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* Plot Information for Askavi Terreille

For nearly two centuries Askavi floundered, brought low in the wake of the Red Queen’s war. The institution of one court with its Two Queens and the end of restitution payments promises a brighter future. Still, War knocks on the Eyrien’s door from all sides and the people fight against the need to meet it.
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Author Topic: One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors  (Read 249 times)

Description: tag: Drakkar (193 AP; After Duel, before DN Diplomacy)

Offline Abaddon al-Sabbah

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    • Drakkarson; The Young Spider

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One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors
« on: Mar 13, 19, 11:32:16 AM »
True to his word, Abaddon was at Shatterspine Falls at dawn every day since he had made the challenge public.  He had let his Father and Illyrian know what was where he was to be found when the sun rose.  He did not think the idea that Abaddon would be essentially fighting for his life before breakfast pleased them, but he had deemed it necessary.  He did not have the patience to teach every Eyrien the lessons that he and his Father had taught each other.  He had the foreknowledge to help Heal one mind, and that mind had been Drakkar’s.  The rest of them had to learn the hard way, especially those Blood Seekers that insisted the ‘Abomination had ensorceled’ their leader.  The Black Widow Warlord Prince was not sure which idea annoyed him more, that he was being called an ‘abomination’ or that they somehow assumed Drakkar could not come to a new decision on his own.

Whatever the motivation, Abaddon was there, and easily ready for any fight that was brought to him.  He had rage to spare, and in Askavi, no reason at all to restrain himself.  The first few challengers had seen him as a stripling, his draw with Drakkar just a trick, an illusion perpetrated by an abomination of Male and Female caste.  Someone even said that Abaddon should have been drowned in a bucket at birth, and the Pruulian-raised Black Widow Male had responded poorly to that.  That one had been the first casualty of these morning duels.  Death was always possible, but where Abaddon had the upper-hand, he tried to avoid it, despite all his instincts driving him to do the opposite.  He was trying to win hearts and minds, not cull the stupid, though he certainly considered the latter as a solution.  The Young Spider had hoped that the Eyriens would simply learn to avoid him, and keep their mouths shut, but alas.  Centures old habits apparently died hard, especially against Abaddon.

Abaddon had believed that morning would be little different, so he had asked for his Father to find him there.  They were supposed to begin a trip of some kind, a whirlwind tour of Askavi, though he did not see how they could do that.  He could not fly, and so much of the Territory sort of demanded that.  He was, however, endlessly stubborn, and good at finding alternate solutions.  There was only one challenger that morning, though he had a few hangers on in his entourage, and Abaddon could smell the Dark Jewel on him.  He recognized some of the sycophants as well, lighter Jeweled warriors, one of them was brother to a man that Abaddon had stolen the skill of Flight from.  They had dueled after the man hurled some particularly toxic verbal poison at him, and Abaddon had basically shut his brain down to end the duel.  Then he went in, and specifically excised the ability to fly.  He had not stored it anywhere, the fool would have to learn it all again.

Now they had sought the darkest Male they could that was willing to battle the Red Abomination.  Idiots.  They had stopped underestimating his martial ability, and instead had forgotten a key component of strategy; know the enemy.  Abaddon wasn’t just a Warlord Prince, he was a Black Widow, and he was using all of his tools for these skirmishes.  Drakkar had fought half of his Son, the one that did not use Webs or poisoned blades.  Abaddon had warned them all, ”Do not expect the same concessions I made for my Father.”  But perhaps the words had too many syllables for these Warriors.  Abaddon waited until they were  done boosting each other’s morale, and leaned casually against a shaped block used by spectators to watch the sanctioned combats that happened there.  The Dark Jeweled Warlord Prince made his approach, and issued his challenge.

”You, half-breed dog.  I, Baltar, challenge your mongrel-self to a death duel.”

Abaddon raised an eyebrow, ”Are you certain?”

Baltar blinked, ”Of course I am, Abomination.  You are a stain to be cleansed from Askavi.”

”Weapons?”

”Anything you bring to bear, I will match.”

”As you say then.  Do you understand who I am?”

”You are Abaddon, tainted son of the Warlord Prince of Askavi.”

”And you will fight me on these terms anyway?”

”Yes, or any others.”

