MaliceInWonderland
How fine you look when dressed in Rage
A hammer struck down upon glowing metal, a shower of sparks erupting like a volcano. A woman stood before a makeshift forge, built by her own hands using what she was able to find deep within the depths of a mountain. Her arms were made of sculpted muscle from years of hard work, flexing and pulling taut with every blow - one arm hammering as the other held onto a forming blade.
She was stripped down to a significant amount of bare skin to tolerate the heat. All that her body bore were wrappings around her chest and a torn shift around her hips. Her earthy, tawny-toned skin glistened and reflected the light every time metals collided all the while beads of sweat dripped over every curve and divot she bore. Long, thick hair the color of pitch was pulled into a tight braid to keep it from catching any embers.
Her lips were parted as she breathed with her exertion, deep brown eyes narrowed both in concentration and to protect them from the intensity. She paused to raise a hand and use the back of a toned arm to wipe the sweat from her brow, and let her head lean back to breathe cooler air.
From an outsider's perspective, anyone could think that this woman was a skilled blacksmith by trade; but they'd only be half right. She was skilled in blacksmithing, that was certain. But the woman who labored so intently was, in fact, a queen. A queen who had seen many wars and battles, who fought them for herself as well as for her queendom.
The sword she worked on was a labor of love in more than just its creation. It wasn't being made for herself. She was quite literally putting everything into its creation; her blood, sweat, and tears. She had survived so much, and the recipient of this nearly priceless gift was someone who had saved her even despite her own abilities and power.
It took days to forge the sword, every detail needing to be perfect; from the shape of the blade, to the gems on the hilt, to the perfectly balanced pommel - but especially the magic that had been captured within.
After a week of working on it every day, the queen stood dressed in the most luxurious fineries, juxtaposed to how she had been during its creation. In her grip laid the sword that she had made with her own hands, and raised it up high as it rested now within both palms. She slowly opened her large brown eyes skyward. Her elaborate crown glimmered as did the jewels woven into her inky hair, resembling a galaxy.
The mountain rumbled around her as something was approaching her, each step like the aftershock tremors of an earthquake.
Appearing in front of the queen was a dragon as red as burning coals, colossal and making her look wholly insignificant in size. His crimson scales came to their own points, his own wicked dark horns upon his head looking like a natural crown of his own. His mere presence of natural heat caused by a core of deep fire raised the surrounding temperature to be not unlike the forge. But she stood her ground, keeping the sword elevated towards him.
Slitted golden eyes stared down at the human woman and a rumbling growl emanated from deep his chest, causing rocks around them to tremble from the deep tones. Those eyes stared at the sword closely before gradually, the creatures body laid down before the human queen... and bowed his head. A set of colossal claws unfurled before her to accept the sword. Though it was large to her, it seemed almost like a toy in the palm of such a mighty dragon. But the blade responded, glowing just as bright as an ember, forged in the flame breathed by the dragon himself.
Letting the weapon rest amongst his claws, the queen gazed upon the bowing dragon before stepping forward and resting her form against his massive head of spines and scales. His heat filled her to her own core and she rested her own forehead against his own, closing her eyes with a smile.
Dragons may be known to abduct queens, yes. But sometimes they save them, too.
She was stripped down to a significant amount of bare skin to tolerate the heat. All that her body bore were wrappings around her chest and a torn shift around her hips. Her earthy, tawny-toned skin glistened and reflected the light every time metals collided all the while beads of sweat dripped over every curve and divot she bore. Long, thick hair the color of pitch was pulled into a tight braid to keep it from catching any embers.
Her lips were parted as she breathed with her exertion, deep brown eyes narrowed both in concentration and to protect them from the intensity. She paused to raise a hand and use the back of a toned arm to wipe the sweat from her brow, and let her head lean back to breathe cooler air.
From an outsider's perspective, anyone could think that this woman was a skilled blacksmith by trade; but they'd only be half right. She was skilled in blacksmithing, that was certain. But the woman who labored so intently was, in fact, a queen. A queen who had seen many wars and battles, who fought them for herself as well as for her queendom.
The sword she worked on was a labor of love in more than just its creation. It wasn't being made for herself. She was quite literally putting everything into its creation; her blood, sweat, and tears. She had survived so much, and the recipient of this nearly priceless gift was someone who had saved her even despite her own abilities and power.
It took days to forge the sword, every detail needing to be perfect; from the shape of the blade, to the gems on the hilt, to the perfectly balanced pommel - but especially the magic that had been captured within.
After a week of working on it every day, the queen stood dressed in the most luxurious fineries, juxtaposed to how she had been during its creation. In her grip laid the sword that she had made with her own hands, and raised it up high as it rested now within both palms. She slowly opened her large brown eyes skyward. Her elaborate crown glimmered as did the jewels woven into her inky hair, resembling a galaxy.
The mountain rumbled around her as something was approaching her, each step like the aftershock tremors of an earthquake.
Appearing in front of the queen was a dragon as red as burning coals, colossal and making her look wholly insignificant in size. His crimson scales came to their own points, his own wicked dark horns upon his head looking like a natural crown of his own. His mere presence of natural heat caused by a core of deep fire raised the surrounding temperature to be not unlike the forge. But she stood her ground, keeping the sword elevated towards him.
Slitted golden eyes stared down at the human woman and a rumbling growl emanated from deep his chest, causing rocks around them to tremble from the deep tones. Those eyes stared at the sword closely before gradually, the creatures body laid down before the human queen... and bowed his head. A set of colossal claws unfurled before her to accept the sword. Though it was large to her, it seemed almost like a toy in the palm of such a mighty dragon. But the blade responded, glowing just as bright as an ember, forged in the flame breathed by the dragon himself.
Letting the weapon rest amongst his claws, the queen gazed upon the bowing dragon before stepping forward and resting her form against his massive head of spines and scales. His heat filled her to her own core and she rested her own forehead against his own, closing her eyes with a smile.
Dragons may be known to abduct queens, yes. But sometimes they save them, too.