The WyrmslayerThe brave little protector of the forest did not respond to the mercenary's suggestion to avoid the two of them clashing in words, but as the giant of man peeked out from behind the stalwart barrier of his shield he could see the other standing there, weapons raised but not attacking. He arched one thick, iron-gray eyebrow and cocked his head slightly to the right, his grin fading into a slightly bothered mien. What did this man intend, he wondered? If he meant to truly avoid fighting against the Wyrmslayer - one who, he estimated, was the far superior warrior of the two - surely the other would have moved away and clear of his path. He could not blame the little one for being cautious and keeping his weapons in hand and ready, but just standing there like that... the little defender was obviously waiting, and from the way his gaze focused on the mercenary, it seemed logical that he was waiting for him to make the first move. How unpleasant. But at least that meant that the Wyrmslayer was in control of the situation for now, that he had the next move, and that for the moment the game was on hold.
He decided to make use of this graciously granted occasion to shoot another glance in the direction of the black-clad mage-fellow and his rather dangerous axe-wielding defender to see what they were up to, but in the time since he had looked that way last, he had moved and changed the angle of his view. Positioned further to the left compared to them now, the barbarian had come to partially hide the old man, but it now revealed the caster of that quite magnificently flashy spell he had witnessed just a minute earlier. What he saw brought the smile back to his lips and ignited a hungry spark in his eye.
Ah, splendid! I do love myself a redhead, and there's a fire in that one's eyes that suits her. And what is she wearing? Why, it almost looks as though that curious outfit could come loose any second... He had to remind himself that he was in the midst of combat to stop himself from chuckling, which would have been demeaning to both the situation itself - disgraceful as was even without that - and to his apparent adversary, which would be just plain wrong. He had seen some fighters who would taunt their opponents, who would mock and humiliate them even after they had been defeated, but such was not the way of his family.
Still, as his attention returned to the sword-and-dagger wielding combatant before him fully, he hesitated a moment as he pondered how he should react to this. Although he was sure of his own skill and his mind was free from the shroud of fear, the mercenary still acknowledged now, as he had done since his uncle had taught him that lesson, that every opponent he faced, however insignificant they seemed, might be his last. Anyone he met on the field of battle could be the one fated to be his bane; his lack of fear came not from certainty that he would survive, but acceptance that he might not. This was another thing their family had been taught since even before the days when they took upon themselves the mantle of the dragon hunters, from before they came to Rodoria and slew the first dragon of their family, and earned themselves a barony and a name. Acceptance of either outcome of a struggle was a lesson they had taken with them from their ancestral homeland of Kátimit, where his family had been barbarian warriors and hunters until they had migrated to the north and where those who were still true to the old way of actually hunting dragons of the family still went from time to time, bringing back barbarian spouses and recruits for their band of hunters.
And although he was not one of those who aimed to slay dragons, but only the disowned son of the Baron Wyrmslayer, he - Lord Corbin Wyrmslayer - was still trained in the old way. He felt no fear facing a worthy adversary... only regret that the coin was not any sweeter.
Although the one who spoke through the wind had apparently chosen not to shy away from combat and had refused Corbin's offer of peace, he would not be the one to sign this brave champion's death sentence or his own; a death here - any death - would be a needless one. He looked at the little one, thinking, measuring, planning. He turned the mace between his fingers, held low and passive as it was. He grinned.
The mercenary did not attack; he was paid to move towards the center of the forest, and unless he was actively prevented from doing so, that was all he would do. Instead he just kept his shield up and, making sure to keep facing the man as he circled around him clockwise, moving slowly and cautiously and, if he managed to get to the other side of him, he would start moving backwards to the north, as were his orders, while keeping his shield up and facing the man all the while. If the man moved, Corbin would simply turn to keep facing him, wherever he went, and keep his shield up to protect his throat and face. And if the man attacked... well, he would have to fight back then, would he not?
