A horn blast shattered the forest's silence, a sound similar to a beast's final scream. Then the Krags erupted from the treeline, their war cries splitting the air as they descended upon the caravan.
Their forms were a blur of green muscle, fur clothes and menacing armor, their eyes alight with predatory glee. At the same instant, Dana's hunters struck from the rear, their arrows hissing through the air, slamming into the knight ranks.
The defending side were pounded with two volleys of arrows before the Krags themselves lunged from the undergrowth, curved blades glinting as they severed tendons and hamstrung of unprepared knights. The humans' escape route collapsed before they even realized the trap had sprung.
The knights, though shocked by the attack were far from defeated, for they were not green recruits, but were Lord Veythas' elite, veterans of a dozen border skirmishes, their battle scars, proof of their strength and resolve. As the Krags surged forward, the knights began to move with disciplined precision.
"Shield Wall Formation, form up, now."
The Kuros user bellowed the command, while repositioning his horse. His greatsword erupting in writhing black aura, that corrupted the air itself, the heatless fire like aura casting grotesque shadows across the snow.
The front line dropped to one knee, their shields slamming into the snow with a thunderous crunch. The second rank raised their shields overhead, forming an impenetrable turtle formation, steel interlocking with steel, a wall of defiance against the Krag onslaught. Spears bristled between the gaps like the spines of some great metal beast.
A Krag berserker, from Goruk squad froth dripping from his tusks, charged the formation with reckless abandon. His massive club came down in an overhead smash, only to skid harmlessly off the angled shields. Before he could recover, three spears shot forward in perfect unison. One punched through his thigh, another his gut, the third his throat. He died snarling, his blood slicking the knights' blades.
The weaver, his silver-threaded robes flaring as he raised his hands, reacted not with panic, but with cold, calculated fury. The twin amulets at his chest, obsidian shards bound in pulsating silver, flared to life as he spoke words of power.
"Kürõß- Måñïpúlåtïøñ-<ãír>-Wïñd wåll"
A wall of screaming wind erupted around him, hurling the first wave of Krags backward like leaves in a storm. Bones snapped against trees, and one hunter's neck twisted at an unnatural angle as he was dashed against a jagged rock.
A light green skinned Krag' threw a throwing axe which spun toward the Weaves's throat, only to be deflected at the last instant by a sudden gust, the blade embedding itself harmlessly in a wagon's side. The weaver's eyes locked onto the krag, glowing with unnatural light.
"You think your primitive ambush frightens me, beast?" the weaver spat. His fingers danced through complex patterns, and the air itself caught fire.
"Kürõß- Måñïpúlåtïøñ-
A whip of pure flame, twenty feet long, snapped outward from the weaver's fingertips. It lashed across that Krag and three others Krags, their skin bursting into greasy fire instantly. Their screams filled the air as they rolled in the snow, but the magical flames clung stubbornly, eating through flesh with terrifying speed.
Dana appeared behind the mage in perfect silence, only for one amulet to pulse violently. The weaver didn't even turn as a concussive blast of wind erupted from his back, sending Dana flying into a snowdrift. She came up spitting blood, her ribs screaming in protest.
Arieus who calmly watched the Weaver actions had a light frown.
"It seems the Weaver will be trouble as appected," he said before his frown turned into a grin "too bad I have already figured him out"
-------
Seeing the frontal assault falter, a grizzled knight-captain barked orders and six knights broke off from the main formation, moving in two teams of three. They fought back-to-back, their longswords weaving a deadly dance.
One knight, a bear of a man with a braided red beard executed a perfect counter. As a Krag lunged at him with a scimitar, he deflected the blow upward with a sharp..
Zing!
The steel sang as the scimitar skittered off his guard, sparks flying where the blades met. Without missing a beat, the knight pivoted on his heel, his weight shifting fluidly into a downward cut that split the Krag from collarbone to sternum. With a ragged gasp, the krag innards spilled onto the ground.
Before the body hit the ground, the knight was already reversing his grip, driving his sword backward like a spear to impale a second attacker through the armpit, where the Krag's armor left a fatal gap. The second Krag gagged, blood bubbling from its mouth as he crumpled.
His two companions moved in synchronized harmony. The left knight performed a deceptive, looping cut that seemed to target the head before abruptly angling downward to hamstring a charging Krag. The right knight followed up with a brutal grip, reversing his sword to hammer the pommel into another Krag's temple with a sickening.
Crunch!.
The Blessed warrior trying to further rally his men, bellowed a challenge.
"Kuros- partial Enchantment- Withering Blade"
His greatsword erupting in writhing black aura, the air itself seemed to afraid.But Gurok was already upon him, his battle Axe a monstrous slab of iron, its edge serrated from years of brutal use, descended in an overhead arc with enough force to crack the formations of shields. The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, splintering snow and knocking two knights from their feet like dolls creating a hole in their formation.
