Lafrenia

The traumatic experience from their last expedition showed that the forests here were more dangerous than the Kirovgrad industrial district after sunset, so this time, Myroluba was fully prepared. Wrapping herself in a cloak to protect against branches, covering her head with a wide-brimmed hat to ward off ticks, and pulling her gloves tighter for a better grip on the handle of her firearm, she looked almost like the perfect wanderer, except for the very strange shoes, which, to some extent, helped her avoid sinking into the ankle-deep, dung-filled soil, but did nothing to protect her from the mosquitoes, the ferocity of which she had not encountered even in Refitea. By the time the eyes, which had long been felt lurking in the thicket, took on a clearer outline, the formation stopped, and the commander gave the signal to prepare for battle. The disgusting mutants, with the clatter of rusty iron and a hoarse cry, rushed out of the thicket at the larger detachment, accompanied by the wild laughter of monkeys, and Myra was sure she saw one of them greedily eyeing her with a predatory gaze, but it turned out to be her neighbor, the elder Korel. A piece of semi-liquid monkey excrement flew from somewhere towards the group, which was gracefully cut in half by Lance's sword, so that the splashes from it passed within a few centimeters of the group; he turned with a triumphant smile to the lady of his heart, in order to utter a gallant compliment, but this remark was drowned out by the deafening thunder that seemed to come from the very depths of hell. After that, mostly chaos ensued, marked by desperate running, indiscriminate shooting, and a bloodbath. The monkeys fell to the ground like overripe apples, the dazed warriors tried to kill all the non-existent ghosts in this forest, which seemed to be hiding behind every bush, every tree. This seriously shattered the psyche of some of them: the younger Korel, mistaking his brother for a monkey, tried to provide him with first aid by wrapping the head, torn into rags, into one terrible bandaged lump, saying that everything would be fine, and no one could bring themselves to correct him at that moment; and their narrow-eyed comrade decided to get to the bottom of the essence of the primate he had killed, apparently having some old personal scores with them, although it is quite possible that nothing had changed in his mental state. Their only loss was a Novichok, the middle Korel, apparently some acquaintance of Airllis, well-dressed and clean-shaven - perhaps he decided to join their group just for fun, out of old habit? His death seemed to deeply sadden most of the group, but at the same time strengthened many of them in the simple thought that death can come at every step, and there is no place for uninterested people in their business. Calling upon Rishe for the repose of his soul, Myra cleaned and reloaded her weapon, and then touched up her makeup, after which she refreshed herself with perfume to get rid of the ubiquitous smell of gunpowder. "Are you not injured?" she asked her passionate companion, having finished with her immediate tasks, more out of politeness, because she had seen with her own eyes how the enemy's two-handed sword carved chunks of meat out of him again and again. "I must say that your stubborn unwillingness to die is truly worthy of an aristocratic person, although at first glance it seemed to me that there was nothing but empty bravado behind you - there are many of you who thaw out in the spring. I was pleasantly surprised," she clapped her hands lightly. *** After the scene at the outpost, she greeted the chief sentry: "Zdravstvuyte, tovarisch!" she saluted the soldier. "We were very lucky to stumble upon these scoundrels and eliminate them before they could do more serious harm to less prepared people. But there are certainly more dangerous creatures lurking here, like those monkeys. I would recommend that you, if possible, comb the surrounding lands - this would benefit and raise the kingdom's reputation in the eyes of the locals. As for your hospitality, spasibo for the hleb-sol; my only request to you will be to share some ammunition, if possible. The last skirmish left me at a dangerously low level for self-defense.