>
> ‘The Hallowed shall bring the Princess home as fast as it is possible on foot.’
>
> ‘And what of Lymsiel and young Legolnir?’
>
> ‘Don’t concern yourself with Anfalon’s affairs but focus instead on your own task Hoplite, else you’ll wallow in never-ending dishonor. What is that task?’
>
> ‘Bring the 3rd to Mussel.’
>
> ‘Then that is what shall happen.’
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Nibaen O’ Unor, the ‘Young Moriva’
>
> Phalanx’s Scribe, Hoplite. A Mori-Zilan.
>
> Circa 3440 IC
>
> From his ‘Conversations with my father’
>
> Here the First of the Hallowed and Lord of the Phalanx, the Silver Hoplite Leader Anfalon (the Great) talks with Bronze Hoplite Leader Lyceron near the Ruins of King Ninthalor’s Bridge sixty kilometers from Morn Taras in early winter of 3401 IC. The short dialogue is also carved in stone at the entrance of the 3rd Othrim’s permanent barracks without mentioning any of those involved. The building located inside the Imperial Phalanx’s massive headquarters complex across Taras Lake.
-
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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
Duath Erin I Menel
The Wine Wars | Coup de main*
Part I
-A case of hypocrisy-
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*A surprise, direct attack. An unexpected development. It usually has ominous connotations.
-
Four hours later
7th of Imperial Enna** (Primus) 3401
Mayor of district (city) of Taras villa
Lord Shield’s Fikumin Flintfoot residence
Situation briefing
** From Imperial number Enna (one, first).
-
“Monarch,” Vulreon said getting up from his table to offer Glen the transcript of what had been discussed already by the council. Phinariel bowed her braided head his way looking even better that morning, but Glen had a serious case of ire at that point to further indulge with the pretty scribe.
None angrier than the Lord Shield himself, with his right hand man… ehem… dwarf, Theron Gravelbrow being a close second. Even Folen appeared relatively somber-faced and in dark spirits other than a couple of large gleaming golden loops he had on as earrings.
Kamat-Fin the maimed Cofol Master of Birds was also present along with the usual suspects Sir Delmuth, Sir Kirk, Rimeros of course and some unexpected like Lord Paeris clad in a fine peach-colored light chiton –for the time of year-, Lon-Iv Sopat and an even lighter-dressed Troy. The muscular former champion sweaty in a square training-loincloth and apparently very thirsty. Troy raised his goblet to Glen with a broad grin.
Glen returned the unread notes to Vulreon that bowed and run back to his small table.
“Finally some action Lord wyvern,” a mirthful Troy said, no one in the conference table appreciating his words or enthusiasm.
“Captain Esau Fane has been dispatched earlier this morning,” Fikumin intervened with a pissed off glare at the gladiator that grimaced and then proceeded to drain his goblet audibly. “He has orders to block the road to Taras but not engage the invading force.”
“There is an invading force?” Glen asked and rubbed at his forehead. “Why wasn’t I notified?”
“You were Garth.” Fikumin grunted. “Ordered Horton to march ahead towards Mussel. Then you got busy looking for a baby wyvern. This was days ago. Horton got intercepted on the road in the meantime, was forced to give battle, probably got surrounded and we fear he has suffered grave losses or worse.”
Fantastic.
“So Captain Fane can do better?” Glen probed and then pursed his mouth as it kind of sounded like Fikumin was pointing the finger at his person.
Glen that is.
“He has the Taras guard with him. Not the freshmen Horton had,” Fikumin rustled.
“You are assuming the men were badly trained,” Glen retorted. “I hear it’s a matter of numbers.”
Fikumin let out an angry growl and sat down on his chair that had a special stool secured on it so people wouldn’t have to watch the top of his head when Lord Shield was not standing.
“I’ll finish this and then ride after Captain Fane,” Troy assured him after burping and wiping his mouth. “We’ll strike back. The bigger the stakes, the bigger the glory ha-ha!”
“We are not supposed to strike back!” Fikumin growled standing up again frustrated. “This is a superior force. We are to hold them until reinforcements arrive or risk losing the city! Just get out of the meeting! Why are you even here human?” He added even more infuriated and stared at the gladiator under heavy brows.
“I was running the Morn Taras, main square distance,” Troy replied with a frown. “Saw people coming to your villa and followed them dwarf.”
