[Defence] Shadow Gate - Residential

[Adder]

Once more the shadows gathered within the city but this time they gathered in the residential district of the city first in one one place and then in another. When they had gathered, they hovered there, sinister and mysterious, but they were quickly discovered by the already suspicious denizens of that district and they were in little doubt as to the origin of them.

Shouts of alarm echoed through the streets and dwarfs tumbled from the houses, weapons in hand, both male and female alike. As the orcs started to appear they were met with a mixed reaction and it was clear that this was going to be a desperate battle as there was no organised military presence there. As this was a residential district the houses were only one story high but as usual there were no windows and just doors leading into the interiors.

Soon a running battle was in place as the militia forces started to fight with the encroaching orcs. The orcs were pushing through the gates, slowed only by the fact that they were smaller than the first portal. The militia forces were unorganised but they fought hard, hatred for the orcs in every hard swung weapon, but they were being forced back by the increasing numbers of the aggressive orcs.

[Amaros]

OOC:Sorry for the small post but I need some direction before I can get really detailed.

IC:Amaros had broken off from his origional group to help in the new threat here. He had his bow out and his arrow knotched. He took it a little slow so that he would be able to stop quickly to take a more aimed shot. He was ready and this was his chance to show others what he was made of.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

There were certainly reasons for Avanthar’s actions. With fighting in several parts of the city, it was certainly difficult for reinforcements to arrive, and even if they were they would be hard pressed. Avanthar’s savage host was entering the city slowly, yet finally the fighting had reached the next stage. Reinforcements would not arrive in great numbers towards the main gate, as even as Velerean and the others sought to fight back against the advancing host, several key locations of Zerdagia were under attack.

It was questionable just how effective the citizens of Zerdagia were, especially those that were simply trained to the basic level… would their courage falter against such a host, many proving to be untested warriors whom rarely had the chance to see true bloodshed. Only time would tell if the entire population were as valiant as many boasted themselves to be… or would they too fall under heavy fear.

Communication was the key, and as forces entered Zerdagia, scouts returned with what they had encountered. Decisions needed to be made.

Bellowing out as Orcs charged out to engage the citizens of Zerdagia with unusual blood lust, their savagery and strength was not to be underestimated. Skilled and ferocious, the sounds of fighting resounded throughout the district. From both gates the horde unleashed their wrath in organized bands, their life long training and instincts taking hold. Working in concert, bands moved to those that needed aid even as more troops moved through as support.

Undead and goblins followed after as three necromancers made their first steps through the gate. With the dead and dying around them, goblins moved to aid their cousins while the undead stumbled under the commands of the black ones. Using their powers of death, the necromancers stood near the gate as they raised those that had died under the initial strike, slowly spreading their influence outwards.

The fighting here was intense, as a contingent of orcs, commanded by the necromancers, began fighting their way to the other gate within the district. Once the entrance was reinforced, they would be able to continually bring their troops in. A foothold was what they needed, and the residential area provided them a much needed source of troops. Goblin bowmen fired away, some helped by their orcish cousins to reach the rooftops, aiding those in melee with their keen arrows.

Avanthar readied himself as he watched his troops continue through to the residential area, hearing of the favorable grounds… now as to the other gates… things were different…

[Adder]

The undead and the orcs pushed through the gates and here they were met with sporadic resistance. It was enough to slow them but it wasn’t enough to stop them and they pushed aggressively to meet together led by the necromancers.

The residents of the area banded together and fought back aggressively against the attackers, their strength and skill a match for the orcs, their longer lifespans giving them the benefit of experience which helped to counter the shorter but more brutal lives of the orcs.

It was into this melee that Amaros now found himself. In front of him were more targets than he had arrows to shoot at them, clumps of dwarfs and halflings stemmed the tide of orcs and goblins. Some orcs pushed goblins onto the low roofs but so far they were having little effect since the slate roofs were slippery from the recent rains and few were the goblins that were able to retain their balance and shoot from their bows. It was a little unfair on Avanthar for the Veldar compound which was not so far away had a mixture of flat roofs used for the training of troops and clay tiles which had more grip than slate when wet.

But still, he little needed the advantage here for the defenders were being forced back. Amaros would have little shortage of targets if he could contain his nerves and excitement long enough to shoot his arrows accurately. What goblins were on the roofs were effectively invisible to him as they stood above the level of the street lighting and were only visible now and again.

[Amaros]

Amaros took one long breath as he viewed the scene before him. He saw the men being pushed back and knew what he had to do. He had been in many a battle before. Every engagement had been a victory and he was not ready to let this be a loss.

Without wasting time he took another breath and before exhaling let an arrow fly at any orc posing a threat to one of the defenders. He would let go of 10 arows in total before he stoped to survey the ever changing obstacles. His relative distance from the enemy allowed him to hold his bow steady and take aimed shots. Not forgeting his training he was determined to not let one arrow go to waste.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Few survived warfare, and those that did were often beset by memories, irremovable scars. Orcs were born for war, their race known for their strength and skill. There were few that could outmatch their physical strength save for the Minotaurs, yet as of yet there were no known instances of great minotaur armies marching. Dwarves… they too were strong, yet it was known by all that their mass and stubby arms and legs made them slower than most. With keen senses within the night, the battle would continue well into the night.

With forces meeting together from both gates, they had successfully created an avenue that would allow safe movement between each of the gates. Fighting from one street to another, each dwarven death would be bring greater pain to the longer living dwarves. Experience mattered, but it only went so far. Without constant practice and continued training it was difficult for htem to fight effectively… not when they were against fearless and trained orcs whom moved and fought in coordination.

As the reinforcements within the Veldar compound were held up by one of the gates, arrows sang in the night. While necromancers moved in, the process of raising undead was used. One by one dwarven victims rose once more, seeking to take their neighbours with them. With little light about, Avanthar’s host remained unaffected… yet this could not be said for others.

While the main Shadow Gate was dispelled, more forces sought to filter within the gates. Increasing their pace, a sprinkle of orcs began entering into their orcish frenzy, striking repeatedly at the sorely pressed Zerdagians as fighting continued in many fronts. One would expect more gates would come… some in the most unexpected of places.

[Aian Natra]

OOC: Entering in from another thread with Adder's permission.

The immediate threat on the south-eastern wall of the city apparently diminished as the undead giants there burned away, Aian decided to leave the walls to the rest of the Naturan rangers, all of whom had much more extensive training with a bow than he. Preferring by far his scimitar, and having more training with it than the bow, the ranger in training had taken to the streets of the city.

Having intended to make his way to one of the gates where Zerdargia’s defenders were holding back their enemies, Aian found his progress slowed by smaller, more one sided pockets of fighting across the residential area. The cities defenders fought back viciously against the press of opponents, but as Aian watched the fighting, he found that every fallen dwarf weighed heavily against those that remained. Not only because the defenders valued their kin a bit more than their orcish and undead invaders valued theirs, but because every dwarf that fell was one more potential enemy if they were raised by the necromancers.

Scimitar long ago drawn Aian, who had a bit easier a time keeping his footing than the clumsier goblins had, dropped down from a rooftop where he had been monitoring the fighting. Coming out onto the main street from the alleyway he had dropped into, the half-Thelyri came into one of the smaller pockets of fighting. Whereas both the attacking orcs and the dwarves exchanged heavy handed blows and relied on their strength, Aian relied instead on speed and quick sword work.

Appearing suddenly from that side alleyway and entering into the fray, Aian’s intentions lay more in disrupting and confusing his enemy than in bringing many of them down. As he came into their flank, Aian danced this way and that, slashing out with his sword and scoring several shallow cuts on a number of orcs as he dodged away from the much more lethal strikes of the enemy.

Confusion and disarray. Aian meant to let the dwarves finish the rest once the orcs were distracted.

[Adder]

The orcs were a formidable fighting force and were making a considerable inroad into the district against the staunch defence of the residents. Some orcs had dropped into a berserk rage, but they were few and far between since the opposition they faced was so far not heavy enough to warrant it. The goblins acted as support troops for the larger orcs as they usually did when the two races fought together. They were weaker fighters but good in support of their aggressive cousins.

A route had been established between the two gates and it would not be long before a serious beachhead had been established. The residents had defended hard but they were not organised and they had been forced back. The necromancers had started on their work, using what bodies were available to them. There were limits to the numbers and durations that they could handle but so far that was not even close to being a problem.

Amaros wasted his first arrow into an undead, the closeness of the fighting more than compensating for the deficiencies of hasty shots and the pressure of battle on the preciseness required for accurate shooting. Also targets were not exactly short and it was likely that even a missed shot would find a target. While the shot was wasted, it was not without effect as the undead was punched from its feet and only got back up again with difficulty and would no longer be an effective fighting unit as it now lacked use of its right arm. After that, he concentrated his fire on those still living and one after another he hit his targets. Not all the hits produced the desired effect and only one in three actually resulted in the deaths of his targets, the remainder causing only injuries or being deflected by armour. Of course since the orcs disdained armour, regarding their courage more important than the protection armour gave, only a third of his carefully aimed shots failed to find targets.

Aian made his surprise entrance into the scene of battle but his entrance was merely one of many in what was turning out to be a very messy battle. His intention to assist the already committed fighters rather than become involved himself was a good plan and it at first worked well, and his sabre was soon blooded with the dark blood of an orc. After that however, the numbers of orcs worked to his undoing and he had perhaps underestimated the ferocity and skills of the orcs but in all probability he had also made the mistake of believing what was a commonly held opinion as the stupidity of the orcs and if this was the case then he was soon disabused of the notion as had so many of the people who had actually fought orcs. His planned swift strikes were soon countered and blocked by an orc who seemed to take a personal interest in removing Aians head from his shoulders. It swung its heavy sword at him, putting its considerable strength into the blow, and even assuming that Aian countered it, he would soon appreciate the fact that its arms were at least half as long again as his own.

So far the battle was going in favour of the attackers and only their unfamiliarity with the area was slowing their expansion. Their numbers were currently low but increasing all the time. The defenders numbers were not yet increasing to match but it would not be long before the nearest militia unit responded.


Elapsed time: 0.5 candlemark

Attackers
Undead 280 : 10
Undead resurected 45 : 5
Goblins 140 : 40
Orcs 320 : 50

Defenders
Veldar 0 : 0
Militia 140 : 30
Citizens 500 : 140

[Aian Natra]

Aian soon found his charge around the orcs slowed to a surprising halt as this one orc blocked his strike. The half human took a sudden step back so as to not let his previous momentum carry him forward into an awkward position too close to this latest enemy. Aian never made a habit of underestimating his enemy, though the sheer size of the orc force before he and the rest of the defenders were what caught him off guard in the end. He had not been able to fully appreciate those numbers from his place in the alleyway before he had charged out.

Meaning to accept his error and make do by not making another similar mishap, Aian tuned to a more defensive approach. Seeing as to how the humanoid hadn’t budged an inch whenever their swords connected, Aian fully appreciated the greater strength of his enemy, and so moved to dodge the orc’s attacks rather than face them head on. Ducking or stepping this way and that, whenever Aian did put his sword in line to block one of the orc’s own swipe he had to grip his own weapon with both hands to slow the other blade at all. And the Thelyri still felt the shock of the blow travel up his arm.

Taking a measure of this particular orc after several such passes, Aian finally makes his move. Backpedaling just beyond the tip of the orc’s sword on his next strike, the ranger in training reverses his momentum, moving forward behind his opponents swing and outstretched arm and turning, the curving blade of his scimitar coming down and around behind the Orc’s leg at a blow aimed at the monster’s hamstring. A crippling blow if it passed.

[Amaros]

OOC:If I have over stepped my bounds as far as modding is concerned let me know. Its been about 9 months since I played Alleria so im still gettin used to it again.

IC: Amaros was surprised at the ferocity of the orcs. He had never encountered one on the field but only heard horror stories of their strength and power. The men he had heard them from were weaker than him and in his entrance to the battle Amaros underestimated their power. He would not make that mistake again and he now knew what they could do from observation and the seemingly little effect of the arrows. He now knew that he would be more effective with his sword.

Amaros drew his bastard sword intending to use the distance to his advantage. Amaros watched an orc cheiftan slay a female dwarf then stab the child. His blood boiled with rage. That cheiftan would be his target. It may help even the organization of the sides. After securing his bow as he had done many times he checked his rear just to make sure and with a surge of adrenaline he ran into battle with a ferocious cry. Amaros had heard the cry like that come from his mouth only one time before when he had faced the minataur.

Dodging the occasional swings from enemies he continued to the cheiftan. No creature commiting a crime such as that would escape him. Once in range he took a swift swing to the orc's head in an attempt to end him swiftly.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Others within the city were fighting off other threats. With the appearance of the portal within compound, those within could not readily assist the city without warranting a nervous glance at the possible threat. The gate of shadow, forged by an Archmage whose only desire was to kill, exuded its chilling aura, instilling a sense of dread and fear to those that saw it. With the clamor of battle rising, the battle had truly begun in earnest. Blood had been spilt, and more would follow. There was little stopping Dra’Aran now. Each death strengthened him.

From the two gates, bands of orcs ravaged those that strayed. Some of the dwarven militia soon found themselves fighting on two fronts, from front and behind as large hulking orcs beared down upon them. Some found themselves struck behind, angry slashes and cuts upon their bodies as the green skins lavished at their kills. It was within moments before the last patch of defense were utterly slaughtered, the roar of the orcs ran across the line as brethren were joined.

Securing the area was the most important priority, and so far they had achieved it. Banners flew as the last and final necromancer joined the fray, each entering from the gate to join their comrades. With their features hidden within the shadows of their cowls, power exuded off their forms as they sent out the undead, surrounding themselves with defenses as they continued their work. A third portal would soon appear as Dra'Aran worked his arts, just as another portal dissipated under the hand of the Archdruidess.

Dark magic brought terror to those whom had never witnessed the black art, as dead corpses twitched with a surge of death flowing through their veins once more. Fresh bodies produced far superior undead, their movements far more fluid than their rotting counterparts. Piercing and slashing weapons would do little against their senseless bodies...

Moving out first were the undead and orcs, followed by a cadre of goblin archers and spearmen. With fear as their ally, goblins picked off opposition archers while sending volleys of arrows into the middle of the press, while the dead clung and clawed, the orcs slashing left and right.

A fearsome force was building here. For each group of 40 entering from one gate, it consisted of 20 orcs, 10 goblins and 10 undead. With the necromancers surrounded by a band of undead and their own arts coupled constant reinforcements moving in from all the gates, it would certainly prove difficult for the militia to fight back against the impending flood.

Outside the battle would soon become intense, yet for the moment Avanthar kept his cool… ready to act within a moment. With both Shei and Cerius at his side, any counter attack so far from Zerdagia would be difficult to say the least…

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The tides of entropy had washed the Vysstichi Prince astray from the side of the King of House D'Rinishad, dispersing the two dark elves in separate but similarly frenzied locations. Faust D'Rinishad had temporarily contemplated over roaming the distance that he'd previously trekked to reunite with his Master, though he shortly decided against such an option as thick lines and columns of orcs, goblins, and undead trailed in his wake and hindered his return. A shadow of a frown caressed the Vysstichi's lips as he hurriedly dashed off and navigated several of the avenues in which the skirmishes had not escalated into precarious conditions, though the swordsman's instincts were as acute as ever in this grave time of adversity. Being a foreigner of the dwraven city, he failed to accurately steer himself in any significant direction, though the reverberating ground subsequent of marching armies directed him towards the residential district of the city. Albeit the Vysstichi's fealty didn't particularly translate to dwarves or their allies, the Baron of House D'Rinishad knew that he had to pour forth all of his effort necessary in order to repel the enemy invasion, regardless if he was combating alongside his Master or not.

Faust D'Rinishad's crimson orbs flared in the dancing firelight as he witnessed the emergence of an infinite number of fiends from a shadow-natured portal. Goblins, orcs, zombies, and skeletons issued their cries of battle and tackled the defenders full on, spearheading their way through the unorganized throng of Zerdargia's militia. The humans and dwarves battled ferociously under the relenting assault of their enemy, though the gravity of their situation was that much more perceivable from the distance in which the dark elf observed. There seemed to be no end to the chaotic scene as goblins fired volleys of arrows into the walls of the Zerdargians and the militia equally fought back as hard. There were even a few elves who participated in the endeavor, wavering their swords and bows with abandon into the flanks of their adversaries. The dark elf cringed as the war cries emanated through the air once more, heralding the arrival of yet another contingent of assailants. The Shadow Portal remained guarded and encompassed by a ring of soldiers, each of which protected the respective necromancers that turned their enemies into some of their own. From the looks of it though the probabilities weren't in the defenders' favors to confront these outrageous odds against them.

The mythril-masked swordsman hesitated no longer.

Tucking a thumb beneath the cross hilt of his long sword, the Vysstichi flicked the handle upwards as his free hand gripped its' pommel and drew it forth. He wasted no time as he charged towards the center of the fray, hoping to join ranks with the others who had banded in a tight formation to fend off the forthcoming enemy. With sword in hand and wristbow notched and readied to fire, the Vysstichi managed to release a prayer from his lips as the battle for him began yet again.

[Adder]

The residential district was turning into a nightmare for the defenders. Despite the residents joining in the fray and ever increasing number of militia that swept into the area from the surroundings they were still undermanned.

Shadow gates had never been part of the defence plan which had instead been designed to cope with breaches in the wall defence. The militia and supporting Veldar were deployed with that in mind and whilst some gates such as the ones at the church coincided with the militia reserves, here was not the case.

The only thing that was saving the defenders so far was the attackers unfamiliarity with the street plan. As it was they were only able to push out their perimiter in an organic fashion. Had they known the streets better they might have made some strategic jumps and secured key road junctions. Instead the defenders used thier knowledge to stay one jump ahead.

Aian was being pushed hard by the orc, on whose face a savage look of glee was forming. With every stroke it put more force into its blows in an attempt to smash its way through the humans defence by sheer force.

Certainly Aians sword was never going to be the same and if he survived it was going to take him a long time if ever to get the nicks out of the blade. Many more opponents such as this and a new sword was going to be required for sure! However that was assuming that he survived and for the time being it was seeming that it would be so. He was thinking beyond the immediacy of blocking the blows and his backpeddling caught the orc by surprise. Its next overpowered blow missed its target and the momentum was more than even the orc could control since it had not been anticipating the need to brake and so there was a momentary gap in its defence.

Aian moved forward neatly into the gap and the sharp if somewhat now jagged blade sliced into the back of the orcs leg. The orc which had been placing weight on that leg as it looped the sword round to strike once more at Aian, now found itself without support and it collapsed onto the ground giving him chance if he chose to finish it off and then decide what his next action was to be.

Amaros meanwhile had made something of a strange choice and perhaps it demonstrated the danger of allowing anger to have its way on the battlefield. The decision was odd given his realisation of how he had underestimated the danger of the orcs, but it was also completely understandable and there would have been few who would have been unable to make the same decision.

