The Rose and the Azalea - Chapter Eight

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    An analysis of Dwemeri historical texts seems to indicate that, at some point during the early First Era, sailors aboard Dwemer dreadnoughs were issued extract of rose in order to prevent scurvy. It is unclear why this was done at all, as there are far easier (and less costly) ways of supplying troops with ascorbic acid.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

                    ‘Is he going to be all right?’ I asked as soon as the healer stepped out from the room where Azalea was sleeping.

     

                    ‘I’ve eased off his symptoms with three different potions and cast two spells to safeguard his lungs and heart from muscle failure,’ the healer said, mopping his brow. ‘His life is no longer in danger, but he might still be in some pain. More importantly…’ He trailed off, holding up the bottle of Dupuis.

     

                    I eyed the poisoned wine cautiously. ‘What?’

     

                    ‘How much of this stuff did you say your friend had?’

     

                    ‘A small sip,’ I said, my mouth dry. ‘Any more and he’d have…’

     

                    ‘A small sip,’ the healer repeated, cackling. ‘Miss, the bottle was laced with the juices from the liver of an Abecean balloon-fish. Ten drops of that wine would’ve killed a fully-grown man. Your friend living through even a small sip-.’

     

                    ‘Abecean what? Look,’ I cut in, irritated. ‘He’s alive and he’s not going to die, right?’

     

                    The healer opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded, grunting.

     

                    ‘Right,’ I muttered, tossing him a pouch of coin. ‘Here.’

     

                    ‘Thanks, miss.’ The healer licked his lips, jingling the pouch and pocketing it. He was probably going to drink most of that gold away later. He’d gone through two flasks of vodka and half a bottle of whiskey during Azalea’s treatment. ‘I’ll go check on the patient,’ he mumbled, shuffling off.

     

                    I let out a deep breath and felt most of my worry vanish from my shoulders. ‘Whew,’ I grinned, slumping down into my seat.

     

                    Bored, I looked around for a few minutes.

     

                    The clinic’s waiting area was just six dingy chairs with mouldy cushions lining up in a room slightly larger than the one patients slept in. The paint on the walls was faded and the worn lanterns only managed to throw more light onto how shabby the whole place actually was, and to top it all off, the clinic’s entire staff was this lone drunkard. Still, this lone drunkard had saved Azalea’s life, and that was all I could ask for.

     

                    ‘Don’t let your guard down, Lady Sabina,’ Edwin murmured as he paced the room, keeping his voice low. ‘There will most definitely be future attempts on your life.’

     

                    My expression must’ve darkened, because Edwin narrowed his eyes and continued. ‘I know it’s unpleasant to think about, but it’s to be expected. Once your visits to the Bouquet became routine, well… your enemies could then predict your movements. You exposed your back, Lady Sabina, and that emboldened them.’

     

                    ‘I was going there incognito,’ I growled, clenching my teeth. I didn’t bother asking who ‘they’ were. Even without taking into account all of the people ever hurt or killed by my hand and word, all of the major mob bosses in Anvil had six-digit bounties on their heads. ‘So the fact that the poisoners knew I was going there that means one of two things. One, that I’d been followed to the Bouquet all the way from Flavana Manor-’

     

                    ‘The Manor is situated in the countryside, and we would’ve seen anyone tailing us long before we made it to the city-’

     

                    ‘That leaves two,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s someone on the inside.’

     

                    Edwin snarled. His babyish voice made it sound ridiculously funny, and I bit my tongue. ‘Traitors. Always traitors. My job was hard enough already.’

     

                    ‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ I said, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘It’s a common thing in this line of work.’

     

                    ‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it,’ my bodyguard grumbled.

     

                    ‘Why don’t you have a seat?’ I smiled. ‘I’m sure you weren’t expecting such a long night.’

     

                    ‘Lady Sabina, I’m used to standing guard for you even in the small hours of the morning,’ Edwin said. ‘I don’t think we should linger here for too long. A follow-up attempt could come at any moment now.’

     

                    ‘All the more reason to rest while you can,’ I insisted. ‘Come on, what’s the worst that could-’

     

                    A scream came from the patient’s room.

