• Mature • With Fist and Thunder

Rharnes Shadow Creature Event

Seated on the shores of Lake Lovalus, Rharne serves as the home of the Lighting Knights, the Thunder Priestesses, and the Merchant's guild. This beautiful trade city is filled with a happy and contented people who rarely need an excuse to party.

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With Fist and Thunder

Vhalar 1st
7th Break
It had started seven trials prior, and not all at once. It started as a whispered rumor, passed amongst the Quarters. A rumor of shadows rising out of the ground, like fog in the dawn, to strike down a man on the street, or to drag off a woman. At first most dismissed the stories as the tales that one shares at the end of a day to jest with their mates over a good beer.

Then the whispers became shouts and screams, and the rumors became life. In the matter of breaks the city of Rharne was throw into chaos. Shadows that did indeed rise from the ground to maul, rend, and tear at the citizen's of the city. Though the city's protectors, The Lightning Knights, had had no warnings they quickly rose to defend the people as they fled to the shelter of their homes, inns, or the Lightning Cathedral itself.

The shades were easily felled, but their numbers soon became a task too daunting for mundane weapons, and the knights were forced to use more divine means. Lighting and thunder ripped to the streets of Rharne for days, sundering the shades by the dozen with each bolt and boom. Eventually the Knights were joined by the Thunder Priestesses, to both aid in the combat, and to treat the wounded amongst the knights.

Even Illaren joined the fray when shadows rose in the courtyard of the Cathedral. Her fiery mane of hair flowing around her face while she crushed them with fist and thunder, and speared them with lightning. No shadow made it passed her that day. Those who witnessed the Immortal fighting to protect them that day spoke of the furious nature of the Immortals attacks, and the mask of anger and rage she wore as she did away with the threats to the people.

Seven trials have passed since the shadows rose and began their assualt on Rharne. Seven trials since the gates closed, locking those in the Dust Quarter outside the walls and everyone else in. Seven trials of thunder and lightning in the streets as men and shades clashed. Seven trials of fear and waiting.

Seven trials, and though the shade's have been beaten back, they still rise in the streets only two types of people brave the streets of Rharne at this time. The brave, and the foolish.
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Wendell
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Wendell couldn't deny that fear was good for business, as was the chaos that ruled the streets of Rharne. There would be many repairs to be made if the attacks ever subsided and life returned to normal once more. This was the kind of event that drove people to drink. There seemed to be no end to the onslaught, thunder, and shocking strikes of lightning that lit up the darkened room of a nighttime. It was during the night that the people of Rharne were finally able to find rest, the shadows rising at dawn only to fall again at dusk. The first two nights had been hell, fear keeping him awake, until on the third night exhaustion finally won out and he had caved, falling into a deep, but trouble sleep.

Everything in the city had closed down, but there had been rumours of people trading by twilight. Food, firewood, and bandages were at the top of most lists, and while Wendell had finally run out of stale bread to soak and attempt to stomach of an evening, it was those he carried for that had summoned him from his dwelling, the shutters still locked tight. The shadow creatures, in his experience with them so far, seemed to be drawn to sudden movement and sound, two things he could avoid if he was careful.

Not quite sure how it all worked, Wendell had decided to try a new tactic, mixing black soot from the fire with the last of his boiled water to coat his bare hands and face with the makeshift paint. He needed to get from his house to the Harlot ‘n’ Hound to check on lady Rose and the girls, thinking that if he could do anything to lower his chances of being seen, this would do the trick. Wendell had about fifteen minutes of darkness left before the first sun would rise and give him away, and knew that if he didn't act now, it was going to be another fourteen or so hours or so before he could risk venturing out again. There was food at the tavern and plenty to drink, he just needed to get there…

Armed with his hand axe and a long, thin dagger, Wendell left the house, leaving the door unlocked in case he needed to return quickly. He had only had one run in with the beasts so far, a second would not be welcome.
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Whispers, in the streets, the taverns, the docks... Whispers of mist gaining form, turning into humanoids that terrorize and cause destruction. The Rharneans were a simple people. They enjoyed their revelry, their drink... But mostly, they enjoyed each other. Many would randomly congregate, spontaneously erupting into a party. They would stand in the streets, drinks in hand, inviting any who walked by. Nell had been invited to such.

Yet she had to decline. For the past seven trials, she had aided the best she could against the shadow men, but they continued to rise. It was time for her to put them down, once and for all. She wasn't sure how to do so... But it didn't matter. Her longsword at her side, shield and bow on her back, Nell stalked through the streets of Rharne. It was nearing the time that the men would rise, and Nell wanted to be ready.

Half of her face was covered in a blue paint, cracking and peeling since the trial she'd put it on. She'd barely slept, barely ate... Only drank... Since the battle began. Her crystal blue eyes peered out from tired sockets, but it didn't matter. Not to her... Not to the warrior she was.

Her friends had called her "Death Nell", and her enemies... Didn't live to call her anything. It was said in Korsalir that when she entered into the battle trance, nothing could deter her except the warm arterial spray of her enemies. And Nell had been Death Nell for seven trials straight, living in the mentality of the primal warrior. She didn't speak. She didn't rest. She hunted, and she killed. This trial would be no different.

And so she pressed on, eyes scouring the streets for any signs of the mist men. Her mouth was a thin line, razor sharp and frozen in a snarl. Her jaw clenched and unclenched, rhythmic. Left hand on her sword hilt, she searched. And Death Nell was tireless until she found her kill. This trial had just begun... And the battle called.
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Although he lacked the proper methods to combat these unusual creatures, it went against Patrick's nature to at least try and not to do something about all of this. All this chaos, and all of the uncertainty; even a simpleton such as him wouldn't just hide away. There were a number of volunteers from the locals who intended to help in whatever ways they could, and yet for their selflessness they were either brought down by the beings born out of the shadows, or left with injuries and experience that would haunt them from then on. Patrick had few he really needed to check up on but with the growing number of casualties, many of those who needed shelter wouldn't find it so easily with locked doors. The Bronze Boar however sort of became a quick safe haven in a sense for those that needed shelter, and to those who were still lost out in the chaos... well somebody had to do something to help them.

That somebody, however foolish he was, turned out to be Patrick himself. Brave hadn't been a term he would use to define himself, and with the ongoing hostility sleep deprivation made every regular shadow feel dangerous as the living one. He'd already been hit from the side the other day by one of those things, and thankfully there was only bruising along his left bicep and shoulder. While braving the next trial of chaos was something he'd rather avoid, there existed the potential for further harm onto his own being. Therefore he took it upon himself to find a weapon left laying around the next chance he saw, even if he hadn't the know how to use it the alternatives weren't much better. Fight, run, or die... How many days did he spend his time running? Avoiding these creatures while the clash of thunder and lightning tore at their numbers, it hadn't been easy to find and bring others back to the Boar the past several trials... today he wasn't sure if he'd be so lucky at all.

Dawn seemed to begin its break and with it the anticipation of what's to come next, it wasn't going to be long now before he would be back outside with hopes of guiding others back to safety. The first clap of thunder stirred those who were inside the Boar, and Patrick finally opened his eyes to the setting he'd last rested in. How many times did his mind wander? Perceive the field of battle as a second escape from his current reality? He needed sleep and food at this point, his belly only lightly filled with the stew they'd carefully rationed out over the past several trials. Fear was present in the eyes of everyone within; men, women, and yes even children were all rested here. Tables were full that many had to sit along walls, or even the stairs that led up to the second floor. As Patrick leaned up from his slumped state off the bar, he looked outside the window to confirm his suspicions. Dawn was breaking... therefore lightning would soon strike once again. He didn't want to go out there, not this time nor the time before that either. Yet he had to do something... or else lose himself to the certain despair that lingered within here.

No. He really did prefer survival outside for some reason, probably because the more he brought back to the Boar, the better he felt for bringing another into temporary safety. Finally ready to conquer another day of thunderous hell he slid off his stool and onto his feet, the aches in his muscles and joints a reminder of what sore endurance he had to demonstrate over the past few days. "This time," He whispered quietly to himself, "will be different." He more or less prayed in thought that today would be the end, but in truth it would only be the beginning. Others cringed and looked at him in alarm once he'd open the door, and when he left outside into the streets he had already found himself in another state of mind. Alive and aware; that was how he knew he could still struggle to live on, not by hiding away in some locked up establishment like the rest. "Remember to keep an eye out for something useful. He mentally reiterated as he would look all around for some sort of tool he could use, anything that would give him an honest edge in defending himself. Nothing around here yet though, for now he had to move along lest the shadows begin their movement... The clock was ticking now, how many people could he help before the beasts finally did him in with the rest?
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"Freedom is everything."


