“Rider… She seems too soft. I cannot say I understand her well at all. Still, I sense the familiar knot in her heart. It is something that we only know.”
“Ah, there you are. That man is no snack nor the dead, so leave him be. Return over here, now.” A commanding deep voice causes the bird’s confidence to shrivel up. It can feel the redhead’s sharp gaze piercing through it. The crow quickly retreats. “Are you… All right?”
" Huh? Huuuh? What the hell is this? Do I look like a worm to you? Shoo, shoo. Get out of my sight! Aargh, shitty birds...! "
Waving his hands over his head, two seconds away from grabbing them and wringing their neck at this rate.
It's not about strength, or cunning, or tactic. We push forward the same way we always have, with love for those around you and a determination to protect them.
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acted or not, people would have died. I would rather have fought than to have lowered my head in acceptance to you scoundrels. You know it was more than that damn rebellion. I would never share a drink with you. All of you… All of you are untrustworthy, destructive vermin.”
“Arrogance? You know not the irony spat from your tongue. Bikini? What nonsense are you— Ah. I suppose that is a different me. Rider… One who looks far too defeated for one possessing Iceni blood through her veins! Vengeance, you ask? I desire something beyond that. —
" Eh-? "
" Wait...your daughters...this arrogance..oh so it's you, what, tired of your usual bikini-attire? "
"I would've thought being crushed like vermin would humble you woman, or are you perhaps looking for undeserved vengeance? "
For my people… I seek their freedom. To free them I will eradicate Rome.” A husky growl emerges from the back of Boudica’s throat. Nero’s lackadaisical behavior, passing the blame, makes the woman want to make a bloody mess of the emperor.
“It was a matter of when. Whether I—
@ichorshift Robbed of any opportunity, it is a wasteland, a slave to the void you can never hope to escape from.
What you cherished is gone.
You would never accomplish what you wanted. Surely, you might find that to be its own hell.
@ichorshift Now picture it slowly being ripped apart. Each piece, one by one, is taken. Everything you know starts to fade. You think you can get by if you cannot write one, yet soon you have nothing. The pen is dry, incapable of producing ink let alone a word. Then your mind is last. —