Fjölskylda

Brónach had indeed lived a life, hadn’t she? Long and robust, surrounded by her brood – a husband, a wife, and a litter of children that were all blessed by the gods in both brains and beauty. Stormskyli flourished under her husband's, Eiður's, admittedly competent guidance. And when their eldest, Stjörnuáti, was finally old enough to claim his own inheritance, the boy left and forged his own path. Brónach’s only concerns were ensuring her progeny were settled and perpetuating the family line. After all, she hadn't birthed so many heirs just to be denied the satisfaction of a gaggle of grandchildren. And, of course, she had the pleasure of her mates' company as age took its toll on them, as it does on us all eventually.

Then, that hálfviti Eiður decided to shuffle off this mortal coil, as if Valhalla was some grand prize. Leaving Brónach with just her wife, and their children. But the Gods, in their infinite, tiresome wisdom, weren’t quite finished tormenting her. The entirety of Stormskyli simply… vanished. Gone! Leaving Brónach and her wife bereft. Brónach wasn't one for mawkish displays, but finding herself alone with her wife, the rest of her family stolen away like scraps from a raven's beak... that, yes, was enough to loosen even an old lioness's dam of tears.

And then… then the Lioness of Morvena was… here. Wherever "here" might be. A place, familiar yet foreign, and her wife… missing. Alone. As if the world weren’t cruel enough. Alone as a… a lone wolf, and a lone wolf always dies. Was this… Fólkvangr, perhaps? Brónach had always held a fondness for Freyja's halls, a far more tasteful abode than the All-Father’s dreary Valhalla – even if Eiður’s soul had inevitably found its way into that one-eyed bore's company. But if this was Fólkvangr, Brónach was profoundly disappointed. No fields of endless pleasure, no gold-gilded halls to find rest in. Just… cold, unrelenting snow that seemed to aggravate her joints with every step. It had her sighing out in restrained pain, like a woman forced to endure a particularly tedious wedding feast. The Lioness stood nonetheless, bearing proud and regal despite her confusion, and she would be damned before she let this… situation… take ahold of her. She had to regain her bearings and find her wife.

@Stjörnuáti

the staff team luvs u

It was his favorite spot to come to, the cliff that overlooked the mountain lake. The gold-crested northerner frequented this spot when he had a moment or two of solitude, enjoying the scenery it boasted and the security it have him to be able to look down the mountain's slopes and see what there was to be scene. He was here frequently enough that it surprised him to scent another following the path he'd started to wear into the dirt and grass.

What surprised him more was that the scent was familiar, battering him with nostalgia and longing. He remembered being a boy, a waking up to that scent every morning, remembered following it as she taught him just as he taught his own young now. He remembered the sound of her voice, and the warmth of her furs. The cutting look he'd receive when she was scolding him. He remembered the look of sadness mixed with pride as she'd seen himself and Solpallur off to follow their hrinja, thus answering the call of their fate.

He didn't even realize he'd risen and started descending down the mountain to follow the scent of --

“Móðir?” He asked, staring at her in rare disbelief. There were many oddities the land had presented him with over the years, things that didn't even faze him now, but this... He had never expected to see his mother again.
the staff team luvs u