"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
“Excellent.” Riva is the first recruit since the war, and normally Lagertha might have waited for the Jungle to begin its regrowth, or for the Sisters to start to mend. Instead of loitering around, or starting in where she cannot truly help, the Warrior Queen turns her attention to the outside world; fresh faces and fresh ideas were needed to boost morality. Privately, she muses that it’s a shame she hadn’t found the girl earlier - she might have been a strong soldier for their own side.
The iron-gray mae is normally rather wretched at small talk, but in this case, she finds a bit of warning might be necessary. It’s not every day one brings a recruit back to a half-charred home. “Not that you seem the type to be alarmed - or care - but the Jungle is a little worse for the wear at the moment. We were attacked in the war. But it will regrow.” She doesn’t make a big deal out of it - the drowned creatures that remained when the waters receded have already been disposed of, which keeps disease out of their home. The rest is up to the Jungle itself, and the magic folk, which is entirely out of her hands (which naturally means she obsesses over what she cannot control). Her lips set into a hard line, bitterness leaking out of the corners. Fucking Chamberlings.
She leads the bay and white mare to the border, which does not seem so much like a border at the moment. There were once imposing trees here, a definite sign that says ‘enter at your own risk’ and held the women’s secrets. Not any more - now it is marked by stumps and blackened wood. “If you’re looking for somewhere to focus your energies, there are a couple of kingdoms we aren’t friendly with at the moment.” They could use a continual ass-kicking, in her humble opinion, sans magic or any other way to give them an extra leg up.
The pair follow a couple of paths, with the Iron Lady switching from one trail to another as if she could find the way in her sleep - which she might be able to do, but it’s never been tested. Eventually they come to a wide clearing with a large tree in the center. A few mares are there, but they initially pay Lagertha no mind. “This is it. Or as far as most visitors get.” The rest of her phrase hangs in the air; Riva could be a visitor or she could be a Sister. But she could not be both.
War. She can still smell it on the air; can see how very close even the destruction of it came to touching places often thought neutral and untouchable like the field and the meadow, for there are scorched furrows in the ground of fires rampant and raging, and places where bits of blood and fur have settled in the aftermath. Riva walks by these dastardly accoutrements and looks beyond them with all the earmarks of disdain. It is not that she does not favor war in the least but that she took no part in it, being too thin and spiteful to be of use on the battlefield when her tongue is a far better weapon she thinks, if wielded properly, than her body will ever be. Though the flesh has other merits, and it would not be beyond the bay tovero to plump her flesh just enough to entice and seduce alliances and whatnot from the loins of kings, being that she is a pirate’s get and something like whoring is not beneath her to get what she - er, the Jungle - wants. She is a suitable subject for her Queen, to do as she is told no matter the cost and perhaps this is what Riva has been waiting for all her life - to be the slave to another’s machinations as the seeds of her own sit inside her, hot and hateful.
The bay tovero follows the iron-gray mare towards the jungle, and as she does so, a strange feeling of permanence sinks heavily into her but instead of balking at the idea of it, she takes step after diligent step behind the Queen and embraces the permanence. It is new fuel for her, this sentiment of belonging to something greater than herself and her hate, and it takes up residence in her body, heavy and stoney and she likes the weight of it as Lagertha imparts a warning to her. “Alarmed, no,” she assures her. “Care, perhaps, since this is to be home I guess.” She cannot help the note of reluctance that curls around the word ‘home’ because that has always been lacking for her. She figures she must learn to embrace it though, as much as she must embrace the idea of sisterhood because that is what the jungle and its mares implies and she has agreed to it as much as she has agreed to anything in her life.
She can almost taste the Queen’s bitterness on the air and her own lip curls up in distaste; “They will pay in time for the destruction they have wrought on the land,” she says quietly, almost certain that it must be true because the jungle’s destruction cannot go unpunished but she is sure the iron-gray mare knows this already - she is Queen after all. Riva hesitates before the charred earth and blackened stumps of what she assumes were once mighty and tall trees. Her hate flares up at such careless destruction towards the land, what did it ever do to them except house the sisters and their secrets? Did that really warrant such brash and reckless destruction of trees that had been here long before the horses’ own time? Even then, Riva can feel the pull of the jungle in her blood as if it accepted her enough to welcome her to its burnt house and she turns her angry eyes towards Lagertha, “Which kingdoms would those be?” It is a quiet query, one that holds an underlying degree of threat because the enemies of the jungle would be her enemies and she leaps at the offer to cause mischief and mayhem to those that thought to harm this place.
Riva tracks the trails and makes note of the switchbacks until they reach the clearing; she is certain that if the jungle cast her out, it would keep her out no matter how much she paid attention to the lay of the trails that lead to its heart but it was still best to be informed enough to know how to get in and out of at least this part of the jungle. There is a tree and some mares but none of which acknowledge them in any way and she does not remark on that; “and if one wanted to be more than just a visitor?” Her question hangs just as emptily on the air as Lagertha’s statement, and Riva knows that she cannot be both - she must be one or the other, and she would not have spent the Queen’s time so carelessly if she was not truly interested in finding a place somewhere.
