Kvasir's starting to wonder if he'll ever be allowed a normal visit to the Ash Lands.

Somehow, through the power of intense journaling and other forms of careful documentation, he still remembers one of his last trips to Mount Drakolt somewhat clearly-- he'd been up on the mountainside in search of whatever herbs and plants with medicinal or alchemical potential grew there, only to have a rock thrown his way by a certain fellblood and for him to get caught up in a hunt for traces of a lost researcher. Then, in the aftermath of that, he'd found his godsdamned Lux Lilies and made his way to Darkveil in search of a way to relax, only to get tangled up in the utter chaos that rather rapidly unfolded within the walls of Zarius Rha'Oriyn's tavern. And then, months later, in the beginning of his and a certain Morrigan Moonweaver's quest to make their way into the Golden Consortium, his dearly beloved enchanter had managed to shatter their legs all to get their hands on some Ash Roses.

And now, on yet another trip to the Lava Pits to go looking for Baby Dragon's Breath, Kvasir Sigurros once again finds himself entangled in the affairs of another and preparing for what will inevitably become pure chaos.

As always, it was unplanned-- Kvasir had been making his way through the Ash Lands when he'd come upon quite the scene, finding some poor traveler horrifically wounded, their companion panicking by their side. He'd hardly hesitated before rushing to the stranger's side, medkit and magic alike in hand, and he'd gotten to work patching the stranger up with the chorus of gratitude from their companion serving as the backdrop. Apparently, they'd both been traveling through the Ash Lands, simply intent on making their way to the next city, only to be set upon by a pack of godsdamned Hellhounds-- really, they were quite lucky to even be alive.

Somewhere through the chaotic mess of thank-yous and questions, Kvasir had found himself agreeing to go looking for those damned dogs, and now, here he is, wandering the lower regions of Mount Drakolt in search of any trace he can find of where the hell they'd gone.

"Dear Solaria," he murmurs beneath his breath as he kneels by the ground, trying to gauge whether the ash-stained scuff in the ground was a human footprint or that of his target, hardly caring that the god he's murmuring to is long-dead. Old habits die hard, after all. "I really need to learn to say no to people."

---

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name: Hell Unleashed
Participants: Two or more
Location: Ash Lands
Post Requirements: 6 post per person, 200 words per post
Reward: +1 Renown, +1 Claws, +1 Fire Catalyst
Description: Mount Drakolt has been acting up lately, with smoke rising from its summit and tremors vibrating the ground. This has stirred a large, old pack of Hellhounds who had been slumbering inside the tunnels around the volcano. Now awake and furious, several dozen fiery dogs have been let loose on the Ash Lands, attacking travelers and local villages. They are very dangerous and have been leaving a trail of destruction in their path. Please subdue or eliminate the pack of 6 hounds before they get to Darkveil.

Drakolt, what contemptuous place. Suffering was the only feeling Vail had ever associated with the volcanic peak. Whether it be a slow, agonizing end through the pox, or a quick excruciating end for enemies of his former family, the mountain range was draped in an air of death. Perhaps that's why he had jumped at this job when Zarius informed him of it. Maybe he could find some atonement there; a chance to make up for his inaction while so many suffered. At the very least, volunteering meant he could prevent anyone else from meeting their demise there.

Hellhounds are ferocious beasts, eager to strike at anyone foolish enough to enter their territory. Growing up in Darkveil, it wasn't uncommon to hear of some poor sap meeting falling prey to the beasts. It even happened to a member of his gang once. The boy's name eluded him, but his dumb smile remained burned into Vail's mind. He was a humble lad, not the brightest, but always well-meaning. The kind of person that falls victim to the unfortunate mixture of curiosity with Darkveil’s criminal underworld.
He clears his mind of these wayward thoughts as he reaches the end of the Deadwood, now wasn't the time to be distracted. Hellhounds are damn quick and being caught unaware would surely be a death sentence if one happened to be nearby.

His feet stop suddenly as a sound sneaks through the idle creaks of the pines. He would normally attribute such a sound to the mysteries of the forest, he was living proof that the place was somewhat supernatural after all, but this sound had come from outside of the woods. Looking up to the base of the volcano, he spots a figure hunched over in a position that suggests they were examining the fresh ash or placing a trap. He leaned towards the former as he quietly approached; the person’s attire suggested they weren’t from Darkveil, more likely Zeinav judging by his past experiences.

Vail’s tension dissipates at the revelation that this person wasn’t a member of his former family or some other goon from the Fathers. He calmly begins to address the figure from the edge of the treeline, keeping a safe distance for both parties.

“Did Zarius send you?” he asks calmly, his hands resting open on either side of him.

Kvasir likes to consider himself someone with honed senses.

It’s part of the territory of being what he is; those vulpine features are hardly just for show, after all, even if their capabilities tend to launch him right into oversensitivity sometimes. He has a good nose and a precise palate, a good sense of his surroundings, and sharp hearing, just like the creature his species derives its features from– by all accounts, he should be more than capable of being aware of when someone or something is getting closer to him than they really should.

Emphasis on should, apparently.

As soon as an unfamiliar voice sounds behind Kvasir, he immediately startles, his tail bristling and his ears perking fully to life as he swivels around to assess whoever has approached him. He’s a stranger, just as anticipated, with pale, scarred skin and dark hair, his expression remarkably neutral, his stance not indicative of any intent for violence. He isn’t standing overly close, either, thankfully– he seems to be willingly keeping his distance, aware that he’s a stranger approaching a stranger.

Kvasir lets out a sigh of relief as soon as he’s confident the man has no ill intent, and he’s quick to get up off of the ground, dusting ash off of himself as he stands once more. He pauses for a moment, letting the stranger’s words sink in, his eye flashing with interest as soon as he processes what he’s been asked.

“...Oh! Are you a friend of Zarius’s?” he asks. The reach that man has truly does border on legendary-- it's a little amazing just how many people seem to know him. Kvasir still remembers his surprise when he figured out Caedes and Zarius were close, long after separately meeting both of them. “I wasn’t exactly sent here by him, no, but he and I are quite well-acquainted. My name is Kvasir– who might you be, friend?”

Vail's eyes widened in surprise at the man's reaction to his words. Their physical features were much easier to observe in this startled state. His previous assumptions were reinforced as he observed their fox ears and tail. Fox Folk were a rare sight in Darkveil, so much so that he couldn't remember if he had actually seen one in the city before; although he had to take such thoughts with a grain of salt.

Whatever intention was behind Kvasir's overly friendly introduction, it is lost on Vail. In this region such friendliness was reserved for those especially close to you, or swindlers eager to liberate your solar from your pockets. His eyes stare calmly at the man as he plans his next words, not giving a singular hint to the internal conflict brewing within.

This job just got a whole lot more difficult. Best case scenario, he's an enemy and either engages me here or waits until I'm occupied with the hounds. Either way, I don't have to worry about collateral damage. If he's being honest, we have a significant problem. 

Vail's expression softens as he begins to address Kvasir's words. Despite his unease, he figures it is best not to put the stranger on edge. If he is an acquaintance of Zarius, then he is clearly used to Darkveil's unsavory side and thus would likely not budge to some idle threats.
On the other hand, if this is a trap, well... let's just say he is in for quite the surprise.

A light smile appears on the pale man's scarred face as he speaks calmly once again.

"The name's Vail, I'm somewhat of a private contractor for Zarius. It's best that you leave here as soon as possible. A group of hellhounds is on the loose. Things won't end well if you linger in their territory, for either of us."

Kvasir blinks as he listens to the stranger– who has now introduced himself as Vail– speak, his words even, his tone calm, the trace of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips the whole time. It’s hard to say what’s going through his mind as he talks, explaining that he’s a… private contractor, interesting, that it’s best that he leaves quickly because of the hellhounds, and that things won’t end well for either of them if he sticks around here for very long.

…Is that a threat, or is Kvasir reading too much into things? It’s difficult to tell, but he’s hardly one to simply wilt away from words alone.

“Ah, yes, the hellhounds,” he sighs. “Don’t worry, I’m quite aware of them, Vail– that’s… actually part of why I’m here. A pair of travelers happened upon them, and I happened upon the travelers– I’ve been up here looking for some specific flowers, and instead, I found two injured adventurers. It’s moments like that when a doctor’s skills come in handy.”

He manages a weak half-chuckle, though the smile on his face quickly fades. Gods above, he is not looking forward to dealing with hellhounds.

“They asked me to go after them, if I was willing and able, and I… wasn’t quite able to tell them no,” Kvasir admits, perhaps a bit sheepishly. He’s not the best at turning down a request for aid when it falls into his lap, after all. “Ah, I understand and appreciate your concern, and I’d truly hate to get in your way, but they say two sets of hands are better than one. If you’re here to deal with them, I’m happy to offer my aid.”

