The Red Gathering

An Army of New Faces

The town guard rushed from all directions. Orders were being barked on one end while wounded were already being dragged from another. Sir Theodore asked that Renzer and I hold the tavern entrance with a group of unlikely Returned.

One was a tall Cestral who carried himself a bit more casually than one might think during an attack. He looked comfortable with his loose white shirt and brown trousers basically fluttering with the wind while his green pointed cap laid snug on his dark hair. He introduced himself as Cooper and was, as expected, a friendly man.

    The other was a half-demon. Two horns laid twisted on his head and his eyes were like a black mask on his stony face. He had a wicked, triangle edged blade, one that I was sure could cleave a horse in half and held it easily as I would a pen. His name was Gorn and while he was not the talkative type, he did respond to a firm handshake, so that was good.

    I did not get the name of the other two that joined us, but they did leave an impression. While I thought it would be awkward for a chronicler to be in a line of soldiers, the man to my left wore a bright blue tunic and pants. A satchel was slung over his shoulder and his right hand presented a wide iron mug. He had a wide smile too, but unlike Cooper's, his was a bit inebriated. I don't even think he had a weapon.

    The man to his left did not smile at all. His expression was frozen in a focused state and not the kind that seemed to be deep in thought. This one was a fighter, no doubt. He wore a brown gambeson, held a long sword, and bore eyes that were fixed towards the coming battle, even when he looked at you for a handshake.

    Forgive me, my dear reader for being a bit wordy with these men. I had taken images of their faces and mannerisms because I knew they were to be my brothers-in-arms that night...

    ...they broke the line the moment the fighting began.

    "You know how to use that?" Renzer asked.

    "Of course I do," I said rushing to the nearest scuffle.

    Howls blared ahead - wolves. I found a place in the inconsistent line of Returned and picked my kill. I thrust my spear towards a big black one, but underestimated the grip on my weapon. The head slid just under the beast's snarl, leaving me face-to-face with its sharp, gaping maw.

Before it could take a bite off my vulnerable head, Gorn's wicked blade cut across its muzzle, sending it bleeding a few feet away from its pack. The half-demon glared at me with his dark eyes, as if to tell me to stand back.

    I did and was once again side by side with Renzer.

    "Are you sure?" he said with a raised brow.

    "You're not helping."

    Soon the wolves retreated into the darkness, but the night was far from over. Imps and then stitchers filled the surrounding roads, emptying the tavern of the Colish men and women. They joined the fight smelling of hard liquor and cut through the horde with their knives, scimitars, and rapiers.

I'd say they were all swashbucklers, but I managed to catch Doc Silver huddled behind their messy advance. Instead of throwing steel he cast magic and instead of opening wounds he closed them. I remembered when he was just a confused man with bandages, hiding several feet away from any sort of battle. Now he was focused, his wide eyes now sharp towards any goal he needed to accomplish. At the moment it was making sure everyone didn't bleed out.

His presence inspired me to charge into the battle, only to find that most of the horde had already been chopped down by the Colish skirmishers and the town guard.

"Maybe you should just stay in the tavern, Merry," Renzer said.

"Look, I want to fight. If you don't, you're free to go to the tavern yourself."