Vignette - Blood Bathed Berserker
“What path have you imagined, Candidate?”
“Blood runs with the magic of this world. I will shed that blood, I will bathe in it. Each droplet will add to the power of My blood, it will heal me, it will keep me young, and at last having shed oceans of blood, it will make me king.”
Chapter 12
It took two days, two wonderful days of company and conversation...Yes conversation, he had had conversations with walls in the past 5 years, an occasional smile and nod beat the hell out of some kind of ‘Wilson’.
Two days of familiarization and simple classes for his guests. Between those duties he managed a few infrastructure improvements. The living quarters with only one chair and a single bed was hardly comfortable for a group of thirty-three. For that matter, there was not even enough floor space.
Both were problems that already had a solution. Furniture was as easy as debarking some branches, joining them as one in a packed dirt mold.
Jacksons sister, he was getting much better at pantomime, turned out to be a seriously artistic type. Seeing the way wood and stone became fluid and malleable had her eyes sparkling and her hands itching. The first “Joiner” became her personal property and the chairs and benches she produced graduated from ‘you can sit on it’ to ‘holy shit that makes the entire room gorgeous!’. Thankfully, for his other projects, he had three joiners.
He might have to make her some more specialized tools in the future. For now a second generation “Pen-is-Mightier” and a “Joiner” had sent her to heaven.
They did forcefully move his throne from the top floor of the bunker. Privacy and all that. It was more of a problem to move the storage tank. A bit of Akil cheating went on for that one.
For making more room under the Bunker he simply showed them how to ‘shovel’ the material into a bag. How to make air shafts with a special “Pen-is-mightier” with a truly ridiculous length to the field.
As a secondary benefit, they could hold the pen and swing it as a weapon...George Lucas is gonna to sue somebody. Like the Claymores though, projecting a removal field that far away seemed to be much more energy intensive then a much larger volume in a square about the tip. That was why claymores had a limited number of activations. The Pen-Saber was only good for about twenty seconds of operation. Plenty to use single activations to put a series of 20 foot air holes in. Not so much for a weapon. He would have to work on that.
Watching his guests try out his tools added some depth and color to Akil’s comments. Magic consumption and will consumption were not always linked. A single, straight line, use of the Pen-Saber was not terribly difficult even though it drained the magic stored in the tool. On the other hand a dozen uses of the laser wands would wipe them out, despite not putting much of a dent in the magic storage. Timothy was not convinced the difference was solely in understanding… but he also didn't have any other answers yet. Add it to the list.
All that was over with for now. Other than Jackson’s sister.. “Dammit Akil, I could use some names here!” He muttered.
“Her name is Sally, all you had to do was ask, Candidate.” Crap, he had to remember to ask for things instead of just rushing in.... eventually… who was he trying to fool?
Moving on.
Other than the artist Sally, all his guests were in the fort. He was standing on the observation platform. A stone lifeguard’s roost-like structure situated behind Akil and about 15 feet off the ground (Akil had promised to protect him from unfriendly fire).
He had a great view of the outside of the fortress, but the small firing slit made the inside considerably less visible. Still, he could make a decent guess considering he had watched their practice runs from inside. They probably had about 16 people on the top floor of the bunker. Any more and it was just too crowded to do anything. They now had 17 wands so he assumed they would evenly split them four to a wall with each doing double duty on the claymores.
“Are they ready? You know what? Forget it. Whoever they put in charge over there can call the start whenever they’re ready.” This ‘they could talk to each other but not to him’ thing was for the birds. Frankly since he couldn't have a communication loop it was better for him to stay out of it. They would have to form an effective little army without him. And practice a lot! Frankly he had too much to do anyway. That kind of practice would be a massive drain on his valuable study hours.
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The first time, though, he wouldn't miss it for the little world.
It did not take long.
Ghostly shapes took form directly below his perch…His stomach jumped into a throat tight with still potent memories of pain.
“ Aaah, Akil when you said no unfriendly fire….”
“They will ignore your presence Timothy. Pointless cruelty is not part of my nature.”
Mist was gathering in vast sheets, turning the immaterial material.
