door,” the old man repeated.
Varg waited for Milea to enter, then he did as instructed. As soon as he closed the door, Varg realized something was wrong when Horatius bowed his head in shame and said, “I wish you hadn't done that.”
Before Varg could question why the old man would say such a thing, six men in hooded black armor came out from behind the counter, tables, and the stairs. One such mystery man quickly cut off their exit and locked the door behind them. He then leaned against the door and stared daggers at the two of them as if he silently dared them to try and leave.
The rest of the hooded thugs stepped into the dim light and surrounded Horatius, all the while never taking their eyes off of Varg and Milea.
One of the men stepped towards them, then said, “We hear you've been looking for us.”
Varg's blood began to boil as he realized what had happened. He stared at Horatius and growled, “You son of a bitch . . .”
Horatius looked to the ground and mumbled, “I'm sorry, Varg. Word got around town that you were looking for them, and they came to me and found out everything.”
“You mean you told them everything,” Varg barked.
“Enough of this,” the apparent ringleader spat. “You should have learned from the Count's death what happens when you interfere with the Serpent's business.”
Varg remembered the name he'd seen on the parchment along with the symbol. “Who is the Serpent?”
Without missing a beat, all six members of the mysterious gang began to laugh aloud. The ringleader stepped forward and said proudly, “The Serpent is our grand and glorious leader. You would do well to speak of him with respect.”
“I don't respect those who don't deserve it,” Varg spat.
“Then you will join the sea of dead that the Serpent's men have left in the wake of his glory,” the gang member said.
Varg drew Frost Fang and charged for the gang members. Three of the cultists then left their other comrades to deal with Varg while they attempted to overpower Milea. Varg was quick enough to dodge and block their attacks, but he still remained constantly vigilant since there were multiple opponents to deal with.
A sharp sting on his left arm and a sharp, eye-watering odor nearly knocked his concentration off, but he ignored it in order to block an incoming attack. He felt the force of the attack through the handle of his blade, which caused his arm to sting again, but he ignored it and the strange smell in order to deliver a counter swing.
The swing caused his large blade to meet the ribs of one of his attackers, which sent the man tumbling and bleeding to the floor. Just as he managed to land a hit on a second foe, his arm began to burn again. Though he tried his best to ignore it, his arm was in far too much pain to continue. His head felt dizzy and faint, but somehow he still managed to defend against the third and final assassin. It failed to last, however, and Varg could no longer hold up Frost Fang to defend.
Through his fading vision, Varg saw another blade cross paths with the attacker. Milea was Varg's savior, and in a swift counter move, the half-elf swung her blade and slashed the throat of the final assassin. Through his clouded vision, Varg could see Milea turn to him and give a fallen expression.
“Varg, your arm!” she cried.
Varg couldn't tell what was happening, but thankfully his daze ended when Milea pulled a small green phial from her satchel and poured a cooling liquid onto his bare arm. His head finally cleared and the burning suddenly stopped. When Varg looked at his arm, he could see the remnants of a burned gash that slowly cleared under the stream of liquid that poured from Milea's phial. Once the wound was better, she handed the phial to Varg and said, “Drink the rest, quickly.”
Varg complied without question, and as a result, his strength soon began to return. He stood up and handed the empty bottle to his comrade, then said, “What happened?”
“Those
Varg waited for Milea to enter, then he did as instructed. As soon as he closed the door, Varg realized something was wrong when Horatius bowed his head in shame and said, “I wish you hadn't done that.”
Before Varg could question why the old man would say such a thing, six men in hooded black armor came out from behind the counter, tables, and the stairs. One such mystery man quickly cut off their exit and locked the door behind them. He then leaned against the door and stared daggers at the two of them as if he silently dared them to try and leave.
The rest of the hooded thugs stepped into the dim light and surrounded Horatius, all the while never taking their eyes off of Varg and Milea.
One of the men stepped towards them, then said, “We hear you've been looking for us.”
Varg's blood began to boil as he realized what had happened. He stared at Horatius and growled, “You son of a bitch . . .”
Horatius looked to the ground and mumbled, “I'm sorry, Varg. Word got around town that you were looking for them, and they came to me and found out everything.”
“You mean you told them everything,” Varg barked.
“Enough of this,” the apparent ringleader spat. “You should have learned from the Count's death what happens when you interfere with the Serpent's business.”
Varg remembered the name he'd seen on the parchment along with the symbol. “Who is the Serpent?”
Without missing a beat, all six members of the mysterious gang began to laugh aloud. The ringleader stepped forward and said proudly, “The Serpent is our grand and glorious leader. You would do well to speak of him with respect.”
“I don't respect those who don't deserve it,” Varg spat.
“Then you will join the sea of dead that the Serpent's men have left in the wake of his glory,” the gang member said.
Varg drew Frost Fang and charged for the gang members. Three of the cultists then left their other comrades to deal with Varg while they attempted to overpower Milea. Varg was quick enough to dodge and block their attacks, but he still remained constantly vigilant since there were multiple opponents to deal with.
A sharp sting on his left arm and a sharp, eye-watering odor nearly knocked his concentration off, but he ignored it in order to block an incoming attack. He felt the force of the attack through the handle of his blade, which caused his arm to sting again, but he ignored it and the strange smell in order to deliver a counter swing.
The swing caused his large blade to meet the ribs of one of his attackers, which sent the man tumbling and bleeding to the floor. Just as he managed to land a hit on a second foe, his arm began to burn again. Though he tried his best to ignore it, his arm was in far too much pain to continue. His head felt dizzy and faint, but somehow he still managed to defend against the third and final assassin. It failed to last, however, and Varg could no longer hold up Frost Fang to defend.
Through his fading vision, Varg saw another blade cross paths with the attacker. Milea was Varg's savior, and in a swift counter move, the half-elf swung her blade and slashed the throat of the final assassin. Through his clouded vision, Varg could see Milea turn to him and give a fallen expression.
“Varg, your arm!” she cried.
Varg couldn't tell what was happening, but thankfully his daze ended when Milea pulled a small green phial from her satchel and poured a cooling liquid onto his bare arm. His head finally cleared and the burning suddenly stopped. When Varg looked at his arm, he could see the remnants of a burned gash that slowly cleared under the stream of liquid that poured from Milea's phial. Once the wound was better, she handed the phial to Varg and said, “Drink the rest, quickly.”
Varg complied without question, and as a result, his strength soon began to return. He stood up and handed the empty bottle to his comrade, then said, “What happened?”
“Those
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