"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
09-01-2015, 10:11 PM (This post was last modified: 09-02-2015, 02:32 PM by Scorch.)
WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT
Something’s not right. She’s been through this twice already; the swelling sides, the obnoxious appetite, and the complete exhaustion from the moment her dragon eyes opened to the glorious moment they could close. Twins were to her what snow is to coniferous trees; with this pair however, something is legitimately wrong.
You see, her belly has grown incredibly (the small tongues of flames strangely distorted on the stretched skin), but her appetite remains as small as the ones she experienced with singlets. And while increasingly tired, she has not yet hit the “low.” The absolute bottom, if you will. The morning where, instead of weaving her way to the border to patrol, she slinks into the shadowy coolness of a nearby cave to suffer in silence for a few glorious hours.
That day? It has not come yet.
And she’s beginning to worry.
Scorch wakes up one morning as she always does, an hour before the first true ray of sunlight. Her eyes (sickly blue), meet the fortress of her kingdom, of the mighty Jungle. And as a proud smile flickers across her charred lips, a pain slices across her insides. There one moment, gone the next.
She thinks nothing of it for days.
When the slices become jolts and then aches, a frenzy takes over her.
The Khaleesi has been gone perhaps more than could be deemed responsible for a leader, and with no public excuse. Instead of meeting her queenly duties, Scorch hides, bathing in warm waters in the hopes of suppressing the attacks. Whence they make an appearance, however, Scorch physically stumbles, or keels over, eyes clenched, breath heavy. Sometimes the pain lasts for nearly a minute; sometimes the pain comes back repeatedly. Sometimes sweat drenches her skin, and she wonders if the children will ever survive birth; sometimes she feels so cold, she swears she travelled to the Tundra in her sleep.
This morning, some resemblance of straight thought patterns develop within her. With fumbling hooves, the once mighty Scorch searches for Lagertha, moving carefully through the Jungle, terrified of the pain, of the damage which may be being done to her children. Miraculously, she makes the journey without a clenching of her guts. Breathing heavily – for she hasn’t been eating well, and it shows in her compressed ribs and bloated stomach – Scorch scents the woman whom she seeks.
“Lagertha,” She calls, failing to hide the feebleness of her tones. “Lagertha,” Quietly now, veiling the fear and pain as Scorch slowly closes the space between them. Swallowing and gathering her thoughts, the sickly Khaleesi concentrates on standing straight, breathing normally, and clearing the feverish glaze from her eyes.
“I’m sick.” She states simply, too hazed to put her problem more eloquently. “My children… Something’s wrong.” Her head turns slowly to caress her right side; when a light pain brushes against her, Scorch flinches away, an invisible (magical) barrier separating her from her daughters. Looking back up to Lagertha through cloudy pale yellow eyes, she attempts a hard expression and knows it fails horribly.
“The Jungle – She wants you, and I do too.” Eyes tingling with tears, they nearly drop to the earth, but something of the Khaleesi’s back bone remains, and she holds the Jaqqa’s gaze. “Will you help me?” A pause, caused by the lump in her throat and the dullness behind her eyes. “I know it’s not appealing to you to help me, but I can’t… I need to concentrate on living, and nursing the children to health when they’re born.” Tail swishing weakly, Scorch tries on a sad smile, only to throw it away and succumb to the terror.
“The Jungle’s yours, Lagertha. I know you want her, so I won’t take no for an answer. Congratulati--” Head dropping as a surge of pain claims her abdomen, Scorch allows the word to fade into oblivion. Leaning suddenly against a strategically close tree, the ex-Khaleesi looks up through dripping sweat to the gray warrior and hisses through clenched teeth: “Call them. Tell them. I’ll be,” She glances towards an overhanging boulder not far off, “There.”
Pride crushed, children in danger, and tears stinging angrily into her sockets, Scorch hobbles to the shadows. Eyes closing, the once-legendary woman leans against the cool stone, waiting for the inevitable call of the new Khaleesi Lagertha.
