Double Dragon Disventure. Chapter 14 [Incomplete]

Chapter 14: Mandatory Beach Episode, Shivering Isles Coast Edition

They fly over the clouds, guarded against cold air by the Thu’um and bask in the light of Secunda and Masser. Durnehviir grips Erin a little bit tighter as she drinks in the sight of the twin moons, the red and silver globes reflecting in her eyes. If Erin were a poet, she’d be spitting verses right about now. As it is, her thirst simply climbs another notch.

By the Divines and Sanguine, she was going to rock the dragon woman’s world the moment she had a chance. The Rose glitters in the light of the moons, a spark of light within its petals strengthening as Erin gets a very solid sense of approval from it. She isn’t even surprised, daedra bullshit does as daedra bullshit will.

She’s just going to move on and get to work on planning the activities.

Nahagliiv, for her part, is merely focusing on the flight, and on enjoying it while she holds her dragonborn. Jean might disagree with being referred to as a possession, but she didn’t miss the way he tended to glance at her breasts, especially after that lovely night. True, he may also glue his eyes to Paarthurnax whenever she talked, but Nahagliiv was fine with losing to Paarthurnax. Hmmm… some of the joor talked about more numerous arrangements, and she did share the night with both Dovahkiin at once, so maybe Paarthurnax could be talked into sharing the hoard? A shiver runs her spine as she imagines tasting that particular honeypot...

Then she blinks as she catches her thoughts. Where did that come from? Sure, sex was great, but there were other ways to enjoy herself. Like killing, and the sensation of the freshly spilled, warm blood trickling down her skin, sending all sorts of responses through her body… Aaaggghhh! She is doing it again! The bodies of the joor really were slaves to their desires. Nothing but smoliin on their mi...nds…

She laughs, as the realisation hits her. Of course! Of course! It is her third life that she lives now, isn’t it? In the first, she was Nah, a lust for battle and death, a raging monster that brought death to joor and lesser dovah. That was Nahagliiv the Dovah. Then, she died, and the cold silence of her grave cooled her mind until she could do nothing but Listen, especially once Tongues died out and the only source of Thu’um was Monahven. In that second, emptier life, she was Liiv, the uncaring passage of time, the onslaught of elements as they ground down the world around them. She existed but not lived. Nahagliiv the Corpse.

Fitting then, that in this third life she would finally become Ag, fire, the burning, unbridled need that constantly sought fuel to continue its life. And she has heard the joor talk about how passion burns, how their anger and lust and love is like fire. Was it the fate of Nahagliiv the Dragonborn, then? To experience all the passions of the joor and to drown herself in them? 

She mulls over that thought. It is not… a bad fate, to be honest. A very excitable one, very much unlike her second life, while bearing similarities to her first one. She remembers how she questioned, back in the first life, the reason that she was Liiv. It barely fit, in the mind of the dovah that was her. But now she is different, she understands it.

“Nah-Ag-Liiv.” She whispers her Name, letting the wind carry it to Bormahu. Dragon names are always three words. And she finally understands all of them. How Dovah understands them, and how joor do. Fury of a warrior, and fury of a friend. The burning of the elements and burning of the feelings. Withering, the passage of time that brings death and change that merely is. Something clicks in her mind, and she hums.

Then, Jean stirs in her arms and she shakes her head. Grinning, she looks down at his face. “Welcome back to the land of living~. How was the nap?”

The redhead groans, though catching the glimpse of the clouds beneath him, he stiffens. “Well, I feel less like I was run over by a mammoth in dwemer armor, so that’s good. How are we flying?”

Nahagliiv beams as she shifts her hold, her hand wandering over, which nets her a very lovely shade of red on Jean’s face. “I have played with Paarthurnax’ Thu’um a bit and managed to make it give the wings back. Me and Durnehviir are giving the two of you a ride this way, while Paarthurnax took care of the others.”

Looking closer at the wings… and a tail, Jean snorts. “I bet Erin loves it. Her face would be hilarious if you managed to make it so you could get a different ratio of scales to flesh.”

Nahagliiv hums in response. “Maybe on some other occasion. She looked to be barely restraining herself from tearing Durnehviir’s robe as it is.”

“We should probably shelve sky sex until after she gets used to normal one, yes.” He comments idly, causing the dragon woman to snort. 

