The Peaks were desolate, mountains covered with snow sometimes light and soft, mostly sharp and bitter.
She stood upon an outcropping of rock, where behind her was a cave that shed little light from the fire built within. Clad in a fur- lined coat and breeches of soft, thick leather - along with the untold layers above and below those - she was still cold.
The Northern part of their Majesties' lands was downright, damnably unwelcoming.
Earlier, as she waited, she had trekked west, having espied a Shrine she was curious to visit. Upon reaching it, she had stood for some time, communing silently with the stone upon which the words were carved. The Great Warlady of the Castle was not a face familiar, but her name had traveled far.
When she had returned, nigh frozen to death, she had rebuilt her fire and sat, loathe to take off any of her even mildly warming layers. Her nose was red, had been numb for days now, and her eyelashes kept gathering ice. But beneath all that snow and fur, there was a vibrant, dedicated (if not disciplined), willful woman.
And when she had given her promise that she would wait, well then, by the Three Goddesses, she would wait!
If Janqua returned to find her a solid block of ice, well then, at least she waited.
Her lip would have curled if it weren't for the fact that the motion required knowing what her nose was doing, and since it was numb, that expression could be scratched off the 'able to' list. Instead, she held her hands over the blaze, trying not to wince as the tingles at her skin proved she still had some unfrozen blood, and muttered invectives that would have had the Skyron shipwrights looking askance at her.
Of all the times her Stormdragon had felt the need to mate, why did it have to be now? When she had nothing better to do than to wait in this Goddess-forsaken, frozen wasteland of a mountain range? At the very least, she hoped Janqua was having a rollicking good time. At least HE was getting some company.
Hellfire and perdition, at the very least she should have put her foot down and demanded he fly her to Reina's Clarion or maybe even the Forest again. But no, the poor beastie had to go thinking with his dumbhandle, just like most men of her acquaintance, and now there he was, keeping warm with a solid woman in his, er, nest while she slowly froze to death!
Reminder, she thought to herself. Find a man once out of this . . . frozen . . . hell.
Her teeth gritted as one foot lost all feeling. She would have to peel some of these layers off, she knew it. So she affixed a fur to the opening of the smallish den - the better to keep off the worst of the wind - and built up the fire some more. The smoke left through a convenient hole in the top, which was fine. The drawback was that as the wind blasted over said hole, it left behind a moan and wail the likes of which could put her mother's heritage to shame.
But even the bhean sidhe don't wander so far north. What -was- she thinking?
As she stripped to her cotton undertunic and wool hose, at all times a blade near by and herself near the fire, she once more cursed all men to a life without satisfaction. This was the -last- time she allowed her Stormdragon the freedom to think with his prick!
Men. They never changed, race to race.
One Very Irritated
Talirisia Sefan
Order of the Emerald Shield
Veritable Snowwoman
It was oh so bitter cold that night...
But, that mattered not to the wandering warrior that journeyed through the frozen rocky wastes. Frigid temperatures meant nothing to the undead corpse that ventured through the jagged desolate wastelands... The Minister Of Defence has returned to the lands that he had watched over for so long, he longed to experience it all once more....
He paused, poised in the blistering winds.... a thin whisp of smoke rose from the ground before him through a tiny hole... Gauntleted palms pressed together and his form disolved into a thin cloud of mist, and drifted safely down through the hole into the cavern below.... Curiosity had gotten the better of the ancient Gangrel warrior once more.
Low and behold, there was Talirisia... one of his fellow knights of the Emerald Shield... He clung to the ceiling still in gaseous form in quiet observation of the shivering scantily clad woman... Such simple pleasures that could be easily reaped for one of the undead such as he.... And he was a self styled master of it.
A hearty chuckle would fill Talirisia's ears as he rematerialized, armored boots clanking onto the ground behind her.... The tip of a massive tree-trunk like blade rested atop her shoulder as the hulking beast known as Malcolm De Asandir stood at his full near seven foot height...
