Matthias Holman looked around his lab with a sigh. The [Restorative Alchemist] refused to turn from his research, even with a siege on. If anything, it made his research that much more important. It had taken him thousands of experiments, and tens of thousands of hours, but he was close, so incredibly close to his goal:

Panacea.

It was a concept that men and women had been chasing since they first realized that some compounds could restore health, ward off illness, and cure disease. In Matthias' case, he wanted to return some good to the world, and cure the disease that took his wife and children. Along the way, that had morphed into "cure all the diseases," as he had come to realize just how difficult the first goal would prove to be. He was resolved to make sure nobody ever had to suffer the way he had, watching his two little ones waste away. And so, what had once been a passing curiosity had turned into an obsession and a life's mission.

Expedition, with its proximity to the Wildlands, other skilled hands, and high-levelled adventurers, was about the perfect place for his lab. The gnomes of Tinkertown didn't ask too many questions, and he made a healthy living selling potions and tinctures to the wildlands expeditions and adventurers each season. By way of thanks, they would occasionally procure some extremely rare samples of ingredients, poisons, diseases and so forth that he needed for his research. The goal of creating a one-potion-cures-all meant that he had to test each iteration against some new malady. For the last twenty years, Matthias had been trying new and exotic combinations of ingredients against the strangest, weirdest things he could find. His most recent batch was brewing, and this one appeared incredibly promising. Another two days of filtration, recombination, and fermenting and he could test it. This was an improvement on the previous batch, and that had proved effective against such exotic diseases as Hydralitis, Whispering Paralysis, and Bloodturner. It had even shown limited success against some forms of vampirism. It was still not wholly effective, and it only delayed Sporeburst, not stopped it or cured it. This time, though, he was sure he'd gotten that right.

He looked up from the notes on his desk, and over to the racks of vials of rare disease and contagion. Soon, I'll be able to put all of you down, and soon nobody will have to watch their family waste away from something no ordinary healer can handle.

He could hear a slow rumble in the distance. He'd hoped -- it seemed in vain -- that with the grim cavalrymen smashing the Deskren siege engines, he'd be able to work in peace. The rumbling slowly grew in intensity, and he stood up in alarm as the vials of exotic problems started rattling. He started to run over to the racks of disease, then paused, looking over to the glassware and coiled tubing where his latest batch was brewing. He looked back and forth between them as the rumbling sharply ramped up, unsure which station was more important, and then finally decided to go for the racks of contagions. It'd be hard to continue his work if he was dead.

He was slammed to the ground by a wall of force the instant he reached the shelves. He was momentarily blinded by a baleful, eerie red light that permeated everything in his lab, and deafened by what sounded like the wailing of the dead and damned.

==============================

Rella casually lifted a hand and caught the pastry flying at her head, without taking her eyes off the maps pinned to the camp table. Most of the nobility were too busy attempting to curry favor to find humor in such a thing, but the [Oracle] found Mette Weldte to be refreshingly relaxed. The warrior queen refused to stand on ceremony in the field, flipping a chair around and sitting with her arms crossed on the back to look down at the maps. Even without her armor Mette was imposing, clad in riding leathers and a coat showing faint runes glimmering with combat enhancements. Her sword never left her side, of course.

“Just enough honey, like always,” said Rella, licking the last bits of pastry off her fingers. Her other hand carefully slid a small figurine of a wolf a few more inches across the map. “Wyatt and the twins keep talking about ‘cupcakes’ and ‘pancakes’ but they claim not to be the cooking kind of worldwalkers. I can look ahead to see what those look like but not what they taste like. Not worth the backlash headache.”

“Adrin’s vanguard is three days from Fort Expedition, and we should get there five more behind him,” answered Mette, eyeing the markers on the map.

“The rest of us can’t run as fast as the wolves,” grunted Kamaga, leaning on a gnarled root cane and squinting at the table. “Water will soon be a problem, too. We’re days away from the next river.”

Rella nodded, pulling a pin from a tray on the table and placing it on the map a hand’s width ahead of the human forces. “There’s an abandoned village here, with two wells. There’s nothing left of the buildings, not for generations, but we can send a few dozen wagons to refill our barrels there.”

“From what you’ve told us of the Battlemaster’s arrival at the city, I take it things are going well?” Mette asked in between bites of her own breakfast.

“Not perfectly; there have been losses. The Deskren commander was far more reckless than even I could predict, but the city holds and now there’s been a change in command with the enemy forces.”

Rella sifted through the possibilities, her borrowed eye itching behind the leather patch. The futures were somewhat disturbed in the wake of the death of Claire Descroix and her horrid blood magic ritual. “The newly promoted field commander for the Deskren is undecided on a course of action. I couldn’t lay odds on him quitting the field, or making a last-ditch assault on the city before the Tribes arrive.”

“The spirits are closer than they’ve been in my lifetime.” Kamaga sipped her tea. “Another Ma’akan youngster managed a full shift last night, and I expect more will follow. Such things will only bolster the loyalty of the tribes, to you and to the new Alpha.”

“Their warnings are well heeded. I can’t see into the Dead Sands, but if the Tribes can help push back the Empire so that can be dealt with, the Debt will be well-paid and then some.” Rella glanced at Kamaga with her good eye. “She didn’t think of debts when she made the trade. The Silent Prophet, I mean. I hope your people know that.”

“Honor lies within as well as without, human. Just because your predecessors never saw it as such did not mean a debt was not owed.”

Rella stepped back from the map table, barely hearing Kamaga’s words. Her eye twitched, and a low ringing filled her ears as her mug of tea fell from limp fingers. Mette stood with a shout of concern that Rella barely heard, and the physical world fell away.

The halls of the dream were screaming, echoes rebounding from the stone like a lament for forgotten legends. Koma and Ruga stood opposite each other looking down at a map similar to what Rella had been studying in the waking world, albeit far more intricately detailed. Her crystal eye ached and burned, the futures shifting as distant possibilities shoved their way to the fore.

“Don’t panic, Rella, this is what the Mantle is for,” said Ruga, beckoning Rella forward without looking up from the map table. Rella felt something lurch deep within her being as the wailing from the dream temple reached a crescendo.

Possibility Shift imminent.

She felt the words more than heard them; Koma and Ruga glanced at each other, their expressions growing far more grim.

“Looks like a bad one,” said Koma, flicking a hand over the map and panning it across the countryside. The map even had wispy clouds and snow flurries along thin lines that Rella realized were roads. Tiny dots moved like miniscule figurines smaller than ants. “But who’s about to break the rules?”

