The druids weren’t even people as far as he was concerned. Soon they would meet their reckoning, if even one-third of his and Kristina’s plans came to term. Neither the Ramdalls, the Buhaugs, nor the Eisens possessed the means to oppose the druids; at least not within the city, and not yet.

The ice-cold thrum of passing the barrier ripped him out of his own thoughts.

He was ordered to place his hand upon their bloodbound hands. The druids began reciting an incantation in their antediluvian dialect, the ringing of the stone drums resonating with it and shaking both the ground underfoot and Asgeir’s bones. The blood seal spread to his wrinkled flesh, knowledge of Zelsys Newman’s and Rikke’s holmgang agreement flooding into his mind.

Asgeir’s world shattered right then and there.

“...Traitor. NIDINGR! THIS SHALL NOT PASS!” he wanted to cry out, but found himself unable to speak. He tried to yank his hand away, but couldn’t. The seal bound him, preventing him from trying to interfere.

A druid’s impassive eyes met him from across the two of them, alighting with an ice-blue glow that ripped the determination from his bones. He stated flatly: “You are not required to consent; merely to stand witness to the fulfillment of this holmgang’s consequences… As acting elder of Rikke Newman’s former clan. Now Be Calm.”

And he was.

Asgeir’s will to fight was robbed from him, and it would remain so for the next several days.

Such were the grave powers of the Revenant King’s druids; a mote of the King’s own antediluvian strength, though it could only be expressed so forcefully as to overwhelm another’s free will under special circumstances… Such as when one was bound by the bonds of blood and tried to break them.

A combination of dread and absolute hatred gripped Svend when he saw his niece walk away with that foreigner, not even giving a look back. His mental state wasn’t at all helped by the final strike of the battle; such feats were reserved for clan elders. The split-second consideration of whether she’d been correct in their initial encounter crossed Svend’s mind, but his anger quickly banished it.

“Traitor. Nidingr,” he thought. Like father, like son.

The emotion of terror was added to the blend when Asgeir sat down next to him, staring blankly ahead with an ice-blue glow swirling in his eyes. Knotwork was burned into his hand. Svend knew what that meant; Asgeir would be incapable of even perceiving the possibility of retribution for Rikke’s treason for several days, and the druids would go out of their way to keep an eye on the clan solely to prevent them from doing anything outside the honor system.

Boiling inside his own skin, Svend couldn’t wait to take it out on that worthless subhuman, Jorfr Hulson, the direct cause of all this. Had it not been for him, had he just died in the War of Fog as he rightly should’ve, Zelsys Newman, that monster, would have never made her way to borea.

A two-hour-long break was scheduled between matches, during which a portion of the audience filed out to flood the local district’s inns and other entertainment venues. It was fortunate that the local infrastructure was built to handle this, the establishments being given warnings ahead of time so they could prepare.

In this time window, the Hulson Clan’s group gathered in their assigned backstage area, secured to a frankly unreasonable degree; equal to the backroom Kyriak had led Zelsys to at the Wolfblade. There, Torhild and Yvonne took to looking over both Rikke’s and Zel’s injuries.

It barely took Yvonne a moment to assess her status: “She has… Traits from every animal included among her Beast Selves; including a Springspitter’s regeneration. It seems the Ramdalls possess the knowledge of how to evolve one’s Beast Selves, no wonder that they do. None of her injuries stuck, but look - not only does it burn fat, but muscle as well. Her bones have likely been thinned out as well. We have to work quickly.”

Substantial amounts of food and various elixirs were either brought over or made on-site; Vitae Elixir, Viriditas Elixirs, Bonemeld, Borean wound-sealing salve, and so on. Yvonne’s expert hands and tranquil snow magic acted incredibly quickly, taking Rikke from a state wherein she could barely walk with support to being able to sit up and speak under her own strength. In that same time, Zelsys also partook of elixirs, pills, and enough food to feed a grown man for two days. She was also certain she would need to bathe a bit longer than usual in the Primary Spring and sleep at least six hours. Zef stayed by her side the whole time, even insisting on feeding her as to not further strain her arm. It was true that it ached like hell and sounded the part when she moved it.

Rikke didn’t seem particularly upset with what had happened to her face and hair, numbly uttering: “...Some would call this an improvement.”

Eventually, though, time ran short and they made their way back to the arena. At Rikke’s insistence that she wanted to watch, Zel foisted her up by one arm and Yvonne supported her on the other side, the snow witch insisting that Jorfr should preserve every iota of his strength until it was needed.

As they walked through the subterranean hallways, Rikke turned to Zelsys.

“You swore upon your honor that you would share the secret of controlling my Inner Beasts. Did you truly mean it? Not the condition of your victory. The condition of your defeat,” she said.

“I would either get you to join my clan, or gain the opportunity to near-guarantee that you take over the Ramdall clan. There was no loss scenario for me,” Zel confessed.

“What do you mean?” Rikke raised an eyebrow.

Zel shrugged: “Just a gut feeling. If I were to teach you how to control your Beast Selves and leave, that fact would inevitably cause an internal conflict within the clan, and you would possess the means to just take over by force. My instincts are rarely wrong, anymore.”

“Anymore, yeah,” Zefaris agreed with a lightly facetious grimace.