#Rallyrwyda Hyrtfyrwyn

[rhotdornn]

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn

B A S I C S

Name Rhotdornn Haerkoen-Hyrtfyrsyn (HHHI) / Rossechon Iavaslachion (Western HH) / Etarellion Hyrtfyrsyn (Eorzea)

Nicknames Princeling (HHHI) / Hendunar (Western HH) / Lion/Boss (Eorzea)

Age Late twenties/early thirties

Nameday 14th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race Native Sea Wolf

Gender Male

Orientation Heterosexual

Profession Fleet Captain, tavern proprietor, holding Director, embassy ambassador (this one he is trying to shed)

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair A deep, pronounced crimson with brighter highlights of tangerine emmeshed within; lavish, luxurious texture, incredibly thick of mane and attentive of personal grooming, equally so for his beard.

Eyes True crimson; both the hair and the eye colours are a dominant Hyrtfyrsyn trait, carried over from the males thus predominantly.

Skin Seafoam-white, pale as marble, unblemished by other hues, a trait passed onto him by his mother.

Tattoos/scars Plenty across his body–most notably the scars lining his wrists, a deep slash across his chest (though the chesthair makes it difficult to notice) and a runic tattoo as of recent curling around his right arm.

F A M I L Y

Parents

Ma – An enigmatic entity even to his peoples; the Haerkoena of Hyrthyml Haer-Isil, ever shrouded in mystery. Many perceive her as a sickly woman, while others question her motives–yet all in common fail to understand why she has no will to appear publicly, in court or elsewise, without the attendance of her chosen husband-companion. Her hair is said to be of unmatched ink-black; and her skin glistens in the bare moonlight. Next-to-naught is known of her, save that she never speaks, even when in reliable company.

Hyrtfyr II Syhrachtynsyn – Rhotdornn's giant father of a man. The Haerkoen of Hyrthyml Haer-Isil, his power is absolute–and his temper, perilous. Stern, proud, yet fair–previously the ruler of the Autumn Court, his ascent to the throne has sliced a rift between his sons and he, Dornn more than all–whose childhood was oft weighed down by the near-impossible demands of his father.

Siblings

Generation I – males:

Rhotdhem Hyrtfyrsyn – Dornn's twin, Dhem–and his sheer opposite. Born of cheer, uncaring for trouble and ever courting mischief, he has ever been a pain in his brother's side; a pain borne all too gladly, despite their soured relationship. Dhem may suffer to be in Dornn's shadow, but he has proven time and time again the kinder and emotionally smarter of the twins. His chosen craft is that of carpentry, as an incredibly skilled shipwright and engineer.

Rhotorn Hyrtfyrsyn – Where Dhem hides his kindness well, Orn cares less so. Though he respects Dornn more, Orn wears his mastery over arcane on his sleeve–and loudly, at that. A Lore-Master unprecedently gifted in the art of Storm-lore, he is quite dismissive of Dhem and his empathy; much to the worry of Dornn, at times. His chosen craft is of a scholarly sort–revitalizing lost scripts and texts from bygone ages, and deciphering their meanings.

Generation I – females:

Rallyrwyda Hyrtfyrwyn – Though not her given name, she is the eldest of the first three sisters. Pragmatic, polite, and savvy in all things diplomatic and navigation, she mirrors Dornn in many ways–doubly so in the way of saying very little with many words. An enjoyer of fine, deep wine, dresses and music, one would be hard-pressed to find a more sophisticated member of the family. Her chosen craft is that of cloth–a seamstress of envious hands, her fabrics often decorate only her closest of friends back Home.

Eyriloef Hyrtfyrwyn – If Rally is Dornn's mirror, then so is Eyri Dhem's–the propensity for mischief runs deep within her, and though she may not be as lazy as he, her tongue cuts far deeper. A Lore-Master prodigy, often shunned by Orn for her whimsical approach to their profession, she is a friend to all animals–all, with an incredible wariness of bears for unknown reasons. Her chosen craft is goldsmithing–specifically so of glass, and enchanted glass besides. What it may produce varies from patron to patron.

Tyloef Hyrtfyrwyn – The youngest of the three, though in no manner a mirror to Orn–Tyl holds the most potent of mastery regarding Soul-Song; a rival to Dhem indeed, despite her younger age. A sweet, gentle and innocent soul, she beholds the world in all of its awe and wonder, giving no quarter to the darkness that it holds. Her chosen craft is that of weaving tapestries that tell the history of their nation, and that often hang in the main courtroom of their home-keep.

