The battle is joined, friends and allies coming together against a common threat, save for those separated by misunderstanding
Mixed feelings abounded in the room as the silver knight shut off his commanding persona as easily as turning off a faucet. The sudden change told everyone present that Revenmar was capable of changing moods at the drop of a hat, which meant that no matter how affable he suddenly seemed, he could threaten any one of them again in an instant. All the same, the tension in the room eased. When the cookmaster, the paladin, and the axe-fighter left, the shaken workers returned to their duties as well as they could.
Morderik's distress persisted once the group returned to the mess hall. He looked as though he wanted to be outraged, but knew better than to question the bizarre warrior he'd offered his aid to. Into the silence that followed, Effin interjected himself. “Well! Reckon we couldn't 'ave got the scoop any faster. Angenny, eh? I know 'er. Quiet, but always awful full o' 'erself. Like everyone around 'er was disgustin' or embarrassin'. She got long brown hair, dyed red.” He waved the cookmaster off. “Thanks fer yer 'elp, Mord. 'Ave a good one.” With a nod toward Revenmar, he started toward the door.
A sound split the air, resounding through the hidden town's still atmosphere. For a moment the two horn-blasts surprised Effin more than anything, but his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curled a moment later. He'd never heard the sound, but he'd drilled for it, and his face spoke of bad news. “The alarm. Beastmen in the valley. God, we ain't ready...” Moving with a speed that defied his age, the burly axe fighter shouldered open the door of the mess haul, slowed just long enough to get his heading, and then charged in the direction of the barracks. “C'mon! They're comin'!” By that time, the entire population of the mess hall had mobilized and was heading to one of the two doors with great haste.
The scene outside was one of pandemonium. People ran every which way, arms full of what they'd been working on a moment ago or equipment to prepare for when the enemy was upon them. In particular, the barracks broiled with frenzied activity, with soldiers climbing in and out of windows to get past the traffic jam at the door. A man with a crisp uniform beneath his halfplate barked commands, trying to establish a method in the madness. Effin joined the surge heading in and tumbled from a window a moment later, hatchet in hand. At the same time, a familiar silhouette appeared. Emile jogged onto the scene and extended a hand down to help Effin up, who accepted without any hesitation.
His face inscrutable beneath his crested helmet, the comet chaser looked back and forth between Revenmar and Effin. ”Looks like our spy'll have to wait, not that I found anythin' on my end. We under attack?”
Effin looked at him as though he were daft before turning to run in the same direction as the rest of the soldiers. “Yeah, yeah!”
Gathering that the situation was too urgent for any further questioning, Emile followed. He reached out and, for the brief moment moment he was close enough, clapped a hand on Revenmar's shoulder as he passed by. “Let's get goin'!”
Before he knew it, Emile passed through the gates. He looked up after passing beneath the catwalk and spotted the man he knew as Oswalt, bow at the ready. There was no time for familiarities, so he pressed on. Already he could hear the sounds of metal against metal, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. My first real fight. The column of soldiers rounded a copse of trees, and the hidden valley opened up before them. Right away Emile could see the enemy—a wall of orange and brown, bearing weapons of dull iron and bone, already more than halfway across the span of dappled grass and grappling with the first wave of human soldiers. More foxmen poured through the illusory boulder that marked the valley's entrance by the second, their form more a stream than a flood, but still startling in its implication. How many are there? Yet, despite the enemy's numbers, Emile felt confident. His excellent vision, combined with his visor, meant he could scrutinize every detail about the beastmen before him from a long way off, and none looked especially strong. Added to that the readout of his enchanted lenses, which told him that no fox's power exceeded 'minor threat', and he felt sure that he could take them.
When he reached the front lines and immediately stepped on the corpse of a man with a broken-off bone spear through his throat, he almost dry-heaved. So distracted was he that he didn't notice a vulpuryun swordfox darting toward him until the beastman was only a couple meters away. His eyes widened as he reached for his left saber. “Whoa!” The swordfox's bloody blade was already in the air, but Emile drew his own with incredible speed, unsheathing and slicing in a single stroke. His bright edge blossomed with cutting wind and sheared through his foe's wooden spiral shield, barely slowing down. Its tip slid through the swordfox's leather vest and into his torso, leaving an inch-deep gash all the way across. The windforce of the blow knocked the beastman back after cutting him, throwing him to the ground, and Emile transitioned into a powerful overhead slash with the same blade. A verticle wind slash fell upon the prone fox, very nearly cutting him in two as it extinguished his life in an instant.
The bright green flash of Emile's Euphoria blades drew the eye of everyone in the immediate vicinity, ally and enemy alike. A spearfox a few meters away hurled his javelin at the new threat. Moving with natural grace, Emile swatted the javelin aside as he closed the distance, with a dash, then drew his other saber with an upward slash that carried the bloody fox into the air. Emile, high on the thrill of battle, repositioned his swords for an -xslash at the airborne enemy and let it rip. Unable to dodge, the howling foxman was dashed to quarters midair.
Emile looked down just in time to see two beastmen with strange-looking gear lunge at the same time. This time, he was not poised to counterattack, and the foxed thrust their staves into his chest at the same moment. In an instant, a painful tingling filled his body—paralysis. What? These creatures shouldn't be able to CC me. Gritting his teeth, he started to move, laboriously forcing his way through the affliction. The foxmen betrayed no emotion from behind their masks, but their ears flattened; evidently, they were surprised, too. Before either they or Emile could act, however, a pale hand reached in from the side and grabbed hold of one's head. A beam of red magic burst from Randy's palm, firing clean through the fox's head, and as the other turned a soldier Emile didn't know jumped in from the other side to bury her short sword in the other's back. With a halfhearted snarl it fell.
Randy grinned, his mint-green pompadour a-wobble. “You possess some exceptional magic, my friend, but have a care. Our foes' druids carry lightning rods that can render any man immobile. Though, it would appear you were seconds away from freeing yourself...” Frowning, he turned his attention to the next wave of foxmen, approaching fast. He cast a protection charm over the nearby soldiers. “...I will support you. Let us proceed!”
The group charged. Remembering a skill of his, Emile raised his swords to clang together for Rally Spectrum, planning to boost his allies' attack. The memory of a man lying dead in the dirt came back to him, however, so he called, “Rally Defense!” before leaping forward to join the charge.
Death came for the vixen, her failed attempt at an ultimate attack making true what she'd known would come to pass. Her dying gasp, venomous to the last, vanished into the whispering of the woods. Her kin dead or fled, Rorryln had been the last vulpuryun standing, and her demise left Lenore and Kallahar alone together.
Lenore breathed a sigh of relief. The adversary she'd judged worthy had met her end without an excess of pain, and there didn't need to be any more fighting. She allowed her eyes to slide closed as she steadied her inhalation, and her hands' deathgrip on her staff ceased. To either side of her, the grim flesh constructs stood without moving, waiting for their master's command. She gave them none; already Lenore felt tired, but she knew the end of this conflict with the beastmen lay far off. In a few moments, she imagined, her respite would end and she would have to pursue the bulk of the vulpuryun warband. To do less would be selfish, an invitation for the horde to attack the village her uncle discovered. While he could handle himself, any attack would mean the loss of life, and the last thing she wanted was to see innocents dead.
To her left, Kallahar stood up. Lenore stopped leaning against her tree and turned to face her, ready to give an affirmative nod. What the Death Knight said, however, left her dumbfounded. W-what?” She was leaving? Why? Before she could come to her senses, Lenore was by herself. ”Wait! I know I-I didn't really help much there, but you said yourself I should be who I wished to be, or something like that! If I'm gonna be a heroine, I can't just slaughter people! Nobody deserves the k-kind...the kind of stuff I can do now...” It was too late; Kallahar was gone. Just like that, Lenore had nobody but her unthinking, unfeeling new bodyguards.
A moment passed before she sniffled. ”Damn it, it isn't fair...” Before long, her panic gave rise to frustration. ”What the hell's her problem? Leavin' me alone, just 'cause I didn't chase after and kill those poor foxes...” After a moment of wiping at her eyes, Lenore cradled her staff against her chest and head. Trying to think of what to do next. ”I've got to find Uncle E,” she decided after a moment. ”He'll help me. No, I'll help him. If I help save the village, they can't possibly hate me.” So intent was she that she hadn't noticed a tendril emerge from beneath her dress to grab and drag in the body of Rorryln, nor the muted crunching. ”Okay.” She shook her head to focus, then started to run in the direction she'd been heading before the ambush.
Like people crowding around a fight, the trees closed in around Yasha's battle to escape her magic-induced haze. Sun filtered through the trees onto the leaf-strewn, root-tangled forest floor, and into the eyes of the sharpshooter. Fresh in her mind was a scene of wanton slaughter, of thunder from the heavens and the rage of the earth, a frightening and confusing dance of crystal, fire, and blood. Emerging into this woodland felt very much like emerging into a dream, or perhaps waking up from a nightmare. Its serenity was surreal until the telltale noises of armed conflict pierced the windless trees.
Following the sound would lead to an altogether strange sight. Humanoid shapes obscured from a distance by the canopy's shadows resolved into the forms of foxes who ran like men, armed with a variety of weapons, into a boulder nested amid some trees packed trunk-to-trunk. Instead of smacking into its stony face, however, the foxmen dashed straight through the huge rock, and in return that illusory barrier admitted the clash of weapons, the cries of beasts, and the shouts of men.
