"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
The ravens cried their agreement, and Lagertha left the conclave without any more words, save for a nod to Vanquish. It was time to go home.
She called out to the magicians on their side, and asked them to transport the immobile and the injured back to the Jungle. The Warrior Queen is entirely unaware that Lupei set their leafy refuge aflame, and after the long trek home, her enraged cry at the sight of the devastation is genuine. It announces their return, and sends the jungle sentries back to their respective homes, if they aren’t too damaged. She stands at the border of the Kingdom until the last Sister is within the boundaries, and then she follows them in - bone-weary, ashen, and ready to sleep for a week.
Grief does not come this night, nor will it come the next; only a deep, intense longing for her children - for Anguisette, and Vidar, and even Dalten. It is a small consolation to know that Sette missed the battle, but it is overshadowed by her mysterious disappearance. She can only hope that her little (not so little, but always a curious filly in her mother’s mind) girl’s curiosity drove her out of Beqanna, and that she is not lying dead, somewhere in this mess of a Jungle, or scorched on the Chamber floor. No, that cannot be the case. Someone would have seen her. As for Lyris - she can no longer deny that she saw the spotted mare fall in a blazing trail of glory. Or that Rhy was not amongst the Sisters that traipsed back.
Lagertha sleeps for a day and a half, and though it may be reckless and irresponsible to leave her kingdom unprotected for so long, it is necessary. When she wakes, it is with a clear head and heavy, but resolved heart. There is much to do.
Bearing more mental scars than physical wounds, the Khaleesi takes an extended tour of the Jungle, noting flooding and an odd increase in dead fish and other sea beasts, where the waters seem to have receded. Everywhere is the acrid, lingering stench of smoke, and scorch marks mar many trees, while others are entirely bare and devoid of leaves. It reminds her of the magical winter, when she was Brunhild’s Bloodrider. They weathered through it, the snow eventually melted, and they would do the same again. At least the Jungle’s carnivores would feast for a fortnight, the muses, though it is bittersweet, to see so many of the little creatures bloated and water-logged - and then her mind goes to the spirit, eyes growing wide.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Another growl of frustration rips through her throat and she immediately pivots to head back to the center of the Kingdom. Sometimes the warrior has a one-track mind, and this was not a good time to have that trait. She picks her way as quickly as she can back through the debris-filled land and finds the center relatively untouched. Some Sisters are already there, and these she greets with a tight-lipped nod and brief inquiry as to whether or not they’re ok. When she’s sure everyone who’s already in the clearing is fine, Lagertha makes her way to the great tree and calls for the rest of the women - perhaps for the last time - depending on what they have to say.
This is not a dictatorship; she rules at their will, and she would step down if they wanted her to - though who would take her place, if that is the case, she doesn’t know.
Completely scorched....the once lush Jungle now charred and filled with the stench of fire ravaged flora and some fauna that could not escape the flames. The panther woman slinked along burnt trees, charred and shriveled vines hung stiffly all over, stepping over down tree limbs that once made up her favorite climbing tree's canopy. She wished she could have done more here...but with most the warriors battling on the front lines, she couldn't save the jungle herself or with the little remaining warrior women. She shook her dark head, her eyes filled with the pain of practically losing her home. She was glad she took her two beloved twin fillies to stay hidden within the playground beyond the meadow, where they were under the safe watch of the resident fairies.
Her once sleek black coat was now partially singed and her back was covered in a layer of grey ash. She stopped a moment to shake it off, but she knew it was only going to collect again, since the ash adrift in the breeze acted almost like snow. She wondered how long it would take for the once beautiful jungle kingdom to grow back to it's former glory. Though, the most of her worries was on the return of her fellow sisters that charged bravely into the fray. She had not seen Rhy since the talk of a potential war was had, and she knew her majesty Lagertha was off leading the cavalry. She wished she had gone with them, but she was worried for those who stayed behind, elders, children, injured, pregnant. She had to watch over them.
