Shadows & Soldiers

“Gh...hhk...!” A pair of trembling, gauntleted hands slowly slip down the shaft of Krvavy’s Soulbound weapon, their grip growing weaker with every second that passes. “Hhknnngh...” Blood flows freely from a deep and devastating wound, climbing up the oversized axehead wedged through collarbone and buried deep into shattered ribs. Those feeble arms go limp.

[Patrolling Soldier Four] has been slain!
+648 Experience

A sharp twinge of pain accompanies the ‘kick’ that sees that weapon dislodged from this desiccated corpse.

“Ngh...” The Drakling grunts, her fingers wrapping around the crossbow bolt lodged in her left leg. “Hhhn...” Flesh squirms and writhes, muscles and meat knitting back together as skin and scales stretch across the bleeding hole in her thigh, that wound closing at the insistence of her magic.

+60 Health

Krvavy’s lips press into a thin line. She really needs a better healing spell...

Knit Flesh is good at closing wounds, restoring some of the health lost to the creation of those cuts, but that alone isn’t enough. She is slowly getting whittled down by injuries that she can’t heal, be they lighter bruising bumps or blasts of magic that barely break her skin.

“Tsk.” Krvavy clicks her tongue and pushes those thoughts aside, before glancing over to the other three bodies laying nearby. They need to be drained too.

She might not have used as much mana taking out this patrol compared to the last one – who could have known that partially turning a bunch of people into stone uses more mana than speedily slaughtering some soldiers with the help of Wind Magic? – but she still used more than she would have liked.

And while that blood is being put to better use... the barbarian’s attention turns towards the notification that popped up at the start of this most recent fight.

Level Up! You have reached Level 31. As a Drakling blessed by a divine power, you have 7 attribute points to allocate and have gained +2 to Might & Toughness. If not allocated by the time you fall asleep, it will be done automatically.

+2 Divine Favour, for growing in strength.

Krvavy is very tempted to put those points into Toughness, just to get some more health. The smoke and ash hanging in the hazy air, stinging her lungs with every breath she takes, is giving her some different ideas though. It is really starting to bother her. And so those seven points go into Endurance instead, bringing the base amount up to a flat forty. Which doesn’t increase her stamina enough to make a noticeable difference...

The Drakling shakes her head and steps away from those dried up bodies, continuing down the street they had effectively cut her off from.

Hopefully she is heading in the right direction...

The buildings around here are a bit closer together, with just some alleyways and side streets separating them from each other. But despite that, they aren’t quite as fiery as the outskirts were. Have the Duke’s men been sparing the more valuable buildings so that they actually have something to rule over once all of this is done, or have these fires simply not been burning long enough to reduce everything into ash...?

Wisps of sooty smoke billow on by as Krvavy steps past an almost entirely intact storefront, the windows on both floors blocked off by blinds, curtains, and shutters.

A large, empty space stands before the barbarian. A chaotic assortment of stalls dot the square ahead, all in different states of disarray. Some have been partially tipped over, their sparse contents spilled onto the ashen ground, while others have been hastily packed up, the occasional bit of merchandise left behind and forgotten.

In the very center of this silent market rests a rug. One untouched by the ashen soot. And atop it dances –

“Krvavy...!” Shadow’s annoyingly indecipherable voice pierces through the haze. “There you are...!”

– naught but swirling smoke, blowing dusty flakes of ash across that carpet.

A slight twinge of unease pokes deep into the barbarian’s belly. The corner of her eye twitches, a wave of annoyance washing away that odd feeling. “Took you long enough.” She grumbles, turning to glare into the impenetrable darkness beneath the hood of that approaching figure.

“It is not easy to find a lone, moving target in this environment.” Even knowing that this is a magical copy of the Countess isn’t enough to recognize Rina in the way Shadow speaks. There is none of her elegance or eloquence, none of her charismatic charm.

Krvavy’s pale lips twist into a scowl. “Yet you could easily find me in busy Raseyne.”

“A Drakling as tall and as eye-catching as you does not blend well into crowds.” This frustratingly cloaked figure plainly states. “But more than that, the armour you are currently wearing has some obfuscating properties, enough to hide even the Divine-Touched aspects of your soul. Which makes it quite difficult to single you out by mana signature.”

The barbarian bites her tongue and lifts her gaze, peering into the darkness hanging above their heads. A deep orange glow flickers and burns behind the buildings that surround this market square. “Just point me towards the Duke already.”

