my poor mother begged for a sheep — 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙛 .
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open to all ( 0 / 4 ) . location: the thingstead, longhall .
throw herself into it. mina misses the spray of salt against her cheek, though there is opportunity here and she seeks it hungrily. what is a woman without ambition, without a tale upon her tongue shared amongst a rapt audience within the longhall? her voice is a melodic thing, unwinding stories of the sea to those listening in, silver hair brushed back into a shimmering braid, knee pressed to her chest as she shares what terrible things she has done, what she has yet to do. her eyes lift from her tall tales to meet the gaze of they who cast a shadow over her renditions, and mina shares a small, wicked smile before she excuses herself, standing from her position as storyteller. “you look like you don't believe me.” she speaks lightly, loosened by mead as she forgets her woes from before. “i promise you, the tales of my triumph are true.”
#𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 . mina#ironandtide:thingstead#ironandtide:start#my writing will get better the more familiar i become with my muses i swear <3#alcohol tw
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strange to be here, to place booted feet upon steady land whilst the sea cries out to her like a keening pup demanding her attention. mina assures herself that it shan't be forever, that there is opportunity off the deck of the black veil which longs to pulls her back into its grasp — she knows where she belongs, and it is not here. her eyes fall shut, sitting over a plate of food she cannot stomach, mina idles instead. is there a seasickness, she wonders, which applies to the land she finds so completely uncomfortable?
light eyes flutter open at the sound of another, glancing toward her companion with an amused smirk. “i'm more than aware, i can promise.” she muses, though it is with something like longing, though she has barely been off the ship a few hours. what she needs is to get a grip, and so she moves to entertain her own plate of food, picking idly at the meal the other woman works steadily at. “trying to keep the peace, i imagine. what's worse than a room full of empty bellied warriors?”
status: open
where: thingstead, the longhall
one thing lira quickly learned in her time at sea was to be grateful whenever they were in port, being on land was an uncommon occurrence. specifically, she became grateful for the fresh food she had access to in these times, as in their long voyages the fruits and vegetables spoiled quickly. they ate what they had to in order to survive, but unfortunately that was usually limited to biscuits and dried foods. so naturally, when they came to thingstead, the feast in the longhall was the first place she went to.
lira unabashedly helps herself to the feast that's laid out, her plate full of generous portions of the various dishes. not to mention she's already on her third cup of mead as well. she's certain that she looks half-starved, with how much she's putting down, but with a spread like this she can hardly be blamed. she looks up to see someone across from her giving her a glance, lira wipes the corner of her mouth before speaking. "you wouldn't believe what you miss when you're at sea, you must excuse me. i'm surprised they've provided this good of a spread."
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the gods do not hear her, so what is there for eivor to pray for? the heat of the flames lick gladly at her flushed cheeks as she watches the great pyre burn before her. it is with spite that her tribute is flung into its embrace, dark eyes watching as it burns before, finally, she turns and escapes the rest of the crowd. a silly tradition rather than a prayer in truth, something with which to feel she is doing something alongside the faithful.
how strange to be here, to see faces familiar and not, to feel the tension sitting heavily between she and the ironblood she had abandoned so very many years before. do they see her? is she the person she had been amongst them? brave and battle worn, or attempting to be.
her gaze falls to him, a brow arching in the slightest of interest in the way his eyes seem to track the entirety of the worshippers before them. “you have nothing to offer?” she asks, nodding towards the pyre, flames flying high and up into the night, an amused smirk playing upon her lips. “the gods will not be pleased.”
open starter ; location ; thingstead, great pyre
smoke had replaced the scent of salt, a fact that aegir was not glad of, as he sat on the edge of the crowds around the great pyre — watching as wishful warriors tossed their tributes into the flames. he had not come to seek the favor of the gods — these were not the gods he prayed to, not the gods he sacrificed to. he prayed to the gods of the sea — and the god of vengeance — and his sacrifice was blood spilled.
it always sufficed.
no, he sat here for the same reason he had agreed to attend the thingstead in the first place. not for favor from the gods, or the clans, or even for a care about the next high jarl. this was for the benefit of proximity, like lambs to a slaughter. he came, and he sat, to watch. to observe. like a snake waiting in the grass, looking for the right moment to strike.
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you poor thing — sweet mourning lamb . . ・゜゜・.#𝙱𝙻𝚄𝙳𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙴 is a muse blog dependent on ironandtide . written with ugly devotion by lo, who is aged thirty, operates from the gmt timezone, and prefers the pronouns of she and her .
i . eivor ljotdottir if there is a light , i am going to swallow it . if there is a god , i am going to make him cry ( pinterest )
ii . wilhelmina stoker . dilute me , i tell them . make me easier to love ( pinterest )
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i kneel into a dream where i am good and loved. i am good. i am loved.
an EMILIA CLARKE lookalike has arrived in Myrkvjord, stepping onto the deck of THE BLACK VEIL, their reputation either preceding them or waiting to be made. WILHELMINA STOKER has survived THIRTY years, and their name is already whispered in ports, feared by traders, or cursed by the clans. Some call them CALLOUS, others say they are ADAPTABLE, but one thing is certain—their fate is bound to the sea. With their influence growing, they are set to either rule the waves or sink beneath them. You might know them as a FIRST MATE, but soon enough, they will be remembered as more.
