Dwarf of Bronze (ZnT)

[TotalAbsolutism]

Merry Christmas.

 

[Max Uristwell]

It's a Christmas miracle!

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Guiche's shoulder slammed into the chest of the older Knght and knocked him back. Before the man had even hit the ground the young man had spun and swung his sword at the two behind him that were duelling with his Valkyries. The blade sliced through the ground effortlessly and dragged a thick chunk of dirt out with it as the Earth spell was channelled through it. Both constructs dodged out of the way with practiced ease as the ball began to animate mid-flight.

It struck the leftmost Knght's shield as he tried to ward it off and practically exploded over him; the earth forming into coils that bound and pulled tight. With two valkyries backing him up it was the work of a moment to disarm the final fighter; even without using his superior equipment. He could have just sliced through the other man's armour if he had to but Kenneth said it was bad to rely on that.

"Good work, lad. Ye can take a rest for now." Said dwarf stepped into the courtyard and tossed a wet towel to his charge. Guiche took it, wiping his face as he moved away. His familiar started to unbind the Knghts while issuing the usual apologies. The young Gramont kept walking.

They'd been at the estate for almost a week now. A squad of Griffon Knights had been stationed here at the request of Viscount Wardes; who had resumed command of the group temporarily given the unfortunate demise of his successor turned predecessor. He'd been one of the unlucky ones.

He'd made great strides in these few days. Kenneth had admitted as much; albeit usually followed quickly by a sharp but and some sort of reprimand. It was starting to grow wearisome. Practice was important, and Wardes had said it was fine for the Knghts to assist him. He hadn't hurt any of them. Even if he had, there was a healer on the premises. It wasn't like she was doing anything use-...

Guiche frowned, and reined in the sharp thoughts. Healer Dumas was doing her best. He knew that. It's just that there was little to be done. His father's condition wasn't worsening, much, but nor was it improving. The same went for Francisque. They were disturbingly similar, in fact.

His brother just sat in the room they'd secured him in. At first he'd been locked in one of the cellars but that had quickly proved unnecessary. Since… what had happened he hadn't said a word. Barely even moved. The servants had to feed him. He just stared into space and trembled whenever Guiche tried to speak to him.

Father was worse. Armand had been losing weight quickly these past few days. They had to change his sheets every few hours due to the sweats and give him water almost constantly. The smell was ghastly. Miss Dumas said it was his body trying to fight off whatever poison had been on the knife; the sweat stank due to the impurities in his body being pushed out. Guiche wasn't sure if he believed that.

Kenneth had tried what he could but there wasn't much to be done. Toxins were hard no matter where you were, it seemed. The healing magic of Kelicho was almost miraculously powerful when it came to damage to flesh but, much like its Halkegenian counterpart, more or less useless with regards to unknown poisons.

He'd barely slept. When he wasn't fighting he was in the family's library pouring through the books. Guiche doubted he could identify the poison so simply as that but it felt better than doing… nothing. Kenneth kept carrying him back to bed whenever he passed out, and was always badgering him to eat as well. He knew it was just the dwarf's way of tryng to help him, but even so…

By the fifth day he'd had enough.

"Kenneth. Collect my things; we're leaving. There's nothing I can do for my father here." The dwarf frowned but, for once, didn't question him. What few belongings he had were divided between the Knights' griffons and then he himself saddled up behind one. Healer Dumas was left with instructions to send for anything she needed; money was, clearly, no object.

Kenneth himself would travel overland. He wouldn't give up his tombstone and it was too heavy for a griffon to manage. With his endurance they'd arrive at much the same time regardless. The first step was the Undine Knights' Chapter House and, from there, the Capitol. There was work to be done.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Karin Désirée de la Vallière née Maillart… was dying. Two of her daughters weren't in much of a better state. Éléonore had been catatonic since the attack and Cattelya had suffered a fit from the stress of it all. The various apothecaries and healers had all said that if it weren't for her father's quick thinking then her mother would certainly be dead.

Unfortunately, Louse's father wasn't a properly trained healer himself. He was a Water Mage, yes, but affairs of state had left him far less practiced than his wife when it came to magic. Even now he remained somewhere between inconsolable and an emotional rock. When she'd arrived he'd pulled her into his arms and told her everything was going to be alright. That mother had survived worse than this.

He'd been shaking as he said it, though; and his eyes were very red. It didn't help that there was precious little for them to do. Mother's friends had materialised in droves; strange angry people with harsh expressions that seemed to get on very well with Saito. He'd taken to organising those without some sort of medical talent and they'd filled the grounds to the point where there was someone watching every window and door and corridor.

Then, much to her surprise, someone far more prestigious had arrived; Princess Henrietta, with the Royal Physician in two. Her childhood friend had held her close and they'd stayed together for a time. Louise had dared to let herself hope in those few, familiar moments. Apparently the Queen had ordered her to attend to the Duchess directly.

News was grim. Karin had been shot from point-blank range with a pistol that had been loaded rather haphazardly. Rather than a proper musket ball it had been filled with a handful of random metallic detritus of varying kinds; while this would ruin the weapon it had the effect of reducing Karin's lower body to something more closely resembling mince than flesh. It had been a wonder that her father had been able to keep her alive at all.

Louise forced herself to listen to the explanation; no matter how awful it might be. Saito stood silently behind her, to one side, and the Princess hugged her arm and hid her face; unable to bear the brutality of what was being described to them. She didn't blame her old friend. If it hadn't been for her father's ashen expression she didn't know if she could have found the strength to listen herself.

Of course, it got worse from there. The scrap had been poisoned, or perhaps simply unclean, and thus the wound was now badly infected. Water magic enhanced the body's natural rhythms and improved its ability to heal; things like disease and toxins were far more difficult to deal with. The best that they could do right now was to treat the symptoms and keep her as strong as possible; all the while hoping that she could fight off the ailment herself.

Henrietta couldn't stay. She'd have to take part in meetings and such soon. When she left it had been with teary eyes and a heavy heart. As she went she'd left behind her ring; pushing it into Louise's hands and urging her to use it if she ever needed to visit. She'd promised her old friend she would, but her words felt hollow even to her.

Days passed in monotony. When no further attacks came mother's friends began to slip away. Perhaps to whatever they were doing before. Perhaps seeking justice for their comrade. She couldn't say, and Saito certainly wasn't talking. He stayed close to her at all times; attending to her every need even more diligently than usual. She'd scarcely think of something before he was already presenting it; be it a chair, a drink or an extra pillow.

Louise slept beside her mother's bed.

It was the fifth day when he visited; though it felt like an eternity. Jean-Jacques, the Viscount Wardes. Her fiancé. Her father ought to have met him, but he refused to leave his wife's side. She didn't want to either but somebody had to. Tragedy did not mean one couldn't act with dignity. Her mother would have wanted that.

"Viscount. To what do we owe this honour?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

"Are ye sure this is a good idea, lad?" It was the first time that Kenneth had spoken to him since their arrival in the Capitol. The little man had been uncharacteristically withdrawn, as of late. Guiche frowned as he straightened his cape and buffed his armour. In the mirror he could see his familiar's worried face beneath the mass of ginger hair that adorned it.

"No. But I refuse to be left out of this, Kenneth. I have my father's name and your experience to stand upon. That will have to do." The breastplate was actually only half-finished; it merely covered his front, not his back. Guiche had settled for wearing his mail shirt underneath; after all, they were both plenty light enough. With his mother's sword on his hip he looked like a proper knight.

The hat was Wardes', of course, but the cloak was his own this time; though the style may be similar he'd had it emblazoned with the insignia of the Undine Knights. In his mind he'd intended to wear it upon his graduation and, so, had commissioned it not long after joining the Knightly Order. That seemed so long ago no.

He couldn't help but turn the hat over in his hands. Thinking about the first time he'd ever really fought. Now he was walking straight into a far different, yet strangely similar, battle. Guiche put the hat on and surveyed himself in the silvered surface once more. The rose insignia on his chest glinted back at him.

"... ye look like a prop'r hero, lad." Kenneth smiled; in spite of himself, perhaps. Guiche didn't say anything. He just walked out of the room and left his familiar scrambling to catch up again. What did it matter if he looked like a hero? That wouldn't help him here.

They marched side-by-side through the streets of the city. This time their lodgings were of a far higher quality and, thus, were reasonably close to the palace. His status as a Knight Novitiate was enough to get him through the gates with minimal fuss and he soon found himself within the palace.

He was willing to wait for an hour. Two, even. But his patience soon wore thin after that and he barged his way past the guards. He could hear Kenneth making more apologies for him behind him and that only redoubled his resolve. Suddenly; two guards levelled muskets at him from the end of a corridor.

"Please return to the waiting room, sir. You aren't allowed in he-" The door behind them swung open and an old man in ill-fitting armour stepped out. His facial hair was unkempt and he looked rather haggard. Guiche vaguely recognised him; the soldiers certainly did given their quick salutes. "General Tréville, sir. This-" He waved a hand to cut them off, then looked to Guiche. The young man nodded his head.

"Hm. I know you. Armand's youngest, yes?" Guiche nodded, and the General stroked his ragged moustache. From his memories the young noble recalled the man before him had retired from duty some ten years ago. Not that his presence here was unusual. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, boy, but we've matters well in ha-" Before he could finish Guiche cut him off; perhaps it was rude but it was necessary.

"I've memorised all of my father's notes, and read all his journals. And my familiar-" At this, he gestured towards Kenneth where he stood beside him. The dwarf looked to be on the verge of charging the guards; which wasn't the best look, but still. "Is some three hundred years old, sir, and has seen harsh fighting in his time. Please. We can help." Tréville scratched at his chin with a frown. Then the door opened wider as a familiar figure appeared.

"Let him in, General." The Count de Mott spoke with authority and confidence, eyeing boy and dwarf with an appraising air. "I will vouch personally for his tactical prowess. Young Guiche bested me in duel over a… minor personal matter some weeks ago. I've no doubt he will have useful insights." Thusly presented with a politically expedient 'out', as it were, the General smiled and nodded.

"Very good. Well then, lad, if the Count is willing to vouch for you then I guess we'll give you a chance. Founder knows we're short on brainpower in here…" He couldn't help but feel that last part ought to have been said a bit more quietly but as it stood Guiche wasn't going to complain. Instead, he followed the General into the room.

In the room beyond there was already nearly six hundred years worth of military experience. It would have perhaps been a bit better if it wasn't spread out between nearly twenty people. Apart from the Princess and the Queen there were a dozen people in varying ranks of military uniform, another half dozen in Knight's equipment, a handful of mere nobles, the Count de Mott and a Cardinal whose name Guiche didn't know. Currently the last of that listing was apparently arguing with half of the room.

"The Church cannot commit forces without evidence of wrongdoing! There is a delicate balance of power, and with preparations for the next Crusade already underwa-" The Cardinal was cut off by a stout man with thick sideburns. Guiche didn't quite recall his name but he vaguely knew of him from his father's parties as a child, and from the slew of interesting new words he and his brothers had learned while listening at the study door.

"Baldurdash! This is an attack on our sovereignty, plain and simple! Who else could be responsible for this but Germania, I ask you?" It took all of Guiche's strength not to collapse onto the table in shock. The next speaker didn't help matters; a young man with a weak chin and a nervous disposition.

"I say, Lord Dampierre‎ is right. The rebels in Albion are still consolidating; there's no way they'd dare to seek war with a foreign power as of yet." To Guiche's growing horror there seemed to be a modicum of support for this idiocy; as demonstrated by a variety of nods and cries of 'Hear hear' from one half of the table. Mott sidled up beside him and sighed heavily.

"I realise we are… not on kindly terms, young master Gramont. However, the situation is dire. These imbeciles will have us embroiled in entirely the wrong war if they have their way." Although he shot a reflexive scowl at the Count there wasn't much heart in it. In truth, he'd long since stopped caring about the man. Not that he intended to do anything so forward as forgive him any time soon, of course.

"... quite." What else was there to say? Half the room, mostly consisting of the more elderly military officials and the Knights, seemed to be arguing for war against Germania at once. The Princess was sitting quietly as the Queen rested her face in her hand with what Guiche had to admit was certainly the utmost of grace and elegance. To her other side the remaining officials seemed to be split between wanting to declare war on Albion, Gallia and one lone, wild-eyed old coot who seemed to think they should be marching on the elves by next light.

Guiche clenched his fist. Beside him, Kenneth reached out for him and then pulled back with a pained expression. It was all just too much. While his father was writhing in agony the safety of Tristain fell to these… these… clowns! He wouldn't let them sully this nation any further!

Just as he stepped forward to slam his fist on the table there was an immensely loud 'bang'. Kenneth had slung his tombstone off his back and onto the floor; its wrappings swinging loose to reveal the inscriptions on its surface. Those assembled couldn't read them, not well at least, and yet the monument seemed to almost radiate a hallowed sensation.

"... 'pologies, Yer Majesty an' Highness. Ah just couldnae listen to another second of that tripe." Guiche's familiar stepped forward and bowed smartly to the Queen, who had looked up with a perplexed expression. "Kenneth Manson, Son of Man; back home they also call me Flamecutter, Mountain Rider, Dragon Drinker an' Tomb-Bearer. Ah also have the honour, an' the privilege, of bein' the Familiar of Guiche de Gramont, youngest son of General Armand de Gramont." Here, he gestured to his young charge and stepped to one side. All eyes were on Guiche; until the figure in the throne delicately cleared her throat.

"Do you wish to address us, Master Gramont?" The Queen's bearing and speech were both without flaw. She was regal and timeless, yet touched by just a hint of grief. Her black clothing was indicative of her ongoing mourning for her regrettably deceased husband. Some nobles would always whisper that she was unstable, erratic, or worse. In this moment she seemed nothing less than a true monarch.

"Yes, Your Majesty. With your permission?" She inclined her head ever so slightly. Once more, all gazes swung to Guiche. He stepped forward and bowed, as was right and proper, before beginning. "Gentiles all; I know many of those assembled here, by reputation at the very least. Although my honoured father is regrettably indisposed I stand before as an unworthy replacement."

A faint snort of derision indicated that someone agreed with his assessment. He ignored it, and soldiered on. "I have little experience in the art of war. However; what I do have is knowledge. My father's knowledge. These past few days I have spent memorising his personal notes and reading his journals, familiarising myself with his thoughts on our military and what might be done to defend our nation. With that in mind, there is something I must share with you that I feel he would say." Guiche took a moment to clear his throat and took a deep breath.

"Were my father here today he would undoubtedly speak louder than I. He would deride each and every one of you for your lollygagging and openly question when last any of you saw combat." Faces were turning red with outrage but he didn't give them the chance to interject. "I dare say that I have seen more fighting these past few months than many of you have in the past decade. As such, you have let your experiences, or lack thereof, blind you."

One portly mouth opened to provide a counterpoint only to be silenced by Guiche slamming a gauntleted fist down on the table. "Our enemy is irrelevant. It matters not who has attacked us at this point; we merely need know we are under attack. Stores must be set in, musters arranged for, militias organised! Yet you sit here arguing about who we ought to declare upon?"

As he spoke, part of him sincerely hoped he wasn't overstepping the mark here. By the looks of embarrassment upon many faces, though, it seemed like they hadn't yet gotten to such matters. That was… not good, but at least not immediately detrimental to him. "You may not be the finest military minds of our Kingdom, but I know for a fact that some of the greatest logisticians my father has ever worked with are sitting at this table. No matter whom is responsible there are things that must be done!"

There was a cavernous silence in the room. He was, of course, correct. However; there was much pride gathered in this room. The Queen stared at her military advisors but nobody seemed to be willing to take the first step. Until, that is, the Count de Mott stepped forward.

"If the good sirs can begin drafting the conscription plans and have Her Majesty approve them then I can begin deliveries within the hour?" Seeing a relatively senior noble act seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the others. General Tréville leaned forward.

"A central muster ought to do. Rapid response, that's the thing. Wide open space to run drills for the conscripts. Any ideas, Montbelliard‎?" The portly man he spoke to looked pensive now instead of outraged. Yet more people leaned over the map laid out on the table and idea it.

"Plains of Tarbes, perhaps? Can land the fleet nearby, load up the better quality troops and be ready to respond in all directions. Set out the Aerial Corps along the border for some early warning?" This came from Dampierre‎, and his contribution shortly got the ball rolling. As logistical concerns were quickly raised and just as quickly solved the Count began to take notes and dispatch missives. Guiche stood there in shock at what he'd just done. It didn't feel real.

Suddenly silence fell. The Queen had cleared her throat, and was eyeing Guiche with a strange look. There was a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn't sure where it came from.

"It seems to me…" She began almost innocuously, with a faint smile on her face. "That we remain short on senior staff. Perhaps we require a more… personable face. Someone our new conscripts can trust, no?" Confusion was writ large on the faces of the assembled men; followed quickly by consternation as they realised what she was getting at. A dainty hand raised itself and forestalled any complaints.

"Of course, you gentlemen would be remain in charge, as it were. I wouldn't dream of appointing anyone over the heads of my own high command. However… a Knight-Captain of one of our Orders can be considered of equal rank to a General, can he not?" The Queen looked to the assembled officers for confirmation which they reluctantly gave.

"It is an equivalent rank only, Your Majesty." Said Dampierre‎, tentatively. "Traditionally, the Chivalric Orders do not give orders to the Army…?" She nodded, still with a faint smile on her face. "Besides which, all of the Orders already have a Knight-Captain appointed to them as of two days ago, with the return of Viscount Wardes to his old position…" The Queen's expression of amusement didn't fade, however.

"I think you will find, Louis, that there is one as of yet unaccounted for." The old man flushed when Her Majesty used his given name, and frowned slightly. Then the Queen stood and Guiche automatically dropped to one knee.

"Guiche de Gramont… I hereby appoint you to the position of Knight-Captain of the Chivalric Order of the Undine. Henceforth you shall act pursuant to the rights and obligations of your station." Guiche trembled slightly, but didn't dare to raise his head. The Queen continued regardless. "Furthermore, I charge you to travel to the plains of Tarbes to meet with our conscripted forces as they muster. Your task shall be to ensure good order and high morale amongst the troops, as well as overseeing the organisation and training of our conscripts. Do you accept this duty?"

It was entirely symbolic. He understood that; as did all those assembled. Whatever theoretical authority this granted him existed only so long as he didn't try to exercise it and would end with the state of war. His sole purpose was to be the charismatic face of the Army; someone that the common person would respond to better than the dried up old men or chinless buffoons that filled the room. Even so…

"I accept, Your Majesty." He looked up to see the Queen smiling down at him. She nodded thoughtfully.

"Very good. Then rise, Sir Gramont. You have much to do yet."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Louise stared at Wardes where he knelt before her, hand outstretched. Daintily; she reached out and took the thing. It sparkled under the light in a way that made her chest ache. All of this felt… so wrong. And yet…

"Louise… please. We are to go to war soon. With all that has happened… both our lines may end with us. Can we not seek some measure of happiness? Of continuity?" She looked into his earnest face, staring up at her below, and could only think of the ashen face of her father as he listened to the doctors. Could only think of the blank face of her sister, and the writhing of her mother in her bed. Louise swallowed hard.

"... very well, Jean-Jacques. I will marry you."

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Preparations were underway. Everything seemed to be happening so fast… Louise wasn't sure how this had come about. Jean-Jacques had answered her every little concern directly. They would use the main hall of the Vallière estate for the ceremony so that Cattelya could attend; her sister wasn't nearly well enough to travel but could easily make it into the hall at least. Louise had suggested bringing her mother down but some discussion with her father had ended that line of thought.

From there she'd expressed to him the desire to have at least some of her friends present. Not that she had all that many. In the end she'd simply invited a handful of her fellow initiates; the ones she was closer to. Guiche had apparently been promoted to Knight-Captain, as if things couldn't get any more surreal, and would be unable to attend.

So her maids of honour were Siesta, Kirche and Tabitha; the former was practically Saito's sister, and the latter two were somewhat of a package deal. The Germanian girl had seemed in high spirits by the time she arrived at the estate; like as not she'd gotten her dismay and shock out of her system earlier.

A number of carts had arrived with various attendants who'd immediately set out to decorate the hall with the help of the Vallière's servants; under the watchful eye of their stern head maid. Wardes had also, it seemed, requested a small detachment of Knights to serve as the honour guard for the ceremony.

It was all very beautiful. There was, as it turned out, a dress already prepared. A dressmaker was called in to help adjust it to fit; apparently it had been with an older Louise in mind. She'd cried a little when her father showed her to it.

"I know it may seem a little pain, my darling child, but it was… well, it was hers, you know. With Cattelya's illness and Éléonore... " He trailed off and shrugged with a wry smile. Yes, Louise could understand that. It was quite plain. Simple white fabric with delicate embroidery. She could just imagine her mother in it.

"... thank you, father. I love it." They'd hugged then, and it had lasted for some time. That excursion was the longest stretch of time he'd spent away from his wife's side in nearly a week. He didn't go back afterwards; perhaps for fear he might not be able to leave again. Instead he promised Louise that he'd tidy up properly for her big day.

Then, quite suddenly, it was upon them. She was sitting in her room with Kirche and Siesta carefully pinning up her hair. There was a tremble that she couldn't shake. Something about this all felt like… like… she couldn't explain it concisely, even to herself. It was like she could feel something looming in the distance that she couldn't quite grasp.

"Are you sure about this, Zero?" Kirche nudged her from behind, staring at Louise's reflection with deep concern in her gaze. Perhaps more. The pink-haired girl closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Thinking about that would do her no good.

"He is a good man, Zerbst. This has been my destiny for a long time. Now we stand on the brink of open war, and both of us may well end up fighting. I'd rather not die with…" She let the last word die on her lips. Behind her the larger girl shifted uncomfortably. Yet, she didn't say anything. Louise didn't open her eyes until she was sure that she could stomach whatever expression Kirche had on her.

It was, as it turned out, a smile. Perhaps a little weak, even a trifle forced, but a smile nonetheless. When Louise smiled in return they were a matching pair. Siesta was very pointedly looking away from both of them and had turned bright red. Poor girl was probably very confused right now.

Then, just like that, she was at the altar. There was music playing and the room was… not full, exactly, but at least occupied. Her family, such as was able, were sitting on chairs along with the servants. They were family too, in their own way; she'd grown up amongst most of those faces. Eight Knights in burnished surcoats drew their swords with steely rasps as the far doors opened.

There he was. Her fiancé. She'd dreamed about this day when she was a much younger girl and had no comprehension of what it meant to be engaged. In her dreams he'd always looked this way. Jean-Jacques wasn't wearing the hat but he had the rest of the outfit on; blue cape and brilliantly silver breastplate, a gift from Guiche's familiar, complementing his distinguished grey hair and elegantly manicured beard.

She could feel her heart skip a beat; as if she was a little girl again. And yet… even as he walked down the aisle with a beatific expression she felt off. Louise glanced to the side where Saito stood; they'd got him into most of a suit but he adamantly refused to give up the red cloak. If she'd ordered him perhaps he might have but for some reason she hadn't. Wardes had asked the commoner to serve as his best man; a terrible breach of propriety that had nevertheless been touching in its way.

He was smiling too. It was bizarre; the expression didn't suit him at all. Saito looked far better, she thought, when he was looking serious, or concerned. She felt a phantom warmth against her back and flushed beneath the veil. Why would she think of that at a time lke this?

Wardes alighted the steps before the altar and came to a halt beside her. The workmen had done a marvellous job assembling the little stage here, and with everything else besides. As the Priest invoked the blessings of the Founder and the five powers she almost felt like maybe, just maybe, this might work out.

"I, Viscount Jean-Jacques de Wardes do solemnly vow to take Louise de la Vallière as my lawfully wedded wife." He looked down at her as he spoke and looked just so… happy. It made her chest hurt. "For all of my days shall I watch over her, guide her, and shield her from all pain and sorrow in this life. By the Founder, this I swear." Now it was his turn.

They were all looking at her. Kirche and Siesta to her right. Saito to her left. Her father and Cattelya; the latter leaning against the former for support and both smiling up at her. Almost everyone here was so happy to see this come about. Especially him. Especially Wardes. Louise felt dizzy. She felt ill. She felt…

… unhappy.

"I… I…" Her voice nearly cracked as she tried to speak. She had to take a moment to still her heart and steel her nerves before continuing. "Jean-Jacques… no… Viscount Wardes." He still looked down at her but his expression had solidified somewhat. "You're... kind, and noble, and you've done so much for me." Louise reached out and took his hands in hers, grasping them tightly.

He didn't squeeze back. His hands were practically limp in her grip. "Even so… even here and now, after all this, I just don't… I mean… that is to say… I…" She sighed and turned away, releasing him. Wardes' arms fell limply to his sides.

"You will not marry me." His voice was soft, and it wasn't a question. She glanced back and he had a sort of smile on his face. It was the kind of smile she'd seen plenty of times before; worn by someone good-natured who suddenly found themselves the butt of a nasty joke. Slowly, Louise shook her head. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Yet, to her surprise, Wardes just laughed. It was a quiet, regretful chuckle. "I see… I just couldn't see it through to the end, could I?" One hand raised up and stroked her cheek. Softly, tenderly. Then it pulled away. "I understand, Louise. You're an honest girl, and you can't lie to yourself. It really is too bad." He laughed again and looked to the ceiling. She felt a hot flush coming on; wrought of shame and sorrow both.

"It really is too bad."

Wardes turned around and drew his sword-wand in a single smooth motion; unleashing a bolt of lightning that struck Saito directly in the shoulder, mid-dodge, and sent the young man spinning backwards into the wall.

Someone screamed as, all around them, chaos broke loose.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

An unlikely trio sat on a hillside overlooking a wide field filled with tents and soldiers. Young men were getting outfitted from wagons full of weapons and basic armour, then being divided up into groups for training. A number of veteran soldiers had been seconded from the Capitol in order to oversee the organisation of the muster.

The youngest of the three sighed deeply and resumed her task; carefully buffing a rather fine shield until it shined. Beside her a squat man with thick beard hair stroked at his matted red locks. Both of them were watching a figure in a blue cape and hat strolling amongst the troops below. They all seemed somewhat in awe of him.

