"I also think of Marcellus as a coward but he is a mad man who in his search of power and knowledge has dwelled too far into things and secrets that should be kept away from mortals. " he looks at Vark for a moment after saying that words " He is more dangerous than I first thought but we will get rid of him and the threath he represents. " 

Val stares at the remnants of the men she had killed only a few short hours prior to this moment. She lets out a vicious curse in the tongues of giants, to vile for the tongue of men as she spits. "I had thought to bring the bodies of these men back so something such as this could not occur. I failed you all in pursuit of ill-gotten gains and my own safety. I will not do so again." 

As she speaks those words, she removes the belt with the daggers and holds them out to Vark. "Do these hold any magic?"

Vark can’t help but frown at Bründir’s antics. Aiden is right, the situation is serious and Vark half expects Marcellus himself to step out of a portal to shut the dwarf up. Val’s guilt doesn’t do anything to improve his mood, but her question does pull his focus.

”Oh, uhm… yes, definitely, let me see,” he steps closer and takes the daggers in his hands to get a better look. “Matthew,” he says abruptly. “Or at least… some of his essence, diluted. This,” he points to engravings on both of the daggers which depict entwined serpents. “Is a symbol of Loki. One of Matthew’s incarnations of course. I heard them say something about Matthew before we attacked. I was worried he was working with them somehow but, I think they are just trying to use his power. Uhm… anyway, the daggers are magically keen and looking at these conjuration runes I think someone wielding them could throw one and then teleport after it.” His eyes turn up to look at ‘Mateo’. The weapons would be perfect in Jex’s hands, but… “M-maybe you could use them?”

Matteo looks apprehensively at the blades. The voice in the back of his head screams at him to take them but he pulls back. He reaches out again a moment later.

"The ability to teleport would be useful. Perhaps I can dull the blades somehow..."

Matteo thinks for a moment longer.

"And how about this bow? If the cleric had magic daggers, I imagine the archer's bow was special too."

“Yup, definitely magic,” Vark says as he takes the bow in his hands, utilizing both his arcane senses and his technical knowledge of runes to analyze it, but he quickly shakes his head and hands it back. ”I’m not so familiar with the school of transmutation though, I can’t make sense of these runes. I’d need to separate the codex from Pathmaker… or you could just attune to it.”

Matteo blinks several times as he processes what Vark says. "Transm... Attune..." He can feel the presence in the back of his head, urging him to do it.

"Transmutation is like, turning things into other things right? So it might be able to turn the arrows into something blunt, or that puts people to sleep?" Yes, go on, we need it. Can it hurt to know?

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to know, would it? We should find out how dangerous it is. Do I have to attune the daggers to?"

Vark is unsure if Matteo’s expression is simply him struggling to understand his explanation of the magic item, or if there is some deeper turmoil. He listens patiently before nodding.

”Yeah, I would think so.”

Matteo nods, taking back the items and placing them in his backpack.

"Thank you. Now I suppose we should get back and rest before tomorrow comes. We should send the scouts to check the army isn't moving though, this kay have been a distraction for them to move over night, or the first of many surprises."

-----_------------

Back at the tent, Matteo apprehensively sits down to meditate and attune to the two new items. Perhaps if he understands them, he can find a use for them beyond spilling blood. Jex's voice laughs in amusement at the thought deep in the back of his head.

Entering the camp, Brundir hangs back from the others to discuss with the watch. Some had heard the shouting from the skirmish, and the recounting of supernatural monsters left equal feelings of dread and wonder. In the end, a small team of runners were dispatched to relay updated orders to the scouts afield: Scouts were to be pushed out further and any movement was to be reported as soon as it was seen. This last test practically made it to the camp's gate. An army would be seen sooner, but not soon enough for comfort.

The first light of dawn paints the sky with hues of golden orange as Sheercleft's defenders stir from their tents and look out over the slopes of Mount Judgement. The air is crisp and laden with anticipation, carrying with it a faint scent of pine mixed with the earthy aroma of the mountain. With the setting of the moon, the sun's warm rays bathe the land, casting long shadows that stretch out like fingers reaching towards the encampment. The defenders, clad in armour and armed with determination, line the ridge, their eyes fixed on the southern horizon where the approaching army looms.

The distant rumble of hooves grows louder, resonating through the stillness of the morning and making the ground tremble beneath one's feet — a telltale sign of the approaching force. The rhythmic beat of war drums accompanies the advancing army, creating an eerie symphony that echoes through the valleys and sends shivers down the spine. With each passing moment, the Cambrian army becomes more visible, their glinting armour catching the first rays of sunlight like a thousand shards of shattered dreams. Banners flutter proudly in the breeze, bearing the crest of Sir Marcellus: three thorny red roses beneath a constellation of five stars.

The defenders exchange anxious glances, their hearts pounding in unison with the mounting tension. The low murmurs of whispered prayers and encouraging words fill the air, mingling with the occasional clink of weapons being readied for battle. A soft breeze sweeps through the encampment, carrying the scent of wildflowers and fresh dew — a poignant reminder of what is at stake should they fail to hold their ground. Some close their eyes, savouring the gentle caress of the wind on their faces, seeking solace and strength from the mountain beneath their feet.

