Chapter 3

While Ronnach was given permission to continue work and development on the Titanic, the next day brought with it the ceremony of Lordly Immortalization. A duty she'd personally oversee as the blood was drained from Old Lord's body with care, his organs removed and body wrapped. Over frail arms and legs numerous layers of bandages were applied, giving it further definition and bulk, capturing his figure in his prime years. After which a mold cast was sculpted of the Lord standing firm, hand rested over a grounded blade. This mold assisted the casting of gold and iron that would become his tomb and painted to capture his likeness, dressed in his armor and standing mightily among his people and the old Lord of Carthol. Never again to fall weak, or bend to the forces of the world. Preserved in his full glory to be admired, studied and respected for years to come, until the end of Carthol or more likely the world itself.

It was witnessed by thousands, all marching upon the path of Lords offering up their tithe to the gods and offerings to the Lord, praying for a safe journey to the gates of Teuse. Though his actions towards the war and against the Narrovinnians stood to be ridiculed, when came to Carthol he, like any Carthinnian, would die before ever seeing it fall. Annesha admired him despite his faults, and would build upon his legacy and usher in the golden age of Carthol yet to be seen by any.

The ceremony, while having begun in the early morning, had come to a close late into the afternoon. Her duties had been cleared for the day, no lesser council or court was scheduled thanks in part to the occasion. While for all intents and purposes most treated the day as one of rest and recuperation, Annesha couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of anxiety. As though there was something in expedent need to be done, yet couldn't be reached or preformed. She was the princess of Carthol, yet she felt so restricted and suffocating. A pressing urge to return to the Dregsen, perhaps out of habit, but that there was no place to sail to solve her plight. All she could do was wait, burning precious daylight watching as each idle second slipped her by.

She wandered into the garden of the castle hoping some fresh air would clear her mind, though she desired one with more moisture and salt found within the spray of near and distant oceans and seas of the world. Perhaps she should treat the crew to a night on the waves, already a day upon land and she was already pinning for it. So much so she had to kick herself in the head just to appreciate the intricate, persistent and expertise that went into carefully arranging and growing every last blooming flower, tall healthy tree and thornless vine purposely woven between rails and fences into a fine pattern. It was pleasing to the eyes, calming to the mind and did indeed help Annesha find some semblance of ease. Just not enough.

As she continued on, her mind toiling away at Carthol's plights, a flash caught her eye through the arrangements of the garden. Pausing in her stride and stepping back a few paces, she glanced again and found Verreene occupying herself within the guardian circular where a single fountain sat within the center. The clearing was large enough to go through one's rounds and routines, as she swung a rather peculiar blade, attacking no target in particular. With each swing she transitioned into a new stance, making sure not to lose balance and sacrificing no amount of power and precision in the process. She was well taught, at least when it came to fighting a shadow. Perhaps this was the break Annesha needed from the mundane of the late afternoon.

As the princess approached, Verreene was too absorbed in her practice to have taken notice. A mind devoted to one cause and a singular purpose. To slay Chillian and reclaim her brother's soul. Annesha could sense the strife and vexation within, causing a tremble within her being that ever so slightly wavered her strikes and staggered her footing. The girl's mind no doubt fixated upon the moment that blade of hers would cleave flesh and bleed her aunt. An image so vivid she could almost smell the iron and fresh scent of flesh causing her to hunger for the righteous retribution all the more which drove her cuts, powered her strikes and pushed her to persevere as her mind became swallowed by the desire for vengeance.

So much she never sensed the princess behind her as Verreene suddenly pivoted a hundred and eighty degrees to attack, delivering a decisive downward strike that surely would've spelled the end for Annesha. Verreene's eyes widened as she found Annesha well within bleeding distance, caught in the very center of her arcing blade. There was no pulling back however, she'd long since committed and already her mind was wracked with the consequence that would soon follow with the attack on the Princess of Carthol.

Yet, Annesha rather undeterred, stepped in bracing her hip against Verreene's belly as her hand swiftly took hold of the girl's fist, only to then pull downward with the arc of her blade, vaulting Verreene over her body, slamming her back into the stone laid floor of the garden below with heavy and thunderous thud. The wind was nearly knocked out of Verreene as she felt crushed by the armor she was in. Yet crawling to her knees, sputtering as she was, she attempted to apologize as she fidgeted for her sword. Only, she couldn't find it anywhere upon the ground. It was only when she looked up did she find the Princess fondly admiring, holding firmly to the hilt, twisting it in her palms as though a moment ago she wasn't seconds from being struck down and met with Vrueth.

Annesha hadn't quite seen such an intriguing blade in all her days. It was the length of a longsword with a grip easily fitting two hands providing a fine balance. The crossguard was asymmetrical, with the guard of the front edge jutting straight out, while the guard of the back edge, curved forward above the length of the blade. No doubt meant to catch and parry or even disarm the blades of opponents. That thickness of the sword was aggressively tapered from the hilt before evening out down the length of the blade. However, the tip was the most intriguing part. Where the front edge came up to a point with the back edge, the back edge arced up to form a gouging hook shaped to the likeness of a rolling wave before crashing into the land.

"Interesting blade," Annesha spoke as she leveled it in her hands as though ready to duel. "That hook puts the cutting power well near the front." With her statement came a few testing swings, both precise and balanced. "Though, it wouldn't make much use for stabbing," she noted, thrusting as she said so. "Else the blade would snag within the flesh. Though, perhaps," she murmured, flipping the blade so the hooked edge became the front edge. "It may do well in snagging armor and shields. You lot are known to grapple with opponents, thanks in part to those stone armaments. I'd hate to be in a tangle with you lot, even on my best day."

Verreene was still rather stunned by the princess's sudden entrance, that the violent vault she'd been given. Yet, Annesha acted as though the close call upon her life was no concerning matter. Verreene was simply left dazed, bemused and at loss for words all at once.

"M-my Princess," was all the girl was able to stammer. "I didn't mean… it was…"

"No worries," Annesha grinned, tapping at the pair of horns upon her head. "They tend to give me a sense for sudden strikes."

It was then she realized she neglected to address her prior statement and hastily said, "

"Oh, my stone arms! Err, I'd been shouldered with them at a young age."

"Really?" she questioned. "I was never familiar with how those of Roe taught their young."

"Well, my regular arms would be bound for a time and if I ever needed to grab something, my only recourse was to manipulate the stone arms to do as I wished. It was… tourture," she whispered with a grin, pushing herself up to her feet and letting the stone armorments unfurl from her back, stretching over her shoulders to take a defensive stance, each finger curled to form a stony fist. "Fortunately my servants would assist me with the necessities, but if I wanted to play with my toys or do anything for myself really, I'd need to figure how to wield these things."

As she spoke, Verreene lashed out with routine jabs and cuts of her stone fists, as though she were shadow boxing. Each strike was precise and balanced with little to no amount of energy wasted or overexerted.

"Was it your father who first shouldered you with the stone array?" the princess inquired.

Another grin cracked across her lips as a brief laugh escaped her.

"My brother," Verreene corrected. "As a child I may have thought it cruel, but he really did have the best intentions. One day I threw a fit, how could a child not when being saddled with such a monumental task at a young age, but it was then he sat me down and said, 'the people of Roe are defined by their ambitions and actions. It is why we sling rocks and dawn the stone armaments. If you cannot wield them, then perhaps your ambitions are too mundane. It's got to be something you're willing to fight for, to shed blood, tooth and nail for. So tell me, what is it you want to do more than anything in this world?' And you know what I said, my Princess?" Annesha nodded for her to answer. "'I wanna punch you in the face!' There was nothing more I wanted because in my mind if I did, it meant getting the stone armaments off my back once and for all, my truest ambition as a child. He harnessed that drive until the day I finally, miraculously and triumphantly did it, pow," she exclaimed arcing her stone fist in a downward cut. "Right across his chin. I never felt better."

"Yet you still dawn them," Annesha stated.

That grin seemed to waver upon her face, a slight crack in her disposition that Annesha all too easily saw as a chasmic rift through a fine plain. "There are… sentimental reasons too. Make no mistake though, I dawned them of my own volition from then on. Even now, they feel more… lively, responsive and... lethal than ever."

"I'm sure you know precisely why then."

Verreene simply nodded her head before unleashing a single swift lethal strike of her stone fists. "I want to punch Chillian in the face."

"And how exactly are you going to do that?" Annesha asked.

"By training," she answered. "I'll train every day and night until the eve of my aunt's arrival."

"Well you'll need more than a shadow opponent," she said, flipping the sword in her hand before catching the blade between her fingers, presenting Verreene with the handle. "That's for certain."

Taking the blade, Verreene watched as Annesha withdrew what appeared to be a booklet. The cover was unmarked and made of wood, yet the pages were entirely of silk, each etched with a strange pattern and design. It didn't take long for Annesha to flip to one page in particular before a light illuminated from her palm, causing the etchings within the page to outwardly glow, like a rift through space. It was then a sash of silk was produced, particles of magic rained down as it took shape. As it formed a weaving knot a hilt was produced at the center, growing in length as a blade took shape from the other end until finally a sword took form with the sash of silk wrapped where the handle and crossguard met.

Folding the book up and storing it away, Verreene looked on in awe knowing the magical technique to be that of transportation, yet never having seen it for herself. A technique that utilizes light magic to bend space between two runes transporting objects of interest, oftentimes weapons or even armor. The runes in particular were certain sections of one's soul path, or rather the path the soul took from head to toe. When one used a weapon to great extent, often a portion of their soul is left with it along with techniques honed by the blade. Transportation techniques in a practical sense was the reunification of one's soul.

Stepping forward, Annesha explained, "technique is all well and good, fundamentals are vital, but it all means nothing if you haven't a single critical aspect bored deep within your mind." There was a sudden flash from the princess leaving Verreene little time as she raised her blade, bracing the broadside against her forearm as it clashed, ringing against Annesha's blade. The swing would've lopped a good portion out of Verreene's shoulder, and satisfied, Annesha clarified, "battle sense and improvisation. If all you ever know is routine, all you will ever know is defeat."

Verreene certainly didn't lack in her ability to react. Though Annesha would've personally preferred a deflection, bringing her blade to a hard stop with such fine form and prowess was acceptable in and of itself. Annesha's blade flashed again in one swift arc delivering an upward cut, yet Verreene was there to intercept it, glancing it off from the broadside of her blade before lashing out, manipulating her blade around to strike at the princess.

Another blow aimed for the neck, yet all Annesha did was raise her arm allowing the blade to clash against her armored bracer bringing it to an easy stop, as though her entire arm was formed of iron.

"Though, what I've found often is practitioners of the blade often neglect one vital aspect of combat. Armor," she clarified as she suddenly rotated her hand around, gripping the blade, pulling Verreene in before delivering a blow to the girl's stomach with the pommel of her sword. It was enough to make Verreene lurch over and lose her breath, but she never let go of her weapon. "A very effective thing in combat, not just to block attacks, but allow you to persevere through blows. Not only that," she let loose a kick that would've struck Verreene's face.

However, just as it seemed she would make contact with the girl's chin, Verreene's hand caught her ankle before rotating on the ball of her foot letting her other leg shoot out from under her to swipe at Annesha's standing leg, knocking it out from under her. Annesha fell on her back as Verreene found her footing and ended with her sword pointed down at the princess.

It was then Verreene finished the princess's statement by saying, "but martial arts as well."

"Indeed," Annesha muttered with a satisfied grin as she laid upon her back facing Verreene. "Indeed…"

Verreene didn't give the princess any chances before thrusting forward, yet a glint of the blade sent her strike away. Annesha then kicked at the ground, sending herself rolling back heel over head, distancing her from Verreene and allowing her to regain her footing. She then advanced on Verreene, her attacks were direct and purposeful, where most amatures aimed for the sword, the princess of course aimed for the kill. It was only through Verreene's resolve that she remained in one piece as she deflected blow after decisive, direct and lethal blow. Verreene's footwork could've used a bit of honing, as she always seemed one step away from losing her balance or binding her own legs.

Annesha let loose a high placed attack, yet when Verreene acted accordingly ducking below it, readying her blade to swipe at the Princess's midsection. Verreene stepped forward ready to transfer every ounce of energy into the deadly blow as Annesha had no hope of repositioning her blade in time. That was when, just as Verreene began transferring her weight into the step, committing herself did the Annesha's lash out with a sudden kick to the girl's inner thigh, the speed of which was so quick, Verreene hadn't a chance to properly react, the power of which so great, she felt her leg ready to give out right beneath her as she stumbled forward passed Annesha. She could already feel the agony welling up within her leg as a bruise destined to last for weeks no doubt took shape.

Turning to face the princess yet again who wore an amused grin as she slowly circled, Verreene could feel her leg tremble beneath her weight. Just putting any amount of pressure on it sent a jolt through her spine, yet she had to persevere.

It was then Annesha raised her blade to her chin, tip pointed for Verreene before stepping forward. It was a common single handed dueling stance, one that allowed the wielder to attack from any direction in a swift flick of their wrist. She stepped closer to Verreene as the girl kept a careful eye on the blade, ready to act the moment Annesha attacked. Yet just when the princess came into striking distance, did Verreene all but collapse to the floor clutching the inside her thigh after yet another decisive and viper-like low kick to her leg.

Verreene hadn't even seen it coming, she was so focused on the sword before her, but no doubt Annesha planned to take advantage of that the moment she took the stance. Perhaps it was a light form of hypnosis, diverting her attention away with such an intentful threatening form. In any sense, Verreene was in no condition to continue fighting. Her leg simply gave up, folding beneath, pulsing with each beat of her heart which brought with it a new wave of pain. It even felt as though her muscle and skin were about to rupture outwardly.

"D-dammit," Verreene hissed as she held her calf in one hand and struggled to pull herself away from the princess with the other.

Annesha knew when to count a victory however as she sheathed her sword and slung it over her waist.

"Not bad… not incredibly good, but certainly not bad," Annesha complimented.

She watched as Verreene slowly came to grips with the pain in her leg before placing her one good knee beneath herself and pushing up to stand while applying as little weight as possible on her pained leg. As she struggled to get her footing, Annesha's attention was drawn away catching Demion as he wandered down a garden path to a stone railing overlooking the lower portions of the capital. He seemed to be leisurely enjoying his day, yet Annesha knew better that he wasn't one to be idle, always working towards one goal, pressing on to see his schemes come to fruition.

"That rage within you will do you good," Annesha assured Verreene. "The desire for vengeance is a great drive that shouldn't be scoffed at. Many men have accomplished much and changed a great deal of things because of vengeance. If there's one thing I hope you do differently, it's not to be burned by it."

"What do you mean," Verreene asked.

"With vengeance comes rage, and with rage fire. Rage enough to breathe flame even. Unbridled rage conjures untamed fire, one that will lick and scald at the flesh of its wielder. Like the brightest shining stars, unbridled rage will see you snuffed out quickly. Tame that rage, hone it to a fine focus, and you may conjure a flame kind in spirit to you and fierce to your enemies. It was a good bout, Verreene," she then complimented, turning her back with intent on sharing an audience with Demion. "Certainly lifted my spirits. Keep training and there's no doubt in my mind you'll find the retribution you hunger for and slay your aunt, Chillian Danne."

"Aye, my princess," she nodded as she collected her blade, still limping heavily. "I will…"

Annesha ventured from the fountain circular, intent on finding Demion, only it seemed he'd already gone. It was rather odd, as Annesha was sure she'd find him by the stone railing. When she peered over, looking down upon the lower field of the castle grounds, Annesha spotted a small convoy of heavily armed men escorting a single caged cart. Within the cart, Annesha could scarcely make out a lone figure bound in irons and secured by chains from the wrist to the elbow with hands sealed in hard wooden molds. The sight of it made Annesha's soul grow sour and full of resentment. She'd seen these armored conveys in the past, knew of who they continued and what was justly in store for them within the depths of the castle dungeon.

Curious to see for herself however, as she turned from the railing to make her way below, she suddenly found herself face to face with Demion, having appeared quite suddenly and without a hint from her aspects of Myndre. It was so shocking how dampened his presence that it gave Annesha quite the fright as jumped back like a startled little girl. Demion couldn't help but grin.

Huffing and catching her breath, Annesha muttered, "can you not seemingly appear out of thin air? -dammit!"

"I thought those horns of yours made you more attentive," he chuckled as he rested himself upon the stone rail glancing down to the same convoy Annesha had just observed.

Having caught her breath and quelled her frightened heart, Annesha said, "I suppose you're here to discuss business, eye." Demion simply nodded watching as the convoy below disappeared into the depths of the castle. "Was it to do with that Gyr Worshiper down there?"

"His name is Dettetcheny, I've come for your approval."

"Approval?" she questioned. "I'm just a princess. You'd have to ask the council-"

"Only the close lineage of the Over Lord can dictate the final fate of a Gyr Worshiper, whether that be execution, banishment, torture or imprisonment. A while ago I met a knight who owned a pet dragon. Venneith was the handle he went by"

"Tyrant Slayer," Annesha murmured, touching on her tongue of Loriken. "As in the Mad Tyrant of Loriken? That sort of Venneith?"

"Aye. In fact, this knight sought me out wishing me to heal his little dragon, one he named Nerr."

"Nerr isn't a rather draconic name," Annesha criticized. "Wouldn't Xerr be more respecting of Xanthian's kin?"

"What's a long dead god supposed to care for the name some knight gives a baby god?" Annesha didn't have a response, instead shrugging her shoulders in recognition of his sound, if rather crude, logic. "Regardless, that boy down there was in pursuit of that knight, followed all the way down to Agrenal in fact, before besting him in the arena. However, Nerr soon bested him in kind, and since then Dettetcheny had remained imprisoned. Spent many days and nights within the dungeon of Agrenal. Now however, he awaits your final judgment. One I hope sees his head left upon his shoulders."

"Why? What's so special about this one? A gyr worshiper is a gyr worshiper. If anything I expect them to be executed in bulk."

"Because," he began. "I want you to enroll him into the college of Carthol, Mourdengel. As you know only Gyr Worshiper's can wield the fifth element, the mortal murdering element of Zeuth of Euth, lightning. He's capable of transfiguring his arms into the claws of a Gryphon, the only beast capable of wielding lightning without marring, without injury."

Rather intriguing it seemed. Not all gyr worshipers earned the god's blessings of transfiguration. To heretics of carthol, Gyr was an ideal. Few sought him for power, fewer for transfiguration and even among them, very, very few were granted such an ability.

"I know what you're getting at and my only question is why enroll him in Mourdengel? Isn't he the type you'd wish to keep close and study yourself?" A brief moment passed before Annesha's eyes lit up for Demion's face said it all. "You plan to take Mourdengel for yourself?"

"I plan to usurp Headmaster Oren," he spoke. "But not just yet. In time."

"Oren?" Annesha questioned. "As in Lyse Oren?"

"Oh, so you remember that man?"

"As a shrewd prodigy, yes. He was always so diligent about his studies and hardly seemed like the type for good company. He certainly didn't take kindly to Dalvion and me as children."

"Many adults didn't," he reminded me. "You were the menaces of the capital."

"Aye, but him in particular. Wasn't the inventive type, I doubt there's even a creative bone in his body. He's so old fashion, so orthadoxed and outdated. There's no wonder in my mind why he became headmaster..." It was then she was able to piece it together yet again before asserting, "and… that's why you want to usurp Oren?"

"If you are to bring about a new 'golden age' to Carthol, it's best we start with the institution of academia first and foremost. They're close minded, ignorant and uninventive. Intelligence can't stagnate, knowledge must flourish and persist and magic must be developed, pushed to its limits and beyond."

"And you have confidence in Dettetcheny?" she asked. "He's a worshiper of Gyr, a Heretic. Not one I'd imagine to be the cooperative type in the least."

"After his capture, I was able to have an audience with him. He was after vengeance, you'd have to be to chase a knight notoriously known for staining his armor with the ashes of his victims..."

Annesha then let slip, "rather unbecoming of a knight." Sitting straight up in a formal posture she said, "that doesn't quite sit well with me."

"I'm sure you'll let him know once you become Lordess. Dettetcheny, however… he renounced his allegiance to Gyr, god of the Gryphons, yet he told me Gyr wouldn't lift his blessing as he was too entertained by this child's frivolous antics and vengeful pursuit. So therein lies my reasoning."

"The boy is broken," she said piecing together. "Betrayed by both man and god while retaining the aspect of a gryphon... and you see this as an opportunity?"

"An opportunity to study the powers of Gyr's transfiguration which enables them to harness the element of the fifth god of Euth, Zueth, the god of lightning."