“It may not even be a person,” Ruga reminded her. “Or at least not anyone sane. We see people making choices more clearly than random events, and that’s what I feel this one is. Something random, and terrible.”

“What’s going on? I mean aside from all this!” snapped Rella. “What in the name of forgotten gods is a ‘possibility shift?’”

“Exactly what it sounds like. The futures are shifting, something that was unlikely to happen is now becoming more likely to happen, or has already happened. Our job-” Koma halted, looking Rella in the eye. “No, your job is to decide how to handle it. The Mantle will adapt to the situation, but the [Oracle] decides how to proceed. The greater the danger, the more extreme measures become available.”

“There’s risk, though,” added Ruga. “Fate’s a fickle ship, and the harder you try to yank on the tiller, the worse the backlash will be.”

“Before you ask, that’s why we couldn’t see the hole in the world that the Alpha warned you about. Whatever the [Oracle] did at Oasa left a blind spot in the Mantle. We couldn’t see that, but we aren’t so limited here and now.” Koma was looking at the map again, centered on the now-familiar walls of Fort Expedition and the pale blue dome over the city. “Oh, no…”

“What is it?” asked Rella, looking more closely at the city. A sickly grey-green shadow seemed to spread from one building like a stain, covering several blocks near the east end of the southern wall. Koma and Ruga answered simultaneously.

“Plague.”

At the same time, the not-voice spoke again:

Possibility Shift: Extinction Probability Adjustment

Seal Authority Restrictions Lifted

Extinction Probability: Low

Potential Impact: Continental

Rella fought down the panic rising in her chest. “Extinction!?”

“That’s not good,” Ruga replied, “but it’s not the worst I’ve seen. You can make Seals as needed to deal with the crisis, girl.”

“Looks like a virulent plague...a magical mutation, powered by a madman’s death wish stemming from grief. And it looks like you have a potential agent in the city,” Koma remarked, pointing to a bright flash on the map. “Zizael’s been busy doing her redemption thing with the Deskren siblings.”

“It won’t be enough, Koma,” Ruga sighed. “A Herald of Mercy, or possibly one of the Seraphim could stop a plague by themselves, but Redemption is a more focused role.” She spun the map with a brush of her finger, several green circles flashing across the city. “A handful of druids, a shaman, and the General’s wife is who you’ve got. They can help contain the spread, but it won’t be enough to stop it completely.”

“So what do we need to do?” asked Rella.

“It’s a plague. We need to contain it, burn out the infection, and Seal away the source. We don’t have the resources to deal with it properly,” growled Koma.

“Once the tear at Oasa is dealt with, you can petition for priestesses and paladins of Asima or the other sects. There aren’t any strong enough or of a high enough level to deal with it now, and you have a war to fight first. Countering a plague is a totally different sort of undertaking.”

“She doesn’t have anyone fast enough to get a Seal to the city in time to deploy a containment ritual, Ruga.” Koma swiped her hand over the glowing barrier atop the city on the map, zipping the view back to the encamped armies around Rella’s pavilion. “Well, there is old Hanz.”

“Drakenflame would solve the cleanup problem,” Ruga mused, “although half the city might burn as well. Mundane water won’t put out the fires from an Elder Drake’s breath. But the Battlemaster does have water and ice mages on hand.”

“He’d have to draw upon the power of his crown; the Title, not the metal one on his head,” said Koma. “He won’t do that for nothing, not even with a plague threatening the land. Drakenth can close the high passes and wait that sort of crisis out.” Both Koma and Ruga turned to Rella.

“How do I convince him that it’s worth it?” Rella rubbed her eye, running her fingers under the patch as Koma and Ruga shared a look.

“There’s only one thing the Drakengard wants,” said Koma.

“More drakes,” nodded Ruga.

“Specifically viable eggs, or even better -- a queen. They haven’t found one of those since before the Steel Crusade. It’s the only thing Drakenth’s rulers ever ask about when they bargain to ask questions of the [Oracle].” Koma grinned at Rella with a feral glint in her eye. “Drakes burrow into the mountains to lay their eggs under the ground where we can’t see, but we can narrow it down for him. There’ve been several sightings of wild drakes along the western wildwall south of Sprocket. If you can give him an area to search so the Drakengard can get ahead of Sprocket’s consortiums, he’d give you his crown.”

Rella smiled, reaching her hand out and shoving the view of the map back to a broader vista. With a pinching gesture, it zoomed back down to the mountains east of the Sea of Possibility and south of the Gnomish capital of Sprocket. A few moments to search, and then she was waving away Mette and Kamaga, once again in her tent in the waking world.

“I need Hanz,” she exclaimed, pulling a silver coin out of her belt pouch. Without her normal restrictions, weaving a Seal into the metal was as easy as breathing and came without risk of paralytic feedback. “Hanz, and a scribe to draw us a map of the Wildwall mountains south of Sprocket.”

“Something important, we can tell,” said Mette Weldt once she was satisfied Rella wasn’t in danger. “What can you tell us?”

“Plague at Fort Expedition.”

The Warrior Queen and Kamaga both gasped in shock, and Rella made a soothing gesture.

“It’s okay. If Hanz can get this Seal there, and help burn away the infection, we can lock the affected district down for a century at least. It won’t go away completely, but we can make sure there are people ready to deal with it when the time comes.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Mette, rubbing the hilt of her sword. “I can’t cut sickness.”

===============================

Matthias Holman could see and hear again. He sat up, slowly. Pain coursed through his body as he attempted to make sense of what just happened. His gaze fell about his laboratory… and daylight? Something had blasted through the protections that he'd had placed on the laboratory. Incredibly potent wards, seals and barriers -- the best that money could buy -- had been interlaced and imbued into the slabs of stone that made up the building. They had been designed, largely, to keep things in. They had not been designed to keep things out.

He rubbed his head, feeling the onset of a pulsing headache. He must have hit something pretty hard during whatever had just happened. Shaking off the mental cobwebs, his brain started to race. The stream of destruction--

His desk and the bookshelves next to it were aflame. His carefully collected and collated notes, assorted tomes of lore and literature, all valuable and irreplaceable, and now simply gone. Even the most recent batch of potion was a total loss, sloshed across the cobblestone floor in a shower of broken glass. His life’s work -- gone in an instant. Tearing at his disheveled hair with his hands, he let out an anguished cry. Decades of toil, countless sleepless nights, all in the pursuit of good, were simply gone.