Mixed feelings abounded in the room as the silver knight shut off his commanding persona as easily as turning off a faucet. The sudden change told everyone present that Revenmar was capable of changing moods at the drop of a hat, which meant that no matter how affable he suddenly seemed, he could threaten any one of them again in an instant. All the same, the tension in the room eased. When the cookmaster, the paladin, and the axe-fighter left, the shaken workers returned to their duties as well as they could.
Morderik's distress persisted once the group returned to the mess hall. He looked as though he wanted to be outraged, but knew better than to question the bizarre warrior he'd offered his aid to. Into the silence that followed, Effin interjected himself. “Well! Reckon we couldn't 'ave got the scoop any faster. Angenny, eh? I know 'er. Quiet, but always awful full o' 'erself. Like everyone around 'er was disgustin' or embarrassin'. She got long brown hair, dyed red.” He waved the cookmaster off. “Thanks fer yer 'elp, Mord. 'Ave a good one.” With a nod toward Revenmar, he started toward the door.
A sound split the air, resounding through the hidden town's still atmosphere. For a moment the two horn-blasts surprised Effin more than anything, but his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curled a moment later. He'd never heard the sound, but he'd drilled for it, and his face spoke of bad news. “The alarm. Beastmen in the valley. God, we ain't ready...” Moving with a speed that defied his age, the burly axe fighter shouldered open the door of the mess haul, slowed just long enough to get his heading, and then charged in the direction of the barracks. “C'mon! They're comin'!” By that time, the entire population of the mess hall had mobilized and was heading to one of the two doors with great haste.
The scene outside was one of pandemonium. People ran every which way, arms full of what they'd been working on a moment ago or equipment to prepare for when the enemy was upon them. In particular, the barracks broiled with frenzied activity, with soldiers climbing in and out of windows to get past the traffic jam at the door. A man with a crisp uniform beneath his halfplate barked commands, trying to establish a method in the madness. Effin joined the surge heading in and tumbled from a window a moment later, hatchet in hand. At the same time, a familiar silhouette appeared. Emile jogged onto the scene and extended a hand down to help Effin up, who accepted without any hesitation.
His face inscrutable beneath his crested helmet, the comet chaser looked back and forth between Revenmar and Effin. ”Looks like our spy'll have to wait, not that I found anythin' on my end. We under attack?”
Effin looked at him as though he were daft before turning to run in the same direction as the rest of the soldiers. “Yeah, yeah!”
Gathering that the situation was too urgent for any further questioning, Emile followed. He reached out and, for the brief moment moment he was close enough, clapped a hand on Revenmar's shoulder as he passed by. “Let's get goin'!”
Before he knew it, Emile passed through the gates. He looked up after passing beneath the catwalk and spotted the man he knew as Oswalt, bow at the ready. There was no time for familiarities, so he pressed on. Already he could hear the sounds of metal against metal, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. My first real fight. The column of soldiers rounded a copse of trees, and the hidden valley opened up before them. Right away Emile could see the enemy—a wall of orange and brown, bearing weapons of dull iron and bone, already more than halfway across the span of dappled grass and grappling with the first wave of human soldiers. More foxmen poured through the illusory boulder that marked the valley's entrance by the second, their form more a stream than a flood, but still startling in its implication. How many are there? Yet, despite the enemy's numbers, Emile felt confident. His excellent vision, combined with his visor, meant he could scrutinize every detail about the beastmen before him from a long way off, and none looked especially strong. Added to that the readout of his enchanted lenses, which told him that no fox's power exceeded 'minor threat', and he felt sure that he could take them.
When he reached the front lines and immediately stepped on the corpse of a man with a broken-off bone spear through his throat, he almost dry-heaved. So distracted was he that he didn't notice a vulpuryun swordfox darting toward him until the beastman was only a couple meters away. His eyes widened as he reached for his left saber. “Whoa!” The swordfox's bloody blade was already in the air, but Emile drew his own with incredible speed, unsheathing and slicing in a single stroke. His bright edge blossomed with cutting wind and sheared through his foe's wooden spiral shield, barely slowing down. Its tip slid through the swordfox's leather vest and into his torso, leaving an inch-deep gash all the way across. The windforce of the blow knocked the beastman back after cutting him, throwing him to the ground, and Emile transitioned into a powerful overhead slash with the same blade. A verticle wind slash fell upon the prone fox, very nearly cutting him in two as it extinguished his life in an instant.
The bright green flash of Emile's Euphoria blades drew the eye of everyone in the immediate vicinity, ally and enemy alike. A spearfox a few meters away hurled his javelin at the new threat. Moving with natural grace, Emile swatted the javelin aside as he closed the distance, with a dash, then drew his other saber with an upward slash that carried the bloody fox into the air. Emile, high on the thrill of battle, repositioned his swords for an -xslash at the airborne enemy and let it rip. Unable to dodge, the howling foxman was dashed to quarters midair.
