Nova Peak Nägådz

"Du kan kalde mig mange navne, give mig mange titler. En troldkvinde, en præstinde, en spåkvinde, hvis det behager dig." She chuckled, a hint of mockery lacing her tone. "Jeg er blot en ydmyg budbringer for guderne, der vejleder dødelige, krigere, i at tyde deres vilje og behage dem..."

Her ears flicked in restless motion, as though catching sounds beyond the reach of ordinary senses—the faintest whispers, the rustling of unseen forces. She studied Skorpa, that great bear of a man, watching him with her gods perched upon her shoulders, whispering, murmuring, slipping thoughts like embers into her mind…

"Guderne har ført mig hertil. De leder mig derhen, hvor Norden skælver, hvor deres krigere kan bringe dem ære."

She straightened, her gaze locking with the bear-man’s smoldering crimson eyes, her sharp-toothed smile curling once more.

"Eller vanære." She added, laughter curling at the edges of her words.

"De leder mig..." Her gaze drifted, just slightly, toward Ayovi. The smile faded—not into sorrow, but something quieter, heavier. Concern, perhaps. A shadow of bitterness.

"Til dér, hvor deres børn, deres krigere, bliver født. I blod, i krig, i kaos – for at bane vejen for dem som Nordmand."

Her eyes returned to Skorpa. It was too soon to press further, too soon to speak of more. If Skorpa was Ayovi’s mand, then Aspa would do well to tread carefully. The wrath of the Bjørnemand was not a thing to tempt. Perhaps he had turned his backs on the gods, lured by softer sirens, lulled into the comforts of a more peaceful way…