The sheriff cursed in his indigenous language, shaking his head as he clawed on the horns on his head.“What’s happening here Captain? I knew something was wrong when I saw those sprites burstin up when they’d fly high. And those damn mushrooms, I don’t know where they came from.” Froster’s attention had peaked, as well as his Captain’s.“Mushrooms?” Aster Likaya interrupted. The sheriff nodded his head.“Mushrooms, yes. We tried to save that stranger as he ran to the West Inn. Next thing we know, we’re getting mushrooms boiling out of the place. We couldn’t go through.” The stranger was indeed someone from that camp, they just knew it.“I should follow my people, Richardson is still far.” Tipping his hat, the old Xanthite left the company of the voltiir’s steamboat. A complimentary warning
“CONTACT LEFT” Likaya called, shooting down the Birchman soldier before it could throw a javelin at them. Within seconds, the marshland was filled with guttural howls. The unnerving cries reminded her of a parched drunk, crying as he was thrown out of a tavern. Within seconds, crude javelins were launched from the reeds. Aster took cover by the galley entrance, firing away at any Fangsworn in sight. The autocross began to fire, the steady rumble of the automatic weapon was deafening but to the voltiirs it was a welcome noise. The weapon’s bolts tore through the reeds, the howls of the enemy were followed by water splashing as they fell from their ambush points. Sensing some relief, she checks on the squads, but the voltiirs had huddled into a defensive position with their backs against each oth
“As per the previous report, Wriixer has given us an hour.”It was the six in the evening, the suns were now setting as an orange glow bathed the stillness of the marshes. Night was coming.“Half another check, with Brasidas’ discovery. I need to know if we have to retreat.” Marshal Jennings was only in his early 30s, but some had assumed he was close to fifty. It was an exaggeration to some, but he never took it against them. His brown hair was graying by the side, eyes were sunken due to long nights spent awake on the saddle, while the facial scars caused by an arcane claw from a defiant mage bandit did make it look like he was covere
He swerves to his corners, checking the two entrances of the engine room. Hoping to crack a shot, but nothing. The silence was deafening, he could hear his heart beating, his sweat trickle and the shivering of his body. The Marshal tried to listen to his surroundings, blastfire still cracked around him. He could hear the shouts of the others that had come with him. They were alive, that was enough. Footsteps echo from behind him, he turns to see another Fangsworn standing facing him. It carried a twisted spear that shone red with blood, and it was aimed right at him. Jennings wastes no time pulling the trigger, the bolt does its work tearing through the Birchman’s armor. Whispering a quiet prayer of thanks to Akath, Jennings loads the cro
Metal whined and clanked as the Gearbanes were rive with activity. Swinging, firing and shattering any of the Fangsworn they encountered. Ragehog’s grappling hook was a devastating melee weapon up close, folded into a spike it served as a gigantic stake. While Thornrat carried a long pick axe, which by now was stained with blood and wood from the enemy dead. The Gearbanes were called such, due to the noise their gears would produce while in battle. As if their internal contraptions were close to giving way from the strain of their power. So far, no damaging strain was felt. That much Likaya could feel. Though the battle was heated, and she kept the marching cadence of her squad. Half her mind was focused on
It stood taller than all of them, an ordered collection of twisted wood and petrified birch. The head was covered in a helmet made of glistening wood, antler like branches sprouted from the sides while four glowing eyeslits sat on the faceplate. They glimmered with the green flame of some nature born arcane force. Froster’s arcane eye was at barely a fourth of its capacity but he knew that this enemy was blistering with energy. “Damnation” His Captain cursed, as she fired at the new Druid. A volt landed on its shoulder, but it spawned a shield of grey vines from its right hand. The Lieutenant wasted no time, binding a lightning spirit to his blast rod and opening fire. Thunder roared as a lightning bolt spat out from the blast rod, pushing the Druid a few steps back. In its staggered state, the Captain had followed with a few more shots of her own. Forcing th
“Aster Likaya, Captain of the Zeraph Republic Voltiir Corps. Serial number 3349-88766.Aster Likaya, Captain of the Zeraph Republic Voltiir Corps. Serial number 3349-88766.” She repeated the phrases in her head, desperate to focus on something that didn’t involve the seeing numbness that had overtaken her body. The death of one Druid and the departure of another had weakened the vine wall that was separating them from their vessel. From the wet reeds, the rest of the Fangsworn had either followed their leader or had attempted a panicked attack, only to be cut down by the voltiir’s staeves. The Captain was seated in the galley, her hands on her head, gasping for breathe and sanity. Froster sat just across wh
Able Froster tried to drag his body from the boat, but he was too mired in pain. His nostrils flooded with blood and his breathing was choked with phlegm. He pushed himself up, coughing out the red mucus and whatever blood was clogging up his pathways. “Captain?” he wheezed, “Squad?” he gagged, spitting out whatever fluids were stuck in his throat. His joints were aflame, but none of his bones seemed broken. At least that was his assumption, based on past experience and what little medical training he could remember. His head on the other hand, felt numb. No sensation could be felt from his forehead to his skull. This made his eyelids needlessly heavy. He attempted to grab on to the railing but he froze the moment he caught sight of their surroundings.It was the port of a small town, flooded with knee high water. Dead fish and other fauna floated on t
The story that Keever told was close, if not exact to what Likaya had imagined when she first witnessed the carnage at Willis Camp.It was a long recollection of events, with their little guest dictating what he could remember or at least claimed to. “I saw signs of the Birchmen, their magic leaves a trail, a presence if you will. It ripples in the trees when they attempt to travel through.” There was a weakness in his voice, guilt and remorse for what he had done. If Keever’s story was true, he was indeed responsible for the murder of almost twenty people.“I knew they were coming. I tried to take the vessel but, it… it took control of me.” “Control?” Likaya felt uneas