- Location
- India
Is erza naturally in balance with Eight Winds due to lack to taint?
(Fairy Tail/ Warhammer Fantasy) The Fairy Queen of Tilea
- Thread starter AllenWalker
- Start date
- Pronouns
- He
no.
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
It's never really clear whether lacrima are batteries or generators; they appear to be used interchangeably as both depending on circumstances. This is probably another artifact of the lack of planning that went into Fairy Tail, but can be easily justified by saying that lacrima are batteries 'by default' but can be turned into generators with the right (presumably expensive) stuff.
Oh sure, without a way to increase how much Ethernano she generates the total effect Erza can have on the dragons is limited, but just being able to temporarily wake a dragon is potentially extremely useful, much less supercharge one.
The dragons are implied to have had a working relationship with the Old Ones after all; Brinrairdih mentions that he assisted the Old Ones' when they created the polar gates for example. So dragons potentially know all kinds of interesting things, and generally the oldest dragons (ie the ones who know the most), are also the sleepiest.
More immediately relevant is that with Deathfang able to go Super Saiyan for a bit, the odds of the rescue mission succeeding increase substantially: While I was joking earlier about Black Crag getting blown the fuck up, it is now a legitimate possibility.
And I imagine the Dawi would have rather mixed feelings in reaction to that, should it occur. On the one hand, Orcs go boom = yay! On the other hand, Karak Drazh also go boom = not yay.
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- He
*Confused grumbling and grudge noises *
Chapter 21
- Pronouns
- He
Chapter 21
"We'll have to fly." It was an easy sentence for Asarnil to say, but it shocked those surrounding him nonetheless. The dawi, Goric, moved to protest but he interrupted him before he could start to grumble.
"Flight will allow us to reach Karak Azul in mere days. Any other route will take months. Not to mention the dangers either a direct landpath or taking a detour over the sea gate would mean." He coughed. "Not that anything should be a danger there with us having two Dragons on our side, but any such distraction will mean the family of the king of Karak Azul will have to suffer their Orc captivity longer. Are you really willing to take that shame on yourself, Master Goric?"
The Longbeard, equipped in full body armor, a mighty -if damaged- gromril Hammer in his hands, stumbled like he had been physically struck in the face. He was so easy to manipulate, just like all the Dawi Asarnil had worked with so far; one only needed to word things in a manner that would shame them further if they denied a plan, and the most stubborn people in the world became as soft and manageable as putty. The oaths they were so keen were a weakness to be exploited.
"..... How will I then fit on its back?" Goric began, a slight tremble in his voice. Oh dear, he probably was suffering from some malaise with heights or flight. Not unusual with the shortfolk in Asarnil's experience. And it was easy to see other problems in this equation; for all the strength in his short legs, that would help him little to hold on to Deathfang's back, especially if they were engaged in aerial combat.
Asarnil didn't expect anything truly threatening, even the wildest and maddest of wyverns and manticores would never dare challenge Deathfang's rule over the sky, but it didn't hurt to be careful. Without Goric vouching for them, it was unlikely that the sentries of Karak Azul would allow a "human," Asur and a Dragon to meet with their King to discuss the liberation of his kin. He didn't particularly care, but if the short impression he had gotten from Lady Erza's personality was anything to go by, she would still march against Black Crag and perish in the process.
His eyes wandered to Deathfang, rolling around with the grace and boundless energy of a Dragon freshly hatched. Asarnil well remembered how sluggish he had become in the past decades. How the pauses between their missions had become longer and longer… all the money and treasure he had gained, hoping to use it for influence to force a glorious return to Caledor as was his right, instead were expended on food and endless magic trinkets to keep his companion awake, starved as he was of the might of the vortex this far from Ulthuan.
Any ordinary man or even Elf, one who hadn't spent almost every waking hour with him, would not be able to see the difference, but he did: His flanks, once fallen in, were now swollen with strength, his chest, once a thick carpet of scars and old green scales, having grown brittle and colorless without the constant reinforcement of magic as would be natural, glowed like glorious emerald, the measure of his majestic brother's chizeled musculature clear to see even for the most foolish of lays.
And that was only on this plane. A quick glance with the true sight made clear that, where Deathfang had once been an erupting volcano of magic might, now he was a blazing star, a coat of both quayish and something else completely enveloping his essence, breaking open and refueling every dried shut magic core and nerve. Even as they spoke, his companion still was growing, centuries of atrophied development being rushed by this most wondrous of energies. He was so brilliant that even for someone such as an Asur, looking at him was extraordinarily painful. Not that that stopped him from appreciating such a beautiful sight.
Just for a moment he tried to shift his sight to the woman in question, and again he had to force his face down, tears of blood running down his cracking eyeballs as they rather seared themselves than look at her, before he could so much as catch a glimpse. It felt as if his face had been stricken by a mace, it's spikes driving themselves through his pupils up into his brainstem.
With a snarl he uttered a word of power and the amulet of Isha, blessed by the Everqueen herself on the Island of rebirth sprang into action, fixing the ruptured organs and removing whatever damage the true sight of the supposed dragon in human flesh had done to his senses. A waste perhaps, but a needed one. He had received the artifact from the Caledorian court as thanks for his actions during the invasion of the cursed ones. For a moment he felt how his fist clenched in anger at the injustice their fool of a Phoenix King had done to him.
No, this woman, Lady Erza, she had to live, whatever the price. Not only as payback for the rejuvenation of his brother, but also what she could mean for his inevitable return to caledor and the dragons there.
Speaking of her, the redhead had apparently noted the dwarfs' poorly concealed distress and moved to calm him, despite his mumbled grumbling that he wasn't afraid at all.
"Don't worry, even if you were to fall down I'd catch you long before you'd ever hit the ground! Look!" Light engulfed and he felt himself take a step as an enormous wave of bloodlust hit him, almost like a physical wave, freezing him almost in place. He had felt that radiated impulse before, with Khainite cultists and the mortal berserkers of the blood god.
But none of them compared to this. This rage, the sheer desire for blood and carnage, was easily a match for many of the demons he had the unfortunate luck of meeting. And if he hadn't known who Lady Erza was beforehand, he very well might have mistaken the person before him for a daemon.
Long, leathery black wings sprouted from her back, pulsing with a dark magic magic. Her arms, shoulders, legs as well as various other parts of her body were covered in black metal, which wouldn't look out of place on a Norscan barbarian. The only unarmored areas were her six pack sprouting belly and her immense bust, where the metal only covered the direct front of her boobs. Her neck was protected by a neck guard with several shining diamonds in them, while her long scarlet hair, formerly carried free, had suddenly been bound into a high ponytail with two bangs covering a part of her face.
Her left arm held an intricate wicked sword about the length of his arm, with a number of gemstones crafted into the guard, while her left hand carried a waraxe, largely made out of black steel.
All that was complimented by a red glow surrounding her form, like a far less intense of her magic outburst before, only now it seemed more sinister.
Asarnil gulped as he felt a shudder run down his back. She made for a mesmerizing sight, if not more than a little intimidating. Still that tremble just now….
You felt that too, right?
His eyes wandered to Deathfang, who sent him a silent stare, his exaltation cut short.
Indeed.
His large eyes, formerly gleaming with joy, were now filled by worry. This sensation…. it had been entirely similar to the foul blood red light of the blood god. Her aura had lacked it's sheer malice, but still. It was definitely cause for some alarm.
She had mentioned that people back in her world also practiced black magic. Might it be possible that this winged armor was created using such? I can detect no corruption in herself and felt nothing when she gave me part of her power.
Could she be hiding it from you? I can't detect any, but I can't even look at her with the true sight without my eye bursting and burning from the intensity of her might.
Deathfang waited a couple seconds, closing his eyes as he reached for his deeper senses. Unlike the Dragon Prince, he had no need for his eyeballs to see and he wasn't blinded by Erza.
She has been touched by warp beings, but I see no corruption in her.
Should we ask her?
No, for now we let that particular sleeping dragon lie and wait, while keeping our eyes open.
Deathfang rose up, staring into the sky, before wandering the surrounding city, his eyes blazing with anger for a moment.
It seems that I have made a folly. My prior burst has alerted the vermin…. and they move to eliminate the perceived threat. We need to leave, for it is unlikely that they will allow us to gather our resources in this city unmolested and routing them out will see far too much destruction to the landscape and to great an expenditure of our ti- they are here!
Deathfang had barely stopped talking, Asarnil already springing into action, jumping forward as he did so.
Not a second too late as a green bullet raced through where he had just stood. Twisting himself midair, Asarnil tore out a knife from his belt and tossed it into the air, sparing just a moment to witness it pierce through the jezzail gun of a skaven sniper, just as they were about to fire another shot. The muzzle flash abruptly turned into a green fireball as the warpstone within the weapon detonated, killing all five of the rats instantly.
But they weren't the only ones of their kin. The skull of a bodyguard who had accompanied Emanuello exploded into a shower of splintered bones and gore, indicating another sniper team found themselves considerably more lucky in their aim.
The only reason why Emanuello and the other guard didn't share a similar fate was Erza appearing before them in sudden flash of speed, swiping two more jezzails out of the air with the flat side of her axe, ignoring the bullets fruitlessly pouncing of her armor and flesh all the while.
Not that they were the main target. It had to be dozens of jezzail teams who opened up on Deathfang, using the very best of warpstone munitions available to them. Which in skaven terms meant that they were a miniscule amount less likely to blow up into the gunner's face than actually firing.
Not that it mattered, even from here he could see the bullets impacting his brother did nothing more than shatter against his scales, not even leaving a scratch, much less an injury on him. Deathfang for his part only grunted in anger and clenched one of his massive green clawed fists, and a moment later some fiftyish skaven burst apart in fire, their bodies liquified and their weaponry molten in seconds.
For a moment there was nothing but silence as the burned remains tumbled down the roofs and windows they had occupied, the cloaks of fire that had long since choked any scream their pathetic lungs might have been capable of mustering not even as much as blackening the space around them, much less spread the flames.
For a moment it seemed it was over, as if the city, normally so chaotic and loud, itself was holding its breath. Then the canal around them, one of the countless lanes making up much of this city's transportation network, exploded. The couple of boat drivers mulling around this particular island, including the one that had brought Emanuello and Erza back to the park after Deathfang had discovered the redhead dragon, screamed before their vessels were shattered and sunk. The men themselves fell and were quickly torn to shreds and consumed by the masses of the skavens, who in their numbers seemed as if the canal around them was boiling.
The first of them to enter the island proper wore strange metallic facial masks covering most of their skulls, which Asarnil quickly recognized as diving gear. Their drenched paws clutched crude swords, clubs and spears which made a sharp contrast to the technology allowing them to move below the deep canals of the city.
This many skaven in the middle of the city? This quickly after Deathfang had roared? That has very worrying implications for the state of Miragliano's subterranean defenses, have these morons really abandoned their caution towards the underground over their pathetic internal squabbles?
Instead of answering Deathfang simply opened his mouth and spat out an ancient word of power that even Asarnil couldn't understand, and for a moment the world took on a yellow whitish colour as the Emperor Dragon called a forth a lightning strike thick as a tree and glowing with ethernano from the heavens and onto the water, causing a cacophony of shrieks and screams that quickly ended. The next moment the stench of burned rat flesh and fur laid itself over them like a thick cloak.
Less talking, more rat killing.
#########################################################################
Erza wasn't unfamiliar with flying, she herself had numerous winged armors after all. Still, flying on a Dragon's back…. it was something else. The way the muscles and scales writhed under her body, the way that with every flap of his wings, Deathfang weaved spells to plunge him to ever greater depths of speed, it was truly amazing. He did it as naturally as breathing. Even in this strange, dangerous world, dragons were amazing creatures.
Besides her she could see Asarnil, who was riding on the saddle just below the dragon's neck, eyes closed and body utterly unmoving. If it hadn't been for periodic adjustments in his stature, she could have thought that he was sleeping.
Just below them, bound around Deathfang's chest was Goric. He had insisted on them taking the fastest possible way to Karak Azul… which happened to be on the back of an Emperor Dragon. He had become decidedly less boisterous when he found out that there was no more space on the dragon's back, and he himself had to have been bound around his lower half.
Despite all her assurances that she would catch him -even going so far as transforming into the Black Wing armor in front of him and showing him just how fast she was in it by tossing some man sized rocks a couple hundred meters into the air and catching them midflight- he was still extremely distressed.
"Damn magic." He had grumbled, no doubt trying to sound as dignified as any elder. His shaking fists and fast breathing made him seem more like a scared child pretending to be brave.
Nevertheless she had convinced Goric that she could catch him if he fell, as much as he disagreed. If she had to compare him to someone else, she'd say that he looked a lot like Natsu whenever he entered a train. At least he didn't vomit, something about a dwarf's stone constitution, or at least so he said.
Just as a security precaution she still had her Black Wing armor on, convincing Goric enough to agree to the trip. Every few minutes she checked on him, each time finding him either wide eyed and heaving or looking like he was sucking on a lemon. Still, he looked well enough that she didn't have to worry too much.
Not like with her armor. The jolt from before hadn't happened again, but instead there was an itch in the back of her head. Like there was someone watching her; when Erza glanced behind her, she saw nothing but her streaming hair and Deathfang's tail in the empty sky.
Oh, and Emanuello.
"Myrmidia have mercy, please, I'll repent for all my sins." He was whimpering, the same as when they left this morning. He wrapped his arms around her torso, ignoring any spikes poking his own thin armor or his skin, hanging on for dear life in spite of wrapping a rope around them both. His eyes were clenched shut and he let out a cry every time they dropped altitude, which happened often.
A growl was silenced by a semi-rare movement from Asarnil, laying a steadying hand on the dragon's neck. The extra weight was no issue as Deathfang explained, but that wasn't the real issue.
Erza shifted, feeling Emanuello hug her even tighter. His second bodyguard had sadly passed away, stabbed by one of the few skaven who had made it onto the island. Most of those had been easily cut to pieces by her and Asarnil, but the skaven that had stabbed Rica had been different, wearing some black clothes and some green daggers, one in each paw and it's tail. It had tried to kill Emanuello next, but Goric had managed to deflect its attacks and killed him together with the Merchant prince, who shot the rat in the snout with some small pistol.
That was overall a wild moment, yet Emanuello insisted the skaven wasn't the reason he was coming along. He said it was in the interest of his family to be in the good graces of one of the major dawi Kingdoms. When she and Asarnil reminded him of their destination he had laughed; Emanuello wasn't going to the Black Crag, he planned on waiting at Karak Azul. For business opportunities he claimed, going on a long winded spiel while Goric gave him a funny look.
Thinking about the skaven, she needed to have a talk with Goric and Emanuello about them. She had thought they simply were creatures that lived in that large swamp, but the raid in Miragliano painted a different picture. They were well organized, well equipped, and were amazingly persistent. Cowardly or not, they drove themselves into a fury in each encounter. And there were always so many of them.
Erza hadn't missed the fact she was present in both major attacks, when she had displayed her power. Could the skaven be following her, chasing her the same way those Fimir or beastmen did? Although she considered a second option: there were simply so many skaven she had tripped over them without any focus on their part. That possibility disquieted her; if there was just that many skaven in two random locations, then how many more were there elsewhere in the world?
Ahead Goric shouted something indignant, his stubby arm waving at the sun getting low in the sky. He probably wanted to make camp; Erza could have kept going, a rolled shiver from Deathfang indicated he wanted to stay on the move. Still, her stomach was growling, and she was sure Emanuello's grip was loosening without him wanting to. Time was of the essence, but arriving at Karak Azul exhausted would delay the rescue mission. Besides, she wanted answers.
Not just about the skaven; before they left Erza had told Deathfang about her reason to visit Miragliano, seeking the mages there to return to her world. Erza didn't mind delaying that meeting too long, the mages weren't going anywhere. She couldn't ignore Goric's request in good conscience, not when she was his only option.
Deathfang had chuckled. "Since we're coming with you anyway, I will have time to teach you a few things about magic those mages don't know. Things even the elves don't know. I don't know if it can help you get home, but it can't hurt."
Authors Note:
As always i hope you enjoyed this and many thanks to @Hapless Anon for being a great beta
"We'll have to fly." It was an easy sentence for Asarnil to say, but it shocked those surrounding him nonetheless. The dawi, Goric, moved to protest but he interrupted him before he could start to grumble.
"Flight will allow us to reach Karak Azul in mere days. Any other route will take months. Not to mention the dangers either a direct landpath or taking a detour over the sea gate would mean." He coughed. "Not that anything should be a danger there with us having two Dragons on our side, but any such distraction will mean the family of the king of Karak Azul will have to suffer their Orc captivity longer. Are you really willing to take that shame on yourself, Master Goric?"
The Longbeard, equipped in full body armor, a mighty -if damaged- gromril Hammer in his hands, stumbled like he had been physically struck in the face. He was so easy to manipulate, just like all the Dawi Asarnil had worked with so far; one only needed to word things in a manner that would shame them further if they denied a plan, and the most stubborn people in the world became as soft and manageable as putty. The oaths they were so keen were a weakness to be exploited.
"..... How will I then fit on its back?" Goric began, a slight tremble in his voice. Oh dear, he probably was suffering from some malaise with heights or flight. Not unusual with the shortfolk in Asarnil's experience. And it was easy to see other problems in this equation; for all the strength in his short legs, that would help him little to hold on to Deathfang's back, especially if they were engaged in aerial combat.
Asarnil didn't expect anything truly threatening, even the wildest and maddest of wyverns and manticores would never dare challenge Deathfang's rule over the sky, but it didn't hurt to be careful. Without Goric vouching for them, it was unlikely that the sentries of Karak Azul would allow a "human," Asur and a Dragon to meet with their King to discuss the liberation of his kin. He didn't particularly care, but if the short impression he had gotten from Lady Erza's personality was anything to go by, she would still march against Black Crag and perish in the process.
His eyes wandered to Deathfang, rolling around with the grace and boundless energy of a Dragon freshly hatched. Asarnil well remembered how sluggish he had become in the past decades. How the pauses between their missions had become longer and longer… all the money and treasure he had gained, hoping to use it for influence to force a glorious return to Caledor as was his right, instead were expended on food and endless magic trinkets to keep his companion awake, starved as he was of the might of the vortex this far from Ulthuan.
Any ordinary man or even Elf, one who hadn't spent almost every waking hour with him, would not be able to see the difference, but he did: His flanks, once fallen in, were now swollen with strength, his chest, once a thick carpet of scars and old green scales, having grown brittle and colorless without the constant reinforcement of magic as would be natural, glowed like glorious emerald, the measure of his majestic brother's chizeled musculature clear to see even for the most foolish of lays.
And that was only on this plane. A quick glance with the true sight made clear that, where Deathfang had once been an erupting volcano of magic might, now he was a blazing star, a coat of both quayish and something else completely enveloping his essence, breaking open and refueling every dried shut magic core and nerve. Even as they spoke, his companion still was growing, centuries of atrophied development being rushed by this most wondrous of energies. He was so brilliant that even for someone such as an Asur, looking at him was extraordinarily painful. Not that that stopped him from appreciating such a beautiful sight.
Just for a moment he tried to shift his sight to the woman in question, and again he had to force his face down, tears of blood running down his cracking eyeballs as they rather seared themselves than look at her, before he could so much as catch a glimpse. It felt as if his face had been stricken by a mace, it's spikes driving themselves through his pupils up into his brainstem.
With a snarl he uttered a word of power and the amulet of Isha, blessed by the Everqueen herself on the Island of rebirth sprang into action, fixing the ruptured organs and removing whatever damage the true sight of the supposed dragon in human flesh had done to his senses. A waste perhaps, but a needed one. He had received the artifact from the Caledorian court as thanks for his actions during the invasion of the cursed ones. For a moment he felt how his fist clenched in anger at the injustice their fool of a Phoenix King had done to him.
No, this woman, Lady Erza, she had to live, whatever the price. Not only as payback for the rejuvenation of his brother, but also what she could mean for his inevitable return to caledor and the dragons there.
Speaking of her, the redhead had apparently noted the dwarfs' poorly concealed distress and moved to calm him, despite his mumbled grumbling that he wasn't afraid at all.
"Don't worry, even if you were to fall down I'd catch you long before you'd ever hit the ground! Look!" Light engulfed and he felt himself take a step as an enormous wave of bloodlust hit him, almost like a physical wave, freezing him almost in place. He had felt that radiated impulse before, with Khainite cultists and the mortal berserkers of the blood god.
But none of them compared to this. This rage, the sheer desire for blood and carnage, was easily a match for many of the demons he had the unfortunate luck of meeting. And if he hadn't known who Lady Erza was beforehand, he very well might have mistaken the person before him for a daemon.
Long, leathery black wings sprouted from her back, pulsing with a dark magic magic. Her arms, shoulders, legs as well as various other parts of her body were covered in black metal, which wouldn't look out of place on a Norscan barbarian. The only unarmored areas were her six pack sprouting belly and her immense bust, where the metal only covered the direct front of her boobs. Her neck was protected by a neck guard with several shining diamonds in them, while her long scarlet hair, formerly carried free, had suddenly been bound into a high ponytail with two bangs covering a part of her face.
Her left arm held an intricate wicked sword about the length of his arm, with a number of gemstones crafted into the guard, while her left hand carried a waraxe, largely made out of black steel.
All that was complimented by a red glow surrounding her form, like a far less intense of her magic outburst before, only now it seemed more sinister.
Asarnil gulped as he felt a shudder run down his back. She made for a mesmerizing sight, if not more than a little intimidating. Still that tremble just now….
You felt that too, right?
His eyes wandered to Deathfang, who sent him a silent stare, his exaltation cut short.
Indeed.
His large eyes, formerly gleaming with joy, were now filled by worry. This sensation…. it had been entirely similar to the foul blood red light of the blood god. Her aura had lacked it's sheer malice, but still. It was definitely cause for some alarm.
She had mentioned that people back in her world also practiced black magic. Might it be possible that this winged armor was created using such? I can detect no corruption in herself and felt nothing when she gave me part of her power.
Could she be hiding it from you? I can't detect any, but I can't even look at her with the true sight without my eye bursting and burning from the intensity of her might.
Deathfang waited a couple seconds, closing his eyes as he reached for his deeper senses. Unlike the Dragon Prince, he had no need for his eyeballs to see and he wasn't blinded by Erza.
She has been touched by warp beings, but I see no corruption in her.
Should we ask her?
No, for now we let that particular sleeping dragon lie and wait, while keeping our eyes open.
Deathfang rose up, staring into the sky, before wandering the surrounding city, his eyes blazing with anger for a moment.
It seems that I have made a folly. My prior burst has alerted the vermin…. and they move to eliminate the perceived threat. We need to leave, for it is unlikely that they will allow us to gather our resources in this city unmolested and routing them out will see far too much destruction to the landscape and to great an expenditure of our ti- they are here!
Deathfang had barely stopped talking, Asarnil already springing into action, jumping forward as he did so.
Not a second too late as a green bullet raced through where he had just stood. Twisting himself midair, Asarnil tore out a knife from his belt and tossed it into the air, sparing just a moment to witness it pierce through the jezzail gun of a skaven sniper, just as they were about to fire another shot. The muzzle flash abruptly turned into a green fireball as the warpstone within the weapon detonated, killing all five of the rats instantly.
But they weren't the only ones of their kin. The skull of a bodyguard who had accompanied Emanuello exploded into a shower of splintered bones and gore, indicating another sniper team found themselves considerably more lucky in their aim.
The only reason why Emanuello and the other guard didn't share a similar fate was Erza appearing before them in sudden flash of speed, swiping two more jezzails out of the air with the flat side of her axe, ignoring the bullets fruitlessly pouncing of her armor and flesh all the while.
Not that they were the main target. It had to be dozens of jezzail teams who opened up on Deathfang, using the very best of warpstone munitions available to them. Which in skaven terms meant that they were a miniscule amount less likely to blow up into the gunner's face than actually firing.
Not that it mattered, even from here he could see the bullets impacting his brother did nothing more than shatter against his scales, not even leaving a scratch, much less an injury on him. Deathfang for his part only grunted in anger and clenched one of his massive green clawed fists, and a moment later some fiftyish skaven burst apart in fire, their bodies liquified and their weaponry molten in seconds.
For a moment there was nothing but silence as the burned remains tumbled down the roofs and windows they had occupied, the cloaks of fire that had long since choked any scream their pathetic lungs might have been capable of mustering not even as much as blackening the space around them, much less spread the flames.
For a moment it seemed it was over, as if the city, normally so chaotic and loud, itself was holding its breath. Then the canal around them, one of the countless lanes making up much of this city's transportation network, exploded. The couple of boat drivers mulling around this particular island, including the one that had brought Emanuello and Erza back to the park after Deathfang had discovered the redhead dragon, screamed before their vessels were shattered and sunk. The men themselves fell and were quickly torn to shreds and consumed by the masses of the skavens, who in their numbers seemed as if the canal around them was boiling.
The first of them to enter the island proper wore strange metallic facial masks covering most of their skulls, which Asarnil quickly recognized as diving gear. Their drenched paws clutched crude swords, clubs and spears which made a sharp contrast to the technology allowing them to move below the deep canals of the city.
This many skaven in the middle of the city? This quickly after Deathfang had roared? That has very worrying implications for the state of Miragliano's subterranean defenses, have these morons really abandoned their caution towards the underground over their pathetic internal squabbles?
Instead of answering Deathfang simply opened his mouth and spat out an ancient word of power that even Asarnil couldn't understand, and for a moment the world took on a yellow whitish colour as the Emperor Dragon called a forth a lightning strike thick as a tree and glowing with ethernano from the heavens and onto the water, causing a cacophony of shrieks and screams that quickly ended. The next moment the stench of burned rat flesh and fur laid itself over them like a thick cloak.
Less talking, more rat killing.
#########################################################################
Erza wasn't unfamiliar with flying, she herself had numerous winged armors after all. Still, flying on a Dragon's back…. it was something else. The way the muscles and scales writhed under her body, the way that with every flap of his wings, Deathfang weaved spells to plunge him to ever greater depths of speed, it was truly amazing. He did it as naturally as breathing. Even in this strange, dangerous world, dragons were amazing creatures.
Besides her she could see Asarnil, who was riding on the saddle just below the dragon's neck, eyes closed and body utterly unmoving. If it hadn't been for periodic adjustments in his stature, she could have thought that he was sleeping.
Just below them, bound around Deathfang's chest was Goric. He had insisted on them taking the fastest possible way to Karak Azul… which happened to be on the back of an Emperor Dragon. He had become decidedly less boisterous when he found out that there was no more space on the dragon's back, and he himself had to have been bound around his lower half.
Despite all her assurances that she would catch him -even going so far as transforming into the Black Wing armor in front of him and showing him just how fast she was in it by tossing some man sized rocks a couple hundred meters into the air and catching them midflight- he was still extremely distressed.
"Damn magic." He had grumbled, no doubt trying to sound as dignified as any elder. His shaking fists and fast breathing made him seem more like a scared child pretending to be brave.
Nevertheless she had convinced Goric that she could catch him if he fell, as much as he disagreed. If she had to compare him to someone else, she'd say that he looked a lot like Natsu whenever he entered a train. At least he didn't vomit, something about a dwarf's stone constitution, or at least so he said.
Just as a security precaution she still had her Black Wing armor on, convincing Goric enough to agree to the trip. Every few minutes she checked on him, each time finding him either wide eyed and heaving or looking like he was sucking on a lemon. Still, he looked well enough that she didn't have to worry too much.
Not like with her armor. The jolt from before hadn't happened again, but instead there was an itch in the back of her head. Like there was someone watching her; when Erza glanced behind her, she saw nothing but her streaming hair and Deathfang's tail in the empty sky.
Oh, and Emanuello.
"Myrmidia have mercy, please, I'll repent for all my sins." He was whimpering, the same as when they left this morning. He wrapped his arms around her torso, ignoring any spikes poking his own thin armor or his skin, hanging on for dear life in spite of wrapping a rope around them both. His eyes were clenched shut and he let out a cry every time they dropped altitude, which happened often.
A growl was silenced by a semi-rare movement from Asarnil, laying a steadying hand on the dragon's neck. The extra weight was no issue as Deathfang explained, but that wasn't the real issue.
Erza shifted, feeling Emanuello hug her even tighter. His second bodyguard had sadly passed away, stabbed by one of the few skaven who had made it onto the island. Most of those had been easily cut to pieces by her and Asarnil, but the skaven that had stabbed Rica had been different, wearing some black clothes and some green daggers, one in each paw and it's tail. It had tried to kill Emanuello next, but Goric had managed to deflect its attacks and killed him together with the Merchant prince, who shot the rat in the snout with some small pistol.
That was overall a wild moment, yet Emanuello insisted the skaven wasn't the reason he was coming along. He said it was in the interest of his family to be in the good graces of one of the major dawi Kingdoms. When she and Asarnil reminded him of their destination he had laughed; Emanuello wasn't going to the Black Crag, he planned on waiting at Karak Azul. For business opportunities he claimed, going on a long winded spiel while Goric gave him a funny look.
Thinking about the skaven, she needed to have a talk with Goric and Emanuello about them. She had thought they simply were creatures that lived in that large swamp, but the raid in Miragliano painted a different picture. They were well organized, well equipped, and were amazingly persistent. Cowardly or not, they drove themselves into a fury in each encounter. And there were always so many of them.
Erza hadn't missed the fact she was present in both major attacks, when she had displayed her power. Could the skaven be following her, chasing her the same way those Fimir or beastmen did? Although she considered a second option: there were simply so many skaven she had tripped over them without any focus on their part. That possibility disquieted her; if there was just that many skaven in two random locations, then how many more were there elsewhere in the world?
Ahead Goric shouted something indignant, his stubby arm waving at the sun getting low in the sky. He probably wanted to make camp; Erza could have kept going, a rolled shiver from Deathfang indicated he wanted to stay on the move. Still, her stomach was growling, and she was sure Emanuello's grip was loosening without him wanting to. Time was of the essence, but arriving at Karak Azul exhausted would delay the rescue mission. Besides, she wanted answers.
Not just about the skaven; before they left Erza had told Deathfang about her reason to visit Miragliano, seeking the mages there to return to her world. Erza didn't mind delaying that meeting too long, the mages weren't going anywhere. She couldn't ignore Goric's request in good conscience, not when she was his only option.
Deathfang had chuckled. "Since we're coming with you anyway, I will have time to teach you a few things about magic those mages don't know. Things even the elves don't know. I don't know if it can help you get home, but it can't hurt."
Authors Note:
As always i hope you enjoyed this and many thanks to @Hapless Anon for being a great beta
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
The memories of men are short, and they easily fall to complacency without blatant ongoing proof of danger.
The WHF world would be measurably less fucked if this was not the case. :T
(It would still be fucked, because humans aren't responsible for most of the ruination, but the short memories of men certainly do not help.)
Girl you do not want to know the answer to that question.
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- male
Now I wanna see how Asarnil would react to tiny Wendy asking if he has seen her dragon mom
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
He'd be even more confused at the idea of a 'sky' dragon that has a wind-based breath-weapon and can convert air into magical power.
Even by WHF dragon standards that entire concept is nonsensical.
The Knight and the Demon
- Pronouns
- He
The knight and the Demon
Mira was behaving strangely.
It wasn't what Erza would normally think about while enjoying her heavenly strawberry cake, so sweet and moist and melting on her tongue. But now, Mirajane's oddness was ruining what could have been a good day.
Taking a seat in the corner of the Guild Hall, sixteen year old Erza observed the usual goings on: Elfman was being quiet and meek while Lisanna chatted with Cana, Macao was laughing about something with Wakaba, Master Makarov was nursing a beer at the far wall, and others were doing their own things. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Natsu and Gray running past, quietly relieved the latter remembered his shorts this time. Gray was yelling something about a rematch while Natsu was talking about a race, Happy flying beside him as he typically did. They weren't fighting or making a scene, thus Erza allowed them to pass unharmed. A quick glare made both boys flinch and run faster.
Taking another bite, Erza's gaze drifted back to the source of her unease. Leaning against a pillar nearby her table, Mirajane had her arms crossed and a leg off the floor, wearing her usual black top and skirt, as well as a scowl. One that unexpectedly grew worse when she spared a peek at Erza, turning away with a scoff.
Mira had been like that all morning. The usual threats and challenges were absent, leaving Elfman and Lisanna alone without any trouble. She didn't even try to interrupt Erza when she scolded Natsu and Gray earlier, sending the two running before they made another scene. All Mira did was lean against that same pillar nearby her table, her eyes continually falling on Erza before snorting and looking away.
Very strange.
Sooner or later Erza would have to confront Mira, figure out what her deal was. She doubted she was still sore about their last brawl; Erza won that fight fair and square, she only pulled on her hair after Mira did it first. So what if they broke through a wall in the process? Mira started it. Upon reconsidering, Erza wondered if that was her issue after all. Another bite filled with whipped cream didn't offer an answer, neither did the strawberry on top.
Scraping up the last few crumbs, Erza finished her cake in preparation for having another. She had no more set her fork down when Mira left her spot; tensing up, Erza immediately reached for her dull practice sword, little more than a metal stick but plenty strong enough to beat her black and blue. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt as Mira strode to her side, staying out of arms reach.
Expecting a mocking laugh or an insult, Erza felt confusion when Mirajane simply scowled.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" She demanded with a scoff.
"I don't have anything planned, why?" Erza raised a brow, her guard raised. What was she after?
Mirajane bared her teeth, and turned away. "Tomorrow is… I wanna race you. I need flying practice and beating you helps."
She got the request out quickly, refusing to meet her gaze. Now Erza was puzzled, that sounded like an excuse the boys made when she caught them doing something they shouldn't. All the while her strange attitude hadn't vanished, not only was she still standoffish but she refused to look at her for more than a split second at a time, hissing out a breath through clenched teeth.
Still, Erza wasn't one to turn down a challenge.
"Fine, where will I beat you? And what do I get once I win?" She gave her a smug grin, confident in her own victory. There was no way that she'd let Mira beat her in a race!
"You can try!" Mirajane snapped before unexpectedly withdrawing, averting her gaze while her fists clenched. "The guild women's dorm, tomorrow at noon. The loser has to do whatever the winner wants! For the whole day. Don't be late." Whirling around, she stomped off without waiting for confirmation, mid stride catching Natsu in a headlock when he and Gray ran past her, wailing on him much more aggressively than normal.
Left with an empty plate, Erza frowned. Just what was that all about? Oh well, she had more important things to care about. Turning around she served herself another slice of strawberry cake, warding off a fleeing Natsu before he knocked her over.
The next day…
It was a bright summer day, low wind and with barely a cloud in sight. Birds were chirping, leaves were billowing, children were laughing in Magnolia's park. Perfect weather for training, or for this case, beating a rival.
Shortly before noon Erza strode up the dirt path to the women's dorms, taking it slow and easy to conserve her power; not that she had doubts about emerging victorious, but due diligence never hurt. Though she still considered going all out for an introduction, her new armor practically demanded to be shown off. It was so shiny, she felt bad for hiding it.
Shaking her head, Erza spotted Mirajane leaning against a tree like yesterday, this time doing a double take upon spotting her. She picked herself up and scoffed when she was in earshot, this time settling for a glare. Just as Erza feared she was just as strange as yesterday, showing a light flush to her cheeks; she couldn't be embarrassed about being early, she definitely couldn't mock Erza for being late.
"Good, you showed up." Mirajane huffed, crossing her arms.
"Of course. I won't run from a fight, especially one I'll win." Erza grinned. However, her eyes drifted to a small basket by the tree: it looked like a fancy picnic case. Mirajane loudly cleared her throat when she tracked her gaze.
"Its a snack. I… I got some chocolates and some candy, to celebrate my victory." She thumped her chest for emphasis, the redness in her cheeks growing brighter. "What, you have a problem with that?"
"Not at all, I hope my winnings taste good." Erza rolled her shoulders, limbering up for the race. "Now that I'm here, tell me the terms. Where are we racing to?"
Cracking her neck, some of Mira's usual cockiness returned to the forefront, letting her stab a finger at a decrepit watchtower some distance away. "First one to fly to the top there and back wins."
"That's all?" Erza chuckled, only for Mira to grit her teeth.
