The Pinnacle
Perhaps that was why her plan had not spread wings the way she’d anticipation… It was well—Valkyrie had time—Roscorro, Rixen and his band of merry men (and wannabes), had been mentioned by only a handful of those she’d crossed paths with up until now. Presumably that meant that they were no further along in their, whatever their cause was, than the Shieldmaiden was hers; she was biding time, attaining momentum through power, power through possession, while they were probably still mopping up puddles after the rain. The pastel woman smirked too smugly as she strolled for the fifty-fifth time towards the generous, arched window of the cave. “Fools…” she chuckled and paused finally with blue eyes trained to the veil of grey above her valley. “Tomorrow… Yes, tomorrow I will scout the northern slopes of the Heimasborg for inspiration.” Since her isolation, vanishing into this favourite network of glistening caves, Valkyrie had grown a rather inflated fondness for the sound of her own voice—no less herself—and had rehearsed her phonetics, pronunciation and big words, until she was sure it all sounded as wonderfully prestigious as K’yarie. In truth, as attractive as the desire to reunite with the celestial queen was, the smaller mare felt rather more inclined to parade her new sophistication and win perhaps a greater form of affection from her ally than she had already; perfection, after all, was an attribute they both admired properly. Sliding a quiet glance left, the young horse smiled at her own distorted reflection in the curved, iced wall of the cave— There was a sound though, suddenly, a murmur born upon the wind as it intruded, sweeping in through the window, and Valkyrie’s white ears craned heavily upon it. The Rift, it seemed, was calling, and the self-absorbed creature could barely contain the overwhelming feeling of delight. An invitation? She thought privately, stepping again to search the world below, beyond, for any sign of the owner of the call. It was as though it was a summoning for her, alone—this world, at last, accepting the fact that she was more than mundane, better than the petty plebeians who fell in line with the narcissistic wishes of the chandelier, of Hope. Naturally, Valkyrie accepted, sweeping to the back of her room where the doorway stood in shadow; calling the spear from its pedestal as she went. The weapon whistled through the air and fell beneath the marbled grin of its, now cantering, owner. The dimness of the Heimasborg’s winding corridors was illuminated by the beam of light she called forth from her orb. It was a lesson quickly learned after the encounter with the wolf and the silly unicorn in the cavern nearest the surface, and the Shieldmaiden had little interest in falling prey to their secretive style (or anyone else for that matter), again. At speed, it took her little time to conquer the passageways beneath the mountain. Soon she was hustling south, following the sound on the wind to wherever it originated. And that place was apparently the Pinnacle. To Valkyrie’s surprise, and swollen disappointment, there were a good many others who had arrived at the glowing crevice before her. Cold gaze snaked between them, grazing faces and condemning the names who owned them: Roscorro, Rixen, the little blue runt who still looked diseased… She cut a path around their outside, hardly wishing to draw notice or be forced into any sort of interaction (such was the level of her respect for that herd’s members). There were stallions literally, everywhere—or so the curse had her believe—causing her pristine white hide to ripple with agitation. “What the hell is this?…” she muttered under her breath, spear clenched more tightly all the time. Then, with a hint of venom, she answered, “That’s exactly what it is, Valkyrie." Hell. |
- Anything from your Aspirations thread, determined by dice roll
- Yes!
Any are welcome to come and distract her!
