Snippet #1468952

Jurial Plains

Wrath's throat was raw and his voice was a hoarse rattle. It could have been minutes or hours, the passage of time grossly warped in the heat of battle. At some point the bard had taken a punch to the neck and was forced to make due with humming and instrument alone. Presently engaged with a lanky deep human Child who fought like a man posessed, Wrath could just barely create a magically manifested parrying dagger instead of his usual longsword. The Child advanced step after step however, knowing that he had the advantage in every aspect. Except allies, Wrath thought as a wicked bolt from an unseen crossbow blasted through the deep human's midsection allowing him to open up a long gash along the Child's neck. Wrath panted and turned to engage the next combatant of a seemingly endless pool of foes, to find none in the immediate vicinity.

The largest of the three orcs on his squad, Junte, was still resting against a tree spattered with mud and blood with a tear in his head that was trickling crimson. Ferka, his sister, and the ranger elf Melian were trading blows with a trio of Children. Wrath decided to risk damaging his vocal cords a little more to force out the last powerful spell he had prepared that day. He sucked in his breath, "What once was--"

A blinding flash of light and pealing thunder stunned the captain before he could enact the spellsong. When his vision cleared, Ferka was reeling in shock along with the three Children. Melian was not so lucky. He stood motionless, still gripping his blades in a battle position, but he was blackened beyond recognition. In moments the rain sent portions of the fried elf sloshing on the ground in steaming chunks. Ferka was already upon the Children before they could recover, the orcish woman displaying her battle experience. Wrath however, was looking to the sky.

Thirty feet above the ground two shapeless robes of bloody red blew in the wind, scarred hands pointing down towards the battle. Wrath was still trying to piece together what just happened when the smaller of the two charged arcane energy and loosed a beam of gray light. Wrath hastily murmered the words to a foolish rhyming song and erected a barrier that deflected most of the attack. A thin ray slipped through and struck his left arm, the nerotic energies causing the appendage to go limp. He was forced to sling his instrument and halt the song. Spellcasters. They have spellcasters...

---

These heretics were putting up a better fight than expected given the horrible odds. Mikana laughed and parried Caine's savage slash with practiced ease and backed away before his cut could do any damage to her legs. The elf was surprised for a breath when she saw her opponent ready such an obvious attack...then smiled fiercely. A powerful strike clashed against Caine's horizontal strike and sent the weapon spinning off into the murky gloom. With her free hand, Mikana caught Caine's large wrist--which was supposed to deliver a strike to rend her skull in twain--in her delicate palm. The elf, who was barely a third of the berserker's size, caught and held him like an adult would a child with a tantrum. She released a pulse of dragonfire that seared the skin of Caine's forearm from wrist to elbow, her grip tightening. "Do you feel it? What it's like to be powerless? That's how I felt when barbarians like you," this word was punctuated with a burning look at the Legion symbol on Caine's armor, "Came into my village and killed our men...defiled our women...defiled me..."

The Child looked to be on the verge of tears when she raised her sword in a strike that would cleave Caine in half. A spectral hawk the size of a hound tackled Mikana away at the last moment though, freeing up the damaged berserker. A few meters away the sorcerous harpy Qinn nodded at Caine and flew up to engage the enemy spellcasters. Gillias was still being beaten back by the other Child.

---

Even burning at a feverish rate, the lamian cultist only cackled and fought on, as though the pain of being burned alive was something to be celebrated. He was going to strike at the nightmarian bitch who broke his bones when she fled. Ourusse turned his burning gaze on Duran and the wolf, smiling the smile of a maniac, he simply waved at the druid before disappearing into thin air. High above, one of the arcanists completed the spell that made the flaming Child invisible before being summarily slammed by a lash of green fire. Quinn screeched and dove at the other red-robed enemy, tearing rents in their flesh with sharpened talons.

Two more Children ran from the forest behind Duran to attack, brandishing longswords and spitting fire.

---

Her target having flown away, the Child turned her blade on Iriana. A sudden thought struck her...a very odd one. Why wouldn't she want to attack a heret-- "Die!" The thought ended abruptly as Iriana's mace splattered the Child's skull. Neira's target was caught completely unawares, neck snapping like a dry twig in winter. Despite empowered bodies, anatomy still held true, as did weak points of the human body. An absurdly large harpy of a Child oriented on keeping Iriana busy as the other two cultists focused fire on Neira. Quite literally. One jumped high and the other came in at ground level firing draconic heat on the nightmarian. They had taken her wings into account and nullified any avenue of escape bar one: Backing up.