Abaddon got to his feet, and conjured the broken sword that belonged to his Father.  He had since shaped it into a knife, though the length and shape of the hilt allowed for variations in his usual technique.  The blade gleamed in the rising light of the dawn.  ”As you wish.  We may begin whenever you are ready.”  The last words were a growl, and the Black Widow Male stepped to the Killing Edge as easily as someone else might take a step down a flight of stairs.

Baltar drew a swords, roared his defiance, rose to the Killing Edge, and hurled himself at Abaddon.  The morning air cooled swiftly, the breath of the few onlookers could be seen misting from their mouths and noses like smoke.  The shaped stone around the fighters frosted over, and the sound of steel on steel echoed over the cacophony of the falls.  They clashed and clashed and clashed again, Abaddon apparently on the defensive, using both Craft and skill in his maneuvers.  With nothing barred, Baltar attempted to gain the upper hand and take to the air, intending to rain power down on the younger fighter.  In doing so, he activated a trap Abaddon had slapped to his skin when they were in close quarters.  Wiry silk wound around the wings, and tightened with a speed and strength that cut into flesh and leathery skin, and snapped numerous bones.  Baltar fell back to the dust of the arena, crying out, startled by the results of his folly.

As he fell, Abaddon shredded his shields with the unbridled power of his Red, and rushed at him in what became a shockingly swift and short clash of blades.  The Black Widow Warlord Prince opened a cut on Baltar’s cheek, and then leaped away, out of reach, and vanished his blade and with it, the Killing Edge.  Abaddon clasped his hands behind him, as Baltar’s hand went to his cheek, and he growled at the blood he found on his fingertips.

”Are you forfeiting, coward?”

Abaddon shook his head, ”No, I already won.”

”Not while I stand!”  It took a moment, but Abaddon watched as the flesh turned bruised along the cut on on Baltar’s face, mottling his flesh before the flesh itself seemed to begin to rot.  He stumbled backward, one step, then two, and then fell down to roll to his side.  ”How?”

Abaddon walked over and crouched beside the warrior, ”Did they not tell you I was a Black Widow?”  His eyes lifted to the warriors that had cost Askavi a Dark Jewel.  ”You lot will answer to Drakkar himself.  He will be here shortly.”

Baltar twitched, writhed, cried out in agony, and died in a twisted heap on the arena floor.  Abaddon rose to his feet, and regarded the rest with burning eyes, ”Anyone else?”










Offline Drakkar Estaroth

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Re: One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors
« Reply #1 on: Mar 21, 19, 10:54:37 PM »
The soreness and pain had faded, but Drakkar often dreamed about the feel of Abaddon’s knives licking across his skin. Drakkar would not have said aloud that he was a different man since that day, but he felt it. The weight of his cold rage did not sit as heavily on his shoulders as it once did. The clarity it brought still existed and sharpened Drakkar’s perceptions of the people around him, but the rage itself could be inspected, used, or set aside as he chose. He wondered if Abaddon had done something in that regard, if he’d used his Black Widow skills to dull his senses somehow, but he immediately discarded the thought as soon as it arose. He and Abaddon had nearly killed each other during the fight. If he’d wanted to, all it would have taken was the use of his snaketooth to destroy Drakkar utterly.

It was strange but Drakkar trusted Abaddon to stand beside him, rather than against him, now that they understood each other.

That was part of why he wanted to take this trip, to go on this walkabout with his son, the Black Widow Warlord Prince, and teach him of his heritage. For all that Terreille would shame Askavi and ignore its existence, Askavi had many landmarks and wonderful places to see. Despite the Hayllians’ attack and the Purge, Askavi had never been conquered or subjugated to foreign rulers. A small distinction to some but a point of pride to his people.

After the morning meal, Drakkar had taken the time to pack some belongings and enjoy the solitude of his room. He did not speak to Illyrian of his plans immediately, for he knew that doing so would steal his desire to take this time away. In truth, they both needed to be away from each other for awhile. He’d risked his life without consulting her. She’d not called him out for it, perhaps because she didn’t want to disrupt the tentative peace that developed between them. Drakkar’s thoughts turned to his Queen and her needs more often these days. Drakkar did not know if something had changed inside of him or with their bond, but perhaps time with Abaddon would help him figure out how to settle the shift inside of himself.

So he packed, albeit slowly, and set his room in order. He made his bed. He organized his desk. He made sure all was clear and clean. When there was nothing else to move or change, Drakkar gathered his pack and went to Illyrian’s office to explain his absence.

An hour later, Drakkar left with his Queen’s blessing.

