by A Uscila
To the west, the Onnion Kingdom ran into a few sparsely littered city-states run by their own kind – scattered about in a vast land of grassy fields, lakes and wide-unexplored forests – spanning miles upon miles, some even inhabited by closed-off elven villages.
Regardless of circumstance – the surrounding region was one of the calmer ones. Conflicts relatively rare, monster migrations or wars with hostile races even more so – the majority of which were fought further westward and in the very center of humanities habitat. A wasteland of withered nature and blighted earth. A land where dead walked freely and unbridled, where the living were devoured or turned. A scar upon the earth – the result of a God’s death, or so it has been told.
Finally, Princess cast his gaze away from the map and directed it towards the middle of the chamber – where a large, round table stood. Another map of the immediate area around the regional capital of Lordfit, over which his lord ruled, the region itself named Onnion’s East, a name of poor imagination. The aforementioned lord himself stood behind the mentioned table, eyes glued to the map – scanning, analyzing. A few golden figurines placed about here and there – at times pushed about in an unfamiliar order, as if a chess game. The lord – no more than an eleven year old child, seemed to be lost in deep contemplation. A hand, absentmindedly rising to the lad’s chin – held there for a moment or two as if the action helped resolve mental dilemmas.
“Ah, Princess. Just in time, I’m glad you could join me as I bask in the fruits of my plans” – After moments of silence, the Lord finally noticed the presence of his faithful golden-haired helper, turning to the man with a bright, satisfied smile. A hand cast over the map in an intention to direct the visitor’s attention – “Behold as actors assemble upon the stage I prepared so tirelessly, shedding my own blood and sweat to complete. All three took their time in pillaging and burning the countryside, feeding off my lifeblood. Yet now – they succumbed to my superior intellect, ignorant of how I masterfully led them by their noses” – He continued, in an exaggerated manner.
Listening, Princess gazed upon the table – eyes darting from figurine to figurine. Golden riders gathered in a group – placed on the fields in the near vicinity of the regional capital. Two of them clad in white, their weapons raised – a one-handed mace and a large claymore.
Groups of scattered creatures – their hunched, hideous forms unpleasant to look upon – presence scattered, littering both the fields, forests and mountain-ranges to the west of the riders. A distance between the two large enough to avoid most of the clashes, if the two sides were hostile to each other. Yet between them stood two distinctive figurines. A stone castle and a ragged human with a dagger in one hand, a bag in the other. Right in the middle of two distinctively different sides.
“Look closely, dear colleague and you shall witness a beautiful play! One to remember and one to reap great profits from!” – The Lord continued, ecstatic at this point – as if the visitor’s silence only reinforced his confidence and excitement. With an unhurried motion – the young Lord picked up one of the white clad riders, pushing it forward, closer towards the ragged bandit. All the while doing a similar motion with a few hunched creatures from the opposite side. A devious, self-satisfied smile upon his face.
“As you say, my Lord” – Princess replied laconically, not a drop of sarcasm or doubt within his flat tone. His eyes narrowed upon the board, as if able to see more than just plain toys. Mutual silence lingering between the two.
*******
Chaos ensued, as Wail’s back-lines were suddenly under-siege by unknown assailants. Their righteousness radiating in a bright, white light – covering each and every one of their armored figures. Stinging the eyes, making one flinch at the sight of their goody-two-shoes outer disposition. It made the warlock sick to his gut. Though it might have been the ominous premonition of an inevitable end that was soon to be.
Every single rider was covered from head-to-toe in white plates of armor, their steeds stricken with the same amount of shyness and armor – except the sides, that had green straps of cloth fluttering in the wake of their charge. Each rider wore armbands of the same color upon their right arms – with a clearly visible symbol glaring upon them. A hammer striking yellow lightning upon a field of green.
“God damn it, idiots! Get over the wall! Don’t let them mow you down like straw stalks!” – Panic, anger and fear mounting to a boiling point, he exploded in a series of derisive commands, enraged by the sight of his underlings being cut-apart with ease and frightening efficiency.
