Faction The Funeral(The Clans of Islimore)

[Declan Durinson]

The Funeral
​

The door opened and in front of him chained to the wall by both wrists, face bound and muzzled, snarling, screaming, and wrenching at his chains was his best friend in the whole galaxy, the person he had most looked forward to seeing, his hero, his brother.

“Durry!” Declan shouted running over to his brother dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around the bound man’s neck,

“Durry, it’s me. It’s Declan, I came home. I found you.” The was no recognition in his brother’s eyes only the feral hatred of a lupo who had refused to turn for so long that they drew the ire of The Dark One. Malkor, the giant black wolf touched unchanging lupo with madness turning them into nothing more than monsters. Declan had once gone with his brother to watch as his father was forced to execute a wolf with The Madness. There was no cure. He never forgot the way the woman fought and strained her bindings, snarling and screaming, scratching, clawing, and biting at anything she could reach including her own face which she had rent to horrible red ribbons, flesh peeled and hanging from her as blood flowed in the claw marks like rivers in canyons.

“Deck,” Darin started to say, from a million lightyears away. “look at him. He’s…”

“Don’t say it!” Declan snapped a flash of molten gold in his eye. “You don’t have to say it.” He said his voice barely more than a breath as tears rolled down his face.

“We can get the priestess. Aelin’s sister. she lived with The Gods, she can help.” His voice was sharp and erratic as he refused to accept the truth.

One of the twins put a hand gently on Declan’s shoulder. He did not have the strength to lift his head and see which. He could do nothing but stare at Durin. At the man he loved above all, who he would’ve given his life for, who he spent a lifetime running away from.

“The last thing he remembers of me is trying to steal his birthright.” Declan’s voice fell quiet barely even a whisper as he talked to no one in particular

“He never knew. He never knew I had come home. He will never know that I found him, that I came to save him. Gods.”

“Why? I could’ve died in the pits or the void or at the end of a rope but I didn’t. I came home. Why did I come home?”

Declan woke to thin strands of moonlight peeking through the window of his bed-chamber. The smell of dawn came from far in the east though the darkness had yet to be beaten back. It would be a few more hours yet until the sun reached the great black yronwood long hall of Hardhaven. The greatest castle in The North, ruling over the last great lupo settlement on Islimore, and the ancestral seat for Clan Kanaka, his clan.

He watched his breath hang in the air of the chamber. The fire must have gone out in the night. Despite the layers of furs that covered him as he lay in bed he could feel the cold settling into his muscles and creeping to his bones. He could start his own fire but there would be no returning to sleep for Declan.

He was afraid to dream. Not because of what he would see but afraid of who he wouldn’t.

She has abandoned me. The Wanderer no longer seeks her solace with the blood of Durin.

Declan forced himself from his bed, a shock running up his spine as his bare feet touched the stone floor. Goose pimples covered the entirety of his naked body as he crossed the room to stare out the window and up at the pale pearl moon. It goaded him, a siren song to split his skin and run.

If I run now, I will not stop.

There was no more running left in him.

Declan left his bed-chamber for his solar and poured a cup of ale. It was black and thick. He quickly swallowed it down, followed by a second, he poured a third but only sipped it. He had to be strong today. The one thing he knew he wasn’t on the one day he was sure he couldn’t but he had to. In the west, the moon remained high and defiant but in the east, the dark had begun to cede to the sun. brilliant swaths of purple-pinks swirled and danced with the remaining blue blacks. He lost track of how many cups of ale he’d had as he watched the light begin to appear but his tankard was empty and Declan son of Durin swayed as he made his way to get dressed.

It would have taken him half as long as it did, had he called for a servant but Declan was bound and determined to revel if not full-on wallow in his solitude for as long as he could, fumbling at straps or clasps in as vain an effort as the moon attempting to stave off the day. Declan, no longer able to live in the limbo of his chamber, shoved the doors open and made his exit just as the large pale-stone castle that surrounded the long hall began to drink in the morning sun.

He entered now the throne room of Hadhaven, just as he had months ago after first returning to Islimore. He stared down the length of the long hall’s throne room, where Hardhaven’s high seat should be. His father’s seat. In this massive hall built from the dark ebony wood of the Yronwood forest, the alpha’s seat stood out. It had been carved from the bone-white wood of a large tree from The Wolf’s Wood, veins of rich red sap remained visible still nearly a millennium after its creation, giving the seat its own circulatory system. Goldwork at the top matched the leaves of a still-living tree from the forest from which it had been harvested.

For years Declan had watched his father sit in that seat in his resplendent ivory armor or heavy fur cloak that he wore over immaculate hunting leathers, presiding over his people, settling disputes, or passing judgment on those accused of crimes. When he was very young he would be jealous of the times Durin got to sit on his father’s knee as he held court, wishing he could join them or even have his turn at having his father all to himself.

Today however it was not his father sitting on the brilliant white chair. There was no white chair.

At the end of the hall in front of a large stone altar stood a young boy no more than ten. clad in pristine onyx leathers ornamented with black pearls and a heavy white fur cloak. Black leather gloved hands rested on a sword handle wrapped in the same dark leather, adorned with gold and ivory designs running along the handle. The design was an inscription written in the old runes. A prayer to Aerðs. At the bottom of the hilt was a fierce white wolf carved from the same type of tree as his father’s throne, with tiny rubies for eyes.

The sword hung on a black leather belt that matched the boy’s boots with vivid gold buckles. The boy’s thick black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, tied with golden silk, and his brilliant green eyes were red, from lack of sleep or from crying Declan could not say.

“Someone will need to stand vigil.” Yasmine had said. They all wanted to volunteer, they would do it together no doubt but none of them had been quicker to speak than the boy.

“I can do it, mother. I want to do it. I will do this.” His voice had grown more confident with each word. They would not take this from him.

“I know you can,” Yasmine said kneeling in front of her son, wiping tears from her eyes as well as his. “I would not trust this task to anyone else. Your father would be so, so proud of you Deckard.”

“He’s done very well.” A voice said softly next to him.

“Mother.” Declan breathed out pulling his mom into a hug that she returned fully. “How…how are you?” He asked

“Broken, my dear boy. Broken, in a way, I did not know was possible.” His mother said with more pain than Declan had ever heard her speak. “Look at you…” A sob and a smile escaped her face as she took a step back to take him in fully. He could not help but smile back at her, standing in the resplendent ivory armor of his father.

