The influence of Master Farhad’s style was apparent in Torm’s sword technique. Winter’s Heart was so swift and fluid in his hands it reminded her of watching a sword dance.


    “Amdirlain.”


    “What?” asked Torm, with a quick puzzled glance as he continued his practice.


    “I’m calling myself Amdirlain. It means hope and free in two Elvish tongues. So I’m casting off Eakc?, and just using Amdirlain. Free is what I need to become, so I hope this name sets me on the right path for a fresh start.”


    [


    Name: Eakc? overridden by Amdirlain.


    <ul>


    <li>


    All Faithful will receive a dream conveying the new name and its implications during their next rest.


    </li>


    </ul>


    Amdirlain


    <ul>


    <li>


    Lady of the Accursed, Freedom, Hope, and New Beginnings.


    </li>


    </ul>


    ]


    Did you claim every point in my statement?


    “I like the sound,” Torm said, smiling at her.


    “It was one of a few I liked, but it stuck out,” Amdirlain replied, rising to join Torm’s practice. Though as her gaze caught on the chamber’s doors, her smile dimmed.


    “Just remember, even Celestials have difficulty with maintaining Mortal friendships,” Torm said, his reassurance not bringing her comfort. “I’d mentioned about not wanting to encourage Ylva. You are more different than most, but I had expected more acceptance from them given your history together.”


    “I’ve pushed their levels along, so hopefully they can help others,” Amdirlain replied with a shrug, even as Torm frowned at her mood. “even if they don’t want to associate with me further.”


    “I think that’s part of the reason for their state. You’ve already jumped both of them ten levels in just over a week being here,” consoled Torm, caressing her arm. “Few Mortals see Outsiders truly fight, even if you’ve been restraining yourself. Despite that, you’ve been cutting through hordes every day.”


    I don’t want this conversation.


    “I’m now Star Wars,” Amdirlain said.


    At her sudden statement, Torm grimaced and shook his head, “You lost me.”


    “My new title: Lady of the Accursed, Freedom, Hope, and New Beginnings,” recited Amdirlain before giving him a cheeky smile that didn’t ease his expression. “Along with having a Sun Elf Soul, which are stars to other’s planets, I’ve got New Hope in my title, and its bonus prize is that it’s one of the real Star Wars trilogy.”


    “That’s a bit of a stretch; you’re not impressed with it,” probed Torm, providing her with a strained smile.


    “It’s rubbing my face in things, I’m sure,” grumbled Amdirlain. As her arms crossed, she scrubbed her hands along her arms.


    “If the aspects of your title also help people find solace?” Torm questioned, his tone light and hopeful.


    “Voice of reason, thanks,” muttered Amdirlain.


    “Your Charisma has been peeking through lately. Perhaps take time out to let them recover and stabilise your control,” Torm suggested, as a wave of energy from behind her gaze caught his attention.


    “I know, pushing to fifty-one hasn’t helped. Need to build it a bigger amusement park,” conceded Amdirlain before her tone turned bone dry. “I got a new achievement this morning.”


    “You were forty-nine this morning. That doesn’t sound like it impresses you either,” Torm murmured, regaining his concerned expression.


    “Lucky me, I got Slaadi Masher, with gives an increased critical chance,” chirped Amdirlain, affecting a bubbly tone and a wide-eyed, excited expression. “At least it didn’t get called frog blender.”


    “Maybe you shouldn’t provide suggestions,” offered Torm, before changing the subject. “Yngvarr mentioned scrying through the Portal and seeing hordes emerging from the Spawning Stone’s surface.”


    “Yeah, we’re fighting against the tide. The more we kill, the more there are around it,” Amdirlain stated, rolling her shoulders as she paced.


    “Too much energy today?” enquired Torm, his gaze not shifting from her unsettled movements.


    “Yeah, feel like I’m going to turn into Tinker Bell any moment,” muttered Amdirlain.


    “I do not want to know,” Torm stated, waving her off empathically.


    “Oh, so she didn’t share all the good ones!” exclaimed Amdirlain, though despite her pleased tone, it didn’t stop her pacing.


    “Maybe take time to adjust and not only for getting Charisma under control,” suggested Torm, as her pacing quickened.


    “Need the Altar destroyed first,” retorted Amdirlain, shaking her head.


    “You advised us we needed to train up our skills and powers because of the rush of experience,” Torm said, taking in her focused look. “Anything you’re letting slide?”


    “Lots, but I meant after we’re done with this,” declared Amdirlain.


    “Haste makes waste,” Torm said, watching the blur of her motions.


    “A stitch in time saves nine,” challenged Amdirlain, giving him a stern glare.


    “What’s your quickness at now?” enquired Torm.


    “Seven hundred and twenty-four,” Amdirlain replied, “Why couldn’t Fallen have given me boosts to that instead of Charisma?”


    “Pause, take five, or whatever way you want to put it,” Torm advised as he shifted to continue watching her move. “Why don’t you go see if Azex will teach you that game they were playing?”


    “Playing a game against a Dragon - that’s one way to get a dose of humility,” replied Amdirlain, giving him a broad smile.


    “Yes, but it also might be what you need to find your balance,” advised Torm, his concerned look giving her pause. “You’ve been thrashing every Slaadi that comes through the fishing hole. Most barely get a swing at you now unless you’re drawing things out. Having a reality check and knowing there are more powerful beings might be good.”


    “Avoiding a reality checkmate is part of the plan,” stated Amdirlain, as the subject change halted her pacing, and she faced him properly.


    “A key part? Because right now, it doesn’t seem that way,” Torm responded, his voice softening with concern. “They’ve got you upset, so you’re pushing yourself and them.”


    “Okay,” muttered Amdirlain, lacing her fingers together behind her neck as she blew out a breath. “I appreciate the advice and your concern.”


    “Thanks for continuing with this, especially with them both growing distant. I can see it’s not pleasant for you,” Torm said. As the sword vanished, he moved to caress her face, and Julia stepped close.


    “They’ve never seen my monster-style of fighting. Did she share the Cthulhu Mythos with you?” enquired Amdirlain, laying her cheek against his chest.


    “Your world’s stories are weird, but the Abyss’ depths are worse. The Greater Celestials rarely speak to us about the original hosts of the Primordials but they’ve said enough.”


    “What are they like?” Amdirlain asked curiously. As she focused on Torm’s closeness, she remembered the strange Celestials present after Rana’s rescue and wondered how much stranger an Elder Celestial could be.


    “The Greater Celestials are distant. Few of them serve Deities, they serve pure concepts. Most aren’t humanoid or even anything close, though they can change their appearance if they wish. Often, they don’t bother talking; you’re just suddenly aware of whatever they wish you to know before they vanish,” recounted Torm. His posture held a wariness that Amdirlain hadn’t expected to see from him, especially regarding other Celestials.


    “What sort of things do they pass along?” asked Amdirlain.


    “From my experience, normally ‘child, you’re in the wrong place. Go away’.”


    Torm’s aloof tone drew a full body laugh from her, and he smiled broadly before continuing his explanation.


    “ásgarer borders the realms of some older Powers, but the boundaries in places are just rolling plains or thick forest,” said Torm, giving a relaxed shrug. “Though there are places and times they’ll converse with others more freely. Even then, it’s more what they allow you to overhear than things they’ve told us young ones directly.”


    “Explains why you took Azex’s scolding with such good grace,” Amdirlain said, glancing up and rewarding Torm with a smile.


    “The truth is the truth,” responded Torm, his unflustered calm as relaxing as ever to her.


    “True,” Amdirlain said, pausing in consideration before she spoke. “Three-day break, then reassess how they’re feeling? Maybe the Lady will provide Rana Blessings to help their emotional stability.”


    Did I push them too hard?


