Leopold heard the spearman’s plea, but for a few awkward strides he tried desperately to ignore it. Only when Jeren slapped him across the bow with his flailing arm did the merchant concede the request and skid to a halt. He turned to his man at arms and stuck out his tongue.

“I was giving it some thought.”

“Thought,” Jeren wheezed, “doesn’t usually lead to you raising a spear ready to throw.”

Leopold looked at his right arm and, true enough, his sabre spear was raised, grip firm about the well-polished shaft and pointing in the general vicinity of his prey. He bit his lip, the man behind the beast emerging and realising his mistake. He lowered it and shrugged.

“He looks quite certain about his claim.” Jeren span the rapier between forefinger and thumb, flicking its edge nervously as his loyalties and morals fought a little private war in his heart.

“Let’s find out.” The merchant nodded gruffly and turned to face the spearman. He approached with a friendly smile, with a little dash of questioning added for good measure. “When you say don’t kill it…do you mean, don’t kill it a lot?” He stopped ten feet away, just out of reach of the naginata and close enough to fire point blank should he need to.

“M’lord means to ask if you know what that creature is, truly?”

The thunder god continued to rage, unaware of the decisions bringing heroes and villains to it’s proving grounds. Though Leopold had assumed it was an Old God gone awry, the look on the undead creature’s face, and the reverent presence of a dead priest made him question his view of reality.