For someone who had spent so much of his life keeping his thoughts and feelings tightly sealed away, hiding them from nearly everyone he came into contact with, it was really rather remarkable how having the same being done to him by Freya now evoked a certain sense of frustration in Silas. Try though he did, he couldn’t quite will himself into ignoring the look in her eye that so plainly told him she was holding back, nor could he manage to stop himself from being immensely intrigued by the wonderment of what words she had swallowed to keep from saying. And once again, he found himself in a situation where he wasn’t sure which was more frustrating; the fact that he found himself to be so powerfully intrigued by the thoughts that she hadn’t shared, or the fact that she hadn’t shared them, and he was left to wonder what they might have been. As they continued along in resumed silence, the wrangler was left to stew in this conflict internally, cursing the hold that she so effortlessly and unknowingly had on him.
When she spoke again, he was forced to cease his obsessive pondering about what words she might have held back, and bring his attention back into the present. He nodded his head and made a small grunt of affirmation at her words, before drawing his sword from it’a sheath upon his back. “Just a precaution. I don’t see or hear anything yet, but this area has been known to attract the metal fucks, and I would rather not be caught unawares.” He assured her quickly, realizing that the sound of the sword being drawn alone might have been enough to cause her alarm. He took a moment to carefully survey the area around them, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of tracks in the snow, and his ears listening for the sounds of clanging or clattering metal. When he found neither was present, he allowed the arm holding his sword to fall idly to his side. “There doesn’t seem to be any here now, though we should stay vigilant; they can appear quickly, and with very little warning.”
despite the regret physically evident in her being ( albeit dissipating by the minute ), his words proved to be far more interesting than whatever embarrassing concoctions muddled her mind. frosted eyes survey their surroundings, her back facing the wrangler behind her — silently, she’s grateful for her face being hidden, lest he spot the flicker of a smile breaking across her face.
“ rest assured, siles, I'd say they’d be caught more off guard than us. “ freya turns her head slightly to look back at him — both due to the ringing of his sword, and to sneak a glance. “ thanks to you. “ her smile grows slightly, and as her eyes peer upon him, the huntress finds herself pondering his companionship. had she once been told a loner such as herself would be spending, much less enjoying, company with a man such as him. . . then? she would have laughed. now? she would count every hour down to the second in what they spent together. time and time again, the side-eyed glances of her clanmates had evolved from mild irritation, to disdain, to neutrality. since she’d met silas, that thought had changed — they didn’t watch her to chide, but in fear; both of her own ability, and his.
“ indeed they can. “ his final sentence causes freya’s eyes to briefly go distant, her stare pulling from his figure and returning to the snowfall. he was both a constant reminder and a constant saving grace of the event that had brought them together. in the back of her mind, she debates fate’s intent on guiding him to her that fateful night — and yet, she holds them in thanks as well. the flicker of a shadow quickly pulls freya from her thoughts, however — “ there. “ the huntress’s attention suddenly snaps to the figure of a two-headed elk, watching as it steps into view. her actions mirror that of an art form, practiced motions showing the strength of a woman who has honed her craft. freya’s fingers are taught as they pull back an arrow, raising it in line with the animal’s neck. with her gaze steeled, the tendons in her arms flex as she holds the horizon. “ just stay. . . right. . . “ freya trails, muttering to herself before suddenly letting it fly; the thunk of her bolt hitting its mark, and the subsequent cry of the elk, sound like music to her ears, and she can’t help but allow the light of a small smile tug on the corner of her lips.
if only she had noticed the stalking figure of a steeled creature slipping up behind her.
Her words brought a hint of a smile to find its way to his features, though the expression itself was a little too knowing for the situation which prompted it. The simple truth, though he never would have said it, was that he set too much store in the strange destiny-like circumstances which had brought them together for him to be able to think of leaving her side, no matter how great the need for him elsewhere might be. It was precisely this that, more than anything else, held him back from taking flight from her and the attachment she stirred in him, despite his sense of reason insisting that he should, and it was precisely this that his sense of reason feared above all else; for now he was tethered in a way that he had spent all of his adult life trying desperately to avoid. Attachments were limiting, they were a weakness, and this was the proof of that.
The change in her tone, and the words that accompanied it forced his gaze back to her with the pull akin to a magnetic draw. For a time, he felt unsure of what to say, though it certainly was not for lack of thoughts regarding the matter. There was much that he felt he would never be able to intimate to her with regards to the circumstances of their companionship, details which he felt certain he would carry within himself until the day he died. Was this because he did not want to burden her with the weight of significance that he felt? Or was it a fear that she would be dismissive, even skeptical, of the role that destiny had played in converging their paths? Or perhaps it was neither of these things, but simply the byproduct of years of keeping himself closed off from everyone apart from Petra, who had only slipped through because their association had preceded Aleesa’s death. Regardless of the true reason, Silas had many thoughts that he felt he could not possibly share, but he still felt compelled to offer her something all the same.
Taking a few steps towards her, he looked down into her features for a moment, before he exhaled a sigh. “You haven’t dragged me anywhere. I’m here, because this is where the spirits have willed me to be.” He said finally with a tone that rather resembled reassurance. “And as for your question, I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that, though perhaps after spending more time in each other’s company, we will both have a better understanding of what that might be like.” With a smile, one much softer than any expression that had graced his features thus far, he nodded his head, before he cleared his throat. “We should keep moving. Remember that Time is not on our side on this day, and even the spirits cannot overturn His will.”
out of all the moments of her regrets, the second her words leave her lips it feels like her heart is caving within her chest. stupid. it was stupid of her to ask silas such things, spirits know what he thought of her now, especially after saving her life. she felt like some small child under the eyes of a watchful parent — even if the comparison was something she was far from used to. still, his approach earns another shifting of her gaze as she attempts to diffuse whatever tension she may have caused. freya had never been one for outright conflict, never truly cared what others thought of her — but this? this was far from different, and she finds herself unable to stop from looking up and meeting his gaze. “ forgive me, it has just been on my mind as of late. “ the huntress swallows down whatever words threaten to break free from the chambers of her mind, the darting of a rabbit behind the treeline catching her attention in the briefest of moments. “ you’re right, I've hindered us long enough. “ a small huff of a chuckle gently pushes past her lips as freya turns out into the clearing, beginning to make her way across. With her hand now resting on the quiver attached to her side, the huntress is grateful for the silence to return once more — maybe now she may finally get a hold of her thoughts for good.
the venture passes with little interruption, the occasional crossing of paths with wildlife earning silent appraisal but little concern. it isn’t until the snow begins to fall heavier and the forest begins to thin out that she slowly shifts her bow to her main hand and slows her footsteps, head swiveling in a constant as they make their way through. “ the elk I've been tracking should be around here. “ freya’s voice is just above a whisper, eyes piercing the area around them for whatever signs of life she might find. “ keep an eye open for me. “ it’s also where there’s been sightings of the metal devils, she thinks to herself — but he probably already knows that.
A small chuckle escaped him at her response to his tease, and Silas nodded his head in acknowledgement of the truth in her words, casting her the briefest admiring glance before he caught himself, and forcibly turned his gaze forward again. Though he nodded his head and made a sound that was halfway between grunt and a scoff in agreement with her sentiment of derision towards the shopkeepers who made her way of life that much more difficult, he did not allow himself to speak again just then. It seemed to him that with every collection of words that was exchanged between them, not only did his admiration for her increase, but so too did his level of intrigue towards her, and with it, his desire to know her more deeply. Neither of these, he felt, were particularly wise to nurture; though, and he was frustrated to admit it, both of which, it seemed, he would not be able to keep at bay forever, however much he might try.
He was thankful for the silence that wore on in the aftermath of their brief conversation as they pressed on, and he took solace in the distraction of finally setting to work. He turned his senses to the task of observing their surroundings for any indication that a machine could be in their midst, though thankfully they turned up nothing for the time being. His head shot around at the sound of her voice again, and his brows raised a bit at the question she posed. “Technically my accompanying you is my duty. You did hire my services.” He reminded her with a shrug of his shoulders and a nod of his head. “I would be lying if I claimed that my being here did not keep me from other places where my presence is requested, but that is nothing new for me. Hardly a day has gone by in twenty three years that I haven’t received a handful of requests for my help all across the land, and being only one man, I can, regrettably, only attend to one of them at a time. Thankfully, my brothers and sisters are usually able to answer those that I cannot, though not always…”
In truth, it had taken Silas many years to come to terms with the reality that he could not help everyone who requested it, with it even still bothering him on occasion. But he knew that there was nothing to be done for it; as he had said, he was only one man, and could only do so much. However much he might have hated those limitations, however much he might have resented that he couldn’t do more, the young woman standing before him now was a living testament to why what he could do was enough. He closed his eyes for a moment, and the image of her lying bloody upon the snow flashed behind them with shocking clarity. He remembered how the sight of this scene had eerily reminded him of the same nightmare that had plagued his sleep for the past twenty three years, how the fiery red of her hair standing out so vividly against the white of the snow had reminded him so terribly of Aleesa’s. So easily their fates could have been the same, so easily could it have been a case of history cruelly repeating itself to remind Silas of his greatest failure; instead, it had proven to be his redemption for that failure. And that was why, more than anything else, he felt bound to Freya, felt a responsibility and sense of protectiveness towards her, that however much he might have resented, he knew he did not ever wish to be free of.
“But fret not about it. I still find time to attend to my duties in the time I am not in your service.” He added after a moment’s pause with another nod and a small, humorless chuckle. “I’m afraid that I’m something of a workaholic.”
for as long as freya had known him, which technically hadn’t been much, she'd held a yearning for the truth even though she understood it wasn’t her responsibility to bear — for as long as she’d lived, the concept of every man for himself had been ingrained both culturally as well as individually. the huntress knew seldom about her companion, not wanting to pry and yet her curiosity unable to be sated; who exactly was the man who had saved her that night in the woods? why had he made his charge to watch over her? freya confesses to herself in silence that beyond his name and occupation, she might understand. still, she reminds herself that she is far from being the polar opposite, and has her own secrets to keep — after all, doesn’t everyone?
“ you make a good point, though do tell me if you are needed elsewhere. having a guardian can wait, but someone else might not. “ she peers over to him as they walk, studying the ruggedness of his expression; if there was ever a man who portrayed a mountain as well as he did, she had never known them. it is humoring, truly — like a wolf to a raven, the contrast between them renders her in deep thought, if not understanding. freya had been so used to the roughness of her clan, the concept of an individual portraying something other than conflict was foreign to her. she tried to live on the fine line between them, but it was clear by her mere posture that she felt great lengths of peace when surrounded by trees rather than people.
