Rhys gripped his sword tighter, his knuckles white against the hilt. The swampy ground beneath his feet shifted and squelched with every step. The trolls lumbered forward with an unhurried menace, their guttural growls reverberating through the misty air.
Gareth bellowed orders as he strode forward to meet the oncoming threat. His rangers followed suit, fanning out into a loose formation behind him. The settlers watched anxiously from inside their wagons. A few of the more brazen among them drew daggers or pitchforks, ready to defend themselves if needed.
Rhys joined a group of fighters stationed near one side of the caravan. He glanced back at Miriam—who stood beside their wagon—and gave her a reassuring smile. She returned it weakly.
Then he turned his attention to the approaching horde. He couldn't help but wonder how many they'd lose today. How many families would be torn apart by these monsters? How many lives would end here in this miserable bog? He clenched his jaw and readied himself for battle. If only there were more Arcanists among them...
"Imbue your weapons!" Rhys commanded as he reached for the pouches at his belt. He withdrew a whetstone and ran it along the length of his sword. The metal glowed faintly as arcane runes etched themselves into its surface.
Beside him, the other fighters did likewise. Some used quartz crystals infused with mana, while others rubbed oils or powders onto their blades. One man even dipped his spearhead into a vial containing what appeared to be a salamander's tongue. The steel hissed as its tip turned bright red.
Whatever methods they employed, each made sure to fortify themselves with whatever meager resources they possessed. Gareth's mercenaries were no strangers to combat—they'd faced all manner of beasts and brigands before—but even they knew better than to underestimate the ferocity of trolls.
Once finished, their weapons shone with an ethereal light.
"Charge! Don't let them get close!" Rhys roared as he rode towards the oncoming threat. He raised his sword high above his head and shouted again. "Forward!"
The other fighters followed suit, rushing forward to meet the enemy head-on.
Rhys spurred his horse forward, closing in on the troll directly in front of him. The creature swung its tree-club in a wide arc—trying to crush him underfoot—but Rhys swerved to the side, avoiding the attack and striking out with his sword. He aimed for its ribs. His blade sank deep into its flesh as he drove his weapon home with a grunt.
The troll roared in pain and staggered back. It swung wildly at him once more—this time connecting with his side and sending him flying from his mount. He crashed to the ground with a muffled gasp as pain lanced through his left leg. He managed to roll out of the way just as the troll's massive club came down where his head would have been.
Rhys scrambled to his feet and backed away. He grimaced as he put weight on his injured leg but gritted his teeth and prepared for the troll's next attack.
The other fighters in his group swarmed around him—hacking at the beast with their swords and spears while staying clear of its flailing limbs. Blood oozed from dozens of wounds, soaking into the already muddy earth below.
Yet still the monster did not fall.
Sinew and flesh began to reform over its injuries even as its attackers tried to inflict fresh damage upon it. The wound that Rhys had given it now appeared little more than a shallow scratch against its mottled hide. No matter how hard they struck—or how deep they sliced—its unnatural healing ability refused to falter.
It caught a fighter in its grip and squeezed tightly—crushing the man's chest with an audible crack. It tossed him aside like a broken doll before swinging its weapon at another foe. A spear pierced its stomach, causing the monster to roar and fling its assailant into the air with enough force to shatter bones upon impact. Another warrior ducked under a wild swing—only to be knocked sprawling as the troll kicked out at him.
Several arrows lodged themselves into the beast's hide. Most bounced harmlessly off its tough skin, but one found its way into an eye socket. The monster threw its head back—roaring in agony—before clawing at its face in an attempt to dislodge the offending projectile. A dozen cuts scored its hide as the other fighters seized upon this opportunity to deal further injury.
Even still, they could not bring the brute to its knees.
Rhys climbed back atop his horse and spurred it forward again, slashing at the troll from behind as he rode past. This time he aimed for its calves, hoping to cripple the beast at least temporarily. His blade bit deep, sending rivulets of blood pouring from the gash.
The troll staggered and stumbled before finally losing its balance. It landed heavily on all fours—shaking the ground beneath him. It snarled as Rhys turned around for another pass.
Arrows flew through the air at such rapid frequency they resembled a swarm of angry hornets. Their tips buried themselves into the troll's body over and over again, embedding deep and remaining stuck fast within. Its flesh knit together quickly around them—making it seem as if each projectile grew directly from its hide like a strange outgrowth.
One of the Arcanists closest to his group, a woman dressed in dark robes emblazoned with sigils, raised her hands, her voice rising above others. "Lux ignis!"
A blazing orb of light erupted from her palms, shooting straight towards the wounded monster. It struck its mark dead center and exploded into a blinding flash that burned with searing heat.
The concussion wave hurled several men aside, sending them sprawling headfirst into mud while others fell prone from where they'd been knocked from their horses.
Rhys shielded his eyes, blinking away the afterimages until he recovered enough to observe the scene again.
