Rightful Namesake

[PMG3E]

DATE & TIME : June 6th
WEATHER CONDITIONS : Raining heavily
CHARACTERS INVOLVED : Pickle, Sven, Pime2
PREVIOUS THREADS ? Holding the Fort

(I'm cutting to the good bits, I'll do the fight later)

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"Raaaaaaghhh No! No! Trolleh! No! Lemme go! Agh!"

[/center]

Pickle complained as the Gronckle had him caught by the scruff of the huge Viking's neck. At first, Troll Bogeys had merely tried to push the Viking back through the raging battle, but of course the Warrior was desperate to fight. Trolley was left with no further solution than to carry him out manually from the war.

The mass of the Gronckle's body cut through the masses of people easily. The enemy was behind him, so he had nothing to fear. If they dared try to attack, they would only meet his bulbous, warty tail as hard as rock, which could expand with the power of a battering ram. The rift he created behind him was quickly closed up again like a healing wound, as warriors merged together into the fray.

After a long while of trudging up the hill back to the medic camp, Pickle was still kicking and screaming at his somewhat disobedient dragon. It must have been a sorry sight - the noble Viking warrior that wanted to continue to fight, but quite clear that he shouldn't.

The reason for this of course, was because his face was absolutely red. Not red from berserk rage, not from the blood of his enemies, but the fact that it was his own blood. Pickle Manface the Grim the Third with an Eyepatch had been struck down.

Muscles worn on his arms, torso and legs were marked and diced with thick cuts, though it was his face which was worst hit. He had a slash mark across his face diagonally, and a gruesome amount of damage around the left side of his face, hidden behind pools of red liquid that dribbled down his face, staining his clothes, hair and beard.

Trolley made a loud, but slightly muffled roar to gain the attention of someone nearby. The ground reverberated around him, also making the body of Pickle rattle from the deep rumble from the dragon.

Pickle needed tending to - and fast.

[Kenna & Fenrir]

Kenna was in the clear. She looked at the bandaged arm her mind kept going back to that dream she’d had, she knew her subconscious had over reacted...but it had felt so...

She shook herself and looked around and looked around at the chaos around her. She smiled; this was how she remembered it, the madness that war showed...the madness that was always there. She felt her neck, or more the bandages on it. She’d not realised how much had actually burnt at the time, but no she knew most of it. All of her left side, from her hand all the way up to her face, had been burnt. They weren’t bad burns, but they were still burns. She also knew her hair was damaged and she’d lost her hair band in the fight.

She’d explained what had happened to her uncle as he had tended to her and he hadn’t even finished when a messenger from the village had come to say that Luna’s house had been torched. She still wondered how the others hadn’t gotten to her to help...and who had helped?

She walked out from the camp and moved towards the cliff where the others had been standing some hours ago. She looked out at the battle field and sighed. She wanted to see him. No, she needed to see him. It was then Kenna noticed a slight oddity in the distance. A zone where people weren’t standing, a hole that was moving away from the battle. Then Kenna clicked. A dragon was dragging someone back and from the battle and the hole were people getting out the way. She strained her eyes to try and see what it was, but she was far too far to see anything.

Eventually it got near enough though and Kenna gasped. It was Trolley and he dragon a mess in front of him. Was he...? She then saw the mess was moving, and Kenna involuntarily laughed, despite how it made the pain worse. She realised she was crying. Please be alright, Pickle, please...

[Sven & Hermes]

Tightening the bandage on a Viking arm's cut, he nodded in satisfaction. He was slowly getting better and wrapping appendages now.

"You're free to go; come back if you get hurt!" Sven called out after the Viking that hurried straight back into the fray, not listening to Sven's words. Sven exhaled, letting his shoulders and general posture slump . So far, things weren't going too bad. Well, one person did die in his care, but he was already fatally wounded and more experienced healers confirmed that nothing could be done to save him.

He leant against his bench, taking in the brief moment to reflect. Suddenly he could feel the muddy ground shaking slightly, along with shouts. Looking up, Sven's mouth opened in shock. A huge Gronckle was carrying a very bloodied Viking in his mouth. It seemed the Viking was reluctant to stop fighting, though as the two arrived closer and closer to the camp, the huge man's cries slowly died down due to the fact he could not escape his situation, with reluctance, of course. The Viking was still fidget and complaining, a lot. The dragon let out a deep rumble from behind it's locked maw. Sven stood up straighter, though his attention was more to the man hanging below.

