“Wait,” Talimar said. His voice was quiet, but firm. Kre could feel the sergeant bristle a bit at being spoken to in such a way, but he also noted that Talimar hadn’t been speaking to the senior-most guard. The Red Feather leader’s eyes were instead focused on something in Kersath’s offhand.
Kersath rolled his shoulders and smiled. It wasn’t his usual playful smirk, Kre noted. The dark-skinned Ylveryan still looked terrible, but he moved as if he had no injuries at all. Kre could only guess at the pain Kersath was hiding behind that menacing smile.
If Kre had been able to move at all, he likely would have shuddered as a chill went down his spine thinking of what Kersath might be capable of at this moment.
“Sarge?” one the guards asked, clearly confused by this stalemate and not at all happy that his colleagues had been replaced by these new Ylveryans.
“It’s their move,” he snapped back. He too, was nervous, as Kre could feel the slight shake in his hands. He turned to glare at Talimar as he repeated his position, “It’s your move elf.”
Talimar inhaled deeply and bowed his head with a sigh. “Watch the kid,” was all he said.
Kersath thrust his offhand out and the sergeant’s grip loosened just then, just enough for Kre to squirm free. Later, Kre would realize he had lost time just then. He remembered working his way free, but then it was just a dark part in his memory and he found himself standing there, facing his colleagues.
Try as he might, he couldn’t piece together the last minute or so. Even as Kre’s mind struggled to reconcile events, the only thing he seemed to recall was the sound of something like a boot continuously stepping down into much-too-wet mud.
That wasn’t the oddest thing though. What he found stranger still was that all the folks around him were acting just slightly out of character for what should still be a dangerous encounter.
For instance, one of the guards had turned and was busy puking his guts out.
The other guard, the one named Dawlkin, had simply thrown down his blade and dropped to his knees. He was continuously muttering, “I don’t get paid enough for this crap.”
Gnore had lowered his head and was making some kind of gesture that was perhaps religious in nature.
Talimar was removing the rest of his guard disguise, laying it gently down on the ground, almost ceremoniously so.
Virryn’s eyes were tightly closed and she was silently mouthing things as if comforting herself.
The two Dweorvkin with forks, the ones that were obviously not battle-hardened, had turned away from Kre in unison. One said something and the other shook his head fervently.
One of the others spat on the ground and nodded once, clearly not upset with what had just happened.
The other Dweorvkin seemed ambivalent towards the whole series of events, his own eyes seemingly staring all the way out to the horizon. Possibly his mind was like Kre’s, trying to catch up and process what had happened.
Ortho pressed his lips together and started forward towards Kre, his weapon no longer raised threateningly though he still held the guard’s blade tightly in his hands.