---

For Sreda!

skill: Cartographer

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?

Skill:

---

I see the bad moon arising
I see trouble on the way
I see earthquakes and lightnin'
I see bad times today

Her experimentations had led her no closer to any corporeal reasoning for the recent plagues that had manifested. In fact, she'd convinced herself that the world had been cursed by its very ancestors. Ancestors with a magic far stronger than anything this modern world was familiar with — far stronger than anything this modern world could handle. And soon, it would reach a threshold that it could not withstand. Soon, the end would come.

I hear hurricanes a-blowing
I know the end is coming soon
I fear rivers overflowing
I hear the voice of rage and ruin

The sting of the water burned her skin, searing the delicate fibers of fur between her paw pads. The water wasn't as strong here as it was at home ... but it was obvious that the curse was spreading. The decay was spreading farther and farther from the epicenter, determined to consume. 'How original,' she thought with a tinge of boredom, treading out of the water and shaking each of her paws to clear it of the sludgy gray debris.

Hope you got your things together
Hope you are quite prepared to die
Looks like we're in for nasty weather
One eye is taken for an eye

The howl caught her attention. It felt frantic and unfamiliar for a voice that Sreda often found was devoid of fear. Her sharp purple gaze would turn, catching the whiff of Wardruna the Blood Drinker. The witchy woman would release a bark, sharp enough to catch Wardruna's attention, she hoped. Don't venture too far, she warned, tufted ears flicking forward in her own subtle greeting. The water bites. There were hints of a smile along the edges of her lips.

Don't go around tonight
Well, it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise

---

Wardruna had never feared for her own life. Had never thought to run away from whatever danger might become of her, yet instead ran towards the danger. For whatever fear she felt was a fear at the loss of other's lives than her own. Those she loved, those which had yet to be taken from her out of the vast many which had. There was little left of the great family of Stormborn and wished not the same fate on any other, specifically a family close to her all the same - the Callosum.

Fuck, there you are! The sharp bark had the large wolf reeling around quick and trotting swift into the direction of Sreda as she saw her now in the distance, ears perked to her words.

The stability of Northfall is poor at best, but with this plague - I just had to come. I had to make sure you all were okay. Sreda, of course, but the rest of the family which, had multiple marital attempts not failed, would have been Wardruna's family as well.

Skill:

---

The Northern Viking diverted her path to turn toward the smaller Callosum woman. And Sreda waited with a practiced patience, sitting at the precipice of the end of the world as she awaited the arrival of her friend. Sreda, much like Wardruna, did not fear for her own life. In fact, she was almost jealous of those that succumbed to the Plague-Sickness. She seemed somehow rather immune to it — or was she just numb to most things in general?

But she’d realized her purpose was far greater. She had skirted death many times in her life, and she was certain it would take her someday — but only when it was ready. Until that time, she would continue her studies.

Wardruna regaled the sufferances of Northfall. Admittedly, Sreda knew very little of the politics of the North — she only kept up through the whispers of her Mama, and through the rumors of her Bloodbreather Brother, Alder. But she would be remiss if she hadn’t heard about the King’s death. Wardruna’s father. Sreda would flick her ears forward, expression no softer, but her brows tilting downward.

I didn’t make it to Ragnar’s festival, she offered in way of an apology. I am sure the battles were brilliant and bloody, and that honor was brought to your father’s name. Sreda would fully turn herself toward Wardruna, curtly dipping her head.

Elysium has been driven from the lake, she would continue solemnly, thinking of the trauma of her Mama. Valeska was stubborn, annoyingly so. It was a quality Sreda both admired and hated. But even this had shaken the silver woman’s resolve. We’ve dispersed, most of us in the Southern Alpines now, with Dimitri .

She paused.

There have been losses, she continued, remembering those who had stayed too long. There was an unusual softness in her voice, a tone she saved only for revering the memory of those that have passed.

But we will return once this Plague ends. She was resolute in that. Her tail lashed once behind her. Is Northfall touched by this dispair? Or is it internal instability that plagues you? It was a forward question from a curious woman. She would tilt her head, blinking toward Wardruna. 

---

Sreda sat, awaiting with a patience for the sentry to come to her. Sitting tightly and fixed upright and ears to attention, poised with perfection. Her gaze - sharp, striking. The vibrancy of her purple eyes... It also made her think of Harper, of Sheauga... But everything else of Sreda was one hundred percent her own. She - she was stunning. Maybe Wardruna was just feeling emotional after having lost so much and now having so little to hold close to.

Thank you, Sreda. It was a brilliant celebration. Wardruna's chin dips before the woman, the same curt nod given to her. Tough knowlegement. A hardened air of seriousness. Northfall had not been so vibrant since.

