The amount of time I have spent in my study thinking on a weapon that would crush the warlocks has consumed me. All the while the two huge armies continue to march rapidly upon the city. The mercenaries were the first to begin fleeing the city in search of coin that is less dangerous. The witches continue to refuse any tasks I give them. All of them busy vying for political power within the city, which has caused warring factions to rise up within the city. The city has been divided into sectors where advocates fight on the streets for their witch allies. In order to restore normality I have called up the city’s militia to place the city in lockdown and create a curfew. Then an idea struck me while I was watching a group of advocates in purple mantles fighting a group of advocates in green mantles. Humans could be the weapon I was searching for all along to end this war. Humans are by nature flexible, adaptable and most importantly lethal. Something will have to be done about their minds, but, yes, humans will do nicely. I will set Lady Sandria to working on a control hex.
Journal Entry 2: Project Salvation, written by Lady Kora of House Firm Arm
As their journey in the night began to lengthen, Raid’s legs felt like they would collapse at any moment; his silver shirt and trousers were soaked in his sweat causing the fabric to cling to his firm body. He rubbed his sore, reddening eyes that struggled to stay awake and prayed they were nearing their goal. He turned his gaze from studying his feet to check on his companions.
Trogon was puffing away, carrying the young girl cradled in his arms. His face was dripping with sweat and his eyelids were drooping. “You alright there, Trogon, you want me to carry her for a bit?” Trogon shook his head determinedly, flicking sweat from his bare scalp into the air. Raid grinned at his friend’s stubborn pride, unwilling to show weakness, and turned to Lady Mira. He could tell immediately she wouldn’t last long; women like her rarely travel by foot anywhere and she was no exception. But he had to give her points for pushing herself so hard, and coaxed his feet to walk along beside her. As Raid got closer to her, he noticed the wet splotches on Mira’s blue dress on her back and under her arms. Her mouth was agape, drawing in long, ragged breaths, and her lips were parched dry.
Raid trotted up alongside her. “Looks like they’re not going to leave us anytime soon,” commented Raid to Mira as he surveyed the crowd of humanoids that continued to pursue them in the darkness. Added to that was the knowledge that they were straining to even walk, whereas the magically enhanced humanoids were still able to race back and forth striking the shields of pure light with their swords to see if it was weakening.
Lady Mira, in between pants, gasped out, “My cube won’t last another two hourglasses, Raid, we need a plan.”
Her fear and desperation for rest touched a nerve in Raid, worrying him that she wouldn’t make it. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and spoke confidently. “We will make it, Mira, Galigan's farm is only a couple of miles ahead.” She gazed at him with her soulful brown eyes, her golden visage coated in glistening sweat. Raid’s mouth went dry at the affection he saw in her eyes, which took him aback; how was this possible? Wasn’t she the same woman who had tried to kill him for ruining her dress? Now she was infatuated with him; it can’t be, he thought, I must be seeing things. Ahead Raid could see the sun rising, casting red tendrils in the sky and to his joy he could see the farm where the army his friend commanded was encamped.
The farm was fortified with wooden spikes driven into the earth, the sharp points fanning outwards. “We are nearly there,” he shouted in delight, pointing his arm towards the encampment that was bustling with men in full plate armour rushing out of their green tents, armour clanking as they readied themselves to defend themselves against the encroaching threat, mobilising into solid ranks of soldiers in shiny, plate armour that were formed into rows of six behind the wooden stakes. Their diamond shields were locked together to make a wall of impenetrable steel, bristling with swords that were drawn.
Raid, seeing safety so close at hand, shouted to his companions, “RUN,” and jerked his legs forward in an ungainly run across the brown, stale earth, staying beside Lady Mira in case she needed help. He jogged along beside her as he forced his legs to move up and down. The humanoids, catching sight of the waiting war host, realised that their prey was going to get away from them. They reacted with deadly speed, throwing themselves against the cube of light’s four walls, frantically trying to get to them. Hundreds of them fell into the dead brown grass, wailing as flames consumed their bodies. The smell of meat cooking choked the air, making Raid’s belly rumble with hunger.
The smarter humanoids hung back from attacking the magic defences, watching and waiting for an opening. Only a few feet away from the encampment, they were going to make it, thought Raid happily; they were going to make it. Lady Mira, distracted by the humanoids throwing their lives away, lost her balance and tumbled to the earth with a thump, banging her head against the hard packed earth, knocking herself unconscious. Without Lady Mira controlling the cube of light, the four walls evaporated into mist in seconds.
The remaining humanoids howled in glee as the walls of light vanished. Their black swords rippled in the air as the humanoids lunged forward to kill. Raid sighed in anguish at being so close to safety and stopped running. He swung himself around to face the oncoming wave of humanoids, his beautiful wooden sword in hand. Time to earn my pay, I suppose, he thought. Trogon’s footsteps faltered as he saw his human friend turn to fight. His hand went to his back to pull out his axe, when Raid’s voice called to him. “Go, take them to safety, Trog, I will hold them back,” he said firmly. Trogon knew in his heart Raid would not be swayed from this path. He hauled Lady Mira up onto his left shoulder.
