James sat in his chair, blankly staring at a spot on the wall. The voices of everyone around were muffled, their shouts and calls falling on deaf ears. Just an hour ago, he had been preparing for the midsommar. The townspeople were setting up tables and chairs for a grand feast, one that would dwarf the bloom festival’s own. However, before the Jarl could kick start it all, Falrick had come to him. The wizard’s words were one that stuck to James and made everything in the world come to a halt.
“The marauders are invading Vindis.”
Seamus had sent the message through Nathan, using the wizard’s crystal ball to contact Falrick. According to the old wizard, the transmission was cut out soon after the warning was given. Falrick had a few theories, none of them good. The last hour had been chaotic since, with the townspeople panicking and the young clan leader calling a meeting in the longhouse. He wanted to sort it out, to form a plan. Yet James had nothing.
The people in the longhouse were in a panic. Felix was doing his best to calm Nora and Otis. Harald sat there with a worried gaze, while Helen’s face was pale with realization. The orcs were clamoring amongst themselves, arguing about whether or not they should fight. Archibald was freaking out, the elf pacing back and forth in the chaos. Haggard was even quiet, his gaze focused on the ground. Malik was in the corner, watching everyone as he pondered.
James sat in the middle of it all, his mind blank and his stomach twisting in on itself. There was nothing he could do. If the marauders were raiding the city, it meant that they had enough manpower and resources to do it. Deimos didn’t seem like the kind of man to be the underdog. If he was raiding Vindis, he either had more than enough men, or more than enough firepower. James’ own clan had grown, but it was far from being enough to repel a city invasion.
There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say to quell the fear of the townspeople. James looked at his hands, which shook a little. Was he scared? Was he that hopeless? That he felt helpless infuriated him. He clenched his shaking hands into fists. He was angry at himself for being too weak, for being too slow. James knew once Deimos was done with Vindis, Yorktown was next. The entire island was doomed, no option left other than to leave and scatter.
James’ thoughts were interrupted when Dahlia’s hand grabbed at his arm. He snapped out of his stupor, the clamoring voices around him now gone. Everyone was quiet, their focus on James. Dahlia was looking at him, her amber eyes calming him in a way.
“James, what do we do?”
The blond man looked at her, his throat going dry. He wanted to tell her the truth, to tell her he truly didn’t know what he could do. Yet he couldn’t. He couldn’t give up hope. Not when they have gone this far. They went through so much together. He couldn’t throw it all away like this.
‘James,’ Faust muttered in his mind. The spirit sounded somber, almost wistful. ‘There’s a way around this. Falrick himself has gone through it before, back during the Halvorson. Ask him what we could do.’ James slowly nodded at the spirit’s advice. He turned to the wizard, who looked just as pale and shaken.
“Falrick, you went through this before. What can we do?” James forced himself to be stoic and straightforward. It wouldn’t do anyone good if he showed his fear.
The wizard blinked and turned to him. “If the marauders are raiding the city, then it means that they’ve shut down the totems that connect the city to the ley lines. It means that the city’s alarm systems are disabled, making it so that the other clans are oblivious.”
“The other clans… Did Seamus contact them?”
“I doubt it. Seamus looked and sounded desperate. It’s clear we were the last resort.”
“Shit.” James shook his head, his left hand moving through his hair. “Can you contact the other clans? Maybe we can alert them?”
“We can’t,” Falrick shook his head. “I can’t contact anyone I don’t know. Besides, my crystal ball could only reach so far.” The wizard sighed. James resisted the urge to loudly curse. He needed to keep his nerve.
“Can… Can we reconnect the city to its ley lines?” Dahlia asked suddenly.
“What?” Falrick raised his head.
“Can we reconnect the city to the ley lines? Is it possible to activate the totems once more? If we do that, maybe we could contact the nearby outposts and get reinforcements?” The shaman’s words seemed to breathe new life in Falrick.
The wizard sat up straighter, his eyes sparking with hope. “Yes… If we can reactivate the totems, we could bring the city back to life. If we could get just one of them on, we could raise the alarm system!”
James looked at Dahlia, his heart fluttering with excitement. They had a chance, after all.
“Can you really do that?”
