Stranger still is the fox upon the hill,
Words twist and change,
Becoming demons sans face,
Likened to the Black,
The demons' silent mask,
Silence becoming White,
Quiet even through night,
Mother is I,
Wiser than both,
Stronger though sloth,
Moon is I,
Tranquil before storms,
Steady through water,
Sea is become me,
Silent as the grave,
More loyal than a knave,
Riffle is the opposition,
Shallow water covering black rock,
Water is deep,
Such as Sea is me,
The Stranger approaches,
Soon to become the Known,
Stranger still is the fox upon the hill
Luna lays down the last page of poems, and smiles. Her ring glints on her finger, and she ponders who shall be the next to wear it. Her smile fades as she glimpses the Kapakru tattoo that lies just above her Floudonkru one. She closes her eyes and brings a smile to her face as she shoves all thoughts of her former home aside. She is Floudonkru now, just as all other mothers before her have been.
"Soon the real story will come," Luna turns to her guard, "Are you familiar with the tale of Ragnarök?"
The guard startles at her speech, but shakes their head none the less.
"Shame, for all that has happened once will happen again," She turns back to her book. The title glints in the candle light, "I wonder how Clarke is doing, I hope she brings the successor back safely. It truly would be a shame for the line to end with me."
Clarke smiles, and lets her thoughts consume her once more. It's easier this way, to forget all the outside pain and just let the scars tell the story later. She knows that only one scream has been ripped from her, and the thought fills her scattered brain with pride. She's better than him, better than the fool Libra. It's why she survived, and he didn't.
A grimace comes across her face then too. She'd let the light in again. She should know better.
The Black is all consuming, a philosophy that requires clear mind and a sharp knife. Distractions get you killed in this new world after all.
Clarke can feel one final knife, this one sharper and unheated. She surprises herself with the fact that she's even paying attention to the happenings outside her own body.
She opens her eyes, and sees a face she'd never forget. The crooked nose, and squinted green eyes are marked in thought, for the final punisher pulls Clarke's head forward, and whispers into her ear, "Beware the coming twilight, Storm God. Beware the coming of Ragnarök."
Clarke's eyes widen, how did they know of the Fate? How did they know of the legend? As they walk away, Clarke catches a glimpse of the blade hanging from their belt. Her breath hitches as she spots the jagged red glass of the sword. Her hands attempt to reach for the blue sword that matches, "Who are you?" Clarke's voice is hoarse from the repressed screams.
The stranger pauses before speaking. Her back straightens as her shoulders slide back and her chest puffs out proudly, "I am the Liar, sister," she speaks before walking away. Each of her steps echoing through the satisfied crowd.
Clarke's head rings with the new information, could she be another member of the Black? Perhaps a follower of the White?
Chubby stands once the Liar has rejoined the crowd. He signals to Nero, who has taken up her position behind Clarke. Nero slits the ropes binding Clarke to the pole, and Clarke attempts to stand. Her armor was removed before the second knife cut her, and so the black shorts and T-shirt she wore underneath are soaked in her own blood. The shirt had the sleeves cut off, and numerous holes in it. The shorts had remained mostly untouched as people focused on her upper body with the knife. Numerous cuts litter her form, and light bruising can be seen in certain places.
Burns also littered her body, and Clarke feels thankful for the fact that they mainly avoided her joints thus removing all threat of scars inhibiting her movement. Her face has been victim to a few cuts, most of them jagged and burned over. Clarke's knees are a bit wobbly from the blood loss, and her head feels like it's spinning in circles. But still, she reaches for the only sword left on her person.
She wraps her right hand around the hilt of her blue glass sword, and smiles at the familiar feeling of smooth leather under her calloused palm. The sword slides smoothly out of it's sheath, and she slowly takes two steps forward. Her smile widens to a horrifying grin, and the burns and cuts do nothing to deter from her presence. She steps up next to Chubby, and his face scrunches at the stench she emits. She tosses her sword from hand to hand, and appreciates the amount of movement she still has. Luna was right about the Black being the best form of training for near-death situations. She switches her grip to a reverse on the blue sword, before she swings it into Chubby at her side. The surprised look on his face will be a memory she'll always cherish.
The sword had swung perfectly into Chubby's heart, and as she removed the sword, his body fell backwards. Clarke raised the sword, and held it over her head in a sign of mock victory. The thud of Chubby's body hitting the ground rang through the surprised crowd, and Clarke spoke to them once more, "I name this sword Angurvadal, for it brings a message," at that moment in time a beam of sunlight broke through the branches, and illuminated the blue blade of the sword, "War is upon us, it could be with you, or it could be with another. But no matter the foe lives shall be lost. I offer you a deal. You can stand with me and my people as part of the coalition, or die upon my blade. The others stand at my back, so choose your place," Clarke lowered her sword, and kneeled next to Chubby's body.
With short deliberate movements, she cleaned her sword of blood.
Nero laid her hand on Clarke's back, "I thought you'd name it after the hammer. The Liar did call you the Storm God,"
"I am no Thor," Clarke's voice is hallow, but it rings with solemn truth,
"I am the Bloody Smile."
Heyo! Sorry for the short chapter this week, and the late posting of it. I just started exam season. There should be 8 or so other postings this month so look forward to those. However, the reason I'm posting so much this June is because I'm going on hiatus for most of July and August, I'm going on a wee hike through the wilderness for 42 days. So fun!
Also! I got a question that I've been waiting for someone to ask for a very long time now! I even named the tumblr page I rarely use after it :D
WTF IS A RIFFLE MAN!?
Riffle (R-if-fle) is a geographic term for when the water in a stream is rolling over a rock and is just barely covering it. It's a thing, and also not a gun.
Anyways, tell me things and ask me others, because I love talking with you guys!
~FoM