Fantasy The Guardians of Gerhard RP

[Elysium]

It has been four days since the king of Gerhard was assassinated, and the Guardians were making quick work of the miles of road behind them. Tired from their work against a particularly nasty group of goblin marauders in the plains in the northern reaches of the Eastvale province, but due to come to the call, they did as they were ordered from their higher ups and began the many days-long trek back to the capital. Eastvale’s grassy plans and farmlands disappeared behind them, and forests of Altir were in sight.

At first the trip was quiet, peaceful, just a normal forced march back home. They had some time to recover stamina and bandage their wounds, but it was still an arduous hike back. Many grumbles were heard, but everyone still walked forward loyally, before they were waylaid by the Gondar bandits.

These highwaymen are an aggravating splinter in Gerhard’s side, and have been for many decades as one of the only things preventing true peace in the region.

These guerilla ambushes were unrelenting and brutal, but the Gerhard Guardians held their ground and even found a squealing pig that provided the location for these bandits. That was nice, but it didn’t spare his life. We can only wonder if his victims pleaded for mercy as loud as he did as his head was separated from his neck.

As the Guardians finally found a break between battles, the Guardians once again powered on to the capital, a splinter group setting off and bringing the battle to Gondar’s doorstep. Leading this pack was a big, battle-hardened man with a bigger sword, an archaic taskmaster with a chaotic fighting style. The splinter group found an abandoned village surrounded by wooden walls, crawling with bandit trash just milling about in this dead town of six houses and a warehouse for the crops, back when farms thrived on this soil no longer stood on by farmers. Now it just contains ill gotten goods and prisoners, and, as currently found by earlier recon, Cnut. Also called the Bandit King of Gerhard, this bastard is the reason the Guardians even bothered with this hidey-hole of these bandits during this emergency. Cnut was a target worthy of distraction.

- - -

It was a beautiful day, blue skies and just a few wispy white clouds dotted the clear sky. It was slightly cool, and there were no sounds outside of bird and wind in the trees. At first, there was a slight clamor, then a tense silence, and then an explosion of splinters and rag-dolling bodies of two bandit corpses were thrown through the wall, a massive humanoid in dark platemail stomping through the new doorway in a placid manner.

Idly, the dark helmet with a broken horn turned back to glance over a plated shoulder, amber eyes checking out his carpentry handiwork with a satisfied blink before turning back around in time to deflect a spearhead with the back on his hand. With deceptive agility, the plated beast deftly dodged or parried, twisting and leaning his powerful torso with practiced, easy movements before finding his counter. Occasional sparks sprang forth as the spear glanced off his platemail, but he had his moment soon enough.

A quick, plated fist found the spear bandit’s throat, and his other hand punched out at another dead fool, catching that one in the shield as the first choked and stumbled. His left hand straightened out and locked, and thrusted pointed finger plates into the first one’s throat, while the other fist pummeled the shield with enough brutality to splinter wood and make the second’s arm completely numb.

Tearing his left hand free in a spray of lifeblood, Wolf clamped both hands on the remaining guard’s shield and tore it off angrily, a sickening crack filling the air as he broke the bandit’s arm during the theft. Quickly raising it high and then driving it down into the now prone bandit’s skull, multiple times, until thuds became cracks became squishing and the asshole quit twitching, before he could scream in pain over the mangled limb.

That done, the brutal plated beast side-armed the shield through a nearby window, the sounds of shattering glass and a loud grunt of pain of pain could be heard. The plated man followed behind followed the shield into the room, and summarily dismantled the three people within, the screams and ruckus from the room raising the alarm through the camp, war horns filling the otherwise silent stretch of grassy plains and quiet forest. As the alarm was raised, the beast calmly stepped out of the room he was in, and quietly shut the door behind him before stomping down the hallway, leaving behind a room covered in blood, detached limbs, efficiently mauled corpses, and shattered furniture.

This is Wolf Harradin, famed berserker of the east, and the man who was chosen by his higher ups to lead this splinter group of talented individuals against this group of the Gondar Bandits. A giant of half elf on the cusp of middle age, powerful and brutal, and only the distraction in this cobbled-together, urgent plan of theirs, decided on the way to this place as Wolf would soon be incapable of being a part of a plan.

His battle lust was beginning to grow and soon his mind would get ever blanker. Wolf was in the process of getting high, for to him, combat was the biggest thrill, the smell of sweat stronger than any smokeleaf, the rush of life-or-death adrenaline tighter than any woman, the the ache of muscle and bone more potent than even dwarven rum. And that high only made him even scarier when battle joined.

But for now, he grabbed a chunk of bread and a half drank mug of beer off the kitchen table. He drained the mug and threw it at the head of someone who burst through the front door of this cute little house.

Wolf grunted in displeasure at the interruption to his snack, and crammed the bread into his mouth before shoving his helm back on and once more causing the biggest distraction he could, his battle spilling back out into the streets as a flying chair hit the guy getting back up, before he was pounced on and brutally destroyed by Wolf.

Now that the alarm was raised, it was time for his hidden companions to come and do all within their power to avoid Wolf as they beeline for the warehouse to rob the bandits and kill or capture Cnut, at any cost but their own lives.

And what a distraction he started, as the bandits around Wolf started to either flee or die as he finally drew his claymore from his broad back, and soon painted the air around him with sprays of deep red as his eyes began to only see a similar hue.
It was time, and the actual plan belonged to his compatriots who were no longer waiting now that the camp knew.

Wolf was inside.​

 

[Noivian]

Unbeknownst to the bandits, a small group skirted around the outskirts of the abandoned town. Prior to the mayhem and destruction, before the berserker had left on a whirlwind of destruction and carnage, a group of four had come under the effects of an invisibility spell. The caster, one Caelum Brightspark, a renowned mage and indispensable member of the Guardians. He found himself now slinking about the outskirts, hugging the inside of the encampment's outer wall and keeping low to the ground. Invisibility didn't mean intangibility, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to get stuck with an arrow, or worse, debris flying off from Wolf's rampage.

Quiet footfalls landed on leaf litter and grass, and Caelum cast a hand slowly behind him, making contact with some sort of fabric, confirming that at least one of his comrades had followed his lead. So far, it seemed no one had noticed them. Careful of the twigs and leaves, Caelum aimed his feet, or where he assumed his feet were, towards patches that would conceal his footfalls, avoiding dipping the grass too much or leaving tracks in the dirt and giving away his steps. He could only hope that those behind him were doing the same as best as they could.

The alarm had been raised, so now it was only a matter of time before either the bandit leader emerged or fled. Though, if they believed there was only one attacker, they might not do either. He feared he was leading the rest of the team into a trap, with Cnut as the bait. What if they went into the warehouse, only to be overwhelmed and taken captive? Or worse, executed on the spot? He bit his lip, doing his best to not think of that--

Snap. With a wince, Caelum froze, looking down. The offending twig laid broken in half beneath the faint print of his boot in the dirt. Shit. Hopefully no one was around to hear that... Regardless, standing in place after a blunder like that was a bad idea. So, shuffling his foot to the side quietly, he crept on, continuing on the path to the warehouse.

Finally, he reached the warehouse's side wall, the location they'd discussed meeting at before proceeding forwards. Pressing up against it, he waited for them to join him, listening over the din of battle for their arrivals.

 

[Humble Shipper]

Sneaking was not the large draconic man's strong suit. Not only was he covered in scales that, despite having decades of neglect dulling their surface, reflected light easily, but he was also very tall and wide. Despite this, he was still light on his feet enough to get close enough to animals for hunting, but that mostly came with patience and waiting for something to come by. Karkiv was thankful for the mage's abilities in magic, the invisibility spell he could cast doing wonders for their more undercover operations. He wanted badly to notch an arrow and assist Wolf in his endeavors, never wanting to leave a team member to fend for themselves, but he knew that the berserker could handle himself, and very much loved to handle hordes of enemies solo. More to boast about in the taverns after the battle.

As slow and careful as he could, he put one foot in front of the other as he followed after Caelum, tail laid straight behind him to act as a guide for whoever had followed behind him. As he felt the mage reach for him, he in turn reached forward and patted his back with his clawed hand. Step after step, toe to heel, toe to heel. In his mind, he silently thanked the skills his apprentice had taught him in turn about how to tread lightly, where to place your feet, how to shift your weight as you went-

SNAP

Karkiv stopped, glancing around them to eye for any bandits near them. He could take them out if he needed, but until it was required, he was going to stick to their plan. Still, in a quiet motion, he took out his bow and notched an arrow, preparing himself for any fight that may come their way. Giving Caelum a gentle nudge to see if he was still moving, he kept his hand on the mage's back so he wouldn't crash into the man if they stopped again. Once they finally reached the meeting point, a small bit of smoke escaped the draconic man's nostrils in relief. Now they just needed to wait for the right time. He was ready, holding his bow with a practiced preparation. The more draconic side of him longed to dispatch the bandits inside, even to just kill Cnut if he was even still within the building, but alas, he had to have patience, as any hunter would with their prey.

Glancing around, he flexed his fingers on his bow and listened intently to the chaos and bloodshed around him. Taking slow, calculated breaths, he kept himself pressed close to the wall to take up as little space as possible. His tail twitched in anticipation. This waiting game was going to spike some anxiety, but mostly for his team's safety. Had they made it through safely? Was Wolf alright? He knew the answers would most likely be yes, as his team was quite competent in taking care of themselves, but there was still that small, frightening chance.

 

[Zearea]

​

"Inside! He's inside!" Someone hisses. "His killin' 'em all in there!"
A warhorn blares, sharp, rising, urgent. It echoes through the camp, more horns blaring in response. Shouts ring out. Boots thundering as bandits scramble for their weapons.

