V6: Chapter 13
…
Alright.
I’ll admit it.
I like the Warden gameplay style.
There’s just something fun about leading a nation with unbreakable morale that’ll throw themselves endlessly at the enemy for you at practically no cost. Sure, if you’re a coward, you play the Wardens of the Caverns with a cultural victory in mind… but playing them as an endless crusade with endless armies armed with basic weapons is great, too.
A tide of armies that get replaced whenever one is defeated with only distance from their resurrection point to the battlefield preventing them from reaching the fight. In games playing as the Wardens, you’ll throw T1 armies at T3 armies like ammunition. You can just hit auto-resolve, feeding your armies into theirs, until they lose every unit that they have and die… and next turn your armies are all back and marching to the front.
The enemy cannot advance, if the bodies of our faithful are too high for them to climb.
The heavens will it my comrades, and the heavens are good, therefore go forth and inflict violence and return to do your duty once you pass.
Honestly, the Wardens are the most fun to play with a Domination Victory in mind. With them, losing an army isn’t a lose-condition. You don’t need to micro. All you need is enough Influence, which is called Faith in their faction, and production and you’re all set. The player commands a wave of zealots across the land, barely investing in any expensive units that have armor, because it’s just better to use normal, unarmored troops with decent attack and mobility like bullets against enemy armies.
Their main issue is that instead of artillery units they have strong healers that buff their troops, which cost more Faith to resurrect.
You can ignore that issue by not building them and just sticking with endless tides of resurrected bodies.
Upgrade their base stats. Create industrial districts and military districts that increase their equipment values and veterancy whenever they spawn back in. Find the right Mercenary Champions and drug them up to the gills for higher movement speed, regeneration, and damage in exchange for dying at the end of a battle. Throw armies that never falter, that never retreat, that fight to the death, and come back after dying at the enemy. The AI can’t handle it even when they’re cheating at the highest level, and being able to defeat a dedicated Warden player and their armies is what separates the good players from the bad.
Don’t talk to me, unless you know how to construct an artillery killzone that can deal with charging, drugged up zealots with hyper-armor.
If you can’t, we can’t be friends.
Where was I?
Right, I’m off to give the Wardens metric tons combat drugs, give them some very experienced mercenary commanders, and give them free armor.
The things I do friends.
Anyway, that was just a quick drop off with Khalai and me having some tea, before I left to help out Celia.
When I reached Celia, however, one of my priority messengers were waiting for me there… and more of the Academy’s bullshit came to light.
…
Interlude: Rita.
…
The control station was more heavily fortified that we expected.
The two massive gates that were at its entrance was surrounded by an army of nearly two thousand. They housed themselves in tents and built the necessary facilities to support themselves. The control center also had exits and entrances to the surface near it that were under their control, which allowed them to hunt, scavenge, and accept supplies. Wooden walls and gates were constructed as defenses around the living space and they lit up the long tunnels with bright lamps to give those atop the walls a clear line of sight for a great distance.
“It's almost like the remains of the Academy’s armies are all here and quite a few Warlords.” Morgan gave a light hum. One of her hands was on the skull of a soldier that we captured from one of the above-ground patrols. It had only taken Morgan a moment to discern where the exits aboveground were relative to our position belowground, and after that it was just a matter of intercepting the enemy. We disappeared him away during a hunt, where he could’ve died or deserted, and after our actions the camp’s security did not increase. The man was comatose and twitching. With her free hand, she was writing all that she saw through his memories. “There’s at least a dozen Champions here. How do you both feel about killing four each?”
Though Morgan addressed us both, I knew that the question was directed to me.
“In the heat of battle, with their focus not on myself, then I can do it. However, the losses would be unacceptable.” I told her the truth, and she nodded idly. The forces at our disposal were composed of Iterants. Our king told us to value their lives and that they should not be wasted. If we sent them in, all twenty squadrons of ten, they would be able to massacre the common soldiers… but they would fall against the Champions. My victories would hinge upon their sacrifices. Unacceptable. “A frontal attack won’t allow us to reach our long-term objectives, either.”
“Right, right. We’ve still got to run the Academy down after this. We can’t do that, if we lose our army. Ilych can only do so much.” Morgan let go of the man’s skull and the man immediately started shaking violently in his chair. In moments, blood began to seep from his eyes, nose, and ears, and I knew that even though he breathed and his heart beat, there was no longer a soul to accompany the body and mind that remained. “A diversionary tactic would be best, then. We pull away as many of them as possible with as little of our own, then hit what remains with all the strength we can muster.”
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Morgan jammed a thumb at herself.
“I’ll take a quarter of our forces and lure the enemy out from the other end of the tunnel. The two of you will go in, get the gate open, and pour in the weapon.” It was a declaration. A simple statement whereupon she said she would place herself at the most difficult of positions for the coming battle. There was not an ounce of fear in her eyes. In fact, there was a savage thrill in her gaze as a full grin formed on her face. “What do you think I should bring into this battle? Sword? Spear? Axe? Ah, wait. I’ll bring plenty and use what I want.”
With that Morgan gave a hum and passed me the paper filled with information, then proceeded to leave with the intent of bringing her plan to fruition.
I had no reason to believe that she would not succeed.
I only cared about my own ability, Ilych’s and our remaining warriors.
“We cannot wait.” Ilych stated simply, and I nodded. My thoughts had turned towards requesting more reinforcements. More Iterants, more weapons, and more of the poison that we developed. Seeing the force arrayed against us had me banished my concerns regarding the poison. It was the only way that we could overcome our current foe without taking valuable troops away from the frontline. Every single person who could fight was needed in order to prevent the Death Lord’s forces from spilling over the entire continent. “I’m with you, Rita. We can win.”
