Raemos leaned against the fence, a board propped against his raised knee as he, with a level, even hand, scribed words on a piece of paper that was held to it with his thumb.
Dear Vona,
Well, here I am in Soldul, land of darkness. I'm sorry I didn't write to you sooner: Things have been hectic.
He was, at long last, writing a letter to his sister. He had last written before he had been sent to Soldul, months ago. He needed to write his parents as well, but first... Vona. His sister was always first.
I told you of my mission, didn't I?
He couldn't remember if he had. It was not a secret mission, so he could have told her, but he might have forgotten in the chaos of preparing for it.
We are aiding a coastal village that was hit by the Mara, and the government of the Oblivionites has not yet offered aid. They are compassion-less as well as soul-less, for the villagers are some of the most honest, hardworking, brave folk I have ever met.
He looked out over the Sheron herd and smiled at the boy who rode on the back of a pack sheron, amidst the herd. The boy's leg was now a mere healing stump, and he held on tightly to compensate. Raemos waved fondly at him, and the boy, Raleigh, waved back. Despite having just a thigh and a stump, a consequence of the large and tempermental shade tree in the middle of the pasture, the boy was still cheerful. He worked every day, as hard as anybody else in the town. Raleigh was a perfect example of the fortitude of this quaint little town: even the youngest among these people were brave, and they were all working hard to rebuild and recover from the Mara.
And, until the Guardians had arrived, these people had been completely on their own. Raemos was flooded with bitter hatred for the nation that claimed to serve its people. He glared at the letter, his vitriol overflowing into his pen and onto the paper as he wrote fiercely.
I wonder how fast the foul Oblivionite army came to the aid of those in the city, as opposed to the good folk of this town?
But no, of course they would aid those in Obsidian city, that foul pit of scum and villainy. Their focus is destroying all that is good and right in the world, even when it is on their own soil.
They would leave these people to struggle, to harvest what pittance they could from trampled crops and dead sheron, and to survive the winter on meager supplies and barely-reconstructed buildings. If they don't take those precious supplies for their war, first.
He grumbled angrily at the thought. The behavior of the Oblivionite nation was reprehensible. Awful.
… And he could hardly believe that those Oblivionites were kin to the ones in the town. The ones here were people. The ones there, in the city, running this shadowed land? Monsters.
Thank goodness, then, for the Guardians. He was about to return his pen to the paper when a strange sound emerged from the farmlands in the distance, a rumble that was clear, but brief and indescribable. He looked towards it as the sheron mooed and huffed, bunching into a closer herd.
“Mister Raemos?” Raleigh called to him, “What is it?”
“I am going to check it out. Try to move the herd closer to town if you can?” said Raemos. He folded the letter and put it aside for the time being, hopping off the fence and stalking towards the fields. There were few people out in the fields today: most of the produce was harvested or destroyed, and the rest was only a matter of waiting: there was little mortal hands could do to hasten or improve the crops.
Thus, there should not be sounds at all, aside from the wind.
The odd noise came again, a sort of shuffling, hollow, and wet sound much like a grunt. It was perplexing – Raemos had never heard anything like it. Something moved amidst the fields, and Raemos put his hand – warily – on his wand.
Very likely a pest he thought. “Hey!” he shouted, continuing to approach, watching the ground for any little thieving feet.
Lets see what I scare up.He had been expecting silx or maybe a ghargon or a hastar, lurking around the vines and orchards for food or simple meandering. He was not expecting a mound of plant matter to rise up and
Look at him.
“What in Seren's name...?!” he exclaimed, as it stood, clearly humanoid in form, it's arms, legs and body made of tangled vines and its head made of a pumpkin on which a rough magical mark glowed. It charged at him, moving comically but quickly, and was soon joined by other plant mounds. They varied in size – some were squat, some were tall – but they all moved as if they were humanoid beasts and they all stank of magic.
He summoned his own magic, arcing it around him in a swirling storm of darkness, crackling with malevolent light as it drew energy from the inauspicious time of year.
His magic was hungry, and it longed to be used, tendrils struggling against his control and reaching out to the moving pumpkin-beings, seeking to tear them apart.
They continued to approach, however, and Raemos knew that he had been naïve to hope for anything more. Avoiding fights was preferable, and it was a fool who did not first bluff. But perhaps they didn't have the intelligence to be afraid, or they just were not afraid of dark magic.
They were malicious, though – Raemos could see it in the way they moved and in the sanguine glow of their magical sigil.
“Fine.” he murmured, drawing his sword. The light runes on it reacted to the magic that surrounded him, blazing to life in a fierce, defiant flash. He angled the outburst at one of the shambling pumpkin creatures, sending a lance of roiling magic straight through it. It collapsed to the ground, twitching before lying still and oozing its plant goo onto the ground.
The other three continued shambling towards him, and he decided not to hold his ground.
Instead, he charged, sword and wand in hand, and crashed into one of the monsters. He severed it's viny tendrils even as he buffeted its comrades with a wall of solidified shadows, holding them off so that he could take them on one by one.
Though its vines were cut, the pumpkin beast he had engaged attacked him with a powerful punch from what looked to be a roughly-shaped hand. He fended it off, slamming it with more of his magic, the shadowy energies all too willing to play and destroy after being contained for so long. It was difficult to control: the force of the magic crushed the pumpkin 'head', the innards – still normal from what Raemos could tell – splattering out with a tormented
thunk.
Raemos turned to the other two, raising his sword and wand hand together. “Repent, ye.” he intoned, though there was no need for an incantation or anybody around to hear, “Or be crushed beneath the shadows of Seren's wings!”
He brought his fists together and, happy to obey his command, his magic bent to his will and, with a sound like a wooden hammer crushing a gourd, the animated plant monsters were no more than pieces and mush.
I may have gone too far he thought, as he looked over their remains. He hoped he could retrieve at least some of the pumpkin parts, so that they could be used by the townspeople. He would, of course, have to report this, and likely they would have to start setting up magical wards to prevent any more of these creatures from arising from the precious crops...
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