| Daughter of Rage |
| Summary: | The "Ice Queen" Kyrena muses on the past, the present, and the future. |
| Date: | Marse 12, 1866 IE |
| Related: | Pretty much everything involving the War in the North. |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
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23 years.
It had been 23 years since the day the Aequorians had killed her parents. 23 years since their metal-clad warriors had dragged her and her siblings and the other children of the tribe off…since the fool priest had babbled about his One God, and spoke his nonsense about saving their souls. Only a few days later, Kyrena had feigned interest long enough to lure the foolish young priest close, and then snatched the dagger from his belt and stabbed him in the throat. That dagger had helped her free herself and her kin, and she still wore it at her waist. The Aequorians had thought the children would not be a threat, and kept little guard upon them. They had paid the price. Blooded at just 7 years old, Kyrena's legend had begun in that moment, and only grown when she marched into the camps of a neighboring tribe leading a troupe of some twenty-seven children. She was the Blessed of War, the Chosen of Vengeance, the Sister of the Northern Winds and the Daughter of Rage. Truly, the Many had blessed her and marked her for greatness.
That last name, in particular, had defined her more than any other. As a child she had lived in fear of the Templars and the Silver Knights of Aequor. Those that had killed her parents, and her parents-parents before them. Those that had razed their homes, murdered their kin, and even slaughtered their reindeer herds. Now her fear had long since curdled to anger, and that anger had sparked a fire that had spread through the North, binding the tribes together under her leadership. It had brought her five husbands, all great Chieftains in their own right, though her first and best-loved had been among the last to perish at the accursed fortress called Benide. Another log to stoke the flames of her fury.
They called her the Queen of the North, but that was the warmlanders' word. Icenaila had no Queen. Kyrena was merely the Chieftain of Chieftains. She led because she had proven herself the best to lead. The tribes followed because they shared her rage. Nearly a hundred years of the thrice-damned "Crusaders" had galvanized them into something stronger than what they were before. Even in defeat, they would follow her, because the Crusaders had taught them that one defeat need not mean the war is lost. Still, Fate had smiled upon her, and defeats had been few in her years as Chieftain. She had studied the Warmlanders way of making war as much as she could. She had turned the Frozen North itself into a weapon against them, she had kept her true strength hidden for the day that it would be revealed and the Aequorians would tremble at realizing just how strong they had become.
That day was now. The tribes had finished gathering…thousands upon thousands of warriors. The whole of Icenaila gathered to achieve but one end…to make the Crusaders pay for their crimes against the Tribes and against the Many. To burn their villages and slaughter their herds, and perhaps even to take their children and teach them in the ways of proper Gods, and the teachings of the tribes. To show the Aequorians once and for all that the Icenailans were a free people who would not tolerate their interference, and to whom they owed recompense.
The loss of the Shieldbreak Tribe had not been anticipated, but it did not change matters. In the grand scheme of Icenaila, the Shieldbreak were a small loss, and it was a valuable reminder that the one they called the Silver Bull was still not to be underestimated. He was the Chief of the al'Callenta, and that name was well-known among the Tribes. But there was another name, just as well-known, and even more hated…the al'Callenta were fierce foes, but they had always been foes…those that had turned away from the Tribes and thrown in with the Warmlanders were traitors. Those who had turned away from the Many. Those who had the gall to claim their lands of old and rule them in the way of the Crusaders, with their silly titles and the fool notion that simply being born made someone worthy to lead.
d'Arran. It was the d'Arran that would feel the wrath of the Far North first. She looked at the map upon her table and traced her finger along the pathways that already a portion of her army traveled, pausing upon the symbol that marked the town of Gendiel. This time, if Justice was kind, they would leave nothing of the City of Traitors but ash and soot in their wake.
Kyrena smiled, an expression as cold as the harshest winter, and turned to move from the tent. Gendiel would be the first, but far from the last. It was time to get other portions of her armies moving. The southern fools thought her and her people uncivilized…brutish…incapable of their manner of strategy.
Now they would learn just how wrong they were. Yet she knew in her heart that no matter how many of her foes perished…Rage would always be her companion, for he truly was her father in all the ways that mattered. She stepped from her tent and nodded to the Chieftains that awaited. Horns were sounded, mighty cheers and shouts were heard, and armies began to move. Armies equipped with arms and armor to match their foes. With mighty berserkers ready to rend those same foes limb-from limb.
The Aequorians thought they had been at war before? She would show them War, and War himself would not be able to help but be pleased by her offering.