"Walk always in the light, or we will drag you into it." – Common phrase among the Vigilants of Stendarr
Chapter thirty four: Ominous Intermissions, one short and one longer
It was early in the morning, and the camp was full of newly woken men and women, packing up tents and eating the last of their simple breakfast. Today was an important day, the High Keeper had said.
Said man watched as his forces filed onto the fifteen longships which lay docked by the harbour. Sleek vessels, made from pinewood and designed for speed and versatility, they were capable of frightening velocities once in the air, and were a large part of why the Varangian fleet was something to be feared. They now served as troop transportation for three hundred Vigilants. A mighty strike force, a purification force, even now practicing on their spells. They had been rather hastily recruited and trained, but they would suffice. Albion was under vampiric control, but not for long.
The moment of battle came too soon, as it always did. The Vigilants lined up in groups of three, each with a healer, a defender and a cleanser, though all could wield a mace and take a hit. The High Keeper looked them over from his elevated perch on top of an abandoned wagon; the ships had left already.
"Brothers and sisters, it is time!" a short cheer commenced. "Albion, ravaged by war and beset by undead horrors, shall soon be freed and purified!" this cheer was considerably longer.
"I know we can do this. We are ready. They are not. We possess magics from beyond this world, and the gods watch over us! They lounge now, in their lairs, thinking themselves safe. We shall prove them wrong, when our holy light burns them, our blessed steel smites them, and our united front turns their prey against them!" the cheering was very encouraging. The new ones were getting riled up, and ready. He raised his hand, holding his warhammer above his head.
"For the vigil!"
The Vigilants answered as one. "Let none escape our light!"
And thus, they marched forth. The High Keeper could not help but smile; their victory was all but assured. After all, he had trained them.
You should not be so sure, Keeper. You know as well as I do that vampires are not to be underestimated.
'Of course, my lord, but rest assured that I will lead these men and women to victory. The vampires in this land may be powerful, but this is the largest strike force since the Scarlet nights! We will win, and your light shall spread.'
Very well, keeper. I shall put my trust in your abilities, once more. Call for my help should you fail.
'Of course, my Lord.'
Behind him, a small and bent man was furiously chipping away at a large chunk of granite. The inscription, when it was done, would mark this bay as the vigilant landing site for the historians of the future.
The first village provided little resistance. The thralls were quickly pacified, and the sole vampire there was reduced to ash with no deaths and only one casualty, which was swiftly healed. The village secured, four squads were left behind to keep the population safe and assist in the defence of a strategic entry and exit point.
The main force continued westward, liberating thralls and purifying settlements as they went. Vampires being quite competitive creatures by their nature, it took several days before the Vigil ran into any significant resistance. By that point, the marching force numbered two hundred and fifty-five, having lost a total of fifteen vigilants to various foes and leaving the rest behind to secure strategic locations.
The walled town before them was called Scipeton, according to the decrepit sign by the gate. And it was filled to the brim with thralls, with the vampires holding out in the town hall, now corrupted and used for its spacious interior and many rooms in the basement. The scouts reported almost no vampires on the walls, but that was not much to go on. With these many thralls, there had to be over thirty of them in there.
The High keeper made sure the troops' morale was high, though several of them would likely meet their end fighting for the cause today. Together with the rest of the keepers, of which there were five, each in command of sixty fighters, he planned out the assault.
On the eighth day of the invasion, the siege began. Thirty cleansers called forth a rain of paralysing and cleansing magic, showering the troops on the walls in holy light. Simultaneously, defenders clad in steel plate armour and wielding steel maces struck the gate, breaking through with the aid of the High Keeper, who crushed the thick oak planks like they were rotten with his warhammer. He was first through the gate and into the town, which was good for both morale and fun.
It had been a long while since he had been in a good fight.
Securing houses along the way, the defenders moved on when all inside were either knocked unconscious or convinced to give up. Usually, the former was the case, given most of the town being enthralled. After the defenders came three squads of cleansers and healers, systematically loosening the bonds of thraldom from the townsfolk and healing their injuries. This tactic proved very effective, with only one defender being seriously hurt from a surprise attack, and the healers patched him up quickly.
Effective or not, the tactic was not quiet. When around a third of the town was cleansed of the thralls, the vampires were well and truly awake. The incoming horde of skeletons, reanimated corpses and more thralls proved that.
The overwhelming numbers began to show, with each vigilant being outnumbered three to one. The High Keeper chuckled. Sending thralls and undead to fight vigilants? He pitied the vampire fools.
