Commander Bridge stood on the edge of a rocky desert ravine, peering down at the Champions working below. They drove long iron spikes deep into the rocky ravine walls, a trivial feat for adventurers of their level. Others followed behind them, securely fastening expertly crafted steel cables to the spikes, the ends of which were woven into modified ballistae that pointed vertically out of the ravine. The Wyvern was intelligent, and traps needed to be disguised or hidden if they were to work.
The commander was annoyed at the sun's low position in the sky, the light in his eyes didn't bother or threaten him but his crews needed more time. The whole operation needed more time. His subordinate officers had done their best to maintain operations during his absence, but without the Titan's dominating presence there had been dissent and squabbles amongst the ranks. Time and time again he considered delaying the battle, but the potential cons of that decision were too severe to risk.
"Sir," a woman called out behind him.
He turned to face three adventurers, each standing at attention several yards away. The one who had spoken was a bronze-skinned, blonde-haired human in tan and khaki combat robes with an exotic bow in her hand, a quiver at her waist and another over her shoulder. To her left was an elf with ash grey skin and dark grey hair hidden under the hood of black robes, which he wore beneath a silver chest plate and bracers. To her right was an orc with white and black face paint covering his dark green skin, he wore heavy armor of dark green metal and rested a pole-armed battle-axe on his shoulder.
"You're the affliction specialists?" The commander inquired.
"Yes sir," the human replied, "I am Kal-"
"Names don't matter," the commander interrupted, "tell me what you can do."
The woman looked taken aback but quickly composed herself, "long range attacks, incremental afflictions that build exponentially, primarily poison and fatigue, sir."
The commander nodded, then looked to the elf.
"Curses," the man spoke in a raspy voice, "the kind that make flesh rot and blood boil. I can cast at range, but laying on hands is ideal. Getting in and out won't be a problem for me."
"And you?" the commander asked the orc.
"I make things bleed a lot of blood," he grinned. His smile faded under the commander's annoyed glare, and he awkwardly continued, "I can get close if it flies over me."
"Good, you'll do," the commander said, "report to Sergeant Wale, he'll get you into position," he turned to the human and elf, "you two should familiarize yourselves with the battle plan and choose your own positions. The three of you are a pillar of our strategy, I want each of you solely focused on applying as many afflictions as possible for the entire duration of the battle. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir," the human woman said, followed by the other two Champions.
The commander's eyes flashed towards an approaching figure, the silhouette wavered in the heat coming off the sun-scorched rock. The late evening sun glinted off a mask over the figure's face.
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"You're dismissed," he said, walking towards the figure without another glance at the adventurers.
He stopped a few yards short of meeting the Agent of Morose halfway, and the agent did the same. The commander waited for the agent to speak first, having learned that speaking first only gave the agents control of the conversation.
"I come with information," the agent said from behind the brass mask, which featured sharp oval eyes, a severe frown, and a teardrop on either cheek.
The commander withheld a scowl, anticipating only a crumb of information that he should have received days prior, "go on."
"More beacons have been activated. Four since sunrise. Two agents were found dead at one of the sites."
The commander forgot his anger and concern crossed his face, "do we have control of this?"
The agent remained silent.
"Speak to me, dammit," the commander barked, "what the fuck is going on?"
"The situation is dire," the agent admitted, shocking the commander, "we may need your assistance."
"Fucking hell," the commander's confrontational demeanor was replaced by slightly slumped shoulders and a hint of exhaustion in his voice, "what more will you tell me?"
"Armageddon nears. Morose observes."
The figure flickered rapidly and disappeared, leaving only the simmering heat haze in his wake.
The commander's outburst echoed across the Craggs, "What the fuck does that mean?"
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A while after lunch, Titus called Iris out to a muddy clearing in front of their campsite. A moment later she appeared in front of him, looking up inquisitively from an open book she held one-handed.
"We've been slacking on your training ever since we got to the city," he said, "that's my mistake, we all needed a break after the journey, but I should have found time for more training before the Hunt. I'm sorry."
Iris looked surprised and unsure, "it's okay, I kind of thought it was my fault," she admitted.
Titus laughed, "you certainly never complained about sleeping in."
"So we both messed up, deal."
"Deal," he smiled, "I do still have something for you, though."
"No way," her eyes widened, "did you get me a sword?"
"Ugh!" Autumn groaned, trudging out to them with a sheathed great sword in her arms, "we had a whole reveal planned."
"How did you--" Titus began.
Iris stuffed the book in her bag and blipped over to Autumn, gazing at the sword with joy filled eyes and an open-mouthed smile.
"Whoa, whoa," Titus said quickly, hurrying around Iris to put an arm between her and the sword, "you're not ready yet, but I thought it'd be better for you to have it than not. Only use it if you absolutely need to, do you understand? You'll be as much danger to yourself as you are to the other guy."
Iris half-listened while she took in the details of the sword. Dark leather spiraled elegantly around the hilt, and the pommel was a rounded-diamond of polished bronze which matched the stubby, wing-shaped cross guard. The long, wide blade disappeared into a high quality scabbard.
"It came with a harness, too," Titus added, "but putting a sword this big in a scabbard is already pretty silly, wearing it is even sillier. Wielding a greatsword effectively is a commitment to lugging the thing around in your hands if you actually plan on using it in a sudden fight."
"Already got that covered," Iris said, blipping a few yards back.
She grabbed a hold of her bottomless bag with one hand and reached into it with the other, she ripped it backwards away from her belt while her reaching hand thrust forward out of the bag grasping a wooden hilt. The bag flung backwards down the length of the blade as Iris drew the wooden greatsword, when the tip of the blade emerged from the void the bag quickly dropped and zipped itself back to her waist. She brought the sword in front of her in the same motion, taking it both hands before demonstrating a sequence of strikes Titus had taught her with impressive form.
"I have done a little practice," she admitted with a smile.
Titus laughed, "flashy, but we're still about to fit in a hefty training session before you hold that sword."
Iris was too excited to be upset, and was eager to train.