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The infirmary had been bursting at the seams for the past several trials, with the shadow men popping up during the daylight hours to tear at warriors, try to abduct women and children, and wreak havoc on the city. A small overflow tent had been set up outside for the less severe injuries, though unfortunately the more severe injuries were becoming more common now that people were fighting back with vigor. Even the children, who didn’t want to be disappeared into the shadows, would sometimes be seen clutching daggers or small knives. No one knew where the vanished people went when they were taken. It was better to take your chances dead.

Currently Rei was on the inside of the infirmary, being one of the more talented healers that also had a skill in surgery. She knew her basic stitches and how to use the surgery blades, so she was more of a commodity here than she was outside doling out bandages, water, and cleaning up minor scrapes. She had a man, a Lightning Knight he had told her, lying on a table. All his armor had been stripped off and he was in plain trousers and a tunic.

His arm was sporting a big shard of metal from his armor that had been cracked and nearly impaled his arm from front to back. Rei was opening up the cut a little wider, having the knight bite down on a balled up rag to stifle his screaming and prevent him from biting through his tongue. An assistant was by her, soaking up the blood with rags as she went. “Get the metal ready. As soon as I pull this out I’m going to have to cauterize the inside or he’ll bleed to death.” The assistant went to the fireplace and heated a sterile iron stick until it glowed red. When he came back, Rei gently but quickly pulled the metal out. Blood started to gush. She snatched the iron and stuck it into his arm, eliciting a muffled scream from the knight. The bleeding slowed and then stopped. Pleased, she pulled out a needle and thread. “I’ll stitch you up, cover it with salve, and wrap it up. Then you can go. “

When she was finished, she scrubbed her hands clean in near boiling water and doused them with alcohol. It was so easy for infection to spread like this. Her blouse and skirt were damp and stained with blood- too many people’s blood to count. “Rei, we haven’t heard from our contingent in the streets. They’re supposed to be patching people up, but they should have been back by now.” She took a breath to still her nerves. “I’ll go check. Get someone to cover me here.” She hastily got a bag and filled it with bandages, sterilizing materials, salves, herb powders, and plenty of needle and thread. She was exhausted. Morning was approaching and she had been here since the previous morning.

With a sigh Rei stepped out of the infirmary, blood stained clothes and all, and walked towards where her contingent should have been- somewhere around the Earth and Dust Quarter. The streets were mostly vacant, people barricading themselves in for the coming sunrise. Ahead she saw what appeared to be a woman in leather armor, a sword at her side. Rei didn’t notice any injuries on the woman. “Have you seen a small contingent of healers? They’ve gone missing.”
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“A.. are you really going... out there?” she asked, her bright green eyes wide with the innocence of a child and dull with fear.

How strange, he thought, that his fingers almost looked bloodied when he ran them through her vermilion tresses playfully. He knelt and pulled aside the fabric of her blouse's sleeve which she had been gnawing on since she'd found out he was leaving. She only did that when she was nervous or scared – it's odd how much you learn about a person when you've been living with them for a few trials, he told himself.

“Don't worry Charlotte, I'll be fine.” Rocan said lowly. The sky crackled suddenly and the windows rumbled uneasily. The girl's features shifted in fright as she hid her face in her hands. The street was empty, at daybreak much of the Earth Quarter was a sprawling mess of overturned carts, axed-trees and furniture on every corner of the district; anything to create some sort of barricade littered much of the quarter. Not that it helped from what Rocan had heard, and seen.

“Charlotte! Get inside it's dangerous out there!” shrilled a voice from inside the house. A woman came running through the frame and paused when she saw Rocan stand. “Was that... lightning? Is it Illaren or those... things?” she asked unsteadily, her voice was cracked from the past nights she spent crying whilst Charlotte was asleep.

The young man shrugged and nudged Charlotte toward her mother. “I don't know, it could be fighting throughout the city, milady Gloria.” he mused firmly. The woman sighed heavily and pulled her daughter closer to her, Charlotte looked up and her face scrunched up into an ugly ball of concern.

“Mama... is papa okay?” she asked uncertainly. Gloria's swollen eyes reddened suddenly and she sniffled before brushing a strand of blonde hair aside. She ruffled her child's bedraggled locks and nodded stiffly. “Yes yes... Now go inside and keep him company while mommy talks to Rocan for a bit.”

There was sign of protest from the little girl but once she looked up at the pale face of her mother it disappeared as quickly as she did when she scampered into the house. Inside there was a cheerful giggle that was quickly quieted instantly by a terrible coughing. Gloria's features tightened miserably and looked at Rocan with arid, hopeless green eyes. She was older woman now but Rocan could see through her derelict state that once, that face was full and rosy, eyes bright and lips pink and with a form he could only describe as buxom and beautiful.

