Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Ti: 2200 Hours.
Ignalius
“LOSANTIA!”
I bore no harsh feelings for the child playing rcenary.
Indeed, if he survived this, I’d have played the reticent deuteragonist in his story. A role — nay, a calling — that fate so often bestowed on its most deserving, to act as culler, separating the wheat from the chaff.
He’d grow stronger by my actions, beco wiser to the world through my well-intentioned deceits, and perhaps even learn a valuable lesson — about things as they were outside of the colorful realm of delusions and flights of fantasy.
Today the boy playing Dreadwolf would die, and in his place would co forth a wiser man.
That was, of course, provided he did survive.
Which, in the flash that followed, didn’t seem likely.
I lowered my wand but only ever so slightly as I awaited the dust to settle amidst an otherwise unsettling sound that tickled my ears.
Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Ti: 2200 Hours.
???
The air bristled with the wrath of a mother scorned.
Her features hidden, her presence muted, but her rage exposed through that sharp and steady droning — an elevating whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrr that tickled my senses and nipped at my scales.
Energies swirled, manifested from nothing.
I opened my eyes — all of my eyes — watching through these pathetic restraints with a curled snarl.
Do it.
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Ti: 2200 Hours.
Fisia the Swift
My job has always been simple.
Take care of the horses, stay behind with the mounts and wagons, be ready for any retreat no matter how sudden or swift… and of course, the dreaded cleanup duty. A job, which was clearly once again needed, because surprise surprise…
The boss had done it again, right in front of this ti, in fact.
Not that I minded.
In a repeat of the events at Rontalis, he’d disposed of another set of would-be travelers.
I could only hope that their deaths were of the corporeal variety, as I could already feel the tingly sensation of separating goop from armor when the call to loot eventually ca.
Not that I cared much.
A ten, forty, fifty split was decent, and unlike so other travelers who I felt for, the uptight, self-assured aura this lupinor gave off simply made it impossible for to sympathize with his demise.
So I waited, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to work out the ‘haze’ of that soul-splitting attac—
BANG!
The whole world shook, and my lungs gave in — air and wind forcibly squeezed out — as if so spiteful air elental had claid my breath as their own.
POP!
I heard… no… I felt sothing give, sothing inside my head, followed by a sharp piercing pain that sent to my knees.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinngggggggggggg
I scread out but heard nothing, only the ringing in one of my ears and my own cries echoing within my skull.
My hands reached out, grasping the sides of my head, deafened by the sound and blinded by the pain.
Only a few seconds later did I finally notice sothing else besides that infernal ringing.
It started as a thin mist of sothing warm and viscous, sticking and running down my exposed skin.
Then an unmistakable tallic tang forcibly entered my nostrils, filling my lungs with a faint rusty scent.
My whole body clenched, freezing in fear, before curiosity finally overtook uncertainty forcing to open my eyes to assess what had—
…
No.
Nonononononononono…
I struggled to my feet only to find myself falling flat against my rump next to the pool of what had used to be the Alicorn.
My eyes quickly turned to the boss, who stood where his prized mount had just stood, that fancy armor actually doing what it was supposed to… or at least, I think it did.
Because despite the sacrificial swap, the boss should’ve still been wearing it.
It couldn’t have just disappeared.
It couldn’t have just vanished.
The only reason why it could’ve been lost in the swap was if it had been irreparably damaged in the attack.
…
…
Crap.
Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Ti: 2200 Hours.
Emma
“What the hell?”
[RAILGUN DISCHARGE COMPLETE. AMMUNITION CYCLE… COMPLETE. CHARGE CYCLING IN PROGRESS...]
My eyes widened as, in what seed like an instantaneous mont in ti, I found that my target had quite literally just… swapped places.
The Alicorn… was gone; no sign of its existence remained save for the mist of red that caked the entire area.
And in the space that it had once occupied was now an armorless Ignalius, his pure-white gambeson and pants stained, as was much of the left side of his face.
Indeed, quite a few personal effects had scattered from his person following the swap and apparent disappearance of his armor. From sacks of gold to belts of potions to even daggers and…
…
No…
I motioned silently for the EVI to hone in on a particular bloodied artifact caked in dried blood at Ignalius’ feet.
A brief zoom and a cursory glance, even without the EVI’s forensics suite, was enough for to tell what it was.
Its suede brown cover, the built-in bookmark resembling a forked tongue, and that handwriting complete with a signature that looped around resembling the four ‘horns’ of a kobold… it beckoned a master that was no longer with us.
If there was any lingering doubt as to Ignalius’ involvent with Togor’s murder, then all of it, every last shred of it, died the mont my eyes landed on that book.
The whole world went silent.
But while all were shocked by the power of the railgun — raw, unmitigated, and loud — I remained silent because of sothing else entirely.
I fell silent… for silence. Or more accurately, the loss of a voice.
My breath escaped in a seething huff, my piercing eyes watching, staring, and glaring through tinted lenses at the sadist playing adventurer who’d just narrowly escaped that very thing he so wantonly loved committing.
Then I unholstered my pistol, glancing montarily towards Thalmin who seed fixated not on the book but on so coins that had similarly scattered — each minted with a different face, symbol, and heraldry — no two alike.
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Ti: 2200 Hours.
Katiya the Coward
I couldn’t see.
I couldn’t hear.
My whole body trembled as the golem sent the skies cracking with the sounds of terrible thunder.
Then and only when the world had cald did I see the beast of beasts, the Master of the Skies second only to the dragonkin… disappear.
I… couldn’t describe it as anything else.
There was, without a shadow of a doubt, nothing else with which to describe what had happened.
A creature that should have been a nightmare for a fully outfitted adventuring party to dispatch, synonymous with an adventuring rank just beneath that of the draconics, had just vanished to an invisible thunder.
I felt my knees wobble as the golem’s master moved forward to match its posture.
Then and only then did the world go mad.
Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Ti: 2201 Hours.
Thalmin
Shock and awe.
That was what Ignalius had attempted with his first strike, an attack whose shock served pure theatrics and whose awe was to be inflicted on allies, all to serve the vapidness of ego, not the utility of battle.
Then ca Emma’s rebuttal.
A single strike that brought the army of cartn and riders at the foot of the hill to their knees. Their blood-curdling screams now filled the air as all clutched desperately to their bleeding ears.
The footn fared no better, leaving only the patrolling rcenaries relatively unaffected by what was an air elental’s attack in all but na.
The latter even managed to regroup despite the veritable stampede of mounts and beasts having fallen to panic and instinct in the wake of Emma’s attack.
I kept my silencing spells active, Emma’s clever battle cry serving not as a chanism of ego but as a tactical warning as to the horrors she was to unleash.
Indeed, we’d drilled for this very occasion — for a ti in which our communication would be done solely through that manaless conch, as the world around would be deafened for my own safety.
Suffice it to say, that drilling was now being tested in a trial by fire. One that I couldn’t help but excitedly partake in. That familiar surge of hot blood pumped through my veins, my senses sharpening, and the world becoming ever clearer in what all Havenbrockians understood to be the thrill of the hunt.
The likes of which… felt even more pronounced than it ever did in Havenbrock, let alone in the field of battle.
My ears perked as my fur bristled with the richness of mana unheard of back ho. I focused leftwards towards a shatorealr who’d surprisingly survived this sonic attack by virtue of distance, luck, and perhaps sheer tenacity.
And in a testant to Ignalius’ competence as commander, his left-attending swooped in, flying in spite of the pain painted across his visage, quickly grabbing the otherwise catatonic elf under both arms, poised for flight towards so unknown rendezvous point.
“Emma, kill that guy.” I gestured to the evading party. “I’ll deal with the rest of his ilk.” I added under a growing and excitable breath as I turned towards the amassing force of patrolling rcenaries. Their 29-strong forces were grouping and regrouping, so uncertain, yet others clearly committed. As each of their eyes locked with my own, each committed to seeing this through to the end.
