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[Queen Marika holds... no real love for the Carian Queen, but that's hardly a surprise. However, unlike most things that Queen Marika does not like, she has yet to be able to just... roll the Carians over to force them to submit to the Golden Order.
Queen Marika does not like resistance.
So, she takes to the field herself: God should be able to turn the tide of the battle, but all it ends with is her face to face with Rennala, at the center of the battlefield. In Liurnia, the near-constant rains make for muddy conditions, and the marches and battles have been slow, mucky, and dirty.
Still, there's something about Marika's golden divinity that seems to keep the muck off her feet. At least, for a while.
Eventually, golden hammer meets casting staff, golden incantations bouncing off blue glintstone sorceries, all powerful enough to bring the cosmos itself down around them.
And when the sparkles settle, Marika's hammer is in the mud, and she is hand-to-hand with Rennala. Here, she knows she has an advantage; Marika is a war-god, she is a warrior. Her build is almost masculine in its musculature.
Except both her hands are occupied trying to physically overpower Rennala, and she can't release them, lest a spell be cast at close enough range to do some serious damage to her runic body. So when she finds herself struggling, exhausted, she does the only thing she can think of:
She smashes her golden lips to Rennala's pale own, hard enough she can taste... well. Someone's blood.
Might or might not be hers. She's not even sure if she bleeds anymore.]
Queen Marika does not like resistance.
So, she takes to the field herself: God should be able to turn the tide of the battle, but all it ends with is her face to face with Rennala, at the center of the battlefield. In Liurnia, the near-constant rains make for muddy conditions, and the marches and battles have been slow, mucky, and dirty.
Still, there's something about Marika's golden divinity that seems to keep the muck off her feet. At least, for a while.
Eventually, golden hammer meets casting staff, golden incantations bouncing off blue glintstone sorceries, all powerful enough to bring the cosmos itself down around them.
And when the sparkles settle, Marika's hammer is in the mud, and she is hand-to-hand with Rennala. Here, she knows she has an advantage; Marika is a war-god, she is a warrior. Her build is almost masculine in its musculature.
Except both her hands are occupied trying to physically overpower Rennala, and she can't release them, lest a spell be cast at close enough range to do some serious damage to her runic body. So when she finds herself struggling, exhausted, she does the only thing she can think of:
She smashes her golden lips to Rennala's pale own, hard enough she can taste... well. Someone's blood.
Might or might not be hers. She's not even sure if she bleeds anymore.]
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