Scorch
Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle
Please, before replying, allow Lagertha to reply first.
idrk what this is. highschool started and I decided there's no point waiting til mid september if I can barely take care of myself irl. I'll be around though friends. It was a really, really good time with all of you. Much love to my Zons; Scorch and I were honoured to lead you.
09-02-2015, 07:47 AM (This post was last modified: 09-02-2015, 08:52 AM by Lagertha.)
this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more
Family (the flesh and blood kind) is not her forte; she has no lover to cradle at night, no one who makes her want to produce their own little herd of rugrats. Her only son is a disappointment, and while she has never outwardly criticized him (much), she knows he knows, and some part of her feels as if it is her fault. Whether there will be more or not (there probably will be, at some point), she doesn’t know. For now, the Jungle is her child and its women are her family, and for now, she is not wanting for anything. Grim Reaper set her up well for that, sowing the seed of independence the moment she abandoned her last daughter. The General has known for awhile now just exactly what she wanted, and she wasn’t about to let childbirth or motherhood, or anything else distract her from her goal. With any luck, there would be plenty of time for that much farther down the line.
Yesterday, Tantalize took the Air Force wings and within minutes, they had disappeared from her shoulder blades, simply evaporating into thin air. And when they were gone, a tingle began at the top of her hooves, creeping upward in a shot of whiskey, pleasantly drunk sort of way. It spread itself through every short and long muscle fiber, every blood vessel and aching joint. Beqanna wasn’t fucking kidding around - its actions were remarkably fast this time. In regaining her immortality, part one of her complete.
She anticipates that Part Two will take a little longer, as getting all the ducks in a row is a delicate and tiresome task. So when Lagertha wakes up, she feels like a younger version of herself again - the one that rose with the dawn and trained at her obstacle course every day. The bruises and cuts and fights over the years no longer protest at her rising. God, she wishes she could stretch like a cat today and feel everything reanimate itself. The perpetual to-do list comes up and as she’s running over it (all the things she has the energy to do today!), Scorch’s voice invades her thoughts.
An ear flicks towards where the mare’s voice comes from, and despite the fact that she does not like the hairless rat, there is something wrong about the way she’s calling out. She’s not bunked down in the middle of the clearing, so there is the typical Jungle clusterfuck to get around, and when Scorch finally does show herself, Lagertha’s dark gray eyes widen. Oh. Oh she does not look good. Not at all. Unfortunately, the General isn’t the cuddly, comforting sort. She’s the physically supporting and awkward pat on the shoulder and stand guard over the hospital room sort. “Scorch…?” she asks in a low, gravelly voice. All enmity aside, they are sisters. Whether either of them likes it or not. She takes a step towards the unwell mare and listens while trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
Part of her is elated, and that same part of her selfishly curses that it has come to this - a passing on the crown by default - though it does explain her notable absence. The gray mare nods decisively and says simply, “I will,” and because she cannot stand the weakness in Scorch’s eyes, she moves towards her again, pivoting to put herself up as a cane for the ailing woman. “Lean on me,” she murmurs, noting that it was a good thing that the two of them are similar sizes - she can take the brunt of Scorch’s weight and not collapse (thanks immortality) - at least for the several feet between them and the overhanging rock she seems to want to lay under. When Scorch is as comfortable as Lagertha can ensure, she takes a step back and stands to the side, guarding the former Queen as she would any fallen soldier. “When Sunday gets here, she can help.” Or so Lagertha hopes.
In as loud a voice as she can muster, the General summons her sisters to a rather unconventional meeting place. She leaves no one behind, and if Scorch cannot make it to the traditional meeting place, then the women will simply have to come to them. And now, all she can do is wait. Wait and watch and try to calm her racing mind.
