Adeluna had proved to be rather unfruitful for Mazerine, so she had decided to try elsewhere.  After being abandoned while on assignment from the embassy in Endopano, she had been working tiresomely to earn silver to try to fund her way to travel back home, but any silver she ended up making was spent on room and food to keep her going while looking for the next job.  It was a vicious circle, and it never seemed to end.  She was still quite indignant that Eramriel had abandoned her so willingly, and that the job with the Northmen hadn’t panned out to be what it was supposed to be. 

She had found herself in Vilpamolan.  She had been told the city was not entirely safe, especially for someone who seemed as young and inexperienced as herself, but fortunately for her she was a highly skilled mage and would have no trouble protecting herself from the riffraff that would be found in the pirate haven.  It hadn’t taken her long to find a job while sitting in one of the rowdy taverns.  It seemed that someone had gone missing while searching for a lost artifact in Moritus Swamp, and no one seemed to want to go look for this someone.  

After she had accepted the job and found herself in the heart of Moritus Swamp, Mazerine understood why no one would take the job - not even the mages that she had come into contact with.  Most mages who were highly skilled were incredibly adept with fire magic, and there were signs posted throughout the swamp stating that fire magic was prohibited - and she could tell why: the noxious gasses rising from the swamp would more than likely ignite with even a small fireball. 

This was a bit of a concern for Mazerine.  While capable of other types of magic, her fire magic was the strongest, which left her at a bit of a disadvantage should a troublesome situation arise.  She traversed on for a few more moments, before she heard a strange noise emitting from one of the bogs that the path ran near.  The sound resembled  a gurgling noise, and when she turned to see what its origin was, she saw something that she most certainly had not been expecting.

A monstrous alligator was rising from the swamp - much too large to be any normal creature.  It was covered in white and black paint, what looked like human bones adorning it.  Her eyes widened in terror and she backed away slightly, her feet slipping in the soft much beneath her.  A monstrous growl emitted from its mouth and its eyes focused on her, and she let out a bit of a shriek, taking off at a run.  Without being able to use her fire magic, she was uncertain how she was to defend herself.

She hid behind a large boulder that was slightly off the path on the edge of a bog, hoping that she had gotten far enough away from the creature.  She was shaking from fear, as she was still uncertain as to what the monster actually was.  Her hands shaking, she clasped them together and closed her eyes, begging to the gods for defense.  “Please, please… if any of the gods, even the Voice… if you can hear this prayer… please, aid me in this dire situation,” she pleaded.  She could hear the alligator-thing approaching her general location, and the plea became more distressed.  “Please, please…” She scrambled a bit further down the boulder, tucking herself against the ground.  “I will do anything to get myself out of this fucked up situation,” she pleaded, her eyes watering with terror, praying that someone would come to her aid.

Torn was at home, relaxing after an adventure. He’d been home for a couple of days, and was beginning to get bored, so he’d spent the whole day looking at the performances in the Dream Arena. The bardic performances had been alright, but none had managed to make the audience give a standing ovation - which meant that as far as the Dream Arena went, today’s performances were mediocre at best. The fights weren't much better - after four free-for-alls and eleven duels, no impressive fights had been fought. The only impressive sight he’d seen all day was a highborn warrior from Ataiyo, a man wielding an odd polearm, that had cut through the first three stages of the Warrior’s Gauntlet in the same day. He tried to earn honour and fame by completing the gauntlet in a day rather than a month, but had failed fighting against a wyvern. Torn didn’t want the man to waste his first life in the arena, but the man had been roasted in a single gout of vicious flame, and that was that. He’s probably never coming back, Torn thought to himself. He won’t waste his life for anyone but his master. It was during a particularly dull fight between two groups of conservative soldiers that Torn heard a prayer.

Torn had decided to filter away most prayers, leaving a small number of muses and valkyries to judge said prayers, and bring them to Torn’s attention if the praying was worthy of it. This time, however, the prayer went directly to him. Something was afoot.