Hefting Kara under his arm and Mira on his shoulder, he gave Raid a nod of respect at his gesture before lumbering off towards the waiting line of soldiers. With his friends safe, Raid focused his attention on the task at hand. The humanoids shrieked as they came towards him, their faces filled with scorn at the lone human come to challenge them.
Raid, sick of running, sick of being taunted, unleashed his pent-up rage and fury in an ear-piercing scream of molten hate at the humanoids. With the possibility of death looming Raid felt his excitement surge within him as his body was thrown into the adrenaline rush, overloading him with new energy to renew his diminishing strength. With the war chant upon his lips he met the black blades of the humanoids.
Humanoids struck at him from all sides, their obsidian blades speeding towards him, causing their black robes to flutter with their quick movements. Raid was forced again and again to anticipate the enemy whose speed had him spinning and leaping back in retreat to block their deadly quick attacks. With at least thirty humanoids circling him, Raid concentrated on parrying sword thrusts at them, while seeking opportunities to counter attack.
He ducked and rolled on the craggy surface to cleave his blade into the legs of a humanoid to his left and soared to his feet as he worked his blade again, knocking aside slashes that blurred through the air towards him. With his surge of adrenaline gone Raid felt fatigue setting in, so took more risks, weaving his way in the mass of black-robed bodies to try and end the fight early, only to receive gashes to his sword arm and legs, releasing trickles of blood to further weaken him.
Knowing the black-robed arm of death would take him soon he began bellowing the war chant of his people. “MY ARMS ARE STRONG I WILL DEFEND MY LAND” he chanted as he faked a retreat and spun on his heels to chop the head off a humanoid attempting to stab him in the back. The head bounced to the dense earth with a thunk; the humanoid’s body stayed upright for a few moments before toppling to the dust. “MY LEGS ARE FAST I WILL NEVER BE LATE” he panted and slammed his blade into the chest of a humanoid tripping over the headless corpse on the ground. “MY LIPS SPEAK TRUTH TO HIGH AND LOW” he screamed as two humanoids struck at him simultaneously with their dead black blades.
Without conscious thought he used his free arm to grab the grubby black robes of the humanoid to his left and tossed the creature at his companion who slipped out of the way to avoid the flying humanoids. With the humanoid distracted, Raid struck with deadly grace, hacking his blade into the humanoid’s arms and chest furiously. The surprised humanoid picked up its hacked-off arm and stared at it with its wolf eyes, as blood spouted out from its arm and chest to drench the earth.
The battered humanoid Raid had thrown was moving to get to its feet, when the heel of Raid’s boot slammed hard into its back, pressing it into the earth; the humanoid was struggling to get up when he thrust home his blade in between its shoulder blades. “MY EYES I WILL USE TO HUNT MY FOES” he puffed out exhaustedly, his lungs aching for air, his arms burning and his ribs squeezing him. A final thought occurred to him as he fought for breath and life: that this could be the end.
As if in response to his thought the land around him shook, and the earth rumbled. “MY HEART WILL KNOW WHAT IS RIGHT AND WRONG”: ten thousand voices cried out the ancient war cry, tearing the air with its thunderous sound. Raid, startled by the noise, barely twisted out of the way from a sword thrust to his head. The humanoids seemed equally stunned by the strange sound. Raid swiftly took this opportunity to look behind him, and gave a dry chuckle at the gorgeous sight brought before him.
Rank upon rank of heavy, plate-armoured infantry were charging across the rocky field, led by Daok and Trogon. The thud of twenty thousand boots of soldiers in heavy armour rattled the earth, their voices booming out as they ran to Raid’s rescue, “MY MIND TO GUIDE MY PATH TO LIGHT”. The humanoids, terrified by the well-armed war host running at them, dropped their pitch-black blades and fled. Raid, with a relieved sigh, let himself drop to the rough earth to sit down and catch his breath. Soldiers in the war gear of Mantorial streamed by to either side of him to chase the fleeing humanoids, hoping to kill the ones too slow. A few of the men passing him in their plate armour banged their swords against their shields, honouring him for his bravery.
Raid knew, however, that he had reacted instinctively; if he had thought it through he would have never foolishly thrown himself at the humanoids like that. The risks he took in that fight should have gotten him killed a dozen times over. Fighting an entire mob of bloodthirsty humanoids gifted with the strength, speed and sight of animals was probably the daftest thing he had ever done. Replaying the moment in his mind, he pictured Mira falling again and the overwhelming dismay he had felt combined with the need to save her. He wondered, if he had to do it again, would he? The truth was, he probably would; the thrill of battle and the glorious adrenaline rush was far too addictive to pass up.
