Chunks of the minotaur’s colossal ax flew in all directions, acrid smoke filling Rasfin’s lungs, eyes watering.

Talon vibrated beneath the aqua currents that danced around his body. Crackling blue energy poured from his gauntlets and eyes in a river of electrical smoke, popping and sparking.

The rogue’s ethereal eyes pierced through Rasfin, and the minotaur reared back, his thick tufts of fur standing on end.

“Unfortunate for you, I meant.” Phasing in and out of Rasfin's sight, gliding just within his powerful reach, the human flickered, disappearing.

Rasfin gasped, staring at the razor-sharp gauntlet protruding from his chest, his heart stuttering against crystalline fingers as they squeezed the precious vitae from his muscular chest, matted hair splitting open in a brutal display of death.

“In all honesty, I didn’t want to burn myself out on some marauding beast, but I suppose one must do what’s necessary.” Talon tore his hand back, tearing through Rasfin’s heart.

Blood exploded from both ends of the hole in Rasfin’s chest, the minotaur falling to his knees, gurgling up blood before falling face-first into the mud.

An acrid scent filled his nose, the embers of his magical exertion still clinging to the crystal gauntlets, boiling the blood dripping from his hand. Trying and failing to shake his gauntlet dry, Talon grunted, resigning himself to wiping it clean against his trousers.

Striding over to the dwarf, Talon bent down, smacking Torden on the arm. “Hey, get up! If you’re dead, then I’m taking your ax.”

“Ya ain’t takin’ not from me yet, Lad.” Slowly, Torden rolled over, shaking off some of the dirt that now clung to his beard and smeared his helm.

“So you’re still kicking. Goodie.”

“What happun, Lad? I get ‘im?” The dwarf sat up, dazed, climbing to unsteady feet.

Looking between the addled dwarf and the mangled remains of the minotaur, hearty snout down in a pool of its own blood, Talon shrugged. “Yeah, you got him alright.”

Clumsily pawing at his ax, the dwarf successfully grasped the handle upon his third swipe. After slinging the hefty weapon across his back, Torden puffed out his chest, fists pressing against stout hips. “Hah! Now ya see me true worth. Dat o’ the Ironfist clan!”

Still stumbling, the dwarf produced a leather flask from his belt, fumbling as he uncapped it, the smell of cheap alcohol rising into the air. Throwing his head back, Torden plugged the flask between his dry lips, draining it in one long draft.

The human thug, a knife protruding from his chest, stumbled to his feet. Hand grasping his chest, he picked up his club, blood dripping on the cloth-wrapped handle. Limping, sneering, rows of crooked, yellowing teeth revealed a newly-awakened hatred.

Pulling the flask from his lips, a contented sigh escaping into the air, Torden wiped his mouth with the side of his glove.

Talon watched the small display with amusement. “It’s not going to be a problem when you run out, is it?”

The dwarf waved the question off.

“That’s not an-” Laboured breathing mixed with the crunching of grass echoed from behind Talon. Spinning around, his body failing to respond quickly enough, Talon watched as a block of studded-wood came speeding towards his head.

A powerful twang sung through the air, followed by a meaty crunch. Pained breaths faltered alongside the thug’s club, tapping the rogue’s hood without any resounding force behind it. Mind racing, struggling to process the sudden events, Talon stared intently at the arrow protruding from his assailant’s bare neck. His eyes snapped to the trees on the edge of Shadowfen, a slight figure dropping from the brush without sound.

With bow in hand, another arrow nocked and ready to fire, a girl stood a good four meters from the litter of bodies. Her dirty blonde hair, knotted tightly behind her head, draped loosely over two pointed ears. Like all wood elves, her eyes reflected the sky in their purest tint of blue, pale skin free of blemishes. Tattoos formed intricate swirls around her face, trailing down the rest of her body in a similar design, so faint as to be easily mistaken for tan lines. “Hello there, stranger!” She called out, her voice calm and affably inviting, masking the aura of danger emanating from her slender body. “And to you, too, Torden.”

“Aye, always a pleasure, Lass.” Flashing a friendly grin, keeping his ax at the ready, Torden’s posture became defensive.

Relaxing his own stance, Talon sought to display his willingness for peace, “Hello to you, as well. I suppose I should start by thanking you, for saving my life.”

The elf shrugged. “It’s no problem at all, given that you return the favour.” She tilted her head toward Rasfin. “That was pretty impressive work there. I could use some of that strength for a little… personal kind of problem.”

Talon’s eye twitched. “Sorry, but I really don’t have time for any side projects right now. I’m kind of in a hurry.” He motioned towards Torden. “This one has given me enough trouble as is, and shaking him off seems damned impossible.”

