Duchy of Daele, Aethera.

"BRACE!!!" A voice called out as a flaming boulder flew at the men on the walls.

The fiery ball of stone clipped the top of the ramparts before bouncing away into the city interior. A handful of men were blasted away from the impact. The only good thing was that this part of the city was abandoned save for the Duke and his men, and a few scared or stubborn holdouts.

If they wished to die in their own homes he would not waste time and men to force them otherwise, thought Duke Magnus as he glanced once more over the walls at the sea of bodies that had continuously besieged them for almost a week now. Though to the defenders it felt like months if not years.

Duke Magnus, fitted in sea green scale-mail and plate and wielding his seafoam steel sword, turned towards the fallen men.

"Get the still living to the healers! Leave the rest! Their trials are over while ours still assault us!"

If only the Warchief would send his full might then we could at least rest in the grave, thought the Duke. Instead he's sent small waves after his city. Not enough to take it but simply whittle and wear the defenders down. He had the numbers to spare.

"LADDERS!!!" A call rang out.

The Duke turned out and saw the next wave approach. Men from the fallen cities were now being thrown at him! From his vantage point he could see the coat of arms and colors of former friends and allies. Now his enemies!

"Archers!"

The bowmen lined against the wall and drew their bows.

"Ready!"

Cords were drawn back as arrows were nocked.

"LOOSE!"

Dozens of twangs! thrummed out in the air as a volley rained down on their fellow men. Even from his vantage on the wall the Duke could hear the cries of pain and death as former friends died. The archers made for another volley when a cacophonous sound washed over them, even before the call was sounded they all knew what approached.

"CHIMERA!"

A dreadful abomination swooped down on them with a twisted agonizing screech. It would be impossible to tell what this poor creature used to be. Bird, deer, rabbit, horse. It was an ungodly amalgamation of whatever poor creatures were unfortunate enough to be around. They were torturous beasts. Made either by a concentration of wild and unstable magic, which would result in the very land being morphed into some parody that defied the laws of nature. Or by mad wizards that cruelly experimented with magic, creating these horrid and pitiful creatures.

It was this horror that swooped down on them with pink fleshy wings that by all accounts shouldn't be capable of flight. It crushed several of his men under its rotting body with a sickening crunch. Even its own flesh rebelled against the creature as it sloughed off in chunks exposing bare twisted muscle and jagged bone underneath.

"Bring it down!" The Duke cried out as him and several others charged the mad beast. Everything was brought to bear on the hideous creature. Arrow, spear, sword, but it did little. Even the toughest of beasts would back away from danger and pain. But this things very existence was pain and so drove forward in spite of the multitude of arrow shafts and spears penetrating its mutated flesh.

A unnatural appendage of bone and flesh swiped at the Duke and his men turning several poor souls into ribbons. But Magnus couldn't fall prey to fear or grief. If they didn't stop this creature it would wreak untold havoc on their already exhausted and dwindling line.

So with a roar of his own the Duke charged the parody of life and savagely hacked and slashed it with his sword. The sword was made from rich iron found near molten vents out at sea. Very dangerous, not only because of the burning heat from the magma but also from the leviathans that called the darkness home.

But it was worth it, especially if you could find a expert smith to work it. Even now seafoam steel was renowned for its strength, sharp edge and a slight green tint that was said to be a blessing from the sea herself. A claim dwarves and elves have contested heartily, though none have ever tried to prove it wrong.

It was a claim the Duke was glad to still prove true as his blade cut long and deep into horrid mutated flesh. Unnatural iridescent blood oozed and sizzled out of the numerous wounds as the monstrosity roared and raged. The closer to death it came the madder it got. Fleshy appendages and jagged sharp bones were brought around. Swiping and impaling several men as its pain drove it into a frenzy!

A backhand by the beast launched the Duke away. Were it not for his armor, which even now was dented from the impact, he would be dead. It roared once more from whatever pustule it called its head before it shambled towards the Duke.

"LOOSE!"

The call came out as another volley from the men down below covered the beasts side. Its roar was cut off as a ballistae bolt followed and skewered the creature. But even then the poor beast still hollered and roared as it tried to rise again. Even as its mutated blood poured and steamed as it escaped from its body.

The Duke rose and charged the beast. But even as he brought his blade down on what he assumed to be the head, the creature still convulsed and thrashed as it tried to continued its frenzy. It wasn't until several spearmen plunged their spears into the side of the beast that the creature was finally released from its torment. Pain, blood lose, or just succumbing to its torment the Duke didn't know. But he was glad the creature was dead. But now he had another problem.