"... I do worry greatly about him, Kenneth. He hasn't spoken at all of what happened since…" Montmorency sighed again and scraped rather more vigorously at a spot of grime on the surface of the shield. She'd volunteered to join the camp as part of her apprenticeship to a more senior healer. Under her ministrations Derflinger sighed happily but was otherwise not his usual lewd self. It was understandable; he was, for all of his misbehaviour, rather fond of Guiche.

"It's all beyond me, girl." The animate shield spoke in a tone that sounded like it would be shrugging if it had shoulders. "I've had a lot of partners over the years. Lost a lot of 'em, too. Doesn't seem to hit me as hard as it does you lot." Even so, a certain melancholy seemed to have overcome him. Beside them Kenneth remained silent. He was leaned up against his tomb marker, pressed deep into the earth as it was, and idly turning a stone bead around in his hands.

"Ah'm not so sure what t'do here, lass." Finally he spoke, after much deliberation. Down on the plain Guiche had stepped on top of a box of supplies and was giving an impassioned speech to the assembled conscripts. The dwarf frowned as he saw the men cheering. "He's hurtin' bad, an' that'll lead 'im down a bad way. Ah'm worried that some o' these folks might die afore he can snap out of it…"

That was really the issue. Guiche de Gramont had been charismatic from the start; it had been what had made Kenneth want to help him. The boy had noble goals at the start but now, in this position, he felt… dangerous. Of course, he couldn't actually give orders to the soldiers. That much filled Kenneth with a sense of relief. But even so…

Another cheer resounded as Guiche struck a pose with his sword pointed into the distance. A cheer that quite suddenly died without any warning. The dwarf looked up and his face fell moments later. He hauled himself to his feet and yanked his tablet from its resting place. Montmorency gasped quietly.

"Oh no…" The girl covered her mouth with her hands as she watched the fleet of airships descending from the clouds in the distance. There were dozens of them. All around the fleet green lights dropped from the sky and began to streak ahead of the main group. Kenneth cursed in every tongue he could manage, and then some.

"Girl!" His sudden burst of coherency startled Montmorency, but not nearly as much as him grabbing her and hauling her to her feet. "Evacuate the town! Flee directly away from the ships! Every civilian left behind is just another enemy!" She tried to ask what he meant but the dwarf pushed her in the direction of the village. "Go, now!" He roared the last line as he snatched up the fallen shield, ignoring its complaints and demands for explanations.

Kenneth launched himself off the hill with a sudden burst of earth beneath his feet and hit the ground mere paces away from his charge. A slam of a foot caused the ground to buckle once more and forced him to rise into the air. Even as the various officers were trying to restore order and organise a resistance all eyes were suddenly on him.

"Listen up! Forget the ships, 'cause like as not we willnae survive to deal with whatever may be on 'em. Those are our enemy!" He pointed towards the green lights heading towards them and those assembled could see his hand trembling. "If ah'm right, and ye'd best pray ah'm not, then all Hell 's about t'break loose. If any of ye survive then ah'll gladly call ye my brothers after this. Now listen good!"

Any question of leadership or chain of command had long since died; all present listened fervently to Kenneth as he outlined their only hope of living through the day.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

He'd called them 'Wights'. They were animated by a magic from his world that melded the element of Fire with something corrupt and tainted. The result was referred to as 'Banefire'; Kenneth had said that it burned both soul and flesh as one. Their only hope for victory would be to bring down the flying creatures before they reached them and then destroy their bodies from a distance with magic.

Fire would be more or less useless so that negated a full quarter of their mage support then and there. Anyone with Earth capabilities, including him and his familiar, had been set to build walls and ramps. One of the more solid sergeants had called for anyone who could use a bow, anyone at all, and set about arming them.

The remaining soldiers were getting anything that could hold any amount of water and all of the remaining mages were setting about filling it. They might well drain the town's well for this but it might prove vital to their fight. Guiche had never seen Kenneth afraid before. A runner had been sent with three horses; he'd ride at a gallop and swap as soon as the one he was on got too tired. It might well kill two of the animals for only a slight increase in speed but his familiar had seemed to think it was worth it.

Guiche was afraid too. He did his best not to show it as he moved earth around and called out encouragement to the men. Currently his best effort seemed to be extolling the virtues of his familiar at length; whether or not the conscripts believed him was immaterial to the fact that they visibly relaxed under the constant barrage of praise for the dwarf. Perhaps it was because they couldn't tell how upset their supposed savior was.

In a way they'd been saved by the weather. If it had been more cloudy the airships could well have gotten closer to them before having to emerge. The Wights as well seemed slower than living dragons; else they'd have been upon them by now. As it was they were growing rapidly larger, yes, but they'd had a good fifteen minutes of frantic preparation thus far and might still have some time yet.

If nothing else, at least Montmorency would be safe. Kenneth had sent her to the town first thing to evacuate the villagers and Guiche was very grateful for that. He'd found himself wishing that she hadn't followed him out here; then she wouldn't be in danger now.

"They're nearly here, Kenneth." The young noble had paused to finally strap his shield on; he felt a little bad about that. As of late he'd been somewhat neglecting what really ought to be one of his greatest assets.

"Aye. Listen, lad… ah dinnae know if Derflinger can protect ye here. Don't engage unless ye have to… understand?" On his arm the animate shield huffed loudly… but didn't disagree. If that fire worked like Kenneth said then magical or not it might well pose a risk to whatever it was that empowered him. That was a sobering thought.

"... hm? Eh, partner; someone's calling for ya." Guiche looked up and saw two soldiers at the edge of the freshly-built fortifications holding a frantically shouting man at bay. They seemed to be trying to talk to him but he just kept shouting past them and paying them no mind at all. The cries just barely reached them.

"...rd Gramo…" It seemed that Derf was correct. Guiche stood and did his best to stride as majestically as possible but with a faint awareness that perhaps it wasn't the best time for theatrics. The man didn't get much calmer as he approached. "I'm telling you, I must speak with Lord Gramont at once! I can help, I swear it!"[/i]

"Look, all the villagers have been told to evacuate. We appreciate you want to help us but there's nothing you can do." The soldier holding the man's left arm was trying his best to push the fellow back but without much success. Even with two of them they were barely checking his progress; surprising, given he was actually noticeably shorter than them.

"That's enough, men." They let go and the peasant stumbled forward; collapsing on to his knees. Guiche knelt and offered him a hand. "I am Guiche de Gramont, good sir. And the men are right… you really ought to be evacu-" After hearing his name the man looked up with an expression of utter relief. Moments later he grasped at Guiche's arm and hauled himself upright, but didn't let go.

"No, you must listen. I am Jeima of Tarbes, Siesta is my daughter! She told me you are a truly noble soul, your honour, and so I have come to you now!" Guiche sighed. While he was touched by this display of loyalty it really wasn't the time for it. "Sir, please! I break a vow most solemn and ancient to tell you thi-" That was enough. He pulled the man's arm free and stared him down.

"Sir, we are about to be engaged in a battle for our very lives and your being here will only endanger us! You, you and you! Help these two and get him away from here!" The five men all grabbed at the smaller Jeima and together they finally managed to start dragging him away. Even then he still tried to call out.

"No! Sir, please! Lord Gramont! My grandfather was not of this world! There is something he left behind that may help!" That brought Guiche up cold. He spun on his heel and sprinted over to the five; bodily pulling them away from the little man.

"You will explain at once. What do you mean not of this world?" There was a spark lit in Guiche's heart. His mother's sword had been made by Kenneth's wife and fallen through from that world into this one. Who knew what else might have come the same way? For the first time hope was filling him.

"I know little more, my lord, save this; even in his dotage my grandfather was hale and hearty. He only passed at last when fighting a wandering beast to protect my mother. Father told me that he'd sealed away many things that he'd brought with him to this world, things of unimaginable power!" That spark had just become a raging inferno, buoying Guiche up once more.

"He told me that someone would come for them one day, and that we should only give them unto that person. There was a… a passphrase, you see, and more besides… but I fear that if we do not go now then my family's legacy may well die with the village. I would have done it myself, sir, but you need magic to open the way... " And that settled it. Guiche drew himself up and looked to Kenneth, who nodded at him. Then he turned back to the soldiers and struck his most heroic smile.

"You five, follow me. I have reason to believe what this man says may well be our salvation. Kenneth…" He saluted his familiar, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Please be here when I return. That is all I ask." The dwarf returned the gesture, and then suddenly lunged forward to hug Guiche around the waist.

"Ah'm not th' sort to make promises ah can't keep, lad. Off with ye. If this is what ah think it is then ye'll definitely save us." Kenneth broke off and then turned at once to leave. Guiche mirrored him; marching smartly away so quickly that Jeima had to break into a jog to catch up. Behind him he could hear Kenneth beginning to bark out orders.

A minute later they just crossed through the village and were heading towards an abandoned well in an outer field when the screaming began far behind them. Jeima said nothing, but silently redoubled his pace.

Guiche followed behind, and didn't look back.

 

[vyor]

Shit be fucked yo!

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Saito had crumpled into a heap against the wall and was unmoving. Her father had frozen mid-rise when the watching workmen around the sides had pulled crossbows out from beneath flower wreaths and behind wall-hangings. Had this been Wardes' plan from the very beginning?

The Knights that had come with him had turned their swords toward the few guests and seemed ready to attack if need be. Wardes had grabbed her arm, holding it tightly, and pointed his sword-wand at her maids; Kirche had also frozen with wand already in hand. Where had she been hiding it? Louise didn't understand why her mind was grasping at tiny things like that, instead of...

"Jean-Jacques… you…" Her chest ached. Why? Why? He was a traitor? She didn't understand it. And yet… He wouldn't look at her; just pointing his weapon at the girls still. It had become a stalemate in a matter of moments; her father was at least skilled enough to take this many men but not with his ill daughter right beside him. She didn't have a wand on her; it was supposed to be her wedding day!

"You'll never get away with this, Viscount!" Kirche's cry would have seemed more melodramatic if it weren't for the note of fear in her voice. Wardes didn't respond to her; he merely yanked Louise closer and caught her by the waist. Ordinarily the thing to do would be to struggle and beat her fists against him, most likely to no avail, but she was painfully aware of the weapons aimed at her sister. "We've two more mages than you, and there's no way you'll hurt Louise!"

"Shut up." The tip of his sword-wand pointed to her and his grip on Louise tightened. "Stay where you are, and nobody else needs to get hurt, Germanian. My wife and I are leaving." The words stung far more than they should have as he took a step towards the hall's rear door. Without even thinking about it she began to pull against him until he squeezed again. "Don't struggle, Louise; think of your family. All of them."

The way he spoke brought her up cold. There was her father and sister in here, but… she met her father's gaze and his expression had turned both dark and fearful. "That's right. I've a man with your wife, Duke. Any undue commotion and he'll slit her throat. So you just wait quietly and we'll be on our way." He continued to haul her towards the door; she didn't actively resist but nor was she willing to walk along with him just like that.

Something felt wrong. Her eyes flickered to the wall and traced a shape that she felt should be there. Yet… something was… her head felt almost fuzzy and yet her mind was still perfectly clear. More like something just at the edge of recollection…

"Forgetting someone?" Saito stood between them and the door. Two of the men had aimed at him instead of her father; she saw him shift subtly to place himself between Cattleya and the remainder when he noticed the potential opening. Wardes had gone very stiff behind her and his sword-wand waved erratically between her maids and familiar.

"Don't you care about the Duchess' life?" Even if the young man looked in a bad way, his clothing scorched and what skin she could see blackened by the lightning impact, he was still standing in their way. That was clearly making Jean-Jacques uneasy. Saito shook his head slowly; not taking his eyes off them.

"I serve Louise. She is my sole concern. Release her." His expression twisted into a hateful snarl and for a moment Louise thought she saw his teeth coming to a point. "Now." There was a moment when something horrifying washed over her; an instant of fear that shot straight into the darkest reaches of her mind and left her with a brutal certainty that she was about to die. This feeling seemed to be indiscriminate as Wardes tensed up and a number of people gasped in horror.

Louise was in the perfect position to see Saito's eyes widen as a 'twang' sounded behind her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

The soldiers were afraid. There wasn't much of a way to alleviate their fear; the sheer level of preparations were enough to terrify anyone. There were more than a dozen heavy barrels full of water spread throughout the fortifications and more, smaller, vessels besides those. Water Mages were standing by but Kenneth felt they didn't have enough of those.

He'd said all he could at this point. They'd have to shoot for the wings; even if they were magically flying undead monstrosities they still needed those to some degree. Then things became really difficult. With what time they'd had he had attempted to impart some basic strategies to dealing with Wights but he wasn't sure how well it would take. All that remained now was to see it through.

The first one came streaking low, green fire bubbling out of its maw and trailing from its eye sockets, and opened wide to let loose a gout of unholy flames. With ease borne of practice the Mages assigned to the barrels pulled up a sheet of water to catch it mid-ar; with striking results. When the green blaze met the liquid it exploded in a horrific imitation of a suddenly-doused grease fire.

Simultaneously, dozens of men loosed arrows at the creature. Many of these were destroyed by the conflagration but some made it through. Those that hit scales either deflected neatly or penetrated shallowly; the creature was not inconvenienced by either. Just as it was about to peel off for another run a spike of stone slammed into its chest from the front; launched by the only Triangle Earth Mage they had.

