[center][h2]Krunk Fortress[/h2]
[sub]The sound[/sub][/center]

Zerraf's eyes remained locked on Krink as they always had throughout the battle, the dual explosions unfurling the white hair beneath his wide brim cap. The wind mage moved a drooping bang to the side of his face, using the flintlock as an improvised hand. He set the flintlock in front of him to reload, again as if it were on invisible, buoyant string. A soft breeze shuffled Zerraf's bangs. The same dead, glazed stare confronting the golden doctor. Zerraf stepped forward.

Again, red boots against green grass. The blades of grass separating with each tread. Zerraf squinted, not at the minions, at Krink. Always Krink. The gun was loaded and fell back into his palm. He kept it facing downward. Zerraf was in front of everyone now. [color=ed1c24]"Oh-yo. Not all of us, hm,"[/color] Zerraf said in response to Jenso. A faint shrieking was heard in the distance, off to the side, like a scream in the wilderness.

He trudged past his allies, and through the minions if they allowed it. He did not confront them with his eyes. Only Krink. That same glazed look. That slouched posture and heavy footing. Grass underfoot, slight breeze, shrieking into crescendo. His trudge was slow, and easy to intercept. Given they fought, Zerraf would respond in kind. If not, he would continue his stare down with Krink, until he was mere inches from his face.