Shadow’s hood bobs in a subtle nod. “Of course. But first,” a gloved hand slips inside that obscuring cloak, pulling free an unassuming trinket. Which is promptly held out for the barbarian to take. “Here. This will provide some measure of protection against the Duke’s magics. Though do be warned that its power will wane with increased use, the enchantments running hotter and hotter to the point that the physical materials can bear no more.”

Krvavy’s armoured fingers grab onto that little metal disk. She immediately uses Inspect on it... only to wince as that sends a stab of pain arcing through her brain.

“It is also heavily warded against attempts at scrying, as to prevent Dovoryn from discovering what it does. Otherwise he could purposefully target it in an attempt to remove its protection. Or he may simply aim to overload it, if he knew that was a possibility.”

“Mnh. So it is more of a deterrent than anything.” The Drakling idly states, clipping that trinket onto her loincloth belt, nestled between the base of her tail and that pouch partially filled with snacks. There are enough things dangling around her hips for it to not stand out.

“To some degree, yes.”

Krvavy impatiently shakes her head. “And where would I actually find him?”

“At or within the Baron’s keep, no doubt.” Shadow calmly answers, gloved hands harmlessly dropping down to their sides. “As for how you will get there... Simply head that way,” one of those hands points across the market square, to a wider road. “Continue straight until you reach a blacksmith, then turn right. Following that street will lead you to an inn with a large red sign in the shape of a crescent moon. Take the road directly to the left of that inn. From there you need only head uphill.”

The Drakling nods and immediately turns to leave. Delicate fingers grab onto her wrist, their touch soft and familiar despite the firm leather covering those shadowy digits.

“Wait.” A light jingling rings through the hazy air as a locket, with a silver linked chain and all, is pressed into Krvavy’s palm. “Can you deliver this to the Baron? It will allow him to directly communicate with the Countess, so that Raseyne may more swiftly aid in cleaning up this mess once the siege has ended. And you will, of course, be rewarded handsomely for this favour.”

Krvavy glares into the darkness beneath that damned hood. “Fine.” She hisses, tearing her arm free from this sneaky schemers grip before dropping that necklace into the same pouch where Thea’s letter rests. Her inhuman feet leave tracks in the ash as she truly heads off.

The barbarian’s face scrunches into a slight scowl as she stares down the street ahead.

Blocking off the road is a line of logs, each embedded with dozens of wooden stakes. Behind those obstacles stands a short wall of crates and stacked sacks. A defensive line.

One that has been breached and abandoned. Almost certainly due to the fact that the large stone building directly beside it has been reduced to rubble, bricks and burning debris blocking off the road better than those wooden fortifications could ever hope to.

The barbarian glances behind her. Quite a few paces away stands that red moon inn, its crescent shaped sign just barely visible within the smokey haze. She is on the right path, following the directions that Shadow gave her.

A wave of annoyance washes over Krvavy as she marches onward. She could go around all of this, but then she might lose her path. So it is better to just go over and through it.

The flat of her oversized axe lightly swats aside one of those spiky logs. “Nh...” Krvavy’s clawed gauntlet grabs onto one of the crates as she hefts herself up, treating those boxes like uncomfortably tall stairs.

Her emerald eyes sweep across the rubble. Judging by what remains of the building... of the partially buried bunk beds and occasional weapons scattered about... this must have been a garrison. One which was targeted by the Duke’s artillery, a large broken ball of charcoal and metal resting amidst all of the rocky rubble.

As carefully as she can, Krvavy climbs across this mound of debris. The smoke grows thicker as she passes by burning logs and planks. Broken bricks crumble and tumble beneath her inhuman feet, dislodged beneath her weight.

“Bastards...!” A furious voice pierces through the crackling of flames. “Bastards, the lot of you...!”

The Drakling stifles a sigh. Of course. If this was a defensive line, then it makes sense that there would have been people here to defend it... Well, there’s no helping it.

Krvavy creeps closer, crouching down behind the partially intact remains of a rather sturdy stone wall. She leans to the side and cranes her neck, squinting her watery eyes as she struggles to see through the smoke beyond this cover.