They do come - slowly but surely - and Lagertha knows that there are questions to be answered, especially from those who are fond of Scorch. She hopes none of them are crazy enough to jump to conclusions, for there is no evidence of foul play, at least none that Lagertha could have caused. Her horns may rise above her head in a sharp, pointy headdress, but there is no blood on either of them. Any battle between them would have been full of bloodshed… If and when Sunday comes, Lagertha asks her to take a look at the fire sister and she if she can do anything to help or alleviate the pain or… something. Just do something. And finally, when it seems as they are all here, she looks out over their questioning eyes and takes a deep breath, diving right in. She stands tall and stoic, her horns (which she will have to give up) already an artificial crown. “As you can see, Scorch is unwell, and if anyone can help her, please do so now. If not, we will need someone to take her to the Falls. You all should know that she has also named me her successor, effective immediately. So I turn the question back to you, sisters. Will you have me as your Khaleesi?”
Lagertha is giving them the choice again. The choice that was never given to them ten years ago.
Fear and pain ripple in the back of her mind. Her empathy is growing stronger every day, but like all her other traits, there’s some learning curve. She can’t seem to shut it off completely, but she can feel the difference between her own feelings and others now. And she knows neither the fear nor the pain belong to her. But who, then? This part, she can’t figure out. She just knows that both of these are loud enough to find her over the din of everyday emotions.
Rhy takes off, hunting for the source of the feelings. She can feel them growing stronger and she’s sure she’s on the right track when Lagertha’s call rings out. Lagertha? Why was their Jaqqa calling the whole kingdom?
What’s happened?
This feels all too like ten years ago when Scorch had called them in Brunhild’s place. This feels all too like ten years ago when the Jungle had been split in half, let unsettled and healing from it’s own silent civil war. Her own uncertainty starts to cloud the pain and fear she feels, but she shakes it away. Not the time, and she can, if nothing else, control her own emotions. Still, a few stray sparks fly off her skin.
She finds them both quickly enough, Scorch in the shadows behind Lagertha. Rhy doesn’t need Lagertha’s speech to understand, to know that Scorch is sick, that the throne has passed. She has no qualms with the new choice for Khaleesi – Rhy would have picked Lag herself, after all – and she simply nods to her warrior friend before moving to Scorch’s side. One day, Rhy would find the humor to laugh at Lagertha with her crown made of horns. One day, she’d mock bow and tease her friend, because they had always been like that.
But right now, her concern is for Scorch, and she’s got an eye out for Sunday. If the mare cannot help, maybe the Falls can. If nothing else, Rhy can get Scorch there, no walking necessary. But she’d rather wait for their resident witch, or perhaps Prague would come. Rhy doesn’t say anything, just offers her support to Scorch. She may be far smaller than Scorch or Lagertha, but she wasn’t useless, and she won’t leave her friend.
The moment the words had fallen from her lips, Lagertha’s wings evaporated. Suddenly she felt a new weight attaching right above her shoulder blades. It was an odd feeling, very unlike the invisible burden that was carried their daily. The General hadn’t been lying when she said they would form to her. Craning her neck to check out these new appendages, she sees they match her dark bay coat and even better, her jaguar spots run freely over the feathers. ”Very cool.” She admits with a little grin. Unfurling one wing and then the next is done with little to no grace but she figures with some practice, she will look like she’s had wings her whole life.
That had only been yesterday, today she’s in a clearing that gives her some room to work with. Practicing opening and closing, stretching, all those little odds and ends that come with having a nifty set of wings. She’s getting better at feeling them out by the time she hears the call. Slowly she folds the wings to her body and sets off towards the meeting area. She had figured Lagertha had a few tricks up her sleeve, had seen the ambition in her eyes the day she met her. They had all known it, that she would make an excellent leader. With the tension between Scorch and her, she figured something was bound to happen. To her surprise, she sees Scorch in utterly bad shape leaning against the General. Her sides are huge but the rest of her body is so thin. It almost looks as if she is dying.
