V7: Epilogue

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Interlude: Deathmarked

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We did not wish for glory.

We did not wish for power.

We did not wish for riches.

We wished to live.

In the shadow of the great towers that arose in all corners of the world, we wished to live.

But we were denied that right… and I understood why.

We fought and hunted them in their villages and in their lands. We took the rich forests and ancient keeps of their ancestors. We took all that we could from them for countless generations. In all the songs and all the stories of our elders, we roamed from land to land, planting what we took, and plundering when we did not have enough. The settled tribes were a foe to be bested for tools, for mates, and for servants.

Uncountable numbers of seasons passed as such, with us doing as we and our ancestors did, until the great towers arose and brought an end to it all.

So many generations of plundering and taking were being repaid unto us now.

Our former foes were now our destroyers and we now struggled to live just a moment longer.

…

The sound of thunder was constant in the distance and quickly approaching.

I looked around at the ruin that was our last bastion.

My soldiers were whole, but their minds were beaten. Ears were flat against skulls. Tails tucked. Their eyes were sharp and they stood fast, manning positions behind makeshift heavy weapons and scavenged equipment from the few fallen of our foes. Our supplies were limited to no more than a days worth of meals for us all, but we wouldn’t last that long.

I saw it.

The banner of a crow in the distance. One claw holding arrows and the other a scroll. Its wings were outstretched and beak open in a silent screech of victory. Silver threads on a blue banner lined with gold.

I knew our end was near.

We fought against the Wardens. Their blood ran wild in battle and they cared not for death. They were quick, effective, and powerful warriors herded towards the enemy. Not soldiers. We faced them on equal terms, and we could find victory after defeating them, then retreating before their shamans arrived.

We fought against the Guardians. They marshalled Undead against us, many armed with firearms, but theirs were weaker and lacked accuracy. We hid and flanked them, destroying them before they could fire, and seized many of their weapons and turned it against them. We only had to run when their finest warriors arrived, covered in the spirits of the fallen and in darkness, as they charged upon Undead steeds that felt no fear.

Against both we could run away, regroup, harry them, and buy time.

But the force that approached us was beyond both.

Against them we could only break.

Many tribes were under the King of Wisdom’s banner and their strengths were brought to bear, as their weaknesses were extinguished. The Descendants covered themselves in thick armor and stood side by side and trained themselves to quickly respond with flame and pike. Ambushing them only allowed them to fire in every direction. The few Children of the Elm amongst them were scouts that heralded disaster and were scarcely seen, while none who met their Conquerors lived to tell the tale. In but a few months, they also accepted soldiers of the Forgers, and made their frontline near impenetrable.

Their shamans were defended and far from battle. They saw through long lenses and fired magics upon buildings and cleared the way. Even large piles of rubble were heated until molten. They advanced upon us slowly, but steadily. Hundreds of Undead sent to slow them only died, wasted, no matter the number nor kind that was sent. The constant crack of gunfire, the constant push and pull of pikes, the rise and fall of hammers, while magic fired from above… it was almost impossible to surmount.

We could’ve slowed their step, diverting the strength of their might for a few days, but they had unleashed horror upon us from their flying castle.

I still remembered it.

Shards of pure white metal with four legs and two arms all composed of blades. They fell from the sky covered in ice and came alive once they hit the ground and it shattered. For less than an hour, they had been active, but that was all they had needed. Our defenses were cut apart into ribbons, barricades undone as they skittered alongside walls and leapt at us, and so many died leaving only mincemeat studded with bone and viscera. The streets were filled with blood and bone, so many died in that singular moment, only for Conquerors to use the moment to blow apart the gates and let the armies outside enter without even having to contend against our walls.

That was just two days ago.

Now they were at the foot of our tower and approaching… with their general at their front.

A shiver went down my spine as my destiny met my gaze and beckoned for me to come forward.

I rose and ignored the cacophony of questioning voices aimed my way.

All except one.

My daughter took hold of my hand and tried to hold me back.

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Half her head was covered in clean bandage, her eye lost in the fighting, yet she still stood ready to fight alongside me and the rest of our tribe. We were the Deathmarked, chosen by our last and only hope to survive against the reprisals against our people, and so we did not retreat or surrender. On every hill, in every forest, and every mountain pass, we fought against the armies that threatened our lord.

So, I went forth with our banner in hand to meet the general of the King of Wisdom whose power dwarfed my own completely.

Plain and without gold or carvings, the armor the general wore was stout and strong with overlapping plates and armor in many weaknesses. Those of the Academy, our now dead foes, had armor rich in luster and riches, but had weaknesses at the neck, armpits, and back of the legs. The one worn by the massive general before me lacked all those weaknesses, and I was sure that I would find none no matter where I looked.

The axe on he held was as long as I was tall and rippled with power. He held it like a toy with one hand, as he took off his fearsome, horned helmet with a gauntleted hand.

At first, I thought I was beaten by a young man in his prime, until I looked into his eyes.

No, I realized the truth when I looked into eyes like that of the wisest sages.

Everlasting youth was granted to a warrior with more years in combat than I have lived.

“I see you’re still armed. To the death, then, chieftain?” He spoke our tongue with difficulty. Descendants struggled to speak as we did. However, he made do, and I understood him clearly. “Don’t you wish to spare your people this struggle? There is no glory here.”

He stated his truth, his view, and I stated mine.

