Morvius stands ready.
Extra ready.
*Flashback to when Linken discovers Lydia’s body...
As Linken looks upon the corpse of the person he believed to be the one, anger flowed through him with chaos all around him. He kneels down to retrieve the lockett he once gave her. He takes a brief moment to conjure a tiny bag with a draw string and today’s date. He collects a lock of her hair, some dirt from the ground and the single tear he’s allowing himself to shed. He pulls the string to seal off this memory and places it in his bag with the others he’s collected over the years. He puts on the lockett and gets up to head back to the inn when he hears a ruckus at his shop. He walks towards it with hate in his heart and death on his mind.
*Flashback to when Morvius leaves his mother's shop, Wintrish Wears...*
The ranger navigates around the skirmishes on pure instinct. His mind is very much elsewhere.
Katra holds his hand in a death grip. He can practically feel her fear. Living in Phaendar has been a solace, a shelter for her 16 years. She's not been out in the wilds, where danger lurks.
But danger no longer lurks. It stands in the open, brazenly, and it sticks its sword into his people. His family. His mother. The shock still leaves him feeling numb.
Several other townsfolk follow him as well. Good people, but scared. How could we ever have prepared for this, he thinks. And why now? What could we possibly have that would warrant such focused attention?
Knowing that this isn't the time for answers, Morvius forges ahead towards the inn.