“These bloody bandits will pay for their crimes!”
Announced suddenly and without prompt, the youngest member of the militia squad practically shouted the statement, and then looked around nervously to the rest of his mates, clearly looking for support.
None was found, these were all dour-faced men, they knew how well the bandits were equipped and manned. We were trained to contend with the simple weapons and fare they had been reported to have, not this. Bows, real swords, even mages at times. We were not prepared for the mages most of all.
We lost three men during the initial attack, we surrounded their camp and tried to flush them out. It didn’t matter how careful our planning was, all strategies went out the window when fireballs and bolts of lightning came flying out of their main camp building, sizzling the ground and igniting the trees nearby. Everyone hugged the ground, thinking the casting can’t go on forever, I knew magic of this level takes a heavy toll on its user. That was our saving grace, in the end.
We pushed forward, sieging the house. Mages are notorious for not enjoying hand-to-hand combat and we counted on that, sweeping aside the stragglers who were just as dazzled as we were by the pyrotechnics.
A haze of smoke and wreckage littered the campgrounds, the blasts and discharges creating a sort of under-canopy which reduced visibility to mere yalms. From the building, there was a great eruption of wood splinters and noise, cascading across the ground. The door was blown off the building and standing there was this shabbily dressed mage, staring into the night.
I pushed ahead, using my size to my advantage as I got closer, sticking to shadows and trying desperately to flank this maddened mage. He was screaming something incoherent, raising his staff into the air and charging his magic for another no doubt deadly blast. Acting quickly, and while some stairs below him, I used my shield to sweep his legs out from underneath him. He was so entranced with his own power that he failed to react, he landed hard on his side, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
Before he was able to consider his next move, I smashed his staff from his hands, sending it spiraling out into the night. We recovered it later, it was a craggy shattered thing, how it managed to not explode in his hands was a miracle.
As he started to right himself to recover, a punch square in the forehead sent him reeling, disoriented and spinning back into the house.
“Secure the rest, then cover me!” I shouted, sprinting after the mage into the house. It was dark, and only lit by the fires and torches outside. Shadows shifted and loomed in the mid-twilight of the Shroud, and I couldn’t see the mage anymore. Knowing I had maybe a few minutes before he was able to cast again, I cast my eyes around, looking for any sign of the man. In the corner, behind a turned-over table, I found him cowering.
“You have no staff, no crew and no hope. Surrender and we will prosecute you fairly.” It was my only warning; I knew better than to relax my guard. His anxiety suddenly sagged, and he started nodding “Yes, surrender, yes.”
My sword out and pointed at him, I followed his advance from around the table towards me. I didn’t see his face; I looked at his hands. A man’s hands, mage or not, will tell you way more than their face. He twitched, pushed a hand out and started shouting something with far too many vowels in it. I panicked, remembering the devastation outside this hovel and pushed my sword into his chest, making sure I didn’t stop until it came out the other side.
I was commended by the militia’s office for bravery and decision-making in the heart of battle. I was promoted for the cost of a man’s life. That still sits unwell with me.