Zarik hadn't fallen off, he wasn't even shaken or afraid by their shoddy landing. In fact, he was ecstatic, excited by the thrill of the danger. The Sohr Khal simply looked upon him while he vigorously and vividly expressed just how much he'd enjoyed it, and even asked to try again, then began to transform. They recognized that Zarik was happy, of course they did. Who wouldn't with a display like that, but they felt nothing in return to the joy they had caused. There was no pride, no contagious glee, nothing. The best they could do was pretend to feel those things, and when their transformation ended, Fridgar also smiled with their sharp teeth bared. "We don't know about that, it could have been a lot worse,"
they said as they pulled their skull mask on over their head, then closed the gap between themselves and the boy, then guided him toward the source of the scent. "We're glad you're okay... We normally have much better landings than that."
Did you hurt yourself when landing?
, he asked, to which Fridgar laughed a hollow snicker. "It's been a long time since we've felt any real pain, we'll be fine,"
they said vaguely, then proceded to the door. After they'd gathered a feel for what was beyond the door, Zarik seemed unsure. His father wasn't the type to keep company or friends, so whoever was in there were neither their friends nor family. They were hired hands, thugs more than likely. That didn't seem to intimidate Zarik though, and he knocked regardless. Fridgar, at this point, would have killed them without a second thought and been done with it, whether they were innocent or not.
They stood at his side when the male opened the door, and fridgar scrunched their nose at the scent of fish, similar to that of Zalazar's torture room. Fridgar blew through their nose to dispell the smell, then focused only on Zalazar's scent. They couldn't see the man, but they could feel him and his stout, stocky build. They could smell the grime of his skin and his hair, matted with sea water. The Lothar clenched both their axes tightly, but let the rest of their body appear loose and at ease. They activated three sheets to the wind, and their reflexes increased dramatically. If there was to be a fight, they were ready for it. Zarik asked for his father and was cut off mid-sentence by the man with a low born, rough accent, who told him to enter.
Zarik looked at them a glance, then walked into the building. When Fridgar followed, the stout man began to close the door, and Fridgar pressed against the surface with the tip of their ax to stay the man's push. Just the kid
, he said with foul breath. Fridgar said nothing, and waited in silence while the Biqaj protested. He threatened the thugs with leaving, as though he had a choice, and before any further action could be made, the Protean was locked out, and the man barricaded the door, which they felt. Fridgar pressed the handle of their ax with their palm against the door as if they'd reacted late, but merely felt with their sixth sense and amplified vibration senses. There were a variety of sounds indoors, lots of laughing, arguing, the lot of it.
Fridgar stopped and thought. They could save Zarik again, quite easily in fact, or they could leave him to his fate and return to Alistair one husband down? They stayed there for a few trills in thought, and they considered how likely this possessive father of his was to let him go... The odds of Zarik returning to Alistair to tell him of how Fridgar had abandoned him, the odds that Alistair might find him and the same would be discovered. They didn't like the odds. Perhaps if Fridgar had somehow met with Zalazar in advance to arrange this better it would have been plausible. But there was too much at risk now, they had to save Zarik. Fridgar sighed, then lowered their axes to the floor.
An open palm pressed to the door and Fridgar lined themselves up. Their right arm pulled all the way back, then like a tensed coil, they unleashed and slammed their fist full pelt into the door. A massive shockwave boomed from the impact and the sound of thunder rolled across all of Lair that night in wake of the mighty strike. From indoors, the entire building shook, and rivulets of dust and stone ran from the ceiling. The chains and hooks all swung and bounced from the force of the impact and any or all the windows shattered and covered the ground with razor-sharp broken glass. Most notably, the door had shattered into a dozen or so fragments, and the barricade bar had snapped in half, but it was still standing. The Protean then cast adapt and took the Solghannon's
scales in place of their skin. Panels of their flesh flipped in sequence like shutters, and white scales were revealed beneath. Hard, thick, armored scales.
The Protean kneeled and collected their axes, then kicked the door with half their effort and all their body weight. The structure collapsed and crumbled on itself, and the shape of the massive Lotharro was left in its wake. A crossbow bolt flew their way and Fridgar could feel it coming, despite being blindfolded. They had little time to react, but it didn't matter. They let the bolt hit them, and it pinged from their broad, armored chest without so much as a scratch on their scales. The stout man from earlier came at them with his knife, and in a swift and precise motion, they severed his arm with the hungry whistle of their ax. The ginger fell to his knees, then screamed in horror as Fridgar fell to one knee, and spoke softly to him. "He's not a kid,"
they said before they lopped his head off with their only clean ax. His body hit the floor with a resounding thud and a spurt of blood.
Another bolt flew their way, and this one hit them square in the forehead. The arrow pierced their skull mask all the way and the point pressed to their scales but went to further. They looked to the source of the bolt while the arrow protruded from their head, then snarled, baring their vicious and sharp teeth. The third thug came at them with a greatsword after they'd taken not much more than three steps into the building. They only felt him as he entered a range of just ten feet, however. Despite being blind, the Lothar swerved to the right as the man struck at him with a heavy, overhead swing and the blade hit the ground, Fridgar turned to face him, where he was open and nearly dove for the kill before another bolt whizzed past their face. "Die already!" The swordsman yelled as he swung his mighty blade from the ground and to the right, aimed to strike Fridgar's side. They stepped backward to grow the gap as the heavy blade came hurtling toward them, and felt as it swung past them, then dove at him with their ax raised and slammed the blade into his face swiftly. They cut an enormous crevice into the man's head, then pressed their foot to his body and kicked him to the ground while they held on to their weapon.
Just as they expected, a fourth bolt came their way, but they were ready. Using the flat of their ax, they deflected the ranged strike to the ground, then charged with both their weapons ready for the source. The man quite literally screamed as the skull masked Lothar descended upon him, and in one swift swing of their blade, they had cut his throat open and hacked through the majority of his neck, but not quite all the way. The man gurgled and sputtered from the gash in his neck, then fell to the floor and dropped his crossbow. Fridgar stood there with spatters of blood painting their pale skin, and looked to the direction of Zarik's heartbeat while the crossbow wielder on the floor died. A stomp of their foot caved in his head, and the ranger was no more. "Are you unharmed?"
Fridgar asked as they kneeled at the iron door, then drew a runic trap upon the floor. They used a chained rune of both weakness and numbing to set the trap and tied the trigger mentally, then dilated the trap as far as they could with a push, and filled half the room.
they said as they backed away from the door. "We expect reinforcements, and if not... Cover your ears."
Fridgar rook a deep breath, then released it in a powerful roar while they echoed the Lurker's
voice. A terrible and vicious blood-curdling roar boomed from the Lothar, one so powerful and intense that the very building itself shook with the force of the reverberating sound
. If Zarik had ever encountered such a monstrosity in Ne'haer, he would certainly recognize it's roar. The aim was to lure whoever else was in the building to their umbral trap, the enormous fifty-foot circle that laid dormant and grey on the ground.