Arabella swallowed and felt her heart pinch against her will as Stalk ended up hitting the blue ring once again. They were over halfway through the contest now – only two more shots, and that was it.

Watching wide-eyed, Arabella pulled her mantle further up around her shoulders and shuddered as the wind struck like a snake in the grass – a thought that made her think back to Finnan's escapade a moment ago. And that only made the pit in her stomach grow ever deeper, gnawing at her psyche.

Not only the fact that her little halfling had been handling live snakes, but what he'd told her afterwards had stuck fast in her mind. Despite the reassurances from Master Nilrem that everything would be all right, something kept twinging in the back of her mind.

As consternation pulsed through her, Arabella felt her mouth pull taut, even as she strained to keep anything from coming out in her expression. While her companions had been debating what happened, she kept her thoughts to herself.

She didn't want to rock the boat. Especially not when they needed her support.

What she had said, though, she meant wholeheartedly. She'd never known Finnan to lie... and that was the crux of all her fears.

After Stalk fired his third arrow, the wind began die down once more. And then, just as it did, the Green Team's archer fired his shot, scoring yet another bull's eye as his crossbow bolt struck dead centre.

"Shit..." Logan muttered at her side, his golden eyes fixing intently on the different scores from where he stood bent over the barrier, hands clenching and unclenching. Just beside him, Finnan was still sat on the top beam, and cast a look at the paladin.

"Is Stalk doing well, Logan?" he asked, his round little face blank as a canvas.

Logan glanced up, his face heavily lined. "As best he can, Finnan, given this wind. But Milton's team is doing better, as are the Red Team. If this gets any worse..."

As she watched and listened, Arabella glimpsed a dimming of his bright golden irises, as though doubt had doused the fire inside him.

Seeing that look in Logan's gaze, that worry and hurt, made both her arms and her heart ache, and she longed to reach out and comfort him. To be the balm that would soothe his emotions and reassure him that all would be well.

But his tense, wound-up body language meant she wasn't sure if Logan wanted her to touch him. And that left her frozen stiff, even as a fire of her own burned within her core.

Arabella then cast her gaze onto the Green Team's archer - the same team as Anseis, who Finnan had called out earlier as being the one who summoned the snakes. And it did then occur to her that while everyone else's skill was being halted by the wind, Stalk included, he seemed to be hitting nearly dead-centre every time.

As she noticed that, a few golden tresses flapped in front of her face and her left cheek was struck with a chilling burn. A few people grabbed their hats as the wind picked up once more, blowing across the field. Only then did she realize that the archers were taking aim once more, right before the wind struck once again.

Or at least most of them were.

The Green Team's archer held his bow up to his eyes and peered down the sights... but his finger wasn't on the trigger. And not only that, next to him, Stalk wasn't even aiming at all. Instead, just as Arabella's gaze fell upon the kenku, he was already twisting around to meet hers. When he did so, his features twisted and his eyes narrowed as he flicked them towards the Green's shooter.

It was a look of suspicion, as if to say 'keep an eye on him' or 'what is he up to?'.

Given that their erstwhile opponent was winning, him not touching his trigger didn't seem too out of place – Arabella wondered if his lead might just be going to his head. What concerned her more was whether this gale was going to stop - either way it was interfering with everyone's shots.

It always came from the same direction – the left side of the range, in the west, sweeping across the grass at a very low angle. However, as Arabella glanced around, she noticed what scant fluffy wisps of cloud were in the sky were moving toward the west instead of away from it, nor did she remember the temperature dropping before this began to kick up.

As the archers waited and aimed, a silence fell over the entire crowd save for the rippling of the wind through cloth banners and the grumbles of frustration from those it annoyed. Beyond the western edge of the range, Arabella noticed a group of colourful tents that seemed to be having a truly hard time, snapping and twisting like flags in a hurricane, so hard that she feared they might be torn from the earth. She watched them for a moment, in case they did, so she could alarm the guards.

But as she looked on, an alarm of another kind suddenly filled her thoughts.

As the roof of one tent lurched sideways, she spied another face of cloth – a hooded cloak, brown as mud and frayed about the edges; the type oft worn by pilgrims and monks. It covered a humanoid figure from head to heel, though only its arms were rippling with the force of the wind. The rest was still as a frozen lake, tranquil and undisturbed by all around it.

As the figure extended his hands outwards, the rolling wind suddenly seemed all the louder, and through it, Arabella would have sworn she heard a small clipping of a voice saying the words:

"Gust of Wi-"

In an instant, she felt her memory twist, burrowing into the recesses of her brain without her wanting it to. But that was the name of a wizard spell - she knew it for certain.