“Yes, with the right materials, we both could reactivate the totems and sound the alarm. That is, if we could get to them in time.” Dahlia’s expression faltered. “We won’t be fast enough… The city is too far away for us to get there in time.”
“There is a way,” Falrick revealed, his finger raising.
“What do you mean?” James asked.
“I was planning on testing this in the near future, but it looks like this situation is calling for it.” Falrick sighed. “Our solution is floating the harbor, waiting to be used.”
Gwenyth could smell the ash from her cell. It made her sick to her stomach. She looked up at the window, seeing how smoke rose into the orange sky. The raid had begun not too long ago, around an hour after Arthur left her here. Since then, she had been trying to break out her cuffs, to get free. Yet she couldn’t. The shackles were made of a material that was supposed to even resist the strongest of berserkers.
They were even enchanted with mana draining runes, which was overkill considering that the elf had only two castings left. Gwenyth could only sit there, stewing in her thoughts and guilt, as the city burned in the background. She shifted in her cell, her eyes darting around the dank room once more. Despite there being nothing to free her, she did it anyway. Out of hope or stupidity, it could have been either.
Just like last time, nothing. It was all barren, all except for the body of that city guard. The elf had already considered searching the man’s body, to see if he had a key. However, she soon discarded the idea after finding out that his body was out of reach. Gwenyth stared at the dead guard, her thoughts slowly going to Arthur and Eilif. They were probably burning the docks and killing any fleeing civilians. All to make sure their plan went flawlessly. The elf gritted her teeth in anger. She chastised herself for being stupid enough to serve the Lumen Kingdom. The elf had foolishly believed that things had changed decades after. How naïve she still was.
“What a fool I was to believe that things have truly changed,” she muttered to herself. The sound of fireballs sounded out in the distance, signifying to the elf that even after centuries of consequences, the ones in power always make the same mistakes.
“Wallowing in your anger and guilt?” a voice suddenly whispered. The elf raised her head in surprise, her eyes searching the dim room. There was no one around.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“It isn’t important,” the voice answered. Gwenyth turned to the front of the jail, her ears pinpointing the source. It was the city guard that was slumped against the wall. His head was covered in the shadow of the prison, but Gwenyth could still see the blue pinpricks of lights that represented his eyes. She looked at the man’s hands, seeing how the skin shriveled and blackened. Tiny bits of crystal even formed.
“We’ve been observing you, Sterling,” the corpse muttered. “Watching you ever since that day…”
“Who are you?” The elf asked with wide eyes. She sat upright, watching as the guardsman’s corpse shifted forward. The sparse light in the cell was enough to reveal glimpses of the clouded crystals and frostbitten skin that covered the body. Realization hit the elf.
“You’re that thing from Buravon,” she realized aloud. “You’ve been watching me?”
The thing nodded. “To tell you the truth, we’re starting to believe that you might be on our side.”
“Side? What side?” Gwenyth leaned forward. “You mutilate and slaughter people. You consume them and use their bodies as fodder. I will never be on your side.”
“Oh, but you are. You hate the gods. You despise the sins of man. We too hate it all. Delphine, Myr, they’re all false icons and power hungry bastards.”
“What are you?” The elf asked, “You’re intelligent, comprehending, and even worship something. What in Dremor’s name are you?” Her question seemed to silence the abomination.
The thing almost looked to be pondering it, its head tilting. “Have you ever wondered where the dark gods went?”
“What?”
“Why is it that only light gods exist? Delphine, Caelus, Horus. Where are the dark deities?” The corpse asked. Gwenyth blinked. She thought of Myr almost immediately, but soon brushed that away. As insane as he was, Myr wasn’t evil. He was simply crazy neutral, a force of nature needed to balance life.
“I… I’m not sure,” she muttered. Almost every god she knew about was far from evil. The closest were Iendis and Myr, but again, they were just forces of nature and only interested in the fascinating. They did not wish ill will on Azura or humanity.
“There is much you do not know. Knowledge that has been lost to the centuries. Gods that have been forgotten.” The abomination slowly stood up, the light from the window finally shining on its face. Gwenyth stared in horror at the crystals that covered half its head. Its lips were shriveled back, revealing gnashed teeth and black gums.
