I) OUCHIES

Can't hardly draw a blade before the melee crushes in. Lazar does what he does best: Tries not to up and die.

Bashes here, clears a little space there, on the end of a burning sword. He stomps faces, hop-steps over others — friendly ones — in just the nick of time. And yeah, maybe he got your wrist. That's on you, mate.

But battle's done.

"Close one."

He rumbles, and steps forward, ignorant to the thin elven blade wedged deeply into his back.


II) THIS BELONGS IN A MUSEUM:

Spends some of his time at a mosaic of some winged creature, working bits loose with clear and constant focus. If any of that's unusual, it's that he hasn't gone after the gilt elves upstairs.

"Shine a light," Yeah, you. "This one's stuck."


III) REUNION (OPEN TO CAVE CREW)

"About fuckin' time," Stomped out of to survey their better half: "Some of us been working out here."

A mummy lifts its goblet behind him, tattered silks flapping from one creaking arm. Cheers.


IV) WILDCARD

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