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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2813513" data-attributes="member: 22792">Chapter 12: Bloodshed (Continued)The mage felt a surge of adrenaline tear through his body.  He had no sooner released his most recent fireball before he was spinning again, marking the new targets charging toward the fray.Movement along the northern wall drew his attention.  There he spotted what seemed to be a man sitting atop a mount.  The horse—Magnus assumed—was moving slowly, showing complete control despite the fiery carnage below.  More control than a horse so close to flame should have, he thought.The mage drew another scroll but more motion caught his eyes.  He could just make out the form of a blackened body, darting north and then west around an empty home.  Three smaller beasts followed in its wake.  The fenboars, Magnus realized with displeasure.“Dammit,” he cursed.  And then a bright flash of red and yellow and orange stole the mage’s train of thought.  His head swiveled left to watch as Motega was swallowed alive by flames.  Magnus howled in rage.  Tobias, Fitz and the dwarf had been tossed haphazardly against the church, leaving the sorcerer unmolested.The lizard-thing cackled.Magnus triggered the scroll’s completion, unleashing another bead of flame toward his new target.  But before the fireball could near its target, the sorcerer vanished.“No one steals my tactics,” he swore while leaping into a steep dive that would place him betwixt the two roaring walls of fire.     *     *     *     Tobias lifted his head, a sudden jarring pain exploded down the length of his spinal column.  He was slouched against the church wall, his blade lying inches from his limp hand.  The metal was white hot; it released a steady stream of steam.Ignoring the pain in his back, he stretched forward and grasped the hilt.  The paladin could feel and smell his flesh boiling against the blade.  Grunting, he stood and glanced toward the roaring fires.Motega—Tobias could just see that outline of the Rornman’s silhouette within the flame—was trembling in agony.  The shadow seemed to bend and twist within the flickering hell. And then the dark shape crouched.  Even crouching, it was larger than Motega.  It could have been a trick of the light or off the constant shimmer caused from so much fire.  That was Tobias’ thought just before the silhouette leapt upward and pierced the veil of flame.It was enormous; almost twice the size of the Rornman.  Black, shaggy hair smoldered across its flesh.  With a head of a wolf—not to mention the eyes, ears, and oversized teeth—it was more beast than man.  But its outline still held some similarity to a man’s.  Flaps of skin, charred and dead, slid from the beast’s hide.  The beast’s nostrils flared, its arm darting out.  But it found nothing but air where its claws landed.And then another bead, Magnus’ latest casting, ignited above the creature’s head.The werewolf twisted with impossible precision; it was almost a dance.  The expanding fireball grasped futilely at the beast.  But Motega—the werewolf—flipped unscathed through the fire.  Even his smoking fur managed to touch the deadly flames. He landed with a thud on all fours.  The Heroes’ haversack dangled yet from his shoulder, smoking but unharmed.  Motega’s bow was gone, probably still in the fire along with his sword.Rearing up, he stretched his arms, his jagged claws toward the sky and howled.Tobias stumbled back a step.  He knew that thing was the Rorn.  But he could not help his instant reaction.  His sixth sense stretched outward, trying to fathom whether Motega was a force for good.The werewolf pivoted toward the paladin, black eyes flashing red as Tobias’ sense tickled its own supernaturally augmented abilities.Neutrality, cold and hard was all what Tobias observed.  Neutrality as well as a hint of the feral, raging nature of the beast.  It spun to the north, its hackles rose and it growled in fury.     *     *     *     A ball of flame slammed into the abandoned home; Bvarki darted to the right and dropped into a roll.  His pets came up beside his prone form, growling at the flickering flames.  They nuzzled his face, leaving fat lines of thick, fetid drool across the half-orc’s face.Cautiously, he pulled himself into a crouch.  He began hissing and barking in no real language, motioning with his arms.  The fenboars nodded.  They spun and fled toward the road leaving their master alone near the flames.Bvarki grasped another healing draught, slurping the cool contents.  He stood warily, eyes scanning the sky for that damned mage.  The half-orc nocked an arrow.Several bolts of pure white energy pounded into his chest as Magnus popped into view.  Swearing, Bvarki released the arrow.  But it flew harmlessly through the sky as the mage darted away.  The mercenary drew another arrow and plodded off after him.     *     *     *     Motega darted toward the fire.  The Heroes had been careful in laying the fiery trap.  To the south, the road was filled with a blazing wall, impenetrable except by the suicidal.  To the north, however, they left a short space in between the two sides of flame; a harsh tunnel that could funnel the combatants down.  The Rorn saw what lay at the end of that tunnel.  A huge creature, half-man and half-horse stepped into his path.  It had a bow drawn and a jagged, double-headed axe which had to weigh at least fifteen pounds hung from its side.  The centaur—Rorn centaur, Motega noted—released two arrows before the werewolf could react.  The shafts flew true slipping through Motega’s ribs and into his chest.The werewolf howled in rage but refused to move.  Something was triggering his senses—something reptilian.  His ears perked, his nostrils flared.  A few almost inaudible words drifted through the air.Motega leapt upward, jaws slamming together as they snapped on the kobold’s invisible ankle.  Still the reptile released its spell.  Several magic missiles leapt from its claw and pounded into the Rorn.Motega did not even notice as his hands darted up to tear the now visible foe in twain.     *     *     *     Tobias had walked toward Motega.  Fitz and Cochly were also up and nearing.  They all watched as the werewolf leapt and clamped down on nothing; he looked as if he were levitating.  But the Rornman’s actions were followed by a torrent of cold-blood and the appearance of the enemy mage.The three troops had no extra time to think about it as war cries erupted from the nearby flames.  Their eyes swiveled, observing first the hulking form of the centaur.  As he stepped back, the centaur smirked.  Three orcs and a dwarf exploded into movement around Al’baku’s horse body.  The orcs carried jagged falchions and bore a standard across their chest:  a black hand.  The dwarf wore a simple symbol—a black circle, the symbol of Cula Vak—and carried his own razor-sharp axe.  He moved slower, as if savoring the carnage like a fine wine.Just as the three orcs raised their swords to charge, three porcine beasts rounded the stone wall.  They trembled as they spotted the flames, but their fear was drowned quickly by their training.  They lowered their heads and charged through the legs of the orcs.The beasts’ short legs worked viciously back and forth to propel their stout bodies forward.  With their heads down, the fenboars promised pain and death upon the ends of their tusks.</blockquote>

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