Brennen had never ridden a horse before. The Bog was treacherous, best trekked on foot. Winding, discombobulating paths and unstable ground would turn even the hardiest horses into a feast for the Bog's more bestial inhabitants. The look in his eyes screamed uncertainty as he slowly - maybe even warily approached one that stuck out to him, a thoroughbred blood-bay, sturdy and sinewy. The creature looked back on him with black, penetratingly empathetic eyes that seemed to pierce through him like a clean blade. Brennen outstretched a callused, dark hand, placing it on the creature's forehead and rubbing up and down slowly. The horse, as if sensing Brennen's uncertainty, nickered quickly, shaking its head briefly.

Brennen's hesitation had turn into resolve after having broken the barrier of touch. A few of the tribes back home had emphasized the domestication of creatures in the Bog, most typically being the packs of red wolves that inhabited the dryer grasslands outside the marshes. Those tribes seemed to base their entire culture around the domestication and taming of the wolves, using them as hunting aides, companions, and even clothing or raw materials for those that didn't survive. The Bog worked like that. Respect-to-the-dead was an unknown concept to the Pyromancers who emphasized pragmatism above all else. Fallen warriors had their bodies searched for useful resources, weapons, or anything else that might help the survivors last a little longer. Personal effects were left be, and once peace came, their corpses would be cremated, ashes discarded to the tribe's campfire so they may join Valaista forever, truly one with their Inner Fire.

But Brennen could feel something of a bond with this particular horse, despite his complete and utter ignorance in how he would actually ride it. He was thankful, at least, that the horses were already cleaned and saddled. After grabbing a pack, he made the first, among several attempts to mount it, inwardly cursing himself at each failure. He felt like a child, idiotically failing even the simplest of tasks. But finally, he managed to awkwardly step into the horse's saddle, incurring another annoyed nicker from the creature. Soon, the company was off, with Brennen trailing at the end of the line, struggling in silence to control the horse's movement.

The traffic of people from all different walks of life fleeing to Dramon filled Brennen with a sense of sober reflection. The threat of annihilation, the most terrible kind-of death had swiftly eliminated petty ideals of classism and social elitism. There was unity now in a mutual enemy, civilization falling back to the tribes. But as the party seemed to be the only group riding towards the danger, it gave off the instinctive sense of dread. Riding into the storm.

As night fell and the Templar dismounted, Brennen grimaced from the ache in his legs and thighs. On foot he could walk miles more than most men without complaint, face hazardous trails with agile quickness. But here he was disadvantaged, outside his element. The road would make swift work of him, were he not able to rise faster.

But everything stopped once that scream pierced through the edge of the forest. In that moment, Brennen remembered the Bog. Those screams all around him, bleeding with the screams from his own brothers and sisters in haunting chorus - the swamp set on fire, scattering the treeline like stars come to earth. How terrifyingly human, yet inhuman at the same time. Endless waves of monsters emerging from the darkness, scores of them burnt to cindered corpses, yet two scores more behind that one. Their screams, noises had stayed in Brennen's head, even longer after they were dead. And now they had come back.

"Scorned." Brennen declared, unaware he was speaking aloud as he swiftly dismounted his horse, temporarily unaware of his fatigue as his body was renewed with adrenaline. Without thinking, he reached to draw his axe, clenching it tightly, ashed knuckles turning white. His fingers tingled, twitching as he felt flame stoke from within, wanting to be let out. There was no telling how many Scorned he, and others had killed in the days before the tribe fell. Fire destroyed them easily enough, as it cleansed nearly all it touched. But still, more would come.

Then It emerged - a large wolf, twisted and deformed by the rot that plagued the Scorned, plagued the Mountain. The unholy fusion of vegetation and flesh, the lesser of both parties.

"Brennen, Kean, secure the horses away from here! The rest of you, get ready. Don't let it get a hold of you, or you're as good as dead."

The Templar's commands sent Brennen into swift action, using his free hand to grab his horse's reins and pull it back from the road, strength normally unbecoming of him giving his actions ease.

"Take them to the other side of the road!" Brennen shouted to Kean. The open space would make it easier to corral the horses, keep eyes on the Scorned. But whatever plan he had, they would need to act fast and decisively.

Kean Jossun

---

Kean hadn’t dismounted as the Templar ordered, part born from petulance, but mainly due to his extreme exhaustion; it had been almost three days now since he’d slept, so in that moment you may as well have asked him to clear a mountain with a single bound – it wasn’t happening. As a result, whilst he was peering at whatever the shadowy beast could have been, he was almost thrown from his horse. Its crest struck him in the chin. His body lolled. His neck snapped back dangerously fast. Yet his thighs gripped the beast tightly; having spent more time on horseback the past week than he had on his own two feet, or in a bed, it was second nature. Iron and copper pangs swilled around his mouth. He lurched forward, midsection set ablaze from the effort. Snatching up a handful of mane, he steadied himself, and patted the blue mare’s neck. It bristled but calmed.

“Fuck,” he muttered, spitting a glob of red into the grass.

All that had happened so quickly, but now the silhouette had stepped into the light, and an abomination was revealed.

“Fuck,” he said again. The respite of sleep had been so close.

"Brennen, Kean, secure the horses away from here! The rest of you, get ready. Don't let it get a hold of you, or you're as good as dead."

As Kean began dismounting, that thing, the scorned, charged. He hobbled, bow-legged and saddle-sore beyond what he ever thought possible, gathering up the reins of his horse and another's. The whites of their eyes were all too visible. They were well-trained, having not yet bolted, but the whinnying and twitching and ragged breathing belied their disposition.

"Take them to the other side of the road!"

Kean stared at Brennen, but, after a moment, nodded mutely. He eased on the reigns, slowly adding more strength as the horses came with him.

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the Fae ascend heavenwards. He turned, his step quickening as he pulled the horses further. The sigh of loosed bolts was unmistakeable behind him.

“Fuck.”

Neil stepped back, and held his shield to the night sky, so it reflected the light of the moon. Shadows begin to pool around his feet as he begun to chant. The shadows began to crawl up his body and towards the shield. His prayer was one of illumination from the darkness and protection from evil.

The shadows began to reach from the ground around the cleric and towards his fellow adventurers. As the shadow connected to the shadows or feet of his companions, at first there was a chill of darkness, but then it soften and warmed into a feeling of power and hope. A small candlelight in the darkness, granting them endurance to withstand the beast.

“You’re sticking out like a sore thumb, my tall comrade. I hope your magic is worth my vigilance.”

Hovering in the air behind Adra, the Fae ignored the Orc's comment; instead choosing to focus fully on her spell. She had only cast this spell a few times, but something in the back of her memory told her that if she were to cancel or interrupt it midway, the consequences would be bad!

" ... enter my grasp; enter death... "

The violet light in her hand had suddenly shrunk to a tiny purple bead of light now in her palm, and as she uttered the spell's name; all light within 60ft of her vanished; leaving the area in complete dark, where only the dim light of the bead was visible...

"DARK RAY!"

Less than a second later, the light returned as a shrieking beam of seething violet light and shot out from the Fae's palm! The beam passed less than half a meter right over the Orc warrioress' head, to dig down into the ground before the charging wolf monstrosity! Zana lifted her palm slightly, aiming the dark ray towards the charging beast! The violet beam passed along the ground in a perfect line right towards the scorned, the ground rapidly withering on either side of its path to leave a hazy mist of white in its wake! The beam crossed the wolf's path; and where there had once been a wolf there was instead a passing cloud of dust gently falling towards the party.

Yet the beam continued onward, not stopping until it reached the woodline! Trunks of large trees were disintegrated before the spell ended, their still remaining tops falling to the ground with the sound of heavy crashes in the night dark!

"I got it!" Zana exclaimed proudly, pointing a finger at the long, 3ft wide and deep groove going across the surface; its edges covered with fine white dust and surrounded by discolored plant and grasslife that oozed a strange, dark purple gas.

"I said I was the greatest sorceress from the gro,-WHOAH!"

Zana was about to continue; cancelling the fly spell to fall down to the ground; but failing to account for the greater weight of her tome; causing her to fall right after it like a doll chained to a rock before crashing into the ground with a heavy 'thud' behind Adra!

As the wolf charged, and his party took to their orders, Val steadied himself. That scream was all too familiar to him, and as it barreled for him he could not shake the memory that came with it. It had been the first time he had crossed the border into Scorned territory...

There had been three Templar's that night, Jok, Aliyah and himself, tasked with reconnaissance deep behind enemy territory. They had set up camp in a village on a cold night, Val had used his pyromancy skills to light a small fire in the fireplace of a house. To mask their presence, they shut all windows and kept a watch on the door for any sign of the enemy. It had been Val's watch, fighting sleep and cold with little more then a blanket and freezing water. The same scream broke through that silent night, like a tear in a fine fabric. It made his adrenaline pump, there was a child in danger. Now, Templar code would go against this, the saving of an innocent but Jok thought differently. Not all Templar's were like Val, some had hearts but Val quickly learned there was no longer a place for such a thing.

Jok of course left, followed by Aliyah and then himself. They argued over the merits of a saving a child, and how it was against protocol but Jok would not have it, and Aliyah eventually agreed that it was worth checking out. Grudgingly Val went along, he still didn't understand what prompted Jok to go against orders but in the end it no longer mattered. They had found the "child", a wolf infected with the scorned and as it screamed, Val felt a horrible terror overtake his body. It was an abomination with a child's scream, a child's scream! As it charged them he panicked and fumbled with his sword, dropping it on the hard ground. The wolf had been nearly on him when Jok stepped in front of him, spearing the thing with his own sword through its chest, but the creature snapped at his throat in return. With his jugular slashed, Jok died painfully and before Val could compute what had happened, in the distance more screams could be heard.

Aliyah's shouting finally brought him back to his senses, and with the fear of being overwhelmed, they had to leave Jok's body behind. With little time to think, they raced back to the village. All the while he could hear the other wolves getting closer, with branches breaking and deep growling heralding their frightful steps. Once at the village, they got the horses and made a beeline for friendly territory. Their mission was a failure, their cover blown and wolves at their feet they had but little choice to retreat. They should have stopped, they should have fought, but such fear the wolves drew from him that he only wanted to flee. It was against everything he knew as a Templar, fleeing from the situation but he couldn't stop himself. It only drove him further when Aliyah shouted, and when Val looked back the Wolves were after them still and steadily gaining.

He got his horse to leg it even further, but Aliyah's horse wasn't so lucky. The last thing he saw was the horse buckling, he knew not why, and then came her screams. They faded as the horse kept on running, and the eery silence of the night took hold once more. Needless to say he delivered his report, and then punished severally for his failure, and then for Jok and Aliyah's failure. He still hated himself for fumbling with that sword.

Back in the present, his hold on Sanctity was firm but he did not have to wait for the wolf to meet them. The creature was obliterated, as well as the forest in front of them, by the Fae's magic. He had severally underestimated how powerful that attack would be, and was slightly taken aback at how destructive it was.

He looked at Zina from where she now was on the ground, "You certainly 'got it'. He said sarcastically, before continuing in a normal tone, "More will be coming, and it'd be useless to try and outrun them on horse. They've caught us before. From what we've gathered, their scouts in a sense- usually run in packs of five to eight. Discouraging that they are this far into the interior so soon. Kill them without remorse, they deserve nothing less."

And from the forest came the distinctive sounds of large animals running, with the breaking of sticks and as they got closer, their growls. True to his word, six wolves erupted from the trees and charged them. Two wolves were brown, another silver and the reaming three were hairless beasts. All were twisted with the disease of the scorned, making them dangerous foes. The anticipation was great, but once again Val held onto Sanctity, and as the wolves fell upon them, it burst into flame. This flame illuminated the area in warm light, and as one of brown wolves jumped for him, Val swung in return.

@Rithy@Sofaking Fancy@Leotamer@jdh97@Ghost Shadow@Zetsuko

Brennen waited but a moment longer to ensure Kean sprang into action. The younger man looked as tired by the road as any of them had, but his quickness on the uptake impressed Brennen. The horses were disciplined, dauntless, but the Scorned seemed to wield a power more terrible than fang or poison: fear. Terror strong enough to send some men quivering to their knees. Perhaps it was the utter unholiness of their appearance; their untamed, feral savageness as the Blight, its vines, tore at them.

As the attack began, almost immediately, the tall Fae and pallid boy-priest performed some sort-of dark spell or ritual. Shadows gathered about the priest, dispersing like forks to seize the other adventurers. Brennen cursed under his breath, stepping away as if to avoid the tendrils of darkness seeping towards him. This darkness, this 'magic' as it were; no good words were spoken of it in the Bog, though its practice remained infamous. Divination by fire was common among the tribes' wise-men-and-women, reading flame to discern divine messages, predict the future. But even amongst them, superstitious fanatics began associating pyromancy with the shadows their fires cast on the ground, and pursued darker arts; communing with spirits, summoning shadows, manipulating another's Inner Flame to return them from death. Those pagans' reign of terror was short-lived, snuffed out quickly by the other tribesmen, but their ill-fame-and-fortune left a black stain on the tribes' history, like a weeping wound refusing to heal.

Suddenly, the light surrounding them vanished entirely, centered around a tiny bead that was floating in the tall Fae's palm. Brennen's earlier cautiousness became anger as a wave of cold washed over him. But before he could try and rebuke the currently-hovering Fae, the bead in her hand turned to a ray that disintegrated the Scorned monstrosity, along with a substantial part of the treeline.

As if pleased with the result, the Fae asserted her proclamation as 'Greatest Sorceress of the Brightwood Grove', yet fell to the ground with a 'thud' before her sentence could be finished.

As light returned, Brennen quickly resumed corralling the other horses with the ones he and Kean had already gathered, but not before saying to the Fae, with accusatory venom, "That is no sorcery." His voice did not raise, or possess any immediately notable anger, but it nevertheless seemed to speak volumes of his own displeasure, the suspicion surrounding the kind-of magic displayed before him.

The break in battle was short-lived, wrought with fear, as five more wolves burst through the dark woods, three of them now driven hairless by the plague that contorted their bodies and decayed their minds. The Templar found himself waylaid by one of the wolves, while one of the hairless mongrels licked at non-existent lips dripping froth and venomous drool, sizing the Pyromancer up-and-down.

Saying nothing, Brennen's mouth twisted to a scowl of rage, a low growl from deep in his throat seeming to answer the wolf in kind. Flexing his fingers in anticipation, a ball of fire materialized in his left hand, glowing and crackling brightly as it fed on his anger as he faced the monstrosity. With a sudden snarl, the wolf lunged at Brennen in a single bound, who in turn hurled the ball of fire from his hand, letting it collide mid-air with the wolf; who's guttural screech devolved into yelps and whimpers of pain as the flames gorged themselves on flesh and vegetation, leaving the beast to keep screaming that horrifyingly human-like scream.

Brennen drew the hand-axe at his side with his right hand and, without a moment's hesitation, swung the blade down on the Scorned's skull with a sickening 'crunch', and the screaming stopped. In a moment of defiance, of challenge, maybe, Brennen used his foot to kick the still-burning corpse on its back; the shadows of night blending with the sickly-black smoke, obscuring most of his hooded face from view. Yet his reply burned in the firelight.

