So, again. No thanks needed. But, I understand the sentiment. You will find this hard to understand, perhaps. But, I am beyond sentiment. And I don't mean to sound uncaring. But...frankly, I'm beyond caring as well."
At a nearby table, three merchants, of Imperial stock, sat blankly staring into their untouched mugs of beer. They were alive, but they had the look of men who had lost everything.
Viktor knew what he had to do. Call it a mission. A job. A calling. An obligation. It didn't matter what you called it. Desmond Fick, the lich-lord of Cragmore, must die. And he would die by Viktor's hand.
Around him was a scene of horror and loss. For as far as he could see, a hoard of undead were feasting on fallen horses and men. Judging by their armor and weapons, the fallen men were great warriors. But, it had not been enough.
Mavis brought a cup of tea on a tray into her master's study. The oddities that littered every shelf of the large room seemed to fall outside of the servant's ability or want to notice.
Her master sat at his large mahogany desk, he...
"Find and steal the dwarven boon Whelm, and he will come after you.” Blissa’s instructions had been very clear. “Use the boon to defeat him, put this gem in his mouth, sow it shut and bring his corpse back to me.”
"Oh...the he-she was pleasant enough to look at, I suppose. Might have been fun, if a bit confusing figuring out what to do with all the extra bits she'd bring into the mix."