Disbursed? A softness shown there in her, to which Wardruna returned with her own softened gaze. Wardruna would like to think of it that Elysium wasn't any longer. They weren't gone. Not like Northfall's possibility. As Sreda said, they had been forced out by nature (well, magic). Wardruna liked to think of it more as 'visiting allies until the coast is clear'. Yet still, hearing they had losses recently too caused Wardruna's ears to sweep back.

She didn't ask for the details. Sreda wasn't a woman who liked lingering on the sad and depressing stuff. Death was death. New life was given elsewhere. Simple as that. Wardruna kept having to remind herself that these were the mindsets of her very own people, too.

In Avon, yes? She knew the answer, having went to the festival they had held plus having ran into Fiadh on the way here.

Internal, yes. Our lands have not been touched by the plague. Not yet, anyway. But there was still miles between them and the gloom which lingered further north. After King Ragnar, our most prominent sentry died. Then the Queen who had left us. Right after the death of the King, she should have remained to support her son and pack, yet she did not. Wardruna was still bitter with this (but R.I.P.) because it only proved that Jasmine was never really ever going to be one of their own.

During our mourning many others left our ranks. To leave the place which reminded them so much of those lost, or because they didn't feel welcomed while the Stormborns shut themselves off or whether it was unaccepting of Arvid's new rule. Either way, the pack needed them and they had left. Its just five of us now.

Skill:

---

Thank you. The words were simple, and yet ... they were not lost on Sreda's cold little heart. Perhaps, for a moment, a sliver of light peeked through those steeled amethyst eyes — a shimmer of sparkle amid a sea of Stygian darkness.

There was a moment of softness between them, subtle and silent ... but warm in the way it blossomed. And Sreda watched the way Wardruna's ears pulled back, the subtleties of the Viking's expression speaking volumes where her words did not.

Did Wardruna pity the dead?
Or did she pity the living left to suffer in the wake of death?

Yes. Avon, Sreda would confirm. It is the safest place for everyone right now, she would continue with a shrug of her shoulders. Clearly, Sreda had other things on her agenda, for she was far closer to the poisoned water than she was to the safety of the Red Meadow of Avon. Especially Dimitri's children, the witch would add as an afterthought, her gaze unrelenting as she continued to appraise Wardruna's expression.

Wardruna's next words, however, caused Sreda's limbs to stiffen slightly. After the showing of support at Ragnar's celebration, it was a surprise to hear that the once-mighty Northfall had succumbed to decay, death, disruption, and abandonment. Northfall, much like the lands of Mythris, suffered from a plague, it seemed. A plague that brought them to near-ruin, leaving only but ... five.

Abandonment is cowardice, Sreda would rumble, her voice even, but the threat that lingered there was not hidden. What of Alder? His name rolled off her tongue in question. It was unlike her brother to 'abandon' any post ... so she could only assume he was still there. Unless ... he had perished, too.

Sreda would not be happy if Alder died before her.

But there was something else lingering on Sreda's mind. A primal need to say something more — it was not something she was accustomed to. This feeling. Wardruna, she'd continue, the chill of the breeze drawing a powerful silence after her breath. Should Northfall need assistance from their allies, they need only ask. The woman would blink, drawing her gaze toward Wardruna for emphasis.

A warmth fluttered deep within her chest, burning like an ember.

Was it obvious enough?

That she wanted to help Wardruna? Wanted to go with her?

Sreda's tongue caught in the back of her throat, catching on the words that she did not speak. She could only hope her veil of apathy would keep her safe from questioning. The warmth in her chest rumbled with uncomfortable violence, and the voice in the back of her head encouraged her to speak. Speak. Speak.

And yet she sat. Poised and perfect.

---

Did Wardruna pity the dead?
 Or did she pity the living left to suffer in the wake of death?

The mourning which Wardruna felt was of her own, of the living. It was a pain which extended by the suffering of her young siblings, by the suffering of her niece and nephews. She did not shed tears for Ragnar Stormborn. Of course - why would she ever!?

He had lived a long life, as far as vikings had. He had won many fights, had survived many battles and waged wars. He had survived them all and as he felt he had accomplished everything he could in this life, he met his maker by perhaps the only one who could kill King Ragnar: his love, his Queen, a fucking god.

Wardruna could only imagine what chaos his ambitions now caused up in the realm of the gods.

In a sense, Wardruna's thoughts aligned with Sreda's own: they had left this world and onto the next and she? She was here, in this world that was tearing itself apart yo rid itself of them. Yet, despite whatever jealousy, sorrow or self pity she might feel, Wardruna still had so much life left to give to the mortal realm. She had not accomplished much. She had done little. If she were to prove herself worthy of Valhalla, she needed to do much more.

A tightened jaw then, as Sreda mentions little neice and nephews. Not to them, of course, by for the father who years back had the very possibility of being her own mate. No matter - he did not turn out to be the High Priest he was meant to be and to wed a prince that was no longer meant little. In the end, Wardruna found a relationship based on want, then duty. Sreda's next words spoke volumes on the subject, even though that subject had now changed...

