by A Uscila
Well. That question would be answered by a certain child, too innocent for her own good.
With a little skip to her steps, she smoothly scampered towards the furious magician – tactically moving along his blind-side, while completely disregarding the glaring danger signals. Erratic hand movements, twitching fingers – an anxious fireball floating between them, a continuous grumpy mumble that seemed to never cease – no doubt each-and-every word filled with ill-intent. Finally – a scowl that would most definitely help anyone, still balancing over the threshold between life and death, to move on. A scowl so foul and sinister, that children weep even with candy in their mouths, while women faint out of pure horror, helpless against its’ terror.
“Don’t!” – Seeing what was about to take place, a panicked exclamation slipped out of Willow, as she helplessly reached out towards the little girl. Her reflexive actions all too late.
Vivian smiled ever-so-sweetly and hugged the crazed warlock – attaching herself to his right leg as usual. Like a summer tick. Wail froze at that and tension rose to its’ peak. Heck, people even forgot to breathe – as both Bob and the sly vixen stared-on in abated breaths. Excluding minion number one of course – he didn’t breathe. Neither did the Soulfiend, who was still busy chasing about the frantic Sorro – who, in turn, was too preoccupied with the activity to notice what was going about, his little form sprinting across the dirt road and past the Warlock.
With a look heavy enough to squeeze grapes, Wail stared at the happy-bundle of innocence, a fireball still floating above his right palm, dancing around upon it as if anxiously awaiting freedom. In any shape or form.
Yet, contrary to the expectations of many present, the fire was extinguished, while the warlock himself slumped-down ever so slightly. His features falling from barely-contained anger, to absolute defeat and resignation – a heavy sigh escaping his chest soon after.
“Are you about done? I think we wasted enough time, as is” – Willow rhetorically asked, all the while rolling her eyes at the mage’s idiocy.
“…let’s just go” – He mumbled, only to limp away soon after in silence, as if the biting remark did not even register. Shoulder’s maintaining a somewhat steeper than usual decline, while steps seemed slower, heavier even. Truly – a defeated man.
Bob and Willow both exchanged glances at that, both seemingly taken aback by that weak response. Heck, even Sorro didn’t add anything – must be because Wail’s response itself was enough of a self-provided slap to the face. With everyone sharing a certain level of surprise, the warlock was left with only two unlikely allies – one of them being the little bundle of obnoxious youth that stuck to his leg. And the other one? Minion number one. Nothing surprised or disappointed that one.
Poor Wail.
And so, the group advanced in oppressive silence for a time, their only companions the rustling of leaves and the unending scampering and curses made by Sorro. Both the demon and the Soulfiend seemed perpetually stuck in a tireless chase that would have driven even Wail to a boil if he wasn’t so busy being such a self-pitying little…
“So? What happened?” – Finally, unable to hold it back or simply seeing the current timing as a perfect opportunity to squeeze out some intel, Willow inquired - one eyebrow raised slightly above the other. No mockery, no sarcasm in her tone, lips set into a straight line. Uncharacteristic. She actually looked seriously concerned.
“Happened where?” – Wail replied, sparing her no more than a side-glance, the reply given without even a pause in his limp.
“You know where!” – She snarled, only to quickly return to a serious disposition as if the impulsive outburst did not take place at all – “You’re uncommonly grumpy. Even more so than usual. What happened?” – She asked again.
“Nothing happened…”- The stubborn warlock was about to begin once again, his desperate act of manliness all but futile.
“Look. You either answer the fucking question or it’s a dagger between your ribs” – With a sudden flourish, Willow grabbed the surprised magician by the collar – which served only to reinforce the threat that was spoken with a dangerous edge – “So spit it out already, what happened that got you down so?”
So much for the gentle approach. Driven into a corner – Wail had no choice but to comply, since he had a strong, tingling notion that the threat was most definitely – not empty. Seemed quite sharp, actually – now that the magician had the opportunity to stare at the tip of a recently drawn dagger.
