Blame Alex! He wanted a good fight scene for Borazon! I hope you like it! Remember to leave reviews they feed the dragons. Plus, I can't tell if anyone is reading, as this site won't show any updates on traffic.
Chapter 30- Slayer Scrolls
Chapter 28- Chrissy, Borazon, Samuel,
Day 21- Evening – Bloodstone
Falls Creek
"Should we go to the Inn first?" Samuel, smiling, asks his grandfather.
"No, you need to go and take your items to Zira." Borazon counters with a smirk.
"But Chrissy."
"Maybe there because you and I both know she loves those Jaffa beans." Borazon smiles.
"True, okay, I'll take Zira the stuff I got. She'll love the spider fangs, legs, and eyes I got, plus she'll be able to make lots of antidotes with the poison from those spiders."
"Don't remind me of those things," Borazon says with a slight shiver.
"And if she's not there?" Samuel asks.
"Go and leave your cart at the Western gate. You promised the guards they could keep it there this time. And we'll meet back at the barn, then go to the Inn together." Borazon informs him."
"What about Nelly?"
"We can leave her at the barn while we eat at the inn, then go to the hall of the dead."
"Okay," Samuel says as he pulls Nelly towards Zira's shop.
"Hey, is that for us?" A male voice calls out.
Borazon turns to see Vinni Valga's husband approaching with another man.
"In fact, it is, but if I keep staying where I am, I will have to ask for coin." Borazon says.
"I don't see a problem. Janko and I can take it in. Come by later for your coins."
"I see a few new faces," Borazon says as he nods to a couple of guys hanging out on the inn's porch.
"Yeah, I don't know much about them other than they brought some pelts to sell. No meat."
"Has a young girl come into town," Borazon asks.
"Don't know. I've been working all day at the Mill." Vinni remarks as he and his friend pull out one of the elks.
"Thanks."
Approaching the barn with Ember in tow, Borazon's senses pick up on a subtle shift in the surroundings—an unexpected gathering of more figures he didn't remember or know.
"Gruffnar, you here?" Borazon calls out.
"Good, you are back," Gruffnar says as he emerges from a stall. "You find that friend of yours?"
"No, but we think she'll be here soon, hopefully. Where can I leave this cart? And I got you another elk."
"Now that one is as nice as the last one." Gruffnar as he looks at the elk. "Put your cart here. That way, we can unload it easier."
Gruffnar and Borazon quickly unload the elk. Borazon was shutting Ember's stall when the normally calm horses stirred restlessly, their instincts reacting to an unseen disturbance. The ambient air carries an eerie howl, a harbinger that shatters the remnants of their idyllic day. A door, once an unassuming guardian, splinters dramatically, the tranquil scene fractured.
In the wake of this disorienting breach, the orchestrated chaos begins. In charge with the terror of the unexpected, Samuel's cry rends the air. Nelly, the stalwart goat, resonates in a symphony of anger and pain, her distress echoing through the chaos. Borazon, his battle axe an unexpected companion, emerges from the barn, stepping into the unfolding pandemonium.
The world outside transforms into an immersive tapestry of upheaval—shadowy figures melding with primal howls, the once-peaceful scene irrevocably altered. Borazon, a singular force against the crescendo of chaos, charges forward, each step an assertion of unwavering resolve in the face of the burgeoning storm.
In the heat of the chaotic battle, Borazon's keen eyes caught sight of a red werewolf in mid-change, poised to strike Samuel. Bravery personified, Samuel protected himself between the downed, bloody goat and the impending threat.
Reacting on instinct alone, Borazon's actions were swift and decisive. With a powerful swing of his battle axe, he intercepted the creature in mid-air, knocking it forcefully to the side. The razor-sharp blades of the axe sliced through the werewolf as it flew, leaving a trail of supernatural blood in its wake.
"Samuel, are you alright?" Borazon asks as he watches the one he had knocked aside start getting up.
"Yes. Nelly attacked him when he was about to attack me."
"Go inside."
Suddenly, a sense of urgency gripped Samuel. His voice, sharp and filled with concern, cut through the chaos. "What about… Behind you!" he yelled, a warning that hung in the air like a desperate plea.
Borazon, reacting with the instincts of a seasoned warrior, spun on his heel. In that heartbeat, the world slowed as he faced a new threat—a werewolf, feral and lethal, lunging towards him from behind. Time hung suspended, a heartbeat away from calamity.
Borazon flipped his battle axe mid-motion with lightning reflexes, the silver tip gleaming malevolently in the moonlight. The deadly arc of the axe found its mark, impaling the werewolf's heart with a sickening thud. The creature convulsed, a metamorphic shift taking place as fur gave way to human flesh.
In the dying moments of the transformed werewolf, a voice gasped, "Thank you." The words uttered with gratitude and release lingered in the air as the life force drained away. Now standing over the fallen foe, Borazon absorbed the weight of those words, his gaze reflecting the complexities of a night marred by supernatural strife.
The village square, illuminated by the sporadic glow of the moon, bore witness to this fleeting moment—a dance of shadows, silver, and a profound exchange amid the chaos. As the battle continued to unfold, Borazon and Samuel, marked by their encounters, stood firm against the encroaching tide of darkness, their every action etched into the fabric of a night destined for both bloodshed and fleeting connections.
