In the wake of a rogue knight invasion, the Eiralian Royal Company, under the command of Lachlan Drakonhart, descended upon the island province of Iouernia, which was the northernmost province of the Kingdom of Eiralia. The seasoned army detachment landed four days after the Battle for Kilarney, who were led by Lachlan Drakonhart, one amongst the golden child prodigy hailing from lineage of Drakonharts, who sought to quell the chaos that had erupted across the land. Lachlan, son of Fergus, grandson of Eider Drakonhart II, and great-grandson of Eider Drakonhart I, the founding king of Eiralia, had now borne the responsibility of restoring Iouernia’s order, after successfully repelling the invading armies of the southern kingdom of Nordanric across the sea. Lachlan, however, found himself fighting aimlessly against a lesser organized force, which caused him to hold grudge against the nobles of Eiralia for the disrespect despite his achievements in his previous campaigns.
The Order of Plaewood had laid siege to Eifansdoche, a rogue knight order which had made an alliance with the now-defunct Order of Uisge Dorcha that was responsible for invading Kilarney and several outlying villages. They had taken the town with ease, having faced no resistance from the inhabitants. The Order of Uisge Dorcha was vanquished mysteriously after the Battle for Kilarney, with no surviving members. The Expedition Guild, an organization annually subsidized by the Eiralian monarchy and responsible for the kingdom’s major expeditions, recognized the futility of defending the town of Eifansdoche and had decided to abandon it, along with the town's remaining inhabitants, and moved west to find a better defensive position. Abandoned villages soon dotted the landscape as terrified villagers left them behind and sought refuge from the encroaching conflict, following the trails of the Expedition Guild in hopes for food and shelter.
The Order of Mallardhelm, the king's elite knight order, spearheaded the Eiralian Royal Company's campaign to reclaim Eifansdoche. In their pursuit against the rogue knights, they uncovered the brutal atrocities committed by the rogue knight factions in Kilarney. Unfortunately, their understanding was clouded by misinformation, mistaking Ferdinand's earth magic abilities for the rogue knights' actions. Reports indicated that Kilarney and two other towns had been completely laid razed to the ground, with Kilarney deformed, as spikes of earth decorated the town, along with the corpses of those belonging to the Order of Uisge Dorcha and of Kilarney’s villagers.
Meanwhile, Ferdinand lay in bedrest in a temporary shelter among others in a makeshift camp within the Forest of Síoth, which was further west of Eifansdoche, and was recovering from the recent injuries that he had taken days ago.
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I came back to my consciousness, finding myself resting against a tree and waking up to the distant murmurs of young villagers from Kilarney. I recognized Seamus, his outfit ragged, torn, and busted, who was seated against me.
The wind blew and whispered the soft rustle of leaves.
“It’s good to have you back.” Seamus spoke, with coldness in his voice.
“Seamus… Are you alright?” Everyone?!” I exclaimed, having remembered the battle that seemed to have happened just hours ago.
“Everyone… well… I-I., The children are safe.” Seamus thriftly answered.
“The wome-, widows…” Seamus cut himself.
“THEY’RE DEAD! MY BROTHERS, MY SONS!” Seamus cried out, weeping out, his wrinkled skin tightening from extreme anger.
“Seamus.” I interrupted.
“We’ve found 22 corpses.” Over there, that’s Pádraig.” Seamus interjected, pointing to a corpse wrapped in linen.
“Eoin… they never found him.” Seamus continued.
“Along with the others…” Seamus uttered as he cried again.
“We didn’t recover everyone…”
As my senses sharpened, I learned of the grim reality – Pádraig and 21 others from the village of Kilarney were confirmed dead. Eoin's fate remained uncertain; his body never recovered from the battle’s aftermath. I felt a pang in my stomach, wondering why I had been saved. How did I survive? I started feeling sick, and I couldn’t remember anything more. I felt so much guilt, having failed to use my magic to defend Kilarney.
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Out of nowhere, Eveline and Nicostratos approached me. I saw Fidele at a distance, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts, and probably pondering at the weight of the recent tragedies.
“Fyrdie…” Eveline kneeled beside me, her eyes full of questions.
“Ferdinand. That raid happened soon after we had reached town.” Nicostratos spoke, making me aware of what had happened during the battle that had happened.
“It’s been four days since. It’s by luck that we’ve found you untouched inside a hut outside of the village.” Nicostratos added.
“What?!” I asked, clearly aware that I remember myself falling in battle within the village’s vicinity.
“The village looks awfully torn. It seems those rogues had destructive magic.” Nicostratos continued.
Eveline took my hand and got my attention.
“What happened there, Ferdinand?”
As if an answer, a thunderous explosion echoed through the air, rattling me and the others. The ground rumbled as several flashes of lightning emerged from the sky, seemingly raining down somewhere nearby Eifansdoche.
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Miles away, a prominent figure lay atop a neighboring hill facing down on Eifansdoche. Her followers stood by her, all chanting weird incantations while they painted the ground she stood on with blood.