While they were dealing with the abomination, the wave had gotten close enough to the walls and siege ladders were soon clamping to the walls!

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"Form up!"

The Duke and his surviving, though exhausted, men hurried to form up and meet the next wave. Some even pushed the ladders back, cutting the ropes that had been thrown to support their ascent while they were busy with the chimera. But it gave them little reprieve as soon traitorous men climbed up and met the Duke and his men.

Magnus was just glad that the Warchief was only assaulting this side of the city. With the river and its estuaries cutting through the city that meant that the Warchief would have to split his forces in order to encircle the city. While the Duke knew that no help would arrive for them, the Warchief didn't.

The only reason he hadn't sent the civilians away was that the nearest free town was still several days away and they would be picked apart by bandits, or even worse if he did as he had few men to spare for their protection.

Magnus knew that eventually the Warchief would realize that they were alone and commit to encircling the city. But for now it meant that he could concentrate his forces on this side. Which he sorely needed as he cut down men as they came over the walls.

Free Town of Alverland. Duchy of Scilica. Coat of arms and colors of former friends were soaked and stained in blood as he struck them down. Magnus had to forget the past deeds and pacts they had made. They did little now but cause doubt and hesitation, and both would get him and his men killed.

But it did little good. They were being pushed back.

"FALL BACK!" The Duke called as he struck down another man, more a boy really. Barely older than his own son who was watching over the others in the cathedral.

The Duke and his personal Delta Guard held back the traitors while the rest of his men retreated down the steps. The Delta Guard were the personal guard of the Dukes of Daele. They wore full sea green plate rather than the mix he did, though they wielded cruel tridents and nets and wore myrmillo helmets instead. A mix of gladiators from the fight pits and seasoned sailors filled their ranks. Meanwhile the average soldier wore light linen and leather, every soldier was also a sailor and were fitted accordingly.

Being close to water, and the creatures there in, made being either tough or quick a necessity. Fortunately for Daele, the seafoam steel made it so they could be both. As several poor souls found out as a net was thrown to trip and trap them while one of his guard speared and disemboweled them with his trident.

Both were a handy combination that were popular to the armed forces of Daele. Though spears, swords, and axes were more common. Popular didn't mean talented and it was a select few that could wield the combo efficiently.

It was this deadly combo that held back the enemy as his weary men reached the bottom. Magnus and his honor guard descended the steps while keeping the enemy out of reach. While they were focused on the Duke, the men at the bottom fired volley after volley at the attackers.

The Duke and his men regrouped at the center of the Western Bank, the outer part of the city that was connected to the land west. Magnus looked around as archers kept the enemy at bay a while longer. His men were exhausted, even the healers have bags under their eyes. If only they could be given a moment of rest he could lead them across one of the estuaries that cut the city into pieces. From there a defense would be more manageable as the water would work better as a natural barrier than the ramparts that were constantly chipped away at.

But a moment of rest they did not have as the archers soon ran dry and the enemy advanced once more.

"Form a line!"

The Duke and his guard and those still standing formed a line and braced to meet the enemy as they charged them with cries of fury. A cry returned as the men of Daele braced and met the enemy once more. His men fought like the sailors they were, not hesitating to go for joints or the groin. Kicking dirt, ash, and mud up and into the eyes of the enemy. Headbutts and even biting were common when disarmed. His honor guard were even more brutal. Nets and tridents resulting in several enemies being brought in like a fresh haul of fish only to be speared and gutted like one.

Even should they too be disarmed they fought just as savagely, necks snapped and bones broke as their harsh and brutal training kicked in during this time of life or death. Even their gauntlets were studded to provide an extra harshness to fistfights.

The Duke however preferred his sword as he continued to cut down foes as they charged to end his life. Though his armor was dented from his encounter with the chimera it was still enough to turn a blade from the enemy. He hacked and slashed as the bodies of men rushed forwards. The colors of fallen cities and towns lessened and were soon replaced with what looked like common rabble. Bandits, thieves, probably the poor that were conscripted and used as fodder.

The fact they were only now facing them rather than at the beginning proved to the Duke that the Warchief had sent the soldiers to be culled by Magnus and his men. No doubt hearing claims of martial prowess among the nobility of the lands he's taken and putting it to the test.

