Alvaerelle Wynzorwyn

Her face of the calmest neutrality, perhaps simmering with only the slightest annoyance, had been met with one of primal animalistic anger. Upon her touch she saw Cyrus for the male nearly all of the tribe described him as — a feral beast, a heathen to be forever hated. It was hard to see past that guise now but she faced him head on, her own fire soon to erupt and meet his. Everyone had been too afraid to correct this male and left him unchecked for far too long. If she had to be the one to face his wrath so be it, perhaps it would be what the male needed to change.

Peering into his pinpoint pupils and infuriated gaze she could see it had been an entirely different Cyrus from the one that had realized who he glanced back at. She saw the shift of pure outrage to the one analyzing the current situation at hand. At the rise of his hand the female would pin her sharp pointed ears tightly against the back of her skull, offering to meet his once angered snarl with one equally as feral being initiated by a hiss. Fangs bared, her own pupils would constrict pinning themselves firmly upon the males' own. It was as if time had slowed between them. That is, until the male had caught his own swing making an attempt to pull away, ultimately failing leaving a jagged scratch against her forearm. As his nails made their contact ripping the flesh from her skin she’d grimace, quickly snapping her arm back towards her chest. Her gaze would shift down toward her arm to see where the wound would take its place, scenting the metallic fragrance, and soon seeing the blood begin to rise upon her skin she’d glare back toward him, pupils still pinpoint.

She saw the panic, the remorse, the concern, perhaps even fear rise upon the males widened eyes. She truthfully didn’t know how to react. He’d begin to lose all sense of his charm and his composure rapidly, his vocals stammering to get a grasp of any formal sentence. The female would begin to allow a deep laugh to escape her, the beginnings of a growl would soon follow shortly afterwards. Her gaze remained pinned upon the male, fierce, yet calm and dignified.

“Do not bother to get me anything.” She spat. Her gaze firmly set upon the male, who had nearly begun begging for forgiveness for his assault upon her.

“You have gone unchecked for far too long Cyrus and it was time someone put you in your proper place.” She would begin approaching the male allowing a snarl to etch itself upon her steely mask.

Had anyone in the tribe dared approach the pair to intervene they’d be met with a feral snarl to back off and wait.

“I see you for who you want to be. A male craving power. That is, power that would never be granted to you even if you were the last choice to receive it and even you know it. Power is never given to those who crave it for the wrong reasons.” The female would raise her hand to meet his chest soon digging her own nail at its center.

“You were not always this type of male. I have heard a great deal of who you were before. You have allowed your view of what this tribe was centuries ago to skew what it has grown to become. You view it as weak, fragile, perhaps even delicate. Yet you do not evolve nor learn anything, do you. My Esen, Catori, Ivan - even is a testament to that inner strength perhaps you lack within yourself.”

“Believe me, when I say that I am fully aware of the insult you believe the Elders have brought you, perhaps you even believe the fucking Gods have spited you for the outcomes of your life. However, let me be very fucking clear. You need to take a closer inspection of yourself, of your fucking heart — that is if you still even have one.” She’d state, digging a single sharp claw into his chest dragging it up towards the base of his neck, drawing blood along its path, unbothered by her own physical assault against him.

“You think you know what this tribe needs. You think this tribe needs someone like you, and it in fact does not. It will never need a male like you, so hungry to send it back into the savagery it once was a millennia ago. Have you ever taken any thought to what it is that you might actually need? Your concerns on the tribes wellbeing are not at all what the tribe actually needs. They are of your own selfishness.”

“You are not of royal blood and likely never will be. Even if you turned rogue and made your own tribe of savages it would crumble and fall out of existence. Your own son wouldn’t even join you, not that you care for him in any other sense than something to keep your pathetic excuse of a bloodline alive anyway. Whose to say he’d even keep your last name and not take the maiden name of your mate.” She’d add shifting her glare towards his son, her speech likely more for him than the tribe itself, at this point, snapping back toward the brute in front of her.

Her enraged gaze, had now returned to normal, emitting nothing but a firm sternness. She would pull out a knife that had been kept well hidden at her waistband ensuring the male hadn’t dared to snap at her for the mention of his deceased mate and would firmly grab for his own arm that reached toward her, and sliced her knife against his arm to bear the same mark as her, on his opposing forearm. She’d gaze at any who had surrounded the pair and state firmly, loudly enough for all immediate ears within the vicinity to pick up.

“We are even. Blood for blood. Should anyone dare punish this male for his insult against me, the insult has been reciprocated adequately enough. Leave him be.” She retorted calmly, her gaze now of only disappointment as it rested on the male. She would take her leave, dismissing herself from the scene.

