Fantasy Fading Flame (In Character)

[Kabboom]

Jericho

"Go kill Darkborne artillery on a ridge, skulk around in ruins, or hunt stags. I'm sure you can pick quickly enough." Audaton spoke dismissively, his footsteps clinking as he now walked upon the stone pavement of the inner courtyard. He'd arrived just in time to hear the men collectively holler at Maria, for ingesting... something. Presumably alcohol of questionable origin. His instincts say it's just normal black market alcohol, or alcohol brewed from hunted game, or worse. But, being a Guardian, and most of all, a commanding officer, he still has to make sure. Spotting a quiet Lieutenant Finn simply packing up his Light dust, unfazed by the whole ordeal, Jericho simply walked up to him, chin sticking forward as he looked upwards at the soldier's eyes.

"What's that... juice made out of?" Audaton gestured at Maria with his halberd.

"Dunno." Shrugged the Lieutenant. This was rather surprising for the Guardian. And usually, a sign for proper concern and punishment, but no doubt, the men would've seen excessive amounts of punishment, given that the Group Commander is... comically incompetent.

"I will repeat myself, Lieutenant. What is the liquid made out of?" He stated, being more serious this time. With a defeated sigh, Finn faced him fully and begun talking.

"With all due respect, sir, more than 500 men have come and gone in this outpost. Fine men, good men, strong men, smart men. We're posted on this useless rock, enduring through rainstorms, droughts, floods, and Darkborne, not to mention Demonspawn, all while the sun is melting us alive, and the winds are trying to scatter our ashes into the air. Half of our original Group was burned alive by a Darkmage, using the alcohol in their bellies." Finn snapped, enough for almost everyone in the courtyard to hear. The once-raucous garrison troopers were now silent, and still, like statues. His anger was enough to make the viscount appear, as a distant face from the upper courtyard looking down in contempt. It was then that Jericho figured out that he bit off more than he could chew, and activated Clarity, just enough for Finn to refrain from doing anything stupid. The Lieutenant's voice became more hushed after that, but the emotion did not subdue.

"Do you know what an entire courtyard of charred corpses smell like? How it feels to just... pick them up and toss them into a pile? They were all men once. Men with families, and lovers. I'll kill that fucking Darkmage with my bare hands if I ever get the chance. Command stopped sending us alcohol ever since. We went one full year without anything to drink. Until a few months ago, when a mage stayed at our outpost on a mission, and brewed us this 'juice' using magic. It tastes good, and we can't get lit on fucking fire after we drink it. The last thing you should worry about is whatever's in the fucking juice!" He finished, quickly walking up back to his quarters. Lieutenant Motley simply shrugged at Jericho, being rather sympathetic to him as he followed Finn up the stairs.

A brief moment of awkward silence ensued, and everyone went back to a subdued normal routine after that, with all the guardsmen generally being quieter. It took a few seconds until Jericho himself regained his full senses, and simply breathed relief. Thankfully, that didn't escalate into anything worse. Clearing his throat, he looked back at the groups that were going to head out. "Well. Let's go. Good hunting." It seems that they've overstayed their welcome for the time being, and perhaps doing some good might solve this conundrum. But for Jericho, his duties now is to inspect the men, and the defenses. He was commanding officer, after all.

​

Quartermaster Sculley

After the wee exchange with Finn, the air inside the quartermaster's room was rather quiet, minus all the squeaking puppy-sized rats still present. Everyone resumed with what they were doing, albeit not being nearly as noisy as they'd been. Sculley was no exception to this. The Finn lad had always been twitchy, and the peg-legged quartermaster was one of the only men that had survived here as long as the man. Being one of the 'super old breed', Sculley was rather familiar with Finn, and no doubt he was heading back to his quarters for some... personal rest. Even he didn't know what the Lieutenant gets up to in his quarters, and from the large betting pool surrounding Finn's particular activities, of which Sculley had his money on 'making new water canteens', neither did the guardsmen.

But enough of that. His business is in the here and now. Digesting all the information, and all the fresh items that had been offered up for trade, he quickly spoke, being a veteran swindler tradesman. "A'ight, good deal, gentl'men. Yer stuff is all good, Angelman. Ye get 5 shots, and 5 shots is all ye get." The man told Audun, with a dozen or so rats scurrying towards the cloak and immediately pulling it off the table, and transporting the cloak into the depths of the quartermaster's room. "Don' worry 'bout et, they're kind rats. Still rats, but 'eh." Sculley muttered, as he pulled a crate with five cannonballs, complete with their propellant charges, out into Audun's view, nearly tearing a back muscle while doing it.

"Thank ye, kind rocklady. This'll be fine..." He proceeded to pick up the crystals. These would make as fine condensing lenses for the nighttime spotlights, and in an emergency, shiny bright illuminated smoke to daze some of the higher level Darkborne, given that some magic is infused into them. For her reward, he whistled at the men playing with the 'Supa-Boom', and they threw the bundle of dynamite at him, with sad faces and whining noises more suitable for children than for grown men. This was all Sculley's stuff after all, and his word is the law when it comes to his stuff. Offering it to Spessartite, he nodded. "Put et tae' good use, aye?"