“You had this sent to my room?” He asked her.

“Your father wanted you to have it.” She told him. “Before he went out in the snows, he told me, ‘Vala, you make sure to give this to my son when he gets home. Tell him I love him and I’m sorry I missed him.’” Declan pulled her into another hug as their tears fell onto the gift left by his father Durin IV, Alpha of clan Kanaka, The Protector, champion of his people, to the son he never lost hope in.
“Mother.” a voice said softly. It was Yasmine of The Wilds, acting Alpha for Clan Kanaka, wife to his brother Durin V.

“Yasmine.” His mother said in the most welcoming voice imaginable. She pulled the younger woman into a tight embrace. “You would be proud of your son.”
Declan could not say whether Yasmine laughed or cried at that moment.

“He gets his strength from his father,” Yasmine said.

“And his will from his mother, no doubt.” Declan offered softly. This time he was certain that she laughed. She slid her arm through his, taking him by the elbow.

“I think, I would see him now. before the others arrive.” They walked together, the three of them toward the end of the long hall. “Speaking of the others.” She said. “Will they be attending?”

“I cannot say, Alpha.” She gave him a hard look. “Or I should say, Yasmine. None knew Durin and I…”

How did he explain? How could he explain?

“...I fear that they have come here mostly for sanctuary and not for any great love of me or my brothers.” Surely that was a diplomatic way to say he was responsible for a number of their deaths and the loss of their home on this world. That, because of him they were forced to flee.

“Not even the one who you seem determined to go out of your way to avoid?” His mother asked. “The short one with the fierce eyes.” She clarified.

Aelin. Litla systir.

They reached the end of the hall and all three stood in front of the boy in front of the altar. Yasmine grabbed her son’s face in both hands and knelt to kiss him. The boy choked back sobs but he did not move. Declan’s mother had moved to the other side of the altar and Yasmine pulled away from her boy and joined her good mother. Declan kneeled in front of his nephew and placed one of his big hands over the boy’s heart.

“Vel gert, litli kappi. Ekki óttast að gráta. Faðir þinn myndi finna mikla gleði að sjá ást þína.”

Declan rose to his feet and joined his mother and sister. Declan could feel each woman wrap their fingers in his as he stood over the altar and looked down on the body of his brother.

I’m sorry, Durry.

Finndu föður og veiddu, bróðir. Einhvern daginn verð ég nógu verðugur til að vera með þér.

“I swear it.”

Spoiler

Well done, little warrior. Do not fear to cry. Your father would feel great joy to see your love.

Find father and hunt, brother. Some day, I will be worthy enough to join you.

Aelin Erevos Miera Erevos Brynjar Threist Gustaf Lögr Åsmund Ótta Gerwald Lechner

Spoiler: Tunes

​

 

[Aelin Erevos]

​

Outfit | XoXo
Location | Hardhaven
Tag | Declan Durinson , Børre Drage , Gerwald Lechner , Miera Erevos , Brynjar Threist , Gustaf Lögr , Åsmund Ótta

The blade traced a slow line of fire down her collarbone and towards her heart.

Desperately, she tried to escape from beneath the overwhelming pressure of Alasdair Sabathian who held her pinned, to release her inner beast and jerk away, to cry out, but the burning chains on her wrists and the dirty gag over her mouth prevented that. Warm blood trickled down her chest, over her shoulders, onto her shirt.

There were only fragments she could remember after that.

The cruel twisting of his lips, the shock on his face when Børre came barreling towards him. Lessening of pain and then screams - not her own, not the Prince's, not Børre’s... but from beyond. Voices, high-pitched with fear, begging. Children crying out.

Then silence.... darkness.

Aelin's fire-fueled eyes snapped open.

The young woman sat for some time, heart pounding and breathing deeply as she tried to calm herself, a fine sheen of sweat coating her skin, dark auburn hair sticking to her face as her hand moved to absently to rub at the freshly raised scar that ran from the top of her collar bone to the top curve of her left breast in a clean, smooth line. It was turning pinkish now, healing, but still ached whenever the memories of the attack on the encampment surfaced. Eventually, she stirred from the window where she'd perched for her daily meditation, overlooking the wintery grounds of Hardhaven that had become her people's shelter these last few weeks.

The superstitious portions of her people had begun to whisper that their cause was cursed, muttering of the ill omens that had befallen them since the arrival of the Northerners. Others, found blame with Gerwald Lechner for touting beliefs of working alongside the humans.

And more still laid heaps of blame for the attack at her feet. Too soft, too naive, too complacent, suffering of a clouded mind from being an unmated female.

It did not help that the trek North had taken more lives of her ragged band, her numbers dwindling from nearly eight-hundred to five-hundred in a single fell swoop - most of those numbers being sickly or children. They were few already, and even more so now. Another confrontation with the crown would swallow up the rest of those in her company, no doubt. Slaying the warriors while taking the others as slaves or experiments. Perhaps even both. Even against the most unwarlike humans, Aelin realized that they stood little chance. Too few of Islimore’s population had reason to love them. Whether there were humans who felt towards their plight or not, the fear of what the Fayth would do to their families often outweighed their desire to lend an outstretched hand.

If they hadn’t moved North, then all would truly have been lost.

Slowly, Aelin stretched out her limbs and pushed back to her feet, adjusting her lamp as her gaze fell on the languid forms of Declan and his mother. She sighed, turning away when a sharp knock cut through the chaos of her thoughts.

Aelin flinched, pulling a thick robe over her shoulders and clutching it tightly in her fist as she crossed to the door, opening it a sliver.

“Anders,” she greeted with some surprise, widening the opening to let her auburn-haired generals stocky frame through the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t move to enter, only moving to bow slightly at the waist with a somber expression. “They’re starting the funeral in an hour, your presence will be expected by the acting Alpha who’s hosting us.” he gave her attire a withering gaze. “Your position would be questioned if you were late, or even worse - did not attend.”

Aelin swallowed and gave a curt nod, knowing there was no point in delaying the inevitable. They could not avoid one another forever.

To say that a fissure had grown between herself and Declan since his possession and the revelations his ancient ancestor spewed, would seem like an understatement. Many times she’d tried to reach out to him, to speak with him, only to be rebuffed and ignored. So deeply felt was this divide that he had not even approached her to ask for her help in rescuing his brother.

“Very well,” she replied, her voice almost straining with her next phrase. Unused to the sound of her own authority. “You may call for the servants to help attend to me then. Make it quick.”

