Two hours of hard labour followed before Singh returned, and when he did, it was not with any sort of payment for the charity given. No, he arrived with torch in hand and threats upon his lips.
George scoffed to himself, knowing instinctively that full volume would have him revealed before he was ready. From where he perched up in the branches of a tree not 5 metres outside the wall, he had an easy shot at the liar. However, he had allowed John to set the general response for any intrusions during the night, and so he would follow the orders he was given.
Stay hidden, but if any of them touch the wall, shoot to kill.
George found himself idly reaching up and scratching underneath Nimbus’ chin. He was not as opposed to the thought of killing someone as he thought he would be, nor as much as he thought he should be. An odd sense of detachment had settled over him at the idea, but not nearly enough where he had protested. At the end of the day, he knew what a sufficiently depraved human being could do, and would not subject his friends to even the chance of something terrible.
The cat rubbed its cheek against his face and leaped off his shoulder silently, likely off to go find his own perch. That was fine by him. So far, during their hunts Nimbus had been more useful than not, scouting out tracks when he lost the trail, never impeding his shot, and providing a target for when he needed to mutter and piece something out. He trusted his feline companion to do what was best for the hunt. Stifling a yawn, he perked up as Singh’s voice grew frustrated and he threw away all pretence.
“Listen to me now, you pile of goat droppings! We do not care if you have 10 guards behind that wall, we’re coming in! Now move aside!”
“No.” John answered, steel in his voice. “You could have waited and returned in the light of day, but you chose to come back tonight after being told what would happen. Not only that, you’re implying you have a party prepared for violence when we have done nothing to you and yours. Begone, and never return.”
“Come and make me.” Singh taunted, throwing his arms wide. George slowly nocked an arrow, his breathing low and steady.
“Miriam!” John called out, and George cursed, slipping around the tree to another branch on the other side of the trunk. “Light ‘em up.”
Singh dove for cover as the esoteric syllables of a cast spell echoed out through the woods, and George noticed as a branch out the corner of his eye shuffled, the leaves moved just barely.
Found ya.
He was just in time to avoid the effects of Miriam’s first created spell - one she lovingly dubbed Flare Gun. With a screaming whistle, a projectile soared up into the sky, casting a dim white glow around it before it exploded at the height of its arc into a beautiful starburst of light, flickering like it was a firecracker from the Before.
Unlike those firecrackers, though, these streamers of light didn’t burn out, but rather hung in the sky, providing an eerie, flickering white glow across the clearing and piercing into the shade of the forest. A stone's throw back from Singh, George spotted a woman hiding behind a bush, the glint of the light of the blade of her spear the only thing that gave her away.
“Should I cast the fire-aspect one next?!” Miriam called out with a hint of laughter on her lips.
George took a particular bit of pleasure at noting the way that Singh’s jaw seemed to drop as he stared up at the sky, and reminded himself to gift Miriam the prime cut of their next hunt. She’d said she could make light, but this was an absolute wonder of magical development. At least, it was to George. He didn’t use magic, so for all he knew she added two and two together. Either way, the twinkling lights spread across the sky were more than impressive.
That pleasure bloomed into full joy as he saw Singh scramble to his feet and go running back into the forest. The woman with the spear reluctantly followed, and George saw branches shake in their trail. At least three, then. He clicked his tongue to inform Nimbus, then leapt his way back inside the wall, tucking the arrow back into his quiver. He could’ve just dropped it, but then he’d have to use his meagre MP to create a new one so he typically just stored them.
Miriam and John were back by the fire near the ruined mill, smiles on their faces. The firelight didn’t seem quite as safe with Miriam’s light hanging in the sky, but the warmth was still pleasant. George touched down next to them, taking a small amount of mirth at the way they jumped. He always seemed to be able to sneak up on them, even if he wasn’t trying to.
“Do you think he actually has anyone?” Miriam asked, “Don’t see why he’d run like that if we were outnumbered.”
John’s smile turned to a frown. “Maybe. I don’t see why he would antagonise us if he didn’t have the advantage, though.”
Miriam rolled her eyes. “Is it stupidity or malice, is what you’re asking?”
“Malice.” George answered. “I saw a woman back in the tree line, and she was armed. Also had someone moving through the branches with me, though that could’ve been a pet. Minimum 2, more likely 3.”
John sighed in frustration. “Miriam, can you actually do one of those with a fire-aspect?”
She shrugged. “Probably, but I’d have to figure it out first. That spell was just the addition of a delayed array to perform the detonation, and some application of the various levitation arrays. Then I just channelled some MP into the…” she trailed off at seeing the two confused expressions looking at her. “No, I can’t do it with fire right now.”
“They don’t know that, at least.” John supplied, hopeful. “Ideally that’d keep them away for the night, but we still don’t know where Mitchell or Sarah are.”