He leapt forwards towards the orc cheiftain who was celebrating its victory over the woman and child. Not satisfied with stabbing the child which stood there and screamed not appreciating that it had been perhaps fatally wounded by the stab but realised in full the horror of what the orc had done to its mother.

Seeing the child still stand there with blood running down from the wound in her chest and screaming in abject terror the orc laughed and grabbed the girl with its free hand. Lifting her easily with its massive strength it brought her in and teeth closed on her neck, tusks digging in. Blood spurted over the orc and with a kick of legs the girl died.

Spiked axe in one hand, bloody corpse held high in the other, that was how the gorey orc chieftan stood, shouting its power and strength to its followers as Amaros attacked it.

His yell of anger erupted from his throat and his bastard sword, product of some distant smithy and forged with such a day in mind, swung for the neck of the orc with all the power that an angry and powerful Amaros could bring to bear. Certain it was that if it connected then the sword would shear through the neck of his target and a headless orc would terrorise women and children no more. And his followers would be mightily dishearened by the abrupt beheading of their chief in the moment of his victory.

However, this was no mere orc warrior such as Aian faced, and as so many that day, they had underestimated the power of the orcs and especially the skill. Brought up on tales of stupid, cowardly orcs how were any of them to appreciate except in the reality of battle that what they faced were powerful and intelligent fighters. Fighters who from a very young age survived soley on the basis of their fighting skill. Fighters who used their intelligence which was the equal of the dwarves and humans that they faced, to hone their natural fighting skills.

So indeed this was no mere orc warrior but a chieftan of such warriors, one who had clawed his way to the top over the bodies of his opponents. He was not going to be caught by surprise, ever by an attack. It was perfectly legal to become a chieftan in orckish society by killing the current chieftan. Orc chieftans who didn't learn to watch their backs didn't live long.

Even as Amaros yelled and swung, the chieftan turned and ducked, throwing the corpse on which the head bobbed held on only by a few threads of tissue, directly at Amaros with its left hand for that was the side on which he approached.

Amaros's sword sliced through the air and missed the head of the orc by such a small margin that it was impossible to measure it. But the orc was already moving to counter with its axe. As it ducked down, the orc swung the axe towards the sword, but given the odd angle of its position and the sheer speed with which Amaros had swung, it missed the sword altogether.

Such might normally have been a good thing and the two of them would then have crashed together but before the collision occured the axe needed to finish its stroke. Unfortunately for Amaros, the axe was on a rising swing and though it missed the sword this was only because it intercepted his arm instead. The wicked blade of the axe cut cleanly through the sword arm at the elbow and the lower arm which still clutched the sword spun off to hit the pavement in with a ringing clang from the large sword.

Then the two bodies collided and the orc was knocked off of its feet by the impact of Amaros's body.

Still Avanthars forces poured through the portal and the ever expanding perimeter allowed the dead bodies to be carried back to the Necromancers who performed their dark arts swiftly and the flow through the gates was augumented by the flow of newly raised undead.

It was this scene then of terror that Faust encountered and he launched himself into the battle with every ounce of his training and skill ready for use.

Soon he was pressed and pressed hard as he fought his way to the side of one of the knots of hard pressed defenders. At first he was catching the attackers by surprise but soon the noise of his attack started to warn the attackers close to him and he was soon under attack by a small group of goblins. The group of five goblins were armed with a mixture of weapons, but their main intent was to protect the group of ten bowmen behind them.

[Amaros]

Amaros's blood was boiling. He somewhat lost control of himself and was more so looking in on a crazed warrior driven by hate for a species forged for what seemed like continuous death. He "watched" himself swing and things slowed down as he saw the blade barely miss the orc with the axe flying upwards. All of a sudden he snapped back to himself and saw his arm laying on the ground but he was in so much shock that he didn't feel a thing.(OC: When i sliced my leg really bad in RL i didn't even feel it so i figured that my PC wouldn't) All he could do was stare at that arm for what seemed like hours but was only about a tenth of a second. Everything was moving so slow. He noticed the sword gripped in the fingers and saw the bruises from past encounters.

