The woman was like the whipping wind, but Brenn was the mountain. Filled with the strength of his goddess in pursuit of her most sacred path, standing in defense of his family. Shine was fast, agile, and impeccably talented with the aura she was capable of producing. It didn't help that little men made of smoke kept trying to slash him in the back of the knee, but it was few blades who could get through tanned wyvern leather, mana skin, and the prayers of protection all paladins possessed.
He managed to keep up with her motions if not for her raw speed or agility, hunkering down and keeping his compact buckler ready to intercept her strikes. Whenever his hammer struck what surely would've been a incapacitating blow, she refused to face it head on. Instead, small discs of an aura would turn it aside at the last moment, or lessen the force in a popping of shimmering air, striking precisely where she needed them to. Jumping and simply riding his force around with no injury to her person. Like a cat, trying to get her claws into his soft places, but he couldn't help but feel like she was fighting differently now. He'd watched her disable Alex in that cruel way, he'd kill her if he could. But unlike his friend, she never targeted Brenn's 'exposed' eyes.
Always going for his waistline, which was a bizarre place to aim for on an armored man.
Not that it mattered overmuch, she had still managed to prick him all over until he was bleeding from scores of shallow cuts. He stepped back with a cry on his lips, hammer held aloft and bursting into light, the radiance of a torch with none of the flames. “Vestia!”
She giggled like a schoolgirl at that, attempting to wrap her aura around his arm with whips of blurred air. Tightening them with all the force she was capable of mustering and frowning as it both failed to stop his downward slam that shattered the ground below him, sending her wheeling through the air. And because that armor all of these people wore was insane, failing to break the arm encased within.
This man... He lacked all of the arrogance of the others, but...
He... He was amazing! This was a good fight!
Her claws were cast of mithril and yet it wouldn't so much as scratch his metal, what blemishes and tears she managed to make in the layer of padded leather and chain would repair themselves quickly. Armored opponents were normally easy for her, she could just ram blunt emissions into the steel until their soft flesh bruised and began to bleed internally. But the plate he wore had a shock resistance that went beyond what she was experienced with, he must be very wealthy to afford that kind of gear. Then again, they were fighting two princesses of one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the world, so she supposed that made sense, to have what might be a member of their honorguard equip himself so.
Even still! Shine thought! Wasn't he... Wasn't he amazing! The brutality, and yet it was righteous, to be so powerful a paladin, what a man! A man amongst the boys she always felt herself surrounded with!
“I think I'm in love!”
Brenn stomped forward like a charging bull, Shine utilizing her superior agility to roll under his blunt thrust. While he wasn't exceptionally quick, he was more agile than his heavily armored and hulking frame might suggest. What a man he was! Huge! Mighty!
And he bent at an unnatural angle, as his free hand and the heavy buckler gauntlet came flying around like a wrecking ball to smash her from her feet, Shine spat blood. Not enough to end the fight, but enough to make her bleed, catching her in the gut and knocking every molecule of air from Shine's lungs and her late lunch along with it. This plan... Whatever it was, to kill everyone here except the princesses and the black robed mage that hadn't done much of anything, continuing their act of kidnapping the children.
She felt a trickle of hot blood worm its way down her face, grimacing. Shine didn't want to kill this one, she wanted to collect him. Hastur said she could have anything she wanted and she'd never asked for much besides an arena pass. Surely he would allow for one slave?
But alas, life was an imperfect thing. It was bloody, filthy, and altogether too boring for her tastes. Before she could reengage with her knight in shining armor, Caspian alighted on the ground with grace and bowed toward Brenn. “Shine, dear. While I can appreciate the rush of a good duel, this is no time for playing.”
She scowled, wishing she could rip into him as well, but he was a good man and by far the most entertaining in their unit. Shine did not hate Caspian, like the rest of them.
Before he knew it, Brenn was surrounded. Shine, Caspian, Klaus, and Yucca took position around him. Their unit had been bolstered by another of these ridiculously named 'Fingers', testament to Hastur's wild narcissism. He supposed, in a way, this was rather complimentary, to draw so many to his individual person, even though Brenn knew he was not so impressive as the others...
It was enough to make his lips twitch in good mirth, he must've made a good impression.
This plan really was shot from the beginning, Brenn sighed, hoisting his hammer up and using what time they took to dramatically posture to recover his stamina. If he was good for anything, it was that, enduring. He stomped forward, using the earth at his feet to propel him on makeshift skates straight for the older man. Someone he was familiar with by recognition of face, Caspian Pellos – the Razor's Edge and a famous swordsman known across the lands. He stared back at the younger man with some interest, but no anxiety. If I can tie these four up while Tiber and Daelin attempt to chase off Aurelius we might be able to win...
“Tythas!” Brenn shouted, the man had been left completely alone by the Fingers, standing by but not idly. They had trained together for years and were more than comfortable to play off one another at the right moment. Tythas dis-incorporated into a pool of shadows, erupting from the ground behind the man Brenn was charging.
“Darkflare!” Tythas crowed, holding both hands in front of him, clawed and firing off a lance of blackness flecked with white. Roiling not with heat, but the cold entropic energy of death that only darkness magic was capable of.
“Sanctuary!” Brenn stopped abruptly short of the preparation of a parry. Klaus, the maul user, swung widely and with far too much force, pulling himself sideward with a choked groan of surprise. Sanctuary was a shield spell, a modifiable pane of light. Normally flat, Brenn bent and warped it until it became a half sphere encompassing the three targets in front of him, as Tythas' lance of dark magic struck with full force. Rattling the shield precariously and exacerbating the damage done to targets inside, the proverbial hammer and anvil strategy, a kiln of cold destruction.
There was a grim and vaguely inappropriate satisfaction in him to see them caught up in that raging black blaze. Tythas smiling and pale, looking younger than ever but exhausted. A fourth level spell like that wasn't so easy to manifest and keep active for so long, dropping it and preparing to turn to the others.
But contrary to expectations, Shine, Caspian, and Klaus were completely unharmed. Standing still, body and what armor they wore wreathed in a viscous black vapor.
“Odd choice,” Yucca exhaled calmly, bringing her hands up and dispersing what remained of the magic with a snap of her fingers. “Using darkness magic around me.”
Indeed. Brenn turned, selecting his next target and preparing to engage her as Tythas realized his mistake, switching from darkness to frost. Too late, that shockwave magic of Klaus hit Brenn clean in the side of the head and tossed him like a child into Caspian's waiting sword.
Forgive me, goddess.
He had tried his best, and that was all his greatest love and truest mother had ever asked of him.
–
“What are we doing exactly?” Astrid's thoughts were foggy even after two days in that gods forsaken desert they called Baccia. One moment she'd been fighting, and the next she'd woken up with the vague recollection of watching Tyr slaughter an entire city's worth of people in a fit of rage. And strangely... She didn't mind that he'd done such a thing at all, despite the obvious hypocrisy, considering he didn't want the same to happen to Amistad.
In any case, it was hot, dry, and irritating here. The sun was so bright it burnt her skin, and all Tyr wanted to do was wander lazily through the desert on a giant lizard named 'Wilson'. Well, not exactly a giant lizard, it was warm blooded and had the head of a viper that opened in three places along the skull. Though she supposed a comparison could be drawn in at least aesthetics.
“Spending quality time with my beloved wife,” Tyr replied calmly. She rode the 'lizard snake' they called a 'flatter'. Astrid was fond of the affectionate reptile and it was a comfortable ride, but Tyr seemed intent to simply seat himself on a rock now, staring off into the distance.
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“Is everyone okay?” Astrid asked with some concern, “Lazing about is probably not the best idea, given current events...”
“Wanna have sex to pass the time? I am very aroused, as you've practically disrobed yourself in front of me,” He asked, and she glared at him in response. She'd told him he'd have to put in honest effort if he wanted her chastity. The middle of a scorching desert and 'wanna have sex?' probably being the worst proposition she'd ever received.
“In the hot sand... Burning sun... Scorpions all around?” Ultimately, all she could do is sigh, Tyr was just too strange. She was confident he'd simply said it, not wanting for such a thing in the slightest, he never really seemed to. “No thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” Tyr shrugged. “I am quite skilled. All the village girls call me Tyr of Two Tongues. The lads in the Krieg call me Tyr of Two Thumbs. I'd assume you can imagine why. Spreader of thighs, crusher of guys.”
“You've changed,” Astrid frowned even harder. “And not for the better,” But as fast as her disapproving glance had come, it was gone. Replaced by a soft chuckle. “You seem to be enjoying yourself more these days, which I like. More quick to humor, finally some honest character development out of my 'beloved' husband.”
“Nothing else to do,” Tyr shrugged, he wasn't even sure if he was her husband anymore, but he supposed it didn't really matter in the end. People changed, perhaps his changes were no more abstract than any other person, in any event, he reckoned, while relatively small she had phenomenal breasts. “As to why and what I'm doing, I am waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” She asked.
“Well first there's the fact that this is the only place in the world I've ever been able to feel such a wholly unique brand of fire mana. It's like... Destructive fire without even an ounce of darkness magic in it, I don't get it but I'm trying to figure it out. It's almost virulent, it sticks and corrects, I'd like to come to a point where I can use it. And second, for Micah to come back. In the meantime, I don't see much point in running back when I am already so wrung out of energy. When you... Let's just say it was a long fight, and I strained myself quite badly.”
“Ah...” Astrid mused, huddling further beneath the large blanket of enchanted moonsilk that did little to keep her cool – but it was better than nothing. Flashing her cleavage at him playfully, but he never seemed to care about that either. Not bashful in the slightest, simply staring until she'd become anxious. That kind of... Well, it kind of pissed her off, didn't it? “And what's the point of communing with ambient mana, exactly? Are you a monk now?”
“I'll get hotter, if nothing else that'll still benefit me,” Tyr replied, eyes shut and reaching beneath the ground. It was painful to touch it but something about the way the ground shuddered caused some kind of friction even smaller than the grains of sand, making it all burn so hot that without the presence of a flame it could kill someone. One could throw meat on the ground in the right area and it would cook itself in the dead of night, although he couldn't use that specific cursed magic – whatever it was – he felt like he was coming closer to an understanding. Energy was energy, and this was certainly of that category, watching as said energy decayed slowly into the atmosphere. How did that work? Energy could not be destroyed, but matter could decay and it would go elsewhere...
“I don't think that's how it works,” She raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. That was like... Old myths and legends when people practiced shamanic magic. More spiritualism than science, worshiping mountains and rivers, long since debunked in the modern age. “But I'm happy you've found a new hobby, and for all of the qualms I have with this horrid environment... I'm glad we got to spend some time together, you never pay attention to me.”
“Yeah, well...” Tyr sighed, releasing his grip on the magic that caused pre-cancerous sores to erupt all over his body whenever he touched it. Neat thing, that, from an age before man and yet it still pervaded the place. “I'm still young, there's time to change and time to make right with all of my mistakes. Perhaps put ten beautiful daughters in you and send you waddling around like a penguin for the next decade. How about that?”
Astrid laughed again, that bright noise that elicited thoughts of wind chimes in a gentle breeze. Of rippling tapestries and babbling brooks. Of peace, of life, of the blissful rest only death could provide, in the best way. So full of light, made more visceral by her equal parts darkness. Spiritually speaking, she was inherently born to be the most 'perfect person'. If their inborn duality was any measure of how things were supposed to be, at least. Astrid was balanced in a way other people were not. “I don't know about ten, but I think that sounds lovely.”
“You want children?” Tyr asked curiously, expecting a sarcastic refusal. “With me?”
“Do not be stupid,” Astrid giggled, “I am not like Alex who is only concerned with her career and responsibilities, still looking at it like we are required to be expected of bearing children – and denying it. And I'm not like Sigi, who forces herself to want for a son so that she can correct the perceived mistakes of the past and raise him as a tool of closure. As fel as it sounds, I know it comes from a better place in her, but it's true. She would bear a child just to use it and I've never liked that, and I think she would regret it. I would very much like to be a mother myself. And I know you want to be a father, which came as a bit of a shock to me considering your past behavior.”
“I do,” Tyr nodded. “But despite all my attempts nobody has gotten pregnant yet. And believe me, I never pull out, call me the Lord of the Pies. You get it?”
