The staves of the tephramancers beat down upon the soil of the earth, sending an echoing boom out into the world. It was a marching drum of war that stirred the spirit and could be felt for miles. Every time their rods met the ground, the basalt storm about them whirled faster, then died down until the next drum came. In the darkness of night, the black mass about hid their advance. The only sign of their approach was the rumbling noise erupting from the beaten magic.
Argrave could feel it pounding in his soul. The drumming was heavier than his heartbeat, heavier than the giant bear at their side, and heavier than fear. It sounded as though some giant, four-legged monstrosity had been freed on the earth and ran to hunt its prey with the primal rhythm of a predator. But just as much as that sound emboldened the alabaster warriors of the tribes of Vysenn, so too did it spur Argrave’s steps ahead.
They crested a hill and set eyes upon a great horde of troops—their troops, Argrave reflected. And his banner—the sun, with four snake heads emerging from its rays—hung in the sky, repeated again and again and again. And so, Argrave called out, “Only a little further!”
But his words were unnecessary, and his colleagues rushed past him as they headed for the army. It might be a dangerous proposition to approach an encampment so quickly, but Argrave had sent foreword. They headed for where the torches were thickest. Soon enough, people shouted. In a blur, Argrave exchanged words with several people, getting his point across as quickly as he could. And before long…
“Argrave!” he heard a familiar voice, then turned to watch Elenore moving the fastest he’d ever seen her. Durran’s prosthetics, it seemed, helped her greatly.
“You’re here,” he greeted her, sparing no time for a warm reunion. “Have you any ideas?”
“None beyond what Anneliese shared,” Elenore shook her head at once, breathing a little thin as she came to a stop. “The soldiers at Castle Cookpot are moving. People are emerging from the mountainside—the guerilla force of the Unhanded Coalition. We face attack from two sides. We outnumber them, but… qualitatively… it’s in the air,” she said quietly, then asked hopefully, “Your force of mages…?”
“They march, but… it will be some time before they arrive.” Argrave looked out to the distance. “You cannot see it from here, but you can just barely feel it. That… drumming. The barbarians come.” He turned to her. “The prospect of a peaceful venture into Vysenn seems to have died on the vine.”
“Argrave, your pack,” Anneliese interrupted them.
Though Argrave was curious what she referred to, he did set his pack down. She rummaged through it and retrieved a white mask—the Humorless Mask, which spawned pure air mixed with healing magic. He watched, puzzled, as she pulled its strap behind her head and wore it.
“Elenore—your men will be torn to bits fighting against the tribals,” Anneliese declared boldly, setting her own pack down and ensuring her gray duster fit well on her person. “The storm of tephra—I have seen it, felt it, and I know its power well. Crossbowmen will be useless against it. Send them and all lightly armored troops to engage with the other force. We need heavily armored units and nothing else.”
Elenore digested that but still looked to Argrave for confirmation of the order.
“Do as she says,” Argrave nodded. “Galamon—you’ll take command of the heavily-armored units. But Anneliese…?”
“You wear one too,” she commanded, handing him a Humorless Mask. After, she braided her long white hair with incredible speed so that it would not hinder her in battle, then pulled her hood up to cover it completely. “I know you are our leader, Argrave, but I see only one way out of this with minimal losses. Namely… with the two of us against the enemy, backed by the force commanded by Galamon.”
Argrave narrowed his eyes, seeing the strategist he knew bursting from Anneliese in this dire situation. He saw the sense in what she said. But…
“You intend to test your ability here?” Argrave asked.
“I do,” Anneliese nodded.
Argrave gave her a confident nod. “Then… us, alone, against the storm. My blessing…”
“No,” Anneliese interrupted. “I think that you might find a better use for it. Hear me out, please…”
#####
They relayed their drastic orders with startling efficiency, largely because Argrave had sent warning to this encampment ahead of time and all were prepared to move. Though dividing the forces in this unorthodox manner was challenging, Elenore seemed to have a great handle on the camp.
Now, Argrave stood at the top of the hill. Anneliese held her hand out, and a great ball of light appeared from a spell matrix. It danced upwards into the night like a star, bathing the battlefield ahead with light. One could barely see the distant storm of basalt coming their way, hiding all within its mass.
Behind, a great many armored infantrymen numbering perhaps two thousand crouched behind the hill, taking cover in case their foes had ranged weapons. Galamon headed them, five under him as officers. They seemed uneased just as much by the approaching force as recognition of Argrave. The giant black bear beside Galamon undoubtedly contributed, too.
“People of Vasquer, of Relize…” Argrave called out, then said simply, “Calm your nerves. I intend to make good on my promise to protect you, today. As you support me, so will I lead us to victory.”
He said nothing more, and Argrave wasn’t certain it had the intended effect. Nonetheless, he looked towards Anneliese. With an exchanged nod, the two of them stepped forward towards the black tempest.
As they neared, the steady drumming changed—the tephramancers beat their staves upon the earth faster as though their song of war reached its crescendo. Argrave’s Brumesingers stepped down from their hidden places, their eerie chiming echoing as their warriors of mist mimicking southron elf warriors joined to march by Argrave’s side. As the volcanic storm roared to match the furious rhythmic drums, a horn from far behind echoed across the battlefield.
The tephra cutting through the air writhed, merging and gaining solidity. The war drums of their foes became the sound of a thousand horses running across the plains, and a charge of black lances surged towards them, seeking to break Argrave and Anneliese and all beyond them to begin a momentum that utterly annihilated. The spring grass and the earth beneath it shattered in the wake of the deathly force approaching, gashes marring the earth in their wake. The pair in front held out both of their hands, spells taking shape.
