Catori Thirle | Stand-In Chief | Mentions:

Cornaith, Syllivanna (Dir.) Clisteoeska (Indir.)

Her lashes fluttered as she carefully studied Cornaith’s face, watching the way his eyes slid closed as her hand met his skin. The vibration from his throat flowing through her fingers at his neck, bringing a soothing hum to her lips, focused solely on the way his warmth melted into her muscles.

Upon his eyes reopening to meet her own, Catori shifted her head gently towards his arm where her hand wrapped around the extremity. Feeling the tips of her ears brush the grass behind her head as they angled backwards, enjoying the sound of the male’s voice flooding her brain. It coaxed the sliver of herself from the back of her head, from before she was struck with responsibility. When her eyes were always bright like stars, teeth gleaming in an infectious smile at all hours of the day. Was this why females flocked to him? Did they receive the same comfort in his presence? Maybe that was what Cliste felt around him.

The thought was a little sour, perhaps she was no better than them. Maybe this was an elaborate theoretical, courtship may not be on the table tomorrow. Only time would truly tell if she would be another female that succumbed to his allure, when day broke tomorrow she would know. For now, what harm could it do?

As his lips grazed hers, Catori’s neck tensed to lift her jaw to meet his, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. Dark eyes closed at the contact, almost blinking open again as the sensation vanished for a heartbeat, only to return in the form of teeth dragging on her lip. A soft sound slipping from her, bleeding into the air around them.

His fingers coast their way into her hair, holding her skull tenderly as he returned his lips to hers. Catori took a few moments to realise that he was not encouraging a faster pace or a feverish embrace, the smallest of smiles curled her lips into his as she pinned his actions. He wanted her to decide.

Once again, she had never seen him allow his partner to decide their pace or intensity, then again it was not like she saw those interactions often. Some glimpses here and there, and sometimes they had drawn a light sinking feeling to her chest, a response that the lieutenant quickly pushed aside. Telling herself that it was a silly gut reaction, for a female her age to desire some type of mate, a fantasy that theoretically could be carried out with any male. However, the one in front of her would perhaps become the only option she thought of in that fantasy now.

The hand that traced his neck tentatively slid its way up the side of his head, a fleeting touch against his skin intended to barely graze the skin. Until her finger met the soft strand of his hair, her hand curved around the back of his head, her nails gently skimming his scalp beneath before taking a soft hold at the longer pieces towards Cornaith’s crown. The smallest pull towards herself as her other hand shifted up his arm and back down, stroking the muscles that lay beneath his skin.

Her enjoyment was soon cut short by the distant voices fading, only one ringing out through the clearing now. Val.

Catori’s eyes flew open, her ears snapping upright once more and her hands ceased their roving movements. She withdrew her lips from Cornaith hastily as she strained to hear what was being said. Then it dawned on her, she had not spoken to Syllivanna once tonight after the festivities started and guilt ripped at her chest. Here she was, flirting and romping around like a love sick dog when her beloved girl was about to head out and take on the trials that had killed so many. Flashes of her brother's face played in her head, drawing a panicked animalistic sound from her throat as she squirmed her way out from underneath Cornaith.

Twisting her spine to pull herself out from under him, she brought her left leg up to push herself up and felt it buckle under her weight. A sharp hiss pushing out from her lips as the familiar hot pain flooded her knee, stilling her form as she knelt on the ground.

“I need to get back.” Catori chuffed out, lifting her head to survey Cornaith for the briefest moment, where she had left him high and dry. With a grimace, the woman drew herself up to her full height, forcing her knee to bear her body weight. She could deal with the consequences later.

If Cornaith offered his aid to help her walk back to the clearing, she would accept and wrap her arm around his waist to allow him to take on some of her weight and balance her awkward walk. If he did not, Catori would simply limp and struggle back towards the clearing, leaning on the high rocks as she rounded the corner and saw the apprentices lined up. Catori had known they were leaving tonight, the Elders had warned her, but in the heat of the festivities, the time had escaped her.

