Her visit with the Davke mare had left her no more settled in her mind, but it had given her a few ideas – namely the varied uses of weapons. All the while back from the desert she had walked, bearing a stick, looking like a mad fool but learning the limits and intricacies of her telekinesis. (She had thought that magic a foolish thing at first – how horses used it to tie braids, and weave flower crowns, and make tea. But indeed there were other things it was also suited for.)
When she returned to the Night Court, she found there were weapons aplenty to be had in the decimated remnants of Denocte.
First there was the wave, a thing only to be survived. How many more plagues remained was anyone’s guess, but the coming of the thunderbirds – that was a different sort of struggle. One she knew well, one that sent her war-drum heart to pounding, her blood running hot and joyously to meet.
This more than anything had the feel of a nightmare born from the riftlands.
Now she hefted a flail, an ugly, rusted thing that surely hadn’t been used in decades. It would serve its court today, she thought grimly, as her dark-eyed gaze flicked between Raymond and Calliope and the birds that flocked overhead, numerous and noisy as starlings.
The first of them fell like a star, a flurry of too many wings and tails. It was a strange blur of color with its transparent skin, its muscles flexing and veins running blue beneath; Shrike watched with her own blood roaring in her ears as it arced to meet Raymond, and Calliope ran to assist him.
And then watching was not enough. Like any other flock more birds followed the first, falling down on those gathered with a din that drowns out the world. Shrike screamed out her challenge, a roar that sounded almost ursine; the first opened beak that swept to meet her was met by the iron spikes of the flail. The collision of the two made a sickening, satisfying crunch, and Shrike was spattered with hot blood.
Oh, how she missed her bear-skin then, wide paws with long claws and jaws to crush and tear! But she made do with hooves and flail, ears pinned and lips peeled back from her teeth. There was no sky, no ground, no courts, no gods; only those she fought, and those she fought beside. The hot stink of blood, hers and theirs and the world’s, and she struck at wings and was struck in turn by claws and beaks.
And all the while her mind, her blood, her fierce and fearless heart was singing, singing, singing.
don't do much these days
keep the wolves at bay
keep the wolves at bay
@Raymond @Calliope @Random Events
