A Commander's Rest

Ars Terran watched the scene with a detached, analytical curiosity. Maren, Uetum, and Pietta were fussing over the sleeping vampire, while Helartha held her with a fierce, protective tenderness.

“So,” the ancient weapon rumbled, her voice the sound of shifting stone, “a vampire is really that fragile?”

She considered the sleeping girl, the self-proclaimed ‘master’ who now looked like nothing more than a child. But she didn’t mind it. In fact, it was a sign of immense strength.

“A leader who cannot rest is one who does not trust their subordinates.” Terran said. Her bored, green eyes sweeping over the assembled group. And this one… she has surrounded herself with the loyal, the powerful, and the competent. Her ability to sleep at this time is proof of her success as a leader. A rest is much needed for a hard-working commander.

She hefted her massive war axe onto her shoulder,

“Now,” Ars Terran declared, her voice echoing with the authority of the mountain itself, “it is for us to turn the war around.”

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With its reinforced walls and deep stone vaults, the historic Grand Trianon Winery had turned into an unusual haven. Hundreds of men, women, and children gathered within the burning city, their sole protection coming from one remarkably capable Royal Knight and a few off-duty city guards.

At the main cellar door stood Sir Seware.

"Barricade the western door with the fermentation vats!" he yelled.

"You three, with the crossbows, get to the upper windows! Aim for the eyes! And for the love of the goddess, keep the children away from the entrance!"

Yes, his five wives were there, but they weren't trembling behind him. They were laboring, distributing water, soothing crying children, and shredding their beautiful dress into bandages.

Suddenly there was a splintering crash in one of the window. A massive, canine-like Morvanium creature had emerged, its eyes blazing red.

Seware didn't hesitate. "Hold the line here!" he commanded the guards and charged up the stone steps alone.

In the main hall, he encountered the beast. He wasn't as violent as Nennoch or as cunning as Ingeldamu, but he was quick, nimble, and accurate, and his sword found the openings in its tainted hide.

A gang of armed knights unexpectedly materialized at the cellar door below while he was engaged in this lethal combat. For a moment, Seware stumbled, his bewilderment a risky diversion.

What are they doing here? he thought, narrowly dodging a swipe that shattered a massive oak barrel.Why are there so many monsters? what is the barracks doing?!

With its claws fumbling for grip on the stone floor, the beast let forth a roar. Seware's right arm screamed in anguish as he parried a ferocious swipe, yet his feet remained solid.

But then, two more of the hulking Morvanium hounds crashed through the barricaded windows, their red eyes locking onto the cowering civilians in the cellar. There were too many.

“Get them away from the stairs!” he roared, throwing himself in front of the new arrivals. The first beast’s jaws clamped down on his arm, its corrupted teeth tearing through his leather vambrace.

The second lunged, sinking its fangs deep into his leg. He cried out in agony but did not falter, driving his sword through the first monster’s eye.

He was overwhelmed. He was going to die. But he was not alone.

“Get away from my husband, you filthy mutt!” a voice shrieked. It was Lia, the dancer, his second wife. She swung a heavy iron shovel with all her might on the head of the beast that's biting his leg.

An explosion of color from the side. His fourth wife, painter Osea, swiped a big brush across the floor. She created a shimmering, elaborate rune on the stone with her enchanted paint, which was a blend of berry juice and Ahlfderite dust. The rune burst into a dazzling blaze of light as the third beast rushed passed it, and the creature stumbled back.

The room's temperature fell precipitously. His third wife, Ylera, the maid, was standing with her hands out. Normally, she was busy arranging his home. But she is still a high rank adventurer of ice magic before she got married, handling this was no problem.

“Hold it still, Era!” a voice commanded. It was Eve, a scholar and magician who had been his first wife. 

With a book of sacred texts in one hand and a sign-making hand in the other, she's flying. Then the floor exploded with chains of pure, golden light that bound the ice-pelted creature in place by encircling its legs.

Now free, Seware booted the shovel-stunned beast away and faced the primary danger. However, the youngest of his wives, Mone, a reserved young woman wearing a charming hat with a broad brim, moved ahead of him before he could even move. She recited a poem while keeping her arms together.

Suddenly, the heads of every single Morvanium beast in the winery exploded.

The hall was quiet again. Seware stared at the five incredible women who stood with him. His wife was as if not more effective and perfectly synchronized fighting force than any squad of knights he had ever served with.

Then, a single point of brilliant, golden light appeared in the center of the hall.

When the light blossomed, everyone froze. A faint melodious chorus hummed through the air. The terror-stricken survivors had a deep, unwavering sense of calmness as the corrupt, oppressive darkness that had crept in from the destroyed city shrank away from it.

Seware's knightly training begged him to be wary and to look for a trap as he gazed at the portal. However, he knew better, having battled alongside his wife and shed blood to defend children who weren't his own.

He turned to the crowd of survivors,

“Don’t just stand there! Look at it!” he roared, his voice ringing with a newfound authority. “Go in! Everyone! Now! Move!”