Private Frost & Finality

[Aymeric Rouche]

For once, Aym could honestly say he was happy to feel the frigid embrace of hypothermia; the inherent numbing made for an albeit mild reprieve from the grievous wounds covering his body. It was a tie between the blaster wound on his back and his broken collar bone for which had hurt the most at the time they were inflicted, but now they were small concerns compared to the chilling air filtering through his shredded clothes. Here he was thinking the blood loss would take him first; now it was an even race with freezing to death out here in the wastes. If the wolves had gotten around to breaking his legs, he had a feeling he'd have been dead hours ago. Constantly moving, if only slowly shuffling through the slush, was the only thing keeping him remotely warm, especially with the state of his formerly warm fur attire. Damn those big mutts, they'd tore them up pretty good flinging him around like a rag doll. That said, the hunter could still laugh over the yelp the one that broke his collar bone let out, after catching a thumb to the eye via his good hand. Well, he would laugh, if his mouth wasn't too busy chattering uncontrollably. Damn those stupid wolves, this was all their fault!

Where the proper blame laid was starting to matter less and less by the second, given the sun was rapidly setting by now. The temperature was understandably nosediving along with it. Aym figured this would be his last sunset, and yet he was still too busy with trying to find some kind of shelter to really pay much attention to the beautiful scene. Sadly, the wolves had taken most of his gear when they'd descended on him after those blasted explosives didn't go off like they were supposed to, the off-worlder garbage, so here he was with no tent and miles away from any of his hideouts. The hunter tried to recall if there were any caves or covered outcroppings in this area, but was having a hell of a problem putting one foot in front of the other, let alone trying to concentrate. Without his goggles, the howling wind made it downright painful to raise his eyes to the horizon, and even then, blood loss and the onset of shock had everything looking blurry. Although, the ocean of pristine snow every direction, besides the occasional tree or smattering of his blood, didn't help the disorientation either. For all he knew, Aym was going in circles.

The hunter was more relieved than worried when his legs suddenly buckled, and he pitched forward into the ground. The snow had surprisingly little gave as he smacked into it, sending waves of pain rolling out from head to toe. He had wounds in places he hadn't even realized; was it shrapnel from the explosives, or bites from his prey? It was hard to tell, not that the details would've helped with the situation. Aym let out a pathetic whimper from between deeply chapped lips, the kinda thing he would've hated himself for under any other circumstance. Dying was no reason to whine. Still, more whimpering reluctantly came out as the hunter tried to drag himself along by his relatively good arm. He'd only made it a few feet before the effort became too great, and he needed another rest. This repeated for what felt like hours, until his fingers grazed bark while blindly groping for the next handhold.

It hurt for Aym to open his eyes, but glimpsing the massive tree trunk before him was worth it. It was good tree, tall and study; not the type to really sway under the wind's harassment. He liked it. More importantly, it'd make for as good a grave as any out here. With much effort, he crawled closer still; crunching fallen branches and brown pine needles in the process. The latter made for a decent enough pillow as he got comfortable, as much as one could anyway. Taking a final nap, and peacefully drifting off, would've been too easy a way to go. The hunter issued a silent challenge to himself to stay awake for as long as possible, pain be damned, just out of sheer spite for life in general and for how his final couple of days had gone down. He hoped whatever scavenger found him choked to death on a chunk of his frozen ass; especially those wolves!

 

[Xobos Yakieer]

Location: Garde Noire, Woods Surrounding the town
Equipment: Illyria Knight Armor, Knight Saberstaff, Miralukan Eye Mask
Time of day: Evening
Tags: | Aymeric Rouche |

It was curious, the inner workings of the people of Illyria, and it was still something that Xobos was trying to understand.

She was not from this planet, nor was she inherently extremely familiar with how things worked with each other. Illyria had become her adoptive homeworld under her master, yet this didn’t mean she magically understood everything there was to know about the history or how people saw the ruling class. Being more and more around the mining guild in her town was helping, as the foreman had been kind enough on most nights to discuss these matters with her. It would only serve to make her a better ruler if she could navigate the…convoluted parts of her job.

Still, there were parts of Illyria she was understanding of quite quickly. Chief among them being the somewhat still…antagonistic attitude toward the king. Never going to please everyone, but there were definitely some that took to the new rule worse than others. Those within the town knew that Xobos was a direct extension of the king, so when the theft of explosives was reported to her, there was rarely a time she left the manor without her saber and in her armor for a few days.

It was a nightly stroll back from the village tavern that something caught her gaze. A young man, one unknown to her from this town, emerging from one of the supply areas then dashing into the woods. Perhaps the thief had come back for more, or something along those lines. Either way, there was little hesitation from the knight before she started to follow him from a distance, staying to the shadows for the first fifty yards or so. It was a glance backward that sent Xobos high into the trees, where she followed from continued distance.

Where the man the man would end up taking her would end up being quite the surprise. A loth wolf den buried within the woods, and apparently the target of this would be thieves’ explosives. Xobos continued to watch from afar as the man went about setting up the explosives in a manner that would seem to indicate he was trying to seal the cave. It..went about as well as she could have predicted.

Although the blast was powerful, enough to shake some of the snow off the lower branches from the tree she perched in, it’s goal was not even close to achieved, and the resulting anger from the wolves left the young man bleeding and desperate to get away. He stumbled away through the slush of snow, surely to die in the freezing night ahead of him. It would’ve been kinder to kill him where he stood instead of letting him taste death on the snow.

But he continued to move, pressing forward through the snow. For hours and hours, stumbling through the slush. Of course, he went in circles. Annoying, little circles. Eventually small enough in his daze that Xobos didn’t even have to leave a single tree to keep him within her sight. Why she didn’t just leave him to die, she’d never know. Perhaps his resilience spoke to her, or maybe the itching feeling at the back of her neck whenever her gaze fell upon him. She did not know, but he was certainly catching her attention even as he was struggling to keep himself alive.

For whatever reason the force willed, the young man eventually found his bleeding self stumbling toward Xobos’ tree, practically falling into it as he settled into the snow. He was almost gone, now. She watched him for a few more moments, allowing him to fully accept his fate, then leap down, landing in the soft snow with the slightest of crunches. Silver and purple armor glistened in the moonlight, reflecting into the white landscape around them. The knight took a step toward the young man, kneeling beside him. His gaze would only meet a mask around where her eyes would be, but he would know she was looking at him. He would feel it.

“You’ve survived much longer than I might’ve given you credit for, my little thief.”

 

[Aymeric Rouche]

Despite his best efforts, Aym could already feel himself starting to fade away, only a few minutes after issuing a challenge to himself to drag this on out. It was honestly embarrassing. At this rate, frostbite won't even have taken his toes by the time he passed out. Getting up under his own power was most likely out of the question, but if he had even a sliver more energy he'd have at least tried to sing or crawl around enough to stay awake. Instead, he was too busy trying to get enough frigid air into his lungs to remain upright, and keeping his gaze down to avoid being blinded by the cutting wind. Damn, dying was starting to lose all of its appeal. How things were going, the hunter was going to die simultaneously bored and wishing he could do more. It'd be hilarious if it was happening to someone else. He tried to laugh, but it came across more as muted dry heaves than anything remotely mirthful.

Aym heard the crunch of snow even above the high wind, something he was so used to he basically tuned it out automatically, and his instincts took over. Breathing heavily and cracking his chapped lips on accident, he willed himself into propping up with one hand, while the other clumsily flailed for the falchion at his side. The wolves might have claimed a bunch of his gear, but the worn little sword wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Numb fingers tried and failed to wrap around the hilt. It hurt to do so, but the hunter finally raised his eyes to see what'd caused the sound. "What..?" he wheezed, downright shocked to find a person there instead of any number of local scavengers, or a Loth wolf hunting party. However, confusion turned to rage when he saw the colors the stranger wore, and his efforts to get his sword free skyrocketed. The hunter actually managed to draw nearly half the blade with his good hand by the time the traitor knelt and had the nerve to talk to him.

Snorting defiantly, Aym was ready to unleash a torrent of cursing right into the invader and/or traitor's face, when he noticed for the first time that she was wearing a mask, if only half of one. Ugh, these freaks were just the worst.

Disdain alone wouldn't have stayed his verbal attack; however, something about the way she was seemingly staring at him, despite the odd mask, sent a familiar shiver rocketing up his spine. This was new, terrifying, but new. Welling up in his time of need, as usual, Aym felt his 'magic' powers surface to help him deal with this horrid creature, only to drop away a few seconds latter. His power briefly flared, but way too fast for his enhanced stealth to even be considered an option. Even with this setback, the hunter continued just to broadcast hatred right at the blind looking fool. "Save your credit." he croaked, trying to speak louder. "Get the hell out of my forest COUGH....and off my planet, while you're at it." The hunter could've tried to deny the accusations leveled at him, but he didn't care to. It wasn't like he owed this woman any explanation. "True Illyrians can't even go into the forest COUGH without being harassed by you lot."

