The Storm Below

Sister gasped and fell forward, barely catching herself on the cold stone floor. She panted, sweat pouring from her body from the exertion of keeping so many prophets at bay. They had not planned for this. They had assumed that the primary source of the Godhunters' for-knowledge was the Prophet of the Wellspring. She would have never dreamed there would be so many trying to pierce the veil. She concentrated, steadying her breath. The last of the prophets must have gone to sleep so now she could enjoy at least some respite before the morning. Shakily she stood, glancing out at the vast ocean of bodies she had collected as both sword and shield. The Godhunters had weathered the first onslaught of the Thaw, as she knew they would, but now that their numbers had been significantly decreased by the foolish prince’s early departure, would they be able to withstand it still? She allowed herself a small smile. If she could distract them long enough, keep them embattled while maintaining her defenses, she could outlast them until another Champion arrived to aid her. The thought rejuvenated her, and Harmony Silver-Pelt returned to her altar. Placing her hands on it, she reached out into the formless force mutants called The Weird, picturing in her mind the Godhunter’s camp. A veritable cornucopia just above the surface. It was a subtle change among the legion of Husks that she had drawn to herself, like the changing course of a flock of birds, but it was enough. Soon Husks were climbing their way up through the tunnels that spiderwebbed across the mountain, towards the sleeping Ravager camp.