She seems to have created this image of her all throughout Beqanna. One that she is mysterious, with her ravens and her crown of feathers and her wicked grin. Another, that she is cruel and harsh when disappointed (maybe she is, but she still thinks she is nothing but fair). That she is sharped tongued and petulant (this is partially true, but it is a remnant of her childhood in which she had little to do but annoy).
She knows the rumors, of course, because the ravens tell her. And it always makes her laugh at bit. She has never tried to give off these perceptions of herself. Those that come to the border are greeting either with a cold politeness, if they have done nothing to annoy her. Or they are greated with a very honest opinion of what she thinks, good or bad. She doesn’t disagree with the rather true rumors about her that call her rude, mean words. Those are probably true. She called the Gates King a fool to his face, after all.
She grins, truly pleased, as his next statement. She nods her head slightly in agreement, black and white forelock swinging into her eyes as she does so, the crown of feathers shifting just slightly. “Tell me, if you could burn down any part of Beqanna, where would you start?” Because she cannot mind read, but she can guess. And she suspects that he has chosen this place for the reason they all do. Because one day, if she could make it happen without bringing ruin to the Chamber, they would burn Beqanna.
If they could not do that, they would simply light a fire under a few key parts of the puzzle and then watch them destroy each other. She liked that version better, truthfully. She liked the one where the Chamber looked, relatively, clean handed. But one in which they got to play a little, show off their power. She didn’t need all of Beqanna to know just exactly who broken them down, piece by piece.
But she needed her own key player to start playing first.
He returns to the topic of her, and then his usual joking matter. “What kind of honest man do you want to be?” She takes a step closer, words whispered into his ear, nearly touching. A raven lands on his back, talons finding purchase in his back. And then another, and another. She grins slightly, and then the ravens burst into fire as she slinks along his side. Playing. Pretending.
Why?
Because she can.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission