‘The gods give no gifts without exacting a toll’. The ancient maxim rings true today even in this forsaken age. And for the practitioners of magic, the price demanded by the Divines for the loan of their power is steep indeed. As a mage's Control over the arcane arts grows, so too does the Call - that insidious, seductive whisper that beckons them to become one with the very element they seek to master.
Some would answer that Call with a pilgrimage to the water's depths, drowning in the embrace of the element they cherished above all others. Consumed by their very passion, some would seek the ultimate heat of the flame, offering themselves up to be consumed in a fiery dance of transcendence. Still others would entomb themselves alive in the very earth they commanded, seeking to become one with its secrets.
However, it is the Anemancers, the Laughing Mad, who truly dare to walk the razor's edge of magic. They leap from great heights, bodies hurtling through the air, finally unable to resist the siren song of the wind. Madness, some call it. But to those who understand the true nature of magic, it is a sacrifice made in pursuit of the ultimate power, for not all who make the leap of faith meet their untimely end.
Yet even those with the strongest wills cannot hope to escape the demands of the cosmos forever. For the path of magic is a treacherous and thorny one, and only the most resolute can hope to walk it to its conclusion.
- Master Bertrand of the University of Quas.
Unluckily for us, the moon was high and bright among the veil of stars and cast a silvery light. The charcoal piles continued to emit their smoke, ghostly now under the moon’s pale ambience and the sleepy watch of their minders. Our group moved from the tree cover of the woods towards the edge of the clearing and noticed that a solitary man had come towards us. I stiffened, standing completely still, before checking on the position of my companions, only to see that Elwin had somehow slipped off.
Perhaps the Rogue had suddenly caught a case of cold feet? The charcoal burner kept moving towards us, oblivious to our presence. As he came closer, something dark, a ghost of a shadow, fell from the trees onto him, without a sound. A glint of metal flashed in the moonlight. With Kidu, I rushed as quickly as possible the few yards toward the man to find Elwin standing over him. Blood emanated from a stab wound from the soon to be corpse’s neck. Hoping that I was not too late, I also stabbed the fallen man with my makeshift weapons to ensure his demise.
You have slain a human 25 experience gained.
Thankfully, I was able to get a hit in while his heart had still been pumping blood. I smirked in the darkness, realizing that this man had been worth even less experience than Gunne. Just as I was about to discuss our next steps with our group, there was an explosion of activity from the opposite tree line, as if the man’s death was some sort of trigger.
Familiar silhouettes bounded across from the giant trees in great leaping strides, calling to one another in their unnatural clicking language, weapon arms raised in deadly threat. The monsters bounded in.
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A man shouted a warning to his peers, and the other men grouped up hurriedly. The sounds of alarm were repeated across the camp as the rest of the men burst from the cabins, carrying a variety of arms and lethal implements.
A wave of chittering Echo-Stalkers descended upon them from the trees. Soon enough there was a melee of steel against razor-sharp claws and piercing mandibles. The sound of battle and violence filled the previously tranquil night that was once almost surreal in its beauty. Slowly, the sounds turned to shouts, then to screams of panic as the humans fought against their deadly foes.
I looked at the faces of my companions, their worried expressions clear in the moon’s subtle light. The initial plan had gone completely to tatters, fate’s arrow once again striking against us.
The Echo-stalkers were the main threat. Humans, on the other hand, could be reasoned with. Then there was the matter of Durhit. In a split second, a decision was made. It was amazing what humans did when faced with a common enemy…
“We strike from behind and kill these Echo-Stalkers. Wait until they have all been drawn out and are fully engaged, then we hit them. Remember these men… these things were responsible for Durhit, no mercy! Be ready to follow my lead!” I ordered as I girded my loins for battle once more.
I rushed towards the fight with a lack of hesitation or fear that would have surprised my past self. The air was cool and refreshing as it brushed against my face and in that moment of frozen time, everything seemed so clear, as if my ears could distill every individual sound that cried out into the night.
The insect-like Echo-Stalkers had the numbers and savage ferocity, but the charcoal burners had a surprising amount of discipline and skill as they fought back against them. Against this onslaught, the charcoal burners started to regroup after their initial shock, and they rallied around their leaders.
The humans, even with their newfound discipline, were getting pushed back as the melee continued. Here, a claw would slash against exposed skin. There, a hand holding an axe or impromptu weapon would be punctured by sharp mandibles.
Still, the humans were able to inflict casualties against their multi-limbed foes. For every step taken in retreat, their weapons took a terrible toll on their enemies. Judging that the charcoal burner’s line had been weakened enough, I ordered my small group to charge.
Our group crashed into the rear of the Echo-Stalkers, entering the chaotic melee with silent violence that belied our rage. Stabbing with both of my weapons into the hard chitinous back of one of the foul creatures, I found little resistance. A death notification of the creature floated across my vision, and I dismissed it, as my full attention was required for the remaining monsters.
Since antiquity, humans had used nature’s own tools against her, and I found immense joy in piercing their natural armor with their own weapons. Snarling now, like a feral creature, I dodged a barely visible slashing blow meant for my arm. The move was more of an instinctive motion than a conscious decision.
Preparing to mete out some more punishment, I studied one of the creatures who darted this way and that. Its erratic motions were difficult enough to follow, let alone line up an attack. Noticing the antennae on its head were constantly pointed at me, I knew that I was the sole focus of its attention. Keeping myself out of the measure of its slashing talons, I waited for an opening. I would not have to wait long, as the insect monster bunched low before launching itself to strike, the natural blades on its arms blue in the soft moonlight.
I lunged into the arc of its blow, coming beneath the creature and stabbing it with my dual blades through its chest with a Power Strike before slicing horizontally with both daggers, the blades still embedded in my opponent's flesh, in opposite directions. Such was the force of the finishing blow that I almost bisected the creature.
Somewhere in the grand melee, I could hear the charcoal burners shout out the various names of their weapon skills as they unleashed their techniques against the midnight horde. Double Strike, Rolling Chop, and a few others were among the skills that were screamed out desperately against the monsters.