Vail notes Kvasir’s reluctance as he silently listens to the fox’s story. Since leaving Darkveil, Vail had learned that many healers shied away from inflicting pain; which may very well explain Kvasir's lack of motivation, however something wasn't adding up.

Vail gives the foxfolk a doubtful expression in response to their half-hearted laugh. If he is some manner of adversary, he is either a terrible liar, or an extremely talented actor perfectly portraying the role of hapless foreigner in over his head.
“No offense, but judging by your sigh and tone of voice, you aren’t exactly thrilled to be taking on such a task. I don’t blame you, few would be after all, but that poses another question. Why exactly would these travelers want you to go after the hellhounds? Darkveil is packed with foolhardy ruffians who would gladly throw themselves in harm's way for the promise of some coin, and yet they ask a doctor to exact their revenge. Surely you must have some other skills outside of healing; perhaps you did something that caught their eye?”

As he awaits a response, Vail looks towards the volcano's peak, contemplating how to proceed. This task would only get more difficult the longer it took, and nightfall may very well bring out more threats beyond the hellhounds. He walks forward, moving closer to Kvasir with the slightest hint of trepidation, stopping in place a few feet away from the man.

"Regardless, you are free to do as you please. Despite how some folk in Darkveil may act, Drakolt belongs to no one. I have no right to force you to leave, however, I ask that you do not linger once these hounds are dealt with. Not all beasts that wander this mountain walk on four legs." His voice drops to a mere whisper as he turns away from Kvasir.
"I know that better than most."

Dear Solaria, this guy is quite the analytic one, isn’t he?

Kvasir tilts his head as he listens to Vail’s assessment, to the way the man carefully dissects every motion he’s made and inflection to his words, quickly (and accurately) determining that he’s not exactly delighted by the idea of hunting down hellhounds, while also musing aloud over just why anyone would’ve asked a doctor to go chasing down beasts as ferocious as those, and… well. It’s hard to fault him for his skepticism.

It isn’t as though Kvasir paints the picture of a fighter; he’s lithely built, with an archer’s arms and a healer’s hands, his fingers made to draw a bowstring and measure out bandages, to hold a mortar and pestle, to brush the sweat from feverish brows. He is not the kind of person anyone readily assesses as being primed for combat, and he knows it; he is alright with it. He is happier to be known as a person who can fix things rather than a person who can destroy, happier to rebuild foundations than shatter them, and yet some part of him stings still at the idea that he could be seen as incapable.

It’s hard to say why. It’s one of those strange, unfathomable little contradictions that comes with sapience, he supposes.

It doesn’t make it much easier.

“Well, I don’t think I did anything particularly special,” he says, trying to keep his voice even, easy. “But I am a trained archer and mage– I’m hardly incapable in a fight, Vail.”

He watches the other man carefully as he turns away, his words hanging in the air between them, undercut by a broken whisper, distrust creeping into his tone, but it’s hard to say who it’s reserved for. It… isn’t his place to ask. Kvasir knows that monsters wear many faces; he has no idea of how many of those faces this man has seen.

“As you wish, then,” he says all the same, taking a few steps past the man– an offer of goodwill, almost, an extension of trust, turning his back on someone he’s only just met. “Well. Shall we, then? I see no reason why we shouldn’t handle these together.”

Vail pauses his steps momentarily as he musters a considerable amount of willpower to prevent himself from smacking his own forehead. Of course he is a mage, why didn't I think of that when he mentioned he was a doctor? Perhaps the rarity of such a thing in Darkveil is still hampering my judgment. Regardless, knowing that the fox is an archer is helpful, whether it allows him to keep his distance from the hounds or whether it will leave him open should I need to rush him. 

Despite Kvasir taking the lead, Vail continues to tread lightly. If Kvasir’s story is true, he couldn't rule out the possibility of an ambush further up the mountain. His eyes are locked onto the foxfolk’s back, watching for even the slightest movement of his arms. Leading their advance meant that whatever awaited them would see the fox first; along with any signal he wanted to communicate. More importantly, the ash lander stays silent; listening for the subtle sound of a bowstring being pulled or noises that may indicate an incoming spell.

The pair continue their silent ascent for some time, but with each step they take, the unease in Vail only grows. Finally the ash lander yields, addressing Kvasir with a question in an unsteady voice that betrays his previous stoicism. “You said before that you are quite well-acquainted with Zarius; tell me, what do you think of him? I met with him rather recently in a… less than ideal state.”