She’d sigh to herself. That speech, the entire interaction had taken it out of her. Her skull was still pounding, so she’d make the decision to stop at a table and drink some water before further dismissing herself to the sandy shore of the beach, not only to wash her blade of Cyrus’ blood but also recollect herself. There was likely only one other person who’d know exactly where to find her, that individual being Ivan.

She would find her little cove and claim a seat at its shoreline. The calming sound of the waves splashing against the rocks rejuvenating her tiredness from the night, the moonlight peeking through gaping holes at the top of the cove. Tranquility and peace found her here so she remained for a bit longer, knowing she’d have to go find Esen before the young apprentice tried to go find her. She would hope that Syllivanna had managed to keep her attention but perhaps Esen being as emotionally intellectual as her cousin would grant her the space she needed.

Syllivanna Zylqirelle

Upon the endless slew of apologetic words coming from her cousin, Syllivanna would place a gentle hand on her cousin's shoulder, and offer a gentle smile.

“Esen, there is nothing stupid about protecting your family. Although, remind me to bring mead with us because we may need that brashness during our trials.” She’d tease, her cousin attempting to rub her eyes as if it would cause everyone to forget the scene she just witnessed.

Her gaze would shift, as her sharp ears now prickled at the silence of the music. Her pale bi-colored pools would peer up towards the Elders as they began their announcements, a chill creeping along her spine causing her to straighten a bit more. She had followed every word the elders had shared raising an eyebrow trying to make sense of their rhyme. Her neutral gaze would side glance to meet that of the uncertain gaze of her cousin offering some sort of calm to the nervousness that likely arose. Her gaze would shift once more toward Ivan, now promoted to lieutenant, and momentarily fall upon Esen who appeared to be staring at the male with fire in her eyes. May the Gods save the male that Alvaerelle directs any interest to.

Finally upon the Elders last announcement. Ravae, she was a gatherer wholly unbeknownst to her. She was to be the next Shaman. Did she know the use of all the herbs both her and Eirlys spent years training to learn. Would Ravae have to learn them and their uses through the apprentices? She surely knew what each herb likely looked like but what about the uses? Did the female know how to suture a wound? The anatomy of both dragons and elves alike? Surely, at least the elven anatomy it’d be strange for anyone not to know but the slightest hint of doubts crossed her mind on the females ability having known nothing of the female to begin with. Her bi-colored gaze would drag itself to Althea, she was a female who expressed lots of interest in the position having spent a decent amount of time around the previous shaman. What would she make of this selection. Mmm.

Her ears would flicker and her eyes would return back toward the violet gaze of her cousin.

“I know nothing of Ravae, though, I would hope based upon her apparent shyness that she will make a good teacher.” She would state earnestly.

Her attention would then snap at the bickering pair between three pyres. It was Alvaerelle and Cyrus. The male had apparently strongly disapproved of all the announcements and changes, though, when would the male ever approve of it, if it didn’t involve him or his presumed choices. Her face and body would stiffen as she watched the male raise his hand in an attempt to what would appear direct harm toward the female only to attempt to be redirected away. Her eyes would squint in a near wince at the attempted assault, her skull drawing back slightly. From where the pair of cousins stood it was clear as day to see that blood was drawn, its scent lingered in the air. She watched the queen draw her arm back and study the mark left by the male only to have the boldness many did not have to now correct the male who appeared immensely remorseful, respectively accepting his death if not by the female before him than by the clan itself.

She quickly whirled herself in front of her cousin, in an attempt to hold her in place.

“We should stay here. Alvaerelle is incredibly capable of handling herself Esen.” She would add hoping her cousin wouldn’t allow whatever mead remained in her system to take a hold of her again.

She would peer back over her shoulder as the queen now sliced down the male's own arm. Scenting two different types of blood the males permeating the premises more heavily than the female. She had noticed he was bleeding now not only from his arm but also his chest and toward the center of his neck. The queen surely knew what she was doing. For she could have easily veered left or right and sliced into his carotid artery though everything she seemed to have done was deliberate. She watched wide-eyed over her shoulder as the female would take her leave toward a local table take a drink of water and dismiss herself entirely.

“I think we should give her some space to cool down.” She would add toward her cousin who likely pushed her out of place and dragged her toward the bodies that rushed to aid the female only to circle around the couple upon the snarl emitted by the queen as warning for any who dared any closer.

Cyrus Terosh | Warrior | Mentions:

Alvaerelle, Warriors (Dir.) Ivan (Indir.)

At the first sentence that ripped from her lips, Cyrus knew he was in the black books again. His ears remaining flicked back, he stopped his attempt to reach for her and drew his arms back to his sides. He noticed his hunched position and quickly moved to rectify it as she moved towards him. Keeping his head high, he lowered his gaze to watch her carefully. He could see the anger burning in her eyes, her lips drawn into a growl of distaste.

