The team moved to the last cabin they hadn’t inspected, one that sat close to one of the work yards. This shelter was different from the rest, not many supply crates were present. It was instead a collection of arranged camper bags, folded tents and a few foldable tables littered with papers and books. “This looks like an archaeological expedition.” She muttered, walking towards an opened bag that had its contents spilled over. She picks up a reddish shirt that bore the image of a fish swimming downward, a symbol for the Southern Star. The letters SU were in the middle of the shirt in bright gold lettering as well, this was indeed a camp for the Southron University’s ex

“CONTACT LEFT” Likaya called, shooting down the Birchman soldier before it could throw a javelin at them. Within seconds, the marshland was filled with guttural howls. The unnerving cries reminded her of a parched drunk, crying as he was thrown out of a tavern. Within seconds, crude javelins were launched from the reeds. Aster took cover by the galley entrance, firing away at any Fangsworn in sight. The autocross began to fire, the steady rumble of the automatic weapon was deafening but to the voltiirs it was a welcome noise. The weapon’s bolts tore through the reeds, the howls of the enemy were followed by water splashing as they fell from their ambush points. Sensing some relief, she checks on the squads, but the voltiirs had huddled into a defensive position with their backs against each oth

He swerves to his corners, checking the two entrances of the engine room. Hoping to crack a shot, but nothing. The silence was deafening, he could hear his heart beating, his sweat trickle and the shivering of his body. The Marshal tried to listen to his surroundings, blastfire still cracked around him. He could hear the shouts of the others that had come with him. They were alive, that was enough. Footsteps echo from behind him, he turns to see another Fangsworn standing facing him. It carried a twisted spear that shone red with blood, and it was aimed right at him. Jennings wastes no time pulling the trigger, the bolt does its work tearing through the Birchman’s armor. Whispering a quiet prayer of thanks to Akath, Jennings loads the cro

It stood taller than all of them, an ordered collection of twisted wood and petrified birch. The head was covered in a helmet made of glistening wood, antler like branches sprouted from the sides while four glowing eyeslits sat on the faceplate. They glimmered with the green flame of some nature born arcane force. Froster’s arcane eye was at barely a fourth of its capacity but he knew that this enemy was blistering with energy. “Damnation” His Captain cursed, as she fired at the new Druid. A volt landed on its shoulder, but it spawned a shield of grey vines from its right hand. The Lieutenant wasted no time, binding a lightning spirit to his blast rod and opening fire. Thunder roared as a lightning bolt spat out from the blast rod, pushing the Druid a few steps back. In its staggered state, the Captain had followed with a few more shots of her own. Forcing th

Able Froster tried to drag his body from the boat, but he was too mired in pain. His nostrils flooded with blood and his breathing was choked with phlegm. He pushed himself up, coughing out the red mucus and whatever blood was clogging up his pathways. “Captain?” he wheezed, “Squad?” he gagged, spitting out whatever fluids were stuck in his throat. His joints were aflame, but none of his bones seemed broken. At least that was his assumption, based on past experience and what little medical training he could remember. His head on the other hand, felt numb. No sensation could be felt from his forehead to his skull. This made his eyelids needlessly heavy. He attempted to grab on to the railing but he froze the moment he caught sight of their surroundings.It was the port of a small town, flooded with knee high water. Dead fish and other fauna floated on t