The Shinaegri Horde (Part 1)

[Reviewer]

The Shinaegri Horde (Part 1)

Glade 52, 121

It had been a year. One entire year. A year since she'd been sent to this bleak cell in the middle of Mistreach Keep. Her stomach was grumbling, letting her know that it would be time for her cell to be unlocked so she could get some food. Her body no longer functioned on day and night cycles from within this windowless cell nestled in the belly of the greatest stone beast. No, the only clock she had now was when her stomach knew it was meal time. Wake up to go to first meal, go to sleep after second meal. Repeat.

Areya knew she only had one more year. One more miserable year. She had already outlasted most of the bets made by her fellow conscripts. She had been just a slip of a thing when she'd been brought in, at least as much as a Dratori could be. And in many ways, she still was, but her arms had just a hint more definition, likely from the lower amounts of food, and maybe just a bit of the use of weapons. But the most stark change was the look in her eyes. She was no longer that timid, scared woman that was dragged in here crying, peeing herself.

No, she bore the same look everyone in here eventually got. It was a less than Dratori, less than human, less than anything resembling a person. The ones who lived here long enough became beasts, no different from those they fought back. Her emerald eyes looked across the dark hall, barely illuminated by the torches at the entrance that led down below. Frank was still snoring, as he always did, huddled in a corner, clutching his sword. Ever since that day Shinaegri breached into the cells and nearly chewed on them in their own cells, he had stopped sleeping in his bed. He wanted to always be readied. Areya still slept in hers, soundly. She kept a tomahawk under her pillow and a hand was always on it. No need to not be at least somewhat comfortable and sleep well.

Her stomach gurgled at the same time she heard the clinking of metal and thudding of feet across stone. Tornock. As he walked past the cells, the magical locks clicked, unlocking them. "Rise and shine conscripts. Get a move on, we got a busy day ahead of us. Them damn Shins are getting restless again."

Areya's lock clicked and she swung her door inward, already dressed and moving toward the mess hall. She was always among the first in the line, keeping her feet quick, dipping around those still stumbling out of their cells. She wanted her food to still be hot. It didn't take long for it to cool, and when it did, you had to taste even more of the foul slops they gave out. Once it was her turn to get her plate of food, she saw that it was the usual. Boiled oats and dried meat of some sort. She guessed rat. Or dead conscripts.

A slip of a grin slid on her face at her joke as she took her plate to a corner and wolfed down the gruel. It was somehow both bland and extremely foul tasting. The dried meats she pocketed. Anything she could save, she always did. One never knew how long they'd be done in the deeps. Once she was done, she folded her hands in her lap, closed her eyes, and began focusing on her breath. She tried to focus on just the steadying rhythm of her breaths, in and out. She tried to ignore the sounds of the many people around her plopping down to take their seats, or the terrible noises they made while they ate. She tried to block out the stench of the man who'd sat next to her. They had access to a baths, why wouldn't someone use them?

She shook her head, grimacing, returning her focus to her breath. She needed to calm her Berserker nature, to always keep it in check until she absolutely needed it. It, like everything else in this world, was a tool. And she would use every tool she had to stay alive. One more year, one more breath. One more year, one more breath.

"Alright conscripts, get your gear and meet up at your rally points."

Her green eyes slid open, and still, there was fear in them. But her hands pressed firmly against the table as she stood up. She returned to her cell, grabbing her stuff, and gearing up, as Tornock had commanded. She followed the file of conscripts down the stairs to the First Deep, taking her position, as determined by their cell numbers, and she waited, hands crossed behind her back. Her stomach was nauseated, her knuckles white as she clenched them, but her eyes were forward, as Tornock began to give them their commands.

One more year, one more breath.

[Tom Trite]

Glade 72, 121

It'd been a long, grueling season, and Tom still didn't know a name between them. He'd forgotten Marrows, and Mars had been reassigned some weeks ago, creating a lapse in the special treatment he had enjoyed on account of his Emblem. Those he served with understood he'd been mentally sundered down in the Warrens on his first assignment, but none of them seemed to be around as of late. That left those who hated him. Those who didn't understand. Trouble brewed in those cells. Trouble of a mind dashed against the rocks for lack of sleep.