Generation II of the siblings involves a different get, though are best reserved for their own tales, as there are 17 children in total.

Grandparents

None that they know to be alive.

In-laws and Other

None. Dornn is very strict and critical over forging non-family bonds in Eorzea. Back Home, he has a small brotherhood of Rangers under his call, as well as a former in-law which he killed.

Pets

A veritable zoo. Beloved by all things born in nature, he reciprocates in kind–as such, his large house has a dedicated space for all the beloved companions he has accumulated over the many years of his adventuring. His most notable are his chocobo Sternoss/Bannadir(Eorzean), gryphon hatchling Rannaskar, and gryphon mount, Galladross as well as Ferryar, his loyal red-panda.

S K I L L S

Abilities

Blade-mastery - following in the footsteps of his many-scores legendary grandfather, he aspires to be a Weaponmaster, specializing in swords of all sorts currently. His greatest strength lies in sizable zweihanders and dual-wielding of one-handed blades.

Second Sight - Eye of the Hyrtfyrdyn - One of his bloodline abilities; allowing him to sense the pulsation of aether as it is converted into neurological commands from his opponent's brain, his mind is able to temporarily gain insight into their next strike's direction.

Soul-song - his Homeland's northern boon; Rhotdornn's specialty lies in Words of Command and Words of Power, and the signature of his Rhythm is a clear crimson hue, his voice-power sits between a baritone and bass, the dynamic of his Rhythm is crescendo, the tempo of his Rhythm flows from Andante to Marcia moderato and the theme of his Rhythm involve folk-tales and epics brought to life.

Kingsvoice - the final stage of his Rhythmic abilities, inherited from his father. A combination of Words of Power and Command, it unshackles his prowess within Rhytmic battles.

Naval warfare - tutored in the art of naval sparring and skirmishes by the brightest minds of his Homeland from all walks of life, he possesses an uncanny instinct beside for enforcing highly dangerous, yet highly effective battle strategies and sudden maneuvers on open and enclosed waters.

Hobbies

Animal husbandry - as an avid collector of companions far and wide, his enormous house has a whole wing dedicated to his beloved friends of nature; and his 'collection' is oft ascribed to a rumour of speaking their tongue.

Culinary expertise - or cooking, in short. An avid critic of all-things-edible, he pridefully guards the Sea Wolf tradition of culinary, wine and mead-making excellence. He knows good food, and most oft it is his–a testament to this being BARR!'s menu, designed by him.

Diplomacy - once thriving as an uncompromising, cunning Aerslaentean envoy and chief of their embassy in Eorzea, now he seeks to rid himself of that mantle and eschew higher society anew.

Music - the least surprising of all given his Homeland, he is an avid player of the piano and skilled enough with a flute and harp; countless days in the castle were lost to the practice of two of these, no matter how many obligations he was beset with back then.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Reliability. He may be direct, brutally so, candid and at times abrasive; otherwise vague, discreet and rarely speaking his mind openly in higher company; but one thing is certain–if he values you, you will find value in his companionship. A problem-solver through and through, he will give you no choice but to see his value through deed, not word.

Most Negative Trait: A whole sleuth of them, but his stubbornness brooks no contest. You will be ill-pressed to find a harder-headed redhead than that of Hyrtfyrdyn's get... Especially the men. Paired with his bottomless sense of pride in his peoples and race, it can, and has, made for a lethal combo.

L I K E S

Colors: Deep, rich crimsons, oranges and noble whites.

Smells: Fragrant maple, fresh saw-wood, crashing, fresh sea-spray.

Textures: Sturdy metals, flexible leathers and straps, cozy, warming furs with great fluff.

Drinks: Sweet, rich, autumnal mead. Deep, textured red wine–swinging from dry, to at times, a delicious port wine, depending on his predicament. Otherwise, a milky, creamy vodka and a smokey whiskey-rum will settle him into a cozy, fireplace-lit night by the hearth.

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: No, and avoids it diligently; however engages, at times, in a crushed, secret blend that he pours into his pipe, allegedly helping his lungs recover from previous ailments.

Drinks: Like a shark drinks water. Though he sees no deliberate goal behind it like maintaining the storied Hyrtfyrdyn tolerance to inebriation, he knows to instead simply enjoy the drink for what it is - a spoil of the earth and a blessing for the weary traveler. It is a deeply-interwoven cultural habit, at that; wines, meads and ales are strictly tied to many facets of Hyrthymlian lives.

Drugs: Nothing, save for the aforementioned herb he crushes into his pipe on occasion.

