Sleeping Dragon chosen paths

Scythia’s inattention to the divine was a standard truth. She collected baubles for own amusement, issued slaves as substitute parishioners and cited the Gods in many of her more uncouth witticisms. Common things amongst the magnates of Rome, they were eases allowed by the reassuring wealth that surrounded them. However, even outside of Paralia and given many opportunities to smite her, Juno seemed to instead cosset the irreligious Odysseia.

The latest in these curious furnishings was a vision from the female’s own thoughts –a commune steered by women and near absent men. Of course in a more standard setting Scythia would have favored the exact opposite but, without attendants to ensure her safekeeping she dared not test the merit of Juno’s benevolence amongst unknown men. 

Far off from the illusory boarder she assembled generic statistics concerning the inhabitants’ condition and numbers. It wasn’t the sort of critical information that would balance her final decision but it was enough to see her towards them for further valuation.

While trotting within a mile relative to the front door she wondered aloud on quarreled doubts. "Juno, if it is to be then I beg you to keep Jupiter’s cock from ass in this endeavor." Knowing all too well the sometimes ruinous outlook of the God she offered a cold entreaty to his wife. Perhaps she wasn’t the most romantic in her conveyance but as the Odysseia called out into the distance she bargained hard within her otherwise godless heart.

here is a quick post while i am on my lunch break :3 excuse any mistakes due to typing it on my phone haha. love her name <3

Irritation has built up tension between her shoulders the last few days, splitting the time guarding her captive between three wolves instead of four. Goliath has been known to get into a little trouble and there's a part of her that worries. He's just lost somewhere, hurt, but her man power to search for him has been limited. Until she knows exactly what she's going to do with the wolf stuck away in the caves, sending a flock out for her giant isn't exactly plausible when she barely sees the others.

Thuringwethil trades her shift with Snacha for a little while and moves along the border. She's more stiff than she'd like to be in her hair but her thoughts carry her way far enough she barely noticed her toes dragging the dirt beneath her.

The scent of another catches her attention, swiveling her ears forward and she tries to quickly recollect whether or not she's heard a beckoning howl. Grey eyes narrow as she turns, using what brush she can to hide in superficial expanse of her home. It isn't close enough to warrant a threat, just yet, but someone lingering leaves her with an unsettled stomach. Thuringwethil breaks her barrier, putting herself out into the open until she finds another female hovering her lands.

Having never seen boarders from the unwelcomed side on which she now stood Scythia was given to a rare instance of transcendental thought. In Paralia, new citizens were either; transient barters, enslaved nemeses or, the occasional decent on recess from their own civic. Deciding that she was none of these things the Roman daughter shifted in minor irritation. She certainly wouldn’t have herself mistaken for haggler or chattel but, the notion of being taken in as honored guest still presented undesirable restraints. If she was going to find beloved Tegyrios and convince him of her disassociation from Rome –as was her mission- she would have to begin her atonement now. And that meant creating an existence outside of the inborn excess that her brother so hated.

Ignited by this understanding as the sentinel came from veil, Scythia disremembered her reluctance and offered the first words between them. "Guard," she labeled in error. "I am Scythia Odysseia of Paralia. Please –go and tell your Ducis a good Roman woman is at your boarders willing to exchange her worth for a rank amongst you." It was a talent that even in the absence of nerves Scythia could express herself with a certain degree of eloquence. Quieting as she canted head to side and presented herself as inoffensive but of value she waited for the black wolf to scuttle back to castle with her message in toe.

The other comes into view and attention is drawn to her—she's mistaken for one of her subordinates just before the lone wolf states her business. Her shoulders stiffen and she resists the urge to lift her nose higher, to curl her tail a little tighter around her spine. Instead, she gives the woman a chance to finish speaking. With importance in her voice, Thuringwethil is further intrigued and there's an air to her she's only seen in the reflection of others. 

Guard.

"She's busy," she says after consideration, a quick tone to hide her usual manner of speaking. Thuringwethil looks behind her, as if someone might approach, and she shifts her weight with uncertainty. "What worth of a Roman woman does she have use for anyway?"

At the unamused mention of Rome, Scythia's heart lamented. She could have launched into a dissertation of Paralía and its charms at a length to rival that of the Iliad but —the country was no longer hers to defend. Subsequently, the insult was excused with a familiar amusement. Softening her eyes on the sable woman, the Odýsseia treated her as she did her own friends. Of course with the exemption of one they were all distrait Roman elites with a penchant for blood gaiety —especially it seemed, when the wound was inflicted into an allies' back. 

With an altogether amiable expression, she advised the woman with sweetened tone. "Good aegis, all Romans are chroniclers," she cooed. "Yet, I assure you that your Domina would be remiss to know you allowed one as skilled in stratagem and venery as I to eschew her collection." Quavering her head at the woman in the way one might while facetiously correcting a child, she coiled her tail near before sitting.

Perhaps when Scythia grew more accustomed to the culture she would revel in the chance to simply advise someone to fuck the hell off without the use of verbal masks and arabesques. For now though, she would go the Roman way.