Twisting around as her hair danced and whirled in the gale, she looked up towards Master Nilrem in the stands, finding him right where he was at the start of the contest with his head bowed and a hand planted firmly on top of his hat, pinning it in place. As this happened, his eyes were wide flicking back and forth, visibly trembling and his robes writhing about his person like his body was the haft of a banner.

He looked as if he didn't know what was causing this, his face sickly pale with nerves, and Arabella found herself taking a few paces in his direction, heart racing as the thought she might pass on what she knew and help him out made her spirits surge.

But then she saw it. And she froze.

As Master Nilrem turned his head to glance downrange, a ripple of light seemed to sweep across his face. In its wake, his features briefly became translucent and tinged purple, the surface of his skin like tinted glass that could be seen to right down to the bone.

Except it wasn't bone that she saw. Instead, she saw a second pair of eyes peering out through his vibrant irises, beardless cheeks beneath sideburns that had now become needle-thin slivers of white, and a rounded human ear hiding inside each of his tapered ones.

What she saw made a shard of ice spear Arabella from her ribs to her spine, going clean through her heart. Time froze for a moment around her, and as she backed away, she found herself acting before she was even sure her hasty plan would work.

"Ren," she whispered to the first shape of grey and white she saw on her left, briefly checking to see if it was who she hoped.

Thankfully, it was, and her fellow elf's ears pricked up as he spun around from where he was facing the range. "Mm?"

Arabella felt her heart in her throat, clotting each word as she tried to keep her voice low. "I think I just saw something. Two things."

Immediately, Ren's eyes widened, his head twisting to glance in every direction. "Oh gods- what, what is it?" he asked, his words as fast as his voice was tremulous.

Heart panging for a moment, Arabella stepped in close – both so she could keep her voice low and so her hand could slide within his, holding him to steady his fear even as she fought to keep her own nerves contained.

"I... I don't think the wizard in the stands actually is Master Nilrem..." she told him, unable to believe those words were coming from out of her mouth.

Ren's face turned briefly quizzical, as if silently asking "Wait, what?" But then, once Arabella nodded in the Wizard Royale's direction and Ren turned his gaze, his features suddenly fell and his skin drained from pale grey to near-white.

"Do you see it?" Arabella asked him, still gripping his hand.

"Y-yeah..." the wizard managed to say before peering closer. "It could be a Disguise Self spell... or it's his hat! It's a Hat of Disguise!"
The volume in his voice shot up to a shrill squeak as he said that, which made Arabella suddenly flick her gaze around, only to feel relief when the din of the crowd meant that nobody seemed to pay them any mind. Except:

"What's going on?" a deep voice suddenly sounded behind both elves, and Arabella felt her ears twitch before she twisted around to see Logan approaching, followed closely by Finnan.

Ren wasted no time in filling the paladin in. "Logan, the guy who looks like Nilrem isn't – it isn't him! It's somebody else-"

"What do you mean?" Logan asked.

"We think it's an imposter..." Arabella said. "Ren and I both saw that whoever's up there seems to be disguised... and I also saw something else."

Logan turned his golden eyes her way. "Go on..." he said, his words slow and deliberate as Ren and Finnan also looked at her. Relief coursing through her that her friends didn't push her concerns aside, Arabella glanced back up at the imposter Nilrem before leaning in and whispering beneath the sound of the wind.

"There's a man hiding amongst some tents at the far end of the range. He's the one creating the wind, using magic."

Ren bit his lip. "You saw that?"

"For certain. And I heard it too. I don't know who it is, but we have to do something. If this hurts Stalk's aim..."

She needn't say what might happen. They knew, she could tell.

"We can't just stop him, though," Logan told her. "We'll need some way to get proof of what's happening. And subtly."

"Why subtly?" Finnan asked. "Why don't we just go up to him, pull his pants over his head, and then nab him?"

A shadow of a smile flickered upon Logan's face. "Much as I'd love to, Finnan, if he sees us coming, he'll flee. And then we're right back to square one."

Ren then added "Logan's right. Wizards are full of tricks – believe me."

Almost instantly, every one of their faces – even Finnan's – grew pensive and pondering. Arabella felt one of her fingers brushed against her chin as she raised her hand. Glancing around as her mind scrambled for a solution, chiefly to check if the imposter or anyone else had noticed their team huddle, her eyes drifted over Stalk, then the Seekers of Flight all watching him intently while their feathers rippled like a forest of onyx leaves...

