Gerhart is sent stumbling from the punch, forced to let go of his sword as he tumbles across the dirt. Godojok follows up and pins him to the ground before he can even gather himself, dropping down and pinning his arms down with her knees. Stone fists start to pound into his chestplate repeatedly. The dragon scales are thankfully to tough to be dented or broken so easily, but the blunt force trauma still hurts even with his padding and skill with the armor.



The young knight struggles to get out from underneath, but it's hard to get any sort of leverage or freedom. She's clearly much more used to wrestling than he is. He grits his teeth and starts to suck in a breath, trying to hold the energy in as she continues to pound at his sternum. Scales start to grow blue and crackle with their residual energy, the power of a dragon still buried inside the cuirass. As he lungs fill with air and his mouth with blood, he expels the breath sending out a bright ray of lightning directly into the orcs heart.



The bolt burns into her chest until it breaks through the otherside, the sharp crack of noise and bright flash of lightning startling some of the owlbears and residents still left in town. Gerhart is left panting, hoping it worked. Godojok stays upright for a moment before slumping over to the side, her expression still holds that raw, primal fury even in death.



Gerhart coughs out the blood, spitting it onto the ground as he pulls himself to his feet. He staggers to pick up his other sword and look around the battlefield. Where did that other woman go?



"Miss? I'm sorry I didn't get your name...Miss? Are you all right? Do you need help?" The pain of his injuries is not well hidden in his voice, but he's not about to abandon someone just because of a few broken ribs.

...

It stopped. She doesn't know why, but its claw never came cutting toward her. She was ready to leap as far and as desperately as need be, but now she merely looks on as the creature huddles and cowers. And that primal patterning has all but vanished from its feathers...

The beast paws at its face, and its hindlegs push futilely against the dirt floor. Veliky, having never owned a pet of flesh and blood, has little understanding of animals or their emotions. But pain is pain, at least from her perspective, and this one's is clear enough. In so little time, it's become so meek that she actually has space to relax. But is it really no longer a threat...?

Veliky doesn't take chances when she can help it. But she's also quick to recognize an opportunity for an easy solution. So she clenches her right fist and raises it nearly to her lips, where she utters curtly, "Calm Emotion."

---

'Safe' is a strange word to use, given the context. There are exceedingly few - and fewer justified - who would use the word 'safe' as a descriptor when there are three owlbears yet meandering gallumphously about. They sway on trunk-like legs, casting their bulky shadows along the post-destruction detritus. And yet that fury that's so intrinsic of owlbears is nowhere to be seen^[1]. They do not screech or continue their assault, but instead just lie in the fire's warmth and eat from scattered foodstuffs (mostly the latter). 'Safe' is a strange word to use; but, for a time being, it seems to be the proper one.

Another strange term to use, given context: 'look over.' This is, of course, because Veliky is utterly diminutive and largely incapable of looking *over* anything without great assistance. But, nevertheless, she looks over her work: three sedated monsters, one of them scratching its back against a desolate cedar. Though her arms are cross and her head is held high, she doesn't quite seem proud. Rather, the calculations of whether or not these creatures are yet a threat are still running through her head.

It's strange to see her without her mechanical envoy. On the one hand, their presence had made her look even smaller by comparison; on the other, their absence gives her more the impression of a lonely child.

...That is; if there weren't empty, taloned footprints in the mud beside her, hinting at the inaccuracy of her 'loneliness^[2].'

Either way, she also finds herself contemplating the work that isn't her own - the corpse of the self-acclaimed archdruid. Were the broken orc held upright, one could stare at her back and see through her chest. The sight of lifelessness in a form that had been breathing only moments ago... It's a disturbing sight. Of this, there's no mistake. But a bit of desensitizing, a bit of familiarity and it can become almost normal. Perhaps this isn't altogether a boon.