Despite this, there remained one obvious outlier. A suspiciously absent right-attending — the pack leader of this sorry troupe — the long-eared, red-eyed, white-furred leporidian.
But even without their party leader and even with the sheer power of Emma’s attacks, their cohesion still remained.
Admirable.
However, this sentint was more sarcastic than genuine, as my eyes glanced at the coins scattered around Ignalius’ feet and precisely what each and every ill-gotten sovereign ant.
‘I’ve always wanted to face off against the enforcers of Nexian primacy.’ I thought to myself with a bloodthirsty smile.
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Ti: 2202 Hours.
Salazan the Scaled
We stood ready.
29-strong.
My own party, 6 full-blooded Nexians.
This wasn’t our first foray into untenable odds.
In fact, this wasn’t our first fight with an uppity, self-assured adjacentrealr.
From Rontalis to Anurarealm and Aetheron, and even Havenbrockrealm itself… there was always the one, two, or even three or four ‘hero-types’ that believed themselves to be capable of defying the odds.
Perhaps they got one or two good kills early on in their careers.
Perhaps they may have bested many of the… less-than-capable Nexians who themselves underestimated the risk that was the adjacent wildlands.
But we weren’t here to play around.
And if my observations served right, then it was clear we were evenly matched in our own right.
The lupinor was very clearly relying on so nth-tier enchanted artifacts, just as we were.
That golem was rely being his trump card, capable of extending his own reach… but not his own skills.
“Take out the head, and the body shall fall.” I announced firmly, halberd at the ready, as we moved to charge on the lupinor’s position.
“Highground can only go so far, mutt…” I heard a voice echoing behind us, resonating with my own sentints.
I craned back my head, looking at the two archer parties entrenched and ready to rain a full hail of arrows.
I grinned, knowing well that at least in this battle, numbers would be the deciding factor.
A second more following a flinch and a breath, I waited for the whip-crack chorus of ten tense strings to be let loose all at once.
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…
TWANG!
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Ti: 2203 Hours.
Katiya the Coward
I hid behind a cart, peering over and watching in horror with bated breath at the hail of arrows expanding overhead.
From ten to twenty to forty to eighty, the enchanted arrows multiplied mid-flight, blotting the small patch of sky above Dreadwolf’s position, threatening to end it all with a hail of sharp mana-steel-tipped fury.
My ears flinched downwards as the death wail of falling missiles reached , forcing to look away in fear of what was assuredly a grisly sight.
…
“Heh.” A familiar voice sounded.
“Heh… hahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA!” It continued, rising in volu and deepening in pitch, as I opened my eyes to see…
…
…the impossible made manifest.
That hail of arrows… never reached their mark.
Instead they all hovered overhead the maniacal Dreadwolf, his hands raised tauntingly by his sides, palms spread open as if holding the invisible weight of these arrows looming ominously.
“Good form.” He chewed out with a harsh growl before raising a single finger, twirling it and reorienting mana-steel to feather-tip, the sharp shafts now pointing towards their original shooters.
“My turn.” He spoke through an excited breath, as that wall of death now whistled back at blistering speeds towards the bottom of the hill.
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Ti: 2204 Hours.
Salazan the Scaled
I stood frozen and unmoving, my heart skipping one, two, then three beats as I witnessed the impossible.
The arrows—
FWEEEEEEEEEEEE…
—were now poised towards us.
“SHIELDS!” I commanded, raising my own up high and feeling the disheartening thud thud PLINKS of arrows slamming against enchanted manasteel.
None pierced–
SHNK!
“AGH!”
Though the sa couldn’t be said for the stray archer and skirmisher caught in the crossfire.
With our leader still attempting his gambit, we did what we could in these circumstances.
“FORWARD!!” I cried out, corralling another party to my side as we surged forwards towards the hill.
