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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    between the shadows and the soul
    #1

    i am the violence in the pouring rain

    i am a hurricane

    She knows they are here – Lagertha, Vanquish, Mast. She’d heard them leave the Gates, knew that the ravens had not yet seen any of them return home. They might miss Lagertha returning back to the Jungle, but there were no magical protections on the Gates. At the very least, they would have known if Mast had returned.

    She doesn’t need all of them anyway. She only needs one or two key witness. It will be enough.

    Her cousin is there, standing at the entrance in the sand wall, looking resigned and tired. “It will be over soon, cousin,” Straia says softly, feeling almost bad for taking advantage of Rhy’s weaknesses. But it was for the better, in the end. The sooner this all began, the sooner it ended. And in truth, Straia was ready for it to end. But she would not simply roll over and give up. No, she’s finish what she started the only way she could.

    If only the Gates hadn’t talked so much of revenge. If only the other kingdoms hadn’t made all this so terribly easy. Perhaps then, peace could have stayed in Beqanna. Perhaps then, the fear instilled by the Chamber’s name would have been enough to sate the bloodthirsty kingdom. But everyone else was bloodthirsty too. They just didn’t have the guts to admit it. They had to pretend they were fighting on the right side. So be it. Straia didn’t care what they thought of her.

    She cared that the Chamber had half of Beqanna up in arms. They had given her exactly what she wanted.

    She turns to Wichita and Rhy, nodding toward the Deserts, though she goes no farther than the border. “Find Lagertha, Mast and Vanquish, or whoever of that group you can. And then wait.” Two black ravens appear on each captive’s back, talons finding purchase in their soft flesh. Straia cannot go any farther, she knows, but she’ll make it clear just who’s pulling the strings.

    She watches through the raven’s eyes, and when her captives have found the horses they seek, she speaks through their mouths. “Keep plotting, please,” say the voice, the sarcasm dripping obviously from the words. The words are slightly distorted through the raven’s mouths, but it’s enough. “In the meantime, I will keep picking away at your homes and your loved ones.”

    She reaches first for Wichita’s heart, gripping it firmly in her mind, crushing it quickly. It is almost a kindness. She could have made it slow and painful, could have dragged out the girl’s death, squeezing the life from her bit by bit. But the Gates mare hardly deserved that cruel of an ending. Well, to be fair, she didn’t deserve to die at all. But needs must and all that.

    Straia reaches for Rhy’s heart next, grabbing it lightly with her mind, slowing it down. “How many will it take?” She squeezes slightly harder, though still not enough to kill. She’ll only kill if she really has to, but she’s pretty sure one will be enough. The bleeding hearts in the Deserts won’t let her kill a second. “I do have your Princess captive too, Mast.”

    At this point, she’s turned back into a raven at the border of the Deserts, ready to either kill Rhy in a swift motion if she has to, or take off back to the Chamber before they can touch her.

    straia

    the raven queen of the chamber



    @[Wichita], and you know, basically everyone else who wants to come
    #2
    Kratos had watched as his father tore down his bedrock wall to allow the three to pass through, the stallion was unknown to him while he recognized Lagertha’s unmistakable frame. The trio spoke in the hushed tones of brevity and so he kept his distance – until he felt her.
    The painted titan had felt Rhy’s electricity reaching out for him well before she reached the border – the sameness in their veins had always pulsed to each other.

    His father's wall is high. Too high for him to see her as she waivers at the arched entrance. Too high for him to see the bay tobiano with the ravens at her sides. Too high for him to see the third mare before she steps into the Deserts beside Rhy, both with ravens clinging with bloodied talons to their backs.

    When the two walk right past the titan leering from the dunes, Rhy not even turning to look upon him - he knows something is not right. The instinctual, feral part of him recognizes it's wrongness and sends him into a long-legged lope towards them well before the girl falls dead at his father's hooves.

    The ravens that had clung to the dead mares back now making their way back to the entrance - squawking gleefully to the pair that clung to Rhy’s back as they passed.

    Kratos does not know of the Raven Queen that idles outside their borders, nor had he been privy to the conversation the trio had been discussing just moments before. He does not know the small grey stallion is the Gates King nor does he know the damage he would cause when he spits out the tendrils of lightning, writhing like snakes reaching from his belly.

    The lightning he sends is indiscriminate as it seeks flesh and it crackles across the ground and sky, enveloping Rhy - well, mostly Rhy. The lightning crackles and scorches whatever is in its path as it makes for her and he hears a dragon’s roar of pain - but he doesn't turn his gaze from Rhy. He is hoping to scorch the ravens to ash and perhaps shake loose whatever hold they, or whoever was puppeteering them, had on Rhy. His jaws are wide and his huge ribs shudder with effort as he sends another blast of lightning directed at Rhy, the large black beast closest to her crumbling to his knees.




