Battle at the frosty grove

Peregrin’s feet crunched against the first snow of the season. The snow was dispersed unevenly across the brown meadow, gathered in clear, icy bunches at the bases of blue grass bushes. Icy snow also gathered at the base of the conifer woods they were heading towards, hiding in the shadows from the too-warm sun. Winter lasted at least half of the year this far north, although the endless plains of snow made it feel like a land of perpetual winter.

His second tour of the north had proved to be much more uneventful than the first, although that was to be expected given last time the Nhentu had decided to launch their seventh Cleansing War. He had fought and killed dozens of the bloodthirsty elves as they had laid siege to the northern territories and raided the midlands unimpeded. Then one day it was all over. Some group of heroes had slain the Nhentu warlord, Majaspian and suddenly everything returned to normal.

Following a brief month of granted leave, Peregrin’s second tour resembled much more like what most northern territory soldiers experienced when there was not a Cleansing War taking place on top of them. Two weeks in-fortress and two weeks on-patrol in the snow plains, on the lookout for Nhentu raiding parties. There had been a recruitment boom following the war. Young women and men who had felt the direct impact of the Nhentu had joined the Onyron army, either seeking revenge or feeling the patriotic spirit enough to join the King’s army. Peregrin’s conroi had been bolstered by these new recruits back up to 20 soldiers. Three had never returned and had been deemed AWOL.

He was not surprised about Grineer or Iados. Grineer didn’t have a stomach for war and had spent most nights crying. Iados was far more passionate about opening a restaurant and had probably departed for Frazeal, like he always said he would. Jimbal not returning was a surprise. He relished in killing Nhentu; in Peregrin’s opinion a little too much for them to ever grow close. Jimbal was more likely to be floating dead at some Amodarian docks then have deserted the army

Ahead of him and the rest of the conroi, Dynas, Jimbal’s replacement, paused momentarily and held his hand up, causing the rest of the conroi to halt in their tracks and freeze. The half-elf – not of Nhentu descent he assured us - slowly lowered his hand to then raise his precision rifle to a firing position, aiming it at the woods ahead. Other soldiers raised rifles, pistols or withdrew various types of short swords, long swords, scimitars and rapiers. Grumth pulled out a two-handed maul and readied it, his yellow eyes narrowing on the woods.

Peregrin took a deep breath and channelled the magic that coursed within him, thinking back to his father’s charred corpse on the smithy floor. The gauntlet on his right hand crackled with lightning while the small canon his left gauntlet began to whir softly as it emitted a fiery heat. He channelled the magic into his boots, already feeling lighter on his feet.

The meadow would have been silent if not for the small sounds coming from his mechanisms, the cocking of rifles and heavy breathing. No insects or birds to be heard, likely why Dynas stopped them in the first place. In the distance a wolf howled, followed by another wolf howling even further away. The sound of a mocking jay came from the woods. They all stood silently before Dynas turned around to look at the lieutenant, Karlo, to give a silent, confused shrug.

With the shrug, a black, feather-notched arrow appeared out of nowhere in Dynas’ neck, as if it had always been there. Dynas collapsed down, his expression frozen in mild confusion. Grumth roared and immediately charged towards the woods, maul ready. The rest of the conroi scattered, yelling, as arrows pelted horizontally from the nothing in the woods. The soles on Peregrin’s boots launched him from the ground, propelling him at great speed towards a single, thick tree on the cusp of the woods. Other soldiers ran for non-existent cover, betraying their inexperience, or like Grumth, charged yelling towards the trees.

Peregrin rapidly caught up to the new Cherkeet recruit, Mirthmyr, who had the same idea as Peregrin. Only Peregrin made it to the tree. Mirthmyr collapsed to the snow full, his right side full of arrows - likely the reason Peregrin was able to make it behind the tree unscathed. He pressed his back against the tree and looked down at Mirthmyr. The normally rosy-cheeked, smiling face was distorted in a scream that never made it out. One of the many arrows in the right side of his head has popped his right eyeball out of its socket.

Then came the battle cries as the Nhentu charged out of the woods, their high-pitched, banshee-like screams causing some of the scattering soldiers to freeze in surprise and terror. This had the intended fatal effect as the Nhentu cut them down their long swords. Peregrin estimated that half the conroi were down with at least double that number of Nhentu attacking them.

A Nhentu who had charged out from the tree line singled him out and moved towards him, the white of his barred teeth in stark contrast to the black skull tribal paint. Peregrin did not freeze or falter. This was not his first engagement with the Nhentu. The enemy closed in on him, thrusting his sword forward like a duellist, taking Peregrin by surprise. Peregrin was just able to twist to the left as the sword breezed past his neck. He knew what was next. He ducked under the sword swing and shifted around the side of the elf, thrusting his right arm up to grab the pauldron. Peregrin’s strength was nowhere near that of the Nhentu’s, but he only needed a second of contact. He thought of his father’s burnt body in the husk of their smithy. Lightning surged from the gauntlet into the Nhentu, cooking the elf inside his leather. The dead Nhentu fell down, a smoky smell of singed flesh lingering in the air.

Peregrin quickly moved forward to take on the next Nhentu who was just withdrawing her sword from Karlo. The Nhentu turned to Peregrin with grim determination only to have her head driven into her chest cavity by Grumth’s maul. Grumth turned to Peregrin and gave him a toothy grin, one of the rare times the Ko Islander ever smiled. He charged off towards the fray with Peregrin following.

Nhentu armed with bows and long swords were finishing off some who had fallen and were moving in to the meadow proper. Peregrin held out his left arm out, an intense blast of air exploded from the canon, sending seven of the enemy flying back towards the trees. While they were all knocked down, the two closest became rag dolls as their bones shattered, and another was impaled on the broken branch of a tree. The rest started to rise, but Peregrin was ready. A lightning whip strung out from his left gauntlet and wrapped around the thigh of the nearest live Nhentu, reeling him towards Peregrin. Several mis-aimed arrows stuck into the Nhentu’s back as he soared towards Peregrin, and the elf was dead before Peregrin had to act.

The two Nhentu who had shot at Peregrin were quickly re-notching but received small bolts of white-hot fire as Peregrin fired from his arm cannon. He felt two slashes against his arm as an elf wielding two scimitars spun through the air. Blood flicked off the lightning gauntlet as Peregrin grabbed one of the swords and surged lightning up the sword into the Nhentu. Peregrin began charging up the canon for another blast of air but found the Nhentu were all dead.

The raiding party had wreaked havoc on the conroi, mostly on the new recruits. Out of twelve new recruits, nine had met fatal ends with two wounded. At least two of the experienced soldiers had met their end too, plus their lieutenant Karlo. Six soldiers, shouldering two more injured, solemnly marched back to Griffin Fortress as was the protocol after such an ambush. While Peregrin had never relished in killing or the war like Jimbal had, he had found it simpler. The Nhentu had roamed in the open, or laid siege to the pop-up fortresses. But it seemed in normal times, they relied on ambushes, guerrilla tactics and invoking fear in the patrols. The reason patrols were limited to two weeks was because any longer and people started to go mad.

They reached the cleared zone outside of Griffin Fortress. Onyron troops were moving about their day; patrolling platforms behind the palisades, departing on patrols or, like Peregrin’s conroi, returning. Various midland kingdoms contributed troops to the northern frontier of the frozen wastes. Without the collective numbers, Peregrin was sure the midlands would have been Nhentu territory decades ago.

As they approached, a lieutenant overseeing the movement of supplies saw their wounds and low numbers and immediately called for medics. A dwarven medic carefully dressed Peregrin’s wounds.

“I’m prescribing you time off. Based on your ledger, you’ve been here for 3 months now,” said the medic without looking up from Peregrin’s arm.

“I’m fine, it’s only a few cuts that will easily heal,” replied Peregrin. He watched out through the tent flap as some Nhentu were marched across the yard in chains, in the direction of the shooting range.

“It’s not the cuts, it’s this.” The medic’s fingers traced along the veins in his right arm which were moving more towards an electric blue every day. “Sorcerers use magic every day and it appears to be relatively safe, physically. But the way you use magic, Peregrin…” The cleric moved a bread knife with a wooden handle close to Peregrin’s index and finger and watched small sparks jump between the blade and the finger, “… it quite unique, as far as my limited knowledge is concerned. Who know what kind of toll it takes on your body.”

The medic tied up the bandage with a small bit of wire and pulled out some parchment.

“You’re medically discharged for two weeks.”

“No really—"

“Yes really. And I recommend going to Sen Gemynai, or somewhere like that. Give yourself a break from the magic and experience a different kind of magic for a bit.” Peregrin distinctly remembered drinking claw wine from a half-orc whores’ cleavage halfway up a Sen Gemynai tower.

“Should be relaxing, I guess.”