Lagertha, compared to the fading mare at her side, looks sparkling and new…As if she had gotten even younger. Then she speaks and Liz dips her head in agreement with the choice and what is happening. ”Khaleesi.” She acknowledges, golden eyes briefly warm in her direction. She had known that change would be coming, deep down they all had. It’s still strange to hear another wear that crown but the wings that shift along her back remind her that she has a new role now, a new purpose. Her attention turns to Scorch, looking as if she might come apart at the seams. The jaguar mare comes to her side, eyeing the swollen barrel of the former ruler. ”You should have given birth ages ago…” She murmurs softly, a soft whicker to try and soothe her during this obviously terrifying time. She was no healer, no magician. It’s not a good feeling to be so helpless when you want to do something to alleviate that pain and fear. All she can do is stand watch and try to help where she can and console the woman who had welcomed her back when she may not have deserved it.
09-02-2015, 06:15 PM (This post was last modified: 09-02-2015, 06:53 PM by Vyx.)
It was lust that first led Vyx to the Jungle, a writhing yearn that was as new and peculiar to her as the Jungle would be. Borne from naught more than stolen glances and quickened breaths, Vyx’s lonely and daring heart was more than stirred to follow the iron mare to wherever it was she called home. Distracted and beguiled along the way, once she was firmly in the sultry depths of the Jungle’s embrace – she was ensnared. Every curve of a palm frond was a cradle for her, every cluster of mangrove roots was a den, every howl of a new monkey or shriek of a parrot was another opportunity for her tongue to savor a new taste. Chameleons are not even half as tasty as python eggs and Toucans bite twice as hard as you’d think they would, trust me.
Vyx had padded through the Jungle for months on end without ever changing form, only when faced with something truly outsizing her did she shift into the delicate black mare whose mane and tail were far too outrageously colored for her liking. She was able to feed her introversion here, here she was able to dive into the depths and forget the forever echo of loneliness that beat in her chest. Here she could be no one, a shadow amongst the soil, a rustle amongst the palms. But when the call comes, when she calls, Vyx is goaded from the tangle of the Jungle like a snake to a promised warm stone and a hard sun. I’m coming, I’m coming, I hope you haven’t forgotten me.
As she drew up on the edge of the gathering, her breath is caught and held for a moment in mix of admiration and confusion. Her furred black chest heaves with elation as the scene unfolds and understanding flushes her body with an urgency to move, to touch, to breathe in her new queen (well, the only one she’d ever had as Vyx had never been sworn beneath Scorch). Quickly, the black fox slinks through the labyrinth of horse legs to make her way to the front of the gathering, yipping excitedly to her lion-mare friend. Rash and unguarded, the fox leaps forward to weave around Lagertha’s front hooves, curling a black tail up the grey mare’s foreleg, “Khaleesi,” she coos. Maybe, one day you'll be my Khaleesi…
Well damn, the Jungle hasn’t been very exciting lately. Neither has Beqanna in general, in fact. The territories have stagnated, growing quiet as horses trickle away. And it’s left her with very little to do.
I mean, there’s of course stuff she could do. Like recruiting, stealing and challenging … but that’s all so … typical. Boring. She needs something … new.
She hasn’t gone out seeking it though. Not yet. She had promised Lagertha that she would practice her flying so that she can give her wings to another army member, and so she has. She’s gotten pretty good at it too - it takes far less concentration now than it had when she’d first started. Hopefully she’ll be able to get rid of the blasted things soon. She’s not particularly fond of the feathered wings now sprouting out of her shoulders - they’re itchy and irritatingly warm in the muggy Jungle heat.
She’s actually practicing her flying when Lagertha’s voice rings out across the kingdom. She’s taken to practicing it in one of the more remote clearings of the kingdom - far out of the way of normal kingdom doings. She doesn’t want to give anyone too much of a window of what she’s capable of.
