Skill: Ranger [1/5]
Title: Buy the Stars
Rhydian, Valeska

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Traversing through the Arctic was familiar to Faeline. Perhaps, a little too much so. A sense of nostalgia that crept up on her body was disconcerting, to say the least.

Such trivial emotion that was pleasant to most—she loathed it. The woman wanted nothing more than for the feeling to wane, as the snow is thawing under the springtide sunlight. Alas, things were not so simple; memories would remain, no matter how much she willed them to be forgotten.

Keeping Dimitri's remarks about Elysium and its portal in mind, she took quiet steps forward over the woodlands. Greenery had begun to spring from the ground, as buds were forming on the tree's limbs. Faeline relished the knowledge that soon, the famine and anguish of winter would ebb away and be replaced by the vivacity of spring.

The venture was far. She was unsure about how Rhydian felt—but Faeline's limbs were beseeching her for repose. Like hell would she allow that now—not when the end of their travels was finally drawing tantalizingly near. She pressed through the agony, ignoring the tremble of her joints and the wheeze that gripped her breaths.

At the scent of foreign wolves, she halted. Her lips parted with soft huffs, legs quaking in exhaustion. Here, Faeline said curtly, we're here.

Heart beating in her throat, she raised her head and released a loud cry, alerting the pack of her presence. If what she was informed of was true, there would be no skirmish—simply a conversation.

How asinine... the notion of such friendly wolves. No sense of defensiveness, no desire to maintain order. 'Anyone is welcome—' An open door policy. There was a modicum of doubt that remained in the back of Faeline's mind that this could truly be plausible. As, surely, it was an innate action to protect what's yours?

But, she would ignore it. For Morriva and Aedric, for Rhydian, she would gamble the risk.

A small part of Rhydian resented how easily Faeline moved through the snow.

She made it look effortless.

He had grown up in the cold, but this... this was different. She was built for it in a way he wasn’t, cloaked in thick, silken white fur that caught the wind like it belonged to the storm itself. By comparison, he felt hairless his coat coarse and rigid where hers was plush and delicate. His body stiff where hers moved fluidly over the drifts as if she had done it thousands of times before. Rhydian could almost hear his father’s voice now—grumbling about aching joints, the creeping stiffness of age.

Rhydian wasn’t old. Not yet. But damn if the Pit hadn’t made him feel it...

Every step was a reminder of that slow decay, decay of the strength he once carried so easily. It gnawed at him, that perfidy of his own body, though he’d long since learned to bite down on the complaints before they left his tongue.

Besides, Faeline had done too much for him already. He couldn’t slow her down any more than he already had. He refused to. They had a goal, and he wasn’t about to let something as pathetic as arthritis keep him from his children.

At least spring was stubborn. He could feel it in the way the afternoon light stretched across his back, in the faint, thawing scent of damp earth beneath the frost. It was a small mercy. The gods owed him as much.

They were here for a reason, he reminded himself.

Faeline had mentioned a pack. What was the name again?

Naturally, he had given her an earful about the subject. Not that it had changed anything. Obstinate as ever.

'Here... we’re here.'

Rhydian exhaled sharply, breath coiling against the cold.

"Remember, Fae, we’re only here to find out more about Morriva and Aedric," His voice was even, low from bearing the weight of their argument from the day prior. The substance behind it left no room for argument—at least, for a normal, non-Faeline individual.

"No distractions. No wasted time."

He knew they were in agreeance, that much he knew, but he couldn't help but reiterate his grievances anyway.

Skill: Herbalist

It was difficult to say what she was looking for.

As Valeska rummaged through the vast and meticulously kept expanse of her sister's garden, she could have cursed her own incompetence. She'd never paid much attention to their mother's teachings as a child, content merely to frolic and play in the snow, and unfortunately not even past her third month Annika and her half-sister Harper had been sent away.

It was a miracle she and Harper had ever managed to reunite in the end, grown up and worlds apart in both experience and history - their stories had branched away from each other, but now it had been five - or six? - years since, and the two had managed to bond again as if nothing had ever gotten in the way of them to begin with.

All of that to say: she still had no idea what she was trying to find.

Her stomach hurt. There was definitely an herb for it, and it was definitely in Harper's garden, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what the hells it was or even looked like.

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. She was just about ready to give up and try to sleep the damn thing off when an unfamiliar howl sounded from a ways off - a visitor, perhaps? The distraction might help as much as anything else. Valeska picked herself up and trotted off in the direction of the summons, trying to keep her grumbling to a minimum as her stomach cramped.

A pretty silver woman and her dark companion came into view as she approached. Definitely strangers, but they didn't seem to have wrathful intent - not that many who came to Elysium's borders ever did. They were pacifists and not particularly keen on making enemies.

Hello, she greeted, her voice rich and heavily accented. Valeska was still most comfortable speaking her native Russian, but she'd slowly managed to grasp a competent level of fluency in the common tongue over the spanning years. Her expression, ever open and always sincere, beamed the pair a welcoming smile.

I am Valeska, High Priestess of Elysium. Do you seek shelter?

At least they hadn't arrived by falling into the damn lake.

Rhydian watched as the silver stranger approached, her warmth so blatant it greeted his senses like morning sun against freshly-laden snow. High Priestess. The title alone gripped him, dragging an old bitterness to the surface. He swallowed any distaste that flooded his maw.

Faeline, ever the confident woman, had already established their intent. Now it was his turn to speak plainly.

His ears flicked as he took Valeska in: the easy smile, the polite lilt behind that thick accent. An accent he did not recognize. He wondered if her softness was natural, or merely the way this 'Elysium' kept its walls unbloodied. Either way, he held his suspicions close.

"We seek answers. We've travelled far enough. We were told this —" his chin tipped slightly to indicate the woods behind her, "— was the place to ask for them."

His eyes, dark and flint-hard despite the fatigue engraved in his bones, flicked to Faeline as if reaffirming their purpose aloud. Then his vision reformed, occupied now with the image of the snow-laden Priestess.

“My daughter. Morriva. And my son, Aedric. Word reached us that they may have been seen near these lands.”

A beat. His voice softened, barely enough to linger in the air and not be swept away by the breeze. Just firm enough to reveal the iron truth beneath all his weariness.

He swallowed.

"I would know if they still breathe."