The only time Lyle had been saddled with an injury when he was quarterbacking for his team was when he strained his calf from all the running he would inevitably have to do. Sometimes his ol' reliable guys on the offensive line would get beat up, thanks to the grind of their thankless jobs of keeping him safe within the pocket. Their replacements wouldn't be able to handle the competition, and Lyle would have to scramble and make a play to compensate.

He, unfortunately, twisted his ankle that left him on the sideline for a few weeks, and they were some of the most boring two weeks he'd had to endure since he could remember.

It hadn't even been an hour since the kid sitting in front of him decided to make him shut up via knife-point, and the wariness he felt from the moment gave way to boredom. His mortal enemy since Lyle could form coherent thoughts.

He would have loved to chat up the kid, but the whole threat showed that he was smart enough to know when someone was fishing for information, meaning Lyle may as well talk to a brick wall…or rather a spiky wall if he were to try and take a run at it.

This meant Lyle could only be forced to sit with his thoughts and contemplate his options once more as the kid idly chipped away at a stick with his knife near their tent flap's entrance. The way this child was expertly handling such a tool/weapon only made Lyle warier of talking…probably the point, now that he thought about it.

First things first. Fix my leg without anybody getting suspicious. Second thing. Bail as quickly as you can and get back to Freddy and the others…shit. How do I get back?

Lyle quickly realized that the second part of his plan hinged on him knowing the land, which he most certainly did not. He thought of perhaps finding out about these peasants, the village he was at would probably have a map, but he quickly shook that idea aside. These poor people could barely afford to clothe themselves, and if they did have any spare paper, they'd probably wipe their asses with it or sew it onto the rags they pass as clothing.

The earth native could ask, but that would sound suspicious unless he really leaned into the ignorant foreigner gimmick. Something told him that the kid wouldn't fall for it, though.

If only I could heal my damn leg without letting him and however many people are in this village without letting them know I'm a goddamned necromanc…er…wait a minute…

A thought suddenly dawned on Lyle as he watched the kid whittle down the stick in his hands. Lyle, in all of the panic and the suddenness of his situation, realized that just because he could heal himself and use magic didn't mean he had to give away he was a necromancer. Now that he thought about it, Fredericka did mention that other winds of magic specialized specifically in healing.

Grinning at his own ingenuity, Lyle couldn't resist the smirk that came to his face as he chanted mentally in his mind the invocation of Nehek-

Only for him to yelp in shock as his tent literally collapsed in on itself, with even the kid in front of him scrambling in surprise. It was like a boulder had been launched into the right side of the tent, with both occupants scrambling in shock.

Shit! Did the villagers find out anyway? Are we under attack? Fuck it! Lyle refused to have a repeat of what happened at Castle Artois. Not knowing what to expect, Lyle cringed as he pushed his spell to take effect immediately. Lyle cringed, finding himself buried under the tent and the wood that held it up, feeling the bones and flesh in his leg knit and rearrange themselves in their proper shape. The earth native had to admit, it was an extremely uncomfortable process, but after all the sacks and blows he'd taken in football, he knew he could (hopefully) take it.

Thankfully in all of the scrambling, Lyle managed to find an opening in the collapsed tent as bodies shifted around him in a thrashing motion, only motivating the necromancer to make an expedited escape.

As curses and shouts were breaking out around him, Lyle was now finding the splint as more of a nuisance than a help in how he was trying to maneuver himself out. Thankfully after a bit of patience and grit with how he had to deal with bones and muscles being repaired in his leg, Lyle finally managed to crawl out of the tent, turning around, confused with what he saw.

"Nice throw ye' dumb shit!" A messy-haired peasant spat, fumbling on top of the collapsed structure. He was glaring at two other peasants who were looking mighty regretful at their life choices. "I hope you two love grovellin' cause that's what you'll do if Ave comes back to this!"

"You're the shit that ran right into it, ye shit!" A bearded peasant yelled in exasperation. "Your the one she's gonna be skinnin'!"

"She's gonna skin all of you if she has her way!" The one-eyed peasant boy cursed when his head popped out from the chaos. "What in the ladies tit's were you running into here for!?"

"Ey now!" The bearded man shouted back, pointing a thin finger at the boy. "Don't you start usin' that kind of language boy! Also, where's the damned ball!?"

"Piss off!" The boy shouted back while giving him a rude gesture. "You're not my parents!"

"Never mind that!" The messy-haired peasant grumbled, dusting his very messy rags as he stood up. "Jori! What kinda pass was that? It was so far off, even Blind ol' Berger could have aimed better than you!"

"Not my fault you can't look where you're runnin' Ham!" The bearded peasant rolled his eyes. "Plus, it's not my fault that Eudon here changed the shape of it at the last second, I mean, what in the Lady's name were you thinkin'? Adding pointy ends to it?"

Eudon stamped his foot in indignation, very much affronted. "It weren't pointy ends, I was tryin' to make it spiral, you cunt!"

"Fuck for? Make it pretty like your sister's arse?"

"Just a feelin' I got! A smoother feeling than your mom's legs!"

Lyle was momentarily struck dumb by how quickly the insults and course words flowed out of the peasants' mouths. It almost reminded him of the locker room talk that he and the rest of his team would get into. Regardless, in his eyes, it seemed like this was a perfect distraction to make his getaway. After all, these peasants were more focused on griping with each other than paying the foreigner any mind.

