Behind us, the whole approach area was covered by low stone mounds, about four feet high, spaced in what looked like an irregular pattern. It was in truth designed to break up anything resembling a charge lane, and form a serpentine road that had all been pre-sighted in by the siege engines, or in the case of the anthros, a lot of giants.
As the cavalry fed into the mounds, they naturally deviated towards the wider gaps between the stones, while the infantry was relegated to the lesser ones. Catapult loads and auto-ballistae came screaming in to drive through multiple targets, while the arrow fire naturally condensed on the lanes where the infantry was bunched up and bottle-necked.
In the thickest clusters and lanes, spells occasionally went off, each being expended to maximum effect, used lightly and murderously when so. Blooming balls of fire, thundering bolts of lightning, howling gales of utterfrost, and flesh-searing rains of acid were only cast if they could inundate an entire area of the enemy. Walls of flame cut down the middle of lanes and lines, roasting dozens of the Warped at once, adding to the havoc.
Cursing, the Warped hurried on steed and foot, ignoring momentous losses as they did, cresting the first small hill... and went screaming into the trench directly on the other side, unable to help themselves. Like lemmings, whole lines of Warped were impelled over the side and into the fall on the other side.
Yeah, the trenches were twenty feet deep, and at the bottom waited some grimly efficient gnomes, hyn, and Rockborn to end any pain they might have.
On the other side, goblins and kobolds were performing that service. While they weren’t nearly as efficient, they made up for it with numbers and huge enthusiasm for the job. Sure, a slender neck was often crunched in a gauntleted fist, but that just meant its kin could insert a rusty cat-gutter into an eye slit, or wedge a nail between the legs, or other similar entertainments. Screaming warriors and beasts continued to fall from above, crushing those beneath, and all watching parties no doubt got a good chuckle at their antics.
After a bit of mutual discussion, it had been decided not to link the trenches of the two sides, as there might be some enthusiastic misunderstandings. A few goblins had indeed tried to dig out a hole to go over and slit some throats for some funsies, and dug themselves right into a waiting group of gnomes happy to receive guests. A round of puree was served, the tunnel was closed after some rampaging Elementals were sent over to reciprocate the party-crashers, and the goblins decided to find other entertainment forthwith.
All in good humor and understanding on both sides, of course.
In normal situations, this would have a been a “Fill it with the dead and walk over the corpses” situation, but, you know, vivic fire makes that MUCH more difficult, especially when you’re chock full of unnatural energies which vivic fire just loves so much, and even most of your gear is infested with the stuff and burns away with the meat and bone.
It cost the anthros some meat, but there were hobgoblins with enough discipline there to set the fires. If the anthros wanted a snack, they could chop a limb off and chew the burning stuff as it was purified, since chewing the raw, Warp-infused stuff was a repeatedly demonstrated, head-cleaving no-no for all concerned.
Ah, but there were ways across between lengths of the trenches, narrow bridges wide enough to accept single lines of cavalry, leading to other stretches of stone mounds and inclined slopes...
Never let it be said we didn’t give them a road to advance. It wasn’t like they could back up and go make siege bridges or something. The most athletic and superhumanly strong (or just plain tallest) of them could make it over the trenches with jumps or long strides, the rest had to cluster up and hurry across the thoughtfully provided choke points... pre-sighted by the auto-ballistae, of course.
The next slope didn’t have a trench, just a fifteen-foot drop. The natural desire of the infantry was to hang and drop, but lo, the arrow fire there was simply murderous. But!... the sharp-eyed cavalry found two lower areas they could flood across, and so the cavalry were cutting across the paths of the infantry trying to make it to those areas were they could leap across, generally fouling up the progress of everyone even more.
They reached the range of the champa-ka, and so heavy metal started dropping at them at speed. The normal ones were like incoming shotputs, the ones with Elder Arg’s bloodline were like incoming bowling balls... with spikes. Metal dented, helms crunched, necks cracked, skulls broke, bones were crushed... and then those Runeballs vanished from the ground and zipped back to their throwers, ready to be thrown again. Gibbering, mocking calls rained down upon the Warped as the uncannily accurate heavy fire continued.
Then they reached the range of the Reserve Casters.
Spell attacks had been rather few and far between, used for mass slaughter. Even the hulks and Warp giants and cyclops were being targeted by ballista instead of spells, right up until they hit that hundred-foot or so range, and came into the range of the Reserve Castings.
All at once, the Casters on the thirty-foot walls were free to unload, and that’s exactly what they did.
Dozens of balls of fire exploded, arcs of lightning hissed and crackled out, rays of cold and spikes of force interplayed between balls of acid and thrusting caltrops of stone. Once, twice, and again, and again, and again!
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These advocates of Klaw had never seen magic used so much, and so freely, and were completely out of their depth on how to deal with it. They could try hurling javelins or blood-seeking axes, but shieldbearers were there to ward the Casters, and the assault of energy didn’t let up at all.
Behind and above them on the wall, the archers continued their work, drawing their targets down, loosing steadily, once every six seconds, One Arrows finding deadly homes with regularity. Keen-eyed spotters painted targets into the Marks-Up Display, arrows converging on Champions, Commanders, and dangerous beasts, and making of them demonically-praiseworthy armored hatracks.