“ ah, a workaholic? I would’ve never guessed. “ a slight smile beckons across her face as the two step further out from the treeline. the snow fell lightly, a graceful warning of what was to come — it freckled her face and hair, and as she rested her gaze on the wrangler beside her, there seemed to be a twinkle of something unreadable in her gaze. “ I wish I could say the same, but as long as it gets me out of town, I enjoy what I do far more. “ silence follows after a few moments, memories suddenly barraging her mind, and freya’s smile almost unintentionally falls from her face. instead, something close to shame replaces it, mimicked by the subtle shifting of her eyes away from the wrangler. “ I feel as though I have not thanked you enough for what you did, and yet here I am dragging you out into the middle of a snowcrested forest. “ her voice is quiet, much more timid than her prior tone — vulnerability. or something close to it, for she hardly knows the male and would seem it inappropriate to go further. still, she can’t help the thoughts that rummage behind the ice of her eyes; and after a moment, she looks back at his face, studying its lines and edges whilst fingers thumb the edge of the bow perched on her. “ what is it like? to belong with those likeminded? “
The sight of the young woman approaching brought about the usual surge in the conflicting thoughts and feelings that Silas had already been contending with as he had waited. Perhaps the most irritating of these was the inescapable matter of how attractive she was; something which he never forgot, but always wrote off as an embellishment and exaggeration on the part of his mind and memory. It was therefore always something of an annoyance when he saw her again, and he was forced to realize that the opposite was actually true; neither his mind nor his memory actually did her beauty proper justice. He could not help but feel that this attraction he felt to her played a role in weakening his resolve, and in drawing him into everything that he knew he ought to be rejecting. There was a great deal more to it than just that, he knew, but he also could hardly ignore the role that it played in contributing to his weakness. It was all that he could do to hide the scowl that this train of thought brought about.
Her words pulled him out of his thoughts, though not so completely that he did not have to avoid her eye, and he shook his head in response to them. “Don’t apologize. I would rather you come late, but properly prepared, than on time, but under-equipped.” He reasoned with a small shrug of his shoulders and a curt nod. “But yes, I am ready to depart. You are correct in saying that a storm is approaching, and that we would be wise to avoid being caught out in it. So we should not delay our departure any further.” He added as he pushed himself off the wall and began to take strides away from the city gate and towards the forest, the sound of snow crunching beneath his boot with each step.
“It seems as though our window for success will be rather narrow today.” He spoke after a moment of walking, pulling his cloak a little tighter around himself as the wind howled and whistled an ominous symphony. “We may only get one shot with the time that we have. Are you prepared to make it count?” There was a hint of teasing in the question, accompanied by the slightest of playful smirks, though in reality, he already knew the answer; he had seen enough of her skills to know that if it came down to only having one shot, she would not fail to strike the heart.
“ those are wise words. i’m glad we can agree on them. “
freya peers at silas quietly for a few moments, expression somewhat unreadable though her eyes conveying much. for someone of such rugged standing, she’d always’d admired the wrangler in her. . . own way. he was handsome, yes ( more than she’d likely ever admit ), but much more of a character beyond that — he had made a name for himself, a task so many fervently dream of accomplishing, and beyond that a reputation. she hadn’t just asked him to accompany her out of wanting for his company ( also something she’d never admit ), but for the purpose of his skills as well; the man was legend, almost as much as he was to her since the day freya was rescued.
she says little once they depart, grateful for the comforting silence between them she had grown to expect to be filled. freya was never exceptionally talkative, the type to let her actions speak for herself, and found that in silas it seemed to mimic to an extent as well. “ perhaps. but success rarely outruns me, you know that. “ the ice of her eyes sheds a side-glance, a flicker of humor tilting the corners of her lips upward. “ one shot is all I need; hopefully we’ll be in and out by sunset, if the spirits are kind. “ freya hums as her footsteps fall in line with silas’s. “ but then again, i blame those idiotic traders who decided to lower their cuts. you might be needed in the future again, after all. “ she chides with a subtleness of teasing, her much lighter footsteps grazing the snow as she somewhat passes him. freya was no stranger to the forests, having walked these paths many times — perhaps its why, despite the scars on her skin, she holds the same confidence that drives her off the beaten path and into the treeline. despite the soft patter of rabbit feet around them and the distant tittering of snowbirds, the huntress’s stare is driven forwards towards a much different prize; one of substantial size, and gain. she feels no need to speak, not immediately that is — it isn’t until the pair of them break into a clearing does she turn her head slightly, glancing back at the wrangler behind her. “ tell me silas, do I take you away from your duties when you accompany me? “
status: open to all
timeline:present
setting:troy
“ 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙴𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙴? ” 𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙾 𝙼𝚄𝚁𝙼𝚄𝚁𝚂, his gaze glued to the skies above him. he’s extremely high on oracle hallucinogens and he’s been seeing things for hours now; he can no longer tell the difference between what’s real and what isn’t. slowly, toro reaches out to touch one of the glowing golden orbs floating around the statue in the middle of the square, as bright as a firefly in the middle of the night. his mouth is wide open as he remains mesmerized by the things, eyes wide and a little glossed over. “ a gift from the spirits… they’re like sunlight, like—like orbs of sunlight… ”
freya cannot help but feel compelled by amusement, watching the male grasp wildly at the air for things only he can see. many would laugh at such a venture, the huntress included, but she’s seen enough moons to understand what was going on in the moment. “ well, toro. . . “ freya turns her gaze to the empty space, a bemused expression lingering on her lips. “ it seems the spirits have named you emissary of their world too. with. . . orbs. “ an eyebrow lifts as freya slightly reaches upwards to swipe a hand through the space they should be occupying.
As he leaned his back against the stone of the wall behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, Silas tried to ignore the growing feeling of restlessness that was rising within him as he waited for Freya to arrive at their agreed upon meeting place. In truth, when it came to the prospect of time spent in the company of the flame haired huntress, Silas was deeply conflicted. From their very first encounter, Silas had felt a definite pull towards her, a sense of responsibility and a desire to protect, and yet to give in to such a feeling went against his very nature; after all, he had spent too many years doing everything that he could to keep himself as free from attachments to others as possible, knowing all to well how easy it was for them to be taken from you. He therefore found himself in a constant state of battle within himself, questioning his own sense in allowing himself to not only feel this attachment, but to actually indulge it, by agreeing to accompany her on her hunting trips and to protect her from the machines. It always felt to him as though he was teetering on the edge of indecision, being unable to commit one way or the other for fear of making the wrong decision.
