Part 10: Chapter 5.2: Hateful Universe

If I'm not mistaken, the VIDEO_TDR BsoD can be dodged by turning down particle related options in older games. Probably. I turned down shadows, clouds, water, effects and... well, see if you can spot difference. Good look with that!

Chapter 5.2: Hateful Universe



With the matters in the Near West somewhat settled, King Lich V finally had time to lean back with a good book. Or a scroll. „Pendulum's Dark Swing Or The Projection of Deathly Shadow Powers And Their Use In Acquiring The Admiration Of Pale Morbid Wenches“. While King didn't have much use for wenches – having no flesh on one's bones will turn one's interest in women into a purely academical or, in freak cases, platonic thing – he was a great fan of using death magic. Especially since it was very useful in killing the living, which comprised the biggest part of the world's population, which also fed the groups that hated necromancers. Shadow Bolt would help deal with them and look stylish at the same time.



The King's joy with a new tool to smite goblins (and people who generally weren't his subjects, too) had little impact on the expedition on the west coast. Specifically, the Rrat prince had run into some minor werewolf nobility, which was of little concern by itself and even of lesser concern when backed with archers.

„Away with you, you rat peasant! We the werewolf szlachta rule here! We have convened in our Sejm and voted not to have any king rule over us or infringe on our noble rights!“

„Whoa, who you callin' peasant, busta? I'z Snoop-Jims, da Rrat-Prince 'n' I ain't gonna be disrespected by yokel“

„Yokel?! I'm no yokel! You will address me as Sir Brother Furrishch Wokowski! My forefathers ruled Sarmatia („Whisker-O, ever heard o' dat?“ „Just a fable for the academics, my prince“) and voted – voted – to go and take these lands! We szlachta rule here, away from kings or any sort of strangling central government...“

„Quit yo jibba-jabba. Yo little punks ass hood iz gonna be incurporat'd into our kingdom. King L sez so and I bust caps in asses o' dose who dissent, know wut I'm sayan'?“

„Brute! I shall show you! I'll lead the levee en masse and drive you back!“

„What, dis sorry posse of posers?“ asked Snoop-Jims, pointing at the war camp full of rowdy, drunk, undisciplined weres „we gonna take you fast, tailz, and we gonna be sackin' yo town soon“.



The land was strewn with corpses of werewolves: whoever wasn't cut down by the deluge of goblin arrows, the rrat swords and teeth got them. Snoop-Jims didn't even bother looting the camp and so the grey host scurried to swarm beneath the walls of Bearling.



The path of the second werewolf company lead near Lichholm – but a gnome was barring their way!

„Gnome, what's the meaning of this?“ snarled Crozius van de Paw, the lead wolf of the vanguard. „We're on official crown business, away with you!“

„Yes, yes, kind sir wolves, but I have something to share with you! You see, I'm but a lowly armor smith, but even we have ambitions! I wanted to improve armor of our noble troops, so that they could defend the realm better. I tried changing the straps, curving the armor, reducing decoration to increase thickness... everything! But it didn't help. That is, until one day I accidentally drank some of the pure used for leather and I had an epiphany!“

„So, what did this vision entail?“

„Why, I came up with the brilliant idea to add armor to the back, too!“






With gnome out of the way, the werewolves marched on to encircle Gnomewall which, by the intelligence report from goblins tied to really strong pigeons, was defended by an Ogre and simple militia that could be found in any town.



Now that was a sight. A diplomatic procession of goblins was a thing as laughable as impossible. Most monster rulers tried to send, at the very least, gnomes and those didn't even have gnomes to spare were most likely rulers in a sense that they „ruled“ a dung hut or particulary large cesspit outside a real monster city. Yet here they were, trying to appear important in their shoddily made tunics and holding misshapen, dirty pieces of parchment. The largest of them cleared his throat, spewed out a glob of phleghm and announced

„Hear ye all, our lord Ash-Haar the Wisest, First of Goblins, Biggest of Goblins, Mouth That Swallows the World, The Green Wizard, proclaims greeting to Litch King V! What say you?“

„There's no 't' in 'lich'“



There might not be a 't' in 'lich', but smelly goblin militia was still in Bearling. Snoop-Jims led the assault on the walls: it might have gone quicker if giant walking rats had not deemed eating through the walls to be beneath them. So, in the mean time, they scurried along the wall, throwing stones and knocking out the occasional goblins, and dreaming of day when some smith would make bows that had a handle and could be fired with one hand, preferably sideways.



