Arsynia,
Lioness of Prideless
Played by dusk

She returned to Valoria silently. It was much unlike Arsynia Tollaire, who'd once sooner raze mountains for the sake of a dramatic entrance, to make her presence so entirely known the earth quaked with her name. Instead, she had slipped through the Borderlands silently, avoiding recruiting patrols and venturing deep into Valoria's country avoiding pride borders and groups of hunters and adventurers she might pass by. Age had eased the fiery desires of her youth, but still she found herself here—goddamnit, she found herself here again. Always drawn back, always thinking of him—of them—of—

The sudden cacaw! of a raven nearby distracted her from her invading thoughts, drawing her attention once more to the black beach as its sands whipped and danced about her. Arsynia let a deep suspire roll through half-clenched lips. Her wandering was directionless, aimless. Taj did not exist here, and neither did Dresden, nor Valerius, nor Maren. Nor Smaug, nor Lisbet. The remnants of her past were only ghosts that followed in her wake; perhaps Arsynia appeared even ghostly herself, some hallowed version of a woman who once might have dreamed of taking over the world.

The incessant calling of the birds was cut short; they stirred, and then took flight. The source of their escape was a short silhouette that stood a few strides away: a cub, lost in thought, sprawled across the black sands, and perhaps in awe of the volcano as Arsynia had once been so many years ago. Arsynia chuffs as she approaches, not intended to scare the child. “Doesn't it make you wish you were as powerful?” she asks, curtly, but not unkindly.

Art by soar