Knights of Anathaeum For Whom the Ghouls Groan

[Hector]

Ever faster his heart did race. Giants now upon them, Sir Arlo streaked forward, fearless in the face of such odds, a raging torrent of fire, and the other knight, he had downed a giant but was now disarmed. And his leg. Hector's leg. It was still being scrabbled onto by a bloody zombie!

The squire howled. Blood boiling and hot. His magic surged through his body, through his chords of muscle and up his bones, and a shimmer of soft golden light wreathed around him. Life's strength steeled his limbs, and he yanked his boot out from the undead soldier's grip with such force that its hands came apart at the wrists! The muscles in his arm flexed, and his whole body stretched back as he hefted his shield up and drove its pointed tip down on the zombie's head as it was still crawling out of the ground with a wet crack. A shout and a second drive ended the lost soul's re-animated life.

He huffed, as Lorina cried out the same horror he felt.

Hector stood, as Syr Osuin's words burned hot through the air, and did away with what fear kept tangled about his heart.

Lorina issued a new tactic. Swordless still, as Winry hacked at undead soldier after undead soldier with Hector's enchanted blade, Hector raised his shield. "Winry, fan out!" He communicated.

Winry scream-shouted and chunked one zombie right in the skull. The ghoul groaned, and Winry grunt as he pulled the sword out and gave it another squelchy hack.

"Winry!" Hector cried out again as magicked bolt streaked over head and shattered one of the Giant's arms.

Another giant, wayard and brainless. Encroached on the Squire's line. One good eye fixed on Winry. It wound its fist up in a slow lurch.

Hector grit his teeth and closed his eyes. Cold black inside his chest sparked into a blaze of red and white. His eyes opened, and he thrust an open palm forward. A sword, white hot and red, manifest in the air beside him, as if it had been pulled straight from the forge fires. Sparks trailed and dripped about it and the burning blade struck out and nailed into the giant's wrist with a wash of fire and crackling embers. It held there a moment, and with sweat rolling down his face, brow furrowed and face pinched, Hector swept his hand to the side, and the blade slashed with the motion, cleaving the rotten extremity. It fell upon other smaller zombies with a resonant crash.

The blade dematerialized, and hector let out a long breath. Took in another.

"Winry, fall back!"

Winry, eyes wide with horror, nodded and fell back to the line of veteran knights.

Hector looked to Lorina, focused his energies once more, and channeled the energy of fire into her blade. He only hoped it would work, his mind forming the shape of her blade within its space, colored so yellow and red and white in that moment.

 

[Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar]

Several ghouls scrambled towards Valdr and the young knight growled as he pulled his dagger free. It would be a good day to meet the gods. He prepared himself for the final stand when he heard a familiar snort and his courser trampled them underhoof.

Grinning beneath his helm, Valdr grabbed first the stirrup, then used that to pull himself to his knees, then the horn to aid his quest to his feet. He grabbed his steel blade from its sheathe strapped to the saddle. It was a simple blade, meant only to use on less than worthy foes. "I am in your debt once more, my friend." Valdr mused, patting his coursers neck. "Now give me the field." There would be a knowing snort before the courser trotted away.

With a roar, he slid the blade free and turned, cleaving it downwards into the encroaching ghouls skull. Brain matter flew in every which way and he would use his boot to kick the corpse free. The next ghoul, would meet a similar fate as he marched to recover his family sword. Stepping past the second fallen ghoul, he would pause to scoop up his shield and sling it, before reaching the giants corpse.

Gripping the hilt with both hands, he would twist the sword and pull upwards, freeing it. A glance to the side and he saw the band of squires now targeting a giant. The family sword would be sheathed and he would run for the young man who would impressively remove the giants hand.

Passing his javelin, he would yank it free and begin to charge, sword in one hand, javelin in the other. Reaching Hector he would shout out to the squire over the fighting. "Blade!" He would toss the young man his steel sword before planting his left foot and hefting the javelin. "Bring it down!" He would shout to the others before he launched the javelin.

The giant would lift its hand to try to swat the object away but instead its good hand would get pinned to its head as javelin pierced hand and eye. There would be a guttural groan. The impact from the blow would cause a slight stagger, any blows to the ankles were sure to cause it to topple.