And finally, her eyes fall on Gerhart - the knight who, while not in her employ or on her payroll, offered his help and whose prowess paid off in dividends. Her gaze is a strange thing - judgemental, condescending, yet approving in the way that one might regard a particularly well-forged blade. It's irritating and uplifting in equal, conflicting measures.

...

Her stare's becoming somewhat uncomfortable. It's unclear if she's unaware of the rudeness of her prolonged silence, or if she's just blatantly defiant of etiquette. At the very least, she doesn't appear malicious in her obtrusive observation. But, then, she's difficult to read at all.

Suddenly, she makes a gesture with her head. Its meaning is unclear before it becomes apparent that it wasn't intended for Gerhart. Instead, there's a light distortion in the air beside her and that bot from before - the one that'd battled the druid before her revelation as a druid - manifests therein. It still carries the dents and gouges of its battle, but its mechanisms grind and persist in spite of them. With a loud Click, its half-crushed chest bisects and its pectoral plates slide apart, revealing a compartment that contains two bottles of shining, blue fluid.

Without so much as a word, it removes one of the bottles and presents it plainly to Gerhart.

"Drink it." the diminutive woman suddenly states. "It's Blixt™ SuperPlus^[3]. As effective as anything an alchemist will try to shill you. Cheaper, too." She shrugs matter-of-factly.

The liquid contained in the bottle is so bright that it's almost painful to look at, though its blue lustre is pleasing to the eye. The bubbling and sizzling within doesn't scream 'appetizing,' however...

"So." There's an awkwardness in her blurt, but a confident kind - taking conversational lulls in stride. "You make a habit of throwing yourself in front of two-thousand-pound monsters?"

---

1. Calm Emotion
2. Invisibility (Rook-13)
3. Major Health Potion (Rook-13)

Gerhart sucks in a harsh and ragged breath as he shifts to sheath his swords now that the battle seems to be over. Each motion causing the muscles in his ribs to stretch and scream, but he tries his best to grin and bear it. As nervous as everyone might be with owlbears still parked inside their town, maybe if he still looked ready to fight they could rest a bit easier knowing there is someone protecting them.

If he wasn't battling the light blood in his eyes and wheezing breaths he might have caught on to the staring, but the distractions are a bit many. "Oh no I promise, I'm fine." It is a terrible lie and he can barely get through the sentence before the bottle is already half-way through the air.

Perhaps a bit too trustingly, Gerhart flips off of the top and swigs it. It isn't until that first breath comes out easily that he realizes the healing effect of it, giving a little lopsided smile.

"Thanks! That was really something...all these guys are pretty amazing." He smiles and motions to the blixt bots. The smile turns sheepish when she asks her question, "I suppose I have made a habit out of it at this point. Owlbears, yetis, giant snake things, just about anything trying to hurt someone I suppose."

It's unclear if it's because of Gerhart's words or due to a more intrinsic awkwardness, but the little woman is silent for several moments. It's truly impossible to tell what she's thinking behind those ice-blue irises that stare so impartially. Is she disappointed or pleased? Frustrated or maybe just tired? Whatever she may be thinking, one thing is as clear as the painful awkwardness in the atmosphere: she isn't a gregarious type.

"Right." Though her answer was long-awaited, the silence may've been preferable. And though her arms were already crossed, she somehow manages to cross them... more. "Well, it paid off this time."

...Nothing. One would generally expect a statement of this sort to be followed with some sort of point or thesis, but she just lets it hang like a sullen head. Instead, she turns her attention back to the trio of owlbears, two of which are now grooming one-another's feathers. The third is lying in the fire's warmth, seemingly ready to fall asleep right there.

"The enchantment won't last long. Somebody will have to guide them out of here before that happens."

It goes unspoken, but the inclination in her tone says that that 'somebody' isn't going to be her.

Fortunately, there are others that're more eager - and far more suited - to take on the task.

"He-hey!" A nasally, but confident voice rings from behind Veliky and Gerhart, only slightly shaken by the prior chaos. It's the acquainted voice of Leader. Sure enough, there he is, mincing up to them with his ogre companion in tow. Despite his unnervedness, his face is beaming. "Don't worry, Big'll take care of it. Won't ya, Big?"

