A City Under Siege

Flickering firelight looms in the darkness ahead, hazy and hidden. Almost like lightning crackling within a storm cloud. Just... more constant. And quieter.

Krvavy’s jog slows to a walk.

Tears linger at the edges of her squinted eyes. Each breath she takes stings her lungs. The taste of **** and destruction coats her tongue. But all of that is... tolerable. For now. She might need to take advantage of her Wind Magic later on if– no, when it gets worse.

A large chunk of ashen wood snaps beneath the Drakling’s weight. She grimaces and steps to the side, giving the remains of what must have once been a rather modest house a respectable amount of space as she continues past it.

The few buildings that Krvavy has seen so far, out here in the outskirts of Svaneti, have all been the same. They’ve all been reduced to nothing but ash and cinders. If it weren’t for the crude cobblestone fireplaces, and the sometimes toppled chimneys, then it would be nearly impossible to know that these bonfires were even houses in the first place, and not just a pile of debris dragged aside to be burned.

Krvavy can only assume that the Duke’s men purposefully torched these homes.

Small, one story buildings with thatched roofs and a lack of anything resembling a proper foundation aren’t exactly worth taking out with artillery. Not when there are better and more important targets still standing.

Distant sounds echo through the smokey haze. Too far away and too muffled to make out.

With a soft flash, the Drakling’s Soulbound weapon manifests in her hand, quickly coming to rest over her shoulder. She doesn’t need it right this instant, but it doesn’t hurt to have that axe ready to use at a moments notice. Especially since the visibility around here is... miserable.

More mounds of ash and ruin come into view, and more disappear into the darkness behind the barbarian. It... is almost surreal, the sights surrounding her. Some fences have at least partially survived this devastation, surrounding properties bereft of all but ash. There are still some trees standing, though none look all that well off and a few are even burning from within. A clothesline laden with dresses and shirts and pants remains untouched off to the side, strung between two tall poles overlooking a garden smothered beneath a blanket of lifeless soot.

The gaps between buildings, or at least between the remains of such, shrink as Krvavy advances. The hellscape around her goes from rural to suburban to... It doesn’t actually seem to get much denser than that. There are clusters of buildings that would have shared some walls – judging by the thick timbers that haven’t yet been completely burned away – scattered about, but those aren’t too common. And they still have a fair amount of space around them.

Krvavy understands why Rina kept referring to Svaneti as a town and not a city. It may be rather sprawling, but it is still so much smaller than Raseyne...

The sharp clang of steel striking steel rings out from further ahead.

Scaled fingers tighten around the sturdy haft of a rather big axe, lifting that wonderfully intimidating weapon from its resting place atop a shoulder to hold it steady and at the ready. Flickering firelight gleams across its large, biting edge. The Synthetic Heartstone standing where a spearhead should be glows a dim and bloody red, brimming with power and pulsing with anticipation.

Smouldering debris lay scattered across the cobbled road, broken windowpanes twinkling like little gems between the burning cinders.

The Drakling steps around that mess, moving ever closer to the now undeniable sounds of combat. Shouts, both frantic and calm, pierce through the smoke. As does the occasional loud thud or clang. The heat grows more intense as well, ravenous flames eating away at the still standing buildings that flank this street.

Krvavy pauses, her hand reaching into one of the pouches hanging from her loincloth belt.

Rising from the hellish haze ahead... is a church. A relatively modest one made of stone. Larger and more orderly bricks brace its corners, buttresses, and its tall but thin windows. Smaller and more chaotically aligned bricks cover the rest of its walls. Fresh scars cover that sanctuary, its stone singed black in spots and patches of its orange-red shingles having fallen away. The lone steeple stands crooked, its spire having already collapsed.

A small, square keyglyph presses into Krvavy’s abs, right into one of the two spots marked by the rust-red paste painted across her skin and scales.

Countless carts and crates have closely encircled that church, made into a makeshift wall braced with tables and chairs tipped over onto their sides. Smoke rises from a dozen different spots around those desperately made defences. Warm light bleeds through the darkness, from just out of sight.

The runic lines decorating this Drakling begin to subtly shimmer as the mana bound within some of those markings is fed and activated. Strength suffuses her very being, flesh and bones becoming as durable as the mountains that her Dwarf used to call home.

Dry grass, suffocated by a layer of soot and ash, crunches beneath Krvavy’s inhuman feet as she confidently crosses the grounds around this church. The rhythmic beating of her heart echoes in her ears, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Finally, finally, she has something to fight...!

“Take out those archers!” A harsh and even voice cuts through the din of battle. “On the roof! By the belfry!”

Fierce flames eat away at a section of these makeshift fortifications, swiftly spreading to both sides as that blaze burns this wall of wagons into nothing but ash and cinders, creating a gap more than large enough for over a dozen soldiers to spill on through.

Only a handful of the enemy stand back from that inferno, guarding a figure clad in a long quilted gambeson, that padded armour reaching past their knees. A brilliant golden glow pierces through the swirling soot and smoke, streams of fiery light flowing from atop a raised torch and coalescing into a condensed orb floating above a gloved palm.

An unnatural chill fills the hazy, heated air. The falling flakes of ash seem to slow their descent.

The breath of a knight in shining armour, those articulating plates polished to a perfectly silvery sheen, visibly puffs through the grated visor of his helmet. He visibly tenses up... and suddenly jumps into action, shield raised high. “BEHIND ME!”

84.11 Damage dealt to [Nameless Soldier One]
63.49 Damage dealt to [Nameless Soldier One]

102.03 Damage dealt to [Nameless Soldier Two]

38.64 Damage dealt to [Torch-Wielding Mage]

A swirling squall of snow sweeps across the ashen ground, smothering the spreading flames and freezing what little moisture remains into minuscule blades of ice and pain. That raging blizzard breaks against the bulwark that is this knight’s shield, splitting around him and barely grazing those he protects.

Annoying, but expected.

1,349.5 Damage dealt to [Shield Knight]

The jagged surface of a relatively small hammer bites into that barrier, sending a strong seismic shock echoing through shield and armoured arm alike, driving the knight back and forcing him out of the way.

Frost clings to Krvavy’s pale lips, cracking and breaking off as she bares her carnivorous teeth in a wide and predatory grin. Her oversized axe gleams in the darkness, illuminated only by the burning light cast by a ball of golden flames, the source that fed it having already been snuffed out by the cold.

Critical Hit! 3,864.73 Damage dealt to [Torch-Wielding Mage]

A look of pure and utter terror fills that fire mage’s slim face as the thick, quilted fabric of their gambeson’s high collar proves insufficient. They hardly feel any pain at all as a sharp wedge of metal slices through their flesh and severs their spine.

[Torch-Wielding Mage] has been slain!
+1,162.5 Experience

673.14 Damage dealt to [Nameless Soldier Two]

Momentum carries that oversized axe onward, crashing into the shoulder of an unimportant soldier standing beside that first one, whose body and head crumple to the ground independent of each other.

But the ball of golden fire doesn’t drop. It floats in the air for just a moment, before unravelling without its master alive to contain its might. A bright flash of light stings the eyes of all who see it. A ringing sound echoes in the ears of those nearby moments before the heat hits.

-183.16 Health

Searing flames send the Drakling skidding back, her impressive defences reducing what would have otherwise been quite the agonizing attack into something much more manageable. For her. That unfortunate soldier whose shoulder she shattered was not as lucky.

His panicked screams and frantic shouts pierce through the chilled, smoky air. A golden blaze burns across his body, eating his padded armour and refusing to go out no matter how hard he pats it down and rolls around.

Krvavy’s meaty tail flicks behind her, clawed toes digging into the ashen and frosty ground, as she launches herself back into the fray.

647.3 Damage dealt to [Nameless Soldier Three]

Her crystalline spearhead pierces the padded armour of another unimportant man, sinking into his gut and already working to drain away his life. The Drakling’s momentum carries her on another couple steps, lifting that skewered soldier off his feet and into the air as he is hefted high above her head... only to be spun around and swung along with that Soulbound weapon at his brothers in arms.