"Over here! Quick!" Sven shouted, waving an arm at the dragon. It cave over, dropping the man onto his bench, the stained wood creaking under his weight. He was seriously wounded - he was covered in cuts, and a horrible wound to his face. Sven shook his head at the sight, and he still wanted to fight?

Sven looked at the dragon with quizzical eyebrows as the Viking lay pouting and complaining. She dragon made a shrugging motion, understanding the young man's confusion on the matter. This was none other than Pickle Manface the Grim the Third, of course.

"Stop squirming pl-" Sven started as he was about to clean the wounds and try to assess whether he was just cut or actually had something serious. With his attitude, Sven doubted he had anything fatal. The Viking was very fidgety and wouldn't stay still, refusing to be treated. "Calm down!" Sven shouted, beginning to get agitated by the Viking's antics.

After struggling for a while, with he aid of the behemoth of a Gronckle, he dragon's attention was suddenly distracted, it's webbed ears pricking up. "Kenna." It said simply. With that, both the men turned to look, the bearded Viking sitting up on the bench, a splatter of blood cascading out of his nose. Though Sven didn't know that Pickle did not know Dragonese, the dragon's averted gaze and it's gruff noise in recognition of the approaching figure made it clear as day to him.

Squelching through the reddened mud towards them, one side covered in bandages, was Kenna.

[Kenna & Fenrir]

Kenna was back in the camp now, trying to find him. he wasn’t going to be very far. Please be alright...or atleast saveable. The latter thought was because he defenatly wasn’t alright, the only time Trolley would pull him away like that was if he was injured enough that he had to get out of the battle.

She heard the familiar shout above the general hubbub and she smiled, never quite. She ran in the direction of the shout until she came to where Pickle was on a bench with a man working on him. A jolt of pain shot through her as she looked at this Viking. His body was covered in cuts, mud and blood. She wasn’t competent in medicine, but she’d knew enough to know how serious Pickle was...and his face, dear gods! What happened? He’d lost his eyepatch and the left side of his face was covered in blood.

Kenna was frozen in position, she’d never seen him this bad, oh, she’d seen him in bad condition after taking on a fight to hard, but nether like this. She just felt...so...

“Kenna.”[/b][/color] She finally snapped out of it, Trolley had noticed her, as had the two men. She suddenly recognised the healer to be Sven. She ran to the Viking’s side, grabbing his hand (which was completely fine so Sven wouldn’t need to look at it, “Pickle! What happened? No, don’t talk, I think that’d make it worse.” She looked to Trolley and asked him the question, “what happened?”

[PMG3E]

The Viking stopped squirming when he felt something slide over his wet, bloodied hand. Blinking out rain from the better side of his face, he recognised form in the hazy grey. The younger man tending to him seized the opportunity of his standstill to clear up some of the lesser lacerations on his body.

"K-Kenna.." He spluttered, coughing up swallowed blood and mud. She told him not to speak, and Pickle frowned. He felt...fine? Ever since he was pulled out of the battle, his battle fury and adrenaline levels was slowly decreasing, and in proportion the feeling of pain was slowly rising. Water from the sky pounded into the numerous gashes, washing out blood that was quickly replaced in some places. His teeth ground together as his numbness faded little by little. He was too proud of a Viking to ever show himself as someone weak, not even in front of someone he cared about. He felt a loose tooth as he did this action, his tongue instinctively releasing the fragment from it's gummy socket, and spitting it out.

Kenna had now diverted her attention to Trolley, speaking in that godsforsaken tongue of the dragons. Pickle finally lay still, giving up his rebellion now that Kenna was here. He hadn't yet noticed her injuries, feeling a mixture of tingling, stinging and aching which distracted his perception. He lay his head back, feeling the back of his head hit the hard wood with some force, exhaustion finally hitting him.

Trolley recounted the tale. The blacksmith was getting better at Dragonese because of the yellow-furred individual beside him, but she was still not completely fluent, so the dragon tried his best to use simple words.