“I know that we can, but I don’t want it to cost us.” The Iterants were fanatical and ready to die. They did not cherish their own lives. The ones who had to care for them and their lives were those who led them into battle. Our king had bid us to care for them, to make them loyal to us, and to prove that we considered them valuable existences. A part of the world that we were fighting for like any other soldier we fought with. However, succeeding in our mission would save countless more lives by clearing away the barrier that protected the Academy from our reach. We could not allow another Citadel to fall to demonic corruption. Neither could we allow another Death Lord to be raised up by the Academy. Countless lives could be lost if we did, and every battle we waged against them used resources better spent against the coming calamities. “There’s too many there, Ilych. We need an advantage. Any advantage.”
Ilych grunted for a moment, while I wracked my brain for any opportunity that I could not see.
We sat contemplating for a moment, before suddenly Morgan arrived… right next to one of herself.
Of course.
“The Iterants can be used as more than warriors, you two.” Morgan lightly admonished us. There was no smile on her face, but there was neither any sign of her usual pride or humor. She was entirely dedicated to lecturing us without a hint of contempt in her eyes. I sighed and held back the warmth threatening to spill across my face, while Ilych gave a grunt and a nod of acknowledgement. “We’ve already discerned their schedules for their outbound patrols and supply trains and verified it. Look at the paper I left behind. Most of the information—wait, do you hear that?”
Morgan paused for a second, and before I could even register, she surged towards both me and Ilych and passed us both by.
There was a clattering of metal, and suddenly between the two of us was a long, near-invisible blade.
Morgan smashed something into the wall of the tunnel, punching through the tent wall that hid us in the darkness a distance from the encampment, and spiderweb cracks formed along its length… and blood splattered in every direction.
Perfect application of physical enhancement throughout her body, coupled with instant casting of the right spell at the very right instant of contact.
Whoever she had faced found their flesh ripped from their body with immense pressure as they were pinned to the wall.
Leaving only tendon and bone with a skull leaking out pulped grey matter in Morgan’s grip.
A wave of pressure, used to scan our surroundings, swept through our encampment suddenly emanating from her.
A pulse of gravity that took the breadth and measure of our whole company in an instant.
“…203 individuals left in our immediate vicinity, but we need to act fast. This was no normal opponent.” Morgan stated while flicking her reddened hand from her side. Blood splattered on the floor, while the flesh and innards sloughed off the wall. “They’ll notice that they’re gone. Whoever that was.”
That was a Champion, an individual who trained their entire life to be a silent killer, and who slipped past my senses and that of Ilych’s.
Someone on par with the likes of Khanrow and armed with an invisible, mystical blade.
Morgan had dispatched someone of her grandfather’s caliber in an instant.
With our timetable shrunken by an immense degree, Morgan decided against teaching us and acted.
“Take the forms of goblins and lesser monsters. We play the part of a roving band of monsters heeding the call of the Academy’s people.” A solution that never occurred to either of us, a perfect one that can be used without issue, left her lips. We followed her as she walked out. The commotion drawing our soldiers from the shadows. Their forms were pure black in the shadows, like figures of obsidian. That one was my own idea, though I was sure it occurred to her. Even now, they began to take the shape of humanoid monsters. “Look haggard and hungry. Weak enough that they’ll wish to enslave you and make you pets. Harpies and feral beastwomen. As few men as possible. No, just boys.”
Morgan’s instructions and commands were like a wave, and our forces transformed, before she turned to the two of us.
“We’ve no time for training. Ilych, you will charge in once chaos erupts from within. Head for the opposite gate and keep it shut. Kill everything in your path. Rita, you will support her from afar. Any Champion she faces dies the moment they give you an opening. No matter how small.” Morgan divested herself of her coat, which fell to the ground with a sound closer to metal than thread. She took a look at the dead soldier, nodded, and began taking off her pants and boots. “Mangle those up a bit and give me that invisible blade.”
Ilych handed her the blade, and she put its hilt in her mouth, while I mangled the boots and she ripped apart the pants.
She was making herself out to be a captured prisoner of the monsters that she made the Iterants feign themselves to be.
“I’d give myself a few wounds, but the blood will look too fresh.” Morgan idly commented, before turning her gaze towards the corpse. “Ah, he’ll do.”
Without another word, she took the blood of the dead man and smeared it across her clothes, before shaking her head and making bangs to cover the front of her face.
Hunched over, covered in brackish blood, and ill-fitted, ruined clothes… she transformed just as the Iterants did.
She was heading into an enemy camp without her tools and armor and trinkets with only an invisible blade whose exact enchantments she did not yet know.
But… I had no doubt that she would accomplish her mission.
I only doubted my own ability.
Such was the existence that was Morgan of House Darrin.
She looked over her shoulder, standing tall after briefly hunching over and making herself small, and addressed the Iterants once gain.
“Strap the poisons to the backs of twenty. They’ll stay behind. You’re all going to run through and dump the substance in the control room the moment the gates open. Give us thirty minutes at most, then start running.” The Iterants all heeded her, and now they all had new faces and forms. The monsters that the Academy’s army would see as prey for pleasure, when in truth they were all lethal opponents that would slaughter them in hand to hand. Most of all Morgan. She looked at us in the guise of a slave with only an unfamiliar knife in her possession. “Sorry, but I’ll be killing eight of the mass-produced fools. We’ll find a better time for you two to learn later.”
With those words, she bound her hands with rope handed to her by an Iterant, and allowed herself to be led into the encampment.
I watched and waited to do my duty alongside Ilych.
My only regret was that I would indeed learn less in this battle than Morgan intended.