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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 290904" data-attributes="member: 227">Shadows seemed to shift in the darkness, the few feet beyond the radius of light that spilled out of the temple, and the militia crowded round the windows and door with weapons readied as spellcasters began their work. Burl quickly spoke the hex to throw up the faint glimmer of blue that signified a mage armour spell at work, while with the scent of lingering storm, Wyshira called up the blessing of Ishrak to send out a pulse of power that surged into all those around her, buoying them up with divine energy. At the front, near the doors, Latorath wove a complex array of protective prayers around himself and those nearby, gleaming white energy streaming from his hands. They waited with baited breath for the foe to show themselves. Wolf was poised in the shadows near the door, a silvered shortspear glinting in the light as he held himself ready for action. Latorath stood ready with a spell held in his very hands; the globe of shimmering white light, a spell contained as he readied himself, illuminated the area around him. Evant stood calmly nearby, gripping his blade tightly in his gauntlets. Kale too was near the door, by one of the large windows with a group of militia crossbowmen. A little further back, Burl, Wyshira and Cord were ready with spells, javelins and daggers, prepared to pitch in wherever their power was needed. For a few moments, it all seemed to lull into nervous silence, seconds dragging on as the scene seemed frozen in time. The many long, dark shadows in the temple, cast by the fitful torches, gave the impression that the night outside was trying to force its way in. Then the werewolves charged from the darkness. * * *"Open fire! Open fire!" All hell broke loose. Men were firing bolts into the oncoming, shadowy mass of werewolves - so many of them, how many? - and shouts raised up from around the building. From the rear rooms came yells of "They're coming round the back too, fire!" as lycanthropes attacked from all sides. With the zip of bolts arcing into the mass of foe - still coming, a dark, shadowy mass, dozens, dozens strong of leprous, fetid, scrawny beasts -the militia tried to hold their morale - fangs and teeth flashing in the rush of werewolves, not this many, surely not? Here, there, lycanthropes dropped in the rush, bolts protruding from eyes or throats, but many more were merely injured, or kept coming. The fact that the defenders were armed with weapons that could harm them didn't seem much of a shock, as if they were too deep within the beast, too rabid and raging, to even care or perhaps even notice. Many more kept coming.They leapt over the low hedge around the temple under the fusillade of bolts, closing still. Kale had time to fire one, two, three arrows into the rush, finding their mark here and there, but not a single foe dropped to his shots. Still closer, and then they were at the temple - still more pouring from the shadows, a tidal wave of horror itself, dozens skittering out of the dark - and leaping through windows, throwing themselves on militiamen in berserk fury, and a mass smashed into the door. The wooden door was not designed for resisting assault, and splintered easily under the force of the attack before shattering completely and letting the tidal wave of dark beasts pour in. The main brunt of the attacking force was coming through here, and it recoiled at the force it was met with. With arcane gestures and words that illuminated Burl in dark, shadowy power, crackling over his clothes and gathering shadows sinisterly around him, Burl cast his incantation, hands thrusting out towards the door. Nearby militiamen, simple people for the most part awed even by the minor magics of a village priest, watched in awe as the first rank of werewolves through the dorr panicked as magic flowed round them, their minds filled with consuming fear and then turning tail and pushing away through their companions ranks to lope off into the night. More came still, and Latorath unleashed his power, a bolt of pure white light arcing into the mass and cutting through wolf-flesh like a hot knife through butter, filling the air with the reek of burning fur and meat. At point blank range, Kale and the crossbowmen unleashed a storm of bolts and arrows into the now faltering mass, which milled in a mix of terror and panic as its components were cut down like chaff. Some werewolves had made it into the temple itself, leaving a trail of dead around the windows as they tore their way in. Most were cut down by the militiamen, kept back with a wall of spears then brutally slain, but some evaded them and danced a waltz of carnage amidst the humans, claws and fangs catching fearful and fleeing militiamen. Two made it to the spellcasters; Wyshira's javelin caught one in the throat in a lucky throw, the other was blocked in its path by Cord. It snarled at the elderly dwarf, thinking this irritating creature and easy kill, but then the monk's hand shot out and hit an artery, cutting off the blood supply to the lycanthropes brain and leaving it shuddering in agony. The dagger made quick work of it after that. Wolf and Evant pitched into the mass of werewolves, weapons killing many of the dazed and confused beasts, their impetus lost and their rage drained by the wholesale slaughter of their kin. They broke and fled into the night. * * *Many were dead or dying, the werewolves who had assaulted the windows having taken a terrible toll, but the bulk of the lycanthrope force had come at the main door and their ravages been limited. Militiamen began to look at each other in faint disbelief, some began to smile, the faintest beginnings of a cheer rumbling as they realised the werewolves had been repelled and they were still alive. They were silenced by Latorath, the gleaming warrior having taken a few steps over the blood-slicked porch of the temple to peer out into the darkness of the night. There was more movement out there. * * *The Inquisitor just had time to whirl round and yell, "The master's here!", a look of horror on his face, before the gloom was illuminated by a crack of thunder and a bolt of coruscating electricity smashed him off his feet, hurling him into the temple to land with a metallic clank in a limp heap. The smell of burning flesh on the air was joined by the stench of ozone. One of the militiamen looked out into the darkness. "Oh %&*^," he said in quiet fear. To Be Continued...</blockquote>

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