At the back of the group, Ashlia creeps along, keeping a decent gap between them to avoid disruption from her aura. Her sensitivity to energy would allow her to keep track of them, at least for now. Her head swivels, eyes meeting the building Wolf was terrorizing. The energies surrounding him at this moment were getting muddied, incoherent, chaotic. Bloodthirst, rage, an emotion that elicits a strange, guilty desire to cause harm in her... Every time it happens, Ashlia feels a rush of white hot shame.

Something snaps under Caelum's foot, causing Ashlia is freeze, one foot hovering above the ground. Her grip on the staff tightens, mana coalescing where her palms press to it.

No one notices. The tension she is holding fades, dissipating back through her arms.

Good. Wolf's distraction was working perfectly.

Sensing that Caelum and Karkiv were moving again, she quickens her pace, At the warehouse she steps up behind the dragonborn and gently tugs his cloak, before backing up again. Letting him know she was still following.

 

[Jorgo800]

This doesn't get old, James thought, looking down at where his feet should be. Caelum had made them all invisible, and he could barely tell where his teammates were, relying on the faint disturbances wherever they put their feet down. He had been invisible before, but still it remained a strange experience for him.

He trod quietly in his fine leather boots, gripping his crossbow, as if he was stalking a stag like he had done many times before. Like Karkiv, he was a hunter - though not nearly so accomplished as the great draconic archer. James had great respect for his allies in the Guardians, older and wiser as they were, and he tried to learn from them wherever possible. In this case, it was to move silently, and to strike decisively.

Crack! A branch snapped. James looked down at his feet, to make sure it wasn't his fault. The chances they would be detected from this noise seemed slight, but he could tell his team had stopped moving. Fortunately, it wasn't James who had broken the branch - he would have been mortified.

They started walking again and James breathed a sigh of relief. They came to the warehouse, and he could hear the cries of battle and the breaking of timber as their badass captain Wolf rampaged through the bandit horde towards the warehouse from the other direction. James leaned against the wall, and whispered "Hey! Is everyone here?" They couldn't see his face, of course, but they would have seen he was grinning from ear to ear. Ready to fight for truth, justice, and the crown once again - what a thrill!

 

[Hard Boiled]

DAY FOUR ON THE RUN

Not any more on the run than The Red Mistress usually was. Only a new, pervasive kind of hiding. The murder of King Gallus was unlike any job she had taken before, and for the first time, the target on her back was larger than she could bear alone. Fearing betrayal from even her closest allies, she fled Silvri as the authorities blocked off streets and kicked in doors in search of her. Unsure of who she could trust, Red pursued the help of a man she definitely didn't trust: The Bandit King, Cnut. Their working relationship had long made trust irrelevant.

The bounty on Cnut's head was nearly as large as hers, and she had proven herself more valuable alive than dead many times over with her years of service. He was brutish, and she was flighty, but he had never turned her in for a pardon and she had never killed him for cash (despite many offers). Confident that one new warrant added to the list wouldn't suddenly change his mind, she hitched a ride beneath one of his loot wagons and ambushed him alone in his quarters, seeking asylum. Though startled like a cat dipped in water, Cnut welcomed her with open arms and assured her that nobody, especially not the other bandits, would know of her presence. Red took shelter in the barracks, remaining awake the whole night and sleeping when the sun rose.
On that hay mat, she rested her eyes for the first time in almost a hundred hours...

...

SNAP
Her eyes shot open with a sharp inhale, sitting up and slowly looking around. Her heart raced, as though she'd awoken from a nightmare. The smell of copper and spices tickled her nose through the stench of the barracks. She held her ringed fingers to the floor, feeling a strange vibration. Not the Army...
Bounty hunters.
Red whipped to her feet, pulling her hood over her head and donning her gear. Peeking through the crack of closed blinds, she saw no sign of intruders. The alarm hadn't been raised yet—perhaps she had time to escape before the village was leveled. She looked to the door, considering warning Cnut, then slid the window open and grappled to the roof.

She scanned her surroundings: bandits mulled about, more concerned with picking through prizes from the castle than manning their posts. The civilians were all packed away inside so their homes could be raided, too. She couldn't see the mercenaries, but the foresight captured in her enchanted jewelry lent her a certainty to her that she could not shake. They were out there... It was only a matter of--

PFWOOOOOM!
The perimeter was breached with brute force alone; she didn't hear any explosives.

--time. Time to go, that is.

As Red ducked across the rooftop towards the tree line, the events of the raid unfolded before her. A lone Berserker rampaged through the village, demolishing houses, bathed in viscera and bodily fluids. The horn sounded, the bandits flooded in, and the battle proper begun. Destitute laborers looked on helplessly through the warehouse windows as their homes and lives were literally eviscerated before their eyes—along with Red, transfixed by the vulgar display of power. The Bounty Hunter mercilessly shredded through the Clan, sparing no quarter for wounded or unarmed. He bulldozed straight through buildings and men, gaining momentum with every extinguished soul. He feasted on the misery.
In the heat of battle, the Bounty Hunter abruptly paused in the street and looked directly up at the Assassin on the roof.
Tiffany's pupils dilated, wide-eyed as she met the Berserker's gaze. Her red cloak flowed in the breeze atop the warehouse, a hot swelling filled her chest as heart pounded in terror; his raced in splendor. She blinked and regained her footing, casting a smoke bomb at her feet and disappearing into the trees. The Berserker quickly lost interest and returned to his massacre.

"Fuck, fuck!" She swore as she hopped from branch to branch, hyperventilating. She knew that fucking wood elf. The Guardians...Merry band of the worst kind of bounty hunters: the kind that thinks the Law means they ain't contract killers, same as her. Dangerous bunch.
This was retaliation. They were hunting Cnut. They were hunting...Me.
...I need to warn the others.

 

[TobiornotTobi]

Cnut Svartrson​

Abandoned Village Stronghold AKA 'The Corn Hub'​

"Let the games begin!"​

---

Cnut was a very big fan of nicknames. He gave nicknames to his allies, he gave nicknames to his enemies, he even gave nicknames to his weapons. But the most tactical usage of nicknaming The Bandit utilized was for his strongholds. His usage of nicknames among his ranks prevented enemies from properly deciphering the Gondar Clan's messages and announcements. Some nicknames alluded to a memory regarding the location, some were random, and others were very literal. And 'The Corn Hub', where he was currently residing, was just that, a corn hub. The hideout took its name from the since barren corn field that stood behind the warehouse. Despite its useful location close to the capital, Cnut rarely utilized this stronghold based in an abandoned agrarian village. A lack of environmental advantages held it back from becoming a frequently used spot. At the very least, the wooden bulwark created from the remains of houses damaged beyond repair could hold off a military patrol long enough for back-up to arrive and scare them off. That is, if a warning was applied in time. Which was not the case this afternoon.

Cnut Svartrson was in his make-shift 'chamber' inside The Corn Hub's warehouse. In truth, it was a corner on the second floor boxed off with hay cubes and covered with blankets to form a roof. Inside this dark fortress that would better suit a group of boys in a sleepover, The Bandit was transfixed with a handheld object obscured by his hands, one atop the other. Behind closed eyelids, his eyes flicked about. His lips moved in a muttering motion, but did not make sound. This strange ritual continued until its abrupt interruption by one of Cnut's associates. A young man with tan skin darkened by dirt nearly ripped the blankets from the entrance as he stumbled in, disheveled and out of breath. The instant the sun's light touched his body, Cnut's eyes opened wide open as he sharply gasped, as if he had come up for air after a deep dive.

"C-Cnut!" The bandit stammered, his uncovered chest rapidly rising up and down. "We have a problem brewing outside! It--" Unspoken words were cut down by the piercing glare of the Bandit King. For the second instance in a short amount of time, he had been taken by surprise. He did not like it when Red popped out from the shadows like a jack-in-the-box, and he certainly did not like it now, especially after declaring that he was not to be disturbed to his underlings. Cnut killed for less, and the young man knew it. No one would approach The Corn Hub, as there was no reason to. The northerner rose from his cross-legged and hunched position, slowly rising to his feet like an executioner's blade, and just as dangerous. And unknown to Cnut, glowing violet eyes flickered before the other bandit. The young man shakily put his hands up. "I-I-I'm sorry, It's the Guardians! The Guardians!"

Cnut's eyes closed momentarily, then opened back up in their normal hazel state. He took a deep breath, then a furtive glance at the object of his affection before stowing it away behind his back. "The Guardians, eh?" Color returned to his bearded face, which was no longer a visage of quiet rage. "How do we know this?" The lesser bandit pointed behind himself, where a line of windows facing the rest of the village stood. Once a storage hall to hold grain and animals during the winter, the warehouse was now the bandit's home base of the stronghold. It was square in shape, with two large barn-like doors on the front and back and two smaller side doors on the other sides. The building had two floors, the first for holding necessities such as weapons, perishable goods, mounts and prisoners yet to be ransomed, while the second floor was used as a vantage point to put eyes on the surrounding area and warn of danger. And on occasion, attack from above. Cnut marched past his subordinate and to a window, peering outside. The sounds of battle were now audible, from swords clanging to the death cries of the unfortunate. And Cnut was hearing quite a lot of death cries. The source of said cries revealed himself momentarily, a man wearing an all too familiar set of armor cleaving his way through his men. Wolf Harradin. Banditsbane, to those of weaker constitutions in Cnut's clan. But to him, that tight-as-a-clamp stick in the mud was the man Cnut owed a drink to.

