Private To Rekindle the Worn and Weary Soul

[Åsmund Ótta]

LOCATION: Belazura
TIME: Mid-Day
THEME: Tavern Ambience
TAGS: Freya Drage

The tavern on the main floor of one of Belazura's spaceport hotels bustled with comers and goers around him at the height of mid-day, while he sat nursing an amber-coloured spirit derived from grain: an import from Corellia, or so he had been told after his nonspecific request for "something nice and smooth". Drinking was strange, but the tradespeople he came to know, and the ship crews he worked amongst over an ultimately brief period of time (from the perspective of a Lupo) encouraged him to pursue it after he saw the prevalence of "sharing a pint", and how they all bonded through getting… any number or words he'd heard in his journeys for the state of inebriation. It was an acquired taste that nonetheless helped him to blend in; he just wasn't sure how he felt about what the stuff could do to his head, so moderation had become his way.

There was a nightmarish haze over his memory when it came to the many details of his incarceration and release, but the months and... years, now since the suppressive drugs had washed out of his body in those early days of freedom were painfully clear. Helplessness was a terrible frustration as his cognizance returned at the time, and this persisted through the early weeks of his first and rather intense recovery period. How long it had been since then, exactly, was difficult to pin down, but it was in the measure of years since work had taken the place of focused recovery once he had gained enough strength, and the worst of his terrors had subsided. Odd jobs, picking up skills that would help him get by in the galaxy, until strange rumours of wolves caught his ear and sent him out into the stars again. Hopping from planet to planet, job to job as rumours surfaced.

A plate with the dregs of a recent meal sat uncleared on the table at which he sat, thinking on these things and digesting and slowly imbibing, contending with the hesitation that settled in after chasing and chasing with nothing to show for it. He was here to chase another such rumour of his own kind, but listening to the mix of conversations was providing no further clues. leading to the mental stalemate he was in, now, until a particular scent tickled his nose and began to drag him out of the mire of his thoughts, and a shadow cast itself over the tabletop. His head rose, blue eyes scanning upward, his mind abandoning its long misgivings to chew on the very familiar smell of the woman… the she-wolf that stood there, looking well, dressed cleanly in the clothes of a traveller. His brow creased as softly as the way he swallowed in finding words and preparing to use them, but what to say? Was this the rumour, come to find him? Getting no sense that she was out for blood, he relaxed, despite every feeling that this moment provoked churning beneath the surface.

“I… have been looking for you,” and immediately it occurred to him how that must sound; a hand came up and splayed over his eyes for a bare moment, until he tried again, lifting his gaze to her, his brow furrowing more intensely, “forgive me; not you specifically,” was that dismissive? He took a sigh and let it go, “finding others of our kind has not been easy.”

Well, he was out of his depth after the years torn away from his own.

“Åsmund Ótta,” he gestured first to himself, then toward the empty seat across from him, “please; I would have your company, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 

[Freya Drage]

B E L A Z U R A
​

Freya was beginning to finally feel it, the first pangs of homesickness. Of all the planets she’d visited, Belazura reminded her the most of her homeworld - with its fertile green pastures and jewel-toned forests. Yet, between the shimmers of excitement from the Lupo she had discovered, few as they were, there were moments where she felt worn - days where she wanted nothing more than to return to familiar comforts. Today was one of those moments.

It had been months since she started on this journey, chasing rumor after rumor, desperate to find what remained of their species. Time and again she allowed herself to develop hope and for months, those hopes had been dashed - until he showed up. Rüdiger, the new Alpha of clan Kühn. The same clan of her Grandmother… the same as he whose nightmarish memory still dragged her out of sleep on the rare occasion.

Freya’d expected a monster, a mangled soul, but came up short handed upon meeting him.

Rüdiger radiated with sensual grace and ease, his short cropped hair like so many of his pack - dark as a raven's feathers, dark like her twin brothers, off setting his olive skin and blue-grey eyes.

While a large part of her remained apprehensive, Freya couldn’t deny that she was also captivated. Her astute blue eyes had regarded him, keeping her features blank as she assessed this shadowy wolf, feeling the integrity that rolled off of him, almost as acutely as she could feel the rain on her skin.

After all, something beyond lust and rage must have been bound to the Kühn to keep their respected status in Lupo society. Her own Grandmother was testament to that. Ultimately, the encounter ended without a hitch, a delicate alliance forming with a gift and an offer. The latter of which, had caused a rush of blood to burn in her ears and left her mulling in silence long after he’d left.