Soon, she could see movement within the snow-like ash. She then realized it was none other than Lagertha. She watched as the battle exhausted mare looked on into her kingdom in what seemed like rage, her frustrated sounding call pierced Naga's ash covered ears. Her heart dropped. She knew how hard this must be on her, but she did all she could, and Naga was proud to call Lagertha their queen. She quickly picked up a trot and made her way to Lagertha and the returning sisters. She bowed her head respectfully, her voice full of sadness and relief of their return.
M'Lady...I am sorry I could not stop the blaze...I tried the best I could to make sure everyone was not badly injured. I even brought my children to the playground to be sure of their safety. How are you? Are you badly hurt?
She was genuine. She cared for her kingdom, her sisters, her queen. Her loyalty was strong, and it hurt her that she could not have done more than she had. At least in her panther form she was able to drive off some of the intruders, but it was not enough to stop the blaze. She looked around, her battle wounded sisters lining up beside her slowly. She felt pain just looking at them. She was lucky to have not been badly injured, but she wanted to be of some sort of help. She looked to Lagertha, her eyes filled with determination.
If there is anything, and I mean ANYTHING, I can do to help. You give me the word and I shall do it. I was not badly injured, and I am more than ready to help our beloved kingdom and any sisters that may need tending to. My loyalties and heart are always with you and our sisters.
With that she bowed her head once again and stepped back a pace, letting the others have their chance to speak. She hoped this would all end well, and she hoped for the sisters to come out of this stronger than they were before. She had faith in them and faith in the kingdom. They may be scarred and the kingdom charred, but they were the Amazon sisters, and not even battle wounds or a fire could bring them down.
And through the branches twinkling fireflies trace their mimic constellations --
War is not clean or easy.
She has known war only as a single, sudden, tidal surge in a lifetime of calm. She has spent her life thinking and observing and mothering. She has not spent her life fighting or defending. This had been new and it had been pitiless. She had suggested that if they were breached, it might be lost. They hadn’t lost, not in the aggregate, but it had felt like a massive blow to her.
Prague’s fortifications had been good – nothing is perfect. He had gotten through, him and his hellhound – affronts to nature, and for the first time, she had scented her own close peril.
War is a quagmire. Many things get stuck in the suck of mud and ruin and never get returned – war changes everything. It had taken her some time to realize she had probably failed, but by then her daughter and Fiero were by her side and hell had taken it’s playthings back. By then, she was angry enough not to care.
Anger has a queer taste. It is new to her – bitter and powerful – it had scared her. She had first tried to bargain with it, to find the deals she had to make inside herself to ward it off. She wasn’t even sure who she was angry with, exactly...
Longear had angered her, but in hindsight, what she had done had been for the best.
That demon and his beast had angered her.
Lupei and his fire had angered her.
(The Mother had angered her, but that frightens her more than anything, so she pushes it down deep.)
Everyone who had failed to quell the situation before it became a conflagration… they angered her most of all.
Until anger gave way to somberness.
She had come out unscathed but her dreams have been fits and starts since. She knew she had let something slip through the cracks. She had done a count and then a second time through there had been one less. (Larken had died. Vineine did not know that yet. In truth, she hadn’t tried overly much to find out. She is not proud of the ignorance she has shielded herself with.)
Sadness is a much duller thing than anger. Weighty, drawn-faced and sober she nods back at Lagertha. The metal Queen looks even more tired than she imagines herself to look, but then, heavy must be the weight of power and responsibility. Her ears twitch in Naga’s direction but the arrival of Longear and Fang to her side draws her attention. She touches the girl’s (almost a woman) shoulder – noses Fang gently – and side-by-side they wait quietly for the congregation to form and for what comes next.
The Jungle is the loud antithesis to the movement of the young man.
He passes through the broken, wounded forest with the ease that his upbringing has afforded him. His feet do not falter on vines that race like snakes across the dirt. He is nearly silent, save for the labor of his breath. The humid air is heavy while it lingers in his lungs. It takes effort to draw in a breath one moment and exhale it the next. It takes effort, too, to run through the jungle as he has, despite his ability to navigate its twisting, thorny pathways. They are efforts Vidar is comfortable with, however, because he is a man now.
