by A Uscila
Either way – emotional disposition reflected the opposite. Seemingly ignorant of various physical defects – the human seemed to simply shine with confidence. Either it was based on some hidden skills, or he was just extremely weak to praise. If so – he hid it well.
“Macrosh. Your lack of faith disturbs me”- A slight click of the tongue, followed by a displeased tone. Another confirmation regarding the relation between the two. Since no one in their right mind would talk to an orc that way. Especially when the orc was that threatening – clad in rusted plate, a large slab of metal hanging on his back - probably for tenderizing meat. Not for cooking either. Considering that, getting hit by something of the sort would turn any living thing into a slab of disfigured flesh. A truly fearsome foe any battle-maniac would feel thrilled to face.
Not Wail though. From a single glance one could guess that he was no fighter and a face-off between the two representatives of their own respective race, could happen. Not with that malnourished frame of his, limbs sticking out sharply through the worn, baggy robes he wore. Nobody in their right mind would even consider him a possible opponent, unless they figured Wail for a suicidal lunatic, which would hit close to home at least in part.
Ah, but one could possibly have hope if their attention fell to another accomplice that loyally shuffled in pursuit of the ego-centric magician – a broken-down husk of a man. If that thing was indeed a man before being reduced to such a state, that is. Torn and worn down protective gear, a broken sword at the side. An extremely pale complexion, unhealed wounds, skin scorched and littered with holes. Empty eye sockets observing the world around in sophisticated contemplation. Indeed – if this wasn’t a reanimated corpse, then reality was an extremely fucked-up place to be in.
A possible tag-team? Not likely. If that corpse had even a drop of brain-matter left in that damage skull that dangled almost loosely atop its’ shoulders, then the walking corpse would skedaddle it out of there the second even an inkling of a conflict came to be. Which leads to the same conclusion – ain’t no way there would be an exciting fight between the two parties. Unless the definition of exciting was a one-sided fight that lasted two seconds.
“It’s surprising that the efficiency rose up only by such a meager margin. I had higher expectations. Obviously – those slaves were of low quality, we’ll need to acquire more. We’ll make up with quantity, instead of quality, simply put” – The magician explained, seconds after the first comment. Since all that previous explanation never really happened in their reality.
“As ingenious as always, oh mighty Wail” – Macrosh simply replied, bowing politely during it.
Wail smiled to that in a truly sinister manner. Unable to hide how much he enjoyed the praise. Though his smile quickly turned to a frown once a peculiar gathering caught sight.
A view of an open field, with a fort in the middle opened up – once the party stepped out of the thickly overgrown forest. That’s right. Party. Since Wail, together with his two unique companions were not the only ones. They were followed by a band of armed beggars. Or burglars. Descriptions get mixed up – since the appearance did not differ much from either. Every single one wore worn down gear, mostly leather jerkins and such – accompanied by various weaponry. Be it bows, shortsword-shield combinations or daggers. None of which seemed to be in exceptionally good shape. On the contrary – one would feel challenged not to find at least a smudge of rust on every single killing-tool. Excluding the bows. They were made out of wood after all.
Continuing from Wail’s unexpected mood-swing – at the very entrance to the fort, which was wide open – a large band of individuals flocked. Gathered in a circle around an unknown entity. Though two large wagons peaked over the heads of the gathered – revealing their unmistakable presence to Wail. Accompanied by a number of empty ones - stationed at the roadside nearby.
As the party got closer – a peculiar individual left the vicinity of that tight gathering and seemed to be approaching them. A similar dress – or to put it in less male degrading terms – robe. Similar body structure – though less skinny, seeing as sharp limbs did not stick out so obviously. Or at all. The fellow was of a visibly different race. His height seemed less insignificant when comparing to Macrosh and the skin tone carried an exotic feeling in comparison to Wail. Meaning, pitch black. Long ears with sharp ends stuck out from within a head of dark hair, with narrowed yellow eyes piercingly staring from beneath dark eyebrows.