Torn closes his eyes and listened. She’s terrified, he thought to himself, ignoring the fight in the arena. In a second, his mind was made up. “These fights bore me,” he said to the Battlemistress, who didn’t reply. Torn didn’t expect her to - the valkyrie’s sole purpose was to protect the sanctity of the arena. In a flash, the Prince of Epics projected himself to the source of the prayer, changing from his comfortable day clothes to martial attire at the same time.

He appeared right next to the boulder where Mazerine was hiding, directly in the path of the encroaching alligator. Another for my collection, he thought, as the creature stopped dead in its tracks, momentarily confused to see a man appearing directly in its path. Torn didn’t pay attention to it, looking instead at the elf. “The gods hear your prayers,” he began, before grinning broadly. “Well, one of us, at least.” He chuckled a bit, preparing to introduce himself. “I am Torn, Prince of Epics, God of heroi-”

Torn was violently cut short as the alligator regained composure, and swiped at him. Torn deflected the blow off his shield, trying to complete his introduction. “Ahem! God of heroism and -” the monster made another attack, this one prompting Torn to skip backwards a few paces. “Fuck it.. Alright, let me just kill this guy. Hang on.” he charged at the ‘gator, shield and spear leveled. As the monster attempted to lunge at him, however, he lept into the air - and a cloud swooped by, stopping beneath Torn’s dominant foot, and he leapt again. Soaring above the monster’s head, it craned its neck to follow, looking up. That was a mistake, for while vaulting over the creature, Torn jabbed with his spear, piercing the monster’s eye. While still in the air, Torn slammed the butt of the spear with his shield, ramming it hard into the creature’s skull and destroying its brain. The monster fell backwards, and Torn managed to avoid having it land on him by doing a backwards hand spring immediately after landing.

Torn yanked his spear out of the creature’s skull, letting out a satisfied sigh. He whistled sharply, and a valkyrie shimmered into existence next to him, looking at the kill. “Hílðegùnn, I’d like to add this thing to my collection. Do you mind?” The valkyrie, her eyes obscured by her helmet, slowly turned her head to Torn. “As you say, my prince.” The valkyrie leaned over, floating in midair, and put her hand over the monster’s heart. She yanked, and a spectral image of the alligator was pulled out of the corpse, immediately dissipating as the valkyrie clenched her hand, claiming the monster’s soul. Torn then looked to Mazerine, and smiled broadly. “Thank you, Hílðegùnn. I’ll take it from here,” he said, and the valkyrie nodded, and disappeared.

Torn walked over to the elf, still smiling. “So. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Torn, Prince of Epics, god of Heroism and Song,” he said, grinning as he planted his spear butt-first into the ground. He knelt down, still smiling. “I answered your prayer,” he said, looking at her for a moment before speaking again. “Now, I believe you made a promise.”

When a rather handsome looking man appeared out of thin air next to her, Mazerine’s fear only increased.  Had she been drugged when she was in the tavern in Vilpamolan, before she had left for the swamp?  It was not wholly improbable - perhaps it had been with a sort of substance that would not have kicked in until much later after she had consumed it.  She blinked a few times, her body still quaking in terror, as he spoke.  The gods have heard my  prayers? she wondered to herself, confusion mingling with the fear on her features.  

She let out a shriek as the alligator attacked the mysterious man who had appeared and had begun introducing himself as Torn.  She scrambled back away from the stone, staring in horror as the supposed god deflected the alligator’s blow with his shield.  As he fielded the second blow, stepping him backwards a bit, she let out another sound of terror.  She nodded, bewildered, as he mentioned killing the creature.  What happened next was all too unrealistic for Mazerine to process, but it resulted in the monstrous beast being slain.  