"GET BACK!" Kenneth's roar carried over the ragged cheer that went up as the thing's momentum was checked by the shot; it spun out of the air and dug a deep rent in the ground as it crashed. The thing pulled itself upwards and then, suddenly, the surface bulged outwards. There was a moment when green light shone from between all of its scales and then…

The blast radiated outwards and caught a good dozen men in it. Kenneth reacted as best he could; one, still screaming, got a crossbow bolt in the back of the head. Another dropped into the earth as he stomped on it and willed the ground to crush the body into a fine red paste before the flames could take hold. Then one of the screaming men suddenly stopped. They stood and turned to stare at Kenneth with fire pouring out of their eyes.

He didn't curse. Around the man more of those caught in the explosion rose. Above them there were further detonations as the Dragonwights flew overhead and breathed flames towards the mass of soldiers. There was screaming to one side where a blast got through. Kenneth didn't look away. His crossbow clicked onto the hook at his waist and the haft of his axe fell smoothly into his grip as he advanced towards the freshly-made Wights.

One charged him; he sidestepped and kicked out to knock it off balance then swung; bisecting the thing left shoulder to right. His hand wrenched upwards and clenched just in time to cause the ground to rise up and swallow the two halves before there was a dull 'thud' of the remains exploding. There was no respite; two more charged him with burning hands outstretched.

One was slammed backwards as he swung his slab off his back, smashing it into the Wight in the process, and grasped the iron rings along the back. Despite its significance to him it definitely wasn't the first and, given it was a very convenient shield, wouldn't be the last. The meaning was in the names on the stone and he knew all of those by heart.

The second one leapt for him as the fire burning under skin grew suddenly brighter. Kenneth slammed his foot, and shield, down at the same time; causing the earth to sink in a small semicircle around him; exactly the width of his slab where it had been pressed into the ground. Green flame streamed around the edges of his makeshift shield as the thing detonated itself in an attempt to bring him down. He'd expected that much.

What he hadn't expected was a toothy maw to snap down on either side of the slab right as the inferno abated and yank it out of his hand. Kenneth saw it sail away into the middle distance, probably to land on some unfortunate soldier, as the Dragonwight turned its head back to him.

It lunged, Banefire licking between its teeth, and Kenneth punched out. His fist met it on the lower jaw and knocked the head away; he could feel the unholy fires scorch the ground behind him. They weren't hot, as such; but it was an unmistakeable sensation. The dwarf vaulted out of his hole and circled around. There was a flash of metal as he removed one of its hind limbs on the way past.

In response the draconic beast spun in the opposite direction; he ducked a swinging tail and then dropped all the way down to his back and kicked out as a tingle through his toes warned him of the leaping Wight behind him. His feet caught it in the chest as it fell and launched it skywards where it exploded into a ball of green fire. Kenneth slammed his elbows down and shoved himself to his feet only to be faced with a mouth full of teeth coming straight for him.

His axe flashed out even as it went to close its teeth; the blade passing smoothly through the skull and flesh with a faint hiss. The edge glowed green for a moment before the metal rejected the unholy fire. Kenneth took a moment to calm his wild heartbeat and survey the surroundings.

The situation wasn't great. As per his instructions the Earth Mages were burying Wights beneath torrents of dirt; but the things were working on clawing their way out already. Meanwhile the Water Mages were trying to protect against the remaining dragons. When water met Banefire it was like trying to put out an oil fire… but at least it prevented the flames from landing.

He began to move in the direction his slab had been flung; it would still be valuable if it hadn't cracked. Skill at arms alone wasn't nearly enough to survive an encounter like this. He unslung his crossbow and cocked it as he jogged; eyeing the combat. They must have lost a quarter of their men already.

Ahead there were a group of three Wights assaulting two spearmen; they were doing their best to repel the dead, but it was hard to hold off a creature that didn't care about injuries. Green fire surged out of the hands of one and it grasped at the wooden shaft of the weapon impaled in its stomach. In moments the wood had rotted down the haft; blackened bits collapsing as the Wight launched itself forward and embraced the soldier.

It let go a moment later as the body slumped in its grip, then turned its head to face Kenneth. He lowered his crossbow and then clicked it back onto the hook at his belt. The shot had taken the young man right in the eye and gone into his brain; quick and painless death. They could only make more Wights if the fire killed its victim directly.

"C'mon, ye bastards!" The three started walking his way slowly; two splitting off and moving left and right. They left the second soldier behind and he scrambled away in terror. Kenneth didn't blame him. These men may well have been friends or comrades… seeing the green fire burning out of their eyes would unnerve one even if that wasn't the case.

All three charged at once. He dashed for one and swung down; neatly bisecting them skull to midriff and kicking them in the stomach to launch the body back before it could detonate. The earth beneath him shifted to give him more leverage as he twisted himself to the side and kicked out; a spike of earth impaling the charging Wight through the neck.

The last one leapt for him as he brought his axe around the other way. Its left hand shot towards his axe and even though it cleaved straight through flesh and bone the impact deflected it just slightly. Kenneth swung with his own left as the flaming right hand reached for his face only for it to jerk downwards and suddenly grasp his fist.

In front of him the Wight's eyes exploded into brightness as green fires surged down its arm and covered Kenneth's hand.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Saito was faced with a choice. He had merely an instant to decide which way he was going to launch himself. Even as he tensed his muscles and leaned forward his eyes locked with Louise's and he could see the slowly dawning horror as what was happening began to reach her. Inwardly he cursed himself and his softness.

Outwardly he pushed off the ground with all of his might and exploded across the room. Around him the stalemate devolved into madness. One of the men had reacted to his threat in the worst possible way; firing their crossbow. The Duke was paralysed with indecision and wouldn't react in time. To his right the Zerbst girl began to swing her arm with the words of a spell on her lips. As he passed Wardes the man was slowly lifting his implement in turn.

He sailed through the air, hand reaching out, as the distance between him and the flying bolt decreased far more rapidly, and yet also far more slowly, than he wanted. It was nearing level with his path now and he was just passing the halfway mark. His arm stretched to its maximum length as he reached for the power burned into his skin. It wouldn't arrive in time; his hesitation had cost him that.

Less than a metre away from the Duke and Louise's sister his fingertips made contact with the fletching on the bolt as it passed in front of him. Its course deviated only a few thumb-widths at most; flying otherwise straight and true right into the ill girl's chest. Saito's dive carried him forward into a roll that brought him up within arm's reach of one of the armoured soldiers; a hand shot out and he struck the man on the chest with an open palm. The armour crunched as it dented inwards and the occupant was flung backwards.

Wardes cried out a name as he turned and as his rotation completed he saw Tabitha move. A blade of ice formed on the wand that slid out of her cuff as soon as it met her hand and she jabbed it through Kirche's side before twisting and releasing the spell. Frost exploded upwards and coated the girl's arm as she coughed blood with a look of utmost shock. The traitor swung his wand at the wall and released a cone of fire and rushing air that blasted a hole in the wall.

Even as he broke into a sprint the Duke clutched his collapsing daughter behind him. Wardes hauled Louise off her feet and over his shoulder as he began to run for the hole in the wall. A spray of frigid air was flung at him by Tabitha while she moved to intercept; playing interference for her handler. In response his left arm glowed red and fire burst forth from his palm; half the light of his tattoo disappeared in the blink of an eye as he negated the icy wind only to drop to the ground a moment later so he could avoid the hail of stones that came in their wake.

Wardes was ten steps from the hole in the wall and casting another spell as he ran. Louise beat her fists against his back in vain and was crying out. Formless anger buoyed him up as he slammed his palms down and forced himself upright in an instant. A powerful kick caught the flagstones and launched them in a spray of rock at his fellow assassin; but she'd already moved to the side and had flung the altar at him on a gust of wind.

He vaulted it and then kicked out in mid-air; a solid surface forming beneath his sole for just long enough that he could go flying up and over Tabitha. Her next shot, a thin icy spear, caught him in the thigh as he hurtled towards the fleeing groom. Wardes completed his spell mere instants before contact and his figure stretched out rapidly as the acceleration magic took effect. For the merest fraction of a second Saito closed his eyes.

Louise was outside. Wardes had her, and was capable of flight. His griffon would be nearby. The primary goal had already succeeded; in the time it took him to grab a weapon and use the enhanced speed to catch up with them the traitor would have escaped. Secondary goal would be neutralisation of the Duke and himself; as well as Tabitha's escape.

Jeirazh opened his eyes. They glowed as he turned his head and surveyed the room. Two wounded, Kirche and Cattleya, with one otherwise incapacitated, the Duke. Five armoured hostiles, twelve unarmoured with crossbows, one already fired. He exhaled heavily and then breathed in deeply as the eleven still armed with loaded weapons readjusted their aim.

The nearest one didn't have time to react before he shattered their arm at the elbow and tore the weapon from them. As soon as his hands closed around the trigger he disappeared from view. Blood exploded from the men around the perimeter of the room one by one within the space of a few seconds; the last three managed to pull the trigger only for their bolts to be yanked out of the air as soon as they'd left the crossbow. He'd jammed them into their eye sockets.

From his perspective, Jeirazh moved calmly towards the first of five Knights; at a run, of course, but without the incredible franticness that had accentuated his earlier movements. Behind him, Tabitha was putting together her next spell. He ignored her. His hand slammed into the first man's helm and he immediately began to apply pressure; only stopping to fling the dead body sideways as soon as his fingers met each other again.

Four of the five still standing died the same way; blood exploding from their helmets as they suddenly became a third of the size followed by their corpses being promptly tossed aside. The only survivor amongst the honour guard, the very first Knight who was struggling to breathe through cracked ribs and a crushed armour plate, got to watch a hand emerge from the back of his last remaining compatriot; one clutching something small and red that it unceremoniously crushed.

Jeirazh pulled his arm from the chest of the last standing Knight and then turned to face Tabitha. She'd frozen in place, wand in hand, and was staring at him as he stood there; blood dripping from his fingertips and loaded crossbow lazily held in his off hand. Up until he'd put his hands on the weapon he knew that she'd been able to follow and react to his movements. Now, though… he'd killed sixteen men in the last two, maybe three, seconds. The lone man who'd discharged his weapon already and the one he'd first struck were still the only two left alive.

"One word, Charlotte. It's all I'm giving you." He began to walk towards her as all killing intent flowed out of him. A smile appeared on his face as he approached her while radiating an aura of total peace and openness. She tensed and relaxed and tensed again as the paradox that he displayed took her already taut nerves and messily tore them asunder. There was no malice in his steps, no intent to hurt her in his eyes, nothing but holes in the way he held his body and yet… in her heart, she could feel her death approaching.

An arm's length away he stopped and reached out for her while she trembled in place. There had been a spell prepared but her wand had fallen from her fingers at some point. Jeirazh reached for her; still smiling beatifically as his fingers gently grasped at her neck. The words she might have said were all frozen in her throat. Finally, she forced one out.

"... family." He didn't freeze. It wasn't shock, or even surprise. The calmness merely flowed out of him to be replaced by an endless, towering fury. His grip tightened on her neck but she wasn't choking yet. They locked gazes for what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than a few seconds. Then Jeirazh sighed.

"My debt is paid." His fist sank into the flesh of her stomach and she doubled over; all air escaping her lungs. A moment later the edge of his palm met the back of her head and she collapsed into a boneless heap on the floor. He took a few seconds to breathe deeply; closing his eyes once more.

When Saito them again the glow had ceased; both from his iris and skin. He moved over to Kirche and checked her for a pulse; it was still there. The Duke had recovered admirably from the fountains of blood forming around him and was already applying first aid to Cattleya. If he hadn't gone for the bolt then it would have certainly penetrated his heart. Even so, he already regretted his choice.

It was too late for that. He'd become Saito de la Vallière for various reasons; ranging from the selfish to the pragmatic. In spite of all of that, however, he'd still sworn to protect Louise. But he'd lost his edge. Sentiment and foolishness had clouded his judgement. He should have killed Tabitha as soon as he uncovered her identity. He should have slit Wardes' throat in his sleep as soon as he'd discovered the man's split loyalties.

But he hadn't. For personal reasons. For stupid reasons. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake twice. Tabitha would go to the Queen's dungeons, and Wardes would die without ever seeing his face again. He would follow them, he would find her and if anyone, or anything, dared to stand in his way…

He turned on his heel and strode towards the last enemy standing. The man had stains running down his legs and tears in his eyes; as Saito approached the unloaded crossbow dropped from his hands and he began to try and stammer something inconsequential. A moment later he was lifted bodily off the ground by the front of his shirt and slammed against the wall.

"Tell me everything you know right now and I'll kill you instantly. But if I so much as suspect dishonesty from you I'll make sure you take a whole minute to die." The man quivered in terror as Saito held him against the stone. "And if you think that doesn't sound too bad then clearly you weren't paying attention."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Wardes leapt into the air as soon as he'd gotten outside, a levitation spell carrying him upwards as he whistled for his steed. It had shot past them mere seconds later and he'd caught the saddle with one hand as it did so; the sudden acceleration had threatened to make Louise throw up. Now she laid across his saddle as he trussed her up as best he could with strips torn from her dress.