“What’s an elf doing in my fort? Didn’t they live on the other side of the world?”- Wail asked Macrosh, completely certain of his knowledge regarding various races.
“I think he’s a black elf, great one. Get it?” – A peculiar attempt for a joke. Yet again the orc decided to act uncharacteristically regarding his looks. Wail would prefer if he’d use phrases like “Macrosh smash!” or “Macrosh mad!” and the like. A shrug. Expectations were a gateway for disappointment to creep in after all.
Before he could reply to that poor attempt of a joke though – seems like a third party intervened.
“Your ugly friend over there is actually right on the spot. I am a black elf. We’re the oppressed outcasts of the elf species”- During the unexpected reply, this new arrival kept on closely inspecting minion number one. A little too close for Wail’s preference – since the insecurity managed to project itself upon the master. Macrosh on the other hand was lost in the workings of his inner mind – most likely wondering if he was actually ugly.
“Macrosh, take the men and make sure they’re well rested and fed. I want them efficient, not half-dead on their feet” – Wail gave orders to the dazed orc, seeing as there was no use for him during the exchange with this new arrival. All Macrosh gave – was a nod, as he waved at his outlaw colleagues and moved out. Satisfied in how efficiently his orders were carried out, Wail finally directed all of his attention towards the guest. “Could you keep your distance from my property?”- Wail asked in an almost threatening manner. No surprise – considering how possessive he was.
“Fine fine. No need to get all worked up” – The elf shrugged after taking a few steps back, maintaining a defensive posture in a mocking manner. His gaze was still locked upon Wail’s minion though – “You have an interesting specimen here. How much does it cost for you to maintain his presence? How do you maintain him? He looks quite preserved for a dead body”- He kept on obnoxiously. As if to compensate for the lack of direct contact with the object of interest.
“Look you…” – Wail began, only to be instantly interrupted.
“The Embalmer” – Quite the intrusive introduction carried out by the elf.
With no choice but to start over, Wail was forced to add that new piece of information to his speech – “Look, Embalmer, I don’t know where…” – He attempted again.
“No no no, you have to say the whole thing, it’s THE Embalmer…” – The fellow corrected again quite impatiently.
But he wasn’t the only one who was running out of patience.
“The whole thing? Are you serious?” – Unable to believe what he was hearing, Wail inquired and got a curt nod in reply, to which he could only slap his own forehead and continue where he left off – “…I have no idea where you came from or why you’re interested in those kind of things, but…”- sparks of anger flared during the last bits, threatening to bring a fiery finale – but could not, as yet another interruption took place. Seems like the black elf knew exactly where to sting, since Wail practically groaned in frustration.
“You don’t know why I’m interested? Can’t you see? I’m like you!”- The Embalmer expressed surprise, as he guided both of his hands across his figure – in an attempt to emphasize the attire. Now that one looked closely enough – he did wear black robes. Just like a certain someone. Though instead of various writings in red – he had a large white skull looming at the very center of the chest. Quite morbid. Though the idea carried across more or less – in the form of a risen brow. Wail did not seem to catch on to
the similarities. Or did not want to.
“I’m a necromancer!”- Seems like the elf had no choice but to give another hint. Even though this was more like the answer, than a hint – “Aren’t we brothers in solitude? Two lone wolfs in a grizzly world?” – He went on with various metaphors.
Sadly, none of it seemed to work – as Wail continued to stare away with the same risen eyebrow. He should really brush up on his social skills.
“Well, I’m actually a Warlock” – The socially impaired finally replied.
Embalmer seemed a little shocked for a moment or two, maybe even hurt, though soon enough it was replaced with interest. Seemingly lost in thought – he continued to stare at minion number one. Wail felt a chill run down his back. Somehow he could only hope that his minion wasn’t in any kind of danger. In more ways than one. Alternative Reality was a gathering spot for queer people after all. Just look at Wail!
Finally, after coming to some kind of conclusion - the Embalmer approached Wail and extended a hand in greeting, lips locked in a friendly smile. “Well then. Nice to meet a fellow summoner. I’m a necromancer myself, thus the sudden interest” – He repeated.
It did not take long for a reply – as Wail shook the offered hand with barely any hesitation. For some reason – a sudden surge of interested caught on within him - “How are you enjoying yourself so far? As a necromancer I mean. I was quite interested in the class myself” – Apparently, all the anger and impatience was quickly taken over by sheer curiosity.
“It’s magnificent!”- The elf replied in a rush – practically drooling excitement in the process – “I just love commanding mindless drones and forcing them to do the dirty work! It’s a wonderful feeling. Though I’m in quite a predicament due to it – since necromancers are shunned and unwelcome in almost any settlement” – He complained at the end. Seems like the two shared a similar fate.
Wail could emphasize to a certain extent – though he didn’t even want to enter a settlement to begin with. Unless to pillage, enslave or raze it. He should really put a cork on that angst of his.
Embalmer glanced towards the gathering, he so recently left - “Luckily, I met Ferdi”- The black elf continued, without waiting for a reply from Wail – “He’s a traveling merchant you see. But deals with people like us and seems to be quite influential. Due to his patronage, I was able to survive in this harsh world”
Wail followed the elf’s glance – though was unable to see through the gathered crowd. This merchant did interest him quite a bit. Mostly because Wail had stuff to sell. A lot of it. It needed to arrive first, of course – and Bob was late.
Even though there was no set time – during which he was supposed to take care of business, Wail did not care. If the magician needed to wait, then his colleague was without a doubt - late. Regardless of circumstance. A frown creeped into his facial features – which did not remain unnoticed by the black elf.
“Something wrong?”- Embalmer asked in an almost worried tone, uncertain if he was the reason for the sudden change in emotional climate.
“Yes. Yes there is” – Wail simply replied, lost in thought – “Regardless. Introduce this Ferdi to me, if you will. I am quite sure we need to discuss business”
“Of course, he seemed quite interested in meeting you as well” – Embalmer replied with a smile, extending a guiding hand towards his point of departure. This might just be a start of a beautiful friendship. Between Wail and a load of money he was about to make, that is.
*******
Willow traveled the thick growth of the forest with teeth clenched in agitation. Her dark green cloak fluttering as she took each step in haste – restrained by the bow that was flung over her back. Memories from the last exchange with Wail still haunted her inner mind – leaving an unpleasant agitation that just wouldn’t go away. Self-confidence took quite the blow. If some virgin could resist her charms – she was definitely in trouble. Though the mindboggling magician shouldn’t or even couldn’t be compared to other people. He was an enigma, without a doubt. Wail was so incomprehensibly weird – that for some reason he kept things interesting enough. Which didn’t agitate her at all. On the contrary – she liked the thrill of the hunt. Even though it wasn’t in the literal form this huntress was so used to.
Regardless – what agitated Willow so, was the fact that he left the outlaw fort without her. Didn’t even wait for her to login. What a prick. Thus after returning to virtual reality, Willow had nothing better to do – but to go out scouting. A little reconnaissance could never hurt. Plus she needed some fresh air and space. All the stares she’s been getting from the outlaws gave her the chills. Thus – since putting a few arrows through their skulls would undoubtedly bring more trouble than good – the huntress needed an alternative.
Willow gripped the handle of her dagger tightly – as she agilely traversed the forest, elusively dodging most of the growth. Moving in remarkable speed, while keeping the noise she made to a bare minimum. She was a ghost. A mere whisper.
For hours she continued so, observing the natural habitat – taking note of its inhabitants. She’d probably get something on the way back. No point in returning empty handed after all. Though a complete lack of any hostile creatures did end up as quite a surprise. By now – Willow should have passed at least a couple of territories, possibly marked by predators. Yet none came to enforce their law upon this trespasser.
