by A Uscila
“How the heck did you know what he was planning?!” – While complaining loudly – a task which he still seemed to have time for, surprisingly. Effort wasted – since no one deemed it necessary to answer him, sadly.
As the two soon closed in onto the opening – Sorro ceased his barrage and stirred in pursuit. His intent quite clearly – to join the two, with Willow already being up-top.
With elegance, she wielded her favored dagger. A trail of yellow and red following suit each cut or thrust – as all those foolish enough to approach received wounds in between their plates of armor. The made breach held open with the sole efforts of a single deadly vixen. Imagine what would happen if there were more of her. Most likely – the end of the world. Or at the very least – of Wail.
Barely in time, Wail finally climbed onto the hill – followed soon by a few bandit comrades and reanimated corpses, as the opening was finally held open firmly. A victory that was soon reinforced with Sorro swooping in – as the devil cut into enemy ranks with a blood frenzy. Boiling blood and smoking wounds spilling and opening up here and there as the demon clawed his way through.
Wail on the other hand – quickly froze up in preparation to reanimate a few more corpses. His previous batch now all but used up during the initial charge, only a few remaining in effective condition. Since the remained were either sliced apart back into death, or mutilated so badly that the best they could do was squirm in place with no purpose or use. Except comedic relief.
As the spell was cast uninterrupted – surprisingly, seeing as the opening was still quite narrow and filled with a chaotic mix of infighting troops – a number of corpses rose to fight once again. Their bloodied, scorched and mutilated corpses more than enough to bolster the forward party – serving as quality meat-shields at the very least.
Bit by bit, the small opening enlarged with increasing momentum, most of which was due to Willow and Sorro. Their efficiency in dispatching enemies being leagues above all those present.
With unmatched flexibility and reaction time – the leather-clad vixen dashed to and fro. Swooping in and out like a hawk, each dive resulting with at least one fallen foe. Her ability to change weapons at will, be it dagger or bow – a key factor in all of it.
Sorro performed in quite the similar manner if we consider claw and fire as exchangeable weapons, even though the demon could use both at the same time. Though to use fire, Sorro didn’t need to retreat to a safer distance – unleashing it close-up seemed just as effective. His upgraded frame ripping through all who were foolish enough to stand in his way. Though one should add, that he did not encounter a full-fledged shield wall to ram into as of yet. Lucky bastard.
All of it – made possible by the support of all the cannon fodder in between. Wail’s reanimated minions being the best tools for distraction and soaking up damage. A tool which was even used by the bandits, as the cheeky fellow’s hid behind the reanimated whenever things were getting a little too much to handle.
Still, progress was made, and Wail could finally witness the fruits of all their hard labor – as the view around was finally revealed. After all – he couldn’t see much previously due to all the moving about heads in his near vicinity. Wail wasn’t a tall man.
Not much of a reward for all that effort – since the view definitely did not make the needy warlock happy in any way. On the contrary even. He froze up in utter surprise. His eyes almost threatening to pop-out of their very sockets at any moment.
He’s been fooled. The attackers weren’t shifting their lines or even redirecting the pressure. They were retreating. Retreating with the intent to make way for a new force all-together.
As if a giant wave – a swarm of newcomers charged towards the very center of the battlefield. Armed with pitchforks, brooms and other farmhand tools – an army of peasants. Driven into a frenzy for one reason or another yet again - attacking all who stood in their way. Only to be held back by a tight, yet familiar metal wall of defense. Seeing as the yellow invaders used the same kind of tactics on Wail and his comrades a few moments ago. Heck, they were still using it in certain spots even now – it’s not like their successful breach in one spot, collapsed the whole thing.
Regardless – they were doing a much better job against the sea of farmers, their curses and shouts drifting all the way to Wail’s position. Making it all too clear, for what purpose did they come so deep into the forest. Not even mentioning the fact that a peasant’s life is way too tedious and boring to begin with – thus any activity outside of the norm would only end up as a much welcome relief.
From Wail’s vantage point – he could clearly witness the swift and effective redirection of troops. Numerous heavy plated warriors in yellow, shuffling towards the left flank, while a few of their comrades were busy holding off Macrosh and his men on the right. All in preparation to allow the peasant swarm to slam itself into the warlock’s forces and swallow them all.
Well, it would not work. They messed with the wrong mage and this was not the first time Wail dealt with rampaging proletariat. He knew their weakness.
With a smile, he raised a hand – a floating ball of fire already prepared, while the light from it put emphasis on the wicked smile that soon bloomed on his unbearable face. Numerous falling feathered projectiles coming into view in the background. A few flaming boulder’s mixing in for diversity. Their wide frames falling like meteors upon the ground – dealing significant damage with each accurate hit. All of it – a tribute to the knowledge that Wail was about to disclose to no one in particular.
Peasants burn.
Quite the ingenious thought.
“Would you stop daydreaming over there, and help out, you idiot?!” – Quite the moment Wail had there, only for it to soon be ruined and dragged down into the muddy earth by his favorite colleague – Willow. Her damp hair disheveled and stuck together due to blood and mud, as she continued her dance of death – dispatching one foe after another in relatively quick succession. Each attack hitting pinpoint in between plates. Each attack a lethal wound.