Wasting no more time to gawk at his sudden appearance, The Bandit took time to take in the scene outside. Wolf, raising hell, attacking with wild abandon. No magic sigils or explosions in sight. He was in that berserk state of his, but more importantly, he was raising hell alone. No other Guardians in his company. Seeing enough, Cnut sprung into action, pushing past his exhausted clanmate to quickly descend the ladder that lead to the first floor. Upon his arrival, Cnut was met with the uneasy horde of bodies that was his men. Bandits of all shapes and sizes stood before him. Thieves, kidnappers, and killers hardened by the deeds they performed daily, but all united under one fear: The Guardians. Time in the military showed the importance of morale to Cnut. And at that moment, it was imperative to maintain morale in the face of this fear, lest the boys freak out and begin deserting en mass. They needed their leader and a plan to follow. Before a chorus of what do we do's could rise, Cnut shut it down with a clap. Everyone froze, all eyes on the clan leader.

"Yes, The Guardians are here," Cnut made clear, jostling his way through the crowd to the center of the warehouse. "Yes, we have a fight ahead of us. And yes, I have a plan! So listen up, yeah?" From there, Cnut began dolling out responsibilities to his men. Searching the mass, he pointed out two younger bandits with lean bodies. "You two, get out there and tell whoever is left out there to fall back to the warehouse. No point in feeding Wolfie free kills." The grunts nearly stumbled over each other towards the main entrance, running as soon as Cnut finished speaking. The Bandit then pointed out a handful of his men. "You six, grab some ranged weapons, climb up and man the windows. When he follows the retreating, I want covering fire to stall him. Keep him away for as long as you can!" The designated rangers ran in the direction of the weapon racks, grabbed a mix of both crossbows and regular bows and began scaling the ladders. Cnut's next designation was towards seven bandits who looked like they could hold themselves in a fight. "You seven, get out there and scan the perimeter! If there's one Guardian running around, there's several of them, and I do not want to get flanked. If you see one, yell. The rest of you, grab everything and move it towards the exit. Boxes, loot, prisoners, everything. Move, people!"

The last two groups formed set out on their tasks, security exiting through the front and slowly beginning to sweep around the warehouse. Everyone else began the process of moving objects to the back exit. Boxes were lifted, horses lead, and battered and blindfolded humanoids carried over shoulders. While striding towards a group of barrels to move, Cnut remembered a certain someone who was hiding out in his stronghold. Red may not appreciate getting woken up from her slumber, but the offer of coins would make it all better. However, upon approaching the carefully selected corner of the warehouse she chose as her resting place, Cnut noticed a distinct lack of Red. Once again, Cnut had no time to waste on matters not relevant to his plan. He would have made himself scarce at the first sign of trouble as well. But unlike her, he had a clan to run. And maybe, just maybe, some Guardian-shaped thorns to pull out of his side.

 

[Stern LuLuLu]

Names off the List

A. Silver



Amidst the chaos of the raging fire enveloping them, the man readied himself to unveil the motives driving their actions. The figure he had caught off guard, paused to listen with keen interest. Just as the impeccably dressed man began to speak his thoughts,” You see..” a sudden, jarring crack echoed through the atmosphere, shattering the fragile tension that hung between them. In a haunting swirl of smoke and flickering light, the shadowy figure made a decisive move, casting the lifeless body into the crackling flames. As the fire consumed the remains, he turned away with an air of finality, his silhouette merging with the fiery glow of the castle. "You could have shared your reasons," he murmured, almost to himself, "but now it’s far too late. It won't change what's been done." With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving only the haunting echo of his words behind.

In the aftermath of the king's shocking assassination and the devastating loss of his family in the inferno just three days prior, the kingdom was engulfed in an unsettling silence. In the hearts of the distraught citizens. Many people locked themselves away in their homes, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, while others had mysteriously vanished, leaving behind a chilling void. The once-vibrant streets, now shrouded in despair, echoed with the haunting cries of a nation in mourning. Amidst this sorrow, one shadowy figure moved with purpose, eagerly anticipating the day they could cross more names off their list his vengeance getting one more step closer, their mission remains the same.




Silver decided to accompany Cnut and his ragtag band of misfits back to their base, eager to delve into the treasures they had gathered. The first few days were consumed by his search through a trove of items he had specifically requested from the bandit king's men. As he sifted through dusty volumes that most would deem worthless, he discovered a surprising truth: many were merely old tomes on metalwork, devoid of any magical essence.
Despite the disappointment, a glimmer of hope remained as they unearthed a handful of genuine magical texts. Yet, none seemed suited to his needs, leaving him with an unsettling feeling about what could have been. He couldn't shake the image of the other valuable tomes turning to ash in the castle inferno from his mind. Annoyance gnawed at him as he realized he had let the flames rage too fiercely that night, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was his reckless abandon that had cost so much.


On the third day of hiding out Silver gathers supplies needed for his upcoming journey. With determination, he called a meeting with the members of the Hand, ensuring that everyone was informed of his intention to set out soon. He made it clear that his decision was not made lightly, as he sought to address any potential challenges they might face in the days ahead. Understanding the importance of preparation to go after the remaining supporters of the king. This was a move to start the search for the prince who had escaped from the recent hellfire. With this mission, Silver expressed his commitment to the objectives they had set out to do. He also indicated that he was open to others joining him, should they choose to do so.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ground, he found himself seated outside, enveloped in a quiet uncertainty. That evening when he sat out to accomplish his next objective. For anyone who followed him, he would have his head in the book reading it.

 

[Zariah Turner]

Klaeio had followed the members of the Hand back to the Bandit hideout following the assassination of the king. So far, they had not seen people pursuing or seeking them out specifically - but it was only a matter of time before someone realized who the large amount of undead soldiers belonged to. Klaeio’s particular talents were … unique among mages. In part because everyone besides Klaeio and their occasional apprentices refused to touch the powers. Klaeio recognized the benefits of keeping a low profile for the time being. They were tied to the Hand now, so it was simply logical to hide with the rest of the organization until things cooled off or another task for them arose.

As a show of - - As a symbol of the alliance they had created, Klaeio had donated some undead soldiers and scouts (in the form of birds) to the Bandit hideout. They were enchanted to take orders from the other members of the Hand and were some of Klaeio’s most efficient soldiers. They had kept the best to themselves. (“Greedy, selfish, you never let go…”) Klaeio figured that once the kingdom got itself under control people would come for them. A little extra support would be welcome at that time. However, the soldiers would be out of Klaeio's direct enchantment - something they loathed. It made it easier for others to steal them, control them, use them ("Then maybe you'll get what you deserve") - Shadows flickered in the corners of Klaeio’s vision. (Screams, and shouts, everywhere, all at once…)

Staying in the Bandit hideout was not - - not - not useful for them. Klaeio could be doing other things. More important things than hiding in this lowly dump with a bunch of mortals. They could be back at their hideout. Go cause destruction in the kingdom. They could take on the king’s soldiers, if they wanted to. If they had enough corpses to use. There were still people that had gotten away. Klaeio and the others hadn’t killed everyone there. A mistake. (“Mistake, mistake, mistake…”). Klaeio should have made sure they killed everyone. They always needed to kill everyone…

When the Warlock called a meeting with the members of the Hand Klaeio was intrigued by the plan. It was sound. Logical. They needed to take care of the prince who had escaped. He was a liability. With him, the kingdom had a chance to recover. That could not occur. Because … Because … Because it couldn’t. That was enough. Klaeio didn’t kn - - didn’t need anymore reasons. (“Yes, you do, you do, you do…”) Klaeio deliberated. Tried to drown out the voices (which were louder than normal - was it the hideout?). Why couldn’t the ghosts leave them alone? The ghosts didn’t have any reason to berate them. Not now.

Growling under their breath, Klaeio summoned a small contingent of undead soldiers. Five corpses and three birds. This would be all they needed for traveling. I can always find more corpses. There are bound to be plenty. If not… They could easily get more. (“Cruel, heartless, cruel…”) They did not need anything else. They were not mortal anymore and were not bound by mortal constraints. Klaeio could walk and travel endlessly without tiring and had no need for things such as food.

Klaeio set out to find the Warlock. They sent their birds searching, peeking through their eyes, and located the Warlock outside. Reading. Klaeio made their way in the Warlock’s direction and soon found him. The unnaturally cold chill Klaeio brought with them announced their presence, but in order to be sure, one of their birds - a raven - landed on the book. “Do you have a plan for how you are going to accomplish this mission of yours?” Klaeio asked, their voice cold and empty. For them, it was what passed as a neutral tone.

 

[Noivian]

The nearly silent sound of three other bodies making contact with the warehouse wall, along with James's words, confirmed that his companions have all arrived at the designated location. Caelum hissed back a quiet "Shhh!" in response to the other's question, holding a finger to his lips despite the fact that no one could see him right now. "Stick to the plan," he whispered under his breath, softly enough that hopefully only his companions would hear, though he doubted anyone inside could hear anything over all the shouting and commotion. Someone was giving orders, it might have been Cnut. Were the plan any different, Caelum might have been tempted to fire off a spell at the man while he was making himself a loud target, or order Karkiv to do the same with an expertly placed arrow. But alas, that was not the plan.

"So, Wolf is going to create a distraction," Caelum had said hours prior, while the group was still a ways out from the hideout. "Meanwhile, the four of us are going to sneak into their hideout. I can cast an invisibility spell that will keep us hopefully undetected. We'll get into the warehouse, look for any kind of innocents or civilians who might have been caught up in this, free them, and then pincer around and cut off Cnut's escape routes while Wolf attacks from the front." It was a simple enough plan. Caelum figured if it were more complex than that, there'd be a greater chance of it failing on them. Besides, that left room for adaptation, in case things went sour.

Back pressed to the warehouse wall, Caelum did his best to listen in to what was being said inside, but the shuffling of feet and objects drowned out much of the particulars. Heavy footsteps in his direction caused him to slink away, as the small door along the wall to his left swung open. He reached a hand to his right, feeling a scaly hand under his palm as he nearly took half a step back towards his companions - and nearly on top of Karkiv - to make room for the two bandits who emerged from the doorway.