However, they only had regular goblin bows and regular goblin archers. After they had fired enough arrows to hit the town (and some defenders) by saturation, it was Khargem's turn to show real skill in archery. The Bow spoke once more:

“I am power. Use me” whispered the weapon and slid into his hand.

Khargem notched an arrow and cast his spirit outward. The town wasn't exactly ripe with targets – goblins were ruled by the biggest and smelliest of their rank and there wasn't one warchief whose death would cause immediate rout. There was, however, a cesspit, probably used by the late szlachta. Khargem loosed the arrow and it arked over Bearling's walls. And while it coursed through the air, the goblin marksmen filled it with all the anger and fury and disdain that a goblin felt to his lesser brethren.

When the arrow hit cesspit, the hatred burst outwards. For a moment, there was a pillar of sevage meters high. And then it started to rain down upon Bearling, a fetid rain of scalding manure. Militia fell of the wall as dung burned off their faces and many a poor sod on the street level was boiled alive in the wave of searing shit that washed down the streets.

The Bow was satisfied with the sacrifice.



Happyness, however, was not to be found in Gnomewall. The once independent town had been conquered by genocidal elves, than taken over by rowdy independent monster. But today, werewolves rappidly approached it's walls, formed living pyramids to propel the best among their ranks over the parapet. There, they disemboweled stomachs, ripped arms, tore throats, snapped necks and showed militia off the wall until they opened the gates and the remaining forces poured in.



Gnomewall changed hands for the third time! Any trace of independent, elected government was snuffed out under the secret orders of the werewolf primarch.



Meanwhile, the fresh, young company of weres was engaging the ogre outside the city. The wolf men jumped on it, tore at his skins and ripped out haunches of flesh. But the monster was very large and the fight dragged on...



“Golddale Duck” was, however, quickly avoiding a fight.

“Bile, I wasted too much time firing on those spiders” remarked captain Duckwinson to his first mate”

“Right you are, sur. I recon you don wanna to blow dem serpents up?”

“No, lets just map the shore. If our lord sends an expedition here, they will be equipped to handle a few flying snakes”

“Aye, aye, capt'n”



No sooner did the first mate open his flask of rum, than the first barrage of serpent fireballs reached the ship.

“Damnation! Bill, see to the repairs and douse the flames! We will maintain our course and outrun these filthy animals”



But that was easier said than done. Swarms of serpents now flocked over the shores, each belching a small ball of fire. Splinters flew everywhere as they impacted the ship, the smell of burning wood and charred flesh hanging over it like a grim cloud. Captain Godwinson hid behind a mast and wondered how long would the repair take at the harbor.



Alas, even more flying snakes appeared and sent the “Golddale Duck” and her crew to its final port: at the bottom of the sea...



Yet these weren't the only lives taken by the sea. Thankfully, those that died later weren't the people under the yoke of King Lich V, so they mattered little.

But the manner of the way some settlers from the Elven kingdom died was very troubling: a sea serpent appeared and with its scalding watery breath slew the whole caravan while it was still ashore.

The sea, at least for the moment, was lost to the kingdoms of wizards.



And if the sea was a harsh mistress, the sky showed no mercy neither. A huge ball of fire, bigger than any fireball, screamed through the heavens and crashed into the frozen tundra near Gold of the Lich, obliterating everything around it on impact.

“M'lord, I'm happy to report that we didn't lose anything. Mayhaps a few villages of the northern people went in flames as well as some wild goblin dwellings, but nobody of actual importance”.