Usually Gyda prided herself on attending to those that would come to their borders with the desire to join the Dragon's ranks but this time she held back if because she had crossed Thuringwethil's scent trail heading in the direction of where the call had originated from and thus did not think her intervention was needed. After all, Heda was her equal and thus just as capable at accepting wolves into their ranks. Yet, after a few minutes of taking her patrol in the opposing direction did the shield-maiden stop and turn loping towards the stranger and Heda, curious as to how Thuringwethil went about accepting wolves into their ranks. Gyda had no doubts that they went about this different than the other, as was expected for they were two different wolves. Ragnar had taught her diplomacy where it had mattered, though it could be claimed Gyda was more capable of dissuading by speech then action than her mentors. 

She slowed as she approached them, Thuringwethil's dark form against the snow dusted backdrop catching her eye first, though what held it was her stance. It was dominate but not as dominate as Heda's should be; though this question was explained by the last tidbits of their conversation that Gyda caught. Why was Thurin not acting as Heda but as another guardian? A subordinate? It did not inherently make sense to Gyda but the shield-maiden figured there was some reason for this and so she did not deign to ruin it. “My collection, you say?” Gyda inquired with a slight tease as she moved to Thurin's side, her tail above her back. She paused long enough to offer the darker woman a small nudge before she turned her attention to the woman who used terms the Scandinavian woman was not familiar with, eyes of fierce caribbean blue studying her.

The woman speaks in a tone Thuringwethil can appreciate but in a way some of it slips over her head. She is able to pick up the majority of what she’s being wolf, words that sound familiar to her in either tongue she speaks, and she opens her mouth to question before she notices the presence of her companion. She tenses, resisting the urge to adjust her posture, and swings her head to the side as Gyda steps up next to her. 

Her stance doesn’t lessen either and she pushes back when her shoulder is bumped. Her grey eyes watch their fur mingle before she’s drawn apart and coldness comes between them. The matter of business quickly jars her back to the task at hand when Gyda speaks. 

“This is Scythia,” she introduces, glancing back to the new woman, “She claims she can be useful to us. Tactician,” she begins her interpretation, “and a chronicler.” Thuringwethil’s intrigue remains tucked away, curious to see what Gyda will think of the woman. “And... venery? I do not know this word.”

Without meaning to Scythia noticed the other almost as soon as she arrived. From the corner she saw some movement -mistook it for a bird- and then a second later browsed again feeling uncertain. Discerning the female from the snow that so encrusted the terrain, her sense of friendliness was revitalized with instant recognition.

"You must be the Domina," she insisted approvingly. Giving her full concern to the matriarch Scythia decided that they were of similar season —and attraction, the latter of which she valued above all else when considering new friends. "I was advised by your aegis that you were occupied," she said as if the contradiction confused her. Yet, in the moment after she turned towards the mistaken wolf and offered her a teasing smile of criticism.

The former controller of several slaves herself Scythia thought the tone between them somewhat odd. Of course she had had her own favorite in trusted Galene but that was a clandestine thing. "Venery," she punctuated to draw attention back to herself, "is many things in Rome. There are tales of conquest over massive beasts in exotic countries far from dear Paralía." Her voice had become distant as she saw the tremendous verses before her mind's eye. War stories had always thrilled her most what with their intermix of blood and romance. 

Feeling such passion then Scythia rose and drew nearer to the sentinel. "Although, my personal favorites have always been the victories over more consenting beasts much closer to home." An airy sound of amusement filled the closed space between them as she stared full on into the eyes of what she believed to be a mere servant.

"Or don't you agree Domina," she inquired suddenly. Turning from the continually mistaken wolf as if only seconds before she hadn't eye fucked her taken her. "I've got thousands of other sorts of stories if you'd like different for your... collection." It might have appeared that things were all in amusement to Scythia but as their meeting progressed she found herself more and more entreating the Gods' favor in her attempt to gain entry.

Domina while not a term Gyda was inherently familiar with, the way in which it was used to address her implied that this stranger recognized Gyda as the alpha. “I am,” Viking Queen, Alpha, Domina ...it mattered not what her subordinates called her so long as they recognized and respected her place at the helm beside Heda. Speaking of whom seemed to be allowing the assumption that she was little more than a guard. “I always try to make time for strangers at my borders,” The borders was where Gyda was most active, and she spared Thurin a curious glance. She did not understand Heda's game but she would indulge it for so long as Thuringwethil wanted it to be so. Thuringwethil made the introduction, giving Gyda a name and skills that the stranger claimed to posess, though Gyda was glad that she questioned the word venery. It was foreign to the viking woman; though Scythia did not seem to be insulted by either of the Dragon women's confusion. 

