Fighting elves in wooded terrain was a total pain in the ass. Briggs almost laughed to himself.
He was okay as far as skulking went, but in the trees, if a lightly-armored elf didn’t want to be seen, well, Treeslipping, 90% concealment, was a huge thing. Even he’d just see shadows flitting around now and then, like stray breezes moving the vegetation.
The trees also broke the battle lines of the incoming armored troops, which forced them into open formations where two-on-ones were much easier to do, and the elves excelled at such flanking tactics.
Sure, they could have beat them quickly with a magic-heavy slugfest, but that wasted Valences that might be needed later. At most, the elves wanted to spend one Valence per enemy, giving them some reserves to fall back on... or the ability to coordinate for a big strike.
Mostly, it was a combination of sneak attacks, sudden strikes, and a lot of sniping as the Warped warriors were drawn out of position. Occasionally there’d be a crackle of magic, or the vegetation would come alive and tie a group down for a few precious seconds, while elves would melt out of the foliage to cut them to shreds, or just fill them full of arrows at point-blank range from just beyond their reach.
Minor illusion screens, the occasional flash of an Energy Fan swallowing a small group, and the skirl of steel and laughing singsong cries of the elves through the trees all formed a net drawing tighter and tighter. Sama had everything in the palm of her hand, cutting apart the fools, ringing them one by one, taking them down in the quiet, and rolling down the length of the warband in flitting death.
---
The commander of the warband, requisite horned helm equipped, realized what was happening, and horns of bone blew, signaling the withdrawal. Some heeded it, some didn’t, and all of the latter died, only some of the former, chased by arrows as they realized belatedly that being twice the mass of your opponents didn’t mean you were going to beat them.
Fewer than half of those who’d raged in after the elvish snipers, thirsting for treehugger’s blood, stumbled out of the forest. They rapidly withdrew beyond bow range, losing a few more of their number as they did so.
Their very irked commander glared at the forest, entertaining ideas of setting it all alight, and having some misgivings inside about the lethality of who they were facing. The elves had been much tougher to deal with than their appearances indicated.
Supernatural awareness turned his head around as his warriors drew themselves up once more, bloodied but yet ready to slaughter.
Strange, there was nothing behind him, what did –
There was a flicker of light, and an elf atop a stag was suddenly at the far end of his men’s line, a silver sword coming down and pointing as faint lines of electricity gathered around it.
“Klaw!” the commander swore, kicking his horse and getting out of the way.
The Lightning Bolt was only ten feet wide, but it was hundreds of feet long, chewing through the middle of his lines and sending his men flying, blasted and broken by the snarling, writhing blast of magic.
Even as he was spinning his Warp-mutated horse around, the illusion behind him disappeared, and the edge of the Sound Bubble swept past him, momentarily substituting the screams of his men for the rumbling sound of many horses charging.
Fully two hundred plate-armored human heavy cavalry were surging for the back of his unprotected line, less than a hundred feet away. They covered the distance in only a breath or two, and he could only stare in disbelief and raise his great axe as the lances came in!
They shouted a word as they came crashing in... the same word he’d heard the elves using.
“TREMBLE!”
And then they smashed into the back of his warband with steel and thunder, hurling his troops around, lances punching deep, and iron-shod hooves trampling them into the soil.
At the same time, streams of elves poured out of the forest on both flanks, sweeping to the sides to ensure the Warped couldn’t run away.
His eyes were fixed on the hard, grim face of the commander who had driven a lance into his gut, lifting him completely off his horse. In his eyes, he noted a transcendental ecstasy, a confidence that he’d seen in the eyes of many of the elves who’d laughed and vanished into the green before him.
Like there was someone else behind those eyes, driving these men forwards...
Those were his last thoughts, as his dreams of power and slaughter for the glory of the God of Carnage burned away forever, and he heard the remorseless laughter of the Lord of the Gore Throne reaching out for him...
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The big brute was some champion, swinging around an Axe too big and spiked for anyone with sense. Briggs shook his head as he slammed Endure directly into it.
Steel screamed and blew apart from the impact. His Hammer smashed right through the Weapon, its Dire design full of flaws in his eyes. Endure continued to loop around, and smashed into an armored knee.
The guy was a tower, but the thick armor he was wearing might as well have been foil. Bone crunched even as he was gaping at the ruins of his Axe, his leg kicked out, and he slammed to the ground almost as fast as his leg rose haplessly into the air.
He hadn’t even hit the ground when he saw the Hammer coming down, directly on his helm. His shout of defiance, his trust in the thick armor forged in the fires of the Warp, ended with a crunching impact as his faceplate caved in and joined the Hammer on its way through his face and into his brain.
Briggs continued stepping forwards, barely looking at the hulking corpse as it twitched. The lesser warriors besides this brute, their arms all swollen up with some strength-enhancing magic of the Warp, took a step back despite themselves when they saw him slaughter their boss... the way they thought they should be slaughtering him!
