Open [The Ice Fields] Witching Hour

Argos gets trapped in the cemetery during the snowstorm. Unfortunately, he's not the only one.

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This northernmost city is the home of Morwen, The Goddess of Winter, and her followers who dwell year round in a land of frozen wonder. [Lore]

[The Ice Fields] Witching Hour

Postby Argos on June 2nd, 2016, 11:16 pm

51st of Summer, 515 A.V.

Argos thought that the screaming was a bit excessive.

He could handle the unnatural chill that infected the graveyard. He could handle the way colors seemed to mute themselves as it drew nearer and nearer to him. Hell, he could even handle the way it blinked forward at inhuman speed, its ethereal hands grasping for the warmth of flesh. Altogether, a fairly terrifying experience.

The screaming, however, was just silly. And frankly, a little melodramatic.

Puffs of white steamed out of the young Vantha's mouth, gasping breaths filling his lungs with cold air. He wasn't built for this type of exertion. The constant motion, running fueled by fear and desperation, it wasn't something his body was used to. Argos could already feel his muscles begin to burn, and a tiny voice in the back of his mind questioned how long he could keep running from this creature. Add in a surprise snowstorm, and he truly didn't know how favorable his odds were.

Argos gritted his teeth as icy winds buffeted his exposed head. Snowflakes frenzied above him, dotting his black hair with white crystals. The howl of the storm shook the headstone that the Vantha hid behind. Tremors of force and fear danced up and down Argos' spine, and even in the midst of the roaring storm still the screaming came. Sound knifed through the sky, any opposing echoes shredded in its terrible wake.

Gods did he want the screaming to stop.

It proved funny, in an ironic kinda of way. Argos had come to the cemetery to pay respects to the dead, and now the dead wanted him to join them. He might have even found the strength to laugh if he wasn't so godsdamned tired. Still, even with the exhaustion settling nicely into his muscles and the fear-sweat starting to freeze on his forehead, Argos figured it was nice to feel wanted.

Look at me, still cracking jokes in the midst of imminent terror. Maybe my brother is right. Maybe I am still a bit mad.

He had tried to leave. Tried to find a way out of the cemetery and back to his home, but the snowstorm made such attempts an impossibility. Those flurries of shock white snow near blinded him to anything farther than fifteen feet away, and his own footsteps were covered up as quickly as he placed them. Fortunately that meant that whatever specter that was chasing him had to do it by sight alone. Unfortunately, that also meant Argos could be walking circles without ever knowing it.

At this rate, exposure will kill me faster than any spook will. I've got to get out of the cold. Got to get out of sight.

Screams pierced the sanctity of the Vantha's thoughts, this time echoing closer than the previous shrieks. Argos' pulse quickened, his heart beating like a drum against his chest, and he forced his legs to stand. He couldn't afford to hide anymore. He had to move. His steps started slowly, using the headstones of the fallen to bear his weight when he couldn't. Still the screams chased him, creeping towards him out of the corner of his eyes. The wails stabbed at the shadows of his mind, tearing at the desperation which fueled Argos' every step.

As he moved deeper into the Ice Fields, Argos felt afraid. Real, raw, and unfiltered fear. The type of terror that makes madness seem real, and reality like the half-formed dream of days long past. The sound of that scream, so filled with fury and hate, it was enough to make any sane man lie down in the snow and beg for death.

Lucky for Argos, he wasn't quite sane.
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[The Ice Fields] Witching Hour

Postby Alekxandra Winterflame on June 4th, 2016, 4:29 pm

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51st Day, Summer, 516 A.V.


The tree growing around the entrance of the Temple of Everwinter did little to block the howling wind of the winter storm. Alekxandra leaned against the entrance hall staring out into the whiteness with an unusually stoic face. She had come to the temple with intent to pray to the Goddess Morwen for patience--or anything to help her stomach her sisters and their negative attitude.

Though if she were entirely honest with herself she was probably just as much hiding from them as she had come to pray.

The storm had started up shortly after she had arrived and the sound of the wind whistling through the temple made it difficult for her to focus. Alek supposed she could try to pick up meditation in hopes it could teach her some focus, but the idea of sitting idle for any length of time was kind of hilarious. Even on days the temple was silent she never sat. Her visits were short lived, just long enough to pray to Queen Morwen in thanks before finding something else to do.

