McIan
Journeyman
Scar had nodded off again. It wasn't just this meeting, it was most every meeting. At some point he just could not keep focused - his mind was everywhere: Papua, Jhelom, home and relationships. The talks at the Trinsic council did not really involve him, only inasmuch as it involved concerns of the Fist, which was, he knew, a potent force in that city without his assistance.
So he was not too surprised to wake up leaning against a wall, spear still in hand, to behold an empty chamber. He rushed outside, spotted a stranger who did not speak, and prepared to leave for home.
Then he heard the sounds of battle! And a battle it was! Riding his mount into the fray across the bridge to Barrier Isle, he saw and heard the unmistakable sights and sounds of conflict: war cries, death cries, weapons flailing, and the enemy - goblins, trolls, ettins and other beings unfamiliar to him - all colored a deep crimson. They were battling the Fist and others who had heard the clear clarion call and clamor of combat. Invasion!
As he engaged the foes he realized quickly how tough they were. His slayer blades did only minor damage to their hides and it seemed even when they bled they did not falter. Never before had he seen such formidable adversaries. Four or more warriors, mages, tamed creatures bore down on an individual intruder, slashing, hacking, pounding, spellcasting, biting and clawing - to little effect. Only after monumental effort did one of them finally succumb. It was as if they were driven to madness, fortified with some kind of unholy resistance, intent on chasing down every foe they encountered even deep into the city. Many defenders fell. He nearly perished more than once, retreating to safety to nurse severe wounds caused by flame and acid.
At long last, his blade and shield arms aching beyond endurance, his weapons and armor badly damaged, having realized firsthand nothing could avail, did he disengage and head home. He knew that nothing could have stopped that horde.
He did not wake Deminatza, his wife, who slept peacefully. Before retiring himself, he bathed and carefully bandaged his wounds, hoping he would awake at dawn to learn this was only a bad dream, knowing from the pain that stole sleep from his eyes that it most definitely was not.
So he was not too surprised to wake up leaning against a wall, spear still in hand, to behold an empty chamber. He rushed outside, spotted a stranger who did not speak, and prepared to leave for home.
Then he heard the sounds of battle! And a battle it was! Riding his mount into the fray across the bridge to Barrier Isle, he saw and heard the unmistakable sights and sounds of conflict: war cries, death cries, weapons flailing, and the enemy - goblins, trolls, ettins and other beings unfamiliar to him - all colored a deep crimson. They were battling the Fist and others who had heard the clear clarion call and clamor of combat. Invasion!
As he engaged the foes he realized quickly how tough they were. His slayer blades did only minor damage to their hides and it seemed even when they bled they did not falter. Never before had he seen such formidable adversaries. Four or more warriors, mages, tamed creatures bore down on an individual intruder, slashing, hacking, pounding, spellcasting, biting and clawing - to little effect. Only after monumental effort did one of them finally succumb. It was as if they were driven to madness, fortified with some kind of unholy resistance, intent on chasing down every foe they encountered even deep into the city. Many defenders fell. He nearly perished more than once, retreating to safety to nurse severe wounds caused by flame and acid.
At long last, his blade and shield arms aching beyond endurance, his weapons and armor badly damaged, having realized firsthand nothing could avail, did he disengage and head home. He knew that nothing could have stopped that horde.
He did not wake Deminatza, his wife, who slept peacefully. Before retiring himself, he bathed and carefully bandaged his wounds, hoping he would awake at dawn to learn this was only a bad dream, knowing from the pain that stole sleep from his eyes that it most definitely was not.
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