The Present...
It had been two weeks since we’d last seen the Rockborn. Many things had changed.
Ten days, used properly, meant ten Levels. Ten Levels meant Depth.
They hadn’t seen Briggs in his Armor, and a fair number of polished eyeballs nearly fell into thick beards when they saw him in skinplate and wielding a QL 35 Named Hammer with a mean streak for Warped blood.
Briggs could have reached Seven by now, but there was no need. He was grimly building his foundation, collecting the Secondary Class Levels he’d skipped by and Masteries he knew he’d need as he calmly gathered new Levels and Masteries. Yeah, he was paying Five prices for them, but the way his killing was taking off, it wasn’t an issue at the moment. He was especially happy to smash a path through Lesser Demons and pound into the True ones when they were brought in. Nobody expected to take a 70-point hit from a pre-teen Neanderthal, after all, even high-Karma targets like that...
And I, of course, had something of a reputation explosion.
I knew there were multiple factors behind the fact. First, the dwarves had all seen me fight. Yeah, I’d been holding back, and even if they didn’t want to believe the stories they were hearing, they knew I was dangerous.
Second, I was Admirable, because I was a Smith, and a damn good one. They’d watched us make Endure out of scrap metal, at breathtaking speed... and it was now one nasty piece of work, and getting nastier. Dwarves respected those who could work stone and metal.
Third, I was the Sage of Swords, and a Grandmaster of Swords. Those were not Titles which could be faked, and it only took a single line of Divine inquiry to confirm they were totally true.
Learning Briggs was a Grandmaster of the Hammer had no doubt shaken them. While the dwarves here were in no way wedded to the hammer like Tolkien’s bunch, they’d also seen he was a very skilled smith, and had watched him go Jotun-crushing with energy and zeal... Now everyone was talking about how he was ripping through lines of Warped like a Champion born.
Fourth, the Divine were talking about me. The Powers of Heaven might be competitive about their Ethics, but when it came to Evil rearing its head, They’d share info through all sorts of channels to smash it back down. It was what Good people did. I’d started a big mess, I was making a bigger one, and They were passing whispers down to their clergy about me, even if They couldn’t see me.
Gods have influence!
Fifth, I had a Charisma of 30. Even if I didn’t browbeat or hog the spotlight, I had Presence. +10 to Social rolls is no joke. I was perfectly aware I commanded attention wherever I went... and having 10 Ranks in Intimidation and Diplomacy gives one a certain carrot-and-stick air. Psychic pressure combined with body language, Gentle Giant and Brutal Aura combining to give my Strength bonus to both Skills, and Dauntless driving my Resolve bonus towards any warrior-type... which all these dwarves were. Combine all that with Skill Focus and the Mastery/5, plus Commanding Presence, and yeah, I had a walk-around +47 on the roll. Hoary old longbeards talked down to me exactly once, I blinked lazily at them, and after realizing they were about to take a head-first run through the nearest tree, their tones changed swiftly.
Sixth, I was Famous. The elves were talking about me. The Borderguard was talking about me. And very, very importantly, the Brotherhood of the Void was talking about me. The Mountain and the Hammer had come out, talked to his Brothers, and was making no secret of his opinion of me after that. He found me the day before we met up with the Rockborn, got himself Marked, and watched for himself what I was doing.
He left bearing a Hammer that looked rather similar to Endure, only more brutal and bigger. He went right to the dwarven leadership, stated his recommendations, and walked away.
Seventh, I had Leadership. It was a powerful Feat, because it made you a Leader of Men. There was no shirking, no retiring from the spotlight. I was a Leader, everyone could see it, and being a Human/3 made me a paragon of my species, even if they didn’t know it. On a purely instinctual level, they knew I was a powerful member of the Human species, and they could not take me lightly.
Lastly, I was a Marshal with a personal leadership cap of four thousand. That was a totally Legendary limit, a Great Marshal washing over them with the iron and thunder of literally thousands of battles. When Tremble’s Courageous kicked up and those Morale Bonuses hit +5, there was only thunder and fire in the soul, and no doubting my commands at all.