Just as the Elders were announcing that they would wait for no one, Catori pulled away from the rocks and Cornaith, and stumbled towards Syllivanna. Uncaring about the streaks of Cornaith’s body paint that was marring her skin, or the slightly tangled hair at the back of her head. Prying eyes were the least of her current concerns.

“Syl!” She called out, forcing a smile onto her lips despite the painful, aggressive limp. Catori finally made it to her little apprentice and encircled her arms around Syllivanna’s shoulders and held her tight. “You will return to me stronger than ever. Do not let fear cloud your head or let confidence make you blind to danger.” Catori still held onto Syl tightly, only pulling her head back now, her hands lingering where the blue marks on her shoulders were. “You show them what you can do.” Catori’s eyes blazed brightly, pride mostly, but a slither of concern ached behind it.

As the Elders led the apprentices away, Catori remained in the middle of the clearing watching them disappear into the dark of the night. For a moment, her confident smile lingered on her lips. Only when a few seconds had passed since the last apprentice vanished from sight, did her brows point up in a worried placement, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Syllivanna Zylqirelle

"Wait. Dance with boys? On purpose?"

At the slight tug on her arm from her cousin, delaying their arrival to the three mighty males for a short moment, she’d supply a small laugh.

“Don’t tell me cousin that the mead has already left your system.” She’d taunt, with a wicked grin glancing back at her kin.

“You don’t have to dance with them, if you don’t want to. I suppose, we could simply go talk to them if you’d prefer,” she’d suggest, hoping not to have forced the idea upon her cousin, “You noticed that as well!” She’d add, briskly at the mention of Kethryll’ia and Akith’ki.

The pair would continue forth. Out of the corner of her eye she’d spot Esen waving over towards Sarolta, a friendly wave would be supplied in return to the gesture. She’d take note of the red-haired female sharing the company of Akith’ki once more. He seemed a bit out of sorts, though he’d gone from dancing with Kethryll’ia to being seated beside his flame, and interesting shift indeed to say the least.

At her cousin's probing question Syl would pause in her tracks for a moment and exchange a flushed glance toward Esen that would grow to become exasperated, soon giving her a nudge with an elbow.

“Esen!” She’d nearly squealed.

She thought she had told her cousin who had peaked her interest, though she made an excellent point. While Aelion had a very rouged look to him that was quite appealing, Baiyen had a very graceful and gallant air to him that likely suited Syllivanna’s personality better. However, opposites tend to attract and gravitate toward one another so who was to say she did not favor Aelion a bit more. She did enjoy her time with both males and had noted Baiyen as of late making mild flirtatious comments towards her which she didn’t mind much, she’d in fact supply her own remarks right back merely entertaining the male.

“I’ll tell you later.” She’d finally answer, as they soon approached the trio.

“Hello Aelion, Baiyen, and Merrick.” She’d state happily, dipping her skull at the three males having set herself and Esen directly in front of the group.

Merrick was entirely unfamiliar to her but she had at least known of him by word of mouth and had seen him on occasion from time to time in passing. She did not want to appear rude by only greeting the two males she was familiar with.

Valae and Ula

Elders || 430 Years || Mentions: Clan

As expected, the Clan fell silent during the announcement. Val’s words hung in the air like a charged storm, and for a moment, not a soul stirred. But soon, hushed whispers began to ripple through the crowd. Naming both Ivan and Ravae had come as a shock, and Ula could see the unease settling on many faces. Though displeasure flickered in the eyes of some, none dared voice it aloud—none, except for one.

Cyrus, true to form, couldn’t contain his rage. They had anticipated this; his simmering resentment toward them and the long-forgotten prophecy that his mate—the former Shaman—had embraced, offering her life for it. The Twins knew he would not react kindly to Ravae’s newfound role as the Shaman. It seemed even Ravae was having a hard time processing the weight of her new position. Meanwhile, Ivan, despite the glares and whispered confusion around him, held his head high, unwavering in his new role.

