No other Dogmen rushed out to meet me, so I assumed that the garrison was empty. As a precaution, however, I held my wand in front of me as I hobbled along the path. Along the way were other corpses, already beginning the process of rotting away. Large gashes, like those made from a giant spear, or deep tears as if made from hundreds of daggers tore them apart. Discarded, shattered weapons lay scattered among these bodies. I wonder if they were the ones who had injured the lionhart before it came to the farmhouse.

I hobble to the large bunkhouse, and entered — holding the wand out in front of me. Nothing stirred. Discarded plates of rotting food and blackening bread half-eaten sat on tables, and that was the only mess in the building. Otherwise, it was kept up in military cleanliness. Some of the beds were messed up as if those sleepers were suddenly called to action, but a majority of them were made so tight that one could bounce a quarter off the top. Polished spears sat within wooden racks, next to large shields of all makes — heaters, rounds, bucklers. Hung neatly on wooden frames were well-polished pieces of mail, and at the foot of every bed were little footlockers held closed by latches.

I open one of them, and inside were fresh clothes. Long tunics that, on a normal person, would go down to their knees, and pants sewed so that digitigrade legs could easily fit within them. I toss aside the leggings and look through the tunics. I try one on — a light blue tunic with a gold-threaded collar, and thanks to my weight, it fits near perfectly. I change out my torn and bloodied clothes for a few of these; wincing as I pull off my blood-stained jeans.

I cut off below the knees of the trousers, and slip them on; sitting on the edge of a nearby bed to do so. An ugly blue bruise had already, begun to spread from my shattered shin. It had already begun to swell to the size of an orange.

I cast lesser heal on myself again and again until the swelling had gone down, though the pain remained beneath a layer of numbness. The pants were a bit too big, so I grabbed a leather strap from inside of the chest and then tied it around the black makeshift shorts. After that, I slipped on the blue tunic, and once more used the spear as a crutch to hobble to the armor rack. I undid the gauntlets on my arm grabbed hold of the mail, and slipped it over the blue tunic. It was heavy and awkward to maneuver, and when it was finally on, I nearly collapsed from the sudden compression of my shoulders, and inhale a sharp breath from having to put pressure on my broken leg. Tens of minutes of adjusting buckles later, I pull my torn hoodie over the mail jerkin and armored gauntlets to hide them when I finally go back home.

In my search of the bunkhouse, I come across a map. It is of the city. X’s encircle it, and I recognize one location as the camp that I had stumbled across when I first entered, over the hill in front of the gate. According to the map, that hill had once been home to a palisade that had been torn down at some point during the siege, as noted by the pointed brown lines on it. The city was massive, according to the map. Spanning over a hundred miles. Countless camps had been erected around it in order to maintain the siege.

I roll up the map and slip it into my backpack. I’ll look at it later. The information that I needed. The temple was near. Marked by a dagger through a skull on the map. I hobble out of the building and head toward it.

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It wasn’t large. It was about the size of a backyard gazebo. A hundred yards or so from the bunkhouse, I could see it. It had one door in the front; five black wooden planks held together with dark metal, a window on either of its rounded sides and from the top of its roof was the symbol of Roki: a dagger piercing a skull, that jutted out like a steeple. I approach, draw my wand from my pocket and point it forward.

The door buckles as I ram it with my shoulder and come bursting in. At the far end of the temple was a white-robed Dogman in front of a large wooden altar.

“An arrow, oh Djinn,” I mutter.

A wind-flame arrow forms at the tip of my wand and flies forth. It strikes the startled Dogman in the chest. It recoils and readies itself as the wind and flames wrap around it.

“Bombard my enemies, O’ thou servants of Gob, the magnomious.”

A hewn stone rips from the floor and flies forth and slams into the Dogman’s nuzzle; crushing the snout in.

“An awl, O’ thou servants of Gob the Highest, to strike my enemies.”

A pure stone spike juts out of the ground and pierces the recoiling Dogman through one of its black beady eyes. It stiffens up for a second, and then immediately slacks and falls against the stone spike; impaling it further. I hobble over and bend down to pick up the staff.

Black, glistening feathers hang off of its curled edge. They remind me of the ones on the black serpents back in the city. In the center was a supple red hide like that from a fox. I drop the spear and continue on with the destruction of the temple.

Most of the temple was wood, so the fire was perhaps my best option. I hobble to the door and look back.

“An arrow, O’ Djinn.”

The arrow that forms at the edge of my staff was incomparable to that of my wand. Its heat licks me in the face as the flame-wind arrow spins in place. While the other arrow was about as long as my hand; from the tip of my middle finger to my wrist, this one would probably go from my middle finger to my elbow. I let it loose and it splashes against the heavy wooden logs of the rafters like waves against a cliff face.

The arrow scorches the wood, yet doesn’t stick. Soon the last glow of the scorched wood dies out, and the building stands as tall as ever.

“An arrow, O’ Djinn.” I repeat.

It happens again.

“An arrow, O’ Djinn.”

The fire refuses to catch, no matter how many times the arrow was cast at it. For an hour and a half I try again and again, and again to get it to burn. Pausing for about twenty minutes overall during that time to recover from the resulting headache.

“Fucking hell motherfucker just burn already.” I stamp my good foot and almost fall over. Catching myself I aim the staff again, “Bombard my enemies, O’ thou servants of Gob, the magnomious.”

A stone about the size of my head rips from the flooring and hurls itself at the rafters. It smacks against the rafters, cracks one of the spanning ribs, and punches through another, and another as it flew up through the underside of the steeple before crashing through the ceiling. It rolls like thunder down the side of the steeple. It crashes with a boom outside.

The raft creaks as one of its supports had just been shattered. With a loud crack and a deep groan, the steepled roof collapses in on itself. I hurry backward and fall to the ground as dust and wood and stone are tossed out in a white, roaring cloud out the door.

“Is that good enough?” I ask the Shard on my wrist once my ears stop ringing.

“Yes. You have ten hours before you’re trapped here. Good luck.”

I pull myself up with the staff and hobble back in the direction of the gate. Ten hours was far too long. Even with my broken leg, I make it out with eight hours to spare.