October 6th, 2012

Critique - Bok'Tarong Pt 19

Hey!

Great section, nothing to comment on specifically other than the line I added. It's very very well written. Congrats! My concern is with the scene's mood. Much like I mentioned in the previous one, I'm expecting things to be more tense between both parties. Dragana was flaring moments ago and she's now happily eating, almost tame. I don't feel any mistrust, anger, or tension flowing from them. Everything comes from the plot itself, which while great, makes things sound too easy. Bring Dragana's emotions back to life; her intense ire and even Raeb's own heistation regarding the Bok'Tarong. I think this scene should capture all those feelings we've been experiencing along the way. Other than that, the plot is excellent and I can't wait to see what these four will do. 


They went back to the abandoned campsite, which Raeb and the girl had little trouble getting back into shape. Soon the three humans were sitting around a fire with a pot of stew over the flames. Dragana accepted a bowl, keeping Aeo in her lap so he could still see.

At first Dragana picked suspiciously at the food, but soon she was eating and clearly enjoying it. (I’d suggest either showing her a bit more hesitant about eating or saying something like how famished and tired she is to reject food)

Raeb finished his meal first, and he began explaining his situation. He glossed over the details of his past and how he got involved with the Hntaña, which left Aeo with more questions than answers, but as soon as Raeb began telling them of a journey to the spirit world, Aeo was fascinated.

“How did you get to this Hntaña hive?” Dragana asked.

“I was taken there by the Keeper of Secrets. He’s a sort of ambassador between the Hntaña and the humans,” he added before Dragana had to ask.

“Why did he do that?”

Raeb shifted slightly, betraying his discomfort with the subject. “He sensed that I was trying to get to the Hntaña. He wanted to humiliate me, I guess, for my useless attempt.”

How was he trying to get to the Hntaña? Aeo asked. Dragana voiced his question.

The girl – Saydee – responded. “He was using me.”

Dragana looked at her. “What?”

Saydee glanced nervously at Raeb, who gave a tiny nod. She took a deep breath, and a glamour fell from her. Dragana gasped as she recognized the Hntaña eyes.

“Because of my magical powers, little though they are, I have a two-way connection to the Hntaña. I can see and hear them. Raeb was trying to use that connection to send his spirit to the Hntaña and find a way to destroy them.”

Aeo could barely follow Dragana’s thoughts. She was so overwhelmed by this information that it took her several seconds to decide which of her many questions to ask first. “How did you become -taken, if you’re mage?”

“I’m not powerful enough to be a mage,” she said. There was a distinct sense of regret and anger in her tone.

“Even so, you should have been immune from the Hntaña. How did this happen?”

Saydee’s voice turned cold. “I’d rather not say.”

Dragana’s hold on Aeo’s hilt tightened as she struggled not to lose her temper. “If the Hntaña are learning how to take mages, then I need to know.”

“Our agreement was for a truce and a proposition to work together,” Raeb interrupted. “Our personal pasts, for good or ill, weren’t included in that deal.”

“This could have huge repercussions,” Dragana replied. “The Hntaña are already changing their tactics and waging a war of their own. Knowing how they came to possess a mage could be a key to helping us figure out what they’re up to and how to stop them.”

Raeb held up a hand to pause Dragana’s justifications. “The Hntaña are waging a war?”

They told us part of their story, Aeo said. We should return the favor and tell them what we’ve learned.

Dragana nodded and told them about the Mage General and the-taken berserkers. “Not only is the King breeding -taken for his war, but these people are accepting the possession of their own free will. We were told by one of them that the Hntaña were planning to spread to the entire world, and their willing servants were growing in strength and numbers. We think that this might not be the King’s war after all, but some machination of the Hntaña.”

Raeb shuddered. “Why would anyone accept the Hntaña?”

“Many are on the brink of death when the offer is made. The Hntaña save their lives.”

“At the cost of their souls,” he spit back.

“I wasn’t condoning it,” Dragana said, a hint of ice in her tone.

“Of course not. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath, and Aeo could practically see his thoughts whirl in his mind. “If the Hntaña are working through a human army, the Keeper of Secrets must be behind it.”

“Which means that the Hntaña are working with the king,” Dragana said.

With the Mage General, more likely, Aeo corrected. From what you said about him, it seems like he’s really running the -taken soldiers. He just got the king to agree somehow.

