The gentle rustling of the Eldergrove trees sounded like a whispered symphony as Ebonheim, Bjorn, and Thorsten stepped into the sun-dappled clearing. In the center, an orderly phalanx of village guards stood at attention, garbed in their newly forged Ebonwood gear.
Bjorn, his muscular frame enveloped in hide armor, walked towards the guards with a sense of reverence. His hands, calloused and battle-worn, caressed the edge of a guard's Ebonwood shield. "Ebonheim, come, look at this," he beckoned, his voice echoing within the forested cathedral around them.
Ebonheim approached, her silken white dress rustling against the undergrowth. She ran a slender hand over the shield's grainy texture. It was as dark as the night sky, yet warm to the touch, as if the life of the tree from which it was made still resided within it.
But what impressed her the most was the craftsmanship of the guards' armor. Each one was made from an intricate latticework of interwoven Ebonwood fibers and plates over a sturdy layer of hardened leather, creating a defensive garment that offered excellent protection yet still allowed for freedom of movement. Each guard's shield bore the crest of Ebonheim: a stylized tree with the moon etched on the background.
The Akashic System displayed the properties of the enchanted gear on her peripheral:
[Domain Knowledge (Rank II): You can view the properties of all objects in your domain.]
[Ebonwood Shield - Type: Light Shield; Properties: +24 Physical Defense, +12 Block, +13 Arcane Defense, +10 Divine Defense, 17 Damage Reduction (All); Penalties: -2 Melee Attack, -6 Ranged Attack]
[Ebonwood Scale Mail - Type: Medium Armor; Properties: +22 Physical Defense, +13 Arcane Defense, +10 Divine Defense, 15 Damage Reduction (All); Penalties: -2 Melee Attack, -2 Ranged Attack]
"Looks sturdy enough," Bjorn commented, his eyes critically appraising the guards. "Much better than the leather scraps we wore before."
Thorsten nodded, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked at Bjorn. "Better than your fur-clad armor."
"Pfft," Bjorn snorted, his grin growing wider as he gave Thorsten a playful shove. "My new one is being built as we speak. I'll show you soon."
Thorsten laughed and shoved him back. Ebonheim watched the men fondly, then sighed and shook her head with an affectionate smile. These two were so similar—yet so different from each other at the same time. It was always a source of entertainment to watch them banter with each other. She was curious how their new armor compared to the armor Bjorn currently wore so she looked at its properties as well.
[Enchanted Hide Armor - Type: Medium Armor; Properties: +12 Physical Defense, +6 Arcane Defense, 6 Damage Reduction (Kinetic, Cold); Penalties: -3 Melee Attack, -4 Ranged Attack]
Oooh...the new armor was way more impressive. The penalties imposed on the wearer weren't as severe, but she wasn't sure if the new armor was more cumbersome compared to the leather armor the guards had worn prior.
"What about their mobility?" she asked the two men. "Can they move just as well in this armor as they did with the old leather?"
At this, both men paused and looked at her, their expressions sobering slightly. Thorsten turned towards the guards and asked, "How well can you move in this new armor, soldier?"
One of the guards stepped forward and replied, "As well as we did in our old armor, sir. This new one may seem cumbersome at first, but we've been practicing with it over the past week and now our movements are as good as before." The others nodded in agreement. A few even gave a confident grunt to drive their point home.
Ebonheim nodded in return, satisfied with the response. "Good," she said. "Looks like it'll do just fine."
As she stepped forward, the guards snapped into a more formal position, their eyes forward, hands clenched at their sides. Ebonheim moved to the first of them, her slender fingers reaching out to trace the intricate pattern of Ebonwood scales embedded in the armor. She nodded approvingly as she examined the fine craftsmanship before continuing down the line, her delicate fingers gliding over the sturdy plates and smooth leather.
The helm was the first to capture her attention. It was a full-faced design with an open grille at the front to allow visibility and airflow, and a stiff brim to protect against arrows and projectiles. At the back, the helmet tapered into a curved crest, which jutted up to protect the back of the neck. It was a striking design, and Ebonheim marveled at the intricate beauty of it.
Suddenly, one of the guards spoke up, breaking her concentration. "Oh," he said as he lowered his head and placed his fist over his chest, "It's an honor to have you examine our armor, goddess."
