03-20-2016, 09:51 AM
I am iron and I forge myself
The ravens cried their agreement, and Lagertha left the conclave without any more words, save for a nod to Vanquish. It was time to go home.
She called out to the magicians on their side, and asked them to transport the immobile and the injured back to the Jungle. The Warrior Queen is entirely unaware that Lupei set their leafy refuge aflame, and after the long trek home, her enraged cry at the sight of the devastation is genuine. It announces their return, and sends the jungle sentries back to their respective homes, if they aren’t too damaged. She stands at the border of the Kingdom until the last Sister is within the boundaries, and then she follows them in - bone-weary, ashen, and ready to sleep for a week.
Grief does not come this night, nor will it come the next; only a deep, intense longing for her children - for Anguisette, and Vidar, and even Dalten. It is a small consolation to know that Sette missed the battle, but it is overshadowed by her mysterious disappearance. She can only hope that her little (not so little, but always a curious filly in her mother’s mind) girl’s curiosity drove her out of Beqanna, and that she is not lying dead, somewhere in this mess of a Jungle, or scorched on the Chamber floor. No, that cannot be the case. Someone would have seen her. As for Lyris - she can no longer deny that she saw the spotted mare fall in a blazing trail of glory. Or that Rhy was not amongst the Sisters that traipsed back.
Lagertha sleeps for a day and a half, and though it may be reckless and irresponsible to leave her kingdom unprotected for so long, it is necessary. When she wakes, it is with a clear head and heavy, but resolved heart. There is much to do.
Bearing more mental scars than physical wounds, the Khaleesi takes an extended tour of the Jungle, noting flooding and an odd increase in dead fish and other sea beasts, where the waters seem to have receded. Everywhere is the acrid, lingering stench of smoke, and scorch marks mar many trees, while others are entirely bare and devoid of leaves. It reminds her of the magical winter, when she was Brunhild’s Bloodrider. They weathered through it, the snow eventually melted, and they would do the same again. At least the Jungle’s carnivores would feast for a fortnight, the muses, though it is bittersweet, to see so many of the little creatures bloated and water-logged - and then her mind goes to the spirit, eyes growing wide.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Another growl of frustration rips through her throat and she immediately pivots to head back to the center of the Kingdom. Sometimes the warrior has a one-track mind, and this was not a good time to have that trait. She picks her way as quickly as she can back through the debris-filled land and finds the center relatively untouched. Some Sisters are already there, and these she greets with a tight-lipped nod and brief inquiry as to whether or not they’re ok. When she’s sure everyone who’s already in the clearing is fine, Lagertha makes her way to the great tree and calls for the rest of the women - perhaps for the last time - depending on what they have to say.
This is not a dictatorship; she rules at their will, and she would step down if they wanted her to - though who would take her place, if that is the case, she doesn’t know.
She called out to the magicians on their side, and asked them to transport the immobile and the injured back to the Jungle. The Warrior Queen is entirely unaware that Lupei set their leafy refuge aflame, and after the long trek home, her enraged cry at the sight of the devastation is genuine. It announces their return, and sends the jungle sentries back to their respective homes, if they aren’t too damaged. She stands at the border of the Kingdom until the last Sister is within the boundaries, and then she follows them in - bone-weary, ashen, and ready to sleep for a week.
Grief does not come this night, nor will it come the next; only a deep, intense longing for her children - for Anguisette, and Vidar, and even Dalten. It is a small consolation to know that Sette missed the battle, but it is overshadowed by her mysterious disappearance. She can only hope that her little (not so little, but always a curious filly in her mother’s mind) girl’s curiosity drove her out of Beqanna, and that she is not lying dead, somewhere in this mess of a Jungle, or scorched on the Chamber floor. No, that cannot be the case. Someone would have seen her. As for Lyris - she can no longer deny that she saw the spotted mare fall in a blazing trail of glory. Or that Rhy was not amongst the Sisters that traipsed back.
Lagertha sleeps for a day and a half, and though it may be reckless and irresponsible to leave her kingdom unprotected for so long, it is necessary. When she wakes, it is with a clear head and heavy, but resolved heart. There is much to do.
Bearing more mental scars than physical wounds, the Khaleesi takes an extended tour of the Jungle, noting flooding and an odd increase in dead fish and other sea beasts, where the waters seem to have receded. Everywhere is the acrid, lingering stench of smoke, and scorch marks mar many trees, while others are entirely bare and devoid of leaves. It reminds her of the magical winter, when she was Brunhild’s Bloodrider. They weathered through it, the snow eventually melted, and they would do the same again. At least the Jungle’s carnivores would feast for a fortnight, the muses, though it is bittersweet, to see so many of the little creatures bloated and water-logged - and then her mind goes to the spirit, eyes growing wide.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Another growl of frustration rips through her throat and she immediately pivots to head back to the center of the Kingdom. Sometimes the warrior has a one-track mind, and this was not a good time to have that trait. She picks her way as quickly as she can back through the debris-filled land and finds the center relatively untouched. Some Sisters are already there, and these she greets with a tight-lipped nod and brief inquiry as to whether or not they’re ok. When she’s sure everyone who’s already in the clearing is fine, Lagertha makes her way to the great tree and calls for the rest of the women - perhaps for the last time - depending on what they have to say.
This is not a dictatorship; she rules at their will, and she would step down if they wanted her to - though who would take her place, if that is the case, she doesn’t know.
Lagertha
warrior queen of the amazons