The sample shelves!

Many vials were outright shattered. Who knew what he'd come in contact with? Matthias knew he was a dead man. With that realization, something inside of him just snapped.

The old man’s yell continued, becoming less anguished and more a distillation of rage. He quickly quaffed the remaining flasks of disease, poison, venom, and even his more esoteric samples. He quickly activated two specific skills as he did so -- the first, [Combine Reagents] immediately followed by [Catalytic Control].

The terrible things coursing through his body quickly became something more.

And so did Matthias Holman. He stumbled out into the streets, amidst a squad of Deskren. The terrible yelling gave way to maniacal laughter, as he confronted the lightly armored infantrymen. He gestured wildly at them. The squad leader, clearly already on edge for having come through the wall into the midst of Tinkertown, quickly ordered his men to strike the raving madman down. And so, Matthias Holman met his end at the end of several Deskren spears, his blood splashing over those who killed him. He continued laughing until his body gave out, his last vision that of his newly-terrible blood on the snow-covered cobble.

=============================

Erin Ward was troubled. She listened in on the discussion, with half of her attention. It had already been an eventful morning. The Deskren forces approaching the breaches had been repulsed, and the remaining Deskren had pulled back from the walls to regroup. They still outnumbered the Black Lance and the city defenders two to one, and their constant threat cast a dark shadow over the city, even with reinforcements on the way. She had also been forced to kill an assassin to protect her husband, her surrogate daughter, and her patients. That wore on her; she was not able to so casually dispatch human life as her husband. The [Hand of Solace] was a balance and foil to her husband, for all of her fierce loyalty to him.

Erin knew she'd love nothing more than to have had them stay in South Hollows and for Jacob to make his fortune in other ways. He had been on his way to specializing in business and logistics when the Deskren raids had hit. She knew that he, too, had been looking forward to a slice of peace. The cost of what he had become saddened her. Such was life, though, and she was incredibly proud of what he'd accomplished with the Lance, as she was of her own skills and her contributions to the cause.

She was shaken out of her thoughts as her husband spoke, his breath leaving light clouds of condensation in the chill air.

"...Say what now? What could possibly be a bigger problem than what's left of the Deskren army pouring through the wall?"

Jeremis shrugged and looked up at Jacob.

"Plague."

Erin snapped her gaze to the [Lifesteel Architect]. She had in general been concerned about disease, especially in siege conditions. Never one to stand on ceremony, she immediately launched into her questions.

"What sort of 'plague'? Did the Deskren introduce it? How do you know about it, and how many people have it?"

Jeremis blinked and raised his artificial hand up, as if to ask her to slow down. Jacob merely quirked an eyebrow, as all eyes fell on his wife.

"Uhm, Lady Ward, is it? First, we don't know what kind of plague it is. What we do know is that Matthias Holman's laboratory was destroyed by that terrible spell."

She stared at him, even as Stev recoiled in horror. "Should I know who that is?"

===============================

James-Peter Tomlinson had once thought he'd like a more interesting life. Several months after the Deskren invasion, he had come to the realization that sometimes interesting wasn't necessarily better, just different. James-Peter was a young man, and had once been an apprentice to the pastry chef of his home village of Kathgor. Swept up in the General's grand march across the continent, the direction of his life had pivoted drastically. He'd learned to ride a horse, fight with sword and shield, wear armor, and carry a lance. He'd survived numerous skirmishes, and thus far most of the major engagements that the Black Lance had ridden into. Like so many other young men and women who followed the dread banner, he'd classed into something entirely different than what he'd expected. The [Quicklance Charger], however, still had the tempestuous streak that led to his selection as one of the General's personal squad.

Because of this, the now-veteran lancer advanced on foot through the savaged town of Expedition. He'd long grown accustomed to wearing heavy armor, mismatched as it was from scavenging it from the numerous battlefields he'd been on. He walked alongside the General and his wife, along with a small contingent of Lancers and dignitaries of the city. James-Peter listened as Stev Aras explained about where they were heading. He'd ridden through Tinkertown with Marc Joronis only hours before. He'd grown up near the officer in training, and the two had gotten on well since. Marc was seeing to other areas of consideration, and so was not among the present company. Just as well, James-Peter thought. This will surely be boring. And cold.

James-Peter only half paid attention to what Stev told Erin. Apparently they were headed to the shop of the greatest alchemical healer in Expedition, if not the world. And because of that, he'd apparently had samples of just about every nasty disease and poison James-Peter had heard of, and quite a few that he had not, which led him to wonder why he and several other lancers were coming along with the General and company to survey the scene. In truth, James-Peter thought this was an overkill situation that Lady Erin could probably handle on her own. He'd personally seen the [Hand of Solace] work several near-miracles, and he suspected this would be no different.

Still, James-Peter realized there had been assassins seen in the city, and there may be more pockets of trapped Deskren out there, so he kept a sharp eye out anyway. If nothing else, that's what the Battlemaster had drilled into his head since the first time he'd ridden out with the man to put bandits to the sword.

It was that lesson that saved Erin Ward from something. James-Peter spotted the strange monstrosity just in time to barrel his armored form into it with his shield at the ready. He was struck by a near impossible blow, and barely held, as Erin ducked back behind him, her hands raised to cast. Looking over his shield, he activated his skills [Flurry Strikes] and [Rapid Steps], trying to gain advantage over the strange creature before him. His sword flashed and bit into the odd, tentacled mass of flesh. He couldn’t tell what effect he had, though, and the creature opened an impossibly wide, strangely askew maw from its midsection. It roared, and the sound was almost speech; James-Peter recoiled, a bolt of fear shooting down his spine.

He drew back, shield still raised, looking at the monstrosity before him. Eyes bulged from weird protrusions, and its only resemblance to a person came in the fact that it stood on two limbs; otherwise, it was a random melange of parts and flesh. It bled impossibly thick crimson ichor from the gash his sword had inflicted in its hide, though that was slowly closing. James-Peter stepped forward, thrusting repeatedly with his sword. The blade pierced the shambling fleshy mass multiple times to seemingly little effect. James-Peter danced back, alarmed, as a fleshy tendril formed seemingly instantly and launched itself at him with seemingly impossible speed. He raised his shield, but too slowly -- the tentacle pierced his throat, and he went down burbling in pain. Blood frothed from the wound, and he was powerless to do much more than watch, as things happened seemingly in slow motion. A wall of darkness, blacker than the blackest night interposed itself between the abomination and himself.