“I will hold you to that~.” Nahagliiv immediately pounces on the opening… metaphorically, of course. 

Jean chokes and tries to offer some kind of counterargument, before relaxing in Nahagliiv grip. “You know what? Sure. At this point the only thing that differentiates us from Sanguine’s actual worshippers is the amount of alcohol we drink.”

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They land down the road from the main gates of Solitude as the sky brightens in the east and the blackness of the night is slowly replaced with red and pink. As the party slides down from Paarthurnax’ back, Lydia groans.

“While incredible, this was way more uncomfortable than my first time on a horse.” Sighing, she bends over, feeling up her thighs and grimacing. “That’s it. I am going to learn magic, if only to keep real life from ruining all those fantastic moments.”

“Flesh line of Alteration spells, plus Ward and maybe Telekinesis?” Erin guesses, as if she wasn’t fresh off of french kissing Durny and whispering some things in the dragon’s ear that she was halfway sure Sanguine’s crew were cheering over in Oblivion.

“Neh Liiv Ro Haas.” Jean mutters and Lydia blinks.

“Huh. I hope you did mean to do that, because not only is the chafing gone, my legs feel better than they have in a long time.” She comments.

Jean scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, I wanted a healing effect, but it seems it works beyond just healing?”

“If I wind up unable to sit down because my legs don’t tire, I will repay you by using that amazing gift to keep kicking your ass until it’s over. My thane~.” Lydia shoots back without real venom, with a playful smile on her face.

Jean accepts the threat with a theatrical bow, only to pale as Durnehviir lets out a low whine as she rubs her thighs together and Nahagliiv chortles and grabs him from behind. By behind. And squeezes.

“We do need to find you Sanguine’s cultist robes at some point.” She purrs into his ear.

“Would you like to molest Paarthurnax in public too, before we enter Solitude, or are you satisfied for now?” Valdimar interjects with a stoic face before bursting into guffaws.

“Very funny.” He grumbles. “Let’s go, report to Falk so they can lift off the martial law. Then.” He presses on, ignoring Nahagliiv’s hand. “We can find some nice, solid beds.”

“Agreed.” Erin chirps even as she slides an arm around Durny’s shoulders and whispers some more dovahzul in her ear. Durnehviir perks up and whispers right back, cheeks flushing.

“I am not sure where is the precise moment this group turned into the world’s most diverse daedric cult, but let’s get going.” Lydia comments dryly as she takes the point.

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There is some confusion from legionnaires as they spot the party coming from outside the Solitude, but they are quickly allowed into the city and herded towards the Blue Palace, which is a quick journey through the deserted streets. In the palace, they are greeted by General Tulius and Jarl Elisif, who listen to their ‘thrilling’ (and somewhat embellished) tale of the crawl through the catacombs into Potema’s laboratory, both paling as the party describes the undead empress’ last ditch effort of throwing them all into Oblivion. All the while Serana and Valerica exchange suspicious looks with Elisif’s court mage, one Sybille Stentor, though both parties manage impressively blank faces.

“On behalf of Solitude, and quite possibly the Empire as a whole” Elisif eventually manages in only a barely trembling voice “I thank you for putting an end to Potema’s return. She… she is banished permanently, I hope?”

“Last we saw her spirit” Jean notes calmly “she held the personal attention of Meridia in person. If she manages to crawl back from that, I doubt even the Divines themselves could stop her.”

(There had been quite the amount of grumbling from Erin at not getting to shred Potema’s soul into thin strips to weave into a rag for Sanguine’s party cleanup.)

“Good as dead, then.” Elisif agrees. “Since you are already thanes of Morthal and Whiterun, that sort of reward is, unfortunately, off the table, even if it’s the most fitting one. Instead, I award you Proudspire Manor, and when you have some time, busy as you seem to be, come by the Palace’s vault for a reward of your choosing.”

It goes without saying how they perk up at the mention of a manor. Or rather, at the implication of sturdy beds and thick walls.

“We will retire to get some rest then, if you do not mind, lady Elisif.” Jean speaks with a bow. “And hopefully, the Divines will grant us some uninterrupted rest.” The Jarl suppresses a smile and waves them off.