Ebonheim grinned at him as she replied, "Don't be so formal with me." As she spoke, she straightened his armor for him; the young guard went rigid at her touch, his eyes wide as he stared at her in awe. "You're among friends," she added with a wink and a light pat on his armored shoulder before moving on to the next guard.
Bjorn and Thorsten joined her, their gruff voices filling the clearing with their appraisal of the gauntlets, greaves, and other pieces of the Ebonwood armor. While Bjorn focused on the details of the craftsmanship and efficiency of the armor, Thorsten's appraisal focused on the suitability of the equipment for combat. Their opinions on the armor were so similar to Ebonheim's that she could barely tell them apart—but they often bickered over minor details like their preferences in terms of armor design or its function as protection from enemy arrows or blades.
"Bjorn, did you come up with this design?" She queried, pointing towards a breastplate made from a thicker slab of Ebonwood with a series of scales running along its length. "I love the idea of scales here."
Bjorn nodded, his blue eyes twinkling with pride. "I thought of it, but it was the crafters who brought the idea to life. They worked night and day, their hands guided by your blessings, Ebonheim."
They finished their tour of the equipment and turned to regard the guards again.
Thorsten gave a hearty chuckle, then bellowed at the gathered men. "With those new shields and armor, you will be the guardians of Ebonheim, the protectors of our home. Wear it with pride, wield it with honor!"
A cheer erupted from the guards. Ebonheim watched in satisfaction as they stood tall, their chests puffed out with pride and their weapons held aloft.
Thorsten and Bjorn stood behind her as she surveyed the gathered warriors. They had trained to acclimate to the new equipment—the warriors had become stronger, more confident, and better trained as a result. Ebonheim could see it in their eyes: they were prepared, and they were willing to do what was necessary to defend their home.
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Serrandyl stalked through the undergrowth like a hunter on the prowl. With each step, she lifted her head and sniffed the air, her eyes scanning the shadows for any trace of movement or sound. Her warriors, thirty in number, followed behind her, their steps silent but confident as they took up their positions in the foliage around the village.
It was only a few hours after dusk when they had arrived—a time when most people were settling down for the night—so Serrandyl's group had been able to secure a good position to observe Ebonheim from a distance. With her enhanced senses, Serrandyl could even hear the faint sounds of laughter and conversation from within the village, but she ignored these, focusing instead on the task at hand: observe, wait, and plan.
After a while, she halted, her head cocked to the side as she listened to the distant conversation again. She frowned, but shrugged and turned to the others. "Gather round," she whispered. "We have to talk about our next move."
As her warriors gathered in a small clearing near her position, Serrandyl spoke. "Listen," she began, her voice soft but her eyes wide and alert. "There aren't that many warriors guarding the village. If we strike quickly and quietly, we can take them down before they even have time to react. Then we can find where they keep their livestock and grab as much as we can carry."
One of the warriors nodded, his tail swishing behind him as he replied, "I volunteer to carry the meat."
Serrandyl nodded in response, then said, "We'll split into two groups. One group will find our bounty while the other will follow me to head to the center of the village and deal with anyone who tries to stop us. Remember, no killing. We need them to stick around and stay healthy so we can raid them again if we have to."
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She turned to address all of them again. "Now, listen up," she began, "Once you've grabbed the food, we'll rendezvous at the edge of the village by the river and head back to the rest of our tribe. Is everyone clear on their roles?"
A warrior from the back spoke up. "Are you sure we should be doing this?" he asked. "I don't think the Pridelord would approve of us making an enemy of the humans here."
Serrandyl's eyes blazed as she glowered at him. "My father will have to get over it if we're ever going to survive in this valley," she replied, her voice taking on a steely edge as she spoke. "Would you rather we fight with the Kungwans when we first arrived here? Or would you rather we starve?"
As he shrank back from her words, Serrandyl's gaze softened and she let out a sigh. "Look," she said, her voice growing gentle again. "We just need to take some of their food to help our tribe and keep them healthy until we get used to hunting and foraging in this valley. The humans here won't die from losing a meal or two."
The other warrior nodded. "I understand," he said, and Serrandyl gave a smile as she patted him on the shoulder.
With a silent whoop, her warriors formed a small phalanx and moved through the foliage towards the village, their movements almost unnoticeable as they reached its outskirts.
