[] Allow Alric: The ability of a dragon to cause destruction is literally legendary. It may be dangerous, and difficult, and risky, but the benefits in battle could be quite extreme. Entire hallways might be drowned in fire, or he might be able to assault the castle in other ways as well.
[] Aberfa's Plan: Approach the castle, tear down the doors, use the Druids to block attempts at communication while the Imperial Wizards aid in the interior. It sounds simple, but so does lifting a thousand pounds onto one's back.
GM NOTE: 12 Hour Moratorium
Accursed Albion 8
The Pillar of Og-Agog became visible long,
long before they ever actually reached it. In point of fact, it pierced its way through the horizon before they even came upon the castle they were to assault. This, at first, was not so noticeable, at least for a while. But as time went on, minutes stretching into hours of marching at good speed with the pillar remaining where it was did it begin to dawn on many just how large it might be. Eyes widened across the whole of the Imperial contingent as many minds rapidly recontextualized what they were seeing. It was unmistakable amongst the various shades of grey and green that filled the landscape around them, for unlike anything else they had seen in the dirty rainswept island it was on first casual look a solid pillar of pure light. Rather, it became obvious as they scrutinized it closer, it was made of pure white stone, of a shade associated with purest snow. A spear of white that shocked the senses that had already begun to grow used to the dreary palate offered by most of Albion. Even staring out at it with some of their spyglasses could not provide the full length of it, and in fact it stretched high into the low hanging clouds above, and while it was not so bogglingly wide around its foundation and base had to be considerable to keep it stable. Either that or magic. Or both, Mena had said with a snort. Surprisingly, however, the closer they got to the Pillar, the less rain there was. It never stopped, not truly, but it did lighten enough that for once it wasn't outright pounding one on the head and attempting to fill one's ears with itself.
"We must be miles away from the thing," Reinhardt eventually said as they marched. "And we can still see it?"
"It used to be the central meeting point for all the tribes of Albion," Magnus replied, eyes ahead, "It makes sense that it would have to be truly something. These people, they may be primitive in some respects, but they are not simpletons."
They'd picked up conversational, or at least somewhat conversational, Reikspiel in an extremely rapid amount of time, all things considered. Their weapons, though originally made of stone and bronze, or whatever it was that was done for their nobles, were effective enough. Magnus knew through his own religious education that many of the most severe adherents of Taal refused to touch even bronze, trusting only in bone and stone weaponry that they nonetheless used with some success against the dangers to nature throughout the Old World. Enough that there were at least a few still around, anyway, even though they were fighting greenskins and beastmen who had never had such compulsions.
"Oh, definitely," Mena groused, "They're just as intelligent as us, I'll bet. Why, they even have political squabbles and successorship issues, just like the good old Empire."
The words were, likely, meant to come out in a slightly joking manner. But there were jagged edges to it that Mena simply could not hide, though her friends were courteous enough to not make note of it.
"…right," Magnus said after a moment and looked behind him to where the wizards walked. "Magister Alric. I shall ask this but one more time. Are you
sure?"
Alric grimaced and then nodded.
"Aye, Prince Hohenzollern. I don't see a better way of leveraging our magics. Neither Magister Carlotta nor Smokewrought have come up with anything better," the man jerked his head towards the two in question, the motion causing the bone charms woven into his hair to rattle and clack against one another. "The former never specialized in combat magics, and the latter is meant to tear apart armies, not castles."
"I am not ashamed of studying what I have, nor for my focus," Carlotta said calmly, her head held high.
"T'weren't a slight meant, Carlotta," Alric drawled, gaining a conciliatory tilt of the head for his trouble.
"I will be fighting them up close, you can believe me Prince Hohenzollern," Magister Smokewrought added with narrowed eyes on the road ahead. "Alric has the right of it in that fire is powerful in close corridors. I have heard the dwarfs of the Karaz Ankor know this well, though they manage it with more mundane methods."
"The Irondrakes, yes," Magnus nodded before looking back at Alric. "What guarantees do we have against the possibility of it all going wrong?"
Alric grimaced and then looked to his journeymen, the men and women similarly garbed behind him. He had deferred making an immediate answer last night, but now could not avoid doing so. They were simply too close.
"They'll be watching the whole while," he nodded to them, a grim look on his face. "They know what to do if it goes wrong. And the other two will help as well, watching the Winds if nothing else. If it begins to fail or fall apart, they can hopefully stop the process before it goes too far."
"Very well. Then you have my permission to try," Magnus finally assented.
"I've a question, actually," Reinhardt said, "Is this something that all true Magisters of the Amber Brotherhood can do? Because…,"
A slash of Alric's staff through the air silenced him.
"No," Alric said quickly. "It is not. There are a bare handful of us Magisters at the moment anyhow, but no. The spell itself is rarely taught, and rarely performed. It is, without question, one of the most dangerous in existence, and one that even Teclis himself demonstrated but once."
"Ah," Reinhardt sighed. "I see."
"No, you do not," Alric shook his head. "Lesser transformations are easier upon the mind and body, such as a bird or horse or what have you. Simpler beasts, easier for body, mind, and soul. But as one ascends amongst the ranks of beastly kind, it begins to strain one further. Creatures such as Great Eagles, or gryphons, grow more difficult, but are not impossible to manage. But the greater the beast, the harder it is, young knight. It is not as if," the Magister paused, face screwed up in thought. "It is not as if you are placing a mask as one would in a play. You are
becoming the beast, in every way. And the more intensive the transformation, the longer, the more you…risk," he finished uneasily.
"Teclis teaches that the wizard Kadon, long before the Colleges, became trapped in the form of a beast after lingering in it too long," one of the journeymen spoke up, a man with a thin spit of bone piercing his nose. "The elves came upon the knowledge, and some of his legendary scrolls, later. But the risk remains."
Magnus shifted uncomfortably as he remembered his father's tales of the one known as Morai-Wen.
"To fight too hard against the cloak is to refuse it entirely," Magister Alric continued, his gruff normalcy for once somewhat sublimated underneath his teaching instincts. "The more one aligns, the stronger the result, the more complete, the more…effective. But aligning too far, too long, and one risks permanency. From the first second to the last, the transformation is swallowing you from within. So no, Sir Hertwig. It is not done lightly. Or often. And even amongst my fellows there are but three others who might manage it safely."
"I apologize if I have distressed you or caused any offense," Reinhardt said quickly to which Alric scoffed.
"It is no matter. Much more is involved, but your senses are dead to the Winds and there would be no point in telling you."
"But, a dragon is different than a horse or dog or the like. They are…they
are intelligent enough, aren't they?" Magnus said, tone somewhat furtive.
"Oh, certainly," Alric nodded before shaking his head. "But they are
not human, and there is the difference. I cannot possibly describe to you the instincts, the desires and wants, the…the
thoughts of beasts in all they myriad ways, only tell you that they are different. If I were to become trapped in the form of a dragon, I would not be Alric, shaman, Magister, titles and signifiers that are both meaningless and infinitely important," he spat on the ground. "I would be something else entirely. There would be memories, yes, but my very thoughts would eventually cease to be my own and be another's. Something that only
might still call itself by my name."
His grim pronouncement enforced a silence for a good few seconds before another spoke again.
"I've got a question, then," Mena spoke up, curling and uncurling her gauntlet, the other hand running along the rubies set into its length. "How do you know how to…you know," she gestured at the Magister. "How to become it? A bird, a horse, a…a dragon? Do you study that, or is it something else?"
Alric chuckled, though conversely a pair of the journeymen looked embarrassed for some reason.
"If I hadn't given up money as a construct and charged a gold for every time some pup asked me that," he sniffed. "It helps, to be sure, in the early days. But no, we don't take…anatomy lessons, Lady Kessel, for every beast in existence. At the higher levels, one must commune with nature itself, with Ghur itself, to truly learn the essences of what once is seeking."
"Ah," Mena nodded, "So you haven't actually gone up to a dragon with a measuring tape."
"Hah!" Alric barked a laugh. "Certainly not."
Further conversation halted as riders came back over the horizon, to where in the extreme distance a small smudge could now be seen. Aberfa wheeled away from her own nobles to where the Imperials marched, waving a hand to gain their attention.
"Hoy! Empire people! Those scouts, ey? Get ready!"
The amusement drained away, and Magnus' heart began to beat just that much faster.
=====================================================================
(Southernmost Castle Disposition: 61/100)
"So, to recap," Magnus rubbed at his chin. "Not the best news, but not the worst, either."
Contrary to previous efforts, the Fimir were not purely holed up in their castle with few outside of it. They had to eat sometimes, it seemed. The Albionese scouts had sighted a half dozen parties leaving the castle, each numbering fifty or so, spreading out in various directions and therefore depleting the numbers of those within the castle proper. The Albionese had hatefully, with virulent vitriol, spat out their descriptions of the hunting parties.
"Hunting for
what?" Mena had asked. "I haven't seen any cattle in this land."
"Hogs," Aberfa had replied, face almost as thunderous as her father's before they had been promptly sent away. Her next words were purely Albish, but the anger in them was obvious.
"Uh…Aberfa? I don't understand," Magnus said after her tirade had continued on for another minute.
"Hogs. Pigs. Sacred beasts, ey?" She said quickly, snarling each word.
The rest of the Albionese around them seemed similarly angry.
"Ah. Pigs," Magnus said slowly.
Aberfa sighed at the clear lack of comprehension, her brow furrowed as she thought through her words.
"Forbidden meat, ey? Sacred beasts. Nobody touch Oghams but Truthsayers or with permission of Truthsayers, or die, ey? Nobody, even Truthsayers, eat hogs. Hogs sacred not just to us," she slapped at her unbound chest. "But to giants, too, ey? Kill a hog, lose your life," she nodded firmly, an act repeated by many of the other Albionese who understood a modicum of Reikspiel. "Because hogs, they are the giant's dead, ey?"
Magnus, Mena, and Reinhardt all blinked at the same time.
"What?" Magnus asked.
"When giant dies, spirit goes into biggest of hogs, ey? Giants, protectors of Albion. Sacred. Holy duty, placed here by Ancient Ones. Be like…," Aberfa struggled for a moment. "What servants your Gods have, back in Empire?"
"The Winter Wolves," Mena answered immediately. "Sacred beasts, they carry Ulric's breath in their hearts."
"Good, yes, okay, have…Wolf God," Aberfa raised an eyebrow and then her hands in acknowledgement. "Okay. So, no kill special wolves, ey? Ever? On pain of rocks death?"
"Er," Mena coughed into a fist. "Not…necessarily. In the most severe scriptures, it is an honor to kill a wolf with one's bare hands, to bear its pelt as a sign of strength."
Now it was Aberfa's turn to stare.
"Your God has sacred animal and makes you kill them?" The tribal woman said incredulously before waving her hands around. "Okay, bad example. Not like Ulric at all then. Just…," she pinched at the bridge of her nose. "Just no kill hogs, okay? They roam free, is holy law."
"But aren't hogs, boars I mean, can't they cause damage to…," Magnus trailed off as he remembered that the Albionese had no fields for boars to ruin nor villages to rampage through. They lived primarily in caves and gained their sustenance from swamp creatures it seemed. "Uh."
"What? No," Aberfa shook her head, looking upon him as if he were a child. "Hogs not danger to those who not threaten. If hog come at you, then you run. Or beg," she added as an afterthought, "Once was a herd near home caves. Let children ride them," she smiled at the memory before she frowned. "Ancient stories say that long, long ago could ride special ones into battle. Use for chariots. But the Moch Rhyfeddol are gone now. In our lands, at least."
"But the Fimir have no such respect for them," Magnus added.
"No," Aberfa shook her head slowly. "They do not."
She growled and tossed her wet hair behind her head, letting it slap and cling to her back.
"We go now. We fight, ey? Kill in castle, wait until rest come back, kill them too. Druids!" She looked at Lear and his cadre. "You ready?"
The response was Albish, but the nod was universal.
"Then we go. You ready, Empire wizard?" She looked to Alric next.
"I am."
"Good!"
The pace of the march accelerated significantly from that point. It was not a matter of trying to form a block and draw out the Fimir. This time they were doing quite the opposite and invading them directly. The closer they got, the larger the Pillar of Og-Agog loomed in the distance. But so too, did the castle. The Albionese had not spoken untruthfully when they said that these were far older and more established. Magnus could not help but compare it, crude as it was, to a compact settlement in the shape of an anthill made up of stone. It did not hold the towers and walls that he would associate with a human castle, but there were grooves driven into certain portions of it that led within and without, places where Fimir might stand up straight and wield ranged weapons of some sorts. Pushed up portions of stone that were smashed and shaped existed at odd points as well, though nothing rested atop them. Based on the previous castles, Magnus did not like the estimates of how many Fimir just might have been inside. At least some had left the castle beforehand…but even that might well turn out to be a problem if they could not see to the ones inside before the hunting parties returned.
"Okay," Aberfa declared with a crack of her neck from side to side before turning to the druids and speaking to them in Albish.
A short conversation followed, all of them raising their hands and then from large sacks came rotten vegetation and filth once more. Just like last time, the disturbing Fen Beasts took form once more, and just as before Aberfa was granted a glowing and carved stone she held in her free hand while the other rested her claymore against her shoulders.
"Fen Beast, they go for doors, ey? Druids be focused on blocking out Dirach calls," she said to everyone. "Empire wizards,
you get to do the magic fighting this time, ey? Show us how strong Empire Gods make you."
At that moment, none really bothered bringing up that the Magic Colleges were a distinctly non-religious institution, though Magnus could see that Magister Smokewrought had to cuff one of his subordinate wizards when they opened their mouth. Magister Alric and his own journeymen had already moved off to the side, a ritual circle being formed by the journeymen around the Magister himself. It was, altogether to Magnus' eyes, a far more involved and complicated process on the outside than Morai-Wen's was in Athel Loren. To hear his father tell it, she practically did it in an instant. But then, perhaps that was the difference between a millennia old madwoman who sold her soul to the elven Goddess of Fate and a man who – teachings of Teclis aside – had been alive for less than a century, magic talents or otherwise. The Druids, for their part, had formed their own small formation, and had immediately begun chanting in unison. The winds around them began to pick up, localized to rustling their robes and dragging back hoods.
(Druidic Choking Mists: 55+Surprise(15)=70)
A word emerged from the throats of the Druids, but it was one that Magnus simply couldn't fully comprehend. It seemed to echo and bounce oddly in the air, the reverberations catching not just against his body but within his soul. As if an ocean wave had crashed and broken upon him. The heads of their staves lit up in brilliant gentle greens surrounded by thin strings of almost glistening grey. Only then did Lear alone speak a new word, the others immediately going back into chanting. Magnus did not need to speak Albish to understand that the single word and jerk of the head meant 'go'. Less than a heartbeat later, from the side, a wave of pure pulsing energies swept past, buffeting all present. The Albionese in particular stared in wonder and suspicion in equal amounts as one of the foreigners to their shores prepared to do what they thought neither possible nor reasonable. Every other Imperial Wizard stood nearby, eyes glowing in a disturbing wash of color as they grappled with the Winds of Magic to aid their comrade.
(Gales of Albion: 1d6=5! Heightened Winds!)
(Alric Grapples With Altered Winds: 54+Journeymen Aids(10)+Magister Aids(10)=74/100! Success!)
(Alric Casts Transformation of Kadon: 97+Heightened Winds Grasped Successfully(10)=107/100)
It was not the first time that Magnus had seen an Amber Wizard change shape. Indeed, even before the campaigning of this year he had witnessed it. But these had been steeds, wolves, stags, birds. To his eyes, and to that of many others, Magister Alric split apart like a loose cocoon that had held a dragon within it. But rather than the fragments of the person he had been being flung away, they instead melted into the massive, scaled shape as it expanded, and expanded, and expanded. Many Albionese screamed in terror, throwing themselves backwards as the dragon revealed itself fully. The scales looked like cast bronze and brass over a thickly muscled yet sinuous body. When the wings unfurled and flapped once, it was to create gusts of wind that had even the Druids nearby having to work to keep their footing. Each step shook the sodden earth as it stretched itself before its head snaked about, short sword length teeth flashing openly as its lips split open for a moment, but Magnus instead watched the pair of slitted luminous amber eyes that looked at him.
"…Magister Alric?" He said with controlled calm.
"For now, it seems," the Reikspiel formed and emerged oddly from the dragon's maw, but emerge they did. "We should move quickly."
Only then did Magnus realize that just to the side, Aberfa had been swearing in a continuous unbroken line the moment Alaric began transforming, stopping only when he spoke.
"Ancient Ones must be watching over us today," she said fervently before gesturing with the glowing stone. "We go now, ey! We go
now!"
And so they went, practically running just to get up to the castle which loomed ever larger ahead of them, just as the Pillar did in the background. The Fen Beasts strode out ahead, loping and effortless strides of beings who could never tire letting them reach the doors first. By contrast, the transformed Magister Alric took Smokewrought and another Amber and Bright Wizard each upwards into the air with a single beat of his wings. The nobles went ahead, their weapons specialized in fighting against the Fimir, but this time around they were joined by the Heirs. The unfortunate fact that some of the Blue Wolves had died while leaving their mounts alive was, for the moment, a benefit. Over a dozen Fimir guarded the entrance, actual Fimm rather than the lower caste of the reptilian beasts, but those dozen were facing a great deal more than just Albionese fighters. It was barely any effort at all for Magister Alric to drop down upon them, claws and draconic flame reducing them to pieces while the wizards upon his back aided him. A gesture from Aberfa had the Fen Beasts begin tearing down the enormous slabs of stone used to form the castle 'gates', an effort that Alric aided in.
"Okay, okay!" Aberfa shouted, gesturing with her claymore in one hand, an impressive display of strength even for the Albionese. "GO GO GO! KILL ALL FIMIR, EY!?"
Cries went up in response as all charged within, the Blue Wolves dismounting at the rear now that they had reached the castle. There were calls to Ulric, to Sigmar, to Verena, and even to Morr. For Ostland, for Nordland, for Ostermark, went other cries. Still others were wordless but fervent in their shouts and screaming. The Albionese were not to be outdone, and their oaths and calls to their Ancient Ones and ancestors began to echo within the lower halls of the castle as they spread out. The Fimir within were responding almost immediately, the crashing of their gates falling unmistakable through the acoustics of the winding passages. Large enough for whole parties of Fimir three to a shoulder, they were, meaning plenty of space for the humans invading to form up and push forward. Magnus paused however, as he saw the draconic Alric raising into the air once more.
"Magister?!" He cried out in confusion.
Unfortunately, his words were lost in the war cries of those around him and the ever-present rains. Instead, he could only watch as the dragon disappeared to the top of the Fimir castle, followed by a titanic crash of stone and claw. A fist slugging into his shoulder drew his attention away, Mena's eyes seeming almost lupine in the odd lighting as she glared at him.
"Come on Magnus, stop lollygagging!"
Reptilian hisses and monstrous bellows were emerging from within the castle.
"I…fine!" He cursed before the two ran in to join Reinhardt, who had already met some of the Fimir.
(Fighting Into The Castle: 35+Surprise(10)+Draconic Distraction(15)+Heirs(5)+Hunters Gone(5)=65/100)
(Dirachs: 41+10+Great Dragon(10)+Druidic Suppression(5)=66/100)
The initial moments of combat were fierce, and bloody. More than a few Albionese were sent reeling back with shattered arms or legs as they were swiped by the sheer weight of Fimir clubs, dragged away to the ministrations of Magister Carlotta and the journeyman Boris. The noise was absolutely deafening in certain moments as thousands of throats bellowed or screamed. A titanic smash set the entire castle to rumbling, dust and small stones falling from the ceiling, followed shortly afterwards by an unmistakably draconic roar.
Brain Wounder flashed and danced, severing Fimir hands, necks, and weapons in equal measure as Magnus fought at the forefront. Mena on his left, and Reinhardt on his left, the three formed a near impenetrable spear tip that plunged deeply into the castle. The Fimir were certainly unprepared for such an assault, but the monstrous Chaos-beholden creatures were swift to respond.
(Pushing Further In: 96+5+5=106/100)
(Dirachs: 62+10+5=82/100)
Within moments, the numbers began to tell. The sheer number of halberds and the narrowness of the hallways was enough that dozens of men and women could stab Fimir to death out of reach of weapons that could surely kill them in single blows. Magnus witnessed as the Albionese Longbowmen pulled back on their almost comically oversized weapons to send stone-tipped shafts into the glaring eyes of the Fimir, blinding some but killing others outright as the large arrows shoved through the eye and into the brain behind. Mena cheered on her Blue Wolves as some of the irregulars charged forward heedless of the danger and leapt upon a group of Fimm, ducking past their clubs and axes to hack them to death – only to then be saved from further reprisal from those behind the Fimm as the tide of bodies rushed forward to join them. Reinhardt and the Knights of Everlasting Light held a cross passage as some of the Fimir attempted to flank them within the miniature labyrinth, hard steel unyielding and killing the Fimir even as they took casualties of their own. The bodies of the Fimir were beginning to litter the floors, the spears and halberds provided by the Empire slaughtering
All the while, the roars and rumbling from above and further in sent quakes through the castle.
"Do you think Alric needs help, or should we stay here?!" Reinhardt hollered at one point as he forcibly withdrew his sword from the lower jaw of a Fimm.
"I've never fought alongside or against a dragon, in close quarters or otherwise," Magnus answered back as
Brain Wounder split a Fimm's two-sided club at the center and continued on to sink into the Fimm's chest.
He had to leap forward after that, both to keep pushing
Brain Wounder through the Fimm's chest and out its back as well as avoid the falling of the anvil-sized heads of the club to the ground.
"But I have fought alongside Irondrakes and Flame Cannons!"
"And?!"
"It is
very difficult to accomplish anything without risking being set aflame!"
(Fighting The Holdouts: 70+5+5=80/100)
(Dirachs: 71+10+5=86/100)
The sheer momentum of their rapid invasion contrasted directly against what inevitably resulted when one pushed an opponent into a corner. The Fimir had eventually fallen into strong holdout positions, buoyed by their own numbers and the narrowness of the hallways for once. By simple fact of being pushed back so far, they could not retreat or flank, but neither could they be surrounded from behind or similar such methods. It became a more direct clash, in the uppermost and lowermost chambers built for storage and bunking, the Fimir never once speaking a word either of Albish or of Reikspiel. No surrender was offered, and no offers were taken. In the dim light of the castle's interior, Magnus was full witness to the absolute hatred between the Albionese and the Fimir that they had fought for so long. It was one thing to see it in crisis, in the open, either near and around the Ogham Stones or on the open field. But here, splashed with Fimir blood enough to overwhelm the paint on their bodies, crawling over the fallen bipedal reptiles in some cases, the Albionese seemed a near elemental force than folk of flesh and blood. All the while, the Imperials fought with them. Magnus attempted to keep a tally in his head, as his father would, but lost count somewhere around the hundredth Fimir that
Brain Wounder ended. Mostly because the Amber journeymen banded together and cast one of their spells across a great many of the Imperials and Albionese, and his mind was subsumed by the beast within.
All became a haze of blood and fury, marked out only by certain moments that managed to pierce through the fog.
Mena, thrusting forth her fist and letting a head-sized sphere of flame to shoot down a hallway and erupt behind the front ranks of the Fimir, scorching scales black and sending them stumbling.
Aberfa rearing up with her claymore and hacking a Fimir clean through the neck, dropping almost onto her own face to avoid the reprisal of another Fimir that could have smashed her to death, only to then spin around her lower back with legs tucked in while sweeping her claymore about to cut her would-be-killer's legs off, then decapitate them as well.
Reinhardt tackling a Fimir, displaying almost hysterical strength as he shoved it on his lonesome away from finishing off one of his fellow Knights of the Everlasting Light. He rode the Fimir to the ground and plunged a dagger into its eye and beyond, sinking his own hand and the knife up to his forearm through the oversized eyes socket.
A baker's dozen of Maidenguard protecting their mistress as the Oracle fearlessly strode forward, eyes aglow with blue and grey streaks that seemed to drip down her cheeks. Their spears stabbing at long range into the Fimir's throats, eyes, and feet from behind their shields.
It ended, of course, in the center of the castle. Neither basement nor attic, the Dirach's personal chambers had been what had been meant to be the absolute most defensible position. Magnus' first idle thought as he came out of the haze of bestial strength unleashed by the Amber wizards, was that they had not been prepared for a dragon tearing its way through the roof. The humor of the thought died as he realized that such a thing was precisely how his mother had almost died, for even then father's defensive preparations and expanded armies had not been prepared for a dragon crashing down through the roof of their very bedchambers. When they arrived, it was to a sight of what looked to have been a tremendous battle. Five Dirachs and twenty massive Fimm lay in pieces strewn about the chamber, claw marks and soot-black stone marks around the walls and floors, all of which was being drowned beneath the rains pouring through the opened roof. Laying in the center atop a crushed altar, bleeding from a handful of wounds and breathing heavily, lay none other than Alric himself still in draconic form. There were bruises on Magister Smokewrought's face and body, but the journeymen seemed surprisingly unharmed. At their arrival, the dragon's head lifted upwards.
"Ah, Prince Hohenzollern. Have we taken the castle then?" Alric asked, his voice deep and resonant enough to shake the bones of those nearby.
"It seems so, Alric. There may be a handful more left, but they shall not live long," Magnus replied promptly.
(Gales of Albion: 1d6=6! Extremely Powerful Winds!)
(Carlotta And Boris Grapple With Altered Winds: 70+Previous Experience(5)=75/100! Success!)
(Regrowth: 58+Extreme Winds(20)=78/100)
Mena tottered past them and sat on top of one of the slain Fimm, tugging a wineskin from her waist and drinking deeply of it. Her body shuddered slightly with tiredness after the fierceness of the fighting, the heat generated within the tunnels, but the cold rains of Albion washing through the hole in the ceiling brought her a sigh of relief.
"You all right, Magisters?" She asked after she was done. "Looks like a hell of a fight."
"The scales and hide of a dragon are doughty indeed," Alric responded with a rumbling chuckle. "These," he made an oddly human gesture of pointing with his claws, "Came from myself as I dug my way down. Already, they are searing shut with my own heat."
"Yes, well," Magister Smokewrought grunted, one hand held directly above his head to form a heat shield against the rain coming down on him, "Some
warning might have been nice. I think I swallowed a pound of dirt and dust, argh," he coughed to the side.
"Time was of the essence," Alric responded mildly, getting a quiet curse from the Bright Magister.
"Hoy!" Aberfa announced herself as she arrived, finding another fallen Fimm to lean against, resting her considerable bulk against it. Her next words were in Albish, but she realized it swiftly and tilted her head up again. "Sorry. Good fight, Empire!
Good!" Her teeth almost gleamed in the light of the fires lighting the walls of the chamber, Fimir blood washing off of her face slowly. "Took castle
fast!"
"Aberfa," Magnus greeted, "What of your people?"
"Eh, some dead, many injured," she shrugged. "Your Carlotta, she is good, ey? Found feeding chamber, cleared out, injured go there and she heals with druid help. You?"
"I lost some Wolves," Mena hung her head for a moment as she said it, "Haven't even done a proper tally yet, but I know it's true. Still," she smiled grimly, "They died in battle, killing evil, just as Ulric would have wanted."
"I have a number of injured knights, but their armor kept them alive long enough to be healed," Reinhardt added, rubbing a hand across his blood and grime covered face. "Even if on some cases it mostly just held their broken bodies together long enough for the Magister to reach them."
Magnus nodded and then let the trembles of post-battle fade from his body with a few solid breaths underneath the rains of Albion. The Dirach's chamber smelled awful, the result of who knew how many dread sacrifices and black rites performed staining it indelibly. The areas of the chamber that looked to have been burnt thoroughly by Alric's dragonfire smelled better, oddly enough, the soot and burnt flesh smelling infinitely better than the portions that were not so 'blessed' as to receive such cleansings as of yet. Others were entering the chamber now, mostly nobles but also more than a few knights, Greatswords, and Blue Wolves going to their respective commanders to confer with them.
"Casualties?" Magnus asked as they came close.
"None too bad, Prince Hohenzollern," one answered with a grim look. "Comparatively, I suppose. We lost a few in the early moments, but as the tempo turned against the Fimir more fully, it shifted largely to injuries."
A benefit, perhaps, of choosing to wear their full plate armor for this fight rather than attempting stealth in any measure.
"Against those beasts, it's to be expected. Even our blades cannot easily pierce their hides, or those slabs of metal they call armor," another scoffed. "When we can," the man hefted his sword up for them to see, "It is not as if they come out unscathed, digging through all that scale and gristle and bone." The sword was bent slightly, which could be swiftly fixed, but there were definitely a few chips here and there. "Of course, most of these," he ran a thumb just over some of the chips, "It received when one of the bloody wizards decided to…," he flapped a hand at himself. "Well, you know."
"It is an unfortunate truth that the 'aid' that the comes from the spells of the Amber Brotherhood are not the kindest on their weapons or bodies," Magnus sighed before raising a finger. "But would you rather go without them?"
"Absolutely not," the man with the slightly damaged zweihander shook his head vigorously. "Blades can be repaired or replaced. Our lives can't be so easily dealt with."
"Aberfa! Aberfa!" One of the Albionese nobles came in shouting, drawing all eyes to him before he babbled in Albish.
"Ach," Aberfa stood up. "Look like a few more Fimir down in basement, holed up in storeroom. Fire man, you help roast, ey?" She looked at Smokewrought.
"As long as it gets me out of the damned rain," the Bright Magister grunted before slipping off of Alric's back. "You'll need a saddle if we do that again," he shouted as he and Aberfa left.
"Not likely," Alric snorted, causing twin rings of smoke to bloom out of his nose.
Clearing out the rest of the castle after that took only a short time, during which more than a few food stores were discovered. Unfortunately, they could not be taken advantage of, at least by the Albionese. There were pig carcasses spread about, which inflamed the Albionese in a manner which Magnus normally associated with the flagellants of Sigmar or truly frothing Witch Hunters, and their meat had been carelessly spread about the area. There were other carcasses as well, of dead Fimir – the reptilian Chaos-tainted beasts being cannibalistic was no great surprise – but also of massive snakes, reptiles that were quadrupedal, and other such things that were too torn up to identify positively. The issue, of course, was that there was little way to know what large pots and stone basins of meat had pig in them or not, and so the Albionese could not bear to even try them. For that matter, they were not about to let the Imperials easily blaspheme, and so all of the meat that could not be positively identified and ensured was separate was piled in the lowermost portions of the castle and blocked off with other stone slabs.
"Hard to think did it, ey?" Aberfa said to them with a bright bit of laughter. "Still, have other three castles around Pillar to deal with now."
They stood in the entry hall now, rain and wind pouring and washing the dark stone and packed dirt clean of the spilled Fimir and human blood. Or at least washing it further into the castle, out of sight.
"What about the hunting parties they sent out?" Reinhardt asked. "What if they come back?"
"We should be gone by then," Aberfa shrugged. "To next castle, ey?"
"We're going to keep going?" Magnus blinked rapidly.
"Be bad if not," she looked at him with a tilted head. "As far as know, all Meargh of Clans in south all stay in comfort of city, ey?" There was a bit of fervent relief there. "But this place? Has own Meargh. Very important position."
All three of them stilled, as did the wizards nearby.
"Wait. You mean…the Meargh that are the incredibly powerful sorceresses?" Mena asked calmly.
"Ah, yeah," Aberfa nodded before pausing and looking at them. "What? Did think would fight across Albion and never meet a Meargh? Especially if fighting Fimir back?"
"I mean…I guess I didn't really think too much about it," Mena responded, words delivered in an only slightly strangled tone.
"Eh, yeah," Aberfa's face scrunched as she nodded. "Nightmare-Queens, they are. Jealous. Never make any daughter for much of lives, if can help it. Don't worry as much," she said, pointing to the druids as they came out of the rain, their efforts on suppressing the Dirachs from outside over with for now. "Lear says Meargh most likely in north castle. Keep an eye on other tribes. Dangerous position, maybe. Oracle…," she looked over to the woman in question, whose Maidenguard seemed as tireless as before. "Asked her some. Said blood must be shed now to stop blood from being shed more later."
A crash and thump followed by wing beats announced Alric's return to the world outside the castle, landing just outside the entrance. The rains themselves had not strengthened too terribly, but they blanketed his dragon body all the same. The sheer heat radiating off of it, from nose to tail, turned much of it into a cloying steam that was then in turn wiped out by the rest of the cold rains as it rose into the air.
"I cannot maintain this forever," he announced to them. "We must keep moving if we are to make use of it."
"Smart wizard," Aberfa nodded firmly. "Besides, Dirachs, they will ask questions eventually, ey? One clan, talking to itself. One day, part of Dirachs not respond. Big problem, ey? Everybody come say, 'hey hello evil monster sons, why no talk to dear mother and brothers'?" Her husky voice squawked and scratched as she affected a significantly higher pitch, hands fluttering by her hips as she spoke. "Oh no! Evil monster sons dead, killed! Sad and anger, best go slaughter all tribes people near, ey?" Aberfa then paused and looked at them again, hands now rolling into fists on her hips. "Understand, ey?"
"…very well, which shall we head to first, then?"
"Doesn't matter," Aberfa rolled her shoulders.
"We can't just try to strike the northernmost one?" Mena held up a hand, dropping it when everyone looked at her. "Wouldn't that big a good blow to strike?"
"Sure, if not worried about Dirachs coming up from sides and back and use axe to make through ass," Aberfa snorted. "If take west and east, no help. If goes bad, can take west or east, and then
run to go north, ey?" She spread her hands to the sides. "Try to find north tribes, get to help, ey?"
Mena pursed her lips.
"Works for me. Magnus? Reinhardt?"
The two friends glanced at each other and nodded in unison.
"It makes sense enough to me," Magnus shrugged.
"I'm happy just to kill these things," Reinhardt added.
The Oracle, as it turned out, had no immediate and clear answer as to which they should attempt. As such, they decided it with a single shilling that Mena dug out from her belt pouches.
(West-East: 1d2=1)
West it was.
In less than half an hour, they had gathered up all of their people and set out once more, skirting along the edges, Aberfa warning that there might well be other Fimir around the base of the Pillar of Og-Agog as they went. Even so, they were closer now than they were before, and from here it looked almost like the upper two thirds of the pillar writhed. It was only upon examination with a spyglass that he realized that it was actually just hundreds upon hundreds, possibly thousands, of white and grey birds. More importantly, they were all clinging to the pillar. At first, it was hard to tell how, beneath the feathers that were continually fluttering down. But then a patch of the birds lifted off and flew up into the grey clouds despite the weather, and Magnus' jaw dropped so far it almost looked in danger of falling off.
"You look like a man who just saw his wife without clothes on his wedding night," Mena nudged him with her elbow. "You all right there?"
"I…it's gold," he stammered.
"What?"
"It's
gold," he said again, nearly dropping the spyglass as he handed it to her. "Look, look right there, on the Pillar."
"All right, all right, don't freak out so much," she huffed as she held up the spyglass. "…Magnus?"
"Do you see it?"
"There's just a shit ton of birds."
"No, no," he said before reaching over to try and adjust it even as she held it.
"Watch it, I don't fancy having to get a black eye before we fight again!"
"Mena!"
She pulled the spyglass down and jerked back slightly at the serious look on Magnus face.
"I know what I saw. Some of the birds lifted off, and they revealed what they're all sitting on," he said seriously.
"I believe him," Reinhardt said without looking over, his eyes ahead.
"And he's never wrong," Magnus pointed out.
"He is, it's just rare," Mena rolled her eyes. "Besides, he's almost never wrong about when people are lying, but also they can just
think they're right."
"This is also true," the Ostermarker nodded.
"Look, I know what I saw," Magnus shook his head. "That entire pillar, it's got whole sheets of gold on it."
"Sure thing. Maybe we'll get a closer look when all the Fimir on the island are dead, and we definitely won't drown in feathers and bird shit," Mena snorted and patted him on the shoulder. "Focus, would you? We've got a fight to get to."
(Scouting Efforts: 22/100)
Magnus would scour the Pillar with his spyglass more than once, only to curse as the birds almost seemed to be shifting about to taunt him, always ensuring that the stone was either uncovered but the same pure white as before or covered in birds. Or their feathers, which really did seem to continually rain down towards the bottom. Though he also did spy what looked like Fimm more than once as well, skulking about the base. There was nothing else he knew of on the island that was hunched and scaled like that while bore weapons. Inevitably, however, he had to turn away and focus upon the fight ahead. The tiredness of the previous fight was not fully faded by the time they reached the next castle, though the rain certainly cooled down all and sundry from the heat that fighting left in them. This time, however, the scouts were less happy with what they could report. They were not so lucky as to see hunting parties leave, nor to see anyone entering. It was as close to a blank slate of information as could be given. The strength of the enemy was simply unknown, save that they had to fit inside the castle.
"One thing about this island," Mena laughed as she wiped her hair away from her face again. "You'll never go thirsty here!"
Raucous laughter emerged from the rest of the Blue Wolves around them, and after a moment Magnus and Reinhardt could not help but join in. High above them, Alric soared down from the grey clouds, once more ridden by other wizards, and crushed the hulking Fimm Warriors at the gates. Each of them was the size of an ogre, and about as well armed and armored as those who worshipped the Great Maw. Larger, and more skilled it seemed, than those at the previous castle. It took a longer time to deal with them, Alric flinging them away and to the sides with his claws, tearing and biting, letting loose a plume of flame down one's open maw and burning it from the inside out. The Druids rode close, their hands and staves crashing down onto the ground once more.
(Druidic Choking Mists: 40+Surprise(15)-Filial Darkness(5)=50)
This time, however, Lear stumbled, and choked out some words in Albish. Trails of eldritch and foreboding red light began to glow about the upper reaches of the castle before flickering out once more. This time, when Aberfa looked to them all, there was no humor in her voice at all.
"More Dirachs in this castle! Be quick, be quick!" She shouted before directing the newest created Fen Beasts to tear through the stone doors.
"Prince Hohenzollern, Lady Kessel!" Alric snarled, looking upon them. "With me! We will need the aid of your weapons if speed is of the essence!"
"But-," Magnus began, looking at Reinhardt.
"Go! I'll meet you inside!" The knight shouted before joining Aberfa and the others rushing in.
"I…fine!"
Magnus and Mena both rushed forwards with hands raised, and barely had time to be grabbed onto by the wizards already present before Alric lifted off once more. The sudden sensation of weightlessness was incredible, at least before they both slammed back down onto the hard scales of Alric's body as he ascended upwards with powerful beats of his wings. In literal seconds, they had crashed atop the castle, the wizards all leaping their way free, dragging the two heirs with them. Only years of experience and a good amount of grip strength had allowed either of them to maintain holds on their weapons. Before another word could be spoken, Alric had reared up on his hind legs, forelimbs raised high with claws unsheathed.