He distantly heard cries, and the sounds of metal on flesh as his head lolled to the side. Hands grabbed him roughly, and dragged him along as ragged edges of darkness began to fill his vision. He struggled to look at what was going on, as time seemed to slow to a crawl. His comrades clashed with the horrible monsters, some falling in the press. The General was flowing into action. His wife had her hands raised, power building across her form, and Hett, the normally jovial madman stood grim faced as his axe flashed. There was something else- a pillar of light, with a figure at its center. He struggled to smile and with his last conscious thoughts he knew, even as his vision faded, that he had no regrets. His life for the Lady's -- that was a trade he could die for.

===============================

Erin Ward was, by now, no stranger to combat. She had even grown somewhat accustomed to the weird wildlife of this world, but the monstrosities she faced now were something else, especially as they seemed to be aiming for her specifically. Lancers and city guardsmen alike placed themselves ahead of the [Hand of Solace], some falling to rapid strikes from the shambling monstrosities. She'd known James-Peter since almost the beginning and the young man had saved her life just now. A wall of bodies separated her from the shrieking horrors, and she knew in her heart that they were no ordinary creatures, and this was no ordinary plague. Even as a pair of guardsmen drug the downed Lancer back from the front, others moved in to fill the gaps.

As Jacob manifested a wall of shadow to buy her precious moments, she began to pour her mana into [Cleanse Area]. She'd used the skill to good effect in the makeshift operating theaters she'd had to work with on the long marches, and it had helped suppress disease that might have otherwise taken patients she'd worked on.

Here, it merely repulsed the shambling creatures. Between Jacob's [Wall of Shade] and her cleansing aura, the party had a moment of respite. Still, there were a few men down outside the area of effect, and the horrible monstrosities dragged them off.

"What in the hell are those things?!" she asked nobody and everybody all at once. She looked to her husband. "We're going to need all the mages!" Jacob nodded grimly and gestured to one of the Lancers who took off at a sprint as the party regrouped. They pulled the injured and dying back behind a wall of shields, and suddenly the [Hand of Solace] sensed something different at play. Her head snapped up from the injured woman she'd instinctively started working on. She stared as one, then two, then three creatures burst into blinding white flames.

"What the fu--"

===============================

Jacob Ward was out of his depth. He did not, quite, understand what he was seeing. Even as his stamina reserves rapidly dwindled holding the [Wall of Shade], he steeled himself to attack these… things. His wife called for more mages, and he turned to the nearest lancer, nodding for him to go. His mind raced as he tried to figure out some angle, some plan to face the horrors of the flesh. Even as his party regrouped, he was still trying to find a path ahead.

"--ck?!" He whipped his head towards Erin, caught somewhat off guard by her swearing, before following her gaze. The blinding white light erupting from the fallen creatures faded, and then seemed to appear elsewhere on the field, closer now. When it fully manifested, and the shambling horrors had pulled back with a few corpses, Jacob felt his jaw practically slam into the lower plate of his helmet.

Before them all was a creature of stunning beauty, clad in armor, and adorned with wings of purest white. In her hand she twirled a spear of pure light, as she advanced on the impromptu shield wall.

"Holy sh--"

===============================

Archangel Zizael, Herald of Redemption, formerly Zizzy, constable of Stormbreak, and briefly Ix’zizzixtrim the Unbound manifested in a flash of light and fury. The Archangel whirled with her spear, and struck down multiple of the assailing monstrosities attacking the Lancers and Guardsmen. She shifted her gaze towards the massive man clad in plate and shadow, her eyes falling on the eyeslits of his helmet.

"--it!"

She nodded and lifted off on her wings, moving with a graceful ease towards the shield wall. She landed next to the General and his wife.

"Help is coming. You must hold."

In a rare moment of shock and inaction, Jacob merely stared at her. It was his wife that spoke, instead.

"We've sent for the rest of our mages, but who the hell are you?"

The Archangel merely laughed. The melodious sound was an odd juxtaposition with the eerie silence of their surroundings. She gestured with her spear towards the depths of Tinkertown. "I am here to help. We can talk more about this later. You, though… you are the right person for this. But you will need help."

She placed a hand on Jenna Tillerson's shoulder. "You in particular will be needed at the end, [Water Witch]. Save your mana as much as you can." Her gaze slipped over to the life mage who was busying herself tending to the injured. She nodded approvingly, before turning to regard the Battlemaster. He was in animated, but quiet, conversation with a man who might actually be as ancient as she was. The man finally looked back at her, and nodded.

"What are we up against? Hett here says he's never seen anything like it, and I actually thought he might have seen everything."

Hett stared at her as if to punctuate Jacob's statement. She saw a glimmer of recognition in the old man's eyes, but he said nothing.

"I am not… entirely sure. But you could use another warrior, and here I am."

The Battlemaster simply stared at her for another moment, before finally speaking, "I have questions."

"Later, General. Now, you have yet another battle to fight."

With that, the being that some knew as Zizzy, and others as Zizael turned and pointed the spear of light. "The monsters return."

===============================

Rella strode from her tent, the power of the Mantle of Prophecy wrapped around her like a blanket. She barely felt the chill in the air from the winter snows. Messengers had already been sent ahead, and she could hear shouts of porters and guards competing with the rumbling of a trio of drakes. Hanz’s own Draxiganth towered twice again the size of his Skyknight escorts as the king approached with a pair of riders.

Hanz stopped a few paces in front of Rella, bowing his head with a respectful nod as the pair of knights to his flanks scanned the surrounding tents and soldiers with hyper-alert eyes. “I felt the power rolling off you from our camp even before your messenger arrived. What events spur the [Oracle] to make a request of Drakenth?”

“Plague at Fort Expedition.” Rella skipped the formalities, well understanding the disdain Hanz held for pomp and posturing. “Magically boosted by a dying [Alchemist] gone mad. It’ll wreck the continent if left unchecked; tens of millions dead in a year and ten times that in a decade.”

“Then you need Paladins and high-levelled [Healers] and [Clerics], not the Drakengard.” Hanz folded his arms.

“Temporary containment has been arranged. We need to cauterize the source of the infection, and normal flames won’t work.”

Hanz simply looked at her flatly. “You ask for the [Flames of Drakenth].”

“I bargain fairly, Drakenking,” said Rella, her one bare eye glowing with the power coursing through her body. She held up the roll of maps. “I know the cost of your royal skills, the drain upon your people.”

