Norse
Pet Name: Norse
Owner: Apache
Theme / Type: Baby Jinx
Born: October 31, 2012
Gender: Female
MisticPal Name: Wanderlust
MisticPal Age: 4394 Days
Battle Portal Stats
Hit Points: 22 / 22
Strength: 20
Defense: 0
Speed: 20
Intellect: 18
Misticpower: 1
Battles Won: 0
Battles Lost: 0
| Attached Weapons | |
Books Read
Books Read: 3/373 [ View Books ]
1. Book of Dreadful Prophecies
2. Guide to Wand Care
3. How to Scare Away Nightmares
2. Guide to Wand Care
3. How to Scare Away Nightmares
Exotic Foods Eaten
Foods Eaten: 0/1254 [ View Foods ]
The fruits of world lay at my fingertips, just waiting to be plucked and savored! And I will try them all, or at least as many as I can.
From familiar woods to far-away mountains, from bustling towns to forgotten castles, I will know them all! No place guarded or lost will elude my desires.
I am myself the freezing gales! I permeate and experience all, carried aloft by the frenzied wind and held high by the whims of oceans old!
With the world at my front and the abyss at my back, tempting fate in an uneasy, sporadic dance, I am free.
Eventually the great winter will descend in sheets of white to humble us, but for now I will watch the leaves fall and gather, while I await the darkness.
I bear with me through whatever might be encountered, a wild heart marked with the essence of a life lived well.
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"I feel as if profoundness lies just beyond words. These ideas are waiting to be born, but here I am, speechless."
ID No. 7F
Norse; "of or relating to ancient Scandinavia or the language of its inhabitants"
impulsive || unrestrained || agile || fearless
"The Adventurer"
Norse is a tough, wild adventurer who aspires to explore every inch of the world. She approaches all challenges with enthusiasm, and is often only seen as a blur racing towards her destination. Not that she is so obsessed with destinations; she finds that there is no thing better than getting lost.
Though she loves all places, the ones that truly make her heart sing are the ones that lie far to the north. Any place blanketed in snow, she is a friend to and always is not so eager to leave, though in the end she never stays for long. She often dreams of falling asleep buried deep under the snow.
Norse is quite abrasive for such a little thing. She tends to be rather crass and belligerent, and has never shown any inclination towards a desire for friendship or companionship. She does not like to tie herself to people, though she finds she is unusually good at making enemies. Nor does she know how to back down -- she has been known to challenge anyone that gets in her way.
She is strikingly bold, with a little bit of insanity thrown in. She has no reservations about her physical capabilities and will throw herself into any situation without concern for her well-being. She is wholly confident in herself, especially when it comes to climbing.
She identifies most with wild animals. The only thing she will slow down for are the wild creatures of the world. She can lay down and observe their interactions, lifestyles, habits for hours on end. Even these though she is not particularly interested in interacting with. If approached by a wild animal, she will usually flee.
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Born to live the winter
on and revering of the chill
she'll roam and romp and kick her heels,
as long as one can, while the bright lives in the sky
rejoiced with her,
danced with her,
anyway, as much as faraway dreams can dance.
We hear the wild things in us
and flinch, too incongruously,
but if we do not answer
these things will seek us out whether
we expect them to or not.
See the light there, in the trees,
monsters of day, yet heralders of the dawn
come to bring about the coldest things,
and teach anyone who would bother to listen
not to grit and bear it,
but to live and love and thrive
and to understand the vitality
that harshness can inspire.
She hears it, fixates desperately on it,
purposeless yet with intuition,
and ancient roots grow deep
she has dug to find them.
Peace settles, warms the chills,
lost in the wild black cold,
but without fear or trepidation,
a kind of indescribable perfection, elation
for she knows that she is
finally, after birth and rebirth,
and too many deaths,
there she is, finally,
home.
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Adventure was heralded by the rising of a bright and full moon. When moonlight cascaded from behind the clouds and brushed the tips of her fur, she awoke.
She rose from a nap that had lasted too long and stretched her stiff and aching muscles. A yawn breached her reluctant maw. Upon seeing the great watcher in the sky she grinned, gathered what things she had brought with her, and went off a-trekking through the wilderness.
She traipsed in and out of shadows, admiring how the silver light seemed to pulse and waft over her.
The landscape was quite barren. It was littered with rocks and rubble and many tufts of tough and hardy grasses. In the day it was shades of yellow and gray, but in the night everything melted into a beautiful shade of mercury. She crested over strewn rocks that collected over the edge of a bluff.
Below in the valley she could see there was more life. Grass grew more readily and little crawling things disturbed the blades here and there.
