Moving swiftly, longbow held close to his body, Maltris continued to backtrack the incoming forces. Staying to the shadows and cover of the wilderness, the Elf keeps a wary eye on the slowly tapering advance. After some time, and a few close calls the Ranger finally arrives at the source.
Well away from the city, hidden deep in the woods a large ritual circle glows with a sullen inner light. Moving carefully around the clearing, Maltris examines the runes from afar, sticking to the cover lest the caster or casters return. As a careful, but distant examination yields little result, the Elf carefully notches an arrow, preparing to move closer.
Before he can move closer, a feminine voice behind him asks in Ilithic “Runes are dull, any thoughts?” Leaping in the air in surprise, Maltris lands with an oath on his lips, arrow half drawn in his bow. Casually pushing the arrow aside with the her blade, Sendithu looks past Maltris to another unnoticed Elven figure. “Jumpy, isn’t he?”.
Clad in nightmare black leathers, and hidden in a shadowsilk cloak, longbow in hand, the second Ranger glances at the pair “To be fair, I imagine we managed to slip up on him.” Eyes shifting to the clearing he points a gloved hand before shifting deeper into cover. “We’ve company.”
The trio of Elves watch, silent and still as several robed figures enter the clearing. One of the mages kneels by a glowing rune, “This wasn’t nearly as successful as promised. All our work is being thwarted by small teams of adventurers. The few making it to the city are easily handled by the guardsmen and militias. Continuing this course is futile.” Several other robed figures nod in agreement.
Another robed magi enters the clearing, stilling the movements of those already gathered, his hood moves as he gazes across the clearing. Chanting briefly, his eyes, hidden under the hood, begin to glow with an inner light. Cursing softly he exclaims, “Renew the ritual, we are not alone!”
As the mages begin chanting in unison, Maltris fires an arrow from his bow at the nearest mage. The shaft sinks deeply into the figure’s neck, ending his chant with a soft gurgle, as the Rangers launch themselves into the fray.
As an onyx gargoyle comes together in the ritual circle Etherian gestures at it, murmuring softly under his breath. Hundreds of tiny spiders rapidly crawl over the beast, enwrapping it in a glistening cocoon of spider silk. Firing an arrow from his bow at another caster, Etherian tosses his bow safely in a nearby tree before drawing his cutlass, meeting the swipe of the second animated gargoyle as its body coalesces inside the circle.
Maltris, his hands a blur, fires arrow after arrow into one of the figures, his shots blocked by a weakening wall of pale yellow light. Squinting in irritation, Maltris nocks a pair of ice-adder arrows, sighting carefully. The two arrows smash into the wall of light; the first stopped completely, the second however shattering the wall like a pane of cheap glass before plunging into the chest of the mage. The crinkle of ice fills the clearing as the last gasp of the mage freezes in his breast.
Watching his comrades getting shredded by the rangers the lead magi starts to back away, eyes carefully on the Rangers. Unseen, Sendithu slips behind him, violet eyes cold. A quick slash of the blade sends the magi to his knees, hamstrings severed and screaming before an effortless thrust sends the blade plunging into his throat, silencing him forever.
As the trio advance on the remaining mages, they desperately return their attention to the ritual. Runes glow with power and the ground trembles once more as more creatures coalesce from the dirt and stone. The a gurgle over a well placed arrow, the final mage points towards the city as though commanding the coming minions to avenge them. With the mages down, the trembling only increases as the horrors spring forth at a growing rate, touching his crystal ring briefly Maltris begins to give ground, hands a blur as he looses arrow after arrow trying to stem the tide, while the other elves fight a valiant slowing action.
* * * * *
A massive roar shakes the battlefield as the gargoyles part to allow another monstrous diamonique guardian to wade forward. With a murmured prayer, the glistening outline of holy energies around the Paladins glows brighter, and a similar outline encompases the Alfar Warrior. Eckan takes a steadying breath and glances at Samsaren, “You know..this would be a whole lot easier with a fourth blade.”
Samsaren resets the grip on his shield. “Keep it up,” he mutters, stepping in front of the other two. Raising his voice he shouts to the Elf behind him, “Syn, keep its flapping friends off us, ask the same of the Guardian, we’ll handle this fella.” The wild-haired Elf simply nods, continuing to focus magical energies into spell after spell. Eckan grunts, “We will?”, before flexing his shield hand. Samsaren snorts, “Yep, we have to”, launching himself at the forty plus foot monstrosity.