“If you had any sense at all you would just walk away from here right now.” He muttered to himself with a bite of frustration in his tone, though he made no motion of the sort. Instead, he removed his bag from his back and crouched down to review the contents within one final time. This, at least, kept his hands busy as he waited, and gave him something else to focus on for a few moments. He knew, of course, that he hadn’t forgotten anything; he had been doing this for much too long for such slip ups to occur. Still, by the time he refastened the bag and stood up again, he at last saw the approaching figure of the one he had been awaiting.
freya was no stranger to the concept of independence, and likewise dependance, especially considering from an early age there was only person she could truly rely on; herself. even with her mentor giving her a sense of belonging (as much as could be garnered in a place such as troy), freya knew she’d have to grow up fast and look out for herself — no one else was going to be there for her. still, there came a point where her disappointment in potential relations drifted off into mere absence; she hardly cared anymore for the war-torn views of her people, an outsider from the very beginning, and so found herself. . . detached.
that must’ve been why she found it so incredibly strange the night of the attack; broken and bleeding out in the snow, the chitter of metal devils preying upon her after a hunt gone cold. she lay there, at peace with herself albeit in agony — and as the waves of darkness overtook her, a white-haired stranger made his mark. freya felt confusion more than anything; barely conscious and with her memory faltering, she applied it to a dream how he carried her back to troy and stayed by her side during her mending, much to the chagrin of her nurses. she often avoided such places, largely because they avoided her — and when her stay was over, mended to a fault, her feet took her not back to the forest, but back to him. she felt it necessary to thank him, a characteristic seldom attributed to the raven — but along with it, she debated with herself, was an opportunity.
it had been a few times they’d embarked on such ventures, always consisting of him keeping an eye on their vicinity whilst she hunted. the arrival of the sky people and influx of individuals at troy had called for greater demand of product, of which freya would always deliver — but whether it was the noise or simply the spirits that demanded it, so had the population of metal devils in recent months. silas, a being of great mystery to her, had hounded for her safety a long while; it was unfamiliar, but not. . . unwelcome.
“ my apologies for the wait. “ freya’s voice is soft and smooth as she approaches his figure, cheeks mimicking the flames of her hair as her footsteps echo through the snowfall. the usual bustle of troy had dimmed somewhat, possibly due to the approaching storm — but where absence was noted, she knew the taverns would be full. “ i had to play on a merchant’s pride for an extra few arrows. I hope I didn’t leave you standing out in the snow too long. “ an eyebrow cocks as the hunter moves to stop in front of him, turning slightly to face the city gates. “ a storm is supposed to arrive sooner rather than later, I would hopefully like to avoid such a thing. are you ready to leave? “
[ sophie turner & 30 & cisfemale & she/her ] stars above, is that FREYA of THE ICE NATION ? i overheard people talking about them; they say that they're THOUGHTFUL but when their STRONG-WILLED side rears its head things can get ugly. did you know they DON'T believe that the machines were made by gods and DO believe in elemental spirits ? is that the case for all people who are a HUNTER? people who have run into them say that they remind them of THE ABSENCE OF SOUND WITHIN A SNOWFALL & A BOWSTRING DRAWN TAUGHT, but i wonder if we'll see if there's more to them than previously thought ? whatever the case, i know they have NEUTRAL feelings about the SPACERS.
— 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚂
full name: freya
nickname: frey , ‘the raven’
age: thirty
gender: female, she + her
occupation: hunter
affiliation: the ice nation
orientation: heteromantic + heterosexual
residence: troy
preferred weaponry: bows + swords ( preferably nothing too heavy, she’s a much more nimble fighter + skilled at long range )
— 𝙿𝙷𝚈𝚂𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻.
hair: ginger
eyes: icy blue
height: 5′8″
figure: slim albeit muscular
scars: none visible ( multitudes on the area between her shoulder blades )
tattoos: a pair of matching raven flocks on her upper back
additional: she has a tendency to keep her hair down in order to veil her backside to the best of her ability
always face your enemy, but never turn your back to a friend.
it was one of the first lessons ever taught to freya, wise words that she tried her best to uphold. life in troy was an icy dagger to the back, and she often found it smarter to keep her friends close and her enemies closer. she had never been incredibly strong, not like the brutes her clan encouraged; to be the odd one out was the to be a target, especially in a family of accomplished fighters who lived to vie for the queen’s favor — but freya wasn’t a fool, she could see the ice behind her eyes and knew that they were viewed as simply pawns. whether others realized that or not, she would never know; the only thing that mattered to her, above all else, was self-preservation. where her limbs failed, her mind prevailed — to be two steps ahead was a mantra drilled into their culture, and freya garnered that it might’ve been the very reason why they won so much, yet struggled with upholding personal relations.
or, maybe it was just because they were afraid of change.
she was a small, willowy child, hardly showing much promise but already well-acquainted in her little mind — her parents were too busy in their own machinations to pay attention to her, especially someone who they viewed might fail her first ice walk, and that is where she thrived. in the in-between of too weak and too strong, freya balanced almost perfectly. her skills weren’t meant for a great sword, and though others dwelled in it far more than she did, it isn’t until a particular person sees her in the mist she tries so hard to veil herself with that her purpose comes to fruition.
it’s a moment she remembers for the rest of her life; pushed by her parents to train, young freya finds herself desperately focused on wielding a bow correctly. she blocks out the jeering of her peers, the judgmental stares and the constant missing of the target - partially in determination, largely in desperation. it isn’t until a firm hand grasps her shoulder and another balances the bow that she realizes they aren’t here to harm her, but to help her.
and for the first time, she hits square in the center.