    “What level would you have by now?” enquired Torm. “If you killed them at full speed?”


    “That’s not important; it’s not a game,” Amdirlain scolded light-heartedly.


    “I’ll let them know we’re taking a break and pass along the word to Morgana via Suibhne or one of the other guards,” Torm said, giving her a relieved smile.


    <hr>


    “Your group has no plan to use the fishing hole again today. Is that correct?”


    Morgana’s sudden words caught Amdirlain by surprise and glancing about with True Sight revealed a coil of Mana directly overhead.


    “Not until tomorrow, at least,” Amdirlain confirmed. “Are we wearing out our welcome?”


    “Some of your party are more welcome than others. My Liège already made his views on that known,” Morgana replied, the Voice’s stiff formality unwavering.


    “Is there anything else I can help with, Morgana?” asked Amdirlain, keeping her response polite despite Morgan’s tone.


    “My Liège wishes your presence tomorrow when you would normally open the Portal.”


    The energy vanished without waiting for a response, provoking a snort of amusement from Amdirlain at Morgana’s abrupt nature.


    “It seems we have an extension of our break. I’ll just train without you in the morning,” Torm remarked. “Wonder if Azex wants more stories from you? Perhaps he favoured yours over either Rana’s or my own.”


    “It’s hard to tell what he finds enjoyable. His body language to me is always just slightly off,” countered Amdirlain. Moving back into position, she motioned for him to start again. The moment he moved, she slipped along his line of attack and dropped to sweep away his supporting leg. As he hopped her sweep, Amdirlain snapped a palm across to deflect his kick and flowed back to her feet. Landing perfectly balanced, he closed the distance, launching a jab that failed to ward her off as she moved to engage. Her continuing attacks were landing enough touches that they forced Torm to work furiously to protect himself from others.


    <hr>


    The passageway he had introduced to allow them access to the fishing hole started at the main shaft. With Morgana standing at its entry Amdirlain approached her only to be sent on her way.


    “My Liège awaits your arrival.”


    The approach to Azex’s cavern was different, though it was impossible to tell if it had changed days ago or mere minutes before her arrival given Limbo’s nature. Embossed panels still covered the walls along her path, but none were the same. Each wall segment was now an embossed portrait study of an Elf, their features scaled up to over six metres to show every detail.


    The air in the passageway was strangely still with that lack of movement, it wasn’t surprising to see him seated on the stone dais in his Elven form. Though the table was larger than last time, only a pair of chairs accompanied it. The table’s wood texture was a deep reddish-brown polished to a mirror shine and inlaid with miniature crystal spires that reminded her of the Grotto’s structures.


    Though she did not need it, the top was awash with an array of both strange and familiar food, in decorative silver settings before the chairs. While he seemed inclined to host her, Azex did not acknowledge her until she sat down. His gaze had remained fixed on a plain glazed wooden cup just in front of his plate.


    “I find your name choice suitable,” stated Azex, without preamble as Amdirlain was still settling, his inflections in High Elven perfect.


    “It’s a choice I’m happy with,” Amdirlain replied, keeping to the same language, unsurprised that he knew.


    “You shared a tale last time we spoke; it’s my turn to share one with yourself. Though it’s not a tale that I learned at first claw, it came to me through a series of others. The teller spoke the truth as they knew it, but I cannot be sure it is true,” Azex observed.


    “One person’s truth is always a subjective matter,” offered Amdirlain.


    “I dislike providing inaccurate information when I wish to give truth; As such I share this tale only with you. I would prefer it if you do not repeat it to others, lest any inaccuracy becomes entangled with my name.”


    “You don’t want someone thinking you’re a liar?” Amdirlain enquired cautiously.


    “That’s not it,” denied Azex, yet he nodded then shook his head. “I have no problems with lying when there is need. However, this tale relates to your past, and one day you might remember the whole truth of it. You shouldn’t have to correct any misunderstanding from this account with others if it is wrong.”


    “What is the tale about?” Amdirlain asked, curious about Azex’s purpose.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    “The brands that you’ve partly recreated and their origins,” replied Azex, loading his plate with quick motions.


    “The tattoos? I’m told they’re called the Markings of Royal Shame,” Amdirlain stated.


    “They did not make them with ink, and that wasn''t their original meaning rather what they evolved into,” declared Azex. “Have you gained any further knowledge of the Anar or Lóm? since last we spoke?” asked Azex, before taking a sip from the goblet he had focused on.


    “I have placed some of the points I spoke of into Anar Lore but held off spending too much as I wasn’t sure the reaction it might cause.”


    The bemused expression on Azex’s face at her statement was one of the clearest she’d seen from him but was still wooden and forced.


    “Your situation is rare and proceeding with caution is one option. You didn’t follow a cautious path by your own account in your first life, at least not the first few billion years. Anar and Lóm? do not mature as other species; rather, they can hold themselves to any point they wish and change it at will.”


    Azex’s matter-of-fact tone at that length of time made her wonder if his age was far greater than he’d implied.


    “They can move their age about?” enquired Amdirlain, the concept bringing up disturbing thoughts.


    “No, they progress forward as most species, but they could cease emotional or physical maturation,” Azex replied. “The Lady of Morning was the eldest but also the most reckless. Physically an adult, she possessed an unfailing youthful exuberance that often led her into dangerous situations.”


    “Like the rescuing of your mother?” asked Amdirlain.


    “By that point, she had allowed the wisdom of years to take greater hold, but perhaps it is not an entirely baseless comparison,” conceded Azex. “She often took joy from running into danger, especially if another was in need.”


    Great, so I was an immature danger junkie.


    “The selection criteria for their rulers was their ability with the True Song. The Lady of Morning considered herself to be an adequate Singer, yet far more inclined to physical altercations. While the Elves on many worlds have their variations of Singers, their works are closer to Wizards than the True Song their creators possessed. Near the Spire there is now a Song-destroyed area that tastes thickly of terror.”


    The words took a moment to sink in, and he watched unfussed as her expression shifted from curiosity to dismay.


    “Rach lashed out because I scared her,” groaned Amdirlain.


    She can use True Song?


    “Whether you scared her or something else,” countered Azex, with a lopsided shrug. “I won’t hazard a guess, given all the possibilities. It is also not why I asked you here. When you earned the marks, they were quite different things. They placed the vine brands you reconstructed on their condemned, in particular those who had violated Royal Decrees but whose time of death was still to be decided.”


    “But-” Amdirlain interjected at the conflict in his tale.


    “Hush,” ordered Azex, a single fingertip tapping on the table as he regarded her. The weight of his gaze came crushing down as terror coiled around inside her. “Let me finish, your questions distract from memory’s flight.”


    Amdirlain nodded her acceptance, though pushing against her frozen state required a force of will that made her ache. It was only when he spoke again that the weight lifted and her strength of will alone halted instinctive flight.


    “This all occurred eons upon eons before my hatching. Since it was the Titan’s command for various races to be brought into existence, neither the Anar nor Lóm? interfered in their development. That tendency became Royal Edict after a time, especially as societies of lesser species grew more complex, making it easier to cause waves.”


    Azex fussily picked a few morsels from his heaped plate and took his time chewing them before he spoke again.


    “You objected to what you considered repugnant acts and destroyed an army that had been abusing peaceful folk. The matter was argued among the various choruses within the Amar. When at last you faced the Royal Court, your defence was that you acted for the Song. Since you had deliberately violated their law, they found you guilty and held you for sentencing. Though they could have asked your preference since the only outcome was death.”


    “Elves like to talk, long past any timeframe where other races would have decided. Yet, it was only the excessive talking on this occasion that saved your life. A century had passed by the time they returned you there for execution. They held a final review, scarcely another year or five. They found that wars between that race’s nations had purged three peaceful peoples from their world, thus ending their contribution to the Song. With more under threat, the Royal Couple enquired what you would do. Your response was you would do what the Song needed, then pay the price.”


