09-18-2015, 10:07 AM
I am iron and I forge myself
They begin to trickle in, those who may or may not have heard of a regime change. Before, Lagertha hadn’t much to do with these sorts of things beyond making sure the visitors weren’t hostile. Now she must meet and greet. Can’t have Rhy handle it all by herself.
Not when a long lost voice is finally (unbeknownst to her) made flesh on her border. They had an unfinished business, a meeting that never came to fruition. But perhaps they were destined to be realigned with the Valley; her brother once ruled as King there, oh so long ago. Lagertha was conceived on the eve of the Valley war, and had she felt the urge to go another way, she might be in Demian’s position instead. Hard work is hard work, after all.
She’s actually on her way out of the Kingdom for a brief visit to the common lands, when she exits the Jungle not far from where the group is. She spots Rhy first, and changes course, her muscles relishing the excuse to stretch themselves. Sometimes the density of the Jungle made it hard to… go fast. That’s the technical term. Her dark eyes, darker and harder than her iron colored coat glance over the duo and as she catches the masculine tones of the stallion, it almost stops her in her tracks. That voice. That freaking voice that called to her, years ago, getting her hopes up and then leaving her waiting in the Meadow for no one to appear. Some sick joke, she eventually called it. Someone who by some magic knew her desires and fed upon them.
She resented that voice. Just a little bit. And so though her face is neutral, her thoughts aren’t so much, as she finally puts a face and a body to a voice. Eight. The former Valley King. And now it is even more confusing.
“Can’t blame you for wanting to stretch your legs,” she says as she approaches at a brisk trot. “I’m Lagertha, the new Khaleesi. Pleasure to meet you two.” Well, a pleasure to meet one of them. The other, she has her righteous doubts about.
Not when a long lost voice is finally (unbeknownst to her) made flesh on her border. They had an unfinished business, a meeting that never came to fruition. But perhaps they were destined to be realigned with the Valley; her brother once ruled as King there, oh so long ago. Lagertha was conceived on the eve of the Valley war, and had she felt the urge to go another way, she might be in Demian’s position instead. Hard work is hard work, after all.
She’s actually on her way out of the Kingdom for a brief visit to the common lands, when she exits the Jungle not far from where the group is. She spots Rhy first, and changes course, her muscles relishing the excuse to stretch themselves. Sometimes the density of the Jungle made it hard to… go fast. That’s the technical term. Her dark eyes, darker and harder than her iron colored coat glance over the duo and as she catches the masculine tones of the stallion, it almost stops her in her tracks. That voice. That freaking voice that called to her, years ago, getting her hopes up and then leaving her waiting in the Meadow for no one to appear. Some sick joke, she eventually called it. Someone who by some magic knew her desires and fed upon them.
She resented that voice. Just a little bit. And so though her face is neutral, her thoughts aren’t so much, as she finally puts a face and a body to a voice. Eight. The former Valley King. And now it is even more confusing.
“Can’t blame you for wanting to stretch your legs,” she says as she approaches at a brisk trot. “I’m Lagertha, the new Khaleesi. Pleasure to meet you two.” Well, a pleasure to meet one of them. The other, she has her righteous doubts about.
Lagertha
warrior queen of the amazons