Dragana told the others Aeo’s comment, and Raeb nodded. “That sounds about right.”

“So if the Hntaña are using the human armies to conquer more people, that means that in no time the entire population will become -taken,” Saydee said. “There won’t be anyone to stop them.”

“Yes there will,” Dragana said, hefting Aeo so his blades reflected the firelight. “The Bok’Tarong and I will stop them.”

“Not alone,” Raeb said. “You need our help to do it. Which is exactly what Saydee and I wished to propose to you.”

Dragana eyed the two -taken, but Aeo felt her curiosity pique enough that it momentarily overrode her suspicion. “What were you planning, that you needed us for?”

“We want to try to get back to the hive, with the Bok’Tarong. If we take the weapon to the source, we should be able to destroy the hive and the Hntaña completely.”

“Why can’t we do that by ourselves?”

“You’ll need Saydee’s connection to the Hntaña to get you there, and you’ll need my help to get into the hive. The Keeper of Secrets and I have…a history. I can get us past whatever defenses the Hntaña might have and into the heart, where it’ll be vulnerable. Besides, one warrior and a sacred blade won’t be enough. You’ll need another blade at your side.”

Raeb drew out a blade unlike any Aeo had ever seen – a horizontal hilt was surrounded by five blades in a semicircle. They radiated out from his fist like a deadly sunburst. Aeo sensed a great deal of magic coming from those blades, magic that was almost as dark and oily as the Hntaña. His spirit shivered in their presence.

Critique - Soulsong Ch5 Pt 2

Hi!

Some questions got answered in this fragment. That's very nice! I feel like I've been given more solid ground to stand on in terms of plot and backstory. Still, I feel we need to know more about the magic in your world in earlier sections to fully grasp Tambour's story -I tried my best to describe my issues with that scene, but should you have any doubts, let me know!. Other than that and a few technical issues here and there, I loved this scene. Great Job!


They say you can discover a lot from an individual’s personal space, and Jane hoped to do just that.  But, her first glimpse of Troubere’s office served only to remind her of how displaced she was from her own time – it was like stepping into a museum recreation. There were musical instruments, the likes of which Jane had never seen, lining the walls.  A large desk cluttered with papers and writing supplies sat in a far corner in front of an equally large bookcase full of books.  A pianoforte filled the center of the room.  Jane’s eye immediately went to the music sitting on it, a hand-printed copy of music by Domenico Scarlatti.  Domenico Scarlatti!  Only one of the most important men of the Baroque era, next to Bach of course.  
(Italics here maybe?)Jane fought the urge to sit down and play it.  Instead, she turned her attention to Troubere who sat at his desk, busy with some unknown task.  After a moment he looked up, thanked Tuner for delivering Jane and excused him. 

Jane stood waiting for Troubere to invite her to sit down, but he sat at his desk and studied her.  Jane studied him in return.  She noted, again, how out of place his vivid white hair seemed framing a face not lined with wrinkles.  He looks stressed out, though.  She began to feel uncomfortable as she continued to stand there.  Just when she was about to invite herself to sit down, Troubere broke eye contact.  Ha! I won.  He seemed to remember his manners and came around the desk to offer Jane a large stuffed leather chair.  He pulled up a small, wooden one with a cushion for himself.  He cleared his throat and fidgeted, then tried to find a more comfortable position in his chair.  Jane could see he was uncomfortable, and not from the piece of furniture he sat upon.  His unease was beginning to rub off on her. 

“Sir.”

Troubere’s head snapped up.  

“I wanted to thank you for taking me in, for your hospitality.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, nodding.  “You are most welcome here.”  He seemed relieved that the silence had been broken.  “You did not ask to be here.  It is the very least I can do to repay you for being plucked out of your own element and conveyed through time and space to be here with us in our moment of need.”  Jane thought of Mistress Quaverly’s statement earlier, that she was “needed,” and her brow furrowed.

“What is it you need me to do?” she asked.  Troubere looked down.   Jane filled the silence with more questions.

“When will I be going back?  How do I get back?  Why me, out of all the people in the world?”  (Just the sort of reaction I expected from her since she travelled back in time. Nice!) He cleared his throat again.  “I will answer your questions, but first, let me tell you a story.”  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. 

“There once was a woman who dreamed.  Hers were no ordinary dreams.  They were a source of inspiration for her; they facilitated her work.  These dreams were fashioned and shaped from the enigmatic power of her music; a gift that allowed her to see things others could not.  The dreams allowed her to help others.  Perhaps warning of a coming storm, or of an impending visitor, or even of a hole in a fence where the cows were about to escape.  Whatever they revealed, it was always something practical or useful, and the woman felt a sense of pride and purpose in using her dreams to help others. 

One day, however, the dreams became nightmares. They were so frightening she didn’t want to see them anymore.  She tried to avoid them by hiding herself away and refusing to participate in music of any kind, hoping she would never have to endure another nightmare again.  However, as you well know Miss Picardy, music is everywhere. A bird singing in a tree, the hum of a bee, or the steady tick of a clock on the mantle; we are surrounded by music.  It is truly unavoidable.  And so, the nightmares continued.  The woman had to do something about the horrible visions her dreams had become or go mad.  She constructed a talisman that could channel energy in a similar manner a funnel delivers water through the narrow neck of a bottle.  The talisman could gather its own energy, random energy, and store it for later use.  When it was finished, she charged the talisman with as much energy as it could hold.  Then, she set events in motion that would enable the talisman to do a very specific and important act; indeed, to accomplish the very reason for its creation.  It was to be activated at a specific time by a specific person to bring her to us from three hundred years in the future.” (There’s a nice mystical sense to these paragraphs. I also like that it reveals more about how Jane came to be where she is –which is something I’ve been wondering for some time now- however, I feel they need some polishing. First of all, being a bit more specific at the beginning would help lots; perhaps telling us the woman was a student/teacher at the institute or that her powers were unlike anything seen before or after, so we know it’s not a story about magic itself but a tale to help clarify the situation. Also, I’d say giving us a bit of an introduction to how the magic-music system works would make this part easier to understand; for example, the relationship between the talisman and her nightmares/dreams. Finally, two or three sentences near the end of the second paragraph only explain the obvious –such as the ‘to accomplish the very reason for its creation’.)

Troubere stopped when he saw Jane’s eyes widened in realization.  “Yes, you Miss Picardy,” he said, peering at her with blazing intensity through brilliant, slate-blue eyes.

“The woman was Tambour?”  Jane asked, though she already knew it was true.  Troubere nodded.  “And the talisman is the baton,” she said.  “But, I still don’t know my purpose in all this.”

“Tambour’s nightmares were of a crea–” Troubere stopped, seemed to reconsider his words, then began again.  “She saw the destruction of our kind, those of us who have realized our full potential with music and its power. However, along with our destruction, she also saw a way that we might save ourselves.  The key to our salvation is music.  Music is power.  You have experienced it personally in a few small ways since your arrival.  However, our music, the music we have presently available to us, is limited.  Music in our time is not sophisticated enough for our needs.  We must have a more powerful type of music that the muses have yet to inspire.  More plainly, it has yet to be created.  But we know it will be. (Hmm based on your story, I’d say your aiming for the Classical and Romantic periods, rather than modern times themselves – along the lines of Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Verdi, etc.- because I can’t seem to fit, say, rock or rap into your story. Throwing some clues –maybe even ideas from Jane- regarding the meaning of ‘more powerful type of music’ would be great!)  

Jane thought she understood where he was going.  As a music major in college, she studied the history of music and understood that music slowly evolved through the ages.  It began as simple melody lines sung by monks in monasteries, then slowly progressed into more and more complicated compositions with more than one melody line going at once, the polyphony eventually creating harmony.  Later, instruments were invented that could be played along with a sung melody and the harmonies became thicker in tonality.  As more and more instruments were created people discovered that a sung melody line was not a requirement for a beautiful composition.  The symphony was born.  The harmonies became even more complex and intricate, using chords and instrumentation not thought of in the past.  Music continued to advance, reaching the sophisticated works of Jane’s day, and still continues to move forward. (The paragraph sounds a bit like a college exposition. Try to make this as compact as possible or substitute some parts with Jane’s thoughts instead. You can jump over most of the info, from ‘simple melody lines’ to ‘the symphony was born’.)

“You need music from the future,” Jane said matter-of-factly, “music from my time.   Which means… you need a teacher?” she asked.  Troubere gave her a sideways glance.