    “They conversed between themselves, and by a miracle it was a brief conversation barely more than an hour. After which they removed your surety of peace and asked if you would swear to Royal Service. Upon receiving your Oath, they instructed you to do what was needed. Afterwards, as the brand’s nature prevented its removal, instead they added a rose for each of the seven nations you destroyed.”


    A metallic slithering of coins near the entrance stopped whatever Azex had been about to say next, and he ate quietly till Morgana appeared beside the table.


    “The outcome?” enquired Azex, unbothered by Morgana’s return.


    “They all will tend to the matter, though the wolf wished me to give this to her first,” stated Morgana. A gesture towards Amdirlain drawing attention to a piece of parchment that looked a mere scrap between her fingers. When Azex motioned for her to proceed, Amdirlain nearly snatched it from her.


    ‘Amdirlain


    Morgana requires Yngvarr, Alfarr, and Rana to undertake an assignment.


    She won’t say what but will open the Portal to allow them to travel to the location needed.


    I’ve volunteered to go help them since it’s allowed, but Morgana agreed to take this message to you first.


    I didn’t wish to depart behind your back. Though she claims you shouldn’t assist, she hasn’t made the reason why clear.


    Torm’


    “What’s this about?” Amdirlain asked, trying to keep her tone calm.


    “Do you trust your pet wolf or not?” countered Azex with obvious amusement.


    “He’s not mine, he’s his own person-and yes, I trust him. I’m not sure I trust you, even if you could have killed us all. You insisted on this meeting, and Morgana chats with my friends behind my back.” stated Amdirlain. Her tone gained a strained edge as she tried to stop from snapping.


    “You’re such a little mother hen. If you like, you can go with them, but you’ll ruin the benefit for them. Would that help the decision?” enquired Azex, brushing the point of his knife across his food.


    “Will you please explain?” Amdirlain asked, forcing herself to relax.


    “They need to destroy the Altar on their own. Rana, who you caused to be rescued from it. Do you want him to stand forever in your shadow? Yngvarr caused it to end up amid Chaos. Do you want him to be in your debt for easing his guilt? Alfarr would have gone with his mate regardless, and you can see the effect your presence has on him. You’re like a young Dragon, unintentionally causing fear in lesser beings when confronting their inferiority.”


    “They’re not lesser,” disputed Amdirlain, her expression tightening as she fought to keep her tone civil.


    “Then why do you unsettle them so?” countered Azex, at the broad natural smile he offered, Amdirlain’s gaze narrowed.


    “You unsettle me,” declared Amdirlain, wondering what game he’d been playing with his previous awkwardness.


    “Exactly, yet once I looked at you with awe, fresh from my egg. The power and wondrous music that came from the strange being beside the ones I knew as my parents. We’ll see if I’m in awe of you again before I die. Will you give them a chance to fly far? To rise to a challenge and face what they dread, or will you insist on going forth?” asked Azex, his flat tone growing cold. “I gave you time and means to strengthen them. Now decide if you’ll let them fly free or cage them in your aviary and keep them safe.”


    Amdirlain ground her teeth as the parchment flared to ash in her suddenly burning grasp. Speaking deliberately aloud, she cast the messenger spell.


    “Torm, I appreciate you letting me know. I trust you and will see you all when you get back.”


    Azex nodded to Morgana, who disappeared instead of walking away. As she brushed the ashes away, he motioned the knife at a salty broth with slices of meat floating in it.


    “Be careful of the brine soaked Slaadi. No one else seems to appreciate the flavour.”


    “I think I’ll stick to plain dishes, thank you. Is that bacon?” asked Amdirlain, gesturing to a plate of thin cuts of smoked meat.


    “Pig!” Azex exclaimed dismissively, “Of course not, it’s smoked Kraken.”


    Not the normal breakfast dishes I had thought they were.