With this weather however Alek knew her time was even shorter than her usual attention span. She had planned on avoiding her hold until she could speak to her brother, but unless she wanted to be snowed in she would have to leave and soon. The idea of facing her sisters however was enough to plaster her to the wall of the temple hall and stare at snow in her stubbornness, but even that had to wear thin eventually.

Pushing off the wall, Alek approached the entrance and grimaced slightly. The snow was looking to pile up and fast. Before her first step straight into the wind and snow however, her sensitive ears picked up on a sound mixed into the wind. It was faint, and at first she wasn’t even entirely sure it wasn’t just the wind twisting through the tree above the temple. She tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowing as she tried to pick up the sound again.

Nope, it was definitely there.

A shrieking kind of sound, though it wasn’t coming from the tree or the temple itself. It was somewhat distant… behind the temple itself. It wasn’t human or animal that was for sure. If she had been in wolf form she was positive the fur on her mane would have been standing on end.

In all the times Alekxandra had visited the Everwinter temple she had never heard such a sound. She had of course heard rumors of spirits that could roam through the cemetery, but she had never actually thought she’d hear one.

Why of all times was it choosing to screech now though? She didn’t know a thing about ghosts or what they wanted. Was there someone outside in this weather? Pursing her lips, Alek rapped her fingers on the wall of the temple as her nerves kicked in. If someone as out there the white out would make it nearly impossible to find them.

Alek considered for a moment of trying to call out over the storm, but her voice would likely be lost in the wind. She’d have to make her way around the end of the temple anyway to face the cemetery. For a moment she considered just making her way back towards her hold and forgetting about the eerie sounds coming from the cemetery-

-but now she was curious. And despite knowing how dangerous it was to likely wander into the snow, she had to at least try. But her human form was not the choice for this little venture. Glancing behind her, Alek made sure she was alone before she started to strip out of her clothing quickly.

Fur, fur, oh how I need fur!

The bite of the winter cold on her skin caused her to hiss, but she focused none the less on her shift. Her hearing became sharp, her nose far more sensitive, though the later could not pick up much scent beyond her own and those in the temple. Holding her breath, she stepped out into the snow. Her fur did not keep the wind out as much as she liked… she didn’t have too long.

Living in Avanthal gave her plenty of expertise in hopping through the snow. She pounced rather than walked, trying to squirm her way around the temple towards the cemetery. She was correct in her estimate that the white out of the snow blocked most of her vision. She kept herself as close to the temple as possible, until she reached the back.

The shrieking was much louder than before, her ears twisting constantly to try and pick up something other than snow, wind, and spectre. If someone was trudging through the snow however the sound was just too covered.

Giving her red fur a strong shake to remove what snow had already collected on it, she pulled a breath of cold air into her chest. A human voice might not carry in the wind, but maybe her bark?

Forcing the air into her throat, the sound emerged in a deep bark that almost resembled a short roar. It was nothing like the dogs known to Avanthal and part of her wondered if she didn’t sound just as eerie as the specter’s screeching.

She repeated the process several times, wondering if she didn’t just look ridiculous. A thin red shape, barking into the wind at someone or something that just might not be there in the first place.

OOC :
The maned wolf’s bark is literally considered a roar bark. If you’re curious as to how it sounds here’s a link to one


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[The Ice Fields] Witching Hour

Postby Isaac Iceglaze on June 5th, 2016, 2:52 am

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“Hello Isaac, welcome. Good to see you, Lor’eno mentioned you’d drop by.”

The priestess lit an extra torch by the entrance hall, her watchful eyes taking note of Isaac’s form shivering as he plodded up to the temple. A wooden sled was roped to his neck and dragged along behind him carrying stacks of icestone blocks. He almost got to the open doorway before several tree branches violently shook above their heads, causing a whiteout of snowfall between them.

“Oh dear, it’s getting worse out there,” she shouted over the whistling of the storm. “Isaac, come rest inside! Stay until the winds die down a little, ok?”