This was going to be fun – was all that Wail could think to himself sarcastically, as the grin dampened. His skeletal frame limping towards the action, as the warlock seemed still unused to the relentless bundle stuck upon one of his legs. Hopefully – he won’t need to.
Chapter 53
Dust and ash rose into the air – lifted by a sudden gust. Its invisible current carrying along the stench of battle. The smell of cooling sweat and spilled out entrails – together with their ill-gotten contents. Decaying open wounds, the blood-soaked earth and finally – the smell of burned flesh and earth.
Like carrion birds – numerous figures slowly traversed the aftermath of the battle – only to crouch near the deceased. Stripping them of all worldly possessions deemed worthy to take. Only to place them within relatively large one-wheeled carts – each one pulled by shabby looking civilians. Unarmed, ragged and somewhat unsettled. Not many would be able to keep it together after witnessing such carnage.
For as far as the eye could see – Wail’s outer fortifications were littered with the dead and dying. Murmurs and whispers occasionally interrupted by the cries and moans of the wounded and dying. All of it – no more than background noise to the combined silence of a long procession. Beaten and bruised humanoids – clothed in torn every-day attire, a yellow strand of cloth visible here and there, tied up and sullen. A long chain of them guided along with mean words and unsympathetic shoves from leather-wearing bandits that advanced together on both sides. Their tired and somewhat relieved faces smeared with mud and blood – the attire and weapons in no better condition as the supposed wardens seemed quite ragged themselves.
All of it – was taken in with great pleasure by a certain psychopathic magician. His side shadowed by a charred and battered figure of minion number one. Always the loyal follower.
Things really did seem to turn out for the better – one way or the other. Sure, the manpower losses were quite the downw
ard step. Yet considering all the arms gains, plus the cheap-workforce flow from the sudden attack carried out by the peasantry – Wail managed to come out on top in the end. Manpower will be refilled – some of the remaining force will just have to be rearmed with the newly acquired gear and repurposed as heavy infantry of sorts. Something which could potentially be a crucial element in the future defense of the in-construction fortress.
In addition…
Character name: Wail
Level: 183
Class: Warlock
Reputation: -1356
Title: Heretic
Souls: 785
Experience: 57.1%
Health: 7070
Mana: 10340
Stamina: 3740
Strength: 30
Intellect: 575
Agility: 20
Fortitude: 150
Wisdom: 450
Precision: 20
Attack: 37-58
Defense: 94
Charisma: -2
Leadership: 36
Luck: 11
Fame: 565
Health Regen: 10 Health/sec.
Mana Regen: 25 Mana/sec.
Stamina Regen: 1 Stamina/sec.
Magic Resistance
Fire: 25%
Water: 5%
Nature: 0%
Black: 20%
Light: -10%
Nether: 10%
*Unspent stat points: 47
*-1 Charisma due to appearance.
*-13 to Charisma due to below 0 Reputation.
*+11 Leadership due to Fame.
*+750 Health; + 30 Defense and + 3 Health/sec due to Fortitude.
*+2875 Mana due to Intellect.
*+9 Mana/sec due to Wisdom.
*+20% Fire, +10% Nether magic resistance due to Warlock.
*+20% Black and -10% Light magic resistance due to Warlock.
Title bonus
*Hated by all major religions.
*Accepted by all evil religions.
*Contact with a member of any major religion may cause them to drop into a religious fervor - pursuing you with psalms and religious signs.
*Double negative effect upon killing or dying by the hand of a member of any major religion. May force subjugation parties to be unleashed upon the player. Will hunt until success or destruction.
*Triple experience for killing a member of any major religion.
*+5 Mana/sec.
*+10% Mana.
*+10% Spell damage.
As if that wasn’t enough – Wail’s biggest profit in the matter was the overwhelming influx of experience and souls. Who knew large scale battles were such an effective way to level up and stock up on a warlock’s lifeblood – souls.
Indeed. A defense won. Foes shattered, levels and souls gained – as well as the large amount of slaves, arms and armor. No matter how one looked at it – this was a total and complete victory for team Wail. That golden haired bastard and his ilk probably retreated precisely due to that – a desperate attempt to cut losses.
“Congratulations my Lord, with a historical victory!”- Before Wail could continue contemplating his success - quite unpleasantly, a high pitched voice reached his ears. Already knowing who’d he see – the annoyed magician turned towards the approaching Macrosh. His poor collection of various pieces of armor dented and dirtied due to all the combat. A few new pieces noticeably replacing old ones – as the orc seemed to have left the battle with trophies, with Bob trailing behind not too far – “Never have bandits managed to beat an army of the Onionn Kingdom in a head-to-head clash!”
He really did know how to make Wail feel better about himself and see mistakes as accomplishments. Too bad there was someone else, who could do the opposite…
“Victory? Aren’t we forgetting something very important here? Why were they attacking us in the first place?”- In a prickly mood, as always – Willow joined in on the conversation, as she approached with Vivian on close guard. The child’s sparkly eyes looked upon the lordly magician with deep interest.
