The Portal
The rain… Incessant, saturating, irritating rain. It had been falling without so much as an hour’s respite for almost the entire length of time she’d been roaming the Rift; the weather in the murky depths of this (almost) godforsaken underworld, was unlike anything else Valkyrie could recall experiencing. Certainly, it lacked the brilliant, penetrating chill of high-altitude, so too did she feel it could do with the invigorating splendour of whistling winds, snow - even ice - borne upon them. Briefly, she could recall pockets of sunlight early on, scorching, ridiculously long days which had suffered the pink skin beneath her sleek coat, to blister. Either way, there seemed to be no bearable in-between. Then, after many more months than she could be bothered counting, wallowing in the swamp of self-absorption, sulking, and mourning very bitterly the loss of her beloved feministic identity, K’yarie had appeared and the potential of a future became a new flickering light upon the horizon; confidence reignited, bold and devious. There was loathing, yet lurking beneath the ugly angles of her brutish, burly frame, disgust for the very abomination she now embodied - though why she hated men so, was a scrambled afterthought - but there were benefits… Valkyrie was larger, surely more formidable to behold. Her strength was grander and her passion was inflamed, not just radiating in mind, but bolstering her body now too (men were driven by physical impulses, it had become blatantly apparent, not actually their brains). With fresh insight into the workings of the enemy, and of course, after freeing herself from the boggling bind of her predicament, she found her ploy to bring the stupidity of the denser gender crashing into oblivion, well and truly renewed. …and because she was conniving and cruel, there seemed like no better place to capture their greatest vulnerability, than here, in The Portal. Quietly, leaving no print in wake of her prowling form, the Shieldmaiden slipped through the corridors of sickeningly vibrant foliage - though, she hadn’t previously accounted for the reaction of her burdening masculinity, when blue eyes fell at last upon their prey. He was plainer than most, brown… easily appearing feminine, probably, before, the effect of her curse. His ears tweaked in at the point and the neck plunging from their cocky vantage was curved beneath the veil of limp, black mane. Valkyrie examined him with a harsh, critical eye: there was nothing exciting about him, at all. That was until - “HA!” she blurted loudly around the spear’s handle between her teeth, instantly too, betraying her cover. “Was that a genuine tantrum?” Her slender white ears folded back behind the gleaming gold metal of her helm and a sneer dragged the pastel-pink corners of her mouth along with them. Perhaps there, was something special, about him - attitude and dimwittedness, nestled beneath the barrier of un-embellishment, of boring! Glaring, she paused, with enough space between them to shield, should he attack. Hope’s lesson, it seemed for the moment, was yet to reach a point of traction… |
Note: For clarity, Valkyrie is currently cursed - physically she appears as a stallion, cannot remember why she hates men, and views others as the opposite gender.
