KHAZUUL

Sow says nothing after the injection, as her heart pounds, her tongue dries and her temples throb. Waiting for the others seems an eternity, and finally, when Freki makes to begin the assault she is right there with him. She's dipped a number of her arrows in pitch from one of the barricades, so it takes but a moment to light it, crest the top, take aim and fire!

Cutwell, somewhat familiar with the concoction, prepares himself for what’s to come.

When he sees the others gear up to attack, he readies his knife! He’ll spring into action, should any of their foe try to rush the archers. He’d hold them back long enough to get the thing done… or so he hoped!

Flint draws his blade and stays beside Cutwell, watching for anyone threatening their men.

"Right beside you!" he shouts.

Saffron stands with Cutwell and Flint, sword drawn, ready to protect the archers should anyone charge their position. On the count of three, Freki and Sow rise from behind the barricades with their flaming ammunition, and loose their fiery shots!Sow's flaming arrow sinks deep into the side of the platform that the "Dragon" is mounted on. The flames start climbing upward to the tar-filled relic!Freki's flaming sling bullet lands right on the top of one of the barrels, and immediately it explodes into a huge fireball that explodes upward! A shockwave tears through the camp, flattening tents and structures all around. Men a thrown to the ground, and a deafening noise leaves everyone's ears ringing, unable to hear! Bits of shrapnel rain downThis is followed shortly after by the other barrels exploding in even more spectacular fashion! A huge fireball leaps up in the air for everyone to see for miles around. Fiery tar rains down on everyone and every thing in the camp that is not protected. Dreadwings struggling to rise from the first explosion are knocked clear off the top of the cliff or burn alive.In the black smoke, you see the black-robed Ruin Sage light on fire. He somehow manages to stay standing through the explosions and even advances toward you. His body is consumed as he strides toward you, arm stretched outward, pointing. The figure collapses into a pile of burning flesh and bones within spitting distance of your barricade.

Cutwell is thrown back, landing painfully on his arse! His ears ring so much that his hooting and hollering are muted to himself! He pats himself down to ensure that nothing flew and skewered him in the explosion, and then lays in rest for a moment.

He barely understands when the Black Skulls drag him to his feet, clapping him and the others on the back. Bloody, bandaged faces shout cheers at the man! Someone lifts his metal arm aloft, and they begin to laugh and jeer at their disintegrated foe once more.

---

Cutwell finds it hard to leave the jungle after a time. He had been thrown in with the smaller group by choice, and the Black Skulls by opportunity. He found it hard to leave both when the time comes, and so he stays instead. Rarely does he climb back up the wall, save for the grab supplies and to exchange his beads for coin when wanted.

He busies himself with tending to the lads in camp, and plotting his revenge on the damned monster who had killed two of their party so many months before.

For her part, Sow collapses down on the still-smoldering battlefield when it's finally all over. Black smoke pours into the air as the whole top of the hill burns, and as the Skulls' enemies scream... until they don't. It has taken everything the girl could muster to not turn and just run from the fight, headlong down the hill, abandoning hope, her friends, her future.

The girl's skull aches as she lies there, blood pooling beneath her head. She hears only a ringing in the one ear as she stares upwards, eyes unfocused as she looks longingly up at the sky. This whole venture has not been anything like she expected, full of pain and hardship and struggle. But they have overcome -- they have surmounted virtually every challenge the vicious and fickle gods have dropped in their path. Closing her eyes as she clutches her bow to her chest, the young woman smiles and exhales, letting go of her fear, releasing the trepidation that has dogged her since that day in the fields -- since the Withering.

Flint having been standing ready near Cutwell, is also blown back, landing firmly on his ass. But he feels nothing as his eyes reflect the carnage before him.

"Can it be? Did we really prevail?" His voice sounds muffled through his temporarily deafened ears as he searches for his sword and tries to lay eyes on the others through the thick smoke. Joining in the jubilant celebrations he feels that they did a good thing this day and even though it won't bring back his lover, he feels partially vindicated and vows to be a better man.

Deep in the jungle, a group of fish people sat in a pool of mud listening to the sounds of the jungle. There was a tense feeling in the air that they didn't understand. Suddenly the sky to the west lit-up brighter than they'd ever seen at night. It slowly faded, to a dim orange and red glow, until smoke blotted it out completely. Though they didn't understand what it meant, they knew it was an evil omen ...

---

Freki had braced himself for the first explosion. After the hot shock wave passes, he raises his arms up in celebration, but his cheer of success is masked by the chain reaction. He isn't prepared for this and the magnitude of the blast pushes him back off his feet and over the edge. He tumbles down the slope coming to an uncomfortable rest against the smoldering barricade he had toppled earlier.

Opening his eyes, he can see Thunderstrike's crushed, burnt body under the wreckage, his lifeless paw triumphantly on top of the Dreadwing's face who had also been caught by the collapsing structure.

Freki gets up slowly, kicks debris to the side to clear a path to the brave canine, and pulls its body free. He pats out a few flames still alight on parts of its fur and skin and then sits next to the dog, petting the animal. I wonder if your spirit can feel this ... thinks to himself, but the gesture is at least a comfort to himself. "Thank you friend, you were a good boy," he whispers into the orange and red tinted darkness.