Mount Issuance: Revoked after his status as a wanted man by the Maelstrom and Ishgard was reinstated; not that a sailor has much need for land-legs, if he knows his craft.

Been Arrested: Once almost in Ishgard during a ball infiltration, and once successfully right after the Calamity, as he washed up unconscious at Moraby, by the Maelstrom. There, he was faced with his final penalty for his harrowing harrying in prior days of their fleets and Ishgard's nobles–join the ranks of the Barracudas as their Navigator, or face the noose. His head on his shoulders to this day stands as a testament to his choice.

Thank you for the wonderful tag @viiioca! This was mighty fun, so I pass the torch to @bad-moen-rising, @nalukaixiv, @travelchronicler and whoever sees this, consider it an open tag – make sure to tag me back so I can read it properly!

[rallyrwyda]

A girl may yet dream...

                ↳ No?

[rhotdornn]

[ The siblings ]

[rhotdornn]

Coming Soon™ to a store near you.

[rhotdornn]

[The Echo] Our Catastrophes

“Out of the greatest Storms doth spring strength for tomorrow.” – The Raven

A good deal of years back.

[Music theme]

“Sharlayan! Come, stay mine hand... Succumb, and speak to me o’ scriptures and their whereabouts. The throat o’ yours will thank you direly, once no blade lingers by, chillin’ it.”

Debris now dots this waning mercenary’s struggling gaze. Discs of silver fend and tremble in the aftermath of an eardrum-snapping cannon barrage—from one floating plank to another does his sight bounce, finding naught but dismay and rubble, hounding after the din and desolation had settled. After each plank, a waft of smoke trailed—their paths, tailed by a line o’ ashen dust littering the sloshing waves behind them as they ferried on. Flames still flickered atop some—this was a batch freshly ripped from the belly of a frigate, no doubt about it.

However did this come to pass...? We were but a simple force—not strapped for engaging in naval combat, but on drier shores. The Old World strayed not from the paths o’ the Northern Empty out of convenience—no, a firm route betwixt Eorzea and the Forum had been established, and no lucrative reason would draw one to a detour around the bloody North... A mere straight line from one mainland to another... And this carnage would’ve been wholly avoided. Brutes did not roam these wastes in mere legends, for a curse.

Our larger, mercantile vessel stormed the seas in the company of seven smaller divisions—mercenaries stocked to aid our cause of championing the seas to northern Eorzea. For a wonder, we never caught glimpse of our contractor... Word had it that he ne’er boarded deck, either.

Then, in the closing of one and the opening of another blink, hearty, clear skies saw ebony venom spill across their folds, and a massive pillar of fuming smoke drove in roves from the downed companies. All seven divisions now disposed of their contents within the bowels of the sea.

First came a blade o’ wind... Sharp and frigid as a flurry o’ snow. Through the blanket of smog it sliced, and through this window blood punctured... But not that of mine comrades, no—a colossal mast peered through the engorging flames and billowing smoke, bathed in crimson, and crowned with an orange leaf, born at its breast.

The tell-tale of this lot was not lost on me. Chance was it that either the King or Princeling sat ‘hind that steerin’ wheel. The tale of Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn... He who stormed’ in the wake o’ his sire Hyrtfyr Syhrachtynsyn—the Sunderin’ Shark, an’ supposedly late grand-sire, Etarellion. For a mercy... One had been rumoured t’ be kinder than the other when dealin’ out his hand o’ mercy.

As the ilms betwixt our ships had been bridged, I’d find such mercy... And such mercy, in turn, would find its blade fitted against my neck.

Paralysis, however, saw all my labours drink deep of futility. My cheek now married to the splinters of the deck as my head was pressed underfoot—the Captain himself deigned to entertain my misfortune.

“What’s the bloody use of tellin’, anyroads... If dey ain’t on the upper deck, y’can take a whopping guess where’ey might linger...” I sense myself growing weary of this charade—no sense for courtesy in the face of death, I think to myself. Even less so do my thoughts sympathize with his request—not after losin’ half o’ me mates to rampant cannon-fire.

“I... Must admit,” A smoky, drawn-out voice chirps against my good ear—I find my eyes to widen, recognizing it as feminine, growling with a low, rolling ‘R’.

“I can scarcely recognize the need for some scriptures, Dornn. Granted, they might sport use on southern markets, but Aerslaent... Will see little and less demand for them.”

At the very least now I sported a figment of an idea as to whose boot was certain to crush my lobe in, under the promise of cruelty.