She shrugged again. “Works for me. My problem doesn’t need to be taken care of right this moment, but regardless, I can’t really let you skip out on a life debt.” Her smile was playful, but didn’t reach her eyes, which glinted with predatory interest.

“Well, I can give you an I.O.U. for whatever that’s worth.” Falling back into dry wit, Talon was already guessing what the elf would propose, deciding that he wouldn’t have the right, or ability, to refuse.

Chuckling, the girl slid her arrow back into its quiver, nudging her mottled green-and-brown cloak aside as she did so. “Well, seeing as you owe me one already, I suppose I’ll just have to come along for this job of yours. To make sure you don’t skip on repaying your debt, of course.”

“Of course,” Talon said, rolling his eyes. “So, what’s your name, oh dear saviour?”

“It’s Selora. And you?”

The lack of a given clan name was strictly noted, but went unvoiced as he bowed his head. “Talon.”

Slinging bow over shoulder, she strolled up to Talon, eyes narrowing as she studied his face. “Odd name; but what do I know of human customs?”

Torden met her stare, releasing the grip on his ax.

“Well, you should probably collect your weapons, so we can be on our way.” She turned to Torden. “Unless you’re still seeing rocks, that is.”

“I’m good now, Lass, no worries ‘bout dat.” The dwarf puffed his chest, fists once again on his hips.

“Excuse me?” Talon’s head snapped to Torden.

“Obviously, I’m comin too, Lad. Certainly can’t return ta town wit dese louts chasin after me.” Torden grinned, waving his hand towards the corpses. “An ya seem the type ta get inta plen’y o’ fights yerself. Won’t be missin dat.” His tone brokered no argument.

Scowling, Talon plucked his dagger from the ground, inspecting the blade for a good moment before sheathing it, collecting his throwing knives soon after. Dusting himself off, he approached Selora, stopping just next to her, pointing down the road. “We head north.”

* * *

“So, you know her well?” Talon whispered down to Torden, careful that his voice didn’t carry to the elf following several meters behind them.

“Lass comes inta town once in a blue moon ta take a job, get paid, ‘fore she’s back ta hidin’ in da woods.” Torden whispered back, mirroring Talon’s volume without noticing.

“So, no.” Talon shook his head. “That’s not too odd, I suppose; elves tend to prefer the security of the forest, compared to the chaos of towns, which can make the less acclimated ones anxious.”

Shaking his head, the dwarf readjusted his back-slung ax. “I dun’ tink it’s like dat, Lad. From wot I gadder, she loves da city scene; s’more like she has no idea how ta handle herself in such a place. She’s aware o’ dis, and stays away.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Talon was greeted by a bright smile, Selora waving as their eyes met. He looked forward, clicking his tongue. “Seems friendly enough, but she’s definitely no amateur.”

“When it comes ta huntin’, certainly not. Elsewise, da Lass’s still a younglin’.” Eyeing Talon, Torden shrugged. “Though, the Lass is prolly older den ya, now dat I tink ‘bout it.”

“Yes, well, save that kind of talk for people who don’t measure their lifespans in decades.” Talon was already in his mid-thirties, looking a good decade older than the elf, who was undoubtedly one-or-two-hundred years old already. “She’s still young for an elf.”

“’Deed she is; just as ya are fer a dwarf.” Torden grinned at Talon’s scoff, elation rising at his reaction. “Lighten up, Lad. ‘Sides, I ain’t wrong.”

Talon rolled his eyes, huffing. “Just because your words bear some truth doesn’t mean them being said isn’t stupid.”

“Aye, ne’er was one fer smart words; even me ol’ kin use ta tell me dat much.” Curling his arm, the dwarf flexed muscles unseen beneath heavy plate. “Was always more da fightin’ type anyhow.”

Nodding, slow and deliberate, Talon stopped, Torden and Selora halting just moments after. Stiffly, the human turned, facing the elf with apprehension. “You’re making me nervous staying back so far. Are you going to keep that distance the entire trip?”

Biting her lower lip, Selora shook her head. “I suppose that would be silly, wouldn’t it?” She strode forward, closing the distance, but staying outside of arm’s reach. “You’ll have to excuse my lack of trust amongst strangers; I’m not in the best mindset right now.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual.” Talon pointed at her bow. “I don’t really trust a good archer being so far away from me. So, if we can just understand not to trust each other, this trip will go a lot smoother. Can we agree on that much?”

“I… suppose I can. Yeah, that’s fine. As long as we’re on the same page and everything.”

Talon nodded, turning quickly before continuing his stride down the road. “We’ll be on the road for a good two weeks-or-so, so let’s try to get along for the time being.” The non-humans followed behind, keeping a reasonable distance between them all.