Slaves are only slaves if they don't get paid. Right?

It was several weeks before the defence of Greyton. The party was exploring the Bloodways, and Mort was just returning from his journey out to the Deserts to visit an actual Hellknight Citadel.

"Taaaaaaaaabithatabithatabithatabithatabitha I have some soldiers for youuuuu!"

Tabitha sighed before turning around and looking at the dusty Mortimer "Welcome home. I trust the Deserts treated you well?"

Mort was still bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement "Yesssss they gave me stuff and dudes and things and soldiers woooooo"

"People don't give things for free Mort, what did it cost you?"

"I dunno, they just said they liked what I was doing and wanted to help"

"We'll have to talk more about that later. Is that them? Let me take a look" Tabs said, peering over Morts shoulder

"Yessssssssssssss! Gogogogo!"

Tabitha and Mortimer walked up to the double ranks of soldiers. There were 24 in total, all dressed in matching scalemail, with sword and shield near to hand. They wore plain grey tabards, but no other identifying mark, except for a sword shaped scar burned into thier arm

Tabitha looked them over for a few moments, before taking Mort aside. "These are slave soldiers, aren't they Mort?"

"No? Yes? Maybe? How do I tell?"

Tabitha sighed, dragging a hand across her face "They fly no colours and they have a brand on their bicep. This means they're slaves. We've talked about slaves before Mort, do you remember?"

"I think so. You said that people owning people isn't allowed in the Valley, and I wasn't allowed any. You also said that Shades would get angry and Aggy might turn me into a toad, because slaves are against the law"

"Yea. Something like that Mort. These are slaves, and you aren't allowed them"

Mort just crossed his arms and pouted "So make them not slaves"

"Yea, that thought did cross my mind. Lets see how this goes"

Tabitha moved up to stand in front of the troop of slaves, commanding their attention with her prescence. Her tone was authoritative, just like what they might be used to.

"Soldiers of the Deserts. Welcome to the Valley. I am The Mistress of Blades, Tabitha Wolfsbane. This is my town, and you are now my soldiers.
Things do not work here like you might be used to. Slavery is illegal, so you are no longer slaves. From now on, you are freemen. As long as you continue to work for me as soldiers, you will be paid a salary. I will provide you with food, with equipment and I will give you a roof over your head. Most importantly however, I will give your life purpose and direction. You will be part of something larger than yourselves. At the end of every day, you will go to bed safe in the knowledge that you have contributed to the betterment of our community.
If you do not wish this, you will be dismissed and banished from this town. You will spend your time wandering the wilderness, eking out a living eating berries and digging for worms. You will die alone and cold, and your remains will be feasted on by wolves.
If you enjoy the sound of dying in such a pathetic way, far from home, leave now. If not, take a step forward and vow to serve Greyton to the best of your ability"

------------------------

Later in the evening, Mort stopped by Tabithas residence.

"Tabithaaaaa. So umm, I forgot. They gave me some scholar dudes too, and they have some scars. I promise they're not slaves! Well I promise that it might be possible they aren't slaves"

"By Balthazars left testicle, Mort, get your shit together."

