“Broken door hinges will soon be of less concern, friend,” Erk replied.
The drugal commented about the situation...
“You can say that,” Erik replied to the wizard. “It’ll take more than a cursed land, a castle dungeon, and a vampire army to stop me. Though I will admit luck cannot stay forever. If there are other fighters, we definitely must work together.”
*
“Far too long.” Elder Juasos. His happiness must become spilt blood.
With your hate, that will be possible.
I know.
Amid pondering, a prisoner, branded in the hand bearing a sorcerous symbol, deftly took the fool’s key. Although such dexterity could indeed outmatch a vampire’s, it would never be the same as a drow’s. Malus didn’t even have to turn his head, noticing what occurred without moving his eyes, peripheral vision good enough . . .
Their guide led them through a door, where inside the room, sat the drunken elder. The elder busily wrote before a dagger went flying and he berated Malus’ disarmed guide. At that moment, Malus would have swung his blade, leapt upon the table, then slammed his sword upon the elder, but fate had other plans.
With the heart of his underling, the elder formed a magical barrier. One undead vergas grabbed or jumped forth, though another blew up into a mist of sorts.
Malus swung low, intending to lop off both legs of the attacking vergas, which he assumed was the immediate threat. Malus’ face changed, his eyes appearing more pronounced, the streaks of whiteness in his hair longer, the skin around his eyes redder. He facial expression had more emotion, now more like he face of someone starting to enjoy a sadistic game, yet retaining a statue-like quality.
Blade soon spinning, Malus twirled his sword in a figure eight pattern while steadily turning side to side, keeping the blade in continuous motion as he scanned the mist in anticipation of the elder’s next move.
26-Nov-2023 00:06:51