Isaac grunted, happy for the hospitality. He pushed the sled against the wall of the temple before he ducked his head and wriggled around until the rope was off his neck. His backpack laid squished between the blocks and he wanted his clothes for when he got inside, so he grabbed the leather by his teeth and tugged it out.

“Thanks a lot for bringing the stones, by the way. It must’ve been a difficult to get here, considering the weather,” she walked along beside him, petting his head and scratching behind his ear as she spoke. “Morwen’s storms are unlike any other, you know. Uncontrollable chaos that tests our strength and stability. They’re exciting, transformative, leaving a beautiful calmness in its aftermath.”

They reached the prayer room. The bear dissolved in a swirl of lights and reformed into a young, nude man on all fours. He relaxed and leaned back to sit on his knees, letting his bag drop out of his mouth.

“Hi Lee’ana,” he nodded, his demeanour composed. “Good to see you too, glad I could help,” Isaac looked down and reached into his bag, taking out a simple parka. He panted, breathing heavily from exhaustion. “Dad wanted me to tell you that the designs are good, but the construction team won’t be able to come by until tomorrow, or at least until the weather gets better. Most of the Iceglaze are working on a few buildings over by the Skyglow Hold,” he pulled the warm coat over his body and stood up, the length of it reaching just below his knees.

“I’ll just go rest over there. Let me know if you need anything.” Lee’ana nodded and thanked him again before going back to her duties.

The young Kelvic grabbed his bag and walked over to sit by the side, leaning against the stone wall, his legs outstretched. He took a moment to close his eyes and breathe in through his nose. He’d seen people meditate here before, and most of them seemed to just sit and breathe. Isaac tried to focus on his breath, but his mind wandered. He sighed. Lee’ana caught his gaze as he opened his eyes after merely two ticks of attempting meditation. She smiled at him reassuringly, but Isaac just felt embarrassed. He averted his gaze and shuffled through his bag, trying to find his usual distraction.

Out came his carving kit and a 5-pound lump of icestone. He turned the stone around in his hand and stared at it, taking time to examine all sides of its raw, cubic shape. With a quick prayer to Mowen, he reached for his ice pick and began to chip away. The metal pick clinked against the stone—the sound was relaxing to Isaac, but he hoped he was far enough away so he wouldn’t bother anyone trying to actually meditate. As he kept chipping at the corners of the cube, he felt his mind begin to calm and concentrate on his task.

Lee’ana kept an eye on him, carefully noting his method and focus. She had no problem with his wish to carve within the temple. The priestess knew that there were different types of meditation, and Isaac, whether he knew it or not, chose to employ an active and mindful form of training his attention.

The Kelvic continued to chisel the edges of the cube, watching the stone take form as he maintained a steady hand. He switched out his chisel for a small blade and began to strike at the irregularities. Little pieces of icestone fell to the floor while Isaac kept his focus on trying to get the shape he wanted. He clicked his teeth when he realized he chopped off too much on one side, flipping the stone around to balance the error.

Ten ticks pass. Isaac relaxes his attention to look around the room. Another young woman had come in, it seemed. She stood by the entrance hall, staring outside, her face expressionless. Isaac payed no mind and went back to chipping off little bumps on his new little ice ball. He touched the pattern on his arm to release a gentle flow of his gift, using his hands to guide the flow around the uneven surface of his sphere. The stone shifted slowly, warming and cooling ever so slightly.

He let go. The ball dropped to the floor and rolled.

Isaac smiled, satisfied with his simple creation. Lee’ana grinned and clapped quietly which made him blush. He was about to say something when an odd, muffled roar sounded through the back of the temple. Isaac looked curiously at the priestess,

“I think it might be the girl who was here earlier,” she said, slightly worried.

“I’ll check it out.”

Isaac pulled off his parka and stuffed it in his bag with the iceball. He jogged over to the entrance and quickly shifted onto all fours, carrying his bag in his teeth. Once he reached the outdoors, he stood up on his hind legs and slugged the bag over his back, the straps fitting snugly over his shoulders. The bear dropped forward and started to gallop over to the back of the temple where he heard the strange bark of sorts.