When the Blackskulls find them, he joins in their celebrations with the others, a sense of tired relief washing over him. Before leaving, he lifts the dog's body across his shoulders and walks with them back to camp telling the story of the dog's heroics.

It is only when the four are brought into the flickering light of burning Dreadwing wreckage that Cutwell can truly let himself relax and enjoy the warmth of their burning foes.

They’d made it through.

"Good thing I shaved your head, ain’t he?" he calls to Freki, as the smell of burning and singed hair assaults his nostrils!

"Aw no." Flint sees the brave dog atop Freki's soldiers as the exhausted man approaches their camp. The sight hurts Flint deeply and unexpectedly, for amidst all this carnage the dog had been a brave and loyal companion to the end.

"I'll help you bury him, Freki. We will pick a nice spot that would have made him happy."

At Cutwell's comment, Freki rubs his head. He feels ashen stubble crumble against his hand. If Cutwell hadn't shaved his head last week, his whole head may have caught on fire in that blast. "Best decision of the expedition!" he replies with a smile.

Turning to the Marchguard, his expression turns more somber. "Thank you Flint, I would very much appreciate that. We'll have to make sure it is somewhere Tunny is happy with as well," he says.

As the company climbs down from the smouldering hill and rejoin the camp, they find their fellow Black Skulls have taken heavy losses. Of the twenty men that left the gates, only ten remain. You recognize Grinwit and Gringle, as well as Wilmott, and even the black-hearted bully that Cutwell duelled with in the stores beneath the camp. That seems like an age ago, now.

The dead lie in the mud, some still pin cushioned with arrows. The men are too weary to bury them. But, when the company comes through the gates, the surviving Black Skulls' spirits are lifted. A cheer goes out, followed by eager barks. Sunshadow and Moonbeam run out from their kennels to greet the Beast Master, though it is a bittersweet reunion.

"By the old gods and the new, we thought you were dead!" Wilmott calls out. "Figured you burned up in that blast! Never seen anything like that in my whole life."

The survivors inform you that Foreman Tunny perished in the sortie. "Arrow through the eye, right through the mask. Damnedest thing."

"We've lost so many ... what's next?"

Everyone looks to the five of you, waiting for an answer. The last daughter of an Emperor, with her father's sword strapped to her hip; the Marchguard with his beautiful golden hair, only slightly singed in the blast; the cunning Beast Master from the North, his dogs at his side; the once-mousy Fieldwarden, who somehow looks several inches taller tonight; and the fearless Barber-Surgeon, with his gleaming metal arm.

"I'll go where they go," Flint announces, somewhat saddened by the terrible loss of life and the uncanny bad luck that Tunny had. Pointing to the group he adds, "These are my loyal friends. I will protect them with my life."

Freki looks around at his companions to gage their thoughts. They had been through a lot together over the last week and, except for the loss of Thorn, had somehow managed to over come all the obstacles Khazuul had thrown at them.

With both the Dreadwings and Blackskulls weakened there would be a power struggle in the jungle. But if the Blackskulls quickly reformed behind a strong leader with a loyal team supporting that leader ... Well, there was really only one option.

Grabbing Cutwell's metal arm and raising it into the air, Freki says, "I nominate Ironfist!"

Reluctant charismatic leaders are a good choice, he thinks to himself with a grin.

"Ironfist! Ironfist! Ironfist!" he begins to chant.

Sow seems finally to have shed the deep-seated fear that she'd fought against so often these past weeks, but she is no leader, nor even someone bold enough to loudly name one, as Freki is. She cheers Ironfist's name with the others happily, her scratchy and broken voice hidden in the chorus, but something about the closeness she sees in Saffron and Freki troubles the young woman, robbing her voice of its already tenuous strength.

It's difficult to know why jealousy flickers in her eyes, but it does. Perhaps as her fists clench that is a mystery even to her...

Cutwell would have sooner raised Saffron’s arm, or all of their arms in unison. He wasn’t a leader of men. Not in the way that these men expected. The barber surgeon had longed maintained that he tended to men that had been led elsewhere and come out the other side in rough shape.

Still, the moment demanded it. And so he let his arm be raised, and the chorus of shouts to continue! He could put his own stamp of leadership on this place soon enough. He would slink into the background then, and tend to those that others had led out into the jungle and brought back in bad shape.

Sensing Cutwell's unease, Flint tries to reassure the man.

"We've got your back and will help you of course. Don't worry." Then Flint joins the other, cheering along, letting the tension of the battle drip slowly from his shoulders.

Freki can't help but smile with the pride at Saffron's suggestion, oblivious to the feelings of jealousy it was stirring in Sow. It was a great honor to become a named man!

He thinks about everything that's happened since he arrived in Khazuul and two things stand out in his memory. First, the connection that he'd made with the dogs, taking a large northern canine skull as his mask symbolizing his connection to the pack. And second, surprisingly to himself, a connection with fire. He was certain Thorn's Immolator had ignited into magical flames when he used it and then his fiery sling shot had ignited the blast that ended the battle with the Dreadwings.

Looking out from the jaws of his blackened canine skull, he replies, "In the North is a fierce animal called a Dire Wolf. But here in the heat of the jungle and in memory of the blaze we caused tonight, I would be honored to be known as The Fire Wolf."

"Flame of the North, I'll be a beacon of light to friends and a fiery adversary to foes," he proclaims.