[ｃｒｕｍｐｌｅｄ ｗｉｎｇｓ]

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| Munin | Alsvin | Dain | Alsvinder | Jörmungandr | Ratatosk | Sleipnir | Nidhug |

The miðalda eight are all descendants of some of the fiercest and most courageous warhorses that ever graced hoof across the great expanse of Iceland. They have such high potential in their blood and quick thinking, intelligent, sharp minds that they refuse to be harbored unto their true master comes forward. Do you think you hold the value to be chosen by one of the miðalda? These descendants have been honored with pieces of armor worn by their great ancestors but are also adorned with a special uniqueness. They can excel at any discipline you chose, but just know that these descendants are a force to be reckoned with.

-miðalda horses cannot be bred to one another.
-They cannot pass on armor to their offspring but they can be called half/quarter descendants
-An icelandic horse name will give you a better shot at winning.
-You may try out for all the miðalda but you could only be chosen to be one steed's partner.






The day is here! The miðalda tolts have finally all appeared, and hope to grace everyone with their presence. These brave steeds are weary from their long travels, nothing a few days rest won't fix. But first, a feast! Time to dine, dance, celebrate and regale all within earshot with fantastical tales from distant lands!

To have a chance to win one of these tolts, complete at least the supplied form, including a story from the tolt's travel. Extras are encouraged, decorate those forms! Information on the houses can be used to supply ideas, but please be original!




Username: Vinson
Name: Róta
Gender: mare
Eye Color: firelit gold
Coat Color: grullo roan
Genetics: EE/aa/Dd/Rr

Foundation
Parents are Deceased
Dam was a graying bay roan splash. Aa/Ee/Gg/nSpl/Rr
Sire was a grullo. aa/Ee/Dd

Without bg
Without tack

[Vinson]

Username: Vinson
Name: Róta
Name Meaning: old norse ; sleet and storm
Gender: mare
Halter Color: same palette as the armor, gold buckles
Personality: (156 words)

Róta - the brash whirlwind. Never one to fear conflict, she tends to seek it out as well, in often explosive arguments leading to quickly ended friendships and other relationships. Because of this she is often alone except for her rider, paired perfectly with her in his demeanor, his temper, his argumentativeness. And although she isn't mean, per se, she does have a knack for pushing buttons and flaring tempers with her sly, sarcastic comments. Her fighting nature makes her perfect on the battlefield, or for taking a long adventure or journey, but around others she is often viewed as unstable and unsound. She has no fears, no qualms with her way of life or her interactions with others, but she does crave the comfort of companionship at times - especially after the loss of her rider. Now she wanders, lonely yet standoffish, hesitant to try and connect with others due to her history and demeanor.

Fantastic Tale: (1113 words)

The rain slicks her pelt as her rider pushes her onward, through the heavy storm descending upon the land. She is tired from a long day's travel, but she knows now is not the time to be uncooperative or to complain. They have a ways to go still - she knows this route well. As a pair they will travel to the offshoot herd, Róta's lightning fast feet carrying him back to the small camp, and they will stay there for a few weeks as he watches and teaches and eventually chooses a young man and his steed to take back to the main herd, in the city, to help defend the motherland. They do this once every few months, traveling to different herds throughout the land, but this one has always been her rider's favorite. They make this journey at least twice a year.

Róta's nostrils puff, her lungs heave as he pushes her onward, faster still. She knows she can keep this pace, but the rain is making the ground soft and the darkness has come already. Clouds overhang the light of the moon, casting dark shadows upon the eerie scene in front of them. This part of the land is mostly barren except for a small groundcover of low-growing plants and shrubs, the occasional tree, and the soil borders on rocky sand most of the time. As the rain soaks in even further still, the sandy soil begins to stick to Róta's hooves, splash upon her belly, dirtying her tack. She is more concerned about her step and her stride than her vanity at this point - she simply wants to make it to the herd safely, eat a good meal, and sleep for the whole night. But mile after mile they push on, and when Róta blindly edges off the path to turn onto the barren soil, towards the village, her rider digs his heels in urges her to move faster still. She huffs, lets out a little kick to let him know her displeasure, but eases into a faster stride. There will be time for rest later.

