From behind the eastern statue the humanoid figure stepped out, rushing across the top of the hill towards Tradden, a blade flashing in the rising sun.

It was an orc, even Khalin could see that from the bottom of the hill. Not a hulking brute this time, but something more lithe and quick. It scampered behind Tradden’s back before anyone could shout an alarm and cut across the young fighter with its curved blade.

Despite its advantage Tradden managed to notice the blade at the last moment, sidestepping quickly as it whistled past his ear.

The young fighter was surrounded now, all alone at the top of the hill.

Beltak could see Tradden, or at least the top half of him, and could also see the top half of two orcs cutting at him with their blades. The young fighter was holding them off admirably, but Beltak knew it would only be a matter of time before they gained the advantage.

With an uncharacteristic yell the scribe took off, scrambling up the slope.

With a shower of soil the scribe was up to the top. He took in a moment to survey the scene, confusion passing his face for a moment, before deciding on his action.

The orcs were flanking Tradden, but Beltak thought he could play them at their own game. He continued his charge across the hill, mace raised and shield before him.

Beltak led with his shield, rather than the mace, catching the orc by surprise. The scribe knocked the thing back and followed through to protect Tradden’s back.

The orc growled as Beltak pushed away its ally. It stared at Tradden and the fighter’s whirling blades trying to gauge his weakness. Around one of its eyes were three red welts as though it had been cut or marked in the past, its red-lined eye studying the fighter intensely.

With a quick shift of stance it dropped and tryied to cut Tradden’s feet out from under him.

With the threat from behind him removed Tradden could start to move his own feet just as well as this orc’s and leapt high above the blade with a flourish.

As steel met steel near the statues the clashes rang out across the top of the hill. Faint guttural shouts could be heard, echoing from somewhere, before a multitude of sharp rings of metal on rock sounded out.

The clash of steel also seemed to wake the numerous black birds sat silently and motionless in the gnarled trees surrounding the hill. With a cacophony of cries they swarmed into the air, coalescing as if a dark cloud, menacing in the air.

The bush to the west rustled freely and not from any wind. From within another orc stood, a baleful crossbow in its hand loaded with a flaming bolt. It took a moment for it to aim and then it let fire.

Despite the long range and the base of the broken statue providing some cover, the bolt sang across the hill and into Tradden’s side. A curious green fire started to wrap itself around the young fighter’s cloak. Curious until it started to burn.

The shouts and clang of steel on stone multiplied and both Kireth and Tradden spotted steel hooks the size of pumpkins lodge on the edge of the “mouth” of the stone. Ropes from the backs of them led down into the darkness. Ropes which were taut and faintly moving as if someone were climbing them.

The bolt cut across the orc’s arm, but the thing was so intent on Tradden it hardly seemed to notice. Zero took the opportunity to creep forwards into the bush and duck down, hopefully out of sight.

Almost at the same time Zero’s bolt left his crossbow another orc appeared atop the stone face. It leapt up from the eye socket, where it had been hiding and levelled its crossbow at Tradden in the centre of the melee. It paused for a moment, gathering its aim and then let fly.

The bolt zipped across the hill and struck Tradden on his swordarm, numbing it for a moment, but thankfully not piercing the skin through his Eladrin chain.

Zero switched targets effortlessly, catching the orc that Beltak had tried to bowl over in its shoulder, the bolt sticking out from its armour.

From behind the large twisted tree towards the north of the hill another orc appeared, crossbow in hand. Its cover was blown but the toothy grin upon its face suggested it did not mind. It aimed quickly and a bolt trailing flame skimmed across the hill towards Tradden.

The bolt smashed into the white stone of the broken statue beside Tradden, almost startling the young fighter.

With continued strikes more hooks joined the others, perhaps a dozen or so in total. The first set appeared quite taut and out of the corner of his overworked eye, Tradden could see a hand or two grab hold of the lips of the mouth and orc-like bodies start to pull themselves up.

The green fire from the crossbow bolt that had lodged itself within Tradden’s cloak began to spread, flickering up onto the young fighter’s sword arm, burning and itching the skin.

The satisfaction of solid contact was diminished as the fire started to spread further up his arm, despite the quick movements that he hoped would extinguish its flame.

As quickly as Tradden swung the orc slipped away, reeling with the blow to its arm to soften its impact and attempting to blindside Beltak.

It span with its wicked-edged blade at the scribe, aiming for a high cut at Beltak’s head.

But the scimitar caught in the low branches of the gnarled tree and Beltak was spared. The orc glared at the scribe, its strangely cut eye transfixed upon him with a hateful stare.

Faced with what appeared to be a quick and powerful opponent, Beltak knew he would be no match if he stood toe-to-toe. He drew back swiftly, moving to the base of the broken statue.

Noticing the green flames spreading up Tradden’s cloak the scribe pulled out his holy symbol and began the incantations to summon the power of Pelor. He held it out in front of him, between his own eyes and those of the glaring orc.

A beam of glorious light sprang out from the symbol, burning the orc before him and bathing Tradden with a soft light.