Her spell could hit us, too? It will be raining death? the necromancer thought, performing a quick dissection of Jillian's words to figure out what kind of spell she had in mind and intended to cast once they were in the air. It did not take much; she obviously meant some kind of projectile-based invocation that was difficult enough to control that she could not guarantee that they would emerge unscathed themselves, and would manifest enough projectiles to hit as many wyverns as he could lure to him. Personally he did not like the idea at all; projectiles could be blocked, and unless the ones Jillian had in mind had piercing qualities to them somehow, wyverns that were closer to them might easily shield the ones further away, greatly reducing the number of the winged beasts they could eliminate with this maneuver. Inversely if the projectiles were indeed capable of piercing the wyverns and continuing their deadly trajectory on the other side, this would mean that an unknown mass of lethal bolts of magic would be raining down on the forest below, potentially killing or injuring what few defenders they had left on their side. It could also kill a large number of crusaders, that was true, but the crusaders - although by now weakened by the onslaught of the lohks and trolls - could afford the losses; the Anaximites could not.
He, too, turned his gaze skyward, like Jillian thinking about the spells he was going to cast, but unlike her he felt no eagerness or excitement at the thought, and instead felt only uncertainty and dread.
Could I create the Shadow Image further away, maybe? Perhaps beyond the edge of the valley, where we and the others would not be put at risk? By increasing the distance between any bystanders and the origin of her spell, the effect of it should at least be more dispersed by the time it reaches this range and less likely to hit us. He considered this for a moment, then discarded the idea as he realized that it would never work.
I need to be able to visualize where I want the Shadow Image to appear in my mind, and for that I need a landmark to place it in relation to, and since I can't see the landscape from above from where I'm standing and no landmarks at all in the air... He frowned.
No, it seems like the only way this could work is if I use myself as the landmark, which means that the Shadow Image will appear directly above our physical bodies.He sighed. "I had hoped for something with a more compact area of effect - an explosion, for instance - but it will have to do. We don't have time to memorize new spells, so we will have to make do with what we have." He turned and looked to the north, where an empty area stretched out about a hundred and thirty feet from them before the landscape was overtaken by the many great trees of the Anaxim Forest. If he ran as fast as his fragile body would reliably allow him he could probably cover the distance in less than twenty seconds, yet he could not shake the feeling that every second counted by now, and that deciding whether they were going to do it here or there could determine everything.
In the end the need for his own survival won out, though, and he began jogging northward with a humble speed of less than seven miles per hour, but which was enough for each footfall to send painful jolts up his feeble bony legs, and the exhaustion was enough to cause his lungs to burn and his breathing to turn ragged. "Let's go."
Jaelnec could not decide whether to be relieved or horrified to hear that the voice of this Mother Tigress had spoken the truth, and that Aemoten and the others did indeed know the creature. There was really no conflict in his mind to learn that when she had appeared, she had done so using
his body! For a moment he continued to be afraid that he might simply have split personalities and really be crazy after all, until the Sekalyn mentioned that the 'protector' felt magically powerful, which to Jaelnec proved that it had to be a separate soul that took residence in him at the time, since he himself was rather insignificant in that regard. That was one worry off his mind, at least.
It did seem like it would be unwise to invest any trust in Mother Tigress, though, with it being as unpredictable as Aemoten claimed it was and apparently downright aggressive even towards his allies. Even if what the entity had claimed was true and it really did mean to help and protect Jaelnec, he would not risk putting his friends in further danger. The risk outweighed the gain, in his eyes, and so he resolved to keep his distance from whatever it was.
He did draw his sword, though, and readied himself, but although the three yths down there - adolescents, judging by their size, and mercifully not full-grown five-foot long beasts as they could grow to become - were looking up at them menacingly, they seemed highly reluctant to move any further. It took a couple of seconds of them just sitting down there at the bottom of the stairs looking up at them, occasionally shooting worried glances behind them, presumably at the barrier keeping in whatever was still trying to get out of the pantry, before the squire realized what was happening.
"They're scared," he mumbled, seeing the six-armed reptilian creatures just sit there undecidedly, unwilling to climb the stairs and face them, but also frightened of fleeing back to whence they came to hide, as he knew the yths' instincts would be demanding by now. It was an interesting experience, actually; he had never had a chance to just watch yths while they were alive, because their kind were usually always either hiding or trying to kill someone.
