"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
It is early morning when she sets off for the Jungle, the last days of summer clinging to her skin. It is delightfully cool outside, a pleasant breeze playing at her mane and tail, but she knows that as the day progresses, the sun will burn the dew off of the grass and the breeze will die down some, leaving the day hot and dry. She doesn’t mind too much, though, because as the days grow shorter the temperature will drop and it will be peaceful and cold, which is something she looks forward to every year. Winter is one of her favorite times of year, though she knows that the Valley will be incredibly cold. Her second winter in the Valley is already upon her. Time is flying by almost too quickly.
She knows that there is a river that runs through the Valley and leads the way to the Amazons, so she finds it and swiftly heads west, her long legs carrying her effortlessly over the ground. It takes several hours to travel around the side of the mountain with the rhythmic pounding of her hooves as her only company, and noon is nearly upon her as she finally leaves the Valley behind, crossing the scent borders and stepping out of the kingdom.
The river twists and turns as it flows towards the Amazon jungle, and Cress follows it as it continues southwest. It is early afternoon when the towering trees of the Jungle rise up on the horizon, and Cress, now moving at a comfortable jog, takes in the glorious sight. A rainforest; seemingly there at random, but beautiful and mysterious all at once. She comes to a halt about a hundred feet away from the border of the kingdom, knowing that she’s fully visible against the landscape surrounding the Jungle. She will meet their queen and their diplomats here, in neutral ground, rather than risking crossing the border by mistake and being labeled an invader.
The empathy comes in handy only for one thing – sensing visitors and new horses on their border. Their emotions hit her in a wave still. Rhy hates the empathy, truthfully. Which is probably somewhat telling of who she really is. She is kind and polite and believes in peace over war, certainly. But at the same time, she is a combination of deadly traits and then this. This random empathy, and she doesn’t entirely enjoy feeling how everyone else feels, on top of her own emotions.
But it does make it much easier to find newcomers. She feels the Valley mare before she finds her, standing well away from the border of the kingdom. Rhy makes her way out of the trees and into the surrounding area. It still amazes her how cold it gets, and how quickly, when she steps outside the Jungle. She’s grown to hate winter, because she is far too used to being warm all the time. Instinctively, sparks leap around on her skin, well away from Cress or any other horses that might come, but keeping her warm.
Cold and snow also remind her far too much of the half a year she spent alone in the Jungle when it was buried by snow, kicking over snowdrifts in fear of finding Sisters buried within. She tries not to think about that.
She nods her head in greeting to the other mare. “I’m Rhy, Erinak and Ville of the Jungle. How can I help you?” She offers the title only to be useful. She doesn’t care about titles, but often diplomats like to know who exactly they are speaking to. So she offers the information, trying to make the meeting easier.
Autumn was in the air, and the change of the land was palpable. There was a chill in the taste of the air, a sharp smell of churning leaves, the crackling sound of dead flora and fauna under foot. Autumn was the season of change, of shedding skin, preparing to grow again – and indeed there was change in the air as well.
Eight watched you, Cress, as you plucked your way along the river- tightly following the bends and ebbs until you reached the Amazons. You were determined in your visits to the kingdoms – as he’d seen you set out before as well. It was nice to see - as you had come into the Valley and immediately placed as the head of the diplomats. To see you following up on your responsibility was a nice change, and held hope for the future.
He saw the heady Jungle appear in your mind, your destination so clear to him. And so he chose to follow.
As you arrived at the edge of the Jungle, he sensed another –Rhy, the electric goddess of the Amazons. Her emotions were not so hard to read either, and the memories of snow swept lands flooded Eight’s mind. With two females (that were probably less than happy with him) – this would be an interesting arrival.
He waits until you have made your introduction, sparks tickling the sides of your skin, and a calming and (almost?) welcoming demeanor to your words. And then he appears – softly, quietly, without much fanfare, intimidation, or threat. Eight knew that their bond with the Jungle was timid and fresh, at best. There hadn’t been an alliance when he was King – and now with a new face on each throne, there was an opportunity waiting.
He steps forward from the air, arriving next to you, Cress, and nodding his head in greeting. “Rhy – congratulations on your new position. Eight, and Cress.” He nods to the young woman besides him. “We come from the Valley – stretching our legs if you will. We’ve come to announce the rise of a new ruler, Demian, and extend our courtesies. Eight didn’t need to step foot anywhere, nor inquire to others, in order to know what rustling was happening in Beqanna – but pleasantries were always necessary.
Now, to not step on any toes.
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
They begin to trickle in, those who may or may not have heard of a regime change. Before, Lagertha hadn’t much to do with these sorts of things beyond making sure the visitors weren’t hostile. Now she must meet and greet. Can’t have Rhy handle it all by herself.