The past few trials had weighed the heaviest on her now-thin frame, her complexion was paling and ghastly, hair was a doleful blonde and her eyes, though flushed and swollen, had sunk into their sockets.

“So... you're leaving, just like you said?” she asked lowly. The young man replied with a nod, “I see... eager, ain't you?” she chuckled as her finger pointed to his hand, which had instinctively knotted around Chestnut's reins. The white mare shuddered nervously but held its ground.

“I can't say, honestly, but I feel like I shouldn't be doing nothing while the city is under attack,” his hand drifted to the cold crown of his cutlass' pommel, “I am capable, after all.”

Gloria could only nod solemnly. She could remember the first trail vividly, when the attacks in the city weren't as frequent and were only whispers; she was at home, bathing Charlotte when a thunderous knocking interrupted her. There was a cry for help from a voice she knew, it was her husband Vern, who came straggling into the house in bloody tatters and shreds of torn skin! The man hung moaning, bleeding and rasping grimly from a young man's shoulder before he collapsed into unconsciousness. Gloria, who had some basic knowledge in medicine and healing, did all she could to restore her husband to full health but the cuts were too deep and the wounds were seemingly spreading with some unknown infection. For past few days Vern was bedridden and only seemed to be getting worse.

The young man introduced himself as Rocan Garvias, a mercenary and traveller from Yaralon who had taken up lodgings in the Dust Quarter late last season, he explained that he was going to the local tavern, The Bronze Boar, to inquire if there were any bounties and jobs available for anyone of his profession but on his way there, he saw a man limping away frantically in the street from something spectral, a cloud of blackness, fluttering speedily toward him. Rocan had heard of rumours these living shadows and acted; reining in his mare Chestnut, he charged for the thing which, perhaps at the sight of the cutlass or speeding horse, shrieked and wavered violently before disappearing without attacking any further.

Rocan then helped the man, who deliriously distracted him toward his home.

Gloria, like most people, wasn't fond of sellswords but she was thankful of Rocan's help and slightly confused since the young man looked and acted nothing like what she perceived a mercenary should, so she offered him a meal and a place to sleep for the night since it was dusk and the city's shadows were stretching at every corner and post during those hours. Rocan accepted the offer and once he discovered that the Earth Quarter was closed off from the rest of the world, he found himself a temporary guest at Gloria and Vern's abode.

The days were often spent inside, sheltered whilst Rocan guarded Chestnut outside from a distant (the mare was oddly cooperative these past few days, Rocan had observed) and hearing Vern wither away with fevers and strange, severe coughs, and the nights were spent asleep, well as much as sleep was willing to come. Though, the young man learnt a lot from his hosts, he even learnt some odd and interesting things too, such as Gloria at some point wanting to be a Thunder Priestess in her youth, Charlotte was deathly afraid of chickens, even going as far as naming them “Murder Beaks”, Vern was a shoemaker and he had a son from a former lover named Tiberius who was a squire for the Lightning Knights. The mercenary shared a few stories of his time in Yaralon with the family, helped around the house and in some way, became a personal protector of the house while they muscled through the previous trials.

It was a long and eventful couple of days but Rocan knew at some point he'd have to leave and venture out on his own again.

“Did... did you pack the apples I gave you, for Chestnut?” Gloria asked as Rocan rechecked the reins of the horse. Chestnut had been uneasy since morning and Rocan was sure it was because she knew they were leaving. Rocan nodded monotonously.

Gloria sniffled tiredly before drawing a yellow-brown parchment from her gown, it was sealed in hard, purple wax. “I... I wrote this for... him. For Tiber, I'm not sure you'll even find him but please, if you can, please give it to him. He needs to come home... Vern is... Vern isn't... he's not well.”

Rocan nodded, took the parchment silently and slid it down the length of his left boot. “I understand, milady. I'll do my best,” there was one foot up, one over and he mounted up without much difficulty. “Now please, get inside and stay safe. And if you will, tell Charlotte, Chestnut says she'll be fine.”

“I-- thank you.” the words were only for Gloria to hear behind the shut door. Rocan had already rode off, down the street, toward the roar and clangour rising up all about the city.

Where most sellswords, brigands and freelancers would want nels for their deeds, he did not, they had already paid him with their hospitality and he would pay them back with his...
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Vhalar 1st
12th Break
A handful of breaks had passed since the sun had risen on Rharne. With the passage of time, the number of shadow creatures grew. Their numbers swelling in area's where guard activity had fallen. There had been no news from the Dust Quarter after the gates had closed, but smoke rose from beyond the walls and painted a worrying tale for those within.

