by A Uscila
“Wail! Should we pick up the pace? Things are getting a little…hot” – Bob inquired, after he approached the concentrated bandit overlord, the underlings armor slick with gore, breath somewhat ragged. He might have just used this as an excuse to get some rest. Another freeloader.
“Not yet” – Luckily, the warlock was currently fully occupied by the Soulfiend, thus he might have just missed the various details and less than satisfactory performance of his direct subordinate. Absentmindedly, with a visible lack of effort, the fire-spewing magician conjured a fireball with his right hand, eyes suspiciously narrowed at the black smudge that was his summon.
Without warning and much delay, he swung the dancing projectile with great force, flinging the conjured fireball at no other than the floating critter, intent clearly on wounding his own. Quite the inefficient attitude. How was the shadowy fiend supposed to pay him back after being shot down?
Good thing that Wail was a terrible thrower. With not enough propelling force supplied during the throw, the fireball fell short of its’ intended target, without any chances of making contact even without the lack of force, due to the Soulfiend’s constant movement. Yet, as if the projectile shared its’ master’s character – it did not end its’ journey fruitlessly, for the flaming sphere exploded against red-scaled skin. That unexpected poke more than enough to catch the attention of one of the demons. A four-legged hound like monster. Its’ blood-red pupils now turned towards Wail – a mouth grinning from one ear to the other, with a full-set of shark-like fangs barred in a hardly friendly grin. Two unpleasantly long horns protruding from the top of the skull.
“How about now?” – Bob, who witnessed it all taking place, inquired again. His head frozen, visor turned towards the beast – the action soon mirrored by Wail himself.
“Yes. Now seems like as good a time as any” – The magician replied, somewhat absentmindedly. His signature gesture all but forgotten, even though it would have fit current circumstance perfectly.
Chapter 61
“Pick up the pace! We’re withdrawing!” – With a few prolonged whistled in between his commands, Bob prepared to lead Wail forces to safety, all the while somewhat mindful of the fact that they wouldn’t be getting far.
Why? Well, all because of a certain demon.
A roar echoed loudly enough to overtake all the chaotic racket that lingered over the battlefield, while thundering steps shook the earth – for the four-legged beast was on its’ way. A trail of squished and mutilated goblins left behind in the dash.
“I’m out!” – A brief comment left behind, Sorro leaped over the armored ranks and away from the predicted point of contact. Wail could have sworn that he saw a flash of pale flesh in the corner of his vision. Did that reanimated bastard joined the flight?
Pace hastened, a few Soul Syphons thrown around for good measure – Wail accompanied his forces with no better solution in sight, eyes always on the ever-approaching demon, wondering if the long distance between it and him was a good thing or bad. Looking at the approaching end and aware of its inevitability was damn as hell not healthy for Wail’s mentality.
Well, the thought was overwritten soon enough, for a familiar force returned to the main basin of conflict with renewed vigor. Their usual white shine forming into a wall solid enough to crush numerous foes against its’ wide frame, dissolving soon after as its’, most likely, intended visual effect was achieved. Wail could only wonder how did they manage to keep all that white attire unpolluted by blood and dirt, as the returning enemy cavalry formation jarred the eyes just as much as it did upon its’ first entry. That beyond weird golden-haired female still at its head. Leading the charge with a broad, yet definitely coo-coo, smile – the claymore swung about at any who dared to leap at her.
Now, how was their return in any way a good thing?
Simple, with that annoying white shine and a less than subtle entry – the horsed knights caught the complete and undisturbed attention of every single demon, including the annoyed hound from hell. Their furious, fire dripping gazes now locked upon this new force, feet, or whatever appendages served that purpose, stepping with ever-increasing momentum towards their direction. A clash more than likely.
“Get the geomancers to work, we’re routing the fuck out of here! Get us a better view!” – Wail commanded, brows furrowed in concentration, while his tone excluded a serious disposition, which was remarkably hard to believe in since the mage’s eyes kept on darting towards the underling as if to make sure that the order was heard.
