At last Etheldredda stumbled into Zed, grabbing his robes and gesturing upwards at the canopy of spider silk above, she offered but one piece of advice:
"Raze the roof."
Judy and Cadmus
Taking a step back to allow Judy to undergo her work, the halfangel flicked back his blond locks and sent a sinister grin at those foolish few who remained in the near-deserted Darkreach. But that grin was wiped off his face as Judy finished her summoning circle; the ground sinking into a deep-red void, a chasm into the very core of Hell itself. Clawing its way from the infinite abyss was a hulking demon, tentacles emerging like parasitic worms from every angle. Judy, without the slightest hint of care or concern, gave the demon its orders and sent it on its way. The beast fell onto all-fours and charged straight through the treeline of Myrkviðr, following the route that had been carved out by the lumbering Hagfather which preceded it.
Cadmus Lenian had nothing witty to say to that, so opted to say nothing at all on the matter.
"It is done," he echoed, patting Judy on the shoulder, who was clearly worn out from the summoning. "My golem, your demon, and whatever else dwells in that forest. There's no way Skullvulture will make it out alive." Skullvulture, the man who had killed Cadmus's parents. He had studied the warrior well. Cadmus knew that the big game hunter would never retreat from a fight, even from a fight he could never win. Cadmus had hoped to see the body, to gloat over the shrivelled and defeated corpse, but could also see the devastation left behind by the Hagfather's approach into the forest. It wasn't worth his life to see the death of his enemy.
The old dwarf's eyes scanned the two words that Siera had written for him, then flittered up to her face, but he allowed no emotion to show on his own. He simply patted the young girl on the hand once. As the general of many long-forgotten wars, perhaps Thorek II was beyond showing great expressions of emotion, or perhaps it was him being the father to a daughter that he had outlived which let him know that words would not be enough for what they had decided to do.
"Aaah..." Thorek seemed to look somewhat nervous, a nervous smile playing his lips. "Perhaps fought is too strong a word. 'Tis not a tale told often; for it's one of the few where I don't come out on top," he gave Siera a conspiratorial wink. "Aye, I have met the half-god afore, and only the once. It is perhaps my greatest shame that I never again dared to face him. To think of the lives lost..." All of the sudden, it seemed that the years Thorek had lived were finally catching up to him, four centuries of fear and guilt and regret, but in a moment it was dismissed. One did not fight wars and neglect to learn how to bury guilt away where the light could not touch it.
"I was perhaps as old as you at the time," Thorek began again, smiling despite himself, a twinkle in his eyes as he remembered a youthfulness he had not experienced for at least a century. "Third child to a petty king, looking to make a name for myself. My people have a history of enslavement, so when I heard news of some human vagabond leading an uprising in the Seven States- why, I just had to lend an axe!" For theatrical purposes, Thorek thrust his arm forwards and imitated the seizing and holding aloft of a war axe.
"When Lithia was reclaimed by its people, he named me Captain. I sat on his war councils. I was one of the few who ever saw him up close, ever knew the real man. I led the vanguard. The leprechaun Tuath Dé was the strategist, teleporting about the place to co-ordinate attacks. Baba Dochia and her daughters recruited the local magical creatures to our side. But Arran's closest confidant, and his best friend, was another young man by the name of Tempora Sage."
Thorek was beginning to ramble. It was not often he told a story that he had seldom had the chance to air before, and was now lost in revelry of a time where he had felt most proud to be a soldier; a time that would forever be stained in his memory by what happened next.
"Well, the Empire didn't know what hit it. Arran had a way of winning over support that was magical in itself, though he never studied the mystic arts. The Seven States were freed, and our job done so far as I knew. But sitting on a hilltop on the edge of Romia, Arran told us our mission was not finished. He wouldn't lay down his sword until the Tyrannian Empire's rule was put to a permanent end throughout all of Engelain."
"That was the night when it happened."
"It was an inferno- but an inferno that gave no heat, just blinding energy that shook you to your core. Right in front of my eyes Arran stood, no longer himself; something greater, something
terrible
. A scream of lightning split the world below him, and he was swallowed up by this great, big door. No sooner had he gone than
the other one
came, smiling like a slit throat. Soahc went for me first, and would have killed me too had Tuath Dé not taken the blow. Tempora and the hag mother were casting spells at him and he was casting them back, and either he was outgunned or simply bored, but he turned on the spot and vanished, just like that."
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
"The next morning, Baba Dochia was dead, murdered by her own daughter. Tempora Sage blamed himself for it all somehow, and simply gave up on the cause. Without Arran holding it together, the whole thing fell apart, the chieftans and the lords and the creatures of the Seven States giving in to their base nature. And I ran too, my tail tucked between my legs."