"Follow as swiftly as possible!" Alric boomed.
(Fighting Into The Castle: 36+10+15=61/100)
(Dirachs: 81+10+10+5+M&M(5)=111/100)
What followed is difficult to imagine, no doubt, for Dirachs. Or for Fimir in general. For decades they had been ascendance over the island. Their castles were grander and larger than ever before. The Dirachs were able to plumb the depths of knowledge they could steal out from the daemons, from what scraps their mothers passed down. Their bastions were strong, established near the precious 'holy places' of the inferior humans of Albion that had contested them for so long. Yet, all of a sudden, a crash from outside and the tearing down of doors. They felt a crushing weight fall upon them, attempting to snuff out their ability to call others of their Clans. Something they fought against even now, knowing that this was an unexpected attack from only one possible force – the damned humans, cattle and prey and warriors all the same. But before they could fully wrest off the suppressive magic of their paltry 'Druids', clogging and cloying the Winds themselves, the ceiling broke open.
And a damned dragon, not a child or newborn, but a fully mature beasts of at least many centuries of life, tore through the stone. Wings flapping, spiked tail whipping back and forth with enough strength to send some of the Fimm guardians in the chamber flying into walls, claws ripping and tearing a Dirach-Brother in half, maw opening to release a blast of fire that only a hastily erected shield could protect against. At which point
more humans fell through the ceiling, some of them obviously touched by the Winds – but only one at a time, which was a confusion to the eyes of the Fimir who could see so clearly into the Realm of Chaos – followed shortly by two others who were even greater contradictions. One bore the Wind of Fire bound up and crudely forced into physical forms, an axe and gauntlet, while the other bore something of such sophistication that it was instinctively enraging to witness. The first hollered a prayer to an entity that the Fimir had never heard of, and yet their eyes could bear witness to something spectral, hollow, distant and feeble yet impossibly present nonetheless. It was foreign, but stank of something not of the True Gods, sheathing the female in the thinnest of shells, yet it was enough as she fell upon one of the Fimm, quite literally, throwing her axe into its head and then summoning the crude Aqshy manipulator to let loose a fireball elsewhere. The latter simply clove, and a Dirach-Brother fell to pieces before the blade which seemed to take in the magic filling the chamber while simultaneously repulsing it.
Quite a change from decades of slow but sure expansion and strangulation of opposing forces, no doubt.
===================================================================
"Damn it!" Reinhart cursed as a Fimm literally burst through the walls. "Aberfa, look out!"
The large woman barely leapt out of the way, leaving the rest of the Fimm coming through the newly opened hole in the wall separated the lead Albionese thrust from the rest of the forces coming from behind them.
"Wolves! Ride around the sides, find me where the rest of them were coming from!" He shouted, rearing back to avoid a lumbering swing that could have killed him. "Brothers of the Everlasting Light, with me!"
Progress was being made, but the Fen Beasts were already sloughed off and broken apart. Reinhardt growled beneath his breath. The hallways were large enough for the cavalry to literally ride through them, however, and that was proving to be a benefit as the Blue Wolves swept through the castle at high speed, catching and surrounding quite a few Fimir. But that did not mean that they had not taken casualties. The Fimir were brutally strong, as much as many ogres that he had seen, and were practically as durable – wounds to the head being almost universally effective against such creatures as could be affected by them.
"You!" He wheeled his zweihander up and then cut half of the Fimm's jaw off before being deflected by the rest of the skull, "Are in," he ducked under its grasping claws while unsheathing and then punching his dagger through the hole in the flesh and bone he'd made upwards into the rest of its head. "My way!"
Another pushed past its dying kin, and this time he had no recourse but to thrust his zweihander into its belly, the armor plating having been cut free. It stuck deep, getting a bellow of pain for his trouble, but then the Fimm reached down and battered him away with a fist, bruising his entire torso and shattering the zweihander into itself in the same motion.
(Pushing Further In: 75+10=85/100)
(Dirachs: 39+10+5+M&M(5)=59/100)
Something that sounded like a thousand screams mixed with a large amount of gunpowder going off erupted through the center of the castle, shaking the entire structure. Reinhardt threw himself onto his own face to get out of the way of a stone falling from a part of broken ceiling, but rolled upright to get into the fighting once more. He stared down at a dead Albionese noble who had not been so swift, their face bulged and purple as their mashed insides were squeezed out of their mouth by the weight of the rock. Uncrushed and unbroken, however, was one of the Albionese claymores, this one made of that strange black stone some of them were made from, a shimmering field barely visible. His zweihander, on the other hand, had ended up broken and twisted, trapped in the body of the Fimm that had inadvertently disemboweled itself. Unhappily, he found a zweihander laying on the ground, the Ostland Greatsword that had originally wielded it being carefully dragged away by some of his fellows. The man lived, but his legs looked like pieces of crushed sausage with bone chips sticking out everywhere.
"Damn," he muttered as he scooped up the new weapon, "Magnus and Mena better be all right."
More Fimir screeched as they arrived in the tunnel, only for those screams to be cut off as arrows shot down the length of the hallway. Reinhardt marveled at the sheer strength behind the arrows of the Albionese. They were rarely as absolutely accurate and swiftly fired as the elves, but damned if they could not deal some damage. But he could not stare for long, there remained yet plenty of fighting to do.
"Hear me, foul creatures! Verena had judged your misbegotten kind!" He yelled as he rushed forwards, "And I am here to deliver her sentence, in words written in steel and blood!"
And so it went, hacking and cutting and stabbing whenever possible. He joined Aberfa at one point, and at another separated as she charged down one hallway and he another. The mixture of Imperials and Albionese was ever shifting as they responded to calls in their own native languages, yet the most important thing is that the Fimir were being pushed back. They were far more numerous than before, but the hallways ensured that it did not avail them nearly as much as they might have wished. Arrows, spears, halberds, the claymores, for all that a Fimir could certainly slay ten men if trapped in a room with them, so too could ten men kill that Fimir if they all bore the right weapons in the right conditions. Even the smallest of the Fimir towered above a man, Albionese or otherwise, and so became targets for such weapons over the shoulders of their fellows. The Albionese archers stalked at the very rear, firing shaft after shaft into the enemy, their arrowheads punching through Fimir scale and sometimes even killing outright when they managed a shot through the eye.
(Further Pushing: 86+10=96/100)
(Dirachs: 79+10+5+5=99/100)
When Reinhardt reached the Dirach's chamber, it was covered top to bottom in black soot. The flames had been far more liberally utilized there. Unlike the previous castle, there had been seven Dirachs, and at least twenty more Fimm of the especially hulking type. It had also, clearly, not been a fight so swiftly won as before. Reinhardt could say that with surety because there were still a few more Fimm in the chamber, only one of which he aided in the killing of before the others were cut down. Alric's left wing had been badly torn, and even now steaming draconic blood spilled upon the ground before visibly growing thinner and becoming lesser where it lay. Magnus hopped on one leg, his left having managed to be wrenched all the way around so that his foot and knee was facing the wrong direction, his face a rictus of pain. Mena, on the other hand, had been burnt. It was an odd thing to think, considering how much fire featured not just in her blood but in her weaponry, but it was true. She grimaced as she peeled off some of the top layers of her armor, and some of the skin beneath as well, the chain partially melted in the fat of her left shoulder before she placed the hilt of her axe in her mouth to bite down on and tore it out with her right hand.
A choked whine came from her before she dropped the axe from between her teeth and hyperventilated for a moment.
Despite all of that, however, and one of the bright wizard journeyman searing shut a wound in his chest with a flicker of magic and a new scent of burnt pork in the air, the battle had clearly been won.
"Reinhardt! You're all right!" Magnus said through gritted teeth, trying and failing for a smile as he almost collapsed.
"I can't say the same for you, what happened?!" Reinhardt gasped as he rushed to them.