     

                    ‘Azalea!’ I yelled, bounding up. Edwin drew his sword, then tossed me a dagger. I caught the short blade by the hilt and we both started running.

     

    An unnamed hermit (numerous different mage guilds and associations have claimed affiliation with this individual) managed to cultivate, in the Second Century of the Second Era, a species of azalea that produced highly combustible gas.

     

     


     

     

                    The healer’s bald spot shone at me as he bent down to examine my belly. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. The past two hours had been mentally exhausting. I had to force my body to react to the ‘curative’ effects of the potions. Master Torako and Jorra had taught me much, but I lacked their field experience. I only had a general idea of what the healer was pouring down my throat, and even though I had tried to ease up on my faked symptoms as gradually and realistically as possible, I had very little notion what kind of side effects the potions might have on a typical human being.

     

                    And judging from the healer’s incredulous glances at both my steady breathing and the poisoned wine, I was pushing it too far already. He most certainly knew how lethal pufferfish liver extract was. My survival was beyond improbable.

     

                    Light glinted off something and I felt the healer close one hand around my arm, lifting it. Opening my eyelids just another fraction of an inch, I took the risk of looking down.

     

                    The healer had brought out an enchanted observing glass and was peering intently at my skin. ‘Fascinating,’ he muttered. Most likely looking at my pores.

     

                    I cursed internally. The permeable dermis formed as a result of Rendanshu mutations was vastly different in both chemical and physical structure from the surface of normal skin, being able to retain moisture without the need for glandular secretions. While normally invisible to the naked eye, a glass of sufficient magnitude could pick up those minute details.

     

                    I was stretching things with the healer thin enough to begin with, but I could not allow him to venture any further. I stirred and pretended to wake.

     

                    As expected, the healer fixed me with an astonished glare. ‘Wha- Already? What is your body even made of?’

     

                    This was troublesome. I was beginning to entertain the idea of killing him. Tsukikage does not target innocents, but still…

     

                    What was an innocent, anyway? This man couldn’t have been leading such a straight life if he was operating from a run-down apartment in the Meat Street. A civilian? A non-combatant? Shinobi assassinated ‘non-combatants’ all the time. That word meant nothing.

     

                    At any rate, my hands were tied right now. Sabina was still outside, waiting for me, and-

     

                    A rustle of fabric, the prickle of an expertly distributed weight across a footstep, the quiet leathery scrape of a straight blade being drawn from a sheath. A single, barely audible intake of breath. I tensed. Very, very well-trained. Most certainly professional.

     

                    An arm wrapped in black leather materialised from thin air and circled around the healer’s neck, pulling him back. I rolled silently from the bed, keeping my centre of gravity low and my hands positioned perpendicular to my torso. The healer reached for me as he choked, screaming for help with his eyes. Then the tip of a knife protruded from his chest. Even from this angle, I could tell that it was a superb assassination. The blade had been slid through the ribs from behind, rupturing one lung and penetrating the heart.

     

                    The healer collapsed without a noise, the arm around his neck lowering him slowly to the floor. I stood there, letting him die. There was nothing I could do at this point… and he had delved just a little too deeply into my physiology. It was better this way.

     

                    Behind him, his killer was shimmering fully into view as the spell of invisibility wore off completely. Black, greasy hair tied back into a bun, grey skin, red eyes. Those eyes darted up from the healer’s corpse to meet mine.

     

                    ‘You noticed my presence,’ the Dunmer said softly. ‘And that stance – you’re well-schooled. To think that someone’s gotten this close to the mark already.’

     

                    He shifted towards my left side as he spoke. A common Tamriellian tactic when fighting opponents with no shield, as most of the sentient races were predominantly right-handed. I let him take that position. All kits trained in Tsukikage were ambidextrous.

     

                    The Dunmer raised his knife. He was garbed in a jacket of thick leather. The jacket seemed quite heavy, but he was obviously used to the weight. Fortunately, my furisode had a slit in the side revealing one leg, so my own mobility was unhindered. It was the only advantage I had. The Dark Elf was armed with a knife and the leather offered him some amount of protection, while I was crouching there dressed in silk robes.

     

                    His stare grew cold, even as mine did the same. The killing intent passing between us solidified, freezing the air, sharpening our senses. We both understood.

