Red eyes, luminous in the dim light of the room at last focused on a pair of violet on the far side of the room, and a second pair of red near the door. Two, and possibly another. This wasn't the first time someone had tried to break into his place, but before it had been just random youths, trying to carve themselves a niche in their gang-like groups of friends. Tyde, thankfully, was lying still in her bed, still enough they'd likely mistake her for a glow faerie, like those that lit the houselights, or a fancy little doll.
He took in the breath he needed to utter the spell, when a third attacker from his left lashed out a hand, and a whip wound tightly round his throat. His breath whistled out in a pain-filled hiss, and his free hand dug into the leather encircling his neck.
The others closed in on him, and he brought his sword up to bear with a weakening arm. If not for the sneak attack with the whip-bearer, Tymne would have them all incapacitated by now.
"Get the faerie," hissed the whip-bearer... and blue-eyes stepped forward towards where Tyde lay. He looked in a panic at Tymne, who choked, unable to help her as the large naldine fist closed none to gently around her dainty body. He growled, hissed, and fought them, until a swordhilt slammed into his head, and the world slipped away into blackness.
The rain woke him. That and the mymyc's tendrils touching his face. Red eyes cracked open, and he worked at sitting up. The entire amorphous mass of tendrils, flowery camouflage, and butterfly and hummingbird lures had moved into the house at the commotion to try and help. Only, being so big, and with only the brain power of a golden retriever, it had not gotten shifted and inside in enough time to be of any use but comfort to its master as he awoke from his injuries.
He lightly patted a butterfly-tipped tentacle, and bade the thing to return to its place and shape while he cleaned up and regained his thoughts.
He cleaned the blood from his hair and neck, splashed some of the water onto his face, and took in the damages. His shop was in ruins, everything of value save his sword and the mymyc taken. However, if ANYONE could take the mymyc on, was welcome to try. It would likely eat them first.
Tyde.
Her loss at last hit him like the blow from the sword's hilt the night before. His beloved was gone, stolen... and quite possibly sold to a stranger who would abuse her... or worse, dissect her to see why she was so smart. And his only way to find her was the ring and chain she wore... which, for strange arcane reasons, was with her when she arrived into his life, and the ring only fit his finger.
He'd looked it over, and apparently the ring had a deomer upon it that severed the finger of anyone else who wore it.
Tymne smirked at that, and hoped the bastard who hit him tried it on first. He dug under a loose floorboard, and pulled out his suit of chainmail, and traveling cloak. Once he'd donned them, he gripped the soulsword in his hand, and heard the half-soul whispering for blood.
With a smile that would freeze hell over, Tymne stepped out into the grey world beyond his door, more than happy to oblige his weapon's wants.