"A Fimm tried to twist my leg off like a drumstick from a turkey," Magnus grunted as he laid back against the wall on his good leg which nonetheless trembled from the pain he was in. "A Dirach tried to kill Mena with some sort of Dhar fireball, I think."
"I tried to dodge," Mena said with a swiftly aborted shrug that left her hissing in pain, tears coming unconsciously to her eyes. "Made it most of the way, so he only got some of me and not all of me."
"How…are neither of you unconscious right now?"
Mena looked at him with naked offense on her face.
"What?"
"Magnus, I assume he's used to it because his family likes to try and make sure that they can keep fighting if someone breaks all their ribs and legs," she rolled her eyes at the notoriously infamous training sessions that Magnus swore by amongst his family members. "But I," she placed her good hand on her chest, the left a twitching blackened mess in many parts. "Am a mother. I have given birth three times. Wolfram was such a fat little ball that he tore me from slit to hole, it took a Jade Wizard to fix that. This? This is nothing, doesn't even come close. The fire numbs the pain, kills it.
Birthing is…hold on."
Magnus and Reinhardt did not look at her and instead focused on the floor and the hole in the roof respectively.
"Are you two being serious right now?"
A flurry of activity near the entrance announced the arrival of Magister Carlotta.
"I'm sorry, I had heard that – my word!"
"Yes, Magister, if you could see to them," Reinhardt said quickly.
"No, no you're not getting away from this, you can't," Mena said archly even as Reinhardt bustled away.
"Reinhardt! You – fine," she snarled and turned to look at Magnus who was shuffling on his one working leg. "Magnus! You look me in the eye when I talk to you!"
"I uh, I think I took some hearing damage, a Fimm picked me up and swung me around before I could cut his arm off," Magnus said to Carlotta. "Can we,"
"YOU LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT BEING A MOTHER LIKE
MEN!"
====================================================================
(Gales of Albion: 1d6=1! Sudden Dearth In Winds!)
(Carlotta And Boris Grapple With Altered Winds: 60+Previous Experience(10)=70/100! Success!)
(Regrowth: 73/100)
Casualties were not terrible, but then again they were still casualties. Magister Carlotta did her best, spreading her healing to many with great sweeps of her staff and shifting of Ghyran, but she noted with shock that for a time the Winds of Magic seemed to retreat wholly from the area. She had to compensate, and as such was more wearied than she had thought she'd be. As before, those with the greatest injuries, those that threatened their lives outright, were dealt with first. Then she moved on in descending order of danger and importance. The most minor sprains and aches were not even touched upon. It was simply unfortunate that some were still beyond her abilities. Magnus knew that she could, with time and focus, aid in the recovery of limbs, even heal organ damage, but both such things were meant for the living. For the dead, there was no other recourse than to bow one's head and pray to Morr.
"Okay," Aberfa said as they came together once again. "Starting to get a bit tired now, but still! Great fight! Good victory!" She clapped once, a ragged cheer rising from the Albionese within earshot. "Didn't need five tribes, just need some smacked teeth and some help, ey?"
Unlike last time, the Fimir of this castle had not sent out hunting parties just before being attacked. If anything, they were hosting even more Fimir than seemed might have filled the southern castle at capacity. As such, despite the momentum of their assault, the strength of their numbers, and the distance advantage offered by their weapons and the archers, the benefit of the wizards, they had taken some losses. Unavoidable ones, to be sure, but losses were losses. And it was not as if they were in a land teeming with Imperial citizens ready to be conscripted at a moment's notice. On the other hand, they had plainly slaughtered more than their own number in Fimir at this point, using the ready made funneling of their castle passages against them. If they had not the ability to strike at their Dirachs directly, it surely would have been much more grave of a fight.
"I can see how these numbers might have pushed back more easily against the tribes, especially if there were more of them before," Reinhardt nodded.
"Eh, was more than that," Aberfa shook her head. "Since Boudicca, Fimir started more with armor, ey? Lots more, since then. Make it harder to fight in big open fights. We," she shook her claymore, "Have the weapons of the Ancients. Others, much harder. Without the hal-bards and the big long spears-,"
"Pikes," Magnus supplied, getting a nod of acknowledgement from Aberfa.
"With the hal-bards and pikes, and the Dreigiau, and the…," she waved at the Imperials. "Heh. Many are like my father," she sniffed. "Scared to make for big fights. Fear one thing. All have in heart, ey? But have to take fear in heart and squeeze until quiet."
Her chin dropped onto her chest after a moment.
"I understand him, though," she said quietly in the rain. "Last time south tried for Pillar, had many more bodies. Still lost. For long time now, ever since Boudicca, haven't had too many big fights," she thumped her knuckles together, "Like that, ey? Because we lose a lot. Not so many healers like Carlotta."
"I thought you did," Reinhardt tilted his head, "Atlikin, right? Not Etlikin?"
"This true," Aberfa waggled her head from side to side, "But Atlikin are rare. Saw one in my whole life. Came from west, from Nudd lands.
Most druids, in south I think, are Etlikin. Make sense, ey?" She jerked her chin at the piles of Fimir dead being dragged out of sight. "Much more fighting to be doing, all up close. Pillar on one side, city in south."
"It is an unfortunate truth," Carlotta said as she walked over, flicking the blood on her hands off as best she could, "That most peoples seek for improvement in making war, than in healing, or other such things. Even our own Magic Colleges were founded not to improve the fields, or heal and shield the people, at the very onset," she looked away into the clouds, letting the rains wash the blood from all those she had healed from her. "We were founded to fight in the Great War Against Chaos. All our first spells were taught to harm, to kill, to unleash the Winds upon the legions of Chaos as they had done to our people for so long."
The green-skinned wizard shook her head.
"Your father, Prince Hohenzollern, was the second Elector to ask of us other things, after Countess Hertwig. In time, we went to battle with and for him, yes, but…," she lifted a hand and let a wisp of green energies flicker in and out of existence for a moment before letting the hand drop. "It was still quite a surprise when his first request was that we heal him in the courtyard when his wife stabbed him through the gut with a spear of ice, right after the previous three Jade Wizards had bid us good luck with their rituals in the fields complete."
Aberfa boggled somewhat at them.
"What did your father do to make wife so mad?" She said with eyebrows climbing near to the top of her head.
"Nothing…at the time, I'm sure," Magnus added quickly. "It is simply how we spar."
"..spar?"
"Fight practice. We fight to wound and nearly kill," he clarified. "Rather than swords that don't hurt, or holding back with hammers."
Aberfa just stared at him, head dipping and tilting as she looked at him more closely.
"Oh, it's crazy," Mena spoke up, rolling her healed shoulder. "Seriously, we got to watch once, at a Trident Meeting? They tear each other to pieces."
Aberfa's head slowly tracked to Mena, then back to Magnus.
"If you don't know how you're going to react when a Norscan berserker plants his axes deep into your collarbone in two places, then headbutts you hard enough to break your nose and knock out your teeth, then what are you going to do when it
does happen?" Magnus lifted his chin and folded his arms together. "When an orc can shoulder check you with a spiked pauldron that stabs you in the chest and carries you backwards into a wall, when a minotaur strikes you with its hammer hard enough to shatter your ribs, when a goblin leaps upon you from behind and stabs your kidneys and slits your throat, will you be able to retaliate before your death? Will you fight to survive? Are you willing to cauterize your own opened throat with a torch, to rise even when your body is broken?"
Every Albionese nearby that understood even some Reikspiel was staring now, as were a number of the Blue Wolves and the Knights of Everlasting Light. It was only Mena, Reinhardt, and the Greatswords of Ostland who seemed entirely unaffected, or in the case of the latter even a bit weary.
"Pain is partly a tool, and partly an illusion – a lie," he added when Aberfa's head tilted at the strange new word. "Shock, on the other hand, is only a killer. My father spars for four hours a day, two in the morning, and two in the evening, at the first moment of wakefulness and energy and when that same energy has faded into exhaustion – being the most tired," he shrugged at the Albionese woman. "With my mother. With me. With my brother, my sister, and my uncle Urgdug.