"That sounds very… different. -innovative even," Annesha commented. "So much so in fact I wouldn't be surprised if Oren imploded from such a proposition alone."

"Rest easy," he assured. "It's not as if I intend this kingdom to hold hands with those who sought to raze its very foundation, the boy is just the exception. The rest you can slay, flay or serve up as a rotisserie to whatever beasts you may. Care to do me this favor, my Princess?"

With a heavy sigh, Annesha nodded and answered with, "considering Dettetcheny is still a heretic all the same… a very reluctant, 'fine.' I trust your judgment more than anyone, Demion."

"With good reason, too."

"Still a bit full of yourself though."

"With good reason, too," he snickered. An infectious little laugh from such an old man that Annesha couldn't help but chuckle along as well. "Anyways, I'll be off," he told as he stood from his seat and began to walk off. "Oh, but one more thing my princess," he then said, pausing to turn. "Do expect that Dragon, Nerr, to rear his head."

"Nerr… the dragon?" she questioned.

"Aye, Venneith's apprentice. He sent him here on a pilgrimage to become a page. The dragon wishes to become a knight taking after his master. Thought it best you know in advance."

Demion looked to the sky to gauge the time as Annesha commented, "the wise old Demion, never ceasing to know everything."

"Can it honestly be helped?" he asked with a grin.

"Yeah?" she mused. "What am I think-"

"The sea," he answered before she could ever hope to finish.

"Dammit!" she shunned herself as Demion disappeared into the garden.

Annesha simply resigned herself to the fact Demion operated on a higher caliber she herself couldn't quite grasp at. Though, there was a new matter to attend to now and that was the Gyr Worshiping Prisoner, Dettetcheny.

It was a poor sight, one the princess simply detested. The dungeon was moderately lit with luminescent stones that wouldn't lose their glow for days allowing for the princess to get a fine look at the boy in question. Up close, those feelings she felt from affair were only magnified to a significant degree. This traitor of Carthol, forced into a prostrating position as he festered in a stench only known to prisoners that had been bound for months without reprieve and neither respite. It was like a wounded beast in need of being put down, yet there was no remorse in Annesha's cold glaring eye, and unfortunately she wasn't there to put him out of his misery either. He made little movement outside the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest that was so rhythmic and deliberate Annesha could suspect it to be a form of meditation.

As the guards stood by, weapons pointed, Annesha commanded, "leave this chamber, I must have a word."

"My princess," the first began to object, yet Annesha shot him a cold glare with a single dismissive wave of her hand. A simple gesture as clear as day that the princess wouldn't be dissuaded. "Yes, my Princess."

With a nod of his head, he signaled for the others to follow him from the chambers. Annesha watched them closely and once the final one had passed through the threshold, Annesha struck the hook free from the chains holding the iron door aloft leading it to crash down sectioning off the guardsmen from her and Dettetcheny from the area of the dungeon.

"Dettetcheny was the name, aye?" she asked, circling the boy and elaborate work restraining him. "A worshiper of the forbidden god Gryalphaimy, or Gyr as most dare utter." The boy didn't seem very receptive, nor did he respond. He only kept to simply breathing. "I'm the princess of the Old Lord of Carthol," she told. "The one who sailed abroad to fight for distant territories spread across the water. After a decade on the waves serving the Empire, this is the respect I earn?"

Of course, he paid no heed to her demands. Yet, as he sat there, he suddenly felt the chains slacken as an audible click of a lock falling loose sounded. The weight upon his neck slackened, allowing him to raise his head up from the floor, arms no longer chained allowing him to rise from his prostrating form, as his legs were freed no longer forcing him to kneel. The princess stood confidently with her back turned.

"Stand," she muttered. "Have a bit of dignity, won't you?"

She was ready to speak more, yet when she opened her mouth, a premonition struck her being, channeled through the aspects of Myndre, the pair of horns upon her head. She rotated at once, raising her hand only to catch the hard wooden cuff against her fist, mear inches from colliding with her face.

The wooden gauntlet was carved of a hardwood, primarily designed to restrain worshippers of gyr who'd received the blessing to transfigure their hands and limbs. It ensured they could conduct no current, or strike a foe with a bolt of lightning. However, if one so tried to conjure up a flame within their hands to burn away the restraint, they'd only find it to smolder and scald their flesh like coals. It was an incredibly durable wood requiring a fine durable saw, presistence and utmost patience to even hope of felling such a tree. It only made sense Dettetcheny tried using it to bludgeon the princess instead.

