Darin sat on an overturned supply crate near the edge of the war camp, elbows resting on his knees, trying his best to not look completely overwhelmed.
He failed spectacularly.
Across from him knelt the Gallikarn elder, still partially dirt-stained from all the head-slamming earlier—and to his right, the Cyclops now sat cross-legged like a polite boulder. Behind them, Steve was flopped in a nap-puddle and Grumble still hadn't left the Cyclops's head. At this point, Darin was starting to suspect the beast had adopted it.
"Alright," Darin said with a long sigh. "Let's start simple. Elder—uh, what was your name again?"
The elder, still kneeling, blinked and straightened a bit.
"I am Murgan, Warden of Lore. Voice of the Stone Shrines. Keeper of the Dust-Parchments. Deliverer of the—"
"Okay, okay, just Murgan's fine," Darin interrupted quickly. "Let's get to it. What exactly has been happening with your people?"