He immediately caught a glimpse of her form; a stark orangish-red against the blinding white snowstorm. The bear called out to her, his deep, growling roar signalling defence. He refrained from charging, keeping his ears relaxed, hoping the Kelvic would see that he didn’t intend to attack.

Amongst the animalistic communication, Isaac failed to hear the shrieking cries of potential danger from within the cemetery. His focus was simply on the safety of the fox-ish creature before him. The bear slowed to a halt once he came near and grunted pleasantly, then sniffed the air around her to check for injuries or any sign of distress. She seemed fine. Isaac tiled his head, signing confusion.

What are you doing out here?

ooc :
Woops, I got carried away, didn't expect this to be so long! My replies will mostly be much shorter, haha.
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[The Ice Fields] Witching Hour

Postby Micah Frostfawn on June 5th, 2016, 8:54 pm

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Micah had never met her brother, and yet his life impacted upon hers in every way imaginable. He had died aged just three and a half bells old; my perfect little boy, her mother always described him as, without fail. Even now, more than twenty years after she had buried his impossibly small body, Micah’s mother still kept the grave incredibly tidy, with fresh flowers replacing old and dried blooms.

It wasn’t a common thing for Micah to visit his grave. If anything, as a girl, it had distressed and upset her in a bizarre manner. Below her feet was a person she had never met, yet whose potential she missed every day. She often imagined how her life would have been impacted by an older brother. She imagined him being incredibly protective of her, a keen falconer and a natural with a bow and arrow. A proficient hunter, he would tell the best stories and always have a joke to share.

It was all too easy to be perfect when you were dead. And so, sometimes, Micah eased the pressure on her brother’s memory and instead imagined his imperfections; his moodiness and habit of brooding alone like the tortured artist he liked to think himself to be. It was only fair that he, too, had flaws.

She had already paid his respects today and, having replaced his flowers, she now wandered to the edge of the graveyard to throw the dried, dead flowers into the surrounding forest. They would rot down, decomposing into a new life and food for insects. Life from death, and all.

Visiting the Ice Fields always put Micah in a solemn mood which, she supposed, was only natural. Here she was surrounded by death as much as she surrounded by potential and life. For a tick she merely stood, inhaling deeply and slowly, looking out towards the forest and with her back to the Frostfawn hold graveyard. Her paternal grandmother was buried there, as were countless uncles and aunts and other family members whose names she could not immediately recall.

A cold, wet thing pressed against the palm of her hand. The ginger coated dog beside her whined gently, sensing the low mood in his mistress and vehemently disliking it. But there was something else, too. Robin whined again, a pained and low sound that made Micah crouch down to be face-level with her beloved hound. “What’s wrong Robin?” She tenderly ran her fingers down his neck, but when the dog hopped out of her embrace, Micah frowned. “What?” Now concern fringed her voice, and the Vantha stood up to observed their peaceful surroundings more clearly. Had they been followed?

In a word; yes. But not by a man or woman with ill intentions. Where there had once been the graveyard boundary and the outline of the Everwinter Temple, there was now a sheet of hazy white. And it was coming closer, dragging the temperature down with and whipping Micah’s hair around her face.

A storm.

It was terrifying, haunting. For a fraction of a tick, Micah remained where she was, frozen to the ground and simply watching the ethereal whiteness gobble the world up. And then she too was suddenly inside the storm, being pulled this way and that in a frantic battle with Morwen’s strength. Beside her, Robin hunkered down, holding himself low and close to Micah for a hopeless shred of safety.

It was blinding, deafening, numbing. An insult to three of the five senses, with the other rendered pretty useless during such natural violence. Micah swore, loud and shrill. The curse was partly fear – mostly fear, in fact – and partly frustration with herself for being so utterly hopeless. Still, all she could was walk, her body hunched over, one hand buried into Robin’s fur and another holding her coat around her chin.

Progress was agonising and slow. In fact, Micah wasn’t even sure she was making progress for the first chime or so. She’d heard about people getting lost in the darkness or in such a storm and simply walking in a circle until they dropped dead from exposure. Was this what was happening to her, right now? It was fruitless for Micah to check her footprints, for as quickly as her feet took a step, the snow had filled in any evidence of her or Robin’s existence.