Backing away from the Jarl, the party slowly moves through the slowly waking city as the guard assigned as their guide leads them to their new home. Once there, he excuses himself with a bow while the group enters the manor, Nahagliiv and Durnehviir grabbing their respective dragonborn and, accompanied by Paarthurnax’ giggles, dragging them off to find the nearest rooms. With big, hopefully really sturdy, beds.

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They wake up to the warmth of the sun on their bodies, the sensation of soft sand under them and the gentle hum of the sea. Serana and Valerica jump to their feet first, spooked as they are by the fact the sun doesn’t actually cause them discomfort. Lydia just sighs, resigned, and continues lying on her back with her eyes closed. Untangling himself from still half-asleep Nahagliiv, Jean slowly stands up and looks around. Then, he notices the breeze caressing his… more private parts. He sighs, with a long-suffering sound and filters through his Shout vocabulary.

“Shul Ro Rel.” He whispers, and his lower body simply starts to glow, too bright for the details to be discernible. Which will need to suffice until he finds actual clothes.

Erin groans, raising her head from the wonderful pair of breasts she had been using as a pillow, eyes stinging at the harsh sun rays. Oh, sand. She would rather not get sand in her privates, thank you very much. Rose, if you would? The flower pulses happily and in a flutter of the fabric, Erin is clad in a very comfortable, if very loose, purple robe with rose emblem on the back. Much appreciated.

They are definitely not in Solitude anymore. Instead, they are on the beach on some kind of tropical island.

“Ehem.” Turning around, the group sees an elderly man in fine, purple-and-orange (split evenly in the middle) tunic and maroon pants. His white hair is cut to his chin and he has white eyes. In his right hand, there is a walking stick adorned with an eyeball. And, to his side, there is a very confused Nord none of them recognise.

“Finally!” The man greets them with cheer. “Most of you didn’t go multiple rounds with very excitable dragon ladies last night, so no excuses on being sleepyheads. Me and Pelagius were getting bored, ya know? Almost started a game of cards on your bellies.”

“A tragedy.” Lydia states politely. “I assume we are in Oblivion then? Again.”

“Indeed you are! Welcome, to the wonderful, terrible, one and only… Shivering Isles!”

Valerica and Serana swallow hard as they look at the man, obviously the Prince in charge, like he was a runic trap about to go off. “No offense, Lord Sheogorath” Serana begins, slowly “but why did you bring us here?”

“Oh, you know how it is, dear. You go on a vacation, find yourself a nice, crazy mind to go through in your off time, have all sorts of fun. And then! Then Sanguine swung by, and he was even jovial about it. Jovial! The damn drunkard constantly tries to upstage me” the Prince of Madness rants “only to drop by like an old friend and suggest to keep an eye on Skyrim. Why? What’s so interesting about Skyrim? The last fun thing to happen there was when Hircine grabbed some poor chap from Morrowind and dropped him in the middle of werewolf infested forest. Only for that guy to punch Him out!”

“Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, Sanguine! So, I take his advice, simply because Pelagius was being obtuse and I was getting bored. And what do I see? Dragons! And Dragonborns! A whole lot of Akatosh spurting his juice all over the place in general. And a whole lot of chaos. Nice work with Potema, by the way.” He adds, more seriously before he cheers up. “Anyway, after that, and seeing how much you have been thrown from one corner of Skyrim to another, I thought to myself: I’ve been in your place before. Well, not the whole 'ultimate showdown with the world's biggest eating disorder bit', but I did my share of adventurin' and let me tell ya. Once the ball starts rollin', it's hard to stop it. So, I thought to myself: Sheo, old chum! Do you know what they need? Vacation days! And some good cheese, but that's just statin' the obvious, isn't it?"

Lydia sighs and rubs her eyes before answering. “So this whole thing is… so we can rest?”

“Indeed! Ol’ Barbas already went to sleep on the lap of some scantily clad mage, by the way, didn’t need much convincing. I believe Clavicus will think twice before kicking him out next time. Anyway, my Chamberlain was bitching about my vacation getting a bit too long for his liking, so I have decided to kill two birds with one cheese wheel! I get to prepare a vacation for you and get to enjoy it a bit myself.”

Valdimar grumbles, before catching part of what the Madman said. “Scantily clad mages? Where, exactly, did you drop us?”

