Mr. Vivaldi was angry again. Just my lot in life, Mancini thought.
"What do you mean you let outsiders in?" He screeched, his loud voice completely at odds with his wiry look. The merc leader shrugged, idly watching the Lord of Tarbes – a portly, middle-aged man of a completely unassuming disposition – look about as worried as he could be, given the situation. His focus, naturally, had been confiscated. "That is completely unacceptable! You are Romalia's servants, Brimir's balls, act like it!"
"It's fine. It's just some Germanian tart from the academy with a friend here to get mushy with the locals. I doubt she's got half a brain to even think we're from Romalia."
"Even if it's a tenth of a brain, this is too much risk! What if they extract the vital persons from this backwater village?"
"They can't possibly leave without us noticing. The whole place is policed, and there are no tunnels out." A moment of thought. "There's one at the house of that witch, but it only leads to the shrine. I presume some of her siblings dug it out for fun."
"There's a priceless ancient relic in there!" Vivaldi's voice was, in fact, high enough to shatter the hapless glass of wine in the Lord of Tarbes's hand. Fortunately, no shards embedded themselves anywhere, though the sovereign of the village looked quite upset to be deprived of even that one mercy in this terrible situation. "I'll have Father Valencia discharge every single one of you!"
"That stupid-looking wagon?' Mancini frowned. "Nobody even knows how to operate it. Hells, it doesn't look like you can steer it in any way."
"That is no excuse! Have these women escorted out of the village immediately!" The mercenary leader sighed, rubbing his temple in annoyance.
"Just sit back and take some air off you. Hells, you look like you're about to pop open. Have a nice little talk with the Lord here, about whatever it is that you nobles like to talk about and—"
Mancini was interrupted by a loud explosion, followed by an anguished cry of one of his men. The Lord of Tarbes jumped a little in his spot, then shrunk when the two of them gave him a look before exchanging one with each other. "...don't even fucking say "I told you so"."
A couple of minutes earlier…
Kirche dug herself out of the tunnel with a pained moan, putting Battle Cry outside on the floor first. That definitely wasn't the kind of entertainment she was into, and the way to the shrine was certainly made with smaller people in mind (she had her guides go first so they wouldn't sneak a cheeky peek). Now with her clothes disheveled and dirtied, she stood before a vehicle that made Eddie's Deuce look mundane in comparison.
"That's indeed a Headsplitter." Lars confirmed when she picked him up, examining the Demon Skull. "Hm. I never got a good look at these."
"How do you operate it? There doesn't seem to be any space for a driver…"
"I think they are automatic… and I think I know how to turn it on."
"I'm all ears, Lars."
"Stick me into the engine." Oh. Kirche made a face. A couple of amusing anecdotes from Vindobona about exploding steam carriages spoke quite plainly that sticking sharp objects into engines, cauldrons and the like usually ended poorly. The little ones, having no idea what a steam carriage even was, seemed to agree with her subconsciously.
"...and you are sure it won't turn into a fireball?"
"If the Gods will it." Well, they were running out of time either way. Kirche sighed and looked at Siesta's siblings accompanying her.
"Go back home. Tabby and Derf will do her best to protect you and your family."
"Please be careful, Miss Kirche…" Julien mumbled, fighting back an inexplicable blush. The redhead smiled and gently patted him on the head.
"I'm sorry for earlier. Will you show me around Tarbes later?" If there would be a later, she briefly thought before squashing that notion clean.
"Y-yes! I will be the best village guide ever!" He nodded resolutely, eyes slightly teary-eyed.
"Alright. Run along now." Once the two of them disappeared in the tunnel, Kirche looked at the tab on Battle Cry's blade. "Well, Your Majesty… shall we give them hell?"
"For the sake of Tarbes, and glory of its Metal… let it be so." The redhead took a deep breath, turned the blade downwards and stuck it deep in the middle of the engine. The machine rumbled, and at the same time Battle Cry shone brilliantly, its fabulous magic giving energy to the wheeled automaton.