    Ooc - typed from my phone BOOM. Kratos basically sent a bunch of lightning out to the entire group, mainly intending to hit only Rhy but...yeah, lightning does its own thing.
    #3
    Wichita
    surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
    Some people, or horses for that matter, are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is Wichita’s life story, truly, because somehow she always ended up somewhere she shouldn’t be.

    Today that somewhere is a little too close to the Mother tree, a little too surrounded with her young. Tioga and the twins, Evolet, little Kena. She pulls from the Empath magic, forming a bear of bravery when the Raven Queen stands before her, it’s not enough though. The little dappled mare is too unpracticed to keep the creation going, she watches it fizzle out with her fear.

    At first they were birds, just birds. except they are not. Spikes protrude from this in a threatening manner, her eyes gloss over with tears as she looks back at her brood. “Fine, I’ll come just leave them be.” She stands shakily, holding her tiny frame as tall as she can manage. She follows to spare them, she follows because she believes if she does so her home will be spared once again. Much like the time Fiasko had been swept away, never to return. Never.

    She knows this now as the Raven Queen shouts, ‘Fiasko is dead! Fiasko is dead!’
    ------------------------
    Another woman accompanies them, Rhy, the Amazon Wichita had met only once. “Ya know whats goin’ on? We gon be okay righ’?’ Her accent comes forth in thick drawls, entirely too backwoods to properly decipher. Its to the Desert they go and for a moment Wichita recalls the golden woman Yael. The magic grandmother of Rucker and her hopes have no time to rise.

    ------------------------

    Here lies Wichita--

    Mother of--Tioga, Bly, Romilly, Guthrie, Rucker, Evolet, and Kena
    Lover of--Rapscallion
    Friend to many

    My children: I love you, more than my own life itself. Please be strong, please be smart, please learn from my mistakes but don’t be afraid to make your own.

    Rapscallion: I loved you, so very much. I believed there was more to you than what others think, than what you yourself might think. Thank you for the time we shared even if it was for only moments, it will bring me happiness forever.

    the Gates:  You took me into this world that was not my own. You made me part of your family and showed me kindness I had never known before. You made me safe, no matter what has taken place. I’ll miss you my friends, see you in paradise...

    amen.

    Lady and Governor of Heaven's Gates
    #4
    fall on your knees…oh hear the angel voices

    He knew the moment that the air stilled, that war was upon them.

    It was subtle in the dry heat of the Desert, almost unperceivable, but it was there. It was an eerie stillness of the kind that only darkness could bring. Beneath the heat and dust was the scent of war, lingering over the still air like a noxious gas. The gray kind flared his nostrils and raised his head, his eyes falling to the far borders. He could see nothing out of the ordinary, but something deep within him told him it was there; something instinctual from generations of being a prey animal. But today he was not prey; today, he was a warrior. Today, he fought for not only himself but those that he loved and cared for. The wolf at the doorstep had gotten more than just the lowly sheep- it had met another wolf.

    The conversation stalled, and for a moment there was nothing. No sound, save for the steady breathing of his allies. Through the stillness came a voice, a voice he recognized from years gone past. Straia. Her voice rang across the Deserts, loud enough to hurt his ears. But instead of cowering he shook with a fury he did not know that he had. With every word from Straia’s amplified voice came a new bloodlust in him, rising in his throat like bile. He saw Wichita, saw her crumble. He knew there was nothing he could do for her in the late hour, but the thought still angered him. But then he heard of his daughters capture, and the bile caught in his throat only to be replaced by an all-consuming fear. New sweat broke out over the length of his body and he struggled to calm himself, breathing deep and hopefully steadily. She would be fine, she was a clever woman; he clung to that notion with every fiber of his being. He mustered every bit of strength in his body and called to her, not knowing the limitations of her powers, if the miles between them would interfere. He owed it to her to try, in any case.

    He had just started to shout back when suddenly the air became electric. The gray king threw his head around as he searched for the source. Before he could lay eyes on the culprit the lightning had found him. A small scream left his mouth before the tendrils of electric cut it short. Before he could act, before he could move even, the world had gone black. “Topsail…” he screamed desperately from his mind, until there was nothing left but darkness.




    M A S T
    King of Heavens Gates
    #5

    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?

