Beyond Light's Reach (IC)

[Absolon-7]

Francis

Rudolph Thorbecke
Rudolph let Puk roost on his outstretched arm and ordered him to really everything he had seen. Apparently the situation was heading south very very fast as any semblance of formations were gone as soldiers deserted or made valiant stands in loose mobs against these mysterious beings. Especially the two human armies as Puk called them "hunched ballmen of fire" were devastating their forces. His crow once again flew to the sky to observe once more leaving Rudolph to sheathe his blade and make a run for it away from the armies. The problem was that it seemed everywhere around him there were scores of men and elves dying, fleeing, or in the process of dying by foolishly fighting to the end.

It seemed the only path that seemed relatively clear was the one to the temple. Just great, the one place where all the fighting was going to start over. Just as the structure was in his view he spotted a trio of demons armed with spears and large rectangular shields killing mercilessly soldiers that had fallen over while running away. He could hear their death wailed as spears plunged into their chest and this unnerving atrocity made Rudolph run with all his speed hand clenched on his sword on the path. Two demons were close together stabbing bodies on the ground while a third was much farther away on the path. As the last one was going to be killed Rudolph jumped at the last second and thrusted the tip of his sword in the gap between the demon's helmet and cuirass. Golden glowing blood spurted from the wound as he pulled back to raise his shield to the other two. They had the advantage of reach with their spears but he had other things in plan. As the closest one jabbed his spear at Rudolph, the swordsmen swatted it away with his shield and rolled forward to be right up to the demon's feet. He threw his sword upward and jabbed the demon's throat compelling it to fall backwards.

The last one finally caught up and jabbed at Rudolph with its spear and safe behind its large shield Rudolph only had the briefest glimpse of it as he turned back. Thankfully this was when his runesmithed armor came in handy as the magic properties of it forced his body to supernaturally dodge the attack from behind as a black blur of speed. He hit the spear downward with his shield as he once again ran forward and flipped the sword in the air and grabbed it by its blade. He pivoted on his feet to land a crushing blow on the demon's help with the sword guard. It lurched backward giving him the opportunity to trip the demon and jab at its throat. The soldier the demon trio had been wanting to kill seemingly ran off which was no concern for him. Now to make a clean getaway- His thoughts were to be interrupted by a ear busting roar from behind the path to the temple and it was nothing else but some demonic warbeast ran over a group of Tasharans in the distance and was now making a straight path to him.

"Damn it!," cursed Rudolph as the beast was furiously charging at him, 'What are these things even supposed to be!"

It was too close for him to run away now. His only was chance was to go up! Right before the beast was on him he lept upwards and stabbed its neck making his sword act as an anchor for him to cling to. With his other hand he grasped onto its coarse fur riding it like a bull as it kept running to the temple in a mad rage. Once the two were there it looked like demons had already made their presence known although it looked one fellow was doing just fine. Rudolph freed his sword from the beast's neck and he slid down its side to run next to the scythe wielder he had met earlier.

"Greetings, stranger. Can't say I expected to see you so soon again. Especially with some goat that got way too buff chasing after me," joked Rudolph half-halfheartedly. It occurred to him he still had his backpack on so he unstrapped it and chucked it behind a tree stump. He'd need all his agility right now. "If you don't mind lets bring that thing down a peg. We can each slice a leg or two to unbalance it."

Time for deliberation would be short as it came charging at them once again. Rudolph threw himself forward to roll on the floor and once he was back on his feet he slashed at the goat monster's back leg severing something. But the beast turned around and swatted him with the broadside of its horns and fortunately it was only a glancing blow. It looked like it was ready to stomp on him with its hooves.

[Union Princes]

The Storm

Randolf rode ahead of his armored column riding his massive warhorse. The beast was a whole head taller than the mounts rode by the other nobles. With his massive weight, Randolf needed a horse like this that can support his weight. Combined the size of the knight and the horse, Randolf can easily be seen among his troops and he has a great view of his advancing skirmishers and mages through his helm. His squire was absolutely dwarfed under his shadow as he rode behind anxious of the coming battle.

If everything goes according to plan, the library would be secured by the mages and held by the light infantry by the time he arrives. But alas, man plans and the Gods laugh as the ground shook like an earthquake forcing Randolf to reign in his steed from panicking. Nothing scared this horse easily: it was big and armored. Seeing it cry out in fear planted a seed of doubt in his mind.

This is too easy, too simple, too- Randolf was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw a fissure crack open at the base of the hill. What came out of it caused the whole vanguard to stop in its tracks. Demons. No other appearance fit the tales his wet nurse has told him when he was just a small boy. The demons must’ve set this as an ambush or as an interception. Whatever the cause, Randolf couldn’t think. They were already prepared for war. The armor was thick, their weapons were vicious, and their fervor was unmatched.

Out came the demonic army, right in front of the skirmishers. A few were cut down as the demon took the initiative and the light infantry turned tail and ran for their lives.

“Form ranks!” Randolf shouted at his armored legion. “Form ranks!”

The men hastily formed a spear wall with billhooks, halberds, bardiches, and spears sticking out like a provoked porcupine.

“Advance!” Randolf ordered, drawing out his greatsword. His men steadily marched forward ready to brace at a moment’s notice against the wave of demon.

The knight rode ahead while his squire followed desperately behind him. They needed to protect the fleeing archers and skirmishers from the few demons that broke rank to run them down. With a swift swing of his greatsword, Randolf decapitated a demon right as it turned to face him while his horse charged into another one, knocking it flat on its back and its hooves trampling over the demon. Randolf’s squire manage to duck under a swing of a polearm that would otherwise take his head off. With a spear in hand, the squire impaled a demon under the armpit as he ran past it. The spear was stuck inside the body and the young lad had to abandon it as he had to switch to his sword.

Randolf, meanwhile, was herding the fleeing light infantry back to his lines so that they can regroup and provide archer fire. Bolts and arrows will be helpful withering down the demonic forces.
“Get back!” he roared at his retreating troops. “Get behind the infantry! I’ll deal with the demons in the meantime!” Randolf turned his horse around to deal with the stragglers that still gave chase much to his squire’s fear.

By the time the armored infantry has caught up to the skirmishers, the knight has already circled around to get back to his men. Randolf had to dismount as more demons were starting to swarm him. Weaving through the spear wall, the knight, alongside his squire, went to the front of the line with their shields up.

“Men!” Randolf yelled, “Either we conquer hell today or hell will swallow us all!”

The armored soldiers of the vanguard braced against the charging horde of demons. Many of them impaled themselves against the spears and spikes. They crashed into the shields and tore at their armor. But the years of combat experience and the dominating presence of Randolf ensured that the men-at-arms held their ground. Even if the demons squeezed through the first row of polearms, the second and third line took the opportunity to thrust forward with their polearms to pierce the demons at their necks or face.

“Hold the line!” the knight boomed as he brought up his heater shield and smashed it into a face of a charging demon. It collapsed into a heap and the squire rushed forward to bring his sword into its neck slicing it open.

The archers and crossbowmen that rallied took the chance to shoot into the flanks of the demons as they were more preoccupied in fighting Randolf and his Hounds. Arrows flew and scored hits in exposed demon necks and armpits while bolts soared and penetrated their chestplates. But the knight and the retinue was still outnumbered. They needed reinforcements from the main army to prevent their formation from being outflanked or a cavalry charge to disrupt the demon charge and scatter them or at least more ranged units to really bring pain upon the demonic horde.

“Damn it all!” Randolf cursed as he brought his greatsword down to cut an arm off a demon before slicing it in half through its abdomen. He did not know what is becoming of the mages but he does know that they’re cut off from the main Dascus army and more in greater danger of being surrounded than him. "How many more are there?!"

[Theyra]

Ivaran Miaris

"How.... how is this happening? Ivaran thought as he fighting somewhere on the field. He remembers the Athelan horn being sounded and soon he joined the rest of the army at charging the enemy lines. Then as he was about to clash with the humans, an earthquake shook. The fighting briefly stopped and when the dust settled he was astonished to find that demons were joining the field. Coming out from a hole in the ground. Demons, those were supposed to be legends, myths what parents would scare their children with. Now legends were coming out of the ground and slaying anyone that they encountered. "Steel yourself Ivaran, they may be demons of legend but, those legends say they can be killed". With a long breath, he readied himself and went on the join the fray.

'How many of these things are there", Ivaran cursed under his breath as he fought on. Cutting down demon after demon that rushed out the hole in the ground. They seemed limitless when one is killed another one takes its place. He had lost track of where he was in the battle. Whether he was near the Athelaian camp or even the frontline. If that line still exists that and could hear the sounds of elf, man and beastfolk dying around him. "Keep calm Ivaran. you can get through this, just remember your training and do not let your guard down". He thought to himself as he had a temporary break in the fighting before another demon approached him. This one carrying a large warhammer that seem impossible for the demon to wield. It let out a roar and swung at Ivaran. He dodged by ducking under warhammer and sliced at the demon's chest. Orange molten blood poured out from the demon's wound but, it still lived. It cried out in pain and took another swing at Ivaran. He jumped backward and charged forward impaling the demon with his glaive. The demon fell and its molten blood covered the blade section of his glaive. This was going to be a long day.

He ended up with some Athelaians that were centered around a human by the look of it. Ivaran heard the human saying that they should target the demons with the glowing hands as they were turning mages into monsters. "Oh, they can turn mages into monsters...., Just perfect", he muttered under his breath and went to target the demons with the glowing hands. Then he heard a cry for help from his side. Ivaran turned to find a group of humans was being attacked by some kind of demonic beast. The beast made quick work of the first two humans by goring them with its horns and was trading blows with the remaining humans. With the beast distracted, he readied his glaive and charged forward and aimed for its exposed side. Plunging his glaive deep into its side and in response, the beast turned to face Ivaran and stared at him with burning hatred in its eyes. Ivaran jumped back and readied himself and the beast charged at him. He just barely dodged out of the way and looked on as he saw more beasts were joining the fray around him. By the Light, he will make it through this he prayed. As the beast readied itself of another charge, He will not die this day.

[Lazarian]

The necromancer leapt off, retreating to the trees dotting the surroundings of the temple, while the remnants of his zombie horde went for a charge and rushed straight towards the temple. The demons, already struggling with the shieldwall raised by a legion of undead inside, would see an another horde rampaging through their ranks from behind, biting, slashing, gnawing and mauling all which get in their way. Riki himself, on the order hand, stopped by a birch tree, taking a moment to catch his breath, look down to his arm and watch the glowing marks to keep track of the casualties, and occasionally glance to the utter destruction unfolding in the battlefield below.

"Are... are we winning?"

"You tell me, you fuckin' necro." Clive spat in reply from behind Riki, resting his hand on the butt of his mace.

Today certainly hadn't gone as planned.

He'd been in the area on the hunt for a mage. Name of Ciradyl. Supposedly, she'd sent the city of Havington into disarray a few years ago by killing one of the Banker leaders. Not that Clive cared much for the bankers either, but it was a good enough excuse. Although he didn't need excuses for what he did, it certainly didn't hurt to have one. And the coin offered by the Bankers for her head certainly didn't hurt either.

The trail had gone pretty cold, unfortunately. But he'd heard of the news of the rising conflict at Haden Hill. Honestly, it was hard to miss. And conflict always seemed to attract a nice haul of potential targets. After all, armies tended to attract streams of men. Like flies to a rotting corpse. There was plenty of business to be found along the supply chains and camps that followed a fighting force. Swords needed to be sharpened, bellies needed to be filled, and ranks needed to be augmented. It'd taken a little bit of cajoling and conniving to slide in with the Athelan forces. The Athelan Elves were wary of humans and locals (for good reason, Clive thought). But he'd thrown out a few names, bowed and curtsied like they liked, and demonstrated a little purification. Not the full extent of what he could do, of course. It was always smart to keep your cards close to your chest.

Staying with them hadn't been bad. The Athela didn't keep many mages around (if any at all), and as long as you stayed in your proper place as a servant, they were friendly enough. He'd done the usual grunt work of a footman - sharpening weapons, rigging tents, repairing carts. Uninteresting but honest work. It was a good place to lie low and see how things developed. If the conflict boiled over into a battle, it'd be a great opportunity to put down some mages. Obviously, the front lines weren't the place to be. He was little more than a typical man at arms. Sure, no spell or magical weapon would take him down, but it wasn't as if he was immune to sharp bits of metal and pointy speartips. It wasn't cowardice, he thought to himself. Just practicality. Wouldn't do Eboris any good if he died in some muddy brawl over some old temple.

Instead, there was a better way to go about things. Skulk around in the back of the supply wagons, vanish into the shadows when assembling the ranks - nothing too difficult for the former Street Crawler. Then, from the edges of the battle, after one side routed, he'd strike. If the Athelans routed, the Dascian forces would likely pursue. Wouldn't be too difficult to snatch some armor or heraldry off a corpse and pretend to be one of em. And in the chaos, it'd be a solid opportunity to sink some crossbow shots into a mage's back.

On the other hand, if the Dascian forces routed, hiding in the trees behind their forces was still a good place to be. He'd climb up to a good perch and work from there. He had no personal stake in the hypothetical battle, really. Sure, it'd be nice if the Athelans managed to gut some fattened Dascian nobles. But their footmen were his countrymen - probably just a bunch of poor bastards pressed into service, or lured in by the promise of a mere fraction of the wealth held by the nobility. They didn't deserve to die pointlessly.

But despite all his planning and skulking, nothing could have prepared him for this. Demons. Those were made up to scare misbehaving children, tales of doddering old men and mystical arcane sorcerers. Or historians. Ah, Clive hated intellectuals. What'd a historian ever do to add to society? That was beside the point. He'd skulked off and dodged the formation lines, hiding in a blacksmith's tent. Then he crept into the woods around the temple, found a clump of birch trees, and waited. As far as he could tell, the three armies had gone for a frontal charge, hoping to overwhelm the others with sheer aggression, and then, in the midst of the chaos...demons.

Well, Clive wasn't about that shit at all. It was time to beat a hasty retreat. He didn't know if those were magic, and he wasn't about to find out the hard way whether you could crack 'em real good with a mace and call it a day or not. Personally, he leaned towards not. But as he was about to steal a horse and hit the road, opportunity had struck. A mage had wandered right into his hands. The fellow was a younger man, with dark robes and glowing marks on his arms. Looked to be of Tashar descent, as far as Clive could tell. Was a little darker than your average Dascian. And as the reanimated corpses on the battlefield dropped, the marks on the man's arm flickered. Clive furrowed his eyebrows, clutched his mace, took a step forward...and paused.

Ah, this one was so young. Clive grimaced at the thought of killing him. Sure, he was a dirty necromancer, but the Tashar mages weren't quite as horrid as the Dascians. And though Clive hated mages more than anything in this world, literal demons couldn't be much better. As disgusting as it was to disturb the dead, the fighting men out there needed all the help they could get, and the young man appeared to be doing some good work. Perhaps it was best to let the lad continue on with his dark arts for just a short while longer. After all, he wasn't the target. There wasn't anything to be gotten out of killing him, other than some personal satisfaction. And it didn't seem like he'd get much out of this one.

"Raising the dead's a damn dirty thing to do. They deserve their rest." Clive continued bitterly, resting his trusty mace over his shoulder. "But I'll let you carry on for now. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?"

Well, he'd give the man a chat before killing him. If the fellow turned out to be a disgusting cultist like he expected, it'd make the deed a little more satisfying. And if not...well, perhaps he'd lead Clive to some better targets. Yawning, Clive sat down on a log, kicking his feet back and leaning backwards against a tree.

"So, graverobber, how'd you get entangled in this mess? You don't look like the soldier type." he said, almost seeming bored.

[Sarderia]

LORD CALTHANIUS SWYRFE
Dascus War Vanguard, Haden Hill

---

They were riding horses for what seemed to be ten minutes now. Calt was sure he can use the teleportation spell, and reach Randolf's vanguard in time, but he had neither the magicka for it, nor do he had the will. The spell only works best if one knows the exact position of where they're heading, and between the Hill, the plains, and the Dascus War Camp, he did not know for sure where he even is now. His company of mages riding beside him, and the score of archers and spearmen behind. There was thirty of them, racing as fast as possible with the likes of a hundred thousand demons on their tail. 

The demons screamed and shrieked all the while grasping their weapons high into the air, and not one thing they did was good for the company's morale. Perhaps the only thing keeping them together is when Calt tossed two of the archers straight into a hellish horde. They did not liked it; neither did him. Despite what his past made him think, and what other people may think, he was not a murderous psychotic mage with unsatiable bloodlust, at least. Killing is horrible, but he enjoyed it in a certain, queer way of things. Unnecessary killing, however, was mindless and straightforwardly foolish. And he was tempted to do so as one of the spearman lagged behind, further drawing hell upon them.

"How far away is the Vanguard, my lord?" One of the mages asked. He noticed a small Shield spell cast on her left hand. She was the same person he'd cursed away when the day started.

"Do you think I know any better?" Calt responded coldly. That reason enough is why many scorned him; an arrogant prick with face tempting to be punched. Calt could care none for it.

"Go take a look, then." Just when he finished the sentence, a stray arrow struck one of the mages in his chest. The fool even never bothered to cast a shield. He was getting enough of this. They were running aimlessly, while getting barraged by an army of beasts on their back.

Calt spotted a small mound, no more than twenty metres in height, but large enough to accomodate the whole company. How convenient. He looked again to the back, letting out a sigh of relief as the demon horde was still several hundred metres good on their tail. "Regroup!" he shouted.

"You! Dismount and form a shield position, whatever the name is. Archers on me!" He took the horse around the mound, in a covered position, while the mages and spearmen dismounted and raised their shields, magical and not. He was never a field commander, but he had tried once, at least. And at least their volley here could soften hell's front line enough to give them time for running, without a barrage of arrows accompanying. 

The demons are getting nearer. He snatched Swiftwind from the back-strap, and picked three arrows out of his quiver. Releasing his cloak's hood, Calt walked into the mound's top, the mages had put a decent shield enough for them to withstand one score. "Archers pull!" He did the same. "Nock!" He nocked the three arrows. "Fire!"

The arrows were nothing more than regular, but it is the bow which gave them enchanted properties. They could reach twice the range even best regular bows could reach, and given proper spell, they could blast a little when struck. The volley of arrows was in the air now, his magical one and the others. Calt watched as the arrows hit directly at the demons' front line, noticing two small blasts as the others struck several demons down. Two, he thought. My aim had certainly gone worse.

"Another!" he shouted. Just as he was about to shout "Brace", a barrage of arrows struck the shields, magical and not. About eight or more of the spearmans fell. He snatched three arrows again, nocked it to the string, and released them with a swift move. He did not even bother to look if it hit any hell-beasts or not; primarily, his own skin is the priority. 

"Sound retreat," he shouted. "Mount your horses, fast, fast!" From on top of the mound, he saw Randolf's vanguard forces getting nearer. And a pack of demons with them. "Shit," he muttered. Now they are trapped between two incoming hordes; although on his side, the demons had been softened up, at least. He climbed the saddle and spurred the grey mare's reins, the others following him. There was still a mile between him and Randolf's vanguard.

The young mage had took place beside him again. "The main army's not far, milord," she said. Between the rampaging horde's screams and his own troops frightened in horror, he could not clearly hear, let alone answer, what people said in this mess. But from her gestures - Calt had learned how to tell when someone was frightened or relieved, since long - he saw that Randolf's forces are close. 

And then an arrow struck that mage's back. Not an arrow, a sword! He spurred the horse backwards. The demons, damned fucking demons, they're charging at them now - numbers far more than his own company. If there was one thing to say, Calt was definetly frightened now.

"Turn back!" His words weren't quite clear to hear. "RETREAT, dammit!" Now they're listening.

This squadron of hellish soldiers had been one that Randolph and his forces were engaging. It would not be the only one, as even now he could hear the thunder from another horde that he'd just pissed off before. There was about a hundred of them, thrice of his own company. There was another small mound, no more than five metres, and several dried trees around. This would make a fine place to die, he thought. Sore and friendless.

One of his mages - now several of them - had a frightened look about their faces. He understand the emotion, himself was in the state. By their looks, however, this is something different. He couldn't see what for sure; he was preoccupied setting out shields.

"What was it?" he asked. "Tell me not another pack of hellish goons."

A mage of his company answered. His face had been terrible. "No.. uh. No, even terrible milord- look-"

There was a loud boom in the ground; his company, even though great in terror with the hellish horde surrounding them, was curious. The center of it appeared clearly amidst their line. There was a mage, the woman that asked him earlier, that he'd scorned earlier than that. But her looks was nothing human. Her form was crooked, with molten rocks jutting from the back. There was a glowing antennae in what was formerly nose. Eyes fiery and feet turning to pure ember. She let out a deafening shriek, and a blast of magic, a form of magic vortex, whatever form of sorcery Calt knew the mage practiced. He was sure he heard screams of help in the middle of it. By the end, she - it - was nothing more than a fiend of molten rock, glowing fiery with arms like claws in the field.

Calt was stunned. He liked to said that he's used to these situations, even faced with demon drawings spelled like it's true. But not with this - and his un-concentration had taken a toll. The creature, of what was once mage, shot a blast of magical fire towards him. The thing was followed by a hisssSSSsshhHHhh..

The blast burned his robes, and sent crackling fire to his legs. He don't even had the time to conjure a shield. Calt screamed, and formed a circle in the air; he snapped his fingers and teleported nearly forty metres into the mound. He took several tall, yellow hays from the wild bushes, and ripped his cloak's bottom parts. He was surprised by that one too; never had he considered having brute strength. Desperate times made desperate things, he thought. With a simple finget gesture, he cast a Crimson Band to bind it all into his feet, stopping the injure for a while. He casted the spell back into field.

"Loorrrddddd Swyrrrrfe." The fiend, of what was once his companion, entered his thoughts. It had brought a blow for him, and for a split second, a migraine that nearly shattered his head. "Faaaithlesss, dessspicable, acccurrssseed..." The words rung in his mind endlessly.

This type of intimidation he had accustomed. He would never let the fiend toy with his mind. His father and the Grand Mage did that once, and more than words - they used knifes and scalpels, tearing his arms and legs with painful cuts. "Your voice means nothing, fiend," he answered back.

Calt rubbed his Rune of Mind, and casted a straight line in thin air. The line quickly expanded into an oval shape, and he struck both his hands in it, closing his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, there were a dozen of him in the ground. "Fooolisssh Maaage. I can ssstilll trrrack yoooouu. Nnnoo essscape. Like your fffather oonce did." A glimpse of memories flashed in his mind; his leg being sliced as a warning, being punched repeatedly to shut up. Calt did not answer; he casted another strand of magic, folded his hands, and it grew into a shining crimson string in his fingers. His illusions were doing the same

"Whateveeerrr gaaame yooouu aarre plaaaying, it woon't wooorrrk," the fiend shot him another blast. He dodged it, but one of his illusions was struck. There are now only ten of him. "Yooouu caaan't defeeeaaat meeee."

He smirked subtly, and extended the string into a large crimson band. He saw his illusions all doing the same. "I know," he said, as he stretched the band magically. "But they can."

Calt thrown both ends of the Bands into the fiend, binding its arms very tightly. His illusions did the same to its feet and neck. The effect would be spread thin, as it depends on his magic potential alone, but still, it was pissed off. A volley of magical blasts, arrows, and even spears struck its body. The fiend was screaming in pain now, embers of fire dripping from its body.

"AAAHHHaaahhhaaahhaaahaahaaahaa!" The fiend roared deafeningly, releasing a magic blast that shattered his Bands. "I̷̛ͅs̶͙̊s̵̠̕ṡ̸̜s̷͕̑ ̶͔͋t̴̞͘h̸̖̒a̷̯͋a̴̝̿ä̶̝́ȃ̷̳t̵̼͛ť̶̖t̸̏͜ ̴͇̈t̸̫̋h̴̘̔ë̶́͜ĕ̶̘é̷̡ ̷̞̇b̷̦̉e̷̘̅e̵͕̎è̸̼s̷͔̍s̵̼̊s̴̰͂t̸͈̕t̸͕̑ ̸̯̕y̴̫̽ő̵͔o̶͚̊o̴̠̔u̴͙̎u̸̫͆ṳ̸͑ ̴͇̊c̶̝̾ả̷̗a̸͎̋a̵͈̎n̷̯͐ ̴̱̓d̵̪͂ō̶̪o̴̯̾o̴̢͂o̴̢̾?̸͓͘" It was screaming gibberishly, in a baritone voice that he know no living being could produce. "D̴̯̀I̵͉̚E̷̙̐." The words was incopmerhensible, but even then, he could still grasp the meaning.

Calt casted another Crimson Bands spell, this time drawing more magicka from his body. His illusions's bands had now the strength of a spell. He thrown the rope into its head, his illusions on the neck, knee, and hands. A mage blasted its face off, right in the eye. The screaming it released was snaped off when Calt pulled the Bands, breaking its neck and releasing a gush of molten rock in every direction. His bands vanished.

His mages and soldiers were just trying to survive now; there are no more than fifteen of them. But the demons, he thought, had lagged considerably when the magnificent fiend had been snapped in half. One of them, however, had the dare to struck an arrow to him, which deflected off his Burning Shield...

Calt had enough for all of them. Fighting humans was exhausting, yet magnificent for him; fighting demons brought him ghosts and reminders of his despicable past. He casted a shield, several inches above ground, horizontally. Calt jumped off and stood on the shield.

"Aaahaahaaahaahaahaa!" He screamed loudly. Even his own mages was curious, and uneasy, of their Lord's actions. "Who's laughing now, hell-beasts? WHO is LAUGHING now?" He let another crazed laughter.

All off a sudden, he casted a Crimson Band on his hands. Holding the rope tightly on his fists, he aimed for a bunch of demons, binded them out, and sent them smacking another pack of demons. He launched himself to the ground, laughing hysterically. He swerved the rope again, and struck another pack of demons. Releasing his left hand, he casted another Band and binded another pack of demons, albeit less masterfully, as he was not an ambidextrous. "Ahaahaahaahaahaa!" he screamed again.

Now the whole field was a throwing field for him. "Forwaaard!" he shouted into what remained of his company, throwing demons against one another in the while. Randolf's vanguard was not far forwards. "Haahaahaahaa!" With another laughter, another bind-and-throw followed.

Now he could clearly see Randolf slicing a demon and stabbing another. As he went to slice a demon, Calt grabbed it first using his Band, and thrown the fiend onto another demon with force. His Crimson Bands was now vanished. Instead, he took a pack of knifes, and thrown them into several demons surrounding Randolf, laughing continuously. Several of the knifes struck the demons; several more, hit rocks and the ground. He could end the laughter for a moment, however. Apparently, he was the first mage to reach what remained of the Vanguard.

"Sir Randolf," he addressed him, giving him a friendly, yet crazed stare. "An excellent day to kill."

[Finland SSR]

Clive

Riki Farinhait

---

"You tell me, you fuckin' necro."

Sure wish this was the first time I heard that one.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Riki turned around, witnessing a middle aged warrior resting on a mace standing behind him. Instinctively, the young necromancer grasped onto his arm in an attempt to hide the marks spread across his palm and upper hand, but it was to no avail, the man had already, one way or another, figured out his magical ability. He seemed bored, as if the scourge of demons was only a hassle to him instead of a world-ending threat, and yet he found it in him to harass Riki over his choice in magic and then ask him a question.

This was not the time to be having a chat or, worse, debate over the good or bad of necromancy. Perhaps it would be better to simply ignore the man, or ask him to leave and fight elsewhere, while Riki recovers his stamina. But... something still had to be said, right?

"Eternal rest is a myth. From my experience, the dead miss the living even more than we miss them." the necromancer replied and turned around, observing the battlefield yet again. "You're right, I am no warrior. I was brought to this battlefield as prisoner by men like you, who see necromancy as nothing more than a warrant for death. But now that the legions of Datune's enemies have resurfaced after millennia of slumber, I couldn't just stand and watch. Eboris needs defenders yet again, after all."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Saelaam of Trelia
Haden Hill Temple

---

---

---

"We are not damned yet."

The words rang in his ears even as his face continued to sting from being struck. It was true, wasn't it? In his panic, he had overreacted. He had not trusted the Goddess to deliver them from the clawed hands of the fiends that were now invading their world - the punishment he'd receive as a result, the pain from that woman's attack, was a just reminder of this. Have faith, Saelaam. The Gods would not abandon their people in their hour of need. Oadot would not abandon the people she and her children have sworn to protect.

Of course, even if that was true, it was also true that the Dascian lord was a despicable human being even to the young Thalari, who had seen the depths of mortal vice in the cliffs and spires of his homeland when he was only a child. Held back by the unsheathed blade of another member of Sampson's entourage, the cleric continued to glare at him. Whether they made it alive or not was irrelevant to his guilt - the man had released the greatest of terrors upon the world. The sound of combat combined with the roaring of warriors and the screams of agony of those who were dying on the surface, let alone at the entrance to the hammer's chamber, was not lost on him. Thousands were dying on the surface, all because of one man's foolishness and greed.

The more he thought about it, the more he wished a just fate would befall this man. Not by his hand, of course - the Chosen made a vow not to bring harm upon another being except to protect the innocent from the wicked, and retribution, just as it may be, did not fall under that purview - but by the hand of the law, or perhaps the hand of the Gods. Either way, it was not something to concern himself with.

What was something to concern himself with, then? The relic. While the woman from before left with the rest of the Dascian lord's retinue to fight alongside Sir Raeden, his men and the Athelaians, Saelaam heard their comrade from the Order of Evrouin calling attention to the hammer - even if it did not get them out of this conundrum, it would be best if Sampson wasn't allowed to further condemn everyone, he said, and Saelaam agreed whole-heartedly. To allow that man to ruin more lives would be an affront to everything he believed in, and it seemed even Quentin was of the same mind.

The guard holding his sword at the priest's neck seemed to realize what he was thinking and scowled at the young man while tightening his grip on his blade. "Don't even think about it, kid. Another false move and-"

Unfortunately for him, Saelaam had already made his decision. With a single swift movement that he would be hard pressed to repeat, he grabbed the dagger attached to his belt and used it to knock aside the blade that was pointed at him. Having taken care of the immediate threat, he rolled to the side and picked the hammer off the ground before hastily standing up. Without giving him more than a moment to breathe, the sole guard that had remained behind with Lord Sampson was already upon him again.

"I should've cut you down where you stood, traitorous beast!" The man spoke as he angrily swung his blade towards the cleric, strategic thinking be damned. So what if he was the only one in here who could heal others? There were more of them outside!

"Ergis."

The word of power rang out through the chamber and the soldier staggered back, his blade repelled by a translucent white shield that enveloped Saelaam like a cocoon. Safe within its confines, the young man tightly gripped knife and hammer as he glared at the guard.

"Traitor, you say? Remind me, which one of us serves a man who released the greatest evil in the history of Eboris?" He growled, turning his glare towards Sampson.

Unbeknownst to him, the cleric had his back turned to an unseen passage, where a mysterious agent lay in wait, hidden from all sight...

[The Republic of Atria]

Francis

Rudolph Thorbecke

Francis brought his scythe down onto another demon's head, nearly bisecting the creature. He kicked the creature off and looked around for a moment. It seemed that for every demon that was killed, a dozen more cropped up. Sure, several more warriors, including many beast men, had poured in to assist in the fight, but Francis couldn't help but get the feeling that the fight was a loss. He was no military leader, but ambushes were often the most effective method for winning a battle according to the books he read. Even more so when the opponent was something that very few had heard of let alone actually seen. Himself included.

He considered himself a fantastic warrior, but there was no way that this battle would be won. The demons simply had the drop on them, and the armies were only prepared to fight each other, not whatever supernatural phenomenon was causing this. He could kill as many demons as he wanted, but there was no way that even a hundred of him would change how this was going to play out.

That being said, he wasn't going to just lay down and accept it. Every demon slain now is one that wouldn't have to be slain later. Assuming that they managed to make it to "later." As he sidestepped a demon who took a swing at him with some sort of axe. Francis spun, impaling the demon on the tip and flinging it away just in time to have to dive out of the way of a stamping 4 legged demon with the Slayer he met earlier, attempting to fight it.

"It appears to be some sort of demon." Francis replied to the man's half joke with his own. He offered to work together to bring the demonic beast down and Francis gripped his weapon and with a nod, readied himself.

The Slayer was dodging around the beast and managed to slash at one of it's hind legs and get smacked by it's horns and about to be trampled. Francis sprung into action; there wasn't enough time or a good angle to slit the beats's throat, but there was a perfectly vulnerable exposed underbelly.

Moving the scythe around so the blade was nearly touching the ground and swung it upwards, thrusting the blade in between the beasts's ribs. Francis pulled back on the blade to attempt to direct it away from stomping on the Slayer. Even if it didn't die immediately, it would be in quite a bit of pain.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Archeno
Battle of Haden Hill, with the Tashar army

Prax said "Men of Tashar. Today we stand not as mere soldiers, but as future legends on the brink of glory. Songs will be sung for generations of this day in all of Eboris. Do you want them to be in whatever foul tongue these newcomers must speak, or shall it be in songs in praise of you, the brave legions of Tashar, who stood against the coming horde. Stand now, and claim what is yours!"

Finally, somebody does something worth writing about! I did pick the right man to follow!

The self-awareness won't do, but that's easy to fix, as is the passive voice. But a fine speech, especially by an amateur speaking in a second language. A little poetic soap and water, and it'll be an excellent speech! I need his name to give him his due.

Archeno shifted in his awkward perch to scribble down the Ga’el's words. One of his feet slipped from its narrow branch, and he hugged the tree trunk for all that he was worth. At least he didn't drop either his daybook or his tin silverpoint. Halfway up a tree, hiding behind said tree wasn't the most dignified position, but it afforded an excellent view of the battlefield.

These 'demons' – Whether they were demons, specifically, or not was a game for scholars, but what they looked like, sounded like, and smelled like was the business of storymen – seemed to act like otherwise run of the mill soldiers, so at least there was only one side doing interesting things. Jotting notes, no, frantically scribbling down fragments while trying to keep up with a few parts of the battle – some of these ruffians could fight! – occupied Archeno's attention for a while.

As the battle ebbed and... kept ebbing, he began to wonder why the 'demons' decided to liven up an otherwise dull slaughter. He made a note to ask about it, with reference to a rumor about somebody breaking some agreement to stay away from the bone-of-contention temple

A phrase pulled Archeno's attention back to the battle. Demons corrupt people? How could they tell? Ah, there! I see! They mean switch one dubious loyalty for another. That's much more lively! It's a better tale if it looks grim for a while. Nodding to himself, he started to write, but the tree shook under the impact of something below him.

Archeno leaned forward then back to see: a spear was driven through the trunk just below him, and for just a moment he searched for the man or machine that threw it. How did I get into this mess?

Ah, yes! A ripping good story briefly interrupted by distant horn and hasty march. At least the so-called 'noble'-man in charge of the poor bastards I was entertaining let me finish. And some of them even paid for the telling. And then this lion-fellow went bounding past, and I thought, 'He looks like one to follow!' A short chase and a shorter if grubbier climb later, and here I am.

Archeno looked back and forth between the battle and the route he'd have to take to get down, and decided that he'd stay put for a bit. The Ga'el was right: in victory or defeat, this battle would set a new future in motion, and Archeno wanted to be the one to tell the tale of its birth. One errant missile is just the cost of the telling... and makes a good detail. He scratched another note.

[New Neros]

-Danica Tryss-

Aleksander Zog
The Battle of Haden Hill

The heat was unbearable, and the hordes endless, though Zog tried to ignore the exhaustion permeating and seeping into his body, it slowly crept into his muscles and tendons with each vicious swing of his greatsword. His cavalry pushed forward through the waves, though, piece by piece, the moose moved forward against the tide, his riders tenacious and willing to make their contribution worthwhile. Still, the command gave a glance back at his dwindling forces, realizing he had lost a great share of his own Eshonie tribesmen to the hellspawn. "I will personally escort you all back to hell." He seethed, "By blade or by voice."

Without warning, a giant demonic beast leapt from the horde and struck Zog in the chest with it's ferocious claws, knocking the chieftan off of his mount and crashing down against the back of a heavily armored demon, sending both to the ground. Blood poured his eye socket, the commander reaching for it instinctively, but remembering he was still in battle. Rattled yet still in fighting shape, Zog grabbed a knife from his side and stabbed it hard against the demon he had landed on's unprotected face without taking a glance at it, spilling the foul creatures' burnt orange blood over his gauntlet and blade. Rolling forward, Zog opened his eyes, and could not see out of his left from the blood that poured from it. "You bastard blinded me..." He whispered, swinging his greatsword with one hand, stopping the demonic beast that originally attacked him from pouncing once more, trying to surprise the man. It growled in a manner unlike any Zog had ever heard, of all the mountain trolls and frost giants, this creature stood above them in pure terror.

Zog tightened his grip, squeezing out the sweat from his gauntlets and preparing for battle, and he roared back as well, baring his teeth and giving the beast a wild stare, his own blood splattering the ground as it vibrated off of his face. The animal took the challenge head on, and charged forward with it's head lowered to tackle Zog. The man leapt forward as well, slightly off-center so as to strafe the beast, the Eshonie tribesman gripping his dagger tight and forcing it into the beasts' thick hide as he flew past it's side. Now stricken with an open wound of it's own, the beast circled back around and snorted flames at Zog, who rose to battle once more. Swinging it's head side to side, Zog smirked as the beast seemed to learn from the prior attack, watching the monster charge once more.

He ran at the beast despite having a single eye for vision, approaching with incredible speed directly at it, but drove his final foot into the ground at the last moment, sending his armored body into the air as the beast continued forward, bewildered that it somehow missed its foe. Zog twisted his body mid-air and drove his greatsword down, impaling the spine and backside of the monster all the way through to it's chest, sending his entire momentum into the beast and forcing it to hit the ground in a cloud of dust. It roared in primal agony, Sasha silencing it by swinging his dagger into the top of it's head, ending the demon's life as members of it's horde began to surround the cavalry commander. "Fuck..." Zog whispered, breathless, blood still dripping from his left socket before deciding to utilize his Black Speech once more. "P̶̪̏E̴͉͂R̸͙͗I̶̟̊S̴̰̀H̶͕̄!" He yelled, blowing away several of the demons and giving him a moment to catch his wind, removing the dagger and greatsword slowly to preserve his strength.

A loud grunt overpowered the clashing of steel and wails of demon and man alike, Zog watching as his moose steed barreled through some demons and trampled the ones he had blown away a moment again. "Good work, Spartak!" He called, leaping off of the beast that he felled, the moose digging his feet into the ground and rutting his antlers a bit. "We'll get a rest soon, buddy, we're almost there." He said, patting his beast of war before mounting it once more, taking the battle into scope for a moment, trying to see with his remaining eye. "Is that... a dragon?" He asked, looking back to see his contingent fighting to move forward still, standing on his stirrups to relay a message to his battle-brothers. "Continue the push!" He yelled, "I'm getting reinforcements!"

A short break in the horde allowed Zog and Spartak to come up with a burst of speed, the armored moose lowering his horns and Zog swinging his greatsword wide, the pair of them crashing into the back of several demons and breaking into a circle containing several beastfolk, along with their dragon. Cleaving the head of a demon in one fell swing, Zog announced his presence, "Beastmen!" He cried, "Dragon Rider, we're heading for the temple - It is easier defended than these open plains. We mean you far less than harm than these hellspawn. I am Commander Zog of the Eshonie Detachment, let us throw aside any ill-will until these demons are dead!"

As he spoke, the rest of the commanders' forces tore out the back half of the demons facing the Fangs, proving them a softened portion to break through and join the main push toward the forest and temple. "Let us survive together, please." He said, begging almost, his left eye socket's blood painting the side of his face and dripping onto his armor. Zog moved his giant moose to slam it's great horns into the sides of several demons, generating enough force to dent their helmets inward, slicing back and tagging the top of another demons' skull, exploding orange blood upward like a geyser, the creature falling dead on the spot. "Friends?" He said, motioning to move Spartak back towards the main cavalry and combined arms push through the horde, their goal coming closer and closer despite the endless waves of demons, showing the Fangs that he could still fight despite his injury.

[Skyggeheim]

Sayyida ul h'Ehlam

Traven Faust
The Battle of Haden Hill, Tasharen Camp

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Traven, despite all the hustle and bustle, had stayed relatively still went the Tasharen army had marched off to war. Simply put, he wasn't made for an open-field battle such as this. Three armies clashing and the slaughter that would ensure? That just didn't seem like his cup of tea. He would rather sit and study runes until the Tasharens returned - or didn't. That way, at the very least, his prey would either fall in battle or fall to Traven's wrath. If he was being honest with himself, Traven was fine either way. He was rather tired, and felt relatively uncomfortable in the Tasharen camp. The sooner he could vacate the premises, the better. So, there he sat, simply listening to the thudding of hooves and the shouts of men whilst mulling over his newest piece of study: a rune that could enable teleportation wherever it was placed. He surmised it would be a wonderful utility to have for getting out of sticky situations.

However, his study was interrupted by the greetings of a stranger. Despite the fact that she had her face veiled, the strange lilt of her foreign accent gave away her sex. He closed his book after storing the rune in his mind as best he could. Before he could reply to her question about the book, she asked a quite strange follow-up about something Traven must have had his back turned to. He looked over his shoulder to what she was referencing, and he felt as if his jaw dropped into the dirt underneath him.

"Well..." He began, looking for a sly remark, comforting words, anything to reassure her - and perhaps even himself - that what they were seeing wasn't as bad as it seemed, "You certainly aren't crazy, miss."

He felt his grip unconsciously tighten on Kileshania as he watched the three armies clash and absolute anarchy broke out on the battlefield. Steel clashed against steel, cavalry broke formations and spears were broken upon suicidal charges. He even saw a formation of flying beastfolk dive into the battle. All at once, he felt very tiny and very afraid. What could he do against such a massive army as this? To him, this was the apocalypse.

Funnily enough, the traveling circus that took up most of his childhood had a play about demons. However, far from reality, it was quite the comedy.

A deep growl to his right snapped him out of his daze. He whipped his head in the direction of the noise, only to be stared down by no less than a dozen imp-like demons. They had been walking through the Tasharen camp, igniting fires to tents and slaying anyone that happened to unfortunately cross their path. Traven took a step back, struck by how shockingly vile they looked. Their entire appearance and aura was an assault on the senses, and perhaps in defiance of nature itself. The strong smell of sulfur burned his nose, and the leering face of the leader was twisted in a mocking grin - with sinister intent glowing behind their angry orange eyes.

Without another word, the demon which Traven presumed to be the leader - if only because he was a tad taller and carried a larger weapon than the rest - jerked his head in Traven and Sayyida's direction. His minions uttered forth a unified screech and charged, those with shields running front of those without them. Traven responded by snapping into action, taking wide steps backwards while flinging Thundrus cards wildly. He was terrified, and his aim was off, but the sheer volume of cards he was throwing was still an impressive sight. It seemed it required him almost no effort to fire them at incredible speeds. Two of the cards found their mark, cutting down one of the shield-demons by splitting his ugly head in half and severing his shield arm at the shoulder. Another card went wide, merely clipping the shield of another enemy. Despite the miss, the sheer speed of the attack blew a significant chunk of the shield off and stumbled the enemy. Seeing his opportunity, Traven fired an Arcturus card into the gap, watching it detonate in an icy blast and freeze three of the demons solid. A follow-up Thundrus shattered the ice, breaking the demons into pieces.

Now, however, the demons closed the distance between their formation and Traven. Two swung wildly at him, and he sidestepped the first blow while parrying the second with Kileshania. Pirouetting out of the reach of the rest of the demons, he felt his adrenaline kick in. His focus was enhanced, but there were still far too many enemies for him to handle at once. While back-stepping the demons to put himself in a more favorable position, and lashing out with Kileshania to crack the skull of one demon's skull wide open, he looked to Sayyida.

"A little help, miss?" He asked, flashing a smile, before once again turning and stepping into the melee. He jabbed with Kileshania, connecting solidly with the gut of one of the demons, before spinning and sending a Thundrus card through the monster's the chest that left a hole the size of an apple. Yet, still, there were still far too many demons for him to handle alone.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Neferis Lahari
Haden Hill Battlefield

Dull. That was the word that best described the present. Boring, mind-numbing dullness was what preceded the slaughter that was to take place at Haden Hill. Plans were being made, battle lines drawn, supply routes established, all in preparation for the coming bloodshed, but the warrior from Gules wasn't interested in any of it. She was here on her mission to learn more about Qrodia's gift upon mortal kind, and had thus reached an agreement to fight for Dascus in exchange for access to the ruins, but she cared not for the politics nor the deceit involved in the organization of the three armies currently surrounding the ruined temple.

To seek to maintain the pretense of innocence even as all the commanders gathered at this place have already decided to slaughter their fellow mortals... pathetic. She thought as she sat on a tree overlooking the Dascian war camp, devouring a piece of raw meat she had procured from a passing merchant. She would normally hunt for her own sustenance, but the presence of three massive armies in the local area had done an excellent job of scaring away any wildlife in the area. Normally, she would cook it as well - she had no issues digesting raw flesh, but she still found the taste of a cooked meal preferable - but that would require her to head down into the camps, and she had no desire to mingle at the moment. She bore no ill will towards the humans of the Dascian army, but then, she bore little common with them as well.

Suddenly, in the midst of her meal, an unmistakable sound tore through the air. A war horn. She knew not of its Athelaian design, having grown up in a nation that shared no borders with the elven superpower and having little memory of the wars her ancestors had waged against the elves, but its meaning was obvious nonetheless - someone had chosen to break the truce. Someone had chosen to make the first move.

It looks like there's someone with actual guts in this battlefield... and it certainly isn't a Dascian.

Taking one last bite of her meal, she tossed the rest aside and then descended from the tree, stretching a little even as hordes of Dascian soldiers and warmages rushed past her in a mad rush towards the temple, clearly intent on controlling the hill before their enemies were able to get to it, believing it to be the key to victory. Reaching towards the massive ornate warhammer strapped to her back, the Shi'el held it in one hand while the other became wreathed in fire, the white hot flames letting off the same glow as the lone engraved stone she wore around her neck. With these meager preparations done, Neferis of the Lahari Dynasty, second child of Vannagar, joined the Dascians in their charge, preparing to use fire and steel alike to spread death among their enemies.

Little did she know, she would not fight against man, elf, dwarf or fellow beast that day, but something sinister and much more ancient...

---

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---

As the Fangs of Hercynia and their newfound allies of the Eshon Confederacy fought with tooth and claw to fend off the demon horde and make a desperate push towards the temple, a few among them would notice something wreaking havoc in the midst of their enemies' ranks. Something - or more likely, someone - was causing a series of explosions through the battlefield, sending scores of demons flying. Some of them were unharmed, but others had their armor or parts of their body scorched, and the most unfortunate among them were sent into the air not whole, but in pieces, soaking their brethren in their glowing orange blood. There was a certain regularity to these explosions, like the swing of a sword, and they seemed to be getting closer and closer to the Hercynian host, even as they made their way through the battlefield.

Finally, just as another score of demons was about to crash head-on against the Hercynian warriors and Eshonie riders, one last burst of fire and light tore through them, scattering them and revealing the source of the explosions - a wolf Thalari, wielding in one hand a large hammer engraved with ancient Antoran symbols and shrouded in flame. The light fabrics and wraps she wore were reminiscent of those often worn by the inhabitants of the Gules Desert, though they were stained with the hot glowing ichor bled by the fiends that had rode forth from the depths of Eboris, as was most of her body. She was panting heavily as she approached the Hercynian warriors, enjoying a moment of respite as she found herself among their ranks.

"It has been a long time since one of us had the pleasure of aiding one of Zahhak's brood." Spoke the she-wolf with no small amount of contempt in her voice as she looked directly at the leader of the Fangs, clearly unconcerned with how vulnerable she was amidst her forces. Glancing around, she was surprised to see that Hercynians were not the only ones present - plenty of human warriors fought by their side, bearing armor and clothing that seemed suited for the battlefields of the far north, and alongside them fought fearsome armored meese, the preferred cavalry of the Eshonie tribes. Looks like they've learned to make friends... well, anyone can make friends in this situation, I suppose.

Briefly glancing and nodding in sympathy at the man who seemed to have lost an eye in battle - her own right eye had been lost in a struggle a long time ago - Neferis soon turned her attention back to Danica. "I'll help you get to the temple. Make sure to keep the pace." She stated, returning Mala'kai to her back and turning around. She focused for just an instant, and her form quickly shifted - in the place of the woman now stood a massive gray wolf whose mouth and claws seemed covered in flame just like her hammer before. Stepping forward, she let forth an earth-shattering howl that made even the vicious demons pause in terror for a moment.

That moment was all that was needed. Without wasting another second, the she-wolf rushed forward, aiding the Eshonie and her fellow Thalari by carving a path through the demon horde using claw, fire and blood.

[Galnius]

Tenna

When the world began to end, Tenna found she wasn't even allowed to catch her breathe. When she passed through into the temple, she missed one important fact. The guards were missing. Perhaps if that had been noticed in her haste the elf would not proceed. However, as she rose to inform the temple explorers, she saw something that would horrify her for years to come, haunting her nightmares until the end of her days.

The mute elf was not a soldier or a warrior. Her experience of death was that which she saw on the streets, and her concept of war and battle was of far away organized destruction. What she saw here froze her in shock. Strange, almost molten creatures fought with no regard to their lives or the lives of their enemies. They fought with wanton bloodlust, tearing into and mutilating their foes with weapons seemingly made with nothing more than cruelty in mind.

Tenna had come up behind them, and for now seemed to have gone unnoticed. That was not to last though, as the war from outside was being brought in. Every group began bringing in reinforcements, with what seemed to be a ten-to-one advantage on the side of the fiery humanoids that had managed to unite three warring parties. Even unified, the fight seemed hopeless, and Tenna struggled not to fall to her knees.

Instead, she was stirred into action when a demon tried flanking one of the order she had mentally criticized in what seemed like an eternity ago. There was no way for her to describe what exactly had happened, but one moment she stood shaken to the core, and the next a knife was buried deep within the offending demon's neck. She rose, catlike, and threw another small blade piercing the eye of what appeared to be a traitor among the humans that had moved to attack an opulent looking man in the back.

Tenna found herself alone on the wrong side of the invaders, but not for long. The elf employed a tactic she had used to escape hounding guards in the past, slipping through their ranks with unnerring grace. With a few slashes of two new blades, she felled another creature. Before long, she stopped just behind the line of soldiers. With a turn, she released one of the few sounds she could, hissing a feline threat while wielding her daggers that were now stained with the glowing blood of what threatened to be her last sight.

[Lazarian]

Riki Farinhait

Clive Paxton

The young Tashan seemed rather irritated at the interruption, indicated by an exasperated sigh. Which was fair, of course. Clive was hardly the polite and dignified type that mages tended to favor. By their standards, his statement had been quite rude. Actually, by pretty much any standard, really. As he turned around, the fellow tried to hide his accursed arts, although that was rather pointless. C'mon, tally marks on the arms? Revived corpses all over the battlefield? This chap hiding in the trees and twitching fingers? It'd been an educated guess from Clive, but he wasn't surprised when it had been correct.

"Eternal rest is a myth. From my experience, the dead miss the living even more than we miss them." Riki stated confidently, as if a clear truth.

Clive scowled bitterly at this. Part of him wanted to believe it, but he knew better. There wasn't anything after death. Just peaceful sleep. Anything else was just lies the nobles spun to get peasants to hand over their hard-earned coins for a seance or "message" from their beloved. Surely. It had to be. Or it was an excuse for them to use their servants even after death itself. Although, he was a little curious about this one's "experience". Maybe there was an entertaining story behind it.

He raised an eyebrow at the next bit. Brought to the battlefield as a prisoner, huh? Interesting. And yet he was fighting in it nonetheless. Of course, the Tashan wasn't in the midst of it, and he was fighting with little risk of any harm to himself. Still, it was impressive. Shit, if he was brought here as a prisoner and escaped in the commotion, he'd be five leagues away by now. Especially if he dabbled in something as unpopular and disgusting as necromancy. And the demons had been here before? Well, shit. Maybe historians weren't absolutely useless. Just mostly useless.

"Interesting." he mused, tapping his fingers along the hilt. "A prisoner, and yet you fight anyways. Why? Even if every soldier here perishes to these, there's more armies out there. These beasts will likely be put down one way or another. I don't understand what you get out of it. Are friends of yours out there?"

Perhaps it would be best to quiet down and let the graverobber do his work for a while. If the threat was as dire as "legions of Datune's enemies", perhaps he could put aside his crusade for a short while. After all, it was for the greater good that the world be purged of mages. Any Athelan could decry the evils of mages in much more eloquent terms than he could - the rise in inequality, the potential for cruelty, the rise of eager warlords. But if these demons triumphed here, the local area'd probably be completely devastated. Pillaged and slaughtered. Could he really claim to be a champion of the commoners if his personal vendetta ended in their deaths? Most likely not. And it wasn't as if he couldn't bash this fellow's skull in later.

"Well, tell you what. I can tell you're clearly not interested in talking. A bit preoccupied. Understandable. But, I must say, sir, a thin little chap like you could use some protection. One Purifier with a grudge against the dark arts ends up around here and you'll be toast. If you tell me about your "experience" with the dead after this is all sorted out, I'd be more than obliged to keep that from happening."

[Turmenista]

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Day One, Page 3
Trish, this cave is giving me the creeps. It's as if I can feel something bad is going to happen..but I can't wrap my head around what's going to happen. The people on the ground are all bickering over what they should do with the relic—perhaps I should make my move now. Wait~ Just as I'm writing this, I can hear the sound of a horn.

Could it be...? Arwin's ears twitched as he lingered over the sound for a moment, trying to determine its origin...until it hit him: a war horn. Above ground, the sound of a charge broke out as the armies all simultaneously went on the move, rendering this joint subterranean expedition useless. To Arwin, though, this was the perfect opportunity to make his move. He didn't reach for his short sword carried on his decorative scabbard just yet—after all, no one had drawn their weapons..yet. He was running for the hammer as soon as the Knight of Shotarr and one of the other lords made a bolt for the hammer—the Thalari would've reached it first, too, had it not been for the sudden shaking of the ground as the stones nearby the relic began to glow red. Just as quickly as he bolted out of cover, the Thalari found himself running back to cover as the men on the ground stopped. Rumbling came from the entrance of the tunnel, and, soon, they were faced with a group of fighters from above g—

Wait a second.. by the Gods.. those aren't soldiers.. They're...-

Someone's callout of the threat took the words right out of Arwin's mouth as the Thalari just stood there, watching the knights and the small group in the temple preparing for battle against the ungodly threat before them.

Those are..-

"DEMONS! ATTACK!"

They drew their weapons and charged their demonic counterparts, quickly moving into close combat. Right now, Arwin could hardly even think about helping them—rather, he couldn't even think about his mission at all. Right now, his mind was on the battle above ground, where thousands of people were currently fighting for their lives against a primordial threat the likes of which the world hadn't seen in thousands of years. He thought about the sheer scale of death, the thought of monstrous shock troopers from hell cutting through all of the armies like a hot knife through butter...only to reach the defenseless camps of merchants and innocent civilians outside of the battle site...

Terrible visions flashed through his mind of the ensuing carnage. The bank was practically defenseless aside from its security forces, which, although formidable, were undoubtedly outnumbered by a threat like this. The thought of the demons rushing through the Bank's camp and butchering everyone in sight as they so pleased... everyone...

Trish...

Arwin stood up at that moment. Right now, it was do or die. If he was quick, maybe he'd have a chance to get the hammer to safety, and begin an evacuation back at the camp's tent. Maybe.. No time to think now. Man up, Arwin! Luckily for me, I still have a trick up my sleeve: the ancient arts.

Saelaam of Trelia
Haden Hill Temple

Unbeknownst to him, the cleric had his back turned to an unseen passage, where a mysterious agent lay in wait, hidden from all sight...

He saw one of the men on the ground, a cleric, pick up the hammer and envelop himself in a shield that deflected another soldier's blade. The whole thing was a giant clusterfuck, really: demons attacking men, men attacking men—it was messy. All that was on his mind was just getting the hell out of there, and as quickly as he could. Using the surprise to his advantage, Arwin made his move, quickly bolting out of cover and putting his powerful legs to use. As soon as he was behind the dagger-wielding cleric, Arwin reached for the hammer that the priest carried in his other free hand. The only feasible way to disarm him now was to utilize that Elven martial art he trained with in preparation for his new job—the one that focused on disarming opponents and prioritizing one's defense over offense. Ironically, it seemed to be the Thalari's best option now.

Alright.. just follow the simple three steps..

In one swift motion, Arwin ran up to the priest, grabbing the man by the forearm with one hand and wrestling the hammer out of his grip with surprising ease. As the hammer plummeted to the ground, Arwin's free hand reached out and grabbed hold of the relic, the surprising weight of it forcing him to break into a roll away from the cleric. He held the hammer up triumphantly for a moment as he made his way back onto his feet, giving a quick salute as he prepared to leave the area, post haste. "Sorry, I'll be keeping this safe for now. Bank busine-"

Without warning, the hammer began to glow with a strange, ethereal blue-white glow that resembled magical energy, but Arwin couldn't determine the origin. It began to vibrate as he brought it closer to his face, inspecting it with the curiosity of a cat—no pun intended. This curiosity, though, did manage to get the best of him, once he noticed a strange black blob rushing towards him, the hammer increasing its vibration and glowing as a demon ran at him, swinging a polearm-like weapon with a mace-like end down at the Thalari. Arwin quickly sidestepped away from the slower weapon and brought the hammer out in a desperate parry, crying out loud as he expected his life to be wrung from him instantly at that moment, had he not sidestepped. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Arwin begun blindly and violently swinging the hammer around in one hand, obviously unaware of how to properly use it. For all he knew, it was just a regular hammer that seemed to glow and vibrate.

The hammer hit some resistance momentarily as the demon parried the swing of the hammer, moving into a riposte with his polearm. Arwin dodged the swing, watching the two-handed grand mace-like weapon smash some rocks near him. The demon kicked out and knocked Arwin backwards for a moment, once more swinging down..and missing. Momentarily distracted by this, Arwin was hopeless to stop his assailant as the demon grabbed him by the neck, slamming him onto a pillar, before releasing him, adjusting his grip on his weapon, and preparing for the final swing, while the Thalari weakly tried to make his way back onto his feet.

At this point, Arwin was sure that he was going to die, kept from a quick escape and a nice sum of money by an eight foot tall monster about to deal a lethal dose of blunt force trauma onto his fragile little skull. Then, he remembered the battle raging on the surface and the vulnerability of the Bank's camp. If he didn't do anything now—perhaps simply manning up or standing his ground, more people were going to die.

He knew little about the hammer, but what he did know, right here, and right now, was that if he was going to die, he might as well go down as a hero.

In his folly, the Demon had forgotten that Arwin still had one weapon left: his short sword, one that was much faster than a heavy club-like polearm. In one motion, Arwin drew the sword from its decorative scabbard and lobbed it at the demon...and both men watched as it spiraled through the air, right past the demonic warrior, embedding itself into the ground not too far away. In doing this, the Demon watched as the sword landed behind him and chuckled, briefly pausing to laugh at the Thalari's futile attempt at a throw. In his folly, this gave Arwin enough time to get back up, gripping the hammer with two hands as he prepared to swing it with all his might. "HAH! I read you like a BOOK!"

The blunt object clunked the side of the demon's head, and rather than stopping by plate armor or cracking it, it went straight through, transforming his assailant's head into a mass of giblets and orange ichor that splattered over Arwin and the surrounding area. The hammer's light quickly dimmed as Arwin ran for his short sword, eyeing the closest route that he could take back up to his exit if he were to begin freerunning as he took the blade up from the ground.

Once again distracted by something in the way, the Thalari comically met an immovable object in the form of one of the Knights of Shotarr, inadvertently dropping the hammer to his side as he stumbled backwards. "Ah—shit! The hammer!"

[Finland SSR]

Clive Paxton

Riki Farinhait

---

The man's response to Riki's determination for joining the fight was... weird. Sure, it was just as weird that Riki, who had been held prisoner by one of the parties defending from the demons alongside him, chose to join the fray, but the way the man put it, it was almost like he advocated for laying back and letting others do the job for him. There's going to be more soldiers, the demons will run out of steam, they will be stopped no matter what, and if he isn't getting anything out of this, then why is he here in the first place?

Riki's answer was quick and stern:

"It's easy to assume that you can just lie back and let others stop evil without you. But, if everyone followed that logic, nobody would stand against evil."

Despite verbally harassing Riki earlier, despite calling his art of magic despicable and forcing himself to tolerate it due to the situation they were in, the man gave him an offer. He'd help the young necromancer in the battle, in exchange for his knowledge and experience in the dead - and he were right in that Riki needed protection, especially now that Prax and his crew were inside the Haden temple and could not support him. The young necromancer offered him a stare, then turned towards the temple immersed in the woods and stated:

"The risen under my control are assaulting that temple as we speak. I obviously know nothing about the specifics, but... I have a hunch that whatever summoned these demons must have come from there." The necromancer tightened his cape and pulled out his ornate ceremonial knife, the carvings littering its dulled blade glowing ever so slightly. "Oh, and... so you don't call me a 'necro' again - my name is Riki."

[Kaziimar]

Damiana Floreviar
The young wizard-in-training had been following her master for around two years now, and the two of them had seen all manner of things...but one thing they were never expecting was a horde of demons suddenly appearing and trying to attack everyone. Dorian was in the Dascus war-camp, having come back to his old town to submit his name for election to the Mage's Consortium, but they were rushed back once the adventurer-mage had heard of a war effort being set up. So he had gone into the came to speak with Quentin Raeden, a brave knight and old acquaintance of Dorian's while Mia tagged along behind him. Things had seemed pretty ordinary until...

...the demons appeared.
Damiana had zero clue where they'd come from, and having learned only water-based magic so far she was ashamed to say that she knew she wouldn't be much help. "Go Mia, there's a temple nearby! I'll stay and help Quentin fight off the demons, you need to find a safe place to hide!"
"But, sir! I can't just leave you here, I can help!"
"You're tough, but not invincible! Plus you're still only an apprentice, now go! I'll come get you once the attack is finished!"
"Sir..."
"I promise!" A desire to stay warred in her body, but unfortunately she knew that Master Dorian was right. Clenching her jaw, she shapeshifted into a hawk and flew toward the temple that her master pointed out, seeing a few other people gathered there when she turned back into her human form.

[Tomia]

In the Temple
As more and more surface reinforcements joined the fight in the temple, Sir Raeden continued to cut down the demons who were now trapped between two groups of fighters. Soon the demons between the two groups fell to their combined efforts and it seemed for now the upper chamber had been cleared as well. This gave the knight breathing room to think. They clearly had some talented warriors among them, being able to drive the demons back like this and he had lost most of the men he had brought with him to the temple so he needed help. He motioned for the people in the bottom chamber to follow him up the stairs, waiting to make sure someone had grabbed the hammer before walking. Once the two groups were together he sized up what he had. There were three beastfolk, one was a large pridefolk that was clearly a warrior, another was the healer Saelaam who he had brought along, and the third was a cat folk that didn't seem like much of a warrior. There was also Theo the Dragon Killer and Lena, who he knew were both trustworthy warriors as well as the elves who had come for the peace expedition. Finally they were joined by two mages who Quentin didn't know. This group was filled with unknowns, and might have been more prone to killing each other than working other, but he needed help to figure out what was happening on the surface.

"Everyone listen up!" He shouted to the group to get their attention. "I am Quentin Raedan of the Knights of Shotarr. I know none of you are where you expected to be, or with who you expected to be today. But right now we need to work together. We need to figure out how to stop these... things. And to do that I need information. For those of you who have been on the surface, where are they coming from? How far is it from here? We're going to need to work together to get out of this alive. So I'm going to need everyone here on board, so what say you?"

Lena nodded, a determined and battle hardened look on her face. "I'm in." She said, scanning the others for their reactions. Some of these people were less than savory in her mind, but she agreed that they needed to put that aside. But if any of them tried to hurt Quentin she would turn them into an icicle.

Brialya
As the elven archer fought her way through the treacherous battlefield and after unleashing about a dozen arrows she had made her way to the temple. She was about to go inside when she noticed another elf nearby. This elf had somewhat of a strange look to her. She wore armor and had a suppressing number of daggers on her person. She had somewhat of a crazed look and at first Brialya thought she would just move on, but she noticed the elf was hurt. She likely wouldn't make it on her own without help. Brialya sighed, she couldn't just ignored someone in need, her oath with the faithful demanded she help the downtrodden.

Lady of the shadows, guide me as I guide others through the dark.

With that she sprung into action, firing an arrow at a demon that was preparing to assault her fellow elf. Soon Brialya had reached the woman, who was indeed injured. "I am Brialya, of the Faithful. We should get you off the battlefield so you can be healed. What is your name?"

[Kaziimar]

The group entering the temple had steadily started growing larger and larger, which didn’t surprise Damiana in the least because who would be brave...or foolish enough to stay out there and try to tangle with a group of rampaging demons? Not many, and certainly not an average man.
Then she saw the familiar face and armor of Sir Quentin, and it was only confirmed when he walked up to the front of the group and addressed them. But if Sir Quentin was in the temple...”Wait! Master Dorian is still out there!” She blurted out in a sudden panic, then she immediately grew quiet once she realized where she was and the dire horror of the situation they all found themselves in. People she’d never met, people she’d probably never even see or think about again. People who most likely didn’t even know each other, now they were all bound together by a common enemy through no choice of their own and most likely would have to help each other survive this onslaught. When Sir Quentin asked about the demons, Mia tried to remember what she had learned about them in her lessons...she wanted to help somehow, even though they had come suddenly and she didn’t have the opportunity to see anything. Clearing her throat, she spoke calmly as she could.
“Well, sir. I believe the demons most likely have come from a portal of some kind, an interdimensional gate was probably opened. I may be wrong, but I felt the magic prickle my skin whilst I was out there, and demons normally don’t just pop out of holes in the ground. I’m just an apprentice, so I don’t know how much help I can be but whatever I can do...I’ll try my best.”

[Absolon-7]

Francis

So this was going to be how he died. Not fighting some all powerful lich lord saving Eboris from the undead but rather to one big goat. Thankfully his death would be pushed back a fight or two thanks to the timely intervention of the stranger he had met earlier. The giant beast was only a few feet from stomping his lungs out when it suddenly had a bad case of "scythe in the lungs". The beast reared back in pain allowing Rudolph to roll out of the way to regain his stance. The beast's enormous horns would protect its head and neck, its back was covered in thick armored spines, thus its underbelly and haunches were he and his comrade in arms best bet in wounding it. The best coughed up a fiery yellow blood sputtering it all over its muzzle but this only highlighted its furious features as it circled around the two warriors. The temple walls weren't exactly a big open field so its range of movement was limited but so was his.

"We gotta be quick in our footwork! Trap it in a corner or something there's no way it can be as fast as it was outside," shouted Rudolph as he began counter-circling the creature.

In a staggered bound the beast leaped towards him for a gore attack but he spun to the side and skewered its neck with his sword. He twisted his arm around to take the sword away to duck from another horn swipe and this time he rolled underneath to the chest wound. Rudolph raised his sword arm and cut along the path as he jumped to the side once again. The beast was seemingly delirious now from blood loss as it clumsily lunged a few feet short of him but this gave Rudolph a chance to sheath his sword.

"Fool's Drink!," shouted Rudolph holding his now open pal right at the beast's face.

A large splash of water would rapidly shoot at its face, specifically its eyes, at a painful speed. The uncomfortable impact left the beast shaking its head and turning around and Rudolph was going to back away but he had been to focused to notice the beast's large tail swatting him away to hit the stone wall. The beast now mad on death's door step began to wildly charge right at Francis.

"Oh no you don't," gasped Rudolph as he leaned on the wall, "Fool's Drink!"

Once again a fast moving splash of water erupted from his outstretched palm but this time it landed right in front of the beast's charging hooves making the floor wet and slippery. The bleeding beast unprepared for the sneaky trick slipped and barely failed to catch itself as it then began sliding horns first towards to the left of Francis.

[The Republic of Atria]

Rudolph

Francis ripped the massive blade out of the side of the creature, expecting it to fall over. His eyes widened when it didn't, despite the spray of glowing blood leaking for the gaping wound. It immediately went back to circling the warriors, though he could tell that it was slower and was living purely on adrenaline and borrowed time. The down side was that the beast's spike armor was now in the way of actually finish it off. And the enclosed temple walls made it difficult to get a wide swing off to finish it. Francis snapped the blade off, folding the long handle and shouldering it while he held the scythe's blade like a curved sword, following Rudolph as he walked opposite the creature's circle.

Rudolph suggested trying to push it into a corner. Trapped and scared beasts were even more dangerous, wounded or not. Even if it somehow knew that it wasn't going to live, it would do it's best to make sure that either or both of the warriors would go down with it. The beast decided that Rudolph was the preferred target and launched after him. Francis waited a moment for his opportunity to strike. Beasts, demon or otherwise, tended to be faster than even the most trained human, even more so when wounded and angry. Composure was far more important than speed.

He watched as his ally perform his almost acceptable level of swordsmanship, and then start up with some magic. Water magic to be exact. Not something he expected a knight wearing that much plate to be capable of doing, but it explained it. Practicing both skills would take considerable amounts of time.

Splashing the beast with the magic water convinced the beast that maybe Francis would be and easier target. All he needed to permanently end the Beast's life was a single well placed strike. The mad demon beast charged at Francis who remained as still as possible, blade at the ready, even as the beast neared him.

It took one last attempt at a jump, mouth wide open. There, Francis saw his opportunity to strike, thrusting the now sword like blade upwards through the roof of the beast's mouth and into it's brain. Extinguishing what little life the beast had left.

Though the inertia from the beast caused it to collapse onto the hunter. Even with his altered body, the beast was monstrously heavy. "...Help me push it off. Please." He muttered.

[Theyra]

Ivaran Miaris

Ivaran's duel with the demonic beast was nearing its end. Thanks to his agility, he has managed to dodge the beasts attempts to gore him. Even managed to get some cuts in as the beast tried to gore him. The beast was frustrated and bleeding from its wounds that Ivaran inflicted on it earlier. Ivaran saw that the beast was starting to another charge and seemed to be slower due to its injuries. Once again, he dodged by jumping out of the way, and he saw an opening. He quickly raised his glaive, and it sweeps down on the beast's right back leg. The leg barely came off, and the beast collapsed on the ground in a heap. Before it could try and get up, Ivaran approached and started to plunge his glaive into the beast repeatedly. Once the beast was dead, Ivaran removed his bloody glaive from its body and in a moment of respite, he looked around him. The fighting was still fierce with men, elf, and dwarf trying to hold on against the demonic horde that did not seem to cease.

As he surveyed the battlefield, he noticed Alexius was nearby, and he was fighting the likes that Ivaran has not seen. Like that he was not afraid of death. "Who is that," he thought, and he barely heard someone say "Behind You! Ivaran turned around and barely got his glaive up to protect from a tail whip from a beast. The hit knocked him a few feet back, and he landed squarely on his back. His glaive still in his hands, "that hurt," he said in a pained tone, and as he got up, he noticed a demon was rushing towards him. He quickly raised his glaive and parried the demon's incoming attack. Ivaran then made a quick slash at the demon's neck, and the demon reached for its throat before collapsing on the ground.

Ivaran was breathing heavily, "How much longer can this go on? He said under his breath and slowly got up. "When will this horde end? Then he heard a crack of lighting behind him and turned to find that the human he had spotted earlier stuck a corrupter with lighting. "That mage again and he seems to be still doing well." Ivaran thought, and he saw that a what he guessed what happened to mages that were turned by the demons were coming up from behind the mage. "Behind you mage," he shouted at Alexius and ran to intercept the abomination. It was a weird feeling, running to help a mage almost felt like a betrayal. However, they had a common foe, and today, and they needed everyone to face it. Ivaran got into the path of the abomination and as he got into position. He heard the abomination coldly say, "Burn! Before the thing unleashed a torrent of fire. Ivaran jumped backward out of the way of the flames, "It can use magic, that is unfortunate but, I know how to deal with magic". He said with a smirk and concentrated. His purification cone coming to life and the thing was in range. Dampening what magic power it had and he turned his head to Alexius, "care to join and best do not go in front of me if you value your magic right now".

[Northwest Slobovia]

Archeno
Battle of Haden Hill, with the Tashar army

Deciding to stay in the tree and continue to watch the battle proved beneficial. While checking to see what was going on the Tashar front line, he spotted a woman bearing a standard pop into a gap a few ranks back. Archeno squinted to try to get a better look at her. His efforts were greatly assisted by her rapidly pushing her way through the mass of troops, trying to reach the rear. She seemed to be shouting something, which he strained to hear over the crash of weapons and the shouts of soldiers.

A hill flanked by a wyrm and a unicorn? Which theme uses that standard?? Ah, it's one of the southern ones, near-- What is she saying? Can anybody see what? Where they're-- Oh!

Archeno looked out over the battlefield. Yes! There, there, and there! He estimated distances to the temple and a couple of other landmarks. Then, using his best vocal projection, Archeno shouted back an answer. “Yes, I can see them! They're coming up from the ground at three places I have in sight! Over there, and other one further from the temple, and one almost hidden behind it.” He pointed at the spots out with outstretched arm, but the woman's confusion indicated she could see neither them nor him. “I'm up here! In the oak tree, the one with the spear through it! Yes, now you see me!”

Pushing her way through the last of the troops, she made her way to the base of the oak and stared up at the over-dressed man in it. “Who in the five hells are you?”

“Archeno, son of Kakio of Rura.”

“Who?? No, never mind. Get down here. We have to get you to the temple, but I can teleport only myself.” She shouted orders to men in the rear of Tashar's army, and a group of them jogged over as Archeno carefully lowered himself around the spear. “Get this... person to the temple. Any means necessary! Get others if you must, on my authority as messenger mage.” For emphasis, she pointed at the red, gold, and white streamer flying from the top of the standard.

A swordsman cocked his head, trying to remember something. “You're the yarn-spinner, Arch... Archurio?”

“Archeno, at your service.” He added a bit of a bow as a flourish: the man's face rang a bell as somebody in a recent audience.

“The one who's been to Algan?” Archeno nodded confirmation, and the sword-fighter turned to the messenger. “Cavalry. You want cavalry for him, and let him take the lead. He fights as well as any three of them.” The messenger gave Archeno the most dubious of looks, but the swordsman insisted, and with a curt “wait here” a wave of her hand, she disappeared.

Her reappearance a minute or so later was accompanied by the growing sound of galloping hooves, and shortly be the arrival of a squadron of the Companion cavalry. Archeno whistled appreciatively, which was returned by their leader giving him an incredulous, “Him? He's this great warrior??”

With a showman's bow, Archeno explained. “I have survived months in the Algan Forest, and have returned transfigured. Can your mounts keep up a charge to the temple?” Scoffing laughter from the horsemen suggested an answer. “Then clear a path, sound a charge, and let me build up some speed as you accompany me. You'll see what the magic of Algan does.” The squadron commander hesitated, torn between considering Archeno a madman and the cachet and wonder that went with tales of the Forest. Then, to his men, “Form up” and to Archeno, “We'll start slow and see this magic before before we commit to a charge. You'll be next to me.”

Archeno took a trotted to the indicated spot, now in the center of a cavalry wedge. With a tiny gesture of the leader's hand, the horsemen started at a slow walk, causing Archeno to jog to keep in position. And now they learn the key lesson of all storytelling: they will indeed see, for that will believe that, but not what they are told. He waited until the horses started to trot – and he started to run – and counted off seconds for best effect. Let them start to doubt.

Archeno started to lean forward to sprint as the horses slowly accelerated, and just as he was about to run out of breath, transformed into huge bull bearing not just a pair of horns, but a rack of them. Inwardly, he smiled at the gasps around him. At a trumpet call, soldiers ahead of them looked over their shoulders and rushed to get out of their way, and at a second call, the horses started to canter and then broke into gallops as their riders closed their visors and couched their runesteel-tipped lances.

In moments, all that was ahead of them was the mass of demons, and Archeno sped up even more: speed was his best hope, and momentum his only chance of crashing through. The horsemen urged their mounts on, barely keeping pace with him.

Archeno lucked out, and the impact with the first demons smashed them to the ground, where they were trampled underfoot by both him and the horsemen immediately following, the tips of their lances extending out over his horns. The next demon he caught squarely in the chest, and it dug its claws into his head before losing its grip and being crushed beneath him. Archeno could feel blood running down the right side of his head.

The demons became more organized, and started to get blows in with swords and axes. Archeno collected a gash on his left upper leg before ripping upward with his horns to behead the creature in return. Screams and shouts around him told him that the cavalry was losing men as well.

Most of way through the ranks of demons, he ran one through the gut with several horns, and it stuck there, feebly trying to attack him as he dragged it backwards. It made an excellent battering ram to bash through its companions, but the extra weight slowed Archeno down, and pulled hard on his head and neck. A demon ahead of Archeno got its spear down and set, and he was saved only because the cavalryman to his right saw, shifted his lance, and drove its sun-bright glowing head through the demon, simply tearing it in half.

Finally, there was nothing but grass between them and the temple, and the formation, now ragged slowed to a walk. Archeno had to back up slowly, head down, to finally dislodge what was left of the impaled demon from his horns. Returning to human form, he felt woozy; he'd lost more blood than he'd realized. With half-numb fingers, he pulled out vials of Taino's Curative from his pouch and downed two of them. At least that stopped the bleeding.

The messenger mage had taken her arcane shortcut, and approached Archeno. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see him. He took a wobbly step toward her, and she decided he needed to be helped downstairs. “I'll lead you to Quentin Raedan of Shotarr. Tell him what you saw.”

Deep in the temple, found Quentin. He removed his hat as a gesture of respect – yes, he still had that, everything he carried or wore transformed with him – even though that would make the wounds on his head more obvious. “I am Archeno, son of Kakio of Rura. One of our – Tashar's – messengers tells me you have some interest in these demons' origins. You'll have to pardon my lateness in delivering that information; the demons had other ideas.” He tried to show a charming smile; he wasn't sure he succeeded, he was that unsteady. “I saw three places they were coming from. There might be more, I can't say. They seemed to be coming up from the ground. I can point out the... the spots. Or, if you have...” His eyes lost focus for a moment. “A map, I can show you on that.”

“Beg pardon, I think I need to sit down. The demons made something of a fuss.” He leaned heavily on the messenger mage for support, and she started to look for a place he could sit.

[Skyggeheim]

Danica Tryss
The Battle for Haden Hill

---

Danica was in the middle of separating a hellspawn's head from its undeserving shoulders when a strange bleating noise followed by immense commotion in the center of her defensive formation. She turned, raising her sword and expecting the worst. She assumed that the demons had finally broken their line and had flooded into the center of their circle. She was shocked to see a human, tall in his own right, on the back of a massive armored moose whose horns were dripping with molten blood. She blinked in brief confusion; she didn't expect to see the Eshonie forces on the battlefield today, and she much less expected that the lives of her comrades would be briefly saved by said Eshonies. Regardless, she was thankful for the offer of friendship - however temporary - from these northern tribesmen. At the offer to push forward to the temple, she nodded briefly before rushing to Tayne's side. Danica could feel his pain, and perhaps more importantly, she could feel his shame. Tayne had let his sister - however metaphorical their familial ties were - fall from the skies. His eyes burned with rage, and even in his injured state, he lashed out at demons through gaps in the Hercynian formation, severing limb from joint and spraying demonic blood across the dirt with lethality that only the most fabled warriors could hope to match.

"Brother," Danica whispered to Tayne in Draconic, "It is time for us to leave. Can you run?"

The bright look of acknowledgement was the only answer Danica received, and the only answer she needed. Turning back to the Eshonie general, she simply bared her fangs in a half-snarl and half-smile. She didn't need to mince words on lesser beings. Without another word, she bolted forward towards the temple with Tayne following close. Picking up on the cue of their commander, the Fangs slowly began to extract from their formation, following the path of broken bodies left by the Eshonie moose and their general. Danica was intent on laying waste to as many demons as she could. As she sprinted, she swung her sword in wide patterns, cutting swaths through demonic flesh.

Eventually, she came upon a demon that she assumed was another leader. However, this time, she knew how they fought. As Danica charged, the monstrous - but small-minded - demon matched her gait. She expected the abomination's sword to come down on her, and so she threw her heater shield up to protect herself. The greatsword collided into her defenses with bone-shattering force, but the shield held. Pivoting and rotating, she raked the side of the demon's thigh. As the thing fell to a knee, she plunged her sword downwards through its neck and collarbone, eliminating it. She then pressed on, catching back up to the Eshonie rider.

They had only made it halfway to their by the time that the fiery explosions in front of them became evident. A wolf-kin beastfolk soon followed, spitting venomous sarcasm and then racing off to aid clearing the way to the temple. Danica snarled at the snide remark, but pressed on regardless. At this point, any help was good help. As they slew their way forwards, Danica caught up with the wolf-kin, who had at this point transformed into her beastform.

"I thought..." Danica said, between swings of her sword, "Your kin...would have fled...by now."

She hardly waited for a response before racing forwards to close the gap to the steps of the temple. She barked quick orders in Draconic to her comrades to take up defensive positions, and forced Tayne to proceed inside.

"Go! We will cover your retreat inside." She shouted to her newfound allies. But the act of valor did not come without hostility, as Danica purposefully let her shoulder clip Neferis', briefly stumbling the smaller she-beast. Danica was sure she would hear about it later, but that did not concern her. What did worry her, was the immense wave of demons currently rolling towards the steps of the temple. What terrified her, however, was watching her best captain, Qor'nath, become enveloped in this tide. He swung his weapon in wild strokes, spraying blood and sending limbs into the air all around him. Yet, he could not hold off every single one of the monsters. As Danica watched, a spear punctured directly through his thigh, and the dragon-man fell.

"No!" She roared, charging forward. The first imp that tried to stop her had its head caved in by a swing of her shield, the second and third's innards were spilled by a swipe of her sword. Soon, her comrades followed her. Despite the fact that Qor'nath was only twenty feet away, she had to crash through dozens of the enemy to reach him. Yet, she was too late. By the time that she reached him and gripped the collar of his armor to pull him out, Qor'nath had been stabbed no less than seven times. Blood leaked through the cracks of his armor, and he loosely held on to the handle of his greataxe. Dragging him back to the steps of the temple as the Fangs closed around her to weather the demons' advance, Danica knelt and cupped the back of Qor'nath's head in her hand. He looked up at her with eyes that were quickly losing their light.

"Will I fly..." Qor'nath attempted to speak, only to spit out blood and cough, "Will I fly...with Zahhak?"

This was something Danica was entirely unprepared for. In all the years she had known and fought with Qor'nath, he had never been one to be doubtful. Sure-footed and boastfully confident, he was always the most eager to charge into the fray beside his general. He had always bragged that he would be the first Fang to die a hero's death fighting for the Dragoness. But now... he was afraid to die. Danica felt tears clog the back of her throat, and she did all she could to suppress them.

"You will touch the stars, my friend." She replied back shakily, barely containing the urge to weep. However, it seemed like those words were all that Qor'nath needed to hear. He smiled, as best he could, and closed his eyes. Danica felt his pained breaths become shallower by the moment, and eventually the dragon-man's head lolled back and his final gasp for air went unquenched.

Qor'nath died in his commander's arms.

Danica let her own head hang, in near defeat. Yet, through the cloudy vision that teardrops brought, she looked at Qor'nath's arms. Even in death, he held on tight to his weapon. The greataxe, which Qor'nath named Asunder, was an impressive weapon that required even more impressive strength to wield. And now, Danica could see that he was offering the weapon to her. He held his left hand open, and gripped the handle with his right hand. To a Ko'el, this fashion of offering a weapon was a sign of respect and servitude.

Briefly wiping the tears from her eyes, Danica removed her gauntlet from her right hand. Pressing her fangs down on her exposed palm, she let a few droplets of blood splatter on Qor'nath's breastplate: a blessing to move from this life to the next. With that, she reattached her gauntlet and gripped the axe with both hands. Even to her, it was slightly heavy. But she would gain the strength to wield it as if it were light as a feather. She had to. For Qor'nath.

Now turning and charging forward, she leapt into the air and raised Asunder over her head.

"Ash nazg gai tur sor!" She screamed. Thunder from the sky! As she came crashing down, she brought the greataxe down in a forceful chop into the dirt below her. All around her, lightning exploded outwards from the weapon, incinerating the surrounding enemies. Standing, she snarled at the remaining enemies. They hesitated slightly. She expected them to. She was the Dragoness, and they were right to be fearful. Unfortunately, this hesitation did not last long. The endless tide rushed forth once more. Danica replied by swinging Asunder in a wide arc around her. Lightning crackled from every enemy she struck, felling them in impressive fashion. As she back-stepped up the stairs of the temple, her comrades followed her, leaving countless enemy bodies broken upon the steps: a brutal testament to their effectiveness.

Soon, the remaining Fangs were inside the confines of the temple. Quickly, they slammed the heavy stone doors shut and dealt with whatever straggler enemies managed to find them inside. Only now did Danica allow herself a moment to breath, and she let out a long sigh of exhaustion. But, this moment only lasted briefly. Now snapping back into her commander's attitude, she quickly ordered her remaining subordinates to clear the nearby areas of the temple for any hostiles and joined her newfound allies - the Eshonies and the wolf-woman - to formulate their next moves.

"I am Danica Tryss, Dragoness of the Fangs of Hercynia," She stated, "And I would like to know the names of those who just saved the lives of myself, my dragon, and my battle-brethren."

[The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune]

Prax

The demons fell like grass to a wildfire between the small contigent of Tasharian and Dascian troops from the surface, and whatever holy order had holed up down here. Prax eagerly cut through any and all resistance to their charge, laughing as he did so. Next to him, Vlad and the woman who led the Dascian troops likewise sliced through any demon who tried to escape the foul canyon that had developed. The woman in particular fascinated Prax. Wounds didn't seem to bother her, and every once in a while she could be seen to quite literally drain the life from one of the dark ones. Fascinating. Plunging his Farx through the neck of one of the last demons. Standing up straight and cracking his back, he let loose a loud roar of victory, before noticing that the Knights had begun to move upstairs. Looking to Vlad, he asked simply "Do we follow?"

Vlad shrugged and said "There's nothing down here but death and decay now. The Knights are a neutral enough organization, and I'd be surprised if there was any semblance of order out on that battlefield to follow. So why not. Might be a nice break to let someone else take the brunt of these fucking demons for once."

Prax nodded and followed Vlad as he began to move with the rest of the Tasharians up towards the main chamber of the temple.

---

Nat

Nat meanwhile had removed a small knife from the back of her armor and was in the process of cutting into a nearby demonic corpse. Her work was quick and surgical, briefly cutting open the chest cavity using some magic to remove the ribs. Inside she took count of the various organs she could see and took a few samples in vials before standing up. Seeing the Dascians looking at her after seeing the men of Tashar follow the Knights, Natasia said simply "Follow."

The men took the command simply enough and proceeded upstairs, followed by Nat's fire and ice guards. Mathias looked over Natasia's work and asked "Anything strange?"

Natasia shook her head and said "No. They aren't... anomalies would be the correct word for it. Full biological functions, blood, organs, etc. I think we can deem these things full living creatures as opposed to some sort of magical manifestation."

Mathias nodded "Then perhaps we can do more with them."

Nat plunged her sword into the ground. Cracks of glowing blue magicka webbed out from it, grabbing and raising nearby corpses using the life force of the almost dead to power it. The reinforcements for her legion stood ready. Pulling her blade from the ground and sheathing it, Natasia said softly "That is your field Mathias. Use these piles and dig around for any tablets or scrolls the Knights might have left down here. They probably picked the place clean, but it's always worth a look around."

Mathias gave her a phony little salute. Natasia strode upstairs and walked up to the front of the Dascian troops who had survived this long. The remainder of the first legion she had raised joined the lines as she walked to the front of the room. Nodding at the words of the leader of the knights, Natasia stepped forward, ignoring the clearly shell shocked man also trying to explain the tunnels and said simply in her otherwordly voice "The 'demons' are coming from two tunnels, one on either side of the temple, facing Tashar and Dascus's camps. However, I do not believe they are coming from underground, or at least very near to the surface. From what I could see, there appeared to be portals farther back. If we could close those, then the day would be ours." Her raven flew down and landed on her shoulder, a strange sickly thing that had turned white and seemed to glow blue on the inside.

---

Prax

The Lionman beat his chest once and said "I agree with the small woman. These creatures, their tactics have no attempt at preservation of troops. Wave tactics like this mean one thing, that there is many more of them hiding somewhere, probably behind those portals. It is not too difficult to fight off waves, as we have just demonstrated. We could push into the tunnels between waves and break the entrances."

Giving Raedan a small nod, Prax grinned and said "I am Prax'ak Dor Molap, Descendant of Ga and Pridelord of Eckers. This is Vlad. We fight for Tashar, but today I think we all stand for a little more than whatever nation is employing us."