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FG: Chapter 70
🕑 Added 2024-06-06 14:30:01 +0000 UTC-Grindlefect perimeter, Sire Marcus Graham’s War Camp-
Marcus looked upon the army assembled in his name – a patchwork force compiled of creatures that could turn the stomach of a seasoned Green Baret.
Spinerippers, spearmen, swordbearers and ratguards all bearing implements of war, flanked by Kobold skirmishers and slingers that were his. He could see their willingness to fight – and die – in their battle-stances.
He’d settle for them fighting. He’d trod upon enough skulls to get to this point.
“I know some of you know that you view those opposed to us with hatred,” he said as he climbed atop a loose boulder and addressed the armada. “But look around you, ratmen of the North, there are Kobolds who stand shoulder to shoulder with you in the name of the same God you venerate. We have opened our arms to them, and they have come to us willingly.”
He let that statement sink in. There were still rats among them who doubted the loyalty of the Kobold recruits. But their murmurings were cut down in their throats when they saw Ix take up position beside the Shai-Alud, standing with the two rats that had fought with Marcus since the beginning of his campaign.
“Look you, Kobolds of the North!” Marcus shouted. “You see one of your own raised to the status of champion, bearing the new weapons that shall secure you a place in the history of this Underkingdom. I ask you, creatures of the North, do you wish to have your names inscribed for future ages to remember? For your children’s children to revere with just as much pride as that which you put in your God?”
“YES! YES! YES!”
The crowd’s tenacity was overbearing. Even Marcus had to steady himself as the sheer volume of their united cry flew towards him.
You’ve made something here, Marcus, he couldn’t help but think as he looked into the sea of faithful below him. It’s a hell of a lot more than you ever had back home…
To watch them all beat their chests with his name on their lips…it was something he could have gotten used to. He was a man who stood on the wrong side of what his own dimension dubbed ‘progress’. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that what Skeever had hinted at in his tent mere minutes ago hadn’t already crossed his mind. Fortifying Grindlefecht, setting himself up as a new power in this realm – it would be the smart thing to do.
And it would be exactly what a tyrant would have done.
Well, we all have our fantasies… he thought with a smirk. If you were here with me, Mari…I wonder what you’d say?
It was her face that dominated his thoughts as he threw an accusing finger towards the battered walls of Grindlefecht behind him.
“Warrios of the North!” he roared, Deekius amplifying his voice with the essences of the Gloomraav he had left in his veins. “Before you stands the last, final barrier to your freedom! I ask you to commit yourselves, body and soul, to cracking the walls of Grindlefecht forever. I ask you to put your faith in me, and ride beside me into battle one final time. I ask you, warriors of the Underkingdom, what is your answer?”
“SHAI-ALUD!” they cried in response. “SHAI-ALUD! SHAI-ALUD!”
It was a chant that soon became a battlecry as they charged as one, Marcus hopping on his own Spineripper to lead them in the final assault.
Skeever and Deekius had tried to talk him out of partaking in the thick combat that was to come and, in truth, he could feel every bone in his body quake and his muscles atrophy against the prospect of fighting their enemy to the very last man. But he wasn’t about to dishonor the sacrifice of those who followed him by hiding on the sidelines. If he had really become a fantasy general, he would play that role to the very end.
So with his commanders at their posts, propelling their respective units forward, he thrust his fist into the air of the Underkingdom and added his voice to the thousands who ran with him.
…
-Grindlefecht, Good Boss Silas’ Stronghold-
The rat who once stood as a prisoner in the hallowed halls of the Dwarven fortress now held his fur-covered head high as he spoke to his flock of Kobold refugees.
Refugees carrying some very special packages for their guests.
“Suffering!” he bellowed once he knew, by their silence, that he held them rapt in his grip. The cadence of the ratman was gone. Now he was himself. Silas. No Clan. No devotion. Nothing but what he, from his birth in this dark realm, had always known he was.
“It is our suffering that brings us together!” he cried. “We, the small-folk of this earth, who must toil and trundle beneath the soil the ilk of the surface trod upon, know this reality better than any who breathe the air of Thea. This is the truth of our being, Brothers and Sisters of the Underkingdom. Its revelation to you was the true purpose of the Great Kleansing.”
The inert form of Skegga wriggled behind him. Perhaps the toad still had some fight left in him, in the end. Not that it mattered – the Kobolds lining the temple and courtyard of Grindlefecht had only one hope, now. That hope was what had compelled those brave souls among them to consume the tools that would be their end. They had done so willingly.
“The Ascension you were promised does not belong to a God!” Silas continued, his claws flying about like he was possessed by the jumping spirits of the Kobolds themselves. “It is not the right of Skegga the weak – Skegga the mad – who has done naught but bring your enemies to your doorstep. Look upon him now and tell me, Kobolds of the North, is this the God you worship?”
The answer that came from the throats of every adult Yip – women and children included – filled Silas with more pleasure than he had felt in years.
“NO-NO! NO-NO! NO GOD-GOD SKEGGA! SKEGGA LIES! SKEGGA LOSES! SKEGGA FAIL-FAILS!”
“Who is your God, Kobolds of the North? Who shall ensure you the ascension that you deserve? Who shall take you into the light of the eternal, where the leaps are endless and limits of one’s jumps lie beyond the earth and the sky?”
“WE ARE!” they screamed, those bearing their special payload beating their swollen bellies in assent.
“You know the truth that has been kept from you,” Silas furiously agreed. “The sorry thing you see before you thought to keep the ascension that you deserve from you for too long. Now, the infidels who would block you from the gates of heaven are here, and they seek nothing more than the annihilation of your souls. There may be those of you who know relatives that have joined the cause of these heretics. Know that they have done so by forsaking the truth of the Kleansing. They have betrayed you, and, worse, have betrayed their own spirits. Their feet shall waver on the path to the heavens.”
Sniffles and cries were heard reverberating up the crowd. Silas bowed his head, concealing his snarl of indignation. These beasts were as stupid as they were sentimental. If only he’d realized that sooner.
“But those of you who have come here today,” he bellowed. “You have come for one thing only: you wish to be saved. You have come here to celebrate one thing only: the culmination of your mortal lives. And you have come here to begin your journey to a plane beyond this one. You have come to finally achieve the freedom you have craved for your entire lives. Freedom from the cage of this ever-dark realm, freedom from the constraints of your bodies. Freedom from shame, and pain, and all it requires is one final push of will from each and every one of you. Are you prepared, Kobolds of the North? The Shai-Alud is at your doorstep. The God-killer has come here with his army of indoctrinated infidels. Kobolds of the North, how shall you greet him?”
“WITH FLAME-FLAME!” the congregation chanted, spittle flying from their starving lips, Silas’ every word feeding the hallucinogenic frenzy of their minds. “FIRE-FIRE TO BURN AWAY SIN-SIN. WE SHALL RISE-RISE. WE SHALL RISE. WE SHALL RISE!”
They sang like children drunk on faith. They sang like conquerors ready to move to the world beyond that they so desperately craved. Silas of Fleapit could paint a pretty picture, even if he did say so himself.
He let them continue their chanting as he turned back to good old Skegga.
“See how they bleat like cattle?” he whispered to the bloody toad. “They are a testament to the power of faith. It’s pure faith that shall light this Underkingdom ablaze, Skegga. Such belief was wasted on you.”
With one wave of his hands he bid the swarm go forth, rallying behind their martyr commanders.
“Come, good Skegga,” Silas snarled. “The Shai-Alud is coming. Let us give him a warm welcome.”