She still struggled, but there wasn't much force to it. Soon he had her bound fully and, after a particularly vigorous set of curses she'd acquired secondhand from Kenneth by the medium of Zerbst he finally decided to gag her as well. All she could do then was fume in silence.

Her hands were currently bound behind her but she knew that wouldn't last. As unpleasant a situation as this seemed Louise knew she had one major advantage that Wardes didn't know about. Even she hadn't known about it until he'd dumped her across his saddle. Yet, even as they flew further and further from safety and her family, she praised her wonderful, horribly paranoid familiar.

The ride wouldn't be especially pleasant with the sheath of the concealed dagger he'd somehow secreted in the front of her dress poking into her stomach… but Louise would endure until the bitter end.

 

[vyor]

The best kind of party is a murder party cause a murder party don't stop.

Till those you hate are dead anyway. Then it gets to the cleanup and that's a chore. Better to just burn it all away~

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

The tunnel was dark and cold and horribly cramped. It had also been hidden in the town's well, of all things. There'd been an iron grating that Jeima had yanked off with surprisingly little difficulty and they'd had to climb down the chain to find the entrance; something Guiche had certainly not enjoyed but had managed to stop himself from complaining about given the urgency of the situation.

"And why, pray, could I not have simply opened a way through the ground to this path?" It felt like a pertinent question to ask while they slogged through the mud and grime coating the walls; tiny man with dim torch leading the way. But his guide had simply shot him a glance and spoken with a tone as chilling as any of Saito's.

"It would have been unwise."

And Guiche got no further explanation on the matter. He had decided he no longer wanted it. Their path was sloping downwards, curving slightly as it did, and the young nobleman found himself increasingly concerned with how far they were going. If this mysterious place was to help them then they had to reach it sooner rather than later. His impatience built and built until, at last, he could tolerate no more.

"I'm sorry, Jeima, but we don't have time!" He grabbed the smaller man, lifted him into the air, albeit with a surprising amount of effort, and flicked out his wand. A Valkyrie's front chest plate formed in front of them and he stepped on to it. Then he pointed behind them. "Hold on, my good man! This… is probably going to hurt. A lot."

Guiche stacked Water; tearing it out of the mildew and slime on the walls and ceiling. It swept them up as he dropped to his knees and held the commoner tightly to his chest. The growing wave picked them up and launched them down the tunnel at a breakneck pace.

It didn't take them long to spill out into a larger chamber and skid into the centre while rank water flooded in behind them. Jeima squirmed out of Guiche's grasp and began to cough while the noble allowed himself to collapse on to his back. That had not been one of his better ideas. In retrospect, he probably should have applied his Bronze Flesh spell.

"This…" Jeima finished hacking out a bit of truly disgusting liquid and wiped his face. "This is it. I've only been here once. You need magic of some kind to open the doorway." Which was… ah… Guiche frowned, looking around. As far as he could see the only door in this bizarre chamber was the entrance they'd come on through.

It was a rounded chamber with a dull orange light permeating it. For a moment he'd forgotten that their torch had been doused. Then he actually looked at the crystalline objects shining in the braziers around the room and his heart froze in his chest. They were Firestones.

"My father said that if you failed to open the lock on the first try they would explode." Although the little man's tone was conversational there was a note of fear to his voice. Guiche looked around a bit more and frowned. He still couldn't even see the door, let alone the lock. "You're standing on it, by the way."

He blinked and then looked down. There it was. Guiche had to stare at it for several seconds before he realised what he was seeing. Really, he should have noticed that the water was draining. Under their feet was a stone grate and beneath that a series of horizontal, interlocking stone rods. They had sections cut out of them and fine engravings all across them.

"... a puzzle lock. By the Founder, could this be any more of a waste of time?" He looked at the braziers, then at the grating. Guiche drew his mother's sword and stacked a lone Earth as he tapped the ground; frowning as he felt the feedback from his magic. He couldn't see how it fit together, although he could see where to start. All he'd need to do was slide that one, then that one, and then that one. It was easy. But why? How did it work?

Jeima stood there and watched helplessly as Guiche paced. The man had no more of an idea than he did. Something about this felt wrong. Every time he moved to start he stopped and tapped the grating again; magic flowing through the rock as he examined it. It was easy. The only thing it would do is take up his time. Why?

A long path to reach it… a simple but time-consuming puzzle lock… it seemed to fit, but he couldn't say why he was hesitating. Until he suddenly slapped himself about the head and walked over to the nearest brazier.

"Hey, Derf? Can you do something about this?" His shield rolled its… cleared its… well, it animated itself in an exasperated way as he held it up to the Firestone on the wall. Guiche felt a little bad for a moment given his tendency to ignore the shield for significant periods as of late.

"... yes. I can. Nice of you to remember me, partner." He patted the shield as it pouted for a moment and then sighed. "Well, you know you can rely on me. Let's do this." Guiche smiled faintly and pressed his shield to the gem. It flickered for a few moments before sputtering out. He channelled Fire for a moment and a wisp of reddish white gathered on the tip of his sword as he drained the remaining Firestones.

Then he stacked dual Earths and swung down on the stone grate; shattering it and tearing a hole through the puzzle lock directly into the chamber below. Jeima stared with undisguised shock and, shortly, revulsion.

"I think that was cheating…" He looked almost pouty, but Guiche just walked over to the hole he'd made. There were stairs underneath it. When he dropped down and held his light up he found that, as he had suspected, there was no evidence of moving parts. Another trick.

"Something dangerous hidden by something innocuous… then danger clearly presented with a straightforward path to safety. Setting up the expectation and then tearing it down." Guiche chuckled and looked up at Jeima. "The puzzle was the trap; brute force was the solution. My precautions were pointless, it seems. But if I'd tried to force my way into this chamber I suspect I'd have been taught to expect the opposite. Reminds me of a friend of mine!" He chuckled faintly in spite of himself, then shook his head. "Come along, good sir. We must hurry."

The small man dropped down after him and together they began to walk the damp steps into the darkness. As they did so Guiche couldn't help but frown. This was already taking too long, but he couldn't act incautiously. Even so, the desire to rush was palpable.

He just hoped that Kenneth was okay.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Green fire danced across Kenneth's gloved hand and down his arm. The leather turned black as it half-burnt, half-rotted away. If it were possible for a transgression against all that was good and righteous to look smug then the Wight was certainly attempting it. Something, however, seemed wrong. The flames had stopped at the elbow and seemed to have run out of anything else to burn.

Then a silver spike punched its way through the creature's palm. Ethereal light shone forth and took shape; coming into being as blue glass that flickered and shifted as if it were fire. Spikes of it burst out of the creature's arm and wherever it took form the sickly green flames sputtered out and died. In a moment all of the unholy energies were overtaken and the glass-like substance replaced it. Then it faded.

The spike retracted and the now empty corpse collapsed. Kenneth shook off the remnants of his glove and examined his left hand for a moment. He flexed it as best he could, silvery metal shining in the sunlight as gears whirred and joints clicked. Then he turned it so his palm faced him and eyed the aperture in the base of the metal. A metallic spike extended again; tiny runes glowing faintly blue.

"Hmf. Two, three… maybe four." It retracted again as he sighed and hefted his axe; starting to jog towards the next set of Wights. There were two more Ether Spikes contained inside his prosthetic and each would work for maybe ten shots each if he aligned them well and hit closer to the core of the magic. He'd probably need to burn half of one for each dragon; assuming the metal could pierce the scales.

Well, come what may he'd hold until the end... and save as many as he could.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

The Duke breathed a sigh of relief as the wound on Cattleya's chest finally closed. Her breathing was somewhat laboured but she would survive. If it hadn't been for the heroic leap of Louise's familiar… he shook his head to dispel the thought. As he did so a horrific memory suddenly dredged itself up and he leapt to his feet. Across the room Saito glanced up from where he appeared to be carefully melting the frost on the Zerbst's daughter's arm.

"He was bluffing." His voice cut across the room but barely managed to scratch the ice that had filled the Duke's vein. Saito didn't look up from his careful work as a pale blue light began to shine from his other hand. The water pouring off the ice spike was caught against his hand and began to gather into a sphere as he carefully melted and extracted it. "All of the men he brought are in this room."

Or what remained of them, at least. He couldn't help but glance over to where the last crossbowman was slumped on the floor. The contents of his skull had been spread across the wall above him; as soon as he'd got the answers he wanted Saito had crushed his skull in one hand like it was an overripe grape.

Karin had told him that the boy was a diligent and efficient servant with a reasonably useful skill set. Now it seemed he was a powerful and talented killer who, it so happened, had access to bizarre yet undeniably effective magic. It made his head swim. The young man had saved Cattleya, but at the cost of Louise being taken.

"I'm sorry, Duke. This was my fault." Golden light poured between the young man's fingertips and into the girl's wound. It sealed itself up again from the inside out; muscle and sinew reknitting into healthy flesh once more. "Sentiment. Foolishness. I've grown soft." As he said that he stood and strode through the bloody carnage that he'd left in his wake. The lone remaining soldier was still desperately trying to pry his dented breastplate off between laboured breaths.

"You… you knew?" Saito stood, walking over to the Duke and Cattelya. His eyes began to shine again as he looked at her with a frown. Then he crouched beside her. The Duke moved aside for a moment as the young man stretched forth his hand and poured out more golden light; it seemed to be flowing out from under his sleeve. What was he?

"In a manner of speaking. I knew that Wardes was part of a group plotting against the Crown of Tristain, but I had no interest in his plans." That… how long had he known this? Why hadn't he acted against them? "Since your family is descended from the royalty of this country I assumed he intended to use Louise to legitimise his movement. This was outside of my predictions." It took all the Duke had not to strike the young man; made easier by having to remind himself the boy was currently working on healing his daughter.

"That's treason you're talking about, boy. Why wouldn't you say something?" The outpour of golden light ended and Cattelya seemed to be breathing easier. As soon as Saito moved out of the way, remaining silent as he did, the Duke shifted back into place. He quickly made to check on the state of his daughter's injuries with diagnostic magic; only to find, to his shock, that the internal wounds were significantly reduced. It was to the point where she may as well have been jabbed with a knitting needle rather than shot with a crossbow bolt.

"I'll speak it plain, Duke, and only the once." He looked up into Saito's cold, determined expression as the young man placed a foot on the face of the final survivor. The situation made him want to speak out but that face sealed the words in his throat. "I do not care about this country." Beneath his foot the pitiful begging turned to cries of pain. "I do not care about its people." There was a faint cracking sound, and blood began to drip down the poor mercenary's face.

"And I do not care about your laws." There was a crunch as the pressure being exerted by the foot overcame the resistance of the skull beneath it. Both Duke and boy were silent as they regarded each other; one with disinterest, the other with growing concern. Then the young man's face softened. "However… I do care about Louise. And yet my sentiment spared Wardes because she cared for him. I allowed him to take her because I chose to save her sister. No more. I will get her back." Saito ground the remains of the soldier's skull beneath his boot. The Duke shuddered; less at that then at the young man's parting words.

"I have no mercy left for them."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

There had been more traps. Guiche had sent his Valkyries ahead after the first near-miss and hadn't regretted it. Whoever had built this disturbingly extensive structure had a truly incredible understanding of the human psyche. Every time he allowed himself to suspect that they had triggered the last trap his Valkyries tripped another one.

Each and every one was precise and deadly. Mostly consisting of pointed stone pillars dropping from the ceiling in such a way that it would instantly kill whoever trod on the trapped step. Followed by a portion of the stairs around the trigger collapsing into a pit. How many years had this taken? It was clear there was an immense degree of paranoia and effort poured into this…

The only word he could use was 'Temple'. His wand-light illuminated painstakingly carved murals on the walls that made him feel uncomfortable. Jeima kept a respectable distance from them and Guiche alike; this entire place seemed to fill him with an awe that bordered on reverence.

At last, after what seemed like hours but had likely been mere minutes, they came out into another open space. Even with magic this must have taken years of painstaking work to complete. In contrast to what they'd had thus far the final chamber was rather simple. There was a carved bier in the middle of the room with what looked remarkably like a stone coffin laid atop it.

"Is this it?" Jeima nodded and stepped forward, clearing his throat. When he spoke it was with an exotic tone and a bizarre intonation as he formed words in no language that Guiche could recognise. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow as he spoke with increasing nervousness. Seeing as the little man seemed to know what he was doing Guiche allowed him to continue.

"That should be enou-" The darkness moved. It poured like ink into the circle of light as it formed blades and tendrils and mouths and Guiche very nearly soiled his britches as it flung itself across the room at him. Derf cried out and the shadow blades passed through his dwarven mail like it was no more than paper.

He barely managed to cut through the razor sharp limb before it reached something significant; the smoky substance immediately dissolving as the thing briefly recoiled. To Guiche's abject surprise it formed a vaguely humanoid shape just outside the circle of light that he was still casting and even without eyes he could feel the raw hate that it was directing at him.

"How easily our pact is broken, son of my son. How easily is family betrayed! It leapt at Jeima this time and Guiche had to exert himself to the full in order to interpose himself at time. To his immense relief Derf was able to block the spear of shadow that became the entity's arm as it reached out for what he could only imagine was the tiny, quivering man's throat. Jeima tried to babble something in his foreign tongue but the monster didn't seem to hear him. That, or it just wasn't interested in listening.

