Originally Posted by
Thanqol
Mercia thinks.
Three warring instincts twist within her, three iron laws play across her face for a while. But two find an uneasy alliance and the third is only invested as a matter of convenience, so the fight can be won. She might yet be your death but you are not her quarry.
"Fine," she says. "I will accept it as an oath sworn on iron chains. Find my heart and return it safely to me and I will release you from my grove. I will not trouble you again until you again come between me and my hunt. Fail and I will yet find a use for you."
She offers her hand. Iron mail. She makes no concessions and offers no weakness. It will hurt.
[Shaking her hand to seal the oath will inflict 1 Aggravated damage]