Thread: An Empire in 100 Nights (Rosewood x LeatrixSage)

By the Gods, but the rushes stank of rat shit and cat piss so strongly that the smells of rotten food, festering wounds, and death in the bailey far below barely reached her where she stood looking over what remained of her armies. Solveig SOHL-veye av Nordanvind was wrapped in fur and watching the towering bonfire that was being constructed bellow. Within its bowls were the many hundreds of dead men, women, and children that had fallen either fighting, or desperately trying to reach the walls of Ravenswrath under the seemingly endless horde that had set upon them. Shed used every ploy, every tactic, every method known to man to slow them, to cut their supplies, to turn the tide that swept across their lands and burned everything to the ground. Hers was a small Queensland, but it had been bountiful before the plague had swept North and over the mounts and burned their valley to cinders. In the last weeks, she had watched the smoke moving ever closer, powerless to stop them. Now, just beyond her walls they sat and waited under a sea of many-colored tents with flags from half a world away. Her last effort had been to send an assassin to murder the bastard they called a God-King. He had not returned, not in one piece, anyway. Instead, a missive had arrived, along with one of his oddly-colored, golden eyes. There was a chance the man was still alive, but Solveig doubted it. More important was the distinctly masculine handwriting that demanded she open the walls of the city and ride out to surrender herself. It was wise to know when one was conquered, but the knowing did nothing to ease the fury or disgrace that plagued her every step. Dusk was fast approaching, and with it came the thick grey snow clouds they had long been praying for. The winter snows were late. Had the come sooner, they might have slowed the southern army, perhaps frozen some of their men and their tiny horses. Instead, it seems the Gods had decided her rule was not to last. Despite how easy they had made it for her to acquire her throne, they were not going to allow her to keep it. Not the soldiers daughter that should have never stepped foot inside the hollowed walls of Ravenswrath. The crisp Northern wind snatched back her hood of fox fur and set her fiery copper hair flying on the breeze. The streaks of red, orange, and gold caught the last flecks of amber light from the sun in a stark contrast from the grey wooden beams and stone that was the walls and walks of what had been her home. Solveig reminded herself that she did not belong in Ravenswrath, she never had, and even after she had supplanted her useless husband on the throne, ended his idiotic wars, and made them all fat and wealthy, they had never really accepted her. But, they were her people, and Solveig would not watch them suffer unduly. She had done everything she could to send their enemy away, and she had failed. Now she could watch them all burn, or she could burn for them. So it was that the Lady of Ravenswrath, Queen of the Valley of the Gods, av Nordanvind the North Wind daughter of Gunnvor the Skall, and what was left of her Barons and Knights rode out the Western Gate of Ravenswrath under white banners. Surrender. It chafed in a way that nothing else could. The wound in her pride burned angrily just beneath her skin while her heart hammered away in her chest. For all the world, Solveig assumed it was death that waited her as the many soldiers under so many banners closed in around their party to lead them. The thin legged horses they rode looked pitiful next to their heavy drafts, much like their short, and thin men looked frail beside the thick, broad Northmen that were her kin. And yet, these people had bested them. What was left of her Barons closed in around her. Those loyal few knew the lengths she had taken to try to win this war that had found them. Some had fought beside her father, others had fought beside her, but none were ready to allow her to do this. Most would rather see Ravenswrath burned to the ground first, but she could not stomach the loss of life. Instead, she meant to barter for the lives of her people, and she only hoped the men that followed her would trust her judgement. The Valley of the Gods was a dangerous and unforgiving place, despite its fertile lands, and its people were harsh and untrusting of foreigners. They would not follow easily, but for their people, she hoped they would at least follow. If that failed, well, then her fathers sword was lashed to her hips and her mothers dirk was hidden under her skirt. Up her left sleeve was a small pouch, a delicate poison that was elegant in its cruelty. His end would be slow. His strength would leave him, and then his voice, and when he was crippled and mute, the pain would begin as his blood was pushed out of his pores as bone and muscle were turned to little more than jam. It was dishonorable to use such a weak and loathsome tactic, but if he could not be swayed, she would find a way to kill him, not matter the cost. The host came to a stop in what she assumed was the center of the sea of tents just as the first flakes of snow began to fall. Strange peoples and languages surrounded them. So many shouted at her, but she understood nothing they said. Hidden beneath the safety of a heavy hood and thick furs, Solveig alighted from the heavy draft she rode to find that she towered over many of the men wrapped in steel and leather around them. It emboldened her, and the Warrior Queen pushed back her cloak of black fur and pulled down her hood to look down at the small Southorn peoples around her. Where is your God-King? she hissed at them. They quieted, but she doubted they understood her any better than she understood them. Their leader, however, their Emperor, he had written her in Runes, he could understand her, and she hoped he could hear her. Why is the bastard not here to meet with me? After all of this, does he hide from a woman's scorn? The bold among her barons chuckled, warmed by her vigor, and calmed by her show of strength. No matter the simmering panic in her blood, she had to remain battle-hard and cold as the deepest winter while they were there to see her. It would be all that kept them from foolishly seeking glory in a battle they could never win. Come out, you fecker, and lets see an end to this! Last edited Feb 14, 2019