Wheeling in the sky, it was not hard for the transformed mage to spy the plumes of smoke trailing from the lurching titans like airy cloaks. Their blazing red eyes were different from the more passive colors he'd seen in the golem during is time in Sahova. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong.
No expert in Animation, the mage no less had faith in the expertise of the nuits to know that malfunction was likely an unforseen possibility within their circle. Such weak, fragile creatures, a rampaging golem could spell the end to quite a number of them. With that understood, whatever was happening with the golem was likely a message from Sahova itself. No doubt the nuits would attempt to slaughter the Sylirans to a man.
There was a twinge of regret as he took wing around the scene. He hoped Hadrian and Trente would see the error allying with such oath-drunk oafs and make their way to the castle...surely they would be-
But the service golem beside master Farke flared sudden crimson, menacing the nuit as the three golems rolled into place.
No...the nuits as well?
They might be a conspiritorial race, but to sabotage the golems and wait for this moment in particular? With such a high ranking nuit?
It didn't make sense.
Something else was interfering.
Diving low and across the open grounds, Wrenmae landed on the sill of the empty laboratory he'd used to leap from. Hopping down from the sill, his body was already shifting up and back, bones melting together, spreading, hardening, and shifting to accommodate his rapid rise to his original form.
Grabbing his clothes, cloak, and weapons, he pushed out of the laboratory and made his way to Rayage. The nuit had to be warned about the golems...they were all in danger if the golem population of Sahova revolted.
No expert in Animation, the mage no less had faith in the expertise of the nuits to know that malfunction was likely an unforseen possibility within their circle. Such weak, fragile creatures, a rampaging golem could spell the end to quite a number of them. With that understood, whatever was happening with the golem was likely a message from Sahova itself. No doubt the nuits would attempt to slaughter the Sylirans to a man.
There was a twinge of regret as he took wing around the scene. He hoped Hadrian and Trente would see the error allying with such oath-drunk oafs and make their way to the castle...surely they would be-
But the service golem beside master Farke flared sudden crimson, menacing the nuit as the three golems rolled into place.
No...the nuits as well?
They might be a conspiritorial race, but to sabotage the golems and wait for this moment in particular? With such a high ranking nuit?
It didn't make sense.
Something else was interfering.
Diving low and across the open grounds, Wrenmae landed on the sill of the empty laboratory he'd used to leap from. Hopping down from the sill, his body was already shifting up and back, bones melting together, spreading, hardening, and shifting to accommodate his rapid rise to his original form.
Grabbing his clothes, cloak, and weapons, he pushed out of the laboratory and made his way to Rayage. The nuit had to be warned about the golems...they were all in danger if the golem population of Sahova revolted.