AbyssalRoadTrip
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Abyssal Road Trip - 201 - Lucky
🕑 Added 2022-06-01 12:30:59 +0000 UTCLiranë’s PoV - Eyrarháls - Morning Third Day
The meeting when the others awake is simple and to the point: killing Raivo.
Leaving them to it, I continued to work at the traces I’d located the night before. Mentally scurrying through the shadow tunnels, I steadily feel the trail growing stronger as I work, from its freshness and the additional psionic residue throughout the tunnels aiding me.
Even before dawn, the compound is busy with activity, and I keep my mind well shielded. Lowering the shield isn’t something I want to do after Hlioir. The town immediately after the fighting had been bad enough, but the chaotic emotions brought by the survivors make things worse. The feelings are running high and have their unshielded thoughts, awash with a riot of noise and images—humans are headache-inducing. Understandable or not, the flurry of emotional highs and lows has too many with their thoughts whirling. The possible good news of Amdirlain and dealing with Apollo and his sister lifted spirits before Livia’s death smashed them down again.
While not exactly a member of the cadre’s forces, she was Amdirlain’s daughter. It was a double blow to have lost her and Aggie in such a fashion after their victory. She hadn’t been the only one that died, but of the rank, she remained dead. Torm had resurrected Aggie, setting them on a razor’s edge.
Even if the rank were still recovering from being raised, their easily read emotions show they blamed themselves. It’s just as well that none of the humans is Psionic, given the messy state of their minds and emotions. Still, their minds are simple; perhaps the apprentice healers could get practice here.
Walking through the compound in the early pre-dawn air feels like Limbo with the darkness and the energy hovering in the air. The regularity of their day cycle, so closely aligned to our timekeeping, makes me wonder if the forerunners lived on a similar world. Breakfast is again a simple and solemn affair in the same dining room. There is a simple mixture of foods today, mainly meat and the strange things they call eggs cooked in half a dozen unappealing ways. A sampling of the table’s bread and berries are enough to still my appetite this morning, even without the monastery providing more Psionic reserves.
The wait for Leira to have a battle site ready sees me wandering through the compound again. The memorial building doors are wide open to allow a clear view of the flowers decorating the steps. Given the overly cheerful bright pinks and yellows, I can only assume they are offering them in hopes of her return. Standing by the doors gave a clear view through most of the compound, and I took time to determine what was happening.
Lines of various ages waited patiently to approach that Priest and others, where they quietly clasped hands. It’s when I notice young men and women that had been speaking to a Priest now casting a simple Spell that I pay attention to the faces. Among those queued at the training grounds’ far end were survivors I’d brought here from Hlioir, none of them in the cadre’s uniform.
Nearly thirty bleak-faced women appear near the board that lists the original platoons. Each one wears a uniform showing the signs of extended storage and a medallion with Amdirlain’s, now Lerina’s, symbol. One puts a hand to the board and removes a mark—one our initial guide had said meant disbanded—from beside a support platoon. As one, they walk towards those queued, spreading along the line to clasp hands without a word said. Then who they are couldn’t be more transparent, even if I intended to read their minds. Can all her priests grant affinities?
Despite my mind being closed off, I still notice Aleena’s quiet approach and glance in her direction when she hesitates. “The morning is going to be busy, so I wanted to give you these first.”
Bringing forth a cloth pouch, she walks closer but hesitates in offering it to me.
“Know that I wasn’t expecting anything to be returned to me,” I say, unsure where her confusion comes from.
“They’re rank insignia, but in silver. We present them to those whose help we want to honour. You ensured Apollo paid for what he did,” explains Aleena. “It’s the best thanks we can give at present with everything going on, but let us know if you need any potions or magical items. Any full member will look to help wherever they can.”
Giving a proper bow surprises her before I take the pouch and pour the silver crests into my hands. While hers are black and barely show against the dark brown leathers she wears, the ones she offers are bright silver and would be readily visible. The crest looks like miniature broken manacles, set flat against a white backplate.
“I’d suggest not wearing them except in a town where we’re welcome,” Aleena explains. “These are only the third pair we’ve given out in twelve years. We normally don’t trust anyone with such open rights to ask for our members’ help. You don’t have to wear them, simply present them if you need help.”
“Know you have my thanks.”
Aleena just smiles at me. “You’re welcome. Even without what you did with Apollo and Artemis, you’re helping find L….”