------------------------------------------​

She’d never had personal servants to attend to her needs. Even on the Drage Estate, she’d refused their use. This was different, however. Attending an official funeral for the Northern Alpha meant she needed to be well presented in a timely fashion. She didn’t have the luxury of time to be stubborn.

The serving girls made quick work to wash the dust from her feet and hair, tucking and pinning her into a snowy velvet gown that contrasted against her dusky skin, fitted snugly at the dip of her narrow waist. An ivory coat with a fitted bodice was fashioned over the gown, a swath of black fur fastened to her left shoulder with a delicate golden chain that clipped to the moon crowned, three-headed wolf, the symbol of clan Svard, and looped beneath her right breast.

Emerging nearly forty minutes later, her flaming gaze flickered to Anders who instinctively extended his arm towards her. “Winter clothes suit you, if I may be so bold to say. You look like you belong here.” Aelin only smiled at Anders remark. “You forget. The snowy mountains of Seoul Five, where the waters are often black and cold and the winters unforgiving, was once my home. Being here is the closest to it I’ve felt since leaving.” aside from an aching belly and thread-bare clothes, the similarities she could draw between Hardhaven and her mountain village, seemed endless. “Shall we?”

​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

​

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Aelin Erevos | Declan Durinson

He had been absent. Gerwald had not been there when the attack happened. Regardless of whether he had been there or not they still would have blamed him. The wolf had constantly been pulled between his own kind and the unfinished work he had left behind in the galaxy. Freya had said they needed him, and yet all their people seemed to do was blame him or chastise him for not agreeing with the old ways. His time in the galaxy had taught him things were not always as they seemed, they were not as black and white as the Lupo wanted them to be. He knew his time with them was not going to be long.

Gerwald had only returned because Freya had reached him with the news of a death, one which meant little to Gerwald. He had known Declan's brother, but he knew Declan. He stood in the back and watched, hidden in the shadows. Only those who knew his presence would know he was there. The weight of the darkness that swirled around him was unmistakable to those who had felt it before, to those who knew it.

There had been those who had always mistaken his specific passivity for weakness. Gerwald simply knew when to strike and when aggression was a moot issue. Many of the Lupo were always aggressive, always giving in to a blood lust that Gerwald was all too familiar with. Wisdom had taught him many lessons the hard way, and while he had hoped others would have avoided his path, it was clear many had to follow it to gain the understanding he possessed.

There were only two individuals Gerwald openly made his attendance open to. The first was Aelin. It had been some time since they had seen each other. Since the night spent at the pool where both had bore themselves to each other in a way he could not say they had to any of the other wolves. Perhaps it had been a moment of weakness between the two of them, or perhaps the gods willed them to know each other in an intimate way. Regardless the Lupo knew any pledge to Aelin would bind him to the fate of his people and that of Islimore itself.

Gerwald could not allow himself to be chained in that manner.

Declan was the other. His aura brushed against that of his friend. They had not always seen eye to eye, but time spent repairing the camp, fortifying it, had seen the two find a way to understand each other. Gerwald had come to trust Declan in a way he did not trust many. The northern wolf was a friend and confidant. His pain was Gerwald's pain. If Declan mourned, then Gerwald would too.

This was why he was at the funeral. Lupo customs were foreign to Gerwald in many ways still, but the Confederacy had taught the wolf it was the different customs each embraced that defined who they were. It was a value Gerwald appreciated. He could respect the differences even if he did not agree with them. They were archaic, but if they brought his friend a sense of comfort or peace, Gerwald would observe them.

<<"I am sorry my friend. I trust he died in battle as all warriors hope for.">>

Gerwald knew the answer, but as his mind touched Declan's with the words a wave of his sympathies and respect traveled with them.

His mind reached for Aelin's next.

<<"When this is over we should visit. We have left certain things unresolved.">>

It was not a request, but rather a statement. She had avoided him the next day and several after that. Had it not been for the need Gerwald had felt to find Srina and seek out a solution to the one promise he could not justify running from, he would have pressed the matter sooner. Regardless of what could have happened in the pool nothing had, and the two needed to make a decision for the sake of their people. The two had many things to discuss. She needed to know the secrets he kept, secrets that could destroy the Lupo if they were to become public.​

 

[Deidric Drage]

It was nearing time, only an hour until the funeral. There was much that was going through his mind in the last few months. He took a seat against one of the many trees that littered near the river close by. It was quite cool, but it didn't bother the Lupo to much. Growing up on Belassas after the purge wasn't to much of a change. He did his best to have the greatest outlook of life, happy to wake up and be alive. Proud of who he was and what he stood for, as those that came before him. He owed much to Borre and Aelin Erevos , they had lost much. The attacked that forced them north, was still clear in his mind, but it only made him solidify his mind. He had long grown with the clan, while he felt he was much older, the fifteen year old pup still had much to learn and even more to prove and pay attention too.

He was the youngest and there was more responsibility placed on him, or more so that he placed on himself. The purge, these attacks, his family.....

His clan needed him more now that ever. And he didn't want to let them down. Most importantly, he did not want to let Borre down, or Aelin. Even through all of this, he couldn't help but smile. He would be that pillar for them all, although things seemed dark. There was always the sun, ready to crest on the horizon.

He smirked as he raised his hands towards the top of his button, and easily made his way downward ridding himself of the shirt he was wearing, before removing the rest of his clothes. He had enough time, more than enough. The Lupo male closed his eyes as the transformation began, and within a few moments no longer on two, but fours sprinting along the bank. Paws hit lightly against the soft earth, no one could tell it was him except those of his clan.

In his element completely, the young wolf pup sprinting along the bank still. Yes, he was indeed still young, so it would look fast, but he had much to grow into. He let out a long howl, and it wasn't the only one that would emit from him. Several more howls followed along the bank until he broke into a clearing and sped up as fast as he could go at his age without overburdening himself.

He wasn't sure how long it was, and then he came to a stop panting slightly, his wet tongue showing for a few moments before he reared back and let out another long howl.

It wasn't something of pain, or anguish, it was almost a song of sorts. Telling all of those that their time was not at an end. There was still much to do, despite the pain they felt, they would preserve and remain strong.

The howls were a symbol of faith and strength.

