The Legion Immortalis: The Bulwark of Heaven (Part 3)

[Kitharsis]

He stops and stands stock still, a serious look planted on his face.

Faile pauses on his shoulder and stands at attention, looking around them.  She slowly walks down his outstretched arm and turns to face Sembas.  Sitting on his left hand she stretches out her wing and nods slowly her partner.

Sembas nods back and places his other hand against her wing.  He dips down and shuffles around the ring.  At random intervals Faile hops off of his hand and spins around in the air as he does a circle around her.  She always lands on his hand and the two continue wing to hand as they share a happy dance about the ring.  Soon their moves become more intricate, with Faile swooping between his legs or flying high into the air to be caught by a waiting Sembas on the other side of the ring.  While she is in the air he does flips and somersaults across the ring.  Their moves are perfectly choreographed and the two never miss step.

It seems that they've done this before, and the agility and finesse that they are displaying is quite impressive.

[Faidth]

   Sig’s tune continues to infiltrate the hearts, minds, and bodies of all who hear it. His quarry still entranced by the lively music that the Chosen of Alviss commands, the stout Sig bounces rhythmically as he strums his instrument.

   Bran glances from Sembas, to Faile, and finally Depheir. As his eyes lock upon the mage’s, he notes that Depheir’s steps are beginning to slow, and he realizes if he does not act soon, the man will quickly regain his senses.

   Wasting no time, Bran crosses the distance that separates him from the caster, and each movement the boy takes seems to accelerate. He is not as fast as Archer or Jonas had been, but his speed far surpasses that of a typical mortal.

    Once he reaches Depheir, Bran draws back his shield, slamming it firmly into the caster’s chest and launching him backward. With his opponent now prone, Bran stands over Depheir and delivers a flurry of shield blows in quick succession, rendering the caster addled and unable to react.

   Depheir regains his senses from Sig’s musical arrest, but the caster finds himself stunned, and unable to move. His vision swims and he finds it nearly impossible to force his eyes to focus again. He sees a well-armored young man standing over him. The boy’s expression is grim and resolute as he smashes his shield into Depheir’s face, knocking him unconscious.

   Sembas and Faile, though still affected by the spell, begin to notice that the powerful music becomes quieter and quieter, as if muffled and distant.

[Depheir Kogthar]

Depheir began to feel dizzy because of his whilrling dance. He began to slow himself, while the Sig's song, filling his mind and invigorating into dance, became quieter and quieter.
He slowly realized that he is in a middle of battle. He observed, what happened, when he danced.
His wondrous Elemental was turned into a pile of stones, Fenwick was uncoscious and...
"Thud!"
Bran's powerful charge attack, aimed at mage's chest, launched him backward. Then, when Depheir was on the ground, delivered him rapid flurry of shield attacks.
Mage's vision began to blur. He was unable to move. He couldn't react.
Blurred image of a man was before him. He was standing, and wearing an armor.
Then Depheir noticed that some object was quickly coming closer to him.
That object smashed his face. It was a shield.
That last attack rendered him uncoscious.

[Kitharsis]

It was nighttime, and the stars were twinkling above them.  The moon was high in the night sky far above, illuminating the world in pleasant shades of grey.  Old McLellan was picking away on his lute in town a short distance away.  They didn't remember the day past, but they both knew there was something about McLellan's song that made them want to frollick about in the night.  His tune was simple and enjoyable, as an old man's would be.

He missed a note, causing them to stammer a moment, but continue to bop around in the field above town.  Were the stars fading?  And the moon was a bit lower in the sky than before...

Another missed note.  It wasn't like McLellan to miss so many.  He must have been in the drink tonight.  The stars were even dimmer than before, barely twinkling through the sky.  The moon was almost over the horizon now too.

His feet were slowing, and Faile's swoops and dives were more shallow as she began to lose interest in dancing through the air.

The sun was peeking over the mountains in the east, and McLellan's song was fading away to an end.  His feet were slowing to a crawl as he stared out toward the horizon. 

McLellan strummed the last chord of his song as the brilliant morning sun engulfed the world around him in brilliant blinding light.

[Cameron]

Sig smiles as he plays the final notes of his song.  He takes his lute in his left hand, flipping it around so that the Alviss-touched steel coated back is facing forward. With his right hand he yanks on the chain wrapped around his wrist and returns his axe to him. Now battle ready, he glances around the battlefield. He is pleasantly surprised to see that there is only one combatant left. Sembas, it was. The one with the bird. The kid Bran had done well taking advantage of his song. Sig would have to remember to buy him a drink later if he could get him away from his parents long enough. He severely doubted they'd approve.

Sig sees that Sembas is recovering from the after-effects of the spell and chooses his course of action. He drops his axe again and slips his hand into his pack on his back. He quickly produces a burlap sack, shouts to Bran, and slings it over to the kid before reclaiming his axe.

"Bran, lad! Catch that bird!"

Sig hefts his axe and charges Sembas. With Bran occupying the bird, this should be a straight one-on-one duel with the one who appears to be the most combat effective of the trio he initially faced. This was the kid that should have charged him in the first place, instead of leaving him to the obvious mage Fenwick. His allies may still have been standing if not for that lapse in judgment.

Sig leaps into the air and aims the flat of his axe straight at Sembas's face. It won't be fatal if it connects, but it might just break his nose. Nothing Alviss can't fix afterward.

[Faidth]

Bran swiftly catches the sack in his hands and looks nervously to Faile, who is still busy frolicking across the battlefield. The falcon’s movements start to slow as the effects of the spell begin to evaporate, allowing her to regain a great deal of her coherence. She shakes her head, as if dispelling the lingering vestiges of an odd dream, and it is in that instant that she hears the heavy approaching footsteps of a teenager wielding a burlap sack.

   Bran looks immensely uncomfortable about this turn of events. He had been trained in nearly every weapon under the sun, but somehow, his parents had neglected to train him in the arts of the burlap sack. 
   
   He lunges towards Faile, the sack falling cleanly over her form before she can manage to fly away. However, as he holds the bag aloft, it is quite apparent that this burlap prison will not hold the determined bird for long.

   
   The reveries that Sembas had enjoyed seem as a distant dream and the falconer begins to regain his mental faculties. He hears footsteps somewhere behind him, followed by a loud squawk emitted by Faile, as Bran attempts to ensnare her. However, Sembas has little time to process this information as he sees the flat of an axe bearing down on him, trained to strike him solidly in the face.

[Kitharsis]

As she blinks and shakes away the dancing song, Faile realizes she is in the middle of the sparring ring.  Young Bran was leaning over her with an uncertain look on his face.  She squawked in protest as the burlap sack fell over her and was lifted into the air.

She fumes.  How dare he try and restrain her!  This smelly burlap sack could never contain one so proud and majestic as she!  Faile screams with rage from within the sack, a frightening sound indeed.

The angry Faile rips with her beak and tears with her talons at the meager burlap prison.  If she is able to escape she will spring forth, her razor sharp talons trained on Bran's exposed face.  She will make him respect the majesty of a falcon!


Faile's surprised squawk immediately snaps Sembas back to reality.  He doesn't have time to help her as the flat of an axe was careening towards his face.  Faile's rage is pulsing through the bond, setting Sembas on edge.  The burlap sack shakes with Faile's battle cry, and a roar wrenches itself out of Sembas's mouth.  Seperating falconer and falcon is a dangerous venture to be sure. 

As Sig's axe drives towards his face Sembas grabs his arm and pulls backwards (Dexterity skill: Wrestling).  He is attempting to use Sig's momentum as he flies through the air against him.   Pulling with all his might, Sembas angrily tries to toss Sig behind him and slam the Son of Alviss on the ground.  Hopefully on his stumpy, Alviss touched head.

[Faidth]

   Faile, agitated and indignant, is easily able to escape from the confines of the burlap sack. She erupts from the bag, her talons trained upon Bran’s face.

   The boy’s eyes widen and he lets out an “Ack!” as Faile’s pointy feet careen towards his exposed features. He reflexively throws up his shield and Faile’s talons plink against the impenetrable metal wall that is protecting the boy.
 
   Despite the fact that Faile is currently attempting to skewer him, rather than trying to attack her, Bran quickly takes off in the opposite direction. Though he knows that she is quite resilient, he also knows how fragile animals may be, and does not want to accidentally hurt her.

   Though his gentle nature is quite honorable, both of his brothers slap their palms against their own foreheads in perfect unison as they watch their younger sibling flee from Faile, who mercilessly chases him around the battle ring. Bran’s mother simply rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, a slight hint of amusement affecting the corners of her lips.

