26th of Fiorerarith, 1194th of the First Age.
As the Young Hoplite of the small regiment of a few hundred legionaries walked through the camp with his aspil shield on his back, excitement brimmed in his golden eyes. The camp near the capital city of the northern colony was loud enough that even the animals that usually approached the developed fields – where the cinnamon tasting plant used for teas beloved by the Imperial Family grown – kept their distance with fearful eyes.
Smoke rose high up towards the sky, twirling and dancing to the tunes of the legionaries dancing around with kegs filled to the brim with mead. That was the Young Hoplite’s destination where he strode towards with a great inevitability, as not even the mud that swallowed his greave clad foot with each step.
“Hey! You the smiling one! Come here and help!” Except for the towering aevhe that stood out amongst the lower rankings – besides his golden garments he was wearing. A shorter chiton with a diagonal golden and red framing with aevhen runes sewn into the silken material. Under it an aevhen tunic with the luster of metals, the softness of silk with a slit neck that wrapped itself around his slender, yet also muscled neck.
A handsome face with dark beard following his perfect, sharp jawline and long dark hair with half let out, half bundled into a short tail with thin braids. Graceful, almond contoured eyes with bright mauve and silver pupils that invited the Young Hoplites’ gaze. “What is your name boy?” His voice silken and deep that soothed the awfully beating heart of the Young Hoplite as it was the first time in his years of service to be asked about his name by a Polemarchiir, a high ranking officer – usually an aevhe, dwarf or human – of the Impure Legions.
For a moment his face contorted as he pondered. “Just Ulrich, Your Honor!” He answered.
“Drop the honorifics Just Ulrich. Call me Aelfsigior.” As Ulrich looked at his face, he noticed his lips faintly bend upwards at the corners. Without hesitation, he rushed to the two fellow Hoplites in their snow silver chitons carrying large wooden chests. For a moment he looked questioningly at their grimaced faces and muscles that were ripping with veins.
Then understanding flooded his mind when he bravely wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the chest and upon lifting, he felt his arms and chest burning. “Careful Just Ulrich, while my armor can survive a little mud, I wouldn’t mind if the chests would remain in their natural rectangle state.” Aelfsigior said jokingly as he helped Ulrich.
“Actually its just Ulrich.” He said as the two carried it into the tent. “I know. I am just jesting you boy.” Aelfsigior said as his lips once again tried to curve into a smile upon witnessing the amazed look on Ulrich’s. As they stepped into the small tent – from the outside – Ulrich witnessed for the first time in his forty years of life the capabilities of space enchantments as the tent’s interior was clearly twice or thrice the size.
Even the floors were different, instead of stepping into mud, he felt the strong wood akin to the square pillars that kept the roof from falling onto their heads. Like the outer walls and roof, the interior was hued in warm tones of amber and red with intricate draconic and divine patterns sewn onto them.
Aelfsigior snapped his fingers after he released his right grip from the bottom corner of the chest. “There. Lift it down carefully. I do not need an aethereal hole in my tent.”
“Ah excuse me. Just my first time experiencing the marvels of the imperial magusos.” Ulrich said as they began to lower it down.
“Do not ask for pardon for such things. Now come let us drink and eat. There is a long way ahead of us.” Aelfsigior said as he grabbed Ulrich with his elbow joint and dragged him with himself.
**
After seven days of grueling march, the small regiment of the 19th Impure Legion finally stopped to take a rest. Thanks to the enchantments woven into their pieces, the legionaries were capable of marching for days without exhaustion leading to troops collapsing. Even their hunger and thirst was satiated to a point, they still needed to at least eat one warm meal a day but it greatly helped in rationing food.
They just reached the southern most part of the Vesgeriath Woodland which trees ominously bathed the camp in wicked shadows. A small group of magusos clad in their ornated indigo robes with large hood suffocated in the embrace of their helmets raised large slabs of stone walls around. They were even gracious and well-versed enough to create sets of stairs for the scouts patrolling through the rectangle line.
“It was quite spectacular, wasn’t it?” Gna asked Ulrich as they still stared at the walls while warming at their hands at the campfire set up at their tents.
“Yeah.” Ulrich answered while munching on roasted goat leg that was rich in meat and fat. While the two served in the 19th Legion for a decade now – if not a few years on top – it was still their first time witnessing the collected effort of magusos. Especially this small amount coordinating their intent so far from each other.
“Do you think they are telepaths?” Gna asked as he finished chewing the last of his own goat limb seasoned a bit spicier.