... and then she had an idea.

Briefly moving in close to whisper it to Logan, Ren and Finnan, she won their approval quickly. Now she just had to win another's. Straightening her dress, Arabella cleared her throat and took two paces towards the edge of the flock, where she saw Stalk's mother and sister standing at the edge of the railings, the wood splintering beneath the tightening clutch of their talons.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" she said to Bree. It wasn't her most elegant greeting, but it seemed to work; upon hearing her, the kenku turned her way and

"Yes, dear?" she asked. "Arabella, wasn't it?"

Arabella nodded. "Yes, it was. And I'm deeply sorry for intruding like this... but I'm afraid I need your help."

Just then, another kenku at her side turned, and shock spiked in Arabella's chest when she saw a clawed hand reach to her waist and wrap its talons around the hilt of a dagger.

"Whatcha want, elfy?" she asked. "Come on, speak up!"

Arabella felt something rush through her then – something hot and indignant, her brow briefly furrowing while her mouth curved downward. She didn't want it to, but she'd done the kenku no wrong.

Was a little decorum too much to ask?

"Warble. Mind your tongue." Bree said as she stared her daughter down, to which the younger kenku began to back down sheepishly. A few other members of the flock who were looking Arabella's way in the background were still bristling, though it frazzled Arabella why they would. She'd never done anything to harm them. "Forgive my daughter – she's very protective."

The words that went through Arabella's head were 'I get that impression', but she bit those back and instead, her lips said "It's quite alright, there's nothing to forgive..."

"Yeah! Button your beak!" Finnan called childishly as he stood at her feet, pointing a finger at Warble.

Seeing the kenku start to fluff their feathers again, Arabella felt her heart rate pick up. Reaching down to put a hand on her little friend's shoulder, she said "Finnan, that's not how we speak to others..." She hated having to scold him under most circumstances, but she fought to find it in her to make an exception now.

Even as she saw Finnan glance up at her with a pouting expression, she bit her lip and turned to Bree. "I'm sorry to interrupt, madam, but we need your help."
As the kenku cocked her head, she continued. "Myself and my companions think that someone is cheating in the tournament. I saw something in the tents at the far end of the range..." she explained. "And both Ren and I saw that the man in the stands isn't court wizard Nilrem. He's wearing a magical disguise of some sort."

Logan then pitched in, adding, "When Nilrem left earlier, just after the horse race finished... I saw him smirk. I don't know if that means something, but either way, this is now something we can't ignore."

Bree's eyes bulged as she listened, then scanned Arabella and her friends up and down for a moment. "So where's the real Nilrem?"

Arabella replied. "We don't know, I'm afraid. But what I do know is that if we don't intervene, Stalk could lose this competition and-"

"Say no more." At first, Arabella's chest tightened at the thought that Warble had cut her off again, only to find that it was actually Bree who had spoken up, following up her words with a quick smile and asking "What do you need us to do?"

Relief swamping her, Arabella beamed and bowed her head, hoping to appear gracious. "Thank you so much," she said before outlining the idea she'd presented to her friends earlier. Only this time in more detail:
"Stalk told us that kenku can mimic things perfectly. Perhaps if one of you were to go over there and draw a picture of whoever's behind this, we can find out what's going on."

Arabella didn't place too much faith in the rumours that kenku were thieves and sneaks – they'd been a tad sharp to her, but she was sure that was just because she was a stranger. She hoped they might open up to her in time, especially if she showed appreciation for their talents here and now.

As she thought that, she saw Bree turn to her daughter. "Do you think you could do it, Warble? You've been teaching the little ones how to draw."

Warble nodded, though she pulled a face as she did so. "Yeah, but I ain't going over there on my own. I can't overpower a normal human, let alone a wizard." She then cast her gaze up at Logan, her expression suddenly switching to wry smile as she swaggered up to him. "Maybe the big strong paladin could come and protect me?" her tone riding the knife's edge between flirtatious and mocking.

Arabella's skin prickled then, her fingers flexing at her sides. Meanwhile, Logan looked down at Warble and said, "I'd love to... but I can't counter spells and, on top of that, I'm no good at stealth. There's nothing honourable about it."

Warble scowled. "But then who's gonna stop the wizard git from ruining the tournament?" She clacked her beak and looked up at Arabella. "Could you do it, elf?"