The night before was like the others. Caged. No sleep. Surrounded by the smell of fear and sadness, and the sound of bleak or broken bodies in all manner of motion and monglery. It left his chest tight, his mind aching and weary. He was wide awake when a clamor filled the halls, the words failing to take root in his thoughts. Still, he rose from the leathery cot to a dressing cellmate he'd never said a word to. So many times he'd open his lips to talk back, but nothing would escape his lungs save for a smile; I'll settle not knowing you, who're doomed to die same as I.

Mars had brought about some change, it seemed. Before he pulled strings with requisitions, the prisoners ate hard tack twice, then meat. Tom couldn't wolf it down if wasn't made of meat--they might have been prisoners, but they were still a standing army of sorts. "Mars," Tom muttered to himself as he stepped through the swinging cell doors.

Whispers filled the air. Tom was beginning to get the gist of what was going on. Oh, here we go again.
This can’t be good.

Tom swiped his plate, and huddled near the corner, furthest away from the noise. He hated his thoughts. He hated thinking through the din of the commons. They sounded like dogs, though Tom ate slowly. Neatly. When he was done eating the meat, he set his tray down at his side without so much as glancing at the woman occupying it.

Something about the way the woman smelled drew his eyes to her for a single glance. Anger. She smelled like anger, boiling and thick. The fellow two chaps down smelled rotten in a way that made Tom uneasy to think about.

Tom never accepted the hand he was dealt. When the orders to gear up were passed down, he rose and joined a few of the more seasoned Legionnaires who went to see the quartermaster, requisitioning a few things. Tom grabbed a thick, sturdy rope, a pack, two nasty-looking daggers, and a whole bundle of torches. The quartermaster looked like he wanted to ask why the fellow needed so many, but Tom was already on his way.

Joining the huddled masses by the stairs, Tom made himself scarce, gravitating towards that angry woman from before. Angry people didn’t lock up. They didn’t listen, but they wouldn’t freeze.

Tom? He’d freeze. He was shaking, before the boots began moving and shuffling forward.

There was a superstition about Tom nobody had voiced. He was an Oddsmaker. Everyone knew it, and some hated him for it. A lot of people felt that he’d steal their luck, and so they gave him a wide berth, hoping not to be assigned with his unit.

When they got down to the little walled citadel surrounding the winding stares, their feet already ached, but Tom kept his head down. One by one, people were pulled off from the horde and divided up into groups of three Sky Guard to seven Legionnaires. “Three to seven?” piped up Tom, mostly to himself.
”That’s not a good sign.”

The group cordoned itself off from the rest as it formed, gathering around a stalwart-looking woman with a chiseled jawline and a busted lip. Her hair was shaven, though it wasn’t easy to tell beneath the plated metal helmet she wore--she was a Battlemage, judging by her heraldry. ”We’re assigned to the Cutlass Route. I am Hakumo Erinda, and this here is Sorakabe Inigiri and Sorakabe Crichek.” All three were human, and the two lower ranking men deferred to her with their cold stares.

”The road is called the Cutlass on account of its ambush points.” The woman unfurled a map, splaying it over a wall. “The canyons here are rocky, and splinter out like tree roots. A thick fog blankets the area, and visibility is only ten feet at most.” She turned to the seven convicts standing before her. “That’s where you come in.”

Erinda had a sack over her shoulder, which she slammed down atop a table, pulling out a wrapped linen blanket. Inside were several small flintlock guns, each with glass chambers and a single Dragonshard loaded inside. “Standard protocol for fog is flare guns for signaling. If you run into anything you can’t handle, fire this into the air.”

Tom raised a mitt. “That’s fine and dandy for certain death, but is my collar coming off so it’s less certain death?”

Erinda’s eyes peeled. She’d been briefed on Tom already. “Come here, Legionnaire.”

Tom approached, turning his back to the woman while she unlatched his collar--it was enchanted to know who could take it off, and the sudden weight off his shoulders felt fantastic despite the bitter feeling in his gut about the conditions ahead. Taking his gun with the rest of the prisoners, he strapped the holster to his leg and followed behind the rest of the convicts as they set off down a rocky path into the belly of the First Deep. They were the tip of the spear, and the three Sky Guard behind them kept such a long distance away that they were out of earshot to most.

Glancing over his shoulder, Tom bit his lip. “I don’t know about you, but nobody ever told me if the Shinaegri could see in the fog.”

Something about the prelude to madness dispelled the tightness in Tom's chest, and a cool chill spread through him. Yup. Just like last time...
It's me or them. Me or them. Me or them.