Full access to the Kühn databanks, and a restoration of honor, hers - to be exact. She remembered the look on her fathers face as he stared down his leonine nose at the male wolf, considering the worthiness of what he proposed. In the end, the question was redirected to her, a fate she'd eventually have to decide.

One she’d managed to put off for months by busying herself, using her customary response of 'duty' as an excuse whenever she'd wanted to avoid something. Though, there was some truth to it. Utilizing the vast wealth of information the Kühn databanks provided had resulted in the discovery of other Lupo clans, taking her from world to world, until the trail eventually ran dry again and she’d been brought to this place.

Whispers had it that a pack of giant wolves roamed the hills of Belazura, and while it hadn’t been much to go on, Freya felt the pull from her Goddess, Cérmæ, to make the arduous journey from Nalol to investigate. A voice she hearkened to.

After two weeks of a fruitless search, she was left with disappointment. Were the Gods toying with her? Was this some strange attempt to make her face the thoughts that’d been marinating in her mind, left ignored?

Freya sighed, her mind roaming as she took her time winding down the staircase and stepping out onto the main floor of the hotel, heading to the tavern for a last meal before it was time to leave again.

That was when, out of no where, as the blonde wolf stepped over the threshold that a scent washed over her. Freya had been too swept up in her own inner turmoil to notice the smell that now tickled her nose, like the first whiff of an autumn wind after a long summer. Then she saw him, sitting there. His red hair gleamed like liquid fire, not too unlike another wolf that she knew, and was seemingly as lost in thought as she’d been.

Quiet as a feather, with only her traveling cloak whispering along behind her, Freya approached, stopping once she was close enough that they could speak. Before she could open her mouth, however…

“I… have been looking for you,”

Her eyes widened, following a slow blink of surprise. “forgive me; not you specifically, finding others of our kind has not been easy. Åsmund Ótta. Please; I would have your company, if it's not too much trouble.” The spring maiden arched an astute brow, unable to fight the smile that curved over the rose of her lips, extending a small hand as he introduced himself, the given name causing a flicker of recognition behind her eyes, one that she would bury for the time being. “Well met, Åsmund… I’ve heard of your Pack.”

It was a loaded statement.

During her time on Islimore, and from Alfhildr herself, she’d been appraised of the situation of Clan Ótta. She knew of their importance in their society and knew that the Fayth had tried to snuff them all out. If this man was truly who he said he was... then...

“I’m Freya Drage.” she offered gently, taking a seat across from him as something strange erupted in her core. A warmth washed over her, unnatural and not born of sunlight. It was a sense that she didn't have words for, and thus tried to ignore whatever the feeling was, chalking it up as nothing more than that of kinship. “Our pack resides on Bellassa,” she explained, “but we originated on Islimore, the same as other Kaiha. My brother and I have been searching for more Lupo in the hopes of rebuilding our culture and bringing those of us that remained, back together. I was ready to give up here, until I caught your scent. Where did you come from?”

Åsmund Ótta ​

 

[Åsmund Ótta]

TAGS: Freya Drage

Give up? So this place had been a dead end too, but for the she-wolf who sat across from him now. Settling back, he retracted his hand and reclaimed his glass from the tabletop, drawing in a small sip, after which he set the glass back down, and listened while she introduced herself and her Clan in full. Drage - they counted amongst his ancestors at one point or another, if he recalled the records.

"It's fortunate I have met you, then," he declares mildly "or I would have begun the same fruitless search," he folded his long-fingered hands on the table,"I came here from Islimore, itself, by way of escape from the clutches of the Fayth, by way of far too many other worlds, hoping to find others... hoping to find my younger sister, Alfhildr."

His jaw tensed at these facts. All he had been told in those early broken-yet-free days was that she had been taken off-world in the care of another female. Her unknown whereabouts and the possibility that she might be bereft of life weighed on him all these years. How many times he thought, how many times he blamed himself… he should never have left her alone, even if she had been safe. All the feelings this brought up, the tangle of fears, anger, desperation, and sorrow surged below a managed surface, and the question of her existence was just the peak of a frigid moutain of stolen years.

"I raised her myself for much of her young life," he admitted, quietly, "what might have happened to her haunts me. I was all she had, after old age sent our father to Freann to join our mother in Alfhildr's fourth year."

