Words. Goddess, how he was growing to hate words...
Show Razkar an enemy of flesh and sinew with steel in his hands, and given time and chance, the Myrian could probably kill it with his own. He was very good at it. Dozens, scores had fallen to his blades, arrows, bare hands and whatever else he could use to end a life. The fact he was still alive to remember it was proof of his prowess...
But the Svefra was even turning that word on him, too. He'd felt buffeted as if by a hurricane, trying to turn his face away from the wind but there was no sanctuary. Now, when he looked up, he felt her arguments... without answer. Attacks without defense. His gall rose as she came on and on, invisible in her form, undeniable in her arguments.
The Myrian wanted to hate her. Would have given much to rip apart her points and cast them down as worthless, trivial, unworkable. But she was canny, this one. People always mistook her beauty for being the fullness of her features: they never expected there to be a wry and cunning brain behind those guileless blue eyes. And even as he listened and winced when she made a clear and cutting reference to the scar on her shoulder.
It was right. No... it was necessary, regardless of what some pompous deity thinks. I didn't see him in that hold, offering to help-
But she plowed on. Whenever he opened his mouth, tried to find an opening, it was denied with utter verbal ruthlessness. It was like trying to sword fight with one arm against an Eypharian. Razkar's eyes flashed when she dared to call the curse that sapped his strength a blessing, actually jerking to his feet, but still she did not back away.
She knew when she had him on the ropes. She wormed her way into the martial logic that ran Razkar most bells of the day; painted a hard but hardened future, as it were, with him triumphant even over the limitations a god would place upon him.
He snarled inside. He champed and raged but his face was still save for his wide, pitiless eyes... and he sighed.
Truth is truth, regardless of whom speaks it.
... fuck.
She stopped, and it was his turn, but Edreina was in no mood to continue this. She circled the bed and without any words or explanation, slid under the covers. Razkar stood and just gaped at her, willing her to get back up, to continue this! Why should she just say her piece and go to bed?! That... That wasn't fair!
You really want this to continue? Remember what you were told in the Wildlands. At some point, fighting loses its purpose. You're not going to batter down her arguments; better to simply... sleep it off.
Edreina would hear his grumbling and shuffling, clothes slipped off and accompanied with guttural, savage spitting in his own language, words too fast and garbled for him to follow. Then the mattress shook and tilted her way as the bulk of him settled next to her...
Next to. But not touching.
The Myrian stared up at the bare ceiling and let his breathing settle. Goddess... today, of all gods-damned days! He had no time to investigate this! No time to find a scholar or priest to explain what had been done to him! Well, she would know, but... no... no, he wouldn't argue with her again. It was solving nothing and Razkar had no stomach to hear her damn preaching about-
Sniffling. Wet, muted... sobbing? He turned slowly, silently, and saw her pale shoulders bobbing under the tangle of red hair that covered them. She was crying. Razkar watched her with eyes like stone for chimes... then closed his eyes... sighed...
"Damnit..."
The crying ceased the moment she heard him, but the Myrian didn't say anything else. Instead he shifted closer, tentatively settling his hard, warm torso against her back... snaking one arm under hers and one arm over it... joining them together over her chest... sighing into the bramble patch that was her hair...
"Don't lie to me again." He whispered, and edge in his voice of mingled grim warning and pleading. "And speak to me not of Yahal. I will overcome this. I will... adapt. Become better. Change... if I must."
He sighed again and a warm wind blew across her ear. So much better, like this. Without the screaming and yelling and endless, pointless recriminations.
"And I must. But I do this for us, Edreina. Not for him." She may have heard the smile in his voice now, returning like a lost and near-forgotten friend to a house of poisoned love and tortured trust. "If you'll still have me, of course..."
Show Razkar an enemy of flesh and sinew with steel in his hands, and given time and chance, the Myrian could probably kill it with his own. He was very good at it. Dozens, scores had fallen to his blades, arrows, bare hands and whatever else he could use to end a life. The fact he was still alive to remember it was proof of his prowess...
But the Svefra was even turning that word on him, too. He'd felt buffeted as if by a hurricane, trying to turn his face away from the wind but there was no sanctuary. Now, when he looked up, he felt her arguments... without answer. Attacks without defense. His gall rose as she came on and on, invisible in her form, undeniable in her arguments.
The Myrian wanted to hate her. Would have given much to rip apart her points and cast them down as worthless, trivial, unworkable. But she was canny, this one. People always mistook her beauty for being the fullness of her features: they never expected there to be a wry and cunning brain behind those guileless blue eyes. And even as he listened and winced when she made a clear and cutting reference to the scar on her shoulder.
It was right. No... it was necessary, regardless of what some pompous deity thinks. I didn't see him in that hold, offering to help-
But she plowed on. Whenever he opened his mouth, tried to find an opening, it was denied with utter verbal ruthlessness. It was like trying to sword fight with one arm against an Eypharian. Razkar's eyes flashed when she dared to call the curse that sapped his strength a blessing, actually jerking to his feet, but still she did not back away.
She knew when she had him on the ropes. She wormed her way into the martial logic that ran Razkar most bells of the day; painted a hard but hardened future, as it were, with him triumphant even over the limitations a god would place upon him.
He snarled inside. He champed and raged but his face was still save for his wide, pitiless eyes... and he sighed.
Truth is truth, regardless of whom speaks it.
... fuck.
She stopped, and it was his turn, but Edreina was in no mood to continue this. She circled the bed and without any words or explanation, slid under the covers. Razkar stood and just gaped at her, willing her to get back up, to continue this! Why should she just say her piece and go to bed?! That... That wasn't fair!
You really want this to continue? Remember what you were told in the Wildlands. At some point, fighting loses its purpose. You're not going to batter down her arguments; better to simply... sleep it off.
Edreina would hear his grumbling and shuffling, clothes slipped off and accompanied with guttural, savage spitting in his own language, words too fast and garbled for him to follow. Then the mattress shook and tilted her way as the bulk of him settled next to her...
Next to. But not touching.
The Myrian stared up at the bare ceiling and let his breathing settle. Goddess... today, of all gods-damned days! He had no time to investigate this! No time to find a scholar or priest to explain what had been done to him! Well, she would know, but... no... no, he wouldn't argue with her again. It was solving nothing and Razkar had no stomach to hear her damn preaching about-
Sniffling. Wet, muted... sobbing? He turned slowly, silently, and saw her pale shoulders bobbing under the tangle of red hair that covered them. She was crying. Razkar watched her with eyes like stone for chimes... then closed his eyes... sighed...
"Damnit..."
The crying ceased the moment she heard him, but the Myrian didn't say anything else. Instead he shifted closer, tentatively settling his hard, warm torso against her back... snaking one arm under hers and one arm over it... joining them together over her chest... sighing into the bramble patch that was her hair...
"Don't lie to me again." He whispered, and edge in his voice of mingled grim warning and pleading. "And speak to me not of Yahal. I will overcome this. I will... adapt. Become better. Change... if I must."
He sighed again and a warm wind blew across her ear. So much better, like this. Without the screaming and yelling and endless, pointless recriminations.
"And I must. But I do this for us, Edreina. Not for him." She may have heard the smile in his voice now, returning like a lost and near-forgotten friend to a house of poisoned love and tortured trust. "If you'll still have me, of course..."