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Bloodsworn Ch. 2.32
🕑 Added 2025-04-27 21:13:24 +0000 UTC32.
A/N: give me some names for what Erak's personal unit should be called!
“This is a disaster,” Sammus said as they looked over the ranks of Erak’s new fighting force. It was mainly human but there were a few small dwarves and slender elves mixed in. They stood in a motley collection of clothes with no armor and only a few weapons. A handful of people stood separate and tried to chide, cajole, and scream at people to get into formation, all without success.
“We have five days?” Pomp said, punctuating the sentence with a dramatic sigh. Nevia and her sergeants stood with them and they looked at the mass of humanity with dubious looks.
“Work starts now,” Erak sent to Pomp and he strode out of the keep and across the grassy field to where the militia had gathered. Pomp flew over his head and the rest of his retinue followed in his wake, silent in their reproach. Erak scanned faces, trying to see if there was anyone there he recognized. His helmet bounced with every step, tied to his belt with a simple leather strap. His new armor was like a second skin and he wore it everywhere, but had taken to showing his face.
Erak came to a stop in front of the mass of militia and waited. His presence slowly drew silence forth as hundreds of pairs of eyes came to his scarred and mutilated face. A deep breath through his nose and he could smell the fear and anxiety as he stood, a silent pillar of steel and violence.
“ATTENTION!” Constance screamed, spittle spraying out of her mouth as the sergeant fell upon them. The few officers amongst the militia leapt into motion, berating and screaming until there were neat rows.
“Thank Nevia for me for allowing me to borrow her sergeants,” Erak said to Pomp. All the sergeants prowled the lines, too few for how many militia he had. There was no possibility of forming six hundred civilians into a fighting force in five days. He could make fifty work though.
“I am Pompous! I am the Lord Bloodsworn’s bonded spirit guardian! I am his voice!” Pomp boomed, a frost creeping around him as he floated above the crowd and the first row of militia shivered but didn’t speak or run.
“We deploy in five days. You have all volunteered and we admire the courage to serve with the Lord Bloodsworn, but that is the only thing we admire. Undisciplined, untrained, unequipped!” Erak fought to not roll his eyes as Pomp lived up to his name.
“Fifty of you shall be chosen at the end of this day. That is who we shall take with us. These fifty shall be armed, armored, and trained to be Lord Bloodsworn’s personal hammer. They shall face the fires of tribulation, the fangs of beasts, and send demons back to Hell through the most violent of means!” Pomp danced through the air and really got into the speech.
“Honor and glory shall be heaped upon these fifty. The greatest warriors in the Empire they shall become. Holy martyrs to be! For you shall meet your end on demon claws as we reclaim our homeworld! Join if your rage and hatred for the invaders is greater than your love of life. Join if you wish your name to be sung by future generations as the first of the Bloodsworn’s sworn blades. Join if you wish for the peace of death!” Pomp rose to his full height and his voice positively boomed across the field. An aurora of blue and white frost spread across the sky as the dragon preened under the view of hundreds of eyes.
“Now,” Erak signed to Sammus and the prince nodded. He subtly nudged Nevia and the officer leapt to action. Within moments the entire field of people were busy with calisthenics. They ran, jumped, and generally were worked over under the watchful eyes of the sergeants. Erak looked over levels and was disappointed, most of them were so weak they couldn’t be helpful even if he fully equipped them with gear equal to his own.
The goblins they had faced were, at the lowest, in the early twenties. Most of the soldiers weren’t there yet and they had fought in the fall of the capital. These people here were generally under level ten.
“We’ll need Nevia’s platoon to do the majority of the fighting. Use our fifty as extra hands to finish cleaning the area out. I want scouts to find weak monsters in the area. Maybe try to start working our way into the depths in squads. One veteran with three militia members. Focus on blades and shields. I don’t want a reliance on casters.” Erak kept a running commentary to Julius, the small man having volunteered to be his scribe. Erak suspected it was to get away from Rutledge.
“Yes, Lord Bloodsworn,” Julius said, his hand a blur as he wrote notes in shorthand. Erak glanced at him and just shrugged. He had never bothered to correct anyone about the title they gave him and by now he had grown accustomed to it.
There were a few people who stood out and Erak quietly pointed them out to Julius to write down. They weren’t high level, but the focus and determination on their face, especially as the day dragged on, was appealing. He’d send them into the depths tomorrow and see if Snowbeard, or his apprentices, could work on his plans.
Erak thought about the demons they had fought and the fact many of them used spears and swords. None had relied heavily on casters or any type of Essence abilities. Muscle would carry you further and longer than Essence, at least for these soldiers.
A trio of robe wearing practitioners managed to survive the exercise. They weren’t common in the North but had been somewhat commonplace in the capital. Exclusive clubs who had claimed to delve into the mysteries of the world of esoteric arts, who dabbled in magiks, and practiced the old ways. There had been fourteen of them to begin with, but eleven had collapsed and skulked away within an hour.
Flame Dancer lvl. 9
Essence multiples who one is and a Flame Dancer is one who adores the flames, the crackle and merry dancing of flames.
Earth Shaker lvl. 8
As their power grows so does their master of the earth.
Essence Shaper lvl. 10
A universal command of Essence, their strength is tied to the creativity they can level to battle
The three practitioners were all human, a pair of women and a single man. The man was middle aged with thinning hair and was the Earth Shaker. His tanned skin looked like leather and there was a malicious intelligence in his muddy brown eyes. The Flame Dancer was of the same age but looked younger with milky pale skin that looked as if the sun had never touched it. Her faded blue eyes were blank and dead, no expression of joy or hatred there at all.
The Essence Shaper was younger, hardly older than Erak and Nevia. Black hair and tanned skin with emerald eyes showed she was a Southern Sea descendant. The locals there had been some of the first Conquered and the province was a stable if languished area. Wealth had gone there and then decayed over the centuries as the bright and able had fled to the more untamed parts of the Empire to carve their futures.
All three of them tracked him as he walked past them. Erak didn’t care that they saw him stare at them in return. He had yet to work with a dedicated Essence based warrior, but he had a feeling these three would be instrumental to his plans.
“Add those three to the list,” Erak told Julius. The sun had begun to sink and the field was nearly empty. Of the fifty he had wanted to claim, only about thirty had made it through the grueling exercise. Several others had collapsed, mind willing but bodies failing. He’d add them too.
“Get them fed and watered. Tomorrow they hunt,” Erak told Sammus as he walked back into the caves.
