7/11/2025, 5:09 PM
Last night's feast had felt like a fever dream. So many new faces, so much chatter to indulge in. A smorgasbord of food he hadn't seen since his time as a man, and even then, he wasn't so sure Ararnir ever threw such an extravagant event.
Rhadamanthus was hardly a man of indulgence. His drinking days were long over, as he'd spent many a night in the throws of pleasure and mead and degeneracy as a rowdy, bushy-tailed young man. There was no partaking on his end, usually, of special herbs or fermented berries. Truth be told, he couldn't stomach the idea of nursing a forsaken hang over, not as an older man who walked a little slower and swung his sword a little less heavy.
And so he hadn't fallen to the same temptation of the dove-god, of whom he finds sprawled out in a sun-kissed meadow, shrouded by all things beautiful and sweet. He'd started his day early in efforts to help clean up after the festival and check in on all the party goers. It was hardly necessary, but alas, the diplomat felt obligated to share his due diligence.
He'd yet to meet Cupid. All he'd known of him so far was his beauty—which gazing upon him now, word of mouth had hardly done him any justice—and the many of children that he'd bared. He'd seen the way the man and Týr had exchanged looks of quiet longing. Ever the watcher he is, ever the keen. He found it amusing in the way an older man would find in watching young lovers fawn.
His approach is quiet as he carved through the field to greet the man, who looked...as if he'd seen better days. With a faint smile of amusement, he chuffed his announcement, before he stood and left an appropriate birth. This wasn't the way he would've liked to meet the man for the first time but alas, he wouldn't complain.
It seems like Cupid definitely would though. He found himself snickering at the quiet string of curses he likely wasn't meant to hear.
Rhadamanthus was hardly a man of indulgence. His drinking days were long over, as he'd spent many a night in the throws of pleasure and mead and degeneracy as a rowdy, bushy-tailed young man. There was no partaking on his end, usually, of special herbs or fermented berries. Truth be told, he couldn't stomach the idea of nursing a forsaken hang over, not as an older man who walked a little slower and swung his sword a little less heavy.
And so he hadn't fallen to the same temptation of the dove-god, of whom he finds sprawled out in a sun-kissed meadow, shrouded by all things beautiful and sweet. He'd started his day early in efforts to help clean up after the festival and check in on all the party goers. It was hardly necessary, but alas, the diplomat felt obligated to share his due diligence.
He'd yet to meet Cupid. All he'd known of him so far was his beauty—which gazing upon him now, word of mouth had hardly done him any justice—and the many of children that he'd bared. He'd seen the way the man and Týr had exchanged looks of quiet longing. Ever the watcher he is, ever the keen. He found it amusing in the way an older man would find in watching young lovers fawn.
His approach is quiet as he carved through the field to greet the man, who looked...as if he'd seen better days. With a faint smile of amusement, he chuffed his announcement, before he stood and left an appropriate birth. This wasn't the way he would've liked to meet the man for the first time but alas, he wouldn't complain.
It seems like Cupid definitely would though. He found himself snickering at the quiet string of curses he likely wasn't meant to hear.
Good morning,he hummed, low and smooth.
Did you enjoy the festivities?Rhadamamthus asked with the slightest lilt of tease.
![[Image: 88836705_BUZsWBizMUKyNqC.gif]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/88836705_BUZsWBizMUKyNqC.gif)
⛊
"common • norse"
eve is welcome in all threads.