Julius walked around the edge of camp, Sven hounding his heels. Though Julius was relieved that Sven’s endless questions had finally ceased, his worry about the delivery team had only grown.
“We will send a squad to the fort in the morning,” Julius said, pausing under a rather sickly looking tree, his breath misting. “I fear the goblins may be to blame for this.”
Despite Sven’s reassurance the previous night, the goblins hit the camp again. Worse, from amidst the chittering horde came a bolt of negative energy, one that resembled the spell [Void Bolt]. The very same spell imbued in Alaric’s staff.
“What did we even do to the little wretches?” Sven spat.
“We did light one on fire,” Julius reminded. “We will have to redouble our defenses. How goes the summoning circle?”
“Well, half the roof is missing, but provided it doesn’t rain before we can fix it, I’d say it’s coming along well.”
Julius scratched his chin. He’d better go check it himself.
He was about to retreat further into camp when there came the fluttering of wings above him. Julius looked up to find a fat crow perched on the branches, its eyes seeming to shimmer green in the firelight.
“Odd looking fellow,” Sven said.
“I think it might be the first bird I’ve seen in this accursed swamp. I’ll take it as a good omen.” Julius beckoned and Sven followed him into the encampment.
The attack the previous night had sent everyone on edge. Even now, the men looked to the shadows, most unable to sleep peacefully through the night. And last night’s attack had claimed the life of the camp cook. Without him, Julius feared morale would only continue to decline. But he trusted the master’s purpose, whatever that purpose turned out to be.
The biggest building in the ruined town was a large square on the western edge of the camp. Judging by what they found inside, it either used to be an inn, a brothel, or most likely both. The roof had caved in on one side, but it was the only enclosed space to draw the summoning circle.
Julius nodded at the guard outside, the man grim faced and more than a little frantic looking. Inside, the room was cool and damp, a lonely candle all that kept the oppressive night at bay. Halvier, one of Julius’ apprentices, sat in the corner, the black hood of his robe pulled over his head.
“How comes the circle?” Julius asked.
Halvier jumped, then blinked into the dark. “Nearly finished.”
“Will it be done by tomorrow? We must start bulking our numbers.”
“It will, sir.” Halvier yawned, Sven soon doing the same.
“Just be sure to finish it as soon as possible,” Julius said, turning for the exit. “Men will be by in the morning with some of the goblins’ corpses. These will be your materials.”
Halvier perked up. “But Alaric usually handles the summoning…sir.”
“Alaric is not here. You are. And so I expect you to be ready.”
The boy frowned, but nodded his agreement.
What will I do with you? Julius himself was only a few years older than Halvier, and yet he was the boy’s teacher in the art of necromancy. Julius’ father told him the cult was once very powerful, but the Justicars had brought them nearly to the brink of oblivion. It was his father’s wish to restore the cult to its former glory, and so it was Julius' purpose as well. Children like Halvier may lack the proper skill set to become powerful necromancers, but Julius would do what he could in shepherding them along.
Outside, Julius took a deep breath, his nose wrinkling at the swamp’s odor. Then he looked to his right and noticed the guard was gone.
“Did you hear that?” Sven said, pulling his sword free.
Before Julius had time to question him. Sven was bounding off for the edge of camp. Cursing to himself, Julius followed.
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“By the great Lich!” Sven said, grinding to a halt.
“Sven, what are you—” Julius paused, his mouth falling open.
Behind the tree lay three bodies, their throats slashed. Julius was about to yell for the guards when he saw something shimmering in the corner of his eye.
He pulled Sven back by the collar just as a blade made of pure negative energy sliced the air where his throat had been. The shimmering shape solidified then, revealing a tall Elven woman wearing a three-sided hat and a dark red coat. She jumped back, her body swallowed by the surrounding darkness.
“Guards!” Sven called, but at that moment, the entire camp erupted into chaos.
***
Darian pulled his blade free, his fangs emerging as warm blood sputtered from the man’s throat. Then he spun and chopped, his sword carving into a different man’s shoulder. He pushed into him, his palm flashing out, [Corrosive Touch] melting the man’s face. His cry was cut short as Gorm’s axe nearly split him in two. Darian reached out with his mind, uttering a single command to the crows that dotted the perimeter.