The troll roared in pain, its skin blistering and blackening beneath layers of crisped flesh. The spell had cauterized much of its wounds, but its face had melted horribly. It swung wildly about in rage—catching one unfortunate fighter with a backhanded swing. He fell to the ground in a heap. Dead. Or dying. A second hit ended his suffering for good.
"Keep firing!" Rhys screamed to those close enough to hear as he rode towards the troll once more. "Aim for its head!"
The remaining members of the group complied—hurling spears, arrows, and other implements in a haphazard rain towards the troll. Most of their shots found their targets, lodging into its neck and torso. One hit its remaining eye—blinding it completely—and another found its way into its mouth.
Rhys slashed at its face twice more as he circled around for another pass. His sword cut deep, scoring long gouges across its jagged features. Blood sprayed out in great torrents every time his weapon bit into flesh. The smell of charred meat filled his nostrils as he rode past. He breathed through his mouth to avoid gagging on its acrid stench.
The troll lumbered unsteadily as arrows continued pelting against its body. With a final shudder, it toppled sideways into the muck below.
Rhys exhaled loudly, leaning back in his saddle before surveying the carnage around him.
Other groups had managed to defeat a few trolls already but were now facing similar difficulties as his group. Two other trolls lay dead, surrounded by a score of casualties. But the rest seemed to be holding their own. For now.
One troll managed to breach the line and rampaged into the middle of the caravan. People fled in terror as it wreaked havoc among them, smashing through wagons and stomping on anyone who didn't escape quick enough.
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Several mercenaries came forward to combat the monster, harrying it from all angles while others dragged those injured out of danger's path.
Rhys spurred his horse nearer so he could assist, but he had little time for anything else as another troll emerged from the mist behind him—crushing two nearby fighters beneath its massive bulk before they even had time to react. The crunch of bones and the screams of dying men rang loud amidst the melee.
One man managed to stab his spear clean through the beast's calf before collapsing into the muck from loss of blood. His body went limp as death took him a moment later. Another was trampled underfoot when she tripped during her hasty retreat. The troll continued advancing on the caravan—its stride hardly hampered by injuries from dozens of blades.
"Fall back!" Rhys commanded as he raced towards where the other troll raged. "Everyone get away!"
As he galloped towards his new target, he spotted Gareth fighting the first troll while several of his band harried it from a distance. They seemed to have regained the upper hand since his last encounter with them. The sight gave him renewed hope. If they could wear down enough trolls...they just might prevail yet!
But before he could make another pass—or strike from range with his crossbow—something struck his mount from behind and sent him tumbling off balance. He barely had time to roll and recover before another troll loomed above him. He brought up his blade to deflect a blow from its stone axe.
Rhys was no practitioner of any Mystic Rites. His strength lay in a lifetime as a mercenary-turned-farmhand. He did not boast any skills beyond swordplay. So when his steel met against a monstrous stone axe, it did little to prevent the impact from shattering his bones.
As Rhys fell to the ground, writhing and screaming in agony, the world descended into a kaleidoscope of pain and chaos. Through the haze of torment, he saw a blurry vision of a troll approaching his family's wagon.
Rhys cried out desperately, pleading for help despite knowing none would be able to answer such a call.
Suddenly, a blinding light erupted from the sky, and Rhys felt a wave of power wash over him. As the light dimmed, he saw that the monsters attacking them had frozen in place—their eyes wide and mouths agape as if stunned by some invisible force. Everyone in the area turned their gazes skyward to see what had caused this sudden change in the battle's pace.
When the light faded, he saw a dark figure descend from high above.
Clad in a tattered cloak as dark as the void, the stranger's features were obscured by his hooded cowl. But as he landed on the ground—causing an eruption of mud and dust to rise around him—Rhys could make out a face full of intricate patterns, etched into his grey-skinned flesh.
A human?...
No.
Those large pitch-black eyes and sharp ears revealed that he was something else altogether. His gaunt visage and emaciated form seemed drawn and withered like a mummified corpse, betraying the stranger's otherwordly nature. An oppressive aura radiated outward from him, filling the air with a palpable dread.
He stood before the stunned crowd with a calm demeanor that betrayed little of what lay beneath. His lips curled into a subtle smirk, revealing a row of crooked teeth that glinted in the fading light.
As he raised one slender hand above him, shadows coalesced into a ball of energy between his fingers. With a quick gesture, he sent the black orb hurtling towards the troll before him, blasting the beast into smoking bits of ash and ichor. The creature's disintegrated corpse collapsed with a dull thump as cinders rained from its smoldering remains.
The other trolls recoiled briefly at the sight, though Rhys doubted they understood the danger before them.
In a blur, the stranger vanished from view—appearing beside the next closest troll, unleashing a torrent of shadowy projectiles that tore through its leathery hide as if it were nothing more than parchment paper. It died without uttering a word. Even their blood seemed to boil under the mysterious being's presence.
He slew each remaining bog troll without fanfare or pause.
Shadows seemed to bend around him, twisting and curling to his whim as he strode through the bog. Wherever his steps fell, the earth cracked and shattered as tendrils of shadow reached out from beneath his feet. They pierced through one troll—skewering it in mid-stride—before retracting back beneath his robes.