"There's some rare flowers blooming up there. You have to grab a bundle and bring them back intact." Although Mira spoke with confidence, she had a look in her eyes that Erza couldn't identify, whatever she had on her mind caused her to chew a lip.
Erza raised a brow. Now that her suspicions were stoked, she wondered what her real goal was: she hadn't seen Natsu or Grey acting differently than usual, so she doubted Mira enlisted their help to prank her. Were Elfman or Lisanna waiting there? For a moment she wondered if this wasn't a secret training test by Macano or Master Makarov, perhaps even Gildarts.
Whatever it could be, Erza was on her guard now.
Rolling her shoulders to loosen up, bright light enveloped Mirajane's form, though Erza noticed an unusual flinch mid transformation. Not one of pain, like she tried to hide herself; she was never shy about unleashing her magic before, why now? When it dissipated Mirajane was far more fearsome in appearance, her hair standing up alongside two horns, her hands and feet ending in vicious claws, and two leathery wings sprouting from her back.
"Well?" Mira's voice was huskier, but she still carried that expectant tone. That, and her cat-like eyes still had that look Erza couldn't identify.
Nevertheless Erza followed suit, a flash of her own equipping her newest armor: huge metal wings, a snug top held by a jewel, clanking skirt over flared boots, and a circlet with twin ears making a low key crown. Heaven's Wheel emptied her savings and left her with a hefty debt towards Makarov, yet she hadn't spent a second regretting acquiring it.
Sporting a grin as she adjusted to its new weight, Erza's revelry hit a snag when she saw Mirajane staring at her, flashing something before she gritted her teeth. Erza cocked her head to the side, utterly confused.
"What is wrong with you?" She had to ask.
"It's nothing. Nothing." Mirajane turned away, crossing her arms and gritting her teeth. "…do you know what day it is?"
"No?" Erza raised a brow, she was sure she heard something about today but she couldn't remember what.
After a second Mira huffed. "Its… it's Valentine's."
"Oh." Erza blinked, only to be even more confused. Why would that matter?
"Anyway, cmon." Mirajane insistently waved. Using a heel she dragged a line in the grass, looking like she wanted to say something before reconsidering. "Are you ready to race or wanna rest some more, slowpoke?" The challenge lacked Mirajane's usual bite.
While that was confusing to Erza, she understood this part well enough. Setting herself on the line, she sent Mira a confident smirk while pouring magic into her armor in preparation, seeing her wings ripple in anticipation. They didn't need anything so obvious as a go signal, a nod did the trick.
Like a bolt of lightning they were off, Mira's Satan's Soul versus Erza's Heaven's Wheel. The wind whipped her hair back, threatening to bring tears to her eyes from the sheer velocity. But seeing her rival's beating wings pulling ahead of her, Erza didn't slow down at all, instead she coaxed more power to her armor for extra speed. Grass flew by just out of reach, the target growing larger the closer they got.
However, Erza made a serious mistake: she kept checking on Mira instead of watching where she was going. She glanced from side to side, but she hadn't yet fully grasped that flyers needed to think in three directions. Thus, she didn't realize there was a boulder in her path until she abruptly skidded off it, a screech of the armor's plate yanking her attention away, just in time to slam into the old stone tower.
As the stone cracked from her landing Erza went limp, gasping in pain as she momentarily dropped. The impact from the fall down drove the air out of her lungs as she coughed for a moment, cursing her carelessness. So invested had she been at outpacing the Demon teen that she had not at all considered what was before her.
Despite its looks, the tower was surprisingly robust and had sent her tumbling down after her face planted against the stone wall. The headache she got from this was secondary to the damned sight she had received while going down: Mirajane, glowing in dark energy, reaching the top.
For a moment she considered flying up there and contesting her victory, her head did after all make contact first with the rock. But no, they said who would reach the top first. Mira had won, fair and square, even if that vexed her to no end. She gritted her teeth when her wings crumpled under her weight, softening her landing from spine breaking to merely painful.
What was she even doing for so long up there? She had expected her to come down and gloat about her having to do what she wanted for the rest of the day? She felt a small shudder go over her. She'd probably try something incredibly shameful.
Slowly she rose up again, glaring at Mira who was slowly descending. Her claws were by her sides, but she immediately spotted her tail curled behind her, as if clutching something. Probably the flowers she mentioned, hiding them in case Erza was spiteful enough to destroy them. A thought that did cross her mind after such a humiliating defeat.
Mirajane's feet landed on the grass, her expression narrowed as she stared at Erza. In the middle of stumbling to her feet Erza did a double take; she expected a mocking laugh and a jeer, not a chewed lip and… concern? Erza tapped the side of her head, not feeling any warning signs of a concussion. She wasn't imagining it, Mirajane actually looked worried.
"Are you okay?" She asked quietly.
Groaning after putting weight on her feet, Erza cringed at a crumpled wing over her shoulder, never mind the numerous smaller dents and scuffs on her armor. A quick guess at repair costs left her blanching, with how expensive it was…
Letting out a breath, Erza put on a strong facade. "I'm fine. Just a couple scratches." Testing her arms located a bruise on her shoulder, the worst of her injuries. "Okay, you won. What do you want me to do?"
Mirajane inhaled sharply, baring her teeth in what was unmistakably a cringe. Behind her the tail reached around, a rustle confirming she had a large bundle of roses in hand; roses, thick and crimson red, and to Erza's confusion all the little thorns were gone. She wasn't up there that long.
"I… lied earlier. There aren't any special flowers growing here, I… I put these here this morning." Mirajane confessed, taking another breath.
"Why?" Erza let her mouth hang open. A couple days of strangeness weren't enough, Mirajane had to fake that? Something had definitely gotten to her.
Unexpectedly Mirajane let a thin smile onto her face. "You were supposed to find them dummy, they're for you."
"Wha-!" The rest of her sentence was mumbled as Mirajane grabbed her head and pressed her against her, face to face, lips to lips.
Blinking was the extent of Erza's response, her eyes as wide as saucers. She definitely hit her head, she was hallucinating; there was no way this was happening! Mirajane couldn't be kissing her, her tongue wasn't sticking inside her mouth to wrestle with hers, that was, was- she simply couldn't process it. This had to be the concussion at work, it was too shocking to admit.
Erza was still stunned when Mirajane withdrew, cupping her cheeks while quick breaths came and went from her gawking face. A nervous exhale left Mirajane blushing, quickly shoving the roses into Erza's numb hands.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Erza." Mirajane tittered, caressing her face. Erza just squeaked in shock.
AN:
And this is my happy valentine´s to all of you. Thank you so much for reading my story and enjoying it. It makes my day whenever I say a comment on one of my stories or when someone likes them. I hope that you are spending your day with your significant other or at least a very good friend. I´m gonna be spending it with @Hapless Anon to whom goes massive credit for writing a bunch of this chapter.
I wish you all a truly wonderfull time.
Mira was behaving strangely.
It wasn't what Erza would normally think about while enjoying her heavenly strawberry cake, so sweet and moist and melting on her tongue. But now, Mirajane's oddness was ruining what could have been a good day.
Taking a seat in the corner of the Guild Hall, sixteen year old Erza observed the usual goings on: Elfman was being quiet and meek while Lisanna chatted with Cana, Macao was laughing about something with Wakaba, Master Makarov was nursing a beer at the far wall, and others were doing their own things. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Natsu and Gray running past, quietly relieved the latter remembered his shorts this time. Gray was yelling something about a rematch while Natsu was talking about a race, Happy flying beside him as he typically did. They weren't fighting or making a scene, thus Erza allowed them to pass unharmed. A quick glare made both boys flinch and run faster.
Taking another bite, Erza's gaze drifted back to the source of her unease. Leaning against a pillar nearby her table, Mirajane had her arms crossed and a leg off the floor, wearing her usual black top and skirt, as well as a scowl. One that unexpectedly grew worse when she spared a peek at Erza, turning away with a scoff.
Mira had been like that all morning. The usual threats and challenges were absent, leaving Elfman and Lisanna alone without any trouble. She didn't even try to interrupt Erza when she scolded Natsu and Gray earlier, sending the two running before they made another scene. All Mira did was lean against that same pillar nearby her table, her eyes continually falling on Erza before snorting and looking away.
Very strange.
Sooner or later Erza would have to confront Mira, figure out what her deal was. She doubted she was still sore about their last brawl; Erza won that fight fair and square, she only pulled on her hair after Mira did it first. So what if they broke through a wall in the process? Mira started it. Upon reconsidering, Erza wondered if that was her issue after all. Another bite filled with whipped cream didn't offer an answer, neither did the strawberry on top.
Scraping up the last few crumbs, Erza finished her cake in preparation for having another. She had no more set her fork down when Mira left her spot; tensing up, Erza immediately reached for her dull practice sword, little more than a metal stick but plenty strong enough to beat her black and blue. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt as Mira strode to her side, staying out of arms reach.
Expecting a mocking laugh or an insult, Erza felt confusion when Mirajane simply scowled.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" She demanded with a scoff.
"I don't have anything planned, why?" Erza raised a brow, her guard raised. What was she after?
Mirajane bared her teeth, and turned away. "Tomorrow is… I wanna race you. I need flying practice and beating you helps."
She got the request out quickly, refusing to meet her gaze. Now Erza was puzzled, that sounded like an excuse the boys made when she caught them doing something they shouldn't. All the while her strange attitude hadn't vanished, not only was she still standoffish but she refused to look at her for more than a split second at a time, hissing out a breath through clenched teeth.
Still, Erza wasn't one to turn down a challenge.
"Fine, where will I beat you? And what do I get once I win?" She gave her a smug grin, confident in her own victory. There was no way that she'd let Mira beat her in a race!
"You can try!" Mirajane snapped before unexpectedly withdrawing, averting her gaze while her fists clenched. "The guild women's dorm, tomorrow at noon. The loser has to do whatever the winner wants! For the whole day. Don't be late." Whirling around, she stomped off without waiting for confirmation, mid stride catching Natsu in a headlock when he and Gray ran past her, wailing on him much more aggressively than normal.
Left with an empty plate, Erza frowned. Just what was that all about? Oh well, she had more important things to care about. Turning around she served herself another slice of strawberry cake, warding off a fleeing Natsu before he knocked her over.
The next day…
It was a bright summer day, low wind and with barely a cloud in sight. Birds were chirping, leaves were billowing, children were laughing in Magnolia's park. Perfect weather for training, or for this case, beating a rival.
Shortly before noon Erza strode up the dirt path to the women's dorms, taking it slow and easy to conserve her power; not that she had doubts about emerging victorious, but due diligence never hurt. Though she still considered going all out for an introduction, her new armor practically demanded to be shown off. It was so shiny, she felt bad for hiding it.
Shaking her head, Erza spotted Mirajane leaning against a tree like yesterday, this time doing a double take upon spotting her. She picked herself up and scoffed when she was in earshot, this time settling for a glare. Just as Erza feared she was just as strange as yesterday, showing a light flush to her cheeks; she couldn't be embarrassed about being early, she definitely couldn't mock Erza for being late.
"Good, you showed up." Mirajane huffed, crossing her arms.
"Of course. I won't run from a fight, especially one I'll win." Erza grinned. However, her eyes drifted to a small basket by the tree: it looked like a fancy picnic case. Mirajane loudly cleared her throat when she tracked her gaze.
"Its a snack. I… I got some chocolates and some candy, to celebrate my victory." She thumped her chest for emphasis, the redness in her cheeks growing brighter. "What, you have a problem with that?"
"Not at all, I hope my winnings taste good." Erza rolled her shoulders, limbering up for the race. "Now that I'm here, tell me the terms. Where are we racing to?"
Cracking her neck, some of Mira's usual cockiness returned to the forefront, letting her stab a finger at a decrepit watchtower some distance away. "First one to fly to the top there and back wins."
"That's all?" Erza chuckled, only for Mira to grit her teeth.
"There's some rare flowers blooming up there. You have to grab a bundle and bring them back intact." Although Mira spoke with confidence, she had a look in her eyes that Erza couldn't identify, whatever she had on her mind caused her to chew a lip.
Erza raised a brow. Now that her suspicions were stoked, she wondered what her real goal was: she hadn't seen Natsu or Grey acting differently than usual, so she doubted Mira enlisted their help to prank her. Were Elfman or Lisanna waiting there? For a moment she wondered if this wasn't a secret training test by Macano or Master Makarov, perhaps even Gildarts.
Whatever it could be, Erza was on her guard now.
Rolling her shoulders to loosen up, bright light enveloped Mirajane's form, though Erza noticed an unusual flinch mid transformation. Not one of pain, like she tried to hide herself; she was never shy about unleashing her magic before, why now? When it dissipated Mirajane was far more fearsome in appearance, her hair standing up alongside two horns, her hands and feet ending in vicious claws, and two leathery wings sprouting from her back.
"Well?" Mira's voice was huskier, but she still carried that expectant tone. That, and her cat-like eyes still had that look Erza couldn't identify.
Nevertheless Erza followed suit, a flash of her own equipping her newest armor: huge metal wings, a snug top held by a jewel, clanking skirt over flared boots, and a circlet with twin ears making a low key crown. Heaven's Wheel emptied her savings and left her with a hefty debt towards Makarov, yet she hadn't spent a second regretting acquiring it.
Sporting a grin as she adjusted to its new weight, Erza's revelry hit a snag when she saw Mirajane staring at her, flashing something before she gritted her teeth. Erza cocked her head to the side, utterly confused.
"What is wrong with you?" She had to ask.
"It's nothing. Nothing." Mirajane turned away, crossing her arms and gritting her teeth. "…do you know what day it is?"
"No?" Erza raised a brow, she was sure she heard something about today but she couldn't remember what.
After a second Mira huffed. "Its… it's Valentine's."
"Oh." Erza blinked, only to be even more confused. Why would that matter?
"Anyway, cmon." Mirajane insistently waved. Using a heel she dragged a line in the grass, looking like she wanted to say something before reconsidering. "Are you ready to race or wanna rest some more, slowpoke?" The challenge lacked Mirajane's usual bite.
While that was confusing to Erza, she understood this part well enough. Setting herself on the line, she sent Mira a confident smirk while pouring magic into her armor in preparation, seeing her wings ripple in anticipation. They didn't need anything so obvious as a go signal, a nod did the trick.
Like a bolt of lightning they were off, Mira's Satan's Soul versus Erza's Heaven's Wheel. The wind whipped her hair back, threatening to bring tears to her eyes from the sheer velocity. But seeing her rival's beating wings pulling ahead of her, Erza didn't slow down at all, instead she coaxed more power to her armor for extra speed. Grass flew by just out of reach, the target growing larger the closer they got.
However, Erza made a serious mistake: she kept checking on Mira instead of watching where she was going. She glanced from side to side, but she hadn't yet fully grasped that flyers needed to think in three directions. Thus, she didn't realize there was a boulder in her path until she abruptly skidded off it, a screech of the armor's plate yanking her attention away, just in time to slam into the old stone tower.
As the stone cracked from her landing Erza went limp, gasping in pain as she momentarily dropped. The impact from the fall down drove the air out of her lungs as she coughed for a moment, cursing her carelessness. So invested had she been at outpacing the Demon teen that she had not at all considered what was before her.
Despite its looks, the tower was surprisingly robust and had sent her tumbling down after her face planted against the stone wall. The headache she got from this was secondary to the damned sight she had received while going down: Mirajane, glowing in dark energy, reaching the top.
For a moment she considered flying up there and contesting her victory, her head did after all make contact first with the rock. But no, they said who would reach the top first. Mira had won, fair and square, even if that vexed her to no end. She gritted her teeth when her wings crumpled under her weight, softening her landing from spine breaking to merely painful.
What was she even doing for so long up there? She had expected her to come down and gloat about her having to do what she wanted for the rest of the day? She felt a small shudder go over her. She'd probably try something incredibly shameful.
Slowly she rose up again, glaring at Mira who was slowly descending. Her claws were by her sides, but she immediately spotted her tail curled behind her, as if clutching something. Probably the flowers she mentioned, hiding them in case Erza was spiteful enough to destroy them. A thought that did cross her mind after such a humiliating defeat.
Mirajane's feet landed on the grass, her expression narrowed as she stared at Erza. In the middle of stumbling to her feet Erza did a double take; she expected a mocking laugh and a jeer, not a chewed lip and… concern? Erza tapped the side of her head, not feeling any warning signs of a concussion. She wasn't imagining it, Mirajane actually looked worried.
"Are you okay?" She asked quietly.
Groaning after putting weight on her feet, Erza cringed at a crumpled wing over her shoulder, never mind the numerous smaller dents and scuffs on her armor. A quick guess at repair costs left her blanching, with how expensive it was…
Letting out a breath, Erza put on a strong facade. "I'm fine. Just a couple scratches." Testing her arms located a bruise on her shoulder, the worst of her injuries. "Okay, you won. What do you want me to do?"
Mirajane inhaled sharply, baring her teeth in what was unmistakably a cringe. Behind her the tail reached around, a rustle confirming she had a large bundle of roses in hand; roses, thick and crimson red, and to Erza's confusion all the little thorns were gone. She wasn't up there that long.
"I… lied earlier. There aren't any special flowers growing here, I… I put these here this morning." Mirajane confessed, taking another breath.
"Why?" Erza let her mouth hang open. A couple days of strangeness weren't enough, Mirajane had to fake that? Something had definitely gotten to her.
Unexpectedly Mirajane let a thin smile onto her face. "You were supposed to find them dummy, they're for you."
"Wha-!" The rest of her sentence was mumbled as Mirajane grabbed her head and pressed her against her, face to face, lips to lips.
Blinking was the extent of Erza's response, her eyes as wide as saucers. She definitely hit her head, she was hallucinating; there was no way this was happening! Mirajane couldn't be kissing her, her tongue wasn't sticking inside her mouth to wrestle with hers, that was, was- she simply couldn't process it. This had to be the concussion at work, it was too shocking to admit.
Erza was still stunned when Mirajane withdrew, cupping her cheeks while quick breaths came and went from her gawking face. A nervous exhale left Mirajane blushing, quickly shoving the roses into Erza's numb hands.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Erza." Mirajane tittered, caressing her face. Erza just squeaked in shock.
