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

Greyton

Tabitha sat atop the recently completed castle gatehouse and watched the activity unfolding in front of her. From her vantage point, she could see just over 2000 people scurrying around Greyton like ants - hauling, digging and building. The construction of Greyton was a task she had delegated to subordinates. She was nominally in charge and had provided some input, but ultimately her small team of city planners were responsible for this project. Since she had allocated all of the Castle labour to the job, she had about a month of free time on her hands. It was a rare treat, so she was quite happy to just sit back and keep half an eye on things.

The castle itself was set a hundred feet back east of the crossroads. It was still mostly mud, but was slowly taking shape. The sight dominating the scene is the massive hole in the center. The excavated dirt was being used to form the core of both the inner and outer walls, with the stone shells of the wall slowly being constructed around them. The hole itself was being shored up with masonry, forming the bottom two levels of the Castle.

East of the castle a large area was being cleared and cobblestoned. The existing temporary and semi-permanent housing was being reconstructed and relocated out of the area, ready for the new commercial district. String and stakes delineate the various plots in the areas surrounding the market square, with some small privately hired teams already starting to lay foundations and put up storefronts. 

She lifted her gaze slightly further to the north and she could see even more roads being cut. These were spaced further apart and were generally wider, more suited to a sprawling warehouse district. The area to become the warehouse district was unoccupied, so teams were going through removing the last of the tree stumps and other major obstacles before construction could begin.

Finally, she turned her gaze on the residential district running along the southern edge of the town. Large dormitories were being constructed in the eastern half in order to house all of the construction workers, while the western half was freely available for other residents to build their homes.

Tabitha shaded her eyes and squinted against the sun. She thought she can just make out the rivers edge from where she sat. It was mostly empty, but she knew Mirrax's engineering team was busy surveying the shore and drawing up plans for the docks.

The overall impression of the town however is not quite what you'd expect. Knowing Tabitha, you would expect to see a town laid out in a grid, where wide long straight roads would be the best and most obvious solution. Instead you have wide roads that suddenly narrow and wind through a sharp set of S bends, almost like a God has reached down, stuck his fingers in the earth in the middle of the town and has done a series of twists. Closer examination also shows all of the newly constructed buildings have flat top roofs edged with a low wall. Further more, occasionally rectangle pits can be spotted dug into roadways. 

The purpose quickly becomes apparent - there are no long roads cavalry can easily charge down, every roof serves as an archers post, deadfalls and blockades can be organised quickly and deployed easily, and all roads lead to the Castle with the stained glass Holy Symbol of the cathedral, visible through the invisible sections of the wall, acting as a rallying beacon. Greyton might be a merchant town, but it is also a military town run by Hellknights.

Tabitha sighed and stood up as she saw Mortimer approaching.

"Taaaaaabitha! Shades will be here soon, I'm off to get more doors and loot and stuff"

"Hold up a sec Mort, I'll come with."

"We shouldn't be long, its only a temple... Wait, what?" Mort did a double take

"You heard me"

Snookums and the Dominion Army 2

Snookums was seated at the table in his field command tent when Captain Irrie was announced by the guard and ushered in.

Not one to be towered over, Snookums waved her to sit on a cushion which usually put people on the same elevation as him. Unfortunately the elvish arcanist still had a good half a foot on him once she had sat down.

The General harrumphed and rose to his feet, not really changing the situation but at least feeling better about it.

“So, Captain Irrie. Ah’ve been watching you and yer unit trainin’ and I must say Ah’m impressed. Ah think the Lights have become a critical unit in tha Army, do ye agree?”

Irrie nodded, unsure what was even going on except that nice words were coming from a terminally grumpy dwarf.

“Good, good. So t’that end, ah’ve decided we need t’make a few changes. Tell me, who d’ye think would be yer best replacement, if something were t’happen t’ye?”

Irrie gulped and thought quickly, something she’d always been good at. “Uh, Makaquaran, uh, Sir.” Probably not as good at talking quickly, however.

“Maka… quaran... Maka…” Snookums mumbled to himself as he leafed through a stack of papers, “Ahah, the Dalish lass? Former bandit gang leader.. ah remember her, showed initiative in tha Forest War… ah, you actually wrote ‘er up for a commendation after tha Daemon War.. Ah should really make time t’read those things.”

Irrie winced briefly at that, but maintained her cool. Those weeks in the Jungle with Boko throwing mud at them while shouting “Fireball!” were still paying dividends. She noticed the General was still talking and tuned back in...

“Okay, So here’s how it is: Ah’ve got t’get some fresh perspective in mah command unit, and Ah think ye’ll do fine. Makaquaran will be taking over command of tha arcanists. D’ye think ye can manage t’teach her anything she needs t’know by this afternoon?”

Irrie nodded again, this time completely out of her element but batting back a tear of pride.

“Perfect. Dismissed, Captain. Talk t’th’ quartermaster on yer way out if yer needing any new gear.”

====================================================================

Tugging at a fraying thread on her “new” uniform, Irrie hurried to the parade grounds where the Army had been instructed to gather. She had spent the better part of the day talking to Maka and explaining why this promotion was a good thing for both of them. Maka was sure that she was going to forget everyone in the unit behind but eventually came around to the idea that the Lights of Zelkor needed representation in the Command Squad. She had also managed to confirm that Maka was paying enough attention during the drills and training to be able to lead the unit effectively. There would still be more to do to ensure the future success of their unit and Irrie was certain the General would want her to keep training with them.

Irrie reached the grounds just after the General and fell in step beside him, careful not to give any appearance of looming over him. Together they walked up to the small platform at the edge of the green where Makaquaran waited, nervousness writ large across her hardy features.

Captain Hammerbreaker, the cleric, her new colleague, banged his shield loudly and shouted the assembled troops to attention. He then stepped smartly to the rear of the platform with Irrie and Makaquaran and let Lord Shades take his place beside General Snookums.

Irrie didn’t exactly have the best view for the ensuing speech, but she could see her comrades and the glowing pride on her units’ faces was the new favourite moment of her life. She stared intently at her friends, her unit, her town, her home and did her best to fix the moment in her memory so she could savour it forever. The memory, crystallised and perfect, sat on a tiny shelf in her mind, next to two other small crystals: One; a white moment of childhood innocence playing in the snow with her mamma, and the other; a dense red ball of anger that she no longer needed to look at.

The General stopped speaking and applause broke out. Irrie smiled and waved before she realised that none of the troops were looking at her, rather Lord Shades was getting the attention and cheers.

As it turned out, the General had also announced that every soldier was getting a 5 gold bonus for the end of the year.

Infinite patience

"Look, Mortimer, you need to listen to me. You have a lot going for you, but you need to learn how to use it right."

"But look, I can use it!"

"That's what I mean though. You look terrifying when you do that, but you need to keep that daft grin off your face. You look like you're about to join Gus' circus, not hammer someone into the ground"

"But it's fun! I can't help it!"

"You need to learn to help it. You need to aim for the 'I'm 350lb of focused rage' look, not the 'I just finished licking 3 frogs and snorted a mushroom' look. Okay, watch the mirror and go again. BY BALTHAZARS BALLS, didn't I just say to keep that stupid grin off your face?"

"But I'm so pretty. Look at my muscles ripple! Ripple, ripple!"

"That damn Tolah woman has been putting ideas on your head again. What did we say about that?"

"We said 'no ideas unless Tabitha approves and has budgeted for it'"

"And does Tabitha approve?"

"Well, your eyebrows say no. So do your eyes. Your nose is undecided, but your mouth is definitely a no too..."

"So, go again and lose the fucking grin...GODDAMMIT MORTIMER. I debate theology and military tactics with that horse of yours, and yet I'm struggling to teach you basic tricks. Perhaps he should be in charge here leaving you to run around free, rolling in shit and pissing in your own drinking water

"...fucking horse. I'll show him the back of my hand. And then I'll hit him with it..."

"Yes! Thats the face I want! Okay, go again..."

Mortimers Dozen

Brothers! Sisters! My little four legged fiery comrades! Today, I stand before you, not as an equal, but as your superior. Today, I look down on you with contempt and derision. Today, I am your God. I was born from the union of a dragon and a nightmare! My hooves shatter adamantite and my teeth can tear kraken hide!

But fear not my children, for the great Lord Mortimer has decreed that I demean myself and help you. He has decided that you are worthy, neigh, deserving, to be raised up to the level of slightly below me. I disagreed with him, but he hit me, so here I am. All praise the great Lord Mortimer!

I am to teach you great things! I will show you how to carry the pink skinned ones into battle! I will teach you all the tricks to get them surreptitiously killed or dismounted! I will describe in great detail and length all of the magnificent battles I have won! You will listen and be amazed! You will bite yourselves in shame, while dreaming of the honour of serving as my step stool!

