Perched on a thick low hanging oak branch, Fizz watched Cire curiously from his hidden position behind a thick bundle of leaves. Ever since the gnome had met the sun elf vampire one day in class, he had felt that Cire wore mystery like perfume. It wasn’t simply because both sun elves and vampires were rare. It wasn’t even that Cire was from a different realm, Fizz knew plenty of people from planes outside his own. As reticent as Cire was about all of those things, he still shared them openly. Fizzilius knew there was more, he could smell it.

Sparkling in Fizz’s eye, a gleam of understanding flashed in unison with a sunbeam reflecting from Cire’s donned mithril crown. Plenty of folks wore items like magical circlets to enhance their attributes. But he had never seen Cire wear this item before, and it was far more ostentatious than any other piece of gear he had seen the sun elf employ.

Thumbing his long nose, Fizzilius Coppersprocket double checked his inventory of various projectiles. Dwelling on the enigma that was his new acquaintance had its time and place, and the cusp of battle was not it. It wouldn’t do to spoil the ambush, and his range was far shorter than the archers, so he held fast and silent in wait.

Gnomish eyes were not nearly as sensitive as elven ones, but they were still were sharp. He could make out a long line of the gnoll scouts pushing through the tall grass. They were spread out, with nearly twenty crossing the field. The humanoid dog beasts long brown fur covered limbs propelled them across the meadow faster than most upright beings. Lolling out of their mouths from the exertion of their trek, long drool dripping tongues wobbled with their gaits.

Crossing more than halfway across the meadow, the scouts kept probing, sniffing the air and listening to the wind. On one hand, the elvish band was lucky, the wind, as it often was in a territory blessed by Aeolus, was on their side. The fickle force of nature muted their presence to the main senses of their enemy.

On the other hand, the intelligence of the gnoll scouts to cross most, if not all, of the field before calling over the rest of their tribe was troubling. They needed to catch as many of their foe unaware to even out the advantage in numbers the gnolls held. Even if the guard, and to a lesser extent the students, had level and skill advantages on the gnolls, they could still be overwhelmed.

One of the groups decisive resources was busy using the end of his staff to draw a complex ritual circle in the soil at his feet. When Obelius, or any caster, had time and a fixed position the results were truly spectacular. He had prepped their area already with a natural blending spell that hid their presence within the forest. However, this next conjuration had a very large radius of effect, he had to cast it before the scouts got too close to the trees.

Eliana cinched her gloves and peeked around the side of a pine tree, observing the gnolls. To her senses this didn’t feel like a raiding party, those generally were not as cautious, nor organized. Something was off, she didn’t like it at all when things didn’t line up. She could call for a retreat, but any hope of it being organized would be dubious. If the gnolls didn’t catch up to them, the forest, or its inhabitants, certainly would.

The wizened old teacher was not concerned for her own safety, Eliana had little doubt any combatants on the field would be her equal. However, protecting the academy charges was her main consideration. For the moment she would hold herself in reserve.

Wiping the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand, Cire shook his head to realign his focus. The waiting was interminable. He wanted to run across the open field and blindly engage, but he wasn’t fighting brainless mushrooms. This was all the more apparent from his position hiding in a bush as the first gnolls breached the treeline on the elven side of the clearing.

The dark brown furred lookout tentatively pawed past the first tree while swiveling its head with wary sniffs at the air. Sleek tufts of the scout’s wiry coat poked out between hardened plates of leather armor. Using a long handled halberd it pushed branches aside and tread deeper into the woods.

Unease hung in the air like a thick soupy fog. The gnoll couldn’t sense the hidden ambushers outright, but Cire could see the bristling fur of the beasts hackles. Bearing down, the vampire squashed his desire to pounce. Obelius had not released his spell to signal attack, Cire had to wait. Besides, a single dog would be a minor addition to today’s butchers bill.

Turning back, the gnoll let out a series of yips that carried across the clearing. These calls were matched by other scouts spread throughout the forest. The gnoll resumed prodding through branches and making its way clumsily through the tightly spaced trees. The lanky grace of its powerful limbs awkward when hemmed in.

Cire heard a change in the wind that caught his attention. A subtle thrumming reverberated through the sky as what had been a sunny day with cotton ball clouds rapidly shifted to dark gray. Peels of thunder crashed over head as a localized storm surged in strength. Rain poured down drenching the area, but all of that was inconsequential compared to the lightning. Cire would always remember the lightning.

A web of erratic bolts cascaded through the clouds and then dozens of strikes ripped across the clearing. Flashing blue, yellow, and purple the deadly heaven’s fire was a technicolor light show of carnage. While focused on the scout, and the building storm, the sun elf had missed the gnoll army’s advance.

In the chaos of Obelius’s grandiose opening Cire couldn’t make an accurate assessment of how many enemies he was truly facing. But based on the number of gnolls he could make out pushing through the random blasts he could make a good guess, and it was anything but encouraging. Regardless, it was time to move.

