Marché blinked, “...Baccharum.”
“You sound surprised.” A long, uncanny smile worked its way onto the Elf’s face, “But don’t let my presence distract you. There’s still an enemy right in front of you.”
The statement was punctuated by a backswing from Mime. His mace passed just inches from Marché’s face. The divine magic was blinding as it drew an arc through the air, but Marché himself remained unharmed, even as the enchantment passed clean through his body.
It was clear from the lack of aggression on Mime’s part that he wasn’t quite sure whether fighting all three of them at once would be worth the risk. His face told Marché everything, painted with a mixture of fury and disappointment through the wicked grate of his helmet. “...Damn it all.” He said, “What does a Star-Eater stand to gain from allying himself with the Order? Unlike a nation, it doesn’t fight for change or justice. The only hope of necromancers is that the world will one day reach its end. How shallow must your worldview be to think you’ve fallen in with the right crowd, Baccharum Silas?”
“Ah, so we’re discussing ethics now, are we?” The Elf replied, “What a pleasant change from gutting one-another. Or are you just trying to buy time until your men arrive? I’ll disappoint you right now by revealing that they’re all dead. How do you think I managed to enter this mine? We Elv can’t just walk through walls, you know - as much as I wish we could.”
Mime frowned, “Do you feel indebted to these men for saving your life?”
“Please don’t try to convince me of their evil natures.” Baccharum shook his head, “I’ve made my bed, and now I’ll sleep in it. Throwing my lot in with the Order was the only way to survive, but the more time I was given to ponder our relationship, the more I realised that we aren’t so different.”
Mime furrowed his brow, “You damn fool!”
He leaped forward and hefted his mace. Marché couldn’t understand how such a tiny man could move so quickly. He was upon Baccharum in less than a second, swinging with such reckless abandon that a stray hit to the walls could have brought the ceiling down on all of them.
Baccharum’s thin, elongated limbs made him seem like some kind of insect as he weaved around Mime’s blows, almost playful in his dancing movements, dagger clutched in one fist but never committing to a counterattack. Something about his nonchalant attitude must have lit a fire in the Dwarf’s soul, whose mace found its mark within a flurry of whiffs, sending Baccharum into a backwards tumble.
“The world shouldn’t be forced to accommodate a heartless fool like yourself!” Mime yelled, “Allying yourself with necromancers, as if seeking death is somehow honourable or rational! The burden of conscience is what separates us from the likes of beasts! We live, we struggle, we fall, only to lift ourselves up and try again! We grow out of these utopian ideals in the twilight of our youths! The Order’s goal is nothing but a genocidal farce!”
Blood trickled from the torn bruise on Baccharum’s cheek. Marché noticed that he took the hit well, considering how passive he’d been during the events of Tonberg. He had never seen an Elf fight prior to that day, and was left hoping he’d never have to face one down himself.
“...You have a good arm, brother of Alberich.” Baccharum ran his fingers over the wound, “Courageous, heroic, charismatic… some would question how your brother ever became king with you as his competition.”
Mime was backing towards the shaft leading out from the mine proper as he replied, “Alberich was chosen as all kings are. I myself bore witness to his bravery as he felled the Sunset Wyrm dwelling in the mountain’s belly.”
“Do you mean to suggest that you also participated in the trial to become king?” Baccharum asked, “If so, I can only wonder: is sovereignty determined by he who fells the dragon, or he who lands the killing blow? Wouldn’t you say it’s only fair to consider the former as proof of royal worthiness, rather than the latter?”
“You have no idea of the debt I owe my brother. I would not expect a man who involves himself with necromancers to understand.” Mime said, “The mountains will not fall today, just as they have not fallen for the entirety of our nation’s existence. If even a shred of your humanity remains, Baccharum Silas, then you will abandon this folly and stand with the living against this undead plague that infests our world.”
And with that, he was gone, sprinting into the darkness, his targets still alive and well. It was, by all accounts, a complete victory, though Marché couldn’t quite bring himself to call it that.
“Humanity…” Baccharum repeated, “I do wonder. Hope has been absent from my life for so long that I’ve been numbed to just about anything resembling happiness. What other path exists for me other than this?”
Roland stumbled towards him, one hand cradling the gash cutting through his face. “We didn’t part on the best of circumstances last time, did we?” He asked.
“We did not.” Baccharum sheathed his dagger without looking.
Roland flinched in pain as he wrinkled his nose, “Then why the sudden change of heart?”
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“There is no place left for me beyond a fold of indiscriminate murderers with nothing but the end of the world on their minds.” He answered, “Am I tired? Vengeful? Insane? For lack of hope, I submerged myself in a life of crime, using my fortune to benefit those impacted by the Church of the Golden Dragon. But now those downtrodden fools are dead, and the world I know has crumbled into dust yet again. Would another path untoward oblivion ever reveal itself to me, Roland Ken?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know.”
“Hm.” Baccharum smirked, “I appreciate the candour.”
