by A Uscila
Without stop - though in lessening magnitude - smoldering body parts, blood and scorched stone rained in every direction. Disturbing the flow of battle and completely stunning the horde of goblins. As if the rampaging undead weren’t enough - seems like the momentum was completely lost and a waver rippled across their ranks, through the primitive minds of every single unpleasant creature.
It wasn’t the only thing that wavered though - as Wail did as well. Due to other reasons, though.
*You have gained a level.
*You have gained a level.
An insane amount of experience flowed into Wail - so much that he managed to gain two whole levels in a matter of minutes. A result that made everything simply - worth it.
Wail had his worries though - since with each new wave of fire that erupted from the little devil - Wail’s mana was consumed. Three-hundred at a time - which forced Wail to constantly use Life-tap – a glow constantly engulfing his lean figure for numerous moments.
Heck, seeing as such a large portion of the enemy forces were already killed or scattered - the health replenishment source was running dry. Who knows how long he’d be capable of keeping up with this pace.
Luckily - he wouldn’t need to find out, as another moment and the enemy morale completely crumbled. Even though they still had the numbers, goblins were never a very brave bunch. Frankly - it was surprising that they held for this long to begin with.
Like a sea - the goblins receded, taking away their own dead in retreat. Leaving nothing but a blackened land – scorched bloodied and covered in the occasional piece of burned flesh.
Seeing that - Wail instantly canceled his connection with the little devil - who ceased the flaming performance as well. Most likely due to the fact that the greedy demon was completely out of mana.
Once the spell was over and the noise died down - all the sound one could hear was the annoying and slightly mad laughter of Wail’s fiery accomplice. Still standing with hands outstretched far out - failing to notice that the spell was over and done with.
Wail, a little concerned over how insane the demon was, had his attention drawn by what remained of the infantry – who were still engaged in a little skirmish with the remained of the reanimated. With but a flicker of the wrist, the rampaging corpses collapsed to the ground – returning to their natural state. Seems like Wail did not want to harm the survivors - quite strange coming from someone of a completely sadistic nature.
Yet - even though Wail was the savior this time, technically - no one seemed to share in the joy. Strange. An earie silence befell the former battleground as everyone seemed lost as what to say. Excluding the swearing little devil - who did not have what to kill anymore and was so abruptly cut off from the fiery fun it had.
“Well then. Seeing as I just saved your miserable lives, I guess all of you belong to me” - Wail proclaimed quite absurdly, after carefully observing the tired and frozen expressions of those remaining - “Disarm everyone present! You know where to take them!” - Wail then added with a self-satisfied sneer, ordering his men to do the dirty work. For some reason - Wail did seem to take great pleasure in giving the order. That same sneer still frozen in a mocking manner - not a drop of pure intent present. Unless it’s pure evil.
Chaos resumed below, as the bandits quickly disabled and disarmed the archers - herding them together with their civilian comrades towards an unknown destination.
Things were even simpler with the infantry line - who were so exhausted after the fight that once the adrenaline faded away, they fell to the ground. Without a drop of strength left. Taking away their weapons was no harder than taking candy from a baby. Maybe just as fun, as well.
“Try not to hurt anyone! And tend to the wounded! I want them in working order! Macrosh, oversee that everything goes according to plan” - Wail added after carefully observing the remaining infantry - handing the responsibility of no further loss to the oversized orc. Obviously - considering that a few of the infantry were knocking on heavens’ door - he needed someone to take the blame for it and have the pleasure later to reprimand that same person. Thus - a sacrificial piglet needed to be prepared firsthand, if anything goes amiss. Poor Macrosh.
You have enslaved 37 individuals.
+2 Leadership.
+ 37 fame.
-185 reputation.
New title: Novice Slaver
Novice Slaver
+15% slave efficiency.
+10% slave health.
-15% experience gain from all combat related sources.
+20 Fame
-3 Reputation for each hour of forced labor per slave.
*Authorities will consider you a wanted criminal and will attack you on sight.
Quite the interesting set of messages - something Wail was no longer surprised about. Considering his current standing - everything provided served as a bonus. Both fame and negative reputation served only in enhancing his hold on the bandits. Regrettably, even though the title gave plenty of pleasant perks - replacing it for his current one did not seem like a worthwhile endeavor. Since one can only switch titles once per week. A downright despicable limitation if one would ask Wail.
Other than that, things were going according to plan. Wail had nothing to complain about - a miracle in its’ own right.
That is - until that little annoying creature approached - meeting Wail’s hostile gaze with silence.
As the two stood there speechless - most of the survivors were already being successfully hauled away, with the only remaining spectator being minion number one. Wail should really give the walking corpse a name.
“I’m Sorrombork the one-hundred and seventieth. But you can call me Sorro” - Wail’s arch nemesis finally spoke - waving a hand with an attitude that took a 180 degree turn.