And it is time he started acting like one.
To his credit, he’d accepted the mantle of his heritage as readily as his own name. Once he has his mind set to a task, the blue roan does not hesitate and does not look back. Even if back was a soft childhood of frolicking with the monkeys and playing hide-and-go-seek with the jaguar spirit. Back was exploring the far reaches of the Amazons with his sister who had come home. Back was the strong but yielding side of his mother – the way she knew what to say, to comfort, to teach, always. Back was a time of growing his heart and nurturing his soul, and he will cherish it always. But now, he must grow his body and mind. Now, he must look forward.
Because the battle had been won, but war is eternal.
Life is a war unto itself. And though the Jungle had burned and flooded (though death is now as prevalent as life – maybe more so – all around them), it was merely a continuation of the unrest Vidar had grown up with. He is used to tension, used to unease twisting around his throat like choking vines. Lagertha had never shielded him from the fact that the Amazons were powerful, and therefore, a powerful target. She might not have allowed him to fight when it came down to it, but he will always be grateful that she had made him aware.
So when the warriors come home, the blue roan is there, waiting for them. Waiting for his mother, mostly. She is like a tired storm cloud thundering into the clearing. Her features are drawn and tired; she looks used and exhausted, but fortunately, he can see no major wounds. He wonders if all the Sisters have been as lucky. Slowly, they filter in. But the ones who come first are the ones who had been here all along, who had stayed behind in order to protect their home, all in vain. The Jungle had burned regardless of their intentions. All they could do was try to survive.
Naga pledges her help to the khaleesi while the others stand in silent support. He imagines it will take years, perhaps decades for the forests to recover without some great, magical intervention. He can’t imagine, however, that Lagertha might not be leading the restoration. If he’d known his dam’s thoughts, he would have sought her out before, counseled her against vacating her throne. She had led the Sisterhood through flame and flood. Despite their potential losses, she had been brave in the face of the Chamber’s gathering dark. He doesn’t imagine that she will leave now, as the recovery begins. So he prepares to leave himself. “Khaleesi,” he says, because Mother would seem too soft. He will seek her out later, of course, say his goodbyes. But it is high time he represented the Amazons elsewhere; it is time for him to fly from the nest. “I am ready to go wherever you need me.”
Vidar
ooc: partially recycled but wanted to get something up!
YOU NEVER SAW IT FROM MY PERSPECTIVE, THE CRAFT THAT I PERFECTED GOT REJECTED AND THROWN OUT THE WINDOW WITH NO PROPER EXIT. I WAS HUMBLE, NOW I'M NOT AS PLEASANT. I'M DROPPING WRECKAGE ON YOUR SHADY DYNASTY. BITCH I'M NOT TO MESS WITH.
She is grateful for the magical transport back home to the Jungle, for she honestly doubts that she could have made it all the way back there under her own power. The young mare's lifeforce had been sapped by what she can only guess was another spell, unleashed by one of the other side's casters, and she had heard the ceasefire calls from a prone position on the ground of the Chamber. Draconis' energy was returning now that the war was ended and the spells cleared, but there was still a wobble in her limbs as she made her way through the savaged Jungle to where the Khaleesi and the rest of her sisters were gathering. It is with a sigh of relief that she spots a tree still standing in the gathering area, one mature enough for her to lean against for support, and she quickly does so. The black mare's eyes anxiously scan the small crowd, but there is no sign of her mother. Had Rhys fallen in battle, just as Larken had? Everyone she looks at seems to be just as weary as she is, and no wonder. Even with several days to rest, they had given much in the fight against the Chamber and Valley, and their home had suffered greatly due to having been set ablaze. This prompts another thought, and she looks around for the jaguar-spirit, but doesn't see it either.