As the werewolves closed in on several townsfolk, the imminent threat was thwarted by the sudden appearance of individuals wielding silver blades. The metallic surfaces gleamed with the reflections of the ambient lightning, a silent declaration of their potency against supernatural adversaries.
"Beast, you dare to attack those under our protection!" the lead vampire snarled at the approaching werewolves. The clash between these two immortal forces commenced in a symphony of clashing blades and primal growls. The battle for the safety of the townsfolk unfolded with each swing and parry, a dance of immortal adversaries beneath the stormy night sky.
The vampire with the silver sword approached the werewolf at the village well. The glint of moonlight reflected off the razor-sharp blade as the vampire lunged, aiming for the werewolf's vulnerable flank. The silver, a bane to werewolves, cut through fur and flesh. The werewolf howled in pain, momentarily stunned by the searing sensation of the silver.
In the central square, a vampire wielding silver knives engaged with a werewolf. The vampire moved with a deadly grace, each strike calculated to exploit the werewolf's vulnerabilities. The silver knives, gleaming ominously in the moonlit rain, left sizzling wounds on the werewolf's fur. The creature, weakened by the silver, struggled to retaliate effectively.
Another vampire, armed with a silver sword, faced off against a werewolf near a cluster of houses. The werewolf, driven by instinct, lunged at the vampire, only to be met with the swift parry of the silver blade. Each clash emitted sparks as silver met supernatural strength, the vampire's skillful swordplay keeping the werewolf at bay.
The werewolves, now aware of the silver threat, adjusted their tactics. A massive werewolf, undeterred by the silver knives, lunged at a vampire. The vampire, nimble and well-trained, sidestepped the attack and countered with a precision strike, the silver knife finding its mark in the werewolf's shoulder. The creature recoiled, momentarily weakened by the silver's effects.
As the battles continued, the vampires strategically utilized their silver weapons, aiming for vital areas to exploit the werewolves' vulnerabilities. The silver blades left a trail of steaming wounds, and the werewolves, hampered by the burning pain, found their attacks growing less coordinated.
The village square became a dance of silver and shadows in the culmination of the fight. Vampires, armed with their deadly blades, pressed their advantage, exploiting the werewolves' aversion to silver. The werewolves, once formidable, now struggled against the relentless onslaught.
As the moon briefly emerged from behind the clouds, it revealed a tableau of supernatural warfare—the glint of silver blades, the rain-slickened cobblestones stained with ichor, and the enduring struggle between creatures of the night. The silver weaponry proved to be a decisive factor, tipping the scales in favor of the vampires as they sought to protect the vulnerable townsfolk from the lycanthropic menace.
"By the Divines!" Borazon says at the battles going around them.
"Grampa! It's the same one that killed Lavinia!" His words dripped with a vengeful growl, a visceral response to the presence of the monstrous creature that had already claimed one innocent life.
With an otherworldly strength fueled by grief and fury, Samuel remained behind his grandfather, who took the lead in confronting the beast. The jail door, barely containing the wrath within, splintered under the impact. A thunderous crash reverberated through the night as the door slammed against a hapless guard, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The beast emerged, a colossal figure eclipsing the moonlight. Its eyes, pools of feral determination, fixated on Borazon. In a gruesome display of brutality, the creature bit down on the guard's head, severing it with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed, painting the jail entrance in a grotesque tableau of violence.
This werewolf, the largest and most formidable of them all, exuded an air of primal rage. Its fur, matted with rain and blood, clung to its massive frame. With each step, the ground seemed to quake beneath its weight, marking its relentless advance.
As the creature stalked towards Borazon, a group of vampires, sensing the imminent threat, sought to intercept the enraged werewolf. With a snarl that echoed through the night, the werewolf swatted them away like mere pests. Fangs gleaming, claws slashing, the vampires fell one by one, their attempts to halt the beast's progress futile in the face of its ferocity. From out of now where black arrows with silver tips rained down on the creature with little to no effect.
Borazon, gripping his battle axe with unwavering resolve, locked eyes with the approaching werewolf. The air crackled with tension as the two forces of nature prepared to collide. The werewolf, bathed in the spectral glow of the moon, stood as a harbinger of chaos, its thirst for blood palpable in the night air. The stage was set for a showdown of primal forces, with Borazon as the last line of defense against the relentless onslaught of the beast.
Borazon steps out into the moonlit night, the air crackled with tension, leaving Samuel behind with a command that brooked no dissent. "Stay here. I have a promise to keep," he ordered, his voice carrying the weight of determination and a grim resolve. The village square lay silent, a battleground awaiting the impending clash.
As Borazon approached the massive werewolf, its eyes glinting with a feral intensity, a pair of lesser werewolves leaped forward, seeking to intercept the seasoned warrior. The first one lunged, claws extended, aiming for Borazon's throat. With a swift sidestep, Borazon avoided the attack, countering with a calculated swing of his battle axe. The silver tip met fur and flesh, cleaving through the werewolf's neck in a decisive beheading. The creature's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, a silent testament to Borazon's skill.
Undeterred, a second werewolf charged, muscles coiled for an attack. Borazon, his movements a testament to years of combat expertise, parried the onslaught with a well-timed axe block. In a seamless motion, he reversed the weapon, the silver tip glinting ominously. With precision honed through countless battles, Borazon thrust the silver tip into the werewolf's heart. The creature howled in agony, writhing as the silver wrought its corrosive magic. Stoic and unyielding, Borazon watched as the defeated werewolf crumpled to the ground, its life force extinguishing.