Mazerine could not do much other than sit back and stare on in a strange mixture of horror, confusion, and almost amusement as the strange happenings continued.  The man - the god? - named Torn whistled and another being appeared, a helmeted valkyrie.  Some words were exchanged and a spirit rose out of the slain alligator, disappearing shortly before Torn commanded the valkyrie to take leave as well.

When he had turned his attention back to her, she shuffled back a slight amount, unsure how much she could trust him.  True, he had appeared out of thin air and he had slain the monster that was surely going to kill her - but how was she to know that he was not just some trickster, toying with her?    When he spoke to her, his voice did not seem full of malice or trouble - but she almost felt calmed.  

After a moment, she bowed her head respectfully, as she realized that he must, indeed, be a god.  There was no explanation other than that for what had occurred.  She looked back up at him and introduced herself.  “I am Mazerine Alaudriel.  Thank you for your assistance - I did not know whether or not my prayers would be answered, but it is clear that they have been.”  She gave him a quick smile, taking in his features for a moment as he was at eye level with her from kneeling.  Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she smoothed out her dress and attempted to push a few stray strands of hair back behind her pointed ears.  The jeweled chain she wore atop her hair had fallen slightly crooked and she tugged at it.  “Please forgive my disheveledness,” she said. 

The pale skin of her face reddened noticeably at his last statement.  She had, indeed, said she would do anything to get out of the situation that she had been in - but the thought of what could be expected of her had her worried.  Beyond magic, she had little to no skill in anything other than talking.  “I did,” she said, in response, pulling herself into a standing position. She straightened herself up a bit more.  “I don’t know what I could do to be of service to you, but I am in your debt.”  She cast her eyes down at the ground, giving away her upper-class status, as the females in her class were taught not to make much eye contact with a male of higher standing than them.  It was clear how uncomfortable she was in this situation, and how confused she was as well.

Torn grinned as the elven girl apologized for her disheveledness, a word he didn’t even know what meant. He figured it had something to do with how messy she looked. “I don’t mind,” he said, leaving his answer vague to be on the safe side. He straightened up as she did, smiling broadly as she somewhat awkwardly admitted that she didn’t quite know how to repay him. He waited a short while before responding, as though weighing his options.

Truth be told, Torn didn’t want this girl’s help with anything - if she couldn’t handle the monster he just slew - with relative ease - he had a hard time understanding how helpful she could be. It did not, of course, occur to him that the gases in the swamp prevented her from using her best weapon, so Torn had a far more lewd payment in mind. He sensed, however, that the girl wasn’t all that experienced - far from a turn-off - but he decided not to be too forward. “Beautiful girl like you? I can think of a way or two,” he said, smirking. He looked around, satisfied that there were no more threats in the immediate area. “For now, let’s go somewhere else. This place reeks,” he said, picked up his spear again, and began walking away from the swamp, to a more agreeable atmosphere. “Come along,” he called, hoping that the elf would start talking, so he could get the measure of her.

Mazerine felt her cheeks redden even further at Torn’s comment of her beauty.  She was aware that she was not all that unpleasant to look at, but the line of work that she had fallen into with the embassy had her far from anyone who would sling compliments in her direction for any reason.  The only comments on her appearance she had ever received were mostly from drunken men at taverns who were interested in nothing more than finding a warm body to use for the night.  She did not say anything, as she was unsure how to respond, but nodded as he mentioned finding a different place to go.  The scent that the swamp emitted was rather foul.

She followed him as he beckoned for her.  “Thank you again,” she said, her voice wavering slightly but still sounding much sturdier than it had during the alligator’s attack.  “Under different circumstances, I think that I would have been find to defend myself in that situation,” she said. The tone of her voice gave way to the confidence behind her statement.  “Can’t cast fire magic in that swamp, and I did not know that before I got in there,” she said, sounding a bit frustrated.  “Mind you, in any other situation I’m quite skilled with magic,” she said, sounding proud of herself.  “I was well known around the embassy for that,” she said.  “I’m an ambassador, from Endopano,” she added.  “Or, at least, I was,” she continued, frowning slightly.  She abruptly quieted.  “Forgive me, your… Your Grace?  Do I call you that?  Honestly, what is the proper way to speak to you?” she asked, sounding concerned.  “I’ve never been in the presence of the divine, and I don’t want to offend you,” she added, with a sigh.  She straightened the shoulders of her gown, looking up at the god with an inquisitive gaze.