And the Headsplitter, built by the free peoples of Bladehenge, was more than happy to serve again.
Tabitha watched, staff at the ready, as Kirche busted open the doors of the shrine, perched behind the giant crossbow built into the Demon Skull. Siesta's father, hands shaking nervously, was a small distance behind with Derf in his grasp.
"Lemme see, lemme see..." Currently, the sword was being just a little upset at being denied the first-hand spectacle. The skull-topped wagon belched out fire wreathing around Battle Cry as Kirche took aim to viciously impale the first of the men in black raising his gun. It was kind of disconcerting for the bluenette, honestly, seeing her friend not only take so easily to killing, but to relish it. ("Score one for House Zerbst, scoundrels!")
Hm. Perhaps the whole "Gods of Metal" bit wasn't hot air in the end, but if that was the result… "Julien, Hugo, there you are!" Siesta's mother called out. The two that accompanied Kirche to the shrine had just returned from the tunnel, dirty but unharmed. Tabitha was deep in thought. The men in black were just mercenaries, really. There had to be a mage leading them from somewhere, presumably the Lord's mansion.
What were the odds of her being able to sneak past to assassinate him…? Wait, no, perish the thought. As things stood, she'd probably have to go help Kirche first. The Demon Skull was a formidable weapon, but her friend was wide open on top of it… "Nobody move! Which one of you lot led her there?!" One of the mercenaries that previously guarded the family busted inside, his threatening cleaver drawn and ready to be unleash upon the innocents.
Not having much time to conjure a spell, Tabitha opted to simply smack her staff into the man's knee, causing him to flop forward with a curse, face-first right in front of Derflinger. "Stay where you are..." Siesta's father said, holding the blade at the merc's neck much more steady than even moments before. Another mercenary came in with his own cleaver, but this one had to contend with Tabitha's icy spell, pinning him to the wall with an icicle as he struggled to get out, to no avail. She threw an iceball his way to knock him out cold for good measure.
"I have to go and help her..." The bluenette muttered, looking out. The men in black were in disarray, but that wouldn't last forever, and they still had to see the ringleader mage himself. "I'll leave Derflinger with you. Do you have anything to guard yourself with?"
"There's a couple of knives from the kitchen..."
"Oh, come on! You'll have me sit out all the fun?" Derf grumbled.
"Sorry. Need you to ensure safety."
"To be fair, you'll have everyone going after you and Kirche real soon."
"We should be fine, Lady Tabitha." Siesta's father nodded after a moment of hesitation, watching as his family incapacitated the first of the mercenaries, binding him and depriving him of weapons. "Sir Derflinger might help you out more than he can help us." The bluenette wasn't quite sure of that. Derf didn't really display any fabulous powers to make fighting easier for anyone, especially not for someone of small stature and already carrying a staff like herself. He was a sword, plain and simple.
But then again, so was Lars. "...right. Take care." Tabitha nodded as she accepted the blade from the family patriarch and set out onto the battlefield.
Mr. Vivaldi and Mancini were treated to a bizarre sight upon leaving the Lord's mansion.
The Demon Skull was very much operable and riding on its own, seemingly without any input from its rider – the redhead Zerbst, currently sending one Mancini's men behind cover with a fireball – as it fired huge bolts at anyone unlucky enough to be recognized as its enemy. Keen-eyed, the mercenary leader noticed an oddity: the sword he saw the girl wear on her back previously, that strange relic with a tab etched on it, was now standing atop the wagon, stuck in a strange hunk of metal in front of it.
"Aim for the sword." He growled, grabbing hold of one of his pistols.
"Don't order me arou-" Mancini didn't bother listening to Vivaldi's screeching, dashing off towards some of his men hidden behind one of the houses. One of them had already parted with this sordid earth, with a length of a bolt piercing through his body. The others must have dragged him to safety out of a misguided hope his life can be salvaged.
