Dread Mage

As Vell traversed the rugged terrain, the remnants of the old fort began to loom in the distance.

Some Garrions were known for their mercilessness and cunning ambushes, yet these ones neither cared much for stealth nor battle preparedness.

The sun had long set, and Vell had spent a considerable amount of time making his way here. However, the moonlight provided a beautiful scene.

The ruins were enshrouded in a heavy stillness, sporadically interrupted by the soft rustling of leaves; no guards in sight.

Vell approached almost carelessly, but his senses were sharp enough to pick out anything that wasn’t part of nature.

He could feel the pulse of the earth beneath him, the vibrations of life—all three, plant, animal, and human—that thrummed through the ground.

It led him to the entrance of the fort, half-hidden by vines and decay.

Raising his hand, Vell deftly plucked the moon from its celestial perch, using it as a radiant orb to throw light on his surroundings, casting unsettling shadows on the forsaken walls.

"Heed my words, Garrions," he commanded. "Either surrender or meet your end at my hands."

The Garrions, jolted from their rest, grabbed their weapons and faced him in the neglected courtyard, pouring out of every opening.

The leader of the group, a burly man with a scar cutting across his face, stepped forward, looking down from a balcony, smirking. “And who are you to threaten us, Mage? You’re alone. You have no army to back you. You think your magic can save you?”

With a wave of his hand, Vell conjured a tempest of fire, swirling it around him, illuminating the space with a fierce glow. Some Garrions recoiled, their bravado faltering in the face of a fiery end.

“Yield now, and I may spare your lives,” he offered. “Resist, and I will unleash a fury upon you that you cannot comprehend.”

The leader’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of uncertainty. “You think you can intimidate us with tricks? We have faced mages before, most greater than you will ever be!”

“Not very likely,” Vell replied, his voice low and steady. “Now that I have thought about it, I don't think King Aduaine needs any of you alive, and neither do I.”

Before the leader could respond, Vell returned the moon to its rightful place, and the air crackled around him.

He let his staff hover in front of him and rose through the air, meeting the mass of bandits; the staff blasting every living creature that was in its line of sight, precise and devastating.

The bandits retaliated by readying their bows and crossbows to shoot him down from the air, but they lacked the speed and resilience to either evade or withstand his bolts of magic to finish their attempt at a counterattack.

Amidst the pandemonium, he caught fleeting glimpses of the creeping fear in their eyes as they fell, lifeless, to the ground one by one.

The leader, recognizing his defeat and having quickly sought cover behind his men, tried to flee. But with a simple wave, Vell commanded a barrier made from the castle to rise from the ground, blocking his escape.

"Your brief reign is over," Vell proclaimed, striding forward to confront the leader directly, placing a hand on the man's head. "Are there others hiding in this land whom you might call allies? Or do you have additional men stationed elsewhere?"

The leader's false courage had dissipated, replaced by pure terror, which soon turned into a lifeless gaze and eyes that lost their hue, resembling the milky white of Sonder's eyes.

With a nod of satisfaction, Vell listened as the man's monotone voice revealed the locations of remaining Garrion encampments, their future raid plans, and the identities of who they had allied with.

Once the information was obtained, Vell released the leader, who crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Vell turned to clear out the last remnants of the Garrions before they had a chance to flee.