Lightly smacking a few rats off of the table where Aymeline had left her peppermint leaves down, he cupped them into a tighter group, and swept them into a handy burlap sack that he always keep beneath the tables, sealing the entrance with a rope. With a deft whistle echoing through his side of the 'castle', Sculley hollered at everyone. "Food call! Fer' Big Ay!" And like clockwork, all of the veteran guardsmen immediately reached into their pockets for all the food they carried on them. Half-crumbled ash cakes, half-opened cans of pemmican, and even whole burlap sacks worth of apples and fruits, along with other freshly plucked vegetables, were handed over quickly, with the guardsmen nodding and smiling at the Giantess. Soon enough, the random assortment of foodstuffs and medicine came under Aymeline's possession, and the outpost men returned to normal.

Sculley grabbed enough food from the pile to hand over to Maria, along with her stuff. Of course, he had to put down her shortsword to do it, and the weapon was now lost to the rats, as they scurried over it. And then, as a final reconsideration, Sculley also yanked the three-sword abomination from the stooges that had built it, and threw it onto the pile along with the food and medicine. Never can be too careful.

​

A few hours of travel later...

​

The ruins stood barren, just as they were left when the Darkborne took over. A once-prideful cathedral stood in the center, being the circular structure depicted in the hand-drawn maps. Time has taken its toll upon everything within this place, with moss and decay plaguing every structure. The forever-unfinished scaffoldings and framework that lay frozen in time are scattered throughout the ruins, and the puddles of yesteryear's rains could still be faintly felt through the boots of anyone who would tread here. Scorch marks, as well as overall structural damage could be seen everywhere, and an overall sinister feeling surrounded the area, haunting the stonework of these buildings, that still stood tall through the fires and the flames of war

. From their position, nothing could be spotted with the naked eye. What the intrepid adventurers do now, is up to them...

​

Elsewhere, the ridge was far off, with the forest returning back to absurdly tall pine trees as they strayed further away from the outpost. Wildlife, some dangerous, most not, stumbled across their paths along the route, with no big incidents thankfully. All the herbivores and small creatures fled from the noise and sight of the group, while the other dangerous animals kept their distance and watched from the shadows. The visage of the trees slowly turned more and more hostile and haunting as they approached their target destination, with branches and leaves resembling knives and talons, prowling overhead, while the pebbles and stones beneath the ground took on the appearance of a predator's eyes, stalking the every footstep of their prey.

As they reached a small clearing, the forest opened up slightly, and the chittering of Darkborne could now be heard just ahead. Battle is almost inevitable at this point, but how it will play out is up to the adventurers...

Near the outpost, however, things had taken a turn for the interesting. More and more men joined Leafa and Skyler's little hunting festival, with even a few gunners joining with their frustratingly inaccurate muskets. The stags that had originally been grazing around have mostly fled, and the hunt has turned into a twisted skeet shooting contest, as fresh stags quickly galloped through the clearing, still en route to some unknown destination. The hunt then turned into an all-out hunt, as the men now shot using their stomachs, not their minds. Rabbits, squirrels, coyotes, foxes, even birds were fair game, and a great many of them were shot down more or less in the edges of the clearing. It seemed to be a good hunt, until a Cavity opened up.

A hideous, humongous and oddly tan-colored mouth in the ground opened up, big enough to engulf the better part of the clearing, and all the hard work of the hunters swiftly fell into its maw, along with a small unlucky tree that was dislodged when the thing opened up. With slight anger and confusion, the guardsmen all gathered around, with a collective question: What now? None of them were courageous enough to approach it, seeing as where there's one Cavity, there are bound to be more around, and it is probably only sheer luck that they weren't standing atop another big one right now. A worrying dilemma.

-robert- Vyseryx hostage QizPizza Soviet Panda U UnbelievableCow BioshockRP Trappy Spireshade RubyZoo Epiphany Unwavering Knight SCSaya06 CrowOuttaHell Midrick LuciTheGreat Sybil Slop

 

[Kabboom]

Ruins

After some creative footwork from most of the adventurers, along with some hasty meet-and-greet sessions, the party has made it down to the bottom of the structure. The staircase creaking and croaking beneath the weight of the Giantess that tread above it, but the ancient Imperial architecture stood true to its nature, and only caved in after everyone had made their way down, the rumbling debris accumulating into a mound of dust and rot. Also the other staircase collapsed too. No reasoning behind it, other than maybe it being ancient Imperial architecture.

But enough mischief, for the winds have turned. The howls of the cold breeze lurch forth from the crevices, less like a breath from the skies and more like the invisible tendrils of the Dark grabbing hold of this most bountiful prey that have trespassed upon their unholy soil. Wild blades of grass, mingled with the overgrown pavement tiles, squirm with fearful delight in anticipation of the battle unraveling. The last remaining Scrappers, who have since disappeared out of sight, begin howling, and screaming. Many of them scrape their claws together, and fervently gnaw upon the stone tiles within the ruins somewhere. But they do not attack.

This is where things get a bit... serious.

Sickly and decrepit stood the cathedral, its failing brickwork caving further while the clotting of the air continued. A most unnerving form of darkness writhed and weaved within, as the shadows within faded into pitch black. Powerful was the taste of creeping death upon the tongue. The cacophony of terror slowly rising in pitch and volume in the ears of all who were Light-sensitive was now wailing on and on, like a distorted violin pressed right up to the eardrums. And finally, the source of this great discord appeared, strutting out of the front entrance, with his-- no, its armor hissing and cracking as if it were a genuine creature.

[IMG='width:721px;']https://i.imgur.com/hjsCI85.png[/IMG]
​

The Darkmage stood aloft, greaves marring the terra firma it strode atop with sickly Dark ooze. Skin and flesh are omitted in favor of a bony matter, weaved in with raw Darkness that acted as both veil and shield for the ethereal coil locked within, shining with an unnatural shade of pale black. Fleshy reds shroud the figure, in a sort of twisted crimson cape that droops to the cold stone. Dried marrow fused to build an imprisoning helmet, the Darkmage's head reveals nothing but the soulless bloodshot orbs that it uses to stare at the Guardian team, concentrating on nothing, yet leering at everything at once. The obsidian staff it wields is no less ominous, with the red crystal on top powering the spell manifesting on its other hand. But even the Darkmage paled in comparison to its... companion.

A roughly 3-meter tall abomination of reality, the Beast only vaguely resembles a human in terms of general silhouette and skull shape, but the similarities stop there. Cracking and healing beneath the immense weight, its feet puts whole craters behind its steps, as the hardened claws crunch up the pavement with every twitch of the 'toes'. A most rotten brand of meat, woven into strands of bulging muscle, laden with sizzling and festering Darkness, builds up the Beast's body, with a most tightening creak echoing through the ruins with every contraction and relaxation of the figure, shedding off strips of contagion from the movement. The screaming skull of a lost soul from long ago is permanently fixed at the apex of the physique, partially overtaken by flesh and sinew yet still standing out with a hollow grey tint, a threefold eyeless stare looking forward, seeing nothing and everything at the same time.

The two simply stared at the group standing within the ruined building, sizing up the threat that had awakened them for the first time within untold aeons. But then some daft guy had to loose an arrow at the Darkmage. The iron-tipped projectile shattered on contact with the bony helm of the Dark one, barely enough to elicit a glance from its iridescent suns, staring from the shadows.

Standing at the far end of the ruins, on the entering end of the road that once ran through the place, were a different group of people. Not Darkborne, obviously, and not bandits either. Just a simple group of adventurers trying to take on a Darkmage along with his 3-meter tall death-beast-friend-pet without support from a nearby Imperial artillery battery. The wild arrow originated from an archer that seemed veteran enough to know what he's getting into, judging by the two stacks of arrows tied neatly to his flanks, and the frequently-notched bow indicating the amount of kills. One knight wielding a warhammer along with her shield, whispering words of healing spells while lowly getting behind a really big guy with a broad-headed axe. And lastly, pushing the archer aside to get in front, a man dressed in some kind of Western or Southern armor, armed with a strangely wide-bladed sabre. No wait... talwar, that's the weapon.

[IMG='width:554px;']https://i.pinimg.com/originals/52/6c/93/526c9345ef5e454877c3492a6ee01450.jpg[/IMG]​

Without missing a beat, the pulsating spell on the Darkmage's hand dissipated in a red flash, summoning a creeping fog wall, cordoning off the entirety of the ruins. Its red eyes did not move, but it spoke nonetheless, as the Beast slowly twisted its torso to face the new group. "It is our great joy to have found such good inspectors in a long while. The invigilators will delight at this offering of experience. Your resistence is palpable, admirable in fact. But the screams of the vipers and the screeching of the bloodshot winds call for change. It does not matter how many you are, for we are the creeping tide, come to drown you all."

Epiphany SilverFlight Unwavering Knight Midrick Trappy Spireshade ShiyaRose Slop
Jericho

Having grown relatively bored of the life in the outpost, Jericho and Clanus decide to go for a stroll in the perimeter. Good time to check up on the wildlife, get away from all the weird-smelling men of the outpost, and brush up on the good memories long past. The two had thought it was a good idea. But not 10 steps out of the outpost's immediate perimeter, the two immediately catch sight of the firing line assembling near the hunting grounds.

Upon arrival, Jericho was going to inquire on the progress of the hunting, and the overall amount of foodstuff caught, and arrange transportation for the spoils of the hunt. However, what ended up filing into his mind was a barrage of quick-fire questions, fueled by pure confusion alone. Why is the ground filled with Cavities? Why is that big one burning? Why is that dude hopping back towards us on one foot? Why was he even out there in the first place? Where's the food? Why is Anna firing cannon shells at the Cavities? Why is Leafa holding a baby Cavity? Is that all the food? Why are we eating baby Cavities?

"Report, immediately!" His calm mind yells at the rank of men, who have just been celebrating about the success of the kill-all-Cavities plan a moment ago. An elf archer starts giving off a half-assed briefing at once, but it's not much help. In the meantime, Clannus crouches down to eye-level with Leafa, who seemed to be having a great time, what with the baby Cavity on her hand and all. "'Ey there Leafa. What's with the Cavity on yer 'and? What happened 'ere?"

