User blog:Ziharku/Log 22: In The Dark (part 3)

In all my watching I had failed to notice the Corsair communicating with squad leaders strategizing.

Coordinating members into smaller groups, we are divided so that a large group could hold the dogs at bay. The mages are set for support in a smaller group as many specialized more in White Magic than Black Magic. In the final group, the elite among us form to meet the taller figure in combat. The Corsair, an Elvaan Monk, a Mithran White Mage (as it was ordained a healer should focus on this group solely), a Hume Dark Knight, and a Hume Paladin. Somewhat to my disappointment I am to be with the group handling Dabilla. From our pearls, the attack order is given, and so the main force charges forward, sloshing boots meeting drier floor.

Sounds from our quickened pace remove the wards that kept us hidden up to this point, drawing the attention of first the unknown figure, then the Dabilla as a low hum drives them into motion. This sound…I wonder if it could be imitated. If only I had an instrument I could try. Pushing this thought aside for later I join in the charge noticeably late. The Corsair shakes his head with a sigh. At first it goes well. Our group seems to be pushing forward.

Then, to our surprise, an attack comes from behind the battle line. Any of the creatures that hadn’t been beheaded start to rise again, ignoring other kinds of fatal wound. Morale shaken by the sight, our mages are hard-pressed to keep healing magic going out at as high a pace that fighters are taking it. I call out for reformation, but the mere effort of keeping alive for some is too much to try and meet the call.

The attack force, small as it is, cleaves through the necessary cannon-fodder quickly advancing toward their objective. Risking a side glance here and there, I can see them arrive and form a semi-circle before it. The Paladin at point, engages first. Massive shield held squarely in front of him, he charges. The creature, extending its wings, swings a clawed right hand. Sparks and a terrible screeching as the nails rake the shield, halting the advance, though the Hume holds his ground. I can see though the left hand certainly has claw-like nails, only the right hand has such tremendous talons. Is this perhaps some Hand-to-Hand weapon?

The Corsair slowly moving as he takes aim with his rifle firing shot after shot, though if the bullets are penetrating, I cannot see. The Dark Knight circles behind with scythe in hand, holding for an opportunity to strike without retaliation. The Monk, smirking, is…warming up? He’s begun to shadow-box (errr kick-box too I suppose) laughing with excitement. The Paladin swings his sword overhead, though almost at thin air as the beast avoids the blow effortlessly, attempting a counter, though blocked again by the stalwart shield. A frown, then an arrogant snort of contempt. The Hume pokes his head from behind the shield, sticking his tongue out provokingly. Frown increasing, it lunges with the clawed hand, repeatedly striking the shield…..how odd. The Hume need only angle his shield to deflect hits right now, but most of the attacks are straightforward, easily blocked or avoidable. The talons don’t even rake the shield as they did initially. It can’t be….a facade!?

The Dark Knight sees it preoccupied with attacks and chooses now to strike. The Monk too, seeing this opportunity, runs in from the side. The Corsair must have sensed the same thing I did as he tried to call the two off, but he was too late. The Scythe met the creature’s right shoulder, tip sinking into flesh no more than an inch. Shocked, the Dark Knight certainly didn't foresee what came next. In that instant the creature took hold of the Paladin]]’s shield rather than hitting it, lifting the Hume and turning to use his armored body as a bludgeon. With a single swing the Dark Knight flies back 10 yalms, rolling on the ground for a few more. His helmet cracks and falls from his head. The Monk, seeing his fallen comrade, readies for the assault. Dodging the first vertical swing, he cringes. A sickening clang resounds as mail breaks on contact with the floor. Swinging the limp body horizontally at the Monk, the Elvaan only braces himself, catching the Hume instead of risking more damage to the Paladin with an avoidance. His face is drawn back as broken mail stabs through his own clothing. A cloud of dust at the Monk’s feet as he jumps back with as much strength as he could muster, tearing his companion from the creature’s grasp, though leaving one of the greaves in its grasp. The White Mage, currently at the Dark Knight’s side, runs to the Monk and sets to work on the Paladin as he lay the Hume gently on the ground. The Corsair draws a set of knives, staring the beast grimly in the eye. Through the pearl, I can hear him. Enemy numbers may be dwindling, but so is the energy our fighters will have left. I’ll keep this one busy as long as I can, but I need you to hurry and reorganize things so you can provide backup over here.

Inhaling deeply, I prepare to call out orders. As a leader, I lack…experience. Rather than a formation, I have something else in mind. Find the people closest to you. Join with them, circle up, then repeat the process. Do NOT fight alone. Eventually you will all work toward me, but focus on groups for now. Some answer with confirmation. The others will be met by comrades with instruction soon enough.

Blood. Coagulated, rotted, and yet I still must see it. The voices call for it. And so, I will oblige. As a fighter thus far I’ve only managed to take out a few of the enemies myself, but perhaps they….can do more. My only instruction for them is to leave comrades unharmed. Eagerly they all agree in chorus, and I let consciousness fade.

Faint glimmers of what happen next reach me in the dark. The voices are gone, having their merry time in the slaughter. I can see comrades struggling, faces in terror, Dabilla quashed by Blue Magic. Feeling that enough may be done, I reach out to take control back, only to be rejected. An apparition of the shows itself in this dark region of my mind. There are still so many more to kill. Don’t you value their safety? I do, but this is enough. I can continue from here. Surely you know that you can’t. Not alone. You need us. We are strong, let us devour your enemies in your stead. No, I can. I’m strong now. Borrowed strength, only we make you strong. I….no. I overcame you with my own power. Twas a blade that struck you, not some spell. You are nothing but a phantom in the wake of my being. Eyes widened, face furious, the apparition dissipates, and vision returns to my eyes. A dagger protrudes from my right forearm. A Thief stands before me with a panicked expression, noticeably missing a dagger in his main hand. Looking around I can see that most of the Dabilla are gone, the bulk of our group killing the stragglers. More before me, panting, surprised.

That…that was you?! We had thought some new beast came to the aid of our foe. I… The expression on the Thief’s face changes somewhat to regret. I apologize. Um…my dagger is… Looking back down at my right arm, I pull the blade free and toss it back. Feeling returns now, and I fall in shock. The strain the momentary control I gave the voices was too great, every muscle in my body screamed. Turning my head as best I could from the ground I see the Corsair standing over our foe, fallen to the ground. Wings, shredded, figure now covered in more red than black. The Dark Knight walks closer to it, blood trickling down his face. Setting his Scythe blade below the beast’s neck, he steps on the back of its head so as to remove it. And he does so. With a cheer the beast is gone, and…it seems I’ve been moved to a hand-made stretcher, like many of the wounded. We couldn’t risk staying to heal when we didn’t know what else was in the area. The Paladin isn’t on a stretcher though. Rather, he’s in a closed bag. Dead, I suppose. As we set wards on sound and sight to return to the surface, I reach into the pouch at my side and shakily pull the map I’d made from it, calling to the Corsair. Taking it with a nod, he heads to the front and calls for us to move out.

With a glance back at our fallen foe I see that he’s…gone. Bats flutter about, though not the Blind Bats that roam the area. This creature has not been felled. A Vampyr, from tales of old.