by A Uscila
“…Lord?” – Clearly unsettled by the unexpected turn of events – Princess’s entourage turned for orders, for a sweep of clear-minded decisiveness to push aside all doubt and unsettlement. Each moment of delay – wasted time that could be used for an effective retreat.
“…form up a defensive line and retract some troops from the front lines” – With eyes narrowed in cold, calculated blood thirst, Princess ordered. His voice but a whisper, a gust of cold that chilled to the bone. Not a millimeter given to doubt or second-guessing.
“…I hear and obey”- The coif wearing soldier could do nothing but retreat, as he soon went about fulfilling orders. All present men soon falling into an organized defense – shields formed into a solid line. As if cliffs – ready to meet the sea and watch it crumble against their solid frames. An unexpected turn of events.
Yet unmistakably favorable to a certain deranged magician.
Chapter 52
Sweat dripped down the side of Wail’s face, as he flailed about in deep concentration. A satisfied smirk plastered upon his face – a deadly weapon that probably did more damage than the fires that he wielded so recklessly.
Each swing of the hand releasing a swirling mass of fire, their sizes differing each time – since the warlock imbued them all with varying amounts of magic. Each projectile crashing upon the metal plates of his foes - their formerly shinny surfaces now scorched and heated. Dissipating flame tongues licking upon the tabards of sickly brown - the material still soaked in blood and sweat.
Things were finally going somewhere as Wail, surrounded by his trusted reanimated corpses - was advancing uphill. Each step taken sinking deep into the wet ground below. Each step on the brink of slipping due to the terrain. Disgusting, slippery muck - a result of hours of bitter fighting.
Shouts and screams drifted across the field – only to be interrupted or outright drowned out by the racket that all those present brought. Each and every scrape of metal upon metal gathering into one great ear-numbing screech as those present fought. While the ground rumbled and explosions echoed in support – the sound loud enough to rip ear-drums if you were unlucky enough to be nearby. Though that would be the least of your worries – seeing as you’d be consumed by fires, flying debris and knocked off your feet by the shockwave. What would be left of you, at least.
All of it – made poor Wail’s ears ring, his smirk dimming with each passing moment, as the ache in his ears refused to go away. Together with the recently made realization that the, until now, successful advance has come to an abrupt halt. None of it helped much with maintaining a good mood.
Especially when Wail found himself at the bottom of a hill – cursing loudly, pressed under a squirming reanimated corpse. Bent heavy plates digging unpleasantly into his skin –Wail’s robe didn’t help much in muffling the sensation.
A relatively long stretch of high-ground stood as an obstacle for Wail’s forces – a display of his ingenious layouts. Unluckily for him – it was the enemy that used its given advantage this time – as a three-man deep wall of flesh and metal plates stood upon it in blatant defiance. Knocking back all who dared to approach – with the lucky ones escaping with but a few scrapes and bruises as they tumbled downhill. A result that happened most often to the reanimated – who were proving to be less than useful in such uneven terrain. Their cooling muscles refusing to provide the same performance a living person could demand.
“Come on ya losers! Do I have to do all the work myself?!” – As if that wasn’t enough, while Wail was just about free from under the squirming minion, Sorro’s screeching voice reached his ears. The frustration made vocal, since the demonic servant faced a similar degree of obstruction upon the hill. Any attempts to rip into the steel ranks repeatedly bearing no fruit. Or enough dead to justify the effort. Each made hole into the enemy filling up soon after by a replacement – as if the bastards had an inextinguishable amount of manpower. Their bulky frames leaning against wide shields – the bottom parts driven deep into the ground for additional support.
Fire, arrows and various other projectiles rained upon the newly-made steel wall – scraping off without anything more than a scratch or a blot of soot. It would seem as Mistress Luck was smiling upon the enemy at this point – since not one flaming rock loosed from the inner-keep seemed to land amongst their ranks. Something that would have probably turned the tide completely.
“Persistent little bastards…” – Being the unsocial sort – Wail mumbled under his breath, while making sure to cast Soul Syphon once more upon the enemies heads. Making sure not to waste time, while attempting to think of a quick solution in the meantime. His mind racing while eyes glared upon the battered steel plates. As if the ugly magician attempted to catch the eyes of his enemy. Force them to look upon the abyss and be swallowed by its horror.
None seemed stupid enough to fall into that ploy, sadly.
At this point – seeing as even the most desperate plans were failing him, Wail felt frustration sink in. A pulling feeling that seemed to drag him down to the ground. Getting stronger with each consecutive pull – so strong, that it felt almost physical.
Which it was, since someone was indeed pulling upon Wail’s robes from behind. Annoyed by the realization and scared by the probability of the perpetrators identity – he turned around. A few arrows falling in the near vicinity as if in warning – an attempt to save the man from his doom.
Unsurprisingly – Vivian was the one behind all that undeserved harassment. Her innocent green eyes staring upon Wail in anticipation and perhaps even anxiety. Something that the dense magician failed to notice, of course.
“How the heck did you get here?” – Surprised, annoyed – Wail turned to the little she-devil. His reaction soon followed by an unpleasant burning in his gut. Caused by the sight of a familiar leather-bound vixen, seen approaching at the very edge of his vision.
“Can I help?” – Vivian’s eyes soon blurred somewhat, as apparently – she was getting teary eyed. Refusing to redirect her sight from the warlock. Immune to his gruesome looks. A somewhat sad thing, since Wail’s looks were ugly to that extent for a reason. A last gesture of mercy given by nature. A shield, to protect her creations from this manifestation of all that is evil and horrific. Since most would be scared away by the looks alone – thus ending up spared from getting in contact with his ugly character. One that would leave you scarred for life. That or her tears were the actual side effects of looking upon the warlock for extended periods of time. So, maybe no one was immune to him, after all.
“What the heck did you do, you pedophile?!” – Swooping in at the worst possible time, Willow arrived only to notice Vivian’s teary eyes. Naturally ending up with the inevitable conclusion that Wail was at fault for all of it. Which he might have been.
“Stop calling… I didn’t do…” – Wail was no stranger to anger, to frustration. To the fury that comes from being misunderstood over and over again. It doesn’t mean that knew how to handle it though – as he was simply lost for words due to the swirling emotions deep down. Unable to choose which issue to address first. Eventually – he sighed heavily, while holding onto the nape of his nose. Brows furrowed – “This is not the time for this nonsense. If you don’t stop playing around, we’ll end up losing everything we managed to build here and end up being hunted to the ends of the world!” – After finally somewhat gathering himself, Wail turned to Willow with fury in his eyes, only to practically shout out his thoughts. Making sure that not a word was lost in the cacophony of sounds that drifted across the field.
“Hey…can I help…?” – Tears now slowly rolled down Vivian’s cheeks, as her eyes anxiously darted back and forth between the two. Her fears made bare by the desperate and uncertain tone that shakily inquired once more. Afraid to be ignored, afraid of being discarded. Afraid of being alone.
“The only way you can help is by taking your little…” - Before Willow could throw in some silly white lie, Wail jumped the gun as he announced
in an authoritarian tone. Only to be interrupted again before he could finish. As another body rolled down the hill in a tumble. A mortally wounded bandit this time, as his limbs twitched in the last bloody death throes. Right at of the cursing Wail – who was the only one who did not manage to get out of the way in time. Even the kid managed that. What a disgrace. With a grunt and a surprised grunt, the poor magician was knocked off his feet and on the ground.
“Please…let me help...” – Outright crying at this point, Vivian begged, as she grabbed Wail’s robe once again – not even waiting till the magician untangled himself from under the now deceased comrade. Which he did later on – with great difficulty. Made no easier by either Willow’s glare or Vivian’s clingy tendencies.
“Now now, you can’t cry in front of pedophiles, or they’ll see this as an opportunity to do something really bad to you…” – Willow started, as she turned on her generic motherly tone, while attempting to comfort the attention seeking little one. Her eyes occasionally drifting towards Wail with a vicious glare. What the heck was she even explaining to a kid?
Wail would have none of it. Though surprisingly – he did not bite back, instead choosing to share some rare drops of wisdom. Wail’s wisdom. Definitely not something for the weak-willed to hear.
“You think crying is going to help you? You think that’s going to help anyone? Listen kid, instead of shedding tears, use that time to think and find the best way to be useful” – With quite the haughty tone, did he start explaining, while turning towards the enemy lines and throwing in a few fireballs in short succession. A desperate attempt to look cool – “Which in this case would be, for you to get back into the castle and hide until all this blow’s over” – With his chin set higher than normally, and higher than he had the right to – Wail directed his gaze towards the top of the hill and casually strolled towards it. A constantly enlarging ball of fiery fury floating in his right hand – anxiously awaiting its release. His lips twisted into a barely noticeable smirk – as if he himself was satisfied with the performance.
The satisfaction didn’t last.
“Wait!” – Soon enough, the smirk turned into a frown as Willow’s shouting reached his ears. Before he could even turn around – an unexpected force slammed into his right leg, latching onto it moments after contact.
Almost used to the all-too-familiar chain of events – Wail managed to keep his footing. Barely. Only to glare down upon the quivering bundle that was Vivian. Her eyes shut tight as if afraid to meet the warlock’s eyes. Smart choice.
Surprisingly – not one curse sipped through Wail’s lips. Not one complaint or lecture. Instead – Wail seemed somewhat disappointed. Maybe even saddened, as he simply – continued his advance.
“So be it” – A barely audible whisper spoken under his breath, one that might have been heard by only himself.
Regardless of all the drama that went about all around – the battle still raged on. Right into a standstill. As the invading force managed to keep the center solid. Fire and steel constantly glancing off of the large metal shields that they placed in front of themselves. A metal wall – which would only occasionally end up being breached. Each opened hole soon filled right back up by other comrades in arms. Each breach a seemingly futile attempt.
All Wail could do was watch the fires he cast upon them glance off almost harmlessly and occasionally recast Soul Syphon to maintain a healthy disposition.