AN:
And this is my happy valentine´s to all of you. Thank you so much for reading my story and enjoying it. It makes my day whenever I say a comment on one of my stories or when someone likes them. I hope that you are spending your day with your significant other or at least a very good friend. I´m gonna be spending it with @Hapless Anon to whom goes massive credit for writing a bunch of this chapter.
I wish you all a truly wonderfull time.
- Pronouns
- Masculine
Adorable and wonderful. And totally what Mira would do. Though losing Lisanna shortly after would probably have destroyed her relationship drive if they ever got more then rivals.
Heh. Erza and Mira remain adorable.
Though, it does worry me.
Because I KNOW just what form Slaanesh is going to take when she tries to tempt Erza.
Though I have a feeling that is just going to make her Khorne all the harder.
Still, really really adorable moment with Erza and Mirajane. After Mira was calming down but before she was completely broken by Lisanna disappearing.
Heh. Erza and Mira remain adorable.
Though, it does worry me.
Because I KNOW just what form Slaanesh is going to take when she tries to tempt Erza.
Though I have a feeling that is just going to make her Khorne all the harder.
Still, really really adorable moment with Erza and Mirajane. After Mira was calming down but before she was completely broken by Lisanna disappearing.
Skaven 2
- Pronouns
- He
Skaven 2
The skaven alliance to finally topple the damned man-thing city of Miragliano was a grand one. Besides dozens of "minor" skaven clans, all of whom had promised to lend tens of thousands of slaves and thousands of actual warriors, there were four of the great clans who had promised aid, each producing hosts whose size and quality rivaled the combined size of all the minor clans.
Clan Mors had declared that, besides the usual cannon fodder, it would commit over 400 Rat-Ogres, intended to act as shocktroopers to break through the great pike blocks the man-things of Tilea were known for. Furthermore, multiple great worms and squids, modified to carry bombs produced by Clan Skyre to rupture open the cities sea gates and landside walls.
Supposedly once their creatures had torn holes into the great defences, the hundreds of thousands of skaven slaves and clan rats belonging to the lesser clans would swell through the holes to distract the enemy forces in the city, shortly before packs of Storm Vermin, provided by Clan Rictus, would push through the cities inner sewers, to be supported by diver teams and a navy of Clan skyre.
Long had the Skaven wished to destroy the man-thing city, vengeance for all those years of defiance against the superior race. Now with the clans enjoying a period of relative unity, where backstabs occurred only infrequently instead of commonly, when fights between the competing clans were broken up before the casualties grew inconvenient, they were preparing to finish them off at last. No longer would this thorn to Skavenblight exist to threaten the capital of the true rulers of this world.
So assumed Scrak, one of the venerated and feared Grey Seers in these lands, before his scheme met an abrupt halt.
Sucking in a breath, Scrak thrashed against the chains holding him to the floor. The pale fur that marked him as a voice of the Horned Rat was tattered and bloody, the rusty chains digging into his hide. One of his horns was broken off, aching his skull beyond tolerable levels. His robes were stripped away when the rival storm vermin dragged him into this chamber, an insult worthy of a thousand painful deaths.
Hearing the cell door creak, Scrak squeezed his eyes shut in response to a pounding headache, his stiff joints acting up everywhere. His last warpstone nugget was days ago, withdrawal was setting in. This was an agony reserved for slaves, not for one of his exalted position.
"How… dare you…" Scrak growled at his captor leisurely strolling in front of him. His blurred vision kept him from seeing who he was, though his scent marked him as an upper ranked battle leader.
How dare they treat Scrak this way, him! Scrak was a Gray Seer, chosen emissary of the god of all Skaven! By his word the will of the Horned Rat was passed to all these scurrying wastes of meat, for the benefit of their entire race. Who was this sniveling coward who dared to harm Scrak this way!?
A pas grabbed his remaining horn to jerk Scrak's head up, putting him face to face with a scarred yet grinning snout, his armor marking him as a Mors clan war leader. Scrak struggled to remember his name, he was sure this one had opposed a plot to steal that magic source that one Skyre underling had pursued.
"You are in trouble-trouble, blessed one." He chuckled, whiskers bristling with excitement.
"Scum-thing, you will die!" Scrak thrashed against his chains, digging new cuts into his abused skin. He didn't care, he just wanted this grinning fool to die.
Instead of obeying his will the war leader poked a sharp claw at his chest, digging the tip enough to draw blood. Scrak accidentally helped him by attempting to lunge, straining against his chains with a snarl. But he didn't even flinch; not only had he invaded his chambers and injured him, but he was also a welp who didn't have enough respect beaten into him. Yet another reason to torture him.
Chuckling to himself, the rat backed up and waited. He smirked at Scrak tiring himself out, rattling the chains more than a man-thing or dwarf-thing would, spittle hitting the stone floor from his gnashing teeth.
"Gray Seer-prophet Scrak." The voice suddenly filling the air lacked much of the usual reverence any skaven usually held for the blessed servants of the Horned Rat. Scrak froze, slowly turning his head to the second newcomer; unlike the Mors welp, he recognized who this rat was.
Trinkeel Mournclaw, leader of the hosts of Clan Skyre for this invasion, one of the potential candidates for warlord of the entire grand endeavor looked down on him, his black eye burying itself into his with a glance that utterly lacked even the very concept of understanding or mercy.
Despite his previous arrogance, Scrak felt an inadvertent squirt of fear musk and he could just barely suppress an instinctively panicked squeak.
"Please tell-say why you chose to send a group-host of our best-greatest stormvermin, equipped-armed with the latest of Clan Skyre's unrivaled-unmatched technology to attack the great lizard-dragon thing? You endangered-threatened the secrecy of the great masterful scheme! Now the man things will be more careful!" Trinkeel snarled, foul spittle hitting his open wounds.
Smack. Scrak had no more opened his mouth before Trinkeel backhanded him, barbed knuckle guards of his gauntlet tearing wide gashes across his cheek, cutting off one of his whisker buds from the blow. Screeching in the cold cell, Scrak was cut off by a punch to the stomach that drove out what little air remained in his lungs. Blood splattered the floor, a few drops landing on Trinkeel's feet.
Heaving for breath, Scrak gasped at a grip on his broken horn yanking his head up. His eyes squeezed shut with a heave, gazing fearfully into Trinkeel's rage filled eyes.
"Not poisoned, you don't escape-die fast. Tell me why-why you risked the great plan." Trinkeel dug a claw into his horn stump right where the nerves were, Scrak hissing then gasping in raw agony. "Before I lose my temper!"
"The magic! The magic-power!" Scrak screamed, thrashing against his chains. The withdrawal, the hunger, his wounds, combined they eroded his normally indomitable will; he just wanted it to be over.
Lo and behold, the claw in his stump withdrew.
"Magic-sorcery?" Mournclaw looked at him with clear skepticism in his eyes and voice. How dare he doubt a prophet of the horned Rat? For that alone he was going to boil his flesh off once he was free. While he was still alive! Scrak just needed to get out of this damn cell…
The claw dug in again when he didn't answer, eliciting a hiss. "Yes-yes! Skyre's sub-leader sent troops to capture magic-sorcery source days ago. It…. was brilliant! I felt the magic-power. It was like a gift-present of the great horned Rat! It would've been great treason-heresy to not seize it! If that fool-idiot Rattenson hadn´t been so incompetent-weak I could´ve torn down-destroyed the defences and armies-troops of mannling city myself with that gift, yes-yes!" It wasn't his fault no! And he could still be use-
Scrak never managed to finish that thought as a moment later, Mournclaw swung his halberd, a fearsome weapon made out of steel and warpstone, infused with numerous sorcerous technologies of clan Skyre, decapitating the Gray Seer in an instant. The moment the warpstone blade touched the skaven´s fur so did green lightning explode from the weapon, boiling and torching Scrak's body in a half liquified mess before the corpse even hit the ground.
"This is troubling-problematic. A new magic-power source? It does fit to what the other seer-prophet said." The Mors war clan leader, Xak Deepflayer, said, scratching his snout. Trinkeel wasn't foolish enough to trust Deepflayer, but he was willing to admit he had a cool head.
"It matters not. Miragliano will fall-die." Trinkeel gave the liquified mess a contemptuous snort. Scrak was an idiot undeserving of Grey Seer status, he felt zero unease for executing him. A chortle from Xak showed his own mocking grin.
Of course the both of them were already contemplating how to use this new magic for their own merits, as was only proper for skaven.
AN:
So, a sidestory chapter behind the skaven assault of last chapter that got wrecked by deathfang, also as an apology for being so inactive in these last days. I hope you all are safe in these trying times and till next time
The skaven alliance to finally topple the damned man-thing city of Miragliano was a grand one. Besides dozens of "minor" skaven clans, all of whom had promised to lend tens of thousands of slaves and thousands of actual warriors, there were four of the great clans who had promised aid, each producing hosts whose size and quality rivaled the combined size of all the minor clans.
Clan Mors had declared that, besides the usual cannon fodder, it would commit over 400 Rat-Ogres, intended to act as shocktroopers to break through the great pike blocks the man-things of Tilea were known for. Furthermore, multiple great worms and squids, modified to carry bombs produced by Clan Skyre to rupture open the cities sea gates and landside walls.
Supposedly once their creatures had torn holes into the great defences, the hundreds of thousands of skaven slaves and clan rats belonging to the lesser clans would swell through the holes to distract the enemy forces in the city, shortly before packs of Storm Vermin, provided by Clan Rictus, would push through the cities inner sewers, to be supported by diver teams and a navy of Clan skyre.
Long had the Skaven wished to destroy the man-thing city, vengeance for all those years of defiance against the superior race. Now with the clans enjoying a period of relative unity, where backstabs occurred only infrequently instead of commonly, when fights between the competing clans were broken up before the casualties grew inconvenient, they were preparing to finish them off at last. No longer would this thorn to Skavenblight exist to threaten the capital of the true rulers of this world.
So assumed Scrak, one of the venerated and feared Grey Seers in these lands, before his scheme met an abrupt halt.
Sucking in a breath, Scrak thrashed against the chains holding him to the floor. The pale fur that marked him as a voice of the Horned Rat was tattered and bloody, the rusty chains digging into his hide. One of his horns was broken off, aching his skull beyond tolerable levels. His robes were stripped away when the rival storm vermin dragged him into this chamber, an insult worthy of a thousand painful deaths.
Hearing the cell door creak, Scrak squeezed his eyes shut in response to a pounding headache, his stiff joints acting up everywhere. His last warpstone nugget was days ago, withdrawal was setting in. This was an agony reserved for slaves, not for one of his exalted position.
"How… dare you…" Scrak growled at his captor leisurely strolling in front of him. His blurred vision kept him from seeing who he was, though his scent marked him as an upper ranked battle leader.
How dare they treat Scrak this way, him! Scrak was a Gray Seer, chosen emissary of the god of all Skaven! By his word the will of the Horned Rat was passed to all these scurrying wastes of meat, for the benefit of their entire race. Who was this sniveling coward who dared to harm Scrak this way!?
A pas grabbed his remaining horn to jerk Scrak's head up, putting him face to face with a scarred yet grinning snout, his armor marking him as a Mors clan war leader. Scrak struggled to remember his name, he was sure this one had opposed a plot to steal that magic source that one Skyre underling had pursued.
"You are in trouble-trouble, blessed one." He chuckled, whiskers bristling with excitement.
"Scum-thing, you will die!" Scrak thrashed against his chains, digging new cuts into his abused skin. He didn't care, he just wanted this grinning fool to die.
Instead of obeying his will the war leader poked a sharp claw at his chest, digging the tip enough to draw blood. Scrak accidentally helped him by attempting to lunge, straining against his chains with a snarl. But he didn't even flinch; not only had he invaded his chambers and injured him, but he was also a welp who didn't have enough respect beaten into him. Yet another reason to torture him.
Chuckling to himself, the rat backed up and waited. He smirked at Scrak tiring himself out, rattling the chains more than a man-thing or dwarf-thing would, spittle hitting the stone floor from his gnashing teeth.
"Gray Seer-prophet Scrak." The voice suddenly filling the air lacked much of the usual reverence any skaven usually held for the blessed servants of the Horned Rat. Scrak froze, slowly turning his head to the second newcomer; unlike the Mors welp, he recognized who this rat was.
Trinkeel Mournclaw, leader of the hosts of Clan Skyre for this invasion, one of the potential candidates for warlord of the entire grand endeavor looked down on him, his black eye burying itself into his with a glance that utterly lacked even the very concept of understanding or mercy.
Despite his previous arrogance, Scrak felt an inadvertent squirt of fear musk and he could just barely suppress an instinctively panicked squeak.
"Please tell-say why you chose to send a group-host of our best-greatest stormvermin, equipped-armed with the latest of Clan Skyre's unrivaled-unmatched technology to attack the great lizard-dragon thing? You endangered-threatened the secrecy of the great masterful scheme! Now the man things will be more careful!" Trinkeel snarled, foul spittle hitting his open wounds.
Smack. Scrak had no more opened his mouth before Trinkeel backhanded him, barbed knuckle guards of his gauntlet tearing wide gashes across his cheek, cutting off one of his whisker buds from the blow. Screeching in the cold cell, Scrak was cut off by a punch to the stomach that drove out what little air remained in his lungs. Blood splattered the floor, a few drops landing on Trinkeel's feet.
Heaving for breath, Scrak gasped at a grip on his broken horn yanking his head up. His eyes squeezed shut with a heave, gazing fearfully into Trinkeel's rage filled eyes.
"Not poisoned, you don't escape-die fast. Tell me why-why you risked the great plan." Trinkeel dug a claw into his horn stump right where the nerves were, Scrak hissing then gasping in raw agony. "Before I lose my temper!"
"The magic! The magic-power!" Scrak screamed, thrashing against his chains. The withdrawal, the hunger, his wounds, combined they eroded his normally indomitable will; he just wanted it to be over.
Lo and behold, the claw in his stump withdrew.
"Magic-sorcery?" Mournclaw looked at him with clear skepticism in his eyes and voice. How dare he doubt a prophet of the horned Rat? For that alone he was going to boil his flesh off once he was free. While he was still alive! Scrak just needed to get out of this damn cell…
The claw dug in again when he didn't answer, eliciting a hiss. "Yes-yes! Skyre's sub-leader sent troops to capture magic-sorcery source days ago. It…. was brilliant! I felt the magic-power. It was like a gift-present of the great horned Rat! It would've been great treason-heresy to not seize it! If that fool-idiot Rattenson hadn´t been so incompetent-weak I could´ve torn down-destroyed the defences and armies-troops of mannling city myself with that gift, yes-yes!" It wasn't his fault no! And he could still be use-
Scrak never managed to finish that thought as a moment later, Mournclaw swung his halberd, a fearsome weapon made out of steel and warpstone, infused with numerous sorcerous technologies of clan Skyre, decapitating the Gray Seer in an instant. The moment the warpstone blade touched the skaven´s fur so did green lightning explode from the weapon, boiling and torching Scrak's body in a half liquified mess before the corpse even hit the ground.
"This is troubling-problematic. A new magic-power source? It does fit to what the other seer-prophet said." The Mors war clan leader, Xak Deepflayer, said, scratching his snout. Trinkeel wasn't foolish enough to trust Deepflayer, but he was willing to admit he had a cool head.
"It matters not. Miragliano will fall-die." Trinkeel gave the liquified mess a contemptuous snort. Scrak was an idiot undeserving of Grey Seer status, he felt zero unease for executing him. A chortle from Xak showed his own mocking grin.
Of course the both of them were already contemplating how to use this new magic for their own merits, as was only proper for skaven.
AN:
So, a sidestory chapter behind the skaven assault of last chapter that got wrecked by deathfang, also as an apology for being so inactive in these last days. I hope you all are safe in these trying times and till next time
Chapter 22
- Pronouns
- He
Chapter 22
"So what are orcs like?" Erza asked while slicing through a tree with her ax, catching the falling trunk with her arm while dispelling her weapon. Looking around she observed her surroundings, seeing if she had roused anything from their sleep, before flapping her wings to gain altitude, just in case a monster tumbling out of some cave decided she looked like a morning snack.
"They are moderately big- for humans or Asur at least- and pretty brutish, all things considered." Deathfang answered, gurgling down another piece of flesh from the wyvern that had decided to protest the big reptile's entrance in its territory. Deathfang for his part was simply happy about the meat and carried the bits not stowed away by Asarnil around with him.
He smote it out of the sky with a singular spell, sloughing it´s hide and flesh clean of it´s skeleton, killing it pretty much instantly.
Erza didn't know the Dragon for very long, but she'd say that he enjoyed using spells now, after she had given him parts of her reserves. In fact, he reveled in it like a fish who had been stranded but found its way back into water shortly before it's demise.
After the Wyvern had crashed into the forest below, they had landed. Partially to eat the kill and partially because evening was approaching, and in Asarnil's opinion Emanuello would freeze to death if they crossed the Vaults - the name of the local mountain range- at night.
Goric had immediately begun hacking the big skeleton apart, using a spare ax instead of his hammer, something he still refused to give up, despite her lopping off the left half of its head. In fact, Erza has seen him train with it, trying to use it more like a one bladed ax.
He intended to use the bones as an opening gift to King Kazador, as was apparently custom. Karak Azul had an exceptionally capable Runelord -some kind of archmage, though Goric had insisted that it was not magic what the Runesmiths and Runelords were doing- by the name of Thorek Ironbrow- who could make good use of them as ingredients.
"Are they strong? Do they use magic and how many can we expect?" This was going to be a rescue mission, every bit of knowledge helped. Erza expected of course to get more details once they reached this Karak Azul, but it helped to not come into it like a complete buffoon.
"Relative to me and you? Very few of the greenskins are truly strong." The dragon flapped his own wings and flew up with her, aiming for the mountain platoon where the others were. "Their magic is like their race, primitive and crude. Instead of using any big invocations or the like, they instead beseech their gods for aid and materialize their "magic" that way."
He made a retching noise and sent a superheated blast of flame into a nearby hill, the resulting detonation leaving nothing but a crater. "Just calling it magic comes close to an insult. For numbers…" He is silent for a moment. "We can expect many. Hundreds of thousands at least, maybe millions in Black Crag. Even the both of us can not combat such a horde and hope for victory."
Erza had expected Deathfang to sound bitter about the last part, but he wasn't, or at least it couldn´t be heard out of his voice. He said it like it was merely some fact of life, nothing more, nothing less.
