#the hyrtfyrdyn

[rallyrwyda]

“Because you just can not let your siblings outshine you.”

The highly-coveted RDM coat and blade are at long last here, completing her main IC wardrobe and her overall aesthetic--Twelve know she wouldn’t let Dornn hog the screenshot spotlight for long.

[rhotdornn]

[The Autumnsflame Estate]

Well, guess who’s stuck in decorating hell from now on out.

Managed to nab myself a Medium house on Balmung, and now its lawn is done? I think? I’m out of item slots so it better be done.

I can’t put into words how good this ‘endgame’ feels--a small slice of land just for yourself. I’ll be looking into decorating it further once I acquire acceptable ideas and the funds to realize them.

Planning to make a RP venue out of this one partially, so stay tuned until further notice.

[rhotdornn]

😏

No caption necessary except 😂

[rhotdornn]

                          [T H E  H Y R T F Y R S Y N]

Y’want the job done?

We get it done.

Welcome to the Autumnsflame Estate.

Featuring the Lion twins--Dhem & Dornn, as well as the ever-fearsome Bitter Bear Hyrtfyrsyn.

[rhotdornn]

By Autumn forged, by Fire reborn.

[rhotdornn]

[The Hyrtfyrdyn]: | Furious Gryphon |

A proud Abalathian of the native stock, Furious Gryphon counts herself as one of the youngest Hyrtfyrdyn of Aerslaent. She, and her brother, Bitter Bear, rarely speak in-depth of their own origin--how they came to be from a land leagues away from their kith and kin is oft left in the shadows. Some speculate that their bond with the native Aerslaent clan is based on adoption, whilst other suggest a more biological connection. Currently, she acts as the Company representative and management staff of the Urikomi Commerce Free Company, handling business and accounting affairs.

Known for her durable temper, yet incredibly sharp, snarky and straightforward tongue, easy-going mood and keen wit and outwardly for her ghastly, haunting eyes, the female Hellsguard rarely leaves a conversation wanting for content. You’ll either love or loathe her--inbetweens are seldom, if not ever, seen.

In her spare time, her nose is oft buried in books... On top of more books... And strip enough of them out of her clutches, and you’ll likely find them to have been used as a facade--to guard whatever novel she was getting a good giggle out of, at that time. Do this persistently--while avoiding her scorn--and you might just chance upon an arcane scroll or two cautiously tucked away within the occasional pile...

[rhotdornn]

[Aesthetics of the Autumnsflame Estate]: Top Floor

Alternatively known as the Master Bedroom, Royal Springs and Captain’s Quarters.

[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]

[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]

For the meme: 💛 and one question for dad: "Why in the world does your eldest ARGUE WITH ME when I'm trying to keep him alive?!" Because that meeting would clearly go well.

“Eh? What in the hell is it now?”

💛  The Father

[Hyrtfyr Syhrahtynsyn– Chief of the Hyrtfyrdyn Clan]

[INTRO]: “A’right, let’s see… An audience with me then, was it? Might as well waste the time chatting it away, if no duties await.

Pirate of eld, proudly before ye. Seaman of decent renown, the sundering Shark o’ the Northern Empty. Bane o’ the Old World, howler against the tide, Sea Wolf through and through. Temper used t’ be a bit of an issue in me youth. The axe trade made quick work of sorting that out. Chieftain of the westernmost, remote island in the Archipelago of Aerslaent. Captain of the Ebonaft. Adored by both Maelstrom and Sharlayan. Decent with a saw, not too shabby with lumberwork. Shipwright, akin to my ancestors.

Husband to Zirnthubyr Usynundwynand none other, sire to many children–Rhotdornn, Rhotdhem, Rallyrwyda, Bitter Bear,–but you knew those already. Head of the Hyrtfyrdyn people, and all who beseech them on friendly affairs.

[QUESTION]: “…Argue, aye? Hrm… I will be of little use of you here, lass. Dornn inherited his flare from his Mother. I am responsible for his dense skull, yet it goes no further. His Mother’s fury is his very own, thus you best observe his behavior yourself.

Though.

His childhood was ripe with both peace and danger, yet ‘twas nowhere near a wholesome blissful period, if only by a hair. He was not spared one incident in his youth, involving loss, to put it blunt. I certainly hope that he no longer clings to his self-loathing, nonsensical retribution for an age-old matter. His stubbornness is an ill toxin when combined with his relentless protective habit. Would that I myself could’ve prevented it. No use thinking of it now, though. Hope has me believe that he grew up and out enough of his self-punishing ways. Aie, wonder has it as to what you’re up to, my stubborn bull of a boy…”

♥

[rhotdornn]

THORIN! ARAGORN!

[Thorin]: What have you lost that you wish to regain?

Ah, aye–Thorin Oakenshield, Lord of Thorin’s Hall beyond the cradle of the Blue Mountain. Staunch as the rock that covets the mountain, strong and as brazen as a bull mounting a chase after his prey.

What Rhotdornn has lost to the ages that he wishes to regain? His greatest goal, and equal heartthrob–his once-mighty vessel, the pride of his lifetime, the airship of the unfortunate pirate known in fear-mongering tell-tale as The Axis.

It is his prime goal and perhaps the most important tasks of all to find it if it is in good/decent health at all and be reunited with it, or to rebuild some semblance of it… Despite the fact that it’d lack the magic. All of the Hyrtfyrdyn children–his twin, his sister and his brother–built it with their own hands despite the naysay rattle of their guardians and other adults.

[Aragorn]: What is your heritage? Do you embrace or reject it? 

Of course ‘twould come up–the Ranger of the North, the Chief of the Dunedain folk. The sole character from whom Rhotdornn bases his core inspirations and multiple concepts of. Aragorn is very much the main influence that led into the creation of Rhotdornn’s character concept–from personality to combat proficiency, build and speech patterns–mainly due to the fact that the Writer™ is a gigantic Lord of The Rings nerd.

That–ahem–aside, his heritage. Being the firstborn of the Hyrtfyrsyn cradle, much and more weight rests upon Dornn’s brawny shoulders. His title is known to him, even if briefly and in scarce context–the Son of Autumn and Wearer of Its Flame, the bearer of the Hyrtfysyn emblem and the inheritor of his parents’ legacy. His family, however, is not without its own renown–his father rules over a petite, remote island on the Archipelago of Aerslaent, entirely their own; far from a vast and expansive kingdom, mind. It is such grounds upon which all children of the Autumn’s Flame congregate, share tales and generally dwell together in peace. It is not too isolated from the remainder of the Archipelago, yet only few ships ever venture towards it which aren’t accustomed and native to its wharf. His father passed a great deal of martial knowledge and practice onto his son, yet in contrast, his mother’s arcane mastery failed to spring to fruition within her legacy’s vessel. Rhotdornn does know that one day, the mission of his father he will see to an end–to what end, and what mission… Well, all will be disclosed in good time

🗡

[rhotdornn]