they guide her from then on, like a shadow to its owner, picking her up where she falls and showing her the real opportunities didn’t come from picking after others, but from making them herself. a training bow is discarded for one of her own making, the ranges of troy instead being replaced by the forests surrounding it. genuine experience came not from pretending, they taught her — it came from the truth. a target would hardly prepare her for a charging elk, and though it earned her more than enough bruises and breaks, freya learned very quickly what it meant to be truly alive.
she grows, and with it her strength and knowledge; while her people viewed their purpose as the life of a warrior, freya viewed the world around her as a survivalist. the eve before her ice walk is spent not with her family, but with her mentor — she knows that while her peers plot to form alliances, an unshaken individual is the strongest adversary. she also knows that ‘fairness’ would be an insincere concept, and as her mentor slips a vial of poison into the lining of her furs, she knows she’ll have to do whatever she can to survive.
freya disappears into the snowfall the moment her boots hit the mountain, her purpose trained on observing rather than the hunt. still, the other children have hardly forgotten about her — she watches them as they eat, sleep, and kill, all the while searching for whatever of her remnants they could find. yet, freya had been raised well; she knew how to insulate against the cold, how to use the snow and ice to her advantage, and most of all how to watch. patience was a virtue and as she sees them fall either to one another or the elements, she finds herself silently grateful for the spirits having chosen her.
freya was never a murderer; but on that final night, such a belief would be tested.
she may know the wilds better than her peers, but she’s still fresh — a simple slip-up, an uncovered footprint, and suddenly they are upon her during a moment of rare sleep. a group of five who saw the term fair as likewise a disparity, freya becomes the elk to the wolves as they race her through clusters of trees, bow in hand and the vial of poison weighing heavy on her heart. despite her panic, she knows her best chance of survival would be above the ground rather than on it — clambering her weight up a large fern tree, the wind and snow whip at her figure, oppressors jeering in supposed weakness. her fingers are frigid yet nimble as she notches an arrow in her bow, but her mind is elsewhere — it rests on the vial, its true capabilities a secret kept hidden even from freya herself. and yet, as she thumbs it from the lining and dips the the head into it, she hardly feels inclined to care.
one arrow sent, disappearing below into the snowfall. a scream. it curdles her very blood, a gurgling sound following as chaos begins to envelop her attackers.
a second arrow sent, this time pinpointed to the best of her ability as she catches glimpses of their figures on the mountain. a thud. more screaming, but this time she can see them — a boy, not even a month older than her, writhes on the ground as the arrow lies imbedded in his side. not far from him is the still figure of another girl, the arrow ripped from her arm and still clutched between her frozen fingers. the reality of the situation is enough to send a terror down freya’s spine, yet she still notches another arrow.
and this time, she aims to knowingly kill.
she doesn’t stop until they all lie at her feet, and the fading footsteps of a survivor disappears into the distance.
when she returns, scarred and changed, she's met with surprisal and feigned pride; both of which are entirely inconsequential to freya. her sights are instead set on her mentor, but to her surprise they are nowhere to be found — she spends weeks, months even, attempting to track them down; it isn’t until a folded note with the words ‘stop looking for me’ is delivered to her, that their final lesson becomes apparent to young freya.
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙹𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙴𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 a shot in the dark, the last chance humanity had for survival. venus had no choice in it; she would’ve gladly taken one of those easy, oxygen deprived deaths that the council were discussing, but the decision to come to the ground had been made so suddenly that it felt like the world was ending anyway. and the chance that little bits of the station would break off, landing in completely different areas? it was a nightmare and venus was living it. all she could do was clutch onto the fellow prisoners that had been shoved in the escape pods with her, hopeful that ferreira and her father would make it out alive on the other pods and station compartments.
what sort of world would they even find down there? venus couldn’t imagine it. didn’t want to imagine it. the chances that they would survive down there were slim; at best they would survive a few days then start getting sick from the radiation. she hadn’t had time to think on very much before it started getting hot as the shuttle entered the atmosphere, the screams of her fellow inmates sounding around her. venus had tried to keep quiet, had clenched onto the seatbelt keeping her in place as desperately as she could, and then it had gone black.
light hits her eyelids and she’s not sure how long she’s been out for as she gasps for breath, but her head stings like she’s been hit over the head with a datapad. it’s happened in juvie before, but this feels… worse. venus groans, a ringing in her ears as she reaches up to touch her head. her body screams in pain, in protest, and she swears there’s some kind of blurry figure looming over her, someone—
that is not someone she recognises, and they’re definitely not one of her own people.
venus lets out a sharp yell at the sight of the other, pushing herself backwards—hands scrambling over the rubble she’d been burried on—only for her back to slam into the side of a large chunk of metal. is she dead? is this what this is? is this some kind of forrested hellscape? “ get—get back, ” venus says, her throat croaky and her voice hoarse. she swallows thickly as she takes in her bearings, her senses all suddenly coming back to her as adrenaline fills her system. they’d crashed; they’d made it, if the smoking scrap and pieces of shuttle were anything to indicate yes. or was it just her? venus frantically looks back at the other, picking up the sharpest piece of scrap metal that she can find nearby. “ who are you? ” she demands. “ am i… is this… am i dead? ” that had to be the only other explanation: there were no survivors on earth. it wasn’t possible. it couldn’t be…
in truth, the very last thing eris would ever expect from such a situation was acceptance ━ if she was in the woman’s shoes, injured and awakening in a hellish landscape with an unknown person standing over you. . . well, it’s safe to say eris’s reaction would have been a lot worse. still, despite the situation being fairly unique, most of the warrior’s panic had devolved into getting whoever the hell was trapped out. . . even if it meant adding another scar to her list of trophies.