With surprise, a robed figure turned towards the warlock, his light-brown robes fluttering from the motion – a bald head and a sparse fuzz of greying hair on his chin coming into view. Most likely one of the specified individuals. Why did Wail not ask directly, when one of the geomancers was standing right next by? Who knows? With a shrug, the robed fellow tensed up and slammed one foot onto the ground with great force – a series of thumps following each other in a peculiar tempo echoing soon after. Soon enough – multiple other thumps came in reply from every direction, each source of it supposedly being the other bandit-made square formations.
With a nod like some weird gesture of self-assurance, the robed fellow then spread his hands wide and with visible struggle – started raising them upwards. Palms directed downwards, making it look as if he was trying to lift something up. And did he – with a rumble, the earth beneath the formations feet started trembling and eventually shifted. In a half-circle around them, it swirled and reseeded, while right under their feet – it rose-up. Slowly forming a hill, a piece of higher ground emphasized even more by the ever-deepening semi-circle, as if the earth itself was being scooped-up.
“Move move move! They won’t be able to keep it up for long!” – Bob shouted, taking direct command of the troops without Wail’s permission – something the ever-angry warlock did not seem bent on contesting. With a surge – the formation split apart into a desperate surge – cutting down all the confused goblins that ended up upon the ever-extending section of higher ground, the robed magician rushing together with the group, protected by numerous armored figures on all sides. Earth shifting and forming in his wake – with its’ rise in the front and eventual descent behind, for the change in terrain did not last for long – crumbling down and settling as if the force that held it upward was gone.
A similar situation happened around every other pocket of Wail’s forces – as each group was now busy rushing towards the same spot, all the while keeping to the direction of the woods to the right. Ever approaching the point of Willow’s supposed position – since numerous projectiles still left the thick forest’s growth, skewering numerous goblins that attempted to chase the fleeing force with little success. Their rolling swarm disrupted and halted by the ever-changing terrain. Some even ending up buried under a shifting tide of earth.
Quite satisfied with the successful experiment, Wail grinned sinisterly, eyes darting about while he dashed along together with trusted companions. Devious, backstabbing, opportunistic companions. Surrounded on all sides, at the center of attention, within the safest spot of their somewhat scattered group. A drop of sweat dripped down the side of Wail’s face. Which was probably due to all that running about, he must have gotten tired by now. Surely not because of a wave of insecurities and uncertainties flooded his inner-psyche.
“Brilliantly arranged, Lord. No one else could have thought of using geomancers in such a manner!” – One of the nearby bandits said, spewing out praise without holding back through the slit of his helmet. Metal plates clanking loudly in a chorus with those that wore similar attire.
Wail glanced at the upstart with a raised eyebrow, the smile lessening in magnitude somewhat. Who the heck was this fellow, anyway? Wasn’t he aware of hierarchy? They were supposed to talk to Bob, if they wanted to relay something to him. He could only gape at the impudence with a raised chin – a manner in which he tried to create circumstances for looking down upon the underling both mentally and
physically. An effort that did not go through – since the bandit was simply taller. Disappointment.
Yet, recent success did soften Wail’s attitude a little bit, thus after an uncomfortably prolonged silence that would have killed the conversation in any normal circumstance, the warlock finally replied in more ways that just obvious distaste displayed with body language.
“You are quite right on that. I am sure that this new manner in which these magicians are made use of is revolutionary and will be taken up by many as soon as they realize how many pros and few cons it holds…” – He explained, somewhat taken under-control by his tendencies to gloat, forgetful of the battlefield – since even the occasional goblin shot arrow that flew in their vicinity was forgotten or ignored. Even when it hit him – for the damage was so miniscule, that the still present health-leech from Soul Syphon regenerated the health back fast enough to make it seem like the wounds weren’t there to begin with.
