@AcidicFaith
ᚢᚦ// Yay! I finally completed my drawing for Arðinn! If you were interested, posted it on Bluesky
https://bsky.app/profile/warpstonesnorter.bsky.social/post/3mqyp5zehuc2k
@hellbreaker ᚢᚦ// Thank ya kindly :D
/ it looks amazing! :D
/ / both you & momo are amazing artists!
ᚢᚦ// Few, finally got the next chapter out. Halfway through I just froze and didn't know how to continue for weeks.
ᚢᚦ// Excuse me for the tank, a creative block hit me like a brick wall. I'll be back shortly and and continue writing Ættardauði as well
" My cloak is not for touching for your entertainment.. lizard. "
@-s0uInxtf0und He followed quietly, his tail sweeping behind him. "I do not know much about... 'Po-shens', but I will assist how I can." He stated. He listened to her, his eyes drifting to her back, but he did not question the shapes hidden under the cloak. She was the second of her kinda he had ever met, so he was not sure what was normal and what was not just yet. He nodded when she gave the task, ready to make right to himself. "Very well, I am sure I can help with that." He kept one eye out for any of the mad locals she warned him about, but at least for now their path seemed clear. He still pulled up his own worn cloak just incase.
@AcidicFaith " Well you said you must do something as payment… and I need someone to help me with potions. " Nyxara spoke, glancing at him. She didn’t turn her head to do so, " You help me with that, I’ll consider it payment… " Her hands came up to hold her cloak closed as they walked, her eyes returning to the street, " I have issues with my back— and it hurts to organize shelves sometimes… I have been having that issue for weeks now.. " If her cape moved just the right amount behind her back, two humps could sometimes be seen, where wings used to lay..
@-s0uInxtf0und Arðinn nodded firmly, his eyes kept low. He felt a sting being pitied. Something he did his best to avoid, though he felt he had a debt to pay. He did not care for the coldness in her voice. He was used to voices like that after all. He accepted it as normality as they began to walk. Being called a lizard also did not seem to affect him at all, like he had heard it a million times. Maybe he believed that was all he was. "Where are we going?" He asked quietly with rolled r's.
ᚢᚦ// Hey, whoever owns / owned the Molly account... I hope you're doing okay. Sorry I didn't get to that reply in time. Would've loved to see where that friendhsip would've gone. I donno what happened, but I'm happy to lend an ear anyway <3
/ thanks friend, appreciate it <3
@endlight //ᚢᚦ I hope you're doing alright! Totally understand the anxiety and am always happy to chat if you want
/ oh hi that was me! so sorry, i was going to leave the longer roleplays up but anxiety got the best of me:')
i'm thinking about moving molly to one of my smaller accounts tho, if you wanted to continue our roleplay there? i was really having fun with those two!
ᚢᚦ// Excuse me for the delay. Tradesmen apprentice work is no joke
ᚢᚦ// I'll be back soon, just got really sick over the weekend
@succurbitch ᚢᚦ// Thank yeee, do feel better now
/ get well soon, lovely!
ᚢᚦ // CB and Spec before my Kobold steals your buckles
^_^
ᚢᚦ// New Senua game got announced and I'm losing my shi over it lol
Updated Character Description
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The Ættardauði
Clan-Death
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✧ Appearance
Dark scales, some flecked with gold. These appear mostly on the permanent plates that cannot be easily torn out. His body is a map of scars. Scales split and cracked, revealing rough hide beneath. Notable marks include a deep cut along his left arm, a triangle carved from his upper lip that trails into a line up his cheekbone, and several deep scratches across his throat. He looks like he has survived a hundred battles, though he is still young. His scales have not yet fully settled. His body still grows, and he will need to molt a few more times before reaching his full adult form. Malnutrition has slowed his growth, but he still stands at 6'6" with horns included.
He makes himself small. His posture is slouched and alert, taking up as little space as possible when others are near. His tail is long and thick, ending in an arrow-like point. It is used for balance, for covering tracks, and in desperation, as a weapon. His claws are kept long and sharp.
