Slicer Thews stood atop the shining walls of the Community and stared in dismay as the end of his world approached.

In the last week, several Finder teams had gone missing in the jungle. To lost a Finder, or even an entire Team, was not critically unusual. But to lose three in a single week? This was not the western shores, where the jungle became truly deadly and the monsters something even entire teams would fear. Something had been taking his Finder teams. He had been in the middle of assembling a search force to go and seek the problem… When suddenly the need for such a thing had become moot. Because that was when the most likely answer to the question strode out of the jungle and advanced towards the Community.

Sentinels.

They were great stone beasts with eyes that glowed like fire and hands that sparked with ancient power. He had thought them tales for children. He had told tales of them to children. Had used them with his own children to coax them to bed. "Go to sleep, Youngling, or the Sentinels will come for you."

And now here they were. Remnants of the Enemy that had trapped them here upon these shores so long ago that none living remembered the event. An Enemy, the oldest legends whispered, that had forced them into servitude, an Enemy against which his ancestors had risen up, an Enemy who had, with his last breath, condemned the world to a slow wasting death.

He would have sworn, upon the name of any god who cared to listen, that they were merely boogeymen of stories meant to scare children into obedience.

And now a dozen of them were marching towards the Community, and the hundreds of souls living within its walls.

"Interlopers!" the voice was like the wash of rough seas against stone. "Lay down thy arms and surrender to Mighty Caesar! This is thine only warning!"

The Community had stood for hundreds years on the eastern shores of the island, Rising tall and proud against the backdrop of the deep blue waters of the Scaleback Ocean. Its walls had been proof against monster attacks and bandit raids, back when bandits were still a thing to be dealt with on the island. And even with its doom approaching, Slicer Thews knew they would not go quietly.

"The Militia is ready, Captain," said the tall scarred elf beside him. Fighter Twoson stood tall and proud, his metal armour shining in the moonlight, his musket and bayonet at his side, loaded and ready for action. "We will fight to the last."

"What if we surrender?" the voice belonged to Elder Newgreen, the eldest of the elves within the Community, standing beside Slicer Thews as was proper. The tone of his question was hopeless for like every other elf on this wall he knew what the answer would be.

But he was the Elder. It was his duty to ask.

"If the stories are true?" Slicer Thews snorted. "We will be taken to the depths of the island and cut apart for a dead man's rituals. Our children will become reagents in his alchemical concoctions, our women taken to his bedchambers as pleasure slaves, and you and I will be thrown to the great beasts at the circuses." The younger elf met his elder's eyes, and the flinty determination that shone in them ought to have scorched the Elder with the blaze of his soul. "Forgive me, Elder, if I do not contemplate that particular choice as a good one."

"Yes," Elder Newgreen sighed, sounding every one of his three hundred years. "I know. But…"

"But it is the duty of an Elder of the Community to seek all possible solutions," the Militiaelf said quietly, understanding. "Just as it is the duty of the Militia to fight to the end to safeguard all within the Community's walls. And so we shall, this night. Unless the gods bring us a miracle."

"The gods can get fucked." Fighter Twoson spat over the wall. "They've not once helped us in the hundred-eighty years I've lived, I don't expect them to change their tune now."

"I wouldn't reject their aid if they happened to do just that," Slicer Thews said with a smirk. "But I fear you are right." He glanced over at Elder Newgreen and held out his hand. "You should be with the second line now, Elder. But before you go… It has been an honor."

The old elf stared at the militiaelf's outstretched hand, then sighed like an undertaker and clasped it like a dead man.

"It has been an honor, Slicer Thews."

"Die well, Elf."

"Die well, Elf." The elder's grip came to life for a breath, and the old elf's hand turned to gnarled oak in Slicer Thews' grip. Then it was just the frail grip of an old elf, and Elder Newgreen shuffled back to stand with the second line of elves, the ones who would support the Militia in the coming battle.

"Militia!" Fighter Twoson's gruff voice cracked through the air like a shot from his musket. "The Stone Men outside our walls are waiting for an answer! Let's give them one!"

Slicer Thews felt himself smile, a grim gravedigger's smile, at his second-in-command's words.

"Aye. Raise your tech high, open your eyes wide, and let us paint the shore with whatever these stone men use for blood!" his own voice echoed out after Fighter Twoson's.

A defiant roar rose from the throats of the forty Militiaelves lining the Community's wall, and from the almost hundred more Conscripts who had been called up to the second line. To an untrained eye, it must have seemed like the weight of numbers alone must surely turn the tide against the enemy.

"Second line! Bolster the Militia!" This time it was Elder Newgreen's voice that snapped out, the command given with every iota of the Elder's authority behind it.

Forty second-line Elves stepped forward and laid their hands on forty muskets of the forty militiaelves. As one, they summoned the power from within their own bodies and, using the most ancient techniques available to their kind, spoke a single world.

