Wednesday, June 20, 2007
As the mass of dark figures approached, their corrupted weapons snarling with increasing fury, Trefain the Elder spoke quietly to himself in the ancient tongue. In his mind he recalled once again the darkest storm he had ever seen – one of the six-year typhoons that had come to his old home at Caer Nyss, the one that had taken his entire family – and felt the sudden buildup and release of pressure in his skull that always followed the invocation. Wisps of fog issued from the earth, the atmosphere thickening and expressing depth with moisture, and the wind began to scream as it wove paths around his armored frame and those of his battle brothers. Just as the storm became distinctly visible, taking the form of a swirling gray column amongst them, it whipped and pulsed outwards, towards their oncoming foe. They would need whatever advantage they could take against hardened savages such as these – Trefain had encountered such berzerkers before, and he knew they could be quite persistent in their endless pursuit of skulls for their patron. Through the fog and rain came several small objects, and though Trefain and his Wolf Guard identified them immediately, it was too late to substantively react. The fragmentation grenades exploded, scattering shards of fire and metal into the group, giving them pause ever so slightly, negating the precious few moments they might have otherwise stolen before the cresting wave of deadly madness descended and drowned them all.