"What a sight for these tired old eyes....", his commanding... yet gentle voice boomed through the cave as he regarded the huddled woman.....
Malcolm de Asandir
Knight Commander
Order of Emerald Shield
She was cold, she was not stupid. The blade that rested upon her shoulder was met and matched with the tip of the blade that hovered at just about genitalia-heighth on the creature that accosted her.
But just as quickly, the raven-haired warrior flashed a warm smile past cold lips. Clad in her cotton tunic and hose, boots up to each knee and fur-lined besides, she probably looked quite the sight. But the cave was warmer, at least, inside, than outside, and she was not frozen yet.
The blade did not drop, however, until her guest removed his.
"Well, well," she said in laughing greeting. "If it isn't the oldest warrior of all, wandering the frozen north."
The wind gusted again, creating the wailing, groaning sound that echoed from the rock walls, and Talirisia paused to allow the sound to fade. Her violet eyes were bright behind the thick black lashes that veiled them.
"Be seated, share the warmth. And speak. What brings you so far this way?"
Talirisia Sefan
Unabashedly Her Usual Self
Just Cold, Too
"I remember why you were the first to join my ranks in the queen's guard now... The razor sharp tongue, reflexes, and cute to boot...", the old Gangrel chuckled with a rather large grin spread across his bearded face...
The massive katana like blade slid over an armor plated shoulder and out of sight for the moment, his seven foot frame bent downward. His legs curlng up beneath him into a cross legged posture. His chin rested atop a gauntleted fist as he regarded Talirisia.
"My son actually.... He is following in my footsteps, I have moved onto something a bit bigger than anything I have ever undertaken before, and I need him to take over what I had started centuries ago... These lands are what I call home... This place means more to me than anyone could ever know. He will embrace it as I did, I know it... I can feel it... It's hard to explain really, even after all these years I have existed, I still can't explain the bonds between father and son... He will take up the reigns and protect it.. as I did so long ago.."
The flames lit up his huge crimson clad frame.... He sported a red armor plated robe of sorts, it almost resembled samurai garb of ancient japanese times... Gold armor plating on the shoulders and forearms, with emerald green trim... His hair was cropped off, slicked back with streaks of grey.
"He should be arriving at the Citadel Of Storms within the next few days, I simply decided to venture across the lands and take everything in once more before that would become impossible for me..", the Enforcer of Elysium stood once more, offering a hand to Talirisia.
"Come with me, it will warm the StormQueen's heart to see us both together...You'll meet my son Donnalbane as well... And, as it seems your dragon mount has left you out in the cold for now..." , he snickered, "... I'll call forth my old friend, we'll be there before sunset..."
Malcolm de Asandir
The warrior held a hand up, a quick motion. In the distance, over the wailing of the wind, a bugle crested the ridge. Her smile was laughing. "Janqua felt the urge to find a willing wench," she said with a chuckle. "It's been a week. If that doesn't sate him for some time, then he's stuck. If you'll but wait a moment, he'll be here before too long."
She does clasp the old one's hand, though, in a grip strong and brash - much like the elvish woman herself.
"I was meaning to return to Erestai before too long, with a side trip at Reina's - excuse me, Her Royal Regent Reina's," she amended with a roll of violet eyes, "home. But I'll lay odds she's already at the Forest if they're gathering. Call your friend, then, and we'll ride in. Any word from the rest of the Order?"
As she spoke, she pulled on her usual gear - billowing tunic in bold blue and breeches of soft hide. Boots the likes of which pirates are known to wear, and a sash about her waist to hold the blade she has carried for what seemed like ages. Her hair is left to fly free and loose, shoulder length these days but blacker than pitch. Her arm braces are of tooled leather, her smile is saucy and confident.
And by the time she and he are done speaking, Janqua will arrive, trumpeting loud enough to wake the dead - no pun intended - and feeling more than pleased with himself. The blue ever had his mistress and friend's temperament.
Talirisia Sefan
Order of Emerald Shield
Copyright 2002. All works written by Karina Tucker and Jared Smith, respectively. Kindly used with permission.