It hadn't taken Moliira long to connect the dots between the newest deity's name, and that of a man who had been mentioned in Angela's letters.  Toya had to be absolutely thrilled, and she could only imagine what Blaine was thinking.  Moliira only hoped that Keira and her twins would not suffer from Torn's godhood.  She knew all too well that it could be more of a curse at times, which was part of the purpose of her visit.

Typically, she brought a gift when visiting someone she had not met, and Moliira saw no reason to break that habit now.  And she was fortunate enough to have resources that many did not.  The fine bottle of wine was fae-made, and she knew it was highly unlikely that Torn would have had its like before.  An angel, a being Moliira could only raise an eyebrow at, came floating towards her, the creature looking alarmed at the drow who had appeared from nowhere.  There were times it was quite nice to have the privileges of a deity, knocking on doors could be so annoying.

"Tell Torn that Keira's aunt is here to see him.  And that I am not a terribly patient person.  If it will help him get here faster, I have wine," Moliira said before the angel could speak to her.  It only nodded and showed her to a room with a couch and a bookshelf.  To her delight, the shelves held tomes of herblore and beasts long extinct.  It made sense in a way, given that ancient beasts made for a good song, and traveling heroes could always stand to know a bit of herblore.

Torn was sitting by a campfire, a party of Merry Misfits sharing in the flames. A wild boar had been hunted for food, while the quarry the party was really hunting was a lich, an undead necromancer who’d been ravaging the countryside. The party had been travelling for some time, and had set aside the day for foraging - roasting the boar sooner rather than later ensured it’d remain edible for a few days. The Merry Band of Misfits were drinking from their wineskins and talking amongst themselves, while the Prince of Epics himself sat quietly, composing. It was rare that Torn was silent while other men made merry, but as he strummed his harp and mumbled the text of the song that was forming, Torn was blind and deaf to his surroundings.

Suddenly, Torn felt one of the misfits shaking his shoulder, and he snapped out of his trance-like state. “Hm? What?” The misfit chuckled at Torn, shaking his head. “Message. Keira’s aunt barged into Musalia and demands audience.” Torn frowned in response, but stood up nonetheless. “Alright. Save some chunks for me,” he said, preparing to travel. The rest of the crew half-attentively nodded, letting Torn do his thing.

Torn quickly found the room Moliira had been shown to, some five minutes after the message was sent. He opened the door and stepped inside, and blinked in surprise when he saw the drow. “Uh… Oh, right. You’re Moliira, yes? The Storm Wolf? I assumed you were Angela,” he said. He looked around, frowning. “You haven’t received refreshments?” Torn hadn’t been one to notice such before, but his wife-to-be had drilled basic hosting into him, even before his apotheosis. He was still poised to become a prince even before he was chosen, after all. “Get us some drink and snacks in here,” he said to noone in particular. Seconds later, a small group of minor muses entered the room, carrying a jug of iced tea as well as crackers, butter, and various cured meats, as well as an assortment of fruit. Torn took a seat, gave thanks to the muses, and began putting butter and cured mutton on a piece of cracker, talking while he did it. “Welcome to the Dream Arena, and the city of Musalia. What can I do for you?”

An eyebrow went up when Torn made mention of thinking her to be Angela.  "What, you think with a family as large as the Rose clan is that Keira would only have one aunt?" she asked, amusement in her voice.  The drow had to wonder just how much of his lover's family he had met before now.  That could be one heck of a wakeup call.  But that wasn't really her place to make such a call.  Moliira mostly wanted to get a good gauge of just who this new deity was.  And Torn had won the luck of the draw simply because of his connection to her niece.

She shook her head at the question of refreshment, and had been wondering if his manners were lacking.  But they were not and Moliira nodded in approval.  Very human fare, but it was good.  There were still somethings that she was getting a taste for, though she would try most things at least once.  Inhaling quickly, she isolated a few slices of venison sausage to go with her crackers.  "Well, for one I wanted to see just who had taken the seat of someone I once knew," she said, a slightly sad smile on her face.  And it was a gentle warning to not get too comfortable, that things could change in the space of a heartbeat.  "Second, Angela wrote to me, and mentioned that and my niece are together.  So of course I need to check on those involved with my family," she said before chewing a piece of the venison sausage.  "And third, I would guess that you have some questions, or at least one about what has happened.  Though you certainly have the hang of forming a realm," she added, offering a compliment.  It would be interesting to see how he reacted.

