Duane of Skelgard tossed back his drink with gusto. He slammed the empty mug onto the counter with a heavily armored fist and arrogantly asked for more. With a chagrined look (the counter was splintering under Duane of Skelgard's enthusiasm for his beverage), the tavern owner got down yet another bottle and poured the contents into the empty mug. While Duane of Skelgard's money was good, his manners weren't and the tavern was emptying out.
For the third time that afternoon.
While the entire city was thankful to Duane of Skelgard for slaying the undead Revenant in the sewers below, they were leery of attracting his attention. His (claimed) signs of affection towards anything human had left several with massive contusions and even a few fractured bones.
His compatriots were much more reserved, not given over to such displays.
Said compatriots were sitting over at a table away from the evaporating crowd. Each heralded from the two most reviled, discredited, and shunned orders in Sanctuary. One was a grizzled veteran of many battles, as the scars visible on his face attested. He wore pelts from several animals, some never even heard of in this part of the world, not to mention the wolf pelt in particular that several people swore had moved upon his shoulder. Yet for all his taste in animal hides and that his demeanor screamed of some kind of warrior, the city had yet to see him produce any weapons of any kind.
Many people had heard of the cult of the Wolf, but few had survived actual contact with its members to ever provide a decent picture of one.
The other was slender, dressed in black, and pale as though he had spent the better part of his life indoors.
Or, more accurately, underground.
Everything about him spoke of some kind of nobility; the fine gloves he wore were expensive silk, and his open jacket was richly embroidered with silver thread.
The nicest thing anyone had ever said of him was "he was a creepy bastard" which he resented: his parents were lawfully married (to each other, even!) well before he was born.
However, he was creepy. Anyone who spent a large amount of their life summoning spirits out of the ether and binding them to the mortal remains of his foes to wreak further death upon the agents of Hell was creepy. Anyone who could see into and manipulate the fates of all around him to bring them to their doom was creepy.
He found that the term "creepy" fit.
Hence many people avoided the two at the table, leaving them in relative peace while the watched the antics of their...traveling companion.
Math looked over to his pale counterpart. "Why is it again that we follow him?"
Simon looked at the burly Druid. "Simple. We follow him so he is the first one to be hit."
The furred man considered that fact. Nodding, he remembered that that very tactic had allowed them to slay Radamant in the sewers beneath the town. Resignedly, he looked askance at the Necromancer.
Simon considered the Paladin himself. Although his worth in battle was notable, his manners in every other regard occasionally tempted the Necromancer to bend Trang-Oul's spine just a little....
But no. As a priest of Rathma's teachings, he could not so flippantly bring someone to death before his time. To do so was inexcusable, even in the face of such an arrogant one as Duane of Skelgard.
For his part Duane had wasted no time in announcing his distaste of Simon when they first met; in the ruins of the Bloody Countess, in fact. While Simon had sought the destruction of the Countess, same as the Paladin, he had also sought to study her notes on immortality. The Paladin had threatened to kill Simon for even pondering the Countess' nature and wishing to learn from it.
Even though Simon eventually read the Countess' journal in relative peace, they turned out to be nothing more than a mad mind hard at work destroying itself. Simon had suspected as much, but to lose even a potential source of learning for his priesthood....
Math had his own bone to pick with the Paladin, so to speak. The Cult of the Wolf has the ability to work themselves into a frenzy, allowing their spirit guides to manifest through them. Hence, the legend of werewolves had been borne forth. The first time Duane had seen Math shapeshift into the Werewolf, he had been hard-pressed not to kill the Druid. Convinced Math was a monster finally revealing his true form, Simon had intervened and cursed Duane to keep him from killing his "demon from the wood." After Simon convinced Duane that Math was no such demon, Duane announced that true warriors had no need to assume the nature of primitive beasts. Math had bristled at "primitive," and the two had been at odds ever since.
However, Simon and Math had found each other affable, and found a lot of common ground. As a result, Math and Simon had formed a friendship, partly out of mutual respect, partly to convince each other not to kill their earnest ally. While he was intolerable in nearly every social aspect, in combat Duane of Skelgard acted selflessly and often forsook his own safety for the safety of his allies.
The scene remained relatively unchanged for several hours, much to the chagrin of the two other patrons within earshot of Duane of Skelgard. After a while, Simon and Math had tuned out the boisterous shiny man and fell to daydreaming about anything but the present and Duane of Skelgard.
After a while Math's ear twitched. Looking over to the open window, he sniffed and scented three newcomers into town. They had not eaten the local food, and thus sweat differently in the desert climate. Two men and a woman...one of the men huge in stature...probably a damn northmen...Math sighed. He had no desire to associate with those whose ancestors had banished his so long ago.
After a while, the woman wandered farther off. Probably to find something soft to lay on, Math snorted to himself. Women; utterly useless in a fight.
The two men walked into the tavern and made their way to the bar.
Math looked over to his companion and noticed that Simon was glaring at the newcomers. Math leaned in closer so his friend could whisper.
"My wraiths tell me the smaller man is demonic," Simon whispered. Math nodded silently, and three great direwolves melted out of the shadows. Simon took out a wickedly-curving dagger and whispered something over it. It flashed venemously and Simon nodded approvingly at the blade.
Both Druid and Necromancer didn't tell the Paladin, who was busy boring the tavernkeeper. Not out of a sense of malice (as they would swear repeatedly afterwards), but rather feeling an ignorant prey was more convincing than a forewarned target. A demon would instantly attack a Paladin; they were so diametrically opposite, an instantaneous clash was inevitable. Duane would be more than capable of disposing a demon like this, even one so cleverly disguised.
The demon and the human mountain came in and made for the bar. Ordering drinks, they fell into intense discussion.
Right next to Duane of Skelgard.
Duane, for his part, looked at the two newcomers before beginning to regale the barkeeper of some other woefully boring tale. He stopped, his mouth still open. Math and Simon waited, tensing. The wolves moved silently closer, ready to pounce one of the newcomers.
Duane looked around, much like someone who had caught the scent of something unpleasant, but familiar. After a confused moment, he looked towards the newcomers sitting next to him. A look of shocked recognition passed over his face. Math got up and moved towards the bar, assuming a loping lupine pace rather than a human stride.
Duane tapped the smaller man over the shoulder. Hard. The smaller man looked up irritated.
"Excuse me, but I can't help but notice when another of my order comes in. What say you? Have we met before?" Duane of Skelgard announced.
"I don't believe so."
Duane was rather put off. "Come now," he announced, "surely we have. Wait, I recognize you now! You were the champion of the Tourney held several summers past. Tell me I'm wrong!"
"You're not mistaken, but that was long ago, and I am not the warrior I was."
"Surely not! A Warrior of the Light such as yourself never fades in a few years. Only advanced age or mortality would could stop a Hand of the Zakarum!"
Niklaus sighed. Had he ever been so loud?
"Are you kidding?" Sasha confirmed, "you were at least twice as arrogant. Although I think he's got you beat on volume."
Ah well, Niklaus thought, how the mighty have Fallen. That earned a dirty smirk from Sasha.
Turning to the Paladin, he stared the larger man in the eyes. "I left my monastery on a pilgrimmage for enlightenment."
"What more enlightenment could a Warrior..." Duane let his announcement trail off. Looking into the smaller man's eyes, he saw something....
Demonic.
In a flash, Duane's sword was up and knocking Silence away. Ulfgar tried to unlimber his axe, but found himself surrounded by three huge wolves, all looking more than eager to tear him open. His hands moved away from his axe, and raised in a sign of surrender.
Niklaus and Sasha's minds were racing.
Paladin, Druid. Another one somewhere.
There! A Necromancer.
I see him.
Druid possible shapeshifter.
Yes. Direwolves on Ulfgar.
Druid and Necromancer usin' the Paladin as demon-bait.
Cunning.
Yeah. We need to deal with this one's sword.
He's got a short sword at his back.
Yes. We need something to hit them all at once, throw them off.
We can shock 'em.
Do it.
The bartender had watched the entire drama unfold, now felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Then everyone save Ulfgar and Niklaus saw a kaleidoscope of colors as they were electrocuted by Sasha's presence. Although not hurt seriously, it gave Niklaus and Ulfgar the necessary split second they needed to spring into action. Ulfgar leapt over the wolves to land astride a very surprised Werewolf; a quick blow rendered him unconscious. Without their master, the direwolves had no focal point with which to manifest, and disappeared back into the ether amidst a wisp of fog.
Niklaus used the chance to knock aside the other paladin's blade and backfist him, sending him sprawling into the barstools.
Simon, seeing the change in situation, held his knife aloft, ready to throw it at the huge northman. Niklaus saw him and a chair seemingly lifted itself out of nowhere to intercept the knife midair. Both went flying away from combat, and Simon flashed Niklaus a malicious look.
