by A Uscila
Stupefied, Wail gaped towards the aftermath, eyes darting over the dust-storm that rose together with the settling of the mind-blowing display of earth-magic.
“I’m a fucking genius!” – And it was at this point, that the delusional warlock regained his wits and a tendency to deliver, most of the time, undeserving self-praise – “I knew those damn geomancers would be useful on the battlefield!” – He continued-on, shouting about while his flight was now reduced to a light sprint, Willow following his example as the immediate danger seemed to fade. That and the two were almost within the gathered crowd of what remained of their forces.
“How about you get your head out of the sand for a moment or two?! What the fuck were you up to this whole time!? There’s a limit to how retardedly suicidal you can be and today’s events are definitely a forerunner for gold!” – Willow, as per usual, continued her tirades and overly-loud complaints, nagging at poor Wail without a moment to spare. Truly, no mercy at all and completely unproductive. He did go through quite a bit today, after all.
“Gold? I like the sound of that. I wonder what profits we can scrape up from this disaster of a campaign…” – Wail replied, more to himself, than to his female comrade, a contemplative tone slinking into his voice as the greedy fellow visibly withdrew into himself, his imagination in full swing.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I believe we should be leaving as soon as possible. The spell won’t buy us a lot of time” – Like a timely mediator, Bob intervened into the peculiar exchange, gesturing towards the troops that were ready and more than willing to depart. Ranks gathered up, its’ edges well-protected by heavy troops, while the lightly armored and the wounded were hidden in the middle. A number of leather-clad female rangers visibly darting about – still busy loosing their seemingly unlimited supply of arrows upon stray enemies.
“Am I supposed to hold your hand through the whole process or something? Of course we’re leaving as soon as possible!” – Wail shot back, his mean disposition right back in full-swing. An overdone eye-roll performed by Willow in reaction to that.
Finally, the group turned to retreat, the ranks neatly shifting into a light sprint – unobstructed in their withdrawal, seeing as the few groups of goblins running about hardly posed a threat or even an obstruction.
Unable to keep his gaze away for long from the aftermath of the earthly avalanche, Wail glanced over his should to get one last look. To witness the results of his greatness one last time, before departure. Coincidently – he had the chance to cast his wicked gaze upon something entirely unexpected, since from within a suspiciously shuffling mound of earth emerged a figure of formerly golden hair and shining white armor. That display, obviously, entirely covered up by dirt and blood – her golden curls disheveled and stuck together by mud and blood. A somewhat dissatisfied frown glimpsed through the dust-covered features. Yet those eyes remained as clear as pure ice – meeting the warlock’s own gaze with clear violent intent that threatened to explode, rumbling within as if suppressed by a child, her figure trembling due to an almost physically visible craving for release.
Witnessing such a breathtaking sight, caught by the beauty of it – Wail could only reply as honestly as he possibly could. Opening his very soul as a humble means to repay all that dedication, all that commitment so fervently displayed.
Wail flipped his middle finger, while his lips twisted into a wicked, almost crazed grin – overflowing with satisfaction and unbridled, yet obviously childish, joy.
One could only wonder if the gesture was directed at the furious beauty or the floating black smudge that glided away from the battlefield, as if intent on following the swiftly retreating warlock.
*******
Wind whistled through the wide forest clearing, slipping through farming fields, peculiar fortifications with their sparsely places spikes, rises and recesses in terrain. Through tightly clustered wooden houses, over wooden palisades and high stone walls - a spectacular view of bustling life, hidden away amidst a sea of trees and all of it belonged to no other than Wail.
Truly, a thought that brought a crooked smile to the warlock, as he gazed over his territory, the bandit fort now transformed into a full-blown castle-town. A well-traveled forest-road, winding from the south-west, leading to the outer-gates at the very center of a circling wooden palisade – with most of the habitable and commerce structures hidden behind it, right in between the open-fields and fortifications, and the inner keep with its’ storage and military buildings.