    Lagertha

    warrior queen of the amazons

    #6
    there is no good or evil, only power
    and those to weak to seek it
    They are barely within the confines of the dragon’s kingdom when he spots Rhy crossing beneath the archway, a strange mare at her side. Vanquish is not alarmed by their arrival, such a sight was not an uncommon one in the Deserts – especially with the current state of affairs between the kingdoms. At first an acknowledging smile touches the king’s lips at the sight of Rhy, a mare tied to him in more than one way, a mare tied to him in life and in death.

    But his grin lives a short life as he notices the raven’s that clutch forbiddingly at the two mare’s backs, their faces slates of regret and stoic grief. The sand beneath his hooves began to shudder as Straia speaks through the raven’s mouth, her voice infuriatingly smug as the unknown mare crumpled dead at their feet. His eyes slide immediately to the ravens that clatter and claw upon Rhy’s skin as Straia’s voice fades beneath the stroke of white fire that slides through his being and clattered his teeth together, filling his mouth with the acrid taste of metal and sending him to his knees before everything turned black and smothering.

    Vanquish had been on the receiving end of more than a few strikes from Kratos when he was a child but nothing near as all-consuming as what reached out and tore him to the ground now. He wakes with one of Lagertha’s hooves pushing into his flank and he lets out a disgruntled roar as he shakes the thrums of energy out of his ears, glancing down to ensure Mast’s chest still rose and fell with life. “I’m awake!” He bellows, thundering to his feet and his gaze following the scorched sand back to his howling, lightning-bound son.

    The next words out of Lagertha’s iron and armored mouth unfurl his wings from his sides and send him wobbling, lightning-drunk into the sky - Yael was the in the Chamber. Kratos and Tarnished would protect the Deserts in his stead, as the Oak follows the Willow’s path. As he crosses the sky-border of his kingdom he feels the shudder of fortification that the golden queen had sent to swathe over their Deserts but even that didn’t steady his heart - Yael was in the Chamber.
    VANQUISH
    dragon king of the deserts
    picture © s-uperflu0us
    #7
    fall on your knees…oh hear the angel voices

    The lightning pulled the breath from his lungs, robbed the words from his throat. All was darkness and black but for an infuriating hum that resonated through his skull. Soon the infuriating hum was replaced by an anxious thudding on his shoulder. Blinking slowly he opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of Vanquish looking punch-drunk himself. No doubt he recovered quicker, being larger and sturdier in general. Mast on the other hand was a nearly full-blooded Arabian and as such was slight built and lean. He had taken the full blast. “I’m fine, I’m awake!” he said, his voice trembling but sharp. The effects of the electric still hummed in his chest, and as he struggled to his feet he felt he had little to no control over his extremities. But he managed, and he spared only a moment to close his eyes and clear his head. There was work to be done; his daughter needed him.

    Only when the hum had faded from his ears and the tingling from his muscles did Lagertha’s words dawn on him. As he is listening to the iron queen speak he heard another voice, fainter and only in his mind. “Father! The Chamber!” is all that he could make out, but it was enough. It was enough that he could put two and two together, anyways. “The Chamber, she is in the Chamber!” he shouted, though his words were lost on the black titan, who had already taken to the sky. Mast knew that he shared a bond with Yael beyond that of a normal husband and wife bond so it was no surprise. “The Chamber. They have my daughter as well.” He should have explained more, maybe. Said something else. But for now that was what was important. Closing his eyes he conjured forth his corporeal whitetail buck, his omen of all that was good and right. It stood silver and shimmering against the golden sands, waiting to be called into action. “This will help protect us on the way.” His voice was clipped but assertive. The gray king wasn’t sure Lagertha needed the protection but he felt it prudent to offer nonetheless. With a reckless toss of his head he leapt forward, heading towards Deserts border and the Chamber border beyond.




    M A S T
    King of Heavens Gates



    @[Lagertha] @[Vanquish]

    Mast is headed to the Chamber. I know Van is already in the sky, but Mast has cast a patronus for Lag and himself. Smile
    #8
    I really hate to break it to you,
    But your life is being played with.
    War games.

    He doesn’t care much for them; it isn’t a secret that he lacks the rest of the family’s ambition, maybe it’s because he didn’t have a parent lighting a fire under his ass to be all that he could be. Maybe it’s because he hated his mother and wanted to rebel against everything she stood for; she wanted all of her children to be Kings and Queens, playing across Beqanna like her own personal pawns—descendants, like herself, of the Whore of the Slave Pens. The one Tatter pulled from the fire. The one whose blood marked them as Blemished and made them the laughing stock of the family. Tarnished is the only one named accordingly.

    He is the only one that truly knows now.

    Everyone else is dead or scattered to the wind.

    Straia should know.