Within moments his far larger wings had ascended towards her level, giving the far smaller wings of the fire empress armor an amused look. Tzzch, if he was closer, she would kick him into his side for that.
Her wings were perfectly adequate for her size!
She was going to kick him later. For now she was content to simply fly up to the plateau her new comrades were at. She could ask them more about orcs, maybe they knew more or had a different perspective on things than a literal dragon.
Arriving at the spot, she found them putting the finishing touches on an evening camp. Emanuello found logs to join a small pile, while Asarnil worked on lining a fire pit. Meanwhile Goric was building several small traps, swinging his head when she approached.
"For grobi, this'll get 'em before they slit our throats." He gestured at a small spike pit, one of several he carefully hid.
"What do you know about how Orcs fight?" She joined him walking back to the center, where Emanuello set down a large hunk of wood at Asarnil's direction. He pulled a couple bits of flint from his pocket, but when Deathfang stomped up he froze, suddenly drooping with a sigh.
One small buff created a burst of flames the size of Emanuello's torso, lasting only a couple seconds. Yet the result easily ignited the dry wood, bringing a large evening fire that would last until morning with some tending.
Plopping on the ground without bothering with a bedroll, Goric curled a bushy lip as she had come to expect.
"Dumb brutes, each one. But they have some cleverness to them. They can suss out tunnels, make some traps, basic stuff but they can. Not as well as grobi, those-" he clenched his fists before loosening them. "Don't ever think the ones in front of you are all of them, and don't ever believe they give up. You can send the greenskins running but they'll be back for more, they always do. You can kill a million and the next batch will be just as eager."
"How are there so many?" Erza was curious where their cities or villages were, if they had any.
"They come from spores in the ground." Asarnil chimed in, using a stick to poke the fire as Deathfang curled up nearby, and Emanuello walked over to hand Erza a sleeping roll; she nodded in thanks but focused a raised brow on the elf. "Ulthuan scholars discovered this millennia ago-"
"After the Dawi confirmed it for ourselves." Goric interjected. The stick froze for a couple seconds before pushing over a burning log.
"Anyway, they emerge from fungus growths in places like caves or swamps, places like a Karak with a little remodeling." Asarnil's expression didn't change, but she heard Goric grumbling. "As such, clearing an infestation is difficult. Miss one area and they can rebuild their numbers at an astonishing speed. It is why the Dawi struggle to retake any of their fallen holds, whether it be the Black Crag or Karak Eight Peaks far to the north. They don't fear death because for them death means nothing."
"I have heard stories of the Empire lending help to their efforts, unsurprising given their history." Emanuello spoke for the first time in a while, though he still sounded a little hoarse from the ride earlier. Whatever his state he was well off enough to start cooking a pot of stew, using scraps of wyvern for meat. Erza's stomach rumbled, she needed some food after a long day.
"In its prime Karaz Ankor wouldn't need help, we would've wiped out the greenskins and thagoraki in short order." There was a note of bitterness in Goric's tone, answering her unspoken question. "Long ago the Dawi were united in a vast empire across the place humans call the World's Edge Mountains. It was a time of prosperity, of power. Then came the Time of Woes. The land was torn asunder so instead of one vast kingdom, we were scattered into countless small holds. Thagoraki and Grobi assailed our lands everywhere. After we lost so much to the elgi-"
"Don't dismiss your role in the War of the Beard dwarf." Asarnil had turned unexpectedly cold, Emanuello snapped up and even Deathfang flicked his ears. Erza tensed, feeling the air suddenly grow tense.
"My role? Your people attacked us." Goric stabbed a finger at him. "Raiders hit our trade caravans and towns, leading to your colonies to the west. Many Dawi were killed, their bodies defiled, and their beards shaved because of it. The grudges of Zakbar Varf stood for centuries. And what did your Phoenix King do? He laughed at our outrage!"
Erza was about to ask why shaving was listed too, but Asarnil tossed aside his stick. "Those raiders were Druchii, who were recognizable with basic observation skills. We had just survived a devastating civil war, we knew nothing of what your people suffered. Had you bothered to search for yourselves instead of demanding recompse, your kinsmen wouldn't have died."
"Searching!?" Goric bolted to his feet, hammer in hand. In the time Erza needed to blink, Asarnil was upright with a sword in hand. For his part Emanuello only hesitated a second, putting a short distance from the fray. "High King Starbteaker did everything he could to avoid conflict! He told his own Kings to cool their tempers when they brayed for retribution. He sent his best ambassador when your phoenix king told him they answer pleas, not requests. And your king still laughed in his face before dishonoring him!"
"Your king blamed everything that happened on all Elves, instead of that fool Caledor II or the true culprits. You played right into your hands." Asarnil held his sword to his side. "Coming along was a mistake. I apologize my friend, but we should not have followed her after these dwarfs-"
Erza heard enough. In all the talk she hadn't taken off her armor; Asarnil found a gauntlet around his head, his sword yanked out of his hand in an eyeblink, and before he could do more than twitch he was yanked towards Goric. The dwarf was halfway towards raising his hammer when she slapped the weapon aside, snatching a grip on his helmet.
With practiced ease (and a flash of nostalgia), Erza dealt with their squabble the best way she knew how: she swung her hands, crashing the two men's skulls together.
THUNK.
Both men dropped like sacks, Asarnil twitching slightly as Goric groaned, flopping a hand to roll over. Erza judged it sufficient, planting her hands on her hips with a nod.
A chortling growl turned her head, finding Deathfang curling his lips back in an imitation of a smile. "That was entertaining, and deserved."
"I, uh, wouldn't think that's the smartest decision." Emanuello risked, without taking a step closer. "
"Perhaps not. My friend means well, but he still carries the pride of his kingdom. As such he has struggled to see his own faults, although to his credit he is much more mellow than he was when we were first exiled." Deathfang reached his tail to lightly tap on Asarnil's head, his groan keeping it in place so he could help him stand.
"Deathfang…" Asarnil moaned with equal parts pain and betrayal.
"I'm sorry my friend, but its true. The dwarfs aren't blameless but your kingdom bears more responsibility." Deathfang sounded moderately apologetic, helping him stay upright until his feet could hold him.
"He, hehe." Goric breathlessly chuckled, having not even attempted to stand yet. But in response Deathfang dropped his tail beside him, making a hefty thunk.
"That doesn't allow your sass. So drop it."
"He's right, we have a job to do." Erza proclaimed, snatching Goric's wrist to dangle his stout body off the ground, releasing him when she saw his eyes bulging. "Now then, instead of arguing we need to learn teamwork. The best way to do that is to get started right away."
"Ahem-"
"You've been behaved Lord Emanuello, thanks." Erza smiled at the slumping man, then turned her stern gaze to the others. "Goric, you said there were grobi in this area. Before we sleep we should deal with stragglers. Asarnil, you should work off your frustrations."
The dwarf and the elf balked.
"You can't be serious, after all that?" Goric sputtered.
"I am not taking one more step towards that hold, you hear me?" Asarnil snapped.
"You will work together." Erza glared, and to her pleasure her old trick worked; they shrank back, showing submission like her old friends. Good, they were behaving, and they could learn. "Good. Now come, it'll be totally dark soon."
Grabbing their arms before they could escape, Erza dragged them away from their encampment. Avoiding the traps Goric made, she twisted to see Deathfang curling up by the fire, Emanuello slumping awkwardly beside him.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure he's still breathing." The dragon waved his tail as Emanuello simply dropped to tend his meal.
Skidding towards the woods, Erza tossed Goric to one side and Asarnil to the other, summoning a sword and an axe to keep her hands full. "Clear these woods."
Without waiting for them, Erza launched herself into the treeline, hacking through foliage in her way. While she dashed at high speeds, she quickly whirled around to track the men: Goric and Asarnil glared at each other, risking a fight that may very well turn serious. Narrowing her eyes, Erza backhanded a tree with the ax.
They flinched at the tremendous crash, and spared one more glare at each other before tromping into the gloom. Flying above the forest floor, Erza watched them for a moment to make sure they did as she commanded. Asarnil was adept at hopping over obstacles, though he was still whacked in the face by a tree branch. Goric simply smashed whatever was in the way, only halting to repeatedly pound at a twisted root.
"Elgi-" Erza recognized that word, but whatever else was in a stream of grumbled curses she didn't know. What was important was that he kept moving, doing a good job of tracking his progress; during the trip Emanuello did mention dwarfs had good night vision, having spent so long underground.
Asarnil was quieter and faster, pausing to listen every thirty seconds or so. Not in fear, she was sure despite his strange body language compared to regular people. She assumed he was alert instead of terrified anyway; he was faster yet more composed, like a ninja with alteration magic. Watching him vault over obstacles felt off for reasons she couldn't explain. He was too fluid, too controlled to what she was used to seeing.
Rolling her shoulders, Erza swiveled back to the forest for enemies. She didn't have to wait long.
A few minutes walk from the camp was where she found the first of them: a party of ten to fifteen short people in rags and tattered leather, surrounding one who rode a scarred wolf like a horse. On an apparent patrol they chattered amongst themselves in a weird jabber, she didn't understand a word of it.
Perching on a tree branch over the party, Erza raised a brow at their appearance; hunched over, dark green skin, large noses and long pointy ears like Asarnil, and suspicious glances at each other. She assumed these creatures were grobi, gobbos, goblins, or whatever they were called. They weren't tall enough to match Deathfang's description of orcs. Whatever these things were they didn't have much for weapons, mostly crude spears and rusty knives that looked stolen.
Seeing them, Erza frowned. It… was weird. From the descriptions she had gotten so far, the greenskins had been said to be some scourge desiring nothing but death and battle. Yet she couldn't really look at those and seriously think of them as a threat. They were barely larger than children!
Were they really going to be fighting and killing kids?
Hearing tromping through the woods, Erza felt her guts clench at the halting party, going silent to swivel towards the source of the sounds. That deft movement, those stomps, mumbled curses, they could only be Asarnil and Goric. Although the men kept a buffer between them, they were closing in on the goblin party.
The wolf leader turned his mount towards them with a couple others at his flanks, though these ones looked nervous clutching their makeshift spears. The rest however dispersed, going to bushes or trees or other places out of sight. Their ragged appearance aside, these things blended in well; she had to keep tracking them after losing one after another.
Snarling after crashing through a bush, Goric emerged with lots of scuffs as Asarnil hopped out onto the clearing. For a second they again glared at each other, but that changed upon spotting the wolf.
"Oi! Youz tink yu kun come te 'ar wuds!" The rider's gibberish was barely understandable, he sounded like Natsu or Mirajane when they were badly drunk. Were they drunk? She couldn't ask, for a kick caused the wolf to snarl, and Goric to beat his fist against his chest.
"Come and get some grobi!" He roared, rushing at the goblins with Asarnil purposely holding back, his widening eyes seeing the makeshift trap.
Erza dropped between the goblins and Goric, startling the creatures so suddenly they yelped, especially the semi-hidden ones. The dwarf's battlecry came to an abrupt halt, his feet scuffing on the dirt.
"Lady Scarlet, what are you doing?" Asarnil spoke before Goric could, bringing his sword to a ready position.
"Neither of you saw fit to tell me you're fighting children?" Erza's tone was dangerously low, matching his earlier hostility without effort.
"Eh?" The wolf leader gawked, but she ignored him.
Goric growled. "You don't know what you're doing Scarlet, those grobi aren't kidlings. They're as dangerous as thagoraki."
"I'll decide that." Erza swung, deflecting a thrown dart from one goblin via her sword. But before she rushed in she swung the axe into the ground, blocking Asarnil's path mid sprint. He took the hint and halted, sword raised defensively.
Ignoring Goric's sputters, Erza dashed into the goblin patrol, willingly letting herself be surrounded by the scampering creatures. The wolf lunged at her, its jaws clamping over her gauntlet; she wanted to cringe at the foul smelling slobber while it yanked and chewed on her hand, but she had more important things to focus on. Namely the rider.
The goblin screeched when she snatched its little arm to yank it off the wolf's back, throwing the little creature into the air. Feeling jabs of blunt stone tipped spears on her flanks, in one extended motion Erza backhanded a leaping goblin with a knife and brought her sword down on the wolf. Another little part winced at its canine yelp before she lopped its head off, throwing her now freed arm to knock the skull off onto another attacker.
That was the only death she allowed; snatching another who leapt onto her shoulders to start stabbing with a hunk of glass, she bashed her fist against its little skull, using very little force; a jabbering snarl went quiet, the thing lolled in her grip with a dazed look. Another slightly harder look, punctuated by one jabbing its spear against her leg again and again, knocked it out. Child or not, she wasn't going to hold back that much.
Now that she had a good benchmark, the rest followed. A sweep of her gauntlets shattered several spears, knocking aside a knife that had a stomach churning stink to the blade. One after another she smacked on the head, front or back was irrelevant so long as they went down yet stayed breathing. Sprawled out on the ground with blood on their heads, seeing them still breathing she judged it good enough.
Alas, the goblins were small and fast enough that she couldn't get them all. Four or five turned and ran, showing visible panic that stayed her blade. Greenskins didn't fear death, which was what the dragon claimed, but these ones looked plenty afraid.
Lowering her arms, she swiveled to send a glare at Goric, standing over an unconscious goblin with his hammer raised. This time he rebuffed her warning gaze.
"These aren't kidlings lass, grobi will repay your mercy by slitting your throat." His hammer didn't lower at all.
"Lady Scarlet, as much as it irks me he is correct." Asarnil raised a placating hand. "Consider that he has fought against greenskins for a long time. I myself have fought numerous battles against orcs and goblins. This is your first encounter with them, correct?"
"I don't want to be part of a group who kills children, regardless of what they are." Erza glared, nudging one groaning goblin. "Tie them up."
"Before you commit to this path, I suggest following the fleeing ones. No doubt they ran back to their burrow." Asarnil pointed to where the remaining goblins ran.
Tracking his gaze, Erza grimaced. Goric only just now lowered his weapon, without taking a step away from his victim. She saw how fast Asarnil could run when he wanted to. If she left, these goblins were done for.
But she considered his words. She remembered Goric's rant on the road, what kind of hardship his people endured at these creature's hands, how absolutely furious he was against the skaven. Looking at the closest goblin, she spotted a large scar on its head; they were used to violence.
Baring her teeth in a hiss, Erza turned and flew off. She did so with a heavy heart, knowing she was consigning those goblins to death. Laying on the speed, she rushed to get there before the men could finish off all of the goblins, surely…
Her thoughts slowed with her flight, landing to start running. A weird, very unpleasant stench reached her nose, something that was a strange mix of mushrooms and rotting meat. Bumping into a rattling pole, Erza raised a brow at the effigy of a large toothed shape surrounded by sticks and small bones. Another was nearby, and another. All leading to a shallow cave that was full of chattering goblins.
A goblin landed on her shoulders and tried bashing her skull in with a rock, she slapped it away on her approach. More swarmed her, some had the sense to throw stuff like rocks oher. lobs of foul smelling goop. Barely half of the thrown stuff hit her, even though she marched in a straight line. When one rock finally bounced off her forehead she stopped, not gazing into the gloom.
There were two new effigies set up by the cave entrance. Both freshly made, that was obvious by looking at the wet blood on the stick lattice. Strung up with vines and sharp wooden stakes, the two humans were slumped and unmoving, covered in sickly discolored wounds, their flesh ripped open all over but their open guts drew her horrified gaze. One was a man who may have been in his early twenties, she couldn't tell because only the lower half of his face was present, the goblins scalped everything from his eyes upwards. The other was shorter, showing a great many more cuts on his bare torso, and though he lacked his scalp as well, she could see he was younger by far.
A goblin latched ahold of her free arm, stabbing and yanking. Another stabbed her sword arm with a dented carving knife. Still others mustered the bravery to advance with spears, perhaps because of a spider the size of a small horse advancing behind them, a jeering rider yelling gibberish to get the rowdy mob to swarm her.
Erza's fist clenched.
The goblins on her snarled and jabbered, not realizing how much danger they were in. They never found out, the closest either one came was a flash of confusion as their heads went flying. As they dropped Erza slowly turned around, an axe reforming in her hand; the goblin horde had swelled remarkably fast, dozens turning into hundreds. The front ranks had vicious snarls on their misshapen faces, which immediately twisted into terror.
Using one fist to crack her neck, Erza requipped Purgatory Armor. She needed to be extra thorough for this.
"I owe them an apology." Erza muttered, launching herself at the goblin horde.
Thirty to forty goblins died in a second, turned to mush from her sheer impact. As she barreled forward, overpressure ruptured the eardrums of another fifty, leaving them helpless against being thrown into the air, many splattering against the cave roof or trees or wherever they landed. Her sweeping blades claimed the luckiest victims, slicing goblins in half or beheading them in two enormous sweeps, cracking the walls from her sheer power.
"Gah! Wa-" the spider rider screeched instead of running, not that doing so would save it. Erza's downward slash took off the chittering spider's legs, her fists crushed it's abdomen, and she snatched the goblin's legs to yank it apart like a wishbone. It's blood hit the ground before the spider's body, the remains flung into another gaggle of goblins who just started to run.
One got into the forest itself. It dropped its weapon while its comrades died in droves, making a straight run into the underbrush. Roughly jerking, its little legs kept kicking as it was lifted into the air, panting for breath past a constricted throat; it didn't need any air after Erza ripped its head from its body.
Sucking in mouthfuls of iron tasting air, Erza turned her eyes to the forest. The red tinge in her vision was annoying, yet somehow she could see more goblins nearby, ones rushing to the commotion. She heard more too, goblins and spiders and boars and larger creatures, such as a mob of taller brutes crashing through the brush.
Good, they saved her the trouble of hunting them down.
Another tremendous crash obliterated a pack of wolf riders, grinding them into the dirt where they belonged. One lived just long enough for the axe to cleave its head off, continuing to swing until she chopped a tree down in one blow, letting the trunk fall into another pack. The survivors had barely stopped flinching before she twisted one's arms off then crushed its back with her boot.
So it went. A goblin duo trying to wrangle a boar, a large group of up to a hundred well armed creatures, dozens of smaller bands. Spears broke against her armor, knives and daggers shattered upon impact, pots of foul smelling goop were thrown too slowly, arrows by the bushel went nowhere or broke, wolves and spiders and boars were goaded into attacking. Nothing stopped Erza.