   As Faile pursues the fleet-footed teenager, Sembas attempts to use his impressive Wrestling skills to slam the Son of Alviss to the ground. Surely this is a maneuver that has been quite successful on many men who have sought to cross Sembas. However, the Chosen of Alviss is not human, and thus, not a typical man.

   As Sembas attempts to swiftly take down Sig, he finds that, despite the great momentum that Sembas attempts to employ, the Chosen of Alviss is an immovable object. This maneuver is the equivalent to trying to incapacitate a boulder, and as the falconer seizes Sig by the arm, he finds that the Chosen of Alviss is firmly rooted to the ground, as if part of the earth itself. His stout body is as dense as a rock, and though he certainly does not look it, when Sembas attempts to pull him, he feels as if he is trying to move a 500 lb. boulder.

[Cameron]

Sig is caught off guard by the speed of Sembas. But as the warrior grabs his arm and Sig realizes what is coming, he plants his feet. His boots tear large furrows into the ground as Sembas manages to move him a mere half a foot. Then all forward momentum ceases and Sig stops cold. Sig is visibly impressed. Normally a mere human wouldn't have even been able to move him that far with mere physical prowess alone.

Knowing that there will be a brief second of confusion as Sembas registers what happened, Sig takes advantage. He comes around swiftly, axe in his right hand, lute in his left. Bringing the two weapons on either side of the head of Sembas, he proceeds to bring the flat of his axe and the back of his lute together on either side of the head of Sembas with as much strength as he can muster. (Strength: DAMAGE, Weapon Proficiency: ONE-HANDED AXE/SHIELD (LUTE)) The goal is to make an Alviss-steel sandwich with the skull of Sembas as the meat. Should this connect, Sembas will be left hearing music of a different sort then the song Sig recently played.

[Faidth]

   Faile continues to pursue the fleeing Bran, and despite the falcon’s insistence that she should be allowed to peck at his soft head for the indignities he had thrust upon her, (A bag?! Indeed!) the boy has exceptional endurance and shows no sign of slowing.

   Archer, totally focused upon what Sembas is doing in the ring, does not see Besnik give her a sly look before hopping off of her shoulder and through the fenceposts.

   As Bran continues to hurtle around the ring, Besnik bides his time. The young man nears the area where Besnik is carefully perched, and as the lad rounds that particular span of fencepost, Besnik explodes from the fence, talons poised to strike and wings flapping wildly.

   “Aaaaaaccccckkkkk!!!!!!”
   
   Bran stops abruptly, so much so that he loses his balance and falls flat upon his back. Faile gives an appreciative nod to Besnik, who responds with a flutter of his wings and a proud chirp.

   Faile struts along the ground to where Bran still lay in the dirt. She hops upon his breastplate, her talons making little “click, click, click” sounds as she walks towards his head.

   She stares down at him, her falcon eyes unflinching, and the young man looks noticeably nervous.

   “Uh… Faile… I hope you know that it was nothing personal,” speaks Bran.

   Faile squawks loudly to demand his silence. The two stare at each other quietly, neither of them making a move. Then very slowly and deliberately, Faile raises her right talon. Bran’s eyes widen as he wonders about her intentions.

   His questioning gaze is quickly answered as Faile baps him in the nose with her pointy foot.

   “Ow!” cries Bran.

   Bap! Bap! Bap!

   “I said I was sorry!”

   Bapbapbapbapbapbapbap!

   “Okay! Okay! Just stop hitting me! That hurts! What the heck is Sembas feeding you? You strike like a stone!”

   Faile tilts her head and points her wing towards him warningly.

   “Okay, okay! I promise! I’ll never use a bag for ill means again! Just please! Stop that!”

   Faile chirps in reply before alighting from Bran’s breastplate. Bran sighs gratefully before rising to his feet and dusting off the back of his armor.

[Kitharsis]

He pulls with all his might...

In his mind he saw Sig tumbling through the air and bouncing away behind him...

But this can't be right...

Sembas was grasping a stiff arm connected to what felt like a boulder.  His eyes go wide with surprise when he realizes that even his enhanced strength barely even moved the Son of Alviss.


He lets go of Sig's arm and begins to take a step back, very much caught off guard.  He doesn't have much time to react before the stout man's Axe and Lute are flying towards his head.