“They are not. They are just lucky enough to marshal out in the same regiment the twelfth time.” As Aelfsigior entered the corner of their vision, the two quickly stood up and saluted with their fists crossed across their chest and their heads hunched down.
“Rest and give me a stool.” As he said that, Aelfsigior raised his right hand holding the ornated flask. “One of the finest wines from the south.” He added as he opened the flask, its fragrant scent reached the two, awakening desires they never knew about within a span of a moment.
“What’s the occasion?” When Ulrich said those words, Gna poked him quite violently in the side.
“The two of you are new here. I believe in bettering relationships between me and my lesser.” Aelfsigior said with the smile of a fox while Ulrich groaned and massaged his sides through the soft silken tunica that felt like brushing soft petals of roses. Yet a part of him knew that it was more than just that as poking sensation irked his mind, he was all too familiar with. “Now tell me, is this your first battle?”
“It is our first battle involving disciplined warriors.” Ulrich said after he drank deeply from the seemingly bottomless flask.
“He is right. We did experienced fighting with the undead in our home village. But other than that not much when it comes to the clashing of armies.” Gna added with an apologetic look as he hastily took the flask from his friend’s hands.
Aelfsigior laughed a little. “Sorry. This small skirmish won’t come near the glory of armies clashing on vast plains as you two may imagine it.” Aelfsigior said as the flask found its way back to his hands.
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“What do you mean by that sir?” Before Ulrich could speak, Gna asked with a calmer tone.
“Most of these battles start as staring contests between the two sides. It may sound boring at first, but the two of you will see the spells and arrows flung between our and their side most definitely.” Aelsigior explained as he recalled his first skirmish against a smaller force of the savages down at the south. He felt the heat of conjured flames on his face as he stared into the small fire warming the trio.
“And it is much different fighting the Host’s warriors who fear not death.” He added with a stern stare.
For a few moments they listened to the crackling of the burning wood and Aelfsigior inhaled the woody smoke. “I understand you two fought against revenants. But what about the living? Have you two ever extinguished the life of a folk?” He turned while offering the flask to Ulrich who took it without hesitation.
“Haven’t yet sir!” Gna replied dutifully, took the opportunity of speaking up first as Ulrich gulped down the silken wine.
“So you haven’t stared into the dread filled eyes of the dying yet.” He stared into the flames with moist eyes and said with a grim expression. In the flames he saw his first kill, a young mrokevh. Her crimson eyes reflecting a sense of pride, her cold, dark lips curved into a final satisfied smile as mauve blood dried at the corners.
“Is it that different from witnessing a friend’s demise?” Ulrich asked once again receiving a hit from Gna’s elbow. This time he was prepared as he held his palm in the way.
“When you see a friend die in front of you it hurts the heart, that time heals as they say. When you kill the first time, it stays with you forever. From the dreams beyond, they haunt you forever.” Aelfsigior closed his eyes while speaking, faces besides the mrokevh’s flashed before him, each contorted by anger and resentment.
He chuckled a little as he offered the flask to Ulrich. “Well, at least if you are as soft as me. But enough of such somber notes. Where the two of you hail from?”
**
The two small forces lined facing each other at the sloped terrain. On the lower end, where the embrace of the forest started stood the raiders of the Host surrounded by the various undead that included their recent victims freshly raised. On the other end, high up on the snowy hill stood the small force sent to pursue them made up mostly of hoplites.
As promised by Aelfsigior the night before, Ulrich and Gna stood at the forefront of their force under his command. They waited with great anticipation for the first arrows to be loosened, for the first spells to be hurled above their heads. To their surprise, instead of only a few, myriads of spells that lit up even the day’s light flew past above them and towards the enemy. Aelfsigior took a look at them for a moment and smiled as the two gazed at spheres of flames and various other elements explode upon impact on the enemies wards.
Worry followed by when the enemy started answering by hurling their own spells at them. Light blue swirling spheres flew, carrying the chill of death. They splashed across the ward of the imperial magusos, and the first stage of the battle begun. The two readied themselves to stand for hours that Aelfsigior mentioned to all of them during the feast the night before.
It was customary to an extent for legionaries to hold one last feast before the battle to fill their bellies so they won’t starve before the battle, but also to meet the Silent Shepherd with a good final taste beside the battle-earned death and the wealth they carry with themselves on their belts.
Although they had the high ground, the two and their fellow comrades maintained their discipline and vigilance as the enemy forces consisted not just of the living. It was well known that the Host’s raiding parties often bolstered a dozen necromancers at least. And even one mediocre necromancer could raise and control at least ten or fifteen undead.