Arabella shook her head. "It's Arabella. Please. And I'm afraid not – most clerics can't undo spells, and neither can paladins or druids. There's only one kind of caster amongst us who can do so..."

And regretfully, as she said those words, she found herself following the gazes of Logan and Finnan to fall upon their resident wielder of the arcane, her heart panging with sorrow and regret as she saw him begin to cower...

~~~

'Why? Why did I have to get myself pulled into this?' Ren kept asking himself as he wove through the crowd. 'Why can nothing just go right for once?'

At once he wished someone would lend an ear to his thoughts, yet knew they would hate him for whinging. Even Warble, who he'd been assigned to work with, kept glancing up at him with disdain whenever he even looked hesitant.

As he slowed his pace for but a moment, a sharp prod suddenly stuck into the back of his knees.
"Keep moving, wizzy! My brother can only buy us enough time before the next shot!" the kenku scolded as he yelped in alarm and continued along, cursing his luck all the more in his head.

If he'd kept his mouth shut about the spell, he wouldn't have to do this. Like the idiot he was, he'd let his impulses lead him down this road that might get him killed...

Yet, even as he thought that, he couldn't bring himself to back out. After he'd run from the fight at Elsa's inn, he... he couldn't deny he had a yearning to be of some help to his friends instead of just being dead weight. And he would lose all those friends if he showed himself to be someone who turned tail. Who chickened out when they needed him the most.

Soon enough, when they were distant from the party and on the edge of the crowd, they began to loop around. As they did so, Ren extended a hand a little further out of his sleeves, fingers waggling at the air as though he were plucking an invisible harp. From his lips, the words 'Pass Without Trace' flitted through the air like a wisp, and as they did so, any who deigned to look his or Warble's way, suddenly blinked as their eyes and ears found nothing of them at all.

'Thank you, wood elf magic...' Ren thought, allowing himself a brief moment of joy that this had worked.

He had nothing to fear as of yet – they were too far away from the tents Arabella saw the figure within for any use of Detect Magic to pick up his casting. But that was still something to take into account.

Invisibility would be no help here – he did know that spell, but if this caster could detect magic the same way he could, then it would be completely counterintuitive. It'd be like trying to hide in an entirely red room while covering yourself in yellow paint.

Pass Without Trace was much safer. It affected an area around him instead of two targets specifically, it wouldn't be as much of a giveaway if someone tried to sense him magically. Not to mention it would erase any footprints they left behind.

Worry number one thousand ticked off the list. Unfortunately, the next one was the biggest one of all.

Looking towards the clump of tents, Ren briefly entertained the idea of running, and he wasn't sure whether it was the thought of Logan and Stalk shaking their heads in shame or the thought of Warble jabbing him in the leg again that made him press onward. But the next thing he knew, the angular blocks of coloured cloth and hempen ropes were getting closer and closer. Panic flooded through him, and as he ducked downwards, his heart surged upwards into his throat.

In that tail of his eye, Ren saw a black shape lower itself beside him, and stifled a gulp as best he could while he slid a hand inside his robes and slowly, painstakingly eased a piece of plain parchment out from within. Teeth clamped tight in his mouth, it took him a moment to listen and notice that the wind that Arabella spoke of was causing the tents' various flaps and trappings to sway and snap, creating a shroud of noise that masked the crinkling of the paper.

However, whatever relief he felt vanished when he also heard the chanting of words and felt the rhythmic pulsing of the Weave from up ahead, growing louder and louder even as he and Warble didn't move.

Whoever was doing this was close, and despite himself, this knowledge urged Ren to hurry.

After a moment, the parchment was in Warble's claws, followed by a pencil she yanked from the many pouches of her clothing. The pair of them snuck a little further forward, sliding between tents of every colour, until they came to a pitched enormity whose fabric was daubed in a pungent, sickly purple, the sunlight passing through it bathing the ground around them in a thick shade of plum.

As Ren hunkered down there for a moment, he noticed something on the tent's left side - a gap between an external layer of vibrant cloth and a keg labelled 'burgundy' resting upon the grassy ground. It was only about an inch wide, but if he leant out at the right angle...

Shuffling forward inch by painful inch, his feet barely raised above the tips of the grass with each step he took, Ren approached to the gap. His ears strained with every move he made, both for signs of Warble making any noise and for any disturbance up ahead that might give away that the caster had noticed either of them.

But the chanting went on, unfaltering and without pause, and now they were closer, he would hear the repeated words being peppered with the same phrase.

'Gust of Wind... Gust of Wind... Gust of Wind.'

