Ardyn Cadeyrn Aodhán Phoenix Adravendi

The opportunity to attend this festival was one he couldn’t pass up, and Ardyn had dressed for the occasion, draped in a sash of iridescent black cloth that flashed touches of purple and blue in its folds, tucked regally at either end into his armor, which he’d polished and buffed to an oiled gleam. His ink-black coat was groomed, fire crackling through it with each movement, mane and tail dripping in various gemstone beads flashing their inner light, gold and silver beads glittering in his personal fiery glow. Feathers fluttered from where they’d been braided into the long hairs of his mane and tail as well, flashes of iridescent blue, black, bright jay feathers, and Lyr’s own glowing black and white feathers. May as well be presentable. The event wasn’t held by any of the packs, but a group of coydogs, and he thought he might have heard stories about such a group holding a tournament in the past at some point. His only disgruntlement came from his own face. He’d been itching for a while, now, and shedding madly, and when he’d had his mother and sisters take a look at him, they’d shown him his reflection to show a roaning of glowing fur in fire and ice tones flecking his face in a vague, as yet indistinct pattern. It was hard not to constantly lift a long-toed fore-paw and scratch heavily. His mother had soothed his worries, telling him of how she’d gone through a full-body experience of this very itch and shedding, and her new, glowing coat had replaced her shimmering, light-free white fur, and a marking had grown in over her left eye. It seemed he was experiencing such an anomaly now. At least it wasn’t his whole body… He strolled through the festivities, eyes widening at the sight of a huge beast that looked like a hairless mammoth. An elephant, if he remembered his father’s lessons right. He knew several of Valhalla’s wolves had come, too, and he occasionally caught glimpses of a familiar face among the throngs. Lyr floated on the thermals above him, occasionally dipping and looping for the sheer fun of it as he followed the young king through the festivities. Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think

Sanngriðr had come by her brother's side. She'd come to support him, and to learn more about the residents of their new world. What did they celebrate? Who did they celebrate? Maybe this was their midsummer... a tradition that Sanngriðr would admit that she'd missed dearly. The honey mead had flown in spades, in those days. The honey mead, and the ceremonial herbs that had been burned in the massive central firepits, seemed to put everyone in a good mood. Sanngriðr could only speculate why. Well, she had her suspicions, especially knowing the antics of the priestess now. Damn, she should have asked Iðunn for some of the good shit before they left home. It was doubtful that she'd brought any along, not having any pockets, and all. No matter! She'd find a way to manage, and have fun on her own. Sanngriðr's steps were high and confident as she broke away from her brother's side. He'd gotten distracted by something, probably someone he'd gotten into a scrape with or something... whatever. Brothers and their brother things. Straightening her posture, Sanngriðr looked out over the crowd. Maybe she could find Iðunn and see what she was doing? Alas, amidst the throng of wolves, it wasn't much use. It looked like the valkyrie was on her own, at least for now. It would do her well to be more social. But socializing was hard, especially when she'd grown unused to it lately. There had been so many other things to do. No, she resolved. She'd get to know the culture. She'd get to know the people of this strange new land. It seemed more and more like they weren't moving on from it, so they'd need to at least consider assimilating. Couldn't keep to themselves forever. They would need to get to know everyone else, and this was part of pulling her own weight. A duty. At least, it was easier to think of it that way. Far easier to think of it as a duty than anything else. Her gaze landed on a familiar face. Damn, if Iðunn or Víðarr caught sight of that raven, she'd never be able to tear them away. Still, if she was going to be social, it was easier to start off with someone who wasn't a complete stranger. Putting on the friendliest face she could muster, Sanngriðr approached Ardyn. It was a friendly sound that came from her throat, a greeting. "You dressed up," a bit of a smile playing on her face, glimmering in her gaze. It seemed that he'd risen to the occasion, and he was here to be seen. Sanngriðr's tone wasn't one of mocking, but appreciation. It seemed that he really was a sight to behold. SANNGRIÐR Kom och hata mig.