That’s over sixty kilometers! Good grief man, are ye insane?
“Master Troy, you shall address Lord Shield by his tittles or asked to vacate the premises,” Rimeros intervened austerely and Theron started laughing whilst banging his fist on the table.
“Lord Fikumin doesn’t care for human titles tall fool! But keep at it and you’ll get hammered in the mouth. Might set yer brains proper!” He yelled between riotous chuckles. Fikumin used his wooden mallet to get the table quiet again. Hit the surface so hard that the tool broke apart at the third strike and parts of it flew over Lon-Iv’s head that let out a yelp that caused his male slave to run to his assistance.
Glen sighed and pushed back on his chair.
“Let’s talk about the matter at hand,” he rustled diplomatically. “Where is the Phalanx now?”
“Lord Anfalon left Jungle Fort a week ago,” Kamat-Fin replied getting up. “Exulted Caliph.”
“We notified the travel stops Hardir,” Rimeros added. “But it is unclear which units are where or how long it will be before they arrive. If Anfalon receives our missive he’ll use mounts to rush here.”
“Where will he find the mounts?” Glen asked.
“Commandeer them from anyone using the roads. The Phalanx has priority in all equipment or manpower.”
“Aha.” Glen pursed his mouth. “Folen any idea on what we’re up against here?”
“Hardir the enemy unit’s moniker suggests they are a mercenary company. Probably a rebirth of the one that attacked Eikenport under the name 300.”
“I remember them. They came with a bounty hunter for another reason but stayed to arrest Princess Elsanne.” Glen said and Lon-Iv got up to speak as well.
“The 300 were a private army raised by the Bank of Trust,” Lon-Iv Sopat said while his slave worked to refill his goblet and clean the table from the earlier accident. “They were deployed then to support the fulfillment of a contract with the throne of Kaltha. Under that premise they tried to resolve the matter of succession there.”
Glen nodded but Fikumin grimaced and repeated with a grunt of frustration glaring at Glen.
“Under that premise.”
Glen blinked unsure on the hostility directed at him.
He started to get pissed off with the dwarf.
“The Bank of Trust might have had another reason for the events at Eikenport our agents suggest. Taking control of Eikenport for Lord Anker and using it for their business.” Lon-Iv elucidated. “This is their modus operandi. Their way of acting whilst covering their tracks or legitimize their actions.”
Lots of fancy words here.
“What is their reason for attacking Mussel?” Glen snarled through his teeth.
“I can only guess Lord Garth.”
“Guess away.”
“There is a shift,” Lon-Iv started with Glen interrupting him immediately.
“In the wind?”
“The streams of profit,” Lon-Iv expounded.
“Go on,” Glen murmured.
“The merchants always used the Bank of Dinar since they had to cross the Khanate to reach the east coast of Eplas, mainly the Duchy of Raoz. With the war and the Monarch’s success in opening up Wetull, a new trade route has been established and Director Luvon of the Bank of Goras gave our merchants an alternative credit line. Soon a third even faster route shall be available.”
Glen stared at the rest of the table but everyone appeared pretty interested in Lon-Iv’s extremely tedious diatribe so he didn’t make any comment at that point.
“The Bank of Trust or Mclean & Merck always respected the Toka and the Bank of Dinar but now, given there is a third player, they move to get a bigger slash of the pie. The market appears up for grabs since the Khan controls Issir’s Eagle, Rida and parts of Kaltha. What the Bank of Trust lost it looks to gain back from the weakest opponent.”
Glen blinked and then licked his lips in silence.
“They are here under a pretext I’m sure, goods or perhaps your wine Lord Garth.” Lon-Iv added and returned to his seat.
“The wine?” Glen hissed stooping forward.
“You’ve produced twenty thousand liters of wine two years ago. Or bottles. Each year you double the production so this season I believe you’ll reach forty thousand easy or more.”
“Right.”
“Half of it is exported to the Peninsula and thirty percent to Jelin. Around six thousand bottles. Well over ten thousand for the year that just ended. At this rate you’ll support one city fully or three partially given the cost of the product. Half of Goras has the potential to be turned into a giant vine field given the rich volcanic soil. And then there’s Abarat. It produces more than Goras right now but is keeping it for internal consumption.”
“We don’t export these numbers officially,” Fikumin intervened. “Half the cities have placed restrictions to our merchants. Folk actually move about under disguise to avoid harassment.”
