by A Uscila
She had a hard time understanding if her circumstance have improved since throwing in the towel with him and his irk. Sure, she didn’t need to be respectful to the individuals of supposedly higher standing. Nor did she need to care about pay too much - mainly because the possibilities of shopping have been reduced to a rundown store, established by the recent refugees. That or the occasional shady merchant, dropping by. Circumstances forcing her to take care and maintain the supply of her own gear.
Sure, she needed to contribute, sometimes take orders and even work. She cast a side-glance towards the fruit of her before-mentioned labors - a squadron of trained female archers. Possible candidates for assassination jobs. Schooled in her ways as much as a player was able to school a non-player-character.
Still - she had plenty of opportunities to vent, usually in the form of bloody and unnecessary violence. Wail did have a wide range of enemies, and that was the problem. It all eventually came down to the accursed magician after all, the bane of all possible happiness.
It was like the whole world was his enemy - since conflict arose wherever he stepped his foot into. No discrepancy. No tact. If a conflict could be avoided, he’ll make sure to do everything in his power to instigate it instead. As If he wouldn’t be content until everyone submits to that self-absorbed attitude of his. To that boundless ego.
Willow could only imagine what kind of life could morph an individual into such a creature. Create such a character.
All of it would be bearable to a certain extent if he would have at least a drop of something to back all that gall up. Yet he didn’t. Wail wasn’t particularly smart. Certainly didn’t have the looks. A hundred percent on that one. He was single, most likely a virgin and spent most of his life on Alternative Reality - as a form of escapism, considering that he did not achieve anything of note outside. Heck, he didn’t achieve much inside either.
But for some bizarre and unexplainable reason, she couldn’t help feeling drawn to all of it. Willow couldn’t help but want to observe the struggles of a society’s definition of a loser. A spot-on one as well. Where will that willful attitude bring him? How far will he go? How hard will he drop? She wanted to see it all. Maybe even be a part of it in some twisted and evil manner.
This. This was exactly what clawed at her own inner-self. Ripped at her womanly nerves. Willow ruffled her hair in frustration, dark strands dancing under her touch and the blowing of wind.
Life was always a little too easy for her. Friends would come all too willingly. Mate candidates even more so. Her looks seemed to raise her on a higher platform than the rest of the crowd. Forcing her to usually take the leading role without consent. That or the complete opposite - as people found it too unfair to believe in a possibility of brains and looks. The extreme plastered on her forehead by the masses, whether she wished for it or not. Willow’s opinion did not matter much and changing an understanding that’s already cut in stone proved to be slightly above her capabilities and the limits of her patience. Thus she gave up.
She assumed her roles as they came. No longer struggling with her surroundings, withdrawing within herself - the only echo of her plight being the aggressive attitude and the emerging style in appearance.
Everything was given to her and all she needed to do was drift along the current. Until now. All because of Wail.
He was a failure. A casualty. A symptom. A warped existence of a man, who should be groveling beneath her feet for whimsical scraps of good favor. He was supposed to be another current in that merciless stream called life.
Yet he wasn’t. The opposite even. He did not beg, did not offer his undying affection or what meager amount of worldly possessions he possessed - for a favor, in whatever form it may come. He didn’t even show obvious interest towards her. Wail was a current all right, but one that ran in opposition regarding the one Willow drifted along until now. He was a living, breathing contradiction to the way she lived. The way she lives.
At first the female ranger through he was impotent or gay - anything along those lines, all to serve as an explanation for his lack of interest. His lack of devotion to the goddess like beauty that she undeniably possessed. For fuck’s sake - Willow had a lifetime of experience to know that men were drawn to her like Germany to world wars. As a matter of fact, everyone seemed to be drawn towards her - regardless of gender or sexual preferences.
Thus, current circumstance could only be discarded into the deck of aspects that Wail seemed to poses. Numerous features that were without a doubt – an enigma.