Serrandyl grinned and held out her hand, her eyes glimmering in anticipation of the raucous night ahead. "Let's go."
Without warning, she broke into a sprint, dashing through the forest as if she could fly. In moments, she was in the heart of the village, surrounded by buildings and a few passersby, with no one the wiser to her presence. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of a group of guards on patrol. Quickly and quietly, she climbed up to the roof of a building near them and crouched down.
The guards passed underneath her as she watched them from her vantage point. They moved slowly and steadily, their weapons at the ready in case they encountered any trouble. Serrandyl observed them for a moment, but they moved past without incident. The other warriors with her moved into position nearby and observed, but none made any move to attack, either.
As Serrandyl waited for the guards to move, she considered her options: could she take them on herself? It would be risky—but she was confident she could handle them alone if she had to. While she was considering her options, one of the guards paused and sniffed the air—he must have caught her scent on the breeze. Serrandyl froze as he turned his head in her direction, but the guard wasn't paying attention to her. Instead, he gestured to the others and said, "It's just the wind."
But Serrandyl was already in mid-leap—she landed on top of him and knocked him to the ground, pinning him beneath her with her weight. As he struggled against her, she whispered into his ear. "Surprise," she said with a toothy grin before punching him in the face. Her blow hit the side of his helmet as he rolled with her punch, so she drew back to strike again—but he managed to squirm out from beneath her.
Before she could react, the other guards had pounced on her: they seized her arms and dragged her off the guard she had attacked.
The rest of her group rushed the guards, jumping out of hiding to engage in a fierce fight. There were four guards in all, and each one was ready for them—they fought as a unit, blocking her warriors' blows with their shields and attacking with their swords and spears.
"Form up!" Serrandyl kicked away the guard grappling her. "Focus on one guard at a time."
As her warriors began to fight more aggressively, Serrandyl launched herself at another guard, her claws raking across his shield—causing only a few scratch marks to the unusually dark wood. With a roar, she leapt on top of him, but he raised his shield to block her—the momentum sent him stumbling backwards while he tried to maintain his balance.
With her opponent momentarily off-balance, Serrandyl threw a barrage of punches, hitting him over and over again as he raised his shield to protect himself. Finally, he managed to kick her off and jump out of the way; he swung at her with his blade as she stumbled backwards, but she raised her hands in time to block the strike with her forearm. A searing pain shot through her arm and shoulder—the force of the blow had cut into her flesh and bruised her bones—but she ignored it as she lashed out with her claws.
Her foe staggered away from her, leaving an opening for Serrandyl to strike again: she punched him hard, once, twice, and then again until he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Meanwhile, her other warriors continued to fight, their movements quick and sharp as they dodged and ducked to avoid their enemies' blows. Outnumbering the defenders three to one, Serrandyl's group emerged victorious—but not without a few injuries on their side.
A thin trail of blood tricked down towards her wrist. Serrandyl glanced at her injured forearm, then down at the sword of her fallen foe. She shook her head in annoyance; somehow the plain-looking blade had managed to wound her, despite her resilience to normal weapons.
She wasn't expecting a village soldier to carry enchanted weapons—in fact, she hadn't even considered it as a possibility. She grabbed the sword and inspected it closely; it appeared to be nothing more than a standard broadsword but the blade looked different—it had a peculiar dark texture that didn't look metallic. She frowned and tossed it aside as she walked over to join her group.
Reo caught sight of her and scowled. "Are you injured?" he asked, his tone steely and his brows furrowing in concern.
"It's just a scratch," she replied as she flexed her injured arm experimentally. It was painful, but already the wound was starting to heal. "Nothing to worry about," she added with a dismissive wave. She hadn't expected this much resistance from a human settlement beyond the reaches of the major kingdoms. The guards were almost as capable as her tribe's warriors. Going easy against them would probably not bode well. "We should move and take out the other guards on patrol. Don't underestimate them."
Before Reo could respond, she turned away from him and barked out orders to the others. "Keep going!" she shouted, "We need to finish this quickly so we can get our meat!"
The warriors cheered as they followed her lead—the sound echoed through the empty streets and resounded in Serrandyl's ears, a sound she relished as she raced towards the village's center to find the remaining guards.
