Sentinels and Saviors [CRP]

[Andy]

Tiras nodded at Renata's reply, though he felt some aches and pains from that church magician. If only he'd managed to find a healer among all the people they'd rescued. Alas, though, Providence had not been kind there. Out of everyone, there was one herbalist, and he knew no magic of any kind, nor even the process by which to make a vulnerary. And if there were any more Church goons skulking about, odds are they were healers, monks, or both. If only he could press one of them into his service. That would make their operations much easier.

He shook his helmed head, chiding himself for thinking such things mid-battle.

The shouts were still audible, but he was also starting to hear pained cries. Tiras sheathed his sword, grabbing up a ranseur from the grasp of a corpse. The eight-foot winged spear would be an excellent weapon against someone in the kind of armor he was expecting.

He turned the corner and found what he was seeking. A man dressed in heavy armor, with a heavy sword in hand. He was expertly switching from using it as a sword to using it as a half-spear to pierce his opponents. His attendants also had heavy armor, though it was concentrated on their upper bodies. Their legs were almost completely un-armored. The lead man had lost his helm, but only fought the fiercer for it, losing none of his edge. He was an older fellow, with a hooked nose and pale hair (the exact shade of which was not discernable in the gloom). At their feet were six dead fellows. One of theirs, and five of his. Four men and a woman.

"Back off," Tiras told his men, hefting his spear. "I will take care of this Imperial slime, myself."

"IF YOU COME AT ME, COME AT ME THEN! BUT THIS IS NO DUEL, WHELP! MY COMRADES FIGHT BESIDE ME!" he blustered at him. He hefted his sword menacingly.

"So they do," Tiras said, fingering Persephone. He whispered the incantation, silent on the battlefield under the shouts of everyone. The orb of dark power formed over his head, and it took a moment for the opposing men to react. Tiras sent the orb forward and along the ground, like a moving shadow in the gloom of night and fog. It sped at the man to the left of Tiras's opponent. He didn't dodge in time, and the orb rose around him and blasted him with its power. The knight jabbed at the elite guardsman's leg, raising the shaft of his spear overhead to prevent a higher strike.

The spear found purchase in the thigh, while the man screamed in pain. Tiras pulled back, and was hit suddenly by a blast of cutting wind.

"HERETIC! I SHALL END YOUR TREACHEROUS LIFE HERE, BEFORE YOU CAN LEAD ANY MORE ASTRAY!"

Tiras groaned. Of course this apparently fanatical bastard had a rare magic sword. Now the damn thing was glowing white and green. He'd heard of blades like this. A wind sword, sometimes called a storm blade. Fantastic.

Now there were just the knight and his commander left of the garrison. Everyone else had either been subdued or killed. The accompanying elite with the half-plate was wielding a polehammer.