As the day wore on the shadows claimed many victims. Those unfortunate enough to be caught without shelter, and unskilled enough to defend themselves were cut down in the streets and left there, like warning markers on a dangerous journey. Though the shadows were not the only ones walking the streets of the Earth Quarter that day. A small group of ten people, five warriors clad in steel and armed for a fight, and five women dressed in leathers and adorned with belts and baldrics that sported a multitude of pouches, and pockets.

Of the group the two at the front stood out, not only because their armor spoke of high quality and skill, even at a distance, but because of the way they walked through the streets. Walking side by side a tall, dark skinned man, who seemed as solid as the stones he walked upon and a lithe, fair haired woman, spoke and carried on as if the city wasn't under siege by an unknown enemy.

The man wore a suit of full plate armor, yet seemed to move as though the suit was made out of little more than cloth. With the haft of a spiked war-hammer gripped in his right hand, and the head of the weapon resting easily on his shoulder, the man gave off an aura of casual strength. The woman beside him seemed to float across the ground instead of walk, her white trimmed gold cloak waving gently in her wake. Though she didn't seem to be carrying a weapon of any sort, though the way she scanned the streets as the two walked made it clear she was ready should anything happen.

As the two spoke the made no effort to keep their voices down, and anyone in the area could easily hear the argument the two were having. "I don't know why you insist on joining us out here Amara. You would be safer, and probably a greater help back in the Cathedral where the wounded are being taken." The man stated, an air to his voice sounding as though he had already said the same thing before.

"I told you Vigs, I go were I deem my and mine are most needed." The woman, Amara, retorted. Making a small gesture to the women behind her as she spoke. "We have as much a duty to this city as you do 'Commander'." She continued, emphasizing the last word as though driving it home.

The man, Vigs, cringed as she used his title of rank. She knew he hated when she did that, and often did it just to spite him whenever the two disagreed. "Immortals woman," Vigs cursed, a small smile allowing the whites of his teeth to split the dark plane of his face, "you're almost as head strong as Ilaren herself."

"I take that as a compliment" Amara replied, as the two rounded a corner and came to a stop. Ahead of them was a massive group of the shadow creatures, a number of which threw themselves at the doors of the buildings on the street, trying to break through them and get to the frightened people beyond.

"Time to work." Vigs said, hefting his hammer and bouncing on the palm of his left hand. A few of the shadow had noticed the group and had begun to advance on them.

Before Vigs and his knights advanced, Amara place a small hand on the Commanders arm. "Be careful Vigs."

"Always, Head Priestess." Vigs replied with a wink before turning to the oncoming shadows. As Vigs and his him neared the first wave his voice rang out "FOR RHARNE!" and ended in thunder that ripped through the first wave of shadow creatures before the knights were upon them.
OOC
So, I've been asked to give a bit more insight on this. I'd suggest staying within the Earth, Glass, and Sky Quarters, or the Lightning Cathedral. If you decide to be in the Dust Quarter you are locked out there till the fifth. The NPCs introduced in this post are in the Earth Quarter. Vigs is a Lightning Knight Commander leading a squad of knights, and Amara is the Head Priestess of the Healers Branch from the Thunder Priestesses. I will mod any interactions with them, but if you'd prefer to do your own thing that is fine too. Feel free to post in any order and as your RP allows.
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There was no shortage of shadow monsters to be fought, but Death Nell was careful to pick her battles. The creatures were difficult to kill in single combat, and so far, she hadn't found anything to make it easier. She'd considered fire, but didn't have a source with which to try. So she used sword and shield, bow and arrow. The creatures were hardened and powerful, but not too bright.

Thus, she'd survived. She dodged between buildings, ducking under awnings and crawling by corpses. Anything she could to get the vantage on the Shadows. In her primal state, Nell was focused on one thing: Killing. She had dusted a few of the creatures over the past few trials, but not enough of them to feel like she was making a difference. Her only reprieve was the night time, when the creatures seemed to retreat.

What didn't, however, was the smoke rising from the Dust. Nell had cast her eyes at it a few times, debating on wading through the fight to the gates. She knew that they'd closed them, locking the inhabitants of the Dust Quarter in, and sealing their fates. It only grew her rage, and whenever she began to feel tired, she thought of the smoking bodies that must lie within, partially ash but faces frozen in death.

