As night fell, anxiety took over their makeshift camp. The tribal people known as the Batiri were preparing for another battle, spears were being sharpened, Sahjaíl was showing them how to make a makeshift shield, they quickly picked up on the creation process, the younger ones started making more. The people were exhausted, yet they prepared for another battle, Sahjaíl had gathered that they were expecting another attack from the undead tonight, it was surprising how much you could get done with sign language and pointing. He took the opportunity to check his character sheet, he had been in a rush when levelling up and had not selected a feat yet.
He had gained a free feat upon reaching level four, Animal transformation. It would allow him to turn into one of four animals, bear,boar,panther and wolf. The transformation would last five minutes and he could use the skill 3 times a day at his current level. His attributes also changed if she shifted into animal form. Bear would greatly increase his strength, Boar his constitution, Panther his agility, and wolf was a slight increase in all three attributes. He looked over his feat list pondering what his decision should be, he chose a feat called Path of the Healer. The feat would allow him to change any spell he had into a healing spell of the same level. For example if he casted entangle on someone he designated an ally it would turn into the spell heal minor wounds+.
He thought about how he could heal the remaining bedridden Batiri, but his spells would reset at midnight, he might need the spells he had now to help the tribe survive the oncoming undead. If they lost here the wounded, or any other Batiri for that matter would not survive the night. It was a grim choice, he truly wanted to heal those still wounded but knew it would lower their survival chance should he decide to do so. He grabbed one of the branches from the large pile of wood the tribe had gathered and started sharpening another spear, the thirteen remaining warriors and himself took up position between the caltrops they had set up. The warriors squatted down and inspected and prepared their weapons, bags under their eyes but determination burning up any of the exhaustion they felt.
Then it came, the raspy breathing of the undead audible through the night, their shuffling feet dragging along the forest floor. An army unhindered by any exhaustion or emotion. Zi’enna took up position to his right, her one good arm holding a spear as she growled at the oncoming horde, their were even more of them then there were last time, they were barely visible in the dark, the sounds they made however were unmistakable. Sahjaíl cast a light spell, a ball of pure light rising above his head hovering their, casting the world in its white glowing light. Sahjaíl cursed, before them stood a horde larger than the last one, their had to be at least two and a half hundred of the creatures. This time he didn’t have any of his spells left to use, he cursed his stupidity at using entangle while hunting. At the time he hadn’t known there would be another attack at night and now it was to late to do anything about it.
He breathed out heavily, rolling his shoulder and tightening his grip around his makeshift spear. He looked over to Zi’enna, she looked at him like she was trying to figure out a difficult question, or solving a math equation. She nodded her head, even bowed a little, showing her respect and gratitude for standing with her people. He returned the bow with a savage smile, how could he run away from a fight like this, not to mention all that free experience! The thump of heavy footfalls suddenly cut through the silence, Gorat with Immi on his back was already charging the enemy line. Although surprised he agreed it was a good idea, the golem was strong and its stony build was nearly indestructible when fighting the badly armed and armoured undead. Immi may have seemed a child but he knew her magic far outclassed him. Secretly he still worried about her, he had grown attached.
Gorat smashed into the enemy line, tearing a hole right through the middle of their ranks. His newfound size and strength only helping him as he smashed undead skulls, grabbing one of the zombies every now and then and throwing him back into the undead horde. It did nothing to impede their march, the shuffle of undead feat continued as they now came in range of the Batiri warriors. Zi’enna growled a command, the warriors roared in return and formed a line, Sahjaíl formed up right in the middle of the formation. Zi’enna had taken up position on the far left. The warriors put their new shields between them and the enemy and readied their spears, the snarling undead were greeted by fire hardened wood as the blackened tips of their spears pierced through the rotten flesh, cracking undead skulls.