Drawing the knife from his hip, he cradled it by his gut for comfort as they trudged up the ridge into the misty grimdark.

[Reviewer]

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Time Stamp

Areya glanced over at the Rathari that stood near to her in the lineup. She'd seen him around, noticed that he only ate meat. He seemed to be a bit of a loner, which was entirely common in their ranks. Despite having been here for a year, Areya had never been assigned to the Cutlass Route, and her chest tightened. The Cutlass was notorious down here. She watched with curious eyes as the Rathari got his collar removed. She was not overly familiar with his kind, so when his eyes found hers, he'd find one of her eyebrows cocked. No one else got their collars taken off. What made him special?

Areya liked special. Special was useful. Special people were kept safer, better protected, given more advantages in life. Areya adjusted her pouches, the straps on her leather armor, strapping the gun in on her chest, over her left shoulder, barrel pointing up and away from her. Areya fell in line, making sure there were Legionnaires in front of her and behind her. Being the bravest, or the most cowardly, was just how you increased your odds of ending up dead.

Hearing the Rathari speak, she cracked a slight grin in his direction, "Frank says they can't see at all. If they have eyes, they don't do anything." She pulled one of her torches from her belt, lighting it from another Legionnaire's own torch. "But Frank also says there's a sea of diamonds out there waiting to be found, so he's not exactly reliable."

Torch in her left hand, Areya's right hand stayed gripped over the head of her tomahawk, safely hanging on her belt. Keep one hand free, to reach for weapon, flare, or to get a tentacle the slipped in from the fog off of you. As they entered the fog, things grew still, especially still, even for down here. The breaths of the conscripts were echoing back at them from inches away. It was deafening, maddening. The lines of visibility grew short, and Areya focused solely on controlling her breath and keeping her eyes on the torches before her. Three torches in front of her, with the Rathari being the closest. She knew there to be three conscript torches behind her, with three more lanterns for the Sky Guard even further back.

Her longer strides put her often right behind Tom's heels but her stature made it easy to see out over him. The group reached the first fork in the road, and the leads pressed on to the left hand path, securing it first. Stopping, Areya looked back, watching as two of the torches took the right fork, barely able to make out one of the lanterns further on back. And then they pressed onward. She went back to focusing on her breathing, keeping it even and steady, keeping her torch aloft.

A drop of water fell from the rocky ceiling, catching her on the nose, causing her to blink. With her free hand, she wiped away the moisture, reopening her eyes, stopping cold in her tracks. There were only two torch lights in front of her in the mist now. The furthest one out was gone. Gripping the head of her axe tighter, she crouched, sidling sideways along the closest rock face. She looked back behind them, the one torch was still following, but she couldn't make out the distant Sky Guards. Bringing her eyes back forward, she waited for the line to move forward. She sure as hell wasn't about to take charge down here, and certainly wouldn't be the first to speak.

"Jorrel? Where'd ya go buddy?"

The man in front of the line moved around a corner, picking up a torch from the ground there, doused in a pool of water. "Jorrel, this ain't funny mate."

Areya kept her breathing as silent as she could muster, her heart threatening to beat its way out of her chest. She looked back once more, seeing the torch there, its bearer coming close enough for her to see the woman's face. Agneta? Agnus? Something of the sort. The child killer. Then quick as a blink, Areya saw a shadow dash through the torch light, grabbing Agneta around the neck, and lifting her up off her feet. Agneta's torch dropped, still burning on the damp stone, as the suffocated woman was dragged upwards into darkness, with Areya raising her torch as high as she could. And her eyes grew wide. The wall of the presumed tunnel they'd been walking through wasn't entirely intact. It was more of a path in a maze, at least in this small section. For as the wall went upward, it ended in a ledge. And upon that ledge was about a half dozen Shins, one of which was busy stuffing Agneta into its gaping chest-mouth, using its tentacles to keep her subdued as it did.

Areya rushed over, grabbing Agneta's fallen torch and giving it a toss up to the ledge, watching it just barely make it, hanging over the lip. The Shins nearest to it let loose an unnaturally high pitched hiss and bumbled into each other to escape the fire. A few fell off the back end of the ledge, to the startlement of the two conscripts that had taken that path, "Da fuc-!" Areya had her tomahawk out now, backing her way toward Tom and the other conscript at the front of the path. The remaining Shins on the ledge didn't seem eager to jump down on them, staring at them with the dead eyes, tentacles waving.