𝓫𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓼 .
full name: wilhelmina anamaria stoker
nicknames: mina
age: thirty
gender / pronouns: cis woman she / her
orientation: bisexual
cccupation: first mate of the black veil
𝓹𝓱𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 .
eye colour: blue
hair colour: silver
build: petite
height: 5′1″
piercings: ears
tattoos: neck, fingers, arms
distinctive features: white hair and stern eyes
face claim: emilia clarke
𝓫𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 .
you were found in a fine gown and with rings lining your little fingers, or so they tell you. you were twelve years old and soaked to the bone when you awoke to face a crew of hard faced pirates, and you knew nothing of the past but your name. wilhelmina, you had squeaked. and weren't you lucky that the captain took a look at your terrified little face and took pity? they looked after you as though you were a pup, attempted to help pull the memories from that scared little head, for in those clothes the reward for your return would surely be tremendous. they never did come back save a few flashes of a kind face, long glowing hair, eyes much like your own. perhaps a disaster at sea was too much trauma for you to truly come back from.
that feels so long ago, but the crew lingers in your chest. you think so often of them, for they had raised the little girl that you were into the feral thing you are, now. for you had adapted so swiftly, taken to a life at sea as though you belonged to it; and perhaps you had, we shall never know. they were never easy on you which forced you to adjust, to become the ankle biting child you were, to survive amongst the most ruthless. it served well that, beyond that initial fear, you were someone with the spirit to fight, for they would accept nothing else — it would be back to the waves with you.
within that spirited girl is a woman who found a ruthless nature and nurtured it, for it was the only way forward. you fight well, with a mean streak to drive you onward, with little to no loyalty towards anyone but yourself. angry for whatever was taken from you, for those who never in did seek you out. a woman without a home, the sea is all that you know, and all that you pull any comfort from. the black veil suited you well, a crew as unafraid, and as greedy as you are. at times you look to the captain, fingers clenched into fists as you wonder; what if that was you? an unstable life leads you to seek out a comfortable position, a place of power for the world has done nothing but knock you sideways.
still, you seek connection despite the hardened front of you. small, beautiful and terrible mina stoker — you believe that there is little to love. and you cannot deny it, you want love. you want to belong to something, for an orphan does not grow out of such a title.
wanted connections .
ex lover . mina truly does ache for connection, but when they does find it, she shakes in her fear. your muse is someone drawn in by her, but later lost to her lack of loyalty, or her callous nature, her terror at losing once more — and this time, remembering it.
the chink in her armour . someone mina protects, for hasn't she been raised along and afraid before? she doesn't want this for anyone else, and will love this person desperately — she truly does have it in her, after all.
a rival . someone aboard the black veil, another ship, or back on land. someone she has wronged, for there are many who think of wilhelmina stoker and wish to spit the name into the soil.
the wronged . mina has been at this for a long time, and she has clawed her way into position. this is someone she climbed over to make her way into her place in the world.
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suffer does the wolf — crawling to thee .
an ADRIA ARJONA lookalike has arrived in Myrkvjord, standing among the warriors of THE WOLFBORN CLAN, their presence impossible to ignore. EIVOR LJOTDOTTIR recently marked their THIRTY FOUR name day, and already, whispers of their deeds (or misdeeds) are spreading. Some claim they are MANIPULATIVE, while others insist they are AMBITIOUS —either way, they are bound to leave their mark. With a reputation growing, they are poised to shape the fate of their people. You might recognize them as a HUNTER, but soon, they will be known for far more.
𝓫𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓼 .
full name: eivor ljotdottir
nicknames: none
age: thirty four
gender / pronouns: cis woman she / her
orientation: bisexual
cccupation: hunter
clan: wolfborn
𝓹𝓱𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 .
eye colour: brown
hair colour: brown
build: slim, muscular
height: 5′8″
piercings: ears
tattoos: hands, back and arms
distinctive features: disarming, innocent doe eyes
face claim: adria arjona
𝓫𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 .
trigger warning for death of a parent *
once, you were something innocent. but you were only a girl, then. born to a noted warrior and a healer, there was a thin a line between inheriting gentle hands and those that might strangle — it was the mind sharp as a blade which was all your own. an ambition to match the whirring cogs of your mind, there was always a better life to be had, and it was one you would take. you knew cold and darkness, you knew what it was meant to persevere. from the day your father fell in battle and the moment your mother's healing hands could not save him. to the siblings you did all you could to feed and love with what limited empathy you held. to blaming the mother you see so little of yourself within for failing the man you idolised. was it then that you began to lose yourself?
more out there. more for you. he was to be high jarl and you do think that perhaps you liked something within him. there was a darkness in him, something you felt he might nurture for what is power to those who are full only of light? what is there to take when softness gets in the way? there is too much to lose when one is nothing but good. you would be his bride, you would sit by his side and never want again. you were tired, after all, of so much want. it fell apart when he abandoned his title to take the place of a blacksmith. sick of it, exhausted of these grasping attempts at taking control only to wind up spiralling.
furious. you left it behind under the cloak of night. him, your own kin and the clan itself. what is a woman like you, anyway, if not a wolf? good with bow and even better with a blade, there is something unnatural in your stillness — a natural born hunter, a place you might thrive. you're known for your practical ruthlessness, your logical mind which works without making space for empathy. you feel like nothing and everything all at once, you still feel that lingering hunger which remains sitting heavy in your belly. nothing satisfies it. nothing ever will, you are afraid.
wanted connections .
hunting partner . someone she is close to and sees her closely, knows she is more than the sum of her parts and the untouchable manner in which she presents herself.
rival . eivor has many talents and the collection of rivals and enemies is one of them, perhaps your muse and she butt heads, perhaps she steals the glory on a hunt, perhaps she wronged them when leaving the ironblood clan.
casual romance . she has no interest in romantic love, only in the ease of discovering a body in the night with which to satisfy herself and them.
betrayed lover . someone from the ironblood clan she perhaps did love before leaving them for the potential she saw in bragi .
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