It was a chore to stay upright with this splint, but hastily Lyle managed to rip it off, hobbling away with a grin he-

-his eye caught a dark brown ovular object that immediately resembled a football to Lyle. The center seemed a bit too big to be a true football, but then Lyle remembered what one of the peasants had said about pointed tips. As if overwhelmed by a sudden bout of nostalgia, the Earth native bent down and picked up the ball, feeling the texture as if it were made out of clay that hadn't quite hardened yet, while also giving off this strange musty scent.

As Lyle bent down and grabbed the football lookalike, the arguing continued, with the one-eyed child being the most vocal, waving around his knife with erratic volatility. "You shit wranglers better fix Ave's tent! Why are you still arguing about some stupid handball!"

"Well, why bloody not? What else is there to do besides shovel the shit!?"

"With the way you threw the ball, maybe you should stick with what you know!"

"Why, you little one-eyed-how about I shove my handball of down your-

"Football." Lyle raised an eyebrow, looking affronted at the bearded man who in turn stared at him along with everyone else as if they were noticing him for the very first time.

The peasant Jori scrunched his face up in confusion, staring at this foreign-sounding man with scrutiny. "Wh…wha?"

"Football." Lyle repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, holding the dark brown object up and pointing right at it. "This is a football."

"Wha-is not!" Jori denied, frowning deeply. "It's a handball!"

"Football."

"Handball."

"Football."

"Handball!"

"Football!

"Handb-

"Think fast!" Lyle said suddenly with a smirk, throwing the ball right at the bearded peasant who jerked in shock at the speed at which the ball was thrown nearly, closing his eyes and holding his hands up in front of his face. To his surprise, he managed to catch it, but not before fumbling and juggling it a bit in the air. Lyle, however, frowned a bit. "Damn. Was aiming for his chest. Gettin' rusty."

All the peasants just stared in shock before Jori chuckled for a beat, tilting his head in wonder. "Ey now…why can't you throw like that, Jori?"

"Piss off, Ham, if you threw it, nobody would have caught the damned thing!" Turning his head to readdress, Lyle, the peasant, looked suspiciously at the foreigner. "Not a bad throw for…whatever you bloody well are."

Lyle shrugged, playing at being humble. "Eh. It could have been better if the ball was a bit thinner in the center."

"Eh?" Eudon looked incredulous and even downright offended. "Well, of course, it's big! If the handball is bigger, it's easier to catch!"

"Football." Lyle corrected testily, looking more than a little skeptical. "That's where you're wrong. The bigger the center is, the more awkward your grip is when you try to throw it."

Eudon then looked at Lyle as if he were the village idiot. "Well, that's why you hold and throw it by the other side of its pointy end, you daft moron!"

"Well, that explains the inaccuracy of the last throw." Lyle chuckled, shaking his head. "That or you guys just aren't quarterback material."

Jori felt his gorge rising at the blatant disrespect, shoving past his two fellow peasants and getting in Lyle's face. "Oy, who're you to say what's accurate er' inaccurate! And whatever a damned a quarterback is, I can bet me and my boys could be more quarterbacky than you ever could!"

"Toss me back the ball, and I'll prove it to you." Lyle said with swagger, not backing down. Jori narrowed his eyes, not liking the arrogant candor of this foreign ass that seemingly popped out of nowhere, but grudgingly shoved the ball back into Lyle's chest, who, to his credit, didn't budge.

The one-eyed peasant boy, watching all of this transpire with curiosity, suddenly noticed that the man's splint was nearly destroyed around his leg and that he was standing up without it with little difficulty.

With his eyes widening at this realization, the boy made to speak before Lyle spoke up.

"Ey black hair? Go long!"

"Er...long?"

"...I mean run…go run as far as you can and-

"O-oh right, go long-I see, er-right."

The dark-haired and lanky Ham started running away from the group, he was tentative at first, but he eventually broke out into a full-on run, much to Lyle's satisfaction. Before the Earth native made his throw, his eyes were drawn to a piece of the tent flap sticking up into the air, with the tent material blowing directly toward his left.

After taking note of this, Lyle separated his feet until they were at least shoulder width a part and stood parallel toward the direction Ham was running. Measuring the distance, the young man heaved the ball, noting with annoyance at how thick the football was in the center, making it difficult for him to get any spin on it, especially without laces in the center.

Yet with a friendly gust of wind, the ball stayed on target. It twisted awkwardly in mid-air, much too awkwardly for Lyle's tastes, but when Ham looked up in search of the ball and his eyes wide in surprise, he nearly stumbled when the ball practically fell into his outstretched arms, causing the peasants near Lyle including others who happened to be nearby to widen their eyes, somewhat impressed.

Ham's footing was as awkward as Lyle's throw, but eventually, he couldn't help but run back around, a dopey grin on his face, only slightly out of breath, as he addressed Jori. "Why can't you throw em' like that often?"

"W-well, he could have had Ranald favoring im' for all we know!"

"Don't beat on Jori here too much," Lyle said graciously, giving Ham a friendly pat on the shoulder. "He'd be dropping dimes like me if the ball was smaller. Nice catch, by the way! Ham, right?"

"Yessir!" The lanky peasant said with puffed-up pride holding the ball under his armpit. "Finest shit catcher in all of the village, you'll find no one with surer' hands than me!"

"W-well, you be catching the shit if I wasn't makin' it for you!" Eudon griped. "And I CAN make it smaller I just… didn't feel like it until now."

Lyle's smile froze, however, as a specific word stuck out to him that they were throwing around as he once again eyed the musty brown ball that Ham was carrying. "Uh…shit-catcher?"

Eudon rolled his eyes. "Of course, he's a shit catcher, I mean we gotta do something to liven up the cow shit that we roll around in for our noble lordly lords." The sarcasm could have been noticed by even the densest of individuals. "And that's the reason why they're so big! So that we can fit as much shit into those balls for when we throw em' into the pile!"

