Thomas stood, watching another wave of approaching ... things. He looked once more at the two distinctions he had gained in leveling up, over the past few days, and the distinction he could just barely remember picking up in a state of confusion.
Class Distinction: Legendary Shrug Off
Damage less than 25 is reduced to 0
Distinction: Improved Mastery of Flesh
+3 Damage Reduction, Immunity to Unnatural Aging
Class Distinction: Hard to Kill
Having negative HP doesn't knock you unconscious
It wasn't quite what he would have picked, but, if he could be "unnaturally aged", the fact that he couldn't be now was ... well, it would be a cause for relief if it didn't just make him wonder what other horrible things might happen to him that he didn't know about. The legendary version of Shrug Off wasn't anything to scoff about - so far, he hadn't received any injuries at all - but the bit about not falling unconscious if his health dropped below 0 seemed ... nasty, rather than helpful.
He turned his attention back at the approaching bandit dogs. These were larger than the last few waves who had assaulted the gate he was stationed at, and he prepared himself, letting himself loosen up into a fighting stance. The leading carnaath exploded into a fountain of gore as he punched into a shift to his largest size; the next veered to the side and tried to hamstring him, but failed to so much as scratch his skin; a well-placed stomp ended that. And then the others were on him, leaping, biting, and emitting almost human snarls and cries as he curled up.
And on that signal, the other adventurers joined him, Zatirias appeared, seemingly from nowhere, planted three knives in three necks, and disappeared from attention again. Shallor, the woman who had been apparently leading the trio Zatirias had been a part of, moved into the empty space, drew two blades, and began cutting away the bandit dogs piling onto him. He could hear the small muffled explosions of fireballs, and somebody was cursing behind him. Thomas slowly uncurled, at the odd muffled implosion of fireballs, and started lashing out with arms and feet, clearing a space to rise once more, and join in the melee.
"Lad, it's hard to fight effectively when we're doubled up laughing." Zatirias' mustache twitched as he held back a chuckle. Thomas glanced at him, considered responding, and then turned back out to the horizon. A trio of cloaked figures walked the ridgeline of the nearest hill. He watched them walk, assuming they could see further than he could, and would react if they saw a group approaching.
The black wardens had been verbally thankful about the return of the cloak, but their representative had seemed entirely unsure what to actually do with it. And then he'd gotten stationed here; apparently, as an adventurer, he was drafted, which, well. He probably would have waited at this gate anyways. But still. He resented having been told it, just not enough to pick a fight with the terrifying cloaked figures. The plane itself continued its evacuation; the arrivals of fellow humans had slowed to a trickle, and the clock was ticking. Today was the day. And he was nervously watching for Madelaine, who had yet to arrive; Arias had gone to look for them.
He wasn't sure what he'd do if they didn't arrive. He wasn't sure what he could do; staying would be suicide by whatever unanchoring did to a plane - he wasn't quite certain but it seemed everybody treated it like a death sentence. The attacks on the gates had been steadily increasing in both frequency and intensity. The black wardens made patrols out beyond the gates, dealing with the subterranean monsters they called korlet; he'd yet to see one fully intact, but he had seen a ... chunk, and the pale chitinous flesh was a more ... refined, version of the bandit dogs. He was pretty sure.
But they didn't patrol far; the outer villages were assumed to have already fallen. And even that would end soon; this was the last patrol. He had seen two come and go already. He clenched his fists, wanting the wardens to let another pack of carnaath through. It was a distraction from the waiting. She'd be fine. She had Mersin with her, and Elijah, and a bunch of healers and pioneers. He just wondered what was taking so long.
"Fucking carts." King Mersin's proper growl sounded very amusing saying that. Also, Madelaine was gratified that somebody shared her opinion on the incredibly. Slow. Travel. She'd finally resorted to a smaller army of much weaker skeletons to help slow the horrible skinpuppies; there were healers, so nobody's hands or feet were permanently lost - permanently lost didn't even mean anything here! - but the screaming was very annoying. Sir Thomas never screamed like that. Okay, he had, a lot, but then he had figured out it didn't do any good, and stopped. She wished these people would figure it out already.
They had already lost a good third of the carts to broken wheels or axles. Which had been even more delays, while idiots tried to salvage belongings when their world was dying around them. She was only staying because the black warden with the creepy voice had turned up and said they'd make it. And stayed to make sure they wouldn't be pausing any longer; the next broken cart was left ignored after only a brief visit from the warden. But it meant they had to fight on the move, which made it more challenging to protect the ... civilians. She had a distaste for that word. Why would you confine yourself to a city when there was a world out there?
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Okay, the cave had been horrible, and she never wanted to go into a cave again. Well, it had been pretty, too. But also horrible. She still hadn't been to the top of a mountain, and those mountains over there were going to, just, what, stop existing? This had been her world, she had wanted to explore it, to see what all it had to offer. But these stupid fleshpuppies and their fleshtrees were ruining it all. At least her people were getting out, but there were people out there she'd never get to meet. She wanted more of the disgusting things to attack, so she could watch them die. She cut every sapling they came across to pieces; they bled. There weren't enough of either.