He took the scroll, gently pulling aside the string and peering at the markings and landmarks. “This is..the western wildwall? The high passes between Sprocket and the Sea of Possibility?”

“I cannot peer underground, so there are no guarantees. But I’ve seen them on the edges where adventurers wander, this side of the Wildlands.”

“Speak plain, girl. You ask me to risk the last of my people’s power.”

“Wild Drakes.”

The two Skyknights behind Hanz didn’t freeze, not exactly. But Rella could feel the sudden shift in their attention, sharp as to make a razor dull in comparison. “Nests?” he asked, hope warring with caution in his gaze.

“There has to be,” she replied. “I’ve seen over three dozen individual males, at the edge of where I can look. Too far away from actual people and things simply fade out.”

“Every time we track down rumors of nests, we’re too late. Cartels and Consortiums, or high-levelled legends seeking the eggs or hides for artefacts or potions--” Hanz snarled the last word. “A few potential nests are not enough, Lady Prophet.”

Rella peeled back the eye-patch, letting a lost god’s regard fall upon the king. “No one is searching for these nests, Drakenking, but I will make a pact with you now. First warning whenever I or my successors see more in the future. For a century, or until your people once again rule the heights on the backs of drakes, whichever comes first.”

Draxiganth roared, exultant with hopeful rage, his smaller brethren hissing and snapping. Hanz handed the roll of maps to the nearer of his personal guard, who dashed for their mounts to lunge into the sky before the echoes of the first shriek faded.

“My Lady Prophet,” said Hanz with an actual bow, as Rella held out a coin with a glowing sigil in the shape of an eye drawn on both sides.

“The Seal will get you through the barrier that shields the city, since there won’t be time to be diplomatic. Cauterize the infection. You’ll know who to give the Seal to after that. She will bind the source, to be dealt with in due time.”

Hanz wasted no more words, striding away. Rella stood and watched, feeling the futures shift as the Drakenking took flight. He banked, circling the camp twice to gain altitude as she felt power building in the air. Not for nothing was Hanz a King. Updrafts seemed to lift Draxiganth at his command, runes glittering on the Drakenrider’s leathers and the grey iron crown on Hanz’s brow.

A third time the pair circled, even higher, before the wind stilled to silence. With an ear-shattering roar, and a gust that whipped tent flaps and cloaks and set horses to screaming in fear, King Hanz shot eastwards and out of sight, moving faster than any Sky-Knight should.

===============================

Jacob Ward quickly got over his initial shock. Present him with a problem and he'd happily go to work on solving it. As his mind raced, he sent runners to pull forth as many soldiers as could be spared from the walls. The mages went to work, immediately. He went through a mental checklist.

Things I know: We have a nasty plague ahead of us. It makes the flood look like child's play. We have help coming. We do not know when. We also apparently have an angel helping in the fight. We have to hold for an indeterminate period of time.

He turned to look at the assembled commanders, and mages. "When we get more troops up, Davin, Joronas? I want you two leading the wings. Mister Aras, it's your city, and I am but a humble guest," he chuckled ruefully as he continued, "but I'd be obliged if you'll send for some more of your folks and organize the archers and guards as they come up. We'll also need local guides, for the Lancers. Best we block the roads with shields, and send as many mages as can be spared to back the squads up. Erin, Jenna, see to that."

He paused, considering the situation further. "We need to determine how far this has spread, and bottle it up. If," he turned to look at the angel, "she is correct, we have something or someone coming to help. We just have to hold what we've got. Well, we're good at that. Let's get to it, folks."

Jacob watched as the well-oiled machine he'd forged went to work. Commands were given, commanders organized their groups, and the steady stream of lancers, city dwellers, and mages pouring into the area fell in to defend with grim determination, even as more of the horrors continued to test the lines that had been drawn. It quickly became apparent that any who fell to the beasts needed to be recovered quickly, and either burned, or hit with a massive dose of healing magic. Thus, Jacob watched as his wife stayed busy, working her magic and burning through mana potions even as she and Jenna organized the mages for this fight. Erin's life magic saved many, and repelled the monsters as she used her cleaning aura, but she was going through her reserves and the potions quickly. Still, it would have been far worse if not for her, and the as-yet-unnamed Angel.

Minutes ticked into hours and hours, and there was still no sign of the help that the Angel had promised, past her own unique skills. She seemed to be everywhere all at once, striking out and fighting alongside the hodgepodge of defenders. By now, they had managed to establish a ring around the infection, even as dozens more of the horrible creatures poured forth from Tinkertown into the snowy streets.

At one point, several of the abominations had managed to sidestep the front lines, and were soon amongst the command group. Jacob was confronted directly by one shambling mass of flesh. It opened its misshapen maw, and screamed. The sound was vaguely human and it startled him even more than the glob of acid it projected. The pilfered hodgepodge of armor he'd worn on campaign sizzled, and then his two-handed longsword flashed in a whirling pattern of destruction. Tentacles and rent flesh were cast away as the creature pressed its attack. The Angel stepped in, then, and the creature exploded in a bright white light.

Erin looked over at him in alarm, and she shook her head.

"I don't know much about metal, but uh, Jake, I'm pretty sure you're going to need new armor."

"Shit." He looked at the angel, as snow lightly fell around them. "...Not sure how much longer we can contain this. Where's that help? I'd kill for some artillery or air support right now."

At that, the Angel merely laughed.

===============================

The man they called Hett was uncharacteristically subdued. The cantankerous old man hated this kind of fight -- it wasn't as clean as facing the Deskren, nor as pure as bearing down on a Rockmaw with nothing but his axe. He'd done that a time or two, now, which was more than he could say about facing these things. The last push the monsters had made had wrecked the [Blacklance Battlemaster]'s armor, but they were still holding. The Worldwalker's calm air belied the desperate nature of the defense, and even with the help of an Archangel -- one that Hett swore he knew, though he wasn't sure why -- he knew it was only a matter of time before some of these plaguebeasts got through. It was fortunate that they seemed drawn to the life magic of Erin Ward; otherwise, there was no telling what would be going on.

Hett, though not properly one of Jacob's soldiers, felt the battle auras all the same. If not for the combination of the General's formidable skills, the numbers of high-level classers, and the sheer loyalty of the Lance, they might have already broken. The old man was proud of this group. Breaking not one, but two Deskren field armies was no mean feat. He'd have to make sure they stayed alive. As the highest level classer here -- or probably anywhere -- he was uniquely qualified for that. He stood close to both the Worldwalkers and their entourage, as the Angel laughed.