A soft gasp escapes her at the thought of their guardian being hurt, and the firebreather hopes that it is simply elsewhere, recovering its strength. Her world had been flipped upside down when she followed her Khaleesi to battle and left her childhood behind, a sacrifice on the alter of war. She feels older now, no longer the carefree filly who had been brought here years ago by Rhy, though she wishes right now that she could go back to those days. Those thoughts stay unvoiced, however. She was a pledged Sister, and she had done her best to do her duty on the battlefield, inexperienced as she was. And she devoutly hopes that she won't be called upon to honor her vows suchly again any time soon. Her first battle of war had been more than enough; the young mare just wanted peace, safety, the Jungle regrown to health, unrealistic as she now realizes those desires might be in this world. Above all, she wanted her mother to be here among them, but this didn't seem to be either, and Draconis can only hope that she will be found somewhere, even if dead, so that she and the other Jungle mares would have closure for her. She echoes the words of Naga and the others now, bowing her head to Lagertha instead of stepping forward, for she still needs the tree's support. "Anything that I can do as well, call upon me. "
03-30-2016, 10:41 PM (This post was last modified: 03-30-2016, 10:42 PM by prague.)
Prague
The silver lioness is exhausted.
It takes her more than a few days to make her way back to the Jungle - she travels cloaked in equal parts invisibility and agony. Although she has some of the oldest magic walking Beqanna and immortality, fighting several magicians and mortals takes a toll on even the strongest of hearts. She hears Lagertha's call, more like she listened much to the iron mare's dismay to her thoughts of the land; the chaos that had crossed here. The lioness finally shifts back to the Andalusian form, the dark forelock falling across the honey colored eyes. She moves towards the small gathering, her eyes crossing over the desolation that she both helped stop and caused. "I am sorry Lagertha, I did what I could to save it - it is my life, it will regrow; we always regrow," she says with more emotion than usual - perhaps she is just tired but she feels spent. She remembers then that she changed the spirit lioness into a spider and ate it to protect it. She heaves a few times and it crawls from her achey jaws. She uses some of the last energy she has to change it back, it approaches her and affectionately rubs against her. Prague knows in her heart that she hasn't let the jungle down, hopefully her sisters either. "I am always here to help, I will always be here to help but for now I must rest, I need a sleep longer than any mortal can imagine. Lagertha, with your permission I would like to temporarily become an oracle of sorts; to be called on to see into the future or past, to give insight and at worst case; be used in wars but for now my body has given all it can. I'm fragile," she admits and it is so very hard to do, to admit that you are not an embodiment of strength. She then realizes partially because she does not carry her own heart -- Texas does, wherever he might be. "Texas has my heart in it's literal form, until I have it back I cannot restore to my former self", she speaks to Lagertha, now. She doesn't know what decision her Queen will make, either one she will stand beside but she needs more than just a few days to repair. She needs a safe haven.
ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts.
i'm really cool with either thing but either way I'll be playing her a little less for a few months to give some of my other new babies some fun. I'll still be here but I'm bringing a new mare here too!
She is grateful to them, for what appears to be a willing forgiveness, or at least lack of blatant accusation, and for their offers to help. The early ones - or those able to make it to the meeting - come mostly with enthusiasm, and it lifts her spirits. “It is a hazard of living in such a beautiful place, Naga. Trees will always be susceptible to fire, and there is nothing we can do about that, except wait to see what grows from the ashes. I am sure it will begin to look like new in no time - with all this water and heat - the perfect conditions. I am fine. My armor is enough to deflect most damages, and I am glad to hear that you and yours are safe.” Enough of the formalities. Lagertha pauses, thinking about all the water, and an idea pops into her head. “I would appreciate if in your panther form… you could either either dispose of the larger water creature’s bodies away from our own drinking sources, or find some carnivores who are hungry?” A curt chuckle follows that statement, because it is actually a rather ridiculous image, and for the longest time, they’d kept all the big cats out. But with all this rotting flesh in the air, someone has to eat it. Or get rid of it, lest they invite sickness and disease into their home.