The thing raised a key with its frostbitten fingers. “We might be enemies, but tonight has made us allies.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We are flickering. Dying. If the city falls and the draugr dies, we will cease to exist. Deimos and Arthur must not be allowed to win.” The abomination moved to unlock the cell, its body shuddering as it did so. Gwenyth could see how the thing’s glowing eyes began to flicker and weaken. It fell soon after opening the door, its hand reaching to the elf.
“The last of the ley line totems have been disabled. This is the most I can do,” it weakly muttered. Gwenyth could only watch as her shackles grew cold. Frost formed around it, the runes on the metal dying. The elf only had to strain against them to break the shackles. She stood up soon after, her eyes moving to the shriveled corpse. Its words stuck to her. Was stopping Arthur the best thing to do? Will that thing really come back if she did so?
Gwenyth looked to the window of her cell, her ears picking up the sounds of distant battle and fireballs. She only had to focus on the screaming to make her choice.
Argyle coughed as he hung onto the debris of his longboat. He blinked rapidly, his blurred vision focusing on the harbor nearby. His memories flashed back to him, recollecting what had happened. The dwarf had just called in it for the day, his men rearing to take him to the docks. Yet before they could even do it, that marauder ship rammed their boat. Argyle could only remember the screaming banshee that was strapped to its hull.
The dwarf looked around for his men, trying to see if any survived. His heart dropped when he saw the countless floating heaps in the water. The sea was tinted red, filled with burning debris and dead men. Argyle struggled to paddle, his gaze focusing on the city ahead. He soon wished he didn’t. Plumes of black smoke rose from Vindis, embers floating everywhere as the sounds of screams and battle reached him. The docks were on fire, half of its ships sinking or set aflame.
“This is a dream…a nightmare,” Argyle told himself. He would wake up any minute now, hungover and aching with a migraine. He even pinched himself multiple times. However, he soon figured out it wasn’t a nightmare. This was reality. The marauders had come for Vindis, in the same way they came for Yorn Halvorson. The dwarf spotted what looked to be survivors, civilians, and city guards running for the longships at the harbor. He could also see the armored soldiers on the other side, their swords drawn and their capes blue in color.
“Lumen soldiers? What are they doing here?” Argyle was confused at the sight of these men, his heart soon filling with dread when he saw their bloodied weapons. He knew these men were far from the cavalry. The armored soldiers stabbed at bodies, making sure they were dead as the mages at the rear set buildings aflame. The dwarf wanted to scream at the oblivious survivors nearby. He wanted to warn them of the danger. Yet his throat was hoarse and his body was weak.
Argyle tried to swim, to paddle his way to the docks. Still, he was too slow. The lumen soldiers had already spotted the survivors. The dwarf could only watch in horror as they slaughtered everyone on the harbor.
Daven Larsson cursed to himself as he hid in the alleyway. He watched as marauders rushed past, their red handprints painted on their bare chests and armored plates. Never in a thousand years did he think they would raid the floating city. Not when Vindis had a foolproof security system. Yet here they were, burning buildings and slaughtering the people.
“Sir, what do we do?” One of his men asked. Daven looked at his fellow clansman. He looked like how Daven felt. Scared shitless.
“We wait for reinforcements. The alarm must have sounded by now,” He managed out in a whisper. Clan Olafson had outposts nearby the city. Once they get notified of the raid, they would surely come to assist, as well as the rest of the clans that owned a stake here.
Daven knew they would come. They had to come. Otherwise, what would be the point in that alarm?
“We have to do something!” Another hissed. “We cannot stand here while these animals destroy our city!”
“Are you insane?” Daven looked at the man in disbelief. “This is a losing battle. Sacrificing ourselves won’t do anything but give those monsters a thrill! No, it is best for us to stay hidden. To stay quiet and wait for help.”
That seemed to irritate some clansmen, their expressions contorting to that of anger and frustration in response. It was only when a fireball sounded out that they finally broke.
“Damn you, Daven!” One suddenly shouted. “I’m not standing here idly while they slaughter our people!” He raised his shield, the clansman pushing past Daven as he left the safety of the alley. Daven could only watch as one by one, his men left him. They all rushed to the streets of Vindis, shields raised and swords brandished.
The emissary stood there, dumbfounded. He was alone in the alleyway now, the only thing keeping him company being that of the serpent on his tabard. He gulped, wondering if he, too, should join the fight. Daven shook his head. No, he wanted to live. He needed to live.
