Sergeant Valerius Linder had no intentions to go to hell today. His schedule was packed.

By midday he was supposed to pick up the autopsy report from Skylar of the investigation squad. Then a quick trip to Brittlerock again, to make sure everything was in order in the mine-- which it usually wasn't when he was absent.

Still he yearned for a year long break from that place. But where would he go?

Back home?

That door had closed for him long ago. In fact, the whole purpose of drowning himself in work was precisely to avoid this pang of longing, for home was a rare luxury that he left behind many years past.

He turned to Corporal Clearstrike instead, glorious with her spiked helm and double bladed battle-axe.

"Let us see your skills with that axe of yours, shall we?"

✦✧✦✧

Before anyone could do much in the way of attacking and counter-attacking however, the chestnut mare Rendarr had brought panicked and kicked the leader of the Drisian soldiers squarely in the chest, sending the fairly large man flying back. He slammed against a tree trunk some dozen paces away and landed in a heap.

"Well, well," said Linder with a grin sly enough to rival Farren's own, "quite a lucky horse, this one. Wouldn't you agree, Corporal?"

"I'd take that as flirting, were we not surrounded and outnumbered," said Farren and rolled across the leaf strewn forest floor and dodged another arrow.

"Helm! Take out that damned archer, will you?" she shouted and reached into her cloak.

"Aye, Corporal!" said Helmer.

He turned to see Helmer pulling the arrow out of his thigh with a grimace. The boy then seized the vial of healing medicine Farren tossed toward him the next moment, downed it and unsheathed a long-knife from his boot. With the blade between his teeth, he scampered up a tree and vanished behind the branches.

Linder doubted Helmer had learnt all that in the training camps. The proud look on Farren's face was telling enough.

On his right, Gray drove his sword right through the visor of one of the Drisians. Rendarr was clobbering another's shield-- his blows desperate, competing with Gray as though this were a tournament in the Iron Arena.

Linder smiled.

"You may have won in the tournament, Corporal Tonlin," he said, calmly making his way over to the bandit's corpse they were examining earlier, "but Gray truly remains the best of all."

Rendarr growled at that, and changed his strategy. He dodged this time, letting his opponent's blade hit the air, which left the Drisian soldier exposed.

He lurched to sideways, and sank his sword deep into the Drisian's side-- gave it a savage twist, and yanked it out.

"Well, can Gray do this?" he said, standing over the corpse of his now dead opponent.

This was Gray's turn to go into a rage of slaughter. Blood spilled in a crimson rain, and the clashing of blades drowned the soft sounds of the woods around them.

All I need to do is to rile them up against each other, and I'll have two of the finest warriors at my side.

A shrill battle cry pierced his ears the next moment, and warm blood splattered across the side of his face. He looked up to see Farren's axe swing in a wide arc, mere feet from where he crouched beside the corpse.

By the Gods.

He had never seen anyone quite as lovely as her when she chopped the Drisian's head clean off. The strength of her strike sent the severed head spinning through the air.

But his reverie broke then, when she turned to him with a scowl.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I was under the impression that one is supposed to fight when surrounded by opponents."

"Which you are doing right now, and doing well. I have other things I must attend to."

He collected the silver clasp with the commander's insignia from the ground, the piece of cloak fabric from the corpse's hand, and tucked them neatly into a pouch strapped to his belt-- before they could get lost in the chaos. "This is important evidence, Corporal."

"Manipulation," she said, eyes darting to where Gray and Rendarr were engaged in combat with the rest of the soldiers, competing against each other, "is that the only weapon you have?"

His smile darkened, but did not waver. "No. But it is much deadlier than a sword at times."

A Drisian lunged at him the next moment, to which he did not need to bat an eye-- for Farren's blade clashed with theirs first. She kicked off the soldier and swung her axe again. The soldier dodged this time, and she missed by mere inches.

Linder, to Farren's aggravation, pulled out the piece of parchment upon which he had taken notes back in Brittlerock, and his raven feather quill.

"Excuse me, sir?" said Farren, her blade clashing into the soldier's steel shield with a deafening clang.

"This raven quill cost me a fortune, Corporal,” he said. “The seller claimed this would run even without ink, when there's sufficient bloodshed nearby. 'The Historian's Quill'-- he called it. The fellow was a wizard."

Since the fight was mostly taken care of, he might as well get some work done in the meantime.

True to the seller's words, the quill ran smoothly across the parchment, bright blue ink seeping out of it despite the fact he had not dipped it in an inkwell.

"-Attack on the carriage driver: possible attempt to seize the package sent by Rodormann.

