Mercenary Funtimes

For years, Tinnaire had been a soldier. She knew roughly what to do, even if she wasn’t a medic. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a basic first aid instructor droning, “The solution to pollution is dilution.” Tinn snorted to herself, repeating it back to herself as she worked. Clean water wasn’t exactly abundant down here, so she tried to be judicious with her flushing since there were others with much more extensive wounds would need it more. Still, to her, her lateral bicep looked bad.

The sleeve of her leather armor had been completely eaten through (and was now cut away completely), along with her skin below it. Her stomach twisted to see the depth of the wound and the maceration of the tissue; later she’d be quietly proud of herself for never blacking out during the cleaning. It was going to scar, but she still had use of the arm. Or would, when it was healed. For now she tried not to move it as much as she could.

Daubing a wet cloth against the ulcerated skin made her eyes tighten and her mouth pull even through the local anesthetic Rynga had given her, but still she carefully folded to a clean area with each application. She didn’t want to push more of the caustic substance further into her arm or smear it to new places. She wasn’t a healer, but the palm-sized zone was deep enough. She was in for a few days of light-duty at the foothold.

So she sat, left arm throbbing and bandaged with antiseptic soaked bandages, leaning back and too tired to move. The healers had finished triage and were bustling around their patients like bees in a field. Tinnaire wasn’t even with the injured. This hurt, this caused damage, this would stay with her; but she wasn’t in danger of losing life or limb.

After the wagon had pulled back into the Foothold, everyone had been quickly cleansed of any lingering poisons. However, the corrosive substance itself was thick and oily and was not shedding off where it touched. It clung. It dug in. Stubborn and angry, like the creatures that had weaponized it.

Her head thunked back against the barrel she was resting against.

And to think, she usually liked snakes.

Part of the Midnight Mercenary Prompt 2 Dicenne’s Post Ryland’s Post Tinnaire’s Post

A thing Nahi knew well was that practice made perfect, but combat medicine was not something you could truly practice for. Not the injuries. You could practice the rest of it. You could make sure everything was in place, know where every kit and blanket was kept, know who was supposed to do what when the wounded began to come in. You could build a structure sturdy enough to hold against the chaos.

It would never be the same, it would never go exactly to plan, but having a plan was better than having nothing.

Having the company healers closer meant she had gotten to work with them more. It was one thing to be in camp while they were out in the field and help there. It was another thing entirely to sit with them, talk through expectations, listen to their experiences, and learn the rhythm of what they did. What helped the most was having Rynga around to learn from consistently. Between her and Nara, Nahi had gained a much better understanding of how the medics worked.

It wasn't really about the injuries, those would be too varied in the field to prepare for. It was about knowing her part in the process and doing it well. Her job was to assist the healers in the most efficient way possible, and to help keep the chaos around them from impeding their work. 

That made her more confident when the commander called them out again to the Coiled Isle. This time, she slid into place more seamlessly, already knowing where she needed to be and what was expected of her. She didn't have to think about it as much. Her body simply moved, falling into the practiced rhythm they had built.

Part of their company was settled in the Foothold with other mercenaries and the Amani when the calls of alarm went out. They pulled her from chatting with an injured crew member while she rebandanged his arm. She went to the stairs wihere others wer gathering and saw the group that had gone to the Bulwark stranded just outside of camp. She couldn't tell exactly what had happened from where she stood, but their cart appeared to have broken down, leaving the group clustered around it while creatures from the vaults poured around them.

There were so many. They swarmed the roadway, bodies and limbs and wings turning the space around the stranded group into a living wall, cutting them off from the encampment.

Nahi had only been there long enough to understand what she was seeing when a familiar voice called out behind her.

“What happened?”

She turned her head and saw Ry with others she knew he worked with.

“Our crew.”

The words came quickly as she shot another glance down toward the stranded group. Already, fighters from the Foothold were grabbing gear and heading toward the roadway.

She turned and ran back to the camp for supplies. The other healers were moving too, they all knew what was coming.

Many of the creatures spit acid, others were envenomed with it. They had prepared for that possibility, had kits ready for burns, bandages, salves, blankets. Preparation would have seemed almost excessive to an outsider, but it was always better to be over prepared. A situation like this was exactly why they had done it.

Nahi grabbed the kits they had prepared along with blankets and carried them back toward the stairs, helping establish a temporary treatment area close to the entrance. It wasn't ideal, but it didn’t have to be, it only had to be functional. Dragging wounded people all the way back to where the healers encampment was would cost time that would be fatal for some. Healers from other companies joined them in setting up and  the space became as good as it was going to get. Which freed her to help at the stairs.

“Clear the way!”

Her performer's voice cut through those gathered there. It wasn’t enough to override the clash of weapons, the shouting, the shrieks of the creatures, filling the vastness of the Vault, but it was enough to cause heads to turn and people to obey. Fighters from their side were already pushing forward, clearing a path toward the stranded group and that meant there would be more injured soon.

Then the first injured came through, a woman being assisted along. Nahi saw the blood where soaked through fa place where her armor had been melted away. Her fingers pressed desperately against her side and her face was white with pain, lips parted where she was drawing in ragged breaths.

“Here! This way!” Nahi directed her toward the blankets.

The sounds of the battle grew louder and the creatures were the worst of it.There were simply so many. The buzzing of wings, snakes hissing, scales scraping over ancient stone with a dry sound like sandpaper across stone.Then came the battle itself steel striking flesh, grunts of effort. Someone screaming cut through it all. .

Then another person stumbled through the foothold entrance and her smile disappeared. More injured were coming, the worst were directed toward the blankets. Those who could still walk were sent nearby, where they could wait until the healers had dealt with the people who needed them immediately. She didn't have to think about the decisions anymore. She saw a wound and knew where that person needed to go.

A man was carried in with his armor half dissolved. The acid had burned through metal as if it were paper. Beneath it, flesh was blistered and peeling where the corrosive substance had reached him. Another had burns across his hands, the skin swollen and wet, fingers trembling uselessly as he stared at them. The smell hit her hard, it was acrid and caught in the back of her throat making her stomach turn. The stink of acid eating through armor and flesh mingled with blood and sweat. For one breath, she thought she might be sick, but she swallowed it down. There wasn’t time for that, there was work to be done.

Whenever she looked toward the healing space, magic filled the air. Light, nature, elemental, even shadow. Different powers, different ways of healing, all working over the same space. Spells were cast, bandages were pressed into wounds. Someone shouted for more water and one called for another healer.

Nahi turned back before she could get distracted. Another person came in, then another, then another. She sorted through them ensuring they would get the help they needed. It was the planned for chaos.

Then through all of it came Ry's voice and she turned her head to see that the Tauren from their crew had crashed into the line.

“He came in like a wrecking buuuuulll!”

For half a second, Nahi smiled. It was absurd and it was completely, wonderfully Ry. Even here, with acid pools and lakes around them and monsters flooding the cavern, he could still find a way to make her smile, but it didn’t last long.

The push had reached the cart. then she saw Dice and for a moment, she simply stared. He was holding the cart up single-handedly. The sight was so astounding that her brain stuttered for a secon. She knew Dice was strong, everyone that saw him knew Dice was strong, but this was stunning.

Breaking her thoughts from it, her eyes scanned the space quickly, searching for the others. She cared about everyone in the company, every person mattered, but there were a select few who mattered more to her. She caught sight of them one by one. Still standing, still alive. Only then did she allow herself to look away and go back to her assessing the injured. 

This was her job, not to fight, but to create a little bit of order inside something that was fundamentally chaos. To keep the wounded moving where they needed to go. To make sure the healers weren't forced to waste precious seconds figuring out where someone should be.

She had been lost to fear the last time they were out, when the plant zombies had risen in the camp. That terror had stayed with her, as did her reaction to it, her tearing through the camp in a panic, she had carried ever since. She had hoped something like this would not bring it back. This was was horrific, but it just didn’t bother her as that had. She wasn't drowning in the fear this time, she was still doing the work.

As the last of those with the caravan finally came through, Nahi's eyes immediately sought out her friends.None were among those being carrie. Relief coursed through her, a bright spot in all this pain. She did see Rynga trying to herd Dice toward the healers and her refused, of course he did. Then Nahi saw Tinn, the armor on her arm was gone, exposing the injury beneath it. There was blood there, more than Nahi liked to see on a friend. Tinn avoided the healing space anyway. Nahi sighed softly, she would check on them later.

For now, the stream of injured had slowed, the worst had been brought in. And now she had a different kind of work to do. Nahi let the commanding presence fall away, the performer disappeared, the voice that had carried through the chaos became quieter. She stepped into the healing space and began to help directly with the injured, a hand here, a bandage there. Holding someone steady while another healer worked, passing supplies before they were asked for them. Making herself useful wherever she was needed.

The battle had ended, people were moving alone and in groups to their camps, but inside their space, there was still work and Nahi knew her role in it.

Part of the Midnight Mercenary Prompt 2

Kai moves around the camp designated for the medics and non-combatant crew, listening as their conversations blend together. She found it easy to engage in those conversations. Despite being so far from home and away from their families, everyone regarded each other as an extension of their own family. It was simple for her to adjust to each new location with the crew; although the work involved long hours. She found peace in it. 

Tension was palpable in the air around them. Until recently, she had been unaware of the history between the Sin’dorei and Amani trolls. Nevertheless, most of the crew members got along well with them, working side by side. She found them interesting, taking time to speak to them, learning about their history. 

It wasn't long after they sat down that alarm sounds began to blare. Seconds later, everyone was on their feet, rushing toward the edge of the steps leading deeper into the Vaults. Ryland's voice reached her, prompting her to glance over her shoulder, where she spotted Nahi and the other menders. "What happened?" he asks. Soon, Nahi's voice called back to him, "Our crew..."

Knowing exactly what she needed to do, she began helping to transport the wounded to the Foothold, staying out of the medics' way as they quickly tended to their care after the casualties were handed over. She watched in horror as swarms of creatures she had never seen before rushed toward the caravan, where fighters like Dice, Fio, Stellan, and the rest of the crew, along with the Commander, were engaged.

The sound of wood breaking and snapping makes her head jerk toward the wagon, where one of the wheels has collapsed and now lies broken on the road. As time seems to stand still, Kai focuses on rushing down to help the wounded near the foothold, while also summoning frost bolts and walls of ice to support those defending the caravan. Meanwhile, Dice braces the wagon, and she assumes it’s Sol who is working to replace or repair the broken wheel.

Everyone followed the orders given to them, moving and working together alongside the Amani, even those who had only moments before regarded them with uneasiness and distrust. It never ceases to amaze her to see everyone collaborating like this, time after time. She watched as Commander Del’shula not only fought alongside the others but also maintained control and issued orders.