 

[The High Court of Illyria]

LEGGET GUIDRY​

Tags: Xobos Yakieer | Aymeric Rouche ​

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"WHERE IS DAT LITTLE TART?!"

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The booming voice of Legget Guidry could be heard even when the massive, gruff man was yet some distance from where Xobos Yakieer & Aymeric Rouche were. The massive man wore a pair of insulated overalls with a thermal top covering his massive bulging torso. In his hand was his prized Pickaxe crafted from the greatest of refined Phrik that could be found on Illyria. "When I get my hands on dat pute I'm gonna wring his fuckin' neck!" A crowd of ten or so men followed behind Legget as he shuffled up the snowy hill. Many of the men carried pickaxes or shovels, although a few had basic model blaster pistols tucked into their waistbands. The men behind Legget were no less imposing with their massive size and huge muscles, and they all seemed equally pissed. ​

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Legget's advance halted when he spied his Sieur and Lady, Xobos Yakieer standing amongst the snow on the center of the incline. "M'lady?" He said curiously before his eyes drifted down to the man laying in the red-stained snow. Before Legget could say anything, one of the men behind him jabbed a finger towards the stranger, yelling out. "eh Legget! There's the thief right there!" When Legget saw the man his eyes turned to fire as he marched closer, hefting his pickaxe over his shoulder with a mad growl. "YOU FUCKIN' THIEF!" He brought his pickaxe down onto the ground in a hard slam, only a few inches from the man's head. Yet, it was soon obvious the man did not intend to impale Aym's skull, rather he was planting his axe into the snow. ​

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"You stole from our storage crates. Now I take a head for that!" His hands, massive and smelling of coal and bourbon, yanked the man to his feet, suspending him a few feet off the ground. "You got any idea how much those explosive you stole cost?! Any idea how far you set us back, you fuckin'-" He growled, throwing the man back to the ground before walking back to his pickaxe and ripping it from the snow and frozen dirt beneath. He spit out into the snow before hefting his pickaxe over his shoulder. He turned his eyes to Xobos with a pointed gaze. ​

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"Step back, m'lady. Imma split his head open and I'd hate to get blood all on ya." He warned, before clasping one of his fists against his work belt. ​

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[Xobos Yakieer]

Location: Garde Noire, Woods Surrounding the town
Equipment: Illyria Knight Armor, Knight Saberstaff, Miralukan Eye Mask
Time of day: Evening
Tags: | Aymeric Rouche | The High Court of Illyria |


Oh, so we had a little bit of a situation on her hands now. This one seemed to be quite the staunch native Illyiran, and there was no doubt that the very sight of Xobos probably enraged him to the core. Which, in all instances, was probably fair. Xobos was not a native of the planet, not really a native of any planet. She was cast out, abandoned by her clan, and only taken in by Adron Malvern for the power that had laid dormant within her. It was only years later that she was finally taken in by Illyria when she was made a Knight. This place..it was her adoptive home. Yet there would always be the native population that saw her for nothing more than a trespasser on their world, something that would sting Xobos to no end.

“It doesn’t seem as though you have any trouble traversing these woods. Harassment from my…lot or not.” She responded, moments before the booming voice of the mining captain of her town echoed off the dark woods surrounding them. How he found them she would not know, but there was no doubt in her mind that he knew the woods around them better than she did, so if she was able to keep up with the bloodied man in front of her, there was little to say they couldn’t find him too. Obviously, Legget hadn’t expected her to be out in the woods as well, and especially not dressed in her armor as she was.

As he moved forward, Xobos took a few steps back for the moment. She knew he would not kill the thief, at least not yet, allowing her to run the situation over in her mind a few times. Legget was right, for one, the thief did deserve to die. The explosives he had stolen were not cheap, and it surely would put their progress back from opening up the third mineshaft within the week. Even with the opening of the second of their mines, progress was still slow, and setbacks such as these could be extremely detrimental. To be honest, she was as much angry at the man for the situation he had put them in as she was interested.

But that was it, she was still interested in this native. He had shown resiliency that only one with a deep routed connection to the force could pull out. There was a chance that he could prove extremely useful to her, but getting him out this situation could prove quite..tricky. “Legget,” she started, stepping forward once more to stand next to the hulking man, gaze falling one where the man had been tossed back into the snow. “I understand as well as you do the law of this land. He does not deserve mercy.” A light headtilt to one side, and the smallest of smirks began to hint at the edges of the Seiur’s lips.

