From the East [Rhakros] (Graded)

[Maltruism]

From the East [Kas, Fur, Maude]

A few trials earlier....

The swamps defied most every aspect of daylight's influence. It was dark from the thick canopy of leafy deciduous growth, those trees' leaves being complimented by the many vines that rose from the stagnant waters that lapped at the hulls of the boats. Only at darkest night was it obvious what time of trial it was.

It was changelessly hot and humid, day or night; the air as motionless as the water. This was true of the actual perception of currents, as well as the occasional disruption of them by creatures sliding and buzzing by on levels both above and below the surface.

Some breaks passed as a seemingly malicious exercise in relentlessly switching from carting the vessels over sloppy mud, and dropping them back into algae-covered bodies of reeking, slimy water for a few mere bits of paddling. There were times it made more sense just to trudge through waist-deep pools of thickly opaqued water with the already-hefted boats kept aloft than to go through the motions of preparing to paddle for what would be no more than twenty or thirty yards.

In fairness, the commanders, and underlings that still ranked above the common soldiery, were not displaying any privileged attitude regarding such toil, and were every bit as wet, grimy and smelly as those they commanded. They had the experience to know that if you treat your men as beneath you, when not in combat, they will return the "favor" IN combat to the tune of six feet of depth.

There was no mistaking the richness and diversity of life in the swamps. A few of the living had already been unintentionally sacrificed as food for some of the more predatory types; the most unnerving detail being how little of the creature was seen beyond a tentacle here, or a wide, toothy maw there. Some swore it had been a plant that had dispatched two of them; one each on two different occasions.

Then of course, there was the quicksand, and the insects. Everyone knew there would be insects, but there seemed quite an uptick in the ratio of allergic reactions that bloated a few of the volunteers to the point of nearly popping. Rashes, discoloration, fevers, and boils that burst so wetly that what few survivors there were suffered immediately from dehydration. Slow attrition was the early enemy.

It could only be said that Lisirra must have seen consistent past ventures that were completely demoralized by such afflictions, and had counted on this to turn at least this one host of Etzori back. She was mistaken. After the atrocity she had inflicted upon the population of Etzos, enduring this was child's play. Short of actual death, the suffering only galvanized this host to greater resolve.

As well, when Under-Marshall Kayalla Frolnier died of an infected sting from some sort of nettle bush, her command to press on was taken unquestionably to heart. Her honor was unanimously added to all the varying grudges held in charge to be paid out of the Plague Queen's blood, or whatever passed for blood in such a vile being.

Sintra had known that her involvement would not go undetected for long. And this host was definitely in an environment that did not allow such a benefit. Even over such stagnant water as was present in the swamp, ghosts could not hope to travel unharmed. Liquid was a desperately delicate membrane for them.

There were numerous insects that have such a light tread that they could pass upon the surface without breaking it. It was rare though that a ghost could do the same. Ectoplasm was light, and was not innately given to mix with water. But the slightest of ripples could bring about such an overlap. Essentially, it would force conveyance upon them, if conveyed deeply enough, even such mild currents as those created by swimming creatures would impose contrary pulls on portions of the entity, potentially tearing them apart.

For this purpose, the “Children of Sintra” webbed together long stretches of leaves for the living to trail behind their boats atop the surface. The ghostly horde crossed stretches of water this way with little trouble.


Saun 8

Sintra's spiders added additional benefits to the party within the last few miles of swampland. Archers, by the thousands, waited in ambush in the forest canopy. Even though the Etzori host was able to use the boats as overturned “turtle” shields, they were quickly pinned down.

In answer to the thousands of Rhakrosians perched in the trees, were tens of thousands of spiders, of all sizes, colors and venomous levels of potency, to silently invade the canopy above. It was as if the very bark of the trunks and branches came alive to swarm over the horrified archers.

As the shrieks and gurgles of the swollen, twitching and falling enemies died out, some with members of the arachnid host returning from emptied eyes sockets and mouths still open in dying screams, even the most cold and unforgiving of the Etzori could not but feel a shiver of sympathy for the enemy. Many chalked up their deaths as yet one more ghastly charge against the Plague Mother's bill.

The webbing served as a swift remedy for the arrow holes in the hulls of the boats, and the host moved quickly now to arrive in time for the flash and thunder of the northern explosion to be recognized. A slight wait in the bushes allowed time for a good half of the defenders to hurry away to make their way to the breach in the north.

Then, the tens of thousands of spiders, their numbers reduced somewhat by the desperate boots and slaps of the dead archers in the trees a break or two earlier, now swarmed the walls, bringing not only a quick means of climbing for the following soldiers of Etzos, but also a needed distraction against a focused effort against them. Some were big enough that their webs could be wound to produce a line capable of supporting a man's weight.

Kasoria, Fur and Maude were among the lucky ones to reach the apex of the wall unharmed and relatively unopposed. The ghosts were amassing at the gate set into a thick baked mud and wooden barrier, teeming with insects. Conveying through would be a slow and costly ordeal for them. Some were climbing the webbing using their tendrils as impromptu ropes, but others were skilled in different areas and needed help.

Off Topic

Okay, I wanted to get this down for all the groups to see. I probably will not go into such depth for the other three groups. I acknowledge I am giving the eastern group a sort of head start with this, but I swear I will get the others up and going soon. Plus, they can anticipate clouds of insects coming their way.

[Maude Coaley]

Maude Coaley was a living bomb and her intended target was Lisirra. She was an aspiring suicide bomber. This didn’t mean that she would act in a rash manner. Maude didn’t want to die at the wrong occasion. Oh no, she was going to exert the kind of Aukari self-discipline needed for controlling the inner fire.

The inner fire, her parents had explained, could turn her into a walking, living torch in no time.

Was that a true story? Or had it been her parent’s lazy way of making their energetic child abstain from throwing tantrums? To be honest, Maude didn’t know. Was she capable of being the bomb they had taught her that she was? She had never seen anybody ignite. It wasn’t like it had seemed smart to test if she could do it herself either. So, her capability as a secret suicide bomber was not proven. She might or might not become a burning being of fire when the time felt right. She could also fail to ignite. It was also possible that she would die before she could try. There were no guarantees for either outcome. Only time would tell.

She had joined the army because sitting passively in Etzos was the real doom for Etzos and its people. It was meaningless to sit there like a duck waiting for the next shot. So many people had died in the plague and it actually felt unfair to be a survivor. It felt like she ought to pay back.

As Maude had grown up in Etzos and lived there her whole life she felt Etzori despite being Aukari. People get attached to the place where they grow up, not to places they never have been to. Maude was no exception. She defined herself as a human. She wanted to be an Etzori woman through and through. So far all people believed it was so or at least nobody had cared to call her out. She had red hair, but so what? They knew how jesters were!

Was this a true story? Or was it the story Maude told herself? She worshipped Zanik instead of the immortal of her parents. She kept it secret. It was dangerous to be a “morty-lover” in Etzos. But, it seemed even worse to love the wrong immortal in that faraway hometown of her Aukari parents.

As a jester, she was void of military training but good at "tricks". In the best case, she would be able to shoot an enemy from behind with the light crossbow she carried. She had signed up for support work. The army had accepted her due to the lack of experienced support personnel. Maude didn’t know anything about support either. She dealt with it by following orders and doing as those she worked with did.

The march through the dark and insect-infested swamp had been a waking nightmare. Maude had never liked spiders. She liked them even less now., though she had to tolerate them. But, she hated the grotesque "enemy-insects" more. In an outburst of rabid insect-hate, she had shot more than one of Lissirra's disgusting beings. Her skill with the crossbow was low but she had picked targets of a size she could deal with.

It was possible that she had screamed “die, die, die, die” while she had done it. She had felt like her more than average hot blood was about to boil. It might have made her come off as a ferocious hater or arachnids and what they represented. But, she hardly thought anybody had noticed it. A lot of people had been shouting. She had only been one among many.

Everything had been turbulent mayhem. What had happened felt like a blur of horror. Maude had feared that she would die before she could commit her suicide bomber deed. She hardly knew how she of all people had managed to reach the apex of the wall.

But, here she was now.

What now ... Maude wasn’t prepared for this, but she hoped the many ghosts and a few living soldiers would take lead. She was going to stick with the others who made it up here. It seemed a bit bleak though. Her random company was unknown to her as she hadn’t noticed them before. Maude wasn’t sure if the ghost nearby (NPC ghost) would be able to do something, because her knowledge about ghosts was ... limited and to be honest they crept her out.

She felt pretty sure that the short man on her other side would be worthless. Damn. She had hoped to find herself among people with more competence than she had. But, a woman who aspired to be a suicide bomber couldn’t stand there like a helpless maiden in a situation like this. She must take command, that was obvious. That didn’t mean that she intended to go first. Maude must stay alive until the right moment for her fiery death would come.

