08-08-2008, 10:42 AM
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I am not a warrior. The words escaped her before she could properly think it through, but she knew that she had to stick to this. Iskata and Deuce were oblivious to her true nature, they thought she was just a merchant who used knives to protect herself. Only Styx knew the truth and he would never give her away. I am a merchant. The blades are simply for my defence. You know that, Asmodai. Her tone implied that no more would be said on the matter. If he wanted her to drop it, then he'd have to do the same.
What had come to pass of Jormundgand and Fenrir? Had they too been mauled by bears? Had they been killed by others? Fighters. Bandits. Rogue wolves. It would make no difference. She missed them sorely, she realised, not only because they would be uncles, but because they were her kin. They were all, the three of them, strong, resourceful, diligent. They were also very close. I am pained by your news. May the great wolf take his spirit in peace. I hope he died a valiant deat, so the gates of Valhalla open gloriously to him. I hope the monster of Niflheim cannot take him. It was a sequence she remembered from Asgard, a rite, a choice few words to be said. It was something they wished upon all wolves. That they be admitted to Valhalla, that the monster of Niflheim spare them.
She almost wanted to tell him that it was obviously not all. She couldn't bring herself around to say. Yet she tried. Tell me where you learned how to fight. Hel sounded tired. In a way, she was. Trying to hide her emotions, to be something she was still training to be... It stung. It hurt. And only Styx could understand. And even in that, she doubted he could understand everything.
I am not a warrior. The words escaped her before she could properly think it through, but she knew that she had to stick to this. Iskata and Deuce were oblivious to her true nature, they thought she was just a merchant who used knives to protect herself. Only Styx knew the truth and he would never give her away. I am a merchant. The blades are simply for my defence. You know that, Asmodai. Her tone implied that no more would be said on the matter. If he wanted her to drop it, then he'd have to do the same.
What had come to pass of Jormundgand and Fenrir? Had they too been mauled by bears? Had they been killed by others? Fighters. Bandits. Rogue wolves. It would make no difference. She missed them sorely, she realised, not only because they would be uncles, but because they were her kin. They were all, the three of them, strong, resourceful, diligent. They were also very close. I am pained by your news. May the great wolf take his spirit in peace. I hope he died a valiant deat, so the gates of Valhalla open gloriously to him. I hope the monster of Niflheim cannot take him. It was a sequence she remembered from Asgard, a rite, a choice few words to be said. It was something they wished upon all wolves. That they be admitted to Valhalla, that the monster of Niflheim spare them.
She almost wanted to tell him that it was obviously not all. She couldn't bring herself around to say. Yet she tried. Tell me where you learned how to fight. Hel sounded tired. In a way, she was. Trying to hide her emotions, to be something she was still training to be... It stung. It hurt. And only Styx could understand. And even in that, she doubted he could understand everything.