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Gypsy Spice Prancer
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Your sensations become clearer, now you can inspect your surroundings. You’re in a clearing in a forest. In the middle of it stands a long ago burnt wooden hut, before which two wounded antfolks fight each other while trying to speak aloud. The third, snake-like figure slithers around the ruined house in expanding circles, probing the ground with some kind of a sword.
— Llleaaa-vvee...
— Qu-eeenn ww-ont rrisk letttt-inng ellf ll-livve
— I-iii’-mm nn-ooottt…
— Wwe di-ie, bbut ttake you witthshs us, Quennn wi-i-l revviv-e
— Iii bb-bbbe-e—
— You and your Queen hire me specifically to NOT let you zealots die! — The strange creature shouts from over its shoulder. — I’ve almost finished; endure a bit more, and we will go searching into the hut itself. And then I will get my answers, elf.
The fight looks weird: the two are twitching, trying to open themselves for the blows, then in an instant attempting to block the incoming attack or to dodge. They continue the talk, but you could swear the roles reverse from time to time.
>Change comes with time. The only path forward is to adapt.
>Who is your wielder?
The creature shudders in surprise.
— ⰱⰾⱔⱅⱐ! Are you the Nazar’s orb? I was expecting you to start working half a day ago. Save your advice for another time, we have a plan already, and we can't risk changing it right now. Shame on me for expecting his baubles to work properly, I guess.
>Are you being forced to fight for the very enemy that you have sworn to destroy?
— What?! No, of course not.
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