Veritas vos liberabit

Garryn was momentarily taken aback by the embrace, the warmth of Jareth’s hand on his shoulder grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. The world around him seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving only the silent camaraderie and shared understanding of two friends who had seen far too much.

He returned the embrace, a brief but firm clasp, before stepping back, his gaze settling on the griffon with renewed determination. The creature stirred, its pale eyes meeting Garryn’s, and he felt a surge of responsibility wash over him. He turned to Jareth, his expression darkening as he recalled the events of that night.

It happened so fast, he began, his voice carrying the weight of lingering anger and frustration. They came in the dead of night, shadows slipping through the trees like they belonged there. There were three of them, maybe more. Didn’t catch a good look at their faces… but the blades? I remember those. He looked down at his hand, clenching it as though he could still feel the bite of steel against his skin.

They weren’t ordinary weapons, Jareth. The blade that struck my griffon—it had this dark, unnatural gleam to it. Almost like the metal itself was... tainted. He paused, recalling the strange, almost corrosive effect the weapon had on the griffon’s wound. The wound isn’t healing as it should. Whatever they used, it’s got some kind of magic on it, something foul. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The young griffon looked at Jareth, clearly trying to express pain and agony that it was in because of the wounds.

@Jareth