Abaddon said he would be at Shatterspine Falls, so Drakkar took flight and headed there after him. He’d not looked not gone there to see the dueling ring since their fight. The Warlord Prince of Askavi rarely spent time in places where he nearly died, but Shatterspine Falls also held an altar where Celebrian had guided Drakkar in Communing with the Darkness. Drakkar was glad that Abaddon seemed to have found a connection to the same place, but perhaps for a different reason than Drakkar.

He was inbound toward the dueling ring when he saw Abaddon and another warrior circling each other. The remaining warriors standing around the dueling ring were clearly sided against Abaddon. Drakkar flew faster, hoping that he could head off what might easily become a deadly situation the moment Abaddon won. And he would win because he was a Black Widow and a Warlord Prince and there was no one else in Askavi who could prepare for such a dangerous combination blended into one man.

By the time he landed, one man was laying on the floor of the dueling circle, death taking him. The other warriors looked like they planned to seek revenge until Drakkar touched down and circled to Abaddon’s side, though he placed himself between his son and the other warriors. Faced with two Warlord Princes, these warriors suddenly seemed keen to reconsider their chances.

Prince Estaroth, it is good that you’ve come. This man has  murdered a warrior of Askavi through dishonorable means!” said a male with dark hair streaked with gray. It took Drakkar a moment to place him as Tomminar Delvok, a warrior of the Thousand Skulls War Camp, serving under Kestian’s father , and his uncle, Lokar. Tomminar glared at Abaddon, but the Prince quickly turned his attention to Drakkar.

Prince Delvok, the man you reference has a name. He calls himself Abaddon Drakkarson and you’d be wise to use that name before he takes further offense at...whatever this was about to become before my arrival.” Drakkar said.

He just murdered one of my men. I served with Baltar Kurmenov! He killed him without cause!

Drakkar was quiet for a moment. “Attempting to kill a Warlord Prince is to forfeit one’s life. Do you deny that is what happened here?” Drakkar asked.

It was a duel, yes, but he used poison. There is no honor in that.” Tomminar snarled.

Prince Drakkarson, did you inform these men of what you are?” he said to Abaddon, without taking his eyes off of Tomminar or the men who stood with him.










Offline Abaddon al-Sabbah

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Re: One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors
« Reply #2 on: Mar 22, 19, 01:30:57 PM »
Abaddon could feel his Father’s approach.  He was too heavily invested in Drakkar for him not to.  He was not just his Father, he was a part of lifelong dreams and visions, and now he was someone whose mind and chalice he had touched.  Only his Queen could reach farther into him than Abaddon could.  When the Warlord Prince of Askavi landed, he placed himself between his Black Widow son, and the other potential challengers.  Abaddon paced  behind the winged Eyrien Male, eying the others.  He expected these men to hide behind politics, just as they had hoped to hide behind their Dark Jeweled friend.  It was a shame, because Abaddon understood, better than these men seemed to, what such a lost truly cost Askavi as a whole.  This lot were so lost in their own sense of pride, they never thought to count the cost.

”I was addressed as ‘Abomination’, Father.”  Abaddon answered, and pointed to the dead man.  ”And I asked this Prince if he was certain about his challenge.”  He lifted his chin to indicate the others, ”They have been here before, to see me challenged and victorious, they know very well who and what I am.”

Abaddon growled, ”I can remove their memories altogether if they continue to misuse them.”  He glared at those assembled, ”You thought to see me humbled, or dead, and now you complain about the tools?  I gave your ‘champion’ ample warning, and he chose to ignore them—to prove his worth to you fools—and this is the end result..”  Abaddon hooked a thumb over his shoulder to the dead man.

He grumbled under his breath and stepped forward to stand beside Drakkar, ”Poison or blade.  Craft or bone.  Time and again you and others have chosen, and failed.  I have not bewitched the Warlord Prince of Askavi, and I do not need wings to lay any of you low.”  He growled again, spreading his web out as they continued to complain to Drakkar, each point of contact was accompanied by a change in direction as he paced away and back to his Father.  He could poison them all, right now, and he probably should, but the Web he had spread would render them senseless, even if they raised their shields, the Black Widow spell was already beneath them.  *If Askavi did not need their fighters, they would all be suffering.  You save their hides, Father, they do not know it.*

Abaddon stopped his pacing, and glared at the lot, ”Leave now, and be spared.”  He stepped forward, "Remain, and I will render you into drooling idiots."

