Falling Guillotine Lore:
What won’t be given must be taken.
“THIS PLACE HAS THE BEST SAKE!” The Titan bellowed. The Warlock beside him grunted in assent.
Araito chuckled to himself from his unseen position at the grill. His family’s sake was fermented inside a discarded Servitor. The distinctive tang came from rust and Ether.
“We should enjoy it while we can,” the Warlock replied. “Might not get many more chances.”
“FEAR NOT,” his dining companion declared. “We’ll find a way into the portal.”
Araito thought he recognized the Titan’s booming voice but couldn’t place it. The cook was struck by how strained it sounded.
“And once we do, we’ll RIP THE WITNESS’S HEAD RIGHT OFF. Smoke and all. Just like I did to that carper, Felwinter!”
Here was someone who had died many times. Who had lost countless comrades. Who produced fire from their bare hands. And yet, the undercurrent of fear beneath the Titan’s voice was unmistakable.
Araito was disquieted. The false bravado frightened him more than any admission of doubt ever could.
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