The Krags didn't waste the opportunity and were already among them, exploiting the gap and every hesitations of the human knights. A grizzled veteran raised his sword, only for a Krag's blade to slip between his visor and gorget, ripping outward in a spray of blood. Another knight turned to defend his brother-in-arms, just in time to see a Krag's jaws close around his exposed wrist, tusks and teeth crunching through bones.
The air had already begun to be filled with the metallic tang of blood, the stench of exposed bowels, fight men ' howls.
The kuros user roared, as he galloped forward towards Gurok. "Do you think we fear you, beast?" he taunted, gripping the reins of his horse tightly. His Great sword still pulsed with a dark, black aura, as if infused with malevolent energy.
Gurok, unfazed by the warrior's bravado, held his battle-axe at the ready. As the horse bore down on him, its rider screaming with fury, Gurok dodged to the side with ease. With a swift, deadly motion, he swung his battle-axe, slicing open the horse's belly.
The animal let out a pained whine as it crashed to the ground, its rider thrown from the saddle. The kuros warrior, however, was quick to recover. He leapt to his feet, his sword flashing dark as he clashed with Gurok.
The two fighters exchanged blows, their blades ringing out as they battled for dominance. Gurok's battle-axe bit deep into the warrior's sword, the force of the blow sending shockwaves through both combatants.
The kuros warrior snarled, his face twisted with rage, but Gurok remained calm, his eyes fixed intently on his opponent.But deep down, he knew this couldn't continue for long. His hands were already numb, his muscles screaming in protest as he clashed with the Kuros user.
Krags though stronger than humans, had their limits. However, due to the blessing of Kuros this human was able to tap into powers beyond those of ordinary Krags.
Which made Gurok, who was said to be more than above-average in terms of pure physical strength compared to the average Krags...
...sweat.
Despite his advantage, Gurok knew he had to find a way to buy time.
----------
Arieus now understood, these weren't mere focus items. Each amulet contained stored spells, likely days or weeks of accumulated power. The weaver fought with an entire arsenal at his fingertips, his defenses layered like a fortress wall.
The weaver clapped his hands together.
"Kürõß- Måñïpúlåtïøñ-<ãír>- Rüptūrê"
A thunderclap of force rippled outward. Knights and Krags alike were sent sprawling, the very ground trembling from the impact. Then two more amulet pulses followed in rapid succession, one sending a razor-edged gust that sliced through a Krag's throat like a blade, the other summoning a localized mini whirlwind that lifted a screaming Krag warrior thirty feet into the air before dropping him like a stone. The Krag's cry was cut short as he struck the snow with a sickening crunch.
Arieus gazed upon the scene before him, his eyes scanning the battlefield. With a resolute look, he made his decision. "It's time, warriors," he declared to the remaining thirty Krag warriors of the initial sixty.
"charge now!"
Arieus exploded forward, his headlong dash so swift, he left his men behind and tore through the battlefield like a storm, the frigid air whipping his hair and white fur cloak back like a banner of war. Around him, the clash of steel and the screams of the wounded filled the air, but he moved with singular purpose, a specter of death clad in white fur and plate armor, his massive cleaver, far longer and thicker than any normal cleaver, was seeking something. The snow beneath his boots crunched and scattered as he surged ahead, each step leaving deep imprints in the snow.
His face was a mask of savage glee, his tusks bared in a grin that promised carnage as he hurtled toward the weaver. The manipulator in question, was still sitted on his horse, his robes billowing in the unnatural gales he commanded.
Arieus charged through the chaos, his muscles burning with effort as he fought against the weaver's winds. Every step forward required monumental effort, the air itself seeming to thicken against him, pressing down like an invisible hand trying to crush his advance.
The Weaver gestured and chanted, his voice cutting through the mini storm, and suddenly, a fireball the size of a wagon wheel roared toward him, its flames licking hungrily at the frozen ground.
At the last possible instant, Arieus dove sideways, feeling the heat singe his cloak as the fireball obliterated the place he had been standing, sending up a plume of molten snow and steam behind him. He came up rolling, his armor clanking against the half-melted ice, just in time to avoid a follow-up blast of superheated air that turned the snow at his feet instantly to scalding vapor. The ground hissed and melted due to the sudden temperature shift.
Seeing her chief's struggle, Dana loosed three arrows in rapid succession. The first two shattered against an invisible barrier, their shafts splintering into useless shards, but the third, pierced through with a sound like shattering glass. The weaver gasped as it grazed his cheek, a thin line of blood welling up, which was very obvious against his pale skin.
His attention divided, the winds faltered for a crucial second. Sensing his opening, Arieus surged forward, his cleaver's edges hungry for the kill.
"No," the weaver hissed, his voice trembling with fury and ....
..fear.
Arieus eyes were mad, his grin widening as he closed the distance, the battlefield around them fading into a blur of motion.
"Hello."