Multiple different figures skulked and shifted within the darkness of the night. They ca from different directions, and used different thods. So leaped through the air like frogs, others darted across the ground as quickly as cheetahs. So of them were retreating in success having completed their missions while others failed miserably and were coming back to lick their wounds.
Whatever their thod or reason, all of these figures converged on a specific spot, an innocuous little hill near the edge of the city. Out of the way, and perfectly unsuspecting.
A man known as 'Paladin Phobus' was one of those such individuals. But despite being the one that chose this location, and sent its information to the rest, he felt a sense of unease as with every new arrival.
The problem was he couldn't figure out what, and it was only making his unease worse. When the last of his band of intrepid assassins arrived at the rendezvous, Phobus was surrounded by n in long black cloaks, their only colouring being the spatters of blood on their surface.
Narrowing his eyes, Phobus scrutinised his mbers. Gazing through the forest of cloaks, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind finally clicked when his eyes glanced over one of his mbers chests. Perhaps it was sothing he had only noticed subconsciously, but he finally brought it to the conscious part of his mind.
All of his mbers, including himself, were wearing dallions that showed their faith in His Divine Greatness the Lightbringer. All of them, except for two.
Whirling around to two infidels, he tried to peer under their hoods from the distance, but all he could see was the lower half of their face. The darkness of their hoods only helped by the veil of night, but even under the night sky he could still make out the sly smile on their faces.
He pointed his finger towards them, startling those standing around him, and inhaled a lungful of air ready to command his loyal followers, but the words never got the chance to leave his mouth as another noise overshadowed them.
The shattering of glass echoed from above as one of the deceptious pair clenched his hand into a fist. In the air above them, space was torn asunder as it exploded into a hail of floating shards.
And from those shards, ca the wicked gleam of a blade as a towering knight clad in morbid grey armour fell through the breach, plumting through the air with his weapon already raised. When he landed, he swung the axe down and, as if it was nothing more than a simple execution, a head fell from its neck and bounced across the ground.
Shouts and screams filled the serene night, Phobus' group of assassins drawing their own weapons to face the singular opponent. But whilst they were focused on the knightly colossal, Phobus' eyes trailed back to the breach in the sky, just in ti to see the rest of the figure descend through it.
***
"In the end there were a total of two casualties, and seven injuries. Although we managed to capture five of the assassins, and eliminate a further ten there were still so who managed to get away.
Most notably the figure known as 'Paladin Phobus.' With the addition of flesh and blood warriors alongside the Unkindly Guard, it seed to fuel his ability, which we believe to be rooted in a person's fears.
He was able to not only cause one's fears to be seen in the form of an illusion, but also manifest it into a physical form. Using one of the raid mbers fear of snakes, he was able to create a giant serpent that acted as a diversion and allowed for their escape.
That is the end of Sir Vulpine's report, my Lord."
A young woman with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail stood in the middle of the room, all eyes on her as she finished reading from the papers in her hand. When she was finished, she raised her head and looked directly forwards towards her Lord, as he sat on his throne.
His face completely obscured in the mystical shadows of his cloaks hood, it was impossible to tell his emotions as he lounged on the throne. His fingers drumd against the arm rest idly, each second of silence only increasing the worry and anxiety of the young woman. Her hands tightening around the papers as she began to tremble, rembering why the phrase 'Don't shoot the ssanger' exists.
In truth, Seth was simply lost in thought. His mind considering the report, as well as all that had happened. A day had passed since the assassination attempts, and while the losses were thankfully minimal, each one weighed on his soul.
The High Priest of his own strange little church was a strange death to hear of, but not entirely unexpected. They ca from a cult, and possibly had plans to put their own man in place to undermine what they thought was most important to him, his 'Demon Worship'
He would need to keep an eye on it, make sure the person taking the role was good. In fact, it would be better if he carried out the sa plan, put soone in charge he could actually talk to and help move that church in a good direction, if it insisted on existing.
But Erik's death was what weighed on him the most. He might not have liked the man all too much, or known him very well. But it was soone who he had fought alongside on many occasions and who had saved his life more than one ti, despite their fraught relationship.
He was arranging a good service for him, but it was difficult now with everything that was happening.
After a prolonged silence, the Storm Goddess Astra stepped forward, touching her hand against his shoulder as she leaned down and whispered softly in his ear.
"You better speak before the poor girl has a heart attack."
Blinking softly as he snapped out of his thoughts, Seth shifted in his throne, a chair that he always felt gaudy and uncomfortable sitting in, and nodded his head as if Astra had whispered sothing wise and important to him.
"Have compensation sent to the families of the deceased, as a thank you for their service to the city and to the remnants of humanity as a whole. We can up our production of healing solutions for the injured, and for the future.
As unfortunate as the outco was, it is a helpful insight into the abilities of one of the enemies upper echelon. They know ours, and at least so of our abilities, well enough to stage an attack.
See if you can't get so more information on the abilities of these 'Paladins' from the rest of the prisoners. Otherwise, prepare the n. We have spent too long on the defensive and in preparation. It's ti for them to learn why it is such a mistake to challenge Ravenkeep, and the folly of their actions.
It's ti for this war to finally begin. Dismissed, all of you."
"Yes My Lord!"
***
"You are sure that they took the stones?"
"Y-yes, my Lady. I have failed you but... But I will get them back. I swear."
In the confines of the Lightbringers private study, there were two figures. The Lightbringer himself, and a woman draped in an elegant, pure white dress. Golden locks frad her gorgeous face as it cascaded down her back in waves, and ended in slight curls.
Her pale skin radiated a soft and ethereal glow, as if the world itself was being purified simply by touching her radiant skin.
If any of the Lightbringers faithful were to walk into this room and witness the pair, they would undoubtedly be killed on sight, lest they completely lose their faith in an instant.
Despite this being the Lightbringers own study, it was the woman who sat at the table, her posture straight and head raised high, exuding an air of utter confidence as if she had no doubt in her mind that she was the true owner of this house and that she was superior.
A matter that the Lightbringer did not seem to disagree with, as he knelt on the ground before her, his head low and not daring to look upon her figure, never mind lay eyes on her beautiful face for even a single second.
His body trembled in fear as he heard her footsteps approaching, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and dripping onto the polished floor below him, which his eyes were locked onto for dear life. Pure white feathers drifted into view, drifting on the air currents created by the woman's movents, while a slender and soft hand rested on the back of his head. Her soft, heavenly fingers danced through his hair, caressing it almost maternally as she spoke in a soft, cooing voice.
"Don't worry little one, I believe you. After all..."
Her hand stopped caressing, her slender fingers gripping the back of his head and beginning to squeeze. The Lightbringer, the Human God, let out pathetic whimpers of restrained pain as the woman's hand was on the verge of crushing his skull.
Her voice turned cold, as did the room itself, as if her anger alone was enough to make the temperature plumt.
"If you fail again, You will truly experience what the wrath of a true god feels like. Not so pitiful little whelp playing God for a bunch of miserable little monkeys. Do not make regret my gift to you, Worm."
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