[Bolster]

Blue light flowed from the Seconds and into the muskets of the militia. Slicer Thews watched as his own weapon bulged with power, the metal swelling with the granted life force of the elf before him. The boy was young, not more than thirty summers old, but he gave of himself freely. And he sagged when the weight of the power left him and infused Slicer Thews' weapon.

"Militia!" Seeker Thews barked. "Aim!"

Forty muskets took aim at the approaching stone men, barely a hundred yards away now.

"FIRE!"

The next roar was the deep thunder of musket fire as the Elven Militia opened fire at the Sentinels advancing up the stone path towards the Community. The air filled with acrid and choking smoke, and for a moment Elder Newgreen's vision was clouded, and the Sentinels disappeared from view.

Only to emerge seconds later, their gait unhurried and unhindered, the stone of their bodies pocked and nicked… But otherwise unharmed.

They might as well have been hurling balls of moss at the creatures.

"RELOAD, YOU DOGS!" Fighter Twoson's harsh bark was almost as loud as the musket fire. They would get maybe two more shots before the stone men were at their walls.

"One more shot," Slicer Thews said quietly to his second-in-command. "Then we must take to the steel. We must engage them in the open, where we may make use of our agility. Where their slowness will be a liability, and their great strength may be negated."

"Aye," the older militiaelf nodded his grizzled head. "Once more, elves! Concentrate on the two leaders!"

Again the roar of the muskets rang out, again the Bolstered shot slammed into the stone men.

And miracle of miracles, one of them stumbled, its left leg crumbling under the assault. It was not dead, it was not even down… But seeing an ancient enemy stagger under their shot would at least bolster some spirits.

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Even if there were still a dozen more right behind it.

"Seconds!" Slicer Thews yelled. "Grant your power to the Militia! Militia, accept the power from your brethren, then out swords and await my word! We are going over the wall!"

The rest of the Seconds came up, and it was Elder Newgreen himself who laid his hands upon Slicer Thews' arm.

"May your Tech advance your cause to the heavens," the Elder whispered the traditional blessing. "Take now the power of my body and make it yours, for the good of the Community."

"For the good of the Community," the phrase was repeated up and down the line. Elder Newgreen took in a deep breath, and with the others, spoke the word.

[Bolster]

Power flooded into Slicer Thews' form, the life energy of his friend, given freely and magnified by the skill, enhancing his own strength, his speed, his skill. He drew in a breath that felt impossibly crisp, then caught Elder Newgreen as the older elf fell to the ramparts. Not dead, thank the Tech, but out cold from the exertion.

"Militia!" Fighter Twoson roared. "Out steel and over the walls! Let us show these stone bastards what it means to be One Of The Community!"

A final roar, from the throats of elves who knew themselves to be already dead, sounded. The stone men were barely thirty yards from the wall now, and continuing their inevitable advance.

It was time.

Forty Militiaelves vaulted over the ramparts, dropped the ten feet to the ground as light as feathers, and sprinted as one towards their foe. They were silent now, saving each precious breath for the fight.

They hit the Sentinels like a wave hits a rock.

Three elves perished instantly, the stone men moving faster than any would have thought possible and simply pulping their heads with crushing blows. Others flowed around them, slashing and clubbing with their steel weapons. Chips of stone flew off in all directions as the Militia sought to overcome their foe's dense stone armour and somehow dissipate whatever enchantments caused them to move.

The clearing outside the walls rang now to the sound of steel on stone, and the shouts of injured and dying. Slicer Thews ducked under a haymaker punch from one sentinel and responded with a dizzyingly fast combination of strikes from his twin longswords. Stone chips flew and peppered his face, but the damage was minimal. And of course it was. He was striking stone with a blade meant for rending flesh. It was like trying to cut down a mountain with a grass scythe.

A militiaelf flew past him, her chest caved in by a lethal blow from another Sentinel. Slicer Thews danced back, barely avoiding a sweeping blow, then gasped as a blow from a stone man behind him clipped his shoulder and sent him spinning and off balance. Even that comparatively light blow sent his muscles screaming and his flesh aching.

And it was enough to make him realize, finally, beyond a doubt. There would be no winning this fight.

"Focus on one at a time!" Fighte Twoson's voice rose above the din. "Like Thrakka on a Kine, you motherless sons! Coordinate and–" The grizzled elf had to stop yelling then and duck under a pair of massive hands that clapped close on the space where his head had been a split-second before. A hair slower, and the elf would have had a pancake where his skull had once been.

The battle had barely been going for a minute, and already Slicer Thews felt the panic of a route setting in. But where was there to go? He could not run. To run was to bring death to the Community. To stay and fight was to fend off that death for even a couple more minutes. And even a couple minutes was worth the effort.

Maybe a miracle would appear.

It wouldn't, but maybe…

Thirty seconds later, it was clear it was all but over. A third of the Militia was dead or down, and the stone men never slowed. They were as inexorable as the tides. Slicer Thews hit one a dozen times, twenty, fifty, it didn't matter. The stone chipped and cracked but never broke.