Despite some of the older Clan members departing, the apprentices remained in the center, speaking quietly amongst themselves about what the prophecy meant to them. It was far past midnight now, the night well beyond its peak, with the drums silent, food picked away and the pyres slowly dying.

It is time, Ula tapped onto Val’s shoulder. Valae turned to her with a nod, a feline smile gracing her lip. Rising once more, Val raised her hand to call for attention. No words were needed—her mere presence alone was enough to silence even the strongest of winds.

“Apprentices,” Val's voice cut through the clearing, the sudden silence oppressive. Even the fire dared not utter a sound under her command. “We are so glad to have shared this evening with you, but we are departing. Now. What you have on is all you will need.” Gripping Ula’s hand, the two began to move as if they were one.

As they neared a smoldering pyre, Ula bent to seize a stick, coaxing the embers until the flames twisted and flickered into life. At the clearing's edge, the Elder’s paused, turning slightly as though surveying the apprentices behind them. Ula’s usually warm composure was icy as her gaze skipped around each apprentice. Val’s sharp voice echoed once more, the flame of Ula’s torch igniting her cruel features. “You must follow. Be swift. We will not wait. Not for anyone.”

With that, the two turned their backs to the gathered apprentices, Ula still holding Valae’s hand to guide her. They stepped into the woods that would lead to the trials awaiting the young ones. There would be no more celebration, only the challenges ahead. The only light in the dark forest came from the flickering flames of Ula’s torch, casting long shadows as they began to move deeper into the woods.

Within a few hours, the forest began to lighten as the first hints of dawn approached. Ula discarded her torch, no longer needed in the growing light. The Elders didn’t bother looking behind them, trusting the apprentices were keeping up. They were nearing the first trials. As they reached the edge of the forest, the dense trees gave way to a barren expanse— The Scalding Flats, a scorching desert wasteland, stretched out before them. The heat was already rising in waves from the cracked earth in the early morning light.

Ula squeezed Val’s hand lightly, signaling that they had arrived, though Val already knew from the heat that began to press against her skin. The two shared a brief smile, before Val outstretched her arms, her blind eyes skyward for a moment before she turned to address them.

“We have reached the beginning of your trials,” Valae’s voice was cold and steady, carrying over the desolate landscape. "The Scalding Flats. Miles and miles of nothing," she paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "A desert of scorching heat, where the air itself seeks to burn you, and the ground shows no mercy."

Ula stepped forward, the faint rustle of her robes barely audible in the stillness as she reached inside them, pulling out a scroll—a map. She handed it to Val, who raised it high above her head like a trophy. “Our gift,” Val declared, her voice sharp and unyielding. “To you. Use it wisely. Navigate your terrain with caution but bravery.”

Val handed the scroll back to Ula, who approached one of the smaller apprentices, Esen, and placed the map gently in her hands, offering a subtle wink.

“This is no ordinary map,” Val warned, her voice cutting through the air with a chilling edge. “It’s glamoured. If you do not complete the trial and retrieve the artifact, your next mark will remain hidden. Only when your task is fulfilled will the map reveal your next destination—and the next artifact you must recover. By completing this..? Oh, you will obtain your true forms." Her tone became a hiss, a wide grin seeping across her face once more.

As Valae spoke, Ula moved among the apprentices, bestowing a quick blessing on each one. Her hands moved swiftly, brushing her fingers against their heads and then their hearts. Once she completed her task, she returned to Val’s side, briefly touching her sister's shoulder.

Satisfied, Valae cleared her throat. “Know that we are all proud of you. We thank you for your sacrifices. May the Gods bless you and keep you safe.”

With that, Ula and Val joined hands once more, vanishing back into the woods without waiting for questions or concerns. The fate of the Clan was now in the apprentices' hands.

