L E V I A T H A N S E A : s

Deep, somewhere in the shadows, was born a Hope; it was a frail hope, wreathed in Forgetfulness and Misery, but it was a Hope which pervaded, a Hope which endured. It was in the North, amongst the callow green-lands of the ancient Valar where birthed was this Hope, a bright Light in an eternity of Darknesses; it sang of a Promise, of a Tomorrow which would never come, of a Deathless Life filled with the Glory and Honor of its predecessors. Unto this Hope was given a Name: Light-Reborn, Trust of the Allar; to all others was she called Valiente, born into a world which never would know the decay of her immortal flesh, the bleaching of her deathless bones - - and so stands she still, youthful in her antiquity and filled with the Light which for so long has been absent from the world. She stands and the sun cheers, setting now in the distance of the West, far across the Sea; and the Sea, it sings to her of days yet to come, of battles yet to be won - - and it sings to her of titles yet to be acquired, upon a field of War somewhere in the heart of this Evrae. She thrills to it, the brightness rising in her breast as she moves toward the sands of the shameless beach, her feet finding purchase amongst the shifting sands; this is a Kingdom she is familiar with, somehow in the far reaches of her mind has she passed here once before, before colonization, before it was claimed as a portion of this Realm. She knew it then as again she knows it now, though now it holds another secret - - it holds the promise of Queenship, of a trust placed within her knowledge that she has experienced time before; she turns to the stallion at her side, an appraising glance filtering from her eyes as she looks past him, back into the Forest from whence she had come. She does not see him but rather looks through him, through the flesh and blood and bone and into the distance, to where the recognized and memorized sounds of truthful warfare can be appraised; she rises to the occasion, turning her forebody away from the sands, back in the former direction.

Of times long past, friend; I have spent more Life-Ages upon this Newerth than ever you will experience, she began, looking down upon him now as though he were a child - - but to this ancient creature, even the most decrepit of animals were considered to be but infants, yet weanlings tripping blithely away from their Mothers. Perhaps a child he was to Valiente, but not to the others; and then she looked away from him to a form moving intently in the Shadows, and suddenly was the Spirit of Battle raised within her Soul. It curdled her blood, stilled her raging heartbeat and for a moment's passing reproved her of breath; she was its Prisoner, as always she has been - - a Prisoner to the thrill of warfare, of danger and the awards it possessed. Knew she then that the form, moving slowly through the Darkness, was her final competitor for Queenship, a title she did not hold to be granted lightly, without thought or aid; back to the stallion, then, did she glance momentarily, her eyes dulled with blood-rage, a thin film passing over them in the dim light. But now does my heart dwell upon battle, Child, for well you should know this Kingdom passes unto the hands of the Victor. She paused, moving past him with quick steps, focused now upon a single point in the distance, already planning, already plotting. I've no intention to be called less than Queen.

She smirked, finally brushing entirely past the young male with an invitation yet on her lips: Will you join me, then? She laughed and continued forward, silent now with contempt.

VALIENTE
she o' absolution