“You there,” she said to the little man (Kasoria, though she didn’t know his name). She would have to use him now. She resorted to rhetoric. Maude yelled at high speed. She hoped her two unfortunate sudden “mates” would hear her despite the noise around them.

“It would be best if you front our little group. I am a woman working in the support troupes and our third is one of those flaccid ghosts. I can use a light crossbow that is all. Still, I am prepared to give my life to save Etzos. You are the only real man here, I mean, sorry to say it but the rest of us are she-lasses and spokes. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, no matter if that means what it means. Our task is to face danger and conquer it or die trying. Step forth and do your duty! “

She hoped he would imagine himself fit to take lead and do as she said. She didn't believe it would save their sorry asses. But, it would give her a few more bits to think of how to keep herself alive. In the best case, some able real soldier with experience of battle would get time to join them. Maude could hide behind that kind of able soldier and have their back, until the right opportunity for her to explode ... maybe a really big guy, an ithecal or so.

[Kasoria]

The screaming went on for breaks. He listened, a connoisseur of such sounds, and in their pitch and melody could see the struggle in the canopy unfold. At first they were of shock, pain coming second once the venom sunk into their veins. Above them were the shouts of command, sergeants and lieutenants or whatever these traitors to Mankind had for an officer class. Trying to restore order, bellowing orders for retreat, retaliation, resolve and, of course, faith in The Plague Mother.

They didn't last much longer than their underlings. The spiders did not care for rank or breeding or experience. They swarmed across branches and limbs and bit in a frenzy anyone they landed on. He could imagine a living, shimmering wave of black chitin and insectile legs pouring up and over the human archers above them. He could see them shriek and flail as poisons flooded their systems, boiling their blood, shriveling their organs, sloughing their skin off their bodies as more toxins than their bodies could handle ripped them apart from the inside.

He listened to the screaming for hours, and the thump-thump-splash of bodies slamming into the swamp below the canopy. Thousands of them. All humans, like him. But in service to a monster. He listened to the wailing as it went from outraged and shocked to despairing and begging. Sounds of prayers came wafting from above them all. Huddled on their boats, on their scraps of moist land, the army of Etzos huddled and waited in comparative silence. The little man with the ragged beard listened to them as much as the enemy. He looked around and saw wide eyes of shock and horror and disbelief. The powers of one Immortal unleashed against the minions of another.

Shhhuk... shhhukk...

Stone on metal. Slow and steady and methodical. First one side, then the other. A keen edge was an even edge; sharpening one side only a few mites less or more than the other could cost you a kill. Kasoria did not want to suffer that indignity, not after they'd come so far. He focused mainly on his weapons as he listened, squatting with the motley assortment of scum he'd seemed to gather around him. Through no effort of his own, he might add. The winged thing clung to him like one of those tiny fish did to sharks, though she likely assumed herself superior to him. Most of her avian kind did. There were others, from the Oh'Pee, who recognized them. As the long column of men and ghosts and mages and animals had marched south, he'd noticed more and more of them... appear, around him.

He'd growled at them, like a larger predator expressing annoyance for trailing scavengers. But they'd not left him. They spoke of him around camp fires, now. Kasoria, the Raggedy Man. The man who could not die. The killer, the warrior, the mage, the beast of the Oh'Pee. Kasoria had scowled at every one and cursed the speakers for fools. He'd known death more than any other. He'd come closer than most and smelled the rot on his hand as it reached for him.

Maybe this will be where he catches you, he'd thought one night, as they camped outside the swamp, dim lights of a city they had to murder beyond the canopy. Maybe it'll be worth it.

"Maybe."

A slim, lizard head swung towards him. Beady black eyes peered at him. Kasoria looked back without fear at the beast that was not one. He smiled lopsided at the Ithecal, shaking his head.

"Ignore an old man. Look to yer steel."

He watched Fur sharpen his gladius for a few bits, then went back to his one. The Ithecal was the only one he wanted around him, mainly because he trusted him... to a degree. Complete and perfect trust was both laughable and impractical to Kasoria, but the young lizard had come close. He'd proven himself, in courage and skill, and Kasoria was glad to have effective back up on the road. The two unlikely companions sat there and listened to the screams, readying their weapons for the fight to come. Until...

It's true. You never notice it, until it ain't there to be noticed.

The screaming had stopped. The glittering black tide poured back. The tall, gorgeous, repulsive figure with them stretched out one elegant arm, and declared the way clear. The new Under-Marshall raised his sword, and with one snap of his arm, commanded hundreds of men and thousands of ghosts into the boats. The dim glow of the previous night was now a roaring, blazing glare behind this last screen of trees. The boats would get them through the tangle of roots and rotting plant matter. Then they'd be on the wall and into the fight.

Kasoria sighed and shook his head as if annoyed by a fly that would not stop-

SLAP

"Fucker." Then he stood up and sheathed his weapon. "A'right, y'bastards. Check yer gear an' yer steel an' lets go be fuckin' heroes."

++++++++++

"Stay close t'me, boy."

They were at the precipice of history. Any fool could see that. Above them rose the ancient stone and structures of Rhakros. Older than Etzos, older than most cities of the world. Kasoria had heard that before the monster that ruled it had arrived, men had already constructed the city. What empire or cult or race had lived in it before was lost to time, far back in the Age Of Blood, when humans and Immortals had warred and nearly sundered the world. Maybe even further. Some part of Kasoria was curious as to what treasures one might find, one with a mind and eye for history. Paintings and scrolls and records that could shine light on the far past. Illuminate those dark patches pf history.

He smothered it quickly. Rhakros would burn. Its people would burn. They would wail as their foul deity was butchered and cast down in her own blood before them. Then they would be slaughtered down to the last infant and hurled into the same burning pit. None would survive to torment the Free City of Etzos ever again. The thoughts had kept Kasoria moving on the days of long marches. Especially the last part, which always set his hand to gripping the handle of his sword even tighter.

My son will not need to endure this horror. He will learn of it, read of it, shiver and marvel at the history. But he will never see what I saw.

The Ithecal grumbled at his side and the human shot him a glare. "We're not soldiers, boy. I dun' care what the shiny cunts in command tell yeh. We're killers. We get in, we do the job, we fuck off out of it. Let them deal wiv' all the glory boy shite."

He pointed with his gladius over the rim of the boat at the horde of Etzori soldiers screaming up the Eastern Walls. Their boats had beached on the rough shoreline that sufficed for the end of swamp. Beyond it was a thin strip of land and then the massive earthen walls topped by wood and stone. Kasoria wondered why there was so few solid defenses like Etzos, but the thought didn't last long. They had an Immortal in the heart of their city. They had gases and chemicals and diseases at their command, and countless millions of tiny, flying forms to deliver them. Walls were of secondary concern.

But not forgotten.

Kasoria focused on tightening up his "armor" as he watched the first wave of brave Etzori crash into the walls. Usually he favored his cloak, his rags, a main shirt under them all, hidden and sneaky as was his nature. Perfect to blend in as a beggar in any city. But that was no longer needed. Now he wore form-fitting breeches and a tunic, the former of boiled leather, with steel-capped boots on his feet. His tunic was more pliable, and under it was a mail vest that could turn away all but a direct sword thrust or a swinging ax. His chest was slashed down the front with a bandoleer loaded with throwing knives. He tightened the straps around his elbows and knees, then those around his gauntlets. The back of each forearm was now covered in studs, ending at his knuckles. He flexed his fingers... good... very good.

Last was the mask. Covering his lower face, he'd decided on it as a pure practicality. He was entering the home of The Plague Mother, after all. He couldn't imagine wanting to swallow much that would inevitable by flying at his face that trial.

Once everything was done, he sighed and drew his gladius. His ax was over his back. His dagger at his hip. Karambit at his back. Throwing knives on his chest. All ready, all sharp, all poised. And the first wave was now either dead or battling at the top of the walls, raging, flailing silhouettes clashing with men or monsters they were all bent on destroying.

No-one was running. None screamed for mercy. The rage of the Free City was upon Rhakros, now. Kasoria was no fool to hurl himself first into the breach, but damned if he would just stand by and watch.

"A'right!" He shouted under his mask, rising from his spot and his squad of Oh'Pee scum rose with him. "Inta' the cunts, boys!"

With a roar they flew across the muddy open ground. Around them, another wave of soldiers joined them. Ghost were literally flying across the mud, clustered around the gates and openings. A few were crawling up the tendrils of spider silk, painfully slow but determined to do their duty, even in death. Kasoria sheathed his sword again and cursed himself for an idiot. Fuck was he planning to do with that, before he climbed the fucking wall?!

Keep it together, old man. No room for mistakes today.