     

                    Fellow assassin or not…

     

                    The Dunmer lashed out with the knife, finishing my thought as he did.

     

                    ‘No witnesses.’

     

                    He was going for a straight thrust towards the underside of my ribcage. I intercepted it with a left stepping sidekick, planting the heel of my foot into his knee before he could bend it fully and complete the lunge. I had hoped to break his leg as well, but his movements were too fast. He locked his kneecap, strengthening the joint, and used my momentum to spring back with a quickstep.

     

                    I whirled into another kick, this time a frontal snap to his chin. His arms were longer than mine, and combined with the knife, he had substantially more reach. I would need my legs. The Dunmer sidestepped, flipped the knife into a reverse grip and brought it down to stab at my femoral artery. His movements were swift, economical. Only the enhanced reflexes granted by the Yellow Flask saved my thigh. I twisted my waist, bringing my right leg down while it was still bent. The move lowered my profile, placing my centre of balance under his hips. I took the opportunity to sweep out my left leg at his hamstrings – his jacket was leather, but his trousers were flannel.

     

                    Once again, the Dunmer proved too quick. He spun to the left, using his front leg as a pivot. At the same time, he swiped his knife counter-clockwise downwards, aiming for my exposed jugular vein. I brought my arm up at a right angle, stopping his wrist. Before he could turn the knife to cut me and before I could slide my hand down to grab him, we both disengaged.

     

                    The fight had been almost completely silent. Sabina and her bodyguard were just outside the room, and neither of us could afford to alert them.

     

                    Two brief seconds later, we resumed. The Dunmer brought the knife back up into a forehand grip and dashed forward, making rapid, shallow cuts targeting my blood vessels. As was the case earlier, only the Yellow Flask allowed me to keep dodging successfully, preventing him from scoring a hit.

     

                    If the assassin was frustrated by my speed, he did not show it. He transitioned directly from one slash into a thrust, sending the tip of the knife towards my eye. I ducked under it and, in a simultaneous movement, closed the distance with a half-step, straightening two of my fingers as I performed three consecutive acupoint strikes to major nerve clusters in his left leg.

     

                    The Dunmer simply kneed me in the fingers.

     

                    Had I not taken the White Flask, they would’ve been dislocated immediately. As it was, the attack repelled my own, and I withdrew my hand before he could bring the knife down.

     

                    ‘Whispering Fang…’ The Dunmer narrowed his eyes.

     

                    ‘You’re well-schooled,’ I echoed, then slid my leg from my kimono, turned, and released a roundhouse kick aimed through his abdomen.

     

                    Instead of dodging or blocking as I’d thought he would, the Dunmer stepped forward into the kick and received it, blunting my momentum with the reduced distance. Before I could draw my leg back, he grabbed it with his free hand and locked me there, holding me against him as he stabbed at my navel.

     

                    Bending my leg, I sprang forward to close the gap and grabbed his wrist with both hands, angling the knife away from my vitals. His grip slowly slid from my shin to my thigh as our leverage shifted.

     

                    I was at a clear disadvantage. The Dunmer was larger and heavier than me by a great margin, and close-quarters grappling was always Ambarro’s strong suit, not mine.

     

                    If you can’t find an opening, make one.

     

                    I bent my leg even more, curling it around his waist, then pressed my body against his, looking up at him, kneading his groin as I moved. I made my eyes water and dance and took one hand off his arm, sliding it up his firm, toned chest. ‘Ahh, don’t be so rough…’ I whispered, rolling my thigh against his coarse palm and fingers. I also activated my modified sebaceous glands as Haruka had taught me to, enveloping both of us in a hazy blanket of vanilla and lilac, all while my hand continued to creep upward, until my thumb was hovering over his thoracic vertebrae.

     

                    To my dismay, the Dunmer was completely unfazed. He grabbed my other hand and wrenched it away from his neck. In doing so, however, he had to release my leg. I brought it back up immediately and pushed the ball of my foot outwards against his stomach. He staggered back two steps, while I flew off him to the other end of the room. The separation bought me time to think.

     

                    In the two instances that I managed to get close or land strikes, he was performing a thrust.

