Finn Thaener 1
Lower Wind Month — Day 24
As the young villager slipped into the darkness of unconsciousness, Finn felt a strong urge to release a weary sigh. Yet he refrained, and with practiced care, turned her to her side, lest she meet her end choking upon her own vomit.
A braver soul was this girl, few were those who would stand defiant against these unholy abominations.
"Rest now, lass," he whispered, rising to his feet as he unsheathed Widow from its scabbard once again. "By dawn’s light, we’ll have your home rid of these foul creatures."
As if awaiting his words, Norbert’s magic finally broke.
The undead, by their thousands, came rushing…blending into bigger silhouettes under the beckoned of their unseen master. Finn let loose an empowered horizontal slash, favouring vastness over potency. There was little need for precision or caution with these feebler things as his foes.
His strike turned into a gusting wind blade, tearing through the nearest corpses and rendering them motionless.
He then dashed forward, and tore into the ranks of the undead like a vicious cyclone. His squad of fifteen followed his lead, and the night lit with the spells of his casters.
It was a bitter shame their arrival had not been swifter, for had they come sooner, perhaps the undead would not have laid waste to these good folk and their shelters still…
However Petuios had grown into a grander place in these past days, and kinder still to its common folk, thus moods were high and joyous. As a gesture of goodwill, many of the militaur personnel, Finn among them, were granted a week’s leisure to partake in the festivities and enjoy the opportunities bestowed by their god-touched king.
Opportunities which, as Finn soon discovered, he did not qualify for— the reason being the rank of captain, awarded to him without his prior knowledge, barred him and his primary family from such privileges.
Needless to say, he had been wroth at this, and it had been only through the soothing comforts of his sworn had he come to see the opportunity his new station afforded him.
Thus, he too ultimately succumbed to the revelry, becoming rather sluggish and reluctant to return to his duties when the time came.
This was further compounded by the knowledge that he was destined for an immediate expedition to aid the unaffiliated natives of this realm, who resided but a week’s journey from the borders of Petuios.
Of course, after the briefer was done with them, their reservations were expelled, and their spirits ablaze with righteous fury.
…yet still even with that, their journey had been long, with preparations burdened by distance and destinations many. One might think the villagers, free as they were, would gather close for defense— strengthening their stand against reavers and wild beasts alike. But, to their folly, they chose instead to scatter.
Alas this decision now became their undoing.
…Finn cleaved in two an armed skeleton, twisting to the side to avoid a claw from a turned bear that saw opportunity where there was none. With a well-aimed kick to its midriff, the furred undead exploded into a shower of gore and rotted blood.
In a kinder battle, such a display would have halted the enemy a fair bit. However these unholy creatures were removed from the feelings of mortal beings and rushed him still.
The momentum of his strike carried him through five more corpses before he brandished Widow again. The blade screeched with the power of his gust affinity, and the half-elf unleashed another flurry of wind sickles, slicing through the advancing horde once more.
"Be proper corpses, you foul creatures." He raged, advancing closer and closer towards the village that had been alight with fires over huts and grain fields…
There were many such villages, and even with their divisions, his men found it impossible to cover all those that had fallen victim to the ferocity of the undead spawn. It irked him greatly that he would have to surrender many of the fair folks to the hordes’ slaughter.
…he blurred across the things, dicing to pieces the rotten bodies of the abominations. Many reached for his after hazes, but his focus was on the more bestial of the turned.
Ogreish brutes threw stones and walls at him, yet with their aim so poor they did more to the lesser undead than to him who could cut their efforts before they achieved fruition.
Reaching one of these monsters, it brought down its man-sized club in hopes to splatter him. Finn sidestepped the attack and dashed between its legs before lopping off its knees with a clean slash, this was swiftly followed by an empowered diagonal hack to its shoulder back down to its hip.
It ceased its movements, falling to the ground with its back slit open to a point it was almost a proper cleave.
The half-elf ignored the foul stench and the sight of writhing worms feasting on the rotted innards of the dead monster. Instead, he elected to dodge an eager bite from one of the turned human, grabbing it by the neck and tossing it violently into a hut that was up in flames.
The collision exploded the undead and crumbled the shelter…
Poor materials. Poor design. Unskilled builders.
…he blurred aside under the urge of his instincts, avoiding a tossed log set to crush him. Without much hesitation, he fisted his unoccupied arm toward the tosser’s direction and sent forth one of the spells imbued within the custom gauntlet.
A restrained [Fire Stream] roared to life, launching a focused beam toward the undead ogre that fancied itself a champion. The spell roasted the creature within an instant, and carried further towards the dark skies until Finn cut it off.
"Curse that wretched enchanter," he spat, already sensing his items lose their potency. "These gauntlets cost me three thousand silver..."
He danced again, avoiding several turned goblins who desired to both claw and bite him. A blur of Widow’s brandishment saw the things as fist-sized chunks a second later.
"…it matters not," he said, dashing into another horde of hundreds. "I’ll have the army pay me five times the price of the cheap things."
He became yet another blur in that horde, and before a minute had passed, Finn was once more charging toward another throng, this one much nearer to the heart of the village.
The unholy things howled as he and his men dismantled them, but a true cleansing would still be needed to rid these lands of their foul aura.
A roar, fierce enough to shake both air and earth, shattered Finn’s focused slaughter. Snapping his gaze toward the sound, he beheld a necroswarm giant, fully formed, looming further back against the outskirts of the village.
«Captain.»
Norbert’s voice echoed through the commune earring, the shorter range ensuring a more secure use of the [Message] spell.