The flames began to die out, but as quickly as the light from Beltak’s symbol had come it went out and the green baleful fire began to lick the corners of the young fighter’s cloak once more.

The orc in front of Tradden began to duck and dodge, swinging its scimitar expertly in its hands. As it tried to move Tradden was ready and cut off several of its attempts to back out of his reach. With a growl it seemed to be resolved to be rooted to the spot and thrust its blade out in a feint before slicing it backwards across Tradden’s face.

With a graceful ease Tradden leant back and let the blade pass only an inch or so from his face before resuming his stance, almost a chuckle upon his lips.

Hands appeared at the top of some of the ropes and grappling hooks at the top of the “mouth” and from within the darkness a number of orcs began to slowly pull themselves up and onto the stone of the face on the hill.

They were taller than the other orcs already set on the battlefield, thicker of arm and wider of neck, but just as ugly. They looked out across the hill and ordered on by the orc crouched in the eye socket, turned towards Tradden.

The first pushed past another, almost knocking it back into the void of the “mouth” in its obvious delight in readying itself for the kill.

The one pushed out of the way followed the first, bursting past it and coming right up to the young fighter, its breath hot, stale and loathsome against Tradden’s face.

One of the orcs at the bottom of the “mouth” headed towards Tradden at the command of the heretic.

The last skirted a little to the side, down the face’s stone chin, more towards the shadowblade than Tradden’s side.

All the orcs drew short handaxes as they charged and howled as though they were some sort of pack of wolves.

With screeches that began to echo around the hill the birds began to flock together, forming a whirling circle over the bush to the northwest that had recently been ‘vacated’ by one of the orcs under Kireth’s spell.

Whirling as one they began to swoop and dart towards Kireth, Zero, and Khalin.

The birds continued to caw and screech into the air as they moved, never still, and difficult to hit a single one of the creatures in flight. Black as night they blocked out anything behind them as though they were a wall of feathers.

At the bottom of the slope the orc that had tumbled down groaned and picked itself up.

It began to scramble up the steep sides of the hill in a shower of mud and rocks.

However, the thing slipped a couple of times, falling flat on its face more than once as it scraped its way back towards the shelter of the bush.

From there it drew its crossbow once more and readied another flickering bolt.

Energy crackled around Tradden as the mage’s bolt slammed into the brutush orc in front of him. There was a moment of bright light and confusion, followed by the foul smell of charred flesh. Three of the orcs fell as they charged, the energy of Kireth’s spell consuming them in a display of arcing energy.

More orcs poured out of the blackness of the mouth, pulling themselves up and onto the hillside on their ropes. They appeared to be taking directions from the orc furthest away, behind the gnarled tree, concentrating on swarming over the fighters.

They moved swiftly for their size, readying axes as they moved.

A pair of them clamboured over the smoking corpses of their comrades without any thought or concern, lurching into Tradden’s view with howls and cheers of combat. The others kept off to the east, arcing around in a wide circle.

The bolt caught the orc in the gut as it ran and it toppled over into the dirt. Zero kept running.

Running in an arc to keep away from the black birds Zero skirted the broken statue, crushing some of the white stone under his feet as he ran.

The orc crouched in the eye socket of the face had reloaded its crossbow and rose up to take another shot at Tradden. However, out of the corner of its eye it noticed the dark clothed figure of Zero pass by the white stone of the statue and the orc licked its lips.

The bolt struck Zero on his right shoulder, spreading a green flame up to his neck that caused the rogue to cry out in alarm. The flame seemed to grow too quickly, burning where there was no fuel, growing in shape and size until it sprouted wings that beat against the rogue’s face in a wave of heat.

As the hammer struck the orc it crushed it against the tree, snapping off a branch in a great crack and sending the orc sprawling to the floor where it did not get up.

At the far side of the battlefield, beyond the stone face, the orc behind the tree casually slipped out from its hiding place with its crossbow before it. It moved swifty and surely towards the melee, looking for an opening to shoot.

With the main combatants to choose from it chose the one that had just struck down one of its comrades, pulverising it against a tree. Better to pick off the strong ones quickly. It whispered a curse and let fly with its green-flamed bolt.

The orc’s aim was true, the bolt whistling across the hill leaving a green trail. It skimmed past the warlord’s outraised shield and struck him on the arm. His

More of the brutish orcs appeared at the rim of the mouth, spewing out like vomit and scrambling up and onto the lips of the white stone. They drew handaxes as they reached the top and listened to barking orders from the crossbow-wielding orcs that seemed to be controlling the battlefield.

They split east and west, coming around in two steady arcs to cut off the fighters now engaged in the central melee.

Green flames continued to lap around Tradden’s cloak and arm, a harsh pain growing every moment.

Amazed at Tradden’s feint and lunge, Beltak backed off, hoping to finish the bleeding orc before it and help the young fighter at the same time.

Uttering another soft prayer the scribe held out his holy symbol and the light of Pelor pulsed outwards once more, covering the orc in an intense glow and surrounding Tradden with a halo.

