"You do realize, that whether we like it or not, we ARE going to do all this shyke again... there's no easy way out lad... but petch it, we stand a better chance if we stick together! Hopefully, that Jarvis petcher is not a fast runner.."
Daegron turned, spat and kicked at the door which held the remaining thug locked in what was used as the "waiting room". A torrent of curses followed, so profane and foul, that could cause the dirtiest sailor to rebuke and flinch. As much as he'd love to go inside and beat the truth out of that piece of shyke, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Like staying alive. After that little thing was settled, he followed Elias with a grunt and a groan. A plan that sucks is so much better than the absence of it. Unfortunately, he had to swallow his pride, accept the facts and get a hold of reality. The young mage was damn right. There would be more coming for them and perhaps it would be wiser to beat the hell out of there, than linger onto an attempt for revenge bound to fail. Reason prevailed just this once, or was it the self-preservation instinct ? It did not matter. They had to find a way out and quick. And preferably with all their limbs in place, their breath even, and their pulse still ticking.
Adrenaline was starting to wear off. With a sudden spasm accompanied by a wave of blunt pain that run along his spine and stole control over his limbs for a couple of ticks, he realized his condition. Exhaustion was too small of a word to describe it. His whole body protested with every step and every move. It had already endured relentless beating, radical shape-shifting and ever increasing impact, stress and strain. It was a wonder that he was still standing. And yet, there was more to come, and the Morpher had no idea where he'd muster the energy or will to keep going, let alone continue fighting. All he could do was to rely on his survival instincts and to his equally battered companion. They only had each other.
The door opened again, and they walked through it only to find themselves at the most unusual of places. There wasn't much to see or understand on their way into that forsaken meat-locker. But now, a few chimes before dawn, in that dim half light that streamed through the windows, it was obvious that the place was quite huge. On their left, a hundred feet or so from where they were standing, their attention was hopelessly grabbed by the place where butchery took place. Like a terrible altar covered in crimson stains and worse, a rickety table stood. In a wall behind it, hung an interesting assortment of tools, or by their blood-spattered look one could easily mistake them for a gruesome collection of implements for murder. A few feet further to their left was the edge of a platform and the soothing and hopeful sight of Ravok's still waters. On the platform's edge were the barrels. They smelled of red wine and reeked of mangled flesh. Daegron's gaze was averted, and he barely managed to suppress the outward rush of his stomach's meager contents. He wasn't eager to go that way.
A few ticks later, as he was trying to figure out what manner of place it was, he finally understood what that awful acrid smell that filled the air was. Resin and glue. Wood and shavings. Paint and tar. A stream of memories passed through his mind, from his early working days in Zeltiva and then the ship he climbed on and joined it's crew. Petching unbelievable, it was a damn shipyard. Or a ship-building.. something. The lake was nothing like the open sea, despite it's vastness. Hence, the craft sailing through it, be it passenger ferries, cargo transporters or fishing boats, were a lot smaller than their open sea counterparts and specifically built for it's blessed and mostly calm waters. The place was nothing like the Zeltivan shipyards; just a couple of stories high but big enough a place to host such a facility. Amidst the half finished or damaged hulls, there existed a wide array of platforms, ropes, pulleys, chains and ladders that seemed to connect everything into a wooden maze. All around, tools, materials and assorted equipment along with dozens of barrels were scattered.
But where were the workers ? Was this place abandoned ? Damn it was quiet. Perhaps too quiet..
The Morpher's questioning gaze fell on Elias and shrugged. They just couldn't stay and admire the place. Soon they'd have company.
"You have any ideas ?"
Daegron turned, spat and kicked at the door which held the remaining thug locked in what was used as the "waiting room". A torrent of curses followed, so profane and foul, that could cause the dirtiest sailor to rebuke and flinch. As much as he'd love to go inside and beat the truth out of that piece of shyke, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Like staying alive. After that little thing was settled, he followed Elias with a grunt and a groan. A plan that sucks is so much better than the absence of it. Unfortunately, he had to swallow his pride, accept the facts and get a hold of reality. The young mage was damn right. There would be more coming for them and perhaps it would be wiser to beat the hell out of there, than linger onto an attempt for revenge bound to fail. Reason prevailed just this once, or was it the self-preservation instinct ? It did not matter. They had to find a way out and quick. And preferably with all their limbs in place, their breath even, and their pulse still ticking.
Adrenaline was starting to wear off. With a sudden spasm accompanied by a wave of blunt pain that run along his spine and stole control over his limbs for a couple of ticks, he realized his condition. Exhaustion was too small of a word to describe it. His whole body protested with every step and every move. It had already endured relentless beating, radical shape-shifting and ever increasing impact, stress and strain. It was a wonder that he was still standing. And yet, there was more to come, and the Morpher had no idea where he'd muster the energy or will to keep going, let alone continue fighting. All he could do was to rely on his survival instincts and to his equally battered companion. They only had each other.
The door opened again, and they walked through it only to find themselves at the most unusual of places. There wasn't much to see or understand on their way into that forsaken meat-locker. But now, a few chimes before dawn, in that dim half light that streamed through the windows, it was obvious that the place was quite huge. On their left, a hundred feet or so from where they were standing, their attention was hopelessly grabbed by the place where butchery took place. Like a terrible altar covered in crimson stains and worse, a rickety table stood. In a wall behind it, hung an interesting assortment of tools, or by their blood-spattered look one could easily mistake them for a gruesome collection of implements for murder. A few feet further to their left was the edge of a platform and the soothing and hopeful sight of Ravok's still waters. On the platform's edge were the barrels. They smelled of red wine and reeked of mangled flesh. Daegron's gaze was averted, and he barely managed to suppress the outward rush of his stomach's meager contents. He wasn't eager to go that way.
A few ticks later, as he was trying to figure out what manner of place it was, he finally understood what that awful acrid smell that filled the air was. Resin and glue. Wood and shavings. Paint and tar. A stream of memories passed through his mind, from his early working days in Zeltiva and then the ship he climbed on and joined it's crew. Petching unbelievable, it was a damn shipyard. Or a ship-building.. something. The lake was nothing like the open sea, despite it's vastness. Hence, the craft sailing through it, be it passenger ferries, cargo transporters or fishing boats, were a lot smaller than their open sea counterparts and specifically built for it's blessed and mostly calm waters. The place was nothing like the Zeltivan shipyards; just a couple of stories high but big enough a place to host such a facility. Amidst the half finished or damaged hulls, there existed a wide array of platforms, ropes, pulleys, chains and ladders that seemed to connect everything into a wooden maze. All around, tools, materials and assorted equipment along with dozens of barrels were scattered.
But where were the workers ? Was this place abandoned ? Damn it was quiet. Perhaps too quiet..
The Morpher's questioning gaze fell on Elias and shrugged. They just couldn't stay and admire the place. Soon they'd have company.
"You have any ideas ?"
