06-30-2016, 03:46 PM
I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
It truly seems like some act of vengeance from the Furies that has her in the middle of the Meadow at the tail end of autumn. She longs for the hot and heavy swaddling blanket of the Jungle - but in the name of keeping the gears rolling, she wanders and listens and updates her working knowledge of Beqanna. It’s a thankless but necessary task. The Amazons are isolated, much like the Tundra is; easily cut off from the real world if no one makes a concerted effort to be the kingdom’s eyes and ears. When one thinks about it, there’s no wonder so many of her Sisters wander off into the dense jungle and take years to return. The Jungle takes care of its own.
Lagertha could easily cover herself in something insulating, like moss, but that looks… ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. She’s tried it before, and while she isn’t the type to give a fuck about what someone else thinks, even the gray warrior has her limits. So she stubbornly endures, and privately bitches and moans.
A light gray blur in her peripheral vision causes her to turn her head, and after a moment she recognizes the winged man. Well, she hadn’t seen him in years. Not since their alliance fell apart and the Tundra failed to come to their aid. Could they have done anything while the Jungle burned? Maybe. Maybe not. Could they have give then the indisputable upper hand in the War? Maybe. Maybe not. But some gesture would have been fucking appreciated. She takes a deep breath, settling the resentment that is so obviously bubbling up from some repressed place. She should let bygones be bygones… should being the key word.
Ah, but movement is good. Movement keeps her warm. So Lagertha walks towards him from the tree-lined edge of the meadow and hails him not with his name, but with a snarky comment. She’s known him since he began his rise in the Tundra’s ranks - when she was merely a General. And then they were rulers together. And now… they have nothing in common. He doesn’t even remind her of Crito.
“And here I was, thinking you must have died, for the Tundra to reneg on its promises. You could have at least chosen a better replacement.” She makes a face indicating distaste for Offpsring. It’s kind of silly. Just to take the edge off her words.
Lagertha could easily cover herself in something insulating, like moss, but that looks… ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. She’s tried it before, and while she isn’t the type to give a fuck about what someone else thinks, even the gray warrior has her limits. So she stubbornly endures, and privately bitches and moans.
A light gray blur in her peripheral vision causes her to turn her head, and after a moment she recognizes the winged man. Well, she hadn’t seen him in years. Not since their alliance fell apart and the Tundra failed to come to their aid. Could they have done anything while the Jungle burned? Maybe. Maybe not. Could they have give then the indisputable upper hand in the War? Maybe. Maybe not. But some gesture would have been fucking appreciated. She takes a deep breath, settling the resentment that is so obviously bubbling up from some repressed place. She should let bygones be bygones… should being the key word.
Ah, but movement is good. Movement keeps her warm. So Lagertha walks towards him from the tree-lined edge of the meadow and hails him not with his name, but with a snarky comment. She’s known him since he began his rise in the Tundra’s ranks - when she was merely a General. And then they were rulers together. And now… they have nothing in common. He doesn’t even remind her of Crito.
“And here I was, thinking you must have died, for the Tundra to reneg on its promises. You could have at least chosen a better replacement.” She makes a face indicating distaste for Offpsring. It’s kind of silly. Just to take the edge off her words.
Lagertha
Warrior Queen of the Amazons