“When was any mention o’ a price tag e’er made, sister-dearest?” From the exchange, bits and bobbles began to fall into place—siblings, if not in one form of the sentiment, then in another.

“Now, Rallyrwyda, entertain our guest. I’ve words with the Cap’n o’ this sorry-arse fishin’ boat.”

“What, then pray tell, is the point of amassing deckhands in the first place?”

The Captain spared her no quarter... And I felt the boot lift soon thereafter from its vantage point atop my head’s flank. Of course... A pack of Sea Wolves swarming the deck would tear any and all flesh from limb in their trigger-happy frenzy—a single person would chance upon more fortune interrogating a captive, rather than the eager lot storming the deck.

Suddenly, the cold kiss of the blade against my throat is severed—and replaced by cold, pale digits, half-gloved in ink-bloated black leather, gripping at my collar. His clutch was fast and unforgiving to pardon; his palm the size of my noggin, and his leather jacket perfumed by a stale cannon-powder scent.

“Who commands this ship?” His burning orbs drill into my soul—one visible scarred by the imprint of a blade, healed some time ago. His rain-soaked, sharp hair matching in texture of his iris, flitting across the mounting wind rampaging from the south.

“Through wind and brine, swept ‘cross the gyre of time... We are come, to meet at long last.” The cabin door never unsealed, nor unearthed a figure—all of a sudden, the ebony drift of a coat stood within the midst, quelling the chaos about. A black plumage fitted his longcloak, hooded with a raven’s beak looming over his forehead.

“A... Poet? I am coming to see why you suffered no difficulty claiming this ship, if it was commanded by him, Dornn.” The female chimed in anew, her hair promoting the same brand as their ship’s banner had. A deep crimson with orange highlights—and a pale, ghastly complexion.

“Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn and Rallyrwyda Hyrtfyrwyn...” From the darkened brink of his hood, the shadowy figure exposed naught—but the single flicker of twin emerald eyes, keenly addressing the siblings.

“Your time of meddling has come to a... Beginning.” The figure concluded, much to the befuddlement of the siblings.“Your time of meddling has come to a... Beginning.” The figure concluded, much to the befuddlement of the siblings.

“Right. We’ve no interest in petty prose. Hand over the scrolls. Accept your fate with the remainder of the ship.” The larger Roegadyn retaliated back, his sabre withdrawn from its scabbard—and my own frame finding a broken rib upon his hand’s release, and subsequent fall onto the deck.

“Passion... Pride... By thy hand many’ve been stripped of their life. Your first lesson shall begin anon.”

An oddity suddenly hooked atop my eye—I could feel it with my breath, spot it with my eyes, feel it filtering through my bloodied nostrils... The aether of the battlefield was stripping rightly from the downed carcasses... Yet, it returned not unto the Slipstream.

“I’ve hardly time to waste on deluded poetry. Stand yer ground.” The Sea Wolf barked back, hands fast with their grip atop his blade’s hilt.

“Speak of fate as seen fit—but these transgressions... I cannot permit. Ravenflock and Ebonshade, unto me!” The mysterious Raven drew his arms apart, beckoning to the heavens above. Through the dreadful wind a flurry of dark feathers began to stray—the aether of the dead suddenly began to clump together. To concentrate. To course into a single locus.

The siblings were at a loss for words—I could catch the hints from the corner of my eyes.

“What in the...”                                                                                      

“Rallyrwyda, with me. Dhem still suffers his afflictions, so we’ll spearhead this.

“...Right, right.” The female herself hinted at a more sophisticated weapon—a rapier, kissed by the sheen of moonlight.

The twin ravens suddenly shot through the rising tempest behind the ship, and from its bed—water began to swirl and ascend. A great pull began to draw the ship gradually in, conceived by a mounting pillar of water roaring in a dreadful sight—a hurricane.

“Even odds, then.” The Raven humoured the duo, calling to one of the approaching cloudkin. As it perched atop his extended palm, its plumage began to betray it—and from such a scatter, a blade was withdrawn. From the bird’s beak came the razor, and from its wings the hilt crowned the blade. A gorgeous specimen garmented by two emeralds serving as eyes to the face of the raven atop the blade’s hilt.

The Roegadyn seemed to heed his warnings little—into battle with hearts aflame they championed, the male taking offensive with his broad blade, and his partner following swiftly in tow. Behind the hooded figure she swept, thus pushing for an abrupt lunge—whilst her brother took the avenue of a more brutal approach—hurling his blade dead-on from above.