Wail. A puzzle to be unraveled. An interest to be pursued. An annoyance to be stomped.
Willows frustration and quite the sad chain of thought were both forced to an abrupt stop.
An ominous sounds reached the traversing group. Deep and occasional - the sound of beating drums. Echoing through the forest as if the thumping of the earth’s heartbeat, entering the ears of both Willow and her squad. Only briefly hesitating to continue - the group quickly resumed their steady advance. Louder did the thumping echo, joined by the unpleasant rumbling - its tempo unsteadily shifting in magnitude.
Onwards did the group continue - pressured by the unpleasant premonition of something bad to come. As if they were walking straight into the jaws of danger.
Eventually, the constant rumbling turned into familiar sounds. Clashing of metal, cries and roars, the screeching of voices, carried across by supposed, horrifying creatures. Thumping now numbingly loud, beating painfully in unison with Willow’s fragile eardrums.
As the group neared a clearing - quite the view opened up.
Once the entwined branches of the canopy above wasn’t there to shroud her sight anymore - a chain of mountains came into view. Their peaks reaching high into the sky. At the foot of one such mountain – stood a wooden fort. Its northern battlements besieged by a horde of gut-twisting creatures – their disfigured forms shrouded by a fading mist. Even though one could say that beauty is a matter of perspective, Willow could only sigh in relief. Seeing as she was somewhat spared from viewing the blunt of the hideousness of those besieging Wail’s property. It was as if Wail’s looks were drawing-in those of similar disposition at this point. A scary thought.
Multiple, crudely constructed ladders were placed upon the walls - their frames visibly shaking from the combined weight of scurrying attackers. Hasty in their attempts to scale the walls and slaughter those defending. Most of the before-mentioned attempts seemingly futile, as lifeless bodies fell back into the mists of swarming critters. Piling into heaps of motionless bodies - mutilated and cut-apart. Threatening to turn into stairs of flesh - leading right up onto the desired location.
Seemingly ignorant of the approaching danger - the defenders were too preoccupied with the current objective. Desperately trying to keep off all and any intruder of their relatively safe positions. In tight clusters did both men and women gather, either throwing various projectiles down into the mass of squirming flesh below or combining arms to push those climbing up, down.
Some wore leather - be it studded, simple jerkins or hardened cuirasses. Some wore only tattered clothes - braving the rain of projectiles that the attackers constantly released upon them. All were determined to survive one way or another, as the combined effort of their resolution kept the defenses intact. She even noticed a number of bony white frames standing amongst the defending. Their enviously slim limbs releasing projectiles into the midst of foes.
Finally - Willow sight noticed a small glimmer of red and blue deeper inside the enemy swarm. Her left eyebrow visibly rose, as she noticed a familiar figure at the source of it. Slicing away at the enemies with reanimated corpses as support, wielding an overly large scythe - its lithe form swiping across the mass of foes as if cutting grass. A transparent blue constantly covering both the weapon and the wielder. In dark robe was he clothed, accompanied by a similar tone in skin color. Long, sharp-ended ears visible on the sides of his bald head. Without a doubt - that was Wail’s recent and supposed
ally - The Embalmer. Willow could only wonder why the determiner was needed in front of the made up nickname. Such thoughts were shoved aside of course - as the pouncing huntress noticed Embalmer’s predicament.
A creature seemed to descend upon the necromancer, its large frame towering above all the crawling critters below. With a distinguishable roar - it practically ran across the field. Completely unfettered and unconcerned about the loss of allied life – as feet occasionally stomped one creature or the other to death. Surprising how the fellow didn’t slip and fall over - seeing as all that gore could prove quite slippery, one would imagine.
Embalmer - who obviously noticed the creature approaching, seemed to react, as he froze up for a moment. His overly-large opponent visibly slowing in motion, affected by some strange spell - withdrawn from the midst of the necromancer’s numerous hidden trump-cards. Within moments - Embalmer seemed to choose an offensive approach - as he charged towards the monster. Slicing apart its goblin allies in renewed vigor. As if trying to cut a way towards the target of such fury. Or so Willow thought - as he quickly retreated soon after. Peculiarly giving away gained ground - back into the scrawny claws of the crawling opposition.