"Your footballs." Lyle started, staring at his hands with a renewed sense of horror. "Are made of cow-shit?"

Eudon sighed in exasperation. "That's what I bloody said, didn't I? I mean, what else are we going to make them out of? It sticks together just fine when we need it to."

Staring once more at the dark streaks on his hands Lyle immediately thought of ways to watch his precious appendages, only to realize he was an era where sanitation was at its absolute worst. There were no sinks, soap, or hand sanitizer, even those amongst the barrow legions were rarely all that clean. It was a miracle at times when he could find a creek, river, or lake to bathe himself, especially since he tended to be the biggest clean freak in his family.

It was yet another reminder of how dirty these peasants could be and how little of a say they had in it. "Right… where's your nearest creak?"

"Why's that?" Jori asked with a knowing grin. "Too high and mighty for our lowly cow shit, outsider?"

"As a matter of fact, yes indeed." Lyle nodded, not showing any shame. Even Fredericka was put off by how much of a neat freak Lyle was when it came to cleanliness. "Nearest creak, now, please."

"Aww, come one, don't go too quick now!" Ham begged, hopping up and down in clear need of more action. "Why not test your arm a few more times, throw a bit longer and show Jori how it's done!"

"Watch your tongue, Ham. I could easily throw it his way if I wanted!"

"Aww, don't mind him!" Ham snorted. "He never had the makings of a professional shit thrower. Small hands, especially compared to yours sir! Just ask my sist-

"-Done it now, you fucking shitter!"

Jori's bearded face was twisted in anger as he reached toward Ham in a vain attempt to get his hands on him, while his lighter-framed counterpart just laughed in his face, darting out of his reach, which caused a chase to ensue.

Eudon was much less impressed. "We take a break, and now we'll be behind because those two have nothing better to do than piss around. Whether our liege lord is an arse himself doesn't change that he's been grinding his boot heel on our neck for not shifting our vaunted shit faster."

Lyle could hardly blame them if that's what they did, day in and day out. As he stared at his smudged hands and considered wiping his clothes on to remove the crap on his hands, it made the earth native count his lucky stars that his maker wasn't so cruel as to put his soul into these poor bastards' lot in life.

Gathering cow poop, which was most likely used as fertilizer… You'd need a lot of cows for that, and Lyle didn't envy the thankless work put into it. He was genuinely impressed that they thought of the football idea to at least make their job more entertaining.

Eudon clearly could see that Lyle was still listening, even with his two fellow peasants still having their merry chase, and thus didn't stop his rant. "Honestly, I'm surprised our lord hasn't killed us out of the sheer disgust he has for our kind…probably would have if it wasn't for th…" Eudon then sucked in his lips, looking side-eyed at the one-eyed child who was giving him a warning yet desperate look. Lyle didn't miss these looks and couldn't help but be curious, staring right at Eudon.

"...if it wasn't for what? Come on now, don't leave me in suspense."

"...not for what…who…erm, I've already said enough-would, you two, for the lady's sake, just stop and get back to bloody work, we've messed around enough for one day!" Eudon stammered, yelling at his two fellow peasants in equal parts frustration, and nervousness. Lyle couldn't help but look back at the boy, who stared warningly at him back.

That girl Ave related to this? Why be so tight-lipped about her?... weren't they worried about pissin' her off too? They seem more worried or…protective or something when it comes to her than their liege lord.

Sadly for the Eudon, Jori's dogged determination had allowed him the opportunity to finally catch up to him, and as if Ave's tent hadn't received enough abuse, the bearded peasent tackled the lankier one right into the pile, causing a crackling sound to be heard, signaling even further damage was done.

In a moment, the two peasants cringed, not in pain but in the realization, that if she wasn't going to before, Ave was really going to let them have it.

Lyle momentarily forgot about his dung-covered hands and couldn't help but chuckle at their misfortune.

Eudon facepalmed.

The one-eyed boy scowled as fiercely as his underage face could manage, and given his complexion, that wasn't so difficult.

"That tears it!" The child practically screeched, getting all the peasants present to freeze up once he started waving his knife around. "Forget waiting for Lady Ave, I'm skinnin' you lot now!"

"Skin Jori first! He's the one pouncin' on me!"

"Shut your damn gob, Ham! W-huh? What's this noOOWWWWhat in the Lady's name!"

"Wh-what! What is it!" Eudon said, feeling his skin crawl at the volume of Jori's scream.

"Sk-skeleton-bones! Wh-why is there lady-damned bones in here!?" Jori and Ham were scrambling away from the clear bone white skeletal bones that were sticking up from where they had landed. Lyle felt himself suck the air in between his teeth as he realized what the two had landed on.

It was the skeleton he kept in his coat. He thought he'd lost the very coat when running from those knights earlier. He could quickly tell from the many different bony arms now clearly visible from the mess the peasants were shuffling away from him in haste. Wait. If I lost my bones and coat back to those trees from earlier, how'd this gal get her hands on them in the first place? Why is her mere presence suddenly leaving me with more questions than answers?...does she know what I am? Lyle then turned to the boy whose eyes were wide looking between Lyle and the bones, clearly knowing more than he had initially let on. So the kid knew, the girl knew, these guys obviously don't know…the hell is going on here?

"What in the lady's name is that girl doing gatherin' bones?" Ham mumbled, eyeing the bone pile warily.

Jori huffed in annoyance and clear jittery nerves. "She's a woman. Who knows what she's thinking."