Not when a long lost voice is finally (unbeknownst to her) made flesh on her border. They had an unfinished business, a meeting that never came to fruition. But perhaps they were destined to be realigned with the Valley; her brother once ruled as King there, oh so long ago. Lagertha was conceived on the eve of the Valley war, and had she felt the urge to go another way, she might be in Demian’s position instead. Hard work is hard work, after all.
She’s actually on her way out of the Kingdom for a brief visit to the common lands, when she exits the Jungle not far from where the group is. She spots Rhy first, and changes course, her muscles relishing the excuse to stretch themselves. Sometimes the density of the Jungle made it hard to… go fast. That’s the technical term. Her dark eyes, darker and harder than her iron colored coat glance over the duo and as she catches the masculine tones of the stallion, it almost stops her in her tracks. That voice. That freaking voice that called to her, years ago, getting her hopes up and then leaving her waiting in the Meadow for no one to appear. Some sick joke, she eventually called it. Someone who by some magic knew her desires and fed upon them.
She resented that voice. Just a little bit. And so though her face is neutral, her thoughts aren’t so much, as she finally puts a face and a body to a voice. Eight. The former Valley King. And now it is even more confusing.
“Can’t blame you for wanting to stretch your legs,” she says as she approaches at a brisk trot. “I’m Lagertha, the new Khaleesi. Pleasure to meet you two.” Well, a pleasure to meet one of them. The other, she has her righteous doubts about.
It seemed that all of Beqanna lately was making diplomatic visits. It was necessary, when the thrones were shifting so much; alliances were hanging in the balance – opportunities waiting to be plucked like ripe berries from the vine. There was a static buzz in the air, a collective intake of breath from Beqanna – the knowledge that something was about to happen. In truth, things were already happening – the recent raid on the Gates was winding down, but perhaps that was just making way for something more.
Eight felt the presence of the iron queen as she touched the border of the Amazons. With that slight thrum of your being, your thoughts also drifted to dear Eight, and he had to internally grimace, just slightly. He was not strange to the fact that he didn’t make friends quite so easily. He remembered that vague calling to you – so long ago, in such a delicate time – and how he had failed to follow up on it.
Perhaps it was just a sick joke, one that he did not intend to play. Truly, really, he had intentions of toppling the throne upon Scorch and placing the vines upon your head. But in reality, Eight himself was hardly a ruler, he hardly had intentions or desire to stay upon his own throne, and he fell short on everything else as well.
None the less, he smiles politely as you arrive, and dips his head in greeting again. “Lagertha – congratulations to you as well. Atop the vined throne, where you belong.” Eight beings to walk forward with the group, a suggestion of a tour - “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to show us around?” If alliances were to be made, it was always best in knowing what could be brought to the table. “
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
10-09-2015, 08:12 AM (This post was last modified: 10-12-2015, 02:26 PM by Kyra.)
all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash
Cress tries very hard not to dislike others. To be quite honest, she has no reason to hate anyone—including Eight. Sure, she is loyal to her family and he had dethroned Oxytocin, but if the rumors are true, Oxytocin wasn’t even around to defend his title. Sure, he had spent a few weeks doting on Kindling and his newborn daughter, but attending to kingdom matters? Oxytocin had been lazy. Eight had taken the Valley and breathed life back into her. As a loyal member of the Valley, she has to respect that. She had to learn to let go of the only grudge she has ever tried to hold on to.
She had not expected him to come with her to the Amazons, though. She had set off completely by herself and besides, wouldn’t it have made more sense to bring another mare with her? Surely they will not be so accommodating to a stallion. Cress is trying to not disrespect the Amazonian culture but he is going to make this difficult. Oh well. It’s not as if she can force him to return to the Valley. She’s going to play nice—playing nice is all she’s ever known anyways.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Rhy,” she tells the mare who joins her in the no-man’s-land, smiling politely. “My name is Cress; I am the Mentalvårdare of the Valley under King Demian. It seems we hold similar ranks.” Her polite smile grows into something more friendly as she settles in. Before she can say anymore, though, Eight cuts in, and though she shoots him a brief glance, she keeps her mouth closed. Let him speak; obviously Demian finds him important enough to accompany her on her journey here.
No reason to act juvenile, Cress.
The Queen—Khaleesi, as they say here—arrives soon after and Cress dips her head respectfully to the mare. “It is an honor to meet you, Lagertha,” she says, and though the Khaleesi appears intimidating she cannot help but study the mare. She is lean and battle-worn, the type of ruler that the Amazon has needed for a long time. She has experience. Eight then suggest a tour of the Jungle, stepping boldly forward. “If you do not mind, of course,” she adds hastily, and she hopes that the Amazonian women know that she is trying her hardest not to come off as rude. Eight is something else entirely.