“…fine fine, god damn” – It was time to capitulate, the warlock’s adaptive instincts kicking into full throttle – “Apparently – the company is hosting another party this month and participation is mandatory. I’ll be forced to mingle in an overcrowded, unbearably loud and cramped space…”
Willow was utterly frozen in place due to the answer – so absolutely ridiculous did it seem. A simple matter such as this – fretted over to such an extent? Nothing less could be expected of Wail, supposedly.
“You’re kidding…right?” – Suspicion gnawed at her, so much that stupefied vixen tightened her grip – the threatening edge returning two-fold as if to scare the true answer out of the magician.
“Damn it! Get off me!” – With exploding rage, Wail shook with his whole body, waving hands about only to disperse Willow’s grip – “I’m not fucking kidding, it’s your problem if you don’t believe me! I thought you knew me well enough, to know what I despise most!” – Seems like her actions wounded the poor warlock quite a bit, with what little trust the two had between each other crumbling ever so slightly. If one of the two was an npc, there would definitely be a message about a loss of affinity.
“…a party?” – Still somewhat reluctant to take what was said word for word, Willow spent a few more moments in doubt and contemplation. Weighting the answer against what she knew of the skinny lunatic, until realization seemed to finally dawn on her – head, abruptly raising only to look upon Wail with mockery and pity – “A party?” – A repeat of the rhetorical question, this time – with a teasing tone – “That’s not even an issue! I’ll tag along even, problem solved!”
“Oh, hell no! I’m not giving you the pleasure of seeing me at my lowest! No way are you going along with me!” – Spooked out of his grumpy disposition, Wail literally stepped back in fright at the very idea – an energetic rejection coming into play both vocally and visually. The sheer thought of the threatened scenario scaring away the melancholic mood that so recently gripped him.
“Your lowest? Please” – She chortled – “You’re always at your lowest! You’re so low, that you drag your face along the ground!”
Well, that was uncalled for. Even minion number one thought so – as his absent expression shifted a little. The shift so miniscule – that it was probably all in Wail’s imagination. Quite the desperate source of support.
“Do you hear that?” – All of a sudden, Bob interrupted the heated argument – the armored man frozen in a peculiar posture, head turned to the side as if directing his left ear towards the supposed source of sound. An ear that was covered up by a helmet. Cute.
“Hear what!? Didn’t your mother teach you some manners?!” – Wail shot back angrily, oblivious to the presented opportunity. A lucky break to slip away with a draw.
“My mother killed herself after selling her body to nobility to keep me fed…” – Bob replied quite sadly, the posture slumping slightly, as if to mirror the temperament of the sob story.
Damn, that was depressing. And effective.
At this point, no one even thought about continuing the argument as both Wail and Willow exchanged an awkward glance – somewhat lost at what to say. Thus, with their senses taunt with tension and the need for a change in topic – the two finally noticed the noise that the underling spoke of. A most familiar noise – bestial roars, shouts, clashes of steel and what seemed like…the shattering of glass. Somewhat hesitant to give into curiosity, the group exchanged a few uncertain glances. A momenta
ry slip, since like moths to the flame, they were drawn to the noise, almost physically pulled to investigate.
“Get off” – As if resolved to act, Wail glanced down towards the annoying bundle below and, quite rudely, requested to be released. As if feeling the serious tune, Vivian did indeed comply without hesitation – her little form jumping down and standing in close proximity – crystal clear eyes staring back at the warlock’s glare with…adoration. A peculiar creature, this one.
Once that was done and over with, the magician glanced about in search of something – only to stop when the sight of the floating black smudge came into view, with the Soulfiend stopping its’ chase of Sorro a second later. It floated towards Wail and stopped a few meters above, following-after once the temperamental master turned and started walking towards the source of all that noise – which did seem to be coming from behind a sharp turn of the forest road.
“Finally, an opportunity to vent...” – Sorro mumbled, finally liberated from that perpetual chase, yet surprisingly in good shape – you’d think all that scampering about would have at least taken the breath away.