“...You let me get eaten alive if you recall, forgive me for making sure.”
They had enough form at last for him to make out the species. A 50 member passel of Giant Boars for the first trial. Ah the memories… wait he knew this one.
“Akil can you block the sound for me? Magic or earplugs, I don’t care just quickly?” He frantically requested.
“You let you get eaten alive Timothy, and you learned from it. Making it pointed cruelty. And yes, I have blocked the sound for you.”
“Wheeew...thank you for that, but I have to say, sometimes I really don’t like you Akil.”
The hogs raised their heads in unison, he had heard it often enough that he winced in sympathy. That skirling mass warcry could do a number on you.
“I am a guide and occasionally a teacher, Timothy. Liking is often not optimal for either of those vocations.”
He gave it up as a lost cause and focused on the action.
The boars were starting the charge. Some of the leading boars did the kinetic jump from the side of the trench this time. Flying across to impact like a cannonball about 7 feet from the base of the motte. An impact that left a decent mark. Then it slid down to the spikes, beginning the age old game.
He watched in sympathy as wild shots began to dribble out from the bunker. He knew that sound, he knew the urge to silence it. To watch animals walk over the corpses of their kin and hear the squeals of the trodden on. It took a heartless person or a well disciplined one to ignore that plea.
He was more surprised at how few shots there were. Discipline on some of them he hoped…. He had to come up with some scrying tools. Not being able to see what was going on inside the bunker was really chapping him. Maybe some form of absorb-release light with the direction rune set to where he wanted to look, and the absorb-release set to release that light into a mirror or pool…
He pulled out his “Pen-is-Mightier” and a few spare stone cards to write down some notes and shapes.
All the while ja-raptors made ridiculous leaps to the bunker, many impaled themselves on the spikes, but a few landed between the jagged protrusions and began clawing chunks from the walls. Walls where the protection glyphs were not activated.
“...Dammit! I knew I forgot something…”
A shovel sized square block of raptor disappeared along with a thin section of the bunker.
“Well, could be worse I suppose..” They had at least avoided wasting the limited claymore charges on a single critter...he hadn’t made that mistake in one of his early fights. Of course not...
Vultures with fifteen feet wing spans began to dive bomb the fortress, glowing with a ghostly outline they would pull out of the dive, but their outline would not. A phantom vulture flying through solid stone. Freaking psychic birds, he hated the things. They were not a risk by themselves, but the psychic fear attack could paralyze a person... or leave them curled up and gibbering like an idiot. Thankfully the effect didn’t last more than half a minute.
Still it was half a minute where several people were out of the fight. The damage began to pile up, spikes broke off inside falling Raptors, allowing more to survive the jump, claws carved deeper into the walls and fished in the firing slit for victims. Three foot of essence stone could take a lot of damage but without defenders and with its protection runes unlit it would eventually be breached.
An eventuality that was not to be this time. The claymore’s finnaly triggered and he felt renewed sympathy for the defenders. Sawdust and poles did not prepare you for real experience. It was gruesome. To make it worse they didn't feather it fast enough. It didn't just bisect the raptors but did the full woodchipper effect on the top half. Wasteful, but it still very effective. Ten ja-raptors partially blended in meer moments. The lasers retacked for the circling vultures. Missing the irregularly circling critters constantly at first, they eventually figured out the same trick that Timothy used. When they wanted to attack the psychic form seemed to only go in a straight line. So wait for them to start the attack and it was a clap shot.
The vultures at last fell as well.
All was still, the pristine fortress now dyed in blood, flesh and feces. Vomit fumes burned the throats and noses of the defenders. Still the fortress stood. Presiding over a field of smoking craters, broken spikes, and the broken, desecrated bodies of hundreds of beasts.
“Haaa… “ He climbed down and retrieved an extra cleaning rod before walking towards the motte.
“Poor bastards…” He muttered, sliding the drawbridge plank into place.
Crawling across he wondered if they understood? In back of massive prepared defenses they held with difficulty. What would happen out in the open?
Still they did well for their first time. A small reward was in order. He would clean up the vomit at least, he had lots of experience with that. And perhaps dispense a few hugs… It would have to be enough.