I prowl atop the walls, surveying the last remnants of the defeated army. Just outside the ground is a morass of bloody mud and beyond that is a solid ring of craters from the improved catapult. I believe Cysero christened it the Blinding Rapid-Fire Nitroglycerin Sponge Tank of DESTINY some hours ago. Mop-up bands of warriors are retiring now, routing the last holdouts of the forces of Darkness, and I smile to see the triumph on their faces. Ash has one, Blade of Destiny shouldered, and Artix leads another, while Greyor and Cysero are cheerfully comparing notes at a loud volume while cleaning their weapons. Not even Greyor can get into trouble cleaning his weapons.
I think.
Turning away from the unsettling discussion of how best to fire Paladin Toilet Paper from the Catapult for maximum spread and aerial bombardment, I exchange a nod with Zhoom and hurry to check on Kordanna.
The ancient ship had given more to this battle than any other, tirelessly taking to the skies and intercepting the enemy fire, even as her armored sides became more and more pitted. At the time of the final rout I could swear to having seen sparking wires beneath the outer shell.
But she had insisted, stating that she had lain rusting and useless too long to hold back now, and I understand that well. Especially now, after the Ice.
Shaking away that unpleasant memory, I smile to see repairs underway, Lim and the Gnomes forging and welding under her direction. They greet me cheerfully as I pass, and I return their greetings.
My feet take me past the fire-stained walls of the guardian tower, and I shudder at the memory of the desperate flame-filled hour when we fought on three fronts at once: the invasion, the aerial defenses, and the fire. Every pyromancer on hand, including myself, had worked hard to send the fire back to our enemies, and we did succeed in moving it, but it was far to close for anyone to be comfortable with the results.
And it will be some time before anyone ceases to jump at the sight of my flaming locks.
As I pass the statue of Dememto, Yix questions if it's time to sound the all clear, and retrieve the civilians from Ravenloss, our most easily defensible spot.
With a shake of my head I remind him of my niggling worry. "Caitiff was getting desperate in that last hour, throwing those shoddy undead cultists at us. But we know what it can do directly. Why didn't it join the battle itself?"
He sees my point.
Circuit completed, I return to the walls, hand rising to my throat, where my Dragon Amulet and the lonely tooth hang side by side. Soon we will learn how Caittif took the dragon, Nythera swears, and I believe her.
Soon.
A shout interrupts my thoughts, and I look over to Cysero and Greyor in dismay.
Well, I think ruefully, hand rising to cover my face for a moment before I head over there to help the two of them out of their mess, at least it's not a laundry golem this time..
A.N: again, Greyor is a friend of mine.