The orc slumped against the broken statue, life finally snuffed out from its eyes.

Tradden, however, felt a surge of warmth and energy.

The flames on Tradden’s cloak spluttered out, much to the young fighter’s relief. Beltak, however, continued his prayers, calling on Pelor to strengthen Tradden’s arm with the glory of His light.

The light washed over Tradden and the pain from the burns from the green flame subsided into a dull ache.

As Zero headed northwards towards the face in the hill, whistling softly to himself at Tradden’s swordplay, the crows cried out, swirling together and altered their course.

They were swift, moving together in an endless swarm of beak and claw. Within moments they caught up with and enveloped the rogue.

They flocked around his head, scratching with their claws, biting with their beaks, catching in his cloak and hood and sleeves. They were all over him and began to peck at his eyes.

Zero’s eyes stung as he flapped his own arms in attempt to ward off the birds. They pulled at his hair and kept their beaks and claws tearing at his vision. He couldn’t see any more, and the world went dark, his ears assaulted with the sound of the crows’ call.

The orc settled in the bush to the northwest had finally found its composure after its tumble down the hill.

It plotted its revenge carefully, slipping slowly forwards through the bush, hoping to keep some form of cover and yet get a better sight on its target.

It spent a moment levelling its crossbow at Kireth’s head, its finger cocked over the trigger. It then hissed, as if with some regret, and lowered its sights a little and off to the side, its aim centred upon Kireth’s left arm.

It squeezed the trigger as it uttered a sharp curse.

Kireth felt a sharp pain in his forearm and looked down. His arm was alight with a searing green flame, the flickering edges rampant upon his robes. It began to spread quickly and he feared it would engulf him within moments.

The flames on Kireth’s sleeve began to intensify, leaping up and dancing across his chest. He found it hard to breathe and panic set in.

Through the pain and confusion of the orc’s flames, however, the power would not spring to his lips and the spell faded as quickly as it came.

The flames died to a flicker and then to nothing and the pain, but not the anger, subsided.

Zero was surrounded by a cacophony of noise, a pain in his eyes where the birds were pecking, and the sharp taste of pain on his right shoulder and neck where the green flames spread and licked their rasping tongues against him.

The pecking and clutching with claws at Zero’s face continued despite the flame.

Even through the cacophony of birds he could hear the clash of battle, and headed towards that whilst flailing around with his crossbow.

As he moved the birds rose and swelled darting back at him, tearing at his clothes and hair.

Zero kept on going, though, breaking out of the churning mass and staggering blindly towards the mouth.

However, orcs had closed in since Zero had last seen the battlefield clearly and as he staggered past one it gleefully swung its axe at the rogue’s back.

The rogue reeled with the blow and staggered onwards, feeling his footing reach the stone face.

It was only at the last moment, as his front foot felt just air, that he stopped, teetering on the edge of abyss, unable to see, and now very afraid of the position he had put himself in.

A moment’s calm passed over him on that brink, his mind clearing and the flames subsiding. He tried to steady his nerves and will his eyes to see.

Seeing the rogue stagger to the brink of the mouth the orc in the hollow of the face’s eye jumped up and began scampering off to the west over the bridge of the nose.

It planted its feet firmly in the ground and then raised its crossbow, taking a shot at the tall fighter stood atop the fallen orcs.

The bolt flew wide, however, Tradden easily weaving to one side as it whistled past harmlessly.

The rush of adrenaline from Khalin’s charge started to seep away as the green flame from the orc’s bolt began to spread and burn at the warlord’s skin.

The lithe orc from the north continued to scamper south, heading for the erect statue.

It drew a crossbow bolt as it ran, slotting it into place. As it reached the statue it turned quickly, whispering over the bolt and firing in Zero’s direction.

The confusion of Khalin’s cries and charge interrupted the orc’s concentration, however, and the bolt was wayward.

The two orcs closest to Khalin snarled at the dwarf, swinging their axes eagerly to taste some flesh.

Both axes crashed past Khalin’s shield, pushing the dwarf backwards for a dizzying moment.

The other pair of orcs, separated by the white face, nodded at each other and charged at Zero.

Zero felt the find go out of him and a sharp pain down his arm as the orcs buffeted into him. He just managed to get some semblance of protection as he heard them clatter across the white stone.

As the young fighter turned to charge off to the east the two orcs returned blows of their own.

Both axes cut across Tradden’s back, but did not deter the young fighter.

Tradden slammed into the orc hiding behind the statue, but as he prepared to swing once more, buoyed by Khalin’s roar of approval, the orc stared back with large black eyes and disappeared.

It reappeared in a flash of green flame further to Tradden’s south.

Beltak took a long look at Kireth. The mage looked to have recovered some of his strength and had the familiar fire in his eyes. For now, at least, the mage would live to pour his own sense of power across the battlefield. Beltak had to make plans of his own.

Zero was in a precarious position, so the scribe moved forwards, calling to Kireth to follow him.

The scribe began to chant as he moved, pulling forth his symbol. As he stopped short of the orcs a burst of light exploded outwards in a circle, covering the orcs and Zero and washing back over Kireth and the screaming crows.