Areya took a deep breath, putting away her tomahawk, pulling her shortbow from her back, along with an arrow from the quiver on her opposite thigh. She nocked it, entering the basic stance she'd learned in her time in this hell. She pulled the string to her ear, when suddenly the string slipped, from the moisture in the air, firing before she'd aimed, sailing far wide of the closest Shin, managing to pierce it in on of the flailing tentacles. What followed was a unified screech. Areya knew what came next, the roiling in her stomach being the most obvious indicator, as she quickly stowed her bow, drawing her tomahawk once more. The Shins began hopping off the ledge, stumbling upon their landings, one splitting open its own skull on a rock. Still, the rest shambled toward them.

Areya gripped her tomahawk tight, keeping focused on her breathing, she didn't want to slip into a panic as they came. Time to fight.

[Tom Trite]

TIME STAMP

Tom shot Areya a wily side-eye for a split second before holding his hand over his torch. Warming embers circled it, and the flames began to leap high towards his mitt--he focused on adjusting the color of the fire, drawing on his Emblem. Before her very eyes, it turned a wicked, vibrant blue. “We’d best catch’uh Shin alive, if we get the opportune. What’s lethal. What’s makes it tick? What’s pisses it off? You’d agree that’d be good knowing? Tired’a bein’ blind out here,” he said, eyeing up the fog ahead.

Pulling the rope from his pack, he slung it over his shoulder, and tucked the several unlit torches into the straps at his hip. A bit uncomfortable, but he had plans for them. His voice rose to a stern warning, loud enough for all to hear. “If ya value your life, an’ I know this place is gon’ be shit, retreat in the thick and look for the light’uh me torch. But I got one warning for ya: look out for me rope, it’s magic rope. If ya see my light, be prepared to hop it or duck beneath--it’ll be about waist height--don’t touch it or you’ll have to peel your skin off to stop.” He propped up the rope in question.

It really was just a mundane, every-day bundle of rope.

“Can you just. Stop. Talking,” came the words of a brigand from up ahead.
”Are you mad?”

Tom shook his head, and paid the man no heed. That was a fool as good as dead.

As his nose breached the fog, Tom blinked and opened his eyes into a white-blue world. Torches lined the forward march, but he watched as they drifted apart like a constellation for fools. “Yup, it’s happenin’ again.” Tom paused, breathing in to steel his nerves. You can do this Tom.
You can survive.

Keeping his nose to the air, it seemed to be what he’d expect. Until they got a bit deeper into the maze, and then he could smell the rank breath of something permeating the place. It was like a second kind of fog all on its own, and he couldn’t smell the direction--he presumed it was ahead, however.

Tom was pretty far back by now.
”Ey. This place smells of danger. Look out for ambush--”

A shrill cry pierced the air. The first thing Tom did was draw the gun from his hip, fire it forward, and toss it aside as the hot heat of illumination seared the tall, canyon-like crags with a brief spat of light. From so far back, Tom’s keen eyes saw the ledge with the Shin, but there was another force beginning to crawl through an opening in the canyon wall, and even more funneling over a rise of rocky debris further down the channel.

“Ah, feck.”

Light. Rope trap... into the wall.

Tom’s fingers trembled as he threw down his torch dead-center, then jaunted over to the canyon wall and drew his knife, wrapping an end of the rope around it and tying it tight. Clasping his mitts together, he called upon his connection to the earth and fizzled the hard stone into sand. Jamming the dagger down, he solidified the dirt into the same hard basalt around it. Seamless.

He tugged to see if he could pull the dagger out, but it didn’t so much as budge.

Sprinting for the other side, he skidded and hit the cavern wall, his hands shakily tying off the rope. Tom looked weird. Wild. His fur was standing on end, that tail of his a bush of frightened fur as thick as him. He did the same thing to this end, and a crude looking trap stretched across the divide.

Glue.

Tom reached up and ran his hand along the rope, calling upon his Emblem once more. The lines in his vision seemed to twist and turn with dizzying danger, and his chest tightened, but he pressed on like a dutiful little worker. Where his hand touched, a sticky, tar-like substance formed.

Torches.

Tossing down his several spare torches in front of the rope, a wall of illumination sprung forth with a snap of his fingers. Smoky hues of orange with a nucleus of blue, distant like salvation, glowered behind the group, the shadow of that rope looming between them.