Jehsalia Ruststone Hector Arlo Talworth Osuin Lorinna Astarel

 

[Jehsalia Ruststone]

Scarcely had she felled that wave of ghouls than did another spring out of the shadows. They converged immediately on her location, swollen tongues lashing from their mouths as they groaned their terrible chorus. But they were slow. So slow compared to one of Jehsalia's agility. She flowed around their grasping hands with ease, water sliding off a duck's back, steam curling away from a cup of tea. The ghouls' rotted fingers could not even catch the fabric of her robes, and they would find their feeble efforts repaid with the punishment of Jehsalia's fists and feet. Viscera and bone rained down onto the ground, and one by one the ghouls' cries quieted.

Then there came a sudden shift in the marsh's energies, the pervading sense of unlife swelling with an uncommon vigor. Jehsalia cast her gaze back to the others, eyes going wide to see the broad bodies of undead giants rising out of the fog. Worry for the squires squeezed her stomach, but -- this was the possibility that those Sworn to the Order had prepared for. There were plenty true knights on the field to guard and assist the trainees.

As if in answer to Jehsalia's thoughts, bursts of blue and red flame pushed back the darkness with renewed defiance, and her allies' shouts rang ever louder, ever fiercer. They would be fine.

Still, the gap between rear and front had grown more than Jehsalia liked. So, as a tendril from her shadow scythed the final ghoul's head off its shoulders, she made to rejoin the others, scanning the mists for more danger.

And danger did come. She felt it before she saw it, a ripple of death energy shuddering from the very ground beneath her. Jehsalia fell into a forward diving roll, dodging the giant hand that tried to seize her as it broke from the mud. The rest of the body followed with a low growl. Wet earth and chunks of flesh sloughed away, and the stench of decay strengthened.

Jehsalia turned to regard this new foe, putting her back to her allies, hiding the grin that spread across her face.

'One just for me, then.'

The giant lunged, slamming down with all the power of its great weight -- and the bloated corpse gave a confused groan, for Jehsalia was not beneath its fist as expected, but on top of it, perched on its knuckles in a comfortable kneel. Her grin widened. Steel Body's magick buzzed across her skin. Jehsalia mimicked the giant's motion, punching downward. Bone cracked, dead blood vessels burst, and the giant reeled as its right wrist ceased to be.

Its left hand came swinging in to swat Jehsalia like the fly she was. She flipped over it, one leg sweeping up and then down in a half-moon stroke, and axed her heel into the giant's left wrist as it passed beneath her. Ancient flesh exploded outward, and the hand tumbled off into the fog, lost. The giant waved its bloodied arm stumps, groaning louder.

 

[Arlo Talworth]

The flames were extinguished from the steel, yet the blade still sang out a legato of strokes that cleaved at the giant's fetid flesh. Without the flame assisting him, wounds inflicted did not sear and they did not grow beyond their incision. Yet Arlo refused to be deterred and remained diligent to the cause of felling the foe, causing great cuts across the legs of his looming target as he darted and pivoted to avoid being crushed by footfall or fast approaching weapon.

Arlo escaped a crashing blow of lumber in a tight roll and continued the attack, his torrent of cuts lashing at his foe with the assuredness of a waterfall's flow. The giant's jaw snapped and clenched as the strokes were received to the back of it's legs and ankles, it staggered from the structural damage to it's ligaments. A snarl contorted on it's features. A rumbling emanated from the dead throat, a bubbling that reminded Arlo of a drunk that failed to command the contents of their stomach.

“Assiduity to your end!” Arlo remarked as he looked up to see a bright torrent of neon green bile pour from deceased lips down upon him as the giant belched up a disgusting downpour of necrotic juices. His furrowed brow became further knotted, his eyes did not lose their fierceness as his conditioning in combat released him from the burden of doubt as to what to do. No attempt to escape was made, for there was no time to avoid this completely, Arlo knew. He brought the crossguard of his sword his eyes, as if he were saluting the giant to it's attack, as if he were resembling a statue of propriety, and urged his emboldened soul to extend to him the protection against the strange attack.

Arlo became engulfed.

The knight's defences were rudimentary and simplistic by the standards of many, and was the very reason why Arlo had been assigned to learn from the Knights of Anathaeum first and foremost. An Enshrined Blade had the training to summon a protective shield to guard them against forces arcane, yet, such techniques had become a shadow of their former glory due to the passing of all the arch mages who had served Arlo's order. A shield that had once been commanded by the Enshrined to guard them from the fiercest of arcane assaults was now a crude imitation of such great feats of deflection and defence.