Corpses litter the ground ahead, well over two dozen dead and already being buried in ash. Some of those bodies are being dragged aside by soldiers, placed in an orderly row, while others are ignored. Beyond a single unmoving knight in shining armour... All of the dead are dressed similarly, in padded gambesons with the occasional bit of plate or mail, though those ignored are... noticeably less well equipped. Even the dull blue fabric of their quilted armour looks thinner.

“These bastards...!” A slightly pained grunt accompanies those hate-filled words, followed shortly by a sharp breath as that ranting knight’s heavily dented breastplate is removed and handed off to be hammered back into shape. “These...! Bastards...!” His gauntleted hand sweeps through the air and strikes the face... of a man bound and gagged on the ground before him.

“Vladik.” Another knight speaks up, dim firelight glinting off his silvery armour. A sword with a handle nearly as long as its blade stands beside him, pommel pressed into the ground. “They surrendered.”

“TWICE NOW!” An armoured heel stomps onto the stomach of that bound man, the **** of that strike hardly hindered by mail and gambeson. “ARE WE GOING TO GIVE THEM A THIRD CHANCE?!”

“They are our prisoners.” A third knight sternly speaks up, his armour bulkier and a matte grey.

A soft shhhng of a sword being drawn serves as the response to that statement. The tip of that blade presses into the throat of this bound and prone prisoner, who defiantly lifts his chin... even as blood drips down his bruised face.

“They killed the Captain.” A cold fury fills the soon-to-be executioner’s voice. “I am his second in command.”

The knight with the swordstaff turns his helmeted head away.

Krvavy grits her teeth. Everyone present sees where this is going, and she is no different. Her fingers idly touch the leafy bracelet wrapped tight around her armoured wrist. Those twiggy little vines extend into solid reddish-brown wood as she makes up her mind.

“We do not need prisoners.” A droplet of fresh blood is drawn out by that sword’s sharp edge. “They will have no value come morning. They are only keeping us occupied. Wasting our time. There are better ways for us to enact the Duke’s will than this.”

“Sir, that –”

“Insubordination?!” That blade turns towards one of the Duke’s men, its tip nearly touching that uncertain soldier’s chest. “Follow your orders! The enemy are to be execu–ttdh!”

768.22 Damage dealt to [Bloodthirsty Knight]

The viciously barbed head of a javelin pierces through the quilted fabric which should rest beneath a breastplate, tearing through muscle and flesh as it sinks into that knight’s lower back, narrowly missing his spine.

Damage notifications flit through the Drakling’s mind as she lunges out of the smoky rubble, landing on mostly flat ground. Immediately, a bark-like mirage shimmers across Krvavy’s skin, Oakflesh being activated just as a mace is swung her way.

-2.78 Health

Only for it to bounce off her bare bicep, feeling like little more than a rough bump.

Krvavy’s fingers wrap around the haft of her Soulbound weapon as she shifts its weight from her left hand to her right, swiftly and unceremoniously bringing its hammer down towards the helmeted head of the soldier who dared attack her.

429.75 Damage dealt to [Mace Soldier]

That strike didn’t have much strength to it, relying mostly on the weight of her weapon, but is still more than enough to disorientate that man, leaving him open for –

“Begone demon!” A bulky steel pauldron slams into that soldier’s side, knocking him out of the way as a heavily armoured figure barrels towards the barbarian, warpick raised high.

Krvavy takes a step back and strikes at that weapon, haft hitting haft as slightly curved spike gets hooked beneath the long beard of her axe. She twists her Soulbound weapon to the side, trying to tear that pick from her enemy’s hands, but his grip is too tight. He simply leans forwards, his strength battling that of this barbarian. Which suits Krvavy well enough.

973.48 Damage dealt to [Bulky Knight]

Her knee crashes into an armoured chest. Earthen magic echoes out from that strike, driving back this knight, his gauntleted hands slipping from that weapon of his as he wheezes in pain.

“K-khiiill...hhghhkk...!” That hatefully choked word is barely legible, blood dripping down the chin and flowing freely from the wounds of that first knight Krvavy attacked, her javelin still skewered through his stomach as he rests on the ground where he once stood, doubled over in agony. “Khiii-iihhkklll...!” A soldier kneels by his side, fumbling at the pouches on his belt and struggling to retrieve a small vial of murky red liquid. Not that it would be much help. “khhhlllhnnh...”

