FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Fifty-Five: Two Steps Forward...

“Oh, I'm sorry, miss!” A man exclaims as he stumbles by.

“Hm?” Lutala glances over her shoulder.

Her lips contort around her blocky snout as she watches on.

“It's alright.” Steingar glares as he turns around, facing the man who's just run into him.

“Oh... You're a... Ahem... Sorry, erm... Sir.” The nervous human murmurs.

“Uh-huh...”

After a short pause, the young man darts away, glancing back at the pink and yellow Steingar several times, his cheeks flushing as red as fresh beets.

“What was that about?” Lutala asks, her fiery eyes scanning the nearly empty street where they were walking.

“Nothing...” Steingar grumbles.

“That didn't sound like nothing.” She presses him.

“It's nothing, alright?! Just a guy trying to... Ugh. Never mind.”

As they walk along in silence, Lutala stares at Steingar. He tries to ignore her curious gaze, but by the fourth glance, she still stares at him. With his teeth clenched he turns his head.

“That guy just grabbed my ass, alright! Happy now?!” Steingar growls.

“Aww, you have a fan.” She giggles.

“He thought I was a woman, from behind! Only female Helngar have colors anything like this. This is so humiliating...” He sighs and hangs his head.

“At least this isle isn't large. We've already canvassed most of our area! Come on. Let's try this last inn and see if anyone knows where we can find Harokian.”

Entering the inn, the door bangs against a table placed unusually close to the door. It catches the attention of the two dozen patrons, who immediately quiet themselves in the tavern area, and turn their attention to the newcomers. The robed and hooded figure enters with a deliberate gait, followed closely by an obviously male Helngar with the most vibrant of fur. Steingar can feel their stares burning his pretty fur and finds himself eager to go unnoticed. Approaching the bar, the barkeep stands with a raised brow and a little smirk, the old Falmun's eyes fixated upon Steingar. After a long while, he turns his attention toward Lutala, who hides her face with her hood, only the tip of her snout protruding from beneath the shroud.

“So? What can I get for you, strangers?” The barkeep asks, wiping down a glass tankard with his stained apron.

“We're looking for someone.” Lutala begins, speaking softly and methodically.

“Oh yeah? Not many people around here. If you got a name, chances are I know 'em!” The barkeep chirps.

Taking a seat atop a stool, Lutala does a wonderful job of keeping her tail concealed. She rests her elbows atop the bar and leans a little closer to the barkeep. As she begins to speak, Steingar turns around. He's startled by just how many of the men in the tavern are staring at him. With his back pressed against the counter, the towering Helngar leans against it. As he bends his body in a most uncomfortable manner, he glances to his left, feeling the eyes upon him. A man has made his way across the bar and stands within arm's reach.

“Hi.” The man speaks with a strange tone.

“Hi...” Steingar replies.

“Never seen you here before.”

“Yeah...”

“Have you come to Bural to visit someone, or maybe look for work?” The man asks, slithering ever closer.

“We're just here on business.” The increasingly nervous Steingar gently pulls away.

“Uh-huh... What kind of business.”

“... Do I know you?!” Steingar suddenly growls.

“Do you want to?” The man casually asks.

Steingar is at a loss for words. Why does he suddenly feel accosted? He shifts and looks toward Lutala, who speaks with the barkeep who points toward the north. Before Steingar can speak up and interrupt them, he can feel the strange man's hot breath infiltrating one of his long, pointy and swept back ears. His glowing eyes bulge and his heart sinks. He stands tall and turns around, looking down at the human of average height. The strange man winks at Steingar and flashes a small, silver vasarik from a coin purse on his hip, only proving his intentions.

The Helngar is flabbergasted. Before he can react with the disgust and anger that's bubbling within him, he feels a tug at his shirtsleeve. Turning around and yanking his arm away, he startles Lutala. With wide eyes, she pulls back.

“What?!” Steingar snarls.

“Come on. Let's go.”

“Finally!” He glares at the strange man.

As they leave, several of the patrons’ chuckle.

“Think it over!” The strange man shouts at them as they leave.

Steingar slams the door behind them and marches down the street, leaving Lutala to struggle to maintain the pace and remain alongside him. Her gaze is fixated upon him and the orange flesh of her brow raised with surprise and confusion.

“What was that all about?” She finally asks.

“That guy thought I was a whore!” Steingar snarls.

“Are you serious?!” She gasps.