---
The efficient dwarves had two hundred volunteers waiting for me when I arrived. They got their core officers and sergeants Marked up before they went out to fight, and watched the difference in timing and coordination with their own eyes, analyzing everything, recording decisions made as they followed my orders and watched the group of Warped taurs and anthros get butchered, while Tremble’s Song roared through them like the music of the Gods. Two of their Chanters could only gape at the force of my commands carried on that Song, and picture what it could do for all their troops.
They gazed at The Map and the massiveness of the world around them, and suddenly, some dwarves actually felt small.
They didn’t have to beg their leaders to overcome their reservations. The consensus after the fight resolved with merciless precision was that it would have been even easier if more of their soldiers were Marked!
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Briggs slaughtered his way through three Warp Spawn, Estemar soloed one, and Rockborn officers butchered the rest as they appeared. The stag-horned, wolf-headed Shaman who Summoned them in was run over by dwarven ram-riders, used as a pinball, and then impaled from six directions at once when he refused to die, just so one of the riders could reach over and swipe off his head with a glaive.
For eight hours I put on Marks, nearly a hundred more Rockborn receiving them, most of them from an elite, veteran spear company. What such elite troops could do with that level of a Marshal’s Aura on them was going to rock the Warped hard.
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Then Briggs and I forged out some sample kukris and falcatas made for dwarves. The power of the design at chopping motions, and the wicked ability of its drawcut, definitely got their attention, combining some of the best features of knife and axe. I got very deep into discussion with some smiths over the heft, balance, angle of cut and arc of blades, and then went through a full set of katas with several experienced infighters. Their large hands were perfect for manipulating the weapon, and when they saw how efficiently it disemboweled and could take off a head, yet could be used to parry easily against the forearm, I had some adventurous sorts willing to ‘gather data’ with the new weapons.
Of course, they almost fell over themselves when they saw Fall and Reach at work.
Ranged fire, rapid RoF, wheels and gears and mechanical power catering to Might instead of Power, and it scaled all the way up to ballista size in applicability.
The fact an autobow required magic to be better than a bow was a non-issue, as crafting magic Weapons was what Rockborn did better than anyone else. When I drew out the design schematics in holo and one of their Elders Captured it in a gem for later transferal to a proper medium, their crossbow captain was This Close to crying out in joy for the coming carnage. His whole company spent hours testing out Reach, racking the action, and mumbling into their beards about the rate of fire possible with the thing.
Discussions of rare metals that Briggs and I needed to actually make some truly decent Gear moved ahead smoothly at that point. Also, deep conversations about the possibility of establishing a hyn homeland between the elven and dwarven lands got some heavy discussion late into the night... between elves and dwarves hundreds of miles apart, fighting the same foes and having inklings that something bad was coming from the south.
Live mouths, not magic, were used to send word back to respective lords and monarchs, mostly by Teleport or similar effects that could cross the leagues quickly. More and more forces were whelming, as the first true human units from the Rosencrux Empire began to arrive on the scene.
Brigand and bandit activity on the trail north began to drop precipitously as word rustled out and Borderguards down there went scalp hunting for human leeches, while hyn hunters guarding their families began to secure a route to the North with blood. Different elements of certain knightly orders and church forces helped out as they built a supply line to the North... and if many of the merchants were hyn, nobody cared as long as the wagons rolled.
On the far side of the Warp zone, Warped men and anthros were dying in the night, feeding the Names of Weep, Silence, and Whisper. Sometimes some demons managed to arrive... and never departed, Feeding the Land.
Other Warpbands drove into the desolate and wild lands roved by countless tribes of anthros, goblins, and orcs, all getting along in a mutual slaughter kind of way. They were perfectly willing to get into fights with the forces of the Warp, run away, and come back with more of their kind. Warlords roared out about the invasion to their territory, and began to push back against the Warped.