Cold sweat poured down the mages back – while an uncomfortable image of the little kid rushing at him without Willow’s tight grip haunted Wail’s inner mind – “It was because somebody…”- she continued, placing sarcastic emphasis on the word – “…was a little too aggressive with the raiding and pillaging!”
“Who? Who would endanger us so greatly? Of whom you speak of!?”- Suddenly interested, the orc’s voice rose a few more octaves. His eyes narrowing in an obvious aggressiveness – while the slab of metal he called a “sword” was already gripped by both hands.
Somewhat awkwardly, Wail coughed to that – glaring at Willow, followed by Bob – who decided to snicker at situation. His singed and gore covered visage a dreadful sight. Wail placed a note in his inner-mind to keep an eye on him – the bandit minion displayed an uncharacteristic sharpness. A dangerous thought.
“It doesn’t matter who’s at fault! All that matters is how we managed to win this battle” – Wail stared off into the distance as if in contemplation. All the while attempting to look and sound wise and magnanimous at the same time. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Though Macrosh’s stare might prove otherwise – seeing as it could be either pure admiration or simply orcish bloodlust. It was hard to tell the difference with that mug of his.
“Big words for a guy who barely survived” – Murmuring under her breath in reply, Willow turned away from the sight of Wail’s face. Finally, it seems the adverse effects of looking too long at it were showing. It is without a doubt amazing – that she managed to last this long.
*******
“Push deeper! Deeper I say!” – A weird request with diverse interpretations echoed, as Wail limped into the fray. Surrounded by lumbering corpses, ragged bandits and impulsive females. Gusts of fire exploding here and there, be it from the flaming boulders that occasionally fell in the near vicinity or the cackling demon that darted here and there. Beset by plated enemies on both sides and the front – the seeping-in force had its fair share of trouble.
“God damn it Wail! You’re going in too deep!” – As always the nag, Willow complained while dodging two sword strikes directed at her shoulder and side. Twisting down from under the attacks with unmatched flexibility – only to counterattack with precise dagger thrusts. A trail of a transparent yellow left behind each one – climaxing in red, as the newly-made wounds spilled blood.
“Not deep enough!” – Wail shouted back, moments after releasing a sphere of flame thrice the size of his own head into the air. It flew over the enemy ranks – only to split into multiple parts as the warlock made a few exaggerated hand motions. Completely unaffected by the weird phrasing or the increased volume of Sorro’s cackling.
Screams echoed, the wounded wailed. With blood and sweat running down in rivulets – the magician’s forces advanced relentlessly. Cleaving their way through the enemy ranks with increasing momentum. Most of which was due to the fact, that they were going down-hill. In addition – it did seem like they were finally approaching the other end of the yellow ranks. Right at the point where these cocky invaders were clashing with the frenzied peasantry.
A churning tide of foes swirling on both sides – with most of the pressure coming from the right. Seeing as their attempts to retreat and reposition themselves were met with an unwelcome obstacle. Macrosh and the remainder of his forces being hot on their heels didn’t help much either.
“Be sure not to disrupt their shield-wall! Use them to keep the other army away from us!” – Completely into the role of command, the self-absorbed magician shouted about, as he threw in spell after spell onto the enemy. Which only sounded amazing – seeing as the variation wasn’t. Fireball and Soul Syphon being the only offensive spells being used.
Congratulations! You’ve gained a level!
Yet, even still – all that effort paid off. This battle – as tricky and dangerous as it was, supplied quite a bit of experience. Heck, Wail lost count of how many levels he managed to raise b
y simply commanding his troops and throwing about all the spells he could in every direction. At this point – curiosity struck, as an impulse to check his status screen compelled the warlock. An untimely one – seeing as this was definitely not the best place to be distracted with other matters. Survival is supposed to come first, after all.
Lost in indecision – Wail froze up in preparation to cast another wave of Soul Syphon and just when he was about finished, a familiar event took place.
-75 health
Out of nowhere – he was struck with a flying projectile. It’s wooden heel slamming into the warlock’s balding head. A shoe.
So utterly smacked out of his senses – Wail couldn’t help but be lost in a daze. All that tedious casting ending up interrupted in the process.
In addition to that – a deafening mixture of noises echoed across the battlefield. Shouts, roars, screeches, damnations and all kinds of phrases – all coming from the same direction. Seemingly no longer suppressed by the wall of shields in the front – the frenzied peasants could finally charge at the very reason they came here. Their eye-whites directed straight at the stunned Warlock, as some took their sweet time throwing another pair of shoes as if impatient to do harm to the poor fella.
Luckily, Willow turned up just in time, as she slammed into Wail with her shoulder – knocking him out of the way and making use of her own inertia to do the same. A result of which was the complete miss of each and every single wooden-heeled projectile.
“Lord, commander’s Bob’s forces have engaged a bunch of crazy peasants on the….oh shit!” – Quite timely, a bloodied bandit swiftly approached, as he attempted to report everything in one breath. Only to be interrupted by the sight of the swarming horde – Wail managing to catch the sight of his back, as the bandit decided to split instead of finishing the report. A reasonable choice – seeing as he wasn’t bringing much to the table with those news.