Blowing out a breath, she started again but changed the subject. “I noticed you ate little at breakfast. I had heard your people are mainly vegetarian,” Aleena says. Though her voice is calm, the way her fingers press into her leg has me concerned for her.
“Know what happened wasn’t your fault.”
My words, intended in kindness, result in her posture stiffening, yet she nods jerkily like a puppet having its strings yanked. Aleena’s nostrils flare, and she grits her teeth before finally managing a reply.
“I just… that is, I want to let you know I’ve ensured there will be suitable food available for future meals.”
“Know I didn’t mean to offend and appreciate your kindness. Know there are often enough side dishes to make a meal, but this morning I wasn’t hungry,” I say, hoping I understood the emotional context among her unpredictable reactions. I’ve no wish to read a noisy mind already filled with pain. “Is the Cadre mustering more people in?”
I wait while she steadies herself and nods appropriately this time. “We’d left them with their families, but the leadership is taking a different approach after last night. If this war doesn’t calm down soon, we won’t be looking only to defend.”
“Know that I understand their pain, but-”
Aleena’s headshake stops me, and I wait while she considers her words. “That isn’t it, or not it completely. We’ve had reports of nations fighting amongst themselves, not just against the Greeks, overnight. A legion from Remus wiped out a village in northern Egypt, and a cavalry unit from Darrius attacked a Hittite community. Those are the ones we’ve heard about where we know who did it, but the scrying teams have found other locations already razed to the ground with no sign of who or why.”
“Know it’s my hope you’re not letting your second Mantle influence you,” I probe, wondering at the motives for going on the offensive.
“You’re assuming I argued for this,” grumbles Aleena, crossing her arms in frustration. “I’d prefer most of our focus remains on keeping places safe and using small strikes. The cadre’s council have decided that since others want war, we’ll give them a war. They’ve ordered the training of additional platoons to a basic combat level.”
“Know that I’d appreciate it if you let me know anything I can do to assist,”
“We’ve got teams busy with Hlioir and preparing the surprise for Raivo. In the meantime, there is one threat with which you could help us. He’s among those responsible for the circle,” Aleena says, her meaning clear enough. “but he’s sitting behind wards handing out orders.”
“Who is he?”
“The King of Crete. Care to help me remove a snake’s head before he can send more troops out?” asks Aleena. “They’re just as likely to argue about who should succeed him as fight as other nations.”
“Know that I believe the monastery would appreciate me sending a message to those that attack our novices,” I offer dryly.
Aleena’s answering smile shows even more teeth than my own. “That is a priority. I’ll gather the company and be back shortly.”
She’s out of sight when a young woman approaches, stopping silently near me in the familiar cadre uniform; I don’t recognise her at all. I can only assume she’s here to watch the trainees practice when she doesn’t speak. Russet haired like many of the Norse, I sense her brown gaze flit across me a few times before she ventures to speak.
“Are you going somewhere soon?”
With the question throwing my assumptions awry, I glance over at her. “Know that I’m waiting for someone. Does my presence upset you?”
“I’m not upset. I’m simply trying to figure out something important and hoped if you were planning to go somewhere, it might make sense.”
“Know your statement makes little sense, and since I don’t know you, I’d prefer not to speak about my plans,” I state, and the young woman winces.
“I’m sorry for being rude and jumping right in. My name’s Ossi—not that it would change your mind about telling me, I’m sure—and I already know you’re Liranë,” offers Ossi quickly. Pulling back her hand before fully offering it, she fidgets momentarily under my gaze before continuing. “I had a hunch I should come here, and then seeing you, I knew I should stand next to you, but I don’t know why. I heard about you helping in Hlioir, so I wondered if you were going on another strike.”
“Do you often get such feelings?”
“Frequently, especially when it’s important to me or someone close to me. Víðarr blames it on Rúsea, and I’m pretty sure he’s right,” says Ossi, as if presenting compelling evidence though those names aren’t familiar. “The more friends or family that it’s important to, the stronger the feeling. This time it was so fierce it was scary. It felt like a bull was ready to drag me here.”
Ossi holds out her hands as if fighting against the pull of a rope stretching before her. She is genuinely odd.
“Who are Víðarr and Rúsea?”
