I slowed my pace, letting the anticipation build as I steadied my grip on the blade.
And then I felt it—a second presence trailing behind the first. Not as overwhelming as the first aura, but still sharp enough to prick at the edge of my senses.
Then the two figures burst into view.
The first was tall, draped in a tattered cloak that dragged along the ground, each step slow and deliberate. He leaned on a crooked staff made of something dark and gnarled, like twisted bone fused with ashwood.
Behind him came a smaller figure, also cloaked, though his movements were sharper—quicker. His build reminded me of Thok: wiry, agile, probably fast on his feet.
The smaller one stopped first, eyeing me warily. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice tight, uncertain.
I didn't answer.
My eyes were on the taller one—the one who mattered.
As I focused, the system responded with a flash of information across my vision:
Marcus | Elder Shaman | Drugar's Chosen | Level 35
Innate Skill: Decay