What was left in Arlo's command and repertoire by virtue of his training was a summoning of brute force magic, of shimmering blue light that reacted as potassium to water to the giant's offerings. As the knight stood resolute in his own ability to defend himself from such an attack a dome of sizzling blue light could be seen brightly about Arlo as the liquid was repelled in great spats that splattered acid about him. Arlo's vision turned to darkness as his protective magic claimed it's toll as long seconds that tested his endurance in the arcane.

There was no time to educate myself from these band of knights before I had to rely on this technique!

By the end of his thought, the acid belch rescinded, and a great darkness had instead replaced the assault of bile. Arlo took a few steps back in his blindness and heard the sizzle of the liquid upon his boots, the pounding of his heart and the tingle of concern about his brow for his lack of vision. He breathed deep and smelled the awfulness of what had been produced by the giant to end him.

With darkened vision Arlo lunged forward where he remembered there was space between the giant's legs. His mind still attuned by his own vows that emboldened him to such action, yet his rational mind aware of his own vulnerability from protecting himself with such magic. His vision was clearing in small pulses that matched his heartbeat as he stepped beneath the giant, and bounded beyond the giant's shadow, exiting it's presence. As he heard another crash of the wooden club within the giant's hand from where he had been standing, he shook his head and breathed deeply in to aid his own correction of faculties.

Clear damn you, clear!

Arlo's request was half granted.

He fathomed his target and renewed his grip on the longsword. A forceful cut was issued to the Achilles tendon of this monster, and it fell apart in grey strands the buckled the opponent. The bite of his steel had done enough to snap tendon and crack bone, for it landed where he had previously engaged, and the giant fell to one knee, as if in genuflection.

The giant shuddered as it tried to move once again, but Sir Talworth was quick in his next motion. He presented himself to the exposed knee and punched the tip of his blade into the back of the knee of wounded leg with a grunt.

Bone shattered as the longsword projected through the undead's skeleton, yet Arlo was not complete in his attack. With blade still lodged within it, Arlo drew once again upon his arcane skills to command a blue flame to wreath about his blade, his hands clenching tightly as he did so, his mind envisioning the will, understanding and authority to command such aspects of arcane reality.

The response was dismal in comparison to his previous projection of fire. Yet response there was.

A small scorching light of blue was produced where blade met monster, and a sound akin to hair being burned issued from the wound as the flame laboured to engulf the wound to beget more damage. The precision of the magic was enough to complete the task. The knee exploded into uselessness, being so sundered by the initial bite and the resolving flame, and the giant tilted, keeled over, and landed upon it's face that landed in the bodily fluids it had so recently issued with a great crash.

Arlo wasted no time in pulling out the weapon and striding upon the giant's back, weapon in hand, and proceeded to sunder the neck of the creature with three thrusts of the point of his sword, ending the giant's animation with the same searing flame, and with the final blow delivered his vision completely returned to him.

As soon as Arlo had finished his attack, three more ghouls rushed up to meet him, their claws extended and reaching, their scent of the grave heavy. Arlo's own steel twirled in readiness to receive them.

“To the grave with you!” Arlo declared and went about his work once again, his eyes only upon his foes instead of his comrades. All thoughts of assessing his fellow knights had disappeared, only now the committal to winning the day, and a deeper appreciation to his own task to improve his command of the shielding spell, a task that might well save other knights from far worse arcane assaults than the stomach of necromancy's minion.

 

[Alaric Wulf]

Alaric kept his eyes trained on the squires, he was concerned that the giants would have posed too great a foe. A grin split his lips as the squires reacted accordingly, a pride for the squires swelling his chest. They were doing well, better than he had anticipated. They would make excellent knights, when the time came.

As Lorinna called out commands, Alaric followed her at more of a distance. He let the squires tackle the giant before them as a team. Instead, he danced around the field close enough to step in if need be. He kept the smaller undead from getting to close while the handled the giant.

His steel flashed wickedly, his strikes smooth as butter as he took ghoul heads from bodies. The undead went for movement, for sound, and the squires were making a lot of it. For now, he would keep them at bay until the giant was felled, that was all he could do to help the squires in this moment. All he was willing to do, unless they needed him. He had faith in their ability, and they were already proving their worth.