The massive werewolf, witnessing the fate of its comrades, roared in fury. Its eyes locked onto Borazon, a primal challenge issued in the moonlit arena. The beast unleashed a thunderous roar, a primal symphony that echoed through the night. In response, undeterred and resolute, Borazon issued his own battle cry—a fierce and commanding roar that cut through the air. It was a declaration of defiance, a challenge accepted in the language of warriors.
The moonlit battleground trembled with the weight of their primal exchange. Borazon, gripping his battle axe with a firm resolve, faced the massive werewolf with a steely gaze. The clash was imminent, the air thick with anticipation as the two forces of nature prepared to collide in a dance of blood and moonlight. The promise Borazon made hung in the balance, and the echoes of their battle cries lingered in the night, a prelude to the chaos that was about to unfold.
Borazon swung his battle axe with precision, the silver tip leaving a trail of gleaming arcs as it cut through the thick fur of the werewolf. Each strike was met with an immediate regeneration, the supernatural wounds closing almost as quickly as they appeared. Undeterred by the silver's touch, the werewolf retaliated with primal ferocity.
Guard red arrows unleashed with desperation rained down upon the werewolf. However, the creature paid little heed, focusing solely on Borazon. The futile attempts of the guards served only to heighten the sense of impending doom.
Borazon intercepted its path as the colossal werewolf closed in on Samuel, its eyes gleaming with predatory intent. The silver tip of his axe struck true, carving another gash into the creature's thick hide. Yet, the wounds healed almost instantly, a haunting display of the werewolf's supernatural resilience.
Fueled by a paternal instinct, Borazon stood as a stalwart guardian between the werewolf and Samuel. With a mighty swing of his battle axe, he bellowed, "I said, Bad Beasty, no biscuit!" The echoing words carried a mixture of stern authority and paternal protectiveness.
The fight intensified, each blow met with a counter from the relentless werewolf. Unwavering in his defense, Borazon pressed on, determined to fulfill the promise made in the face of this supernatural threat. The village square, now a battleground between man and beast, bore witness to a primal struggle where the outcome remained uncertain, shrouded in the darkness of the night.
Borazon, battle axe poised for a decisive strike, prepared to face the relentless charge of the supernatural adversary. However, in a sudden twist of fate, Chrissy, a beacon of unexpected intervention, soared through the air.
"That's a Werewolf, and there are Vampires here!" Sexy warns. "Check that, there are several werewolves, and they are fighting with the vampires."
"Borazon is fighting the biggest, meanest-looking werewolf here. Kill anything that tries to hurt the boy and his goat." Chrissy orders just before she slams the shield first into the werewolf.
With a grace that defied the chaos around them, Chrissy literally flew past Borazon, shield-first. The impact echoed through the night as the shield connected with the charging werewolf, sending shockwaves through its massive frame.
Right as Chrissy collided shield-first with the charging werewolf, the impact proved formidable. The massive creature was sent hurtling backward, crashing against a nearby building with a resounding thud. Simultaneously, Chrissy, driven by the force of the collision, found herself knocked onto her backside. In a muddy spectacle, she slid backward briefly, the wet earth marking her abrupt descent.
The village square, now a temporary battleground, resonated with the echoes of the clash. The stunned werewolf lay against the building, recovering from the unexpected blow, while undeterred and resilient Chrissy began to rise from the muddy ground. The outcome of the supernatural confrontation remained uncertain, the tension palpable in the night air as both adversaries prepared for the next phase of the intense struggle.
Amidst the ongoing supernatural clash, Zira swiftly navigated the chaotic scene to reach Samuel, where the air crackled with tension and the clash of forces echoed through the night. The flickering moonlight danced upon the chaotic tableau, casting an eerie glow on the characters in the midst of the struggle.
"Easy, big guy," Zira's voice cut through the tumult, a calming force in the midst of chaos. Her approach, marked by a delicate yet determined gait, contrasted sharply with the fierce battle unfolding around them. As she neared Samuel, a horn aimed her way, a testament to the heightened emotions that permeated the air.
"Don't hurt her. She's my friend," Samuel's plea reverberated through the chaos, his tears and hiccups belying the distress etched on his face. Undeterred, Zira, embodying a blend of empathy and strength, reassured him, "I am just here to see what I can do to help Nelly."
The battle raged on, each clash of supernatural forces punctuating the situation's urgency. Samuel's emotional entreaty persisted, "That werewolf hurt Nelly. Can you help her?" The weight of the plea hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the bond between Samuel and his beloved goat amidst the tumultuous night.
In this charged atmosphere, Sexy, the vigilant machine, spoke with a metallic resonance. "Help them. I'll watch your back," his synthesized voice echoed, the commitment to their shared cause cutting through the cacophony of battle. Refocusing on the task at hand, Zira responded with determination, "But if you harm him, I'll stomp you," emphasizing her dedication to safeguarding Samuel and Nelly in the midst of the supernatural maelstrom.
After swiftly dispatching a werewolf with a lethal precision that left its decapitated head rolling across the ground, a female vampire emerged on the other side of the path. Her voice cut through the tumult of battle, offering an unexpected proposition. "I can help, too."
"Why would you help?" Zira's demand echoed through the chaotic ambiance as she brandished a fiery ball in her hand, poised to unleash it, with Sexy standing steadfastly beside her.