[Bloodthirsty Knight] has been slain!
+1,882.5 Experience

Krvavy hardly acknowledges that sight nor those notifications. The spiked fang at the other end of her Soulbound weapon punctures the bulky grey armour of the foe in front of her, piercing his side yet not digging deep enough to deal any damage. Annoying, but not a problem. She just needs to tear those thick plates apart and –

-0.11 Health

A gauntleted fist slams into her stomach, barely causing any damage yet still forcing her back a step, half a gasp escaping past her lips. She grits her teeth and rips her weapon free from this bulky bastard’s armour, ready to bring it back down.

Dim firelight gleams off shining metal at the edge of her vision.

The barbarian barely has more than a fraction of a second to react as a long bladed swordstaff flies towards her bare throat. With no chance of dodging it, she tilts her head and leans into that strike, catching that razor edge on her lower right horn... and redirecting it towards her face.

-86.14 Health

Metal clangs against metal as her helmet mask does its job well enough, that blade crashing into the dark plates covering her cheeks as it slices through the bridge of her nose.

-139.78 Health

Pain arcs through Krvavy’s very being as that swordstaff is swiftly drawn back, its undoubtedly enchanted edge sweeping across her face in that agonizingly smooth motion. The pointed tip of that long weapon cuts into her cheekbone before gliding through the deep notch in her nose, flicking her own blood into her right eye as it narrowly misses that emerald iris.

To add insult to injury, a heavy crossbow bolt shoots through the air, striking her left arm. Though, luckily, this time her armour fully negates that attack, little more than a scratch getting left on it as that bolt is deflected to the side.

“Deal with this beast before the prisoners!” The sole surviving ice knight shouts, swordstaff swirling around at an inhuman speed to create space for his bulkier, and presumably more mundane, comrade to rearm himself... by appropriating the mace from that soldier he knocked aside.

“Hhhh...!” A hissed breath passes through the barbarian’s bared teeth, her nose left unusable as the scent of blood fills her airway. Her core pulses with power. Mana rushes through her channels, diffusing out through her skin and scales. The wind around her begins to whirl, blowing the smoke away as she is swiftly surrounded by a Turbulent Shroud. Which immediately proves itself useful, redirecting another loosed bolt away from her body just enough that it can do no more than graze her outer thigh.

-48.71 Health

A trail of ice and frost streaks across the ashen ground, marking the path of that swordstaff wielding knight as he blitzes past, the tip of his long weapon bypassing her guard and sinking into her stomach, before once more flicking flicking to the side.

-122.65 Health

Little crystals of cold begin to coalesce around those wounds, their chill ignored and ineffective. By instinct alone, the Drakling’s thick and meaty tail flicks to the side.

138.4 Damage dealt to [Opportunistic Soldier]

That armoured appendage slams into the stomach of some sneaky bastard, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling away.

Rage burns through the barbarian’s very being, fed by her pulsing pain and the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her emerald eyes, the sclera pinkish and faintly bloodshot from all the smoke that had been stinging them for hours already, struggle to follow the speedy knight in shining armour. She lifts an inhuman foot up, and brings it straight down in a true Seismic Stomp.

Like a single droplet of water falling into a still pond, the ashen ground ripples around her, echoing outwards in all directions.

The faintest grin plays at Krvavy’s spread lips as that far too fast knight stumbles and trips, flailing a fair bit as he fights gravity to stay on his feet. A handful of meager damage notifications flit past her eyes as the soldiers nearest to her wince, their ankles and knees not enjoying the wave of rocky earth that just passed beneath their feet, leaving the ground uneven and jagged in its wake.

That smile doesn’t last long though.

The bulky knight, still wheezing and struggling to breathe, lunges at the Drakling and forces his way into her personal space. He doesn’t seem to care for his own safety, perhaps already seeing himself as a dead man walking, as he seeks only to remove the reach advantage of this inhuman beast.

245.2 Damage dealt to [Bulky Knight]

A pair of sturdy horns, curved into the vague shape of a crown, slam down into the top of that annoyance’s helmet.

Krvavy’s teeth grind together as she catches some movement past that dull knight’s shoulder. Amidst the hazy smoke she can see a gambeson, quartered into dark and light blue, shift from its spot... leaving loose bindings in its place.

Her brow knits together, blood trickling down her cheeks. She has the full attention of the Duke’s men. And it needs to stay that way. She quickly sidesteps a clumsy swing of that mace, and returns the favour in full.