“Yeah! He saw that I was a man, but he propositioned me anyway! He told me I was 'pretty', and said something about seeing pink, though I don't think he meant my fur.” The visibly unnerved Helngar covers his brow with a clawed hand.

“Aww... ... I hope it was a fair wage.” She murmurs, struggling to conceal a chuckle.

“This isn't funny! I've only felt this kind of humiliation once before, and I didn't like it!”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't make jokes... Look, we don't have to keep doing this.”

“We don't?” His face lights up with delight.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I spoke with the barkeep. He knew Cydren and Okolana, Harokian's guardians. He told me that Cydren moved the family away years ago to find a more prosperous isle. He's a mason and a brick-maker, and he wasn't finding many customers here. He said he thinks they've moved to an isle called 'Odren'. It's a week’s sail to the north. I imagine we could make it in a few days.”

“Good! Then we can wait on the docks for the others!”

“We could do that... Or if you wanted to make some extra coin.” She murmurs to herself, her lips curling around her snout into a little grin.

“I heard that!”

Hastily making their way back to the docks, they wait beside the Arona-Dahl's gangplank. Steingar paces back and forth, while Lutala sits atop a barrel near the edge of the dock and stares at her feet, which she gently sways. The time ticks by, but soon they see a pair of familiar figures. Jarae's wild, pink hair and tall, pointy ears are easily distinguishable, even from a distance; her medium brown and sandy tan two-tone fur confirm her identity. She walks beside her beloved, her clawed hand, covered in dark brown, almost ebony fur, clutching tightly to Valan's pale flesh. The lovers both raise their free hands and wave to the vibrantly colored Helngar and the Lahnyt priestess, who waves back.

“We've got some interesting news!” Jarae exclaims.

“So do we!” Steingar replies. “Hurry up and get over here!”

After a short jog, the human and Jaliscan approach the pair. Valan perches himself atop a short, empty crate, near Lutala's barrel. Jarae is quick to plop her perky buttocks atop his lap and slip an arm around his neck, latching onto him. As he slithers his hands around her shapely waist, he turns his attention toward Steingar.

“Hey there, pretty lady.” He teases.

“Rrrr... What have you learned, damn it?! Don't waste my time!”

“Alright, alright.” Valan chuckles.

“We asked around, for both Harokian and his 'father', Cydren, and we learned that Cydren is a mason.” Jarae begins.

“So did we.” Lutala remarks.

“But that Cydren moved his family away years ago, due to a lack of business here.” The Jaliscan continues.

“That's the same story we heard from the barkeep.” Steingar glances back at Lutala, who nods her head. “Looks like we have to visit Odren, then.”

“Wait...” Lutala perks up, a worried look on her face.

Jarae and Valan furl their brows and glance between each other.

“You know the deal. We need Harokian.” Steingar speaks to the Lahnyt priestess.

“No, that's not right.” Jarae interjects.

“What's not right?” A perplexed Steingar turns back.

“The person we talked to said Cydren moved his family to a developing isle called 'Fol'. They never said 'Odren'.” Valan replies.

“We were told to visit Odren. I specifically asked for directions and the barkeep knew exactly where to go.” Lutala remarks.

“That's not what we learned.” Jarae says, shaking her head.

Steingar's expression changes as his heart sinks. Where are they supposed to go, now? After a moment of awkward silence, two more figures appear, turning a corner. Irzain and Mairlynn, who were partnered together primarily as a taunt for their newly revealed relationship, were sent to the southernmost section of town. As they make their way toward the rest of the crew, Kirsta appears on the main deck. She'd remained behind to guard the defenseless ship. With a crossbow pistol in each hand and her sword on her hip, the blonde, buxom woman with blonde hair, blue eyes and alabaster skin motions for the crew to board.

“Come on! We shouldn't stay any longer than we need to!” Kirsta calls out.

“Coming!” Lutala slides off the barrel.

“I don't see Harokian. Do you know where to find him?” Kirsta asks.

“Yeah, we do! Harokian's family moved to some isle called 'Gweyl'!” Mairlynn exclaims as she darts across the gangplank.

“That's not right!” Jarae speaks up as she slides off Valan's lap.

“Huh?!” Mairlynn stops and turns back.

“We were told it was an isle called 'Fol'.” The Jaliscan explains.

“And we were told it was an isle called 'Odren'.” Lutala adds.

“Uh-oh...” Irzain murmurs, hanging his head and resting his brow in his palm.

“Well, he can't very well be in three places at once.” Kirsta grumbles, a look of displeasure on her face.