Cyrus’s chest gave a sharp intake of breath as Alvaerelle’s nail met his skin, digging in without a moment of hesitation. He could feel the small pooling pain at the pinprick of contact as she spoke. With each statement, his eyes narrowed further and further, critical. Perhaps the smallest hint of disappointment, but the overwhelming irritation at the audacity of her claims conquered his expression. Power was a very important attribute to the tribe’s success. What if another group moved into their land, if they were not dominant they would lose their home. He deemed that a worthy reason for his fixations.

It was when Alvaerelle began to speak of his son that he felt a true white-hot fury ignite within him. He did not move, his muscles tensing as she drew her nail further up his skin, splitting it cleanly, the pain numbed by his umbrage. She had no right to talk of his son in this manner, she did not know their relationship to its core. She had no right.

A small curl of his upper lip betraying his newly kindled annoyance. He was still ruminating on the ridiculous claims when she drew his arm towards her. For a moment, a flicker of confusion on his face before he saw the glint of the knife. A sharp gasp flew out from him, a light grimace at the slice, feeling the drops of blood beginning to form on his skin. His arm returned to his side as she let it go and began to address the larger group. Gravity drew the blood down from his new wound, running along his hands before it began to drip slowly onto the floor.

Cyrus saw the underlying look of disappointment cast over Alvaerelle’s face as she turned to stalk away from the clearing, leaving him in her wake. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the onlookers, his typical wrathful expression returning with ease, creasing his skin. “What are you looking at.” He spat, beginning to walk towards a crack in the rocks that led towards the nearest dwellings, making to find someone’s water reserve to wash the blood from his skin. Vanishing into the shadows without another word, he gritted his teeth in frustration.

He had seen Ivan slink off after her, like a lost puppy trying to get its master’s attention. The thought made a short snort escape his lips, they could do whatever they pleased. At the moment, Cyrus could not care less. Reaching a smaller communal sunshade, under which a small collection of pots and rain collectors sat. He used a bowl beside it to lift a scoop of cold water and splash it onto his arm, discarding the bowl and using his free hand to rub the skin down. He would likely not need any salve or remedy for these injuries, he had sustained worse in his training with the experienced warriors.

Cornaith Iliven

“When it comes to you, I have no sentiment, Cornaith.” Her vocals landed upon him rather coldly, her icy emerald gaze met his pale pools. He’d frown slightly with mild distaste, beginning to pour.

“That was a bit harsh.” He’d state in return, facial features returning to a more neutral expression.

“I can take care of myself, thanks for the offer.” She’d retort placidly, waving a hand at him, before dismissing herself to another table in the distance, a smirk smug upon her lips.

Naith would purse his lips and set the flower he had in his hand onto the table before him. So, it would be that kind of night tonight. He’d sigh, attention being drawn to the atmosphere around him, there was dancing, the music growing louder than softer, faster then slower. There was laughing, children running rampant, groups gathered in conversation. It was peaceful actually. Naith would allow his hand to wrap itself over his cup of ale and sip from it only to grab another cup shortly after. His pale gaze that burned a bright red-orange would fall upon a dancing Catori and Koa. They were a befitting pair carefree and wild was Catori dancing in hand with a fairly relaxed Koa, the male was wary not to appear overly flashy with his grasp on the lieutenant, Naith likely would have done the same but perhaps there would be fire between him and Catori had the option arisen.

His gaze shifted once more toward a sprinting Esen taking the place of Alvaerelle who had been dancing with Cyrus. A hint of tension could be seen from Alvaerelle before she’d calm down and settle in the arms of Ivan. The image of the pair had brought back a very familiar scene of them when they had been far younger. He’d known of Samblar, they were not close by any means but he’d trained with the male. It was a shame, he had died from an ambush. The male was very likely destined to become the next Lieutenant were it not for his untimely death. That would have been a promotion Naith could stand by, though Catori had risen above and beyond her role having to juggle multiple other roles that had grown vacant as of late. He had to give her props for managing so well, though she did appear a lot more tired than usual.

His attention would drift off toward the elders as the music halted and silence fell upon the once bustling crowd. Ivan their new lieutenant and Ravae the new Shaman. Naith didn’t know what to make of the Elder’s decision but it likely didn’t really matter as it had little effect on him. Ivan would likely merely be a step-in until the elders felt as though he were ready to become chief, then placing Catori back in her position of lieutenant once again, or perhaps they’d select someone new to serve as lieutenant had she grown tired of the position. Who knows. Naith grew fairly apprehensive about the mention of a change in the trials. Change during the trials that his half-brother was to take part in. His half-brother would do fine. Baiyen had a level-head on him and being the son of their father he would be fine. The training Naith held with his half-brother proved his strength and ability to handle himself. He’d be fine.