He kept one eye on Lorinna, she would be in immediate danger from the fetid giant. Still, he had concerns for Winry and Hector. He wasn't close enough to help, but was relieved upon seeing them receive help from the rider he did not know. Innis was providing excellent backup, and they were working well as a team. Alaric didn't even check on the veteran knights. He knew this should be child's play for them.

 

[Innis]

Somehow, they were fighting giants! Well, just the one giant on the periphery - the older knights were taking the forefront in the battle against the rest. Swampy mounds of flesh trembled and fell around them, as more honed blades hacked through sinewy tendons and burned the rot with blessed fire.

Innis ought to be exhilarated for the opportunity to practice what she so diligently trained for (and she was, how could one not be when a lumbering fiend was stomping about and threatening to squish her friends at any moment?) but there was one squire missing from the fray. Daring to stand still for a moment, she scanned the murky, misty horizon for any outline of the one who had started this all. He must have slipped away when they were all distracted with the giants. Everyone was still pretty distracted.

"Dammit, Wilhelm, where did you run off to?" She cursed, and though she had meant it to be a private comment it came out as a bit of a shout in the clamor and rush of battle. Fingers shaking, her hand hovered over the lantern tied to her belt. If she used that... but she couldn't, the cost too high, and a scolding from Syr Osuin was imminent if she did something too risky.

In front of her, the giant stepped on her familiar. The thing wasn't even winding up for an attack, just bumbling around, trying to figure out which squire to chase next. In a plume of ice and smoke, the cat shattered. Innis gasped and doubled over in pain as a piece of her mana ripped away from her. It hurt like getting thwacked simultaneously in the head and the gut hurt, a patch of her vision going dark as her mind tried to recover from the blow.

Eyes stinging with tears, she grabbed the lantern and swung it forward in front of her. The old thing, painted black with a round, ocular lens in the front, lit up ghostly blue.

"Over root and rock, through mists grey and under moonslit loch, show me the way!"

Pondwater swirled around Innis and her long coat tails billowed upwards from the ripple of magic emanating from the lantern. Almost alive, the blue lantern's eye swept across the mires of Lant, searching, searching, until it narrowed down into a direction, thinning to a pinpoint. In her mind's eye, she saw Wilhelm's scrawny form. He was kneeling on hard flagstone in the fort's ruins, hands outreached in desperate praise to an emaciated and crumpled figure. Tattered blue robes trailed off the bones of the dead man, embellishments of gold glinting where the muck had been smeared off of them. Couched across the zombie's shoulder was a ceremonial scepter with the emblem of Lant carved into the top of it. A fish leaping from some imagined stream, a golden pearl grasped in its mouth. The scepter belonged to a lord, but a lord long dead, with nothing left to rule over but rot and broken stone.

"Wilhelm's in trouble! He's fighting something at the center of the ruins!" The lantern's weight and the loss of her familiar was taking its toll on Innis. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the chill in the air, and the swirl of water around her slowed, drops peeling off and sprinkling back into the still water at her feet. The image fading into haze, she saw the dead thing raise its scepter to strike. No, they wouldn't reach him in time! She tightened her grip on the lantern and pushed the momentum of the spell forward.

Take me there, she urged. Tiny hands reached out from the eye of the lantern and pulled at her, grabbing her fingers, crawling up her arm, pulling at her soul until something came loose. Then she was in two places at once.

Her body stood calf-deep in the mire with everyone else, unmoving and unseeing.

The bulk of her anima stumbled into being right between Wilhelm and the husk of Lant. Innis raised her hands up, which were nothing more than thin lines of mana, and caught the scepter between her palms. Little hands bolstered her form, fanning out to form a shield against the sparking magic of the scepter.

She was doing it, this was unbelievable, this was awesome, this is not going to last -- the dour thought broke through Innis as her astral form wavered. I can only keep this up for a few more seconds. All she could do was hope that someone else had heard her and would think up a more permanent solution in the meantime.

Hector Jehsalia Ruststone Arlo Talworth Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar Osuin Lorinna Astarel Alaric Wulf

 

[Osuin]

Osuin's words, though harsh, conveyed a lesson in battle he considered highly valued. And they had found purchase within the ears of the squire, Hector, who called out to Winry with announcement A wise adjustment to make, but Winry hardly seemed attentive, opting to continue to do battle with the zombies instead of the far more pressing giant looming ever closer. Osuin departed towards the hapless squire. Jehsalia saw it too, and she began to make her way over as Osuin did. But he only made a few steps in his direction before Hector gave him cause to cease.

