[H1][center][color=440e62]MORGAN[/color][/CENTER][/H1]

[b][i]November 19, 1:45 A.M.
North East Gate[/i][/b]

Morgan sighed as he saw fear (and caution overtaking the few men and women remaining, a few stray shots ringing out in the night from the retreating forms. Morgan watched, a look of unchanging disappointment as he strode through the forest after them, a few flicks of the wrist dispatching those who'd stayed back to cover the others retreat. The sharp whiny in the distant followed by a scream signaled another of the 58 being trampled by his warhorse, having dismounted early into the battle, although that may be to generous a term for this skirmish. This would be over soon, he could already see the Engineers and Hands fanning out to catch any stragglers. He could feel the lights of life going out all through the forest, and turned back to the walls of the city, shaking his head as he made his way to the gates.  With it's purpose fulfilled, he returned his blade to it's resting place, a small shiver passing through his body as the lights finally entered with the rest of the blade. They had gathered at the hilt, as if running to escape the grasping tendrils of smoke swallowing the blade. The short burst of euphoria passed quickly, placing his head back, the armor dissolving into the nigh air as his familiar suit took its place. The screams seemed to be growing further between each other, he doubted it'd be an hour befo-

A loud crash broke through the night, glimpses of a bright flare seen through the limbs of trees.

Make that half an hour. He could make out the lanterns of the scavenging groups he'd asked for in the distance, the Cat-kin punctual as always when profit was involved. He'd meet with them back at the tavern later this morning. He wasn't sure how much they'd be able to get before the cities "cleaning crew" made its way through the carnage. It always surprised him how a creature that seemed to move so slow could always arrive so suddenly when needed. It didn't really matter in the end, it was all free profit whatever they pulled in.

Morgan gave a nod to the passing Engineers that were going to collect the wounded, his horse appearing with little sound beside him, the scales and bone gone now, a normal, if large, black Clydesdale idling along side him. And so another night passed in the city of Voldoa.

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[H1][center][color=9e0b0f]GARM[/color][/CENTER][/H1]

[b][i]November 19, 1:38 A.M.
North East Wall[/i][/b]


"...nd so far as we can tell there are at least 15 in the woods, perhaps mor.." and on and on the Engineer rattled, Garm sighing as his foot beat an ever increasing beat, already regretting asking her about the battle, so far confirming only that they were under attack, and no leader had been spotted as yet. Groaning as his impatience reached critical mass, Garm's hand snapping forward as he covered her mouth. He grinned disarmingly as she stepped back, a look of dismay covering her face at the act. 
[color=9e0b0f]
"My apologies dame, but honestly, ya drivin' me up the wall,"[/color] he said pulling his hand back and removing his shirt quickly and handing it to her, [color=9e0b0f]"so what I need from you, is to stay alive, and hold these cause I'll be needing them later,"[/color] he said as he freed himself of his pants, dropping them in her arms, an affronted gasp coming from her. He gave her a grin before backing up a bit, crouching a bit, a snapping sound emanating as his limbs deformed, the ever present smirk stretching into something much more sinister, smoke escaping from the now gleaming fangs, a dull red glow quickly filling his eyes, the strange changes continuing as he took off at the wall, a small leap taking him off the wall and hurtling towards the ground, and into a storm of bullets.

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[b][i]November 19, 1:40 A.M.
Surrounding Forest[/i][/b]

A creature the size of a small horse raced through the forest, the glow, bypassing the forms of men and women in a single minded pursuit, a dozen or so bullet wounds oozing a black ichor, hardly slowing his chase. Frustration was taking over as he continually failed to find anything resembling a leader in this pack of fools, another dead end looming as the group was beating a retreat. He was starting to despair of any gain, but a sudden flash of red caught his attention, the only Mark of rank in this thrown together militia, and the scent of horses detectable over the constant barrage of gunfire, blood, and fear. Garm crept forward silently, observing the cart in front of him.

"I'm telling ya mate, he's fucking gone, one sec' I'm hearin' tha bastard screaming orders fer more ammo, I come back and he's gone, and everythin's gone ta hell, wit tha demons to match, we need to git ba-" the man was suddenly cut off as Garm burst from the thicket, a torrent of flames escaping from his mzzle, two more bullets tearing into him as the canvas covering the cart caught ablaze. 

Garm groaned as he landed, from left leg buckling as he found himself unable to move it, the bullet having lodged itself in his shoulder, but that could wait. He turned to face the two men on the cart, only to see their retreating forms, crouching to take after them before the smell of gun powder igniting filled his nose, eyes widening as everything went white, feeling ribs crack as he slammed against a tree, the world fading from sight.