With my question, words spill out like someone upended a mug, and I resort to listening to her mind instead of counting on the translation Spell to follow it all. “Víðarr is my adopted father. I was just going to help him and Gellamel with their twins, but Gellamel insisted I was too young not to have a family. Rúsea is an elven lady who introduced me to Víðarr. Víðarr is one of Týr’s priests, Gellamel is part of the cadre’s council, and no one truly knows about Rúsea. Besides that, she’s a Sunset Elf and helped fund the start of the Daughters’ college.”
“Know that I’m supposed to be helping Aleena with a strike. Know I’m sure your parents, adopted or not, wouldn’t appreciate you going with the company,” I state.
Ossi waves me off and taps the single rank mark on her sleeve.
“I’ve been qualified for an entire year and blooded in raids against gnarls and manes. I’m currently between duty assignments,” refutes Ossi. “Gellamel talked me into joining the cadre instead of going adventuring.”
“Know then it’s certainly not for me to say,” I state.
Ossi nods happily, not put off by my tone as others seem to be. “It’s okay. I’ll wait, and I know Aleena. Do you have questions about the cadre? I know you’ve had the full tour of the compound and the school, but sometimes things get skipped.”
I’m not sure what to ask her and instead watch a trainee move aside for someone else to practice casting. Eventually, I came up with a question for conversation. “Are you a Wizard?”
“Nearly everyone in the cadre is a Wizard plus something else unless they’re working in one of the support areas,” Ossi says, offering a shrug. “Even there, fifty-fifty since the support staff can learn as much magic as they’re interested in.”
Having spent my only question, silence returns, and I focus on scratching away at the aspect of thievery that’s been nagging at me. It finally falls away after what feels like hours of waiting for Aleena to return. When it departs, it feels as happy to be rid of me as I am of it.
“Oh,” Ossi breathes out suddenly. “Yep, that’s Aleena coming back now.”
I don’t recognise any of those following Aleena, but two companies march smoothly along the path beside the training grounds. Aleena’s gaze has fixed on Ossi suspiciously before she even orders them to halt.
“Ossi, do I dare ask what you are doing here?”
“Hi! I’m standing with Liranë, of course. Having no currently assigned duty post, I thought I should escort our guest,” Ossi replies, too quickly, given Aleena’s narrowed gaze.
“You thought?”
“More got dragged here by the back of my neck,” Ossi admits, rubbing a hand across her neck and giving Aleena a sheepish smile. “Requesting permission to accompany this venture as a company auxiliary, Captain Aleena.”
“If you get any hunches we need to get out, you will immediately tell Liranë. Is that clear?”
“Understood, Captain,” Ossi responds cheerfully, delighting in her easy success.
Aleena sighs when I glance between the two of them. “If she randomly says: move, stop, or something else, I’d follow it. She’s not giving orders but suggestions for your health. I don’t know how she does it, and I don’t want to in case it stops working.”
“I’m not that bad,” protests Ossi.
“No, she’s worse,” counters Aleena and motions Ossi towards me. “You’re with her. Keep her safe.”
“Should I not be the one to be doing that?” I ask.
“Today, you get the cadre’s lucky charm as your escort,” Aleena says. Holding her hand out, she presents two magical images: one of a round-faced man, the other a sizeable columned throne room constructed of polished white stone. “Are you able to scry this location? If he’s there, just put us near a wall at the back.”
Some of those nearest us look at Aleena curiously while she shows me one image after another until she shows a fancy amphitheatre formed of growing tiers of stone. The half-circle seating raises high towards the back, giving the guards a clear line of sight of the stage where musicians perform using stringed instruments.
A company of men in armour carrying familiar shields stand atop the upper tiers between pillars capped with long stones. However, the soldiers are more common among the lower tiers, and several women sit close to the King. When I focus on them, one woman—wearing a purple silken robe, her hair lifted in combs of gold—stands to hurry away, shouting for the man to run.
Sharing the placement of the guards among the company, I Teleport both companies when Aleena signals readiness. We can see the Palace beyond the rear seats with our back to the stage. Whatever wards were in place hadn’t hindered me in the slightest. The King is already on his feet, far quicker than I had expected for a rounded man, running down the channel that splits the raised seating. The first spells that hurtle toward him slide away before they hit, and Ossi’s yell sounds out as I focus on decapitating him.
“Pillar.”