The mysterious duelist, however, spared no quarter, either—his waist motioned to a sharp left, pardoning the maiden’s blade by mere ilms—and his blade struck against the male Roegadyn’s sword, employing swiftness over brute force to redirect it—against his own sister’s weapon with a hasty thrust to the side.

“Wh-“ She had not expected that.

“...Hrmph.” He proved a notch more experienced in the art of dueling.

That didn’t satisfy their cravings, as it had seemed. All the while, the tumultuous hurricane sowed the seeds of destruction in the background—seeds, which it would very soon reap.

This did not evade the duelist. One large leap soon took hold of his step, settling him on a greater altitude—on top of the quarterdeck, whilst the twin Wolves still tarried upon the gangway.

[Theme transition]

“I trust that was enough of show-and-tell, fated Hyrtfyrdyn. Be that as it may, time runneth out on us. Time... Which we can ill afford to spare. Embershade, I summon thee!”

The second raven now dominated the skyline—but not for long. In a swift swoop it cascaded onto its owner’s shoulder, its own body surrendered to the cause—a longstaff began to extend from its form, curved and bent, beaten yet never broken. Of wood was its make, with neither gem nor trinket to adorn it in decor.

It was then that I finally could dwell on my thoughts—and doubtlessly, all those present, too.

The locus of all aether was hosted within his breast. All those who perished in the naval encounter... Every droplet of blood—none returned to the Lifestream yet.

“Get back down and show me your mettle...” The male Wolf seethed in a lowly growl, glaring at the cloaked figure from below.

“Sacrifice...”

“Dornn, hold—the storm! We cannot turn back, nor press onward... Its pull is too great—we need to rout back!” The female cried with her thoughts submerged in horror as she gazed upon the hurricane—a colossal tower of circling water, now capable of sundering an entire island with its brute assertion.

“Bravado...”

“Blast it... I’ve ne’er seen anythin’ alike it in all my seafarin’ years...” The male Roegadyn felt his palm betray him—his blade panged with a low clamor against the ground in awe, as his gaze climbed the monumental storm.

“Salvation...”

The chant dried out at a sudden notice. The raven-doffed figure gravely glared onto all those of attendance. For once, his voice thundered louder than the eviscerating storm towering behind him, and the content of his decibels carried powerfully ‘cross all ropes of wind.

“Hear me, Hyrtfyrdyn! This life of thine is forfeit. Weigh the feather, for it mustn’t be so—and to such end... Both of thee shall see the dawn of morrow. Rallyrwyda—ne’er forget thine love for those thy heart lost... Will lose. Guide thy brother when I cannot. Rhotdornn... Through this life ye shan’t walk alone—in the company o’ Her wilst thou abide, and with the companionship o’ the Lady of the Golden Leaf wilst thou both grow. Calamities may come, new, blank pages shall follow—but now both of thee must cling to thine gifts. Keep thy grandfather close to heart.”

His eyes bore a unique radiance, resolute and stalwart in the eye of the storm. Both weapons he suddenly set aside, bending both knees—and pressing his palms together as he knelt.

“What gifts—Dornn, what is happening?” Rallyrwyda clearly took no fancy to this type of development.

“...Would that I could tell you.” Rhotdornn took a single step backwards, every nerve in his body chilled to the marrow of his bones. “Hold... That...” Suddenly, a possible answer presented itself—and possibly, what the figure meant by the word ‘gift.”

“Sister, brace yourself—we need t’—confound it! I need to tell you somethin’—“

The Raven sliced through the storm with a harsh word of command—and all of the aetherial reserve welled up within him ignited—beginning to burn. His gaze shot skywards, and a solitary cry echoed through the heavens.

“Words o’ healing, words of woe—chants of safekeeping my command now make.”

Briefly he knelt in pause, eyes gaining focus within the vault of the swirling clouds.

“Limit Break—Final Prayer!”

Clouds began to wax around the raging torrents—the crown of the storm beset by gloom and smog as the murky sky churned. The eye of the storm took centre stage.

From the focus point of his glare, a pillar of light ripped through the heavens. Guided by his very presence, it soared—through the heavens it punctured, and through the throat of the hurricane it fended. The gut of the storm ruptured with light from within—through the dense coat of welling water reflected a layer of light—a proper pillar within the belly of the calamity. The beam then began to spread, swallowing the entirety of the scene in a brilliant setting...

The Raven’s head sank the droplet of a single tear suddenly shattering against the drywood beneath. The sliver of a whisper chanced upon the ear of none, for all of present consciousness dared not pry their eyes off of the rampage before them.

