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They walked, clustered along the road in a trudging gait that betrayed their weariness. These four didn't have a foothold among the elite of Sundren's warriors and adventurers, and goblins had taxed them. As they shuffled northward along the road returning to the Exigo camp, straggling goblins would charge into their midst, disappearing under a salvo of blades and magic. They wondered how the goblins bred so quickly to always have such vast numbers. The wondered why so many goblins seemed so suicidal, charging into a throng of adventurers to meet with an honorless death. They wondered why so many explosions and magical lights glimmered at the camp north of them.
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A massive greatsword exploded through the chest of the slender woman. Blood and ichor burst forth, tainting the ground that the woman would fall on once the armored figure behind her withdrew her blade.
Galin, the "pretty one," as his newfound, temporary companions had dubbed him, stood in wide-eyed shock as rapid slaying took place next to him. A moment ago, a woman had come dashing up the road, and as she pushed past his group, a warrior in pursuit had taken advantage of the woman's slowed pace and struck the killing blow. Blood spattered his cheek as the woman's death cry pierced the night sky, and he silently turned to regard the armored figure, who had immediately turned and sprinted back toward the camp to rejoin the larger battle. By the curve of its armor, the figure was female, as well, and ensorcelled with all manner of enchantments and wards. Galin watched his companions dash down the road after her, and he found himself alone with a corpse, with no idea who it was or why she'd been struck down so suddenly.
Galin looked south into the hills. To leave the slain here would be to give her up to the goblins, and that would not do. He gently lifted the slain woman and settled her over his shoulder, making the slow walk back to the camp where the battle had ended and the victors licked their wounds.
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"I don't know if I took the time before, but thank you for your assistance with this matter."
The woman had just stepped aside from the larger group and approached him; he almost didn't recognize her, not covered in her enemy's gore and without a thousand glimmering lights encircling her. He could actually see her face, now. She wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense, but in her own way. Her skin was pale as alabaster, and her hair contrasted it perfectly in its raven darkness. More than that, she had a bearing that demanded one's attention.
"Not necessary, but you are welcome." The "pretty one" inclined his head, his short, blond locks showing in the moonlight while his ice-blue gaze reflected its clarity.
Thanks? He'd only taken a body from the field and brought it to a Helmite for resurrection and interrogation. Any self-respecting Tyrran would do the same; respect the fallen, uphold the law. It was his duty. She was speaking of duty.
"And what is duty?" He smiled slightly, tilting his head to the side as he posed the question.
She returned his grin. "That, I have been trying to discover my entire life."
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A massive greatsword exploded through the chest of the slender woman. Blood and ichor burst forth, tainting the ground that the woman would fall on once the armored figure behind her withdrew her blade.
Galin, the "pretty one," as his newfound, temporary companions had dubbed him, stood in wide-eyed shock as rapid slaying took place next to him. A moment ago, a woman had come dashing up the road, and as she pushed past his group, a warrior in pursuit had taken advantage of the woman's slowed pace and struck the killing blow. Blood spattered his cheek as the woman's death cry pierced the night sky, and he silently turned to regard the armored figure, who had immediately turned and sprinted back toward the camp to rejoin the larger battle. By the curve of its armor, the figure was female, as well, and ensorcelled with all manner of enchantments and wards. Galin watched his companions dash down the road after her, and he found himself alone with a corpse, with no idea who it was or why she'd been struck down so suddenly.
Galin looked south into the hills. To leave the slain here would be to give her up to the goblins, and that would not do. He gently lifted the slain woman and settled her over his shoulder, making the slow walk back to the camp where the battle had ended and the victors licked their wounds.
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"I don't know if I took the time before, but thank you for your assistance with this matter."
The woman had just stepped aside from the larger group and approached him; he almost didn't recognize her, not covered in her enemy's gore and without a thousand glimmering lights encircling her. He could actually see her face, now. She wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense, but in her own way. Her skin was pale as alabaster, and her hair contrasted it perfectly in its raven darkness. More than that, she had a bearing that demanded one's attention.
"Not necessary, but you are welcome." The "pretty one" inclined his head, his short, blond locks showing in the moonlight while his ice-blue gaze reflected its clarity.
Thanks? He'd only taken a body from the field and brought it to a Helmite for resurrection and interrogation. Any self-respecting Tyrran would do the same; respect the fallen, uphold the law. It was his duty. She was speaking of duty.
"And what is duty?" He smiled slightly, tilting his head to the side as he posed the question.
She returned his grin. "That, I have been trying to discover my entire life."