Sasha stuck her tongue out at Simon, who wouldn't have been able to see her anyway. But it felt good.
Ulfgar decided for a switch in tactics. Looking overhead, he saw a weak spot in the joints of the ceiling. Tucking down his head, he leapt straight up and through the ceiling, leaving a gaping hole and a shower of splintered wood. Simon looked up in wonderment. So the legendary feats of the Northmen weren't so legendary. He looked down to see the demon....
And was abruptly launched backwards as the demon bowled into him, sending him flying backwards. He crashed into the far wall and looked dazed as the demon barreled through the door (without opening it) and outside.
Duane, by this time had regained his feet and drawn his short-sword. Taking careful aim, he threw it edge over hilt at the retreating demon, an Aura flashing briefly.
Fortunately for Niklaus, Duane had miscalculated the rate of spin on his weapon. As it turned out, the pommel of the short sword hit Niklaus in the back. His armor managed to spread the area of impact, but nevertheless, the sheer impact knocking him off his feet as well. After a cursory glance at Simon, he gave a worried look to Math, still unconscious on the floor.
"Don't just stand there! Go after him!" Simon screamed.
Needing no further encouragement, Duane picked up his longsword and dashed after the demon. Simon knelt down to Math and began waking him.
Niklaus still lay sprawled on the ground outside. Gods, that was a blow. No one had any right to throw like that. Sasha worked furiously, igniting a healing Aura, trying to clear Niklaus' mind and body so he could get up and defend them.
Unfortunately, Duane got there first.
Duane reared back, and delivered a kick that sent Niklaus flying. Sasha found herself unable to do much of anything except reel along with Niklaus as pain exploded through them. They skidded to a stop a full twenty paces from the paladin in gleaming plate.
The paladin strode towards them, righteous in his divine wrath, determined to end the scourge of Hell in at least this small way. He brought forth his sword, and raised it above his head to deliver the death blow.
A new Aura flared around them as a grim determination overtook them both. The sword came down, only to be met by Niklaus' bare arm.
Duane, to his credit, did not allow his shock to overcome him for long. His own Aura flared, the Aura of Might. It became a true test of mettle, the paladin on the ground versus the paladin towering over him.
The sword lost.
It warped just slightly before stress fractures riddled the steel. Shortly thereafter, the blade shattered, and a very surprised Duane stared down at the broken hilt of his weapon.
In a flash, the smaller man was upon him, striking surgically and methodically. Duane of Skelgard countered quickly, recognizing the attacks and counters as classic Zakarum sparring. He had prided himself on winning the championship boxing just last Tourney, and began to swing faster.
However, Niklaus and Sasha had spent the last several weeks learning to dodge arrows from less than ten feet away. While Niklaus' Eye refused to open, both he and Sasha had adapted by honing their own sense of self-preservation to a preternatural edge.
Duane was downright sluggish next to that.
Which is not to say he didn't try. They started at an easy rythym, working at faster and faster speeds as each realized the other's ability. Duane of Skelgard found the time to utter a prayer, and Heaven graced him with the cool aura of Concentration. Sasha countered with the Aura of Lightning, which Duane soon matched.
Niklaus and Duane moved back and forth across the street, punching and kicking, blocking and attempting holds that would cripple most men and certainly ruin the undead both labored against.
However, while the electrostatic charges built up between them, they became aware of a simple fact of nature. Specifically, electricity is composed of negatively charged particles, which naturally repel. While Niklaus and Duane had sparred, they had released quite a few of these particles between them. Quite often they would discharge in a flashy light show, but after a while, there were just too many particles to disperse.
As such, Niklaus and Duane found themselves approximately thirty feet from each other with their hair standing on end.
Niklaus however, was not to be put off; he and Sasha had planned on it. Sasha switched Auras and the lightning that had arced everywhere changed to a fog of cold air. Icicles covered everything, including Duane of Skelgard, and Niklaus charged into him at full speed.
Simon and Math ran out of the tavern just in time to see Duane become a creature of the air. Math caught the armored projectile while Simon peered into the ether to reach for the demon's web of fate.
Three arrows slammed home into the ground in front of him, kicking up dust and causing Simon to lose concentration amidst a good deal of coughing. A cloaked archer stepped out of the gathered crowd, her hood pulled down over her eyes and another arrow nocked and aimed.
Just then Math and Duane found themselves with knives at their throats as Ulfgar avalanched out of the crowd.
Inexplicably, the three backed off of Simon, Math, and Duane of Skelgard. The demon's Aura receded and knives and arrows disappeared.
"I think some introductions are in order," the demon said, "we can kill you after that if you persist."
For the third time that afternoon.
While the entire city was thankful to Duane of Skelgard for slaying the undead Revenant in the sewers below, they were leery of attracting his attention. His (claimed) signs of affection towards anything human had left several with massive contusions and even a few fractured bones.
His compatriots were much more reserved, not given over to such displays.
Said compatriots were sitting over at a table away from the evaporating crowd. Each heralded from the two most reviled, discredited, and shunned orders in Sanctuary. One was a grizzled veteran of many battles, as the scars visible on his face attested. He wore pelts from several animals, some never even heard of in this part of the world, not to mention the wolf pelt in particular that several people swore had moved upon his shoulder. Yet for all his taste in animal hides and that his demeanor screamed of some kind of warrior, the city had yet to see him produce any weapons of any kind.
Many people had heard of the cult of the Wolf, but few had survived actual contact with its members to ever provide a decent picture of one.
The other was slender, dressed in black, and pale as though he had spent the better part of his life indoors.
Or, more accurately, underground.
Everything about him spoke of some kind of nobility; the fine gloves he wore were expensive silk, and his open jacket was richly embroidered with silver thread.
The nicest thing anyone had ever said of him was "he was a creepy bastard" which he resented: his parents were lawfully married (to each other, even!) well before he was born.
However, he was creepy. Anyone who spent a large amount of their life summoning spirits out of the ether and binding them to the mortal remains of his foes to wreak further death upon the agents of Hell was creepy. Anyone who could see into and manipulate the fates of all around him to bring them to their doom was creepy.
He found that the term "creepy" fit.
Hence many people avoided the two at the table, leaving them in relative peace while the watched the antics of their...traveling companion.
Math looked over to his pale counterpart. "Why is it again that we follow him?"
Simon looked at the burly Druid. "Simple. We follow him so he is the first one to be hit."
The furred man considered that fact. Nodding, he remembered that that very tactic had allowed them to slay Radamant in the sewers beneath the town. Resignedly, he looked askance at the Necromancer.
Simon considered the Paladin himself. Although his worth in battle was notable, his manners in every other regard occasionally tempted the Necromancer to bend Trang-Oul's spine just a little....
But no. As a priest of Rathma's teachings, he could not so flippantly bring someone to death before his time. To do so was inexcusable, even in the face of such an arrogant one as Duane of Skelgard.
For his part Duane had wasted no time in announcing his distaste of Simon when they first met; in the ruins of the Bloody Countess, in fact. While Simon had sought the destruction of the Countess, same as the Paladin, he had also sought to study her notes on immortality. The Paladin had threatened to kill Simon for even pondering the Countess' nature and wishing to learn from it.
Even though Simon eventually read the Countess' journal in relative peace, they turned out to be nothing more than a mad mind hard at work destroying itself. Simon had suspected as much, but to lose even a potential source of learning for his priesthood....
Math had his own bone to pick with the Paladin, so to speak. The Cult of the Wolf has the ability to work themselves into a frenzy, allowing their spirit guides to manifest through them. Hence, the legend of werewolves had been borne forth. The first time Duane had seen Math shapeshift into the Werewolf, he had been hard-pressed not to kill the Druid. Convinced Math was a monster finally revealing his true form, Simon had intervened and cursed Duane to keep him from killing his "demon from the wood." After Simon convinced Duane that Math was no such demon, Duane announced that true warriors had no need to assume the nature of primitive beasts. Math had bristled at "primitive," and the two had been at odds ever since.
However, Simon and Math had found each other affable, and found a lot of common ground. As a result, Math and Simon had formed a friendship, partly out of mutual respect, partly to convince each other not to kill their earnest ally. While he was intolerable in nearly every social aspect, in combat Duane of Skelgard acted selflessly and often forsook his own safety for the safety of his allies.
The scene remained relatively unchanged for several hours, much to the chagrin of the two other patrons within earshot of Duane of Skelgard. After a while, Simon and Math had tuned out the boisterous shiny man and fell to daydreaming about anything but the present and Duane of Skelgard.
After a while Math's ear twitched. Looking over to the open window, he sniffed and scented three newcomers into town. They had not eaten the local food, and thus sweat differently in the desert climate. Two men and a woman...one of the men huge in stature...probably a damn northmen...Math sighed. He had no desire to associate with those whose ancestors had banished his so long ago.
