Arc 1: Chapter 27: Smite
When I stepped outside of the church, I no longer stood alone in Caelfall’s streets. The restless dead gathered in the bell tower’s shadow. Mistwalkers all, clad in the raiments of a dead kingdom, pallid faces framing hungry eyes.
Thunder rumbled above. A light rain began to fall.
“You were a fool to come back.” Vaughn, the Mistwalker commander I’d tailed on my first night in the village, faced me from the center of the street. Encased in a set of old, battered armor, he was near as tall as me, his wide shoulders made into metal hills by studded pauldrons. He held a heavy broadsword in his fist, the nicks of many campaigns marking its blade. He rode one of the brutish chimera the continental company had brought, which snickered at me, a purple tongue lolling.
Others surrounded him. A dozen or more, all of them forming a half ring around the front of the church, many lurking in the shadows of homes and shops. In the rain and mist, their armor seemed formed of pale shadows and their eyes gleamed with odlight.
There was no sign of Catrin. She’d betrayed me, then.
Perhaps this had always been her plan. Had she known what was inside of the church?
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the task I’d been given. The doom in my hand. I tightened my grip on the axe.
I regarded them all, and saw a few take nervous steps back. The Wil-O’ Wisps lurking within my pointed cowl made the inside of the hood glow with eerie blue light, masking my face. More of that light spilled from the narrow gap down the front of my cloak, which I’d wrapped about myself. I couldn’t see the effect myself, but I imagined it was uncanny.
The Wil-O’ Wisps giggled playfully, the sound just on the edge of hearing, and more of the ghouls began to lose hold of their bravado.
“I’m here for Orson Falconer,” I said, my voice emerging from the elf light with a faint echo. “Step aside.”
“Sure.” Vaughn lifted his scarred blade. Unlike the others, he was unimpressed. “We’ll do that.”