The Calamitous Bob

“I’d be delighted,” Viv answered, not sure why she had used the convoluted expression. It was Varska’s polite sassiness. Contagious thing, that.

“Let’s go, Marruk!”

The Kark woman grunted and opened a path by holding her shield overhead, then slamming it beyond the shields of the guards. They were only too glad to give her some room. Bashes and precise skull cracking ensued.

Viv moved behind the one-woman wall and realized that the blight spell could be… problematic. Too many unknowns. She did not want to cauterize people in a friendly fire incident. Besides, purge would be more than enough.

Viv glared at the tide of flesh. The insane creatures had not realized that their heaviest weapon had already been disabled.

“Purge.”

The spell was so silent, Viv thought. With those results, it should sound like a laser. Great swaths of enemy combatants fell to the ground in pieces.

“Viv!” a voice called. It was Varska. As the outlander watched, a stone of good size missed her. More and more beastlings were gathering in a half circle, tossing stuff.

Viv walked back and kneeled by the woman. She charged the nope shield with the meaning of annihilation and formed a screen above their head and front, where the stones were coming from. Projectiles and even a spell crashed against the shield. It was painful, but she held.

“Nope, bitch, try again.”

“You can lower it now,” Varska informed her in her standard casual tone. Viv wondered if a volcano erupting under their feet would only garner a placid ‘hot here, innit?’ from the unflappable mage. She obeyed.

“Hail.”

Viv heard a sort of “whomp”, then a cloud of dust covered both her and the temple guard. She looked up to see a barrage of black, spiky projectiles shimmering green launched in a beautiful arc over their head. It was aiming right for the tortoise.

The enemy caster saw that and placed a shield before the creature’s head. That was a mistake. The hail covered a space so large that Viv thought it could have encompassed a good fourth of their own lines. Obsidian javelins broke against the shield, harmlessly hitting the tortoise’s thick shell. Those, however, were not the spell’s main target. The thickest cloud of projectiles wracked the illusion-masked tower at the back of the shell.

There might have been additional shields. The tower might have been a little bit more to the right or to the left. It made no difference. The hail spell was non-discriminatory, and as Viv’s old friend Mouq used to say, there was enough for everybody. She heard a muffled scream and the illusion broke down, leaving only a few vertical sticks and some frayed ropes behind.

A large black cloud rose from the caster’s remains and started to head their way. The beastlings, meanwhile, attacked with renewed frenzy and a complete disregard for their own lives. The lines were pushed back in places and the scouts shot their last arrows then joined the line. Captain Corel dismounted and placed more men where needed. The left side of the human formation curved back, refusing the flank.

“I’ll handle the cloud. Can you help the infantry?” Varska calmly asked.

“On it.”

Still wary of using blight, Viv poked from behind Marruk’s frame to cast purge after purge, making sure to space them to conserve mana. She guessed that her core was still half full after intercepting the enemy spells. She was pretty sure that she had more reserves than before. It felt like more than before.

The beastlings were packed shoulder to shoulder, and the sharp spell cut through them like butter. Pressure was lessening on the left flank through her efforts.

“Serraka,” Varska finally said, and a great wind blew at Viv’s back, sending her cape aflutter. Viv recognized the term from her stolen knowledge. The Serraka was a persistent wind blowing over the northern steppes. She felt in her immaterial self that the spell lacked power, and that it was using another color. The black cloud’s advance was still stopped a few meters away from the head of the formation. It… somehow shrieked in anger.

Lorn took a step back from the tip of the triangle where he had stood without fail since the beginning of the battle. He yelled an order and the temple guards began to sing. The hymn lasted for fifteen seconds during which Varska’s will battled that of the dead beastling leader backed by his nefarious god. Viv spared a glance to see the mage’s face scrunched in concentration, sweat pearling on her brow. She slowed down and stood ready to use a large nope in case things went to shit. She didn’t have to worry.

The hymn reached a fevered pitch and a golden haze covered Lorn’s stupidly large zweihander. The bearded man slashed down and a golden arc spread out in a very fantasy moment for Viv. It was kind of cool, to be fair, especially for a previous atheist.

Neriad’s whatever-that-was sliced through the cloud, which emitted one last shriek before dispersing. Varska kept her spell for another few seconds, probably to show off. The momentum of the battle had completely changed.

Everyone’s attention shifted when they heard something grunt in the background.

On the front and right, a massive buffalo thing emerged from the bend of the road. It was carrying behind it what she could only call a carriage.