Heads went flying. Blood coated the soil. Screams filled the air. One yelping goblin crawled on hands and knees, her boot pressing against its back making it squeal until she stomped.
The only thing to break through her haze was a group of larger creatures, similar to the goblins but taller albeit hunched, sporting upwards facing tusks on their bestial visages. These ones were armed with cleavers or clubs, clad in makeshift armor that might have posed a hindrance to Emanuello's men. Orcs, she assumed.
"Oi! Dere'z da-" One taller than her bellowed, jabbing its mace in her direction. Its hand went flying still clutching the weapon. Then its shoulder had its weight taken off. Seeing the imbalance Erza corrected the problem via twin slashes that hit its waist and neck simultaneously. Her sword was plunged into the ground, allowing her to snatch the falling head by a tusk.
The others blinked numbly, watching her lift the severed head. Too stupid to grasp what she had done it seemed. Erza scoffed, dropping the skull to add to her collection; carving through a swung mace, she bisected its wielder to lunch through its viscera towards the next, her snarling mouth catching the filthy blade of a rusty cleaver, a chomp shattering the metal and letting her hands find the offender's neck, ripping him apart.
Tasting blood that wasn't hers, Erza grabbed the final one just as it bellowed, "WAAAGH!"
This one, she needed to do something special with it. Something to warn these monsters who these woods belonged to, something to teach them fear. So with that thought, she lopped off the hands of the last orc, grabbing it by the jaw and ankle, and lifting its thrashing body overhead. Then, she pulled.
Its incoherent snarls vanished after its life, both halves thrown apart. The legs were smacked against a tree, the head landed on dirt. She didn't want to damage the skull, she needed it for her-
Twitching, Erza dropped to her knees with a gasp. She gulped lungfuls of iron tainted air, the red haze in her eyes receding and advancing with her heartbeat. Something was wrong, she-
Cracking sticks whipped her around, snatching up her axe and sword. The lithe figure had her tense, preparing to lunge at the thing, dismissing its bleats and cries… wait.
"…arlet, Scarlet!" Blinking, Erza suddenly realized Asarnil was before her. Sort of, he halted a couple dozen paces away and backed up, his sword quivering in hand.
Rising to her feet, Erza took a second to scoff at the blood on her armor. And it was so clean too.
"It seems I owe you an apology lord Asarnil." Erza marched past the orc bodies, detecting more goblins nearby. She tapped the side of her head upon feeling a weird ache.
"Scarlet, Erza… what happened here?" Asarnil gaped at the carnage, and her.
She saw how Arsanil slowly approached her, looking visibly exhausted and run down, a strong contrast to his usually perfect physique. What had upset him so much?
Still, it was good that he was here.
"Collect their skulls, of all of them. They will make for a good gift to the dwarven king." Looking at the path of carnage she had carved through this forest and the goblins, collecting all their skulls would take some time. Still, she could transport a hundred or even a thousand skulls with her requip.
For some reason Asarnil quickly followed her command without complaint, practically stumbling over his own legs, so eager was he.
How nice.
"So what are orcs like?" Erza asked while slicing through a tree with her ax, catching the falling trunk with her arm while dispelling her weapon. Looking around she observed her surroundings, seeing if she had roused anything from their sleep, before flapping her wings to gain altitude, just in case a monster tumbling out of some cave decided she looked like a morning snack.
"They are moderately big- for humans or Asur at least- and pretty brutish, all things considered." Deathfang answered, gurgling down another piece of flesh from the wyvern that had decided to protest the big reptile's entrance in its territory. Deathfang for his part was simply happy about the meat and carried the bits not stowed away by Asarnil around with him.
He smote it out of the sky with a singular spell, sloughing it´s hide and flesh clean of it´s skeleton, killing it pretty much instantly.
Erza didn't know the Dragon for very long, but she'd say that he enjoyed using spells now, after she had given him parts of her reserves. In fact, he reveled in it like a fish who had been stranded but found its way back into water shortly before it's demise.
After the Wyvern had crashed into the forest below, they had landed. Partially to eat the kill and partially because evening was approaching, and in Asarnil's opinion Emanuello would freeze to death if they crossed the Vaults - the name of the local mountain range- at night.
Goric had immediately begun hacking the big skeleton apart, using a spare ax instead of his hammer, something he still refused to give up, despite her lopping off the left half of its head. In fact, Erza has seen him train with it, trying to use it more like a one bladed ax.
He intended to use the bones as an opening gift to King Kazador, as was apparently custom. Karak Azul had an exceptionally capable Runelord -some kind of archmage, though Goric had insisted that it was not magic what the Runesmiths and Runelords were doing- by the name of Thorek Ironbrow- who could make good use of them as ingredients.
"Are they strong? Do they use magic and how many can we expect?" This was going to be a rescue mission, every bit of knowledge helped. Erza expected of course to get more details once they reached this Karak Azul, but it helped to not come into it like a complete buffoon.
"Relative to me and you? Very few of the greenskins are truly strong." The dragon flapped his own wings and flew up with her, aiming for the mountain platoon where the others were. "Their magic is like their race, primitive and crude. Instead of using any big invocations or the like, they instead beseech their gods for aid and materialize their "magic" that way."
He made a retching noise and sent a superheated blast of flame into a nearby hill, the resulting detonation leaving nothing but a crater. "Just calling it magic comes close to an insult. For numbers…" He is silent for a moment. "We can expect many. Hundreds of thousands at least, maybe millions in Black Crag. Even the both of us can not combat such a horde and hope for victory."
Erza had expected Deathfang to sound bitter about the last part, but he wasn't, or at least it couldn´t be heard out of his voice. He said it like it was merely some fact of life, nothing more, nothing less.
Within moments his far larger wings had ascended towards her level, giving the far smaller wings of the fire empress armor an amused look. Tzzch, if he was closer, she would kick him into his side for that.
Her wings were perfectly adequate for her size!
She was going to kick him later. For now she was content to simply fly up to the plateau her new comrades were at. She could ask them more about orcs, maybe they knew more or had a different perspective on things than a literal dragon.
Arriving at the spot, she found them putting the finishing touches on an evening camp. Emanuello found logs to join a small pile, while Asarnil worked on lining a fire pit. Meanwhile Goric was building several small traps, swinging his head when she approached.
"For grobi, this'll get 'em before they slit our throats." He gestured at a small spike pit, one of several he carefully hid.
"What do you know about how Orcs fight?" She joined him walking back to the center, where Emanuello set down a large hunk of wood at Asarnil's direction. He pulled a couple bits of flint from his pocket, but when Deathfang stomped up he froze, suddenly drooping with a sigh.
One small buff created a burst of flames the size of Emanuello's torso, lasting only a couple seconds. Yet the result easily ignited the dry wood, bringing a large evening fire that would last until morning with some tending.
Plopping on the ground without bothering with a bedroll, Goric curled a bushy lip as she had come to expect.
"Dumb brutes, each one. But they have some cleverness to them. They can suss out tunnels, make some traps, basic stuff but they can. Not as well as grobi, those-" he clenched his fists before loosening them. "Don't ever think the ones in front of you are all of them, and don't ever believe they give up. You can send the greenskins running but they'll be back for more, they always do. You can kill a million and the next batch will be just as eager."
"How are there so many?" Erza was curious where their cities or villages were, if they had any.
"They come from spores in the ground." Asarnil chimed in, using a stick to poke the fire as Deathfang curled up nearby, and Emanuello walked over to hand Erza a sleeping roll; she nodded in thanks but focused a raised brow on the elf. "Ulthuan scholars discovered this millennia ago-"
"After the Dawi confirmed it for ourselves." Goric interjected. The stick froze for a couple seconds before pushing over a burning log.
"Anyway, they emerge from fungus growths in places like caves or swamps, places like a Karak with a little remodeling." Asarnil's expression didn't change, but she heard Goric grumbling. "As such, clearing an infestation is difficult. Miss one area and they can rebuild their numbers at an astonishing speed. It is why the Dawi struggle to retake any of their fallen holds, whether it be the Black Crag or Karak Eight Peaks far to the north. They don't fear death because for them death means nothing."
"I have heard stories of the Empire lending help to their efforts, unsurprising given their history." Emanuello spoke for the first time in a while, though he still sounded a little hoarse from the ride earlier. Whatever his state he was well off enough to start cooking a pot of stew, using scraps of wyvern for meat. Erza's stomach rumbled, she needed some food after a long day.
"In its prime Karaz Ankor wouldn't need help, we would've wiped out the greenskins and thagoraki in short order." There was a note of bitterness in Goric's tone, answering her unspoken question. "Long ago the Dawi were united in a vast empire across the place humans call the World's Edge Mountains. It was a time of prosperity, of power. Then came the Time of Woes. The land was torn asunder so instead of one vast kingdom, we were scattered into countless small holds. Thagoraki and Grobi assailed our lands everywhere. After we lost so much to the elgi-"
"Don't dismiss your role in the War of the Beard dwarf." Asarnil had turned unexpectedly cold, Emanuello snapped up and even Deathfang flicked his ears. Erza tensed, feeling the air suddenly grow tense.
"My role? Your people attacked us." Goric stabbed a finger at him. "Raiders hit our trade caravans and towns, leading to your colonies to the west. Many Dawi were killed, their bodies defiled, and their beards shaved because of it. The grudges of Zakbar Varf stood for centuries. And what did your Phoenix King do? He laughed at our outrage!"
Erza was about to ask why shaving was listed too, but Asarnil tossed aside his stick. "Those raiders were Druchii, who were recognizable with basic observation skills. We had just survived a devastating civil war, we knew nothing of what your people suffered. Had you bothered to search for yourselves instead of demanding recompse, your kinsmen wouldn't have died."
"Searching!?" Goric bolted to his feet, hammer in hand. In the time Erza needed to blink, Asarnil was upright with a sword in hand. For his part Emanuello only hesitated a second, putting a short distance from the fray. "High King Starbteaker did everything he could to avoid conflict! He told his own Kings to cool their tempers when they brayed for retribution. He sent his best ambassador when your phoenix king told him they answer pleas, not requests. And your king still laughed in his face before dishonoring him!"
"Your king blamed everything that happened on all Elves, instead of that fool Caledor II or the true culprits. You played right into your hands." Asarnil held his sword to his side. "Coming along was a mistake. I apologize my friend, but we should not have followed her after these dwarfs-"
Erza heard enough. In all the talk she hadn't taken off her armor; Asarnil found a gauntlet around his head, his sword yanked out of his hand in an eyeblink, and before he could do more than twitch he was yanked towards Goric. The dwarf was halfway towards raising his hammer when she slapped the weapon aside, snatching a grip on his helmet.
With practiced ease (and a flash of nostalgia), Erza dealt with their squabble the best way she knew how: she swung her hands, crashing the two men's skulls together.
THUNK.
Both men dropped like sacks, Asarnil twitching slightly as Goric groaned, flopping a hand to roll over. Erza judged it sufficient, planting her hands on her hips with a nod.
A chortling growl turned her head, finding Deathfang curling his lips back in an imitation of a smile. "That was entertaining, and deserved."
"I, uh, wouldn't think that's the smartest decision." Emanuello risked, without taking a step closer. "
"Perhaps not. My friend means well, but he still carries the pride of his kingdom. As such he has struggled to see his own faults, although to his credit he is much more mellow than he was when we were first exiled." Deathfang reached his tail to lightly tap on Asarnil's head, his groan keeping it in place so he could help him stand.
"Deathfang…" Asarnil moaned with equal parts pain and betrayal.
"I'm sorry my friend, but its true. The dwarfs aren't blameless but your kingdom bears more responsibility." Deathfang sounded moderately apologetic, helping him stay upright until his feet could hold him.
"He, hehe." Goric breathlessly chuckled, having not even attempted to stand yet. But in response Deathfang dropped his tail beside him, making a hefty thunk.
"That doesn't allow your sass. So drop it."
"He's right, we have a job to do." Erza proclaimed, snatching Goric's wrist to dangle his stout body off the ground, releasing him when she saw his eyes bulging. "Now then, instead of arguing we need to learn teamwork. The best way to do that is to get started right away."
"Ahem-"
"You've been behaved Lord Emanuello, thanks." Erza smiled at the slumping man, then turned her stern gaze to the others. "Goric, you said there were grobi in this area. Before we sleep we should deal with stragglers. Asarnil, you should work off your frustrations."
The dwarf and the elf balked.
"You can't be serious, after all that?" Goric sputtered.
"I am not taking one more step towards that hold, you hear me?" Asarnil snapped.
"You will work together." Erza glared, and to her pleasure her old trick worked; they shrank back, showing submission like her old friends. Good, they were behaving, and they could learn. "Good. Now come, it'll be totally dark soon."
Grabbing their arms before they could escape, Erza dragged them away from their encampment. Avoiding the traps Goric made, she twisted to see Deathfang curling up by the fire, Emanuello slumping awkwardly beside him.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure he's still breathing." The dragon waved his tail as Emanuello simply dropped to tend his meal.
Skidding towards the woods, Erza tossed Goric to one side and Asarnil to the other, summoning a sword and an axe to keep her hands full. "Clear these woods."
Without waiting for them, Erza launched herself into the treeline, hacking through foliage in her way. While she dashed at high speeds, she quickly whirled around to track the men: Goric and Asarnil glared at each other, risking a fight that may very well turn serious. Narrowing her eyes, Erza backhanded a tree with the ax.
They flinched at the tremendous crash, and spared one more glare at each other before tromping into the gloom. Flying above the forest floor, Erza watched them for a moment to make sure they did as she commanded. Asarnil was adept at hopping over obstacles, though he was still whacked in the face by a tree branch. Goric simply smashed whatever was in the way, only halting to repeatedly pound at a twisted root.
"Elgi-" Erza recognized that word, but whatever else was in a stream of grumbled curses she didn't know. What was important was that he kept moving, doing a good job of tracking his progress; during the trip Emanuello did mention dwarfs had good night vision, having spent so long underground.
Asarnil was quieter and faster, pausing to listen every thirty seconds or so. Not in fear, she was sure despite his strange body language compared to regular people. She assumed he was alert instead of terrified anyway; he was faster yet more composed, like a ninja with alteration magic. Watching him vault over obstacles felt off for reasons she couldn't explain. He was too fluid, too controlled to what she was used to seeing.
Rolling her shoulders, Erza swiveled back to the forest for enemies. She didn't have to wait long.
A few minutes walk from the camp was where she found the first of them: a party of ten to fifteen short people in rags and tattered leather, surrounding one who rode a scarred wolf like a horse. On an apparent patrol they chattered amongst themselves in a weird jabber, she didn't understand a word of it.
Perching on a tree branch over the party, Erza raised a brow at their appearance; hunched over, dark green skin, large noses and long pointy ears like Asarnil, and suspicious glances at each other. She assumed these creatures were grobi, gobbos, goblins, or whatever they were called. They weren't tall enough to match Deathfang's description of orcs. Whatever these things were they didn't have much for weapons, mostly crude spears and rusty knives that looked stolen.
Seeing them, Erza frowned. It… was weird. From the descriptions she had gotten so far, the greenskins had been said to be some scourge desiring nothing but death and battle. Yet she couldn't really look at those and seriously think of them as a threat. They were barely larger than children!
Were they really going to be fighting and killing kids?
Hearing tromping through the woods, Erza felt her guts clench at the halting party, going silent to swivel towards the source of the sounds. That deft movement, those stomps, mumbled curses, they could only be Asarnil and Goric. Although the men kept a buffer between them, they were closing in on the goblin party.
The wolf leader turned his mount towards them with a couple others at his flanks, though these ones looked nervous clutching their makeshift spears. The rest however dispersed, going to bushes or trees or other places out of sight. Their ragged appearance aside, these things blended in well; she had to keep tracking them after losing one after another.
Snarling after crashing through a bush, Goric emerged with lots of scuffs as Asarnil hopped out onto the clearing. For a second they again glared at each other, but that changed upon spotting the wolf.
"Oi! Youz tink yu kun come te 'ar wuds!" The rider's gibberish was barely understandable, he sounded like Natsu or Mirajane when they were badly drunk. Were they drunk? She couldn't ask, for a kick caused the wolf to snarl, and Goric to beat his fist against his chest.
"Come and get some grobi!" He roared, rushing at the goblins with Asarnil purposely holding back, his widening eyes seeing the makeshift trap.
Erza dropped between the goblins and Goric, startling the creatures so suddenly they yelped, especially the semi-hidden ones. The dwarf's battlecry came to an abrupt halt, his feet scuffing on the dirt.
"Lady Scarlet, what are you doing?" Asarnil spoke before Goric could, bringing his sword to a ready position.
"Neither of you saw fit to tell me you're fighting children?" Erza's tone was dangerously low, matching his earlier hostility without effort.
"Eh?" The wolf leader gawked, but she ignored him.
Goric growled. "You don't know what you're doing Scarlet, those grobi aren't kidlings. They're as dangerous as thagoraki."
"I'll decide that." Erza swung, deflecting a thrown dart from one goblin via her sword. But before she rushed in she swung the axe into the ground, blocking Asarnil's path mid sprint. He took the hint and halted, sword raised defensively.
Ignoring Goric's sputters, Erza dashed into the goblin patrol, willingly letting herself be surrounded by the scampering creatures. The wolf lunged at her, its jaws clamping over her gauntlet; she wanted to cringe at the foul smelling slobber while it yanked and chewed on her hand, but she had more important things to focus on. Namely the rider.
The goblin screeched when she snatched its little arm to yank it off the wolf's back, throwing the little creature into the air. Feeling jabs of blunt stone tipped spears on her flanks, in one extended motion Erza backhanded a leaping goblin with a knife and brought her sword down on the wolf. Another little part winced at its canine yelp before she lopped its head off, throwing her now freed arm to knock the skull off onto another attacker.
That was the only death she allowed; snatching another who leapt onto her shoulders to start stabbing with a hunk of glass, she bashed her fist against its little skull, using very little force; a jabbering snarl went quiet, the thing lolled in her grip with a dazed look. Another slightly harder look, punctuated by one jabbing its spear against her leg again and again, knocked it out. Child or not, she wasn't going to hold back that much.