Out of the corner of her vision, she took notice of a few other familiar faces she knew, ones she knew were part of the same crew Ryland was in. Despite everything happening, when Ry’s voice reaches her over all the commotion, "He came in like a wrecking buuuuulllll!" , a soft chuckle comes from her throat as she watches the massive tauren Brute plow through the mobs. She may not know all their names, but it still brought peace to her troubled thoughts as they fought alongside Dice, Fio and the others.

It was also then that she took quick notice of a serpent-seer, who suddenly raised its hands from across the battlefield and within moments she knew it was directing the attack at them. But Dice was already moving to step in between, even though so much of the venom had eaten away at his armor.  Within seconds she had summoned an ice barrier around Dice, hearing the satisfying sound of the venom hitting it and not Dice. As he smiles his thanks, she smiles in return. 

Soon they were able to get the caravan the rest of the way to the foothold, where all of those wounded on the wagons were brought up to join the other wounded. She offered help where she could, fetching anything the medics needed, checking on the wounded, giving them words of encouragement. It was not until she saw Dice up close, just how badly his armor had been eaten away at, and she had to swallow the sudden fear and worry that ate away at her. Though it was clear in her eyes.

Once he reassured both her and Rynga that he was fine, and Rynga was tending to him, she looked around. So many others had been hit by that venom too, their armor and clothing burned, some even had massive amounts of skin and muscles exposed, their cries of pain filling her ears. She may not have the medical training that Rynga, Nahi and Nara had, but she could at least offer some help. 

And this is what she would do well into the evening hours.

@daily-writing-challenge @themercenaries

For the Midnight Mercenaries Prompt Dicenne's story Ryland's story

In hindsight they were all extremely lucky that the spare wheel mounted alongside the bottom of the caravan cart hadn't taken any damage from upwellings of caustic venom. Not that there was really a great place to protect anything from taking damage from caustic venom down in the Vaults; it was everywhere. Any skin Sol had exposed stung from the sheer concentration of it hanging in the stagnant, reeking air.

They had been so close to the end of their contract when Ula'tek's brood flooded into the path behind them. He'd grabbed his heavy war-hammer off his back and stood alongside some of his fellow Argents in the Crew, waiting behind the shield-wall that had gone up with practiced ease. Anything that managed to slip past in the fray met a quick, messy end; bludgeoning damage would never be as tidy as the slice of a sword, but he'd always found it to be devastatingly effective at keeping a body down.

Then the telltale creak of wood that heralded a critical structure failure hit his ear. He had no time to shout a warning. The sharp crack of the cart's wheel giving way and shouts from the wounded passengers they were escorting did that for him. Sol swore and put down another coiled guard before immediately turning to assess the damage. If he needed to, he could use his hammer as an impromptu jack to lift the— if there had been time to be surprised by Dicenne simply lifting the cart he would've stopped and had so many questions. Instead he smoothly slung his weapon onto his back and slid on his hip plate underneath the cart to hit the keys that would release the replacement wheel.

In a flash he was on the side of the cart Dice was with the spare and his work hammers in hand. Sol wasted no time slotting into the gap that the larger man's body and shield made, and he tossed a polite smile up to his temporary guardian when Dice called down to him,"You've got this. I'll keep them away from you." On a quick inspection he was able to tell that the axle was fine and undamaged, that was a small blessing, but getting the damaged wheel off was going to take more time than getting the new one on if he wanted that to remain the case. Time to get to fucking work.

Everything else around him faded to background noise and time slipped into a fuzzy sort of future-problem as he focused on knocking the old wheel loose from its bearings. Building and re-building was one of his specialties, and he'd had to fix countless old carts and wheelbarrows that had failed on construction sites over the years. There was no time to dawdle, though. Not that he needed much of it with adrenaline fueling the strength of his strikes against the stuck-on hub once he'd removed the cross-keys holding it into place. He moved the broken wheel aside once it broke free and immediately shifted gears into lifting the new one, lining it up with the axle, and using percussive force to drive it on. As soon as he slammed the cross-keys back home he got out from under the cart as fast as he could and shouted up to Dicenne, "Got it!"

He wasn't sure how long the other man had been bearing the weight of the cart itself, but he hardly seemed winded. Dice's shield had certainly seen much better days, but Sol was grateful it had been used to keep the corrosive venom from soaking him while he worked. The wreck of it was quickly tossed aside in favor of a beautiful two-handed sword and Dice turned to join the fight once more. That's when the rest of the world started to creep back in at the edges.

Somehow they hadn't been completely overwhelmed. As Sol rejoined the scrum he noticed a handful of unfamiliar fighters moving with the kind of precision that came from being a long-term sort of company. He took the broken wheel and slammed it into a charging group of coilers, getting a few of them stuck between the spokes for someone else to finish off. He turned and grabbed his war-hammer off his back just in time to see the bear woman — Fiorenze, that was her name — shift back from being a slightly luminous ursine into an elf again.

Her seamless transition culminated in a powerful swing of her barbed staff up into the chest of a coiler. The sharp thorns gouged in, up and under the overlapping scales in a spray of caustic blood. The creatures weren't the heaviest, but there had to be some kind of cosmic power behind the follow-through of her weapon's arc. The snake creature launched high into the air and landed on the single horn of a burly tauren that had joined in the chaos.

Dire, painful and frantic as it all was there was still hope. A young, attractive battle-mage serenaded that same tauren companion and that set a couple people into a fit of laughter. Camaraderie. That was the sort of thing that had gotten him through difficult, harrowing battles in the Plaguelands with the Argents. The Ula'tekian line was starting to fracture and their own was starting to form up to decisively push back. On Commander Dal'shula's call they rushed in with retribution and zeal. His blood sang as Light arced off his hammer swings.

It was only later, after the tide of battle had ebbed and they had returned to their camp that he realized how bad his armor had pitted from the constant splatter of venom being thrown his way. A few locks of his long, curly hair that had been bound back throughout the day had made their damage and breakage known when he'd hit the showers — enough to necessitate an impromptu, messy haircut to a shorter style. A petty, vain part of him was a bit desolate at the change, but there were others who had suffer far greater wounds and it would grow back in time.

His hammer gleamed in his tent with a fresh coat of polish and a few new scars; as his adrenaline finally crashed he realized how glad he was to be with this specific Crew.

Based on the Midnight Mercenaries Prompt #2

The return journey from the Northern Amani Bulwark had begun with an uneasy quiet. Dicenne walked at the very front of the caravan alongside Commander Dal’shula, shield raised and sword in hand, while the wagon carried wounded defenders and mercenaries who could no longer make the journey on their own. Those still able to walk traveled alongside it, with mercenaries from several crews and Amani defenders forming a protective perimeter around the wagon as they made their way through the Vaults at Atal’Utek.

As expected, the quiet didn't last. Toxic pools bubbled across the stone, strange eggs ruptured beneath careless footsteps, and showers of corrosive venom forced the shield-bearing fighters to constantly adjust their formation. When the first toxic tornado tore through the passage, shields rose throughout the caravan as venomous globules splattered against metal, leather, and stone, while Dice and the other shield-bearers worked together to keep the wounded protected. Serpent-seers soon joined the assault from a distance, firing poison bolts and attempting to infect the defenders with venom, while coilers and coiled guards surged in from the darkness, using venomous bites, sweeping tails, and poison-coated weapons to tear into the defensive line.

Talonoa kept the caravan moving, calling out the positions of the serpent-seers and warning the defenders whenever coilers attempted to flank them. Dice remained beside him at the front, intercepting anything that made it through while the rest of the mercenaries and Amani soldiers handled the threats around the wagon. At one point, a massive globule of venom tore loose from a toxic tornado and came hurtling toward an Amani defender, only for Dice to grab the man and yank him out of its path a heartbeat before it crashed into the ground where he'd been standing. How peculiar it felt to work alongside those you once considered enemies, not that it would be the first time. He could sort through those feelings later.

The distant defenses of the Amani foothold eventually appeared through the haze, bringing with them the first real sense that they might actually make it safely. Unfortunately, the serpent forces seemed determined to prevent that, pouring onto the road in overwhelming numbers as the caravan pushed toward the stairs. Shields rose throughout the formation, ranged fighters picked off serpent-seers where they could, and the melee fighters fought desperately to keep the coilers and coiled guards from reaching the wounded.

Then, a wheel on the caravan broke.

The wagon lurched violently, one side dropping hard enough to send several wounded crying out. Dicenne turned instantly, catching the side of the wagon before it could tip further, his boots grinding against the stone as he took the weight. Talon immediately began directing the surrounding fighters into a defensive ring while the shield-bearing mercenaries and Amani defenders tightened around the wagon. "Easy," Dice called to those inside, his voice calm despite the tremendous weight settling against him. "I've got you, just stay steady." Rynga and the other healers within the cart did their best to keep the wounded calm and still despite the rising panic.

Dicenne shoved his shield into the crook of his arm and stepped beneath the wagon's side, planting one shoulder under the wooden frame. With a grunt, he lifted the wagon just enough for the broken wheel to clear the ground. Its weight settled heavily across his shoulder and back as his muscles tightened beneath his armor. The innate magic woven through his body surged instinctively, reinforcing every tendon and muscle and lending him the endurance to hold what should have been far beyond one elf's strength.

Solstryce immediately dropped beside the wheel, tools and spare wheel already in hand. Dicenne kept the wagon elevated while the newer mercenary worked beneath him, replacing the damaged wheel as the serpent forces crashed into the defensive line. His voice remained steady despite the strain. "You've got this. I'll keep them away from you."

The defensive line around them became a wall of shields. Amani defenders locked themselves shoulder to shoulder with mercenaries, catching poison bolts and venomous weapons while others struck at the coilers attempting to slip around them. Dice remained beneath the wagon with one arm supporting its weight and his shield held in the other, blocking whatever threats made it through the surrounding formation. The melee attackers were easily taken care of by the surrounding mercenaries, but then the serpent-seers began firing.

Poison bolts streaked toward the wagon from the darkness, and Dice twisted his shield to catch as many as he could. Other shield-bearers did the same, forming overlapping layers of protection around Solstryce and the wounded. One bolt struck Dice's shield near the edge, another hit dead center, and a third splashed venom across the already-damaged metal. The shield began to bubble and smoke from the corrosive poisons.

Another volley came and Dice raised the shield higher, while several other defenders did the same around him. The corrosive venom ate through another section of metal, but he refused to lower it, keeping the wagon balanced on his shoulder while using the shield to intercept poison bolts and splashes of corrosive sludge. Around him, other mercenaries and Amani defenders endured their own share of the punishment, armor and shields smoking beneath the relentless assault.

Help finally came from the foothold as their remaining crew joined the fray. The Amani defenders and other crews in the area joined in to assist creating a path towards the caravan while ranged defenders began to pick off the ranged attackers. Among them Garren and Sheizara, sowing far less chaos than they did last time. Maybe. It was hard to tell at this distance. And was that….Viggo? Dicenne could have sworn he spotted some other familiar faces not among their own crew. He knew Captain Felonous Blacksun’s crew was in the area on the Isle, but he didn’t think they’d be found down in the vaults.

The reinforcements began pouring down the stairs, the Commander's voice carrying clearly over the battlefield as he directed them toward the stranded caravan. He identified where the serpent-seers were massing and instructed the defenders to establish a corridor through which the wounded could eventually be moved. Even with the wagon stranded, his composure never seemed to break.

Among the newcomers with the caravan were Alaneria and Tycil, both women more accustomed to fighting from a distance than standing in the middle of a melee. Yet neither hesitated when they saw how badly the caravan was pinned down. They immediately adapted, helping cover the wounded and working alongside the other fighters to keep enemies away from the wagon. They took shots at serpent-seers whenever they had the opportunity while assisting wherever the defensive line needed another pair of hands.

A toxic tornado began forming between the reinforcements and the caravan. Talonoa raised one hand, frost magic exploding outward as the swirling column abruptly froze in place. Venomous globules hung suspended within the frozen mass, trapped mid-flight as he redirected the spell and brought the entire formation down behind the advancing defenders. The frozen tornado shattered across the roadway in a cascade of poisonous ice, creating an obstacle that slowed the serpentine forces trying to reach the stranded wagon.

Talon didn't stop there. Blood magic curled from his hands in dark crimson threads, latching onto the nearest coilers and coiled guards, draining their life force into himself. Their movements slowed as his strength increased, the Commander seeming to grow more formidable with every creature he siphoned. Dice caught sight of the display from beneath the wagon and gave a brief, impressed smile before turning his attention back to Solstryce and the enemies pressing toward them.

Naralinthe fought alongside Talon near the wagon, moving with the same efficiency whether she was tending to the wounded or striking down the creatures pressing toward them. A burst of brilliant Light erupted from her hands, searing into a cluster of serpent-like enemies before she followed with another flash that left others blinded and staggering, giving Talon the opening to cut through them. Just as easily, she would turn toward a wounded mercenary or Amani defender nearby, laying a glowing hand against them and pouring healing Light into their injuries before stepping back into the fight without missing a beat. 

Xylaes kept his distance whenever possible, perched beside the cart and carefully watching the advancing serpent-seers. His magical immunity would do him no favors in a setting where he couldn’t be cleansed of toxins. Void magic poured from him in controlled bursts, ripping through groups of enemies and thinning the herd before it could overwhelm the defenders. Whenever a serpent-seer began preparing another volley of poison bolts, Xylaes was quick to disrupt them, while the surrounding shield-bearers continued intercepting anything that got through.

On the ground, Stellan proved that his melee skills were just as deadly as his ranged skills. Dicenne caught glimpses of him disappearing into the shadows and reappearing beside coiled guards, dagger flashing once before another serpent creature dropped. Every strike was quick and devastating, never needing more than a single precise stab before he vanished again.

Dicenne's attention briefly swept across the battlefield, and through the chaos he began recognizing familiar faces among the reinforcements from Felon's crew. Seeing them fighting alongside his own crew brought a welcome surge of relief. Having another experienced group at their backs could make all the difference in getting the caravan safely through. 

Red was in the thick of it, per usual, and fought almost identically to Stellan. The two shadow dancers moved gracefully around the wagon, appearing beside serpent-seers before they could fire and slipping behind coiled guards before they could raise their venom-coated weapons. One moment an enemy would be standing, and the next it would collapse with no idea who had killed it. Red and Stellan were gone before the body even struck the ground, already appearing somewhere else along the defensive line.

One serpent lunged toward Dicenne's exposed side and a figure appeared beside him in a blur. Felonous drove a dagger into the coiler before its fangs could reach Dice, yanking the blade free as the body collapsed. Dicenne glanced over, recognizing his friend immediately, and the two briefly shared a warm smile before turning back toward the fight. 

Then the wheel finally locked into place. "Got it!" Solstryce shouted over the chaos. Dicenne carefully lowered the wagon, allowing the repaired wheel to take its weight before stepping away. His shield was almost entirely gone, the corrosive venom having eaten through the metal in several places until it was barely more than a ruined frame. He looked down at it for a moment, gave Sol an approving nod, and tossed the remains aside. 

He immediately snatched up his sword with both hands and charged. Without the shield, Dice changed his style entirely. He became more mobile, slipping between venom-coated weapons and twisting away from the sweeping tails of coilers while his sword cut through anything that tried to reach the wagon. When poison bolts came toward the wounded, he stepped into their path and used his sword to deflect what he could, taking the remaining splatter across his armor rather than letting it reach the people behind him.

The first globule struck his shoulder and began chewing through the metal. He ignored it. A second splashed across his back, burning through another section of armor, and he simply shifted his stance to cover more of the wagon. The poison was slowly reaching him through the joints in his armor, but his innate resilience kept him moving. His tougher skin took the worst of what managed to reach him, while his endurance refused to give out.

Several other mercenaries were taking similar punishment around him. Shield-bearers who had been protecting the wagon were now forced to rely on damaged armor and careful positioning, while Amani defenders continued forming barriers around the wounded whenever another toxic spray swept through. Luckily, being surrounded by a group of former Argent Crusaders proved invaluable. The poison continued eating through armor wherever it landed, but their cleansing magic kept the toxins from taking deeper hold, preventing the wounds and contamination from becoming worse. Reyindora remained focused on the task, continually purging the toxins before they could spread or do any lasting harm. 

Fiorenze suddenly disappeared beneath a surge of shifting fur. A massive bear emerged in her place, barreling into the nearest cluster of coilers and taking blows that would have knocked most people flat. She planted herself firmly between the enemy and the caravan, absorbing their attacks while snapping and swiping at anything that tried to push past her. Nearby, Tinnaire unleashed a wave of fire that roared across the battlefield, engulfing a cluster of the serpent-like enemies and forcing those behind them to scatter. She continued hurling blazing bursts into the thick of the swarm, using the fire to carve openings for the fighters around her and keep the pressure off the wagon. 

At some point during the battle, Dice had caught sight of a coiler flying high through the air, sending it directly down onto the only horn of Brute, the massive tauren first mate of Felonous's crew, who happened to be charging through the battlefield at that exact moment. The serpent hit Brute's horn with an unpleasant *shunk*, and he didn't even slow down. He shook his head violently, flinging the impaled creature aside before continuing his charge through the enemy line. From atop the wagon, Ryland's voice suddenly rose above the chaos in a completely inappropriate, but unmistakably enthusiastic rendition of, "He came in like a wrecking buuuuulllll!"

Dicenne actually laughed. Brute looked up and Ryland gave him an enormous grin. Brute responded with a big, goofy grin of his own and a thumbs-up before lowering his head and charging straight back into the swarm. Dice shook his head with a smirk before turning back toward the next coiled guard trying to reach the wounded, somehow finding the absurdity of the moment almost comforting. Even here, with venom eating through his armor and serpent humanoids attacking from every direction, his friends could still find a way to make him laugh.

Ryland himself was almost unrecognizable. Dice knew him as someone who spent his time onstage wearing next to nothing and performing graceful and provocative dances, but tonight he was covered head to toe in leather armor and hurling devastating arcane area magic from atop the wagon. Every spell tore through groups of serpent-seers and melee attackers alike, leaving openings for the fighters below while he shouted encouragement toward anyone who needed it. Even here his stage presence shined through.

Dice turned his attention back toward the road, sword rising as another group of coilers rushed them while poison bolts streaked overhead. With Felonous's crew now fighting alongside them, the newer mercenaries adapting to the chaos, and Talon’s defenders pushing from the other side, the never-ending wall of serpent humanoids was finally beginning to break.

The fighting finally began to thin as they approached the stairs. The path widened enough for the defenders to establish a corridor, and Dice shifted from cutting down everything in front of him to helping move the wounded through the opening. Nahi was already waiting near the base of the stairs, helping guide injured soldiers upward. Even with the chaos raging around her, she remained focused on getting every injured defender to safety. Kriell, the elderly elven healer of Felon's crew, stood nearby with a distinctly unimpressed look at the chaos unfolding around him. Yet, his hands remained steady as he expertly channeled flashes of Light into the most severe wounds. His expression suggested he had seen far worse.

Kaisina moved between them, using frost magic to slow any serpent that tried to breach the corridor while helping get the wounded into safer hands. A serpent-seer suddenly raised its hands from across the battlefield and Dice watched the venom gathering, readying himself to step in the way of the projectile that was aimed for the foothold crew. Before the bolt could be released, Kaisina threw up an ice shield around him. The poison projectile struck the frost and hissed violently, dissolving harmlessly instead of eating through what remained of his armor. Dicenne looked toward Kaisina and gave her an appreciative smile.

With the last of the wounded being carried up the stairs, Dice finally looked toward the battlefield one more time. The remaining mercenaries and Amani defenders had formed a line facing the serpent forces still advancing through the vaults, with Commander Dal’shula directing the defense. Dicenne stood among them, armor partially dissolved and still hissing in places, sword hanging heavily in his hand. He looked exhausted, but his expression remained determined as he watched the last of the wounded disappear into the safety of the foothold. Once he was certain the people who needed him were safely inside, he finally turned his attention toward the remaining fight.

The final wave surged forward. Talon’s command cut through the chaos, directing the defenders to hold their positions as the serpent humanoids made one final push. Dice raised his sword alongside the others, his stance settling into familiar readiness as coilers rushed forward, coiled guards followed with venom-coated weapons, and serpent-seers fired poison bolts from behind them. Around Dice, shields rose again as mercenaries and Amani defenders met the incoming barrage. Ranged fighters picked apart the seers, and the melee fighters drove the coilers and guards backward. They all met the swarm together as one unified group.

The last creatures were driven away from the stairs, the combined mercenary crews and Amani defenders forcing them back into the toxic haze. Talon continued directing the final defense, calling out movements and keeping everyone coordinated as the enemy finally began to retreat. Dice remained near him until the last possible moment, fighting beside the Commander and helping hold the line while everyone else withdrew toward safety.

Only once the final wounded were secure and the immediate threat had been pushed far enough away did Dice finally turn toward the stairs. He was one of the last to leave the roadway, pausing briefly to look back at the battered caravan. He gave the others still nearby an encouraging nod and began climbing.

By the time Dicenne reached the top, his armor was little more than smoking scraps in several places and his shield was gone entirely. He looked like he had been dragged through the vaults rather than simply escorted a wagon through them, yet his sword remained firmly in his hand and his posture was still steady. Rynga looked him over with concern, quickly moving in to help him remove his still-sizzling armor, and the fear and worry in Kaisina's widened eyes was obvious.