It was the mother of all carriages. It could call a double-decker ‘little bro’. Viv had never seen anything made of wood this large, that could move and didn’t float. There were people and soldiers with spears on the top of it. The rest of the convoy followed, dragged forward by similar beasts. Viv finally understood how they could have lasted for so long.

“What are they doing?” Varska wondered with annoyance.

“They are breaking through,” Viv explained. It made sense to her. The convoy had no way to know that Kazar had come in strength. They had seen a way to join up and taken it. Now that the beastling leadership had fallen, there was a chance to break them and force them to run.

There was no point in trying to exterminate the filthy creatures. The beastlings were without numbers in the Deathshield wood, and even this horde’s members would fuck each other back to full strength within two years. They had to end this, and quickly. Corel saw it too.

“Everyone, sweep them from the field! Attack!”

The humans roared and advanced, pushing with difficulty. Viv chained purge after purge with no regard to her reserves and the horde melted before her, freeing the left flank.

“Make way!”

Infantry by her side opened to let Corel through. He had remounted and led a cavalry charge in the gap. Viv felt something from him, a desire to follow and to fight. She felt energized. His men caught the full brunt of the skill and laid into the beastlings with fury. The horde wavered. The horde faltered. They routed. Those that were not at the back were the only ones to survive the ensuing onslaught. For one moment, Viv was tempted to join them but something held her back. It was, she realized, pride. She did not want to allow Corel’s skill to dictate her behavior. He pissed her off.

She stopped casting and held back as the entire line charged forth. Marruk stopped at the same moment and walked to her side with renewed vigilance. They returned to Varska who had not moved from her spot.

“Carry you to the carriage?” Viv offered.

“You will hold my hand and we will walk there with dignity,” the exhausted mage retorted. Viv knew it, she had been running on fumes. The many large spells she had cast must have taken their toll.

Varska put all her weight on her left arm which Viv supported. Increased power meant that the lightweight mage was not so hard to handle anyway. They made their way to the armored carriage from whence the archers had shot, now empty. They had joined their allies in the charge. Viv left her there and turned around to see a man holding his arm.

“Dislocated?”

“Hmm. Yes?”

She grabbed it and pulled. The man yelped, then watched in wonder as his pain disappeared. Viv huffed and turned around to the next group.

“Hey, you assholes ever learned how to make a proper tourniquet? Get the fuck off of her. Let me do it.”

Back of the road, ten minutes earlier

Farren grabbed his mace and looked at the trunks, hunting for movement. Beastling hordes always had outriders looking for food. Always. If the scavengers spotted something they could not handle, they would scream to attract more of their numbers, and so the horde hunted, fed, multiplied, until they inevitably found something that would kill a majority of them and scatter the rest. It was a tale as old as history itself.

On the field, the beastlings shrieked and he spotted scavengers heading back to see what this was all about. The scavengers spotted fresh prey. They charged the carriages.

Those left behind were the younger members of the guard, still early on their paths and with relatively lower stats, plus a trio of old heads here just in case. Those grumbling assholes were a pain in his backside but by the righteous god could they pack a punch, as they demonstrated now. In a thin line, the humans killed the beastlings as they came. Farren himself had one rush at him. He blocked a spear jab with his shield and counter-attacked. The beastling dodged under the mace swing but not under the shield bash, which sent it sprawling on the ground with a few less teeth. Farren did not have time to finish it off as another stabbed at him. He blocked the blow and forced the creature away with a mace strike. His next attack shattered the creature’s arm but he had to turn to repulse the attack of his first foe who had recovered.

One of the old pricks grabbed the broken-armed beastling by the neck and snapped it one one smooth motion, the gesture strangely serpentine. He had been eyeing Farren all the time.

“Need to work on your awareness, boy,” he declared, then ducked under a thrown stone. Farren swore and finally brained his foe. He heard a chant.

There, just a few paces away, a beastling shaman was casting and dancing. Farren swore. There were foes on the path.

The chant was cut short when something smashed into the creature from above. Farren heard a gurgle and saw Bob’s drake claw its way to him, muzzle red with freshly spilled blood. A new wave of beastlings arrived and… fled to the other side of the forest. The other beastlings disengaged.

The drake trotted to Farren and made weird spitting sounds. It looked a bit irate. Farren returned his attention to the woods, finding no more threats.

Had the beastlings looked… scared?

The woods by the road, one minute before.

Beastling leaders were a rare breed, able to plan and to conceptualize the future. They could save food for later, and even spare monster juveniles to torture into subjugation instead of just eating them. Thus, they could direct their horde from atop tamed horrors.