"What did they promise you, that you would cast aside all that I fought for? I did not bind my soul to the very bones of this haven so that you could cast aside your heritage for coin!" There wasn't much time for Guiche to muse on these revelations before the shadow-man struck out at him once more.

The way it attacked him was, apart from the constant transformation, eerily familiar. It pressed the assault constantly and utterly refused to give him a moment to breathe. Every motion was fluid and murderously efficient. Even when he managed to focus enough to stack two Earths and create a sudden explosion of spikes between him and it the entity seemed to effortlessly cross between the threats to pursue him.

His only real advantage was, ironically, the hate that it felt. It was predictable in its deadliness; every strike aiming for an instant kill and giving him a gradual advantage. Even that, however, felt strangely mundane to him. Which was why he wasn't surprised when an attack was suddenly launched at his leg instead.

Several things clicked together for Guiche at that moment. This wasn't an enemy he could afford defeat. Every second he delayed people died and if he kept this up long enough to figure out a strategy for actual victory he might well be one of those people. In this moment, he had to be decisive.

Guiche tossed his sword aside and stood his ground as the enraged monstrosity leapt for the kill.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

The battlefield had become no less than a blighted wasteland. Normal soldiers served no purpose save to give the monsters more fodder to spread through, Even the mages were proving ineffective at actually killing the Wights. Kenneth was down to his last Ether Spike now; there were still two Dragonwights and dozens of Human Wights left.

All in all the situation was looking dire. He was confident in his ability to survive regardless; but not in his ability to do so without sacrificing most of the people left alive. Through all of it there was something gnawing at the back of his mind. Why hadn't the ships moved up yet?

This attack could have taken then all the way into Tristain. Ruined the country in one foul swoop. So why hadn't they? He ducked a tongue of green fire as it issued from a Dragonwight and punched it in the lower jaw; cutting off the stream. His axe ripped out a good portion of its throat and the unholy flames poured forth to liberally coat the point he'd been standing in a moment earlier.

No sign of his shield yet… he was too turned around. A detonation to the side claimed three more soldiers and created three more enemy combatants. Kenneth yanked on his connection to the earth, felt it shift and flow as he sank one down to the knees and, a moment later, bisected it. The Wights had started fleeing from him towards other soldiers; moving in different directions to delay him even further.

At this rate he'd win the battle and lose the entire camp. They were acting with increasing intelligence and tactical insight. Someone had to be overseeing them and passing on direct orders. For a moment he had a horrible thought; that perhaps the King of Banefire himself had been summoned to this world. But, no… with the strength of magic here such an entity would not have remained unknown for so long.

His relief was short-lived as a Dragonwight took to the sky and Kenneth stared with increasing horror into the sky. There was nothing he could do, no way to save the poor idiots who had come with the intent to save them. A flight of Dragon Knights was inbound, already gathering flaming projectiles and trumpeting their arrival. Kenneth saw them much as the Wights did; Enemy reinforcements in the making.

Then the wind changed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

The dead hesitated.

Something gnawed at the fire that raged where their souls used to be.

They felt the faint stirrings of a feeling that had been burned out of them.

Fear.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Atop the nearby hill stood a figure cloaked in white light.

It hung from their shoulders and spread out behind them; merging into the night sky and forming a shining aurora in hues of whites. Everyone had gone still; even the oncoming Dragon Knights and the many Wights littering the battlefield.

The radiance that bathed across them was bliss. It sank into them, to their very bones, and carried with it a biting chill that somehow still felt like a soft embrace. Every pulse of that icy light brought with it relief; from weariness and fatigue, from pain and fear, from all suffering. As the figure descended the hill the nearest Wights began to openly weep tears of green fire.

Immersed in that frigid glow the nearest Wight fell to its knees; reaching out with countless emotions literally burned into its features. Anger. Regret. Loss. Hope. And more besides. Its saviour drew a white blade and dragged it along the luminescent mantle that it bore. The weapon took on the frozen glow itself and then plunged directly through the heart of the Wight.

Green fire poured from its eyes as the pale energies suffused it. For a moment the monster almost seemed to smile as the shine in its eyes changed colour; its cracked and burnt lips mouthed words that none could hear before the light left it and returned into the shimmering mass at the back of its redeemer.

The corpse's own weight caused it to slide backwards off the blade and strike the ground with a deafeningly quiet 'thump'.

Guiche de Gramont gathered Moonlight to his blade once more and looked to the nearest Wight as its eyes suddenly surged; utter hatred for life overcoming the strange bliss that had, for a time, stilled its hands. He smiled with a faint tinge of regret as it began to charge him. Above, in the middle distance, the Dragonwight turned on its wing and started towards him.

A moment later a spike trailing blue light ripped through the air with the sound of burning glass shattering and struck the creature in the chest. Azure energy tore apart the animating Banefire and sent it crashing to the ground. Guiche spared a moment to glance over at his familiar and return the dwarf's proud salute.

Then he set to work.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

"You're certain of this, Tif? Lotta people are going to die if we go through with this." A red-headed young woman shouldered a musket and stared down at the city of Londinium with evident distaste. The red banner of the Reconquista flew proudly above it and the fires on the plain before the city burned high with the wealth of the city's nobles. There were gallows and crosses erected too; well-occupied by the former ruling caste of Albion.

Those that hadn't been willing to join up, that is.

For all of the girl's apparent softness, in multiple meanings of the word, Agnes had learned something about the half-elven girl she'd been living with these past few weeks. She had learned that Tiffania had an almost boundless capacity for compassion, forgiveness and love. However, she had also learned that the word 'almost' was, as it turned out, very important.

"We're sure." Tiffania set herself as best she could in the unfamiliar outfit. Armour, even leather, didn't suit her at all but Agnes had insisted upon it. She looked to her side at the two cloaked figures for reassurance. "They're hurting innocent people, someone needs to stop it, and there's nobody else but us."

"That's right. This is our home, and we will defend it." Matilda pushed back her cloak and smiled down at her little sister; clearly proud and yet torn at the same time. Thus far, Agnes didn't particularly trust the woman but since Tif had vouched for she had to be alright. Besides… the help she'd brought along was certainly welcome.

Not that she thought poorly of their chances, mind. After all, they had… well… Agnes glanced back at the titanic white wolf sitting calmly at the treeline as it regarded their task with its usual, dispassionate gaze. Normally she'd think herself mad for ascribing any emotions to the thing at all but considering all she'd seen these past few weeks…

Stretched out behind it was their army. Such as it was. Quite possibly every dog in the whole of Albion and more besides. Birds by the hundred were perched in the trees; utterly still as they awaited the command of the sovereign of beasts that sat in their midst. Adding to that Matilda's golem spells and their fourth member… the Reconquista wouldn't know what hit them.

"Ah… it's been so long since I've been to a proper battle. Thank you for finding me Miss Longue-... ah, Matilda. I do appreciate it." Old Osmond stepped forward with a rather vicious grin on his face. There was an air of restrained power about him that made Agnes feel a tad self-conscious. "Particularly now that I know who is ultimately responsible for stealing from my Academy. Shall we?" A tremor passed through the assembled animals as their god finally stood.

The First Wolf howled.

 

[vyor]

Green fire danced across Kenneth's gloved hand and down his arm. The leather turned black as it half-burnt, half-rotted away. If it were possible for a transgression against all that was good and righteous to look smug then the Wight was certainly attempting it. Something, however, seemed wrong. The flames had stopped at the elbow and seemed to have run out of anything else to burn.



Then a silver spike punched its way through the creature's palm. Ethereal light shone forth and took shape; coming into being as blue glass that flickered and shifted as if it were fire. Spikes of it burst out of the creature's arm and wherever it took form the sickly green flames sputtered out and died. In a moment all of the unholy energies were overtaken and the glass-like substance replaced it. Then it faded.



The spike retracted and the now empty corpse collapsed. Kenneth shook off the remnants of his glove and examined his left hand for a moment. He flexed it as best he could, silvery metal shining in the sunlight as gears whirred and joints clicked. Then he turned it so his palm faced him and eyed the aperture in the base of the metal. A metallic spike extended again; tiny runes glowing faintly blue.



"Hmf. Two, three… maybe four." It retracted again as he sighed and hefted his axe; starting to jog towards the next set of Wights. There were two more Ether Spikes contained inside his prosthetic and each would work for maybe ten shots each if he aligned them well and hit closer to the core of the magic. He'd probably need to burn half of one for each dragon; assuming the metal could pierce the scales.



Well, come what may he'd hold until the end... and save as many as he could.

Click to shrink...

That magnificent mother fucker.

"I have no mercy left for them."

Click to shrink...

He is, understandably, pissed.



Can't wait to see how much wardes regrets this mistake later.

"How easily our pact is broken, son of my son. How easily is family betrayed! It leapt at Jeima this time and Guiche had to exert himself to the full in order to interpose himself at time. To his immense relief Derf was able to block the spear of shadow that became the entity's arm as it reached out for what he could only imagine was the tiny, quivering man's throat. Jeima tried to babble something in his foreign tongue but the monster didn't seem to hear him. That, or it just wasn't interested in listening.



"What did they promise you, that you would cast aside all that I fought for? I did not bind my soul to the very bones of this haven so that you could cast aside your heritage for coin!" There wasn't much time for Guiche to muse on these revelations before the shadow-man struck out at him once more.

Click to shrink...

What a stupid creature.

Then he set to work.

Click to shrink...

So that's how those 2 forces interact.



Moonlight is hax as fuck.

The First Wolf howled.

Click to shrink...

Wolves sound fucking terrifying when they howl, let alone a wolf of that size. Fucking hell that army's moral is gone.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

"Protect your own!"

Guiche barely managed to get across the accusatory cry before the shadow monster was upon him. Rather than being met by rending claws he was hauled bodily off his feet by a tight grasp on his chin and shortly thereafter was faced with a pair of glowing red eyes meeting his own in a hateful glare.

"What did you say to me, boy? You know not what words you speak!" It raised a bladed shadow tendril, presumably to give Guiche the very shortest haircut of his life, when a flying rock struck it in the side of what he could only assume was its head. Across the room Jeima cowered slightly; bits of fallen masonry in hand and prepared to throw.

"He saved my daughter, grandfather. From a fate worse than death." The shadow monster hesitated; confusion wrought across its features. After a moment it let go of the young noble's neck and he dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Then the creature changed; shrinking and distorting until it formed a small, distraught looking man whose features were much the same as Jeima's.

"But why, child? Why bring him here? This is your legacy. I left it for you, your siblings, your cousins, your parents. Why bring this outsider, no matter his merits?" Guiche could only stare in shock as the thing spoke. It truly was Jeima's grandfather. He couldn't still be alive, or else he'd have come out to help the village. So, somehow, he had managed to linger here after his death. It was impossible for Guiche to prevent his gaze from moving to the stone coffin in the middle of the room at that thought.

"... it's gone, grandfather." Jeima spoke hesitantly and mournfully; every word causing tremors of sorrow to pass across his ancestor's face. "After you died, we couldn't make any more Runes. The ones we had already worked but… you know they don't last on objects, and we never…" His grandfather nodded slowly. Regret was writ large upon him; in the hunch of his shoulders and the twitching of his lip.

"Of course. I had hoped… I had thought… it had seemed to work, but…" He sighed heavily and frowned suddenly; looking to Guiche and Jeima in turn. "Why have you come? What has happened to my home?" Overcome by emotion, Jeima seemed unable to speak for the moment.

"Wights, good sir." At last he stood; pushing himself upright and pressing a hand to the bleeding wound on his shoulder. It didn't feel like it had hit anything important, at least. "My fami… my mentor is a warrior of your world. He is fighting them while we come here." The revenant's expression turned grave and he turned to the stone coffin behind him. It seemed to take no effort for him to cast off heavy lid and draw out the items enshrined within.

Guiche thought it may well be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was a black, silken, hooded mantle that seemed to faintly shine with an unearthly light. There were faint points of light upon it that didn't move when it did; like the cloth was a portal to another realm entirely. With great solemnity the wraith offered it to Guiche.

"It is the Aurora Requiem. An endless source of Moonlight. Unholy things cannot abide it. There is a cost, of sorts. It is… difficult to explain, and we are short on time. You must merely withstand for as long as you can." Then it looked to Jeima and spoke some of the unfamiliar language that they shared. There was a moment of hesitant silence between him and then the shadow fused back into the walls.

Jeima turned to leave immediately; Guiche having to practically jog to keep up as he did so. For his stature the little man was very fast. In the end he pulled off a handy trick he'd figured out after examining Kenneth and Colbert's various bizarre machine designs; summoning half a Valkyrie. Specifically, the lower body formed around his own.

"What did he tell you?" With the animated legs moving with him he was able to keep up with Jeima and ask about the ancestor's cryptic last words. The little man looked at him and finally checked his pace as they reached the opening to the upper level.

Then he made a two meter standing jump to grab the ledge and haul himself up. Guiche was gobsmacked for only a few moments before quickly stacking his Earths and transmuting a stairway for himself. It was good to be reminded that these people weren't entirely normal.

