Stranger Things
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
$LAYYYTER
⁂
No title available
No title available
KIROKAZE
hello vonnie
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Three Goblin Art
Discoholic 🪩
★
No title available
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
ellievsbear
izzy's playlists!
No title available
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands
seen from Malaysia
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Netherlands
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Azerbaijan
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
@giantsxbane
[ here ]
➸ sarcastic/charming!Hawke ➸ multishipper/no established ships ➸ adjusts style to fit your preference [multi-para and banter] ➸ ready & willing to write violence, adventure, action, drunken revelry etc. ➸ vigilant tagger ➸ active and interactive ➸ two years of rp experience on tumblr, many years experience writing ➸ friendly mun!
“You have heard of her?” There’s a swelling of pride in his chest, perhaps on her behalf. Her name means very little to most people he meets, but this man— he clearly knows who matters. Ingolf likes him already. "It was no great deed, but many. People who have seen me fight, they say that I am heartless, that I show no mercy or compassion to anybody. Even my own kinsmen." They also say it about him in general. "I earned the title fighting in the pits. I’ve never left anybody alive."
The boy's ruthlessness was shocking to hear. To be so young and so without mercy was worrisome. "I am only glad you are not a Jarl, nor likely to be one." He'd never heard of any great hero making his name in the fighting pits, only brief mentions of crowd favorites and good bets. Most of those names faded after the competitors died. "Have you had any training outside of the fights?" Pit fighters fought dirty and without honor. Either by unrestrained force or clever tricks had this boy remained alive long enough to earn a title. Rorik was by no means a man of great chivalry, but he had mirrored his style after great heroes and revered Nords: the epitome of valor.
“Ingolf Stone-Heart,” he replies promptly. "Son of Nanna Ásbjörnsdóttir." He announces the fact with such pride, as if Nanna is some hero of old that should be worshiped like Ysmir, like any of the Gods. She is a fine warrior, somewhat known throughout the lands, though he’s not so stupid as to think that the fellow opposite him would have heard of her. Kyne’s sons and daughters are so good at ignoring those who truly matter.
He nods, recognizing the name. "The Shieldmaiden?" He concedes. "You have a warrior's blood in your veins, boy, I'll grant you that." Rorik frowns. "And what great deed earned you the title of Stone-Heart?"
Lass? That term hasn’t been used since the woman was nine. ”Oh? And who are you to claim such a title?” Was inquired as she stopped before him, momentary amusement apparent upon a normally indifferent visage.
He is so glad she asked. "Rorik, called Giantsbane. True Nord of Skyrim and son of the Reach. And who are you?"
➤ 15 icons of Clive Standen
[ like/reblog ]
“Why wouldn’t I be eager?” he asks, frowning now. "It would be a great honour to be seated besides Skyrim’s greatest heroes. Especially if I were counted among them." He is far too eager to throw away a life barely lived, but he sees nothing wrong with such a fact. This life, though short, has not been kind to him, not in the slightest. The Hall of Valor will offer him peace that he has never experienced— and he longs for it. "I enjoy my life as it is. I would just enjoy it more if all of Tamriel knew my name."
Rorik sees sadness and anger in the boy's eyes. It gives him pause. He can't find any more wisdom and instead settles for a simple: "What's your name, boy?"
“Hah!” He laughs loudly, barely flinching at the strength of the smack to his frame. Having spent so much time around the Companions, he hardly cares about such things; he’s too used to them. "Gods be willing indeed. I’m sure they have something good planned just for you! —But I don’t care to live to an old age. Just long enough to impress the Gods, to find myself a place in Sovngarde, to find my fame."
"Why is it you're so eager to drink in the Hall of Valor, anyhow? You should be enjoying life while you have your youth." Rorik speaks with a great deal of experience. He hopes the Gods will forgive his debauchery in light of his battle prowess. "Worry about death when you're too weak to lift a sword or bed a woman. That is when Sovngarde beckons."
➤ 31 icons of Clive Standen
[ like/reblog if using etc. and so on ]
"I wouldn’t stand so close to that mammoth…" Lira commented as she walked past, taking special precaution to go unnoticed by the giants lurking near by. While not sure how well the memory of such beings functioned, the wolf was sure the amount of times she’d invaded their camp in need of hide would surely be remembered.
He laughed. "Do you know who I am, lass? Giants and their ilk cower before my axe!"
If the motions were made to annoy, he would be sorely disappointed. A twist to her lips, something hinting at smugness. A smirk. Always take an insult, then make it an uplifting. Her head lolls to rest on the palm of a hand, supported by an elbow against the strong, stained wood beneath her, mug of—- whatever alcohol in a free hand.
When addressed, ❝Why, no one, o’course. But, then, you’re th’one who listened.❞
"Maybe that's so." He takes a gulp from a tankard belonging to a man who just left. "I know good and well that women get angry when you don't listen to them."
Ingolf’s nose wrinkles, though for once in his life, he doesn’t snap back a harsh comment. He’s slowly learning to pick his battles— and going up against the bigger, burlier Nord? Well, that will only end in pain, he’s sure.
“I’m no child,” he says. "One day, you will be hearing tales about Ingolf Stone-Heart. I promise you that. Bards will flock to the college in Solitude, inspired by me.”
"When that day comes I'll be old and grey with a pretty young wife on my lap, Gods willing." He gives the younger Nord a slap on the back, with a little more force than called for. "I've got to warn you though, boy: heroes don't die of old age.
“Do I look like a legend in the making to you?” he’ll just about grin, absolutely covered in blood. "Because I guarantee even the Gods will be singing songs about me soon!"
Rorik's laughter is a clap of thunder. The boy's insolence is endearing and not unfamiliar. "Do they make songs about boys still on their mother's tit? I've never heard of one."
❝'f course not.❞
That’s not going to stop her. Neither is the fact that they’re all very—- large.When has she ever not interfered in something decidedly not her business? ❝Not that I wouldn’t love to see that— truly, I would,❞ and that’s not sarcasm. Not one bit, just this once. ❝but, I’d rather drink’n peace. Get’m bloodied outside, would ya?❞
He gives her an irreverent bow, made all the more ludicrous by his size. "Of course your royal majesty," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. He practically roars at his opponents. "You heard the woman! Wait for your thrashing outside!"
Accompanied by a grumble or two, the other men file out the door. With them gone, Rorik turns his attention to the woman. "And who made you Jarl of this tavern?"
If you want to RP with me, send me a ✿. If you want to plot with me, send me a ✯. If you’re just following just to stalk me, send me a ♡.