Ossi points to the closest pillar on the upper-tier towards stage-left. Though only a single Spell blasts it, as I shove the matching pillar on the other side, it’s enough. Both surge along the tier, sending them, and the one following cascading into the others on the highest level and toppling stones crush one guard after another.
Spells target those drawing their swords after the few archers go up in flames or die to stones. The final toppling pillar misses the woman, but the top cylinder crushes the King. The flat block atop it bounces high and tumbles in our direction before I push it towards the fleeing woman. She trips, and the block sails above her in the exit’s narrow channel between the stands. I can’t see who casts the Spell, but the lowest blocks turning to mud causes the ones above to drop atop her.
The golden script answers the question of the caster: Ossi plays dominos with Tyche, and fortune doesn’t favour the old.
“Oh!” Ossi breathes again, even as a wave of flames turns the dead king into ash and baking the mud dry. The last guards die to bursts of fire or acid before I Teleport us all away again.
The ‘Oh’ sound Ossi made at the announcement was the same she’d made when I’d forced my Mantle’s thievery aspect free from me. With Aleena’s arrival, I had assumed Ossi’s noise had been about her, not it; now, I’m not so sure.
The training ground reappearing has low pleased murmurs from the companies with us.
“The thievery aspect I got rid of?” I ask Ossi, who’s practically bouncing beside me.
“That’s where that came from!” exclaims Ossi. “I got told I’d been awarded the Mantle of Thieves.”
“Anyone wounded?” Aleena asks, only to be met by a chorus of negatives, and it doesn’t surprise me, given the volume of spells cast in so little time with no reply.
Aleena confirms with the other commander before she motions for attention.
“Clean strike. Back to your duty stations. Those not on duty, please check if the instructors need any helpers to assist the trainees.”
As soon as they leave, Aleena fixes Ossi with a fiery glare. “You’ve got some explaining to do, young lady.”
“Oops.”
“Should we go join the others?” I ask before Aleena can say anything further.
* * *
A quick Far Seeing confirms that Leira and others are already beyond the wards to the west, preparing a place to fight Raivo that will reduce his advantages. We find Týr, Mithras, Fen, and Torm in the planning room. Even though Týr is in the room, Ossi is open in her part in things, but her explanation of hunches and gut feelings make only vague sense to me, given her lack of Psionic ability. Looking at them in terms of Clairsentience, I had assumed she was some sort of wilder, but there is no sign of Psionics in her aura.
“Sorry, not sorry. My gut said that killing her would avoid trouble. When the rock missed, I used Rock to Mud to bury her. Guess she couldn’t breathe mud.”
“Or she couldn’t handle the rocks that dropped on her,” grumbles Aleena, her arms crossed as she stared hard at Ossi, apparently unhappy for her killing a fleeing civilian.
“Maybe I should have let her go, but I didn’t know she was a purely civilian bystander. This is war, and she was with the King, possible King’s council, adviser, or something given her fancy clothing,” protests Ossi, looking between Aleena and Týr before pointing at me. “Liranë, do you know why she ran even before we got there? And why was the King running after her?”
“She’d told him to run the moment I scried the amphitheatre,” I admit. “I also tried to kill her, but she ducked or tripped under the stone’s path.”
“See, potentially she was a protector that knew they’d been scried. Instead, she was one of the Greek gods responsible for starting this war. I didn’t see you stopping to ask any of King’s guard questions,” says Ossi in a rush of words. “No one here has authority over Crete. Care to hand me to them?”
“Ossi, you are pushing your luck,” warns Aleena
“Am I?” asks Ossi, spinning a coin edgewise on a fingertip. “Care to call axes or blade?”
“The girl is right. Stop quibbling over how one of them is dead. It’s one less member in that rabid pack to kill,” Fen states and grabs for the coin still spinning on Ossi’s fingertip. Ossi’s flinch before Fen even moves causes the coin to bounce off her broad fingers and into Ossi’s lap.
“Hearing all this reminds me so very much of a Priestess of Luck,” Torm says and looks at Týr.
“We are at war declared by actions of the Greek gods. One of them died, and the other combatants died. I don’t see why you brought her here, Aleena. Wouldn’t your Goddess be telling you it was her choice?” Týr asks, ignoring Torm’s questioning look.
“She’s nineteen and with a Mantle that makes her a target,” says Aleena softly, the anger disappearing from her eyes.