Torn shook his head as Moliira mentioned Keira’s family. He was well aware that it was enormous, but had come to think of Angela whenever Keira’s aunt was mentioned. “No, I’ll bet she has dozens,” Torn replied to Moliira’s question, “But to just pop into the Chambers of Mystery without invitation takes another god. I simply forgot that the Storm Wolf was an aunt of her as well,” Torn explained.

As Moliira gave her explanation of why she was there, Torn ate and drank while listening. Beyond the fact that it was Moliira, not Angela, that had appeared at his door, Torn didn’t hear many surprises at all. “Well,” he began, addressing the first reason first. “I could speak for days about who I am, but you’d be bored to tears. And the moment I begin telling you who I am, you’ll notice I have confidence, which I’ve learned that the powerful don’t trust,” he said, smirking at Moliira. He leaned back in his seat, gauging the triune - clearly, he wasn’t shy. “In all honesty, I think you’re better off turning to someone else for that,” he continued, still smiling. “I’m sure Keira would be thrilled to see you. You could see the twins as well,” he said, before addressing Moliira’s second reason.

“You’re welcome at any time, of course,” he said, giving Moliira a standing invitation. “As for the family thing, we’re actually busy preparing for our wedding,” he continued, with a bright and sincere smile. “It’ll all happen in Arri. Of course, we’d like to see you attend,” he said, before addressing Moliira’s third reason to visit.

“As for questions, none,” Torn mused. “I was chosen, and that’s all I need to know.” torn grabbed another cracker and some more cured meat, choosing this time to use a mix of cured ham and mutton. “What and why doesn’t concern me,” he said after taking a bite. He seemed to mean it. In fact, Torn simply assumed that he was best suited to sniffing out heroes and adventurers, and have them grow famous, for the betterment of Revaliir. It was a prospect he was thrilled about, particularly because it meant he’d be more famous than ever. “All I care about is success,” he said, leaning forward with a smirk. “To fill Revaliir with great tales and produce heroes to rise to the greatest challenges,” he continued, “that sounds like a good way to spend my time. I am no philosopher, as I am sure you’ve understood by now,” he said with a grin.

When Moliira complemented Torn on his creation, he positively beamed. “You like it? Fantastic! I’m glad. I do rather like how it turned out, myself,” he said. “Speaking of which, would you like to go to the arena? There’s a rather promising fight coming up - a unit of Egjoran men-at-arms against a club of Wyllmochvarian cryomancers,” he said, doing a shit job at hiding his desire to see the fight himself.

She only nodded, it was enough that Moliira had given him something to think about.  "She had quite the extended family, which I'm sure you will find out about," she added before taking a sip.  There was a smile on her face as he spoke, it was clear to her that Torn would be an interesting addition to the Conclave.  And one to shake things up, that was for certain.  she laughed when he mentioned that the confident were not trusted by the powerful.  "The powerful, or those who think themselves that way, hate anyone that might shake up their self vision.  The confident make them nervous," she said with a slight grin.  Though her own greatest flaw was pride, it was something that Moliira readily admitted to.

At the mention of a wedding and the invitation, Moliira nodded.  She was frankly a bit surprised Angela hadn't mentioned it, but things happened.  "I will have to bring my sons and my mate as well, they've yet to visit Arri.  I have the feeling it will be an event not to miss," she said, raising her glass in a toast to Torn.  She laughed at the confidence of this newest deity, he was starting to get a favorable view in her eyes.  "I like you, Torn.  And that view of success, it is something this world can use.  I wish you the best of luck," Moliira said, clearly amused. 

She perked up at the mention of an arena, and the idea of viewing a fight was appealing.  "I believe that we would both enjoy watching that fight.  It isn't well known… but I've entered a fair number of tourneys and fights, long before I was the Huntress.  I will have to tell you of my battle with a god of Fire sometime. Lead on," she said with grin.  That had been quite a fight, and even though she had not advanced, there had been a lot of satisfaction in her victory.

Torn smiled broadly when Moliira mentioned her children and her mate. “The more the merrier,” he said, before sampling a few cheeses. When Moliira wished him luck, Torn made a bow - not a formal one, but respectful nonetheless. “I thank you for your goodwill. I was half expecting you to be vaguely - or explicitly - threatening, considering my relationship with Keira. Toya and Blaine have both expressed some malevolent intent should something happen to her,” he said, casually. It didn’t seem to disturb him. “Not as scary now as before,” he added, with a chuckle.