The little man leaped at the wall and grasped tight the two thick strands of spider silk. He started pulling himself up right away, feet getting purchase under him. Where necessary, his steel toes kicked and ground toeholds, room enough to push himself up. Give himself another foot or so to reach up, grab another strand, and keep going. It felt like inches at a time, or less. Some ladders had been taken with them, but fucked if he'd be trying them. They attracted defenders like flies to shite, and even with half their guards gone, a soldier defending a patch of wall from below was worth ten of those attacking. So Kasoria took the harder, quiet route, and hoped his crew took note.

Or at least one of them. The rest were, well...

"Infidel!"

He had one arm over the wall when a shrieking figure lunged at him. The Rhakrosi had seen the sky-splitting explosion from the north, just like every living creature for ten leagues around, and most of the wall-stationed soldiers had hurried that was to defend the massive, burning breach. But there were still plenty left, and these men were even hardier than the archers in the canopy. Maddened and fanatical, they slapped and stomped and flung Sintra's Children away from them even as they fought. Etzori after Etzori fell to their screaming cries and swinging weapons. Kasoria could see the bright blood and shadowy corpses at the man's feet. He'd already done his duty, but that was just the beginning. Now Kasoria would be added to-

Fuck that.

The little man pushed himself as hard and far as he could with his legs, launching himself low and hard over the lip of the wall. The scimitar that should have cut him in half slammed onto the wall instead, as Kasoria went rolling across the top of the parapet and stopped at the Rhakrosi's feet. The man immediately kicked out, fool and no amateur. Kasoria grunted and growled under his mask, rolling away again, grasping for his gladius and yanking it out as he hit his back-

-jerking it up in front of him out of instinct-

CLANG

The defender roared as Shadow Slayer blazed light as metal met metal, a blinding blast that sent him staggering back a pace. Two paces. Kasoria could have smirked. More than he needed. He whirled up to his feet and thrust low at the man, defender swinging wildly to knock away the blow-

-that never truly landed. A feint, it was. And as the defender's scimitar swung across in front of him, missing his gladius, he pulled it back and went for a high swipe instead-

CLANG

Again the defender proved himself cannier than expected, and again he was blinded. Kasoria knew a more honorable man would have felt some guilt for using such an underhanded tactic, blinding his enemy with a flash of sun-strong light every time their weapons met. But he was intelligent enough not to confuse honor with stupidity, and he saw no reason to handicap himself in a fight with these... things.

They're not men, he reminded himself as he parried a desperate cut aimed at his side. They're traitors. Betrayers of all Mankind.

He parried the blow up and away and with his free hand drew his karambit-

-slashed it across the defender's stomach, under his breastplate, just above the groin. That intersection where one part of the armor met another. Kasoria felt the blade catch and shudder against straps and leather. Then it dug deep and hungry into flesh, tore through muscle and fat and-

-when it left its victim, a ragged line of intestines started to spew out of the wound. Already frothing, the defender lunged at the little man one more time-

-Kasoria sidestepping, turning at the same moment, letting the defender barrel past him, guts already dripping out across his lap as he slammed into the wall. The dying man bellowed and swung at Kasoria with a backhand-

-only for Kasoria's left hand to snap out in a punch, gauntlet-and-karambit-enforced fist smashing into his elbow, killing his grip as it broke the bone-

-then stabbing his gladius through the man's side. Pushing and pushing until he felt something important pop under the tip, then twisting the blade as he pulled it out. A fountain of gore and scarlet exploded from the ugly wound as the defender slumped low against the wall. He tried to reach out at Kasoria with his broken arm. Murmuring words already drowning in blood.

"She... She will... She-"

CRUNCH

Fur and Maude got to the top of the wall in time to see Kasoria stomp most of the defender's face into his brain with one, savage jerk of his foot. He yanked his foot back from the crater of a head and looked about them. They were in. Well, on, technically. A city was spread before them and a battle beyond it, but Kasoria didn't waste his time with the broader picture. He knew his job, and his duty. The Eastern Wall, and the gate. He immediately found it, glowing specters clustered around it from the other side, and within a phalanx of Rhakrosi defenders were protecting the mechanism to open it. A teeming mass of insects were covering the gate itself, hissing and clicking at anything that got close.

Gotta get it open.

Kasoria opened his mouth to speak, and suddenly, a whole new host of words were in the air instead. Coming from the Aukari.

Kasoria listened carefully. He blinked slowly, eyes barely visible beyond his mask and his hair and the shadows of night covering them all, beyond the raging fires and flickering torches. He frowned deeper as she spoke longer. Finally he shook his head and wondered where she'd vomited that bile up from. After a moment of consideration, he pointed at her with his gladius. Red metal of the blade now indistinguishable from the blood soaking it. It drip-drip-dripped off as he spoke, voice low and barely restrained.

"Dun' presume t'tell me my fuckin' duty, girl," he spat. "Keep that bow a' yers nocked an' ready. Any cunt comes close, you give 'em a quarrel. Fur? Stick wi' me. Gonna get that fuckin' gate open before-"

Something raging and spitting and covered in spiders ran up the ramp towards their weird little group. It was a Rhakrosi. Lightly armored and wielding a wavy-bladed knife in each hand, he'd suffered terribly as Sintra's Children had swarmed the walls. By the torchlight they could see the hideous rents in his skin where blood was popping and boiling. They could see the pus dripping from his eyes, his mouth, his ears. But still he lived, and fought, and raged. He hurled himself at them with The Plague Mother's name on his lips, and as he got within twenty feet-

-Kasoria's hand shot out, still gripping his karambit-

-only it was not steel that stopped the man. His Spark flew from his soul to his arm, summoned in the span of a few trills. A tentacle of glowing white ether launched itself from his knuckles and latched around the man's screaming throat. At his whispered, mental command, Kasoria's ether hardened into a band as hard as steel. The screams were silenced. Motion was brutally stalled. The half-mad defender seemed to hang there, barely on his toes, power of Kasoria's etheric Shackle keeping him upright but helpless. His face began to change color as the two men locked eyes.

Kasoria's hand was clenched into a fist, palm down to the ground. With a jerk, he twisted it, from horizontal to vertical-

CRACK

-sending one more command to the Shackle growth, that twisted the Rhakrosi's neck in a direction nature had never intended. It snapped to the side, far too far, far too fast, and the crack of neck bones sounded like a tree trunk being split in two. At once the man went limp, all fanaticism gone from him, and Kasoria recalled his power. The man slumped down, already forgotten, and the Etrozi turned back to his crew.

"You lads? Get up top, clear the wall above the gate. Take them-" he pointed to a clutch of ghosts, barely managing to cluimb up the walls "-ahead of yeh. Let 'em eat the steel or magic a' any cunt up there. Resta' youse?"

He turned and started down the ramp. Karambit in one hand, gladius in his right. Spark crackling under his skin, just waiting to be recalled. A phalanx of grim defenders were before him, rank of dead Etzori at their feet. They knew to lose the gate was to lose the wall, unleashing a horde of undead enemies, and that was unacceptable. They would fight to the death. Kasoria grinned under his mask.

That's the plan.

"Break these bastards an' get this fuckin' thing open!"

[Maltruism]

The packed dirt bank suddenly vomited its wealth of stinging insects, bringing something beyond mere annoyance and distraction to those fighting over the gate. A surge of terror swept briefly through the Etzori ranks as a couple of the troops suddenly gagged, discolored, swelled and died. Fear of some potent new insect bite brought chaotic ineffectiveness among the troops coming down off the newly secured section of wall. The concept of allergy was still a very theoretical medical proposal, and men in the field were not likely to embrace it as an explanation for sudden ghastly death in the city of a creature like Lisirra.

Many of these panicked individuals suffered more conventional wartime deaths as a result of their distraction. One man in full plate was writhing and screaming as hosts of wasps entered and exited his armor through the inevitable gaps. He had been insufferably arrogant about his superior protection, and boasted of how the heat did not bother him that much. Now, his contribution to the war effort was to serve as a focus for several hundred wasps, who were then easily incinerated by a fairly novice defier. The armored man himself was shortly put out of his misery by his own fellows.

Once it looked like the gate would be controlled, the new Under-Marshall began reorganizing the focus of his host. Orders trickled down reconfirming that it was really the ghosts that were the destructive force here, being immune to disease and insect venoms. The living were along to provide protection to them from the few materials to which they were vulnerable. The same copper-tipped arrows that would be devastatingly effective against Etzos' ghosts would be equally effective against what few ghosts Rhakros had managed to pull free of the Battle of Muster.

Both categories of troops had their strengths and weaknesses. The trick was to modify battle conditions to ensure that the strengths would come more into play than the weaknesses. In hand-to-hand proximity, the ghosts would ravage the living, unless they were armed with weapons made of copper or related alloys. Salt was also an effective tool, though it was more a barricade than a weapon. The ex-Shieldarm stressed anew that this was more a case of the living accompanying the ghosts as support, and not the other way around.