“Yeah... I guess we have to decide.” Valan says with a sigh.

“Decide what?” Lutala cocks her head, her eyes scanning the others.

“Where to travel next, of course!” Steingar exclaims, brushing past the horrified priestess.

“Wait! I'm trying to go back to Mishgan!” Lutala whimpers.

“I'm sorry, but that has to wait until after we find the true heir. This is more important than returning to your crush.” Steingar retorts.

“It's not a-! ... How far is Mishgan from here?!” Lutala becomes increasingly distraught.

“Don't start. You know what's at stake.” Steingar turns to face her.

“He's right, Lutala.” Valan says with a sigh.

As the twin brother of Salman, the Lord of Mishgan, he is just as eager to return to his kin, who's existence was kept from him after he was stolen by his mother and her lover, Falidad. Valan understands the importance of their mission.

“We need to find Harokian before Vashalak does. If we don't, the Empire will be left in the hands of a tyrant, and should we depose him, there will be no one with any legitimacy who can take hold of the reins.” He adds.

“B-but... But Salman!” Lutala sheds a single tear.

“I'm sorry, Lutala...” Steingar gently rests a hand upon her shoulder. “We can return you to Mishgan as soon as we collect Harokian and deliver him to King Albrecht. I promise you that; we'll take you back once Harokian is safe on the mainland.”

Clenching her fists and gritting her teeth, a powerful anger begins to swell within her. Lutala can feel her blood boiling, her heart racing and her temperature rising. The pressure in her head is indescribable. Her lips peel back as she snarls, revealing her pearly white teeth, many of which are razor-sharp canines; the Lahnyt are a primarily carnivorous race. Unnerved by the gentle and caring Lutala's sudden change, Steingar pulls his hand away.

“Lutala?” He leans forward, speaking softly. “Are you alright?”

“Rrrrrrr...” Her clenched fist shakes.

“Uhm... L-Lutala... You're, uhm... You're bleeding.” Mairlynn sheepishly points out.

The crew stare at Lutala's hand. She's balled her fist so tightly that her short but pointy claws have dug into the flesh of her palm. Blood now seeps between her fingers from four puncture wounds and drips onto the splintery wood of the old dock. Lutala glances down, and her shaking hand begins to glow. With an abrupt and blinding flash, Lutala's Halcyon magic glows like the sun at midday.

The flash is so startling and painful that Steingar stumbles back, and Kirsta drops her crossbow pistols to shield her eyes, only to fall over with the subtlest of ocean waves. Mairlynn shrieks and nearly falls over the side of the gangplank, only for Irzain, who swiftly turned his back, to reach out and catch her. Valan and Jarae shield each other. The light subsides and the crew slowly return their attention toward Lutala.

“We'd better move quickly... Before I lose my patience.” She speaks in an eerie monotone, examining her freshly healed hand.

Without speaking another word, she stomps over the gangplank, shoving her way past Mairlynn, who gasps as she falls into Irzain's arms, landing against his chest. The crew look back, watching as Lutala, with the coldest of stares, steps over the fallen Kirsta as if she were nothing. Heading for the watertight hatch, Lutala yanks it open and climbs below deck, leaving the others in a stunned silence. Kirsta pushes herself up, blinking several times as she struggles to see. She slowly rises to her feet, while Irzain steadies Mairlynn, who regains her balance atop the retractable gangplank.

“That was, uhm...” Mairlynn hesitates to speak.

“Sh-she's just worried about Salman.” A frightened Jarae comes to Lutala's defense.

“Clearly...” Irzain mutters.

“Her spirits have certainly become more... ...” Steingar seems to struggle to find the proper word.

“Bleak? Melancholy? Angry? Wrathful?” Mairlynn begins making suggestions.

“All of those, I suppose.” Steingar replies.

“She's just upset. Once we finish this quest and reunite them, she'll be fine.” Valan chimes in.

“I hope you're right... For our sakes.” Steingar murmurs.

“What do you mean by that?” Valan turns to the Helngar.

“Nothing...” He murmurs and subtly shakes his head.

“You speak like Lutala is a threat.” Jarae remarks.

Steingar doesn't answer in words, merely shifting his glowing, golden eyes and staring at the couple.

“Then we'd better work fast.” Kirsta says while steadying herself and rubbing her eyes. “Another outburst like that and she might do more than blind us.”

