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B2 Ch. 56 Running up that Mountain
🕑 Added 2024-04-08 21:08:08 +0000 UTCJonathan Tillman Level 35 Son of Flame
A wave of azure energy swept them up and slammed them back down. Except the ground had shifted. Hard stone slapped the bottom of Tilly’s moccasins and he opened his to find himself once again in the village square.
A shout of surprise, followed by a gasp of disbelief greeted them as Tilly spun around to take in the state of his Faction’s city. His ragged allies joined him, looks of relief softening harsh lines of concern, as they found the city still intact. One of the two Honu Elders rushed forward, ready to meet them.
“Thank Origin… we felt the spell activated… I got here in time!” She exclaimed.
At the look in her shining eyes and the familiar visage of what had once been a simple village square, Tilly could not hold back a tide of comfort that rolled over his battered psyche. After such a harrowing journey of completely new discoveries, coming back to something vaguely familiar lifted a weight off his shoulders. Unlike the Twilight Lands, the moon hung in the sky in full view and Tilly relished in the scene of the moonwashed city as the Honu approached them and his allies got their bearings.
The faint sounds of battle reached his ears as his mind fully adjusted to his new environment, and the Honu asked, “Are you well… Did you complete the Quest?” She asked, her voice quieting slightly at the sight of the Polarbear covered in gore.
“We are close mother, but it must be delivered to the Temple,” Franklin answered for the group, as they all oriented on the Honu Elder. Tilly looked over to check on Amelia and found her on her knees, looking dazed. He quickly got an arm under her shoulders and hauled her to her feet as she struggled to adjust.
The Honu Elder nodded at Franklin’s answer, and waved her staff topped with a sextant over them, washing them in a cool magic, “This is a small… blessing… One that should… Help you find speed along your path.”
“What is the situation at the wall?” Ichiro asked in a slurred voice, rivulets of blood still leaking from his eyes.
“The enemy… has launched its… full force against us… We are holding… But barely.”
Tilly looked up from Amelia to the others, “I think I need to be the one to take Amelia to the temple. Are you all able to fight?”
The others nodded, Gorock even smiling at the question as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. “We are at your disposal until this is done,” Hilbert answered with a tired conviction, shaking out his recently broken arm. He took a deep pull from his flask and Sir Micheal took the opportunity to use his injector.
Tilly smiled grimly at them, “Good. See you on the other side.” Then he slung Amelia's arm over his shoulder and started to hobble away at as brisk a pace as he could manage. If time was as short as he believed, he didn’t have another moment to waste. She leaned heavily on him, dragging her staff behind her. Wild growth followed its path over the hard-packed dirt, marking the direct line Tilly took through the expanded square. The others, moved off in the opposite direction, moving into a steady jog toward the wall and the battle that waited there.
…
Marcellus, the Elder Level 56 Corrupted Aristocrat.
It had been simple to grab the Priestess brat as she slept and gag her, removing any chance of her activating one of those disgusting Abilities.
Then things had become complicated.
He had gathered a pitiful fifteen men in his time in this wretched camp, encouraging the small amounts of Corruption he had found in each of them to grow, making them more malleable to his will until they were little more than puppets.
In that time he had received instructions, learning of the critical weakness of the power exalting itself in the Temple. The Gift inside him squirmed in response to the thought and he looked back in frustration at the men tasked with moving the girl. She had been wrapped in cloth and thrown in with supplies on a hand cart with a ghastly rusting wheel hub. The noise it made drew the attention of anyone they passed in the camp on the way to the mountain but completely distracted from the pitiful mewling that was coming from its contents.
The idiot pulling the cart however looked like he was going to be sick, and moved at a plodding pace.
“What are you doing!?” Marcellus the Elder whispered fiercely, dropping back to berate the bumbling fool. The closer he got to the cart, the more his insides clenched in discomfort.
“Sir… It's the girl.” The supposedly strong portly man in a butcher's smock whined pitifully. “Being near her hurts something dreadful.”
Marcellus the Elder screwed up his face in disgust, making sure to show none of his own discomfort, “You have a simple task, with an extraordinary reward, but it is plain to me that you are too weak to achieve it. You can and will be replaced.” He threatened with all of his menace, even allowing his hood to fall back slightly and show some of his glorious new form.
The man flinched back, and groaned in terror, “I’ll do it. Please, just let me change out with one of the others when we meet up.”
Marcellus the Elder scowled as he pulled his hood back into place with some of his new appendages, “You will do as I command, or you will die. Now stop squealing like a pig and pick up the pace!”
…
Even with his motivating presence, the trip took twice as long as it should have. Instead of arriving with plenty of time to set up the space for their meeting with the Buricrat, they arrived at the chosen spot barely ahead of him.
The rest of his men had arrived in twos and threes over the last hour, with the exception of those whom he had shadowing their target. He had been forced to switch out the ones pulling the cart multiple times, as their complaining grew to unbearable levels. Marcellus looked forward to killing all of these imbeciles.
“Hurry up you fools! It is almost time!” He spat out in annoyance, having to force himself to keep from shouting.
