"If I go down, I'm taking you with me."
The exhaustion hit first.
The Scavenger’s lids began to sink comfortably. Too comfortably. The thought of giving in, of letting sleep take them, was more than appealing. After all, what could a little nap hurt while a vortex of sand was threatening to take you down into its depths?
Their grip on the pickaxe slipped.
No!
They would not give in. They had come too far, had endured too much. There was always a way to escape. There was always a way out.
The Scavenger reached inside themself, thinking only of the Murloc. They thought of its slimy green skin, its overbearing back spines, its rancid breath, its needle-sharp teeth.
”Ribbet.”
Yes. There it was. The Scavenger looked over to see their companion summoned right by their side. Somehow, even after death, the stupid creature had a way of coming back again. The Scavenger’s grip slipped even more, and without a second thought they let go—
--But the Murloc held on tight to the back of the Scavenger’s coat. Its frog fingers were just sticky enough to hold onto the glass, now exposed as the sand fell through the vortex. Its bulbous red eyes blinked at the Scavenger, blank with devotion. The Scavenger knew its fingers were slipping ever slightly, but this would hopefully delay the inevitable. Perhaps if the Necromancer fell before they did, the spiteful gods would show some mercy.
Still, the Scavenger felt very… very… tired.
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