George nodded and took off into the night, Nimbus hot on his heels. He had a fellow sneaker to track.
----------------------------------------
It would have been impossible to find them without Nimbus, but George soon followed the faint sound of raised voices and was able to track them the rest of the way on his own.
“Nobody told us there was magic!” Kyla all but screamed at Jacob, as if blaming him.
“My wife was a Healer.” Singh reminded her darkly. “Clearly there was some magic, fool.”
“I didn’t see you standing there against some sort of freaking wizard!” The woman shot back.
Jacob raised his hands to forestall any argument. “Alright guys, I think we need to rethink things at this point. Surely you can’t think it’s a good idea to what, storm the gates? Did the wall even have gates?”
Kyla shifted in place. “Couldn’t tell. Singh left early and I had to follow. I wasn’t gonna hangout there.”
Jacob frowned. “Alright, that’s fair. Singh, did you get any more information?”
“Other than them having a mage at their beck and call? Nope, I didn’t want to get roasted by fire-rain.” He shot back scathingly.
The larger man grit his teeth. “So if they’re clearly packing some heat and have defences, why do you want to antagonise them! We could at least wait for Zeke to get back so we have the advantage.”
Kyla stepped up to him. “You forgot that they have people out too, two of them. We either do three on three now, or four on five later.”
“Or we could just keep hiking. There has to be something else for us. Hell, why don’t we just go up or downstream and make our own wall?” He pleaded, but his suggestions didn’t take root.
“Why, so they can pick us off at their leisure? No, we need to settle this soon.” Singh declared, and with Kyla’s nod of agreement Jacob was outnumbered.
“I found the other two.” A voice emerged from the darkness, and George barely stopped himself from startling as a figure emerged from behind the very tree he was hiding in. Shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak and with a bow strung across his back, George pieced together that this was ‘Zeke’. Settling his rapidly beating heart with a few shallow breaths, he continued eavesdropping. Just in case, though, he started using his upgraded version of Analyze, Identify.
Kyla
Level 6 Human
HP-Medium
SP-High
MP-Low
“You did? How?”
Ezekiel
Level 8 Human
HP-Low
SP-High
MP-Medium
“Tracked them.”
Singh
Level 7 Human
HP-Medium
SP-Medium
MP-Medium
“So we can go ambush two with four, then go after the guys behind the wall. Jacob, are you going to help this time or are you going to keep dragging us down?”
Jacob
Level 5 Human
HP-Very High
SP-Medium
MP-None
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The large man sighed again. “Fine, Singh. Only if we try to kick them out without killing first, though.”
“Won’t work. Two are indisposed. Kill the three at the mill, ambush the rest when they come home.” Ezekiel said plainly.
George, a sinking feeling in his gut, snuck away through the branches as quiet as he could be, unaware of Ezekiel’s eye tracking his movements. Curiously, though, the hooded man didn’t say a word about the intruder to his companions.
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George ran the entire way back to their small, walled area, feeling a sense of relaxation as soon as he crossed the wooden barrier. John was tired enough that he didn’t even jump when George melted out of the shadows behind him.
“Four total.” George reported, “And they found Mitch and Sarah, but aren’t going after them.”
“As long as they’re safe.”
“I mean… one of their guys just said they were ‘indisposed’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. How’s Miriam doing?”
John grunted. “Apparently she’s too tired to do more than a minute of study at a time. What she’s got is what we’ll be working with.”
“There’s no ‘apparently’ about it, I literally get slapped with ADHD when I try to study right now. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to reread a sentence eight times, with focus, only to forget it a few seconds later? I’m not doing it anymore. I can shoot flares and shoot people just fine, I’m not worried about some guy with a sword.”
John stared at her. “You’re not afraid of the guy with the three foot long knife? That doesn’t concern you?”
She laughed. “No. We have a wall, and unless he plans to throw his sword at me, I’ll drill him full of darts before he ever gets close. Same for the spear lady.”
“What about Big Guy and Sneaky McGee?” George challenged.
“Who’s Sneaky McGee? Is that you?”
Equal parts pride and revulsion spread through George’s chest. “No, they had another guy, who had a hood and a bow.”
Miriam's face fell slightly. “Alright, so an arrow would suck to get shot by, I’ll give you that. What does Big Guy have?”
“Other than being a head taller than John? I couldn’t tell, but he looked too bulky for just clothes so I suspect armour. His HP was rated as Very High, as well, so I imagine he’s a tank of sorts.”
The mentioned man nodded. “That checks out. Rogue-type, tank, spear would be their striker, and a Con Artist for support. So… now what? Do we know they plan to attack? Just so we’re all clear, the only thing they’ve actually done is try to get to safety in the middle of the night.”
John fidgeted under the glares of his companions. They looked between each other, then George asked. “John, when they said they were coming inside regardless of our wishes, did you think they just wanted to get inside? Like, literally?”
