Welcome to Gaia! ::

Aesir prowled about the den with a gait that indicated great purpose but an expression that indicated something quite the opposite. In fact, the Warlord was frustrated by the circumstances he found himself in. When he had been only a Captain and not the Warlord, he had been very careful in choosing his Reavers for any viking, and tried to pick the best of those who were available and not already out with someone else. As a Warlord, it would seem that he had every right to do the same thing, or even to make his crew one of Captains, but he knew that wasn't right, and would not work out well at all.

Still, he needed more people for his viking than the few lions he had at present. Gunnar had been the first one he asked, and at his suggestion he had also included Taraxa, who had recommended a new Freeborn, Nymphaea. That was three, but unless it would be a very short trip with limited spoils, three was not sufficient. And, to make matters worse, he now had to deal with the politics of his choices. He'd stayed out of politics by and large as a captain, being more interested in enjoying the traditional activities of the Stormborn than anything else.

Morrigan felt like she was walking on air returning home from the lair of the priests. The devotees had been more and more fervent of late, and under her renewed tutilage they had become once more a well-working, all-seeing hand for the gods' use. Prayers had rang out from their place of worship, and the signs--oh! The signs she'd read at the end! All doubts had flown from her mind.

The reavers would fight and conquer, spoils would be many and great. The gods were pleased, and had reached down to tell her so. Some poor bird's guts had twisted just perfectly, and knowing that her priests had had a paw in turning the favor of the gods back towards their pride...She felt like she was flying.

Of course, the same couldn't be said for the male she found pacing in their shared den. With a bit more energy than usual, she called out to him. "Aesir, husband, what torments you so?"

"It is," Aesir complained in a flat voice that was as close to whining as the dark lion would allow himself to get. Whining was not a Stormborn trait, and those who did so were considered weak. Aesir knew that he was not weak, but his trials were of a different sort than those usually borne by his people, except for the lawspeakers, perhaps, but no one held it against them when they ruled one way or the other, since all their decisions were made in accordance with the laws of the pride.

here were no laws to deal with Aesir's dilemma. Had there been any, most of the Captains would have rebelled. No one liked being told who they may or may not bring with them viking. There were some traditions and customs, things which were commonly done or not done, but that wasn't at all the same thing, and the general rule was for Captains to ask who they wished, and if two Captains disagreed over whose crew a lion would join, the lion decided. Not much fun for the lion, and considerate Captains tried to avoid putting them in that situation, but Aesir's problem was the opposite of that hypothetical Reaver.

"I am pleased to hear you say as much, but I do wish the gods might just htis once bother with mundane trivialities like who I ought to bring when I go viking. It would certainly have a good ring to it, to say this party was chosen by the gods." He smirked.

"I honestly don't know. I would like to bring people I know well and am familiar with, but I suspect doing so would have me accused of favoritism." A complaint he'd brought against Gunne, and thus not something he wished to be guilty of.

"The gods do not work in such open ways. Perhaps though they may inspire you to the right choices. It is reasonable to want to take along those whom's strengths and abilities you know well. But perhaps you would be so accused..."

"Why not take a portion of each? Take along those you desire from your favored ones, and take equally enough of those you've yet to work with. You are the warlord, true? It is to you to know which reavers have which strengths. Your captains may from you seek advice over their vikings' shortcomings and losses. To know whom can fill what spot would be of great advantage, my mate."

"You said you have only chosen three?" A thought crossed her mind. "Perhaps...perhaps I could..." She could toss bones to see whom was favored among those still wanting to go. "Should you like, I can see if the gods would give more input."

Aesir was, for once, not quite quelled by his mate's look. Perhaps because he had once more become distracted by the problem of who to bring with him. His personal beliefs on what the gods cared and didn't care about were somewhat at odds with Morrigan's. He believed a lion's deeds would distinguish him to the gods more than their words or thoughts. After all, it was rare that someone spoke ill of a Stormborn who had lived a warrior's life and died a warrior's death, and that had as much to do with their physical prowess as their personality. Or something like that. Of course, Aesir also believed that the gods secretly preferred warriors. Why else would they raise their descendents to be warlike?

"I didn't intend to bring an entirely new crew. There's Taraxa and Gunnar, after all. They've experience. And I've no small amount of experience myself. As well as natural talent."

He did have a talent for leading crews viking, it was true, and loved nothing more than planning strategies of attack, except for executing the attack itself. The unpredictibility of battle delighteed and thrilled him, and he knew no greater pleasure than a truly good fight with both warriors doing their best to kill one another. If said fight could be followed by a good lay, more the better.

"I will consider that. And spare you the trouble of doing any foretellings. If you say my choices will be good, then I will make them and trust that it will be enough." He grinned. "I'll try with the live, squirming things, but they don't tend to stay that way very long."

"Very well." She felt some joy in that he was starting to better trust her. She knew the gods had determined the outcome, and he should feel faith in that. "Indeed. Even if they make it back here, they would not remain among the living long. Perhaps that is why they are so easily crushed...knowing their fates makes them almost...eager to be put out of their misery...a pity. At least in my claws they would die to good use."

She swished her tail, the tuft curling back upon the ground and stiring up some dust. "When do you think you will go, husband? I should like it to be soon...this den has become unclean, and by the gods, I will not have that. The den is the altar of the body as much as our priesting-dens are the altars of the heart. It deserves equal respect...lest the gods change their minds about our fortunes." Her not-so-subtle request for him to get out so she could clean was clearly tinged with humor...eve nshe got escited at the thought of a future good viking.