Many are fickle. A hardened look then, followed by a snort. Those who do not hold pride for Northfall do not belong in Northfall. Better they left now then be a burden later. Spoken with the same argogant air of her father before her. Northfall, especially now while it was but a few, did not need 'hesitant, uncertain, free loading' members. They needed bodies they could count on then those who only ate up their resources and got in their way.

Alder remains, The 'but' lingered for a moment, However his attention drives him to Dawnbreak's borders often. A woman, perhaps, she did not know. She would scent him along the borders periodically, but hadn't laid eyes on him in... months?

The sentry's head is lifted at her name, to meet the amethyst gaze of her companion. There was a silent air there, heightened by the plagued river near and all the creatures that had vanished from this part of the lands that had become corrupt and decayed. Yet even the world turning in on itself had not changed Sreda, who walked among the dead and rot without a fleeting ounce of distress or apprehension. A fearlessness one might relate with viking.

Come with me then. After long moments of burning hearts and heated desire subdued. Stay with Northfall until this is all behind us. Though it might be suggested her meaning was until they were free of these plagues, given the conversation, who knows if Wardruna would ever be willing to let her go.

Skill:

---

The Blood-Breathers were distinctive creatures, driven in such a way that was unique in this mortal realm. They were bound by duty, by honor, and by loyalty, but that wasn't necessarily the unique part. Wardruna was more than a Viking. She danced beneath the full light of the moon, drenched in blood and bound by voodoo (Sreda would be wrought to forget that night). She, too, praised gods that no one else understood.

Perhaps Sreda shared in some of the morals of the Northern folk; perhaps she understood some of their traditions by proximity. But Sreda ... well, she was still Sreda.
Selfish and narcissistic and wanting in her own ways.

Elysium had the Five, and Northfall had the Gods. But where Elysium was lax, allowing souls to pass through the borders with ease, Northfall was wrought with rigidity and bound by blood. It was a fascinating topic, really. So many similarities ... and yet ...

Sreda's eyes would flash at the mention of Alder and his wandering desires. She could almost feel the way her gaze would roll, mirroring her shoulders as she alleviated the tension she carried there. Alder owes Northfall a great deal. If you call on him, he would come, Sreda assured. The you was only lightly accentuated, for she had a feeling that Alder trusted Wardruna. That he had trusted Ragnar.

She knew not of their new king.
She knew not of their political strife.

Forget the rest. It was simple.

After a few moments more, Wardruna would fully open the door to yet another Callosum. Sreda's tufted ears would flick forward, her amethyst gaze sparkling with an unreadable haze. "Stay with Northfall until this is all behind us." Sreda wondered briefly to herself, what this was. This: the plague? This: the political strife? This: the heat of their companionship, culminating into such a strange, powerful moment?

Sreda felt the pit of her chest tighten, but her gaze did not budge ... looking only into those olive optics that mirrored her in intensity.

Very well, the witch would concede easily, a strange willingness softening her tone ever-so-slightly. I will meet with my Мать (Mother) and sibling in Avon, lest they worry that I've sacrificed myself to the Plague. She would pause, lifting a brow in bemusement. And then I will make my way to Northfall. Her words held weight and finality.

A promise.

Her gaze did not waver.

---

The words Sreda spoke hanging there I'm the air. Wardruna would take a deep breath to take them in. Alder would come if she called to him. And what a thought, that in her teenage years she would swoon trip over herself and shift awkwardly Iike an idiot at the very thought of the man coming to her for any aid. A man not only colored in blood and fire, but a man who burned within with it. Consumed by rage and conquest. Alder had come to Northfall to become a warrior, to kill his grandfather. And so he had. (Although she didn't know he had quite succeeded that) Perhaps he did owe Northfall much after all.

It left her to wonder it all, in those lingering quiet moments. So much of their family had broken apart when Freya left. Yet Freya and Ragnar were both now gone. Had Sylvi become Queen, had herself, would Northfall be as it was now? Would there still be Vitus, Elli and Ezra? Would there still be Fiadh , chasing down her pups instead in the heart of a viking culture for which she was so proud? Would Jökull and ValkyrieD felt more welcome and Wardruna's littermates to return to their natal land?

Abandonment is cowardice.

Forget the rest.

Wardruna grumbled, nodded her head and moved on.

Of course. You cannot allow them to think you abandoned them. Spoken with a bit of amusement given their conversation, yet a serious weight all the same. Take your time. I will be there when you arrive. This she would make certain. Wardruna could only assume Arvid would have no reason to object a member of an allied pack deciding to stay as Northfall. If he did - well, a problem that would be addressed then, she assumed.

Instead of joining Sreda's side in travel, she thought it best to allow the woman the journey alone. Sreda was no less independent then ever, plus Wardruna had passed through Avon on the way here. She thought this time to go north around the Dawnbreak mountains. After all, the plague continued to spread through the high north and it might be an opportunity to recruit those in need.