“ hey, hey! I'm not going to hurt you. “ eris’s hands immediately raise above her head, promising the absence of a weapon. silently, she’s grateful she left her axe back at the horses when they’d undertaken rescue efforts. “ you’re not dead, you. . . “ fell out of the sky? her mouth hangs open momentarily as she struggles to think of exactly how in the name of mother metal this all happened. “ there was a crash. your people are back there, “ she juts a thumb behind her back, motioning to a dwindling crowd of clan and sky people alike. “ they have us searching for the injured. and you. . . “ eris trails off, her hands dropping after a moment as she looks over the woman’s appearance, silently grateful for whatever gods above had spared the warrior from such fate.
“ my name is eris, i’m apart of the new world clan. “ not as if the name has any meaning to her, she adds silently. suddenly she feels so stupid for the assumptions, but then again she’s never quite been in a situation such as this. “ i admire your fighting spirit but believe me, if I had wanted to kill you I wouldn’t have tried to wake you up. “ eris speaks in a gentle tone, her words a stark contrast and yet the truth at the same time. it was humorous in her attempts to quell the girl’s fears, obviously doing it in her own way. “ let me help you? i’m no healer but I know my way around an injury or two. “ she motions towards the scars covering her arms.
A slight smile formed at the threatening, albeit joking remark. Though he well understood the time he was living in, he wasn’t entirely equipped to end up on anyone’s bad side, and made a mental note to definitely not let it be hers if he somehow did. Having heard the tales of sudden destruction from the machines that now walked amongst them, and the planned attacks carried out by other factions during the war - Clement always questioned how he stayed so immaculately clear of it all.
The amber liquid touched his lips again as he drank a hearty gulp, lost in thought of the days he’d spent travelling with his parents. Gone were the days of a loving nomadic family, here to stay was a man working each day to make his father’s death count for something. What, he wasn’t exactly sure yet. The woman spoke again and Clement’s mind raced with the possibilities of his confession, he’d never so much as laid a hand on another that wasn’t loving. “I’m embarrassed to say, the only battle I’ve ever experienced first hand was in here.” His pointer and middle fingers raised to his temple with a gentle tap. “My parents weren’t fighters either, though. Never given the opportunity… Father could have used some training at the end though.”
out of all the answers applicable, eris could admit that his answer was just about the last thing anticipated. still, she wasn’t an icicle, that’s for a fact ─ she had never looked down on someone for being either unable or incapable of fighting, instead seeing it as a gift; for the first time in a long time, the flicker of her mother’s lessons swell her heart, earning a slight tilt of her lips in remembrance. “ no embarrassment here, my friend. we all came from somewhere. “ raising her glass, eris taps her forehead almost knowingly. “ believe me. “ she lets her words land for a few moments as she sips on her drink, eyes trained curiously on the man before her ─ if someone could appear well together and yet lost at the same time, it would have been him. it’s when he brings up his father, though, that she takes a pause in her motions, every muscle in her body appearing frozen in time. it was an almost painful reminder to eris about how she wasn’t the only one; the ability to fight really couldn’t guarantee survival, not in this world.
“ may i ask what they did for a living? “ she tilts her head in question, her eyes carrying the same edge as always but with a slight hint of. . . sympathy. it was hard not to, no matter if family was lost at an early age or not, and as she watched him she felt compelled to speak. “ mine were. or, at least my father was. . . but he didn’t last very long in the end, either. “ her nose crumples after a moment, stare drawing to the glass in front of her. “ ‘supose in this life that’s never a guarantee, hm? “
she isn’t usually one to press. in fact, saviye is certain that the younger woman is indeed fine. the wound isn’t too deep; it would hurt like a bitch for awhile, especially when tending to it to stave off infection, but it wouldn’t consume a life. and yet slender fingers proffer a vial of healing paste her dear uncle had made towards the blonde. “this should help,” saviye hums with a slight smile, holding up her free hand in the meantime. “it’s free. last of my wares to sell for the day, and frankly everyone here looks more interested in…” her eyes sweep over the floor of the establishment, watching as patrons toast and cheer and or drown their sorrows. “…a different kind of healing. so it’s yours.”
her head gestures, however, towards the seat opposite of the blonde. “though if you’re feeling generous, i wouldn’t mind hearing the tale of how you acquired that wound.”
eris was no stranger to the hidden machinations of those around her ─ while she might’ve played the hell out of being a brute, she wasn’t stupid either. everyone was always out to get something, even her, whether emotional or material ( or a bit of both ); and while she sat concerned all the same, she didn’t see a reason why she couldn’t be nice.
“ oh- “ her eyebrows raise as the prim woman presents her with the glass container, gaze studying it for the smallest of moments before she smiles and gently takes it from her. “ thank you very much, i wasn’t expecting... “ her words trail off as her visitor continues, glancing about the room with an expression of mild humor. eris had made it a habit to get used to the stares, especially in being. . . well, her ─ and yet, time and time again, people always managed to surprise her in the best of ways. “ can’t blame ‘em, though i have a feeling they’ll be nursing something else in the morning. “ as if on cue, eris taps the side of her head as her stare returns, a grin splitting open her face as the question reaches her ears. though the woman didn’t exactly fit the ‘stereotype’ of those that frequented these parts ( eris being one of them ), she had a feeling she’d find out something interesting tonight. “ sure! so long as i get a story in return. “ eris gestures towards the table, attention splitting off as she attempts to flag down the bartender. “ drink? “
many would have thought the same centuries ago, but this was a world she had come to respect, even if she didn’t love it; whether it was with the fervency the oracles had, the profit that the sunners viewed, or even the same bloodthirst the icicles wielded, eris had only been out for one thing ━ survival.
and for a moment, with the night set ablaze by a comet of metal, she believed she had failed.