Torn grinned broadly and headed for the door immediately when moliira told him to lead on. “Great!” he said, and simply headed straight for the arena. While they were walking, they passed a muse in a particularly elaborate toga - one of the Seven Judges. The muse was minding its own business, looking over a concert schedule, and Torn simply grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along. “Elovar, say hello to Moliira, the Storm Wolf.” The poor angel looked both slightly annoyed and terrified, and gave Moliira a respectful nod. “My lady. Brother Torn, I am scheduling concerts - may I resume my duties?” Torn looked at the angel, and shook his head with a completely deadpan expression. “We’re watching the next fight, and we need music. And since our guest is a triune, we’ll provide the best. That means you and the other judges,” he said, much to the muse’s dismay. “As you wish, big brother,” the muse replied - though with clear resignation and annoyance in his voice.

When the two gods stepped out onto the balcony, the previous fight had just ended. The Battlemistress, one of the most high-ranking valkyries in the realm, was preparing the arena for the next fight. As per her usual behaviour, she didn’t turn around, looking constantly at the arena floor. “Your audaciousness. My lady Moliira. The next fight will begin shortly. Please enjoy it,” she said, simply and flatly. Torn sat in his seat - which was clearly made for comfort, not authority - and grabbed a big cup filled with mead. Other refreshments were laid out, as well - this time, a lot more refined. Grapes, fruits, cakes, wines, ales - the selection was wide. Torn gestured at a seat next to his - Keira’s, by the looks of it.

After about a minute or so, the Battlemistress flew down to the centre of the arena, and announced the next fight. As promised, a unit of soldiers and a gathering of frost mages entered the ring. Suddenly, the arena floor morphed - the ground got covered in snow, and walls sprouted from the ground. They were not particularly restrictive, and some of them only chest-high, so it was clear they were there to provide cover. The Battlemistress, now back on the balcony, offered a brief explanation. “Snow to slow down the soldiers and give the advantage of time to the mages, walls to provide cover and flanking options to even the odds,” she said. Torn gave an approving nod. “Prudent,” he said, watching the fight unfold.

“These matches have three functions,” he said, as the mages erected walls and spike fields of ice to limit the movement of the soldiers. “It entertains the dreaming folk of Revaliir - the audience here are mostly sleeping people, visiting this temple in their dreams,” he explained. It went a long way to explain why it was called the Dream Arena. “Second, it’s to figure out who is worthy of becoming Merry Misfits, my militant followers, or get an audience with me,” he continued. It was plain that Torn didn’t want just anyone to be able to meet him in person - prayer and worship was one thing, his undivided attention quite another. Considering the number of fighters wishing to win, it was also clear that Torn simply didn’t have the time.

The soldiers took cover by some walls to avoid the spells of the cryomancers, and advanced somewhat slowly. Even so, with tense music in the background and the constant flurry of magic, each step taken by either side was visibly precarious - making it an interesting match. Torn decided to use this time to explain further. “Those who challenge this gauntlet for the first time need not fear death,” he said, “as they will be revived and returned to the gateway that led them here.” He pointed at one of the cryomancers. “That man, however, fell once before. I want people to come here and try, but I cannot have the weak consistently making fights less interesting,” he continued, “So if he falls here, he will not come back to life.” Torn seemed more amused than anything about the man’s persistence. “Of course, those with ability are typically collected and healed before they die,” he said. Several valkyries were standing on guard at the front of the stands - many of them watching this man.

The fight soon erupted after that. A handful of soldiers emerged from cover with their shields raised, and marched to outflank the mages. The others waited on the other side, believing the mages could not cross the field of frozen spikes they had created in the middle of the arena. However, when the flanking soldiers finally approached, one of them triggered a ward - unleashing a blast of cold that stunned the group, and they soon faced a withering fusillade of spells, claiming many of them. Flying spears of ice pierced their armour or knocked their shields out of their hands. As they fell, they faded out of existence, their bodies reconstructed in the physical world of Revaliir. This prompted a charge from the other side, a desperate attempt at getting the mages from both sides - but with a gesture, their spike field crumbled, and the other group triggered another ward. From there, the mages reconstructed the spike field, and trapped the soldiers in a much smaller space than they had before. A mere minute later, all the soldiers had fallen, with only two mages having taken mortal wounds.

