"So do I, boy," came the voice of an elderly gremlin.
Had he been standing straight, the gremlin would have been quite tall, about as much as the average Isoran. His muddy gray cloak was tattered and torn from years of wear, but his golden eyes still shone with impetuous youth. A short beard on his chin and two pairs of white stripes decorated the withered brown fur of his aged face.
But his most intriguing feature was the wry smile he wore on his lips. He placed a paw on Jaxter's shoulder and stated quietly, "Come. I know a place where you can stay."
The situation was clearly getting out of hand. To his right, Blesse and Snarble were engaged in intense combat. To his left, Xindao and Freya were fighting over a throne he could not comprehend. These were beings he was not in league with, and he was afraid. For the first time in a long time, Jaxter Merrick was afraid.
Jaxter dashed by Sono, grabbing him by the arm.
"We have to go. Now." He ordered him.
This is hopeless. This all started with a few murders and now I'm a hitman for angels, demons, and who knows what. Vogdammit.
Blesse isn't herself anymore...Xindao and Freya are two delusional rulers fighting over a throne that's dust. Snarble is just another animal who grew opposable thumbs. I hate Cradle.