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Headcanon #3: A thunder storm

Due to the cold climate he lived in, Grimfara has never experienced a thunder storm. I bet when the time for that comes, he's going to be mimicking an ostrich...

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OOC: Probable inactivity

Reason being my darling little oriental shorthair who got himself hurt pretty bad. Basically he needs to be babysitted 24/7 so expect me to be inactive for a few days. :/

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When the water moistened his throat, the little spark in him revived like an igniting pyre, sweeping over him as if life itself had surged into the northman again. His body was too feeble from hunger to function properly just yet, but his mind was quickly recovering from the sudden darkness. A little twitch of fingers, weak fluttering of eyelids and a bit more rapidly rising chest; nothing else gave away he was gaining his consciousness.

Eyes still closed, Grimfara soon became aware of a bothering feeling that made it impossible to concentrate on anything else, even the numerous questions he was so tangled up with. He found himself lying in the most uncomfortable position, head sagging to the side, making his neck so stiff he began to question whether he had been there for centuries. A tender grunt escaped between his lips as he tried to straighten himself, and when he finally forced his eyes open, Grimfara faced the sky.

The twilight had already won, but even so the sun was reluctant to let its pale sister overtake the throne; it was sinking its dimming rays like long claws of golden dust into the never-ending purple that turned into dark blue far in the horizon. After spending such a long time here in the south, he knew he had at least two hours before-

Not he, Grimfara suddenly understood. They. His field of vision had been nothing but the darkening sky and the dry plain, but now there was something else in the corner of his right eye: a horse. It was a sturdy looking creature, boringly brown, but any colour was fine as long as it wasn't bad-tempered. He grimaced. Bloody hack. The horse was pasturing whatever grass it could find and seemed to pay no attention to him, but Grimfara was convinced he'd soon end up with new fractures if he didn't move further from it. Due to his anxiety, it was only then that he managed to link something very essential. A saddled horse comes with a rider.

With a mild tension in his neck, the northener moved his head until he encountered a pair of eyes, far more duskier than his own, examining him from a strategic distance. The stranger's gaze was difficult to interpret and it made him shiver - or was it the cold wind tingling his face?

He cleared his dry throat as silently as possible. "Is it.. mmh.. is it you I get to thank for saving my life?" inquired Grimfara, raising his brows in a friendly way that indicated he was being sincere with every word.

If I believed in fate | Grimfara and Hallam

The rocky grass plain seemed to have no end, and though he could see hills in the distance, rising from the ground like swollen wounds, they never seemed to get closer no matter how many leagues he trod. Each step drew more determination from him and his ever slowing pace. He was lost, and Grimfara knew it.

After leaving the Northern Waste, everything had been new to him. For once it wasn’t treacherous ice or a crust of snow about to sink under his feet, but stunted, dry grass covering a steady grown. His thick and heavily layered clothing, which gave him a rather stout appearance, was everything but convenient for this new climate. Yet Grimfara refused to leave anything behind - an unnamed fear still lingered with him and it would take time to get rid of it.

His brows formed a desperate arch above his green eyes; that was a look of a weary man, one who had never even known what he was looking for in the first place. His fatigue was mostly physical - hunting food was almost impossible, for even animals seemed to avoid this place, and those that actually lived in the area were able to smell him long before Grimfara could even see them - but also mental. A sudden feeling of utter desolation hit him so hard he was almost sure someone was grinding his rib-cage with an axe. The overwhelming sensation forced the northener on his knees. What was the point anymore? Get up. What was he trying to gain? Get up, he told himself through his urge to give up. How was this even close to finding a new life?

It was his malnourished body that decided to protest against Grimfara’s will to continue. As his legs gave in, it took merely a second before he was lying on the ground, letting the grass embrace him and tingle his cheek before his mind drifted into nothingness.

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//Create a character that basically was born with a bow

End up taking lessons in archery to understand stuff better

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Kicking Horse.  12/2012

mtnsnow1593

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Headcanon #2: Horses

Grimfara's dislike (or maybe even fear) of those creatures stem from encountering one particularly nasty individual, resulting into two fractured ribs after a feisty kick.

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Light seeker (by ne6ea/Svante Oldenburg)

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*giggles* I did, thank you! You were my control group!

*shoots the Witch-king with a rather doubtful glance* I won’t even pretend to understand what it is you mean. And would you stop acting like I have just complimented you on something? Because of you, people died.

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If I believed in fate | Grimfara and Hallam

The rocky grass plain seemed to have no end, and though he could see hills in the distance, rising from the ground like swollen wounds, they never seemed to get closer no matter how many leagues he trod. Each step drew more determination from him and his ever slowing pace. He was lost, and Grimfara knew it.

After leaving the Northern Waste, everything had been new to him. For once it wasn't treacherous ice or a crust of snow about to sink under his feet, but stunted, dry grass covering a steady grown. His thick and heavily layered clothing, which gave him a rather stout appearance, was everything but convenient for this new climate. Yet Grimfara refused to leave anything behind - an unnamed fear still lingered with him and it would take time to get rid of it.

His brows formed a desperate arch above his green eyes; that was a look of a weary man, one who had never even known what he was looking for in the first place. His fatigue was mostly physical - hunting food was almost impossible, for even animals seemed to avoid this place, and those that actually lived in the area were able to smell him long before Grimfara could even see them - but also mental. A sudden feeling of utter desolation hit him so hard he was almost sure someone was grinding his rib-cage with an axe. The overwhelming sensation forced the northener on his knees. What was the point anymore? Get up. What was he trying to gain? Get up, he told himself through his urge to give up. How was this even close to finding a new life?

It was his malnourished body that decided to protest against Grimfara's will to continue. As his legs gave in, it took merely a second before he was lying on the ground, letting the grass embrace him and tingle his cheek before his mind drifted into nothingness.