Development was swift, remarkably so – for no other criminal haven, within all of Onnion East, could boast of such prosperity. Like a magnet, it drew both underworld entities and individuals running from the law, those unlucky enough to fall under Alternative Reality’s system, just as Wail has. Drawn to his spreading legend, to his success, like leeches to a bloated sack of blood.
Yet Wail could not complain, for profit was running in rivers, filling his bottomless pockets with the clamor of coins – a result of ever-expanding commerce, a fruitful mining and raiding enterprise, lots of willing workers that contributed greatly, as well as the influx of all kinds of goods from the outside – together with the arrival of underworld traders. Heck, Macrosh even started a specific caravan guard branch – specializing in helping those who are able to afford the services, an escort through the woods.
Drool ran down Wail’s chin, as he contemplated his success, imagining piles of gold to lie in, while being attended by beautiful women. True success at arm’s length. An image that was quickly disturbed by a reality in the form of a beautiful brunette.
“Lost in thoughts of your recent utter and complete failure?” – Willow inquired, after catching up to the magician, setting her walking tempo according-to the man, obviously intent on staying – “Because you should be, seeing as how your little adventure ended up so pathetically” – She added before the warlock could even reply, her lips twisting into a wicked grind. Eyes mischievously looking upon his pale, almost skeletal figure, waiting for a reaction. Taunting.
“Failure? Please, don’t make me laugh!” – Wail shot back, once the chance was finally given, with disgust in both expression and tone – “It was hardly so! Don’t tell me you didn’t get any levels from it? You can’t always win the grand prize!” – a high-and-mighty lecture following soon after, which hurt more than an insult, as Willows features scrunched up in dissatisfaction. Pride wounded.
“Hardly a failure? Are you daft?! You probably lost more than a third of your fucking underlings! Not only that, but we didn’t even get the chance to gather the battle-spoils! Do you even know how many arrows I used up without being able to retrieve any?!” – She continued, already visibly heating up, swift and erratic hand movements mixing in-between the words.
“Well, sometimes you get it, sometimes you don’t! Look at the bright side, those that remained from the clash managed to level-up quite a bit as well – enough to already be considered as members of my elite force. My little on-site experiment with our geomancers was also a complete success. Not to mention that the experience clearly helped me understand the strength of our forces and what our next steps should be!” – The bandit overlord was fighting a losing battle, his arguments going weak bit by bit, heck – he even attempted to divert the conversation as a means of self-preservation.
Willow would have none of it, of course. Why would she be baited towards another road, when she was already on the one leading towards victory?
“Oh yeah? Bright side, huh? Well, what about that?!” – Finally, she threw in her ace-in-the-hole, a lean, sharp-nailed finger pointed towards the sky. To be precise – towards a floating black smudge, that levitated above their heads - reacting to the sudden attention by slowly reducing its’ altitude.
Seeing where the conversation was leading, it was Wail’s turn to frown, turning his sight away from the Soulfiend as if unable to even stand the sight of it.
Willow revealed a dazzling, broad smile at that. Oh yes, she w
on. It was her victory, this time. For sure.
Regrettably, the snide vixen forgot a very important fact, while so bent on her single-minded vendetta. Wail wasn’t alone.
“Umm…sorry to interrupt, but I think Sorro needs your help” – Bob. Faithful, loyal Bob to the rescue. Gripping onto the sudden intervention as if onto a straw - Wail swiftly turned to investigate what was up, to Willow’s dismay. Yet before she could voice her objection to the shift in topics, a sudden commotion that remained unnoticed before, caught her own notice – which derailed the whole battle into obscurity.
“Wail! Get this snot-nosed brat the hell away from me!” – Out of nowhere, Sorro’s panicked cries reached their ears, a few unintentional flinches displayed by both Wail and his tenacious opponent, due to the almost unbearable screeching the demon released, a somewhat peculiar sight coming into view.
