Once Upon a Tryst
The closer he grows to the group, the more Excalibur glows, burning a path through the battlements, his sword searing the toxins of the cursed shadows as the holy sword burns away the infection.
Good. That is going according to plan. The king is still in play, moving one piece at a time.
Our own knights, as few as we are, are glowing as well, the runes carved into their armor alight with the power of Avalon itself. Behind each is a small contingent of armed soldiers, recently returned to arms and legs after lifetimes spent with wings and claws. The sounds of metal clanging mix with cries of pain. Focused beams of magic, like fireworks, shoot through the crowd in bold colors of streaked light
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