the dead are crawling from their graves; anyone

[Lagertha]

this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more

Winter fucking sucks, and with her thin, hot and humid accustomed coat, Lagertha is loathe to leave the Jungle. Some part of her wishes that she could be like the other sisters, hiding away in the greenery and becoming a part of the Jungle in the way that only Amazonians can. Some sisters fall asleep and stay there, for decades at a time. They are protected and they are safe, kept so by efforts of descendants such as herself. She is happy to do it, and the General hopes that one day, should she decide to take the immortal nap for awhile, that other down the line will hold down the fort.

Lagertha needs to create that sort of Kingdom, despite the fact that she isn’t Queen.
Which means that she needs to keep in touch with the outside world. The rest of Beqanna isn’t as bothered by the cold as she is. So Lagertha must be the iron woman that she is and suck it up.

Retaining heat is probably the only thing her wings are good for. Lagertha tucks herself away in the trees, dark gray coat and horns helping her blend in just a tad amongst the naked branches and rough-hewn trunks. She could probably have coated herself in something extra, but it makes her feel bulky and heavy. Unless the General is trying to impress someone (or is in battle), she doesn’t often use her trait. A horse covered in garnets, however… is quite a sight to behold. As is walking sandstone, or puffy, fluff-ball-cloud horse.

The rumblings of change in the Valley have yet to reach the Jungle, as their resident magician has once again fallen off the face of the earth. Lagertha has learned that she must take advantage of Prague when she’s around, because if you wait two minutes, she might disappear again. It’s ok. Magicians are odd creatures, as Demian probably knows as well. She’s keeping to herself, preferring to watch and observe for awhile, rather than jump right in. An odd colored stallion lands roughly in the middle of the frozen meadow, and his brightly colored spots draw her eye. They’re like Tantalize’s spots, but more… neonish. As if he was meant to draw the eye. Like her horns. They arc above her ears in sharp points - not quite fully grown, but impressive all the same. Her wings are negligible and she wishes she were rid of them now. But some things take time.

Lagertha’s dark eyes watch Demian walk towards her without actually seeing her, and then stop at the stream that bisects the clearing. Something draws her towards him, and she steps out from the cover of the trees - proud and gray and calm. A darker version of the winter sky. With a warrior’s confidence and surety, she approaches the lone stallion and stops at the other bank. Her breath comes in warm puffs as she watches him and yet says nothing. She is a mare of few, but direct and blunt words.

lagertha

carnage x grim reaper; amazonian general