Smart

"Luther Stoneheart!  It is dishonourable for me to have to face such a failed general on the field of battle!  I am Agamemnon!  I am better than this!"  Agamemnon stepped up beside Mortimer, banging his sword on his shield.
The grave knight general turned slowly to face the cleric.  His eyes were at once empty and focused, his posture at once slack and powerful, as he focused his attention on his taunter.
Mortimer grunted and raised an eyebrow, then shook his head.  "And you smell!" he bellowed.  "You suck!"
Luther moved with incredible speed.  Agamemnon readied his shield.  "Darach," he whispered, "if you can bring yourself to do a favour for an orc, grant this one thing: please, please do not let Mort drop his scythe."
The next thing he knew Luther was driving with great force into his shield.  He saw Mortimer take a step and bring up his scythe to strike.  "Over to you, brother," he grunted and then it was blackness.

~~~~~~~~~~

"You're walking into a trap!"
"No.  We running into a trap."
Agamemnon swore in Elvish.  He knew Toldezkh hated when he did that, but he didn't care.  The orc chieftain was sitting on his stone throne, pillaged from a mostly-abandoned dwarven hold years ago, before Agamemnon had arrived in Red Hand territory fleeing the home in which he no longer belonged.
Toldezhk grunted.  "Your mother.  Fuck.  Ugly boar."  Toldezhk had made an effort to learn a few words in Elvish, since his advisor spoke the language.  Only those words, though, and he only used them when Agamemnon dropped back into that hated language in his presence.
Agamemnon glared at his chieftain, who held up a hand, extending two fingers.  "Twice."
Toldezhk had learned a new word.  Agamemnon tried not to grin.  He didn't apologise - orcs don't apologise - but he nodded in acknowledgement.
He tried again.  "The guard are waiting at the palisade for a reason.  They know the Red Hand will come at it straight, and they will be able to pick you off with arrows, reducing your strength before you reach them."
"I know."
"If you come around from the sides -" he pointed to the diagram he had illustrated on a scroll, "you will have some cover from these trees here, and here, and will reduce the open ground by half."
"Grazh, I know."
"You will be much stronger.  They won't expect it."
Toldezhk rubbed his scarred forehead tiredly.  "You explain this many times. You think I not understand you?"
"If you understand me why in the hells are you still charging directly into their trap?"
Toldezhk stood up.  He was impressive: seven foot tall, powerfully built, with black iron pauldrons fastening a blood red cape to his heavily muscled shoulders.  He sighed and adjusted his posture from one of strength to one of readiness.
"Okay.  You attack me."
Agamemnon looked at him.  "Uh ... no?"
"Why not?"
"You're my chieftain."
Toldezhk squinted at him.  "Maybe that stop you, but not only reason.  Why else?"
"You would literally murder me."
"This also true.  You pathetic and small.  You speak elf.  But say you have to attack.  How you do it?"
"I ..." Agamemnon thought about it.  "I would come at you from behind."
"You think that make difference?"
"Realistically, no.  You still know I'm coming, you're still far stronger than I am.  But the guard, it's completely different.  They -"
Toldezhk held up a hand to silence him.  "Don't think so much.  Listen.  I teach you this time so you understand.  Learn, yes?"
Agamemnon nodded.  "Okay.  If I had to fight you right now, I would surrender."
"Orcs don't surrender."
"I know.  But you don't think of me as an arc."
"No.  This good strategy.  Then?"
"Then, when you think I am no longer a threat, I wait for a moment to jump you and slit your throat."
"This not how orc fight."
"I know, but, as we have already established, I am barely an orc.  I would have the element of surprise."
"Good.  You win.  You kill Toldezhk.  Hundreds cry in pain as greatest orc chieftain who ever lived lie dead at your feet.  You chieftain now, by our custom.  Congratulations.  How long you live you think?"