Eudon was much less forgiving, however. "Told you morons to just stick to the job, but no! You

had to go and bumble about and throw the shit where it's not meant to be thrown!"

"We were bored, Eudon. Sod off and get off our backs! How were we to know that we would unearth Ave's weird desires?"

Ham scoffed. "Well, maybe if you could throw the ball better."

"I would have if Eudon wasn't so shite at making our balls-

"I make them the way they're supposed to be made, bug-beard!"

Seriously…do these guys bicker all the damn time? I mean if I was shoveling shit all day, I'd probably find some way to pass the time too…maybe I can use this to my advantage…and make my hasty escape.

With the peasants more occupied with one another, Lyle began subtly shifting backward, not wanting to risk any of them finding out who he was with those bones. Granted, much like how he used his magic to heal his leg, he could easily use that same magic to kill these guys, but Lyle wasn't a cruel man. He didn't want to dump on some guys already down on their luck with this lowly job they were saddled with.

Right now, getting back to the Barrow Legion should be his highest priority…Even if I have no earthly idea where I'm going-

"GOBLIIIIIIINS!"

The scream was feminine enough to be confused as a women's, only for the five individuals near the broken tent and all other nearby peasants to look behind them and see some of their leather-wearing countrymen bearing hoods and cowls as they rushed towards them with hurried energy.

"Shit!" Jori cursed. "Here come Ave's friends now! Ham! Fix that tent as best you can before SHE sees what you've done!"

"What I've done? Wait, why do I gotta clean up-

"Will you two idiots shutup!" Eudon cursed, his eyes looked both irritated and mildly panicked. "Wh-what's all this talk about goblins?"

"The Goblins are coming!" One nearby man was shouting running toward, but not to the group specifically. "The goblins are bloody coming!"

The cowled men continued to rush forward, shouting the same thing over and over, spreading out throughout the village to spread the word as quickly and efficiently as their voices allowed them to. In Lyle's estimation, it was almost as if they were replicating Paul Revere and the minutemen at the beginning of the American Revolution. He didn't know whether to feel slightly patriotic or worried at the implications.

Eventually, a man, Possibly the tallest man Lyle had seen up until this point, came into everyone's field of view as he took long strides past his fellow men through the village center, with many of the denizens looking more panicked and worried by the meer presence of these newcomers.

The one-eyed boy stumbled forward, almost shocked to see the man along with everyone else near Lyle. "What… what's Hugo doing here?"

"That the big guy?" Lyle asked him.

As if suddenly remembering he was here, the child became tight-lipped, his eyes briefly flickering to Lyle before he continued to stare at the large and clearly in charge Hugo.

"He mentioned goblins…" Eudon wondered allowed, looking very unnerved by the sudden arrival of these men. "Is…is that why the bowmen of Bergerac are suddenly being so open… what's going on here, boy?"

"I… I'm not sure."

On the one hand, Lyle really felt like he should make himself scarce at this point with not only the arrival of these newcomers but also with this talk of goblins. But, at the same time, something kept him rooted on the spot as this Hugo fella stomped past his group and seemed determined to get into the village center and draw the denizen's attention. He does so in short order.

Before he can start speaking Lyle notices a flash of red in the corner of his eye and sees a familiar buck-toothed redhead he had spoken to briefly before this chaos started.

"Pissed redhead at three o' clock." Lyle said worriedly, seeing the cross look on Ave's face as she laid eyes on what remained of her tent.

"Wha?" Ham, uttered, looking confused with the rest of the peasants nearby."

Lyle rolled his eyes. "On your left."

Doing as the foreigner suggested, the peasants stiffened, eyes going wide. It was Jori who spoke first. "Ham did it!"

"Fuck you Jori!"

How quickly they turn on each other. Lyle thought with no small amount of mirth.

Ave looked ready to tear into them a brand new hole, but her expression seemed to be warring between showing outrage to her ruined home and toward Hugo was moving what appeared to be a big crate, stepping on top of it to make himself appear even taller than he already was.

Finally, Ave just looked at the one-eyed boy, who seemed shame-faced at the debacle that had happened on his watch.

"I'll…deal with all of you later… now's far from the time." The buck-toothed woman gritted out, making the men flinch as Hugo spoke, quickly gaining everyone's attention.

"Unless you don't have any, your ears are working quite fine, you lot…goblins are coming. Goblins that come from Massif Orcal, and they're not here for your teeth this time-

"W-we gave 'em all the teeth we could give!" One frantic-looking peasant shouted, noticeably lacking at least half the teeth in his mouth, looking both panicked and outraged. "I-

"Apparently, your ears aren't working." Hugo interrupted. "Because you'll have heard they aren't here for teeth. Not this time, at least not through any deals-not anymore. Ugbar's coming for your teeth AND heads this time to prove himself a worthy boss to usurp Grom the Paunch… He'll be here in a few short hours…with him, he brings a host of goblins that we can't hope to outnumber, and I have too few brigands to help in any defense…if you flee now, you can maybe outrun them…though some of them are riding wolves so, you'll need to leave now. Me and my boys can help direct a pathway in the forest and where we might have a chance at losing them."

Lyle could feel the entire mood of the village shift once more. That nervous, bubbling and startled energy quickly shifted one to panic. If Hugo was hoping for a more orderly and exercised exit with everyone following the rules and regulations that come with being in a line, then he clearly missed the mark. Looking at the peasants he'd interacted with since getting here, Jori, Eudon, and Ham all looked wide-eyed and horrified by the news…yet strangely resigned, as if their fates had been sealed. They were looks of despair that were tough to replicate in their sincerity.

