Assault on Darkshire [Staging]

[Strazio Rockwell]

A series of distant explosions rumbled throughout Darkshire’s capital building. Strazio stood still, his accusatory finger still pointing at his adversary, Shang Tsung. The rage-mage cursed under his breath and glanced outside through a window. It was hard to see Darkshire’s main gate from this angle, but telltale fingers of smoke reached towards the sky. The battle had begun. Strazio stepped closer to Shang, bringing himself to eye level with the sorcerer. “This isn’t over,” he fumed, his voice that of a wood-chip grinder, “I expect you to have my journal waiting for me when I get back from saving your town.” With that he kept eye contact for another second before spinning around and storming away. As he passed his apprentice, Gamzee, he barked, “let’s go, we’ve got heads to crack.”

“Right behind you Strawso,” the troll responded.

The duo stepped out into the open air and were greeted by the sounds of panic and screams. Crowds of civilians surged past the two primes, all of them eager to get as far away from the breach as possible. Strazio thought of checking on Rika, but he dismissed that thought. There was no way Rumford hadn’t already taken care of her. He was a good man, and a damned protective father. Fighting against the panicked stampede was no easy task and more than once Strazio found himself struggling to stay standing. More than once he held back the urge to fire a blast into the air and yell at everyone to make a path. As they crested the final wave of civilians the two froze.

All manner of unrelenting horrors were spilling through cracks in Darkshire’s wall like pus from a wound. Strazio watched with a strange sense of awe at the scale of the attacking forces. Soldiers fought back the coming tide, pressing their armored bodies against the vicious and relentless horde. Blood was spilled. More blood would be spilled. That was unacceptable. Rage, that pernicious and ever-present emotion, boiled over inside Strazio’s gut. His dealings with Shang had left him at the precipice of a cliff and seeing that which he vowed to protect be destroyed, well, that sent him over the edge and into the fiery depths below. His body shuddered as magick coursed through it, sparks nipped at his flesh and lightning crackled in his veins. He unclasped his cloak and threw it into the air, revealing a white tank-top and the silver crest of Darkshire around his neck. Breaking into a steady jog, Strazio’s warpath had begun.

He was many things, an avatar of rage, a teacher, a fighter, a professional wrestler, but above all, he was the goddamned Defender of Darkshire, and so long as his furious heart kept beating he would not allow the darkness to swallow Darkshire.