the bard's last note

Basilisk sat back, giving the wolf a little more freedom when he didn’t immediately lunge away from him or to him. He rested on the edge of the sandy beach, his eyes on the stranger. Despite the darkness and the hint of fog rolling in from the sea, he could see the man quite clearly. His breathing was hesitant, and something was wrong with one of his eyes. He was a sorry wolf indeed. “I’m Basilisk Fatalis. This doesn't have to be a terrible thing, Pluto. Your friends don’t seem to have treated you well.” He nodded his head towards the vanishing ship.

“If your knowledge is useful, your position will rise quickly.” He offered a paw to the wolf to help him up if he chose so. “I dread pulling my healer away from his studies of the blight. How badly are you injured? I see you're struggling with your ribs… and your eye?” He was a scrawny, little thing. The need to rend his flesh had all but vanished by now. He was not an intruder, he was something of the Warlord himself. He belonged to him.


"Basilisk"