    As always, he has the uncanny ability to appear in the right place at the wrong time. The sand around Straia stirs, as if disturbed by the wind, but there’s no breeze; grains gather, they sift and pull themselves together to make the shape of a horse and before long, her long lost cousin is standing some feet away. He cocks his head, staring at her curiously—the Deserts has warned them of an attack, but he cannot quite bring himself to attack the Raven Queen. Not without cause, anyways. And he doesn’t care about the mares she sends bumbling over the borders, they’re nothing to him. They’re not a good enough reason to turn on his own blood.

    If she were to turn on him, on the other hand….

    Well, things might get interesting.

    “Hello, cousin,” Tarnished says, grinning big enough to bear his curved (and pretty, pretty white!) serrated teeth.

    “Dunno what this is all about,” he seems to shrug, motioning after the women with the ravens whose talons have dug into their backs. He doesn’t watch them go, it’s probably for the best; he doesn’t even care to learn their names. They’re probably on some sort of suicide mission and he’ll come across their baking meaty bits come the morning. At least the vultures will have something nice to eat. “Don’t really care, just got home so all of this is none of my business—but!” The stallion sighs, his golden eyes locked on the face of his would-be opponent. “Leave my brood out of it, pretty sure you can tell them from the rest with those pretty birds of yours... yes?” He tilts his head the other way, much in the same manner one of her ravens might in order to get a better view.

    She wanted the truth, once.

    She wanted to know.

    Unfortunately, he hadn’t felt obliged to fill her in on all of their family secrets at the time.

    And here she is, starting a war and maybe dying come the dawn.

    He should feel ashamed.

    “Proud of you, whether that means anything or not—probably not,” he laughs. “We weren’t supposed to be anything, you and me. Or our mothers. Descended down from some no-name mare that the Chamber took to the Slave Pens. We were a blight on the bloodline—something to be embarrassed of and look at you, cousin! Look at you.” Tarnished shakes his head, already dissolving back into the sand.

    “Keep my children out of it and I won’t get involved.”

    And then he’s gone.
    tarnished
    ( vanquish x nocturnal)


    [If anything needs to be changed, let me know. No one should have seen or heard the conversation with Nish and Straia. Tongue]
    Vanquish x Nocturnal
    equus mutatio, immortality, disease manipulation, trait immunity
    #9

    i am the violence in the pouring rain

    i am a hurricane

    She had known it would be enough. Beqanna erupts into chaos almost as quickly as Wichita crumples. Perhaps Straia would send Weaver to go get the girl from the afterlife, when all was said and done. But who knows, perhaps the mare is happier in death. Maybe she doesn’t want to come back at all.


    Rhy’s heart is still clutched in her  mind when Tarnished finds her. If it had been anyone else, she would have been gone in a heartbeat. But he simply looks at her, without any real threat, and she smiles back just slightly – that wicked, trademark grin of hers. “Nish,” she says simply. He comments on the things going on around her, but he doesn’t ask, and she offers no explanation anyway. It’s better that way. Sometimes knowing less is really more.

    Instead, he goes on, telling her to leave his children alone and he’ll stay out of the fight. She nods when he asks if the ravens can tell them apart, letting him know that they can. “I can’t stop them if they choose to fight. You know that. But I won’t seek them out, and I won’t target them.” His children have their own free will after all, and half of Beqanna is burning and being put out. Monsters are being created left and right. At this point, she is far from in charge of the situation.

    He goes on though, giving her the information she’s always wanted, and has never know.

    She loved her mother, no matter what anyone else thought of Frostweaver. She never loved her father, never would, but even he would be hard pressed not to be pleased with what she had become. Not what she was supposed to be, certainly. Straia was born to be a pretty little pawn, and she had already proved she was anything but. This was simply icing on the cake. For the Chamber.

    She would leave her home with the legacy it deserved. In his way, she suspected Nish would do the same. She doesn’t say thanks though, doesn’t offer much of anything besides another small nod and, “If anything should happen to your children, find my daughter. She’ll set it right.”

    He disappears into the sand seconds after she finishes. It is all she has left to offer. They both know that come dawn, Straia may be long gone from Beqanna.

    Yael’s voice rings out across the Deserts then. Straia calls to her ravens, asking for more details. They inform her that Weaver is dangling in a dragon’s clutch above a burning forest. None of this really shocks her, and though perhaps she should go running and screaming in anger into the Chamber, Straia does not. It’s exactly what they expect her to do, but they’ve skipped one very important detail.

    Weaver bears Death’s seal. Those faint blue lines that curve in an ancient rune upon her chest. She has the power to bring back the dead. Including herself. It makes her terribly hard to kill. Besides, the ravens have told her how Weaver is handling the situation, and it only makes Straia grin. Good girl.