Blow after gargantuan blow rains down on packed earth as the Paladin evades each smashing attack, landing repeated counter strikes against the wrists of the beast. Seeing an opening Eckan dashes forward, shield raised for a full bodied charge. The Guardian however, seeing the Paladin coming rears back and delivers a vicious kick to the younger man, blasting him across the battlefield to land in a clanking, crumbled heap. With a gleeful cry the circling gargoyles hurl themselves towards the fallen warrior, seeing an easy mark.
As the beasts hurl themselves at the still form the Alfar deliberately steps in harm's way. Black blade flashing, its furious attacks keep the monsters away. Before the dust can even settle on the warrior, Synamon merely turns her attention his way without even a pause in her casting. Wounds blossom on her skin as the matching injuries fade from the Squire. With an exasperated foot stomp Synamon gestures at Eckan, shouting “Wake up!” as motes of peach light settle on his brow.
Eckan’s eyes pop open and a snarl comes over his features as he leaps to his feet. Tendrils of light leap from his hands to the maul, discarded some distance away. As the maul flies to his outstretched hand he shoulders his shield, catching the weapon in a two-handed grip. Chanting a litany under his breath Eckan sprints at the Guardian as it tries desperately to land a telling hit upon him. Seeing the Squire’s charge, Samsaren’s axe smashes with bone-shaking force into the weakened wrist of the Guardian, sending it falling forward - directly into the underhanded charging blow of the maul, the head of the hammer suddenly shining with a brilliant white light.
With an ear-splitting CRACK the maul and the Guardian’s face shatter, bringing the creature’s hostility to an abrupt end. Holding the shattered haft in his hands, Eckan pulls his shield off his shoulder and stares mournfully at an oversized dent. “See this? Do you know what this is going to cost to FIX?! Gah! The first one was a breeze, but nooo, “ the remainder of the tirade is cut short, as the older paladin raps a knuckle on the smaller Paladin’s helm. Taking a deep calming breath, Eckan clears his throat. “Right..focus. Sorry.”
Samsaren snorts, “Cost? You mean you might have to work the bellows? Take a breath, it’s unbecoming.”
Eckan’s jaw drops. “Unbecoming.. unbecom.. Did you see how hard it hit me?!”
Before either Paladin can continue a giggle interrupts them both. “Uh, boys?” the Elf quips, pointing.
Both Paladins turn as one, facing the veritable avalanche of bodies coming their way, and quietly say in unison “Oh crap.” Samsaren squares his shield. “Keep up,” he says quietly, before raising his voice again “Syn, ground em!”. With that, the two humans charge, one barely a step behind the other. The two warriors smash through the oncoming ranks, shield bashes shattering the faces of grounded gargoyles of all types of stone. Holy weapons roar and flash as axe and spetum blast through the oncoming horde, as yellow sparks force the flying foes to the ground.
Slowly, inexorably, the oncoming press of sheer numbers forces the Paladins back, ever closer to the walls they defend. With a quick chant, Eckan raises his shield as golden waves burst forth from it, smashing several foes to the ground. “This isn’t working. Got another idea boss?”
Grunting, Samsaren finishes a similar chant, however as the waves of light burst forth from his shield he charges, pushing the magic forward with his own momentum, giving both warriors a tiny space for a breath. “Sure do,” Samsaren says, touching the base of a ringed finger with his gauntleted thumb. “Always have a backup plan.”
With a scarlet flash a moongate blazes open and another figure steps onto the fray: a dark haired Elf enshrouded in brilliant flames. Matte-black staff in one hand and sipar in the other, Mazrian’s gaze covers the fight in a glance. Thumping the staff against the ground, ash, dust and vapor blast forth, rapidly forming a pyroclastic cloud that stretches forth with roiling fury towards the onrushing enemy. A massive roar of thunder echoes from the clouds, drowning out the screeching war cries of the gargoyles as orbs of blazing fire come crashing downward. Another thump of the staff, and eye gouging blasts of lightning stab down from the roiling clouds, incinerating everything in their path.