"What's so durned funny?"

The Angel pointed towards the horizon, over the city walls. "Keep an eye out, Obadiah. Then you tell me."

He followed the line made by her arm and the spear of light. Even with the rejuvenation of having so recently gained a level, his eyes weren't what they'd once been. He shrugged and spit a wad of chewing tobacco on the ground. He had never been one for theatrics. Even then, a fresh wave of the monstrosities came up, and his axe went to work once more. Hett swung the heavy woodcutter's axe with the sureness born of a lifetime of working with the unassuming weapon. Gibbets of diseased flesh fell away, and the pulsing mass twitched and died. The others that formed the center of the line worked with the same fury, and they somehow, successfully managed to repulse another attack.

Hett looked back towards the horizon, as he listened to the reports ringing out. Stocks of potions were running low, and there was an increasing number of dead and injured. The old man knew another good push or two from the monsters would break the line. His eyes narrowed and he stroked his beard thoughtfully as he swore he saw a distant speck in the sky. He patted Jacob on the pitted and scoured shoulder pauldron and gestured toward the horizon.

"Hoss, ye've got better eyes'n I do. See that?"

The Battlemaster turned to follow the line from the old man's arm. He tilted his helmeted head. "It's large and coming on fast. Probably not another Deskren trick, I… oh. But...how?"

The old man raised an eyebrow quizzically. He looked back, and seemed to consider it for a moment. The old man just laughed as he came to the same realization as Jacob Ward. His hands gripped the axe with renewed vigor. He knew what was coming. He heard Jacob muttering something about ‘danger close,’ and laughed harder.

===============================

Hanz Geremas raced towards the city of Expedition atop Draxiganth, the greatest of the living drakes. They raced over forests, across hills, and with a speed that would have been impossible for any but the King of Drakenth and his mount. Hanz felt the power of his people and his own abilities massing behind them, pushing them on and clawing for more altitude as Expedition came into focus. Now was not the time to take the chance that the Deskren had stationed mages and archers on approach. No arrows, bolts, or magic attempted to greet them. It was just as well.

Draziganth climbed at angles and speeds that ought to have been impossible. The Drake's enhanced vision aided Hanz's own, and the pair got a good view of the devastation wrought against the city. Whole lines of buildings lay crumbled, sections of the wall were collapsed and then hastily reinforced, and massive plumes of smoke roiled over the old fortress. It took them a long moment to make out the source and spread of the infection. It reeked of impurities, of festering rotten flesh, and was the stuff of nightmares. The King of Drakenth fished the Oracle's seal from a pocket of his leathers as they raced on towards the translucent blue dome covering the city. It grew rapidly in his vision, as they came in over the top. Hanz and Draxiganth turned into a steep dive, angling for the apex of the dome. Sweeping in from the Northwest, they gained even more speed with the dive, descending towards the dome with meteoric intent.

Now to test my trust in the Oracle.

Draxiganth laughed in Hanz's mind, as they passed through the translucent dome without so much as a tingle. Hanz guided his partner with his body and mind as they angled for the Southeastern wall. He had visited Expedition a handful of times over the years, and knew, roughly, that the source of the infection was Tinkertown.

As the air whistled in Hanz's ears and whipped his hair behind him, he had Draxiganth begin his pass, starting at the wall. The drake let out a massive roar, and a pillar of draconian flame erupted from the great beast's draconian maw. Magically augmented, the flame started carving a furious swath of destruction, searing a ring of devastation in front of the line of troops ringing the infected area.

The King of the Sky-Knights pulled his drake out of its steep dive. The pair slowed, banking in a sweeping arc as the drake scythed a jet of sticky flame across buildings, streets, snow and rubble. They flew in a long arc along the furthest edge of the contaminated area to contain the spread of the contagion, first. Hanz was distantly aware of the cheers rising up from below, as he and Draxiganth continued their workmanlike display of devastation. They continued spiraling inward from the edges of the wall, burning the pocket of infection that was Tinkertown. Steam from the snow roiled upwards, and not for the first time was Hanz glad for the wyvern-hide he wore, resistant to heat, flame, and cold as it was. The wily old king continued banking Draxiganth in long passes amidst the flames. Row after row of buildings were engulfed, and Hanz nodded with grim satisfaction. The Drakengard had made a statement, and upheld their Bargain with the [Oracle]. He circled again in a tighter arc, pouring more insatiable fire into the center of the corruption’s spread.

Only when Hanz was sure the fires had completely engulfed the area, did he break off, looking for the General and his entourage and a place to land. He listened as inhuman shrieking rose up alongside the cheers from the living. Already, a bevvy of mages worked to contain the flames. Streams of water and ice magic, amplified by the moisture in the air from the snowfall, protected the buildings and defenders on the outside of the engulfed area. He set down in an open square of cobblestone and dismounted Draxiganth in a single fluid motion. He walked the short distance to where the Battlemaster, his wife, and the others had gathered.

"Hanz, it's damned good to see you," Jacob said, as he doffed his helmet. Hanz merely stroked his beard thoughtfully before replying. The Duke before him looked more weary than he had in their previous two meetings. His armor was rent and melted in multiple places and he was covered in grime.

"It's good to see you, as well. Though you look like hell. Didn't they teach you to dodge on your other world? You look like Draxiganth chewed on you. Is Obadiah still with you?"

Jacob pointed towards the old man, who was busy rallying the troops. "I've been told I'm too stubborn to dodge. At least the armor took the worst of it. As for Hett, he seems impossible to kill. I have to say, when the Angel told us help was coming, I wasn't expecting you."

"Angel, you say? I suspect that that is who the Oracle wanted me to give the seal. I should finish my mission. We will talk more, soon." He looked over to the knot of mages, and saw her there. He could feel the pulsating magics twisting through the air, mana calling forth water and ice to contain the flames. He felt the life magic, and saw the Battlemaster's wife at work. He excused himself, and walked over to the radiant creature.

She looked at him and nodded. "Greetings, King of the Drakengard. Your arrival was timely; it must have cost you. I trust you bargained well."

Hanz nodded. "Aye. Better than I had dared hope." He paused. "I suppose you will need this." He presented the Seal in his hand. "Finish this."

Taking the proffered Seal, she turned to the [Hand of Solace]. "Girl, direct all of your cleansing power towards the source. I will handle it from there." Erin nodded quietly, and took a deep breath, as she reached out and pushed. The cleansing aura suddenly became something more, as a new skill revealed itself to her. She recoiled as she activated [Lifespring of Eir], and an invisible wave washed over Tinkertown, the area surrounding, the rest of Expedition, and an area past its walls. Rejuvenating magics washed over everyone and everything, accelerating the healing of the sick and injured, and pushing the plague back towards what was once the best place in Expedition to buy a potion.

