Wildland

A steady hand with calloused fingers wrenches back the bolt on a smoking double-barreled rifle, ejecting blackened empty cartridges to scald the matted forest floor. Out of wrote muscle-memory, the gunwoman sweeps fresh slugs from the pouch at her waist into the open rifle and resets the chamber, leveling her polished hand-cannon on a charging orog manslayer...   Grumbling about his unfair punishment, a young wizard mentally directs a feather-duster floating around the neglected master's study. As the feather duster passes over the carved bust of the mage who founded the college of magic, the lad sticks his tongue out at the proud visage, his hands hidden within the conjoined sleeves of his plain robe sewn in the tradition of novices at the Royal Magia Academie. Behind him, an unseen menacing figure drops silently from the ceiling in the back of the room...   The skeletal horde a hundred paces away, a knight templar in plate armor balances in the stirrups atop her charging destrier as ghoulish archers fire a volley of heartstopping bone arrows at the lone rider. Pulling a protection gyrosphere from her saddlebag, with her gauntleted fist she rotates the runed outer ring, clicking it into place and activating the protective enchantment. The cursed arrows harmlessly disintegrate as they land around her. She smiles to herself, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Adun, her oath-saint. She unhooks her heavy great-hammer from its baldric on her back, and sweeps a wide swath of destruction as she collides with the undead mass...