Her first response to the call is of course, surprise. Lagertha is not the Khaleesi, she has never called a kingdom meeting before - only army meetings. Has something happened to Scorch? Or is Lagertha having another moment of rebellion? Her curiosity is instantly peaked and she rushes to find the meeting. It takes her a little while - it’s in a different location than usual - but eventually she does find it. And when she does, she feels both concerned and intrigued.
There at the head of the meeting, stands Lagertha. And behind her, lies Scorch. On the ground and in obvious distress.
Something is clearly wrong - but what? An initial thought that Lagertha could be behind it is quickly banished. Though she wouldn’t put it past the General to do something underhanded (her dislike of the fiery queen is well known), Lagertha isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t leave Scorch alive to potentially contradict her own story.
Thankfully, the Jaqqa quickly voices an explanation. No, not Jaqqa any more. Khaleesi. Well now this is interesting. It must be true, considering Scorch is lying right behind her. Lagertha would be stupid to lie with the fiery mare so close.
A few members voice their consent and a strange black fox winds it’s way through Lagertha’s legs, calling out in a voice that put’s Lyris’ teeth on edge. If she wasn’t sure it was a shifter, she’d probably send a good gust of wind in its direction. Tearing her eyes away from the beastly little thing, she finally adds her own voice to the conversation.
“If it comes to it I can probably fly her to the Falls. It’ll be a bitch though.” She rather hopes it doesn’t come to that. It’s rather easier to fly herself since she can actually feel the wind currents about her body. She obviously wouldn’t be able to sense what Scorch is feeling - the tattooed mare might get a few bumps and bruises along the way. “Speaking of which, you can pass on these wings whenever you like.” Sooner rather than later would be nice.
And as for whether she’ll accept Lagertha as Khaleesi? “Sure, what the hell. Why not.”
Sunday can feel the shift well before the meeting is called. There's something in the air the last few days that has left the mare at ill ease. In her bones there's something amiss, but she cannot place her finger on it. Her powers are not so omnipotent, she is no magician. She simply had...well...she's unsure. No one really knows.
When Lagertha calls out, Sunday can sense the unease in her voice. The general is a stoic woman, she is a skilled warrioress that could outpace anyone. For her emotions to be so clearly on her sleeve? Sunday wastes no time in making her way through the Jungle.
Each step she sees colors leaking from the ground, from the trees, from the small gathering. The colors are colors she associates with grief and pain and misery. It sends a shudder down her spine.
She finds the Khalessi then and sees and feels the pain rolling off her. The little heart beats in her belly are going a mile a minute and their stress is evident. Dystocia, the word comes to her but means nothing. She is instantly at her side, a muzzle on the queen's shoulder, her energy pulsating into her sister.
What energy? Sunday doesn't know. She hasn't harnessed her powers, she's barely had them a few years. She just knows that in moments like this it's best to let her instincts kick in. Her eyes close and the energy that flows from her is calming, it's peaceful, it's healing. Will it help with the pain? Will it help with the birth? She can only wait and see.
It has been a long time since she has paid attention to the sound of a kingdom summons, but today is different. Today she is going to swear herself into the Amazonian sisterhood. She will do her sister proud and serve the kingdom that she had been so loyal to. She will become family to these women and she will pledge her lifelong loyalty to them. It is a nerve wracking thought. Everything is going to change today. It is time to stop the aimless wandering and time for her to actually do something with her life. She has been stagnant for far too long.
More is changing than she realizes, though. She has heard Scorch’s call right through the trees many times before, but the call she hears now does not belong to the fiery Khaleesi. Confused but not deterred from her decision, she heads toward the sound of the call. Is Scorch alright? Has Lagertha dethroned her? She knows that the two were never friends (but who doesn’t know that?), but she doesn’t believe that the warrior woman would stoop so low. Would she? Tessla doesn’t truly know anything about these women. She just knows basic names and faces of the higher ranking members of the Jungle. Today is supposed to be the day that all changes.