"I'm tellin' ya, this group wouldn't be so bad if we didn't have to worry about bein' made into zombies after death," one of the bandits said to the other.

"Yeah, the cold one gives me the creeps," the other bandit grumbled in agreement.

Between the commotion inside the building and the conversation between the bandits, no one seemed to hear when Caelum lunged for the door, shoving his foot in the frame before the door closed. It bounced off the leather boot, wobbling slightly as it did so. Following the bounce, Caelum gently pushed it open, attempting to make it look as if the wind or perhaps a rock had prevented the door from fully closing. He glanced inside, seeing a mass of moving people, some running for weapon racks, some heading to the front door, but most were moving boxes and people - hostages - to the back double doors. He slinked inside, doing his best to keep light on his feet and out of the way of the collective scramble.

Following the line of action, most of the bandits seemed to be loading their goods and hostages into carts positioned just outside the warehouse's back door. Getting back there without being bumped into would be a bit of a pain, he'd have to be fast... taking out his Midnight dagger, Caelum stuck close to the wall, making his way to the carts, moving faster now as the sound of footsteps would not give him away. 'Remember, as long as you don't attack or cast spells, the invisibility should stick,' his own warning rang in his head as he moved about the side of one cart and clambered his way up into it.

Inside was a woman, dirt and blood caked onto her face and clothes, streaked with tear marks from when she'd been crying prior. She seemed bereft of emotion at the moment, staring apathetically at the floor of the cart. Kneeling down behind her, Caelum clasped an invisible hand over her mouth, causing her to startle in surprise. "Don't scream," he said, "I'm going to free you. But you have to be sneaky if you want to get out of here alive. I'm going to remove my hand now and cut you loose. Wait until no one's looking to get out of here." Feeling the woman nod, Caelum did as he said, removing his hand and cutting her binds with the dagger. The woman rubbed her wrists and whispered a quiet thanks as Caelum shifted in the wagon, shuffling around another large crate, looking for the next hostage to free.

 

[Elysium]

Wolf’s rampage came to an end, as no more souls could be seen eyeshot. He slung his sword upward, a dead bandit still flopping about on it, and rested it on his heavy shoulder. A raspy sigh escaped his lips from beneath his blank faceplate as his heartbeat and breathing returned to normal. This road had grown quiet, so Wolf turned down another, and was met with another pair of soon to be corpses.

This time, however, Wolf calmly joined blades with these two, a stark contrast to the primal hellhound in black platemail from moments ago. Wolf decided to preserve his proper strength for when this whole operation went tits-up. As a Guardian, that was a 50/50 thing, and as a war veteran where every day started that way and just got worse, Wolf knew that this was going to be a mess.

His great blade fanned and spun gracefully around him as a third bandit joined in, weaving a defensive web around him, the sounds of his blade humming through the air and clangs of steel on steel were all that filled the air.

And then he caught a glimpse of her. A figure on the roof that he recognized from the many, many wanted posters he had seen and/or handed in. Tiffany Delmar, famed underworld figure and rumored assassin of King Gallus. His eyes followed her trajectory as his instinct kept his defenses together, his eyes staring at the building he last saw her flee to before he finally lost sight of her.

“Shit.”

That was all he said as one of his assailants was neatly bisected. The bandit trash that surrounded him were cut down idly as he considered the ramifications of her being here. Was she a part of the bandits? An occasional ally that just happened to be here? Did they have other unknown friends that would turn this situation from sugar to shit?

“Shit.”

He said again as he stepped over a fresh corpse and looked around, head whipping in every direction to look down every road and through every window. It was too quiet. If Cnut was here, then he was gathering forces around him, potentially for escape, as opposed to sending his men out to drown against the tsunami that was an angry Wolf.

Wolf began to stomp towards the warehouse at the northern point of this dinky little Hamlet, his blade once again resting on his shoulder.

Too quiet. Wolf knew he was walking into a hurricane. A trap. A fucking frustration that would last a lot longer than today. He knew that from firsthand experience. The twinge in his left hip with every step, the slight, ever present ache in his left shoulder. His twice broken right wrist. Ghosts of his violent passed throbbed as he closed the distance to the front doors, a pair of barn doors with a chain and a lock. Wolf grunted at the lock, walked to the doors, and swung his blade into the handles, separating them from the door. With loud clank, the chains, handles, and lock hit the hard cement foundation of the building.

Wolf calmly pushed open the doors and called to a group of fearful bandits who went from prepping to leave, to trying to to shit their pants at the destroyer in front of them.

"GOOD AFTERNOON SHITHEADS, WHERE'S CNUT?"

His roar filled the entire building, a deep baritone that vibrated in the chests of those nearest them. If his companions were in this building, they heard or felt that.

With a calming sigh, Wolf dropped his hand on the shoulder of a nearby bandit.

"Seriously, I just want an audience with the man. Just a quick hello."

Then the bandit was shoved through the crate and into the floor. With a multitude of sickening noise, Wolf shoved the bandit until his left ribs were touching his right. Wolf stared down at him for a brief second before bringing his gaze back up to the group at large.

"Wait. Answers first, then kill them."

Wolf pointed at another random bandit with his sword, the massive blade covering the distance between them and inches from his padded armored heart.

"Get Cnut for me before I send you to hell. Please and thank you."
​

 

[Zearea]

Ashlia slips in through the door, breath tight, nostrils flaring. The air reeks of sweat, rot, and old corn. Her steps are quiet, deliberate, but she almost stumbles when a bandit darts past her, close enough that her cloak shifts with the breeze of his movement. Her heart jumps. Hands shoot out, catching the wall. The dull thud of her palms on wood feels louder than it is. She freezes.

Eyes dart around, breath shallow. Her gaze scans the room, every shadow and flicker of motion. Did anyone see?

Nothing. No shouts. No glances her way.

Her fingers peel away from the wall, leaving faint smudges on the dusty planks. She counts to three. Move.

Her eyes find the double doors at the back. Beyond them, prisoners are being shoved into carts alongside livestock. She stops, bile rising in the back of her throat. They’re packed in tight, limbs pressed together like sacks of grain. Just bodies to be sold. Used. Thrown away.

Her mouth twists, bile hot on her tongue. Move.

The crash comes like a thunderclap. Metal slamming into wood. Sharp. Loud. Final.

Her head snaps toward it.

Wolf.

He strides through the northern entrance. Light cuts around him, shadowing his face, leaving only the gleam of his eyes and the edge of his grin. Each step is slow. Sure. No hurry. No doubt. The bandits stop moving. A stillness creeps through them like frost, their gazes locked on him.

Ashlia’s breath shortens. She drops low, back pressed to a stack of barrels. Magic itches at her skin, flickering at the edges. She closes her eyes, forcing a breath through her teeth. Steady. Stay steady. Her eyes track Wolf. Center of attention. Unstoppable. His voice splits the room. “GOOD AFTERNOON, SHITHEADS! WHERE'S CNUT?”

The air shifts. Thickens. The raw, hot weight of fear rolls off the bandits like heat from a forge. Ashlia feels it hit her. It’s too much. Her aura quivers, magic fraying at the edges as it absorbs the bandits' fear, pulling it into her like a sponge soaking up water. Her grip on the staff tightens until her knuckles ache. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it now.

Wolf moves. Not fast. Not slow. Just sure. He grabs a man by the shoulder. Not hard. Not rough. Just enough. "Where’s Cnut?" he says, his tone a slow, sharp blade. "Don’t make me ask again." The bandit's answer is a whimper. Wolf sighs, tilts his head. Then he shoves. The bandit hits a crate with a crack that doesn’t belong in a room full of living things. Wet. Sharp. Too final. His body folds wrong. A wheeze scrapes out of him, short and raw, like his lungs gave up halfway through.

Ashlia shuts her eyes for half a second, stomach twisting in knots. The wild churn of her magic surges. Too much. Too fast. Hold it. Hold it. She moves. Move. Steps slow. Careful. Her cloak drifts like smoke, invisibility glitching at the edges, faint flickers of light bending around her. Her eyes lock on the cart, prisoners crammed inside. Hollow eyes. Hollow faces. Like mine used to be.

She crouches beside a woman slumped against a crate. Her wrists are raw, the skin rubbed red from rope. She leans in close, her voice barely more than breath. “Don’t scream,” Ashlia whispers. “When the chaos starts, run.” The woman flinches, eyes flicking her way, but she doesn’t scream.

Ashlia shifts back into the shadow. Her eyes flick to Wolf. His sword hovers at a bandit’s chest. Not striking. Just there. Close enough to taste the edge. Blood beads up in a clean, perfect line.

Her gaze climbs to his face. No anger. No thrill. No hate. Just calm. Like he’s solving a puzzle. The way Klaeio looks at a fresh corpse.

Ashlia shifts back into the shadow. Her eyes flick to Wolf. His sword hovers at a bandit’s chest. Not striking. Just there. Close enough to taste the edge. Blood beads up in a clean, perfect line. Her gaze climbs to his face. No anger. No thrill. No hate. Just calm. Like he’s solving a puzzle. The way Klaeio looks at a fresh corpse.

Her chest tightens. Her breath shudders. Eyes squeeze shut for a heartbeat. Magic flares in her veins, burning. Her stomach churns. Hold it. Hold it. Caelum’s face flickers in her mind. His voice. His words. Steady. Focus on what’s in front of you. One task at a time.

Her heart slows. The tight coil of her gut loosens just a little. Don’t ruin this. Wolf won’t trust you if you lose control. The fear still clings to her, sticky as blood, but she tucks it away, moves toward the next prisoner. Slow. Steady. Her aura smooths. Her grip on her magic tightens. Keep moving. Keep control.