Sitting pretty behind the rope, Tom yelled: “Aight, regroup behind the line, ‘ya cunts. There’s too many!”
_{”Those of ya still alive, anyway. Tch.”}

Glancing over his shoulder, Tom was relieved to find there were no Shin closing in on him from behind. He didn’t count on the Sky Guard showing up any time soon, either. Feckers were probably waiting outside the fog.

[Reviewer]

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Time Stamp

Per his words, Areya retreated back behind where Tom indicated, unsure of what she was going to see happen. She couldn't quite follow what he was doing. But she paid close attention. It seemed like he was forming... some sort of trap? Or barrier with fire? Her mind just wasn't able to process what she saw. She stood at the ready, eyes growing wide at the massive amount of Shins coming from every direction. They were completely and utterly surrounded.

This was it. There was no getting out of this. One year in, one year left, this was how Areya, along with nearly everyone else down here, would die. She gripped her tomahawk tight, and turned, looking to join her comrade at defending the side not protected by this fire-trap-barrier thing. She rushed over, seeing two Shins attacking him. She stayed behind them, as they were focused on him. She swung her tomahawk low, catching the first one in the back of the knee, hearing it screech as it began to topple to the side. She moved to use her backswing to disable the second creature when her arm jerked to a stop, wrenching her shoulder. She looked over to see another Shin, from a distance, holding her tomahawk with one of its tentacles.

It jerked, and she held firm. She then began running at the Shin and it seemed surprised by this tactic, began opening its mouth, possibly thinking she wanted to be eaten. Tomahawk loose but still in the grip of the Shin, was plunged straight into the supposed 'face' of the creature, splattering blood upon Areya's front. A man screamed, and she looked back, to see her comrade having his own face bitten off. And she couldn't see the Rathari anywhere! Had he been eaten too? Areya was suddenly alone.

Time to flee.

[Reviewer]

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Time Stamp

She jerked her tomahawk out of the fallen Shin, and began sprinting toward the fire. Her mind was just screaming about how stupid of an idea this could be. She wasn't by any means fireproof. She just hoped there was enough filth and sweat in her armor and clothes to protect her. She cast her thoughts out into the world, asking any deity who might be listening to shield her from the touch of the flames. As she hopped the rope into the flames, she closed her eyes, shielding them with the crook of her arm, knowing that there was a group of Shin on the other side. She hoped she was fast enough to get past them.

She felt the air grow hot and heavy and she did everything she could to not breathe. And then she felt something else. Like a powerful wind, swirling the heat around her, and away from her. And three steps later, she tripped over the next rope, sprawling out on the stone floor. She looked up to see the flames forming a swirling vortex, that was spiraling up to the ledge that the Shins had originally come from. She watched the flames disappear into something dark up there, that glowed briefly with an unnatural power.

Then a Shin stepped into her view, and a tentacle lashed out at her. She rolled away but it slapped hard against her ribs, and she hissed loudly in pain. She felt another tentacle grab her by the ankle she was now trying to stand upon, and it yanked. She fell back to the stone again, not trying to be silent as she screamed. She kicked at the appendage, clawed at the stone floor, anything she could to not be eaten today.

Thunk.

An arrow slammed into the side of the Shin's head, and it slumped over, releasing its grip on her. Areya looked up, and she could see the three Sky Guards had arrived, one with a bow in hand, as two more advanced, swords readied. Areya scrambled to her feet, seeing about a dozen Shins between her and her rescuers. She looked over her shoulder, seeing dozens more coming from where her comrade had fallen too. There was too many even for the Sky Guards to deal with quickly enough for her to escape through them, and if she stayed, she was food.

She was trapped.

[Reviewer]

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Time Stamp

Eyes cast back on the torch up on the ledge, the one she'd thrown earlier. There didn't seem to be any Shins up there now. She rushed over to the wall of the ledge, tomahawk stowed in her belt, as her hands began scrambling at the surface. She heard the grunts of the soldiers fighting, as she finally found a handhold. She kept a hold of it, looking for another one. She jumped and scrambled until her other hand found purchase. She tried to pull herself up but she wasn't strong enough. Dangling, her feet were kicking, trying to press against the surface to find traction.