I held no fear. Not when adorning my scales was the product of ten years of hard pay; layer upon layer upon layer of enchanted linens, hardened gambesons, and thrice-forged mana-steel.
And within my hand was a weapon no fool could evade.
I lifted my weapon, poised to strike alongside the rest of my berserkers, halberds ready and—
ZAP!
My whole body clenched, my vision montarily fading and then exploding into a flurry of colors and blurry wisps.
But I ultimately felt no pain, no real damage as a result of my enchantnts.
This brought a delighted smile to find ho on my face, as I only had to endure the lightning, pushing through its paralysis and twitch-inducing properties by sheer force of will alone, before…
I felt my armor tightening. Skin pinched under armor that felt two sizes too small, and my head ached from crushing forces I couldn’t make heads or tails of.
Then I heard it.
Screams from Elazen, Bellatri, and then—
CRACK!
I saw them fall, one by one, every comrade dropping like flies until finally…
I t the lupinor’s gaze, seeing nothing but a focused, condensed rage.
Then it all went black.
Dragon’s Lair. Above the Forest Canopy. Local Ti: 2204 Hours.
Lieutenant Hofar the Soarer
“Snap out of it, boss!” I yelled, crying, desperately pleading for the elf to co out of… whatever had gotten into him. “Boss, PLEASE! I can’t… I can’t! Fuck, my ears! Cast heal! Cast heal now, PLEASE!” I pleaded until my voice was hoarse, unable to make heads or tails of exactly where we could go, my whole world spinning. The act of flying only worsened the disorientation that wracked .
But that was all I could do right now — hover above the ss and fly… anywhere, just to get so distance, even if it was only vertical.
“W-...wha… What’s…” The Captain finally began speaking, though his words were unintelligible, and his eyes looked absolutely glazed over.
“Captain, I can’t… I can’t hold this for much longer. My head… it’s ringing. I can’t even hear my—”
WHIIIIIIZZZZ!
CRACK!
I felt and heard sothing whizzing past, and thunder cracking in the distance—
“AGH!”
Sothing hit , sothing… small, hard, sharp, and… it…
CRACK!
My eyes widened, craning my head to my wings as I saw holes torn into the mbrane—
SNAP!
CRACK!
More sounds, more noises. It felt as if I was being pelted with solid punches against my shoulders.
…
Pain surged through not long after.
But even worse than pain or disorientation… I felt control slipping from .
My wings no longer responded to my will.
Nor did my hands and arms, as the forces of leypull now conspired to drag back down without rcy.
I desperately flailed like a fledgling in distress as I lost all sense of poise and any degree of discipline, and was now at the rcy of the ground.
“U-ugh…” Ignalius ca too once more as he pulled out a scroll, fumbling with it against the forces of the wind. I could see the treetops clearer now. We were too close to the ground, my eyes darting between my Captain and our nearing demise.
He unfurled that scroll; inscriptions began to glisten and chi. Then—
SHRK!
A swath of black and green was the last thing I saw.
Dragon’s Lair. Sowhere in the Forest. Local Ti: 2207 Hours.
Emma
I waded through the woods.
The EVI had calculated more or less the general location of where the pair would’ve landed.
Landed… being a bit of a euphemism here.
NVG and augnted sensors made short work of the dark, as I smashed tree bark and branches alike, all in order to reach the small clearing the shatorealr had landed in.
My body felt like it was running on autopilot, especially as I was t face-to-face with exactly what I’d wrought.
The shatorealr… was a bloodied ss.
His face resembled what he’d done to the dragon with that gauntlet just a few monts ago.
But in his arms, shielded from the impact by his own form… was the elf in question.
A part of hesitated.
In fact, sothing at the back of my mind stopped my otherwise trained and poised trigger finger from taking the shot.
This was despite having everything lined up, and despite the current objective, as was helpfully highlighted by the EVI — to dispatch all local hostiles.
Ignalius, in this case, was highlighted in red, target reticles trained on his center mass and head.
