Thick mists clung to the slums of an unarmed district, the thick sprawls residing within an unimportant town. Black figures obscured by the pea soup ran around spending as little time in the fog as possible. It was not known for this part of Ostland to ever have had this sort of natural fog. Plenty of raids from roaming vampires and chaotic magus had tempered the citizen’s usually ignorant attitude and even the simpletons realized this was a sign of foul magics. Every person within the slums was to spend the night wishing against the odds that they were not the target for the next magical encounter.
Well, nearly every person. Legio stalked through this fog, the unnatural mists seemed to boil and froth at his presence. A note hung from his gauntleted hand one that had intrigued and slightly disturbed him. No clear signs of magic or even activation of the foul energies had been summoned when the instruction was fulfilled but still a voice had declared from no apparent speaker, he had an hour to prepare before teleporting. Whatever teleporting was anyway.
But now, just as promised a stale fog had descended upon the town and was swathing everything in its grip. Most figures lurched away as Legio approached them, even in the fog it was easy to tell from the sounds that he was fully armoured, heavy plates hung from a series of straps that covered his body spreading the weight across his entire mass. He was close. So very close to the source of the magic, his muttering increased in volume and those that turned away from him, now did so at an increased pace.
It was sudden, one moment the fog and fleeing shapes surrounded him and then the world was turning and warping, clearly he had come across a powerful sorcerer for it to distort reality like this. Then, just as suddenly as it had started the surroundings changed and he found himself in a white room with his shield, mace and gauntlets gone, only his armour spikes remained. The sudden light of the surroundings blinded him and his sense of balance abandoned him.
Swinging a punch in a wide arc as he fell to the floor, blinking back tears as the light stung his eyes, his stomach retched but to no avail. He had been fasting for weeks now in the pursuit of magicians it is always beneficial to have a mind clear of the sluggishness caused by a full stomach. Landing with a loud clatter, the plates of his armour drew attention to not only his appearance but in-ability to now get up without assistance. Plate armour may provide the best protection but it weighed almost as much as the man wearing it. Thrashing around kicking out arms and legs in all directions unwilling to be at his captor mercy he felt a series of impacts as his lashing limbs connected with objects around the room shouting all the while…
“Heathen! Heretic! Show yourself and receive the forgiveness of the Tor!”