Attack.
Gorm bellowed as he hacked down his next target. Then something seemed to come over him. His limbs jerked, his muscles and veins bulged. He reared back and howled like a beast, a wave of red energy enveloping him as he rushed into the melee at impossible speed.
Fueled by the sweet scent of blood, Darian cast [Bulwark] on himself, then [Swarm] on the two men ahead. As the black bats bit into them, Gorm slashed one across the stomach, gutting him. The next fell to an arrow in the eye. A second later, Zan howled from the other side of the camp.
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Buff Applied: Pack Leader's Howl
* +8 Temporary Strength
* +8 Temporary Dexterity
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Darian ducked, a crossbow bolt just barely missing his head. The man that shot it stood on a makeshift wooden platform not far away, another man near him hastily pulling his weapon out from his tent. Darian hit them both with [Swarm] before sending a flaming spear into the crossbowman on the platform. He fell backwards, falling to the ground as his chest blazed. The man beside him finally managed to draw his sword, but Darian’s blade hacked his arm free, the next strike finishing him.
Activating [Blood Shield] Darian blocked the next crossbow bolt as he rushed forward. He slashed, but this opponent was quick. He jumped back, throwing his crossbow at Darian while a small ball of flame slipped past Darian’s shield to singe his arm. Snarling, Darian hacked again, the tip of his sword drawing across the archer’s chest. But the man rolled, drawing a dagger from behind his back.
Darian shot a shard of ice from his palm as he advanced, the spell throwing his target off balance. With a roar, he brought Sparkblade into the man’s ribs, his chainmail keeping the strike from penetrating fully. But this close, and with more and more blood filling the air, Darian could no longer hold back. He grabbed the man around the shoulders and pulled him in, his fangs tearing into his throat. He jerked, his dagger stabbing into Darian’s arm.
Darian pulled away, blood gushing from the tear his fangs left. A screen appeared, telling him he received a temporary ability from the blood, but as it involved arrows, Darian quickly dismissed it. Instead, he scanned the chaotic encampment for his next meal.
A black robed man burst from the biggest structure in the camp. He had a gnarled staff in his hands, the tip of which he stabbed into the ground. A zombie materialized from the soil a moment later, its rotting hands pulling it free from the earth.
Darian activated his Ring of Summon Minor undead, commanding the undead archer that appeared to take aim at the remaining crossbowmen. As it started to fire, Darian brought his blood shield closer and advanced on the necromancer. His target noticed him coming, and sent his lone zombie to block Darian. But he’d fought the creatures before and knew how slow they were. One won’t be enough to save you.
He waited until the zombie lunged before he dashed to the side. Using his forward momentum, he cleared the distance between himself and the necromancer in an instant. He brought his staff up, but Darian’s sword cut through it, the flame enchanted steel nearly cutting the necromancer in half.
Darian seized the body, his fangs ripping into the necromancer’s throat. He drank, the world around him blurring.
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Blood consumed: Human Necromancer (Lv.2)
* Temporary skill unlocked: [Summon Zombie]
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The body fell away, blood dripping down Darian's chin. He watched as Gorm’s axe split a man from shoulder to navel, the half-orc’s face a twisted mask of rage. Darian was tempted to let the scent of blood overpower him, but he focused through it. He crouched to the ground, the temporary skill he absorbed flowing through him, summoning a zombie from the ground.
Rising, he directed it at the men Gorm was fighting. Then he turned, close enough now to use [Dominate Animal] on the horses. They were held in a makeshift stable, held to posts by thin pieces of rope. Easy for them to break. He reached out with his thoughts, the four horses shrieking as he commanded them to kill the surrounding people.
Something hard slammed into Darian’s shoulder and he stumbled forward, nearly pitching into the dirt. He turned and saw a man rushing for him, arcane fire swirling in his other hand.
“Sven!” one of the others called out to him.
“On me!” the man called Sven cried, a wave of blue energy flying out from his body to envelope the men around him.
Some kind of buff. Darian redirected all his surviving crows and the zombie to attack this new threat. Then he raised his sword and rushed into the chaos.