The remaining Eyriens at first looked confused, then attempted to look amused, before they backed up a few steps and looked to Drakkar for support.











Offline Drakkar Estaroth

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Re: One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors
« Reply #3 on: Mar 22, 19, 02:00:15 PM »
CW: Maiming


Drakkar’s eyes narrowed as Drakkar informed him of the epithet they’d use to refer to him. Drakkar was hearing that word more than he cared for and it bothered him. Would he challenge it so hard if Abaddon wasn’t his son? If he was just some visitor from a foreign land? In truth, he had no claim on Abaddon’s life. But that did not stop him from knowing that his son suffered abuse over something he had no say in. Abaddon did not regret being a Black Widow anymore than he regretted being a Warlord Prince. There was no room for Drakkar to regret that for him.

Drakkar let his son speak, watched as his would-be attackers grew less and less sure of their position as they stood before the Warlord Prince of Askavi. Only Tomminar’s eyes burned with hatred that now encompassed Drakkar as well. He’d heard those rumors, too. That Drakkar had been ensorcelled, defeated, even broken in his fight with Abaddon. Drakkar didn’t give a fuck about idle rumors and chatter. Not one man who held those views had the courage to say it to his face. When one did, he suspected that they’d suffer a fate similar to Baltar’s: laying dead in the dirt to assuage wounded pride.

This is an outrage, Drakkar! Your son is the anathema of all that we hold dear. You came to Gravesend to bring change! That is what you told us! But now we just have more of the same. You are out-of-touch with your people. You sit in that mountain and heed the commands of a Queen whose tongue is good for nothing except lying and--

Drakkar was standing beside Abaddon one moment.

The next, he was directly in front of Tomminar. There was a flash of a steel and sunlight. The Prince brought up his shield too late; Drakkar was already inside his reach, dagger placed between the Prince’s lips, right beneath the underside of his tongue. Tomminar froze in place, save for his wings, which beat frantically with fear. Drakkar’s left hand was tangled in Tomminar’s salt-and-pepper hair, holding his head in place while his right hand held Abaddon’s khanjar in his mouth. Blood trickled across the flat of the blade. Tomminar’s eyes were filled with hatred, but there was something else there, something that Drakkar was familiar with after thousands of years of murder.

Fear.

The rest of his warriors reached for their blades, but did not draw them. The depth of their folly reached them now, as they stood between a Black Widow Warlord Prince who could rise to the Killing Edge and his father, who appeared to be seconds from that same deadly place himself.

My son speaks for himself. Today, he bested your best. You offer excuses where a true warrior would accept defeat and learn from his shortcomings. If there is an abomination to be found here, it is not him.” Drakkar said, looming over him as the Prince dropped to a knee to keep himself from falling over.

Drakkar leaned close.

But you slandered my Queen, who isn’t here to speak for herself. There is a Price to be claimed for that.

And then his wrist twisted.

Tomminar screamed as Drakkar stepped back, blood pouring from his mouth.

Among the blood, the Prince’s tongue hit the floor of the circle.

Drakkar wiped the flat of the blade on his wrist. “My Price is claimed. Your friend lies dead. Prince Abaddon offered you an out. He’s kinder than I am. The rest of you, explain that the next man to call my son an Abomination, for any reason, loses his tongue. I’m taking up a collection, starting today.” Drakkar said.

Prince Tomminar, you may return to this place when you locate a civil tongue to speak with.

He looked to the others.

Take him and go. Leave the tongue.

They obeyed, leaving Drakkar with Abaddon. Drakkar sheathed his knife and looked to his son.

The trip to the bottom of the falls is a long one on foot. Are you ready to go?” he asked, picking up his bag.










Offline Abaddon al-Sabbah

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Re: One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors
« Reply #4 on: Apr 03, 19, 11:06:00 AM »
In Abaddon’s opinion, he had already shown great restraint.  In fact, every day in Askavi, he showed great restraint.  He was so used to minimal use of Craft because of where he was raised, that no one in Askavi seemed ot grasp the full complexity of his gifts.  If he were honest, Abaddon was not sure that he had fully grasped his own full potential.  He was a skilled Black Widow, of that he was certain, but never before had he been able to full utilize the depth of his Darkness.  He should kill several of these men just to make clear that he actually could.  He had hoped the duels and those results would be a language these fool Males understood, but they were not as understanding of violence as he and his Father were, nor did they grasp the many forms of it that Abaddon could wreak.