Declan Durinson

Børre Drage

 

[Brynjar Threist]

​

"Brynjar, this is your time. You need to step up and demonstrate your skills as a leader. Aelin got hundreds killed!" Bryn's father barked frustrated as his own son refused to look or talk with him on the matter of leadership in the Lupo on Islimore. Brynjar was too focused on his equipment, clothing and figuring out what was appropriate to wear in the deeply cold weather and for a funeral.

His mother's voice called out on the holovid, his parents refusing to come to Islimore until it was safe and that an Anasi they deem worthy had taken charge. Basically, they refused to listen to anyone but themselves and a person they feel they could manipulate in the position of ultimate power. It was how Brynjar saw it after his spirit quest in the desert. "Brynjar Threist. Talk to us. We are only wanting you to represent the best of our people. To stand as the leader and save those on Islimore from the humans." His mother's words were smooth, soft and attempting to sway him back into old habits.

"We lost our ways. Family became too focused on ambition, power and lost track of what Glwyn's original plans for this clan. We are not leaders, we are guardians, ensuring peace." Brynjar growled, not allowing himself to be swayed anymore. He knew the truth, he was the chosen Alpha not just through strength but through spiritual means. Neither of his parents held Medelwr, they never found the lost arts of Glwyn to restore it. He did. "Forcing ourselves to be Anasi, to lead... It is against everything Glwyn stood for, against everything I stand for. Aelin has the blood of Clan Svard. To question her right to lead is wrong. Things might be bad now, but we have the tools to rebuild." His hand touched the handle of Medelwr, the lone axe, he had given the other half to Aelin. Giving a piece of himself to her and a token of his loyalty and need to protect her at all cost.

His mother's fury at his words was clear, the gentle tones had quickly faded. "How dare you betray your own family for a woman who will never be your mate! You are blinded by foolish love to see the truth and will die a fool following his heart and not his brain!" The words cut deep, and there was truth in them but there was mostly spite and intention to hurt him. He ended the call and sighed.

Brynjar dressed in leather with a cloak to fight the cold while walking to the hall. "I would rather die a fool following my heart than a fool manipulated into killing our people." Bryn said to no one in his tent as felt a little defeated in how the call with the last members of his clan went.


Walking into the room. Brynjar observed a few things and remained silent. His walk had him pausing and helping a few of the Lupo left from the forest regions. Ensuring they were set up with firewood, supplies and solid places to sleep and live while they hid from the humans here. His goal since returning from the desert had been to recover from the terrible sunburn that he still had, restore his ancient ancestral home which had nearly been fixed before the attack and to share with Aelin everything he knew about his destiny, his family and the direction he was shifting towards. The talk had been tricky since it required a lot of words from him, a lot of emotional and intimate sharing that he had never truly done before but it also required that Brynjar be honest with himself. This thankfully worked out not too badly. He was also frustrated that he wasn't able to protect her during the human raid on their camp. He had killed many humans on the way to her but was too slow, too distracted to save her. But he swore to be her shadow and ensure her protection from now on.

He had not been part of the mission that attempted to save Declan's brother nor the mysterious redhead that Gustaf was taking under his wing. His personal goals had him far from that. It was a shame and he was deeply apologetic to Declan when he arrived in the North for not being there. But he needed Medelwr, he needed to build Heddwch and Brynjar needed to understand the issues he held were due to him being from a family of builders, peace keepers, guardians of leaders and not being an Anasi himself. An Alpha sure, but he was not a leader. Removing the cloak, his outfit of a leather vest and hide trousers with thick boots demonstrated he did not really feel much of the cold when inside. He looked to Declan and bowed his head in respect.

"Sorry for your loss. I am sure he was a great man." Brynjar spoke with sorrow.


Declan Durinson | Aelin Erevos | Gerwald Lechner | Deidric Drage

​

 

[Dorian Durinson]

Wearing | Location | Tags​

More than a thousand wolves filled the ancient yornwood long hall that was the heart of the great pale stone castle of Hardhaven. Near six thousand years old, Hardhaven’s long hall stood on this spot twice as long as the stone castle that now surrounded it. The walls were adorned with beautiful woven tapestries that depicted stories and legends of The North, some so old not a wolf alive could remember them, and shields with the symbols of long-extinct clans with names not spoken in millennia. When his father and brothers would go to war and he was yet too young to join them, Dorian would spend hours sitting atop his father’s throne looking up at the shields and tapestries making his own tales up for them. The most unique feature of Hardhaven’s long hall was that the rafters were crafted of the dark black bones of a great sea dragon, with the dais sitting in the beast's mighty jaws. Dorian had heard it told, the bones belonged to no greater a dragon than Fafnir himself.

It seemed all the clans of The North were present, great or small, ancient lines that went back to the time of The Gods and new clans both. Alphas and their families of Northern and Southern clans both filled the long hall, lesser kaiha stood in the courtyard outside the long hall and an untold number of Zorathi lined the streets of the city at the foot of the mountain upon which the castle stood. Great fat flakes of autumn snow drifted lazily around the gathered throngs of those who wished to pay their respects to their Alpha, to his brother, who had gone south and seen his life lost before he could again feel the snows of his home.

Dorian found a place among the mourners nearly as far from the dais as he could be. The gathered alphas were all dressed in their finest clothes as befit the occasion and their standing. Dorian had woken to find brand-new clothes waiting for him, silk so fine it felt like water in his hand. When it was time for him to dress, he did not call for one of the servants but for his kertilsveinr–what the humans called a “squire” – but seeing that Deckard was busy standing vigil for his father, it was his brothers, the twins who arrived.

They helped him into his mail, just as they had eight years prior before he rode out to put an end to the wildling king, Rik. Double-ringed and black as the void, knicked and chipped in a hundred places, the symbol of Clan Kanaka was wrought in gold in the center of the chest. It was not the traditional choice by any measure, but for Dorian, today would require steel, not silk.

He found himself loitering next to a wolf he did not know as he waited for things to begin in earnest. She was small for their kind but there was no mistaking her for anything other than Lupo. She was dressed in all white save for a swath of black fur on her shoulder, a golden clasp with a clan symbol he did not know was at her breast.

“Did you know The Alpha then?” He asked the stranger, wary of what the answer could be. Thinking of the green-eyed boy on Malinda’s father’s farm that had no clue the whole of The North mourned for his father.

When she named herself to him, Dorian’s eyes widened.

