The discussion for the relocation of townspeople had come to a standstill; several other crucial meetings to coordinate the preparation of war had to be adjourned in the Queen’s absence. Maids were interrogated and the army was placed on heightened alert; the steelskins were activated as a search force and mobilised to be on standby for war. The castle went into a lock down - only the steelskins could enter and leave freely - even special members of the Queen’s Counsel had to request for permission to enter or leave.
He had remained in the chambers for the past three days.
Unlike on the battlefield, his presence in the castle was, bluntly put, non-existent.
Flanking from the left…
Winter’s Claw likely to raid from the South of the intersection…
Circles, crosses, lines, annotations - the King read the strategies that she had written in lieu of the frequent raids from the Winter’s Claw.
Pull back to the East… Resupply from the other side…
Ambush possible in first choke point... Wary of Northern Winds...
Sprawled across the gargantuan table was a map the Queen had used in preparation for war. The order of battle, the ranks, support and the re-organisation, penned down in delicate handwriting - you could see precisely where she had thought for a moment that one decision could be improved in the ink that soaked into the paper. The generals had often praised her wit, but he could understand none of what had been written.
A note in a different shade of brown had been pinned to the corner of the map.
“His birthday is next week.”
A week ago, she had been kidnapped.
It had been a week, but there was no progress in the investigation.
Perhaps everything went in one full circle. Perhaps this was how her decisions came back to bite her. Choosing a barbarian for a King
“Why a barbarian? He’ll never make a good King.”
She would decide the tactics, he would fight their battles.
“Tryndamere will never be good enough.”
But he will reunite our land together.
“How can a barbarian match your greatness?”
Regardless, she had decided to love this man.
Perhaps another would have been able to prevent this.
Perhaps, this alliance had triggered something that could have been entirely avoided.
Who? Was it the ice witch? Sejuani? Have spies infiltrated the Avarosan?
Who?
Who?
WHO?!
A single stroke split the table into two, his teeth grit momentarily as loud roars followed, disrupting the peace within the quarters. Just as he was about to lose control, a rumbling through the castle interrupted his seething rage. The ground trembled and outside the doors, you could hear metal clashing against the walls, the guards steeling themselves for battle.
“Aye, Incoming!”
“Sorry! He’s just drunk!”
The door unhinges as uninvited guests spill through the entrance.
“I’ll drink yoU UNDER THE tabLE, SCRUB.”
“Let’s go find the Queen! The Yeti knows the way!”
Does Tryndamere enjoy killing? Or it's just the thrill of battle and Rage that makes him so eager to draw blood?
Truthfully, Tryndamere enjoys the thrill of the hunt and battle. He discovered a passion for hunting when he was young, after his first battle in the woods with a young stray.
Tryndamere is quite neutral about killing. He does not have a thirst for blood, nor is he bounded by any morals regarding it. In the harsh tundras of Freljord, it is either kill, or be killed; hunt or be hunted - that was the way he was brought up to be. Coming from a nomadic tribe, deaths were part and parcel of the travel, and to not hunt meant that the people would starve. Killing - people or not, is a culture that is part of the barbarians. They take their pride in strength, and that display of strength would often result in casualties. His tendencies are part personality, part influenced by his environment.
Rage on the other hand, is curse, a power of immortality that had been granted to him by an unknown force - a power that he has come to learn to control within some measure, though it still runs rampant most of the time. Those who know not of his story would think that the curse has influenced his behaviour, but it is the exact opposite - that this curse has curbed his wild and violent tendencies.
❤ : Describe a physical action that shows complete trust.
He held his blade in tow, edge cutting snow as it dragged along. The weapon of choice was one bestowed to him from his father, one that had served him well for many years, and many more years to come. The tribe was ready for war and he was ready to fight. His tribesman spots the enemy horde through the blizzard.
“It seems like they are still quite a distance away.”
“‘Tis a blizzard, Agnar. Do not be fooled.”
He spit what remaining venison he had in his mouth, palms curling about the hilt of his blade; the heat of his wrath about to surge and spill forward.