“I might have a way for him to pay off his debt..both to me, and to allow us to get back on track.”

 

[Aymeric Rouche]

Aym's eyes narrowed dangerously when the blind invader had the nerve to seemingly deny her own wickedness, and potentially lowkey insulting him in the process. He was likely the truest Illyrian alive, so was that comment a dig at his patriotic convictions!? Before he could hurl like an even mix of obscenities and accusations at her, someone started bellowing and a small cadre of those fool miners showed up. Ah, a whole crowd of people he actually hated even worse than the invaders: traitors, those who ultimately sold out their homeland to turn a profit with the enemy. So accommodating, so docile; like any good whore looking to make their money without any trouble. The hunter could almost let the invader's slide with their horrid transgressions on his people, because how else were xenos barbarians supposed to act, besides petty and jealous? His face was a mask of venomous hatred when the biggest and ugliest of the whores, likely their chief, had the audacity to call him a thief! The wounded man didn't so much as flinch as the chief planted the pickaxe next to his head, refusing to dignify this impudent posturing with any consideration, even if it meant his death.

His parents hadn't raised a coward; he'd die before he became another bootlicker.

Pain exploded across the hunter's body as he was hoisted from the ground by the chief whore; although, the bearded tart's breath might have been the worst part of this new development. Either way, he gritted his teeth and buried the urge to scream, even after what he figured was a cracked rib fully broke, then punctured something. "I..don't..care." he responded to the so-called miner's whining, looking him dead in the eye. Before he could demand to be set back down, the bastard was kind enough to oblige, even if the landing could've been better. Aym coughed up streams of blood upon impact and immediately went to cradle his chest, but still refusing to scream in front of his lessers. On the upside, all this new terrible pain got his adrenaline pumping again, and he took advantage of the state to sit partially up and crawl to lean again the tree trunk.

Again, Aym didn't flinch when threats were leveled his way, instead being much more concerned with inventorying his new injuries. He wasn't a doctor, but any idiot knew that internal bleeding was never a good sign. He coughed, and gave the slush next to him a fresh dusting of red. Yep, that wasn't good. With this brief boost to clarity, he threw all his concentration into trying to activate his magic, but it still wouldn't obey his command in this time of need. The hunter was much more interested in at least putting up a little fight before the end, yet noticed that the conversation had shifted back to him again. Did they not have anything better to do that keep bothering him, breaking his concentration and such? Another coughing fit filled his chest with more fire, blood rolled down his lips.

"AHEM Can..we..move this..along?" Aym asked flatly, looking up at the invader's strange visor, unsure if she could actually see him or not. One positive thing from the internal bleeding was that his throat was no longer dry, making this next part a lot more coherent and smooth. "Tell your pet traitor, and the rest of the ugly whores, to leave us be. There has to be a xenos looking to be sucked off for a pittance somewhere, they should get on that. Now, tell me your plan, so I know what I'm refusing. What could you possibly offer me?" the hunter rambled off, smiling at the end with crimson streaked teeth. Just to really drive home his utter disdain for traitors, he hacked loudly then spat a large red glob of blood and phlegm onto the burly bastard's pants leg. "There, that should cover the explosives, and I'm being generous. Buy better product next time."

 

[The High Court of Illyria]

THE MAD MINER​

Tags: Aymeric Rouche | Xobos Yakieer ​

When the Sieur spoke, Legget listened. Although the gruff man was eager to spill blood, he

was a man of the old ways, those who respected the word of the Lord and Lady appointed above their lands. While the Sieur spoke, Legget cast a hard gaze towards the man. "You think you can find some use for dis whoreson?" He remarked, jerking a thumb towards Aym with a noticeable disdain lacing his words. When Aym spoke again, Legget pulled at the pouch on his waist, drawing from it a long, thick wooden pipe. It had a piece of metal over the clasp, which he removed to show a fresh packing of tobacc. He jammed his thumb into the leafy innards while Aym spoke.

He said nothing. Even when a crimson slob fell onto his leg in a thick, gooey mess. He glanced down while pulling a match from his pocket and striking it against the wooden neck of his pipe. The miners beside Legget watched him warily, almost surprised by his inaction. After lighting the herbs and taking a deep draw of the tobacc, he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the air above him. "Aye." He responded coldly to Aym, before he shifted hard. The pipe fell into the ground and the massive man closed the distance between he and the thief.