Well. About that… you are technically correct.
“Our merchants see the product in the local markets. We don’t know the how it gets there but it’s not difficult to suspect.” Lon-Iv replied. “The Sopat have purchased parcels of land near Aegium but the wine was already being sold there when we arrived.”
“Folen that’s an outrageous amount of smuggling going on,” Fikumin grunted and a concerned Folen made to rise but Glen gestured for him to sit back down.
“He’ll look into it and report to me his findings,” Glen said austerely.
“Absolutely omnipotent Monarch,” Folen croaked and then had some wine to clear his throat.
“Continue Master Sopat,” Fikumin grunted eyeing Glen with heavy suspicion.
“The real reason for the Bank’s actions is still unclear. This is an aggressive move that smells of expansion. Lord Phon-Iv presumes it’s against your grace but there could be potentially other reasons still hidden.”
“Phon-Iv knows?”
“He has been informed.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Quicker to get word from Lai Zel-Ka than Morn Taras these days,” Fikumin grunted.
“With that jest by our Shield you gentlemen are dismissed.” Glen said with an angry grimace. “Troy you can join Captain Fane if you wish.”
“No worries mate,” Troy replied and snapped both arms forward after getting up, taut muscles rippling. “I’ll catch up with them in no time.” He sucked air deeply and returned Phina’s stare with a wink. “Looking great there little scribe. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“I appreciate—” Phina tried to say but a livid Fikumin stopped her with a growl.
“Just get going already gladiator!”
“Know that I’ll remember this aggressive tone little hairy dude and the challenge behind it,” a half-grinning Troy warned a red in the face Glen’s Shield. “When you find a couple of more of yer kind we’ll revisit this. A proper fight must be challenging.”
“Alright, that’s enough malarkey for today,” Glen snapped to prevent a brawl as the other dwarf Theron seemed up for it.
“Garth I’d like a word,” Fikumin grunted whilst most of the others departed after the strolling away with his chest pushed out like a peacock gladiator.
“We just…” Glen sighed seeing his expression. “Sure… you want this here?”
“In my office my Lord,” Fikumin said grinding his teeth.
Whoa. The dwarf is at the end of his tether, Glen thought. I need to do something to alleviate some of the pressure all these crazy folk are causing him.
Friends are there to make things easier.
----------------------------------------
“I’ll see to fix this Fiku,” Glen assured him the moment Fikumin closed the door behind them.
“Fix? There is nothing to fix Allgods damn it! Salvage more like!” Fikumin growled and walked past Glen fuming. “You ordered Horton to Mussel! The man might be dead. All his men alongside him! I’ve known and worked with Horton for years. From Rida. By the gods he fought for you at Serpent’s Canal!”
“You buried him already,” Glen retorted. “And I didn’t know what he was up against. How is this my fault Fiku?”
“Whose fault is it? You are in charge!” Fikumin blasted him. “Your words followed to the letter which is troubling since most of the time you half-issue orders without much thought.”
“I said I’ll fix this situation,” Glen said with a grimace at the blame thrown his way. “I understand your frustration—”
“What are you talking about? The man got married last year. Freed a Cofol slave girl and just had a son he named Dennis! What am I supposed to tell his wife? We didn’t know? We couldn’t find the King because he was out looking for a baby wyvern? What did you need it for? How is it even possible you could be unreachable inside Morn Taras? Wait, let me tell you how. You’ve told your Zilan and Cofols you are busy! Am I close?”
“That’s my daughter’s wyvern,” Glen hissed a vein throbbing at the left temple. “And I won’t ask permission from you on how to spent my time or with whom friend.”
“I don’t give a damn who you bed,” Fikumin snapped furious. “But you have no time for yourself. Where did you get that idea? You think I have time for myself? You are running a blasted kingdom and we are under invasion! Seriously Glenavon, I’m very disappointed.”
Glen stood back and rubbed his forehead using three fingers.
“The wyvern I had to locate.” He started and Fikumin interrupted him immediately.
“What for? You have Uvrycres. What will a baby wyvern do? Eat a fucking chicken?”
A horse.
“I need to control them. We can’t have a wyvern loose in Goras,” Glen retorted. “I lost track of time after that… let me finish,” he stopped Fikumin from shouting again. “I misjudged the situation and staying near Inis-Mir can be time consuming.”