835.45 Damage dealt to [Nameless Soldier Three]

294.14 Damage dealt to [Shield Knight]

The knight in shining, silvery armour staggers back, just barely staying on his feet. The melting ice in the air swirls around his sword and creeps along his armour. “By... Rynbog...” He grunts, no doubt grimacing beneath his helmet. The ruined arm with a shield still strapped to it hangs limply at his side.

[Nameless Soldier Three] has been slain!
+757.5 Experience

A desiccated corpse is dropped off of the Drakling’s weapon, limply thumping to the ground.

“AAAAAAH!” A battle cry filled with rage and hate shatters this brief moment of silence. “DIE DEMO–NNGHK!”

Critical Hit! 1,492.72 Damage dealt to [Nameless Soldier One]

The sharp spike at the butt of this barbarian’s axe catches on the loose mail protecting that soldier’s neck, puncturing both it and the layer of fabric beneath as it sinks into his flesh and tears out this throat. He gurgles and gargles, **** on his blood and stumbling his last few steps, sword slipping from his hand as he loses the strength needed to strike this barbarian in the back.

[Nameless Soldier One] has been slain!
+652.5 Experience

Ice and frost swirl through the hazy air, razor-sharp flakes harmlessly glancing across the Drakling’s skin and scales, and doing even less to her dark metal armour. That cold breeze weakens the golden flames burning away at what remains of a gambeson. But that is too little, too late. The man who was burning alive had already fallen still.

[Nameless Soldier Two] has been slain!
+177.25 Experience

“N-no...!” The knight’s voice wavers. “No...!” He repeats, his resolve strengthening as he puts one foot in front of the other. “No!” Frost engulfs his form, glacial ice forming atop his shining silver armour and engulfing his blue silken tabard in a thick layer of unparalleled protection, which unnaturally bends and shifts as he marches onwards. “I will not –!”

“RRGHAAAAAAA!” A shockwave of psychic and sonic might blasts into the frozen knight, that Requiem Roar cracking his magical armour and forcing him to take a staggered step back.

Which is all the opening Krvavy needs.

Veins of molten magic climb up the haft of her Soulbound weapon, an inferno of crimson flames bursting into life around its three heads. Ice melts around the edge of her axe, silver plate bending and warping beneath her might.

1,249.73 Damage dealt to [Shield Knight]

A wheezing breath escapes from that knight as his lungs are compressed and crushed. But despite that, determination and resolve gleam in his barely visible eyes. The ice and snow sheathing his sword flares up, crackling with more power than his body can handle. He swings that weapon straight at Krvavy’s bare and exposed leg.

-177.08 Health
-42.61 Health

The Drakling, whose blood comes from a land of unimaginable cold, hardly flinches as that winter wreathed blade barely bites into her outer thigh. Stinging frost spreads across her black scales. A chill flows through her veins. The metal of that sword sinks into her flesh, doing less damage than that icy magic yet hurting just a bit more.

Krvavy grins through the pain, relishing in the shock and fear she can see behind that ice coated helmet. At this very moment, her Ice and Base Magical Resistances total at eighty percent. And that is to say nothing of her True Defence, which is only a few percentage points away from nullifying two thirds of all damage she takes.

There is little this knight, with his ice magics, can do to harm her.

And he seems to realize that as well.

864.85 Damage dealt to [Shield Knight]

The crimson flames coating her axe sizzle away that icy armour as it strikes this knight’s head. He tumbles to the side, lacking the energy and will to defend himself as that weapon’s momentum is reversed, a hammer swinging towards his helmet.

1,376.21 Damage dealt to [Shield Knight]

[Shield Knight] has been slain!
+2,137.5 Experience

Hardly more than a minute has passed since that knight’s shield was struck, and now he lies dead with those few soldiers he tried to protect.

