"I can't believe we're getting dragged out here for a swarm of bronze-rank threats. Sure, they tore up some piss-ant frontier town, but so what? That means they've gotta teleport us over first thing in the morning? It's like dropping a lightning bolt on a cockroach. It isn't worth the effort." A bare-chested man in a leather kilt, who looked like he spent all of his free time either lifting weights or getting into fights, complained loudly. His companions looked at him with varying degrees of amusement to frustration.

Walking down the cobblestone road of Kremston alongside the barbarous man were an assortment of other humans, and their gear seemed to proclaim their roles. One man wore a bright red robe and used a long, gnarled and twisted staff as a walking stick, hand curled around a red, glassy orb at the top. A large tome rest against his hip, bound in red leather, and it knocked against his hip with each stride. "You knew we were heading out today, and went drinking anyway, Manfred. I'm not listening to you complain about being hungover the entire trip out to this dungeon."

Another man was clad in dark leathers possessing a subtle sheen of enchantment glowing around the edges, with an assortment of small knives and pouches strapped across both his arms, hips, and chest. He was the shortest of the companions, but not so much as to be mistaken for any of the other races, merely enough to be almost hidden in the midst of his compatriots. The roguish fellow flipped a trio of small, tapered blades that were sized to fit in the palm, juggling them as they strolled down the road. "Lighten up, Noel. This is going to be a piece of cake. Treat it like a vacation. As long as he stands in front and flails about with that huge freakin' axe of his, I don't care if he's seeing triple. It's not like he aims where he swings, anyway."

"I do too! Just because I can hit more than one target at a time doesn't mean you have to be so snide about how you're 'the precise blade in the dark'! You're such an edgy drama queen, Flint! 'Oh look at me, I'm juggling knives in public because I think it makes me look mysterious!' Why I-"

The last member of the group studiously tuned out the argument of his companions, walking at the lead position. An older man, the crown of his head completely bare and shaven while a ring of hair circles around the sides of his head. It was a pale white from age, as was the scruffy, modest-length beard they wore. A simple brown robe adorned his body, cinched at the waist by a belt, with a dark-metal mace strapped upon it. One hand clasped against the medallion of a necklace, caressing it with his thumb, while he muttered prayers for patience under his breath. While the group was, individually, some of the strongest troops in the kingdom at various tasks each... teamwork was not something that came easily when strong egos were pushed to the same purpose.

Eventually, the man in the lead spoke up. "I expect you to finish this argument before we're out of town. You're allowed to make a scene before we're technically on-mission, but once we're in the wilds I will be expecting professionalism from all of you. I agree, I feel as if there are better uses for our attention than dealing with a new dungeon, however orders are orders. It's behaving abnormally, and needs to be dealt with swiftly and decisively. They don't want to send a mediocre team in and feed the thing. The sooner we destroy the core, the sooner we can stop dealing with each others presence."

The mage nodded in agreement immediately, and silently. It was the argumentative barbarian and thief who took their time to get a few more remarks in, while the man's fingers strayed toward the handle of his mace. Like reluctant school children, the pair chimed up a "Yes, Rodney." It didn't stop their argument, however, it just dropped the volume of it. It would have to be good enough.

The map they had was only barely acceptable, and it had been scrawled on afterward by whoever had tried to track down the dungeon's location none-too-neatly. It was the best map that had been available in this backwater hole of a town, and at least indicated the direction they needed to travel. After reaching the gates that had been readily and hurriedly opened once their approach was spotted, the group strode past the guards without so much as acknowledging their existence.

Rodney spoke up, folding the map and tucking it into a pouch upon his belt after determining the bearing and direction they needed to walk in. "So, to confirm, all the information we have is that there's a large number of aggressive birds at bronze-rank. They attack with swarming tactics, and prefer to engage in tangling close-range with opponents rather than disengage and hit-and-run. The location of the dungeon proper hasn't been explored, but is being thoroughly watched, so we can expect to get engaged in a fight the moment we breach the perimeter they're calling 'blighted lands'. The lands themselves have altered plant life, and it's possible that animal life was affected, though I doubt such a population of birds were naturally present to be corrupted. What are all of your thoughts?"

Manfred took a long draw from a skin hanging at his own waist, the scent of alcohol drifting through the group before he hurriedly stoppered it once again. "It's not like they'll be able to do anything to us. They're still bronze-rank. Do we even need to deal with them? Just push through them and smash the core. It's a lot faster to cut off their mana supply and starve them out than try to sit around and hit each and every bird we come across. Unless Noel is volunteering to cook the whole area. I haven't seen you pump out any really impressive magic for a while."

The mage maintained his walking pace without a shift in expression at the remark. "If the birds become more of a nuisance than merely keeping up a mana barrier and walking through them, I am not opposed to removing the problem."

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"You know, for a fire mage, you're the least passionate person I've ever met when it comes to magic." Flint chimed up, expression hidden away in his cowl, but his poor impersonation of the mage's voice made his amusement blatant. "I am not opposed to removing the problem." It was higher pitched and nasally, before he returned to his own normal voice. "You're a walking, man-made volcano and you're not the least bit excited to blow some shit up? God you're boring."

