“We'd rather not waste time going back to Tenumbur and just waiting for this thing to go away.” Veros bluntly shuts down the frightened Mistwalker's ideas of turning around. “We all want to reach Checkpoint Rosemont as soon as possible, and hopefully reach Armasstadt from there.”
“But I'm trying to head back to Tenumbur!” Egart continues to plead. “If you all continue forward, I'll have to limp the next several miles!”
“We can take you back to Rosemont with us.” Royd chimes in, offering an idea that's essentially the opposite of what Egart wishes. “You can heal up there and catch a ride with south with someone. Maybe even the Legion food carts.”
“Are you crazy?” Egart's begging continues with increasing desperation. “I was just running from the damn monster, and you all want to take me back to it?”
“You'd rather limp alone for several miles?” Royd rebuts.
“I... Ugh.” Egart heaves an extremely long, loud sigh. “Of all the people to find me, why did it have to be ones with a death wish?”
“We won't force you to go with us.” Veros offers some reassurance. “Even if you decide to walk back to Tenumbur alone, we can tell you that we haven't run into any undead so far, so the path is more or less safe. You should be fine, even if you're on your own.”
“Really?” The lone survivor asks, but brings the topic back to the unknown threat to the north. “Look, I don't know you lot, but you seem nice. Don't continue north. My group, they were experienced Mistwalkers, but that thing... It came out of nowhere and just tore through them.”
“If we don't try to dispose of this monster, then who will?” Royd interjects with a rather altruistic, if not naively oversimplified viewpoint. “If it's as strong as you say, then it should be killed before it decimates more Mistwalkers.”
“But you will be the Mistwalkers it decimates!” Egart remains persistent in his pleas to keep the group out of danger.
“Listen.” Veros raises his hand to offer an ultimatum regarding the situation. “We can't split up the group just to send one of us to escort you back to Tenumbur, especially if there's some monstrosity waiting for us in the north; and we can't waste the day with all of us escorting you, either. We're almost half-way to Rosemont. So your choices are: come with us and we'll take you to Rosemont, or go south to Tenumbur on your own.”
Egart's face strains with the decision: another fifteen or so miles southward, alone? Or go back north with a new group, almost certain to encounter the beast that destroyed his previous team? He can't fault them for refusing to split up, and they won't budge when it comes to moving forward, as they don't want to waste a day. After a very pensive, extended moment, Egart makes his decision with a strong sigh.
“I can't.” He says as he hangs his head. “I can't face that thing again. There's no way.”
“I see.” Veros replies without any surprise to be found in his voice. “I understand. Before you set off, take this.” He offers a backup dagger that he's yet to use on the journey. “I noticed your scabbard is empty. The way southbound has been clear for us, but we can't guarantee anything. Best to have some sort of protection.”
“Okay.” Egart sullenly accepts the parting gift, still clearly dejected that he'll be continuing south alone, and with a limp leg.
“I'm sorry we can't help you more, but we can't deviate from our mission.” Veros attempts to reassure the depressed survivor by offering one last thing: a peach. “One for the road.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Thank you.” Egart utters, barely audible.
“Stay safe.” Veros bids farewell as he mounts his horse again and looks to the rest of the team. “Let's go.”
Royd turns to tries to offer some words of encouragement as they walk away. “Don't worry, Egart. We'll do something about that beast. Maybe you'll hear about it later!” He maintains a positive disposition, but Egart, still burdened by doubts, doesn't respond.
As the distance grows between the group and Egart, Atticus turns around in time to the injured survivor limp southward down the road, his figure eventually veiled by the grey mist, disappearing completely. He silently recalls his encounter with the young Willard Reese back on his first day past the barrier. He can't help but wonder if the inexperienced young lad made it back to Zenith Gate safely or not. The knight has no way to find out for himself, short of turning around and venturing south, but obviously that's out of the question. Did he do the right thing for Willard? Should he have offered more help? Was the group doing the right thing for Egart? Ever since he left Threcia, the idea of how a person is able to gauge whether or not they've done all they truly could to help another has resurfaced in his head time and time again. Every time he offers his assistance for something, he's begun to second-guess his own efforts.
“Will he be alright?” A feminine voice interrupts his thoughts. It's Zyra, who looks just as unsure of Egart's fate as Atticus does.
“Hard to say.” The knight responds, somewhat coldly, but not on purpose. “It'll be difficult for him to reach Tenumbur before nightfall.”
“Why couldn't we have just one of us escort him?” The pyromancer wonders aloud.
“Then afterward, we'd have one of us alone, trying to catch up to the rest. Then what do the rest do? Wait? Or continue ahead into danger with one less person?” Atticus bluntly explains the reasoning behind Veros's choice. “If he didn't want to come with us, then going back alone is the only option that doesn't impede our plans.”
“That seems rather harsh.” Zyra laments the decision, though doesn't disagree with the reasoning. “But I guess out here, it's for the best. We can't look after every person in distress we come across.”
The young pyromancer hasn't experienced such cold pragmatism regarding survival in a hostile land before. She feels disappointed in herself, much like Atticus, but also knows that it's likely best for the group to let Egart go on his own. At the front of the party, Kellar begins to ask Veros of his intentions regarding the supposed eight-foot-tall monastery knight.
“Are we seriously goin' to fight it?” He bald rogue inquires, in no certain rush to be thrown into danger. “You heard the man. It has the strength of ten men.”
“We can't just sit around and wait for it to wander out of our way.” Veros rejects any budding ideas of staying put and waiting out the threat. “We don't know how long that would take, nor how many others it would kill in the meantime.”
Kellar lets out a sigh. Out of the entire team, his sense of self-preservation has always been the strongest, as he's always been the first to ask for a way to avoid confrontations with dangers, though his complaints have grown less fervent. A small voice in his head had always told him to just run back to Zenith Gate, as he isn't there for fame or to save Yhordran, but to find something valuable to sell. However, he's ventured too deep to turn back now.
“He could be exaggerating.” Royd suddenly throws in a comment to try and ease Kellar's worries. “Either way, it must be a hell of a thing to dispose of a whole Mistwalker party, but it might not really be eight feet tall.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better, you meathead?” Kellar fires off at Royd's poor attempt at boosting morale.
“I was just saying.” Royd shrugs nonchalantly. Kellar just lets out a small groan.
“Egart said it was only a few miles ahead.” Veros, as diligent as ever, reminds everyone to stay on their toes. “It could've wandered south, so we might see it sooner rather than later. Keep your eyes open.”
The group quietly complies, keeping their eyes forward with intent, with the occasional glance to the roadsides to keep their surroundings in check. In their attempt to be alert, the intimidating silence rears its ugly head again, making the atmosphere of the area seem more hostile despite the increased awareness of the Mistwalkers. This is the first time they've been on active lookout for a possible threat they've been told of beforehand, as opposed to being surprised by one they did not know of. For the first time in their journey, their minds are prodded by a tinge of paranoia. They're ready to jump at suspicious shadows or charge towards strange noises veiled by the grey wall before them, for any could be the monstrosity described by the frantic survivor. The typical, shambling corpses they're already used to seeing aren't terribly dangerous individually, but an eight-foot-tall undead knight with the power of ten men is something else entirely.