Nova Peak [nd] while you damn the dead i'm trying to survive

aw but maybe @Aspa if u have the time?? reference tags welcome to hop in also <3

she and @Lafayette hunted and killed another young seal the night before. @Shadess collected urchins. they packed what they could in the seal's mouth and carried the rest. sea-side delicacies from the sea-tribe, transported here and left for winsook's newest mother. the richness of the sea's offerings would transform good milk to brilliant; sobeille wished to share this custom.

engrossed by the mountain-folk's customs, sobeille watched the ceremony transfixed. she drank in the spectacle of blood and death, breathed in air crisp with gods and magic. it inspired her and made her feel alive.

she wished to know the origin of painting blood upon one's lips; many times she had killed and felt their lifeblood and power surge through her mouth.

a strange sense of separation settled upon her shoulders; these were not her people. so she milled on the fringes of the collection and watched all in hungry interest.

she appears!

A woman, no taller than she, had particularly drawn her attention. She bore no resemblance to anything Aspa had seen wandering the northern lands. Here, there were colossal warriors, wild women, but strange little creatures like her… there were few, indeed. Aspa had certainly met Satori of Darukaal, and many other women must be jealously guarded in the glacier, but it seemed that their connection with Winsook did not grant them access to this ceremony.
Intrigued, her head bowed and burdened by the bundle she carried, Aspa had made her way toward the foreigner.

I’ve heard the sky doesn’t shine the same in the south, the soothsayer teased. Some gods show less. Others, particularly, had no need to prove their presence with such feats. Aspa interpreted nothing but death and chaos. To rejoice in a full moon, in the sun rising, in the glimmers dancing along the mountains—none of this reached her.

Is your clan looking for norsemen as allies? she asked, amusement in her voice. She knew too little of the politics of Teekon. Thus far, she had witnessed only the frictions stirring the north. Aspa knew nothing beyond the Taiga except her native land, and nothing more.

from the throng of people a she-wolf appears, carrying a bundle of objects sobeille couldn't see. a violent and immediate homesickness for chani struck sobeille, though the seer shared little else in common with sobeille's cousin.

she flicked a velveteen ear, listening to the pleasing lilt of her speech. sobeille was intrigued most by what she carried.

i would not know, sobeille answered truthfully, having little need to ever venture south. sapphique's cliffs and the sound were her mainstay; from there she had seen a dazzling array of lights reflected in sky and sea that rivaled the beauty of this place.

she found herself longing for the shore-wind. neighbors make better allies den enemies. quick to answer, sobeille wondered of this woman's probing but said nothing. what be in de bag?

She had settled herself, ears alert and angled toward her new interlocutor, observing with her one good eye while the other remained shut, heavy with fatigue. The woman in the coat, perfumed with brine and sea-salt, spoke with an accent as thick as the witch’s own. When she had grown curious about the bag, Aspa had simply smiled. The stranger had brought delicacies from the sea; Aspa, in contrast, bore horrors born of the taiga.

With a flick of her paw, she unveiled the satchel's contents—a revelation accompanied by a stench so foul it barely hid beneath floral traces. The head of a young lynx, its skin dried and mummified by cold, stared blindly with sockets now filled with an assortment of dried herbs.

A totem. A fetish, promised by the sorceress to the delighted mother.

Have you ever seen something like this? she asked, lips curled in an amused smile. Aspa had traveled, yes, but she had never truly mingled with other cultures. She was a soothsayer, a humble servant of her northern gods, and had little concern for those who lived unafraid of her deities—for such people were mere beasts, in her eyes…

Do your people have gods to please? Women who speak with them, who hear them? she asked, her tail gently sweeping the earth. After all, the woman had brought with her something that resembled an offering as well—a mystic tableau. Perhaps it was merely art? A particular sensitivity to the aesthetics of mystery. A seal.

thinking this woman was cut of a similar cloth as sialuk, sobeille expected bones. maybe a stone of unique origin.

certainly not the putrid head of a cat. her gaze traveled towards the skull's face; the herbs packed into each socket was pleasing in a way that bordered obscene.

the smell did not move her, but the sight kindled a flame sobeille did her best to keep hidden.

not like sialuk, den she thought wryly as she glanced at the stooped figure, as if she were now seeing her for the first time. this one reminded her of a more savage kind of witch -- like the one that stole her tooth.

i 'ave. sobeille unwound herself carefully, knowing now if this one was anything like the crone, it was best not to cross her. the amused smile that hung across the seer's face was dangerous; this thrilled sobeille.

we 'ave de sea. thinking back on the skull hung around the crone's neck, sobeille spoke once more. what will you do wit' dat t'ing?

The sea. It was beautiful.
The idea had pleased Aspa, but to her, it was nothing more than a lovely tale meant for children. A quiet laugh had stirred in her throat, trapped behind sharp teeth, yellowed by time and, no doubt, a life of misery.

I will do nothing more with, she confessed. It will protect the Blizzarddamen, Ayovi and her husband. She gave a small shrug. Or at least the scent will force the gods to seek! She let out a dry chuckle, then wrapped the fetish once more in the hare skin that served as her satchel.

Gods, they need a reason to watch for mortals. Pray and speak to them isn't enough. They don't care. Men and women are talking to them everyday, their ears bleed from listening! she said. They are cruel. Like your sea. They want us to show death, cruelty and chaos. She had seen men as broad as bisons, stronger than any of bears, crushed beneath the tide’s whims. Compared to that, her gods seemed almost merciful.

twice the priestess’ throat moved in laughter, but only the second time did sobeille hear the dry chuckle escape between teeth yellowed by hard use.

unresponsive to the joke, sobeille’s gaze probed more at the head. what did she do with the eyes? was the tongue still there? did what remained of the brain make noise as the skull was swung around?

she spoke a lot, this woman with the ophidian stare. sobeille didn’t mind it much, because the topics were interesting. even the seer’s view of the callousness of gods intrigued sobeille; she might not believe in their provenance, but she knew blood was a powerful totem.

a waft of rot fanned out into the bitter cold. ’ow does it protect? what ot’er t’ings you be doin’ to keep in good favor wit’ gods?

i was hoping to use this for a trade thread so tacking on a reply here to count for trade purposes
much as she had been with sialuk, sobeille was the sponge soaking up any wisps of wisdom the seer was willing to share. she eyed the skull and framed to memory its contents; later, she’d try on her own gruesome totems and see which flowers were most potent, which bones or stones or flora yielded the most spiritual essence.

as the night waned on sobeille found herself studying the seer’s gristly face. the yellowed teeth, the erratic eyes — how many lives put under her fang?

she left the peak in deep musing, feeling a spiritual vortex swarming in her heart.