Until, suddenly, he yanks upon her mouth, sitting deep in the saddle, and Róta slides to a halt. She breathes heavily and stands perfectly still as he glances around, clenching at her mane, listening for something. Róta had heard nothing, seen nothing, but with the moonlight clouded over there are too many shadows to hide in, too many spots to sweep for safety. She paws lightly at the sodden ground, tosses her head. It is time to go. But her rider has other ideas - he grabs the knife from his boot and swings himself out of Róta's saddle, walking towards one of the shadows, towards a grouping of shrubs. She knows to wait - so she stands, swaying from hip to hip, but not taking a step forward. She only wishes he would have taken her with him. After a minute or two she closes her eyes a bit, feels the steam rising off her pelt even as the rain continues to batter her, cooling her slightly but making her shiver.

Snap!

Róta opens her eyes immediately, swaying forward, charging in the direction of her rider. Her eyes are wild, her ears perked as she charges into whatever challenge may face her in the shadows.

Yyyyyowwwww!

Now she hurries. She knows the sound of the creatures, and they are coming quickly now - she can hear their footsteps, even in the roar of the storm. She reaches her rider, and he is battling with one of them - it towers over him, snarling, maw spotted with the sheen of blood. Róta screams, charging towards the beast, the taste of iron already in her mouth as she mounts her attack, headbutting directly into its side and knocking it down, squarely into the muddy sand. Róta brays again, raises onto her rear and kicks out, threatening to attack again as her rider leaps onto her back and swings himself into the saddle, steering her away from the creature and towards the path again. But there is more than one now - there might be three, or four, and they circle the pair slowly, snarling. Even though she can smell the fear, the blood, on her rider, Róta is not afraid. She knows her strength, her speed, her ancestry - and she bolts out of the fray with hooves flying and animalistic noises rising from her throat even as her rider clutches heavily at the reins and clings desperately to the saddle, knees digging into her sides as she pushes through the wall of fur and musk, through snapping teeth and swinging claws.

She makes it out with only a scratch on her flank, careening wildly towards the herd all while braying and screaming, hooves flying, legs like wings under her. Róta knows where to go even as her rider is slumping onto her withers, onto her neck, his grip slowly loosening on her reins and around her barrel. She screams once more, hoping she is close enough to the herd for someone to hear her, hoping she can make it just a bit longer as she feels his body begin to slip. She kicks her hind out, trying to kick him awake, to jar him out of whatever he is doing - she doesn't like this. He's never done this before. The whites of her eyes show as light flashes her way, torches barely lit due to the increasing rage of the storm, but help is coming. With this Róta increases her pace further, dashing towards the humans on their mortal steeds, hoping, hoping -

She feels the twinge in her heart. He slips from her back, finally, as she slides to a jarring halt, and he crumples to a heap in the mud just as help reaches them. He is bloody and battered, from what she can see in the fading light of the torches, and Róta stumbles. Her lungs are screaming, protesting her final dash, and her whole body aches, her head spins from the rush of adrenaline and lack of oxygen. Not only does the rain drip from her back now, but there is blood and mud as well - her rider's blood. Her rider's life, fading away in front of her eyes, slides from her back as his body had mere moments ago.

Still in shock, heaving with effort, someone grabs her reins and pulls her towards the herd. Róta follows them blindly, taking up a slow canter as the small group heads back to the herd, the little village, where her rider is to be pronounced dead.

[blackhoeses]

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Ákafi's Theme song --~-- Ákafi's favorite song

Username: blackhoeses
Name: Ákafi
Name Meaning: Ákafi means zeal, enthusiasm
Gender: Stallion
Halter Color: Marron and gold
Personality: Ákafi is charming, exuberant, fearless and he can be very
sarcastic at times.
Biggest Fear: Ákafi biggest fear is to be left all alone, being abandoned
by friends, family even random acquittances. Being truly invisible to all those
around him.
Biggest Wish: to find that specially some one to be with him always
Favorite Food: Rye bread and clover
Favorite Color: Maroon