A test they obviously failed as their bodies littered the ground outside and now inside the city.

"Duke Magnus! Duke Magnus!" A nasally voice called during the chaos.

As the Duke struck down another poor soul his honor guard stepped in to provide the Duke with a brief moment of calm as he turned towards the hail. It was the young gnomish master Dill and his adoptive dwarven brother Alban. The young gnome had dark hair that was slicked down to the sides, though a slight tuft stood straight up on his head. His eyes were comically enlarged by his eye-glasses. His dwarven brother was the stereotypical dwarf. Short, stout, stoic and heavily bearded hair that was as dark as his adoptive brother's.

Alban pushed some strange contraption while Dill rode atop. A wooden cart carried some kind of ballistae. But instead of a large bolt it held a series of vibrant purple crystals. The contraption was covered in runes, spellwork, and various mechanical bits, bobs and focusing lenses that made the device look like it was drug from a pile of scrap.

"We're here to help aren't we Alban!" Dill cheered as his brother grunted in affirmation, or exertion.

Dill and his brother were members of the city's Artificers Guild. More like they WERE the Artificers Guild. Few, if any, in the city took any stock in the theory of mixing magic and technology. Even the small population of gnomes the city had found better time, and money, in joining the dwarves in their banking ventures or other areas of bookkeeping or accounting.

But not Dill. Like a grouper he latched onto the idea and swam with it, dragging his poor brother along. An idea he took to with enthusiasm. Though results were often... disruptive.

Such an idea was now being powered up and aimed at the enemy. The contraption came to life as the runes and spellwork glowed purple while the crystals began to levitate and rotate and hummed while the mechanical bits whirred, flashed, and even beeped.

"Get down!" The Duke yelled as he threw himself to the ground.

A beam of pure purple arcane energy blasted out of the now swirling crystals, through the focusing lenses, and carved right through the enemy, and several unfortunate soldiers that weren't quick enough. Turning them all into clouds of energy motes and magical dust.

"YEAH! TAKE THAT! FACE THE WRATH OF DAELE!" Dill cheered as his weapon of arcane destruction wreaked havoc on the enemy, and the Duke's own men.

Before Magnus could chide the gnome the contraption began to shutter and jerk. Its humming climbing in pitch as the beam grew more intense and erratic. No matter how hard Dill and Alban tried to get it under control the device was now completely indiscriminate in its destruction as it carved chunks out of the line of men! Friend or foe, and even blasting into nearby, hopefully, empty buildings and the rampart!

Magnus charged Dill and Alban and pulled the two down to the ground as the device now gave a high pitched whistle and a blindingly bright light that was now pure white instead of purple.

The contraption exploded with a boom and a wave of destructive arcane energy pulsed out of the epicenter. It crashed into buildings, the frontline of men, and the walls. Nothing survived its contact as buildings were razed and collapsed, men were vaporized, even the ramparts that so many men had died on, and for, was now a breath away from being rubble.

The Duke, the two brothers, and the few men that heeded his warning, arose from the annihilation. Most of his honor guard were now gone, as was a not insignificant chunk of his forces. The only silver lining was that the enemy were completely destroyed. For but a moment they were at calm.

"Dylan Petrel Diomede! What in the seven hells and the abyss were you thinking?!" The Duke roared as he rounded on the young gnome and his ever stoic brother.

"We, just wanted to help." The gnome sniffled as he beheld the sheer desolation that he had caused.

Magnus would've had him executed for the death and loss of life that the gnome had caused. But he was sorely lacking in manpower as is, and this was a blessing in disguise. Even if the Duke had to look VERY hard to see it. Normally he would hear calls of another wave coming. But the few scouts that survived Dill's destruction gave no such call. It would seem the explosion gave the Warchief pause.

A precious thing. The Duke knelt down to the gnome and placed a firm hand on his small shoulder.

"I thank you for your help Master Dylan. But right now you, and your brother here, need to return to the cathedral."

"B-b-but!?"

"Now." The Duke stated firmly. If the two of them stayed any longer the remains of the Duke's forces would string the lad up.

The gnome nodded his head sadly and in understanding as he and his brother shuffled away back towards the cathedral. In the meantime Magnus had his men collect any arms and armor that remained intact and ordered his men across the estuary. The brief calm would give them time to regroup and rest, and to fortify the other bank and make ready for the next wave that would come all too soon.