Arms flailing about, the plentiful mane fluttering in the wind, leaving behind trails of shimmering ash – Sorro was busy fleeing a little bundle of pure human nature, her long black hair trailing behind in no less a glorious manner than the previously described demon. Small, pale hands grasping at air, as if impatient to reach the so sought after prize. Like a butterfly drawn to the flame, Vivian was relentlessly chasing around Wail’s summoned demon, her destructive search reaching an end moments later, before any could intervene. With a sudden leap, the little girl caught onto the demon’s frame and latched onto it – without paying any heed to the flames that swirled about him.
With the sudden attack, the demon could only resort to the most primitive manner of defense as his screeching reached a new height of tone, while he himself fell to the ground and started rolling about in a swirl of red, black and floating tongues of fire – a playful giggle slipping into the mix for flavor.
“Well. That’s unexpected” – The fact, that Vivian did not start her own prancing about in a circle of burning flesh and screaming, did not go unnoticed by Wail, as he could only comment laconically, an eyebrow risen while his head turned to Willow. Who, by the way, was displaying surprise in her own unique manner – expression stuck between panicked outrage and genuine and honest surprise. A loss for words or further actions – mouth slightly agape. A hilarious disposition, though surprisingly, even now, Wail could not help but marvel at the undisturbed beauty. Things really did go too naturally for her, which was why he made sure to express his feelings by verbally poking at her – “Weren’t you the one responsible for her?”
“What?! I found more than willing step-parents for her, it’s not like they’re supposed to keep her under a leash or something!” – Visibly hurt by the accusation, the previous discussion all but forgotten, Willow shot back in anger.
“Well, maybe they should start doing so then” – Wail then added rudely, his cold, hard gaze shifting from Willow to the playfully rolling about duo, an edge to the voice as the warlock seemed clearly dissatisfied for some reason. As if perturbed by his senses – warning him of impending doom.
“Whatever. What was that about our next steps you mentioned before?” – Reluctant to allow the grumpy magician to delve into one of his litanies of dissatisfaction, Willow managed to dig-up whatever the bandit overlord was talking about so recently from her memory – using it in the usual diversion tactic. Effective.
“Oh, that. Ah, yes, I got it all planned out…” – Wail began, completely dragged out of whatever he was thinking moments before, as he grabbed Willow’s sudden interest like candy, an obvious satisfaction in the thought visible on his excited features – “Our recent…setback…”
“Debacle” – Willow swiftly intervened.
Wail narrowed his eyes to that abrupt comment, but refrained from saying anything, instead choosing to continue on as if nothing happened - “…has made me consider investing some time in another opportunity not too far from here. A dungeon, quite the popular one in fact and its’ level range seems to be completely up to our standards. There, we will have the opportunity…” – Of course, as always, considering what kind of company Wail was present in – his explanation didn’t even reach the most important part, since the magician was suddenly ambushed by a black, floating smudge. Which rammed into his side in a shuffle of robes and an audible purr that escaped from the Soulfiend as it rubbed against the warlock with clear affection.
“God damn it, get off me you fuckin…Oomph!” – Wail began, only to get the wind knocked out of him by another sudden attacker, this time – Vivian, as she rammed her little form into the side of the magician, the attack finally forcing the poor man to fall off balance and onto the ground – “…not you too!” – The pummeled warlock could only exclaim in frustration, while having difficulties getting up from the combined offensive.
“Ha, serves you right, you prick!” – Sorro’s agitation echoed from the background, while Wail was suffocating, the enjoyment in his suffering soon taken up by Willow as she attempted to control her laughter from the sight.
“Why did she not catch on fire?” – Finally, completely out of synch and obliviously, Bob inquired – his visor turned to Willow who got flabbergasted right out of her jolly mood, as she stared at the apparent buffoon with a slightly ajar mouth. Was he faking it, or was he really just as antisocial and idiotic as the bandit overlord?