This was made a little more clear as men armed with brooms became a major need. The Rhakrosians had made a maze of salt barriers throughout the city. None doubted that strategies were at work to get ghosts grouped in spots that they could then not pass beyond until men swept the salt out of the way. All too often, a barrage of Rhakrosian copper-tipped arrows erased the ghostly presence before a "Broomsman", a term that actually became a thing, could be found. These were not cowards, these broomsmen. Many of them fell to the same arrows as the ghosts. Yet they did not hesitate to rush in to sweep the salty obstacles away.

The Etzos invaders were naturally trying to gather and distribute, or stash, whatever copper-type weapons they could find. This was as much to prevent the Rhakrosians from re-acquiring them for future use, as it was to make use of them themselves. But it was noteworthy that Rhakros had far more living combatants in this conflict, and Etzos had far more unliving. It was a matter of manipulating encounters to exploit the imbalance to your favor.

Man on man, copper or bronze was a poor choice, a softer metal that lost its edge all too quickly. Ghost on ghost, neither side wanted anything to do with it. Mixed encounters were not guaranteed to favor either side based upon the presence of copper. Every advantage could be negated by superior numbers of either ghosts or living, copper or not. The salt was recognized as a serious tactic as living Etzori were attacked by Rhakros troops of mixed status. Expecting the ghosts to be with them, the living troops would charge the enemy, only to find their ghostly fellows caught behind some unnoticed wash of salt.

Those that did not fall were forced to retreat back to the protective company of their ghosts. And before they could, some living archers would pepper the standing ghosts with copper arrows, who now had no shield-bearing troops to try and deflect them. It was also the ghosts that were the greatest deterrent and weapon against the giant insects that targeted the living troops. The syphoning and tendril weapons of the ghosts would bring them down quickly, often before the living target was hurt too badly.

Back at the east wall, before the realization of "salt tactics" became common knowledge and second nature to the Etzori, Kas, Fur and Maude were among several re-hydrating after securing the small area around the gate for a block or two. A brief pause was taken to go over charts and see which streets would bring the best results to reconnect with other hosts and secure larger collective areas. As the three moved down a street, they came inevitably to a blockage of salt, sealing off all four avenues of a four-way intersection.

A trio of Rhakrosians fired a trio of arrows, doing some moderate damage to a number of ghosts. Fired on such a horizontal plane, an arrow might well pass through a dozen ghosts before losing its penetrating inertia. No single arrow would do sufficient damage to turn any one of them to whispers, but such an angle of fire was quickly recognized as more of a threat than shooting down from rooftops, where an arrow would likely only hit a single target.

This of course, brought full focus on that direction as the trio ran away with some Etzori in pursuit. The new Under-Marshall shouted for the men to let them go and get back in the ranks. It stood him out to the enemy though; the unseen enemy. One of the lines drawn in the intersection was a ruse, made to look like salt, but not of that chemical at all. A rush of Rhakrosian ghosts came right across the line and fell upon the now-exposed commander, syphoning and impaling him with tendrils as he thrashed and roared in pain.

This exposed the last advantage of ghosts attacking living targets. Those that would wish to come to their living comrade's aid would be in fear of striking their friend as they swung through the ghosts.

A new commander would soon be needed....

[Maude Coaley]

Before the rest ... Being pointed at with a sword dripping of blood had convinced Maude that it was best to not speak back to the short man. The orders she had received were easy enough to understand. Keep the crossbow cocked and shoot “any cunt” that came close. She would obey that order slavishly.

A Rhakrosi had run up the ramp to “greet them”. It had been a grisly sight because he had been attacked by spiders and looked more dead than alive. Still ... she had hardly believed her eyes when she had watched the man (Kasoria) step forth and “take care of” the attacker. She didn’t know much about the military ranks. He was perhaps a highmark, but she didn’t want to use the wrong rank and step on some title-sensitive military toes. Commander was sort of too long and a waste of time. If she needed to speak to him again she was going to call him ...”boss”. Short and simple. It also seemed appropriate.

At first, it had looked like he would have at the enemy with his karambit. Then, everything had turned into a nightmare. Maude had never seen anything like it. “The boss” had actually seemed to strangle the Rhakrosi with a glowing white tentacle and then broken their neck. He had taken the time to do this in an extra spectacular manner instead of making quick work of it. It was all so grotesque and brutal that it was impossible for her to really understand what had happened.

The battle had raged with unabated fury. The heat of Saun had been extra pressure on the soldiers and made it harder to move an breath. Maude was aukari and so, suffered less than many others but it had been straining nonetheless. Around her, people had roared in rage and screamed in agony. There had been mayhem, splatter and gore wherever she had looked. But, even in this insane mayhem where nothing felt real anymore, it had felt extra unreal and extreme that “the boss” could kill people with a tentacle of glowing light and a flick of his hand.

New orders had been yelled. Some people called “lads” had been told to clear the wall above the gate. Then she had heard “the boss” yell something about “steel or magic”. A coin had dropped down. Magic. That tentacle of light had been some kind of magic. Which meant ... There had been no time to think of what it meant. Ordinarily, it would have freaked her out, but in the light of ongoing battle and her own impending death by the inner fire, she had felt like all else were small things she could endure. She had been like inebriated with death. It had numbed her and shifted her perspectives. It had filled her with the fearless courage of the already dead.

More orders had been yelled. She had assumed that she might be one of the people called “the resta’ youse”. The masked boss had taken action at once. He hadn't stopped to check if more people followed him. He had just advanced down the ramp, his weapons in his hands like it didn’t bother him that a phalanx of Rhakrosii warriors stood there with a heap of Etzori corpses at their feet and ready to fight to the death.

Crossbow in her right hand, Maude had moved in the wake of “the boss”. Maude was a battlefield novice. But, as a jester, she had been audience to many a tavern brawl where people had over-estimated themselves and suffered the consequences. She had known that she wouldn’t stand a chance in melee combat with a Rhakrosii soldier. They would squish her like she was nothing more than a bug. Besides, she had seen, many times, how people had been used as human shields in brawls. Sometimes it could hamper and an able fighter if the shield was someone they cared about and didn’t want to harm. Other times ... alas, it could end badly for the “meat shield”, if nobody cared about their fate. Steel could go straight through one body and into the person behind it.

Judging from what Maude had seen of "the boss" so far she had a feeling that he wouldn't care about her fate. To follow him at close range and into the fray was out of the question. All it would accomplish was added trouble for him and death for her. Instead, she had resorted to jester tactics. As soon as she considered it possible to jump down into the shadow at the side of the ramp, she had done so. Had she had the time to have a closer look at the ground before she jumed she would have seen that several Etzori corpses lay there, a bit closer to where the phalanx of Rhakrosi stood. Maude had landed behind the bodies and maybe it meant that they hid her from immediate being seen.

For now, she had taken the role of a sniper.

She had hoped that in the best case she would take a little bit of pressure off of “the boss” by shooting an approaching Rhakrosi or two. Her skill with the crossbow was still fairly low. She had avoided shooting to near him as she didn’t want to hit him by mistake. Instead, she had focused on trying to stop more Rhakrosii soldiers from attacking him. She hadn't been able to make lethal hits with every bolt. But, she had tried to at least injure, cripple and delay some attackers.

If any Rhakrosi had seemed to look her way she had acted dead and tried her best to blend in with the Etzori corpses she was hiding behind. Maude hadn't known for how long the inferno lasted but she had done what she could to support others. She had seen many incredibly violent things transpire. Had she not been emotionally numbed by all the atrocities she had witnessed in Etzos in later Arcs she might have felt nauseated. As it was, she had felt nothing. She had just shot, reloaded the crossbow and shot again.

***

Next ... the insects were over them. Some people who were stung by them gagged, discoloured, swelled and died. Others assumed that it was the latest plague from Lissirra and now they all would die more or less instantaneously. Those who weren’t able to control the terror they felt panicked. Everything was a whirl of insects, panic, death and screams. Had she not already been an aspiring suicide bomber Maude might have been terrified too. As it was she was fearless. She stayed where she was, kept calm and pulled a veil of insect net over her head. It was an uncomplicated piece of equipment the army had provided her with. More people should have been smart enough to accept a veil ...

When the wasp ordeal abated, the survivors got a respite and had the time to drink some of the army’s safe water. Maude didn’t understand the situation too well. It felt surreal. She de-hydrated with the others. It seemed like they were in control of an area near the gates. It seemed like their host were going to advance into the city. The rest was soon over. Maude stuck with the people she was told to stick with. They moved down a street and came to a blockage of salt meant to stop Etzori ghosts. Or so it seemed. It was also a trap. Rhakrosii ghosts attacked the Under-marshal leading the Etzori when he revealed himself by yelling orders. He roared in pain and it was obvious that the ghosts would kill him if his soldiers couldn’t save him.

