Gaoul watches the incoming construct with an intense gaze, never wavering even as several more of the infernal machines burst out from the treeline opposing the village. As they close in, he flicks a latch near the top of his cane, placing a hand on either side of the latch. Metallic shrieks filled the air as their limbs dug into the earth and uprooted the crops he and his fellow farmers invested so much time and labor into. Gone, just like that and so close to harvest.

The sight pains Gaoul, and he let out a roar of defiance as one of the leading construct’s arms lashed out towards him. With a flash, he unsheathes a sword hidden in the walking stick, a sharp crack accompanying his motion as the sword energizes itself the moment it is out of its sheath. He raises his arm to meet the construct, and with a quick slice severs the appendage. Cold, black metal writhes on the ground for a few moments, orange liquid spraying out from the severing point before it comes to rest. Another limb follows up which Gaoul only barely has time to parry, the force of the blow sending him careening back into his porch, knocking him against the door which emits a loud crack but still holds, and leaving him dazed.

While he tries to recover, several farmers seize the opening as the construct is distracted by Gaoul, running up to one side of its supporting limbs and hacking at them with axes, scythes, and whatever else they could get their hands on. The machine sweeps them away as one of its supports gives out causing it to crash to the ground.

Before they can get back up and begin dealing any real damage to the thing’s main housing, the rest of the pack catches up. A couple unlucky farmers who were knocked towards the pack are attacked by the constructs, only two of the metal creatures descending on them as the rest continue towards the main gathering of people. Only one of them, a woman, is still conscious and actively struggling against the stabbing tentacles, saving her life as one of them aiming for her head only manages to clip her hand which elicits a cry of pain

The group of farmers pelt the constructs attacking their kith and kin with javelins and darts, someone finally having opened the emergency warchest in the grainhouse near the center of the fields. Metal-tipped projectiles pierce into the things, diverting one’s attention to the main contingent as the farmer trapped underneath scrambles to safety, part of her hand missing. The other is not so lucky. No cries emanate from under the construct as a needle pierces into his chest, the construct pumping his system full of chemicals, not unlike a nightmarish metallic spider.

Gaoul recovers, his target now diverted to the main group as it smashes and sweeps at them, kicking up massive plumes of earth and plant matter with each attack. He snaps off one of the orbs on his belt, pulling a small pin before tossing it into the center of the pack of constructs. With a sound of a dozen whips cracking, it detonates and several thin metal tendrils slice through anything in its radius, felling several of the machines.

A farmer Gaoul recognizes, Elissa, snaps her head in his direction, flashing a wolfish grin at him.

“I thought we used all of those back at the manor! Glad to see I was mistaken,” she says, thrusting a spear through the sensors of a downed construct.

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“Thought I’d save a few for the inevitable,” he grimaces, gripping his house’s porch railing as he assesses his injuries. Something broken in his bad hand, some sprains and some major bruising along his back where he impacted the house but otherwise he is okay.

By now the constructs have met with the band of farmers, sending probing attacks and lurking around the tight-knit cluster of defiant furry bipeds. They keep trying to separate the group, but any time one of their own is picked out the others gang up to defend and return them to the formation. Elissa offers her shoulder to Gaoul who takes it gladly as she helps him to the group. One construct notices them and bears down upon the duo. Its shell is marked and pitted with several projectiles still embedded within the metal as it knocks them over and looms over Gaoul, its remaining non-supporting tentacle rising up to finish him.

As the arm comes down atop Gaoul, a blindingly bright streak originating from the village slams into the front portion of the construct, frying the codex housed deep within its shell. The machine immediately slumps, collapsing just in front of Gaoul, his breathing ragged as he scrambles backwards.

Another burst of light hits another construct, immediately decommissioning the monstrosity.

Two for two, Gaoul thinks as dust plumes up where the machine hits the ground, Definitely Preen and Retisin. He sighs with relief as the formation of his fellow farmers takes on a more defensive grouping, only deflecting any attacks thrown at them instead of trying to capitalize on any downed constructs.

Several hundred meters away, Retisin methodically fires his staff into each construct, Preen announcing “effective hit” with each blast as he regards the fight with binoculars.

Before long the constructs are all eliminated, but not without casualties. The man knocked unconscious in the opening charge is gone, leaving behind a young child who lost his parents on that fateful night two winters ago. In addition, a couple of elder farmers, lovers and friends who were beloved by the villagers wholesale. Their tarts and pies were always welcome at the various festivals held before going on the run, not to mention their senses of humor and many of the farmers were already shedding tears at the loss. Some were arguing while others were recovering javelins and materials from the downed constructs.

“It’s not safe here anymore, it is only a matter of time before they come back in force now that they know where we are!” One farmer barks, his eyes wide with fear.

“Nowhere is safe as long as our pursuers do not have the girl,” another replies calmly. “and it is unacceptable for them to have her. You know this just as much as any of us, that’s what we all accepted when we decided to flee.”

The first goes quiet, his head hung in solemn contemplation. “You’re right,” he states, “I can only imagine what damage they could do with her.” He smacks his fist into an upturned palm before continuing, “Regardless, it is not safe here any more. We need to stay on the move, that much is apparent to me.”

They all go quiet at that, most nodding their heads in agreement.

“We cannot settle down anymore,” one adds.

“We are farmers, dammit! What are we to do when have no fields to sow for our food?” Another asks.

Elissa clears her throat, garnering the attention of the group. “It is not our place to decide,” she starts, “the elder council will decide what is to be done.”