Army Battle: Vice vs. Cipher Nex

[Call me J]

This battle will end in three weeks. Best of luck to both competitors.

[Christoph]

It was late. The sun had already vanished behind the rocky hills, quickly sucking the warm color from the sky like a sponge. The night was silent save for the irregular crunching of rocks and soil beneath clumsy feet. Jonathan’s raggedly dressed form half walked and half stumbled through the darkening forest. His tattered brown cloak swayed with each step while his tangled mop of filthy brown hair stuck to his head in a matted mess.

Nervously, he made his way between the twisted, leafless trees that covered the hills and reached for the sky like sinister claws seeking to pluck the very stars from the heavens. They would find few to snatch, however, as most of the the sparkling jewels of the night were covered by a dark funeral veil of clouds stretching over the sky. Even the brilliant full moon was little more than a hazy splotch. It was a typical Salvic sky in the early spring.

The stillness unsettled him. The cool air carried the subtle, natural aromas of pine and dead leaves, but something still wasn’t right. He was sure of it. Even though his logic and reason told him that there wasn’t anything to worry about, he was uneasy. There was no evidence of a threat; no sounds could be heard or movement detected. Perhaps that was what set him on edge. It was as though he wasn’t walking through a real, living forest, but rather a mausoleum dedicated to one. Nothing stirred. Yet as unnerving as that was, he hoped that it remained so.

As the sun sank completely, Jonathan wished that he’d just waited for morning to check his traps. He wouldn’t have needed to worry about walking back home in the dark. Why was he being so skittish? He was glancing over his shoulders like a frightened rabbit instead of acting like a man. His family was hungry; he didn’t want to risk a wild animal coming across one of his snares before morning and making off with his potential meal. The weary man held up his catch. It was a fine brown hare. His wife and two daughters would be pleased to see it. After wandering through the ominous forest for an hour, he would be happy to see them. He would never get the chance.

He died silently with not so much as a breath as he slumped to the ground, an arrow in his skull. The night had begun its reign.

* * * * *

It had been a clean kill – swift, silent, and lethally effective. Yet, it was so… unsatisfying. Sir Ciaphas Gellunberg slouched in his saddle atop Actaeon. The oversized Black Panther padded quietly through the forest, dragging its master’s most recent kill by the head. He sighed and ran his pale hand through his well-groomed blonde hair.

What was the point of killing if the victim felt no fear? He’d treated the filthy peasant as an opponent. The dealing of swift and efficient death was typically reserved for those worthy of being considered real foes. This pathetic victim was just that: a victim – an insignificant wretch to be terrified and toyed with at Ciaphas’s pleasure. What a waste. At least the peon would serve a more noble cause in death than he did in life: that of feeding the army’s small clutch of voracious Ashkore lizards.

The cottage he’d come across an hour before, however, had been a far more enjoyable expedition. A woman and two girls were there by themselves. Ciaphas had ridden up to the home in broad daylight, taking delight as the three of them screamed and ran for the door. He let his riding panther pounce on one of the girls and have his fun batting her around for a while. The knight had let the remaining two hear the third’s screams of terror and pain while he pretended to struggle for an entrance into their ramshackle cottage. That part was just for fun, of course, as breaking in was just about as simple as breathing. He’d enjoyed it; it almost made up for how boring his fourth kill of the day was. Almost.

Their remains were left pinned to the dead trees with wooden spikes as a warning to trespassers. This forest and everything in it belonged to Cipher Nex.

He smiled in spite of himself. To think, instead of stalking the wilderness like a reaper of death, the twenty-five year-old noble could have still been sitting at home, waiting for his father to hurry up and die so that he could claim the estate. Besides, if things went as their leader planned, Ciaphas could carve out his own chunk of the new order. The schemes of carving out a new empire seemed far-fetched at first, but they grew on him. There was something about that chef, their leader, that drew him in. What can I say? Megalomania sells.

A chorus of familiar reptilian snarls shook the knight from his reverie. He was back and the horse-sized Ashkore lizards smelled the fresh blood of his victim. The current base of operations for Cipher Nex wasn’t exactly impressive. Though it was once a mighty castle, it was now little more than a pile of ruins. It provided a dark, gothic atmosphere but offered little real protection save for the partially intact keep in the center. That was where their leader was. That was the command post of Christopher Knighton – the butcher of souls, the keeper of the recipe of death, the caterer for the Abyss.