Luckily, most were pulled back from a mass-panic and took heed of the advice. A pleasant turn of events – for they could have just easily decided it was the perfect opportunity to finally put down their abusive boss. God knows Wail deserved it. The more time he spent dead in Alternative Reality – the better place it would end up being as, for all those involved.
As many retreated, Wail took notice of what his newly gotten spell would entail – without his consent, of course. Why would Alternative Reality need something like that, right? It’s not like the character belonged to Wail or anything. Nonsense.
A small pitch-black hole came into being in his near vicinity – a floating gust of shadow spewed out moments later. Soon forming into a sharp-toothed apparition of less than lovely features. Like father, like offspring. It floated about in swirling motions without making a sound, its’ drop like form leaving a trail of black particles in its’ wake. No limbs, no nothing. Just a single-cell looking creature with fangs and a set of small, spiderlike eyes upon its’ supposed forehead.
God, it was unpleasant to look at.
“What in the…” – Completely taken by surprise, distraught and simply – caught up with that unexpected appearance and hideous looks, the easily distracted warlock completely forgot about the impending doom that his forces were facing.
“Wail! I’m pulling my archers to the other side of the fortifications! We’ll try to provide support while you retreat!” – Embalmer, all the joking about forgotten, dived into his serious mood and jumped over the wooden ramparts – all his faithful skeletal minions following-after soon enough. Not-a-single-one lost to the cavalry charge – for none of the attackers thought to rush up all the way upon the wooden walkway.
All those bandits resting or waiting safely on the outer-rims of Wail’s “fort” were not as lucky. Their ranks scattered, cut apart – some even trampled to death. Mercilessly driven in every direction like hens by a pack of foxes.
Some on a desperate rush to safety, while others, lucky enough to be near the walls, managed to get to the temporary base entrance - the tunnel clogged up by the frantic retreat. A number of armored footmen left behind as a rearguard, spears held aggressively, points directed towards the enemy. A questionable countermeasure when facing the armor plates that the horses wore. Heavy cavalry were no joke.
With the intent to vent his anger – Wail simply chose to ignore his new pet, while he froze in preparation to release Soul Syphon, some souls a desperate need at this point. Due to a certain floating monstrosity floating about. Heck, it wasn’t floating about idly anymore – it was actually rubbing against the warlock’s sides in a loving, affection demanding manner. Wail darted to the side, on the brink of actually vomiting, all the while being somewhat relieved that the natural response did not interrupt the spell-casting.
Soon enough - Soul Syphon activated, settling upon the heads of a few scattered cavalry here and there. A satisfied smirk forming on the warlock’s features as he witnessed the reassuring sight of leeched health pouring back in. How pleasant. Weirdly though, only a few of those victim to the spell ended up affected by it – since the rest shone even brighter in a white glitter, dissolving the fluttering flakes of black as if they were but snow. Those bastards were resistant to Wail’s spell – a realization that both surprised and unsettled the lunatic magician at the same time.
Yet, what he needed to pay attention to more – was that the spell drew t
he attention of quite a few foes, metal plates scraping and horses neighing, as the sprinting steeds were turned in his direction. Replacing their glittering longswords with short-spears – the sight of them not exactly heartwarming.
Panicking, Wail looked about in search of his trusted meat-shield – finding no sight of minion number one, a disappointing, yet expected result. There was still Bob to consider, though his death would be a more costly set-back. With a glance to the side, Wail could only sigh, for the back-up plan was no longer there. He didn’t even need to look back and check, since the warlock was pretty certain his loyal underling was already hiding beyond the ramparts. With that – he was about to dart over them as well, intending to join both Embalmer and Bob, until he noticed an unexpected message popping-up.
-2000 mana.
Uncalled for, a fiery portal opened-up – while a demon crawled out through it. His vicious snarl a clear display of an agitated mood.
“You thought you’d get rid of me that easily? Oh, you’re in for it now, mage!” – Sorro roared, as he prepared to pounce upon his startled master. Right before a sudden barrage of short-spears fell upon his position – skewering the poor, unsuspecting demon without a shred of empathy. A series of fractured swears and growls following soon after – together with Wails timely jump to the opposite direction and over the wooden wall. Away from danger. Smart man – used the opportunity without a second of hesitation. Talk about zero sympathy.
“Bob! Make yourself useful and order everyone to retreat into the forest! Make sure they run along the right side of the ramparts and not across the open field! Also, get Willow to support our retreat!” – Surprising Bob with a lack of derogatory terminology, complaints or anything of the sort – the bossy warlock decided to instead barrage the self-interest driven companion with a series of orders. All of which weren’t something outside his capabilities, surprisingly. Though Wail’s blood-freezing glare was enough of a message for dear ol’ Bob of what would happen in case of failure. Nothing, that’s what. Everybody knew the warlock was all bark and no bite.
“I’m on it!” – Regardless, being the responsible and trusted companion that he was – mister dark minion turned without a moment’s delay and darted towards his compatriots. All that haste most likely a skillful evading maneuver of any further commands or possible oncoming insults that were kept for later. Smart choice. Wail could only narrow his eyes even more as he frowned bitterly. Outplayed, without a doubt.
With that done and over with – Wail once again turned to more important subjects. Time-consuming contemplations.
Matters were getting a little too hectic as of recently – and Wail could not help but wonder if he should put some effort into personal advancement instead of messing around with no clear purpose but to cause havoc and advance his bandit leader carrier. That was about it, actually – for the thought didn’t travel any further. The situation did demand his immediate and undisturbed attention after all. Nobody liked to get a spear to the side out of the blue like a certain flaming demon.
On the way to discard any possible distractions, Wail glanced over the description of his newly acquired spell.
Soulfiend – Beginner level 1 (0.00%)
Description: A creature of shadow - born in hell’s deepest, darkest corners. It is a corporeal apparition that feeds upon souls. Almost immune to physical damage and resistant to magic.
Minion strength: 1%
Cost: 1 soul per hour.
*If no souls are available, the Soulfiend will devour 100 points of health every ten minutes until souls are once again acquired or the summoner dies.
*Corporeal – will take 70% less damage from physical objects.
As eyes darted about in haste across the information window, the warlock’s fighting spirit swiftly drained away, sucked-up by the absolutely useless spell. With furrowed brows, Wail could not help but see it as a handicap. He basically just got a soul vacuum-cleaner, instead of help. What use could this floating blob of fangs and eyes possible be? What’s the point of being resistant if you’re too insignificant to actually do proper damage!
It was possible that Wail might just be overreacting, for the Soulfiend wasn’t that small. It was somewhat larger than a soccer ball, maybe larger – in addition to not being completely round, one side of it trailed off in a wiggling fish-like tail. But Wail just couldn’t help it, for all the levels in Soul Mastery were lost due to the sudden reduction in souls, thus all the bonuses from it - useful, damage giving bonuses - were lost, as well. Eyes sliding along the related window in deep regret and lamentation, yet stopping ever so slightly at a visible and quite unexpected change.
Soul Mastery(+) – Beginner level 1 (0.00%)
Determined by the number of souls gathered by the caster. Provides various effects and bonuses.
Current effects:
*Increased damage to creatures below the 15% health threshold by 10%
*increases the damage to creatures under the effect of Soul Syphon by 5%
Additional bonuses:
You have climbed the mountain of souls before – reaching long-forgotten peaks and planting your flag upon them. Now back at the bottom – traveling mapped roads is much easier. Gathering souls will be a smoother ride from now on.
*Any living being recently affected by any soul-gathering skill, will yield a soul upon their death even when no longer affected by said skills. Lasts for the next 15 minutes once any soul gathering spell wears off.