Now that she had a good benchmark, the rest followed. A sweep of her gauntlets shattered several spears, knocking aside a knife that had a stomach churning stink to the blade. One after another she smacked on the head, front or back was irrelevant so long as they went down yet stayed breathing. Sprawled out on the ground with blood on their heads, seeing them still breathing she judged it good enough.
Alas, the goblins were small and fast enough that she couldn't get them all. Four or five turned and ran, showing visible panic that stayed her blade. Greenskins didn't fear death, which was what the dragon claimed, but these ones looked plenty afraid.
Lowering her arms, she swiveled to send a glare at Goric, standing over an unconscious goblin with his hammer raised. This time he rebuffed her warning gaze.
"These aren't kidlings lass, grobi will repay your mercy by slitting your throat." His hammer didn't lower at all.
"Lady Scarlet, as much as it irks me he is correct." Asarnil raised a placating hand. "Consider that he has fought against greenskins for a long time. I myself have fought numerous battles against orcs and goblins. This is your first encounter with them, correct?"
"I don't want to be part of a group who kills children, regardless of what they are." Erza glared, nudging one groaning goblin. "Tie them up."
"Before you commit to this path, I suggest following the fleeing ones. No doubt they ran back to their burrow." Asarnil pointed to where the remaining goblins ran.
Tracking his gaze, Erza grimaced. Goric only just now lowered his weapon, without taking a step away from his victim. She saw how fast Asarnil could run when he wanted to. If she left, these goblins were done for.
But she considered his words. She remembered Goric's rant on the road, what kind of hardship his people endured at these creature's hands, how absolutely furious he was against the skaven. Looking at the closest goblin, she spotted a large scar on its head; they were used to violence.
Baring her teeth in a hiss, Erza turned and flew off. She did so with a heavy heart, knowing she was consigning those goblins to death. Laying on the speed, she rushed to get there before the men could finish off all of the goblins, surely…
Her thoughts slowed with her flight, landing to start running. A weird, very unpleasant stench reached her nose, something that was a strange mix of mushrooms and rotting meat. Bumping into a rattling pole, Erza raised a brow at the effigy of a large toothed shape surrounded by sticks and small bones. Another was nearby, and another. All leading to a shallow cave that was full of chattering goblins.
A goblin landed on her shoulders and tried bashing her skull in with a rock, she slapped it away on her approach. More swarmed her, some had the sense to throw stuff like rocks oher. lobs of foul smelling goop. Barely half of the thrown stuff hit her, even though she marched in a straight line. When one rock finally bounced off her forehead she stopped, not gazing into the gloom.
There were two new effigies set up by the cave entrance. Both freshly made, that was obvious by looking at the wet blood on the stick lattice. Strung up with vines and sharp wooden stakes, the two humans were slumped and unmoving, covered in sickly discolored wounds, their flesh ripped open all over but their open guts drew her horrified gaze. One was a man who may have been in his early twenties, she couldn't tell because only the lower half of his face was present, the goblins scalped everything from his eyes upwards. The other was shorter, showing a great many more cuts on his bare torso, and though he lacked his scalp as well, she could see he was younger by far.
A goblin latched ahold of her free arm, stabbing and yanking. Another stabbed her sword arm with a dented carving knife. Still others mustered the bravery to advance with spears, perhaps because of a spider the size of a small horse advancing behind them, a jeering rider yelling gibberish to get the rowdy mob to swarm her.
Erza's fist clenched.
The goblins on her snarled and jabbered, not realizing how much danger they were in. They never found out, the closest either one came was a flash of confusion as their heads went flying. As they dropped Erza slowly turned around, an axe reforming in her hand; the goblin horde had swelled remarkably fast, dozens turning into hundreds. The front ranks had vicious snarls on their misshapen faces, which immediately twisted into terror.
Using one fist to crack her neck, Erza requipped Purgatory Armor. She needed to be extra thorough for this.
"I owe them an apology." Erza muttered, launching herself at the goblin horde.
Thirty to forty goblins died in a second, turned to mush from her sheer impact. As she barreled forward, overpressure ruptured the eardrums of another fifty, leaving them helpless against being thrown into the air, many splattering against the cave roof or trees or wherever they landed. Her sweeping blades claimed the luckiest victims, slicing goblins in half or beheading them in two enormous sweeps, cracking the walls from her sheer power.
"Gah! Wa-" the spider rider screeched instead of running, not that doing so would save it. Erza's downward slash took off the chittering spider's legs, her fists crushed it's abdomen, and she snatched the goblin's legs to yank it apart like a wishbone. It's blood hit the ground before the spider's body, the remains flung into another gaggle of goblins who just started to run.
One got into the forest itself. It dropped its weapon while its comrades died in droves, making a straight run into the underbrush. Roughly jerking, its little legs kept kicking as it was lifted into the air, panting for breath past a constricted throat; it didn't need any air after Erza ripped its head from its body.
Sucking in mouthfuls of iron tasting air, Erza turned her eyes to the forest. The red tinge in her vision was annoying, yet somehow she could see more goblins nearby, ones rushing to the commotion. She heard more too, goblins and spiders and boars and larger creatures, such as a mob of taller brutes crashing through the brush.
Good, they saved her the trouble of hunting them down.
Another tremendous crash obliterated a pack of wolf riders, grinding them into the dirt where they belonged. One lived just long enough for the axe to cleave its head off, continuing to swing until she chopped a tree down in one blow, letting the trunk fall into another pack. The survivors had barely stopped flinching before she twisted one's arms off then crushed its back with her boot.
So it went. A goblin duo trying to wrangle a boar, a large group of up to a hundred well armed creatures, dozens of smaller bands. Spears broke against her armor, knives and daggers shattered upon impact, pots of foul smelling goop were thrown too slowly, arrows by the bushel went nowhere or broke, wolves and spiders and boars were goaded into attacking. Nothing stopped Erza.
Heads went flying. Blood coated the soil. Screams filled the air. One yelping goblin crawled on hands and knees, her boot pressing against its back making it squeal until she stomped.
The only thing to break through her haze was a group of larger creatures, similar to the goblins but taller albeit hunched, sporting upwards facing tusks on their bestial visages. These ones were armed with cleavers or clubs, clad in makeshift armor that might have posed a hindrance to Emanuello's men. Orcs, she assumed.
"Oi! Dere'z da-" One taller than her bellowed, jabbing its mace in her direction. Its hand went flying still clutching the weapon. Then its shoulder had its weight taken off. Seeing the imbalance Erza corrected the problem via twin slashes that hit its waist and neck simultaneously. Her sword was plunged into the ground, allowing her to snatch the falling head by a tusk.
The others blinked numbly, watching her lift the severed head. Too stupid to grasp what she had done it seemed. Erza scoffed, dropping the skull to add to her collection; carving through a swung mace, she bisected its wielder to lunch through its viscera towards the next, her snarling mouth catching the filthy blade of a rusty cleaver, a chomp shattering the metal and letting her hands find the offender's neck, ripping him apart.
Tasting blood that wasn't hers, Erza grabbed the final one just as it bellowed, "WAAAGH!"
This one, she needed to do something special with it. Something to warn these monsters who these woods belonged to, something to teach them fear. So with that thought, she lopped off the hands of the last orc, grabbing it by the jaw and ankle, and lifting its thrashing body overhead. Then, she pulled.
Its incoherent snarls vanished after its life, both halves thrown apart. The legs were smacked against a tree, the head landed on dirt. She didn't want to damage the skull, she needed it for her-
Twitching, Erza dropped to her knees with a gasp. She gulped lungfuls of iron tainted air, the red haze in her eyes receding and advancing with her heartbeat. Something was wrong, she-
Cracking sticks whipped her around, snatching up her axe and sword. The lithe figure had her tense, preparing to lunge at the thing, dismissing its bleats and cries… wait.
"…arlet, Scarlet!" Blinking, Erza suddenly realized Asarnil was before her. Sort of, he halted a couple dozen paces away and backed up, his sword quivering in hand.
Rising to her feet, Erza took a second to scoff at the blood on her armor. And it was so clean too.
"It seems I owe you an apology lord Asarnil." Erza marched past the orc bodies, detecting more goblins nearby. She tapped the side of her head upon feeling a weird ache.
"Scarlet, Erza… what happened here?" Asarnil gaped at the carnage, and her.
She saw how Arsanil slowly approached her, looking visibly exhausted and run down, a strong contrast to his usually perfect physique. What had upset him so much?
Still, it was good that he was here.
"Collect their skulls, of all of them. They will make for a good gift to the dwarven king." Looking at the path of carnage she had carved through this forest and the goblins, collecting all their skulls would take some time. Still, she could transport a hundred or even a thousand skulls with her requip.
For some reason Asarnil quickly followed her command without complaint, practically stumbling over his own legs, so eager was he.
How nice.
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
Large green rioting soccer hooligans.
e: Hmm, looks like Erza is having a bit of a Khorne moment. That's going to be an issue...
Last edited:
- Location
- UK
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They
Ezra: Blood for the Blood God?
Asarnil: *Quietly gets concerned*
Asarnil: *Quietly gets concerned*
- Pronouns
- He
Erza: Collects skulls
Arsanil and everyone else:
Arsanil and everyone else:
Chapter 23
- Pronouns
- He
Chapter 23
She didn't like these lands, Erza decided, as she bent her upper body to avoid a large, if crude ax from crashing into her collar. With almost contemptuous ease she raised Benizakura and sliced through her opponent, bisecting him from head to crotch, his organs and innards spilling out of the horrendous wound. The green flesh, muscles and crude armor offered no protection against the demon blade. And yet despite that, the orc refused to die, instead bringing his axe down in yet another futile attempt to take her with him in death.
He ripped open his maw to spew another litany of the garbled nonsense that she had grown so accustomed to hearing in these last couple days and weeks.
The Orc boss, as she had been so helpfully told by her companions, was the leader of the local tribe of greenskins, which could explain the sudden collapse of cohesion among what was left of said tribe.
A couple dozen goblins and a handful of orcs were all that was left of the two hundred or so that had ambushed them at first. Deathfang had barely landed and started to make for a camp when they came out of the woods and surrounding hills, riding on oversized wolves, spiders and boars, screaming obscene war cries. A good fourth to third of them had perished before they even reached their lines, a single breath of Deathfang annihilating the first couple ranks of the beasts, not that fiery doom had perturbed them in particular.
On the contrary, the sheer ferocity of resistance greeting them had just emboldened the pests, the prospect of a 'gud foight' driving them, as Goric had explained to her. The leader of this particular attack had been considerably taller and wider than the specimen they encountered in the vast reaches of the vaults, being almost twice as tall as she was. Its 'armor' had been a mess of smashed armor and steel plates, taken of it's previous victims and stitched together in a poor mockery of smithery. In many places brown patches of dried up blood still covered spots where it's original owners had been struck down.
Even worse to the his shoulders had been strapped a banner of leather and skin, various green orc skulls and words painted on it. Given the nature of the boss' "armor" it had been obvious what the source for the leather of this thing had been.
The very sight had invoked a deep, burning anger in her and she had crossed the distance between them in an instant.
Most of the leader's bodyguard had perished in a deluge of magically fueled fire, courtesy of Deathfang, but the orc boss himself had almost miraculously survived the onslaught, green light originating from the banner covering his whole form and canceling out even the emperor dragons white hot flames.
Her own 'normal' blades had barely fared better, the steel blades being magically halted just centimeters from it's chest and crotch and an unseen force driving her back, diverting her killing strikes away, inadvertently gutting two of the last members of it's bodyguard.
It had roared something about her being a 'git' before attempting to smash her with an axe, that was more an oversized piece of metal strapped to a ripped tree branch than something approaching a respectable weapon. It had been trivially easy to dodge and deflect it's blows, though it's magic shield remained inviolable, even when she had sent it flying with a well placed chest kick through a group of goblin archers that had opened up on her, uncaring if their foul arrows hit their leader or not.
This had vexed her and she had discarded her less effective weapons, summoning benizakura with a single flash of magic all the while more and more of the horde was burned to ash, death fang easily warping the flames he spat out into long snakes of fire that chased and surrounded the desperately dispersing greenskins.
The magic of the boss's banner was potent but it was nothing to the things that Benizakura had faced before. A single thrust was enough to pierce through it, the demon blades red effortlessly searing the protective green light, the whole disgusting banner shredding itself in its attempt to halt her.
With a sigh she stepped back from the dying monster that still tried to strike. It attempted to say something, but the orc never came to spew his latest nonsense as Benizakura cut through it's thick neck with the same ease with that it cut through everything else. As the now headless carcass dropped to the ground Erza stepped back, manifesting a couple swords and spears to send after the few still living orcs more as a motion of habit at this point than anything else really.
This was the fifth time in a week that they had been attacked by orcs. The. Fifth. Time.
She picked up the orc boss's skull up and sent it a glare before disappearing it into her pocket dimension, careful with it to land into an area where her other weapons and armor were not. Erza wouldn't want them to get smeared in blood after all, at least not before the start of a fight.
Behind her, Goric, Asarnil and even Emanuello had begun the grisly work of separating the heads of the greenskin's whose bodies had in some form survived Deathfang. Emanuello in particular cringed at the grissly work, but in the end his appreciation of a good first impression and the promised reward of the Dawi King seemingly overpowered his concern that some of them were just pretending to be dead -something that had occurred more that once in the past- even if he made sure to stab them before coming too close.
Erza for her part remained where she was, looking if any new hordes of beasts or orcs would appear from between the many hills and small forests making out the landscape around them.
The Border Prince principalities, so had Goric and Emanuello told her, was a land with little civilization, teeming with monsters and bandits alike. She had seen little of either in the week since, when they had passed the vaults and into the plains beyond them.
Neither monster nor bandit had troubled them, all respecting at the very least the implied threat of a large dragon flying overhead.
Well almost everyone. Where man and beast had seen an emperor dragon and then decided that maybe it would be the best idea to not be seen, the orcs had appearently seen something else.
Namely a good fight.
And by the gods, there were a lot of orcs in these lands, who wanted a good fight, not that she couldn't understand the sentiment. Erza had battled her comrades in Fairy Tail many a time just for the sheer joy of proving who was the stronger, most of all Natsu.
Erza had crushed a number of their tribes in the mountains, mostly to gain experience in fighting them as well as skulls to for the promised reward by King Kazador. Not to mention that the dwarves of Karak Azul would most likely take the chance of them saving their family a lot more seriously if they brought proof of their combat prowess.
So, in a sense, she should be happy.
She wasn't.
There was a limit to things. A limit to how often one could beat up Natsu in a month before it stopped being fun. A limit to how often one could eat strawberry cake before one got a stomachache. A limit to how often one could tolerate a horde of screaming, excrement reeking green barbarians storming out of the woods to bash their heads in before one had enough of it.
Even worse, unlike the goblins in the mountains, the orcs here were not pushovers. The goblins had had nothing that could hurt her, not really. Their spears, knives and arrows were covered in filth and poison that could make even the smallest cuts dangerous for a person like Emanuello. To her however, such weapons were little more than toys, breaking on her skin like brittle glass.
Their large numbers were easy to scare off, especially once she had cast down a couple hundred with the likes of Heaven's wheel or flame empress armor and once they had routed, she and Deathfang could easily wipe them out from the air.
The orcs were different.
They had met groups of the tall green brutes amongst the goblins, but those had never been many, easy collateral whenever Deathfang hit some of the goblin 'formations' with his breath or massively destructive magic.
Not a single of the attacks she had witnessed so far had less than at least a hundred orcs among them and their leaders had proven themselves opponents that could not simply be swept away.
Worst of all, some of them had had magic support. While she had yet to see a true mage among the greenskins more than once had she come across orcs who had worn various equipment that was simply to strong for what it was. Banners that protected and strengthen them, enough that they could wound even her, if she was not carefull.
They wouldn't be able to inflict actual serious injuries on her, but it was a concerning upgrade to the total inability of the goblins from before to harm her at all.
In total they had to have killed close to a thousand orcs and goblins by now, going from the sheer pile of heads that began to form inside of her pocket dimension, and yet from the continuous ambushes and attacks, it didn't look like they had made even a dent in the greenskin numbers.
Stabbing one last Orc who reached for his axe, Erza inadvertently slumped onto her hilt. The past week's nonstop fights were starting to grate, she was getting tired of spending almost every waking minute killing idiotic greenskins, now that her patience was exhausted her stamina was getting chewed on. Yanking the blade free, she decided that the skull wasn't worth the effort and trudged to their overnight camp.
While she was finishing off yet another batch, the others had made a tiny encampment on top of a hill, giving a tiny bit of defense to goblins overnight. If the usual stakes and pit traps Goric tidied up weren't enough, which so far they worked more often than not. While Asarnil cleaned his sword Emanuello worked on a stew overtop of a small fire.
Erza was handed a bowl, then had to give it a long look at the meager amount inside. Emanuello groaned when she looked, dropping onto a log with an equally lacking meal, he and the men alike when she checked.
"Yes I know, I'm trying to stretch things out. And don't-" Emanuello groaned at Asarnil turning up his nose, cringing and scowling at the same time. "Last of the black pepper spice and soon to be the last of the salt. Your alternative is the hardtack." He nodded towards the crate holding the tasteless bricks, giving it a kick; the box rattled ominously.
"Ach, hardtack. A poor umgi´s version of stonebread." Goric muttered, poking at the mess inside the soup before reaching for the 'bread'. "You make for one poor cook, umgi. Why, the valayan matrons back at my throng could have made us a feast out of nothing more than sawdust, ale and dry meat." He broke up the bit of hardtack that he got, crunching it together with his thick muscular hand before raining it down into the bowl. With a grunt he reached into his beard and pulled a flask out from somewhere.
Not for the first time did Erza wonder if the stout dwarf practiced some form of requip magic, since, no matter how often she deemed to think that he had finally run out of alcohol.
"Ah yes, stonebread. Rocks and mushrooms are all dwarfs need." Asarnil muttered himself, listlessly poking at his meal. "For the rest of us, we need something a bit more substantial to live on, such as, oh say, taste? I trust that this isn't just a bit of an Asur mindset at work."
"Elgi, if your kind knew even the meaning of the word taste, you'd know that all you need for that is fine dwarven ale." Almost nonchalantly did Goric tear the cork of the flash with his teeth before letting a steady stream of the brown-golden liquid fall into his meal, shaking the bowl all the while.