She finds the others with ease, and freezes as her eyes fall upon the prone form of Scorch. Standing before the fallen, heavily pregnant Khaleesi is Lagertha, the pride of a newly crowned monarch radiating from her. Was she wrong? But no—Scorch is breathing. Her breaths are ragged and shallow, but she is still alive—for now. Is something wrong with her foals? She is too far along to be miscarrying, right? Nerves course through her and she trembles; she has never experienced this before, she doesn’t know how to react. She doesn’t know what she can do to help, if anything. She has never felt so useless.
Voice quaking, she looks to Lagertha. “Khaleesi,” she murmurs, acknowledging the woman as her queen with a respectful dip of her head. “Is she going to be alright?”
Tessla
I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m figuring it out
09-05-2015, 03:50 PM (This post was last modified: 09-06-2015, 08:10 AM by Sarkis.)
AND THE MOME RATHS OUTGRABE
Most days Sarkis spent her time lost in her own little world, in her beautiful wonderland. Her life is filled with sunlight, with joy and rich scented flowers. The jungle vines cast swirling shadows to her backside, the macaws cry out at her passing, dotting the trees with vibrant candied hues. Life was wonderful, absolutely and remarkably wonderful. She side-stepped a familiar flower, one she had first come across when she was young. Much younger than she was now, only having spent 2 short years on the Earth. She smiles at the fond memory of the ‘sneezy flower’ and the afternoon she had spent with Rhy, learning about the balance of nature. She hadn’t before that considered how important balance might be to the world, but it was a lesson she did not soon forget.
Balance could never have kept her from the unease that struck her when Lagertha called them, could not keep her from crashing hazardously through the Jungle the way she did. She was a blaze of emotion, jumping past the overgrowth, striking the ground with long, wide strides. Something was wrong, she knew deep down, there would be no other reason for the army commander to call them. Her Mother was heavy with foal, Sarkis had watched her barrel widen to an amazing girth, expanding until it looked it might pop.
The roan filly didn’t even stop to acknowledge hardly anyone, she went straight to her Mother. ”Momma, momma?!” Her vocals faltered as she failed to hide her fear, her concern, her eyes widen to their whites. She openly cries like a child, a child that she is, afraid for the most important person in her life. Finally her eyes race to each of the other faces that surround the former Khaleesi, blinded with tears and questions. What was she going to do?
There's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye.
She has no special ability to tell when something has gone wrong, when change is in the air. If she had, she might not have hundreds of fractures scoring her body. But she is completely oblivious. For now she is simply resting, lids at half mast, long white tail flicking against her haunches occasionally to whisk away insects. It isn’t until the call rings out through the trees, echoing across the land to call the women of the Jungle together, that she knows something significant has occurred.
The curiosity comes first. Though she had only met briefly with the woman, she easily recognizes that it is not Scorch’s voice. It sounds familiar however, so she responds swiftly. When she arrives in the small clearing, a number of other’s have already gathered. She recognizes Lagertha, recalling the voice as belonging to her. Rhy she also recognizes, but the remaining faces she cannot place names to, though a few she had glimpsed a time or two in passing.
It is immediately clear that Scorch is unwell. Her bare face is etched in pain, her head drooping low. She is somewhat unsure how to react in such a situation, though others seem to have no trouble. She had never been in a position of having to offer aid or comfort to the ailing. Though she is concerned for the fiery woman’s welfare, she is mildly relieved when Lagertha begins talking, explaining the situation.
When the woman puts her question to the sisters, asking if they would accept her as Khaleesi, Joscelin pauses only a moment before dipping her head in a nod. She doesn’t doubt this woman would be as competent a leader as Scorch had been, even if their styles might differ.
I would also be willing to escort her to the Falls, should it be necessary.
Joscelin
Tiphon x Elysteria
html c insane | picture c mikanicole.deviantart.com
![[Image: scorch2.png]](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d3f8827d56fd033f445fc5aa8055947a/3778d5ee43303690-eb/s1280x1920/532e323d08dfe066db7c4d27a9277d571bf7cdb2.jpg)
