Scorch;

[Nayl]

Burn my lungs and curse my eyes The trees do not bend to Nayl's will as they do for mother's. They stand tall, towering high above her like sentinels guarding their home. The girl regards them mildly then continues forward along a trail that she has grown accustomed to. Roots jut out from the ground as vines scramble across the forest floor. The Jungle is a fierce and wild place. It's untamed as are its children. They revel in the reputation that has been forged by them and hold it firmly in their fists. Amazons are destined to be a powerful force - strong-willed and ferocious but somehow alluring in their own unique way. The children born and raised here are well aware of this although some embrace tradition more than others. Nayl thinks herself as one of those gifted few. The child moves along like the most silent of panthers. Her footsteps are hushed as she threads among the bushes and uprooted trees until she glimpses Scorch in the distance. Pausing, the girl considers the delicate situation and glances up at the green canopy above. Her mind races and flickers to her absent mother before tunneling onto the Khaleesi. The corners of her mouth quiver in a forming grin but the breeze that kisses her skin blows it away. When she steps through the trees Nayl looks all too similar to Echion in both her appearance and mannerisms. There's an elegant ferocity in her eyes and face as she draws to a muted halt. Her ears swivel before she finally speaks. "Aunt Scorch," she is family and for a heartbeat Nayl thinks it will grant her favor but then she shakes her head and corrects herself. "Khaleesi." The firmness of her autumn eyes burn into her aunt, confidence brimming her words. "I can be - will be - a better Amazon than my mother." She doesn't need to say anything more to tell that it's more than just a statement; it's a promise. "She can't teach me like you can," there's a gleam in her eye and a quirk of her lips as she searches for Scorch's reaction. Nayl covet and myrina's creation

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

The resemblance between adopted (by force) aunt and niece when the two were of the same age is uncanny. The trees had never bent for Scorch the way they bent for Echion until the blood, sweat and tears she had shed could make a sea when combined together. The journey had been difficult, though Scorch always knew, right from the start. As the Khaleesi stands, these musings fluttering amongst her many other occupations and responsibilities, she allows that the only differences found between Nayl and herself are their mothers’ level of approval, and their temperature.

For Scorch is fire, and Nayl, ice.

The wind picks up suddenly, and this gives away Nayl’s silent, stealthy approach. The volcanic-queen smirks in way of greeting, muttering, “Speak of the devil,” under her breath as she turns to face her niece. Otherwise, the woman remains silent until the small, determined girl greets her out of her own will.

Strong girl. I see generations of warriors in you... And how like Echion this makes you. The perfect bloodline-continuer. Little do either of you know – blood means nothing. I have proved everyone wrong, especially you, mother. But I suppose that that is what has driven me all these years – so thanks for being such a bitch to me. I guess.

“You may call me what you wish, Nayl, daughter of Myrina, daughter of Echion.” She quirks an entirely made-up brow at the black paint’s (so like Echion, with her wings chopped off that is) next statement. “Your mother was and is a treasured part of the sisterhood. It won’t be easy to beat her. Mother’s tend to have a way of… Seeming insurmountable. But if I did it, you can, too.”

The smirk slips from her charred lips at the suggestion of tutorage. She had tried with Ea – and succeeded, mind you – despite her daughter’s reluctance. Her shoulders roll as pros and cons are weighed. She considers how much of a nuisance children are – she has had eight, after all. She also considers how un-childlike this girl is. Ea, too, had an adult-ish air about her; and an air of snobbery, but some rulers are destined to be aristocratic.

The minutes pass by, Scorch’s indestructible emerald-green eyes bore into Nayl, perhaps testing her resolution, perhaps simply lost in her own thoughts. A howler screams nearby, causing Scorch to blink, and then straighten to her full, mighty height.

“What do you want to know?”

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

I haven't written in like... 2384214712897174012 years. Please ignore the bleghness of this I had a really bad night. I don't even know how I'm wording. ALSO WELCOME TO HAVING THREE THREADS WITH ME HAHAHAHA ur welcum im fantasstiq

[Nayl]

Burn my lungs and curse my eyes Nayl's blood is boiling, not with anger, but with passion. There is a fire in the pit of her soul that is raging and yet she holds herself well. She is composed and refined unlike many of her more brutish counterparts. There are finer qualities about her that have been chiseled to perfection from her mother. Generations of fine breeding have produced a child that finds herself immaculate, but she would never admit to this. In the face of her peers, Nayl is a perfect combination of humble and confident. Many would flinch in the eyes of their Khaleesi and her brash ways, but the girl is quietly fascinated. There are flaws in the Queen just as there are flaws in every other ruler of Beqanna. That is life, but Nayl silently picks them apart and harbors the information. One day, she will be a Queen; one day, she will be better than them all. A reserved grin tips up the corners of her mouth when she listens to Scorch. "Mother hasn't done nearly as much as my grandmother had once done," she pauses long enough to idly flick her tail, "Or you." She loves mother, but she wants to best her. Nayl is ambitious while Myrina seems to lack that treasured quality. Such a pity, the girl muses as her autumn eyes find the canopy. "I know I cn do it, aunt," the statement is exhaled on an expectant sigh as her gaze falls back to the fiery Khaleesi. Her voice is silky, sweet even, but with other undertones hidden to the unobservant ear. "Where to begin?" So much has to come naturally, but there are others that must be polished. A thoughtful hum vibrates through Nayl as she considers the prospect. Teach me to be a Queen, she almost says, but she doesn't want it to be too obvious. Teach me to be successful, she thinks, but that doesn't sound strong at all. Simply teach me, she tells herself, but that is too broad. "I want to be a true Amazon, not one simply because I live here." They are the elite. They are fierce and wise, fearless and strong, sultry and venomous. "I want to be an Amazon that would make grandmother and all past generations proud." Teach me to be a Queen, she doesn't say. Nayl covet and myrina's creation

I LURVE HAVING THREADS WITH YOUUU

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

Three years, she muses, contemplating her niece through hardened eyes. Three years under the crown, and still I ponder whose shoulders might bear its weight whence I am worn and undeserving. Her eyes wander across the filly’s body, remembering how Echion’s skin had curved and moved in an identical fashion. Doubts flicker through her, images of other possibilities just behind the endless green of her eyes. Three years, and more to solidify an heir. Worry later, Scorch.

“If you are anything like Echion, you will succeed, with or without my guidance, just as I succeeded without hers.” The darkness from her past creeps into their conversation not only through her words but physically, too; shadows pool amongst the grasses, swirling up, up, up, until a pair of wings lay across Nayl’s small back. Scorch admires her work, silent for a moment; when next she speaks, the mirage fades.

“An Amazon is many things,” She murmurs in her husky voice, “And I can only show you some of what being one encompasses.” Her brow furrows, eyes shifting to a flinty purple-grey. “But I will show you what I know. For Echion.”

“Tell me a few things about yourself, niece. Have you any traits? Who is your father? Which kingdoms have you seen? Which caste suits your fancy?” A tight smile curls the edges of her lips towards the canopy above. “You may be Myrina’s daughter, but blood is nothing but a liquid. I will know you, before I guide you.”

Scorch, Scorch, Scorch. Through all the years, I’ve never known you to have a trivial side. It’s endearing, really, don’t you agree?

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle