---

Opening her eyes, Sariel registered speech around her, and words that she could understand. A faint smile danced across her lips. The Warden had broken the world that had been. The Maw was gone. There were no walls. There was no floor. There was no longer a ceiling looming above them. The warden had shattered reality. And then reshaped it. An example of the High Art, shrouded in darkness. Sariel shuddered, giddy with fresh discovery. Magic filled her senses. Powerful magic she couldn’t claim. Not yet. She would have to understand. She wanted to.

Having appeared in the untamed wilderness, Sariel shifted her robe, unhappy with the unrestrained wind that touched her. The sunlight, not yet faded, set her skin alight with half-forgotten warmth. It was all too pleasant for her tastes. She preferred thick walls and heavy doors. Her thoughts were interrupted by fresh banter. Names, self-proclaimed titles, and too much prattle. She did not bother with her name. She had no wish to share such knowledge. Names were woven with great power and best kept secret. She offered no title. Such prideful pleasantries could wait. She felt no compulsion to waste her breath.

She found no reason to stand idle as some of the others began to move, following the the pyromancer and his conjurations. She could divine no fault in his geographic estimations. It was assuredly the Spines that loomed westwardly. Given the position of the sun and the likely hour, it seemed a fair possibility that they were somewhere in the vicinity of the Kasan plateau or even right on it. Such truths would mean that they were south west of Sulfrey.

Talk of Easterlings and Sulfreyans was warranted. It would be wise to remain unnoticed. it would be better still to avoid unnecessary fighting. The Easterling barbarians would fight for no reason. The Sulfreyans patrolling the wilds were little better and believed only in diplomacy at the end of a spear. Sariel felt a small frown listening to the tireless chatter of the pyromancer. She did not share his easy willingness to underestimate the Sulfreyans, elite knights mounted on wyverneers diving down from the sky was never a welcome discovery. It was a small mercy that he seemed to understand the danger that the Easterlings posed. A war band of bloodthirsty reavers, spilling out across the lands were an ever present danger on the Kasan plateau. Sariel knew far better than to trust the maddened primitives.

She had no desire to fight. Certainly not without time to prepare. However, fresh materials for her magic would be welcome. Flesh and bones untouched by the slow decay of time were easiest to work with. Such spirits clung to their old lives and slept lightly. She needed servants. She would need many servants. She might need an army. She might need several armies of undead. To find the lost agents of the king, three souls disappeared in hostile lands, was no small task. To kill a living god defended by uncountable faithful seemed harder still. Patience would be required. Skill would be needed. And the party, chained together has it was, would have to work together.

Sariel sensed the knife resting against her throat. Choice marked by a thin line of blood painted over her throat. The Warden's spell lingered, the geas she had cast wordlessly remained. She could see only one path forward, but she chose it gladly. She needed no escape. There was much to learn. There was much to understand. She would study. She would serve. She would aid the Warden. And she would fight...when she was ready.

Muttering a fell incantation, testing the threads of magic that traveled over skeletal hand, Sariel studied her new compatriots, her unwilling colleagues, and the strangers who now shared her fate.

"You are right, of course," Sariel said, addressing the shadow, finding the conversation at last to be more interesting. She watched the creature with obvious fascination. Spells woven with shadows were nothing novel. Illusionists had mastered such magic ages before. However, to become a shadow was a different trick and an interesting one.

"Paper or gold will be required. The Sulfreyans are not fond of unwelcome or unannounced strangers in their cities. Their walls are strong and their guards are many. We will need to exercise great care if we are to gain entry to civilization in these parts."

Azir

Each time she stepped, the whole ground would shake. One would wonder how the ogre was not falling straight into the ground. The one named Ricon seemed to know the area, which was nice since she didn’t know this place that well. The large ogre didn’t think he would be very effective in a fight. She didn’t think much of most of the group’s fighting capacity. The only ones she thought could be helpful in a fight would be the ice giant and the sickly-looking woman. She was eyeing the one named Viktor. “Why bring back when you can eat em?” She seemed confused by his statement. Usually, she would eat the bodies of the dead. Speaking of bodies, she was starting to get quite hungry. She was sure she could hunt for food for herself and maybe her comrades. While they were walking, she would be looking for any prey.

Azir looked a little annoyed at Ricon, and his constant talking started getting on her nerves. Fighting these Reavers could provide some results. All of those dead bodies would provide for a good meal. But fighting them could prove her with something better than bodies. “Me am fine fighting Reavers; they may have good loot. But we can’t delay going to Sufrey. Whatever group wants me game.” Azir spoke with a shrug of her large shoulders. The ogre would be fine with either option.

Turning around to the voice that was speaking to her. “No problem, me no mind. Me no like sun either.” She again shrugged her large shoulders. Looking back at the fire-welding maniac before looking at Omiku. “Me no like fire that much either.” Speaking a whisper if that was possible for her. Looking down at the shadow with a curious look on her face. “What you? You ain’t anything me met before?” She asked before getting the flask from between her cleavage. Taking a sip before offering it to the strange woman (Sariel). “Humans probably no want ogre in their city, so i don’t know how me and others will get in.” A point that would make the other groups think about how to get into the city. She doesn't care to give out her name as she doesn't know that well yet.

@MrSkimobile@Thunder999999@BigPapaBelial@Lurking Shadow@Abstract Proxy

Few had offered their names. Viktor. Ricon. Then silence. It was clear the others' trust would be more hard earned, and that was of the utmost importance. Few were known to trek with giants and live to tell the tale in one piece. And the living shadow surely was Devilry - would have to stay away from that one. But it was a start. Each introduction Brorin answered simply with the slightest bow and "A pleasure."

As they moved on, Brorin listened to the others debating about how to continue. He would rather not get caught-up with these reavers before having had a chance to stock up. As Brorin followed on he started lagging behind them, and not just because of his condition. He gathered his mutagenic reagents as inconspicuously as he could, stuffing them in his satchel as he went. Small insects, saplings, even a rat once. Come nightfall he would grind them, extract their essences. All had their uses, all had their purpose. Claws and armor from the beetles. Regenerating juices from the saplings. The rat, nutrition. Then, finally, he would be... better.

When the conversation shifted to the entry into Sulfrey, Brorin staggered forward once more. "There are ways into cities other than the front gate, friends." He looked at the garish nature of their compatriots. "I have seen many a travelling freak shows, we might not look too out of place if we play the part." He chuckled a soft saw-like laugh, and quickly followed up with "I also... happen to know the workings of sewers well. Could be another way in... and could aid us to not be noticed once inside."

[@all] @Red Wizard

---

Thuk Meuch-Tok sat atop his steed and looked out into the distance. They were still quite a ways ahead, but he could see them now; a band of easterling raiders, stealing across the plain like a plague. Or at least what was left of them. He and his warriors had been pursuing them for over a week since they had intercepted them near the border. Hoping to sneak across for some fun and games, no doubt. Well, fun and games it had been all right. But not for the raiders. They had put up a good fight at first, but their primitive weapons and uncivilized ways of warfare had been no match for the Sulfreyan knights. Before long they had broken and ran off, presumably thinking they could outrun the heavy riders. Thuk had entertained the thought of sparing some of them for interrogation, or to take some of them as slaves to be sacrificed in the glory of Ael-Gol atop the pyramids of Galgat, but had decided against it. It was heads on spears for the lot of them. Damned savages.

True, it had taken him some time to find them. Say one thing for the barbarians, they know the lay of the land. They had been smart, keeping to thickets and hidden caves, covering their tracks impressively. It had been chance that brought them out into the light at last. Chance and their poor morale. He had simply passed overhead, and the mere sight of the wyvern had made some of them lose it and take off in a panic, no doubt gunning for what they hoped was beter ground. Or they were just running wild. They weren't much better than animals anyway, these barbarians.

Ordering his men to start persuing and eventually charge, Thuk gave his wyvern a sharp smack with the butt of the spear and took flight. The great winged reptile hissed menacingly, but did as it was instructed. He had trained it well. Once airborne, it stretched its long neck, a full ten feet of serpentine scales and spikes, its wings beating like war drums on the wind. The tail, along with its lethal barbed stinger, flowed elegantly behind, subtly steering its path through the sky. They were marvellous creatures, wyverns, but ugly. Or terrifying.

Having gained some ground on the fleeing raiders, his two dozen horned knights following behind, he spotted something peculiar further ahead. The barbarians were about to scale a ridge, and beyond it - not yet visible to the landlocked - was a strange gathering of... individuals. Some small, some big, and was that an actual Frost Giant? Thuk was surprised, to put it mildly, but soon shook the sensation. Whatever they were, they were too strange. A group like that belonged in a funny tavern yarn, not on his border. He didn't know who they were and what they were doing there, but it didn't matter. It would have to be heads on spears for the lot of them too.

Having seen all he had to, Thuk circled back to his knights. He would lead the charge coming in low, as was the custom. Let the barbarians and the strangers fight it out first. He and his knights could handle the leftovers.

---

---

---

You hear them before you see them. There's a rumble on the wind, and then the distant warcries of bloodthirsty raiders. They spill over a ridge to the east, still some distance away, but closing fast. Easterlings. Barbarians. Two score perhaps, maybe less, maybe more. Some mounted, others on foot. All armed, that you are certain of, and possibly dangerous. They're coming your way, too. Just your luck.

A quick scan of the landscape leaves few options. There's a hill a bit further north, and a small thicket a ways south. The west offers nothing but rolling grasslands for miles upon miles, a poor deal for anyone looking for an escape or an advantage. A fight seems inevitable. Death, a possibility. But... are those really war cries? There's something off about the way the barbarians move, the way they sound. The band moves in your direction, yes... But are they coming for you? Then again, do you have the luxury of doubt, with potentially fifty or so murderous savages seemingly bearing down on you.

Time to think fast, or maybe not think at all. Sometimes, instinct is the voice of reason. Then again... Sometimes it definitively isn't.

Ruby

The airy laughter at the absurdity of the man that was leading the group came to an end as she heard the not so subtle insult that was sent her and the other girls way. Glaring back at the shorter man with glowing red eyes, she held out her hand with her thumb between her fingers, giving him the old fig gesture and telling him exactly what she thought of him.

Though before things could escalate any further, her sensitive ears perked up at the vibrations of hundreds of loud thudding feet. Suddenly stuck in her spot, she turned back to the small hill in front of them, and her eyes went wide.

Oh gods, it's already starting.

Her eyes quickly looked around them, but no obvious hiding place was seen. No alleyways to duck into, no shadows to hide in. So as the warcries reached her ears and as the sight of the barbarians started to appear over the ridge, Ruby did the only thing she could do. She stared at the oncoming danger and screamed.

The shriek was so loud it passed by her so called allies in a blustering rush of air, causing many a person to clutch at their head, and then rushed up the grass fields until it finally reached the enemy. There as it reached the first line of charging men, it hit with a great collision of force. Men were thrown here and there like little ragged dolls, and with a sickening crunch, skulls collapsed inwards and blood spurted out of what was left of mouths and ears.

The next line of barbarians fared better, with only some ending up under the weight of their old compatriots as all their ears rang and bled.

The now obviously fatal ghostly girl, though, did not seem proud or gloat at the deaths she had caused. Instead, she had taken to hiding behind the two larger women. It, after all, seemed like the best hiding spot at this moment in time.

The rumbling of hooves and feet came quickly. The war cries followed soon enough. Too quickly. The war shouldn't be this far advanced yet!

"No, not now. Of all times..." Brorin rummaged through his satchel, digging past his unrefined ingredients. Some beakers, mortar and pestle, there! Metal bomb-shells! ...empty. Of course they were. You wouldn't send people out on a suicide mission well stocked now, would you? That would be mad! Typical. Damned witch. What was he going to do now, throw his cane? Or maybe, what about if they were peaceful? Oh, who was he kidding. You should've heard the screams. His mind flashed to the reavers. Barbarian hordes. Horned knights. Drake riders. Blood. What a nightmar--

The shriek came out of nowhere. A cry louder than the loudest organ-register, but it came from their own! He saw the sound, rippling and bellowing out from the small blood-eyed girl, as if even the very air couldn't hold the sheer force of it. And as the shockwave blew past him, he was smashed to the side and straight into the ground. Through the ringing in his ears, he could barely hear the cracks, the shouts, the confusion, the metal helmets imploding in on themselves. Drawing a small 'X' over his heart with his right hand, he noted that his earlier comment appeared to be more prophetic than he meant it. Then, as he drifted off into unconsciousness, Brorin made a mental note to try and not piss these people off too much.

It seems the pyromancer's information is out by an order of magnitude, there's barely fifty of the savages, a short sighted attempt to avoid fighting, unlikely, the many clearly relishes power and every military treatise he's studied indicates such a horde is the ideal environment for pyromancy. More likely they were in the Maw longer than previously thought, entirely believable, Viktor himself had little sense of time, likely a result of some mind suppressing magics. In that time the hordes have been broken, as the Warden stated. They shall be easy pickings for a group as dangerous as his fellow Blackguards.

As he was thinking the undead woman reveals something of her power, a sonic attack, not many creatures can do that, and yet she hides behind others. An exhausting ability, true fear, or an act?

Viktor wills himself into action, can't let those souls go to waste. He points towards the barbarians as they stumble into their former compatriots, his hands trace mirrored patterns in the air, identical demonic sigils appear on their foreheads and sink in with a spray of blood. A few of the reavers let out cries of pain as the demonic magic peels away their skin and muscle, within seconds a dozen reavers are but clean skeletons standing in a pile of gore.
That flesh rending curse is definitely one of his best 'purchases', the skeletons are in perfect condition for post battle reanimation.

Nomads, wanderers, people of the plains. Looking at them, Svanhild could only remember her own clan of giants, the friends and allies long lost to her now. Primitive on the surface, yes, but with a rich, deep culture all to their own, and a way of life dating back all the way to the time of myths. If she had only met these Easterlings under better circumstances, had only been able to sit around a fire and speak peacefully with them, just what sort of stories might they have shared? What sort of tales, to delight the soul and enrich one's view of the world?

Chances were she would never know. The scum of the Westerlands, her supposed companions, could only think in terms of crude stereotypes and their own selfish desires. Barbarians, savages, animals to be slain. Threats to be removed, and rewards to be claimed. No sooner had Svanhild laid eyes upon the approaching party than a horrifying shriek split her ears, and she stumbled to the side with hands clutched tight to her head.

The vile tricks of a monster—but they're not directed at you. The giantess clenched her teeth, and forced herself to stand straight despite the ringing in her ears. By the time she managed to refocus her eyes, she saw the Easterling party decimated, heads blown apart and flesh stripped away from naked bones. A cold fury filled her then, and she cast her arm out to one side.

"HOLD!"

Blue ice materialized in her open hand, a massive broadsword as long as she was tall. She held it out before the Warden's misfits like a barrier, before any of them could go thoughtlessly charging off and get themselves killed. "Hold, you dolts! Look around and think for once in your sorry lives!"

The Reavers were scattered, their front lines entirely broken apart by the one-two punch of the magical assault. Some had curled up on the ground, still clutching at bleeding ears, while others cowered behind shields or tried to play dead among the corpses of their former comrades. They weren't berserkers, nor rabid animals: even with half of them still alive they couldn't yet muster the will to renew their forward charge.

No, what concerned Svanhild more was why they'd been charging in the first place. She spoke urgently, loud enough that even the half-deaf would be able to catch her drift. "Why come at us out in the open? They can't have seen us from below that ridge. And if their scouts had found us ahead of time, they could have waited to ambush us after we entered the woods." She couldn't quite put her finger on what was wrong—she thought she might've glimpsed something up in the sky, but the scream had destroyed her concentration before she could pin it down. All she knew was that if her side kept up this haphazard retaliation, they'd be sitting ducks for anything else lurking out there.

"Someone wake up that plague-ridden wretch. And if anyone knows magic for observing distant terrain, use it."

@Red Wizard @Chrys @MrSkimobile

Azir

Azir put away the flask whether the woman took her offer or not. From the distance, she could hear the sound of battle going on. A small part of her wanted to join in so she could quench her bloodthirst. However, if she went alone, there was a chance she could be overwhelmed and killed, although she could use her “comrades” as a meat shield. Squinting her eyes, she saw a group of figures coming towards them and wondering what was coming towards them. However, she had a bad feeling about what was coming. As the figures approached the group, Azir could adequately see what it was. A part of her felt flushed when she saw a wyvern moving away from the parting sun. This was a creature besides giants and dragons that she wouldn’t mess with.

But her shock seemed to fade as the bloodlust was starting to fill her body. Letting her large club slam into the ground, making it tremble violently and covering her ears when the sickly woman screeched loudly. Looking at her, annoyed that she had to deal with that. Making a mental note to get earplugs for the next time she does that again. She picked up the club after placing her hands away from her ear and letting out a roar, although this one was not as loud as the undead woman. She swung her club around while still screaming, trying to scare off the incoming army approaching them. They would be in for a fight if they wanted to. Her eyes were focused on the incoming Wyvern that was coming towards them. She didn’t have anything to try to bring it down. However, she could try to throw her club at it. But she wasn't sure that wouldn't work. Glaring at Broin, finding it strange that he made himself go into unconsciousness. The ogre wondered what he was planning to do.

But she didn't have time to see what he was planning. The large ogre picked up the unconscious human, shaking him, hoping that would wake him up. "Wake up, little man. No time to sleep." She screamed near his face.

---

The spell was a simple thing. Nothing more than a casual wave of her skeletal hand. The eye that appeared in the sky, some two hundred feet above the now cowering raiders. The Kassan plains revealed themselves beneath the unwavering gaze of the arcane construct.

"Sulfreyans!" Sariel shouted, venom heavy in her voice. "Two dozen and one wyvern riders!"

Battle was as disgusting as she remembered. Blood flying in the air. Blood covering the ground. The screams of the dying. The silence of the dead. It was all so tiresome. So bothersome. So unnecessary. The flesh rendering spell cast by the one called Viktor had not escaped her. Such cruel magic struck her as a tad theatrical, but there was pragmatism in stripping the flesh easily from the bone. The screaming girl likewise touched her. She coursed with undeath.