“A teacher, huh?”  She stared at him as she thought about it.  A slow grin spread on her face.  “I’ve always wanted to try my hand at teaching.  I suppose it wouldn’t be too hard.” 

Troubere returned with a tight smile and Jane wondered at it. 

“Are you volunteering for the task?” he asked her.

“Volunteering?” she snorted.  “I think I missed that opportunity when I was brought here.”  Troubere looked down.  She got him on that one.  But she didn’t like to see his discomfort so took pity on him.  “Yes. I’ll do it.”  It's good to finally know my purpose here. 

Critique - Sacrificial Kingdom Words 20377 - 21588

Hey!
. Not much to say about this section. It was really good; great even. I'd say we only need more knowledge regarding Melu and her species, as well as other mystical beings - as I explain below. It would take away the only contradictory fragment in the whole section. Still nice job!

 The inn was stuffed with light, as though the night was a thing to be fought and defeated. Each small table burned with a lamp that would have lit a good sized barracks. The wide bar at the back of the room had four along the wall.

The whole place was built from rough trimmed planks, from the boarded tabletops, to the wide stairway in the furthest corner, to the cladding on the bar itself. Even the men who sat in pairs and threes were sun-blushed enough to seem wooden.

Hard stares greeted them and the conversational hum dropped, but did not stop. That was good. He hoped. Perhaps they were versed enough with travellers to only afford them the usual distrust: no small town ever truly trusted strangers.

Makki walked to the bar, feeling eyes not on him, but on Melu snuffling as she slept in his arms. In the exaggerated light her skin glowed like polished marble. By Blessed Therusamora, let no one see her as a bounty, but as an Etherling. A danger not a prize.

“I’ve hungry men and an empty purse, Agreth. Send the boy to get the salt from the barn and stop bothering me with each trivial problem you have.” A drape hung over the doorway behind the bar did little to block out the shrill, male voice. The barkeeper backed through it, cowering despite his angry words. He wore a neat black jacket over a white tunic, apron clutched in both hands before him like a shield. “And try and be frugal with the peppers in the stew this time. Last night I had more men ordering water than ale and....oh!” (Very nice detail!)

The barkeeper turned and stopped, jaw half open, eyes transfixed on Melu as Makki rested her on the counter. He was middle aged, wiry, with a preposterous moustache that cascaded thick over his lip and curved up to meet his sideburns. Each and every hair on his head was the brightest orange, as though he’d been dipped in a sunrise.

“We’re after rooms, Sir, preferably t...” Makki began.

“We offer no board to that!” The barman snapped, stabbing a finger and retreating a pace. Makki felt his anger arc through his chest. He grinned, a slow, evil thing. (Hmm I wonder why does he reject them like that? Are Dragons really that well known? I somehow had the idea they were somewhat scarce.)

“I could go outside and wake her up if you’d prefer.” Right on cue Melu yawned. Her slightly snouted jaw hinged wider than any human’s and lips peeled back to show a row of pointed teeth. The Barman blanched and clutched his apron shield. “But she tends to get rather unpleasant if she is woken before she is ready. You know how Dragons can get...” (So they require heavy sleep?)

Chair legs raked across the wooden floors, drawing a line under nearby conversation. Makki counted, by the sound of footsteps, three men scurry outside. The barman’s jaw worked, chewing on the words of an apology and the warm flush of Makki’s anger subsided beneath an icy wave of panic. (He’s scared now, but didn’t seem so a couple of lines before. Did he confuse Melu for some other being then? Otherwise his attitude it’s a bit confusing and contradictory)

Oh Makki, you cursed idiot!

“What...What I meant, good Sir, is...is...” The barman choked and Makki wrestled himself out of inaction. Stupidity is like milk: once it’s spilled there’s no putting it back. All you can do is claim it’s ideal for cleaning the flagstones.

“...Is you don’t offering stabling for her type,” Makki finished. “And so she’ll be afforded the same courtesy as the three of us.” He made a quick signal and Sommir unloaded his packs onto the bar; a heavy purse tucked in one of the saddlebags jangled suggestively. “We are not here for anything more than a bed, and a meal.”

“And ale.” Sommir added, folding his arms on the bar. “Plus of course if this town has a pretty wench or...”

“Ignore him. Being in the sun all day and has addled what little brain he possesses. A bed, a meal and ale. We may stay for breakfast, but probably no longer.” He adjusted the saddlebag. Coins rattled.

