by A Uscila
Wail frowned. Did not seem like the report was good news. No surprise - considering the manpower loss.
“Four thousand gold coins…” - He mumbled under his breath - “God damn those useless goons!” - A sudden rise of tone erupted, as the greedy magician started verbally venting - “Where were the lost men heading? I mean the groups we lost all contact with?” - Quite the abrupt end to all the shouting - as Wail suddenly raised his right hand to his chin in contemplation.
“Three were heading north, towards the direction of Forestside village - the one that was burned down recently. As far as I heard - by marauding goblin hordes” - The youth shifted around for a few moments before replying - as if trying to remember the exact details - “The last one, if I’m not mistaken - was heading southeast. I don’t really remember what their exact plans were” - He shrugged his shoulders. Quite the irresponsible reply for a minion. Did not offend Wail too much - at least there were no changes to his frowning expression.
“Bah. The goblins explain what happened in the north. But the south…They better not have used the opportunity for raiding as a means to run away. I. Hate. Deserters” - A gruesome scowl joined Wail’s furrowed brows - as he complained annoyingly -“The gear they wear is my property. Nobody steals from me and gets away with it. Alive” - He added in quite the cliché manner, placing emphasis on the last word. Trying to act cool and seem threatening. Didn’t work of course, as the youth seemed anything but intimidated.
Wail suddenly rubbed his forehead, trying to hide away a sudden shift in expressions. Current developments might just be a source of frustration for the outlaw leader - “Scratch, was it?” - With absolutely no shame regarding the fact that he forgot his companion’s name, Wail asked away. Displaying the impulsive mood swing of a female on her period.
“Scruff. Sir” - The recipient replied patiently – as if he was already used to name abuse. Probably not the first time it happened. More like the twenty first.
“Scruff. Weird name” - Wail commented, completely ignorant of all manners of tact and politeness. A barely audible sigh echoed from the youth’s side - “Remind me again, why are you administrating things here, instead of adventuring or whatever it is you people usually do?”
“Because I didn’t pick a combat class and had an unfavorable chain of events happen - that brought me to this fort. Macrosh picked me up” - Patiently, Scruff explained. Like a parent to his child.
“I see. I see. Well - whatever” - Wail replied, obviously losing interest as he waved a dismissive hand at the unfortunate subordinate - “Be sure to maintain the current pace of constructions, I want the defenses ready as soon as possible” - Lifting the bar for being a rude bastard, Wail was about to leave for who-knows what kind of supposedly “important” business he had.
“Why the sudden need for a fortress by the way?” - Scruff suddenly asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity - “If I may ask, that is” - He added cautiously, taking care not to step on an unexpected landmine. God’s know Wail was one lethal field of mines.
Surprised by the sudden indulgence and insubordination, Wail was lost on how to react. His expression shifting between agitation and contemplation. Eventually - the opportunity to gloat won over - “Because I love to give hope to my enemies” - He stated, after turning face-forward towards Scruff, a self-serving sneer already there in full display. He slowly lifted his right hand, palm open as if holding an imaginary apple - “Only to crush them completely, knocking them off their feet and stepping on their heads in glorious and well-deserved superiority” - He finished over-dramatically, suddenly closing the grip and swiping the hand away in a swift motion. What a drama queen this one.
As if that wasn’t enough, he even added a good ol’ fashion sinister cackle - the likes that usually end up with a series of coughing. Usually. Wail needed more practice on that.
“I-I…see” - Scruff replied reluctantly, barely able to hold back a back-step - so unsettled he was by the sudden outburst.
With that, Wail quickly regained his composure and was about to turn and leave - leaving it at that.
“Oh and hook me up with some merchants. Preferably someone dealing in slaves. We’ll be having quite the influx of them soon enough, after all” - The one-sided conversation all but seemingly finished, both ends managed by the same person - as if Wail had the authority to. An out-of-nowhere order added to the list, as if a price for the question the youth voiced.
Wail left the premises, leaving Scruff with a mixture of surprise, agitation and maybe even distress. All emotions perfectly understandable. In fact - it was quite surprising he didn’t yet take out a knife and tried to stab the heartless lord to death. Admirable mental capacity.
“Now then…” - Wail mumbled under his nose, as he turned towards the south end of the fort - an open field present behind the outer wall. A few scattered cloth tents seen here and there.
Most of the field was littered with training dummies and places for sparring - the ground plowed, softened and barren of any pebbles or rocks. Here and there women and men were sparring - beating up each other or the before-mentioned dummies. Wail’s lips twisted into a smirk, as his eyes looked upon the display in sinister glee. He could already imagine the wonder of these future minions - when they pillage the surrounding region for captives and loot. Oh the profit it will bring.
“Excuse me sir” - A quivering voice suddenly interrupted Wail’s fantasies, which did bring out quite the frown from the greedy magician. Wail turned his furrowed brows towards the source of the noise. A hunched, frail senior stood a bare meter away - his ragged and dusty attire adding to the image of “poverty stricken” - “Goblins burned down my village and killed both my wife and kids. I don’t have much to give, but could you please avenge them?” - The old man asked, his voice shaking from pent up emotions. Eye’s glittering from swelling-up tears.