 

[Jorgo800]

Following in line with his party, James passed through the door into the warehouse, carefully squeezing between the open door and the frame without obviously disturbing the door. He paused and looked around the inside, though he felt scarily exposed - as dozens of bandits carried on oblivious to his presence, it was hard to believe they weren't just pretending he wasn't there. He felt suddenly alone as well, having lost track of where his invisible allies were in the noisy, busy lair.

James pressed himself up against the wall, out of the way, and headed towards the wagons being loaded at the barn door. Rescue the villagers, that was the priority. Coming up on the wagons, he saw a peasant woman climb out of a wagon and hurry to hide behind a stack of boxes nearby to him. Someone must be over there, he thought, invisible. "Good work!" He whispered encouragement to the woman, who glanced around looking for the source of the voice. Her eyes passed right over him without recognition. He came to hide beside her and looked around the corner of the crates until there were no bandits watching - "Keep going!" he whispered, and pushed her gently to start her running to the next concealing pile of boxes and sacks, towards the door they had entered through.

Then daylight filled the warehouse and he heard Wolf's menacing, growling voice. James had been the focus of his threats and orders often enough and would no longer think to disobey or talk back to him - certainly no craven bandit could stand up to him for long. Cnut would be here soon, James knew it, and even he won't be able to beat Wolf. Some of the bandits were now understandably focused on Wolf, like stock-still prey animals watching a lion, preparing to bolt. James took the opportunity and came out from behind the crates, towards the prisoners. One man, bound and blindfolded, lay on the ground, turning his head and trying to get to his feet. James slung his crossbow to his back and drew his dagger, walked quietly to the man and put a hand under his back to help him sit up. "Hold still, I'm going to help you," he whispered and cut through the ropes tying his hands with a smooth back-and-forth slice. The man lifted his blindfold and looked around confused, then over his shoulder to where James' invisible hand still was. James almost laughed, and said, "Go that way and get out of here." He pointed towards the side door, realized that wouldn't help, and gave the guy a push to get him to his feet and going in the right direction.

James' attention was drawn to Wolf again, across the room, as he shook down the bandits guarding the other door. They hardly dared to resist the terrible, imposing warrior. Cnut must appear soon, he thought, before his pack flees. James crept to the nearby barn door, shifting it slightly, preparing to open it and release the remaining hostages if the fighting began in earnest.

 

[Stern LuLuLu]

A. Silver

In the grand scheme of partnerships, there’s a certain comfort in knowing that things could always be worse. He felt a slight shiver, mindful of the icy aura that seemed to accompany Klaeio. Yet, this sensation was swiftly countered by the heat of his own always-burning desires. At that moment, a bird gracefully swooped down and landed on the open pages of the book he was so engrossed in, breaking his concentration and offering a welcome moment of unexpected intrigue.
The contrast between the two was fascinating, especially in how they manipulated the fallen for their own purposes. Silver regarded Klaeio as a seasoned master of magic, steeped in ancient wisdom. Yet, despite this respect, Silver had no genuine desire to learn from him; his ambitions lay elsewhere. Noticing Klaeio's entourage of undead as well.


Then Klaeio asked Silver the question “Do you have a plan for how you are going to accomplish this mission of yours?”. Silver had started walking again, even with the bird on his book occasionally lifting it to turn to the next page. “Ah, greetings to you, too,” Silver replied with a grin, adjusting to the bird’s antics. “Well, since you’re joining me, I suppose we might as well cut to the chase.” Silver knew that with the ancient Lich, things should go smoothly With a swift motion, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope adorned with the king's seal. He handed it to Klaeio’s bird, sending it off with a flick of his wrist. In it was a list of names of people loyalists and others, who would help the kingdom.” It seems that the king was going to have a gathering of his own but I don't know that is only one of the ones that I saw. But that can't happen anymore since he is no longer among the living. These are the likely places to look for the prince. “ Silver gave Klaeio time to look over the content of the letter.
“Klaeio, we can take them on separately or deal with them one by one. If you have a better plan, let’s hear it.” Regardless, he thought that they should keep moving forward. A lot can happen in three days.

As Silver spoke, they approached their first destination—a charming farmhouse nestled among sprawling fields. Its weathered wooden exterior and the scent of blooming wildflowers hinted at a life well-lived. “This is the residence of a group of retired knights,” Silver explained, his voice steady and reassuring. “I believe we won’t face much trouble here. It’s unlikely that the prince will be present, but you might gather some valuable information or even get a few new supporters for you.” With a courteous gesture, Silver opened the door, inviting Klaeio to step forward and take the lead in this encounter.

 

[Humble Shipper]

Bow tucked tightly to his chest as not to impede the movement of his comrades, he waited, silent and aware. He could hear the voices too, but even as he strained to try and make out the words, there was simply too much noise to properly pick out anything useful. He got a word here or there, but nothing he could make any real sense of. Then the door opened, and he felt Caelum bump against him. Instinctively his hand reached out to steady to man, acting as a support against his back to ensure he wouldn't topple over and give away their position. He winced when the door bounced off the mage's foot, but when nothing negative came from it, he let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and followed his team inside.

Being in the heart of this nest of bandits was a bit nerve wracking, even while invisible. Someone could barrel into him not knowing he was there and give them all away. He kept back against the walls, away from any open space, and slowly made his way to where the hostages were all being held. One by one, he saw their bindings being removed, presumably by his team. This would work out fine. It had to.

Knowing his rather massive size was not suited for slinking around and freeing the hostages, Karkiv looked for a better vantage point to take over his usual position of look out. There were boxes upon boxes of varying supplies stacked high against the back walls in this warehouse barn, perfect for him to perch. As he slowly climbed, he could feel his muscles shifting and twitching in his back, aching to move in ways they haven't in nearly a century. He missed those days dearly, and the phantom pains never really went away, he's just learned how to ignore it.

Once on the boxes, he knelt on one knee and trained his eyes upon the shifting figures below him. He could see the hostages and the bandits. This was perfect. With his bow ready to fire at any moment, arrow notched and arms resting to preserve his energy, he waited. His tail twitched behind him as he slowed his breathing and eyed the bandits with flickering eyes. He wouldn't let a single arrow loose unless he needed to, knowing they needed to preserve their element of surprise for as long as they could, but he was ready for whatever would come their way.

 

[Zariah Turner]

Klaeio walked alongside the Warlock, their small group of soldiers following behind. This group still had flesh on them, though their features were decaying. They carried no weapons. They did not need them. Klaeio listened as the Warlock spoke, allowing their bird to remain on his book for now. This particular bird was more playful than others and appeared to take pleasure in interfering with the business of other beings. There was a faint whisper on the wind (“That’s rather nice of you…”) that Klaeio ignored. They did not care what the dead thought of their birds. The birds belonged to them.

They raised their eyebrows (what was left of them) as the Warlock explained his plan, and accepted the paper from their bird. Klaeio skimmed the list of people, giving an impressed nod as the Warlock explained how he had acquired the list. While the Warlock was not as powerful as they were, Klaeio had a level of respect for them that they did not have for the other members of the Hand. After all, the Warlock was a powerful magic user, rebelling against the kingdom. He had managed to keep his determination unlike so many of Klaeio’s apprentices. That was a quality worth respect.

As such, Klaeio spoke instead of remaining silent. “A good plan,” they concurred, in their raspy voice. “And an impressive list. I see no issues with the plan. Let us continue as you have outlined.” Necessary words spoken, Klaeio fell back into silence. There was nothing else to be said. Nothing to listen to except the wind (and the dead).

Upon their arrival at the farmhouse, Klaeio frowned slightly. There is nothing of import here, they thought. “That makes it a perfect hiding spot…” whispered the wind. Klaeio glanced around their surroundings, trying to determine who was speaking this time. It didn’t… sound like anyone familiar. But unfamiliar spirits haunted them all the time. Is it even a spirit? They couldn’t tell. The darkness of the world that Klaeio saw at all times started to spiral in the corners of their eyes, coating everything gray.

The Warlock spoke and it returned to color. Was it ever not colorful? Klaeio couldn’t tell sometimes. The words returned Klaeio to focus. They were here to eliminate the kingdom’s supporters. To find the prince. No need to listen to the voices of the wind or the dead or of their mind. “I believe we won’t face much trouble here. It’s unlikely that the prince will be present, but you might gather some valuable information or even get a few new supporters for you,” The Warlock said, opening the door and holding it open.

The Lich smiled. Retired knights would make for excellent new soldiers. With a flick of their hand, they sent their raven flying through the open door. An omen of the death that was to come. The Lich enjoyed giving their victims a warning, a chance to fight back. A false hope. It was entertaining, seeing them struggle and then be overtaken by their powers. After all, they had given Klaeio false hope for so long… it was only right of them to return the favor.

Once the raven had circled the room - once they could hear the people inside moving around, they sent their soldiers forward. The five corpses entered the building. Their eyes glowed black, to match Klaeio’s. “Let the death begin,” they whispered, as their soldiers began to enter the room. The dead, the voices, started to scream, and one whispered, “They won’t stand a chance.”

 

[Hard Boiled]

Huff... Huff...
The world before the Assassin molded into green and brown, her boots effortlessly catching branches, dodging leaves and forest critters as she glided across the canopy. The cacophony of battle at the village dimmed behind her with each leap, fading into the ambience of the forest and allowing her brief respite to think.

She knew a bounty this high would attract greater attention, but the swiftness of the Guardians' onslaught had taken her aback. Red figured she would have had at least a week to finish the job unopposed, collect on her contract, and vanish before any Bounty Hunters caught wind of her; this development threw a wrench into that plan. She couldn't get bogged down evading capture—she needed to capitalize on the chaos of the regicide and neutralize the Prince before he went into hiding, else he should disappear along with her pay.
Right now, that meant gaining time and distance—and she knew just where to find some.