    “Oh,” Amdirlain uttered blandly before stabbing a piece and pulling it to her plate.


    “You should relax,” insisted Azex. “I knew what Morgana needed to reach her heights, and I know the push these four need.”


    “Morgana only asked for the three to go,” Amdirlain pointed out.


    “Would the wolf really have not offered to lend his strength?” chuckled Azex.


    “Not with people we know in need, but again with the manipulations,” grumbled Amdirlain, wondering how deep the games were going.


    “Blame it on my age,” Azex challenged, with a narrowed look.


    “Apparently my Immortal Soul is even older, do I look that silly?”


    Azex went wide-eyed for a moment before he threw his head back and roared with laughter.


    You were so faking your awkwardness. What else have you faked?


    <hr>


    Amdirlain set a wall of Life Mana in place over her companions as Rana knelt next to Alfarr’s remains. Alfarr looked like a great white had taken a chunk from him. The wound ran from the fourth or fifth rib, arcing inwards and down to show exposed bone in his shattered hip. Liquid Celestial words vanish from her awareness as always, while Rana channelled the Lady’s Blessing. Looking between Torm’s battered but whole state, and Yngvarr’s mauled form, she joined Torm tending Yngvarr’s injuries. Hovering a hand over his side, she sent forth golden-hued Ki to speed his restoration. Even as the Mana and Ki combined, restoring the flayed skin and flesh along Yngvarr’s torso, new flesh sealed over the frost cauterised stump where his left arm had been.


    The glow of Rana’s spell turned into motes of light that wove themselves together and replaced missing organs, bones, and flesh. As Alfarr gasped with renewed life, his first breath had him cough and spray Rana with old blood. The sudden release of tension within Yngvarr sent him staggering, but as he faltered, they caught him between them. Gently lowering his trembling body, Amdirlain worked with Torm to heal him with Ki. Even with the combination of their attention and Rana’s aid it was some time before his clammy skin returned to its usual olive tone. As his breathing slowly eased from its shallow and rapid pace, his eyes fluttered open, but he regarded her at first without a word.


    “You’re stranger than I can understand, but not a horror,” Yngvarr murmured, his voice hollow with fatigue, and glanced up to meet Amdirlain’s worried gaze. “What we fought was beyond horror. I had forgotten how sickeningly it was to be near. I’m sorry, Julia.”


    “Not using Julia anymore. I picked Amdirlain.”


    Pressing the Ki out through her hands, she watched as his sealing wounds continued to lessen.


    “Free, how suitable,” whispered Yngvarr, whatever else he might have said lost when Alfarr hacked and spat. Blood splattered across the floor as he rolled onto the side that had been whole to regard them.


    “What was it you said about muck in our sitting room?” Alfarr asked, his offhand tone forced.


    “Not muck, but that’s hardly important; you’re all alive, that’s what matters to me,” contended Amdirlain, giving him a smile that he struggled to return.


    “Alive, and it’s destroyed,” Torm stated. As his wounds knitted, Amdirlain heard the faint sound of broken bones rubbing together, causing her to give him a worried look. “Even if Alfarr pinned its mouth in place at the end.”


    “It just wanted a parting kiss,” Alfarr said dryly.


    “Flirting with that thing wouldn’t have made Yngvarr jealous,” countered Rana, giving the pair a relieved smile.


    “No, but it might have him look for spells involving frogs,” grumbled Yngvarr, the amusement falling flat, outweighed by his hollow tone.


    “Croak, croak,” Alfarr grumbled, tapping Yngvarr’s leg reassuringly and leaving more blood on his pants.


    “Hop it with those jokes,” muttered Torm, the display of graveyard humour earning a surprised look from Yngvarr.


    “To tell the tooth I worried,” Amdirlain joked, glad to play along with Alfarr’s warped humour. When he groaned, it wasn’t clear if he was still in pain or if her joke had bitten too close to home.


