by A Uscila
“Go, my dear Scuff and get me that report as soon as possible” – Instead of thanking him for the endless support, though, Wail emphasized the unreasonable demand, even having the gall to usher the poor fella out of the room. What a thankless bastard.
“It’s Scr…” – Scruff began, only to stop mid-way, slightly bow and turn to leave – “…well I guess it was close enough this time…” – His soft mumbled barely audible to the two he left behind.
“Tell me, really, what are you planning? Because I’m sure you are. Something” – Finally alone with the deranged magician, Willow turned to him with hands against her hips, confronting him with chin raised and chest emphasized.
Silently, the magician stared back at the vexing female, no reply forthcoming for a few heartbeats that seemed to stretch out proportionally to the increasing tension – the feeling of it rising sharply once Wail took a step closer with lips twisting into a smile.
“What do you think? I’m planning on making a living” – He whispered most sinisterly – “A defiant stand against unfortunate circumstance…” – the answer so vague that Willows brows seemed to furrow.
“Meaning?” - Yet she was unrelenting in the pursuit for a proper answer.
And an answer she did receive, yet it was one she did not expect as her brows suddenly rose up from astonishment.
“I’m going to sell gold, obviously” – Wail finally stated, the smile now a full blown sneer. Oh, what an evil mastermind, this one.
Well. That was quite underwhelming.
Chapter 71
Princess advanced in steady steps, a concentrated furrow set between the eyes – his gaze unshaken by the stray curl of gold that would occasionally get in the way. Today, the grim companion favored a scaled armor set upon studded leather, the usual mace hanging by the waist, one hand resting upon its’ pommel. Muffled were his steps by the expensive looking carpet beneath, while paintings and silken curtains loomed on both sides, passed without even a glance. A man of destination, not the journey – for his gaze was locked upon a pair of extravagantly carved wooden doors at the end of the traversed corridor. Upon reaching, he knocked upon them with barred knuckles three times.
“Enter” – Only to open the doors with a confident push once permission was granted from the other side.
Beyond, a familiar office awaited, with Derek sitting behind a large desk near the opposite side of the room – his small figure sprawled over a parchment in front, an inky feather in hand. Yet, once Princess closed the door behind him and turned to regard the young lord in silence, Derek finally put everything aside and sat up straight. His ink sodden fingers interlocking while the child cast a steely gaze upon the underling.
“I’m listening”
“Just as predicted, the goblin hordes have gathered en masse after the Festering Gut incident and are advancing in our direction” – Princess simply stated, all the while maintaining eye-contact with the young lord.
Slowly, Derek leaned back into his seat, eyes lifting into the ceiling, lips pressed together, only to slowly slip into a smirk – “And our dear friend?” – He inquired.
“Is about to engage their main force” – Princess replied concisely – “…just as predicted” – Only to add in an even tone, after a momentary pause.
Derek slammed the desk with an open palm, a triumphant laugh ringing out across the room.
“I knew it! What a fool he is!” – He shouted with a blooming sneer – “Now all that’s left is wait till my enemies grind themselves against each other, till they’re less than threatening” – Derek leaned back into his chair comfortably, lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk.
“All because of your splendid acting, Lord” – Princess praised in an even tone, his head inclining somewhat as if to acknowledge the fact.
“You give me too much praise, my dear underling” – Derek laughed – “If not for the foolishness of others, my plans wouldn’t have come to fruition so easily…” – he explained, grandiosely, arms extending to both sides in a welcoming gesture, pride shining brightly upon the young lord’s features – “Now all that’s left, is to watch the show…” – the last statement spoken just as his lips twisted into quite the sinister grin.
