[something bad is about to happen]
Tunde received that short but ominous message from Elyria as he got out of the large land vessel, freezing on the spot. Elder Joran turned to him, cocking his head as he spoke.
“What is it?” he asked.
Tunde sent the message quietly to him, eyes straying to the artificer who appeared from a corner leading to the small settlements around the stronghold itself, a large mechanical-looking canine at his side with a large holding for all sorts of melee weapons that glowed. Imbued weapons, straight from his forge, handing them over to Draven who nodded in appreciation, eyes wide already. Joran walked closer to him, whispering into his ears.
“Say nothing to the artificer, we don’t know his role in this,” he said.
Tunde didn’t nod, didn’t give away any expression to show that the elder had said something, simply bowing to Borus when he got close to them.
“Adept Tunde, adept Joran, or is it lord now?” Borus asked.