The warriors kept their shields between them and the undead, being forced back a pace every few seconds from the sheer press of rotten bodies. A zombie managed to claw around the shield, tearing a gash through his leather leaving shallow wounds upon his left arm, his arm arched back, he rammed his spear through its eyesocket, killing the creature. He roared his defiance at the enemy, soon enough he lost himself to the trance of battle. The snarl of undead and the pressure upon his shield barely registered in his mind, now and then he would see a Batiri collapse from their wounds, he would rush to their position cast the strongest healing spell he had available and return to the line of battle. Regardless of their valiant attempts two of the Batiri had still fallen to the grasp of cold fingers. They were being pushed back further, now at the inner most row of caltrops, A rock smashed into the head of an undead to his right.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
The young and the wounded Batiri had gathered rocks and were doing their best to throw their ammunition at the undead horde, a few would go down when a rock caved in their skull. Sahjaíls breathing had long since become ragged, his arms sluggish his reactions slower, his body, like the others he fought with, riddled with wounds. The pressure upon the line of warriors was lessening, the undead had fallen to more manageable numbers, a bare fifty of the creatures still stood upright, Gorat was now behind the enemy lines, smashing the undead down into the ground wherever he could reach. Then silence returned to the clearing, only ragged breathing of himself and the other warriors filling the air around them. Zi’enna raised her blood covered head to the sky and howled in victory, The others joined in her howling. Sahjaíl himself felt their joy of victory and howled with them. He looked around at the wounded warriors and started stabilising those that were badly wounded. When he tried to heal Zi’enna from her many minor injuries, his field of vision shrank, darkness fell over his eyes as he collapsed.
Sahjaíl groaned as he got up, muscles knotted and stiff. He cast a light healing spell on himself and immediately felt a lot better. He looked at his body and noticed that his wounds had been tended to, large soft leaves with a poultice. They did their work though, he removed the bandages and took a look at his wounds, the poultice with the help of the healing spell had done their work. His wounds were not completely healed, leaving him with some red lines of fresh skin, the scars would remain however, some of the missing pieces of flesh not regrowing. He looked around and saw that most of the camp was already up and about. He stood up carefully stretching his limbs, muscles despite the healing still groaning in protest.
He walked over to the river and took his clothes off, looking in the reflection he barely recognised himself. He had changed a good bit over the last few weeks, his hair was short and unkempt sticking up in places, his delicate elven features turned rugged by a scar on his temple where a claw had managed to get him, his left ear also missing chips at the end. His chest had a multitude of scars. His stomach had made it through mostly intact. His left arm also had claw marks on it. He sighed, he had been through a lot but was still standing. Honestly he even liked his new rugged appearance.
He cleaned his body in the running water, the mountain stream was cold but clean. He made sure to do it a bit further downstream so as not to dirty the water the tribe used for drinking. Soon enough a few of the other warriors he had fought with joined him in his bath, they gave him a short respectful nod which he returned in kind. He felt a bond with his brothers in arms that he had never felt before, not being a people person this was new to him. Pondering his new emotions he rid himself of the dirt and dried blood that covered his body. Finishing up his cleanse he headed back to the camp. They were erecting tipee-like structures.
He saw a Zi’enna talking with a few of the tribes members, as far as he could tell she was the leader of the current tribe, the members following her directives. Walking over to her, she said something to the people she was talking to, they gave him a curt bow and went about their business. He returned their bow and faced Zi’enna. He pointed to the wounded and made the wiggling motion with his hands which had become the sign for his healing. She understood and walked him to the worst of the injured. Surprisingly only three of the warriors from yesterday had any serious wounds, he used a heal moderate wounds spell on each of them. The warriors sighed in relief as the pain left their bodies, Sahjaíl turned back to Zi’enna and gestured if anyone else needed healing.
She shook her head, pointing at the sun and indicating night. She wanted him to save the spells he had for tonight. He nodded, he agreed with her, when the undead came again tonight they would need all the edges they had. A yelp from the other side of the camp drew his attention, Zi’enna looked alarmed and grabbed her spear and rushed over, Sahjaíl cursed and followed her.
We really can’t handle it if we also get attacked during the day!
The Batiri gathered on the waters edge, any able bodied tribesmen with a spear and shield in hand. On the other side of the stream a few hundred meters away from them about fifty creatures had gathered. White scales, leather armour, hide covered shields and spears with a chipped stone spearhead. Only a two dozen of the creatures were armed however, some of them obviously not used to holding weapons. Most of the group were to young to see battle, like the Batiri they were tired, signs of battle and injuries covering the ivory scales of the lizardmen with the crimson red of blood.
Zi’enna crossed the stream, one of the warriors flanking her. Sahjaíl moved to flank her other side as they headed towards the lizardmen. The lizards did the same and sent out a warrior a head taller than the rest, also flanked by two of the other warriors. They met in the middle Zi’enna stared at the warrior who stared back at her. Both standing still and glaring at each other not saying anything. It was obvious that the two had some bad blood between them, he waited for the two leaders to make the first move. It wasn’t his job to intervene, it would only work counterproductive. Not to mention that he respected Zi’enna to much, she knew what she was doing.