As pyrotechnic fury rains down the Elf goes still for a moment, a calm center to the storm raging forth from him. Cupping his shield hand, the fire flickering gleefully around him pools momentarily in his palm. Raising his hand eye level, Mazrian quickly gestures, as several massive balls of flame burst from his fingertips. The fireballs streak unerringly towards the largest foes, exploding and adding their own roar to the growing cacophony, as shards of pure fire ripple forth from each explosion. The shards blister through skin and bone, hammering the monsters with brutal force, seeming to curl and turn around the Paladins fighting in the mix.
As the echoes fade, the fire surrounding the Elf burns down slightly as Mazrian releases his grip on his magic, allowing the cloud to begin to fade. The last droplets and bolts blast downward, scattering the remains of the last remnants of the horde. The two Paladins turn and walk towards the Elves, shaking ichor and pebbles from armor and weaponry. Braving the flame, Samsaren shakes Mazrian’s hand. “Appreciate the support, though I’m afraid we’re not through yet.” Mazrian nods, as Samsaren touches a thumb to the ring beneath his gauntlet. The moongate behind the fighters surges again as a final figure steps forth.
Clad in charcoal-gray titanese, white locks catching the flame-bred breeze, Mistanna dismisses her moongate with a gesture, graceful movements sending her hooped earring swaying gently. Cheerfully, she nods a greeting. Samsaren inclines his head respectfully before clearing his throat. “My brother tells me this is only a lull. He found the source, and is trying to hold back the next wave with Etherian and Sendithu now, but they’re losing ground. Think you Magi can dispel a ritual without blowing us to Yavash and back?” Mazrian chuckles and shrugs, while Mistanna gets a thoughtful expression for a moment before nodding. “Then let’s go, we’ve work to do.”
* * * * *
Maltris nocks an arrow, back-peddling, sighting carefully before releasing. As the arrow finds the eye it was aimed at, the Ranger’s hand brushes the edge of an empty quiver. “Arrows?” With a gesture, Etherian causes a tree to drop a massive limb a hair's breadth in front of his own face, buying a momentary pass. Reaching into his quiver he hands the arrows back to Maltris, raising his cutlass to deflect the next attack. As quickly as each foe falls to blade and arrow, more surge forward, claws and teeth aching for Elven flesh.
As a larger than normal gargoyle springs toward Etherian’s flank, Sendithu slips behind it swiftly dispatching the beast with a surgical strike to the neck. Carefully sidestepping the spurting ichor, her nose wrinkles briefly before her tyrium cutlass flashes against the light, striking another gargoyle dead. Giving ground himself, Etherian says softly in Ilithic, “How much longer?”
A ghost of a smile on her lips, Sendithu sidesteps a swooping strike. “Mm, not long at all,” her violet eyes flickering behind Maltris briefly.
A rallying cry to Truffenyi fills the air, the magic stirring the Elves, as the Paladins come crashing into the battle shields first. As the humans step into the fray beside the Elven warriors, the Magi flank Maltris as their magics reach out to turn the tide of battle. Mazrian, spirals of air twisting up his arms and around his sword of purest ice, raises his blade, each gesture causing focused streams of air to rip forth and shatter the gargoyles. Mistanna chants softly, words lost to the roaring winds from the War Mage, before raising a hand in a sweeping gesture. A ripple of magical force splashes forth, stunning or knocking gargoyles unconscious with its passing.
As the last of the beasts crash to the ground, shattering, the group charges back to the edge of the clearing. The runes pulse and shimmer, as a massive mound of earth and stone rises in the center of the pattern. Samsaren turns to his Squire. “Eckan, cover the mages. Maltris, Mistanna, Synamon, if it flies, ground it. Maz, break that” Samsaren nods toward the glowing runes. “We’ll buy time.”
The group shifts, Mazrian settling to the ground in the center, all his concentration and magical energies brought to bear on the ritual itself. Moving to the fore, Eckan readies his shield, slowly murmuring prayers as silvery and golden light gathers along his weapon. Moving to Mazrian’s right, Alfar looming menacingly behind her, Synamon sets her shield carefully on her arm before closing her eyes in concentration. A steadying breath fortifies Mistanna as she moves to the opposite side from Synamon, delicately drawing geometric symbols in the air as psionic energy gathers around her.
