ARROWHOLD - 51052 RAIN
“Will you be okay?”. Cyor looks with grave concern as he witnesses the blood dripping from Tanamarana’s nose.
“Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine eventually. Just protect the town…”, she responds with a weak and shivery voice, “Where’s Mystic?”
“I don’t know.”. Cyor begins to wonder now. Where did he end up now that the battle is raging?
In the meantime, Tanamarana’s consciousness slips away, and she closes her eyes.
Suddenly, Mirk’tanin realizes he is no longer able to move his arms and legs.
“What is going on?”, he says weakly, and with a clear slur, as red tentacles crawl over his head.
“Surprise.”. Mystic smiles: “Oh wait, you can’t actually hear me anymore. Now, let’s play.”
Mirk’tanin’s mouth opens.
“PULL BACK!! PULL BACK NOW!!”, he hears himself screaming across the battlefield. It’s not something he actually wishes to say, but his brain capacity appears to have been reduced to very little: just thinking and observation, without the ability to act on his own accord in any way.
On the other side of the Plateau, several groups of militia halt, and look around over their backs in confusion. Some of them begin to murmur, while other units begin to lose their formation ever so slightly.
As Cyor mobilises the few dozen remaining archers and militia, the attacking militia then begin to carefully withdraw, as instructed.
“Interesting…”, Cyor muses, “...does this mean that we could actually win this battle?”
Through a rapid mastery of the art of swinging torches, Leora and Sparrow manage to eradicate four of the twelve wooden dragons. But at that point exhaustion begins to set in, and Leora spots something more foreboding on the ground.
Talo instructs his dragons to get rid of the torches, and uses his powers to rapidly grow the plans around him, creating beanstalks that shoot into the sky at dazzling speeds. However, the beanstalks do not appear to grow high enough to reach Leora and her mount.
“What a relief.”, she thinks, “I’m glad we’re safe from those!”
But at that moment the beanstalks begin to vibrate, all together, at a very high frequency. Leora does not hear anything herself, but Sparrow appears to be immediately disrupted in her flight and begins to twirl around her body, causing Leora to struggle to hold on. Moments later, Sparrow begins to spiral down, eventually crashing violently to the ground, dismounting Leora and sending her to the ground head first.
Leora passes out.
Talo Eldertree steps towards the two, and looks over them.
“You’re with me now”, he says, with a wry smile. Using beanstalks, he ties the two together, and along with his remaining wooden dragons, he escorts them away from battle.
All of a sudden the smoke in his head clears, and Officer Mirk’tanin realises he can move his own body again. Quickly he lashes out with his sword in an attempt to strike Mystic.
Mystic hastily jumps aside, leaving his red tentacled glove on Mirk’tanins head by accident. Mirk’tanin quickly tries to rip off the glove. As he does so, a surge of sharp pain goes through his head.
“ARGH!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE???”, he cries out.
Mystic smiles mildly.
“I wouldn’t take that off, my friend.”, Mystic replies, “But if you surrender, I will take it off for you and spare you and your men.”
Mirk’tanin knows that he’s occasionally led by impulses, but this time he understands his predicament. He quickly scans the battlefield. Talo Eldertree and his dragons are nowhere to be seen. Have they abandoned him completely? At the same time, his own men are retreating towards him with confused looks on their faces.
“My men will be coming for your head once they see what is going on.”, he says.
“I will be long gone when they arrive. But my glove won’t be.”, Mystic replies.
The two of them stand on the long plateau, watching the footmen approach. But as the militia reach the halfway point of the plateau, a deafening rumble fills the region.
“What the-?”, Mirk-tanin and Mystic say in unison, as a huge chasm opens up right in the middle of the plateau, separating them from the Kazamer forces. Immediately after, hordes and hordes of small purple worms slither out of the crevasses. The Kazamer forces are caught by surprise, and are quickly enveloped and eaten up by the swarm of worms, who then continue onwards towards Arrowhold.
On the other side of the chasm, more purple worms slither out, heading towards the two.
“Quick! Run!!”, Mystic shouts, tugging at Mirk’tanin who momentarily looks at the scene perplexed.
Cyor watches in horror how the Kazamer troops get consumed whole by the swarms of purple worms emerging from the chasm. The Arrowhold troops behind him turn around and flee in terror as the worms approach. He attempts to do the same, but the swarm of worms are too quick, and eventually catch up with all of them.
As Cyor gets covered in the purple worms, he gets out his sword and cuts through several of them. But as the crushing weight of the worms above and around him increase, he realises that his resistance is futile, and that his endeavours have come to an early end.
Tanamarana stands up. She recalls this noise. Without further hesitation she tries to conjure a new whirlwind, but at the first attempt she gets a searing headache, and her nose begins to bleed once more.
“Too much!”, she thinks, “I have to do something much more subtly.”
As the swarm of worms envelop Arrowhold, she runs to the edge of the cliffs towards Toth Valley.
“Hopefully I’m still capable enough to do this at least.”
As she jumps off the edge, she attempts to create a gliding wind underneath her. With searing pain through her head she drifts off downwards into the Toth Valley.
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