“We don’t know that’s not the truth.” He protested.
“If I had 100 matches and that Singh fellow was freezing to death, I’d throw 99 into the water and use the last one to set his ass on fire. I do not trust him. I therefore do not trust anyone willing to have him ‘negotiate’ on their behalf.”
George continued. “Also, their Sneaky Guy was straight talking about ‘killing the three at the mill’ so the time for words has come and gone.”
John grumbled. “Fine. I’m going to start reinforcing the wall. Someone keep watch and hopefully we make it to dawn without any more trouble.”
They did not make it to dawn without any more trouble. An arrow thudding into the log he was hauling sent a surge of adrenaline through John’s tired body, and he quickly let out a shout of alarm, ducking and weaving as he sprinted back to the wall. The whizzing sounds of arrows passed overhead multiple times as he ran with his head ducked down, and he just managed to scramble over the piled wood before George started muttering to himself. He was firing arrow after arrow into the darkness.
“Miri, light!”
Silence met his ears and his heart sank as he glanced over to the mill, seeing the light of a torch within and shadows being cast out the open door. “George, they got through!”
The man was also silent, bow held at full draw. “Three seconds.”
“George!” John screamed, hopping up onto the wall with a small bundle of sticks he had sharpened earlier. With only moonlight, the shadowed forest could have held hundreds and John cursed. Screw the effort, he wanted that treeline cleared out as soon as possible.
The Ranger released his arrow and a pained grunt sounded from the forest, followed by the snapping of a branch and the shaking of trees. A short pause, then a heavy thud. George was already sprinting back to the mill. “Two more coming, archer’s down! I’ll go get Sleazeball!”
With that, John was alone atop the wall, well aware that with the firelight behind him, it would be much easier for him to be seen than for him to see. True to George’s declaration, a large man with - was that plate armour? - and a woman in leathers with a long spear were running for the wall. He was less worried about the armoured one than the one with the spear. Should she thrust, the blade could easily reach the height of his perch.
He would have to be smart.
John steadied his breath, clutching the sharpened sticks with a grip that turned his knuckles white. The spear-wielding figure advanced with a predatory grace, her silhouette a ghostly blur against the flickering shadows. The armoured behemoth was slower, but his presence was like a rolling boulder, unstoppable and inevitable.
The woman reached the wall first, her spear poised to strike. With a quick faint, she lunged towards his throat, only to divert and sink the spearhead into his left shoulder as his arm came up to block. It was fast, almost too fast to track.
John hissed in pain as she removed the spear, knowing he had to act swiftly even through the pain. He waited until she drew back her arm, then, with a swift motion, he thrust one of his sticks through an opening in the wall, aiming for her weapon hand. The stick met its mark, knocking the spear off its deadly course even if it didn’t pierce her glove. The woman recoiled, a hiss of pain escaping her lips as she clutched her injured hand. The stick had shattered, though.
The armoured giant was now at the base of the wall, searching for a foothold. John couldn’t let him climb. He dropped another stick, aiming for the man’s helmeted head. The stick bounced off harmlessly, but it caught the giant’s attention. With a roar, the man began to ascend the wall, his fingers finding purchase in the smallest of crevices.
John had only moments to act. He grabbed the second last of his sticks and waited, eyes scanning the plate for any sign of weakness before the obvious answer struck him. As the giant’s head crested the wall, John struck, driving the stick down into a gap in the armour at the neck. The giant’s roar turned into a gurgle, and he slumped, his weight pulling him back to the ground with a heavy thud.
The spear-wielding woman shouted a name, but John couldn’t hear her. He was encased in a swirling cocoon of light that swept his body from top to bottom.
Then, he could see. Picking up a hard scrap of wood in one hand and one final stick in the other, he marvelled that his shoulder no longer hurt. His head felt fuzzy, as if he had studied for hours on something, but he could not figure out what.
As the flash of light faded, John’s demeanour shifted palpably. His stance became more grounded, his eyes more calculating. The woman, Kyla, had recovered from her initial shock and was circling the base of the wall, her movements those of a cornered predator, desperate yet deadly. John observed her with the cold detachment of a commander who had seen countless battles, his mind racing through strategies and manoeuvres that felt as natural to him as breathing.
Kyla launched herself at the wall again, her spear aimed at John’s heart. But he was ready. With a deft movement reminiscent of a testudo formation, he used the large scrap as a shield to absorb the impact, the sound of wood against wood echoing through the night. She was relentless, attacking again and again, but each time John countered with the precision of a man who had commanded legions.
The dance of death continued, Kyla’s ferocity clashing with John’s newfound martial prowess. Then, seizing an opening, John feinted, drawing Kyla into overextending. With a swift thrust, he drove a sharpened stick, his gladius in this desperate fight, into her side, piercing through the leather and into flesh. Kyla gasped, her eyes wide with shock and pain, her strength fading as she stumbled back.