Vineine approaches with two in tow, and the Iron Queen notes her somber face and silence. The motherly mare is someone that Lagertha is never quite sure how to deal with, knowing that while they have the Jungle in common, they have little else. If there is anyone to blame for the situation, it is Lagertha, and only Lagertha. Someone must be held accountable, and as the crown and mantle fell upon her shoulders, so did the rise and fall of the Jungle. They are certainly not broken, or begging, and even though she had been the one to call for a truce, it was the right thing to do. The other kingdoms may not like to admit it, but the Dale, Jungle, and Desert had the Chamber and Valley outnumbered. Continuing would have been certain death for more of them. Caring is not a weakness. She saved both sides.
What comes next will be utter hypocrisy from rulers who seek to distance themselves from the only kingdom which deigned to step up and say ‘No, this isn’t ok.’ Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? Stick one’s neck out for another and the full brunt of the blame for whatever happens after falls on one’s shoulders. Because the Jungle agreed to aide the Gates, the Desert and the Dale joined in. And now, if the rumors are true, the Gates’ has been taken hostage by the Valley, and then hoisted a puppet queen onto the Valley throne, in the name of change. Well let them ‘change.’ Let them turn their noses up at Jungle, because in the end, the Tundra will falls silent (it always does), as its men seek solitude, and as the Valley and the Gates are also apt to do. The Jungle is never quiet.
Her son comes next, and she sees the quiet strength in him, a peculiar mix of Crito and herself. For a moment, she almost wishes he were female, so that he could stay with them, if he wanted. But Crito deserves to have a child out in the world, instead of sheltered behind the vines. His words make her proud to have one who is ready to embrace his responsibilities. “Son,” she answers warmly, “Let’s talk after this and decide, together.” There is much to say to him, too much for this meeting, and too intimate for the world to hear.
Her gaze falls next to Draconis, the young firebreather who’d been more brave than many of the older sisters. And… Rhy’s adopted daughter. Or something like that. They should talk after this too, because she can’t be only one alarmed that the gold-and-white mare didn’t return. “Rest first, Draconis, and then we shall see. You went above and beyond your duties, and I am proud - and grateful - to call you my Sister. A promotion is in order, but we can speak of that later…” Sentiment isn’t her strong point and they all know that. Hopefully her simple words of thanks will suffice.
And then comes the weary (even more so than herself) gray form of Prague, and Lagertha does not hesitate to come away from her singular position and walk towards her. When the magician heaves up the Jungle spirit and changes it from Spider to Jaguar, it makes her hesitate for a split second, but the spirit’s affection confirms her thoughts. They owed everything to Prague. The Iron Queen gently wraps her darker gray neck around the lighter gray’s shoulders and stays there for a second, embracing her as one might embrace a family member. “No apologies from you,” she says firmly, and then steps back. “We all would have died, or the Jungle been lost. You are nothing less than a hero, and will be given the title of Vichomeraki, for as long as you are a Sister. Sleep. Sleep for as long as you need to. We will protect you. So oracalize away.” She chuckles roughly to dispel the extra emotions. No mushiness here. “I may not be Khaleesi when you wake, old lady, but I shall be here.”
Lagertha reaches out to touch Prague’s shoulder fondly, speaking only to her this time. Do you want one of us to look for him? We need to send someone to the Falls anyway. Publicly, she stays in the midst of the women, and steels herself for what she must say next. While their support is evident, Lagertha feels like she must offer them the option of electing a new Khaleesi, especially given the state of affairs.
“Sisters, given the death of Lyris, the disappearance of Rhy and Anguisette, the state of our Kingdom and whatever backlash may come from our involvement in the war, which I wholeheartedly supported, I am compelled to offer you the chance to elect a new Khaleesi. I appreciate your supportive words and believe I can continue to lead us well, but if you want someone else at the helm, I understand.” Her gaze - solemn and dark and straightforward - finds as many individuals as she can, while waiting for their responses. She is not looking for platitudes or to be convinced to continue to wear the crown. She wants to know that they still stand behind her, that they trust her, and that they know she wants to make things right again.
This won’t happen again. Not on her watch. And whatever is brewing outside these leafy halls will not keep them down.