After a while, the woman wandered farther off. Probably to find something soft to lay on, Math snorted to himself. Women; utterly useless in a fight.
The two men walked into the tavern and made their way to the bar.
Math looked over to his companion and noticed that Simon was glaring at the newcomers. Math leaned in closer so his friend could whisper.
"My wraiths tell me the smaller man is demonic," Simon whispered. Math nodded silently, and three great direwolves melted out of the shadows. Simon took out a wickedly-curving dagger and whispered something over it. It flashed venemously and Simon nodded approvingly at the blade.
Both Druid and Necromancer didn't tell the Paladin, who was busy boring the tavernkeeper. Not out of a sense of malice (as they would swear repeatedly afterwards), but rather feeling an ignorant prey was more convincing than a forewarned target. A demon would instantly attack a Paladin; they were so diametrically opposite, an instantaneous clash was inevitable. Duane would be more than capable of disposing a demon like this, even one so cleverly disguised.
The demon and the human mountain came in and made for the bar. Ordering drinks, they fell into intense discussion.
Right next to Duane of Skelgard.
Duane, for his part, looked at the two newcomers before beginning to regale the barkeeper of some other woefully boring tale. He stopped, his mouth still open. Math and Simon waited, tensing. The wolves moved silently closer, ready to pounce one of the newcomers.
Duane looked around, much like someone who had caught the scent of something unpleasant, but familiar. After a confused moment, he looked towards the newcomers sitting next to him. A look of shocked recognition passed over his face. Math got up and moved towards the bar, assuming a loping lupine pace rather than a human stride.
Duane tapped the smaller man over the shoulder. Hard. The smaller man looked up irritated.
"Excuse me, but I can't help but notice when another of my order comes in. What say you? Have we met before?" Duane of Skelgard announced.
"I don't believe so."
Duane was rather put off. "Come now," he announced, "surely we have. Wait, I recognize you now! You were the champion of the Tourney held several summers past. Tell me I'm wrong!"
"You're not mistaken, but that was long ago, and I am not the warrior I was."
"Surely not! A Warrior of the Light such as yourself never fades in a few years. Only advanced age or mortality would could stop a Hand of the Zakarum!"
Niklaus sighed. Had he ever been so loud?
"Are you kidding?" Sasha confirmed, "you were at least twice as arrogant. Although I think he's got you beat on volume."
Ah well, Niklaus thought, how the mighty have Fallen. That earned a dirty smirk from Sasha.
Turning to the Paladin, he stared the larger man in the eyes. "I left my monastery on a pilgrimmage for enlightenment."
"What more enlightenment could a Warrior..." Duane let his announcement trail off. Looking into the smaller man's eyes, he saw something....
Demonic.
In a flash, Duane's sword was up and knocking Silence away. Ulfgar tried to unlimber his axe, but found himself surrounded by three huge wolves, all looking more than eager to tear him open. His hands moved away from his axe, and raised in a sign of surrender.
Niklaus and Sasha's minds were racing.
Paladin, Druid. Another one somewhere.
There! A Necromancer.
I see him.
Druid possible shapeshifter.
Yes. Direwolves on Ulfgar.
Druid and Necromancer usin' the Paladin as demon-bait.
Cunning.
Yeah. We need to deal with this one's sword.
He's got a short sword at his back.
Yes. We need something to hit them all at once, throw them off.
We can shock 'em.
Do it.
The bartender had watched the entire drama unfold, now felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Then everyone save Ulfgar and Niklaus saw a kaleidoscope of colors as they were electrocuted by Sasha's presence. Although not hurt seriously, it gave Niklaus and Ulfgar the necessary split second they needed to spring into action. Ulfgar leapt over the wolves to land astride a very surprised Werewolf; a quick blow rendered him unconscious. Without their master, the direwolves had no focal point with which to manifest, and disappeared back into the ether amidst a wisp of fog.
Niklaus used the chance to knock aside the other paladin's blade and backfist him, sending him sprawling into the barstools.
Simon, seeing the change in situation, held his knife aloft, ready to throw it at the huge northman. Niklaus saw him and a chair seemingly lifted itself out of nowhere to intercept the knife midair. Both went flying away from combat, and Simon flashed Niklaus a malicious look.
Sasha stuck her tongue out at Simon, who wouldn't have been able to see her anyway. But it felt good.