 

The ash lander sighs under his breath before continuing, having traded his unease for the burden of explanation.

 “I had a proposal for him, one in which he would provide me with information and in exchange I would do any job he desired, no matter how much it put my wellbeing at risk. Ultimately, he refused my request, stating that he would help me without needing me to put life at risk. At the time, it did little to help my misgivings; why would he be so willing to help someone who could be just as great a threat as they would be an ally? I thought he might be toying with me, not taking my concerns into consideration, but now, I don’t know.”

To say this journey up the mountainside is awkward would be a grave understatement.

Vail is hardly the chatty type; he’s silent, nigh imperceptible as he walks behind Kvasir, seemingly not keen on speaking a word more to him as they travel over the blackened stone of the mountainside. And really, that much is fine– Kvasir certainly doesn’t expect everyone he works with to be overly social–, but it is a bit… tense, to say the least, especially considering how obvious it is that Vail doesn’t trust him.

It’s been a while since Kvasir has traveled alongside someone so quiet. Usually he wanders alone, or with a more familiar face, or most likely of all, with Morrigan; the silence is controllable if it’s just him, understandable– the company he keeps tends to be more talkative. All of his journeys with Morrigan are, for better or for worse, some flavor of exciting– neither one of them can stop talking to each other as they walk, keen on tossing exaggerated praise and boasts and all manner of things at one another until they make it to their destination, because Gods know they never run out of things to talk about.

So it’s nearly a relief when Vail’s voice finally cleaves through the quiet– although this time, it carries an uneasy edge, wavering, carrying less of the monotony it had held before as he asks a question about… Zarius, interestingly.

“What do I think of Zarius?” Kvasir hums, tail swishing back and forth in quiet contemplation– though he doesn’t answer the question immediately. There’s a look in Vail’s eyes that indicates there’s more to say, and…

Well.

“Alright, let’s make sure I have this right… You are troubled by him wanting to help you without you endangering yourself?” Kvasir asks, tilting his head, an inquisitive glint in his eye. “...Has no one ever done something for you without a condition, Vail?”

Kvasir’s response was unexpected to say the least, so much so that Vail pauses to debate whether his question was a mistake.


Perhaps this fox is a better fit for Darkveil than I initially thought. Adding a cost to such a simple request is something far more akin to an info broker than any doctor.


Only the sound of the wind and crumble of rolling stones fills the air as Vail locks eyes with Kvasir.


“It’s rude to answer a question with a question you know.” The ash lander replies with a tone of slight annoyance.

“Regardless, it depends on what you mean. In that city, you can’t take anything or anyone at face value, those around you certainly won’t. Everyone, both above and below you, sees you as a single strand in a dense web of connections. Every action you take towards someone effects not only them but those they answer to. A gift is little more than a tribute if you are born Into the right family. Likewise, your blood ties can make you an easy scapegoat for another’s crimes…”

Vail hesitates slightly, not wanting divulge anything which might raise alarms to the more underworld-savvy, before shifting back to a serious tone.

“Those around me taught me that trust and rapport is a resource in itself, a resource that can be discarded for the proper price. Even those who followed me did so because I provided something for them, despite my feelings. That is the world I live in. Now, would you be so kind as to answer my question?"

Damn it.

There really is no good way to proceed in a conversation with this man, is there? Everything Kvasir says seems to provoke some unease, a defensiveness within Vail– he seems to bristle at even the insinuation that he’s being assessed, that his very self is being vivisected, torn apart to observe, to understand. And… really, Kvasir can’t blame the man; it seems he has every reason to be paranoid, to distrust the people he encounters– Solaria knows what he’s been through.

All he can do when Vail says that it’s rude to answer his question with a question is hold his hands up in an expression of apology, trying to ease the tension quickly unfurling in the air, his expression turning sheepish.

“Ah, I… I apologize,” he says, as earnest as he can manage. “I wasn’t intent on being rude. I don’t intend to make you feel at all uncomfortable, either.”

All Kvasir can really do after that is give him the grace of listening, keeping his silence until he’s sure Vail has nothing more to say on the matter– until the conversation swivels to him, indicating that he needs to say his piece.

