Inside the Rusty Tankard, the boisterous atmosphere had vanished, replaced by a tense silence. The ruckus outside had pierced through the warm glow of the pub, momentarily silencing the patrons. A young adventurer, his face etched with concern, pointed towards the window.
"There's something going on out there!" he exclaimed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Gørg, the dwarf, frowned, his hand tightening around his tankard. "What's with all the screaming?" he grumbled.
Ava, her eyes widened with alarm. She let out a short yelp before continuing, "Something terrible is happening!" she cried out, her voice trembling.
"I can hear it – the screams of pain, the cries of those being taken away!"
Unlike most, Ava's magic competence allowed her to sense the raw emotions within the specified vicinity.
Cassandra reacted instantly, rising from her seat with a blade hilt attached to her responsive grip, and kicking the stool to the ground.
"Then what are we waiting for?" she barked with a determined glint in her eyes. "Let's go see what's happening!"
The other adventurers, their faces stretched with confidence followed by exchanging a few firm nods with one another.
In a short moment of preparation, they followed Cass's lead. Weapons were drawn, armor adjusted, and boots' laces tightened.
They were ready, ready to join the fray.
Gørg ever eager, was already posted by the wooden door, raising his great ax.
"For the Berstone (a place where Gørg originated)!" He roared, bursting out of the tavern with overflowing exuberance.
The men followed, bursting out of the tavern with their respective chant, their boots pounding across the cobblestone street, crashing toward the chaos.
Right before Ava joined the rank, she glanced at the barkeep with a worried glint in her eyes, "Are you going to be alright?" She muttered.
The barkeep, still reacting nonchalantly, waved his hand, beckoning her to proceed without him.
Ava understood the assignment, and nodded with a smile, before rushing out with her agile leather boots, clobbering out of the tavern's creaking floor.
Flames roared through the town square, casting an eerie orange glow over the scene of devastation.
Goblins danced gleefully amidst the carnage, hurling flaming bottles at buildings that hadn't yet succumbed to the inferno.
Their leader perched atop the monstrous Duskmaw, screeched out orders in guttural goblin tongue before turning and urging the beast to retreat from the fray.
The remaining goblins, fueled by their early success, had descended into a frenzy. They pillaged, murdered, and r*ped, their barbarity left unchecked.
Cassandra, Gørg, Ava, and the remaining adventurers found in the tavern burst onto the scene, joining the onslaught ahead.
The guards, once a valiant line of defense, were now scattered and decimated. Many succumbed to their death.
Despite the brutality flashed before your pupils, the adventurers, powered by countless battles in the wilds, were unfazed and charged in with courage. Echoing the chaos of their battle cries.
Soon their reach connected, their attacks were brutal and precise, obliterating goblins with ease unlike any.
In the midst of the chaos, Ava fluently cast her spell. Dismissing the goblins with practiced grace, shooting them down consecutively before their twisted finger could touch her.
But then before she moved on from her spot, her focus was shattered when a figure came into her peripheral, her eyes narrowed in focus, and she spotted the wounded Guard Captain lying amidst the chaos, struggling for his feet.
She gasped and rushed to him, her brows furrowed in concern. "Sir, are you alright? Can you move?"
He coughed, wincing in pain. "Thanks, kid, but I won't sit out while this happens, not until my breath is taken…" He struggled to rise, but Ava gently pressed a hand on his arm.
"Please, let me help you." With a whispered incantation, her hands glowed warmly, and a soft green light enveloped the Captain's wounds. They closed with a visible mend, the man's ragged breaths turning smoother.
"There," Ava said, wiping sweat from her brow. "You're patched up for now, but take it easy. It may heal your skin but not the contusion."
The Captain stared at his healed body, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Thank you, young lady. I'm... amazed..." He then looked around at the battlefield, his gaze landing on the remaining adventurers who were holding their own against the goblin onslaught.
"By Her Divineness," he breathed, a newfound respect blossoming in his eyes. "They fight like… well, like seasoned veterans."
