Backdated to just after BWP. Set between NF/DB. All welcome! But tagging Wardruna, Roskva, Achlys, Sølvi, Alder

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They had charged into battle together, the witch woman and her Viking daughter. Sreda's presence hovered, an ever-present shadow as she interwove herself, dancing alongside Roskva's movements. As Roskva reached for a wraith, Sreda's fangs would flash, doubling down against the ghosts as they worked together to dispel the curse.

All while Sreda kept a careful eye on the chaos unfolding.

The ghosts descended upon them in droves, the battlefield alight with the strength of the living versus the damned. Sreda had never imagined herself to be fighting on this side of tragedy, but it would seem that she held more value for the living now than she once had. Wardruna, Achlys, Kvitrafn, Rhaegal, Roskva, Mazikeen. Even the image of her mothers and siblings crossed her mind as her fangs dispelled wraith after wraith.

No hesitation. More teeth, she'd encourage Roskva plainly, flattening her own ears and working her way through the masses. And as the throngs of beasts descended, Sreda would hover herself over Roskva's battling form, feeling the tug of exhaustion creep in. For Sreda, as potent as her mind was, was only mortal ... she could only do so much. And as she spun one way to dispel a wraith, another came at her with ethereal talons, disembodied claws raking across the side of her face.

The pain was swift and sharp.

Electrifying.

And half of her vision instantly dissipated, blood warm as it spilled from where her perfectly purple eye had once been housed. Her one good eye, alight with the adrenaline of battle, would turn toward the beast that had stolen her eye. A sneer pulled at her lips, her voice quaking with annoyance. You should have finished the job. Ichor dripped from the side of her golden face, but she remained perfectly poised as she drove her fangs into the insulting wraith, dispelling it once and for all.

Eventually, the disembodied ghouls would cave to the will of the living. They would disperse from the tree's bark, screeching as they evaporated into mist. And the mighty tree would groan in thanks, the darkness of the clouds above dispelling as the weak cry of the sun split through the dark sky.

Sreda would turn toward Roskva, face bloodied.

And she smiled.

The dream would slowly end, and Sreda would leave half her vision in the land of the damned.

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When her eyes (well, eye) re-opened, she was back in the familiar mountains of the Alpines. The sun was shining, glittering down from the frozen sky as the Plague exhaled its final breath. Mythris regained its life, swelling with the surge of spring.

Slowly, Sreda would stand, wobbling as she oriented herself to her new normal. Her balance would take some time to adjust to ... this. The right side of her face burned, a hollow ache taking the place of her eye. But Sreda would turn toward Roskva, face even and ears pressed forward. Sreda would offer the traces of a smile. You're a fast learner, Маленький викинг (Little Viking), she'd hum in way of a compliment, lowering a bloodied nose to press it atop her daughter's head.

And as she sat there, the stillness engulfed them. Tiny black and silver motes slipped upward from her skin as blood dripped down from the side of her face.

It would seem, for now ...
... there would be peace.

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Skill: Warrior

Adrenaline and a natural thirst for battle granted by her ancestors urged the child forward. Sreda had her work cut out for her keeping track of the little fanged shadow, tiny puppy jaws snapping out at anything within reach (which may have, once or twice by mistake, been Sreda's own ankles). It was exhilirating! Although there wasn't much debate surrounding the damage she dealt versus Sreda's vicious rending, the rare contact her teeth did make with the enemy filled Roskva with a sense of pride and purpose.

Grandpa Ragnar would be so proud! It was the best day of her whole life.

Her mother suddenly stiffened. Roskva looked up and glimpsed blood trailing down below where Sreda's right eye should have been, deep gashes cutting into the side of her face - the child gasped.

Мать! (Mama!) she cried out. But there was no need; Sreda turned with frightening intensity and dealt swift judgement upon the offending wraith as it was cut down. Little wet specks dripped down onto Roskva's face, painting her in the crimson of her mother's blood.

...Мать. (... Mama.) It sounded different this time, almost reverent.

No wonder the Stormborn clan had so readily cleaved to that of the Callosum line. Although Roskva's Viking lineage sat squarely upon Wardruna's shoulders, Sreda was no less fearsome.

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Roskva opened her eyes.

Bouncing to her paws, she accosted her mother almost immediately, hopping up and down like an excited rabbit as she skipped in a tight circle encompassing her form.

That was amazing! she crowed, You're so cool! You're so cool!

She stopped long enough to peer up at Sreda's bloodied eye. The gashes that ran over her brow would settle into some gnarly scars soon enough, she thought excitedly.

Oh! Really?! Really, do I? Roskva yipped, little tail wagging faster than she could speak. I mean, yeah! I am! I hope I'm as cool as you when I grow up! Ooooo, what are those?

The child halted, studying the glowing orbs lifting away from her mother's fur with round eyes.

And then one, then two, then three little orbs began to lift from hers, too. Roskva's were silver and blue, a color similar to her gaze.

... Ooooooo.