There were too many of them. She moved in to flank the pack that had swarmed -over- her skeletons; not even pausing to fight them, just rolling right over them. Stupid weak skeletons. Her rapier lashed out once, twice. On the third strike, she felt fate twisting around her, against her - and fought back.
Happy Go Lucky Once per day, you may turn Misfortune to Fortune - if you can make it happen
It did not give her a second chance. She just felt what she was going to do wrong; correcting it was up to her.
What had been intended to be a thrust scraped off scales, jerking the blade from her grasp, tumbling to the ground. She failed to capitalize. It didn't matter; the sword leapt back into her hand a moment later, a swirl of colors rushing through her mind, and she found herself effortlessly dancing back from their myriad ugly mouths. There were too many, so she resumed thrusting, feeling the odd twist of fate this way and that as she moved through them. She simply ... knew where to step. Where to strike. When to move away.
It came at a cost, as her left hand vanished in the other kind of twist of fate, a fleshpuppy appearing out of nowhere, mouth already closing and ripping. It hurt. But it didn't hurt like the cave had hurt. She thrust, and the horrible thing died. And then she was twisting in and out again, riding the slippery edge of fate, the pain just information examined and set aside as not useful in the moment.
And then it was over, and she returned to the healers. They were so much faster than Thomas, he had sat there for -hours- to do this just once, unless he used that weird ability that made him all bloody. The healers were carried as they worked - they couldn't quite manage to walk and do whatever it was that magic did to your mind. But they were quick, and she was walking back on the front lines, flexing her hand open and closed. The soldiers hadn't screamed quite as much after watching her. They were learning the uselessness of it.
She smiled, seeing King Mersin was still on her side of the convoy of people, walking and talking. Madelaine was on the opposite end from the inquisitor lady's people, along with most of Piketown's people, which was probably good because she might be tempted to stab the inquisitor lady, but bad because King Mersin spent most of his time over there watching them; he had said something about bad blood between them and the Piketown townsfolk. Elijah still wasn't up and about, and it had been forever. She skipped over to where King Mersin was talking, listening to his noble growl.
"Pick up the pace. We're in the outer patrols, but they're pulling back." Madelaine looked up at the beautiful cotton candy city. It just made her feel sad again. She hadn't even gotten to properly explore the city, and it was going to go poof, like everything else. She looked around for more things to fight. If the outer patrols were pulling back, maybe she could finally fight one of those korlets.
It didn't take long, and she wasn't happy about it. The things were underground! How was she supposed to stab that? She watched its progress - it wasn't remotely stealthy, the ground cracking over it. But it was alarmingly fast - not as fast as her skipping, which had become magical - but fast enough that the slow people wouldn't be able to run away. How did you kill something that was hiding under the ground? She considered her new Thaumaturgy spells. She had a cool telekinesis spell that let her interact with things, and a cool telekinesis spell that made her punch things from far away. The problem was that it was her punching, and ... well ... she just wasn't very good at it.
She tried it anyways. Colors ran through her head, but not as intensely, and she directed them. There was a dull whump noise, but the creature continued moving towards their group without any sign of having noticed. She wasn't entirely certain she had even hit it; she wasn't sure exactly how deep it was, or how big. She drew her rapier, feeling uncertain about how to deal with this threat. It continued approaching.
The man next to her disappeared in a spray of hot wet yuck. She turned, wiping her face clear, and swung her blade down into the pit, where a second of the foul creatures was now visible, eating poor ... whatever that guy's name had been. Didn't matter now, he was in too many pieces for a name. Her blade struck something hard, but penetrated; the ... thing, that looked kind of like a whale crossed with a bug but ugly and flesh colored, opened its weird wide mouth at her. She blinked at all the teeth, which were ... vibrating. Weird. Was this thing just a tube of teeth? She stabbed it in the mouth four times in rapid succession, trying different angles. Each penetrated. The thing didn't die, but instead lunged at her; she wasn't there anymore, but her rapier lashed out twice more.
And then it was underground again, disappearing back into the soil. Madelaine scowled, climbing back out of the pit, to see a long-haired princess just ... stabbing the ground. It seemed effective, as the thing Princess Arias was stabbing stopped moving. Madelaine's attention returned to the retreating fleshbug, which was interrupted by an explosion, the ground erupting out, along with blood and other fleshy bits, with a strangely muted thump. King Mersin lowered a furry, clawed hand, and began moving again. She hadn't expected him to be a great magus, as well, but his magic was really, really cool.
And hey, the idiots seemed to realize the threat was real and right there, because they started to actually -move-, carts abandoned. Her day was looking up! She started skipping over to Princess Arias, who waved and smiled at her. Her favorite person! She paused to kill a fleshpuppy. Then another, whose wildly biting not-face got too close. She looked around once more - and in addition to a sudden scattering of the ugly pups around her, there were several packs appearing over the tops of the hills, converging as they closed in on the wall of people. She felt her sword droop a little. That ... that might be way too many. She tried to hold onto her anger, tried to focus on the world she would never explore - but it was overshadowed by a featureless face, singing in her mother's forgotten voice.
She tightened her grip on the sword anyways, and raised it once more. Princess Arias was still fighting, a beautiful dance, and Madelaine didn't want to disappoint her.