Sarolta Cimmerian

Apprentice | Mentions: Akith’ki

Indirectly: Elders, Apprentices

Sarolta felt a flicker of surprise at how steady and sure his response was, yet part of her had always known he would say exactly that. His unwavering loyalty was something she had counted on, and hearing him swear to stay by her side brought a strange mixture of relief and dread. How deeply she was willing to draw him into her tangled web both thrilled and terrified her.

She forced a smile, her heart racing despite her outward calm. "Good," she said, her voice softer now, though her eyes remained sharp. "I’ll hold you to that." But this was the most vulnerable she would allow herself to be, and only for a brief moment. She couldn't afford to be fully exposed, not now, not ever.

Saro shrugged lightly, as if shaking off the seriousness of the moment. "We’ll make it through," she added, her tone returning to its usual confidence. "But don’t forget your promise, Akith," she whispered. "Because if you ever break it, I won’t forgive you." There was a hint of playful teasing in her words, but beneath it, an unmistakable edge of warning.

The clearing fell into a tense hush as Valae stood once more, her commanding presence silencing any lingering conversation. As she spoke, her voice carried the weight of finality, announcing it was time for the apprentices to depart.

Sarolta straightened up immediately, her sharp eyes locking onto the Elders with a mixture of suspicion and incredulity. “Now?” she muttered under her breath, a soft, bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Of course they'd send us out in the middle of the night." Her fingers finding her dagger, tension coiling in her shoulders.

The decision to leave under the cover of darkness wasn’t just a tactical choice—it felt calculated, as though they were deliberately trying to catch them off guard, perhaps to see who would falter first.

Sarolta shot a quick glance at Akith'ki, her lips curling into a smirk, her eyes holding a darker glint. "Well, I hope you're really ready now," she said, the lightness of her tone barely masking the gravity of her thoughts.

She rose to her feet, her movements fluid and calculated, almost predatory, as her sharp gaze swept across the gathering tribe. Her mind was already working, plotting her next steps as she took in the scene before her. Her eyes landed on Ula, who had grabbed a torch, the flickering flame casting long shadows across her face. Ula stood at the edge of the forest with Valae, waiting and surveying the apprentices behind them before stepping into the shadowy woods.

Sarolta’s focus shifted to Akith, her expression hardening just a fraction. “Your father?” she asked, her voice low but edged with curiosity. Though Akith'ki and his father weren't close in that regard, she wondered if he would want to say goodbye. There wasn’t much time for farewells anyway; scanning the gathering, she couldn’t even spot her own aunt. Her eyes drifted to Catori, who had just reached Syllivanna, speaking words of encouragement to the apprentice. The Elders were just a faint glow in the forest now, the time to follow them slipping away.

Ivan Lécuyer || Heir-Lieutenant || M: Alvaerelle

Warriors... expendable? Certainly not. Ivan wouldn't call anyone in the tribe expendable, not even Cyrus, though it would have made things easier at times if the grumpy old grandpa didn't exist. Warriors and gatherers may have made up the vast majority of the clan, thus being considered "lowest" on the totem pole, but without a strong base, nothing built on top of it would be safe or worth anything. They were not so easily replaced as to be called "expendable." Ivan considered countering Alvaerelle's statement, but she had already moved on, so the heir sufficed with a short grunt. Besides, arguing formal or conceptual semantics with a feisty pregnant woman was not high on his list of priorities.

When the queen mused over how she should have seen the competition between himself and Samblar, Ivan snorted softly and sighed, "I've never been good at expressing feelings when it comes to any kind of relationship. Everyone complains that they can't read me, but I can't even read myself half the time."

His tone changed as he spoke of her triplets, and Alvaerelle propped herself up, leaving the cooking night air to rip between their bodies. It was almost disappointing, even if she was still right there beside him. As he finished, though, her hand found his cheek and jaw, and Ivan was content once more. Her next words brought further elation as she accepted his request, and then there was a pause. She continued, "But, I think you know just as well as I do that, this decision is up to my daughter and niece.”