Well. Matters were not as bad off as Wail presumed. They were still pretty shit, no denying that – it’s not like he became an optimist all of a sudden, but a meager amount of good did come out of it all. He might just have an easier time gathering souls and making sure that each and every individual in sight was under-siege by Soul Syphon won’t be such a chore anymore. Though due to a demand for health-regeneration, Wail could not allow himself to slack-off. His indispensable well-being was at stake after all. Speaking of survival – the distracted warlock finally turned back his attention to what was going about. Those bare few moments spent on the review, contemplations, whines and the usual depressive thoughts, time a-plenty for matters to shift and change on the battleground where life and death was being decided within seconds.
Embalmer was already done with re-organizing his archers into a neat firing line, all the while dropping a well-placed blob of decayed earth – raising the dead in its’ vicinity with the intent to distract and occupy. It wasn’t too effective. Most of the risen being swiftly cut down with minimal effort. White flames trailing behind wielded weapons – slicing through reanimated flesh as if through butter. A few lingering sparks in the wake of the attack quickly spreading and burning away the corpse soon after. Devastatingly effective.
With a ceaseless rumble, the somewhat rude, yet efficient enemy forces were already about done cleaning up the “safe” side of Wail’s fortifications. All the surviving bandits, a bare sixty percent of them, already safely on the other side – the narrow tunnel of an exit still held firmly in the grasp of a tight gathering of spears and shields. Standing their ground like a bunch of Spartans. That is – if Spartans would be fighting tanks, for there was no way they’d be successful in stopping those armored beasts which were ridden by equally armored humanoid figures. War-chargers, horses bred for nothing else but war.
Arrows rained upon the shuffling ranks of white-clad cavalry, all the while their members swiftly re-organized and gathered into ranks – shrugging off projectiles as if they were nothing but the stinging of insects. Somewhat annoying? Sure. A danger to their health? Not likely.
In addition – Wail’s keen and somewhat shady looking eyes caught another feature that his foes displayed. Even if an arrow did manage to lodge itself between plates of armor – the wounds would glow in a transparent glow, with the arrow finally falling out and the wound, seemingly, closing-up. An effect of the ever-present transparent glow – its’ pure touch present whenever the riders were in a formation, embraced as if by an an
gel’s touch. Disgusting. Destruction demanded a place on the stage and his ever-rising anger was about to forcefully create one. Teeth grinding against each other, brows furrowed to their utmost while finger joints threatened to twist and crack from exerted force – and all of it was caused by Wail’s new familiar. With affection of an attached and loveable child – the Soulfiend rubbed against the warlock’s side with its’ oculars closed in satisfaction. All the while growling escaped from its’ fanged jaw –a growling that sounded more affectionate than aggressive. It was quite easy to understand the crazed magician’s disposition when a creature of far from lovely features maintained such an unwelcome form of physical contact.
-2000 mana.
All of a sudden, a hellish portal opened up once again in his near vicinity – a seething mass of fire, claws and teeth scampering out in a furry.
“That does it…I paid a steep price for another forced summoning and boy are you in for a hurting…” – plumes of smoke rose from the corners of his sharp-toothed frown, posture setting up for a pounce – claws forward. Yet finally, when Sorro cast the two swirling pools of fire upon the warlock as if to glance at the victim’s expression before taking action – all intentions seemed to drain away – “You…you…where did you get that thing from?” – Unmistakably, terror entered his voice, as it slightly shook – figure bending back ever so slightly. Feet, almost unconsciously by the look of it, shuffling in retreat – as Sorro pointed a clawed finger at none other than the Soulfiend.
“Who? Oh. That thing.” – Somewhat caught off-guard by the abrupt change, Wail quickly regained his wits and glanced with disgust at the over-affectionate creature – ignorant or simply indifferent of what went about in the midst of all that snuggling. – “It just happened. Took away a thousand souls in the process. Without my permission to boot” – Irritation practically spilled in bucket-loads from the sound of the warlock’s voice. Eyes glaring, narrowing even more due to the knowledge of utter powerlessness to change anything.
