Darkest Hour: THE OLD GODS LEGACY

An Eerie Start

The cold, damp air of the ruins whispered with ancient secrets as Angra, Russell, Ven Plaga, and Remedy gathered around a makeshift table strewn with maps and parchments. Mika's instructions echoed in their minds as they assessed their progress: three seals secured, two more to go before nightfall.

Angra, with furrowed brows, traced his finger along the faded lines of the map. "We need to move swiftly," he remarked, his voice tinged with urgency. "The longer these seals remain incomplete, the greater the risk of undead breaching our defenses."

Russell, his weathered face etched with determination, nodded in agreement. "Agreed. We'll split into teams to cover more ground. Angra, you and Remedy will take the eastern corridor. Ven and I will head west. Keep your wits about you and be prepared for anything."

Ven Plaga adjusted his artifact jacket, a glint of determination in his eyes. "I'll lead the way," he declared, his confidence bolstered by the jacket's regenerative powers. "But let's not underestimate our foes. The ruins hold more than just undead; there are traps and curses lurking in every shadow."

Remedy, her hands deftly sorting through vials of potent potions, chimed in. "I'll ensure we're well-prepared for any surprises," she said, her gaze flickering between her companions. "And don't forget, my poisons can blight through any skeletal defenses."

As they geared up for the final push, Mika's words echoed in their minds once more: "The fate of the Hamlet rests on your shoulders. Do not falter, for the darkness knows no mercy."

With renewed determination and a shared sense of purpose, Angra, Russell, Ven Plaga, and Remedy set out into the heart of the ruins, ready to confront whatever horrors awaited them and complete their mission to safeguard the land from the encroaching undead threat.

--------- The encounter of lowlives -----

In the heart of the ruins, as Angra, Russell, Ven Plaga, and Remedy approached the site for the fourth seal, a tense silence hung in the air. Russell, ever the skeptic, couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe there aren't any undead after all," he remarked with a wry smile. "Feels more like we're chasing shadows and echoes."

Before anyone could respond, a sudden commotion erupted nearby. The sound of clinking metal and hushed voices drew their attention, and they stealthily approached to investigate. To their surprise, they stumbled upon a group of five thieves, rifling through the belongings of fallen scouts and soldiers, their greed evident in their eyes.

Ven Plaga stepped forward, hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Hold, travelers," he called out, hoping to reason with the thieves. "We mean you no harm. We're here to seal off this area to protect the land from the undead threat."

One of the thieves, a grizzled man with a scarred face, scoffed. "Seals, you say? Worth more than gold to the right buyer," he sneered, eyeing the ancient seals with a covetous gleam. "Hand them over, and we might let you walk away with your lives."

Angra's eyes narrowed as he sensed the tension escalating. Without hesitation, he raised his hands, channeling his latent talent for defensive magic. "Warding of Blade!" he intoned, casting a protective spell that surrounded Russell with a shimmering aura of mana.

As a thief lunged forward with a dagger aimed at Russell, the blade made contact with the protective barrier and immediately dulled, turning into a harmless blunt object. Russell stumbled back, shocked but unharmed, as the thief cursed in frustration.

The standoff intensified, with Ven attempting to negotiate while Remedy discreetly prepared a vial of potent poison as a last resort.

The tension reached a boiling point as Ven, with a fierce battle cry, positioned himself protectively in front of Angra and Russell, brandishing his axe with practiced skill. "Ready yourselves!" he bellowed, his eyes locked on the thieves with unwavering resolve.