“I am sorry for all you have lost, Aelin of Clan Erevos.” His words were full of sincere sympathy. “I would ask that the two of us spend some time together tomorrow, I have something I wish to give you. I understand if you would perhaps prefer to be alone with your grief but I hope you will be convinced to share some time with me.”

He had not introduced himself to her, though his stature, brilliant green eyes, dark black hair pulled into a tight bun, to go along with the kanaka symbol on his chest would presumably give her some guess.

The dais was full of his family. Declan wore the brilliant ivory plate that once belonged to his father, the twins were dressed in matching green and black doublets, one in a green with black accent and the other in black with green accent. His mother too was dressed in green but it was Yasmine of The Wilds, acting alpha of Clan Kanaka that would catch everyone’s eye.

She stood tall on the dias, a freckled hand resting on the chest of the body that had been her mate. Her dress was as dark as Dorian’s armor, her brilliant red hair was tied in a long braid that draped over her shoulder, ending around her navel, a net of black gemstones was in her hair as well reflecting the flicker of firelight.

Durin was dressed in a long sleeve green tunic so dark it could’ve been black, veins of gold thread were woven in intricate patterns, a thick chain of gold was around his neck, a pendant in the symbol of their clan hung at his chest, Yasmine ran a long pale finger over the pendant. The clothes they dressed his brother’s body in were newly crafted for his burial as was their way, a tradition dating back millennia. His thick ringed fingers curled around the hilt of a sword, their father’s sword.

The last time Dorian had seen his brother’s body was the previous night when Yasmine performed her own rites for her mate. Durin and Yasmine had both been bare chested, she sang a low velvety chant in the dialect used by the Wild Wolves of the yronwood forest as she burned dried black leaves from those very same trees. The smoke smelled sweet but tasted bitter. He had watched as she dipped two fingers in a bowl of what was clearly blood but from what creature he could not say. She took those blood covered fingers and painted gnarled, ancient, viciously looking runes on her chest and the body that lay before her. She would paint the runes and speak her savage’s tongue and with some magic the blood would just be gone from them and she would paint and say something new. At the end She placed a soft blue flower in Durin’s mouth and gently kissed his lips.

“The Alpha would speak!” a voice called loud and clear from the dais to quiet the room. Dorian could not help but smile to see Declan take up for Yasmine. Who knew it would only take Durin’s death to see them come together. It took a moment for the murmurs to quiet entirely.

“Alphas of The North. Allies and dear friends. It warms my heart to see so many of you here to honor Durin, Alpha of Clan Kanaka, the love of my life. To know you all held him so highly in your hearts, it makes it easier to smile, easier to grieve knowing I am not alone.” Yasmine said to the gathered wolves.

“Alphas from the south, I must extend my dearest gratitude to you for traveling the hard road and gracing this occasion with your presence. It has been far too long since Hardhaven has played host to so many from outside The Winter Lands, I only wish it were under happier circumstances for us all.”

Dorian’s eyes flickered over to Aelin to see if she would react to Yasmine’s acknowledgement of her people’s losses. He wondered what resentments were held by the young Alpha at Kanaka’s lack of true support for her efforts.

“The loss of Durin is immeasurable in its vastness. For long now have we suffered loss upon loss. Hundreds of wolves, northern wolves, killed by the humans and their poison. Each year the raiders from the Black Forest grow bolder and bolder, rebellion and revolt cost us even more as brother killed brother. We have lost Durin, protector of The North and his eldest son who followed him as Alpha and now full scale war with the humans is at our door. A heinous attack on an ancient holy site to the south has seen hundreds of us out to the sword once again, warrior and no, old, injured, ill, and even children were killed by these monsters who seek another great purge.”

She paused for a moment to let the clamor of voices that had risen die down again.

“Hardhaven has opened its gates to the wolves fleeing from The Fayth, so that their wounded may heal, their tired may rest, their pups may be allowed to feel safe, though to be very clear, I have not pledged a single sword to their cause. Hardhaven will defend itself if necessary but only the Alpha will decide if Clan Kanaka joins in the war with The Fayth.”

The murmurs started again among those that would recognize her meaning.

“You are our Alpha are you not?!” A voice in the crowd cried out.

“Once. When my love were simply missing and not lost, I sat his throne and ruled in his name.” Yasmine said.

He knew she was working up to say what needed to be said, to reach the point of this whole affair.

“I have been honored to be a member of Clan Kanaka for twenty years, to have gained the mother I never knew as a pup, to be blessed with four wonderful brothers, even if one I’ve only just met, the greatest thing I’ve ever done is give birth to a wonderful son of Kanaka blood but I am Yasmine of The Wilds and it is not for me to rule here. In my last act as ruling Alpha of Clan Kanaka, I cede my right to rule and name as Alpha of my clan, Dorian son of Durin, blood of Durin the first, General of the northern armies, Slayer of The Gallows King.”

Dorian began the long walk to the dais through the crowd as heads turned to watch. The weight of his armor and the clank of steel with each step was a comfort as he strode with his head high and full of confidence. There would be none who would claim he came to this honor with reluctance.

Dorian climbed up the stairs and into the dragon’s great jaws to take his place among his family. Yasmine kissed him on the cheek and placed upon his finger the signet ring that had been borne by every Kanaka Alpha for six millennia.

It was time. No half measures.

The room had once again fallen silent of its own accord as they watched Dorian.

“Are there any of Clan Kanaka that wish to challenge my right to rule?” He asked his brothers loud enough for the whole room to hear. Dorian’s eyes lingered longest on Declan in his immaculate white armor, a contrast to Dorian’s battle worn and scarred black ringmail. Declan bent his knee and bowed his head to Dorian. The twins followed thereafter, his mother crossed the dais, kissed him on the cheek and knelt before him, and then Yasmine too bent her knee.

Dorian turned from his family and faced the crowd. A cheer erupted from the northern wolves.

Aelin Erevos Brynjar Threist Miera Erevos Gustaf Lögr Gerwald Lechner Børre Drage

​

 

[Mikael Baltje]

.

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Aelin Erevos | Declan Durinson | Dorian Durinson | Brynjar Threist | Miera Erevos | Gustaf Lögr | Deidric Drage | Børre Drage

Death. It was something Mikael was intimately familiar with. His clan had been acting alone for a long time while others hid and did nothing. At least it was the accusation which came up for the few meetings of the Alphas his people attended. There had yet to be a meeting he had attended, but Mikael expected a cold reception, and not because the funeral was in the north. They were outcasts, those whose methods were brutal. They killed without hesitation and without prejudice. He was their Alpha, and he was the deadliest of them all.