Jumping up from his cover, Cire bounded across the forest floor. Nimbly Cire placed his feet on roots, fallen trees, and less often, firm soil, as he closed on his target. With a surety lacking prior to his training Cire plunged the length of his blade through the back of the scout. The skewered gnoll had turned to look back at the field and the vampire had full taken advantage.

Slumping against his blade, the body of the dog beast went limp. Cire leaned forward, bracing, and shoved the corpse forward with his shoulder. Sour copper and dog stink filled his nostrils.

Cire hadn’t expected to be that efficient. In the haze of battle he hadn’t noticed the throwing knives protruding from the gnoll’s neck as it fell. Ripping his sword free, he dashed towards the edge of the trees.

As he neared the final break in cover before the field Cire almost stumbled. Amidst the remnants of the dying storm poured a river of howling mad canines. Arrows flew into their ranks whittling down their number as they charged. However, each that fell was replaced by two or three more.

Cire halted, a moment of clarity tearing through his thoughts as he stared down the sizable host. Turning, he ran along the elven line until he was close enough to their casters and the center of their ranks. Without waiting to second guess himself, he held out his free hand and called forth Hera’s divine bestowal.

Dark cloudy mist emanated from all over Cire’s body and streamed through the forest. Gathering on the edge of the clearing, the mist pooled and swirled as lavender voltaic spiderwebs laced through it. Obelius and Iaso took defensive positions as the obviously magical mist collected near them. The wizened old mage’s eyes followed the strange mist back to its source and his bushy eyebrows practically crawled up off his forehead and took flight.

Realizing his mistake, Cire gave them a quick wave and shouted.

“Get inside!”

“Inside what?” Obelius and Iaso both asked practically in unison.

Cire didn’t have time to discuss, he assumed they would figure it out once the keep solidified out of the amalgamating cloud. He turned back towards the clearing and sprinted back to his position in the line. Burning all of this energy before the thick of it was dangerous, he would need everything he had, and more, to push through what was to come.

Ahead, an unknown member of the guard stood on the edge of the clearing using a long spear to push back the first wave. Three gnolls were keeping him tied up with feints and coordinated attacks. All the nimble elf could manage was to defend his ground. He was still getting pushed back.

Cire angled his approach to the side of the defender, around a tree to his flank that he was using to prevent approach. Springing from cover, the sun elf swung his sword with a wide horizontal slice at one of the attackers. Cire’s sword tore through gnoll hide and armor alike. He kept moving.

Bands of gnolls were forming ranks and charging up and down the length of the clearing. Simply moving to the next clash, Cire wove through the line in a deadly dance. A wicked curved scythe raced towards him, but he was gone. His sword struck exposed backs and unarmored legs as he pirouetted and whirled.

Constant movement was Cire’s boon companion. Using the trees, he avoided getting pinned down. Cire only spent enough time in the clearing to steer a fight to each ally’s advantage before ducking behind cover. The strategy worked, for a while.

Slicing through a particularly gangly gnolls hamstring, causing the monster to collapse to one knee before Lander, a wicked smile tore across Cire’s lips. He got caught up in the frenzy. Losing himself to the sirens song of violence and blood, Cire ran faster. He cut deeper. He pushed harder. Crown or no, Cire’s hate and anger towards the canines was driving him to pursue reckless actions. His thoughts may not have been clouded by the rage, but nor were they fully tempered by fear or caution. Directed by his objective, to defeat the opponent on the field before him, Cire’s actions became efficient, analytical, and without mercy or concern.

Dashing up to Dimitra’s flank, Cire’s sword sliced neatly between a gap in one of her three foes armor. The beast snarled and snapped its jaws at Cire, saliva flying over him as he ducked under the reckless attack. The dog’s shield arm dropped from the wound Cire had inflicted, exposing its stomach. Cire lunged, attempting run the gnoll through.

Mid-stride Cire knew he wouldn’t avoid the counter. This gnoll wasn’t carrying one of their typical unwieldy slow, but powerful, weapons like a halberd or scythe. Held in it’s ashen speckled furred fist was a twisted looking morning star, all spikes and ridges. It raced towards Cire’s side and free hand, right as the tip of his sword pierced the gnolls hide the oozing dripping spikes of the beasts weapon began ripping through Cire’s shirt.

Next, something odd happened, at least to Cire’s perception everything seemed to slow. He wasn’t moving any faster, he couldn’t suddenly boost himself, and it was far too late to use his skill abilities to change the outcome. Maybe if he had started the charge with a flash step or used surging strike as he lunged, but now, neither skill would change things. Cire knew he couldn’t dodge, but maybe somehow he could somehow deflect the strike?

