welcome home

VALKYRIE She stood in the storm She’d arrived in the Rift purely by accident, purged from the idealistic comforts of her imagined, preconceived reality, in Loorien, into a turbulent, alien underworld which defied the laws and logic she understood, and further challenged the luxury she enjoyed in control. The Shieldmaiden was no longer the apex predator, shrewd, feared for the reputation of her Sisters; here, she was unknown… as trivial as a parrot’s prate. For months on end Valkyrie had traipsed and flounced about the forests and the fields, exerting her narcissistic opinions and narrow-minded beliefs upon any misfortunate enough to crossed her path; the confidence she carried for all to see, like an opulent mink shrug around her shoulders, had been rather ill-received. The few (women, of course, ), however, who had attracted her fancy, were treated to a polar type of character through which magnanimous respect, gifts and unbridled admiration, were swiftly pledged. The born warrior was ignorant, perhaps, but not stupid or blind to the value of alliances in a world of adversity. By the river she had separated from the unhealthy child, which was probably for the better - although, she still dwelled on the idea of taking the unwary, needy thing and raising it into a more worthy future of bondage. The Shieldmaiden could absolutely see the benefit in holding a slave: it would convey her position above this menial society, provide an outlet for pent-up frustration and better still, the urchin could perform domestic chores which would free up her own, very valuable time. How handy it would be to have the waif groom the unavoidable filth from her skin, while she paid proper tribute to her beloved K’yarie. Valkyrie was biding her time. In the meantime, with the rain cleansing her legs of their awful, desert-orange stain, she came upon the crumbling white walls of the ancient city, Halyven, which lay beneath spires that were visible, even as one stood at the fringe of the rainforest, colouring the distant south. The winged Sister had visited once before, not too long ago, and talked at length with the patterned girl Kiada (and her pet…). She strode amid the rain-soaked rubble of the fallen realm with a quiet heart and soft breath, for there was a solemn, sobering beauty about the place, even as it lay in ruins, which struck a chord in her heart. Perhaps, in a way, it reminded her of Sunnmōre: a stonework city forged into the very heart of a frozen mountain, breathtaking, unshakable… Hope had suggested they all make the journey here and Valkyrie approached the group already gathered, with cupped ears pressed forward and her taut, compact body, ready for response. Each step was tentative and measured as her eyes slithered between the familiar images of some she had come across before: Kiada (she wasn’t surprised; the mare was still on fire) and the idiot with tourettes and the bird shit on his shoulder. “Kiada,” she nodded to the other woman briefly, deferentially enough, and came to rest on the far side of the foursome without any true intention of injecting herself into their conversation. The ledge was large enough it seemed, to accommodate them all To the three men present she gave nothing; no smile, no nod, not even the standard, irked flick of her glorious tail. Instead, she lowered her lovely, pallid face to her knee and brushed away gently the rain that had glued together her lashes.       and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails.

img

Regards Kiada, ignores the rest.