The vampire, identified as Lavinia, responded with unwavering honesty, her words cutting through the intensity of the supernatural clash. "My name is Lavinia, and the child that was murdered by the werewolf was my descendant. I wish to thank young Samuel and his goat for how they stood up against it. He was her friend, that is why."
Her mind, grappling with uncertainty, Zira questioned Lavinia's presence and capabilities. "Why are you even here? What can you do?" Her tone betrayed both urgency and a hint of desperation.
"My father is the Blood Jarl, and any attack upon this town is an attack upon us. As for what I can do, I was a healer in my previous life," Lavinia revealed, her voice carrying the weight of authority and a history marked by the mending touch of a healer.
As Nelly's heart-wrenching sounds reached Samuel's ears, he pleaded, "Let her help." The desperation in his voice mirrored the distress etched on his face.
The looming figure of Sexy, protective, and vigilant issued a menacing warning, "Kid says you can help. You help but try anything." However, before he could finish, Lavinia gracefully interrupted, sashaying by him. "I know you will stomp me."
"And I will make it hurt A LOT!" Sexy growled out with a snort, the threat hanging in the air like a tangible chill as the unexpected alliance between vampire and machine unfolded amidst the supernatural chaos.
"Did you give her some healing potion?" Lavinia inquired, her gaze focused on Nelly's suffering form
"No," came the curt reply from Lavinia, a mix of urgency and frustration evident in her voice.
"I have some back in my shop," Zira offered, determination driving her to get up and take action.
"There are some in the pack on my back. Use them," Sexy ordered, a metallic directive echoing through the air. Zira glanced up at the towering machine, prompting Sexy to lower the specified side for easier access. In the midst of the tense moment, Zira experienced an unexpected, albeit brief, interruption – a puppy lick to her face, startling her momentarily.
"The bag on my butt," Sexy directed, guiding Zira to the right source. Eventually, Zira found the correct bag, and Sexy provided further instructions. "Small pocket on the left side with the straps pointed at me." With precision, Zira retrieved the healing potion and swiftly handed it to Samuel.
The air buzzed with a sense of urgency and collaboration as each participant played a crucial role intending to Nelly's injuries. The emotional weight of the moment hung in the air, the collective efforts of vampires, machine, and humans converging in a shared mission to alleviate the suffering of the beloved goat.
"I didn't know it could be used on animals," Samuel remarked, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern as he accepted the healing potion from Zira.
"Yes, but you have to go by type of animal and size," Lavinia explained, her attention now fully focused on the task at hand.
Surprised, Zira questioned, "How do you know?"
"I help the hog farmer with keeping his hogs healthy. Samuel, try to get her to lick some of it off your hand. If she won't lick it, pour just a little down her throat," Lavinia instructed, her hands hovering just above Nelly's wounded form. A soft blue light emanated from Lavinia's hands, casting a gentle glow in the night.
"Come on, girl, lick this for me. It will make you feel better," Samuel urgently pleaded, his emotional connection with Nelly evident in every word. At first, Nelly responded with moans of discomfort, seemingly reluctant. However, as Samuel poured the healing potion into his hand and offered it to her, she painstakingly took a few licks.
"That's a good girl," Samuel praised, a mixture of relief and gratitude coloring his words. The scene unfolded against the backdrop of the supernatural clash, a small yet poignant moment of care and connection amidst the chaos.
As the healing process for Nelly continued, a sudden shift in the atmosphere caught the attention of everyone present. All of the puppies and the mamma dog began growling, a collective instinct signaling danger. Zira, quick to respond, moved to warn Sexy about an approaching werewolf.
"Be-," Zira started, but before she could finish her warning, Sexy's metal form executed a swift and powerful Double Barrel kick, launching the werewolf that had sneaked up behind him across the courtyard. The creature sailed through the air, only to meet Lotz, who wielded a recently forged axe. Lotz struck the werewolf in a fluid motion, sending it hurtling into his blazing forge.
Taking advantage of the fiery momentum, Lotz stepped on the bellows below, intensifying the heat within the forge. The werewolf shot upward, propelled by the roaring flames, only to meet the waiting silver blade of a vampire. The blade pierced the werewolf's heart, sealing its fate as it sank to the ground in death.
A nod of acknowledgment passed between the vampire and Lotz, both understanding the gravity of their alliance in the face of a common enemy. With a shared purpose, they continued their vigil, protecting the townspeople and dispatching any werewolf that dared to threaten the sanctuary of Falls Creek. As the battle raged, Lotz swiftly made his way to Zira and Samuel, ready to stand united against the encroaching darkness.
"Let's get you guys inside," Lotz directed, leading the way to Zira's shop with a sense of urgency.
"Moving her might kill her," Samuel expressed his concern with a hint of distress.
"I'll be gentle," Lotz assured, his voice carrying a tone of reassurance as he carefully lifted Nelly. "Just watch my back."
Meanwhile, the momma dog gracefully descended from Sexy, her protective instincts on high alert. Positioned as a vigilant guardian, she growled and barked warnings, her puppies echoing her sentiments. In the midst of the supernatural turmoil, Sexy swiftly turned, executing a single kick that intercepted a werewolf mid-leap.
The werewolf collided with Gruffnar, and Volkana, unleashing its formidable strength, smashed both of them through the wall and into Gruffnar's barn. The clash of forces created a momentary spectacle, the chaos of the supernatural struggle playing out against the backdrop of the quaint village surroundings.
