Songs of Souls

013: The Tide Turns at Lake Treffen

 - - - > xox K•A xox < - - -

A feral grin ripped across Kleinnard's face. "Wahahaha!" His heart pounded a primal rhythm, a drumbeat against his ribs echoing the stillness around Lake Treffen. Those mercenary rabble - easy pickings.

Beside him, the Vorst Warden, Vadorecht droned on. He barely listened. Old boars with his speeches. His fingers twitched, itching for his weapon. Soon, he'd paint this place red. He could smell their fear. He licked his lips, the grin splitting his face wider. Soon, the hunt begins.

Vadorecht's voice grated on his nerves like a rusty blade. "What mischief stirs in their bellies, abandoning the fort's embrace for open ground?" the old boar preened as he jabbed his spear into the ground, probably thinking himself clever as ever. "And attacking at dimlight... curious indeed."

"Wahahaha! They think they can outsmart us? These mongrels haven't got a fang between 'em!" He rapped his knuckles on his weapon's hilt, the sharp clack a taste of the carnage to come.

"Perhaps a test, Lieutenant." Vadorecht's raspy bark, a vulture's cry against the wind whipping across the lake. "A feint to gauge our strength." The old suid squinted at the approaching mercenaries. "Regardless, be on your guard. This sudden strike..."

He tuned him out. Treachery? Let the old boar wet himself with worry. These weren't strategists, they were prey.

"Two hundred mongrels, maybe?" He spat, a cruel laugh rattling in his chest. "They'll be whimpering for their mamas soon enough." He sank his grip into the handle of his weapon, pouring his energy into it. Air whirled around his fist, a gathering tempest. With a snarl, he unleashed a compressed vortex of air, an energy blade ripping forth from the weapon's heart.

"One hundred of you filthy hounds, WITH ME! The rest, stay back and watch the show." His words twisted into a hungry snarl. "We'll gut them like fish and leave 'em for the scavengers! Wahahaha!"

His weapon, the Extrusion Wind Hanger whistled, a sharp keen as it sliced through the air. Behind him, a hundred throats ripped a warcry into the dimming light. They were his hounds, and they were starving.

- - - > oxx Z•L xxo < - - -

Zevas threw back his head, a laugh ripping from his chest. "KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA! They're underestimating us? Good!" His command, a gravelly bellow, cut through the chaos: "Steady, lads! Hold the line!" His axe, old friend, felt reassuringly heavy in his grip. Even the dimming light of Solus glinted off the countless battles etched into his axe. "For Kreginnia! CHARGE!"

The earth itself seemed to shudder as his mercenaries charged. A wall of muscle and grit. Elemenium screeched against elemenium, the air alive with the crackle of unleashed energies. A flicker of movement on the battlefield – blue and black slashing through the ranks like a phantom wind. Coming straight for him.

"Shriek!" The impact rattled his teeth. Wind, sharp and sudden, tore at his beard. His axe, infused with his earth energy, held firm against the Miers boy's compressed air. Sparks showered around them, a whirlwind of dust choking the battlefield.

The Miers' voice, sharp as shattered glass, cut through the clangor. "Zevas, you turncoat!" Hatred contorted the boy's face, baring a sharp canine tooth in a snarl. "I'll end you!" The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Knew the boy would come for him.

"End me?" He threw back his head and roared, a laugh that echoed off the clashing energies. "KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA! Little Kleinnard's got jokes, that's a good one! Trying to sound all tough, are we?"

He swung his axe in a wide arc, putting his whole weight behind it. The boy was fast, though. A whistling sound, and the little Miers was gone. He grunted as something—that unruly wind—clipped him on the way past. The sting of it made his blood hum.