A pair of shadowclaws dropped toward them from the trees, and the priest hurled both of his daggers at the same time, aiming for an eye of each creature. The blades struck, the shadowclaw's eyes popped like rotten fruit, and the monsters fell to the ground, dead.
Leontis had been on to something: the creatures' large eyes made excellent targets.
As Diran grabbed a fresh pair of steel daggers from within his cloak-poison-coated blades this time, for the sheer number of shadowclaws meant they needed every advantage they could get-the priest spared a second to look toward the last place he'd seen Leontis. His fellow priest, now more wolf than man, stood in the midst of a group of shadowclaws, slashing at them with his own claws, tearing at ebon flesh with his teeth, ignoring the deep wounds the creatures' large talons made as they struck again and again, for their claws were not made of silver and therefore did him no lasting damage. His injuries healed almost as swiftly as the shadowclaws could make them. Diran had fought numerous beings that could change their shape, but he'd never seen a true lycanthrope in action before, and the sight was a most impressive one indeed. The speed and savagery were beyond anything he had ever witnessed before, and add to that the swiftness with which lycanthropes healed, and Diran understood why the Purified had once fought so hard to extinguish their kind from the face of Eberron, and why they continued to guard against a lycanthropic resurgence to this day.
Leontis's curse was proving to be a benefit to them now, but what would the werewolf do when there were no more shadowclaws to fight? Would he be so intoxicated with battle-lust that he'd turn on them? If so, then Diran would be forced to do as his friend had originally requested and free him from his curse by plunging a silver dagger into his heart. If that time came, then Diran vowed he would strike swiftly and without hesitation. He owed Leontis that much, at least.
A single shadowclaw rushed at Tresslar, claw-hands held high and ready to strike. Diran stepped between the artificer and his ebon-skinned attacker and hurled a poisoned-coated dagger at the creature's throat. The creature managed to bring down its right claw in time to deflect Diran's dagger and knock it onto the ground. But in the short amount of time it took the shadowclaw to perform this action, Diran had already thrown his second dagger and the blade sank into the base of the creature's throat up to the hilt. The shadowclaw gagged as the poison went swiftly about its work, coughed a spray of black blood, and collapsed onto the forest floor where it laid still, its life fluid soaking into the soil.
Diran quickly moved forward to retrieve his blades. He picked up the dagger that the shadowclaw had knocked to the ground, and then yanked the second blade from the dead creature's throat. He didn't bother wiping the dagger clean, for he wished to keep as much poison on the blade as possible. He shot Tresslar a quick look. "I thought you said you made it through the forest without incident during your last journey!"
"That was forty years ago," the artificer said. He tapped the revealer's metal ring in a rhythmic pattern with his light-picks, moving the tools back and forth rapidly across its surface. "And it was daylight when we crossed the forest-both coming and going. These things don't look like the sort of beasts that enjoy light, do they? Not with those eyes and that coloring. At least, that's what I'm counting on." Tresslar stopped working on the revealer and held it up for inspection. Diran couldn't see anything different about, but Tresslar must have, for he nodded and said, "That should do it." The artificer then rose to his feet, groaning as his knee joints popped. "I really am getting too old for this sort of foolishness. Let's go."
Diran slashed another shadowclaw's throat with a pair of cross-handed strikes that nearly decapitated the ebon beast. "Go where?" he asked as the poisoned creature stiffened and fell to join his dead brethren littering the ground.
"I need to reach Ghaji," Tresslar said. "See what you can do to get me there in as close to one piece as you can manage."
Diran nodded grimly. "Yvka!" he called out. "Watch our backs!"
The elf-woman had been flicking tiny seeds at shadowclaws, each one exploding and creating a fist-sized hole in the creatures as it detonated. Yvka ran over to Diran and Tresslar and the three companions started heading toward Ghaji. Yvka continued flicking her deadly seeds, and Diran's hands became blurs as he slashed one shadowclaw after another with his poison-slick daggers. The poison was one of the deadliest that Diran knew-he'd learned how to make it from Aldarik Cathmore-and though little of the substance adhered to the knife metal by now, it remained potent enough to continue inflicting fatal wounds on their attackers.
The companions' situation was bad enough as it was, but to make matters worse, the light-spark orbs that Yvka and thrown into the air were beginning to sink toward, their magic nearly spent, their illumination dimming as they descended. Without the light to deter them, the shadowclaws were becoming bolder, attacking more swiftly and savagely, their numbers increasing. If the companions didn't do something and do it fast, they were dead.
"Everyone gather near Ghaji!" Tresslar shouted.
Solus began making his way toward the half-orc, his psionic crystals still glowing, shadowclaws still flying this way and that as the power of the psiforged's mind tossed them about like ebon dolls. Asenka, Hinto, and Thokk also headed for Ghaji, the halfling tugging on Onu's sleeve to urge the sea captain to accompany them, Onu looking as if he were so enthralled by the battle taking place around him that he was reluctant to move lest he miss something good.
Ghaji wielded his elemental axe in great flaming arcs, slaying shadowclaws with each swing. Dark bodies in various stages of scorched mutilation lay around him in great heaps, and the air stank of burnt flesh and boiling blood. As the companions drew near Ghaji, killing shadowclaws and relieving some of the pressure from the half-orc, Ghaji paused in his efforts to draw the back of his hand cross his sweat-slick brow.
"This is too much like work," he said.
Diran didn't know how many shadowclaws they had killed, but they seemed to have made no dent in their numbers. The creatures kept coming from all directions, vast waves of living darkness with but a single desire: to tear those who had invaded their forest into bloody ribbons.
"Everyone keep close together and crouch down low," Tresslar told them. "Except you, Ghaji. Start swinging your axe in a circle and keep swinging it. We need to create a ring of fire."
"What about Leontis?" Asenka asked. "He's still fighting somewhere out there!"
Diran didn't think the others had witnessed Leontis's transformation, but there was no time to explain now. The area was crawling with too many shadowclaws, and the werewolf was no longer visible. For all Diran knew, Leontis had been torn limb from limb by now, and as powerful as lycanthrope healing abilities might be, Diran doubted they'd save his friend if he were in too many pieces.
"There's nothing we can do for him right now," Diran said. "Proceed, Ghaji."
Ghaji nodded, took a deep breath, and then spun, axe held in a two-handed grip, flames trailing behind the blade. The nearest shadowclaws drew back several feet, leery of the mystical fire generated by Ghaji's weapon, but they did not withdraw far. They sensed their prey's plight and knew it would be only a matter of moments until they would finally get to feed. The shadowclaws edged forward, growing braver by the second. A few more inches… a few more…
Tresslar raised the revealer until the metal ring touched the flame trailing from Ghaji's elemental axe.
"Everyone face downward, close your eyes, and hold your breath!" the artificer shouted.
The last thing Diran saw was the shadowclaws lunging at them, and then the priest shut his eyes as Tresslar commanded. A split-second later, the world exploded into heat and light, and even through eyelids squeezed closed, Diran saw a bright flash of yellow-white illumination. He felt the skin on the back of his neck burn, and smelled his hair begin to smoke. A loud whooshing sound filled the air, followed by the high-pitched screams of shadowclaws in agony. The heat, light, and noise seemed to go on forever, but eventually Diran realized the only sound he heard was a ringing in his ears, and the only light he saw came from afterimages floating in the blackness behind his eyes.