“That makes sense to me,” he says, nodding to himself– really, it does make sense. Kvasir’s met several Ashlanders who share the same skepticism– it all comes from the crime that cycles through Darkveil City, the inability to truly trust even the people you willfully surround yourself with. “I… I truly am sorry to have come across as condescending or disrespectful. I’m more accustomed to… to a different kind of structure in life.”

He thinks, albeit briefly, to the vestiges of the Moonglade he can remember, the fragments of his childhood– to the more current memories of Zeinav, of the home and connections he’s built there.

“I see Zarius as a good friend. He and I met a while back on this volcano– there were some pesky jackals about, and we handled them together, and it’s all been uphill from there,” Kvasir replies, every word earnest. “He visits me in Zeinav sometimes, now. Not as often as I’d like, but it’s always good to see him– shame I can never seem to persuade him to stick around for dinner or wine.”

If Kvasir pouts a little at that, then it’s no one’s business but his.

“But yea, that really is it– he’s my friend, he’s kind, and I like having him around.”

Damn it, now I have made myself look like an ass.

Vail sighs as Kvasir finishes his apology, knowing full well that his paranoia put him in this situation. He hesitates at first, before finally allowing himself to show some form of vulnerability.
“I… apologize as well, I haven’t been the most open-minded about your intentions. I forget how abrasive Darkveil can be in comparison to the rest of Charon and I’m no doubt doing little to help change that reputation.” The pale man pauses for several seconds, trying to figure out how to properly word his next statement. “I must admit that trust is a hard sell for me, at times even for myself. People around me tend to get hurt, even non-intentionally, which is why Zarius’s offer doesn’t sit right with me. It's hard to believe people don't see you as a burden when you can't picture yourself as anything else. I have lived my life only taking what I need from others, I have nothing to give him beyond that. What use is there in caring for such a beast?”

It takes a second before Vail realizes how dour his question is, causing yet another awkward silence to hang between him and Kvasir. Trying to find some form of commonality, the ash lander comments on a similarity between their encounters with Zarius. “A picky eater, that guy. Can’t get him to share a drink over business or even banter with you. I'm sure he's the life of the party. I swear he-”

Vail's words are interrupted as the patter of paws against gravel reaches his ears at the last second. Dashing out from behind a nearby boulder, a hellhound has set its sights on Kvasir. Within a moment the beast is airborne, its jaws primed to go for the fox’s neck.
After all these years, nothing has changed. They were still too careless, just like Vail's gang. The ashlander’s heart stops as time seems to slow, the moments before disaster playing out once again.

Not again. No more screams.

Vail's right arm launches forward, extending unnaturally^[1] out its wrappings to block the beast’s attack. The hound gladly takes the substitute, latching onto Vail's forearm with a fiery chomp. For once, the ash lander was glad for the numb appendage, otherwise, this would no doubt be one of the most excruciating pains he had ever felt.

The beast’s bite is unyielding and shows no signs of release anytime soon. The ashlander slams his arm down as he rapidly pulls it back, dragging the beast head-first along the rocky terrain. As the hound nears his body, Vail’s arm twists, lifting the beast upwards^[2], before crashing it back down into the mountain as hard as he could muster.

The impact is strong enough to cause a small crater and the hound lies still as the scattered ash slowly falls. Vail's arm slides free from the beast's limp jaw, adorned with deep burns, lucky to still have it in one piece. At the very least, the ash lander didn't have to worry about bleeding as the heated flames cauterized the flesh as it tore through. Vail breathes heavily as his arm retracts to a normal length. While his right arm might be numb to any pain, the rest of his body recognizes the damage dealt as he feels his heart rate increasing drastically by the second. There is little time to recover, however, as the sound of moving rock quickly returns, signaling the rest of the pack’s imminent arrival.

“On your guard, the rest of the pack is upon us! Watch for any tunnels!”

---

[1] Soft Body

[2] Bull's Strength

Surprise flashes across Kvasir’s face as soon as Vail’s demeanor… shifts, the defensiveness he’d been exhibiting so consistently up until now practically dissolving. Honestly, for a moment, all Kvasir can really do when he hears Vail start to apologize is blink uselessly, pausing in his tracks as the other man explains himself.

It’s… a little heartbreaking, really– Kvasir’s always been weak for the sorrows of others, always found it a little too easy to sympathize with others, even strangers he crosses paths with for a split-second in the strangest places. And as Vail apologizes so politely, speaks of a veil of misfortune that settles over him, speaks of himself as a beast undeserving of care, well… it’s impossible for Kvasir to not sympathize with him.