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✧ Face
His face is triangular, sharp and angular. Long nostrils sit at the front of his snout. His jaw is lined with randomly growing horns and pricks, almost like a beard. One straight horn juts from his chin. His cheekbones are sharp, ridged, and horned, sweeping backward. The ridges above his eyes are sharp and angular, following the line of his brow. His eyes are yellow and golden, their glow shifting and flowing like liquid fire. Slow. Watchful. Unblinking.
Golden flecks sprinkle from beneath his eyes, trailing down toward his snout.
His brow bridge flows to the back of his head, where his horns sprout. Two straight horns sweep back, ending in a slight upward curve. The scales on the top of his head are messy and jagged, trailing down the back of his neck like an assortment of sharp fins. Many of the horns across his head end in golden tips.
[1/4]
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✧ Mindset
He views himself more as a beast than a person. Often, he calls himself a wounded animal. He wanders aimlessly, drifting south, carrying no purpose but the urge to keep moving. He does not wish to live, but his survival instinct is too strong to let him die. That, and the dragon that pulled him from the brink of death. Saved him from his own execution.
He keeps his posture low and his presence small. When threatened, he rises.
When anxious, he picks at the scales on the back of his neck or arms.
Emotion is foreign to him. Smiling and laughing are not reflexes, but unfamiliar gestures. He communicates through grunts, growls, and snarls. He can be quick to anger. Friendliness and romance are languages he has never learned. When someone tries to draw emotion from him, he reads it as an attempt to find weakness. A lesson he learned young, and has not forgotten.
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✧ Survival
He is methodical. He studies animal behavior, tracks habits, always alert. Occasionally, he will hunt something more dangerous than himself, to prove something. He hates alcohol and other substances that dull the senses. He wants to feel every sting, every ache. Pain is proof he is still alive.
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✧ Mantra
Ek þoli.
I endure.
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✧ Alignment
Chaotic Neutral.
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[4/4]
✧ Culture
He was born into a clan that worships the Hvíldarormr, the Resting Serpent. In their belief, the Serpent coils beneath the world, offering rest to all who have earned it, regardless of who they were in life. Not judgment. Not reward. Just rest. The world itself is cruel and unforgiving. The clan does not care how it was made. They do not seek meaning in its creation. They only know that the Serpent offers something beyond it.
The clan's identity is carved into every part of their lives. Their ships are serpents. Their banners are serpents. Their dead are sent to the Serpent's gates with weapons in hand, so they may stand guard in the afterlife.
Arðinn was given the name Ættardauði at birth. Clan-Death. A prophecy that has followed him since his first breath. He was raised outside the longhouse, forbidden from the hearth, taught to endure rather than to belong. The Serpent's teachings were always present, but he was never allowed to share in their warmth.
He does not speak of his clan often. But its weight is always with him.
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✧ Language
His native tongue is a dialect of Draconic that, in his homeland, sounds like Old Norse. To outsiders, it is harsh and guttural, a language of teeth and cold water. He speaks it fluently, but Common is still a struggle. His speech is slow and careful, sometimes broken. When frustrated or tired, he often falls back into his own tongue without realizing it.
He keeps a journal filled with new Common words he has learned, written in runes. The header reads: ᛁᚴ ᚾᛅᛘ ᚾᚢ ᚢᚱᚦ — "New words I learned."
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[3/4]
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✧ Clothing & Gear
He wears the leather armor gifted by his clan. Dark, rustic, scarred. Depending on when you meet him, it will be torn, gouged, and reduced to little more than a belt. A cloak, once cared for, will eventually be lost. He prefers to go barefoot, his claws gripping the earth directly.
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✧ Possessions
· Niðgjǫld — His dark hand axe. It is his tool and his strongest weapon. So dark it seems to drink light. Impurities streak its surface, and its blade is kept sharp and well-maintained. The handle is charred wood, wrapped in interlacing black leather.
· A curved dagger — Its handle is a wooden serpent, its blade the serpent's tongue.
· A round shield — Worn, bruised, with pieces cut out. The golden serpent painted on its black face still lives.
· A small journal — Filled with new words he has learned and entries tracking his path.
· Rope — When he can find it.
· A boar spear — Found along the way.
· A carved dragon figurehead — Tucked into his belt. A reminder of something he does not yet understand.
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[2/4]