“There! Did you see that?!” Paladin was pointing into the city while holding the binoculars to his face. His black-gloved hand was steady and almost accusing the skyline of cheating.
Standing next to Paladin, one foot on the raised guard of the rooftop, Proust squinted toward the battlefield. He scanned the conflict for the target of Paladin’s attention. In the distance, a building seemed to expand before fire belched from the windows. It imploded into a growing cloud of dust. From the gray cough of destruction appeared humanoid forms, heroes and villains continuing the eternal struggle between good and evil in Siren’s Call.
“No.”
“Just wait. Rumors I’ve heard describe someone here who seems to appear out of nowhere, heal the injured, and vanish just as quick. She shows no loyalty either, much to Longbow’s frustration and joy. If some eyewitness reports are accurate, then we may have found – “
“Isabella.”
A pause. “Right. Know her name?” Paladin was still looking for someone in the distance.
“Diana. Maybe Miran.”
“Can you tell from this distance?”
“Maybe.”
Paladin grunted acknowledgement. He perked as the battle increased in pitch and rolled into better view, less obscured by the maze of buildings in between. Longbow and Arachnos, hero and villain seemed to alternate advance and retreat.
A flash of light appeared where the battle was at its nadir, among wounded from both sides. From the light appeared a tall and slender woman, bald head and purple skin obvious against the grey of the city and battle. She spread her hands and a circular wave a green energy washed over the fallen. As quickly, and brightly, as she arrived, she was gone. Almost instantly another dark figure appeared and slashed through the air the healer occupied with a sinister blade. Then he too vanished.
“What the …” Paladin lowered the binoculars in shock.
Lowering his leg, Proust breathed in. “Hrm. Famous.”
“Or infamous. Colonel, she being hunted.”
“False.” Proust took a few steps away from the ledge and opened a large metal case. Emblazoned across the face of the lid was a large red cross outlined in yellow. He pulled out an armored helmet and assorted body armor parts.
Paladin raised an eyebrow. “Your group sanctioning you being here?” He smirked mockingly.
Clicking an armored boot tight, Proust looked at Paladin, “Autonomous.”
“Hmph. Plan?”
“Retrieve.”
“Who is it anyway?”
“Miran.”
Standing next to Paladin, one foot on the raised guard of the rooftop, Proust squinted toward the battlefield. He scanned the conflict for the target of Paladin’s attention. In the distance, a building seemed to expand before fire belched from the windows. It imploded into a growing cloud of dust. From the gray cough of destruction appeared humanoid forms, heroes and villains continuing the eternal struggle between good and evil in Siren’s Call.
“No.”
“Just wait. Rumors I’ve heard describe someone here who seems to appear out of nowhere, heal the injured, and vanish just as quick. She shows no loyalty either, much to Longbow’s frustration and joy. If some eyewitness reports are accurate, then we may have found – “
“Isabella.”
A pause. “Right. Know her name?” Paladin was still looking for someone in the distance.
“Diana. Maybe Miran.”
“Can you tell from this distance?”
“Maybe.”
Paladin grunted acknowledgement. He perked as the battle increased in pitch and rolled into better view, less obscured by the maze of buildings in between. Longbow and Arachnos, hero and villain seemed to alternate advance and retreat.
A flash of light appeared where the battle was at its nadir, among wounded from both sides. From the light appeared a tall and slender woman, bald head and purple skin obvious against the grey of the city and battle. She spread her hands and a circular wave a green energy washed over the fallen. As quickly, and brightly, as she arrived, she was gone. Almost instantly another dark figure appeared and slashed through the air the healer occupied with a sinister blade. Then he too vanished.
“What the …” Paladin lowered the binoculars in shock.
Lowering his leg, Proust breathed in. “Hrm. Famous.”
“Or infamous. Colonel, she being hunted.”
“False.” Proust took a few steps away from the ledge and opened a large metal case. Emblazoned across the face of the lid was a large red cross outlined in yellow. He pulled out an armored helmet and assorted body armor parts.
Paladin raised an eyebrow. “Your group sanctioning you being here?” He smirked mockingly.
Clicking an armored boot tight, Proust looked at Paladin, “Autonomous.”
“Hmph. Plan?”
“Retrieve.”
“Who is it anyway?”
“Miran.”
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