Leaning to his left and looking through his makeshift porthole, Ren saw what he both expected and feared he'd see. Standing before him, watching the archery contest in the middle distance, was the hooded figure whom Arabella had mentioned seeing. He was in exactly the same place and doing exactly the same thing – extending his hand and casting a spell while his eyes surveyed the archery range from afar, the arcane wind swirling his cloak until he looked like a hawk hovering over unwitting prey.

While Warble's smaller frame moved in front of him and lay almost flat on the ground, Ren was peering closely in search of the telltale signs – robes clipping through surrounding objects, or the sunlight phasing through the very edges of his being where few untrained in the arcane arts might notice.

None of those showed, but what did show itself made a sickening sensation fall upon him like a tidal wave.

The shimmering, unearthly eyes under the hood. The distinctive facial hair peeping down from his long chin. The charming, smirking mouth that was chanting the words 'Gust of Wind' again and again under his breath. It was all Nilrem's.

A small burst of fire suddenly caught light in Ren's chest at the sight. Wizards shouldn't use their power for something this petty. This power-hungry. And as he felt that glimmer inside him, any hesitance he had retreated away from his heart.

It was only for a moment, but it meant he could find it in him to raise his hand and whisper a single word.

"Silence."

The air around Nilrem rippled and shuddered, and a faint line of grey energy formed into the exterior of a bubble around his person. Immediately, the court wizard's phrase was cut off mid-word, and at the same moment, the howling gale building around him just ceased to be almost instantly – in fact, the air fell serene so quickly that not even the gentlest of summer breezes remained.

Nilrem's brow immediately furrowed before his body and head twisted around frantically, forcing Ren to duck down once more. There, he and Warble huddled and waited, a loud thumping pounding inside Ren's own head as he felt like his chest might burst. Though he was shaking too much to close his eyes, he quickly found himself silently praying to every god in existence that they hadn't been spotted.

A little ironic, given the spell he had just used.

Watching intently, he saw Nilrem search around with his eyes and ears, his lips forming the words 'Who's there?' As he turned around, features at once coiling in anger and pinching in confusion, he ended up drifting to a different position further away from the pair.

Perfect.

With the bubble of Silence now between them, Ren now didn't have to fear being heard – especially as he heard the scrawling of pencil on parchment. His gaze remained locked on to Nilrem a while longer before flicking back and forth to try and measure the distance between the two of them.

About fifty feet. So Nilrem was still close enough.

He then sat still, every muscle and tendon taut as cello strings, lightning seeming to dance across his skin with anxiety. And that feeling only increased he saw Nilrem move his hands in a circular motion, fingers sparkling with magic.

'Here goes nothing...' he found himself thinking as he felt the court wizard of Milisevre tap into the weave, threads of arcane energy winding around his hands and morphing into whirling strands of wind.

Clearly, he needed to keep this spell up. And so Ren curled his hand into a claw and rent his wrist backwards, whispering the word 'Counterspell' as a surge of power pulsing out through the air like a blast from a packet of smokepowder. There was not a sound or sight to give it away, but the force could still be felt and like a kite with its strings cut, Nilrem's Gust of Wind dissolved as though it were salt in a glass of water.

A silent snarl bursting from his lips, Nilrem cast his gaze in every direction, purple eyes snapping left and right as he searched for whoever was doing this. His mouth briefly twisted into a snarl and a few words of profanity, but Ren couldn't hear them.

He could see the glittering orange glow of flames dancing within the rival wizard's palm, however, the light casting a harsh, menacing light across his face.

"Are you finished?" he whispered, jaw rattling as Warble continued to scribble.

And scribble... and scribble until...

"Done."

That word was like the song of an angel to Ren right now. Pointing two trembling fingers like a hand crossbow at Nilrem, he nodded at Warble and whispered, "As soon as I cast, run." Then, he raised his eyes to the one who was hunting them, focused, and uttering a single word. "Blindness."

Darkness swirled about Ren's brandished fingers before a tentacle of inky, smokelike energy lashed out from his hiding spot and swatted Nilrem right across the face, casting back his hood and slathering a thick, slimy substance as black as pitch all across his face

As Nilrem clutched at his eyes, chest rising and falling, Ren then did what he did best of all - scamper away like a rat out of a trap. Seconds later, there was a rapid pattering sound just behind him, and he snapped his head back around to see Warble scampering at his heels.

The look she gave him - that excited, confident smirk she shared with her brother - both bewildered him and gave him a small burst of hope as they bolted away from the tents and back to the others.