He wore black, but everything about him was strikingly white. A rarity among their people, the albino knew he stood out. Every eye would be on him at his entrance, but because of his reputation, or that of his clans. There had not been another albino in Mikael's lifetime, or that in any he knew. The only color he boasted was the orange, yellow, red, whatever his eyes happened to be.

Mikael sat in the back, along the wall. He did not need to say anything except a nod to Dorian. None had challenged him, and from everything he knew it was the only natural choice. Still he could not help but think the lack of a challenge was the reason these Lupo were losing their numbers to the Fayth. There was not a single alpha in the Baltje Clan which did not rise without killing all others who would claim the title. They could not know if he was their best option if no one had the courage to challenge him.

Were this his home, and his clan, Mikael would fight the wolf, and he would add to his number all who were in the room.He was not here for that. It was a show of respect. Today all of them grieved. They grieved the loss of a great warrior, and they mourned the loss of many of their kind. These were a defeated people, and they were licking their wounds. The time would come to remind all of them what they were. This was not that time. Folding his arms over his chest he scanned the room.

His eyes fell on Aelin.

"So that is her," he said to his beta. "I want to know everything you can find out."​

 

[Miera Erevos]

Location: Islimore - the North, the Funeral for ? at Hadhaven.
Tag: [ Aelin Erevos ] [ Declan Durinson ] [ Dorian Durinson ] [ Brynjar Threist ] [ Gustaf Karjala ] [ Deidric Drage ] [ Børre Drage ] [ Mikael Baltje ]

The Hall at Hadhaven was elegant, powerful, ancient. Power swirled around the ancient edifice, a mix of light and dark. Courage and fear, hunger for power and vast love in a tangled storm. Miera searched the aura desperately for simple things. Compassion. Love. Loyalty. Was content with what she found there. A civilized, comforting veneer over the violence of her people. Miera mourned that reflexive violence, the necessary deaths that their very nature provoked. As she understood it - and no one had spoken to her directly of it - this had been just such a bitter death. So many had died, in yet another attack that her own presence and holdings had failed to deflect. more had passed, in a journey where they had not even stopped by her lands to ask for aid, or shelter, or help.

Yet here she was, to support her sister. Her alpha. To assist Declan, if he would accept aid.

A young boy stood in attendance, all adorned in black leather, save for his white cloak. A son perhaps? Squire? Either way, too young for the weight of grief and weaponry thrust upon him. Runes on the scabbard of his blade teased at her eyes, but she did not go close enough to read to which god the blade dedicated the deaths it caused. She had had enough of death.

Declan was all in white ivory, a bone-and-leather armor that would make him target everywhere but here, where snow ruled all. A red-haired woman, Yasmine of The Wilds, perhaps? The widow, and acting Alpha until ... now. Declan's mother earned a long, slow appraisal. Was anyone watching her? Their were old traditions that ... Miera had to hope she would not choose.

Aelin had chosen pure white for garb, save the Clan symbol and black cloak. Miera had not; she was not first-family to any of those so grieved by this death. She wore a grey fur cloak, accented with a deep auburn over grey silken gown. if it came to violence, it wouldn't be armor that would aid her, but her will. Her gaze travelled over the crowd, but she did not see the River Wolf. somehow, she'd thought he'd preside at this funeral.

A soft line of worry creaed Miera's brow, though she stood both in silence and in shadow at the back of the Hall. Aelin was not herself; from the aching doubt in that mystic bond between them to the shadowed gaze. Aelin stood near the space-wolf, that enigmatic creature was half-hidden, aura muted. But Miera always attended to powerful creatures too near her sister. And that one promised only greif. For all his calm words, his aura was stained with a violence and restlessness few would ever match.

The wind carried a wolf-song to her, high and challenging. Filled with a determined hope. It was the only sign of healing she'd seen or heard since arriving here in the early hours of the morning, and Miera was not quite sure if it was real, or spirit-sent. She thought perhaps ... she should have told someone she was coming. Or let the guards see her. But it was too late, now. There was no changing the past.

She stood outside of it, still. Outside of the grief and hurt and hurt. the thirst for violence that sparked in some, at the transfer of power. the people. She felt like naught but a ghost, sometimes, save for Aelin's hold on her heart. Maybe one or two others.

Brynjar stood apart, white cloak pushed back to reveal leather armor -- plain, practical. He seemed unbothered by the cold. Force adaption, his Clan gifts, shear stubbornness - she could not say. He spoke kindly to Declan, which softened Miera towards him.

She did not see the twins at first, as they shadowed the mail-clad wolf she didn't know. Dorian, now Alpha. He was fully geared for battle, the black ringmail old and well-tended, if not as old as the ancient Hall. Dorian, of course, had picked out Aelin from the thousands of wolves gathered here. It made her tense, always, when strangers approached Aellin. She bit back a growl of protest, but bided her time. Waiting. Studying the dragon-bones that lined the Hall, and wishing it were empty so that she might properly hear the whispers of the past they offerd her. So much to learn here, and very little of it from the still-living.

A white wolf, near to her, seemed dismayed that Dorian's brother's knew his skill well enough not to have to die to prove it. He, too, asked after Aellin. A faint shake of her head, as he asked his friend about her sister. She met his gaze for a moment, considering, measuring. No. too violence. too hungry. Needing to learn things with his body, not his mind. A sigh escaped her and she turned away, unless he chose to address her.

Then vanished into the shadows rather than threading her way through the crowd properly, to appear near to her sister, greeting her with a soft, "Aelin, I am here, if you need me." She touched her sister gently on the shoulder, and offered a gentle, "I am so sorry for your loss, Declan." A faint bow of her head was all she offered the armor-clad Dorian, though each of the twins won a tiny smile of greeting. She faded back, then, content to watch and wait.

Wondering who else might attend. Karim ... was off world again. and none of the few ladies she'd met seemed to be here, either.

 

[Rowan Hathbi]

Location: Islimore the North, the Funeral
Equipment: Outfit
Tags: Aelin Erevos Declan Durinson Dorian Durinson Brynjar Threist Gustaf Karjala Deidric Drage Børre Drage Mikael Baltje

There was no greater sorrow than laying kin to rest. No preparation or actions that could truly alleviate the grief one felt at the passing of those around you. The strength offered by those surrounding a buffer against the feelings that could overwhelm those most affected by such a tragedy.

