Bylgja liked the crypt. It was low to the ground. Plain. Simple. Much like her mindset, in a way! She appreciated that the crypt held the dead, too, for that was something she related to -- her family had held a crypt, after all, and defended it with blood and fury to keep the plague of dead-takers out. As she drifted into the crypt for the fourth time, Bylgja determined she would take her time. Her head rose, and she peered at the walls, the inset carvings that hid corpses, marked the bones. Ribcages arched; she counted them. The viking moved with a quiet grace, a strange reverence that did not quite fit her brutish frame. This was the due of the dead. She reached out to touch some seal that was left on a piece of armor-- the piece itself was long rusted. Nobody could take much of it... but she wondered if she could take the seal from the armor, break it of the rust, and wear it somehow. "Bylgja"

Triss had never been inside the Crypt before. When she found the entrance way, she was immediately captivated by it. She looked into the endless deep, dark corridors and her imagination ran wild. She moved cautiously inside, letting the bowels of the earth take her. After only a short time, she caught the scent of another wolf. A fresh trail, which was a fact that surprised her. She closed her eyes, and breathed in what she could of it. Catching pack wolf, and nothing familiar to her. No lineage, no pack, that she knew. That was hardly a surprise, considering her sheltered life. She followed the scent, curious what might bring another wolf down her. She found the stranger as she touched a paw to a piece of armour. Her body language spoke of reverence. “Someone you know?” She asked, her voice soft and respectful. "Speech"

Ah! This wolf was new. Part of Bylgja wanted to warn them that her pack had mind to claim the crypt. But she pushed that aside; that would be an issue for the future. Who knew if this wolf had intentions of sticking around, eh? Her ears twitched and Bylgja inhaled quietly. "No, no! No." She shook her head. "Not know them. Is... eh..." The viking woman's heavy accent didn't do her any favors, but she thought for a moment before managing to add "Is --ah. My family back home kept the dead?" No, that sounded... menacing. "Erh! Guarded crypt like this." Satisfied with herself, she nodded her head. Yes. That made sense. That didn't sound menacing. "Bylgja"

Raka’s ears immediately pricked up with interest as this lovely-painted wolf spoke in a thick, strange accent. Raka could already tell that she was a fascinating wolf, and Raka’s expression was bright and warm as she regarded them. The armour who’s signal she had touched was a stranger to her, but the reverence had still been unmistakable. A mystery quickly solved as the stranger went on to explain they kept the dead. Kept the dead? what did that mean? “Oh! You have a reverence for those that are gone?” she asked in great curiosity. Her family had little time for those that had gone. In fact, she didn’t have the faintest clue where any of her ancestors were buried. “If you don’t mind me prying, is it love for those gone, or respect for the afterlife?” She asked. Then paused, realising she had forgotten something. “I’m Karaka, but please, call me Raka” "Speech"

Raka was bright and warm, so Bylgja wore the same warmth, seeing no reason not to. She was not a cold woman! Her life was cold, but that did not make her cruel!

The scarred woman paused at the question, and licked at her snout as she pondered. How was she to phrase this...? After all, to some wolves it could be unsettling.

But... Strai had not.

So perhaps...

"Well! You see! I come from land far from here. Is a big land. I see many things! We born to fight, because... ehm... is a thing in air? Is monsters that find dead and make them... new. Steal bodies." Her jaw clicks. "So... eh! My family holds crypt for ... dead. Little bits we can hold. Warriors skulls. Furs."