The orcs looked visibly drained by the light, but Kireth and Zero felt a renewed energy.

Beltak looked back over his shoulder at the mage and then back towards Zero, seeming to make a decision.

With his holy symbol still stretched out before him, Beltak mouthed another prayer and a burst of light broke out towards Zero.

The strands of light cut straight through the orcs and they fell backwards, almost tumbling into the abyss. Zero could feel them fall and a wave of relief passed over him.

Beltak backed off, moving back towards Kireth to protect the mage.

Content with his position, Beltak thrust out his shield in the direction of the crows.

The crows wheeled and turned, cawing and screeching, searching with their black, beady eyes for their target. The flocked to the north, moving around the broken statue and heading towards the white stone face.

The birds ignored Khalin, but the dwarf could not ignore them. They swarmed over his head, pecking, biting and clawing as they went. The dwarf swung out with his hammer almost by reflex, hoping to beat them away.

The warlord squished a couple of birds, but most escaped in a flurry of feathers, the flock kept moving.

The birds settled over Zero just as the rogue’s sight began to clear

Zero could see himself staring into a dark abyss, perhaps fifty or more feet to the bottom where the rogue could swear he saw the glints of sharp spikes. His enlightened view was disturbed as the brids swarmed all around him once more and resumed their incessant chattering and volleys of sharp pecks at his eyes.

Try as he might he could not protect his face enough to stop the birds getting through and the swift glimpse of light disappeared once again.

The orc in the bush sprinted out from its cover, skirting the edge of the rise to get around the south of Kireth and Beltak.

Its crossbow levelled at the scribe, and it let fly with another green-streaked flame.

The bolt struck Beltak in the thigh and the now-familiar green flame began to spread rapidly up his legs.

Wisps of shadow stretched up from the ground beneath the orc’s feet, but were thin and pale against the orc’s legs. Kireth scowled as the shadows refused to respond to his call and did not clutch and tear at the thing’s legs.

The birds continued to peck and scratch with their claws at Zero’s face, pushing the rogue ever so slowly towards the gaping void before him.

As he threw himself into the void the birds swarmed, calling out with high pitched screeches, and tore at his skin and face with renewed vigour.

They tore at his hair and his eyes, drawing a thin line of blood down the rogue’s cheek as he continued his descent.

Hoping that he’d find some foothold before the rope ran out and that the crows didn’t follow the rogue slowly shimmied down into the depths.

The rogue disappeared into the darkness and the rope went slack.

The orc in to the north slid quickly across the ground and mounted the white face, straddling the nose with its legs.

It licked its lips as it raised its crossbow, picking out the mage in the centre of the melee. The mage, for all its bluster, was weakening, and the orc took advantage.

This bolt struck Kireth in the shoulder, just as he had completed his spell against the other orc. The mage let out an angry grunt and his face reddened as the pain leapt up from the green fire.

As the dwarf moved off the orc swung its axe at his retreating back.

The axe stung, but it did not stop Khalin moving away.

The dwarf ended up facing the flurry of birds as they whirled around the edge of the mouth, already biting and pecking at him.

The orc with the crossbow, seemingly appearing from nowhere, continued to move, stepping lightly towards the southern end of the hill.

It kept its crossbow levelled at the mage as it ran, taking the shot as it finally came to a standstill.

Another flaming bolt struck the mage, spreading the green flames further and further up towards his face.

The remaining orc snarled at the retreating dwarf, enraged by the warlord’s taunts, charging at him with its axe held high.

The bulk of the orc crushed Khalin back a little, knocking the wind out of him.

Tradden was sure he had nicked the orc but once again it stared at him with perfect black orbs of eyes and then blinked out of existence. Suddenly the warrior was fighting thin air.

Beltak saw the orc Khalin had pointed out charge into the dwarf, but was distracted a moment by the green flame that was rapidly spreading over his body.

Patting out the flames the best he could he thought about how best to help the warlord. Seeming to come to a decision he strode forwards, holy symbol outstretched.

As he neared the orc a flash of light spread out in a circle around him, scattering both the crows and ruffling the orc’s leathers.

The orc laughed as the light appeared to have no effect, but Beltak did not seem to be finished. He continued his chants and a crackling web of energy stretched out ten feet in all directions around him, sparking and glowing.

With his feet set and a long stare at the orc in front, he turned briefly to the green flames.

After a few moments the flames died down and Beltak looked back at the orc, awiting its fate.

The crows wheeled and circled above the blackness of the mouth, screeching at their lost prey below. Scattered by Beltak’s wind they soon reformed and began to seek out a new target.

They swarmed over Khalin, allowing the warlord to swipe at them with his hammer.

Khalin swung hard, but the birds simply dodged out of his way. He caught a couple of the wing, felling them, but the swarm kept on moving.

The birds consumed Khalin, those outside of the swarm could not see the dwarf, and within moments they had Beltak within their heart as well. The scribe managed a last swing at the birds before he too descended into darkness.

Beltak managed to splatter one of the black birds but there were far too many.