Hopping off his mount and letting the feline fight it out with the reptiles over what little meat the peasant provided, Ciaphas started for the keep. It didn't take long at all for three of the large scaly beasts pounced on the kill, their dragon-like jaws rending flesh and crushing bone. Spiked tails batted against leathery green flanks as they scuffled over the tiny meal. The crumbling castle was swarming with activity. Hundreds of warriors and from hundreds of leagues in every direction, were going back and forth, patrolling or doing other duties. There were also a large number of unfamiliar faces, but none of them were soldiers. The ancient fortress was a decaying, bloated corpse compared to whatever its former glory had been. Now, the crumbling grey walls were the color of dead flesh and large patches of green moss covered the masonry as rot covers a decomposing cadaver. The knight sincerely hoped that Knighton included some serious repairs in his master plan. Perhaps that was what the new arrivals were there for.

The keep was little more than a box of stone and mortar. Ciaphas stepped through what used to be the front gate and made his way to the far right corner, to the only intact room in the entire broken castle. It wasn’t much; it was probably once a servant’s chamber. It seemed ironic that the man he, someone of noble blood, was taking orders from used such a place as his center of command. Granted, many great men had humble beginnings.

The room’s grey wooden door was flanked by two massive winged figures. Their skin was the color of dark granite and their glowing yellow eyes glared at the knight as he approached. Gargoyles. Those were new. The noble had to hand it to his culinary overlord; he knew how to do scary architecture right. Their demonic heads turned to follow him as he made his way to the command room, scrutinizing his every move. One moved to block his path while the other knocked twice on the door. It opened and he heard the chef’s familiar voice call out.

“He’s safe, let him in,” Chris said. His voice was young and clear, but had a commanding quality that was both subtle and powerful. The two winged beasts stepped aside, allowing Ciaphas through. “Was your patrol productive?” A large wooden table strewn with maps, schematics, and empty plates dominated the center of the small chamber, making the room seem even more cramped than it already was. A large oil lamp hung from the ceiling. Knighton sat at the far end, glancing up from one of the many pieces of tan parchment. A bulky, quiet man in a black coat sat to his right. Apparently his name was Temujin, though nobody had any idea where he was from or what his purpose was.

“Yes, I would say that it was,” the noble replied. He took his seat in the empty chair by the door and folded his black-gloved hands on the table. “I took… measures to prevent trespassing.”

“Oh dear, how many did you kill this time?” This time, it wasn’t Christopher speaking. Ciaphas glanced over to the other corner, finding his younger brother, Alexander Gellunberg, leaning back with a tin mug in his hand. He glared at his older sibling with a disapproving expression. “There is the realm of fear tactics, and then there’s unnecessary brutality.”

Ciaphas rolled his eyes. He and his brother had the same blonde hair, blue eyes, and skin complection. In fact, aside from the shapes of their bodies, Ciaphas being thin and whipcord strong and Alexander being broad and muscular, they were very nearly identical in appearance. That was where they were their similarities ended, though. The older of the two was crafty and merciless, not caring what the means were so long as the desired ends were achieved. The younger of the two was noble and honorable to a fault.

“Only four, dear brother,” the older replied snidely. “One to feed the war beasts and three as a warning.”

“Or to invite every mercenary and local militiaman to come on in and investigate,” Alexander shot back, narrowing his eyes.

“Then let them,” replied Ciaphas, raising his voice.

“That’s enough, gentlemen.” Christopher’s voice halted the argument with stunning efficiency. “Alexander, this isn’t a place for the faint of heart or squeamish. Ciaphas, your brother has a point. Until we’re fully prepared, we can’t afford attracting unnecessary attention to ourselves.” As if on cue, the sound of flapping wings and an inhuman screech came from outside the chamber. The chef tilted his head, uncertainty filling his eyes for the first time. “The harpies are back early.”

The door opened and a winged, obviously feminine figure stepped through with the graceful steps of a dancer. She was the Matron of the army’s harpy flock. The commander looked on as she approached the table, kneeling down before him. From her mighty wings to her fangs and barbed talons, she was ad deadly creature. Yet, at the same time, her dark-skinned figure possessed a certain feral beauty. She was an angel of death.