“Glenavon, these are real people with families of their own. Life doesn’t stop when you do, even if you have a legitimate reason. Is the princess alright?”
“She’s fine.” Glen puffed his cheeks out. “It’s been difficult lately for me Fiku. I need to keep my mind occupied.”
Fikumin blinked. “Did you even stay with your daughter?” He grunted getting frustrated again. “Good gods. Who is the next one that caught yer eye? I’m going to forbid Lon-Iv from bringing anymore slaves to you. Why are you not freeing them? But for Cofols and the Zilan we all do. You need to put a stop to this Garth.”
“I am. Slowly. I freed Iskay.”
“Who you happen to sleep with.” Fikumin grunted.
“It’s a slave economy Fiku. Partially.”
Laius had warned him about this.
“What? You can end this tomorrow!”
“You want me to impose my will to other cultures?” Glen asked him tiredly. “They won’t do it without a fight and it’ll create problems. This decree you favor. What about another one?”
Eh. Not a strong argument this, he scolded himself. You are pretty cornered here.
Fikumin caught me unawares.
He also sort of felt a bit guilty for failing Horton’s men and the captain.
“Emerson died to free enslaved people and managed to unshackle thousands,” Fikumin retorted. “What will your legacy be Garth?”
“How about we start by defeating the invaders first?” Glen snapped and the dwarf stood back in shock.
“You don’t want to do it. You are enjoying this. The comforts and lascivious lifestyle. All our losses and personal sacrifices… for this? You blasted hypocrite!” He snarled livid and turned around to walk out of the office.
When dwarfs got angry, all past hurts came flooding out of them live lava from a stone.
They were incapable to forget.
“Hey! I never pretended to be a saint! That’s yer fucking idea friend!” Glen yelled curtly, immediately cursed for another mediocre retort and then went after him, the short member of the Folk walking extremely fast, his quick strides landing heavy on the tiles as if belonging to a much bigger person. “Fuck’s sake Fiku come on mate. Slow the fuck down,” Glen cursed getting out of the office himself.
Fikumin marched past a shocked Phinariel and went out to the balcony of his villa. Glen went to go after him with a glance at the stone-faced Rimeros but the comely Zilan scribe stopped him with a query.
“Hardir can I have a moment?”
“Phina… I’m a bit… yes?” A distracted Glen asked pausing to listen to her.
“I want to grasp at this opportunity to express my gratitude for your concern the other day. It was heartening that Hardir O’ Fardor defended me,” Phina started quickly.
“Eh. Well, I didn’t like that he fed you this bullshit reason for breaking up,” Glen replied with an uncomfortable grimace. Phina’s rosy forehead gleaming, her long blue hair pulled back and turned into four thick braids. Zilan love working on their curls and personal hygiene. No wonder Sen feared them, he thought and his eyes drifted down the comely scribe’s long neck and blossoming breasts. Much of the latter nicely visible due to Phina’s typical cavernous-front Zilan chiton.
Well then.
“Phinariel,” Rimeros hissed warningly.
“Apologies.” The young scribe blurted out to the palace official and reached to take Glen’s hand with hers. “We’re Zilan. This is how it’s supposed to be,” she added timidly, the life of Taras had almost beat the wild out of the young stray of the jungle and then the recent break up forced her curious teenage soul into submission. “There is no romantic pairing without an offspring, such lustful couples thin in substance and shallow in their carnal relations. Usually birthed during Valimae Lilt and breaking up soon after.” She added in a low singing voice rather poetically.
Speaking a bunch of narrow-minded bullshit.
Glen retrieved his trapped hand from hers having recovered some of his wits and used it to lift her round chin up. Almost lost his train of thought in her liquid green-blue pools, the scribe’s eyes huge and gleaming on her flushed face.
“That’s Bertha’s austere family’s failed traditions he takes advantage of,” Glen counseled her hoarsely. “And a parochial aristocracy’s justification to jump from one bed to another without being called a strumpet.” Phina blinked unsure. “It means a slutty harlot,” Glen elucidated. “Anyway don’t live yer life according to Bertha’s ideas even if he truly believes them and don’t forgive him that easy. You want to be a Zilan but you were doing fine as a stray afore that and you’ll always be Phina. Which is pretty close to fine in my book. You can bend but remain unbroken. Just look to find an honest mate that’ll appreciate Phina without any expectation other than you being you and trust Glen… you’ll find that certain someone very close.”