The vigilants, true to their training, formed squads. Thus began what would have been called a massacre, had the enemy been alive. The defenders would attract the attention of a few enemies, and hold them off while the cleanser released the thralls and disintegrated the undead. The healer would call forth a circle of protection and keep his squadmates alive and kicking.
It was tried and tested, a tactic used by vigilants for several decades, and they had refined it to an art form. The high keeper was very proud, seeing his forces out there in the field. This was why he had only brought the elite for this mission. No mistakes.
And so, within ten minutes the horde had dwindled substantially, and the vampires themselves joined the fray. Reluctant to enter the burning rays of the sun, they sent forth spears of ice and bolts of lightning from within the shade of the town hall. Defenders raised wards to protect their more vulnerable squadmates, whilst the healers went into overdrive trying to heal everyone who had been hit by the deadly projectiles. Cleansers focused on striking back, and yellow orbs of Sun fire flew true, forcing back the undead mages. The line had weakened, though, and the thralls and undead took advantage of this in a mad push.
The High keeper was having none of that, and charged in, releasing a battlecry. Around him, undead became ash and thralls were driven off, and when he lacked opponents close by he called forth a circle of protection and sent spell after spell into the town hall, keeping the vampires' spells off of the other vigilants, who could concentrate on repelling the horde.
Said horde grew ever smaller, as thralls were set free and undead purified. Only when less than twenty thralls and fifty undead remained did the vampires deem the battlefield ready. That, or they figured that mindless undead and stupid thralls were not going to work against this force.
Attacking in the day was extremely beneficial for the vigilants, as always. Each vampire groaned under the burning rays of the sun, and they moved only slightly faster than mortals would. Still, they made quite the fearsome sight, welling up through the town hall doors like a torrent of darkness, red beams of Drain Life spells finding their ways to the vigilants.
Still, like every other undead, they were driven back by holy spells. Seven of them had fallen before they were all out of the town hall, and more continued to fall. They took vigilants with them, though; some of them were strong of will, enough to break through the circles of protection and get at the unarmoured casters when the defenders were occupied.
When it was all over, roughly thirty five vampires had met their end, and taken eighteen vigilants with them, mostly healers. Many more were wounded, but they would be healed once they returned to the base camp. The High keeper surveyed the town, decimated by the undead, enthralled and now released. Families slowly exited their homes, instructed to stay inside until the battle was won, and began sullenly searching for their loved ones in the piles of bodies and other buildings.
Several wept openly when they found their relatives, used as cattle by the undead, gone now from this world forever. Others praised the Founder, who had sent these armoured men to aid them in their plight.
The High keeper stayed in the town for a few hours, called for a few groups of healers to aid further in the recovery of the hurt civilians, and ordered a few of the junior vigilants to search the town for any hidden enemies. Then, he walked back to the base camp, thanked his lord for protecting so many, washed himself of the blood, guts and ash which had stained him, and slept for a few hours dreamlessly.
Viewpoint change!
Faelar had sand in his boots, his newly acquired gleaming breastplate was half a size too big, and the helmet his commander had insisted he wear was almost unbearably hot in the desert heat. Still, he continued his work, fighting a constant battle to keep his sand schooner upright and headed due west.
If he fell behind his formation, they would not stop to wait for him. He would be discarded as a weakling, unfit to follow the great elven race into their glorious future as they once again would wander the forests of their ancestors and drink the water from the hidden springs they had named holy in ages gone by.
And all thanks to their new leader.
He had descended from the heavens to them in a great explosion almost two decades ago. It had taken out a frigate in the Great Fleet, and he had been picked up by them when he displayed unknown powers and expressed friendliness.
He had gone on to convert almost all the captains to his cause, and then seized power from the council of elders in a quick and relatively bloodless coup. After that matter had been dealt with, the Justiciar (for that was what he claimed to be his title) had turned his, and the rest of the elves' gazes westward. And now, after a hectic twelve years of preparation for war, it was finally time.
Pulled from his musings by a groaning rope, Faelar ran across the deck to secure it before the great wind the Justiciar had ordered conjured up caused it to tear loose. Soon, they would commence the invasion.
Soon, humans everywhere would give way to their rightful overlords.
The Great Crusade was coming.
End of chapter 35
Author's Comments:
Well, this took too long. As always, I suppose. No matter, it is here now. Short, maybe strange, and without Ysmir or Louise. Still, it is something.
THERE ARE TWO EASTER EGGS IN THIS CHAPTER. FIND EITHER AND GET AN HONORARY MENTION AND SOME INFLUENCE OVER NEXT ARC.
Ossa out.