Harrin froze as it spoke, his mind stalling. Grissials couldn’t speak. They were weapons of a most vicious nature and nothing more.
It took another step towards him, grinding its foremost fist into the ground. Its face wrinkled as it opened its mouth wider, deeply inhaling his scent. It spoke again, still in a gravelly growl.
“Are you the slayer?”
Harrin’s grip tightened. Something was deeply wrong if a grissial could speak. Was it a tactic? Some method whereby they tricked their prey?
No, it wasn’t possible. If a grissial decided to kill something it was as good as an execution. The only reason he could think of that one would need to speak was… communication? Interrogation? Intimidation?
It looked at - or at least inclined its head towards - Senna. “Are you the slayer?”
Senna went on tiptoe to loudly whisper to Harrin. “I can’t hear it. Is it talking?”
Harrin nodded, and although the grissial lacked eyes Harrin knew it was watching. “Do you… not talk?”
A loud crunch interrupted the conversation as one of the smaller grissials took a bite out of one of the corpses, a six-legged creature with three disparate spines and a multitude of bone spikes coating its body. The grissial leader didn’t turn around, but Harrin and Senna were very aware of the ease with which it scooped a hole from both armor and flesh. It spat the chunk of metal out a few seconds later.
“You do not,” The three-armed grissial decided. “But you listen. Come.”
It approached them, rippling muscle and exterior flesh twisting as it walked. Harrin did the first thing he thought of and stabbed forward, aiming for the torso. The blade hit the grissial in its stomach and cleanly passed through, the muscle splitting and kneading out of the way. Thrown off-balance by the lack of resistance, Harrin stumbled forward, and a moment later the flesh slammed shut on his sword, incredible force pressing on both sides to keep it trapped in the grissial’s body.
The grissial stared down at him. “Your bones are strong,” It repeated. “You are not.”
Harrin stared at it evenly, then began to pull.
The grissial stared down at the sword as it began to slide out of its stomach. With a multi-shouldered shrug, its flesh softened, and Harrin yanked the sword out. The blood along its blade flowed along the tip and into the grissial’s innards, disappearing under the surface. The exposed flesh glistened for a moment before darkening.
Briefly putting his fears aside, Harrin took his sword back and carefully began inspecting it for damage.
Senna took a step forward, her voice quiet and worried. “What are you?”
The grissial grinned, causing her to retreat. “Gnaws-On-Bones.”
She squinted up at it. “What?”
It - he? - stared back down at her, placing all of his hands on the ground once again. “You can’t hear?”
A slow grin crossed his face as it looked from Senna to Harrin, and he bounced slightly. “You don’t talk and she can’t listen!” He rumbled happily. Harrin glared at him. Grissials couldn’t talk and they definitely couldn’t understand humor. Something deeply wrong was going on.
Gnaws-On-Bones chuckled, a frankly horrifying sound not unlike claws on metal. “You will come.” He finished, leaving the grin on his face. The expression bore significantly less humor than it had only a moment ago. If anything, it seemed to Harrin as though Gnaws was trying to display as many of his teeth as possible.
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Senna tapped Harrin’s shoulder. He made sure to keep Gnaws in the corner of his vision as he turned to face her.
She looked concerned. “I don’t think we should go with him.”
Gnaws interrupted with what might have been construed as a cheerful tone. “I did not ask.”
There it was. Harrin had been waiting for the veneer to be peeled away, and that was what he’d been looking for. Now all he had to do was…
...what? He couldn’t take on five grissials. Even if they weren’t how he remembered them, their abilities seemed unchanged. As his options stood now, he could either take them on in combat and undoubtedly die again, or do as they asked.
The decision grated at his nerves. He wasn’t the type to run from a fight. It made no sense not to fight. If threats had been exchanged, what point was there in imitating good graces?
But this would not be a fight. It wouldn’t even be a massacre. What he’d done to the mercenaries, that had been one-sided. Here, the grissials wouldn’t even have to work with each other. If even one of Gnaw’s hands closed around Harrin’s head, the fight would be over, and he had no doubt the grissial could move far faster than it’d yet displayed.
Sheathing his sword, he looked down at Senna and gave her a sharp nod. She actually flinched at the motion.
Gnaws was humming when she turned to face him. “We’ll come with you.”
The grissial grinned widely, giving them a better view of his teeth. There were at least three rows, and not a single tooth matched the other. It was as if Gnaws had rammed teeth from a hundred different species into his mouth. Which, Harrin realized, was probably the case.
“We will go, then.” Gnaws told them, turning to leave. The grissials who had accompanied him finished collecting the bodies of the mercenaries, stacking them six or seven high. The weight didn’t seem to be noticeable.
“Wait.” Senna said, glancing at Harrin. She seemed to be unwilling to speak for a moment, eyes shifting away. “Were… were there any mages?”
Harrin stared at her for a moment, processing, and then suddenly understood the question. He gave her another nod and started walking through the wrecked camp, looking for a certain body as Gnaws watched.
He found the robed woman after a moment and signaled Senna to come closer. She still had the impromptu stake buried in her chest, an almost confused expression frozen forever on her face. A dried line of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth.
Senna looked a little nauseous when she saw her, but swallowed and knelt next to her. More than a little curious, Harrin leaned in closer to watch. Even Gnaws came closer, a dull thud accompanying every step.
Closing her eyes, Senna put a hand on the mage’s stomach and took a deep breath. Licking her lips, she whispered something.
It wasn’t a word as far as Harrin knew. It wasn’t anything he could have said even if he could speak. The world resonated with the echo, a faint mirage flowing around the dead mage’s body, distorting Harrin’s vision.
Everything was still.
And then a breath was drawn, an unneeded inhale of air as the mage’s chest bucked. Her eyes focused, filled with panic as she scrabbled helplessly at the stake embedded beneath her collarbone. Senna screamed out of surprise, falling over, and Gnaws took several steps back. Without hesitation, Harrin grabbed the spike and yanked it out. A sudden gush of blood followed, but fell to a trickle almost instantly.
The woman sat up, choking on nothing for a moment, then stared at the gathered people. Squinting in confusion, she asked, “What ha-”
Her eyes fell on Harrin and widened. She tried to scoot backwards, but before anyone could react, Senna’s hand shot forward and latched around her wrist. Stepping forward, she placed a hand beneath the newly revived woman’s sternum. Mauve energy violently ripped out of the woman in a torrent, darkening to a familiar shade of purple as it funneled into Senna’s arm.
The former mage stammered, confusion stuttering across her rapidly shriveling face as everyone watched. Without her visible volition, she began to curl up, her skin wrinkling before their eyes. The mage’s fingers snapped audibly as they clenched, and the light finally drained from her eyes.
Senna staggered back, off-balance. For once, Harrin made no move to catch her, and she grabbed onto his shoulder.
He was staring at the emaciated husk that had been the mage only a few seconds before, thinking about his own resurrection. He hadn’t been yanked from the grave and forced to follow Senna’s demands. He had been extended an offer, and had agreed. Had this mage been given an offer as well?
Harrin couldn’t imagine a deal that would be worth going through what he’d just witnessed, which meant either that no offer had been given… or Senna had broken it.