The goblin turns to the behemoth beside him, whose presence is as dominant as the owlbears themselves - perhaps even moreso, with the owlbears pacified. The red paint and stoic expression mark him as a warrior, and his musculature marks him as a formidable one. Why he didn't participate in the fight is a question indeed, but perhaps one that's better kept to oneself.

At first, Leader's voice doesn't even seem to register on the ogre's straight-faced glower, an expression as unmoving as a statue's. Its eyes don't waver from their distant gaze. His breaths are as gradual as the very land's. And then, finally, it opens its fissure-like maw to speak in a dreadful voice that resounds from its monstrous heart.

"Bheh."

And off he goes, leaving knee-deep footprints in the mud. It's unclear how he's going to handle the owlbears, exactly, but he seems intent on doing so.

Leader seems similarly confident in the ogre's abilities, though Leader is also far better at hiding subtler thoughts. With a face still proud and gleeful, he returns his attention to Gerhart and Veliky.

"Thank you guys, seriously! Without you, the potlatch would've been ruined."

In spite of Leader's joy, Veliky can't help but let her gaze wander to the destruction in the plaza. "It *was* ruined."

Without missing a beat or letting his charisma falter, Leader points at Veliky. "That's beside the point. Point is, things woulda been WAY worse if you guys weren't here." He waves his arms in a manner that probably demonstrates the magnitude of 'way worse.' "Tell me: how can I repay you guys? Don't be shy. New shoes? Some good food? Free mud bath, maybe?"

He looks between them, expectantly.

Gerhart gives an affable smile and laugh towards Leader and Big. "No need to rush it, they seem pretty tuckered out for now. Best to let sleeping dogs lie for now ya know? One of them was dead for a little bit, probably got a lot to think about." Another little laugh.

He watches as the massive man turns away to start taking care of things. All things considered, Big looked like he could just scoop up all of the owlbears in his arms at once and carry them away if need be. His attention slowly came back to the two beside him as they locked in conversation. Both of them had some pretty good points, Leader was right this would have been a lot worse without any adventurer types here to help, but Veliky was also right in that it was hard to call this anything but ruined. Casualities were kept to a minimum, but they still happened.

"Oh I don't need anything, just glad I could help, ya know? But I believe you two were trying to figure out some business before? If you want to repay me, I say you give her offer a second shot." He grins, wide and cheery from ear to ear.

The persistence in the goblin's face-spanning grin, in spite of Gerhart's polite refusal, clearly tells that he's ready to insist. 'No, no, I gotta give something to the kind folks that saved my very own village!' or something along those lines. But that intention vanishes the moment Gerhart mentions a certain deal that'd almost slipped Leader's mind. His smile lingers, but his elation does not.

"What, uh... Whaddaya talkin' about? I don't remember any offer^[1]."

Meanwhile, Veliky keeps Gerhart in her side-eye. How strangely... altruistic? Veliky doesn't know that word - not in Common - nor would she much care for it if she did. But she'll gladly reap its benefits.

With the nonchalant confidence of a cunning minstrel, she takes a step forward. Despite towering over the half-halfling, Leader recoils.

"Actually, I think you do^[2]. But on the off-chance that you don't..."

She plunges a hand into her coat-pocket, fishes about for an anticipation-farming eternity, and produces an inconspicuous sheet of paper, folded neatly into a little quarter. But what Gerhart doesn't know is that this paper has, written upon it, a multi-thousand-word contract with very exacting details, describing - with uncanny precision - the exact deal that Veliky had been trying to strike. In theory, Leader shouldn't know either. But he's a business-savvy man (relative to other Gazablaakites, at least). His cleverness and extremely correct assumptions are plain in the exasperation that plays across his face.

"...Ah, fuck."

---

1. Smooth Talking (Leader)
2. Unwavering Virtue