“Nay, there is glory to be had. Our people have surrendered, but they will hear and listen that their most valiant fought to the very end.” We had watched as our people were accepted and as they were flown away. They knelt and their lives were spared. It was a cruel mercy. Our ways and lives were lost forever, and they were to pay for the actions of our ancestors for the rest of their lives. Many of those too weak to fight nearly took their lives knowing their fate as pets and playthings for the conquerors. Only the words of elders, who admonished them, stopped them from doing so. We had done the same to them, and many of them did not end their lives, but instead struggled. “We are warriors and we deserve the deaths of warriors. By the blade, not by the whip or fatigue or starvation.”

“If it’s death by battle you seek, there are the foes this army is meant to fight. They are beyond strength. So, we seek all that we can find.” The general spoke seriously. His voice was light and throat dull. The words and speech of our people did not come forth well from his tongue. He had no snout and muzzle and his face bereft of fur. His scent was of metal and oil without a hint of nature. He was a Descendant through and through. But his words. I could hear no lie. “You must believe we do this out of hate. That we strike against your attempt to make a kingdom of your own. That is not true. We do this because we need all that we can muster to fight a greater threat. Threats that treat us and your peoples beyond the mountains as slaves and meat.”

A thought.

No, it was more a dream, as flittered in the back of my mind.

Surrender and accept to fight these future foes of the King of Wisdom.

To fight and die against the threats so feared by this general who I can never surmount.

Then, as quickly as I considered it, the dream vanished.

That would still be surrender.

“Then, let this be the day I and those with me prove the worth of my people who have already surrendered. This day when we cross blades shall be the moment where I prove my people are not cowards and are worthy warriors all.” I spoke, and the general closed his eyes and nodded with deep regret. He fastened his helm and met my gaze. Through the visor of the helmet, I could not see his eyes. I saw only the implacable assurance of death. “I die here today along with my warriors, but I ask of you to witness us, general of the King of Wisdom. Witness us and see the worth of the people you have taken.”

With a clenched fist pressed against his heart, he spoke through his helm.

“I swear it on the souls of my ancestors. I will witness you and your people, chieftain.”

With that said, he turned away back to his troops, and I did the same knowing full well that I would not be struck down as he did.

Today we fight, and today we die to prove the worth of our people.

…

We were met with the absolute strength of the King of Wisdom’s forces.

A new tactic made specifically to allow for their forces to function properly in a city’s confines.

The Forgers were held back, and we faced the pikes and firearms of the enemy head-on. Standing shoulder to shoulder, our position was assaulted by armored men presenting a wall of pikes, and between them came forth the sharp cracks of rifles. In the wind, we smelled Conquerors moving to flank us, led by Children of the Elm guides through the rubble of the city. The Conquerors, meanwhile, waited for the chance to charge alongside the general and break us completely.

Our doom came forth, however, from the mages we could not even see.

From afar came not balls of flame, nor strikes of lighting, but lances of light that broke apart our meagre fortifications and superheated stone. Any caught by the attack blew apart, their bodies bursting instantly as they were overwhelmed with heat and their bodies came apart unable to hold fast. Then, as those opening salvos finished, above us formed liquid earth and quagmires of mud formed at our feet and weighed us down. Then, flashes of light and crackling noise bombarded our forces.

Struck with magic, then slowed, blinded, and deafened.

We could barely react, let alone put up an active defense, against the coming tide.

Our shamans died the moment they tried to cast counterspells let alone unmake the magics that struck us. The best of our warriors were cut down or swung wildly at foes still too far from their reach. Our few firearms that functioned after the deluge of mud discharged into nothingness, or own soldiers, and they were impossible to reload with the constant din of noise and blinding light.

I barely saw or felt the enemy arrive, I only smelled the scent of steel in the air, and then everything came undone with the constant, sure fire of all the rifles aimed our way.

The scent of blood blossomed all around me, overcoming even the stench of gunpowder and mud. Burnt fur, undone viscera, and the scent of powdered bone filled my nose. While we were blinded, deafened, and slowed to a crawl, they were not. They saw us in our ruined cover, and they fired, they advanced with their pikes, and they killed us.

When the constant magic ended, when we could see, over half of us were already dead.

My daughter amongst them.

But, still, as soon as I could see, as soon as I could fight, I roared and dragged our banner out of the mud.

My heart sang and leapt as the roars of the last remaining warriors roared beside me and charged with me.

We were ready to die against the pikes, against the rifles, but such was not to be.

Two horns rang out, and with mechanical uniformity, the pikes and shots retreated and divided in half.

Allowing the general and the Forgers at the back to charge forward and meet us.

The King of Wisdom’s banner was at their back, while our own flew in my hand.

I hoped it was enough.

In the face of their greatest strategy, we lost half our number, but still we rallied and fought.

In the face of their overwhelming cunning, we lost our eyes, ears, and ability to move, but we still rallied and fought.

In the face of sheer strength and power, with half our number, we held our banner high and charged forward to kill our foes.

I hoped dearly that it was enough, as the general reached me and raised his axe, and with a singular strike cut me in twain while the Forgers rushed past us to bring the rest of my warriors low.

He loomed over me, kneeling by my side, and I could sense sorrow and frustration both behind his helmet.

“Farwell, last chieftain, die well knowing your people have not been found wanting.”

His words reached me, and what I had left clinging to life loosened, and soothing darkness began to overtake me.

My last sight was him taking my banner from my hand and planting it beside where I lay, straight into stone.

A marker for me and all my warriors to ensure we were remembered.