Song of Heroes IC

[Tomia]

Annabelle
Annabelle was relieved when she saw Pan and Edward approach. However that relief was short lived as a large much more formidable than before. "Edward, Pan, we need to work together." Annabelle's natural leadership ability and history taking over. "Pan, I know you're a magic user, do you have any defensive spells that could protect us? That would be the most useful thing you can do right now. Edward you and me are going to have to fight close up and keep it off guard." She told him, the rush of battle taking over her senses. She studied the massive goblin as it approached them she waited for the right opportunity to start the battle. As it slowly swung its massive battle ax Annabelle ducked under him and slashed at its armor with her sword. "Edward we're a lot faster than this behemoth, lets keep circling it and take the open shots."

[The Republic of Atria]

Fighting through just over two dozen goblins was as fun and exhausting as the pair thought it would be. Though Valan seemed to be having slightly more fun than Aayla. "Come on you green skinned ashes piles! I've got enough fire for every last one of you!" The pyromancer shouted as he cleaved his flaming sword through a few goblins. He could have just torched the horde, would have been quick, but the goblins separated them a little, making it difficult to incinerate the lot without catching the rest of the team in the flames. Most of whom he would rather not torch, particularity his friend. "Aayla! I'm up to at least 16 of the bastards!" Probably. He incinerated the last group, but didn't see exactly how many were there. Plus or minus one or two.

Aayla however was an elegant blur of blades. Movement so smooth it was like watching fluid as she stabbed a goblin in the eye with a knife in her right, flipping over the short monster and flinging another knife with her left into the throat of another who quickly grabbed at the blade and fell over. "Wasn't counting! You're always more fun like this!" She was counting. Although her kill count was lower than her friend due to her lack of longer ranged abilities, still at 11. "Gobbo at your back!" She shouted as the green skin snuck up on the pyromancer.

Valan snapped around right as the goblin jump at him, latching onto Valan's chest and knocking him to the ground. The victory was short lived, as the goblin quickly realized that jumping onto a pyromancer was among the worse of his life choices. "A hug?! Come 'ere!" Valan clasped his hands around the creature, turning himself into a living torch, reducing the the pest to a lump of mostly charred flesh.

"Get off your butt Valan! We're going!" Aayla shouted as she stuck with the team as they moved out of the camp. Her friend didn't waste much time in catching up, scrambling to his feet and throwing a few fireballs at the ground to dissuade any goblins from trying to follow them.

The group met up a few minutes later. Some more worse for wear than others. Aayla having caught her breath and Valan having cooled down enough to speak quietly. "Well. I dare say that we did quite well for our first outing." Valan spoke, the intense fire the permeated his armor and mask having been relaxed so that he face was visible.

"Could've been better. Could've been worse. Hardly perfect, but it's also far from the worst goblin infestation I've ever seen and dealt with." Aayla chimed in. Not a moment after a much, much larger hobgoblin staggered towards the group, likely looking for revenge against the group who tore apart his camp. "Ooooooohh! A hobby! Save the head if possible! I can make some stellar potions with it!"

Valan immediately felt the fire creep back up, the glowing around his hands and feet roaring back to life. "I make no promises!" Valan shouted, opening the battle with a spray of fire at the hobgoblin.

[Turmenista]

Luca Greyfoot
Heirloom Quest
__________________________________

Just as he said before, Luca hated barrows. They were cramped, wet, and full of horrible beasts, like the nothic that Frey had just killed. Luckily, Roxana still was intact and alive after the monster had tried choking her out right then and there, only sustaining a bruise and some minor injuries. If she wasn't helped, she would've been a goner.

To be frank, all of them were almost goners. While Roxana let out a small coughing fit, Luca took up his large blade, cleaning it of the blood and viscera before placing it back in its scabbard. The mouthers were tedious work at best—nothing too deadly or dangerous, just troublesome to deal with. However, if people were not careful, they were a serious threat, and could wear down experienced bands such as themselves. If more mouthers came in, Luca figured, he'd just deal with them himself to get them out of the way.

Sighing, Luca listened out for anything in the barrow, his ears only picking up minor scuffling of a rat or small monster as he moved to the back of the group. While Oberon and Frey took point, he stood guard at the back as per Roxana's orders, grunting in acknowledgement. "Right."

The group then moved forward into the direction that the monster had come from, which also happened to be their next location. Before them, a worker's body had seemingly melted into some soup that made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, confirming his suspicions that more fleshy monster things were in store for them. Grumbling, Luca's amber eyes scanned the area as he entered the large open hall, a great door situated on the opposite end of the room. However, between them and the door were the creatures that Byron had described earlier: basic sets of armor held together by fleshy black matter, almost like flesh, were a pulsating mass was located near the chest, potentially a weak point.

Luca quickly counted off the number of hostiles in his head: 7. That outnumbers us by one. He grunted as Roxana made her comment about asking if anyone was willing to take on the possessed armors, relaxing his shoulders as he rolled his eyes. This was a sign that he was obviously ticked off by their reluctance to engage anything up close in personal. Was it just a ranged marksman's folly, or just laziness? In other words, were they just having Oberon and Luca (and sometimes Frey) do the heavy work, while the others just laid back comfortably, taking shots at what they pleased? Perhaps it was his arrogance as a warrior or just the fact that most Lycans weren't normally archers, but Luca wasn't getting good vibes from them. Especially the elf.

Nonetheless, he still had a job to do: those armors down there needed to die, and luckily for the Legionnaires, Luca was the perfect means of destroying them. "Alright. I'll do it."

Letting out a huff, Luca stepped past Frey, Simion, Harold, and Roxana, his sword clearing the scabbard on his back. As he did so, he also took off the hooded red cloak around his neck, discarding it in the ranged Legionnaires' direction as he twirled his massive blade around with one hand. The cloak would make things tedious if he were swinging around and moving all over the place, so he had to place it with the ranged members for now, leaving him free to move and roll around as he pleased without the cloak making things tangled and messy. "Watch that for me, would you? There's seven, so I'll go for two. Maybe three."

I'm confident with two kills, if I take my time with them. Maybe three. Let's see what I can do.

Charging forward, Luca howled an insult in their direction, as if to grab the possessed armors' attention. His plan seemed to work, as two of the pieces snapped over into his direction, while the others broke off to begin attacking the rest of the group. Taking note of the sinewey mass of pulsating flesh in their chests, Luca halted his run, sending out his elbow and arm into a powerful shove that sent one of the sets of armor careening away and to the ground, leaving him open to the other. However, a quick jab of his elbow in the same position he had shoved the first one off in sent the second staggering back, leaving him wide open to attack.

"Take this!" Luca let out a powerful shout as he swung his blade up, the sharpened slab of metal easily cleaving through the rather basic armor (and, by extent, the arm of the monster) with a resonant CLANG, the gong-like noise ringing throughout the halls. Using the momentum he had, Luca brought his blade down, cutting halfway into the monster. Disappointed, he simply yanked his sword out and kicked the monster away, bringing with the blade fleshy dark matter straight from the possessed armor.

However, the armor wasn't dead yet. As it moved to grab its sword, Luca was already on top of it, shouting out a "AND EAT IT!" as he parried its swing with a powerful slash, practically ignoring the armor as the armor was bisected from the middle of its chest up, his blade meeting some brief resistance as it severed the pulsating mass in its center.

One down.. one to go.

Luca recovered and frantically blocked a brutal swing sent at him by the next armor, which was already up and running, responding with a knee down onto the armor, wrenching it away and keeping it from getting too close. Furious, as much as he was shocked, he channeled in his rage and kicked the armor away, bringing his sword up to bear. Illumina glowed with whatever stray light was available in their section of the barrow, hungry for blood as it silently swung across Luca's vision. It collided with the armor's own weapon, sending sparks into the air as Luca parried another swing, this time missing his swing as the armor darted back, apparently learning from his moves.

Tch. I'll have to brute force this bastard then. Luca moved himself back into his ready stance, sword in front of him. "You want to do this, huh, you smelly bastard?! Come on! Let me see what you've got!"

He sprung off his feet and sailed forwards, a powerful downwards swing blocked by the armor—as predicted—but it left it open for another push from Luca's shoulder, driving it out of its blocking stance as he roughly broke into a roll, ending up behind the monster. "Predictable!"

Now, I need to end this...

He stood up from his roll, immediately bringing his sword to his side to block an incoming jab. After a quick feint, Luca lunged himself, changing the lunge halfway into a wide swing coming from his shoulder that broke the armor's block. Now presented with an opportunity, Luca lunged, his sword punching straight through the armor's chest as he shouted, yanking the blade (and half the monster's side) out along with his sword.

However, as he stood back up into his guard stance, Luca realized that he had made a fatal mistake—his side was open. Wide open. One of the possessed armor sets was running towards his side, looking to stab him right through his side. Frantically, Luca rolled back roughly, evading the jab as he clumsily flopped down onto all fours, shuffling back to avoid another swing that would've taken out his neck, throat, or at least, his eyes. Swiping his leg forwards with a kick, he pushed the armor away, bringing himself off of all fours and back onto his feet as he blocked another swing from the armor, which wielded a formidable battle ax to counter his greatsword.

Now would be a very good time to call for help, Luca! Casting aside his ego that said he could otherwise take on the beast, Luca growled and pushed him off, only to move back into another block as a powerful clong resonated through the halls, signifying Luca and the armor's struggle for power. "Frey! Oberon! I've taken down two of the bastards! Now would be a very good time to help me out here!"

[Radea]

Arden Rooke
Red Hill Company Caravan – Aliala, Duchy of Alius
----------------------------------------------------------------
The Great Tarchuna Forest was surely great in terror and size. Rooke felt the tension slide off his shoulders as the last sparse trees of the dark wood gave way to vast fields of green and gold. Among such pastoral landscapes, the former farmer felt almost at home. The rough dirt-trod path soon changed into cobblestone roads; a rare sight except for the most well-managed territories. The constant heave-hoing, like a ship being tossed about on land, of the wagon on dirt became the small shrugs and bumps of wheels on well-placed rockbed. Arden would have fallen asleep easily, being lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the cart, if not being overwhelmed to see the more-than-welcome sight of Aliala.

“What a sight for sore eyes.” He exclaimed, leaning over the side of the wagon.

The city exuded authority. From the blood-clay rooves to the crimson bull banners, whoever ran the place had the will to organize. Even the rivers, meeting in a great confluence into the town, seemed to bend to the will of the inhabitants.

Speaking of inhabitants, the populous seemed more homogenous that one would expect from first viewing of such a metropole. Sitting on the back of the wagon, his heels knocking against the wood, Rooke saw mostly humans in the busy streets. In this region, that wasn’t particularly surprising. Not everything can be as cosmopolitan as the City of Velathri. What was surprising was the market square with a speaking forum. Usually a community with such strict rulers would not leave such a speaking area open for all to shout from. In more iron-fisted places, the public gallows were where decrees were yelled to the masses. The store fronts and trader stalls seemed numerous, even including a magic shop of questionable taste and a place for exotic beasts. After the encounter in the Tarchuna Forest, Rooke was pretty done with beasts.

Arden hunched his shoulders as the caravan passed the busy square. “What does it take for a guy to find a tavern around here?”

