Red Wizard — Roleplayer Guild

Yebelto was in hell. He was sure of it. There was no other way to describe what had happened to him. To his comrades. The only question that remained was what he had done to deserve it. He had, of course, not been a kind man. Yebelto had been a hard man, as was expected of men like him out on the sea of grass. Out here, mercy was weakness, and weakness was death. So the veterans had told him, over and over. When asked for clemency by strangers, they had said, give none, for that is what you will recieve when your day is come.

They had been correct in their assumption on that, at least.

The absolute pandemonium of death and destruction that had befallen his party was out of this world. First, a deafening blast that had his ears ringing and outright crushed the skulls of the unlucky ones in the front lines. Then, the horrid spectacle of flesh being stripped forcibly from the bones of his friends as they were screaming in terror and indescribable pain. Then thunderous lightning, and fire and brimstone, and... what next? Savage beasts come to gnaw at their flesh? A plague of insects to crawl under their skin? Maybe a burning starfall to smash into the ground and disintegrate them all?

Yebelto hoped for the last. That way, he and his fallen friends could at least get some manner of revenge.

He had hidden himself beneath the corpses of the fallen. Shameful, perhaps, but at least he wasn't dead. He planned to stay right there until it was all over and the terrible group of monsters and madmen had passed. The wall of fire still burned a little ways away, but it didn't seem to be moving, so that was that. He couldn't tell exactly, but he thought he saw the remainder of his comrades retreating on the other side of the flames, back up the ridge. Good thing, that. He smiled, wishing them to get away. If he too got away he'd come find them once his legs stopped shaking. Maybe they'd gather round the campfire, dealing out hugs and slaps on the back, celebrating that they were alive and mourning the ones they'd lost.

It was when his friends came back down the ridge again that he knew he'd forgotten something. Something important.

The Sulfreyans! They were still coming! Were they still coming? Would they really brave a band of horrors such as these? Yebelto could hardly believe it. But then he saw them, through the flames even, crashing down the ridge in a cavalry wedge. Oh gods. His comrades were trapped, running desperately, even if it meant into the flames. The horned knights would not risk going too close, would they? They'd have to circle back and around, and his friends would be safe for a while longer at least. Anytime now. They'll stop. The Sulfreyans will stop. Anytime now. Please. Any -

- oh no.

Thuk Meuch-Tok could hardly believe the carnage before him. He had been shocked at first, frightened even, but soon set his shoulders and gritted his teeth. He had been right when he'd made the call earlier. It was heads on spears for the lot of them. They would prove an altogether tougher challenge, this group of strangers, but there could be no room for compromise. He could not let them anywhere near his homeland. As he and his knights bore down the slope to the few barbarian stragglers, his hand found its way to the amulet he wore around his neck. It bore the semblance of the Golden Face, of his god Ael-Gol. He knew he could only use it in the most dire of emergencies, knew that the cost would be great...

...But if not now, when? 

He raised his spear high as he bellowed the incantation, as mush a war cry as it was a spell. Krakat ra-gash! he roared, Sagrag no-gut! AEL-GOL! As his warriors mirrored his cry, he held the amulet aloft and braced his eyes. Suddenly, with a deafening boom of thunder, the enchanted effigy erupted in a searing light, washing away all shadows on the plain for an instant. The wall of flame separating him and his knights from their quarry was snuffed out, the path made clear. He hardly bothered with the barbarians at this point; let the horses trample what was left of them under their furious hooves. The easterlings screamed their despair as they were crushed beneath the charge, but the wailing was short lived. Thuk swept down in front of his knights, coming in low for the kill. The wyvern crossed the distance in mere moments, baring its dagger-like teeth and brandishing its lethal stinger as it went for the kill. Moments before they collided, Thuk caught a sudden glimpse of steel somewhere in the air in front of him. Then, suddenly, he saw no more. It probably had something to do with the knife sticking out of his face.
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