-Evidence suggests an abduction of the commander by Drisian forces-- to be confirmed by the autopsy report.

-Possible motive behind the abduction -- the dagger within the package." -Linder wrote.

"Ah look, it works!" he said contentedly. "Fascinating, isn't it? Connect it to the myth that ravens collect the souls of the dead-- there you have it, a lovely little thing of sorcery."

"We need to have a talk about what you find lovely, sir." Farren cast it a fleeting glance. "Damned wizard sold you a cursed thing for all I know," she said. "Bad omen, things like those. Ravens are the harbingers of death, and you're carrying that blasted thing around in your pocket."

"That what makes it most appealing, dear Corporal," he said, scribbling.

"Draedona take you!" Farren cursed at him.

"Ah, I hope she hurries up."

Farren scoffed, and drove the lance-like head of her axe deep into a soldier's throat.

That was five of them down, but the leader, who had gotten to his feet, recovering from his fall was bad news. The man was huge, his warhammer nearly a two-third of his own height.

And he was heading straight for them.

"Your skills are rather admirable, I must admit," he said, "but don't you have anything... ranged?"

"Your manipulation ain't working on me, if that's what you're trying to do. But aye, I got 'em," she said, and lifted a part of her cloak to reveal smaller, single-bladed, throwing axes strapped to her belt.

"More axes!" she said with a rather crazed looking grin-- one that sent sparks through his heart.

Farren skidded to one side, boots kicking up dirt. Freeing one from its straps, she brought the throwing axe above her head, and flung it toward the leader of the Drisians before he had a chance to dodge.

The axe spun through the air in a deadly whirl before the blade slammed into his forehead and sank deep into his skull. The man reeled.

She turned to Linder with a dashing smile, which he returned. "Like what you see?"

Draedona save me from falling for this woman.

But the moment did not last long.

"Fools," the Drisian leader said, standing upright once again. He yanked the axe out from where it had lodged into his head, and smiled-- a ghastly grin. "Did you really think this would be that easy?"

"What in Rhilio's name is this man?" Rendarr said from afar.

The deep gash left on the large man's head from the blow of the axe oozed black blood. Before their startled eyes, the shattered frontal bones mended themselves, then the skin closed up-- clean and without so much as a scar. Looking down, Linder found his magical quill had leaked black ink all over the parchment, which had turned completely dark.

Ancient Sorcery.

I have to enter the fray after all.

Next came a sweeping blow from the Drisian leader's warhammer. Linder was on his feet at once. throwing one arm around Farren, he swept her out of the man's way. The hammer struck a rock, shattering it into countless chunks of stone that rained painfully upon them-- which he shielded her from by throwing himself before her. The hits dulled against his leather armour, but one stray rock knocked him hard on his temple.

Behind him, Farren let out a nervous chuckle. "Chivalry, eh?"

"It's having each other's back," said Linder, wiping blood off his forehead.

He unclasped his cloak, and tossed it aside with a flourish, but winced as the expensive piece of clothing landed on the dirty forest floor. From the leather scabbard strapped to his broad back, he whipped out a claymore. The tapering blade was of shimmering, tempered steel, the leather-bound grip snug in his gloved hands.

The warhammer struck his sword with a resounding clang. The impact of the collision sent jolts up his arms and shivers down his bones. Sparks flew.

Had it been ordinary steel, it would've shattered into two. But this sword was a gift from the most skilled smith in Brittlerock, whose son he had once rescued from a collapsed tunnel in the mine.

Linder held his ground. It took everything in him, his heels dug into the soil, but he did not budge.

Soon after, Farren's axe joined the effort and together, they managed to push back the attack.

Linder pulled away and sent a solid kick to the man's wrist in an attempt to disarm, although it felt more like hitting a tree trunk than flesh and bones.

"Wasn't expecting a claymore," said Farren breathlessly, "you struck me as rather bookish to wield such a huge blade. And I don't mean that as an innuendo or anything."

"Do not underestimate someone who can lift all of the volumes of Ryffin's books at once," he said, dodging another swing of the hammer.

Meanwhile, Rendarr and Gray had managed to take care of the rest, it seemed, for bodies now surrounded them, strewn across the sodden ground. Moments later, a human form fell from one of the surrounding trees and hit the ground with a thud.

The Drisian archer from earlier, his throat slit open.

But despite all, the leader was still standing and proving to be quite a challenge.

An arrow struck the man on his arm. Linder glanced around to see Helmer crouching on a high branch, armed with the bow and arrow of his recent victim. Another arrow hit the Drisian, this time on his shoulder.