John did not celebrate; there was no joy in this victory. He knew that without medical attention, Kyla’s wound would be fatal within hours. His duty was clear; he had to ensure the safety of his companions. With one last look at the fallen warrior, he turned and rushed off to aid George and Miriam, his mind already on the next threat, his spirit in line with the class that he had just acquired.
Later, he would reveal to the group what he had gotten, but for now he pressed to relieve his comrades.
George, on the other hand, had arrived just barely in time to see Singh dancing back from darts of arcane light, nimble enough to dodge the projectiles without giving up ground. He could see, in the brief moment before he joined the fray, the look of indignant anger on Miriam’s face as she brandished her wand. So far, she had been lucky to manage to block with her staff, but she was growing tired and desperate, where Singh appeared to have not broken a sweat yet.
In the dim light of the ruined mill, George’s silhouette appeared, a torch in hand, its flames casting an eerie glow on the battle within. The bow, useless in the cramped space, was abandoned for the makeshift weapon he now wielded. As he entered the fray, the torch’s fire seemed to dance with the same cruel mirth as Singh, who was toying with his opponents like a cat with a mouse.
“Oh, so close!” He called as he stepped back, to the side, and forth, almost square-dancing as he avoided Miriam’s darts. “You know, I think we’ll take you once we kill the big guy out front. You’ve got that magic in you.” Singh ducked low under one dart, swiping his sword out at George’s grip. George pulled his hand back to avoid losing fingers, and was made off balance for the brutal front kick that snapped into his stomach.
Singh’s sword was a blur, each movement calculated to inflict pain but not to kill. He manoeuvred with a grace that belied the sadistic intent behind each strike. George’s attempts to land a blow were met with swift and precise counters, the torch doing little more than illuminating Singh’s mocking grin. Even with his back turned, Singh never lost track of his two opponents.
“Even with a friend you two can’t hit me! What are you, level one?”
Miriam, her energy waning, fought with a desperation that only the cornered know. Her spells, once bright and forceful, now flickered like the dying light of her hope. The cuts and bruises they sustained were testament to Singh’s cruel expertise, and as the stinging of lacerations spread across her body, Miriam's mind went to a panicked place that for some reason seemed as clear as crystal now.
“You can’t be level one, you have gear! Well, I have gear, you just don’t know it yet. Be a good girl and die, would you?”
Miriam’s true survival instincts surged, shaking off the dust from the Before. With a final, desperate act, she cast her Flare Gun spell. The mill erupted in blinding light, engulfing friend and foe alike. Temporarily blinded, they seized the moment; George and Miriam’s retreat was hasty and pained, but driven by the realisation that they were no match for Singh in those close quarters.
They emerged from the mill, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat of battle. With Singh’s footsteps echoing behind them, they knew they had to find John.
John found them first.
“Down!” A voice commanded in the night, and the pair obeyed, the Acolyte falling to her knees while the Ranger dove to the side, rolling quickly to his feet and breaking for the shadows of the wall. A blade whistled overhead, finding nothing to cut except for the air, and a grunt followed, driving a form back.
Singh coughed from where John had him pinned up against the wall of the mill, the man steady and firm against the struggling attacker. Miriam felt tears spring to her eyes for the briefest moment before wiping them away - she wouldn’t admit it, but she had been absolutely terrified when the sword-wielder had shown up. That Flare Gun had cost her the last of her MP, which more than anything had told her that she was done for.
George had distracted Singh long enough for her to cast the new spell, but John was the real hero. “What about the rest?” She panted out from the ground.
“We ha-” Singh spit, before the meaty thwack of a fist changed his words to blood.
“Silence. Civilised people are talking.” John asserted, glaring down at the shorter man he had pinned. After a moment of searching, John nodded. “George claims one archer down. I took down the heavy-armoured fellow, and spear-lady won’t live through the night without medical attention.”
Miriam scrambled across the ground, picking up the dropped sword and giving it to John.
“Ezekiel’s not down.” Singh said with a savage, blood-filled grin. “He’s hunting. He won’t stop until you’re all dead.”
John’s gaze whipped back to his prisoner. “Miriam, get some ropes. We’ll see if this Ezekiel fellow will trade his party mate for leaving us the fuck alone.”
“Nope! He’d rather spill you-” The sharp clanging sound of John’s horsehair helm slamming into the prisoners face echoed through the night. A stolen sword found its blade against its previous owner’s throat, and said owner finally forced to be silent for the first time in his life.
“What a nuisance.” John mumbled, shaking his head after dropping the unconscious man.
“Tell me about it. You know we don’t have ropes, right?” Miriam provided with a quivering voice. Looking at her, John could see her a second from falling apart, and sighed again. Where was Mitchell? Where was Sarah?