~~~

Moisture was slicking Stalk's feathers even before the wind fell dead and the heat of day began to climb again. He kept flicking his gaze to those tents in the distance, palms wet as he gripped his crossbow close.

He regretted taking his mutagen now, but for one reason alone – that he couldn't make out anything of what was happening to his sister, by either sight or sound.

He only knew that Warble and Ren were going from what fleeting words he'd managed to catch as every tendon in his head and neck strained to hear over the crowd.

His claws then dug into the wood of his crossbow, palms cold with dread when couldn't even set his sister and the wizard apart from the rippling blur of other colours in the crowd. Where they were and what they were doing, he had no clue... and the longer that went on, the longer the fearful nausea in his gizzard continued to climb into his throat. Especially when time for the fourth shot in the contest came, and the wind kicked up again.

Even though he waited through the fourth one and hit the inner ring this time, his chances of victory weren't set in stone. Not if that damn wind kept kicking up.

But then he couldn't do anything about that. All he could do was close his eyes, shuddering where he stood as he thought of Warble and hoped she and Ren were fixing up a plan.

"Be safe, big sis. By-" were the only words that left his beak before he stopped himself from going on. Before he might have invoked those who forced him to be here in the first place.

However, he had no choice but to open his eyes as the royal herald raised his voice and called "Final shot! Archers, nock your quarrels!"

In that moment, he had to roll his shoulders – the tension clamping its invisible fingers down upon him was so crushing that it hurt. He shook a little as he clipped his bolt into place, then forced himself stock-still and listened, lungs and air sacs both bated for the wind to come, hope that he might outwait the gale once more surging within him and burning his frozen muscles with the searing agony of hot water running through ice.

But the air did not whistle. It didn't whisper. No-one in the crowd complained for the umpteenth time. And to his right, the Green archer looked about, slowly at first but then more and more frantically

The sight of that made Stalk's heart jump for joy in his chest, and smirking like a bobcat, he took aim and hooked his claw about the trigger of his crossbow, the knots in his tendons slipping away when he no longer had to aim over the shrieking and shoving of the wind. Even the murmurs of the crowd began to slip away as the mutagen narrowed his senses all the more.

The whole world was just him and his target. The bolt would fly straight and true – he would make it so.

There was a roll of 'thunks' all around him as his opponents loosed their shots and their arrowheads hissed through the painted packs of straw. What they hit, he didn't know nor care. Because it wouldn't be better than his.

Still feeling the lightest tickle of wind through his feathers, this time coming from the right, Stalk shifted minutely in that direction, wriggling his talons in the dirt as he rooted himself. Then, rolling one shoulder as he braced for the kickback, he forced the crossbow's stock against his body and squeezed the trigger tight.

His body didn't recoil at all as the bolt sped forth with a howl as shrill as a banshee's. It cleaved the air in two as it blurred at blistering speed, twisting like a tornado before it smashed right down to the flights into the target... square in the middle of the red dot.

Bulls-eye!

The second it struck, a roar went up from the crowd, only to be quickly buried beneath the squawks and cheers of his own kind. Their caws were like a chorus of songbirds to him, and as he turned their way, he threw both his fists into the air.

Next to his flock, he saw three rippling clouds of colour – chiefly blue, silver, yellow and green – also make motions of celebration, the taller two clapping their hands and the smaller one jumping like a spring lamp.

Stalk couldn't keep the smile from his face, but the credit wasn't only his.

"Whatever you and Ren did, Warble... Dad would be proud."

Not long after, the herald began to call the scores. Due to so many repeated hits on-target, the Greens were still in the lead. This time, the Red Team were at the bottom of the barrel, and their shooter – a plump shape with a pre-pubescent nose-squeak of a voice, dressed in armour as crimson as his team's colour – actually wept before he stormed out of the arena.

Stalk didn't care, though – even his own score and his announcement of being in second place didn't catch his interest beyond knowing he hadn't lost. Instead, he kept his focus solely on the shape of the Green shooter.

Through the mutagen's haze, he couldn't make out the man's face, but he could see the way he kept shifting and turning his head, only responding when he heard his victory announced. Otherwise, he kept rocking his weight side to side and turning his gaze to the audience...

He knew something about the wind. Stalk was convinced of it. And as each knight was dismissed to return to their teammates and the mutagen's effects continued to peter out, the sight of Warble and Ren hurrying back through the crowd with wide eyes and panicked panting mouths made his conviction secure as Mordenkainen's legendary Arcane Seal.