However, seeing him here completely unarmored and seemingly unard… this felt different, sohow antithetical to the man I'd just shot a few monts ago.
He looked… pathetic and, most of all, completely helpless in this state.
The wrath and simring rage within from the literal murder of Togor wavered… if only slightly, at this sorry sight.
More importantly, my mind went through protocol and rules of engagent, combing through the best possible course of action following the incapacitation of an enemy.
…
Hors de combat might actually apply here, especially given how he was well and truly wounded and unable to participate in combat.
And so… I relented, the pistol still raised, but a dialogue otherwise opened.
“LET SEE YOUR HANDS! DO NOT REACH FOR ANY WEAPONS. IF YOU DO, I WILL BE FORCED TO ENGAGE!” I shouted, rehashing the few lines drilled into despite the adrenaline pumping through my system forcing most other superfluous thoughts out.
The elf, surprisingly, complied. Or at least, he seed to try to do so at first, feigning so difficulty in pushing the shatorealr off of him, but otherwise preoccupied by sothing on his belt. “Speaking through a golem? Heh… That’s new. What? Are you too afraid to face , Dreadwolf? Too scared to duel one on one? Sparing my life for what? Capture? Like I’d ever allow animal filth like you to lay your hands on an actual pers—”
“SURRENDER, OR I WILL BE FORCED TO—”
Ti, once again, slowed to a crawl. The elf, with a surprising degree of speed and dexterity, reached for a wand with clear and antagonistic intent.
My world narrowed to the weight of the trigger behind my finger. I felt the break — that thin, crisp resistance — then… I pushed past the slack.
BANG!
The tension, the intent, that life behind the man’s eyes, and the animation of his body… just stopped.
Everything simply stopped. His arms, his features, his torso, and everything else just… went limp.
I felt my breath growing harder, my hands starting to tremble, all while a light-headed sense of… flightiness threatened to swallow whole.
I forced my eyes to dart through the HUD as a result, out of protocol and in a purposeful attempt to just… focus, grounding myself and forcing my mind to remain present.
I ran through everything, every threat assessnt, every diagnostic and SITREP, until finally… there was nothing else to address but the body that lay dead in front of .
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Ti: 2212 Hours.
Katiya the Coward
They all fell like insects.
Each warrior, every rcenary, each much, much more powerful and far more intimidating than I, just… ceased at the foot of Dreadwolf’s domain.
From the mighty Salazan, who’d push whenever he could, cutting in line, and even locking in the trunk for amusent… to Ruroria the Honorable, who’d revel in any chance to pull up insects and crawlies on my bedrolls just for his amusent… to even Yvir the Terrible, who’d force and others to haul impossibly heavy gear and equipnt despite that not being our jobs…
All of them, each and every one of these chosen ones, had just crumpled and died. That word being more literal in the case of so than others.
By the end of these bloody few minutes of fighting, there was scarcely anyone left.
Archers had fallen to their own arrows, so skirmishers to a mix of impossibly powerful magical attacks, and what was left was picked off by Dreadwolf with little to no rcy shown.
However, I still counted two warriors who stood defiantly at the cusp of Dreadwolf’s precipice.
And beyond that, there existed the wild card that was Commander Ulther.
There had to be a reason for his sudden disappearance.
There had to be sothing that sly rabbit was—
My eyes widened as I saw a shadow creeping behind Dreadwolf, just as he was about to face the two minotaur skirmishers in front of him.
Dreadwolf raised his blade, poised for a frontal assault, completely unaware of the dangers behind him.
Sothing within broke at that mont, as if I’d finally pushed through a door that’d previously been locked.
Then, and only then, did I find my voice.
And I scread.
“DREADWOLF, BEHIND YOU!”
However, before he could even react, Ulther materialized. His enchanted blades poised for the lupinor’s back… only to have the attack halted at the last second by bands of kelp restraining his arms in place.
