The Race to Volturnum
Lion
I saw her today, at the rear of the oni guard--the one who stole my brother's name.
She stood beside a swath of green-skinned goblins that were celebrating the fall of the Crane Champion. The champion lives, but the goblins are too stupid to care. They were far from my position, but I swear she felt my eyes follow her. She turned to look at me, and her eyes were strange.
Then a command of Phoenix shugenja, led by their Master of Air, flew above the fray, whirling dust and tearing the creatures apart with lightning that shattered the sky. One among the goblins, a massive warmonger with one eye scarred pale and white, lashed his troops into the battle. Arrows flew and broke against a wall of air, but still they fired. They fought for fear of his reprisal.
My troops were assaulted by oni, and I had no more time to watch their fight. When I returned, I found only the dead goblins, their broken corpses littering the ground. The hail of stones and wind called forth by Agasha Gennai had shattered them. Twisted limbs showed only bruises--or smoking ash where the lightning had struck them.
I did not find her body.
Among the goblins, however, one thing caught my attention. The warmonger with one eye lay with the others, dead as stone. Lightning had not marked his body; the windstorm's strength had not shattered his limbs. Gennai's magic had not killed him as it did the other goblins.
He had died from the blow of a sword.
--Kitsu Motso