Sheogorath’s grin grows, almost splitting his face. “This is a small little island a chap by the name of Shalidor sold to me in the past for some knowledge. Now, he thought he got it back eventually, but once sold to Daedric Prince, it stays that way! So now I have Eyevea all to myself. Well, me and the souls of mages looking for some vacation spot. Me knows what kind of madness a stress can have on a mind capable of warping reality. And if talking with mages past is not your thing, we have Esroniet and its spices not too far away to enjoy too.”

Erin blinks, running the words through her mind a second, and just in case, third time. It may be her being still half-asleep, or still high on endorphins from a very fun night, or it may just be the fantastic news of Daedric Prince mandated rest and relax. But the fact is that by the time her brain catches up with her body, she’s giving the Prince of Madness a hug and a heartfelt “Thank you.”

Sheogorath actually blinks, taken completely by surprise, but rolls with it and just pats Erin on the head a couple of times. “Now, now, let’s not get too familiar. We didn’t even go out for a nice, romantic stroll through the mind of star-crossed lovers once! So, for now, I will let you have this one as a freebie instead of decorating my bedroom with your guts.”

Erin chuckles, letting go. A small part of her mind notes how ridiculously desensitised she’s gotten to daedric nonsense and threats to her life that Sheo’s comment barely is a blip in the radar, “Much appreciated. But seriously, thanks. If things had kept just escalating like that I’d probably have snapped and Shouted until reality was running like melted putty. Would rather not do Alduin’s job for him.”

Sheogorath smiles widely. “Indeed! The poor lizard can’t even do it himself properly, if you took over, he might get a complex or two. Mmmm, the mind of a dragon might be quite a treat…” Then, he shakes his head. “No matter! I promised a nice, exotic vacation in the tropics, and I shall deliver! Now, you already got yourself ready, very nice robe, by the way. But the others” he shakes his head “they are just not dressed for the occasion!”

With that, he snaps his fingers and the clothes of the rest of the party change into swimwear, something Jean is silently thankful for as he cuts off the Thu’um.

“Awwww, I was kinda hoping the whole ‘Realm of Madness’ thing would mean no one would care if I went around naked.” Nahagliiv whines. “I mean, how is that any different from just flying around as a dovah? You don’t see dovah in clothes, now do you?”

The Prince snorts. “Perhaps, but think of it as free clothes. You can always take them off on your own.”

Erin glances down her robe, raising a single eyebrow at the very much modern black bikini she found there. Someone had taken a walk through her and Jean’s minds. Which meant, “Have fun with the shitposting repertoire.”

“I will.” Sheogorath promises. “I can’t wait to torment Haermeus with Sauce Numbers.”

Jean snorts, finally, finally able to tear his eyes away from Paarthurnax, in her tasteful one-piece that really accentuates her legs, long enough to look at the Prince of Madness. “I bet he will find it absolutely infuriating.” Thinking about Mora trying to get his tentacles on the doujins does make him question the situation. “Will he actually follow on it? I mean, you are also a patron of art, so...”

Sheogorath laughs and claps. “So nice of you to remember! Anyway, don’t worry your empty head about that.” Bending over to whisper while still being heard, Sheogorath shoots him a roguish smile. “You have heard of Mora’s artefact?”

“Oghma Infinium?”

“That’s the one! You see, I wrote a book that empowers the reader too, and let Mora know. The ol’ tentacle couldn’t resist snatching it, of course.”

“Obviously.” Jean nods. He can kinda see where this is going…

“The problem, of course is, while Oghma Infinium can be read by just about anyone, my precious Folium Discognitum constantly changes script, and reads like ramblings of a madman. If one does manage to grasp the meaning, the kick they get is even better than from Mora’s.”

“Let me guess, Mora succeeded exactly zero times in reading it?”

“Indeed! Of course, part of it is that sometimes, I throw actual ramblings into Apocrypha.”

Jean shakes his head. “So he won’t be able to resist trying to discern that meme on the off chance. Sure, go get’em.”

Dancing away from Jean, Sheogorath claps his hands, his staff tucked under the arm. “Now kiddos, behave yourself and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, papa needs to pay a visit to his work buddies. Oh, and make sure Pelagius here gets some relaxation too, I have been trying, but mortal minds can be so excitingly stubborn. Ciao~.” With that, the Prince vanishes in a shower of sparkles. 

“Isn’t Eyevea a bit away from Summerset?” Valdimar eventually asks while inspecting his shorts. “You think the Dominion noticed an entire island just vanishing into thin air?”

