Tales From the Old World

The Midnight Raid: Part Two

Lightning thundered above, illuminating the high walls encircling Fellwater Keep, sillhouetting the goblins and orcs walking along the battlements. Their sickly green skin seemed to glow faintly after each strike, giving them an eerie quality. The thick black plates that covered their bodies was slick with rain, shining in the light from their torches. 

Windstrider noted that each beast bore a long bow and a quiver full of barbed arrows. It would be best to assail the fort unnoticed, or risk a barrage from the deadly projectiles. He sighed lightly, tired of the relentless rain pelting him from above. He wished that he could simply call out the sorcerer and face him one-on-one, like men of honour did in the old days. He knew the spellweaver owned no honour and that saddened him. There was a time when enemies held honour, but that was a long time ago. At least the dragons still followed the old ways, he thought, wistfully remembering when a war could be decided in a single duel. But those days were gone and almost forgotten, and should not be dwelled upon, Roland decided.

The Sentinel gave a quick hand gesture in Hackmaw's direction. It amazed him that the ranger saw it in the darkness of the woods. The scarred man joined him, his hand resting on the hilt of the shortsword fastened to his belt. He spoke no words but Roland understood he was waiting for direction. 

"We can't risk a full frontal assault. Even though the aim of those creatures is not to be counted on, their sheer numbers will take their toll. I'm not willing to waste your men's lives just getting inside," Windstrider said, his eyes winkling with the sheen of a plan.

Noticing this, Hackmaw piped up, "I trust you already have a plan,"

Roland's mouth twisted into one of his rare smiles, "Indeed I do. The beasts atop the wall are not the bravest of beings and could be made to flee, with the right incantations. Then we just break down the gate with some of that black powder I know you carry. Once we are inside we will rush the keep and head straight for the warlock, killing any of his minions as we go,"

"I have a feeling that's not all you have in mind,"

"You have a keen perception Daveth Hackmaw," Roland's sarcasm was none too subtle. "I don't want the sorcerer to know you and your rangers are here. If we attack in full force he will either flee or unleash something more terrible than any of us can handle. Wizards are tricky like that. I will assail the keep on my own, in a way,"

"What do you mean?"

"This sorcerer has betrayed the Shadowmasters of his homeland, likely out of fear and greed. Let us pray upon his fears," A wry smile appeared on Windstriders face, lines forming at the edges of his mouth. Before Hackmaw could respond, the Sentinel began a chant, softly twisting the air with his words.

"Cai trumme quiek roma," the words were barely a whisper yet Hackmaw felt the immense weight beneath each one. This time the entire forest echoed the words, the leaves rattling out their meaning in a chilling breeze.

From darkness shadows form.

Daveth waited a few moments, expecting something big, but nothing came. His only clue was the look of satisfaction on Roland's face as the man stared straight through him. The ranger raised up his arms before his face, searching for what Windstrider was looking at. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw black wisps where his limbs used to be. He looked himself over, his heart racing. What did the Sentinel do to me! 

Windstrider began to chuckle softly, amused at the ranger's panic. He was very happy with his work, he had feared he did not have the power to sustain the words and they would be lost on the wind, useless. He especially enjoyed Hackmaw's glowing red eyes, seeming to stem from nowhere inside of the black expanse that used to be his face. It might just be an improvement, he thought, chuckling some more.