Moving closer to the frostbound giantess, Sariel remained well back. She would let the others do the cutting, the hacking, and the smashing. She was in no rush to act. Magic was never to be wasted. She had no interest in drawing unwelcome attention. She felt no compulsion to test her arcane grimoire against a steel weapon.

The Easterling attack had already faltered, stillborn as it was. Among them, the dead now outnumbered the living. The greater threat approached. Sulfreyen riders. Fresh. Eager. And spoiling for a fight.

Sariel let a small smile play over the edge of her lips, approaching the azure shaded woman, who stood at the vanguard, bristling with a cleverness that cheered the Necromancer.

Gesturing beyond her, Sariel spoke calmly,"I will be unable to immediately stop all of them, if you have a plan, now is the time to ready it. I will delay them for a moment."

The growing closeness between her unchosen party and the riders suited the necromancer. Taking a deep breath, she began to whisper old words. Untroubled by the mass of knights, teeth, and sword sized claws that fluttered closer with each heartbeat, Sariel placed her hand on her grimoire. A hushed spark coursed through her skeletal arm, smoking beneath darkened leather, as it traveled to across her finger tips. The power that she felt touching her palm pleased the Necromancer and she gathered it together into a closed fist.

Certain that she was ready, Sariel raised her hand from her grimoire, roughly aiming at the riders barreling towards them. She opened her clenched fist, with a final whisper, as if releasing a small ball from her grasp. Thunder cracked in the air, as a lightning bolt hurtled from Sariel’s hand, the smell of a thunderstorm replacing the thick smell of blood, and filling the nostrils of her delicate nose with a renewed scent, mercifully cleansed of all the fresh foulness.

Lurching through the air, the lightning bolt crashed into the right center of the formation of charging Sulfreyan knights. A jagged white flash enveloped the unlucky knight struck by the Necromancer’s spell. Before his screams had escaped his burning throat, four more bolts of lightning jolted outwards from the already dying knight and his smoldering mount. Four more Sulfreyans and the beasts they rode perished in little more than a moment, plummeting from the sky trailing black smoke, and smashing into the unyielding earth.

Sariel watched impassively, offering only a subtle nod of satisfaction as she took a step back and began to ready another spell. She trusted the others knew what to do. They seemed the capable sort. And she had worse spells to prepare.

Ricon Fields

Ricon turned, hearing the howling. And he hissed out, "Reavers." When they appeared he was ready to run, expecting one of the hordes he remembers seeing and hiding from. Numbers nearly uncountable. Slavering berserker men and howling harridan women. But what appeared is well...not. Forty maybe all told. And they looked far worse for wear. As if they'd been running for a long time. It made no sense to the flame eyed man at all. Almost breaking his mind, as his memories, and they really aren't that out of date are they? The flow of time in The Maw can't be that off. It'd only been a year or two hadn't it? There's no way the Barbarians would have changed their tune that quickly. They're strength had always been in numbers. Villages and tribes banding together to raid and reave. This small group is absolutely anathema to what he remembers. There should be more and there should be the half trolls and half giants among them. None of the towering half beasts he remembers. Feral and roaring for battle.

Yes this little thing causes Ricon to freeze. To him it's not right. Something must be wrong with the world! In the moment the fighting begins and Ricon stands there, seemingly not wanting to condescend to fight. His fire sprites Orbit him slowly, coos turned to hisses of worry and anger, his fire halo whirling faster and brighter.

And it's only when the banshee scream fills the air that his pose is broken as he bends to one side and rubs his ears in pain. As he straightening though he heard dimly, "Sulfreyans!" Looking over at the skeletal woman. He blinks a few times then nods, "That makes sense. These ones are a raider remnant. Likely being hunted for sport at this point."

Ricon spread his legs bracing abit. One of his sprites fluttering over between his held out hands. The sprite giggled and nuzzled his hands, leaving no sign it hurt thr man before it flared becoming a bright red beacon of firey might, "My turn. Let's make it harder for them. Let the flames rise!"

It started as a roar. And rhe final rank of the Barbarians start to dance a fearful tarrantella. Kicking around the ground. Them they start to begin to howl in fear.

"Rise!"

Ricon says it again and a wall of flame shoots up some twenty feet. Immolating that last rank of Barbarians, and separating the groups in that moment.

And another chance to question the pyromancers sanity comes around when he begins to laugh mightily crying out, "Burn! Let it burn! Man, woman and child. Wood, cloth and flesh! Let it burn!"

Omiku considered the woman's question, but she was not sure what to answer. Her kind is a rare breed nowadays and unless the group is familiar with exotic legends they would be unfamiliar with the concept of what she is. Some called her a vampire, an inaccurate assumption as besides some bloodlust and a queer sensitivity to sunlight she shares little with those lesser things. Some considered her to be some sort of living shadow, which has merit but it would be closer to say she is more like a mix of umbra and blood rather than how others might consider themselves to be 'flesh and blood'. Others guessed her kind to be some sort of demon and they had good reason, but that was... history even more ancient than her. Whatever Omiku would say, she surmised she should not lie, even if not speaking the whole truth. Trust will be a rare commodity with this group and it would not help if she gives them reason to doubt her.

But before she could formulate what to say a horde of nomads came upon them. She could just catch that the savages were afraid of something before chaos broke out with an uncomfortably piercing screech that broke into their ranks. And from that point a lot of former men quickly became corpses as the rest of the group joined in. Something was said about Sulfreyans riding on wyrms but she could care little about that at the moment. She was more concerned with all the blood dotting the land around them. All the perfectly good blood now without owners. It has not been long since she last fed. Three days, maybe four? She was not feeling hungry but... maybe it is the sheer quantity of sustenance around her, maybe it was the unease and frustration she felt around that pyromaniac. But she felt eager to take up this free meal as she reached out from the shadow of her...host with umbral pseudopods, snaking around the carnage. One, two, three, seven, even more shadows projected from that of the ogre as Omiku pulled the crimson fluid towards her. The blood slowly beaded at first before forming streams flowing both on the ground and in the air, twisting and turning towards her shadowy form to be absorbed as she allowed herself to feast greedily for the first time in quite a while. At the same time, her shadowy tendrils reached towards the shadows of the fallen as she stole even the shade they casted, though that would probably be hard to notice with everything else going on.

Once she had more than her fill, and as that fiery fool antagonized her with the intense and bright flames, she retreated back into the shadows. Becoming indistinguishable. If she is to act on the Sulfreyans, she would prefer to do it with surprise.

Ruby

Lungs heaving, Ruby's small pale form shuddered as she hid behind the large frost giant woman. Not even looking to see the destruction that she had caused, she had yet to see that she had downed one of their own thrown together team. Instead, her eyes were focused on the dirt path, not aware of what other horrors her side was inflicting until the booming, angry voice shocked her.

Taking a shaken step backward, she stared wide eyed at the large woman before her. What was she going on about?! She couldn't understand her, they had been charging towards them. The exact same reavers they had been saying they should avoid. They had let out a war cry for fuck's sake!

Though still, she looked past the giant to see the destroyed forces of the raiders. The sight of them now crushed or stripped of flesh, cowardly hiding and screaming in pain had her shocked. Her mind had come up with images of bloodthirsty barbarians ready to do unthinkable things, but this... this was not that.

Wait! A WYVERN!?

Her eyes looked to the sky, staring up in fear as she looked for any signs of the terrifying beast. She had only heard of such creatures before, but to actually face one was a whole new horrifying situation.

The darkness rung out to him, swallowed him, the world tumbling within his mind. No place to stand, only falling. And in the haze... those voices! Always those voices!

"Get away from him!" Wasn't the first time. Wouldn't be the last.
"Why do they keep doing this to me, father?" - "Keep faith, my son. This is a trial for them, too." So, he kept faith.
"Someone wake up that plague-ridden wretch." How often had he heard that one before?
"Wake up!" The dark voice said in his dreams. Yes, soon it would be time...

Suddenly the ringing in his ears was split by a roar just as deafening. A "Wake up, little man. No time to sleep." was belted into his face. But it wasn't as much the Ogre's screaming that brought him back. It was the smell. For a moment Brorin wondered what they fed this creature back at the Maw. He rubbed his head - mask still in place - as he scrambled up once more.

The return to reality was slow, but every bit as nightmarish as his dreams. It didn't take long for Brorin to find out what the stench actually was. By the time his senses returned to him there was little more left than... madness. The wind wafted with stinking ash. Bodies crushed. Bodies burnt. Bodies unfleshed. Red and black, blood and soot. And there was fire! In the far distance of his mind, he heard a bell toll, and for a moment, he couldn't tell if he was back at his Parish being clasped in chains, or... Ah. Right. Two days away from Sulfrey. And he had a purpose to fulfill now.

He took one last look at the carnage, then at his... companions. And then he started chanting, just barely. A hidden prayer sung under his breath. Brorin crossed his heart again. It wasn't much, but it was all he could offer for now. Some people live. Some people die. Some people are taken to the Maw. All deserve at least some decency on their way to that Great Night. Brorin looked down onto his hands, ash-stained once more. Don't they?

There seemed to be a lull in the fight. The reavers had fallen for the most part, and what part of them remained had scattered, but in the distance the horned knights of Sulfrey came galloping. Shuffling into cover behind the ice giant, Brorin waited and watched, his eyes set upon that all-too familiar distance.

Yebelto was in hell. He was sure of it. There was no other way to describe what had happened to him. To his comrades. The only question that remained was what he had done to deserve it. He had, of course, not been a kind man. Yebelto had been a hard man, as was expected of men like him out on the sea of grass. Out here, mercy was weakness, and weakness was death. So the veterans had told him, over and over. When asked for clemency by strangers, they had said, give none, for that is what you will recieve when your day is come.

They had been correct in their assumption on that, at least.

The absolute pandemonium of death and destruction that had befallen his party was out of this world. First, a deafening blast that had his ears ringing and outright crushed the skulls of the unlucky ones in the front lines. Then, the horrid spectacle of flesh being stripped forcibly from the bones of his friends as they were screaming in terror and indescribable pain. Then thunderous lightning, and fire and brimstone, and... what next? Savage beasts come to gnaw at their flesh? A plague of insects to crawl under their skin? Maybe a burning starfall to smash into the ground and disintegrate them all?

Yebelto hoped for the last. That way, he and his fallen friends could at least get some manner of revenge.

He had hidden himself beneath the corpses of the fallen. Shameful, perhaps, but at least he wasn't dead. He planned to stay right there until it was all over and the terrible group of monsters and madmen had passed. The wall of fire still burned a little ways away, but it didn't seem to be moving, so that was that. He couldn't tell exactly, but he thought he saw the remainder of his comrades retreating on the other side of the flames, back up the ridge. Good thing, that. He smiled, wishing them to get away. If he too got away he'd come find them once his legs stopped shaking. Maybe they'd gather round the campfire, dealing out hugs and slaps on the back, celebrating that they were alive and mourning the ones they'd lost.

It was when his friends came back down the ridge again that he knew he'd forgotten something. Something important.

The Sulfreyans! They were still coming! Were they still coming? Would they really brave a band of horrors such as these? Yebelto could hardly believe it. But then he saw them, through the flames even, crashing down the ridge in a cavalry wedge. Oh gods. His comrades were trapped, running desperately, even if it meant into the flames. The horned knights would not risk going too close, would they? They'd have to circle back and around, and his friends would be safe for a while longer at least. Anytime now. They'll stop. The Sulfreyans will stop. Anytime now. Please. Any -

- oh no.

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---

Thuk Meuch-Tok could hardly believe the carnage before him. He had been shocked at first, frightened even, but soon set his shoulders and gritted his teeth. He had been right when he'd made the call earlier. It was heads on spears for the lot of them. They would prove an altogether tougher challenge, this group of strangers, but there could be no room for compromise. He could not let them anywhere near his homeland. As he and his knights bore down the slope to the few barbarian stragglers, his hand found its way to the amulet he wore around his neck. It bore the semblance of the Golden Face, of his god Ael-Gol. He knew he could only use it in the most dire of emergencies, knew that the cost would be great...

...But if not now, when?

He raised his spear high as he bellowed the incantation, as mush a war cry as it was a spell. Krakat ra-gash! he roared, Sagrag no-gut! AEL-GOL! As his warriors mirrored his cry, he held the amulet aloft and braced his eyes. Suddenly, with a deafening boom of thunder, the enchanted effigy erupted in a searing light, washing away all shadows on the plain for an instant. The wall of flame separating him and his knights from their quarry was snuffed out, the path made clear. He hardly bothered with the barbarians at this point; let the horses trample what was left of them under their furious hooves. The easterlings screamed their despair as they were crushed beneath the charge, but the wailing was short lived. Thuk swept down in front of his knights, coming in low for the kill. The wyvern crossed the distance in mere moments, baring its dagger-like teeth and brandishing its lethal stinger as it went for the kill. Moments before they collided, Thuk caught a sudden glimpse of steel somewhere in the air in front of him. Then, suddenly, he saw no more. It probably had something to do with the knife sticking out of his face.

When Svanhild called for order, for information, it was the black-clad witch who answered first. Perhaps not so deranged as she seems, that one. A shame that she couldn't have brought better news: her first few words confirmed all of the frost giant's direst fears. Damn it all! Not ten minutes in and we're already discovered—did that abomination drop us here on purpose, knowing this would happen?

It didn't matter. She had to keep her head in the moment, and navigate through this as she always did. The forest would offer us cover and slow their pursuit, but there's no guarantee they wouldn't run us down before we reached the treeline. What's more, if word of our presence gets back to Sulfrey, we'll be hunted all the way to the capital...

"...We stand our ground," the giantess finally declared. It helped that the pyromancer had raised up some form of cover, enough to guard against archers and buy the group a little time. "Ogre, you're with me. We'll break their advance, trap them together—the rest of you can flank them then, and unleash Hell upon them all. Do not let any of them escape." Routing the enemy would not be enough: they had to end this immediately, and with overwhelming force. If anyone on her side showed mercy, if any of them even hesitated long enough to let an enemy slip through their fingers, it could end up spelling doom for them all.

With this lot, though? That may be the one thing I'll never have to worry about.

No time for further thought. A rallying cry tore through the air, accompanied by a flash of light that forced Svanhild to shield her face with one hand. Even as she squinted against the light, however, her other arm moved with unerring precision, turning her sword-point earthward her lips muttered words in a long-forgotten language.

Blue ice erupted outward from either side of her blade, and within heartbeats crystallized into the form of a massive tower shield. Taller than Svanhild herself, wide enough for three grown humans to hide behind side-by-side, and with long spikes on its lower edge that the frost giant now drove into the earth with all her formidable strength.

"Steady—!"

And then the enemy was upon them. A roiling mass of flesh and steel and noise and death, led by a mountainous mass of teeth and scales that failed to swerve at the last moment as its rider took a dagger to the eye, that failed to stop itself before it crashed head-on into Svanhild's frozen barricade and sent cracks spiderwebbing across the shield, as the giantess roared her lungs out and dug powerful toes deep into the soil and held, held her ground for all that she was worth, held just long and hard enough to bring the wyvern to a full halt and leave it momentarily stunned while the horses behind it stumbled or reared away from a massive and unexpected obstacle, and she wanted to scream out NOW, to tell all those mad bastards she'd been stuck with that this was their chance, before the damn beast recovered and tore into them all. But her breath was all spent, her efforts wholly focused on checking the monster's advance, and in that moment she could only pray to all her ancestors that they would somehow manage not to fuck this up.

@Red Wizard @MrSkimobile @Abstract Proxy @Lurking Shadow @Drifting Pollen

Azir

Azir seemed to drop Brorin on his back, being glad he was awake. She had a big grin while helping him up to his feet. “Me glad you alive, little man. Me thought you dead.” She patted him on the back, making him almost fall over again and turned her attention towards the barbarians coming towards them and screaming again while swinging her massive club above her head. As they came closer, she would swing at them, causing some of them to be knocked off their horse. Most of them tumbled onto the ground, although some were left with crushed pelvis and hips. Blood was splattered on the grass, making oddly beautiful patterns. A few barbarians were throwing spears or trying to attack her with their blades. Gaining slashes from their attacks, Azir grunted in pain but kept attacking them, using her big hand to smack a barbarian armed with a sword, grabbing another from their horse, biting the head off the man and spitting the severed head to knock off one of their attackers going after Omiku. Licking some of the blood from her lips, she couldn’t wait to eat their innards. Watching in amazement as the shadow girl was sucking up the blood of the fallen raiders. Although sneaking around was not her preferred method of fighting, she thought her abilities were quite curious. The ogre protected Omiku by keeping her in the ogre’s shadow.

The ogre was laughing while the savages were trying to bring her down. The human’s confidence in thinking they could beat her in a fight was quite amusing. She was using her club to knock the heads of a few barbarians with one clean sweep, at one point picking up a corpse and using that as a makeshift club and stomping forward using her considerable feet to kick the horses that they would be riding on. Doing her part to help defend the group, she was glad the first wave of enemies was dealt with.

However, her victory was temporary. She noticed the second group charging towards them, and her eyes were focused on the Wyvern flying towards them. “Stay close.” she said to Omiku while ensuring her huge body would give Omiku enough shade. “Me help crush em.” Responding to the ice giant’s command and preparing herself for the incoming clusterfuck.

By this point, her bloodlust had risen to a fever pitch. Not caring much for the necromancers bringing back the dead barbarians. She thought the two were very weak because they hid behind corpses instead of fighting their enemy face to face. She planned to bring down that Wyvern no matter what it took. This was mainly so she could brag and say she accomplished such a feat. Not looking afraid, she started running toward the soldiers, wanting nothing more than to rip their limbs from their sockets. Azir got a good running start before jumping as high as she could. It was pretty impressive to see an ogre jump so high. She was slamming her club into the head of the wyvern. This, combined with the knife in the man’s face, caused them to crash into the ground. This would probably help them deal with what she presumed was the leader. “Haha, you pathetic.” Laughing loudly while reaching over to try and take the amulet around Thuk’s neck. It would be a lovely keepsake from this battle.