Curious Critters- A Tal'dorei Tale.

Normont listens to the back-and-forth, his expression hardening as the conversation turns toward the morality of their task. He appreciates Dev’s conscience, but his own mind is already made up, forged by the cold reality of the threats they've faced.

"Dev, I admire the sentiment, I truly do", he says, his voice low but carries a heavy finality. "But these people didn't just 'commit a crime'. They kidnapped Werhann and tortured him. They sent an agent to my grandfather's workshop to threaten us if we didn't back off. They tried to murder you, Lokilia, and Progo in the street. They aren't looking for a fair trial, and they’ve already told us they’d go to war with the Pale Guard rather than surrender. Not to mention their dealings with the Squid and smuggling in magical components for some likely insane ritual. And we know they are well equipped and entirely not as they seem".

He looks at Lokilia and nods firmly. "You're right. Saving Glinnick is a priority, but let’s not kid ourselves, we are here to root out an infection. A surgical strike is what’s needed. We go in fast, we go in hard, and we make it very clear that Whitestone is not a playground for their sort".

"If the sewers are too tight, then we stick to the surface. Werhann has the right of it; if we hit them from the front and back simultaneously, we stop them from fortifying. We can't burn the place down without risking Glinnick's life, and the fire spreading through the city. But we can be the hammer at the front door if some of Klarron's lot can be the anvil at the back".

He looks at Klarron. "We know they have illusion magic, and can change their appearance, and we know they can become invisible. Your people need eyes on the roofline and any side or back exits that can see through that. If any of them try to slip away while we're clearing the floors, I want them pinned down. We aren't here to give them a head start".

He shifts his gaze back to his companions, his hand resting on Maggie's chassis. "Is everyone ready?".

Dev listens with growing concern. ‘Surgical strike,’ ‘ go in hard.’ What is this new life he has found for himself? He is no soldier. What is he doing here? As the others speak, the teenager’s eyes widen with each passing moment and his brick red complexion pales toward a dusky pink. Slowly, he stands bolt upright, and almost imperceptibly, backs away toward the door. He suddenly turns to leave, reaching for the doorknob. But there he remains for a long moment, frozen like a statue. Back turned, his posture compresses slightly, and then, with a controlled motion he releases the doorknob and flips up his cowl. A long moment later, when he turns back to the others, his color has returned to deep brick red. Yellow lightning flickers in the darkness under his cowl, and a slight smirk curls his lip.

His voice, eerie and dark, floats effortlessly across the room.

“I’m ready. Let’s go.”