Maltris, quivers reloaded from both retrieved arrows as well as the spares of his companions, reaches out earthward with both hands open. The faintest hint of a smile crosses his Elven features as he slips into the shadows, loaded bow trained on the oncoming foes.
Samsaren briefly regards the Elves standing beside him, giving Etherian a nod, and Sendithu a gentle smile. With the faintest of sighs, Samsaren checks his grip on both axe and shield, before charging directly into the thickest part of the oncoming lines. Smashing recklessly through the center, the Paladin seems oblivious to the few hits the constructs manage the land, the force shed by his armor like water. Seizing the advantage, the Elves cleave through the gargoyles’ exposed flanks like a scythe through wheat.
As the trio blasts through the center mass, they hurtle unimpeded towards the others. Standing in the fore, Eckan thrusts his spetum at distant foes, every motion unleashing a wave of silver and golden light that tears through stone flesh and bone with equal facility. Above, a cyclonic wavefront of telekinetic energy gathers up rubble, arrows and shattered trees, smashing with withering force against the gargoyles that try to attack from the air. Below, Mistanna continues to draw the runes to guide the storm. As foes continue to close, the Alfar steps to Eckan’s side, black blade gleaming in the light, as it skewers anything foolish enough to close.
From the flank of the trio a shattering roar echoes as another Guardian lumbers into the fray. Titanic fists come crashing down towards a pressed Etherian, leaving him no room to evade. With a muttered ‘this is a bad idea” Samsaren launches himself between Etherian and harm, a golden light suffusing his body and shield.
The fist connects with a shield and a tremendous explosion of light, completely without sound, sears the battleground, viciously stunning the Guardian and nearby gargoyles. Eckan, taking advantage, launches his spetum towards the Guardians face with a shouted, “Now!” as Mistanna turns and extends her palm to the flying weapon. A pulse of telekinetic force pushes the spetum, sending it blasting, aglow with holy power, into the eye of the Guardian. The blow sends the creature toppling backwards, it’s fall crushing dozens of nearby gargoyles, still reeling, unable dodge.
With the Guardian’s fall, Mazrian leaps to his feet. “It’s set to blow, we need to leave, NOW!” Mistanna gestures towards the read of the group, and a blazing moongate bursts into existence. The warriors fall back, covered by arrows, before Synamon stops, giggling slightly. “This should work..maybe?” as she gestures. A wall of hard yellow light springs forth, Manifest Force on a far greater scale. The fighters step through, their exodus warded by the barrier, until only Samsaren and Mazrian remain. Samsaren nods to Mazrian, who flicks a finger to the sky, drawing down a bolt of lighting into the ritual. The pair strides through the moongate as the runes detonate, scattering the remaining gargoyles.
The group arrives outside of the city. As hands are shaken and smiles shared, Mistanna turns to the Ilithians. “Need a quick way home?”
Samsaren smiles gently. “While appreciated, the work isn’t quite done. We’ll sort it out later.” He turns and nods to Eckan. “Squire?” Eckan nods, the two of them waving to the departing warriors as they head towards the gates of the city.
* * * * *
As dusk begins to creep over the city, two older men armed with shovels and a cart are slowly cleaning up the debris. Shovel full after shovel full slowly fills the cart before one of the men turns to the other, grumbling. “This is ridiculous. Where are those adventurers? Quick to show up full of fire and mayhem for a fight, but cleanup after? Hah!” The other fellow nods along for a moment, before freezing solid.
“Uh, Renor..?”
The first man doesn’t miss a beat. “Not here, that’s where they are. Likely patting each other on the back, listening to bards..”
The other man nudges the first, trying to cut him off, “Renor..”
Patty, however, is in full steam and won’t be stopped. “Tell stories about how fantastic they are because they can learn MAGIC. Whoopie! If I could work magic I’d so something useful, like CLEAN UP AFTER MYSE..”
The second man shoves the first “RENOR!!”
“WHAT?!” screams the first, into his friend's face.
The second man grabs him by the shoulders, turning him forcefully, bringing him face to face with the two Paladins, now divested of armor, weaponry secured to harnesses. Holding a full shovel of rubble, Samsaren smiles gently. “Mind if we use the cart too fellas?”
The two nod, mutely, as the other Paladin grins to his Patron. “It’s like you say Sam, job isn’t done till you clean up and put your tools away”.