It had been several hours into the fight by now, and Pickle Manface the Grim the Third with an Eyepatch was hacking away through the Hysterian army like an explorer in a jungle with a machete. So far, not many had managed to strike him down – he was too busy striking down the opposition before they could even lay a single blade upon his flesh. Trolley wasn't far behind – he was making sure Pickle didn't bite more than he could chew. Even though it was raining, the Gronckle was an adept fighter – all those days he had spent training with his master paid off – he knew about Viking weaknesses. With a chomp of his teeth, all armour would be removed, leaving a Hysterian open for the kill. Extending his battering ram-like tail would wind and crush Vikings, sending them to the floor to be trampled. And of course, the Gronckle could easily tread on Vikings and obviously use his huge gaping maws to destroy the hostiles.

It seemed that the Hysterian tactics were to send the brutes in first, Vikings much like Pickle. The team easily got through those ranks, where it quickly became clear the more agile and cunning Vikings could take the juggernauts down through finesse and presicion instead of blind hacking and slashing.

As such, it was slowly becoming harder and harder to kill the opposition. Everytime Pickle would descend his double-bladed axe to cleave a man in two, the shorter, thinner man would be able to dodge it. Occasionaly, with a horizontal swipe he would catch one, but they in return also managed to get a lunge at the brute, nicking his muscled limbs every now and then. But the Viking paid no attention, enraged that he kept missing his target.

Swinging wildly, his axe met the sword of one of these men. The Hysterian man smirked. He was of a similar height to pickle, muscled but not a behemoth. The atheltic man bore a two-handed sword that was about a metre and a half long. Pickle turned the smirk, knowing what this meant. With a sudden force, Pickle pushed away the other man, readying himself. Despite the size of his weapon, he was still within the ranks of the nimble, and nimble he was. He lunged, sword pointing downwards, hoping to raise it up at the last moment. Pickle batted the blade to his right with his axe, almost disarming him. But he had a strong grip, following the sword's weight and movement to regain his composure, and strike once more just as efficiently. This time, Pickle blocked, but it didn't stop the tip of the weapon sinking into the great man's shoulder. Pickle felt the cold steel bite into his warm flesh, and cried a warcry, pushing the Hysterian away, advancing to deliver a blow that would crack his skull in two. As he raised his axe to do so, the man managed to slice at Pickle's leg, making him stumble a little, sloshing ankle deep in a red-tinged mud. Before he could recuperate, the man slashed upwards, creating a deep gash in Pickle's face, starting from the lower right-side of his jaw, breaking his nose and cutting right into Pickle's eye cavity, which was at the time hidden by an eyepatch. But now the eyepatch was off, and the secret was revealed.

The fact that Pickle still retained a second eye shocked the man, and it was this split-second moment that allowed the beefy Viking to swing his axe a final time and behead the Hysterian. Pickle roared at his victory, but it was short lived. He obviously wasn't alone, and that was merely one fallen amongst hundreds of potential slayers. Another man came and lunged at him, neatly etching a thick line of red along his left arm.

Pickle was in a pickle, and Trolley could see it. The dragon barged it's way to Pickle's side, threatening the ennemy of his presence. Anyone who was stupid or brave would approach a Gronckle. With one swipe of his maw he picked up his master and turned around, to leave the battlefield. It took several moments for the Viking to realise it, and from then on, rage ensued.


Trolley finished the summary of the tale, with the odd aid of Sven when Kenna's face showed signs of miscomprehension. By the end of the count, Sven had finally cleaned and wrapped up Pickle's arm, though blood was seeping through the bandage. Pickle hissed as the young man came to start working on his face. This was where the injuries were most grave, and Sven had to clean it up before he could make any real assessment. Though he didn't realise it, Pickle was slowly crushing Kenna's hand with the pain he was enduring, which was ever growing, especially now that Sven was tending his worst injury, which was very sensitive.

[Kenna & Fenrir]

Kenna was glad Sven was being Pickle’s healer, while she had gotten substantially better and dragonese in the past two weeks; she still needed help with the occasional phrase. Kenna was part shocked part proud, he’d been doing a lot in the battle, as she’d expected. He was mad, totally mad.

As they got near the end of the tail Kenna noticed out of the corner of her eye something odd. There were two men carrying another man in. This wasn’t in and of itself odd, but the man wasn’t from berk. Kenna recognised him. It was one of the men she’d been attacked by in the village. The man she’d smashed her hammer in the face. A wave of guilt flushed over her. She hoped she hadn’t killed him. It would be the first person she’d killed, and while that didn’t seem to faze Pickle, it really did faze her.

