Boartusk Heights vengaza es dulce

Qvasir's smile was a quiet, potent thing, like a shadow slipping across the moon. He leaned closer—not enough to threaten, but enough to suggest that proximity was an advantage he understood far too well. His voice softened, rich and velvety, wrapping itself around Agrippina's pride like a serpent. 

I would not cut your losses so soon, chica. He muttered, somewhere lie within his tone was a promise. A promise that maybe even she, one day, could fester with the nobles.

Qvasir had already made up his mind: he would be seated at the table. The wars. The battles. He will be there, one way or another.

Her sanction to pull his attention from her worked. Qvasir hummed, nodding his head at her words. Paloma, he will find her. What does she look like, apart from her beauty?