The barman looked to the purse, to Melu, to Makki and back to the purse. His forced smile accentuated the ripple in his ridiculous moustache.

“Of course, Sir, of course. You will be requiring how many rooms?”

“Three.” Makki said. “Adjoining if possible.”

“Do we have to,” Sommir said. “You snore loud enough to annoy the dead.” The barman, as per Makki’s request, ignored him.

“Three rooms. Certainly. If you’d follow me.” With a final glance at the saddlebags he scuttled from behind the bar and headed to the stairs at the rear of the common room. Makki fetched Melu back into his arms and followed, the Princess shadowing him

“Fine. I’ll carry all this again.” Sommir said, gathering up their possessions.

The inn’s second floor was small and, seemingly, unoccupied. More lamps burned along the landing and all of the six doors Makki could see stood open, the rooms beyond dark. The barman lit a taper from the lamp outside the furthest door and darted inside.

It was a deep room with two slim beds, a simple dresser and a small trunk. A battered and chipped washbasin rested on a shelf beneath a sliver of mirror, dusted with grime from its last, unsuccessful, cleaning. The patter of the patrons below was muffled to a faint hum, like some fat insect trapped beneath the wooden floor.

“I’ll prepare the other two, Sir. Please call me when you would like to eat. My name is Karu: At your service.” He sketched a rough bow and scurried out with a final glance at Melu.

Rhiharu held a finger to her lips and crept to the door. Makki looked at Sommir, who raised his eyebrows in approval and tapped his temple three times. A few minutes, a glance into the hall, and the Princess eased the door closed.

“He’s gone.” She said.   

“And the packhorse needs his rest.” Sommir said, unslinging their packs and dropping them on the trunk. “See how I played the hired muscle perfectly? Why I reckon I could join one of those troupes who travel from Kingdom to Kingdom performing the epics.” Makki moved to the nearest bed and eased Melu onto it. She rolled over, curling into a comfortable ball, looking for all the world as though she’d been sleeping there since last week.

“Why for a moment you had me believing that was exactly what you were. A brainless, uncivilised moron who thinks with his muscles. A simpleton who’s only worth is in what he can pull, or lift, or...”

“Is that the voice of jealousy I hear?” Sommir cupped a hand to his ear, as though trying to hear a whisper on the wind, then burst out laughing. Makki couldn’t help but grin. “Admit it. That Karu would be amazed to learn I can write.” Sommir undid his sword belt, placed it carefully beside the rest of their belongings, and began wrestling himself out of his armour.

“You can’t write. Your fingers are too thick to hold a...” A whisper of metal being drawn cut him off. Sommir froze with his banded tunic half over his head and Makki spun round, reaching for the dagger at his hip. Princess Rhiharu stood, feet apart, balanced like a swordsman. The slim blade of her sword pointed at his chest, the tip only a swift lunge away. (I can just say: Whoa!)

Rite of Awakening - Chapter 6 Part 3

Hey all!

I went through this section before posting it. I feel it's too descriptive and tedious at times so I tried to edit it to the best of my ability (Mostly, I shortened the extremely long and detailed description of the cathedral and plan to spread those details across several different sections). The ending also gave me a bit of trouble... So I'm very interested to see what you'll make of it ;D


It had been a restless night thus far. Sefiren looked outside through one of the large windows in his room. The skies were clear but water was falling. There were no thunders or lightning bolts. The air was almost imperceptible and the drops fell in an almost gracious way, caressing the windows as they landed. Beautiful and yet... sad. It was as if the heavens themselves were mourning and Sefiren could feel it. No matter how many times he returned to his bed, he was unable to relax his body and clear his mind. The rain had carried his sleep away from him.

Walking usually helps. Besides, there was something drawing him outside; a hunch perhaps.

As he came out of his room, he noticed that the doors that led into his parent’s chambers were opened. It wasn’t common for both of them to be outside so late. On the other hand, his sisters’ rooms remained locked.

It’s been over a week since they left. The palace was pretty much empty these days; dispiriting. Even as he walked down the familiar corridors, he felt his home distant and strage. His father spent most of his time in meetings alongside King Caylsig, while his mother managed the day-to-day affairs. As for his brother, he seldom saw him. He’s never around anyway, he told himself with a hint of relief.

