「 Skill Point ― n/a 」
backdated 4 ish days

They were finally knocking on the door of Elysium, and thankfully, that came with very few hiccups on the trip over. The god almost wanted to drop down from exhaustion, but he refrained, herding his brood towards the respite's borders in hopes of an audience.

When they were finally situated in a good spot, Tyr turned to look at the group of wolves and smiled.

Be on your best behaviour, please. These were good friends of Queen Freya's, there was a sadness that flickered in his eyes before he tore them away, looking, searching, deeper into the territory.

Finally, he let out a howl.

Skill: Seer 1/5

The Queen. Maja had never been familiar with her, but the legacy of the Queen hangs over the pack. She can't help but wonder if the world would have been different had the Queen remained.

She walks in, determined to be good, but when she stares down at the valley before her, her blood turns cold and rushes straight out of her head. She sways for a few moments. The memories of death come back, acid in the lungs, and it suffocates her.

Only sheer determination keeps her on her feet. But she can feel her pulse thundering now, even as she takes the deepest of breaths.

She hadn't strayed, and Sindri was still trying to be on her best behavior. She stuck close, she asked before she went off hunting (mostly because she needed Cupid to hold the owlet), and she focused on keeping her Papa's path as clear as she could. It was fun, and exciting, and she was so glad to be out and about. Out stretching her legs, learning, searching for runes, spending time with the people she loved most. Part of her wished they could do this all the time; wander, search, live to the fullest.

She flipped an arched branch out of the way as she forged forward for Cupid, and thought that would never really be possible for them. But a girl could dream of flying, right?

The fledgling rooted in the crook of her shoulder blades and fast asleep, Sindri stepped carefully as she moved along, halting and looking up to Tyr as he explained that they were visiting friends of Freya. A simple, agreeable note cooed from her lips, and the teenager stood a little straighter as joined her song with the Kings. She didn't know who they were calling for, or why, but she was happy to be helpful. :)

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roughly seven-ish? months

Father spoke: best behavior, he decreed.

Sverke's muzzle twitched as he fought to suppress a bored eye-roll. He was being good, he didn't need to be reminded every five minutes - every twenty should suffice. He was already half-way tuning Tyr out when the King continued, dropping that these had been good friends of Mother's.

Sverke had gotten better at schooling his reactions, so he didn't falter outwardly. He waited a second so the correlation wasn't obvious, before straightening his shoulders slightly and brushing a bit of moss stuck in his fur free. He was intrigued, now, hungry for any scraps of divinity his mother had left behind for him to find when she'd whisked away to another realm.

She was immortal but she'd left only a few hazy months of memories with him to hold onto. Sometimes, the memories he had of the monstrous life he'd lived before this one were almost more vivid than her face - and he hardly recalled her voice anymore.

Skill:

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The end of the world threatened, and yet the day-to-day would continue to press onward. Food. Drink. Conversation. Politics. Nothing paused, even in the face of the apocalypse.

Amaranth had spent some time searching the whole of the Respite for clues — Runes. There had been whispers in her mind, soft persuasions that drove her to continue looking ... and yet as the days persisted, she grew more rugged. The poisoned water and the toxic air were slowly draining the Elysium wolves of their prosperity — and their sanity.

So she was almost grateful when something more concrete made its way into her senses. The song of foreign wolves and the breath of winter air — a summoning for the wolves of the foothills. The wraith would perk her ears, swiveling her head toward the border before casually making her way toward the congregation. Amaris? He'd been nearby and would have likely heard the howl, too. She supposed he should come along, since Valeska ...

... well ... unfortunately, her wife was a bit ... predisposed at the moment. (Well, she was a bit bedridden, actually, seeing as she had spent most of her days of late drinking the lake walker and hacking it back up.) Unfortunately, Valeska was normally the one who took pride in their foreign affairs. Valeska was good at keeping Amaranth in the know — it was just a matter of how much the golden woman retained.

She slowed as she approached the group, recognizing the cold scent. It was not one she'd personally known, but it was one she found laced in Valeska's fur after a time at some festival. Valeska had been sparse with the details of exactly what had happened there.

The Augur would slow, running her purple gaze quietly over the group. She recognized only one — the one with the split face. He had saved many of them when the fires had broken forth.

Týr, she greeted. And ... everyone. Welcome. Her voice was cool, her eyes quiet with curiosity and inquiry. It is good to meet you all. To what do we owe the visit? The wind blew, gently tousling the raven feathers in her fur as she offered them an eerie smile.

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Skill: —

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His mind had become a twisting labyrinth of never-ending hallways and a compilation of dead ends, one after the other. His sleep had soured since the onslaught and punishment from the lake. His appetite had decreased in an effort to quell the uneasy desire to quench his thirst, and though he tried his best to disregard the feelings that riddled his mind, Amaris had eventually lost the sweet escape of sleep, even if he had barely known of it before. He no longer knew which way was up, which direction to take, nor how to appease the Gods from the suffering they delivered.

He was perhaps a bit worse for wear. Disheveled with a slender body that carried him forward through the trees of Elysium, his gaze as haunted as the weary sun that hung overhead.

First, the water, his once sweet solace. Then the minds of those once strong and iron-willed siphoned against their will, and then finally the Dream Visitor, whose lengthy words meant nothing to him.

Runes, his mother spoke about—but what was the importance of runes in the face of disaster and disarray?—

The moon-child’s ears perked at the onslaught of a howl, the string of his name accompanied by the familiar cadence of his mother. He turned away from his thoughts and the never-ending path he bound himself toward, and paused, considered, and then approached.

His slender form, no longer boyish and premature, now sat atop longer legs built for a man--if one were to ignore the displaced fur and his troubled stare that marked his own insomnia. He sauntered forward, slipping easily throughout the shadows of the trees until he came up to a place beside his mother and faced the group with a careful glance.

He recognized only one of them.

The two-faced man who had battled the water-demon beast and had claimed that they had been a friend.

A brow perked.

And his head had shifted.

Hello…there, he murmured politely to the group.