Fantastic Tale: Ákafi watched the sun rise from the top of the cliff, he let out a sigh of frustration not even this gorgeous show of nature could take away his feeling of sadness. He still had not found a human partner to spend his time with and he was hoping to find one soon. He had been waiting for what felt like eons and exploring by himself was getting dull. Especially now that most of his herd mates had ether settled down or were busy with their human partners. He stomped his hoof in frustration, trying to come up with a way to find his own human faster. Ákafi decided he would go pay a visit to The Norns, he knew that it would be a parolus trip as he would have to go to the Yggdrasil and their hall. Ákafi knew that they were not likely to tell him his fate or even to change it but he was tired of waiting for his fate to come to him. And who knew maybe he would find an adventurous human like himself on his way and he would not have to go to Yggdrasil.

Ákafi was not worried about finding his way to Yggdrasil, being descended from the powerful line of Sleipnir. He knew that he would always be able to find his way, well maybe not quickly but who cared exploring and throwing oneself into adventure and danger was what life was all about. He made his way back to the small village nestled at the edge of the forest but not far from the cliff. Ákafi stood in front of the tack area in the stable, waiting for one of the humans to come put on his tack. While he did not have a particular human, he had helped the village and even on occasion allowed a few select people to ride him if the need was great. Due to his heroic efforts in saving the village countless times, they had made him an impressive tack set. On his bridle and breastplate were symbols of protection, strength and more all done in gold on shining supple leather. The maroon and gold saddle cloth was his favorite part though. Since it was in his favorite color. Soon a young man came and put it all on including the golden leg charms. Most thought they were flashy useless pieces of his tack. But what most did not know was engraved on the inside there were runes with powerful protection spells and other spells that only he and the creator knew what they did.

Ákafi set out down one of the less used paths away from the village, he traveled for 7 days and 7 nights. On the eighth day which was cloudy and overcast, he came upon a lake. The waters looked black and in the center was an island, this made him think this may be the Amsvartnir lake. Ákafi felt his hair stand up a little at this thought. He shook his main trying to shake the uneasiness he was feeling from his mind. Just then he heard a scream and the wind shifted to bring him the scent of battle. Without a second thought Ákafi reared up and pivoted on his hind legs, he could feel his blood surging with power and adrenaline as he headed towards the battle. As he came closer he started to hear not only human sounds of fighting but also sounds from a pack of wolves. Ákafi was disturbed by this, he knew no pack of wolves would attack, what judging by the sounds, was a large group of humans. Unless it was the dead of winter or something was driving them to do so.

As Ákafi came charging into a clearing the stench of wolf and death hit his nostrils. But the thing that really caught his eye was a larger than normal black wolf. The wolf dropped its last victim and turned its hate filled eyes towards Ákafi, who let out a trumpeting neigh will rearing just slightly challenging the monster to do its worst. Ákafi laid back his ears charging fearlessly forward and began to lay into the ten other wolves that accompanied the monster wolf. And stood between Ákafi and the monster wolf. “Hay, wait Uncle Al last time the pack of wolves only had 5 members.” Ákafi looked down his long elegant nose at the group of foals laying under the large tree to listen to his stories. “Are you to be telling the story now Map?” the other foals nudged and whispered for Map to be quiet. Ákafi waited for a few minutes making all the youngsters squirm. He then took a deep breath to restart his story. “Now where was I, ah that's right the strong stallion was charging into battle with ten wolves.” Ákafi paused for effect and sent a look at the foal Map to make sure he would not interrupt further.

The stallion fought long and hard defeating the wolves, while only taking a few minor wounds himself. As the last of the monster's minions turned tail and ran, Ákafi turned to face the monster wolf who had been quietly pacing back and forth outside of the circle of combat. Letting the minions wear down the great and powerful stallion. The two stood staring deep into each other's eyes, one set filled with hate the other with noble spirit daring the evil to attack. Neither moved or even seemed to breathe waiting for the other to make the first mistake. Unbeknownst to the wolf, Ákafi started to weave a spell of sticking using his leg charms hidden spells and power. No one knows how long they would have stayed there staring at each other but a baby's wail cut through the air. Ákafi lost his concentration for just a moment and the wolf launched toward him. Or should I say tried to all four of its paws were stuck to the ground. The wolf let out a growl of frustration and somehow broke the spell. Ákafi knew he was dealing with a monster or at least a descendant of the gods like himself. The battle that followed was fierce. Soon though, Ákafi's determination, zeal, and cunning won out and he landed a mortal wound on the wolf. It was not much longer before the monster wolf was slain, never to hurt man, horse or beast.