Sembas bends backwards a la matrix style(Dexterity: Dodge), hoping to miss Sig's attack.  If he does so he will do a backflip to create some space between the two of them.

All the while he can feel Faile's ire dissipating, if only a little.  Apparently she was faring much better than he was...

[Faidth]

        Sembas's preternaturally quick reflexes allow him to avoid the flat of Sig's heavy battleaxe. However, the lute, being a much larger target, and being accelerated with great velocity by the stubby-armed Chosen of Alviss, swiftly connects with the side of Sembas's head. This collision results in a melodious twang as the lute crashes aside the falconer's head.

        Sembas is a bit addled by the blow, but no blood has been drawn. He stumbles backward and falls upon the ground in a heavy heap. There won't be any lasting damage from Sig's lute, but that pleasant fact does not stop the throbbing in Sembas's skull.

[Cameron]

Sig is once again impressed by the speed of Sembas. Not many would have been able to even partially escape from that attack, especially after the failed attempt to pull him over. The Chosen of Alviss regards the fallen falconer. From the corner of his eye he can see Bran in the background, on the ground with the falcon perched on his chest. He shakes his head sadly and decides that the time has come to end this duel.

With a flourish, Sig hangs his broad axe back on his belt. He then raises his lute high overhead. It looks as if he is rearing back to strike another blow at the fallen Sembas.

But then Sig simply allows the lute to slip back into the custom-made sling at his back, beside his pack. With his weapons stowed, Sig extends a hand to the falconer.

"Good show, lad! What's say we call it a draw and go tend to your mates? I do believe I owe you a pint!"

[Kitharsis]

The thick backed lute crashes into his head and he sees stars for a moment.  His legs keep carrying him backwards as he loses his balance and falls into a heap on the ground.  He shakes his head and clutches the freshly growing goose egg with a wince.

Thankfully Sig sheathes his axe, but his lute hangs overhead a moment too long for Sembas's tastes.  The falconer tenses and is prepared to dodge another attack before the Son of Alviss lets the lute slip back into a sling on his back.

Sembas lets out a sigh of relief when Sig offers his hand.

"Good show, lad! What's say we call it a draw and go tend to your mates? I do believe I owe you a pint!"

He grasps Sig's hand and tugs playfully, cracking a smile regardless of his throbbing head.

"My gosh you're one hefty fellow!  It felt like I was trying to uproot a mountain!"  He stands up with Sig's assistance, biting back a groan for his poor head.  "You're quite surprising, with that dancing song of yours.  Faile and I both had no idea what was going on until it was too late."

Scanning the arena he finally realizes the sad state of Fenwick and Depheir.  "It would appear that I owe a few gentlemen a pint as well..."

[Faidth]

@Sembas and Sig

   Sembas and Sigurd, being the only combatants left conscious, and at least virtually unscathed by the day’s events, make their way to the tavern for a well-deserved pint (or five) of ale. Though Sembas was roughed up a bit, a quick trip to Hestia was rewarded with a clean bill of health. She patched him up within seconds and sent him on his way.

   Sembas and Sig find themselves accompanied by Archer, Muse, Dennan and Bran. Corvus had quietly departed after the match, and the General was forced to return the Bulwark Headquarters to attend to urgent matters. Blood, looking quite disgruntled, had stomped off in a huff. She had been quite irritated with the effect that the dancing spell had wrought upon her subconscious, imploring her to move and sway her hips against her will. Such was not the way of battle!

   Sembas, Sigurd and their fellows make their way towards the tavern.

   Dennan claps Sembas upon the back. “That was quite a show! I must admit, you have exceptionally impressive speed, Sembas.”

   Faile sits atop Bran’s shoulder. The young man looks infinitely uncomfortable at having her perched there, but he acknowledges that bearing her about the town is likely his penance for the infamous Bag Incident. Periodically, Faile leans down to nip at his ear and urge him to walk faster.

   “I am! I am!” protests Bran.

   Faile lets out a shrill squawk.

   Bran sighs heavily. “Fine, fine. I will make haste immediately, dear lady.”

   Faile looks exceptionally pleased with herself and Archer represses a laugh as not to add to Bran’s embarrassment. Besnik has no such tact and nearly topples off of Archer’s shoulder, his wings wrapped around his body as he writhes in amusement.