the event itself would stick to her memory like honey to wood ━ as one of the first responders to ground zero, she remembers the air being choked by blackened smoke and the groaning of shattered steel. most of all that surprised her was the presence of people ━ their outfits and weapons were of caliber eris had never been witness to, with even the remote herds of metal devils scattering at their arrival. it should have been a calamity, a grand reckoning; but it didn’t.
the first talks went surprisingly well, even after the initial stand-off and threats. hilariously, it was akin to a ‘communal event’ ━ other clans arrived to investigate soon after, subsequently forming a well-endowed group keen on assisting and learning more about these ‘sky people’ ( whether with good intentions or no ). eris was no stranger to war and even more so to injury, finding herself sifting through the rubble to reach the injured and maimed. hours passed and with soot caked to her scar-littered skin, the warrior had appeared to have made substantial progress ━ but there was always more to be found, and even greater opportunities to arise.
with her boots crunching against the prairie grass, eris weaves around piles of infrastructure like a dart to a board; her hazel eyes scan the rubble, searching not only for any clues as to who these people are, but those that were missed by the initial search party. in the back of her mind, she wonders if it was even possible for someone to have been trapped so far from the main wreck ━ looking up for the briefest of moments, eris catches a glimpse of the distant crowd as they likewise search. the only sounds surrounding the warrior were the crackling of flame and the muted cries of metal devils in the distance; the fact they hadn’t approached was both relieving and concerning at the same time.
feeling as though her luck had finally run out, eris let out a sigh and turned on her heel, ready to leave ━ but the briefest moment of hesitancy gave way to the greatest reward, as a soft albeit muffled groan reached her ears and caused her to freeze. as if questioning her own sanity, the warrior’s head snaps to a nearby mound of steel parts, her eyes surveying the surface before she spots the slightest peek of a hand pinched between two pipes. all at once, she springs into action, hand clawing and ripping apart the rubles desperation tears through her mind ━ she doesn’t even know these people, but what she does know is how it feels to trapped. eris’s thoughts cease to falter until she finally gives way to the crumpled figure of an unconscious woman, her eyes widening slightly as she abruptly began searching for any signs of life. “ lady? lady are you in there? oh sweet mother of metal please don’t be dead. . . “
“Looks pretty bad from where I’m sitting.” Clement caught himself staring at the wound, his mouth slightly hung open and a bit of horror in his eyes. “Hate to see what the other person looks like though.” His face formed a sort of grimace as the woman poured her own drink onto it, eyes scrunching as the liquids of the glass and her blood mixed. It was as if he was able to feel the stinging sensation himself. Watching as she downed the rest of her glass, he felt compelled to do the same, if only to stop staring. Signaling another round for himself and the other, he waved his hand as politely as possible to the barkeep. He’d figured she might need it.
“Do you always nurse your wounds in a tavern, or is it a special occasion?” The question, though sounding sarcastic in nature, was one of general curiosity. Albeit true that Clement had seen his fair share of injuries with a healer for a mother, they’d done their best to shy away from any sort of bloody happenings after the death of his father not long ago - focusing on metaphysical healing instead. The worker delivered their new glasses full of whichever alcoholic beverage they’d ordered before and Clement raised his to the other in a silent cheers.
cocking a brow, an flicker of humor rises to her face at his discomfort. though not in malice, she’d always found it funny when people got squeamish ─ but then again, not everyone was raised like her. “ believe me, you wouldn’t want to know. snitches get stitches. “ winking in a knowing manner, she traces the grooves in the wood almost in thought, her stare drifting across the tavern floor. it pleased eris that a sense of normalcy had managed to managed to fall upon the capital ─ with such a meshing of individuals, she’d had her fair share of fights in the day; yet, much to her laughter, she found that the night became almost customary for retiring to a good drink. the ones the caused trouble were the the venom at the bottom of the bottle, and while she wouldn’t mind dealing with them, she was grateful for her clanmates to take the charge for once in her life.
“ no, not always. “ eris shrugs after a moment, nodding her head appreciatively as their drinks are delivered. “ consider it a celebration of life, and victory. “ the corner of her lip curls as she raises her glass, sipping languidly as she savors the burn. the warrior didn't appear the type to be swayed by deep thought, much less in a tavern of all places, but for a moment her eyes drifted away from the trader’s presence before her. “ tell me. “ lifting her chin, her gaze lights up with the appearance of a newer thought. “ do you see battle often? “
a smirk dances across eris’s lips as she caught their stare, the crinkled corners of her eyes all-too familiar in the face of injury. years of similar stunts hardly earned any manner of worry from the warrior; her scars that gleamed in the torchlight depicted such well enough. “ seriously, you’d think by now I'd be more scar tissue than anything. “ a rumble of laughter rolls out of eris as she reaches forward, grabbing her glass perched on the table between them. propping her leg up on the bench, she trains her eyes on her wound and lifts her drink to pour ─ it’s clear she’s done it prior by the accuracy of the stream, eyes unmoving from the broken skin. while most might flinch due to the sting, eris hardly even noticed, peering up after a few minutes to flash a tired smile.
“ another one for the count. “ lifting the glass to her lips, she swigs back the remainder of her drink before placing it to the side, leaning on her elbows as she looks forward once more. their environment could be something straight out of a painting ─ though the night hung low on the capital, the inner crevices of the tavern were a populace of warmth and light, her hazel eyes shining from the lanterns hanging above. against all of this, her blood-stained clothes and gleaming expression might call for worry, but it was clear to those who knew her that she was happy ─ and at a time like this, she’d take it whenever she could.
[ tessa thompson & 33 & cisfemale ] stars above, is that ERIS of THE NEW WORLD CLAN ? i overheard people talking about them; they say that they’re FIERCELY LOYAL but when their VENGEFUL side rears its head things can get ugly. is that the case for all people who are a WARRIOR ? i heard they can usually be found around hinton. people who have run into them say that they remind them of TEETH BARING IN THE MOONLIGHT & THE CLATTER OF BLADES, but i wonder if we’ll see if there’s more to them than previously thought ? whatever the case, i know they have NEUTRAL feelings about the SPACERS.