Emile looked down just in time to see two beastmen with strange-looking gear lunge at the same time. This time, he was not poised to counterattack, and the foxed thrust their staves into his chest at the same moment. In an instant, a painful tingling filled his body—paralysis. What? These creatures shouldn't be able to CC me. Gritting his teeth, he started to move, laboriously forcing his way through the affliction. The foxmen betrayed no emotion from behind their masks, but their ears flattened; evidently, they were surprised, too. Before either they or Emile could act, however, a pale hand reached in from the side and grabbed hold of one's head. A beam of red magic burst from Randy's palm, firing clean through the fox's head, and as the other turned a soldier Emile didn't know jumped in from the other side to bury her short sword in the other's back. With a halfhearted snarl it fell.
Randy grinned, his mint-green pompadour a-wobble. “You possess some exceptional magic, my friend, but have a care. Our foes' druids carry lightning rods that can render any man immobile. Though, it would appear you were seconds away from freeing yourself...” Frowning, he turned his attention to the next wave of foxmen, approaching fast. He cast a protection charm over the nearby soldiers. “...I will support you. Let us proceed!”
The group charged. Remembering a skill of his, Emile raised his swords to clang together for Rally Spectrum, planning to boost his allies' attack. The memory of a man lying dead in the dirt came back to him, however, so he called, “Rally Defense!” before leaping forward to join the charge.
-=-=-
Death came for the vixen, her failed attempt at an ultimate attack making true what she'd known would come to pass. Her dying gasp, venomous to the last, vanished into the whispering of the woods. Her kin dead or fled, Rorryln had been the last vulpuryun standing, and her demise left Lenore and Kallahar alone together.
Lenore breathed a sigh of relief. The adversary she'd judged worthy had met her end without an excess of pain, and there didn't need to be any more fighting. She allowed her eyes to slide closed as she steadied her inhalation, and her hands' deathgrip on her staff ceased. To either side of her, the grim flesh constructs stood without moving, waiting for their master's command. She gave them none; already Lenore felt tired, but she knew the end of this conflict with the beastmen lay far off. In a few moments, she imagined, her respite would end and she would have to pursue the bulk of the vulpuryun warband. To do less would be selfish, an invitation for the horde to attack the village her uncle discovered. While he could handle himself, any attack would mean the loss of life, and the last thing she wanted was to see innocents dead.
To her left, Kallahar stood up. Lenore stopped leaning against her tree and turned to face her, ready to give an affirmative nod. What the Death Knight said, however, left her dumbfounded. W-what?” She was leaving? Why? Before she could come to her senses, Lenore was by herself. ”Wait! I know I-I didn't really help much there, but you said yourself I should be who I wished to be, or something like that! If I'm gonna be a heroine, I can't just slaughter people! Nobody deserves the k-kind...the kind of stuff I can do now...” It was too late; Kallahar was gone. Just like that, Lenore had nobody but her unthinking, unfeeling new bodyguards.
A moment passed before she sniffled. ”Damn it, it isn't fair...” Before long, her panic gave rise to frustration. ”What the hell's her problem? Leavin' me alone, just 'cause I didn't chase after and kill those poor foxes...” After a moment of wiping at her eyes, Lenore cradled her staff against her chest and head. Trying to think of what to do next. ”I've got to find Uncle E,” she decided after a moment. ”He'll help me. No, I'll help him. If I help save the village, they can't possibly hate me.” So intent was she that she hadn't noticed a tendril emerge from beneath her dress to grab and drag in the body of Rorryln, nor the muted crunching. ”Okay.” She shook her head to focus, then started to run in the direction she'd been heading before the ambush.
-=-=-
Like people crowding around a fight, the trees closed in around Yasha's battle to escape her magic-induced haze. Sun filtered through the trees onto the leaf-strewn, root-tangled forest floor, and into the eyes of the sharpshooter. Fresh in her mind was a scene of wanton slaughter, of thunder from the heavens and the rage of the earth, a frightening and confusing dance of crystal, fire, and blood. Emerging into this woodland felt very much like emerging into a dream, or perhaps waking up from a nightmare. Its serenity was surreal until the telltale noises of armed conflict pierced the windless trees.
Following the sound would lead to an altogether strange sight. Humanoid shapes obscured from a distance by the canopy's shadows resolved into the forms of foxes who ran like men, armed with a variety of weapons, into a boulder nested amid some trees packed trunk-to-trunk. Instead of smacking into its stony face, however, the foxmen dashed straight through the huge rock, and in return that illusory barrier admitted the clash of weapons, the cries of beasts, and the shouts of men.