He got up, stretching his sore arms, and dusted off his silver trousers, then wiped clean the blood that had smirched his Mantorian blade using the robes of a dead humanoid. He watched for a moment as the humanoids disappeared in the distance, easily outpacing the heavily armoured infantry. His belly groaned with a savage hunger, reminding him he had not eaten in a good long while. He turned away from the pursuing army and headed towards the barricaded farm where four men in full grey plate armour stood guarding the entrance to the hastily made fortifications. Pennants with the tree of Mantoria flew in the wind on steel poles driven into the earth to either side of them. The ground around the farm was blocked off by a series of pits dug into the earth and filled in with sharpened stakes. Erected at the four corners of the encampment were four short watch towers with soldiers stationed within with good eyesight to keep watch.
As he drew closer he could smell the scent of pork roasting on spits within the camp; he licked his lips. The men guarding the entryway greeted Raid with swords bashing against shields. Raid nodded his head humbly, acknowledging the honour they were doing him. With crisp discipline drilled into them over years of training, they cleared a path for him, breaking to their side before him evenly and snapping their swords erect. Raid, with his mind already drooling over the roasted pork he could almost taste, asked absentmindedly, “The women I came with, where are they?”
The man to his left replied stiffly, “They’re in the farmhouse with Lady Shila, who is tending to their wounds.”
Great, thought Raid. Another witch. Nodding his thanks to the men he went inside. The soldiers closed ranks behind Raid, stamping their feet as they moved. Upon entering the camp Raid could see that it was nearly deserted with a majority of the soldiers having sallied forth leaving behind servants and young men too young for melee combat. Following his nose, he walked past rows of brightly coloured green tents that were formed into ten sections, familiar with the workings of the army. Raid knew that in each section of the camp bands of brothers of the same company worked together, fought together and ate together alongside ten elder brothers that ensured the discipline of the company. To hasten the mustering of troops into formation in battle situations, the Mantorial army had devised the stone system, where painted white stones with arrows scratched into them were laid out onto the ground for the ten companies to follow, directing each company to open grounds where banners on wooden poles were placed for the troops to form up behind.
Raid stopped briefly to study the banners that fluttered in the air, staring at the banner he had served under for a year, the image of white bone shattered in two on a field of green representing the bone breaker company. He pondered for a moment, if any of the men he had fought alongside were here, and if they were? what would they make of him now? With that, Raid continued towards the rickety old farmhouse ahead, probably now used as a command post. Servants shuffled in between the rows of tents wearing green uniforms with the tree stitched into the left breast. His nose finally brought him to his destination, where six roastings pigs were hanging on spits, slowly roasting in their juices, tended to by half a dozen soldiers out of their grey plate armour, wearing leather jerkins.
His stomach rumbled again, telling him to stop sniffing the food. He strode over the nearest spit, the heat washing across his face from the flames licking the pig. The pig was being rotated on the spit by a stout young man with a scar on his neck. His black hair was swept back and tied up in a small ponytail. His light blue eyes were focused on the pig, as his well-muscled arms dripped oil onto it to add flavour. A long rectangular table was laid out to his left stacked with empty tin plates, and arranged in order of size were four wickedly sharp knives.
Approaching the young man cautiously, he enquired politely, “May I have some, soldier, I am starving?”
The man looked up at him with his pale blue eyes and scanned him head to foot. “You’re not a soldier, piss off,” said the young man and went back to rotating the pig.
“No, you’re correct, I AM NOT, but I just came here from the town of Mantria chased by a bunch of black-robed bastards and would like something to eat,” said Raid hotly, his hand almost going to the sword at his side.
The man gazed up at him again, studied Raid’s worn-out appearance and nodded his head. With the skill that comes from years of practice, the man grabbed a knife from the table and carved off a piece of the pig’s thigh and slapped it on a tin plate, before handing it to Raid. Raid’s anger at the soldier’s infuriating manner disappeared, replaced with hunger. He took the proffered tin plate with a thick slab of pork on top and walked slowly towards the farmhouse.
He tried to wait for the pork to cool down, but he was unable to resist the delicious aroma that wafted up from the plate. He brought the tin plate up to his nose and bit into the succulent pork, his lips and tongue burned from the taste of dripping hot pork. He chewed and swallowed the searing hot pork and wiped the oil that dribbled down his chin. He continued to eat, savouring each bite, so that by the time he had reached the farmhouse the tin plate was clean, with his belly warm and satisfied at last.
He looked at the dilapidated farmhouse, with its broken windows and mould that was spreading out like a dress at the house’s base. The floorboards on the stairs leading to the door were bent out of shape. The door was the only thing on the farmhouse that appeared in working shape. It was a glossy brown, with an intricate framework of flowers arranged along the borders and a shiny bronze doorknob. He carefully climbed up the three steps that led up to the door, the wood creaking beneath him with each step, and rapped his knuckles against the tough oak door.
