(no subject)

kyrnar the fleet, son of mirus the steady and eydior argansdottir;
has ruled since twelve but was raised for it;

king of the edge of the world, a vast tundra that earned its name due to harsh climates, icy terrain and waters, and jagged winds that block further travel north. no one, so far as kyrnar nor any of his people know, has ever gone past the loose boundaries they claim, although kyrnar himself will readily admit to a claim of the mountains and seas that make up the edge based, somewhat, on the fact that no one else has attempted to do so (nor would they want to.)

his cadence is one of entitled youth. his crown is often askew atop his head, he sits cocked sideways in his throne with his chin in his hand and legs cast over the arm of it, crossed at the ankles and the toes of fur-lined boots painted in golden lustre. often draped in furs and skins, with a collection of rings. he has a habit of narrowing his eyes and tipping his head to the side, skeptical, and speaks with a heavy accent and a boyish brashness that he's succeeded in spite of, not because of. carries, always, a walking stick with weighted metal tooling handed down to him by his father, mirus, an artifact of living in a place comprised mostly of icy rock and uncooperative terrain.

optionally distinctly nonhuman, kyr is an air elemental, his people forged of the choppy gusts that rip across icy plains. there's something uniquely ethereal about him, outside of pointed ears and canines, the white-blond hair and the chill that radiates off him - the way he occupies space, effortless but as if he's trying to remain connected to earth just the same, built light and delicate and sharply angular like the breeze itself.