Samsaren nods, dumping his shovelful into the cart. “Exactly Squire, exactly. Now, let’s go over a few things about fighting airborne opponents.”
Well away from the city, hidden deep in the woods a large ritual circle glows with a sullen inner light. Moving carefully around the clearing, Maltris examines the runes from afar, sticking to the cover lest the caster or casters return. As a careful, but distant examination yields little result, the Elf carefully notches an arrow, preparing to move closer.
Before he can move closer, a feminine voice behind him asks in Ilithic “Runes are dull, any thoughts?” Leaping in the air in surprise, Maltris lands with an oath on his lips, arrow half drawn in his bow. Casually pushing the arrow aside with the her blade, Sendithu looks past Maltris to another unnoticed Elven figure. “Jumpy, isn’t he?”.
Clad in nightmare black leathers, and hidden in a shadowsilk cloak, longbow in hand, the second Ranger glances at the pair “To be fair, I imagine we managed to slip up on him.” Eyes shifting to the clearing he points a gloved hand before shifting deeper into cover. “We’ve company.”
The trio of Elves watch, silent and still as several robed figures enter the clearing. One of the mages kneels by a glowing rune, “This wasn’t nearly as successful as promised. All our work is being thwarted by small teams of adventurers. The few making it to the city are easily handled by the guardsmen and militias. Continuing this course is futile.” Several other robed figures nod in agreement.
Another robed magi enters the clearing, stilling the movements of those already gathered, his hood moves as he gazes across the clearing. Chanting briefly, his eyes, hidden under the hood, begin to glow with an inner light. Cursing softly he exclaims, “Renew the ritual, we are not alone!”
As the mages begin chanting in unison, Maltris fires an arrow from his bow at the nearest mage. The shaft sinks deeply into the figure’s neck, ending his chant with a soft gurgle, as the Rangers launch themselves into the fray.
As an onyx gargoyle comes together in the ritual circle Etherian gestures at it, murmuring softly under his breath. Hundreds of tiny spiders rapidly crawl over the beast, enwrapping it in a glistening cocoon of spider silk. Firing an arrow from his bow at another caster, Etherian tosses his bow safely in a nearby tree before drawing his cutlass, meeting the swipe of the second animated gargoyle as its body coalesces inside the circle.
Maltris, his hands a blur, fires arrow after arrow into one of the figures, his shots blocked by a weakening wall of pale yellow light. Squinting in irritation, Maltris nocks a pair of ice-adder arrows, sighting carefully. The two arrows smash into the wall of light; the first stopped completely, the second however shattering the wall like a pane of cheap glass before plunging into the chest of the mage. The crinkle of ice fills the clearing as the last gasp of the mage freezes in his breast.
Watching his comrades getting shredded by the rangers the lead magi starts to back away, eyes carefully on the Rangers. Unseen, Sendithu slips behind him, violet eyes cold. A quick slash of the blade sends the magi to his knees, hamstrings severed and screaming before an effortless thrust sends the blade plunging into his throat, silencing him forever.
As the trio advance on the remaining mages, they desperately return their attention to the ritual. Runes glow with power and the ground trembles once more as more creatures coalesce from the dirt and stone. The a gurgle over a well placed arrow, the final mage points towards the city as though commanding the coming minions to avenge them. With the mages down, the trembling only increases as the horrors spring forth at a growing rate, touching his crystal ring briefly Maltris begins to give ground, hands a blur as he looses arrow after arrow trying to stem the tide, while the other elves fight a valiant slowing action.
* * * * *
A massive roar shakes the battlefield as the gargoyles part to allow another monstrous diamonique guardian to wade forward. With a murmured prayer, the glistening outline of holy energies around the Paladins glows brighter, and a similar outline encompases the Alfar Warrior. Eckan takes a steadying breath and glances at Samsaren, “You know..this would be a whole lot easier with a fourth blade.”
Samsaren resets the grip on his shield. “Keep it up,” he mutters, stepping in front of the other two. Raising his voice he shouts to the Elf behind him, “Syn, keep its flapping friends off us, ask the same of the Guardian, we’ll handle this fella.” The wild-haired Elf simply nods, continuing to focus magical energies into spell after spell. Eckan grunts, “We will?”, before flexing his shield hand. Samsaren snorts, “Yep, we have to”, launching himself at the forty plus foot monstrosity.