Ákafi was finally able to look around, his heart was heavy as he looked at what must have been a large group traveling together. The saddest part was the wolves had killed everything from the humans and horse down to the cage of chickens. Ákafi's ears drooped in sadness, just then the baby cried again. Ákafi lifted his head and began to limp towards the sound. As he got closer he also heard a child's voice trying to calm the baby. As he approached what must have been an elegant traveling wagon at one time, that now lay broken on its side. The baby cried even lowder, Ákafi picked his way through the debris and gently started to move stuff out of the way. Until he uncovered a little girl clutching a crying baby, the child could not have been more than seven and her own dirt streaked face was covered in tears.

As Ákafi stood there trying to figure out what to do next. How was he to move the two young humans back to his village. He again reached out to sniff the children to make sure that they did not have any obvious wounds. When he got the surprise of his life, the little girl slashed at his nose with what must have been some adults dagger. She could barely lift the thing and it seemed more of a short sword in her hand than a dagger. Ákafi nearly doubled over with laughter at that adorable fierceness of the girl. And his heart lifted, for he knew that this child was strong and that after he had convinced her he was not a monster they would find a way to get back to the village. He also felt hope blooming a little, that in spite of his journey being cut short he may have found his human partner at last. Now he just had to wait for her to grow up.

Ákafi said “and the rest is a tale for another time, as it is time for dinner.” All the foals began to stand up all the while clamoring for Ákafi to tell just a little more. But as their mother and sires showed up to take them to dinner. It began to grow quiet, Ákafi raised his head and watched the sun set over the rolling pastures dotted with happy herds. And in the distance a village nestled at the edge of the forest. His revere was broken by a young woman calling his name by the pasture gate, and his heart soared in happiness. For he was home and had his human partner to share in all his future adventures. And more importantly he had a captive audience to tell his stories and adventures too. With a chuckle to himself he pivoted on his hind hooves to go meet the young woman.

Mood board:

[ｃｒｕｍｐｌｅｄ ｗｉｎｇｓ]

extended until february 1st 2021

[ｃｒｕｍｐｌｅｄ ｗｉｎｇｓ]

Username: Vinson
Name: Róta
Name Meaning: old norse ; sleet and storm
Gender: mare
Halter Color: same palette as the armor, gold buckles
Personality: (156 words)

Róta - the brash whirlwind. Never one to fear conflict, she tends to seek it out as well, in often explosive arguments leading to quickly ended friendships and other relationships. Because of this she is often alone except for her rider, paired perfectly with her in his demeanor, his temper, his argumentativeness. And although she isn't mean, per se, she does have a knack for pushing buttons and flaring tempers with her sly, sarcastic comments. Her fighting nature makes her perfect on the battlefield, or for taking a long adventure or journey, but around others she is often viewed as unstable and unsound. She has no fears, no qualms with her way of life or her interactions with others, but she does crave the comfort of companionship at times - especially after the loss of her rider. Now she wanders, lonely yet standoffish, hesitant to try and connect with others due to her history and demeanor.

Fantastic Tale: (1113 words)

The rain slicks her pelt as her rider pushes her onward, through the heavy storm descending upon the land. She is tired from a long day's travel, but she knows now is not the time to be uncooperative or to complain. They have a ways to go still - she knows this route well. As a pair they will travel to the offshoot herd, Róta's lightning fast feet carrying him back to the small camp, and they will stay there for a few weeks as he watches and teaches and eventually chooses a young man and his steed to take back to the main herd, in the city, to help defend the motherland. They do this once every few months, traveling to different herds throughout the land, but this one has always been her rider's favorite. They make this journey at least twice a year.