Keenan didn't even flinch as the wolf was obliterated in front of him. He kept facing the woods until the rest of the corrupt pack showed itself and charged the party. rather than remain braced, however, Keenan charged for the silver wolf as it came towards him. As he charged he subtly tapped into the magic the Fae left behind in the wake of her spell, no one would be the wiser but as the two were about to meet the wolf's front legs were suddenly snared. The wolf was stopped for the split second needed for Keenan to drive his knee into the underside of it's jack, and with a wet crack the wolf's jaw was broken. The stunned beast was then subjected to a flurry from the Twin Fang's blades, ending it's miserable life.

Standing over it's body Keenan roared a challenge at the other brown wolf and it came barreling into him in answer. He took the charge and the two entering a fierce grapple.

---

As soon as the first wolf was gone Lothian aimed for the treeline and began shooting with his crossbow a moment before the wolves had come charging out of the woods. He continued aiming as he had before, taking every available shot to either weaken, maim, or kill. He slowly stepped backward to put himself behind the others as he did to avoid the melee so he could keep firing but he drew his shortsword in case it found him anyway.

Kean Jossun

---

Icy fingers traced along his spine, bringing a violent shudder. Magic. Odd magic, not exactly malign, but… dark? A dagger was in Kean’s hand now, gripped tight with new resolve.

No sooner had he turned from the horses when everything black, save for the dim light hovering in the air. Reflexively, a hand went to his face in panic, but nothing obscured his vision. Then, the world exploded back into light, accompanied but a purple front of destructive energy; it reaved the life from everything that crossed its path, tearing the ground asunder with frightening ease. Kean stood, stunned. He was at once inspired and demoralised by the display.

The Fae fell to the ground, and Kean relaxed, the beast slain. More than slain, obliterated. With the last of the horses corralled, he offered a shaky hand to the Fae, assuming it over. He was going to make a snide comment about how the beast was lucky that he didn’t get to deal with, but then the low-burning anger in Brennen’s words surprised Kean into silence. Not that he had time to muse over it, as five more perverted wolves tore towards them, as the Templar warned.

The night was filled with twisted-human screams. It was a sound that squirmed into your skull. Kean wanted to claw it out. Man and beast fell upon each other, blood spraying. The burning one was worst. Kean was glad it’s skull was cleaved quickly, a mercy for them both. His face scrunched up at the smell. You would not imagine forgetting how frightening the Scorned were. You'd reckon one could steel their mind. Not Kean. The only thing keeping his frayed nerves together, cauterising the newfound dread, was that black candle burning in the back of his mind, that off-magic.

Kean had fallen tighter behind the wall that was Adra now. Lacking the proficiency to attack with the same reckless abandon as Keenan, or the awesome magic that exalted Brennen and the Sorceress of the Brightwood Grove, he had to hope simple teamwork would suffice. His shifted uneasily.

“I’ve got your back,” He said firmly, trying to hide how he felt. A hairless horror bounded towards them. He could run. He should run. Turf was torn up in its wake. Focus. A deep breath in, then out. Calm. Kean launched his dagger at the monstrosity, his magic propelling the blade at speeds approaching that of a crossbow bolt. From the folds of his clothing a larger blade floated into his grasp, ready to support Adra when the melee broke out.

Neil held his position, shield still angled towards the sky. He need to maintain focus to keep his protection spell in effect. He noticed how the pyromancer had rejected the protection of the night. He guessed it was only fitting that one who held the fire so closely would fear the dark.

He looked over to the pyromancer, and recited a text from one of the many holy-books he had read, "While some may find themselves lost in darkness, those who cling to closely to the light will find themselves blind. The moon gives gentle guidance to any who are willing to look."

"I'm alright; I'm alright!" Zana called out to the Orc as the Fae scrambled to get out of the dirt and to rise back to her full height, before pausing for a moment to look up at Adra.
" ... and thanks!"

She would have said more to the Orc, but as the situation was at the moment; it wasn't exactly an ideal moment for chit-chat! Turning to look out across the battlefield, she saw a few things. Some good, some bad.

On the bright side, there wasn't much left of her first target; which had been wholly disintegrated from this very plane.

On the down side, there were now a lot more targets scampering and running all around them!

"We are a bit too clustered for a Death Sphere or Holocaust spell, I need something with a bit more finesse!"

Zana privately thought to herself, her mind racing through half a dozen different spells; most of which would be useless right now unless she wanted to destroy the party alongside the Scorned! But then; trudging through her memory; she found it, and she crouched down behind Adra!

"Keep them off my butt! I got a solution!" Zana said to the Orc warrioress, before she pulled the sleeve off her right hand and reached down towards the grass at her feet.

The tips of the Fae's fingers would twist and turn for a moment; before transforming into piercing roots that shot down into the ground! Zana closed her eyes and began to recite the names of the other party members to the best of her ability, or at least those she didn't want to possibly end up killing with the spell!
Beneath her, the ground began to move and churn, before the disturbance began to move out to either side of her; snaking across the battleground as it sought out targets, moving between rocks and the feet of the combatants!

As the brown wolf lunged at his body, and the others fought their own wolves, Val readied himself, then sprung into action. He sidestepped the wolf, allowing its momentum to carry it past his left side, Val then went on the offensive, slashing Sanctity down upon the wolf's flank. There came a gut wrenching, human scream from the wolf as the blade sank in deep, then setting the wolf's coat on fire. AN awful stench went up into the air as the coat lit up like an inferno, but as the wolf screamed in pain, it reared back around and lunged at Val. Taken by surprise as the speed, Val was only able to block the attack by stepping backwards, but the gouge in the ground made by Zina's magic made Val trip!

He landed prone on his back, Sanctity still in hand but at a disadvantage now. The wolf came again, but Val thanked Dramoria as the creature slowed. The holy fire had taken its toll, as the wolf was now burned greatly, but it still came at him with intensity. As the charred wolf, ugly and deformed, ran at him- Val sealed it fate. He held Sanctity at the ready, and when the time was right, he used the sun sword as a spear, and allowed the wolf to charge itself into it. It went through its elongated mouth, then through the brain, dropping dead on Val. It took him a moment to collect himself, before he pushed the dead wolf's bulk to the side and as Val stood up, he saw only the other brown wolf being taken head on by Keenan.

It seemed his compatriots had taken on their own wolves, successfully as it did not look like any where injured. Without asking, Val started to head over to Keenan, and help him but before he could, Val was besieged by another wolf! He could hear it running at him from behind, but Val did not have time to evade. He took the hit, and it was like a giant had knocked the wind out him. He was sent sprawling forward, loosing his grip on Sanctity, the blades's fire instantly extinguished as it his the cold earth. Val gasped for air, he could feel a rib or two had broken from the impact and the wolf... where was the wolf? Painfully, he looked behind and saw that the wolf had been trapped by veins. It struggled, screaming in its demonic voice. He looked for Sanctity and saw it near by, but the wolf was nearly loose, so through the pain, Val half ran, half fell towards the blade in a hurry.

His shortness of breath only escalated, but he had done it, and as soon as his fingers touched the blade it ignited once more. The wolf was nearly free now, but Val righted himself and used the rest of his strength to run over towards it, and slice off its head in one fluid motion. Conveniently, the wound was cauterized and no blood spilled from its neck. The head itself let out a choking scream that abruptly cut off, for Val stomped the thing before it could finish.

With the hairless wolf dead, Val fell to his knees, trying to catch his breath. Many questions came to his mind, they would need addressing. Later perhaps. Right now, Val just decided to try and breath.

@Rithy@Sofaking Fancy@Leotamer@jdh97@Zetsuko@Ghost Shadow

The stench of burning wolf-flesh seeped into the air, a foul concoction as the vine-like growths that held the beast's rabid form together emitted a rancid vapor. From the corner of his eye, Brennen could see Kean's face scrunching in disgust at the smell, but Brennen was used to it. It was never a pleasant odor, but it was familiar, and that was enough. Smoke and fire had clung to Brennen for as long as he could remember, burning into the very fibers of his clothes; the pores of his skin; the roots of his hair. Part of him now, his birthright.

The Boy-Priest had seen Brennen reject his prayer to the night, reciting what must have been a scripture or sermon of sorts. The wise-men-and-women of the Bog used such excerpts. Years of study and practice had changed them, made the sermons a part of them. Enough that their way of speaking was peppered with verses, waxed philosophical. Brennen never underwent the training that the wise men did, but he saw enough of their rituals and rites to have a firm grasp on the Pyromancers' religion and beliefs.

"I do not recognize your goddess." Brennen said curtly, still rather on-edge as the twisted cries of the Scorned cut through the night. He was prepared to engage in a sort-of verbal debate with the Boy-Priest in the heat of battle but was interrupted by the shifting and churning of earth beneath him - the Tall Fae's work, once again.

Though displaced, in the distance Brennen could see the Templar, moonglow and firelight reflecting off his armor fallen upon his back, struggling himself against one of the wolves, lit aflame by his blade's enchantment. In an instant, it was finished, the blade plunged through the monster's mouth, ending its miserable half-life. Brennen winced suddenly as his pendant burned in his pocket, as if recognizing the magic present in the Templar's blade, longing to be put to use. There was power locked within it, Brennen could sense as much the moment he picked it up. But power like that never came without cost. There would be time to use it, to feel its power course through him. But not now.

Beset by another wolf, the Templar's life was only saved by quick intervention of the Fae's spell, vines snaring the wolf to the ground to be torn apart, soon beheaded by the Templar's striking blow. As he fell to his knees, Brennen sprinted after him, the adrenaline rush that guided his actions giving him swift feet and graceful movement.

Approaching the Templar, Brennen outstretched an open hand for him to grab onto. "On your feet. Road's not done yet." He said simply, nodding down slightly to his beckoning grip.

Neil lowered his shield, and as he did, the shadows snaked back to him and merged with his own shadow. He placed the gentle shield on his back careful, and began to walk forward.

He did not even look at the pyromancer, but it was clear that was who he was addressing, his words clearly his own as his manner of speaking changed to be less formal than when he quoted holy verses, and it was much more barbed, "Then that is own foolishness. The glory of Luna is plainly visible, through the night sky, and through her priests. As I said, if you look for her, you will find her caring embrace. It is sad to see someone whose heart has been hardened by serving such a fickle master. There is a lot of power in fire, but that power is just as likely to consume your enemies as it to consume you. Be warned, if you burn up : You will burn alone."

Lothian had been crossbow ready and sword out, ready to support any of his companions that needed it while taking potshots when he could. But it seemed few would need it against this foe, one by one the wolves fell to the party. Keenan, Brennen, Adra and Kean, and the Templar, until finally the only remaining wolf-monster was the one Keenan was currently grappling.

Keenan lost his swords not long after the two met, and soon the melee devolved into something of a fist-on-claw fight. Keenan was growling and snarling in almost a similar fashion to the wolf and throwing hard punches when he could or grab the wolf to keep it from rending him with his claws or catching him with his fangs. The fight really was going nowhere slowly, with neither able to land a solid, debilitating hit simply due to their proximity. At least until Keenan made the mistake of headbutting the creature, his hands were on it's throat holding it's jaws away and arms blocking it's claws so he deciding to use the one unoccupied body part in reach: His head, though as his head was unarmored at the time the blow really did more to him than the wolf and in the moment he was stunned he was knocked to the ground, the wolf ready for a killing blow.

Seeing the scene Lothian starting rushing over, taking his shortsword in a reverse grip and throwing his full weight into a stab. He caught the wolf as it was poised over Keenan, driving the blade into it's skull and using his momentum to carry it away unloading his crossbow into it's right eye at point-blank range as he did. In the short distance of perhaps one-to-two feet he fell on top of the monster's corpse.

Panting as he rose back up, pulling his blade out as he did so, he turned to where Keenan was still on the ground. Keenan was not sitting up and seemed like he was trying to come down now that the last threat was dealt with, he was still breathing heavy in a way that could be described as angry. The elf held out his hand to help him up "are you alright friend?" which Keenan accepted after a sigh to steady his breathing "yes, thank you for that" He gave a short nod to Lothian before looking around for where his swords ended up.

Meanwhile, Lothian started heading back towards the group "I think that is the last of them for now, we might want to move on quickly if we can"

"I think that is the last of them for now, we might want to move on quickly if we can"

"SPIKE GRASS!"

No sooner had Lothian said those words than Zana's spell had finally finished; the Fae focused on her spell-casting calling out the name of the spell.

Within the blink of an eye; the party would find a veritable forests of thorny, rotted spikes shooting up from the very ground at their feet to surround them in a veritable forest of spikes rising as high as 10ft into the air! The violent growths would narrowly miss the group, skewering some of the remains of the wolves with enough force to lift a horse into the air!

Rising from her crouched position, the Fae would look around; the violet hue retreating from her verdant skin and green eyes.

"Oh... were they dead already?"

She asked, tilting her head; looking at the rest of the party through the thicket of spiked roots that had the density of a tightly backed bamboo forest; causing the Fae to have to bob and weave her head slightly in order to be able to even see the other party members.

As Val breathed ragged, he noticed Brennen walk over to him. The Pyromancer then beckoned to Val to get to his feet, his hand waiting. Val gladly took it, but it pained him. He held on to Brennen for a moment and said, "Ribs... broken. Have to keep going. Away from forest. Need to res-" But before he could finish Zana shouted out a spell, and all around them a thicket of spiked vegetation shot up, obscuring his view from other party members.

Val looked at Brennen, "Horses. Then her and I will have a chat." Val then painfully lifted up Sanctity, and began to cut the thicket, lighting it up so they could get out.

Val was dismayed and satisfied with how members of the party had preformed. Most, he hoped, had escaped serious injury other then himself. No one had died either, so that was a plus. But he could not ignore the Fae's antics in the battle. With little warning for what her spells would be doing, she had almost gotten Val killed and then recklessly firing her spells after the battle had one, left a sour taste in his mouth.

For now, Val focused on getting to the horses, so they could escape to safer passages.

@Rithy@Zetsuko@Leotamer@Ghost Shadow

Kean Jossun

---

A handful of moments slipped by before the tension spilled from Kean’s body, his arms falling dead-straight at his sides. One blade dropped from his hands, but then seemed to catch itself mid-freefall, whilst the other drew itself from the lupine corpse, dripping red as it floated back towards him. Both entered the folds of Kean’s clothing to find their hidden scabbards.

“Is everyone-” Was as much as Kean managed before vegetation exploded around them. Ill pillars dotted with sickle blades shot up. Kean felt one cruel edge graze his back. Yet, he didn’t move. Eventually, he let out a breath. The Fae seemed to be the cause. He was beginning to wonder if having such power was really a boon when it was wielded by someone of such immature disposition and questionable sanity.

“They’re dead alright, but we’re not, and I’d like to keep it that way,” He said, as he worked free from the maze. He snagged on a few spikes but was able to get out with only a few minor grazes. He brushed himself off and began making his way towards the horses.

“Is everyone alright?” He managed to finish this time, looking around. The Templar seemed the most injured, and whilst Kean didn’t over help, he bit his tongue to hold back any snide remarks. Recent events had afforded perhaps an iota of respect.