Unlike his blade. The final blow, a desperate two-handed slash at the back of the Sentinel's knee, caused the blade to snap off at the hilt, and himself to overbalance and land on his side on the sandy soil. He scrambled forward, trying to regain his feet. Then felt the thumping of stomping feet coming closer. Two steps. One. He flung himself to the side and turned over, watching the Sentinel miss crushing him by a hairsbreadth with its foot. Watched the Sentinel raise its foot, and knew he could not get out of the way fast enough.

He kept his eyes open. An elf stared death in the face, better to spit in his eye when the time was right.

There was a flash of light, a blast of heat. Slicer Thews waited for the pain to come.

It did not.

His vision cleared, and his eyes nearly popped from his skull as he beheld the Sentinel that moments before had been about to crush him into the sand… Reeling back.

It's arm was missing.

"FALL BACK, YOU STUPID FUCKS! FALL BACK!"

The voice was deep and gutteral, and was accompanied by more explosions. Heat and sound like Slicer Thews had never experienced before washed over him, and for an instant he wondered if the gods themselves had decided to intervene with thrown lightning and hurled thunder.

Then he managed to gain his feet, and he saw them.

A double-dozen elfinoid figures emerging from the treeline. Slicer Thews' eyes bugged open wide as the four nearest extended one hand, the other dipping into some kind of pouch at their side, and suddenly fire sprang forth from their hands.

[Firebolt]

Power like Slicer Thews had never witnessed flared forth, and four more Sentinels staggered away from their elven opponents as magical fire hammered into their stone bodies and sent them reeling.

"Militia!" He heard his own voice scream. "Fall back to the walls! Fall back!"

Barely twenty elves were able to obey his command, but obey they did as the strangers advanced on the Sentinels like a well-drilled force. Fire spat continuously from their hands, four advancint and firing, then dropping back to let four more advance, keeping up a constant barrage, hammering into the stone men without ever giving them a chance to rest.

"These ones are tough, boss!" One of the figures shouted to one of the others, a taller one near the back of their formation. "I think we need to kick it up a notch!"

"Bring out the big guns then!"

Humans, the word flared in Slicer Thews' mind. Where had they come from? Another island? And how were they doing this?

Four new figures appeared from the ranks of the humans, stumbling and unsure of their footing. They slid to their knees beside the four who were in the front row, pouring fire into the Sentinels. Were these their Seconds? Getting ready to Bolster their… Mages? Was that what they were?

The four humans in the front rank clapped hands onto the shoulders of the four kneeling figures–and then the smoke and fire cleared just enough for Slicer Thews to see.

The humans wore strange garb. And the kneeling figures were not humans.

They were elves.

Familiar elves.

"Those are our Finders!" Fighter Twoson gasped, the old elf limping up next to Slicer Thews. "What in the seven hells–"

[Consume Unto Death]

The four kneeling elves shrieked in one panicked voice… And then died. Their forms withered in an instant into unrecognizable husks. A blaze of red light flared from their corpses and traveled up the arms of the humans who had just murdered them, and that blazing red light limned their forms like unholy flame.

"TAKE 'EM DOWN, BOYS!"

As one, the four humans raised their free hands.

And the world went white.

When Seeker Thews could see again, he found himself sitting against the wall of the Community where he had been blown by the shockwave. Fighter Twoson was facedown in the dirt next to him.

The Sentinels had been decimated.

Four were simply gone. Six more were in pieces, barely twitching. One was trying to stumble to its feet, but six firebolts from the humans caught it and blew it to dust. And the final one… Ran.

A Sentinel. Ran.

The ringing in Slicer Thews' ears resolved into ragged cheering, emanating from the walls of the Community. The Seconds, and the Commoners, must have seen the destruction and thought themselves saved by the gods, or their messengers.

They hadn't seen what Slicer Thews had seen.

He staggered to his feet, eyes wide and unbelieving, as the double-dozen humans jogged lightly towards him. Behind them, emerging from the treeline, were half a dozen more humans, these ones wielding Tech in their hands, and at least a score of Elves.

Their missing Finder teams.

"Hey, that was a pretty good brawl you had going on," one of the humans said, slowing to an ambling swaggering kind of walk as he came up to Slicer Thews. "Good thing we showed up when we did, eh? Things might have gotten real rough for you if we hadn't."

Slicer Thews took in the man's dark hair, rough tanned skin, and the shark-smile that held no warmth or recognition even that Seeker Thews was a thinking feeling being worthy of respect.

Sojourner.

Seeker Thews swallowed.

"Who… Are you," he managed to get out.

The man's smile widened, and his dark eyes flashed.

"My name is Luis Escobedo Manuel Delgado, Cabron," he said in a predator's purr. "But you may call me Luis. For now. And these are my friends," he added, sweeping his arm back to indicate the thirty other Sojourners who were with him.

"Why don't you take us to your jefe, friend?" the sojourner said, turning back and reaching out to clap Slicer Thews on the shoulder.

"We need to have a talk about the future of this pretty little village you've got here."

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