[center] [color=f26522]Reinold Sul’athar[/color], the[color=fff79a] Outcast[/color]. [color=00aeef](MAIN)[/color][/center]

[center][h1]Artis Port[/h1][/center]

The Husk had cut off Reinold’s air passage, seemingly enthralled by the Templar’s struggle to breathe. It made some sort of guttural growl, before a city guard’s sword stabbed trhough one of its lungs. Instead osmashing Reinold’s skull, the Husk staggered back and wheezed, the lung deflating like a balloon. It looked at the sword, before reaching to rip it free. Before it could, Reinold pushed the blade further with a kick. The Husk whined and trembled as an ink-like fluid gushed out over the Templar and its nearby surroundigns. The rancid stench would have made Reinold vomit, if his neck was not being crushed. Then, the Husk dropped him, using both hands to rip the blade free.

“You whoreson!” one of the Artificers raised a crossbow and fired at the city guard turned hero. The bolt caught the guard by the shoulder, the sheer force behind it enough to bore a hole through his flesh and shoulder. The Artificer loaded another bolt, and took aim. 


“[color=a187be]Fire.[/color]”


The husk turned into a ball of fire; stumbling as it tried in vain to put out the flames. On the ground, Reinold looked up at Yy’Sil as he approached. However, rather than looking thankful in the slightest, there was this look of sheer disbelief. He tried to gesture for her to run away, but lacked the strength as she placed her hand on his neck. His entire body went limp, as he existed between a state of healing and rotting. Every attempt to mend his damaged tissues would only be counteracted by the damage reoccurring. His blessing and curse.
The sound of one Artificer approaching filled Reinold with a burst of energy. It was enough for him to force himself to his feet and shove away Yy’Sil. He reached for his sword, before the Artificer took aim. They locked eyes; both knowing that death was a breath away.


Before the Artificer could fire, the Husk grew into a towering inferno. The intensity forced the man to step away, before the flames suddenly collapsed in on the Husk’s figure. While to the plain eye it appeared that the flames were being sucked away, those attuned to the magic knew far better. The flames were not vanishing. They were [i] condensing [/i]. Reinold motioned for Yy’Sil to stay back.
 

It was too late. The fire released into an explosion; sending Reinold and the Artificers flying back. The Templar crashed through the window of a building; a symphony of [i]crash, bang, snap,[/i] and [i] boom[/i]. The stench in the air was replaced with the smell of spent sulphur, while smoke obscured everyone’s vision. When the flames died down – along with the smoke – two of the Artificers were nowhere to be seen. In the Husk’s place was a single, large crater. Next to it was the remaining portion of the Artificer that closed in on them.


Reinold groaned, sitting amidst the shards of countless pots and heirlooms. The shop owner could only look at him with a mixed expression of fury and horror. Sitting up, the Templar brushed himself off. Somehow he had avoided getting carved up by all of the broken pieces, not to mention the window. He own luck never ceased to amaze him. However, to say he was untouched was far from the truth. The entirety of Reinold’s back was a hotbed of pain; one that would not subside anytime soon. He looked at the shop owner. “[color=f26522]Sorry about the damages,[/color]” he croaked, his windpipe barely able to force out the words. “[color=f26522]I’m sure I could compensate you, but I’m needed elsewhere.[/color]” 


He climbed through the window, before hitting the ground. He was stricken with a serious case of vertigo. Down was left. Up was forward. Everything hurt. Opting to stay on the ground, he crawled towards Yy’Sil, before raising a hand. “[color=f26522]I’m alright,[/color]” he said, rolling onto his side. He pointed to the guard on the ground, not far away from them. “[color=f26522]Tend to his injuries. If he dies, our word won’t hold much weight in a trial. And, I’d rather not hang for nothing short of [i]terrorism[/i] in Praelium.[/color]”


Reinold knew little of Praelium’s laws, but something told him that having some semblance of an official word in their favor may be what it takes to leave Artis alive. He chuckled, before rolling onto his front. Whatever luck he had been keeping in reserve for the past few years was spent on killing the Husk. Those infernal abominations had seen entire armies laid to waste. Something he had the displeasure of witnessing only once before. He glanced over at Yy’Sil, remaining silent. While he would never admit it, it was thanks to her that they survived the encounter. Of course, it [i]was[/i] her fault that he had to fight the Artifice to begin with. The Templar frowned. This would be far from the last they saw of the Artificers. A mage that beat one of their acquisition teams? That blew up a Husk? There was no way they would ever let her be now. 


He glanced over at his sword; now embedded in the wall of another building, sent flying by the explosion. So much for that simple contract.