Looking at the child, Lyle was struck by the lack of fear on the boy's face. Instead, there seemed to be a low level of silent intensity on it. His one singular narrowed, with his mouth thinning, showing little fear but only a high level of anger.

It was a deadly combo of the two for the rest of the village. Having played in games where the crowd's reaction could help or hinder a team, Lyle had developed an instinctual talent for reading a crowd's mood and knowing how it would blow depending on what happened on the football field. How bummed they would be when someone dropped a pass. How amped they could get if their defense could sack the quarterback or if their offense scored a touchdown?

This crowd was verging on the edge of panic, and Hugo knew it. As booming as his deep and gruff voice was, it was as if he and his men were trying to drown a tidal wave they'd helped cultivate, and it just wasn't happening.

And just like the mob of people began doing three things.

1: Most began running around haplessly as if to flee right then and there or to get what little belongings they had from their huts and THEN run.

2: Despair right then and there and stand aimlessly in a panicked state, not knowing where to fight or flight.

3: Rage in denial or at the injustice of the situation, blaming anything and everything on something else to keep your mind off impending doom.

"This wouldn't have happened if that bastard Bastien had just protected us like he was supposed to! Hundreds of us disappearing and even more having to give up our teeth just because he's content to do nothing!"

"He does nothing because these damned Brigands chased him off! This wouldn't have happened if Bertrand and these fucking Brigands didn't come here, all thanks to you, Ave!"

Ave looked beyond insulted, seeming to replicate the faces of many other of these 'Brigands' who were trying to calm the crowd to no avail! "If it weren't for us, you lot wouldn't even be alive here! If you just let us help, we can live another day and-

"Live till' what?" Lyle recognized the new voice as Garland, one of the peasants who'd tried to nick his shoes. "Till' we truly give Bastien a reason to kill us? You know, the second we leave our land, our lives are forfeit! Is that what you want? To live life on the run like you lot!"

"At least we'd be alive!" Another peasant shouted. "What'd you have us do! Stand here and die in our cow shit!?"

"Fuck you Gob!"

"Why aren't we running!? We should be running!" Eudon shouted, running his hands through his thinning hair as he looked frantically. "I'm serious, why in the Lady are we not fleeing right now!?"

"Why bother!?" Jori asked equally panicked. "If the goblins don't run us down, any knight or lord that sees us will! And how will we survive the forest when beastmen live in the bloody woods!?

"A thousand curses on Bastien! He's letting this happen, he has to be letting this happen! How else could so many goblins come here at will!?"

"Will all of you bloody listen!?" Hugo called, trying to reign in the growing fear and discord. "We can't waste time arguing now, we need to head to the forest hours ago! The goblins and that orc are coming as we speak, and if we keep yammerin' about…

The panic was infectious. So much so that Hugo's calls for focus and calm, along with his brigands, trying to in vain to beat some order into the panicking villagers. Even Ave was attempting to join in, but it was too little too late. There were only so many brigands and far too many villagers, and now it was turning into a free for all.

People were pushing and shoving their dirty bodies against one another to get from this way or that. Others were simply throwing fists and hands with tempers flaring on what to do. One man shoved another's face into a pile of cow shit in the chaos-it was utter madness.

Many were looking for ways to flee, run, to do anything to escape the situation.

I'll never get a better chance to run than this. Nobody will be able to keep track of me. Nobody will even notice I'm gone before it's too late…and yet.

Yet Lyle stood still in the eye of the madness. Unable to walk away.

He sighed, realizing what he was about to do was probably the dumbest thing he'd done up till' this point, and that was saying something.

Yet as the earth native called Dhar to his right hand and pointed it right up at the sky, he felt strangely at ease with his decision.

If there was one thing that he knew could snap a crowd out of a frenzy, it was something shocking or horrifying, so why not go for both?

The screams and frenzied calls suddenly found themselves stifled as black pure lightning-like Dhar magic screamed through the air, causing everyone to freeze and flinch instinctually at the powerful and raw display of magic right in front of them.

Eyes were wide as they witnessed the source of such a display, as Lyle looked gravely at the villagers' whose attention he now had.

Better choose carefully, or I might get the wrong kind of attention. "Way I see it, you, you run to the forests, you die. You run to the open plains you die. Flight won't work, leaving all of you guys only one option…to fight."

"Wh…" Ham opened his mouth dumbly, much like everyone else. Even Hugo and Ave looked shocked and silenced. "What did you jus-

"Magic. Necromancer magic, as I've learned it to be called." Lyle openly admitted, internally wincing as he heard people sucking air between their teeth with even more apprehension filling the faces that surrounded him. "Specifically, Dhar is its name."

"I was right." Ave found herself saying aloud. "You really are a necromancer… you're…I thought it weird that those bones were near you but-

Garland was both outraged and terrified. "You knew he was a necromancer!?"

"I-I had my suspicions but, I didn't know for sure!"

"And yet you brought him to our village? Where he could have-

"Coulda-shoulda-woulda, but I didn't." Lyle rolled his eyes. "Sides'. From the sounds of it, you guys got bigger problems with an army coming to take what teeth you have left…also what the fuck is up with that? I mean, seriously? Why teeth?"

Surprisingly, Hugo answered, who was now looking at Lyle with a mix of skepticism and intrigue. "...teeth are used as currency for the greenskins. Brutish lot…so brutish and thuggish are their lot that the one with the most teeth is seen as the…best boss of the lot...that or the biggest of them."

Considering what limited knowledge Lyle knew about orcs, in a fantasy, that did indeed sound as barbaric and thuggish as it came. Keeping the teeth you knocked out of people was one thing, but using it as a form of trade?