“It’s not my responsibility to pin down the loyalties of those who follow us.” Roland continued, “Lieze will be the one to judge you. In the meantime, I could care less about someone’s personal philosophy as long as they’re an ally at the end of the day.”
“An ‘ally’ might have stepped in to help when a Dwarf was trying to cave my skull in.”
“I wasn’t getting anywhere near that mace. You’re vastly overestimating how useful Marché and I are in a fight.” Roland paused, “...Speaking of, we should really be on our way. Mime might have retreated for now, but he’ll return with soldiers aplenty. We need to regroup with the Deathguards before Lieze makes her way into the mountains.”
“The path here was devoid of activity.” Baccharum wandered towards the exit, “Alberich’s men will be convalescing in the Royal Delve, preparing themselves for an arduous bump with Lieze’s army. Time is of the essence if we want to face them at anything short of their best.”
Roland nodded, “Then we’d better not waste any more time chatting.”
----------------------------------------
Battle Report: Dwarves (multiple) (x1,190) Total XP Earned - 14,512
Level Up! You are now level [53] HP + 5 MP + 50 MIND + 1
The alchemy table couldn’t have seemed less out of place on that wasteland. Deathguards, lost in a daze of communion, serviced the wounds and tears of nearby thralls while others picked through the remains of fallen warriors. Lieze, meanwhile, moved into the barracks beyond the gate’s perimeter to raise any spare corpses, sifting her way through drawers and desks for potions and magical items.
“There weren’t any sorcerers during the battle…” She muttered, “The Dwarves really are dependent on these machines of theirs. I wonder how many more they have tucked away in the depths of the mountain?”
“Talking to yourself, Lieze?” Drayya appeared in the doorway, “It’s a sign of madness.”
“Call me mad, then. I couldn’t care less.” She didn’t turn around, “Have you found anything interesting? The only amenities these Dwarves seem to need are ale and potato bread. How did they ever manage to flourish in this region without magic?”
“You managed to pull it off, didn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have claimed to be ‘flourishing’ in those days. More like ‘surviving’ - no, not even that. ‘Dying’ is a better word. It was like having a pair of hands wrapped around my neck for two decades, and with every passing year, they squeezed just a little tighter.”
“Mm.” Drayya’s smirk fell, “...Sorry.”
“I’ve already forgiven you, haven’t I? You don’t need to apologise.” She said, “...I’d like to understand you a little better. Why you felt forced to act the way you did back then. But for now, we have to focus on what’s in front of us.”
Drayya nodded, “I just came by to warn you that patching up the entire army will take us the entire day. I know we don’t have that kind of time to spare, so what are your orders?”
“I suppose the Deathguards have done enough.” Lieze slammed a drawer shut and spun around, “I was hoping to find a few mana potions in here, but the Dwarves seem allergic to anything resembling magic. With the casualties from the battle resurrected, we’ve practically recouped our losses anyway. Gather the Deathguards up and have them report to the gate. We’ll be forcing our way in shortly.”
The worst was over, she thought. Out in the open, the siege weapons were at their most deadly. It would be too cumbersome and technical to set up ballistae within the mountains - though she expected a plethora of other contraptions to fill the void, especially when they broke into the Royal Delve.
The miniature passageways of the subterranean city were too small for Rot Behemoths to pass through. Putting them to good use regardless wasn’t too much effort - Lieze entrusted the enormous mountains of flesh to Skeletal Necromancers whom she directed towards the mountains’ alternate entrances to prevent any escape attempts.
“Our first objective is to gain ground within the city’s major districts and drive Alberich’s army back to the Royal Delve.” Lieze launched into her strategy once every thrall had been gathered at the gate, “In doing so, we’ll reunite with Marché and Roland. Once the Dwarves are cornered, we’ll launch an assault on Alberich’s sanctum to take the fortress - and the country - for ourselves.”
She pointed between both halves of the horde, “We’ll operate in three separate groups, each commanded by myself, Drayya, and Lüngen. Once we’ve established our territory, some of you will act as couriers to deliver crucial information between units. The Dwarves operate like well-oiled machines - they’ll have a few tricks up their sleeves, so communication is of the utmost importance if we want to remain undivided.”
Drayya’s raised arm was barely visible over the rotting scalps of Gravewalkers, “I have a question!”
Lieze raised an eyebrow, “...What is it?”
She cleared her throat, “What’s the plan if any of us run into Alberich?”
“I doubt you will. He’ll be holed up in his fortress by the time we move inside.” Lieze answered, “Once we’ve eliminated any possibility of an attack from the rear, we’ll converge on the Royal Delve and wrap up this farce in time for dinner. Until then, focus on quelling resistance and adding civilians to our ranks.”
She turned around, “I’ve said all that needs to be said. Whether you find yourselves under the command of myself, Drayya or Lüngen, follow our orders to the letter. We’ve come too far to crumble from a series of miscommunications.”