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


Winter had faded into spring, and it was safe to say that the shadow already missed the cold. Waking up with a stinging in his lungs, every breath raw as it raked through his system. Viđarr would ache for the cold until it returned, waiting with baited breath each year. His thick coat had long begun to shed out, hanging on in stray clumps. It would take time to leave fully, leaving him to look vaguely disheveled in the process.

The shadow of a man lived for cold, but there were other ways to get it after winter had loosened her grip on the world around him. Into the sea, he tossed himself. Viđarr could nearly make this trek with his eyes closed, at this point. How often did he come and go from the Crossing? How frequently did he make this swim? A creature of habit, he still felt the most at ease in the Meadow. Old habits die hard, after all. The Crossing was a home for lost souls, and Viđarr would be the first to admit that he was still lost. Being lost isn’t the worst thing, though.

He hauled himself from the sea as Thor’s goats cast their shadow on the horizon. Rain– spring rain. It would come on soon, and he found himself grinning. Brilliant amber eyes and something even more brilliant brewing beneath the surface. Viđarr took off with his elevated, elegant jog, taking to the treeline between the Meadow and the Common. Maybe he’d hide out there for the time being. Still, as he crossed closer, he caught a familiar scent on the stiff breeze as it kicked up. Zevulun– a friend. As the skies grew darker, the shadow figured that he was better caught in the rain with a friend than alone.

Three beats and a flashy gait, Viđarr moved over the land with a lazy confidence. Amber eyes bright, scanning across the Common for his painted neighbor. It wasn’t terribly long before he found the man, and moved to close the distance between them. Ah– the pale stallion wasn’t alone. So it went, within this part of the Crossing… would it be overstepping to arrive by his side? The blue mare was sandy, as if she’d been spending time resting. A thunderstorm could be a rather rude interruption. Well, at least Viđarr wouldn’t be the least welcome intrusion… he was still getting a grasp on the social norms here. While still at decent distance, the shadow called gently to his friend.

His pace slowed from a lope to a jog, offering a smile first to pale stallion and then to the stranger. “Tja Zevulun,” Viđarr would come to a rest within a casual proximity. He didn’t offer his own outstretched touch… personal space was valuable. The act of touching strangers was still alien to him. “Tja, friend,” he addressed the stranger with warmth and a tip of his dark muzzle. The dense Swedish accent still played within Viđarr’s words, but his enunciation was getting better. He was learning, and would continue to learn in time.

“Storm coming in,” he tilted his head towards the horizon, in the direction of dark clouds. An undercurrent of excitement ran through the tall, dark stallion. There was something incredible about the spring storms, and Viđarr found himself identifying with them– just as wild, just as wonderful, but also predictable. Bound to a set of rules and laws. The storms were chained to the laws of nature, and Viđarr to the compass set out by the world he grew up within. “We can go to cover… I know this island well,” once more, his words didn’t quite come through correctly. Still, they sufficed. While it was normally a bit forward a gesture for Viđarr’s taste, there was nothing worse than being caught out in the elements unprepared, and unaware of your options.

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translation notes:
Tja - sounds like "sha," an informal friendly greeting

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