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You're a young priestess from /meat/.
Adventuring with a party in the far North. Your team consists of an admiral from the island of the clock people, a marksman from the land of armsmiths just south of your homeland, and a mage from the Phoenix Mountains.
Your mission is simple enough; travel North West. Far far North West. Rrats on the grapevine from the Northeners' lips mention a magical castle that fell from the sky. With mages in glass helmets with companion wolves of wheat. You chuckled at the idea at first but after all the wonders you have seen you learnt to accept the world the way it is; wonders at every corner.
You are so far from home, you don't recognise anything your eyes have lain. The plants and animals are unlike anything you could ever imagined. Deers with horns larger than a canoe, flying crocodiles that breathe fire, a cow covered in thick fluffy fur, and snakes with human hands!
Your party had met plenty of resistance from foes, both beasts and intelligent. But they all have one thing in common: None of them have ever heard of or known about your people nor your customs. It is quite a revelation and places things into perspective to be so faraway that your kin are considered myths and rrats. Although, some of the rrats were so obscenely outrageous you thought they were insulting. While you know of the intelligence chapter of the clergy whose purpose is spinning web of lies of your people in faraway lands, these rrats are so outlandish compared to the usual. Such as claiming your people to be man-eating spiders that worship a Moon god. At least the man-eating part was spot-on.
Your team came to a halt. The admiral gave a signal to stay on guard. The marksman took out her rifle and pull the lever. Enemies are close. Out of the bushes and the trees, came down hooded figures. Men of lanky build, taller than a hut, in black and green uniforms. Their faces of hair and puffy white feathers. Beaks clicking as they talk. 'Yuyamuya', the locals called them. Worshippers of a long dead deity. One which you had the opportunity to attend her deiphage ceremony. You recognise them as a race from the Ni-Jiya continent. Why are they up here in the far north of Holovia? Far from their home continent?
The leader of the Yuyamuya posse drew his weapons. A matchlock and a sword. The Phoenix mage gasped at the sight of the sword. Crafted out of a Vtubium alloy of a dead goddess. Such a weapon would have lost its powers. The tall figure clicks his beak. The mage was able to translate the avian lexicon. "After their goddess died, they were cast out. Their people shunned. They migrated north, from the Southern Continent of Ni-Jiya. All the way here, in the forest of the Hoomen. They felt at home here, and it strengthened them." Their motive here is simple. Power. They sensed immense power coming from the Admiral. The will kill to get it.
With a wave of his sword, the Kronie charged against the avianoid. Their blades clashed and insults exchanged. The marksman stood her ground and start shooting at the moving flock. Missing her shots as they cast a blinding spell in her eyes. The mage is occupied in dealing with two combatants.
Leaving you alone with one. The creature towers above you. His beak rattles as he points his matchlock at you. A display of intimidation. However, you smile. These godless bandits are lost as they cling on to a past they cannot reclaim. You've seen your people celebrate the death of their goddess. Now it's your turn to clean up loose ends. Cleave away the last remaining heathens. Today, you will be having poultry for dinner.
You focus your mind and tighten your grip on your staff. Liquid vitubium flows through it, chuubanyl that channels the energy of your patron deity, the abhorrent and eldritch Dentata. You swing your staff down and erupt a mass of spiked vines and fleshy branches from the ground. Snaring and trapping the avianoid. Raising your hand, your finger dances. Like a marionette, the vines move with your fingers. Conducting the writhing mass of flesh and plant, you direct vines to pierce through his orifices, entangle and snare all over his torso. With one last gesture, you order the vines to erect its talons, and unwind. Eviscerating the birdman from the inside-out. Severing into multiple chunks of body parts and organs.
The battle halted as everyone saw your handiwork. With a cry, the leader of the bandit orders a retreat. The battle ended just as you were about to have fun.
Too bad. But at least, you have dinner.