The lupinor grinned at the developnt, shooting a bloodied smile from a distance as he moved to reposition himself, now fully focused on the two minotaurs in front of him.
“We do this as warriors!” He bellowed before craning his head back towards Ulther. “Not as cowards.” He paused, taking a mont to glare at the commander. “I will deal with you later. Now…” He let out a satisfied breath, turning towards the minotaurs. “Shall we continue?”
The minotaur twins turned to one another, their features montarily colored by abject fear.
Though despite that, motivated by whatever loyalty they held to the Captain, they surged forwards anyways.
Blades clashed as the lupinor managed to parry and push back against the physically superior opponents that towered over him.
Harsh CLANGS and sharp TINKS echoed throughout the forest, as despite their best efforts, the lupinor always seed to be one step ahead.
Finally, and seemingly out of frustration, the twins SLAMD their warhamrs on the ground where the lupinor stood… only for the wolf to leap upwards, jumping, and landing on each of their backs.
Two stabs, each through the gaps in their armor, were all it took to take them down, as they fell unceremoniously down on the rocky hillside, tumbling down without much fanfare.
Following this, did Dreadwolf turn back slowly, thodically, and nacingly towards the leporidian still bound in the Kelpie’s wet seaweed embrace.
“You ready, turncoat?” Dreadwolf spoke through a bloodthirsty growl.
“You, lupinor, should understand by now… that there is no sha, but only glory, in embracing the winning side.” He countered, before just as quickly nodding. And with Dreadwolf’s command, the kelpie released Ulther from its vice grip.
No sooner than that happened did the rabbit leap upwards, far, far above Dreadwolf, as a hail of knives and throwing stars peppered the rocky surface beneath him.
Dreadwolf, in keeping to so duelist’s honor, actually dodged these attacks, refusing to actively use his magics from earlier to simply return the offending objects to their sender.
What objects he couldn’t dodge rely CLINKED off of his armor, barely even scratching it, and most certainly not denting it either.
After seemingly exhausting an armory’s worth of throwing blades, the rabbit dived down, holding his signature thin blade poised for Dreadwolf’s head.
Yet despite this all-in assault—
CLANG!!!!!!
—Dreadwolf sohow still managed to parry it.
The leporidian pushed back and landed across from the lupinor, each now pacing around the other, trying to outmaneuver with blades in hand and eyes reading one another.
But unlike the initial assaults, it was Dreadwolf who struck first. His blade crashed hard against the leporidian’s, nearly shattering it and staggering the commander for a single split second.
That opening was all it took for the lupinor to seize the initiative, because before the rabbit could recover, Dreadwolf had taken advantage of his montum. He flicked his wrist, letting the blade glide down the opposing edge in one smooth motion, following its length until the tip cleared the opposing rabbit’s guard.
Then—
SHNK!
“AUGH…”
…
It was all over in a blink of an eye.
The blade pierced through the commander’s armor like a pointed pick through hard shell.
The man soon fell limp, Dreadwolf’s face barely inches apart as the life from the commander’s eyes faded. A mont of silence dawned, interrupted only by so whispers from Dreadwolf, and a slow but cautious lowering of the commander’s body to the ground, as if out of so respect.
The whole thing felt far too fast, much too… quick for a duel.
But ironically, that was what Ulther had once championed to many of his opponents.
There’s a difference between fighting and showmanship. If your fight starts to look like sothing out of a noble’s ball, then either sothing very wrong is happening, or you aren’t even fighting to begin with.
An uneasy silence eventually descended on the battlefield following Ulther’s death.
Indeed, I saw no movent, no attempts at anything else, other than the cries and whimpers from the riders, carters, and footn that were in varying states of distress down at the foot of the hill.
“Alright.” Dreadwolf announced, breaking the silence, and garnering the attention of all present. “Anyone else?” He beckoned, gesturing at the devastation left in his wake.
Murmurs and cries of surrender ca shortly thereafter. What few ranks remained of our troupe dropped their blades, bucklers, and hatchets from their persons.
