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The wolf swings back to meet you and the berserker, sword in hand. His form is hunched, his chest bloodied. He has not made out unscathed, but to incapacitate three already.. you stand shoulder-to-shoulder with your standing ally.
“..Just the veterans left, then.” Morne speaks, his breaths deep and shallow. “Did you know? I once fought for the king too.”
With a crack, his spine arcs forward and fur bristles back. He falls to his arms and legs, cloak tearing along his form and sword slipping from his hands, sickening cracks echoing through the flowers. You take an involuntary step back as the beast angles up. He was big before, but the monster now stands near the size of a horse drawn carriage. As bloody and bent he is, he now looms over both of you like some beast of legend.
Morne bows his head and picks the sword back up from the flowers with his mouth. He speaks, his voice a low snarl. “Back then, they called me the Wolf Knight of Wirt.”
>Ask if Emilia might distract him, just for a moment. Even if it won’t trick him, perhaps the mimic can still help.
>Ready yourself for battle with the sword.
>Ready yourself for battle with the rifle.
>Write-In.