After running for what felt like ages, the sun's rays caught Red's eyes through the thinning tree line, revealing a vast tract of farmland on the other side of the forest. She crouched on a thick branch, retrieving an old collapsible spyglass from her pouch and scanning the fields.
This must be the place.
The plains were dotted with sheds, stables, silos, and other structures, all centered around an impressive farmhouse apparently teeming with visitors. The hum of voices pattered beneath the buzz of the land, unintelligible from Red's distant perch. Her dusted and cracked spyglass did her no favors in enhancing the details of the individuals, but allowed her to count about a half dozen of them, all crowded out front. Unable to identify her comrades in the mix, but certain this was where they were headed, she descended from the tree and advanced towards the farmhouse to investigate.

Red used the wheatfields for concealment, cautiously approaching the house from the rear while the unknown men gathered in the front. As she broke cover and pressed her back against the house to listen to the conversations inside, a pungent odor of decay caught her nose, casting a chill across her body and raising the hairs on her neck. The scent recalled Mulhorrin's mass plague graves, which she'd pass on her route to the factory every morning as a girl. And yet, the chatter inside continued on.
There were more loyalists here than she expected. Had her allies failed?
...Something wasn't right.
Spying an open window on the top floor, Red took a step back and ran up to a jump, catching a window pane and beginning to climb the house.

The Assassin scaled the wall with ease, sinking her fingerless-gloved fingers into the slightest loose boards and protruding ledges. She was halfway up when a shout reverberated throughout the house, followed by an uproarious commotion downstairs. The unmistakable clamor of close-quarters battle erupted, giving the lone Assassin pause as the men outside made entry, filing in and overwhelming the structure with soldiers—apparently not more loyalists. Swords clashed; spells rang out; cries, hollers, and other sounds of dying echoed across the countryside, collapsing its peaceful silence in an instant. If the Warlock or the Lich were in there and they got killed, a hurdle in her plan could quickly become a catastrophe. Red continued up the wall and hopped into the open window, entering the master bedroom.

She only had a moment to gather her surroundings when a bloodied, portly man burst through the door and slammed it behind him, holding it closed with his back. He hyperventilated with his eyes closed for a few seconds, sword at his side, then opened his lids to find the notorious Assassin standing right before him. They each stood frozen for but a second, staring at each other, then reached for their weapons. The loyalist drew his sword, but Red was swift, casting a throwing knife from her chest rig directly between his ribs. He dropped his weapon, held his chest, and slid down the door to bleed out.

As the man drew his last breath, a forceful wallop slammed into the door as though someone had thrown their whole weight against it. Another hit followed, cracking the wood, then another which brought the whole door down on top of the fresh corpse. In flooded three reanimated warriors, barreling towards the Assassin, intent on making her one of them. By the time she identified the dark magic at play, the undead were already upon her.

Red grunted in distress as the first warrior tackled her to the ground, mindlessly flailing its arms at her and pounding her skull into the ground. She sustained a fair blow to the back of the head, but still managed to get her legs beneath the zombie and kick it off, rolling backwards and regaining her footing. The next assailant gave her no time to breathe, immediately lunging at her with full-force from behind the first. She dodged to the side, using the zombie's momentum to throw it behind her and out the window. It fell the three stories with a groan and landed a splat. While the first zombie rose to its feet again, the last one attacked, similarly hurling itself at Red with extended arms. Bracing herself, she charged directly back at it, the concentrated power of her small figure bisecting the decomposing corpse on impact. Though its top half continued to reach and chomp while its bottom half kicked, it was out of the fight. Finally, Red grabbed the loyalist's sword from the floor and thrust it into the remaining zombie's chest, dispatching it with the rest.

Confident the room was now safe, Red dropped the sword, holding her hands on her knees and rubbing the back of her skull. Her vision spun wildly and her head ached something terrible...but she was alive. At least she had that. Catching her breath as the chaos died down beneath her, she knelt beside the loyalist to retrieve her throwing knife. She grabbed the handle and tugged—only to be tugged back by the corpse. Its hand suddenly latched around her wrist, pulling her closer with eyes vacant and hungry. She yelped and pulled away, unsheathing the knife from the undead loyalist's chest and driving it into his skull, silencing him for good. She scrambled back on the floor, holding her chest in shock. She huffed and puffed for a short while, then turned to her hands and knees and stood.
"Fucking wizards..." She wiped the bloody knife against the loyalists' bedsheets and returned it to her chest rig, regaining her composure and concealing her brush with death.

Peeking her head through the broken door, Red listened for further movement.
...
She decided it was time to make herself known.
"Silver?" She called from atop the stairs, waiting for a response with her dagger at her side. "Klaeio, you guys there? It's Red, I...came to find you. We need your help."

 

[TobiornotTobi]

Cnut Svartrson​

Abandoned Village Stronghold AKA 'The Corn Hub'​

"What's a Wolf like you doing in a place like this?"​

---

Cnut's barking out of orders had its intended effect. What was once an uncertain and rattled mass of criminals was now a working force engineering an escape. All hands were on deck transporting supplies towards the exit side of the warehouse. Most of the prisoners were stocked up in the wagons, but others of the high profile sort were taken aside and shoved in what few empty barrels were on hand. They were three nobles Cnut and his men discovered while pillaging the castle, who hid while their comrades were struck down by Klaeio's undead soldiers. And never ones to leave money on the table, the two aristocrats and a foreign lord were bagged and tagged by the Gondar Clan. They would fetch a pretty penny, if they made it out in one piece.

The bandits were making good time, the only hiccup coming from the news of a certain berserker's marching towards the warehouse by the returning criminals called from the front lines. Uncertainty arose once more, but yet another command to return to work settled things. It was when Cnut was in the middle of lighting a torch with flint and steel that the warehouse doors were burst open, the authoritative bellow of his rival filling the building. Once more, to Cnut's chagrin, his men ceased working, a sea of eyes on the new entry. Cnut himself stood behind a gaggle of bandits who froze in the middle of lifting a barrel, not hiding, but simply watching what the Leader of the Guardians had in store. In an uncharacteristic move, he calmly put a hand on a human bandit's shoulder, Archibald was his name. He was an up and comer, with quick hands that could snatch a purse or shove a dagger in your side. However, it would be Archie who would have his life taken without permission this time, as Wolf effortlessly crumpled up the man as if he was a piece of paper. And without missing a beat, the life of another one of Cnut's men was threatened, Wolf repeating his demand to see Cnut.

An excited guffaw loud enough to match the hero's own emerged from the crowd. "Wolfie!" The men parted as Cnut's tall and dark form stepped out. The air was as thick as a slab of salmon with tension, the sound of boots against wood all that was audible. Cnut put the torch in the hands of a bewildered bandit before opened his arms out wide like he was greeting an old friend. Cnut and Wolf had been on opposite sides of the law for years, and the familiarity it bred was like a pair of damaged old shoes you just couldn't get rid of, so you learn to co-exist with them. Neither seemed to be able to dispatch the other, with Cnut's speed unable to overwhelm his opponent. And on the other side, Wolf's unwavering strength was unable to swat down Cnut for good. Cnut's odd affinity for Wolfie also stemmed from the fact that he was unwittenly responsible for elevating him to Clan Leader. So despite the significance of his unscheduled appearance at The Corn Hub and the direness of the situation, Cnut always had to keep up appearances while entertaining his favorite playmate. "You magnificent bastard! Finally come for that drink I owe ya?" Cnut took in his rival in all his luster. Still sporting that signature heavy armor of his, and grumpy as always. In contrast, Cnut gave him a wide grin. "The boys and I were just getting ready to go, but I would've offered you something if you gave me time to prepare!"

Whipping a head around to his clan as they gawked at the encounter, Cnut's features hardened in an instant. He yelled at them with the force of a parent berating their child. "What are you lot standing around for?! We're not done yet!" The words broke everyone out of their stupor and the petrified criminals returned to work. The Bandit then returned to facing Wolf, resting his hands on his stolen championship belt. "So, what do you make of the news about the royal family? Damn shame, years of avoiding assassinations, just to die in a fire! Their treasures will live on long after them!" Suddenly, the warehouse's side door was kicked open, the bandits securing the perimeter returning with what should have been a bound and gagged prisoner. A lizardfolk bandit presented his quarry. "Boss! Found this one trying to escape!"

Cnut frowned as he put the pieces together. Every prisoner was tied with rope even before the evacuation began, which could only mean one thing. After a pause, Cnut began to chuckle, turning back to Wolfie. A bushy eyebrow was arched. "You sly dog! Trying to take me from behind, are ya?" Refusing to wait for an answer, Cnut reached for the bandolier on his chest and presented a throwing knife to the room. "Before me and you get into anything, it's only fair that we let the others in on the fun! Come on out, you lot!"

With that said, Cnut found his mark, took aim, and threw his knife straight at the recently freed prisoner.

 

[Elysium]

“Cnut.” Wolf replied calmly as he withdrew his blade from the random bandit and returned it to its home across his back. He was having a good day so far, so that unimportant fool could live to die next time. Or not. Wolf no longer gave a fuck about that quivering goon, now that something actually worth his time was here. With a quick, practiced movement, Wolf unhooked the chin strap of his helmet and pulled it off with a single hand, as his other relaxed against his hip.

He was calm and collected, surrounded by enemies but also by still hidden allies. Wolf knew he was going to join the battle soon, and he knew that his companions knew this was about to get silly. A snarling grin, further twisted by the scars on his left cheek and lips, lit up his face as he regarded the bandit king in front of him. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to stop and catch up. I have to go talk about the assassination with very important people.” Wolf’s tone of voice grew sarcastic with the last couple of words, as he was well known to be somewhat insubordinate, even getting punched by a royal guard back in the day for getting lippy with the now deceased Dreden Gallus. Human authority didn’t mean too much to Wolf, for his liege was once the most powerful entity on this corner of the continent.

