The creature screamed in pain as Tharos jammed his dagger into the creature neck. It’s death howls where of that of a screaming banshee, as its wolflike jaws recoiled and snaped at Tharos, trying to bite into his flesh. As he pushed the dagger deeper and deeper though the creature thick hide. Black blood spayed forth from the creature, covering both Tharos and the stone road they were fighting on. The creature twisted form, an amalgamation of a wolf and an ugly youth. It Twisted and turned as the last vestige of life left its body and then dropped dead to the ground. Tharos would then shove the creature body out from under him, dusting himself off and reaching for the dagger still suck into the creature Throat. As he pulled out the dagger a sizzling noise can be heard as the dagger starts rusting away crumbing away into dust. Tharos face would twist into a slight but bitter smile at the sight of this, as he starts to wipe off the blood his person. It felt hot and oily though his fingers, it was a rather unpleasant sensation. His sleeves and arm greaves would let out a faint sizzling noise following a strong smell of rust, the blood of these creatures would eat though metal or stone with ease, though it had issues with other materials such as wood, or the various cotton and silks that comprised his clothing. He had theory that the blood of these creature only effected certain materials, materials that where not alive or a byproduct of a living thing, of course it was only a theory at this point, but it was a theory that had some evidence to back it up, all he had to do was turn his head and look at his broken bow, aside from the metal arrow heads everything else was fine, aside from it being broken into pieces of course.
But it was the smell of rust that remined him of the time when he once visited a dwarf city on sky blood mountain and became acquainted with a dwarven forge master. He would spend hours watching the forge master mold and shape metals like one shape clay, it was an impressive sight. One that Tharos wanted to replicate and in his youthful naivety asked the forge master if he could teach him. however, his response and what followed next was rather blurry to Tharos, but he remembers the phase diplomatic incident being muttered in the once hallowed halls of the king’s chamber during a meeting after the fact. The dwarfs where a conservative and traditional race, and where not prone to sharing their secrets with outsiders, unless under certain circumstances. Regardless of the social foh pah, He couldn’t but Reminisce about that event with fondness.
As he finished with wiping off all the blood that once covered his now battle torn form, his Armor had received several new dents and cuts, ones that where expanding, as rust started to take hold, his tatted cloak had seen better days. In-fact it was more akin to a tatted cloth, than a tatted cloak. Tharos would look around his amber coloured eyes darting side to side as he starts examining and scanning the scene of carnage left before him. several bodies of more twisted and misshapen creatures laid out before him, blood and assortment of various organs and limbs. the stonework around him joining in this rather grim display of utter savagery and butchery was several pieces of his own flesh included was his left arm which was still holding his now rusting shield.
Tharos paused for a Secord to take in the fact that he has lost his left arm in the middle of the fighting and did not realize it. Or perhaps more likely he just ignored it. he was so used to losing limbs and other assorted body parts that he considered such a thing a rather minor inconvenience at most. As he picked up his left arm from the ground and started to align it with his elbow. small and thin strings of flesh were coming out of his coming from his elbow, it reminded him of wringing worms, as muscle fibers and blood vessels would stew themselves back together again. he felt a strong stinging sensation coming from his left arm, like it was being by many bees. Tharos face would form a slight grimace as fresh blood rushed in to fill the limb that was once emptied of it. It would take several more moments of utter mind-numbing silence before the sensation would cease as Tharos felt the flow of life return to his arm, with the muscles in his hand and fingers twitching ever so slightly at this return of renewed strength. He would slowly move each of his fingers one at a time, the bones in his fingers creaking and cracking at each flex, stopping as he forms a fist in his left hand.
Tharos would turn his back toward the scene of this latest battle and continue forward with his daily patrol. It had been a month since the sorcerer tower explosion and things had gotten from bad to worse. The resulting surge of arcane energy had not only destroyed the magical defenses of the city, but it also had irreversible damaged the city lay lines, and as if in response to this fact. More twisted Creatures would show up with increasing and alarming regularly, pouring out from the undercity and catacombs. And to make matters worse the seal that was keeping the creature bound within the city, was slowly weaking and eroding. Soon it would be free. Within 6 months to a year was Tharos best estimate, but he knew that this estimate was an idealistic and hopeful guess at best. He felt that time was running out, the hourglass counting down the time of doom, as small gains of sand trickle down to the bottom. There was however one small silver lining, the seal that had kept Tharos Trapped in this city was also weakening as the days moved on, he felt it in his bones as if a great wight was slowly being lifted off him. Soon he too would be able to leave this city. Soon he would be able to leave the safety of the city crumbling walls, soon he would be able to travel though the yellow sands, soon he would be able to travel to beyond lands further than the eye could see, and soon he would regain his powers.
However, a lone selfish thought had been eating away at Tharos mind during these last several days at the reveal of this information. What reason did he have to care about this current era and its people, why should he bother Protecting people he didn’t even know or people that wouldn’t last more than a blink of the eye for him. sure, the creature would kill many people, possibly destroy several civilizations in the process. Before being stopped by some great hero or perhaps the gods would intervene. But the result would be the same Tharos would still be there standing, unchanging and timeless as he always has been for felt like centuries beyond counting. However, such thoughts didn’t sit right with him, he felt it was a betrayal of something, something long ago that he forgot, something that was important to him. Tharos shakes his head in frustration, his messy black hair flicking away the tiny snowflakes resting gently on his head. Even if he stayed to fight the creature, even in his current state, with all his powers slowly returning to him, and even with all the magical items stored in the archives, would it be enough to win?
“I don’t know if my powers would even work on the creature let alone harm it, I am no mage nor am I mystic arts user. It took the greatest sorcerers of that era to bind that thing, what chance to I have?.“
As Tharos climbed on top of an abounded house to survey the city. He noticed in the distance outside the city, what looked like movement. As he stared in that direction and focused his eyes. On the horizon He saw what looked like an abundance of massive wagons pulled by horses and slaves, along with several legions of heavily armored men to many for him to count armed to the teeth with a variety of axes, spears and swords, that glimmered in the distance. The treasure hunters had showed up again and this time they brought a small army with them this time, unlike the small ragtag bands that he had dealt with before. Whatever they were seeking, whoever was sending them. Tharos knew one thing They were serious this time, and they wouldn’t be denied their prize. Tharos griped the hilt of his sword tightly, and then his face would twist into a bitter smile.
“Let the Hunt begin.“
