The War of Gods

Chapter 2 - Part 5

Mavar nodded and began to move out, tapping Nerith and Joel lightly on their shoulders. None of them really saw him as a leader, but someone had to take charge, even if reluctantly. He quickly picked a house and marched towards it. He never thought of himself as a warrior until God had chosen him to be one, and who was he to question God's will?

Mavar called for God's power and felt it surge through him. God rumbled in the back of his mind and Mavar felt his arm stirring. Red sparks began zipping around his hand, so he extended it forwards.

"Eldritch Blast," he said, calmly.

A beam of crackling energy streaked towards the door, pushing, and reaping it free from its hinges. Mavar walked into the house along with an apprehensive Nerith.

"I... I'll stay outside... someone needs to keep watch." Joel said, sheepishly.

"We have a whole army coming to aid us, Joel." Mavar said dismissively.

"Better a thousand times careful than once dead."

Mavar rolled his eyes at the proverb and scanned the house.

It was a traditional middle-class house. The floor and the walls were of well-kept stone. Mavar imagined children playing with the wooden toys that were scattered on the floor. Mavar felt... cold, even though the hearth was still burning the last bit of coal. He frowned at the feeling.

Pillage the house, kill the people. No survivors. Mavar thought to himself, remembering the plan. An ominous set of stairs led to an upper floor.

"Toss the place, I'll check the upstairs." Mavar said.

He could feel Nerith glaring at him behind his back, much like many other people did. He hated it, but tried to ignore it.

As always.

Despite her little tantrum, she did as she was told. Mavar could hear her rummaging through the cupboards in the corner.

The upstairs were simple. A tiny corridor that led to three rooms. Quiet. Dark. Straight out of a horror story. That didn't bother Mavar, obviously.

One of the doors was slightly ajar. Mavar didn't bother sneaking his way to it, he was never that good at it anyway. He readied an Eldritch Blast, just in case, and casually opened the door.

He walked into a small room which had an organized mess feel to it. There was a desk with several wooden instruments, covered with a thin layer of sawdust and wood chips. Mavar noticed the block of wood with a leg, arm and half a torso poking out. A work in progress. Pity. On the other side of the room, there was an unfinished painting. The canvas depicted the view from the window during sunset. Could have been better.

There didn't seem to be anything of interest inside, so he turned the desk, slashed the painting and moved on to the next room. He was reaching for the door handle when he heard rustling from inside. He paused.

Ah, so this is where the little woodworker was. He opened the door, his other hand still glowing with small pieces of red lighting, pulled back, at the ready.

A head poked out of the bed inside, with long brown hair. Mavar approached slowly, with his hand ready, and then he saw her face, and stopped abruptly.

It was a child.