ERode — Roleplayer Guild

The Clandestine

Combined with Arwyn’s own grand magics, the flames were fought back, if only barely. Feathers fell like a rain of arrows, domesticating what spots of fire they caught, and though the heat remained intense, it was enough to prevent Belleborne and Gold-Touch from catching fire. More experienced adventurers bolstered the flagging defenses of the guards, while merchants evacuated their valuables from their estates, flanked by guards.

Such defense, naturally, came at the cost of the north.

On one hand, it was an obvious choice to make. The residents of Upper Bristol could see the fire spreading towards them, and they escaped. The buildings there, if they could be called buildings to begin with, weren’t worth defending. Thick plumes of smoke blotted out the skies, spreading to the edges of Gold-Touch but primarily moving to consume Upper Bristol. The walls blackened from the soot, while those too slow, those injured or old, couldn’t even scream in their last moments as the burning air filled their lungs. It would spread, without a doubt.

It would spread far and perhaps even loop back down to then roast Lower Bristol too. One may hope then, that the reinforcements from the neighbouring fortresses would be able to beat back the flames before it was too late.

But it was not just buildings that burned in the conflagaration. When the last building crumbled to ash, what remained of the people’s trust in their sovereign?

People came in and out of Elysia Quarters. Guards and reinforcements, carrying the injured to infirmaries or cases of potions to the magically-exhausted. Against the backlight of the fire, it was easy to step in, to climb up, to find a proper vantage point upon the barrack’s parapets.

Easier still, to spy the flying noblewoman at the epicenter of the storm of feathers, her figure incandescent, her gaze similarly blinded by the monumental task thrust upon her.

He had considered picking off some captains before this. Disrupt the chain of command a bit. But no, there would be plenty of chaos in the streets soon. Better to give the competent ones something to worry about first.

His shoulders rolled back. His neck rotated back and forth. He breathed in the hot, dry air. Strung up his longbow. The mages could invent however many spells they wanted, but in the end, only nobles hunted with magical arrows. Only cold steel was suited for piercing the heart of the arcane. His spine cracked and popped as he drew his bow, sighted his target, and smiled.

It had been a long while.

The first thing that had been caught in the Concord’s trap was not a shadowy assailant. It wasn’t an unfortunate servant either. Nor was it a rat, a soldier, a guard, or, All-Force forbid, the Princess herself.

When a spring was triggered and iron jaws clamped down upon a limb, and five of Safina’s men moved on instinct to unload an equal number of crossbow bolts in the direction of that trap, what they slew was no mortal.

It was a carapaced humanoid with stag-horns jutting out from its back, six pale eyes sewn together upon its too-long arms. Shrieking at the sudden assault, it lashed out at its surroundings, only to trigger more traps in the vicinity, which was what finally caused it to expire, green blood seeping down the grooves of the stone floor.

A few of the Concord let out a curse.

Demons have made it into the castle.
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