“You are sickening,” Astrid looked at him with a flicker of disgust before smiling again, though her brow remained lowered in bemusement. She 'got it'. “Well I've already observed your moving parts as you might call them, and you're certainly not sterile, we tend to check these things before agreeing to marry. Most if not all primus' don't have children until they are awakened, and Iscari with his 47 concubines has not had one either. Evidently he is quite prolific, though it seems as if he hates being about that duty – since he's in love with you.”
“He is not. We are like brothers.” Tyr exhaled, having not known of this. The general understanding was that you needed to want a son and successor to have one. Otherwise they'd all be daughters, but even so, no science could explain why despite their apparent virility they weren't constantly shooting out babies at a more realistic pace. The news that Iscari was forced to lay with women possibly against his will was troubling. “How many children did your father have?”
“Our father,” She corrected.
“It'd be pretty confusing if I said my father, leaving doubt as to what father I was talking about. Would it not?”
“I suppose it would,” Astrid stared off at the hazy horizon, popping her lips and digging into her thoughts. She wasn't bound to the same apparent level of separation that Tyr was. She'd met many of her sisters, nephews, cousins, all of that. Most of which had bullied her in her youth before she'd been shipped off to Haran, so she'd never been very close with anyone but Vidarr. Too old and too long separated from home to have met her young nephew, Vidarr's son and likely the only primus in living memory to have a grandchild, in context to her father. “I believe my father had somewhere just north of 192 children.”
“Damn, what a man.”
Hmm... Again, it positioned a question in Tyr's mind. Ragnar was a little over five centuries old, the oldest primus by far. Perhaps the oldest primus to ever have lived. He'd always kept, according to Vidarr, 69 wives including his 'first wife', meaning the queen, throughout the eras. Obsessed with that number for some bizarre and inexplicable reason. When they turned fifty, he would take another as queen and so on and so forth.
Similarly according to Vidarr, Ragnar was quite prolific himself up until his son had awakened at the age of 51. Rough math, that was 2.6 children per year, and despite all of those wives he'd still sired a relatively modest number of children. After all, the family tree of one man starting five hundred years ago would much more realistically see thousands of descendants. And that was ignoring the obvious fact that not all men chose to willfully sire more than two children into their direct line.
He'd clearly been trying, very actively, and had only had 192. Perhaps there were limits, all children of primus' had a chance to be inherently gifted above the norm regardless of gender. Alex's family hailed from a primus – or so was the claim, and near all of that direct line was fairly talented. Talented enough to hold the longest running imperial seat in the entire Empire, by no means godlike or any wellspring of infinite heroes, but it was probably worth noting. Primus' all carefully moderated their bloodlines and made an active effort of only picking from the cream of the crop. In the past, they'd even fight one another for wives, a story Vidarr had told him that Jartor had called a falsehood. Stating that talent wasn't so hard to come by if you looked deep enough, so why fight over it?
Tyr did not know who to believe.
“An odd turn to our conversation,” Astrid commented at his perplexed face, deep in some thought of his.
“Sorry.”
“Don't be,” She hopped off Wilson and joined him on his rock. “I like our conversations. As rare as they are, but far be it for me to pick at you for choosing your other wives over the only one who was only ever kind and loving towards you. Although if any harm comes to my sisters or our friends because you refuse to take me back to them 'until it's time', I'm going to be very wroth with you.”
Tyr squinted at her, still remembering the threat she'd made to him on their wedding day. A very strange world they lived in, all these threads that bound him to the others. And now they were bound in all ways but one, that creeping feeling she could force him to do whatever she wanted if she had a mind to abuse it to her own ends.
“Aren't you worried, Tyr?” When he did not respond, she spoke again.
“Worried?” He looked at her, his brows twitching. Communicating nonchalance and the complete opposite at the same time. “No, I am not worried.”
“But you're on edge. I can tell.”
“I am the edge, Astrid. You'll see.”
She looked at him, her lips splitting into a mocking smirk. “...The word you're looking for might be edgy. I'm hungry.”
“I've learned that there's not much to life without a little drama,” He said, plucking a sandwich out of his dimensional ring and watching as she nibbled on it daintily. Waiting for something alongside him, that kind of trust was important, and he appreciated it.