"About an hour before Jizrak finds out what has happened and challenges me for leadership."
"Okay.  But you kill Jizrak, yes?"
"No, probably not."
"You insult me Grazh.  You defeat great Toldezhk, but you think Jizrak best you?  You think Jizrak better than Toldezhk?"
Agamemnon held up his hands placatingly.  "No no, not at all.  But I can't surrender to Jizrak.  I could catch you off guard because you think - you know - I am weaker than you.  But if I defeat you, Jizrak will be cautious.  He won't trust me.  He will not underestimate me.  I won't be able to trick him."
Toldezhk nodded.  "You learn."
Agamemnon shook his head.  "I don't understand what this has to do with raiding an army supply dump."
Toldezhk sat down again, his enormous club fists resting on his knees.  He gestured for Agamemnon to sit; the half-orc perched on the log beside the chieftain's throne, where he sat during tribal meets and analysed the men who came to speak with his chieftain.
"I smartest orc here, yes?"
Agamemnon paused, then nodded.  "Assuming I'm not counted as an orc then -"
"You not.  I smartest orc here.  You -" he jabbed a broad finger into Agamemnon's arm, causing his improvised stool to wobble, "you smarter than me, yes?"
Agamemnon nodded.
"But me much stronger than you.  If I fight you, use my strength.  If you fight me, you use your strength, up here."  Toldezhk pointed to his head.   "Toldezhk not smart as elf, but clever, yes?  I old - more than thirty.  I see much battle, many fights, see off many challengers.  I learn to think ahead - not just to fight, not just to spoils, but to future.  What you think happen if we be clever tomorrow?"
"More of the Red Hand will survive."
"Yes.  Your plan, more of Red Hand survive.  I agree.  May even change outcome of battle."
"Then why -"
"Grazh, you listen.  All become clear.  Next time Red Hand fight, humans expect Red Hand be canny.  We fight clever.  They take us more serious threat.  They have more men, they be more cautious.  So we have to be more clever.  Then third fight.  They now see us as smart.  They be very clever to fight us, we smart enemy, they need to be clever.  So we have to keep being more clever.
"Tell me, Grazh.  Orc can only be so clever.  Human, only be so clever.  There limits to clever.  Who you think more clever?  Who you think reach limit first?  Orc or human?  You tell me, Grazh."
Agamemnon thought about it.  "Humans, on average, are not that much more intelligent than orcs - they think they are, but they're not.  But their leaders can be very intelligent."
Toldezhk nodded.  "And human army follow leader's orders in battle.  Orc army?  We force of nature!  We smash, we destroy, we rage, we over-run!  We terrifying!  But not so good at following battle plan.  Not our way.  Not our strength."
Agamemnon nodded.  "So what you're saying is that although you could apply my tactics to this fight, and lose less men tomorrow, ultimately it would be bad for the Red Hand?"
Toldezhk clapped him on the shoulder.  "Exactly.  World in delicate balance.  Balance right now favour Red Hand - we eat well, we have many men, we have many babies, we stay in one place, not have to wander.  We have good life.  When we charge palisade some die.  This okay.  Those that are strong - and lucky - live.  Maybe the great Toldezhk not live.  This okay.  Toldezhk leave Red Hand in good shape.  Strong home, strong men - good advisor, too, Grazh.  But there reason advisor not chieftain.  You have many ideas, many good ideas, some not so good, but all worthy, all listened to.  But chieftain have to take those ideas and plan for future of whole tribe.  The smartest man never lead Red Hand.  That be disaster in the future.  The smartest man valuable, very valuable, help tribe greatly, but not lead.  Leader does not need to be smart.  Leader need to be orc.
"Understand now?"
Agamemnon nodded.  "Thank you, Toldezhk.  I've learned something from you.  Again."  He looked up at the great chieftain of the Red Hand.  "You are smarter than you think."
"Don't make me kill you, elf."

