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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 289037" data-attributes="member: 227">Kale's feet crunched on the gravel as he left the small hedged grass area of the temple, moving off the stone slab path and onto village road. Around him the streets slithered off in various directions, providing a moments disorientation before he struck off directly away from the temple front. The eerie quiet pervaded the entire settlement; the noise that the mercenary was making in his flight was like an alien interloper into the oppressive silence, a suffocating and cloying thing hanging heavy over hushed houses. Only a few more paces down the road and the howl of a lycanthrope destroyed the calm for good, piercing shriek slashing through the air to be joined by a dozen others, howls and yelps and pack-gathering barks to summon the coven after their quarry. Shapes slunk and shifted down side-streets, amidst the shadows by buildings, and in the concealing dark of buildings.The pack knew he had left the building. The pack chased. Some half-dozen werewolves tracked after him, cautious and yet eager to bring down this lone runner. As Kale continued to sprint lycanthropes left the shadows and came into the reddening light, racing after the human with unnatural pace and agility. His path took him to one of the outskirts, a barn full of hay. Running inside the low entryway, he found himself in the dark, humid innards of the construction, high bales around him blocking his view but still enough line of sight for him to pick out the ladder up to the loft that hung over half of the interior space. He began to climb even as dark shapes slunk in behind him, dispersing amidst the gloomy bales and watching him hungrily. As he reached the loft, he could see in the dark void below the glinting eyes of the ravenous brood; watching and waiting to see what the human might try next.Fumbling with the firebomb, he sent it arcing through the darkness to splash over the doorway, engulfling the entrance with flame that began to lick and flicker at the dry hay. Alarmed werewolves hissed down below; one launched itself up the ladder, leaping half the height with a single jump and rapidly hauling itself up to be most of the way to the loft already. * * *The doors to the smith’s shop slid open, Burl peeking out. All was quiet, no sign of the werewolves. The smithy party scurried out of the forge, hoping that those in the temple had already put the distraction into motion. The whumph of a firebomb detonating over the other side of the village indicated it had; but the direction and distance meant that Kale was well away from their aid. The smith led them hurrying towards the temple compound and the comparative safety to be found there. * * *Hot, dusty air singed flared nostrils, Kale stood atop the loft breathing desperately. A strange relief washed over him- that although numerous werewolves surrounding him nearly sealed his fate, the quickly mounting flames in the doorway threatened to seal the wolves' fates. This was a battle Kale could not possibly win, the reality driven home as one powerful wolf leapt nearly half the height of the ladder: these beasts were far beyond anything Kale could handle. Time, play for time, Kale reminded himself as he squared himself at the ladder. Old academy lessons of rampart defence suffused his mind- boring lessons Kale knew he would never use. Poor fodder defending another's livelihood, that was a scenario he thought he would never be in. That, perhaps, was the most ironic part of the sad, frantic scene. The young mercenary would sooner run himself through than become a pawn to consolidate a noble's power, yet in a burning barn, surrounded by ravenous beasts, Kale could say that he really didn't mind too much- to detach from the horror of the moment, he considered that dying for one's companions was much finer than being spent as one straw in a bale of some ruler's bloody poor infantry. It was satisfaction, then, when Kale set the silvered spear he had commandeered from a militiaman, to recieve a charging wolfbeast. Ramparts hadn't the benefit of rafters overhead, and it was the first and least important of many distinctions that meant that this place, this time was worth dying for... maybe even living for. Wild but fearful eyes were not a difficult expression to assume, Kale goading the animal up to the slaughter. C'mon, think like animals, not men... Just a little longer, the wolves needed to think they were still chasing prey... * * *Wyshira strained to see in the fading light; every shadow seemed to quiver with movement caught only with the tail of her eye. She imagined grotesque wolf-like shapes slinking along behind them as they hurried toward the Temple with their load of silvered weapons, the feral creatures holding back till just the right moment to spring. But finally she