“EISENGEIST SHAN’T ACT SO FOOLISHLY AGAIN, I CAN BE CERTAIN AT LEAST OF THAT,” the Revenant King said, turning his attention to Eisengeist’s two siblings. Edelweiss and Sprengfaust were further put to task in removing Teutobochus from within city limits. They managed to do this without further damaging the titan, and even arranged it in a distinguished seated position at the city’s edge, as if it were meditating.

While Edelweiss left after this was dealt with, Sprengfaust remained, clearing out rubble and rescuing those who had been buried beneath it at the druids’ instruction.

The Bjorns and several other clans came out in direct support of the Hulsons, with the Bjorns even offering up use of the vast complex that was their longhouse while the Hulsons’ own primary home underwent repairs. Much of this support rang hollow, given that these very clans had been silent in the decades during which the Hulsons faced slander and abuse from the conspirator-clans and those who took them at their word.

Zelsys, Zefaris, Jorfr, and Victor each spent variable lengths of time recovering from their respective trials and tribulations. For once, it was Zelsys who rested the longest, though in her case rest meant a lighter-than-usual-but-still-gruelling training regime. She went to the full extent of her reduced capabilities in testing just how much Victor’s capabilities had improved, including his Magus Gestalt Dawnwolf transformation. To her great satisfaction, she found that he could now keep up during sparring without her needing to pull her punches… Much.

As for Jorfr, she found not an iota of surprise in her heart regarding his awakening of the Immortal Blood, having learned firsthand just how tenacious the norseman was. She was just as unsurprised by Zef’s involvement in subduing Eisengeist, and the two of them celebrated their reunion in enthusiastic fashion at the first opportunity.

So the days went, spent in rest and revelry among the Bjorns and what few true friends the Hulsons had had. A dense air of anticipation hung over the celebrations. It was half anticipation for the fate of the conspirator-clans, whose surviving members had been apprehended by the druids, various individuals aiding the druids, and in some cases the Revenant King himself. The other half came from anticipation of the Hulson Clan’s fate; it hadn’t been stated in any official capacity, but none doubted that they would be reinstated as a Primary Clan.

Strangely enough, Karmesin not only remained in the city, she participated in the revelry as an honored guest - and eagerly so. The woman quickly made herself known to be a drinker of equally demonic provenance as the one her appearance suggested. She repeatedly challenged Zelsys to fight her to the death, and repeatedly went back on her word stating that it wouldn’t be right if she was crippled like this. It didn’t seem to be lost on her that she had eagerly contravened her own word back in Arches; this fact, when Zel brought it up, sent the good lady Zhumei Karmesin into raucous laughter. She admitted that it was entirely to do with her own sharp growth in power during her journey to and stay in Borea.

“Wouldn’t be any fun if I could just…” she said, raising a blackstone liquor dish to her lips. She slurped blood-mead from it, letting it run down her chin and bare chest as she waved her left hand. It was no longer monstrous, but it was still entirely encased in chitin. Three of her subcores emerged from her back and instantly formed an array, panels of blackstone coming into being and slamming into place around them to form a cannon.

Zel sensed no killing intent, and indeed, there was none. Zhumei finished off the dish and snapped her fingers, firing a ray of northlight at Zel that did no more than blow her hair back.

“...If I could just do that, y’know,” she slurred. “If I blew your head off right here and now I’d just come away frustrated.”

Most amusing of all, Ingvald hadn’t even noticed the incident take place. He had set up wards to shut out the outside world in order to better delve into prep work. It helped that the area of his residence was well out of the way of Eisengeist’s rampage.

The Revenant King admitted both of Eisengeist’s severed tendrils as rightly-earned spoils of battle to Victor, and offered the services of the city’s most skilled butchers in processing them to the greatest plausible extent. Meat, connective tissue, nerves, blood vessels, the blood itself, everything would be considered ultra-high-grade material, easily warranting the S-rank classification. Clearly well aware of the near-indestructible nature of dragonbone, he added: “I OWE A DEBT OF SERVICE TO YOU, YOUNG WARRIOR, FOR SO VALIANTLY TAKING PART IN FORESTALLING THE DESTRUCTION OF MY CITY. SHOULD EISENGEIST’S BONE PROVE TO BE BEYOND MY BUTCHERS’ ABILITIES, I WILL TAKE MY OWN BLADE TO THEM.”

It inevitably came to it that the King did indeed have to use his own sword to cut apart the bones, and they resisted even him for a short time. The tendrils’ vast mass made them, at first glance, utterly impractical to process or transport. The Revenant King once more, in his magnanimity, offered up a solution: What they couldn’t take with would simply be sent along with a southbound trade convoy, with a small fraction of the spoils taken to fund the journey. Artifacts with the ability to store such vast amounts of powerfully magical matter were, it seemed, exceedingly rare, and nearly impossible to find in a readily portable format.

“IT WOULD SIMPLY BE FAR TOO GREAT A RISK TO SEND A PRECIOUS VAULT-SLATE SO FAR FROM BOREA, I AM SURE YOU UNDERSTAND. HENCE, THE DRAGON’S FLESH SHALL ARRIVE PRESERVED IN GLACIERGLASS,” he said.

As for the two great blades taken from the ends of Eisengeist’s severed tendrils, one of course went to Ingvald. The other was safely stored away in the Revenant King’s temporary throne-chamber, interred right beneath the floor in the middle of the room, well within His sight. With one of Eisengeist’s tails as his material, Ingvald could now satisfy his strange mood.