But rejoice! You might be terrible but I am magnificent! Stay close, and my gloriousness may rub off on you! Listen closely and you too will learn how to spin miracles. Step close, and our formations will be tighter than Rombadazzles sphincter after hearing my name!

Open your ears, because this is the important part! Today, we form Crushers 11th Hellhound division!

We will be known by all who live as ruthless and bloody! Orcus himself will flee this plane in terror, lest he have to face us in the field! Thyr will throw open the gates of heaven and invite us to plunder its sweet flesh as reward! We will be horses amongst men, and we will live like Gods!

Keep these thoughts foremost in your mind! Remind yourself that you aren't as spectacular as me, but you're okay in your own way. And just remember, with just four legs, you can carry a man, but together we can carry mankind!

Now go, you smelly little bastards, and celebrate this glorious declaration! And damn, someone bring me a mare!

The circus comes to town.

Someone had decided that the best way to promote a circus is a smooth transition from mystery to substance. Hand-written posters went up around Dejune, announcing the impending arrival of "The Carnival of the Endless Dance".

The Aberdeenians knew what a circus was of course. Units from across the nation would put on displays of acrobatics and daring, with martial displays and the occasional honor duel. For some reason, ribbons featured prominently, and everyone would be amazed.

The monastic mountain Tengu knew what a circus was of course. Travelling monks would put on thoughtful, wordless displays, subtly attempting to teach the younger Tengu a little of their history and customs through dance and pantomime. For some reason, masks featured prominently and everyone would leave a little wiser and a little more cultured.

The Tsuen refugees knew what a circus was of course. Elves from distant lands came with strange tales and stranger creatures, and put on displays and shows that would amaze and delight. For some reason, songs played by unusual instruments featured prominently, and everyone would leave with a little slice of awe in their eyes, hearts and minds.

Knocking back her third mug of dinner, Falli Icesmith was heard to opine what a circus was. Dwarves from the old holds would travel across the country, and perform complicated plays and rituals hoping to instill what it meant to be a dwarf, in the divine sense. For some reason, hides of various cave-dwelling creatures shaped into costumes featured prominently. According to her, everyone would leave knowing what being a dwarf meant on a less literal level; what it was to be a child of the earth.

Dejune, however, did not know what a circus was. No one (besides Falli as she worked through a flagon of dessert) really believed that  "The Carnival of the Endless Dance" would be any of those things. They would just need to wait and see.

Dejune, being a young and rather unusual town, did not know what a lot of things were. "Winter" in Dejune meant that it was cold and the rain didn't know if it was going to be water or ice, but it was trying to make up for it with volume. Except on most Thyrsdays it would be warm and sunny, as Pangu's staff of weather control (augmented by Talisa’s tinkering) made the climate a bit more friendly.

Rumor had it that the circus was Frey's idea, as a way to boost morale after the horrors of the daemonic attack. Frey didn't move to quash or confirm the rumor, but her lyre playing that week had a certain portentous edge to it.

(you can listen to it here!)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AsD0FDLOKGA

As the days passed, more posters went up, promising "A day of enchantment" and "wonders not seen here before", which people broadly agreed was not unlikely. Young Tengu were seen stealthily putting the posters up in the dead of night, which at least showed some dedication to the atmosphere. As the day approached (the 338th day, to be precise), a space was cleared on the edge of town, and people collectively held their breath (and drink).

This was not to be a fair where people came from afar to appreciate Dejune and all it's cleverly priced baubles, this was to be a day where Dejune celebrated itself.

On the evening of the 337th day, the Circus Came To Dejune. Bright wagons rolled into town, pulled by horses and ponies and camels and a frankly distressing number of yaks. Someone, somewhere was sure that any circus without yaks was not a circus at all, and had hedged their bets against running out of yaks any time soon.

Animals came in too, but not caged or even really watched over; they had the slightly fat look of pets who were loathe to stray far from their source of snacks. Front and center were a pair of dire tigers and a cub. Some Engineers with an eye for such things may have recognised the female tiger as the one freed from Banth's enclosure; she and her cub look happy and have recovered well from their ordeal. A wooly mammoth (with its fur dyed a rainbow of color) was clearly enjoying the winter; a celestial monkey and a Dalish elf played cards upon its back.