The human man was almost nearly knocked out of the wagon as it made a sharp turn onto muddy and barely upkept streets and alleyways. Only by catching himself at the last moment spared him complete embarrassment. It appeared not everything was a well-manicured as it initially seemed, when it came to Aliala. When the caravan stopped, the joy-rush from surviving the forest battle had worn off and the shady surroundings of the Red Hill office left Rooke suspicious and skeptical. He had worked on merchant trains before and this wasn’t their typical locale. Something wasn’t right.

It was a good thing that Rooke’s thirst for liquor had worn off due to his surroundings, because head merchant had forbidden anything besides sight-seeing or food. He and his compatriot, Guidantonio, had paid top-coin for Legionnaires, had they not? Did they suspect service akin to other brutish guards?

Hopping off the back of the wagon, Rooke put his hands on his hips and sneered at the back of his employers. Nonchalantly he turned about face and waved over-shoulder to his companions, “I’ll take second shift when I get back. I gotta drain the hydra.”

A short time later…

Arden had returned before Sylanna and took up his post among the wagons. In his hand, he chewed on some meat jerky. He wasn’t sure what animal it came from, but the spices flavored it alright. In truth, he trusted his gut and scoured around for rumors and intrigue. Something didn’t feel right and stall-owners were often chatty.

Using his jovial, pedestrian personality and trader's background, Arden was able to get into a few conversations with the locals. A few small coins and promises handled the rest. Many of the sellers seemed jittery, looking over their shoulder a lot. They replied in hushed tones. A few assumed Rooke was some thug to give them the shake-down before being rode out of town. It appears that several trade and merchant companies had been forced out of Aliala besides the Red Hill Company and magical items and trinkets had been particularly hard hit.

“What does it all mean?” The former human trader mumbled to himself as he chewed hungrily on his dried meat snack.

"Now ladies and gentlemen, I think I must release you all of these wagons. Not personal just business as my employer said. Don't worry chant a paper cut shall befall you if you cooperate. And I assure you that whatever you're being payed I can double it. Any leaders here? I would like a more traditional parley."

Oh. That’s what it meant. Blocking the wagons in was a motley crew of scoundrels, brutes, and ne’er-do-wells of all types. The one speaking appeared to be their leader, though he seemed exceptionally armored and armed for a common street thief.

Arialista was first to move, getting into a deadly combat stance, like a one-woman-phalanx. Arden had trouble swallowing his snack, choking it down, in the fear of sudden escalation. Thankfully Sylanna, the Snow Elf veteran legionary, had returned and taken up this measure of parley.

In her authoritative stance, Sylanna helped Rooke realize that compared to the unholy abominations they had slain in the woods, these brigands were just… men. Rooke had fought men before. He could handle this. Steeling himself, the broad-shouldered human sauntered up behind his purple-cloaked commander and folded his arms. His red cloak, wrapped around his neck, covered most of his lower face and he stood as a potentially intimidating backdrop for the Snow Elf. If push came to stab, he always had his sword and trusty axe.

[Absolon-7]

Aliala, Duchy of Alius
The first of the guards to speak up was some upstart woman with a summoned spear. The leader smirked at the careless act of hostility and looked around to see if anyone else was willing to stand up but alas most were gawking at him slack-jawed. That is until an authoritative voice from the side could be heard prompting the leader and his thugs to spot an armored Snow Elf clad in a purple cloak and laden with food. His men stepped apart to make way for her walking past them as she dropped off her food in one of the wagons. She stepped up to face him head on with all the confidence he expected of her. Just perfect for the trap.

"Good. Very good. I understand elf," said the leader, "Good to see someone here has the gall to speak in peace. Now here is my proposal: I pay each of you twice whatever your frivolous little contract was worth and you let us take the wagons? If it helps some of my men can go convince the merchants that everything went swell and they had to cancel. Now how does that sound, deary?"

Meanwhile, one of thugs was hiding behind his large shield fidgeting around a satchel attached to his belt. With a nervous look he grasped the delicate pearl-white stone and gripped it in his palm as his eyes frantically scanned the wagon train before he spotted one with a Wood Elf near it. Rearing back he chucked the round object at the wooden rim of the elf's wagon right were the driver's seat led to the inside. It's shattering caused an unnatural booming sound to erupt from its epicenter. This tremendous sound terrified the wagon horses making them neigh in fright before causing them to bolt away luckily slowed down by the wagons and limited by the somewhat narrow alley. The thugs at the front immediately got out of the way and one by one jumped onto the driver area before the horses took up speed. Surprised by the sudden attack the original horse handlers were pushed off the wagons. The wagons sped off leaving the Legionnaires behind and it was only a matter of time before the frightened horses gained speed fast enough to outrun a person and only a bit more time before they exited the alley into the city's highways.

"Well all of you just got hit with a sixteen ton cart of bad luck," smirked the leader prepping his spear for a possible attack, "Now make a choice: Go after the wagons to save your silly little honor of the Legion or take the money and leave act like it never happened?"

The leader tilted his head to the side prompting the remaining seven men to ready their weapons in both a show of intimidation and in preparation for an attack. The leader said, " I think we both know which is the best choice."

---

Frey

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

Luca Greyfoot

Roxana Ma'gonid

---

"How gentlemanly of you, Frey," said Roxana, "Can't say I disapprove."

Roxana was sort of glad Frey didnt take up her offer as she knew not every Redcloak was gullible enough to make a bet with a higher ranked Legionnaire. Another day perhaps but for now she had to make due with him guarding her and Simion. Roxana readied her bow and aimed at one of the armors and right when it was in her line of sight she spotted how grotesquely it's faux heart was pumping into its fleshy tendrils holding it together. Thankfully she had Simion to her side whose weapon should be enough to pierce the primitive armor of these monsters. The monsters appeared to be made of some putrid purple-red color similar to jerky which connected all the armor together. Roxana couldn't recall ever running into something similar so she deduced they could possibly be some summons from a magic long lost. How exhilarating!

"Me and Simion here will probably get rid of these things before you all unsheath your swords," said Roxana, "Of course I would be first still."

Luca was the first to engage the armors dispatching two of them in a great show of his swordsmanship but he left himself open to the lunging attack by one of the armors. This power struggle cause all the remaining four armors to turn their attention to said conflict and begin running to aid their brethren. Lucas appeared to be locked in a sword struggle which prompted Roxana to swing her bow around surrounding the arrow in her wisp's green energy. With a loud thwack the arrow was let loose and penetrated the side of the spindly creature's decrepit armor. From where it was once stood its sword spun in the air before colliding into the ground in front of Lucas. The others swung their swords wildly as they ran for Lucas.

"Mithra damn you!," said Roxana as she exhaled letting loose another arrow that pinned the leg of one armor, "Simion! Aim for their chests as I pin them!"

Roxana released several more arrows pinning the fleshy feet of the possessed armors stopping them right before they reached Lucas. The four remaining monsters struggled to free themselves but the stretchy flesh that made up their tendrils worked against them snapping back in place as they tried to lift up their "legs". While stuck in place the armors were close together and swinging wildly their weapons sometimes accidentally striking each other. One lucky strike severed the legs of the fourth and last armor in the cluster. Free from its pinned prison it wildly crawled towards Roxana, Simion, and Frey throwing forward its arms like whips against the ground and its chest armor making a harsh grating sound as it slid along.

[Confederation of the Equator]

[minecraft villager sound]

[Finland SSR]

Luca Greyfoot
Heirloom Quest
__________________________________

Roxana Ma'gonid

---

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

---

The first person to charge from the crowd or try to lay the first attack on the possessed armors was neither Frey, Roxana nor Simion - but Luca, who suddenly lunged straight into the armors and slashed at them with feral ferocity, taking out two of them before his breadcrumb-sized brain thought about asking for help. Who could have thought that charging into enemy lines with no back up will end up terribly for everyone involved...

Roxana was the first to offer the necessary backup, firing a series of arrows towards the armors to pin several of them down to the ground and turn them into stationary targets. Immediately, the elven archer called out to Simion to finish the job - and the marksman responded immediately, exclaiming:

"On it!"

However, a thought soon dawned to his head. Because of how slowly his hand cannon reloads, he's not going to be able to get all three of them before they manage to break out of their pin holds and wreak havoc again. With this in mind, Simion suddenly leapt out of the cover which Frey provided, running to the right with his eyes focused on the three pinned possessed armors - until finally, from his point of view, one of the armors covered the other, indicating that from this position, they are standing directly behind one another. Instantly, the marksman raised his weapon and pulled onto the serpentine lock, a thunderous sound echoing across the entire hall immediately after and a bullet punching straight through both of the armors, leaving wide gaping holes in their chests. The two sets collapsed to the ground immediately thereafter.

Well, that's going to be my contribution in the fight. Don't think I can reload fast enough to fire off an another shot before Frey and Roxana deal with the other two.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

---

Sylanna couldn't keep a smirk from appearing on her face as she listened to the mercenary leader, noting with no small measure of amusement that he addressed her with an air of condescension, almost as if mocking her. Without losing her cool, she tried to imagine what must have been going through the man's head to give him the confidence to make light of her while speaking. He did not fault him for perhaps mistaking her for a High Elf, haughty and far from the adversities of the harsh North. On that same vein, perhaps the ornate armor and weapons she wore might seem to a human as something that could simply be bought or obtained on account of one's position. But did the cloak truly mean nothing to him? The mark of a high ranking member of the world-renowned Paean Legion, was it really so disdained among mercenaries, or did he simply lack awareness of its meaning? Did he perhaps think that it too could be bought, that the person who stood before him was a dumb noble playing soldier or something to that effect?

She didn't know, she didn't intend to ask, and before she even had the chance to reply to the man, something happened that made it clear that the moment for negotiations was over. One of the grunts tossed something at one of the wagons, and the ensuing boom startled the horses, sending them into a frenzy and giving the mercenary's cronies the perfect opportunity to board the wagons and steal off with their cargo. A quick glance over her shoulder was enough to inform her of that situation. What came next was how to salvage it. From what she could see, Vulluin had already jumped to action, boarding one of the wagons. Yvonne wasn't anywhere to be seen, so it was likely that she was in one of them as well. However, she was not sure two people would suffice to reclaim the caravan.

Leaving them on their own is not an option. I could catch up easily, but that would leave the Redcloaks without a leader and in numerical disadvantage... Who here has proven to be exceptionally fast on their feet?

As the leader of the traitorous grunts finished speaking, Sylanna made her decision and looked up, seeing the sun nearing its zenith.

"You picked the worst time of the day to piss me off. Blame your rotten luck if you must." The Snow Elf spoke grimly. Suddenly, she had the same glow from the previous day, when she had taken down the pale beast, with the sole difference that it was much stronger this time, wreathing the Purplecloak in a halo almost bright enough to rival the sun. Her presence seemed to overflow from her physical form, as if she was much larger despite not having grown a single inch.

With the power of her Heart of Light fueling her, she drew her spear and hurled it at the nearest grunt faster than the foe's eyes could follow, the force of the throw such that the winged lance tore straight through the unlucky man's shinguard and pierced his tibia, earning a scream of agony.

"Strauch! Yvonne and Vul are in the wagons, go aid them!" Sylanna shouted over the grunt's wailing. The Witch Hunter had shown himself to be outstandingly nimble during the battle against the pale demon, dodging its attacks with ease. If there was anyone nearby besides her that could catch up to the wagons, it was him.

With the order given, she drew her sword from its scabbard. With but a thought to command it, Solskin left its abode inside of her and entered the sword instead, its power immediately bathing it in burning flames. "The rest of you... make sure the leader is left alive, I'm sure he will have information for us. I don't care what happens to the rest of them." She said coldly, gripping her elven longsword with both hands and waiting for the enemy's first move.

---

---

---

Frey lazily stood in his place guarding the party's ranged fighters as Luca leaped forward and engaged the armors, deftly taking out two of them before leaving himself open to attack and being forced to defend himself. Roxana swiftly jumped to his aid - figuratively speaking of course, as she was still well-protected behind him - and fired off an arrow that punched through the armor locking blades with the Lycan, before pinning down the rest of the living armors by shooting their legs.

Clever move. The rogue thought, before watching as Simion jumped out from behind him and positioned himself so that his rifle would take out two more of the remaining enemies. At this point, the threat had pretty much subsided, but the rogue figured it wouldn't do to make it seem as if he hadn't done anything - which was a real concern, especially since none of the armors had actually been even close to presenting a real threat to Roxana or Simion, the people he allegedly stayed behind to protect.

Hearing the wild flailing of the living armor whose legs had been severed, Frey sighed. No, you're not a threat, eyesore. But you'll have to do. Walking forward, the rogue sheathed his knives and instead drew his cutlass, swiftly cutting down the foe's fleshy tendrils as soon as they came near him, severed limb segments and pieces of armor falling to the ground around him. Reaching the living suit, Frey stepped right over it so that he was at its back and then calmly raised his cutlass before bringing the point down on the back of the creature's cuirass, piercing through and destroying its core.

His work done, he glanced at the last of the creatures, still pinned down, and then at the member of the party who was yet to have his share of the culling, the towering monk, Oberon. "Would you like to do the honors?"

[Union Princes]

Inquisitor Strauch

Aside from taking a short tour of city area near the wagons, Wilhard spent most of his time conversing with his fellow Inquisitors that he manage to meet. Flagellants, priestess, warrior monks, and other paladins that came to city like him. Some stories were shared but the conversation would always go back to "What news from Free City?". After thanking his comrades for their time, the old man went back to the wagons. Only to find it peppered with unsavory folk. Bizarre when there was a purple cloak present. Clearly, a confrontation was happening between the Snow Elf and what seems to be the leader of the "merry" band.

Of course, something spooked the horses causing them to flee with the wagons attached to them. Now that annoyed Strauch to no end. But the Snow Elf was quick to think and shouted at him to chase after the wagons that housed their two companions. Being the fastest human in the party, Wilhard didn't hesitate and chased after the wagons. His agility allowed to weave through crowds who are just beginning to reform on the road. Let his party members deal with the idiots back there. He needs to calm these horses down.

[New Finnish Republic]

Edward Brunwulf
Goblin Camp

---

Edward nodded at Annabelle's suggestion. At least she's taking this serious, he thought as the Valan and Aayla seemed to not be doing anything of the like. As Valan let loose a series of flames, nearly singing Edward in the process and blocking his path, he was about to shout something at the pair when he heard the hobgoblins let out a mixture of a chuckling roar as it blocked the flames with its shield and charged forward. Taking up its waraxe, it advanced on Valan in an instant, swinging downwards in an attempt to strike at the pyromancer. However, before the attack could land, Edward rushed forward and slammed his sholder into the creture, sending it stumbling to the side and its weapon gliding through the empty air next to Valan.

"Be more careful!" Edward shouted as he switched his grip to wield his sword with two hands. He knew his buckler wouldn't do much to absorb the powerful blows of the hobgoblin, so instead intended on using the reach of his sword to carry him throuh. Hoping to take advantage of it being put off balance, he attempted to take a low swing at the back of its legs in an effort to cripple it. Unfortunately, it seemed to take little effort for the creature to respond, block the blow with its shield and immediately countering with a swing directed now towards him.

Disengaging, Edward directed his sword to parry the oncoming blow, take a step backwards as he did in an attempt to avoid the brunt of the attack. However, this played right into the hobgolin's plan, as the attack with its axe actually turned out to be a feint, instead using its shield to send Edward flying backwards. Rolling on the groud, Edward let out a groan as he hurried to get back to his feet before the hobgoblin could take further advantage of his state.

[Auropa]

Corven Roche
Caravan Group

‘Well I guess this is happening now’ Corven thought to himself as he watched the bandits rush forward and fight for control of the caravan.
In the space of a few seconds, the armed newcomers had broken negotiations with some sort of explosive before making their move. Curiously though, they didn’t keep pushing, after taking the legion by surprise their leader seemed to kill their momentum by choosing to keep talking to the resident purple cloak rather than start their attack. ‘That still leaves them with numbers then…’ Corven thought to himself as the first of the wagons went screeching by his hiding spot ‘might as well deal with that first’.

Then before the second cart could pass by, he turned back into the alley and broke into a run around the buildings. As he went, he was met with the odd curse and shout as he barged past the few pedestrians this deep into the back alleys but managed to make his way around and end up not far behind the line of thugs before the fight had started in earnest.

From there it was simple matter of staying close to the wall and trying to look unrelated as he approached. He did he best to look almost disinterested as the legionaries fought to take back control of the wagons while an old die-hard red-cloak quickly chased behind then at near disturbing speeds. Though above all, he tried to move quietly and avoid sudden moves as he focused on closing the distance between him and the few remaining fighters in front of the legion without setting off the powder keg.

‘Just a little bit further…’ he thought as he worked to move opposite to the chaos and keep in the background. But just as he approached striking distance, a shout rang out as a spear cut through one of the soldiers thankfully opposite his approach. Figuring that without an introduction there was a good chance he’d be seen as an enemy, Corven finally decided on making his move lest the next attack go his way.

“Hey Ugly?” He finally called from an arms distance behind the second last club wielder on the wing.

At the sudden noise close behind him, the man made the mistake of refusing to fully turn away from the other legionaries, only sparring a half turn backwards before a sudden flash of movement released Corven’s blade and sent it hurtling across his exposed side and upper torso. The response was unmistakable, a split second of confusion from the wounded man and his nearby comrades before a merciless realization as he fell to the floor and the fight began.

Not wanting to surrender his newly stolen initiative, Corven carried his blade through the attack and swung it across the nearest clubsman, slightly slashing his chest but forcing him into taking half a step back. At the same time, Corven carried his momentum around to face the last man in range of retaliating and before giving him an opening to attack, caught him off balance with a wave of force launched from his gloved left hand. Sensing imminent danger from above next, Corven quickly darted to the side and forcefully swung his blade upwards in an arc, narrowly catching and deflecting the blow aimed towards his head and giving him room to send a harsh retaliatory elbow to the attacker’s jaw and carve out some space for himself.

“Okay then.” Corven said as he adopted a defensive stance against the two regrouped attackers while backpedaling away from the remaining group “Who’s next?”

[Solisian Union]

Arialista the Eastern Battle Mage

Before things went down quickly, the war mage of the East remained in her position. From time to time, the slender but scarred and ready woman held her summoned, shining spear tightly as she would any other weapon. In front of her was her great shield. Although it too was just summoned, it would protect her well as any other shield.

For she was a mage of battle. A warrior of spells. And a legionnaire with a boon. One that she herself was very grateful for.

She had been too focused on what the good elf and the leader of the fools were talking about and on maintaining her battle ready stance against the foes to have noticed the man who tossed something at the wagons and caused a panic.

That was when things went down quickly.

At last, her boon, driven by the clear and present danger of this situation and by the need for her to act on behalf of her charge and most importantly, her comrades, activated. A long burst of flames came out of the tiny fireball orbiting her head. That wave of heat and light was transferred by itself to the blade of the spear and the front of the shield.

Together with her boon, Arialista acted without delay, driving her body and her weapons to the right flank, releasing a majestic cry of war in her native tongue:

"Baka! Anata wa orokamono no yō ni shinu nodesu! (Fools! You shall die like fools!)"

She targeted all those that the Snow Elf commanded to be put to the blade. She went for the right, hoping to flank them and impale them all with her spear. With swift steps, she managed to bash her first opponents with her shield, using both the fire to burn them out of her way and the force of her magical armor that she carried with her other hand. If they didn't get out of her way, then they would be unlucky enough to taste their own blood as her weapon plunged into and through their body.

One did get hit this way. Because the woman had held her spear in a way that the shaft rested on the shield, she was able to push the tip from a superior angle down into the stomach and then the kidneys of the man. That one screamed. She did not mind. All screamed as they felt her spear them or slash them in any way with such a magical weapon.

With flames beginning to scorch the body, Arialista cried out again as she kept going, pushing the man forward for a few more seconds until finally stopping to impale him to the ground, pushing the spear deeper. She said as she twisted the shaft and pulled it out, slashing to the left to expose his intestines

"Korede shimaida! Shine! (This is the end! Die!)"

One down. Just some more. The spear demands it. All my weapons demand it. All death calls for them. Yes!

The fireball began to create some more flames that transferred from the top of her head down her arm as the Battle Mage released the spear, causing it to vanish. But as quickly as it dissipated, the woman let go of her shield as well, now becoming unarmed. She took this chance to distance herself from the rest of the fools while she drew out a potion, drank a bit and put it back into her belt. She grinned as she posed in a way that she seemed to be holding a two-handed sword.

And like that, one did begin to form in her hands. Without waiting for it to completely form, she raised her hands, as if preparing to swing down on someone's head and again cried out

"Die!!"

She charged. The blade finished. The arms began to swing the weapon down. The target was another man. The result?

One head split open, a nicely made sound of both blood, flesh, and bones spurting, coming apart and breaking and additionally, the surprise of those nearby. The woman had gone mad. Her boon was driving her through it all. And behind that was simply her simple joy at returning to battle.

Though her experience of war back in the Eastern Lands has exhausted her, after having been here for two years training instead of fighting actual opponents with actual risks, this brought her back. This really did.

Nobody and nothing would stop her unless either the leader or a much luckier mook faced her down.

[Tomia]

Edward

Annabelle saw Edward go flying and saw this opportunity to knock the hobgoblin off its guard, as the creature pressed forward on the recovering warrior, Annabelle used her ability to move at almost imperceptible speed to slam into the unaware goblin. She forced the goblin to stagger, but barely managed to dodge as it savagely swung its ax in retaliation. Annabelle knew she needed to press her advantage or lose it so she slashed at the goblin's unguarded ankles, forcing it to stumble.

"Edward, now is our chance, charge it, I'll find an opening when you attack!"

[Radea]

Arden Rooke
Red Hill Company Caravan -- Back Alley Brawl
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
It all seemed to happen so fast. Once the lead ruffian had heard Sylanna’s retort, his plan went into action. Perhaps he had been planning it all along to force the Legionaries collective hand or maybe it was a trump card. Regardless, the wagons were bolting back down the enclosed alleyway with the drivers eating mud. Arden turned around and put his hands on his head in surprise. He was speechless until he saw the scrappy wood elf Vul clinging for all that is holy and dear life itself.
“That chain-smoker is going to get himself killed!” Rooke exclaimed as he thrust his arms forward, as if reaching out to the quickly fading Elf in the distance. There was no way Arden, with his average human speed, could ever hope to catch up to spooked horses.

As if to make him eat his words, the Snow Elf purple-cloak ordered the veteran Witch Hunter to dart after the carts. Without hesitation, the curmudgeon darted after the galloping carts with surprisingly nimbleness. Continually, Strauch shocked and impressed Rooke at every turn. Was there anything he couldn’t do?

The sun reached its zenith. Rooke was no learned man; but he was certain snow did not generate light as blinding as what radiated from Sylanna. The man instinctively covered his eyes with his forearm, shielding his gaze. Arden’s eyes barely regained focus only to see a spear, as if it had teleported, appear in one of the would-be robber’s shins. He yelped in pain.
Like a shark, Arialista lept into combat upon the smell of blood. She was shouting in a foreign language the Heartlander couldn’t understand. What he did understand, was the universal language of bloodlust and violence. The woman lanced a man with her spear so ferociously it would make a mounted knight blush. It seemed like she had lost herself completely. Sylanna’s command was to take the main leader alive. Arialista, from what Arden could see, wouldn’t be any mood to take prisoners.

The nightmarish abominations in the forest were something right out of the night terrors and myths of village elders. Rooke was intimidated to look at them, much less fight them.

Rooke had fought men before.

Men, Rooke could handle.

Sliding his hand over the smooth oak handle, he confidently drew his forrester axe from its leather loop. He kept the blade in its sheath on his lower back. He would need a free hand for this. His blue eyes focused on the armored leader of the gang, like a falcon honing in on prey.

“Hey tough guy!” Rooke called out to him, his voice cocky like a drunk about to get into a scrap, “Lets see how ticklish you are under all that armor.”

Rooke’s footfalls felt heavy against the pavement as he advanced on the leader. One of the thugs, seemingly recovered from the flash of Sylanna’s magic, attempted to stop him. Arden slapped him aside with the flat-end of his axehead, causing the thug to lose his footing and trip backwards onto the cobblestone and mud.

The heartlander grunted, shrugging his shoulders like a fist-fighter before a match. A head-on fight wouldn’t do. It would take some tavern hall wrestling to take the arrogant bandit down. Rooke would feint trying to slash at him with the axe, but then use his wild haymaker to slug the leader in the face. If that worked, he would then use the crick between the axe handle and the axehead to hook the leader’s feet, causing him to topple over. From there, the real fist-fight could begin.

[Absolon-7]

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

Frey

Roxana Ma'gonid

---

Once Roxana finished pinning the fleshy roots of the armor monsters, she raised an eyebrow at Simion's initiative in jumping out of Frey''s cover and getting into a position where he could shoot two of the armors. She had to give the marksmen props for seizing an opportunity once it showed itself. Plenty of other Redcloaks she had dealt with would have simply stayed put in a slack-jawed daze or taken some foolish risk. What she didn'y appreciate was how just before Simion got there some of those damn armor's injured each other and one was freed. Almost instinctively, Roxana placed her bow away and brought up her buckler once the last armor creature wildly began crawling its way to her and the others direction as it was moving far too randomly to get a good aim especially at such a close range. Luckily, Frey dispatched it quickly and so did Oberon killed the last pinned one.

"Well good job everyone. These things were quite odd," breathed Roxana in relief as she unsheathed one knife and stepped forward to retrieve her arrows, "I don't remember ever reading about these or hearing about them. Must be some curse by whatever culture built the World Sword monument."

As she inspected the sinewy tendrils connecting the old pieces of armor Roxana could smell a smokey but putrid odor from them. She'd have to use so much oil to get the scent out of her arrow's shafts. Disgruntled she placed them back in her quiver and looked at the large door on the other side of the hall. It was constructed of a strange translucent substance with a deep red tinge to it. Its texture was nothing like stone nor wood. The twin door almost gave off an otherwordly aura to itself. It was actually quite difficult to focus in looking at it as if there was something in the door interfering with her perception.

"Appias come forth!," ordered Roxana and out came forth her green wisp. It's faint green aura connected to her back by a long and thin cord of energy. At its end was a orb with a faint lime-green tinge and it swiftly flew towards the door. It was smacked back indicated by a sharp thwack sound by some hard invisible barrier that stopped it short of making contact with the door. As she suspected the distortion of her vision had a cause to it. Normally something ethereal like her wisp would have been able to pass it. She recalled her wisp and stepped in front of the door. Carefully she stepped forward and reached out to the door handle grasping the cold iron. She forced two brief tugs at the door and both times resulted in nothing happening.

"Blast it!," grumbled Roxana, "Despite their frail appearance it looks like these doors have some meat to them. It also appears beings of magic cannot pass some barrier but those of flesh can..."

Immediately the large door shattered into innumerable pieces as if a silent shockwave had passed through the room yet despite this destruction it was as if nothing happened as the door's translucent shards seemed to evaporate away into nothingness. Roxana stood there dumbfounded with a blank expression on her face with her lips puckered in. She turned her head at the now exposed doorway and the almost glossy chamber that could be spotted in the other side.

"Alright folks! Formation up!," rallied Roxana to get everyone together, "The heirloom should be right across from here as the map said!"

As the group moved in the corridor they passed by several stone sarcophagi embedded into their own spaces etched into the wall. Urns and dust collected at the little space they had at the ends and it seemed to be possible to shift them enough to reach an arm inside. Finally they reached a sizable but not too large circular chamber that could be illuminated entirely by Roxana's sunstick. At the other end of the room there was a disturbed stone sarcophagus that had its lid caved in and there appeared to be a wooden box, a quite modern one at that, at its side.

"That must be it!," said Roxana jovially, "Let's check it out but stay together."

As the group was almost upon them a hollow voice came from behind them. The surprise figure was astonishingly Byron himself but it appeared there was something off about him as if his eyes were much more sunk in then when they first saw him and there appeared to be black root like structures just below his skin pulsating ever so oddly. Black almost oil like liquid seeped out of one nostril and it appeared there was a black void where his teeth, tongue, and the normal stuff would be.

"Now I must thank all of you for dealing with those armor creatures. Their "hearts" were linked to that magic barrier and it was almost a matter of time till it shattered. Annoying thing kept me from getting my birthright right there." said Byron his voice almost echoing within itself and a mocking look filled his eyes, "You have all served your purpose so in exchange I shall grant you all a quick death. Farewell."

At his last words several oily black tentacles shout of his chest revealing a void where his chest would be and they extended themselves to attack whoever was closest. Roxana unsheathed her short sword but it was knocked out of her hand by one appendage. In a quick motion she took out both of her knives and stabbed the black oily mass pinning it to the wall and causing a deep purple blood to spurt out.

"This bastard can bleed!," shouted Roxana, "I know what this is! Aim whatever you can at his chest and he should be a gonner!" She hacked away at the rest of the appendage as it writhed in trying to stab her and summoned her wisp to fire a blast of energy at Byron burning away some of his defensive layers.

[Auropa]

Corven Roche
Red Hill Caravan

‘Step, feint, parry, strike, dodge, strike, step, hilt, push, parry’

Moving with a constant blur of steel about him, Corven fought to keep his two attackers at bay as he searched for an opening of his own. While ducking below swings and desynchronising their attacks with his own, he had steadily been moving back as he considered his options. As things were, he was without armour, struggling to not be surrounded and lacking the reach of his foes. ‘Brilliant’ Corven thought to himself beneath clenched teeth as a rushed parry left him taking the brunt of an attack’s weight.

Resisting the urge to backpedal out of reach, Corven instead twisted his blade around to pull the interlocked club back, then surged forward shoulder first, slamming into the exposed front of his attacker. As the man reeled back, his partner moved in with a light downward blow followed by a heavy return swing. Realising the feint a second too late, Corven threw up his sword at the last moment while a yellow aura formed and darted to the point of the coming impact. When the club hit, the small barrier shattered into a million embers but weakened the blow just enough for Corven’s blade to narrowly deflect the attack. Seeing both him and his attacker off balance with their weapons to their side, Corven decided to take a chance. Instead of bringing his blade back and giving his opponent a chance to do the same, Corven stepped forward and viciously launched his elbow into his foe’s nose. As he let out a cry of pain and a small fountain of blood, Corven brought his arms together at his side and turned to strike. When the man struggled to prepare a defence, Corven stamped his foot down hard on his enemy’s, and to the sound of crunching bone, bowed within inches of the man then swung his head upwards and into his jaw, forcing him to take several dazed steps back. Before Corven could move in and finish him however, his comrade was back in the fight, charging towards him and aiming to tackle him to the ground.

“Would you please just wait your turn!” Corven shouted as he narrowly ducked out of his attacker’s reach and worked to grab him before he could redirect himself. Interrupting his internal rant however was a sudden a blood curdling scream as some female berserker charged forward to ravage the opposing troops as another fighter calmly carved his path through the fighters to the enemy leader. “-Never mind then.” Corven breathed out as he wrenched his opponent's tackle away from him and towards his partner. Suddenly the battle had shifted. As the two men separated themselves, they saw their comrades falling fast against the legionaries and realised they had just about lost their last advantage against them. In the space of a few seconds, their well laid out ambush and show of force seemed to be crumbling around them.

“Okay. Let’s try this again.”
This time, when the two men moved into attack, the one now burdened with a free-flowing bloodied nose, a broken foot and a cracked jaw understandably hesitated. As he did so Corven saw his opening. Ducking below the first attack then sending a point-blank wave of force into the next, Corven pirouetted between the two as his blade danced back and forth, switching between defence and offence at a moments notice, constantly slashing at wrists, arms and legs as the duo relentlessly tried to hit the seasoned gladiator. Finally, the more injured of the two seemed to have enough and as he let out a warcry, he grabbed his weapon with both hands and went to swing hard and wide. Seeing the danger, Corven summoned another barrier, spun his sword about then braced. When the club hit, the barrier shattered and the moment it did, a small blinding light took its place. In that same moment, Corven moved close, grabbed the blinded man wrists with his own free arm, then dug his sword deep into his gut. Suddenly the warcry was replaced with a guttural cough as the man’s inwards started to flood before going entirely silent as Corven removed the blade and looked to the last bloodied attacker.

“Word of advice” He said between steadied breaths “Don’t yell before an attack. Gives the other guy plenty of warning.” Then as the man charged forward weapon at the ready, Corven side-stepped at the last second and cut low, nicking the man at his ankles and sending him reeling forward onto the ground alongside another fighter knocked asunder by the Legionnaire warrior.
“Anyone care to tag in?” Corven called out as he took a step back and prepared a cautionary defence.

[Bentus]

Yvonne

---

Yvonne’s eyes gradually fluttered open as the sound of raised voices intruded upon her slumbering mind. As the sight of the covered wagon around her slowly came into view, the Paladin furrowed her brow as she tried to recall how she ended up in her current position.

I had been healing Hadrian when Stauch took me aside.

She recalled the Witchhunter’s voice, his firm hand on her shoulder guiding her away from her patient as her heavily-fatigued body was unable to put up even a token resistance. She remembered being unsteady on her feet, the drain of channelling the Divine Touch having struck her like a blow. Fortunately she had still been able to heal Vul and leave Hadrian in a stable condition, but Yvonne nevertheless felt a stab of guilt as she realised that she had been unable to fully mend their injuries herself. Glancing around, she saw that she was alone in the back of the carriage - the only company being the stacks of produce and cargo that still remained ready for transport. Turning her head slightly, Yvonne’s eyes widened as she saw the bright sunlight streaming in. How long had she been asleep?!

Suddenly, she picked out Sylanna’s voice booming from outside the wagon. Immediately, Yvonne narrowed her eyes as she picked up the woman’s stern, commanding tone. She could almost feel the tension in her words, and she picked up on a voice that she couldn’t recognise responding to her. Something was going on, and here she was sleeping away the daylight hours. Reaching out to grasp the hilt of the small dagger that she had kept under the bundle of furs she had used as a makeshift pillow, Yvonne pushed herself up off of the wagon’s hard wooden floor while pushing aside the covers of her bedroll. Wearing a determined expression, Yvonne was about to push aside the cloth covering the wagon’s entrance when the sound of an explosion caused her to wince instinctively. Before the Paladin could properly react to the unexpected noise, the horses at the front of her wagon jolted into action. Terrified from the loud flash and the detonation of the thugs’ potion, the beasts lurched forward and quickly began to accelerate.

Still slightly groggy from being woken, and recovering from the loud noise herself, Yvonne was caught unprepared by the sudden movement beneath her feet. Knocked off balance, the Paladin let out a sharp cry as she was thrown backwards onto her rear, losing her grip on her dagger in the process. Wincing as she impacted the ground, and grimacing at the unfortunate turn of events, Yvonne turned to pick up her weapon only to see that it had fallen out the back of the wagon in the chaos. The Paladin groaned at the realisation. Great, now I’m here - probably moving away from everyone - and don’t even have a weapon. What is going on?

“Hey, did you hear something?”

The masculine voice was sharp and commanding, and immediately gave Yvonne pause as she glanced towards the front of the wagon. As if on cue, the cloth that separated the interior from the drivers was pulled aside by a gauntletted hand, allowing for a stream of sunlight to illuminate the figure of the Paladin sitting surprised on the floor. Yvonne was met by a pair of similarly stunned expressions, the two heavily armed mercenaries clearly not having expected any passengers to still be onboard when they commandeered the transport. For a few seconds, both parties simply stared at each other in mutual surprise, until Yvonne gathered her senses enough to push herself back to her feet.

“Who are you and what do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was firm and commanding, her expression hardening as she confronted the pair of armed men. She noted that neither of them were wearing one of the Legion’s distinctive cloaks. “Were you sent by the Red Hill company?”

Not responding immediately, the pair of mercenaries glanced at each other in amusement. One of them offered his comrade a smirk as he seemed to dismiss the woman’s tone. Suddenly, Yvonne realised that she was standing in little more than the tunic and trousers that she wore under her armour. The cloth would offer her little in the way of protection against sharpened steel or solid blows, and the Paladin felt a lump in her chest as she remembered that her lone weapon had also just fallen out the back of the wagon.

One of the mercenaries - seemingly the one in charge - turned his attention back to the rode ahead as he gestured behind him with a tilt of his head. “You deal with the stowaway, we don’t have the time for distractions.” The man’s ally responded with a nod, unsheathing his sword as he stood to clamber down into the wagon’s interior. As he did so, the cloth blocking the driving position once again fell into place.

Looking over the woman who still stood defiantly, although she had taken a few steps back to put more distance between them, the mercenary did his best to appear menacing. He didn’t want to hurt her if he didn’t have to, and it would be better to just frighten her into submission.

“Alright Miss, how about you sit yourself down and I’ll tie you up before this gets messy?”

As if to emphasise his point, the man raised his sword, its metal blade reflecting some of the stray sunlight entering the wagon. He remembered that the more experienced mercenaries had warned him not to underestimate the Legionnaires assigned to the caravan, but he couldn’t see a cloak anywhere in the wagon. Chances were that the lass was just part of the merchants who were transporting the goods. For a moment, the thug felt a pang of pity for the woman who was probably going to see months of her income vanish from under her nose, but it was better her than him.

Yvonne continued to glare at the armed mercenary, gradually piecing together what was going on. The caravan must have been attacked, which means that they’ve claimed at least this wagon. Looking at the mercenary’s footing, Yvonne realised that he didn’t seem too concerned about her putting up any resistance. Realising that the cross necklace that symbolised her relationship to the Church and the Order was resting under her shirt, Yvonne felt the beginnings of a plan come together in her mind. For now, she had the element of surprise. In the cramped confines of the wagon, the man’s sword would reduce his agility - but she was defenceless if any of his attacks connected.

Increasingly irritated by the silence coming from the young woman, the mercenary began to take a few threatening steps towards her. It looked like he was going to have to drag her down in order to restrain her. “Alright Miss, I don’t think you fully grasp the situation that you’re in. How about you -”

Before the man could finish his sentence, Yvonne leapt into action. Propelling herself forward with a cry, she swung a clenched fist upwards so that it swung into the mercenary’s jaw. The blow sent his neck snapping backwards, while causing the man to stumble backwards in surprise as he let out a shout of pain. Seeking to press her advantage, Yvonne made to launch another flurry of attacks while the man was still recovering, but she was instead greeted by the man lifting his sword up to meet her. Immediately, the Paladin brought herself to a halt, acutely aware of the risks of charging in blindly to an armed opponent.

Taking a moment to regain his composure, the man lifted a hand up to his face, scowling as he saw it come away with the red of his own blood. Looking up to see Yvonne standing in a defensive posture with her fists raised and a look of determination etched onto her features, he felt an anger rising in his chest.

“Big mistake, lady!”

And with that, the fight began in earnest as the wagon continued to barrel away down the street.

[Turmenista]

And now… a change in perspective

Durge Firehearted
The Pale Impala Inn, The Northern Reaches
__________________________________

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

A shrill, high-pitched feminine scream erupted from the bedroom as Durge’s titanic furred figure entered the through the window, his menacing violet left eye partially illuminating the room as it glowed, making his entry all the more terrifying as he snarled. Immediately, the couple in the bed arose, the man groggily shaking himself awake as he opened a palm, activating a clairvoyance spell to illuminate their dark room. “Wha-what? What is it?”

Durge’s reply was curt. “Your worst nightmare.”

Really, Durge? Is that the best you can do? Tch. No matter.

“Dear, there’s... there’s an intruder in our room!” The woman shrieked in horror, trying to cover herself with the bedsheets. In response to this, the man in the bed quickly realized who this was, his eyes widening. "It's... you.."

Immediately, he grabbed his dagger from the dresser beside their bed. “You shouldn’t have come here, Durge! I’ll make you into a carpet for my home!”

Instantly, the Lycan began to move forward, springing off his front foot as he bounded towards the bed, his feet stomping loudly on the wooden floor. His hooded fur cloak parted, revealing the pair of axes slung on his side...as well as the oversized metal gauntlet around his right arm. By the time his dagger had cleared its sheath, the man saw that Durge was already on him, a single hand being the only thing necessary to lift him up and out of his bed, while another hand sent a jab to his stomach, undoubtedly breaking something vital from the force of the blow. Afterwards, he was promptly swung to the side and slammed into the wall, the room shaking from his strength as a painting atop the bed fell and shattered. With his free hand, Durge took one of his axes and swiped it across his vision, easily severing his target’s head from his neck in one fell swoop.

"Arwin NO!"

His head rolled across the floor rather comically as the rest of his body crumpled down onto the ground, void of any signs of life as a veritable pool of crimson gathered at his corpse. Trying his hardest to ignore the wailing that hurt his sensitive ears, Durge began sifting through the man’s body promptly afterwards, stuffing a small pouch of jingling coins into the pack to his side with a small snicker, along with a rolled-up bundle of paper that he took in a more gingerly fashion. He started for the door after cleaning his ax of blood on the victim’s cloak.

Suddenly, the woman in the bed sat up as she glared at him, trying to cover herself up with the bedsheets as she grabbed her late lover's weapon. “You...you’re insane, you dirty criminal! What kind of animal kills someone so unprovoked? So violently? All for some coins and a sheet of paper? Why?!"

Slowly, Durge strode over to her, his overwhelming size clearly obvious as he loomed over her ominously by several feet. “I’m sorry I had to ruin your fun, dame. You see, the Thane, your lover here, was going to die one day or another for what he did to me. Consider his death one less problem for someone elsewhere in the world. I’ll be taking my leave now...unless,” he paused to chuckle, his tongue licking his lips lasciviously. “You want me to stick around for a bit longer.”

The woman cringed visibly as she darted for the window. “You monster! Why would I ever want to be with you.. you.. murderous scum! You cannot leave here! I need to tell the guards at once to arrest y—” Her arm was suddenly grabbed mid-sprint by Durge as she was spun around to face him with a yelp. She was grabbed with his right hand, the metal gauntlet’s grip tightening around her neck as she was slowly lifted up from the ground. Durge pouted, tilting his head as he saw her squirming. “Sorry, love. No witnesses.”

“No.. Pl..please..” Her voice came down as painful gasps of air as the Lycan only smiled, slowly tightening his vice grip as she tried prying his fingers off her neck with her hands, to no avail. “You’re a pretty one, I’ll give you that. In fact, I’m willing to let you go right now if you want to come with me. You don’t have to die… just stick around with me for a bit. I might even please you more than your lover here. What do you think?”

Her response came in the form of a light, negligible slap to the face that was more of a regular tap on the cheek, her legs swinging wildly in the air. Durge rolled his violet eyes. “I take that as a no.”

He squeezed harder and harder, the woman’s breaths becoming more and more laborious as she writhed in pain, before her breathing ceased altogether, following a sickening snap of from neck. Durge sighed and let go of the tension as her body fell lifelessly to the ground. Shame I had to kill her. She was beautiful, too.

Durge started for the door, only to be stopped by a sudden, throbbing sensation in his head, causing him to double over in pain onto the sweat-covered bed as he experienced tunnel vision, a faint purple light around his darkening vision. Repulsively, he stood up onto his legs as the sensation subsided. “Why now..”

YOU DID NOT HAVE TO KILL HER, DURGE.

“Well, what was I supposed to do then, Erys—master.” Durge quickly corrected himself as one of his ears twitched, showing that he was visibly annoyed. "I couldn't just make their bodies, you know, disappear. I’m not exactly keen on magic like you are, and I don't eat dead bodies." Shuddering, he added grimly, prodding the woman's body with his foot. "Or men.”

NO MATTER. WHAT’S DONE IS DONE—YOU HAVE RECOVERED WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR. MY PLAN IS COMING TOGETHER LIKE A PIECE OF DWARVEN CLOCKWORK.

“Well, this plan of yours better be worth it.” Durge grunted. He experienced a sudden illusion as the door was bolted shut by an impenetrable wall of obsidian, the mirror beside the bed seemingly not functioning as it would've normally, given he didn't see the tendril of ichor emerging from the black mold-like patch on his arm in the mirror, a side effect of his Blight Affliction. The tendril shaped into the head of his master as he saw it in the mirror again, though, undoubtedly, this meant that it was an illusion only he was capable of perceiving... or talking to.

"This is worth it, Durge." Erysivius snarled. "I have spent hundreds of years preparing for this, plotting, scheming, raiding with what power I had left over the Blight. The forces have been thrust into disarray since my banishment.. but with you to serve as my new enforcer, I will be able to regain my lost power, and you will be granted your wish of unlimited power." The head circled around Durge, slithering around his body in the air like a snake. "Is that not what you want, Durge?"

Durge hesitated. "It is."

"Then you will learn not to question my will, Durge. I will show you the meaning of what you have collected thus far outside."

Scoffing, Durge shook his head, the illusion fading away as he opened the door, heading down the stairs to the main area of the tavern. Despite being late in the night, there was still a sizable crowd inside, comprised of a possibly intoxicated but skilled bard playing by the fireplace in the center (typical of most inns and taverns in the Northern Reaches), a pair of elves in a booth counting their coins while laughing, two rather voluptuous female Lycan "mercenaries" idling by the bar, and the burly barkeep himself. To anyone drunk, it was the perfect setup to some erotic tale written by an old wizard somewhere or a clever joke, but to someone who was alert and on edge, and quite frankly wanted—like Durge—it meant a trap.

Everyone was armed, even the silly bard himself, and six armed people meant that this would be complicated. Upon reaching the main area, the bard slowly stopped playing as six pairs of eyes stared at him, the Lycan pair evidently smelling the blood residue or scent of the tenants upstairs as they subtly reached for their weapons.

To this, Durge only relaxed his shoulders, rolling his eyes. "Shit."

The barkeep spoke up first as everyone else tensed up, reaching for their weapons or eyeing any exits. "You're a wanted crook, Lycan. If ya don't get your sissy behind outta my tavern in the next thirty seconds, I swear to the divines, I'll shove this here Gauntlet so far up into your nether regions, that you'll be smellin' wet steel for the next two seasons."

Too distracted by the absurdity of his threat to even be perturbed by it, Durge tilted his head. Wh- does wet steel even have a smell..?

The barkeep brought up the gauntlet in question up and over the counter, setting it onto the top of it with a loud thump, which seemed to shake the entire shop itself from its weight. "I guess you want to find out what it smells like."

To this, Durge only chuckled, parting his cloak away. "Well, barkeep... mine's bigger."

"You're a dead man."

"How about a little joke to make things a little more comfortable." Durge tilted his neck side to side, as if to crack it. "Two Lycan...broads, two elven pansies, a bard, and a barkeep are in a bar. I enter. Only one leaves."

He unleashed one of his axes from his belt, watching it sail past the two Lycan "mercenaries" and right into the shoulder of the barkeep, pinning him to the wall. Immediately, the two Lycan females charged him, one wielding a polearm as the other took up two short swords from her side. The elves in the corner were prepared for battle, too, one activating his wisp as the other took up a short sword he apparently had. Even the bard dropped his lute in favor of his hunting dagger, along with an empty bottle that he shattered against his seat.

Trying not to get distracted by his two female assailants as they ran at him, Durge immediately took a fighting stance and roared, charging to meet the Lycan pair as violet Blight energy crackled around him. With all of his might, he thrust his forearm upwards, blocking a stab that would've hit his stomach as the blade was sent into the air. Using his newfound agility, his fist connected with her chest, sending her flopping backwards with a painful groan. He unhooked his spare ax from his belt and brought it down onto her neck, swiftly dispatching her as he pulled the ax out of her, aiming it towards her companion. His throw was prematurely sent spiraling away in the other direction as she slammed into him, briefly rivaling his strength as he eventually overpowered her, grabbing her by her arms and lifting her up, before slamming her body down onto the table. His gauntlet's claws easily took her down following slashes to the neck.

The barkeep behind Durge pulled the ax that was pinning him to the wall out and vaulted over the bar, charging him with his weapon off of pure adrenaline. The rest of the bar-goers charged him for close combat—his favorite!—trying to get their hits in on the titanic Lycan. The gauntlet on his right arm clashed with his ax that was being used by the barkeep, so he brought his head forwards into a headbutt, stunning the barkeep before he finished him with two powerful swings to the chest. Now in possession of his prized weapon, he spun back around as one of the elves bounded towards him, his sword producing sparks with the Lycan's axe as they vied for control over one another. Durge executed a feint and immediately moved into an unexpected tackle, wrapping his arms around the elf's waist as he easily lifted him up and off the ground. With a powerful shout, Durge slammed him down into the open fireplace, immediately moving to focus in on his partner.

His Wisp came in quickly, so Durge did the only thing that he could think of upon seeing the blue spirit charge towards him: he brought up the barkeep's body, using it as a shield to block the wisp as he ran for him. Once in range, he dropped the body and clotheslined the elf, picking him up by the neck and pinning him to the wall with his own sword.

He hungrily snapped his head around to the bard. Now.. you.

All the while, the drunken bard had watched the fight, shaking as he wielded his impromptu bottle-stabby weapon and his knife. Stumbling towards him after his frenzy, Durge's afflicted eye flashed as he eyed down his victim, gritting his teeth. His breathing by now had become much more raspy, like an animal, mirroring how he was in his frenzy state. "I'll kill you."

The bard ran at him with one last heroic hurrah, lunging with his knife and bottle. Durge dodged his clumsy, drunken attempt at an attack, kicking him away with only one leg. With a few strides, he was over the bard, knocking him across the face with a punch, followed by a much more powerful swing onto his gut with the gauntlet, causing him to empty out his lunch or dinner from before out onto the floor. Disgusted, Durge slammed him onto the wall, finally finishing his opponent off with a chop to the neck. His death was slow and dramatically drawn out as Durge took his other ax that had been thrown away somewhere, watching the bard leave behind a trail of red on the wall as he slowly slid down onto his rear, slumping over where he sat soon afterwards.

THIS WAS TOO MESSY.

"I tried to be clean." Durge grunted. He took a pair of bottles from the bar, keeping one for keepsake while he spilled the contents of the other out onto the floor, before scattering some of the embers from the fire over it. Pretty soon, a veritable flame had appeared, beginning to engulf nearby flammable objects in the mostly wooden building. "Let's just get out of here."

Once outside, Durge realized immediately that there was a sullen silence in the air, save for the wind whistling around them. The sky was full of stars, the moon beaming down on him while he left the area. Snow slowly fell around Durge as he pulled his hood over his head, trudging through the snow. Behind him, the inn had finally caught on fire, belching black smoke into the air and filling the area with a distinct stench of something burning. Stopping suddenly, Durge reached into his pack where he had kept his loot from Thane Arwin's assassination, unraveling the bundle of paper and viewing it. On face level, it was just an ordinary sheet of paper with chicken scratch on it, causing Durge much confusion as he glared down the paper. "That's it?! It's just another one of these notes? Erysivius, help me with this."

The flapping of something large was heard approaching as a shadow briefly drowned Durge in darkness. A Blight Beast came in for a landing right besides him, hobbling over to him because of its large, crow-like characteristics. Undoubtedly, this was Erysivius controlling it, so it wasn't here to kill him. Thankfully.

"View it with the other paper. Hold it to the moon." Erysivius's voice spoke into his ears. Durge did as he was told, revealing a paper he had collected in a similar mission prior to this one, holding both sheets of paper on top of one another. Raising them up, he saw the chicken scratches had made what appeared to be a two-by-two grid, complete with four quadrants. A vertical line was visible in the upper left quadrant, followed by two vertical lines in the upper right, two more in the lower left, and one in the lower right, accompanied by a horizontal line immediately right of it. Was this...

You have got to be kidding me. Durge lowered the sheets of paper, laughing hysterically. "This is useless. This is actually fucking useless, Erysivius. I mean, how in the fuck are we able to discern anything from these... these.. these lines?!" He flailed his arms in the air, growling in frustration. "I'm at a loss for words."

"OR PERHAPS, YOUR BRAIN IS TOO TINY TO COMPREHEND WHAT THIS IS.' Erysivius retorted violently, the Blight Beast roaring as his voice boomed in his enforcer's ears. 'This is a code, for a secret door, which I know the exact location of. All you need to do is bring me there."

"As if I'll trust your wisdom after this shi—" Durge was caught off of what he was saying as he was flung into a nearby tree by a wing of the Blight Beast, which sprinted over to him and pinned him down to the ground with its talons. Shrieking in the Lycan's face, the beast drew back as Durge quickly shut up, pushing himself back onto his feet as Erysivius began shouting in his ear.

"Do you have doubt in my abilities, my noble apprentice? Did you think I was defeated so easily all those millennia ago? Do you think I am unwise, unfit to rule? NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT. IN CASE YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN, I AM ERYSIVIUS, THE BLIGHT GOD, HARBINGER OF SHADOWS AND BRINGER OF CHAOS! I have destroyed armies of MILLIONS and defeated the greatest heroes of the ancient world! It took the efforts of every single hero to stop me, let alone banish me. I am unhindered by time—the embodiment of flesh and bone and BLOOD, the will of The Blight itself."

Pausing for dramatic effect as Durge gulped audibly, the Blight Beast lowered its head down to Durge's level, its glowing deep violet eyes staring directly into Durge's soul as a purple haze appeared around them. "And you, Durge Firehearted... you shall be my weapon. You will take me to the city of Fallowmire in the Southern Desert. You will take me to the Dwarven Vaults in Mount Doruhl and use this code to open the vault. Only there, after you do as I tell you, will we be able to go to the next step of my plan, and will you have your first taste at what unlimited power is."

The Beast pulled back. "Do I make myself clear?"

Reluctantly, Durge nodded, balling a fist. "Yes, master."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

---

"Oh, great. Just great. The suspicious rich employer turns out to be some a backstabbing tentacle monster." Frey scowled as he quickly unsheathed his butterfly blades, gracefully sidestepping one of the dark tendrils that headed towards him and slicing through it with relative ease, though he noted with some disgust that the tendril, which began splashing sickly purple blood all over the floor, continued to writhe despite having been severed.

"Not the first time I've been employed by a turncoat. Or the first time I fight a tentacle monster." The rogue commented, suddenly sprinting in the direction of two encroaching tentacles and cutting them off from Byron with his swords. "Bonus points for merging the two together, I suppose." He shrugged, twirling his blades in his hands. "Now, time to die."

Harnessing the power of the boon given to him by the Singing Stone, Frey disappeared from the sight of all those present and rushed towards Byron, intent on putting down the so-called 'legendary adventurer', who had shown his true colors as traitorous scum. If Roxana was indeed right, then one good slice on the black hole that was his chest, and he'd be a dead man... or monster. It should be easy. The rogue thought as he used his remarkable agility to weave his way past the myriad tendrils that were assailing his companions. Just a little closer and he would-

"You think you're the first plucky legionnaire I meet? Or the first that has the power to conceal himself? You're not the only one that knows a thing or two, boy!" Frey heard his opponent taunt with a derisive laugh as he suddenly redirected a few tendrils towards Frey, possibly giving his fellow legionnaires a breather. Two of the incoming tentacles he managed to cut down despite being taken by surprise, but the third reached him and coiled around him. The former pirate grunted in pain as he felt the appendage constricting him, before being lifted off the ground and slammed against a wall.

Damn! He mentally cursed, his blades having slipped from his grasp after the impact. He could not be more upset: after almost being close enough to finish the whole battle with one blow, he was at his foe's mercy, and would be crushed if he didn't do something soon. With some effort, he reached for his scabbards and pulled out his daggers, throwing them towards Byron's chest. Immediately, he was released, the tendril that held him instead swatting away Frey's knives, which came to rest harmlessly by the entrance to the chamber they were in. Just a moment later, the tentacle was upon him again, but he'd had enough of a breather to pull out his cutlass, his last remaining weapon, and angrily cut through it, the spray of purple staining his arms and chest.

"The old fart can sense me, I can't sneak up to him. We'll have to do this the hard way and overpower him." The rogue spoke after catching his breath. "I'll keep him as busy as I can." He added, jumping back into the fray with only his cutlass by his side. It had been his first weapon, and it was by far the one he was most skilled with, so even with the lack of others, he was still a force to be reckoned with, and swiftly began tearing through Byron's black magic.

"I just hope there's someone to foot the bill when we kill this bastard."

---

---

---

---

After crippling one of the mercenary leader's men with a simple spear throw, she stared down the man, as if daring him to press the attack. She did not think that he would've lasted very long against her, especially if she had seized the opportunity to storm him by surprise. And yet, out of spite, she instead decided to make a show of force and then wait for her opponent to make the first move, either to attack or to turn tail and flee.

But it was not to be. Before he made a decision, the purple-cloak saw from the corner of her eye one of the red-cloaks under her watch, the hot-blooded Arden stepped forward to challenge the leader of the mercenaries, swatting aside one of the still living thugs with a powerful blow. Sylanna let out a smirk upon seeing this - Rooke was a bit green, if the encounter in the forest the previous night was any indication, but he could still clearly hold his own in a fight and even humiliate an enemy in battle, which she could appreciate; it took someone skilled to do that, and even if she generally frowned upon it, she was irked enough to think it warranted in this occasion.

Stepping aside and letting Arden test himself against the sole member of the opposing faction that posed a threat, the Snow Elf instead decided to survey the situation around her. Besides Arden, the only legionnaire who had stayed behind was Arialista, who was worryingly out of control, going berserk on the enemy troops, disemboweling them or splitting their heads. Even though she had explicitly instructed them to do as they pleased with their foes, sans for the leader, she couldn't help but feel some pity for the mercenaries that had become victims of the barbarian from the Far East.

More interestingly, however, there was one not from her party currently engaging the grunts as well, a man a few years younger than her, with short black hair and the look of a seasoned warrior about him. With an old shortsword of his, he had seemingly managed to dispatch two of the mercenaries and send another one crashing into the thug that Arden had pushed back, before backing off slightly and adopting a defensive position, clearly preferring to play it safe now that he had eliminated most of the threat to him. On the man's back was a billowing red cloak, unmistakable sign of his affiliation to the Paean Legion.

It doesn't look like I will be needing to get serious here after all. The Snow Elf told herself, her radiant solar glow suddenly petering out as she ceased to harness the power of her boon. The alley seemed a lot darker now, despite the fact that the sun was still high in the sky. Might as well see what our fellow legionnaire's intentions are.

Calmly walking towards Corven, Sylanna noticed that one of the mercenaries that had been knocked down was attempting to get back up. With a sigh, she raised her sword, which was notably not on fire anymore, and plunged it into the man, piercing his cuirass and his vital organs alike. Retiring the blade and sending the blood flying off with a flick of her wrist, she placed one foot on top of the other grunt, who was clearly terrified.

"I'm feeling a lot less annoyed with you lot now, so I think I'm going to let you off the hook here. Go back to whoever is your boss and tell them not to make light of the Paean Legion next time. And while you're at it, learn something more useful than swinging a stick at someone weaker than you and make something of your life. Trust me, you're not cut out for this job." The purple-cloak said before removing her foot. "Now, off you go. Run."

The man obliged, first crawling and then running away from the area, and Sylanna turned to look at Corven, giving him a quick once-over and occasionally glancing back to make sure the mercenary leader wasn't overpowering Rooke. "You're not in the party assigned to this quest, otherwise I would remember your face." She said, pausing for several moments and holding the man's gaze before breaking into a small smile. "But it is always good to meet a fellow legionnaire. Thank you for your help. Who might you be?"

[Finland SSR]

Roxana Ma'gonid

---

Frey

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

---

Frey's words expressed Simion's inner thoughts perfectly. Oh, great...

After all this time they worked to claw themselves through the dungeon, take down increasingly tougher and more disgusting threats, their final opponent is Byron himself? And Byron in a disgusting tentacle monster form, too, lashing out at them with black tendrils, hoping to get rid of the adventurers who so generously unlocked the door to his family heirloom for him. As Simion leapt back, trying to take some distance from their final opponent, he couldn't help but wonder that Byron was being a little... extreme?

Getting the heirloom out of this dungeon was kind of their purpose and they would have carried it out for him without questioning what might be inside, right? So what's the point of killing them as soon as they unlocked the room? Was Byron worried about them stealing the heirloom? But even if any one of this ragtag group of adventurers considered taking the heirloom for themselves, the entrance to the dungeon was surrounded by Byron's men and there would be no chance to escape unharassed. It would be too risky to try to steal that bloody heirloom.

Did he not have enough money to pay for all of the adventurers? That's not an option either, Byron was a famed adventurer himself and if the camp and feast he prepared the night before have anything to say, it's that he was wealthy enough to pay for an entire army. And besides, this heirloom was clearly something extremely valuable, so even if paying for the adventurers would leave a dent in his pocket, it shouldn't matter to him...

Fine, whatever, that's not important. Let's just assume Byron is an asshole.

Roxana, after pinning down one of the monster's tendrils, pointed out that the bastard can bleed and his chest cavity must be his weak point. Right. Simion immediately raised his weapon in preparation to fire - however, Byron was clearly aware of what his weapon might be able to do if left unharassed, so one of the monster's tendrils suddenly latched onto the barrel of the hand cannon, entering a tug of war with the marksman and trying to pull it out.

"Damn it..." Simion muttered under his breath, his feet dragging across the floor and the weapon slipping from his hands - only for the tendril to suddenly let go of the gun barrel and throw itself towards Frey, who had been trying to mask his presence only to discover pretty painfully that Byron was able to sense his presence. Oh. That's great. Not wishing to push his luck any further, the marksman retreated to the other side of the room, pulling up a heavy stone slab off the floor and stabbing his sword into the earth underneath to hold the piece semi-horizontally, as a makeshift cover from further attacks.

Resting his hand cannon on the horizontal slab and pulling the serpentine lock, Simion aimed towards Byron, only to suddenly let go and leap backward when he caught the glimpse of one of the adventurer's tendrils trying to grab him with the corner of his eye. The tendril soon retreated, returning to attacking Frey, but it still did not bring good news for the marksman. Even with so many people fighting at once, he has enough limbs both for attack and defense... I'll never be able to land a clean shot with this advantage of his. Simion's thoughts went to Roxana pinning one of the tendrils to a wall, however, which is where the marksman got an idea.

"Everyone!" he exclaimed from behind cover. "Just distracting him is not going to be enough! Pin down as many of his tendrils as you can, I'll try to get a clean shot!"

[Segral]

Oberon Klask

Lord have mercy upon his soul, what was this madness?! Ever since that door had broken apart magically, Oberon had been tense, a feeling making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, telling him that something was wrong. Even as Roxana whooped and celebrated finding the treasure, Oberon couldn't help but feel suspicious of what was happening. His staff had been tightly gripped within his hand, his other hand gripping the silver amulet resting on his collarbone. And just seconds later, his worst fears had been confirmed when Byron of all people had shown up behind them, looking like a demon had possessed him. He looked as if he had black tendrils under his skin, his whole complexion seemed darker, what with the liquid flowing from his nostrils and thin face. But the worst was his mouth, a gaping, empty black hole, thrashing and writhing about. It was terrible to look at.

It was even more terrible when he began to attack their extremely unsuspecting group.

Luckily, only one tendril shot to him. His reflexes jolted into action, staff crossing across his body and slamming into the tendril, pinning it to the wall. The force was enough to crush the tip of the tendril, causing some blood to trickle, but it was still usable and thrashing. He would need cover or else he would be stuck beating away tendrils with no effect. He needed to think fast, and he would need as much magic flow as possible. Leaping back behind Frey and Roxana to give him cover, he popped open the amulet on his neck, removing the cross inside. Without the artifacts, his magic would be slowed, it would take time to charge.

Quickly batting away another loose tendril, he quickly flipped over his staff and began to drag the tip through the gritty, sandy earth. Luckily, it gave him a distinct line, which was all that he needed. Swirling his staff, he carved a circle stretching around his body, cutting it through with a large "X" in the middle, the symbol for a shield. With an exclamation of a single word, a word in a strange, otherworldly, magical tongue, "Skolis", he jabbed the tip of the staff into the center of the circle, where the lines intersected. Lifting his amulet and cross in his hands as he stayed rooted to the circle, a dim yellow light began to charge the objects, as well as the staff and the circle around his feet. Suddenly, the circle of light rose from the ground, forming what seemed to be a protective dome of yellow light circling his body. It would withstand plenty of his tendril attacks, as those were not as powerful as say, a sword.

With a mighty yell, Oberon charged forward, angling towards Byron's right side. His staff could penetrate his shield but the tendrils couldn't without breaking the dome. Swinging the long side of his staff forward, he slammed several of Byro's tendrils back, circling around with the tip to poke away any loose strands. But Byron fought back, battering away at his shield, thin cracks already beginning to appear. Leaping backwards, he held up his staff in a defensive gesture, attempting to ward away the tentacles that broke his precious defenses. Not that he could hold it for very long, but the amulet and cross extended its lifespan.

With another charge, he viciously batted the tentacles away, attempting to pin the mass to the wall. However, there were many, and it would take more to help finish the beast.

[Absolon-7]

Aliala, Duchy of Alius
The leader of the band of brigands raised in eyebrow as the Purplecloaked Snow Elf failed to waiver to his bribery. Not everyday you meet someone with this conviction. He watched her glow with a light rivaling the sun's before he saw her skewer on of his men's legs with her spear. The leader flipped down the visor on his helmet and raised his weapon in preparation for an attack but he could only watch in horror as his men were cut down and dealt with in almost the blink of an eye.

"What bullshit is this?," growled the leader before he was surprised by an attack by the one known as Rooke. The Redcloak began a feint attack with his ax but he could tell he did not mean to hit as it was obvious he was putting not enough force in the attack to actually intend a hit. The leader was no stranger to these amateur tactics. Before the ax slash was finished the leader rushed forward and socked the one known as Rooke in the middle of his face with his metal gauntlet. The leader stepped back and reached behind on his belt to grab a certain item from his pouch. It was an old scroll wound up within itself.

"Boss is going to be mad but I'm sure he'll understand," whispered the leader. He flipped the scroll open and out shone a bright golden light from the middle of the scroll and immediately two large orbs erupted and zoomed towards Arialista and Sylanna. The first orb crashed into Arialista and it exploded in an enormous amount of kinetic which threw her violently some distance away like a ragdoll. The second orb hurtled towards Sylanna but it prematurely burst a meter away from her but it similarly let out a large amount of force at her.

"Drats, I was sure I put enough salt in the scroll's spell," grumbled the leader, "Now to deal with both of you." The leader menacingly turned to Corven and Rook tilting his helmet's chin upwards in mocking defiance. He lurched back and then heaved his spear at Corven as it appeared he was distracted. The leader grasped something on his belt and clipped it onto his right gauntlet. It appeared to be another gauntlet itself but with a click of the thumb out extended a large blade.

"Neat huh, got this baby from a trader from the Archipelagos. Bastard didn't even feel the blade on his throat," said the leader to Rooke. Without a word he swiped downwards intending to slash off Rooke's legs.

Meanwhile, as the wagon neared the alley's exit some distance away the last one containing the wood elf Vul seemed to stop to a stand still as the elf's familiar scent seemed to have calmed down the horse enough to where it stopped completely. The fourth wagon's movement began to grow more erratic as it appeared the one known as Yvonne began a fight for the horses' reins. This caused the fifth wagon to slow down considerably as it tried to avoid crashing into the third wagon. The first three wagons still unhindered made it to the alley's exit and made a turn to the left although as they were wagons the turns were quite clumsy and slow thus killing a large amount of their momentum. As it appeared they were in the clear the bandits on the harnesses of the wagons made the horses switch to a moderate pace hoping they'd get lost in the crowds.