Ulfgar decided for a switch in tactics. Looking overhead, he saw a weak spot in the joints of the ceiling. Tucking down his head, he leapt straight up and through the ceiling, leaving a gaping hole and a shower of splintered wood. Simon looked up in wonderment. So the legendary feats of the Northmen weren't so legendary. He looked down to see the demon....
And was abruptly launched backwards as the demon bowled into him, sending him flying backwards. He crashed into the far wall and looked dazed as the demon barreled through the door (without opening it) and outside.
Duane, by this time had regained his feet and drawn his short-sword. Taking careful aim, he threw it edge over hilt at the retreating demon, an Aura flashing briefly.
Fortunately for Niklaus, Duane had miscalculated the rate of spin on his weapon. As it turned out, the pommel of the short sword hit Niklaus in the back. His armor managed to spread the area of impact, but nevertheless, the sheer impact knocking him off his feet as well. After a cursory glance at Simon, he gave a worried look to Math, still unconscious on the floor.
"Don't just stand there! Go after him!" Simon screamed.
Needing no further encouragement, Duane picked up his longsword and dashed after the demon. Simon knelt down to Math and began waking him.
Niklaus still lay sprawled on the ground outside. Gods, that was a blow. No one had any right to throw like that. Sasha worked furiously, igniting a healing Aura, trying to clear Niklaus' mind and body so he could get up and defend them.
Unfortunately, Duane got there first.
Duane reared back, and delivered a kick that sent Niklaus flying. Sasha found herself unable to do much of anything except reel along with Niklaus as pain exploded through them. They skidded to a stop a full twenty paces from the paladin in gleaming plate.
The paladin strode towards them, righteous in his divine wrath, determined to end the scourge of Hell in at least this small way. He brought forth his sword, and raised it above his head to deliver the death blow.
A new Aura flared around them as a grim determination overtook them both. The sword came down, only to be met by Niklaus' bare arm.
Duane, to his credit, did not allow his shock to overcome him for long. His own Aura flared, the Aura of Might. It became a true test of mettle, the paladin on the ground versus the paladin towering over him.
The sword lost.
It warped just slightly before stress fractures riddled the steel. Shortly thereafter, the blade shattered, and a very surprised Duane stared down at the broken hilt of his weapon.
In a flash, the smaller man was upon him, striking surgically and methodically. Duane of Skelgard countered quickly, recognizing the attacks and counters as classic Zakarum sparring. He had prided himself on winning the championship boxing just last Tourney, and began to swing faster.
However, Niklaus and Sasha had spent the last several weeks learning to dodge arrows from less than ten feet away. While Niklaus' Eye refused to open, both he and Sasha had adapted by honing their own sense of self-preservation to a preternatural edge.
Duane was downright sluggish next to that.
Which is not to say he didn't try. They started at an easy rythym, working at faster and faster speeds as each realized the other's ability. Duane of Skelgard found the time to utter a prayer, and Heaven graced him with the cool aura of Concentration. Sasha countered with the Aura of Lightning, which Duane soon matched.
Niklaus and Duane moved back and forth across the street, punching and kicking, blocking and attempting holds that would cripple most men and certainly ruin the undead both labored against.
However, while the electrostatic charges built up between them, they became aware of a simple fact of nature. Specifically, electricity is composed of negatively charged particles, which naturally repel. While Niklaus and Duane had sparred, they had released quite a few of these particles between them. Quite often they would discharge in a flashy light show, but after a while, there were just too many particles to disperse.
As such, Niklaus and Duane found themselves approximately thirty feet from each other with their hair standing on end.
Niklaus however, was not to be put off; he and Sasha had planned on it. Sasha switched Auras and the lightning that had arced everywhere changed to a fog of cold air. Icicles covered everything, including Duane of Skelgard, and Niklaus charged into him at full speed.
Simon and Math ran out of the tavern just in time to see Duane become a creature of the air. Math caught the armored projectile while Simon peered into the ether to reach for the demon's web of fate.
Three arrows slammed home into the ground in front of him, kicking up dust and causing Simon to lose concentration amidst a good deal of coughing. A cloaked archer stepped out of the gathered crowd, her hood pulled down over her eyes and another arrow nocked and aimed.
Just then Math and Duane found themselves with knives at their throats as Ulfgar avalanched out of the crowd.
Inexplicably, the three backed off of Simon, Math, and Duane of Skelgard. The demon's Aura receded and knives and arrows disappeared.
"I think some introductions are in order," the demon said, "we can kill you after that if you persist."