i'm fairly local, i've been around

Revenge fueled Týrr's desire to make indirect attacks at Ragnar in any situation he was presented with, intending to turn the Northman's own practice of deception against him. There were other things for him to focus his attentions upon these days, firstly in recovering his wounds for if he did not take the time to recoup then he wasn't going to challenge anyone to a death match. His wounds might not have been life threatening by themselves but the Rekkr was no ignorant child and knew that if he did not have them taken care of — no matter how much he hated to be fussed over — they would fester with infection. Which could bring about his untimely death if he did not exercise care and caution. Still, it seemed whatever deity that reigned above favored him in some measure or another as another Bay would came into his path; and there was plenty havoc he could wreak upon Ragnar indirectly. He would rue the day he'd ever taken the Amazon Prince as a captive, and he would suffer for every lie he had told and every memory lost. If Týrr was going to burn, then Ragnar and his were going to burn with him.

Perhaps it would be easy to let it go, he thought as he approached the other male, cloaked in agouti brown, lighter than the Rekkr's own; but it was not fair that he was left to suffer whilst Ragnar lived consequence free for his actions. Life did not work that way, and Týrr had a debt to repay sevenfold. The lost Amazon Prince, however, had no intentions of letting on to his plan, assuming that the easiest way to get under Ragnar's skin was to mess with his mind in subtle ways that only a true follower of Odin would understand. Having lived in their culture for how many months or years he had gave Týrr the perfect advantage to use it to his own devices.

Despite the plan brewing in his mind, his approach was nothing if not amiable, neutral and naturally cautious. After all, he was weakened and this presented a great physical disadvantage should the other man be hostile. The other male offered a verbal greeting in return to Týrr's chuff, leaving a respectful distance between them. “I always have time for a fellow wanderer,” Týrr responded with a soft grin, crystalline gaze sweeping over the male. His eyes asked what he did not speak verbally, inquiring as to what it was the other man sought. Once upon a time he was truly as kind as he put out, every bit of the gentleman and diplomat as his mother had required him to be as the Prince of Coatl's Rise; but the feral Amazon in him as he in fleeting wisps regained slivers of his memory had melded together with the ruthless Viking to make a cross that should have never been made. Two dominate cultures slowly merging into one new thing. The Rekkr King was not the same ignorant boy he had been before the incident and before he had learned the truth. That ignorant child was long gone and in it's place was a man who, while still held something of a diplomatic approach was unafraid to do what it took to get what he wanted.