Critical Hit! 2,729.15 Damage dealt to [Bulky Knight]

Her knee once more slams into that bothersome bastard’s armoured chest, expanding the dent in his bulky breastplate as more mana is **** into a Seismic Stomp, that energy echoing through this mortal man’s torso with the **** of a violent earthquake. His heavy boots lift off the ground as he is sent careening back into another soldier.

381.4 Damage dealt to [Left Crossbowman]

[Bulky Knight] has been slain!
+1,707 Experience

More earthen mana flows through Krvavy’s channels, rushing downwards and seeping into the uneven cobblestone beneath her feet. The land around this Drakling grows even more inhospitable, the jagged spikes and cracking crevices left by her stomp capturing the legs of the less careful soldiers who dare to surround her.

-98.95 Health

A flash of pain washes over Krvavy in a quick wave as the bladed edge of an annoyingly long swordstaff slices across her left shin, biting into her bone.

The ground around that final knight is blanketed in ice and snow, steadying itself as it resists this Drakling’s magical might.

A prickling discomfort blossoms at the back of Krvavy’s head, growing in intensity as her core pulses with purpose. The bark-like mirage shimmering above her skin and scales wavers for just the most meager of moments. The swirling tempest surrounding her body stills for the slightest split second. The rocky earth briefly halts its attempts to swallow those around her.

56.72 Damage dealt to [Swordstaff Knight]

Her oversized axe just barely clips the arm of that speedy bastard, leaving a noticeable gouge in a shining silver vambrace. But, most importantly, it keeps him at bay and gives Krvavy space to take a single rasped breath. Which is all the time she needs.

A pulse of power emanates from this Draconic Champion, echoing in time with her energetic heartbeat. Crimson light leaks from her veins.

The blood flowing from the new notch in her nose begins to seep into her skin and scales. The blood oozing from her chilled cuts almost seems to retreat back into those wounds. The blood soaking into the ashen ground begins to bubble and burble as it is drawn towards the Drakling, like metal to a magnet.

Sanguine Suffusion: From your form flows energy of an ancient origin, imbuing your will into each drop of blood spilled in your surroundings and causing that crimson tide to flow towards you, regardless of the obstacles in its path. As the volume of spilled blood in your immediate vicinity increases, so to does the rate at which Health regenerates for both yourself and those you consider to be allies, while those you see as enemies will experience increasingly exacerbated blood loss. Boosts the effectiveness of all other forms of Blood Magic cast in your proximity while this spell is active. Costs at least 100 Mana to activate and requires 20% of your overall Mana Regeneration, as well as a portion of the nearby blood, for these effects to be maintained. Associated attributes = Insight, Perception, & Toughness.

Krvavy doesn’t have the liberty to read the description of her most newly made spell. She just has to hope that it is as obviously ominous as she intended.

“Cease these profane magics...!” The lone knight lunges forwards at a speed Krvavy couldn’t hope to intercept, swordstaff angled for the perfect thrust into the **** and unarmoured base of her throat. “Demon...!”

Power wells up within the Drakling’s gaze, flashing out as a baleful light.

-95.33 Health

Sharp pain stabs through her head as she casts a costly fifth spell while four others remain active. The agony that action brings staggers her, sending her stumbling back as Oakflesh is cut short, the mana within that mirage fizzling through her skin and scales. Blood trickles from her eyes and ears, only to be quickly absorbed back into her body.

A shrieking squeal of metal scraping across metal echoes through the growing sounds of combat as that sluggish swordstaff leaves a noticeable scratch on her breastplate, its sharp tip moving too slowly to deal any damage by the time it touches her bare right shoulder.

Krvavy lets her mouth twist into a toothy grin as a notification flits by the edge of her awareness, followed by a few more of the same nature.

[Left Crossbowman] has been slain!
+228 Experience

Shouts of panic and anger fill the hazy air as the soldiers, struggling to move courtesy of Grasping Ground, are cut down by the prisoners they neglected to watch.

Fragments of a far from complete rocky shell crumble and fall away as the speedy knight powers through his paralysis. Which is not something Krvavy can allow. The metals claws of her gauntlet grab at his helmet, slipping between a gap in that articulating armour, before she roughly rips it away from his head.

27.84 Damage dealt to [Swordstaff Knight]

A grim determination fills that man’s grizzled face as it is revealed. With great effort... he spits at Krvavy, moments before her axe bites down.