The crew make their way across the gangplank, which Trellan's spirit swiftly retracts. As the Arona-Dahl raises the anchor and the crew pull in the ropes, which moored her to the dock, Lutala remains hidden, concealed below deck. The others work in relative silence, some affected by Lutala's outburst, and others by the unnerving revelation of three potential isles where they might find Harokian. With the ship setting sail, her belly filled with pitania infused coal, Steingar glances toward Valan, who is his closest friend.

“What are you thinking?” He suddenly asks.

“About what?” Valan turns to him.

“About what happened on the docks. Do you really think she isn't a threat?” Steingar clarifies.

“She left behind my brother and Roak. Roak was in her care, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that she cared deeply for Salman. Imagine turning your back on someone, and then living with the regret. On a ship, you cannot just stop and turn around, not when we consistently carry such precious cargo. We may as well be in a prison.”

“She knew what we were setting out to do. She knew she couldn't just change her mind once we began. As the old saying goes, she's made her bed and now she must lie in it.” Steingar retorts.

“You should try to be a bit more compassionate than that, my friend.” Valan pats Steingar’s shoulder.

“This is hard for her. I know that if I was separated from my Val, I'd be struggling to contain my anger and frustration. If I was trained in her magics, I can only imagine how dangerous I'd be. I would do anything to return to my Val, and I suspect Lutala feels similarly about Salman. After what we just saw, I’d bet our futures on it.” Jarae interjects.

As she speaks, Valan looks to her and smiles. He pulls the Jaliscan closer, an arm wrapped around her waist, and kisses the side of her short, cat-like snout. With her own smile growing, she bats her eyelashes at him before leaning in for a proper kiss. Steingar scratches his head, running his claws through his dyed pink hair as he glances toward the watertight hatch.

“What do you suppose she'll do if something has happened to Salman?”

Valan and Jarae stop mid-kiss, only to turn their heads and look upon the unnerved Helngar.

“What do you mean?” Valan furls his brow.

“Don't pretend to be dense. All those complex inventions in your workshop, that new, repeating pistol... What if something bad has happened to Salman since we've been gone? Don't forget, he did help us. Do you think Vashalak forgets betrayal, however small?”

Valan falls deathly silent, a horrified look on his face. Seeing this, Jarae is quick to shut down the conversation.

“Salman is a Lord, and regardless of whatever he's done to earn Vashalak's ire, he is still a Lord, and that gives him rights not afforded to commoners.” She begins, slipping an arm around her lover's waist. “I'm certain that he's alright, and once we return to Mishgan, Lutala will see that for herself, and everything will be okay. Good day, Steingar.” She says as she leads her man away from the Helngar and toward the hatch.

“I sincerely hope so...” He says with a sigh, now standing alone atop the main deck.

Entering their cabin and sitting upon the edge of their bed, Valan and Jarae are enveloped by an uncomfortable silence. Glancing toward her lover, the Jaliscan slowly slithers her clawed hands over his, clutching them very lovingly. His thumbs caress her soft fur, and he leans into her side.

“Are you alright, my darling?” She asks.

“I'll be alright. I'm just...”

“You're worried about Salman.” She finishes his sentence.

He nods his head. Taking a hand away from his, she slips her arm around his back and carefully runs her fingers through his long and flowing hair. Her claws gently caress his scalp.

“Is it those dreams?”

He nods his head once again.

“I thought I made your nightmares go away.” She says with a mildly offended tone. “Didn't I banish those wenches, Indana and Cicera, from your nightmares? You said I did.”

“You did. You do. You’ve made every night so peaceful, Jarae, and I love you for it.”

“And I love you, too, Val, but why do these dreams persist? Am I not good enough?” She teases him, tapping her claws against the crown of his head.

“You are.” He cracks a little smile. “But these dreams... They're different.”

“How so?” She cocks her head.

“They feel more like visions. I smell the blood and decay. I can feel the hunger and the pain. It's as if I'm invading Salman's body as those soldiers prepare to execute him.”

“The medvyedii you dreamt of?”

“Was it a dream? It felt so real, and I saw the same thing every night for a week. That's never happened before.” He turns his eyes toward his lover.

“What else would it be?”

Valan shrugs his shoulders.

“They're just dreams, and they'll go away in time.”

Shifting atop the bed to better face him, she slips her arms around his torso and pulls him in. The lovers embrace each other, gently swaying from side to side as they sit atop the bed. It's a playful wrestle that they often enjoy. Valan buries his nose in the poofy fur of Jarae's neck and closes his eyes, whilst she kisses his cheek and gives him a squeeze.