Gørg bellowed a battle cry as he cleaved through a goblin, spraying blood across the cobblestones. "Cass, watch your back!" he roared, momentarily saving Cassandra from a surprise goblin attack.
"Thanks, Gørg," she grunted, dispatching the dazed goblin with a swift thrust of her sword at the front.
As their prance persisted in this onslaught, their blades drifting left and right, speaking their own deadliness.
As their line of pace was cornered by the goblins, colliding with one another, Gørg and Cass, back to back, "Just like the old time, aye?" Gørg exclaimed.
Cass chuckled, "Yeah, except this one is much of a mess!" Cass declared before slicing up the oncoming goblins.
"Aye, is there anything we did, not a mess?" Gørg chuckled.
"Probably none that I recalled," she responded with a chuckle of her own, "Now, get back in, you grizzly dwarf!" Cassandra exclaimed before she charged back into the horde with her blood-curdling battle cry, her heart screaming for more blood.
Amid the fray, the adventurers fought with a telepathic kind of coordination, their movements fluid and practiced.
Unlike the guards, who had relied on rigid formations, the adventurers moved in a constant dance of attack and support, each action anticipating the next.
Hell, it wasn't just strategy; it was an understanding that was forged through countless battles fought with a single feat, to adapt!
They engraved each other's movement through glances and adapted to perpetuate, moving as a single, lethal unit.
In a mere few hours, the goblins were getting decimated like flies, especially by the adventurers' uncanny yet efficient hack and slash.
Meanwhile, on the opposite of the wall, Hank, the guard lieutenant, whose lungs were burning from all the sprinting, finally reached the bell tower near the rear gate.
Just as he arrived, he arched his back, latching onto his knees, and shot a glance at the tall bell tower, the menacing ladders towered before him, "Damn it… there's more?" he ragged.
Before he could crumble to exhaustion, he took a deep breath, and with a surge of adrenaline, he scrambled up the ladder.
After a feeling of somewhat climbing a thousand steps, he reached halfway, his face slammed against the steps, catching a breather.
"Oh... damn it... who built these ladders..." he complained, succumbing to his own incompetence at the architecture.
With a quick glance to his back, at the blazing town square, the cruel eerily orange glow cast along his exhausting face resonated with the destruction of the once serene town.
The depiction of the town that was engulfed in the flame he swore to protect fueled his determination once more. With another round of deep breaths, he continued his ascend, clutching his lungs.
Another wave of good riddance later, Hank eventually reached the highest level of the ladder. His exerted body slammed onto the platform as he boarded, his pulse went haywire resonating with his dying demeanor, his muscles screaming in protest.
But this wasn't a time to rest, he couldn't waste much time further, he wiped his teeming sweat, rising from the wooden platform with his staggering legs.
He pushed forward, his focus only on the bell. Soon he reached the grasp, he latched his heavy hands onto the bell rope as if one's life depended on it and pulled with all his might.
The deep, mournful clang of the bell echoed through the night air, shattering the stillness and jolting the slumbering town awake. Every citizen, from weary merchants to sleeping children, was ripped from their dreams by the urgent clamor.
After accomplishing his task, Hank scrambled down from the tower, urging him to rejoin his comrades at war, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
As his feet collided with the mud, and he rounded a corner, he came face-to-face with a group of heavily armored figures emerging from a side building.
They were the Radiant Heart, their polished armor gleaming faintly under the moonlight. Hank recognized them instantly from their heraldic crest.
"Wait!" he cried out, desperation curated in his voice. "Aren't you guys the Radiant Heart?"
The group halted, turning towards him. A tall figure clad in armor trimmed with gold stepped forward, his face obscured by a shadowed helm.
"Who wants to know?" his voice boomed, impatience underlying his tone.
"Hank, the guard lieutenant!" Hank wheezed, catching his breath. "The town… we're under attack! Goblins! We need your help!"
They exchanged glances before a wave of laughter underlined with disdain passed through the group. The leader chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.
