Part 8: Chapter 4.4 The Amazing Adventures In Thread Lock Dodging
The thread isn't dead. I'm just lazy and I keep doing the mistake of doing a lot of screenshots in one go, then putting them into an LP over several posts. Gotta limit my playing time - or be pickier with what to post!4.4 The Amazing Adventures In Thread Lock Dodging
Beloved mother,
my service to our lord, King Lich V, continues. Though we have been stuck in frozen tundra for weeks, we are well provisioned and cared for. The only indignity we have to suffer are the continous fireball attacks by the fire elemental. It seem that the smell of burning fur never fully dies down. Never the less, military leadership assures us that our post here is vital to the entirety of the North-Western expedition. And so are our lives – that's why we're not allowed to attack the fire elemental outright.
I'm sorry for not writing sooner. My hand needed some time to regrow.
In those moments of respite when fire does not rain on us and we are not dragging our wounded to medical ditches, I think about home in Lichopolis. I promise, once this is over, I will marry Suzana de la Crua-Baneclaw. Her muscular physique and big bones are bound to result in strong, healthy offspring, very fitting for his majesty's service, and thus advancement of our family. I am sorry to have doubted your wisdom and I regret being misled by youthful notions of “true love” - war has cured me of such delusions!
Give my regards to the family.
Your loving son,
Alfred
Back in Lichopolis, King Lich's experiments into making some sort of airborne scouts that didn't require magical artfacts we failing: throwing goblins tied to kites in catapults appeared to woefully underproductive and one of them even crashed into the werewolf castle, causing one of the weremaidens to get a suddent bout of fainting illness. As such, there he was not too ired when a messenger arrived from King Rrat.
„Parley! I demand parley!, - squeeked a rat in panic, his head moving left and right, eyes bulging.
„What's wrong with this one?“
„Your majesty, I think I know what happened“ said Lucius „Judging by certain red specs on his clothing and a fain waft of stink, this rat must have witnessed one your goblin flight experiments”.
“Ah, yes, that must have been the case. The we tied to bunch of pig bladders full of swamp gas crashed in the middle of the street. The only good thing about it was the fountain of blood”. The king then turned to the envoy. “Ser rat, I assure you, my palace is quite safe from any crashing goblinoids. Might you continue with your task?”
“Squeek, yes! My majesty, King Rrat, would like to propose you an alliance! We offer you these 24 gold pieces as a compensation for all the parchment and ink and seals needed to formalize this deal. And as a gift more worthy than any sort of material possessions, his majesty presents you with this spell”, said the rat, kneeling and extending a scroll forward.
The lich looked at the magical inscriptions:
“What's this? Why, Lucius, I do believe we are in possession of a spell of enfeeblement! It's an early version, so it's not too powerful. Never the less, it admire the approach that the mage that created it took. It doesn't affect muscle or bone or sinew directly. Instead, it draws on the immutable law of nature that states that poets, bards and others of their ilk are invariably weak of constitution and limp of wrist. This spell channels the said afliction of the arms – hence why in prepration to cast we, we have to pour cheap wine over parchment of horrible poetry, a book full of sappy romance stories and some gaudy trinkets that a poet would give to the first whore he'd deem the love of his life, then set it all on fire with a red candle. Thus the target would be infused with the spirit of poetry and thus not really able to strike with his whole might”.
“Truly a devious spell, m'lord!” - Lucius exclaimed.
“Indeed it is. Envoy, tell your king that our nations are in alliance from now on! And do be mindful of goblins”.
But that wasn't the only spell gained that day. While reading the book “How To Pretend To Be A God Without Fear Of Smiting”, he found a spell that was really useful in convincing non believers of a mage's divine power – the lightning bolt! After he stripped the part of the incantation that forced the spell to target “harlots, catamites, cattle violators, peoples of color and women of opinion”, it became a useful battlefield tool.