Others creatures streamed on in, and it was not really clear if they were part of the circus, or had simply been swept up in it. A quartet of giant spiders huddled together for warmth around the chimney of one caravan. On the side were painted the words "Madame Esmerelda's Visions of the True Dance: Futures foretold, truths revealed, mysteries unveiled, hair untangled"

Behind them came the performers. Fire breathers, jugglers, and those who normally carry the titles "carnies" or "lovable rogues" or "Hey you!", depending on who was asking. Acrobats are easy to spot, every other sane humanoid had long since bred out the gene that demanded you do cartwheels in freezing mud.

Bringing up the rear was probably The Man Himself; surely no one else thought an entrance was best made on the back of a magically-enlarged elephant. Those who knew the term Ring Master would likely recognize the cut of this tall, gaunt human’s costume, though they would have to look past the constantly shifting colours, not a one of which could ever be described as subtle, or for that matter matching.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Rogues and Rakes, Boys and Girls of all ages, Come and join us in the Endless Dance. See sights you cannot believe, and some you should not. Hear fantastic tales and songs from lands beyond imagining. Learn what the whims of fate have in store for you or simply sooth your soul with a day of entertainment and joy. Everything you seek and more, you’ll find it waiting for you, in the Endless Dance.”

That night, the circus unpacked and then unpacked some more, then began to construct tents, stalls and dangerously high looking trapeze stands. Some of Dejune stopped to watch, others decided to get a solid night's sleep for the next day's events. Those who watched carefully however, could see the signs. The wheels of the wagons were worn and the animals tired. The winter had taken it's toll, and the circus was not about to leave in the next day or so. If Frey really had called the carnival, she was not paying them in coin, but rather in a place to wait out the freezing weather.

Thyrsday, the 338th day of the 1789th year of the age was a festive one indeed.

As one entered through the rather improbable iron gates, the atmosphere changed. Everything felt more alive. The smell of exotic spices and mystic perfumes mixed with the earthy scents of animals and well worn canvas. Strange music drifted by, at once soothing and disquieting to the listener. Men and women in outlandish costumes moved through the crowd, some selling strange foods or trinkets, others wetting other appetites with hints of the performances to come later. Every so often a beast would walk seeming unrestrained along an alleyway, scattering and yet thrilling the audience.

Those with the eyes and the minds to see past the costumes and the masks could see the machine at work. They could see the craftsmen keeping an eye on the tents and stalls and mechanical games. They could spot the security officers, making sure that no one sampling the exotic liquors got too out of hand, and that no outside forces decided to take advantage of the large and distracted crowds to enlighten their pockets. A truly canny observer could tell the entertainers, the jugglers and firemen and acrobats, from the true clowns, who played tricks on those not in the spirit and gave gifts to those who were, influencing the crowd and drawing them all further into both the carnival, and the magic of the day.

The main attraction was the Big Top (which the Aberdeenians recognised for what it was), where shows could be performed in relative warmth. The mammoth proved adept at flicking colored balls through hoops with its trunk, and acrobats performed on high wires while the tigers chased them around the tent. The tigers would nearly catch a performer, but at the last moment he'd seem to fall off a wire, only to catch a passing trapeze and swing to safety. Apu the celestial monkey worked some magic with cards, and told jokes. The jokes weren't particularly good, but it was bizarre enough that everyone laughed anyway.

As the acts continued, one began to get the sense that the gaudily dressed dwarf guiding the audience through the evening was not merely hosting, but was also weaving some grand story, something subtle but with a deeper subtext, like those heard far below the surface in time of the dwarves’ prime. Possibly it was just the overly dour clown who accompanied him, often acting as the butt of jokes and yet showing a nuanced control of the large whip he wore wrapped across his chest, control more suited to battle than performance.

A juggler asked the front row to give them their weapons; he would juggle everything he was given. A magical sabre proved too difficult, and the crowd averted their eyes when it was clear the poor man's career was about to come to a painful end. Instead, he exploded in a flock of small colorful birds. A magician hiding behind a pillar came out and bowed, and the real juggler came out and this time performed perfectly.

The carnival games were rigged of course; floating wooden ducks were to be hooked by flexible bamboo poles with a less-than-optimally-curved nail hammered through the end. Those fortunate enough to hook a duck (a copper gave you three goes) were rewarded with paper tickets, redeemable for prizes.