The coward of the Olafson clan would soon retreat into the shadows in hopes that he could outlast the raid.
Lars shouted in glee as he struck another man with his warhammer. He watched with delight as the guard’s head caved in, spilling blood and brain matter all over the street. The marauder rushed to the next city guard, who was watching in stunned silence. He took this opportunity to crush this man’s chest. The guard fell back, his raspy gasp sounding as if he had broken glass in his lungs.
Lars reveled in the bloodshed, his adrenaline pumping with excitement as more guards came in to fight him. The berserker chuckled as he lifted his warhammer. He hadn’t had this much fun since the Outsider Wars. Even then, there was no feeling like this. Deimos had let him loose upon the city, ordering the marauder to do nothing more than kill. Lars was more than happy to oblige.
The berserker looked to his left, spotting the other marauders. They were nothing more than hired bandits, yet they were competent enough to allow Lars to do what he wanted. They were burning and raiding buildings, dragging out survivors to execute. He didn’t care for that. Lars only cared for the fighting. It was why he focused on the guards, who all did their best to fight off the invasion. It was all for naught, however, as Lars was an unhinged man with access to potions and weaponry. They stood no chance against him.
“Surround him!” One shouted. “He can’t take us all if we box him in!” The guards all had spears, a challenging weapon that could very well spell the end of Lars. However, he had a counter. The berserker reached for his pouch, his fingers grabbing a vial. Without a second thought, the berserker downed the potion, his body tensing up at the feeling of it. The guards all stopped in their tracks, their gazes fixed on Lars.
“Potion! Get him now before it sets!”
It was already too late. The world seemed to slow down around Lars as the agility potion made its presence known. The berserker grinned and rushed ahead, his hands lifting the warhammer for another swing.
Seamus peeked from the shop’s curtain. He focused on the distant flames of the burning buildings, which spread quickly. It wouldn’t be long before they reached Nathan’s shop. “What are we going to do?” He asked the wizard. Seamus turned around to the interior of the shop, his eyes focusing on Nathan. The wizard was currently strapping a bandolier around his torso, his hands making sure the vials were secured.
“We’re going to have to hold out here. This shop can withstand the flames, trust me.”
“We’re not going to fight?” Bjorn asked.
“Fighting is a last resort for us. We’re not soldiers.” Nathan gestured to Wheaton, Rockford, and the artificer gnomes. They were currently setting up barricades around the windows and doorways. “You can go out there and fight, be my guest, but my employees are not soldiers,” Nathan frowned. “We’re simple tradesmen, nothing more.”
“You’re a wizard! I thought that meant you’ve mastered the main schools of magic,” Bjorn pointed out. “You can fight!”
That seemed to bother Nathan. “It’s not that,” he sighed. “I’m not leaving my shop. This is a place I’ve built up over years of hard work. I’ll be damned before they raid and destroy it all.”
“There are marauders raiding the city. If… When they reach here, this shop will be nothing more than another battleground,” Bjorn argued. His words hung in the air for a moment, the wizard doing nothing more than lowering his head. Seamus tried to catch a reaction, but the wide brim of the hat blocked out the man’s face.
“If we’re really going to fight, then we’ll need allies,” he said. “A wizard alone cannot be enough to take on a full scale invasion. I need people to watch my back and keep me covered.”
Bjorn went quiet for a moment. The dwarf thought for a moment, but it was clear he was having trouble coming up with an answer.
“The Thieves Guild,” Seamus muttered. “They can help. They have to. This is their city as much as it is yours, Nathan. If we get to Markov, I’m sure he’ll appreciate you helping to push the marauders back.”
Nathan moved his hand to his chin. “Yes…that could work. Do you know where the guild is?” He asked. Seamus recalled the passageway he took earlier that day, back when he met with Markov.
“I know of a way to get there quickly.”
James fitted on the last of his armor, the black fur almost tickling at his neck. He moved his arms around and shifted his torso, trying his best to get used to the armor’s weight. Still the steel was far from heavy. It was lighter and much more flexible than James initially expected it to be. Even with his gambeson underneath, the entire armor set was light enough for him to be quick and flexible enough for him to move properly. The orcs had truly outdone themselves.