Torn listened to the girl, and as she spoke about her ability with magic, Torn perked an eyebrow. That explains a thing or two, he thought to himself, smiling. “Well, I can’t blame you for getting in that situation. I’ve found myself in deeper waters for less sensible reasons,” he admitted, chuckling. As Mazerine explained she used to be an ambassador, he smirked. “A sight easy on the eyes is a great way to keep discussions civil,” he half-jested. He simply began to laugh as Mazerine struggled to find the correct honorific, quite familiar with the struggle.

“I honestly haven’t gotten around to that yet,” he replied, candidly. The valkyries and muses had both just called him ‘my prince’ since they were created/summoned to Musalia, and Torn had never thought about changing that to something more convenient. Now that it was brought up, however, Torn found himself wondering if there was indeed a more suitable way to address him. “The denizens of Musalia have all used ‘my prince’ until now, but I suppose something a little more… elegant, might be in order.” He turned his head and grinned at Mazerine. “I ascended only recently, see.” As the pair moved out of the more smelly part of the wilderness, Torn looked around, confirmed that no one else was nearby, and sat down.

He looked at Mazerine, with a confident smile. “You’re a diplomat,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, and patting the ground next to him - none too subtly asking Mazerine to take a seat next to him, at a proximity that couldn’t be called formal even in an anthill. “I’m sure you have an idea or two,” he continued. “What do you think is the proper honorific for the god of heroism and song?” he asked, winking at her.

Torn’s further comment on her appearance caused Mazerine’s blush to deepen further still.  When he began to laugh, she was almost offended, as she had thought for certain that it had been her reaction to his compliment that had caused her to laugh.  When she realized that he was in fact laughing at her inability to figure out what to call him, she felt slightly less offended, but did nothing to show Torn that she felt this way.  

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful by not knowing what to refer to you as,” she said.  “My schooling in Endopano and when I got to the embassy in Adeluna was severely lacking in the etiquette one must possess to address a member of the divine,” she said.  “Things were far more focused on courtly manners and the ways in which ambassadors were inferior and superior, both at the same time.”  She furrowed her brow for a moment as she realized she was rambling.  “I apologize for digressing,” she said.  “I congratulate you on your apotheosis, as it were,” she said, when Torn mentioned that his ascension was rather recent.  

“I am,” she said, in a hesitant response to his declaration that she was a diplomat.  She remained motionless for a moment as he invited her to sit next to him.  It seemed quite a bit closer than would be appropriate, but who was she to question the authority of a god?  After a moment, she took the steps and closed the distance between them, lowering herself onto the ground next to him.  She smoothed the skirts of her dress out, her legs to the side, and leaned onto one of her hands.  “Well,” she said, finally bringing herself to look at his face again.  “You did refer to yourself as the Prince of Epics, but I feel like that might be a bit of a mouthful.  Wouldn’t want to call yourself ‘the Bard,’ as that gives a bit of a low-class feel,” she said.  She looked contemplative, drawing her lower lip into her mouth and chewing on it in thought.  “Perhaps your faithful could refer to you as ‘The Storyteller?’” she said, though she shook her head.  “Perhaps that’s not quite it.  I don’t know - it’s quite a task to be asked to come up with what one of the divine will be referred to as,” she said, with an awkward laugh.  “Why would you want someone such as myself to think of such for you?” she questioned innocently.  