“Everything is going to be alright.” She coos, a hand lovingly petting the back of his head.

“Thank you, Jarae. I don't know what I'd do without you. You're an oasis in the desert. A shelter in the storm.” He gushes, giving her waist a gentle squeeze.

“Aww!” She nuzzles his cheek as they continue to sway in their embrace.

“You're the best wife a man could ever have.”

“... What?”

Pulling back, she looks into Valan's eyes, her shimmering, pink orbs as wide as saucers. Valan's cheeks flush and the human suddenly appears uncharacteristically shy.

“That was, uhm... What I was going to say was...” He sighs. “No turning back now, I suppose.”

“V-Val?” Her voice quivers.

“I was going to wait until we returned to the mainland. I wanted to bend my knee on the sandy shores of Ogrodin. It's more stable.” He begins, reaching a hand into his pocket. “I asked Prince Alaric for a favor one morning, while you were still sleeping. I hope you like it.”

Pulling away from his lover, Valan holds a crumpled piece of burlap, tied with twine at the end. Dropping down to one knee, he holds up the artifact, which rests neatly atop the palm of his hand. A shocked and teary-eyed Jarae reaches out a shaking hand, steadying the artifact as she pulls at the bow, tied into the twine. As soon as the knot releases, the burlap ball falls apart, revealing a golden ring with a modest but beautiful, cushion-cut ruby inset in the metal.

“Ih-is this... Is this what I-? A-are you?!” She stammers.

“Jarae... Would you honor me and become my wife?”

Jarae is unable to speak. She sits at the edge of their bed, a strange look on her face. Is it fear, or is it overwhelming joy? Before he can ask again, she snatches his hand, grasping him tightly and sandwiching the ring between their palms. She leaps upon her lover, shoving them both down and onto the floor. Valan chuckles through a pained groan as she kisses his face over and over again.

“I'm sorry, my darling! Did I hurt you?!”

“No, I'm fine.”

“Good, and yes, I will gladly be your wife!”

Traversing the hallway, Lutala can hear the elated voices of the couple. With a jealous snarl, she clenches her fist yet again. Making her way to the lounge, Trellan's spirit appears atop the onyx plate mounted to the wall in the corner. She ignores him as he greets her. Taking a sack of wine and a large tankard, she walks past Trellan's hologram, once again ignoring him as he questions her intentions with the entire satchel. Returning to her room, Lutala locks her door and sits at her desk. She fills the tankard almost to overflowing, before sealing the bag and chugging the strong, red fluid.

She winces as she sets the empty tankard atop the desk, already feeling the effects of the brew. She’s not one to drink. Still, she pours herself another, eager to drown her pain with alcohol. She lifts the tankard to her lips and drinks but stops partway through, unable to finish another entire tankard in one round. She stares at her desk, her fiery eyes scanning the many jars and satchels of ingredients which she uses in her potions. Her eyes focus on a particular jar. She collects the transparent container, examining the beauty of the poppy leaves, often used to dull the pain of a dying soldier.

“Please, Sal... Please be alright.”

Leather boots thud against the broken stones which cover the floor, like a bizarre mosaic of blood and rock. The plates of their steel armor clank, their greaves chattering with every step. The Helngar and Vizhek guards, the same pair who've dealt with the prisoner since his arrival, now return to the massive door leading to the medvyedii's cave. It's been several hours since they'd thrown him in, and their Commander is eager to see whatever's left of the Lord of Mishgan. As such, they've been tasked with scraping up the leftovers of the medvyedii's feast.

Neither are too concerned, as a fed medvyedii isn't nearly as dangerous, often entering into a state of lethargy. Approaching the oversized cell door, the Helngar lifts the key and brings it toward the lock. He looks over his shoulder and takes a deep breath.

“This won't be pretty, so keep the bucket handy and let’s do this as quickly as possible. I hate these damned beasts. They're even more terrifying when you see them up close.”

“On three?” The Vizhek asks.

“Yeah... One... Two... Three!”

The Helngar turns the lock and yanks open the door in one fluid motion, only for the Vizhek to dart into the cave. He stops, standing in the oblong, amber pattern on the floor. He scans the interior of the dark and dank cave but sees nothing. All he sees is dark, and all he hears is silence.

“Well?!”

“Well, what?”

“Scrape up some bones or a head, if you're lucky, and let’s get out of here!” The Helngar growls.

“There's nothing here.” The Vizhek turns around.