New quest!
Old man’s request
Objective: Avenge the fallen family members of the old man, by traveling to the former village of Forestside and hunting down goblin war bands.
Requirements: Kill at least 100 goblins.
Difficulty: C
Reward: Reputation with refugees and fifteen copper coins.
Additional rewards: Unknown.
Will you accept?
For a moment or two Wail stood still - his gaze looking blankly at the old man.
“What do you think this is? A charity?” - A sudden chill entered the vicinity, as Wail replied with clear hostility - his tone rising together with his irritation - “You’re the fifth one this week!” - He barked, as the facial features twisted in anger. Wail quickly summoned a fireball out of habit - seeing as it was always there when he was most agitated - “You’re staying here for free and still have the audacity to give out requests with no rewards? If you’ve got nothing to offer then stop asking for favors!” - At this point - Wail completely lost it, as he started throwing conjured fire beneath the old man’s feet - the hunched figure of the victim scurrying away in haste. Jumping up every now and then to avoid contact with the flying-about flames. Displaying remarkable agility - considering his supposed age. Heck, even minion number one seemed agitated, as he shifted about - most likely trying to make up his mind if he should pursue.
You have refused the quest.
*You have lost reputation with the refugees.
*You have gained fear factor with the refugees.
“Was that really necessary?” - A soft, even musical voice rang in close proximity. It was as if an angel descended to give vocal pleasure to those around. Wail rolled his eyes and turned to Willow, who - contrary to that sweet voice of hers, was slightly glaring with dissatisfaction towards the balding magician.
He snorted as if the question was ridiculous enough to mock, yet not enough to laugh at - “Just achieving the same results with minimal effort. If things continue this way, I’ll be able to order this rabble to run into a swarm of enemies barehanded…” - He commented after gi
ving a quick, yet simply sinister side-glance towards the bustling crowd of people. Their mass swarming in-between the shacks surrounding the main fort. A multitude of construction sites for more to be built scattered about - “…and they’ll listen”
This was the moment Willow would reply in her usual mean manner, where words like “dick” “bastard” “asshole” “lunatic” were supposed to be thrown about.
None of it took place of course. Not because the scene was cut out due to the level of offensive language being a tad too high either. Oh no. Wail just got a little lucky, as an interruption took place as usual – annoying the warlock to no end.
“Boss…Boss!” - A fellow human approached in strained haste. Long pauses drawn out in between each word - as the fella tried to catch his breath. Large drops of sweat running down his naked neck. He wore a rundown leather jerkin, with a spear in hand. Seemed to belong to the expendable foot soldier caste - “We’re under attack!” - He shouted again, only to give into exhaustion - both of his arms grabbing onto his bent knees - no longer able to stand straight. An attempt to remain on his feet.
“What? By who? Where?” - Even though irritation was the most obvious displayed emotion, Wail did have a small spark of excitement hidden within the eyes. Defensive battles might just be something Wail enjoyed quite a bit. He might just prefer being on the bottom.
“The mines…goblins…a whole swarm…” - A phrase after each breath taken, the messenger gave it his all to carry along the news. Be it out of duty or the hope of a promotion if enough kissing up to the boss would be done. What a far-fetched notion.
What a bothersome day – there was too much going on for him to bother. He quickly turned towards Willow -“Is your squad ready for action?” - As if he already knew what needs to be done, cutting straight to the point. Cutting off any possibilities for the female ranger to vent - as she still glared back. All those curses still waiting to be unleashed. Talk about quality tactician.
A few moments of strained silence ensured - surrounded by the loud hubbub of those around, the sounds of steel scraping against steel, shouts of soldiers practicing. Basically - there was no actual silence.
Willow sighed heavily, as she swallowed all her pent-up frustration - “Yes. More or less” - Her shoulder slumped ever so slightly. If things continue this way - she might just get a few wrinkles. Scary.
Chapter 40
Heavy clouds pressed heavily upon the earth below - covering the world in a myriad of miniature water droplets - their combined effort forming a mist, its’ damp coolness seeping through. A light breeze followed - pushing the barely transparent front into a craggy mountains edge. Condensed water drops forming into bigger ones - as they slid down the slope, dropping on the heads of those below. Forcing out an uncomfortable shiver as the cold water slowly slid down their back.
A wooden fortification loomed silently below, glued to a steep slope that covered its’ northern side - a large entrance carved out within the light-brown rock wall. Huts and tents littered the inside of the fort - two log constructs sticking out as sore thumbs from within the rabble. Most likely serving as the place of rest for those working there.
A mining operation. Wail’s mining operation - well defended and fortified, a smart investment. Even more so, when a threat of invasion loomed close. Close enough to practically breathe upon the necks of those present, to make hair stand on ends, as if a beast with open jaws stood behind – ready to chomp down. Though that was probably just the damp air, carried across by the light breeze that blew relentlessly.
A deep thumping echoed from beyond the fortifications walls - bouncing off the steep cliffs to the right. Easily carried over the one story walls, on which various unsettled figures stood waiting. Waiting for an unknown foe, in unknown numbers - the ignorance steadily eating away at their composure. Tightening its grip upon their fragile nerves.
Among them, a dark figure with equally dark robes loomed over the battlements. His long, sharp-ended ears twitching in unison with the thumping. Eyes glaring through the mist, strained in an attempt to see who or what dared to approach. A big white skull smiled widely with a less than a full mouth of teeth right in the middle of the robes, while his toes wiggled within cloth slippers.
Two lines of bony companions stood unsteadily on both sides of the figure, their ranks relatively well-organized. Their skeletal fingers clutching bows of various material and state of decay - an arrow notched, taken from quivers hanging from their collar-bones. Leather straps going right through ribcages for assured safe keeping. Since those mindless drones would have probably been stuck if one of the variables for a successful loosing of an arrow would go missing. The image of them trying to reach for an arrow after the quiver fell off their shoulder being quite easy to image. One can’t expect mindless minions to take care of themselves, after all.
Seems like The Embalmer ended up right in the right place, at the right time - together with his expendable soldiers.
Behind the safe walls of the mining operation, groups of individuals stood huddled together in the open spaces between all the huts and log-houses. Surrounded and under constant watch from various shady figures. Be it leather-covered fellas of obviously lawless nature - or idle living corpses that stood around with a blind look. Quite a number of them scattered about, their empty sockets staring away into nothing particular.
Within the huddled groups, there were the ragged figures of both women and men, the old and the young. Their clothes - now nothing more than torn up rags, run down and dirtied from poor working conditions and a lack for a change. Some visibly shuddered with each ominous thump. Its deep echo weighting equally heavily on both the defenders and the obvious captives. Each beat noticeably louder, getting closer with each passing minute. It’s rate increasing ever so slightly.
Finally, other irregular noises entered the ears of those present - a bare murmur at first. Indistinguishable, it approached with equal unsettlement. Slowly, the sounds turned into an ear-numbing storm of noise - the guttural shouts and screeches of unknown foes, the rumble of ground, the combined clanking of metal upon metal. Unnerving. Unbearable even. Some shuddered in an attempt to shake off the encroaching fear. Some drowned in their own sweat - while hoping deep down that the dampness in the air would serve as an excuse. Others held tight, gripping their weapons unconsciously, while contemplating the options of a successful escape. No one wanted to die - and the current circumstance were too uncertain for those defending to brush off such thoughts.
Eventually - seems that even the black elf caved into the atmosphere, as he turned towards a few members of his expendable force. He waved a hand beyond the battlements - which was soon followed by a number of scampering corpses. As they - in surprising haste, crawled onto and over the walls - jumping and falling down without a hint of hesitation. Sounds of breaking bones and ripping muscles drowned out by the racket coming from beyond the mist.
Quickly enough, the battered minions stood up or simply got into a proper crawling position, moving onwards in a united offensive. Their figures quickly disappearing into the mist.
For a moment or two, the noise seemed to die down somewhat, once the sent scouting force seemed to reach its destination. Only for a moment of course.
An ear-tearing sea of noise exploded from behind the curtain of water vapor. A united roar of uncountable numbers, accompanied with a reinvigorated clattering of metal. Just like the thumping, which never really stopped, continuing over all that noise - each beat a little louder, a little quicker - a slight tremor following each sound. Caused by the probable movement of the enemy forces - the beating of their feat upon the earth, turning into one huge wave of nerve-wrecking noise.
Without waiting for the foes to emerge from behind the mist - Embalmer gave another casual hand movement. His orders instantaneously carried out by synchronized movements of the skeleton archers. They raised their bows and quickly released - pale shafts quickly disappearing out of human sight. Followed by a slight wave
r in the guttural roars of the enemy beyond.
Thump, thump went the beating. Louder, faster, stronger - arrows, now blindly loosed by both the undead rangers, as well as the bandits capable of equal ranged offense. Those projectiles serving as a welcome present to those that were about to emerge.
Thump, thump went on the beating relentlessly, now a quick succession of intense beats - forcing the eardrums of those present to reverberate uncomfortably in quick succession. Straining the nerves of those present to their maximum - only to almost explode once the foes finally emerged.
Crawling, hopping in short distances, awkwardly running on short legs - a mass of deformed flesh emerged. Sharp toothed, savage and bloodthirsty creatures from the darkest bowels of the world, their skin of either dark green or brown color. Small figures, more than often navigating the ground on all-fours. Goblins and their like.
Rushing towards the walls in reckless abandon - a number of them already wounded, with arrow shafts sticking out of various locations. Projectiles easily finding clots of sickly flesh between the bare minimum of armor that was worn. A small plate of iron at most - hanging by various leather straps. And a loincloth at worst, the small region it covered far from enough to hide away their dangling private parts. A gruesome sight for those of sharper eyesight.
Projectiles now shot out in response to the defending force - their small bodies darting out from the sea of horrors bellow. Released from short-bows of poor craftsmanship, some arrows barely able to go over the walls, let alone pierce through studded-leather. Which would have served as quite the up for morale - if not for the sheer number of them. Even the obviously commanding black elf found it as quite the annoyance, since a few managed to pierce through his robes. Dark stains spreading outwards from the newly acquired wounds.