---

Frey

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

Roxana Ma'gonid
Roxana began cursing all manner of elfish obscenities as she hacked away at the oily black tentacle she had pinned to the wall. It spurted out black and purple substances as it thrashed onto the ground. Another pitch black tentacle jutted out at her direction at she barely managed to slice its tip with her knife but her hand was knocked back by the attack's force. Almost on instinct she hacked away at the tentacle but another one came her way and wrapped itself around her wrist but right before it tightened its grip she twirled her wrist and lodged the knife into the tentacles flank. It retracted allowing her to slice it with her other hand that was still holding onto her other knife. The oil like blood spurted out splashing her in its grimy viscera. She ran picking up her knife from right next to the loped of tentacle and once she spotted a white tuft of hair behind the cover of a large stone slab she ran at full speed and leaped sliding across the rock until she reached the ledge and plopped downwards on her butt next to Simion.

Panting she leaned her back against the stone slab that made their cover. The only light in the room came from the sunrod Roxana had brought along but she had dropped it once Byron had attacked. It's somewhat bright rays of light illuminating the room to a moderate degree allowing some of the dust in the air to be seen but the farther the room went the weaker the light. Her face contorted to an angry scowl she recalled the information on what they were facing now. She tried to deny it. Deny that Byron could let himself be such a thing. This monster was nothing like his reputation or how he was described in the Legion's annals or archives. Her attention was then turned to Simion yelling out a plan to deal with Byron.

"Nice and simple...I like it," nodded along Roxana, "Thankfully I'm the perfect woman for the job, Simion." Truth be told Roxana guessed her next move would drastically deplete her wisp energy as well as use the last of her arrows. Nevertheless it was a necessary risk. She placed her twin knives on the ground and grabbed her bow. She swiftly stood up and aimed her bow dead center at Byron. She grabbed three arrows and let them be enshrouded in her wisp's energy before letting them loose. Homing on different tentacles they each singled out an appendage and pinned them to the nearest surface. The bright green energy of the arrows contrasted with the pitch black liquid covered tentacles. She repeated this procedure again and again until her quiver was left empty. She wobbled in place as she struggled to keep her head up before falling down on her butt.

"I think that's most of them. Let that milkdrinker have at it!," she grumpily encouraged Simion, "I'll explain what's wrong once he's dead and cant hear us."

McDoogle Bluff Pit
Garsnag was fir sure in over his head. These humans were nothing like anything he'd faced before. They were too smart. Too powerful. Too much everything. The countless humans he had killed before were either haughty minor nobles or some poorly trained mooks. These people knew what they were doing. The unarmored parts of his body were filled with cuts from Annabelle and Edward had gotten a few hits as well. Panting in exhaustion his eyes darted everywhere before he spotted what he wanted to see. He grabbed a throwing knife and threw it an indiscreet location at the top of the pit. From that undisclosed location rolled out a rope ladder with wooden planks that eventually reached the bottom of the pit. He may have been a warrior goblin but a goblin nonetheless. He ran for goblins knew no bravery. Each and every one was a coward to the core.

With a mighty leap he jumped away from the Legionaries and ran in a straight line at the rope ladder. He threw his ax as a preemptive measure at the pyromancer Valan before he turned once more. His green blood left a trail of dots and puddles all along the way. And whatever exotic gods goblins had he prayed to with all his faith that one day he'd be able to torture and amuse himself with these specimens. As it stood it was only a matter of time until he reached the latter although he would be a sitting duck once he reached it but this left the chance of destroying the rope ladder and leaving them stranded in the pit.

[Auropa]

Corven Roche
Red Hill Caravan

Whether it was a natural talent, or a skill picked up from his time fighting, Corven had a knack for knowing when he was dealing with someone dangerous and in this case, he was dealing with someone very dangerous. When the snow elf inquired about his identity and sudden appearance, he felt an icy chill shoot throughout his body as it unconsciously braced and prepared to run all at once. ‘Huh, so this is how I die’ he thought to himself as he locked eyes with the purple cloaked woman and let those few uncertain seconds tick by, until thankfully, she broke her cold gaze with a small but immeasurably warm smile and thanked him as a fellow legionaire for his assistance ‘by the gods, I love this cloak’ he thought as he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been keeping.

“I’m-” he began before being cut off as a sudden ball of light came into existence and exploded, releasing a wall of energy towards the elf as it did so and sending her catapulting further down the battle torn alley. “…Good talk” he eventually said to the now empty space in front of him before turning to face the new threat only to be met with a spear barreling straight towards him.

With less than a second to react, Corven forced his body into action. In an instant it started to twist away from the oncoming danger as he summoned a small gale of wind to try and intercept the weapon. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as a sudden adrenaline rush flooded his system. His body was moving fast but the spear was going faster, the wind might stop it from being a kill shot but it wasn’t strong enough to halt the weapon entirely, he had only one last option. Each fraction of a moment felt like an eternity to the waiting Corven, he had only one chance and couldn’t afford to miss. Finally, when the spear was just out of arms reach, he started to shift his movement. As he continued to lean back, his sword arm suddenly flashed out from his centre with his wrist twisting as it went, bringing the metal blade it carried out and around before a sudden unmistakable clang rang out as metal met metal.

The sudden impromptu defence was far from perfect and when the two weapons met, the heavier spear proved the victor, forcing the metal blade from its path and continuing forward but not without a cost. The impact shifted the weapon’s path and as it barrelled forward, instead of passing through Corven’s chest and heart, it narrowly slid across his side, cutting across his outer shoulder and sending waves of pain as it went but leaving him alive and angry.

Cursing at himself for lowering his guard and assuming the battle to be over, he pushed the intense stinging and open wound from his mind as he shrugged his wounded shoulder and marched forward to assist the last legionnaire in the fight. ‘Last time I get in a fight without my bloody armour’ Corven told himself as he saw the bandit’s blade flick from his wrist as he started to attack the other fighter.
“I believe you dropped something my good man” He said with an exaggerated posh tone to his voice “let me return it.”

After speaking, he pulled his sword arm back for a lunge before sending a sudden wave of force from his left hand and darting out of the way of the mercenary’s sudden counter slash. “I hate it when you guys have good foot work. Really takes the fun out of this” He muttered as the leader stood his ground against Corven's attack.
“The name’s Corven friend.” He called out to the other fighter as he deflected a rushed strike from the mercenary and ducked below a second. “Nice cloak. I wasn’t too sure about them at first but its winning me over. I mean this group’s guts are barely even leaving a mark on it.” He added nonchalantly in an attempt to goad their foe into making an enraged mistake.

[Finland SSR]

Oberon Klask

Roxana Ma'gonid

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

---

Ducking underneath his makeshift cover, occasionally swatting away any unwanted tendrils heading his way with the barrel of his hand cannon, Simion watched the battle unfold. The rest of the team took their advice - Oberon was busy distracting and pinning several of the tendrils, so did Roxana - after cursing in Elvish like a sailor under her breath, apparently, something which, when coming from the mouth of someone who could be mistaken for a child, was an amusing juxtaposition. Simion could not ask for anything more - this was pretty much perfect.

"Don't need to tell me when to strike..." Simion muttered under his breath after Roxana's encouragement, then stood up from his cover and, pulling the serpentine lock at the side of the hand cannon's frame, aimed at Byron. The marksman's eyes caught a glint of desperation in the legendary adventurer's eyes - he knew very well what the weapon in his hands could do.

Getting Byron afraid was no small feat.

End of the line.

Pulling the trigger, Simion released the final shot of the battle.

[Radea]

Arden Rooke
Red Hill Company Caravan -- Back Alley Brawl
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Arden felt the confident anticipation of landing a blow on the arrogant sellsword. His smug face getting what he deserved. Being brought down a peg. The thrill was almost overwhelming.

Twang.

His face met with an iron glove, resulting in a muffled sound of metal slugging soft flesh. Being stopped suddenly in mid-attack caused Rooke’s feet to fly out from under him and his head cracked against the muddy pavement. To most humans, that would render them unconscious, or perhaps even fatal, but Arden’s eyes flickered open and he sat up on his elbows. His eyes seethed fury. Blood ran from his nostrils down his face. His lip was split with his red life force flowing from it down his jaw. “Bastard!” The human called back in retort.

Rooke wasn’t sure if the proud bandit heard his clever reply from the muddy ground, as the armored captain produced a scroll that unleashed something akin to Sylanna’s power at high noon. Two orbs darted through the air with immense speed and collided with the blood-lusting Arialista and the other barely missed Sylanna. The following eruption of magical energy kicked up dust and debris that flooded the cramped corridor. Arden covered his eyes and face with one arm, gritting his teeth. By the time Rooke had recovered his sight from the explosions, the haunty mercenary was standing over him again. A spear left his hand with incredible force beyond Arden’s vision. Whoever was on the receiving end of that better be magical or very lucky.

The hardy heartlander’s attention focused on the proud scoundrel as he clasped a complicated device to his free hand.

"Neat huh, got this baby from a trader from the Archipelagos. Bastard didn't even feel the blade on his throat," said the leader to Rooke.

With a crisp shiiiiing, a large blade extended from the mailed fist.

Weak, surprised words escaped Rooke’s lips, “Oh shit.”

With incredible force, the cruel leader of the mercenaries swung his blade sideways, in an axis to completely cripple Arden by cleaving his legs off at the shins. Instinctively, Rooke tucked his legs up and tumbled over his head backwards. It was like a child attempting their first somersault. He landed on his stomach, looking at the feet of the armored enemy.

Vulnerable but bodily intact, Arden feared the worst. The bladed-fist of his would-be killer could come down again and laying prone made that more than easy. Arden heard the bone-chilling sound of a sword slicing through the air. He winced in anticipation of pain but his ears were met with the clang and scrapes of steel against steel. Raising his eyes, Rooke saw a bearded, scraggly man trading blows with the ruffian. The Heartlander had give a double-take when he saw the red-cloak. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A red-cloak that wasn’t part of the initial contract came to help? ”My luck hasn’t turned sour yet, he thought to himself.

“The name’s Corven friend.” the new arrival called out, confidently.

Ah. So he was cocky as he was valorous. No matter, the tide had turned for the moment and the novice red-cloak was not going to let the opportunity slip by. Rising from his belly to his knees and from his knees to his feet, Arden drew his shortsword, once again duel-wielding it with his forester axe. Clearly, not bar-fight tricks were going to bring their enemy down.

Advancing on the ensuing melee between the current enemy and new ally, Arden snarled out, “Name’s Rooke and we are gonna tie this man up like a hog so I can kick his teeth in.” Blood sputtered from his lips with every word. No matter how many fancy gadgets this haunty mercenary had, he only had four limbs. Eight beats four every time.

With red running from his nose, Rooke took no more chances. He would sync into the speedy footwork and dueling blades of the other two, trying to strike when the scoundrel merc was deflecting a blow towards Corven and blocking thrusts so Corven might have an opening. Rooke’s ultimate goal would be to hook his axe over some exposed limb, either arm, foot, or neck, and bring the mercenary into for his signature punch to the face to return the favor. Once off balance, subduing him would be a matter of time.