-robert- RubyZoo

 

[Kabboom]

????

They're right on time. They do have Guardians with them. The writhing mind did not fail.

The Smothered One sat where she achieved total view of the fight unfolding. A burning halo of seething Light, casting death upon the Darklings. The usual Preyborne were putting up a better fight than usual, thanks to the new arrival of Guardians and other powerful members of the pulsating Empire of Light. The thought of savoring their flesh, and above all, their thoughts - granting them perspective upon the great writhing mind that drives - made The Smothered One almost salivate in delightful anticipation, an act that would surely degrade her down to the levels of the puny Darkwolf that now served idly as her resting chair. But enough admiration.

They call.

Her Minion was alongside her. His lithe body, oozing Dark, had found himself perched on top of the branches. The Hunter's oculars were taking in the battle in its earnest. She did not have to utter a single word to him - they were completely united in mindset. The only hint of communication between the two, to an outsider Preyborn, would be the way the Hunter's feathered self rustled ever so slightly, as the Smothered One twitched her head - or, where her head would've been when she was still alive. Within their unspoken conversation, however, things were not silent.

'What do you see, Owl?'
'Prey for the hunt. Easy. Predictable.'
'Notable Prey?'
'Affirm. That Giant over there. She attaches to their foul web of Light. Through her, all of them taste vigor. Mages defend her.'
'What of the regulars? Those who call themselves 'Guardsmen'? I quite not understand why the Prey insist on Guard-themed names.'
'Neither do I. But your query stands; the regulars hold as usual. They play, and cheer. True suffering has not come to them yet.'
'That is why we are here tonight. Of the frontline?'
'Their front is formidable. The entrance is guarded by two Half-breeds, with possibly magical weapons. And they are carving a spearhead through the Thrasher ranks, with two- no, three brawlers.'
'The Giant, the brawlers, the Half-breeds make for targets of six. And the two encroaching on our position makes eight.'
'Strange. Something seems off.'
'Hm?'
'The two brawlers... they are clad in white armor. Officers perhaps?'
'Point noted. Take caution, and... do tend to them well.'

The Rottapult, poised behind the Smothered One, rumbled in response to an unknown calling. Shuffling itself, the last of its kin in this area of the Darkwoods aimed itself towards the offending prey, fixing its invisible sights upon the Inuin. The Hunter dropped down from his high tree, landing without a sound. It was his time to go.

'Go, Hunter. Take their front line, and take their Giant. Without their dearest Light, these Prey shall finally fall.' The Smothered One said as she got up, her Darkwolf chair resuming normal duty. She molded herself into the shadows, out of sight.
'I shall.' Was all he said, spreading his wings and preparing to soar forth beneath the cover of the trees. His weapons and claws yearn for the flesh of Prey.
'I do wish you best of luck. May your... Owl be with you?' Unseen, The Smothered One gave her regards.

'The Sova is with me no more. And same to you.'
The Hunter then flew off for the fight.


An earthquake rumbled the entire outpost. Guardsmen were shocked, shaken, and jumbled up, falling over from the intense vibrations. The stonework creaked and moaned, which was not something stonework is known for, and ergo is a cause for big concern. They shook, and shook, and when they shook to their maximum, they shook further. There was no end to this accursed earthquake. Some of the stones on the top of the walls have already begun to pop off from the rumbling, and the men on the battlements were almost all knocked down from the walls, clinging onto life only by the ropes that they have tied to their bodies.

But alas, the ground broke before the Guard did. Such was the strength of their masonry; one does not simply break an Imperial outpost's walls. They may smash the walls, but they can never collapse the hardened stones, thanks to their outstanding foundation work. A large hideous gash opened on the ground instead, as if it were a huge Cavity waking up. But alas, no teeth came from the void, but instead, it was Darkborne. Of course it is.

Crawling forth from the earthy depths, packs of Burrowers appear. A margin larger than the biggest of Darkwolves, the Burrowers were digging away furiously at the ground, intending to erupt from the subterranean world onto the normal world, where they shall taste flesh and open the way for their brethren, and also any Darkwolves or Runners or the other myriad of low level Darkborne that can squeeze through their tunnels, can also get to the front quickly without getting shot to death. With six powerful muscular forelimbs to dig dirt with, these spider-like beings stand upright, using their worm body as a support, while they use their digger limbs to move forth and claw prey. That kind of stuff.

Spikethrashers and Darkwolves start pouring out of these holes. They seem to have been digging away happily, and the earthquake had just furthered their progress. Fortunately, the earthquake had also more or less divided the Front into two smaller halves, limiting the movement space of the Darkborne. The Dark spawn were now ramping up their efforts, being more aggressive and tactical than usual. Perhaps something is changing? A new strategy, perhaps? Is their commander coming closer, strengthening the power of the links in their mind? At this point, who knows.