James looked down at his old short sword, which had once been his go to weapon. It was recently sharpened and cleaned, but it didn’t erase the nicks and scratches of the past. James rubbed his finger over the sigil on the guard before he slung the sheathed weapon over his shoulder, having it hang off his back. It was now useful as a backup weapon, while he used his new sword as a primary. The small hand ax he kept on his waist was still there on his belt, mainly as a precaution.
As James finished gearing up, Dahlia approached him. She was wearing a gambeson and partial steel plate, the set only protecting her torso while her gambeson and chainmail protected her arms. It was scavenged armor that was taken from the lumen soldiers, as evident from the faded symbol of the phoenix that had once been visible on the chest. It was now painted over with a white raven.
“Are you really ready for this?” Dahlia asked as she picked up his steel helm. It was the same one James had used during his quest last frost.
“I have to be,” he muttered. The Jarl looked over at the gravel beach, where orcs and humans alike were preparing themselves. They wore different pieces of armor, all of it ranging from mail, steel, and leather. Yet they all bore the symbol of the white raven. The orcs even painted blue skulls over their faces and helmets, mimicking James’ visage from whenever he had used Faust’s otherworldly powers. There were more people here than James realized. Most of them were town guards, but some he recognized as regular townsfolk. They had volunteered themselves.
The Jarl couldn’t turn down their request as much as he wanted to. Falrick had already told him he needed all the battle strength he could get. The townspeople were also adamant about their choice, as they knew losing this fight would leave Yorktown vulnerable to the marauders once more. No one wanted that. Even Lilith was preparing for battle, despite the language barrier. She had understood enough that Seamus was in danger, and so the berserker was ready to fight. The red-haired woman was currently having Helen fit in her gambeson and armor, as she didn’t know how to.
Dahlia handed out the steel helm to James, her gaze moving to the men and women on the beach. “It’s hard, but you’ll have to show them you’re willing to fight. They need to see their leader be fearless.”
“I know.” James accepted the helm from the shaman, his fingers rubbing over the nicks and scratches in the steel. The memories of the past made its way into his head, reminding him of the times he fought. The abominations, the orcs, the knights, and Deimos. They all had beaten him down to a pulp, had pushed him to his limits, and left him as nothing more than a heap of wounds and broken bones.
‘But they never did one thing. They never managed to kill me. Not fully anyway,’ James thought to himself as he attached the steel helm to his belt.
‘But today could be different. Tonight could very well be the night your luck runs out,’ Faust muttered.
James stopped for a moment. He looked to the gravel beach, to everyone around. The orcs were grouped up, their voices cluttered as they sung a foreign sounding chant. The surrounding humans also partook, their voices joining the chant. James couldn’t help but smile a little.
‘As long as this clan lives, my life could matter less,’ he responded to Faust. The orcs ahead shouted their chant, their fists beat at their chest. They chanted in unison with the surrounding humans, everyone around stomping their feet.
It was a war chant, one that was supposed to prepare everyone for the battle ahead. James looked to the rest of his people, watching as they all joined in. Either from beating their chest or chanting along, nearly everyone around James joined.
The blond man watched, his heart beating in his chest like a drum. While fear hung its shadow over him and guilt dragged at his feet, James couldn’t help but feel excited. His blood was pumping and his muscles were aching. The prospect of battle was ahead and, with it, the promise of clashing steel and bodies. It was a feeling he was used to, one that always made its presence during his past fights. Yet now it was different. Now he was choosing to go into the fray, to fight and push. For the first time, James was the one raiding.
He looked to the ships in the waters, his eyes passing over the symbols of Frostbite and the drawn visages of Draugr’s Haunt. Other ships were around as well, some of them being former fishing boats and others captured bandit ships. They all bore the symbol of the raven, as well as the blue paintings of draugrs and ghouls. Falrick was upon Frostbite’s helm, the old wizard’s eyes meeting with James. They were ready.
The chanting of the orcs and guards grew louder, their attention now to James as he stood upon the small hill that overlooked the beach. While he couldn’t understand the words of the war chant, nor comprehend the significance of it all, the otherworldly man could still feel the tension and excitement of everyone. The Draugr of the South raised his sword in response to the chants and shouts, his eyes burning with magical energy.
Tonight was going to be the night where everything changed.