"What foul sorcery is this?" Rendarr said, "the bastard bleeds black!"

The man simply let out a harsh laugh, and plucked the arrows out. The wounds closed up once again.

"Your blades have no effect on me."

Rendarr lunged at him nonetheless. His sword cut a deep slash across his arm, sending a splatter of black blood into the air.

But to no avail. This wound healed as well.

The Drisian grabbed Rendarr's sword, not bothering how it cut into his palm-- then with a flick of his wrist, shook him off the sword-grip as though he weighed nothing. Rendarr flew backwards and slammed into a boulder.

The Drisian broke his sword in half.

Another hit from his hammer sent Gray rolling across the forest floor.

Rhilio's mercy, this is going downhill fast.

Sorcery flared at Linder's side. Farren was channeling magic into her axe; she muttered a quiet incantation that sounded awfully like a very banned, very illegal assault spell. More specifically-- the spell of immobility.

"Corporal, don't--" he began, but she was already bounding up to the man.

"The law of restriction, aye?" she shouted, "well, screw the law!"

A flurry of desperate blows and swings assailed the Drisian next. But even magic had no effect upon the man, despite Farren giving it her all.

"Draedona take you!" she shrieked.

"Oh, she wishes she could!" The man let out a maniacal laugh even as his hammer clanged against her axe and sent it flying from her grip. But before he could deliver the finishing blow on her, a pair of arms grabbed the Drisian's waist from behind.

Rendarr's bloodied face, bruised and sporting one black eye, came into view behind the man. With a pained grunt, he lifted the man off his feet, like he had done to so many opponents in the Iron Arena tournaments.

"If..." Rendarr gasped under his considerable bulk, "blades fail to rend your flesh, sorcery eludes you, then I will tear you apart with my bare hands. Watch me--"

And with that, the champion of the hand-to-hand combat slammed the man down on the ground, raising a whirlwind of dried leaves and pine needles. The man's fist slammed into Rendarr's chest next, but now Gray joined him in the effort. From above, Helmer showered arrows down upon him, faster than he could heal.

It seemed, while weapons and magic failed, brute force worked-- at least restrained him somewhat.

Linder pulled Farren back to her feet and steered her away from the Drisian. She gasped for breath, having exhausted her reserves of magic.

"That was reckless, Farren!" he scolded.

She stared at him for a brief moment. "First time you call me by my name, and all you do is complain."

“I would sing you a serenade, but—” He gestured at the ongoing chaos around them.

Having caught her breath, she pulled herself upright. "I think I know what to do."

Linder raised an eyebrow. "Are we thinking the same thing?"

Farren answered him by unsheathing the crystal dagger, its green veins casting a sick glimmer in her eyes. It gleamed with a cold glow of its own, as though hungry for bloodshed. "This has to be our answer to this atrocity."

It seems we think alike, then.

But there was still one problem. "Even so, you'll have to reach him first without getting your skull cracked like a walnut," he said.

"Then you be the walnut," she said, and with a flutter of her blue cloak, she was scampering up the same tree Helmer had but minutes ago.

'Cover me' would've sounded so much better.

Claymore in his hands, he bounded again for the ongoing battle in the clearing.
But thankfully, he did not have to be the walnut for long, because Rendarr and Gray, although both sported bruises and from the looks of it, quite a few fractured ribs-- were tiring the man down.

But Linder's vision blurred the next moment, as the hammer struck his sword and the man sent a vicious blow to his chest with a studded boot. He landed painfully on his back. And Rendarr and Gray followed.

The lone Drisian, standing amidst the corpses of his fallen comrades let out a bestial roar.

Yet that was also his last.

The Drisian realized it soon after.

Farren landed upon his shoulders from the branches above, and sank the crystal dagger deep into his throat. Black blood sprayed everywhere, and this time, the wound did not heal. He tried to grab her, but missed-- she dug the blade into his heart next, tearing through chainmail.

His roar waned into a death cry as he shook Farren off him.

The large man reeled, then hit the ground, black blood seeping into the dry leaves.

He did not get up.

Nor did the others, one having exhausted her reserves of magic, the others-- broken bones and bleeding wounds.

✦✧✦✧

In the end, it fell to Helmer, the youngest of them to try and get his superiors back to safety.

It was at this moment that a certain Dark Saints carriage driver, yet again losing control on his horses, crashed right into the clearing.

Crowder took off his new hat, and looked around at the bloody scene with trepidation.

"By Edis," he said, glancing at Helmer, "what on earth happened here, kiddo?"