09-12-2016, 10:52 AM
In that, they are the same; her life and her reign seem eons ago. The thorny hideaway where she’d cuddle Anguisette is gone, the great tree in the middle of the clearing is gone, and the Jungle spirit with its all-seeing eyes has… gone where…? It doesn’t seem to her like Beqanna would kill the Kingdoms’ Spirits. What had they ever done, save try to help her children as an extension of Her? Lagertha hasn’t given it much though, but the prevalent assumption in her mind that she called them back to her benevolent breast. And left her children to fend for themselves, as they had in the beginning.
A beginning that Lagertha’s own dam knew. How different their worlds must have been, though the apple clearly didn’t fall far from the tree. Both of the mares were warriors and Queens, both of their lives were torn apart by Magic. Grim Reaper succumbed to it, whereas Lagertha has proven far more resilient. She is a tall, if no longer muscular mare, her silver-scarred back is not necessarily visible to everyone, but there are lines that stretch down across her ribs and flanks. Her chest is relatively unmarked - waiting, just waiting to bear the marks of Sisterhood again.
Tired, and longing for directions to a new home where she can finally rest (for days, she could close her eyes for days, they are so heavy), Lagertha waits in the cover of the trees for the Amazonian party to come back down. The old warrior knows her limits, and she would not have made it halfway up the giant pile of rocks before falling to her knees. It is there that Magnus finds her, and it is there that much of the past comes rushing back. It is not a pleasant feeling.
“Magnus,” she says in return, swallowing the vomit of questions that threaten to explode from her mouth. Give it a moment, a couple of exchanges, and then she can begin to berate him for abandoning them when they needed his expertise the most. “My last two years were spent in a sort of Hell. This is a nasty surprise, but a vast improvement. You?” She doesn’t know that he now sits beside the one of the two stallion she loathes the most in Beqanna. What a nasty revelation that will be.
A beginning that Lagertha’s own dam knew. How different their worlds must have been, though the apple clearly didn’t fall far from the tree. Both of the mares were warriors and Queens, both of their lives were torn apart by Magic. Grim Reaper succumbed to it, whereas Lagertha has proven far more resilient. She is a tall, if no longer muscular mare, her silver-scarred back is not necessarily visible to everyone, but there are lines that stretch down across her ribs and flanks. Her chest is relatively unmarked - waiting, just waiting to bear the marks of Sisterhood again.
Tired, and longing for directions to a new home where she can finally rest (for days, she could close her eyes for days, they are so heavy), Lagertha waits in the cover of the trees for the Amazonian party to come back down. The old warrior knows her limits, and she would not have made it halfway up the giant pile of rocks before falling to her knees. It is there that Magnus finds her, and it is there that much of the past comes rushing back. It is not a pleasant feeling.
“Magnus,” she says in return, swallowing the vomit of questions that threaten to explode from her mouth. Give it a moment, a couple of exchanges, and then she can begin to berate him for abandoning them when they needed his expertise the most. “My last two years were spent in a sort of Hell. This is a nasty surprise, but a vast improvement. You?” She doesn’t know that he now sits beside the one of the two stallion she loathes the most in Beqanna. What a nasty revelation that will be.