A sheepish grin spread across his face and he looked up to the sky. Yes, Esen and Sarolta posed quite the barrier for him to pursue Alvaerelle romantically. It wasn't a bad thing, but he'd witnessed Esen's brief but harsh dance with Cyrus, who he knew she was wary of. How much more fury would Ivan get, then, being far less fear-inducing than the old warrior? That would be an experience, and if Sarolta joined the other apprentice in testing him, he was absolutely certain that he'd come out of the ordeal with some new scars. In the back of his mind, he noted the sounds of the drums were no longer echoing in from the festival, though he couldn't be bothered to get up just yet. The heir didn't want to leave this position, pulling at the fleeting moment he was in as if he'd never get the chance again. With the silence in the woods, the only sounds now were the foaming waves rolling in and receding again. The man could have sworn the sky was growing the faintest bit lighter, but with the glimmering sheen already gracing the surface of the waves, it was difficult to say for sure. The clan could survive without his presence for a little while longer, surely. The thought was a selfish one, particularly seeing how he was now supposed to be taking on a more involved role, but he allowed himself to be selfish. Just this one time.

He raised his head off of his forearm to look at Alvaerelle as she spoke once more, and his heart skipped a beat with an eagerness he didn't even know he had when she mentioned feeling the triplets. Tentatively, Ivan reached out a calloused hand and asked, "Could I?"

Yet, seeing him with Sarolta stirred something darker. Sarolta was untrustworthy, he knew that now, but did Aktith'ki? She knew how to exploit feelings, and seeing them now, Aelion couldn't help but narrow his eyes. There was a doubt, a whisper that she was toying with Aktith'ki, playing him.

Just then, the approaching figures of Syllivanna and Esen caught his eye, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Syllivanna’s light, confident steps carried her directly toward him, a small smile playing on her lips as she greeted Aelion, Baiyen, and Merrick with a warm nod. There was an air of playfulness about her, one that Aelion had come to expect. Rather, one that he preferred. As for Esen, she was a friend and familiar presence. She had always been more reserved, but in moments like these, she seemed grounded and calm. He admired her resolve, especially considering the daunting task ahead.

“Syllivanna, Esen,” he greeted them, his voice low but steady. “Glad to see you two made it through the crowd." Offering a smile, his gaze lingered upon Syllivanna briefly before his words soon faded into the background, his attention abruptly drawn to the front of the gathering, where the elders had begun to assemble. Valae’s voice cut through the murmurs, steady and cold as she addressed the group.

“We are so glad to have shared this evening with you, but we are departing. Now."

The atmosphere thickened with the weight of the elders’ ominous announcement. The crowd of apprentices was already starting to disperse, small groups forming as they prepared for the trials ahead. Aelion felt a tug of urgency pulling at him—he needed to find Aktith’ki.

He glanced briefly at Syllivanna and Esen. "I suppose we should get moving before the crowd thins out too much," he said, his tone now sharper, his nerves beginning to jumble. All he had on him was an old, worn dagger hanging loosely from his belt—a relic he'd carried for years, more sentimental than practical. The blade was dull, its hilt weathered and cracked from countless days of wear, and in a trial as dangerous as this, it was hardly the weapon one would rely on. A pathetic pocket knife compared to the weapons others carried, but it was all he had.

Aelion’s thoughts wandered to his family. He needed to be able to say goodbye to his aunt Zinniah, the thought gnawing at him. She would have sound advice for him. She always knew what to say and do. After all, she had always been one of the few people who understood him given the passing of his parents. Then there were Althaea and Elariel. His aunt and uncle. Practically a second set of parents, the thought of leaving them ripped his heart apart. He needed to find them all, after Aktith'ki, of course.

Momentarily, his eyes swept across the sea of faces, but the only thing on his mind was finding his closest ally. Despite the tension in his gut and the growing sense of foreboding, the thought of reuniting with Aktith’ki grounded him. They always worked better as a team, feeding off each other's energy in battle and banter.