Týr looks at her, weighing up the situation. “Were you hoping I had a way to strip her of it? Relative to Ossi, you’re just as young to me, Aleena. Giving the Mantle to another doesn’t remove the target. If someone is after it, she’ll still be in danger.”
“I don’t know what I was hoping, but….”
“What’s done is done,” states Týr.
Aleena shakes her head. “We don’t know what other mantles Raivo is hunting.”
“Right.”
Týr looks between the two of them and smiles at Fen. “Care to keep a young puppy safe?”
“Oh, I think if Aleena’s worried, she should be her guardian,” Fen says, and Aleena grunts, suddenly pale. “And I gave her Odinn’s knowledge and magic aspects to enjoy or pass along. I’ll keep the aspect of war.”
Farhad’s bright smile as he enters the room has everyone regarding him as if he’s taken leave of his senses. “Master Cyrus confirmed to Ebusuku that Livia’s in the waiting hall of Judge Po. It’s why you can’t bring her back to life at present. It also means you can bury her body; she’ll form a new one when she’s through.”
Torm almost slumps in his chair, and Týr pats his back reassuringly. “You’ll see them both again, I’m sure.”
“Know that is indeed good news that I also appreciate,” I say politely, though not sure what to make of it.
When Farhad moves around the table to sit down, he looks at Ossi and Aleena as if he’d just noticed their presence but, with a shrug, turns towards me. “We were talking after you left this morning. It might be best for you to stay outside the barrier after teleporting Raivo within. The spells containing him won’t stop you from rendering Psionic help.”
Ossi slips from her seat, and Torm motions her to sit back down. “Please don’t leave Ossi. You’ve got a Mantle; regardless of whether you keep it, the announcement has made you a target. You’ll need to know the depth of danger.”
“Announcement?”
“Whenever a Mantle holders die, all other holders learn who killed them. However, if they’re passed to someone else, it’s not mentioned, so you’ll still be a target,”
“Oh, is that what you call the golden scripts? Guess I should have just stuck to the one you shrugged off onto me,” Ossi says and smiles at me.
“You did what to her?” Aleena snaps.
“Know that I followed your advice about removing the aspect of thievery. How was I to know the young lady next to me would catch it? Perhaps you should ask who caught your greed,” I counter, and Aleena’s recovering complexion goes pale again.
“I told you it was best to give it to someone,” Fen huffs and picks her mug up from the table.
“Thievery?” asks Týr.
“What one person counts as thievery, another might count as adventuring, or just excellent business skills,” counters Ossi.
Farhad sits back with a broad smile still in place. It’s an expression that looks as unnatural upon him as seeing one of my people doing so. “Was there other news?”
“Just a personal matter,” says Farhad, and his composure slips into place, the smile disappearing.
“Know that I can understand your concerns about my presence within the barrier. Know, having fought Amdirlain so often; I’m aware of the risk her greater strength posed. Is that your concern?”
“Even if you’re only knocked out or incapacitated, he’d be able to Teleport away. While we don’t know if he can do so, we shouldn’t assume he can’t. Plus, if he breaks the stone and forces a shadow tunnel into existence, you can bring him back only if you’re still conscious,” declares Farhad.
The times Amdirlain had released a grip on me when she could have inflicted damage by simply squeezing has me nodding in agreement.
“Know that while I prefer the challenge of fighting him, we’ll each fulfil our roles. Do you expect Raivo to be physically stronger than Amdirlain was?”
“Much stronger. Ebusuku provided some other information about him. While you are much stronger than you used to be Torm, I’d still suggest we gain some items to amplify your physical strength. Leira has some potions that will assist me, but she’s unsure how they’ll work on you,” Farhad says before looking at me. “Have you traced him?”
“Know there will be some Cambions to deal with after this is complete,” I remark distastefully and catch Aleena’s flinch. “Know he seems to have found some worshippers who do not care that he is a Demon; their only desire is power.”
Farhad tapped his fingers on the table’s edge, the energy in the motion almost making it bounce. “Power is going to be the issue. Ebusuku feels that it might be a hard fight if it’s only the two of us, Torm. Before he Ascended to Demon Lord, we should have matched him if we coordinated well, but now she’s unsure. Hopefully, Liranë can hinder him enough to sway the odds in our favour.”
“Sway the odds,” Ossi repeats brightly, sitting up straighter. “Why didn’t you say so? I’m a Priestess of Luck. Do you think blessings from me will help?”
