(Courage to Cowards: 67-Druchii Depredations(20)-Generational Abuse(10)+Black Ark Civil War(15)+Warpath Successes(35)+Diplomacy of Heroes(20)-Druchii Attentions(5)-Warband Slowing(5)=27/100)
"Damn it…damn it!" You snarl, before drawing down a blast of ice atop the Druchii standing over the dead slaves before they can finish laughing at their monstrous deeds.
It doesn't matter who they were or what side they belonged to. They're not on your side, and they've done more than enough on this day. The remains of too many slaves that might have finally been willing to join you are dead, slain just as the spark of life reignited in their souls. Some of the slaves in the tunnels had run away, despite all that the warband has accomplished. Others just didn't show up at all despite the best efforts of yourself, of Roland, of Sadrina, of everyone who has been on the Ark for years trying to inspire their fellows. Handfuls would slink out of the darkness, and each one heartened you, but too many times did they choose to run, choose to deny that what you offered was actually possible. A number even went through with trying to attack you, or worse, went and tried to warn other Druchii of what was going on only to receive rewards befitting them. Which, in turn, led to said Druchii to almost instinctively move to punitively eradicate any rebellious slaves regardless of whatever else they were doing beforehand.
"We've been at this long enough," Johanna sighs, wiping at her forehead.
Not to wipe away sweat, for she does not do so anymore, but to wipe the blood from it.
"Hours, now," Kerillian grunts, shaking her head at the bodies of the dead.
"There might be more," Sadrina is quick to say, but there is not much of her heart in it.
"In the end, for some, fear is simply too strong. Would that we had more time, could speak to them one on one, individually…," Roland begins before a heavy sigh escapes him. "Yet I know we cannot."
"We tried, sir knight," you sigh yourself, placing a hand against his gromril armor as the goliath of a Bretonnian slumps. "We tried."
Tried, and, frankly, mostly failed save for what amounts to a few dregs liable to make no difference at all. In fact, after drawing more and more Druchii to you in the course of this, you've likely actually lost some in the numbers game. Frustration filling you, even the soothing words of your love and the ghostly impressions of him embracing you are not enough to stop you from tearing your helm off your head and rubbing vigorously at your temples. Even the thought of the stonehorn, who's magical imprisonment is soon to fade and decay thanks to Hultressa, the salamanders momentarily commanded upwards and outwards by the sorceress' grasp over Ghur to start scattering out across the Ark to set it aflame all the more, cannot stop you from wanting to outright scream. The Ark is burning, the Druchii are in absolute anarchy, but still, there are so very, very many on the Claw of Dominion that you could free!
…if only they would accept it in the first place.
Something must be done in Kislev. You and Frederick think in complete unison.
"There's little point in continuing on this," you say aloud, another heavy sigh emerging from you. "Do any of you disagree?" You ask, glancing amongst your commanders.
B'gos has hardly contributed to the discussion at all, seemingly content for now to simply follow along after Sadrina, but the humans and elves amongst you speak whole swathes of explanations between each other in that grim silence. If you had had even a modicum of success rather than failure after failure, there might have been more resistance. But frankly, speaking solely from a morale standpoint, you've suffered enough from this. Especially for Roland. A very pure sort of nobility, one without the coldness of your own or the admittedly harsher spirit of Frederick's, seems to well out of the bastard and much as seeing a pristine pool of water dirtied, the sheer state of the slaves leading to this is an unfortunate blight upon the man's spirits. He's grown more and more disheartened with each group of slaves that run, either into the distance or towards their masters, or are killed as a result of either. Frankly everyone but the Lizardmen are much the same in their own ways.
"Then let us move on," you growl, slamming your helmet back over your head before looking at Hultressa. "What we discussed?"
"There are a few in particular that purchased the bulk of the Asur slaves taken most recently and in the past," the sorceress says, appearing uncaring of the fury on the face of the freed Asur. "The Tor is out, as is the Temple of Khaine, but there are others we can target. How many will be there for us to find…that remains to be seen," she admits.
"Lead on, then," you gesture, and she nods before doing just that, stalking down the slave tunnel with purpose.
(The Noble Asur: 73+40+20+15+15+25+5-15+Ark Civil War[1d2=1](10)-Druchii Attentions(10)-Warband Slowing(10)-Marching Across The Claw(20)-Tor of Dominance Hoarding(15)-Temple Hoarding(15)-The Choicest Slaves(10)=108/100)