Ardyn Cadeyrn Aodhán Phoenix Adravendi

There had been several familiar faces he’d glimpsed already, aside from Valhallans, and one came into sight that had spotted him and chosen to engage with him. Though the dark-coated woman smiled, the observant young King could tell it wasn’t an expression she was accustomed to, though it was genuine, touching her eyes. He tipped his head in acknowledgement, glancing down at himself with a faint grin. “I did. Y’never know, might catch someone’s eyes, and regardless, it’s fun to dress up a bit now and then.” Lyr noticed his halt in progress and dropped to land on the tall man’s withers, beak preening through the shorter, rakish waves of mane closer to Ardyn’s head, putting a piece in place here and there, side-eyeing the older wolf with one glance. The King cast his eyes around, smiling at the atmosphere as he remarked, “My Pack will be holding a festival in Autumn, possibly. I might have to take a few pages from these fellows’ books.” Ardyn returned his gaze to the woman, asking, "How goes it since the deer hunt, by the way?" Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think

Maybe it was the heathen in her, but it hadn't struck Sanngriðr that she should even consider dressing up for an occasion like this one. Imagine... dressing! What a concept. Aside from her brother's armor, and likely soon a set of her own, the valkyrie didn't really know what else she'd put on. Come the winter, it would likely be necessary for her to craft a cape of furs, something to keep warm. But for now... no, party clothes weren't really something she knew of. That, and in the summer? It seemed like it would be far too warm. Still, it was interesting to see the spirit that the others would get into. She was polite, curious in the way that she addressed Ardyn. Catch someone's eye, that wasn't a figure of speech that Sanngriðr was used to. Still, it made at least a bit of sense. "Whose ah, eye are you hoping to catch?" It was a light tone, and her own gaze cast upon the carnival at large. The hustle and bustle of it all... it certainly was a lot. The raven rejoined them where they sat, and Sanngriðr could only hope that her family hadn't seen him. The fixation on omens, on symbols, on all of it-- they'd never leave her alone to do her job. Gods, she loved them but sometimes they were a lot of work. From the corner of her eye, she caught the gaze of the bird as it rested upon her. "Who does your autumn festival honor?" It was conversational. If his pack's autumn festival was something that could take after the one that spread before them, Sanngriðr already knew that it was far different. Still, it would be best to learn about their customs, about the ways of the packs here. Their fall festival would be a far smaller, far quieter affair. Hopefully by next summer they could have a Midsummer of their own, though. Gods, she could hope. Midsummer was the best of all, when it came to their faith. The very thought of it gave the valkyrie's heart wings. Right, eye contact. Sanngriðr's gaze returned to the man beside her, nodding once. "It goes," the words came with a smile, though. Things were progressing. She offered her foreleg, showing the man the area where the doe's hooves had scraped before. "All healed," the skin had knit back together well, and no scabbing remained. Still, it would be some time before the fur grew back over the jagged pink line. "And you?" Right. Manners. Sanngriðr was at least trying her best when it came to the manners thing. SANNGRIÐR Kom och hata mig.

Ardyn Cadeyrn Aodhán Phoenix Adravendi

At her light query, he flashed a grin, a shrug animating along one shoulder as a paw lifted, pads up. “I have no idea yet. A great Queen, I suppose. Fiercely loyal to her pack, her mate, her children… Gentle on the outside but with a molten steel core of strength and integrity. Beauty is a bonus.” A chuckle rode the last words, another shrug lifting one shoulder. His eyes roved over the passing figures. If there was someone like that, he doubted he’d come across her here. The question brought a hum, head tilting as he considered. “If my mother has her way, myself in a coronation feast. I’m just happy to have it be an overall celebration of life, and hope that it won’t be soon that we have another “Long Night” of hell.” He studied the leg she proffered, nodding in approval at the progress the leg had made in healing. Wolves were resilient; Cairo had fallen off a mountain and survived, with broken legs and ribs, and was back to full strength and hunting well after it all. A long time ago, now, it would have been a death sentence. He chuckled softly at her query, admitting, “I’m well. Settling into my role as King. I’m lucky I had an extra year to train. My mother became our pack’s leader as a yearling due to circumstances. This carnival is a good bit of fun before I get down to the nitty-gritty.” Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think

He's hoping for a queen of sorts, and Sanngriðr listens for a long moment. There's interest here, as it seems he's hoping for... a wife? What a concept. What was marriage like, here, and what did it all entail? What made a good wife in the eyes of this land and its people? Loyalty, strength, all things that are fiercely held. Sure, they're well prized for a reason. Integrity too, though there were some things that were tempered with chaos. It's a hard word to define. The joke would, in fact, be on Ardyn-- Sanngriðr considers herself most of those things, but a valkyrie is a prize that's hard fought and hard won. Most of those things, aside from the last. Who needs beauty when you have a mouth filled with teeth, and nerves stronger than Damascus steel. Coronation feast, the words come. He'd taken up some sort of mantle, had become a king himself. "A feast sounds like a good time," the valkyrie grinned, her head tossing. Coronation, what a wild thought. She sits beside the newly appointed king, rakish, relaxed. "Our fall festival honors Freyr, to thank him for the bountiful summers." While Ardyn hadn't asked, she'd volunteer that much. Her people were awfully fond of their parties, after all. "What is your... nitty-gritty?" Sanngriðr's head quirked to the side. "What is it you'll need to get to doing?" Would things be busy for the young king? Probably. Hell, they'd be busy for any king, she had to think, with winter fast approaching. The valkyrie thinks too, of her brother, and the things they'll need to set in motion to be prepared for their winter. Ah, it would come in time. "Come, let me get you a drink. We celebrate your crown and mourn your freedom," the joke is light, and Sanngriðr is grinning. Already she was on her feet and ready to move in search of alcohol somewhere on these grounds. What was a party without drinks, after all? SANNGRIÐR Kom och hata mig.

