(Continued from here)
The mage looked over his shoulder at the snowy hellscape behind him. Hellscape? Is this Hel, he thought wryly. The tattoos on the man -- no, that was no man before him -- not to mention the architecture of the lodge and hearth, seemed to suggest something of the Norse. Markel focused his magic sight... and immediately regretted doing so. The god's aura was blinding.
Shaking away the images lingering on his retinas, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The air warmed him to his core -- and the god warmed something else too.
Don't stare, he chided himself mildly, though he couldn't help but smile at the memory of him and his lady luxuriating themselves on their new fur rug in front of the fire, much in the same manner that the god was now, in the nude, running fingers through fur and then each other's hair.
"You are too kind, Lord." He knew how to address a god and knew better than to refuse such a reasonable request when the alternative was being out in the cold. He sat as bidden. "May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"
@flame-of-loki