"Captain! What on earth's going on?" One of them called to Mancini, looking – much to the leader's disgust – like a rat in a cage.
"Some rowdy noblewomen, apparently." This wasn't time to joke, but what else was there? Vivaldi was their main mode of combating larger foes, and he seemed more interested in throwing a fit and deflecting stray bolts with gusts of wind. "Any of you got a crossbow or a musket?"
"Gerard has one! He's on the other side of the village though..." Then it was time to make a break for it.
"Right. You lot stay here, don't go in the open. That infernal thing seems to be working on its own, it can probably spot you and gut you no problem." It wasn't the first time he pulled his team out of the fire, and he wasn't planning on it being the last. Putting a bolt through the tart's chest wouldn't stop the wagon – if anything, it'd probably make it even more dangerous – so he had to put that sword out of it with applied force.
Ducking between the buildings, Mancini made it to the halfway of the village before a familiar sense of being watched caused him to stop, right before an icicle flying an inch before his nose, passing by with a bone-chilling whirl. He fired sideways without looking; the pistol bullet crashed into a freshly-erected wall of ice. He turned and immediately ducked under another icicle before rolling back to safety behind a corner of the house.
"You kids must be out of your minds." He growled, catching the small waif emerging from behind the ice wall with his sight. She wasn't stupid, immediately building another makeshift cover. Fast and efficient, dangerous… Triangle, at the very least. What were they teaching these brats at the Academy? "You know who we are."
"Invaders." Oh, and she had a sharp wit too. Just great. "You can retreat still."
"Gimme a break. That red friend of yours killed my men. I'm not letting you off that easy."
"Wouldn't be here if you didn't invade." Invade this, invade that – they were Romalia's men. They could very well do as they pleased (Mancini was unaware at a time that their superior was currently breaching that generous supposition). If there was a witch in a village, it was only natural that other villagers had to be contained and, if need to, purged. Heresy was something to combat, and the Church and its men had done so for many years before.
If the witch proved to be a dud – unlikely, but possible – then he and his men would simply vanish with the same swiftness that they appeared here in. No harm would come to the villagers, and they would go on with their merry lives, with the fake witch rejoining their society should they so choose… and as Mancini thought both of their righteousness and their battle plan, he realized too late that the ground under him was awfully cold.
Tabitha tapped the ground with the butt of her staff, seeping a chilling trail down to Mancini's position all that time as they conversed. The ice path erupted upwards in a bunch of spikes, accompanied by an agonized scream of a man being skewered from below. A dirty, ignoble death – but such was her profession to deal these with chilling frequency until recently. She hadn't lost her edge yet, nor were the ice puns made to cope with the awfulness of her situation any less clever.
"...did you just…?" Derf asked.
"Let's move on. Kirche is still fighting."
In the end, Gustavo Mancini never reached that musket.
It was a royal mess all around.
Mancini's men were of little help, hiding around corners like rats, and Mancini himself was nowhere to be found. Mr. Vivaldi was at his wit's end, trying to ward off the infernal mechanism and the redhead atop it, shouting profane slogans of "Heavy Metal" and "Fiery Passion". He was an accomplished Mage, but his professions were surgical strikes and precise attacks. How on earth could he possibly compete with that clump of metal?
Suffice to say, Mr. Vivaldi had resoundingly ignored Mancini's advice. Ridiculous, commoners ordering nobles around. After this mess was over, he would have to go and voice his displeasure to Father Valencia – if he would be able to leave, that is. "You will kneel before Brimir's servant!" He called out defiantly, flinging another spell at the Demon Skull. The infernal machine was a resilient piece of work, ignoring flames and high-pressure water – two elements that Vivaldi wielded.
