Larksong Grotto my pride

honey goes next!

blackfell can only laugh, loudly and boldly, in the face of skorpa. he sees now why his cousin loathes the man so.
fear? blackfell did not fear. he had come only to appease faust's need for reinforcements. this slander sits vile upon him, and it is in the flash of red eyes it can be seen.
ég sé núna, coldly, harshly, he incites, hina sönnu dýpt þess að vera dullard.
this—this frays on him. on his nerves, on his mind, on his whole being. hugsa heilt. ef við eigum að tapa, he did not think he would have to spell this out, but apparently so: þú verður næstur. en ekki þú. nei, konan þín. ungana þína. og þá, aðeins þá, myndu þeir drepa þig.
he exhales a shaky breath. his leering upon skorpa does not cease, nor does it seek to. he would stare the common sense into the man if he must.