A cloud of darkness formed over the monster as its body began decaying rapidly within the swirling mass. Flesh withered away and bones cracked apart like splintered kindling. When the darkness lifted, there was only dust left behind.
The last bog troll, who had been battling Gareth's group earlier, managed to shake itself from the trance and roar defiantly at the stranger—reeling its tree-club back to strike a blow that would surely crush the emaciated stranger.
But with a careless wave of his hand, the newcomer created a barrier of flickering energy between them. The tree-club splintered upon impact, leaving the troll off-balance for long enough to leave his fate sealed.
A dark maw opened wide beneath the troll. Shadowy tendrils erupted from the depths of the abyssal chasm, engulfing the creature. As they withdrew once more into their dark void, all traces of the troll had vanished.
Not a single troll remained standing.
Once all threats were dealt with...the figure in black stood motionless before them. A hush fell over the clearing as everyone present stared at the stranger in awe and fear.
Rhys forced himself to rise shakily, clutching at the fractured arm he knew he'd soon have to tend to. He glanced warily between the figure in black and his surroundings. He could hardly believe what had just transpired. Many had died just moments prior...but now they were safe. Or...were they?
Gareth stepped forward cautiously, his sword drawn. The remaining warriors formed around behind him—all facing the hooded stranger. Rhys rushed to join them. Whatever the stranger's intentions, he didn't want to miss anything that might occur. His instincts told him this encounter could go one of two ways.
"Who are you?" Gareth demanded as he stood before the cloaked stranger. "Are you a friend or foe?" He kept his tone calm and measured despite the tremor in his voice.
The figure turned his head slightly to the side—as though regarding Gareth from the corner of his eye—before he replied. His raspy voice seemed to echo across the empty spaces inside Rhys' skull.
"My name is Xellos," came his answer. "And I mean you no harm."
He lifted his chin slightly, raising his cowl to reveal his face further. Those large inhuman orbs stared back without blinking or shifting away. His lips curled upwards slightly as his features twisted into a malicious smirk. It seemed more animalistic than human—a predatory smile displaying too many sharp teeth behind curled lips.
Rhys had not expected the appearance underneath to be so terrifying—yet somehow beautiful—like something out of a nightmare. The stranger's skin had a dull, grey pallor with strange markings etched deep into its surface. The patterns glowed faintly as he spoke—as if they were symbols carved into his flesh by some unknown force. Yet despite the ominous aura surrounding this newcomer...those words resonated true within Rhys' heart.
Xellos continued speaking after a moment's pause.
"I sensed a disturbance nearby—and deemed it necessary to investigate. It appears I arrived just in time."
Gareth frowned suspiciously but did not lower his blade. "You...aren't human," he noted. "What manner of being are you?"
Xellos tilted his head once more. "I am a lonely god, with no place to belong. I wander the lands, seeking opportunities to prove myself worthy of servitude. Sensing your plight, I took action accordingly...with no expectations for reward."
His expression became almost wistful for a second before returning to stoic. "Perhaps fate brought us here," Xellos mused. "Perhaps we can find comfort in each other's presence until our respective journeys reach their final destination."
Silence followed his statement—only broken by the sound of Rhys coughing as he regained his composure.
Gareth remained silent for what seemed like an eternity until finally responding. "If what you say is true...then you have my gratitude for saving us. However..." he added hesitantly, "...we are on a journey to found a settlement for our families. We cannot offer you much in return..."
The corners of Xellos' mouth twitched upwards at Gareth's words, though they did not quite form a full smile. "I am also on a journey...to the Eldergrove where a friend of mine resides." He waved his hands idly about as he continued. "Perhaps we might travel together for a time?"
"A friend?" Gareth asked. "In the Eldergrove? I know of only one deity that resides there, the one called Ebonheim. Are you acquaintances?"
"My savior," Xellos amended. "I owe her my life."
"I see," Gareth responded, sheathing his sword slowly. He motioned for the warriors to do likewise. "From what I've heard, Ebonheim's reputation is fair and trustworthy. If you're a friend of hers...I would welcome you among us. We would appreciate your protection on the rest of our journey."
He offered a hand to Xellos as a gesture of friendship. "My name is Gareth. I serve as captain of the guard for this group."
Xellos grasped it, his bony fingers feeling unusually warm against Gareth's skin. A faint tingling sensation shot through Gareth's arm at the contact, leaving an unpleasant sensation lingering in the wake of the brief touch.
Gareth found himself wanting to pull away quickly. But something compelled him to keep holding on. Somehow, this made him feel strangely safe. Protected.
Almost as if...they had formed a covenant together.
"You needn't worry. No harm will befall you. Not while I'm around." Xellos promised. "Please allow me to assist you during our travels together."
A murmur went around the crowd, followed by nods of acceptance among them.
Then Xellos turned his eyes towards where Rhys still clutched at his injury. A smile formed upon his lips. A small one. Yet this one looked almost genuine.