Initially agitated and attempting to escape the chaotic scene, the bandit horses seemed to grasp that the safest haven was with Sexy. In response to the calming influence of the metal behemoth, the horses settled down, finding a sense of security amid the supernatural tumult. The once-restless creatures now stood anchored by Sexy's side, a testament to the unspoken alliance forming amidst the turmoil of the night.
"Werewolves are the bad guys. Vampires are protecting the humans, but I still don't trust them," Sexy cautioned Chrissy, a note of wariness in his tone.
Getting up off her now muddy butt for when she impacted the werewolf, she not only knocked it on its ass, but she bounced back onto hers, Chrissy thinks. "Good to know," she quipped, directing her next words at Borazon. "I can't leave you guys alone for a minute, and you go and have to find the big ugliest werewolf out there."
"At least it's not a dragon," Borazon retorted, a mischievous smirk playing on his face.
"Damn, you heard?" Chrissy asked, realizing her revelation about dragons. Borazon responded with his trademark shit-eating grin, a sight she had missed. "Well, he will now, too," she declared, unleashing a powerful magic word at the werewolf mid-leap. The creature was sent hurtling several feet back into the side of a building, where it slid down the wall and lay dazed in the mud.
Regaining its senses, the werewolf struggled to rise, encountering difficulty on the slippery terrain. Once it regained traction, it directed its focus toward Borazon, a determined glint in its eyes. The supernatural clash continued, each participant navigating the muddy battleground with a mix of strategy, resilience, and the impending threat of conflict.
"My turn," Borazon declared with a confident smirk, his grip tightening on the hilt of his axe.
Positioned in a stance reminiscent of a batter preparing for a home run, Chrissy couldn't help but smirk as she remarked, "Batter up."
The werewolf closed in, its menacing presence almost upon Borazon. However, Borazon's swing defied expectations, making any seasoned batter look like a rookie as he sent the creature hurtling backward.
"He doesn't play well when you're as strong as him," Borazon casually remarked, observing the wolf's frustrated growls and howls.
"I can't let you humans have all the fun," Blood Jarl Dissen snarled, stepping forward with a fierce determination. With incredible force, he collided with the werewolf, sending it reeling once again. The creature retaliated, swiping at the vampire and knocking him back, its fangs poised for a potentially lethal bite.
"I call foul. This guy needs to learn to play catch!" Chrissy exclaimed, frustration evident in her voice as she flung her shield at the werewolf's face. The creature attempted to catch it, but the shield's trajectory sliced its jaw before continuing on its path. Swiftly sidestepping, the werewolf moved past Borazon and collided forcefully with the wall behind him.
Undeterred, the werewolf turned its attention back to the human, ready to attack. However, before it could make a move, Chrissy's shield rebounded off the werewolf's hindquarters. The unexpected blow sent the wolf careening away from its intended target, crashing into another werewolf in the process. The chaotic clash of creatures continued, Chrissy's strategic use of her shield adding a unique element to the frenzied fray.
"Crap, this guy almost heals as fast as the wolf guy from the comics," Chrissy muttered in frustration, her gaze fixed on the rapid regeneration of the werewolf's skin.
"Lose something, Dragonborn?" The Blood Jarl quipped as he retrieved the shield of death, tossing it back to Chrissy, who caught it with practiced ease.
"What does it take to kill this thing?" a vampire snarled, expressing the shared exasperation.
Tried silver?" Chrissy suggested, seeking a potential weakness.
"Each of those arrow tips is silver and has runes on it. It should have taken him down like it did the others," Jarl Sidgeer explained, brandishing a silver blade. "It even heals from my blade.
"He sure doesn't like my axe, but the bastard keeps healing," Borazon growled in frustration. "I swear that thing is more powerful than the last time I took it on."
"Last time?" Chrissy inquired, her curiosity piqued.
"Tell you about it later," Borazon dismissed with a shrug, his focus returning to the formidable foe before them. The relentless werewolf posed a formidable challenge, defying conventional means of defeat.
"Help and protect the wounded. We have this one," the Blood Jarl instructed his fledglings, who hesitated before reluctantly complying with their leader's command.
"Beheading is my best idea, but the bastard is too smart and fast for my usual move," Chrissy sneered, eying her shield. "Let's see how well this works!" she exclaimed, producing throwing stars and simultaneously launching all three at the creature. The throwing stars grazed across its back, leaving deep, bleeding gashes that didn't heal. The werewolf howled in intense pain, a sensation foreign to its relentless existence. Despite the injury, it turned, preparing to attack. A single word echoed: "return." The throwing stars sliced three more deep cuts as they flew back to their sender.
Readying his axe, Borazon observed, "That hurt it, but not enough. Here it comes."
"Then it's up close and personal!" Chrissy snapped, drawing her sword and raising her shield, yearning for a fully loaded, full-auto weapon with silver rounds. The impending confrontation was about to become intensely personal and dangerous.
A searing lightning bolt crackled through the air, striking with a blinding flash just before the werewolf and the combatants, propelling them backward.
"Not again," Borazon grumbled as he soared through the air, only to land heavily in the mud.
"Crap!" Chrissy's scream echoed through the chaos.