Strange.
As such thoughts occupied Willow’s mind – certain noises reached her delicate ears. Shouts, clamor of metal and cries of men. A battle was raging on up-ahead and Willow was not about to miss on the chance to find out who were the participants.
Like a fog, the stealthy huntress slipped deeper into the forest – continuing the trend of avoidance, regarding the thick growth. Descending upon the battlefield in surprising haste.
Chapter 30
Once again the forest saw strife. Felt it upon its’ skin as blood spilled. Men – creatures of conflict, yet again enforced their stigma – performing a violent dance filled with the clamor of steel, the screams of anger and pain, the desperate struggle of the damned. All of which was laid bare before Willow’s sharp eyes.
As she approached the battlefield unnoticed – the situation was made clear to her quickly enough.
From higher ground, carefully hidden behind a tree – she observed what went on below. A road ran through the very middle of the conflict – serving as its’ core and probable starting point. A strategically disadvantageous position, considering that it was the lowest point of ground - situated between two hills.
Numerous wagons - filled to the brim with various equipment and overflowing bags of untold riches, stood in a tight chain. It protected by at least thirty variously armed individuals – ragged, poorly equipped and visibly torn between running away and staying. Seemingly – the only thing holding their fears in relative check was a single individual of outstanding presence. Armored in dark plates and wielding a sword of blood chilling magnificence. Its’ dark grey blade shimmering in an unpleasant shade of red. Pulsing. Feeding – as it bit into all who dared approach, mortally wounding every single one. Willow didn’t need long to recognize the fellow. Bob – Wail’s right hand and an obnoxious thick-headed goon to boot. Why would Wail let him travel on his own was beyond Willow – because no one in their right mind would trust someone of that caliber. Which would mean two things. Either Wail wasn’t in his right mind when he made the decision or the task was a meager and unimportant one.
No time to weight the possibilities, since the idiot led group was quite in the pickle. Beset from all side, foot soldiers descending towards the huddled victims, their approach covered by bow-wielding colleagues that hid about behind the trees. From first glance, it was quite obvious that the attacking force outnumbered the defenders at least two to one, if not more. As if that wasn’t enough – Willow noticed a detachment of cavalry at least in the double digit in size, steadily advancing from further away, riding along the
forest-road in an unhurried canter – threatening to descend upon the backs of those defending like an avalanche. There was still some time left though, at least if the riders were planning on keeping to the winding road.
Ah, but there was a chance that their eventual charge would prove quite fruitless. Since the defenders were tightly bunched up near the very front of their little procession, covering behind a wagon. Which would prove as at least some sort of an obstacle for the arriving charge of horse and man. In addition - seeing as a number of their own men were besieging the defending lines - charging in would only prove to inflict friendly casualties. Unless of course - everything was a planned out endeavor. Which would mean that the foot soldiers would disengage before the timely arrival of their cavalry. A farfetched and paranoid though. Nobody was that organized.
Time was of the essence – and Willow did not plan on leaving Bob to his demise. Even though she didn’t particularly care or like him. Luckily for them – she was out to vent and thus, would use this chance for just that. A perfect opportunity since a better alternative - calling for reinforcements, was out of the question. The fort was simply too far for anything to make it back in time or for her to even reach it sooner than the defenders were overrun.
Making up her mind – Willow steadily, yet maintaining the same level of discretion, approached the back-lines of the attacking force.
Once close enough – she could observe those that were left behind. Archers, clad in leather and chain-mail - standing in a scattered formation. Loosing arrows with no visible haste towards the bandits below – aiming each one carefully. Reluctant to hit one of their own by accident - seeing as they were intermingled with Willow’s comrades, locked in a close melee.
Seeing as only about fifteen individuals were present – Willow decided to stealthily take care of at least a few. Since they were after all – in an extremely scattered positioning, which served perfectly as a means to take care of the ones in the back.
