Kamal Assante lay violently butchered, dead, Thoth’s judgement known, his protector necromancer too. Good. Undead were worse than vermin. Arcael’s arcane vision saw the glows of magic and enchantments upon the corpses, but one enchantment shone brightest…
‘The Scroll!’ Saabu roared, his face shining with wonder, his faith affirmed, knowledge and glory his, a secret of Thoth’s lore held within his hands.
The dark barbarian was cleaning his weapon, weakened from his rage, Goran likewise, cleaned his blades upon Assante’s tunic to write an insult in blood, but eyes alert to treasure. Gudin kicked the necromancer face up, the blade of her halberd ready to strike if the priest rose once more.
“Is it the real scroll? I’m tired of being threatened by kobolds.”
Saabu’s face was alive with religious joy, rapture, “Oh, yes, oh very yes!”
“Can you copy it?”
Saabu’s whiskers and ears were pointed forward, his hackles raised, his pupils huge, like a cat excited at a night, but this was him, alive to lore and magic, “Of course. Today comrades Thoth has truly blessed us.”
Arcael smiled for behind the N’kosi’s back Goran was miming an obscene act, showing contempt for Thoth, while the barbarian smirked.
“Good. Now let’s see how much treasure we can bleed from here.”