by Charles Dean
“Yeah, we did,” he agreed, not caring to dig out whatever was bothering her. She was right: it was a reason to celebrate. “And no one died.”
“You could have . . .” she mumbled under her breath so quietly Darwin was surprised he could even hear it.
“Lord Darwin,” Alex said, standing with Fuzzy Wuzzy and a few Guards. “We only made it in time to watch.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill it without you,” Darwin remembered his promise to the Guards to let them take part in the struggle.
“Apology accepted, milord. I understand the glory fighting such a fiend alone would bring a man. It would be rude to deny you that,” Alex answered, Blake and the others nodding.
Glory? Had I done it for glory? No, it wasn’t glory, Darwin thought, remembering the feeling that pulled him into the battle against his own sanity. “Thank you for understanding,” he said, deciding not to correct them.
“Darwin . . .” Kass said yet again, frowning.
“Yes?” Darwin answered, trying to figure out what was bothering her, why her eyes somehow managed to look sad.
“Let’s fight with the group for the rest of the trip,” she said.
So first she complains about there not being enough grinding, and now she wants to stick with the group? What’s with her? Darwin thought, a lopsided frown splitting across his face. “Sure, we can do that,” he said, deciding not to question her intentions further.
“Good, now let’s get to that harbor safely,” Kass said as the group walked further through the mountain. They had beaten the crossing guard, so the only thing left for them to do was sneak into the White-Horn harbor unnoticed with a ton of red-eyed Demons and somehow procure enough transportation to get to the mainland. That shouldn’t be too hard, right? Darwin thought, knowing better than to truly believe there actually wouldn’t be any complications.
Maddock:
Maddock strode purposefully through the canopy of trees no longer bothering to feign any ignorance about the direction he was heading. The direction of the harbor and the ocean was unmistakable--a great thundering cacophony of noise in the distance that grew louder with every passing step. The sun had finally won out the fight over the fog that seemed to have permeated the region over the last day and quickly wrested control over the skies, searing away the last remnants of the white vapor that clung to life now only in the darkest parts of the forest he and his band were now leaving behind them.
After interrogating the White-Wing scout, it had taken only seconds for his mind to capitalize upon the direction he and his guild were going to take. He had never really been wrestling with the decision before, but he also knew that in order to lead, one must be willing to find out all available information before making any decision. That was why it had been so imperative for Maddock to find out why the White-Wing scouts had been moving throughout the region for the last few days. He had surmised that there was no logical reason other than war for the White-Wings to be there--and he had been right. Maddock was wise enough to spot an opportunity when it presented itself to him; and, if nothing else, he favored himself as being bold enough to take advantage of it. If he was right, the White-Wings would be moving en masse with a massive army towards the coast he and his men were now moving towards themselves.
The logistics of such a campaign were slightly boggling. The amount of bodies, supplies, and resources that were necessary was already fairly staggering. Moving them across the ocean in order to wage any significant form of war further compounded the situation. Sure, the White-Wings were more than capable of making the flight alone. If they did that, however, there was no guarantee that they would arrive at any preset rendezvous point together. If they were spread out or became lost, it would provide more than ample warning to any of the White-Horns or Black-Wing scouts that would have surely been patrolling the coast. If Maddock and his men had been fortunate enough to notice the presence of White-Wing scouts on a starter island other than their own, he was more than sure that someone else would have as well.
A few random players were easy enough to explain away and likely wouldn't be noticed or questioned. A mere group or squadron of NPCs, however, was something else entirely: inevitably, the White-Wings would raise the same suspicions that had been set off within Maddock's own mind. No, if they were going to set up any form of extended campaign within these lands, they would have to move their entire army as a cohesive unit. Doing so would allow them to set up a base camp, most likely somewhere along the coast, and then push out and attack from there once the position was solidified. That left the White-Wings with only a single option: moving the legions by sea, and that meant boats--much like the one that Maddock was now more than ever eagerly awaiting.
The edge of the forest broke suddenly. Whether it was by design or a stroke of randomly-generated happenstance, the trees thinned out over the course of several dozen yards, their large trunks spread further and further apart, until they abruptly stopped all together. Emerging from the forest was like walking from a softly-lit room into a bright dance studio. The glare from the sun bounced off the ocean in the distance, and Maddock was forced to momentarily look down towards the ground as his vision adjusted. The ground, he noticed, had changed as abruptly as the forest had ended. Whereas before the forest floor had been covered with a soft carpet of needles, it was now quickly becoming bare rock. As his eyes became used to the light, he momentarily lapsed into thinking about how realistic the world of Tipqa really was. It appeared as if the coastline had been there forever, weather beaten and worn away by the constant pounding of the waves breaking against the coast. He could even imagine he felt the sun beating down on him, quickly heating up the metal Armor he wore.