While he stood there beside the stairs, a third halberdier had joined the first two at the top of the stairs, and all three of them now stood side by side, halberds in hand and obviously ready to attack the creatures if any of them attempted to approach the upper floor. The guardsmen looked nervous, but combat-ready, and should in Jaelnec's experience be able to keep a few yths at bay...
At least that was what he thought until he heard a particularly loud crash downstairs - one that sounded more like a battering ram smashing straight through a carpenter's shop and everything in it than a creature pummeling its way through a barricade - that sent bits of wood and cheap mattresses flying through the air down there and clattering across the floor, followed by a furious roar that did not sound like any kind of monster the young Nightwalker had ever heard before. At this moment, presumably motivated to move by the emergence of this new threat, one of the yths abruptly drew the frontmost part of its body backwards, and while its arms and head remained raised the hindmost and snakelike part of its body coiled up, all in barely a heartbeat. It lowered its hands to the floor in front of it, its fingers clenching as its talons dug into the wooden boards when finally, with a brief growl, it pulled itself forward with all six arms at the same time as its tail uncoiled, launching it up the stairs at astonishing speeds.
Jaelnec found himself to be momentarily stunned, having never seen an yth make a maneuver of full body coordination like that, only to let out a surprised cry as the creature reached the top of the stairs in a split-second, and immediately plunged its fangs into the left side of the neck of the middle halberdier. Simultaneously with this its arms rapidly twisted around, recovering from having been used to launch it up the stairs, and struck at the guardsmen on either side of the middle one. The topmost pair of hands went for the guards' throats, causing bubble-filled blood to flow abundantly down their chests, where the second pair of hands went and stabbed between their ribs, anchoring itself deep in the unfortunate humans' flesh. The third and last pair of hands gripped their halberds - something Jaelnec felt somewhat sure that yths were not supposed to be smart enough to do - and stopped them from moving and attacking the yth.
All of this was so surprising and happened so quickly that Jaelnec could not seem to push past the shock and do anything to stop it, and even after the yth had effectively eliminated the three guardsmen and the Nightwalker actually found it in himself to start moving to intercept the creature, the yth used its hold in the halberdiers as an anchor for its entire body as it drew up its tail and, once more surprisingly quickly, lashed it at anyone within range, knocking back Jaelnec a few steps and momentarily staggering him.
And while this happened upstairs, the two other adolescent yths started climbing the stairs on their bellies, dragging themselves forward with their arms as their kind usually does... but before it could put distance between itself and whatever else had been in the pantry, something seemed to grab the tail of one of the yths and brutally yank it out of sight. It shrieked briefly, and then went silent.
Back off, you vultures! the dread Blood God thought with rising ire, momentarily turning his attention from what was happening at the barracks on the mortal level of existence and instead focusing his awareness on what was happening in the realm of the divine. Not only did these puny mortals suffer the delusion that they could possibly challenge him in all of his gruesome glory and still stand a chance of surviving, but since a few minutes ago he could also feel that this pathetic little scene of their impending demise was attracting the eyes of other gods. He could feel at least several of them, ephemeral for the moment and simply spectating, but concentrating in a way that deities rarely had the time for. Deities usually only devoted their full attention to a single thing when that thing was of enormous importance to all of the Planes... he could only assume that they were drawn here by the fact that
he was concentrating on this, and they wanted to see what he had discovered of such importance.
Stand back, he issued an unheard command, one the other deities would not hear, but feel as an emanation of his power and wrath.
The girl is mine and mine alone, and no matter what plans these lowly creatures had or have made, none of you will as much as put a finger on my Black Thorn! I will see Reniam reduced to rubble before I allow that!Things within the barracks seemed to be going well for the moment, so in light of the increasing levels of threat outside Rilon decided to withdraw from there and focus his attention on the area in the immediate vicinity of Black Thorn, which also meant the battle between his angelic agent and the dekkun. He did hear a stray address from Thaler apologizing to him for some reason, but since she did not elaborate he simply presumed that she was desperately begging for mercy, which was naturally in vain anyway; it was far too late to beg for forgiveness. He could only mentally sneer at her and her pathetic weakness, and that of her
friends (how he loathed that despicable word), while he focused on the marginally less pathetic beast that battled his minion.