   The group seats themselves at a large table and Dennan gestures for Calming to send them his best stock. While the group drinks and carouses, a heavily-armored, dangerous looking woman appears in the doorway. It’s Blood and she looks fit to be tied. The scowl upon her face looks more pronounced than usual and when her eyes flick towards the table where the group is seated, her eyes lock on Sig’s.

   “YOU!” growls Blood. “What kind of madness was that?! Are you out of your ever-loving mind? Do you honestly think the Forsaken will just kick up their heels and bounce around like a bunch of soft-skulled ninnies! I have never seen such a ridiculous display in my entire life! When faced down by an army of Forsaken, what do you intend to do? Dance them to death?!”



@Fenwick:

   As Fenwick stirs from his well-deserved slumber, he feels pressure upon his hand and someone’s dainty fingertips clutching his. As his eyes open, he looks up see Cleo looking down upon him. Her eyes are filled with concern, and as she notices that his consciousness has been restored, she breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

   “You worried me. You’ve been out for several hours now. Depheir and Faran sleep still. The former is expected to make a full recovery, but I somehow doubt that Faran will ever be the same after his ordeal. Jonas, too, is convalescing. Hestia has implored him to seek some rest, but he has stood vigil over Faran’s bedside from the first, and I do not think he will depart until he is assured that Faran is well.”


@Depheir:

   Depheir, too, has been restored to consciousness. His mentor, Dethys, sits beside him while reading a book. When Depheir awakes, Dethys does not take his eyes off the pages.

   “Sooo… Done with your nap then? Perhaps we can get to work. I think I’ve finally found the lead we’ve been looking for. It will take a bit more experimenting, but I think I can find you a way into Darastae.”


@Faran:
   
   Faran’s eyelids flutter open. His head throbs terribly and the entirety of his body aches. As his wits gather, he realizes he is in Hestia’s infirmary. When he first moves, a searing pain washes over every inch of his body. His skin is still in the process of reforming, a task which may take yet another week or so. However, he can no longer see his own, exposed flesh, and for that he should be grateful. Despite the pain that still resides in his body, he knows that if it were not for Hestia’s interventions, he likely would have been incapacitated much longer.

   As he sits up, he realizes that Jonas is seated in a high-backed chair beside him. The Butcher regards him quietly, but there is a certain expression of relief upon his face in knowing that Faran will be just fine.

[john greymore]

It takes Fenwick a moment to piece together what had happened as Cleo finishes. It wouldn't normally be that trying of a task, but he felt... different. It was as if something had changed...

"Oh... oh I see. I get it."

He sits up gently and looked around him, but he is unable to register where he was with anything that he could currently remember. His gaze turns to Cleo.

"Where are we?"

There was something tingling. His trusted instinct was telling him something was wrong, something familiar... Mmm... a knocked out Faran... a battle... a tune... a dance...

!!!

"The book?!? Where's my book?"

[Kitharsis]

"Thank you, Dennan.  Once again your shapeshifting abilities astound me.  You must know more animals than I do people!"

Faile is sure putting on a show.  Sembas gives Bran a sympathetic smile as she squawks about on his shoulder when she isn't looking.

The ale is welcome after the days activities.  A lot had happened, and Sembas has more respect for the Bulwark than he did before.  The amount of powerful individuals in this city was incredible.  Immortal as he may be, he wasn't going to be getting on anyone's bad side any time soon...

Just then Blood goes off on a tirade at Sig.  Sembas can't help but be embarrased, having been of one the 'soft-skulled ninnies' that had been dancing about the sparring ring.

"Speaking of which," he says as he turns to Archer, "what did you think of my dancing?"

[Depheir Kogthar]

"...What?"

Depheir was surprised with Dethys' words. He didn't remember, why could he want to go to Darastae.

Moment later, he recalled that he decided to become a spy for the Legion.

"Ah, yes. I've forgot it. That's good news. We can get to work now."

Despite the pain he felt still after the battle, he stood up and turned his head on Dethys.

"And... I've forgot to ask about it earlier... Who is Cardack?"

[Faidth]

@Fenwick:

   “We’re at Hestia’s infirmary,” explains Cleo. “Your friends are still here as well, save for Sembas who went with Sig to the tavern. It seems there are no hard feelings between those two.”

   Cleo’s eyes widen as you frantically wonder over the whereabouts of your book.