Funny how Riva wants so nonchalantly to belong somewhere all of a sudden…
That was exactly the land’s only fault; that it was a notoriously difficult land to infiltrate, its secrets known only to those born and raised here, and those that have chosen to take the oath. In theory, those numbers are great, despite the fact that they are mostly women. Those very same numbers speak to why they had been attacked: because the Sisterhood was - is - a very real threat to its enemies. It is the most back-handed compliment they could receive.
“In time. I doubt my warriors will follow me in another attack so soon, but there are other ways. The least of which is perseverance.” The Chamber may have even given the Jungle a blessing in disguise; how better to gain members than to put a positive spin on the destruction. Come, recruits, come take a look at how they destroyed our beautiful home, how they were so threatened by us. Their homes are all intact. We suffer, and rebuild. It’s a gamble, but a potential new angle, if the ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ thing doesn’t work out.
Lagertha isn’t above playing dirty.
Her ears flick back to follow the nuances of Riva’s tone, decided that she likes the way she speaks about the Kingdom, and even more so about the others. “The Gates, Valley, Chamber and Tundra.” The list is long, but filled with more historical failure than anything else. So far, they are all quiet. Moving amongst themselves, but keeping their secrets well. She snorts softly, and then swallows it; her emotions will not get the better of her - not now. “Challenge and steal from them if you wish, take recruits from them in the Field. I don’t care what you do, so long as you do something.”
When they come to the clearing and pause, Lagertha’s eyes travel across the clearing and affirm that all is well; Riva’s question, however, causes her to turn around. She smiles faintly, though whether it is because she is pleased with herself, or with the painted mare in front of her isn’t obvious. “Then you can take the oath and receive your tattoos." There were some young(er) ones who were still around after the war - soon it would be time to swear them in, and perhaps Riva as well.
A question pops into her head, and the Queen wastes no time in spitting it out, “do you really think you’ll find herd life satisfying?” It's a genuine question - she's never met a Sister who would. Lovers are free for them to take, and while manservants aren't common right now, they've been welcomed before. But to play second fiddle to a stallion? Even if he were strong of mind a spirit, she cannot fathom the lack of direction and pettiness that comes from having nothing to do but fawn over a single man.
Her negligence is inexcusable. What can she say?
There is no excuse offered for her lack of being known around the Jungle.
Still, it does not refuse her entrance as she takes the same trail that she had followed the iron-gray mare down a while ago. But nor does it greet her; she can spot the gleam of gold in a jaguar’s eye in the branches above as it stalks her from on high, and she can hear the call of toucans to one another, and monkeys laugh from a cut in the growing green of thriving Jungle. War did little to scar her but it did enough, and Riva can see where the kingdom is still recovering from the attempts to burn her down. How could she ever leave this place? She knows now that she cannot, only for those short stints of time in the Plains with the stallion but she has since left his herd, too mean to reside amongst his lovesick bimbos who only had babies on the brain.
(Of course she’ll never forget that stallion either, he makes her temper flare in a way she cannot explain and does not. She’ll encounter him again, it’s already written in the stars, in an ill-fated chance to recruit in the field for Queen and glory.)
Riva has made two attempts to recruit now, to restore the Jungle to a more rousing volume of life besides that of the typical denizens that call it home - the cats and the birds and the pesky monkeys in the trees that often throw their dung at her in passing. Riva will bite the next damned monkey that crosses her path, she avows this as she picks her way down the trail, beyond the river swollen with the monsoon-like rains of Spring and crocodiles, their toothsome grins a promise of tearing out her throat and innards for fat happy meals to fill their scaly bellies. She grins back at them, flicking her tail in a flagging taunt of catch me if you can, but they never will unless she grows careless around the river and her tricksome sides that give way to mudslides in these times. She watched a tapir go to it’s death that way the other day, and figures some reptile smiled at the prospect of an easy lunch the river spat at him.
She remembers how Lagertha talked of oaths and tattoos, and she is curious about these things in few ways that Riva is hardly curious. It is not hard to find the Queen, she is often in the same place, deep in thought - of what, the paint mare does not guess at, for it is above her to know what things a Queen thinks about. “Lagertha,” she says by way of greeting. “No, the few times there, I did not.” she admits to the gray mare, not afraid at all to voice her displeasure of the dualities of kingdom and herd, and how it simply did not work out for her. “It was entirely too dissatisfying and he was too preoccupied with his ties to his kingdom, his mares, and the making of babies.” Of which she certainly did not participate in! The mere thought of popping something out of her loins was rather comical because she could not see how someone as motherless and abandoned as she had been, could possibly get it right when it came to raising a baby.