The door swung inward to reveal a slender young man in a green tunic with a horse stitched in black on his right breast. The boy had a sprinkle of pimples on his milky white skin, jet black eyes and short tree brown hair that stuck to his scalp with sweat. Raid judged the boy to be around the age of twelve so must be a messenger; the boy spoke first in a high-pitched voice. “Wadda yah wan?”
Raid, trying hard not to laugh at the sound of the boy’s voice, replied, “I would like to see my friends who were brought here to be cared for.”
The boy’s eyes perked up with interest, his sour face rearranging into awe. “Were you the one that fought a whole bunch of those rippers on your own?” asked the boy excitedly.
Raid snorted with amusement. “Rippers?”
The boy nodded his head frantically. “It’s what we call those things in black robes, on account of their blades being so sharp they rip right through yah.” An apt name, thought Raid with a grimace.
Reflecting on what his father had told him about obsidian blades, and how these blades were designed by witches to drain the blood from the body to debilitate their enemies, Raid nodded. “Yes, that was me; now will you let me in?” Raid saw that the boy clearly wished to ask more questions. So he waved his arms in the air to calm the over excited boy. “I will tell you all about it later, I promise,” said Raid. The boy reluctantly opened the door wider, and let Raid in.
The inside of the farmhouse was nice and cosy, with a roaring fireplace, newly placed logs crackling in the flames and four varnished wooden chairs sitting around the fireplace drawing in its warmth. The floor was furnished with an enormous rug, with the tree woven into the centre with men in polished silver-plated armour sheltering beneath its branches. The oak walls of the farmhouse held shelves with hunting trophies. The bulk of the hunting trophies were skulls of Orcs with their two tusks poking out from their mouths and diminutive goblin skulls. So this farmer had to have been a soldier or hunter once, thought Raid.
A strong, hearty voice interrupted his speculation. “Ahh, it’s always nice to see people enjoying the sight of my trophies,” boasted a big man clothed in a leather jerkin that was cut off to expose hairy arms the size of logs, and carrying a heavy dusting of grey in his hair, with clear sapphire eyes in a lined, rugged face.
He gave Raid a broad grin as he came into the main room and offered him a calloused hand to shake. Raid gripped the man’s hand in a solid handshake. “Name’s Baldrick; I own this farm, inherited it from my father Galigan,” said the man in a hearty voice.
“I am Raid,” he replied, then turned his attention back to the rows of skulls on the shelves and indicated his finger to the enormous skull on the top shelf on its own. “What creature was that?” The big man smiled in appreciation of a man that liked skulls.
“That, my friend, was the skull of an ogre; you can tell by the size of their jawbone, which is bigger than a giant’s,” replied Baldrick in a cocky voice. “Killed the beast on me own, using me own bare hands to strangle the big bastard,” boasted Baldrick.
Raid glanced at the man’s arms: he could believe it. Never one to back away from a boasting contest Raid smugly said, “That’s nothing; knocked out a giant in the forest of Mantoria two days ago, with a pair of rusted daggers.”
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Baldrick guffawed, grin spreading all over his face. “Pfft, I slaughtered a whole army of Orcs, bashing them to death with a stick I found,” shrugged Baldrick.
Raid chuckled. “Impressive,” he commented, still chuckling, “but I butchered thousands of rippers on my way here, with a broken hand.” The big man roared with laughter at that boast and clapped Raid on the back with his porky hand.
“You, Raid, have the heart of a warrior,” chortled the farmer. Raid grinned at the compliment from the seasoned warrior.
Baldrick’s laughter eventually dissipated and he asked, “What brings you here? You a part of the army?”
Returning to his task, Raid responded, “I am here to see Lady Mira and the young girl that was brought here to be cared for.” Baldrick grunted upon hearing Raid was here to visit a witch.
“A witch follower, huh?” said Baldrick bitterly. Raid wanted to clear up the misunderstanding, but knew it would take too long. So he simply said “Yes” to the big man’s assertion. Baldrick nodded his head to the hallway behind him. “Go down the hallway, they’re in the third room on your left,” said Baldrick in a stony voice. Raid, uncomfortable with the sudden change in the man’s demeanour, went to leave the room. Baldrick, however, did not budge to let him through; his large frame blocked the way.
Raid knew he could kill this fool in an instant, but decided to try some tact. “Will you let me through?” asked Raid, careful to not snarl at the man.
Baldrick’s steady blue eyes scrutinised him with intense dislike. “So you’re a witch advocate, are yah?” growled Baldrick, his hands clenched into fists the size of rockmelons.
Raid’s eyes fastened onto the big man’s cold, blue ones, engaging him in a battle of wills, the air tensed around them, as if in expectation of an explosion.