— 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚂.
full name: eris
nickname: ‘the bear’
age: twenty-eight
gender: female, she + her
occupation: warrior
affiliation: the new world clan
orientation: biromantic + bisexual
residence: hinton
preferred weaponry: axes or swords ( though she is proficient with a bow if needed, she prefers up-close combat )
— 𝙿𝙷𝚈𝚂𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻.
hair: black
eyes: dark brown
height: 5′10″
figure: muscular and toned
scars: multitudes across her body that accumulate beyond what she can count
tattoos: a crudely etched pair of crossed swords upon her back
additional: she is a collage of bandages and fresh wounds at any given time | some of her scars healed wrong, sometimes causing her pain albeit nothing she can’t handle
— 𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚁.
label: the spitfire
alignment: neutral evil
parallels: bangalore ( apex legends ) , dick grayson ( batman ) , fennec shand ( the mandalorian ) , toph ( atla ) , vasquez ( aliens ) , han solo ( star wars ) , sarah connor ( the terminator ) , valkyrie ( thor: ragnarok )
she learns to run before she can walk, her footsteps pounding the forest floor as she stumbles across ragged flora. adrenaline raced through her heart, threatening to burst from her veins — but she wasn’t scared, she was alive. as far as memories go, her senses were the most key-telling figure in recalling what her childhood was like, and if you asked, the echoes of terror and victory were largest signs. in truth, eris was born into a rather. . . unique environment — her father was an ice nation defector, ruthless and battle-worn but tired in ways they would never understand. he taught her how to survive; how to skin a deer by the time she was four, how properly fight with a sword, and most of all how to kill. he didn’t sugarcoat things, not in the life they lead where one wrong step could end up with an arrow to the head, and eris was grateful. however, if it weren’t for the the compassionate and quietly steel-veined love of her mother, she would have probably turned out very differently. as a healer for the new world clan, she held a similar disposition to eris’s father but with a much different philosophy — one of kindness and nurturing, though not without signs of survival mixed in. for every wound eris gained, her mother would heal, and eventually she began to learn and mend to herself. it was because of these two that she learned that bravery cannot be independent from compassion, and that survival is dependent on not only you, but others as well.
MOONLIGHT — it filters through the trees and into the shelter eris’s little family has created. they’ve always preferred being away from the other members of their clan, although the echo of laughter and the soft glow of flame brightens through the forest in the near distance. moonlight — eris is 8 when the cold embrace of steel and the screams of her father pierce the night, her mother soon following. she doesn't want to run, doesn’t want to leave them, but when she races outside the hut she soon realizes she must. a bear, yet unnatural; it towers above the mangled bodies of her family, it’s steel-jointed groaning and creaking akin to harsh music within eris’s ears. pick your battles, leave in shame to return in glory — her father’s words ring in her mind as they stare each other down, the machine’s teeth gleaming like a crude grin in that damned moonlight. your death will trickle like water upon a leaf — her mother’s words fill her heart, leather boots squelching as she leans forward in apprehension; she hadn’t realized how much blood had quenched the forest’s thirst, once filled with the adrenaline of her war-torn parents.
and for the first ( and last time ) in her life, she turns and runs.
eris calls it cruel fate with how the day played out —as far she knew, the bear didn’t follow, as if taunting her survival and subsequent guilt. no matter the consolidations of her clanmates, she could never shake the shame from her bones, her rage growing with every passing day. eris was an orphan, even before she came to live with the greater community, throwing herself to the wolves in an effort to grow stronger & faster. vengeance — over time, it was the only focus to her mind, hellbent on acquiring it no matter the cost. however, realization also filled her as she grew older; years spent under the care and consideration of her clan opened her mind to experiences she hadn’t considered before. though her patience was too thin to be a farmer, and her hands too rough to be a healer, she grew to appreciate the roles her people acquired in their own search of greatness — no matter how small or large it might be.
and it was then that vengeance filled her again; but not just towards her parents, but towards anyone who might threaten her new family.
she’s 18 when a scouting party reports sightings of an abnormally-sized ‘metal bear’ — all at once, eris’s memories flood her brain and she doesn’t even have time to properly form a plan before she’s stepping into the forests she had ran from oh so long ago. the trees were quiet, the distant echo of lights and laughter having dissipated from time as the world shifted into the coalition. still, her strife guides eris as she tracks her life’s mission — whether she lived or died, hell would go down with her. time is of little consequence and eventually, the ruins of her childhood home are soon brought upon the warrior, the bodies of her parents long destroyed by time and nature. yet in their place, gleaming in the same moonlight of their first meeting, was the bear.
and eris would never run again.
if you asked, she didn’t remember what occurred, only the feeling of it — unbridled rage & bloodlust dragged her into a frenzy, a flurry of blades and muscle as she unleashed 10 years of anger and vengeance into the construct. in the end, her people watched in awe and horror as a bloodied and mangled eris staggered out of the woods with a grin on her face — and behind her, pulled by ropes tied around her figure, was the bear.
her wounds from that battle would stay with her for an eon, even to the present lingering in a myriad of scars that littered her body; but she saw them as trophies, reveled as a hero as they scrapped the decrepit metal devil for parts and armor. eris would never forget the look on her people’s faces as they watched her leave the trees behind — expressions of pride, uneasiness, and glee. for once in her life, eris was perfectly fine being the martyr, the protector — she had learned and tried herself against her family’s lessons and knew, as the ringing and the swelling of her heart subsided, that she would carve a heart in the world ensure their survival, no matter the cost.
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