A village under attack!

You journey through the rolling grasslands and hills toward the mountains looming in the distance. As you do, the sounds of a pitched battle grow louder and louder. Finally, cresting the top of a hill, you find yourself looking down on a small village nestled in the roots of the first actual mountain in the chain. It looks vaguely European in style, comfortable to your sensibilities. Sharply-angled roofs to shed snow, narrow streets cobbled with stone, windows covered with glass show that the inhabitants know a thing or two about manufacturing. Oh, and it is under attack by the Fell.

Even as you watch, an unorganized mob of vaguely ape-like figures swarm up the walls of an inn or tavern. A pair pry a shutter off of a window and wiggle inside, and then another. An explosion or some other great **** interrupts your observations as one of the intruders is thrown bodily back out of the window to fall broken on the stone street below. Other howls of consternation and rage indicate that the Fell aren’t having their way against whoever is defending that building.

The situation is one you’ve seen repeated over and over back in the old world. You are wearily, bloodily familiar with the flow of battle and the ways that the Fell conduct their war. The hordes of lesser Fell are usually unwilling to attack a settlement like this without something greater directing them. Yes. Standing on a raised area overlooking the town is a dark figure, much larger than the minions swarming through the streets. He gestures, and a group of hulking troll-like figures break off and advance, swinging large clubs eagerly. Their intent is clear. With the smaller, weaker Fell tying down the defenders they will be unable to respond as the Trolls dismantle the town one building at a time. If the defenders were able to organize and face the trolls with massed spears or firearms, they would be successful.

Well, there’s no time like the present and you don’t intend to let the Fell have their way. You circle back down the hill you’ve been observing the battle from and use it to obscure your movement. Breaking into a ground-eating jog you begin making your way around to the rear of the Fell’s ragtag position. You scan for something to use as a weapon as you move, but the only vegetation in this area is low brambles and bushy weeds. You wind up having to settle for a couple of fist-sized rocks that you pry from a dry river bed. Its not your first choice, but you've made do with worse. Of course, you no longer have the power of a god coursing through your veins, but you can always fall back on literal millennia of experience. Plus, the Fell should have been similarly reduced in power by their projection to this as-yet untouched world.

You come upon the commander like a storm. You charge the small honor guard surrounding him with silent fury. One goes down as a thrown rock caves the back of its head in moments before you crash into the second, palming the rock and crushing its temple as it turns in confusion to see what was happening. Two more remain, as well as the looming figure of the commander. You snatch a jagged axe out of the air as its former owner slides boneless down to the ground at your feet. White bone and tar-black flesh, red glowing eyes devoid of pity or remorse, the Fell turn on you with fury. One with the head of a goat literally lowers its head and charges you, sparks flying as its iron-hard hooves strike the stony ground. You stand your ground and with exquisite timing catch its horn with one hand and an arm with the other. Ducking a shoulder underneath its center of balance and spinning to rob its momentum for yourself, you throw the thing up and away down the hill just in time to meet the second.

You had to drop your stolen weapon to free your hands, so you have nothing to stop the armored fist that crashes into your jaw. You are able to rob the blow of some of its **** by giving way to it, but you are still knocked head over heels onto the ground. You buy yourself a moment by kicking the dead body lying next to you into the feet of the pugilist and snatch the axe up as you roll away from a mancatcher-type polearm that crashes down where your head was moments ago. The Fell commander, now revealed as a champion of Greed, turns the thrust into a debris-flying sweep and tears a swath through your left arm despite the **** attempts of evasion. Fortunately, the two foes tangle for a moment over where you used to be, giving you time to regain your feet.

"A god! We had heard some of you had escaped somehow, and now we know how! All that you had is now ours, and I will devour your heart and claim your power as my own!" Crows the Greed Fell. The greater Fell are intelligent, able to speak and plan and command their lesser versions. If given the opportunity, it could draw more of its kind like insects detecting an invader of their hive. Displays of divine power also draw them irresistible. You aren't overly worried though. As far as it is above the normal Fell, it still doesn't reach the level of a Jotun hero or one of the Titan's monsters. Your axe takes the hands of its last bodyguard as it tries to grab you, and you stomp-kick it in the chest back into the spiked polearm of the commander as it tries to take advantage of their superior numbers. It would have been able to defend itself better if it had been willing to let go of the tangled weapon, but asking an incarnation of Greed to let go of something it has claimed is an exercise in futility. The commander's head fly's off with your reverse stroke, and you are left alone on the hilltop amidst the bodies of the enemies.

A chest sits nearby, spoils that the Fell had been collecting impulsively from its victims. You close it and latch it shut before shouldering the burden easily and making your way down toward the town. You note with satisfaction if not surprise that the attack has faltered immediately on the **** of the driving **** behind the Fell. The lesser beings are trying to flee as individuals and rather dumb ones at that. The towns militia is falling on them like wolves, long spears pinning them in place for crossbowmen to finish off. There is a flash of gold as a woman with long unruly blonde hair and a spectacular figure crashes into the midst of the last semi-organized knot of resistance. Her corset-like brown vest and hip-length black shorts proudly display an athletic figure that begs for further inspection. What draws your attention, however, are the golden gauntlets that she uses with shattering effectiveness. Even as you watch, she punches a gorilla-sized Fell full in the mouth and triggers an explosion at the point of impact that sends it through a stone wall. More punch-like motions scythe a series of shotgun blasts through the packed ranks, and soon she is victorious if breathing hard. You enjoy the way that motion emphasizes the swell of her high breasts, but are unable to give the sight your full attention as you are still in a war zone and do not wish to fall victim to an unexpected attack. You lose sight of her a moment later when she leaps up onto and over a sharply-angled roof with a recoil-assisted shotgun jump.

You are able to find one of the militia's officers and offer your assistance in mopping up. They are not in a position to be picky and you spend another half-hour or so killing Fell stragglers and fighting some of the fires that have sprung up during the fighting. Its a weary but satisfied god that eventually stumbles back to the inn, where a celebration of sorts has already begun. You slap a couple coins from the chest down on the bar while resting your foot on the closed box to keep track of the rest of your reclaimed gold. "Food and your best drink!" You call loudly into the boisterous atmosphere. Soon you are enjoying your first meal in the new world.