This post is hidden due to the following trigger warning: Grief, death, aggression, volatile thoughts
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![[Image: Viv_Elli.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_Elli.gif)
SKILL : WARRIOR ( 3 / 5 )
Reminder: OOC =/= IC; Elli is a volatile and often unreliable narrator. Her thoughts are not always founded in logic shared by others, and she historically does not handle emotions well, particularly negative ones. The following post does not reflect my feelings or thoughts whatsoever.
Reminder: OOC =/= IC; Elli is a volatile and often unreliable narrator. Her thoughts are not always founded in logic shared by others, and she historically does not handle emotions well, particularly negative ones. The following post does not reflect my feelings or thoughts whatsoever.
In her emotions that were as much a powder keg as melting pot, Elli was tempted to buck Arvid's command. Why? She didn't know. All she knew was that his words grated, speaking of what she and her brothers ought to do as they excavated the remains of their father.
Her motions paused as her hackles rippled, the twitch of her bloodied lips revealing the tips of teeth that had not been granted their sanguine tithe for the callous theft of her father despite the flock of dead corvids scattered across the scene.
Never, never would there be a tax high enough to foot the bill of Leviathan's death.
Eyes of ice and frigid earth snapped in Arvid's direction and her chin tipped upward, defiance stitched into every fiber of her being as her redirected anger found new focus. As he sat safely within Northfall's borders, her father had died - it wasn't a reasonable thought to most anyone, but she was running out of individuals with whom she could pin the blame. The snow and rocks and nature did not care if she spat and professed them murderers, but Arvid was flesh and bone - he was there, far too late.
How could she trust him to lead Northfall when he could not even keep her father safe from death in a month's time?
Elli's ears pinned back sharply, pressed to her skull as she shoved away from the tree and stalked a handful of paces in Arvid's direction, but her attention was stolen by the dark figure approaching before her tongue could weave words designed to cut, to accuse.
Her gaze latched to the dusky shape, a thrum of distrust ringing through her veins as she studied him. Had it been him? Had he incited this incident? The odor of death foretold his arrival, its foul stench mixing with the tang of blood and decomposition already occupying the air. Mixed in among the snow and dark fibers of his coat, however, was a form cast from shades of ginger.
Familiar ginger.
The same ginger tones she associated with her grandmother and the late Ragnar's queen.
Her lips compressed into a flat line as dots began to connect, none of them leading anywhere good. A chasm of renewed grief, almost lost among the rest, widened with her dawning realization. She skirted sorrow's embrace after its initial sting and shifted back to fury.
The budding snarl from earlier returned, lips lifted to reveal serviceable teeth as her harsh gaze held fast. She positioned herself between her father's body and the suspicious newcomer, as though he were but an undertaker. If looks could have killed, there would have been three dead on the accursed grounds.
She prayed to any and all of the deities above whose names she knew - and even those she didn't - that she was wrong.
Her motions paused as her hackles rippled, the twitch of her bloodied lips revealing the tips of teeth that had not been granted their sanguine tithe for the callous theft of her father despite the flock of dead corvids scattered across the scene.
Never, never would there be a tax high enough to foot the bill of Leviathan's death.
Eyes of ice and frigid earth snapped in Arvid's direction and her chin tipped upward, defiance stitched into every fiber of her being as her redirected anger found new focus. As he sat safely within Northfall's borders, her father had died - it wasn't a reasonable thought to most anyone, but she was running out of individuals with whom she could pin the blame. The snow and rocks and nature did not care if she spat and professed them murderers, but Arvid was flesh and bone - he was there, far too late.
How could she trust him to lead Northfall when he could not even keep her father safe from death in a month's time?
Elli's ears pinned back sharply, pressed to her skull as she shoved away from the tree and stalked a handful of paces in Arvid's direction, but her attention was stolen by the dark figure approaching before her tongue could weave words designed to cut, to accuse.
Her gaze latched to the dusky shape, a thrum of distrust ringing through her veins as she studied him. Had it been him? Had he incited this incident? The odor of death foretold his arrival, its foul stench mixing with the tang of blood and decomposition already occupying the air. Mixed in among the snow and dark fibers of his coat, however, was a form cast from shades of ginger.
Familiar ginger.
The same ginger tones she associated with her grandmother and the late Ragnar's queen.
Her lips compressed into a flat line as dots began to connect, none of them leading anywhere good. A chasm of renewed grief, almost lost among the rest, widened with her dawning realization. She skirted sorrow's embrace after its initial sting and shifted back to fury.
The budding snarl from earlier returned, lips lifted to reveal serviceable teeth as her harsh gaze held fast. She positioned herself between her father's body and the suspicious newcomer, as though he were but an undertaker. If looks could have killed, there would have been three dead on the accursed grounds.
What have you got?she demanded when he drew within range, tail rising above her haunches in a display promising aggression if he didn't provide a satisfactory answer. Her heated breaths materialized within the air as thick tendrils, the precursor to her all-consuming anger.
She prayed to any and all of the deities above whose names she knew - and even those she didn't - that she was wrong.