Using their many limbs, the ranged Thrashers crawl through the Burrower tunnels like lightning, ejecting outwards onto the surface like whales breaching. Two such instances occurred near the valiant Sarmanian defenders outside, in the treeline. Their whips, like firecrackers, thrash twice the amount of usual projectiles at the trio, as the duo of Spikethrashers increased their numbers to four, then to six. Moving around, these things were no mere pushovers, no mere Thrashers anymore. They were playing to their strongpoints; maneuverability and unrelenting fire. With one getting nicked by a lucky shot to the head from some Guardsman, five of them remain, loosing a lot of projectiles at Vera and Uri in particular. Maybe white attire in a forest wasn't a good idea.

Spoiler: Burrower

Within the confines of the outpost, however, things were different. Good news, the earthquake did almost no damage aside from some bruised Guardsmen and broken chunks of stone. Bad news is, there's three Cerebrates coming over the Rear wall.

Likely the origin of that Darkwing horde that came from behind, these hulking beasts demonstrate uncharacteristically aggressive maneuvers, using their many forelimbs to hoist themselves over the stone. Gil's halo ring began firing immediately, but the magic missiles can only do so much against the thick high-level Darkbornes' hides, namely, nothing at all except for shooting off a few weak forelimbs. The blasted things have plenty to spare. The Rear wall creaks and moans even more violently, as the combined weight of three Cerebrates pull on it.

Slowly, they hoist themselves on top of the wall, standing there menacingly, eyeing up their potential opponents. Slowly, they begin their descent, against the face of unrelenting firepower.

Whoever's commanding these things has a rude sense of humor.


Clanus

The girl was now crying, as she stammers through her explanation. Clanus now began feeling bad for the girl. Most of the guys and gals he rescued prior were all toughened Guardsmen, no stranger to being yelled at and thrown at the enemy, but this... this was just a girl. Like that Lunala lady, maybe even worse. Darn it, why are all the vulnerable people at the front? Leafa, Lunala, now this lady, whatever her name is.

"'Ey, 'ey, lady, calm down. You're doin' a good job at it, I promise ya. It's gon' be alright, okay? Jus' stop cryin'." He tried his best at a calming voice. Then the freaking Cerebrates came. First the earthquake, now this?

No time. Grabbing the lady by the hand again, Clanus displaced up to the higher levels. They're dead if they stay down here.

ShadeAlucard


Jericho

The fun just keeps coming.

He'd barely stayed on his feet when the earthquake struck, and he almost fell down into the hole himself when the ground opened up. Burrowers beneath, of course there would be. The only reason why they can't come up inside the outpost walls is because of the thick foundation, built specifically for this reason. The Darkborne commander is not playing easy this time. Between the Burrowers, Exmen, Manwalkers, Spikethrashers, Runners, Darkwolves and Cerebrates on the field, something big is bound to get here.

In that case, the small fry need to be dealt with. Darkborne have strength in numbers, and also raw strength. Better to fight them one at a time, rather than all at once.

The fervent scratching and scraping of the Burrowers surfacing drilled into his ear, the way a Spikethrasher's supersonic whip drilled fear into the hearts of weak Guardsmen. Funny how he'd never been able to overcome their shrill cries, especially given how long it has been since the last night with his team. But no matter. A Guardian does what a Guardian must. To uphold the Light, a man must engage in Darkness sometimes. A paradox, to be sure, but it works.

Isn't that right, Frey?

Grabbing the Halberd tightly, Jericho pressed the buttons on its handle. Burrower nests are confined, and a halberd is a less than ideal 'head' to use against them. A glaive 'head' would work better. Glowing with excessive heat, the yellow halberd head begun transforming itself, like a molded blade without a blacksmith hammering it into shape. The broad axe blade and the thick blunt hammer melded, lengthening the spear tip and creating a seamless, double-edged straight blade on top of the handle, glowing with heat. Not a perfectly shaped glaive, but it was the best Jericho could've done with the limited knowledge.

Charging forth at the nearest nest, Jericho went to work. Some of the Burrower tunnels had Darkwings waiting inside, and now they were pouring out by the dozens, slowly blotting out the sky. The Imperial sprite flares set up in the trees had long ran out of batteries, and now the darkness of the forest was in full bloom. The Cerebrates on the rear of the wall were taking in a lot of fire, and as such, the front will have to be remedied with deadly power. The Cerebrates are big, but slow and able to be attacked at range. Darkwolves and the like are not so vulnerable. That is why they must be dealt with first.

The nearest Burrower had barely surfaced, when a piping red hot glaive with the Light-infused ability to cut through basically everything, lobbed its head off with a clean swipe. The headless beast went limp, its slower deterioration proving a good temporary blockage for the tunnel, as the decapitated throat sizzles from the intense heat. Jericho hadn't even slowed down.

Arriving at the second nearest tunnel, where the Burrower had already come out of its hole, and a few Darkwolves had just crawled out of the tunnel, Jericho meant business. Swinging his Magisteel Glaive upwards from where he was holding it with his left hand, the Guardian swiped the foul Burrower with both arms by pulling the glaive up to the right. The Burrower's attempt at blocking was futile, as it soon found out when all of its digger limbs separated from its base with a sizzling red where the blade struck. Screeching, the Burrower fell down with pain.