And the cost of it flattened Erin Ward. She collapsed in a heap, her reserves already low from the continuous effort of the last few hours. She looked up, gasping for breath as the Archangel Zizael walked straight into the still burning Drakenflame. She disappeared past the roiling wall of fire.

===============================

Jenna Tillerson could barely contain the flames before her. Even with every mage that could be said to have a smidgen of talent for working with water and ice supporting her, the Drakenflame was nearly too much. Caster links were not a common occurrence, and the power flowed forth as hands reached out and touched her and others with her. She strained her own capacity to the limits, shouldering the burden for the lower-levelled mages she could feel in the link. Dozens had answered the Battlemaster’s call, and while mages linked in a mass ritual were not of one mind, they were of one will.

And that will was faltering. She could feel them, spread out in a loose circle unbuffered by focusing arrays or artefacts to enhance control. There had simply been no time to coordinate such an effort. The Drakenflame, especially augmented by the [Flames of Drakenth], was too much for what they had. It was all Jenna could do to manage the flow of energies pouring through her, let alone manage the flame. Sweat beaded on her brow and began to frost her long, dark hair. She needed more mages or more time, but neither was a resource they had in abundance. She fought on, as the water and frost continued to manifest around her as well. It threatened to overwhelm her and all the assembled mages just as surely as the flames. Even as the thought crossed her mind, two of the presences in the link winked out. The burden of power increased sharply, and pain stabbed behind Jenna’s eyes as there were fewer people with which to share the strain of controlling such a torrent of raw mana. There would be levels this day...for those mages who survived. Frost began to crystallize across the surface of her bared arms, tracing patterns along the veins that glowed pale blue under the skin; a warning she forced herself to ignore, at the risk of permanent damage.

Jenna dared not take her eyes off of the flame, lest she lose concentration. Thus, she was caught completely off guard when a sudden pulse of extremely potent magic washed over her and the others. Her natural regeneration went into overdrive. Where before, she struggled to maintain the link and suppress the flames, now she suddenly had mana to spare. She pushed the ice and moisture away from the knot of casters, channeling it as only a [Water Witch] could into a veritable river encircling the flames. She was finally able to wrench her gaze from the Drakenflame, and looked over her shoulder.

The Duchess. That is how. But where is the Angel?

The question was answered almost as quickly as it came to her mind. A pillar of pristine light speared upwards from the center of the burning district. Just before it hit the curved dome of the city’s barrier, the light spread out in fractal patterns forming a geodesic vortex to encompass the flames. The heat vanished like someone shut the door of an infernal oven, and the steam rolling back towards the mages flashed into a wall of puffed and powdery snowflakes.

The angelic light formed a cage around the burning buildings and streets, and the cage began to spin. Slowly, at first, but as patterns and shapes arose in the light like interlocking gears, it spun more and more quickly as the power began to pull in on itself. The lines of light trailed into the ground, and began to cut and etch the stone as they passed by, faster and faster. They traced a sphere, the lower third of which existed under the earth and cobblestone streets. Jenna felt the magical pull strengthen, then the sphere began to shrink in stuttering pulses.

The cage of light spun faster as it shrank, peeling up the stone and dirt and wood and detritus still smoldering from the flames. The gaps left by the lines of magic began to lift away in swirling scrolls that twisted the eye, flame and embers and blood and bodies swirling like leaves in a windstorm as they drifted towards the center. The entire construct rotated faster as it shrank, accelerating to dizzying velocities and accompanied by a roar of wind that just kept spinning.

Faster. The wind was a moan, then a screech. Faster still, and the world screamed as the cage of light shrank down. The lines of the spellwork were no longer visible, just a shrinking sphere of screaming light that caused Jenna’s eyes to ache as much as her ears, until with a final note, a pure humming tone of raw power, it vanished with a pop!

The angel stood in the center of a circle of earth scoured flat and bare, stones smoother than the finest polish. She held a scroll in her hands for a moment, before tucking it into a pouch at her side with a shrug of her wings. She looked up, winking at Jenna, giving a casual salute to Jacob, and a wave and a smirk to Hett. Her wings snapped out and up, and then down, her feet lifting from the ground. She vanished as if ascending through a door, leaving a scattering of alabaster feathers drifting with the falling snow.

===============================

Jacob Ward hated this part. Two days had passed since the Angel's disappearance. Millie had come around, and Calvin was stirring. Erin had recovered from the spell she'd cast -- it had helped everyone in the end -- and the defenders of Fort Expedition were alive to talk about the events. The tavern which had become an impromptu field hospital had also come to serve as the Lance's headquarters. Two flags were raised out front -- one a copy of the Lance's banner, but smaller, and the other, a shield with a crossed sword and staff on a field of green was Expedition’s flag.

Jacob glanced around the room. Most of the patients, save for the most serious, had been moved out. He nodded to the assembled folks, Hanz in particular. He understood the King of Drakenth a little better now, and knew the power of the bargain he'd struck with the [Oracle]. His wife had also drawn on the power of their people. It seemed that there was more to being a Noble than he'd thought at first glance.

"Are you ready, Battlemaster?" The question stirred him from his thoughts, and looked over to Stev Aras. He simply nodded to the notional commander of the city. "Let's get on with it."

The two joined the other commanders and adventurers for a meeting in the back room. They knew there would be at least one more fight ahead, and two days had given everyone enough time to recover from the Battle for the Breaches, and the Sealing.

The final tally had been costly. The Black Lance had marched with roughly ten thousand behind him. They had lost hundreds on the charge, and still more that following day. He had, at last count, roughly 8500 lancers, wolfmen, and infantry fit for duty. Most of the remainder were dead or dying, and there were many permanent injuries. He made a mental note to figure out a pension system, as soon as was practicable.

The city had fared worse. Thousands had perished, and still more were missing. The loss of a large part of Tinkertown was also a major setback. The walls were so heavily damaged in places that those areas would need to be removed and replaced. Not to mention the gatehouse Xerrioth the Gravity mage had "opened" and then "closed." The few dwarves in town simply refused to speculate without a full engineering survey. It would take years for Expedition to recover, and it would likely never look the same.

