by A Uscila
It did work, at least for a moment or two. Before a continuation could commence - reinforcements arrived to relieve Wail.
An armed outlaw ran into the hall - his only protection being a studded leather west and a shield that hung from his back. A one-handed sword, hanged from his waist - serving as armament.
“We…we’re under attack!” - He forcefully announced through ragged breaths. Seems like the fella ran quite a bit to get to here.
“What?!” - Macrosh jumped up furiously - his high-pitched voice echoing vigorously off the stone walls repeatedly.
“Again?!” - Wail joined in, as he asked the most important question.
Seems like the sudden news put a stop to all and any thoughts of continuing that bickering filled topic, as everyone seated stoop up - surprised expressions shared between all.
Even Sorro stopped both laughing and skipping around like a kindergartner - seemingly listening with interest.
“It’s the yellow’es, Lord…” - The messenger explained, still busy with attempts to catch his breath - “They found us…”
Great.
Chapter 44
Chaos ensued within and without fortress Wail - as numerous yellow dots flooded from the north-eastern edge of the forest. They scurried across the open fields, spilling into the unfinished labyrinths of fortifications. Rises and falls in terrain height, water filled trenches, lines of stakes and other bothersome obstacles for any advancing forces. Faced with the occasional defending bandit, the advance barely halted - as there was only so much a single fellow could do to interfere with a swarm of yellow invaders. Though at certain key locations - one did manage to slay ten times his number before going down. That is - if the encountered outlaw chose to stay and fight. Which was a result that came about most often from limited choice, instead of valiant self-sacrifice.
Beyond the labyrinth of elaborately and quite frankly, ingeniously constructed fortifications - lay the castle-city-to-be. A myriad of shabby wooden shacks littered all around - creating another unwelcome labyrinth of narrow streets and sharp corners. A wise tactician would set it all a-flame, before advancing - seeing as beyond this two-fold obstacle of pure military horror, lay the center of the location. Surrounded by a mere wooden wall – lay the inner city with a castle under construction at the center. It’s tall walls and towers reaching high above all the shacks and huts. With a stone keep serving as the heart of the structure.
When was all of this constructed to begin with?
Somewhat overwhelmed by both the grandness of what they were invading, together with how easily it was going - the yellow invaders rushed-on. Most of their forces only half-way through the very first level of obstacles. Those hurrying constantly tripping due to uneven ground and slipping into water filled trenches, down steep sandy hills. A few casualties already present - as not only were there a few miniscule pockets of resistance - but a number of careless soldiers managed to fall onto prepared stakes. Quite embarrassing. Especially when the stakes were obviously meant to impede advance and disable any cavalry - definitely not to inflict infantry casualties.
Yet, regardless of any sense in choices or logic in this tactical decision - the yellow armada continued on. Men and women - well prepared for battle, in opposition of displayed strategic wit.
Almost every single one were clothed with chainmail surcoats worn upon leather - all covered by a yellow tabard. A familiar emblem of two entwined green snakes upon it. As protection from any unexpected head injuries by projectiles or other objects - metal pots were worn. Elaborately shaped into looking like something more than they actually were. Which basically ended up as being simply - good-looking pots.
These infidels, for a lack of a batter word - were armed quite well, albeit varyingly. Most had wooden shields - with iron rimming at best, and leather at worst - accompanied by one-handed weapons. Which included, but were not limited to various axes, maces and swords. Other than that - some advanced with large bastard swords and two-handed maces. Behind this advance of well-prepared foes traveled a detachment of lightly armored bowmen. Clothed in leather, while wearing the same colors - they arrived in close lines with longbows readied. Waiting for the order to let loose volleys of death upon the non-existent resistance. Yet stopping at the very edge of the labyrinth of fortifications. Staying completely still between the forest’s edge, and Wail’s territory. Too far, to be of use to the men charging deeper in.
Truly, a force to be reckoned with - the invasion supposedly carefully put together before taking place. Or would have been, if not for one observed point of mind-shattering idiocy. For some unknown reason - the yellow force decided to charge through a myriad of fortifications, instead of simply advancing through an open road that led to the center of the castle-city - further away. Especially when the road winded from the eastern side of the castle-to-be. It wasn’t that hard to notice, the gate wasn’t even finished as an obstacle for any one advancing.
Truly, ridiculous.
*******
From way above - safe on the walls of the soon-to-be castle, a group of individuals observe it all. Mixed reactions displayed on every face. Macrosh managed to twist his unique mug even more - though what emotions that portrayed was hard to say. Bob seemed to be quite unnerved, as he practically froze on the spot - gaze glued to the advancing yellow dots below. His left hand paling due to the strength with which he gripped the parapet. Scruff was busy biting his nails, while minion number one was still having a hard time traveling up the stairs. Willow? She didn’t seem to be reacting too much, as her slightly widened eyes darted from one thing to the other - stopping near Sorro’s location once a silent, cackling laugh rose to an audible level.
In the usual annoying manner, the little devil decided to display his good mood, while standing on the very edge of the wall. His cackle carried away by the wind, each cackle barely audible by those nearby.
It wasn’t Sorro’s usual mannerisms that caught Willow’s attention though. Oh no. It was Wail.
“Great one, allow us to cut down these loathsome invaders! Allow us to put them back in their place!” - With his usual high-pitched voice, though on a slightly higher pitch than usual - Macrosh suddenly shouted, while slamming a fist on the stone parapet. His beady eyes turned towards the warlocks still figure. A palm covering the top of his face.
“I second that. I’ve been waiting for a rematch with those pricks…” - Bob added, while still gazing away beyond their position.
It was at this point, that a second laugh came into the fold - as it joined and even outgunned the little devil in both quality and magnitude. Wail slowly erupted into laughter befitting any self-respecting evil mastermind at the moment of an ingenious scheme coming to fruition. Its glorious echoes eventually completely pushing out poor Sorro - as there was no room for two on this wall. Standing right nearby, the little devil had no choice but to stop his antics - seeing as he couldn’t even hear his own laughter.
Willows eye’s widened even more, as her lips twisted into an uncontrollable smile of exhilaration. Was she fond of super-villains perhaps?
Oblivious to everything - Wail continued to shake in maddening laughter, his hand finally leaving the forehead - only to reveal a crazed look. He was sneering. Sneering so widely and honestly, that mistaking him for a psychopath wouldn’t be a longshot anymore. Not saying it was so before - but comparing Wail’s standard look to the current one - would be the same as comparing a serial killer and a frustrated teen.
So seemingly crazed with satisfaction was the bandit overlord that it took quite a while for him to calm down. As the last throes of laughter shook his body, Wail finally managed to squeeze out a few words.
“I can’t believe my luck…” - He murmured, coughing in between phrases. Seemingly close to choking. That’s what you get for not swallowing saliva while breathing through the mouth - “Those idiots actually attacked! And though the fortified side to boot!” - With the same wide sneer, eyes wide in pleasurable surprise he turne
d to his colleagues. Sharing his joys as if a child would - oblivious to the cares of others and absorbed within himself to the max - “Macrosh!” - In a sudden change of action, Wail turned his twisted with joy features towards the orc colleague.
“Yes, great one!” - As if it was the military, Macrosh quickly stiffened. Knocked out of the daze that he found himself in after observing Wail’s completely out of the ordinary display. Completely undisturbed by the fact, that his previous inquiry was utterly ignored.
“How prepared is the cavalry?”
“We have twenty three riders, though they still need quite a bit of practice. We just recently gathered that many horses from the various raids” - Macrosh reported, without batting an eye.
“Good. Prepare them to ride out once I give the signal. I need those archers in the back to face hell!” - The obnoxious magician, seemingly satisfied with the news, finally turned down a notch in his displayed joy. As a visible measure of seriousness finally entered his features.
Willow seemed to calm down as well, though she continued to look weirdly at Wail for some reason. But as they say “look into the abyss long enough, and the abyss will look back at you”. So it did happen - as Wail quickly turned to meet Willow’s gaze, visibly startling the poor lass in doing so.
“Willow. Go get your archers ready and in positions” - He ordered, dazzling the female ranger with his lovely sneer - still there. Still not going away. It didn’t make him look better. Actually - it might have made him look worse. Poor Willow indeed - “You do remember the rough sketch of the planned defense, right?” - Wail added, after noticing how unsettled the vixen was.
“Oh…yes! Of course I do!” - She simply replied, only to turn and leave abruptly. Which only made Wail think that she was still angry due to the former lecture in the meeting hall. A thought soon disregarded as insignificant – as more pressing matters were at hand.
“Bob! Go down there and decorate the streets in red! Macrosh, join him once you’re done with the cavalry!” - Like a true willful, self-appointed commander - Wail gave out orders left and right, while turning to leave himself. Seems like he wanted to be in a more advantageous position. All to see the carnage up close.
Boy was Wail happy. His mouth twitching as he tried to control the crazed smile that kept on threatening to resurface.
This. This was it. This was what Wail liked the most. Defending. He toiled and rocked his head over the defenses - meticulously preparing everything for a grand battle. All to test his wits and watch the enemy bleed. Watch them ram against his laid out defenses wave after wave - and crumble moments away from disillusioned success. He could barely keep himself from shaking in excitement - so exhilarated Wail felt. Who knew the moment he waited and toiled so for would come so soon? Who knew that the hated enemy, whom he so wished to crush and obliterate - would come to him themselves? Well, he did provoke them quite often these days - raiding surrounding villages and intercepting various caravans. Stacking up the damage done. Their reaction still came as a surprise. Especially the tactical disgrace that he was witnessing at this very moment. His evil fortress wasn’t even finished yet, for peat’s sake! The main road didn’t have a proper gate, and the walls of the castle were only half-built. Yet those idiots attacked though the hardest side, and towards the part of the castle that was actually built.