The Wind and the Arrow paid a visit to the area, and several Shamans. To eat the flesh of the Warped is to serve the Warp. That phrase proliferated across the area fairly quickly... as did how to make a Vivic Disk that could purify the Warp energies away, Feed the Land, and leave most of the carcasses behind for consumption.
With an unending source of fresh meat, recruitment of new bodies to fight wasn’t actually all that hard. True anthros looking at the beast-men of the Warp found instant mutual hatred at the genetic level was a thing, so there was no talk of collaboration... and they all loathed the humans that had been driving them off from the South for endless years. Seeing more sorta-humans coming to pick a fight from the northwest was basically an excuse for mutual slaughter.
The Warpbands wrapped north and west around the dwarven mountains and into the hinterlands of Kaldenheim, who, forewarned and reinforced by their grim and hardy Priests, set aside tribal grudges and grievances against this relentless invader and made ready for them.
The news that the main battle was being fought hundreds of miles away, on the other side of the mountains in the ruins of the ancient city, fired up a desire for glory that there was little stopping. The battle-hungry berserkers of the Kalden led the way as the Northmen advanced over the bodies of the Warped, one day at a time. The Marked with them gained instant reputations as battle commanders and scouts, fighting the Warped hordes and leading the men through the wilds towards the great battle beyond.
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“You can quit skulking. There’s nobody else around.”
The branch that was hanging a bit heavy released abruptly, and there was a soft beat of large wings unfurling. Pine needles sprayed as taloned feet hit the ground, and a shimmer of illusion slowly faded into shadow and solidity.
Noir Rabe regarded me carefully, as well he should. His new armor was less detailed and jewel-ornamented than his last set, but still made of wood. I crossed my arms and looked up at him, unafraid.
He regarded me speculatively. As a Fey Warlord, he was naturally sensitive to that aspect, Null or no, and he could feel my Command Aura directly now. It would have given him pause even if he didn’t know that I could pound him into the dirt directly.
“You seem to have acquired a position of some importance, Sama Rantha,” the erlking greeted me, dismissing with sophisticated pleasantries for the moment. “I see you are still well.”
“And you as well, Erlking Noir Rabe. I trust you’re not here to cause trouble.” I eyed the crows clustered in the trees all about, the corner of my mouth turning up in a smile. No, a murder of crows was no threat to me, either.
Of course, fearlessness, utter confidence, and stupidity are often hard to tell apart. “I am, but not for you.”
I lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “You going up against the Warped is a bad idea, Noir Rabe.”
His hawk-like eyes narrowed. “And why do you say that, hagchild?” he uttered, not bothering to hide his irritation with my judgement.
“Because you’re a mass murderer, with a hate job on for humanity longer than your arm, and so horribly susceptible to the temptations of the Warp. Your spirit is going to stand out like a fire in the night, and you’re already a thing of Chaos. The Warp is Chaos personified; they’re going to reach out, Tempt you with commanding countless souls to raze and reap the lands of Men, backed by words that will reach right into your soul... and you’re going to agree and deliver yourself to them, turning fallen humans to fight other humans as is only right. You’ll be their battle slave, and soon enough it won’t be humans, but anything that dares to stand before you.
“Life will be battle, and if that means fighting other Fey, you won’t be of the Courts anymore, you’ll be of the Warp.
“Probably get a hawk head out of it, too. Maybe two. You know how they like to mutate their own.”
He stared at me for a full long minute before raising a darkly thoughtful gaze to the northeast. The Warp Rift probably blazed in his mind like a beacon.
“You do not believe I can resist them?” he half-sneered, half-asked.
“How many of the Winter Court to the north have already come flocking to them, without them even asking? You are far more of a prize than mere redcaps, spriggans, and trolls, and your hatred is a part of who you are. They can offer you fulfillment of the very essence of your being. Stick magic at the level of a demon lord behind that offer, and you’re done for.”
His expression shifted. He had no inbuilt reverence or fear of the Divine, but being godless didn’t mean he was ignorant or contemptuous of them. Fey fell to the servants of the Divine all the time.
His eyes fell back to me. “You have been expecting me...”