Role

Chapter 13

Sergeant Taksh had an impending sense of doom.

Not the "bloody hells, its the Drillmaster again" kind, or the "how many
Outlanders did you say?" kind. More the "this is going to be paperwork"
kind. There were levels to these things, and he was a veteran. He trusted
his instincts.

That Magistrate was trouble. Oh, it wasn't the undead. Taksh was no elf. If
it gets the job done it gets the job done, and if the villagers look that
way instead of this way, who was he to complain. It wasn't the mild sense
of mocking irreverence either. Those mage types were just wired that way,
Taksh was pretty sure.

No, it was just that Taksh had this feeling. There was something dodgy
about that bird, and the fact that he'd just flown passed holding some kind
of flask Taksh was pretty sure should not be bubbling that way set all of
his 'take cover' senses tingling.

Maybe he should say something? Just have a word with the Capt-.

Then a fireball erupted through the Galadon facing window of the spire, a
deafening boom following on its heels along with the sound of mixed cursing
and cackling.

Taksh closed his mouth.

Let someone else sort it out. He wasn't paid enough for this.