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.