~~~~~~~~~~

Agamemnon opened his eyes.  Shades was leaning over him, the fragments of a disintegrated scroll powdering into the wind.  He blinked and sat up.  Mortimer clapped him on the back.  "That wasn't very smart," he said.  He sounded pleased.
Agamemnon winced as he got to his feet.  He turned to look at Mort.  It was impossible to tell that the orc was close to death himself mere moments ago.
"I couldn't afford to be smart.  I was planning for the future."
Mortimer looked quizzically at him, then clapped him on the back again and walked off to where Tabitha was beckoning him.

The defence of Greyton

Ralph was a mason. He was getting on in years, and had unfortunately outlived both his daughter and wife. Bored, his gaze wandered around a bit. Three paces to his right was a brick the size of a small chest. He recognised that brick, he had carved it himself last week. And the one over there too, he though to himself. And perhaps that one, but it was hard to be sure from here. He didn't want to go check though, because he understood that the idea of standing in formation was so that the lines were straight and that everyone was facing the same way, so as not to get in each others way.

He could see Tabitha off a ways, talking to a couple of Orcs. He figured the larger one must be the Warden - the armour was fairly distinctive and he had seen the holy symbol around Greyton a fair bit. He didn't know who the taller one was though, but since Tabitha wasn't shouting at him, he must be important. Soon enough, the Warden got up on his magic horse and took up position in front of the gatehouse, the taller Orc moving up beside him.

He watched as Tabitha marched over to a wild looking Island woman, dressed impressively in a breastplate and all sorts of other trinkets, not to mention the huge sword on her back. He couldn't quite hear from here, but the conversation appeared short and sharp, and ended with the wild woman waving both her middle fingers in Tabitha’s face before stalking off. Ralph flinched, anticipating Tabitha’s outburst, but she just took a deep breath to compose herself and looked around the clearing.

Ralph was getting the impression that most of these people must be mercenaries Tabitha had found to fight for them. They didn't seem to like taking orders though. But its better they fight and die than him, he thought. He watched as Tabitha turned and faced the massive cloudy being, floating gently just outside the palisade. Ralph thought he could see something that resembled a face, but he was afraid to look too closely in case the cloudy condition was contagious. Tabitha just seemed to watch the cloud man for a few long moments, before shrugging and looking around her again. Her gaze finally rested on a Tengu on the other side of the gap from him.

The Tengu looked fairly well decked out, with the tabbard that looked familiar, but he couldn't place, as well as armour of rare metal and fancy looking weapons. Ralph sighed sadly - the Tengu must have jumped someone really important to end up dressed like that, may Telephos rest that poor mans soul. Tabitha seemed to have a fairly civil conversation with the Tengu though, pointing here and there and a few other gestures he couldn't decipher. He figured Tabitha must have some sort of sneaky plan in mind, to need one of Them.

With a nod, Tabitha made her way back across the courtyard, speaking a few words with the Warden, before coming to stand next to Ralph in the front line of the Greyton Rabble

The Warden stood up in his stirrups briefly, his voice ringing out over the silence of the courtyard

"Tonight, Orcus will learn what Greytonians are made of. We will lure them through the gap in the palisade, and we will crush them!"

Ralph waited a few moments in anticipation, before he realised that was the end of the speech.

The minutes dragged on, as they stood there waiting. Ralph thought they looked dreadfully under prepared. Most of the people here hadn't ever raised a weapon in anger before, himself included. The professional warriors were over the other side of the Gap, standing in their small formations, barely able to cover the space between the castle wall and palisade

Suddenly the Warden let out a roar, giving Ralph a fright, before leaping forward through the Gap on his horse and out of sight. The taller Orc began jogging, trying to keep up. Tabitha sighed softly beside him, muttering something vulgar about sticking to plans.

Ralph couldn't really see much from where he was - the palisade blocked most of his view, but the sound was somewhat eerie. It was nothing like what he expected. He could hear the occasional voice shouting out, things about coordinating spells and avoiding arrows, but aside from that it was fairly quiet. Every so often there was the clatter of arrows striking metal and mud, the soft whoosh of flame that lit up the underside of the clouds but none of the screams and shouts he was expecting from warfare.

Then the bone rain started. It started up suddenly, and ramped up to full effect in a matter of seconds. It was an almost deafening sound, thousands of bones rattling against thousands of bones, with bits of metal in there adding to the noise. Before long, he could hear the thumps of bones striking the palisade beside him, and he watched in horror as a skull rolled through the Gap and came to a rest not a dozen paces from him, the jaw bone still clacking.

Ralph was so focused on the skull that he almost didn't notice as zombies came pouring out around the side of the Palisade. They were ugly brutes, all partially rotten, wearing nothing but rags and evil intentions. He barely had time to raise his hammer before they were upon him. He stomped back and forth, trying hard, but not managing to land a solid blow. The stench of burned flesh reached his nose, and he could see the fire dogs going to work on the zombies flank. It was like what he expected the Abyss to look like - men on fire, still "alive", yet not a sound coming from their mouths.