This specific beastling was not a horde leader yet, but he had the right mindset. He knew that an army was like a person, and just like every person, it should be attacked from the rear.

He was distracted when the head of his subordinate rolled before him.

A keener mind would have appreciated the irony of being struck in the back while preparing a back strike. Sadly, the beastling leader merely turned in fright, only to meet a pair of slitted eyes floating in the darkness like twin lanterns on a moonless night.

“Hellow,” they said, and he died.

Arthur, the present moment.

Arthur flew to her human. There were many of those, but her human wore a distinct cloth and the dragonling could tell. Half of the humans made scared borgle sounds when she landed, which showed that they were not as dumb as they looked. The others were already used to being at her mercy should she choose to eat them. Which she wouldn’t.

The image with the bigger her in the ‘bis-tia-ri’ had been clear. The humans had to be roasted first to be tasty. On top of that, they had to wear those metal shells, probably for pressure cooking or something? In any case, Arthur would not eat them raw.

She jumped from foot to foot and opened her mouth. Her human briefly inspected her teeth and said something Arthur recognized.

“Hungry?”

Yes! Yes, that was it. Her human was truly smarter than the rest. Her human was capable. Arthur glomped on a few pieces of jerky and the sweet aroma washed away the memory of the small ones’ taste. Vile! Disgusting! All was good again.

On the side, one of the boring humans took out its claw. Arthur was ready to assert dominance when a tendril of darkness from her human’s inner self poked out, angled towards the offender. Her human borgled something and the boring one stepped aside. Her human knew how to assert dominance! In Arthur’s brain, that placed her human higher on the hierarchy. The scaleless one truly was a credit to her species.

Arthur took to the skies again to hunt for squirrels.

Marruk, the present moment.

In Kark tradition, the healers of the tribe played a complex role that extended beyond the physical. They preferred a holistic approach to well-being. The Kark were one. When a person suffered, were their thoughts not clouded? Then why should the body not be affected when the mind was in disarray? As such, healers were gentle souls dedicated to the well-being of their tribesmates.

So.

Humans were different.

Especially Viviane.

“I know how to reduce a fucking fracture, thank you very much. Marruk, when I say so, slap that little bitch but don’t break anything. I don’t want more work.”

Marruk nodded in acknowledgement. The guard did not. He was looking with worry at his broken arm.

“Now.”

Marruk back-handed him.

“Oof!”

Crack.

“Ow!”

The soldier had a weird wince. Marruk was not sure if the distraction really helped with the pain. She had to admit, though, slapping the humans was kind of fun.

“Immobilization please.”

Soldiers raised their hands. A band of solidified earth formed around the arm and held it in place. A passing, exhausted nurse entered their tent.

“Lady Bob, we got more lacerations in tent five after you are done, if you are willing.”

“Be there in a second. Ok. Looks good. You need to keep the cast and avoid using that arm for six weeks, give or take. Less if you get magical healing. Eat dairy and leafy greens.”

“I… I saw you give some health potion to that other guy.”

Viviane’s expression turned cold, and Marruk smiled in anticipation.

“The one with the perforated intestines? The man who was dying?”

“Hmm, yeah?”

“And my little soldier boy has a little boo boo on his arm? He wants some potion and a kiss as well? Is that it?”

Viviane’s face turned into a mock pout. It was ridiculous and some of the nearby soldiers chuckled.

“...”

“Are you dying, boy? Are you?”

“...No.”

“Then, FUCK OFF!”

Marruk followed the caster as she stormed out of the tent. Almost every survivor from the caravan was wounded, and they were stabilizing them before leaving. Stabilizing meant that they would survive the trip. It was an interesting term. She had never heard it before.

Marruk wondered if Viviane had learnt some healing art just so that she could inflict more pain.

They entered the next tent. It smelled of blood.

“I don’t want to be helped by no stinking steppe rat!” a voice exclaimed.

“Oh, a feisty one. If you’re healthy enough to whine then I guess you can go last,” Vivian said off-handedly as she surveyed her ‘patients’. She would always handle the most wounded first if they had a chance of being saved.

Marruk decided that Viviane’s motivations were not that important. Viviane had defended her without thinking, against another human, and that was all that mattered. She leaned against the caster and whispered in her ear.

“Can I slap him as well?”

Viviane looked up from a wound she was closing with thread and needle and cast a glance at the man who had insulted Marruk, and who now looked a bit worried.

“Ok. Give me two minutes.”

Maybe Marruk had found a new tribe.