Their battle of wills was interrupted by a woman gliding into the main room. She wore a similar dress to Lady Mira, wearing a finely cut yellow silk dress, embroidered with flowers on the waist and bodice that she fit a bit too snugly. She was plump, with long flame-coloured hair that fell to her waist, a stern face with wrinkles giving her the appearance of wisdom and piercing green eyes. It was clear from the moment she walked into the room with the arrogant expression on her face and the way she held herself full of pride that she was a witch. So this is Lady Shila, thought Raid with a groan; she looks like a pain. “Baldrick, if you will leave, I wish to talk to this young man,” said Shila in a severe voice, which fully expected Baldrick to comply right away.
Baldrick’s lips twisted into a bitter smile at the idea of being commanded to leave his own home. Brushing aside Raid, he stomped off and exited the farmhouse, leaving Raid with Lady Shila, who scrutinised him with her emerald green eyes. Raid felt a twinge of anxiety at the woman staring at him like he was an item to be bought at market. Disliking the way she was appraising him, he spoke. “Look, I am just here to make sure my friends are okay,” he said as politely as possible without sounding sarcastic.
Lady Shila mouth snapped, “I did not tell you to speak.” Raid’s hands itched to strangle this obnoxious idiot. Only sheer will and the possibility his friend Daok would be forced to execute him stopped him from doing anything foolish. Seeing his mouth shut close with a click, she smiled warmly and continued studying him for another five minutes before speaking. “You said friends, so that would mean you’re here to see Lady Mira as well; interesting that, considering she is a witch,” she commented to herself. Raid opened his mouth, only to be shushed. “Quiet, I’m thinking.” Raid’s face flushed red with unconcealed anger at the way she was treating him. “Good,” she said in a satisfied voice. “You keep control of your temper well and you are friends with a witch; you could be a very useful tool,” and touched her lips thoughtfully.
She then floated towards the doorway leading out of the farmhouse and with a last parting comment said, “I will see you later; for now, tend to your friends,” and left. Raid’s mouth gaped open at her sudden departure, thinking on what she said. Had she really called him a useful tool, and what was she planning for him, exactly? Not wishing to know, Raid grumbled, “Damn witches” under his breath and negotiated his way past the chairs set by the fireplace to head to the hallway.
The hallway was narrow, with walls topped with light brown, wooden panels to either side. Crossing the tight hallway he examined the floorboards, which were made of rich brown wood he had never seen before. Could it be Mantorian wood? Tossing it aside for another day, he arrived at the third room on his left and hesitated, sceptical on whether she would want to see him or not. He grasped the shiny silver door knob and went inside.
The room was packed with four simple wooden beds with white sheets, arranged two to either side of the room with small gaps in between them. The walls, like the hallway, were panelled with light brown wood. The sun was up in the bloody red sky, spilling light into the room from a large window with a thick amount of dust caked upon it.
Adjusting his eyes to the sunlight, he located the pair of women on his right. His gaze rested on Kara’s small form tossing and turning in bed, her small oval face sheened with sweat. She was probably having a nightmare, thought Raid with a frown, about the humanoids that had chased them through the night. He then checked on Mira who appeared to be fine with only a small cut on her forehead, marking her unblemished golden skin. A small smile was on her ruby red lips and her expression looked content sleeping beneath the soft white blanket. It was the first time Raid had ever seen her smile; it made her look … kinder, it made her look much kinder.
He stored Mira’s smile in his memory and searched the room for something to sit on, finding a stool in the dark corner of the room. He picked it up and placed it beside the bed Kara was sleeping in. He sat on the uncomfortable stool with a sigh and closed his eyelids to recover his energy using Awakened Rest, an old technique taught to him by his father that allows the body to rest and recover energy while remaining alert for any danger.
Sensing movement his eyes snapped open, as a blade sped towards his throat. He threw himself backwards, falling off the stool, to crash into the floor with a bang. He urgently tucked himself up into a ball and rolled himself up onto his feet. In a blink of an eye his Mantorian blade was unsheathed to meet the new threat. To his immense shock he saw a humanoid towering in front of him, its blooming red skin laid bare to reveal rippling muscles that glowed from the sunlight pouring onto the creature’s back from the open window. The creature had the face of a soldier: a chiselled face, thin lips, iron grey hair and ivory yellow eyes that were overflowing with pitiless savagery waiting to be unleashed.
Raid quickly examined his friends; both of them were still asleep, which was very curious for he was sure to have made enough noise. The unusually broad humanoid mouth jerked open as strings on its mind were tugged. “You have been a thorn in my side, Raid; I know your plan and you will fail,” grated the humanoid unwillingly. Raid was taken aback; this was the second humanoid to speak to him, but this one appeared to be controlled by something.
Pretending confidence, Raid uncoiled his body from viper form to lounging panther and replied while folding his arms, “Is that so?” The humanoid smiled, showing its long, curved teeth at Raid’s bravado.
