the bard's last note

He pressed a paw against the wolf’s back ensuring they - he, as the scent told him - couldn’t escape. Not when he’d almost given him the slip in the mad dash along the beach. Orso finished his arrival, and Basilisk nodded to his Wyrm, Larimar. The strange, one of a kind creature flitted forward on her bat wings and curled her snake-like tail around the reindeer's antlers to anchor herself before pairing into the bag. She hissed agreement, the golden wolf spoke true.

Basilisk however grimaced. Was their weakness so immediately obvious to outsiders? “Fate has handed you a bad hand, wolf. You’ve entered blighted territory. I can’t in good conscience let you leave and spread it when we’re trying so hard to quarantine it.” His voice didn’t sound regretful, despite his words. Had he decided to let this wolf live, then? He regretted the loss of chance to rend flesh and sooth his frustrations. He settled with unsheathing his cat-like claws and flexing them into the coat on the wolf's back.

He didn’t let the wolf up, keeping that giant paw pressed into their back. “Welcome to the Armada, wolf. You belong to me now.”


"Basilisk"