“Undying is mine regret... Unending, this lament. From thy slumber you must wake anew, to grant Light unto where darkness hath drawn forth.”

 Threads of golden brilliance began to fade away—stripped of luminous, honeyed texture, in an exchange for a radiant, silver grace. Where he may’ve been robbed of it—hope returned to the Raven’s emerald blink.

“...Thank you. Forgive me.”

A second presence began to strut across the relentless, lulling sea blanket. Aetherial in manifestation, it demonstrated unfathomable ease in plucking away the accumulated aether—and spilling it across the tempestuous, watery grave.

The prism of silver light erupted at once from within—needles of raw brilliance collapsing through the hurricane’s walls.

In heaps it roamed across the sea—swallowing any and all it chanced upon by whim of fortune.

...And whatever followed in its aftermath, is history.

History...

...And the hint of a feminine phantom within the heart of the storm, her aether beating with unquenchable scorn.

[Involved & mentioned]: @ladyrivienne | @werfollow | @rallyrwyda

[rhotdornn]

“Petty? Perhaps--but you meant pretty, mon chéri.”

Finally I get to pay respects to Rally now that her IC class is out at long last. Rapiers are her trademark symbol, and because of this, I will likely see an increased interest in continuing her progression with Red Mage out.

Though, I am contemplating creating a side RP blog for her as well. Maybe it’ll attract some interactions with the refined pirate fencer.

[rhotdornn]

The Blaze doth never relent.

[rhotdornn]

Out of the ever growing a hundred million and one that I’ve met. There’s no one else like you in this world, on that I’d bet. Though there may be others that can make emotions stir within my head. None of them come close to what I’m feeling now that you have said… No matter what the hurdles standing in our way. No matter what the hour, if it’s night or day. You’re one out of a hundred million, but I’m still feelin’… Stronger than ever before. And if they choose to still not understand, Or even if they think we’re hopeless children and, Even if a hundred million turn against us. You’re still the one forever more. Even if the only place where we can reconvene is in another world, I still want nothing else out of a hundred million and one. As long as I have you I know that I’ve won. You are the one. Out of a hundred million. You light my flame. When I’m with you, this is more than just a game.

[ I’m so glad I finally found something close to her singing voice, so this felt appropriate. ]

[rhotdornn]

By Autumn forged, by Fire reborn.

[rhotdornn]

[Physical Attraction Levels -- Rallyrwyda Hyrtfyrwyn]

[Physical Attraction Levels]

These values are based purely on first look attraction. Any of them can change depending on the individuals attitude.

💔 Non-existent 💛💛 No Preference 💝💝💝 Date-worthy 💘💘💘💘 Fancied 💗💗💗💗💗 Preferred

ROEGADYN

♂ Sea Wolf Men : 💗💗💗💗💗 ♀ Sea Wolf Women : 💔 ♂ Hellsguard Men : 💘💘💘💘 ♀ Hellsguard Women : 💔

HYUR

♂ Highlander Men :   💝💝💝 ♀ Highlander Women :  💔 ♂ Midlander Men :   💔 ♀ Midlander Women : 💔

ELEZEN

♂ Wildwood Men : 💛💛 ♀ Wildwood Women : 💔 ♂ Duskwight Men : 💛💛 ♀ Duskwight Women : 💔

MIQO’TE

♂ Seeker Men :  💛💛 ♀ Seeker Women :   💔 ♂ Keeper Men : 💛💛 ♀ Keeper Women : 💔

  LALAFELL

♂ Plainsfolk Men : 💔 ♀ Plainsfolk Women : 💔 ♂ Dunesfolk Men : 💔 ♀ Dunesfolk Women : 💔

AU RA

♂ Xaela Men : 💝💝💝 ♀ Xaela Women : 💔 ♂ Raen Men : 💔 ♀ Raen Women : 💔

Figured I’d do one of these for Rally, given how little content of her I post. Not so sure ‘bout doing it for other characters, or whether to include her opinions on each of her choices.

Also, if anyone hasn’t done one of these, consider yourselves tagged--tag me back so that I can read!