A hard fish closed the distance between them, slamming into the hunter's jaw. A hard punch from a pissed off miner was not just the kiss of a butterfly. Following the blow, Legget ripped the blaster pistol from his waist band and lowered it down onto the man. "I'LL KILL THIS WHORESON!" He growled, yet quickly a number of the miners wrapped their arms around the great bear of a man. "Sir! The Sieur wants him alive! We can't kill 'em!" Legget's blaster arm was forced up as a blaster bolt fired wildly into the air above.

It took nearly four men to wrestle the aged pistol from Legget Guidry and when they did he remembered himself, somewhat. He pushed the men from him before pointing an accusing finger at the Sieur. "A hand! The laws demand the boy at least pays with a hand for his theft!" He growled at the Sieur. The man turned to one of his men, ripping a carving knife from his waist and holding it out to the Sieur. "Ya da Sieur of Garde Noire or not?!" He demanded.

"I don't give a fuck for his credits, I want my justice!"
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[Xobos Yakieer]

Location: Garde Noire, Woods Surrounding the town
Equipment: Illyria Knight Armor, Knight Saberstaff, Miralukan Eye Mask
Time of day: Evening
Tags: | Aymeric Rouche | The High Court of Illyria |

Oh how she had wished that Legget had never found then. Perhaps she could have enacted her own justice instead of having to watch as the situation became exactly what the people of this planet hated their invaders for. Their own sense of justice and judgement that came with a brutality that left a bad taste in everyone’s mouths. The boy deserved it, there was no doubt about it on that part, but as the knife was shoved toward Xobos, her mind almost immediately went into how she could avoid it and keep him alive, even if he hated her for it. She could sense the raw power laid deep within the bleeding man’s bones, and the hatred spewing forth from him, even if it was uncontrolled, only served to deepen the sense of power coming from him.

And Xobos was going to have to enact justice on him that would only serve to heighten his anger toward her more. It would make him reckless, horribly hard to train…yet could serve as a motivation that would bring him to taller and taller heights. Maybe a little bit of the planet’s justice wouldn’t be so bad for him after all.

Her gaze fell upon the blade held out to her, then moved back to where the man laid against the tree. She regarded him for a second, a mixture of anger and curiosity being betrayed on her facial features. After a moment, she turned back to Legget, a wicked grin peaking at the edges of her lips. “No..mine will hurt him much, much more.” Her point was emphasized by her hand reaching down to where the silver and gold hilt reflected with the light’s of the miners, taking it and igniting the crystals within.

The attention of the Sieur returned back to the injured thief, the orange and black blade illuminating the ground around her, seemingly cutting through the air that saturated the group. Ice crunched underneath her boot, falling heavier than it had before. “Stay still, else I cut off more than just your thieving hand.” The blade spun twice, each time cutting through the ice at her feet with ease, before being brought swiftly downward.

It would be over within a moment, the slicing of flesh and cutting of bone nothing for the laser to accomplish. Perhaps Aym would feel nothing as the blade rend flesh from flesh, but the pain to explode from his left arm below the elbow afterword would be unimaginable. The pain of being mauled by a hundred wolves concentrated into a singular spot of the body. Xobos would take it in, emotions feeding on the pain she had caused.

The single swipe of her blade completed, it was deactivated as she turned back to where the miner group stood. Anything the man would say falling upon deaf ears that focused totally hearing Legget’s response to what she said next. “I have served our justice. And now, I have my own use for this…boy. If you would help me return him to my manor, and dungeons within, you would receive my gratitude.” A slightly larger smile appeared as she looked over her shoulder toward Aym, her final words directed both toward Legget and himself. “And you don’t have to be….gentle doing it, either.”

 

[Aymeric Rouche]

For a moment or two, Aym really thought the miner had taken the hint that the important people were talking at the moment, and had moved on to doing something besides speaking out of turn. The traitor lighting himself on fire to beg forgiveness would've been nice, but he'd take what he could get. The hunter had just turned to focus on the barbarian again, when the miner had the absolute gall to sucker punch him. For being a horrid, disgusting excuse for an Illyrian, the man actually knew how to throw a proper punch. Aym's head instantly snapped to the side under the blow, splattering the snow with yet more blood, and his consciousness flickered like a candle, unsure if it wanted to wink out for a bit. He barely noticed the bedlam that followed, not even looking a little worried when a blaster was waved his way. Instead, he shakily straightened back up, and busied himself probing his gumline while the others went on about something or another.