Even from this distance, they all could sense the rotten stench of cold undeath. The two of them were already used to it, but Ulrich could notice the disgust showing on the exposed faces of the others to his right. The darkness of the night slowly slipped closer from the east as the spells started dying down.
First the wards started showing cracks upon their transparent light blue surface, then the number of the spells and arrows lessened hour by hour as the magusos started reaching their limits. A few of those who were tempted enough by the pleasant sensation of maghia screamed that was carried into the ears of Ulrich and Gna who were in the vanguard.
Their muscles tensed, their shields dug deeper into the frozen ground and snow that blanketed it except the area between the two forces. “Ready your spears!” Aelfsigior’s disembodied voice echoed within all their minds and in perfect unison, they got down on their knees, rotated their shields and their spears poked through the gaps as the ground started to tremble under the charge of the hundreds of undead.
Ulrich tightened his grip around the long handle of his spear as the first of the raised threw them onto its sharp end and started pushing themselves closer to the shield wall lining atop the now muddy hillside. Following them came the first line of the living, humans, orkhin and he even noticed a few hoevhes gracefully evading the arrows aimed at their alabaster forms wrapped in dark furred armor.
The moment his spear broke, Ulrich reached for his forward-curving, single edged sword and swung it diagonally at the half-rotten undead of a bulky man in a similar armor to his. The blade cut through the rusted plate and as he poured a little of his aethervyne matter into the blade, the tainted soul let out a sigh as it passed into the dream while the corpse fell between him and Gna whom also reached for his kopis sword.
The earth trembled with the rage of the dead. For a moment Ulrich lost his footing and a wicked blade’s tip found its way into his shoulder. “Beneath the feet!” He heard the yell just as the skeletal, decayed hands burst forth the frozen dirt and clamped over his face. Tears flowed from his eyes as a chill frozen his muscles while he gazed upon his would be executioner – an undead orkh whose decayed body was painted in white and faded runes of crimson.
“On your feet Ulrich. Not your time yet.” Just as he accepted his fate – and envisioned his grandfather’s worn face – Gna yelled at him as his blade stopped the undead orkh’s, then his fist shattered its half-rotten head to a thousand pieces.
He grabbed his lug of an arm and got up onto his feet while grabbing his blade and ignoring the pain of his wound. “Back slowly.” This time he recognized Aelfsigior’s voice who jumped into the battle in his golden armor. He swung his spear with graceful efficiency while transmuting its sharp end to one much preferable to cut through swathes of enemies.
With each step backwards, he swung his blade and cut down a ravenous undead. His heart beat faster than ever in his life as he noticed the pale figure appearing at the edge of the hill now swarmed by the undead. Long ashen red hair, a handsome face drowned of color with a calm expression with a hint of madness in the pale red eyes.
“Back away! Timeomancer!” Aelfsigior yelled as he felt the chill of fear forming in his heart as his mind screamed at him. Just like it did with Ulrich and all the other Hoplites and legionaries fighting for their lives with an unnatural dread in their heart. The dry lips cracked into a smile on the vampyr as his glistening hair turned dark as the night and widened into eerie length and width with misshapen eyes bewitching all. His flesh contorted as his arms elongated, reached down to the snow blanketed ground.
His legs similarly heightened his form, his chest split open into a vertical maw in which deformed monstrosities reached out and showered his enemies in deathly spells that relieved them of their lives in a blink of an eye. He got down onto all fours like a maddened beast as his face split open like the petal head of a carnivorous flower set with wriggling soft teeth.
Ulrich fixated his stance as he inhaled deeply. Time felt slowed down as the Vampyr Timeomancer lunged at him on all fours with a deep, distorted bellow of a hundred beasts. As Timeomancers were masters of flesh and fear maghia, which they practiced by hunting wild beasts and absorbing them into themselves with their twisted maghia.
“Fool! When I order you follow it to the latter!” Just as he stopped caring whether he survived or not, Aelfsigior leapt and severed the grotesque head of the timeomancer off with a single swing. Its darkened blood spilt onto the snow and tainted Ulrich’s greaves as the fear within dissipated.
“It is not the hour of heroics.” Aelfsigior said before he signaled the legionaries free of fear to follow as they pulled back the dead and charged at the enemy who just began their own charge. Moments passed by as Ulrich watched the backs of his brothers and sisters march against the enemy before he too sighed and tightened his grip, and moved his legs forward with a battle cry.