Kvitrafn’s choice in door number one had been significantly less dangerous than the door Sreda and Roskva had evidently taken. Where they fought things that Kvitrafn would never be able to understand, she and Mazi had sung to Valhalla above, with voices as beautiful as the Valkyries themselves, of course. And it had been working! A surprise to herself, even when her tiny squeaking howls made out towards the sky.

She had even briefly met a friend*.

A boy of shadows, though she had never received his name.

Instead, she had merely glanced at him as his paws had grown closer toward her side, and offered him a sharp-tooth smile as she continued singing.

Kvit didn’t know where he went afterward.

Fortunately for her, in the aftermath of her brilliant singing, it was the sun glittering against a world of softened snow and the voices of her family that had ultimately roused her awake. As if carefully placed in the snow, she had woken in a ball of her own making—blinking eyes cast toward the sound of Roskva’s squeaking voice.

Mama? Kvit called, her voice unusually echoey, as if replicating itself the moment she spoke.

That was weird.

Mama. Mama. Mama. She tested her voice again, ears perked, and listened as a faint trace of her voice seemed to resonate back.

That was…PRETTY COOL.

She had leaped to her feet the moment such weirdness no longer bothered her and raced toward her sister and mother with the speed of a child who had just found the coolest thing eve—

Kvitrafn slammed to a halt.

Her sister had ORBS spinning around her. Little flecks of light that seemed to spin around her silhouette.

NOT FAIR! Kvit cried, eyes bulging out of her head as she blinked at the cool dancing lights—her voice a louder echo as she screamed at Roskva. I WANT COOL GLOWING LIGHTS.

She turned toward Sreda next. Determined to have her mom fix this clearly blaring issue of inequality between them both, but then she noticed her face.

The blood that seemed to drip from eyeball—or where an eyeball should’ve been but was not.

Kinda like Achlys.

Kvit stilled as she blinked, her jaw gaping in all-absorbing curiosity.

Mama, your eye— she started to say before she noticed that Sreda, too, had the glowing orbs of light twinkling around her.

YOU HAVE THEM TOO! She screeched.

This was totally not fair.

* Grim mention of Grim!

Wardruna had yet to find, many. Of course there could have been quite plenty enough members in the pack which had not been displaced by the world's magic…. Or was it the spirits themselves which intentionally scattered them all around with one last ‘yeah fuck you’? After all, they had already gotten caught up in these spirits' baggage once before.

She would continue to howl for her kin, hearing back voices from some others in return (leaving that vague) and weariness wore at body and shown in her face. She had been lucky to receive only some superficial wounds, but the lack of sleep by haunted dreams and battle with wraith had worn the Queen down.

She slowly tread the freeland just outside of Northfall, tired eyes searching the horizon for others to return home. Rhaegal, reluctant to leave his mother and to also make sure his sisters were alright, had fallen to rest in the brush somewhere within the forest not far as the mother stood guard in wait.

Then she smelt blood. She smelt Sreda and her daughter and lots of blood as they were brought back to the land where they belonged. Wardruna rushed, searching, woofing out until she would find there the two women, golden, black and pale in between. Yet they were not alone - Kvitrafn came, the image of a grandmother and grandfather before her. Her voice sounded - odd, echoed, didn't it? Faint, but there, like a whisper of your voice off the mountains on still, early winter mornings. And there - there, was that little wisps of light floating about the air? Like pollen caught in the sunlight. Wardruna figured surely that's what it was wrong all the spring suddenly just popping up.

The magic of this land had changed them with their survival. And there was Sreda, far worse for wound then Wardruna herself and while she swept it quick and low to whine and lick at her daughter's faces, it was quick and sporadic as Wardruna was made to focus on the bloodied scene before her.

Sreda… It was hardly a gruesome sight in Wardruna's eyes. That would come later, when Sreda's was was cleaned of blood and the full extent of the damage to her eye could be seen. Right now, she was a woman with a face of battle. Proud and relentless. She looked absolutely stunning.

We- we should call for Sølvi. She spoke than, after a moment or two before realizing she had been staring. The little healer had meant to give back to those who had given to her and that agreement seemed like it would be squared far more swiftly than Wardruna had expected.

Rhaegal roused from the warm forest floor, rays of light peaking through the evergreens and shining rays of light on his coat. Warmth. He had only gathered this from his family and the dens on their den before. Light. by the glow of the moon under the choke of cloud and the shine of others' eyes in the forest.

Following with quick steps after his mother, he would be met with his other-mother and two of his siblings. Sharp eyes pointed high and forward, listening to Kvitrafn go on about - something - he had missed it, but while Kvitrafn was finding jealousy in them, Rhaegal found her own new little ‘voice trick’ quite intriguing.

How cool… A murmur on his breath. Could she teach him to do that? When did that happen anyway? MOM- He looked to her, taking note of her quite bloody face, Mom, your face… Rhaegal points out the obvious, much so as everyone else. And then- a brief look around, Where's Mazikeen?