Blood reavers

He abandoned the pretense of stealth, lunging for the ornately carved box nestled amongst the barrels. His fingers brushed the cool, smooth wood just as a guttural roar ripped through the chamber. A hulking Blood Reaver, alerted by Azkor's call, materialized in the doorway, his obsidian eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Atticus reaching for the box.

The Blood Reaver, clad in black leathers that bore the sigil of a snarling maw, was a grotesque caricature of a warrior. His muscles bulged beneath his armor, and his face was a canvas of crude tattoos depicting scenes of violence and bloodshed. He raised his barbed spear, the cruel points crackling with an unholy green energy.

Atticus didn't hesitate. He snatched the box, tucking it securely beneath his arm, and met the Blood Reaver's charge with a nimbleness that belied his years. The barbed spear whipped through the air, the air itself sizzling as it passed harmlessly by Atticus. He wove his hand, muttering an arcane phrase unde
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