Dicenne simply smiled. "I'm alright," he assured them, before glancing back down the stairs. Some of the tension finally left his shoulders as he looked across the foothold at the wounded being tended to, the defenders regrouping, and the mercenaries gathering together after the ordeal. Patches of flesh along his body had been burned raw where the venom had eaten through armor, leaving angry, damaged areas in its wake, but he barely seemed to acknowledge them through the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. It would hurt later, surely. For all the damage, all the poison, and everything they had just fought through, they had gotten the caravan to safety.

@talonoa @xylaes @tristennedarkmorn @inistellan @garrennorassin @rylandfalkov @felonous @fio-renze @sheizara @solstryce @kharrisdawndancer @nahisummerhold @themadamelioness @kaisinasunblade @theeternalautumn

One of the small comforts in Tycil’s life in Eversong since her return from the Nether was that the land held a quiet, lingering radiance in the Lightbloom plants that appeared here and there after the Sunwell’s return.

Their pale stalks shimmered with a gentle warmth. They were beautiful, and to the hunter, they felt like something more. A touch of the Light she longed to keep close, so she sought them out.

They could not be cultivated, she had tried more than once, and they could not be pruned, so she could not figure out their alchemical properties. And so she left them where they chose to grow.

Instead, she would go to them. Sometimes she brought a small picnic, lingering for hours as the golden light pooled around her, softening the edges of her thoughts. Other times, she simply rested in their midst, closing her eyes and breathing it in, the warmth, the stillness, letting their quiet radiance settle deep within her, if only for a little while.

Curiosity stirred in the alchemist, urging her to understand them. In her experience, everything in nature served some purpose, there were even potions that called for shadow, or void essence, reagents she kept on hand for rare brews and careful experiments, though she kept the void sparingly and only in certain circumstances. 

And yet, these plants defied that certainty. They offered nothing she could distill and offered nothing in the way of a food source. It seemed that all they wanted was just to exist.

That fragile peace did not last nearly long enough. 

Rumors were that the Amani were meddling in the forest once more, wandering out to cause trouble as they always had. As if the void incursion were not enough, the Farstriders had to contend with the trolls striking while forces were stretched thin, their strength divided among too many growing threats within the forest.

They felled one of the trees the forces against the Void attacks had begun calling Lightwood. What followed was not simple destruction, something twisted took root in its wake. Growth turned hostile, warping into something aggressive and unrestrained, until it surged outward in a wild botanical incursion that pressed hard against Suncrown Village.

Tycil moved with the gathered forces through the forest, and when they made camp near the Shan’dor Runestone, she settled among the unaffiliated fighters. From there, she made a brief return to her home, which was already threatened by the creeping edges of the wild overgrowth, and took what she could carry, including her small alchemical burners, her tools and her carefully kept reagents.

In her mind, the answer had to be simple. If this threat was living vegetation, then it could be treated as such. She began with what she knew in small batches, familiar formulas, testing them in the space between the runestone and Suncrown Village. She worked at the edges of the overgrowth, never straying too far, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks.

Her first mixtures failed, so she adapted. Tyc tipped her arrows in stronger compounds, harsher distillations she had once used as weedkillers. When those proved ineffective, she turned to more dangerous reagents, plants and essences known to disrupt or counter the Light itself. It was a gamble, one that sat uneasily with her and her devotion to the Light since her return, but the growth they faced was nothing that could be left to grow unchecked.

When word came that the forces would push toward the village in full, she gathered every vial she had prepared and moved with them.The hunter was not ready for what they found.

At the outskirts of Suncrown Village, the destruction ceased to be a distant sound and became something immediately horrific. The village was torn open, its structures splintered and overrun, but it was the people that stopped her. 

They were still alive. Light-touched growth, that held a faint glow, had pierced through them, lifting some bodies fifteen feet into the air as if they weighed nothing, or roots that seemed to have captured people midstride to envelop them. They did not scream anymore, what remained were thin, broken whimpers, pleas for help that barely carried, trembling on the edge of silence.

All of the town was ravaged, it looked as though the forest had reclaimed it centuries ago. Buildings stood hollowed and broken, trees thrust up through their floors and roofs alike. Great roots coiled across what had once been streets, sealing pathways she had walked many times. Spores drifted thick through the air, catching the light in a pale haze. She was grateful for the mask already secured over her face, meant for her own alchemical work, but even so, it felt like a fragile barrier between both airborne threats, it didn’t feel like enough.

Fighters pushed forward through the ruins in organized groups, several driving straight toward the village center, toward something that held its ground there. Tycil did not follow on the ground, instead she climbed.

She pulled herself up into the warped remains of a building until she reached what had once been its first floor, now lifted and tilted by the growth beneath it. A fractured wall gave her cover. From the broken window, she looked down into the heart of Suncrown Village.

And then she saw it. At first, her mind refused to understand, a mass at the center of village shifted, the motion rippled outward through layers of bark branches, the shape became clearer.

A colossal mandragora, if the word still applied to this abomination, made of tangled growth. Three heads had split bark as they emerged, within the mouths were rows of teeth that promised pain to any that dared venture close enough, making Tycil very happy with her decision to take to the heights.

Then she saw the bodies and her breath stopped in her lungs, refusing to be forced out. They were not caught in it, not simply trapped, it looked like the creature had dissolved parts of the corpses, drawing them seamlessly into the living wood, all she could think, disgustingly, was that they had become human fertilizer. Having been formed in with the shape of the mandragoa, faces looked caved into bark, their mouths open looking like they had been carved by a sculptor while screaming. 

One of the bestial? vegetative? heads snapped downward with sudden violence, its jaws clamping shut on something Tycil couldn’t see but she could hear. The sound that followed was a wet, sickening echo of armor, bone and flesh of a fighter having been crushed.

She didn’t wait, Tycil loosed an arrow, the motion one of  pure instinct. It struck deep in the tangled mass behind one of the creature’s heads, lodging into the writhing growth. Only after the shot did the realization hit, no poison, just a bare arrow. A mistake.

She reached for a vial at her belt, uncorking it with practiced speed, the liquid inside was thick and dark, threaded with shadow. She drew another arrow and dipped its tip into the toxin, watching it cling to the serrated metal head. Firing again, this time, when it struck, the reaction was immediate. The wood of the body recoiled away from the impact, not much, just a subtle shifting, expanding from around the wound.  Where her first arrow had lodged like she was shooting at a child’s target hung on a tree, this one sunk in to almost the fletching, leaving a dark mark around it.

Arrows rained down alongside her own, from the heights around her all the others that had taken to the trees for safety and sight advantages. She caught flashes of them in flight, fire trailing embers, frost leaving pale streaks in the air. Even faster than the twang of the bows was the report of rifles bounced off the unnatural trees around her.

And there were ones infused by Light, but when they hit the mandragora there was a flash, and they were instantly absorbed, drawn inward as though the thing were feeding on their power. Tycil’s grip tightened on her bow, the Light that had given her peace for years, now had turned malevolent.

A fighter moved forward through the chaos below, and at once, her senses flared. The awareness she sharpened on K'aresh, ignited with sudden intensity. Void magic clung to him and he moved into the range of the disjointedly weaving heads.

Her next arrow came up without thought, drawn and ready, for a fraction of a second, she hesitated, watching him. Her mind knew that void was not corruption alone, like anything else, it was a tool but she had feared it for too long not to be affected when it was called. But she still watched, slightly wary.

Then the air split with an explosion of magic. Instinct took over. And she dropped behind the broken wall, the force of it rattling through the structure. A voice cut through the chaos. “Core’s open!” Tycil moved as the words registered, she rose, already drawing firing towards it without a pause.

Her arrows came in rapid succession, each one driving into the exposed inner mass where the creature’s armored form had been torn apart. All the fighters focused on that spot, dozens of others steeped in magic she could see, and with certainty, other poisons and enchantments that she couldn’t.

As she fired, her attention was drawn to the fighter below. He met the creature head on, each of his attacks answering the creature’s violence in kind. Where the mandragora lashed out, he overwhelmed it. The air around him warped with each strike, the energy tearing into the creature in brutal, decisive bursts.

One of the heads came free with a sickening wrench. Vines stretched, snapped, and recoiled as it was torn from the body, the remaining growth shuddering inward, trying to contain the damage. 

The assault did not relent and she went back into action. From many directions, she could see arrows and spells flying through the air, bright traces coloring her vision. With a final, shuddering collapse, the mandragora fell the writhing of the vines ceased. It fell apart like matchsticks dropping across roots that still dug into the paving stones that cracked the rocks below.

There was a sense of satisfaction that filled her. Not just in the kill itself, but in the fight, the precision, the adaptation of all the forces coming together to bring the thing down. She had worked with a few mercenary companies since she had stepped from the Nether to help support herself and there was always a feeling of satisfaction in the way she was able to move in concert with others to take down different threats. 

Tycil drew in a slow breath,her hand trembling, remnants of adrenaline refusing to fade. Movement pulled her focus back from the space where the mandragora had broken apart. Something surged forward, one of the florafaun, its form created from the same Light twisted growth. Pivoting she loosed an arrow in one smooth motion, punching cleanly through its shoulder.  She was already drawing again, sighting down her next arrow as Light flared from within it while it convulsed, then fell. It’s form collapsed in on itself as its connection to the magic was severed in an instant. Tycil held her aim for a beat longer… then lowered the bow.

Around her, the fight still lingered in the village, survivors were being pulled free, fighters calling out, regrouping and reclaiming space that might never recover. She shifted position, continuing to provide cover where she could, her arrows finding targets with centuries honed on hunting these, and other lands, even other planets.

When the eventual call came to fall back, she climbed down from her perch dropping the last few feet, her knees giving way and she swayed. A fighter to her right steadied her arm and she nodded her thanks, her eyes locking onto a man with presence that screamed danger. He looked into her strange eyes for a moment, then released her, moving with others from the village. 

( @themercenaries )

Sol had quickly noticed the quiet, occasional pilgrimage of the Suncrown villagers they had helped in the mercenary crew's camp to a small spot at the river's edge beyond the safety of Runestone Shan'dor's shimmering barrier. It wasn't ever a rush — one or two folks at a time. They remained in view of the various forces mustered, and the path they took was on a regularly patrolled route so it was safe enough. Curiosity got the better of him pretty quick.

Enough people had made the trek that a small path had worn into the soft grass. His own steps added to the wear, and within moments what had seemed like a haphazard pile of river stones from distant view clarified. Some of them bore handwritten names. One had a remarkable drawing of a fish spirit. Others held down folded scraps of paper. A charcoal pencil had been speared into the soft, river-silt soil for others to use. Lumps of wax from long burned down candles were nestled in among the memories left defiantly across from a Lightbloom that had stolen friends and family. Flowers, he thought, certainly seemed a terrible thing to leave in the wake of all this.

His heart ached. There was no telling when these people were ever going to be able to go home again or reclaim their bloomrotten dead. Or, worse — if that would ever happen at all.

The Runestone, and their camp, was adjacent to a natural outcropping of hills that likely had a few decently sized limestone chunks he could use to make something a little more formal. He'd spent centuries working with it on construction sites around Eversong, and he much preferred it to the sandstone of Lordaeron and the plagued lands. Whether it was luck — or just knowing exactly what to look for — he found a decent sized slab around the edge of the camp that he was able to unearth easily enough with his trench shovel. Cutting it down to size he could easily carry back to the outside of the communal tent some of the Argents shared took no time at all, either. He knew exactly where to strike his hammer and iron spikes to split the rock into a manageable slab.

Over the course of a couple of days of downtime, some of it bartered for and some of it found in moments where the sound of his work wouldn't be overly bothersome, he worked the stone into a sloping, rectangular shape with a flat face on the top that set on an easy angle. The steady tink-tink-tink of his chisel etched a looping Thalassian script familiar to any mason that had to learn how to carve calligraphy into the rock:

IN MEMORY OF THOSE WE LOST REMEMBER SUNCROWN VILLAGE

It was still a bit rough when he finished, but no less ready. There was no reason to let perfect be the enemy of good, in this. He left it among the growing trove without ceremony or preamble, there to welcome the next mourner who needed to find time to share grief and pay their respects. At the end of the day it was a small thing, but when the world seemed impossible sometimes the small things could be load bearing.

Written in response to this prompt.

[ Cue the Music ]

Naralinthe worked tirelessly to help the injured trickling into camp from Suncrown Village.  There were a lot— as was to be expected— but all things considered, the crew seemed to be managing things well.  Years of working together ensured an unspoken sense of comfort in one’s roles and responsibilities, and like a complex puzzle, the pieces started falling seamlessly into place.

The triage station ensured those whose injuries were the most grievous were tended to first.  Crew members lacking medical experience kept a steady flow of supplies trickling in, giving the healers much needed freedom to concentrate their time and energy on the wounded.  No role was considered greater or lesser, no action— regardless of how small— was inconsequential.  Together, they achieved a sense of order amidst the chaos.

…until the chaos gave way to pandemonium.

Beneath a white sheet, a body twitched.  He was one of the first to succumb to the severity of his injuries, but like the others draped in sheets, had yet to be removed from the immediate vicinity.  There was simply too much to do and not enough attendees to see to the dead.  That was usually last on the list of priorities in times of war.

Pale fingers flexed and extended, followed by the twitch of a wrist, then an entire arm as it lashed out and gripped one of the priests by the throat.  The strangled scream he unleashed made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she whirled around to discover its inspiration.  Brilliant magic erupted from his fingers as he sent a flash of light shimmering into its chest, sending the reanimated corpse toppling backward and out of the tent.

“Wait!”  Naralinthe cautioned, but it was already too late.  Everyone watched as the ‘thing’ bloomed into a horrific monstrosity of flesh and flora, its growth expedited by the surge of light magic, and it started shambling toward a group of survivors huddled nearby.

OH GODS!  NO!

Naralinthe’s blood ran cold with the discovery and her eyes darted around the tent from one medic to the next.  Most of their crew was comprised of former Argents, and as such, were practitioners of Light magic.  “STOP!!!”  She screamed, and there was a momentary silence that lingered in the wake of the Lioness’ roar.  She already understood light magic was useless against the Lightbloom.  That was why she stayed back at camp instead of joining Talonoa and the others, but no one warned her the bodies might reanimate.

Rynga took the initiative to carry out the order. “Stop using light magic!”  She bellowed the warning for the others to heed and repeat.  “It only hastens the transformation!”

“Stop using light magic!” Echoed another until the message spread throughout the entire camp.

Instinct took hold, and Naralinthe sprinted toward her tent to retrieve her weapons and armor, forsaking her medical smock entirely.  Deft fingers wrenched and snapped on the buckles of her plate-mail as she suited up in a flurry of practiced determination.  Remembering Talonoa’s warning about the infectious spores, she ensured her mask was still securely in place before waving the tent flap open.

She emerged, a gleaming vision of ivory and gold, and charged one of the reanimated corpses head on, decapitating it cleanly with an arcing, upward swing of her sword.  It writhed on the ground in a pool of yellow sap that made her stomach wretch from the cloying sweetness it released before finally falling still.  It seemed severing the bloom’s attachment to the body’s nervous system prevented it from getting back up— a discovery that came as both a relief and a burden.

Compassion waned to guilt as she realized she would have to desecrate the bodies of her kin.  These poor souls deserved a proper burial, not a syrupy execution by her hand.  “I am so sorry,” she whispered beneath her mask before moving onto the next, hacking and slashing her way through the fray.  Her primary focus would become protecting the medical tent from waves of bloomrotten corpses with pale-yellow flowers for faces, lashing vines in place of appendages, and dislocated jaws hanging agape that spewed more noxious spores into the air.

To her left someone shouted, “FIRE!” and she turned her head to behold a hellscape of tents engulfed in flames.  Already Garren and Sheizara were rushing to the river with buckets to douse the fire while Kaisina flung frost magic wildly about, ensnaring others by accident and sending Nahilivi skating across the ice like an unsteady fawn.

‘What in the nine hells is going on here?!’ She thought to herself.

Only when Dicenne came barreling through the chaos did she breathe a sigh of relief.  Backup had arrived… and not a moment too soon.

Mercenary Prompt #1 Xylaes' Perspective

This place was wrong.

Fiorenze adjusted the gaiter style mask to keep it from slipping down her nose in a moment of pause. Seconds were usually all they got in between fighting and advancing, and she had to make the most of them. Glimmering motes of pollen drifted by and settled in a fine, sunny haze across the surface of her supple leather armor; it would be beautiful, in a way, if it wasn't objectively terrifying.

She tried not to recognize the buildings. The people. Suncrown Village was closer to her tree and grove than Silvermoon City was; she had just been here a little over a week ago to buy new supplies and clothes for her traveling kit. This was the road to the local butcher's place and his son, Aislin, was skewered in the shoots that had grown too fast to flee from. His face was covered by a large, luminous bloom, but she recognized the fish tattoos on the backs of his hands. He'd said they were lucky when she had asked about them months ago — based on legends of old river spirits. So much, she thought, for that.

Quickly enough their hard-fought path diverted toward the village's center. The winding, spongy roots all led there and the Ruutani were fiercely guarding it. She spun off a rapid fire whirl of star motes to beat back a diving petalwing intent to hinder them further as Stellan's gunfire and the clash of steel on wood bounced off the crumbling walls of the bakery and reagent shop to either side of them. Something important was there, and they needed to take care of it.

No sooner than they had crossed into what had once been a thriving hub of a town that had been reclaimed and restored after the scourge had destroyed it, they had to stop. A towering portion of the bloom had twisted into a massive, nest like thicket. The ground beneath them shook as a mandragora, larger than any she had ever seen, rose and pulled roots from around — and under them — with it. Everyone under Commander Dal'shula's banner immediately sprung into practiced motion. They had all been fighting together long enough now that it was easy to slip into what they knew worked for moments like this.

Then the thing screamed. She felt the cacophony rattle the boughs and shoots around them, and the layers of elven voices in the otherworldly screech set her on her back-foot as she braced against the wall of sound. A vine beneath her heel flexed, then pulsed as she lashed out with a lance of sunfire that did…. next to nothing. The way that nature magic was reacting here was curious, but not unexpected. Her body shimmered and became semi-translucent as she wreathed herself in a druidic, celestial form to boost her own effectiveness.

Fiorenze leaned into the arcane spells Yserina had taught her, hurling bolts of stinging moonfire and cosmic stellar flares built of astral magic toward the horrendous beast, aiming for the parts that the Commander froze with his frost abilities while Tinnaire cut precise streaks through the air with ribbons of condensed fire. A chunk of plant matter exploded off of the monster's side thanks to one of Stellan's fancy charges, but the beast didn't slow down much. It was quickly clear that it wouldn't be enough, especially as one of the new guys — Solstryce. Sol. That's what he wanted to be called — was dragged with a heavy, rattling clang across the mossy cobblestones toward the horrifying beast.

It wasn't safe for the melee to be there, and Talonoa quickly shouted for them to fall back to protect their ranged cohort. As soon as Avalear and Sol, who had been rescued from his uncertain fate, pushed past her, they clashed with two Ruutani who were intent on closing into her space. One didn't even bother to fight, it reached a brambled, floral hand out toward her as a broadsword plunged into its abdomen and cried out with a reedy wheeze, "Daughter of the Singing Wood! Join us! Powers only grow in the Light!"

No thanks.

She pressed further in with the other spellcasters and focused her craft on the mandragora, and slipped into a flow state she needed to be in to reach heights of astral magic that blazed brighter and seared harder. In her periphery, Xylaes started levitating. The man she had once loved fiercely (a man she maybe still loved in gentler way that needed further examining when they weren't all about to die, probably), was wreathed in violent shadow and cosmic dark. He slung a spell that consumed. Sunlight and spell-light lensed and bent around the weight of it, and on impact it tore through the plant matter that made up the bulk of the beast.

Her astronomy and astromancy teachers had talked about the concept of black holes in the hypothetical when she was studying at the university. They existed, but were hard to see through their limited telescopes. She was pretty sure that's what that was, right here at home.

And it had given them the best opening they'd had all day. The Commander's voice was clear over the chaos, "Core's open!"

Everyone unloaded.

She hurled all of the motes in her stellar crown at the mandragora and summoned a hail of falling stars to strike anything in range. Tinnaire unleashed a flurry of fireballs in a rapid staccato next to her. Xylaes lashed out with another pulse of violent void that tore one hydra head that had snapped toward him free from the rest of the body. Fiorenze pooled her fury about the village, the people and the attack on Quel'danas and reached for something in her own cosmic bright. A pillar of pure astral magic shot down in a beam and severed one of the other heads as more magic, gunfire and arrows from her compatriots shredded layers of the monster away.

Xylaes let loose a final, devastating spell that ended it. The crackling spell left no time to comprehend the structure of it or the mandragora. That fight was over, and the great growth that had harbored it started to collapse. She immediately turned to support their fighters keeping the Ruutani and florafaun away from them. They had to clear a path out, after all, and it was time to go.

The camp that was waiting for them when they returned was… a smoldering mess. Waterlogged supplies were spread out in the grass to dry. Tents had collapsed, bore scorch marks and cinder holes, or were piles of sodden ash entirely. Fiorenze stared at the spot where her own had been. The emerald green fabric had charred black and lay in a smoking heap.