Maddock quickly broke himself out of his reverie as his vision finished adjusting, and he could clearly see where he was heading. About a hundred yards ahead of him, the rocky coast ended in a stone pathway that lead down to a small wooden dock and boat house. By anyone's standards it was a pathetic excuse for a harbor. Indeed, it was really only a harbor in name and not in effect. It offered none of the usual protections from weather or storms that a harbor would have provided in the real world. t more closely resembled an abandoned fisherman's hut on some forlorn coast; but, like so many other things within the gaming world, it wasn't how it looked, only what it would do. In this case, it would do exactly what Maddock wanted--summon the boat that he and the others had been waiting on.
His purposeful stride quickly closed the distance to the narrow pathway that lead down to the wooden dock and the others fell in behind him, trailing down single file and filling up the dock behind him. As he passed along the dock towards the small shack, he once again took a mental note of how realistic the world around him was. He could actually feel the tremor of the waves as they broke against the wooden dock and the resulting spray of water that spattered up into the air. The constant ebbing of the waves occasionally pushed water up and over the edge of the planks, and he could imagine that if he were wearing anything other than boots, he would also feel the wet chill of the water as well. Standing at the end of the dock, outside the shack, was a solitary figure facing towards the ocean with its back towards Maddock. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her head was tilted slightly back as if she were basking in the warmth from the sun.
"How long do we have?" Maddock raised his voice above the sound of the waves.
The woman tilted her head back towards Maddock and answered in turn without ever opening her eyes, "Oh, about now I would say. I've really just been waiting on you guys to show up. I didn't want to risk finishing the process and then not having enough people around to protect the boat. You would skin me alive if I actually managed to summon the stupid thing and then had some random group of kids show up just in time to steal it away from us."
"Likely chance of that, Ku. You and I both know you can actually use a hammer for more than just crafting if you would ever bother to do it anymore. Remember the campaign in Kaldra? Those were some
good days back then." Maddock was referring to another time they had run together a few years back in a different game.
Ku had actually been more active as a fighter back then, often taking part in the raids and battles. For the last year or so, however, she had chosen to take on the responsibility of being the Guild's primary crafter. The two of them, along with several others in the Guild, had been gaming together for years across a plethora of different games. That was part of the reason they were able to be so successful even though they remained much smaller than most of the other Guilds they often found themselves up against. They had played together so long that they were often able to anticipate the others’ moves without ever having to be given an actual order.
Ku smiled and shrugged in response, turning back towards the ocean, "We'll see."
She raised her arms above her head in a large circle and then abruptly dropped them to her sides before crossing them back over her chest. The water immediately before her in a large radius grew incredibly still. It was as if an unseen force were stopping the movement of the waves by creating an invisible barrier that they were unable to cross over. At the center of the circle, a small point of yellow light blossomed, quickly growing larger and larger. As it did so, the water around it was pushed outwards and beyond the radius of the invisible barrier, creating a crater within the water that was quickly filled by the growing light. The sound of wooden timbers groaning as if they were under a heavy weight filled the air followed by a thundering ripple which Maddock imagined a giant canvas sheet would sound like if a thousand hands were to grab its edges and give it a heavy wave. Then, quite suddenly, the light collapsed in upon itself with a vacuum of wind accompanying it. Occupying the space instead was the pinnace resting in the water at the end of the dock, rocking back and forth upon the waves.
A cheer went up from the members of the guild assembled on the dock as they rushed forward towards the newly summoned vessel.
"About time!" Maddock laughed. "That was certainly quite the wait for only a little show. You women, always the tease."
"I think you have it backwards, honey. It's always you men rushing into things and finishing too quickly," she jabbed back. "You really should try and savor the build up."
Maddock just smiled and rolled his eyes in response.
Chapter 9: Cry Havoc – Let Slip the Turtle-Wolves of War
Qasin:
Qasin waded slowly into the ocean until the gentle tide rolled over his knees and pulled at his feet. He looked at the water surging toward and then away from him and grinned. A fitting place for men to die that the currents will pull them out and bury them before they have time to even be forgotten.
“Smiling before a battle, dear? How unbecoming of a King,” Eve said from behind him. “You should be giving a rousing speech or something of that sort. Inspiring the men, letting them know of the glory they will earn at the battle today.”
“Let the monsters in their minds and the beer in their guts tell them the words they need to find courage,” the King said, not bothering to turn around. “I don’t have what they are looking for.”
“Aren’t you supposed to though? You’re their King. You’re their leader,” Eve said, resting her arm on his shoulder.
“That is why I am here; that is why I will deliver them victory.”
“It isn’t just about giving them victory. You have to give them hope.”
