To claim their strategy had been hashed out was an understatement, but when less than half the team could be viewed as ‘competent’, perhaps it was for the best that Ettamri carried the greatest burden in the upcoming fight. This time, at least, they were up against creatures that weren’t the size of a boulder. This time, at least, they didn’t have to worry about anything like tongues with massive range or poisonous secretions from the skin.

Shedding their ill-gotten goods from their last attack, the group approached as carefully as they could, as close as they could when one of them was a mounted knight in shining, white armor.

Once upon a time, the Redstone Mines had been constructed in search for deposits of iron and coal. The mountains around Andeave had been thoroughly quarried to construct the great walls of the fortress-city, but no mineral deposits were found in the area, prompting great difficulty for craftsmen who had come to the new continent for new materials. To meet their demands, mages contracted with earth spirits discovered an area where many earth spirits converged, and work began on the construction of a mine. But frequent monster attacks within the forests, combined with low initial gains, ended the project soon enough, leaving nothing but an opening in a mountain and a couple of half-rotten shanties sticking around.

Any bit of humanity’s mistakes, however, could be used as cover.

Ettamri, atop her steed, burst through the treeline first, her mighty mount bounding over the bushes before thundering down the gravelly path. The information had been good, and the habits of the undead were usually predictable: having being left where they died, they now solely roamed where they died. Though their deaths must have been recent, the lingering curse of the King of Corpses had already stripped them of much of their flesh, leaving behind skeletons with skin drawn taut over their bones, gaping, black holes where their eyes once were. Two warriors surged to meet her in battle, one bearing a shield and spear, while another hefted his well-used battle axe. Death may had come upon them, but the skills they had in life was still present, and warriors on the Empire’s frontier were well-accustomed to fighting creatures larger than themselves.

As all eyes were drawn towards Ettamri, Gwyn clutched her staff, leading the others as they skirted around the perimeters. Her black robes were being soaked through, now that she had discarded her cloak in favor of mobility, but the chill kept her calm. Another downtrodden shanty stood before them and the mage, who was accompanied still by a swordsman in rusted chainmail.

The threat of a single foe didn’t mean they would discard all protection for their mage. Their battle instincts were sharp, and they were once experienced. It had only been luck that failed this particular group of Silver Moon recruits.

But each second wasted meant more time for the mage to act.

So Gwyn turned to her junior soldiers with a small, reassuring smile, before breaking off into a sprint, mud splattering her boots as she rushed down towards the mage.