Channeling mana through his hands and feet to move or strike, after instruction and practice, felt natural. Grasping for a solution in the moment, Cire acted on instinct. In the split second between contact of the gnolls weapon with his skin, the spikes piercing his skin, he got lucky. Energy burst from Cire’s side where the morning star struck him and threw the weapon backwards. The force tossed him into a spin, the tip of his sword whirling through the gnoll and opening it’s stomach, causing the gnoll to drop.

Crashing against a tree, his head struck the trunk jarringly as he tumbled to the ground. Cire slumped, a warm wet feeling spread across his midsection. He could hear Dimitra yelling, at him maybe, he couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. Her great axe swung in huge arcs pushing back the remaining attackers. Two more gnolls moved in to replace their fallen comrade.

Clawing at the tree trunk, Cire pulled himself to his knees. His head slumped against the bark as the world spun. Bile rose in his throat and exited with the contents of his stomach into the grass. The strong acrid smell of his meal triggered a pertinent memory of one-on-one training with Eliana. Cire coughed and grit his teeth. After pulling multiple potions from his pouch, he downed them one after the other.

The last student, besides himself, had packed up and left a short while ago, leaving Cire alone in the sparring room with the palaestra, Eliana. She had called him out at the end of class signaling he was to stay behind, but gave little away as to what she wanted to talk with him about.

The leathery skinned old elf cinched the tie in her long gray hair and rolled up her fighting tunic’s sleeves. She was holding one of the simple sapwood sparring swords, checking it for wear and imperfections. She spoke as if distracted by her task at first, however, her words were direct and to the point as always.

“The class has known you are a vampire since your introduction. It was the prudent thing to do considering the risk, both to them and to yourself if they found out later that you were hiding such a thing.” The instructor moved opposite him and held her wooden sword up in a simple guard position.

“But you have not used any of your vampiric abilities during a single one of our training sessions, besides your regeneration of course. If you do not train with your greatest weapons they will dull and break when you need them most. Like on our upcoming excursion.”

Cire looked at Eliana and gulped.

“It’s not quite that simple palaestra. You know the other abilities I possess. I went over them with you. Turning into a bat wouldn’t help in combat and it’s not like I can drain any of the other students, what if I pass on the curse? I can’t use the blood rage either, I still can’t control it.” Cire looked towards the weapons hanging on the wall, avoiding her heated boring gaze.

“Besides, I can’t risk using the item to help during class, it’s far too valuable for me to let anyone know about, besides you instructor.”

A scowl began to press it’s way onto Eliana’s face, but pinched off at the end of the naive boys speech. He took too much for granted and knew too little. He was getting better, less rough around the edges, but there was still so much potential to mold. The circumstances frustrated more than him, but he was right in front of her and she was too old to not be direct, nor did she care enough to soften her words.

“Do not be daft child. Of course, you need to work on your rage ability.” The old teacher let out a weary sigh. “Both with the item and without. You may need to fight without the circlet and have no other options besides vampiric fury. What will you do then, give up and die? I think not, you will use what tools you possess. So, learn to use them.”

Cire hesitated, he knew it was incredibly unlikely that he could actually hurt Eliana. However, he had only unleashed that part of himself in dire need or controlled circumstances. Thoughts tumbled through his head of the previous times he had used the ability. Even with the crown, he was hesitant to tap into the power, doing more to prove Eliana’s point than any words really could.

Does my fear of what I might do without control outweigh my fear of facing an enemy I cannot defeat? If I am not going to train myself to my full potential, what is the point of spending this time here at the academy?

“Stop fidgeting and come at me boy, I do not have daylight to spare.” Eliana barked.

Going still, Cire took a slow steadying breath and gave her a slight nod. He knew there would be no argument brooked or escape from her request, Eliana was exceptional at pushing her students, whether they wanted it or not. Self inspection was put on hold for the immediate.

“I don’t have the crown with me. It goes without saying, but subdue me until the ability runs it’s course.”

Obviously tired of waiting, Eliana scoffed and pivoted on her heel swinging an obviously telegraphed strike towards Cire’s head. Cire ducked out of the way and flung himself backwards to create distance. Touching the fury writhing through his veins was easy, too easy. Without the crown muting its effects, even with a centered mind, it roared and thrashed as he activated the ability.

Rushing from his throat in a torrent, a wail of passion and pain loosed as physical changes rippled across his body. Violent jerks of muscle and bone reshaped his physique. He was larger across the chest and in the arms. Talons burst from the tips of fingers, the practice sword slipping from his grip and falling to the floor.

Before the clattering of woodhad ceased the vampire was springing towards Eliana. A wild snarling scramble of swiping claws, whirling kicks, and animalistic movements at first pushed the older combatant back. She met each attack that got close with a block, but managed to sidestep and deftly maneuver herself around the gym. She didn’t attack, not yet. This was a test, and she needed to draw out everything this form of his currently possessed.