Only Princess Sivrial had kept him company.

“Sivrial,” he sighed as a furtive smile ran across his face. He would take some seconds every now and then to look at her, trying his best not to get caught staring.  She had a certain glow in her eyes that kept calling to him and her look whenever the wind deftly caressed her hair hypnotised him. Ten years had gone by since they last saw each other. Ten long years. Now, here she was; the girl from back then grown into a beautiful woman. And I can’t even talk to her without stammering.

“Have you lost yourself Sefiren?”

The unexpected question in the dark harshly brought his mind down to the sombre night. He stopped walking. Myt̆es walked towards him from the hallway’s opposite end. Though the light was very dim, Sefiren could see that his brother was clutching to the wall, barely able to walk by himself, threatening to fall anytime soon. Only shreds remained of his dark robes, exposing his chest completely. Sefiren managed to see several wounds over wounds scattered across his brother’s body. Some had been made in the past days and others were still fresh.

“Myt̆es, what happened?”

“None of your business.”

As he finished the sentence, he lost what little balance he had left. Sefiren ran to his brother and managed to grab him before he fell.

“Here, let me help you.”

“Don’t touch me!” Myt̆es shouted, taking Sefiren’s hands off him. “This is nothing.”

“You’re bleeding too much.”

“I don’t need your pity, Sefiren.”

Myt̆es walked past his brother, leaving traces of blood wherever he passed by, muttering to himself. Sefiren remained motionless until his brother disappeared from his sight. He’ll be fine. If there’s one thing he cares about that’s himself. With that thought in mind, he left the palace, deciding on his destination: the Melcryl Cathedral.

As he crossed from Elyrdir to Priódir, where all of the capital’s churches and temples were, he didn’t notice any guards at all.  There were no lights coming from the buildings either. Only the Melcryl Cathedral, standing high atop the sacred mount Ictromil, was shinning intensely. A beacon to remind the people about hope, his father always told them.

The top of Ictromil was covered in vivid green grass and a couple of tall Ant̆ flower trees, which had begun blooming. Four small chapels were lined across the place, accompanying the cathedral dedicated to the Goddess herself. Stained-glass windows adorned all sides of the cathedral, with several smaller ones below them. On its centre stood the Dome of Salvation with an ivory statue of Valcar Seralisel, the Goddess’ eternal protector, on its top. At the very back was the Apostle’s Apse, where the Apostle would be anointed by the Élyon Saint on her seventeenth birthday.

He stepped inside, soaking the clear marble floor as he did so. The cathedral was empty. Sefiren took a few careful steps across the central row of aisles, stopping in front of the carmine statue of Goddess Ataélina. Her face had one of the most tranquil expressions Sefiren had ever seen. As affectionate as mum’s own smile.

“Are you certain of that?” he heard from behind the statue, where the Apostle’s Apse was located. It was his father.

“Absolutely my lord. I managed to remove his helmet. It was him.”

Sefiren could not determine whom did the second voice belong to. He tried to peek through the side of the statue. His father blocked most of the other man’s body, but it was clear it was a projection. That explains the distortion in the voice.

“What will you do?”

“Nothing,” his father replied.

“You will allow his betrayal to continue unpunished? We both know he can’t be controlled.”

“The Crimson Knight is more useful to us alive. His treachery will be made known in due time.”

Hearing the Knight mentioned made Sefiren’s heart skip a beat. He recalled his father had refused to kill him that night. Why is he doing the same now?

“I hope you will not regret this decision.”

“I will accept the responsibility of my choices as I’ve always done.”

“And what about Marasia? When will you tell her the truth?”

“I won’t. I’ll let her uncover it by herself.”

“How? We destroyed all the evidence about her birth.”

“Not entirely. There’s a rather special book in Renisel’s possession; one that holds all the answers to Marasia’s past and future.”

His father turned his eyes, forcing Sefiren to crouch behind the statue. I’m dead, he told himself, waiting for his father to walk towards him. It didn’t happen. After a brief pause, he resumed the dialogue. Sefiren decided in had been enough. He crouched towards the exit, praying to the Goddess his father would not notice him. Before leaving, his ears caught a final part of the dialogue.

“You’ll need to get rid of him first.”

“And trigger Sylenvia’s wrath at the same time.”

“An eye for an eye?”

“That’s the only concept Gamar have of justice.”