Siren's Summit
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VALKYRIE She stood in the storm
Though the need to allow the Rift’s revolting vermin to feast on her perfectly pristine skin was as detestable as the curse of masculinity she now shouldered, it was indeed a necessary evil (one she could tolerate); a quest that would see far greater reward than the alternative. If she could battle them off and step away with her life. Of course, young Valkyrie had a plan to back her stubborn, power-hungry motivation. The temptress whose path the pastel girl otherwise trailed had delivered a bounty of sound advice about the creature required by her to nourish, the screecher, and her guileful mind was alive with the colours of one million imagined scenarios. She anticipated something huge, perhaps similar to her own stature or greater, a nauseatingly unattractive beast without the compliment of colour to better its aesthetic worth. Its blood should run cold, the nerves splayed beneath shell, probably too lacked feeling, and K’yarie had explained that it roamed without eyes - it was another blight of this world, a life without worth. Still, all judgements set aside, the stony Shieldmaiden needed the screecher; that made it important. While the cloud swirled like a stormy sea above the summit, Valkyrie strolled quietly, her prints masked by the gift of enchanted vambraces (she’d earned them for bearing the stupidity of this population’s majority since arrival). A brisk wind harried the wet hang of her generous hair, needling the warm skin through the also sodden span of her clean coat; it dispersed the scent of her presence into the deepest crevices of the area. The rustle of the leaves around her, the groan and creak of the knotted boughs they clung to, masked the murmur of the stalking creature’s movement until it was almost upon her. A shrill, splitting scream filled the air, the wind - her skull, ringing through the mind and fracturing all cognition therein, until the pressure too forced her bulging eyes into remission. Lashes fell heavily, meshing together tightly, and the skin canvased around her crawled wildly, irrepressibly, in response to paralysing sound. The winged horse found that she was stuck fast to the soil with a skeleton frozen solid and unwilling drive. and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails. |
@Rift Presence