   “Relax, you ninny!” comes a gruff voice from the hallway. Moments later, Hestia, carrying the book in her arms, enters your recovery room.
   
   Cardack’s torso extends out of the book and he crosses his transparent arms over his chest. “You might quite a spectacle of yourself, I’ll have you know. Tongue lolling out of your head like a calf after slaughter. Shameful, it was! What do you intend to do to the Forsaken? Drool them to death? Have I not taught you anything?”

    Cardack reaches down and opens the cover of his book. “You see? Table of Contents: Offensive Spells. And did you ever even bother to look at those pages? Hmm? Did you? I think not! You make spells to make you more adept and to barter and bargain and cajole, but did you ever even bother to look at the section that might save your skin? Nincompoop!”

   Hestia shakes her head. “Cardack, dear, let the poor boy rest. You weren’t exactly much of a fighter yourself, might I remind you.”

   “That is because I am a lover… not a fighter… As you well know my dear.” He gives Hestia a sly look. “And though that may be true, it’s not just his skin riding on this, you know!”

   “Skin?” quips Cleo, gesturing to Cardack’s see-through body.
   
   “I didn’t mean it literally!” grumbles Cardack. “What if he gets his moronic cranium bashed and I get whisked off to Darastae to serve as reading material in Severan’s bathroom?”

   Hestia’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “What a crude thought, Cardack.”

   “Perhaps, but you know he’d do it… you know that he would. You…” Cardack leers at you. “You need to start finding better ways to protect us! There’s not room enough in here for two fellows, and even if there was, I’d refuse to share my personal space with you! So get on it, Fenwick!”


@Rethagos:

   Dethys’s countenance darkens considerably. “Cardack? He is the loud moron blithering in the next room,” he replies dryly.

   Dethys balls up his fist and pounds upon the wall. “Hey! Shut up over there will you.”

   “No!” comes the terse reply.

   Dethys shakes his head and gently massages his temples with his fingertips. “Idiot. It’s even worse now that he’s dead. Used to be he could only talk so long before his fool lungs would run out of air. Now, he doesn’t have to breathe so he can just yammer on forever.”


@Sembas:

   Archer smiles slyly. “Well, you traipse about quite well with falcons, but they can swiftly get out of the way of your tromping feet.” She nudges you playfully. “However, if you would like to exhibit exceptional skill upon the dance floor, then perhaps you might prove to me your prowess?”

   Archer seizes your hand and pulls you out into the center of the room. “Muse!”

   “Haha! I get your meaning,” says Muse with a wink. She takes her lute in hand and begins to strum the strings to create lively tune.


@Sig:

   Blood, in mid-sentence, stops yelling at Sig long enough to shake her head incredulously. “What is this?!” she demands. “More dancing foolishness?!”

   She rounds upon Sig for another fresh round of shouting. “And another thing you diminutive little bastard…”

[Faran Beshral]

I at last gained my senses and woke to pain. There seemed to be  a lot of that going around these days. A familiar ceiling. Where was this? Last time I woke here wasn't there a redhead standing over me? Hestia's infirmary. Right. My vision was blurry, blinking caused pain, and it seemed my eyelids didn't work quite right yet. I was covered from my neck down to my feet in the bedsheets, which was well. I really didn't want to know what I looked like under there. I spared a thought for a certain piece of my anatomy that was wounded during the fight, but quickly pushed it aside before I would become sick to my stomach.

Jonas was sitting there by the bed, looking relieved that I had awoken. Why did he look relieved? What he did to me couldn't have killed me, rough though it was. I did appreciate his concern though. Even though he was the one who did this to me, I felt strangely at peace with that. I suppose others would be furious at Jonas, but I did not feel so. First, I saw how much pain it caused him to do that to me. Second, though his actions, he had shown me more truth than anything I had experienced so far in Avalon. Third, by way of the second, he had shown that he respected me, something else I had not yet experienced here in Avalon.

Forcing myself as hard as I could, I gave him a weak nod and the barest ghost of a smile. I noticed his clothes had changed, though he still wore his customary apron. They looked clean. It had been at least a day since the fight then. Perhaps longer. I felt like hell, but I still didn't know enough of Hestia's talents to say how long I had been recovering. I could have been here for months.

“..oooww lonnn...” Was about all I could manage to ask. My face felt like fire when moving my lips. Pain hot enough to feel cold.