“I’m expecting him to have left a floating sign floating mid air, saying he borrowed the island for a bit.” Erin offers, simply thinking of what she’d have done in his shoes if she were in full shitpost mode. She snorts, “It’d make them lose their minds, which is entirely his wheelhouse.”

Valdimar snorts. “Aye, it does. I bet there is some stressed Thalmor cabal trying to find a way to bring it out of Oblivion ‘or else’ right now.” Then, he rolls his shoulders and sighs. “Divines, I have missed not being cold. Legion spoiled me.”

“It’s strange.” Lydia corrects him, pulling the string of her bikini with a suspicious look. “How can anyone stand this heat? And even with how… what’s the word… I would say scandalous, or slutty, but somehow, those outfits feel right, anyway” she shakes her head, blushing slightly “if I were in my normal clothes, I am pretty sure I would be suffering heat stroke without having to go through the trouble of finding a pyromancer.”

“Daedric nonsense can be accommodating like that.” Erin says with a chuckle as she surveys the sand and the waves, a fun idea starting to coalesce in her mind, hands lighting up with the glow of Telekinesis as she spreads them apart like an orchestra conductor. Now, what would be the best way to Word it… “Lah Dun Ru Rel.” 

The sand flows upwards, gathering together, blending, coalescing. It grows and grows, casting an ever growing shadow over the beach as the features become more visible. It is a great castle and a mansion in one, as formidable (for something made of sand, although Jean suspects Thu’um cheated into making it far more durable anyway) as it is elegant. While it is the golden colour of the sand, the group can distinguish the blend of Whiterun’s walls and Blue Palace’s opulence, as well as the arcs and parapets of the Volkihar castle, complete with sand gargoyles, if draconic ones with gleaming shards of seashell for scales.

The elf woman lets out a thoroughly pleased huff, hands losing their glow as she lets them lay on her hips. Was it a trivial use of complicated spellwork and Thu’um? Absolutely. But it had been fun and challenging, so who cared? 

The group stares, enchanted, especially Valerica, who stands with her mouth agape, staring misty eyed at the more familiar parts, something she shares with her daughter. The dragons simply nod appreciatively, although Paarturnax leans on Durnehviir’s shoulder, shivering as her legs suddenly feel very weak.

Noticing it, Jean’s throat dries as his propriety wars with what he would like to think is the bad influence of Erin and Sanguine (carefully ignoring how he was the one to give Prince of Debauchery ideas) with concern for her.

“You know” Lydia finally speaks up “I think giving it colour would be decent magic practice. How viable would it be to train my reserves like that?” She addresses Valdimar.

“Changing the colours of inorganic, mundane matter is basic Alteration training.” He answers blankly as he processes the sight.

“We could give it some extra decorations right now anyway.” Mutters Jean as an idea (and idea) springs into his mind. With a bit of telekinesis and very careful application of fire… taking a breath as he weaves his hands to direct the sand, he speaks. “Yol Dun Shan.”

The strands of sand, coalescing into shapes, glow brightly as Jean slowly, carefully turns them around, moulding the liquid glass into shapes, vines and flowers and delicate statues of animals to plop on the battlements. “Ven Faad Lun.” He whispers, and the wind picks up, rapidly cooling his material. “Ven Liiv Dun.” He coughs, but keeps focus, polishing the glass until it shines like crystal.

“Aaaaahhhhhh~... haaaaa~...” Somewhere behind him, Paarthurnax collapses onto the sand as her legs give up under her, hand weakly grasping Durnehviir’s hand as she pants with a bowed head. Nahagliiv just stands beside her, purring with her eyes closed as she rubs her legs against each other.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party, extremely red faced by now, (not-so-)subtly excuses themselves to explore the rest of the island, leaving the dragon-souled members alone.

Erin sports a wicked, wolfish grin as the Rose shimmers in approval at the ideas running through her mind. She turns to the sea, her hands once more aglow with Telekinesis as she Speaks, “Rii Ven Lah, Rel Dun Bo.” Essence of Wind and Magicka, by her Mastery Gracefully Flow. The last Word simply clicks into place, time and time again of using the facet of Run-as-Movement further compounded with Grace to substitute for the hole in her vocabulary culminating in her Understanding.

