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Roskva · 4/29/2026, 3:26 PM

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! 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. 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.

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.

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Northern Alpines

the helping hand (grenade)