"In five seconds," he replied to the spatial caster. They needed to bring down the necroswarm giant before it further deepened the already heavy taint in this place.
Finn leaped into the air, sheathing his sword before clawing into the wind with a fierce whirl. An angry gust surged forth, slamming into the approaching undead and sending them crashing to the ground.
If the Nine favored him this day, they would grant him the necessary moments needed to bring the necroswarm giant to ruin undisturbed.
Before he could meet the earth, Norbert’s magic whisked him away, reappearing him several leagues above the towering undead giant.
Finn stretched his arms wide, feeling the currents swirl around him. He loosed his affinity to the skies, letting it fully entwine with the winds before he bent them to his will, harvesting their power and subduing their vastness…
The feat was no simple one, for his affinity was but modest, and his talent scarcely rose above the common. Yet in resolve and ambition, he was not found wanting, and thus he had sharpened his skills to a keener edge.
...a vast sphere of air, encompassing a third of the burning village, buckled to his will with unrestrained freedom. With a focused command, he compressed it, shaping the wind into a shimmering spear of concentrated force.
At last, the necroswarm giant sensed his presence, extending an arm to swat him away as if he were no more than a bothersome fly.
Foolish.
Finn threw his attack at it, and Norbert’s dome spell followed it:
"Grind 'em to dust, Gale Rapture!"
«[Thrice Boosted Magic: Sphere of Singularity—Fourth]!»
As his gust attacks struck the undead, spiraling into a fierce vortex, the caster's magic enveloped the unholy beast, isolating it within a void where its destruction would not spread.
It remained there still, visible yet untouched beneath the spatial sorcery the traverser had invoked.
Finn descended past the warped space, landing upon solid ground, subtly guiding his affinity to soften the impact. Soon after, he uncorked a potion capsule, banishing the fatigue that had begun to seep into his limbs from the overuse of his gift.
The replenishment concoction worked as intended, and a sigh escaped his lips. He truly cherished these elixirs; while they would return the fatigue thrice as potent in a few hours, for the moment, he felt invigorated.
A brazen unholy beast lunged at him, but Finn swatted it aside with little more than an empowered flick of his wrist.
He smiled even amidst this blind carnage. "That should be more than half of them undone, men. Let’s extend this courtesy to the rest of them."
«Aye, captain!» Came the collective affirmations from his men.
And so they butchered the vile creatures until the moon was but a few hours from setting, with only a few dozen of the wretched still wandering the streets of the ruined village.
...Finn dispatched those as well, fighting until first light, when the fatigue he had once banished returned with a vengeance, locking still his limbs.
"Agh, damned cheap potions." He cursed, watching as the ground grew lustful of his body. Fortunately, one of his men halted his fall.
"Please don’t blame the potions, captain. There was little need for you to push yourself this far." Finn did not recognize the voice of his savior. Though that was of little importance. The man effortlessly hoisted him onto his back, carrying him toward the mount-fields, a short distance from the village and nearer to the edge of the great forest.
"An oath was made," he said in his defence. "It would have been a grave dishonor to leave it unfulfilled."
The blond soldier chuckled, "You’re a fine man, captain. I see now why you were chosen for both this position and this venture."
Finn frowned, his gaze falling on the men, women, and youth beginning to appear— filthy and stricken with grief. He was not so arrogant as to blame himself for the losses and misery suffered here, that blame laid on the feet of the people behind all these unholy attacks.
Yet, this sight was no pleasant one, thus his doubts about the blond’s words of worthiness.
For some moments, they walked in silence until they came up the mount-field top.
There, countless tents had been erected to shelter the survivors of these grim events. Finn noticed Norbert had one of those portal contraptions set up, filtering through even more people from the other villages.
"How fared the other groups?" Finn asked, though he felt the answer was already clear.
"Worse than we’ve done here," the blond man replied, shaking his head. "Some places had Skeletal Dragons and Death Magi leading the charge. Brutis’s group managed to capture the culprits, but they took their own lives immediately after."
Finn frowned as they passed a group of children weeping under the care of an exhausted-looking older woman. "That’s...disappointing," he muttered.
"Worse than that, captain. It’s truly dismal," the blond said, sounding defeated. "Yet, many of these folk have not yet lost their spirit, and some have even offered to help with the aid and the cleansing."
Not long after, they reached their destination— his personal, spatially-altered tent, outfitted with a few functional luxuries. As the captain of this expedition and the appointed leader of the newly formed Basilisk Platoon, Finn Thaener enjoyed a great many perks…
Thorne, the name of the blond man who had carried him, dropped him off and immediately headed towards the meal-site.
Finn, rather than seeking rest, slipped onto his finger a newly forged and anchored ring, one of the many perks granted to him.
The much-acclaimed Ring of Sustenance!
No sooner had he donned it than he felt the weight of his fatigue lessen, and the hunger in his belly fade away. Without a second thought, he resolved to take a meal and rest for a few hours more.
"This is an insidious item."
Yet it seemed the gods had withdrawn their favor, for just as he neared his tent’s entrance, he saw Brutis approaching.
"We’ve received additional orders from high command, captain. Intamohtar Punito has commanded that you establish a proper administrative structure for these villagers by week’s end."
"Fuck!" Finn swore, loudly. Of course, the wretched burden of paperwork would fall upon this rank.
——
AN: Some Terms
1. Elgroth — The name of the nation.
2. Velena — The name of the Palace (Velena Palace)
3. Petuios — The name of the city (The Royal Capital of Elgroth is Petuios).
4. Intamohtar — Chief Strategist