MANDATORY KINGDOM MEETING/ACTIVITY CHECK

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

They come like moths to the light, though very great, powerful moths they are. Each mare listens intently to Scorch’s voice, and the khaleesi momentarily bathes in the glory of the moment. She’s dreamt of being in this very spot since fillyhood, since she knew how to say mama and was told to say Echion. Decades of dedication have lead up to this very moment, a moment which the muscular fire-queen refuses to squander.

Alptraum steps forward, the light glittering upon her scar-strewn body. Scorch meets her nightmarish gaze, listening intently as the woman takes the oath. The shadows of a smile curl at her lips – literal shadows, I might add, considering Scorch’s Twilight Manipulation. The death mask drawn intricately on the Percheron’s face is quite suiting, she muses. In the next moment however, the gesture and the smoke vanish. “The war caste welcomes you.”

Sunday – her absent blood rider – steps forward, asking to go to the Gates. Scorch allows Rhy to answer. The next question, however, she shoulders. “The Tundra, Deserts, Dale, and Falls are open to friendly, no-consequence steals and challenges for the moment, as we are allied or soon-to-be allied with them. The others – Gates, Chamber, Valley – are… Well, that’s a decision for all of us to make. To open fire on those who are not our allies, or to be nice, domestic jungle kitties to everyone?” She smirks, eyeing the crowd. The answer she expects is quite obvious, but considering the group before her – largely diplomats, unfortunately for her – might not respond accordingly.

Her precious adventurer shows up without explanation, though there needn’t be one for Scorch’s eyes to light up, exploding into a bright yellow. Her tailless son has quite grown up, she notices as he begins speaking. He ought to be elsewhere – though I suppose he has been, considering the stink of the Valley on him. Well, so be it. “We’ll keep that in mind, Shahrizai.”

The meeting continues seamlessly; Myrina throws a joke towards Scorch in an attempt to be droll. “My dear friend and sister, if it is war you’re looking for, I’m the wrong Khaleesi to have chosen.” Her voice is heavy in sarcasm, the undertone of laughter shimmering in her baritone voice. “I’m too much of a people pleaser.” She winks; but enough with the banter.

Little Nayl slithers to the front of the herd, a focal point if ever there was one. Scorch meets her niece’s gaze for almost the entire process; Myrina’s glance does not go unmet. Her own intricate tattoos blaze against her hairless skin as vine, flower, frog, rune, and ice are born. “And to which caste shall you belong, Nayl?” A subtle undertone of awe resides in the queen’s voice as she addresses the filly – few of the other sisters may understand, but Myrina does. Scorch meets her true-sister’s eyes for a split second, thoughts of great significance laying therein.

Another filly steps forward, unafraid to herald Scorch’s attention. Watching silently and with an expression of authoritative approval, Scorch appreciates the meekness of the filly’s tattoos. A bumble bee scurries about her red flower, causing the woman’s lips to twitch, but only just. “And you, daughter of Dorne; which caste calls to you most?”

Another stallion dilutes the stereotype of an all-female Jungle, though this one says nothing. Scorch nods to Malyk wordlessly, mimicking his silence. Though he has been quiet in the way of life-decisions, he is her lady’s son, and for that, she respects him.

Lyris trundles into the meeting next, carrying herself in her predictable stuck-up fashion - her offer to visit somewhere does make Scorch snort in quiet laughter, however. The women of the Jungle will always be contradictory, and she loves them for it. Little Wrynn – who stands not far off, but far enough to show respect – offers herself as well. Scorch eyes her coolly, allowing a nod of approval to escape her. She may not appreciate what has caused her supposed daughter’s existence, but she will not force her to suffer through the discomfort and pain of not know whether or not she was doing something right or wrong. Scorch could be proud of anyone – blood has no importance.

Rhy scoops up the various offers for diplomatic visits, to which Scorch nods appreciatively. When her Avthillar encourages war-like activities, Scorch chuckles under her breath, but says nothing. The bases have been good and covered, as Ephrelle steps up to the plate fearlessly, offering to accompany Rhy to the Tundra. Good, that’s settled then.

Dorne’s second child appears next to Ephrelle, raising his small voice. His question is a rather good one, one which older male-members have perhaps not the courage to ask. ”Male residents and Brothers are welcome to spar and mock amongst the Sisterhood, as well as offer aid during times of war. But you may accompany your sister if you want. Perhaps you’ll like the Tundra; plenty of my family, and perhaps some of yours, reside there.”

Lagertha heralds the attention of the group for a moment, allowing Scorch to study her subjects – no, her sisters, her family. Long ago, when she stood beneath her ‘dam’s’ white-and-black barrel, she dreamed of having subjects. Now, she knows the importance and strength of family. This, this is her family. The sentiment flourishes as she glances back to Hestoni; her titan is the physical manifestation of her love. What she cannot show others, she shows to him, and perhaps this is a good thing. There are many horses who can whether a passionate anger – but a passionate love is something few can withstand. She smiles to him.

Her attention wavers once more as Lyris departs all of a sudden, causing Scorch’s smile to grow into one more humorous.  Glancing around the group for who might follow her weather-manipulation sister, Scorch’s eyes settle on Malka, her lady. She hasn’t noticed her quetzal sister until now – she’s been unusually quiet. Speak with me later, her long-held gaze says.

The final arrival comes with something distinctly dead grasped between her jaws, to which Scorch quirks a brow. She’s not repulsed – hell, she has bladed teeth, she’s had her go at the rodents now and again – but rather intrigued. “You must be Vyx,” She calls through the throng, a tone of curiosity in her commanding voice. “I'm sure we'll find a place for you.”

Raising her thickly boned head, Scorch allows silence to fall before continuing. “If any others have questions or concerns, you are welcome to speak… Otherwise, I find this meeting quite done. In another month or two, our alliances will be secured, and our targets sure. Lagertha and Rhy, you are welcome to calling your own meetings at any given time and organising the new sisters into the castes.” Dipping her head to the caste leaders, Scorch steps back once, allowing the crowd to disperse. If other stragglers show up, she greets them, and if others raise their voice, she replies.

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

NOVEL ALERT. sorry lol - I replied to everyone