Turning to address the hall at large, Ordeon's voice boomed, "Let it be known that Aerovind and the child Ela are under my protection. They are to be treated as honored guests of the Nightstalkers!"
A cheer went up from the assembled Larians, the party resuming with renewed vigor.
Ordeon made his way through the crowd to where Zellrid sat. "Come, old friend," he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "We need to talk."
Zellrid nodded, rising to follow Ordeon out of the hall and into a small, private chamber. As the door closed behind them, shutting out the sounds of revelry, Ordeon's jovial mask slipped away, revealing deep concern.
"Are you alright, Zellrid?" Ordeon asked, his voice low and serious. "Truly?"
Zellrid was silent for a long moment, his single eye fixed on some distant point. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "No, I'm not. The eldritch presence... it's growing stronger. I can feel it clawing at the edges of my mind."
Ordeon's massive hands clenched into fists. "We'll find a way to stop it. There has to be—"
"No," Zellrid cut him off, his gaze snapping to meet Ordeon's. "I need you to promise me something. If I lose control, if the madness takes over... you have to end it. End me."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions. Finally, Ordeon nodded, his face grim. "I promise. But Zellrid, don't lose hope. Remember what I always say: 'The night is darkest before the dawn, but it's in that darkness that we Nightstalkers shine brightest.'"
A rare smile tugged at the corner of Zellrid's mouth. "Still spouting that old nonsense, I see."
Ordeon grinned, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "It's not nonsense if it's true."
As Zellrid turned to leave, Ordeon called out, "Oh, and one more thing. There's a small competition coming up. It might help you grow stronger, but it's not exactly... friendly. You'll need a partner. Someone you can trust."
Zellrid raised an eyebrow. "How dangerous are we talking?"
Before Ordeon could answer, a shimmering in the air caught their attention. An owl materialized, clutching a rolled-up parchment in its talons. It dropped the scroll at Zellrid's feet before vanishing in a puff of ethereal feathers.
With a sense of foreboding, Zellrid unrolled the parchment. His eye widened as he took in its contents: a wanted poster bearing his own face, with a bounty of 1,000,000 gold pieces offered by the Kings of the North for his role in the fall of Senura.
Ordeon peered over Zellrid's shoulder, letting out a low whistle. "Well, old friend, it seems the competition might be the least of your worries now."
Zellrid's grip tightened on the poster, his jaw set in a hard line. "Looks like I brought more trouble to your doorstep, Ordeon."
Ordeon's laugh was grim but not without warmth. "Trouble? Zellrid, my friend, trouble is what we Nightstalkers do best. Now, let's go see what that yellow-eyed companion of yours thinks about all this. Something tells me he might just be crazy enough to help."
Zellrid nodded, his expression a blend of resignation and concern. "I don't know if Aerovind will accept, now that I'm wanted by the kings," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.
Ordeon let out a heavy sigh, his massive frame seeming to deflate slightly. "Leave the talking to me," he said, clapping a hand on Zellrid's shoulder. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, his booming laughter filled the small chamber. "Your job now, old friend, is to train for the games. Become the one-man army you once were!"
A rare smile tugged at Zellrid's lips, a flicker of his old fire igniting in his single eye. "Alright," he said simply, the word carrying the weight of a solemn vow.
Together, they made their way back to the main hall, where the celebration was still in full swing. Aerovind's voice carried over the din, regaling the Nightstalkers with another outlandish tale. As Zellrid and Ordeon approached, intent on speaking with the yellow-eyed traveler, the massive doors swung open once again.
The change was instantaneous. Laughter died in throats, tankards clattered to the floor, and the air filled with the whisper of steel as weapons were drawn. Even Aerovind's perpetual smirk faltered, his usual humor evaporating like morning mist.
"By me," Aerovind muttered, his eyes wide. "The kaizen on this one... it's frightening."
A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, lean and dangerous. As he stepped into the torchlight, details came into focus:
fiery red hair, a face lined with old scars, and most notably, a single arm. The empty sleeve of his Nightstalker coat fluttered with each deliberate step. But it was his eyes that drew the most attention or rather, the lack of them.
there was only a smooth expanse of skin, yet he moved with the confidence of one who could see clearly.
The hall held its breath as the newcomer made his way directly to Zellrid. A tense silence reigned, broken only by the soft tread of the blind man's boots on stone. When he finally came to a stop before Zellrid, a smile spread across his scarred face.
"It has been so long," the man said, his voice carrying easily through the silent hall, "son of Thorgar."
Zellrid's eye widened for a fraction of a second before his face settled back into its usual stoic mask. He straightened, squaring his shoulders as he faced the newcomer.
"Zonrac," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Bold of you to show your face here, after what you did to the Grandmaster."
The blind man's smile widened, sharp as a knife's edge. "Ah, Zellrid. Still holding onto old grudges, I see. Or should I say... you see, and I don't?" He gestured to his eyeless face with his single hand, chuckling softly.
Ordeon's massive frame tensed, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his weapon. "You've got some nerve, traitor. Give me one reason why I shouldn't end you where you stand."
Zonrac's head tilted, as if considering the threat. "Now, now, Ordeon. Is that any way to treat a man seeking redemption? I've changed. Why, I even took my own sight, just to be... less than I was." His voice dripped with false humility.