"Hello, Uncle Roger," Thirteen greeted the Tigerkin Shaman, who was busy smelting the materials they would use to create the ammunition for his Grand Ballista.
"Zion, you came at the right time," Roger replied. "It's halfway complete. Did you come here to check if things are going as scheduled?"
Thirteen nodded "Yes. Things are a bit hectic in the Warsor Plains, so I came here to take a breather."
"A breather? Sounds nice," Roger commented. "Still, to think that you're making our old bones do the work for you. You really know how to order people around, don't you?"
Thirteen smiled faintly because he also felt a bit guilty for asking the Shamans for help. However, there wasn't really anything he could do about it.
The material they were using was something that only Shamans were allowed to work with, for it was something sacred to the people of the Valbarra Archipelago.
