Thorne's booming voice echoed off the towering petrified walls, his words hanging like a physical weight in the tense, humid air.
The crowd, easily swayed by the massive Elder's aggressive, righteous indignation, began to murmur in agreement.
The sheer absurdity of Sol's claim… that a solitary, unranked outsider had slain and anchored a Layer 3 Lord Blood… combined with Thorne's panicked, masterful incitement, was rapidly turning the tribe's initial disbelief into a unified, hostile mob.
"Exile him!" one of Thorne's lackey elder shouted from the back.
"Strip him of his weapons and cast him out to the rot!" another yelled.
Warchief Veylara raised her hand, the heavy bracelets of polished beast bone clicking together around her wrist. Her brow furrowed in deep, agonizing conflict. As a leader, she had to maintain order, and the outsider was threatening the very fabric of their tribal logic.