It was as if they were so overconfident in their sudden attack - that they didn’t even consider that the barely manned first line of defense - the elaborate labyrinths of various obstacles was nothing but a means to exhaust the foe. To deal minor casualties and damage morale. Yet the fools were charging headlong though it, while being so heavily armored. Before any of them reach the narrows streets, Wail’s forces will be more than prepared. Heck, fighting tired enemies won’t be much of a challenge even. He was going to enjoy this. Enjoy every single bloody moment to the fullest.
*******
Charging through the streets with ragged breaths, the yellow forces trod on, while being torn by insecurities of finding barely any resistance. Things were going too smoothly and at this point - the soldiers felt like danger could be lurking around any corner. Nerves strung tightly, about ready to break. A quality foundation for a well-thought-out plan to capitalize on.
How right they were.
Just before they turned another corner, a sudden foe charged out. Manned by a bare three men, a cart was being pushed towards them. Its front littered with various metal spikes, while knives were visible on the sides. Their razor sharp edges gleaming as the sun shone from right above-head.
So surprised were the yellow soldiers and unnerved by this sudden counter-attack, especially so due to the unfamiliar contraption - that they were slightly too late to turn and run. Even when the first few men realized the severity of their circumstance and tried to retreat to safety - those behind got in the way.
As those at the front tried to retreat, the soldiers in the back tried to advance - a cork in traffic came about. One which decided the fate of many of those present. A few moments of complete chaos, and the first sounds of battle echoed throughout the narrow streets. Screams of agony and terror, desperate pleas of those still unharmed enough to do so. Unpleasant echoes of ripping flesh, the rattling of bones being fractured and crushed. Accompanied by the splintering of wood and screeching of metal upon metal. All but a glimpse of the terror that the conflicts between men brings about. A festival for the twisted. A performance for the god of blood and carnage.
Such and similar views came about in numerous points within the labyrinth of streets, where one after the other - outlaws emerged to resist the invading yellow tide. Smashing against the tired invaders and knocking them down mercilessly. While using any means necessary to do so.
As if the carts of carnage were not an effective enough measure to block any advance – long, fleeting shadows slid along the walls for the briefest of moments. Together with these corporeal forms, a barrage of projectiles would follow suit - raining upon the yellow attackers from above. Loosed from a safe position upon the roofs of the various huts and shacks. Stacked up so closely together and with a surprisingly well-made roof, the structures served as a perfect position for any ranged forces. Keeping every single one safe from any melee retaliation.
Beset so by both a dreadful obstacle in front, as well as a fatal hindrance from above - the attack practically crumbled there and then. Seeing as morale plummeted to the bottom within the first few moments of their clash. Counting only a few pockets of conflict as seemingly unresolved - most of the attackers were already on the brink of routing. All their effort in rushed advance completely wasted. So many men sacrificed for a useless cause. So many died all at the command of a seemingly incompetent commander. What a waste.
Chapter 45
Black dust materialized out of thin air and settled upon yellow tabards – worn by disgruntled and fatigued soldiers, their clothes already soaked through blood, sweat and tears. A day like any other. Sounds of strife - a common happenstance at this point, echoing throughout the soon-to-be castle town. Throughout the streets of the tightly packed wooden huts and shacks.
With a sinister glee, Wail dashed over the roofs of his run-down property. Taking each step boldly, regardless of the unsteady surface his feet were being placed. A myriad of wooden planks half-heartedly placed as a means to traverse above the complicated alleys bellow. Shadowy passages with nothing but smoke and mind-churning screams rising from within it.
Every now and then, Wail abruptly stopped - frozen in a catatonic state for a brief period of time, only to conjure-up a cloud of dark smoke. Its glittering particles spreading out in a wide range and gently settling down onto the heads of the people bellow. Men and women, cleaving at each other with desperate abandon. Their lives like torches, shining brightly within the sea of shadow - unsteadily flickering between complete exhaustion and eye-piercing brilliance. Completely ignorant of the dark dust that settled on their heads and backs. Too preoccupied to notice the miniscule leechi
ng of their life-force.
For the seventh time in a row did Wail complete this brief ritual, sprinkling his magic dust on the innocent with mean-spirited joy - only to continue onwards to the next target. Displaying almost identical movements, and identical results. Yet the eight time was the charm - as he stopped and extended his hand towards the scene below. A small opening between the buildings, littered to the brim with those deceased and those on the brink of it. Begging for a merciful end to ease their suffering.
An end that was about to be given with cruel pleasure. Blood dripped from the down-facing palm of Wails right hand - dark shadowy tendrils extending from it straight into dozens of mutilated bodies. Their snake-like forms seeping through gaping holes until nothing remained. An earie silence followed, with not a drop of visible change in sight. Reluctant to stand and wait - the dark magician simply continued on with his questionably purposeful quest. Leaving his seemingly unfinished work without a shred of responsibility.
Moments away from Wail’s departure though - those victimized by his shadowy tendrils suddenly rose up. Lifting themselves up with reluctant movement, as if the limbs themselves were being forced into submission. Controlled by a force foreign to the lifeless bodies of this conflict.
Together with new life, death followed - as the barely shimmering sparks of life within the alley soon faded out in a flash. A flash of blood and gut-churning screams. Swallowed up by the new-made life - created with the blood and sweat of a Warlock.
