Thread: Maelstrom (RustyRedhead and darjeeling)

The brooding clouds streaking across Freljordian skies wept rain and hail for three day and three nights erratic snowstorms and shrieking maelstroms sped across the frozen lands, sweeping away any stragglers caught in the temperamental flurries. The high walls of Rakelstake was the only barrier between the Avarosan tribe and the rage of the tundra beyond. Woman and child alike huddled beneath blankets, stoking their fires as high as they dared in their homes carved from stone. The men, boys and warriors, tended to the livestock and saw to it that their families would be safe and that they themselves would return by nightfall. Very few ventured out beyond the giant gates and even fewer returned. It had been three days and three nights since Tryndamere, the Barbarian King, had taken his leave of the city, its people and its Queen. No longer bound by the sacred vows of marriage, the process had been lengthy but simple. He no longer wished to play King with a tribe who strove for peace but made not a single move against the numerous enemies drifting about the Freljord rumor had it their numbers grew with every snow wolf's howl, and there were many wolves lurking in the frosted forests. He had taken his Barbarian host with him, his good and loyal men. Though some had remained behind for their wives and children, the absence of the warring Barbarians was made painfully clear. The Avarosans were travelers and farmers, nomads of peace, not fighters. Boys as young as thirteen took up wooden spears and iron swords and without the reassuring presence of seasoned warriors at their backs, morale was dropping. Queen Ashe, still a Queen by all rights, sat alone in her room as the fierce winds battered at her window, the panes rattling loosely in its oaken frame. She stared listlessly, her clear blue eyes focused on the distorted scene beyond the glass. Ice crept up from the bottom as fingers of water slid down, joining in a strange, convoluted dance as the water turned to frost before her. She stood suddenly, the chair scraping against the wooden floor with a harsh screech. On the first day, when Tryndamere had kissed her hand and bid her farewell, Ashe convinced herself that neither she nor Rakelstake needed them. On the second day, when she looked upon the fearful faces of her people, she told herself that while Rakelstake needed them. On this day, the third, she had looked at her reflection in a mirror and was convinced that it was she who needed them. Him. Ashe knew her heart did not ache for him, nor did she desire his warmth by her side. She respected the man but she did not love him. Yet his scent that lingered on their marriage bed and the various places in which he had thrown his cloak off haphazardly. Ashe could almost hear his complaints, to which she would remember her soft smiles as she sat to brush her snowy locks free from tangles and knots. He would be asleep, snoring before she finished but Ashe found she did not mind. His snores were loud enough to drown out wind and storm and she somehow found it comforting, though she never said as much to him. He gave her mind peace and she felt safe, his confidence reassuring and his rage both terrible and admirable to a degree. Tryndamere fought for his cause as she did for hers, yet in an entirely different fashion and that was where they differed too greatly. The Frost Archer stalked down the stairs, dressed not in any sort of royal garb but in her usual hunting attire. Her guards straightened as she passed, respectfully nodding but Ashe had no time to stop. It was past midnight, the skies dark and tumultuous. She would rule Rakelstake alone if she thought it best for her people, but the future of the morrow was unpredictable and it would not be long before The Winter's Claw may hear of Tryndamere's decision. She had called on Nunu and the Yeti for assistance the young boy resided in another room in the palace now with his faithful companion and the few Yeti who had joined them were well cared for. Ashe had also asked for Anivia's assistance. While the ancient being spoke in riddles and forebodings she did not quite understand, she knew that the Cryophoenix would do her best to protect the city in her stead. Ashe vowed she would bring back Tryndamere and his Barbarian kin and for that, she needed to scour the unfaithful lands. For that, she needed a companion and not just any. She had sent a letter to her intended recipient, deploring for her assistance as Ashe's bodyguard. The assassin would know Freljordian lands, if even a little and Katarina was not a complete stranger either. Still, a response had not yet come and Ashe was impatient. She swept past the front doors of the ice palace towards the city gates. She rapped her knuckles on the door of the garrison, asking if word had arrived of Katarina but was met with apologetic shakes of the guard's head. No bird had come and certainly no messenger. They begged the Queen to rethink her schedule, fearing that the wind and snow will not stop even for her. Ashe merely smiled, hefting her pack and readjusting the fresh quiver of arrows she was given. I don't expect it to but we are born of Avarosa's blood. It is her spirit who will guide me. Still, she decided to wait a little longer for Katarina's potential arrival and if the woman did not show within an hour, Ashe had to accept her fate of a journey traveled alone. It was not a strange notion to her, with many of her hunts consisting of only herself and her bow but she was wise enough to know that hunting for Tryndamere would not be similar to hunting boar or hare. She nodded to herself. Katarina was a good, albeit strange choice. But bodyguard or no, she intended to complete her mission.