With high-pitched calls the birds began to cyclone around Khalin’s head, biting, pecking, and scratching wherever they could find purchase.

The world went black for the dwarf as pain and tears fled to his eyes.

The heretic started to back off from Kireth, wary of the shadows that softly clutched its legs.

As it moved backwards the shadows grasped tightly, chilling the orc’s legs with an unnatural power.

It gingerly continued to creep backwards whilst raising its crossbow.

Free from the shackles of Kireth’s spell it pointed the crossbow at the mage in retaliation and let fly.

This time, however, the bolt sailed wide and it was Kireth’s turn to smile.

Flames continued to spread around Kireth, their green tinge reflected in the mage’s white face.

The force bolt smashed against the orc’s chest, the pale energy reflected starkly in the creature’s widening black eyes.

The flames died down and Kireth could concentrate once more.

The uninjured orc, straddled across the nose of the white stone face couldn’t see most of the battle  — the crows blocked most of its view of the other combatants.

It skipped down off the nose, heading across to the west to get a better line of sight.

It grunted as it still couldn’s see much, the crows still flocking around in a dark cloud, and then the broken statue giving the mage some cover. It moved again.

It scampered towards the bush, trying to get some cover of its own, hoping that it would get a clean shot at the next opportunity.

The crows attacked the warlord’s face with ferocity, ignoring his helm and shield, ducking within his defences easily as the blinded dwarf was helpless to their attacks.

Khalin couldn’t see, but he felt the radiant warmth of one of Beltak’s prayers cling to his legs and bestow him the energy he needed to help fight in the darkness.

The swing drew feathers from the birds as they darted to avoid the weapon, but the strike did not make contact with anything other than air, almost toppling the dwarf over.

The orc that had been struck by Tradden and had flickered out of sight before returning to the southeast quickly moved further away from the fighter, rounding the statue.

It took stock of the situation and then aimed its crossbow at Kireth, the mage likely to be the most powerful of the opponents.

Again the bolt whizzed past Kireth’s shoulder, drawing a confident smile from the mage.

The last of the brutish orcs started forwards towards Beltak, but the web of glittering strands held it firm. They crackled up around its thighs, burning and searing its flesh.

Its legs gave way and the orc fell to the ground, covered in the sparking and searing web of light.

As the creature fell, distant shouts echoing around the mouth drifted upwards — barked orders, perhaps, a fluttering of Common directing something to get up the ropes.

Menacingly, the grappling hooks that could be seen began to twitch, as though something else was climbing up.

Beltak was blinded within the crows’ embrace. They beaks and claws scratched at his head and face as he tried to fend them off.

The scribe took heart at the glowing strands of divine energy below him, however, basking in the glow of the light of Pelor.

It refreshed him somewhat, giving him the strength to continue his prayers and sustain the crackling web below him.

Although he could not see for the mass of birds and that attempting to stand still and pray for all his might would only give the birds further opportunity to strike and peck at him, he understood it was the only way Pelor’s gifts could assist him. He began a familair prayer…

As he stood the crows took their chance, whirling around his arms and unprotected face, darting in and striking quickly with sharp beaks and razor claws.

Thin traces of blood speckled from the corners of Beltak’s eyes, but it did not deter the priest. He continued his prayes and a searing light arrowed from his holy symbol through the mass of black feathers.

It did not catch all of the birds, merely those in the line of the radiant light at the time, but Beltak could tell through the calls and cries of the birds that he had hurt them. He softly prayed to Pelor once more to aid him.

His symbol began to glow a soft yellow before returning to its normal state. Beltak managed to get his shield and arm around his head to try to prevent the birds from further mischief.

The crows circled around the scribe and the dwarf with carefree abandon. They struck where they could, blinding and wearing those within their cloud down slowly. However, the crackling web of searing light on the ground around Beltak began to reach up with golden tendrils, snapping at the birds like lightning.

A crow fell, then another, and then there was a scattering of feathers as the whirling cloud of beak and claw dissipated in an instant — the remaining birds taking flight to all corners of the hill, circling high above the trees to gather their strength once more.

It brought sharp relief to those below. The cacophony of screeching and incessant cawing stopped and the hill became silent. An echoing thud of something far down in the abyss below was almost the only noise.

From within the bush to the south the heretic looked on with cold black eyes. It seemed unpeturbed the birds had left and continued to level its crossbow at the mage.

Again the bolt flew wide, as though the mage had cast some form of protection around himself. The heretic showed no signs of displeasure or emotion, simply loading another bolt and making itself ready for the next opportunity.

The bolt shattered against the orc’s head knocking it back and down into the bush.

It disappeared for a moment, but when its head rose back above the leaves even Kireth gasped. Most of its face had been obliterated, far more than Kireth had though possible with the simple force missile he had conjured. Where white bony skull should be there was only black — a sickeningly familiar glistening black, the black of its orb like eyes that had stared impassively at them throughout the battle.

The remaining orcs also began to fall, writhing upon the floor where they had stood, black pulsing flesh bursting out of their skin until they were strong enough to stand once more.