What Wail did not take account for though, was that the sparse projectiles might fall on someone else. Someone less armored or aware of the danger. Someone who was extremely busy with much more important matters than opportunities to verbally praise himself. Someone like the geomancer that was sweating from being forced to both use his skills and run in a rush together with everyone else – effort strained in attempt to keep the pace. Unprotected by a shield that would halt any pesky feathery-arrows, the magician suddenly found himself with a new hole, as one of the projectiles pierced his shoulder. The result? His concentration was interrupted and the constantly used spell was disrupted – together with Wail’s gloating as the poor warlock was flung down the crumbling earth beneath – together with half of the formation, since that was exactly how much of the footing split apart.
“Shit!” – Complaints and anger compressed all the way to a single, loudly exclaimed word, Wail squirmed about while throwing fireballs and scorching any goblin that got too close – his time now occupied with survival, instead of verbal abuse that was most definitely postponed to a more opportune moment.
With the group split, those below quickly regrouped after the lucky ones managed to scramble free from earths unwelcome embrace – while some weren’t as lucky as most of their lower bodies were buried and before they could approach that issue, goblins would swarm and rip them apart.
Things ended up somewhat messy and would have been quite a terrible twist of events if not for the fact that they were already at the very outskirts of the forest and other groups were already present and ready to help out. With a bit of effort and the ever-present help from Willow and her rangers – who, by the way, were now standing atop a raised earth-mound and delivering death with much greater efficiency and accuracy.
“You ok?” – Bob inquired, as he finally managed to scamper down the upturned earth, all the while leaving a trail of death and horror in his wake – numerous goblins left in pieces on the ground. An effort to appease the obvious warlock’s anger, all the while showing care and affection. Quite the devious way to gather favor points and profit from preferred treatment. Wail could see through it like glass. Bob would need at least ten more years to even dream of outsmarting this mastermind of underhanded tricks.
“Yeah yeah, just get them to finish up. I’ve had quite enough” – Wail replied dismissively with a snort, a free hand frantically brushing away dirt from his head and robe. A distasteful glance cast upon the center of the battlefield, now far away, witnessing the still chaotic situation. Three opposing sides ripped at each other without pause, with the demons seemingly on the very top and the goblin hordes being thinned out with tremendous efficiency. Heck, even the white-clad riders were facing heavy casualties – a sight that brought Wail’s unpleasant smile right back.
Though he failed to notice the crazy female knight that was so adamant about hunting Wail down, which unsettled the paranoid magician somewhat, his gaze darting about in search just to make sure something unexpected didn’t happen.
“Wait up my dear! Were you planning on leaving without me?!” – The search lasted for but a few moments, as his attention was caught by a shout, loud enough to be heard over all the racket around, narrowed eyes quickly darting towards the perceived direction. That was exactly when the smile came to an end and was replaced by the usual, dissatisfied frown.
Seems like he was not forgotten, not even during such circumstance or when disorganized by the rampaging demons – that damn female was riding atop her blood-smeared steed with a few comrades at the flanks. Trampling over the ever-churning tides of goblins, leaving behind naught but corpses, which were quickly cowered up by the same horde once more - seeping into the cracks like water would.
Doesn’t seem like the hostile detachment would take long in reaching Wail’s position, another unsettling notion, which forced him to look around for mental support. Sorro coming into mind as a possible sacrifice for buying additional time – since the cheeky devil was asking for additional payback for all the snide remarks. What Wail’s eyes met though, were Bob’s own – gleaming through the narrow slits of his dark helm.
“What the heck are you still doing here?! Go make yourself useful and gather the geomancers! Proceed with the emergency escape plan and let’s get the hell out of here!” – Woken up from pessimistic thoughts by the still present underling and his lack-luster performance, the warlock blew up into a slobbering rage, as he swiftly started to crawl-up the recently made slope – all the while shouting and flailing at least one arm about, whenever such appendage was made free from the hasty climb.
