“Of course we do,” Chase muttered under his breath. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and asked, “What’s the problem?”

Thorir gestured at the unconscious form of Skeld, his brow furrowed and his expression grave. Chase could see now, the sheen of sweat covering the scout and the tremors running through his limbs.

“Skeld has been poisoned by the raptor's claws. We managed to stop the bleeding, but he's in a bad way.”

Errsai nodded solemnly, “Without an antidote, he’ll be dead by dawn. And…”

“And I very much doubt the Uchmute will provide one, seeing as they’re likely the ones who put the poison on the raptor’s claws,” Chase finished the thought. “Fuck. Alright, do what you can to make things easier for him, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Where are you going?” Errsai demanded, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“To speak to the one person who might know something,” Chase replied, glancing up towards the stands.

“You can't mean…” Thorir's gaze followed his.

“Why not?” Chase asked. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

The still conscious dokkalfar exchanged troubled glances, but neither offered a protest. With a curt nod, Chase set off, bending his legs and leaping towards Isushi's box. He landed neatly atop the barrier, his boots barely making a sound as he dropped into the seat.

Isushi was lounging in his chair, a large cup, filled with a red drink that looked like wine, held in one simian foot. He didn't appear the least bit startled by Chase's sudden appearance, though his guards had raised their spears at his entrance.

“Calm yourselves,” Isushi said, waving a hand at the guards. “This human has proven himself to be quite formidable, let us see if he is capable of speech as well.”

Chase frowned, the chieftain's flippant remark grating on his nerves. But he resisted the urge to snap back, choosing instead to play along.

“I am quite capable of speech,” Chase replied, his tone icy.

Isushi gave a noncommittal grunt, taking a long drink from his cup. He set the cup down and gestured for Chase to continue.

“I need an antidote for the poison on the raptor's claws,” Chase said, not beating around the bush.

“That would be difficult, human,” Isushi said, his expression smug and mocking. “I would need to know how giving an antidote, assuming there is one, to you would provide more entertainment than simply letting your minion die. After all, all four of you are going to die one way or the other.”

Chase grit his teeth, and made his offer, “Three on one.”

Isushi looked at Chase, an eyebrow raised, and he continued, “Give me an antidote, and in the morning, set three of your elites against me.”

The ape made a considering noise, lacing his fingers together while picking up his cup with his foot again. Chase waited, barely able to contain his growing impatience. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Isushi drained the last of his wine, and spoke.

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“I will admit that this is an interesting proposal,” Isushi said slowly, each word containing a hint of amusement. “But it does not change the fact that you will still die in the end.”

“We both know that,” Chase growled. “But at least this way, we’ll all have a fighting chance. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, you'll get some entertainment out of it.”

Isushi's laughter rang out, echoing through the empty arena. Chase's fists clenched, his patience wearing thin. “What's so damn funny?”

“You, human,” Isushi replied, his smile baring sharp teeth. “You have spirit, but little sense. Why bother striving so hard for your minions' lives? In the end, you will all perish, and the Uchmute will revel in your demise.”

Chase took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, and growled out, “I don't care about your tribe, or what they think. I have a duty as leader to do the best I can to ensure my followers thrive. So, are we doing this, or not?”

Isushi studied Chase for a moment, his expression unreadable. Before, finally, with a cruel, wicked grin, answered, “Not. But I do thank you for the idea you gave me.”

“You son of a-” Chase snarled, stepping forward, ready to fight.

“I suggest you keep your tongue in check, human,” Isushi cautioned. “Remember, I have the antidote. And as much as you would enjoy ripping my heart out, your minions will die without it.”

Chase forced himself to calm down, taking a few steps back, glaring at the smug chimp. He couldn't believe he'd let Isushi bait him like that, and he had to resist the urge to punch himself in the face.

“Fine, but I hope you don't expect me to show mercy to your 'elite' fighters tomorrow.”

Isushi chuckled, waving a dismissive hand, “If you live through the Feast of Strengths, you can have whatever remains of my elites.”

“So, what do I do to convince you to give us the antidote?” Chase asked, his voice tight.

“You can’t,” Isushi said bluntly. “Your ineffective rage and utter lack of negotiation skills are far more entertaining than giving you what you want will be.”

Chase bit his tongue, not trusting himself to respond without resorting to insults. Instead, he turned on his heel and leapt off the balcony, landing in a crouch on the arena floor. He made his way back to his companions, his mind racing, trying to come up with a solution to the impossible situation.

As he approached, the dokkalfar were looking worse for wear. Errsai and Thorir were keeping watch, but Skeld was clearly in the throes of the poison's effects, his skin clammy and his breathing labored.

“Well?” Thorir asked, his tone sharp.

“We're not getting an antidote,” Chase said grimly. “I’m sorry.”

Errsai and Thorir exchanged looks, and the head scout nodded. “It’s not your fault, Lord Newell. It was a long shot, anyway.”

“How long does he have?” Chase asked, sitting cross legged as he opened up his character screen, seeing that he’d gained a level since he last looked.

“A few hours, at best,” Thorir said. “He got worse as he was using his healing spell.”

Dumping the ten points he gained from his level up into Cunning, Chase looked up at the two, his brow furrowed in thought, “We’ll have to make the best of the time we have left.”

The two dokkalfar nodded and they all set to work. As the evening wore on, the conscious three did what they could to prepare themselves for the next day. They cleaned their weapons, mended their armor, and shared the supplies they had between them.

With a few hours left before dawn, Skeld’s condition had considerably worsened. He began to writhe in agony, his body convulsing as the poison coursed through his veins. Errsai and Thorir quietly discussed the matter among themselves, before Thorir took out a knife and cut Skeld's throat. The scout stopped moving, his head falling to the side, eyes wide open, staring sightlessly.

“He was beyond saving,” Errsai said quietly.

Chase nodded, his jaw clenched tightly. It pissed him off that he wasn’t able to get an antidote from Isushi, and he swore that one way or another, he was going to use that fucking ape’s skull in the next piece of gear he crafted.

The group stood, a silent vigil over their fallen companion. The quiet was broken only by the occasional sound of the city outside the arena they'd bumbled into. After a few minutes, Errsai broke the silence.

“While I am not a necromancer, I was given some relics that can be used in the field. The result won’t be as effective as a standard draug, but it would be better than nothing,” she said, pulling out a small bag.

Chase watched, curiosity piqued, as she pulled out several items: a silver goblet, a small pouch, and a silver rod. She placed the cup on the ground, the pouch next to it, and the rod on the other side. Errsai then removed a small, sealed vial from a pocket in her cloak, and carefully poured a small amount of a viscous, black liquid into the cup.

Chase glanced up at Errsai and saw her expression was one of grim determination. She opened the pouch and sprinkled a small amount of white powder into the goblet. Errsai then touched the silver rod to the rim of the cup and murmured a few words under her breath.

At first, nothing happened. Then, a faint mist rose from the goblet, which quickly grew denser, forming a hazy cloud. The mist swirled and shifted, taking on the vague shape of a man. It lingered for a moment, then dissipated, leaving behind a wispy figure, its features indistinct. The wispy figure drifted to overlay Skeld’s body, sinking into the deceased dokkalfar’s corpse.

A Moment passed, and Skeld's corpse shuddered. The skin grew pale, and the eyes took on a glassy sheen. His body slowly rose to a seated position, his movements stiff and jerky. Skeld's gaze was fixed on a point somewhere in the distance, and his mouth hung open slightly.

Skeld slowly turned his head to face Errsai, and let out a low moan, a pitiful sound that sent shivers down Chase's spine and caused his stomach to start doing flip flops.