“We found your hidey-hole only because you sent some guerillas after us. If you had just left us alone, You’d still be drinking and raping and killing all uninterrupted and shit, and we’d be trying not to fall asleep listening to politicians argue at a roundtable.” Wolf took a few idle steps forward, closing the distance between him and Cnut, the other bandits not daring to get between them. People have gotten between them before, and usually had a low survivability rate.

Wolf clapped his gauntlets together and held them out to Cnut in invitation, “Tell you what. Come with us, alive, and I’ll make sure we have a drink together before they lop off your head. C’mon buddy, it’s a good offer.” As the knife left Cnut’s hand, Wolf’s helmet intercepted it, knocking it out of the air less than a foot from the starting line. Wolf closed the remaining distance with a lunge, His left fist arching forward in a snapping forward thrust aimed directly at his foe’s nose.​

 

[Zearea]

Ashlia’s invisibility fades, and the cold grip of fear tightens around her chest. Panic spills into the air, raw and suffocating. Her dark-wood staff strikes the floor with a sharp tap as she strides forward, heart pounding, breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

Her eyes lock onto Cnut. His stance is steady, unwavering, but his men are falling apart, their terror thick and palpable. The pressure mounts from all sides. She curls her fingers around her staff, grounding herself, even as the power stirs against her will. Her magic surges, wild and untamed. She doesn't summon it. It flows from her, bending the very air around her. The world flickers, unstable.

Phantoms appear, wisps of shadow and light dancing in and out of sight. Images of herself, glimpses of Wolf, figures where they shouldn't be. Her vision doubles, triples. A familiar panic rises in her chest. Breath hitches. Control it. Control it. Control it.

The men lurch and sway, their heads whipping toward the shifting shapes, eyes wide with terror. One stumbles back as the shadow of a wolf brushes past, its piercing gaze fixed on him. Another swings wildly at a mirage of herself, his blade slicing through empty air. Fear pools in her, and it bleeds back into them, a quiet, endless loop.

“Run!” Ashlia’s voice rings, sharp and clear. It isn’t just for the prisoners. It’s for her. Her staff strikes the ground, tapping with each step. Each tap pulls her back. I am here. I am real.

A figure lunges from the right, desperation in every motion. Real. Not a phantom. She doesn’t hesitate. Lifting her staff, she unleashes a wave of force that vibrates through the air. The figure falters, his spell cut off mid-cast, his body jerked backward as though the ground had shifted beneath him. Her shield holds, the pressure against it grounding her.

Another figure charges, limbs thrashing with panic. The hum of her staff grows louder, light spilling from the orb, and with it, a torrent of force. Beams of raw energy streak out, striking with pinpoint accuracy. The first hits his shoulder with a crack. The second sends him stumbling. The third knocks him to the ground, breath escaping him in a strangled gasp.

Her magic surges, reckless and untamed. The air bends, warps around her. Shapes shift—people, shadows, movements she didn’t make. Her heart hammers in her chest, a whisper cuts through the madness: Let it go. Crush them.

A cry splits the air. One of the men swings at nothing, his blade passing through an illusion of the wolf that disappears in an instant. Another presses his hands to his head, eyes frantic, his body trembling. The magic is working. Too well. Her chest tightens, breath uneven.

A new figure charges. Ragged breaths, panic written on every line of his face. Ashlia reacts before her mind can catch up. She ducks under his swing, thrusting her staff forward. The tip bursts with power, slamming into his chest, sending him skidding backward with a thud. He crumples, gasping for air, the fight draining from him in an instant.

Her breathing is ragged, her pulse erratic. She glances toward the prisoners, slipping through the doors, escaping. Not yet. Focus. Her attention snaps back to the fight. Shadows spin, figures warp. Too much. Too fast. Her fingers dig into the smooth wood of her staff. Focus. Focus. Focus.

Phantoms flicker in the edges of her vision. Not real. But they’re there. She tightens her grip on her staff. Her breath steadies. Her magic hums, wild but synchronized with the rhythm of her heartbeat. She is here. She is real. And she will control this.

 

[Jorgo800]

Cnut was mighty and menacing, and James was enthralled as he squared off against Wolf. Then the knife flew from Cnut's hand, clashing against Wolf's helm, and the clash of titans began. Shock and confusion filled James' mind, as the warehouse was engulfed in an incomprehensible maelstrom of battle. He gritted his teeth and shook his head, and saw Ashlia appear nearby. Ashlia - my friend, he thought, and the shadows and visions encroaching on him faded slightly. Then he threw off his own veil of invisibility and stood up proudly.

He needed to get the heavy barn door open, give the prisoners the easiest escape route. He drew his wand and traced a symbol through the air before him, faint silver threads appearing at its tip and flashing with light once the symbol was complete. One of his favourite and most practiced spells: Gorilla Strength! He felt a rush of energy, his arms twitching and vibrating involuntarily, endowed with magical brawn. He sheathed his wand and knife and gripped the wooden handle of the giant door. With a single shove, he forced it wide open, casting sunlight into this side of the warehouse. A few unbound prisoners leapt to their feet and scrambled over the wagons to escape, while James turned, drew the Storm Saber, and prepared to dive into the fray.

A bandit leapt towards him, swinging a wicked hatchet. James stepped back smoothly, keeping his balance as the bandit chopped madly through the air, then pivoting to the side and slicing his sword across the bandit's chest. He staggered and groaned, falling to the ground with a hand over his wound, as James fought into the warehouse. The battle raged, intensified by Ashlia's spectres of fear, and James charged in, knocking a bandit down with a Gorilla-powered punch. He sliced at another, who faded away - another figment. He almost expected this, though, and turned quickly to parry the real bandit's attack. Their swords clashed, but James was quicker and his blade slipped past and carved a bloody gash into the bandit's neck. He stopped for a moment and looked around, trying to check where his allies were amidst the swirling shadows. Then, guided by the cries of battle, he hacked and slashed his way towards where Wolf fought against their quarry, Cnut.

 

[Stern LuLuLu]

A. Silver


As Silver settled in to watch Klaeio’s show featuring his crows, he was caught off guard by the unexpected entertainment before the main event kicked off. He had hoped that the spectacle would ease his nerves about what he had planned next. But nothing prepared him for the sight of Klaeio —grinning widely, a rare smile illuminating his face. Unable to hold back, Silver leaned forward and remarked, “Now that’s a smile worth seeing!”

As Klaeio’s undead soldiers surged into the fray, Silver took a moment to observe the chaos unfolding before him. The clash between the seasoned knights and the relentless hordes of the undead was a spectacle to behold—a deadly dance of skill and desperation. Silver moved cautiously, weaving through the mayhem, his eyes fixed on two figures that stood out among the armor-clad warriors: the resolute leader commanding his men and the youngest knight, whose determination spoke volumes despite his inexperience. The leader barked orders, his voice strained yet steady, rallying his troops in a valiant effort to maintain some semblance of order amidst the chaos. Silver felt a thrill coursing through him; these were the targets he had chosen. He quietly slipped by Klaeio, diving deeper into the chaos of battle, all set to make his move. Just before he stepped off, Silver turned to Klaeio with a knowing grin, “Make sure none of them slip through your fingers. We can’t let our next targets catch wind of our plans before we close in on them.”

As Silver stepped over a fallen knight, he picked up the man’s sword an otherworldly glow emanated from it hinting at its now enchanted nature. With determination in his eyes, he advanced towards the youngest knight, who was battling fiercely against an undead foe. Seizing the moment, Silver intercepted the knight's strike, expertly deflecting the blow with his weapon, which allowed the creature to land a crushing hit on the staggered knight.

But Silver was relentless. In one swift motion, he drove his sword deep into the knight’s chest, pinning it helplessly against the stone wall. “Leave him,” he commanded, his voice resonating with authority. The undead hesitated, momentarily moving on grasp. As it retreated, Silver's focus shifted to the leader of the knights, ready to confront the true threat that loomed ahead.

As Silver advanced toward the leader of the knights, he cast a glance back at the man pinned by the blade. The wounded warrior attempted to utter a word of warning, but no sound escaped his lips, the injuries too great for speech. Ignoring the desperate plea, Silver deftly maneuvered out of reach, his focus unwavering. His gaze fixed on the leader, who was preparing to strike down yet another undead foe, Silver extended his hand. Darkness swirled around his fingers, and in an instant, a brilliant silver bolt surged from his palm, slicing through the shadows with lethal intent. The air crackled with energy as it sped toward its target.

As the leader was about to bring down his ax another of Klaeio’s undead arms was thrown back, almost to the point of breaking. Looking at the source the old knight, saw Silver, with his hand still raised.” You cowards why are you doing this? We have done nothing to any of you. do you have any kind of honor?” Silver paused for a moment instead but instead of answering the question Silver only shot more of the shadowy bolts from his hand. While he did this now and then his comrades would look over allowing the undead to gain the advantage. When the old knight seemed like he was finished “I would tell you but. It would fall on deaf ears.”Silver stopped letting the undead end it.

Silver unleashed a torrent of energy, blasting away at the last few knights desperately trying to hold their ground. Meanwhile, Klaeio and his legion of the undead were methodically wrapping up the chaos, leaving a wake of defeated foes. Suddenly, a voice echoed through the air—his name and Klaeio’s—cutting through the fray from the second floor. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him; it had to be someone important. He directed his shadowy hand toward the source, ready to unleash a blast. But to his surprise, it was just Red, one of his mutuals, calling from behind a broken door. He sighed and lowered his hand, a bit of relief washing over him as he waved her over. “What are you doing here? Did you decide to follow us after all, or are you just here to snag some treasure in the chaos? You do remember what the two of us are doing here right.” Motioning Red to come down.