He doesn’t understand in quite the same ways, but… he does understand what it’s like, to feel as though death and misfortune follow your very footsteps. To feel as though you cannot accept anything from others without giving in return.

Even if only through a fragment, the warped eye of a prism, he understands.

“...You don’t need to be sorry, really,” Kvasir begins. “I get it– not quite in the same way, but I do. I don’t blame you for not trusting me. And… it’s difficult, really, to… let yourself accept anything, when you don’t consider yourself worthy of it, isn’t it? I… it’s no easy feat, to be sure. I can’t blame you for feeling as you do. And I’m sorry.”

He manages a hollow laugh– one that softens considerably at Vail’s comment about Zarius and his refusal to ever stick around for a real drink, and he’s about to say something more, but then–

Then Vail’s arm whips out so fast that he scarcely has a second to react to it, scarcely has a second to process it, and the next thing Kvasir knows, there’s a hell-hound lying dead in a crater of Vail’s own creation.

And his arm is burned.

“I– yes, of course,” Kvasir manages, once the shock has finally been cast off, or rather, pierced through by the distant howling of the hound’s brethren. “Let’s– I can treat your arm, it’ll… we can handle the dogs first.”

First thing’s first, though. He claps his hands together, screwing his eye shut as he conjures light up from that wellspring of magic within him, lets it flow through his fingertips, lets it surge around him and Vail both in a brilliant, gilded aura. As soon as the light envelops Vail, he would feel invigorated, strengthened by it, as though he could take on the challenge ahead with relative ease. [1]

Kvasir doesn’t get very long to spend on preparatory spells, though, for as soon as the light dies down, another loud growl sounds, and there’s a flash of fire soaring through the air, a comet rushing their way, and he only has a split second to lift his hand up and–

And, mercifully, stop it in its tracks with a thin, shining wall of light, only barely enough to keep the creature from pouncing onto them both. [2]

He lets out a sigh of relief that quickly turns into a hiss of pain as the sensation of searing claws dragging across his skin hits, his back suddenly alight with stinging pain– he whips around, turning to aim a kick right into the jaw of the hellhound that had attacked him from the back. It’s not a particularly debilitating strike, but it’s enough to put a bit of distance between himself and the beast.

Gods. It’s looking like a good thing that he met Vail up on this damned mountain.

He’s not sure he could’ve handled this alone.

---

1. Inspiring Presence

2. Wall of Light

Curse it all, why is this never easy?

Vail grimaces as the smell of burnt flesh hits his nostrils; the beast’s attack serves as a grim reminder of why he dreads this mountain. Putting his regrets aside, the ashlander begins to scan the mountain for any movement, when the clap of Kvasir’s hands pulls him away momentarily. He feels his heart rate slow as the aura envelopes him, the doctor clearly going out of his way to support him despite his orders. Kvasir’s choice leaves him open, however, as two hellhounds bear down on him in seconds.

Vail turns in time to see the Kvasir reflect the first beast with a wall of light, but is too slow to prevent the beast from striking at his back. His companion’s hiss of pain causes Vail’s damaged arm to move on its own, darting upwards as it points towards the repealed beast. A bolt of light launches from the unsteady arm^[1], following up the fox’s kick. The bolt impacts the beast’s side, damaging the beast enough to prevent it from counterattacking Kvasir.

A look of surprise adorns Vail’s as he realizes what just occurred. For the briefest of moments, he wonders whether this is due to Kvasir’s aura or another intervention on behalf of his unwanted guest.

The patter of paws upon gravel snaps Vail out of his daze, reminding him that they were still far from safe. The ashlander whips back around to see two more hellhounds headed straight for them, clearly enraged by the cries of their packmate. Vail yells back at Kvasir as he raises his arms in a defensive stance, eyeing down the oncoming threat.
“You got those two handled? Got my hands- handful here.”

Vail focuses as the beasts begin their assault, dashing towards him in a coordinated fashion. This was going to be tricky, even if he wasn’t down an arm. Regardless, he knew what might happen when he allowed Kvasir to tag along, and he’d be damned if he was going to let anyone else fall here.

As the pair approach, a quick whiz sounds out from nearby, and a projectile impacts the side of one of the hounds, causing it to crash out of its charge, lying still as its packmate races forth unfettered. The shot gives Vail the opening he needs, the injured man clenches his fist, feeling a light swelling within as the remaining beast approaches. As the beast leaps upward, targeting his upper torso, he swings his good hand towards its head, pushing the open jaw away from his neck. The hound is launched to his side, impacting the mountainside with a heavy thud, before quickly scrambling to its feet. The beast trembles as it looks upon Vail^[2], before turning and retreating down the mountain.

