<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e0/ONB_-_Thyrnir_Bjornstruck.jpg)</div><strong>Name:  Thyrnir Bjornstruck (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=266077.msg13127938#msg13127938)</strong><br/><br/><strong>CLIENT</strong><br/><br/><strong>Situation:</strong>Reacting<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong><em>Thyrnir gets aroused from seeing the Brides</em><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/>Thyrnir drank deeply from his mug of Lentrian Red. Somewhere there was a sommelier who was having a conniption and they would have no idea why. Thyrnir drank the wine from the wooden vessel with no care or love for the crimson liquid, taking it down like other men took in water. For all of his current wealth, Thyrnir's humble roots showed through. He did not have the refined tastes to truly appreciate what he was drinking and did it only because it was the first wine he had ever consumed.<br/><br/>Like so many things in Thyrnir's life, it went back to when he fought at the great fortress. On a very cold and wet night he was standing on sentry duty, and the toll of the constant fighting had worn him to the breaking point. Thyrnir had been resolved to flee that night. It was not unheard of for men to break and flee. Better, stronger men than Thyrnir had done so. Better, stronger men than Thyrnir had already died by that point. But the Legend was making rounds. It was ludicrous for a man so ancient to be out - the Legend had an arthritic back, water on his knee, and a shoulder reduced to perhaps sixty per cent mobility. Walking along the wall and speaking to sentries - after a full day of fighting! - should have not been on his agenda. But the Legend had come, and spent half an hour speaking with Thyrnir - a callow youth unable to grow a beard. The old warrior had shared wine with Thyrnir. He had said nothing about Thyrnir's desire to flee, though now Thyrnir knew it must have been painfully obvious he was a runner-to-be. And without that talk that night on that cold, wet night . . . Thyrnir would have fled. Perhaps it would have meant much. It might have meant nothing at all for one less boy to stand beside men so tall they rubbed shoulders with gods.<br/><br/>The melancholy and nostalgic had crept in on the red tide of the wine flowing down Thyrnir's throat. He glanced up as the first of the Brides made their way onto the floor, and he looked hopefully for the sort that he desired most: those who looked least like the race he sprang from. In this respect, at least, Thyrnir pursued a cosmopolitan palate.<br/><br/>The women who made appearances were all beautiful. It could not be denied. And to see them of course stirred Thyrnir's blood and loins. He shifted in place and adjust his tunic and trousers to be more comfortable as blood flowed to his manhood and it grew quickly tumescent. He saw the green flesh and muscles of the female orc and felt a moment's hope before she found herself approached and engaged with another patron. Thyrnir bit the inside of his mouth and stifled a brief flash of disappointment. The night was still young, though, and it was not enough to sour his mood. He raised his mug to his lips again and drank more. The mug emptied and Thyrnir filled it again.<br/><br/>The sudden explosion shocked him, and saw Thyrnir standing up straight as a rod. He glanced about, searching for its source, and he could not find some wizard engaged in obvious magic to account for it. The aftermath belied the consternation Thyrnir felt at being unable to comprehend what had occurred, and so he sat back down.<br/><br/>He drank more wine, and took in the sights. There was so much to see. There always was and it seemed that even for everything that Thyrnir had gone through, there was too much to take in at the One-Night Bride. Rather than overwhelm him, Thyrnir let himself flow with the pace of things. He experienced what he perceived and moved onto the next thing. It was perhaps how he managed to survive walking the planes.<br/><br/>The adventurer smiled and felt a sense of content take him over. The night was young and ripe and soon enough there would be something else to turn his attention to.