“I suppose you’ll have to kill me now, is that it?” Kre said so casually that he wasn’t even sure it was him talking. He tried to wonder when it was that he became so flippant about potential life and death situations but couldn’t nail down a singular event. Perhaps too, it was the general demeanor of the group before him that made him slightly more flippant, like they seemed to be with each other.
“I suppose we will have to,” the dark-skinned Ylveryan whispered down to him, his left hand sliding towards the hilt of a blade strapped upside down across his back.
“Kersath! You can’t be serious!”
At the same time as the young child at the back issued his cry of alarm , Beleg stepped forward and nearly put himself between Kersath and Kre. “Hold there, young man,” Beleg said sternly, holding out a hand towards Kre in a stalling gesture. “No need for that, Kersath merely jests. He is… not good at humor.”
Kre slowly took his hand from the tight grip he had on the hilt of his tyrfang, never breaking focus on Kersath above him. His other hand was also tightly clenched but around the stone he still held, the small rock feeling abnormally hot.
“Relax,” the elf laughed, raising his hand up high for all to see that he was still unarmed. “I toy with the little man only.” He looked down at Kre with a wide grin on his dark face, “I like you. You have much… oh, what is that word…” He looked back at his friends and motioned with his hand that they needed to feed him the right term.
“Spunk,” Beleg answered, his hand lowered but his eyes still sharply focused on Kre’s weapon, as if ensuring that it would remain sheathed by the power of his will alone. “The lad certainly has that in spades, along with something else.” He gestured to the weapon Kre wore at his belt. “Tell me, where did you come by that rather unique blade?”
Kre’s hand returned reflexively back to the hilt, but he didn’t grip it as he had before. “This tyrfang was a gift,” he said slowly, mentally checking each of his words before speaking them to ensure he didn’t say something he oughtn’t. “It’s a long story,” he said simply, trying to put the question to rest.
Beleg snorted and crossed his arms. “I think I’d like to hear that story.”
“If only we had the time,” a rider in the back called out, urging his horse forward and forcing Kersath out of the way. “I am Talimar Silverblade,” he said, looking down and Kre, “and I am the grudging leader of his little band known as the Red Feather Adventuring Company.
“These two,” he said gesturing, “are Beleg Cuthalion and Kersath.” Turning in his saddle, he pointed at the remaining members of his party. “Back there we have Dain Blackfeather in the ridiculous hat and Rasmussen, or simply Ras for short.”
“That better not be a crack at my height either,” Ras called back, though Kre noted he did so with a smile on his face.