Willow, somewhat taken aback by the sudden change, glanced at Bob with a raised eyebrow, in search for mutual understanding – yet all she received was the sight of Bob’s back straightening out, shoulders rising only to follow-after Wail with Souleater in hand. Red, pulsing with thirsty anticipation within its’ dark blade.
For a moment there, it did seem like that buffoon of an underling was…proud. Proud of his master. A peculiar thought. With an overdone sigh, Willow could only draw her bow and follow-after in resignation. Especially when she noticed even minion number one limping in close proximity of that lunatic magician.
Carefully, the group approached the source of all that noise, stepping off the road and into the deep forest – in an attempt to cut directly towards it, while at the same time hoping to remain undetected. A smart choice – seeing as it turned out to be successful, the sight of the battle-scene emerging through the clearing as the road beyond the sharp turn came into view.
What they saw, surprised everyone present – as Wail’s features twisted into a vicious expression of morbid joy. What a douche.
Smack in the middle of the road, lied a broken-down horse-pulled wagon – with the horses dead and peppered with arrows not too far off. A group of survivors mounting a brave defense on the top of the wreckage – beset by hordes of goblins that swarmed around, with quite a number of them already dead all over the place. The group beset were no other than the assholes who refused to give Wail and co a lift so recently - their rude act now rewarded by karma. Ah, the insane warlock could only shake in barely controllable joy and exhilaration, his eyes darting about the battlefield while lips continued on twisting ever-more viciously.
“Well? We helping or not?” – Willow, asked from nearby – her bow readied to loose death upon the goblins, eyes narrowed in concentration, while a light breeze rustled stray locks of pure black – pulling Wail away from the wonderful sight. Always the killjoy.
“Oh no. No we’re not. I want to see them bleed” – The warlock replied quite strictly, completely undisturbed by his own words nor the fact that they were spoken while in hearing-distance of Vivian. Not the best role-model – though the innocent child did not seem to mind as she, herself, seemed to be gloating in childish enjoyment and pride – eyes darting here and there as if unable to decide what to take in first.
“What?” – Surprised, drawn away from concentration, the impulsive ranger almost shouted back – unable to hold back the surprise in her tone.
“We’re not?” – Somewhat gloomily, did Bob join in, as if saddened that all that bluster displayed so recently would not result in violence.
“Hey hey hey, you’re kidding right? Do you even realize how much I had to suffer from that fucking pet of yours? I’m blazing for some rampage here!” – Of course, Sorro didn’t bite down his tongue either, his attitude more than clearly displayed with flashes of fire that kept on splitting off the demon’s plentiful mane.
“You’re going to suffer a fuckton more if you don’t back down!” – Wail snarled – “Those fuckers screwed me over when I was actually trying to be nice...” – He fumed, the litany interrupted briefly by a contemptuous snigger from Willow. Surprisingly – he chose to disregard it and continued – “…and those assholes over there just brushed us off and rode away like they’re all high-and-mighty. Well, now they’re getting what’s coming to them and I won’t let anything interrupt the pleasure of witnessing it take place. So everyone shut your traps and watch. For now” – A new lever of being a douche was just displayed, truly – a master of his trade. Wail performed so well, in fact, that no one even considered disagreeing – as they just ended up gaping in utter amazement, gazes soon shifting to the battle. After all – even they couldn’t keep looking at the lunatic for too long. It’s quite unhealthy.
Five figures remained upon the wreckage – positioned in a tight formation, with the melee fighters at the very forefront, while two casters stood behind, a hunched figure in the middle. Must be the one they were escorting – a middle aged man with relatively simple attire. All five were balancing upon their broken-down wagon, its’ corner wheel broken off and the platform leaning downwards – weighted down by all the cargo that seemed to have slid towards that side. Yet the group were balancing on the opposite corner – the one which was higher in the air, with the intent to have their backs relatively safe – protected by a transparent golden light that seemed to be enough to bounce off any stray projectiles. A white robed bald fellow who was probable the caster of it – seemingly busy channeling the spell that enveloped the whole group. Heck, he was most likely doing all the healing as well – for any wound that would get inflicted by attackers, seemed to slowly close-up with visible efficacy. There were plenty of wounds to go around, though.