"BOGROLL! YOU WANT SOMEONE! TRY ME! I POISONED YOU! YOU ARE NOT WORTHY TO BE CALLED AN ELF!" Nenya's eyes remained tightly shut, blood tears streaming down her face as she screamed at the werewolf. "COME HERE BOGROLL! YOU ARE NOT MY BROTHER ANYMORE, YOU ARE FILTH!"
The werewolf, the embodiment of her once-beloved brother, was the first to rise, responding with a menacing snarl. With claws unsheathed, he stalked forward, a deadly intent in his eyes, ready to unleash havoc upon the woman who dared to defy him.
"His name was what?" Chrissy asks, disbelief coloring her tone as she attempts to rise from the mud but only slips again.
"Bogroll," Blood Jarl, Dissen sneers in disgust, struggling to find stable footing in the muddy terrain.
Chrissy bursts into hysterical laughter, a sound that draws puzzled looks from those around her.
"Chrissy, are you alright?" Borazon questions, giving her a sideways glance.
Chrissy manages to convey amid fits of laughter, "Where… come… from… His… name… Means… Asswipe."
"That seems to be a shitting name." Borazon deadpans with his trademark smirk, earning a smirk from even the Blood Jarl.
"We need to 'two-ply' him for more information about who named him that," Chrissy laughs even harder, drawing perplexed looks from those around her. "Sorry, it's a 2-ply, a type of ass wipe where I come from. Stronger than one ply. You must be from my world to get it."
"Calling Chancellor an ass wipe is not an acceptable thing to do," a guard remarks with a smirk as he joins them, shooting the wolf in the back with two arrows. The creature, unfazed, continues its menacing approach toward the female elf.
"I'm not the one who named him that. I'm just saying that in one of the lands where I am from, 'Bogroll' is another name for ass wipe," Chrissy clarifies as she struggles to get up out of the mud.
"Send your stars again! He's going to kill her!" Jarl Sidgeer yells as he finally regains his footing and rushes towards the approaching werewolf.
"I can't risk hitting her," Chrissy declares, finally securing her footing as she takes off in a determined run.
"You've always thought yourself better. You pick humans over your kind. I will show you, and I will make you join me. The Nord, so-called dragon-born, can't stop me. What makes you think you can?" The garbled voice of Bogroll emanates from the mouth of the wolf. "You don't even have the strength to look at me."
"But I do!" Nenya retorts, opening her eyes to reveal red glowing blood orbs that stare directly into his own while she begins chanting.
Petra vinctus, caro in lapidem (Stonebound, flesh to stone)
Terra complexus, notus eris. (Earth's embrace, you shall be known.)
Carnem ad petram, silentio ingemis, (petrify the flesh, in silence groan)
Manus petrae, tua sors evolabit. (Stone's grasp, your fate has flow.)
"By the Divines, she is using the Medusa spell!" The priest hears the following words of a forbidden spell coming from Nenya's mouth. "Shut your eyes!" The Priest yells.
"Fuck! DON'T LOOK AT HER!" Chrissy screams as she holds up her shield to cover her eyes as she falls on her butt while sliding in the mud, trying to stop.
Jarl Sidgeer, fueled by the desperation of seeing the woman he loves on the brink of being devoured, charges forward. With a fierce leap, he lands on the back of the monstrous wolf, driving his silver sword deep into the creature's flesh, aiming for its heart. Nenya and the werewolf lock eyes in an eerie, frozen stare as she continues to chant the ancient words, a magical battle of wills unfolding.
As the incantation unfolds, an otherworldly transformation begins. Flesh and fur slowly yield to an encroaching stiffness, cracks forming like fractures in time. The werewolf's anguished howls are stifled, silenced by the petrifying magic taking hold. Sidgeer's sword halted mid-strike, marks the creature now frozen in an eternal, stone-cold tableau.
Nenya, unable to look away, finally breaks the magical connection. A guttural scream escapes her lips, a mixture of pain and relief, as she collapses to the unforgiving ground. The once-rampaging werewolf, now a statue of its former terror, stands frozen in the aftermath of a battle between ancient forces.
After realizing the creature wasn't moving, the young Jarl heard the painful cries of his beloved and jumped down to go to her, crying out her name. "Nenya!" Runil stops him. "Don't she cast the Medusa spell."
"I don't care she needs me." Jarl Sidgeer cries out, trying to burst from Runil's grasp.
"No, you don't understand. The Medusa spell requires something to be sacrificed by the caster." Runil informs them.
"NO, she can't." Jarl Sidgeer cries, but the priest holds him back while Nenya lies in the mud screaming.
Thame Dareniton finally emerges from his house, his heavy boots stomping towards the Blood Jarl, his expression cold and unwavering. The fallen woman lies in the mud, her pained cries echoing in the air, but Thame remains focused on the approaching vampire leader.
"You need to remove him as Jarl. He brought this here with that elf scum," Thane Dareniton, the former Jarl, demands, jabbing an accusatory finger at his nephew.
"I am the FIRST JARL OF FALLS CREEK, and you do not order me," Blood Jarl Dissen sneers defiantly.
"I woke you!" Thane Dareniton yells, his face contorted with anger, as he confronts the Blood Jarl.
"I am not a puppet for you to control," Blood Jarl Dissen snarls, his hand tightening around the human's throat.
"I should be Jarl, not some boy who brought these elves into my town," Thane Dareniton whimpers, his tone filled with resentment.