To Maude, it was all totally confusing but she had the presence of mind to pick up some of those copper tipped arrows and use them as well as she could. They weren’t bolts, but her crossbow was little more than a horizontal bow and she managed to shoot the arrows with it. Already having practised as a sniper for an uncertain period of time in the battle at the gate, she automatically went for the same job again.

Maude didn’t’ want to hit the Under-marshal though. Or, if she had to injure him to save him, she didn’t want to injure him too badly. She aimed at the feet of a Rhakrii ghost. Unfortunately, she was ignorant about ghosts and didn’t know if it mattered exactly where they were hit by copper. But, if the copper-tipped arrow would do its job, she would continue and shoot arrows below knee-hight of the ghosts. If that would contribute to saving the Under-marshal or not was an open question. In any case, she assumed that the group had to take down these ghosts if they didn’t want to become their next victims. Hopefully, able Etzori with more combat skills than she had would step in ...

[Kasoria]

"Think that's gonna help, Caster?"

The little man looked up from his work, into the face of the Highmark. His face was covered in blood, but most of it wasn't his. He held a bandage to his face with one hand, and kept drinking from a waterskin with his other. Sweat competed with blood, both rushing down his chin to dribble onto the floorboards of the house. He took another swig, and offered the little man his water. Kasoria let go of the rope and took a generous gulper. Almost half of what was left, yet the Highmark didn't complain. The humidity was bad at the best of times; now, in the midst of battle, exhaustion could fell a man as easily as blades or arrows or... bites.

The Etzori shuddered as he remembered the assault of the insects. A wave of black, chittering, clicking monsters, shrunken down and all the more deadly because of it. Armor was no protection. Speed or skill with blades meant nothing. Once the wave touched you, it consumed you. Stinging and biting and pumping toxins into you until you died choking on bloody broth. The ghosts were called in time and time again to sweep away the bugs, scourging them away with their etheric power, leaving carpets of crushed shells that crunched underfoot. But there was always more.

"Better'n nothin'," Caster Kasoria said, returning the waterskin and going back to his work. "Steel ain't worth shite 'gainst those cunts. An' they're the worry. Not them."

He nodded to the bodies in the corner. A man. A woman. A child. Two men with very different histories looked at them with the same measure of indifference. There were no weapons near the corpses. No signs of struggle. They'd simply been in here, when Kasoria's Block had battered down the door and claimed the house as their resting spot. The man had babbled indignantly, and without a word, the soldiers had gone about their work. Quickly and cleanly. They didn't infect them with plagues or tear them apart still screaming or devour them alive. They spared them the horrors their kin and friends and people had suffered at the hands of the Plague Mother.

Whenever Kasoria felt guilt, he remembered all he'd seen that Ymiden. Atrocities beyond words, beyond belief, beyond any hope of forgiveness. With that knowledge, he looked into the glassy, doll-like eyes of the girl whose throat he'd cut, before shoving her still spewing blood to die in the corner with her parents.

Then he turned away, and forgot about her forever. There was plenty more killing to come. An entire city, in fact.

You earned this. All of you. Traitors to your race, to your species. Now you reap judgement.

Dull burnished metal glinted at the end of his gauntlets. On each one, three copper arrowheads had been tied, tips sticking out just beyond his knuckles if he made them into a fist. Ropes were tied around them, under the gauntlet itself instead of around his palm. That way, at least, he could wield a sword if he had to. But this was not for mortal enemies; this was for the ghosts. Rhakros had their own undead, apparently. Felled in the same war, the same siege, only not nearly the count that Etzos possessed. But at the same time, they had more mortals, wielding bows and blades and javelins of copper to hack apart their ghosts. Which was something like two-thirds of their army, if Kasoria remembered correctly.

"Can't go on like this."

"What was that, Caster?"

Kasoria propped up one boot on the table in front of him. An arrow was tied to that, as well. Tip sticking out from the top of his toes. He wasn't a boxer, after all. All four limbs were a weapon to him. Leave two unarmed against the ghosts was nothing less than robbing him of half his body. He talked as he worked, fastening and checking and rechecking ropes.

"Losin' men like we are. That gate we took? S'all we got left from it." He nodded to the rest of the room, where eight men lounged or drank or rested. A dozen ghosts milled around, watching the doors and windows. "Eight blokes, an' me, an' the Ithecal, an'... wherever the fuck that Morty-born's got to. There were two dozen, when we charged those Rakkie cunts. But now..."

Highmark Elphias nodded somberly, unable to fault the little man's logic. He'd been at that gate, of course. Commanding his men, directing, inspiring. The little man had sounded the charge, but Elphias had been there to command once the battle had been joined. The caster, Kasoria, was... something else. He hit the phalanx of Rhakrosi soldiers with Abrogation energy crackling around him like a dome of divine power. Spears bounced off it, shields were pushed back, and then he was among the mortals. Slashing and hacking and skewering and severing with a blade in each hand, screaming all the while. The rest of them had struck the weakened line, then the ghosts, and then it was a rout. Etzos rage overwhelming Rhakros courage. But not without casualties.

"Protecting ghosts are the priority, Caster," he said, voice dropping an octave or two, low and commanding. "The last break has been proof of that. You're right. We're losing more men than we are ghosts, but we can afford to lose them less. The ghosts protect us against the insects, the plague spells. We must in turn protect them from the copper arrows and spears." The Highmark peered out a window, at the darkened street. The flames above it, glowing like Etzos did, a season before. "I'm sure some Rhakrosi bastard is telling his men something similar. Target the ghosts, he's saying. There's more of them than there are men, and the men can be killed with ease by the Plague Mother's monsters."

"Prob'lee," Kasoria agreed, standing up and inspecting his work. He let fly a few punches and kicks, moves smooth, practiced, worked into his muscles and bones by hard arcs of application. "But we're learnin'. Wonder if they'll learn faster."

The Highmark snorted and opened his mouth, but the words were never spoken. The door was kicked open and rude, red light flooded in. Exhausted as they were, every weapon in every hand was leveled at the opening before the door stopped swinging. Until they saw a Shieldarm standing there, scowling at all those within. Behind him, Kasoria saw the new Under-Marshall, rapping off orders non-stop, arm flashing and jabbing, directing dozens, scores, hundreds of dead and living alike with every thrust.

"You men, up an' moving!" The Shieldarm stood aside as the knot of Etzori marched or glided out of the house. "Time t'get back to it!"

Which is exactly what they did. Under the eyes of the Under-Marshall himself, no less. Fine way to make sure we don't fuck off or fuck up, Kasoria thought wryly as they walked down a street and deeper into Rhakros. All around them, the city fought and died and won and lost. The streets had split up the orderly lines of battle into separate units, some only a few men strong. All working towards the center, as per the original battle plans. The broad plan, anyway. Now the Under-Marshall knew he had to maintain cohesion; direct all these fragments into a unified force, converging towards the heart of Rhakros. This was no easy thing, and he could be in only once place at a time. Adjuncts and underlings had been dispatched like armed messenger pigeons across the line of battle. The news was... mixed. Mostly good, but heavy casualties.

The Under-Marshall ground his teeth as the turned and found the avenue blocked off by another telltale barrier of white, wet sand across it. Damned salt. Stopping the bulk of their forces, every time. He snapped an order and Broomsmen hurried forwards. He looked behind his quickly and nodded his approval. The mortal soldiers were up front, the ghosts behind them. As it should be. Now to just-

Then the arrows started raining on them. Shields went up or men ran to cover or men died. But these were soft arrows; some actually crunched and broke against strong enough armor. But the ghosts? They died. Again. Shrieking as their gossamer-thin bodies burst into flames as bright and real as blazing logs on a fire. The Under-Marshall snapped an arm out at the three archers even as his bodyguards dragged him back. But instead of responding in kind, arrow to arrow, a chunk of his ragged formation gave chase. All the way around the corner!

"Back in the ranks, damn you! That's what they-"

Too late. The salt that was not salt was no barrier to the rank of ghostly, shrieking figures that swept across it. His bodyguards died in moments, selling their lives to buy their commander time to escape. The Under-Marshall turned-

-and the face he saw was Kasoria. Huddled behind an overturned wagon on the other side of the road with some other mortals. Their eyes met as the high officer stumbled and the ghosts were upon him, hideous tentacles of undead life ripping into him. Their faces were twisted in insane malice, as twisted with rage as the Etzos spirits were. Kasoria's eyes widened in horror as the officer thrashed and tried to fight, but already he could see his flesh paling. His hair changing color. His-

Go, damn you!

"Ah, fer fuck's sake...!"