No sooner than he had done this, a booming voice rocked his whole chamber
'KING LICH V'
'What the he-”
'LORD DAUROS THE KEEPER OF PEACE THE SERVANT ORDER DEEMS YOU WORTHY OF HIS ATTENTION”
“Wha-”
“FERVUS' FOUL SERVANTS ENTER YOUR REALM. SLAY THEM AND BE REWARDED WITH MY FAVOR AND RICHES BOTH MATERIAL AND MAGICAL”
“Wh-”
“FAIL TO SO AND WITNESS THE WRATH OF LORD DAUROS” finished the voice and the room stopped trembling.
“Well, I best get to it” said Lich, crawling from under a pile of books and shouting down the stairwell “Lucius! Melchior! Did we notice any, uh, disciples of Fervus nearby?”
"With the help of his animal familiars, a single Beastmaster can challenge an entire army! These servants of Fervus can tame the wildest of beasts, Your Majesty. Even I am afraid to look them in the eye!"
From His Majesty's Advisor's address speech.
“...the author also goes on to ramble - in what seems to be a severely prejudiced manner - about Beastmasters' “slanty gook eyes” and the inherent unseaworthiness of the “yellow race” - Melchior commented while reading from a tome.
“Huh. But we can kill them, right?”
“Considering our more than generous magic defenses – yes, yes we can. Also, getting the influx whatever material goods Dauros promised would beneficial to our coffers”.
“Well, then it's settled! Off with their heads!”
The ogre was rolling down the hill while holding on to his foot and bellowing in pain.
“Dat's rite, foo! Ain't nobody can get a homie in 'is turf, busta! 'specially when da turfs a hill, you! Gechho stinkin' ass to school 'n' learn some tactics!” shouted Snoop Jim-s after he spat out an ogres toe.
And then his ears went up, and he fell his whiskers straighten.
“Ma elf woman sense be tinglin'!”
Somewhere, probably surrounded by spiders, was a elvish settlement, full of nubile elven ladies – and Snoop Jim-s would see it added to his majesty's growing kingdom! Out of loyalty to the crown, of course...
Back on the home front, an imp portal and some imps -
“How many times I have to tell you, Lucius, ginger people have nothing to do with Imps! I know that! I wrote a thesis about it” -
appeared. At the top of the mountain, in plain view and comfortable range of defenses in two cities, and with an eager band of newly mustered goblin archers waiting to kill someone.
They stood no chance.
Yet amidst the carnage, the arrow filled piles of sulfur that used to be imps and the portal rocks with profane symbols that were in the process of being of washed away by copious amount of goblin pee (they had the a drinking contest on the way to dismantle the portal), something of value was found. Imp hearts proved to be a good source of magic. And upon the sacrificial altar, amids the burned remains of what seemed to be a merchant, a bow was found. Glimmering black, constantly shedding ash that disappeared before touching ground, it was definitely magic.
“Shame that the only archer champion in the kingdom is a goblin”, - mused King Lich V while ordering the bow delivered to Khargem.
The goblin weighted Hand of Ashes in his palm. Is was masterfully done, smooth, a bit warm to touch, crafted from some unknown material, and constantly shedding ashes.
“Do you want power?” - Khargem heard in his head. Other goblins would have soiled their pants. But Khargem had age, experience and discipline. Plus, momma Smoky trails drank while pregnant and dropped young Khargem on the head a few times, so he was a great deal smarter than other goblins. He knew a good deal when he saw one – or felt it's slippery cold whispers in his mind.
“I am power. Use me” said the bow. “Take an arrow and draw”.
Khargem did as he was ordered. His custom made arrow – pinnacle of goblin craftsmanship and barely passable by human standards – turned black: sleek, straight, and sinister.
“Now close your eye. Receive the secret of the Hand of Ashes!”
He who aims with the arm is on the path to ruin. He who aims with the eye is on the path of glory.
I will not fall to ruin.
Khargem felt, for the first time in his life, the eye of his mind open. He felt that as if he could rise above surrounding area and see for miles, the souls of living critters all around him, at once a sea and a gathering of distinct creatures.