The situation had not escaped the squire’s notice either, and Hector was readying magic to aid his ignorant comrade. A blade of fire tore loose the giant’s threatening limb, crushing several of the corrupt undead beneath it as Osuin slowed to a stop. Hector had been valiant in coming to the rescue of his friend, but it was Winry’s own inattention that placed himself in danger.

“Winry! Keep your head about you next time! Situational awareness extends beyond your personal battle.” Osuin barked out towards Winry, who hurriedly made his return towards the rear lines of the Knights. He clearly didn’t operate well under stress, a fault Osuin would need to correct. He bemoaned the remedial training required, but he’d not allow Winry to fall casualty to his own deficiencies. A knight would be forged of him yet.

Further ahead, Valdr was in the thick of battle. Ghouls fell left and right to his blade as the warrior made his way towards Hector and the giant. For Hector, he had a sword, delivered handle first. For the giant, he had a javelin, driving point first though its hand and eye. Jehsalia had returned to the thick of battle as well, with Winry no longer requiring aid. She took on one of the giants on her own, dealing with him quite capably. Arlo too, remained within the fray. When Osuin spotted him, he was deftly hacking a giant down by its ankles. It seemed he’d found Lorinna’s suggestion favourable, and the strategy had shown itself effective. Alaric was in the rear, ensuring the squires were dispatching their foes without issue. They valiantly had been, save for Winry’s recent folly, and save for a far more pressing issue discovered.

"Wilhelm's in trouble! He's fighting something at the centre of the ruins!" Innis’s call caught Osuins attention in an instant, and the Knight Pursuant made his immediate headway towards her. Sloshing through the swamp, each footstep sank into the soft mud as he hurriedly made his way over, his shield held at the forefront for protection against what ghouls he might clash with on the way. One did jump at him, but a deft smash of his shield sent it tumbling back into the swamps, allowing Osuin clear passage in his continued haste.

In short order he'd made it to Innis, finding her in a trance-like state. It must be scrying magic of some sort, and the cause for Innis' awareness of Wilhelm's noted peril. Rather than disturb Innis with in inquiry, Osuin focused his own energies to sense her magic, and the direction she had been projecting it towards. It wasn't enough to give him a precise location beyond the general area of the ruins themselves, confirming what Innis had explicitly announced.

“Get to the ruins! We need magical support!” Osuin bellowed out before departing once more, making his own headway there at a sprint. Further ghouls were in the way, but that did not slow the bulky knight down. His sword held point-out, he impaled it into the throat of one and slammed his round shield against the skull of the other. Both dropped beneath him, allowing him to trample onward. Desperate to both reach the endangered squire, and for the assistance of any who heard his and Innis' call.

Lorinna Astarel Hector Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar Jehsalia Ruststone Arlo Talworth Alaric Wulf Innis

 

[Hector]

Blade. He heard the word clear as day. A knight in silver armor, with wings ,of gold across the sterling plate. A hand reached out and took a hold of the leather-wrapped handle that was offered, the castle-forged blade shone in the dim light of the knight as the young squire pulled it down across the chest of a fetid frame. Flesh, putrid, gave way to the steel. The undead expeditionary groaned as half his body threatened to slough off, and Hector but rammed it with the flat of his shield, breaking the being apart.

"Hold the line, make way for the pursuant and sworn to break through!" Hector cried out fiery and hot. He stabbed his blade into the neck of one monster, rammed it off the length of his blade as he moved in behind Syr Osuin and those knights who rushed after him.

In the commotion, he noted Innis, statue still in the flank of their previous formation. He grit his teeth and looked down the field where the mysterious knight of golden wings had sallied through the undead souls, and where his fellow squires held the front. He hacked at one undead creature, diagonal cut down from the crook of the neck that saw it sag to the squelchy earth. "Winfry, hold the line here, I will guard Innis!" he called out as he smashed his shield into an undead. "Leave the giant killing to the more experienced knights!" He cried out, and hacked at the chest of another animated creature.

The sword stuck. He had to wiggle it out as the skeletal animation tried to gnash and scratch and claw at him. With a wet squelch, his sword came free and he dropped a waist high boot heel right into the undead soldier's gut. The thing stumbled back from the blow, and Hector's eyes found the deseprate Sir Arlo, hacking mad at the men turned monsters.