A crass snort of amusement escaped Manfred, and he reached over to bump a fist against Flint's shoulder, chuckling softly in agreement. "Don't be too hard on him. You never know, maybe he's trying to save up his 'spark' for the bedroom. Speaking of, Noel, I don't remember the last time I've seen that woman you fancy hanging around. Didn't scare her off did you?"

As much as the pair ragged on the mage for a response, he merely trudged along in firm silence, albeit with a steady downturn of his lips. Of course, this only encouraged the pair to try and make further crass remarks.

Rodney rubbed at his temples, head shaking slowly from side to side. "This is going to be a long walk..."

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Several hours later, the group was standing at the edge of the darkened lands, eyeing the black-hued sword-grass, the trees that twisted and lunged without wind, and the smattering of black-feathered birds staring at them from their nests in the branches. "So that's it? I guess it's enough to spook the locals. Alright, Noel, it's time to do your thing. Unless you want to traipse through that meadow as-is. You know, frolic about, get your fancy robes all cut up on that grass?" Flint took a few measured steps back, wanting to be further away from any heat.

With a sigh, Noel hefted his staff and planted it firmly before him. "Fine. But I'm not going to be the one doing all the work. I get to sit in the back and relax during the rest of the dungeon, unless something big happens." The glassy red stone at the head of the staff began to shine, pulling in mana from the surrounding environment to assist in fueling the spell. The staff worked in a slow circle as Noel began to chant, flinching slightly at the sensation of mana entering the spell. "Mana's tainted." He remarked, and the rest of the group took significantly larger strides away. The local mana could influence magic if you tapped into it, and they had no idea how this was going to affect it. Without further remark, the channeling of the spell seemed to draw to a climax, the gleam in the orb flashing brightly as Noel called out, "Greater Firestorm!"

Immediately, a swirling vortex of heated wind erupted from the staff, growing larger and larger. The air ignited, forming a roaring bonfire that was sucked into the man-sized tornado, and then it launched forward. He had intended to use it to clear a path in a straight line toward their destination, but the fire almost seemed to have a mind of its own. When the trees leaned away from the heat and flames, the tornado actively swerved aside to smash into them, igniting the trunks and sending flames licking up into the leaves. It bounced back and forth off each like a pinball, zig-zagging from tree to tree like it was determined to hit as many as possible.

"Whew, how much mana did you put in that, Noel? It's downright angry. Are you sure we want to get rid of this place? It almost seemed to make that fire stronger, damn!" Flint chimed in, while the mage's eyes narrowed. "I suspect I will need to utilize primarily my own mana going forward. Certainly for any precise spells. If they all go out of control like that, the risk of friendly fire increases dramatically."

A spitting sound emitted from Manfred, who had been mid-swallow from the flask, and he coughed in amusement. "Friendly fire, heh..." Noel gave him a scathing look, eyeing the drink in his hand pointedly, before giving a dismissive sniff and not dignifying the childish 'humor' of his semi-intoxicated companion with further response

The Picantch in the nearby trees all took to wing, cawing and calling, working themselves up into a frenzy and drawing in more and more birds from further away. "And here comes the birds. At least they seem happy enough to gather up for us." Each had their weapons at the ready, and the mage's staff was glowing dimly again in preparation. Then the flock surged forward. Saying it happened endlessly would be an exaggeration, but it felt as if the birds were trying to suffocate the group with their own bodies. Any talons that tried to find purchase scraped off each of the adventurers without harm. Even the bare-chested Manfred was only receiving small lines of markings that didn't seem to even break the skin. The teeth fared no better, but the group found it hard to advance from the sheer fact that every bit of space around them was occupied by flapping, cawing, very angry birds.

"I can't cast like this! The spell would blow up right in my own face!" Noel shouted above the cacophony, the group huddled in a vague square as each dealt with the birds closest to them with any means they could. They weren't taking damage, but they couldn't even tell which direction they had initially wanted to walk in. It was a storm of crows, no, a hurricane. For every bird that was crushed, slashed, or otherwise dispatched, there was immediately more to take its place.

"Just keep it up, there's got to be an end to these birds eventually!"

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Below, Malcom was aware of the fire that tore through his dungeon, and he felt a spike of anger tear through him in much the same fashion. When the birds began to swarm, he sent off the battalions of birds that were perched around the pillars of his central chamber. While many Picantch had been roosting outside, a much greater number roosted here. As they flew through the tunnels to join the assault on the intruders, Malcom flicked his eyes across his other troops, pondering if they needed to be sent up as well.

'No. Not yet. I don't know enough about this. You, you, and you.' Malcom mentally designated three of the Crowforged, who knelt upon receiving his attention. 'Get out there and try to scout out the intruders, then report back.' After giving his orders, he started re-summoning Picantch as quickly as he could, replacing the platforms of birds, sending them out, then replacing them again. He didn't even have to divert much mana from expanding his tunnels, as he had so much excess that it was his attention on starting each summon that was the real chokepoint. 'Let's see if the Picantch can handle it. Or at the very least, let's see how long it takes for the intruders to get tired of facing unlimited birds non-stop. I can do this all day.'