theo james, bisexual, male + he/him, tank «—◦—→ well met, lars kyarsgaard, the godling born child of boreas! it’s been thirty-five years and now they have answered the song in their veins. can they change the course of history with their determination, staunchness, and bravery? or will their need for solitude, brashness, and lack of trust in others hinder them? only time will tell before this godling’s name is sung into myth and legend!
GENERAL INFO.
name: lars kyarsgaard nicknames: L date of birth: january 20, 1989 age: thirty-five face claim: theo james godly parent: boreas
PHYSICAL / EDU.
height: 6'2 dominant hand: right hand education level: highschool, wood-working classes, carpentry workshops. occupation: rough trade, carpenter, huntsman
FAMILY.
parents: freya kyarsgaard (mother), boreas (father) siblings: none pets: a domesticated wolf, lovingly named tusk (deceased)
MISC.
astrological sign: capricorn sun, cancer moon, virgo rising positive traits: loyal, steadfast, committed, undeterred by most negative traits: callous, distant, 'coldhearted' quirks: loves to clench his jaw menacingly, serial knuckle cracker pet peeves: opulence, dramatics hobbies: woodworking, scrimshawing.
sexual orientation: bisexual sexual position: verse top (dominant)
clothing style: winter clothes, always has a jacket on, plain and simple. prominent features: the sheen of a scar near his left temple, salt and pepper hair.
what were they doing when they hear the song of their godling blood? lost in a thick, howling snowstorm that arose out of nowhere.
class: tank inspirations: matthias helver, six of crows
BIOGRAPHY.
the water hears and understands.
but the ice does not forgive. it never has. true ice, that of the north where he hails from, has always lacked any sense of real change. it melts from time to time, from season to season, yet it does not vanish, thawing only to frigid water that coalesces again to ice, to rime, to ice, to rime.
lars was born into a world that followed this logic in every way. things could change, yes, but only to a certain degree - like the forest of pine trees near his childhood home, making a dramatic show out of shedding its spindly leaves every few years. the smell of them, sharp and fresh, always perfumed the kitchen on days where he’d cook for his mother, eager to have a meal ready as soon as she returns from working in the fields. they lived off the land, respected it. pine needles, home-cooked meals, and four strong walls, that was his childhood. a simple life.
and it got simpler, happier, when he married helene.
darling helene, dearest helene, dead helene.
the ice does not forget. he has not forgotten. her story, though, does not warrant being told so simply. it deserves the delicate care she was never given by him.
after helene though, the cold truly set in. the beautiful north became barren, the snow became hard frost, and like snowflakes whisked away by an arctic wind, he gave himself over to the cold, surrendering his pain, his feelings. his heart. it is a long and treacherous winter that has him, and the snow doesn’t show any signs of stopping. the ice has entered his skin, has begun patterning out from his frozen heart in icy, lapis blooms.
it’s so terribly cold. it’s so terribly cold. it’s so terrible cold.