A feeling the Hathbi clan knew all to well.

Preparations for those they had lost in the raid upon their long time home had taken almost too long for his liking. A feeling of guilt at being made to linger on proper rites being made to lay those lost to rest.

The patience required to wait for the proper cycles of the moon, rituals of old being carried out to pay respects to the lost and confused spirits of those suddenly ripped from their continued existence.

Counseling and managing the sudden voids where tentative peace and wary joy had been. Shuffling living situations to better accommodate those that had experienced their loss within the small structure of the remains of their clan.

Many had looked to the young Alpha of the Hathbi's for guidance, for reassurances that all would be well. That even this great time of sorrow would pass. And the mask of graceful serenity and understanding had been the bulwark with which the Alpha had kept himself behind.

He had not sought counsel. Not the embrace of those around him for solidarity. Nor the comfort of those that remained within his own family for understanding.

Anger, grief, and guilt had separated him in his own mind from those that remained. Responsibility for those around him, pushing down the need to mourn for his own father and friends that he had allowed to return to their ancestral lands in eternal slumber.

They had seemed peaceful, at ease, and even comforted in the last moments before they disappeared beneath the ground. Hidden from view but never far from his mind. From any of their minds within the Hathbi clan.

Acknowledging the loss of another clan had come with terrifying ease.

They all lost on their homeworld in some way or another. And the tense bonds of existence were something even the isolated clan knew would be a greater boon to future peace and prosperity than attempting to remain aloof from the woes of others.

The Hathbi Alpha appeared in silence. The gold and muddled black of his garb punctuated by the delicate gold and equally dark desert rose that resided among the deepest parts of their environment.

A sight that seldom few Hathbi had been privy to, and one only Alpha's had been permitted to protect with fervent reverence as a treasure of their home.

Now being presented as a symbol of solace and solidarity from one clan to another.

He kept to the sides, appearance sharply different from those he assumed were northern wolves. He was alone, as most of the desert had remained, waiting in silence to offer his own peace.

Many figures present seemed agitated and ready for, something. Perhaps anger, perhaps a challenge, or even merely just wishing to split apart to grieve un their own fashion.

It was a strong showing of unity, or perhaps of solidarity. Something that did nothing to shift the solemn expression of the stranger among them.

"Peace to those that have gone, solace to those that remain." The elementalist allowed a smudge of his own feelings to interact with the fires within the great hall.

Sorrow and remorse dancing in tune with a pained hope for peace to stoke the warmth of the fires that surrounded those gathered.

Nothing more than a comforting warmth that filled the nooks and crannies for all to share in the moment. The fires becoming more than symbols of change as he attempted to bring a sense of unity through them with the subtle ability he walked with.

 

[Gustaf Lögr]

"You know how every so often, you'll see a flash of lightning brighten the dusken sky? How you feel that sudden rumble of thunder across the clouds and then vanish just as quick? They say that's how the gods know that the Baramoðn has carried a life from this one to the next..."

- Ancient Lupo Legend


[Gustaf's Soundscape: Scars]

​

Tags: Aelin Erevos | Miera Erevos | Lowri Rhi | Declan Durinson | Gerwald Lechner | Børre Drage | Deidric Drage | Rowan Hathbi


The sky above Hardhaven had begun to darken over the past few moments, with the cold breeze gusting lightly as it did. The scent of spruce tree sap carried upon the wind as a hooded figure approached the main entrance to Hardhaven proper. Yet, this person was not alone. Another walked with him along the stonework forward, and seemed to be of much smaller stature. Two rather gruff and hardened-looking warriors of Clan Kanaka stood guard as they approached, taking much more deliberate steps.

The guards made no move toward the pair, as they walked past and into the foyer. Gustaf thought about a great many things this day. The war between Wolf and Man had truly begun. The Fayth would not let this pass, he knew it in his heart of hearts. The coming days, weeks, months... years... they would not be kind to the Lupo. Yet, when have the years ever been truly kind to them? The Purge raged on, as it always had. Sometimes it was bared for all to see, other times it was within the shadows. Obfuscation was the Fayth's greatest trick these days, it had been said to him. His grandfather had lay upon him the ancient wisdom and knowledge of the Lögr before he had left for Hardhaven. Deep within the thick woods beyond, just over the borders, lay the hidden encampments and dens of his clan.

This was where they had been for decades now, hiding away trying to rebuild their numbers. The Lögr had been on the brink, they the bannerman of Clan Drage. They paid the price for their loyalty to their kin, more than many might know. But from within them, came the ultimate slayer of the Fayth. A legend amongst both wolf and man, whom little human children cowered under their bed sheets at the mere mention of. That little lupo children pretend to be as they played in the hearts of their camps and dens. His was already an existence that bared down upon his shoulders, yet still the Gods deemed him strong enough to carry even more.

It had been a long, hard road to get to this day. Far too many had been lost upon this journey north ward, and many would look upon only one with blame. Still, as much as he sought to help her, he could not go against the will of the gods. She had to find her own way, and come to terms with who she is. This was what the gods had guided him to when he sat alone before they set out to make this trek in their own ways. Gustaf still felt the pangs of pain and anguish from all those gathered in the massive long hall, as Gustaf silently made his way toward the alter, motioning for the young pup with him to keep close.

After a few more moments, his hands would gently reach for the younger wolf, and press upon her gently as they both moved up against the wall as Yasmine's voice began to fill the hall. Much could be said in the way she spoke of her family, and of Durin V. Gustaf thought back to his time with Durin IV when they crossed paths during the form Alpha's Long Hunt. He had great respect for Durin IV, who had always regarded him as an equal of sorts, even if Gustaf tried to deny it. He was simply fulfilling his role as the protector against the Fayth. He felt great sorrow for that loss as well as this. The wolves of the north were a fiercely proud type, and they backed it up. It was why they had greater numbers than any other clan of Lupo upon Islimore. It seemed that perhaps the destiny of the Lupo was a bit more complicated than anyone might have thought. Even Oz would not have wagered a guess of these recent night's happenings.

Still, his gaze lay upon the Erevos Sisters, and the constant shuffling of feet near and around them. The naming of a new Alpha was not as formal as most would have thought, as cheers and celebratory whoops and yawps emanated loudly from the wolves gathered here. Dorian was now Alpha of Clan Kanaka, not Declan. Yet, he knew of all the sons of Durin IV well, even if they did not know him themselves. Such was the responsibility of the Baramoðn. He would not question it, for he knew well that many gathered here this day had destinies to fufill just as he did. He could feel it in the air, smell it upon the wind, the influence of the gods was everywhere, it surrounded them all.