That hope was quashed instantly when the martyred lamia, still somehow in one, flaming piece, appeared behind Neira with his arms outspread to engulf her in a deadly embrace. Do nightmarians feel fear? Ourusse thought in the moment before he would end Neira's life. His query would never be answered despite it's interesting premise. Head, legs and tail seperated from torso in an instant, the body parts splashing to the mud with a sizzle. A dark blur flashed past Neira to plant itself in front of her. The dragonfire parted around the silhouetted figure for a long moment before guttering out. The Children furrowed their brows in confusion. Thanaros, the same orc that had spoken to her at the bar, rose from his crouch with polearm in hand. Without looking back he said, "I'm glad you took my advice. Even more so to find a fellow praticioner of the Power Within. I would like to speak with you more on this later."

His voice was hollow and level, but his words were spoken with the conviction of a man who knew only fact. Not presumptuous hope. The battlemind focused his psionic power in his muscles and moved with preternatural speed once more to bear down upon one of the enemies. The other widened her eyes, glinting with fear, and charged at Neira without a second glance at the battle-numbed orc mutilating her companion.

---

Sid cranked the last bolt into her wallarmbrust and loosed a string of curses of such vehemence Neira would've been impressed. She looked back at Hokunn and Laila were propped up against the rock, both badly wounded. The male elf had been disemboweled and was fighting to keep his innerts inside his stomach. It was a miracle he was till conscious. Returning to the battle, the halfling aimed at one of the arcane Children intending to take them out of the fight...but thought better of it. Instead Sid took the legs out from under an advancing orc Child. The enemy noticed that Sid's squad was doing the most damage and was surrounding them. Even more had wormed their way out of the woodwork, Achiru counting sixty or more before flying off to aid his fellow harpy against the floating spellcasters.

"Dead gods above, why is this happening? We weren't supposed to be involved in anything like this. We're going to die..." Sid had intended the comment to be fore herself, but it carried above the rain to every nearby legionnaire. Beelzes scowled at this and, peering past her shades, motioned for Faera to look at the inexorable approach of the Children of Fire's battle line. "I will handle the groups. My patron gives me many spells that bring mass pain. You try to ward us against those who had broken the line...like the trio upon your sister." With nothing more to say the warlock made a slicing gesture with her hands at the nearest group of enemies. Four of the six fell to the ground clutching bloody gashes that had opened up across their bodies.

The halfling Talae had struck with her thrown knife hissed an unintelligible curse which devolved into a scream when the flasks broke against his open wounds. The harpy Child swerved in midair to avoid the projectile and moved to attack Faera. The halfling was blinded and slashing wildly with his own weapon, and was stunned when he was tripped and stabbed repeatedly. The feeling in his legs was gone...arms too...all the cultist could do was growl in frustration as he lay bleeding on the rock. Dark elves, however, were more refined in their technique. The new Child raked at Talae with her longsword with methodical strikes and parries until she finally landed a blow. With a laugh the white-robed dark elf allowed the flask to splatter on her targe and rushed Talae with blinding speed. Bladed shield--one steeped with Talae's poison now--coming in high, sword sweeping low for a flawless trap. With Kisikoni now at her back, the legionnaire dark elf would have nowhere to go without bowling him over. Taking advantage of the situation the Child sucked in a breath to engulf them both in a fiery conflageration.

The end of a dagger slid out of the cultist's glowing throat, wrenched up and sent the dargonfire spewing harmlessly into the air. The weapon, now warped with heat was withdrawn and an ebon-covered hand wrapped around the dark elf's neck and gave another hard tug. The neck snapped audibly and her body dropped to the ground limp. Above the corpse, with one arm gray and lifeless, Wrath glared at Talae as if she had done something wrong. Without a word he stalked off toward Sid. Laying a hand on the halfling's shoulder, every symbol upon each legionnaire's armor began to glow red. The commnader proclaimed loudly, "We're leaving! Thirty seconds to prepare for the translocation!" All wearing the armor of the Legion would be able to hear his call...hopefully they would still be alive in thirty seconds.

Sid nodded, slapping the dragon skull symbol on her chest so it turned blue. Beelzes and the half-concious Hokunn did the same, the elf also smacking Laila's mark. Across the field beset by hostiles on all sides, Iriana, Ferka and Thanaros engaged the magic that would allow them to be taken when the spell was ready. The trio had formed a circle back-to-back, including Neira in it. Above the melee the arcanists hurled bolts of force that were only narrowly dodged by the harpy legionnaires. Each took a preicous moment to activate their own runes and resumed keeping the spellcasters occupied with charms and arrows.

25 Seconds remained, and seven Children leaped up on to the rock and looked for targets.

---

Finally. Having been skulking in the mud and leaves for the entirety of the battle, Pel Mekillot, another halfling in Sid's squad, halted in the shadows of a high tree a few feet from the Children holding Mercy hostage. Using her hands she made an intricat shape and blew through it, mimicking the low chitter of a spider. Hoping to catch Mercy's eye, the halfling gave an unconvincing smile and mimed her unbinding the nightmarian. All that was left was to think of how to do so while not getting killed by the sary looking elf...with a narrow time limit.