“We have information,” she hissed, her voiced possessing qualities both serpentine and birdlike. “My flock reported a large number of intruders approaching the edges of the forest.” Chris raised an eyebrow.

“Who are they? How many?”

“We don’t know who they are, my lord, but we counted hundreds,” she replied. “One of my harpies went down for a closer look… all they heard was their leader’s name. Max Dirks.” For the first time, Temujin snapped into alertness.

“What did you say the name was?” he asked, his voice low and brooding. The hint of concern, maybe even fear, in Temujin's normally emotionless voice worried Ciaphas more than the harpy’s message.

[Max Dirks]

Vice. It’s been called the clone of Malice—a product of the criminal, Max Dirks’, midlife crisis. But these allegations were far from the truth. Whereas Malice was about control, Vice was about chaos. Malice sought power and consistency. Vice sought influence and instability. The group had one goal: to peruse distrust amongst the clans. Winning their own wars was unimportant. Vice presently only sought exposure. Their ultimate sustenance would come from making the highest bidder win.

Max Dirks sat alone at an empty desk in his armored transport. It had been an hour since Dirks sent his generals to direct the troops. The crackling of coal burning to steam had been his only companion since. Leading an army had become second nature to the criminal. He no longer felt the anticipation of battle or experienced the chill down his spine when he issued his first orders. No, Dirks had become desensitized to it all. He would lead, but his younger generals, Logan McCloud and Drax Piston, would direct.

Some time passed before Dirks heard a knock at the door. “Come,” said Dirks. There were a number of irritating clanks, and then the door to the transport slid open. Drax Piston entered first and was followed immediately by Logan McCloud. Both had crooked grins on their face. Drax’s was arrogant and self righteous. Clearly he was feeling the emotions which had escaped Dirks. Logan’s was twisted as though he was constantly shifting between sanity and delirium. It must be a reaction to his infusion with magic.

Drax spoke first, “The mercenaries have occupied the village, but it was mostly deserted. It looks like most of the people were spooked when Cypher’s army occupied the old castle.”

“Good,” Dirks replied.

“But I just don’t get your angle, Dirks,” Drax interrupted. “How are they supposed to ‘pretend’ to be villagers? Don’t you think it might look a teeny bit suspicious when a deserted village suddenly becomes populated exclusively with males?”

“General Dirks,” the criminal reminded the gambler. After a pause, Dirks said, “You don’t reveal your hand in poker, do you Commander? You offer them fake clues—a nervous twitch or a blink, then you take them for what they’re worth.”

Drax shook his head, apparently appalled that Dirks would use a gambling analogy on him.

“Is Phagan ready?” Dirks asked without any further regard to Drax’s discomfort. Drax nodded. “Good. Have him head to the south with a contingent. Then take the remaining mercenaries and the knights into the forest and await my orders. I’m sure they’ve got eyes everywhere, so use the cover of the night. We can communicate through Logan.”

“Right,” Drax responded sarcastically. “They’re only in a castle. They can’t look down into a forest of trees without leaves and see us coming.” Drax turned and walked to the door muttering “this is why he lost to Sei Orlouge and I beat Molotov in the same exact situation” and “who needs to lie when they have the better hand” as he left. The door slid shut. Dirks looked to Logan and sighed.

“I think you’re losing your touch,” the telepath said.

“He’ll bitch, but he’ll get the job done. So what do you got?” Dirks asked Logan. Logan was the fifth member of Vice, and the other general of the group’s army. The two had met in battle in the Citadel only to become acquaintances in the years following. It often appeared that Logan idolized the criminal, even dressing in the same fashion as Dirks. Manipulative, powerful, and angry, Logan epitomized Vice. The group’s greed poured from the telepath’s words and actions like sweat. Logan reminded Dirks of himself in Malice, before the criminal had learned to control his emotions.

“The scouts report nothing, but their army is there, hidden in the shadows. I can hear them—hear their thoughts, but I can’t distinguish them,” Logan responded.

“And their leader?” Dirks asked.

“There are whispers of a sadistic chef, Christopher Knighton, but there may be others” said Logan. Dirks did not recognize the name. “But, I can find them. I can find them all,” Logan yelled, suddenly overcome by a strange delirium. His pupils became dilated.