A deep moment of centered thought. Sword drawn to his chest, hilt pleaced at his centerline, blade up against his crown. He raised the sword up, and a golden light shimmered along its steeled length. Warmth sapped from his limbs as the light stuck up into the heavens.

If allowed, the light would find Sir Arlo. A boon of pain resistance, a swell of energy born from the pursuit of life that would steady the arm and give strength to those muscles that might give way to fatigue.

Arlo Talworth Lorinna Astarel Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar Innis Osuin Jehsalia Ruststone Alaric Wulf

 

[Alaric Wulf]

Alaric paused as he pulled his blade from the jaw of one of the undead that had shuffled toward him. Innis's voice had reached him, and he felt himself torn. He didn't want to leave the squires he had been keeping track of, yet there was a squire in need of immediate aid.

"Lorinna! I am leaving you to assist another, keep on as you are. I have faith in you and your fellow squires." His voice rose over the groans and thuds of battle. He made sure he was heard before turning on his heel and making haste towards the ruins. Syr Osuin already ahead of him.

He watched as the man ahead of him plowed through the undead, and he grinned at the sight of it. Alaric was confident in his own abilities, but rather than worry about the clambering undead, he moved unhindered through them. It was a dance, and he was nimble and quick.

As he approached Syr Osuin he gave a quick shout. "I'm behind!" He wanted the knight to know he was on his heels, lest cold steel hit friend instead of foe on accident. Though he possessed no magic himself, he would support and help the endangered squire.

 

[Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar]

As expected, the young Squire would catch the blade with ease, before continuing on with his purging of the undead. As the others brought down the last of the re-animated giants with a thundering crash, Valdr began to wade forward through the enemy. Family sword once more in hand as it carved through any fiend brazen enough to step in his way.

A shout of alarm would pierce over the cry of combat: Wilhelm's in trouble! He's fighting something at the center of the ruins!

Valdr's visor would sweep the landscape until he saw the building in question. Some of the more experienced Knights began to charge for the ruin, and so would he. One mighty knight led the charge, a broad shouldered warrior as he barreled through the undead.

While he and Alaric charged through the soft murk, Valdr would stay to higher ground, his shield raised high as he charged like a battering ram through a group of undead. They were not dead, but they were staggered and would take some time to recover. Reaching the ruins, he would have to engage the larger force of Ghouls and fight from building to building.

He was just thankful they were dealing with undead and not a trained army. A larger undead, an Orc, barred his passage and the Warden issued a challenge as he drove his shield into the abominations chest, pinning it against the wall behind it. Massive claws raked at his armor, battering him with each impact. Another roar and Valdr drove his blade into the snapping jaw. A hideous squelch gave way to a release of ash as the undead being disintegrated from his blade.

"Wilhelm!" Valdr would shout out as he turned to look through the various run down hovels for a sign of the boy. A ghastly shriek pierced the din of battle and Valdr cursed as as he was hurled against a nearby wall.

A blue glow would enter his view, taking the form of an ethereal knight. A sword wraith, just his luck. As Valdr pushed himself to his feet, the wraith would lurch forward, its blade aimed for his neck. Family sword drifted up to catch the ethereal blade, causing the wraith to recoil, before releasing another shriek.

The wraith would strike again and again, trying to break down his defenses. Each impact would thankfully be absorbed by the silver in his blade, combating the drain of the abomination. Valdr would go on the offensive, his silvered blade catching more ground with each impact. With his blade distracted, the free arm of the wraith swept towards the Warden. A shield rose, but the hand would pass through. First the shield, then himself. Immediately, an exhaustion would wash over him, the blade in his hand gaining a weight it had never known.

His armors weight grew and he dropped to a knee. The Sword-wight loomed overhead, sensing its victory. He would have to shed what he could and so his shield was the first to be cast aside. Both hands were now required to wield his family sword, both to lift it overhead and catch the downward swing.

 

[Arlo Talworth]

The sound of communication between the warriors was greatly appreciated by the knight Sir Arlo. He was trained to settle the minds of those of weaker resolve with his presence and found the present condition of the battlefield to be satisfactory to his senses. Despite the muck underfoot and despite the shambling dead, Arlo felt a sense of ease and satisfaction. He had observed these warriors in the field and not found them wanting. So many skilled swordsmen, of various ranks and titles... Arlo wondered that if this was the power of mere squires and knights sworn, what powers would be wielded by those of greater rank?

