( Howdy Stranger !)

“A shame,” the magus mused, reaching up to run his fingers across his face - his second. The cool touch of the Mithril was not unpleasant. It was more familiar to him these days than his own skin. As was the press of garments than a partner in the night. Such vain things troubled him little these days - for all anyone knew, he was born wearing the mask.

The spell had cracked his visage but just barely - a temporary incovience, but the victory was his. The mage loomed over his fallen rival, humming a low tune as he slowly drew off his glove.

“ Those were bold claims. Too much, it seems. Tsk, tsk - you could have had a promising career as a blustering warrior. But now...” His index finger pressed down on the space between his brows.

“I suppose you are about as pedestrian as your pesonality. But not to worry - I’m more than happy to put your knowledge to good use.”

- Anton is actually a bit ticklish himself. Unfortunately, he knows Mar is worse, so he rarely gives her s chance to find out. Preemptive strike.

- Anton has intentionally gotten he and a certain bodyguard ‘caught in the act’ while on expedition before. He’s a bit cheeky like that - thankfully playing innocent is something he is quite adept at - and likely explains why he is still breathing.

“Uh! I suppose you have tusks then! Yeah, those things are always quite fun until they get a bit wild around anything vulnerable. Oof.”

At first it would seem that only silence answered Korri’s words.

Yet, with her occupation’s sight the huntress would likely pick up on the motes of energy condensing just beyond her camp. There was a sudden hum, a flash, and a razor thin streak of blue. And said streak continued to expand to the shape of a full human. Anton had arrived.

The man was dressed normally enough - a purple vest and sandy britches , with a loose, silver sash around his midsection. In his hands were his promise - a bottle of Strom’s Sunset Wine, and an equally red, fruit drink - a non-alcoholic choice? The mage smiled at Korri, eyes gleaming with interest - though, it was apparent by his face, he was at least a little surprised she had called him out here.

“...Well! I take it that this apology package was more to your liking? I’ll admit, in hindsight, sending that one with seafood without the preservation ward wasn’t the wisest choice.”

The Chronicler approached, politely offering up the bottles to his , for lack of a more fitting term in a hermit’s camp, host.

“As promised. Good evening , Korri,” Anton smiled.