Anneliese advanced ahead at the coming charge, then ducked low and cast her spell. A towering, wide wall of ice erupted, near two feet thick—a simple spell of C-rank. The moment the charge met the wall, the structure splintered, cracked, and broke… yet it did slow what came. And by the time the magic broke past, both Anneliese and Argrave had their next spell ready. With momentum slowed and the heart of the attack closer, they could move forth with power of their own.
“Charge!” Galamon bellowed from behind.
As he did so, their two spells unleashed. Argrave used the B-rank wind spell [Furor], and a howl like a crowd’s rage surged from his hand in the form of an unstoppable gale travelling in a straight, directed line. Anneliese concurrently cast [Rip Current], and twin geysers of water burst free from her hands, gaining in size and swirling to form a cone.
Under the vast pressure from both their spells, the tephramancers deadly charge—their favored tactic to begin a battle—halted. The squall of basalt reared back like a panicked horse, its battle of force briefly lost to their spells. Alabaster skinned warriors, steadfast in their march, briefly appeared in vision. But drum, drum, drum—again the tephramancers beat their staves on the ground, reforming their magic into a deadly force.
But as it was the tribal’s shield, so it could be theirs. Before their tephramancy could be fully realized once again, Argrave and Anneliese stepped forward. They headed into the writhing debris. Anneliese stepped boldly, Argrave cautiously, and before long… the sound of metal boots clanged behind them. Galamon, his officers, and all their knights walked into the darkness of the storm of pyroclastic rock. The squall sheathed them, and they were gone.
Within the storm was vastly different than without it. Here, the deep drums of the tephramancers echoed in such a way to inspire a brash hot bloodedness unlike anything Argrave had ever experienced before—perhaps this inspiration was a part of their magic. As Argrave entered alongside his men, the tribal warriors rushed to expel them.
The warriors of the hills of Vysenn rushed fiercer than the storm surrounding them. Whether individually or in groups, their steps never faltered. Five rushed Argrave, and the mist warriors of his Brumesingers rose to defend him. The blades of the elven warriors fell upon the tribals… yet their pale skin was as tough as rock, and the tribals did not seem to feel pain. They pushed past the Brumesingers conjurations, rushing at Argrave deliberately. They knew he was a mage.
The great bear from Quadreign barreled into them, casting them to the earth. Galamon and other knights advanced in at that point, contesting the foes. Whether they were stabbed, crippled, or maimed, the tribals did not cease their attacks until their body ceased to function. Their vitality was so overwhelming that, despite the advantage in armor, the knights of Relize were pushed back. It took three of theirs to kill one barbarian.
Argrave noticed the storm above shift slightly and turned his head towards its source. A man with a staff strode towards Argrave, banging his staff against the ground rhythmically. Each time it struck the earth, it sounded as though a bass drum had been struck. As he neared, he raised his staff up, and the tephra gathered into a weightless blade near ten feet long atop his staff. He struck the earth again, and it solidified. By this point, the Brumesingers mist guardians rushed at the man. With one too-fast swing, it sheared through all of them.
Argrave had not been idle—as one hand prepared a spell, his enchanted ring quickly brought a ward to defend. The ashen blade cut straight through the golden shield. Argrave narrowly dodged, and the blade cut a foot deep into the earth. The blade began to disperse into dust, yet the man raised and slammed the bottom of his staff on the ground once again to reform the magic. The tephramancer prepared to swing once more, using the tremendous reach of the weightless blade to attack Argrave without much risk.
Realizing his disadvantage, Argrave rushed forward. As the blade came, he finished a spell— [Pavise Gale]. The knight of wind conjured by the spell slammed its giant tower shield into the coming ash blade, shattering it. The tephramancer seemed to feel none of the attack’s force, though was forced a few steps back from the fierce wind generated. He drummed his staff against the ground twice in a steady rhythm. A shield came down to defend him, while an axe head the size of a person formed atop his staff.
Argrave tapped into the barely-refilled reserves of his silver bracer to use blood magic— the C-rank [Putrid Paramerion]. A curved blade of blood filled his empty hand, and he sliced at the black shield without any expertise. It felt like he cut through air… yet when it was done, the shield had been cut in twain. The tephramancer had lost both his staff and his hand. His wrist bled for half a second before stopping, and then he charged Argrave in a reckless tackle. Five swords pierced his body then, wielded by the misty apparitions of the Brumesingers. The man spasmed, then fell. Argrave watched him for half a moment. Even dead, his wrist writhed and healed. Remembering his place, Argrave whirled back to confront whatever came next.
“Argrave!” he barely heard above the din. Anneliese rushed to him, some blood staining her gray duster. “The magic… it pools within me so quickly. It abounds in this storm, bolstering my power every waking second. And with every drum, I can feel them. I was right. I know where the tephramancers are. I can find them,” she said confidently as she removed the Humorless Mask on her face.
Argrave briefly grabbed her wrist, then stared out into the storm beyond. He could hear the drumming, its constancy.
“Then go. When the storm ends… I will be ready,” Argrave shouted grimly.
Anneliese put the Humorless Mask back on, then nodded. “This is my time,” she said simply.
With a final squeeze of his hand, Anneliese turned and rushed into the storm. Her enchanted boots came to life, wind bursting and hastening her advance deeper into the chaos. She headed for the closest drum.
The storm of tephra prevented reckless use of spells. Only powerful B-rank spells could break past it, and even then, Argrave doubted being able to kill their entire force. Argrave’s favored [Electric Eel] and Blessing of Supersession combo would be largely ineffective here, for the lightning constructs would dissipate on contact with the particles in the air. But if the storm were to vanish, if the tephramancers were to fall… Argrave would be free to act recklessly.
And so Anneliese intended to kill each and every one of them to make that happen.
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