Torn listened to each of Mazerine’s suggestions in turn, smiling, even as he didn’t quite approve of any of them. He wasn’t sure how to break that to her, but when she asked why he’d asked for her opinion, he didn’t have to. “Well,” he said, locking Mazerine’s gaze with his own. “My domain is glory, strength, and art. When it comes to other things, I seek out advisors,” he said, smiling. "Besides, I like the sound of your voice," he added.

Torn then reached up and adjusted her circlet, and smoothed over a few creases in her dress. “Now,” he said, while moving his hand to Mazerine’s shoulder, presumably to flatten that crease as well. “In your prayer, you said you’d do anything,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I saved your life,” he continued, and tugged at the dress, bringing the cloth down a bit. “And as I told you, I can imagine a few ways you could make it up to me,” he said, and tugged a bit on the other side of the dress. He smiled at Mazerine, his most winning, disarming smile. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said, his hand coming to a rest at the top of Mazerine’s back. “But right now, this is what I want,” he said, sliding his hand around her neck and down to her collarbone, trailing slowly downward.

Mazerine noted that there was something about Torn’s smile that made it hard for her to draw her gaze away from his face.  She attributed it in part to his godhood, but there was something overly charming about him even when one disregarded that part.  “My voice?” she said, quietly, sounding a bit at a loss.  

She withheld from drawing back as he reached for her, his hands working to adjust her headpiece and dress.  “I did say this,” she said softly, her gaze following the direction of his hand as it found its way to her shoulder.  “You did,” she said in response to his mention of saving her life, a very, very quiet breath escaping her lips as he slipped the shoulder of her dress down a bit.  “You can?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky and still on the quiet side.  At first, she had been a bit confused as to what he was doing, but it was becoming quite clear to her now.  She paused as he told her that this was not a requirement of her, hestiating for a moment.

When it came to situations of a sexual nature, Mazerine was incredibly inexperienced.  She had not so much as pressed her lips against those of another in a romantic situation, let alone participated in anything beyond that.  As Torn’s hand trailed from her back, to her neck, her collarbone, and even a bit further down, she brought her gaze back up to meet his own, catching the smile that he gave her.  “What you want?” she said, her voice sounding a bit hesitant.  There was something about his touch, scaling from her neck to her collarbone, which elicited a shiver from her, from her spine to her very core.  Her words may have sounded hesitant, but her body language gave way to something different altogether.

“You won’t want it when you realize I’ve not the slightest clue in how to please you,” she said.  “I’ve never… I may need a bit of… instruction,” she said, timidly.  Her face flushed again, but she leaned into his touch slightly, showing him that she was willing, if he still wanted her, regardless of her lack of experience.

Torn proceeded to pull Mazerine’s dress down to her waist, smiling at her. “Just close your eyes, and relax. Let your instincts do the job,” he said, as he began slowly undressing her. For each piece of flesh he exposed, he gave it a caress and a kiss, gently nudging Mazerine onto her back after a little while. When he had finally exposed all of her, he proceeded to use his hands to get her ready.

A few hours later, Torn lied satisfied on his back, relishing in his accomplishment. Taking the virginity of an elven girl… Man, that felt good, he thought to himself, but put on a much gentler facade for Mazerine. He turned his head, looked at her, and smiled. “That was fantastic. You were great,” he said, giving her a gentle rub to ease the tension and pain he guessed she was having. He could offer her that much, at least.

When it was time to get dressed again, Torn did so rather nonchalantly. While he was putting on his clothes and armour, he looked at Mazerine, no longer smiling. “I must ask you not to tell people who I am,” he said, locking his greaves in place. “Should anyone ask, i was just an adventurer who happened by in your hour of need.” He looked at her again, his smile returned. “Don’t read too much into it. I like to sing of my exploits, but things like these are private memories,” he said, in his most charming tone. “I’d prefer to keep them that way.” He looked at Mazerine, half-pretending to be admiring her features (they certainly were admirable) while gauging her reaction.