy Hyrthyml] inspiration

[rhotdornn]

[Side-blog alert]

So, I’ve just made another side blog under the url of @hyrthyml-isil [hyrthyml-isil.tumblr.com]

On this blog, I will post everything relating to the home of my Sea Wolves and Hellsguards--stories, Points of Interest, flora, aesthetic screenshots, scenery inspirations for locales, lore--everything and anything, generally.

Right now, the blog is not much, but I plan to set it up as I go.

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Within the Autumnsflame Keep]

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Hyrthyml Isil] – Home of the Sea Wolves.

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Hyrthyml Isil] The Whirlwards beyond the Shattershards.

[hyrthyml-isil]

[Hyrthyml Isil] Approaching the Ford of Nuironnen, at the foothills of The North.

[rhotdornn]

Send 👘 to see them in an outfit traditional to their culture

This one is a bit more challenging, as the outfits worn on Hyrthyml vary depending on one’s allegiance to the Courts. Some of Dornn’s include:

His standard robes for roaming the colder reaches of Aerslaent’s expanse.

A more formal attire, applicable in Hyrthyml Isil’s warm heart, where the Court of Autumn holds government.

His personal travelling attire, intended for voyages beyond the border of his secluded Home. The design beneath is not-too-loosely based on the Úlfhéðnar mainly due to the helm and darker colours, given that Rhotdornn is supposed to be a Úlfheðinn from his homeland.

[rhotdornn]

When you get this, please respond with five things that make you happy~! Then, send to the last ten people in your notifications. You never know who might benefit from spreading positivity~! ❤

This definitely does not come as belated, no ma’am.But.

You’re a nerd. Here goes, nerd.

1.) @roemom2.) Cheesecake3.) Roegadyn4.) Worldbuilding -- particularly my for-now baby project @hyrthyml-isil5.) Tolkien <3

Thank you, you itty-bitty sunflower seedling. Nerd.