had to admit that the werewolves were unaware of their presence on the streets, and therefore must have take the bait. Were the monsters even now being led on that wild-Kale chase to the outskirts of town; taking their final steps to a fiery end? A sound in the distance, like the onrush of flame in a dry, summer-time forest firestorm, made her tremble with fear for her fellow-mercenary. Burl urged the smith and milita men on toward safety, and frantically, she echoed his words: "Hurry! Hurry!" Once the weapons were delivered to the Temple, she had to get to Kale. "Burl, where's that barn? We-" but she stopped in mid-sentence, staring away beyond the Temple at an orange glow reflecting off the low overcast, and a column of thick black smoke rising into the twilit sky. The barn was already burning. * * *As its packmates gathered below the lycanthrope climbing the ladder came towards Kale with terrible speed, jaws dripping saliva down to the straw-covered barn floor far below. The mercenary set his spear to recieve the beast but with insane dextrousness it simply dodged the tip and clambered up using the very shaft of the weapon to aid its approach. There was a moment as Kale faced the lanky, tall beast, insane eyes glaring at him from the feral features, and then it lunged at him, jaws tearing at his shoulder. The weight of the beast sent kale staggering and his foot slipped out to step onto void; then the pair plummetted down off the loft to hit the barn floor below with a thunk. Kale should have known better, but a fall as in slow-motion offered him plenty of time to consider his folly. All the unwise and unreal and utterly useless sentiments had stabbed him and sent him falling. Glory was for the bards, indeed. Survival was the mercenary's mandate. The impact was agonising, especially with the weight of the werewolf on top of him, and since it had the mercenary as a cushion his attacker seemed barely fazed by the drop. Unable to do much other than groan in agony and watch the pack circle in from the shadows from the kill, Kale felt something digging into his back. Glass. Shards from smashed vials, shattered by his drop. The fireball blasted flaming hay around the interior of the building like a rain of incendiary drops, the werewolf atop Kale covered in a layer of sticky fire that it couldn't douse no matter how hard it tried, as it rolled away into a bale and set the thing alight, consuming it within the inferno. The nearest pack members whimpered and howled as droplets of liquid fire spattered over their faces, the bales and timbers around them blazing up in fire and the wisps of burning hay clogging the air. The animals leapt and rolled around the place in confused and terrified madness. Kale could see the liquid fire burning all over the surface of his clothes, but thus far the priest's magics seemed to be holding out and he felt no more than a slight warmth. He couldn't tell how long it might last though, and the pain of the bite and the fall had been bad enough.Luck was not without a sense of humor, it seemed. For although fang and shard and flame quickly chased away any delusion of grandeur, the engulfing blaze threatened to consume the wolves' pride, as well. Rolling to his feet, pain suffused his body, but Kale focused instead on confused and uncertain wolves. Pupils irising to mere pinpricks, it was an odd feeling to be a walking inferno. If not for the searing pain in his shoulder, he might have been able to appreciate the experience. In the stories, Kale would have stayed to inflict more pain and confusion upon the foul beasts. In reality, the bruised and bleeding mercenary cut and ran. Only a part of him was upset that he could not take advantage of his enemies so vulnerable. Every other bit of him knew that it was time to run for his life. Strange bright light from all directions emphasized the unreality of the whole situation. The human torch took flight, stabbing with his spear at a wolf too hysterical to get out of the way; but the inferno had already caught the weapon in its grip and the charred haft simply broke as it impacted, leaving the silver spearhead embedded in the flank of the lycanthrope. Tipping some bales before the entrance as he left, Kale ran downwind from the barn, a flaming pyre fleeing the chaos. Schooling his breath, Kale struggled to protect his lungs- protection fom fire he had, but from smoke he was just as vulnerable. Thankful he had left his cloak behind, Kale sprinted between two buildings, then dove to the dust to extinguish the last of the flames. Slipping into the nearby structure, Kale donned his unfamiliar black ring, quaffed a strange blue vial, and waited to regain his bearings and breath. Truly scared eyes took in his surroundings: Kale still needed to get back to the temple, and he was quickly running out of tricks...</blockquote>

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