Krvavy steps over that corpse, her gaze snapping towards the church and staring through the smoky, smouldering gap in the defensive wall that surrounds it. Standing atop some graves, both new and old, are nearly a dozen soldiers and thrice as many militiamen, locked in combat.

A single knight stands in the center of that fight, swinging a two-handed blade through the hazy air. An aura of frost extends around his feet, sapping strength from the civilians that he is slaughtering.

The Drakling stops at the edge of a short stone wall, the perimeter of that church graveyard. The butt of her Soulbound weapon rests beside her feet, its crystalline spear poking up just a bit higher than her head.

Arrows meant not for war but for hunting irregularly fly down from the church roof, glancing off the knight’s armour and slowly turning his men into pincushions. “The archers!” Tension underlines his harsh and booming voice as he repeats that order, ignorant of the fact that those meant to hear it no longer breathe. “Take! Them! Out!”

Earthen magic seeps from the barbarian’s very being, flowing into the land beneath her feet. Her core pulses in time with the beating of her heart. A faint pang of discomfort pokes at the back of her brain as she moulds her mana into shape.

“Wha–?!” A surprised shout rings through the air as one of the soldiers finds his foot sinking into the dry and ashen dirt above a grave. Fear fills his voice as he glances down, watching as the ground reaches up grab at his legs with vaguely shaped arms and hands like clumsy mittens. “AHH! AAAAAHH! Get off! OFF! AAHHHH! HELP!”

Some of the militiamen hesitate, the terrified screams of soldiers being dragged into already occupied graves whittling away at their resolve, but other are unbothered or emboldened, taking advantage of that panic to strike down these invaders with spear and club.

The ground around that armoured knight freezes and cracks, shifting like a liquid but made solid by the magical cold. “Ngh!” His greatsword batters a long metal bar of a club aside, but can’t quite stop a pitchfork from poking him in the side. His gauntleted fingers wrap around that farm tool, pulling the peasant wielding it closer before cutting the poor man down. “Fall back!”

That order goes unheeded, though not for a lack of trying. These soldiers want nothing more than to turn and flee. They simply can’t. Some muster the strength to take a few wading steps away... but are clubbed and beaten down by the very civilians they would have killed.

The barbarian barely acknowledges the trickle of experience that her assistance has earned her, those tiny numbers flitting in and out of her awareness with each soldier that dies.

Soon there is only one enemy left standing. Only one target to focus her attention on.

The ashen ground writhes and roils, creating a discordant chorus of crackling crunches as a layer of magical frost futilely fights against Krvavy’s control. Soil swells up in waves, swallowing the armoured legs of this knight in shining, silvery armour.

To his credit... that knight keeps fighting. Even effectively pinned in place, he swings his greatsword around and around, doing his best to punish the attacks of these peasants. Swirls of ice and snow push some of those militiamen back, but others take their place. He is swiftly surrounded. Attacked from all sides. The pain disorientates him, each hit he takes causing his magic to falter. A strong strike to his forearm sends his sword slipping from his grasp.

The Drakling watches on with disinterested disdain as that knight is overwhelmed, stabbed at with spears and clonked by clubs. One ballsy militiaman even drives a dagger with a rather suspect handle – its guard composed of two rather bulbous masses and its pommel taking on a rather suggestively flared shape – through a gap in that noble looking armour.

[Sword Knight] has been slain!
+351 Experience

Krvavy glances at that notification. Her brow furrows just a bit. Maybe she should have gotten more directly involved...? Doing some actual damage and getting the killing blow would have brought her closer to the next level... At the very least, she would have gotten more experience than she did by just providing some crowd contro–

“D-demon...!” A panicked gasp pierces through the relative silence that has surrounded this church. Dozens of eyes snap to the man who spoke that word, before following his trembling finger towards the dark valley of their breached defences, staring at the barely visible silhouette standing within that lingering smoke. “The Volhynian’s h-have –!”

“Wait!” Recognition gleams in the gaze of an older man, if not understanding what this Drakling is then at least knowing that it was her that helped them survive and even win this fight. “That –!”

