Miles and the two scouts that accompanied him could see now the high walls of their destination in the moonlit distance. All of the clues pointed to here. The forgotten tomes and ancient treatises he consulted suggested only one culprit responsible for releasing the Shadow of the Void into Britannia. And the recent and deliberate assault on Britain removed the last obstacle that barred his investigation; his own doubt.
Creeping silently and using the darkness as their cover, Miles and his companions reached the walls of the city, noting only now that while torches had been lit, there were no sentries that patrolled the bridge or the stone arch that opened up to the heart of the city. Both scouts both gave Miles the same look. Surely they could not have reached this far without spotting the enemy or, Virtues forbid, some kind of alarm being raised. And now, even passing the very gates of the enemy, a deafening silence, marred only by their own breathing, hung in the air around the seemingly empty towers and walls.
Motioning for them to continue, Miles edged his way into the city proper, and finding the shade of a nearby tree, he paused the group. Stretched out before him in a pale but miraculous display, visible even only by torchlight, stood the remains of what had once been undoubtedly a mighty and proud city, now turned into a den of evil. And for a moment Miles Brinn smiled as his trained eyes surveyed the scene around him, thinking what grandeur this city could be restored to were its current occupants held at bay.
A rustle nearby quickly snapped Miles from his reverie, but turned out to be only one of the scouts settling at another tree close by, having deemed the spot by Miles too crowded. Settling on the grass, Miles cautiously unwrapped the map he had brought with him, at great expense he might add. Seeing now the layout of some of the city in person, Miles was able to confirm his suspicion of where the rituals had been taking place. Things were beginning to fall into place, he thought to himself. Now all that remained was--
A soft twang of two arrows broke the stillness, the lone scout near Miles slumping over with a twice pierced throat. Well concealed by the tree and the bushes, Miles and his remaining companion remained as still as they could manage, their hearts racing in sudden and adrenaline driven anticipation.
A burly figure emerged from down near the bridge, its layered and large armor plating shined in the moonlight. It did not notice Miles as it stooped over to check its kill. From this vantage, Miles could likely down the figure in less than three moves and with little noise, but the appearance of a second figure, just as large and imposing, on the scene, quickly dashed away that notion.
Carefully lifting his hand to signal retreat, Miles hardly even had time to struggle as seemingly dozens of green skinned hands ambushed him, and before he could cry out, his head swam in pain just as he blacked out.
Creeping silently and using the darkness as their cover, Miles and his companions reached the walls of the city, noting only now that while torches had been lit, there were no sentries that patrolled the bridge or the stone arch that opened up to the heart of the city. Both scouts both gave Miles the same look. Surely they could not have reached this far without spotting the enemy or, Virtues forbid, some kind of alarm being raised. And now, even passing the very gates of the enemy, a deafening silence, marred only by their own breathing, hung in the air around the seemingly empty towers and walls.
Motioning for them to continue, Miles edged his way into the city proper, and finding the shade of a nearby tree, he paused the group. Stretched out before him in a pale but miraculous display, visible even only by torchlight, stood the remains of what had once been undoubtedly a mighty and proud city, now turned into a den of evil. And for a moment Miles Brinn smiled as his trained eyes surveyed the scene around him, thinking what grandeur this city could be restored to were its current occupants held at bay.
A rustle nearby quickly snapped Miles from his reverie, but turned out to be only one of the scouts settling at another tree close by, having deemed the spot by Miles too crowded. Settling on the grass, Miles cautiously unwrapped the map he had brought with him, at great expense he might add. Seeing now the layout of some of the city in person, Miles was able to confirm his suspicion of where the rituals had been taking place. Things were beginning to fall into place, he thought to himself. Now all that remained was--
A soft twang of two arrows broke the stillness, the lone scout near Miles slumping over with a twice pierced throat. Well concealed by the tree and the bushes, Miles and his remaining companion remained as still as they could manage, their hearts racing in sudden and adrenaline driven anticipation.
A burly figure emerged from down near the bridge, its layered and large armor plating shined in the moonlight. It did not notice Miles as it stooped over to check its kill. From this vantage, Miles could likely down the figure in less than three moves and with little noise, but the appearance of a second figure, just as large and imposing, on the scene, quickly dashed away that notion.
Carefully lifting his hand to signal retreat, Miles hardly even had time to struggle as seemingly dozens of green skinned hands ambushed him, and before he could cry out, his head swam in pain just as he blacked out.
