>>5329865You next visit with the Pit Guard and his Apprentice. The Steeltalons hover further back than Oluwadamilare, though the Pit Guard has taken to accepting (and besting) many an elf of uncertain gender but distinctly male bravado and aggression in a contest of arm-strength. The Apprentice, while nearly a physical match to his senior, has for some reason decided to test his skill in games of chance and deceit; he, too, is holding his own, if less decisively. Eventually, the elven crowd thins out, and you take their place.
“Your shoulder mends well,” you comment upon the Pit Guard’s recovery and performance.
“I am using my weak arm,” he boasts. “These mammals are small, thin, weak. I can crush them even injured. But… Yes, my situation improves. I am once more ready to rejoin you.”
“And your Apprentice?” you ask.
The Pit Guard is quiet for a time, then shakes his head slightly.
“His injuries were the most severe,” he says. “The Degenerate is not so swift as he was, but will recover. My soreness is all but gone. Elf-healings aw to that. But the Apprentice… he can fight, but I suspect he will die if faced with a challenge which is the equal of that ‘Devourer’.”
You both watch the subject of your conversation playing another game. It involves a small pill-shaped crustacean, tucked under cups and moved about; he guesses its location, and fails, hissing and demanding another turn. Only after this game does he spot the two fo you speaking, and rush—with notable hobble—to your location.
“Superior One! The retinue tells me we are soon to leave these smelly, sweaty beasts and journey forth to glory and conquest! Is this true?”
How do you reply?
>Yes… You shall all be leaving soon, including him>No, sadly, the Apprentice must remain here for now while the rest of you carry on[Cont.]