The hound's retreat allows Vail a moment to look over the second hound that had been stopped before reaching him, and he calls out to Kvasir in a grateful tone.

“Good shot, really saved my skin there. I didn’t expect you to take out those two so quick-”

Vail pauses as he realizes what actually hit the hound. Embedded into the beast wasn’t an arrow but rather an iron bolt, a projectile that could only have been launched from a crossbow.

“Behind you, ghost.”

Vail whips around just in time to catch another iron bolt in his good hand. By the time he catches his breath, he can only catch a glimpse of a shadow darting behind a rock, hiding any trace of the assailant. Still, the voice strikes a chord of familiarity within the ashlander, albeit its tone was far colder than he remembered.

Vail's eyes stay locked onto the rock as he shouts to Kvasir. “We aren't alone here. Flee while you can. He’s here for me.”

---

[1] Purity Bolt
[2] Bare Hands - Holy enchantment, fear effect on evil aligned creatures

It’s hard to focus on much else when your skin feels like it’s on fire.

Searing pain lights up Kvasir’s back where the hellhound had struck, white-hot where it flares through his skin, the sting of it all so intense that he can already feel a dull ache building behind his eyes. It’s certainly not helped by the strain on his muscles that’s built up just from whipping around to kick said hellhound in the jaw, but that’s more of a testament to his own lacking hand-to-hand capabilities than anything– really, the gashes on his back are a far more serious issue.

…If it weren’t for the unbearable heat all around them, for the darkness of the earth and the veil of smoke shrouding the sky, this would all feel so painfully similar to that time up in the World Crown, in the eye of a relentless blizzard, where he’d been more worn down and broken than he’d ever been before, when a monster thrice the size of any of these had bestowed a very similar wound upon him– when the monster taking unwelcome shelter in the recesses of his mind had nearly condemned him and his partner both to die. There’s a ghost of similarity, eerie enough to make him wince, but nowhere near enough to revive that deep ache in his soul.

Even if it was, he doesn’t have time to linger on it.

“Y-Yea– I’ve got them handled,” Kvasir manages, resenting the way his voice trembles; he’s not afraid, not really, but he can’t help but feel uneasy about how quickly they were overwhelmed, about how quick they both were to get injured. It’s fixable, of course– it always is–, but that knowledge never spares you from the nerves of the moment. “Just– be careful, I’ll treat your wounds after–”

He trails off mid-sentence, because the last thing he should be doing in the midst of combat is trying to hold a conversation: one of the hellhounds leaps against the wall as the other circles it, growling low in its throat before it races towards him again, and Kvasir just barely manages to roll out of the way, pulling his bow out and quickly pulling the bowstring back. Immediately, an arrow of light forms at the rest, growing more solid and brilliant with each second until Kvasir lets go and sends the arrow flying forward, right into the hound’s chest, sending it crashing back into prime position for a few more arrows to follow. [1]

The beast rears, tensing, some ungodly noise roiling in its throat, and then it mercifully goes still.

Still, Kvasir doesn’t get more than a second to feel relief over it, because the dead hound’s partner-in-crime is quick to advance upon him as well, teeth grazing against his calf as he stumbles backwards. Another hiss slips from between his teeth– Gods, these things know how to hurt someone– as he shuffles back, trying to put some distance between himself and the creature, but then it’s leaping towards him all over again with those infernal teeth bared–

And all he can think to do is conjure a spike of light in his palm and blindly toss it forward, only narrowly managing to strike the hound in the higher point of its chest, leaving it with a burning wound and little choice else but to try and escape with its life. [2]

Kvasir gives the area a cursory glance, searching for any other signs of additional hounds; as far as he can tell, though, the pack that had attacked them hadn’t consisted of more than around six or seven of them, and any strays had slipped away. He’s about to turn and extend a hand to Vail, light already glowing at his fingertips so he can knit his wounds back together, but–

…beg pardon?

“Flee– what the hell are you talking about?” he says incredulously, sheer bafflement washing over his entire face. Why on earth would he leave Vail alone up here on this mountain with a very clear threat? “I’ll be doing no such thing, especially not when you’re hurt– who’s ‘he’?”

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1. Ray Bow

2. Purity Bolt