As her warriors fanned out, they split into two groups—one to head towards the north while Serrandyl led the other to the east.
The sound of an alarm bell cut through the night air as Serrandyl and her warriors raced across the village, her steps light and fast as she rushed to meet another group of defenders. The group of five guards charged at her, their expressions tense and their weapons drawn.
"We will not let you harm our village!" one of them cried out, his voice shaky but firm.
Serrandyl only grinned in response as she darted towards him—before he had time to react, she was upon him. Her claws raked across his chest, expecting her attack to shred through his plated armor but instead, her claws skidded off its hard surface with only a few scratch marks to show for her effort.
Frustrated by this unexpected development, Serrandyl lunged at him again and again with the same result—his armor held firm against her assault, only her claws managed to inflict injury. She had no choice but to back away as he counterattacked. The other guards joined the fray and surrounded her, but she danced away from their blades and distanced herself from them.
Once she had space to breathe, Serrandyl paused to assess the situation. What was wrong with her attacks? Why was the armor resisting her claws, which should have cut through leather or hide with ease? Even if they wore iron armor, she would have at least caused more damage than mere scratches. And what about the way the sword had cut into her flesh?... There was something strange about this village.
A quick glance around showed her that the other groups of warriors had also been repulsed by their opponents' armor—she watched as one warrior stabbed his opponent with his spear but was met with a dull thud instead of a sharp stab as his spear should have met its mark. Another warrior came at his opponent with a heavy club but failed to make contact; instead, his club seemed to slide off the guard's armor and simply clattered to the ground.
As she watched this happen, Serrandyl felt a surge of anger pass through her veins—these people had trapped her, like an animal in a cage. For a moment, she considered giving up on this plan and returning to her people, but a new plan began to form in her mind: if this armor was so resilient, what if she took the armor as a trophy and brought it back to her people?
With a mischievous grin on her face, she turned to Reo and shouted, "Reo! Strip them off their armor once you've defeated them! We can use them later!"
Reo roared in reply and charged into the battle along with his group. Serrandyl grinned and joined the fray again; as she fought, she kept an eye on the others, eager to see how they fared with their opponents.
A guard lunged at her with his sword—she dodged his attack but caught a glancing blow from another guard's shield. The force of the blow sent her reeling back—but she pushed back against the pain and launched herself at another guard, lashing out with a vicious kick to his gut. As the guard stumbled back, she spun and aimed another kick at his head; he blocked the attack with his arm, the impact sending him crashing to the ground, his helmet lost in the fall.
Before she had time to follow up her attack, another guard was on her, his shield raised to block her kicks. Serrandyl swung at him, but he dodged her attack—her fist slammed into his shield again, sending him tumbling backwards into his comrade. She punched her way through them as they scrambled to their feet, determined to keep her momentum.
As she continued to fight, she saw Reo emerge victorious with the other group; he stood over his defeated foes and began unbuckling their armor, his comrades following suit. Serrandyl grinned as she turned her attention to the last two guards who had yet to be defeated—she was determined to claim this armor as her own.
Suddenly, her ears perked at the sound of groaning wood from behind her as a large shadow loomed over her. With a cry of alarm, she spun on her heel to find herself facing a tree—sporting arms and legs—towering over her.
A gasp escaped her lips as she stared up at its massive arm swinging down at her like a giant club—swatting her away like a pesky insect and sending her crashing to the ground.
As she lay there in the dirt, she blinked away the spots in her vision and turned towards her attacker, her eyes wide with shock. The tree sentinel stood over the scene as her group rallied to her side, their eyes wide in awe at the spectacle unfolding before them.
"What's going on?" Reo asked as he pulled her to her feet. "What is that?"
Before she could respond, she spotted a figure perched atop the tree sentinel's shoulder. A girl, clad in a flowing white dress, with long iridescent hair and golden eyes, watched them with an impassive expression on her face. A radiant aura emanated from her slender form—coloring the surrounding in its ethereal glow.
Serrandyl's instincts told her she had encountered something dangerous; an oppressive weight permeated through her senses as she stared up at the girl who had crossed her arms over her chest.
"Oh, did I startle you?" the girl asked, her voice airy and light but her expression deadly serious. "I'm sorry, but I don't take kindly on people attacking my village."