Blow after gargantuan blow rains down on packed earth as the Paladin evades each smashing attack, landing repeated counter strikes against the wrists of the beast. Seeing an opening Eckan dashes forward, shield raised for a full bodied charge. The Guardian however, seeing the Paladin coming rears back and delivers a vicious kick to the younger man, blasting him across the battlefield to land in a clanking, crumbled heap. With a gleeful cry the circling gargoyles hurl themselves towards the fallen warrior, seeing an easy mark.
As the beasts hurl themselves at the still form the Alfar deliberately steps in harm's way. Black blade flashing, its furious attacks keep the monsters away. Before the dust can even settle on the warrior, Synamon merely turns her attention his way without even a pause in her casting. Wounds blossom on her skin as the matching injuries fade from the Squire. With an exasperated foot stomp Synamon gestures at Eckan, shouting “Wake up!” as motes of peach light settle on his brow.
Eckan’s eyes pop open and a snarl comes over his features as he leaps to his feet. Tendrils of light leap from his hands to the maul, discarded some distance away. As the maul flies to his outstretched hand he shoulders his shield, catching the weapon in a two-handed grip. Chanting a litany under his breath Eckan sprints at the Guardian as it tries desperately to land a telling hit upon him. Seeing the Squire’s charge, Samsaren’s axe smashes with bone-shaking force into the weakened wrist of the Guardian, sending it falling forward - directly into the underhanded charging blow of the maul, the head of the hammer suddenly shining with a brilliant white light.
With an ear-splitting CRACK the maul and the Guardian’s face shatter, bringing the creature’s hostility to an abrupt end. Holding the shattered haft in his hands, Eckan pulls his shield off his shoulder and stares mournfully at an oversized dent. “See this? Do you know what this is going to cost to FIX?! Gah! The first one was a breeze, but nooo, “ the remainder of the tirade is cut short, as the older paladin raps a knuckle on the smaller Paladin’s helm. Taking a deep calming breath, Eckan clears his throat. “Right..focus. Sorry.”
Samsaren snorts, “Cost? You mean you might have to work the bellows? Take a breath, it’s unbecoming.”
Eckan’s jaw drops. “Unbecoming.. unbecom.. Did you see how hard it hit me?!”
Before either Paladin can continue a giggle interrupts them both. “Uh, boys?” the Elf quips, pointing.
Both Paladins turn as one, facing the veritable avalanche of bodies coming their way, and quietly say in unison “Oh crap.” Samsaren squares his shield. “Keep up,” he says quietly, before raising his voice again “Syn, ground em!”. With that, the two humans charge, one barely a step behind the other. The two warriors smash through the oncoming ranks, shield bashes shattering the faces of grounded gargoyles of all types of stone. Holy weapons roar and flash as axe and spetum blast through the oncoming horde, as yellow sparks force the flying foes to the ground.
Slowly, inexorably, the oncoming press of sheer numbers forces the Paladins back, ever closer to the walls they defend. With a quick chant, Eckan raises his shield as golden waves burst forth from it, smashing several foes to the ground. “This isn’t working. Got another idea boss?”
Grunting, Samsaren finishes a similar chant, however as the waves of light burst forth from his shield he charges, pushing the magic forward with his own momentum, giving both warriors a tiny space for a breath. “Sure do,” Samsaren says, touching the base of a ringed finger with his gauntleted thumb. “Always have a backup plan.”
With a scarlet flash a moongate blazes open and another figure steps onto the fray: a dark haired Elf enshrouded in brilliant flames. Matte-black staff in one hand and sipar in the other, Mazrian’s gaze covers the fight in a glance. Thumping the staff against the ground, ash, dust and vapor blast forth, rapidly forming a pyroclastic cloud that stretches forth with roiling fury towards the onrushing enemy. A massive roar of thunder echoes from the clouds, drowning out the screeching war cries of the gargoyles as orbs of blazing fire come crashing downward. Another thump of the staff, and eye gouging blasts of lightning stab down from the roiling clouds, incinerating everything in their path.