“Kill it!” “Chase it back to the Hells!” “We can’t let it get inside!”

Krvavy simply shrugs and takes a step back. Her left hand lazily rises through the air, and with that simple gesture the short stone fence before her swiftly rises, imperfectly filling the gap between these charred fortifications and cutting her off from those ungrateful men.

Shouting arguments ring out from the other side of that newly made wall of rock. But the barbarian ignores it all as she turns and heads on her way.

Tnk... Tnk... Tnk...

Krvavy steadily makes her way down a smokey street, her gauntlet clinking into the small collection of quartz batteries she brought along, armoured fingers wrapped around one of those crystals as she so slowly drains it dry.

She spent a lot of mana back there, at that church.

And the corpses she left laying on the ground... well... There wasn’t a whole lot of blood left in those bodies, two having been burnt quite thoroughly and another remaining rather frozen. So she could only recover so much with Transmute Blood...

“Get b-back...! I-I-I...!” Distant shouts echo from further ahead, the constant crackling of flames making it difficult to discern how far or near the source may be. “Don’t...! T-t-touch...!”

Those sounds grow louder and clearer as the Drakling picks up her pace, lightly jogging through the ash and debris. Her fingers, armoured and unarmoured, tighten around the haft of her Soulbound weapon. She peeks down a side street, and grits her teeth.

Around a dozen of the Duke’s men are accosting a... family.

“B-back...!” A crude club is hastily swung through the air by a stammering teenager, barely buying any space at all as he and the others are slowly herded and corralled like sheep. “St-t-stay back...!”

Behind that boy stands a pair of men, both of which are struggling to stay standing as they lean heavily against each other. One is old and frail, his back bowed beneath the weight of time, while the other is wearing clothes stained with fresh blood and is looking worryingly pale. But, as defenceless as they are, those men still put their bodies between the soldiers and those who are even more **** then they are.

“Mama...!” The cries of a small child pierce through the haze of smoke. Four little hands grasp at the dirtied dress of a woman whose trembling arms are holding a swaddled baby tight to her chest.

“Lay down your arms and surrender.” That stern demand echoes down the road, rumbling out from beneath a heavy helmet of dull grey metal. Amidst those soldiers is another knight, leading from the front with a hammer in hand. “None shall defy the Iron Duke’s will.”

The barbarian lightly bites the inside of her cheek.

She can handle a fight against this many men. Especially since these soldiers aren’t exactly the strongest. But with those civilians in the way...

The Drakling squints through this smoky air. An idea of some description lingers at the back of her mind. Indistinct and vague. More a result of instinct than anything intentional. Her usual methods for dealing with multiple enemies at once either aren’t an option or won’t be the most useful here, so... She takes a deep breath, ignoring the faint stinging of her lungs, and begins to focus her will.

Magic wells up with Krvavy’s core, that ethereal heart pulsing in time with one of flesh and blood. Mana flows through her channels, climbing upwards through her chest and neck. The node at the back of her throat... is ignored, that energy ascending even further, gathering within her eyes.

Her emerald iris’ begin to gently glow, casting a soft green light onto the pale skin of her nose and into the haze beyond. Her vision shifts, the already dull and ashen colours of her surroundings fading even further as everything else grows more distinct, outlines and textures becoming clearer and easier to pick out.

The Drakling’s gaze sweeps across the cobbled road. Those figures standing further ahead almost seem to shine in her sight. The scared civilians go ignored, her glare directed towards the soldiers who can’t help but stiffen and grow visibly tense.

“HEY!” Krvavy calls out, grinning widely as more than a dozen heads turn her way. The backs of her eyes tingle as the mana within bursts free with a flash. Her vision tinges red, shifting into a deep crimson, as that energy rushes through the air as a continuous torrent, focused where her pupils point.

One of the soldiers stumbles forwards, his spear nearly striking the mother clutching onto her children. Which earns him the entirety of Krvavy’s attention. “Nh!” His muscles lock up, turning his attempt at regaining his balance into an overcorrection. He staggers backwards, his heels clumsily striking the ground, one after the other. “Wh-wht...?!” He chokes, struggling to speak as patches of stone begin to appear across his body, spreading quickest from his boots and his gloves.