Phina made a tentative step forward over an indignant Rimeros’ loud objection but paused feeling Glen’s stretched arm stopping her, the Monarch’s large hand fully palming the comely scribe’s perk right breast.
Not by design, a tensed and half-aroused Glen thought hearing the Zilan female gasp. But certainly not completely by accident.
About sixty forty in favor of the latter.
“This… Glen deity,” Phinariel murmured raspingly but also confused. “Can be a bit more specific?”
“The god can’t but this Monarch believes you know very well,” Glen retorted cursing himself for fumbling with his words at that crucial moment.
“Goddess’ patience! That is quite enough scribe,” Rimeros grunted and Glen snapped at him angrily baring his teeth in a snarly grimace.
“No it fuckin’ isn’t! Back away Rimeros.”
“Hardir,” the Zilan official yielded and bowed his head, a little pale in the face.
Phina had left Glen’s personal space, now looking truly troubled.
“You suggest…” she glanced at the gloomy face of Rimeros and then at Glen. “What if… strange offspring come from the affair?”
Eh. Glen thought looking at her unblemished hairless skin. Maybe hairier but not strange. And you’ll find no sturdier partner in the whole of Goras and beyond.
The fact she wasn’t totally against the idea vindicating Glen’s longtime-brewing hypothesis that deep down the Zilan were just taller, prettier Gish with blue hair that lived much longer or almost forever. With more brains sure, a touch of flesh-eating, wyverns. Fine… and a bit of magic.
Alright, a lot more stuff.
None of the above mattered here though.
“Then they’ll come and it’ll be alright for no Halfling will ever be shunned here and Berthas knows that firsthand. His mother begged me not that far ago to elevate him and I did. I won’t treat you any different. None of that nonsense shall exist under my reign!”
Gods damnit! He cursed all fired up afore pausing still breathing heavy.
A rosy-cheeked Phinariel bowed her head.
“May I leave the Monarch’s presence?”
The girl is absorbing languages, manners and knowledge like a sponge.
A kindred spirit almost, since this Monarch has been known to be close to a polymath himself. Not known perhaps but Glen was making an effort to softly shove the idea down people’s throats using his lackeys.
“Of course,” Glen replied a little sad to see her go and watched her hurrying to the balcony where a fuming Fikumin stood and stared at the busy Taras’ center.
“Great Hardir,” Rimeros said coming to stand next to the distracted with the lithe scribe Glen. “Since you are not against crossbreeding as we all firmly believed -with some even suggesting severe bigotry but not myself—”
“Buah ha-ha,” Glen guffawed cutting him off but then sobered up seeing the look on Rimeros’ face. “Are you plaguin’ serious? Where are you going with this?”
“Apologies Hardir. But if I can ask, why not keep the willing scribe for yourself? I’m not suggesting she’s the best candidate but being free of a partner at this moment, it would have been improbable for her to refuse the Monarch.”
Eh.
Fikumin likes her a lot.
I have very few friends.
You wouldn’t understand.
“What I said to her doesn’t apply to my person Rimeros.” Glen glanced his way. “It was advice given in private and not a decree.”
“All Hardir’s words are decrees,” Rimeros droned the old mantra. “His wishes and tendencies laws.”
“Not in private. Not in this topic. And you’re reading the prophecy completely wrong.”
“So… the Monarch will look for a different Zilan prospect?” Rimeros asked and he had the appearance of a man that had a list of candidates ready.
Glen eyed him for a long moment blankly and then replied in an even tone that left little wiggle room to scheme for the palace official.
“Absolutely not. I don’t trust yer arses like that.” Glen cleared his throat and then added casually. “I’ll go find Laedan and my wyvern now.”
Out of the corner of his eye Glen saw Phina reaching Fikumin and standing to his right side in silence. The strange couple doused by the winter sun’s rays in an atypical but at the same time somewhat comforting –even regal- manner.
“Yes Hardir.” Rimeros bowed his head.
Yeah, Glen thought.
“So. Just out of curiosity. Can I have the first name from your list?” Glen asked a moment later while they walked towards the exit where Sir Alan Kirk and Hagen were waiting.
Little wiggle room did not an absolute denial make.
“The list my Lord Garth?” Rimeros asked a little confused.
“Don’t play the fool,” Glen grunted austerely. “Spill the fucking beans!”