     

                    It was only the smallest of overextensions, but it was enough. I could exploit it.

     

                    He closed on me, performing rapid slashes with his knife again. I kept backpedalling, maintaining a steady retreat. If the Dunmer was distracted by my sudden change in tactics, he did not let it show.

     

                    A cut came dangerously close to taking a chunk out of my nose, and I jerked backwards-

     

                    Sensing his opportunity, the Dunmeri assassin’s eyes glittered. He twisted his wrist and turned the failed cut into a thrust-

     

                    I turned ninety degrees to the right and leant slightly backwards, folding my arm upwards into a reverse back elbow strike-

     

                    The knife whooshed past me as my elbow smashed into the underside of his jaw, sending his teeth clacking together as his head reeled back, exposing his throat-

     

                    And I elbowed him again in the windpipe.

     

                    There was a wet, muted crunch as I dug my elbow all the way in, feeling the cartilage give way like a sheet of tin. The Dunmer’s grey face turned even darker, growing black as he toppled backwards, choking. I caught him by the lapel before he could hit the floor, then lowered him slowly, even as he’d done for the healer just a few moments ago.

     

                    The healer…

     

                    I stared glumly at the two corpses in the room.

     

                    How in Furiya’s name am I supposed to explain this?

     

                    A presence hundreds of times better concealed than the Dunmer’s bristled to life behind me. I shot up, alarmed. Then a hand slapped me gently atop the head.

     

                    ‘Open combat takes a lot of concentration, I know,’ Haruka said sternly. Unlike me, she was dressed in full Shadeclaw regalia. ‘But that’s all the more reason to remain vigilant.’

     

                    I turned around and hung my head. ‘Apologies, Mas- Haruka-ko. I will do better in the future.’

     

                    ‘Ach, you did well enough for a kit of fifteen winters,’ Haruka said, lightening immediately. ‘You’ll develop more and more caution as you gain experience.’

     

                    ‘Did you trail the assassins here?’ I asked, wrapping the hem of my furisode back around my leg. ‘There were three of them.’

     

                    ‘You noticed them too on your way here?’ Haruka nodded in approval. ‘Yes, the other two sent this one in as a scout. They’d probably wait a minute or so more, then come in after him. Excellent job dispatching him with hand-to-hand combat, by the way; no blood at all to clean up. Your cover’s still intact… so be ready to scream when I leave.’

     

                    ‘Scream?’ I began, then Haruka held up a finger. A second later, I heard them too. Soft, almost imperceptible footsteps, coming slowly from the outside of the clinic towards the open window.

     

                    Haruka actually winked. ‘They’re good,’ she whispered. ‘But they’re not shinobi.’

     

                    As the assassins approached, their footsteps grew lighter. These two were even more skilled than their Dunmeri comrade. Soon I couldn’t hear them at all – but Haruka’s ears remained upright, twitching, turning towards her rear, tracking her targets.

     

                    Five seconds later, she formed a blade with the heel of her hand, sidestepped, spun, and swung out in a lateral chop, all in the same motion. Her hand sank into a patch of faintly shimmering air to her left. For the second time that night I heard the sound of a windpipe shattering. As the assassin’s form flickered and became visible, he tumbled forward, eyes widening in disbelief. Haruka leant down under a swing from an invisible sword – I heard the weapon whistle through the air – and executed a mule kick at the same time, her foot powering into the falling assassin’s chest, collapsing his breastplate with a dull crack and sending him flying perfectly into an adjacent bed, where he promptly flopped down and died. He hadn’t even had time to draw his own weapon.

     

                    Haruka dodged two more slashes whilst somehow managing to press forward at the same time. A third slash came and she jabbed at another spot of empty air. The final assassin appeared, doubled over with Madam Nightshade’s knuckles buried in her solar plexus. Her sword embedded itself three inches into the floor with a thankfully quiet thud. As she gasped for breath, Haruka stepped casually behind her, clapped one hand on her mouth and another on her throat, then yanked her chin one way and her neck another. The crunch this time was cleaner and dryer than that of a crushed larynx; the sound of a splintering spine.

     

                    I stared at her in open admiration. I still have a long way to go…

     

                    Haruka scratched her head sheepishly. ‘Don’t look at me like that, kit, you’ll make my ears flush.’