She had not set herself a destination before now, but now that she could see the terrain she became fixated on a point far off in the valley. A single tree grew there, and though it was obviously a dead thing for she could see that it bore no leaves, she was intrigued nonetheless. There were no things here that were known for growing very tall.
She thought of climbing down, it was better practice after all, but the cliffside had a steep concave face and it seemed that the rocks were loose and gravelly.
Oh well. She was still tired anyway, it wouldn't hurt anything to not use up her energy so early. So she lifted her wings from her sides, stretched them out, and leapt, ground scattering from her claws, from the edge of earth to the throng of sky.
The wind was cool and soft as she drifted effortlessly downwards. She did not work to stay aloft when gravity pulled the ground towards her. The rippling prairie eagerly greeted her appearance; likewise she listened to the sounds of wind through a sea of grass with much appreciation.
She set towards the twisted tree with not as much vigor as she usually possessed. A full moon always seemed to encourage in her sleepiness and staticity. She was not surprised when she was enveloped in yet another yawn.
It was easy going. The ground was flat and dry and while the grass was tall, she managed to continue at an easy pace. But as she began to get closer to the tree, she noticed something seemed a bit off. She cocked her head and squinted.
While everything was draped in light, the tree was steeped in shadow.
When she was several paces away from the thing, she stood and listened. The wind raced across the valley. It disturbed the grass in waves.
But the gnarled branches of the tree did not so much as sway.
How peculiar, she thought. She barred her haste, stepping lightly and with precision. She was in no hurry. Briefly she entertained the idea of turning around.
But she was already next to it. She fell in the shadow it cast and her feet seemed colder for it.
She brushed a finger against the bark of the trunk -- and drew back soot.
Oh, no wonder it doesn't shine. But that doesn't explain its reluctance to bend to the wind. So she laid her things near its roots and started to claw and climb her way up the lonely black tower.
She was only a little ways up before the entire entity shifted. She scrabbled to hold on, suddenly off balance. The thing underneath her groaned and seemed to stretch. Mustering her strength she leapt and bound higher, trying to get out of the mass of branches, but instead she found herself caught and tangled in its wooden web. There had not been so many branches before, it had seemed, but now she could not break free! Struggling only seemed to entangle her further.
She let out a howl, not one of fear, but of frustration, and yelled, "What! I don't mean to disturb you! Stop or I'll be crushed!"
The deep rumbling turned almost into a roar. The branches started whipping back and forth. And suddenly all around she felt a terrible and suffocating anger. The tree erupted in rage, its limbs burned hot and fierce. She was cut and battered and knocked around, all the while unable to get free.
Worst of all, the thinner limbs started to crack and split and wrap around her. It grabbed her by her wrists and waist and twisted and winded.
It squeezed her, eliciting a terrified gurgle from her throat. She bit and tore and broke away some of the weaker branches, for they were brittle in their state, but there were too many. She could not fend them all off, and she could not shake herself free of the entrapment.
In one horrible second, she started to suffocate. Her vision blurred. She huffed and howled what little she could. Terror enveloped her. She almost gave up.
But then it started to rain.
It pattered sparsely at first, then quickly in heavy fat drops. As it fell it began to wash away the ash from the tree.
Everything at once stilled. The branches stopped their flailing and seemed to fall away, returning to more recognizable patterns. Norse, no longer held in its grip, found herself slipping. She scrambled for purchase but gained none. Instead she fell, hitting the ground with a wet thud.
For a minute she didn't move. In her mind she was still trapped and for the life of her she just couldn't breathe. Her sides heaved with unnecessary effort. She was shaking, a horrible bone-deep shiver.
Rain washed over her like ice. Eventually she was shocked into reality, if only from the chill.
She rose, unsteady and a little more than nauseous. She glared and planted herself on all fours, letting out a rattling, high-pitched roar of her own. A belated response to the roar she felt echoing in her marrows, when the tree became enraged.
She stood for a moment, daring for something else to happen.
But the tree did not so much sway.
She walked tentatively up, refusing to run fearfully away, and gathered her things that sat by the trunk. Over the sound of the rain, she could swear she heard something sigh. As if it were relieved by the rain.
What an angry thing, she thought, and turned. The rain was short-lived, it had already turned to mist, and would soon cease falling completely. The moon was only partly hidden behind clouds.
She walked away, somehow dignified, reveling in each breath she took, and thought one last thing to herself.
I forgive you.
After that she thought little of the encounter, continuing on in her journey unfazed. She would not let something rule her, something consume her, the way the tree had tried to do. Whether that be physically, or through her mind late at night, when she might be overwhelmed with terror and hate.
Later, when she would return to familiar woods draped in sheets of snow, she would stop to think of what kind of terror could push such a passive thing to violence.
Something evil, she decided, something evil.
~
Norse belongs to Apache.
Boxed Baby on 11/25/12!
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