*******
The ground trembled and the air was full of roars, screeches and the splintering of wood – as an army from the very depths of the earth advanced through the dark forest, stray rays of the moon piercing through the thick canopy every now and again. The effort unnecessary a few feat ahead, where a clearing of sorts awaited – a lightly slopping field of grass, painted silver by the before-mentioned source of light, a few rays reflecting off shining armor at the opposite end of the field, where a troop of white-armored riders were arrayed in tightly knit groups. Side by side, at the very head of the arrayed forces, stood xXxArchangelxXx and Joana - both dismounted, both silently glaring at the swarm that emerged with ever increasing numbers from the opposite tree-line. Goblins, ogres, packs of gobulfs and even chunks of screechers flying above head could be seen – a nasty winged species, no bigger than a goblin, yet annoying in their ability to soar.
xXxArchangelxXx scowled at the sight.
“Not the kind of Crusade I imagined” – Joana commented in jest, her blue eyes playfully darting towards the High Sweeper. Her left hand twitching slightly as if to get a better grip on the plate helm it held against her side – “You think Derek set us up to this?” – She inquired, after waiting a while for a reply to the previous comment, yet getting none.
“Possibly” – He spat out with obvious distaste – “But it changes nothing” – He added and turned back towards his men, taking up his own helm with both hands.
“Ah, how hardheaded” – Joana sighed exaggeratedly as she equipped her headgear – “…and that’s what I like about you, my dear brother” – A comment mumbled just as the helm covered her head and thus, was heard by no one. Especially when xXxArchangelxXx was busy with his own monologue.
“Little fun in slaughtering mindless creatures, yet slaughter we will…” – He said while approaching his trusted steed that faithfully awaited close-by. With fluid motion, the High Sweeper mounted the armored horse and turned to the force of knights, as they awaited orders in earie silence – “Yet slaughter we shall!” – xXxArchangelxXx roared, the ridiculously domestic hammer of his raised high up into the sky – “For Pedro!” – He roared again at the top of his lungs, the shout taken up by every single mounted knight in unison, just as the Sweeper turned his mount around and donned his helm, the moon’s rays reflecting off the screaming skulls that adorned his shoulders, creating a truly unsettling contrast – “For Order!” – And with another shout, he urged his mount at the approaching horde, Joana barely a few meters behind – her claymore unsheathed and ready for combat.
And thus, as the silver field below rustled under a gentle breeze, the two forces advanced upon one-another in an earth-rumbling charge – leaving behind dark, unsettled ground in their wake.
High Sweeper’s forces were split into multiple groups, each one in a spearhead formation, with xXxArchangelxXx and Joana leading the very foremost one. Their armor rustled and clanked, while a transparent glow formed around each cluster of riders – a holy aura that shone with hope and righteousness. Yet in contrast to the approaching horde, it was nothing more than a buffeted island, buckling against a giant wave of overwhelming darkness. Hope seemed lost and a shadow was cast over the advancing knights, obstructing the moon’s light, while a rain of arrows fell and harmlessly bounced off their protective aura.
As the two forces collided, the echoes of screeching and whining could be heard – for all that came into contact with the aura of light, ended up being buffered and pummeled back – their bones broken and flesh disfigured. The initial clash left a deep dent in the goblin horde, as the holy knights of Pedro plunged into the enemy formation, cutting down and crushing all who stood in their path – the foremost victims being mostly gobulfs and various
types of goblins – their small frames serving as nothing more than an inconvenience to the knights. A frail buffer zone that could only slow down the charge.
But there was a lot of the disgusting creatures and their ranks were deep. Thus the charge slowed down with each passing moment and the aura of light slowly faded, while the hordes of horror started to slowly advance and claw at the bold attackers. Only to be cut down by the scores – for even though the plunge slowed down to a crawl, they were still more than enough to handle a couple hundred of goblins and their like. Like disturbed waters, the horde seemed to buckle and spill around and away from the fighting knights, while the center of conflict shook with light explosions – an occasional sphere of light spread around from individual knights, passing through their comrades and knocking away any creatures that were close enough to be harmed by the area of effect. Their small forms crushed and ripped apart – the pesky screechers that were brave enough to actually engage counted amongst the victims.