"You think I couldn't sense that?" she questioned with a playful grin. "What do you think these are for?" she asked, gently tapping her horns with a finger. "A fancy to the eye, aye?" His only response was to immediately swing with his opposing arm, this too, became halted by a swift guard. "Rather rude," she murmured as her hands gripped tightly upon the wooden cuffs pulling the boy in. "At the very least be a bit more sporting."

It was then she unleashed a cushing headbutt, bludgeoning his face with her skull. As he reeled back with a nose already bloodied, a bright light took form over her fingers as unrefined light magic increased her strength many times. Effortlessly, the wooden cuffs splintered in her grip as she ripped them away, freeing the boys fingers and palm. In the blink of an eye, a single palm of her own shot out, blunting against Dettetcheny's chest, sending him tumbling backwards with considerable force. It sent him tumbling back over the restraining array, falling head over heels until his back crashed into the bars of the cell.

As Dettetcheny reeled from the trauma inflicted all over and in such a proficient manner, Annesha's eyes couldn't help but be drawn to his transfigured arm. His fingers were shaped closely to the talons of a hawk, with small pointed claws extending past the tip. The feathers began at his wrist and traveled up the arm, appearing to be more thick over the top of the forearm then the bottom, and ended at the elbow. It was an ugly site, and though Annesha had witnessed transfigurations of most kinds, Gyr's aspects not only stood for the power it grainted but more for the ideal it represented.

"Care to explain why you fight," Annesha then inquired as she took a deep breath, leaning with her back against the opposing stone wall. With one leg crossed and both arms folded, she glared down at Dettetcheny and continued, "I never did understand. After everything Carthol did, all the work your mother and your father put into rearing you and you turn your back on it all. What for? Because you're scared to earn a few nicks? Afraid of the waters and can't swim?"

The aspects of Myndre began to warn Annesha of a brewing rage festering within Dettetcheny. One that grew stronger and stronger with each word she spoke. She could see his breath begin to deepen with fury, as his body trembled with rage. A hint of smoke escaped his palm, and she could sense his desperate restraint. A wise person gifted with such proclivities would know to ween off their chiding, yet Annesha couldn't help but press harder.

"And where are your friends now?" she asked. "No doubt there was more than just you. I bet they died easily and cowardly. After all, they fled the call of Myndre. Wouldn't expect them to hold their own in a fight. If only your parents could see you now. A starved rat, festering in his own filth cowering, like a stray before the Lordess to be. You think if they knew what they'd become they would've lopped your head off at birth? Or maybe you already killed them, I wouldn't expect anything less from a worshiper of Gyr."

A flame suddenly erupted over his feathers as Dettetcheny clutched at his transfigured hand. Annesha expected him to quickly burn up, losing control of the flame born in rage. He even let out a pained cry, as the heat began scaling his skin, burning away at his rags. Annesha couldn't help but enjoy as the flame, burning a bright yellowish red, suddenly galvanized across the feathers into the pure raw energy of lightning. She could feel it in the air, tingling across her skin, even with the distance between them. Dettetcheny's skin no longer burned, his feathers no longer scorching. Instead, lightning danced between each talon, rippling across his feathers ready to find release, and with a raging, vengeful glare, he sprang for Annesha. Her horns sent a ripple through her soul, desperately warning her of the lethal power behind his blinding attack, but she was too awestruck by the sight to act. She'd never seen such tame lightning in all her days, and now she was moments from being slain by it.

That was until a great presence manifested itself around Annesha as light magic quickly refined with a bright glow, shaping and warping before Dettetcheny's eyes. He was only moments away as he charged forward unleashing a gouging electrified attack of his transfigured hand. Yet the light magic soon manifested a great toothy maw that savagely clamped down upon his arm, halting it mere inches from Annesha's cold dead glare. However, Annesha was the last thing upon Dettetcheny's mind, even as his talons crackled with thunderous sparks of lightening.

Instead, all his eyes could see was the glowing manifestation of the soul of a Hornmaned Drake's head. One larger than Annesha's torso intent on ripping away Dettetcheny's arm.