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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 343327" data-attributes="member: 227">The werewolves continued their advance, as behind them the Master slipped the wand into his robes and began to mutter a divine hex, arms gesticulating as dark, deific power gathered around him, tangible in the night air which was saturated with the smell of blood. Wyshria could easily identify the paths of energy which the magic was taking as a spell of doom, though powered from some divine source which she had never come across. With a final word the Master lowered the hex over Kale, the archer firing so accurately into his troops, and the mercenary felt sick to the pit of his stomach as the doom took effect on him. The coven werewolves closed the final space towards the militia and the temple, claws slitting straps that held the babies to them and dropping the infants carelessly to the ground with a series of bumps. They tore over the last few feet, leaping nimbly through windows and doors to engage their foes, and carnage erupted as they attacked with claw and fang. Unlike the rabble of lesser werewolves that had made up the first wave, these beasts were agile, graceful, at one with the insane speed their vile nature had given them and skilled in unarmed combat as they began to scythe through the humans before them. Behind the front line of the militia, Latorath propped himself up against the altar, agonisingly slowly as pain lanced through his body. A quick prayer to the sun granted him some respite, healing energy suffusing his body with light and sealing some of the damage done by the lightning bolt, and he stiffly picked himself up off the floor. The battle hit a crucial turning point as the militia suffered disastrously at the hands of the lycanthropes. Many still with crossbow in hand, they fired on the werewolves as they closed the last few steps, but as the bolts tore in, the true implications of these coven werewolves sunk in. About half of the bolts were plucked out the air, caught in claw or between palms and diverted harmlessly to one side. The few that found their targets bit into flesh and bone but it was not enough to fell even a single of the beasts; the warriors quickly began to reach for melee weapons. Spears were thrust at the monsters by those that already had them in hand, but again the insane dexterity of the foe came into play as they avoided most of the strikes. Finally, one fell, transfixed by a hunting spear. The blacksmith, hefting the huge silvered axe, threw himself into the melee, but the ponderous man found the werewolves too fast for him to place a strike upon them. Kale had dispatched two men to circle out behind the werewolves, their purpose to bring the discarded babies to safety. They hurried round behind the melee to where the werewolves had deposited the infants, quickly gathering up as many as they could. Wyshria found that from her position behind the front line, the Master had moved close enough now for her magics to work, and with a chant to Ishrak she managed to conjure up a striking eagle in the air near her target, its feathers all burnished gold and metallic blue as it swooped down towards the man. It swept down towards him, its attack suffused with divine energy as it smote the evil being, claws raking across his flesh as he irritably tried to bat it away. Nearby, Evant pitched into the battle taking place between man and beast, channeling the last of his divine energy into a short beam of fire than caught one of the foe. With a flash of light it ignited and immolated, leaving nothing but a charred heap. Burl heaved his firebomb at the master, but it went wide and splashed in furious flame on a patch of ground nearby. Wolf charged a nearby lycanthrope that was in a position to perhaps threaten the spellcasters, but it dodged the stabs he was making with the silvered shortspear with ease. Cord slipped past the raging melee with ease, approaching the Master outside the building. The man looked at him with emotionless cold, before modifying his tactics to take account of this other foe coming for him as well as the eagle that the Ishrakite had summoned up. The dwarf thrust out with his dagger but his opponent easily dodged the attack. Meanwhile, Kale found himself just behind the main melee, the chaos threatening to erupt onto him at any moment if the spear-line faltered. It was horrific and confusing, watching men fall like chaff before the furious beasts, and with the weight of the hex lying heavy upon him he found it hard to concentrate and auim. The shot he fired off at one of the lycanthropes missed widely, and all he could feel was the hopelessness pressing down upon him. In Kale's mind, it was already over. The wolves had engaged at close range, leaving the manacing dark man to reign over the cold temple. Latorath down, his men struggling to slow their deaths... Kale's shoulders slumped, his shot passing far wide of his invincible target. Resting his cheek on the cool plaster of the window arch, he hoped it would all be over soon. The desperate men, his meager abilities- it was only a matter of time until destruction. Kale sighed and took in the carnage, an idle look as position was set to be overrun. At the corner of his eye, he saw a wolf near the area where two men collected the castoff babies. On instinct, the despondant mercenary drew and shot, not so much to seek to eliminate his enemy, but just to react in a way that was so familiar. Maybe we'll all die quickly... There was no chance for survival, but at least he could fight a bit to pass the time. Burl, after heaving his firebomb, moved so that he could help where needed. Through the wide temple doors he could see Cord attacking the Master but he wasn’t having much success, but the large eagle that Wyshira conjured seemed to have some effect. These werewolves seemed much bigger, stronger and more agile than the first wave. The Master must have saved his best for this next attack, the first only serving to test the defenses. The strange man, enveloped in a darkness deeper than ordinary shadow, towered over Cord. He had dodged the first attack with ease and most likely thought the old dwarf at his side to be inconsequential. Let him think so for one moment longer, Cord thought as he readied another strike. A bird had appeared near the man's head, but Cord did not sense an emanating evil. Instead, it was a brilliant pinpoint of pure beauty, nearly overwhelmed by the surrounding malevolence but refusing to surrender. He could not see what others saw, but he heard the beating of wings, the shriek as it dove for the enemy, and above all he sensed the feeling of rightness, a welcome respite from the gnawing evil of the past months. Clenching his fist, Cord timed his attack with the next dive of the raptor.The master of the dark coven still seemed unworried by the presence of two assailants, calmly watching their approaches and attacks with cold and dispassionate gaze. His attention flicked back to the main melee and then he looked back once again. "You are no obstacle. No obstacle at all." His flesh twisted and wrenched as he changed shape, taking the form of a hulking, black-furred hybrid. Heavily muscled, sporting long talons on each hand and glossy-coated, the glowing white eyes of the monstrosity focused on the shining form of Evant cleaving his way into the batle, and those claws, surely too cumbersome for spellcasting, came up. Muttered words coagulated in the air around the fiendish talons which clicked and clacked together as arcane energy gathered round them, and then a bolt of washed out color, muted gray, lanced out to touch the templar. With a groan, Evant found his own armour too heavy for him to stand up in, the weight of the world pressing down on him, and he tottered another step before collapsing to the ground.Taloned arms dropping back down to its side, the werewolf began to move towards the melee itself, brushing the two who would attack it aside with insulting ease.</blockquote>

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