He sprang from behind the wagon, sheathing his weapons as he went. They wouldn't help him. He started to run instead, pulling deep from his Spark as he went. By the time he was halfway across the avenue, the ghosts had spied him... and a couple blinked as a rough cone of shimmering light expanded from his hands, then covered his body. Replicative fields. Not too many, for he didn't have the time. Just long enough to get him-

CLANG

-an arrow struck him on the side, fired from a hidden archer. A scream followed a moment later, as the shield fell apart. Clearly someone on his side was keeping an eye out for snipers. Kasoria kept running, undead enemies turning to him, sneers on their faces... until they saw the glint on his hands and feet. The metal strapped to fists and boots. They forgot about the Under-Marshall, turning their tendrils-

-that slashed against his fields and Kasoria grunted as he felt them fall apart, but not touch his skin, not yet. All he needed was protection for the run, to get close enough for him to-

-let out a bestial roar as he crashed into the clutch of dead souls, and start doing what he was best at. He swung his copper-capped fist and smashed the head of the first ghost into blistering, burning, hissing ether. The thing didn't even have a mouth to scream with, falling back with madly flailing arms instead-

-as Kasoria ducked under a tendril that tried to wrap around his neck, uppercutting into it with his left-

-tendril burst into flames around the middle, far end falling loose and limp before vanishing, the stump drawing back into a screaming ghost-

-that stopped screaming a moment later as Kasoria's right cross caught it straight in the torso, burning it through. The thing staggered and fell back before seeming to come apart, blazing torso unable to keep its arms and legs attached. But there were more, gliding towards him, determined to lop the head of the Etzori Army no matter how many it took. Spitting savage curses, Kasoria stood between the Under-Marshall and the ghosts. His fists pumped and snapped and jabbed and thrust. His legs joined the deadly dance, immolating the leg of a charging ghost, bringing it down to one knees-

-exposing it perfectly to another copper-tipped kick that seemed to shatter its head in a shower of flames and bubbling ether.

They're just weapons, he told himself, reducing the terrifying sight to something he could understand. Like avoiding a club, or a spear, or a sword. That's all.

He just about believe it, too, under another deflection and counter ended with a screech of pain in his side that soon exploded out of his mouth. Another ghost had flanked him whilst he destroyed another, sinking a glowing tendril deep into his side. The ghost was pouring all of itself into the mortal, not wanting to waste anytime. Numbness was already starting to freeze the Etzori's side. Hunger rose in him, as if his body knew it was being drained and thus needed to recoup the losses. Kasoria bit down on the feeling, bit down on his own jaw, ripped himself to the side with a bellow and swung-

-taking the tendril in the center with a punch, blowing it apart-

-backhand ripping three livid marks across the ghost's face. He saw a blink of shock across its features before the marks burst into flames, screaming soon drowned by hissing light-

-and still they came. Kasoria went down to one knee and spread out his arms. Hell's Cunt, but that fucking hurt. He spat to his side and rose upward again. He could see the clutch of Rhakros ghosts become wary, now. Knowing they weren't dealing with the usual, helpless mortal they'd been used to. Bearing on steel or iron, useless things when fighting them. But Kasoria had kept his eyes open. Where steel and iron sailed harmlessly through them, copper had ripped holes into spirits that flamed and burned. So he'd snatched up copper arrows wherever he found them, snapped off the heads, and made a new weapon.

Aye. Good for you. Very smart. Now what?

"T... To yer Marshall!" He managed to roar, swallowing blood down hard before he could raise his voice loud enough. "Spirits of Etzos! Protect your commander!"

That was the best he could do. He couldn't drag the bastard back to cover, not without exposing himself. But he couldn't fight alone forever. So he bellowed the half-order, half-suggestion, and faced the ghosts again. A copper arrow took one in the torso and sent it staggered, burning hole appearing in it. Another missed. The archers were starting to focus on them, but... he could hear more noise from down the avenue. The Rhakrosi were reacting, too. They weren't content to let the Etzos lads take all the initiative. Kasoria settled into a defensive stance in front of the Under-Marshall, and hoped the ghosts of Etzos were as keen for a fucking scrap as he thought.

"A'right," he grunted, as the Rakkie spirits sprouted fresh tendrils and advanced. "Les'fuckin' geddon wiv'it..."

[Maltruism]

The chess game of predicting your enemy's strategies, assessing where they are likely to be conducted, and preparing counter measures for them, continued for the next several trials as the eastern host slowly made their way into the city, losing men not only in battle, but also for the necessity of securing the holdings they left behind them as they advanced. It would not do to have an attack to come from such a quarter when already faced with a frontal assault.

The webs of Sintra's minions were being employed in effective new ways as the arachnids were prepping quickly raised blankets of webs against incoming swarms. The Etzori were clearly having their mages targeted as much as possible, but this was a predictable tactic, one employed as well by the Etzori themselves. There were often switches of attire to bring confusion to the enemy, who then targeted men with no such spark, who were dressed in robes.

Those who died as a result of this deception were honored and promised vengeance. It was small comfort, but there was little more that could be done. The mood of the invading host had long been one of accepting the casualties without remorse or retreat. Everyone knew where they stood when a tactic was likely to result in death. When your number was up, you turned it in and made no complaint. Someone would make them pay double down the line.

An overheard discussion between the Under-Marshall and a few of his Shieldarms and Braxtons raised a point that had perhaps gone unnoticed as the basis of an unusual detail. There were far fewer non-combatant civilians than expected. FAR fewer. Normally, there would be screaming citizenry rushing this way and that, dying for getting in the way, or not getting OUT of the way quickly enough. Many of the buildings the invaders took refuge in were empty. A quick look was all that was needed to confirm the indications of a planned departure, not an exit made at the last second, grabbing only what one could carry.

Food in the larders was to be assumed poisoned, materials to be laced with contact toxins. Even what first aid equipment was found here or there was discarded as a trap. Etzos had been prepared, they needed nothing from the enemy to bolster their readiness.This curiosity came to a head on the third trial, when a half-dozen unarmed civilians came to surrender, swearing their rejection of the witch, Lisirra. They embarked on a litany of horrors they had witnessed over the arcs, and how even the drugs in the water were not enough to keep them under her thumb any longer.

There was a tense pause as one of the Shieldarms, deceptively wearing the red sash of the Under-Marshall, approached to ask why they had then chosen to remain behind. He pointed out how most of the citizenry had had time to evacuated and had taken the opportunity to do so. The subjects exchanged looks that quickly grew resolute and hostile. Shouts of "FOR HER GLORY!" heralded the atrocity that followed.

Swords cutting throats and transfixing torsos did nothing to halt the explosion of the bodies into gore-crusted swarms of bugs that popped the bodies like balloons and poured over the false Under-Marshall and those closest to him. Even as men cried out and jumped to slap and swipe away what insects they could, a hum of an approaching swarm could be heard. The fire that would have been used to deliver some semblance of salvation to those cocooned by these insects had to be turned to handle this new attack.

It would be a grim remembrance in future times, that a new dance would be seen in the halls and taverns of Etzos, often to result in brawls and tears. It would be called the "Rhakros Stomp". As the quick burst of fire swept through the ranks of the flying swarm, it did little more than to burn off the wings, and bring thousands of them to the ground, writhing and bouncing in frustration. The Stomp was what the Etzori spent the next several bits doing as they smeared insect ichor all over the cobbles of that particular intersection.

By a seeming miracle, the Shieldarm was lifted to his feet, swollen to be sure, by bites and stings, but insisting he was alright. One of his Braxtons kept a close eye on him however. Her caution was rewarded several breaks later when the Shieldarm himself suddenly erupted with the same breed of bugs inside the command tent. Prepared counter measure were already in place, by the order of this Braxton, without prior approval of even the Under-Marshall, and it prevented a complete eradication of the host's command structure.

As the Braxton, a woman named Hinda Velora, had guessed, this odd breed of bug had injected some fast-developing larvae into the body. She had noted how the Shieldarm had come to be unexpectedly calm even before the last of the bugs had been stripped from him, and felt some devilry was at work. Whatever seed had been planted, it looked to have been accompanied by some narcotic effect, making the officer feel "just fine".

Though the Braxton endured an initial dressing-down for her "failure" to inform her commander of what she suspected, she took it stoically and was soon promoted to Shieldarm. A replacement was needed after all. It was decided then and there that no further surrenders would be accepted. Any Rhakrosians that stayed behind, were now assumed to have chosen to do so that they might be employed as booby traps.

There would be no prisoners...

[Maude Coaley]

As an archer of the lowest rank Maude only saw the gross bug-attack from a distance. It was a nightmare. But, Etzos had been a never-ending nightmare for arcs and so, Maude like many other Etzori survivors had become accustomed to living in a nightmare. She had survived a lot of extreme and horrific events. Now she only had to survive a bit more so she could help out with the Etzori victory over Lissirra. This new atrocity only served to convince Maude that she was doing the right thing.