“Good. Now I want to make sothing very clear.” Dreadwolf began as he made his way down from the outcropping. “Each and every one of you…” He paused as sweat began running down the brows of all present. “... can leave.”
A collective wave of confusion echoed throughout the night, as footn and riders alike began snapping their heads to one another, all in varying states of disbelief.
“But understand one very important thing. Should a word of the night’s events leave this forest, I will personally and without hesitation, hunt each and every one of you down.” He began marching towards them, feet stomping hard against the rock. “There will be no rcy, no quarter given, and no hesitation, as righteous retribution is called upon each of your souls.” His words caused even the most seasoned of carters present to shiver in place. “Should suspicions be raised, then look only to the dragon.” He added sternly before ending up in front of the lead carter. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes, S-Ser Dreadwolf!”
“What was that?” He gestured towards his ear. “I don’t think I quite caught that.”
“YES, SER DREADWOLF!”
“LOUDER, ALL OF YOU!”
“YES, SER DREADWOLF!”
“Good.” The lupinor nodded, crossing his arms in the process. “You may all leave.”
Hurried footsteps of horrified masses were quick to mount up, the clopping of steeds and the creaking of carts erupting shortly thereafter. I was too stunned to even hitch a ride in the carriage I hid behind as it too sped off and I soon found myself left behind by the retreating ranks.
“Ah. Katiya. Are you hurt?”
Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Ti: 2225 Hours.
Emma
I returned to what could only be described as a massacre.
My whole body felt like it was running on autopilot, even as I found Thalmin in the ss, tending to a passed-out Katiya.
“Thalmin?” I asked, gesturing to the baxi. “Did you—”
“Oh, ancestors no, Emma! She seed to have passed out when I addressed her. Ancestors know why. I even offered a friendly smile!” He explained, to which I could only let out a long sigh, gesturing at his armor.
“The blood might have sothing to do with that.”
“Eh, and what’s a bit of blood to an adventurer? Her reaction just proves she’s not ant for this life.”
“I guess…” I managed out dourly, as my mood and tone were quick to be picked up by the lupinor.
“What’s wrong, Emma? You aren’t injured, are you?”
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“Then is it Ignalius? Were you unable to pursue him?”
“No, he’s…” I paused, my whole body clenching at the sight of it all. “He’s dead. Along with that shatorealr.”
“Ah! Good! That’s good then!” Thalmin bead excitedly. “So what seems to be the problem, Emma? We have the shards, we have your lost ‘drone,’ and we’ve dispatched the enemy! All should be well, yes?”
“Yeah… but I…” I trailed off into an uneasy silence, causing Thalmin’s features to sharply shift into sothing less boisterous and more reserved.
“I see.” He lowered his voice. “Am I to assu that this is your first kill? Aside from the null of course. Creatures like that are more like hunting animals than people, after all.”
I blinked rapidly, my hand reaching for my shoulder as I slowly nodded. “Yeah.” Was my only response. “It is.”
“Then I must apologize for my… flippancy in light of everything you see. I understand how difficult it must be, and to be t with such an attitude following your first blood must be jarring.” He spoke with a degree of compassion in his voice, clearing his throat before moving on. “If you feel the need to discuss things, I am more than willing to do so at your own pace, Emma.”
“Thanks, Thalmin.” I managed out after a short pause, gripping my shoulder tighter as I did so.
“Now… we might need to discuss exactly how we are to move on from here. But in order to maintain our cover, might I suggest we set up an altar with these bodies as an offering to—”
“L I TT-LE… B-BEEINGS. CC-CO TO -EEET?”
A voice erupted from the dense foliage, prompting the both of us to turn, weapons raised, to et a mangled shatorealr. Its arms were limp but crooked, and its head hung low, unsupported and ungainly like so twisted marionette. But from behind it, triggering EVI’s proximity sensors, was a large draconic silhouette, with purple glowing eyes slitted and staring right at the both of us.
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