Screeching. Meddling. Stinking bloody fucking harpies.
But the sound of an axe blade as it stops said screeching? Bliss.
Leaning against a nearby alleyway wall, I dangled a pair of enchanted shackles between two fingers. The funny thing about harpies was… they could fly. But with the right incentive, also known as yanking their asses back to solid ground, you could easily kill ’em. Not many guys could handle the job, so they came to me. Hephaistos. God of the Forge and blacksmithing extraordinaire.