She wanted a meal. She wanted a shower and to change into something that wasn't dirty armor and sweat-soaked under layers. By the looks of it she probably wasn't going to get any of that anytime soon.

Dicenne was there in the middle of the mess — busy, maintaining whatever fucking order had settled in the aftermath of whatever had happened. Seeing him helped her relax a little. Fiorenze pulled down her mask and split off from the fighting crew to check on her belongings and see what remained, reminding herself that they were just things, everyone was alive, they had won the day.

She dug her fingers — still glowing with a luminous, bright blue stain from the amount of magic she had been casting — into the ashes. If they were still hot she couldn't really feel it. In the wreckage she found charred bits of wood from the trunk that held her spare sets of sleeping and around-camp clothes, and her supplies for bathing and laundry. Only tatters and shards of glass remained. Parts of her cot frame had survived, but the bedroll and her pillows really hadn't. No trace of her journal could be found, but it was leather and paper.

It was all going to be expensive to replace, and their contract payment wasn't likely to be divvied out for a few days yet. A wave of exhaustion and a desire to break down and cry about it all hit her unexpectedly. She staved off the latter, at least, but not after a rush of too-quick breaths that she had to force into a steady eight in-eight out. It was time for a distraction.

Somewhere they had candles — hopefully, unless those had been lost, too — and she could at least set up a little memorial at the edge of the river for those that Suncrown had lost.

Midnight Mercenaries Prompt #1

Dicenne's Perspective

The Lightbloom immediately resisted their intrusion, Dicenne felt it the moment he crossed beyond the safety of Runestone Shan’dor, where the iridescent shimmer of its barrier faded behind him. He pulled a handkerchief up over his nose and mouth, securing it in place as spores drifted thick through the air, breathing that in seemed like a terrible idea. Beneath his boots, the ground did not feel like ground at all, but something softer. Something that shifted faintly, as if disturbed by his weight. It didn’t take long for the creatures of the Lightbloom to find them, and he did not hesitate.

Steel rang softly as he drew his sword, shield already raised as something moved ahead, a twitch of limbs, a creak of bark. The first of the florafaun lunged from the overgrowth, all jagged vines and snapping tendrils. Dicenne met it head-on. The impact jolted through his arm as his shield slammed into it, knocking it back just long enough for his blade to carve cleanly through its core. 

Another came from the side, and he didn’t even look. His shield snapped out behind him, catching it mid-lunge with a *crack* before pivoting through the motion and driving his sword up and under in a brutal thrust that split it apart. A third tried to wrap his leg, he stamped down hard enough to pulp the vine beneath his boot.

“Help!”

The voice was weak, buried somewhere beneath the ruin of what had once been a home. Dicenne turned immediately, scanned, then moved. The structure had been split open from below, bamboo erupting through its foundation and tearing it apart. One side had collapsed entirely, leaving beams and stone piled in a jagged heap. Beneath it, there was movement.

He was already there, sheathing his sword for a moment to grip a fallen support beam. Muscles strained and shoulders tightened as he braced his stance, and then he pulled. The wood groaned in protest before splintering free, wrenched aside with a force that sent debris scattering. Another beam followed, then stone, then a section of wall that should not have moved at all, and yet it did, dragged aside under sheer strength. Something snapped somewhere in the structure with a sharp crack that suggested he absolutely should not have done that, but it was too late now.

A hand reached out from the wreckage.

“I’ve got you.” He carefully cleared enough space first despite the urgency pressing in from all sides. When he finally reached in, his grip was firm but gentle, easing the wounded elf free from the debris that had pinned them. They cried out, but they were alive. 

Something screeched behind him. He didn’t turn, just shifted, bracing the survivor against his chest with one arm as his other hand snapped out, grabbing his sword off instinct. The creature that lunged met the flat of his blade first, deflected, then immediately the edge on the return as he cut it down without ever fully turning his attention away from the person he was pulling free. He sheathed the sword again in one smooth motion before he lifted the survivor into his arms. “Stay with me.”

The path back was not easy. More creatures moved in the ruins: florafaun, Ruutani, things that had possibly once been people. That was alarming. But Dicenne did not slow. He shifted the survivor’s weight with ease, keeping them secure against him as his shield came up again. The next creature that lunged was met with brutal force, his shield smashing into it hard enough to send it reeling, and ending it with the sharpened edge.

Another tried to flank him. He pivoted, drove his shoulder into it like a battering ram, and sent it sprawling before stomping its head into the dirt hard enough that it didn’t get back up. Something else leapt from above, and he drove up into it with his shield, catching it midair and smashing it aside hard enough to send it hurtling into a wall, caving in part of the already-ruined structure.

Again, and again, he did not waste any motion. He carved a path through the Lightbloom while carrying the living, until at last the shimmer of the barrier came into view once more. To safety, or what should have been. He crossed back through Runestone Shan’dor and slowed, lowering the wounded carefully as others moved to take them. There was relief in that moment, as fleeting as it was. Then he turned back, because there were more to help.

He lost count of how many trips he made. Back and forth, in and out of the Lightbloom. Sometimes with the assistance of other crew members, sometimes on his own. Each time, more survivors, more second chances.

He carried those who could not walk. He cut others free from vines that tried to claim them, once ripping a root clean out of the ground when it refused to let go. He tore open collapsed homes with his bare hands when there was no other way, once bracing a full doorframe on his back to hold it long enough for two civilians to crawl out beneath him before he let it crash behind them.

His body became a tool of purpose, strength and endurance pushed without hesitation, because there was no room for anything else.

Until…

He stepped back through the barrier again, another wounded woman in his arms and stopped. For the first time since entering the Lightbloom, Dicenne just stared.

Fire. Everywhere.

Tents burned in ragged patches across the camp, canvas collapsing in on itself as flames devoured them. Figures ran, some living, some very much not, engulfed in fire, their movements erratic and violent as they crashed into anything in their path. Others stood frozen in jagged sculptures of ice, caught mid-lunge, frost clinging to them in thick layers like aggressive lawn decorations. Smoke choked the air, mixing with that same sickening sweetness until it turned the whole scene into something surreal.

His expression did not soften, but it didn’t sharpen either. It simply settled into a very clear: What the actual fuck.

Somewhere to his left, something exploded. Not metaphorically, actually exploded. He blinked slowly, the woman in his arms stirred weakly. He moved again, already stepping toward the nearest unburned stretch of ground where a shaken survivor stood, wide-eyed and unsure.

“Take her,” Dicenne said, voice low but firm as he transferred the woman into their arms. His gaze flicked once toward the chaos nearby. “Get to another camp. One that isn’t on fire.” A burning corpse sprinted past behind him at that exact moment, shrieking, “…Preferably immediately.” There was no time to wait for a response, he was already turning back and diving in.

A frozen plant-creature stood directly in his path, locked in place by thick encasements of Kai’s ice work. Dicenne grabbed the thing by the shoulder and drove it down, smashing it against the ground with enough force to shatter the frost and the creature in the same motion. Ice cracked, bark splintered, and the thing broke apart beneath him into a pile of frozen debris. 

A scream cut through the chaos, and he pivoted instantly. Kaisina. A burning, thrashing plant-thing had her, brambles digging into her arms and flames catching her sleeves. Dicenne closed the distance in a heartbeat. His shield came up first, not defensively, but violently, slamming into the creature’s face with a crack that staggered it backward hard enough that something inside it audibly snapped. The grip on Kai loosened just enough.

That was all he needed. The edge of his shield flashed with a single, vicious arc and the thing’s head tumbled free, the body collapsing where it stood with flames still clinging to it as it hit the ground. Dicenne stepped in immediately, his cloak already in motion as he patted out any lingering flames on her sleeves.

“You good?” He waited a beat, just long enough to confirm she wasn’t actively on fire anymore. When she nodded, he pushed her towards the healer’s tent and was already moving again.

The camp had become a battlefield, but Dicenne was doing his best to turn it into something more controlled. He hunted the burning dead, one by one. Each time, the approach was the same, there was no time to waste. A shield strike to stagger, a blade to finish. Sometimes he used the sharp edge of the shield itself, slicing heads, limbs, or vines cleanly in one swift movement. Bodies fell and flames followed. Each one he took the time to smother so the fire couldn’t spread any further than it already had.

One lunged and he sidestepped, grabbed it by the arm and used it to slam into another. The two tangled together long enough for him to cut through both in a single, savage follow-through. Another tried to grab him from behind, he drove his elbow back into it hard enough to cave in its chest before turning and finishing it with a vicious strike.

A figure broke free from the chaos, fully engulfed in flame, and sprinting wildly toward the edge of camp. Right toward another cluster of tents that had not yet caught. Dicenne didn’t chase, but instead he picked up a discarded axe from nearby, and in one smooth motion, he turned, and threw. The weapon spun end over end and buried itself in the back of the creature’s head with a heavy impact. It dropped instantly, skidding across the dirt in a trail of sparks before going still.

“Nope,” he muttered under his breath, already turning away, “we are not spreading that.” He was already moving toward the next.

Around him, the others fought in their own ways. Rynga was a force of nature, somehow still working to mend the wounded while driving back anything that got too close. Her voice carried through the chaos in a string of unrelenting curses in her native tongue that honestly might have been doing damage on their own for anyone who understood. Naralinthe stood firm at the edge of the medical space, shield raised, and blade moving with precision as she held the line. At least they weren’t adding to the chaos.

Through the smoke and fire, Dicenne caught sight of Nahilvi dragging herself free from the wreckage of a collapsed green tent. She looked disheveled, but at least alive and not terribly injured from what he could see. More fire immediately caught on the tent behind her the moment she exited, because of course it did. Murphy’s Law. 

Not far from her, Sheizara and Garren sprinted past in the opposite direction, both looking like drowned rats as they hauled burning supplies into the river with the kind of urgency that suggested they were very aware of how bad this had gotten, and possibly that they had something to do with it. Garren nearly slipped on a patch of ice…again. Dicenne sighed. A hot mess. He briefly wondered what Talon’s reaction was going to be, they would all be witnessing that soon enough. The members of the camp were all just doing their best, but there was definitely a lesson to be learned here about what not to do. Some of them were still just novices in their craft, but at least many of those in the mender’s tent knew how to fight and were all actively trying to stop the camp from being infested and/or burnt to the ground. They would get through this. His gaze flicked towards his own tent which was still standing, and most notably not on fire. A small win, and he planned on keeping it that way.

By the time the last of the burning plant-creatures fell, the camp was still smoldering, but no longer overrun. Dicenne stood at the center of it, chest rising and falling steadily, cloak damp and streaked with ash, water, and probably blood. The fires were being handled. The wounded, at least those who could still be saved, were being tended. Somewhere, something else caught fire. He slowly turned his head to look at it, sighed, then looked back at the rest of the camp.