Róta's nostrils puff, her lungs heave as he pushes her onward, faster still. She knows she can keep this pace, but the rain is making the ground soft and the darkness has come already. Clouds overhang the light of the moon, casting dark shadows upon the eerie scene in front of them. This part of the land is mostly barren except for a small groundcover of low-growing plants and shrubs, the occasional tree, and the soil borders on rocky sand most of the time. As the rain soaks in even further still, the sandy soil begins to stick to Róta's hooves, splash upon her belly, dirtying her tack. She is more concerned about her step and her stride than her vanity at this point - she simply wants to make it to the herd safely, eat a good meal, and sleep for the whole night. But mile after mile they push on, and when Róta blindly edges off the path to turn onto the barren soil, towards the village, her rider digs his heels in urges her to move faster still. She huffs, lets out a little kick to let him know her displeasure, but eases into a faster stride. There will be time for rest later.

Until, suddenly, he yanks upon her mouth, sitting deep in the saddle, and Róta slides to a halt. She breathes heavily and stands perfectly still as he glances around, clenching at her mane, listening for something. Róta had heard nothing, seen nothing, but with the moonlight clouded over there are too many shadows to hide in, too many spots to sweep for safety. She paws lightly at the sodden ground, tosses her head. It is time to go. But her rider has other ideas - he grabs the knife from his boot and swings himself out of Róta's saddle, walking towards one of the shadows, towards a grouping of shrubs. She knows to wait - so she stands, swaying from hip to hip, but not taking a step forward. She only wishes he would have taken her with him. After a minute or two she closes her eyes a bit, feels the steam rising off her pelt even as the rain continues to batter her, cooling her slightly but making her shiver.

Snap!

Róta opens her eyes immediately, swaying forward, charging in the direction of her rider. Her eyes are wild, her ears perked as she charges into whatever challenge may face her in the shadows.

Yyyyyowwwww!

Now she hurries. She knows the sound of the creatures, and they are coming quickly now - she can hear their footsteps, even in the roar of the storm. She reaches her rider, and he is battling with one of them - it towers over him, snarling, maw spotted with the sheen of blood. Róta screams, charging towards the beast, the taste of iron already in her mouth as she mounts her attack, headbutting directly into its side and knocking it down, squarely into the muddy sand. Róta brays again, raises onto her rear and kicks out, threatening to attack again as her rider leaps onto her back and swings himself into the saddle, steering her away from the creature and towards the path again. But there is more than one now - there might be three, or four, and they circle the pair slowly, snarling. Even though she can smell the fear, the blood, on her rider, Róta is not afraid. She knows her strength, her speed, her ancestry - and she bolts out of the fray with hooves flying and animalistic noises rising from her throat even as her rider clutches heavily at the reins and clings desperately to the saddle, knees digging into her sides as she pushes through the wall of fur and musk, through snapping teeth and swinging claws.

She makes it out with only a scratch on her flank, careening wildly towards the herd all while braying and screaming, hooves flying, legs like wings under her. Róta knows where to go even as her rider is slumping onto her withers, onto her neck, his grip slowly loosening on her reins and around her barrel. She screams once more, hoping she is close enough to the herd for someone to hear her, hoping she can make it just a bit longer as she feels his body begin to slip. She kicks her hind out, trying to kick him awake, to jar him out of whatever he is doing - she doesn't like this. He's never done this before. The whites of her eyes show as light flashes her way, torches barely lit due to the increasing rage of the storm, but help is coming. With this Róta increases her pace further, dashing towards the humans on their mortal steeds, hoping, hoping -

She feels the twinge in her heart. He slips from her back, finally, as she slides to a jarring halt, and he crumples to a heap in the mud just as help reaches them. He is bloody and battered, from what she can see in the fading light of the torches, and Róta stumbles. Her lungs are screaming, protesting her final dash, and her whole body aches, her head spins from the rush of adrenaline and lack of oxygen. Not only does the rain drip from her back now, but there is blood and mud as well - her rider's blood. Her rider's life, fading away in front of her eyes, slides from her back as his body had mere moments ago.

Still in shock, heaving with effort, someone grabs her reins and pulls her towards the herd. Róta follows them blindly, taking up a slow canter as the small group heads back to the herd, the little village, where her rider is to be pronounced dead.

congrats!

[blackhoeses]

Congrats