As pyrotechnic fury rains down the Elf goes still for a moment, a calm center to the storm raging forth from him. Cupping his shield hand, the fire flickering gleefully around him pools momentarily in his palm. Raising his hand eye level, Mazrian quickly gestures, as several massive balls of flame burst from his fingertips. The fireballs streak unerringly towards the largest foes, exploding and adding their own roar to the growing cacophony, as shards of pure fire ripple forth from each explosion. The shards blister through skin and bone, hammering the monsters with brutal force, seeming to curl and turn around the Paladins fighting in the mix.
As the echoes fade, the fire surrounding the Elf burns down slightly as Mazrian releases his grip on his magic, allowing the cloud to begin to fade. The last droplets and bolts blast downward, scattering the remains of the last remnants of the horde. The two Paladins turn and walk towards the Elves, shaking ichor and pebbles from armor and weaponry. Braving the flame, Samsaren shakes Mazrian’s hand. “Appreciate the support, though I’m afraid we’re not through yet.” Mazrian nods, as Samsaren touches a thumb to the ring beneath his gauntlet. The moongate behind the fighters surges again as a final figure steps forth.
Clad in charcoal-gray titanese, white locks catching the flame-bred breeze, Mistanna dismisses her moongate with a gesture, graceful movements sending her hooped earring swaying gently. Cheerfully, she nods a greeting. Samsaren inclines his head respectfully before clearing his throat. “My brother tells me this is only a lull. He found the source, and is trying to hold back the next wave with Etherian and Sendithu now, but they’re losing ground. Think you Magi can dispel a ritual without blowing us to Yavash and back?” Mazrian chuckles and shrugs, while Mistanna gets a thoughtful expression for a moment before nodding. “Then let’s go, we’ve work to do.”
* * * * *
Maltris nocks an arrow, back-peddling, sighting carefully before releasing. As the arrow finds the eye it was aimed at, the Ranger’s hand brushes the edge of an empty quiver. “Arrows?” With a gesture, Etherian causes a tree to drop a massive limb a hair's breadth in front of his own face, buying a momentary pass. Reaching into his quiver he hands the arrows back to Maltris, raising his cutlass to deflect the next attack. As quickly as each foe falls to blade and arrow, more surge forward, claws and teeth aching for Elven flesh.
As a larger than normal gargoyle springs toward Etherian’s flank, Sendithu slips behind it swiftly dispatching the beast with a surgical strike to the neck. Carefully sidestepping the spurting ichor, her nose wrinkles briefly before her tyrium cutlass flashes against the light, striking another gargoyle dead. Giving ground himself, Etherian says softly in Ilithic, “How much longer?”
A ghost of a smile on her lips, Sendithu sidesteps a swooping strike. “Mm, not long at all,” her violet eyes flickering behind Maltris briefly.
A rallying cry to Truffenyi fills the air, the magic stirring the Elves, as the Paladins come crashing into the battle shields first. As the humans step into the fray beside the Elven warriors, the Magi flank Maltris as their magics reach out to turn the tide of battle. Mazrian, spirals of air twisting up his arms and around his sword of purest ice, raises his blade, each gesture causing focused streams of air to rip forth and shatter the gargoyles. Mistanna chants softly, words lost to the roaring winds from the War Mage, before raising a hand in a sweeping gesture. A ripple of magical force splashes forth, stunning or knocking gargoyles unconscious with its passing.
As the last of the beasts crash to the ground, shattering, the group charges back to the edge of the clearing. The runes pulse and shimmer, as a massive mound of earth and stone rises in the center of the pattern. Samsaren turns to his Squire. “Eckan, cover the mages. Maltris, Mistanna, Synamon, if it flies, ground it. Maz, break that” Samsaren nods toward the glowing runes. “We’ll buy time.”
The group shifts, Mazrian settling to the ground in the center, all his concentration and magical energies brought to bear on the ritual itself. Moving to the fore, Eckan readies his shield, slowly murmuring prayers as silvery and golden light gathers along his weapon. Moving to Mazrian’s right, Alfar looming menacingly behind her, Synamon sets her shield carefully on her arm before closing her eyes in concentration. A steadying breath fortifies Mistanna as she moves to the opposite side from Synamon, delicately drawing geometric symbols in the air as psionic energy gathers around her.
Maltris, quivers reloaded from both retrieved arrows as well as the spares of his companions, reaches out earthward with both hands open. The faintest hint of a smile crosses his Elven features as he slips into the shadows, loaded bow trained on the oncoming foes.