The water rises from the sea, taking shapes, bubbles and tubes, and thin veins, all sparkling and glittering in the sun as wind flows through them, filling the air around the castle with a music reminiscent of flutes and harps, gentle and relaxing.

“Mmmmmhhh… ” Paarthurnaax whines as her hand moves towards her crotch and the other tightens around Durnehviir’s wrist, the pale dragon breathing equally quickly with flushed face. Nahagliiv watches with shining eyes, before turning around and giving Jean a look.

He licks his dry lips, understanding the message. Honestly, he is not sure if he can compete, except for maybe getting some extra sound. But what should be the wor-...

“Aaaaaaa…~”

He blushes as he feels his body respond to Paarthurnax’ cries. Fuck it. He gathers his thoughts. I will need to thank Erin for a free word. Later. He gestures towards the sea, Telekinesis glowing in his hand. With a twist of a wrist and a gesture, water rises.“Iiz Dun Neh Viir, Ven Dun Bo.” Finally, it clicks. Between the cold of Skyrim and coming around it by simply removing the heat time and time again, the Ice springs into his mind, and no doubt Erin’s. Unmelting and permanent, and the wind flows around the deceptively fragile shapes, the little shards of ice clicking and ringing as they gently hit each other, moved by the wind.

Durnehviir stumbles, leaning on Paarthurnax as both dragons shudder, their bodies rocked by the sweet, sweet release. Laughing, Nahagliiv kneels before Paarthurnax and slides the bottom of her swimsuit off while hooking her thumb beneath Paarthurnax’ and sliding it to the side, baring the elf looking dragon to the world while showing the Dragonborns her ass as she spreads the older dragon’s legs. 

“I think” she speaks with mirth and lust in her voice “that you have prepared these two enough. Come, claim your prize~.” She invites them as she dives for her prize.

Jean almost falls face first into the sand as he scrambles, staring at Nahagliiv’s ass. He certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. Not with that kind of invitation.

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Watching through the Rose, Sanguine reclines in his chair as he wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “It’s so beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?”

Grunting as he swallows the heated corn (popcorn, he recalls it is called, very pleasing to pop into the mouth when watching this kind of spectacle) Sheogarath nods. “Incredible. Kinda wish they didn’t do it on sand, it just gets everywhere, but I suppose with their skillset… You think Dibella would accept an invitation to watch dragons discover the joys of losing their minds to horniness?”

Sanguine snorts, even as he tries to scoop a bunch of popcorn from Sheogorath’s bucket, which earns him a slap on the wrist. The hedonist didn’t even finish his own. Rude! “Maybe in a place where neither of us has power. Really, even I couldn’t predict they would bloom so spectacularly when I hijacked that party. Thought I made a mistake when they didn’t use the Rose.” Chuckling, he leans in as Paarthurnax gets to be in the middle of everyone’s affections. “Never been more glad to be wrong. Don’t even mind the whining Malacath gave me when my boys took over that one tribe.”

Sheogorath hums tilting his head. Now that was flexibility. “Ten septims on the dragonborns getting worn out. Not much lifeforce to leech on that particular beach. That will leave Akatosh’ direct kiddos to experiment with each other.”

Sanguine snorts. “Twenty, and sure. Extra ten on the elf going down first, she was really horny for the scaly parts.”

The two Princes shake it and get comfortable on their thrones.

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“Bo Rii Dun Lun” Erin breathes out, the waves and breeze momentarily stilling as she drains their moving force to vanish her exhaustion, leaving her to bask in the delightful afterglow for a few moments before she goes right to lavishing Paarthurnax. Wicked, wicked things one could do with Telekinesis and a bit of creativity.

Breaking away from the kiss Durnehviir subjects him, Jean pants as he blearily realises he is getting tapped out, and this time there are no potions to keep him up. One last time, into the breach (and what a steamy, lovely breach it is indeed). “Fus Gaan Vur Rel.” He chokes as his exhaustion fades, before grabbing Durnehviir again as Nahagliiv moans wantonly under him.

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“I don’t suppose...”

“No, you bet against them."

Sheogorath grumbles cheerfully as he hands Sanguine his winnings. Then, he stands up and grabs his cane. “Right, as inspiring as they are, I do have people to antagonise. Have fun.”

Sanguine chortles, eyes never leaving the image transmitted by the Rose. “Oh, I will. But likewise.”