It wasn’t a dance, it was scattered, rapid, and messy. The vampire smashed through an ornate banister leading to the sparring surface. Eliana easily kept her distance with a quick hop backwards. In the spray of splinters Cire kept coming, but she needed him pushed to the brink.

“Is that all there is to you?” Using quick rapid strikes, Eliana slapped about Cire’s body. One hit on the elbow, several on exposed joints and even one across his knuckles. All focused on causing pain and make it clear she was toying with him.

“No hidden tricks? Only brute force and a bad complexion?”

Verbal banter during a battle galled her, it was a tool of the indecisive or the prideful. However,Eliana wasn’t truly fighting, she was teaching. At least the other students were not here to witness it, nor the other instructors.

The vampire didn’t growl, or strike immediately at the taunts. It actually paused its reckless string of slashes and stood somewhat still. Gnashing his teeth and stomping the ground, his eyes searched around the room and nostrils flared.

Eliana wasn’t one to give enemies pause, but a rage induced fury didn’t often present them. It was curious, so she watched. Keeping him at a distance was wise. She watched with curiosity as he shook his head like a beast shooing away flies.

As suddenly as the strange behavior began, it ceased. This next charge by the vampire wasn’t anything like the one before. Eliana was not so green a fighter that she didn’t immediately sense the change. Nor was she so worn down that watching a student experiment and exceed their limitations didn’t excite her.

Clouded in the rage, Cire didn’t fully appreciate his next actions. When he looked back on the memory after the training though he saw whole worlds of possibility open before him. Mana surged through the soles of his feet as he activated the vampire activated the first skill ability, flash step. This put him within reach of Eliana as he used his next ability.

Slashing towards the instructor with blinding speed, Cire’s talons were propelled by mana from surging strike. One clawed hand swept towards her mid-section while the other angled for her throat. All his effort was thrown into reckless offense, disregarding her wooden sword entirely as a nuisance.

Pivoting on her heels, Eliana grinned as she activated her own skills abilities in response. Suddenly her entire form took on a hazy blurry appearance and a soft blue glow covered her whole body. The combined effect made her difficult to focus on and extremely hard to pick out any details in her movements. She felt the barest graze of his claws across the front of her tunic and a brush of air near her neck as Cire rushed past.

The palaestra kept up the exchange for another minute, seeing if in his enraged state he would overuse his mana or find any new tricks. Once she was satisfied that this was as far as his current skill level could produce she decided to end the lesson.

Pulsing in an erratic strobing pattern, the light suffusing Eliana’s form began to flash and darken like the phosphorescent communication of a bizarre deep sea fish. Her movements became unreadable as she vaulted over Cire, using a leaping ability. As the vampire turned to face her the tip of her wooden sword thrust hard into his gut.

Eliana was relentless with strikes to his arms, chest, and thighs. He would wake up bruised, but besides the mana drain and the accompanying headache, everything could be healed. A final elbow to his jaw, to remind him that a warrior was more than their weapon, sent him sprawling to the ground enraged state or not, he could still be rendered unconscious with enough mana drain and a good beating.

It only took a few moments for Cire to rouse, his enraged state having waned away. The first thing he did was grab a waterskin to wash away the taste of bile and blood in his mouth. His memory was always cloudy after using the rage ability, but he could taste the results easily enough.

Gritting his teeth against the remnant pain ebbing through his body, Cire tried to steady himself. He swallowed hard to rid himself of the lingering bitter after taste of his sick and it triggered an interesting thought. After taking a slow steadying breath, he firmed his resolution.

If Cire had lost more hit points, he might have fully passed out. If he had hit his head hard enough to knock the crown off, it wouldn’t have worked. If he had been put in a less desperate situation, he might not have had the same options. But that wasn’t the case.

Cire took a slow shuddering breath as he braced himself against the tree and pulled himself to stand. Fumbling with the pouch tied to his belt, he growled as he tugged at the ties. The adrenaline rushing through his veins helped in many aspects, fine motor control was not one of them. He finally got the pouch open and pulled out several potions. Yanking the stoppers off, Cire downed two healing tinctures and the potion of naga’s quickness in a couple of terrible gulps.

The mixture of the various concoctions tasted absolutely foul. Perhaps they tasted better to a snakes palate, but Cire doubted it. A curious aftertaste of what he swore was root beer lingered on his tongue. The remaining flavor was the least of his concerns after he began to feel the effects rush through his body.

Cire only had a short window to deliver maximum impact on the battlefield, he couldn’t afford to hesitate. Without making eye contact with Dimitra, who was still carving out space with mighty swings of her axe, Cire double checked his crown and put his sword into its sheath. Taking a quick survey of the immediate battlefield, watching the tides of gnolls pouring into the treeline, Cire banished the lingering doubt and committed to his course of action.