[private] I sold my soul for this [Scorch]

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

Not even a week back and already the thrum of kingdom life sings to the mare's heart and soul - even if said thrum happens to be rather lacking right now. Indeed, at the kingdom meeting last night, only two figures showed themselves, and Scorch didn't care to catch their names. Four mares is not enough. It is far from the foundation required to rebuild the legacy of the Amazons.

But that's why Scorch is here; to raise some fucking hell.

Well, in truth she's been recruiting more than she has been hell-raising. But it's an indirect effort. It takes more than four people to raise hell, and although her shoulders are broad and powerful, she cannot take up the slack of so many missing faces. And she has to be picky, too; not in a sexist way, no, just in general. Like Hestia, every fiber of her being yearns to uphold and reestablish the ideologies of the Amazons. Even without the tattoos, the oaths, the sisterhood - Scorch needs for there to be something more. More than just a herd where one can be as flippant as they please.

With the sun blasting overhead, a fiery watcher, Scorch parts the grasses and approaches the place where she had instructed Hestia to meet her. The clearing is large enough to host a kingdom as thirsty and beautiful as she remembers her Jungle, with her subjects. But she does not long for ownership, nor for the crown. For the first time in her life, Scorch is content with her placement - even more so, she thrives under it. Not that it's official yet - but with such a legacy and such experience, titles come easily.

If not, her advice would still be received with the same gravity.

"The pleasure's all mine."

Frankly, it's surprising that Hestia does not outright know Scorch. Even if this was their first time meeting, Scorch's appearance isn't exactly one that goes ungossiped. Her skin is scarred and mottled, black, pink, pale cream, with strangely placed patches of bay roan. Her powerful muscles ripple beneath the thin hide, and her hammer head is marked by the glimmering, color-changing orbs set in her eyesockets.

"I am Scorch. Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle." She dips her head, a show of respect, one that others before Hestia would not have so easily received. But times are different, now. Harder. Meager. "And I am at your service."

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle