Valarie didn't need to spell out the obvious. Mist Knight Thren was formidable. He had proven that by retaining his cunning despite thousands of years of corruption gnawing away at what remained of his will.
His form was pulsing with mist. His eyes cold under the hood no emotions were revealed.
Damon could no longer deny his cunning.
He had cornered the whole party with an army of undead—after splitting them up, of course… then again they didn't do much together anyway.
A classic divide-and-conquer. And when they finally planned to strike back, he welcomed them with a group of enthralled, heavily armed mist knights. All lower rank than him, but no less deadly.
They never had the element of surprise. All they had been doing was adapting to changing circumstances.
Now, Mist Knight Thren stood before them—or rather, a whole group of him stood before them. Each one appeared as real as the last. But all save one were illusions.