With his head somewhat ducked as if trying to shy away from a hit, Bob ran off without even finishing off the goblin he was busy ripping apart. Numerous corpses strewn about near his recent position – proof that the dark minion was definitely-not slouching. Heck, he might have been busy defending the dazed warlock and ended-up being underappreciated and misunderstood. Wounded even! What a cold-hearted, insensitive prick of a master he had, truly.
Wail would have scoffed at the very notion, if not for the somewhat dire circumstance and the strain of scrambling up the rugged slope that demanded a monumental amount of effort. Who knew physical work could be so hard?
Still, the task did not go unrewarded, for a small message popped up in the corner of Wail’s vision.
All that running and climbing has finally payed off. +1 to Agility.
Funny.
He’d stop and complain incessantly if the preoccupied warlock had time to spare. Sadly – he didn’t and the ever-approaching thundering of hoofs upon earth was looming over his back as if a reapers scythe. Sure, it might have been imagination kicking in, a manifestation of fear, but previous experiences told the cold-sweat soaked magician that trusting his instincts was the right call here.
Eventually – he got up onto the hill, somewhat satisfied with the payoff for all that effort, thus spared a quick glance back. Eyes darting to the bottom of the uneven slope that the magician just barely traversed so recently, a fireball thrown at a few skittering goblins. Sounds of battle from nearby shifting to a higher tune – as fellow bandits defended the higher ground with great success, all the while gathering into one single fist, moments away to smash their way into the forest and out of harm’s way. A line of brown-robed figures standing about in peculiar poses seen within that gathering.
Yet before any of that could be done, or hold any relevance to the sweating warlock, Wail needed to cope with his white pursuers – their hoofs moments away from stepping onto that very slope he gazed at. Crystal blue eyes gazing at his own in glimmering anticipation. A pure, breathtaking promise of a violent death hiding within, while a claymore was raised in preparation by the lead rider. Her golden hair fluttering in the wind in quite the mesmerizing manner. Lips twisted into a beautiful, yet cruel smile.
Wail didn’t get to gaze at her absentmindedly for long though, since rescue arrived just at the nick of time – as always.
“The fuck are you standing there like a love-struck buffoon? Get your ass ove
r here before you’re buried together with the wench!” – High-strung as always, a familiar female voice rang loudly in the warlock’s right ear, while something pulled on an arm on the same side. Dragging him away from his position and away from the dizzy spell that seemed to have stunned the poor fella.
Somewhat surprised, Wail could only turn his gaze towards the furious Willow, barely able to keep up with her as the magician was being dragged along. Unable to find words, locked upon the sight of black, fluttering hair – disheveled, as if mirroring the ranger’s current emotional disposition. Her lithe figure in clear display due to the tight-fitting dark leather and no dark-green cloak to obstruct the sight.
Without replying, as if instinctively keening from the realization of where his eyes were staring, the buffoon flinched and looked back for a moment or two, barely in time to witness a crown of golden hair rising from the very edge of the solidified higher ground. Seems like the riders were almost over the slope and upon them. Well – their efforts remained unanswered this time, since the advance was impeded by a sudden shift in the surface.
Rising with an ominous rumbling, the earth was sucked up and gathered into a wall of dirt and rock that shot up into the sky, forming dozens of meters to either side – its’ appearance too swift to react to. So fast, in fact, that both Wail and Willow were barely able to escape the reseeding ground that shifted barely a step behind, following as if in chase while the two were lucky enough to slip away without having their footing swept away from beneath.
Behind them – the forming earth-wall somewhat twisted outwardly, right in the spot where the white-clad riders were most likely to emerge. Yet, instead of giving entry to the supposed intruders, the wall shifted and then crumbled onto the heads of all those beyond – be it demon, goblin or human. Rumbling upon them in an avalanche of blood-soaked dirt and rock the descent loud enough to completely drown out the rackets of the battlefield. Loud enough – to draw the blood-red eye of the spirit of battle, a lull following soon after as many-a-head shifted towards the source of this event.
