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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2813490" data-attributes="member: 22792">Chapter 12: Bloodshed (Continued)The Heroes were gathered outside the old church, soaking up the early morning rays.  The Minetown Patriots, those six that could be gathered, were already moving toward their initial positions.  Two climbed atop the old church roof; one with eyes to the North, the other with his eyes to the East.  Devon the Handsome had climbed to his position on the top of a worn down carriage house, just within the stone casing of the holy temple.  The deluded youth with the perfect smile watched the southern road.  Meanwhile, Timmons and Cochly stood inside the church proper, allowing the Heroes one final, brief assembly.Magnus sighed as the last of the buffs were cast.  Tobias had swelled, his muscles fueled by the arcane arts.  Each Hero also carried the blessings of Ceria to aid in the defense of Minetown.“I see now why my father always said to enjoy each sunrise as if it were your last,” Magnus said.  The bright rays were dancing across his face, diminishing the exhaustion and reinstating the mage’s youth.  With a half-hearted chuckle, Magnus lifted his shield and snatched a few potions from Motega’s haversack.  “Hopefully there is some whiskey still left in the tavern.  We’ll need it after this.”  Silently, the mage added his own prayer:  Ammol, grant us the knowledge to win this day, so that we all may enjoy your next winter’s kiss.The Rornman lifted his flask once again, draining the fiery liquid in a single gulp.  He tossed the empty flagon to the ground, following it with a contented sigh.  Knowing time drew short, he had to give his warning to his brothers in arms.  “I told Magnus earlier that we are all Culi-kun.  We will survive; the Culites will fall.  But on the field of battle you will see something I have yet to reveal to you.”  The Rorn paused, allowing his words to sink in and making sure he had the group’s attention.  Inside, Motega felt a bestial fury grasping the edges of consciousness, demanding its freedom.“In my lands, I was the son of our leader—his youngest son.  To rule, you must be strong and fearless but most important, you must carry the mark of the beast.  I did not carry the mark and was defeated in battle by older brother.  He did carry the mark.“That is why I walk now with you.  But in that battle, the mark was gifted to me by my brother’s claws and maw.  Today, the beast screams for its freedom.  You will see my demon first-hand.  I will appear to you as both animal and man—just like the beast we battle before we reached this village.[1]”  Motega looked at his friends, his brothers.  “If I am unable to control the beast…”“We will do what is necessary,” Tobias interjected.  The paladin grasped the hilt of his blade to accentuate the point.  Motega nodded in reply.  The Rorn opened his mouth……but was interrupted as Devon the Handsome barked, “Archers to the south!”  Tobias and Motega spun on their heels, each drawing their bows and sped toward the southern wall.“You know what to do, Fitz,” Magnus stated.  The mage popped a cork, drowning the contents.  Before Fitz’s eyes, Magnus vanished.  Only the archaic chanting of the mage alerted the cleric to his continued presence.  But then the words stopped and Magnus’ body spiraled invisibly into the air, high above the deathly silent city.Above, the mage narrowed his eyes, looking for clear foes.  Motega and Tobias were engaged with the archers, a steady stream of arrows flew between the Heroes and a few buildings—the obvious hiding places of the Culites.  Even Devon released a few shots but his untrained eye had problems guiding the arrow through the thick cover.The mage lifted higher, rotating slowly, eyes continually scanning.  He held the first of his innumerable scrolls, prepared to finish the incantation with just a moment’s notice.At the north-western edge of the town, the war-horn sounded again.  The sound seemed to come from a cropping of trees.  The mage uttered the final word, centering its focus upon the vegetation.The Culite scouts were perched upon the thick boughs of an oak tree, dozens of feet above the ground.  There they had waited, sounding the war-horn and keeping their bows trained on the northern pass.  One blew the horn again in salute of the small contingent which now came south.They turned to look at the village as the tree limbs and parched leaves erupted spontaneously into a fiery deathtrap.  Their charred bodies fell the dozens of feet to impact the ground with a final, lifeless thump.  From his spot above the city, Magnus admired his handiwork.  A cocky smile stretched across his face.-----------------------------------------[1] – Motega is afflicted with Lycanthropy.  He’s a werewolf.  I’ve alluded to it before, although it wasn’t brought to our attention until this point.  He gave up his animal companion as well as some other stuff for the disease.  Destan also did away with the alignment restrictions—because we all have problems with the alignment system <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f609.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=";)" title="Wink    ;)"  data-smilie="2"data-shortname=";)" /></blockquote>

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