It had only taken moments from when Kireth’s bolt had struck the orc, but now all three stood facing them, in a triangle around them, hands free of the crossbows they once held, and beginning to close in slowly and surely.

The black humanoid mass, formerly of orc build, moved silently but quickly, much quicker than it had done as the flesh and blood orc before. It covered the ground directly towards Khalin at speed, almost seeming to brush through the bush and the white stone of the face without noticing it was there.

The crackling web of energy seem to hold no fear for the thing and it launched itself at the dwarf with outstretched arms, the inky blackness seeming to cover the dwarf.

The claws of the creature cut at the dwarf’s face, rivulets of blood streaming from Khalin’s eyes and clouding his vision. For a moment the warlord turned, looking like he was about to strike out blindly at Kireth or Beltak, but seemed to recover and hold his line.

As quickly as the blood streamed down from Khalin’s eyes the crackling web of energy by his feet grew warm and comforting, stemming his injuries and giving him the strength to fight back.

From the east, by the erect statue, the last of the writhing black creatures cast away its orc skin and covered the ground to the melee with unnearthly speed.

As it approached it brought with it a cold air, chill in the morning sunlight. It was if a blanket of grey had been stretched over those near the face, a sense of desolation and despair.

It struck swiftly and without seeming to move — what passed for a limb reaching out and passing through Kireth’s chest, clutching at the half-elf’s heart with an icy hand.

The mage hissed out a cold breath, clouding in the air, as the thing withdrew for a moment. The stillness it brought to the air only disturbed by the echoing clashes of steel on steel from the mouth.

Beltak basked in the glow of the light beneath his feet, letting the light of Pelor playfully crackle around his calves.

The scribe knew that with the group gathered about him he needed to ensure that Pelor’s grace stayed with them and continued his prayers with renewed gusto.

The black birds were gone, although he could see remnants of them gathering against the stark sky, but they had been replaced by a more dangerous and repulsive foe. The abominations that had used to be orcs needed to be destroyed — they were an insult to the world.

Finishing his prayer he gripped his mace tightly and swung at the nearest black body with all of his might.

Beltak urged Kireth to strike quickly at the creatures as he struck himself, the mace glowing with energy as it knocked the thing to the side.

The scribe then moved backwards slightly, out of the creatures’ reach and began his next set of prayers.

The scribe looked up into the air and saw the crows coalescing once more.

The black cloud of birds began to swoop and circle the face on the hill, circling round and round in a growing frenzy until they seemed to form a solid mass of writhing black feathers.

As one the birds swooped forwards, heading for the tightly-knitted group.

Beltak was wise to their advance, calling out to the others that the crows were back. As they passed close to his scalp, he thrashed out with his mace.

Swift as they were the birds easily dodged the scribe’s clumsy attack and continued their flight, enveloping Beltak in their dark embrace.

This time the birds came too close to Tradden and the young fighter slashed out with his sword.

There was a flutter of black feathers and a series of shrill squawks. The crows stopped moving northwards and swarmed around Tradden’s head, biting and clawing at his face.

With fury they scratched and pecked at the young fighter and suddenly Tradden could not see.

The black creature that had exposed itself first quickly burst from the bush, the armour and skin that had once denoted it as an orc slipping off as it darted across the ground. What appeared to be black tendrils swung loosely from its head with a life of their own, growing in size and strength as it approached the group.

It passed by the side of Beltak, the scribe unaware of its entry into the fray, and its tendrils reached out to grab the scribe around his head.

Beltak’s face turned ashen as the tendrils flexed and pulsed and the creature appeared to bulge and grow.

Kireth’s core was cold from the abomination’s chill touch. Pains wracked his chest and tore at his lungs.

And even the mage was not safe from the claws and beaks of the the crows, the birds at the edge of the swarm flying past Kireth’s face and clawing at him.

But the crackling web of radiance that Beltak had laid seemed to counter the effects, renewing Kireth with a spark of energy.

At a word and a look from Kireth the crows exploded in a frenzy, feathers scattering everywhere. The dark abominations at the edge of the cloud of black froze for a moment, a hateful hiss of wind passing their lips as they drew breath for what seemed the first time.

Despite the success of his spell, Kireth could not shake the icy feeling in his chest, though his legs at least felt a little bit sturdier beneath him.

The abomination near Tradden appeared to be dazed for a moment and Beltak’s sparkling web of light crashed against its legs, or approximation of legs, sizzling and spitting around them.

Lost for a moment within Kireth’s spell the black humanoid seemed to recover quickly, turning to face the young fighter and thrust out a limb to catch Tradden on his face.

Tradden’s blades faltered and he half spun to his right before gathering his wits and gritting his teeth against the pain.

Even outside the swirling mass of black Khalin was not immune to their scratches, screeches and strikes.

Beltak’s influence could still be felt by the dwarf on the ground regardless of the darkness that consumed the scribe somewhere within the swirling mass of birds.

The creature made no real move to avoid any attack, Khalin’s cleverness betraying him as the strike went wide.