“How fairs the Jungle since the change in leadership?” she asks casually. “The Valley is thriving under her new leadership; I hope the same rings true for you.”
Gods above, Cress. Sometimes your politeness sure seems like ass-kissing.
Eight, and then Lagertha join them. Rhy is used to diplomatic visits that grow into miniature parties, though she still sometimes wishes they would remain small. It’s always a bit easier on the diplomacy side, and for the sake of time, just to have two of them chatting. But everyone wants to come out and play, and she can’t entirely blame them. Even she is guilty of joining a group when there’s plenty around to handle it, but of course, it’s her job to be involved. Everyone else should just know when to leave.
But in this instance, she admits, the company is appropriate. Lagertha and Eight making for a particularly interesting part of this whole diplomat thing. Neither is a diplomat, really, though Eight is better at it than Lagertha. But Rhy knows of the plot that was half formed some number of years ago, when Scorch was making alliances behind her Sister’s back. Blood alliances, really. Which Rhy, and many others, had not been a fan of.
Eight congratulates her, and she smiles and nods her thanks. And then Cress introduces herself as well, and Rhy can’t help but laugh. Playful, friendly. “And I thought our titles were a mouthful,” she says with that grin. There’s nothing mean in her comments, but rather a genuine good-natured humor.
A tour. Of course they want a tour. She’s not usually a fan of bringing potential enemies into their kingdom (yes, she knows of the talks of an alliance with the Chamber and the Valley). There’s no love between the Chamber and the Amazons currently. What side would the Valley end up taking? She doubts it will be that of the sisterhood, but perhaps.
Still, Rhy is never rude. And for one, Eight already knows everything about the Jungle. He can see it without them ever knowing. And Cress? Well really, she doesn’t think the mare will use it against them all that much. If she can remember all the twists and turns of the paths there anyway. It took Rhy years. “Certainly,” she says, nodding toward the Jungle. They would not be going to the heart of the kingdom, but still, there was plenty they could show their guests without giving much away.
“We are doing well under Lagertha,” she says, casting her friend and Khaleesi a small glance. She doesn’t say any more, leaving the rest up to the warrior queen. Instead, she simply leads their little party into the dense Jungle.
Well, this is… interesting. While Lagertha’s only met Demian once, they had a rather pleasant interaction in the Meadow. A friendly foundation had been laid, and Lagertha finds their diplomats to be pleasant and courteous enough, though her mind is a veritable whirlwind of trying to figure out what Eight’s game is. Perhaps she simply does not know the way of magicians that well, expecting everyone in power (whether it’s a throne or in their blood) to be like her. With a mere couple of glances between Rhy and Eight, and then back to Cress, the Iron Queen puts it out of her mind by attesting the whole matter simply to a magician’s nature (how irksome that resignation is!) and moving on to the politics of the here and now.
“Thank you, both. It is an honor to lead the Amazons." That is the truth of it - thr words are not merely part of traditional pleasantries. She loves the Jungle and its women and would die for it. Willingly. "Please say hello to Demian for me as well. We met a year or so ago in the Meadow.” Back when the crown was new to both of them, back when the chess pieces had only begun to move. For now, she is keeping her pieces close, studying the board while waiting for the second game to finish. Perhaps she will play the third – perhaps the fourth, Lagertha isn’t sure yet. What she does know is that the current game is played on many fronts, and securing alliances was only one (but very important) facet of it.
One Kingdom cannot stand alone amongst the rest.
Two, perhaps. Three – yes.
Which side will they fall to? Will power or righteousness prevail? How many of them would rather be on the winning side than the ‘right’ side?
Normally, she is of the same mind as Rhy and would balk at taking diplomats into the Jungle. But, like her Erinak, she knows that Eight could rip it all from their minds without trying – he could go right through the trees if he wanted to. Unlike the Chamber’s monster loving magicians, he is a more constant presence, and for some reason, he seems to support Lagertha. It is best to keep that support. So with another glance to Rhy, and a small nod, she lets the gold and white woman take the lead towards the most often used trail, while she brings up the rear. “Couldn’t do it without you.” She throws up in response to her sister’s compliment. It’s true, and they both know it. Might as well let them see how loyal and close they were to each other.
To Cress’s ad-lib, she chuckles and replies, “One well-worn path to the center will not reveal all our secrets. Although… If we come knocking, will you let us in?” A corner of her mouth twists upwards in a wry grin, not knowing that now – even if she wanted to – she would not be able to pass without a guide.
They are falling farther and farther behind. Unless they can somehow make up for magic with numbers. Which, she hopes, they will see in the center. Anyone. Or even better, everyone.