“You plan to invade Vaskonia with your puny army; it will not be enough, you will die,” and the humanoid barked with laughter. Hearing enough, Raid tossed the stool at the humanoid and attacked. The humanoid’s laughter was cut short as the stool came flying at it. It flickered to the side easily and smashed the stool into pieces with its obsidian longsword, with a casual swing of its midnight blade.
Their blades met with dull thumps as wood clashed against stone repeatedly with blinding speed; Raid fought with everything. The creature whipped daggers at him in a brief opening. Raid rolled aside and came up swinging the humanoid much faster; however, it was already on top of him, slashing at him with strokes of the blade that pressed Raid back. He leapt onto the nearest empty bed to give himself a breather, as he tried to come up with a plan to defeat this deadly beast of a warrior. It sprang into the air with ease, and spun towards Raid. Raid jumped off the bed as the humanoid sliced the bed neatly in two; right down the middle with a resounding crash the bed collapsed.
Raid’s confidence dwindled as the fight progressed; this particular humanoid wasn’t just faster, it was stronger and a lot more cunning, attacking Raid from below and above with its wickedly sharp blade. This wasn’t an average humanoid that he faced in battle, it was different. Raid, distracted by this new realisation, didn’t see the blurring obsidian blade slice into the front of his silver tunic, cutting it open to show the light chain mail beneath.
No longer confident of victory, Raid threw everything into an all-out assault on the humanoid, his sword stabbing furiously towards the hulking humanoid who simply slipped aside before the blade even got close to him. For the first time, Raid knew he was going to lose and despair tore into him. The humanoid slid back and gave Raid a mocking smile with its pointed teeth. “Luck seems on your side today, human; it will not last and you will die,” and in two nimble moves the humanoid flung itself out the window and disappeared below.
Raid raced to the window, searching for the humanoid, but it was gone. Below he saw the wooden barricade that encircled the encampment with green tents on the bare, brown land. He hadn’t really expected to find the humanoid, but the need to overcome his terror in those final moments of the fight was strong.
That’s when he noticed how eerily quiet it was in the camp. Camps were never this quiet; there’s always work to be done in a camp. And where were the damn soldiers that were supposed to patrol the perimeter? thought Raid angrily, when he saw reflected light being bounced off metal next to the row of tents. Leaning forward, he saw that on the ground were three men in full plate armour splayed out on the ground. Are they dead? Did the humanoids attack? His questions were answered as the men on the ground slowly began getting up, shaking their heads.
A voice called to him from behind. “Raid, what is going on? Where am I?” Raid spun around, to see Lady Mira sitting up in bed with a blanket wrapped around her golden shoulders. So she had been naked beneath the blankets, thought Raid with an impish grin: very interesting. Seeing the crafty expression on Raid’s face she said coldly, “I assume this is your doing.”
Raid spread his hands out as if in protest. The humanoid threat forgotten, he replied, “No, it wasn’t me, although I will say this, I do like it when the roles are reversed,” and proceeded to stare at her, mischief sparkling in his flame-coloured eyes.
Lady Mira’s cheeks went a bright red at the memory of her ogling Raid as he dressed. “That was different,” she said in a panic. “I was making sure you were okay.”
Raid felt the crushing weight of fear he had felt moments ago as he battled the humanoid melt away. Marvelling at Mira’s ability to cheer him up, he asked slyly, “So you wouldn’t mind if I watched you dress, to make sure you’re okay?” Mira’s face went a deeper crimson with anger and embarrassment. She screamed at him, “Get out,” and, chuckling, Raid waltzed towards the door and left.
With a spring in his step, Raid walked through the hallway and re-entered the main room to see ten men and women in polished, silver-plated armour with the tree of Mantoria engraved on their chests and shoulders. All of them carried steel conical helmets tucked under their arms that had red plumes sprouting out from the top of them, distinguishing them as officers of the Mantorial army. Not wishing to interrupt their discussion, he moved silently to the back of the room to listen in.
The group of officers of the Mantorial army were huddled together around a rectangular wooden table that must have been brought in from the dining room. Residing on top of the wooden table was a detailed map of Mantorial that had carefully crafted miniature wooden pieces on it to signify troop deployments. The miniature pieces were shaped into soldiers dressed in plate armour to represent the divisions stationed in Mantorial. Ten miniature figures were clustered together between the town of Mantria and the capital Mantoria. On the coast of Mantorial near the town of Fontrel were thirty-eight figures painted black spread over the coastal region.
Raid hoped the scouts were wrong; surely there weren’t thirty-eight thousand humanoids assembling on the coast. Descendent Daok, still in his plate armour caked with dust, stood at the head of the table. His grimy face was tight with anger and despair as he spoke. “I have finally received word from the council in reply to the messenger I sent.” His grim demeanour hinted at the contents of the message had brought. Daok’s green eyes were edged with redness; not wishing the men to see his despair they dropped to stare at the map.
