It had been far too long since Ragnar's celebration. Far too long since cheer and snarls of battle had filled the lands of Northfall. In so many ways, it seemed after Ragnar's death many things had died with it, including the bond which Northfall held with Elysium. Wardruna hoped this not to be so, yet also feared what could have been separating them. Her head lifts, smelling the air, eye turning northward. Even here, the purple haze of the cursed plague could be seen lingering in the skies in the vast distance.

Soon, her vision was of the open skies was hindered with the cover of forestry. A river stemmed from the mountains of Northfall and outward. An equal river stemmed from Fate's Respite and outward. The blushed meadows inbetween (and with glacial mountains in the north, Wardruna wondered how bad flooding would be in Avon), this is the place which Wardruna came from.

At the outskirts of the forest which thickened as it neared the mountains, Wardruna followed the familiar sound of rushing waters. A river known for being fast and incredibly dangerous. It's howling roars echoed through the green. And then she stopped when she reached the riverbed, completely astonished. It had become greyed. Smelling of something completely unrecognizable and as with the purple snow, she felt herself compelled to draw nearer, to try it, to taste it.

The behemoth woman shakes her head violently, as though trying to snap herself out of the mind spell. Her movements far more swift, as she takes to a gallop in following the river north. A howl out in call as she runs, Elysium! Sreda, Harper, Valeska, Amaranth! Were they still here? Had they succumb?