At the damage. At the people. At the remnants of what had just happened. And for a second time, that same look crossed his face: What the actual fuck.

The more Nahi worked with the healers the more setting up for injuries became ingrained in her, allowing her to work smoothly with the others. It was becoming a well rehearsed dance, one that involved many of them coming together so they could best prepare for something that one could never truly prepare for. You just never knew what the fighting would bring to them. Her eyes snapped to the path cutting through the magic shield as the first injured came through. She moved with the others, helping guide them down, hands already reaching, already working. They looked skewered, torn through, and carried a thick, earthy smell, like mulch clinging to their skin. How was that even possible? What was in there? More injured poured in, some on their own, others carried. Too many. Nahi’s gaze swept over them, her stomach tightening. Many weren’t fighters. They looked like civilians, an older man with blood soaking through his clothes, his steps unsteady as someone tried to keep him upright. Were they from the town? 

She shifted from tending the wounded to preparing for them, laying out pads and blankets as quickly as she could. If this was only the first wave, they were going to need far more space. It didn’t register at first when she saw the flowers sprouting from a woman’s hand. They’d been treating wounds from the plants all day. Around her, the injured spoke of the town breaking apart, of people still alive as the plants took them. It wasn’t until she saw the woman’s skin shift, something moving beneath it, that it clicked. Then more flowers burst through her arm, splitting flesh as they spread.

Nahi stumbled back. All around her, bodies twisted, changed. becoming more vegetation than human.One of the priests called on the Light, trying to drive them back. But the instant it touched one of the shambling forms, its mouth gaped open and stalks erupted faster, spilling outward. 

“Stop using Light magic!”

Nahi didn’t know who shouted it, but she saw Nara already moving, sprinting for her weapons.metal flashed as she turned back into the fray, sword cut down one of the half-formed creatures before it could rise, then drove it back, keeping it away from the healers. As they tried to group to defend themselves. The horror around her locked her in place. Nahi wasn’t one to panic easily, but this… This was worse than anything she’d faced before. A memory surged unbidden, people talking about the shambling dead that had ravaged Eversong not so long ago. 

A scream cut through the haze. She turned. Roots lashed out from one of the creatures, coiling around a nearby victim and dragging them into an atrocious embrace. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stepped back, eyes glued to the horror.

Out of the corner of her vision, another slow-moving being crept through the fight toward one of the company’s druids, still focused on a man who wasn’t rising like the others. As her magic began to weave over him, it was siphoned away into the creature with a horrifying inhale. It swelled, twisting and stretching until it resembled a monstrous treeant. Branches clawed outward like a starving person desperate for a scrap of food. A lightning strike sparked into a handful of the shamblers, catching them on fire, a gust of wind followed and the creatures were forced back around the center of the healers. Then more fire began popping up around them as arrows rained down on the beings, who began to trip and fall into things. A cot at Nahi’s side began to burn and she turned to see a face formed of petals in a bud that had yet to blossom moving in towards her. Instinct overcame her, she screamed and ran… The healer’s carefully arranged space? Obliterated. She had no clue where she was, so she bolted toward the closest gap in the tents. Debris and roots threatened to trip her at every step, but she darted through it, dodging gracefully like the lifelong dancer she was.

People came into focus. Kai was flinging ice at the leafy monsters but where was everyone else? She glanced back. The plant creature had not given up on chasing her. Not wanting it to grab her friend like the others were doing, she dove sideways, barely avoiding a tent that erupted into flame. 

And then… her foot hit ice. She slipped, flailed like a new born chick out of an egg, and landed in what should have been a graceful roll, but instead, she ended up tangled in a mountain of green canvas, tumbling headfirst into a pile of… pillows? Soft, sure, but really?

Pulling at the canvas only made it worse. Trying to stand she slammed her knee into something unhelpfully solid and just tangled herself more when she fell and tried to crawl through the fabric that had caught on fire that was spreading behind her. She clawed herself free and stood just to receive a face full of water from someone trying to douse the tent. 

Everywhere, the camp was burning. Somewhere, monsters were still vegetating. And here she was looking like a drowned rat standing in the middle of total chaos.

Midnight Mercenaries Prompt #1

“They’ll catch on fire when you loose ‘em!” 

Garren did not hesitate when Sheizara shoved the arrows into his hand. He didn’t even question it, just nodded, already turning, already drawing. His fingers moved with instinct, muscle memory and panic taking over instead of really considering what he was about to do. The first arrow flew clean and true, embedding itself squarely in the chest of one of the shambling, flower-covered corpses lurching toward a pair of wounded civilians. Bullseye. Nice.

For half a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, it ignited. Flame bloomed outward in a sudden rush, catching fast as if the thing had been soaked in oil. The corpse jerked violently, spine arching as that layered, discordant shriek tore out of it, and then it ran. Not at him, not away from him, just ran.

“Wait!”

Garren’s second arrow was already in the air before he could stop himself. Another hit and another ignited. Another shrieking, flailing, wildly sprinting horror careened off course and slammed shoulder-first into a tent, which caught almost immediately on fire with a *whumph*. Garren froze. That wasn’t… that was not how that was supposed to go.

A third one, already burning, sprinted past him with arms flailing, and bowled directly into a stack of supply crates. Flames spread with alarming enthusiasm, licking up canvas and wood alike. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sheizara already moving and dragging something out of the way before it could fully catch, her head snapping toward him as if saying ‘oh shit, what did we do’. In their defense, they weren’t the only ones trying to stop the things with fire. Maybe. It was hard to tell at this point.

Somewhere to his left, someone shouted for more fire, and somewhere to his right, someone else shouted to stop using fire. The two orders overlapped in a way that felt deeply unhelpful. Near the healer’s space, Rynga’s voice cut through it all in a string of very loud, very creative Dwarvish curses as she tried to keep pressure on a wound and kick a smoldering, twitching limb away from her patient at the same time. Naralinthe had already abandoned any pretense of staying back, shield raised and sword in hand as she stepped in front of the triage area, bracing to intercept anything that got too close.

Garren stared at the growing number of things-that-were-on-fire, then down at the arrow still nocked in his bow.  Another flaming corpse sprinted past him, this one veering wildly toward the faintly glowing spread of the Lightbloom itself. He winced when some of the bamboo stalks abruptly caught on fire.

“Nope. …Nope, absolutely not.” He lowered the bow immediately, a decision made with the kind of speed that came from pure panic. Fire arrows were no longer part of the plan. Fire arrows were, in fact, the opposite of the plan. “Water,” he muttered, already turning. “Water fixes fire. That’s…yeah. That’ll do it.”

The mess tent was already half in disarray, but the buckets were still there and blessedly intact, and exactly what he needed. He grabbed two in quick succession, nearly colliding with someone rushing past him, Nahilvi, who looked like she was trying very hard to be a healer and not die at the same time, and then bolted for the river.

He moved faster than he realized he could under pressure. Dodging around panicked civilians, sidestepping a flailing, half-burning corpse that lunged blindly in his direction, vaulting over a toppled crate without breaking stride. The chaos blurred around him, but his focus narrowed to a single, simple objective: Fill the buckets. Don’t think about anything else.

The river rushed nearby, cool and steady and not on fire, which immediately made it his favorite thing in the entire world. He skidded to a stop at the bank, dropped to a knee, and plunged both buckets into the water, hauling them up with a grunt as they filled. “Okay, I can fix this.”

He turned and immediately had to dodge as something shrieking and aflame stumbled past him, tripped over its own feet, and rolled down part of the riverbank with a hiss of steam.

“…I can mostly fix this.”

Garren took off back toward the camp, buckets sloshing with every step. He adjusted his grip, compensated automatically, and weaved his back through the mess with surprising agility for someone who, until recently, had not been expected to be anywhere near this level of disaster.

By the time he broke back into the main stretch of camp, Dicenne had already arrived. Thank the Light. No, not the Light, the Light was the root source of this issue (Heh, -root- source). Thank fuck. He watched him striding out of the Lightbloom with a wounded civilian in his arms, and a couple others staggering closely behind. Dicenne slowed just long enough to take in the scene - the fires, the rampaging, burning corpses, the slipping, shouting, everything - and the look on his face very clearly said ‘what the actual fuck’.

Ahead, Garren caught sight of Kaisina trying to hold her ground, frost magic lashing out in sharp bursts to slow an advancing cluster of burning, thrashing bodies. It worked, until one of them didn’t stop. The flaming thing barreled through the slowing ice and slammed into her. Kaisina screamed as it grabbed her, brambles digging in, fire licking at her sleeves as she struggled to wrench herself free. Panic snapped through her casting in that instant, and the spell she released wasn’t aimed, it just went off.

A burst of frost detonated outward in a wide, uncontrolled wave, and Garren hit it mid-stride. His left foot came down, and stuck. There was a horribly unfortunate moment where his body kept going but his foot absolutely did not. He had just enough time to think ‘oh no’ before gravity made the decision for him. He went down hard, face-first, both buckets flying from his hands in a spectacular arc that looked, for one hopeful second, like it might still accomplish something useful.

It did not.

Water splashed impressively across the dirt, the grass, and, most notably, not the fire. Garren lay there for a second, stunned, cheek pressed against the ground as distant shouting and nearby crackling flames filled his ears. Behind him, something shifted sharply in tone, the chaotic scramble shifting into something cleaner and faster. He twisted just enough to see it.

Dicenne moved in like a blade. The flaming creature that had seized Kaisina didn’t get a second chance. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, shield already in motion. The edge caught the thing clean across the neck in an arc, severing the head from the body before it could react. The corpse dropped instantly, fire still clinging to it as it collapsed, and Dicenne’s cloak came down over it a second later, smothering the flames before they could spread further. Kaisina stumbled back, free, slightly scorched, but alive. Garren blinked at that for half a second. If he had time to think harder on it, he may have questioned his sexuality watching the older man move like that.

But then the world snapped right back into chaos. Behind him, someone slipped on the same patch of ice with a yelp. Somewhere else, something else caught fire. Because of course it did. 

Garren pushed himself up onto his hands, wincing as he tried to pull his leg free, but it didn’t budge. “Right, okay, we’re doing this.” He twisted, grabbing his dagger and flipped it in his grip before bringing the pommel down hard against the ice encasing his boot. Once, twice, a third time, then the ice cracked. A fourth hit shattered enough of it for him to wrench his foot free with a sharp tug, nearly losing his balance again in the process but managing somehow to stay upright this time.

A burning figure staggered past him, shedding embers with every step. “Okay, new plan, less fire.”

Behind him, Rynga was still somehow both healing and swearing, Naralinthe was holding the line in front of her with shield raised as she battered back a lunging plant-thing. He spotted Sheizara nearby, already in motion, hauling what looked like salvageable supplies toward the river with the kind of decisiveness he deeply envied at the moment. 