[rhotdornn]

[Roleplay Information -- Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn]

B A S I C S

Name: Rhotdornn Etarellion Hyrtfyrsyn

Nicknames: Lion (common and most used one), Estel (reserved for use only for those who know him really, really, really well), Rhot, Dornn

Age: Inbetween his early twenties/early thirties

Nameday:  13th Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon

Species: Roegadyn – Native Aerslaent Sea Wolf

Gender: Male

Orientation: Heterosexual

Profession: Company commissioner, Second-In-Command, crafter-specialist, engineer, Monk and bladeskill tutor

P H Y S I C A L   A S P E C  T S

Hair: Crimson with tangerine highlights

Eyes: A deeper red

Skin: Albino pale

Tattoos/scars: One very visible scar across his right eye. Twin scars across the left portion of his jaw, intruding his cheekbone from his beard. Warpaint around his eyes, shaded with red. A curvy sickle mark painted underneath his left eye. Massive scar atop his breast. Scars across his wrists and the rest are haphazardly scattered across his body. Tattoos: an emblem of a rose with blackened thorns, a flurry of strange markings of Aerslaent among the notable few.

F A M I L Y

Siblings: Rhotdhem Hyrtfyrsyn, Rallyrwyda Hyrtfyrwyn, Bitter Bear, Furious Gryphon, Zirnwyda Hyrtfyrwyn

Parents: Hyrtfyr Syhrahtynsyn, claimer of their own little island and his wife,  Zirnthubyr Usynundwyn, an incredibly learned and powerful mage.

Grandparents: Etarellion and Etchellion Hyrtfyrdyn

Misc Relatives:  Lots of them, but most dwell back on their remote island, so the count is truly lost.

Pets: Sternoss, his faithful but retired chocobo, Galladross, his loyal Gryphon mount, Rannaskar, his mischevious Gryphon hatchling and Ferryar, his lovable little fluffy red panda among a few to name.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Martial prowess–being a trained Monk and a swordsman has allowed him to hone his dexterity, grow far more nimble than one might expect from one of his stature and strike with speed and precision–packing quite a punch. Also quite trained in handling a firearm. On the less combative side, his talents lie with engineering (though not quite as good at it is he as his twin is) and crafting(a seasoned shipwright and blacksmith). Expert behind the wheel of a ship, be it on the Sea of water or clouds. Loves to cook, which has allowed him to practice the arts for a longer while now.

Hobbies: Crafting, reading, meditating, eating, writing and singing.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait:  Compassion. If you chip his walls down, a whole other person appears beyond the gruff, rough and prickly exterior–one that beggars belief, at that.

Worst Negative Trait: Difficult to get along with at first. He lets his goals and motivations overtake his decisions, rarely going out of his own protocol or making exceptions as to how he handles his affairs. Loud bark. Prone to bending the truth about himself at times.

L I K E S

Colors: Deep colors–red, black being his scheme, but also includes warmer colors such as orange, yellow, a shade of colder white and even blue.

Smells: The breeze of the sea, the breath of the mountains high above the clouds, the scent of the forest in both spring and autumn.

Textures: Smooth, warm sand, velvet, mahogany

Drinks: Wine (preferably red), Flamelick (a brand from his homeland akin to whiskey), Ale and occasionally, rum.

O T H E R  D E T A I L S

Smokes: Occasionally. (What he smokes, is a whole other question.)

Drinks: Within moderation… Usually.

Drugs: Occasionally. (Same thing with the part from Smokes here.)

Mount Issuance:  Possibly. After the Calamity, everything went to hell.

Been Arrested?: Once. Willingly turned himself in.

Tagged by: @ceremiescorner ♥! Thank you for the tag!

Tagging: @ladyrivienne, @diregate, @ave-xiv, @xander-ura, @purple-eel, @leroymurrand, @adellennehocoleux, @littlemisssoonawoona, great-grey-raven

[rhotdornn]

[Character Basics: Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn]

The Basics:

🍁 Name: Rhotdornn Etarellion Hyrtfyrsyn 🍁 Age: Between his mid twenties/thirties 🍁 Deity: Althyk 🍁 One good trait: Kindness 🍁 One bad trait: Wrath

Habits:

🍃 One bad habit: Rhotdornn can often come off as quite blunt, grouchy and downright offensive to newly-met folk--save for a few exceptions. This has caused a lot of potential contacts to shy away from him, not without good reason, of course.

🍃 One good habit: Lion’s dedication to working his form out. There is rarely a morn or eve when the Captain leaves his performance-honing sessions off for another occasion--and even when it comes to pass, it is accompanied by a bitter taste. This has resulted in the sturdy, robust physique the ginger bears to date.

🍃 One habit they can’t break: Privacy bubble. Dornn’s own sports a humble radius, yet he is fiercely protective of it. He does not wish for strangers--or even closer acquaintances--to meddle within his breathing space, and as such, will undergo many undertakings to prevent such from happening, be it by peaceful or more brash approaches.