Much like the mystic priestess she-wolf Miera had done, Gustaf and his ward came seemingly out of nowhere, having stepped from the shadows themselves. He had not wanted to interrupt any of the proceedings, but now seemed to be an appropriate time to approach Aelin, and those wolves gathered around her. Brynjar, tall and proud, a good man and great warrior to the core. Then, the White Wolf, an albino he was called. A true rarity within the Lupo, even moreso than even the Baramoðn. He knew of his clan, and even fought alongside them as a common wolf a few times against the Fayth. They were a brutal sort, not the type many trusted. Outcasts among outcasts, but Gustaf thought of them as he did any Lupo who remained true to the gods and to their traditions. They were kin, just as well.

As he stood near Aelin, Gustaf looked up toward Declan as he reached for his hood gently in both hands and lowered it down around his neck. Raising his hand up, he balled it into a fist, and pressed it against his chest, directly over his heart. He bowed his head to Declan, and to his family gathered as well, a sign of deepest respect from those of Clan Lögr. A few moments would pass before he turned toward Aelin herself. He spoke lowly, his deep voice soothing in it's tone, calming and warm.

"Anasari. It is good to see you and yours survived the journey north. This little one here behind me is my niece. Lowri, of Clan Lögr." looking to Lowri with just a hint of a smile, he continued. "Lowri, these are the wolves I spoke to you of. Aelin, Alpha of Clan Erevos, and her sister Miera."

Of course, he would speak with the blood and kin of Durin IV soon enough, but now was not that time. This was their own time in which to grieve and to give funeral rites to Durin V properly in the way they saw fit as their traditions dictated. However, Gustaf could not help but nod to the priestess as she stood there next to her sister, trying to remain out of sight. There were many reasons to grieve, this was without question. But there were also just as many reasons to be hopeful for the future, and Gustaf had seen enough death to last a millennia.

​

 

[Lowri Rhi]

Outfit: This
Tag: Gustaf Lögr | Miera Erevos | Aelin Erevos | Declan Durinson | Dorian Durinson | Deidric Drage | Gerwald Lechner | Rowan Hathbi | Mikael Baltje

Lowri had gone through a lot lately. From being imprisoned by some extremist humans that were apparently called the Fayth, they told her she was a Lupo, some kind of wolf person. Starved and tortured, Lowri was eventually freed by some Lupo at the same time they had to kill some mad Lupo. She was baffled by it all but apparently she now had a family. An uncle, a clan of people who were related and potentially more that she didn't even know about. Lowri was slightly overwhelmed by it all for a long stint and tried to deny it or state it was crazy and that she was just a boring human with nothing special but the more she learnt about the Lupo life, the more that she felt a connection something inside her that pulled at her to learn more. To embrace the way of life that these people held true.

While she felt the pull and desire to connect with the Lupo, the harshness, the despondent feelings of them, it was a little much and she did consider leaving and just wandering the galaxy on her own all again. At least she wouldn't worry about finding a comfy bed or being warm since they had trekked all the way to the North and it was fricking freezing up there! Snow everywhere and it was just icy all day long, it was frustrating and totally not how Lowri wanted to live, she enjoyed warmer weathers since she could be freer in clothing styles and options. Now she was wearing all leather and thick, it was not the most comfortable outfits and she didn't enjoy the way it fit on her body but it was practical and kept her warm.

She hadn't been convinced to attend this funeral, it was a reminder of her time imprisoned and she never felt comfortable about it all but Gus was insistent that they both attended. He had been the only person that she would allow persuade her into things, partly because he demonstrated some level of care and concern about her and the fact he was the only family she knew really so it was right for her to listen to elders. Lowri's hair was tied into a loose ponytail, red hair shining like liquid fire down her right shoulder as Gus guided her into the funeral. A new Alpha was announced and she was surprised that the woman dropped her duty as Alpha, it was a shame to see. But it seemed to be a popular choice in the new Alpha, there were other faces that she recognised as people who saved her from the prison but she didn't really get to know her saviours too much.

"Greetings Aelin, I am pleased to meet you again after the prison. Sure I am looking a lot better than last time." Lowri chuckled as she did now look a lot healthier and more herself. Noticing that there was a sister of Aelin next to her, nodding her head to the woman as well.

 

[Astrid Ylva]

​

Outfit | XoXo - Cloak | XoXo - Dress
Location Islimore the North, the Funeral
Tags: Gustaf Lögr | Miera Erevos | Aelin Erevos | Declan Durinson | Dorian Durinson | Deidric Drage | Gerwald Lechner | Rowan Hathbi | Mikael Baltje | Lowri Rhi


The large blackened doors would groan as the heavy oak was pushed open against it's resting place. Flurries of snow would wisp through the entrance, melting within mere seconds of touching the warmed air of the interior. The soft clicks of her heels against the woodened planks echoed through the room, despite the ambient noise of crackling fires and voices. Astrid strode forward, heavy cloak dragging against the floor behind her as her entourage followed behind her. Astrid came to a halt just inside, allowing the doors a moment to close with a rush of wind and a rather loud thud. Gloved hands reached up, grasping the edges of the fur lined cloak, pulling the hood back to reveal the fair skinned Lupo who led Clan Ylva. She gazed about the room with her only good eye, a sapphire orb gazing about. A recently replaced bandage covered her left eye - a glint of golden shimmered behind the bandage - nothing more than a wound from a recent attack.

She held her arms out, and disrobed her cloak without saying anything. She only continued forward, as one of the larger Lupo who trailed her picked up the cloak that was discarded behind. She moved to the dais, looking at the family assembled before her.

Cousins, who were as close to her as her own kin.

Clan Ylva and Clan Kanaka - the rulers of the North.

Compared to the others, she was smaller - but not smaller than Aelin Erevos .

She stepped up to them and looked to each of them, eye settling upon Dorian as she stepped forward and extended her hands to him, embracing him softly, whispering through fanged teeth. "Well deserved..." She was speaking upon him becoming the Alpha. She'd pull from the brief embrace and turn to Yasmine, inclining her head slightly and saying nothing. Her gaze shifted back to Dorian. "It's good to see you."

​