Lagertha
warrior queen of the amazons
[sorry i wrote a novel - thanks for reading! also andrea, just make sure you have permission to do the oracle thing ]
everybody is just a stranger but that's the danger in going my own way
Kyma has always known that her purpose for being born was to continue a bloodline, how strange it is to be born with the knowledge that your parents chose each other to better the world. Perhaps that's not how things really work, perhaps she would do nothing for the land of Beqanna but naive minds think positively. The more pressing matter was most likely war and the fact that, unfortunately, both of her parents died in the recent war. Kyma did not participate but she promised her mother she would go to the Amazons and at the very least, give it a try. Acoustica had not been a devout Amazonian like her mother and mother before her but she had good intentions.
She finds the jungle easily but her blue eyes grow large with both shock and slight disappointment - it's a disaster but she knows that it, too, has suffered loss. She listens to a call, a gathering of mares make there way to an iron lady and she feels that this is the best time of any to approach. She watches a few mares file in, little does she know her great-grandmother is among them, and she listens alertly.
"I have no weight in this discussion but I'm Kyma, my mother told me to send you her best wishes," she says cheerfully, though unsure if Lagertha or anyone present knew her mother, "I think the fact these women continued to head your call speaks volumes to you..." Kyma was a little bold, especially for being merely seconds in a kingdom. Perhaps her place was here after all.
She’d been reluctant to come, dreading the inevitable re-hash of the battle, the recount of their losses, the condolences …
But she knows she can’t avoid it. She’s a part of the kingdom and she can’t ignore the effect this war has had upon them, no matter her personal grief. And really, she’s been lucky. She’d almost lost both of her family members, instead she’d lost only one. Of course, the one that she’d lost …
She shakes herself, trying to clear her head. But as she slips in behind a buckskin mare that she doesn’t recognize, Lagertha’s words bring it all back. Her mother, soaring overhead, a dark wolf latched onto her shoulder, the fire starting, consuming her …
But it’s not Lagertha’s fault. Lyris is, was, reckless. And unaware of her limits. Or at least, often ignored her limits. And in the war she’d simply come across the wrong opponent. There’s nothing Lagertha could have done to prevent that. “No, Lagertha. You did better than any of us could in that situation.” Certainly better than Lexa. If Lagertha hadn’t knocked her out … Lexa shudders to think of what could have happened. Likely she would have ended up hurting a fellow sister. “I will continue to support you as Khaleesi.”
04-09-2016, 10:04 PM (This post was last modified: 04-09-2016, 10:05 PM by Larken.)
Larken is also late to the meeting, though not for the same reason as her sister. She’d been practicing with her new abilities when the call had rung out, and in the short moment of distraction she’d … broken a tree. It’d caused a bit of a mess, to say the least, and she’d decided to take a few minutes to clean it up before joining the sisters. She’d rather not leave it lying around for one of the foals or some poor unsuspecting animal to run into after all. Well, that and she doesn’t want to leave evidence of the mishap for her sister to find either.
She arrives just on the tail end of Lagertha’s words and slips in beside her sister, quiet for the moment. It hurts to hear of their mother, but both the buckskin mare and Lexa are right. It’s not Lagertha’s fault. She’d done her best. The stallion that had killed mother had simply done better. She pipes up as Lexa finishes. “My sister’s right, s’not your fault.” Oh. She’s suddenly struck by the thought that the gathered sisters likely have no idea who she is (with the exception of her ‘father’ probably). She looks rather different than the last time many of them had seen her … when she was busy getting her throat ripped out. Oops.
“Oh um, I’m Larken by the way. Still alive, to Lexa’s disappointment.” Her awkward chuckle trails off when she notices the look her sister is giving her. Whoops, that probably hadn’t been the most sensitive of comments. But how the hell else is she supposed to deal with the whole ‘came back from the dead’ thing?
Larken
i'm burning but my heart is on the wire dont need a thousand guards to lock me in doesn't take a fool to start a fire solitary spark and wars begin
I'll still be here but I'm bringing a new mare here too! 