That, at least, made sense. That was something he could help with without making everything worse. Garren darted over, and grabbed a crate from a small pile that was just beginning to smolder. Together, they ran, Garren doing his absolute best to ignore the chaos behind them - the fires, the screaming, the still-moving shapes that shouldn’t have been moving at all - and focus instead on the one task he could complete without accidentally setting half the camp ablaze. Which, given how the last few minutes had gone, felt like a very reasonable personal goal.

Strange sounds caught her ear from beyond the river. Whatever horror had happened in Suncrown Village had clearly happened fast enough to take everyone by surprise. Sheizara was glad there was a river and some distance in between the magically overgrown Lightbloom and their camp, and that they were upwind more often than not. The sticky-sweet scent of sap, decomposition and decaying plant matter that occasionally blew into camp was enough to make her stomach turn.

She wasn't nearly as cute when she was sick. Choosing to stay in Camp instead of venturing into that horror show had been the best idea.

It hadn't taken long for the advance wave of their frontline folks to start sending walking wounded back through the safety of Runestone Shan'dor's iridescent barrier. Rynga and Naralinthe immediately moved into triage mode; Shei had learned pretty early on in her tenure on the crew to stay out of their way when that happened. Other people, like Nahilvi and her nurse training, were better suited to not be underfoot in that little corner of their camp. But, it didn't stay little for long. Suncrown had always been a decently sized village on the banks of Lake Elrendar, and there were plenty of people who needed help.

A shout for another crate of bandages rang out from the healers' makeshift space. She hopped to her feet and grabbed one before nudging Garren's thigh with the toe of her boot to grab another. More than one probably wouldn't hurt. They were halfway through their hustle before the standard-issue style of orders were overtaken by screams of terror from townspeople and crew-folk alike.

Uh oh.

Shei recognized the woman that rose aggressively from the cot. She had been one of the first to stumble into camp bleeding and covered in splotches of pollen, or spores? It was hard to tell if it was one or the other, Shei wasn't a healer and wouldn't ever be accused of having that sort of distinction. Small, luminous flowers bloomed throughout the woman's sleek black hair, and she swiped at the nearest crew member with fingers that had turned into gnarled, sharp brambles. Were her eyes flowers? That was fucked up. No thanks.

Another wounded on a nearby bedroll started twitching and shuddering and Shei shared a look with Garren. Then another started. And another. She threw her crate of bandages so it rolled end-over-end closer to where they were meant to go and immediately started backing up. In a quick, effortless motion she moved her bow from where it had been slung over her shoulder and back into her hands. Her quiver was always on her hip — it was easier to draw new arrows that way.

The first arrow she nocked and shot was normal style. It wasn't particularly effective, even though it found its target with accuracy. In short order her battle — and sometimes chaos — buddy, Garren, had started to loose his own beautifully fletched and crafted shot. They were gonna need something with more oomph, especially as more villagers started to get taken over by the reanimating bloom.

She darted back toward her own small field tent that had become home-away-from-home and grabbed her secondary quiver, the one that was full of panache and expense. As she ran by Garren, she passed him a handful of arrows with ombre red-to-orange fletching made from dragonhawk feathers and yelled, "They'll catch on fire when you loose 'em!"

And they did.

Nearby, Kaisina had lept into action herself. The cook's helper lashed out at one of the flowering dead with a rapid fire handful of ice shards that slowed it down for a fair few seconds. Long enough for one of Shei's tanglefoot arrows to land at its feet and burst into writhing roots meant to snare it. Instead, it absorbed them and made it a little stronger.

Oops.

Another shambling horror streaked by her, wreathed in flame with one of the fire arrows jammed between its shoulder blades. It moved erratically and screeched in a discordant, layered shriek before smacking into the canvas sides of one of the other crew member's tents. The fabric didn't take long to catch from the magical fire, but the body collapsed in short order and went still. Destructive, sure, but it was effective. Shei knocked another fire arrow and, right as she was about to set it loose, was jostled by another crew member rushing by. Her shot went wide, landing with a wild blaze in the dirt just beyond her mark and unfortunately close to another tent.

In extremely short order, the camp became a chaotic mess. Little fires, either from arrows or collateral damage from the engulfed plant-people spreading it as they tried to fight-and-flee at the same time, had sprung up everywhere. Kaisina and Garren both had turned their efforts to trying to keep the blazes from going entirely out of control — which resulted, somehow, in Garren's foot getting frozen to the ground and Kaisina slipping on a wide patch of ice that also tripped up Nahilvi as the camp nurse tried to sprint past and away from a reanimated that was hot on her own heels.

Shei winced as she watched the other woman's attempt to over-correct in order to keep herself from entirely falling. It didn't really work, and just led to Nahi running smack into Fiorenze's emerald green tent in a way that tore up some of the stabilizing posts and made the central prop collapse. She was able to get out of the fabric just in the nick of time as the on-fire body of the shambler that had been trying to get hold of her collapsed and writhed on top of the wrecked tent, engulfing the exterior fabric in what was rapidly becoming a bonfire.

Her head whipped around as she heard Kaisina scream in pain. A flower-zombie, wreathed in flames of its own, had grabbed her with a promise of violence. That was when the tide shifted. There wasn't really time to swoon, but she did a little bit anyway as Dicenne swooped in to be their collective — but mostly Kaisina's — hero. He had this, right?

If she was gonna save any of the camp-stuff that might have inadvertently been set on fire, now was the time. She athletically slid across the grass to get to a pile of small supply crates that had just started to catch and scooped them up, transitioning from that slide into an easy sprint to get them to the tributary of the Elrendar that was just beyond the boundary of the camp. In a mirror of her earlier throw of the box of bandages, she hurled the smoking containers as close as she could to the water when she was within range — most of them made it in. Sure, they'd be soggy, but they wouldn't be totally ash.

When she turned around and started her run back to get more things to save, she realized exactly how disastrous their camp looked — and that if Dicenne was here, it meant the rest of the crew that had entered the Lightbloom would probably be returning soon, too.

Fuck.

[Cue the Music]

Continued from Part One

Naralinthe stood before the Sunwell many times before, yet each was no less breathtaking than the last.  The Light’s song resonated deep in her bones, inviting her to slip into a tranquil silence that bore the comfort and familiarity of an old friend.  No matter the distance or time between visits, Naralinthe understood she would be embraced with unconditional love and open arms whenever she returned.

This was safety… acceptance… this was home.

The ritual required the concentration of hundreds to maintain.  For some it was an excruciating test of faith, discipline, and endurance.  It was a harrowing experience to witness others collapse from physical and magical exhaustion, absolutely, but the worst were those who became ‘blinded’ and teetered on the brink of madness.  Individuals who ventured too far into the light, or too deep into themselves, watched their belief succumb to feelings of inadequacy.

One such an elf began shouting, an inexperienced Blood Knight who had barely come to earn his tabard.  “The end… I have witnessed the end!  We are not worthy of saving!  The Light shall purge both the evil and the faithless!  Prepare yourselves for the final act of judgement!”  His intentions were pure, but intentions only bolstered the Ego, not the Spirit.  That required placing trust in one’s self.

He was not the first to require restraining and removal… nor would he likely be the last.

His raving was a distraction no one needed, and she watched others start to question themselves, their abilities, and their conviction.  “Pay no attention to him,” she whispered to a nervous Arathi woman.  “You are enough just as you are, flaws and all.  They do not define you, nor do they detract from your strength.  It is because of your flaws you have been transformed into something beautiful… something entirely unique, and your existence will accomplish things only you are capable of achieving.”  A lesson imparted unto her through her own death and rebirth— the gift of enlightenment that could only be delivered from a cold and cruel hand.

For her it felt like a dream… and she wondered if this was how Druids felt when they crawled into their barrows to sleep and drift past the veil of reality into the Emerald Dream.  When her turn came to stand next to the Sunwell Naralinthe closed her eyes, slipping into a peaceful trance.  She drifted, as though being carried by a gentle current down a river, allowing the Light to steer her wherever she needed to go.  Each and every time she took her place in the ritual, she found herself on a journey toward self discovery whether she wanted it or not.  Experience taught her it was senseless to dispute it.

Despite the brilliant light before her, shadows loomed at the edge of her vision.  She could feel them closing in, painting the backs of her eyelids in darkness, but rather than try to fight the sensation she chose to observe it instead.  Employing curiosity in place of fear, Naralinthe allowed patience to rule over this moment instead of discomfort.  ‘Trust.’  She told herself.  ‘Trust that whatever you are being shown is intended to help instead of hinder.’

The light faded away, bathing her in total obscurity.  It deafened her to the world, swallowing the chanting sounds of her peers, the resonant song of the Sunwell, and left her in a suspended state of sensory depravation.  Another might have wondered if this was a cerebral assault, but after the events that took place during her coma, Naralinthe knew better than to question herself.

As for precisely when time ceased to flow, she could not discern.  One thing was certain, however, Naralinthe understood time held no sway here… wherever here was.  She could perceive its absence with such acuity it left her feeling perplexed.  Disembodied and deprived of all sensation, she could only hover in the vast expanse of nihility.  ‘Trust,’ she repeated inwardly while surrendering herself to the silence.  ‘I am precisely where I am meant to be.’

Then she saw it— the faintest flicker of light radiating from herself— a glimmer in the darkness that reminded her of the first star emerging at dusk.  It appeared fragile, as though a single breath might extinguish it, so she willed herself into stillness.

“Be patient…” the voice was hers, yet it was not her own, “…and grow.”  Did it belong to her second soul?  Another entity entirely?

So she did what was asked of her and waited for what felt like an eternity in the darkness, encouraging her light to grow.  Tiny motes of magic began coalescing around the first spark until it formed a constellation… then a cluster… and eventually an entire galaxy swirling with its own gravity and herself in the center of it all.

“…now burst.”  Said the voice, and for a moment she hesitated.  It had taken her a lifetime to form this ‘galaxy’ of existence and she was reluctant to let go.

“I am afraid,” she whispered inwardly.

“Trust…” it declared.

“Trust,” she replied before shattering into a thousand tiny fractured pieces of herself, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever witnessed.  More compelling than an aurora borealis, she saw herself become more than just the night sky and everything in it.  She was the universe itself, a vast expanse of possibilities and outcomes, of boundless potential awaiting guidance.  Not by the hands of unnamed Gods tugging at strings, but through her own choices.

The first sensation Naralinthe felt was the warmth of a single tear rolling down her cheek, drawing her back to a state of consciousness.  Thoroughly exhausted, yet feeling completely fulfilled at the same time, she opened her eyes to behold the Sunwell in all its glory… and openly wept.  “Thank you,” she whispered before taking a step back, and she could not help but wonder if those memories belonged to the Naaru housed within, or if maybe— just maybe— they were her own?