     

                    I changed the subject hurriedly. ‘When you said “scream”, Haruka-ko, did you mean…’

     

                    ‘But of course,’ Haruka grinned. ‘Sabina Flavana is already thoroughly infatuated with you. Now make her feel as if she’s put your life in danger – and truthfully speaking she has – and she will no doubt take responsibility, getting you closer to her… and subsequently the rest of the Flavanas as well.’

     

                    ‘I see.’

     

                    Haruka peered closely at me. ‘Something wrong, kit?’

     

                    I met her eyes. ‘No. Nothing’s wrong.’

     

                    ‘In that case, good luck!’ She picked up the corpses of the Dunmer and the female assassin, then walked over to the bed and slung the last one over her shoulder. ‘Arrrgh,’ she grumbled. ‘What is this, one hundred thousand angaids counting the gear? Well, Azalea, don’t worry about coming to work tomorrow, the situation is fast changing. Try and find out everything you can about the family, particularly the underbosses. I’ll see you around!’

     

                    She flitted out of the window and, just like that, was gone once more.

     

                    I sat down more stiffly than usual on the bed.

     

                    Get close to Sabina Flavana. Manipulate her emotions. Perhaps force her to reveal her identity as a crime boss. Become her confidant. Simple. Straightforward.

     

                    So what was this feeling of discomfort in my stomach?

     

                    I looked at the dead healer lying in front of me in a pool of congealing blood. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since he received a blade through the heart. A blade through the heart, just like-

     

                    Just like him, just a man, a man I-

     

                    An obese Imperial boy, face white with hatred, trying to kill me with the wakizashi we had picked out together, my failed block, my blade still slick with his father’s blood, slicing through his-

     

                    That was four years ago. Why was I thinking of it now, of all times?

     

                    The discomfort in my stomach was growing. Bubbling. Foaming. Like an ill-prepared stew. This was very strange. Shinobi did not develop digestive problems, especially not after Rendanshu.

     

                    I should reflect on this later.

     

                    I closed my eyes for a brief second, then proceeded to place my hand on the healer’s corpse. It was still warm, which suited my needs perfectly. I placed my hand on a spot of bare flesh, then ran a moderate current of lightning through his body. His heart contracted a few more times, sending a fresh gout of blood pouring from his wound, making it look as if he had just started to bleed out.

     

                    At the same time, I masked the sizzle of electricity with a shrill, drawn-out scream.

     

                    As Sabina and her bodyguard burst into the room, blades drawn, I scooted frantically away from the corpse, flattening myself against the wall.

     

                    ‘No, no, no, no, no,’ I moaned, squeezing a flow of tears from my eyes. ‘No no no please…’

     

                    Sabina ran to me immediately, looking me twice over. ‘Thank the gods,’ she breathed, taking me in her arms and rocking me to and fro. ‘Shh. Shh… you’re all right, you’re all right…’

     

                    Edwin Lysanders walked over to the window, then back towards the healer’s corpse. Sabina looked at him questioningly, and he shook his head, his mouth a grim line.

     

                    ‘Namira take their balls,’ Sabina muttered, clenching her teeth. ‘Cowards. If I ever find out-’

     

                    ‘What are you talking about?’ I wailed hysterically. ‘What’s going on?’

     

                    She released me, guilt written all over her features as she looked away, avoiding my gaze.

     

                    ‘Wh-What is any of this- I don’t-’ I hiccupped, sliding to the floor and burying my face in my hands. ‘I don’t understand…’

     

                    ‘I… I’m not sure how to…’ Sabina stammered awkwardly.

     

                    ‘T-They just killed him,’ I said, raising my head from my hands and hollowing out my eyes into a thousand-yard-stare. ‘Right in front of me…’

     

                    Sabina knelt down in front of me. ‘Did you see what they looked like?’ she asked urgently.

     

                    ‘I- I don’t know,’ I sniffled. ‘They wore black… leather, I think.’

     

                    ‘Black leather,’ she murmured. ‘Damn it, could be anyone.’