    When they finally rose to leave, Torm touched her arm and waited for the door to close.


    “Tyr wishes me to return to ásgarer,” Torm informed her without preamble as soon as it clicked shut.


    “When did you learn that?” enquired Amdirlain, her quiet tone giving nothing away.


    “Only as they rose to leave,” Torm responded, his gaze seeking her own.


    “So the boss wants you home. Say hi and thank him for me. The Slaadi situation should calm down now. However, I’ll stay and see how the Spawning Stone is acting for a week. Maybe kill some more, so the situation on the border eases sooner,” offered Amdirlain, her casual tone earning an intent look from Torm. “I’ll see what the situation near the stone looks like tomorrow. If the numbers are way down, I’ve got other things to handle.”


    “What will you do next?” asked Torm, taking her hand in his own.


    “Azex said protecting those that can stand on their own hampers their growth,” Amdirlain admitted before continuing with a shrug. “They’re trapped. Time to see if I can give them more help.”


    “You have helped them already. They refused the aid you brought earlier,” countered Torm.


    “It’s still time to do more,” Amdirlain replied adamantly, giving his hand a light squeeze.


    “Be wary. Usd’ghi at least knows of your interest in Ternòx,” cautioned Torm, his concerned gaze lingering.


    Growing to match his height, Amdirlain wrapped her arms around him, and for a time, they simply held each other. When Torm pulled away, she stopped him and brushed his lips with hers. The softness of their first kiss sending fire through her veins before she reluctantly let him go.


    “Thank you for coming back safe and for trusting me,” whispered Amdirlain, her faint blush earning a pleased smile from Torm.


    “Always, Amdirlain, always,” Torm declared, raising a hand to caress her face. “Be safe.”


    “That I can’t promise,” chided Amdirlain, the request making her frown. “I’ll be as safe as I can.”


    “I know, but I’ll pray you’ll return whole all the same,” Torm assured, lightly cupping her cheek.


    “Go on, but tell the others,” cautioned Amdirlain, gesturing towards the door. “I’m not giving the goodbyes for you.”


    When he left, Amdirlain closed her eyes and scrubbed palms across her face. When she looked up, her gaze showed a bleak fierceness.


    <hr>


    “Arise and well met Torm.”


    As the grasp on his forearm drew him upright, an awareness of Class options became suddenly and unexpectedly clear. First among them, he saw himself as the Commander of the Vargr Drangijaz, ensuring the safety of the borders of ásgarer. While it would grant him immediate strength, it would narrow his focus. Turned away from other Planes, its focus was protecting the Petitioners already within. Though it was an attractive choice to be perpetually close to those he served, he moved on.


    Choice after choice, he went past as none truly spoke to him, though all appealed for their service to Tyr’s purpose. Each choice’s focus was too narrow and specific in the duties they would involve after their selection or wasted too much of the potential he’d gained. Finally, among the back of the maze of tempting figures stood a simple robed outline, its aspect unclear. It took determination to approach where it stood misted with uncertainty; something about it even warned of a potential for disaster. Entangled with it was the recent destruction of the Altar of Set, and all four of his classes. Still, he forced himself on as the sense of it was sheltering those in need more than anything he’d perceived among the rest.


    As he mentally reached for the figure, he felt his Liège’s grip tighten on his arm and his body change. The energy within him condensed as everything he had been before came together as one, with the energy of ásgarer woven within. Instead of standing below Tyr’s shoulder, he met him eye to eye. His hand clasping Tyr’s forearm had lost its fur and looked similar to his mortal guise, only sturdier still. ásgarer’s spring breeze through the window brushed across the bare suntanned hand, as he felt something across his back respond to the passage. The sensation was strange, startling him into glancing over his shoulder and found the wings his Liège’s gaze was already considering. Opalescent white wings rose from his back, flexing automatically as he studied them, their upper arcs another metre above his three-metre height.