Ardyn Cadeyrn Aodhán Phoenix Adravendi

He wasn’t privy to the woman's thoughts, and chuckled lightly at her spoken words, nodding and expanding upon that thread of conversation with, “It is; the festival my mother held when I was a pup just past six months was expansive. It helps having Nomads for allies. We had a tournament and a race, as well as hunting and healing contests, just to name a few.” His ears took in the description of her culture’s own kinds of festival, noting the word ‘our’. Perhaps she meant it as her whole culture, or perhaps she wasn’t the only one of her family or group to be found on Boreas. He tucked that tidbit away, muzzle dipping in acknowledgement and considering his own culture’s deities for the one that matched most closely to that patronage. “Among my family it would be Orianis, though the Nomads have another name for him. God of the hunt and patron of hunters and those who love cooking food or raising animals for food. It’s always interesting to hear of other cultural beliefs, though.” At her query he snorted his amusement, adding, “Announcing it at large to the pack, for one. I’m letting them adjust before I announce what I’ll be doing in terms of rank titles, and the like, seeing where they might want to go in life, or if they want to leave altogether.” His head cocked, and he added, “That and planning our first bear hunt of the season.” He rose at her offer, half-smiling as he cautioned, “I thank you, though I won’t have much; I’m fighting in the tournament and it wouldn’t be fair to my fighting partner or our opponents to be drunk off my paws and trip us into a loss, and them out of a fair win.” The last came with a grinning laugh. She’d loosened into jokes and an actual grin, and he let her lead, glancing up as Lyr returned to the sky to keep an eye on the packmates that had come to the festivities. Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think

Sanngriðr is bold, brassy, brilliant. She can't help herself. There's something about her, something strange but wonderful all the same. She's a different sort of woman, at least from the ones that she's met. The valkyrie suspects that she and Róta both will always be this way. A pair of fighters, a pair of shieldmaidens. They are the choosers of the slain, after all. A different sort, yes. Different. Strange. Wonderful, though not easy to stomach. Neither of them has to be. It's probably for that reason, among many others, that they remain a pair of maidens. Two of a kind, but different and wild. Allies, the nomads. He spoke of them now, and the valkyrie nodded softly, more to herself than anything else. Their patron for the festival seemed far different than her own, but it was all so interesting to learn. There was no harm in learning, right? Listening, learning, and taking in as much as she could. Anything could help her later, as they settled into Boreas. Absolutely anything. Sanngriðr is observant, after all. She'd learn. She'd grow. Things would come together in time. In all, the valkyrie is still very much wild. "Ah, you also hunt bears!" The grin that played on her face was one that edged toward wild. The bear hunts, they required guts. You know what they say about guts? No guts, no glory. There was so much glory in hunting bears. "Our people hunt a bear as the height of Midsommar festival," a festival that would last several days, as long as there's enough alcohol to soak the party, but she'd leave that part out. They'd cull a bear, and to wear its pelt was the greatest honor of all. A hunt... gods how she loved the hunts when they all moved in time, a well-greased machine. Those were the best days. Ardyn said he wouldn't drink much, considering that he wanted to be in his right mind for the tournament. A wildness danced in Sanngriðr's gaze, her head tossing. "You tell me that they fight sober here?" Disbelief colored her tone, only a bit played up for the theatrics of it all. Had she ever charged into battle without a little help from the gods themselves? Never. Neither Sanngriðr or her mother before her. A little help... a lot of help, sometimes, depending on the battle itself. "Can't imagine it," she's relaxed, another toss of her broad head as they make their way through the carnival itself. "I'll have to cheer for you, unless you fight my brother." Sanngriðr muses, stepping away from the alpha to grab a pair of mead glasses and returning moments later. Gently offering one to Ardyn, and settling back to her own space. "Skål," the valkyrie declares, holding her glass aloft. It was a good evening, after all. SANNGRIÐR Kom och hata mig.