The angel was badly damaged, weakened and positively crippled by then, though, with one arm disabled by the shield that had folded around it and the other incapable of moving much due to the shards of metal in the pauldron that dug into its softer core whenever the arm moved too far forward. Despite the Blood God's commands, which would cause the angel searing agony to disobey, Vigilance just stood there, slivers of white smoke rising from various cracks and dents in its armor. Rilon knew that if the angel chose the punishment for disobedience over continuing the fight, it had to be in very bad condition, and practically incapable of serving him any further.
This was confirmed when the dekkun flung another boulder at the borderline defenseless immortal, which the angel made no attempt to evade or block; it just stood there, looking at the lump of stone trailing through the air impassively, only to be instantly swept off its feet and smashed into the ground as it hit. The angel, lying on its back, squirmed briefly before it ceased struggling, too weak to stand back up, let alone fight the powerful southern creature. Rilon inflicted it pain, but the angel ignored it; it had accepted defeat.
Emanating rage and displeasure in his incorporeal form, Rilon briefly pondered how to deal with this detestable situation. On one hand he obviously could not leave things the way they were, since the Angel of Vigilance was too weak to fight on and the dekkun was, aside from having earned his hatred and vengeance, too dangerous to leave unoccupied. If this creature went to assist the ones inside... he did not want that. No, he had to keep it engaged even if his servants could not destroy it, lest it ruin everything. On the other hand he could still feel the interest of other deities on this place, and he knew that this kind of attention from them severely limited his freedom in acting. He could not manifest himself, obviously, since this would be interpreted by the other gods as a crime against the mortal realm, possibly prompting them to act together to thwart his efforts... no, he could not do that. Manifesting himself physically was only an option if another god did so first, so that he had a valid excuse for doing so that would leave him as the defender, not the aggressor. Nor could he simply summon more minions; a moment ago that would have been fine, no consequences would be likely to occur, but now that he was being observed calling more minions here would turn what had so far been relatively minor meddling into an invasion of Reniam, which would allow the other gods to rightfully summon minions of their own to intercept his plans.
The air filled with Rilon's frustration over the painfully careful maneuvering that was made necessary by the puny politics and laws of immortals. Usually he was free to do almost whatever he wanted as long as he did not affect the world on too large a scale, but now that they were watching... one god he could easily brush aside, life-blessed as he was, but several of them were a problem.
All of them, and despite his overwhelming power he would be chanceless. Luckily Rilon had been coping with these restrictions for millennia, and quickly located a cunning loophole to abuse.
A short wail escaped the badly wounded Angel of Vigilance, its body convulsing and writhing on the ground briefly as its evil master's soul wrapped around it, seeping into the angel's form like an invisible miasma, filling it and replacing the feeble soul that had occupied it until then. As Rilon slipped into the angel's body as a mortal would slip a glove onto their hand, the flow of white mist from the angel's wounds ceased, and instead black smoke began pouring from every crack and crevice in its armor. The white flares of its eyes faded before they flickered and died, only to be replaced by a pair of new frighteningly intense lights that burned red as blood. Rilon could feel his own energy coursing through the angel's veins, burning like fire but filling it with strength that was far beyond the scope of lesser immortals. He was limited in this form, but still far beyond the limits of mortals.
Letting out a grunt of annoyance Rilon extended his left arm, and with a nasty, ear-splitting screech of tearing metal the shield folded around it was rent to pieces by his sheer raw power, falling to the ground in lumps that immediately began to dissipate into white smoke, part of the angel's true form as they were. He rolled his right shoulder, feeling the sharp metal of the pauldron cut into flesh but ignoring it as his power swiftly and easily mended the damage. He clutched the mace in his right hand, testing his strength, so hard that his fingers bent the metal of the handle. Black smoke rose from every one of his joints.
Dark, menacing and sadistic laughter filled the air as Rilon stood up in the angel's twisted body, facing the dekkun anew. Twirling the mace easily in his hand he began to move forward, truly running, his strength so far beyond that of the angel he possessed that he could move in this heavy armor almost as easily as if naked. Each footfall made loud thuds and left deep footprints into the soil, and his armor continued to shriek from time to time as it bent and broke to accommodate his movements rather than restrict them. He went straight at his adversary; he was going to enjoy tearing this creature apart.
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