Scythia offered an explanation then, drawing nearer, her gaze intent upon Gyda's “guard” as she spoke, her movements and words almost seductive in their ploy. Gyda's gaze hardened at the display aimed at Thuringwethil. Surely, this was not the first time Thuringwethil had been flirted with by another woman but nevertheless it left an icy sort of swell of jealousy in beneath Gyda's breast for a few moments, though the shield-maiden deigned carefully not to let it show. Gyda's gaze left Scythia for the briefest of moments, resting upon Thuringwethil, a coy smirk tugging at the edges of her muzzle. “Oh, I agree,” The Scandinavian woman murmured before she looked back to Scythia.

“but I am interested in hearing your other stories, as well.” Gyda encouraged, wanting to get more of a feel for this brazen woman, nothing short of curious and perhaps intrigued.

The woman addresses Gyda appropriately, something that pricks at the base of her lips but she doesn’t let it move forward to her expression, and she feels the pull the rest of her body does to get her into posture. Her eyes remain focused on the new woman, watching as she explains the word to the both of them, even if most of the attention about her qualities is directed at her companion. 

Thuringwethil is content to remain silent, watching the exchange, but the shift in tone of Scythia catches her and she glances back to meet her gaze. Her stare is hardened when met but she doesn’t feel a challenge—whether the meaning behind her words have something else in store for her or because the wolf simply doesn’t know who she is. The fur on the back of her neck fluffs up and her shoulders square and Thuringwethil stops herself from stiffening up her posture even more. Gyda’s reply, however, causes her to break the long stare with the loner and look away from either of them.

Gyda’s request for more stories, however, pulls Thuringwethil back and in a tone not quite matching to her cover: “We could use a good hunter.” 

They’d gotten by without someone taking on the job and the leadership organizing the hunts for big game. The initiative by the others had fallen by the wayside, where she’d hoped Eli and Smoke would take it up, but their absence has been obvious. Thuringwethil’s gaze shifts from Gyda to Scythia, her head raising in the cant of her head, and her tail stiffens a little more above her spine.

A sudden breath from the mountainous terrain saw all manners of debris redistributed with the wind. In an instant the dragon was aroused as looser snowfall was mustered towards its head in a whooshing churn. Watching until the items became indiscernible toward the summit Scythia encountered the oddest sensation of familiarity. As it often occurs the recollection was not correlated until mention was made of a completely unrelated topic. Through a series of associated thoughts the female eventually found herself with memories of her mother reciting the war between Spartacus and Marcus Crassus. From her telling of events the frontline between the Thracian and the Roman had been similar to the threshold on which they stood. Thinking on whether or not she should share the remembered tale Scythia’s eyes wandered innocently towards the sentry. There was a chapter in which the former gladiator and his rioters overtook several watchmen and, she imagined that the obsidian creature would appreciate hearing of their violent end.

It was a rascally thought that caused her to smile but not as much as when she noticed a certain change to the woman’s stature. Mistaking the insinuations of her dominance for an answer to her earlier teasing Scythia took great pleasure in the notion that she had caused such an effect on the otherwise taciturn wolf. Riding on this inconsequential win she addressed the silvered administrator with a honeyed tone. “I would deny you nothing if you saw fit to have me Domina.” Turning back her ears so that she might at least appear demure, her tail quivered gaily behind her. “However before I lavish all of creation upon you –I would like to know how else I might address you and the name of this place.”

I apologize for the wait on this!

Gyda was contemplative as Scythia addressed her, only after eyeing Thuringwethil again (a bit to the viking queen's inner envy) but there was nothing official between her and Heda besides their shared position and that meant that they were both allowed their freedoms. If it was this roman newcomer that Thuringwethil would fancy then Gyda could not do anything for it; but she was getting distracted to her thoughts and for the moment stifled them in order to focus upon what was most important at the moment: Scythia. Gyda liked the pretty speech of denying her nothing and the silver shield-maiden gave a nod of her approval. “I am Gyda,” She introduced and spoke with a smile. “And we are called Sleeping Dragon.”

The woman speaks to Gyda and Thuringwethil felt a pull of her lips, a smirk she refuses to let show, and she shifts her gaze between the two. She expects Gyda to speak for them both but she doesn't; an introduction and their home. She's quiet then, and her gaze sweeps back to the woman looking to join. There isn't anything stopping them from accepting her even if she's misunderstood Heda's role in Drageda and not having corrected her rests in her shoulders that she squares back to make herself look just a little bigger.

When she looks back to Gyda, first expecting her to take back over but she doesn't ultimately give her the chance. Attention breaks from her queen and she takes a step forward, doesn't adjust her posture for submission in front of a queen, but holds her own. "Heda Thuringwethil," she emphasizes and lifts a brow, though she doesn't expect full comprehension. Not yet. "Iota, for now. Show me you are useful to us, your hunting skills especially; earn the trade." The playfulness behind her expression disappears and she hardens her stare.

She looks between the two when the joiner agrees and lifts a brow before she decides to take her leave. Should Gyda want to show her around, she may, or leave her to her own devices, but Heda disappears into the shadows.

Do you mind if we bring this a little more up to date? Maybe before the most recent Gyda/Thuringwethil thread? edit: actually, gonna wrap this up.