"Some servant, taking hostages to fulfill his goal!" Kirche snapped back, comfortable to let the Headsplitter do the heavy lifting as it fired a bolt after bolt, guided with Battle Cry's mystical power. Unfortunately, Vivaldi was capable at defending himself, redirecting fired projectiles to make an impromptu fortification around his person, making the following bolts less effective. She didn't like her chances in a direct fight either; Water Mages were her bane, and there still could have been some sellswords around trying to take a potshot at her while she was distracted.
"What we do, we do with holy purpose!" Vivaldi screeched, the stream of water nearly hitting her right on the face as it whizzed by her cheek and made a bleeding cut. "You are the one calling blasphemous idols to your aid!"
"But are they not working?!" She laughed in spite of the wound. Oh, it was so invigorating, almost addicting to ride atop the Demon Skull. The power Lars was using to animate the vehicle seemed to have rubbed off her. It was the same fire of passion she first felt when she saw Eddie drop a flaming airship on Guiche's Valkyrie, now tempered by the thrill of combat and raw power.
...she had to ask him about guitar lessons, maybe… "If Brimir doesn't work as intended, perhaps he should try somewhere else!" Kirche laughed again, but some frustration was growing underneath. They were at a stalemate, and given enough time, Vivaldi would find some way to gain an upper hand. The Headsplitter was amazing, but all it could do was firing these bolts…
So when she caught sight of Tabitha sneaking closer to the fight, she made a fatal mistake of looking at her for a moment too long. Vivaldi sensed the impending doom and ducked behind the palisade of fired bolts to avoid the fired icicle, replying with an aqua cutter of his own make. Too late to do anything about it, Kirche's enthusiasm died in an instant, replaced by horror, as the stream impacted her friend dead-on…
Or so it seemed to both the redhead and triumphant Mr. Vivaldi, before the magical energy all but vanished. Tabitha was holding Derflinger up as it sucked the water attack in, the sheen of his blade turning blue for a moment. There was nothing but silence on all sides before the church's assassin let out a choked cry of surprise.
"What the devil…?!" So surprised was he that he had no defense against Tabitha's attack who recuperated from her own stupor faster; an icicle went right through his throat, causing him to cough out blood. "H-how… why…?" He groaned through his dying throes, falling backwards flat on his back, spilling the liquid of life all over the place.
"Magic sword, chump!" Derf called out cheerily in response as the bluenette made her way towards Kirche, who was currently at a loss of words. Tabitha didn't approach her immediately, opting to walk over to where Vivaldi was dying and make the matter certain by running him through the heart. "Oh, huh, that's a strange sensation. It's been a while since I've killed someone."
"Better safe than sorry."
"Fair enough. Speaking of safety, you may want to brace yourself." Tabitha didn't waste time asking about "why"'s – and had little time to do so, as Kirche was upon her with a crushing hug, holding her up and fighting back tears.
"Don't scare me like that anymore!" She said, holding herself from inelegant blubbering. Tabitha couldn't help but smile.
"Sorry to make you worry..." Staff dropped to the ground and Derf dripping Vivaldi's blood in one hand, she slowly eased into the embrace, enjoying the curious mix of Kirche's perfume and the sharp smell of sulfur. To this bizarre scene were the arriving garrison from La Rochelle – led here by Sylpheed – and Tarbes's inhabitants treated to, as were Mancini's remaining men, knowing better than trying to cut and run against an actual armed force.
Thus ended the siege of Tarbes.
Somewhere far away, in eastern Germania, Tiffania Westwood and her flock of children were in quite a predicament.
It all began somewhere else entirely, in the floating nation of Albion. She ran an orphanage there, a small affair for lost lambs displaced through monsters, disasters and, more recently, war. Reconquista was a formidable opponent for the royalists, and they often were remorseless to those fighting them both actively and passively. For her part, Tiffania was fine staying in safety with her children. Nobody bothered them. After all, what political value does an orphanage have?
