Death Saving Throw, chapter 12
A herd of deer navigate along the periphery, avoiding the light cast off from the city, and traversing around the walls on their way to find a restful spot to hunker down. The herdâs leader, a buck with lopsided antlers, sniffs into the breeze while ears twitch backwards and forwards, in constant motion as he listens for predators. He nudges forward, cautiously leading his group through the dawnâs dimly-lit underbrush.
âSorta majestic, ainât it,â one guard muses. âWonder if they smell that wolf thatâs been prowlinâ around.â
Another guard snorts. âThat big fucker? Garlic?â
âGaldric, ya knob.â He swats his companionâs chest with a loud thwump and a laugh.Â
The herd slows and stops, alerted by a sound behind them. A dozen heads turn backwards, ears pointed forward towards the source of the sound, trying to listen for what spooked them. Leaping suddenly, the herd bounds off in haste, cracking branches and hopping over bushes on their way to escape what frightened them.
âWhatâs got âem spooked?â His hand moves to his side, grabbing the crossbow at his hip.
âFuck if I know. Deer are scared of their own godsdamned shadows sometimes.â His bravado is thin, and he too moves his hand to his side to find a weapon.
Itâs usually in the dark of night when the weird stuff comes out of the Parchwood⌠so when a haggard-looking man shuffles his way up the dirt path towards the gates of Whitestone, heâs eyeballed with careful scrutiny. Thereâs something about the man, a darkness. The animals arenât the only ones spooked now.
âThatâs close enough, traveler!â The guard hollers in the manâs direction. âWhatâs your business?â
The man stutter-steps, but doesnât stop his slow march towards the gate.
Both guards level their crossbows at the figure now, snapping the strings back and ready their bolts to fire. One guard commands, âI said thatâs close enough! Halt anâ state your business in Whitestone!â
He slows to a stop, looking up tiredly. The gate is still a distance away, so he uses as much energy as he has left to project his voice as far as he can. With all of the arrogance and the donât you know who I am he can muster, he shouts back, âAre you always this hostile to the visitors of my city?â
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