     

                    ‘Sabina, please,’ I begged. ‘What’s going on? I don’t… I can’t…’

     

                    Trailing off as if I was too distressed to find my tongue, I grabbed her hand, clinging to it like a drowning child to a lifeline. She looked at me, the guilt in her eyes turning into tenderness and resolve.

     

                    ‘Azalea,’ she said slowly. ‘I need to tell you something.’

     

     

     

     

                       

     

     

     

Comments

9 Comments   |   A-Pocky-Hah! and 4 others like this.
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  May 26, 2018
    It's very funny when Harrow reverts to his acting. I can't help but laugh at this sharp kit trying to act like he's afraid. Reminds me a bit of the dude in the first Die Hard, Hans Gruber, when he impersonates an American hostage to learn more about John ...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      It's very funny when Harrow reverts to his acting. I can't help but laugh at this sharp kit trying to act like he's afraid. Reminds me a bit of the dude in the first Die Hard, Hans Gruber, when he impersonates an American hostage to learn more about John ...  more
        ·  May 26, 2018
      Hehe, yeah, come to think of it, Harrow would've had to do an accent too...
  • A-Pocky-Hah!
    A-Pocky-Hah!   ·  May 22, 2018
    You know the more I read this chapter, the more I feel like the shinobis are a bit too... OP-ish. There's nothing wrong to writing a curb-stomp battle, but personally I think that Dunmer should've landed a few hits. Reading this after the last chapter's o...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      You know the more I read this chapter, the more I feel like the shinobis are a bit too... OP-ish. There's nothing wrong to writing a curb-stomp battle, but personally I think that Dunmer should've landed a few hits. Reading this after the last chapter's o...  more
        ·  May 22, 2018
      Only Haruka's brief appearance was a curb-stomp.


      In a lot of other fights (Diia vs Terse, Harrow and Ambarro in the alley, Harrow vs Larethor, Harrow vs Larethor Round 2, Ambarro vs Eirandil, Harrow vs Longinus) I can and have writte...  more
      • A-Pocky-Hah!
        A-Pocky-Hah!
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        Only Haruka's brief appearance was a curb-stomp.


        In a lot of other fights (Diia vs Terse, Harrow and Ambarro in the alley, Harrow vs Larethor, Harrow vs Larethor Round 2, Ambarro vs Eirandil, Harrow vs Longinus) I can and have written in 'landing hits...  more
          ·  May 22, 2018
        You have a point there, though I've seen some assassins duke it out with near hits and blow-by-blows. Jason Bourne for example. Plus having your character getting cut during the fight adds that sense of suspense like what you did with Harrow against Telep...  more
        • The Sunflower Manual
          The Sunflower Manual
          A-Pocky-Hah!
          A-Pocky-Hah!
          A-Pocky-Hah!
          You have a point there, though I've seen some assassins duke it out with near hits and blow-by-blows. Jason Bourne for example. Plus having your character getting cut during the fight adds that sense of suspense like what you did with Harrow against Telep...  more
            ·  May 22, 2018
          Even if I could resolve or explain it, criticism reminds me what to place emphasis on. So no worries, I like being s̶h̶a̶m̶e̶d̶ ahem, ahem, criticised.
          • A-Pocky-Hah!
            A-Pocky-Hah!
            The Sunflower Manual
            The Sunflower Manual
            The Sunflower Manual
            Even if I could resolve or explain it, criticism reminds me what to place emphasis on. So no worries, I like being s̶h̶a̶m̶e̶d̶ ahem, ahem, criticised.
              ·  May 22, 2018
            You really are an M.
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  May 22, 2018
    The fight between and Harrow was superb and damn, Haruka doesn't fook around does she? Pro assassins look like amateurs when compared to experienced shinobi. 
    And heh, it is sort of ironic how the usual damsel in distress is flipped here, Harro...  more
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      The fight between and Harrow was superb and damn, Haruka doesn't fook around does she? Pro assassins look like amateurs when compared to experienced shinobi. 
      And heh, it is sort of ironic how the usual damsel in distress is flipped here, Harrow play...  more
        ·  May 22, 2018
      Hehe, yeah, it's like comparing an elite Nilfgaardian captain to a witcher, or pitting a mob hitman against... I dunno, Agent 47...