03-17-2016, 02:42 PM
I am iron and I forge myself
“I do. Join me one on one, without traits, and see.” Lagertha bites back the urge to roll her eyes - as if she were doing this for herself. No, her women simply aren’t as up for it as she is, and she doesn’t want bloodstains following her around for the rest of her life. She snorts and shakes her head, nullifying her next statement. “The Gates doesn’t get a say in this anymore,” Lagertha shoots back, painfully aware that somewhere along the way, Mast went AWOL and thus far, she’s only seen Amazonians, Daleans, and Desert folk fighting for their side. Ok, there might have been a few Gates’ members, but they were few and far between, and the two she’d really hoped to rely on, never showed their faces. The Jungle would never stand with them again. Let them fight their own battles.
If you want a job done well, do it yourself. Delegation only goes so far, and even allies are unreliable. “The Daleans have far more of a stake in this than they do. Send a raven for Ramiel, if you want a third opinion.” After all - they have bled and died for a war that was what she ultimately wanted. And while she knew that the Gates’ members were mostly useless, she would at least have expected some minor show of force; alas, there is none. Lagertha will never play the savior again. Not for those who do not help themselves.
She can feel her heart palpitate, tripping over itself every so briefly at Straia’s whim. She laughs, knowing that either her death would more than likely incite a frenzy that would be difficult to contain, and ultimately bad news for the Chamber. Neither Queen is going to die here, today. They both know it. And yet, she must say something, because the gray mare can never keep her mouth shut. She laughs, though it is small and hard and pointed. “Go ahead, Straia. Kill me. See what happens.” It is neither threat, nor goading, simply a promise. The Jungle is more than the leadership that she provides. It is a family, and the death of the matriarch would not go unanswered, she imagines. They are women, they know how to hold a grudge.
Killdare conveniently arrives, and it takes a moment for Lagertha to process that the stallion whom they once held captive would be the next King. She remembers his infatuation with Joscelin, his observance of their diplomacy. Straia is right - he is someone that he finds agreeable. A less competent individual would be more to her liking, but she knows that will never happen. Could he inspire the same type of devotion? She looks him up and down, but says nothing. Her silence is her agreement.
Vanquish comes thundering up, a veritable thunderstorm, all raging and rumbley. How very manly of him. She has nothing to calm him down, and even if she did, she wouldn’t want to - it isn’t her job. So the Warrior Queen says simply, “we are ending this. Straia steps down, Killdare takes her place, and we all go home. Someone tells the troops below that we've reached an agreement. Yes?” She looks between the three of them, waiting for either assent or dissent. It is a bare bones plan and says nothing of the future, but that is what ‘diplomacy’ is for, is it not? Or at least, the passage of time.
If you want a job done well, do it yourself. Delegation only goes so far, and even allies are unreliable. “The Daleans have far more of a stake in this than they do. Send a raven for Ramiel, if you want a third opinion.” After all - they have bled and died for a war that was what she ultimately wanted. And while she knew that the Gates’ members were mostly useless, she would at least have expected some minor show of force; alas, there is none. Lagertha will never play the savior again. Not for those who do not help themselves.
She can feel her heart palpitate, tripping over itself every so briefly at Straia’s whim. She laughs, knowing that either her death would more than likely incite a frenzy that would be difficult to contain, and ultimately bad news for the Chamber. Neither Queen is going to die here, today. They both know it. And yet, she must say something, because the gray mare can never keep her mouth shut. She laughs, though it is small and hard and pointed. “Go ahead, Straia. Kill me. See what happens.” It is neither threat, nor goading, simply a promise. The Jungle is more than the leadership that she provides. It is a family, and the death of the matriarch would not go unanswered, she imagines. They are women, they know how to hold a grudge.
Killdare conveniently arrives, and it takes a moment for Lagertha to process that the stallion whom they once held captive would be the next King. She remembers his infatuation with Joscelin, his observance of their diplomacy. Straia is right - he is someone that he finds agreeable. A less competent individual would be more to her liking, but she knows that will never happen. Could he inspire the same type of devotion? She looks him up and down, but says nothing. Her silence is her agreement.
Vanquish comes thundering up, a veritable thunderstorm, all raging and rumbley. How very manly of him. She has nothing to calm him down, and even if she did, she wouldn’t want to - it isn’t her job. So the Warrior Queen says simply, “we are ending this. Straia steps down, Killdare takes her place, and we all go home. Someone tells the troops below that we've reached an agreement. Yes?” She looks between the three of them, waiting for either assent or dissent. It is a bare bones plan and says nothing of the future, but that is what ‘diplomacy’ is for, is it not? Or at least, the passage of time.
Lagertha
warrior queen of the amazons
[@Ramiel]
[@Mirage] if you want? Idk. Don't feel like you have to.