Endure smashed into a shield, broke the arm behind it, crunched into the owner’s chest, and sent the man plowing backwards into the Warped behind him. Briggs deflected an axe off his bracer, grabbed the man’s swollen arm and pulled, heaving him right off his feet, demonic strength or no, and Estemar’s Sword was inserted smoothly under his chin to stop any nonsense, while Endure came streaking around, smashed down a sword trying to parry, and a helmed head’s neck shattered as he stove that helmet in.
Metal and bone crunched as he waded in on the last of the Warpband, bodies flying and falling, and keen blades descended to make sure those who fell didn’t get up. There were a dozen elves used to the havoc he wreaked following behind him and Estemar, and the way he was throwing around bodies was making use of their presence. Three different styles of combat were at work, synergizing nicely to leave a trail of doom.
-Line it up!-
One step, two, in time to music in the mind, and they were all suddenly in a line, pausing. The Warped also paused, wondering what was going on... and then snapped around, crying out in alarm.
The cavalry charge they’d diverted attention from plowed through the Warped, and suddenly there wasn’t anything left to fight, those on the ground trampled flat and bloody, and final notes from Tremble indicated that the battle here was over.
Briggs lowered Endure, looked around, and nodded... he’d gone into the toughest knot of the things while the rest of the field had been ridden down, the elves making sure nothing got away.
Vivic fire was already rising on the ones he’d killed, and elven voices sang out after they first recovered for a moment, and then began to hunt down all the dead, dragging them into piles and watching them burn in unwhite bonfires to the land.
Everyone knew that tomorrow flowers would be sprouting here...
Other elves started looking for magic, which could be Rendered down, purified, and used to make items of their own. +Soulbound Weapons were very, very popular suddenly, and the Warped often held a remarkable amount of low-end magical Weapons for salvaging.
He started picking up the remnants of magic from his kills, Estemar doing the same and pointing such things out with finger-flicks. They then helped heave the corpses onto a rapidly growing pile of the misting dead with enthusiasm.
The young prince had taken a Level in Sorcerer, and the Celestial Bloodline keyed by his status as a Paladin had woken up. He wanted to get his wings and fly!
Briggs could see the revulsion in the boy’s eyes as he hauled mutated brutes over and threw them on the pile. Estemar was using a +Soulbound Weapon, which meant he could feel the souls of those he killed, the darkness and corruption upon them, and knew intimately just how deranged and savage the foes he was killing were.
There was great serenity to be found when killing creatures you needed feel no mercy nor pity towards. Even if it wasn’t motivation to be rid of such foul things, like any Paladin would feel, it was serenity and lack of any guilt.
These Warped were rabid beasts that had to be put down. Feeling sympathy for them was something they would have to earn, and that was extremely unlikely from all parties concerned. Looking at them as bundles of Karma waiting to be harvested, yeah, that was fine.
Briggs turned around as he heard the jingle of a heavy horse coming up behind him. The roan was the size of a Clydesdale, which wasn’t all that unexpected. The horses of the Warped were near the same size, but with much more exaggerated features, and usually horns or spikes in odd places. Their carcasses littered the area, as the savage things couldn’t be allowed to escape and reproduce, and nobody felt like eating the tainted meat.
The Land, glutton that it was, took them all.
“Master Briggs.” He recognized the voice from Marktell. Sama had been directing that devastating rear charge through him.
“Sir Boryir, I presume?” Briggs turned around to offer his hand, and with only the slightest hesitation the noble knight bent quite a distance down to take it. “Nice lancework, sir.” He gestured at the line of dead. “Let me be very, very frank. You and your knights need to go over there and claim your share of Investable assets off the dead. If you don’t do the work, you don’t get the prize. I’ll be up there to set some vivic fires for you, but all those dead need to burn, and if you’re too proud to help with the work, we’re too proud to pay you for not doing it.”
Sir Boryir flicked a cool glance that way, and nodded shortly, his long mustaches remarkably clean for all the fighting. “I will inform my brethren shortly. After Dream...” he trailed off once, eyes catching a scene far away. “I know how things work. They can gain better Gear through their own ability, rather than relying on handouts from nobles and the crown. Their pride will take the hit.” He looked around once. “She... is not here?”
“If you look at the Map, you’ll see she’s ten miles that way.” Briggs pointed, and squinted. “I think that’s a black cloud forming, which means somebody over there Summoned something, and the Land is going to feast.”
Elves nearby overheard, heads turned, and the field went silent. A moment later, Marktell opened up, and as the Sluggor was vomited into existence with a cadre of Cancer-Clowns capering about it in joy and swollen, slime-spewing glee, Tremble’s Song flared through their minds again.
The Sluggor died badly, as did its Pusboys and Clowns, and the Land came up to feast. They felt the wave of power even this far away, rustling the grass and leaves, and all of a sudden, all the corpses going vivic blazed up like someone had poured gasoline on them.
“Ah, grabbing munchies in passing,” Briggs said sagely, and continued with his work.