The skirmish was over quickly - a testament to the skill and experience of the group. However, the tension brought by the unexpected encounter was less eager to dissipate. Varys broke the silence first, and the hunters started to lower their equipment, but their breath was still ragged, eyes accusingly swift, senses uncomfortably sharp. The unease in their actions spoke of a silent assumption that the sudden attack was nature's brutal reminder that they remain acutely aware to the unpalatable truth - they were still very much in hostile territory, and it was very much looking forward to killing them.
Ingvar took a series of slow, unhurried breaths with a focused regulation of easing air in and out of his mouth and nostrils. In and out. Then eyes open.
The dwarf knelt down to examine one of the dead wolves. Attacks from beasts were far from unusual here in the mountains. They were hardy creatures, they had to be to survive here. But there had been something beyond just natural hardiness with the wolves they had just put down. He did not doubt that there were others in the company who had noticed. These animals had been more than rabid or starved - they had been
malicious.
Arrow to the shoulder, clearly penetrated but registered neither pain nor physical impairment. With the temperature, flames should be uncommon, but there were no signs of alarm at the sight of Faron's fire spell. That's another thing, Faron is a Drakkar - they're both an unusual sight in the mountains and there aren't many creatures here that size - at least none that wolves would encounter on a regular basis. And their growling is unnaturally low, even for the larger wolves of this region. But most worrying... is this.
His gauntleted fingers carefully, almost gently sifted through the rough fur of the dead wolf. Tracing the tell-tale shards of dark glass, he pulled apart the hairs until he could clearly see the join between the crystal and the actual skin. His eyes widened as he noted the way in which the crystal seemed fused together with flesh, almost as if it was alive and growing out of the skin itself. Taking the wolf's eyelids with a thumb and forefinger, he used his other hand to block and unblock the sunlight falling on it.
The way the light catches is not consistent with the glow of the crystal's facets, he observed.
Same can be confirmed with the purple glow in their eyes. One can conclude that the crystal itself is the origin of the luminescence.
Pulling at its mouth so that its fangs were bared, Ingvar scratched at one of the revealed incisors, before taking out his knife to wrench it out. Holding it up to the light, he noted the same purple glow.
Not only the flesh... could it be that it goes down even to the bone?
He brought his attention back to the crystals. They still had that same unsettling purple glow, quite unlike any he had seen before. These were not like the cheap illumined gemstones sold as trinkets on the streets of Alicante, but closer to some of the ancient artefacts he had encountered during his time as an archivist - devices involving powerful crystals that could hold immense magical energy in raw, volatile form. Yet even here was a difference. The neutral purity one would sense from those sources was not what was present here. There was a kind of wilful malevolence in the violet undulation of the crystals' light, as if it was alive and aching to run rampant. All of a sudden, Ingvar had to question whether the real beast was the wolf or the crystals embedded in it.
'Everyone - stay away from the wolves for now,' he called out to the rest of the company.
'There is something... not quite right. Faron! Areon!'
He beckoned to the two magicians in their company to join him in his autopsy.
'These crystals are quite unlike anything I've seen before, but I think they might be responsible for the unusual behaviour of these animals. Look at the way they're joined with the flesh here. It's almost like... it is a living part of them. I would like to try to extract one for a closer look. What do you think, my learned friends?'