"That boy has done more to protect my people than you have. Do you honestly believe my children haven't been watching?" Blood Jarl Dissen says, his voice dripping with disdain while tightening his grip around the man's throat. "Him and that elf have been prepping to protect my people while all you have done is complain. When you were Jarl, you wasted much of the resources of this land for your own personal wants and supporting another greedy Jarl instead of helping and protecting my BLOOD!"!"
"Hey, Borazon, that sounds like a pissing match. Do I need to step in?" Chrissy asks, her uncertainty evident as she grapples with whose side to take, her concern deepening as she can't bring herself to witness the unfolding scene.
"No, you don't, and yes, it is," Borazon says, still covering his eyes, his frustration apparent.
"Just checking," Chrissy says as she rises from the muddy ground, then inquires, "What about the screaming woman?"
"That spell only affects the living. I will check on her child," Blood Jarl Dissen says with authority. He hurls the former Jarl across the courtyard and signals one of his vampires to restrain the man with a nod of his head. He then cautiously approaches the woman whose screams have subsided. "Look at me, child," the Blood Jarl commands, forcing her to focus on him alone.
"What's happening?" Chrissy asks from behind her shield.
"I don't know. I am not looking," Borazon answers, maintaining his resolve.
"You may all look," Blood Jarl Dissen announces after the woman's anguished cries cease.
"Is she alright?" Chrissy inquires, slowly lowering her shield to catch a glimpse.
"She is unconscious. And I have wrapped what is left of her eyes," the Blood Jarl responds. "She will need rest and a healer."
"The healer is dead," one of the guards grimly reports. "We found what was left of his body this morning."
"All of my blood vampires know how to heal to a degree. They will assist if the wounded are beyond them. My daughter is a healer," Blood Jarl Dissen commands, then turns to the human jarl, saying, "Take her inside and tend to her."
Even torn between being with his beloved and helping his people, Jarl Sidgeer asserts, "I am the Jarl; I should be helping here."
"Take her inside, tend to her, and leave her with someone to watch over her, then come back out and help," Blood Jarl Dissen instructs in an almost fatherly tone. He then asks, "How many more werewolves are left?"
"We just killed the last two, my jarl," a vampire informs him.
"Good. Priests attend to the dead to ensure no one can raise these creatures or our blood. Guards check everyone to see if anyone has been bitten. They must be locked away to see if they will change if bitten. Humans and vampires must be checked to ensure this creature's evil does not continue," Blood Jarl Dissen commands. "I will be the first to be inspected." He raises his hands, turning for all to see he doesn't have a scratch on him.
"No offense, but I know vampires heal fast. How can we be sure you haven't healed over a wound?" Chrissy questions, shield, and sword ready.
"If I am not mistaken, according to legend, a wound from a werewolf to a vampire takes days to heal because they are creatures created by a God, while vampires are children of an Infernal," Runil explains as he walks over to the closest body.
"So?" Chrissy retorts.
"The vampires are considered a cursed race, while the werewolves are considered blessed. Blessings hurt the cursed more and take much longer to heal," Borazon elucidates.
"That is correct, human," Blood Jarl Dissen affirms.
"Then why did my stars hurt him so badly?" Chrissy points to the stone werewolf with open-looking wounds on its back.
"Blessed by a stronger god," Runil interjects. "Which god blessed them?"
"No clue. I didn't even know they were blessed until recently," Chrissy replies.
The next several hours unfolded in a flurry of activity as both humans and vampires underwent thorough inspections for bite marks. After Runil was checked and cleared, he dedicated himself to performing rituals over the deceased, ensuring they wouldn't become tools of the supernatural. Upon being examined, each guard was assigned various tasks; some were delegated to aid the wounded, while others took on the responsibility of dealing with the dead after Runil had completed his rites.
In the midst of this, Borazon and Chrissy underwent their examinations, emerging unscathed. Now, with a sense of urgency, Borazon sought out Samuel.
"Where is my grandson?"
"The child and his goat have been checked and cleared. They were taken to the herb shop to tend the goat's wounds better." Sexy told Chrissy.
"They are in the herb shop," Chrissy informed Borazon, and they made their way to the small building. Sexy stood guard outside, his massive frame not allowing him entry.
"Samuel?" Borazon called as soon as he entered, scanning the room for his grandson.
"Here, Grandpa. Nelly protected me from the werewolf and got hurt badly. This lady and Zira are trying to save her," Samuel cried, rushing into his grandfather's arms.
"Anything I can do to help?" Chrissy offered, joining them and comforting Nelly.
"Do you have more of that healing potion your horse gave us?" the vampire attending to Nelly asked.
"In my pack," Chrissy responded.
"Your pack is over there. Get it," the vampire directed. Chrissy retrieved the healing potion, but Samuel took it from her before she could hand it over. "I know what to do. I am so glad you came," he expressed, hugging her.
"My shop is too small for all of you. We have this covered, so why don't you two go outside and help?" Zira suggested.
"If you are sure," Borazon said, keeping a watchful eye on Samuel.
"Samuel can stay, but you two are more than likely needed for cleanup out there," Lavinia added, and Zira nodded in agreement.
"Come, we are on the way here. Sexy will watch them. If anyone tries anything, he'll stomp them," Chrissy told Borazon.
They headed out the door, finding Sexy steadfast in his position. As they walked past him, they heard soft barks.
"What the?" Borazon asks.
"Damn, I can't leave them in there," Chrissy said as she retrieved the puppies from their spots on Sexy. "Where's the Momma dog?" she questioned frantically, and the Momma dog approached, licking her hand. "Oh, you had me worried."