The Darkwolf lurched forward with a bite aimed at Jericho's revealed head. The Guardian's small stature played to his advantage, however, as he coiled his legs and pounced backwards, converting the pull force into a push force and swinging the Glaive forward again, slashing open the Darkwolf's jaws from right to left. The Darkwolf landed on its feet, but with a burning mouth, just as the second Darkwolf pounced. Raising his blade, the second offender impaled itself on Jericho's weapon, skewering itself from neck to abdomen down to the middle of the shaft. Landing with a thud, the second Darkwolf quickly caught itself aflame, as the glaive drove itself down onto the ground, burning away a few weeds as it sizzled like meat.

The first Darkwolf returned for more. The de-jawing maneuver was not enough to fell the beast, and it launched itself towards the Guardian. Learning from the best, he did not falter, using his legs to hold himself upright. Being brought down to the ground by a Darkwolf is death. Solution is simple: don't fall down. Instinctively raising his right arm to protect the rear of his naked head, Jericho could feel the full weight of the damned thing. Having a really sharp blade is a double-edged blade in and of itself sometimes; lacking the ability to push effectively, there is less 'stopping power', if there exists such a concept for melee weapons. Enough dilly-dallying with theories and concepts however, he's getting mauled by a Darkwolf.

The upper jaw was clawing against his armored gauntlet, and its feet were scraping his badly damaged rear armor plates. Reaching for Dante, Jericho began smacking the thing with the hardened mace form, bashing its skull in with each strike. After three such strikes, the Darkwolf has had enough, relenting and dropping down. Whipping backwards, Jericho finished the thing off with a swing directly to the eyes, cracking the skull and killing the beast.

Pulling the glaive effortlessly from the already-deteriorating Darkwolf corpse, Jericho quickly had to contend with a sudden arrival; a Spikethrasher at close range. Closing the distance even more, Jericho deflected the singular spike that was going to hit him dead center, and went in for the kill. Leaping forth, the weapon pierced the Spikethrasher in the head, and Jericho's own force pushed it barrelling backwards, onto a couple of Exmen. The damn Exmen horde was now enveloping him. Shit.

Preparing for further combat, Jericho braced the hordes.

"Give 'em hell, Conquerors!" A voice echoed from behind. The Conquerors decided that they were wasting their time not moving around, and have come out to help. A fusillade of arrow fire cut down the nearest Exmen, as well as a pair of grenades being thrown into the general vicinity of the Darkborne, detonating profusely. Turning around just in time to bisect another Burrower behind him, Jericho came face to face with the Conqueror commander. A stunning young lad clad in metal plate, with its shiny white color dirtied by the constant brush of Hissbombs* against the metal. A bit young for the title of commander, but that's what field promotions usually result in.

Without a word, the two worked together in unison. Firing their automatic crossbows at the other Darkborne, the Conquerors quickly moved up to the burrows. Scraping two Hissbombs against their carapace and tossing them into the holes were nothing more than a well rehearsed chore, and one such occurrence happened right in front of Jericho, with the commander doing the tossing and Jericho doing the stabbing-things-while-they-come-out-of-the-hole-ing.

As the explosions go off, Jericho headed back into the fort quickly, before passing a word or two. "You guys hold here, clean house! I'm headed in to kill the CBs!" hollered Jericho, before he bolted upwards on the stairs.

Inside was no different than outside. Lots of gunfire, big angry Dark. No big difference. Trying out a trick he learned, Jericho held the glaive upon one hand, and used what adrenaline-fueled strength he had left in his muscles to fling it like a javelin. Whistling through the air, amidst the hail of arrows and musket shots, the Magisteel weapon found itself digging through a Cerebrate's many eyes, before falling down onto the ground like a pin, having cut through the flesh that would've held it in place. Darn. Not enough power to get through to the weak spots.

Drawing Dante to finish the job, Jericho's aim proved to be true and he fired the reloaded shot directly through the hole he'd drilled into the Cerebrate. The shot connected, and with it being an explosive shot, the Cerebrate's internal cavity just got bigger, and thankfully, the thing died. Weak spot achieved, but not quite with one fell swoop. He'll have to practice even more. But now he's without his Magisteel weapon, and the Cerebrates are too near to guarantee getting it back and not getting sliced into 80 pieces in the process.

Guess the shortsword will have to do for now.

Spoiler: *

Hissbomb:
A small, cylindrical explosive device utilized as a grenade by the Empire. With a cylindrical ‘stick’ as the main handle, and a condensed sphere serving as the storage for the main explosive charge, the Hissbombs are a quintessential battlefield tool, and reports of its use date back to the ending stages of the Empire’s expansion over the continent. With a thin and easily removable metal cap at the bottom of the handle that can be removed partially or completely, even with a man’s teeth, and a friction-ignition fuse that can be ignited either by using the metal cap to scrape it, or scraping it across some other frictional solid surface, such as metal armor plates or cobblestone floors, the Hissbombs can be activated with ease, and does not demand much from its user. After ignition, the fuse will be lit aflame with powder, and a 5-6 second timeframe follows before the bomb’s explosion. This lit fuse generates the iconic hiss that the grenade is named after, as the powder crackles during its arc through the air. Their explosive yield is greater than most normal grenades, and are commonly used either singularly or in bundles against big Darkborne forms, known to even take down Cerebrates with a well-thrown Hissbomb.