They had arrived at a flatter portion of the trail, with lots of low bushes, covered in little blue berries. The path here ran parallel with a creekbed giving his men ample places to hide for the initial part of the meeting. The cart rolled into place blocking the path just ahead of him and the one pulling it immediately edged away. Marcellus fought to not do the same as proximity to the girl turned his stomach.
“You and You, stay in plain sight. The rest of you, conceal yourselves just like we discussed!” he commanded gesturing to his two most intimidating flunkies to flank the cart and their cargo.
Just as they hid, a skinny one-armed Satyr raced up the path, the gaps in his teeth visible in the moonlight as he pulled to a stop huffing before Marcellus.
“Out with it!” Marcellus growled.
“Two with him, and two hidden following behind.” The man gasped, face qualling as proximity to the girl washed over him. “Gods… what is that?” he moaned, the flushed color of his face draining to something pale and sickly.
“Do the ones I set to follow know what to do?” Marcellus asked, absolutely disgusted by the weakness before him.
The man hesitated to answer, looking like he was about to vomit. This ratcheted Marcellus’s fury to a new level, and before he even consciously considered his actions, part of his new form had whipped out from behind his layers of robes and wrapped around the insect’s neck.
Snap
He could not stand incompetence. The men behind him flinched at the display of power and a rich syrupy feeling of pleasure rose up from his center. This was true power!
They would see… they would all see.
The thing that used to be Marcellus the Elder casually launched the lifeless corpse into the woods, keeping his hands comfortably at his sides.
Cog, Level 0 Gnomish Child
Things had gone so well until they started climbing the mountain. Before they had even hit the halfway point, someone had come up behind them huffing loudly.
“Get off the path!” He whispered desperately down the line, and the small figures vanished into the forest on either side of the trail. Everyone disappearing without a sound.
He would like to see that the adults thought of that…
No one in the originals had arrived at the old empire’s capitol on vacation, and every one of them knew what was at stake when the call came to hide. Cog ducked around a tree, hunching his already small form, and Milas slid into a dip nearby going completely still in the deep shadows cast by the canopy. The moon was full, and no clouds hung in the sky, but that did not mean it was bright in the forest.
Soon enough a one-armed satyr that Cog did not recognize jogged past, clearly struggling to make it up the mountain. He moved past their position none the wiser, and Cog slowly moved to find Milas's eyes in the deep shadow.
She raised her thick brow in a silent question, and he answered with a shrug. They both knew enough to wait until they could no longer hear him to slowly approach each other, waving the others they could see to remain in place while they figured out what to do next.
“Who was that and what is he doing heading toward the Temple?” she asked him.
“Pits if I know. But, he sure as the Seven Princes wasn’t one of the Watch.”
“What shou-”
Something crashed in the forest up ahead, and both of the young conspirators shot uncertain looks up the path. Then before they could discuss what was happening another nasally voice sounded, moving up the path.
“Did you hear that Aticus? Whoever they are, these men must be buffoons. Keep your weapons at the ready! I have no patience for fools.” The voice complained moving up the path at a steady pace.
Milas sunk down and Cog knelt back at the base of the tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new group moving up the mountain. The sound of constant murmured grumbling approached, interspersed with the heavy hoof clops of armed Satyrs.
Suddenly the man stopped right as he was passing Cog’s positions and turned. Cog's silent breathing hitched in his throat at the unprompted stop. Turning to look past the two Watchmen, he spoke in a steady, but carrying voice.
“Make sure to stay out of sight until I call for you, and for Gods’ sake, keep quiet, we are almost there.” He spoke, addressing two shadowing figures farther back that Cog only now noticed due to the direct address of the Satyr in charge.
‘Wait, I know this guy. He’s the one with the funny name, the one in charge of the camp… What in the Deep Pit’s is going on here?”
The Satyr in question smartly turned on his heel and continued up the mountain, his two guards making sure to make what Cog now saw was an obvious amount of noise. Once they were out of sight, along with the two other Watchmen with cloth stuffed into their armor, Cog almost stood back up, but Milas’ heavy hand snaked around his ankle and squeezed desperately.
Cog froze in response, prey instinct taking over as he heard a faint rustle of leaves from the path. He slowly moved his eyes to the young minoutauress and saw her nostrils flaring, as her dim eyes flitted up and down the path.
He followed her gaze and spotted two more figures, covered in rags and dirt, with bloodshot eyes, following after the strange procession. They two however held naked blades in their hands. Their movements were the quietest of the group, but their yellowed teeth gave them away as they crept by with faces cut in grins of hungry anticipation.
Finally, they passed, and Cog hurried over to Milas's position, whispering desperately, “I don't know what is happening, but it can’t be good, we can’t bring the rest any further…”
She nodded at him seriously and then crawled over to the next original’s position, “Plan’s changed, stay here, Cog and Me will check ahead. Pass it along.”
She turned to him, determination shining in her eyes, as gentle whispers continued down the line of hidden orphans. “We gotta do something.” She declared softly in the shadowy light of the moon.
“Yeah.” Cog said, fingering his emergency plan in his pockets, “We do.”