Suddenly, he was forced to turn away and shield his eyes with his forearm as Tabitha outstretched her hand. Blinding white light shone forth, melting the flesh and bones of the zombies directly in front of her. The horde took a step back in confusion, before driving forward with renewed vigour. Ralph was still partially dazed by the light when a zombie bite found his neck, and he went down with a barely a whimper


-------------------------------------------------------

Mortimer sat astride Crusher, tall and proud. His back was straight and his armour was impeccably polished, the way only specially enhanced armour can be. Crushers armour in contrast was covered in acid pock marks, a few snagged arrows and the occasional zombie finger jammed behind the odd strap or plate.

Mortimers face had lost its usual cheeky grin - instead his brow was furrowed with worry, and his hands gripped the reins perhaps a bit tighter than was necessary. He normally delegated leadership responsibility to Tabitha, but tonight he needed to step up to the plate and the stress was showing.

They were at the entrance of the quarry looking down on the roughly 3200 souls that were his responsibility. The awaiting masses were mostly silent aside from the odd crying child and baying animal. Mort stood there waiting for the crowd to slowly noticed his presence and turn their attention to him. The acoustics of the quarry aided him as he raised his voice, which sounded sombre and much more controlled and considered than usual

"People of Greyton, lend me your ears. For those of you who have yet to meet me, I am Warden Grey. I wished to bring you this news personally. As you could probably hear, we have just endured our first attack. An army of over 500 undead attempted to swarm us, lead by a Stoneheart general from a previous age, and they barely managed to even reach our walls before they were utterly destroyed. In comparison, we lost only four of ours. Be proud - tonight Orcus learned that Greytonians are carved from the same stone we work. He now knows our battle lines are as straight as our walls, our charges are as ordered as our roads, and our arms never tire.

However, Orcus has now taken our measure. He understands that we are not to be trifled with, and he will turn the full force of his armies upon us. Make no mistake - Orcuses resources are deep, and before dawn next breaks we will have been sorely tested."

Mort sighs and rubs his eyes before continuing.

"We anticipate a few hours respite before the next wave reaches us. Take this time to sleep, pray and appreciate the company of your loved ones. As always, there is a place at my side for anyone who wishes to help me defend what our hands have built."

He paused a moment, trying to gauge the response, before offering "May you only have to cut once" as a parting blessing

Ser Crusher

The Great Downwards Engineering Company was in the second temple. Gudmunds blood was still congealing. Tabitha was slowly flexing, trying to get the last of the stony stiffness from her muscles, when she spotted Mort kneeling off to one side. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he seemed to be softly talking to himself.

"Mort. MORT! What are you doing?"

Mort let out an exasperated sigh, and replied without moving. "I'm praying, what does it look like?

Tabitha stood motionless, thinking hard for a few moments before replying. "...prayer is unusual for you Mort. You usually just create a bloody mess out of a heathen then fist pump the sky, dedicating it to Balthazar as an after thought and... sort of leave it at that."

Mort clearly disliked having to explain something so fundamental. "Yeah, I was making faith coins. And now is a good time to spend them. Duh."

"Mort, that isn't how religion works..."

Mort finally shifted his pose, turning to face her. "Have you met our God? No? Well I have, so close your visor and go glare at Kruin or something. Geeze, respect my privacy"

"Ugh, the mouth on you sometimes." she muttered, before rejoining the group

------------------------

"Dear Balthazar. This is Mort. Hi. How are you? That's good, I'm good too.

So, I don't know if you can see, but I hit more heathens for you. Shades killed the really bad heathen, but I kicked him a few times just so Orcus knew I meant business.

So, uhhh, the dudes said something about Orcus sending an army to go kill our people. I think he mostly wants to kill Shades' people, Shades being the Chosen One and everything, but Greyton is in the way and Tabitha thought it was a good idea to leave my horse in charge. YES TABITHA I'M TELLING ON YOU! Shoo, go away, I'm still praying!

