bChapter 2 – Love All The Huge Scaly Monsters/b
In the Grado mountain range, there was a battle going on. A very big battle. Not historically big, because that would involve more humans and heroic last stands, as well as more people dying. But it's big in a sense of this story. Without this battle, the rest of the following events couldn't have happened. Lady Ioran wouldn't have been shot in the head with an arrow and survive. Germaine and Logan wouldn't have fallen through the glass roof. And perhaps, most important of all, we would have never found out why Sir Magnus is so adept with using Light Magic, and what it has to do with a mysterious Bishop called Geoffrey.
Oh yeah, we don't actually know who Lady Ioran is yet. We'll find out later this chapter...or will we? Yeah, we will. But anyway, on with the big battle.
As the first monster, a huge spider beast that justified most people's phobias, decided that Sir Magnus was going to be its appetizer, Logan was already swooping down, Steel Lance in hand, screaming and whooping as the lance pierced flesh, or whatever spiders have. Exoskeleton? Why not. But whatever it was, it was pierced, the lance slipping into bone, a rattling sound its accompniament. The massive spider made a noise that could be described as screaming, or perhaps bloody painful to listen to. Either way, it collapsed, purple blood pouring from the wound. Withdrawing the lance as he swooped away, Logan gave another whoop, yelling down to Sir Magnus, "You owe me, Maggy!"
"Shut up," Magnus replied good naturedly, or as good naturedly as you could when talking to someone whose ear you want to stick a lance in, before turning his attentions to the nearest zombie, who was lurching. Not lurching towards anyone, just general lurching. The reason for this was that it had no head. It was harmless, but he made sure it wouldn't get a lucky swipe with those claws by hitting the zombie square in the chest with the Divine tome. Not the spell – the actual book. Sir Magnus was still incredibly strong for a Monk, and the hit sent the zombie sprawling on the floor.
Sir Magnus nodded to himself, before moving on, being careful to tread on the undead body with his heavy steel boots. Despite being a monk now, he kept the armour on.
Someone was watching the battle, and it wasn't Riev. It was another group of mercenaries. Slightly more famous than Sir Magnus' Mercenaries, these were the Troop of Lord Carstein. There were far less people in this group of Mercenaries than that of Sir Magnus. For one thing, there was only two people: Lady Ioran and Lord Carstein himself. Oh look, it's Lady Ioran. Told you she'd turn up eventually. We'll give a small amount of information on each of them.
Lady Ioran sits astride her horse, with an air of haughtiness that could, and probably would be mistaken for downright horribleness. However, she is a genuinely nice person. She has to be, she's a high-ranking member of the Church of Atheia (or Atheism. See what I did there?). A Valkyrie, she wears a deep black dress that's oh-so-figure hugging (and what a figure! ZING!), and for some reason, high heels of the same colour. Not exactly the best footwear to wear for riding a horse, but there you go. Her hair was long, black as well, with a single white streak that passed through it. It put people in mind of a druidess who did scary things to animals.
Lord Carstein is a similar sort of man, although lacking Lady Ioran's haughtiness. Instead, he was a quiet, well-spoken man with a wit about him that few possessed. He was also a fairly pleasant man, unless you got into an argument with him. Then you'd be removing a garden fork from your chest while your house was set on fire. The phrase 'so sharp he'd cut himself' springs to mind when you look at him, followed by 'what the hell's this freak wearing?' You'd think that because Lord Carstein's dress sense was very odd. Like Ioran, he wore mostly black. Smartly creased pinstriped trousers, and a silk waistcoat with nothing between it and naked flesh (hello, ladeez) gives him the appearance of an upper class gentleman, or at least a stripper trying to be one. Highly polished, and obviously expensive black shoes almost completes the look. What DOES complete the look is the monacle, cane and black, silken top hat that Carstein wears. He's a Druid, as you probably guessed. Atheia's a very liberal goddess, and can see that dark magic can be equally as destructive as light magic.
Atheia may be a liberal goddess, but she's still a psychotic bitch.
And now we return to Past Tense! Shazam!
Ioran turned to Carstein and frowned. "It seems that they're in trouble."
Carstein nodded, although he kept his eyes fixed on the battlefield. He was eyeing the armoured Monk, with a faint smile on his face. "Yes...it does, doesn't it."
"Should we consider helping them?"
Carstein nodded vaguely, not keeping his eyes off the Monk.
Ioran sighed. There was something about Carstein. He wouldn't let something drop. People who he'd had a minor quarrel with would meet him after ten years, and the first words out of his mouth would be, "Call my mother an ugly old toad, will you!" and find that their life will suddenly become a lot more interesting, but a great deal shorter. Ioran noted that. He had a dark side, constantly waiting to be released, and part of the reason he was so powerful was from denying he had a dark side. No, it was just a lapse in concentration when he went berserk, shoved a spanner into that man's brain, and banished his family to a demon dimension. Oh yes.
However, this didn't seem to be a recollection of a grudge. This was a happy time that Carstein was remembering, that much was apparent.
Carstein turned, and gave Ioran a smile. "Let's go..."
Ioran nodded, and whacked the horse across the side of the head with her staff. The horse got the message, and leapt out of the forest.
There was a lot of monsters still to die, Sir Magnus noticed, as he chanted from his Divine tome. As he did, he noticed dreamily how the light energy focused itself into a beam above him, which soon soared into the air. As it did, the monster he was aiming at, a centaur-like beast with an axe that was large and, perhaps more important, extremely sharp, watched it too, enthralled by the light and the pretty shininess. He was soon more in pain than enthralled as the beam soared down out of the sky, enveloping him, as Sir Magnus looked on emotionlessly.
He scanned the battlefield. Logan was above, tackling a group of three gargoyles by himself. As one of the gargoyles stabbed with its lance, Logan swung his own Steel Lance around in a wide arc, using it as a sort of club. It smashed into the first two, sending them sprawling to the ground with broken wings. The third one was smart enough to dodge. However, as it was feeling pleased with itself, Logan thrust the lance forward, impaling the beast on it. Retracting, Logan watched with a sort of glee on his face as the beast fell, landing on the other two and bleeding all over them.
Mr Jack meanwhile was fencing with a Skeleton, and seemed to be winning. Even though there was five Skeletons. Even though he was only wielding an Iron Sword against a mixture of Killing Edges and Silver Swords. Even though he shouldn't be winning. It was a perversion of basic outnumbering, but he was doing it. And now, Mr Jack leapt gracefully over the group of bones. As he landed, he swung his sword with almost inhuman speed, catching three of the skeletons in the head. Skeletons were never the sturdiest of creatures, and the heavy blow from Mr Jack caused them to lose their heads. Literally. And die. He restarted his fencing with the two remaining ones, with every sign of enjoyment.
Geraldine was nowhere to be seen, but she was probably doing some nasty damage. He could hear the Thunder spells being cast, and the lightning crashing into the ground. He could only presume he was winning.
He turned his head round so he was facing forward again, and saw two people walking onto the battlefield with every sign of casualness. One was sitting astride a horse and, as he watched, started chanting. Waves of light started to burst forward, hitting one of the massive spiders that was scuttling towards them. The words 'ripped apart' can be used to describe what the spider looked like once the beam had dissipated and the body was visible.
The other person Sir Magnus recognized. He was in the army at roughly the same time as Sir Magnus. In fact he was in the same platoon: the 3rd Division of Wyrmslayers. He remembered one of the campaigns they had been on...
Or rather, he will next chapter, because I want to add suspense. So nyeh.