We have a lot to learn from these of the Anathaeum, Arlo decided. But now, there must be providence to those just in the field, Arlo concluded.

Upon this thought, a great stream of light met him, and filled him with the lore of life's touch from the actions of one Hector. Arlo smiled and gave a pleasant laugh, all the more cheery for being surrounded by so much darkness. He was not too gravely concerned for his own present condition. The deeper entrenched he was in peril the better his mood, for it was an opportunity to prove himself a paragon of valour. So it went for all Enshrined Blades.

A smile crept upon his features as he realised that the light signalled aid, aid that had been offered without asking or demanding it from his comrades.

“Pleasant day indeed, when such boons are granted with a wit of initiative,” Arlo said to himself as he provided another swordstroke to the enemy. The knight found the blow to be delivered as fresh as his first delivered upon the field and gave another, “Hah!” at the sensation. These mage knights, he thought, are generous, and have much utility in their bones.

Zeal demanded that he press on. He felt his muscles tingle, the acid of exhaustion cleansing from his system at the arcane presence of his benefactor Hector, and so he did as duty demanded.

Weaving and providing cut after cut to the shambling dead, Arlo was unpressured and almost relaxed in his attacks. Cutting down ghouls was a mundane affair in comparison to the giant that had been so recently contended with. With the boon of his comrade, he was able to fight on with a clear head. The perspiration upon his brow was not born of fierce temper or anger, but exertion applied evenly and fluidly. The angered mind was one that failed to react to the ever changing battlefield, this much he knew from his training. Enshrined Blades were expected to be commanders, champions in the field who might arrest a failing situation and wrench victory from the jaws of defeat. It would not do to be bested by these lesser mockeries of life.

A cry from another comrade, faintly heard. A name, not quite made out to Arlo's ears, for a ghoul had beset him with foul speech before it was severed from it's soul by virtue of steel's embrace. Arlo noticed the other warriors making approach to the ruin, and so, not wanting to be left alone and bereft of glory in the field, made his own way through without further prompting.

Best reply with such initiative to aid with my own, Arlo thought. It would not do to face Hallowed Castigation with a report that ended with me floundering on my own and without eyes upon the critical moment of success.

Or failure.

Boots trod swiftly, pivoting with each cut delivered by necessity to obstacles newly presented. Sword strokes were granted and received without delay or hesitation.

Soon, Arlo's eyes were upon the wraith that beset itself upon Rangvaldr, seeing how the hand did rake through the material and caused anguish to his newly found comrade. A comrade who had ridden so confidentially into combat and caused such a rift in the enemy line now faced a singular foe. A foe that Arlo had read upon in tomes, and never set blade against.

There was but one possible solution at Arlo's disposal. He waited for the opportune moment as he harnessed his strength. It might seem as if he was set aback by fear. But it was diligence and patience that stayed his hand as he harnessed his own understanding of the killing arts infused by magic.

I will show these of the Anathaeum that I am not without magical wit of my own to quell the threat before us, Arlo thought as he gripped his sword firmly within his gauntlets.

While the wraith was contending with Rangvaldr, Arlo had opportunity to perform the manoeuvrer. The wraith's eyes shone with malevolence as it contended with Rangvaldr, and at an exact moment of a swordstroke from the undead, Arlo made two swift advancing steps, springing forward with blade placed point forward and resting at his left hip. A position known as boar's tusk designed to gouge and impale foes. While there were no guts to pierce in the foe before him, there would be an extension of the blade with out thrust hands so that the blade was at the maximum range of his blade, pointing as far forward as one could muster, the stance known as posta longa.

The blade ejected, and as it sang through the air, was enriched by Arlo's will. The defensive magic that had surrounded him to contend with the giant's bile was now weaponised to full effect. A shimmering gripped the blade as it clashed against the wraith's essence. While steel itself did no damage against the thing, for it was but steel, the defensive magic crackled and dissipated in shuddering pulses of energy as Arlo amplified the magic to it's most powerful application. Instead of protecting one, it provided total dissolution to the wraith that arched it's back, impaled, lost to the ether and severed from the magic it had been animated by. It faded from view, and the blade retracted as quickly as it had impaled it.

He sprung back in two retreating steps, and looked to his comrade, who wielded silver blade.

“After you,” Arlo said with a smile.

Lorinna Astarel Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar Innis Osuin Jehsalia Ruststone Alaric Wulf