Thump, Thump, Thump the beating went on. Accelerating, strengthening.
Willow couldn’t have asked for a more perfect target, as she did not feel like idly observing the scene any longer. Both she and her squad were situated in a favorable position and could use an easy stream of experience. Seeing as circumstance helped the group avoid any patrolling groups of enemies - which in itself was very surprising. Who attacks a fortified position without making sure the flanks are properly scouted out? Goblins and the like, that’s who.
Willow’s eyes swept across the battlefield one more time, taking in the ugly mugs of all the crawling spawns from the bowels of the earth, before finally taking action.
She signaled her colleagues and notched an arrow - only to draw and aim soon after. All the female rangers followed suit - seemingly aware of the chosen target. Within a fracture of a second - every single one released, loosing frighteningly accurate shots straight into the body of the towering creature. Willow’s shot being the only one with a barely visible tail of blue light. Within moments, the group notched and released at least three arrows each, turning the unsuspecting target into a walking pincushion. Though, the role was quickly abandoned once the fellow fell over after a number of explosions took place under its feet.
Thump. Thump. The beating slowed, as if to mirror the fall of the center figure. Audibly weakening in its echoing beat.
Satisfied with the success, the group of female rangers didn’t stop to boast and argue whose shot was more accurate. Instead - every single one used this opportunity to practice by loosing a barrage of projectiles into the field of enemies. Each shot accurately wounding or even killing a foe.
Seemingly surprised by the unexpected attack, the horde of horrors visibly wavered, as some hesitated in their relentless movement. Doubt and fear had finally reached their frail little minds. A little push being all that was needed to finally rout their forces.
Seems like Embalmer was just the man to accomplish that - as Willow noted his dark silhouette darting back towards the fortifications. Together with the few remaining servants by his side, he cut through every enemy in his way. A shimmer of blue and red flashing in his wake, accompanied by the occasional gore filled explosion. A spectacle to behold, without a doubt.
Eventually - he stopped near the closest piles of mutilated flesh - which were already piled dangerously high. A few scurrying goblins using the opportunity to grab onto the walls edge from the top - instead of risking the ascension via ladder. Two large piles stacked into a single mound beneath the before-mentioned ladder.
A few bodies at the very top of the mound soon stirred - after the necromancer infused them with his dark arts. Every single one tumbling down to protect the dark elf, while he froze in supposed concentration.
Willow, who observed all of it decided to help out, as she motioned her colleagues to direct their fire in combined effort. Projectiles littering the small frames around the necromancers position with frightening precision soon after.
Eventually, the earth beneath the necromancer’s feet faded and withered - as his arts took form in a familiar circle. Its frame encompassing the large mound of the dead within moments - the effect did not escape unnoticed.
Thump, thump did the ominous beating echo occasionally, slowing as if expecting the change in the tide of battle.
A few explosions soon took place near the other ladders, as Embalmer directed his lean fingers towards the mounds on their sides. At least those that he could see. As both flesh and bone scattered everywhere by the sudden force of his magic - the targeted ladders were ripped apart together with those that scurried on them. Destroying both the inanimate and living. Heck, even the fortifications ended up being scraped and beaten-up - though luckily, not enough to be breached.
With a sudden shift, the mounds of flesh soon surged with renewed life, churning and falling apart in a tidal-wave of un-death. An army of risen minions rolling over each other and upon the foes in front - burying the unlucky under their combined and merciless advance. Surprisingly, Embalmer remained unscathed as the wave simply parted around his lean frame, only to unfold upon all those deemed as foes.