"She's a good dog," Lotz says as he approaches them. "How much do you want for her?"
"I am not selling her. I just found her. I am not stopping her if she wants to stay with you." Chrissy says, but the momma dog keeps sitting next to Chrissy.
"Well, if you want to sell me one of those pups. I would love to have one." Lotz says as he nods to the three pups in her arms.
"Again, not up to me," Chrissy says as she sees the lighter brown one who had first stolen her food standing on Sexy's butt, ready to attack, and it does. Lotz gets a fur ball and licks his face. "Looks like you have a pup."
"Thanks," Lotz says with a smile that Chrissy would say was bigger than Texas.
"Care full he likes to steal bear meat. Take good care of him, or you and I will have words." Chrissy smiles back.
"I will," Lotz says as he walks around checking on people with his new pup in his arms.
"And having those horses in the middle of the walkway isn't a good idea," Borazon remarks as he looks at the horses.
"I can take the horses to my barn," Gruffnar says, walking up to them.
"Are you okay? You took one hell of a hit." Borazon remarks, noticing the straw suck to a significant bump that was forming on Gruffnar's head.
"Yeah, but you should see the werewolf I got." Gruffnar smiles broadly as he thinks back to how he strung up the evil bastard who was trying to eat him and the horses in his barn.
"Is Ember alright? And what happened to the werewolf?" Borazon asks.
"Your horse is okay, but you remember where we put the elk?" Gruffnar says to Borazon, who nods.
"I will be skinning me a headless werewolf when I have time." Gruffnar smirks.
"Have you been checked?" Borazon asks.
"Checked for what?" Gruffnar asked, as he was not aware of the order from the Blood Jarl.
"Everyone has to be checked to see if they were bitten." Chrissy answers.
"No." Gruffnar answers.
"Let's see then," Borazon says as he raises his axe.
"Bossy old man," Gruffnar says as he lifts his arms and turns around for them to see he wasn't hurt.
"You aren't injured, but a bath would work wonders." Borazon laughs.
"I don't." Gruffnar starts to say but then sniffs himself. "Okay, maybe I do. You are still a bossy old man."
"Yup. How did you take that thing on all by yourself?" Borazon asks.
"It didn't like the runes I put up everywhere. Plus, I wasn't by myself, Volkana helped." Gruffnar says as he recalls how the werewolf couldn't stand straight anytime, it got near a rune.
"Runes like what's on your axe?" Chrissy asks.
Gruffnar shows her his pitchfork, which has several etched into it. "And my pitchfork."
"Actually, his not only has a spell on it plus those new runes but from what I can see, the spell and axe are quite old, which adds to their power." A mage vampire says.
"Don't sneak up on people." Gruffnar spits at the vampire who startled him.
"It's what I do." The vampire smirked and then left to check on others.
"I guess being dead doesn't mean you lose your sense of humor." Borazon smiles.
"True. I wonder if I can put some on my shield." Chrissy remarks.
"Wait, who are you?" Gruffnar demands.
"This is my friend Chrissy. Chrissy, this is Gruffnar, the stablemaster here." Borazon replies.
It takes Gruffnar a few moments to figure it out, but once he does, he slowly asks, "As in the?"
"Yup," Borazon answers.
At the answer, Gruffnar looks her up and down, then flatly states, "Thought you would be bigger."
"And I thought you would be less smelly. What did you do, roll in shit?" Chrissy says as she pinches her nose shut from the stench.
"Kind of." Gruffnar sheepishly remarks.
"What?" Borazon says while he is stepping back from the foul odor.
"Volkana, I, and that wolf crashed into the cart of shit," Gruffnar answers with a shrug.
Chrissy and Borazon snicker.
"Where is Volkana? Borazon asks.
Gruffnar points a thumb at his barn and answers, "Crying his eyes out."
"Why?" Borazon asks.
"Is he hurt?" Chrissy inquires.
"When we were fighting the werewolf, it destroyed my mead stash." Gruffnar shrugs.
"So?" Chrissy says.
"I am surprised you are not upset about losing your stash." Borazon points out.
"Volkana is an old drunk who doesn't like it when good mead goes to waste. Jokes on him, that stuff was bad." Gruffnar remarks as he remembers how Volkana slashed the werewolf with his knife and looked like a madman after the mead was destroyed.
"If that thing is strung up in your barn, I don't know if the horses will go there." Chrissy remarks.
"I'll put them in the outside pen until we get it cleaned up," Gruffnar says as he keeps eyeing the new horses. "What me to take the Metal one too?"
"No. He goes where he wants. Unless you want to try and force him." Chrissy says with a twinkle in her eyes.
Sexy shifts his weight to one hoof and cocks the other as if he is about to kick, making Gruffnar gulp out. "I'll stick with the normal horses. They don't kick as hard as him."
"Well, let's check on everyone and see how we can help. Gruffnar checked Volkana to make sure he wasn't bitten." Borazon says while walking towards some guards.
"Oh, great clean-up duty," Chrissy mutters as she hands the lead ropes to Gruffnar, who takes them.
Gruffnar walks the horses over to the pens and puts them in. He gives them some hay and removes the tack. He checks over each horse to ensure they haven't been hurt and is quite happy they haven't, as they looked like good horses, and he might be able to buy them. He then heads inside his barn to check on Volkana.