"It's the words to activate the item. You'll need to memorise the phrasing. We can practice on the way up." Jeima was waiting for him; clenching and unclenching his fists. The encounter had seemed to have an effect on him; Guiche suspected that there had been more passing between them at the end.

"Very well. Thank you for your assistance. We'd best hurry."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Emotion mattered as much as content it seemed, because he'd been told what the phrase meant as well as memorising the pronunciation. His efforts to learn Kenneth's language, fruitless as they had been, had paid dividends here with his ability to pronounce the bizarre syllables that even gave Jeima pause. They weren't from his native language either, although he had refused to elaborate.

Guiche had stood on the hill overlooking the battle and steeled his heart as best he could. When he said the words the mantle had begun to tremble on his back. Points of light had grown and burst forth in a wave of chilling luminescence that had left tears pouring down his face.

Moonlight was the Light of Memory, after all. All of the pain of the past few weeks magnified, every unsaid word and lost moment between him and his father and his brother dredged up and burned into the forefront of his mind. Every possible chance he had to change the outcome was thrown in his face and the anguish he felt burned as a cold fire in his heart, and on his back.

"Ignite, my sorrows; burn, my regrets; shine, Aurora Requiem."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

The howl split the night sky and sent shivers down the spine of every man, woman and child in Londinium. Something about the sound spoke to the most primal part of them; that darkness behind the eyes comprised of every remnant survival instinct that had been needed to drag their distant ancestors safely into the next day. It told that tiny bit in no uncertain terms that the origin of that noise could end them at its leisure.

There was another baleful cry following in the wake of the first as the clouds met the noise and shifted. Intent was carried to nature and it answered the desires of the caller. Vast and alien though it may be the power it wielded was curiously in tune with the forces of the world it had entered. Temperatures dropped sharply as winds picked up.

Within minutes a roaring gale slammed into the walls of the city with sufficient force to shake the stones and very nearly drive the rallying troops from the walls by strength alone. The aftermath was far weaker but it carried with it a biting chill that made it impossible to look over the walls. They tried nevertheless; well aware that something was coming.

Whispers of dark things carried through the men. Of monsters, of elves and worse besides. Many knew that patrols had been vanishing lately; disappearing down to the last man, horse and dog. This impossible weather pattern spoke to their growing dread and transformed it into frantic terror.

Outside, on the hill, Old Osmond watched with an expression of clear trepidation as the blizzard parted around them. Or to be more precise, and at this thought he glanced to his side at the titanic lupine creature standing beside them, it parted around the wolf. If he didn't know better he'd think the monstrosity looked almost smug.

Agnes had told him that it could control the weather, but he'd not really believed it. No lone creature could do such a thing, surely? Yet this 'wolf' seemed to be far more than a tremendous animal. It walked across the snow without leaving footprints, it commanded bird and beast alike to its bidding and now its howl summoned what would have been the worst Winter storm he'd ever seen… if only 'twere actually Winter.

"Well then, Headmaster. I'd say they're suitably distracted. Shall we get to work?" He looked over to Matilda and forced a smile. Even with this terrifying display there were still things for them to do. Although they could starve out the occupying forces that would kill the civilians too, and no matter the strength of the beast or its storm it couldn't breach the walls on its own. He and his former secretary unified their spells with careful coordination as they began to animate the earth beneath them.

Half an hour later, within the city, the few soldiers that could see cried out with terror as an almighty colossus rose into view; rising above the city walls in height and shaking the earth as it pulled itself to its feet. The winds parted for an instant as a stream of small, dark creatures poured through the storm. They were unhindered by the strong winds and that, in fact, was the only warning that they got. For an instant the awful winds stilled and then a feathered missile shot down to claw at exposed eyes and faces.

There was a tremendous rumble as the titan was finally completed and began its slow ponderous steps forward. Construction of two Square-class Earth Mages or not, such a thing would usually be a large and vulnerable target for magical bombardment; ineffective on an open battlefield and easily countered during a siege. However, any time the Reconquista's Officers tried to take the walls and target it a dozen murderous birds would appear out of the blizzard and swarm them.

It was bloody chaos.

Before long the earthen giant was close enough to the walls to demonstrate its true purpose. Rather than moving up and attacking them directly it merely collapsed forward; head smashing into the reinforced masonry and bursting open to deliver its cargo. Dogs streamed out by the dozen and more charged across the plain. Now that their construct had fallen it revealed the holes in the underside of its feet; tunnels that the canines could scramble up, following each other through the darkness, and exit through the head on to the walls.

They had many advantages. The animals hadn't just been battered by razor sharp wind and even sharper frozen hail for over half an hour. Even as they charged out the blizzard split and gave them a reasonable berth. Nor did they have to worry about being attacked on two fronts. Any soldier that tried to focus on the furry, biting horde was immediately blindsided by the feathered, clawing horde.

The rebels were already in full retreat when the First Wolf sprinted up the back of the collapsed giant and leapt into the city.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

On the plain of Tarbes a rout in one direction was already being turned in the other. Guiche de Gramont flicked his mother's sword through the pearlescent light streaming off his shoulders and then contemptuously cut down at his opponent's blade. The green flames on its surface sputtered out as he cleaved straight through the metal and directly into their skull a moment later. White light surged down his sword and purged the hateful energies from the corpse in an instant. As with all the others it died with a bittersweet smile on what remained of its face.

Kenneth had taken down another Dragonwight with the strange glassy bolts that he appeared to be firing directly out of his hands and there was just one left. It seemed reluctant to take wing and was rampaging through the ranks of what men were still trying to fight; keeping them between it and the dwarf. His familiar was circling around and slowly driving it towards him; if the thing had noticed there seemed to be nothing it could do about it.

Suddenly the men parted way for him and there was nothing between Gucihe and the dragon. It glared at him with undisguised hatred burning in its eyes. Quite literally, given the whispers he heard from the artifact on his back. Banefire was, at its core, the manifestation of one being's absolute loathing of life. It felt appropriate that he met it with the cold light of mercy.

The dragon breathed green fire; a tight spray that crossed the distance in moments. Guiche brandished his shield, shining with a white radiance, and Derf drank in the unholy magic. Throughout the battle he'd been cheering and crying with undisguised glee, crying out his appreciation for such a unique conflict. With the cloak protecting his back and the magic-devouring shield defending him from the front all remaining threat from the Wights had been erased.

Whatever the monster had been expecting to happen it clearly wasn't expecting Guiche to come charging through the spray of Banefire given that it recoiled for an instant when he emerged from the stream and handily removed its lower jaw. The stuff still made his skin crawl to come close to it but any that came too near was immediately wiped away by the waves of Moonlight rolling off his shoulders.

He ducked under the wild claw it swung at him and kept going; running between its forelimbs and taking a sharp left so he could spin around and cut through its right arm. Not for the last time in this battle he marvelled at the horrifying sharpness of his mother's blade; limited in its cutting potential only by how quickly he could swing. The trembling dragon collapsed onto its side a moment later and Guiche stabbed it in the side, released and then spun around in place.

Carbonised adamant was amazing at channeling… everything, really. Kenneth had made him a glove lined with some hard black substance so that he didn't die instantly when facing an Air Mage competent enough to use lightning. The trailing cloak of Moonlight had dragged itself across the blade and been sucked into it. There was a final tremble from the Dragonwight before, at last, the Banefire inside of it was overcome.

Guiche pulled his sword out and turned around to face utter silence. There was only one Wight left on the field but, as he watched, Kenneth removed its head and quickly shoved the body through the ground before it could detonate. Just like that… it was over.

They'd taken immense casualties. He couldn't tell how many at a glance but he knew it had to be in the hundreds. Probably more. Guiche had lost count of how many human Wights he had killed, Kenneth had taken out just as many, and even the soldiers had, by working with care and tandem, taken out about as much as either of them. Yet, for all that, so many had died…

The white light shining from his back finally died out as Guiche could no longer sustain the cost of keeping it active. Now that he was no longer surrounded by a nacreous corona it was plain to see that his face was stained with tears. Nobody dared to approach him; all the men milling about and casting fearful glances towards the still stationary airships on the horizon.

A heavy hand touched his shoulder and he looked up into the thickly bearded face of his familiar. Then he was enfolded in a warm hug that smelled only slightly of burnt pork. Guiche shook a little but didn't resist. He'd held on for as long as he had to but the price of Aurora Requiem was quite a simple one. It wasn't even really a cost, as such. More like a hazard, really.

Every second it was active he was bombarded by memories. Vivid and clear in every detail. A constant, unceasing reminder of his failures as a friend, as a master, as a commander, as a brother, and as a son. He'd been crying from the moment it began to burn and even now the words rang in his ears.

"Ye did well, lad." Kenneth released him, and then gently patted him on the cheek. Then he drew a slightly stained cloth from one of his many pockets and offered it to the young man to wipe his face. Guiche did so, and the dwarf smiled at him before turning his gaze to the distance.

"Why…" He had to swallow heavily for a moment, and take a deep breath to prevent his voice from cracking. "Why didn't they join the battle yet? They could have wiped us out by now. Something is… very wrong." His familiar nodded hesitantly, clearly agreeing with his assessment of the situation but still not quite trusting whatever conclusion he'd come to. "Kenneth?" The dwarf's stare didn't break but his shoulders tensed.

"Ah've no idea, boy. But wh'ever th' reason is it cannae be good fer us." The young man sighed and pulled himself to a standing position; raising his sword into the air and lifting the ground beneath his feet with a double-stacked Earth as he did so. Their reinforcements, the other Dragon Knights, had landed and were watching him along with the recruits.

"Men of Tristain!" All of his practice paid off in this moment as he projected his voice in as rousing a fashion as he could manage. The image of his father standing at the head of an army flashed into his mind for an instant before he continued. "We have fought off the first wave, but the enemy remains in our sight! Yet I say to you now… we shall not battle on."

There was a quiet murmur of disbelief, of dissatisfaction, of relief, of cowardice and more. As many different reactions as there were watchers. Guiche continued before the whispering could gain traction. "We shall cede this ground to our foes, and retreat. And we shall do this with honour! For this land we stand on," He gestured down at the raised platform under his soles, "This land is not Tristain." Silence met his proclamation, so he pointed his blade over at the town of Tarbes.

"And this village, its buildings and its farms... they are not Tristain!" All of them seemed confused by his rhetoric and yet fired up nonetheless. It wasn't in what he was saying, which mystified them, but how he said it; with a fire that was belied by the words themselves. "And our pride as soldiers, as citizens, as men... that pride is not Tristain." He was a little more reserved then as he waved his sword and lowered himself down.

Now standing among them, all eyes on him or at least in his general direction, Guiche continued. "You are Tristain. We are Tristain. They are Tristain." He gestured in turn to the soldiers, to himself, then in the direction the villagers had fled in. "If we stay and fight them now we will lose. And we will die, to the last man. It will be a brave and glorious battle! But we will die." His tone and expression were gravely serious at that moment. Words such as 'brave' and 'glorious' sounded almost like curses in his mouth.

"Then they will sweep past us and kill the men, women and children of Tarbes. Then they will charge into the heart of our country and bring ruin with them and none shall know that they are coming until they are already there. Therefore, we will flee. We will run away, and we will warn our countrymen, and then, in the end, we will kill a hundred of them for every man who fell today! This I promise you!" A ragged cheer rose that quickly became full-throated and eager.

"Now then, follow me soldiers of Tristain! Onward, to victory!" And thus, with the most ironic rallying cry in history, Guiche de Gramont sounded the retreat.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Zharaqui sighed as she gazed at the scurrying soldiers off in the distance. They were organising to flee, huh? Well, that was disappointing but not unexpected. She'd hoped they would have sent for reinforcements and then dug themselves in here instead. Still, it was workable.

She turned and walked carelessly through the still-wet blood and past the corpses that covered the deck of the Flagship. As the wind shifted the Albionese vessels creaked slightly; that, and the occasional dripping, was the only sound that came from the fleet. The self-styled 'Admiral' of the rebel had wanted to press the attack. She had disagreed. That wouldn't serve her Master's purpose.

Of course, killing him had made the rest of the crew turn on her, and then the other ships had seen the mess and really it all seemed quite sensible if you looked at each step individually but the end result was quite messy. Fortunately, she didn't need the ships to do anything other than float there.

There was, belowdecks, a makeshift forge and piles upon piles of scrap iron. They weren't entirely necessary ingredients in the ritual, all she actually needed was the metal or even the ore in a pinch, but they made things faster. Much faster.

Pronouncing the words was quite difficult even with the blessing of her Master. The runes on her hand glowed with a dark light that twisted and formed a secondary symbol just above the surface of her skin as the space around her began to distort. By the power of the two-fold Void she was invoking something that ought not be within this realm and the world thoroughly disagreed with that.

Little tears appeared in the air as her words transformed; thought became language became intent became action. The pile of metal started to glow red hot and flow together as she spoke to it of heat and motion and, most importantly of all, of hatred. A thing that did not belong began to take form in the belly of the flagship.

Makeshift limbs tried to take shape and failed. Wood warped and blistered and began to crack and dissolve under the increasing heat and the strain on the fabric of reality. For a moment Zharaqui could hear laughter echoing through the rips in space and she rushed as much as she dared; between taking too long and tripping over one of the syllables she didn't know which could cause the most damage.