To be honest, the reality of war had begun to erode her belief in the suicide bomber plan. It had made her doubt that she was able to do anything more than what all other low-rank archers did. Second thoughts had plagued her night and day. What did someone like her do in a battle like this? What had she imagined that she could do? Against all odds, Maude had managed to survive and continue to fight without getting any major injuries. But, her ecstatic visions of her own contribution had been burnt up and gone to ashes as the illusions they had been.

The war had seized her and carried her away like a leaf on a stream. Maude wasn’t privy to the strategy and tactics the officers continuously developed, decided and adapted. She didn’t even know how the war was going. All she knew from her low-rank position was the orders she and other people like herself received and carried out. It seemed like they were advancing into the city. Like all others, she was aware that they had found the houses empty. The civilians who had lived there seemed to have left in a planned manner, not in a blind panic. Like the other Etzori, she had felt that it was something odd with that, but she knew nothing more about it. She had noticed that they kept dispatching people to hold the parts of it they had already taken. But where they were headed was something she wasn’t even able to guess at.

She had more and more been feeling like nothing else than an ant in an army of ants, marching forward in blind obedience of their orders. Fellow Etzori soldiers had fallen and died, hit by weapons and drained by ghosts. This war they were fighting, was it a big mistake? They seemed to lose people in droves. Would it have been better to work at improving the defence of Etzos instead of attacking Rhakros? And the support of their spider spewing new ally, Sintra, what would the price be for that when they came to the bottom line? Wasn’t she too an immortal whose ultimate goals and plans were above what mortals could understand? What were they all, bar pawns in this war that was maybe not even their own but a war of immortals who didn’t care about their fate?

These questions had kept coming to mind more frequently for every trial that had passed. Not that it was Maude’s sake to think of it. If other people asked themselves the same questions as they saw the Etzori army shrink trial after trial was unknown to her. It had seemed best to not speak about it. Maude hadn’t wanted to come off as a potential deserter. But, she had wondered, yes, she had wondered. The anger and confusion she had felt had been night unbearable. More than once, she had been tempted to ignite just to get an outlet, but so far she had kept her self-control.

Now, she didn’t wonder anymore. Now, she knew. Lissirra used the people who worshipped her as wandering bug-bombs. She did of course not know the cause behind it, but she saw what had seemed like Rhakrosi civilians explode and spew out insects like they had been nothing else than bags of skin, already eaten up from inside. At that moment she felt that attacking Rhakros really had been Etzos only choice. Lissirra didn’t even hesitate to use her own worshipper this unbelievably cruel way. It spoke volumes. If the Etzori hadn’t come to Rhakros, those living, walking insect bombs would have come to Etzos.

When the insects attacked and chaos ensued Maude did like all the others and tried to kill the insects that were attacking her. But, she also did something more, because all the questions she had been mulling over had already brought her temper to the boiling point and the sight of the insect attack made it boil over. Too red hot angry to care about herself or even her goals, she threw her crossbow to the side. A dry branch that had fallen from a tree nearby lay on the ground. Ordinarily, she would have stepped around it. Now, she grabbed it. It was a substantial piece of wood, but not so big that it was too heavy for her to lift. Then she ignited and put the branch to fire as well as herself.

Maude felt herself flare up like a torch, a feeling like nothing else she had ever experienced before. An intoxicating feeling of sheer hot power filled her. At that moment she understood why an aukari could choose to continue to burn and die instead of going back to their cold mortal state again. Once she set her inner fire free, it deliberated her of all her doubts and fears, hesitation and inhibitions. Had she not been marked by the holy Zanik, the only immortal who was worth something, she might have lost herself in the fire forever. As it was, she thought of Zanik of course, as it seemed right that her last thoughts would be about him ... and this thought, for a fraction of a trill, was enough to make her recall the target of her anger and bring the fire to the insect swarms instead. She would kill them, kill them all, kill, kill, kill.

She was pure wild battle fury.

Little did she know that she was taking part in what would later become a dance named The Rhakros Stomp. Maude wasn’t a stomper but a fire dancer and a living flame. Her burning lasted no longer than it was possible for her to survive as a living torch and everything happened so fast that she wasn’t able to keep track of it. But, she was under the impression that she cleared the space around her wherever she whirled around with her burning branch. Some of her fellow soldiers seemed to dodge away from her as well as from the insects, others seemed to try to join the fire dancing while they tried to avoid burns. If Maude was an asset or a threat in the combat was for the officers to decide later. An aukari on fire doesn’t spend time on thinking of consequences.

Maude came out of the burning state but the branch was still on fire. She kept using it much the same way as when she had been in her flame-shape. The fire consumed the branch and seeing that the stompers were taking care of the remaining bugs Maude left the final extinction to them. She had other things to deal with, like the fact that she was in acute need of new clothes, new boots, new everything. Shit. She was stark naked. This was really lousy planning ... also called no planning at all. So much for how smart it was to act on a whim of anger and not think of the consequences.

Due to all the commotion the bug attack had caused she hoped that people had been too busy to pay attention to her. In the best case, they hadn’t even realized that Maude had been the one swinging around with the burning branch. She wasn’t exactly the best of soldiers and might not be the first person they would guess at when they came around to trying to figure out who the fire-dancer had been. Now when she wasn’t on fire anymore she acted with the fast improvisation of a jester. She knew that people tend to see what you show them if you are swift enough when you fake things.

Without wasting a trill she began to loot the corpse of a fellow Etzori who had died prior to the attack. They didn’t need their stuff anymore and necessity knew no law. Maude dragged the corpse into a niche. Underwear ... she couldn’t spend time on it, the light practical uniform would have to be enough. It was obvious that it would be too big for her, but this wasn’t the right time to be picky. Insect veil ... very good, she would take that. Some kind of cloth face mask ... okay, she would take that one too. Boots ... a bit big, but she would don them. Time permitting she would try to find weapons too, but otherwise, she would just rush back and pick up her own crossbow again.

That was the plan. If it would work was an open question. Maude hoped to stay out of sight long enough to “dress up”. If anybody would see her and come to investigate she would claim that she had been hit by the fire somebody else had been throwing around like crazy. She would say that she had been forced to tear off her clothing to avoid burn injuries. The clothes had burnt up, leaving only a heap of ashes not able to save her sorry ass. She would show her hands as proof. After she had turned "human" again she had gained a few small burns ... and the charred branch had painted her palms black.

If Maude would still be alive and kicking at the time the Etzori discovered exactly how the bug-bombs worked she would feel as appalled as all others and she would get the same orders as them. No prisoners, no booby-traps. It was grim, but it was, after all, not the Etzori who had sealed the fate of the Rhakrosi civilians. It was Lissirra’s doing.

[Kasoria]

"K... Kas, I mean, s'only-"

"Nah. Nah, it ain't, Faz. It ain't only. It ain't just. An' I ain't Kas. What am I, Faz?"

"The... The Rag-"

"My rank, Faz, fer fucksake."

"... Highmark, s... sir."

The other members of the squad watched what unfolded with studied indifference. Like soldiers the world over, they knew better than to interfere with matters of discipline. Even soldiers as irregular as them. They were gathered around cooking fires and tents. They supped their stew rations and at water mixed with wine, the closest they could get to proper recreation. Pipes flared in a few hands, but sparingly. Good tobacco was already at a premium. A brisk trade was being done in handfuls, even pinches worth a few tugs at best. But already the supply was running low.

It had been a long march. A hard fight. Trial after trial of fighting and horror and death and casualties. When night came and the conflict ebbed for a few blessed breaks, men wanted to lose themselves in their comforts. So they drank and they smoked and cared not for the morrow.

After all, they might be dead come then.

"Youse know the rules," the little man in leather armor said, voice low and grating. He pointed to the barrels of water, now properly covered with gauze sheeting. "Ev'ry barrel a' water is covered. In the mornin', every dram is boiled. So why, this mornin', did I wake up... an' find no coverings over those barrels?"

"I... I just-"

Leather cracked and creaked as Kasoria made a fist. The leather gauntlets ground together. The copper claws he'd affixed to the knuckles seemed to grate as loud as clanging swords in Fazil's ears. He'd seen what the Ragged... no... what Highmark Kasoria had done to the Rakkie ghosts with them. Spirit after spirit, bursting into flames under his fists and feet and elbows and knees. Sent over the river to whatever judgement was waiting for them. The mortal followers of Lissira hadn't fared much better; only then, there'd been a lot more blood and screaming.

The irregulars had seen it all. They knew what their new Highmark could do. And now that ire, cold and controlled as ice fashioned into a blade, was directed at him.

"... I forgot. I forgot... sir."

Face half-hidden under his hood, Kasoria flashed his eyes about their section. A patch of ground at an intersection. Deeper into Rhakros, deep enough that the walls were hidden by stone buildings. Blood still stained the cobblestones, turned black and stinking by time and heat. His Block was watching. So was the other, similarly manned, led by a one-eyed bruiser from the North Side who was much like him. Just less-traveled.