It was time to ruin minds and spread fear.  That at lease would mean he was left alone.

Askavi was not Pruul, but between warriors, so much was settled by skill of arms that it could have been.  Drakkar was one of the most formidable warriors Abaddon had ever seen, let alone actually faced.  He had nearly been killed, a close thing, but they both know who had wone.  He had learned more in that clash than he had learned in ten years sparring with Fin—Tavar now.  He had learned about himself, about who he was, and he had learned who Drakkar was, which was the part of the equation that had mattered most.  When Drakkar moved, quick as it was, with just the barest flicker of Blood Opal enhancement, Abaddon was not surprised.  He had read his Father’s intent in the small movement of his muscles, in the almost casual placement of his feet.  Abaddon could endure his own insults, Drakkar knew this, but even the Black Widow Warlord Prince would not have taken an insult to Ghanima, were she present—even if she were not present.

For a moment, he felt a brief ache, and reached into his Bond with his distant Queen to soothe it.

Abaddon knew their enemies would fold once Drakkar moved, and he spared only the briefest glance to the tongue that now hit the sand and dirt.  He watched the warriors leave, marking each with a small Web.  They would be a problem later, when Drakkar was not by his side, and he would use those Webs as a reminder, if he didn’t kill them outright.  Abaddon nodded at his Father’s question, the only nod to the even being the hand he briefly placed on Drakkar’s shoulder.  ”I am ready.  Would you prefer that I take the Winds?”










Offline Drakkar Estaroth

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Re: One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors
« Reply #5 on: Apr 18, 19, 12:14:03 AM »
Drakkar hoped that these fools had received the very clear message he’d sent today. Harassment of Abaddon would not be tolerated. He wanted the word to spread. He wanted the other warriors and war camps to know that he’d not lost his edge, but also that he would tolerate no attacks against his blood. Even more, he would tolerate no man speaking against his Queen with anything less than a civil tongue in his head.

Confident that those messages were delivered, he turned to Abaddon.

I was hoping that we could walk.” Drakkar said, in answer to Abaddon’s query. Taking the Winds would be exponentially faster. They could see more of the Territory, faster, and linger where they chose. Just now, though, Drakkar had a strong desire to spend more time in Abaddon’s company and actually get to know him. They were both Warlord Princes, but Drakkar saw in his son a path that had so many directions it could lead. The rage inside of them existed because they were vessels of Mother Night’s fury and destructive power. But Abaddon’s second caste added a dimension to his life and personality that Drakkar couldn’t understand.

But he wanted to.

At least, for a bit, I was hoping that we could walk and talk. You’ve lived such a different life and I have questions, both as a father and a leader. There are things I can say to you, ask you, that I could not share with my...with Illyrian.” Drakkar said.

There’s a goat path nearby that we can use to get down to the valley, if we’re careful. Form there, I figured we’d pick a direction. I’ve told Illyrian that I will be gone for a time. She’s accepted that.” Drakkar said, looking back toward Gravesend for a moment. Would he be the same man when he came back? Would Illyrian have any interest in knowing him then?

Let’s go.” Drakkar said, heading away from the dueling circle and toward the trail that lead to the goat path.

They came to the narrow goat path and Drakkar pulled his wings tight against his back as he made the first descent.

You healed well, it seems. How are you handling being away from Pruul?” Drakkar asked him.










Offline Abaddon al-Sabbah

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Re: One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors
« Reply #6 on: Apr 25, 19, 12:40:55 PM »
Abaddon was from Pruul, where the luxury of the Winds was not widely available in the Territory.  At times, it often felt as though he had been blind or somehow bound when he was in Pruul.  He had learned much, and it accounted for much of his personal skill because using Craft back home could mean death in a Worm’s gullet.  He had been raised and trained to make minimal use of Craft as a rule, but to recognize when and where it could be safely used.  In Askavi, it could be safeply used anywhere.  Despite years of life, the Black Widow Warlord Prince would not underestimate a Pruulian knife-fighter in a fight with an Eyrien, where Craft was restricted or prohibited.  For most, he was learning, casual use of Craft was the order of things, and for him it was like having sight again, or being released from bonds he didn’t realize he’d worn for a lifetime.

