Ingrid
It was a fairly normal day in Snowcloak. Weather forecast: snowing 'til noon with a 340% chance of snow this evening. This time of year, the snow came in fun flavors such as beer, memory foam and malamute piss! (Beer was her personal favorite.) The last thing Ingrid was expecting on such a pleasant deepfreeze day was a mc'fuckin bolt of lightning out of nowhere. Her heart skipped a beat. There had been no storm warning.
She turned on a dime only to see that it had come from a woman's hand. A sigh of relief escaped Ingrid's lips and condensed on the frigid air.
We get it. You're a Launceleyn.
Ingrid rolled her eyes.
Your reputation precedes you, lightning bitch. Did you know there are a thousand ways to do that which don't involve leaving the guy with half-charred, half-raw meat and several patches of unusable feathers?
Ingrid's scarlet eyes swept over the newly-crowned archmage. Zariah's game was blatantly obvious, but she was effective none the less. Ingrid could almost like her if she hadn't decided to do a simple kindness in the most flashy way known to man. Ingrid had met gods with smaller egos. She took one last look at the woman before ducking through a small door into the nearest building.