Lyle had to do a double-take at the implications. "And you guys just stood there and took it?...or rather just let them take your teeth for god knows how long?"

"Course we didn't just stand there!" Ham practically screamed in indignation. "We…what else could we do?" The greasy-haired young peasant sighed. "Our lord wasn't keen on helpin' us… didn't like us one way or another, and it wasn't till' Bertrand's merry brigand's got here that they backed off of us after moons of this!"

"And now they're back because they believe they might have a fight on their hands!" Garland grumbled. "No thanks, those same Brigands!"

"You're welcome, Gerald!" Ave spat. "Wasn't for us, you'd have at least half your teeth gone!"

Gerald kicked dirt at the woman, even if it didn't reach her. "For all the good it did us! Now instead of being short on teeth, we'll be short on our lives!"

"You keep arguing you can guaran-damn-tee it." Lyle shook his head. "You guys turn tale and run now, you got no chance…but if you take a stand and put up a fight…"

"That's madness!" Gerald stammered. "H-how-wait. Why should we even listen to your lot! You're a lady-forsaken necromancer! Wh-why are we not bludgeoning this man as we speak!?"

Eudon looked at the man as if he'd lost his senses. "Did you not see that black…bolt of whatever it was shot out of his fingers? But, if you wanna have a go at the lad, by all means!"

Gerald made no move to act on that suggestion, as did nobody. Though there was fewer chatter, the wary looks only increased toward Lyle's. Sensing and feeling out the crowd, Lyle turned to the one person who seemed interested in what he was selling. Hugo. "You mentioned that there's an army of goblins coming, right? Not orcs?"

Hugo nodded. "An army of goblins led by an orc, but yes. An army of goblins."

"Now, I admit, I'm not too familiar with goblins, orcs, and what have you, but goblins tend to be smaller than orcs and generally bigger cowards, right?"

"That is correct."

"And how many goblins we talkin'?"

"Over a thousand."

Lyle resisted the urge to suck air in his teeth at the number. Smaller and more cowardly indeed, but a thousand goblins were still a thousand goblins.

Even a thousand chicken-shit pussies could be dangerous in the right conditions. "And how many fightin' bodies we got?"

Hugo was silent, instead looking pointedly at Ave, who, upon noticing her, looked stammered a bit at the question before coughing into her hand, trying to seem nonplussed at the attention she was now receiving. "Does…does that include men and women?"

"It does."

"Almost three hundred."

"Don't much care for them odds." Jori muttered glumly. "Especially if we have to rely on the softer-built ladies to fill in the gaps." The moment he felt a chilling look from a certain buck-toothed red-hed, the bearded man quickly stammered. "N-not that I would protest! Not in this situation! Not at all!"

"Regardless." Ave gritted out of her teeth. "You're only proving my point… necromancer. We need to run while we have the chance."

Lyle raised a confident eyebrow, folding his arms. "Oh, don't you worry about that. I can easily solve the manpower issue real quick. You just said I'm a necromancer, after all."

Ave frowned. "By raising the dead…in other words, raising those who have died throughout our village throughout generations, possibly even raising the corpses of our loved ones."

Lyle didn't shy away from the answer, nodding in affirmation. "If you wanna live, then yeah."

Grumbles and murmurs began to permeate through the crowd of villagers, the idea of raising the corpses of those fallen throughout the times, not sitting particularly well, and Lyle couldn't particularly blame them. But now was the time to drive home his argument as Hugo spoke up. "Tell me necromancer. What do you gain out of this? Why reveal yourself instead of just fleeing? What do you want from us?"

"I'm glad you asked!" Lyle really was because that was a perfect segway into how he would hook these villagers in. "Before I tell you why, let me ask you something? Have any of you heard about an undead army taking over Artois and fighting some Brettonian Knights recently?"

"So that wasn't a rumor?" Eudon asked, surprised, only to widen his eyes in realization. "Wait!...y-you were a part of that army?"

Ave frowned further. She had an inkling that he was a part of that army, but she wasn't entirely sure. She wasn't sure even when she found that man, but she always knew that was a possibility. The only reason she even bothered saving him was the rumors that this undead army was actually treating its peasants well. But, she thought it was just that rumors…yet she saved him all the same.

Eventually, Lyle nodded to the question. "You're half-right. I'm actually the head honcho in charge of the whole Barrow Legion. And, I'll admit, that duke was better than I thought he'd be when it came to curb-stomping anything in his way, but I can promise you, I'm not going to make

the same mistake twice."

The chatter practically exploded, with wild gestures following the most animated villagers. Jori, Eudon, and Ham both backed away slowly from him, yet the one-eyed boy strangely was looking at him differently. Almost akin to respect. Hugo raised his eyebrows by a noticeable margin, while Ave struggled to contain his shock.

Tobie, the other peasant who had tried nicking his shoes, then stepped up next to Gerald, eyes wide with fear. "H-he's a fucking damned one that one! S-somebody slip a knife into his ribs, quick!"

Gerold quickly pounced on that idea. "Throw him to the duke! M-maybe we could get something out of it!"

Eudon frowned fiercely. "G-go right ahead, you lackwits! Have fun doing that before those goblins gut us!"

Hugo, however, raised his voice, simply ignoring the chatter of the peasantry. "We'd heard reports from our fellow brigands about a foreigner taking over the Barrow Legion…seeing you in front of me, however…" The tall and imposing paused as if truly trying to get a measure of Lyle before speaking again, this time with further purpose. "You didn't answer my question, necromancer. What do you want from all of this? What do you want from us?"

Lyle grinned. "I'm glad you asked…Hugo, was it?"