There was some good news in all of this -- the Deskren Army outside the walls, while what remained was still a capable force, had not followed up on the attack, seeming content to lick their wounds in relative peace. With Hanz having brought word that the Grand Army was just a few days out, and more importantly, the lead elements of the Beastkin were roughly a day from the city, Jacob knew that at least, very shortly, this field army would cease existing.

But the toll had worn heavily on him all the same. He had not commanded so many troops on Earth. He had suffered losses before, both on Earth, and the flight to safety at Possibility. He looked at those assembled and listened to the numbers. The logistics, the planning, the cold calculus of war -- something he'd long since become familiar with, been trained in a lifetime ago on another world -- it just never seemed to convey the personal cost. The bleak cold of the winter evening mirrored his own mind, as he looked out over the rows and rows of blanketed forms in front of the Tavern from the window.

He looked to Stev, and then to the others. "In the end, I worry about the price paid. But, they chose to be here. It would demean that choice, and dishonor their sacrifice if I questioned it now." He looked them over, each in turn. "Make sure it was worth it."

“Time doesn’t make it any easier,” said Hanz with a grim shrug. “At least it hasn’t yet for me.”

“Funerals tonight, and battle likely tomorrow,” Jacob replied.

“Not as likely as you might think. Draxiganth got a good look on the way in. They’re disorganized, likely reeling from losing their commander. They’ll regroup and recover, but the Alpha is making better time than we expected.”

“What can you tell me of the main army?”

“Three days out, but they’ll have to rebuild the bridge. The Luparan will find their own crossings. They're a day or so out.” The Drakenking looked Jacob in the eyes. “How did you get across?”

“Froze the river with his mages and charged across the ice before it could crack apart,” answered Stev with a deadpan tone.

Hanz was speechless for a moment that dragged on for a span of several heartbeats. “I’d have liked to have seen that,” he finally said.

"Truthfully, I'd rather have watched it from your view above the ground. Leading it nearly killed me," Jacob replied with a grimace. "It was the only way I could see to hammer the Deskren siege engines and make it to the walls. I miscalculated how long it would take to open the gate. If not for that gravity mage…" Jacob trailed off. "I've heard that he is recovering well. I'll want to thank him later. The Lance owes him."

"...If you can pry him away from my sister, that is," said Stev with half a smile. That was far and away the strangest relationship he'd seen his sister engage in. He wondered what his parents would think.

“We’ve heard nothing from the yearly expedition itself. Our own scouts confirmed the bridge at Castra Pristis was destroyed, and there was no time to find a route around the gorge before the snows closed the passes.”

“Would they have made a difference here?” asked Jacob.

Hett guffawed. “The ol’ Huntress would have cored out this so-called invasion force and used their bones for arrow shafts, an' her husband Foz would have chewed up the leftovers.”

Stev simply nodded confirmation. “Mother could shoot out through the barrier, using the towers to give her a range of miles in every direction. There are a few in the city who could have taken her in a fistfight if they weren’t scared of Pa, but none that could hide from her and Althenea at range.”

“I’ve no doubt they’ve survived, even with a Wildlands winter slowing them down,” said Hanz. “But we can’t expect them before spring. Expedition Pass is the lowest and safest route in and out, and they’ll be months going around the gorge in the spring.”

"I see. I hope that they are well, then. I would offer our assistance in finding the expedition, but I suspect King Geremas has more information as to the plans of the Army, and I believe that after we refit, we'll be moving again." Jacob turned to look at the King of Drakenth, who nodded.

“The plan so far is to pin down the Deskren forces here and clean up the countryside. Kosala has offered troop transport across the sea to the Empire’s shores. Eastharbor is the nearest port, and the largest, save Far Kosala itself.”

“What about the western front? What’s keeping them from landing another invasion force while we’re all heading for ships?”

“Stormbreak,” Stev replied. “The Mana Storm over the Western Sea hasn’t reformed, freeing them up to lock down the entire western coast. You can’t land a canoe north of the Dead Sands without the Breakers’ permission now.”

"Well, good. That means we can take the fight to the Deskren. How's the [Oracle] handling Mette and that twat Aohmer?"

“I like the girl,” said Hanz. “She’s not as stodgy as the last [Oracle], and she doesn’t shirk responsibility either. But something you need to understand about her mantle’s power is that her authority changes, and her loyalties are unknown and unknowable. She may help one nation today, and topple it tomorrow. I don’t envy Aohmer one bit. He thinks he’s going to get concessions from this war.”

Jacob nodded to Hanz. "Aohmer will get no concessions from me. He had best keep his distance from me, in fact. But on that other point… It seems I'll need to find a new way forward for my people. I will not have them beholden forever to the whims of that girl, friend that she may be, now. Your words only confirm my suspicions."

Stev Aras broke in then, with a wry grin. “Well we don’t mind giving concessions where it’s due. We were running out of food and other supplies before you showed up, but we don’t lack for raw materials. The Grimmhammer Guild is chomping at the bit to offer repair and refit to the Black Lance, and the city will cover a chunk of it. Most of what you rode in with looked scavenged from the field…”

“Ha! That’s because it was,” laughed Jacob, turning at a knock on the door. A messenger bowed into the room. “M’lords, they’re ready,” he said, before stepping back outside.

“This is always the worst part,” said Hanz sadly. He gave Jacob a moment to steel himself, and the Battlemaster led them from the room to the square outside. The tents had been removed, the soldiers having been quartered properly in impromptu barracks and inns throughout the city. Now, neat circles of unlit pyres filled the courtyard. Various house sigils decorated bloodied sheets, though the vast majority stood unmarked at all.

Hanz strode to his waiting drake, climbing to the saddle with practiced ease. Jacob walked silently past, to a waiting pyre draped not in sheets, but in dark cloaks of black and brown and grey. A single lance pierced the top of the pyramid, twin to the original impromptu banner his troops had followed across half a continent. Several more flanked the first temporary monument, a testament to the cost they bore.

Jacob stood in silence, for once letting the numbers fade away instead of counting the bodies. He took in the neatly stacked dead, committing the sight to memory. As the last rays of sunlight faded beyond the city walls, he gave a salute none present could recognize before stepping back. Hanz wasted no time seeing the area clear, nudging Draxiganth forward. The drake, recognizing the solemnity of the moment, held his head high before lowering his maw with a gentle sigh.

Flames lit the night, roaring and hissing as the gathered people stared, and as the smoke drifted upwards to be caught by the barrier before slowly diffusing through the magic, they all heard the same mournful sound in the distance.

The sound of howls.