As Silver neared the wounded knight, he leaned in, seeking answers—but the knight's injuries left him little more than a vessel of pained, hoarse grunts. Yet, as Silver gazed deep into his eyes, he caught a glimmer of unwavering resolve shining through the agony. It was a testament to the knight’s undying honor, a spirit that refused to yield even in the face of suffering. The only thing can got me was the knight spitting blood at the ground before him.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to forsake your vows, I just wanted to see if you would try to talk for your life,” Silver said, his tone laced with a newfound respect. Stepping back, he couldn’t help but admire the silent loyalty that thrummed beneath the knight’s battered exterior. With a swift motion, he extracted the sword before plunging it back into the knight’s side, an act that sealed their fates in a moment fraught with both sadness and inevitability.

As he retrieved a list of names copied from the letter, he glanced at his companions. “So, we're bound for Altir. Any objections?” He raised an eyebrow, awaiting their responses.

 

[Noivian]

Caelum's motions came to a halt when Wolf entered the warehouse. He'd just freed another captive, and sat crouched behind a stack of barrels, peeking out to watch the interaction. All seemed to be going according to plan... until Cnut started talking about the 'others'. Damn, he knew they were here somewhere. The blade flew, but before he could ready a quick spell to intercept it, the blade was knocked out of the air by Wolf's helmet. Then their battle started in earnest.

It wasn't until the deep grips of panic began to set into the pit of his stomach that Caelum realized more than just Cnut and Wolf were fighting, here. His eyes glimpsed specters and illusions throughout the crowd, his breathing and heartbeat picked up, and it took his racing mind a moment to remember the ring on his finger. Clammy hands met, and he gently spun the spell engraved in the metal of the ring on his right middle finger. Already its calming effect took hold, generating a small aura around him that protected him from the emotional and draining effects of Ashlia's magic.

This, of course, dropped his own invisibility. Climbing up onto the barrels to get a better view of the fight below, Caelum spied Ashlia and James already in the fray. Karkiv was nowhere to be seen just yet, but surely he'd start shooting arrows soon. It was a bit early in the plan to be attacking, but this was part of the plan, and Caelum wasn't going to sit there and let his teammates fight on their own. Digging into his pocket, Caelum produced a small leather book that could easily fit into his hand, the cover bound by runic markings and the inside just as laden with magical incantation and symbols.

Flipping open to seemingly a random page, Caelum perched the book in his left hand, freeing his right to make a wide gesture as he chanted archaic words. Around him, lightning gathered, sparks of blue and white dancing over his robes and arms, permeating the room with the smell of ozone. That was the only warning anyone would receive, before the lightning arched off his pointed finger, and with a deafening crack, weaved its way through the crowd of bandits, chaining between them and fanning out. The struck bandits crumpled to the floor, shaking violently. Caelum paid them no mind, turning his attention to another portion of the warehouse as he flipped through his spellbook again.

 

[Humble Shipper]

A deep snarl emanated from Karkiv's maw as he watched not only the arcanist drop her invisibility, but the newbie as well. So much for stealth, they may as well had gone in bows drawn and swords swinging at this point. They had the upper hand when they were invisible, and though they were eventually to be in battle, now it was a free for all. Seeing the shadows racing and weaving through the crowd, the draconic man snarled even louder before fully drawing back an arrow. He knew they were born of the fear and panic from the young mage, and it annoyed him how easily they had appeared. The raw emotions only pissed him off, and he gritted his teeth to fight against them, using them to instead fuel his anger. "Chikohkir uoinota shilta yth ti kawflev for ir ahsod?! (Fucking hell can we not panic for one mission?!)" He practically shouted. It didn't matter now if he was heard, all that mattered in this moment was survival.

Starting with the two bandits who had recaptured one of the hostages, he picked them off each with their own arrows directly to the temple, their deaths swift. "Run!" He called the the prisoner and began picking off the bandits from above. One by one, his arrows would find their targets with incredible precision, dispatching each target with a single arrow, either through the neck, or through the temple, sometimes through the eyes if they were at the right angle. If he couldn't reach, he'd move to the next target, refusing to waste his time and arrows on targets he knew he could hit. The lightning that surged through the room sent a shiver down his spine. Good, Caelum was in the fight now.

With each kill, though, he winced, a small tick, but one that he could never break. Despite these people being the worst of the worst, despite most deserving of death, it still sent shockwaves of guilt through him that he couldn't wait to drink away in a tavern. Battle never sat well on his tongue. As he watched the groups fighting below, he spotted James cleaving through body after body. Well, at least he could hold his own too. He glanced back to the frightened woman wielding the specters, squinting to see her better. The trembling, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she was still in a panic. Then all at once she seems to finally calm herself. The adrenalin had long since blocked out the fear that radiated from her magic, but he was thankful she was getting a grip on herself.

His keen eyes spotted a bandit sneaking up behind Caelum, who was too entranced in his spell book to notice the weapon raised to strike him down. Karkiv didn't hesitate to loose an arrow directly through the bandit's skull. This was what he was here for. Pausing, he made eye contact with the head mage, a silent question passed between them. The smile from him told Karkiv all he needed to know. He moved on like it was nothing, never showing on the outside what he was thinking, aside from the slight cringe on his lips and twitch to his eye. Part of the reason why he wore such a wider brimmed hat, easier to hide any thoughts or feelings that tried to make their way to the front. Never show them what you're thinking, never show them where your weakness is.

His perch didn't last long, as other bandits started to climb or use their own bows to try and take him out. With a hiss, he leapt from box to box, only pausing to shoot down the other archers. Those were his biggest threats. He needed to keep the high ground, and he needed to keep the other ranged attackers at bay. That was his main job, and he would do it well. An arrow he didn't see nicked him in the shoulder, earning another sharp hiss from the archer. A throwing knife wizzed past his face, nearly cutting him, but just barely missing. Another arrow found his leg, this time landing in his scaled flesh. The sound he made was nearly a full on roar. With a grunt, he removed the offending weapon and shot down the assailant, eyes roaming to find his next target. The wound itself wasn't terribly bad, but it was bleeding and stung like hell. But he could still shoot, he could still fight, he was just hindered in his mobility. They needed to end this battle fast.

 

[Zariah Turner]

The Lich grinned as the battle began, watching through the eyes of their birds as the knights in the room panicked, scrambling for their weapons as the first of their soldiers began to march in. The more experienced knights retrieved their weapons quickly, jumping to their feet and beginning to take up the defense. The Lich’s undead soldiers picked up objects from around the room - weapons and other objects - then began to fight the knights. The knights were shocked at first, but the experienced ones soon overcame their shock. They began to fight back. It was a foolish endeavor.

Once the initial wave of undead had begun to fight, Klaeio brought in more from outside. There were less of their soldiers than of the knights, but it did not matter. Their soldiers would fight until completely destroyed. The knights were old. They would tire. Grinning to themselves, Klaeio loosened their hold on their soldiers. That would give them leave to simply attack and destroy. They left them with instructions to avoid attacking the Warlock. Attacking their… comrade would not be a smart move. The Hand and its members were still useful to Klaeio for the time being.

As the battle began in earnest, Klaeio’s world faded into monochrome. That was always the case with death. It stained their vision, casting everything into darkness. Except blood. Their soldiers killed the knights efficiently, but some still screamed with surprise. The screams and shouts and protests continued long after their corpses had fallen to the ground. They cried out in protest and confusion, begging for answers. Klaeio ignored them. They were not worthy of answers. Besides, surely there were not… that many knights. Some of those voices sounded far… far too old. (“How could you? After everything…”)

A knight came out of the chaos, sword extended, lunging for Klaeio. Foolish mortal. They did not enter the fighting themselves, but they were still a force to be reckoned with. The Lich stepped to the side, avoiding the sword strike. The knight stumbled, confused. Klaeio lashed out, grabbing his neck with both hands. They twisted it until it snapped, then let the corpse fall to the ground. That one would not make a good soldier. Klaeio preferred soldiers who had not possessed that level of foolishness during their mortal lives.

“Make sure none of them slip through your fingers. We can’t let our next targets catch wind of our plans before we close in on them.” The Warlock said, before heading into the fray. Klaeio nodded stiffly, exerting control over their minions once again. They kept the majority in the fight, but pulled away a handful of soldiers. The more reserved soldiers they possessed. Those they paired with birds and sent them into adjoining rooms to search for other knights. Those soldiers would kill those who remained, secure the exits. Contain the battle to this farmhouse so there was no chance of escape for any of the people here. The only way the knights would leave is as corpses. As new soldiers of the Lich.

The Lich grinned, returning their attention to the battle. Their eyes glowed a deeper black as they reanimated soldiers the knights had managed to slay. Their soldiers were more efficient when they had all their parts and were embalmed, but as long as there was a skeleton, the Lich could reawaken them. That was what made the Lich so unstoppable. It was extremely difficult for their soldiers to get killed. The newly awakened corpses took the knights by surprise, efficiently beginning to clean up the battle while the Warlock took care of the leader.

“Silver? Klaeio, you guys there? It's Red, I...came to find you. We need your help.” Klaeio turned to find the Assassin standing in the staircase. Why is she here? The Assassin was supposed to be at the Bandit hideout with the other members of the Hand. The Warlock evidently had the same questions. He began to ask the Assassin about her motivations. “Did you decide to follow us after all, or are you just here to snag some treasure in the chaos?” Klaeio did not think that was the Assassin’s motivation. They could smell death on her. She had likely killed a knight on the way in, but the Lich detected a deeper stench.

The Warlock turned to finish off the last of the knights, before returning to Klaeio and the Assassin. “So, we're bound for Altir. Any objections?”

“Let us listen to the Assassin,” Klaeio said, in their raspy, grating voice. “Before we travel. She stinks of death.” They turned to the Assassin. “What brings you here?”