As it turned out, more than she would have liked. As a result, she and her lambs were captured and made to travel to eastern fringes of Germania. She wasn't sure why they were going that far away from home, but their captors were tight-lipped about the situation. They didn't treat them badly, not even her – and she'd forgive them for doing so due to her obviously elven heritage – with one exception of the leader of the mercenary outfit: an old man in a black cloak by the name of Mr. Strauss. He didn't seem to be a part of the sellsword group, merely presiding over it as an employer.
That one was a bit of a "meanieface", as young York called him. Oh, where could have he gone to? The group sent three men after him, but neither them nor he returned yet. Tiffania didn't know much about Germanian forests, but the way her captors were unusually anxious, it was obvious that this wasn't a place to be careless in.
"I will have one of those brats butchered if they don't show up within fifteen minutes." He snarled, giving Tiffania and the children a mean glare. "We've stressed time and again that defiance is futile. Perhaps we need to illustrate it better?"
"That will not happen." The leader of the mercenary group, a stern man in a uniform of an Albionian officer, shook his head with a scowl. "It's bad enough you had us plunder an orphanage of all things, and take hostages. It's about time you told us why we had to do that."
"And I said that this will happen in due time!" Mr. Strauss ran a hand over his face, clearly having trouble keeping his cool. "My employers have reasons to believe that this elf is important to their plans."
"And the children?"
"They make her easier to coerce. If I were to grab one and threaten to wring its neck out, she'd do anything I would ask her of." Here the old man smiled in a manner that left Tiffania feeling like she was doused in ice cold, slimy water.
"You're a sick puppy, aren't you? Bah, I wouldn't touch an elf in any other way than with a length of steel." The leader shook his head. "Anyway, be ready to fight, men. For all we know, Richard and the others might have been eaten by whatever dwells in Germanian forests. We keep both the elf and the children out of harm's way: that's what the payment's about. Are there any other questions?"
No one had anything noteworthy to add; even Mr. Strauss remained silent, content to grumble under his breath – at least until something got his attention. "Brimir's balls…" He stared at the edge of the company's camp, just outside the border between the dim campfire light and the darkness of the woods. There, shuffling his feet tiredly, was none other than the stray child the mercenaries were looking for. "Oi, men! The brat's there!"
"So he is..." The leader frowned. How fortunate – almost too much. Plus, his men were still missing in action. "He seems out of it. Oi, elfgirl!" He turned his attention to Tiffania, gesturing towards York. "Call him over. I'd rather this isn't some nasty trap waiting for us."
Tiffania wouldn't even think of exposing her children to danger, but the way he just appeared the moment he stopped being discussed could be seen as suspicious. Nodding uncertainly – and taking a moment to assuage one of the other lambs with a gentle hand squeeze – she took a deep breath. "York?"
"Miss Tiffania..." He called back weakly, making small steps towards the campfire. He really seemed out of it; something about the way he talked and stood was just a little too suspicious… and then all hell broke loose. Right after York appeared numerous assailants, both human and inhuman. Despite the merc leader's caution, his men were still caught off-guard, though perhaps not because of an attack but rather because of who attacked them.
And the motley crew of mysterious enemies was mystifying indeed. The normal rogues were fine enough, but then there were monsters, the likes of which Tiffania had never seen in her life. Some were small, one of them had a bigger arm than her entire body, and then there was something with a horse skull for a head. Leading the charge were two men: one striking, with red hair, dark skin and a firm mallet he used both to swing and to cast spells; another less so, in black leathers, lanky and holding a tree branch of all things as his weapon.
Tiffania had little time to think about this, mostly because the cage she and the children were in was suddenly lifted off the ground by the aforementioned thick-armed beast, a monster so hideous she couldn't help but blanch, holding the lambs near her closer. And yet, there was intelligence in the monster's eyes as it ran away from the fighting. Some of the rogues were securing York as well, keeping him out of harm's way. Were these friends then, unlikely as they were?
