Henry
Autoexreginated
Brandis struggled up the steps to follow. The rest were busy slitting throats of the wounded, or binding their own injuries, and did not immediately follow. That changed as Myrwyn made her discovery.
She peered through the curtain’s part, certain she would find the end of this mission and success. What she found curdled her blood. Beyond lay another chamber, smaller than the war-room, but merely a continuation of the hall at the top of the stairs. At its far end, she made out yet a THIRD Fire Witch! Is there no end?
The woman sat in a throne or ornate chair, attached to the far wall, and above her sat embedded two marvelous Black Gems, the size of her fist, pulsating with power. Between her and the Witch, however, was coalescing something from the very ether, a thing of nightmares. A Scorpion of enormous size, some 60 hands long and the height of an elephant, was materializing, and should it be finished, so were they!
Myrwyn screamed. “TO ARMS! CHAAARGE!” Steeling herself she raced across the room, but not before the ethereal scorpion could become solid and note her presence. Before a single ally could help, she was snatched and grabbed by a titanic claw.
Brandis took the distraction to use his magic Dust of Neverwhere, and slipped inside; there was no way he would risk being a target. Just as he made it halfway to the witch in the throne, Myrwyn was grabbed, crying in pain. There was nothing he could do to help her against this thing – but if he could catch the witch by surprise, then they stood a chance.
Boldric, bloody and bellowing, charged in. When he caught sight of the giant vermin, it did not faze him; as Brandis would joke, Boldric in his rage would charge the god Uriel the Damned. He simply charged straight to the biggest source of danger, the Scorpion, and let loose. His mighty glaive struck – and made the barest scratch. A blow that could pierce steel and flesh and bone, merely grazed the Scorpion’s chitin. In ducked Maxian, calling Myrwyn’s name and hacking with all his might. No avail.
In charged a remnant of the battle group. The Emorian troops were tired, so tired, and when they saw what they faced, any lesser army would have yielded to despair. However, it is said, Emorians are a stoic lot. Faced by constant attacks, the ever-present threat of invasion, loss of their borders, these troops shouldered the burden, and once again became the crack troops they were born to be. It did not matter, however, for as they moved in, the monster vermin stung, hacked, and chopped them to bits, one at the time, as their steel made little mark on it.
Antonius was nowhere to be seen. Having been spent, all he had strength to do was look on from the rear. He was last of the war wizards, and reduced to readying his crossbow, looking for an opening. Commander Varus fared little better. He ordered his men in, but did not approach himself. Whether it was fear or injury that held him back, none could say.
Vercinius, however, was not ready for surrender. The stalwart old priest hugged the walls, carefully moving past the pitched battle, totally unnoticed by the creature. Ever closer, he moved to challenge the witch, her eyes radiating dark power. At least she doesn’t notice –
The seated Witch jumped to her feet, readying a staff, her eyes still a hellish glow, still controlling the beast, still channeling the artifacts’ power...
She peered through the curtain’s part, certain she would find the end of this mission and success. What she found curdled her blood. Beyond lay another chamber, smaller than the war-room, but merely a continuation of the hall at the top of the stairs. At its far end, she made out yet a THIRD Fire Witch! Is there no end?
The woman sat in a throne or ornate chair, attached to the far wall, and above her sat embedded two marvelous Black Gems, the size of her fist, pulsating with power. Between her and the Witch, however, was coalescing something from the very ether, a thing of nightmares. A Scorpion of enormous size, some 60 hands long and the height of an elephant, was materializing, and should it be finished, so were they!
Myrwyn screamed. “TO ARMS! CHAAARGE!” Steeling herself she raced across the room, but not before the ethereal scorpion could become solid and note her presence. Before a single ally could help, she was snatched and grabbed by a titanic claw.
Brandis took the distraction to use his magic Dust of Neverwhere, and slipped inside; there was no way he would risk being a target. Just as he made it halfway to the witch in the throne, Myrwyn was grabbed, crying in pain. There was nothing he could do to help her against this thing – but if he could catch the witch by surprise, then they stood a chance.
Boldric, bloody and bellowing, charged in. When he caught sight of the giant vermin, it did not faze him; as Brandis would joke, Boldric in his rage would charge the god Uriel the Damned. He simply charged straight to the biggest source of danger, the Scorpion, and let loose. His mighty glaive struck – and made the barest scratch. A blow that could pierce steel and flesh and bone, merely grazed the Scorpion’s chitin. In ducked Maxian, calling Myrwyn’s name and hacking with all his might. No avail.
In charged a remnant of the battle group. The Emorian troops were tired, so tired, and when they saw what they faced, any lesser army would have yielded to despair. However, it is said, Emorians are a stoic lot. Faced by constant attacks, the ever-present threat of invasion, loss of their borders, these troops shouldered the burden, and once again became the crack troops they were born to be. It did not matter, however, for as they moved in, the monster vermin stung, hacked, and chopped them to bits, one at the time, as their steel made little mark on it.
Antonius was nowhere to be seen. Having been spent, all he had strength to do was look on from the rear. He was last of the war wizards, and reduced to readying his crossbow, looking for an opening. Commander Varus fared little better. He ordered his men in, but did not approach himself. Whether it was fear or injury that held him back, none could say.
Vercinius, however, was not ready for surrender. The stalwart old priest hugged the walls, carefully moving past the pitched battle, totally unnoticed by the creature. Ever closer, he moved to challenge the witch, her eyes radiating dark power. At least she doesn’t notice –
The seated Witch jumped to her feet, readying a staff, her eyes still a hellish glow, still controlling the beast, still channeling the artifacts’ power...
