He turned to face the group, his eyes wild but determined.
"Listen up! We invested too much to turn back now. Thirty silver for bread. Three days of travel. The humiliation of playing charity workers. This village is a shithole, and if we don't want to end up like these peasants, we're going to march into that Tower and take everything that's not nailed down!"
"And if it is nailed down?" the heavyset man asked.
"WE'LL TAKE THE NAILS TOO!"
A cheer went up from the group—renewed energy, renewed purpose. They'd paid their price. Now it was time to collect.
The massive black doors began to open.
Slowly.
Ominously.
A wave of cold air rushed out, carrying with it the scent of stone and something else—something old and dangerous and 'hungry'.
The purple and pink lights swirling around the Tower intensified, casting strange shadows across their faces.
Tikon drew his sword, the metal singing as it left the sheath. "Let's go earn back what we lost."
