Painting the Docks Red

To the naked eye the bluecloaks moved at incredible speeds, but for me everything was in slow motion; their speed was relatively average.

I'd never fought someone who had a deep understanding and a lifetime of training in the qi arts. But they had never fought me either.

Mother had painfully inserted wood into my arms and knuckles for a reason. She knew the Svartalfar lore and somewhere in the past they must have learned its use. My qi loved the wood and licked it like it was a jubilant puppy. Qi flowed into my arms - ready to strike – it lapped the wood, pooled in my knuckles, and flowed to my antler mask.

My qi licked my wooden face and horns. It was like standing under a shower and my qi was the water running over it before returning to my core. The living wood was bathed in it.