“What?!”

The horrified Helngar enters the cave and stands beside his companion, his glowing eyes darting about. With better night-vision than the Vizhek, he quickly confirms what the elven guard has said; there’s no evidence that Salman was ever devoured by the beast. The Helngar takes a few more steps, looking into the cave, which has many tunnels leading all over the hillside, which the fortress is built atop.

“I don't understand... We didn't feed it for a week. Maybe it ate him and left no trace at-AAHHHH!”

The Vizhek stumbles back, dropping the bucket and falling on his buttocks as the medvyedii suddenly barrels out of a tunnel to their far right. The beast tackles the Helngar, throwing the towering soldier and his additional eighty pounds of armor and weapons as if they were made of straw. He flies across the cavern, smashing into a jagged wall nearly ten feet away. Before he can fall, the medvyedii is already upon him. It roars with such ferocity and volume that is causes physical pain to the Vizhek, who struggles to retreat. He attempts to rise to his armor-plated knees without the use of his hands, which feebly attempt to slip beneath his helmet to cover his ears. His gauntlets make that impossible.

The sounds of bending and breaking metal are accompanied by bloodcurdling screams, and the audible tearing of flesh and the breaking of bones. The stench of blood fills the elf's nostrils, and he stumbles away. He looks back only once, as he reaches the iron door. He's horrified and sickened to see a foot sticking out past the darkness. As the medvyedii's massive paws shift, it bumps the foot, which rolls away, completely unattached from the Helngar's body. Feeling himself growing ill, the elven soldier attempts to push the gate closed.

It clanks loudly into place, but as he reaches for the key, he's horrified to discover that it isn't in the hole. His companion removed it! The door cannot be locked! Before he voices his terror, the medvyedii barrels into the door, flinging it open and smashing the Vizhek's breastplate. He flies several feet backward as the door opens, slamming into the stone wall with such force that it breaks chunks away and lodges itself in place. He coughs and struggles to sit up, blood pouring from his broken nose. Dazed and confused, the Vizhek finds himself staring into the eyes of the medvyedii, face to face with the monster that has just slain his friend and fellow guard.

On all fours, the beast is nearly as tall as the eight-foot doorway, and nearly as wide as three men standing shoulder to shoulder. It moves it's large and blocky head closer, its black nose covered in his companion's blood. A powerful and angry looking brow sits atop a pair of glowing, red eyes, which remind him of a setting sun. Four tusks, reminiscent of a boar, jut out from the creature's snout. The long and thick lower tusks both contain bits of clothing and chunks of meat, still covered with the skin and fur of the dead Helngar. The upper tusks, like elongated canines, fangs like sabers, drip with crimson fluid.

The beast snarls and roars, once again deafening the Vizhek. It raises a paw, which is nearly the size of the large elf's abdomen, and with golden claws it smashes his armor. The claws, as sharp as the finest sword, pierce the steel breastplate. The medvyedii raises its powerful arm, attempting to rip the armor away. However, the straps on his shoulders and sides hold tight, and instead the elf is thrown like a ragdoll, landing right back into the cave from which he just escaped. With his head spinning, he sits up and tries to regain his stability. The medvyedii stands in the doorway, as if to taunt him.

It's long, bushy coat of coarse gray fur, adorned with thick, crimson stripes and a crimson patch on its neck, chest and belly, seems to glisten in the light of the torches ensconced on the wall of the dungeon's hallway. The medvyedii charges once again, its deep, throaty voice grunting and growling as it attacks the helpless guard. Shoving him down to the ground, it rips and slashes and bashes him, unrelenting in the vicious assault. His armor breaks as if it were made of glass, being torn apart by the muscular arms and legs of the monstrous beast.

The claws, so long and so sharp, shred his light blue flesh beneath his armor, tenderizing it for the creature. He struggles to crawl away as the medvyedii takes a bite out of his side, removing several pounds of flesh in an instant. He screams in agony, his shimmering eyes starring in horror at the cavern left in his body. The creature seems to relish in his suffering as it chews and swallows his raw flesh, before shoving him down and continuing to feast. As the creature rips out his intestines, leaving them strewn about, the Vizhek's eyes finally begin to adjust to the darkness.

As he lay upon his back, his life quickly fading, a figure gradually comes into focus. The Vizhek is stunned to see the prisoner, on his knees and still praying. Salman was left untouched by the ravenous beast, who quickly bites onto his still beating heart, ripping it from his chest cavity and ending the elf’s life.