“Well,” Torn said, as the crowd cheered for the victors. “That was fun.” He looked at Moliira, smiling. He had rather enjoyed the fight, but he felt an itch now - there was a potential challenge before him, and he would not let it slide so easily. “But what about we give this audience a proper show, hm?” He grinned broadly. “A battle between gods, perhaps?”

She only grinned in a predatory manner when he expressed surprise when she didn't threaten him.  "Just be sure that I don't have to make that threat.  My brother is good enough at threats on his own," Moliira said, leaving it at that.  But the topic quickly change, and she was glad for it.  There was something pleasing about the simplicity of a battle, and it was something she looked forward to watching.  An eyebrow went up when Torn just grabbed someone and started dragging them along.  Once she understood just what was happening, she felt the need to protest.  At least a token protest.  "Oh, don't worry about that.  I don't like it when someone goes to special trouble for me.  Please, don't disrupt your duties for my sake," she said, addressing Elovar rather than Torn. 

The comfortable seats were welcome, and the drow lounged in hers.  She could smell her niece's scent within it, and wondered how often Keira had been here.  Taking a cup of fruit wine, she took a sip while listening to the valkyrie.  It seemed to be a fair enough balance, and she was eager to see the fight.  It was a simple thing to watch the fight and listen to Torn, his challenging were interesting.  And they did serve a purpose.  "Having a consequence like that, it is useful.  It makes people think before they enter your realm," she said, nodding.  Once the fight started in earnest though, they both felt silent.  It was a skilled fight on both sides, but the soldiers were outmatched.  It seemed they had underestimated the mages.

Then Torn proposed something interesting.  And she thought for just a moment.  "I believe I, and everyone watching, would enjoy that.  But would it be a battle of blades, of magic, or our greatest strength?  I feel I should warn you, I know more than a few things about battling… that comes with a few centuries of experience.  I believe the humans have a saying about age and treachery overcoming youth and skill," she said with a chuckle.  Moliira made no effort to hide her age, and she was curious how Torn would reply to her.

Torn just laughed as Moliira gave her reply to his offer. His eyes shone with excitement, and his grin was broader than ever. “Battle,” he said, subconsciously clenching his fists in anticipation. “And make the arena something special,” he said to the Battlemistress. The valkyrie nodded, not complaining about the change of plans. This battle would be most interesting, after all, and it was her duty to make the arena as entertaining as possible. If two gods wanted to help in that endeavour, she would not complain.

Torn addressed Moliira again, his grin still broad. “I am not expecting to win,” he said candidly, the prospect of having his ass handed to him apparently of no consequence. “But I do expect to put up a good fight,” he continued. He seemed to mean it. He got up from his seat, and in a flash (appropriately enough) he was in his armour, carrying his trusty shield and spear. His short sword hung by his side, the bronze hilt glinting together with the point of the heavy main weapon. His gear seemed to be that of a huscarl of the northern regions, though with a lot of enchanted bronze in place of the more typical hardened steel.

The Battlemistress flew down to the center of the arena and announced that an exhibition match between the Prince of Epics and the Storm Wolf was about to commence. The crowd went absolutely nuts as a result. The cheer drowned out all other noise, and could be heard throughout all of Musalia. In fact, Torn looked up at the sky with an expression of pure exhilaration, and the clouds vanished. The blue sky faded away. The sun seemed to stretch, become fainter, and cover the entire skyline. And before long, the sky became an image. The Battlemistress and all other valkyries besides began to faintly glow, with shining, eye-shaped lights on their helmets, and it became clear that the sky was a reflection of what they saw. All of Musalia would be able to look up at the sky and see this fight. Torn looked at Moliira. His fists became white, for they clenched his spear with such excitement. “Let’s do this,” he said, his voice shaky from the rush.

He lept, and landed on the arena floor with a dull thud. The arena seemed to stretch, impossibly, to become larger. What was before a circle about fifty metres across became a huge slice of land several acres large. One large river and several creeks were created from cracks forming in the increasingly uneven ground. Hills began to form, and cliffs, and vegetation began to cover the arena. On the arena floor, these objects were solid - but a golden glow surrounded Torn’s outline. All spectators, including Moliira, would realize - perhaps through some subtle telepathic broadcast - that onlookers would be able to zoom in on the arena and see through foliage at will, whereas contestants would have no such advantage. Furthermore, once the valkyries took wing, they vanished, becoming undetectable. The magic of the arena seemed to grant full oversight of the battle to all spectators, while robbing contestants of any such advantage.

