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Sreda · 3 years (5/30/2022)

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

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.

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 , 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.

[Image: dg9r9iv-ef1e32a4-b5fc-454a-8201-de53cca1...V8lCO39ptc]

Welcome Back!

Greetings Stranger!

Northern Alpines

the little nightmare