"Some rules shouldn't be broken, Zonrac," Ordeon growled. "Consider yourself lucky I haven't killed you yet."
The tension in the hall was palpable, every Larian present coiled like a spring, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
Zonrac's smile never faltered. "Ah, but you'll want to hear why I'm really here. You see, my little feathered friend delivered some rather interesting news two days ago."
He paused, letting the anticipation build. "It seems our dear Zellrid has quite the price on his head. One million gold pieces, offered by the Kings of the North themselves."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Murmurs of disbelief and shock filled the air.
Aerovind, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly choked on his drink. He sputtered, wiping ale from his chin as he stared at Zonrac incredulously. "I'm sorry, did you say one million gold pieces? For this grumpy, one-eyed bastard?" He jerked a thumb at Zellrid. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but isn't that a bit... excessive?"
Zonrac's eyeless gaze seemed to find Aerovind unerringly. "Oh? And who might you be, golden eyes?"
"Someone who's wondering if protecting our brooding friend here might be considered an act of war," Aerovind replied, his usual smirk returning. "Not that I'm opposed to a little international incident now and then, but it does seem like overkill."
Ordeon's brow furrowed. "An alliance between the North... it hasn't been seen since the Age of Ghouls."
"Ah, but times are changing," Zonrac interjected smoothly. "The Emperian king, the smartest ruler alive... he's making moves, gentlemen. Big moves."
Zellrid's eye narrowed. "You're dancing around something, Zonrac. What aren't you telling us?"
Zonrac's smile turned predatory. "Well, since you asked so nicely... I'm here on business, you see. A contract, to be precise. From your dear old dad, Thorgar himself."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Zellrid's hand tightened on his weapon, his knuckles turning white.
"Now, now," Zonrac continued, raising his hand in a placating gesture. "Before you do anything rash, hear me out. I can break this contract... if you'll let me rejoin the Nightstalkers. Let me die with honor in the next Purging Games."
Aerovind whistled low. "Well, isn't this a charming family reunion? Zellrid, my friend, your father has an interesting way of reaching out. Most people just send a card."
Zellrid remained silent, his single eye boring into Zonrac's eyeless face.
Zellrid's mouth opened, a refusal on his lips, but Ordeon's booming voice cut through the tension like a thunderclap.
"Alright," Ordeon declared, silencing the hall.
Panic erupted among the Nightstalkers, voices rising in a cacophony of disbelief and anger. Ordeon's eyes flashed dangerously, and he slammed his fist on the nearest table, splintering the wood.
"ENOUGH!" he roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. The hall fell silent instantly. "I am your leader, and my word is final. Zonrac will participate in the games, but until then..." He turned to the eyeless man, his gaze hard. "You are not welcome here. Leave, now."
Zonrac bowed with exaggerated courtesy. "As you wish." He turned to leave, but paused, his head tilting towards Aerovind and Ela. "Oh, and yellow eyes? You might want to keep a closer eye on that little one. Beelzebub has been... restless lately."
Aerovind's ever-present smirk vanished, replaced by a snarl of pure rage. The air around him shimmered with heat as he took a menacing step towards Zonrac. "What did you say?"
Zonrac's smile widened as he faced Aerovind, their auras clashing violently. The stone floor beneath their feet cracked, the pressure of their power palpable to everyone in the room.
Suddenly, a faint whisper echoed in Aerovind's mind. "Not now, partner," Typhon's voice rumbled from the red sword at his hip. "This one... he's an avatar of Satan, the Wrath Devil himself. Bide your time."
With visible effort, Aerovind reined in his fury. His yellow eyes blazed as he leaned in close to Zonrac. "You've made this personal, you eyeless bastard," he hissed. "Remember this moment when I'm standing over your broken body, because I don't leave debts unpaid."
Zonrac's smile never faltered as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the stunned silence of the hall.
Zellrid let out a long, weary sigh as the doors closed behind Zonrac. Ordeon wiped sweat from his brow, the pressure of the confrontation leaving even him shaken.
"Alright, show's over," Ordeon announced, his voice gruff. "Party's done. Everyone back to work. We've got a lot to prepare for."
As the Nightstalkers began to disperse, muttering amongst themselves, Zellrid turned to Aerovind. "You alright?" he asked, concern evident in his usually gruff voice.
Aerovind's trademark smirk returned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, just peachy. But your friend here has definitely made an enemy."
The dawn broke over the Nightstalkers' stronghold, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson. Within the fortress's imposing walls, the clash of steel against steel rang out from the training grounds.
Aerovind stood in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by nine burly Nightstalkers. In his hands, he held an unfamiliar weapon—a pair of wickedly sharp swords connected by a length of chain. His usual smirk was replaced by a look of intense concentration as he attempted to master the unwieldy armament.
"Come on, yellow-eyes!" Ordeon's booming voice carried across the yard. "You're thinking too much. Let the weapon become an extension of yourself!"
Aerovind's brow furrowed as he whirled the chained swords around his body. The blades whistled through the air, narrowly missing his own limbs. "Extension of myself, he says," Aerovind muttered. "I prefer my extremities attached, thank you very much."
One of the Nightstalkers lunged forward, his own chained swords singing through the air. Aerovind reacted on instinct, one blade deflecting the attack while the other snaked around his opponent's weapon. With a sharp tug, he disarmed the Nightstalker, sending him sprawling to the ground.
A moment of stunned silence fell over the courtyard, broken by Aerovind's triumphant whoop. "Ha! Did you see that? I'm a natural!"
Ordeon's laughter boomed across the yard. "Not bad, yellow-eyes. Not bad at all. You might just survive the games after all."
As the training session wound down, Aerovind approached Ordeon, twirling the chained swords with newfound confidence. "I've got to hand it to you, big guy. These are something else. Bit like trying to dance with an angry cat, but I think I'm getting the hang of it."
Ordeon's scarred face split into a grin. "Glad you like them. They've saved my hide more times than I can count."
Aerovind's expression grew serious, his yellow eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Speaking of saving hides... tell me about Zonrac. What's his deal?"
Ordeon's smile faded, replaced by a grim look. "Zonrac... now there's a name that brings back memories. Not all of them pleasant."
The Nightstalker leader led Aerovind to a quieter corner of the courtyard, his voice low as he began his tale. "Zonrac was a prodigy, a natural-born killer with skills that put the rest of us to shame. In the Purging Games four years ago, he tore through the competition like they were made of parchment."
Aerovind listened intently, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen.
Ordeon continued, his eyes distant with memory. "It wasn't just his physical prowess. Zonrac had a technique, something he called the 'Kai Zone.' When he used it, it was like he could see every move before it happened. No one could touch him."
"In the final round, he faced off against our Grandmaster. It should have been an even match, experience against raw talent. But Zonrac..." Ordeon's massive fists clenched. "He didn't just defeat the Grandmaster. He humiliated him, toyed with him like a cat with a mouse. And then, when the Grandmaster yielded, Zonrac killed him anyway."
Aerovind's eyes widened. "Damn. No wonder you all looked ready to gut him on the spot."