Smirking at the sight of a burning civilization, Gromovna couldn’t help but pleasure herself with the sight of destruction.
“You poor things. You will make as excellent pawns for the Rejected.” The witch cackled with an ominous laughter.
Dark clouds slowly formed around the burning town of Eifansdoche, and emitted a greenish glow comparable to pus. The Eiralian Royal Company are dumbfounded of the unfolding disaster before them, staring in confusion as the dark clouds descend and rain upon them with fury. The nasty and slurry green rain embraced the armor of those who were hit by it, corroding the metal and cutting through skin. Agonizing screams of pain echoed throughout the town as the afflicted grew in numbers. Lachlan, unsure of how to deal with such morbidity, ordered his troops to retreat and abandoned their posts and took shelter underneath the undamaged structures left standing amongst the smoldering piles of rubble
“This isn’t normal...it’s a highly specialized magic spell.” Lachlan pondered, grappling with the unfamiliar and deadly nature of the attack.
Signaling for his mages to come over him, he instructed them to cast a domed barrier and informed them to hold until he finds the whereabouts of the caster of the acidic rain.
“Mana Shield Incantation: Guardian Ward!” the mages chanted, as they all lined up while pointing their fingers towards the sky.
A domed barrier slowly took form out of thin air, pushing out the dark clouds and resisting the acidic rain. The mana of the shield incantation was powered by a regiment of at least 40 mages, whose ranks ranged from intermediates to mastercasters. They succeeded in providing cover for the non-magic combatants, who are now preparing themselves to assault what they deemed to be the work of a Thaumaturge.
A separate battalion of battle-hardened lancers who utilize lances imbued with magic had separated from the main force, forming two flanks to engage the enemy. They were spotted by the deranged acolytes of the suspected thaumaturge, who were immediately transformed into wretched beasts of gore by their very own master.
The remaining units within the dome were a special caste of elven archers, who fired several arrow strikes. They utilized magic ravens made from their own mana, who provided them vision of their targets. Despite the protective coating of the shield incantation, their arrows could go through as these were made with physical materials, and did not affect the guardian ward’s magic barrier as they had not imbued magic to their arrows except for their long bows.
All seemed to have turned well for the royal company, when the witch Gromovna unleashed a demonic entity from one of her grimoires. The grimoire immediately turned to dust as soon as the demon had taken form. This entity swept down towards the town and decimated the entirety of Lachlan’s royal lancers, killing them instantly with its strength alone.
Lachlan ordered for a retreat, but was interrupted when he saw the thaumaturge raise his own men from the dead. One of the animated corpses regained consciousness, and plead Lachlan to end his misery.
“You damned abhorrent bitch!”
Lachlan gritted his teeth, fury blazing in his eyes. He leaped into the air, aiming to close the distance between himself and Gromovna. As he soared, she unleashed a nether strike, a blast of dark energy that crackled with malevolent power. The blast hit him squarely in the chest, but instead of tearing through him, a radiant glow enveloped his body.
The holy barrier, a protective enchantment bound to his very soul, flared to life. The nether strike was absorbed and nullified by the holy light, leaving Lachlan unharmed.
In a swift, decisive motion, he incanted, "Return Spell: Holy Magic."
The absorbed energy coalesced and surged back toward Gromovna. She saw it coming and twisted her body to evade, her eyes widening in surprise. The blast missed her by mere inches, but the shock of it gave Lachlan the opening he needed. With a roar, he thrust his lance forward, the weapon gleaming with a brilliant white light as he poured his mana into it.
"Be cleansed by the light!" he bellowed, activating his skill.
"Holy Lance!"
The spear struck true, piercing Gromovna's abdomen and sending holy energy coursing through her body. The witch screamed in agony as the light began to consume her, her upper torso disintegrating in the purifying blaze. Her body convulsed, and with a desperate, guttural chant, she split herself in two.
“Body Transformation!” she cried.
Her upper half, now a decaying husk, crumbled away, while her lower half twisted and shrank, reforming into the shape of a child.
Her new form, smaller and less powerful, darted away with unnatural speed. Lachlan, still seething, watched her flee but knew he couldn't give chase. The immediate threat had to be dealt with—the deranged acolytes, now monstrous beasts, were closing in.
"Archers, ready!" Lachlan commanded, his voice booming across the battlefield.
"Release!" Lachlan ordered, and a volley of arrows soared through the air, piercing the oncoming horde with deadly precision.
The acid rain still poured down, and Lachlan could feel the corrosive drops eating away at his armor. Pain seared his skin where the acid made contact, but he pushed through it, rallying his remaining troops.
"Fall back to the barrier!" he shouted, signaling the retreat. His soldiers, battered and bloodied, moved with practiced precision, covering each other as they fell back towards the safety of the mana shield.
The archers continued their barrage, thinning the ranks of the monstrous acolytes. Lachlan reached the dome, and as he passed through its protective barrier, the acid rain ceased to touch him. His armor, now pitted and scarred, clinked as he moved.
"We need to regroup,” he said, panting heavily. The mages maintaining the barrier nodded in grim determination.
The acid rain continued.