The creature had seen Khalin’s feint clearly and had no need to dodge far, but it did remain within the grasp of Beltak’s radiant web, the crackling strands bright against the unnearthly blackness of its body.

Attempting to shake off the strands it pushed its arm out at Khalin, trying to bury itself within the dwarf’s chest.

The whole of Khalin’s chest began to ache with a cold pain, the breath taken out of him by the creature’s touch. Breathing became difficult, and his legs froze underneath him.

Blinded and disoriented, Tradden had no way to defend himself from the multiple bites and pecks from the birds that rained down upon him.

Thin streams of blood trickled down his face, but the sharp pain was soon relieved by the warm aura of Beltak’s carpet of light.

Within the cloud of birds Beltak was sightless. He could feel the crows tearing around him at speed, their claws grasping at his hair and face. He thought he could hear the swing of Tradden’s blades and the fall of a bird or two, but they still began to mass around his head.

Despite the birds’ incessant nicks and scrapes, however, the web of Pelorian light upon the hill was strong and Beltak basked in its warm glow.

The scribe knew that he had to keep his concentration on the light, though, ensuring that it remained potent and bright, allowing the group to survive this encounter.

Confident the light would remain Beltak turned his attention to getting rid of the birds. Within the swirling cloud he had no chance of hitting the things with his mace, he was simply too slow with the weapon. His only option was to use the radiance of Pelor. However, he would need to clear his sight for this and decided to move, hoping to get between Kireth and the black creature to his side.

Beltak staggered in what he thought was the right direction, but bumped up against something solid, something lithe, and all too close. He stopped moving straightaway with a flash of fear.

In the end he had to resort to a swipe at the birds with his mace, despite his initial concerns.

The swing was sluggish and the birds easily avoided its path.

The crows wheeled around and around, dodging and weaving their way past steel and iron. They were not quick enough, however, to evade the crackling light that sent tendrils up to meet their wings.

Tradden had seemed to capture most of the birds’ attention, his waving swords the largest threat they could sense, and they swooped down to peck and scrape at his face.

But this time the youth was ready, covering his head protectively with his weapons, and casting the birds aside.

The black creature below Kireth continued to change, its tendrils growing fatter and longer, almost stretching down to its belly now. Gleaming strands of radiant light leapt up from the floor to meet them, burning and scorching them where they swung.

It stretched out its burning tendrils and wrapped them almost lazily around the blinded scribe’s head once more.

The scribe uttered a mouthless scream as the tendrils leeched out his energy. He felt drained, his legs devoid of any life and he was rooted to the spot. The tendrils pulsed as if drawing the energy from the scribe and into the black loathsome form that held him so strongly.

At last the creature released its grip and turned to face Kireth.

The icy feeling in Kireth’s chest was beginning to weigh him down, slowing his actions and his thoughts.

They stopped him from avoiding the birds the swooped and turned around Tradden, their claws outstretched as they skitted past his head.

Even the healing warmth of Beltak’s powers seemed lacklustre agains the cold.

Feathers dropped slowly from the sky like a blackened snowstorm as they birds trilled and squawked with fear at Kireth’s call. The black shapes also trembled back as though some unseen abomination, more ghastly than their own form, had reared up before them.

The chills passed as Kireth managed to breathe for the first time in what seemed an age.

Even as the black creature near Tradden steadied itself from Kireth’s magics it was clasped within Beltak’s radiant embrace, crackling light cascading around its lower limbs.

The thing appeared to ignore the light, despite the smell of burning flesh, striking out at the young fighter in front of it, whispering fleeting promises at Tradden’s ear.

Within the swirling birds Tradden froze with the touch, his arms locked and tight, and overhead thrust pushed up and ready to fall upon the dwarf. Birds sheared around the blade until Tradden managed to lower it with a groan and cry of pain.

Khalin’s chest began to tighten as his lungs failed to pull in any air. The chill touch of the black form held its grip.

Languid and slow, Khalin made an easy target for the birds at the periphery of the swarm to brush past him with beak and claw exposed.

Beltak’s web of light battled slowly against the cold that crept up Khalin’s legs, giving the dwarf some respite from the pain.

The disconnected swing did nothing the alleviate Khalin’s chill within his chest.

The black creature turned from Kireth towards Khalin, disregarding the slivers of light that leapt up around its legs, crackling and burning with radiant light.

The dwarf was already suffering from the creature’s chill touch and it wasted no time in plunging its insubstantial arms into the warlord’s body once more.

This time the chills went straight through Khalin’s body, rooting him to the spot.

Beltak couldn’t move, rooted to the spot by the cold of the heretic’s tendril touch. The blackness enveloped him as the remainder of the birds swirled around, tearing at his face.

He settled for a moment, drinking in the warmth of the web of light beneath him…

…before uttering the soft prayer that helped keep the carpet of radiance glowing.

Without being able to move and unable to see within the cloud of feathers the scribe’s options were slim. He drew back his mace and swung with all his might.

The swing was slow and the birds easily dodged around it as they swept past.