She looked behind her as the first of the Shins approached, reaching for her. Thunk. An arrow dropped this one too, and it smashed its face against the stone wall she was failing to scale. Acting on survival instinct, her foot kicked out and pressed against the top of the slumped, dead Shin's head, giving her just enough of a boost for her to reach up to one more hand hold. This let her ascend just a bit, and her other foot to take an old hand hold. She continued trying to find the holds until she finally scrambled over the top of the ledge, wheezing by the time she got up there.

She looked around to the other side, seeing those Shins were looking to go to the junction and surround the Sky Guards, and would cut off her escape. And there were so many, there was no way the Sky Guards could handle it. They were all already dead and just hadn't realized it yet. She thought about yelling to them, warning them about their flank disappearing, but fear was telling her to look out for herself. Either she saved them and doomed herself, or..

She stayed silent. Maybe if she stayed quiet and hid well enough, the Shins wouldn't find her after they were done with the Sky Guards. Focusing on herself and her situation now, she was able to see the glowing box that had absorbed the fire earlier. Upon its surface, she saw some sort of runic symbol, one she'd never seen before and most certainly didn't understand. But it burned bright and hot with the flames it had stolen away.

And within her mind, she felt a wordless question, asking her to pick it up. Her distrust of most things told her to not do it, but something more was pulling at her. But her survival instinct seemed willing to try. And so, Areya consented to the voiceless voice, and picked up the heavy box. And a moment later, it turned in her hands, and shot toward her chest like a magnet, and pressed the red hot rune against her. It burned through her clothes and burned the rune into her skin, from navel to between her breasts. Areya, clamped her hands so hard against her mouth, knowing that stealth was the only way she'd survive, as her skin burned and smoldered, stifling the pained scream as best she could.

And then her world went silent and black.

[Reviewer]

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Time Stamp

Areya's eyes fluttered open, seeing lantern light around her. She tried to sit up, gasping as pain racked her body, laying back down in the comfortable bed. Comfortable? Her bed wasn't comfortable. Looking around, she realized she was in one of the rooms in the medical bay. How? How had she gotten out of there, alive? There was a soft cough from across the room, and her eyes fell on a stern looking man.

"Hello, Legionnaire. It's good to see you back with us."

Areya grit her teeth and fought through the pain to sit up against the headboard. "Thank you."

"Can you tell me what you remember? We lost several people down there."

Areya nodded, "We were patrolling the Cutlass, when we got ambushed from above. The Shins... separated us from one another, picking us off one by one. In moments I was alone, and I hid. I got burned by... something, I don't know. Tom, the Rathari, did something magical but I don't really know what. I passed out and woke up here."

The man nodded, "Who all did you see die? We have many bodies unaccounted for."

Her lips a thin, grim line, "Legionnaire Jorrell and Torkvind both died. Tom disappeared. I never saw the other Legionnaires after the attack started, and the Sky Guards were alive when I passed out."

The man nodded again, scribbling in his notebook. He harrumphed, "Well you seem to be the lucky one then. We found the empty husks of the Sky Guards' armorsets. The reinforcements were too slow to advance on your position, which is probably for the best as that horde was far bigger than we would've been able to handle, at least if their numbers are accurate according to our tracker. We found you and a pile of ashes next to you. Your story seems to check out."

The man stood up, "Tom and the other missing Legionnaires are now wanted for desertion. If you see them, capture them. Understood?" Areya nodded, and the man left.

And she promptly puked into the bucket next to her bed, as the first symptom of her threshold sickness took hold. She was a Negation mage now, and hadn't the slightest idea. She just tried to lay back down, closing her eyes as a throbbing headache took hold and her body began to burn up, a fever of magical origin setting in. It was the beginning of a long few days in the medical bay.

[Mirage]

Areya

Lores
Trapmaking: The rope-fire trap design
Bodybuilding: Pulling yourself up
Climbing: Finding handholds while in a panic
Climbing: Use whatever is around for a foothold
Navigation: Basic layout of the Cutlass in the Warrens, Level 1
Axes - Tomahawk: Don't let someone take your weapon
Axes - Tomahawk: Slashing at a knee to disable an opponent
Axes - Tomahawk: Slamming the axe into an enemy's face
Stealth: Stealth is easier achieve when you don't worry about the fate of others
Running: Running through fire

Loot: +1 Rune of Negation
Injuries: Burn scar from the Cardinal Rune acquisition

Points 8, up to 5 XP can be put into Negation

Comments: Let me know if you have any questions!