She was unaware of the face she was making, one of possible horror before she snorted and shook the expression away. “Anyway,” she says rather offhandedly. “Been a while, eh? Looked around for a bit, learning the Jungle, learning how boring a herd can be, and the like. What have you been up to?” Riva, silly Riva, is probably the only one to act so casually around the Queen, like she was never there for almost two years? Hell, she doesn’t even know how long she’s been gone for or why. She just knows she is home now, happily (a lie, but she’ll tell it all the same for Lagertha’s sake) recruiting in the Field, and hoping the Jungle doesn’t eat her while she eats, sleeps, or takes a drink from a puddle in a clearing where nothing harmful could possibly get her - except the snake slithering rather suspiciously through the grass over there…. Okay Riva, come back to earth now, the Jungle won’t eat you since the big bad Queen is here.
ooc: Riva is entirely way too comfortable with Lagertha and utterly ridiculous in this post lol. <3
The truth is that Lagertha had written Riva off, just like she had many others. It wasn’t a big deal. She would never admit that she’d had hopes for the angry little paint, which meant she saved face in the long run. It goes along with the ‘if you want anything done right, do it yourself’ philosophy. Don’t get your hopes up and you won’t be disappointed. It’s a practice that works with children and lovers and kingdom mates. Everyone, really.
They all disappoint her in the end. Hell, Lagertha even disappoints herself at times.
You’d think she would learn to lower her standards, but that would be something akin to giving up. This Khaleesi does not give up. She will not go gentle into that good night, and she will rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Currently, the iron gray Queen is pondering a rumor that the Gates has a new King, and what exactly that means for the Jungle. This is what she often thinks of - alliances, the ever-shifting puzzle pieces that often have edges designed more to poke and prod than lay quietly in tandem. She often wishes Prague would wake, or that Rhy were still here, and her heart still twists painfully when she thinks of Anguisette. It’s kind of lonely at the top. No one ever told her that. As a result, Lagertha has lately welcomed any and all distractions, because that usually meant that one of the Sisters wanted to talk. This time, the interrupter is a pleasant surprise.
She shorts sharply - half laugh, half sound of disbelief - when she recognizes the voice. “Riva,” she says in greeting. “Well I’m glad you learned your lesson. The look on your face is very reassuring. Like it just might be a fate worse than death.” She refrains from asking if the woman wants to take the oath and the tattoos - that might be jumping the gun. Shouldn’t appear too eager, you know? Instead, she shrugs. “Not much. Counting tree frogs and butterflies. Eating stallions alive. Having opinions. The usual.” She grins cheekily, because the truth of the matter again, is that not much has happened in the past two years. Her eyes follow the mare’s gaze to a rather large python that is crawling over the roots of a tree.
“Don’t worry. You can run faster than it can slither…” she pauses a looks up with a pensive expression. “I think. But if the Jungle hasn’t eaten you alive by now, you’ll be fine.”
Lagertha
Warrior Queen of the Amazons
i'm sorry, i don't know where i'm going with this :/
Riva is all too familiar with disappointment; it is kin of sorts, to the hate she harbors in her heart. Her family disappointed her and therefore, she is doomed to repeat history and disappoint herself and others. So like Lagertha, she disappoints and is disappointment itself at times. She also knew that she had abandoned the Jungle for around two years and knows that this too, must be a bit of a family curse - be abandoned and to abandon, and her life is nothing but the perpetuation of the very things that have shaped her into such a callous mare.
The Queen says her name and draws Riva back into herself, or rather upwards since she had drifted off in thoughts about perpetuity. “Quite,” she sneers, hardly aware that she is doing it but there is such disgust in her at the idea of submitting to a boring life as a broodmare - she just couldn’t do it, couldn’t even foresee babies in the future (though she still bore a tiny annoying inkling of something like like for that damnable stallion… He got under her skin like a thorn and stayed there), and figured those things are not meant for the likes of her. “I think I would rather die than choose herd life, it was so ungodly boring and the way they threw themselves at him for attention!” She scoffs, still quite sickened by the sights she had seen there in the golden plains, at least the tall grass rippling beneath the sun was something to behold, everything else just wasn’t.
“Sounds like I haven’t missed much,” Riva says with a conspiratorial chuckle. Oh how they delude themselves! The kingdom is quiet, like a grave, though life trickles here in here and there, like a stream that tries to grow but only in spurts. Granted, the Jungle is still growing since the War but she was doing so at a snail’s pace. Riva though, as usual, deep in thought, still has her eyes focused on the python, rather mesmerized by its slow climb up the tree and a deeply ingrained response shudders through her body - snake bad, says the quaking of her flesh, in clear terms of danger even though the Queen assures her that it is not. Her eyes slide towards the gray at the pensive note in her tone that also seems to have taken over her face like a dark shadow, “I’m a survivor, what can I say?” It is her attempt at uplifting the Queen’s sudden plummet in joviality (if one could say Lagertha was ever jovial…) and it unnerves her to see the mare this way.
“It hasn’t really bothered to try and eat me since I’ve come and gone from here.” She falls quiet for only a moment, “I don’t mean to pry but… seems like you’ve got something on your mind.” Oh Riva! She still hasn’t learned that curiosity killed the cat, except she’s a horse and harder to kill than that - or so she likes to think, not that’s immortal, that would be a joke; they might have actually kept her if she had been special in some way like that. Hm, she manages to snort, more to herself than her present company.