With a roar, xXxArchangelxXx lifted his miniature hammer into the air, only to swing it down with great force at the goblins below – a comical sight, to be sure, seeing as the weapon was too short to even reach so far down. Yet as it fell, a mirror image of it seemed to materialize around the tool – extending the original’s body to ten times its’ length and size, which was exactly enough to deal with the pests below. With a thundering blow, the weapon fell and stray pieces of earth and body parts rose into the air – the force of it enough to crush all that were struck.
To the side, Joana was dealing her own share of carnage, as she swung her claymore with gusto – leaving swats of mutilated bodies behind with laughter echoing from behind her helm. With a roar, a stray ogre seemed bent on challenging her reign, as it charged at the female knight with a roar and a large club raised above-head, ready to be brought down with great force. Answering the challenge, Joana turned her horse with a powerful tug and swung her claymore with one hand – the blade’s tip lifting up tuffs of earth as it traveled upwards. She cackled loudly and both edges of her weapon shone with a transparent glow, the glow detaching in a dazzling crescent shape just as the weapon was finishing its’ journey up. With speed greater than the victim could react to, the crescent slash flew at it with earth rending force, leaving behind nothing but a gash in the ground, its’ near vicinity littered with the dead and the dying. Passing through the ogre in a spray of blood, the attack cut through its’ thick hide like clay, splitting it in two. With a surprised groan and an unpleasant gurgling sound, the ogre crumbled to the ground in a pool of blood and entrails, a woman’s crazed laughter the only rites the ogre would ever receive.
Clearly absorbed in the carnage, Joana discharged a few more crescent slashes, rending the ground around her till it looked like an aftermath of some natural disaster, her visor darting about as if to take in her own handiwork. Yet what seemed to catch her attention was the swarm’s movements – apparently, it was leaving behind a detachment while the rest simply went around and continued onwards, disappearing into the opposite tree line.
“Archangel!” – Joana shouted atop her lungs, all the while urging her horse to ride closer target of attention.
His white armor splattered with blood, guts and dirt, the High Sweeper turned towards Joana once he was done swinging the transparent image of his weapon – “What?!” – Clear dissatisfaction echoing from the helm.
“Look!” – She indicated the retreating swarm with the claymore, pointing till her brother looked over.
Yet, it wasn’t anger that the High Sweeper displayed upon seeing the scene. Instead, he laughed boomingly in a satisfied tone, making sure to swing his weapon down at the occasional goblin – “Let them be, dear sister! I do believe Derek deserves a taste of the fun, does he not?”
She answered the rhetorical question with her own singing laughter, seemingly satisfied by the notion – her weapon resuming the bloody work after that brief conversation, yet halting mid-flight once she noticed the sudden inactivity displayed by her sibling.
Visor slowly traveling over the field and the horde that filled it, xXxArchangelxXx spurred his mount around and gazed at the scattered clusters of knights – their ranks still relatively tight, the formation almost completely intact.
“What?” – Joana inquired with a shout.
“Let’s wrap up a present for our initial target, why don’t we?” – He replied, the sinister edge in his tone un-blunted by the helm. With the transparent image of his hammer still in hand, xXxArchangelxXx lifted it into the air and started swinging it around and around, visor directed at his comrades – “Form up! Form up! We sweep!” – He bellowed atop his lungs.
“We sweep!” - Her own weapon high in the air in mirroring action, Joana shouted, laughter ringing in her voice unceasingly.
Like a well-oiled machine, the knights split up their initial formation and slowly formed into a straight, one-man-deep line that extended across the field - an end to each tree-line.
“Order!” – xXxArchangelxXx bellowed again, once the formation seemed complete, even though wavy. The shout was taken up by the rest and a transparent aura seemed to materialize once again, forming at the very front of their formation and as everyone spurred their mounts – it began to slowly advance. While their back ranks were lightly assaulted by passing enemies – which served as nothing more than a nuisance. A bothersome itch.