His attention would once more be drawn back to a pacing Cyrus. Naith had no true opinions of the male other than an adequate amount of respect for a more experienced warrior. While he was immensely traditional in his way of thinking and perhaps even life that is who Cyrus is. Naith would watch the interaction carefully, ears pinning back toward his skull in warning should Cyrus forget who approached him. Sure enough, upon the rise of the male's arm Naith had nearly leaped over the table in near primal rage to defend the female. However, he was met with a nasty snarl in warning to back off and so he did, eyes burning upon the male watching as he cowered before the female for a moment before straightening himself once more. Naith’s ears were still pinned against his skull as he watched the encounter. The controlled intensity of the female was incredibly impressive he had to give it to her. She laid out every word methodically. He’d emit a loud snarl in response to one that had been emitted from the male before him, drawn out at the mention of his son. The female was spitting the truth in his face and the male still appeared defiant to her words. Naith wondered if she purposefully decided not to jab that knife right into the male's heart and instead leave him a flesh wound much like her own for a reason.

He continued to listen and watch as the female ordered them to stand down and dismiss herself without another word. Naith’s fiery gaze would return back toward the hulking male and hiss in response to his snap, having all eyes land upon him. If he were the most hated he’d surely be made an utter outcast for assaulting a Queen, one of the most crucial members of the tribe to be treated with the utmost respect. Blood having risen within him he’d return back to a table and gather a drink. Glancing toward the relatives of Alvaerelle he’d wait to approach allowing their own blood to settle as well.

Alvaerelle Wynzorwyn

Seated on the soft sand, toes barely being touched by the cool ocean, her pointed ears would flicker, picking up the slightest sound of footsteps. She hadn’t bothered to turn her gaze from the water knowing precisely who joined her in tranquility.

“Perhaps, though, I believe Esen would know I’d rather her be safe under the tribe's protection than out here with me. Even if I am capable of doing the same.” She’d state.

Her gaze would shift toward the male as he sat beside her, peering down at the piece of driftwood Ivan had eventually chucked out into the ocean. She would watch it float about for a bit before turning her attention to Ivan. His gray-green pools were not wholly visible shimmering against the moonlight. She would now tuck her knees in toward herself, giving her belly plenty of real estate so as not to squish the children in her belly, and soon rest her temple on her knees.

“I should have cut him deeper. He deserved a scar as a reminder of me, the encounter, all of it.” She’d state.

Her pale lilac eyes would begin to glow vibrantly against the dark and would follow Ivan as he laid down beside her, arms tucked neatly behind his head. At the sound of a scoff as the sand attempted to assault his tattered ear she’d allow a small chuckle to escape her throat. A smile etched itself upon her face as she watched him now look up at the sky.

She would sigh and uncurl herself, soon joining the male. With the night she had, what would it matter if she decided to be bold, she’d already been brazen and brash, what more could she possibly not do at this rate. The queen would inch herself closer to the male, now aiming to rest her skull upon his chest. She would lay on her right side, belly resting gently to his left, legs laying atop one another, the bottom leg accepting the coldness that licked at her from the soft sand. She’d place a hand on his chest, her gaze peering off toward the right of the pair. Something had just felt right upon settling into his chest. His heartbeat against her ear, the rise and fall of his breathing. She’d likely refuse to return back to the tribe if only to hang onto a moment like this for longer.

She would inhale deeply taking in his magnificent scent soon twining within her own and sigh.

“I suppose I should congratulate you on your promotion.” She’d state lazily, a grin spilling across her face.

It had been some time since the pair had any time alone to actually talk. She had debated whether or not the timing was great and if the subject would put a hindrance on their time together but perhaps she needed the time to talk anyway. She hadn’t been particularly close to anyone other than her girls but even then there were subjects that she wouldn’t discuss with him unless she felt a need. She could feel a knot form within her throat and sense the tingling of her nares her eyes growing much more watery than she’d recall prior. Her bottom lip would quiver slightly as her grin would soon fade.

“I miss him Ivan.” She’d state rather sadly, resting her hand on his opposing pectoral.

She of all people hated being sappy but Ivan had always been someone she confided in when it came to her feelings, especially during that tumultuous time during her and Samblar’s relationship early on. She expressed her doubts in whether or not they had actually made a good pair to which he had said the best. He had stated that she deserved only the best and that he could not picture her with anyone else but Samblar. Should she have trusted Ivan not to be selling her lies about his closest friend and partner in crime, probably not, but he was a man of truth and honesty and loyalty to all of the members within the tribe so what more was there to be believed, said, or done.