Thorek scoffed at his past weakness, shaking his head. "Aye, I have unfinished business with Soahc. I was but a wee lad when we fought the last; now I am old, but not yet finished. I could not stop his rebirth, but I will be there to watch him fall. Ha, Siera, take heart! Should we meet this menace he shall taste my metal, and you will rescue your beloved Cadmus. Whether I live or die you shall be there as witness, to strum up a ballad worth-"
The dwarf stopped his ramblings to take stock of where they had arrived. Having gone into and passed through a small woody outcrop, they now found themselves at the base of a hill. At its top stood a town fortified as a fortress, a septagonal wall manned with seven towers, behind which a great chimney of smoke was billowing upwards, as though every single building had been set alight. The front gates to the down seemed to have been rammed into oblivion, leaving behind the broken mast of a ship, the Jolly Rodger hanging half-torn from it.
Thorek II grabbed his poleaxe, and put a hand to the hellpup's mouth in hopes of conveying a need for silence. He reigned up his carriage and leapt from it, heavy feet thudding into the soft ground.
Thunder. Thunder was the only word to describe the sound, thunderous thudding summoning an earthquake under their feet as the full force of the centaur herd poured towards the gathered forces of the Defiler of the Old World. The corpse-garden of the Mechanical Spirry had not halted them, nor the flames of Kira or the arrows of Brodus's servants. At full speed there was nothing which could stop the wrath of a charging herd, no force on earth that could keep them from colliding with their prey.
From the skies came a meteorite made of metal and flesh as Mechanical came crashing headlong into the forces of the centaurs, churning out flame and fang and setting himself as a mine in the midst of their charge. The first centaur hit the iron-clad demon with a sickening crunch as bones shattered against the weight of the nine-foot monstrosity. More and more came, and then soon a space emerged as the centaurs grew to realise what they were dealing with. Now a whirlpool emerged, a whirlpool of hoof and blade, as centaurs circled the abomination. With scythe and spear in hand they began striking out, aiming for the joints of their roboticized adversary, hoping to tear it apart at its hinges.
This was but a puncture in an otherwise unified force, a force which was now faced with the raining of hellfire summoned by the Pyromistress. Fire cascaded from the heavens like the wrath of God, exploding on impact in great fiery death traps. Centaurs ran aflame, screaming in terror, some charging forth in the hopes of dying by blade rather than burning, others falling to the ground to perish in agonising pain. Yet still the whole charged on, closer and closer, until finally they were upon them, as swords and scythes sang out into the morning air.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
The scream of a charging bull was answered with the cackling of a deranged deity, Soahc the Deceiver waiting with open arms for the first wave. A sickle swung for his throat, but the demigod threw his head and torso backwards in a stunning display of acrobatics, his foot shooting upwards and crashing between the forelegs of the centaur, (which had the fortunate anatomical advantage of having his genitalia placed somewhat further back than a human.) The beast was sent cascading into the air, flipping thrice with the unnatural force delivered to the blow, before crashing down in a crumpled heap. Soahc was already on his second adversary, a punch to the right which broke a leg and left an enemy rolling head over heels. Then the nail of his index finger grew twenty-fold, and swinging this the Father of Demons sliced open the throat of a third.
"Motherf****ing balls of c***s!" Yelled out Raspur Cain, abandoning the prone necromancer to join the fray. His whip cracked out and caught the neck of a centaur, barbed leather puncturing arteries, and a tug was enough to bring the equine down. Raspur removed his pistol, jammed it below the centaur's tail and fired a shot straight up the creature's bunghole. Abandoning whip and emptied weapon he snatched the axe that had laid on the centaur's axe, turning and throwing it at another.
Streaks of lightning came from the rear as the hags began their own assault, as in the front lines the hagspawn were cut down with impunity. The mercenaries were faring better, Raspur corralling them into a defensive block with colourful language, whilst the cultists remained impotently at the rear.
The crack of a pistol called through the dim, and the red-haired, mutten-chop sporting centaur that had been following the leader- a female judging by the twin bands of leather covering her chest- fell to the ground, clutching his chest just over the heart as blood seeped through his fingers.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
"No!" Yelled out the voice of the stallion behind the Nemes Headdress and Mask, watching her husband crumple to the ground. She reared up and turned, facing Brodus, who seemed to be attempting to summon her wrath with the gesticulating of his sword. A sickle in each hand she charged out, channelling her wrath, her grief, her pride, channelling everything into the assault on this petty man who dared deal in souls.
Slayer of Azul
"A deity lacking sycophants is a god truly just," countered Breymaire the Conciliator, seemingly amused by the word battle he was having with the elfmage. "As for The Abolisher... I trust that Arran is privy to more knowledge than you or I," the centaur said dismissively.
"Centaurs construct no churches, nor hold any land sacred," he said, gesturing out onto the great, seemingly unending plains which played host to the one thousand and one centaur clans. "However..." He scratched his beard, seemingly uncertain, or perhaps more accurately- uneasy.