”Of course, walking is a very familiar mode of transportation to me.”  He smiled slightly, and fell into step beside his father.  Abaddon moved along, releasing his brief bout of melancholy over his distant Queen, and holding his perspective of the warp and woof of reality to a smaller corner of his mind.  He had been spending much of his time with the Hourglass Coven of Gravesend, and he had been much better received among them than he had been among the warriors of his Father’s own Blood Seekers.  The lack of restriction had opened his mind, and served to grant him not only more refined skill but new knowledge as well.  ”Your Queen, Father.  Your Queen.  I held you in my mind, remember?  I know the truth, even if you do not wish to frame it in words.”  He turned slightly and stared into the distance with the far-seeing, unforced eyes of the Black Widow.  ”My Queen is close to be heart, but so distance from my touch.  That will change soon, I think.”

Abaddon followed his Father to the path in question, ”Lady Illyrian understands that we are attempting to bridge a gap of years.  I will have to thank her for this time upon our return.”  He nodded, ”The healers here know their Craft, that is certain.  I am doing well.  You seem no worse for the wear.  I am glad that we lived.”  He chuckled quietly, ”I was forged in the crucible of the desert, but in Askavi, I have learned who I am—I have been sharpened.  In Pruul I was bound, restrained, and beneath that, constantly irritated and aggravated by nothing it seemed.”  Abaddon gestured at himself, ”It is my nature.  Everything happens at the wrong pace.  People fail to meet expectations.  I cannot force the world to behave as I wish it, try as I might.”  He smiled slightly at this, ”I am more free here than I have ever been in Pruul.  I am very clear about who and what I am in this place.  The Spider’s webs are long gone, and our—battle—has granted me a clarity I was lacking.”

He reached out, almost unconsciously, with tendrils of power, seeing Drakkar as a subject,a patient for a moment, as they walked.  He checked his work, and Drakkar’s in his mind and his chalice, just light service touches at a level imperceptible to his Father, and found his work was intact.  He did not know his Father before their encounter, and when they had met, neither of them were in the best of moods.  They had talked for a very long time while they were unconscious, thanks to Abaddon’s webs, and that had served to build a foundation between and beneath them.  It was up to them to maintain it.  They each bore the signs of that change in the weapons they now bore.  ”And you, Father, are you well?”










Offline Drakkar Estaroth

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Re: One Father Is Worth A Hundred Mentors
« Reply #7 on: May 14, 19, 12:24:22 AM »
Drakkar enjoyed Abaddon’s presence as they walked. The rage in his heart was not gone, but it did not rule his actions as it once did. He saw, in Abaddon, a window back to his youth. He wondered how Pruul felt this time of year, if the heat ever died down or if it was just hot all the time. He could have asked Tavar, but then that mean talking to Tavar. Drakkar could hardly tolerate looking at the man.

Too much of Tavar’s voice would make him punch someone. Likely Tavar.

My Queen.” Drakkar said, conceding the point. “Perhaps when we return, I’ll speak to her about spending more time with her. I don’t know if she’ll want to do that, but I will make the attempt.

Why did he share that with Abaddon? His son had been inside his mind, but Drakkar suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable at sharing his hopes for a better relationship with his Queen. Illyrian seemed to get along well with Abaddon, better than Drakkar. For a moment, a strange and dark thought crossed his mind…

He put it aside. That wasn’t necessary here.

Healers in Askavi have a massively difficult task: keeping our warriors alive. Between the Hunting Camps and skirmishes with the Jhinka, they must master their own fear in order to enter the Camps and help others. I will introduce you to my cousin, Kestian, when we return. She’s one of the bravest and most skilled Healers that I know. She also has a wicked sense of humor. Too wicked sometimes.” Drakkar said, allowing himself a tight smile.

His wings flexed briefly and retracted just as quickly while they walked. He wished that he could take Abaddon flying to show him some of his favorite places to meditate. Some of them were not accessible without wings. Drakkar had to remind himself that the man who’d harmed his son was dead and couldn’t be killed again.

Kaderian saved my life. She’s done that many times over the decades that we’ve known each other. She’s a true friend. The Blood Seekers have been fortunate to receive strong and powerful Healers as allies.” Drakkar said.

As for your other questions...our battle has provided me clarity was well. I’ve been angry for a long, long time Abaddon. The rage that fuels us has driven me for longer than I care to think about. You saw into my mind. You know.” Drakkar said.

Since I woke, that rage has...I won’t say that it’s subsided, but is no longer as deep as it once was. I suppose that I have you to thank for that.” Drakkar said, his gaze sliding to the Black Widow Warlord Prince beside him.

It’s helped me to realize what’s important and what I need from this life to live it.” he said.