She grimaced slightly when she started to feel how her hand was being crushed and looked up at sven as he was about to start work on Pickle’s face. “Sven,” she said, “Could you give him the block please, I think he’ll really need it in a second.” she removed her hand from the grip and watched as Sven pulled out the block. She smiled at the confused face, and put her hand in her mouth to demonstrate how to use the block.

As he gained comprehension, Kenna put her hands on each of Pickle’s shoulders and started whispering, “don’t worry, it’ll be all alright. It’s going to be all alright.” She hoped she was telling the truth.

[Sven & Hermes]

Upon inspecting face of the Viking so-called 'Pickle', the wound seemed like a simple, but deep cut that started from the man's lower jaw, slightly fracturing the jawbone, up to the man's temple where it wouldn't stop bleeding. From all the shouting and movement, the lower half of the cut appeared a lot more severe as the skin had stretched and torn further.

He began to clear the wounds to start stitching, which even now Sven would find gruesome. Before he even began to clear away the excess, Kenna called his name. Looking up, she instructed him to use the baton that he had in his bag. Drawing out the short wooden stick, he nodded, prompting the Viking to insert it into his mouth. After a moment of refusal, he finally gave in.

Done, he cleaned away the blood, adding a type of salve to stop the bleeding. He began to close up the wounds with a needle and a durable kind of thread that Ari had provided. He tried to blank out the noises of pain coming from the body beneath him, biting his own bottom lip to keep himself together. This had to be the worst job he had done so far.

It took Sven a good while to stitch up the Viking's lower injuries, which was made difficult with the lack of shaving apparatus and surplus of facial hair. Once he was finally done, however, he exhaled heavily, though grimaced for what he thought would be the worst to come.

Examining the eye, he could feel his stomach churning. Blood was forming a red puddle in his eye socket. Clearing away most of it, he quickly found out the extent of the injury. Pickle's eye was split from the sword that had dealt the blow. The eye was essentially unrepairable. He bit his lip once again at looked up to Kenna. Should he say? There was only one real solution to this, and no one had to be a doctor or a healer to know what needed to be done.

"Eargh..." He started, not quite sure how to put it. Either way, it would not be good news. He closed his eyes a moment and exhaled, before saying, "I can't save his eye. I'm going to have to remove it... I'm sorry." He said quietly, keeping his composure.

He felt his stomach cringe as his own words haunted him from his past. "I can't save her... I'm sorry." He watched both Kenna and Pickle's expression, almost an echo.

Frowning, Sven couldn't stall any longer. He began to rummage through his bag for equipment for this sort of thing - his fumbling growing more urgent as he failed to find anything of use except the scissors he used to cut the thread for stitching. Not even a scalpel.

Sven gulped. He knew what he would have to do, and he knew he was not going to enjoy any moment of it.

[Kenna & Fenrir]

As Sven worked at Pickle’s face, Kenna knew it was bad. The sence of fear just built up in her chest. He was going to need that eye patch now…wasn’t he?

She didn’t say anything though, she couldn’t, she just grabbed pickles slenched fist and held it. She knew she wasn’t being much good here. She just felt she had to be here…For him…

And then the moment came, Sven started to say something, but then stopped, trying to put it right, “I can't save his eye. I'm going to have to remove it... I'm sorry.”[/color] Kenna just froze at that moment, feeling the despair in her. It was one thing to thinking it’s going to happen, it’s another to know you’re about to see your friend’s eye be plucked out.

“Be brave, Pickle, you’re going to have to have this happen whether you want to or not, so be brave and jst let it happen. Just be glad you already have the eyepatch to go with it.” She got out as Sven got ready to do it. She was grabbing Pickle’s hand with both of hers now and all three hands were on placed on her face…Please be fine… she thought as she suppressed a tear.

(7 over minimum, that’s a short post.)

[Sven & Hermes]

WARNING THIS MIGHT GET GOREY

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Sven began to breath heavily, knowing what he was about to do, and by what means he was going to accomplish this feat. He had no choice but to use his fingers, due to lack of good equipment. He wasn't really used to such brutality, but alas, they were Vikings - he was not.

He drank in several more deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. The man's good eye was staring back up at Sven, though the behemoth of a man appeared brave, fear could still be read through his remaining orb. Sven's fingers felt odd to him now, shaking over the man's head. Contorting his lips painfully, he realised he had no choice, and could not stall any further.

"Here we go..." He said quietly under his breath. He wanted to close his eyes - but knew he couldn't. He watched as his fingers slip into the man's eye cavity. The deep cry of the man below him seemed a world away, as the young man was absolutely mortified of the act he was doing.