(its time to rumble)
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[Kabboom]

Sgt. Eiglen

Sergeant Eiglen had been spending most of his time barking at the newbloods, and silently cursing the Imperials’ focus on melee combat instead of ranged warfare. Of course, it made a lot of sense, considering how the ebb and flow of anti-Darkborne warfare eventually boils down to hitting the Dark with your fists and hoping that they’ll catch a disease when you choke up your own blood at them. Ranged warfare was going to be the future, assuming the Empire would last long enough to actually reach said future, but Lord of Light be damned if any of these stupid rookies actually hit something on their first volley.

Enough of this shit. It was high time he took to the field. Jericho just took down one of the Cerebrates coming over the rear wall, and some other armor-clad power-guy is gonna manhandle the other two. Interesting choice of a close combat opponent, but who is he to complain? That armor looks tough enough to take the hits.

That just left the blokes on the field to the front. Just like the nights before this, the field is full of Darkborne, and they’re all angry and-or dying as soon as they step onto the darkened glades of grass. There was also a weird addition to the picture, namely, the full squad of Conquerors kicking ass and throwing ‘nades on the field, with their sick crossbows, and the Sarmanian duo working with other folks from the reinforcement group to lick the treeline clean of Spikes. All that’s missing is the constant Rottapult fire, the screeching of the viscount, the crunching of debris, the screaming of the wounded and the stench of blood mixed with dirt and stone, and then it’ll be just like the nights before.

Lieutenant Finn came around, however, and relieved him of the gunnery squad on the first level’s wall. Eiglen couldn’t help but jump at the opportunity. On a day like this, men like him should be having fun. And although fighting Darkborne at night is hardly a good example of ‘fun’, the old Sergeant bore a grin on his face as he snatched an extra shortsword and smacked a few of his guys on the back, urging them to follow him as he charged out the opening.

Hooting at Terra and Kaelynn as they slid past, Eiglen and the boys joined the Conquerors at the front. The groove of melee combat against the Dark shitstains had become a regular dance for the old Sergeant, and the tempo of the waltz sometimes made itself audible, which made for a pretty good fight, sometimes. The moves were simple, and picking up on it was easy, provided that the dancer didn’t suck at moving, and wasn’t prone to sudden Dark incisions onto their body.

Step right, step left and duck, deflect strike, kick, spit, thrust, flick wrist, riposte, stab, kick, spit again, stab for good measure. That’s one Burrower and two Darkwolves down, and Eiglen moved on as a nearby Conqueror took the liberty of chucking a Hissbomb down the shaft of the tunnel he just cleared. Fighting with a bastard sword in one hand and the acquired shortsword in another, the guardsman moved like a fiery storm - nowhere near as fierce as his younger comrades, or the deadly berserkers on the expedition team, but a force to be reckoned with nonetheless.

Moving on to another one, he rushed forward of his comrades. The moon shimmered off of his swords, grinding together with ear-splitting grit as the blades touched roughly, after both having gone through a Manwalker’s ugly eye sockets at slightly different angles. Flicking the abomination aside, Eiglen looked down into the hole, checking for more Darkfools to come to their deaths.

What the fuck? How’d an orc get in there?

The greenskin stood out against the dark cover of the ground, just enough to be picked up by the human eye. Apparently this one had gotten into a spot of bother, and considering how the guy was looking up at him, he was an ally. His armor and gear solidified that theory, and it was clear that the orc was on their side. Somehow. Did he miss this one when the convoy rolled in?

Dropping his swords, Eiglen came to help. Drawing his combat knife just in case this was some Darkborne fuckery, he ordered one of his boys to grab his legs and start pulling when he put his heels together. Then he simply crawled into the hole. “Hang on, buddy, we’ll get ya outta there.”

Dirt and grime was messing up his armor, and it didn’t feel comfortable at all. But considering that all of his pent-up injuries and ailments contracted over the course of his time at this outpost had just been healed by that kind healer lady before this fight started, this was as comfortable as he’d felt in months. Shit, maybe even years. Grabbing the orc with his one free hand, his knife hand clutched the dirt as he focused on his grip, and putting his heels together.

“Alright, get outta there…” Eiglen grumbled under his breath, as he got pulled out of the hole along with the orc dude. They were going to get out soon. Then it’s back to the fighting-

That rumbling. That rumbling in his ears. In his throat. In the back of his spine, running down his ribs. Something big is coming. Coming fast. Panicking behind his squinting eyes, Eiglen hustled and clawed at the dirt to get out of the damned tunnel faster. The rumbling sounded like it was going to shatter his very bones, and the pair got out in the nick of time, with Eiglen’s panicked strength hurling the orc a ways backwards, onto one of his men. Springing up to a standing position with both swords in hand, his words of warning were cut short, as the ground gave way, and the ‘something big’ revealed itself.

“What the fuc-” were all he uttered, as one of its limbs rocketed out of the ground, crushing his ribs and sent him flying.


Jericho Audaton

Two Cerebrates down, and Pryonn moves in for the third. Between him and the guardsmen, that third Cerebrate should be toast. One less thorn in their side, in that case. Aymeline's incandescent connection to the faraway Network stood out like a lamp in the dark, to Lightborne and Darkborne alike. Whereas everyone feels it in the form of an overwhelming sense of safety and security, the Dark taste it like the curdling blood of their prey, and are inevitably drawn towards it, like sharks closing in on bleeding whales.

