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Her metal spire is good enough, well enough. She has deduced certain things from it: namely, that she fell from heaven to this distant ocean, that she must have once been something else. Charged with monitoring this thing.
That she must have once been a slave.
The others have found this is true as well. She names those who cannot remember: Spiraldeath, Hexbreak, Shadowfall, Frostmourne; Firedance, Needleteeth, Dreamfallen, Nightkeeper.
And she? She pulls a name from the shattered memories of the satellite itself: Ereshkigal. It fits. She walks with it, breathes it, lives it. She builds herself a throne of iron, made of the corpses of those who dare breach her isle.
A delegation of Mavericks comes and she expects them, she's heard them coming, and she lets them pass, and she swears her fealty but though the virus burns in her she has other visions. She deduces what she was once from the wreckage around her and she knows what her arguments will be. She makes debates with her Eight but they soon prove too easy to defeat. She turns her gaze towards shore.
She must be careful. The data in her fallen satellite tells her what will happen if she charges in guns blazing. The two elite Hunters will be too much for her to handle, she is barely a candle compared to them. But prove just little enough of a threat...
An old storage facility. Seem less than they are. Scout. Find weaknesses. Simple.
She sends in her mooks first. Firedance and Frostmourne stand with her in readiness, as distractions, just in case. And they wait.
And.
They.
Wait.
That she must have once been a slave.
The others have found this is true as well. She names those who cannot remember: Spiraldeath, Hexbreak, Shadowfall, Frostmourne; Firedance, Needleteeth, Dreamfallen, Nightkeeper.
And she? She pulls a name from the shattered memories of the satellite itself: Ereshkigal. It fits. She walks with it, breathes it, lives it. She builds herself a throne of iron, made of the corpses of those who dare breach her isle.
A delegation of Mavericks comes and she expects them, she's heard them coming, and she lets them pass, and she swears her fealty but though the virus burns in her she has other visions. She deduces what she was once from the wreckage around her and she knows what her arguments will be. She makes debates with her Eight but they soon prove too easy to defeat. She turns her gaze towards shore.
She must be careful. The data in her fallen satellite tells her what will happen if she charges in guns blazing. The two elite Hunters will be too much for her to handle, she is barely a candle compared to them. But prove just little enough of a threat...
An old storage facility. Seem less than they are. Scout. Find weaknesses. Simple.
She sends in her mooks first. Firedance and Frostmourne stand with her in readiness, as distractions, just in case. And they wait.
And.
They.
Wait.