"Sorry, but this task is beneath us. We deal with threats far greater than just a 'goblin raid'. Such meager tasks fit only the lesser adventurers. To us, it is nothing but a waste of time."
"Men, move out!" He gestured to his companions, and they began to move past Hank, heading away from the chaos.
"Wait!" Hank cried panic flaunted in his tone. "These goblins are different! Smarter, more organized! We'll die without your help!"
The leader stopped, his shadowed figure looming over Hank. He turned slowly, and for a brief moment, moonlight glinted off the visor of his helm, revealing a pair of icy blue eyes that burned with nothing but sheer unconcern.
"If such meager task authorized your fate with it. Then die with it, to hell I care," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
With that, he turned and continued leading his team away, their footsteps fading into the night.
Hank was stunned by the scornful remarks and watched them go, but his senses kicked back in before the departure, "Wait… wait!" his desperate voice blurted out.
But their steps were as cold and glacial as their heart, resonating their unwavering aloof with each step stomped.
A sense of despair washed over Hank. Hope, so desperately clung to, had been waned.
But there was no time for despair. He had a job to do. He must save his comrades, even if it meant to gamble his life.
He sprinted back towards the town square, his boot clobbered against the cobblestone, the town's fate hanging precariously in the balance. He had to join the fray or else those he knew would perish by the time he raced against.
But his desperation for reuniting with his comrades only met its end, as a group of townfolks, desperately huddled before him. Their urgency to escape overwhelmed the night air, begging Hank to escort them in the name of their precious younglins.
Hank was stunned, halting his steps immediately. Meeting his quivering eyes with those desperate pleads.
"Please, sir... Save our children!" one of the villagers clamored, clutching onto Hank's fabric that was weaved between his gauntlet and pouldron.
Hank gasped at the density that huddled, the amount of them were lost; were desperate, like a litter of kittens without their mother.
Realizing the dilemma of choosing the fate between the townfolks that were left behind and his comrades. If Hank to choose to side with his troop, the villagers that were to be abandoned in the wild would be defenseless against the bandits and creatures of the wild and would concede their death expeditiously. And if they stayed behind would concede to the same fate as the goblins'.
But if he were to desert his comrades and guide the people to safety, the fate of his troop would be unknown and may greatly favor their demise.
Hank cursed under his breath, blaming the time of fate, loathing every second he was to dwell in the presence while abandoning his comrades. But despite the gravity of his comrades' survivability, the townfolks' lives surpassed those on the frontline.
Worn down by the pledge and inevitability, Hank blurted out a desperate sigh, returning short glances between the blazing town, engulfed in eerily flames and haunting screams, and the piteous folks huddled before him.
Pinching his nose, Hank gritted his teeth of distress, his temptation to join his troop overwhelmed his rationality. But his compassion thrived, and he finalized his decision to abandon his desire to return and lead the townfolks to safety.
He then rounded up the people before the rear gate, the gate to the north.
The people, those assembled before him, gushing in fear, crowding the place with sheer desperations and cries, questioning their chances. Hank, though amateur in leading during his time as a town guard, quickly seized the moment, and clasped his palm loudly, reaping the concern of the townfolks.
"Please, listen here, people!" he requested, "whether you favor the idea or not, we're departing from this place once and for all, leaving what's deemed paramount to your possession, and to those who already succumbed to their fate."
"But my boy! What about him!" a sobbing mother interrupted, instigating others to follow.
"And my golds!"
"–my house!"
"–my horses!"
"Be heeded, folks!" Hank exclaimed, breaking the consternation, "If you want to live, it's no time for panic and debates! Yes, to those many concerns, we must surrender those things or people, we cherished or loved, if we value our life and desire to get out of here at once! So, please people, if you want to live for another day, stop contesting, and follow my lead!"
The townfolks, many unconvinced with some crumbled to their feet in despair, but their desperation to survive only forced them to obey, and oblige what was left for them to escape from this harrowing place, even if it meant abandoning their family trinkets and members behind and fending for themselves.
It was truly a sorrowful juncture.