As the moon sinks towards the horizon, the sun's radiance paints the battlefield with a golden glow, making the warriors' shadows on the snowy slopes seem like a projection of their determination onto the very land that they fight to protect. The defenders, their eyes fixed on the approaching army, tighten their grip on their weapons, their resolve steeled for the imminent clash. The morning will soon be engulfed by the chaos and fury of battle.

Aiden pulls out a small dagger and cuts a shallow line across the inside of his hand. When one of the Naked Guard near him widens his eyes in confusion, Aiden just chuckles. "My blood has already been split this day," he says, smearing the blood across his own face. "Now I cannot fear for my lifeblood, for it is already been taken." The cleric offers the dagger to the guardsman.

Thurston overlooks the incoming army and then looks to their own troops, nerviosuly looking over the field that soon will become the last ground many of them will ever walk on this life. The grey clouds in the sky seemed to mimic the spirits of the gathered men and dwarves. 

He spits to the ground and take a few steps forward. 

"PEOPLE OF SHEERCLEFT!!  " he raises Rikkazarik over his head, raising a few feet from the ground, making them looking at him " LOOK AT THAT ARMY THAN COME TOWARDS YOU. " he points towards the army, as they all can feel the ground trembling under their steps "I WILL NOT LIE TO YOU. THEY DO NOT COME TO GIVE US A LESSON, OR TO SUBDUE US. THEY COME TO KILL US. TO MURDER OUR LOVED ONES BACK IN OUR HOME." he makes a small pause, letting that words sink " TO THAT I SAY NO!!!" he raises the hammer again and the gathering clouds above them replies with thunder. Wind swirls around him making his cloak bellow and playing with his blonde hair " I DO NOT KNOW IF TONIGHT I WILL DINE WITH YOU OR IN VALHALLA. BUT I KNOW YOU FRIENDS, AND YOU WILL NOT ALLOW THEM TO TAKE ANY MORE STEP CLOSER TO YOUR HOME. YOU HAVE ONCE FOUGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM FROM THEIR TWISTED MASTERS, AND YOU WON!! THAT'S WHY THEY COME NOW, THAT'S WHAT THEY FEAR YOU. BECAUSE THEY KNOW YOU ARE FEARLESS!!" he hits his own chest at the last word, some men, specially the ones of the Naked Guard roared in reply " BECAUSE YOU ARE STRONG!!"  some of dwarves hit the ground with their steel boots. They cannot longer feel the trembling of the approaching army. " BECAUSE YOU ARE FREE!!! " Now the entire army roar raising their weapons in defiance "THE ARCANOST DRAW FIRST BLOOD LAST NIGHT IN THE HEART OF THEIR CAMP. AND WE WILL FIGHT THEM AGAIN TODAY. TELL ME SHEERCLEFT. ARE YOU GOING TO FIGHT WITH US?!" 
The soldiers replied with a hearthy YES, and he asked again "WILL YOU FIGHT?!" Soon the reply turned from another yes to FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT, while the army hit their shields and armor with their swords and spears. 

"TODAY WE FIGHT!!"  Thurston finally screams and another thunder crosses the sakis and a lighting falls upon his raised sacred weapon. 

He descends to the front lines and dons his helmet. 

"Now they are ready" he says with a smirk to his companions as the soldiers continue chanting "WE FIGHT! WE FIGHT!" 

Brundir keeps a steeled gaze across the field of battle. Thurston's voice booms overhead, and yet he keeps his eyes locked on the distance. When the thundering rally subsided and Thurston lowered back to the ground, Brundir urged Steelbrow to Thurston's side. Even astride a great boar, he was barely taller than Thurston, "That's my job." The dwarf glared at the the Norscan from the corner of an eye, keeping his head locked gazing forward, "...But that was pretty damn good." The dwarf's head remains still, but a smile splits to replace his cold glare.

Matteo listens to Thurston's speech, the part deep within him roused by the words, squashed by the fear and apprehension, not for his own death, but the blood about to be shed. A grief that cuts him so deeply he has to hold back a tear, an echo of the blood running down his hands, seeping through the shapes below them and into the dirt visible in his minds eye. He slips away to stand with the kobolds, they expected him there, unable to understand that he was no longer the person they thought he was. He grips the cudgels at his belt. The path to least blood became clear to him.

Marcellus.

Bringing him before the army was the fastest way to stop the battle. Going after a man in the middle of his allies was what Jex has always been good at, he knew he still had those skills. He stands up on the ledge and casts his eyes over the battlefield. 

Where would I be if I was Marcellus?

A lone horse rider moving between the groups of infantry catches his eye. There. That's where I'd be.

