Dimitri

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Not once had Faeline ever seen so many wolves congregated in one area.

When she'd heard about this tourney in which all were invited, Faeline couldn't help her curiosity. She was insistently well beyond the barbarism that she'd seen in other packs long before, and a large part of herself was excessively wary—particularly when she heard the riotous nature of the festivities... but when she saw the feast of meat seasoned with salt of the sea and berries fermented with expertise that the she-wolf didn't quite understand, her worries that the groups were uncivilized disappeared as if they were never there in the first place.

Their skills in artisanal crafts softened Faeline's stern demeanor as though it were a high dose of sedatives. That, or it was the alcohol. Faeline didn't care which one it was; all she cared is that damn. Drinking felt good.

Tipsy, but not enough to entirely inhibit her ability to think, Faeline took a step back towards the outskirts to look over the wolves (and other animals) who'd gathered for the occasion. She looked on with wonder, knowing that each of them had ventured from a different corner of this world— one which the woman found herself entirely unfamiliar with. Her head canted back towards the darkening sky, whilst she lowered her eyelids to fall half-mast over her calm gaze, lulled by the effects of fermented fruit.

Each of them, every single individual who had trekked from some distant land... knew the land better than she. Better than Rhydian...

If anyone knew where Aedric and Morriva may reside now, it'd be them. Her breath subtly hitched, and she furrowed her brows. The haze of intoxication lifted just slightly at the revelation. Perhaps.... perhaps she should talk to one of the wolves who was a local. It'd be more beneficial than she'd initially assumed.

Momentarily separated from Fiadh, his main companion for the evening, Dimitri's decided he'll try the fermented stuff. It... doesn't really hit well. It tastes like shit, and he soon finds that his tolerance to this shit isn't as good as he'd like. He's not quite drunk, but definitely buzzed, and it's made thinking hard. Which, you know, good, thinking should be hard because if he thinks, he spirals. But it's not the nice sort of elevated thinking that the roots give him.

Hell, if anything, it's just making him sleepy.

He doesn't know how he got on this side of the party, nor where Fiadh is. But he can stand here for a bit, and it feels strange. Being around people. Being a body. Being a person. He stares at the white wolf next to him, not quite at her but through her.

"Чья идея была провести это зимой? (Whose idea was it to host this in the winter?)" His voice sounds small, dreamy even.

The stranger who appeared before her spoke in a foreign tongue.

Blanketed in coak of gray accented with subtle golds—they reminded her of Guinevere, if only for a fleeting moment. Yet no—Guin too was tall, but not nearly as much. And she was darker than he.

After a beat of silence, she spoke up. I don't understand a thing you're saying, dear. She remarked quietly; it was more of a mildly concerned comment than anything else. I take it you'd eaten some of those fermented berries? A chuckle, and her head turned back towards the darkening sky. The long, densely furred brush that sat at her side coiled forward and gingerly placed itself upon her forelimbs.

Another silence. Faeline was pensive, thinking about the land, about the folks, the food she'd consumed. All so curious, bringing forth skepticism when she'd first arrived at the festivities. But now...

She interrupted her own thoughts with an abrupt question. Are you... one of the locals? A brow arched, head canting slightly to the side.

He blinks, then shakes his head. "Sorry. The berries make me sleepy. Easier to talk in Russian when I'm tired." He yawns, then licks his lips, then shakes a bit to try to jolt himself out of sleep. He'd speak again soon, but for a moment, his brain needs to process things. He ponders, thinks, twitches a bit, and then speaks again. "No, no, I don't live here. Somewhere a bit warmer, not by much, but warmer."

What he wouldn't give to back home in his cave right now. He's having fun with Fiadh, but right now he wants to be curled up somewhere safe and warm. Maybe he'd go find Fiadh and snooze with her. But he does give the woman a glance. "I'm from Elysium. Are you from a different allied pack?"

Skill: N/A

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Russian...? The language sounded vaguely familiar. Did Emryth speak that? Or... it wasn't Rhydian, surely.

Hm, not to worry, she responded simply, you're from further south, she concluded, taking a short pause. Yet... you're from here. This... world. She tilted her head, taking in a soft breath before heeding his following question.

I am not from around here. I come from somewhere... else. Far, close, she was unsure. I was in a pack for a long time, but me and my companion split off from them some time ago. Would that be considered a 'long time' now? Or would it be 'recently'? Whether it was the berries or not, she didn't know... yet the concept of time felt ever-so foreign. My name is Faeline. I'm here now with Rhydian. Though, she had no damn idea where he was.

Somewhere away from the crowd, she could only assume.

Dimitri winces for a moment at the mention of here. "I'm... It's complicated." Yes, Fate's Respite is mostly the same, but the mountains are different. He won't get into it. It hurts to think about. "But yeah, I guess... leaving packs is a thing." He's never done it, not really. Never really had the spirit in it, even when he considered it.

"I'm Dimitri. It's nice to meet you." He isn't quite sure where to take the conversation, until it slowly dawns on him why this entire gathering is happening. "Did you know Ragnar?"

Skill: N/A

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Faeline could sense the disquietude. Immediately, she dropped the sentence. The pleasure is mine, she smoothly responded, turning away from the tall sire and facing the tourney's festivities.

Her eyes closed for a moment, and Faeline quietly sighed. Ragnar... I did not. I was invited by Persephone, though I admit... I'm not sure why. She chuckled. I've not been here for very long. For merely a few weeks ago, she was in another realm—at least, there was no other explanation that she could logically think of.

Faeline fell silent for another few seconds, her brows furrowing. My companion... she began, her lips pursing, he believes his children to be lost. Dead. Her tail coiled over her forepaws. Perhaps if she was sober, she would not be sharing such information with a stranger. Yet, I disagree. I know those two. I'd helped them. They... can't be dead.

Her head whipped to the side, and she scowled. Dimitri, if there's any chance that you could help me find them—any way at all. I would be forever indebted to you. Another sentence that she would be ashamed of once the effects of the berries wore off. But for now, there was no inhibition that the dame harbored—only determination to find Aedric and Morriva.

Though Faeline doesn't know it, she's swearing herself to a person who tends to prefer ripping out their own heart than ask for help. It makes them a "burden" and a "needy little bitch," and Dimitri would rather not be either of those. "I didn't know Ragnar very well," Dimitri says, the truth and all the truth they're going to share. It seems rude to mention disdain for a man at his own funeral. And if people aren't in the know, they don't need to be.

But the look they give her is one of quiet contemplation. "I... don't know these lands particularly well, either," they admit. "I don't leave home often. But... Elysium has a portal into Mythris. We have new wolves show up there all the time." It's an offer they can at least give. "And Fiadh and I are going to wander in the spring. If your companion's children don't show up through Elysium's portal, we could... let you know if we find them?"

It's a long shot, but any shot at all is what Faeline sounds like she wants. "It might work? It might not. I'm not... good at finding people."

Skill: N/A

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Faeline, ever calm, listened to his explanation with a stoic face—

Until he spoke of a portal.

Port— a... a what?! she whipped her head to the side to look at the tall wolf with shock etched across her face. You said.. portal?? A Portal?!? The arctic wolf rose with her ears sharply pricked forward.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Faeline and Rhydian weren't swept away in an avalanche. They were transported through a portal. The woman paced the ground with her eyes narrowed, muttering to herself. They... that... that's got to be it. I- she looked up. Dimitri, take me to— where you are from... this... Elysium. Her tail lashed behind her. It's important— oh! Rhydian, I've got to tell Rhydian!

The white wolf scrambled, turning left and right in search of her companion. RHYDIAN!" She howled.