“You have made it abundantly clear since we started traveling together that I am not cut out to be a King,” Qasin said, frowning as he looked behind him at Eve. “Now is not the time to try and affect imaginary regal properties when the tangible and real properties I do have will keep many of these people from dying.”
“Qasin, look behind you,” she said, using his shoulders to turn him around. “What do you see?”
He looked at the sight before him. Behind him were thousands and thousands of men lined up across the beaches. The sand on the flat shores crept inland from the water for almost a hundred feet, but none of it could be seen. Instead, the only thing visible on the beach were the feet and bodies of the densely packed soldiers who blocked his view of the shore completely. The soldiers, a mix of White-Horns and Humans were all armed and armored in their native battle attire. Above them the Black-Wings soared through the sky with Bows, Arrows and Knives. They moved in the sky like it was their home, causing sporadic shadows to dance over the Minotaurs, Satyrs and Humans below them.
What am I supposed to be seeing? he thought, not sure which detail stood out. All he saw was troops. All he saw was men waiting to die and praying to live. What does she want me to see this time?
“Qasin, this isn’t exactly arithmetic. What do you see?” she said softly, pressing again. Her voice, like always, crawled through his ears and wrapped around his mind.
“I . . . I see fear,” he said, not sure if it was the right answer.
“And what do you think will kill the most men on the battlefield today?” she whispered again.
“Fear,” he responded. “Fear kills the weak and thins the cowards from the fight. It keeps a man alive before the battle, but it is the first thing to kill them once the blade is drawn.”
“That’s right. There are thousands of these men, serving you, the King, who are afraid. My brother will come, as I promised he would, and he will protect your people from death . . . but until he does, you must protect them from fear,” she said. He was half focused on her words and half focused on the feel of her hands on his shoulder and the hint that her cheek my brush against him. “You must keep them from dying of cowardice before the fight has a chance to turn in their favor.”
“What do I say though?” he asked, turning around to face her again.
“Qasin, they are scores deep. You only need to tell the front few the obvious then assure them that they will be safe,” she said, taking his arm like she had so many times before in order for him to escort her to within earshot of the men. “They will cheer, and then the ones behind will cheer, and then the ones behind them will cheer. None will know what you said, but they will all be filled with borrowed bravery.”
Why do I trust her so much? Qasin asked himself as he walked to the front of the line of soldiers on the beach. Why do I get the feeling when I am around her that I am more of a puppet than a man.
“First, you will tell them that they might die. It’s a rather terrible fate, but it’s unavoidable for some of them,” she continued to doll out instructions as they walked. “Then, you will tell them that they will live forever in the things they fight here today to protect.”
“I see,” he said, mentally taking notes. Whether he wanted to believe he was a puppet or just a King listening to an adviser, he could feel that what she was saying was the best counsel for him at this moment.
“After that, it’s important to make the opponent seem like the devil himself, my dear, which isn’t hard at all given how no one here knows anything about them. So all you have to do is explain that they won’t just convert people; they will burn their homes, rape their wives and enslave their children. The more wicked and intolerable the outcome of a loss, the more vigorously a loser will fight to prevent it.”
“What do I say after that?” Qasin said, turning to her. He had spent years listening to Councilmen and Chancellors give him advice, but none had been so insightful about how to manipulate people. None of their wisdom on how to conduct himself had felt so right.
“Then, my dear, you just tell them the truth: that they can win,” she said, standing still and motioning with an arm for him to go ahead of her.
Why does everything in life as a King always go back to speeches and talking, he thought to himself as he walked up to the line. Why must I give yet another public speech? When have I ever been good at this? A few years of public speeches made men want to kill me, and now I have to give another? he bemoaned himself, but his feet carried him to position, paces away from the giant Minotaurs and armored Humans who stood in front of him.
&
nbsp; Then he saw him, a true coward sitting on the front line. It was a Minotaur, so his face was hard to read, but the eyes were a giveaway. He was shaking as he held his Axe, and his erratic breathing did nothing to hide his wavering nerves.
“Are you scared?” Qasin asked.
“No, Sir,” the White-Horn denied. As a Human it was odd for Qasin to imagine that these bull-like beasts could feel fear, and he might have believed the foul beast had he not seen the quivering creature himself.
“Really? Because you should be,” he said, sticking to Eve’s script and fighting his instincts to tell the soldier everything was going to be okay. “I mean, just over the water there are far more men than even we have here that want nothing more than to kill you, and they are moments away from being in range to make that deSire a reality, so you should be afraid because you very well might die here today.”
The other White-Horns and Humans turned their head to follow his movements as he started to pace a little in front of the Minotaur. It wasn’t so far for the Minotaur to ever be out of earshot of him, but he decided he didn’t want to just stand still. Many of the Black-Wings had even come out of the air to hover close enough to listen in.