A massacre ensued, as the fearless and overwhelming force of the dead swept away all that got in its path. Compensating for its lack of offense in sheer numbers and simply suffocating the living under sheer mass. Rolling away like a sea – swallowing more and more goblins along its unstoppable advance. With each roll – broken and bloodied hands grasped onto those that either attempted to flee, to attack or stand in stupor. Nothing to distinguish between the three – as the result was the same each time.
This was indeed the last straw, as the wavering goblin forces finally broke upon this new onslaught. Some scattered then and there. Some, more dedicated to their unknown cause continued their advance or even cut apart their own in a desperate attempt to enforce order. Yet all of it proved pointless - none of the objectives came to fruition. Wail’s mining camp was yet to be invaded - its walls still safely protected by the exhausted frames of both women and men. Their forces yet to be depleted. A number of skeletal frames still gleaming with their white bones, resiliently resisting the attack. Though not a single one loosed arrows - their limbs now frozen in motion. Bony fingers unable to find any arrows within the empty quivers.
Thump, went the drums fleetingly. Slower, weaker. Giving out together with the attack. Signaling the final end of the day and the much-deserved victory for the defending.
Chapter 42
Luke hated shopping. Hated it with a passion. Of course, he hated to go out in general, but shopping had a special little place in the hell of his inner mind. It might have had something to do with a number of reasons.
Perhaps the very act of choosing comfortable or proper clothes - out of a myriad of fashionable and “trendy” options, irked him. None of them satisfactory, since Luke had made it a mission to stay away from trends as far away as possible. He wanted to be an “individual”, someone who stood out from the masses. Though he was special enough as is - the least he could do for society was to stand out less.
Being forced to pretend that he actually knows what he wants to buy and act “natural” under the shopkeeper’s suspicious gaze was another matter. Luke did not know what it was, but he always felt the glare or just a suspicious look from those managing the store. As if he was some unwelcome guest, a probable thief or some sort of a troublemaker. Which was true in a way - since he did try to make as much trouble as possible due to his occupation. Once, he was even kicked out after accusing some random lady of shoplifting. Yes, he was kicked out. They didn’t even try to inspect the accused. Talk about biased.
Another issue was the whole atmosphere of the shopping establishments he visited. Usually, as well as in the current situation, it was some grand construc
t of shops, all clamped under a single roof - with a number of places for entertainment. A means to keep people inside and tempt them with fabulous accessories, clothes, footwear, questionable entertainment and other manners of money-loss. It always seemed to have people in it though. Always. As if people had that much money to waste and the place was that alluring to spend it in.
Also. Couples. Luke had no idea how passing the evening or heck, the whole day in such a place was considered a romantic day out. He couldn’t stand to look at all those couples of various sexes practically climbing on each other as they walk - as if a need to merge into one entity was irresistible. Sure, the two or whatever number the couple consisted of, might be in love. Sure, sometimes it’s quite hard keeping those strong feelings of affection that threatened to overflow in check. Why the heck did they need to do that here of all places, though? Every way Luke glanced, there was some group of people either slobbering over each other, or moments away from actual public sexual intercourse. It was as if they needed to turn their relationship into a show. As if it was fragile enough to require external validation. Its existence broadcasted to the world as if to engrave it in the memories of everyone around, making it more real than it actually was. The collective acknowledgement like some glue that kept the couple together.
Luke might be over-complicating it of course. Might be that the relationship in itself was only a show. A means to pleasantly pass the time. Means to satisfy the need to be at the center of attention one way or another. Regardless of how long it lasts.
Heck, plenty of possibilities passed Luke’s mind, all of which might have been there due to a very simple and easily explainable reason. Luke was single, and they were not. Quite the jealous and bitter bastard he was indeed.
“Get laid!” - The imaginary mob of normal people were practically yelling inside his head. Or they might have actually done so in reality, seeing as Luke’s hate and dissatisfaction was practically an open book, placed in plain sight for everyone to skim-through. An almost visible cloud of pure gloom hanging above his balding head, applying pressure on those slumping shoulders.
