[h1][center][color=6ecff6]Svanhild[/color][/center][/h1]
The creature explained her intentions, and Svanhild listened in absolute silence. Unflinching, unyielding, even when wild visions flooded her mind and some new [i]thing[/i] gazed back at her through them. To feel fear was natural and inevitable, but to express it—to show any sign of weakness before so many watching eyes—would be fatal. The giantess's discipline held firm as an iron wall, her terrors confined to a tiny black room in the very depths of her consciousness.

In contrast, her jailers had revealed their own fragility. [color=6ecff6][i]The White Tiger, the mighty king, turns to his monstrous pet rather than face the threat directly. And our captor, for all her wicked power, passes the task down unto us.[/i][/color] To Svanhild the reason was clear: they were [i]scared[/i] of this gold-masked god. They dreaded a war against him, and chose to poke and prod with spies and pawns, hoping to find a hidden flaw that would shatter his empire from within. She knew all about the way they operated: the kingdom had used the very same strategy to defeat her in the past. 

Ironic, that she should be the one to carry it out now.

The chamber abruptly shook, and began to unravel itself all around her. Blinking in surprise, the giantess subtly shifted her feet, though a quick glance showed her nowhere was safe from the effect. Logically she knew that their captor would not try to kill them now, but even so it took all her willpower to stand firm and embrace the oncoming wave of magic and madness. She had to stay focused, had to remember the plan—not the one spelled out for her by that smiling abomination, but the one that she'd tucked away in her hidden thoughts the moment she'd understood the situation.

[color=6ecff6][i]Locate the spies. Infiltrate the god-king's court. Find Ael-Gol...[/i][/color]

[color=6ecff6][i][s]...And help him burn the Westerlands to the ground.[/s][/i][/color]

Cradling this deadly spark, this desperate hope for revenge, she plunged headfirst towards her fate.
[hr]
...How long had it been, since she'd last seen a sky so bright?

Her eyes cracked open, and a sharp breath filled up her lungs. Warm, sweet, fresh in the way that only untainted air could be. After all these years, it felt like a miracle, like something impossible. She wanted to weep, to cry out, to fall down on her knees and plunge her fingers into the rich and beautiful soil. The only things that stopped her were a habit of self control and her awareness of the silhouettes around her—shadows that resolved themselves into familiar shapes as her vision adjusted to the light.

It seemed the wretches had come with her, all eight of them. The majority maintained their composure better than she'd have expected—which only made the lone exception stand out all the more. Her eyes narrowed with irritation as she watched the pyromaniac dance and flaunt his power, almost as if he was [i]trying[/i] to draw unwanted attention down upon them. A madman and a fool, better disposed of now before he could cause any further trouble...

...Or so she'd have thought, if he hadn't immediately followed up with critical information about the region. It was enough to make Svanhild raise an eyebrow, and unclench the half-formed fist she'd planned to bury halfway through his skull.

[color=6ecff6]"Your word's as good as any."[/color] With a languid roll of her shoulders, she started off in the same direction as the man and the ogre. [color=6ecff6]"Best we cover as much ground as we can before nightfall. Fill us in about the roads along the way."[/color]