Standing to the right, the other caster was busy with his own matters – a brown-haired female in light blue robes. Her delicate, relatively short frame moving about in follow-up of sharp hand-movements – shards and gouts of ice and frost materializing from the very tips of her fingers or from above the palms. Each gesture leading to the sounds of shattering glass and roars of pain – for the shards shattered upon pale, disfigured flesh – piercing into or simply skewering the poor goblins, while others ended up being half-frozen or slowed by icy particles. A beautiful display, almost made Wail regret he wasn’t an ice-mage.
The melee fighters were busy doing their own thing, with two burly fellows protecting the very front. One wielding one-handed mace and a shield, while the other swung about a large, twin-bladed axe. Both performing quite magnificently – each swing followed by guttural grunts, the whistling of air and sometimes – fading ethereal colors. Slain, mutilated foes falling in defeat after each one.
At this point, Wail furrowed his brows, since judging by the sight – the goblins were not the anticipated victors of the fight. Not even with all those numbers. Some drastic measures were required.
“I changed my mind, we’re helping…” – He murmured, after suddenly turning to face Willow, setting quite the agitated gaze upon the vixen.
“About time” – She soon replied and started aiming at the goblin hordes, while both Bob and Sorro were quite ready to charge in and wreck-havoc themselves.
“…we’re helping the goblins” – Yet everyone froze once Wail added in an even tone. Heck, everyone was so surprised, that they even dared to look upon the horrific warlock once again, for prolonged periods of time.
“We’re what?” – Willow attempted to clarify, as if unsure if she heard right.
“You heard me. Aim for their healer” – Quite the asshole today, wasn’t he? Since with that said, Wail simply turned away and started conjuring fireballs – readying himself for the fun.
The only other person who didn’t seem to mind wasn’t a person at all – as Sorro simply shrugged and conjured his own fiery projectiles – an expressio
n of deep concentration coming into view, as the little demon most likely contemplated on how to inflict damage without killing any goblins. Quite the dilemma.
Bob? He was in quite a pickle, after all - he couldn’t join in the fun this time since that would require cutting his way through the goblins to reach targeted group.
Poor Bob.
Chapter 64
“God damn it George, keep up with the healing! I’m bleeding out here!” – A shout echoed in the near vicinity, only to be drowned out by the ever-present rumble of the ground, bestial roars that seemed to shift from one extreme in tone to the other. Screeches being the most annoying yet the most-brief – for those were the sounds little, scampering creatures of oozing-pale flesh and clawed hands made before being struck or cut down by melee weapons. The one responsible for that curt complaint was a rugged fellow with a full beard, his furrowed brows foretelling of more to come – if only the opportunity allowed for it. Yet with clenched teeth, he simply had no time for any distractions – a metal-clad shield raised in a rush to attempt and block an ascending spear-head, only to quickly counter the successfully blocked attack with a mace to the skull of a goblin.
“Keep your pants on, you blockhead! I’m doing my best!” – George shot back vehemently, a bald-headed fellow, covered in white robes from head to toe. His visage pulsing transparent light outwardly – visible effort placed into trying to maintain a sphere of it that surrounded the whole party. A few strands of the translucent matter darting from his palms only to enter wounded allies – settling within freshly opened wounds, a visible effect taking place moments away as they seemed to be mending before the naked eye.
“Less talk, more work” – A comment, pushed through clenched teeth by a female in light blue robes, drifted over – spoken in a relatively calm, albeit quite chilly and silent tone. She had red, narrow lips twisted into a scowl and a furrowed forehead - sitting in-between pencil-thin eyebrows, a small, delicate nose and glaring amber eyes. Without giving a moment of pause, she spun and twisted in every direction – each sharp movement followed by a conjuring and release of particles of similar color as her clothing, her short, brown hair rustling from it all. Occasionally, a thin layer of ice-particles settled upon the fabric, only to be shaken off, a bare few leftover flakes having the chance to melt and leave behind drops of melt-water that continued to wet the hair more and more – creating an appearance of strenuous effort.
