The arrow came from nowhere. Martox went down. Desalith went crazy. Desalith collapsed. All faster than he could react to. Not crouched over Celeste as he was.
Martox...
I cannot help him. I cannot heal. Revenge.
If Desalith exhausted himself, the archer isn't going anywhere. No time to waste on a wretched corpse. Help Martox.
Revenge.
Martox. Cewri moved to Martox's side and swung his bag off of his back, and it hit the ground with a thud. The wound was smoking, and Cewri began to fear the worst. He tugged gently on the arrow, and it began to give way. Not barbed. One blessing, at least. But when the arrow came free of Martox's flesh, his heart sank. He recognized the way the arrowhead glistened in the light from the burning cottage.
In his travels, he had ventured to the far-flung Ashera'ak Forest, where he had been attacked by a fell beast the likes of which were not seen elsewhere: Asher Vothk in the Giants' tongue, but most would know it as the Double-Crowned Basilisk. Its venom had nearly taken him, were the Giants he had been seeking not found him at the beast's mercy. They had brought him back to health, but e had escaped death by only seconds. They showed him that when exposed to light, the venom would spsrkle in many bright colors like a sadistically ironic rainbow. He didn't have any of the antidote. He remembered how to make it, but it would take time. They didn't have time.
"Oryx," they had one chance, "it's venom. Doubble-Crowned Basilisk. We have minutes." the Half-Giant stood up. "The archer is down after Desalith's treatment. I don't have the antidote. See what you can do to help Martox." Even if he couldn't heal their ally, even buying a little time would help. Cewri began taking large strides in the archer's direction. "It might have been sent with an antidote." Goblins are stupid. No master would trust them without taking precautions—and you can't have your minions dying before they get the job done. And if it's actually alive, we'll have a font of information. Then we kill it.
Martox...
I cannot help him. I cannot heal. Revenge.
If Desalith exhausted himself, the archer isn't going anywhere. No time to waste on a wretched corpse. Help Martox.
Revenge.
Martox. Cewri moved to Martox's side and swung his bag off of his back, and it hit the ground with a thud. The wound was smoking, and Cewri began to fear the worst. He tugged gently on the arrow, and it began to give way. Not barbed. One blessing, at least. But when the arrow came free of Martox's flesh, his heart sank. He recognized the way the arrowhead glistened in the light from the burning cottage.
In his travels, he had ventured to the far-flung Ashera'ak Forest, where he had been attacked by a fell beast the likes of which were not seen elsewhere: Asher Vothk in the Giants' tongue, but most would know it as the Double-Crowned Basilisk. Its venom had nearly taken him, were the Giants he had been seeking not found him at the beast's mercy. They had brought him back to health, but e had escaped death by only seconds. They showed him that when exposed to light, the venom would spsrkle in many bright colors like a sadistically ironic rainbow. He didn't have any of the antidote. He remembered how to make it, but it would take time. They didn't have time.
"Oryx," they had one chance, "it's venom. Doubble-Crowned Basilisk. We have minutes." the Half-Giant stood up. "The archer is down after Desalith's treatment. I don't have the antidote. See what you can do to help Martox." Even if he couldn't heal their ally, even buying a little time would help. Cewri began taking large strides in the archer's direction. "It might have been sent with an antidote." Goblins are stupid. No master would trust them without taking precautions—and you can't have your minions dying before they get the job done. And if it's actually alive, we'll have a font of information. Then we kill it.