Samsaren briefly regards the Elves standing beside him, giving Etherian a nod, and Sendithu a gentle smile. With the faintest of sighs, Samsaren checks his grip on both axe and shield, before charging directly into the thickest part of the oncoming lines. Smashing recklessly through the center, the Paladin seems oblivious to the few hits the constructs manage the land, the force shed by his armor like water. Seizing the advantage, the Elves cleave through the gargoyles’ exposed flanks like a scythe through wheat.
As the trio blasts through the center mass, they hurtle unimpeded towards the others. Standing in the fore, Eckan thrusts his spetum at distant foes, every motion unleashing a wave of silver and golden light that tears through stone flesh and bone with equal facility. Above, a cyclonic wavefront of telekinetic energy gathers up rubble, arrows and shattered trees, smashing with withering force against the gargoyles that try to attack from the air. Below, Mistanna continues to draw the runes to guide the storm. As foes continue to close, the Alfar steps to Eckan’s side, black blade gleaming in the light, as it skewers anything foolish enough to close.
From the flank of the trio a shattering roar echoes as another Guardian lumbers into the fray. Titanic fists come crashing down towards a pressed Etherian, leaving him no room to evade. With a muttered ‘this is a bad idea” Samsaren launches himself between Etherian and harm, a golden light suffusing his body and shield.
The fist connects with a shield and a tremendous explosion of light, completely without sound, sears the battleground, viciously stunning the Guardian and nearby gargoyles. Eckan, taking advantage, launches his spetum towards the Guardians face with a shouted, “Now!” as Mistanna turns and extends her palm to the flying weapon. A pulse of telekinetic force pushes the spetum, sending it blasting, aglow with holy power, into the eye of the Guardian. The blow sends the creature toppling backwards, it’s fall crushing dozens of nearby gargoyles, still reeling, unable dodge.
With the Guardian’s fall, Mazrian leaps to his feet. “It’s set to blow, we need to leave, NOW!” Mistanna gestures towards the read of the group, and a blazing moongate bursts into existence. The warriors fall back, covered by arrows, before Synamon stops, giggling slightly. “This should work..maybe?” as she gestures. A wall of hard yellow light springs forth, Manifest Force on a far greater scale. The fighters step through, their exodus warded by the barrier, until only Samsaren and Mazrian remain. Samsaren nods to Mazrian, who flicks a finger to the sky, drawing down a bolt of lighting into the ritual. The pair strides through the moongate as the runes detonate, scattering the remaining gargoyles.
The group arrives outside of the city. As hands are shaken and smiles shared, Mistanna turns to the Ilithians. “Need a quick way home?”
Samsaren smiles gently. “While appreciated, the work isn’t quite done. We’ll sort it out later.” He turns and nods to Eckan. “Squire?” Eckan nods, the two of them waving to the departing warriors as they head towards the gates of the city.
* * * * *
As dusk begins to creep over the city, two older men armed with shovels and a cart are slowly cleaning up the debris. Shovel full after shovel full slowly fills the cart before one of the men turns to the other, grumbling. “This is ridiculous. Where are those adventurers? Quick to show up full of fire and mayhem for a fight, but cleanup after? Hah!” The other fellow nods along for a moment, before freezing solid.
“Uh, Renor..?”
The first man doesn’t miss a beat. “Not here, that’s where they are. Likely patting each other on the back, listening to bards..”
The other man nudges the first, trying to cut him off, “Renor..”
Patty, however, is in full steam and won’t be stopped. “Tell stories about how fantastic they are because they can learn MAGIC. Whoopie! If I could work magic I’d so something useful, like CLEAN UP AFTER MYSE..”
The second man shoves the first “RENOR!!”
“WHAT?!” screams the first, into his friend's face.
The second man grabs him by the shoulders, turning him forcefully, bringing him face to face with the two Paladins, now divested of armor, weaponry secured to harnesses. Holding a full shovel of rubble, Samsaren smiles gently. “Mind if we use the cart too fellas?”
The two nod, mutely, as the other Paladin grins to his Patron. “It’s like you say Sam, job isn’t done till you clean up and put your tools away”.
Samsaren nods, dumping his shovelful into the cart. “Exactly Squire, exactly. Now, let’s go over a few things about fighting airborne opponents.”
Each one is even better than the last.
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