05-12-2016, 01:50 PM
He, too, should have gone to the Jungle much sooner after the war.
But time and its effects have been exceedingly long and large as of late. The few Dalean warriors had come home victorious but exhausted; their minds and hearts were heavy with the weight of all they’d accomplished, but also what they’d had to do to come through the other side. For Ramiel, the raw emotions had stacked upon each other in layers. First, the savory taste of victory. Second, the retrospective bitterness of battle, the violence forcibly pulled from the marrow of his bones and expressed by his hooves and teeth. Third, the unbridled joy of stepping into his kingdom once more. Seeing the wild push of the purple mountains against the sky when he thought he might never again had been as close to a religious experience as he’s ever had. Fourth, love. And if he thought he’d found it with Ea (only after the Valley snatched her away, only when he realized what he had when she was gone), he felt it tenfold with their daughter.
All the layers conglomerate when he looks at Sela; she is the embodiment of every emotion he is capable of.
When he hears his name on the wind and moves to find the source, however, he is mostly happy and at peace. The Dale is recovering better than he could have hoped. The turn-out at Ea’s coronation had been promising and far more busy than in recent years past. As he rides an easy canter towards their southern border, he thinks of the smaller families popping up all around them. It brings a smile to his face to think of Weir finding happiness with another and the life they’ve created. So, too, does the thought that one of their herdlands is thriving thanks to Phaedrus’ diligence. For the first time in too long, the grey king can imagine the utopia he’s always desired for the mountain people.
“Lagertha, welcome back,” he greets the iron lady when he comes upon her, dipping his head in acknowledgement. Ram is glad to see her; he has also harbored thoughts of an overdue visit and worries that he hasn’t done it sooner. Hopefully, she isn’t bringing news he should have heard long ago. “How are you and the Sisterhood faring?” He thinks it must be well, else they would have asked for assistance before now. Still, anything can happen in this day and age – no one is immune. If the war has taught them anything, it is the importance of allies. As their oldest friend and asset, the well-being of the Amazons ranks highly on the ghost-man’s priorities. And as the khaleesi of the kingdom, Lagertha’s most of all. As he waits for her to speak, Ramiel scrutinizes the steel warrior. He imagines the war hadn’t been her first brush with inflicting purposeful pain on another (not that it was his, but war was a choice unlike Carnage’s path of monsters through the stars).
But time and its effects have been exceedingly long and large as of late. The few Dalean warriors had come home victorious but exhausted; their minds and hearts were heavy with the weight of all they’d accomplished, but also what they’d had to do to come through the other side. For Ramiel, the raw emotions had stacked upon each other in layers. First, the savory taste of victory. Second, the retrospective bitterness of battle, the violence forcibly pulled from the marrow of his bones and expressed by his hooves and teeth. Third, the unbridled joy of stepping into his kingdom once more. Seeing the wild push of the purple mountains against the sky when he thought he might never again had been as close to a religious experience as he’s ever had. Fourth, love. And if he thought he’d found it with Ea (only after the Valley snatched her away, only when he realized what he had when she was gone), he felt it tenfold with their daughter.
All the layers conglomerate when he looks at Sela; she is the embodiment of every emotion he is capable of.
When he hears his name on the wind and moves to find the source, however, he is mostly happy and at peace. The Dale is recovering better than he could have hoped. The turn-out at Ea’s coronation had been promising and far more busy than in recent years past. As he rides an easy canter towards their southern border, he thinks of the smaller families popping up all around them. It brings a smile to his face to think of Weir finding happiness with another and the life they’ve created. So, too, does the thought that one of their herdlands is thriving thanks to Phaedrus’ diligence. For the first time in too long, the grey king can imagine the utopia he’s always desired for the mountain people.
“Lagertha, welcome back,” he greets the iron lady when he comes upon her, dipping his head in acknowledgement. Ram is glad to see her; he has also harbored thoughts of an overdue visit and worries that he hasn’t done it sooner. Hopefully, she isn’t bringing news he should have heard long ago. “How are you and the Sisterhood faring?” He thinks it must be well, else they would have asked for assistance before now. Still, anything can happen in this day and age – no one is immune. If the war has taught them anything, it is the importance of allies. As their oldest friend and asset, the well-being of the Amazons ranks highly on the ghost-man’s priorities. And as the khaleesi of the kingdom, Lagertha’s most of all. As he waits for her to speak, Ramiel scrutinizes the steel warrior. He imagines the war hadn’t been her first brush with inflicting purposeful pain on another (not that it was his, but war was a choice unlike Carnage’s path of monsters through the stars).
R A M I E L
this is a man pulling at his iron chains