Witch's Marsh Don't you remember when you were young, and you wanted to set the world on fire?

Whatever chain of events that had occurred, he could not say. The giant was fallen for now—and Akavir was not foolish enough to know that the marsh had played a large role in this for now—that, and perhaps a father’s desperation.

So when Glaukos yielded as commanded—and from the corner of his eyes he could see Mae lunging forward, his grip was maintained for a moment. The stranger had moved with blind rage prior—now, remaining still in the mud and alluding to a calmer moment, Akavir did not trust that careless mistakes might turn to a more calculated attack.

So when he stole a look to his dark daughter—the blood upon her face—there was a certain desire to end this man who had dared draw such a thing from her. But he had yielded. A submission.

And Akavir relented by releasing his grip and moving away, the snarl in his vocals a terrible symphony in the otherwise silent wetlands—a warning that the man had best find himself going.