Few of the true demons got anywhere close to the trench lines or walls, drawing our attention as high Karma value, and the greatest threat to the normal troops there. Those that did make it into the mound zone ran into the same movement irritation as the normal troops, and if they hacked a few of their own apart to clear the path, well, that just made them more obvious targets as they made it into the arrow lanes and Banefire returned their sentiments on relative worth to them.
There were a lot of these guys. Seriously, this was not a small attack. The Warp Gods had an idea of the amount of power on our side, and didn’t skimp on the numbers. Still, their vision was really obfuscated by having so many Nulls around, so they hadn’t really seen the ExLites on station, and didn’t realize their true power at this point.
Which was totally fine by us, of course. When they got to the tops of the walls and found out what was waiting for them there, that would be enough.
========
“Drink, idiot.”
Rorn looked at the Elixir suspiciously and reluctantly, despite the desire in his eyes. Naturally he knew what it did, and what it entailed, and slowly shook his head. “I will not be in service to a Beast, however mighty and noble. My people will be led by one of their own.”
Source, on his road. I just smiled. “Neither will I. Now, drink. You think I would bow to an Exemplar Animal? If you take the blood from three of them, you can draw out the essence and leave the bias behind. Straight Exemplar, no were-line in it.”
His eyebrows rose, he calculated quickly, and swiped it from my hand. Like it was prize ale, he popped the fizzy, bubbling pink brew, and poured it right down his throat.
Hey, he hung with a lot of dwarves. Stylish drinking was a must.
I watched his eyes bulge, and the dance of veins rising and snaking around under his skin began. He was feeling power flowing through him now, getting rid of genetic junk, fine-tuning his DNA, streamlining the flow of life and ki and essence through him. He was being cleaned out from inside, on multiple levels, the experience intoxicating and exhilarating, like a new world being opened up in mind and body.
+4 to all Stats at once, increased movement, fractional precognition, falling into harmonic alignment with the universe, maximized Health and Soak and some additional Soak love... it was a lot of stuff.
A magic item that could do the same thing would have cleared half a million or more, easily. These Elixirs were not small things. All praise to Mu!... and Elder Arg.
He grew two inches, put on twenty pounds of pure muscle. His hair was brighter, skin less weathered, eyes clearer, muscles harder and more rigidly defined. The Charisma boost made his Source Aura more apparent than before, but that wasn’t a problem with me.
He took several deep breaths, sighing, feeling the changes still ongoing, his Sourceness hurrying them along as it found them extremely beneficial. “How long before it is finished?” he gasped, not really focusing on anything as he felt and saw the changes inside him taking place.
“It took Briggs about an hour to clear everything, so, probably two or three for you,” I told him calmly. He nodded slowly, a new regality about him as he broke his way into Exemplar Human Lite. A King Among Men was now an Exemplar-y King Among Men.
“Are these available for my people?” he asked quietly.
“Supplies are limited, and only for those who reach Ten,” I agreed. “If they are Powered, you may want to send them to a Bloodline, if you want to get them out of the way.”
There had been some deep conversations going on among certain rulers, who had been rather concerned on finding out that the now unbelievably elite troops they had sent along with me now owed their final allegiance to some Exemplar animals, or in the case of the elves, had straight up transcended mortality by taking Wayfair’s bloodline, and were in effect direct servants of Sylune now!
Knowing that they could take on Wayfair’s bloodline and become angelic star elves was enormously tempting to any elf. Likewise, the Wood Elves had no compunction about inheriting a pure Were-line; one could even say it was a goal of their nature-oriented populace.
As a result, the rulership was down with Exemplar Elixirs for themselves and their hand-picked aides and champions, but a bit more reluctant on the Bloodlines. Of course, the elves, being as willful as they were, would make their own decisions and what to take and what not to. If they had no problem serving under King Gold and King Grey, then it wasn’t a problem.
And if it meant cat and wolf-eared elves in the future, Briggs and a bunch of the boys just sort of whistled and got That Look in their eyes... and so did the ladies...
The bloodline Rockborn didn’t have any issue with this severance of service, understanding the fundamental issue of serving two Kings. As King Grey was staying with the Ironblood, many of whom were set on earning his Bloodline, they opted to remain in service with us, too.
The same went with the Berserkers, who rather felt that going back home to Kalden and dealing with merely mortal issues there was not something they wanted to deal with. They were now the Golden Pride of the King of Lions, after all, and they had to do something worthy of themselves!
Naturally Rorn was pleased to see them go, not wanting to put up with their attitudes regardless.
“Is this power passed on?” Rorn asked calmly.
“Advanced template to first generation. Atlantean human for the second. Gone for the third.” So, basically his kids would have +4 to all Stats, his grandkids would be +2, and his great-grandkids would be normal humans.
Unless they could earn such an Elixir for themselves, of course!
“Lifespan?” he asked further, nodding at my words. So, no super-powerful bloodline staying in power, like the Powered often did.
“I don’t know. Extended, and no physical penalties for aging, I am certain. You will definitely live far, far longer than even a Powered. Ergo, you’re going to have to walk away from the throne and leave it to your heirs at some point, because it is likely you will outlive them... unless they become Exemplars, too.”
He frowned at that, thinking of the implications, and then held out his arm to me. I clasped it immediately. “Then I will come home to the Ironblood, and Sage Sama, when my time for my people is done.”
“The boys will mock you if you bring a throne, and probably carve up a crown for you regardless,” I winked back, and despite himself, he smiled.