The Otter — Roleplayer Guild

Fionn MacKerracher

It wasn't surprising that he didn't even get a moment to catch his breath before Fiadh and Tyaethe were both on him—literally, in the one case—though he would've hoped for at least a moment more to stand back up and inspect the damage himself. Alas, that was not meant to be, with the pair bolting towards him to chat about what he'd just done. The thin trail of smoke coming off of his blade made it clear that he'd exceeded anything their smith had prepped it for, anyways, without having to look...and he could feel that the balance was off in his hand.

"Ach. Ardor's gonna kill me." He'd left the sword with the dwarf just before he and Tyaethe left to go hunting giant boars, so it had been modified by the smith's expert hands to account for where his skills and prowess had been. Not to account for running into Fiadh again, or the entire time they'd spent training in Merilia's other world. The orichalc had been burnt out beyond use, the pommel and guard deforming as well...he was lucky the grip hadn't burnt away or disintegrated under his fingers.

Of course, that luck couldn't continue, as Gertrude came intent to give him a dressing down he hadn't gotten since he'd still been a mercenary.

No doubt, the growing grin on his face wouldn't do anything to make her happier about it all.

He stood, brushed some of the dust off of himself, be it ashes from the enchanted beast, from his burnt-out runework, or just some of the dirt, before putting his blade back in its scabbard. "Aye, well, then it's a good thing I could trust the two of you, isn't it?" he replied, completely calm in the face of her stormy mood. "Would you like a hug, now that you've assured yourself I'm okay enough to start yelling at me?"
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