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*THIS IS A ROUGH DRAFT, CRITICIZE AS YOU SEE FIT*
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“So it definitely is a dragon.”
“It is our best guess based on the information we have. There are some other runic infused creates like dragons who have sturdier shells, but that would not answer why a dragon was stationed at the castle just under the vault holding the egg.”
“So what is the next step?” Goblet took a step away from the wall. The coach shifted its weight with the movement.
“Well…” Hugh crossed his arms and looked at the victim. He tilted his head to the side. “The egg must be pretty big.”
Hugh took Raisor by the wrists and raised his palms to Goblet. “The burns go from the base of the palm all the way to the fingertips.” He let go of one hand, and used his index finger to trace the discolored burn marks from just above the wrist to the tip of the middle finger. “They are also quite dense.” He ran his finger side-to-side over Raisor’s fingers.
“So the egg is…” Goblet formed his hands to make it look like he was sculpting a bowl from clay.
“Yes,” Hugh said. He placed Raisor’s arm back to his side. He then searched through his equipment and picked up his scalpel. “If you would like to leave the carriage, now would be the time.”
“Say no more.”
Goblet stomped his way out of the carriage and onto the weak mud outside. Thin slices of wind cut through the wooden slats and cut him across the skin. He did not shiver. He picked up his axe from against the carriage and walked around. He stopped in front of the horse and scratched it’s nose. “I bet you have seen some things. You would have to with a master like him.” He peaked his head into the stall and saw the barren hay pile. “Well that just cannot do, now can it?” He leaned his axe against the outside of the stall, then swiveled his head around till he saw a pile of straw hay with a pitchfork sticking out from the center. Goblet grabbed the pitchfork, thrust it into the straw and pulled out a fat chunk. He hoisted it over the edge of the stall and shook the straw onto the pille. It didn’t look like enough. He repeated the process.
A familiar clunking rattle came from the other side of the stable. Goblet looked to see Siguard. He had his sword drawn, shield out front, and eyes hidden from sight. “How did it go?” Goblet asked. He rested the butt of the pitchfork on the ground.
Siguard took a rattling step forward. “I must serve my master,” he said. His words were drawn out.
“That’s what we’re doing.” Goblet took a few steps forward. Siguard did not sheath his sword, or lower his shield. His hairs stood on end. “Are you okay?”
“I serve my master, and he has asked for what you have taken.” He took another couple steps forward.
“I might not be the quickest tool here, but I don’t think you’re making much sense right now.” The conversation the whole group had returned to him. He remembered that Troforsect said they had a man on the inside. “Who is your master?”