Beyond Light's Reach (IC)

[Galnius]

Traven Faust
A Gambler's Bet

Brialya

Saelaam of Trelia
Haden Hill

Tenna the Possibly Doomed
She finally seemed to convince the other elf to stop momentarily it seemed. Long enough, at least, for Tenna to catch her breathe and begin to prepare to treat their wounds. Basic knowledge of first aid had been a necessity on the streets she grew up in, and it never hurt fr a spy to be able to treat any common injuries. Pulling her favorite blade, and the one that had scared her all those years ago, she began a simple act. The blade was kept sharp, so in very little time she had prepared enough strips to bandage the other complaining heroic elf's leg. She was stopped, however, by the arrival of a winged being.

Tenna was not a patient elf, and being interrupted by a mostly unwanted arrival always put her on edge. She heard it introduce itself as a Chosen, and a healer of one of the gods. Brialya seemed to eat it all up, which annoyed Tenna even further. She fought against rolling her eyes, however, when she realized her own injuries were a touch too much to handle with mere bandages. Even a splint was not going to do much, and from the looks of it the demon army may not give them time for her to do anything too complicated, nor did she think she could pull it off. Begrudgingly and swiftly, she offered the red and fractured arm, hurting herself with the sudden movement. Smart, let's not let pride get me hur-

Once again, Tenna's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of other people. It seemed that the world or gods or fate seemed to wish her either dead today, or driven to madness. Naturally, the male of the new pair spoke, much to her chagrin. It was clear he made half his livelihood at least off of charm alone. Tenna had run across many like that. Diplomats, con men, thieves, performers...Oddly enough, Tenna found herself getting along more with the criminals. This man, however, seemed enjoyable enough. That is, if he showed any intelligence to match his grin. It truly was the speaking that made her let out an audible sigh.

Oh, the problem? Perhaps the fact that everyone may die today and you seem to be about as observant as moss in a cave. Finding herself unable to properly say this as usual, Tenna let her gestures do the talking. Still holding the injured arm out for the healer's ever-growing irritating inspection, she used her other, armed hand to gesture broadly at the hordes and armies fighting viciously and horrifically to the bitter end, a faux shocked expression on her face. Perhaps one day I'll be allowed to stab people for asking stupid questions. That should be a law.

[The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune]

Prax

The Pridelord roared as he stormed down the hill. The Knights seemed to prefer sticking together and trying to hold a shieldwall. Not Tasharians, or at least the ones who followed Prax and Vlad. Their combat style involved a fluid technique of slashes and rolls that brought them around and in between the various members of the demonic horde. Before he had seen them in combat it often made Prax question why the Grand Legion only carried bucklers and smaller round shields instead of the larger heater and kite shields of Dascus and Athela. It became clear in the first skirmishes that he fought with them that Tashar had no need for such things to slow them down. It was glorious.

As more men flowed down the hill, the scattered troops of all three nations joined in the charge, spurred on by the dramatic descent of the Knights. Prax's roars fueled the chorus of rage as the free races of the world continued their assault on the demons. Prax ripped the head off another demon and threw it into the opposing ranks. Hearing a chuckle from Vlad, Prax stopped and said "Would you prefer I throw the head to you then?"

"Lionman, I may not know you well, but you make even this shitshow of a battle look like a grand ole time."

"I'm likewise impressed human, you hold yourself well."

"Wouldn't be this old if I didn't. Looks like somethings happening in front of the tunnel."

"Aye, we should probably help."

"Probably."

Prax and Vlad, along with the Tasharians rejoined the Knights at the base of the hill. Prax lifted a nasty looking barbed spear from the nearby corpse of a demon. Hearing Quentin's orders for defense, Prax responded with a roar, shouting "FOR EBORIS!" before throwing the demonic weapon into the oncoming wave. It went through the chest of one of the leaders and left him pinned and flailing on the ground. The rest of the Tasharians likewise picked up spears and readied behind the shieldwall to skewer any of the charging wave.

Nat

The Death Knight took a moment to check her equipment before raising two zombies to guard her before she returned to the battle. Turning away from the pair behind the tree, she said simply "Unless the Knights have changed course rather quickly, the plan is currently to delve into those tunnels and shut down the portals They are coming out of. Necromancer, your talents might be useful in the next steps. Bandit, I can't see any strategic neccesity for your gifts, but if you would like to join, more flesh is always useful on a suicide mission."

With those brief words, Natasia left the other pair and rejoined the Knights in their defense.

[Lazarian]

Nat

The Death Knight took a moment to check her equipment before raising two zombies to guard her before she returned to the battle. Turning away from the pair behind the tree, she said simply "Unless the Knights have changed course rather quickly, the plan is currently to delve into those tunnels and shut down the portals they are coming out of. Necromancer, your talents might be useful in the next steps. Bandit, I can't see any strategic necessity for your gifts, but if you would like to join, more flesh is always useful on a suicide mission."

With those brief words, Natasia left the other pair and rejoined the Knights in their defense.

Clive the Scorned

Clive was rather displeased. It wasn't that he valued Nat's opinion, but it still stung to be dismissed by some dwarf as a mere bandit. It wasn't even a poor assumption on her part, really. Just a reminder of how he hadn't done anything noticeably valuable in his life. Other, lesser men were successful merchants, lords, knights, and tradesmen. Worse still, her statement came with a clear example of how the mages were important and valued more. More useful and important than the commoners, despite the fact that they stood on the shoulders of the masses. He was "flesh" - probably just another potential walking dead to her, while Riki was a valuable asset. And it wasn't like the necromancer had earned it or anything. Was just born lucky.

"Fuckin' necro midget. I'm not just some bandit or footman." he grumbled, half to himself, half to Riki.

Well, what was the best move for him at the moment? Sure, it was great to pretend to be a legendary hero or whatever, but realistically, their odds of dying were greater than not. Even if the collected armies here failed and perished to a man, surely that wouldn't be the end of Eboris. There couldn't be that many demons. They'd probably eventually lose their forces to attrition...but a nagging doubt in his mind still remained. If the demons were truly enough of a threat for the Athelan elves to join forces with the Dascians and Tasharens, that was pretty noticeable. He remembered the disdain the Athelans held for the human nations. It was justified, of course. The humans spread like rats, spewing over the continent like a torrential flood. And while they had the capability for magic, they used it for self-serving motives, unlike the elves, who cared deeply about their youth and their poor. For them to ally so easily with the Dascians was a clear sign that the demons were a greater threat than Clive thought.

Still, getting involved in the battle at hand was incredibly risky. And he only had one life to lose. Honestly, it wouldn't be surprising if he ended up eating an arrow or getting smacked to oblivion by one of those hideous creatures. Then Riki (or worse, the midget!), would probably raise him up as another shambling corpse. As dire as the situation was, it still wasn't enough for him to take on that risk. Eboris could live with one less soldier, at least for now. Suddenly, in the turmoil up at the top of the hill near the temple, Clive caught a glimpse of something. A distinctive blackened shield.

Could it be?

Yes, it sure was.

Slowly, Clive's grim expression twisted into a malicious grin. He could already hear the gold clinking into his purse.

"You know what, Riki? Maybe Eboris does need some people to protect it." he quipped, picking up his mace. "Cover my back!"

Leaving Riki behind without warning, he began to jog up the hill. Most of the demons were towards the bottom of the hill, and the grove the two had been hiding in was in the back flank of the demons. Of course, there was no real strategy or tactics anymore. It'd devolved into an unorganized mob, as far as Clive could tell. It was odd to see elven warriors standing side by side with Dascian footmen, but almost comforting in an odd way.

Closing his eyes, Clive breathed in deeply, and sunk back into a warm, treasured memory. Near instantly, a small piece of the world was brought to the way it should have been. As his eyes snapped back open, the air around him rippled, and nearly seemed to sunder in a strange way. Even the bright grass around him seemed to fade and become less vibrant. If one observed closely, they'd notice a sort of iridescent shimmer pulse through the air around him, a faint but noticeable effect. As he rapidly approached, demons in the vicinity began to slow down, their movements becoming less sharp and rabid. Well, that was convenient. One of the more horrid ones, a warped, melted misshapen thing that had once been a mage, shot a blazing meteor at Clive. It careened through the air like a great arrow of fire, until...it didn't. Instead of landing and completely obliterating the area around its target, it seemed to phase out of existence, rapidly warping between one reality and the next. And then there was nothing. The creature seemed confused, staring down at what once must have been hands.

Clive stopped its confusion - with a hefty swing that cleft its skull near in twain.

"Even when they're demons, they die all the same." mused Clive, before rapidly backpedaling and retreating away from an approaching crowd of demons. He wasn't the strongest, nor the fastest, but he seemed to have a knack for not dying. And so he continued, not-dying as best as he could as the storm raged around him.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Saelaam of Trelia
Haden Hill

---

---

---

Saelaam nodded at the elven woman as she stated that she would fight. I should deliver this one to Sir Raeden, then. He thought. But first things first. The woman soon recognized his allegiance and accepted his offer. "Oh, it won't take too long. I cannot completely cure your wounds in an instant, but I can make them bearable." He stated, and then looked her up and down - there was no apparent injury other than the gash across her thigh, but it was better to be safe than sorry and he prepared to ask her, only to be interrupted as an arm was thrust in front of him. About to protest, he quickly noticed that it was broken, red and swollen. Right... this seems urgent.

With a nod at the other elven woman, the Chosen quickly got to work, gently laying his free hand over the fracture and closing his eyes to focus, uttering prayers to Oadot in a calm and clear voice. Luckily he had treated quite a few bone fractures during his time as a priest of Oadot, and so, though he worked with faith and devotion, he had the healing process down to an art, working on it almost mechanically. Weaving together incantations to mend the flesh and snap the bone back into place was simple for him, and though it was not an easy ordeal for the sufferer, the prayers also served to alleviate most of the pain.

In a matter of a few minutes, the young man was done. Tenna's arm wasn't good as new by any means - it would still hurt a bit to move around, and would require further treatment to avoid complications once the battle was over, but it was perfectly good for lobbing knives and stabbing demons in the gut. "There you go, miss." He said with a nod, before turning around. Focused as he was on aiding Tenna, he had not noticed the arrival of two newcomers, an eccentric looking man with a staff and a hat, and an exotic veil-wearing woman dressed in fine silks. He nodded at them in greeting, but said nothing. He was nothing if not dedicated to his work, after all.

"Do you have any other wounds, or is it only your leg?" He asked of the woman dressed in Athelaian armor, but a quick shake of the head let him know that his task was a simple one. Crouching in front of her and then resting on one knee, the Ar'el pressed his hand against Brialya's thigh and once more prayed to Oadot. The incantations were slightly different this time, but just as effective, and before long, the gash was all patched up. A flesh wound was a simpler fix than a fractured bone, after all.

With his work done, Saelaam stood up and looked down at the battlefield. Quentin and his allies were holding up well at the foot of the hill, for now, but they would welcome new allies nonetheless. His own status was less certain - he could feel the reserves of magika he had gathered the previous night begin to dwindle. If he continued to use it, he would soon need to draw magika from his own body.

No matter. My own health is a small price to pay to uphold Oadot's edicts.

Making up his mind, Saelaam held his arm out in front of Brialya. "Athelaian, hold onto my arm and I will take you down to Sir Raeden." He announced. He then looked at the other elf and the two humans present. "If any of you wish to join the fight, hold onto my arm also. Otherwise stay here and I'll come back as soon as possible to get you to safety."

And then, a short spell later, Saelaam returned with company to Quentin's side.

[Auropa]

Cyradil Vask
Hill assault

With another thunderous crack, Cyradil’s bloodied mace struck another mark and crushed another skull. As she pulled it back with a sickening glomp, she slammed her shield forward and against the wall of spears and blades pressing against her. Breathing hard and struggling to steady her breath, she continued her advance against the onslaught, if she broke down here then it left their foes a clear path to Quentin and his party’s flank as they advanced. Gripping her mace and shield tightly, she let out a slow breath as she held back another torrent of blows, the moment the flow faltered she swung her shield out in a brutal arc. The heavy metals barreled through the closest demons, knocking some back and sending others sprawling to the ground. Those with the range to took the chance and revamped their attacks against the armoured knight. As arrows bounced off her plate, she once again moved to dodge and deflect what she could but as attacks began to find their mark and pierce her guard, she gritted her teeth and continued forward relentlessly.

Again and again she pulled back her mace and slammed it down. As blood splattered across the ground and the booming cracks of lightning rung out, she felt her hands begin to go numb and vision start to blur. Whether it was exhaustion, blood loss, magic or all three she couldn’t tell, but if she were too fall here then she would fall honorably and in duty. As she moved behind her shield and readied for one last surge, a figure in similarly dark armor darted by her and plunged its sword into the exposed neck of a nearby demon before lunging forward and continuing their own merciless assault.

Renewed by the sudden appearance of assistance, Cyradil re-tightened her grip, pushed off and launched back into the fray. Between her and the newcomer they managed to finally push back the group and secure the main advance’s flank. Between the dents and gore adorning her gear, she couldn’t help but wince at his painfully accurate comments about her reckless advance. Even now she could barely see past her visor, now crumpled and warped from the stray blunt attack. Still, things weren’t nearly as bad as they could’ve been if he hadn’t arrived when he did. Practically tearing the deformed and broken helmet from her head, she took a moment to survey the field and wipe flecks of orange from her brow.

"So is that Shotarr knight at the hill in charge? I noticed him leading from the front back at the temple's door."

“Of sorts.” She stated as she clipped the scrap metal to her side. “Sir Quentin believes we can close the portal these things are coming from, hopeful thinking or not, I choose to take the risk. I would ask you to join us but I would be lying if I said if I said I had confidence in our odds and withdrawing from an unwinnable battle like this would bring no shame.” Turning to look back to the Shotarr knight’s advance, she saw the group move to take a more defensive position as they fought to route the enemy and hold their ground however they could. Picking up her shield once more, she let out a small sigh and looked back towards the newcomer who had come to pull victory, however small, from a certain defeat.

“Regardless, you have my gratitude slayer.” She said with a short bow as she finally placed the darkened armour “My name is Cyradil Vask. Should we make it through this, know that you have my support should you ever need it.”

[New Finnish Republic]

Emile
Haden Hill

---

It's a simple job, they said. Just observe what occurs and don't reveal your presence unless needed.

Emile let out a small grunt as she slashed at the exposed neck of a charging demon, gracefully pivoting around so that she could stab the beast in the back several times as it stumbled forward grasping at its neck.

You won't even be involved in the fighting, so there's no need to worry, they told me.

Hopping into the air, she flipped over the back of another one of the charging demons, slashing at its hamstrings to bring it tumbling to the ground before placing a knife into the back of its neck.

It's all reward and practically no risk, they had the balls to try and sugar coat to me. Reaching for her waist, she threw a pair of her smaller daggers into the chest of another demon, sending the demon falling onto its face in a pool of its own blood.

"I swear I'll never listen to those idiots ever again," Emile muttered to herself as she fell back towards the safety of the shield wall in an effort to recover. Wiping the sweat off of her brow, she breathed heavily as she took in the situation around them. How she had gotten to this point could have only been the act of some cruel god wishing to punish her for all of the deeds she had done through her life.

It had begun simple enough. Blending into the shadows, listening to the what could hardly be called as a negotiation between the leaders inside the sought after temple. While her she made sure as to not make a single noise, she couldn't help but roll her eyes from time to time as she listened to each leader try and cry out that the relic was rightfully theirs. While such a task would have been impossible for her to commit given the situation, she mused at the thought of stealing the item from the hands of whomever the victor of the arguments whenever they put their guard down. Surely such an item would fetch a handsome price, so much in fact that Emile could have likely retired from her career as a thief. That was, if she wasn't executed for the deed at least.

Yet things suddenly went in a downwards spiral faster than even she could have imagined. First, the sounds of war horns made it clear that the negotiations had become an utter failure, as was predictable. However what occurred next was completely out of the realm of thoughts. Demons, and a seemingly unending amount of them, appeared. While most certainly killable, they fought unlike anything Emile had encountered before, with unyielding ferocity and no sense of mercy within them.

Escape was impossible for the thief, as the hordes were both in the midst of the temple as well on the battlefield outside. While her odds of survival were next to none in the midst, she could recognize that her odds were better with the best all sides could offer rather than outside with the standard foot soldiers.

Thus, with much cursing of all parties as well as her own organization, she fought with every ounce of her abilities against the waves of demons. While they could dispatch dozens of the creatures at a time, it was as if another two dozen would replace those they killed, resulting in a situation in which victory, and more importantly survival, seemed impossible. Yet somehow they prevailed. Reinforcements came at the nick of time, and thus they were able to hold the demons at bay, at least for now.

Glancing over beside her, she overheard one of the female battle mages that had been proving herself excellent in the use of her mace in the fight next to her talking to one of the reinforcements that had arrived. Her eyes widened as yet another demon charged forward through the lines, heading towards the battle mage. With a grunt, she lept forward and hopped onto the beast's back. Before the demon could react, a flurry of stabs went up and down its back, sending it falling forward as Emile rolled forwards onto her feet in front of the two, entirely covered in the gory mess she had created.

"I would like to think we shall have time to offer our loyalty after we are finished making sure we don't all die today, don't you think?"

[Ihsalihna]

Kei’á
Among Splintered Steel

---

A shake of the head. No, not that one. Not the right size. Even with my eyesight, I can't tell... don't all their heads look the same?

Perhaps this? Another shake of the head. What a waste of time. Why does she feel the need to be everyone's mother...

Ech. What am I, a magpie scavenging among scraps for gleaming trinkets?

Steel ground against steel as Kei’á wrapped her talons around her prize, her cold eyes twitching across the battlefield, watching the humans and... things slaughter each other. Such inefficient hunters. So much wasted blood. Really, she could never understand their kind...

Reaching down with a bloodsoaked beak and splitting through the bitter taste of rough leather, the raptor severed the strap and spread her wings. With one powerful clap of air she flew up, up over the screams and the dying. Her cousins, the ravens, would feast well tonight...

Sayyida ul h'Ehlam
Among New and Friendly Faces

---

Sayyida had seem many wonders, experienced many pleasures - some she would never forget, and some she would dream to experience again.

Teleportation was not one of them.

Holding a hand to her stomach and slowly relaxed the feeling of twisted abdominal muscles inside her, the merchantwoman managed to make herself more or less presentable and get her sandals steady against the wet grass before she looked up and saw before her a curious sight ⁠— two elven women and an Ar'el in the robes of Oadot. Seems Traven had made the right choice in looking for friends before making their way to the Temple.

What felt like five minutes ago... she had watched with interest as he carefully traced the rune, perking up as it drew forth a portal. Such utility in the synthesis of magical runes a simple deck - but then again she had wondered if he was fond of playing cards, perhaps he was fond of also gambling with chance...

It wasn't a comfortable trip, but if the alternative was wading through hordes of bloodthirsty demons, then perhaps it was worth it.

Sayyida had barely caught her breath when she was immediately thrust back into the fray, Traven tugging her aside as a demon's weapon slammed down into the soil. She turned to place her foot in a demon's midsection and kick it down into the grass, ramming a katar into its chest before standing up and watching her new ally trim the skull of the other assailant.

Today has been stressful enough, please don't vomit through your veil... She was still feeling a bit like jelly from the transportation spell - hers wasn't as accurate, but at least it was painless to simply slip through a door and appear from another - but nevertheless she wiped the blood from her weapon and walked over to the others, keeping mostly quiet. She had always been better at listening.

And the one elf seemed far better at communicating voicelessly... Sayyida allowed herself a smile at her expression.

Glancing between the exasperated elf and friendlier one who informed her new friend of the obvious, Sayyida busied herself with scanning for threats and absently picked a loose feather from the healer's wings. She traced her thumb across the black strands of it before tucking it away discretely ⁠— she was an odd woman with odd habits, but at least she was conscious of this, and perhaps a bit sheepish. She wouldn't go around keep bits of other people...

She collected many curios, but it was small, seemingly insignificant keepsakes that help a personal place for her. An valuable relic had a story to spark the soul of curiosity, of ancient legend, but what was an oddly shaped stone, or a piece of driftwood... nothing, but to the holder of it within was a memory.

Sayyida placed the black feather in the healer's hand and slipped her fingers around his arm. Teleportation once again, how wonderful.

"War is not our calling, but this isn't something one can run from..."

Kei’á
About to Land on Cyradil Vask's Head

---

Black Shield. Blonde Hair. Sticks out like a sore talon.

Kei’á's shadow swept across the splintered bodies and spears that littered the bloodied grass of Haden Hill, before the Great Eagle herself came diving out of the darkened sky. Her wingspan clapping against the air, she descended like a angel of grace, controlled movements slowing her descent...

Cyradil Vask would feel the air shift before feathers wreathed her head, and a steel helm, clutched in the claws of a massive eagle, slipped onto her head. It wasn't a perfect donning and likely left strands of blonde hair pushed across her face, but it was an impressive feat for an eagle - its weight shifted upon her head as it let out an avian cry towards Rudolph and Emile before once more cleaving its way into the sky, leaving the three warriors alone once again...

...with the addition of a new helmet.

[Finland SSR]

Rudolph Thorbecke

Francis

Cyradil Vask
Hill assault

Emile
Haden Hill

---

Theodor Arnulfsson

---

At this point, the cooldown for Theo's Dragon Killer boon finally went down, and while the shielded warrior continued to advance steadily, keeping close to the rest of the party's ranks instead of running straight into action like some people, a faint smile struck his face once he realized that one the most reliant weapons in his arsenal has returned. A wave of fire roared across the battlefield, cloaking the Dragon Killer in its tongues and striking demons one after the other.

The boon of Evruin had not been originally designed to fight demons, but it was apparently just as good against them as it was against wild beasts. Theo couldn't complain. With his boon and spear combined, pushing through the demon hordes turned a lot more easy - however, the Dragon Killer did not break to a charge, instead serving as a shieldwall for the weaker members of the expedition party, a few elves and humans who weren't exactly great at close quarters combat and thus cowered behind someone who was in hopes of waiting the battle out.

As Theo advanced, his ears discerned a voice, actually a few of them, among the chaos - whatever was happening out there, it was taking place a mere few steps away from him. More specifically, it was a rogue, a scythe wielding hunter, and a Slayer of the Crypt helping out a somewhat familiar face. It was one of the warriors who charged out out the temple with a powerful roar as a spearhead to lead their ranks against the demon hordes - the fact that now she, apparently a she, was seriously injured told a lot about how effective that was.

And now, she was stating that the battle was unwinnable at this point and there would be no shame in fleeing. Sure, it was true that they weren't in the greatest straits, but...

"A battle is only unwinnable when it is finished," the Dragon Killer stated bluntly, while bashing a tiny demon to the ground with his shield and smashing his spear through the creature's throat. That's the end of that. Having received a second of reprieve, Theo turned his eyes towards the Slayer and others gathered alongside the Shotarr knight. "I don't remember seeing your faces in the temple. I take it you're here from the battle above, then?"

---

Nat

Clive the Scorned

Riki Farinhait

---

Turns out both of the people he was stuck with were not all that... sociable. Natasia was a stoic and goal-focused type, much like Riki was, but also took the opportunity to dismissively insult Clive as useless, which the warrior took about as well as you would take a sword lodged in your throat. This did not deter him from joining their side in this utter chaotic mess of a battle, and thus, when Clive turned towards him and requested for him to cover his back, Riki offered a nod.

He did not have any ranged abilities nor any spells besides necromancy, but that was enough to make an impact. Once again, he knelt down, using the foliage of the bushes to avoid getting spotted by any stray demons and drawing a yet another sign on the ground. Dozens of corpses across the battlefield would start to rise from their resting spots - instead of lashing out at the demon closest at them, however, they started running and crawling to escape the bloodshed and instead gobble up into a small blob of zombies just outside of the heat of the battle. From there, they'd charge to join Clive in his offensive, cleaving at the demons with whatever weapons they had upon death, or simply biting and gnawing their way to victory.

Focused on commanding his horde and supporting Clive, however, Riki almost missed a gleam of metal heading his way, jumping aside at the last possible second to avoid a heavy hammer smashing him and the tree behind him. A large, towering demon, greater in stature than most of its peers, and wielding a hammer it had fetched in the battlefield, was now approaching the necromancer.

Bastard... Riki thought to himself, backing away while the demon slowly lifted the hammer back onto its shoulder. His horde was still in battle, and he didn't have the time to cast a spell to summon reinforcement... "Clive! Little help here!"

[Lazarian]

Riki Farinhait

Clive Paxton

Clive, upon hearing his name, whipped around. He was about fifty feet away - once Riki's shambling corpses charged past him, he decided to back out of the fray a bit and let the necromancer do his part. His striking arm had grown tired - it took a significant amount of force to swing his trusty mace hard enough to bash in a skull. Demons were a little meatier than humans. Besides, the few zombies that had passed too closely had fallen into the dirt again, their connection to the necromancer instantly severed by Clive's aura. He wasn't skilled enough to exempt specific magics from his abilities, unfortunately. It was best to withdraw for now and sink a couple bolts into priority targets, like the warped mages.

Usually, crossbows weren't very accurate, but Clive's was quite nice. Custom dwarven made, so it somehow drew quickly and yet shot further and more accurately than your average one. He wasn't exactly an enormous advocate for the midgets, but even he had to admit that they had their skills and talents. It'd been rather expensive - or, at least, it would have been if he'd bought it, Clive assumed. Yanesh, his elven master during his time in Athela, had given it to him as a tool to focus. Supposedly, archery and purification had quite a bit in common. Both involved focus, inner tranquility, and dedicated practice. Clive heard it'd been taken from the remains of a bandit party foolish enough to enter Athela and draw the ire of the Guardians.

It was hard to fire at charging targets, but he'd had the advantage of attacking from the rear, as most of the demonic horde was focused on crushing the heroic charge from the temple. It was a foolish charge, Clive thought, but it certainly had succeeded in some regards. Other soldiers with courage in their hearts from every tribe and nation present had begun to attack from the flanks and edges of the battlefield, although many had just fled the battle entirely. Those were the smart ones, Clive thought. Nonetheless, he'd chosen to get into this mess too. He had his reasons, though. If that disgraced Honor Guild warrior fell during the battle and he was quick enough, it'd be easy to bag their head and claim it as his own. The Bank of Ashar paid quite well for a fulfillment of their contract, and as the former Street Crawler knew quite well, money makes the world turn.

There was a second of indecision, as he looked over and saw the a towering demon lumbering towards the necromancer. It was a big one. Probably seven feet, at the very least. And strong, judging by what was left of the tree where Riki was standing. Was it really worth it to save him? Riki was a necromancer, after all. Even if the Tasharen had good intentions and a noble spirit now, he'd probably become corrupt and rotten with time. But it'd be quite hard to loot the battlefield if the combined forces of Eboris lost, and as much as he hated to admit it, the profane arts had the potential to nearly triple the amount of soldiers fighting against the demons.

"Make a run for it!" he shouted across the field to the younger man, before raising the crossbow to his eyes and letting a shot loose. It struck true, hitting the demon square in the ribs. Unfortunately, it seemed to have little effect, other than enraging the beast. It roared, and continued pursuing the necromancer through the trees. Damn it. Thankfully, Riki was quick for a wizard, and had used the diversion to rapidly backpedal away, buying himself some time. Carefully but unceremoniously, Clive dropped the crossbow onto the dirt - there wasn't time to properly affix it again - and sprinted after the creature, holding the mace in both his hands like a bat.

"Hey, you ugly bloke!" yelled Clive, trying to grab its attention. It turned around, its red eyes gleaming with malice. Perfect. Quickly, Clive came to a stop, and then reached into one of the pouches affixed to his belt. Metal clinked against metal as he pulled out a handful of caltrops, around an inch in size each, before scattering them in front of him. They wouldn't be much, but they'd slow the creature down.

"That's right!" he continued, pointing at the creature and waving his arm wildly. That tended to draw the attention of wild beasts, and most inhumans weren't much better than those. Including demons, most likely. "Yeah, you! You're so damn hideous, you put the whores of Halsha to shame!"

It clearly didn't understand anything he was saying, but the noise and motion seemed to be working. The demon turned around, seemingly forgetting Riki, and started to approach Clive. This was where it got dangerous. That warhammer would kill a man in a single stroke, armoured or not.

"You've got less brains in you than a haddock! I bet you smell worse than an entire encampment of Thalari! Hell, I've seen dwarf children more threatening than your pudgy arse!" he continued loudly, making rude hand signs at the creature. It snarled, and began running towards Clive. Perfect. This is where things got dicey. He backed away from the patch of caltrops on the ground, still facing the beast, and clutched his mace firmly.

Thankfully, most large creatures tended to have a common drawback in exchange for their overwhelming strength - they weren't graceful. Once, on the way to Athela, he'd helped a village take down a troublesome ogre to earn provisions for the road. They'd been able to overwhelm the beast by keeping their distance and prodding it to death with pikes, fleeing in different directions whenever it got close enough to strike. Their strength was fearsome, but firm hearts and deft outmaneuvering had proven enough to triumph with. The demon trampled right over the caltrops and fell to a knee, screeching hideously in surprise. Pulling a throwing knife from his bandolier, Clive chucked it at the demon's head, hoping to slay it in a single strike. It missed, tragically - his heart was beating violently in his chest, and the adrenaline of battle was enough to throw his aim off significantly. And he wasn't as young as he used to be, either. The creature kicked the sharp obstacles out of its boot, clearly more mildly inconvenienced than hurt. Shit. Other men may have panicked, but good ol' Clive had been around the block a couple times, and didn't have any plans to die here. He rapidly hurled another knife at the creature, taking a deep breath this time to sturdy his aim.

He missed again, the dagger hurtling past the demon before sticking unceremoniously in the dirt. And that was, what, a fifteen foot shot? Gods, it was good Yanesh wasn't here. The elf would be so disappointed. Clive could almost hear his scholarly voice scolding him for forgetting the Fifth Precepts of Dathelus the Second on Focus, which Clive had forgotten ten seconds after closing the stupid book.

The demon, less preoccupied with self-doubt, roared and charged at Clive, lifting its warhammer overhead. Damn it, where the fuck was Riki when he needed 'em? Not that Clive needed anyone else, especially not some necromancer. But it'd be nice to...well, not die. Rapidly, Clive hurled another knife. Finally, he landed a shot - the knife stuck the demon in the arm, messing up its swing. It was close, though. He could feel as the hammer whizzed past him, missing by inches. But now it was his turn to strike. Gripping his faithful mace with both hands, Clive smashed it into the knee of the demon. Bones shattered and sinew tore, and the creature howled in pain, falling to a knee. Seizing the opportunity, Clive lifted the mace above his head and brought it down again, this time on the other knee of the giant beast.

Unfortunately, while it may have been temporarily incapacitated, it still had arms. With a swift motion, it grabbed Clive by the wrist, hurling him onto the ground. His mace flew out of his hands, landing several feet away. As the creature pinned him into the ground (his face smashed into the dirt) with its immense strength, before pounding him on the back with a meaty fist. It knocked the air out of Clive, and hurt like the devil. His thick coat had cushioned the blow somewhat, but a few more of those and his organs would be jelly. Struggling, he kicked wildly, fortunately landing a few on the beast's face. His wrist was on fire - probably broken. With his unpinned arm, Clive grabbed a handful of dirt, his fingers scrabbling wildly against the ground, before throwing it into the demon's eyes. Or, at least, where he guessed they were. That was just a diversion, though - immediately, he shot his hand downwards to another knife tied to his belt. Thank the gods for muscle memory, and maybe a bit of luck - it was still there.

He'd grabbed the blade of it, and he could feel the cold bite of sharpened iron dig into his fingers, but the mages could fix that. Ripping it from the belt, he stabbed it into the wrist of the arm pinning him down. It was a fast motion, taking maybe three seconds at most - as the veteran of plenty of street scraps, his reflexes had saved him many times. As he felt the iron grip loosen, he flipped over into his back, landing another kick on the demon. It hit him again, this time landing on his right shin. There was a cracking noise. Goddamn that hurt. Probably a fracture. Shit, at this rate, Riki'd have another soldier. Speak of the devil, where was that bastard?

Clive began to panic. The sounds of chaos filled the air, the scent of blood and death, and the sight of a horrendous creature crawling towards him with murderous intent. Any witty quips and clever banter fled his mind, replaced by fear and despair. The thought that he'd wasted his life and talents on pointless revenge entered his mind - it occasionally haunted him at night, but he was usually able to push it away. But now, in the face of death itself, there was nowhere to hide.

No. Clive shook his head. There was more for him to do in this life.

And more importantly, he realized - he still had one working leg, and the demon had zero! Scrabbling against the dirt, he managed to pull himself away from the demon.

"Not today, you wanker!" he spat, as he crawled out of reach of the demon's fists.

[Aidannadia]

The cool mountain air rested on the sides of the mountains. Badar was not sure whether what encompassed him was clouds or mist, but he could barely see in the morning air.

The night had been raining heavily, as if the heavens were crying in anguish as Badar's heart was just as heavy. Vega had been poisoned and nearly mortally wounded by his battle with the Chieftain. In the night, Badar managed to slip away with his body, carrying high into the mountains in search of the natural cure for the poison Badar believed to be afflicting his dear friend. Badar ground the plant into a paste, poured some stream water into the mortar and pestle, and fed his friend the healing herb.

He may just survive. The poison was largely meant to cripple him for a final blow rather than kill him outright, but his wounds were still serious, and Vega had quite the appetite. He would need food, and so Badar must hunt.

The mountains were home to all sorts of predators. The feral lions, proud and majestic. Killing one would not be easy and Badar more importantly had no desire to strike down their ilk. They had enough trouble with hunting in this terrain as it was. The there were the trolls. They were foul creatures that Badar would like to avoid at all costs. They could hunt in packs and wreaked worse than rotting flesh on a hot day. The real trouble would be the dire wolves. Badar would certainly fall to a pack. They were as cunning as a thalari and had the instinct to kill: a deadly combination,

On his journey from their cavernous abode in the cliffs, Badar smelled something awful, and for a moment thought a troll to be nearby, but upon further inspection, it seemed that it was actually sulfur from a natural hot springs. He slid down the rocky bank, and to the water's edge. Ah, the healing propeties of these springs could accelerate the rejuvenation of Vega, but how do I move him here. Badar noticed some trees nearby. I could construct a cot to drag him through the territory, but if we were to get attacked, I would no doubt be forced to stand and fight to protect him. Perhaps it is too risky.... Badar considered his options, and thought of Vega's pain.

His mind was made up.

He would need to heal Vega as soon as possible, and these springs were the answer.

[The Great Swedish Empire]

Karl Thaddäus
The Temple

His hand brushed up against the cold stone walls. It came back moist and slimy with some type of green moist. Led by torchlight he plunged ever deeper into the passageway and darkness. He was delving deep into a temple unexplored for years, so of course, it was going to be dark.

But there was just something to the darkness ahead of him. The sense that it was solid and suffocating wrapped all around him. The darkness seemed to be simply just too much. As if it was somehow exaggerated and in excess. Like some sort of anti-light, an... un-light. Like some sort of darkness that some supreme creator had poured into the underground gloom to thicken it.

Every few minutes, to no detectable rhythm, the ground shook; not violently but just enough for Karl Thaddäus to notice.

Karl swapped his torch to his right hand and placed his left palm on the wall. He felt rough yet slimy surface transmit the vibrations of the battle. At every quiver of the earth, dust and dirt trickled down from the ceiling or spilled from loose sections of old, decaying arches.

"The battle above," Karl said to no one but himself, "just the battle above. Just the sounds of men killing each other like they always have... fools."

It was true. The Empires and Kingdoms of humanity had fought each since humanity began. It was in their nature to spend more energy fighting and killing each other rather than uniting for a greater purpose. No longer. No longer would humanity do such craven and frankly wasteful acts. He would put an end to all of this and make sure that humanity would fulfill its great purpose.

He had been lucky. He had managed to sneak into the temple itself just as the three armies had begun to converge. It had been no easy task but through his silver tongue and conversational skills, he had managed to convince the guard that he was an officer of the Empire. It didn't help that he still wore his officer's uniform and coat.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was something here. Karl did not know what but he just felt it. The air had suddenly gone very, very, cold. The fire of the torch seemed to emit not warmth but rather some numb feeling. In fact, he forgot the feeling of warmth of comfort. The feeling of a fireplace warming you or sitting on your father's lap as he pointed up towards to the stars above teaching you their names. No, if he had felt good it seemed to be so far away and nearly impossible.

His head jerked backward and Karl saw the blackness of the passageway that he walked down not a minute ago. But it didn't feel familiar. Nothing felt familiar.

Karl drew his saber from his sheath. A good sword. He had taken it from the vaults that the Empire had won at such cost at the battle of Varakgazilani. They had let him keep it for recognition of his conquest of the vault itself. It was one of the many things that he kept when they stripped his titles so wrongly. There was small ivory carved skull-shaped rune on its hilt and Karl rubbed it. A blue cornea of light surrounded the blade, somewhat illuminating the tunnel in blue light.

The ground began to shake now. Extremely violently. Karl fell to his knees. The air was now so, so, so cold. Somehow colder than before. He swore he saw his breath turn into fog but the ground was shaking too violently to confirm.

A large chunk of stone broke and fell from above, barely missing Karl's head. Another one fell. Then another. Then another. The whole passageway was beginning to collapse in an avalanche of dust and stone.

Karl saw the darkness before him warp and twist and leaped to his feet, fighting off the feelings of despair and how cold it was. He left his torch behind and felt the ground beneath his boots quiver like a man suffering from hypothermia. Random but sudden and strong. He nearly fell over as the ground beneath him lurched again. The sound of stone collapsing was now much closer. He dared not look behind him.

Lit only by the glow of his saber, Karl dashed down the passageway, the avalanche now only meters away from him. He saw ahead that there seemed to be a stone arch that led into a dimly lit chamber only a dozen meters. He ran faster, his legs aching. A stone beam fell ahead of him and Karl rolled in order to preserve his momentum and avoid the beam. Suddenly, he was in the chamber. The passageway behind him was sealed by a hundred tons of rubble.

Karl rose to his feet gasping and looked behind him. He had been close. Far too close. He dusted himself up and looked around the chamber he had entered. It seemed to be a large anteroom of some sorts. Light flooded in through a small crack in the roof; the walls of the room were shrouded in darkness but he could see the shapes of cross arched supports and stone pillars the width of carts wheel. Pools of oily water had accumulated in the darkness.

A sound. Like stones falling down. Karl snapped backward. There was something here in the darkness. His only source of light was the blue glow of his saber.

Another sound just behind him. Like a stomach growling in hunger but this one... sounded painful and in torment somehow. Karl twisted backward. His saber smashed against the shadow that was moving behind him. There were a bright flash and a growl of pure anger. Karl took a practiced five steps back and assumed a defensive position. The shadow came into the light of his saber and the crack in the roof. It was the same as the stories his father had told him. A large being, a head taller than a mortal man, clad in armor from head to toe. There was an unholy rune etched upon its the armor that Karl could not stare at for long before he felt great pain behind his eyes. There were two heads hanging from its iron codpiece. Great goat horns curled from the tips of its helm. Its mouth guard which exposed a mouth, full of rotting teeth and cracked bloody lips, where it's breath turned into rancid gusts of hot steam. Karl could smell corruption. He knew what this was. A demon knight.

The corrupted knight made the first move. It brought up a great broadsword which was rusty and decorated with unwatchable runes. Karl stepped aside at the last moment. Another practiced moved he had learned from the academy. The great broadsword dug deep into the stone floor. Karl could feel the ground shake under the blow of the sword but it was nothing compared at the shaking caused by the knight's great howl of anger and frustration. It made an attempt to pull out the broadsword but it was stuck firm. Karl took his chance and dashed forward, saber in drilled attack formation.

His blade slashed at the weak point under the beast's right armpit. There was a bright flash and the foul smell of corruption was now overwhelming. It howled in great anger once more and wretched its sword out of the ground at last. It backed away a dozen paces, nearly fading back into the darkness. It clenched its pauldron from which yellow filthy blood poured freely from. The arm that Karl had struck sagged limply at the Knight's side.

Karl felt his entire body shaking and cold sweat now flowing freely down his forehead. His mind was racing. What? How? Demons had been driven deep underground during the last war. What were they doing here?

The knight howled once more at Karl, swinging its sword around randomly stomping its foot onto the floor so hard the stone cracked. It charged. An unstoppable force. Karl ran backward and ducked behind one of the pillars as the sound of iron on stone began to rapidly grow closer. Karl barely made it in time and felt the pillar buckle and the ground jerk violently. Parts of the stone ceiling fell. The beast roared again, but this time in pain and more frustration.

Karl left the cover of the pillar and assumed a low stance and a high guard. The beast was randomly stumbling around in the chamber, dragging its sword of the floor behind it. Its helm was bent and blood oozed out of the eye silts. It stumbled a bit more before collapsing face first and laying very still. Its sword fell to its side. But its chest was stilling rising and falling.

The helpless stupid thing, Karl thought and a smile grew upon his face, how you ever became a demon knight I shall never know.

Karl rose just a bit higher and assumed an attack position. He would finish this thing off and now. After that was done, he would take the thing that had caused humanity so much discontent and at last deal with it. Karl walked over to it and raised the tip of his enchanted saber in a practiced mercy blow.

The thing suddenly turned over and lunged forward with a dagger. Karl parried it from his heart but the tip dug into his right shoulder. He felt very cold now and let out a small grunt. The thing twisted the blade and what was a strange feeling of cold turned into red hot pain. Karl stumbled a step backward and felt relieved as the blade slipped out of his body but that thing rose now. It was making some sort of rapid noise. Karl wondered if that was laughter.

The knight rose and threw his dagger away to some distant dark corner. It stooped down low to grab its sword and Karl saw his chance. He charged forward and lunged. The knight, surprised, leaped backward, slapping Karl's blade aside with the back of his wrist. Karl did not fight the blow, but rather, put all his body weight forward kicked his boot out at the knight's head.

Its head jerked sharply back and it fell onto it's back. It reached out with its hand, trying to find the grip of its sword but it was just out of reach. Karl noticed this and chopped downwards. There was a bright flash and a loud bang. The wrist was now hanging on by a thin strip of flesh and armor.

Karl raised his blade, at last, the killing- The knight's right gauntlet rose up clenched in a fist. Karl struck it head-on with his sword. He felt the glade cut through metal and then flesh but the force of the fist was too much and his saber snapped back. The knight kicked out with its boot. Karl fell a few steps backward clutching his chest. That gonna bruise, he told himself, no broken bones though.

The knight quickly grabbed it's sword and deflected another attack by Karl that drove him back a few steps. It stumbled up to its feet, It's left hand still on the floor. The knight made a cut that Karl deflected with ease but he could feel his arms ache and his knees wobble. He was getting exhausted. His sword began to vibrate in his hands and the blue glow went away. It was near-total darkness save for the gap in the roof. He had to end it now.

The two figures danced around the chamber in a fury of steel against steel. The corrupted knight making great blows and Karl barely deflected. There was a moment where Karl's guard slipped and the tip of the Knight's sword cut a deep gash in his sides. It would have been worse but his armor deflected the worse of the blow.

The knight's sword smashed against Karl's in a great and powerful swing. Only Karl's last-minute overhead deflecting parry prevented certain death and by extension death to the dream. But the thing had made a mistake. It sword went wide, not covering the torso.

Karl activated the rune, the blade grew blue once more, lunged forward. The tip of the saber grew brilliantly blue just before plunging deep into the thing's chest. It grunted loudly and it's broadsword, which had been coming back in a move that would have decapitated Karl, dropped and clanged to the floor.

Karl wretched his blade out, but the knight stood still, and plunged it again but this time right into one of the bloody eyeslits. There was a brilliant flash and loud bang before the Knight, it's arms flailing wildly about, fell backward with a loud thud.

[Galnius]

Saelaam of Trelia
Haden Hill

---

---

---

Saelaam nodded at the elven woman as she stated that she would fight. I should deliver this one to Sir Raeden, then. He thought. But first things first. The woman soon recognized his allegiance and accepted his offer. "Oh, it won't take too long. I cannot completely cure your wounds in an instant, but I can make them bearable." He stated, and then looked her up and down - there was no apparent injury other than the gash across her thigh, but it was better to be safe than sorry and he prepared to ask her, only to be interrupted as an arm was thrust in front of him. About to protest, he quickly noticed that it was broken, red and swollen. Right... this seems urgent.

With a nod at the other elven woman, the Chosen quickly got to work, gently laying his free hand over the fracture and closing his eyes to focus, uttering prayers to Oadot in a calm and clear voice. Luckily he had treated quite a few bone fractures during his time as a priest of Oadot, and so, though he worked with faith and devotion, he had the healing process down to an art, working on it almost mechanically. Weaving together incantations to mend the flesh and snap the bone back into place was simple for him, and though it was not an easy ordeal for the sufferer, the prayers also served to alleviate most of the pain.

In a matter of a few minutes, the young man was done. Tenna's arm wasn't good as new by any means - it would still hurt a bit to move around, and would require further treatment to avoid complications once the battle was over, but it was perfectly good for lobbing knives and stabbing demons in the gut. "There you go, miss." He said with a nod, before turning around. Focused as he was on aiding Tenna, he had not noticed the arrival of two newcomers, an eccentric looking man with a staff and a hat, and an exotic veil-wearing woman dressed in fine silks. He nodded at them in greeting, but said nothing. He was nothing if not dedicated to his work, after all.

"Do you have any other wounds, or is it only your leg?" He asked of the woman dressed in Athelaian armor, but a quick shake of the head let him know that his task was a simple one. Crouching in front of her and then resting on one knee, the Ar'el pressed his hand against Brialya's thigh and once more prayed to Oadot. The incantations were slightly different this time, but just as effective, and before long, the gash was all patched up. A flesh wound was a simpler fix than a fractured bone, after all.

With his work done, Saelaam stood up and looked down at the battlefield. Quentin and his allies were holding up well at the foot of the hill, for now, but they would welcome new allies nonetheless. His own status was less certain - he could feel the reserves of magika he had gathered the previous night begin to dwindle. If he continued to use it, he would soon need to draw magika from his own body.

No matter. My own health is a small price to pay to uphold Oadot's edicts.

Making up his mind, Saelaam held his arm out in front of Brialya. "Athelaian, hold onto my arm and I will take you down to Sir Raeden." He announced. He then looked at the other elf and the two humans present. "If any of you wish to join the fight, hold onto my arm also. Otherwise stay here and I'll come back as soon as possible to get you to safety."

And then, a short spell later, Saelaam returned with company to Quentin's side.

Tenna the Still Somehow Alive
When the healer had placed his hand on Tenna, the elf had to fight the urge to recoil instantly. Trust was not something she was very good with, but the man called Saelaam seemed, well, too naive to o any harm. At least, any direct harm. However, she quickly realized how wrong she was when he began his prayers. She thanked her muteness for once to stop herself from slinging out a throng of curses and screams. Instead, her eyes closed and she grimaced in the pain. Pain was not something she was ever good with, nor did she ever think she could ever get used to it.

When the Chosen had finished, she realized it was not meant to inflict harm. Her wound was, for as much as it could be, healed. She was shocked, to say the least. She had never found her prayers to bring any sort of boon, but this naive, innocent young man seemed like he had a direct hotline to one hell of a god. It was either that or his own power. Tenna attempted to figure out which it could be, as she always did when priests managed to do something beyond explanation, but was quickly interrupted. He had apparently healed the other elf she had been fighting with, and the Street Crawler tried to wrap her head around the fact that they had somehow survived.

Of course, perhaps she spoke to soon. These crazy fools wanted to go to the center of the action? They had barely survived this! However, at this point she did know one thing. Tenna owed her life to at least one of the two who initiated the idea, and as much as she hated it, she was not the type to let such kindness go unrewarded. As the veil covered human seemed to accept the idea and placed her own hand on the bird-man's arm, Tenna reached out a few fingers, looking away as if it would somehow hide her tight grip on his wrist.

[The Great Swedish Empire]

Karl Thaddäus
The Temple

The thing didn't die. It didn't die! Its entire face had been blown off yet it was still somehow alive. Its jaw was crushed, its eyes leaking filthy white ichor that smelled of corruption, it's brain exposed and throbbing. It was still alive. It was on it's back like a fallen beetle. It was laughing but it was nothing more than a horse disgusting series of haughty noises coming from it's torn larynx.

Karl felt sick at the sound of the thing’s voice. His saber shook as it stared into him. The light of its eyes turned orange and then red, like a real fire burning.

The thing hissed. It was some unholy words that made Karl’s eyes water. Its accent was disgusting and it made Karl’s ears hurt with every word. He did not understand it but it was clear that it was threatening Karl. He could hear the malice in its voice. Its want for the destruction of all life on Eboris.

"Not while humanity breathes and fights," Karl whispered as he drove his sword through its head. At last, ending it's a terrible and disgusting life.

The ground shook once more. He had to get it and get out.

Karl deactivated his saber and took out another torch from his satchel. He lit it.

He made his way through derelict rooms and hallways. He passed many statues of beings long forgotten. Their twisted forms made shadows that made Karl think that any one of them was not in fact actually a statue. There were great carvings upon the wall that depicted ages forgtten to the mists of time.

He felt fatigue in his bones and he rested on a pile of recently fallen rubble. He hypothesized that he was leaving the heart of the structure judging by the sounds of battle he could hear through the stone walls. He was wrong. A minute later the sounds of battle were now much, much louder. He was not leaving the heart of the structure, rather the battle was intensifying. He stood up.

What were they doing out there? Once more humanity was fighting humanity. It pained Karl to hear the distant clash of swords against shields. Why did the Kingdoms and Empires of man fight each other when their true purpose could be achieved if they for just a moment stood together. Karl had dreamed of a united nation of men taking their rightful place as rulers of the continent ever since he studied in the academy. They rightfully deserved their place as rulers of the continent. Surely everyone knew that. But men still fought men. Brother slew brother. The Kings of men tore each other down for small gains and victory when their true goal lay just in their grasp. But the Kings and Emperors of men were simply too foolish. They fought wars and battles. They threw thousands of good men into the cauldron of war where they never resurfaced. And for what gain? So they could have some magical trinkets? No more. Karl would put a stop to all of this. He would fulfill his father's broken dreams.

Karl resumed his journey as he made his way through the temple. The sounds of battle became louder and if Karl listened very closely he could hear the screams. Each sound ached his heart as he knew every second a man died for no other reason than being on step closer to achieving the desires of incapable and incompetent lords that cared naught for them. He had to find it now. He had to find it and destroy it. He had to put an end to all of this and achieve his dream.

There was a sound. Voices were coming down the hallway that Karl walked down. He dropped his torch down to the stone fall and extinguished it with his boot. He drew his sword as waited.

Waiting in the darkness, Karl saw the soft glow of a torch coming out of the corner of a hallway that branched off from the main one. He could hear the voices more clearly this time and sunk behind a collapsed pillar.

"This is not happening! This cannot be happening!" It was a man and the accent seemed familiar to Karl. Far too familiar. "That smarty little bastard. I shall return and burn your family to the ground."

"My lord, I would recommend that you keep silent." Another voice. It was harsh and hard. It was also deep. The man behind the voice must be of considerable build. Karl could hear the footsteps and he judged that there was only a pair of them. "There may still be foes in-"

"Don't you talk over me!"

"Sir it is in-"

"I hired you! I made you! I could kick you to the curb if I wanted to. You were nothing before I came. I gave you purpose so shut up and let me curse that cunt!"

The insults kept coming and so did the torchlight. The pair emerged into the hallway. One of them was clad in rich silken robes, the robes of a lord. His hair was greying and balding. Karl could see spittle fly from his mouth as he continued to name slurs at the beast-folk. A man was next to Sampson, carrying a torch that illuminated the hallway. The man was clearly one of the lord's lifeguards. His face was hard and seemed to have an eternal sneer upon it. He wore a greatcoat covering his steel breast, grey webbing, and a distinctive spiked helmet. In his other hand, he held a sword. Karl knew that pattern. In his mind eye, he saw the flash of the sword against sword. He saw that pattern of a sword stab the Lord Commander and end her glorious final stand.

They were Dascus, that could not be mistaken. He felt an urge to draw his saber and slay them both. But that was an urge from his days as an officer of the empire, the days before he realized the truth. He had grown above such wants for kinslaying against another human for the sake of simple revenge. No, he would just let them past and continue-

"He took that hammer from me! My rightful property I will punish all his kin when I return."

Karl stood up, leaving the cover. The lifeguard jumped up and pointed his sword threateningly at Karl. His sneer had grown into something more feral "Stay back or I shall gut you like a pig!" The Guard growled. The lord clung onto the greatcoat of his lifeguard and cried, "I have gold! My house has gold!"

Karl quickly sheathed his sword and showed the open palm of his hand at them to signify that he meant no threat. The sword of the lifeguard was still raised at Karl. He sighed loudly, "Put that thing down I mean no harm."

The lord stopped clinging to his lifeguard's greatcoat and stood on his own. His knees were still wobbling though. He looked Karl up from head to toe.

"Seen enough?" Karl asked sarcastically while rolling his eyes.

"Who are you?" The Lord asked. The sword was still pointed at him. It was a tactical mistake. The blade was too far from the center to provide ample parry and his arm was entirely outstretched; if Karl had drawn his sword and gone on the offensive the lifeguard would be unable to rapidly assume a defensive posture. Karl sighed again, "I am Officer Karl Thaddäus. You?" Karl left out his allegiance, the men of Dascus often reacted poorly when meeting one of Tashar.

“I am Lord Sampson,” Sampson puffed his chest out to make him look more pompous and greater. It did not work and only made his gut wobble. “Of the Kingdom of Dascus and lord of Haden town. I hold jurisdiction over this temple.”

“You said something about a hammer and that someone took it.”

“That thieving bastard! Burn in-”

“I have little time for this. Where is the hammer?”

“How dare you interrupt me!”

Karl blinked. This fool would be harder to get through than most. He also had to worry about the thick lifeguard which now was seeming more and more like some common street thug that the Lord had picked up. Probably from some whorehouse.

“I apologise, sir. But I must know for the good of all where the hammer is?”

The lord suddenly had a sly look on his face. He realized it and resumed a red face of anger. Karl felt himself losing patience at this fool. He thought he was soooo smart when in fact he was nothing but an obese idiot. It was men like this that had dragged humanity so far away from it’s destiny. But he would tolerate this fool.

“Yes, some small runt stole a Warhammer from me. It was a family heirloom. Nothing special but I would pay a lot of gold for it’s return to me.”

Karl wanted to yell. Tell this fool what an idiot he was. But he had to endure for the good of humanity. “Could you describe this little runt for me?”

“It was a young winged thalari. You should know when you see him. Sticks out like blood drop on snow.”

“Any defining features?”

“Is that not enough?”

“With all due respect sir- Please stop pointing that sword at me.” Sampson looked at his lifeguard and tapped his shoulder twice. The blade lowered but it was still ready to strike.

“Sir, will all due respect you could be referring to all beastfolk with that broad of a definition.”

“He had wings. Great raven wings.” Sampson described begrudgingly. “What was the little cunts name… give me a second. Ah! Saelaam… I think. He was a apothecary. A healer. He went outside!”

“Outside. That’s really specific” Karl’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Do not show me, such disrespect boy! I have shown you kindness by having my lifeguard not slay you where you stand. Now go fetch it for me an I will reward you with something.”

Karl lost his temper. Rather uncharastically of him but he could not stand this fools existence anymore. “Shut up! Shut up! You are nothing more than a fat fool. You talk as if you are the smartest being in the world when you are nothing more then a rat! A low stinking rat that treats others like cow dung when in reality they are worth so much more than you. You are not a high lord. You may have been born one but you deserve naught the title nor its benefits. I have barely talked to you and I already know who you treat your kin. Like shit!”

Lord Sampson wheeled at the line of insults that Karl spouted. His lifeguard growled in anger, “How dare you treat my lord like this?”

He swung his blade wide, more for show than anything. It was unneeded and left his center wide open to a single. Karl drew his sword and activated the rune. Karl easily parried the blow. There was a bright flash that blinded everyone in the hallway for a second and a bang that was nearly painful to hear.

The lifeguard was wailing. Karl’s sight cleared he saw the lifeguard's sword broken, shattered in a dozen pieces on the ground. The hilt was blackened and cracked The lifeguard was on his knees clutching his hand like it was broken. It probably was but Karl had not time to observe. He stepped passed the wailing lifeguard and shoved a stunned Sampson into the wall. He kept walking down the hallway, ignoring the screams.

***

It took a while but Karl saw the light at last. He had spent a few minutes finding his way through the many passages of the temple but after a while, he had found the way. It was quite easy to be honest. Just follow the trail of dead. He stepped passed dead bodies of slain demons. Someone had come through here.

He walked out and saw a huge battle unfolding. The armies of mankind were fighting against a wave of seemingly unlimited demons.

[Kaziimar]

Hearing the shouts and roars going on around her even from her position in the temple, Damiana found it even harder to focus on anything besides her master being in danger (and the fact that they were being attacked by demons as they speak, of course). Sir Quentin was a noble man despite his gruffness, and the young mage was confident that he had only the best of intentions when he told her to stay here, but she hated feeling so useless. Everybody else was risking their lives, and she was just supposed to sit here and twiddle her thumbs like nothing was happening?

Sorry...that’s not the way I roll. I’ll deal with the yelling from Master Dorian and Sir Quentin later, but I can’t just sit here silently and not help, even if I can only help a little.

Pulling a hood over her bright hair, she straightened herself up and snuck toward the back entrance of the temple, and when she was finally outside she headed straight for the nearest tree in order to get a good vantage point. She could see the demons attacking from here but they hadn’t spotted her...yet anyway. Pulling a vial of potion from her pack, she funneled the poison slowly and carefully until it was a floating ball of liquid before her, taking care not to get any on herself. Then she opened up a bottle of water: “Water Bomb.” And the water materialized intona couple of floating spheres, some of the poison sucking inside of each one. “Fire.” And the poisoned water balls hurled themselves toward the demons, the acid should burn them at least if not completely penetrate their thick hides.

[Northwest Slobovia]

Battle of Haden Hill, in the temple and up the hill: the calm and the storm

"Archeno, you said, right? The storyteller?" He asked, making small talk to distract the man from his wounds. "A colleague of mine once went to see you when you came to Trelia." He explained. While waiting for a reply, he placed his free hand close to Archeno's body and began muttering ancient words, prayers to the Lady of the Moon, a plea for her to restore that man's health.

“Oh, one of the Chosen! I never thought I'd see their rituals, much less be in need of them myself.

“And thank you! You have access to greater powers than my own limited abilities grant me. It is also good to be known as well. I hope your colleague enjoyed my tales.”

...a little later...

Archeno politely discounted Quentin's 'suggestion' that he stay put. Saelaam's invocations of Oadot and five minutes' rest left him feeling rejuvenated and refreshed. Very sore, yes, but no longer lightheaded and practically bedridden.

Strong enough in fact to think over his situation. Demons appearing through magic 'portals'? And anybody and everybody who wants to be a hero is going to try to close them? This... this is legend in the making! Slowly, he turned his head, looking for a way to see it himself. His eyes came to rest on Oridoros, the commander of the Companions. The man seemed disinterested in risk or waste, so how could he... Aha!

Archeno put on his best serious face as he approached the senior-most horseman. “Do you think it's true that the demons are arriving via a 'portal', whatever that might be?”

Oridoros gave him a funny look. “I have no idea.” He looked Archeno up and down. “You have survived Algan, so you have much more experience with arcana and mystery. Perhaps you could offer an opinion.”

That was clearly a command, not a rhetorical flourish. “The young maga seemed certain of it, and it might fit some of the more reputable tales about the Hammer of Eboris and the defeat of the demons years ago. I would like to find out. If there are openings to places far away, and these people manage to close it, I would very much like to be there when they do.”

He looked Oridoros straight in the eye. “And perhaps the Emperor would like to know the facts from a reliable source.”

The cavalry commander met Archeno's gaze, held it, and then, after several long seconds, doubled over laughing. “You... would like to make a fortune, and you're looking for our protection to do it!”

“Yes.” Also fame, but the money doesn’t hurt.

“Admirably honest. Direct. You saw an opportunity and moved to seize it. You could have been a good officer. I will ask for volunteers. I can spare three or four riders, but only willing ones.”

“If it’s the portals you want to see, you’ll never make it there alive with just three or four men with horses.” Interrupted a voice belonging to an imposing Thalari woman who, as luck would have it, overheard their conversation. “Although, perhaps with some help, one or two of you might survive. It wouldn’t be my first suicidal charge today.”

Oridoros looked her up and down. “You wouldn’t volunteer if you couldn’t keep up. One of them shapeshifters? And a dog of some sort it looks like.”

“I am one of the great desert wolves, human, and I assure you, I’m more than capable of keeping up with your horses.”

"Two of you!" Oridoros looked back and forth between her and Archeno. "This sounds like a more promising venture. Eight to ten riders, and a flying wedge, with one rider behind each of you with a lance over your shoulder."

“You would be charging into a sheer wall of demons,” interrupted another voice as Danica approached, “And you would be gored before you ever made it to the portals. Their formation is so thick it would stop even the most daring charge.”

A chuckle was the she-wolf’s response. “I wouldn’t be so sure about it, Hercynian. I cleared a path for you through the demons’ formation just fine, did I not?”

“The Eh’el build stronger dams against stronger currents,” Replied Danica, using the Thalari term for beaver-folk and fixing her gaze on the she-wolf, “And there are less expendable bodies on the field to draw the demons’ attention. Soon, their entire focus will either be on us or on the camps.”

“I like our odds.” Came the tranquil response.

Danica chose not to respond to the comment verbally, simply giving Neferis a burning glare. She turned away from the group as they discussed before barking orders to the Fangs, who were currently fixing their equipment and ensuring that their weapons were still serviceable. They would need to be, most certainly, for the coming storm.

“I do not. So we will ride in front of your formation, and keep their ranks thin and their backs turned. It offers you the best chance.”

“The front of your formation?” A boastful, hoarse voice suddenly spoke, three armored men with tribal markings approaching the group without warning. “We our cavalrymen of Eshon, our steeds come with weapons attached to their heads.” He continued, placing a finger on his forehead “We were moving towards this temple with or without beastfolk, whether we survived or not is up to debate at this point. And now we must go back into the hell that we escaped?”

Another spoke at that moment, “Our Commander is incapacitated, completely exhausted from the battle at hand, injured as well. There is much to be owed to that man, and now we must take it all away from him and slaughter our mounts. For a chance?”

“For a Tasharen.” The third one spoke with venom, “Let hell come forth, at least it will slaughter the Tasharen, too. Why must we come together in such dreadful situations? Why must we forget pain and suffering caused by the Empire, her knights, her legions! My brothers and cousins were felled and I have felled Tasharen myself, so why must we die together as if we’re battle-brothers? Choke on your own blood, I will not mount until Zog gives the order.”

“Wrong, cavalryman.” The first Eshonie responded, “Zog may not awake until the next day. I am one of his trusted lieutenants, and I have spoken with my other officers and we are in agreement. The temple is undefendable, we will be overrun and the demons will simply continue to multiply. The portals must be closed and even if we have a slim chance, it’s either we die trying or we die hiding. We will assist Sir Quientin in any capability for that chance, no matter how slim.” The man’s speech was met with a grumble from the third Eshonie, causing the first to grab him by the plate armor on his chest. “Go on, disobey me. Tell me Zog would not feel the same, that he would not rise and spill the blood of demons once more given the chance. Give me a reason to show my battle prowess against something that isn’t from a hellish plane of existence.”

“I…” The third Eshonie began, trembling his voice, “I will ride as ordered.”

“Perfect,” The man said, turning away from his charges and releasing his grip from his unruly subordinate, “I am Gregor Vatan, battle-brother of Aleksander Zog, interim commander of the Eshonie Detachment, and I will volunteer my entire force to close those portals at any cost.” To that end, he unsheathed his massive greatsword, and dropped it unceremoniously at the feet of his now-allied individuals, “Our lives and moose will be in your hands, let us slaughter the hellspawn in a most gruesome manner if it means that Eboris as a whole might live.”

Oridoros listened to the third tribesman’s ranting with a hostile look, but said nothing. Unlike the northern primitives, he was disciplined, and could think before speaking. But this Gregor knows something of military priority. He addressed him as an equal. “I am Oridoros, commander of the Tashar Companions. We are honored to have you in our company, and fight beside you.” He looked around at the group who had gathered around him and Archeno. “With all of you having offered to fight, I will also now commit the remaining forces under my command: 21 of the best trained cavalry there are in Eboris. And there is also Archeno, who has the unusual gift of changing form into a huge bull.” He gestured to introduce his countryman, and let the others introduce themselves.

First to step forward was the wolf-eared woman. “I am Neferis of Amarkar, member of the Desert Wolf Tribe. I put the might of the Thalai and the blessing of Qrodia at your disposal.” She said, raising a hand and creating a flame above her palm to demonstrate. Afterwards, she crossed her arms and stepped back - her allies needed to know her abilities, but anything else was unnecessary at the moment.

The next to introduce themselves was the dragon woman. She held her helm by her hip as she spoke, revealing her horned head and long fangs. “I am Danica Tryss, of the Ko’el. I will bring the fury and rage of the dragons to our enemies.” She said. As if on queue, the remainder of her moved behind her. Most were massive, and many even taller than her. Impressive warriors, all.

“I was envisioning a wedge, with Neferis and Archeno at the tip, as they are weapons all by themselves. Danica has generously volunteered Hercynian forces to soften up the enemy ahead our charge, which is most welcome.” He offered a modest bow to Danica. “If this is acceptable to everyone, there is only the remaining question of how to distribute the Eshonie and Tasharen forces. Perhaps one takes one side of the wedge and the other takes the other? That would permit us the greatest control and flexibility.” He addressed the last part to Gregor.

“Place us where we will be the most useful.” Gregor replied with a stern nod, “We will not let your flank fall. Give us the brunt or keep us in reserve to be used as a hammer, I will ensure your command is followed to the syllable.”

“Thank you. Since you fighting with swords as well as antlers, take the right, so you’ll best be able to wield your weapons. We will link up with Quentin of the Shotarr, and then we will assault the first of the tunnels.”

With that, the formation -- now a small army -- began to form up. When then were ready, Oridoros signaled for each commander to raise their unit’s rally symbol -- a standard for the Companions -- and called for them all to sound charges. Several of injured members of each nation worked together to pull the temple doors open at the perfect moment, and the formation burst onto the battlefield, already at full speed.

“Fire and blood!” Danica roared at her formation, and the call was echoed. Sprinting forward, she leapt up into the air as the rest of her soldiers flew forward. In a moment, she was caught by one of the larger Fangs. Though he struggled to carry her, they raced forward at impressive speed. Once they had gained enough distance from the charge itself, Danica let herself fall from her comrades’ grip. As she fell, she raised Asunder into the air. Landing on top of an imp and crushing him under foot, she slammed the axe down, once again loosing lightning bolts on the thick enemy ranks. Many turned their backs from the cavalry charge to face this new threat, and as the rest of the Fangs dove into the fray, a large swath of attention was turned their way.

But, as quickly as the Fangs had landed and began causing carnage, they were gone. Once again, they rose into the air above the demons. The cavalry charge, picking up momentum, barrelled into a significantly thinned and distracted enemy. Yet, Danica knew that this tactic would be costly if the archers could turn their arrows skyward, and so she worried how many times it could be repeated.

Archeno took a deep breath as the mixed group started to move forward. More allies, more help, but more demons; we’re leaping into the mouth of the volcano to try to plug it… and I am going in order to see how it’s done. Or have failure be the last thing I see.

As he built up speed, he realized how sore his wounds were: even Oadat’s magic had limitations. The charge was much the same as the last one, except in detail: the moose had an odd smell, not at all like horses, and the Hercynians’ diving attacks keep the demons’ attention elsewhere. But the killings, the screams, and the blood were the same.

Archeno realized with a start that they were now charging upslope: Quentin and the other warriors much be near! He also realized that with his rack briefly closer to the ground, he would cut demons off at the knees, knocking them backwards or sending them tumbling over his shoulder, either way driving them to the ground to be trampled underhoof. And when Oridoros shouted, “To the right! To the right!” and the Tashar trumpets blew dee-DEE! dee-DEE!, Archeno realized that holding his horns as high as they would go worked just as well. Yes, of course! Bulls gore men in the chest because of their sizes. I should do the same!

He risked turning his head for an instant, and his wide vision caught the blurred shapes of the warriors rushing into the cavalry’s wake. At least that part worked!

Charging alongside Archeno, Neferis’ approach was a little less orthodox. Unlike that of a bull, the body of a wolf was not all that well suited to kill foes by simply running them down, but the great grey wolf used her claws and fangs to compensate while making sure to keep up the pace, rending the demons’ flesh or throwing them aside to be trampled or impaled by the cavalry. Every now and then, bolts and spikes of white flame would shoot out from the wolf’s howling maw, severely harming her foes despite their mild resistance to common fire.

[Tomia]

Quentin
As more and more people joined the force at the base of the hill, including another force seemingly led by a Guardian of the Light and a mage, Quentin saw a group of cavalry charging forward towards the nearest tunnel. They hooves of the beasts roared like thunder, and as the charging soldiers created some space between the demon lines, the Knight of Shotarr saw an opportunity. They've given us an opening, we have to take it. He thought to himself as he knocked away a demon foot solider in front of him.

"Charge! Follow the Cavalry! Into the tunnel!" Quentin shouted, charging forward without even looking to see that others were following. This was their one shot to end this, and he was not going to response with hesitance. The demons had at the base of the tunnel grew disorganized and scattered because of the charge, giving clear opening for attack. Quentin's sword flash brightly and shot a blast of lightening at a group of demons, sending three of them flying. The presence of the attack seemed to slow the rate the demons were appearing, and soon the surface forces found themselves in an underground cavern. It was then, that the source of the demons came into view. Where there seemed like there should be open space, instead was an unnatural wall that was pitch black in color. It was unnatural in the sense that it was clearly not solid, as it moved subtly like still water under the influence of a breeze. Upon seeing it, the Knight's stomach froze. Much like the temple, this place gave him a grave and unsettling feeling.

This is not of our world. He thought as he continued to cut his way towards the demons. Soon an opening to the portal opened up and Quentin turned to his side, to see that the Chosen Saelaam had returned and was nearby, wielding the hammer. The knight didn't really like a non combatant being in this situation, but he was grateful the hammer was nearby.

"You, Chosen, you stay behind me at all times. I will protect you and the hammer at all cost." Quentin assured him. As the demon numbers thinned more and more, there was a clear opportunity and for the first time since this disaster started, Quentin felt real hope. However as the demons were cleared from the tunnel, they were replaced by something far worse. Out of the large black portal came massive creatures who roared fiercely. There were five of them to be exact, and the demon foot soldiers seemed to clear out of the way as to avoid getting trampled.

Gods Protect us.

Quentin thought before charging at the behemoth who stood directly in his path to the portal. The monster swung a massive fist, which was suddenly struck by a blast of ice. Lena was at Quentin's side, ready to fight the beast with him.

While Lena held off the beast Quentin quickly turned to make sure Saelaam was still nearby. "Be ready with that hammer." He said quickly before turning back to the fight.

Brialya
When the behemoths showed up, the archer of the faithful admittedly started to regret her decision to have her new ally teleport them into the fight. She was much more accustomed to brawling in alleyways or dueling with bows across rooftops than she was fighting monsters in an all out war. But still, no one could ignore what was going on, and it was clear they would need everyone's help to deal with this new threat. She was no coward, she would die before turning on those in need, let alone the entire world.

She turned towards Tenna, who more likely than not would be interested in Brialya's next move. "I have a feeling you will disagree, but I'm standing and fighting these things. If you want to retreat, I would understand. I'll fine you later." She told her new acquaintance before drawing her bow, and firing one of her remaining arrows at one of the behemoth's off to the left.

Alexius
As Alexius and the gathered forces of his new Guardian companion made their way through the temple, the mage was likely the only person in the tunnel not phased by the arrival of the Behemoth's. He dreamed of them a few weeks ago, before his more serious dreams started to take place. It had been a particularly frightening experience, but the following dreams had brought clarity, even if that clarity proved to be even more frightening.

These demons shall not succeed. They are but play things to the god of time, as are we all. Grains of sand, whose destiny it is to fall.

He waved his staff around gracefully, sending streams of lightening at one of the Behemoths to the left. "Charge!" He shouted to the gathered troops behind him. Those who hadn't already scattered ran forward with echoing war cries. Alexius continued to fire spells from a distance, hoping to do as much damage as possible to their new foe.

[Finland SSR]

Quentin

Clive Paxton

Riki Farinhait / Theodor Arnulfsson

---

As soon as Clive managed to pull himself away from the crippled demon, a horrific sight unfolded. Though wounded and on the verge of death more than a few times during the battle, the warrior had managed to accomplish one vital thing - delay and slow the monster down enough for Riki's zombies to finally catch up and finish off the beast. Dozens of undead human warriors and demons started emerging from the distance and surrounding the crawling giant demon, before all of them suddenly lashed out at their surprised peer. Flesh got ripped apart, blood got spilled by ferocious slashes and bites, and though the giant demon tried to resist the onslaught, punching and cutting away at the closest of the charging zombies, its weakness and exhaustion soon forced it to gave in and it collapsed under the horror show.

Until it rose back up again, this time as a loyal undead warrior. It may lack working legs, but it didn't mean that it could not have a second chance helping the forces of good.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help earlier..." Riki's voice called out behind Clive - the young necromancer stood up from his rune, covered in his pitch black cloak. Well, the good thing was that his ally was not dead yet - thought lacking one working leg. After a nod of acknowledgement, Riki turned back towards the battle unfolding before the temple. The demon ranks were finally getting broken and a spearhead of warriors, led by a powerful cavalry charge, punched through and started to make their way towards one of the tunnels at the base of the hill. Either the battle is finally coming to an end... or they're witnessing the foolish death of their last hope. It all depends on whether the spearhead has a way to close the portals below.

"I'm going to stay behind and cover those people's backs." Riki muttered, both to himself and to Clive. Those people were charging blindly, plenty of demons were still left across the hill and the battlefield, someone will need to mop them up or at least prevent them from charging down the tunnel to hit the party in the back. Fortunately, he still had somewhat of a horde left, and now that many of the human warriors left, there were less people slaughtering their own allies without knowing it.

"I suppose you're not really going to be participating in the fight any longer, right? I can get a few of my second chances to carry you into the temple, you might be safer there."

Meanwhile, Theo joined the rest of the party in the charge towards the tunnel as soon as the cavalry broke the back of the demon hordes, and caught up with the rest of the mission underneath the hill. The target of their mission was a portal, but opposite of what Theo imagined a demonic portal to be, it looked more like a pitch black wall, something you'd be likely to witness in a Dascian mansion. If it weren't for the fact that it rippled like the surface of a pool... and then let out five giant behemoths, roaring and charging straight at the party.

Witnessing their charge, Quentin and his men responded with a counter-charge.

"Sir Quentin! This isn't the time to be rushing in blindly!" the Dragon Killer tried to call out, to no avail. More and more of the soldiers around him were following Quentin's orders. But how do you... fight such monstrosities? Their fists were more like battering rams, their skin was likely thick enough to deflect simple weaponry, and their size rivaled that of the greatest beasts of Eboris.

...What a foolish question. He's a Dragon Killer, fighting against such monstrosities was his job. If a dragon can be slain by a man with enough willpower, then these behemoths will be no different.

"Who's with me?! I need backup!" Theo suddenly yelled out while raising his shield, approaching a behemoth which was trying to flank their lines.

[The Great Swedish Empire]

Karl Thaddäus

"Stop. Stop, now." Karl pointed his sword at the horse. The poor traveler clambered down from her horse. She raised her hands high and backed away. She was young, frail, and thin. Karl felt guilt clench his heart. This horse was probably the most precious thing in her life. But he had no choice. He had to do this for the good of all. But he couldn't just leave her here.

He sheathed his saber and sighed loudly. He reached into his pouch and place a half dozen silver into her palm. It should compensate her for the horse. He ripped off the supplies on the side of the horse leaving only the saddle. He mounted and nodded at the girl, "I'm sorry. I really am. I shall return the horse to you if I can but I doubt it."

He galloped off. He looked back and saw the poor girl on the street with no way to get her wares to her destination. She was crying. Sometimes you had to do things that you did not like for the better of all.

***

Karl dove into battle on the top of his great Warharose. He drove his saber through the chest of a disgusting demon. There were a bright flash and Karl wretched his sword from the Demon. It wavered for a second and looked at its chest to see its guts and hearts were spilling out. It let out a last terrible scream before Karl beheaded it.

Karl felt something hit him the chest like a hammer and was thrown off his horse. His foot was still stuck in the stirrup. Karl felt his skin tear as he was dragged along. He screamed in pain. Karl slashed the stirrup with his saber but it still held firm by only a string. He slashed it again and it was cut.

He lay stunned and gasping on the ground for a moment. The ongoing melee all around him not mattering for just a few seconds. A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him up. Blinking the blood out of his eyes he looked up to see the bloody face of a Tashar Footlsogger. There was a deep gash down his cheek and his helm was dented and cut. Karl looked around and saw earth surround him. He was in the tunnel.

"Sir, are you all-." The Footslogger asked but was interrupted by a foul high pitched cry. Karl saw the tip of a blade appear at the front of the Tashar and looked up to see his face pale and his eyes empty. There was the sickening sound a blade wrencthed through armor and the Footslogger's body fell, unsupported by the blade.

In front of Karl was a foul demonette. Long curled goat horns erupted out of her bloody misshapen head where a long slobbering tongue dribbled out of. She was buck naked but for the three heads that hung by her hips. Both her hands ended at stumps where curved crushed blades had been attached. She let out a terrible scream and charged mindlessly at Karl. He blocked her right hand with a parry but the other slipped path. Only a quick dodge saved him from being gutted like a pig.

He had never been trained to fight against dual wielding. The demonette charged again and Karl assumed a defensive position. She leaped up and slashed both her hands in a downward motion. Karl activated the rune at the last minute and there a loud bang as the blades clashed.

Karl felt himself being thrown back a few steps. His vision had gone white and it only cleared in time for him to parry a series of frighting blows from the demonette. Karl felt one of her blades slip his guard. Only his breastplate and chainmail save him from another wound. Karl thrust and barely missed the chest of his foe. She countered with a series of jabs and Karl avoided by a few steps back.

She was a savage animal and nothing else but she had a pattern that Karl could see. She would often leave herself open when she jabbed. She would never go on the defensive.

As expected she lunged forward again and Karl barely defended himself against the flurry of blows but his opening came. When she made sweeping swipe he ducked slow and slashed at her belly. She let out a high pitched scream. Not like her earlier screams of excess and rage but this was rather shock. Shock that her unholy reign of excesses and joy had been ended by a mere officer.

Karl sliced her throat open with the tip of his saber. Her body fell backward.

He saw a greater demon, towering over the front, bring it's great club down, ending nearly a dozen lives. He could see a small contingent of men and women having broken through the fray and into the tunnels where the foul demons came from. For a moment Karl swore he heard the beating of Raven Wings. The expedition was making their way into the tunnels. Then the demons charged and the line buckled for a second. It was trying to stem the tides of the oceans with an open net.

Karl saw something in the corner of his eye and he slashed upwards, cutting a gash in the chest of a blinding charging demon. The demon still kept coming and smashed its entire body weight on him. The two went down throwing blows in a confusing ball of violence. Karl's sword fell out of his hand. The demon's mouth found it's the grip of Karl's forearm and bit down hard. Blackened rotting teeth tore through chainmail and into flesh. Blood spurted out of his arm and the immense pain brought tears to Karl's eyes. He smashed the demons face with his free elbow until it, at last, gave up. Karl unleashed a flurry of blows but a single stunning blow by the demons bleeding bare-knuckled knocked Karl to the bottom again. The demon's left hand found it's grip around his throat. Karl gagged, choking, his vision swimming as his neck muscles fought against desperately the tightening grip. His right fist continued hailing blows into the demons side while his right hand searching for his belt.

Karl brought out his dagger. He moved to swing his knife, but long thick fingers were suddenly around his blade-hand, crushing it and slamming it into the dirt. Four slams and Karl's hand gave up. The dagger whipped away. The demon roared a low disgusting bellow in triumph that tested Karl's eardrums and shook his diaphragm.

His vision was turning dark. His fist fell away, too starved of air to move anymore. This was going to be how he was going to die. The only thing that he could think of was the dream. The dream would almost certainly die with him. The demon had a wide sneer across his face and his eyes were wide with fire. This... would... be... it.

[Sarderia]

LORD CALTHANIUS SWYRFE
Dascus War Vanguard, Haden Hill

---

In the middle of screams, shrieks, and sounds of a hundred thousand demons tearing apart living flesh one by one, Calt could not hear clearly what everyone around him is talking. There are so few of humans left now, in the middle of this all. Not counting his mages, the size of his own company had been reduced to a little less than twenty. Mostly archers, for all the good it did them; bows and arrows won't matter much if a hundred demons are packed on your ground.

However, the form of Sir Randolf and his voice could be clearly heard, at the very least. Mainly because Randolf was the nearest Dascian soldier standing beside him. His magic was starting to weaken. The sheer number of demons pouring from the hill was too many for them; too many to bind and blast and rip apart. His company of troops, fifty spearmen and archers packed with heavy armor, was obliterated in less than an hour. Calt was holding two of the Bands, smashing a pack of demons against one another, with a force too high for him that it catapulted himself into the air. In a second, he jerked his hands out, casting whatever remained of the spell into a thin strand of bands, and snatched a pack of four demons with it. He still landed with a loud thump and possibly a shattered feet sole, nonetheless. Miraculously, his feet was still intact - his large use of magicka maybe had something to do with that.

Calt turned to Randolf and saw several dozen demons charging at him and his company. "Mages?" he answered with a crazed laugh. "I am the only mage you need." Forming another magic circle in the air, he lashed out two Bands and caught the pack of demons right in their feet, or whatever hideous organ that functions like it, saving Randolf the use of his shield. 

He casted another two Bands and lashed the crimson rope up into clear sky. There was no hope for them to survive now; the rampaging horde made it all the more clear. He saw the glimpses of fighting up there in the hill, but at least, things wouldn't have gone so desperate as down here. Another group of demons charged at him, and this time, a score of arrows followed. He almost didn't manage to release the Bands rightly; one stray arrow struck his torso, stuck in the middle of thin plates and spells. Still, the thing hurts - even if the pain was all blunt force, instead of the arrow itself. Turning to the remains of Dascian army beside him, he casted another Bands again, this time not for demons.

The shining, crimson ropes wrapped around several large rocks and cut trees spread across the plain. Calt has mastered use of the Bands long ago; he'd known how to use the simple, seemingly harmless spell for a myriad of practical uses. Those includes flying now - quite literally - as he pulled the bands and propelled himself up into the sky. As was every pulling action, this strained his arm's muscles quite a lot, but at least it gave him a sense of forbidding. Not to the demons; obviously he couldn't fool creatures born out of fear, but to the poor remaining living that are defending every last inch of their skin, useless as it was. He does not care for a speck of them, though. Fodders, the lot of them - his priority was only escaping to the hill, turning all the way round the rampaging horde. Randolf can choose to die fighting, or run along with his tails between his legs.

Casting a vortex of magicka, which is practically useless but for a show of tricks, he blasted the form to make a thundering sound. He casted a Storm-Eye spell shortly afterwards, sending forth a guise of wind that hurled the demons all over. The empty space, now a good quarter mile around, was jam-packed with soldiers, each carrying glamorous and extravagant banners of their own, or their lord's. Such is the pride of men, he thought. Let's see how your precious honor could save you all. Even then, fools who thought they could best a being from hell by charging blindly still had the grace to live. But the most of them was focused on him, nonetheless.

He had only few words to spit out; he could not waste time for heroic speeches before battle. "The vanguard is dead!" Calt screamed very loudly. "You would have no more use but to kill each of their crooks, while a million more charges upon you. You can waste your sweat, to no avail, but there's always a way to run." he said. With each word, each second he opened his mouth, the demons are getting nearer. He released the Bands by hurling one of the larger rocks to a group of demons, and then a dead trunk as a board for landing. Back on his feets, Calt continued the not-so-arousing speech. "If you'd rather save your own skin than die ripped apart by abominations," he continued, "Onwards to the hill."

There was no cheers or any noises that came from them once he finished the speech. Instead, the look of fear, of how they would die, was written plain on each eye. Every one of them, Calt including, thought that the battle they're marching on will be plain and simple; kill some elves, kill Tasharens and their freakish mages, and claim glory on top of that accursed hill - although not for him. There was little to do but run now, their numbers not nearly a tenth of what was before. Without any hesitation, and with alarm racing full on their thoughts, half the vanguard ran. Truthfully, they probably don't need his courageful speech to think, but their brains had been kick-started by it, more or less. He could not see Randolph anywhere near now; the man might have died, still fighting blindly, or even trampled, for all he cared. There was an avenue to run, an open plain where the demons are yet to fill. The vanguard - those who had the mind to follow him - ran ever so quickly across the field. With the numbers and the fight they've brought, he could be sure that the demons don't expect it, at least those with a functioning mind. Still, one by one, their numbers diminish, caught or slain or struck by arrows. He casted a quick Burning Shield and grabbed it by the Bands he's holding. It would do fine to protect him, although one could not be very sure when holding that spell - the name itself gave enough precaution. 

An arrow struck the Shield; and he dodged it gracefully. Another one missed his feet by an inch, of pure coincidence. Nonetheless, that was enough to raise his caution. Calt quickly sprinted in front a swordsman whose shield is held tight at hand; a move that hindered his movement. Soon after, the swordsman was struck in his back, and Calt was forced to find another human shield for him - he did not explicitly meant by that, but still, he would be the farthest person away from the abominations that chased them. He saw what happened at the hill's base now; it's just they're far - way too far for them to reach in time. Onwards a plain too far for mere feet; backwards an army of demons. He needed to think, fastly, or he'd die of running. Calt much preferred a glorious death than cracking his legs off escaping a battle.

But the plains, being a battlefield, had much of war equipments to be found - human ones. And by the demons' murderous nature of chasing every terrified soldier they can put their eyes on, he bet no-one of the mindless hell beasts would spare a glance to other, useless living things, especially those far away from them. Coincidentally, and very damned lucky for them, those includes horses. Crazed ones - he well expected madness from any living being that faced demons - but a horse is better than breaking his feet off. There were a several of them, he could not be sure, but it was enough for two dozen soldiers to mount. The mages were but monsters turned by some sort of dark sorcery, like his companion was. One, at least, was still running beside him. They kept a distance from the demons, far enough to be out of reach, but near enough to be barraged by arrows, which Calt does not found liking. He rather unconsciously stopped a while, stumbling by the sudden movement of his instinct. An arrow was coming to his back; Calt barely dodged it and hit his knee on a rock. The jolt of pain further enraged him; humiliated by demons and forced to run with tails between his legs - so much for the Vice Mage's pride. And after that, he found himself in deep thought, his logical part of mind urging himself to run away, bind the horses, or whatever. The very inside of his mind, though, the part of him that was egomaniacal and prideful, thought another thing. For this moment, Calt let anger cloud over his sense of logic.

He snapped a Band out of his fingers, hurting very much as he cast it without a vortex. He then threw the rock, wrapped over the thing, over to the chasing demons; some of them surprised over it. He pulled over Swiftwind from the strap on his backed, and nocked three arrows on it. One of them exploded a little upon landing on a demon's face. He nocked another three, draw, and shoot; nocked again, draw, and shoot; and again, over for about ten times, until he realized the horde was not getting thinner, and that he fooled himself, even though he left nearly a hundred demon corpses scattered a quarter mile in front of him. The others remaining of his vanguard and mages had stood over, taking courage as their Lord, who had urged them to run blindly before, had found it upon himself to shoot and challenge the demons again.

Senses shocked him like cold water. The horses were still there, he spied; about half a mile away. His legs are strained, but he was still desperate enough to run. The others did not take running well, however. He casted a vortex, unsure of what to do; he had no strength left physically to propel and fly again all over half a mile. Instead, the vortex was enlarged to draw out surrounding air, and he pointed the vortex out towards him and his remaining company. That was a dangerous play, and Calt sincerely hoped that he doesn't land face-first on the ground. A massive guise of wind flew them off enough to run towards the horses. He casted a Burning Shield in front of him, which shattered into ground enough to prevent his bones from being shattered. The others had their wooden shields. With all the strength he had, he ran desperately all the way to the mounts. He found them to be surprised as much.

Calt screamed loudly. He had spent a large deal of magicka casting various spells to escape, and the bloody horse can't even run straight without shrieking and panicking around. He was frustrated and angered, to say the least - everyone has to be. But the horses are just as scared as him, he thought - it would be no use to force them around. His hands were going to hit the beast right on its neck; instead, he gently touched its mare, and the horse calmed down, for a bit. The others mounted and followed him.

***

They were riding for minutes; Calt holding Shields on each his hands, the others with their arrows and swords. They brought no flags with them, but the Dascus emblem emblazoned on their chests - not his chest, of course - was clear to see. The sigil glimmered brightly on the clear sky. There were demons in front of them, but thinned out. Calt could only guess that the work of whatever forces he saw earlier resulted in this. There was a tunnel in front of them, and he could saw those that did the work inside. Demons were appearing from there, he guessed; the rest on the surface, he and his company could thin them out more. Still on his horse, he snatched several knives out of his pocket. Knives were not of much use in a field, but then, there was little of the demons to take care again. The entrance was clear, once some of his knives struck the demons in front of it. The others clinked on the ground with an uneasy sound.

"Should we enter this cavern, milord?" asked his mage companion, the last of Consortium mages accompanying him.

They were all going to die, anyway.

Calt let out a crazed laugh, followed by a blast bursting out of his fist. "Ahahahahaha! Sooner or later, these goddamned demons would have slit or struck us anyway," he screamed. He spurred the horse without any further words, straight into the tunnel, grabbing his bow and three arrows with it, as usual. The eight of his company followed closely behind.

"Forward Dascians!"

He quickly regretted the short-thought decision all over. Behemoths - fire monsters - demons hulked out times larger than their usual size, was charging to the force he'd seen earlier. And now he was trapped there as well, jumping on the fray of this madness, to whatever purpose, he himself know not. Nocking three arrows, he aimed the Swiftwind right into one of the beasts' eyes, and released it. While he was not sure he did any potential damage other than annoy the creature out, it was a sure sign of relief to those near it, as the creature was now turning its sight to him. It was the Vanguard all over again. Still, like all beast-hunting events were formed, they need a sorting out first for this, to not charge blindly without knowing anyone, or anything. His Dascian soldiers were mounted on compact formation, and Calt shouted loudly.

"Who is in charge here?"

[Northwest Slobovia]

Archeno
Battle of Haden Hill, The Tunnel

Archeno started to slow as he entered the tunnel: even with dim light in the tunnel, there seemed to be nothing ahead of him but demons and rippling blackness. No passage into the hillside, no legendary shimmering magic symbols. This is what I came for, but... He let the thought die: demons first. He raised his head as high as he could, and plowed through the thinning demons, catching them in the chest. That make it much easier for the lancer behind him to set up clean, killing wounds with his enchanted lance, and Archeno thought that many demons were dead by the time his hooves hit them.

Had his head not been raised, he would have pulled up as the new foes stepped through the black curtain ahead of him. A curtain? A black velvet curtain and a back stage? The thought was distracting. I... I should let the veterans take these, but the horses are right behind me. Too fast, going too fast!

Right at the knee! Hit right at the knee!

Behind him, he could hear the charge start to falter, but not enough that he could change back and get out of their way without being crushed. Only the one choice. As hard as we can. He bellowed a crude rendition of the Tashar charge trumpet call, and heard a shout behind him. “Yes, sound it again! Forward!” The trumpeter blew the charge again, but the echoes were weaker than Archeno expected; they died at the darkness ahead.

Archeno caught the fiery behemoth as he wanted, but his inner right horn didn't catch the kneecap, instead ending a bit off to the right, tearing into the creature's calf. The impact was tremendous, but the demon did not go down with a shattered leg. Two tons of Archeno's bull form forced it back, knocked it off balance, but yet it stood! The cavalryman behind him took advantage of the demon's staggering, driving his lance deep into the behemoth's thigh, deep enough that the runemetal tip should have severed bone. But still, the demon stayed up, and the lancer was nearly unhorsed as his mount crashed into Archeno's rump. Oh, my poor ass!

The lancer did show that he belonged in the Companions, keeping his seat and withdrawing the lance for another thrust. Archeno could barely see that he was joined by at least two other horsemen, stabbing the beast high above him, seeking its vitals. Much to Archeno's relief, the glowing red blood now pouring from its wounds didn't burn his head and back. I've trapped the thing's leg, so it's not going anywhere, but now what? If there are any gods out there who protect the foolish and daring, keep these things from tearing my head off!

[Auropa]

Cyradil Vask
Haden Hill

As more fighters arrived at her position, Cyradil began to reconsider their options and odds.
Being stuck behind the horde was one thing, but being stuck there with allies was an entirely different matter. Looking over the field before them for an opening and an opportunity, she did the one thing no one should ever do in battle. She let down her guard. As if sensing her mistake, one of the surviving creatures broke from its companion’s retreat and bound towards the exposed knight. Realizing her mistake a second too late, she pulled her mace back and braced for the impact. If she could just keep standing after the innitial blow, then she could still strike back. But as she readied herself, no attack came. Instead, a shadow seemed to dart from the ground and wrap around the creature before bringing it down in unrefined display of brutal efficiency.

"I would like to think we shall have time to offer our loyalty after we are finished making sure we don't all die today, don't you think?"

Opening her mouth to give thanks, she caught herself just before and instead placed a gauntleted hand to her breastplate and gave a short bow instead.

Even with the Slayer’s healing magic dulling the pain and closing some of her wounds, she could feel her body growing heavy from the continued exertion and exchanging of blows. She didn't know how much longer she could continue but come what may, she would not abandon the fight.

“I don’t have the right to command any of you.” She called out to the rapidly growing unit “But a troop of warriors fight not far below us, and they fight with the intention of stopping this demonic tide. I do not know whe-FOOGH” Cyradil began to say before her vision blackened as some large flying creature donned what could only be a new helmet upon her. After a moment to ensure she hadn’t been killed or completely lost her mind, she chose to just accept it and continue. 'Gods know its still not the strangest thing to happen today'.

“I do not know whether their goal is possible, but I choose to stand with them. If you join us, then know you fight not for a nation or guild, but for all who call this world home.”
Giving one last nod to the group, she lowered her new visor and turned to the Shotarr knights up ahead. She didn’t call for a charge or so much as turn to see who followed her, each man and woman had to make the choice and she was in no position to question their decision, instead she let out a silent, shaky breath and continued forward.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quentin

Riki Farinhait / Theodor Arnulfsson

Karl Thaddaus Kajetan Hoenigsberg

Hanging back at the tunnel’s entrance to help finish the last of the nearby demons. Cyradil overheard the necromancer choosing to stay behind. Despite the power which the mages were claimed to hold, she knew full well that defending the entrance against such a force was practically suicide. Hearing a commotion from within the tunnel and a call for reinforcements though, she smothered the doubts within and made up her mind. Placing a hand on the necromancer’s shoulder and giving a silent thanks as she passed by, she broke into a jog and moved to catch up with the advancing forces within the tunnel.

As she got closer, the cause became clear. Despite making good progress and a receiving new wave of human reinforcements, the party was being held back and cut down by five behemothic creatures as their smaller counterparts continued to swarm about and prod at the exposed fighters. The leading Shotarr knight charged one, his companions split between him and taking on another, the empire’s forces meanwhile were in disarray as they found themselves caught between another while the dragon killer from before seemed ready to try and protect the party’s side from one more of the approaching creatures.

In short, there were too many fronts for her to deal with. Looking about the chaos, she tried to find someone, anyone who could help turn the tide. If they were to have any chance of victory, then someone needed to take command of the remaining regulars and manage their defense. Scanning the field, she felt a cold chill grip her heart as the only officers her eyes found were lifeless corpses adorning the ground, the moment before giving in though, she found one still standing. Seeming to spot him at the same time though was a demon practically dripping with killing intent. Breaking into another run, it had suddenly become a race to the commander, one which the demon was would ultimately win. Surprising both of them however, was a flash of metal before impact. As the creature made its attack against its unsuspecting foe, the man in question did so too. In an instant, the murderous lunge was cur short and turned into a desperate battle of strength. When the demon did finally begin to overpower its target, Cyradil had already closed in.

With a barely contained growl, she swung her mace in a vicious upward arc, catching the creature across the side of the head. With a sickening squelch, the mace smashed through the creature’s skull before launching it several feet to the side. Still far from safe and lacking the time for formalities, Cyradil went on to practically drag the man behind the nearest semblance of a defensive line, reaching down and grabbing the strange glowing blade as they went.
“The men need a commander.” She managed to say as they passed into momentary safety “Help them.” She added as she placed the blade by his side and moved on.

She considered staying by his side and helping to bolster the defensive line, but a commander fighting at the front was a rare trait she respected and with the situation as desperate as it was, she was willing to place her trust in him. As for her, she knew they couldn’t afford to lose their flank. Fearing the delay could have cost her companions their lives, she picked her pace up to a sprint and surged towards the nearby behemoth mace and shield at the ready. In a tunnel like this and against a creature of such size, she knew her magic was all but useless. Where it failed however, her strength would not.

“I’m with you!” She yelled as she closed in. Despite a lack of experience fighting creatures of such scale, she felt as though they couldn’t risk letting it come into range of the main group. Running past the Dragon Slayer, she narrowly sidestepped one of the creature's monstrous blows before slamming her own mace back into its arm as a vicious counterattack. The impact felt like swinging against solid stone and while damage was done with a dozen cracks and fractures spreading through the arm, the creature still remained more than able to continue.

“A plan would be VERY nice right now!” she stated as she braced and readied her defense.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Saelaam of Trelia
Haden Hill Tunnels

---

In defiance of his expectations, the veiled woman, the silent elf and even the hat-wearing stranger seemed to agree to come with him and Brialya to the heart of the raging battle, the foot of the hill, where Sir Raeden and his allies were making a stand against the demon hordes. Feeling their hands grab onto his arm - and a feather of his being deposited in his own hand, oddly enough - Saelaam nodded to himself.

"Ara fel alak."

The wind blew through the place where the five adventurers had stood before, but there was no one standing there anymore.

Arriving at the foot of the hill, the young priest of Oadot was barely given any time to adjust his senses after the sudden translocation - a group of Eshonie and Tasharen cavalrymen, aided by several Thalari, tore into the demon horde and cleared a path towards the tunnels where the portals were located. Sir Raeden wasted no time ordering his forces to follow the charge into the tunnel, and it was all he could do to run behind the knights, doing his best to keep up the pace while avoiding any straggling demons. At all times, the silver hammer remained firmly in his grip, it was potentially the key to their victory over the fiends of the underworld, and he knew he could not afford to lose it.

Before long, the forces of Eboris had made it to the underground, and it was there that the portal came into view: an unnatural black curtain, softly rippling as it spewed forth more of those nightmarish soldiers to slaughter man and elf and beast alike, though their forces seemed to diminish as the knights under Quentin made it to the tunnels. Saelaam breathed a sigh of relief - perhaps victory could be attained, after all?

His optimism did not last. Before his very eyes, five towering creatures that resembled more a living volcano than they did their lesser counterparts emerged from the portal, and the cleric realized that the only reason the demons had stopped coming out was so that they could allow the portal to spew those monstrosities onto the tunnels.

Sir Raeden turned to him, assuring that he would protect him. Saelaam did not feel very confident in his words. What could a man do against a behemoth on his own? Still, being a naysayer added nothing to the situation, so the healer simply nodded. By then, however, Quentin's attention was already elsewhere. Specifically, it was on the behemoth directly in front of him - he and Lena were taking the fight to it.

"Be ready with that hammer." The Knight of Shotarr spoke. Ready for what? He was not even sure of how to use the ancient relic, or if it was capable of closing the portal in the first place.

But he did know one thing, that he needed to be brave now, more than ever. As if to give him the courage he needed, images flashed in his mind: the smiles of his friend, the priestess; his mentor, the head priest; and all of the Chosen he had worked with for the past eight years. The smile of a young boy in the streets of Trelia. All of them innocents that would suffer a horrible fate should the demons succeed at Haden Hill.

Without quite thinking it through, the young man uttered a word of power, erecting a spherical shield around himself, and then took a step forward, pointing his free hand at the behemoth that Quentin and Lena were trying to hold at bay. It was far from a certain bet, but... Chosen such as himself were taught special prayers of protection, in order to be able to defend themselves should they come across unholy creatures such as the undead - various rumors claimed that feral beasts resembling the demons of legend were repelled by such prayers. Putting his faith in those rumors, Saelaam closed his eyes and prayed.

At first, he didn't seem to accomplish much other than causing the behemoth to turn its attention away from Quentin and Lena and towards him. Raising its gargantuan fist, the monster brought it crashing down against Saelaam - the barrier around him kept him alive, but the sheer force of attack caused the ground to tremble underneath his feet. The sudden attack frightened him and nearly broke his concentration, but the young cleric steeled his mind and continued his prayer. It was all he could do to help, and by Oadot, he would do it.

The towering creature brought its fist down upon Saelaam once again, and then a third time, nearly obliterating the white magical shield that protected him. However, before it could attack a fourth time and slay the cleric, the behemoth let out a bitter roar. It held its hands to its head, as if in pain. Hearing its roar, the winged Thalari opened his eyes and saw it afflicted by the power of his prayers. The sight confirmed his suspicions, and that was enough to ignite something within Saelaam, a bright ray of hope that burned away his fears and doubts. With renewed vigor, the cleric continued praying - he took a step forward, and almost immediately the behemoth took one step back. There was no harm upon its form, and yet, it was driven back by the power of Oadot.

And all the while, the priest glared at it, his hand holding the silver hammer in a vice grip and a single thought echoing in his mind.

We can do it.

We can save Eboris.

[Galnius]

Brialya
When the behemoths showed up, the archer of the faithful admittedly started to regret her decision to have her new ally teleport them into the fight. She was much more accustomed to brawling in alleyways or dueling with bows across rooftops than she was fighting monsters in an all out war. But still, no one could ignore what was going on, and it was clear they would need everyone's help to deal with this new threat. She was no coward, she would die before turning on those in need, let alone the entire world.

She turned towards Tenna, who more likely than not would be interested in Brialya's next move. "I have a feeling you will disagree, but I'm standing and fighting these things. If you want to retreat, I would understand. I'll fine you later." She told her new acquaintance before drawing her bow, and firing one of her remaining arrows at one of the behemoth's off to the left.

After the teleportation, Tenna suddenly found herself being almost forcefully led forward by the sheer amount of people charging the tunnels. More to avoid being trampled than out of a feeling of victory, she moved onward to see the appearance of great golem like lava beings, far too large for a simple blade.

It was due to this, then, that when Brialya had said she was good to retreat, Tenna was already on her way out. She was unsure what sense of duty the other elf seemed to possess in order to fight against such massive creatures, but something told the mute that trying to fight them with a knife, or with anything she had on her, was simply stupid. One could in fact say that the theif saw it as nothing more than a suicide mission.

Running into the woods, Tenna searched for a place to hide. She stayed nearby only to see where the giant creatures may come after demolishing the resistance left for them, that way she could go the opposite direction. So directed by her search, she quite literally nearly collided with another person.

Tenna stopped and turned, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she could save one life. The other person, a human male, showed no certain markings of their allegiance. They also looked quite pathetic when compared to the others she had seem. It wasn't even that they appeared to be unfamiliar with battle, but it looked like they had never fought for themselves even once. Perhaps they had a smooth tongue, or money? The possibility that this was a mage was also an option, but then, why were they hiding?

Tenna shook the thoughts from her head, focusing on the task at hand. She reached out to grab his arm, hoping to take him somewhere that wouldn't get him killed.

[Theyra]

Ivaran Miaris

Ivaran was running besides Alexius as they followed the cavalry charge that was heading straight into the tunnel that the demons were coming out of. He soon spotted the dark unnaturally looking wall that was giving Ivaran a sense of dread. "This is where they are coming and if Alexius is right about this, where we will end this. He thought as charged with his men. "By the Light's grace! Ivaran exclaimed as the five Behemoths appeared out of the portal. He grinned his teeth as doubt started to creep into his mind. "No," he quietly said and suppressed his doubt. This is not the time to be a coward; this is the time to be brave and end this nightmare". He looked to see what expression Alexius had; he could not see fear or anything that showed any doubt on Alexius's face Ivaran was surprised that Alexius did not seem to be phased by the Behemoths. He guessed that even the arrival of their new friends could not dissuade this mage from what must be done. "So be it, let ends this," he thought and bellowed a command to the troops around him. "Yes, charge at them and let's finish this fight!

Ivaran noticed that his words were not needed as the troops were already bellowing war cries and charging at the molten Behemoths. He turned to Alexius, "I will try to distract that thing while you hit it hard." Ivaran left without saying another word and charged at the Behemoth that Alexius was targeting. "For Athela! He yelled and closed the gap between him and the Behemoth. The Behemoth brought its fist down on an unlucky human and Ivaran delivered a strike on its arm. Ivaran was not sure if the blow hurt it or now as the Behemoth turned his gaze towards him. The beast roared a primal unnatural roar and tried to strike Ivaran with its freehand. Ivaran barely dodged out of the way and used his speed to hit at its leg. He knows that he needs more help than Alexius if this thing was going to die. He yelled as he dodged another attack, "If someone could lend me a hand over here I would appreciate it!

[The Great Swedish Empire]

Karl Thaddäus
We die in darkness
The tunnel

Everything went black. He could only hear now. There was the sound of flesh being mashed. He felt himself being dragged. His vision came back. Karl's visions watered even as he felt himself being dragged back to the rear of the tunnel.

His vision was clearing but everything felt... unreal. Like this wasn't really happening was some strange fever dreams. But he had seen this before. For a moment he saw a wall of shields clash and an entire town, nearly two hundred years old and with six thousand inhabitants, laid to ruins in less than an hour. He saw the sword pierce the Lord Commander's body. Nothing would ever be worse than that.

“The men need a commander." He heard a voice wander into his head. At first, he thought it was his imagination concocting some semblance of reality but he realized that someone was actually speaking. It is was the woman dragging him. He looked upwards and saw an iron gauntlet dragging him by the collar. "Help them."

She stopped dragging him and dumped him just behind the rearguard. Karl felt something sharp and metallic in his throat. He felt it force it's way up to his throat. He held his hand up to his mouth to try to stop it but it didn't work and his hand came back wet with his day's meal and some blood mixed in. He stumbled to his feet and sheathed his saber, they still felt uneasy, and his stomach was churning. He knew that feeling. That feeling when you're tired of war but know you have to push on but you just want it to end. Your body rejecting but your mind staying.

Karl looked around. It felt as if the earth was swallowing him up. The vanguard pushed deeper and deeper into the tunnels. But the rearguard was failing. They had pushed too hard and too fast in an ill-planned attack and they were now cut off from the remnants above ground. Karl cursed whoever was in charge of all this. They had condemned these men to their deaths. Who was in command. Lines of communication and resupply were one of the first things they had been thought in the academy. Fool. Now their rearguard was crumbling in this underground hell from constant charges by the demons. Like a wave, they crashed upon the barely holding Tashar line and backed receded for a moment before crashing themselves onto the line again in an insane wave.

Men were beginning to break from the rearguard but where would they go? They were trapped underground but they did not care. They just needed to get away from the massacre. Two bloodied militiamen of Tashar, likely auxiliaries drawn from recently conquered lands that could not be relied on, were wrestling with a comrade that was blocking their retreat and shouting at them for their cowardice. "Move away!" Karl heard one of them cry as he made their way to them. They had not seen him yet. "The battle is lost! Let us die painlessly!"

Karl saw the flash of the dagger in the hand of the other too late. It plunged into the neck of the poor trooper the moment before Karl the plowed into them. Raging at this attempt at desertion and the murder of one of their comrades, he broke one’s jaw with the pommel of his hilt, knocking the man back into the side of the tunnel. He cut the other on his blade arm and his dagger dropped. The deserter dropped to his knees and Karl crushed his nose with his lunging boot. The two men now lay on the muddy ground moaning and crying. The troopers corpse was still warm. A good soldier lost because of two cowards.

A large group of haggard muddy and bloody soldiers, forty-three strong, were making their way down the tunnel away from the rearguard when they saw what Karl did the men who had dared to even attempt desertion. Karl turned to them with a sneer on his face and pointed at the two. "Let it be known this is what happens to deserters and cowards. Have none of you thought of what those... things shall do if we do not seal that portal and their reinforcements? Eboris will be reduced to wastes. Their world shall come unto ours and they shall make no room for us. So, Run! Run! I tell you for you can go nowhere. But if can seal where the dare come from we can stop them and we at least have a chance to survive.

The men stayed still their eyes wide with fear and their lips trembling. These men were terrified but Karl did not care. They had to do their duty even in the face of such danger. It was what he expected. It was what the whole of humanity expected.

"So, no?" Karl asked and the men nodded. "Good. You, I need you to go to the vanguard at the front and demand their status. If they can spare anyone send them to me. As far as they are concerned I am now commander for the rearguard. You, yes you! Who else you short fuck? I want you, dwarf, to go back with a group of ten to your choosing and search the tunnels for any weapons you can find. Bring them to me so I can equip any troopers who have lost their gear.

The two nodded and began to run with the messages they had received. Karl took a last look at the two cowards who had tried to flee. They were crawling in their own blood and in the mud. He looked at them with disgust. Desertion was essential treason not only to the Empire but humanity as a whole. It was punishable by summary battlefield execution but they were not worth his time nor his energy. Let them die knowing they abandoned their comrades when they were needed most.

Karl turned back to the group of remaining men. He looked in each and every one of their faces. He saw bloody and muddy faces. Many were young, leaving their drab farms for adventure and glory in the Imperial army, others were scared and old, having seen too much and now doubting the Empire's glory. He knew that they had been pushed to their limits but duty to their kin demanded more and so Karl would abide even if none of them did. "Men and women of the Empire. Today we stand against a plague that has cursed us ever since we were born. Our fathers and grandfathers have feared and fought these things. We are not the first to fight them but we shall be the first and last to end them! No longer shall our children and descendants have to fear these things anymore. With me! With me men and women of the Empire! For all! Forward!"

Karl turned and advanced to the front line. He stole a glance backward and saw the group fan out into a V-shaped formation. They had all been thought this maneuver. Drilled and trained for years with this as the bedrock. The spear formation, designed for piercing the center of your foes, and Karl was the tip of the spear.

The rearguard was now and truly crumbling. The line of shields, spears, and swords was now heavily buckling in half a dozen places. The men barely held on by the skin of the teeth. Dozens died every second. No one knew who was in charge and no one knew what to do. Men were so panicked and confused that some dug holes in the mud and stuck their heads in like ostriches and prayed for their deaths. The demons laughed their truly disgusting and unholy high pitched laughter. Their triumph was near.

Karl dove into the battle once more. He activated the rune and his sword glowed brilliantly blue now. He held it up high for all to see as he plunged into their lines. The other's followed him and charged the front of the demon lines. The lines now held as they, at last, received reinforcements. Karl was at the front of it all.

He slashed his sword left and right, two demons fell in his wake; only to be trampled by the advancing line of Tashar. The demons had not expected the humans to rally so suddenly and charge their disorganized lines. The Tashar and Dascus slew nearly a hundred demons before Karl, at the top of his voice, shouted to his men to fall back to better positions.

They turned around and began to make pace back to their original positions. The wounded demons lying on the ground were crushed under their feet or were their pathetic lives were ended in the most painful way the men could think of.

Just as the demons charge again the men wheeled about and the demons crashed against a wall of cold sharp steel. Pikes and spears had been deployed and many were impaled by their own charge long before reaching the enemy lines. Those that did get past the spears crashed into the lines and for a moment they were forced back two steps. But Karl began to sing the Imperial hymn of duty at the top of his lungs and the other's joined him. They hacked their way through the wave of demons coming at them.

This was easy. Their foe was being forced down a tunnel and the line need not worry about their flanks for the foe could only come one way. They held the line like a castle wall holding against the tidal waves of the greatest sea storm ever. After the fourth wave, the demons fell back, dragging their wounded back and hurling unholy curses against the bulwark that held them back.

They had held the line barely. For a moment it looked like they might be hope. That this small bulwark would hold the beasts from the worst depths of their imagination at bay.

There was a great roar that shook the tunnel, dust and large pieces of dirt fell from the ceiling. Then the ground began to shake rapidly like a stampeded of bison. Something was coming towards them. Something big.

Karl clambered on a rock formation and looked over the heads of his men. He could see the horde of demons, their numbers stretching the entire tunnel. They were falling to something from behind them. For a moment Karl's heart rose. At last, reinforcements. They would smash these demons in a classic hammer and anvil maneuver. Then he saw it.

It was like a great hound. Four ram-like horns came out of its skull. It had hooves like cattle yet it moved with such speed and force. Its spine arched back and had been penetrated by spikes that came out of it's back. Its teeth were like spears. It's was coming towards them, not caring for the havoc that it was causing.

The demons saw what was happening and panicked. There was only one way to survive for them. They surged forth like a wave. But it was not the co-ordinated attack as many before but this was simply just a wave of bodies, desperate to break through the line of men for their own survival.

"Hold the line! We are the dukes of our destiny! We bestow victory upon ourselves!" Karl cried out the moment before the demons once more crashed upon their lines. They had no care for their lives as they cut through his men, who though fought valiantly were no match against so animalistic fury and panic. Their lines were now buckling under this desperate tidal wave.

Karl blocked an overhand strike by a foul demon. A spear slipped his guard and buried its tip right into Karl's thigh. Karl felt white-hot pain take his entire leg. He fell to his knees and saw the demon raise its a great blade for a killing blow. Karl struck upwards into the bottom of the demons head with his saber and the tip emerged the other side. He wretched out the blade and the demon crumbled.

"Hold strong! Hold strong, men. This is our day. This our purpose!

To me! To me! Footsloggers! To me!

Not one step back! We hold this ground through all!

I'll face them alone if I must!

Rascals, do you want to live eternally?

We shall fight here to the last. This is your last stand! No doubts. No fear. No retreat!" Karl staggered up and continued to yell to his men. He plunged into battle once more forgetting his pain as he felt the adrenaline flow through his veins.

Karl dragged one of his men - this one was young, he hadn't even reached full adulthood yet but Karl did not care - to his feet with a wolfish sneer on his face, "WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO DIE?! 'CAUSE I SURE AS HELL DIDN'T!" Karl yelled at the boy and shoved him into combat once more. The next moment the boy was killed by a screaming demon that stabbed his body so many times in such a short period that his arms were a blur and the body stopped being a body and turned into a pile of bloody gore. Karl beheaded the demon with a wide swing of his sword.

It was a losing battle. The great beast would soon be upon them. They were holding the line but at a heavy cost. His presence had halted the chance of the men breaking and fleeing but now they would die on their feet.

They needed reinforcements.