She could hear battle being joined, and not so far away. Even the words were discernible, should she care to decipher them. Instead, though, the warrior in her knew that was her best chance of surviving another attack: Group up. So she lifted her bow from her back and nocked an arrow, running silently through the streets with the arrow facing the ground.

She came out on the other side of the attack, pinning the creatures between the Lightning Knights and Thunder Priestesses, and herself. She realized quickly that should the monsters retreat, they'd be doing so in her direction. With a quick scan of blue eyes, she found what she was looking for: A roof, partially secluded by a stone overhang, offered her a vantage point and some cover from which to fire. She could attempt to distract the creatures, or at the least, thin their ranks.

Deft hands found spaces in the stone, and the warrior scurried up onto the roof quickly. She crouched behind a stone column, renocking an arrow and peeking around the stone. She drew the bowstring back and spun around the stone, taking a few trills to aim at one of the Shadows not too close to a Knight. The arrow flew and thudded into the creature's side, but didn't do any significant damage. She put another one to the string, and drew it back. It flew, and it hit, crashing into the creature's head. It snapped to the side and creature fell, turning to dust on the ground.

A triumphant roar echoed from her lips, definitely alerting the Knights and Priestesses to her location, if her arrows already hadn't. A third arrow took flight, and a fourth. The hail was not deterring the creatures, but it was helping to bring them down. She was getting low on arrows, but her battlelust was not sated. She set the bow on the rooftop, and dropped down. Longsword and shield came out and she rushed into the fray from behind, her own roar echoing the Lightning Knights'.
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The morning had not gone quite as planned and Wendell had never made it to his place of work. Instead the sun had beat him, shadows plucked up from the earth like weeds. They were endless and unrelenting, and each time he was forced to undergo another mad dash between buildings, the shadows would strike again. They came at him like flies drawn on dung, and though fighting them back wasn't impossible, the sheer numbers could easily overwhelm him. He knew this was a cautious game he must play, picking off one or two before he was spotted and only then moving on.

There seemed to be no substance to the shadows, and though a swing of his axe or a stab of his dagger was all it took the chase them from his path, he had to be careful that he did not throw too much power behind each throw only to have it come back on him and take out his own leg, or worse, someone else's. Wendell had seen an arrow fly straight through one of the shadows into another man, making him cautious of both man and beast.

After hours of fighting and hiding, Wendell noticed the knights in a much larger gathering than he had before now, and thought to himself if anywhere was safe, it was probably amongst them. He ran into the street and cut down one of the shadows in front of him with his axe before turning to protect his back with a slash of his dagger. Proficient in neither weapon, his moves were sloppy, and one of the knights had to come in and help him back to his feet when a bunch of the shadows started to gang up.
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The woman in front of her had run, seemingly in some kind of zone, headlong into a group of shadow monsters that were now being battled by a group of Lightning Knights and Priestesses. A small sigh of relief escaped her as the shadows slunk from the streets to the more than capable group like flies drawn to honey. She moved down the street slowly, hugging the walls of the buildings and houses that sat along the edge. Without warning, a swirling mass of shadow started forming directly in her path. With a glance towards the occupied Knights, she decided that she would have to take care of this one herself.

Swinging a sloppy punch, her fist contacted with a contorted face that hadn’t yet finished forming. It felt as though her skin had struck a chilled current of air. The shadow shuddered and then broke apart into wisps of shadow that dissipated slowly. Up the street someone had cracked their door open, a frantic arm signaling for help. “We have someone injured!” Rei built up her gumption and streaked across the remaining open space, a few shadowy creatures beginning to form in her wake. She kept running.

The door opened just enough for her to squeeze in with her bag of supplies. The family slammed it behind her, turning the lock and wedging a chair up against it to brace it. The curtains were drawn across windows that had been hastily boarded up. Her blue eyes fell on an older man, the father she guessed, who was lying on the floor, head propped up by a pillow. He had a nasty gash across his arm and a deep cut on his forehead that looked like he needed stitches. “He was trying to get home. He got trapped over at his work.” The woman was sniffling and stroking his hair.

Rei nodded and set her pack down, opening up and getting out antiseptic, salve, needle and thread, and bandages. One of the children got her some clean cloths. She dampened one and began cleaning his wounds. He was cringing and tensed in pain, but she didn’t have anything to give him that would work fast enough for his pain. Instead she balled up a rag and told him to bite down. She began her stitches on his arm, the muffled screams and groans echoing in the quiet house.
word count: 400
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