Her... him. They were all that was left of their Clan.

 

[Freya Drage]

B E L A Z U R A
​

“Islimore?” she repeated softly, her suspicions becoming more clear. “I’m surprised you managed to escape. That world is not an easy place for those of our kind, so many of them have been lost there. You must care a great deal for your sister to make such an arduous journey.” Crystalline eyes flickered up to study his face, able to guess from the way he shifted, to how his jaw tensed, of what he might have had to live through to get here - understanding it in her own unique way. No amount of words could ever adequately describe those kinds of hardships.

“I am glad you made it.” and she meant it.

What a gift it was, that he was here, alive. That they had found one another.

Freya could only imagine how Alfhildr would respond to the news, knowing the overwhelming relief in finally knowing you were not alone. That her brother was alive after all of these years, was nothing short of a miracle.

“Let me be the one to put your mind at ease,” the she-wolf answered, hoping to offer a modicum of consolation to his aching soul. She reached a fair hand over the table to grasp his, offering a meaningful squeeze. “The sister that you worry about, Alfhildr? The Gods led me to her when I was on Islimore, scared and alone, but unharmed. I suspect they led me here to you today, as well, in answer to whatever unspoken prayers you’ve had regarding her whereabouts. But I assure you, Alfhildr is more than alright.” Freya knew her words would elicit more questions, and sought to answer them upfront.

“We believed you were dead, else we would have sought to free you from the Fayths grasp…" Freya explained, the gentle lilt of her voice taking on a genuinely somber note. "but, since we’ve left Islimore, and long before, I’ve personally seen to her protection and care. Currently, she’s training to wield the light the Gods have given her and she’s been making leaps and bounds. She’s a very talented and persistent young woman. I’d be happy to take you to her, when the time is right.”

Åsmund Ótta
​

 

[Åsmund Ótta]

TAGS: Freya Drage

When she spoke of putting his mind at ease, he looked on her, tense as he was in guarding against the spilling out of the storm within, and gave her his full attention; when she reached out and grasped his hand, his attention became rapt, and as the she-wolf began to tell of Alfhildr, fissures began to crawl across the wall he'd erected over the years, brick by brick. The salt of tears stung his eyes at the pause, and he lowered his head, eyes squeezed shut, and released a long, heavy, shaking breath, but it was her invocation of the Gods, when these words settled on his soul, that made silent tears break free, few in number yet no less present. How weak his faith had become, how strained his relationship with their Gods… but that she had not been just put in his path, that her life had been woven into the story of his Clan in this way, so profoundly, could be no less than their works.

The fact of that reached into his heart and wondered, and settled in with questions that had less simple answers, answers that could only be given by time; less immediate than the ones that swam across the unsteady roil of his consciousness, and which were given replies with Freya's gentle tone slipping through through the overwhelm, full of truth, as she continued. Slowly, he pulled his gaze up to look at her once again, his face faintly stained, and as she came into focus, he saw her with more clarity; the way the light from a nearby window highlighted her, the blue of her eyes like the skies of home as day began to turn to dusk, hair the colour of the grasses of the Wolfswood in a hot, dry summer…

He pulled one hand from underneath hers and laid it over top, the one beneath turning over to hold, as he tried to find the words to thank her, to show his acceptance of the fact that it would be longer, that he trusted her judgement. If the Gods had provided for Alfhildr this far from the lands of their people, he had to have faith that she was where she needed to be. And that he was. That this she-wolf had been put into his life for a reason.

"I…" he began, taking a deep breath and releasing it after only a moment, "...am relieved," though he didn't feel it completely, this was no lie, the words delivered with surety, and a frankness that noted some sliver of surprise at the fact of his relief, however small, "and thankful that the Gods continue to provide," shaky as that faith was; recovery would take time, "everything has a time, and if the Gods have trusted you with this, then so will I."

He tried on a smile.

"Thank you, Freya, for your care and your heart; the Gods knew well to choose you for this," he said, sincerely, and with as much warmth as he could muster, yet his face turned rueful, "though… I admit I'm lost: where do I go from here?"

His search was ended - so what now? He patted her hand and disentangled himself, at once feeling the absence of that contact and its warmth, his fingers curling as his hands retreated. It wouldn't be proper to hold on longer than necessary.