The remaining crows squawked and cried as the circled round, closing in on the group. Their numbers had been thinned and many a feather or small black corpse lay on the ground, but they kept on coming.

But so did Beltak’s light, stretching upwards and snatching at the birds as they passed.

A large sliver of light sprang up and struck the birds, leaving a scattering of black feathers. This time they did not wheel and swarm, but fled to the air and to the trees around, leaving nothing but their echoing cries.

The black creature near Kireth and Beltak barely seemed to notice the cloud of crows lifting and scattering to the trees. Its tendrils twitching as the light from Beltak’s spell continued to leap up and burn away at them.

This time, however, the creature slid soundlessly away from the mage, circling the scribe before it struck.

Free from the crackling web and with Beltak immobilised, it stretched out its tendrils once more, wrapping them around the scribe’s head.

The tendrils pulsed and grew as the energy seemed to drain out of the scribe — the lesions cuts and burns upon the black slimy skin began to close and heal.

Light continued to play around Kireth’s feet even though the mage appeared to be hale and healthy.

The two bolts slammed into the black creature one after another with increasing violence, pushing the abomination back and then to the floor, where it remained, still and unmoving.

The bolt caught the creature full in the head, bursting against its tendrils that recoiled against the blow.

‘Again!’ called Kireth.

The creature staggered as the next bolt struck it in the shoulder, but it did not drop.

The black thing near Tradden barely seemed to register that its colleague had fallen and now it was outside the influence of Beltak’s magics it could steel itself against Tradden’s incoming tide of blades.

It briefly looked across at Beltak — it could taste the energy leaking out of the scribe and so much wanted to taste it. But the blades of the young fighter before it held it firm. It had to relieve itself of the warrior before it could satiate its thirst.

It struck out with its arm and caught Tradden on his elbow, numbing his arm for a moment with a sharp pain.

The other creature seemed to delight in Tradden’s pain, its tendrils pulsed and quivered.

Despite Beltak’s obvious plight the scribe’s carpet of light held firm. Khalin could not move, the chill of the heretic’s touch strong despite its death, so he stayed still and let the gentle warmth of Pelor’s radiance play about his legs as the chill continued to creep within his chest.

The young fighter’s slash went wide as the black creature easily sidestepped the blade.

Khalin took a deep breath, trying to steel himself against the chills.

He warmed somewhat, but his legs still remained stubbornly motionless.

Beltak was panting heavily, his mind whirling from the touch of the tendrilled monstrousity before him. The carpet of light beneath him, however, steadied his nerves.

He concentrated on the fact that he needed to keep the aura of light going, it was defintely helping to swing the battle.

The scribe needed to get some space between himself and the creature in order to use some of his powers. The mace was useful, but he was already exhausted and was finding it difficult to swing.

He moved back next to Kireth and Khalin and held out his symbol against the black creature, uttering a prayer as he slowly retreated.

The light spluttered and faltered against the growing blackness of the creature and Beltak began to draw deep ragged breaths.

As Tradden approached, albeit with his back exposed, the heretic’s tendrils began to pulse and quiver. Flickers of light spread up from Beltak’s web, charring and searing the black flesh.

There were no signs of intelligence behind the black orbs of eyes, no flicker of light or spark of a mind working, but the creature quickly stepped backwards, out of the radiant grid and beyond its influence.

It seemed like an odd move to the group, away from any of them, but their confusion was short lived. The tendrils stretched out, almost as far as the ones on the black creature from the orc infested shack along the Old East Road, grabbing Beltak by the throat and head. They pulsed as if drinking.

Beltak’s eyes rolled up into his head and the carpet of light blinked out of existence. The scribe fell like a rag doll to the ground.

Khalin howled, his legs too numb and cold to move towards the scribe, impotent against the creature’s fell strike.

The bolts thudded into the creature’s black mass, sending tendrils flaring around in the air. It managed to keep standing, though, defiant against the mage’s magic.

The abomination nearest Tradden looked a sorry state. Although it still stood, the young fighter’s blades had sliced slivers of black, slimy flesh from its flank and arms. There was no blood, or at least none that Tradden could fathom, but it seemed sluggish, awkward and slow.

It lumbered forwards unsteadily and swiped again at Tradden with long arms.

The blow caught the young fighter around the side of the head, dazing him for a moment. As his vision slowly cleared a moment of madness overcame Tradden, weighing his blade carefully, he flung it straight at the unsuspecting dwarf.

The sword catapulted end over end over the prostrate body of Beltak and stuck itself squarely in the joint of Khalin’s arm and shoulder mail. A thin trickle of blood spurted weakly onto the dark dwarven armour.

Kireth wouldn’s swear it, be he was sure the creature with the tendrils laughed as the blade struck.

The force knocked the creature over and down onto the ground in a tangled heap of black where it lay still.

Even with the elation of another of the foul creatures finally succumbing to their advances the dwarf could not shake off the cold and chill within his bones.

Beltak lay still upon the ground, his breaths coming in short, sharp, ragged bursts.

For now, at least, the scribe’s chest continued to rise and fall.