Soon, the arena robbed all such advantages from Moliira. Torn was getting ready to fight, and the audience was now screaming for the Storm Wolf to join the fray.

If she could have guessed how the day might have gone, this wasn't the first possibility she had considered.  But Moliira was glad, a battle was a good, honest way to understand someone.  A special arena, that was something be enjoyed.  She nodded, and said "I expect nothing less than a good fight," with a grin.  Studying his arms and armor for a few moments while the announcement was made for the next battle, the drow summoned her own gear.  Hers was simple, leather boots and leggings, a leather chestguard embedded with icy crystals, and leather vambraces.  Her choice of armor did not limit her flexibility, which Moliira considered to be her primary defense.  Two swords hung at her hips, one kissed by ice and the other by shadows.  "Take a deep breath, Torn.  I want a bit of a challenge," she said with a cheeky grin.  Excitement tended to make for mistakes.

Her own landing in the arena was quieter, and she studied the area for a few moments in silence.  She first turned and saluted the Battlemistress, and Torn.  The noise of the crowd was tuned out of her mind, it was only a distraction.  "Let's do this," she said with a nod and a grin.  The drow turned and sprinted at full speed into the woods, her light footfalls carrying her away with speed.  For the first two hundred steps, she ran in a straight line, not bothering to alter her course.  Torn would likely be caught off guard, and it would take him time to catch up, perfect for her preferred means of fighting.

Then she turned left, ran another fifty steps, turned right and ran another fifty.  Then one more turn to the right.  It brought her back to her original path, albeit not as far ahead as she would have been had she kept running in a straight line.  Then Moliira started climbing up a tree.  Hopefully the deception had worked, and Torn was ahead of her.  That armor of his made his quite easy to hear.

Torn felt his heart race in his chest as the Battlemistress declared the fight initiated. Even before any confrontation, adrenaline surged through his veins. It wasn’t the prospect of battle, necessarily. It wasn’t even the promise of a good tale he was thrilled about. He was facing the most legendary hunter of all time, and he had to turn the tables and become the hunter himself to have any hope of winning. He had hunted predators before, but not like this. And that thrilled him. The chance to face the challenge. To try his hands at the ultimate game of cat and mouse, the high point of his career as an adventurer. Even ascending to godhood paled by comparison - being on top of the pile was nothing when someone else put him there. This? Fighting to the top of the pile himself? It was unreal, unlike anything he had experienced before.

With that in mind, Torn had all the patience in the world. Moliira wouldn’t come straight for him - in a straight fight, Moliira would have the worst odds of success - better be it that she lay traps and deceive him. That meant that he’d have time to think. Running headlong into her tracks would be a surefire way to get shot and defeated, so naturally, Torn decided against it. Circling around the arena would take too much time, and Torn had high visibility whereas Moliira did not. That gave the advantage to the drow. Since neither pursuit nor outmaneuvering was an option, Torn decided to take a different approach. Back, front, and sides all give the advantage to Moliira. The best edge I have is the sky. And so, after a moment of deliberation, he whistled. Nimbus, his enchanted cloud, appeared, ready to give its master a ride. Torn stepped onto the cloud and took to the air.

As expected, however, finding Moliira from above proved close to impossible. Torn certainly couldn’t figure it out. What he didn’t consider about taking to the air, however, was that the Storm Wolf had air magic aplenty to make good use of. So it was that Torn suddenly found himself amidst heavy turbulence, and suddenly had to focus entirely on keeping his balance - or plummet to the forest floor, where he’d be picked apart by Moliira in seconds. It was comparable to keeping one’s balance on a unicycle during an earthquake, but somehow, Torn managed to keep his feet - most likely because Nimbus did its best to help him. Suddenly, an idea came to mind. If she can mess up my environment, I can mess up hers, he thought to himself, and grabbed one of his javelins. The enchanted bronze hummed in his hand, and during a moment of relative stability, Torn flinged the javelin towards a dense bit of foliage. As the weapon flew in a vicious arc through the air, it began to crackle with thunder, and as the point hit the root of one of the trees, it erupted with a thunderbolt and a blast of flame that began to set the forest ablaze. Torn dived, in order to be able to hit flammable vegetation more reliably. Inadvertently, this also meant that wind magic cast around him would also serve to fan the flames, as Torn kept throwing javelins into the forest floor, causing several fires to erupt and begin consuming the woods. Now what will you do, Moliira?