Still, there was something there; while the ducks were all worth a single ticket, some were much lighter than the others and floated high on the water. The children with sharp wits did well, earning more than enough tickets to afford a mid-sized hand-knitted stuffed animal or a wooden sword.

Another copper piece bought you two stones to throw at a set of balanced iron cans. The cans themselves were much more stable than they appeared, but a ticket was given for every third can to fall, rather than for knocking over the entire pyramid of twelve. The cleverer among the participants soon noticed that it was easier to hit the top three cans off one stack than it was to knock an entire stack down (a rather satirical commentary on greed, surely). Not all the rocks were equal; while they all grey and roughly the same size, some were much heavier than others.

The other games had similar themes; they were all games of skill, but not the skill that the game traditionally tested. Greed was punished, while cleverness was rewarded; the number of tickets being dispensed made it unlikely that the games were going to break even, considering the quality and workmanship of the prizes.

Madame Esmeralda was certainly...something, although opinion was divided as to what. Her caravan was decorated with the spiral of Pharasma, hearkening back to the time where the Judging God was also the god of prophecy and what was to come. She had a raven that perched on a skull (as is practically required by law), but her fortunes were a little too accurate and personal, people left her tent looking more than a little uncomfortable. She told fortunes with a crystal ball and a deck of (what she assured Talisa) was non-magical harrow cards.

That night, while the engineers relaxed at the Planar Anchor, Gus approached their table and turned to address Shades. He appeared to be a slightly rotund half-elf of fairly average height and unremarkable appearance, if one could first get past the costume, which would require either being blind or a rather substantial will save.

"You are the Lord Shades of Dejun are you not? The leader of these Great Downwards Engineers? We have heard many times of this Lord Shades and his Engineers, and it is with meeting him in mind that arrangements were first made with your most fine associate Freydan. But we are sorry, we have not introduced ourselves. I, am the great Gustavo Bambilla," at this the man bows an improbably deep bow while flourishing an implausibly large hat, "leader of the Endless Dance, and this is my adjutant Siegfried Royman. We have come to offer you our services in your merry little band."

The Diary of Sally Wossname

Day 1:
The atmosphere on this boat is amazing. The crew are excited to have Mark back on board, and he’s looking forward to getting away from those horrible adventurers and their sweaty caves. I hope this is the start of a whole new chapter in our romance.

Day 2:
Well Mark didn’t invite me up for breakfast, but then he didn’t spend the night with those two tramps either, so I count it as a win. I’ll drop in to see him in his cabin once I’m feeling a bit less queasy. The crew said it’ll take a few days to get my sea legs.

Day 3:
So much vomit. Why is there corn? I didn’t even eat corn!

Day 4:
I knocked on his cabin door, but he just growled and shout that he wasn't hungry. I don't think he's in a good mood.

Day 5:
Finally caught a glimpse of Mark in his cabin today, sitting majestically at his desk and poring over important looking documents. There were a lot of empty bottles around him. The tramps were busy chatting up the helmsman while I staked out a good vantage point in the shade of the sails. One of the crew was taking him his lunch while another carried a few unlabelled bottles. I do hope he’ll call for me soon.

Day 6:
He came out of his cabin today, walked straight up to the wheel and spun it hard to the right. He then shouted at the poor marine to “listen to the waves” and stalked back into the cabin.
A few minutes later the boy up on the mast shouted out about “rocks on portside” but we missed them. It was very heroic.

Day 7:
I’ve been on this boat a week and Mark hasn’t spoken to me yet. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t want me here.

Day 9:
The tramps have both taken up with Marines. They tried to hide it from me, but it’s so obvious. I’m the only one here that deserves Mark. I’ve started working in the kitchen so that I can volunteer to take his food to him once the crew let me.

Day 10:
He didn’t recognise me! Me!! I took his meal to him tonight, and he just waved me off to the sideboard and didn't even take his eyes off the letter he was reading. What could be so important? I noticed the crest of the Mirrax Marines on the reports on his desk, along with some maps of islands.

Day 11:
This morning I cleared my throat while carrying in his breakfast. He looked very cross but didn’t stop working on his map. I should have known better. Tonight I’ll just stand there quietly.

Saw him reading something with a terrible, horrible sketch on the side. Some monstrous bird with three pairs of wings. the paper was yellow, the writing all brown and faded. I could see a really old-looking Mirrax crest on the paper too. It turned my stomach but I stayed there for near half an hour watching him lose himself in his work. Eventually he stopped, took a long pull from a bottle that smelled like fermented jerky, and fell asleep at the desk. I let myself out.