Crusher is a horse and hes dumb and he wants to take over the world or something, but he's in charge so I would like to spend some faith coins and buy him some... somethings. I don't know what I can buy with faith coins. TABITHA, WHAT CAN I BUY WITH FAITH COINS? Okay, Tabitha is ignoring me. Can you like... make him shoot fireballs out of his eyes or something? Or grow lots of arms that hold axes? I think that would be useful. And while you're there, please make him a nice shade of blue so he matches my tabard when I ride him.

Okay I think Aggy wants to talk to me now so I had better go. I hope I can come visit you again soon, you have nice stuff to look at.

Lots of love, Mort."

------------------------

Crusher had a big ego. No, that doesn't do it justice. Crusher had a massive ego. He was big and strong, super intelligent and a hit with the ladies. If he insulted you, you were to consider it a compliment, because at least you were worth that much of his time. With Mort and Tabitha out of town, he was in charge. The idea that there might be someone better suited didn't even occur to him. This was his god-given place.

However, while he would never admit it, his stomach did lurch ever so slightly at the news of the Unrighteous March. He might be 24 carat Awesome, but the idea of somehow using the ugly hairless mice who were looking up at him expectantly to defend Greyton didn't sit well with him. He studied them as they took the news of the impending doom and carefully masked his distain. Some of them were crying, some were grim and determined, others still were angry. They should be standing in rank and file, steel as far as the eye could see, ready to kill and trample thier enemies, not this huddled mass of soft weeping flesh. This was beneath him

Crusher snorted loudly and shook his head. He should be chasing chattle like this through burning fields and ruined towns, not plotting to somehow save them. He could remember some of his time spent raiding under Daarog - the smells of blood and fire, screams and roars, the bitter sweet taste of human flesh. That was how battles were supposed to be. Except this time, he's stuck on the side of the chattle.

"You. Horse. Why the long face? Hahahahaha, I kill me sometimes"

Crusher looked sharply around, looking for the source of the disturbance. Sitting on his haunches a few feet off was a Kyton - a leathery Devil with a huge grin, engulfed almost entirely in spiked chains. Rather than sitting dormantly though, the chains slowly shifted, writhed and lifted, almost like they were a nest of snakes. Held protectively in one hand was a longsword, clearly a prized possession, and one of the few other things currently on his person.

He swiftly stood and bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, enjoying the rattle of the metal links and the disquieting effect it had on Crusher. Noone else seemed to be able to hear it.

"I am Xelo'tah of Claire, here on behalf of The Patron, although I believe 'Balthazar' is the common name used here. Mortimer has uh... struck an odd bargain of sorts, and I am here to deliver our part"

Crusher just blankly looked at Xelo'tah for a few long moments, clearly a bit overwhelmed. "...who the fuck...?"

Xelo'tahs grin widened "My sincerest apologies, I mistook you for a creature of indelible charm and indescribable wit. Perhaps you can point me towards a horse with such an affliction"

"Look elsewhere and I'll kick your head in" Crusher said with a twang of a neigh "What do you want with me?"

"Let me cut to the chase. I, The One Xelo'tah of Claire, on behalf of The Patron, hereby confer upon you the vocation of Hellknight and all the privileges that role brings. Congratulations. You are assigned to the Order of the Scythe. Your rank and role shall be decided by the Lawbringer Grey upon his return. On the Lawbringers behalf, I wish to convey the following quest - " Xelo'tah coughed and dropped his voice an octave "'Lose Greyton and I'll make a new pair of boots out of your hide. And they won't be nice boots either'"

Crusher absorbed this tepidly. "This was not how I expected my rise to power to occur. Where are the fanfares, the apples, the screaming mares? The crowds of quaking slaves?"

Xelo'tahs grin faded slowly "Pomp and ceremony are nice and all, but sometimes you just need to find a hammer and hit a nail. Congratulations on your promotion, Sir Hammer, may you hit this nail swiftly and with conviction"

With that tibbit, he disappeared as quickly as he had come.

"...one fucking step and I will end you. I WILL FUCKING END YOU" Jaq screamed

Crusher watched the ragged forces of Greyton form up. "Every God has a humble beginning I suppose" he muttered to himself