The light rain persisted, with icy droplets tapping crisply on the iron shell of the alchemy golem.
The Fearless stood silently before Tax Collector Brent, his red eyes coldly surveying the surroundings, ready to respond to any potential attack at any moment.
The Communication Stone of the War Lizardfolk chief lit up, and it murmured a few hisses before stepping back.
Soon after, steady footsteps emerged from the rain screen.
Werewolf Mage Frost Fang walked slowly, his blue-gray fur soaked by the rain, clinging tightly to his well-contoured form.
His eyes glowed a ghostly green in the dim light, claws lightly tapping his waist bone staff, making a subtle "click" sound.
"Humans."
Frost Fang said, "You shouldn't be here."
Brent forced himself to straighten his back, despite the lurking pain in his chest.
He stared at Frost Fang, a trace of contempt flashing in his eyes.
To him, mages among the monster races were merely slightly smarter beasts.