Snatching his Glaive after wading through the decomposing corpse of the Cerebrate that he felled, Jericho inspected the damage. The blade was, of course, flawless, but the handle had taken a fair bit of damage from falling down an entire wall. He probably should take care in swinging the thing, but the fight against the Darkborne can become very close, very suddenly. There's a reason why the Conquerors have bayonet hooks on their crossbows, and blade extension hooks on their bayonets.

A deafening rumble crashed into his ears, like a sucker punch to the senses. Pressing his ears tightly, and looking outwards at the entrance, Jericho was the first to move, as everyone else was slightly taken aback by the sudden noise. Rushing to the entrance, the mounds of rubble and ground debris coming down was enough to give everyone a bad death beneath the weight. Using his Shield Aura to protect as many Conquerors as possible on the field, as well as Terra and Kaelynn, the rock and dirt simply cracked upon the blue auras, like eggs forcefully divulging their contents to the touch of a hard rock. Those guardsmen atop the walls simply fell backwards voluntarily, relying on their ropes to keep them beneath the battlements, shielding them from the large amounts of descending rubble. The results were acceptable; only a few casualties, either from not jumping in time, or having their ropes severed and falling down.

The walls held. They would always. Whether this night would end with them staying alive or not is another story entirely. Stepping out of the entrance, Jericho took to the field and gazed upon the thing.

Oh come on.

Towering above the battlefield, the Heidelisk breached the surface of the Front, standing between the Treeline and the outpost. Its hard shell crest reaching up to the equivalent of the outpost's second level, this unholy abomination of the shadows reveals its array of deadly weapons, having fully surfaced from the subterranean depths. With two thick crab-like lowermost legs being the support platform for its unbelievably large body, the being bears four scythe limbs, each of which are large and lengthy enough to properly dissect an equally sizeable unarmored Giant, should the face-off occur. The flesh of its underbelly was laid bare, with hideous frothing maws adorning its stomach area, if it had one. Red gashes mending seamlessly with jagged carapaces, the entire visage resembled a crab spliced with a worm, with a healthy blend of unspeakable horror mixed in for flavor. Its two blue eyes stared with the ferocity of a predator, as it flexed its head-horn with a series of unnerving crunches.

As the monstrous abomination of thick insect-like carapaces and baring sabre-like fangs and pinchers emerged from the overgrown forest ground like an erecting mountain of pure Darkness, the sorceress Margot stepped up to confront the new threat from her defensive stance. With a roaring, authoritative voice, she commanded Guardsmen and other combatants to steer clear of the hulking Heidelisk which soon casted a shadow over them on the battlefield. Margot reached out towards Aymeline’s beacon as she started muttering the Elvish incantations of her magic, which sang like an ancient melody, older than the Churches’ Commandments or the druidic codes. She reached out her other hand towards the Heidelisk, and from it shot out a bolt of lightning, its energy crackling violently on the way. The lightning bolt jumped from beast to beast until it hit the large target, sending the leviathan stumbling backwards into the crater from whence it came, and leaving behind a trail of horribly charred corpses of Dark fiends in its wake, crumbling away into black ash and dust. The air smelled of burned ozone.

The entire encounter seemed a bit anticlimactic, but if only it was that easy. With a chittering that resonated within the eardrums, the Heidelisk rose again, pushing itself upright with a flick of its scythe-limbs. Landing on its front limbs with a thump, the Heidelisk grumbled a bit, if Darkborne could even grumble, and begun lurching forward.

The Darkborne pushed on. They would always.


Within the semi-safe hideout of the Sarmanian-led group of berserkers, something was up. Well, aside from the big fuck-off monster that just rose out of the ground. The sounds of the forest suddenly sounded... dissonant, distant. Like they no longer mattered within the scope. Even the screeching of the Heidelisk sounded so insignificant, with the audible silence building up to something else. Something higher. Something more sinister.

Out of the darkness, five corkscrew darts whiz through the air, embedding themselves within the male Sarmanian in the easily-identifiable white armor. Not armor-piercing, but hurtful enough to disrupt activity. Just the way it should be. And then it came out. Like a blur, it slammed into Pat with a thud, its left hand indistinguishable from a blade, as it mauled the berserker badly as it dragged him across the dirt, before parting and springing up into a tree, clutching onto the bark sideways, glancing back down.

Raven black armor, accompanied with a whirling Dark glow, akin to a biological typhoon, was strewn across the abomination, as it stared without breathing, and saw without seeing. Its neck was indubitably twisted several times over, with beady black eyes boring into every member of the small group. A vertical gash, residual of the cut that felled it when it was still a servant of the Lightborne, ran from neck to abdomen, dripped Dark ooze, infecting the tree with its putrid corruption. And to top it all off, the thing had a pair of wings. Owlish limbs extending outwards like an insult to the nature it stood upon, the wings were adorned with black feathers, warped by the glow of Dark.

Without a word, it stared. Then dove for an attack.

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