[Gale's interjection is low, hard-edged; he does not look back at the man behind him, never letting his gaze stray, unwilling to turn a blind eye to Mystra for even the barest fraction of a second. In this moment, Godfrey could do anything he liked to her and he would hardly bat an eye; any affection he had once held for the creature before them had faded decades past, and in its place there is only resentment, reproach, anger that now wells up within him, boiling-hot rage that fuels the flame at his command.
It burns fiercely before him, but he does not unleash it— the temptation is strong, but he is not so far lost to his own anger that he does not know what risks remain. Mystra herself is but one woman, but there is an entire clan waiting to descend on them should things get out of hand.
Mystra's lip curls upwards, wearing her disdain plainly as she shifts her weight to her back foot— not retreating, not in full, but her gaze has narrowed harshly as she appraises the pair of them, lingering on their prisoner. Even free from shackles, he was still that— one hunter against an entire compound of their kind.
He could hurt her, perhaps even slay several others in his efforts to escape, but she is confident that he could only get so far should he try. Some of the Tremere were expendable, surely.]
"I'm almost curious to see how much you can manage before you're shackled once more, hunter."
[Gale clenches his jaw. The man in this room is not the Godfrey he had known, and certainly will have no appreciation for any effort he makes to see him spared, but he will not see Mystra bait Godfrey into an even more impossible situation than they have already found themselves in. Not when he had fought so hard to keep Godfrey from such a fate.]
Mystra—
[She cuts Gale off sharply, her hand dropping away to show where her flesh has begun to mend, slowly knitting itself together even as the searing marks from Godfrey's grasp remain.]
"You would truly let him kill me where I stand, wouldn't you? Perhaps I should give you exactly what you wish for— let you keep your little pet."
[It's enough to bait him into a snarl of his own; even without her stating her terms, he can imagine exactly what sort of thing she has in mind.]
THROWS OFF MY SHROUD ONCE MORE, 2025 the year of chris' resurrection
[Gale's interjection is low, hard-edged; he does not look back at the man behind him, never letting his gaze stray, unwilling to turn a blind eye to Mystra for even the barest fraction of a second. In this moment, Godfrey could do anything he liked to her and he would hardly bat an eye; any affection he had once held for the creature before them had faded decades past, and in its place there is only resentment, reproach, anger that now wells up within him, boiling-hot rage that fuels the flame at his command.
It burns fiercely before him, but he does not unleash it— the temptation is strong, but he is not so far lost to his own anger that he does not know what risks remain. Mystra herself is but one woman, but there is an entire clan waiting to descend on them should things get out of hand.
Mystra's lip curls upwards, wearing her disdain plainly as she shifts her weight to her back foot— not retreating, not in full, but her gaze has narrowed harshly as she appraises the pair of them, lingering on their prisoner. Even free from shackles, he was still that— one hunter against an entire compound of their kind.
He could hurt her, perhaps even slay several others in his efforts to escape, but she is confident that he could only get so far should he try. Some of the Tremere were expendable, surely.]
"I'm almost curious to see how much you can manage before you're shackled once more, hunter."
[Gale clenches his jaw. The man in this room is not the Godfrey he had known, and certainly will have no appreciation for any effort he makes to see him spared, but he will not see Mystra bait Godfrey into an even more impossible situation than they have already found themselves in. Not when he had fought so hard to keep Godfrey from such a fate.]
Mystra—
[She cuts Gale off sharply, her hand dropping away to show where her flesh has begun to mend, slowly knitting itself together even as the searing marks from Godfrey's grasp remain.]
"You would truly let him kill me where I stand, wouldn't you? Perhaps I should give you exactly what you wish for— let you keep your little pet."
[It's enough to bait him into a snarl of his own; even without her stating her terms, he can imagine exactly what sort of thing she has in mind.]
You will not make him one of us!