This change was so unexpected that Wail’s eyeballs were close to popping out of their sockets. Speechless and frozen stiff - Wail’s mind might just be on the brink of total collapse. It’s quite possible that being so unprepared mentally for something so unexpected must have been a first for the poor magician - considering he was usually ready for almost anything to happen. Not this though. No one could have expected this.
Quite the excuse.
Chapter 28
The horizon was stained in black strings of winding smoke, while the earth was overturned and blackened as if the apocalypse itself passed by like a storm. A truly foreboding scenery, one that would deter many from continuing deeper-in, yet there were those that would challenge it. So it was with a large party of individuals that traveled on horseback, their lines stretched out in a long chain. Judging by the direction those ahead were leading the procession in, their destination seemed a ravaged settlement – the buildings burned through with not much left to call a home. Hunched-up figures lurking around the ghostly remains of former homes like lost spirits – lurking, searching. Some even scavenging for whatever little thing survived the carnage.
Armed and well dressed, the visitors arrived in large numbers - their procession slowly gathering at the very entrance to the ruin of a settlement. Wagons filled with timber, food and various supplies followed their force - closely protected by a tight cluster of heavily armored cavalry.
Every single one of these individuals were armed in a similar fashion. White was their color of choice and they hid behind it like a shroud - covering up every bit of skin under heavy steel plates and leather. Large rectangular shields rested on their backs - the corners oval, barren of any sharp edges.
At the very forefront of this party - which numbered in the hundreds - two individuals stood out. Less due to their distinct attire and more due to the fact that they were the only ones without buckets of steel covering up their heads.
A female and a man with heads of golden hair - both clad in extravagant white plate - with robes lined in red underneath all that heavy metal. Elaborately engraved was the armor - red and yellow lines tracing along its’ surface, a symbol present at the very center of their chest-armor.
A white hammer upon a green field, with yellow lightning in between. The church of Pedro.
They wore masks of dignified brilliance - looking upon the sight in front with visible distrust. Disgust even - though it was plainer to see on the female’s face.
Settlers soon flocked to the gathering - whispering to each other and looking upon them with a look that reflected both fear and hope. Uncertainty and wishful thinking.
As soon as at least half of the scurrying about population gathered around - one of them finally found the courage to speak up, considering that the new arrivals seemed content with their own silence.
“Praise Pedro!” - A worn down peasant shouted out - while fearfully approaching the two outstanding riders. He kept on constantly rubbing his hands together as if they were cold - constantly glancing downwards, unable to look upon the duo for longer than a heartbeat - “Did you perhaps…” - He asked, taking pause only to lick his lips - “…arrive to relieve us from our woes, oh emissary of the holy faith?” - A hopeful glance upwards - though a brief one, as the fellow lowered it soon as eyes made contact. As soon as he managed to glimpse the spark of indifference in the gazes of these supposed saviors. A tense silence taking hold right after the short and one-sided exchange.
Whispers came to be, as the troubled villagers talked in hushed voices among themselves, gazes exchanging anxiously, some even stepping back as if intent to leave the gathering all-together. It was then that one of the two golden-haired visitors stirred from the long-lasting silence – a man of cold eyes and stern features, his hand always resting on a hammer at his waist as if there would be a need for it. He spurred his mount forward and started slowly riding along the edge of the gathered mob.
“Indeed - I can see you have noticed our emblems” - The male counterpart of the two replied lazily - casting his gaze about - even though the words were obviously meant for the poor peasant that was brave enough to speak up first. His fingers running across the steel chest - as if to feel the engraved emblem that covered a large part of it.
“It is true” - He continued, now turning to the mob for a moment or two - sweeping his sight across the ragged gathering - lips twisting into a smirk - “We have come to relieve the land and to rebuild the failing faith in Pedro” - His voice rang loudly across the ash covered ruin - loudly enough for everyone to hear. Though those with hearing impairments might have had some difficulty.
There weren’t many with such shortcomings, as the mob erupted in an overjoyed clamor soon enough. Even those that were about to leave had a change of heart. Seems like their prayers have finally been answered - even their brave representative started smiling with a mouth full of crooked and rotten teeth.
“Then, allow us to help you - we have numerous skilled carpenters that will put the wood to good use” - The representative replied happily - pointing a finger towards the filled wagons. A smile still murdering his conversation partner. So unpleasant it must be to look upon.
“There will be no need for any of that” - The horsed man replied. He ran his fingers across a head full of golden curls, visibly taking pleasure in how surprise covered the peasant’s features. That hideous smile now all but gone - “You see” - He added, after leaning closer towards the homeless - “We’re not here to rebuild your homes. We’re here to rebuilt the faith”
As the cheering continued on - oblivious to what went down on the outskirts of their gathering - the representatives surprise soon turned to pure horror - as his eyes widened enough to be in danger of popping out.
“I-I’ve heard of you…” - The peasant replied in no more than a hushed voice - barely a whisper. As if afraid to be heard, his complexion turning paler with each passing moment - “You’re e-ex, c-capital ex, ex A-a-arch-ch-angel, ex, c-c-capital ex, ex…” - With a barely audible, stuttering voice, the peasant continued - surprisingly uninterrupted.