As Thurston rouses Sheercleft’s forces into a thunderous fury, Vark is somber and silent. The events of the previous night play on a loop in his mind, interspersed with the tentacled face of Marcellus’ patron staring back at him, and scored by the storm of questions that plague him. What fell magics will their enemy employ in this fight? What are the Mabinogi really after? What is the truth of their connection to his own patron? Despite his roiling mind there is no fear in his heart, only the cold resignation of what must be done today. He grips Pathmaker tight in his hands, feeling the Ruby’s power thrumming through it. He is ready.

Matteo watches as the army advances closer, he needs to time this well, or risk ruining Brundir's plan and place all of the town at risk. Too late and needless fighting will take place. He holds up his arm to the Kobolds.

"Now!"

He brings his arm down and leaps back from the ridge, watching as the Kobolds dive into their readied tunnels, ready to pull some support beams and collapse the cliff. There is a low rumble at first, Kobolds scatter from the tunnels and Matteo fears it has all gone wrong. Then there is a thunderous sound as two huge sheets of rock grind against each other as the cliff face slides down, opening up a second pathway down the mountain, and his chance to find Marcellus and make him a prisoner, ending the bloodshed.

As Sheercleft's defenders brace themselves for the impending clash, Sir Marcellus's gnoll allies surge forward to lead the charge. Feral snarls pierce the air and their matted fur bristles with aggression. Yellowed teeth gnash together in anticipation, drool dripping from their jowls as they close the distance with lightning speed. Each step shakes the ground beneath them, leaving deep furrows in their wake. The gnolls' savage presence is marked by the acrid scent of primal savagery, a pungent mix of wet fur, dried blood and the musk of untamed wilderness. It mingles with the crisp morning air, assaulting the senses of the defenders who stand firm, their eyes locked on the threat.

Matteo watches the advance carefully, timing is everything.

"Now!"

He brings his arm down and leaps back from the ridge, watching as the Kobolds dive into their readied tunnels, ready to pull some support beams and collapse the cliff. There is a low rumble at first, Kobolds scatter from the tunnels and Matteo fears it has all gone wrong. Then there is a thunderous sound as two huge sheets of rock grind against each other as the cliff face slides down, opening up a second pathway down the mountain, and his chance to find Marcellus and make him a prisoner, ending the bloodshed.

Val listened to Thurston's impassioned speech with a grim smile, looking at the men and women following her lead. She had never been a leader before, that had always been Larkin's job; he was the leader, the chief... she was just... Valaith... and so she thought back to what Larkin would have done in this moment and she begins walking around, checking on them, her soldiers, making sure they were all listening to the speech. There were too many faces for her to remember, and she knew that many of those she looked at now would not be around again in this life, but she made sure to look every single one of them in the eye. And then... it was time, the crash of crumbling stone and the wicked howls as a warband of gnolls rapidly rushed up the mountainside. 'In the end, it all comes back to this.' In her mind's eye, she can see the frozen remnants of her people scattered across the wastes... the sound of ruined leathers and furs flapping in the wind. No, this time it would be different; this time she was here. 

She turns and looks at her company with the cold, icy visage of rage building as the air around her turns bitterly cold and Larkin's spiritual form appears next to her looking on with a proud, grim countenance. She gives them a nod before turning back towards the frenzied rush of the gnolls. She lifts Rook high above her head and slams the handle down on the stone beneath their feet with a heavy thud. Again. Again. Again. A rhythmic pounding to match and overcome the sounds of their enemies. Thump. From next to her and behind as her troops follow her lead, clashing spear against shield. All together, their sounds echoing across the mountains like the war drums of the very gods themselves. Thump! Thump! Thump! 

She spots the gnolls looking to moving alongside the flank of Brundir's forces. "No." She whispers before raising Rook high into the air, holding it aloft. "FOR SHEERCLEFT!" She bellows loudly over the screams of the gnolls, the crashing of the stone, the dull thuds of spear upon shield. Her soldiers echo the cry as their towering Captain lets out a primal warcry and charges forward towards their enemy! All at once, they surge forward en masse, more chaotic than they should be as they rush to follow behind Val's massive form sprinting out ahead of them. In her battlelust, she does not realize the line behind her is starting to falter into a mob, but the spiritual form of Larkin does and his voice carries to her over the shouts. 

"Rimehand, the line falters behind you. Keep them tight!" 

A quick glance over her shoulder confirms his words and she slows the charge. "Keep the line! Form up!" She begins to form up their line into a cohesive formation as best she can as the distances close and close... And then there is nothing as the sounds of shouting and clashing of weapon upon weapon falls away, all that Val can hear is her heavy breath as she locks eyes with one of the gnolls bracing for their contact. She lets out another primal scream of fury that is echoed by her troops as they all slam into the gnolls and Rook renders the gnoll's skull into paste. 

Arrows darken the sky, raining down upon the ranks of the village watch. Several are struck down where they stand and many more are wounded, . Moments later the Gnolls are upon the Dwarves, ripping and tearing with tooth and claw. In the wake of the Cambrian archer's barrage, Sir Marcellus bellows to his levies to march west and fill the gap created by the collapsed bluffs, while he spurs his horse to gallop towards where Bründir and Valaith hold the front.