    “Not what óeinn had foreseen,” Tyr noted, gesturing with his stump towards a table where the orb of a glistening Soul Forge hovered. “Good, now sit. We shall plan together you and I, after we see what your change has wrought. óeinn lost a Valkyrie, yet the Titan’s message just now told me you’re a Planetar. Not something I’ve heard of outside her tales to you. Maybe he finds it amusing to use the name since I claimed her Paladin term for offering a few youths a way forward.”


    When he moved to sit, the furnishing in Tyr’s study again surprised him. He’d never seen the inside of his Liège inner study before, though he’d attended discussions in the planning room several times in the past. Where so much of the ásgarer was rich with decorations in one form or another, Tyr’s study was almost bare of anything but essential furnishing. Sturdy bookcases encircled the room awash with scrolls and books that bore a resemblance to the records of laws in Verdandi’s study. An alcove near the door contained a chain hauberk of Celestial infused Mithril, ready to be donned, and a well-tended broadsword hung from a hook next to it. The harness and sheath clearly altered to allow for Tyr to don it and draw the blade one-handed. On the other side of the alcove hung a heavily blood-stained shield, the edge still gashed apart where the blow had snuck past.


    <hr>


    Deep in the Abyss


    The wind coming off the plains howled through the shattered arena. Fortune having left its once prosperous clan eighteen hundred cycles or more ago. Its leader had failed to deal with an upstart challenger who then scattered the clan. A raging cyclone touched down in its centre as a wall along its edge ripped apart, and a figure emerged into the storm’s eye. Wine coloured lightning crawled over his skin, eating at the air while his deep-set gaze looked over once purple skin now stained a sangria red. As the War Mattock spun in his grip, other Brín in more standard shades emerged from the Gladiator pens. Between the Demons walked a Manes, a hyena headed Mortal who had proved useful so far. While her height almost equalled the Brín, she was fragile in comparison. They in turn seemed lessened by their Lord’s presence, despite the closeness of their size to his own.


    “Lord Raivo, we completed your instructions in testing the northern defences. The campaign came apart after Adventurers slew the cackle’s Matriarch of Matriarchs. It cost much to hire a Storm Giant Wizard to open the Gate, but our Hobgoblin allies have embraced your cause and provided much tribute to your Priests.”


    The Manes’ words were a growling sound that was well suited to Abyssal.


    “Very well Kaftar. Let’s see about breeding you some Cambion then. While they get old enough, we’ll re-establish and expand your own cackle’s reach before the next campaign,” Raivo said, after a few moments of thought. The wait having made the Manes’ Matriarch squirm in discomfort “You did well opening a Gate so soon after the Portal’s destruction. Did you bring some younger bitches with you as instructed?”


    “They await below, Lord of Fury, Slaughter, and Rage, Destroyer of Hope, many fertile females from our tribe, all in heat.”


    The Manes’ words cut off as Raivo’s gaze fixed on her before turning back to the taller of the Brín.


    “Go below with her, Fámával. I’ll be there shortly. Fuck the Manes’ bitches and ready the weapons to send back with them to the material plane.”


    Raivo’s quick gestures in hand sign earned an instant response, the Brín unfussed by his instructions.


    “Should we leave some for you, Lord?”


    “I’ve no interest in them. Don’t break them; they need to survive to give birth.”


    They led the baffled Kaftar away with a firm hand on her shoulder, and as Raivo’s War Mattock whirled, he considered the message Ascension had provided before opening his profile.


    “Now to decide my new classes; wasn’t expecting Ascension to Demon Lord to open the playing field completely. Things they never tell you. Stupid Derek, I’d be so much further along if you’d given in sooner. Well, your pain was fun while you lasted.”


    The gale’s fury drowned the murmured words as he considered his expanded base classes.


    “Escort? What the fuck? Oh, it improves group defences when supervising others during battles or journeys. Pass. Battlerager, hmm maybe, but it sounds Dwarven. Lightning Lord, a new base Class because of Stormblade, that looks promising.”