He knew Aktith’ki wouldn’t be far, all he would have to do was find Sarolta. As the crowd began to thin, Aelion spotted his familiar silhouette, cutting a purposeful path through the gathering. His friend’s sharp eyes seemed to be scanning the crowd with the same intent, looking for him. Aelion felt a surge of relief and began to raise his arm. However, his friend's attention fell elsewhere.

Across the crowd, he espied Cyrus. The man's glowering expression was enough to send a wave of tension through Aktith'ki, and Aelion watched as his friend visibly stiffened under his father’s judgmental gaze. There was no encouragement or loving farewell, only cold, silent expectations. Aelion saw how it twisted something inside Aktith'ki—an irritation that flickered in his eyes as his father turned away, offering nothing more than a dismissive command not to fail. A subtle, small scoff escaped him, his eyes following Cyrus through the crowd before losing him.

He had nearly followed Cyrus, though was torn by trailing him, or approaching Aktith'ki. However, before deciding, another figure emerged from the shadows—Elariel, Aelion's uncle. Aelion watched, a sense of relief washing over him as Elariel closed the distance between himself and Aktith'ki. Without a word, Elariel embraced Aktith'ki, pulling him into a tight hug that conveyed everything that Cyrus had refused to give—warmth, reassurance, and support.

Aelion felt a small, satisfied smile tug at the corner of his lips. Seeing his uncle offer the affection and validation that Aktith'ki desperately needed in that moment was enough to settle the unease in Aelion’s chest. For a brief moment, Aelion stood back, letting them have this moment, content in the knowledge that, at least for now, Aktith'ki wasn’t facing this trial alone. He nodded subtly to himself, feeling a sense of quiet satisfaction. This was the kind of support they all needed—something more meaningful than commands or expectations. Then, as if reading his thoughts, he watched his uncle make his way towards him.

"Give me a moment," he voiced to his friends, stepping to the side of the group. The familiar weight of responsibility pressed down on his chest, but he kept his face composed, unwilling to let any cracks show in front of his peers. As his uncle’s hand rested on his shoulder, Aelion adjusted his posture, head raising to meet his gaze. Elariel's voice was steady, gentle in its firmness.

Hearing the words "You’re ready for this" made something tighten in Aelion's throat. The doubt he tried to hide gnawed at him constantly, the fear that perhaps he wasn't enough, that the trials ahead would expose the cracks he kept hidden. But Elariel's belief in him was deep, and for the first time in a long while, Aelion felt seen—not just as the brooding, intimidating apprentice, but as someone capable.

When Elariel pulled out the old dagger, Aelion’s eyes widened. The blade, though weathered and worn, shimmered with history, its etched runes glowing faintly under the moonlight. As the hilt pressed into Aelion's palm, he felt the weight of it—not just the physical heft of the weapon, but the significance it carried. It was more than a tool of survival; it was a piece of Elariel’s past, a piece used to fight battles.

Aelion ran his fingers over the runes, feeling the ancient script beneath his touch. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, almost reverent. He was used to fighting his battles alone, used to bearing the weight of expectation on his own shoulders, but Elariel’s gesture was grand, so much so, that it rendered him speechless.

As Elariel pulled him into a hug, Aelion tensed at first, but then, slowly, he softened. The embrace was grounding, and Aelion let himself melt into it, taking in the strength and warmth that radiated from his uncle. Who knew if he would ever be able to embrace him again.

“I’ll come back,” Aelion promised, his voice low but resolute. “I won’t let you down.” He tightened his grip on the dagger. As Elariel stepped back, offering him a final squeeze of the shoulder, Aelion nodded in return, his jaw set, determination replacing any lingering doubt. He turned toward the gathering of apprentices, his gaze scanning the crowd for Aktith'ki, needing to see him. After his uncle's speech about "brotherhood", he was more determined than ever to find him. Noting where he last saw him, Aelion's gaze met his form, to which he did, in fact, raise his arm this time, beckoning Aktith'ki his way.