First Blow --- The ascent had been somewhat tougher than Erasmus had expected; the ground was soft and gave way under foot as if trying to drag the trespassers above down into its mushy embrace. This had amplified the effort to climb the slope from meagre to somewhat damaging and Erasmus heaved in the air, slowly and deeply to return his breath before the crest revealed its deadly secret. There, amongst a scene of death and destruction, fluttered a gargoyle, something he’d only heard myths and legend about. Every story he’d heard, being nothing more than folktales in backwater pubs were of countless slain for no return when fighting a gargoyle. Blade and axes were said to shatter on the beast’s back and hammers to simply bounce off; they were truly a dread to behold. It showed an utter disdain for its combatants; a pleasure in suffering as evident by the broken body of the blonde Liverian witch-hunter who was tethered to a blasted oak tree with fatal purpose. He was almost a touch relieved to see someone who resembled the vague description they’d been given of Wren desperately keeping her distance from the creature it faced. The voice that it emitted, a raspy voice that bore the aural texture of rough leather, grating on the nerves of those who beheld it. It sought their skin yet the gargoyle would not find that to be an easy task. Whereas most men’s heart would descend to the dank depths of despair over such a beast, there was something Erasmus had that no other man did. He’d fought a few magical constructs in his time with the Templars, they’d even formed a special strike team to use his talents against such beings. From the practical experience he’d had, when he got closer to a being they found themselves weaker, their strength drained and the magical threads that held them being shredded away. Whilst not as effective as a direct bolt of anti-magic, it seemed to have a constant effect on them; oft turning into a battle of attrition against them rather than an execution. Thailen had wasted no time in issuing commands; she’d seemingly desired to take command of the group despite no prior instruction so that Erasmus had heard at least. He had no problem with the matter, as long as she made reasonable decisions and despite the indomitable threat facing them, this decision seemed like bearing a chance of success. Yet she showed a distinct lack of knowledge when she suggested casting anti-magic at it from here; it wasn’t ignorance just a lack of understanding. He took the chance to speak up and informed her “An anti-mage? No, I am not of the traditional kind. To cut it short, being close to me suppresses magic, Maher here would be incapable of casting a spell this close to me” illustrating the closeness with a quick gesture. “So if you want him to cast any magic he’s going to have to go on the opposite side from me and stay as far away as possible. The closer he is, the weaker he’ll be. But we have little time for semantics, I’ll take left, Maher right and Thalien centre?” he asked with a final query and placed his sword point first into the ground. He ignored any looks his companions may have thrown at him and removed the pendant from his neck and attached it to the steel handles of his shield. The pendant almost shined with an unearthly glow as it came into contact with the metal handles; the pendant was a conduit of sort for his anti-magic, an old artefact uncovered by the Templars that had resonated with him. Smiling with a grim purpose he drew his sword out of the boggy ground with a sickening squish and rolled his shoulders over, loosening them for the coming battle. His main aim here would be to bash the creature as much he could with the shield; the pendant should carry some of the anti-magic flowing from him onto the beast, hopefully inflicting more magical damage. At least that’d how it’d worked when he’d fought the golem but that had been a construct of far simpler origins and forged by the skills of an apprentice not the master this lich seemingly was.