02-25-2016, 08:16 PM
I am iron and I forge myself
She’s caught between a rock and a hard place; that goddamn woman holds her best friend’s presumably at death’s door, and Lagertha can do nothing about it from here. From here, her gifts are useless. From here, she cannot protect the woman who has stood by her side in every instance - she cannot defend the one mare that has never needed a defense. Lagertha rages inside, itching to don her spiked armor and run full tilt towards the Chamber Queen. But that would not do - no, irrational anger is what gets everyone killed. She would keep her head, and she would find a way out of this mess. With Rhy still alive. Or she would find a way to brush up against every single Chamberling and poison them.
The Gates’ empath is already dead, Lagertha saw her crumble and knows that she can do nothing else for the mare. Perhaps her easy death would be a blessing, given the abundancy and absurdity of traits that now litter their world. There are a hundred ways to die, each more gruesome than the next. They are breeding a generation of monsters and dropping themselves right into their gaping maws. She hears the pounding of hooves from far away and watches a familiar spotted figure appear. Kratos! She doesn’t stop to wonder how or why, or from whence he came, knowing only that if there was ever one to save Rhy (who was neither Lagertha, nor a magician - Yael is still nowhere to be seen), it is her lightning almost-lover.
The Iron Queen’s stares will save her from the fate of the other men, for when she sees sparks jettison from Kratos, she covers herself in a conducting material, allowing the same bolts of lightning that knock out Vanquish and Mast, to travel harmlessly (well, mostly) into the dunes. She buzzes. Literally. There’s naught but a tingling and twitching left in her muscles when she hears Yael’s voice echo across the sands. She can’t see what the golden mare is doing, but her voice is clear enough to make her excited; all is not lost. The gray mare doesn’t even bother looking at Straia, but sets to waking up the fallen men (ugh, men, as usual, she has to do all the work) at her feet. With several none-to-gentle nudges from her hooves and some very loud encouragement “Vanquish, Mast, wake up! Wake up!”
The smoke on the horizon tells her that war is at hand. And when the black giant finally rises, the first thing Lagertha tells him is this “Yael has Straia’s daughter. Somewhere up high. That’s why she isn’t here.”
Now the only decision is where to go - where to fight, who to rally. and where the fuck is Prague? What of the Jungle, and where are her warriors?
Thank goodness Anguisette isn’t here. Prague! she yells silently. Keep me informed on what’s going on. Where am I needed most?
The Gates’ empath is already dead, Lagertha saw her crumble and knows that she can do nothing else for the mare. Perhaps her easy death would be a blessing, given the abundancy and absurdity of traits that now litter their world. There are a hundred ways to die, each more gruesome than the next. They are breeding a generation of monsters and dropping themselves right into their gaping maws. She hears the pounding of hooves from far away and watches a familiar spotted figure appear. Kratos! She doesn’t stop to wonder how or why, or from whence he came, knowing only that if there was ever one to save Rhy (who was neither Lagertha, nor a magician - Yael is still nowhere to be seen), it is her lightning almost-lover.
The Iron Queen’s stares will save her from the fate of the other men, for when she sees sparks jettison from Kratos, she covers herself in a conducting material, allowing the same bolts of lightning that knock out Vanquish and Mast, to travel harmlessly (well, mostly) into the dunes. She buzzes. Literally. There’s naught but a tingling and twitching left in her muscles when she hears Yael’s voice echo across the sands. She can’t see what the golden mare is doing, but her voice is clear enough to make her excited; all is not lost. The gray mare doesn’t even bother looking at Straia, but sets to waking up the fallen men (ugh, men, as usual, she has to do all the work) at her feet. With several none-to-gentle nudges from her hooves and some very loud encouragement “Vanquish, Mast, wake up! Wake up!”
The smoke on the horizon tells her that war is at hand. And when the black giant finally rises, the first thing Lagertha tells him is this “Yael has Straia’s daughter. Somewhere up high. That’s why she isn’t here.”
Now the only decision is where to go - where to fight, who to rally. and where the fuck is Prague? What of the Jungle, and where are her warriors?
Thank goodness Anguisette isn’t here. Prague! she yells silently. Keep me informed on what’s going on. Where am I needed most?
Lagertha
warrior queen of the amazons