The eye was already split - and as Sven's fingers curled their way around the eyeball, the precious organ became more and more damaged, the Vitreous Humour started to ooze out the reddened sphere. Sven felt his eyes watering, and an urge to be sick as he was doing this.
His fingers brushed the back of the eye socket, lined with soft warm tissues. He felt himself shudder as he felt the wall created by bone. He felt and found what he was looking for - the Optical Nerve - He needed this cut first.

With his left hand, he began to curse himself out loud - words he rarely used. He had used his strong hand to grasp the eye, and now he had to use his weak hand to cut away the dead eye. Grimacing, he changed his grip on the scissors, so that he would be able to cut easier. He managed to pull out the eye a little, the soft ball slipping and distorting with his fingers. Digging in the metal object now, he managed to hit the mark.
Snip.

Pickle's body shuddered in pain as the link was severed. Sven suddenly exhaled, realising he had been holding his breath as he was completing the procedure - but now he had to act fast, because the bleeding was getting worse. He sliced away the muscles keeping the now useless object intact, removing some of the muscles completely.

He then began to seal the wound closed, sewing the skin in place, covering the cavity more or less. To stop the bleeding, Sven tore some clean cloth, and stuffed it into the cavity to retain it's shape and facilitate the healing progress, not wanting the area behind the skin to get rotten or infected. He then cleaned excess blood from the stiches.

Sven could feel himself crying as his bloodied hand grabbed a roll of bandaged, and began to wrap the fabric around the Vikings head, tightly so it wouldn't fall off. Tying a knot to the side of the man's head, he finally took a few paces backwards. He was relieved it was over, but he knew he was going to have terrifying nightmares.

"Right..." He panted, finding a shaky voice that parted his lips. He looked up to Kenna, seeing her face almost if not just as distraught as his. "...He's going to need an eyepatch."

[Kenna & Fenrir]

It was over. There’d been so much of her that had been telling her to stop looking. But she forsed herself to watch, Be brave for him. For both of them really, Sven looked just as petrefied about it all as Pickle was and she must have looked.

“Yeah, of course,” Kenna muttered to Sven’s comment. She slipped her hand down into Pickle’s person and pulled out a spare eyepatch, she knew all about it. She strapped it onto him and then hugged the hulk in front of him. She squeezed Pickle’s as hard as she could. She didn’t want to let go…so she didn’t. “Thank you Sven…thank you so much.”

She heard Sven’s foot falls as he started to walk away from them. Kenna pulled back and looked at Pickle, he still had some blood on him, but most of it had either been cleaned or was being cleaned by the rain. The eyepatch made it not obvious what had happened, so he looked relatively normal. Yes he was grimacing in pain, but like I say, he was looking normal.

“It’s going to be alright, Pickle. The worst is over,” she couldn’t imagine what he was going through right now, and she knew she could ask him anything…so she did the only could think of. She put her hand on the back of his head and kissed him. She ignored the blood covering his beard, and the beard itself, everything in this moment that would have made it bad didn’t matter…because the only thing she was thinking about was the fact that she was doing it…finally…

(Bleh, I don’t like who I’ve done this one really [though it might be just as much me not liking the idea than how I’ve done it] but that’s what I could come up with…)

[Sven & Hermes]

Sven watched as his patient sat up slightly now the procedure was done, pain still evident in his face. The man spat out the block in between his teeth, Sven retracting it and putting it back in his bag. Kenna had produced a eyepatch from Pickle's person and tied it above the bandages. If Sven hadn't gone through what he just did, he would have probably asked out of curiosity or confusion. But he said nothing.

As Kenna embraced the Viking, he frowned further. A part of him was glad that the procedure didn't go disastruously wrong. Either way, Kenna embraced the behemoth of a Viking, thanking Sven ever so dearly.

Sven tried to force a smile, but it didn't work out very well. "Yeah." He said simply, with a curt nod. Feeling his work done, and slightly nauseated, he turned on his heels and left, trying to hide all trace of urgence. He made his way briskly away from the camp, finding a secluded spot behind an empty tent.

Finally alone, Sven let his composure dissolve almost instantly, along with his stomach. After a first bout of vomit, Sven staggered to his knees, now sobbing uncontrollably. He couldn't handle this anymore, everything was just too much to bear. He wanted to go somewhere far, far away from this war, somewhere safe where he didn't have to put up with any more problems that he had already.

