[Irn League] The Zen Of War

[Briarheart]

Beneath my mask, a grin twisted its way across my face. "Well, then," I said with a shrug. "I guess that saves me from having to half-ass an apology."

Friend. She called me her friend. With everything that I put her and the Gilded Lily through? I ordered the raids on her brothels. It was on my word that her whores were attacked and interrogated. She even said that she was honor-bound to avenge her precious Lillies. And yet she hesitates, her towering, top-heavy form holding a neutral stance, sword in hand but dangling at her side.

She's either sloshed on Headbutt, being theatrical to throw me off my guard, or those whores didn't really mean that much to her.

I'd hate me. I'd want me dead. I'd have plunged the tip of my sword into my chest before my first sarcastic remarks hit the breeze, letting my biting, venomous wit roll off my tongue in a series of unladylike gurgles. I'd summon all my stupid little forest animals to feast on the remains of my corpse, and mount my severed head above the fireplace.

I don't understand it. Even in... Even in Ulroke's journal, he said despite all I've done to him, he considered me one of his only...

...No. I can't be distracted right now.

My lungs were near bursting, soupy clouds of miasma swirling about inside my chest. I knew what Philomel was capable of in battle, having faced her in the Citadel once before. That was years ago, and I could only imagine that her abilities have grown considerably since then. I needed to stifle them as much as possible. A blast of airborne sickness, the same stuff that killed half a nation, would certainly do the trick. It wouldn't take long for the faun to grow sluggish and weak, and I would just need to survive until her first misstep.

There was the matter of her army of pets, of course. But she's not the only one who can play the numbers game.

I shot a flickering glare and a gnarled finger over at the rabbit. "You stay out of this, unless you want to end up as my dinner."

The poisonous cloud rose up my windpipe, screaming to be unleashed on the faun. With a quick motion, I tore my mask away from my face, revealing my sharpened teeth and vine-woven features. I exhaled sharply, and a thick purple-tinted cloud of death immediately filled the air between us, threatening to suffocate Philomel and slowly tear her apart from the inside.