Emanuello for his part simply sighed and went to eat his portion, obviously trying to ignore the insults at his cooking skills. But not without an envious glance at the flask, the last time Erza saw him drinking wine was the day after leaving. He had been responsible for the cooking, ever since he had told them that -as a measure to avoid poisoning- he had learned and used to cook himself relatively often. Of course, as he assured her it was the reason, he usually had far better ingredients available.
Asarnil groaned. "At this point I'd even be willing to try squig. So long as it isn't this edible wood."
The question of food had become an urgent one after they had left Miragliano. Not one of the four really regretted the decision to leave so quickly, the presence of an entire army of skaven gunning for them especially in a city where so many people would inevitably land in the crossfire (not to mention the outright volcanic political situation thanks to the murder of Borger) had made it undoubtedly the correct decision.
Yet still, they had been unable to pick up much food as they did and the beasts and wildstock they hunted down on their travels mostly disappeared down Deathfangs maw. In fact, whenever they made camp and didn't have to fight off an orc tribe did Asarnil melt away in the night, only to return with some felled deer, boar and -in one particular case- the carcass of a horse sized spider, just to feed all of it to his companion.
Erza didn't think that the Elf had spent more than a handful of hours of sleep in the last week, not that he seemed very bothered by that. Almost like Goric in that respect, able to keep up activity longer than the human; she wasn't about to note that aloud, she went through too much effort to stop their fighting the first time. With her patience at an all time low she had even less reason now.
Morning came with only one attack in the night, a handful of goblins who evaded their larger kin tried to raid their camp. Between Goric's traps and Deathfang's night watch, they didn't do much, not even taking the edge off of the dragon's hunger. Smoke plumes approaching their position was good enough cause to pack up and leave, before yet another orc war party could die against her blade.
It was getting close to nightfall when Asarnil picked up from his saddle, Deathfang making a grunt sound over his beating wings. That cued the rest of them to take a look, Erza putting her face in the wind by leaning sideways; past her watering eyes she saw several more plumes of smoke, thinner than a typical war party's signal. And below… she saw a hamlet.
It was a small one to be sure, a few dozen houses surrounded by a wall atop of a hill. Standard for this region as Emanuello and Asarnil explained before. Nonetheless she saw none of the usual signs of attackers, no horde outside the defenses, no burning buildings, just a tiny village.
"What do you think!?" Emanuello shouted over the wind. His answer was Deathfang coasting to the ground, heading for an adjacent hill some distance away. He bleed altitude until he flared his wings, coasting to a bumpy landing atop of the grass coated soil, lurching the riders when he came to a complete halt.
Erza was the first to hop off, hitting the rocky ground with its stiff, hardy grass, and stretched her legs. Despite the odd feeling she got when using magic now she played with the idea of flying herself next time, these long trips were making her sore. As she groaned, Goric untied himself to hit the dirt, shaking with a customary grumble while Emanuello clambered off on shaky limbs, stumbling a moment before catching himself. Asarnil was the sole rider to show no signs of stiffness, merely cracking his neck while Deathfang drew in his wings.
"I can assume you will want to see what that village has to sell, if they have anything worth buying." As expected, Asarnil huffed at the tiny hamlet a small hike away from them. "It may be wise if Deathfang and I wait here, lest the peasants go into a panic."
"Mm, yeah, not a bad idea." Emanuello grunted while stretching the stiffness out of his limbs, snatching up the coin purse. He had claimed Miragliano currency wouldn't be accepted out here, but gold was still gold, and if that wouldn't do, he had a few precious stones hidden away.
Erza's stomach rumbled, much to her reddening embarrassment. Luckily for her dignity Emanuello followed suit a second later, earning a scoff from Goric while he hitched his broken hammer.
"I'll be coming along too. Someone needs to keep you two out of trouble." He marched off, only dangling a stubby leg for a second to deal with his own stiffness. As she went after him she saw Goric pawn yet another flask, but this one he gave a frown to before reluctantly putting it back. "Plus I need to get some extra ale reserves. Grugni willing, they have something that at least resembles beer down there."
"Great." Emanuello stretched himself a little. "Then let's get moving. What's the worst that can happen?"
AN:
I´m back. My finals are over and went relatively well, meaning i have time for my stories again.
As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I´ll be happy to read and answer your feedback. Until the next chapter, I wish you all a fantastic day.
slava ukraini
She didn't like these lands, Erza decided, as she bent her upper body to avoid a large, if crude ax from crashing into her collar. With almost contemptuous ease she raised Benizakura and sliced through her opponent, bisecting him from head to crotch, his organs and innards spilling out of the horrendous wound. The green flesh, muscles and crude armor offered no protection against the demon blade. And yet despite that, the orc refused to die, instead bringing his axe down in yet another futile attempt to take her with him in death.
He ripped open his maw to spew another litany of the garbled nonsense that she had grown so accustomed to hearing in these last couple days and weeks.
The Orc boss, as she had been so helpfully told by her companions, was the leader of the local tribe of greenskins, which could explain the sudden collapse of cohesion among what was left of said tribe.
A couple dozen goblins and a handful of orcs were all that was left of the two hundred or so that had ambushed them at first. Deathfang had barely landed and started to make for a camp when they came out of the woods and surrounding hills, riding on oversized wolves, spiders and boars, screaming obscene war cries. A good fourth to third of them had perished before they even reached their lines, a single breath of Deathfang annihilating the first couple ranks of the beasts, not that fiery doom had perturbed them in particular.
On the contrary, the sheer ferocity of resistance greeting them had just emboldened the pests, the prospect of a 'gud foight' driving them, as Goric had explained to her. The leader of this particular attack had been considerably taller and wider than the specimen they encountered in the vast reaches of the vaults, being almost twice as tall as she was. Its 'armor' had been a mess of smashed armor and steel plates, taken of it's previous victims and stitched together in a poor mockery of smithery. In many places brown patches of dried up blood still covered spots where it's original owners had been struck down.
Even worse to the his shoulders had been strapped a banner of leather and skin, various green orc skulls and words painted on it. Given the nature of the boss' "armor" it had been obvious what the source for the leather of this thing had been.
The very sight had invoked a deep, burning anger in her and she had crossed the distance between them in an instant.
Most of the leader's bodyguard had perished in a deluge of magically fueled fire, courtesy of Deathfang, but the orc boss himself had almost miraculously survived the onslaught, green light originating from the banner covering his whole form and canceling out even the emperor dragons white hot flames.
Her own 'normal' blades had barely fared better, the steel blades being magically halted just centimeters from it's chest and crotch and an unseen force driving her back, diverting her killing strikes away, inadvertently gutting two of the last members of it's bodyguard.
It had roared something about her being a 'git' before attempting to smash her with an axe, that was more an oversized piece of metal strapped to a ripped tree branch than something approaching a respectable weapon. It had been trivially easy to dodge and deflect it's blows, though it's magic shield remained inviolable, even when she had sent it flying with a well placed chest kick through a group of goblin archers that had opened up on her, uncaring if their foul arrows hit their leader or not.
This had vexed her and she had discarded her less effective weapons, summoning benizakura with a single flash of magic all the while more and more of the horde was burned to ash, death fang easily warping the flames he spat out into long snakes of fire that chased and surrounded the desperately dispersing greenskins.
The magic of the boss's banner was potent but it was nothing to the things that Benizakura had faced before. A single thrust was enough to pierce through it, the demon blades red effortlessly searing the protective green light, the whole disgusting banner shredding itself in its attempt to halt her.
With a sigh she stepped back from the dying monster that still tried to strike. It attempted to say something, but the orc never came to spew his latest nonsense as Benizakura cut through it's thick neck with the same ease with that it cut through everything else. As the now headless carcass dropped to the ground Erza stepped back, manifesting a couple swords and spears to send after the few still living orcs more as a motion of habit at this point than anything else really.
This was the fifth time in a week that they had been attacked by orcs. The. Fifth. Time.
She picked up the orc boss's skull up and sent it a glare before disappearing it into her pocket dimension, careful with it to land into an area where her other weapons and armor were not. Erza wouldn't want them to get smeared in blood after all, at least not before the start of a fight.
Behind her, Goric, Asarnil and even Emanuello had begun the grisly work of separating the heads of the greenskin's whose bodies had in some form survived Deathfang. Emanuello in particular cringed at the grissly work, but in the end his appreciation of a good first impression and the promised reward of the Dawi King seemingly overpowered his concern that some of them were just pretending to be dead -something that had occurred more that once in the past- even if he made sure to stab them before coming too close.
Erza for her part remained where she was, looking if any new hordes of beasts or orcs would appear from between the many hills and small forests making out the landscape around them.
The Border Prince principalities, so had Goric and Emanuello told her, was a land with little civilization, teeming with monsters and bandits alike. She had seen little of either in the week since, when they had passed the vaults and into the plains beyond them.
Neither monster nor bandit had troubled them, all respecting at the very least the implied threat of a large dragon flying overhead.
Well almost everyone. Where man and beast had seen an emperor dragon and then decided that maybe it would be the best idea to not be seen, the orcs had appearently seen something else.
Namely a good fight.
And by the gods, there were a lot of orcs in these lands, who wanted a good fight, not that she couldn't understand the sentiment. Erza had battled her comrades in Fairy Tail many a time just for the sheer joy of proving who was the stronger, most of all Natsu.
Erza had crushed a number of their tribes in the mountains, mostly to gain experience in fighting them as well as skulls to for the promised reward by King Kazador. Not to mention that the dwarves of Karak Azul would most likely take the chance of them saving their family a lot more seriously if they brought proof of their combat prowess.
So, in a sense, she should be happy.
She wasn't.
There was a limit to things. A limit to how often one could beat up Natsu in a month before it stopped being fun. A limit to how often one could eat strawberry cake before one got a stomachache. A limit to how often one could tolerate a horde of screaming, excrement reeking green barbarians storming out of the woods to bash their heads in before one had enough of it.
Even worse, unlike the goblins in the mountains, the orcs here were not pushovers. The goblins had had nothing that could hurt her, not really. Their spears, knives and arrows were covered in filth and poison that could make even the smallest cuts dangerous for a person like Emanuello. To her however, such weapons were little more than toys, breaking on her skin like brittle glass.
Their large numbers were easy to scare off, especially once she had cast down a couple hundred with the likes of Heaven's wheel or flame empress armor and once they had routed, she and Deathfang could easily wipe them out from the air.
The orcs were different.
They had met groups of the tall green brutes amongst the goblins, but those had never been many, easy collateral whenever Deathfang hit some of the goblin 'formations' with his breath or massively destructive magic.
Not a single of the attacks she had witnessed so far had less than at least a hundred orcs among them and their leaders had proven themselves opponents that could not simply be swept away.
Worst of all, some of them had had magic support. While she had yet to see a true mage among the greenskins more than once had she come across orcs who had worn various equipment that was simply to strong for what it was. Banners that protected and strengthen them, enough that they could wound even her, if she was not carefull.
They wouldn't be able to inflict actual serious injuries on her, but it was a concerning upgrade to the total inability of the goblins from before to harm her at all.
In total they had to have killed close to a thousand orcs and goblins by now, going from the sheer pile of heads that began to form inside of her pocket dimension, and yet from the continuous ambushes and attacks, it didn't look like they had made even a dent in the greenskin numbers.
Stabbing one last Orc who reached for his axe, Erza inadvertently slumped onto her hilt. The past week's nonstop fights were starting to grate, she was getting tired of spending almost every waking minute killing idiotic greenskins, now that her patience was exhausted her stamina was getting chewed on. Yanking the blade free, she decided that the skull wasn't worth the effort and trudged to their overnight camp.
While she was finishing off yet another batch, the others had made a tiny encampment on top of a hill, giving a tiny bit of defense to goblins overnight. If the usual stakes and pit traps Goric tidied up weren't enough, which so far they worked more often than not. While Asarnil cleaned his sword Emanuello worked on a stew overtop of a small fire.
Erza was handed a bowl, then had to give it a long look at the meager amount inside. Emanuello groaned when she looked, dropping onto a log with an equally lacking meal, he and the men alike when she checked.
"Yes I know, I'm trying to stretch things out. And don't-" Emanuello groaned at Asarnil turning up his nose, cringing and scowling at the same time. "Last of the black pepper spice and soon to be the last of the salt. Your alternative is the hardtack." He nodded towards the crate holding the tasteless bricks, giving it a kick; the box rattled ominously.
"Ach, hardtack. A poor umgi´s version of stonebread." Goric muttered, poking at the mess inside the soup before reaching for the 'bread'. "You make for one poor cook, umgi. Why, the valayan matrons back at my throng could have made us a feast out of nothing more than sawdust, ale and dry meat." He broke up the bit of hardtack that he got, crunching it together with his thick muscular hand before raining it down into the bowl. With a grunt he reached into his beard and pulled a flask out from somewhere.
Not for the first time did Erza wonder if the stout dwarf practiced some form of requip magic, since, no matter how often she deemed to think that he had finally run out of alcohol.
"Ah yes, stonebread. Rocks and mushrooms are all dwarfs need." Asarnil muttered himself, listlessly poking at his meal. "For the rest of us, we need something a bit more substantial to live on, such as, oh say, taste? I trust that this isn't just a bit of an Asur mindset at work."
"Elgi, if your kind knew even the meaning of the word taste, you'd know that all you need for that is fine dwarven ale." Almost nonchalantly did Goric tear the cork of the flash with his teeth before letting a steady stream of the brown-golden liquid fall into his meal, shaking the bowl all the while.
Emanuello for his part simply sighed and went to eat his portion, obviously trying to ignore the insults at his cooking skills. But not without an envious glance at the flask, the last time Erza saw him drinking wine was the day after leaving. He had been responsible for the cooking, ever since he had told them that -as a measure to avoid poisoning- he had learned and used to cook himself relatively often. Of course, as he assured her it was the reason, he usually had far better ingredients available.
Asarnil groaned. "At this point I'd even be willing to try squig. So long as it isn't this edible wood."
The question of food had become an urgent one after they had left Miragliano. Not one of the four really regretted the decision to leave so quickly, the presence of an entire army of skaven gunning for them especially in a city where so many people would inevitably land in the crossfire (not to mention the outright volcanic political situation thanks to the murder of Borger) had made it undoubtedly the correct decision.
Yet still, they had been unable to pick up much food as they did and the beasts and wildstock they hunted down on their travels mostly disappeared down Deathfangs maw. In fact, whenever they made camp and didn't have to fight off an orc tribe did Asarnil melt away in the night, only to return with some felled deer, boar and -in one particular case- the carcass of a horse sized spider, just to feed all of it to his companion.
Erza didn't think that the Elf had spent more than a handful of hours of sleep in the last week, not that he seemed very bothered by that. Almost like Goric in that respect, able to keep up activity longer than the human; she wasn't about to note that aloud, she went through too much effort to stop their fighting the first time. With her patience at an all time low she had even less reason now.
Morning came with only one attack in the night, a handful of goblins who evaded their larger kin tried to raid their camp. Between Goric's traps and Deathfang's night watch, they didn't do much, not even taking the edge off of the dragon's hunger. Smoke plumes approaching their position was good enough cause to pack up and leave, before yet another orc war party could die against her blade.
It was getting close to nightfall when Asarnil picked up from his saddle, Deathfang making a grunt sound over his beating wings. That cued the rest of them to take a look, Erza putting her face in the wind by leaning sideways; past her watering eyes she saw several more plumes of smoke, thinner than a typical war party's signal. And below… she saw a hamlet.
It was a small one to be sure, a few dozen houses surrounded by a wall atop of a hill. Standard for this region as Emanuello and Asarnil explained before. Nonetheless she saw none of the usual signs of attackers, no horde outside the defenses, no burning buildings, just a tiny village.
"What do you think!?" Emanuello shouted over the wind. His answer was Deathfang coasting to the ground, heading for an adjacent hill some distance away. He bleed altitude until he flared his wings, coasting to a bumpy landing atop of the grass coated soil, lurching the riders when he came to a complete halt.
Erza was the first to hop off, hitting the rocky ground with its stiff, hardy grass, and stretched her legs. Despite the odd feeling she got when using magic now she played with the idea of flying herself next time, these long trips were making her sore. As she groaned, Goric untied himself to hit the dirt, shaking with a customary grumble while Emanuello clambered off on shaky limbs, stumbling a moment before catching himself. Asarnil was the sole rider to show no signs of stiffness, merely cracking his neck while Deathfang drew in his wings.
"I can assume you will want to see what that village has to sell, if they have anything worth buying." As expected, Asarnil huffed at the tiny hamlet a small hike away from them. "It may be wise if Deathfang and I wait here, lest the peasants go into a panic."
"Mm, yeah, not a bad idea." Emanuello grunted while stretching the stiffness out of his limbs, snatching up the coin purse. He had claimed Miragliano currency wouldn't be accepted out here, but gold was still gold, and if that wouldn't do, he had a few precious stones hidden away.
Erza's stomach rumbled, much to her reddening embarrassment. Luckily for her dignity Emanuello followed suit a second later, earning a scoff from Goric while he hitched his broken hammer.
"I'll be coming along too. Someone needs to keep you two out of trouble." He marched off, only dangling a stubby leg for a second to deal with his own stiffness. As she went after him she saw Goric pawn yet another flask, but this one he gave a frown to before reluctantly putting it back. "Plus I need to get some extra ale reserves. Grugni willing, they have something that at least resembles beer down there."
"Great." Emanuello stretched himself a little. "Then let's get moving. What's the worst that can happen?"
AN:
I´m back. My finals are over and went relatively well, meaning i have time for my stories again.
As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I´ll be happy to read and answer your feedback. Until the next chapter, I wish you all a fantastic day.
slava ukraini
- Pronouns
- He
I´d like to think I´m writing a story that´s a bit more serious than that.
Not 100% grimdark no fun allowed, but at least somewhat serious
Not 100% grimdark no fun allowed, but at least somewhat serious
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
That is an objectively correct opinion.
Erza. Erza you're building a skull throne in your personal pocket dimension Erza. Erza no.
A true Dawi never runs out of alcohol.
And goats. It's rocks, mushrooms and goats.
Why hello there Murphy, imagine seeing you here.