The relative wall of arrows held back many of the attackers, my own explosive arrows doing much of the work. Yet there were too many, the shattered gates allowing in a veritable flood of the enemies.
Alysand stood beside me, and though he was aiming scant inches over the heads of the spearmen, did not hesitate to begin firing into the onslaught. His bullets almost seemed sentient, always finding foreheads or throats or, occasionally, an unarmored chest. But something was different than before. Despite his uncanny speed and accuracy, the man wasn’t singing. No warble or chant escaped his lips.
I ignored this observation and focused on imbuing more arrows and firing as fast as I could. I checked my Stamina, worried that my continued use of the elemental bow would deplete me too quickly. Each earthen arrow took a sliver away, but to my surprise, my Stamina was near full. The warmth and power suffusing me from Quinn’s touch was most likely the cause.
Without stopping, I checked to see what buff Quinn had placed on me.
Status Effect: Blessing of the Elder
Blessing of the Elder: You have been chosen as an elemental champion by one of the remaining Elders of this world. All elemental attacks increased in power by 300%. Mana or Stamina cost is reduced significantly for the duration of the buff. All skills used during this time are instant cast and have no cooldown. Duration: until the Elder’s mana is depleted. Must remain in physical contact with the Elder.
By matcha’s enduring might, Quinn was powerful!
Then I realized I could amplify my attacks further. Since the cooldowns had been removed, I used Lunar Flare on my next arrow, and a burning light surrounded the already-empowered shaft. When it struck, the explosion remained the same, but fiery shrapnel, like fragments of shattered stars, splashed out and burned a dozen more attackers.
Only a few more of the enemies fell from the burns, but a great many more had to approach our spearmen that much closer to death.
Despite my increased power, the enemies finally reached our front line, crunching into the shield wall like a trainwreck. I winced but drew another arrow and used the same combination of Earth to imbue it and charged it with Lunar Flare. Making sure to aim far enough away from our own troops, I fired relentlessly into the enemies.
Time moved by at a horrendous creep. The battle felt like sitting inside a car crash that had no end. Enemy troops had finally flanked us and charged both other positions, and a few cries from the players to my left told me that they were busy, too, defending the alley. We were fighting desperately, but there were simply too many of the enemies for us to handle. A handful of armored trow monstrosities had joined the fray as well as a large platoon of orcs.
These last were terrifyingly effective. No mere berserkers without armor or caution, the orcs were all clad in a flexible mesh armor, like chainmail but woven with plate armor. I aimed an arrow in their midst, and though the one I’d hit seemed to simply collapse in his suit of armor and a few others lost their footing nearby, they recovered far too quickly.
When I made to aim again at them, Alysand spoke up. “It is not worth it. They wear enchanted mithril. Focus on the others, where your arrows will count more.”
I did as the gunsinger had asked, and I heard him begin his first song of the battle. It sounded strained, though, almost painful, and lacked much of the beauty I’d heard before. Then slowly, as if each shot had to accumulate power, he fired into the armored trow monstrosities and the mithril-clad orcs. Alysand’s bullet pierced through the warriors’ breastplates and left a small hole the size of a dime.
The killing continued on both sides. Spearmen fell far too quickly, the first rank already ground away like chaff.
Our Doondane allies fought on with the fervor of the insane and the grace of dancers. Only when the mithril-armored orcs met them did the rangers seem to struggle. They fought bravely, but I could tell they would not leave this fight unscathed.
Then, as if the crumbling strength of our forces and the irreplaceable NPC deaths around me weren’t bad enough, I heard a groan, and the small hand that had been providing me with a fountain of mana fell away. Alysand darted to catch Quinn as he collapsed. I looked down and saw his pale face covered with sweat. He was alive, but death lurked near enough to smell.
The gunsinger pulled a few vials from his satchel. “Keep fighting, Hana!”
When I turned back and fired my first arrow, I watched it ping off a shield and fall useless to the ground. The shift in my abilities was jarring.
I kept firing, aiming for anything soft enough to pierce.
The stock of remaining arrows was running out, and our melee fighters were beginning to collapse, when a horn shook out around us, like a mighty plea that could only be answered with valor.
The horns the enemy had used before were like any I’d heard in previous games, a high-pitched peal that brought goosebumps marching across your skin as quickly as it sent men and women into battle. But this was deep and lasting, so powerful it seemed capable of popping stone and bursting trees.
The ratkin, orcs, and trow all paused a moment, as shocked as we were. That made me hope desperately that whoever had blown the horn was not here to kill us. My answer came shortly after. The gate was forced open further as two massive Sirrushi wyverns plowed into town, one of them familiar despite an additional set of spiked armor I hadn’t seen before: It was Harnoth.
Ashtel shouted, his voice scattering out over the lingering echoes of the horn, “The wyverns have come! Fight with fire and calamity in your hearts.