    Her grip on Rhy’s heart had disappeared when Yael put up the border. Not that it mattered. She’d gotten her wish, and it saved her the hassle of killing Rhy only to fetch the poor girl from the afterlife again anyway. She’s hardly about to actually kill her cousin. Straia’s shifted back to raven form now though, on her way to the Chamber anyway. Knowing the fighting would break out in mass any moment, and she should be in the Chamber. She should be with the Chamberlings.

    straia

    the raven queen of the chamber

    Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission

    #10

    and when i breathed

    my breath was lightning

    She thought, so foolishly, that if she went, it would be enough. Rhy should have known better. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach, perhaps she did know better, and she had decided she didn’t care anymore. The truth is, she’s not sure. “Straia, no. Not others too.” She says, reaching for her electric or her claws to fight back, only to find she cannot reach her traits at all.

    It’s only then that she can feel the hold Straia has on her heart already, controlling her so delicately she hadn’t even noticed at all. “How could you?” she breathes, the hurt on her face so evident and impossible. Hurt more because she had failed, so completely. She had tried to sacrifice only herself, but she should have known. Should have known Straia had tricks up her sleeve.

    When the raven lands on her back, talons digging into her flesh, she has no choice. Her powers are gone, and without them, she is nothing against her cousin. Eye on the ground of the Desert, she walks with Wichita by her side. The mare says something, a tiny glimmer of hope in those words, but mostly fear, Rhy thinks. She doesn’t even know for sure. Her empathy is gone too.

    “I thought so, but now, I’m not sure,” she says softly, miserably. It was just supposed to be her. Rhy could die – hell, she was already dead. But not this mare, who simply got unlucky. She didn’t deserve this. None of them did, and while her cousin may be the instigator, she knows they are all to blame. They all wanted war. And this is what happens in war.

    They find the group and Straia speaks through the raven’s mouths. Rhy flinches at the sound, so loud coming from her back. Wichita drops in the blink of an eye. A quick death, at least. Rhy is not so lucky. Straia clenches her heart, sending Rhy to her knees as her threats ignite Mast and Lagertha and Vanquish. It’s Lagertha’s eyes that she finds as Straia grips tighter, color draining from Rhy’s face, all the electric gone for her eyes.

    She’s not pleading to be saved. She’s asking for death. If Straia doesn’t do it, then someone else should. She’s failed, and she cannot live with it. Not anymore. She’s been too close to death’s doorstep too many times. The grim reaper calls her home, and she wants to go. She wants to scream at Straia to kill her, but there’s no air in her lungs, all the blood stilled in her veins now.

    But the lightning finds her before anything else happens, turning to a blanket around her. For a moment, it burns and singes without her powers, but suddenly her heart is released, and she can pull the electric to her. Tucks it around herself, infusing her veins, wondering if somehow the power in that blast could kill her. She had hoped, in the moment before her heart was hers again, that she would succumb to it.

    She hardly even registered that Kratos was the one to send the lightning. Hardly registers as the rest leave, screaming for Straia and the Chamber and war. She simply pulls the electric tighter, trying to hide within its comfort, when she’s smashed by a stray bit of magic and the world goes black.

    ***

    She comes to with lightning still crackling on her skin, though the worst of it is gone now. Absorbed into her veins, feeding life back into the electric mare. She blinks a few times as everything comes into focus and slowly, though steadily, gets to her feet. Home. She’s home. Something nibbles at the back of her mind, like that thought is wrong, but she shakes it off. There’s smoke in the distance, some sounds of screaming and flashes of light and dark. All coming from the Chamber.

    Right, war. That must be the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Though she doesn’t remember war breaking out. Doesn’t really know why. She just wonders why she isn’t there fighting beside the Desert. Why is she still back here?

    She’s about to leave, join Yael and Vanquish and the others in the battle, when she finally notices him still there. “Oh, hi. Kratos, right? Shouldn't we be, you know, over there?” She asks, nodding toward the smoke. She's pretty sure this is Vanquish’s son, if she’s not mistaken, and would think he'd be fighting with his Dad. But he’s not around much, and she might be wrong. Besides, she confuses him with Krieos too.

    There are no memories of the Jungle left. There are no memories of their times there, all their meeting full of power and a strange, improbable sort of love. There are no memories of her play fights with Lagertha. She only knows the mare as the Amazonian Queen. It’s all gone. All the pieces of her life. All she knows is what she is capable of, that her family is dead, that her sister left Beqanna to look for their brother, that her name is Rhy, and her life belongs to the Deserts.

    There’s not even a trace of her tattoo.

    rhy

    the electric lioness of riagan and rayelle





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