"Don't let them get away!" She heard Mr. Strauss shout, and then saw a green flare of a spell narrowly missing the cage. The children have finally recovered from their stupor; some were now screaming, others were clinging to her harder – it was getting a little uncomfortable for her, admittedly – and it was chaos, all around. Another green flare missed them, so hot that Tiffania couldn't help but shield the children away from the blaze.
The hideous monster ran with them a bit more before putting them down in a small meadow. There were a few more people in there, likely its allies. "Alright, that's everyone but York." One of those was a blonde woman in blue pants and with a huge gun, the likes of which Tiffania had never seen. This was increasingly becoming a showcase of things she hadn't seen, she thought. "He safe?"
"Aye." And then it was yet another limit of disbelief spoken when the monster spoke up – and in quite a cultured tone too! "Our friends are keeping him away from harm. Now then, little ones..." Here the beast addressed the hapless captives directly. "Huddle in one corner for safety. Jenny here will blast the cage bars open."
"B-blast the cage…?!" One of the children squeaked in fear. At this point Tiffania had no real option but to listen to their unlikely saviors, gently pulling her flock back into a corner. The cage wasn't very big, but big enough for them to huddle together. The cultured monster looked toward the riflewoman Jenny and nodded.
"Better close your eyes, this is gonna be flashy." The blonde cautioned, hoisting her rifle up and taking aim. The cage bars were pried apart with a blast of pure red energy, less a spell and more sheer force, something so unnatural that it looped right back to being the most natural thing in the world.
"A beautiful spectacle, 'tis." Pantagruel the Ogre nodded sagely, watching the solid bars collapse from the power of Jenny's Razorfire rifle. Soon there was enough of a hole in it for the group of captives to slowly trickle out of, led by Tiffania. "Now then, let us remain here. Our allies are fighting a valiant fight right now. One of them shall join us shortly."
"Hey, stop throwing short jokes around, big guy!" Called a voice from the woods, revealed to belong to a man of truly bizarre proportions, muscled but stumpy and with a forehead so heavy it all but covered his eyes, carrying York on his back as he ran. "Anyway, phew, I've got him here." Curiously, it didn't seem like the boy was as dazed as he was beforehand. In fact, he didn't look any worse for wear, save for perhaps a look of minor exhaustion.
"Good work. He okay?" Jenny asked.
"Sure is. Got the acting stones though. I'd never be able to pull that kind of look off."
"Well, you'd need to be a bit smaller than that." The strangely-shaped man made a slightly sour face before putting York down. "Anyway, now we wait until Moschee and the others finish cleaning up. Sure hope Jamieson won't get himself hurt though..." York himself, meanwhile, flew into Tiffania's arms.
"A-are you okay, everyone…?" His tough boy facade crumbled against her motherly warmth: he was a child still, after all, and now that he didn't need to make a mean face he was content to devolve into inelegant blubbering, happy that everything ended up okay for them. The elf smiled, rubbing his head gently, but now there was something else for her to address.
"Was this this Moschee's idea to have little York acting as bait?" She asked quietly. The members of his troupe froze a little on the spot. Uh-oh.
"Quite." Pantagruel recovered first from the stupor, having found himself a more convenient place to seat. "I imagine you would be quite upset with him?"
"I don't think "quite" is good enough." It was hard to get Tiffania angry – and even then she didn't look angry, merely slightly peeved – but tonight was one of those nights. "So yes, I'd like to have some choice words with him once all this is over."
In a bit of a departure from the usual, this chapter is both Kirche and Tabitha's adventure in Tarbes and the first part of the assault on the merc camp by J's and Moschee, complete with a timely rescue of a half-elf and her flock of children. The second part of the chapter doesn't feel quite right for me, but I hope you can put up with it. We're back to the political intrigue revolving around Siesta's trail, which hopefully should be a bit easier for me to deal with (ironically enough). For now, please, read and review. :)