“Gentlemen, the council of witches have deemed the army of humanoids to be a minor threat that can be dealt with by a single Descendent, namely me.” The men around the room groaned, shaking their heads.
One of the Ancestors, a blocky, mature woman with short brown hair, light skin and flinty grey eyes, asked in a hard voice, “Will Patriarch Gortlem be returning to help us at least?”
Daok shook his head sadly. “No, he will not be joining us, he has been commanded to build an army in the valley of traitors, in preparation for an expedition into the Dwarven Kingdoms below ground.” The officers in the room muttered angrily: “Damn witches”; “So much for their protection”; “Better off without witches”.
The muttering was cut off with the appearance of Lady Shila striding into the room to glare at Daok with her cold, green eyes. She poked him in the chest. “I was not made aware of this war council and as your advisor that is unacceptable,” she said in a low hiss. “I would suggest you remedy that immediately, or it might go ill for you,” she finished off with a menacing look. Daok grimaced at the flood of words emitting out of the stout woman’s mouth.
Holding up his left hand to halt her barrage of words he said patiently, “Lady Shila, you might find this difficult to believe, but I did send men to search for you.” She sniffed loudly at that and went to sit on a chair beside the fireplace. Releasing a sigh, Daok pressed on. “We will not be receiving any aid, which makes this next bit of news vital.” Daok’s mouth twisted in a snarl. “Half an hourglass ago, all the men in camp found themselves lying on the ground unconscious; what I want to know is what happened?” demanded Daok, looking around at the faces of the officers. The room was silent.
Lady Shila spoke in a calm voice. “That, my dear, was magic, obviously.” Daok twisted his head to look at her.
“Magic?” his olive complexion darkening. “Aren’t you supposed to protect my men from that?” demanded Daok with barely concealed frustration.
Shila gave Daok a serene smile. “If only that were possible; if I had known when and where the hex would be thrown at us, I might have been able to stop it.” She tapped a plump finger to her lips. “I believe it to be the Torpor hex.” Daok was stunned as were the Ancestors in the room.
“A witch did this?” She nodded her head at Daok’s conclusion.
A muscular man with coal black skin and a thick beard questioned Lady Shila. “Is there nothing we can do to stop it from happening again?”
Lady Shila stared pensively at her fingers before speaking. “Only sure way to ensure it doesn’t happen again would be to find the witch and kill her.” The dark-skinned man rocked back on his heels and stared at the map pensively.
Daok, seeing the despair that was creeping into the faces of the men around him, quickly assumed a commanding voice. “Ancestor Bratem, I want you to gather the best hunters in our army and use them to track down any signs of this witch.” Bratem, a grey-haired veteran with densely packed wrinkles on his face, nodded his head at the order. “Hopefully she will be nearby and we can end the threat she poses swiftly, before we are forced to join battle with the humanoids.” The officers in the room nodded in approval at Daok’s decisive decision.
It was then that Daok noticed Raid standing at the back of the room, analysing the map. “Ancestors, it seems our hero has arisen,” called Daok, a smile cracking his grim face. The officers turned to Raid and began clapping their hands together with approval: most of them, anyway. Startled from his contemplation of the map, Raid glanced up to see everyone in the room smiling and clapping. Raid’s ears heated up and his cheeks grew warm from the congratulations that were showered on him. Daok gestured for Raid to join them at the table. He moved to stand beside the short, stern-faced woman that he had spoken earlier and a young man with carefully cropped black hair, fair skin and blood red eyes.
Daok spoke again, introducing the officers in his army. “This able-bodied fellow to my left is Ancestor Luk.” The ebony-skinned man with facial hair bowed his head to Raid in respect. “This is Ancestor Asuha,” indicating the woman with broad shoulders, black eyes and a stone-hard face. “Further down is Ancestor Petron and his brother Ancestor Gorek,” pointing to the skinny, red-haired men with identical features standing to attention like stiff statues.
“Ancestor Quom over there, be careful with him, the man has a temper.” Quom, a heavily built Orc, with tightly packed muscles grinned at Daok’s compliment. His green skin stood out of place among this company of warriors. “Ancestor Fara is the woman beside you; she has some skill with the blade, she might want to duel you.” Fara gave him a predatory look with her grey eyes. Raid smiled at her; he always did like a challenge. “The man beside you is Ancestor Xazon,” said Daok in a carefully neutral voice, not wanting to voice his dislike of the man. The young man gave Raid a contemptuous smile and said softly, “Luck only runs for so long,” confirming what Raid had already known from the moment he had seen Xazon’s red eyes, that this man would be trouble. A person that gains red eyes after killing a relative was always going to be trouble. Who did he kill anyway? And why has he not been hanged? Did this man have powerful connections? Ignoring the young fool, he stared at the map; the boy would learn eventually that being of high birth was worth piss and shit in battle.