🍃 One they’ve broken: A good portion of his anti-social, standoffish attitude. Previously, he’d rarely associate any person as his friend, despite what the other party might think--acquaintances at best would he tag them as. Nowadays, he’s grown a tad more relaxed, but none the less wary for it.

🍃 What they’re afraid of: Loss of control. Powerlessness to act on his own behalf, as well as lacking the ability to protect other souls. The Calamity.

Family:

🌱 Their parents names: Hyrtfyr Syhrahtynsyn & Zirnthubyr Usynundwyn

🌱  Their siblings names: Rhotdhem Etchellion Hyrtfyrsyn, Rallyrwyda Hyrtfyrwyn, Bitter Bear (and possibly more)

🌱 Other relations: Bleiacht Eyriankarwyn would be an... Associate of his, to say the least. Or so it goes.

🌱 Favorite childhood memory: Sparring with a rosy-cheeked, strawberry-freckled fisher lass in his childhood. They had an affinity of constantly tumbling around together by the wave-gnawed shoreline, back when Rhotdornn was far, far less doom-and-gloom and more of a free, thinking, creative spirit. Their fencing would produce countless of splintered and broken wooden swords, and to avoid ringing up his busy father for more, the resourceful, pale-skinned Rainlander would develop his own interest in the trade of both carpentry and blacksmithing--and from there his love would spring for both crafting and...A subtle crush, for her.

🌱 Favorite childhood toy: A particular wooden blade close to his heart, bearing the etching of two initials upon its ‘razor.’

🌱 Embarrassing story: Due to the striking resemblance he shares with his twin, the Roegadyn has been known to end up in a hickey from time to time due to his brother’s more... Ambitious choices--usually leading up to Rhotdhem taking up the part of his brother instead of shouldering the blame, which, well... Did not always end out all nice and sunshine, for either--especially since the younger twin only grew greater in his ambition for mischief during his puberty. 🌱 Favorite family member: Currently--as much as he loves to repay him greed, Rhotdornn bears a secret, or not-so-secret fondness of his younger twin, acting on the instinctive part of an older brother when opportunity calls eagerly. 🌱  A story about that family member: Rhotdhem, or Etchellion as a few call him, earned his middle name much akin to Rhotdornn inheriting Etarellion’s name--after their grandfather, whilst Dornn took after their great grandfather. The current twins, despite their polar differences and clashing personalities work extremely well as a tag team on missions. The saying on their homeland went that if you wanted something done--you’d call the Twins for the job. No matter was complex or stealthy enough to deter their ambitions and potential--and where one lacked, the other would fill in his faults, and vice versa. Not that you’d hear that nowadays from them, save for perhaps a handful of folk in Eorzea.

What they prefer:

🌿 Coffee or tea? Both. Generally, however--might lean ever so slightly more towards tea since it is easier to prepare, and healthier in his opinion. Also, flavor. 🌿 Showering in the day or night? If he’s scrubbing off indoors, whether at his apartments or some guest chambers, he prefers the night. Gives him silence and room to think. The only exception would be having to get up for work early, thus making use of a morning shower--outdoors, however, he prefers the day to sink himself under a stream of water or a bubbling pool. 🌿 Taking baths or taking showers? If he’s got the luxury of time? Baths. But that rarely happens, so he usually resorts to showering quickly. 🌿 Writing or reading? He tends to get immersed in both, but reading is something that holds his heart captive just a bit more. 🌿 Platonic or romantic love? Platonic. Without playing pretend at the latter, he hasn’t had a genuine spark of love felt within his heart ever since the Calamity. 🌿 Iced tea or lemonade? Lemonade. 🌿 Ice cream or smoothies? Smoothies. 🌿 Cupcakes or cake? Cake. Gives him room to decorate and fill it himself if he’s the one making it. 🌿 Beach or mountains? Both--he’s seen enough of them equally in his life, but as a man of the Seas, he leans more towards beaches.

Tagged by these lovely sprouts: @ladyrivienne, @moonsandwolf, @nalukaixiv

tagging: @ave-xiv, @diregate, @xander-ura, @fair-fae, and anyone who wishes to take this journey of writing stuff.

[rhotdornn]

Gave a visual do-over to Rallyrwyda--as well as being gifted this fantastic gown by a dear friend! All in all, the makeover is almost done, and I am much and more satisfied with it... Only one part remains to be done--the Lightning hair.

May start using those gem-tattoos on their foreheads as a sort of family birthmark for the female Hyrtfyrdyn.

[rhotdornn]

1.) M is for -- Magnificence

I do love my sword baby to bits and pieces.