Aym's teeth weren't exactly in the best shape as it was, but finding a few now broken off at the root was rather upsetting.

Even with the bastard actively calling for his mutilation, the hunter didn't give any of this rabble the satisfaction of seeing him do anything but smile indignantly. "Was that the best you could do, little lady?" he asked the miner, before casually leaning over to spit out two broken teeth into the slush. "I've been spanked by fresh whores who hit harder than that. What do you do back at that brothel you call a mine, knit socks for the real men? Gonna have to work on that arm strength, missy. You owe it to your customers to work on your handjobs, act like a professional for once." Aym added, just dripping with false sincerity and good will. He was still laughing when the barbarian told off the chief whore; although, it died down a little when the blind lady made her intentions clear. Well, that wasn't good; not good at all. The humor completely dropped from his face after she drew some weird looking pipe from her side, and he tried to draw his falchion from a seated position in turn. Dammit, if he could only stand!

His pulse spiked when a hellish beam erupted from the cylinder and started humming, growing louder as she approached. "Go to hell!" Aym yelled in return, not buying her supposed good will for a moment. Instead, he started flinging handfuls of dirt and snow at her; without his sword, that was the best he could do. She and the others would always be blood thirsty monsters, so was surprised that she wasn't smiling as she whirled that odd weapon around. Optimism had been his bread and butter for a very long time, but it faltered when he went to look into her eyes, while his blazed with utter contempt and hatred, just to understandably find himself staring at that damn blindfold. Out of instinct, he quickly bit down on his other first as the black beam came around, his other hand still busy fighting the good fight.

Aym hadn't known what to expect out of the barbarian and her weapons, but pain worse than any other he thought possible wasn't it. He wasn't a screamer, in any context, but if not for the fist in his mouth, he would've likely bellowed himself hoarse. True to her word, things had actually gone worse for him than the monster even intended. The cut, if one could call it that, had happened blisteringly fast, flashing through the flesh and bone with ease. Sadly, it'd gone through at an angle, due to being midway through throwing more filth her way. Rather than just a hand, he'd lost most of his forearm too, with the last dirty snowball still resting in the palm.

The hunter was still shaking violently as the pain started to subside just little, at least in the stump anyway. The cost of not screaming in front of those that didn't deserve the privilege, was nearly biting through the hand that was still attached. Aym wanted to hurl more insults at everyone around him, yet suddenly started to feel faint. Groping around, he grabbed his severed forearm and hugged it to his chest tightly. Detached our not, it was still his. "Bastards..." was the last thing he said before he fell to the side unconscious and rolled over on top of it.

 

[The High Court of Illyria]

SETTLED​

Tags: Aymeric Rouche | Xobos Yakieer ​

When the Sieur was posed with whether or not she would present justice, her answer was appealing to the Miners. They watched with awe and no small amount of satisfaction as Aymeric's hand was severed from his arm, although it ended up being a bit more than even the miners intended. As the young man bit down into his hand, the group all gave silent, content nods. Finally, when the dismembered man passed out in the snow, Legget was the one to speak.

"Shoulda took his tongue, now that I think about it." The rest of the miners erupted in laughter at the joke, while the large man recovered his wooden pipe. When Xobos requested that the miners help place the boy in the woman's dungeons, Legget nodded calmly. "Aye, m'lady. Troofer and Royce, you two ain't worth a damn nine times outta ten, take this cur to the Sieur's mansion." Two large men approached Aymeric, each one wrapping a hand under his arm. Legget however walked over to pick up the man's dismembered arm, tucking it into his waistband.

Of course one of the Miners had to speak out. "Well, at least he's gettin' some action down there." The group bellowed out in laughter while Legget lit a pipe, inhaling deeply. Royce and Troofer began to drag the man back to the mansion. Legget remained behind as the rest of the miners dispersed back to their own work. "I don't know m'lady...I know ya tamed the Maalraas, but his blood is whiskey an' piss. Not somethin' you'll be tamin' with ease. If I were you I'd toss his ass back to the cold, let the winter have em."

The massive man gave a soft grunt in thought before shrugging. "The folk who survive these mountains...they're strong. However I wonder if even your laser sword could cut them down." He said, turning to Xobos with a careful expression before bowing his head respectfully. "M'lady." He said, before turning and making his way back to the Mining Lodge.
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