He who shoot with the hand is on the path to ruin. He who shoots with his mind is on the path of glory.
I will not fall to ruin.
Khargem saw a group of giant spiders – and he loathed spiders just like everyone else. He watched them through his minds eyes, focusing on the distinct pattern of their souls, focusing like he would do on a target. And then he beckoned the arrow to fly and to kill them.
And so it flew.
He who kills with the bow is on the path to ruin. He who kills with his heart is on the path of glory.
I will not fall to ruin.
This arrow wasn't propelled by mere drawn string. A gust of hatred, revulsion, anger was driving it forward, correcting its path. These emotions swelled in the shaft of the black arrow and radiated outward, making it appear like the arrow was flying in a swarm of phantom arrows.
And then they stuck. Arrow pierces body, hatred pulverizes chitin. Arrow goes through the phlegm of the spider's body, revulsion makes it boil. Arrow wounds; anger kills.
Khargem opened his eyes. The bow had turned bone white and ash wasn't falling anymore.
“Power is not to be toyed with, for it can destroy you. Save me for those whose need to die is indeed dire”
A goblin settler stopped his wagon almost at the edge of frozen tundra. The Mysterious Probably Magical Wall was shimmering so close, you could almost touch it – and some will, once the city of Gold of the Lich (“I didn't want them to have illusions about the reason why they're there”) is established.
“Why da boney king send us here, Gork?”
“Because dere be gold in them thar hills, Mork”
Meanwhile, some more pressing inquiries were going on in Lichopolis.
“M'lord, these are prisoners I asked you to pardon” said Lucius after he arrayed a line of filthy men, gnome and goblin in front of the king. “Smilin' Ole Rob. Killed a widow, ate her children. Glorg Left Hands, stole from the rich and then stole from the poor. Hookfinger Jorge Potbelly. Used to loan money to other gnomes, then cut out their fat when they couldn't give it back. He used to make soap, although we have no idea why. And then there's George the Maremaker. He's not a criminal per se, he just a big horse gelding enthuasiast”.
“Charming bunch. And why do we need them?”.
“Well, with Gold of the Lich established, we're probably going to see an influx of gold. And where there's gold, there has to be...”
“...taxation”.
Yet not all was bad in the Kingdom of the Lich. Emerah used her time flying on the combat broom to shoot healing spells left and right on the peoples below. And with such repeated training, and happyness seeing people be healthy again (even if they were lonely wild domesticated pig herders and dwarves with hangovers out to take a leak), Emerah's healing power grew ever stronger.
“M'lord, you have never heard of Sol de Torvega?” Lucius asked incredulously.
“I was quite indisposed for some time, you now” answered King Lich, irritated “Self-assembly doesn't leave much time for great gossip, you know!”
“Sol is almost the pinacle of werewolf aspirations. Why, he's even a mage, and that's a rare feat among my kind! Sadly, his father isn't really among us. He was a also a great were, but...”
“But?”
“Well, he tried turning into dragon. Or fusing with one. The details are kind of sketchy, but the fact remains. Still, Sol de Torvega is a great leader, and not nearly as crazy”.
“So, I just sit and wait for him to inevitably ask me for alliance, right?”
King Lich V sat and waited for a new diplomatic proposal (or someone to remind him that it might take some time) while prince Snoop Jim-s was up for action. Invigorated by his success in fending off the ogre or maybe driven crazy by a combination of ogre blood and toe fungus, he ran into the middle of the brute's territory.
“Figure dar where eva' I strike, I gon cap a foo', ya dig?” - he said to no one in particular.
A little to the east, Emerah spotted a burnt clearing full of slightly singed werewolves and turned the combat broom towards them in stunning maneuver for someone who never had any flying practice. She landed in the midst of the wolves and started shouting orders.
