Chapter One: The Relics of Saint Malathric
Part Three: The Standoff at Tighrael
“The weak winter sun reached its zenith as the Errant phalanx moved into position behind the abandoned shell of the clocktower. They were the forerunners for the small exploratory force, sent to see how far the Cygnarans had taken control of the town, known as Tighrael in ages before. Now it was nothing, just a collection of ramshackle buildings that even the rats had abandoned. Grass grew waist-high in the streets, heavy with frost, and the Errants took full advantage. Their white armour and chainmail belied their ability to move in silence and blend in to their surroundings. They hunkered down against a collapsed wall and waited.
After a few minutes’ wait the forward scout of these forerunners returned to his brothers-in-arms. He emerged from a clump of grass running and bent almost double, keeping his head below any windows that might give him away. He stopped beside the phalanx leader, and whispered urgently into her ear. She risked a glance over a nearby window sill, off to the southwest. Sure enough, a faraway flash of blue confirmed the report, and soon the telltale clank-clank-hiss of a warjack carried on the afternoon air. The Cygnarans were on their way.
She swept her hand back towards the north, the way they had come, and the phalanx was on the move once more. Keeping the clocktower between them and any keen-eyed Cygnarans, they hit the tall grasses on a near rise and disappeared from sight.”

The Menites surge into Tighrael to find the sacred relics.
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