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6/15/2025, 12:03:34 AM
From atop a grassy knoll, you look down upon a border town.
It's a small little village, with thatched roof cottages giving way to town houses with tile roofs as they get closer to the stone church that stands at its heart. To the ungrateful worms who call this place their home, it must be an impressive structure. A black monument of stone and steel placed to honor the demons who so graciously allowed their inferior lives to continue in exchange for a pittance in tribute. To one who has grow up amongst the demons in their cities, who received their blessings from a young age, it is nearly as pathetic as the worms you've been sent to crush beneath your heels.
"You appear to be enjoying your first command, Lady Clearwater," a rumbling voice approaches from your side. You do not need to turn your eyes to know that it is the lich Dormandal. A wise old sorcerer, and the closest thing you have to a father. "Does the prospect of slaughtering your fellow mortals truly bring you such joy?"
"Of course, my lord," you cannot keep the excitement out of your voice. "Nothing would bring me greater joy that to see all of these pathetic traitors laid out for the slaughter. To see the menfolk butchered like pigs. The woman turned into playthings for our brave soldiers..."
Dormandal gives a hollow chuckle. "Hah, I think you're the only one looking to get her lance wet. The rest of the men..."
He waves a bony hand at the forces set out behind you. One hundred rune carved skeletons split into four platoons of twenty five, each led by a skeletal champion with sufficient wits about them to lead their mindless brothers. Their bones glitter in the morning sun, dipped in steel and carved with magic runes that grant them strength and speed beyond the ken of ordinary undead. A force that cannot be scoffed at, yet at the same time insignificant enough to entrust to a freshly minted knight, thrust into command not one week after receiving her armor and her lance.
"...well, they lack the means to enjoy such things," he finishes. With a hollow chuckle, he continues. "Even I, who retain far more memories of flesh and life than they... I can appreciate what comes after a battle on an aesthetic level, but it truly doesn't do it for me."
You wave him off. "Even if my soldiers can't enjoy themselves, I'm sure the patrons of the military brothels in the capital will appreciate the spoils of this victory."
"I'm sure they'll be thrilled to receive your leftovers," Dormandal says with a shake of his head. "Ah, to be young and vigorous again. Just remember that the fun comes after the battle is won, and not before, my dear Lady Clearwater."
Your fingers drum upon the hilt of your sword. Your blackened lips curl into a frown. "I haven't forgotten, my lord. I'm simply still getting used to the Ravager's blessings. It's a truly fine lance that I've been given, but it stirs a certain eagerness in my heart that I've yet to become accustomed to."
It's a small little village, with thatched roof cottages giving way to town houses with tile roofs as they get closer to the stone church that stands at its heart. To the ungrateful worms who call this place their home, it must be an impressive structure. A black monument of stone and steel placed to honor the demons who so graciously allowed their inferior lives to continue in exchange for a pittance in tribute. To one who has grow up amongst the demons in their cities, who received their blessings from a young age, it is nearly as pathetic as the worms you've been sent to crush beneath your heels.
"You appear to be enjoying your first command, Lady Clearwater," a rumbling voice approaches from your side. You do not need to turn your eyes to know that it is the lich Dormandal. A wise old sorcerer, and the closest thing you have to a father. "Does the prospect of slaughtering your fellow mortals truly bring you such joy?"
"Of course, my lord," you cannot keep the excitement out of your voice. "Nothing would bring me greater joy that to see all of these pathetic traitors laid out for the slaughter. To see the menfolk butchered like pigs. The woman turned into playthings for our brave soldiers..."
Dormandal gives a hollow chuckle. "Hah, I think you're the only one looking to get her lance wet. The rest of the men..."
He waves a bony hand at the forces set out behind you. One hundred rune carved skeletons split into four platoons of twenty five, each led by a skeletal champion with sufficient wits about them to lead their mindless brothers. Their bones glitter in the morning sun, dipped in steel and carved with magic runes that grant them strength and speed beyond the ken of ordinary undead. A force that cannot be scoffed at, yet at the same time insignificant enough to entrust to a freshly minted knight, thrust into command not one week after receiving her armor and her lance.
"...well, they lack the means to enjoy such things," he finishes. With a hollow chuckle, he continues. "Even I, who retain far more memories of flesh and life than they... I can appreciate what comes after a battle on an aesthetic level, but it truly doesn't do it for me."
You wave him off. "Even if my soldiers can't enjoy themselves, I'm sure the patrons of the military brothels in the capital will appreciate the spoils of this victory."
"I'm sure they'll be thrilled to receive your leftovers," Dormandal says with a shake of his head. "Ah, to be young and vigorous again. Just remember that the fun comes after the battle is won, and not before, my dear Lady Clearwater."
Your fingers drum upon the hilt of your sword. Your blackened lips curl into a frown. "I haven't forgotten, my lord. I'm simply still getting used to the Ravager's blessings. It's a truly fine lance that I've been given, but it stirs a certain eagerness in my heart that I've yet to become accustomed to."
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