“By the power of Agrella and by the authority of King Lich V, I will keep you sods alive! You there! Sew up that ear! You too! Administer some ointment! Hey, short tail! Clean that wound with boiled wine! I don't have long canines or pointy ears, but I do know that your bodies will heal faster after you take the pine cones out of your wounds. Yes, I was referring to you, cone-chest!”
“Ah, but you see, m'lady, even with your healing gifts, we wouldn't be able to take down the accursed elemental. Especially now that he took position on top of a hill – we'd be blasted to giblets before we even get close!”
Emerah thought about it for a minute, got back on the broom and flew up above the trees. She could clearly see the Greater Fire Elemental perched on the hill, doing nothing much besides emitting a slow buzzing sound.
The creature wasn't native to Ardania, this much was certain. And it was almost impervious to any sort of native magic. Well then, there was only thing left to try. As werewolves attacks imbue some of the primal vicousness of their soul into their claws, as goblin shamans try to eat their targets even on spiritual level, so did the healers of Agrella use the strength of their spirit as a tool in combat.
Emerah started focusing on her wand...
Yet while the hammering blows of the healer's spirit where chipping away blocks off the fire elemental and goblin arrows were miraculously cutting down ogres, a new foe presented itself.
Skeletons.
"These animated bones are moved by dark magic of unknown origin."
From the collected works of His Majesty's Advisor.
Unlike ogres, which could eventually be crushed under the weight of arrows, skeletons were almost immune to them, what with having neither flesh that could be pierced, nor complex internal mechanisms that could be broken.
This meant that Snoop Jim-s, still flush with the blood and gold of freshly slain ogres, was to be shifted North, where he'd easily deal with skeletons as they charged him. Almost a waste of his talents, if not for the fact that he spotted boundaries of a probably neutral city down at the south west.
A werewolf clad in shining bronze armor fell to one knee in front of King Lich V.
“M'lord, my liege, great wizard Sol de Torvega, has a proposal for you highness” - he said and extended a scroll as Lucius rolled his eyes.
Lich started reading, muttering some words, but mostly making a chilling rattle of teeth.
“Your undead highness... trying times... difficulties besetting all Ardania... obligation of all great powers... fucking monstrous spiders... Dremer... I propose a truce... Ah, a spell of summon Imp! Lucius, this spell is always fun. You see, Ghost Wolves are always fun, but imps actually resent serving you! They think that as imps they are above you and you should cover before their terror. Not much of a terror they are, being summoned that easily. Bunch of wimps! This only makes sending them to their demise even more fun. Oh, this is the most entertaining of gifts. Tell his majesty Sol de Torvega that there will be peace between monster kingdoms in his lifetime!”
Captain Duckwinson wasn't very happy. The map laid before him only had information on the waters that he just crossed and even that wasn't helpful because of his crippling illiteracy. His father died when a book fell on his head, so Duckwinson junior wowed never to read a word. It was a stupid promise, one that could be expected from a six year old, but growing up, he based all his development as person on it. It was so intertwined with his personality that he could learn reading no sooner than he could pluck his eye or start respecting cabin boys.
Fortunately, his gloomy thoughts about letters and people who use them were cut short by first mate Bile Gruffstone barging in.
“Capt'n, I found a still below th' deck. The lads are brewin', but the swill isn't fit fo' no man ta drink”.
“So? Nothing special about it”
“Aye, but have an idea! The swill's like to catch fire real fast an' burn real 'ard. How 'bout we take the gunpowder outta the cannon balls an' replace it wit' this stuff? Boom an' th' enemy is full o' metal an' on fire!”
“But what do we do with the powder?”
“Use it fo' cannons? Bake cakes? Let th' boys snort it? Fill a few barrels, put it under an elf town, make it rain pointy ears fer five days? Don' care, capt'n, just let me use th' swill”
“Fine, permission granted! But I better see some flaming spider bits real soon!”
However, it wasn't a cannonade of flaming balls that shook the ground around the world. The horizon flashed red, there was light, a bang and a tremor.
“M'lord, a Dremer gate... has exploded!”