“You grace… given you have an heir I was… well, how about Lady Aelinole?” Rimeros croaked not expecting Glen to pressure him for an answer.
“How about no? What the actual fuck?” Glen retorted angrily. “She may even be older than Soletha!”
“Which many consider a good thing?” Rimeros chanced unsure. “She’s also of considerably better lineage?”
“I used to like much older women when I was young but not anymore and not by that much,” Glen lied since the reason he wanted nothing to do with Aelinole was that Lord Suraer’s talented daughter had a lot more crazy in her than the Zilan average and a long history of failed relationships. Also had Lord Suraer for a father. There is only so much righteousness a man can handle near him. “But hey, another oldish decent lady pops into your brain that doesn’t look like an angry bird go ahead and inform me. I can keep an open mind. Just leave the worst of the crazies out.”
You don’t mix yourself with the crazier of the bunch if you want to taste the waters and expand yer horizons.
Glen could see why Fikumin had perhaps a case of hypocrisy against the Monarch.
Against him.
Eh.
But it is a fucking weak case, Glen decided.
> Luthos who had half-dozed off for this part, dirty hairy legs resting on a small table, almost drown himself in his own spit chuckling and ended up crashing on the ground like a boulder.
A sober Glen reached the flat top of the citadel weighed down by the heavy bag with supplies he carried. Standing at the edge of that ‘roof’ one could clearly the three distinct levels underneath and the philosophy the whole structure had been constructed under. The square pyramid base, the fortified citadel-like middle and the narrower flat top.
A Ziggurat from before the First Era, a proud Voron had told him back then and in the present the resting Uvrycres turned his scaled, wedge-shaped angular and horned head towards the approaching Monarch of Wetull. Two dragon eyes opening, many diaphanous eyelids retracting and their rubicund color glowing from the inside like a lit fire pit. The Onyx Wyvern’s large body moving, sharp talons scratching at the granite tiles and the six meter long scorpion-like tail stinger rising like a desert cobra ominously.
What do you bring for me there?
“Not just for you. Biscuits and water. We my old friend, are going on a mission,” Glen replied raspingly and secured the bag on Laedan’s Seat. Grabbed the rounded steel horn as the wyvern lowered its neck for him and climbed on the intricately carved saddle. Hardir O’ Fardor’s armour clanking and blades clinging. His face hidden behind the now sober mask, its polished dark metal reflecting Glen’s inner thoughts through Angrein O’ Mecatan’s magic.
> Segun Abadaim, mostly known as Lord Chubin Amin which was his Khanate name tossed a handful of rock salt turned to powder into the small fire and it flashed a bright yellow for a moment as if the flames had increased.
>
> But they hadn’t. It was all an illusion.
>
> Beautiful but meaningless.
>
> ‘There is no magic here,’ the dead Cofol from Tull Cautara-Magor explained to a thoughtful Glen that was sitting next to him on the desert sands. ‘Or substance. The salt remains untouched, unchanged and unformed. A myriad tiny crushed pieces still scattered and like selfish former actions blown away by the wind.’
>
> ‘A vessel needs to carry a soul to truly function or it shall stand empty in the end like an old leather sack. Fill the void existing in your soul and leave it not empty. Not with hatred. Not with trinkets or just pleasure. Not with words. Words can be as beautiful as flowers or even as important but some flowers are poisonous Segun Atrusim says. More times than not, crucial actions dictate one’s character or the simplest of gestures along with the willingness to change his entrenched position. Be like the water. Malleable but with every part of you always remaining linked. Dictate how you move and how you live. For even death can be a choice.’
>
>
Are you certain, oh unwise ruler? Uvrycres jested and opened his massive black and red leathery wings. Because last time you said we needed to be more careful? Hah-hah. Hah-hah-ha!
There’s yer father bumbling to the surface, Glen thought with a grimace at the memory of the insane and un-killable zombie wyvern.
What was that thread? Where does it lead? The wyvern asked suspiciously.
“Nowhere.”
As in… no answer? Are you certain?
“Yeah.” Glen replied and fixed his gloves afore reaching for the reins, there to protect him and not steer the wyvern. “Anyways, we fix this mess first, see if we can smooth over the other stuff later.”
Fuck them all! The wyvern trumpeted with enthusiasm and let out an ear-splitting roar.
“Eh. Not exactly my meaning buddy.” Glen grimaced and then puffed out. “But we may need to do a bit of that too.”
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