"It is."

"Well, you see, Hugo…I…have a dream."

"A…a dream?"

"Yes…a dream…tell me, Hugo, what's your profession? What do you do for a living?"

For a moment, Hugo was perplexed by the question. Another moment he considered ceasing to listen to this necromancer and following through with the idea of killing him or at least ignoring him to go through with the retreat…even if deep down he knew it would lead to many dying regardless. It was times like this that made him wish Bertrand was here…he was more of a thinker and planner than Hugo himself and would have been perfect for whatever word game this foreigner was attempting.

Still, he was curious as to where this was going. "I'm one of Bertrand's Brigands. Our lot in life is to help our fellow peasants when we can, steal from the wicked and give it back to our countrymen and perhaps bring the most wicked of lords down to heel if we can."

Holy shit, these guys are literally Robin Hood and the Merry Men! I can definitely work with this! "And judging by how quickly you guys are leaping into this dangerous situation, you do more than just mess with nobles, right?"

"We do." Hugo admitted. "We fight the beasts and monsters that those same nobles can't be bothered to fight when needed."

"And tell me? Do the nobles ever thank you for these good deeds? For doing what they themselves should be doing?"

Hugo stared at the necromancer. "We are renegades to them…for too many reasons to count."

"And let me ask you something then…is that right?"

"...it matters not if it's right-

"Actually, it does!" Lyle interrupted, stepping towards the tall man boldly. "Answer me honestly, Hugo, is it right that you have to do something that the nobles themselves are sworn to do? Is it right that you have no choice but to steal from them just to ensure people like the peasants around us can get by?"

"...no."

"No… it's not. Its bullshit is what it is, yet it's going on for…how long has this kingdom existed?"

"Nearly a thousand years…at least that's what I've heard."

"Nearly a thousand years, you people…all of you have lived like this!" Lyle said, addressing the crowd, much to their confusion. "For nearly a thousand years, we have had people like you Jori!" The addressed peasant looked surprised that he was now being addressed and more than a little nervous. "Look at me and tell me honestly, do you enjoy slinging cow shit for a living, with your bare hands no less? Does that make you feel satisfied?"

"Well…not particularly, no…been harder and harder these with more people disappearin' with no explanation… didn't stop till Ave and these Brigands showed up."

"And is that right, Jori?"

"Well, not really."

"Not really or no? Yes or no question. Or do you mean to tell me you're happy with the way your life's progressing?"

"Well of course I ain't bloody happy I just…just-

"Just what? So you ARE happy?"

"No!"

"Say it louder then dammit!"

"NO!" The peasant finally screamed, frustration building up in his skull. "I ain't fuckin' happy!"

"And whose fault is it that you're not happy?"

Jori seemed to hesitate before saying what was clearly a very obvious answer. Especially with so many eyes now turned toward his direction. Under normal circumstances, the bald, bearded, and short-tempered peasant would have checked his tongue, but with the stress of everything happening at once, something seemed to have snapped in him.

And snap he did. "B…tien." The man murmured.

"Louder!"

"That bastard Bastien!" Jori spat out. "It's his bloody fault, so many of us have died, disappeared, and had our teeth yanked out! I say a curse on him! May the Lady lay a curse on him like he's cursed us and this goddess-rotting village!"

"You're goddamn right!" Lyle egged him on. Nodding at the fervor building up with Jori. "And what about the rest of you!? You alright with everything that's happened with you!?"

When a few timid shakes of the head were all that he got, Lyle took it up a notch. "How long has your lord been leaving you guys to fend for yourselves? Weeks? Months?"

"Years." One peasant griped, with some equally miffed fellows of his nodding in affirmation. "Been like this for years…was fine while his father was in charge, but since he died of illness…"

"And you guys have had no choice but to take it, right?" More nods were coming in. More angry looks. More building outrage.

Good.

"Show of hands. How many of you lost loved ones because of this lazy fucker!?" For a moment, a few tentative hands came out. But, when people saw that they were raising hands at all, More hands began to rise. So many hands had grown with solemn or outraged expressions that nearly everyone was hanging on his words now. What stood out to Lyle, however, was that the one-eyed child from before was even raising his hand, making Lyle realize just how miserable this lot had experienced in life.

And I can use that…to devastating effect.

"You're all okay with that?"

More "Nos" were ringing out, but it still wasn't enough for Lyle. So he asked a similar question he'd ask if his team wasn't feeling amped enough for his liking. "I asked you, sorry sacks of shit, if you guys were okay with this guy leaving you all to die! Is that a yes or a no!?"

This time he got through to the collective consciousness of the peasants with a resounding no being shouted around him, much to his satisfaction.

"Well then, it's high time something was finally done, don't you agree?"

Gerold, who was one of the hangers-on, decided to pipe in. "A-are you all forgetting he's a necromancer! A foreign necromancer who-

I cut him off quickly, pouring gasoline on into my momentum. "I said, it's time we all did something about it, don't you think!?"

A roar of yes's rang out from the crowd as they began to get more into Lyle's speech. "Bullshit, I can't hear you, tell it to me louder this time!"

A deafening roar erupted from the village this time. So loud it was that Lyle was sure that it could be heard from miles.

Now it's time to go for the kill. "These goblins are a good start if you ask me! They come here, take your teeth, and rough you up like a bunch of thugs. Now they're thinking that you guys are gonna just roll over and die! Is that what you're gonna do!?"

"NO!"

