Your name is Natasha Dæmondöttr, and you are legend.
Of course you are. You've had five hundred years to establish your story. It'd be a little awkward if nobody had heard of you after all that time. Though, naturally, it doesn't hurt to have killed a few gods (and a galaxy) when it comes to making a name for yourself.
Unfortunately, the problem with being a legend is that you inevitably have to have stepped over a few... obstacles to get where you are. Like people. Or planets. Or entire civilisations.
The first can be dealt with on an individual basis. The second just requires genius, or enough raw power that you can essentially tell reality to bend over and take it (it, of course, referring only to your brutal rearrangement of space and time). The third, well, that's another thing entirely. It takes someone far more dangerous--or with far more time than you could have spared back then--than you are to annihilate multiple nations spanning multiple solar systems so thoroughly that they are lost even to history.
Of course, being you, even if you could have taken care of those few, straggling survivors, you wouldn't have bothered. No story can begin without somebody to tell it. They certainly weren't capable of posing a threat to you, not in a hundred years.
Looking back on how you ended up in this place, you wonder if, perhaps, you should have realised that you'd given them a lot longer than that.
Which leads you to your current situation; chained to an Annomer post--with a really annoying set of chains that
literally anyone in the world could take off
except you--in a prison that, for some reason, is situated in the middle of what could be Hell. Or one of them, at any rate. There's certainly a lot of fire, and
oodles
of damnation.
You've tried to escape. You've never been one for cages. But, for some strange reason, when you've killed everyone they've ever loved, people don't really seem to like making things easy for you. So you failed.
11-Jan-2015 13:15:27
- Last edited on
11-Jan-2015 13:26:18
by
Enheduanna
