pharate - waiting to emerge

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

Often, Scorch dreams vividly. Of dragons, of shadow-monsters, of tricksters, of bloody wars, and of death. Of Kagerou, and Echion, and Rain too. The nights are as cacophonous as the days, though Scorch has learned to sleep through the night terrors. On some occasions, when her breath is heavy, her skin is damp with sweat, and her eyelids flicker madly, she thrashes until she wakes. Muffled, semi-conscious screams accompany her madness. On nights like those, Scorch walks the Jungle paths until day comes. For when you relive the worst imaginable parts of your life every night, over and over, sleep becomes far less useful.
 
Tonight offers a new nightmare.
 
Amazon appears to Scorch in a dream, and Scorch does not interrupt. The Goddess’s speech is harmonic, as though each Sister through the course of history has added to Her voice. Scorch stares in utter fascination, though to describe the deity would be impossible, for when she wakes, she remembers only the words spoken, and the incredible sense of awe, wonder, and horror which still cling to her.
 
She gasps into awareness, joints locked, eyes shifting colour madly. Nothing around her has changed, though she throws her head in every direction just to be sure. No blizzard. No war. No death. The Khaleesi swallows. It could have been worse.
 
With trembling legs, Scorch begins the trek to the meeting grounds. I will not look at myself. Despite her wonder and shock, her resolve is stone. Her tattoos are gone, and she knows what this means, she remembers exactly how she looked before she swore herself into the Jungle’s service. She remembers how her skin bunches in angry red patches, or how certain places which should stretch, don’t. Instead, they bleed. She remembers how disfigured she truly is, the way her nose was flattened, her ankles mutilated, her legs scarred beyond belief, and her ears more nubs than ears. She remembers how plastic she feels, how closing her lips and even blinking is a challenge. She remembers being ugly, and constantly in pain. And… Pink.
 
Of course, immortality has slowly helped regenerate some aspects of her physique. The bleeding has stopped, and her face is only scarred, not mutilated. Her ankles move flexibly, and she blinks easily. Her ears have regrown to their large, ugly selves. But she is still hideous. And pink.
 
The naked rat returns.
 
Rhy and Lagertha are in the clearing when she arrives on sturdier legs. Largely, Scorch is nigh on unrecognizable. Neither of her caste leaders have seen Scorch pre-tattoos, or without bladed hooves and teeth. The baldness and the dragon-eyes are easy give aways however; with these eyes – still multicoloured – she looks between the two. Silence consumes the trio for minutes; this isn’t exactly the easiest topic to broach.
 
“Yes,” She breathes hoarsely. She does not allow her head to drop in defeat, though she feels conquered; naked. Vulnerable. “The kingdom… Amazon... Appeared to me.” All too suddenly, she realizes how hard this will be to explain. “Something changed. The balance of power is shifting. She – Amazon – took away our traits. Our tattoos.” She swallows, but begins speaking more confidently.. “Her spirit roams the Jungle now. A Jaguar. We must protect it, and we may speak to it too.” Glancing towards the shadows, Scorch wonders if the flicker of sinewy silver is a figment of her imagination. “But Amazon also grants traits. Lagertha, you may have a horn or horns of your choice. Two horses in the army may also receive wings.” She looks to Rhy. “And to you, Amazon gives empathy. To your second in command, invisilbilty. I’ll allow the both of you to decide which horses receive these gifts.”
 
Silence falls then, for Scorch has spoken far too long. Her body aches for lack of her tattoos. Closing her eyes, she leans towards Lagertha and presses the flat of her head into the General’s neck. Two dozen seconds pass, and Scorch swings her head to repeat the gesture upon Rhy’s golden skin.   She lifts her head with the words:
 
“Her spirit will return our tattoos. I do not know when, but She will. Take solace in that.”

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle