Varian couldn't help but muster a small, momentary smirk at his group's skepticism and caution. These were questions Varian was likely to ask himself, if he didn't already believe the fat merchant knew anything about the tower that could help. He was likely a prestigious merchant here in Ethora who had never stepped foot into one of the old forts of Ethora. They were far too dangerous and likely to collapse. Of course, maybe he would be surprised and the merchant may know more.

"I..." The hooded stout man began. He cleared his throat and examined the map again as if it had the answers he were searching for. "Well, I am unsure of their choices of weaponry... erhm, swords and axes and the like, I imagine? As I said, they are simple brigands from the area, so I wouldn't expect anything too spectacular. As for the fortress itself... I am no expert, but I suppose it should have a main entrance and exit? A side door or...?" He gestured with his arms on the side. "I am unsure, I apologize."

Varian sighed and stood up. He supposed he expected too much of the man. "That's all right," He began and stretched his shoulder. "We'll take it from here. You can go. And we'll keep the first half of the payment, and meet you for the rest," Varian shot the orc a quick 'what-the-hell-are-you-thinking' look before the merchant began to rise to (try and) meet the Highman's gaze and beamed.

“Excellent! I cannot thank you enough, Sirs, and mad'am. Here.” He said, handing the marked map to Varian. “I’ve taken the liberty to mark another area on the map, on the outskirts of Curilan. When the job is complete, proceed to the inn there, known as the ‘Strutting Stag’. I will be awaiting your arrival with the remainder of the payment, in full.” The merchant gave the group a bow of his head. “Good luck, and may the Nine watch over you.” Varian nodded his head, and watched as the merchant strode over to his horse, struggling a bit from his weight to mount it, before finally succeeding. He gave the mercenaries a slight bow of his head, and rode off to the north. Varian put the map away into his bag, and gazed upon his group, checking to see if they were all ready to go. He didn’t want to say anything in front of the merchant, mostly because he didn’t want the man to go back on his word after realizing the ludicrousness of his sum he offered. But at the very least, he knew (and any of these other mercenaries that have been long enough in the business) that if what the merchant said was true, they were about to receive comically high payment for minimal work.

"All right, now we can talk," Varian laid out the map again just as the merchant was out of sight and spoke up. "I recognize the area and the forts in that area. From what I saw and heard, they're all designed similarly. They're fucked." He emphasized. "Bad walls, shabby conditions. Those idiots are as likely to kill anyone that comes in there as the walls would come down over their heads. The forts tunnel down underground into narrower pathways, where numbers won't matter. My guess is they aren't protecting themselves with the fort, they're hiding in it. My guess is they won't have any archers outside. If they do," He motioned with his head toward Edon. "A few quick arrows will take care of them," Varian stood up, grabbing the map with him and adjusting his baldric to ensure it was fully tightened. "It's a week's march to the fort. You fall behind, you're left behind. Let's go."

Edon Wolf
Outside the Gates
Dalenham, Ethora

When Folkmar began asking about Edon's condition, the noble gave him a confused side-long glare. Of course, he didn't know how his own complexion might have looked at the moment. He must have looked about as upset as he felt. The call from the bird and its curious antics irritated him so he shooed it away with a swat of his free hand.

"Mind your own business," Edon said. When Folkmar began to speak for the group, Edon watched for Varian's reaction.

The wool-wrapped fatass knew as much about the fort as he had assumed; that is to say, nothing at all. Once the merchant left, Edon moved closer to study the map in Varian's hands. He was capable of reading maps and the one given to them was quite detailed (Edon knew it must have cost a pretty penny to just be handed away like that). He had a good memory as well and, while Varian spoke, he quickly plotted out a course in his head.

When Varian mentioned archers and nodded toward him, Edon blinked and tilted his head slightly. They didn't have a decent form of ranged combat in the group, however, he seemed to have the only functional set of armor between the lot of them. It made sense that he would end up leading the charge alongside Drostan.

"Quality Ethorian construction," he said in a condescending tone once Varian ended the meeting. At once, he turned and began walking at a swift pace down the road. "I will take point."

The port city of Fornond, Miracia, was much like it was described. Being known for its vast forests, even at the coast, the green of the Miracian trees were planted across the port town's spread out marble buildings. It was beyond beautiful, but it was also strategic. Archers were among the favorite tools of the elves; standard bowmen, longbows, and ballistas hid among the trees to prevent intruders along their shores. It was ironic to Roland. The elves were always peaceful. They detested violence. Yet each tribe in Miracia had much of its own identity. While the peaceful nature of the elves held true with the tribes in the deeper regions of the country, the coastal tribes were known to be influenced by the human wars and of their limited trade with Falke; they were ready for battle.

"Twelve days..." Roland began to utter as he adjusted his bright, steel armor in preparation for their docking in Miracia. “Twelve days on this Gods-forsaken piece of rubbish you southerners pass as a ship. Tella be praised with her gift of the earth, for I have long grown tired of these waters.” He hissed, glorifying the sight of land, not particular on the location. He didn't particular know much about the elves, as he hardly visited there. He had hoped their elven knight would help broker any information they would need, but the elf had left their ship the moment it hit Miracian waters. Roland never asked why he left, and quite frankly, he didn't much care. He turned his head. "Why could we not hug closer to the shore for calmer water?" The knight questioned Captain Crewe with a hint of annoyance.

"That would attract to much unwanted eyes," Captain Crewe stated matter of factly. Roland scoff as the black ship slowly pulled into a small port with a few merchant ships at a fairly kept dock. Roland saw a healthy combination of Falkan traders and eleven locals. Captain Crewe barked orders at his sailors, prepping the ship for landing and the crew for a swift yet bearable arrival. Soon enough, Captain Crewe howled until the ship anchored at the port and was tied down to the poles that were dotted across the port. As the Knights descended down to the wooden port, a rather large group of elven warriors had greeted them. They were covered in bright green light armor, covering their vital areas while hugging their skin for mobility. Roland scoffed at the elven designs. They were hardly going to prevent a single strike of his longsword on the that thin armor. It may as well have been paper. Despite their thinner armor, however, there were quite a lot of them.

Among the elven soldiers was an elf out of armor. With long black hair and youthful features, he hid his age well enough for Roland to be unable to make an educated guess. He wore a dark red silk robe with an elaborate design of golden trees embroidered on the robe. Floral designs were stitched on the edges of the robe, and a few fine golden jeweled rings styled his fingers, completing an image of wealth, importance and regality.

"Welcome, Knights of Ekilore, to Fornond," he said as he greeted the arriving knights with a low bow.

“I assume you are the ‘friend’ the monks spoke of,” Roland said to the man, who raised himself from his bow to meet the gaze of the knight from Ethora.

"Indeed, Sir Knight," The elf answered, with a warm smile. "I am Estallir, advisor to druid Vanya of the shores. I am here to provide you council, and direction on your noble quest. Please, if you would accompany me to my estate. It is not far."

He crossed the gangplank last, squinting in the sunlight. Too bright, too open, too populated. Catskull was wary. As he listened to the elf speak, he came to the decision to not attend the meeting. The others would take care of that. As the others followed the elf, Catskull dipped into the shadows between the encroaching trees and took his own route, scouting the general area and eavesdropping on any conversations he came across, studying the timing of the guards as they went about their rounds. If there was any shady business going on, Catskull bore a solid chance of finding out about it.

It wasn't likely that the elves were actual enemies, but Catskull was well versed in the art of war. If you let your guard down once, you'll be liable to let it down again, and all it takes is one slip, one mistake, one poor choice. Placing yourself at the mercy of a host may seem mundane and common, but time and time again have legions been taken in by friendly deception and massacred by those they trusted. The strong fighters of old always placed themselves beyond the reach of their enemy, to provoke and wait for weaknesses.

When a warrior stops moving, that is when he will most likely die.

Elric stepped off from the ship with his spear in one hand and his quiver with bow and arrows over his shoulder. He was ready to fight if the need arose, but made no outwardly aggressive moves. His people got along well with the elves. He had a second cousin who was a wealthy trader, and he had visited Miracia with him once a few years ago, even doing some business in Fornond, so he was somewhat familiar with the place. He gave a respectful nod to Estallir as the elf greeted them and prepared to follow the noble elf and his retinue.

As Estallir had said, the walk to his estate was a short one. His residence was by far the largest and most easily noticeable of all of the homes in Fornond. Rather it was more of a mansion among shacks, something that obviously didn’t fit with the serene environment it was placed in. In fact, Roland felt that way about the man in general. Where the port town appeared more as a a hidden, peaceful gem, Estallir seemed bred for the city life, where he was probably daily pampered and spoiled, wearing the finest clothes the lands had to offer, and eating the rarest of delicacies. He seemed a connoisseur of all items of rich value. Roland did not doubt that even as they approached his estate. He glanced at his other fellow knights and noted the odd Catskull fellow had taken off from the group. He was likely sulking around, but chose not to accompany the main group to the estate, it seemed.

The mansion was decorated with engraved silver and gold, with the front gate guarded by statues of bright, golden trees. All around was a fence thrice the size of any man, with sharp edges at the end to keep the unwanted away. Roland couldn’t help but wonder from whom exactly they were hiding. The monks mentioned ‘nefarious groups’, if he recalled correctly. Was that the purpose of this secrecy?

As Estallir led them inside, Roland found the interior of the mansion to be just as majestic as the outside, if not more so. Tapestries, paintings, and rare art were hung from the walls. The finest linen decorated the ceilings and windows, and suspended from the ceilings in each room were chandeliers, every one of intricate and unique design, and as Roland noted, none of them being the same.

They were led from this room into an adjacent one on the side. Estallir motioned for the guards inside the home to depart from the room they now stood in, what appeared to be a library of sorts, where resided a collection of books and scrolls that, while did not quite match the magnificent one of the monks, did come close to its size and wealth of knowledge. Estallir walked over to the door which led to this room, and closed it shut, the knights all gathered inside. He locked it, and then wandered over to a desk which was located in the middle of the room. A few open books lay there, though he did not seem interested in them at the moment. The man stood behind the desk, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed upon each of the knights, examining their features in preparation of addressing them.

"I will skip right to business. It is how I have always done things. Have any of ever heard of the... oh how you would say it in your tongue... The Dragon Stone?" Estallir asked as he made eye contact with each of the individuals before him. None immediately spoke up, so Estallir continued. "You might not have, it is known among the elves, but not quite so outside of here.

Generations ago or so the stories are told, a young traveling wizard had come across a stone and gained immeasurable power. It was said he could create anything from nothing. An unnatural ability. And one scarcely known in our world. But then, miracles were appearing left and right. Suddenly, fields were overflowing with crops and the people were healthy. He was heralded as a savior, a hero. This wizard decided to continue his good work across Aerion and aided the people whenever he could, using his gifts as a charity. In his old age, he took an apprentice with the hopes his student would continue his good works."

"Let me guess," Roland said. "He didn't."

"How astute," Estallir glanced at Roland with a smile, but then shook his head, "But not the whole truth. At first the student was filled with great promise and served the aging hero with great enthusiasm. However, the powers he had learned and further amplified with the Dragon Stone corrupted the young apprentice. It seems not all power is to be used so brazenly as he did. And in his prideful recklessness and greed, he took the stone for himself. Using the stone, he created only the finest jewels and tapestries, for himself of course. He then began creating more. Not just objects, but horrifying monsters to do his bidding, monsters he had created, or in some cases, revived from death. Eventually, people began to fear what would become if the apprentice went unchecked. So the people rose up and challenged the man. Much blood was said to have been spilled, but he was defeated." Estallir concluded and glanced at the knights, noting some of their confusion with the tale.

"To many, this story is a children's tale we tell our young ones to warn of the dangers of greed," Estallir explained. "To those old enough to remember, this is not a story. It is history." Estallir walked from around the table, grabbing a book on his way before continuing his story: "The freshly defeated apprentice was sealed away in an abandoned temple in these very mountains, just a tad to the north. The stone was sealed with him as it was believed to be too dangerous for lesser men to possess."

"So what? What does the Dragon Stone have to do with anything?" Roland asked, irritated by what he believed to be a long-winded children's tale. The story had dragged on for long enough.

"You must be Roland. I have heard about you. Well Sir Roland, it so happens that the Dragon Stone is in fact a shard of the Orb of Ardor," Estallir said with a grin, as he rose the book he was glancing at to reveal an artistic recreation of the Dragon Stone. It was a red shard, clearly broken off from a larger work. "The elves of Miracia are a peaceful peoples. Yet recently, our mountains have been cursed. Horrible atrocities have been occcuring recently. Terrible murders and slaughters... the things that have done these, I dare not even describe, for you would have to see for yourself to truly understand... and believe. But if you truly wish to claim the Dragon Stone, or the shard of the Orb of Ardor if you prefer, you will have to seek the temple, cleanse it, and defeat he who wields the stone. Do that and you will have not only the shard, but a legacy in the land of Miracia. Of that, I can promise."

The grey man scoffed a little bit, but seemingly out of mirth, instead of disgust. In truth, he was a bit incredulous. The raven squawked loudly, before hopping into the air, flying in a circle around the merchant's head, and wheeling back to perch on Folkmar's shoulder. The bird hunched forward, as if skeptical, but its facial structure made it seem somewhat satirical. Ignoring the bird's comedic antics, the grey man moved forward just a bit.
"What way is that to speak to someone with whom you'll be fighting?" he remarked.
The gesture to this angry man at the mention of archers, and his assertion to take point, seemed to cause Folkmar to become rather cross. His brow furrowed, and he sloped his shoulders forward. In his irritation, he quietly took his shield, and gripped it in his left hand, before giving it a shake to grant it visibility.
"Sending some fancy-man to the front when you have an orc to do the job," he grumbled rather audibly, "If anyone can take getting shot by an arrow, it's me."
And then there was the grand anticlimax. These bandits, simple as they may have been, were likely hiding. Cowards sunk in a hole under a crumbling wall. Folkmar spat at the ground. There was no strength in that. Even with a fight on the horizon, his mood was soured with the prospect of a challenge stripped away.
"Then we'll just knock the walls down and be done with it," Folkmar remarked, coming astride his war dog, and offering the last of his now dry haunch from the night before to the steed, as the raven picked at the scraps that hung off its tusks.
"Not going back on my word- already said I'd do it. But seems a waste of my talents to simply gut a group of cowering spineless gophers. Feel like you should have been more forthcoming with this information when passing out jobs I do, Varian the drunkard."
The way sat and spoke, as well as the position of his hands, seemed to indicate that Folkmar was keen to ride off.

Varian snorted slightly at Edon's confident pace down the road. Varian admired confidence, but he also knew such confidence and boldness could lead to arrogance, and arrogance could get people killed. The Highman didn't think Edon was the type to let arrogance get the best of him, but he noted the man's reaction nonetheless. Though, he didn't much physically respond to it beyond his smirk.

Toward his new orc companion, he was more forthcoming. After the orc had finished, the Highman turned to him as they continued walking. "I didn't choose Edon to deal with any archers because he could 'take a hit,'" he explained matter-of-factly, though it appeared to be almost cold, even if unintentional. "I did it because he's fit and quick. He could get to an archer and use his knife or sword to take him out before the archer could see it coming," Varian gestured around the orc, including his animals and his weapons. "You've got too much going over here to pull that off, and Drostan's spear as a second option in case Edon fucks it up."

Varian then shook his head and cracked his neck. The pain from the front of his head was subsiding, as he believed any hangover he had was now passing. "And we can't knock the walls down on them. The point of the mission is to get the girl. If we kill the girl, we don't get paid. I don't know about you, orc the zookeeper," he commented, referring back to the way the orc had previously referred to him. Quite honestly, Varian enjoyed the title. It was probably one of the better names he was called. He continued, "but I want to get paid. We'll have to go inside the fort, gut anyone we see in our way, get fat man's girl, and get out." The Highman had adjusted his axes on his back, making sure they were secure before he turned forward again, ready to begin their journey.

Kace regarded the elf with a smirk on his face. Things were getting interesting for he and his compatriots. He stepped forward, standing next to Roland and turned, glancing at all the Knights present.

“Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?” Kace smiled as he looked around the room and let his gaze linger on Roland. He wondered if the Ethorian would have his back in the coming trials despite the rocky start to their partnership, or would Roland only seek to do what would benefit Roland, even if it meant leaving the rest of the Knights to their deaths. Kace hoped it would be the former.

Elric gazed in awe at the garishly opulent mansion that Estallir led them to. Clearly the man was accustomed to wealth and wanted other people to know it. The estate's impressive size in comparison to everything else in the town, the rich decorations, and even more lavish interior furnishings seemed almost as if Estallir was bragging about how wealthy he was.

Finally they came to Estallir's library where his guards left them before Estallir, without preamble, began to tell them the story of the Dragon Stone. As soon as Estallir began talking about all the wonders the wizard performed with the stone, Elric guessed that this stone was, in fact, a shard of the Orb of Ardor. Therefore, it was no surprise to him when Estallir confirmed his suspicion at the conclusion of the tale. The account of the corruption of the wizard's young apprentice due to the power of the stone, and the conclusion of that matter, were also quite predictable, and Elric was again not surprised when Estallir explained that they would have to find the temple where the apprentice was sealed and do battle with the fell creations of the apprentice, and perhaps even the still living (or reanimated?) apprentice himself. This was certainly going to be a dangerous undertaking, but he and his companions had known this from the start. There was no turning back now. He nodded at Roland and Kace, then looked back to Estallir. "Well, then. Shall we be off?"

It had been a good seven days of travel across the flat plains of Ethora. There was not much in terms of scenery other than a few hills and green other broken down fortresses. Their path took them along one of the main roads north, a dirt road which was often the path of traders and other merchants seeking passage between Dalenham and Curilan, and so it was not unusual to see a few of them along that route. Varian figured it would be best to stay along the road for the bulk of their journey, thereby avoiding any unnecessary squabbles that would undoubtedly happen should they stray too far off. After all, poverty brought desperation, and though he didn't fear the low-lives who would try to put a sword against him, neither did he wish for such an altercation. Besides, the trade route would likely have brought a chance to do business. Varian managed to deal with a trader a few days back, picking up a few commodities for a cheap price. It was one of the few things you could expect in Ethora: you may not acquire items of quality, but you're sure to get the cheapest price around.

But eventually, as he followed the marked map of the merchant, they found taking the last leg of their journey off of the road, and into the green plains, as they made their way to the fort located a ways west of Curilan. Eventually, Varian signaled for a halt of the company, double-checking the map once more as he climbed the hill in front of him, falling down to his arms and knees, and crawling to the top, to keep cover. He motioned for the others to do the same. Varian crawled to the top, the blades of grass scratching at his elbows with each push, but doing nothing more than tickling him as he passed over. When he reached the top, he saw it.



In the valley below, an old fort stood at the corner of a cliff, and below the cliff the lush valley of the Ethorian countryside was in full view. The bandits had certainly picked a nice spot to nestle up. But the condition of the fort was another matter. Moss had begun to cling to the sides of the ruined fort, and parts of the building had already began to crumble. The front gate was either destroyed or had been removed, and wood was supporting a few of the walls to ensure it didn't collapse. Observing the immediate surrounding area, there wasn't many places to hide upon approach, besides a few large rocks and perhaps one side of the fort which might be a partial blind spot. However, that might involve stepping too close to the cliff. Varian double-checked the map once more to be sure this was the place, but he was fairly certain: this was the bandit fort.

He scanned over the ruined hideout. The bandits seemed to hide their presence fairly well, obviously intent on not attracting attention to themselves. The positioning of the fort, and the fact that it was so far away from the main road meant that few people would travel far enough to tell if anyone inhabited it. For those who did, they would likely not venture inside, for fear of the collapse of the building on top of them. But he had some experience in forts. He could tell the signs when people were around. For example, the woodwork that was placed on the sides of the fort was recent, to ensure that the wall did not fall. This meant someone was intent on keeping it that way. Certainly the Ethorian government didn't have any more use for the thing. There didn't seem to be anyone around on the outside, which led him to deduce that the bulk of the 20-30 bandits were inside, underground. That probably was where the daughter of the merchant was being kept as well.

Varian turned over on his back as he addressed the other mercenaries laid out next to him. He spoke in a hushed voice, to avoid being heard by the bandits. "Looks like no scouts outside. The fuckers are all hiding underneath. We know what to do. Be careful of collapsing walls. When someone finds the girl, signal the rest. Take out anyone you see inside."

---

"The village of Zinfell should be over this hill if I am reading this map right," Roland muttered as he looked up from his map purchased from the port town. It had been two days of traveling on horseback through the forests of Miracia. The Knights of Ekilore had kept quiet for most of the journey, though Roland occassionally argued Ethorian politics with Kace for parts of the journey. Roland was actually impressed with Kace's insight for his age. He was certainly a more learned man than Roland originally gave him credit for. Not enough to tell it to his face, but enough to take note of it. Estallir had pointed the group to the village of Zinfell, saying it was closest landmark to the temple. Also, the village had experienced a recent surge of raids by the creations of the stone, having been the victims of all sorts of unspeakable creations. Roland had spurned his horse to a gallop taking a more dramatic lead. In a few short moments, the Knights found themselves with the village directly in front of them, and just passed that, on the hill behind it, the fabled temple.

Sadly, Zinfell was not as homely as Roland had hoped for. From the vantage point, Roland could see the ruins of a once peaceful rural village. Black clouds of smoke rose from the burnt rubble of small homes and huts. The surrounding farms drained from any life. The dirt roads that Roland followed to the center of village were soaked with blood. Bodies littered the streets. Some were of once living elves. Others were of monsters. Foul creatures with off-colored skin and coarse teeth. Things that Roland believed only lived in fairy tales.

"Gods, what has happened here?" Roland muttered under his breath, as he pulled into the village, even his horse giving some resistance to enter. As Roland dismounted his stirring horse in the village, his eyes caught sight of the temple in front of them. It was... ominous, to say the very least. It gave Roland a sickly feeling, as if it didn't belong in the surrounding environment. Then, he heard screams coming from the temple. Yelling from villagers as they were taken into the temple, and other sounds, unnatural sounds, as figures made their way out of the temple gates in front of them. "Something comes!" He cried out, and unsheathed his sword.

Roland took a stand in the center of the gate, swallowing his nervousness. It was the mystery of what he was bound to encounter that unnerved him. That mystery, however, was evaporated by surprise... and fear. The large wave of beasts came forth. And Roland's mouth gaped open as the creatures approached. Dark, hideous, hellish creatures marched forward. Undead humans slid their decaying feet across the ground, with all kinds of rotting flesh pouring onto the ground. Large imposing ghouls with sharp fangs dashed on all fours at the head of the pack, while skeletons of former warriors with rusty blades brought up the rear. Strange abominations with body parts of various creatures and monsters blended into the army. Seemingly leading this pack of creatures was a fat monstrosity with bloody fluids spewing all over the ground as he dragged his giant body around. With a roar of the vile beast, the entire army charged forward.

Catskull had been trailing the group at a distance, watching for unwanted followers and traps. What he didn't predict was an army of evil charging from the front, but when he did take a gander he sighed in exasperation and flopped onto his back, feet kicking up and settling along with the rest of his body weight. The others could easily mow down such pathetic adversaries. Humans were scarier than mad beasts and monsters precisely because war is dictated by strategy, not stupidity. Not a single one of those creatures could fight or think with any degree of competency beyond that of a dumb animal. He figured two of the knights at the most was enough.
He relaxed and listened to the battle, sensitive to any foes unlucky enough to wander past the treeline and into his zone. He supposed he'd put in a little work if any of the buggers got in lazy reach.

Edon Wolf
Outskirts of Curilan
Ethora

The journey was largely uneventful. Varian had chosen his path with a surprisingly amount of reservation. Edon seemed pleased with his tact even if he kept to himself during camp. While camping, he kept his equipment cleaned and tidy and kept himself trimmed, shaved and clean. In fact, he took extra care to ensure that his clothing and overall presentation was fit for a nobleman. He was early to bed and early to rise and carried out his night watch with stoic silence - when Varian ordered a night watch, that is. By the time they reached the fort, Edon looked little changed from the first day they stood together outside the gates of Dalenham.

Before they made their final approach to the fort, Edon had found a spot to stow his travel gear. He meticulously checked over his combat gear and made himself ready for a fight. Knowing that they were going to be fighting in close quarters inside an old ruined fort, he decided against bringing his halberd. He was better with the longsword anyway. The last thing he did to get ready was to strap a one-hour torch to his back and fasten a modest length of sturdy twine rope to his belt just in case.

Even if the fort was a run-down piece of shit, it had a good position. Varian identified a blind spot and Edon nodded slowly.

"I am going in at the blind spot," he said. Edon seemed like he wanted to say more, but Varian's words were, essentially, a go-ahead to start the raid. Instead, he looked over to Drosten and nodded before donning his helmet. In the next moment, Edon had moved up the rest of the small hill and was running across the field toward the crumbling fortress. His eyes scanned the walls and the windows as he moved, looking for any potential threats. If anything revealed itself on his way in, he would make it his personal life goal to end them rightly just as quickly as he could get to them.

As Varian said a week ago - Edon was there to start the assault and ensure the rest of them could get in safely. He probably wasn't going to be the first one into the heart of the fort as his goal was to secure the walls.

Elric had his bow strung and an arrow in one hand through the entire ride to the temple. He knew a fight was coming, and so he took no chances at being caught unawares. At any sign of danger, he would take only enough time to discern what it was before taking the appropriate action. Thankfully, the journey to Zinfell had been entirely uneventful. The arrival at the village, however, was far worse. Clearly the monsters created by the stone were a force to be reckoned with, as it seemed nearly the entire village had been slaughtered by the fell creatures. At the sight of the devastation, Elric nocked his arrow, his battle senses now on high alert in case any of the monsters still roamed the village.

