#Alexia Wight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quietmuse · 1 year

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asoiaf/hotd - original character

Full Name: Steithe Snow Alias: Seth, the Snow, Little Ged, Ste, BoyTitleBoy of Hunt/Child of the Ashes/Child of Trees and Creatures/She Who Speaks For the Trees/ Race: Greenseer Age: 18 - 20 (depends on book age/show age and the book/season starting at) Gender: Female Sexuality: Pansexual Allegiance: Mance Ryder, Free Folk, Culture: First Men / High Valyerian Religion:The Old Gods Height:5’3’’ft Issue:Nil Faceclaim: Alexia Giordano

“𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝑒.”

Born the day of a wild snowstorm, Steithe was deliver by mother and guided by father into this word. An excitable older brother waiting with hot water and cloth, comforting his mother through the pains and dabbing her brow. White Crow—Steithe’s father, a former member of the Night’s Watch introduced mother and child at the break of new cries in the night. Ged, cleaned his newly born sister while the final measures were taken to ensure no fever or illness should take them.

Her brother Ged was to name her, naming her the first moment he held her. White Crow a proud father to both children gave the girl ‘Snow’ as a surname. Knowing such names meant nothing Beyond the Wall—the girl grew to be known affectionately as he little snowdrop. In her youth, the girl had hair of pure white—though it slowly gained pigment in becoming a shade of dirty ash blonde. Though that sheen of silver still stayed when the sun or firelight caught her hair in the right angle.

In her youth, Steithe found herself easily drawn to the earth and animal over others amongst the Free Folk. Her people were her family and she never felt a need for anyone else. She was happier to quietly observe from a distance which included other children playing. However, she did have an intrigue towards music when it was played. It seemed to make her very busy mind settle and just focus on one little thing for a while. Her father played a strange instrument beautifully, allowed the children even to toy with the strings.

Come nightfall the family would sleep huddled together, mother to the back of the son holding him, while did the same holding Steithe. She was more fitful with her sleep—nights easily disturbing her. There were nights she dreamt of things that had happened vividly. Only she was flying through the night on silent wings. Some other nights she’d wake to her father’s arms enveloping her—her hot cheeks pressing into his chest while he shushed her. Speaking soothingly to his little Snow Dragon.

One fateful night, shy of her twelfth year. A moon before her first flower—the child’s nightmares became more disturbed. She dreamt of figure—the King Night. His hand outreached and burnt her skin, waking the girl in a stirring fit of terror. To watch; stirring noticing the burn had etched into her flesh from the dream. She didn’t understand the meaning until the fateful night of mention—storms swelled in their region bitterly killing the mother and father that protected their children. Upon the crystal-clear moonlight; storm clearing and reducing storm to nothing more than hazy fog.

Steithe watched in belief of her young prayers being answered; that her parents had only been lulled into a deep sleep and had now awoken. Yet, reality struck cruelly—the teeth of her father’s reanimated corpse tearing into her flesh. Reaching the ears of her brother returning from hunting and finding wood for their parent’s bonfire. In horror to the screams he ran in the hopes to save his sister—it just happened the killing blow the now wight, intended upon her failed. Taking the pendant of dragon glass the once living man had craved for his infant daughter out of dragon glass; would be his doom beyond death. Piercing the bridge of his mouth, causing the creature to drop dead upon the bleeding girl.

Faking dead to stir the wight of her mother away—she scarcely watched under the dead wight her mother’s stilled heart being pierced by one of her special arrows. Sending her body back limp—those chilling blue eyes fading from life once more. Ged had dragged his sister from their hut that night; lighting the fire that was their parent’s funeral. Clutching onto a bleeding Steithe; their parent’s weapons adopted between them that day. All made of a stock of Dragon Glass their parents found when they were too young to remember.

Alone for a long time they survived. Feeling the harsh weather force them to take shelter. Between the wildling camps—they did trade with minimal items they’d had. Finding themselves new clothes and now fashioning a new appearance for the fair faced beauty. Ged; largely concerned that he’d lose his sister because some other wildling would steal her away to be their woman. Some of the other tribes not being so forthcoming with opinions of their women. From thirteen and onwards; Steithe had lived a life of “Seth”, a mute warg. Who’s signed-speech was often snarky and both blunt. Finding little time for others—and mostly disliking being among others until they fell into the crew line of Tormund Giantsbane.

Such a man taking her on various missions over the Wall—giving her a chance to see some side of the world her father had come from. It was at some point during these missions she found her permanent companion—an owlet she named Leif and raised as her only kin. A hatchling that had been either abandoned or orphaned—she’d found a fast kinship and bond with this creature. Him becoming her eyes above the wall and in the skies; where the Weirwood trees became a link to history and what happened around the world surrounding them. Being her eyes elsewhere or ears through the roots that grow vastly.

“𝒜 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝒹𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂.”

Described to be nymph-like features. Hair soft to touch, has a curl to every lock. Wild and untamed—much like her mother’s hair. Though, her colouration of the hair and root was a spliced mix between Steithe’s mother and father. A dark blonde, that has an odd sheen in bright natural light—leaving her hair looking almost silvery in colouration. Steithe’s hair is often found completely in her face, or framing her gentile features. Dry—her hair is a fluffy frizz mess of curls; that she’s been tease for it looking as if she has a mane in her earlier years. Damp—the frizz mass becomes a long silvery sheen of ashen blonde; only the ends on her hair naturally curling inwards and the length somewhere passed her backside.

Her eyes are almost gem-like, inherited from her father’s side they are a beautiful shade of violet. Captured in the right lighting, her gaze almost has a blue undertone to make the violet of her gaze to appear brighter in some fire light.

The soft appearance of her face is often, if not always covered with some form of mask and hood. Even her voice is hoarsely spoken in disguise because its not safe for woman of her size. Dense layers of clothing covering her lithe form, hiding away any trace of curve or feminine features. Which included something so small as wearing her mitts and gloves almost all the time. Hiding the small feminine hands under the layers.

“𝒲𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓁𝒻. 𝒫𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝑒 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝓃.”

#asoiaf muse: steithe snow #asoiaf #original character asoiaf #medieval fantasy #indie rp #asoiaf rp #indie asoiaf rp #steithe snow

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