Day 12:
This voyage isn't what anyone thought. Hearsay has us going all the way north to the Sand Jungles! The crew are nervous. Even 'Dirty' Lizzy stalks around the deck, but that could just be her normal demeanour.

Mark has started talking. Not to me, but to the room. He talks about some “Black Scar” being “the Source”, and that the Jungles should be prepared for the worst. It sounded like one half of a conversation. Why are we headed towards somewhere if it’s going to be so bad?

Day 13:
I heard Mark describing something truly awful today to his invisible conversation partner. Violent storms, death itself flying on six terrifying wings. He went into more detail about ship positioning and counter strategies but it was all too much. The next thing I knew, he was standing over me with a concerned, but hard, expression on his face. He called in some marines and they carried me to my bed.

Day 14:
The ship weighed anchor at Skor, and Mark threw the tramps and I off the ship. 'Nonessential personnel', he called us. I still think he feels for me, I could see the pain in his eyes and I knew he was just trying to protect us.

I hope he is OK up in the jungles...

I'm on a boat motherfucker

Ralph awoke with to the sound of a crash, a fitful sleep giving way to the reality of existence in this place; the whip scars, the hunger, the constant nausea, the hard, damp floor.

What was that crash?  It sounded like something large and wooden striking a hard surface with significant force.  What was Captain Scarlet doing now. Huh, what foolish derivative name that fool had picked for himself.  He was clearly no captain anyway, likely just some rich noble boy who's daddy had bought him a boat to mess about on with his friends for sport.

Well, what a sport he'd picked for himself.  He probably told all the whores he shelled out coin for that he was a great hunter of pirates.  Maybe they even believed him.  I bet he didn't mention what he did with the 'pirates' he captured - the torture, the forced fights to the death, the other things Lobar didn't want to think about but the screams from which echoed through this ruin at strange times. Was he doing it to gain favour from some hideous profane god, or was the man just some kind of freak who took pleasure in these things?  Ralph didn't know, and it didn't really matter.

Another crash came from somewhere in the ruin, followed by screams. What was he doing now?  He saw movement and from out of the darkness appeared a figure - a halfling man wearing a stupidly ostentatious hat.  Just like one of scarlet's men. "Right worm maggot, you're next!" he...bellowed?  There was something strange about that voice. Ralph didn't know many halflings, but he was pretty sure their voices didn't sound that...musical.  And that hat...?

"Get ready," the halfling squeaked "you're leaving!"  Ralph was about to ask when his thinking was interrupted by a minotaur charging out of the darkness.  A minotaur in a shiny silver breastplate holding a mighty sword.  It smashed into the bars of Ralph's crude cell, smashing them to the ground. As they fell a mighty laugh erupted from the monster.  "Last one, ahahahaha!"

With that the minotaur's form rippled and it was replaced with a woman.  The colour of her skin gave her away as a native of the sand jungles, though the colour of her eyes was strangely out of place, and her right arm...emerging from the padding on the edge of her breastplate her fight arm looked grotesquely swollen and was sickly white, in bizzare counterpoint to the rest of her skin.  She was wearing a black leather glove on her right hand, but with bare arms it hid nothing.

Somewhere behind her Ralph noticed other people, some of his fellow captives, gingerly following the woman and her halfling companion. "Ok, going now."  The woman said "That man in the red coat dead.  His coat was dumb, deserved to die for that, as well as doing stuff to you."  She laughed at her own joke, then kept laughing. She gaffawed at her not particular funny joke for a good 15 seconds before straightening up. "Ok, so let's move."  "I'll stop this act now."  Said the halfing, and faded from existence, in the moment before she vanished Ralph thought he saw a tiny woman with butterfly wings take her place.

"What's happening?"  Said one of the newly released captives.  "You free now," said the woman " we killed scarlet, but if you want, would be nice for you to come with us."  "Come with you?"  said Ralph.  "What do you want with us?".  "Sailors."  Said the woman.  "Me and Erika here"  she gestured vaguely in the air "bought ourselves a big nice ship, but didn't think about how we need a bunch o folk to sail it for us until after."  Another mad laugh emerged.  "Anyway, we need something to move things between the land and this island we have.  We don't really have money to pay, but we give you food and rum and place to live."

It was certainly an offer...