Every day, except when out on campaign."
"You are tugging the sodden sheep's wool on my face," Aberfa said, her words a doubtful drawl.
"Not at all," Reinhardt shook his head.
"Remember back with your father? With his arm and that whole argument?" Mena pointed at Magnus. "When I fucking pulped his arm, snapped the bones and meat, ground them down into the stone?" She wiggled the fingers of the hand upon which her magical gauntlet remained. "Most people aren't so damned inured to pain and suffering by choice that they're numb to it like that."
"Not numb, Mena," Magnus shook his head now. "Never
numb – though we have tested with fire and ice and other such things as well, to prepare us for that. But most of the time, it is just…noise, from the body. To be understood, to be listened to, but not necessarily to be
beholden to."
He glanced at Aberfa.
"My family learns to fight through the pain, no matter what, unless the body itself is so broken that it can't."
Aberfa just shook her head, an ugly look of sullen anger flashing across her face.
"Your father, he
make you do all this?"
"No," Magnus shook his head rapidly. "It's a choice. It's always been a choice. But when the world outside of Wulfenburg is…as it is…,"
Grim looks abounded from the Imperials, then. Though they were far from home, fighting in rain and storm and darkness against monstrous beings, at the end of the day it wasn't altogether too different from being back home. When one was deep in the Hohenzollern Forest, in areas where it still cleaved towards being the Forest of Shadows, or one was patrolling the depths of Nordland or Ostermark, one could be forgiven for thinking that civilization itself might have just been a dream. It was not, of course, to say that Albion was a pleasant vacation, either. Men and women had died. It was just not such a change as the Albionese might have imagined, though most all had given up on trying to impress upon the tribespeople the sheer scope of the nation they came from.
"We prefer to be prepared. It's better than to just wail about it and do nothing but run, or hide," he paused, then, thoughts going to at least one Hohenzollern who bucked such a trend in thoughts if nothing else. "Learning how to defend one's self is required, however."
He paused, then, and subsequently fought off the despair that attempted to swoop into his thoughts. He would not die here, in this rainy wasteland. He would not. He would return home to his children. His wife. His family. He would
not be known as the Hohenzollern who lost
Brain Wounder in a foreign land.
"It's also completely insane," Mena shook her head again. "And it's only workable because they have an entire cadre of Jade Wizards on staff helping patch them up, like Carlotta but a lot of 'em."
That got a look of interest that managed to poke through the confusion and revulsion on Aberfa's face.
"We pay them," Magnus pointed out swiftly.
"Magnus? At the second past Ostland-held Trident Meeting, I am reasonably sure I saw your father's
spine through the
front after Urgdug slammed him with that spiked hammer," Reinhardt insisted. "And that was before your mother near cut your entire jawbone off, right as you broke her leg backwards with your own hammer."
Aberfa, of course, when right back to staring at Magnus incredulously.
"And we were
fine," Magnus grunted. "Look! We don't have time to just be sitting around, we need to decide what we do next. Aberfa," he looked at her seriously. "Should we go for the other Dirach-held castle, the Meargh in the north, or what?"
Visibly grateful for the change in topic, Aberfa turned away so she didn't have to look at Magnus as she rubbed her chin with one hand.
"Still have plenty of troops, good enough energy. Before…," she sighed. "Before, thought can't go after Meargh. Too strong. But…," she looked at where the now healed Alric sat in the rain, "Never had Empire wizards before. Meargh's
very strong though. No way suppressing magic will work. Will need to fight, directly, which means need to take out Dirachs first before they can come running. Or…," she looked annoyed. "Can run, run north, look for other tribes, for other help."
"Magister Alric!" Mena called. "Are you…well enough to keep fighting?"
"Of course I am," he growled, the noise rumbling in their bones, "
I will break their bones and burn their…," he paused, shaking his head from side to side. "I…yes. I can. For now. I am healed. And should the Winds of Magic continue to blow strongly enough here in Albion, I suspect that my peers shall be rejuvenated enough by the time we reach the other castle."
"He's right," Carlotta announced, inhaling deeply in the cool air.
Magnus swore he saw her green skin flush slightly across all of her exposed skin, and likely beyond that.
"There was an extreme dearth in the Winds, but it has already been replaced. It is…incredible," she shook her head. "In Wulfenburg, the Winds would require a night's worth of replenishment after the workings done here, but here…so swiftly they rise again!"
"I think we can kill them. Today. Truly free Pillar, ey?" Aberfa looked between them all. "This...this closest we have
ever come, you understand? Ever, I think. Meargh, she might be prepare for next time, if next time comes. She may make traps, make worse things, if too much time handed away."
(Southern Efforts: 52/100)
Before their discussion could continue further, a bird came swooping out of the skies. It was only one, though, and yet when it arrived and landed it swiftly bulged and transformed into the shape of another Druid. This one was quickly mobbed by the other three, all four speaking rapidly in Albish, drawing the attention of the other Albionese nearby, Aberfa included. A bit of shock was nakedly present on the heiress' face.
"What's going on?" Reinhardt eventually asked.
"This is Gwydion," Aberfa said distractedly. "Etlikin. Comes from south. Says father is now fighting Fimir in Clan Matholwyr lands. Is not going so well as in our lands. But Gwydion comes from Nudd lands. Said is going to help. Eager to fight for more than just one more tomorrow."
"Ah."
She did not seem inclined to offer more, and instead turned to them.
"Must make decision, and soon, ey? Alric sound like Dreigiau mind is maybe getting loud, ey?"
Choose:
[] Continue Attempting To Retake the holy Pillar of Og-Agog, Striking the Eastern Castle And Then Heading To The Still Unaware Meargh In The North With The Druids Able To Aid More Directly At That Point
[] Try To Argue With Aberfa To Head North Now (35% Chance of Success)
[] Head North Without Asking/Convincing (Liable To Mightily Piss Off Aberfa And Albionese Troops)
Clan Glyldŵrlyr Forces
Heiress Aberfa (Claymore, Axe, Half-Plate)
4 Etlikin (Combat-Focused) Druids Lear, Iona, Cu, Gwydion
120 Albion Nobles (Half-Plate, Claymores, Axes)
50 Albion Mounted Nobles (Half-Plate, Claymores, Axes)
200 Albion Light Cavalry (Javelins, Spears, Axes, Chainmail/Leathers)
300 Albion Heavy Infantry (Halberds, Spears, Swords, Axes, Half/Quarter-Plate)
340 Albion Skirmishers (Javelins, Slings, Swords, Chainmail/Leathers)
250 Albionese Longbowmen
Oracle's Forces
Oracle Greimne
250 Maidenguard (Leather And Bronze Chainmail, Spears, Short Swords, Bronze Shields)
Imperial Forces On Albion
Magnus Redfist, the Screaming Bull, Heir of Ostland, wielding Runefang
Brain Wounder
Mena von Kessel, the Blue Wolf, Heir of Nordland, wielding enchanted items Flammenfaust (Gauntlet) and Flammenwulf (Axe)
Reinhardt Hertwig, the Silver Manticore, Heir of Ostermark, wielding standard issue Imperial Zweihander
1 Amber Magister Alric, 5 Amber Journeymen
1 Jade Magister Carlotta
1 Jade Journeyman Boris
1 Bright Magister Casparan Smokewrought
1 Bright Journeyman Henry
1 Bright Journeyman Nicolas
1 Bright Journeyman Luthor Feuerstag
1 Bright Journeyman Helmut Cinderblade
1 Bright Journeyman Jovi Grabner
1400 Blue Wolves, Lightly Armored Cavalry/Skirmishers (Melee Equipment Varies Heavily. All Possess Shortbows, 500 Possess Crossbows) [100 Without Mount]
150 Ostland Greatswords
450 Knights of the Everlasting Light (Only 100 Have Horses)
