#!quartermaster

"Teacup human." Alv greeted, kneeling down to the child's level. "Are you lost?"

"Ladies." Alv echoed softly, looking up from his reclining position against the nearest tree support. "It's a trap."

I'm just going to leave this little note here. Hello darling, thank you for following and welcome to the madness that is my blog. So, this is Michael's first mate and he is in charge now thanks to a M!A. I just wrote this...guessing they could have worked together in the past cause why not. :D

"Anastasia." Alv greeted, leaning against the doorway to her throne room, of sorts. "For your sake, this had better be good."

Well this should be good. Prepare yourselves darlings.

Trust, surely that was a joke.

As a God, Forseti had been the decipher of truth, eyes boring into those in question to find the facts within, leading them to a fitting and fair ruling. As a human he was at the mercy of the actions of others more than he wished, deception leading him into a state of resolve; people were not to be trusted, ever. It was so ironic that this young brunette was asking of him the one thing he could never do, but what choice did he have in his most dire moment? As far as he could see, there were two options, death or a leap of faith.

Through gritted teeth, Alv turned his back to her, his body falling to the right as he allowed himself to be pulled down the wooden wall he’d managed to grasp for support. Blood had pooled at his feet, creating a cushion of liquid for him as his weight hit the deck of the ship. One of his hands slid into his hair, slicking it back as the rain continued to pour down on them from open skies above, his other arm clutched around his waist where the spear lay embedded. “I trust you.” he whispered above the sound of crashing waves. “Now, just do as I say.”

If was as if a page from a dream had been ripped out and placed in front of him, allowing him to read the clearly written words; there was no reference, yet his mind knew all of the answers. This was not the first time such happened, but it was the only time he’d been so close to death he could almost greet the beast. “Pull the spear out gently, placing your hand over the wound when you do. It does not have to be pressure, just featherweight.” 

His breath caught in his chest as another wave of fiery venom rushed through his veins. Forseti had seen a wound like this before, one inflicted by the Fire Demons of Muspelheim, but had learned too late what must be done to stop the spread of poison. Of course, the woman who performed the healing ritual was blessed with magic, but there was nothing of that sort here, or so he thought. The magic needed would be pulled from his curse, another layer falling away and revealing the God behind the coarse exterior. “Once your hand is in place, say these words exactly: Kemba, spinna, tæja, tvinna trogið þæfa í. Mala, skakam mín er vinna, mykrið veldur því.”