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“He is. I wouldn't be here without him.” In an effort to display camaraderie and reassure Jurvaz, you rest a hand on his shoulder. At first he flinches but as you continue, he starts to straighten up a little and stand with pride. “I wasn't the only one buried there, but the others... They died during their long sleep. If it wasn't for your brother, I would've joined them in death. I owe him my life.”
“Hah!” If nothing else, Blayz seems thoroughly amused by the story. “I can't remember the last time that this fool did somethin' useful. Always with his head in the clouds, dreamin' 'bout the old world and old gods. All o' the magic that your tomb held was stolen long ago, sold off to Africans. That didn't stop daft Jurvaz from obsessin' over the legends, insistin' that old gods still slept behind the doors that were left unopened. Turns out, he was right!”
The chieftain's laughter is raucous enough to make even you cringe.
“Now as I see it, we don't need help with the Soulless. I'll lead this tribe through these troublin' times, same as I always 'ave. But if you're 'ere to lend a hand and you ain't askin' for anythin' in return, then I won't refuse you. Welcome to my village, Three Hundred.”
With the introductions out of the way, Blayz leads you through the village to his very own hut, with Jurvaz trailing behind you. The Voss lead a charmingly primitive lifestyle that can barely be considered agrarian. For food, you're offered a bowl of roasted roots, nuts and berries, followed by a thick and greasy stew. As for bedding, you're pointed towards a bundle of woven blankets and animal hides, no doubt host to all sorts of mites. When you inquire about the threat of the Soulless, Blayz just smiles grimly and tells you to wait for night to fall. You'll be given the chance to prove yourself then.
Sure enough, the sun falls below the horizon after a few hours of enjoying the chieftain's hospitality and listening to his stories about the Voss. None of them are very interesting. You're led outside to join the sentries at the torchlit perimeter of the village, to watch and wait for a sign of the enemy.
Blayz watches from behind the perimeter with a few other tribesmen, while Jurvaz has the responsibility of tending to the torches and keeping them lit. You stand at the ready with your submachine gun cradled in your arms, loaded but with the safety still on. It's not even been half an hour when the foliage rustles and a figure emerges from the forest.
