The Lost Islands
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Common

Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.

the ace in exile claim
Posted on December 30, 2021 at 03:38:54 AM by Viđarr


How long had it been since Viđarr had taken the Savanna and made it his home? How long had it been since he’d come away from the Crossing? How long had it been since he’d returned for his heart? Time didn’t seem real, but he missed the bustle of their central island and all of the lost souls it seemed to attract. Lost... the truth was, he was still lost too. It wasn’t the first time this winter that Viđarr returned to the island that he’d called home for his first year here.

Pulling himself from the winter sea, he felt alive. Viđarr thrived in the cold, when winter’s chill made its home in his bones. The shadow loved every moment of it, but he could see where others wouldn’t. No, it wasn’t for everyone. Then again, he wasn’t either– it made sense to him. With a warmth in his amber gaze, he took in the meadow as it spread before him. Today it sat silent and empty. Very well, then.

With an elegant, extended gait, he moved from the meadow to the common. The imaginary boundary held no weight for him now– no, that wasn’t true. It held weight, but no danger. Viđarr’s gaze was gentle, looking for lost souls. He was a ferryman, knowing that he needed to bring them away from this place. The danger out here was real, and the shadow’s brow creased with worry. Viđarr caught her scent on the winter breeze. Someone was out here.

As she came into view, he realized that he didn’t exactly have a plan. The mare was still damp from the sea and shaking with cold, it didn’t matter if he had a plan or not. His pace slowed to a walk, calling gently to the painted mare as he approached. The shadow did as much as he could to look non-threatening, but Viđarr was a self conscious beast. “Sorry,” his tone genuine, reaching out to ever so gently touch the mare with his teeth. The only mark it would make? A change of direction in any still-wet hairs.

“It’s not safe here,” his words tightly wrapped in the density of his Swedish accent. “Let me take you from the cold.” His final words didn’t come out quite the way he’d intended, but that was… well, it was good enough. The common tongue still evaded him, but Viđarr wouldn’t dwell. Carefully, he stepped to the woman’s side, intent on blocking as much of the wind as he could, before inclining his muzzle in the direction of the Meadow. At least there, they could speak without as many threats looming, and they’d have better shelter from the wind among the trees.

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