The laughter began to grow in volume and in variety. Men, women, children and more all united in their amusement over her predicament. It wasn't really an increase in raw volume, however, as much as it was a decrease in the distance between her and the origin. Sweat poured from her brow as the rents in the air grew in time with the undulations of the now spherical glob of molten metal that hung before her.

She wasn't afraid. Fear was not a luxury her Master allowed her. Yet even then she trembled for a moment as the laughter went utterly silent and a pair of bloodshot eyes surrounded by bandages met hers through one of the openings in space. At that instant she spoke the last word. Reality righted itself with a sharp snap as the distortions all around her closed.

Zharaqui knew she had succeeded when the wave of palpable loathing washed over her mind. She didn't stay to observe the results, however; by the time it hit her she was already flying up the stairs on to the main deck and when the first roar of abject hatred sounded she was halfway to the next ship. For the moment all she felt was a vague satisfaction.

However, when she heard the wood shattering as the thing she had made finally broke free of the vessel enclosing it, she allowed herself a faint smirk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

When they heard the sound Guiche noticed that Kenneth was trembling. The keel of the largest ship in the enemy fleet split moments later and a glowing orange-red shape fell out of it. The dwarf had already grabbed him by the arm and yanked the young man down to his level by the time it hit the ground; absolute terror writ large across his face.

"Guiche. Listen. Take them all and run. Don't argue. No questions. Run." His familiar spoke with the greatest clarity he'd ever heard from him. A moment later he pushed Guiche away and unslung his axe once more. The arm that held it was only shaking slightly but it might as well have been spasming wildly for how unusual that was.

A vaguely humanoid shape flung itself out of the smoking crater where the ball of what Guiche could only assume had been molten metal had hit. It landed heavily on all fours and then raised itself up and roared at the sky. The sound left all those who heard it certain of one thing; that whatever it might be this thing was coming to kill them. It wasn't like the Wights, who despised the living and brought ruin and suffering with them.

This creature hated you, personally, simply because it hadn't killed you yet.

"Go. Ah'll hold it off fer as long as ah can." The words shook Guiche to the core... but still, he obeyed. He called out to the soldiers; commanding them to take what they could and flee even as his familiar began to sprint out to meet the oncoming monster. Terror had been snatched from the jaws of victory.

Then a golden airship dropped out of the clouds.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

It was gaudy and ostentatious by its very nature; small and sleek apart from the shining plating inscribed with religious iconography on every available inch of the surface. A smirking man with golden breastplate and matching cloak posed ostentatiously on the prow as his vessel rapidly descended. In his outstretched hand a sphere of light crackled with energy. He released it; the beam of Starlight scything through six vessels and very nearly cleaving them in twain before the energy died out. One by one they began to drop from the sky.

He didn't turn his attention to the ground until he was done destroying the stationary airships. Of course, Iulius had long since realised they were empty but by the time they had hit the ground the damage to the bodies would be sufficiently obscured that none would dare to give him the credit. In truth, he'd been waiting out of sight for some time now in hopes that the dwarf would succumb to the Wights. Sadly, that had not been the case.

Now, though, even he could no longer stand idly by. Wights he could kill in the thousands, of that he was certain, but if their enemy was bringing Ashwalkers to bear then he needed to put a stop to it. One he could handle. Maybe even two or three. But there were several dozen airships and if she had the resources to craft one of the Forge Eaters for every vessel then he suddenly didn't trust their chances. Besides, even if he kept poor company the young man down there showed a fine spirit. Perhaps he might be of some use.

Iulius stepped off his vessel and dropped like a stone.

Thin white energy poured off in thick waves and formed, for a moment, a massive array of shining wings behind his back as he neared the ground. His feet touched down like a whisper as the very air itself caught him and arrested his momentum. It was majestic, and beautiful. On the way from the Holy Land he'd had a mild revelation. Of course he was the most singularly powerful entity in this world. But he'd been wasting that power on... well, brute force.

And that, he mused as the Ashwalker charged across the plain at him, was just plain stupid. It was why those elves had been able to defeat him. He'd been complacent; forgetting his roots. If you tried to power through with raw strength at home then you got killed by the first person smart enough to hit you at your weakest point and everyone had a weak point.

Blue light that looked like glass and flickered like fire and moved like water covered his forearm. It crackled and it cracked and it shot out at the oncoming abomination. The Ether struck it in the leg and invaded it; the energies animating it being forced out and the mundane laws of physical interaction took hold immediately. Since there was no longer any magic for the Ether to act upon it transformed into mere force. The end result being that the glob of liquid metal that used to be its knee was suddenly painted across the burning ground behind it and the thing came crashing down.

This barely slowed it down; a head and shoulders tore their way out of the back like a newborn monstrosity tearing its way out of the erstwhile mother it found itself in. The rest of its mass flowed into position around the rapidly rising shape and within seconds it was moving at full speed with a slight reduction in size. Even Iulius couldn't help but shudder slightly at the sight and the accompanying perfect understanding that although it hated all things in that moment its loathing for him was extremely personal.

That moment of pause had been all he needed, however. A second sphere of Ether caught it in the chest and formed a crater as a blast of fire and molten metal spurted outwards. An instant later a bolt of blue-white lightning tore through the air and hit in the middle of the freshly formed depression; it left a line of expanding fog in its wake and brought the monster to a thunderous, crashing halt.

This was Arclite; Ice and Lightning fused. A flow of energy that consumed energy and thus froze what it struck in sharp lines. Veins of black metal appeared running through the creature as a good portion of its mass was frozen solid by the power surging through it. It stumbled and fell and tore a gash in the ground as it did so; molten steel bubbling around the frozen steel thorns filling it.

Iulius gathered more power as he walked closer. It was thirty metres away and trying to rise. Twenty-five and pulling itself to its feet. Twenty and starting to stumble towards him. Fifteen and now it could move its body properly as the skeleton-like lattice inside it melted. Ten and it broke into a sprint. Five, and he unleashed the second bolt of Arclite into its centre mass.

A burning arm struck him as it lunged into the bolt and he sidestepped as best he could. Even so, it was fast and he'd needed a clear shot. Molten steel caked half his face and burned as it grabbed his right arm. The metal melted in an instant and clamped down as it tore; sufficiently hot to calcify flesh and bone as it ripped the limb apart. All of this happened in the second it took for the magic to reach its extremities.

Iulius collapsed sideways; steam and smoke rising from his flesh and pain assaulting his senses. He stood then; half-blind and in an intensely familiar agony. It was not the first time he'd been burned this badly, though he'd never lost a limb before. Beside him the frozen statue that had been the Ashwalker was motionless; he'd shoved enough Arclite into it to to kill an entire flight of dragons and had totally solidified it in the process.

Golden light shone from him so brightly that it made him hard to look at. He reached up with his good hand and began to roughly scrape molten steel and burnt flesh alike off his face and out of his wounds. It hurt more than almost anything he'd ever felt but pain had long since ceased being debilitating to him. He was one of the Chosen of the Golden King of Zunal. Pain was a luxury that he chose not to indulge in.

Which was very good; as his flesh screamed at him while healing magic flowed into it. On Kelicho, regrowing a limb was the purview of complicated ritual magic that even the most hardened veteran would balk at participating in. But here? His eye finished reforming at that moment and he blinked from the intensity of the light surrounding it as an eyelid began to form. Half of his tongue had just grown back and he ran it across the line of his teeth as they reformed in his gums. Clenched the agonised muscles in his upper arm as a new elbow came into being for the tendons to attach to and bones began to extend out from it.

Yes, he'd been quite foolish. Trusted in power over intelligence, in brute force over precision and in a strength that came and went as it pleased. Yet, as Iulius regrew an eye, half a face, and his entire right arm... immense power certainly had its perks. Not least of which being the look that was undoubtedly on the face of that degenerate Dwarven 'Hero'. That he, of the Golden Legion of Zunal, had so easily slain one of the foes that had made the 'Flamecutter' so very famous...

Wonderful. It was time to greet the young hero and lord his clear and factual superiority over the subhuman. He was certain that the expression he was about on the face of the latter would be absolutely priceless.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Sitting in darkness on an even darker throne a lone figure sighed. He flexed his right arm and idly stared at the way his skin moved for a moment. Then he cast his vision into the ring on his finger. Within, a black sigil had long since formed. Elsewhere, on the forehead of a steaming body, an identical symbol seemed to twist and shimmer. Were it not for the sinister feeling it gave off one might convince themselves the effect was merely a trick of the heat.

"I suppose that some things, one must do oneself."

 

[Heliomance]

This is rather excellent and I marvel at the lack of discussion. Is there anywhere I can read up on the various magics and monsters of the crossover setting?

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

This is rather excellent and I marvel at the lack of discussion. Is there anywhere I can read up on the various magics and monsters of the crossover setting?

Click to shrink...

There is some lore by the creator here.

 

[LaughingProphet]

For a moment Zharaqui could hear laughter echoing through the rips in space and she rushed as much as she dared; between taking too long and tripping over one of the syllables she didn't know which could cause the most damage.

The laughter began to grow in volume and in variety. Men, women, children and more all united in their amusement over her predicament. It wasn't really an increase in raw volume, however, as much as it was a decrease in the distance between her and the origin. Sweat poured from her brow as the rents in the air grew in time with the undulations of the now spherical glob of molten metal that hung before her.

She wasn't afraid. Fear was not a luxury her Master allowed her. Yet even then she trembled for a moment as the laughter went utterly silent and a pair of bloodshot eyes surrounded by bandages met hers through one of the openings in space.

Click to shrink...

I was not expecting him to make an appearance in this particular story, and as a result this cameo pleases me immensely.
To any curious readers, this is a very light cameo of Ruusíj, known in-setting as the Laughing Prophet, Occult God of Malice and Trade/Commerce. Which is delightful.

Yes, my account name is a reference to him and not the other way around.

 

[Heliomance]

There is some lore by the creator here.

Click to shrink...

You've included an awful lot more stuff than is mentioned in that thread - how came you by your knowledge?

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

You've included an awful lot more stuff than is mentioned in that thread - how came you by your knowledge?

Click to shrink...

That's one of my best friends, so it comes with the territory.

 

[vyor]

This is rather excellent and I marvel at the lack of discussion.

Click to shrink...

Seconded!

I was not expecting him to make an appearance in this particular story, and as a result this cameo pleases me immensely.
To any curious readers, this is a very light cameo of Ruusíj, known in-setting as the Laughing Prophet, Occult God of Malice and Trade/Commerce. Which is delightful.

Yes, my account name is a reference to him and not the other way around.

Click to shrink...

It makes me sad that he didn't paste the scary yandere...

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

It makes me sad that he didn't paste the scary yandere...

Click to shrink...

He wouldn't get anything out of that. There'd be malice, yes, but not commerce.

 

[vyor]

He wouldn't get anything out of that. There'd be malice, yes, but not commerce.

Click to shrink...

Is... is there commerce now?

 

[rman916]

.....
This is fantastic.

As a question, though, (not for the author, who would answer cryptically) any guesses on the price?

I would say denial of entry into the afterlife, and instead becoming a shadowy figure like the grandfather.

Any other guesses?

 

[vyor]

.....
This is fantastic.

As a question, though, (not for the author, who would answer cryptically) any guesses on the price?

I would say denial of entry into the afterlife, and instead becoming a shadowy figure like the grandfather.

Any other guesses?

Click to shrink...

She's a psychopath obsessed with green hatefire that burns souls away.

I don't think her afterlife will be pleasant.

 

[rman916]

She's a psychopath obsessed with green hatefire that burns souls away.

I don't think her afterlife will be pleasant.

Click to shrink...

"It is the Aurora Requiem. An endless source of Moonlight. Unholy things cannot abide it. There is a cost, of sorts. It is… difficult to explain, and we are short on time. You must merely withstand for as long as you can." Then it looked to Jeima and spoke some of the unfamiliar language that they shared. There was a moment of hesitant silence between him and then the shadow fused back into the walls.

Click to shrink...

 

[vyor]

umm...

Did you miss the part where his every negative emotion ever felt assaulted him?

 

[rman916]

umm...

Did you miss the part where his every negative emotion ever felt assaulted him?

Click to shrink...

...kinda? Not like missed the section, but didn't connect it. Which makes me feel slightly stupid.

 

[vyor]

...kinda? Not like missed the section, but didn't connect it. Which makes me feel slightly stupid.

Click to shrink...

That's ok, everyone misses some things.
*missed some rather large things that made TA facepalm once or twice*

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

As a question, though, (not for the author, who would answer cryptically) any guesses on the price?

Click to shrink...

Did you miss the part where his every negative emotion ever felt assaulted him?

Click to shrink...

vyor is essentially correct. Moonlight is the Light of Memory, but also Regret; the artifact doesn't dredge up all negative emotions because that would actually make it easier to withstand it. Instead, it simply reminds you of every little shame, every moment that you wish you could change, every action you wish you had or hadn't taken and assaults you with the weight of your manifold failings as a person until you collapse into a sobbing heap.

So, really, if you had no regrets in life whatsoever you could use it without any penalty whatsoever.