A rudely interrupted Boys’ Night Out
Marshal Mason was the first of the group impaled. He had drawn the ire of both Mawsworne Attendants at once, their agility allowed one to knock his shield away and the other to lunge it’s frightening spear toward his chest. It was going to be a damaging blow, but not enough to take him down, he thought. Rather than strike his armor and gouge the metal, or even slide to the side with a metallic screech, the blade passed straight through itl, as if he wore no plate at all.
Jarrick stood in shock for only a moment before his instincts kicked in and he used his shield to bash away the flapping attacker. The weapon’s attack hadn’t hurt. There was no slicing pain or welling blood and he wasn’t about to give up on the fight yet.
It was then that a cold chill started to crawl across his skin. The battered attacker flapped its wings, pulling the spear’s now visibly wavering tip free. Jarrick could feel the pulling sensation, as though the blackened angel was trying to pull him free of his armor with the tip of its withdrawing lance. The chill continued numbing and paralyzing him. When the spear pulled completely free, Jarrick’s body fell to the ground, his eyes never leaving his opponent.
Seeing the warrior fall, and knowing him to be their bulwark against the incoming attacks, Mosur rushed to Jarrick’s side and rolled him over expecting to see a concerning gash through his chest. Nothing.
With no armor, Zaanthe was a great deal lighter on his hooves than usual. However, his hurriedly healed ankle made him unsteady, and an offset balance between his weapon and himself only worsened the injury. He swung his heavy maul as one of the black angels attacked him to keep them back. In a desperate act he raised his hand, warm glowing light spiraled around his palm as the searing magic struck his target.
Between Sielic and Jaffar, a fair number of solid blows were struck against the Attendants. Unfortunately, their attackers just seemed to be unusually resilient, and only particularly heavy wounds made them hesitate.
The Marksman and Janderius focused their attention on the Val’kyr looming overhead, occasionally firing potshots at the Attendants when they were clear of melee.
Mosur hurriedly poured as much healing into Jarrick as he could trying to get the Warrior conscious, his spells and pleads becoming a little more frantic as Sielic and Zaanthe fell in quick succession.
Looking up he saw the pair of Attendants walking towards him, one shot up into the air and with their spear at the ready dove at the shaman. Mosur fell backwards and scrambled to get out of the way while trying to summon a bolt or flaming sphere. Before the raven-winged angel was close enough to strike Janderius leapt between them, and with a yell, the visage of a roaring red dragon appeared and flames scorched the approaching angel.
Having driven the attacker off for the moment, Jander stood with his arms still held out to the sides in the aftermath of the spell. He flicked a frantic glance towards the shaman and spoke in an aggravated cadence. “On your feet, Templar. Fight’s not done yet.”
A flyby of the other attendant spun Jander to the side. He followed up the rush with another spell, a fiery circle flashing before him for a second, inside turning triangles and expanding circles. He shoved his hand through and a gout of flame streamed after the target.
Mosur quickly got to his hooves, the thought that the fallen could wait becoming clearer. If they didn’t take care of these attackers, they were just going to pick the group off one by one. Likewise, he started to gather himself and direct the elements of air and fire.
Another flyby spun the mage around as he sidestepped the agile creature’s trajectory, their speed utterly worrisome. Jander noticed a bolt of lightning streak through the sky and strike the tip of the Attendants weapon. He aimed for that one as it’s flight faltered.
The rush of air under Janderius and the dangling of his legs made him yell as the second Mawsworn lifted him and tossed him into the air. He saw the other swoop towards him, weapon extended. With a quick string of incantations, the North’s chill encased the mage. Solid ice formed around the mage, and while he held his breath, he watched the incoming attacker follow his downward trajectory.
Jander planned quickly on what he would do when his breath ran out. A blink away, then more flames. If he focused on their wings, that would make the battle easier; the one diving at him looked pretty damaged. Another arrow struck them as they drew closer, and though the pain caused by Kanta was clear on their face, it didn’t stop their dive. Jander was protected in his ice block for now though.
The weapon passed straight through the ice, it seemed impossible to the mage. The chilled tip of the ebon weapon cored him midair. After a moment in time that seemed to stretch forever, the Mawsworn tilted the spear down and let gravity pull the exhaling mage from it’s weapon.
The block of ice tumbled back down to the ground shattering on impact. The fallen mage was left in a crumpled heap amongst the scattered ice shards.
With the fall of Janderius, the val’kyr gave the order to retreat, each blackened angel shoving off the ground to accelerate their escape. The toll on them started to show as one flew at a crooked angle, his wing heavily damaged.
Haggard and staggering, Kanta raised his bow, an elven curse on his lips he leased the arrow at the retreating trio. It whizzed through the air and struck the wounded Mawsworn in the right shoulder blade. An unearthly scream echoed across the winter wilderness and the creature’s blackened spear plunged through the air striking ground somewhere out of sight.
The lead val’kyr turned and shot a blast of black energy at Kanta knocking him to his ass and winding him.
“Wintergarde. Templars down.” The Marksman breathed heavily into his guild stone as his vision waned.