“What!” Torm blurts out.
“Oops. Is that a problem for you?”
Aleena clasps a hand on her shoulder. “She’s one of the few with a Priest Class I’ve met that worships a concept rather than a Deity. How long have you worshipped Luck for now?”
“Since after I met Rúsea, so five years,” admits Ossi, giving Torm a beaming smile while trying to wiggle out of Aleena’s grasp.
“Who is Rúsea, and what did she say about her Faith in Luck?” asks Torm, leaning forward, his gaze narrowing in suspicion.
“An Elven lady I met, and she hired me as a guide. She only stayed in town a while and hasn’t come back. She taught me how to make my medallion before she left. As for her faith, she said it was more a combination of luck and skill, whereas I’m more focused on good fortune,” Ossi answers readily. “Rúsea said it’s a benefit of worshipping a concept….”
Ossi lets her words fade out, glancing between Fen and Týr, and she looks like she wants to hide under the table.
“Was there another Elven lady with her, wearing blades with jewelled hilts?” asks Torm, and Ossi nods happily. “I think I know the Elf you’re speaking of, but I don’t know why she’d have been using a name that means wrath.”
“Yeah, her lover had very fancy swords. Rúsea told me her name and its meaning. I don’t know why, but it stuck with me because it was such a weird thing to do. She also told me her partner’s name meant ‘guard’. The talk of them being lovers was far more interesting to the gossips than the fuss with the Jarl’s Wizard,” burbles Ossi. “What is it about guys imagining two women in bed together, geez? I’m sure some in the cadre would be happy to give them first-hand experience if they asked nicely and didn’t smell.”
“Fuss?” asks Torm, trying to pick at a single thread among Ossi’s torrent of words.
“He collapsed or something, then a bunch of elves came to town afterwards asking questions,” explains Ossi, frowning at Torm. “How do you know them?”
“I believe we’ve met,” replies Torm before adding with a sigh. “I think I have some questions to ask, and likely I’m going to get no answers.”
Týr smiles at him and pats his shoulder again. “I know their reason for being in town. It was balancing some scales, and she helped Víðarr beforehand. You know who she had matters to pursue within the ten kingdoms. Does it make sense now?”
Torm pauses in thought and nods.
“Speaking in ways that are clear yet hidden. I hadn’t expected you to take such an approach with your people, Týr,” Mithras says, glaring at the unbothered Týr. “What else are you hiding?”
“Confidential information when presented to a judge as context should remain confidential,” explains Týr and matches Mithras’ glare. “Like my judges, there are matters I shouldn’t go into unless it applies to a judgement I need to render. Or should I talk about Vitus and a few other matters openly?”
“That’s alright. Let’s get back to planning how we’ll deal with Raivo.”
“Indeed. Unfortunately, without our mantles, I think both of us will be liabilities in this fight. I don’t share my mate’s Jötnar bloodline, so unlike her, this situation has lessened my strength,” Týr states and smiles at me. “Know that you’re not the only one that would have enjoyed the challenge, but at present, he’d kill me easily.”
“Know that I believe your Mantle isn’t one that he’d ever seek,” I offer, and Týr snorts in amusement. “Why does your wife’s bloodline matter?”
“Mate, not wife,” huffs Fen. “Mates are for life. Wives can get replaced among humans.”
“The Jötnar are the closest Ásgarðr have to a Primordial being, and she has two in her ancestry,” explains Týr, motioning to Fen. “Gods need worshippers to gain strength, but the Primordials came long before any other Mortal existed. It makes it obvious they derive their power purely from their essence, with nothing required to assist them.”
“They just are,” mutters Mithras, and Fen gives a sharp nod.
“Odinn picked the wrong person to stab in the back,” mutters Ossi, stiffening when Fen laughs.
“I’ll admit I played with him a bit, even if his stupid spear bit hard.”
“Why aren’t you out there killing the other gods then?” ask Ossi.
“I don’t want their power, and I’m here protecting my mate. I’m strong, but I’m still not so strong to believe I could massacre them all alone. War is a concept for men and stupid gods, not wolves,” Fen retorts and huffs at Týr. “I like a fight, but maybe I shouldn’t keep the war aspect.”
“You’ve time to decide,” Týr replies and gives her a modest kiss that Fen quickly escalates until it looks like she is trying to eat him alive.