You could make an example. All accepted and legitimate. Flogging, probably. Flay his back with that vicious whip in the chest, and make the others think twice. But...

Kasoria stepped closer to Fazil. He wasn't taller than the man; in fact, Fazil topped him by an inch or two. Yet the little thief turned soldier quailed and shrank at the movement. Backed up a step until he was against those barrels, and water sloshed in them. When Kasoria spoke again, his voice was a hiss. Venomous as the creatures they'd suffered for trials.

"Next time, Faz, I won't flog yeh. I won't put yeh on charges. I'll make you drink it first. A few deep, full cups. If I hve t'hold youse down an' force it down yer throat myself, I fuckin' will. Then we'll wait. All of us. We'll wait an' watch an' see if somethin' came in the night an' turned that water rotten. Made it poison fer mortal men, like youse an' me. An' if it does, an' youse start bleedin' from the eyes an' shittin' out yer guts an' pukin' up yer innards-"

"K-Kas, please-"

The Highmark's hand shot out and yanked Fazil close, so fast it took his breath away.

"We'll jus' watch, Faz. We'll watch youse die, an' then we'll know. An' so'll youse. Unner'stan?"

"Y-Y-Yes, Highmark."

"Good. Now cover 'em up proper this time."

The Highmark watched the Mark scuttle away, and then went about his duties. He had them now, after all. Not just a battle-mage or a lowly Mark anymore. No, he was of a higher station now. Granted, that was largely due to the fact they were losing too many men and needed the ranks filled. It didn't matter. The chain of command had to be maintained. He'd seen enough over the last few trials to know communication and coordination was as crucial to soldiering as men and swords. An army without direction and leaders was just a mob of men with weapons. He hadn't come this far to watch the Etzori Army dissolve into animals. Not here. Not now.

"Thinkin' he got the point."

The other Highmark glided out from the eave of a house, one good eye glinting with mirth. Kasoria greeted him with a nod and a sluggish salute. Everything seemed to be sluggish here, where the hot, fetid air closed around you like a soaking towel around your head. Highmark Herriko took a nip of something from an orange-tinted bottle. He offered it to Kasoria, and the little man partook. Anything that could wash some of the taste away was welcome. That and he knew booze, at least, was proof against most poisons.

"Hopin' the rest did, n'all."

"Ain't like back 'ome," Herriko ruminated, falling into step next to his equal. He was broad and beefy, thick arms covered in scars. A classic street daemon of the Oh'Pee, forged from blood and bitterness. "Jus' slot the wanker an' that'd be warnin' enough."

"Aye, well, won't fly out 'ere. Be one less man fightin' tomorrow... an' I'd 'ave to worry about the rest of 'em gettin' ideas."

Herriko chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "S'what y'get when y'make a buncha' gangers soldiers, Kas."

Kasoria's eye flinched at the last word. Few people living had the right to call him familiar. Some square-head cunt from the North Side who he'd probably scrapped with Way Back When certainly didn't rank among them. But that was a different world. He looked around their Block and saw familiar faces. White and brown. Yellow and beige. Mostly humans, but Biqaj, Lotharro, ever Sev'ryn and Ithecal, too. All bound together by dark pasts and shared hatred. They needed to stay united now. He nodded and handed back the bottle.

"Halfway done, methinks," he said, making a rough judgement of where they were based on the maps he'd seen. "Gettin' closer to... whatever the fuck passes fer a palace in this shitheap. We'll find 'er there. Kill the cunt. Go the fuck home, after we burn this place down."

The Highmark grunted, and Kasoria could see the doubt in his eye. He recognized it, for he felt much the same. Hard and bloody as the siege had been, things... hadn't quite added up. The lack of civilians was one thing. Where had they all gone, anyway? The ghosts, yes, he could understand that... but where were the monstrosities he'd fought in the Underground below Etzos? He'd seen almost none of their like here. Just ghosts and cultists covered in sores and spitting insects, eager to die for their Plague Mother. And of Lissira herself? Not a trace. Not a spell. Not a whisper.

Like she ain't even here.

"Seen the Aukari?" Herriko said just as Kasoria was starting to walk away. An irritating habit. "Saw her when those fuckin' loonies burst into bugs. Turned herself into flame. Scorched 'em all. After I saw her... wearin' a dead man's clothes. Found 'im stripped, after."

Kasoria looked over his shoulder, and shrugged. "If he was dead, he didn't need it. An' if he ain't comin' back, he's a' no use to us."

"Yer a cold man, Kas."

Now Kasoria smiled. Herriko didn't like the look of it.

"S'why I'm still alive. Get yerself some rest, Highmark. Gonna be another hard trial comin'."

"Ain't they all..."

Herriko's last words follwoed Kasoria to his tent, now festooned with netting to keep the insects away. He slept in his armor, with only his largest weapons unlimbered and at his sides as he lay. Five, maybe six breaks. Then the hazy suns would rise and burn away the mists. Then the siege would start again. His copper talons clinked as he rested them over his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to drift away. Tried not to think of those demented bastards explode into insects. Tried not to let the image follow him into his dreams, finding his face on theirs instead.

[Maltruism]

It was unfortunate that the entirety of the eastern host did not have Kasoria within their specific blocks. The next attack was of a nature he was particularly suited to deal with. If only by the grace of the example he presented.

It was not any strength of body, resistance to toxins, possession of magic, or prowess with his blades that was the issue, though most of those aspects did serve him well. It was instead, as is often the case in all manners of conflict, a simple matter of experience. He alone, among the troops that were able to witness his response, had fought hand to...hand...with the gargantuan insects that came upon the company now.

Easily the size of small horses, or large dogs they were. Clacking mandibles, toxic stingers, natural armor, and employing the ability to balance on only a fraction of their spear-tipped legs, while using those freed as surprise weaponry, took a horrific toll on the brave but foolish soldiers that attempted head-on clashes with the giant insects.

Eyes, wide with pain and surprise, found these insectoid legs driven fully through their torsos even as their own weapons teetered in dying hands to clang to the stones beneath their feet as the bodies were unceremoniously flung off by adjoining legs. They did not live long enough to benefit from the lesson they had just learned.

Only those that witnessed Kasoria's graceful side-stepping, as he sheared legs from beneath the chittering attackers, to make them vulnerable, realized the best approach. Blood and ichor mixed in boot-smeared patterns on the stone as the attrition of severed legs slowly brought the monstrous creatures into manageable targets for more conventional straight-on finishing work.

But as this went on, an attack new to this division, but already inflicted upon the southern host, came upon them. It was no great matter to the living, but to the ranks of ghosts, currently aiding their living comrades with the syphoning of the insectoid enemies to weaken them even further, it was devastating.

Swarms of flying insects, bearing shards of copper, flew through the ranks of Etzori ghosts, bursting their ectoplasmic forms and dispersing their smoky remnants like the wave of a hand through a smoke ring. Those that eluded the first pass were still vulnerable to the second...and the third.

Half the number of the ghost horde perished into whispers before the flaming and webbed response could eliminate the threat completely. The "Rhakros Stomp" was once again the final measure of defense.

Amid the curses and shouts of promised vengeance, one mind assessed the situation with cold indifference. It was not that newly-promoted Shieldarm Hinda Velora did not care about the atrocity that had just taken place. But she knew there would be plenty of time for vengeance later. And a short grasp of what had just assailed them gave her an insight that would be crucial to finishing this mission.

Every other insect attack had been a nest in place, and nothing really more than the instinctive hostility of insects. Even the giant insects were only acting in a more or less normal fashion. But this last had been something more. These bugs had carried copper with them! Something of no natural benefit or instinctive inclination whatsoever. They must have been instructed to do so.

And who but Lisirra would be likely to have issued these instructions, assured of the insects' understanding and obedience? She shouted for attention of all within earshot. "The course of this last swarm needs to be backtracked if at all possible! It could very likely lead to Lisirra!"

No elaboration was necessary. There was no problem determining from around which corner the bugs had approached. Every foot found a spike of energy driving them to ignore fatigue as they poured around the corner to see remnants of a few copper bits dropped in the insects' haste to bring destruction upon their directed target.

A trail was laid!

Not waiting for Under-Marshall corroboration, she issued commands for squads to be formed to find the other hosts and let them know what was underway with this host. If they too had fallen under a similar attack, they should follow it back. The chances were very good that they would rendezvous right where their greatest enemy was hiding. Vengeance for hundreds of arcs of atrocities would finally be theirs!

Now the surge of fury and vengeance, unrestrained by the need for calm thought, poured from her throat as her sword swept symbolically from its scabbard, "DEATH TO THE WITCH! DEATH TO LISIRRAAAAAaaaaa!"

Her first cry was solo. The second was echoed by thousands of Etzori voices, living and dead, the last syllable being lost in a mounting din of rage.