It didn't take long for the monsters to show up, pouring out of the temple in front of them. A large hoard of beasts of all manner were now approaching the knights. In the lead was a large, hideous beast beyond what Elric would ever want to describe. Discerning this monster to be, at present, the greatest threat, Elric began firing his arrows at the hulking monstrosity. Unfortunately, he only had a dozen arrows, and so would have to switch to his spear before long and then wait for the remaining monsters to come within range of his spear. For the time being, he would fire his arrows at the lead monster until either it fell, or he had loosed all his arrows on the beast.

Kace rode up beside Roland to investigate the screams from the temple and to behold the monsters running towards them. He glanced at Roland and back to the monsters. Kace knew enough of urban warfare to realize they were in a precarious position, but with the tight alleyways of the small town, the knights could mitigate the numbers of the monsters.

“Roland, I have an idea. I’ll lead them down an alley, they should only be able to fit three or four abreast. That should prevent them from overwhelming us. I’ll take them that way,” he gestured toward an alley to this left, “you and Elric wait for me there,” he pointed to another slim passage in front of him, “I’ll lead them right into your loving arms.” Kace smirked confidently before spurring his horse forward, riding in circles in front of the charging army, yelling and waving his sword above his head.

“Yah! Yah! Come on you ugly bastards! Come and get me!” He shouted some more to garner their full attention before galloping as fast as he could down the alley he had indicated. He raced up and down streets, occasionally glancing behind him to make sure the majority of the horde was still following him.

After a few moments of the chase, he led the horde, which seemed entirely unwinded by their exertions, to the alley he had indicated to Roland and Elric. He had hoped the chase would exhaust them a bit, but he seemed to be mistaken. Kace dismounted his horse at the narrowest section of the passage and drew his axe from it’s loop on his saddle, hefting it along with his sword.

He took his stance, left hand and sword forward, where it’s reach would give him an advantage. His right hand gripped his axe which was raised above his head, ready to deliver devastating blows to any that got to close, but also to hook and disarm.

Roland was stuck. He had fought all manner of men: Falkan knights, a Highman noble, various other fighters in tournaments. He had fought brigands and bandits, but dare he say, nothing like this. It took him a moment to react. Even as others shouted around, he needed another moment. He briefly was snapped out of his trance by the sounds of Elric's arrows releasing from his bow, and the sounds of Kace shouting. Roland shook his head briefly and nodded at the warrior, that was all he could do for the moment. He glanced at Elric again, wondering if the other warrior would notice the paleness of his skin.

However, Roland let his instincts take over and darted toward the side street down the alley. It was a solid plan, after all, lessening their numbers helped him. And they were just a pile of flesh and bones, like any other man. Like any other man. Like any-

Kace turned the corner, and the hordes of flesh-rotten beasts followed. Roland unsheathed his sword, and awaited the demons to come within distance. Roland exhaled sharply. "Like any other man." He muttered, and darted forward, swinging his longsword sideways, and chopping through one of the beast's stomach. He finished the blow, and cut the rest of the way, with the demon howling and splitting onto the bloody streets. Roland looked down at the struggling beast, and pierced its skull with the tip of his sword. Confidence coming back to him, Roland smirked, and rose his head. "Ha! Foul beasts!" He swung his sword again, decapitating a particularly ugly-looking off-colored flesh-rottening bald demon. His head was easy enough to remove. They were skin and bones. The only advantage they had was fear, but fear was an inner fight Roland found he could win.

When Folkmar's eyes finally met with their destination, he let out a nasal huff. The entire journey had been uneventful, and quiet. These humans were no fun, all grim and morose as they seemed. He knew that where they were going was no where spectacular, but he at least expected a dangerous approach. Aside from being a half way decent location on a high mountainous ridge, the entrance way left much to be desired. It was far too open. The orcish man was, in a word, crestfallen.
Biting the scrap of the last night's kill, before tossing the remains to his hound, the grey man dismounted his steed, and strode forth.
"This is it? Pretty disappointing if you ask me," he noted, "Well, seems to me that the easiest way to solve this is offer to pay them whatever they want in blood. We obviously win, of course," he remarked, a note of personal pride on his face.
His expression, however, soon soured, as the lack of challenge caught up to him once again. Not even his raven seemed interested. That was never a good sign.