“CEASE!”

With great difficulty, the knight clad in heavy armour stomps his way in front of that stumbling soldier, blocking off the barbarian’s vision. Each step he takes is more laborious than the last, even the slightest movement he could make hindered by the stone spreading across his entire body. Some bits break off as he slowly advances, crumbling to the ground as little pebbles and dust, but the longer he stands in Krvavy’s way the more that layer of rock engulfs him.

“Ghk!” These servants of the Duke **** and gasp. “Hhhn!” They all struggle to even breathe, joints too stiff to work and muscles too tense to move. Those closest to the knight are slowly suffering the same fate, gradually being encased within a layer of inflexible stone, while those further away are merely paralyzed. “Hhknn!”

“Nhh!” The first soldier that Krvavy looked upon makes one last sound before his struggles cease, reduced to little more than a crude statue with spear held in hand. One which isn’t well balanced. Slowly, he topples backwards, crashing into the cobblestone road. The back of his head meets the solid ground... and breaks open.

[Petrified Soldier] has been slain!
+481.5 Experience

“P...lease...” The old man’s raspy voice is barely audible, so much of his strength needed to whisper out that single word. He, and the other civilians by his side, must be so pathetically weak... They aren’t the focus of this Drakling’s gaze. They might not be turning to stone alongside these soldiers, but still they are so close to being incapacitated. Almost entirely paralyzed and unable to do much more than slowly step back, despite being mere bystanders.

“Here.” Krvavy pushes one of her rolls of magically mending bandages into the teenager’s hands, her glowing eyes not looking away from the helmet of that stubbornly struggling knight, not even to blink. “There’s a church... over that way,” she vaguely gestures in the direction she came from.

“S... St. Alb...anet’s...?” The woman shakily asks, sounding a little dazed.

Krvavy simply shrugs. A growing discomfort is filling her head, her eyes stinging as more than just the smoke stabs into them. “It should... It’ll be safer than being out here.” The crystalline spearhead of her Soulbound weapon presses into the chest of this shuddering statue of a knight. “Now go.”

“Thanks... miss...” One of the children touches the black scales of this Drakling’s leg... only to quickly get pulled back by their mother. Hurried and uneven footsteps mark that family’s departure, growing quicker and less shaky the further away they get.

Soon enough, those sounds disappear beneath the constant crackling of flames. And the choked gasps of these soldiers as they struggle to breath.

Basilisk Gaze: Ancient magics of Earthen and Draconic origin coalesce within your eyes, imbuing your sight with the powers of paralysis and petrification. All those subjected to your gaze are slowed, their muscles and joints rebelling against use, while those unlucky enough to earn your focused attention are slowly encased within a shell of stone. Prolonged exposure past the point of total encasement can result in complete petrification, with the time needed for this to occur depending on both the target’s resistance to magic and their overall level. Costs 100 Mana upfront plus an additional 25 Mana per second of continued use, increasing with the number of targets and their collective power. Associated attributes = Willpower, Perception, & Toughness.

The barbarian hardly spares a glance at that wordy description. Because, as soon as her eyes leave the knight in front of her, his attempts to move become noticeably more successful. And the same goes for the other men behind him. But that isn’t too important. Krvavy already instinctively knows what her new spell does and how it works. Mostly.

A trickle of blood drips from the corner of her eye.

A pang of discomfort echoes through Krvavy’s core. She is burning through her mana, even tapping into her Soulbound weapon’s reserve to keep from running out. Which is not ideal. But...

She pushes the partially petrified knight backwards. He hits the ground with a loud crack, breaking off some of the rock encasing his armoured body. A wheezing gasp escapes from within that big bucket of a helmet.

71.26 Damage dealt to [Hammer Knight]

There is still some meat inside that man. Good. She’ll need all the blood she can get to recover the mana she is currently wasting.