tisane smishane

Tyrian's expression sobered and grew critical as Theory explained what had happened. "That's all a bunch of shit if you ask me." Who did that? He expected nothing less from the Hjarrandi; they'd made their position quite clear from the beginning and he couldn't really fault them, could he, for being exactly what they advertised themselves to be. Winterfell, though? They advertised themselves as noble and friendly, but their actions said otherwise. It was the duplicity that bothered Tyrian about this situation. "Doesn't sound like Winterfell's hand was forced, either. I mean if you sell yourself as a mercenary you expect to be used as a mercenary, no? They knew what they were getting into; don't let them off easy saying their hand was forced. They knew."

He rolled his eyes and made a face as though he wished to wash his hands of speaking about Winterfell's duplicity. "I'm happy to hear you won, though. That's the kind of slap in the face they all deserve in my opinion." It pleased him to know Hjarrandi got nothing (for no reason other than his own amusement) from the deal and that Winterfell had been spanked and sent home empty-handed. It's just what they deserved for being dumb enough to trade something so big and valuable for what, one man? Even the yearling Tyrian, brand spanking new king that he was, knew it was a garbage deal. "Hjarrandi tried to raid us too a couple seasons ago. We beat 'em back, though. Didn't lose a damn thing." Tyrian was quite pleased with that too. It hadn't happened during his reign, but he hoped it elevated the pack enough to make it less of a target in the future. Not that he minded being raided. In his opinion it just gave them a chance to showcase their skill.