Snippet #2794305

"Theory..." Syra hissed as she peered through the rife's scope. She fought the urge to squeeze the trigger, killing him wasn't worth giving away their position. Or was it? No, she thought better of it and instead focused on the man behind him, Blacksun. Her blood boiled and she handed the rife back to Ash before she lost the ability to keep the rifle from discharging. "He's got his own men here too, Blacksun must have been caught up in the kidnapping of the Witch's Thralls. He doesn't want them but Blacksun is his camp's whiskey distributor...so they have an agreement of sorts." She shook her head as she watched Blacksun mount an ant behind one of Theory's men. The two groups seemed peaceful enough, but things began to sour as Theory raised his blade to one of the guards of the camp.


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"You ever touch this man again, and I won't just gut you, I'll burn this place to the ground and round up your little families," he leaned in closer, the tip of his blade cutting the fabric of the sweating guard's shirt, "I'll cut out your tongue and make you all watch as my men take what they want from your wives and daughters. Then, you will feel the cold of Sorillian steel before your world fades to black," He smiled slyly, "Understood? Good, make sure your Bastard of a boss understands or I'll be forced to ensure he does," with that he nodded and one of his men let loose an arrow he'd ignited, launching it at one of the fruit-bearing plants just beyond the gate.

The Remnants than rode off, laughter trailing behind them. "You should maintain a low-profile for a while, my friend!" Theory called to Blacksun with a grin.

"Can't thank you enough for the assist, shame we had to leave those Thralls behind. Damn load of fun they were, ah well, pleasure comes and goes!" he laughed.