06-22-2016, 09:56 PM
I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Any stallion who purposefully trespasses into the hot and heavy kingdom is either looking for trouble or fleeing from it. Regardless of his reasons, an uninvited guest in her home deserves - no, demands - immediate attention. His smell instigates an almost primal reaction in the Warrior Queen, though she has never met the man before. Call it a much needed release, call it hormonal, call it whatever you will, because Lagertha needs an excuse to unleash her pent-up frustration. A growl starts in the back of her throat, surging into the rest of her body. She stops whatever she’s doing and pivots, weaving her way along the trails she knows like the inside of her eyelids.
Not even at the border, but inside the kingdom. Lagertha dons her armor, spreading a thin, malleable coat of iron across her skin in patches that protect her outer edges and most vulnerable bits. Clods of earth and clipped pieces of vegetation fly out behind her, as she cries out a challenge to the stallion. And he had better answer, oh, he had better answer, and quickly.
She had sworn several times before that she would run a trespasser through with her spikes if given half the chance (or provocation). That oath still stands. Lagertha rounds a bend in the trail, knowing she’s close to a dried-up pond (Prague’s magic had tampered with some of the naturally formed bodies of water). Too bad it wasn’t the river, she could force him into the mouths of crocodiles that way. And then there he is, and she issues a wordless challenge again, still barreling towards him.
Not even at the border, but inside the kingdom. Lagertha dons her armor, spreading a thin, malleable coat of iron across her skin in patches that protect her outer edges and most vulnerable bits. Clods of earth and clipped pieces of vegetation fly out behind her, as she cries out a challenge to the stallion. And he had better answer, oh, he had better answer, and quickly.
She had sworn several times before that she would run a trespasser through with her spikes if given half the chance (or provocation). That oath still stands. Lagertha rounds a bend in the trail, knowing she’s close to a dried-up pond (Prague’s magic had tampered with some of the naturally formed bodies of water). Too bad it wasn’t the river, she could force him into the mouths of crocodiles that way. And then there he is, and she issues a wordless challenge again, still barreling towards him.
Lagertha
Warrior Queen of the Amazons