[Ari]

Ari had been working hard over the hours; a lot had come in already. He decided to pause for a moment and take view of the situation. People were coming in at a speed that the camps were able to cope with, but he doubted it would be like that forever. Why go for this kind of pointless attack? Ari thought, It produces nothing, and both of our villages are slowly dimishing in their percentages of people wanting for mindless violence.

He then saw Sven walk into an empty tent. Intrigued, he followed and looked in. He was crouching on the floor, crying. Ari could smell the sick. He sighed slightly, he couldn’t take this then? Was it just the work itself…or was it the context behind it. This site only strengthened Ari’s false thought that he was the heir. He must be feeling guilty.

“This isn’t the time Sven,” Ari said strongly, “we still have more work to be done before the day’s over.” He walked over to Sven and knelt down beside him, “I know you’re feeling bad right now, but you need to try and live through it for a bit more Sven.”

(Invariably he’ll comment on the whole “the people I couldn’t save” thing, so I might as well write Ari’s reply to that in here)

He started to kept talking about all the people he’d failed to save, so Ari interrupted, “Stop there Sven. I’ve watched the people you’ve been getting and so many of them were Vikings that couldn’t have been saved anyway, even by me or Luna,” While he didn’t like bracketing himself with Luna, he knew Sven probably did, “Don’t beat yourself up on that you can’t control, you just have to live with it until you get to a point you can control,” That’s what he did all the time.

[Sven & Hermes]

Sven heard the flap of the tent behind him. At first, thinking it was just the wind, he remained ignorant until a familiar, wisened voice called from behind. Ari urged him to continue, but Sven was running on empty now. Sven shook his head for a moment, unable to speak. After a few minutes of trying to get to a point where he could speak, he finally replied, with a broken voice.

"So much dying, and injured," He started, gulping for air. "I couldn't save people... I - "

But Ari cut him off, explaining how some of it was inevitable. As Ari spoke on, Sven merely stared at his hands, still covered in blood from the Viking he had just removed an eye. Could it have been avoided, treated? Ari spoke of tolerance. Sven sighed, accepting the truth. War is war, and war is terrible - and Sven had a role to fulfill, whether he liked it or not. One less medic could mean several more deaths than before. That wouldn't make him feel any better.

Sven wasn't stupid. As much as was aware of his cowardice, he knew he would have to get back there at some point. It was only the morning - he had to consider that the battle might last for days. He knew there was no point arguing with the old man. He was here until the war was over. No buts, no whining and no sobbing would let him escape from the chaos.

Sven sighed once more, trying to supress his overflowing emotions. He would be incapable of working like this... He had to become numb, detach himself if he wanted to pick up whatever pieces he had left of his composure. He gave up.

"Yeah... Okay, I'm going to need a second though." He said, hoisting himself to his feet. He wrinkled his nose slightly at himself and in realisation of the mess he had made. He was bound to see much more horrific things that what he had to see and do. At least now his stomach was empty, he shouldn't have another episode like this. One good point, even though it wasn't much.

It took Sven a lot longer than it should have taken to calm down enough to be able to think straight enough to be able continue working. In that time he had cleaned himself and his mess he had made. As he left the tent, his frown remained a constant at the sight.

With a familiar clatter of scales hitting one another, he turned to see Hermes land, with a few more people. His eyebrows furrowed, advancing to her once the wounded were carted away. Without really thinking what he was doing he attemped to lunge a cleched fist - he didn't know where exactly, but with Hermes' reflexes, the random action was blocked by her wing, a few scales flared in shock.

"What was that for?" Hermes said calmly, but there was an evident tone of annoyance and sarcasm in her voice. Sven's arm relaxed, though his fits of despair were now replaced with new anger at the dragon.

"You're NEVER there when I need you the most, Hermes! You always go off somewhere whenever I'm in some, some..." Sven couldnt find the right word.

"Yeah, well I'm afraid there's some bigger priorities at the moment." With that Hermes strode past Sven, leaving him perplexed and more irritated.

"How the HELL can you stay so cool? What's wrong with you?!"

"I fear of little. If I find a fear, then I will master it." Sven merely gave a quizzical look. "Unlike you, I have no regrets." Hermes shook her head, her scales loosely reorganising themselves into place. "Now get to work. And man up." With that, she took off once more to the skies.