"My people keep no permanent residence, preferring a nomadic lifestyle; save as protectors against the pollutant relics left behind by the decimated empires of Man. Whin-Gel holds primacy in terms of darkness and sinistry. An eldritch tomb lays dormant beneath an obelisk wrought from shadow- though none of our kind has ever had the capacity of opening it. I shall lead you there, should that be your desire."
Ogre Plains
"I s'pose yah mek nothin' o' it," muttered Karstone as Gorm strolled away without saying much of anything. The old adventurer had hoped to have found a contemporary of worth in Gorm, something to offset the balance of the depraved Ryle and corrupt Timruviel. Instead he found a stoic, silent shadow, stalking behind them with little to no input on anything.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
Though in fairness, this was much more appreciated than the input of Ryle Emeraldian, whose helpfulness was counterbalanced by his unintelligible accent and his unnecessary need to slander Karstone's mother.
"Elvenkind needs be demolished," purred Timruviel, a thin smile playing his thin lips as he listened to Captain Ryle's suggestion of wanton murder of Timruviel's own homeland. It seemed Karstone was the only one there concerned with the gaping chasm in the ground, for Gorm was checking bodies, (whose wounds implied a war between the mages of Ogrin and soldiers of Og, rather than some alliance to target a greater foe,) and the two captains convened with one another.
"The bureaucracy of my species is superfluous; the true perpetrator of these atrocities may never be located. There will certainly be a scapegoat situated in the fortress on the forest's edge, however, which will make quite the sacrifice... For the good of the ogre cause," the elf added, nodding towards Karstone as though this final sentence would make the man dismiss the obvious falsehood of Timruviel's inspiration to intervene.
"We'll 'av t' go through Ogrin," Karstone said, grinding his teeth together. Given the ease with which Karstone was allowed into Og, he felt the other petty kingdom should be just as easy to infiltrate, but was wary of the mage-ogres of Ogrin having found out that they were conscripted by their mortal enemies. However, seeing little alternative for their task, he simply sighed, shrugged in imitation of their dwarven companion, and headed east; leaving the hole to the centre of the earth behind him both physically and mentally.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
After a moment's pause, Decan Martha chose to follow Kat's exit, gesturing for her men to follow her. She noted that Enrael and two others, all of whom who had perished just moments before only to be brought back to the land of the living, did not budge. It seemed that they were too frightened to leave the jurisdiction of their reviver. Martha had no words for them; she could barely understand what they must be thinking, having suffered a brutal death and then being resurrected by their own murderer, which was in itself a being beyond rationality and nature. She simply left in silence, backing slowly to make sure that the bleeding demonking did not rescind on its word.
When she passed through the trees she hastened to catch up with Kat. "Stop those tears, Auxiliary," she snapped, seizing on her leadership role to centre her racing mind. "A soldier of the Empire is beyond fear. This is no defeat- it is a calculated retreat. We shall see this creature dead, mark my words." Martha had nothing to say on what would become of Alania or Henry. Kat had been with the contubernium long enough to figure out what would happen to those who stood in the way of the righteous justice of their lord Tyrrus.
"It would take too long for reinforcements from the Empire. We must convince the ogres to lend their aid in this fight. This beast is clearly the child of Ogrin magic- the Big Fat will surely oblige us." The jump in logic was easy to make, when heresy was involved. Already she was considering battle plans, knowing she was at an advantage with her knowledge of where this den of debauchery lay. "Make sure we're not followed," Martha added as an afterthought, casting an uncertain glance over her shoulder.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
Alania Clarke stared off into the distance, where Kat had departed. The words had cut her like no weapon ever could. Never before had she ever experienced such scathing remarks, such outright hatred for her personhood. Perhaps if it was meant to make her feel remorseful then it was unsuccessful- Alania could not see such an attack against her as anything but spiteful, rather than coming from a place of concern. It simply broke down her exterior, and she found herself weeping into the chest of Henry.
Lifting herself away and turning up to Spirry, the evolving, aging Spirry, Spirry that had been attacked unprovoked and acted only in retaliation. The blood demon which had revived his foes, for he knew they were not truly malicious, simply following orders. Alania knew it was virtuous to not judge a book by its cover. Most had overlooked her as a simple girl with plain looks and no real place in the world. Alania would not simply disregard Spirry for his menacing appearance- there was a man beneath the monster, she could tell, and that man needed guidance.
"I want to do good," she stammered out between sobs, thinking honesty was the best way to approach this conversation with Spirry. "I want to help others, to make my family proud. I want little girls to look up to me, and know that they can achieve anything. I just want to be a positive change for the world." She wiped her tears on the backs of her hands. She knew that Henry beside her had suggested something about pursuit, of this great eight-legged beast of which Spirry spoke, but it was beyond her scope. Alania felt that she had been chosen to help Spirry on the path to Godliness- she simply could not get herself involved with another nigh-invulnerable creature when tasked with such a crucial mission.