With squeals and roars, the goblin horde was buffered and slowly pushed forward and even though the current of enemies seemed reluctant to bend, to shift towards a different direction - it was left with no other choice. Since no matter how much they squirmed and flailed, scratched and pummeled – neither the transparent aura, nor the knights would budge. And thus, with a groan, the flow of goblins ended up being disturbed and slowly, but surely, changed course – shifting into a rout like a panicked herd.
And so, the swarm was split in half, as one continued onwards, while the other turned into a route to the side – herded away by the constant harassment of Pedro’s Broom’s.
*******
Feet swinging over the battlements, The Embalmer sat about in a daze, one finger up his left nostril, his robes billowing about, while a symphony of rattling bones played out behind him, as wind pummeled the cliff’s edge.
Life was good for the morbid lunatic – a safe and cozy gig with a taste for power and a high enough mortality rate that supplied his experimental needs quite thoroughly. If push came to shove, there were plenty of goblins to satisfy the demand if the previous supplies failed him. Though it had to be mentioned, that working with decomposing goblins was less than a pleasant experience – a similarity shared by having to work in general. And as any average Joe, a demand for creative expression of some sort to maintain at least a semi-stress free mental state, had to be met and satisfied. Evidence of such activity could be found wherever one looked about, as the mining camp seemed changed over the long months. Its’ wooden walls were strengthened by an additional layer of wood, while a semi-circle of stakes littered the outer-perimeter. Sharp points pointing at any who would dare advance upon the camp – now upgraded to a fort. In addition, the cliff’s face seemed to have been subject to a plastic surgery - crevices and pathways now carved into it – transforming the immediate area around the mining cave into a multi-level display case that extended beyond the walls of the fort. Clearly, whoever was responsible for this work, wasn’t satisfied with just a few lines running parallel to both sides of the cave-mouth. Oh no, they made sure to carve out two big holes above it, with some space between each-other. Adding the fort’s wooden walls that were constructed in a protective circle around the mining-cave’s mouth, the overall picture looked like a big-mouthed, whiskered ogre with an extremely protruding chin. A comical sight, reinforced further by a little make-up, as the two bottom-most whiskers seemed to be colored in white. Bone white. For within the even crevice’s stood neatly arrayed rows of skeletons with bows in hand, safely tucked away behind carved parapets for pro
tection. Like a legion of grotesque dolls, collected and put on display by a less than sane collector.
The collector would ever so often glance at the display with a satisfied smirk, eyes falling over the hustle-and-bustle beneath. Back and forth, an unceasing chain of individuals of various races and sexes traveled with carts and bags – emptying them out near the cave entrance, only to turn back soon after. Overseeing everything were Wail’s own bandits, scattered about with weapons at the ready, eyeing for trouble, yet completely unmindful of the undead that shambled about occasionally. A light reinforcement to the policing force, raised with best wishes by The Embalmer. One can never have too few guards to oversee an overworked and riotous workforce.
That was why the necromancer’s best man was serving as the overseer – a tall fellow clothed in studded leather and metal pads, a whip in hand and a loud, gargling voice that echoed wide in an unpleasant tune. An interesting method to keep the rabble afraid and in check, with added effect from the overseer’s health-hazard. Or un-health, to be more precise. His skin was dried and cracked, even peeled off in places, while bones seemed to protrude in various spots and half of the fellow’s face seemed to be ripped off. One of The Embalmer’s proudest creations, without a doubt. Reinhart. He did not, for a moment regret raising that one, as his attitude was always an amusing sight. That and he could really swing a sword to an effect. Something that was rarely required as Grumble was always there to pummel what needed pummeling – the necromancers second proudest reanimation. An undead ogre. What could be better? Well. Two undead ogres? Three? Heck, an undead dragon, even! Ah, but The Embalmer still looked over his two favorites with a loving sparkle in that deranged gaze of his, pleased to see both of them getting along so fine. Fine in a sense that the oversized, stitched-together ogre wasn’t pummeling Reinhart with the fearsome, yet bent out of shape mace he was wielding. True friendship.