"That's what I like to hear! And when you're done making these goblins pay for their mistakes, y'know what we're gonna do?" The crowd was now on baited breath, waiting for the answer that Lyle was all too happy to give them. "We're gonna go to this Lord Bastien's castle and make HIM pay for his mistakes too! I don't care If I have to tear him out of it, brick by brick or mortar by mortar! He's gonna answer for leaving you all to the wind, and so help me, I'm gonna be the first and only one to lead the charge if I have to." Another cheer rang. Savage grins and fierce sneers were now appearing on the men and women around them. Even the children looked ready for blood, especially the one-eyed child who had a dark scowl on his face. "And you wanna know why? Because Fuck Bastien! Fuck him and his knights!"

"YEAAAH!"

"And you know why we're gonna fuck him? Cause he's done nothing but fuck you guys over for years! Who knows, the bastard MIGHT just enjoy it!"

A few laughs and raucous roars of approval were heard, with Ham standing up with both arms raised, a furious look on his face as he felt himself get swept up with the fervor and outrage. "FUCK BASTIEN!"

"FUCK BASTIEN! FUCK BASTIEN! FUCK BASTIEN! FUCK BASTIEN!"

"And then when we're done with that, you know what we'll do next? With your help and my undead armies, we'll be unstoppable! The duke won't stop and the king sure as shit can't stop us! We'll make ALL of the nobles pay! Because you guys deserve better! You deserve more than just being punching bags for goblins and nobles! You deserve more than just being shit shovelers for the rest of your lives! You deserve more, do you not?"

"YEEEEEAAAH!"

"Then follow my lead! Follow me as we curb stomp these goblins into the green shit-stains that they are, and then we show that fucking lord Bastien what happens when he screws over his own people! You wanna know why!?"

"WHY!?" The people asked directly, now practically frawthing at the mouth with large promises that Lyle was offering them, the desperation of the situation funneling their hopes into this one man.

"Because! We're going to make Bretonnia GREAT AGAIN!" A whirlwind of Dhar flowed around Lyle's body as he made this declaration, summoning a large group of the undead around him as he reached the height of his speech. Such a sight would have horrified the average villager, especially as Lyle extended his spell of raising the dead to raise skeletons and zombies outside of the group of villagers.

But the people of this village were so desperate by the impending danger of goblins and so downtrodden by their own living situation up until this point that they were hanging on every word and hope that this young foreign man was speaking, who happened to be a necromancer. Sure there were some peasants who were unnerved at working with this foreign necromancer, especially when he began raising corpses with dark magic, causing some to jump and stiffen in fear. Yet they were now in the minority as Lyle mastered the crowd into a volatile powder keg that was now being hurdled toward the goblins.

None of this escaped Ave and Hugo's eyes as they were both surprised at how quickly Lyle had connected with and directed the crowd toward battle. For Hugo, it was a scene almost as reminiscent of Bertrand telling stories and rousing the rest of the Brigands for whatever they were doing, whether protecting the innocent or slaying a nefarious beast. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he almost found himself getting swept up with many of the sentiments that this young man was saying.

But, he also was wary…could such a man that raised the dead truly be trusted? Granted, he'd never met a necromancer who cared or even pretended to care about the peasantry…then again, he often killed them more than spoke with them, so that was beside the point. He decided that for better or worse, he would at least try to help with the men that he had with them…whatever happened afterward, he could consider later.

Ave was of a similar mind but even more conflicted as people cheered around her. She'd grown up in this village and had been trying for years to get Bertrand's men to help her people, who their lord had all but forgotten. In a sick twisted way, she'd gotten what her people wanted…possibly…or perhaps a beast in sheep's clothing that would take advantage of them once the fighting was over. .

Perhaps he would. Perhaps this man was nothing but a charming face covering a necromantic heretical monster that would feast on the carrion from this now inevitable battle.

Yet Ave couldn't help but put that to the back of her mind as the ever-present chant of 'Make Brettonia Great Again' continued to be present in the village. Ever since her childhood, she never thought anything in her life was particularly 'great'. Her father had been killed by a beastmen raid when she was merely five years old, while her mother had disappeared, like so many others, once Lord Bastien had become their liege lord after succeeding his father. Life was short, brutal, and miserable in her home, and while many others had been willing to put up with it as so many peasants had for generations, she was always more rebellious.

It started as a rebellion against her parents before they died. First, it was not sitting still, and second, was not dressing more womanly like the rest of her female villagers…or as womanly as a peasant girl could dress when all they had to choose from was rags. Her running into Bertrand's Brigands was by pure coincidence in her early teens when she again decided to go against her father's word and go into the nearby forest, not heeding his warnings.

They had saved her that day from a group of gors. One moment she was screaming, with tears coming down her face with the braying of beastmen charging at her. The next, they fell silent with arrows sticking out of them. Since then, she'd done everything she could to not only emulate them but to get them more involved with her village, to hopefully do something about Bastien and the greenskins if the Lady permitted. She knew it was a long shot with Brigand's spread thin as it was, but she had to try.

Now, however…if this man's word proved true and he followed through with his claims.

…if not, she made sure to finger a throwing knife under her cowl, hoping that killing a necromancer wasn't nearly as hard as killing an orc.

A/N:

Yeesh. This took way longer than I thought, but then again, this chapter wound up becoming way longer than I expected. It was going to be even longer, but ultimately I decided to cut down on the length. I didn't want to spend too much time away from actually advancing the core story, so here we are. With Lyle leading a band of desperate villagers, so desperate their willing to heed the words of a foreign heretic. Will they succeed? Will they fail? Hopefully, you don't need to wait nearly two months to find out the answer like last time, lol.

Either way, please leave a review, and let me know what you think of the story so far. The next chapter's going to be action-packed if I can help it, so I hope you stick around!