What was even more astounding was the sudden reaction from the surrounding peasantry. Even though the name was uttered in merely a whisper, a looming silence spread through their ranks as soon as it was, figures freezing up in whatever pose taken before-hand, faces pale and frightened.
xXxArchangelxXx slowly leaned back - returning to the full height of his bulky figure, though keeping his cold, merciless glare upon the same peasant. A shivering skeleton of a man - who seemed incapable now of uttering even a word.
“Your knowledge of such things unsettles me. A man of faith - following in the holy word of our Lord would never stray so far from the path of humble ignorance” - He started, keeping his sight locked on the accused - though heightening his tone enough for everyone around to hear.
In a forceful manner - the High Sweeper turned his horse around and cast his merciless glare towards the rest that stood in a blob of a gathering - terrified, frozen. Soundless.
“As I can see, everyone here did worse than that. You have forgotten the humble labor that Pedro so revered in his followers. You have strayed from the faith!” - A chilling tone - bringing a dreadful verdict closer with each spoken word upon the population.
“N-no my lord! I assure you, we have not lost hope, nor have we abandoned our faith!” - The representative quickly intervened, desperate in his attempt to dispel any suspicion. To rectify the situation.
Visibly amused - the Sweeper turned once again towards his conversational partner - “Have you now?” - He asked with a sarcastic smirk, one eyebrow risen higher than the other - “Well then, I’m sure that as a fervent follower of Pedro - you’ll know the fifth paragraph on the sixty-eight page of the holy book, by heart?”
“Thou shall stay humble in thou needs and thou shall keep thy expectations for the charity of others to the bare minimum. Thou shall be willing to work and be nourished not by the rewards - but by thy labors…” - The peasant quickly replied, unfazed by the sudden test and willing to prove his worth.
xXxArchangelxXx remained still in his saddle in complete silence – a cool stare upon the accused. All amusement now gone like it was never there to begin with.
“Only a heretic would be so thoroughly knowledgeable on the matters of our faith within this backwater settlement - all the better to blend in and spread his foul poisonous ideas. To the stake with him!” - He suddenly burst out, exchanging the coldness for smoldering hatred and anger - practically spitting out the words. Together with saliva. Archangel then turned to his fellow men of faith - “Gather this cesspool of heresy as well. It’s time to cleanse the land and renew the faith!” - He commanded loudly - forcing the surroundings to erupt into a chaotic dance of screams and pleadings.
As if one entity - the heavy cavalry that stood behind in complete and utter silence before - erupted like a volcano. Drowning out any other sound with the drumming of hoofs upon the earth - carrying out the dark task given to them by the High Sweeper.
As all of that came to fruit - xXxArchangelxXx looked upon his creation - lips frozen in a mad grin, accompanied by a crazed look.
Not for long did he enjoy his solitude in madness as his female companion spurred her horse in slow approach - “Well, aren’t you having fun?” - She sarcastically commented, her lips twisted into a wonderful display of projected mockery.
She shared a common feature with Archangel - curly golden hair that reached up to her fragile ears. That and blue eyes - eyes that glared in the same manner towards everything that was caught within their sight.
Just like her companion, she was covered up from head to toe in armor of almost identical style and pattern, although somewhat more accommodating the female figure.
“Angela…” - He was about to begin, though ended up abruptly interrupted by a suddenly cold and uncompromising tone - “Joana”.
A heavy sight left the lungs of the Sweeper as he took his time before continuing - “Joana. Stop it with that tone of yours. I know perfectly well that you’re enjoying this just as much as I am. I mean for fuck’s sake, I’m bringing the Inquisition into this shithole!”
This time - it was the female th
at sighed. All the mockery and sarcasm gone. Drowned out by a sad, longing look with a barely visible frown hanging heavily upon that pretty face of hers. Though it did not seem like she planned on replying - staring off at the first victim about to meet his maker.
Seems like it was the peasant representative - now all tied up to a stake that stuck out from a pile of timber and straw. One of the horsemen dismounted and threw a burning torch into the prepared fireplace - seemingly deaf to the cries and pleads of the victim. Without a sign of hesitation - he made sure the fires burned well, and soon enough - mounted up again. Leaving the cursed soul to his undeserving doom.
Eventually - the first ear-tearing scream filled the air - as the fires slowly engulfed the poor fella. Archangel together with Joana silently observed the view - both with distinct expressions. One with crazed exhilaration, the other with disinterest - her deep blue eyes detached from the agony of those unfortunate. Locked upon a single spot - as if drifting towards a faraway place.
Chapter 29
“I think we’re getting double the haul now and it’s all due to you, great one!”- A bulky orc went on in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice – pouring questionable praise upon his undisputed superior. Looking upon him in awe – though more like looking down.
With a chin held up high – a scrawny creature of a human being walked along-side the huge companion. Difference in size was frightening. Like a parent with his kid.