+44 Health.
+44 Health.
…
Another boost to the usual influx of health was soon added, as Wail now turned to the unmoving enemy defense. Suspicious and warry of their sudden change of tactics.
“Lord! Bob sent me to inform you, that his flank has seen some heavy resistance and is in desperate need of support! The enemy are pushing hard with overwhelming forces!” – As if telepathic, a ragged and bloodied bandit approached from behind – bringing with him a much needed update. Anxiety glistening in his eyes.
Before Wail could even begin complaining and cursing, another bandit soon approached him from the other side.
“Lord! Macrosh has sent me to report!” – For some reason, the orc’s subordinate performed in a much more formal manner, as he saluted before continuing on. Admirable, but hardly timely – seeing as fire and various projectiles rained about all over the battlefield, while the dead and dying screamed and wailed. The tide of battle shifting constantly in unpredictable ways – one never knows when death decides to come unannounced – “The right flank is doing very good and our forces are pushing hard. The commander did notice though, that there seems to be way less enemies to kill, than there should be!”
Timely indeed. Weird how both Bob and Macrosh decided to send notice to the frustrated warlock at almost the same time. Yet luckily – a solution to one problem, practically solved itself with the emergence of another.
“Order Macrosh to direct two sixths of his forces to the left flank, and one sixth to the center. Continue putting pressure with the remainder!” – He quickly ordered one-sidedly to the orc’s messenger, completely uncaring on how the orders would be carried out or understood even. Only to follow-up by turning all his attention to the other messenger – “You can report what you heard here to Bob. Order him to hold on as best as he can” – As if that was that, Wail turned away without even sparing another glance towards the two. Completely uncaring for their hard work and self-sacrifice – seeing as the two were clearly tired and had to run through all kinds of unimaginable dangers to get to here. As heartless as usual.
As the messengers soon departed with the given orders, the warlock’s attention was once again directed at the wall of steel up on the hill. His brows furrowed in concentration, as if attempting to think of a possible solution. Dedicating all the available brain power to the occasion – which wasn’t much. Due to which progress simply could not be made.
Luckily – Alternative Reality lent its helping hand this once. A fool’s mercy – seeing as it probably led into something much worse than not getting through the enemies defensive line.
“Hey ugly! I got a plan!” – In a gust of fire and scorched earth did Sorro arrive. His mouth twisted into a vicious sharp-toothed sneer, while the screams and wails of men and women echoed in his wake. Quite the theatrical entrance – the least he could have done, was be slightly less mean. A steep demand, that one.
Wail restrained the curse that was about to slip out, as he glared at the flaming minion with furrowed brows. It might just be possible, that the self-centered magician did not want to risk angering the leveled-up minion. His eyes unconsciously glancing upon the long, razor sharp claws constantly – each one dripping with blood of recent victims.
Luckily, before he could even consider saying something back in an attempt to save face – Sorro proceeded without consent, as he once again placed his open palms against each other. Both opening up like a flower – a swirling mass of flame soon gathering in the middle. All of it, soon released as a ray of molten fire – slamming itself into a single foe. A single shield. Forcing both it and its wielder to stagger due to the sheer force of the blast. With enough of it slamming into the metal object to almost knock it out of his hands. Yet after staggering a bit – the yellow wearing intruder barely managed to regain his footing. Just barely.
Wail raised an eyebrow at the already well-known attack, as he carefully observed the relatively quick depletion of his mana pool. Swirling shadows occasionally encompassing the warlock’s lean frame – as he was forced to cast Life Tap.
“Are you going somewhere with this?” – In a somewhat haughty tone, Wail inquired. Taking pleasure in the opportunity to rub it in.
Sorro did not reply to that – as he stubbornly continued casting his spell. A bright red color slowly spreading around the point of contact on the shield.
“Get ready!” – This time, it was Willow who joined it, as she approached the two with a drawn bow. Her eyes locked onto the under-siege shield with deep concentrat
ion.
“Get ready for what?!” – With not a shred of shame regarding how dense he was, Wail complained. Raising his hands into the air in exasperation.
Before the answer could be given, even though neither of the two seem interested in doing so – circumstance revealed everything on their own.
After a loud yell, the shield shifted ever so slightly, as if the soldier was trying to grip it with another hand. Which was enough for Willow to glimpse his shoulder and leg. In quick succession and a breathtaking display of accuracy – she released at least four arrows. Two of which slammed themselves into the before-mentioned body parts, while the other two lodged into the neck and side – since the soldier staggered into the open. Dazed due to the sudden rush of pain.
Since the soldier soon fell due to death, incapacitation or simply throes of agony - a small hole was now open. Another soldier already rushing into the opening to fill it up. A task which he was unable to fulfill – seeing as the unceasing ray of molten flame now rammed into him before the shield could even be placed in position. Seems like Sorro did not cease firing his magic once the previous target was taken care of.
Using the opportunity – Willow rushed towards the opening, followed soon by the somewhat slowed Wail. His steps unbalanced and unsteady – as he tried to get used to the unevenly distributed living weights.
