Aleina quirked an eyebrow at the Stamarian man, wondering if he was more interesting than he let on to. "Oh? Did you know Elle'n well, before her father was killed?" That had certainly caused a buzz. 'Project Theta Kills the Viceroy of Tsuminar' the headlines had read, and countless thousands everywhere had hoped against hope Stamaria might begin to unravel at the seams. Even still, no one knew if the majority of Stamarian command were NPCs, players, or Thetas, and she doubted that would change anytime soon. For most, they were little more than mythical figures--NPC or Player, no one ever really considered their ability to come back, because the idea of them dying in the first place was all but ridiculous. They were still investigating how Gladish had been culled from the herd, but no doubt something sinister was at work; more chances he had been killed from within Stamaria than from outside.
But it didn't matter much right now, least of all to her. Stamarians were all rotten to the core, she was convinced. They took up a good deal too much space, hardly leaving anyone else room to breath, so she took her chances to jab them in the side, when she could.
The wolves fell around the group, their corpses hitting the ground in a smoldering wreck, dissolving before half a dozen heartbeats to make room for the next one. One with their weapons, the men shredded the monsters with experience, but a dread edged at all of them. What fueled the assault? The wolves were not stupid creatures--anything but, really. They attacked when they had advantage enough for victory. Even now, though, there couldn't be many left in this pack, but something was on the move; they could all feel it.
"Time to move," the green-clad man spoke levelly, loud enough to hear. They couldn't outrun the wolves to the village, but they could make it to the foot of the mountain, where things began to clear, and then they could see what they were up against. "Bromling, take lead. Keep it steady until they falter, then we'll run."
A few of the men grunted, and their circle shifted. Swords still flaring out to meet their marks, the fighters took careful steps over the rocks, preparing for a tedious return trip. Almost within the first step, though, the wolves halted, a few whimpering as one-by-one they backed away from the swords, turned tail and ran.
One or two of the men laughed triumphantly, but most stayed silent, and all of them shifted uneasily, the sizzling noise of the wolf flesh on the stone fading away into the wind within moments. They had stopped again, each man listening closely, but John suspected there would not be much time left. It was certainly time to move, now.
"Are you injured from your descent?" he asked the woman suddenly, wondering if she could run or if he would have to carry her. He had seen no limp thus far, but she seemed a proud one.