“Over there is Ancestor Hadlan, a thirty-year veteran of the Mantorial army and lastly Ancestor Shirok, a twenty-year veteran,” nodding his head to the two robust warriors, with iron grey hair and hard-bitten faces; their backs were to the fireplace. “Now that we are done with the introduction, it’s time to plan; does anyone have any ideas on how to beat a force three times the size of ours that has magical abilities that give them unnatural speed, strength and sight?”
The young man spoke first. “Descendent Daok, you cannot seriously think of attacking them in the open, it would be a massacre,” said Xazon, his slimy voice grating Raid’s nerves.
Daok gazed at the map. “Is there an alternative?” questioned Daok to the officers. Again Xazon answered. “Yes, we hole up in a fortress and wait for them to strike at us.” Hadlan shook his head and spoke in his harsh, booming voice. “And leave the people defenceless? No, if we do not take the fight to them while they are gathered together they will fan out and destroy everything in their path,” said the veteran firmly.
Daok nodded his head in agreement with Hadlan’s wise counsel. Xazon grunted in consternation, but remained close mouthed. The room fell into silence, as they began to realise that most scenarios would lead to a bad outcome. It was then that Lady Mira glided into the dead silent room in her new silk gown the colour of the sun, looking as fresh as a newborn baby. Having overhead the discussion as she was walking down the hallway, she approached Daok and said, “There is a way to win this.” All eyes were directed to her.
Feeling their enquiring stares, she explained. “Years ago during the Arcane War I was recruited by Lady Kora to assist in an experiment to create a weapon to deal with the warlocks.” She paused for a moment to glance at Lady Shila whose face remained icy cold. “That weapon was the humanoids, designed to be the ultimate assassins. They hunted down the warlocks and put an end to the war.” Her eyes flickered to Raid’s as she spoke and saw the anguish and fury on his handsome face that she feared she would see on his face once he knew that it was because of witches like her that his parents were in danger.
Swallowing the pain she felt in her chest, she continued. “The humanoids were sent to the Fo-ken Islands to die off.” Daok’s mouth opened, but Mira did not stop. “The humanoids sent to that island are dead, Descendent Daok, there is no way they survived,” she waved her hand pointing outside. “Those humanoids we faced today are pale shadows compared to the true power the humanoids possessed in the past; this can mean only one thing.” She glanced at Lady Shila’s pale face as she came to the same conclusion Lady Mira had. “It means that someone has been able to replicate the experiment on the island and is using it to assemble an army of flawed humanoids.” Her eyes wandered to Raid’s again, but was rebuffed away with his intense rage and chagrin at the news.
Descendent Daok, not seeing the interplay between Mira and Raid, asked, “You said there was a way to stop them?”
She really needed to speak to Raid, she didn’t think she could bear his hatred. Absentmindedly she replied, “The witch that commands this army will have rings on her fingers; kill her, destroy the rings and the humanoids will go insane and die.” The room dropped into silence again.
Daok knew then what had to be done. “Here’s the battle plan, gentlemen. We will detach a small company of our best fighters to go to the island of Vaskonia and eliminate the witch, while our main forces under my command will defend the town of Fontrel and attract as much attention as possible to allow the company a fighting chance to reach the island intact.” He looked around the room into the face of each officer, waiting for them to nod their heads in agreement.
He gave them a determined smile. “We are Mantorians, and we will always win,” and pumped his fist in the air. The officers responded with a roar of approval: “Mantorial”. Smiling in satisfaction he snapped, “Get moving, I want all our divisions on the road to Fontrel in six pinches of sand,” and with that the officers placed their helmets on their heads and emptied out of the room in a clatter of steel. Raid, Lady Shila, Lady Mira and Descendent Daok remained.
Refusing to meet Lady Mira’s eyes, Raid spoke in a rough voice to Daok, “My parents are on the island, I would like to be part of the company heading to the island.”
Daok crossed his arms against his chest. “You will have to follow orders, Raid, you’re no longer an Ancestor,” said Daok in a stern tone. “Yes, Descendent,” agreed Raid without hesitation.
Lady Mira piped in. “I am going as well, they will need magical protection.”
Raid jumped in before Daok could speak. “No, we don’t, I can deal with any witches,” he said whipping his sword out of its sheath and re-sheathing it in the blink of an eye.
Again Daok tried to speak when Mira snapped, “You will need me to destroy the control rings.” Raid’s lips twisted into a snarl, his blood boiling with pent-up rage.
“I have to agree with Lady Mira, Raid, you might need her,” spoke Daok in a commanding voice. Raid gaped at his friend in exaggerated horror. “Don’t give me that betrayed look, Raid, she has knowledge of the humanoids that could prove of use to you.”
Raid snapped his mouth shut and gave Lady Mira a livid stare. Lady Shila snorted in amusement. “Truly, Raid, you are one of a kind, throwing a tantrum like that; I am going to enjoy working with you one day.” She got up, brushed her yellow dress with her candle-sized fingers and left the room, chuckling with amusement.