There was one.
She approached with a sickly sweetness that came along with the swallow of cough medicine, perhaps the idea a begrudging task to perform but one does it anyway to reap the benefits it promises. She supposed she was much the same way: a solitary figure who rose of her own accord to take a name they might look down upon her for. But with that title came sugar coated temptations, offerings of things they might have desired to obtain. And so it was with that relationship of give and take that any were interested at all--and, in the end, she could only hope it would stir others to do the same.
For now, though, the girl who tore herself away from the midnight sky came at her call, white pinprick stars giving the body a light to match the fire inside of it. Rannveig watched in silence with her words still staggering in the air around them, a soft feature with tilted lips given as a welcome. The other was wet, certainly recently pulling her way from the arms of the swamp, but Rann did not balk at the idea that she called the marshlands home; she grew up in a warrior camp, after all, and had but a tent to sleep in with the world around them a constant blizzard. She was not one to judge. So as the first to arrive came near, she merely gazed on with her teal eyes until introductions were made.
Then there were two.
She was the youngest Rann had seen so far, slim and beautiful. She carried with her the air of a princess given freedom for the first time; the war-ravaged mare wondered if she might have ended the same way had she not gone to Jarl. The youth betrayed by her movements and words sent a silent laugh through Rann's lips for the first time, a comfort found with having others near one she had missed for years. "It is a fear of the power which they hold that cannot be controlled." Her rough voice spread out in the spaces around them, a comment to reflect upon that which the winged girl made. She made no remark on the beauty of the two before her, but she knew very well they both possessed the ability to have many falling at their hooves. Though the dagger at the girl's neck, she presumed, could do just as well.
"'Rousing' I am not so certain of, but honorable it is. Do you know of the Dusk Court?" She rumbled a small laugh and posed the question before giving her own name. "Rannveig, the name I go by. I hope to have aid in building this Court back to what it was known for." Her eyes turned again to the self-proclaimed witch, a slight twitch of her ear the only indication that she knew what such a title entailed.
She approached with a sickly sweetness that came along with the swallow of cough medicine, perhaps the idea a begrudging task to perform but one does it anyway to reap the benefits it promises. She supposed she was much the same way: a solitary figure who rose of her own accord to take a name they might look down upon her for. But with that title came sugar coated temptations, offerings of things they might have desired to obtain. And so it was with that relationship of give and take that any were interested at all--and, in the end, she could only hope it would stir others to do the same.
For now, though, the girl who tore herself away from the midnight sky came at her call, white pinprick stars giving the body a light to match the fire inside of it. Rannveig watched in silence with her words still staggering in the air around them, a soft feature with tilted lips given as a welcome. The other was wet, certainly recently pulling her way from the arms of the swamp, but Rann did not balk at the idea that she called the marshlands home; she grew up in a warrior camp, after all, and had but a tent to sleep in with the world around them a constant blizzard. She was not one to judge. So as the first to arrive came near, she merely gazed on with her teal eyes until introductions were made.
Then there were two.
She was the youngest Rann had seen so far, slim and beautiful. She carried with her the air of a princess given freedom for the first time; the war-ravaged mare wondered if she might have ended the same way had she not gone to Jarl. The youth betrayed by her movements and words sent a silent laugh through Rann's lips for the first time, a comfort found with having others near one she had missed for years. "It is a fear of the power which they hold that cannot be controlled." Her rough voice spread out in the spaces around them, a comment to reflect upon that which the winged girl made. She made no remark on the beauty of the two before her, but she knew very well they both possessed the ability to have many falling at their hooves. Though the dagger at the girl's neck, she presumed, could do just as well.
"'Rousing' I am not so certain of, but honorable it is. Do you know of the Dusk Court?" She rumbled a small laugh and posed the question before giving her own name. "Rannveig, the name I go by. I hope to have aid in building this Court back to what it was known for." Her eyes turned again to the self-proclaimed witch, a slight twitch of her ear the only indication that she knew what such a title entailed.
And all our problems make us powerless
@