His first instinct was to grab where the arm used to be but that is when the pain began. He was able to slow the bleeding a little bit but realized the severity of the situation. He swung his head up to see the Orc standing there within arms reach smiling down at him like the awful creature he was. That awful smile burned into Amaros. That wicked smile would never be forgotten. Amaros still had enough consciousness to realize what he must do. He quickly grabbed his gladius from the sheath on his left side with the blade pointing down and attempted a quick fatal stab at the Orc. He knew he did not have much time left until he fell unconscious. It would not be long before he fell to the mercy of other orcs. His only hope was that his stab was indeed fatal.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The swarms of undead surged through the inky black portal, scattering onto the streets and integrating with the rest of their distressed comrades. The defenders of Zerdargia valiantly poured their efforts into procuring and maintaining their foothold in the city, though it was perceptible that their time was soon elapsing and they'd have no other options but to retreat into the sanctuaries near the military compound. Friends turned enemies in the entropy and madness as fallen comrades were resurrected as members of the enemy horde, and worst of all, there was no limit to the endless waves of death. The circumstances had shifted so steadily since the arrival of the Centripaxian forces, especially as they seemed absent within the walls of the dwarven proximity. There was no conclusion to the encompassing chaos, and it was even more clear now that the defenders were becoming overwhelmed and would soon be entirely taken over. However, Zerdargia was renowned for its' prized and vigilant fighters, who would undoubtedly battle to their demises without complaint or restraint. It was such fighters like these that remained in the Residential District even now; undeterred.

The Baron of House D'Rinishad was amongst these vigorous warriors on this accursed brightening. Faust had courageously spearheaded into the tightly formed throngs of battling dwarves and humans along the district. His sword flashed with abandon at each and every foe, striking down a number of them in an equation of crimson blood and sinew. The dark elf was not unaccustomed to the throes of battle and it was because of his experience that he did not back down even while the defenders were constantly thwarted into retreat. Several fiends and stumbled across his path and he'd relentlessly downed them with strokes of his blade, and fortunately his weapon was guided by adrenaline and not yet affected by fatigue. However, even the alleged master swordsman was not confident in their perilous situation. Any number of predicaments had occurred and his allies were gradually depleting and merging forces with Avanthar's army. "Is there no end to them?" the Vysstichi whispered to himself after striking down another of the walking corpses, "Darn these necromancers. If only we could get through to them." Faust cursed inaudibly to himself, maintaining a focus even as he attempted to discern an answer to their quandary.

A chorus of alerted cries resounded through the battlefield and the dark elf fathomed that he'd been pinpointed as an immediate threat. Several goblins mustered together in a haphazard formation and began prodding him with a variety of weapons, though none of these boldly confronted him as that would have resulted in the loss of their lives. Regardless of the skill level of his opponents, it was highly doubtful that their abilities could compensate for their short reach and skinny physiques. However, to the credit of the minor goblin gathering, they were only assembled as decoys to their accentuated motives. A thin column of archers were lined behind them, notching their bows and readying to fire a volley of arrows at the enemy. Faust D'Rinishad's eyes snapped wide as he comprehended his abrupt danger, though he disallowed his caution to control him. His solace rested in the prospect of the enchanted dagger fastened to the inner lining of his boots, which would foster a magical shield that deflected and absorbed barrages of attacks. However, he would still rather not take any absurd chances with his life. After all, the Aetherians only granted one of them. Faust instead fired both of his wristbows into the crowd of goblins, drawing his secondary sword in the process whilst preparing to evade the arrows by strafing quickly to the side upon their release or ducking if necessary. He conceptualized the distance and predicted that there was a good chance of avoiding the arrows while consequently allowing him to bum rush forward and take as many of them out as possible, thus the purpose of firing the bolts and brandishing his opposing sword.