Critical Hit! 2,137.19 Damage dealt to [Swordstaff Knight]

[Swordstaff Knight] has been slain!
+3,337.5 Experience

Loose chunks of skull and brain matter fall to the ground alongside that corpse, needing a bit of a shake and a shove to get it off Krvavy’s axe.

Tension hangs in the air.

Weary and cautious eyes stare at the Drakling. A number of of crossbows – commandeered and retrieved – are pointed her way, guarded by a bristly bunch of a spearheads and even a couple shields.

Krvavy ceases channelling her Earth Magic, focusing all her efforts on Wind and Blood. The crimson fluid so freely spilled continues to flow towards her, forming a sizable pool beneath her feet which is slowly being absorbed as those countless drops come into contact with her. A process that quickens with the idle use of Transmute Blood.

A single man steps forward. The same one that bloodthirsty knight so nearly executed. His chainmail jingles faintly, armoured fingers tightening around his longsword as he holds a heavily damaged round shield in front of himself and his men.

“Relax.” The menacing grin that fills this Draconic predator’s face doesn’t quite match her calm tone. “I’m not here for any of you.”

That soldier, a servant of the Baron of Svaneti... of Thea’s family... clenches his jaw and squints through the smoke. A task made all the more difficult by the swollen purple flesh surrounding his left eye. “Then who are you here for, dem–”

“I’m not a demon.” Krvavy interrupts, a tinge of annoyance in her tone. She is fine if her enemies assume as much, terrifying themselves in the process, but to be called that again and again and again... It is getting on her nerves. “I am a Drakling. Dragon-blooded.” A sharp breath hisses through her nose. She feels quite congested. But at least that part of her airway is functional again... “And I’m here for the Duke. Duke Dovoryn Terenti of Volhynia. He won’t live to see the sun rise. Neither will anyone who stands in my way.”

A wave of restless movement rolls through this assembly of obviously inexperienced soldiers, worried murmurs underlining the rustling of gambesons and light rattling of mail.

The leader of these men... hands his sword to the soldier nearest to him. His right hand reaches towards his left shoulder, unclasping a small but thick besagew from his not entirely articulating pauldron. “In that case, take this.”

“S-sir?!” The soldier now holding onto that longsword gasps in surprise as his superior steps forwards, holding that bit of metal out to this Drakling.

Krvavy raises an eyebrow. She could easily strike this man down if she wanted to, even with that shield in her way. Is he confident that she is indeed telling the truth about not, necessarily, being their enemy? Or is he just suicidally stupid? Either way... her gauntleted hand reaches out and takes the offered accessory.

It is quite simple in the way it is decorated. A small shield, with a slightly curved top and a softly pointed bottom. Its face is divided into four quadrants, the top left and bottom right are a darker blue with a faint woven lattice giving it texture, while the other two sections are a lighter and gentler blue embossed with simple five petalled flowers resting inside rhombuses. Atop that stands a modest white lamb with grey hooves, looking back over its shoulder towards the top right corner where a yellow sun with six wavy arms rests.

Authors Note: Here is what this little shield looks like.

The Drakling’s lifts her gaze, meeting that man’s familiar sky blue eyes. Or at least the one that isn’t **** shut by a swollen bruise.

“Show our coat of arms to any citizen of Svaneti you come across, be they soldier or not, and they will know that you are... not an enemy.” The confidence of this serious soldier almost imperceptibly wavers at his last few words. He isn’t the type to openly lie about this simple seal being enough for her to be seen as a friend or ally, it would seem.

Krvavy’s Soulbound weapon leans into the crook of her right arm, nestled into that shoulder as she struggles just a little to clasp that decorative besagew onto her own armour. In the same spot she once wore Rina’s coat of arms. “These knights, the ones with ice magic at least...” Her eyes trail across the soldiers who are hardly more than a militia. Quite a few are not having the easiest time staying upright, sections of their blue gambesons stained a rust-red colour. “They usually carry around a small but potent health potion on them.”

“My thanks.” The leader of these soldiers nods his head and takes a step back.

An awkward pressure hangs overhead as Krvavy turns and begins walking across the uneven ground, which is free of nearly all the blood spilled on it, giving these men from Svaneti a comfortably wide berth. For their sake, not her own.

The winds surrounding Krvavy weaken and fade with each step she takes away from those soldiers, no longer needing Turbulent Shroud to stay active as even the crossbowmen begin looting the desiccated bodies and tending to their wounded.