And then finally – a gravestone! Micah bolted to the thing, clinging onto it’s icy solidness and almost weeping with relief. But her sweetest relief was short lived, and no sooner as she sheltered for a tick was Micah up on her feet again, bracing herself against the storm once more.

She needed to find shelter – shelter of any kind would be better than this. But it was so impossible to see in front of her, that she had no idea of the direction in which she was going. Beside her, Robin crouched and shivered. She moved between the headstones, making slow progress yet forcing her way through the Ice Fields.

As long as I keep finding headstones, I know I am at least travelling the right direction.

But the right direction to where?


The snow fell in every possible direction in front of her. The ground and sky had melted together, creating this white greyness that had engulfed her and Robin both. They were the only two being in this world of ice and snow.

And yet…

And yet Micah was quite sure that she could see the outline of another person ahead of her. It was madness to even consider that another person had been caught in the storm, and yet here she was making a desperate attempt at finding the ghostly figure before her.

An illusion. It must be an illusion.

But eventually, impossibly, Micah found herself gripping hold of this stranger, who most definitely was real and had been caught in the storm with her.

“We need to find shelter!” She shouted, at the very top of her lungs, but her words were ripped away by the storm.

SHEL-TER Micah repeated, painfully exaggerating both syllables in a hope of conveying her desperate meaning.
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[The Ice Fields] Witching Hour

Postby Alekxandra Winterflame on June 24th, 2016, 5:55 pm

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In a moment that dragged on forever, Alek felt as if she was truly alone. The wind was attempting to freeze her nose no matter which direction she held her face. What was worse was the wind continually pressed snow into her ears. They had begun to ache from the constant pressure and cold pressed into them. Alek had little choice but to fold them back against her head periodically in an attempt to dull the ache even slightly.

She knew better of course. The only way to keep the wind and snow out was of course to simply just get out of the storm. If she left now she would have little trouble getting back to at least one of the holds and hunker down until the blasted snow let up. The idea was highly attractive too, seeing as the wailing had faded away.

But that moment finally past. She huffed a deep breath, unable to see her breath in the storm. Alek was never one to give up and something deep down told her she should keep trying. That if someone was indeed lost, they’d probably never be found.

At least not until it was far too late.

Forcing her ears upward into the snow once again, she readied another bark. Except her ears caught the sound of snow shuffling behind her. Her ears twisted to the sound first before her head followed.

Through the snow it was almost impossible to see him. It was his growl that told her that she wasn’t hearing things. As her eyes focused Alek realized it wasn’t just any creature, but a polar bear. It wasn’t the first time she had ever seen of course, but it was the first time she had ever been approached by one.

Despite his non-aggressive approach Alek couldn’t help but feel intimidated. He wouldn’t need much force given his sheer size and muscle power compared to her. Especially since he was probably much more at home in the snow than she was.

Alekxandra felt the skin under her fur shift, the mane that usually set back along the rest of her fur lifting a little. It was instinctual, because she knew there was nothing she could actually do to make herself actually look bigger compared to him. Instead the rest of her body crouched low to the ground.

The defensive stance didn’t last long however. Her eyes caught sight of the pack on his back and instinct gave way to more logical thoughts. Average polar bears didn’t wear packs. As she really assessed the bear, she noted he was larger than the average polar bear. Kelvic then perhaps… if she was lucky.

The bear sniffed at her and Alek lifted her up from her defensive position–all the while trying to gain control of her pounding heart–and shook out her fur in an attempt to relax her mane. Without the entire fear that he might actually try to make a meal out of her, Alek stared at the bear as he… well stared back. For a moment she had forgotten why she was standing out in the freezing storm in the first place.

Then the shrieking started again.

Alek whipped her head around, ears lifted so far up so fast the muscles actually protested with a sharp pain. Something was out there. In fact it almost seemed closer than before. Another growl rumbled in her chest at the sound, followed by another deep bark.

Taking a few steps forward towards the unnatural sound she glanced back at the bear, tilting her own head this time in question. Something was wrong–off–and she wondered if he felt it too. She counted it a shame she had no way of actually expressing the question short of shifting, and that wasn’t going to happen in the middle of a storm.
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