In addition, why was he still wearing that helm? Did he ever take it off? Was he ashamed of the perpetual baldness, displayed before the armor was acquired? Nobody knew.
“Somebody get them fucking off me already!”
Quite the peculiar way to welcome them back home.
Chapter 62
Hustle and bustle of a semi-prospering castle-town echoed across the open fields, drifting into the dense forest looming around it together with numerous figures that seemed to travel to and fro. Every single one busy with their daily tasks and duties, some armed to the teeth and looking ready to pillage and burn, while others were frolicking with flowers in their hair – an axe in hand, ready to chop down some trees. Truly, a peculiar bunch, yet all of it could be somewhat explained by using the leader of this emerging habitat as an example – for the group that surrounded him seemed like a perfect match for the general theme of the scenery.
North-westward from the fortified town, near the very edge of the woodland – a band of familiar figures were shuffling and grumbling. Their advance accompanied by dissatisfied grunts and swears, occasional ear-piercing screeches and feminine, yet somewhat obnoxious, laughter. Each action performed by Wail, Sorro and Willow, respectively.
Limping at the very front of the gang, was the ever-grumpy warlock, his advance practically crippled by a dark, little bundle of annoyance in the guise of Vivian, as usual, in her favorite spot - clinging to her savior’s leg. Further to the side and ever scampering about somewhat furiously, was Sorro – as he screeched and cursed in anger, all the while attempting to shoo away the newest addition to his “master’s” party – the Soulfiend. The reason for his flustered actions yet to be explained. Willow, was walking slightly further away, strangely unperturbed by the close contact between both Wail and Vivian – unafraid that the delusional magician’s disgusting ins and outs would rub off on the adorable child. On the contrary even – she seemed quite amused by the matter and could simply not stop herself from falling into almost hysterical laughter, a brief interval of attempted self-control slipping-in here and there.
Finally, the side-cast, walked on the opposite side from Sorro, as Bob and minion number one did not participate in the fun, the former-exhibitionists’ expression hidden under that ever-present helm of his, though no doubt twisted from strain. After all – it was quite hard to refrain from laughing at Wail’s misfortune. Who could blame him?
“All right, all right! You can tag-along with us, just stop clinging to me already!” – Finally, Wail snapped – as he exclaimed loudly, all the while flinging his arms about in a flurry.
As if awaiting this exact moment, Vivian swiftly detached herself from his side and stepped back – only to lower
her head ever so slightly and scamper towards Willow as if in search for protection, a silent thank you left behind before the sudden retreat.
Somewhat taken aback and gripped by an even larger impulse of anger, the crazed warlock could only clench his teeth till they were on the verge of cracking – his sizzling attitude getting no better as Willow added another octave to her laughter.
“So…” – Willow began, as she wiped off a tear and finally managed to gather herself, to an extent – “…what’s the catch with the dungeon?”
“The catch?! There’s no catch!” – Wail snapped back after a sudden turn towards the lithe ranger, his reply obviously influenced by still-swirling emotions. Heck, he was about to continue, yet his furrowed brows suddenly rose, while the gaze shifted to the side – towards the source of an ever-approaching noise. A mixture of sounds, be it the grinding of gravel against a solid surface or a rhythmic beating upon the ground.
Behind them, yet swiftly approached – rode Embalmer, his figure seated upon a wagon – its’ back filled to the brim and covered up by a fluttering cloth. While the wagon itself was pulled by a lone horse.
“Hey! We’re going to a nearby dungeon to wreck some havoc, you joining!?” – Wail waved a hand towards the approaching necromancer, his inquiry shouted loud enough to wake a deaf old-man from slumber, desperation leaking from his expression for some reason.
A reply did not come forth as quickly, as the grumpy magician might have wanted, since Embalmer chose to postpone it until he was right to their side – forcing Wail to stand there, awkwardly frozen for a couple of moments, until the wagon’s advance was slowed enough to exchange a few passing words in passing. Seems like he was in a hurry.
