“Hold my battleaxe, Dar,” Gax requested, handing the massive weapon to the elf before she had a chance to respond. Darsil’eit snatched the axe from Gax’s outstretched hand with both of her arms, her bow now leaning against a nearby tree.
“What are you about?” she asked suspiciously as he strode forward.
Gax slowly shifted his feet through the watery mud beneath him, brushing past low hanging willow branches. The swamp he trudged through sat bathed in the soft glow of dusk, motes of dust and small insects flitting fancifully past the rare shaft of intense orange light that pierced the thick veil from the many trees and tall ferns.
“The traps you set are sound, yeah?” he asked, not breaking stride. “They’ll capture an ergun well?”
“Three if they’re spread out,” she said with an air of superiority.
“Good. I figure it’s my neck we should stick out here, not yours. Axe will slow me down getting back behind the traps.”
“Well, seeing as how, thanks to your stupidity, we’ve been tasked with capturing creatures dangerous enough to rip either of our faces off, I’d be inclined to agree. Carry on. Long as Obrel gets his ergun, I’ll be happy.” Continue reading “Hold my Battleaxe 5 – Gax tries to capture an ergun, and doesn’t do so well”