A moment passed, and Logan’s face became blue. Suddenly a splitting pain raced through Dirks’ head. “Wait!” he screamed. Dirks grabbed his head and Logan’s face soon regained its color. “Be careful,” Dirks warned, “there’s no telling what you’re capable with that magic in you. I think it’s best to work with the abilities you know for now and leave the rest for later.” Logan nodded slowly, though his eyes remained wide.

“Are the demons prepared?” Dirks asked a moment later.

“Yes,” Logan responded. The telepath was balling his hands into fists, appearing to be fascinated by the movement of his fingers. “They’ve been moved to the far south end of the forest, as you’ve instructed. We’ve also left them in their traditional Haidian garb.”

“Good,” Dirks responded. He paused for a moment, and looked into Logan’s dilated eyes. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Oh?” Logan looked up. The fascination with his fingers was replaced by apparent curiosity.

“I need you to bring the chef to me. I have a proposition for him.” Dirks said.

“And if he refuses?” Logan asked after a short pause.

“Persuade him.” Logan grinned. “You can hurt him if necessary,” Dirks continued, “but I’d prefer that he comes on his own accord. Winning this battle isn’t as important as making contact with him. Make sure he’s alone, I don’t want to deal with his other clowns.”

The telepath nodded then turned around, treating Dirks’ order as a dismissal. He walked to the steel door and slid it to the side. At the same time, Dirks stood up and walked to the furnace. He stopped in front of him and allowed the rising steam to warm his face.

“Can I ask you something, Dirks?” Logan asked from the doorway.

“Hmph?” Dirks mumbled.

“Why go after Cypher Nex?”

“Sometimes those who seek power are the first to relinquish it.”

Satisfied, Logan stepped out of the car and disappeared into the darkness. The door slid shut, and silence took the carrier once more.

[Christoph]

“So you’ve fought Max Dirks before, ‘Jin?” Christopher was sitting on a wooden crate next to a large pile of vegetables, making short work of their skins with his small knife. The warm glow of a large oil lamp filled the canvas tent and illuminated his young face. He sliced a potato and tossed it into the black cauldron to his left. Temujin was leaning against the massive cooking pot, his foot propped up on a brown sack, somehow managing to seem both relaxed and alert at the same time. He was still wearing his heavy black trench coat and black gloves; he never seemed to take them off. “When did that happen?”

The two of them had left the command room, or the “command closet” as Chris liked to call it, once the two Gellunberg brothers began arguing over what course of action they should take in light of Max Dirks and his army appearing in the area. Alexander, as usual, wanted to attack them head on and drive them from the region. Ciaphas thought that they should wait in the ruins and engage them there, using what minuscule protection the place provided to their advantage. Temujin and the chef took their leave and relocated to the large tan food tent set up just north of the ruined castle to continue the real meeting. It was an unusual spot, but Chris was always more comfortable when handling food. Besides, with his white chef coat, he certainly looked the part.

“Just over a year ago, actually,” Temujin replied. “There was a foreign tournament, the ‘Tournament of Legends’. I doubt that you’ve heard of it; it was far off any charted maps. I was paired against him and some demon warrior in the first round.”

Chris nodded knowingly, using a damp rag to scrub dirt from a large carrot. “You lost, I take it?”

The black-clad man closed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah.”

“Then what?” he asked.

“I went back on the road and returned to mercenary work,” Temujin replied with a shrug. “I did some research on Dirks afterwards, just to find out a bit about the man who’d beaten me. I never expected to cross paths with him again, though.”

“Interesting,” commented the cook, stroking his chin thoughtfully before slicing up the carrot and tossing it in the pot. He examined his comrade intently. He had black hair, brown eyes, and a stature and build that made Christopher seem like an scrawny adolescent in comparison. His square face was tanned and scarred, and as the chef studied it, he saw something unexpected: shame. Temujin hadn’t forgiven himself for his defeat. “So you’re not after a dramatic rematch?”

“No, of course not,” the mercenary scoffed. Chris raised an eyebrow for a moment, unsure of whether or not he believed it. “But I know a fair bit more about our friend than you do.”

“Do tell,” said the army’s commander as he diced up a handful of turnips. “What do you know?”

“Well, he’s a twenty-four year-old human male with a long history of involvement in criminal enterprises.”

“Thanks, ‘Jin,” replied the chef, rolling his eyes. “That was very revealing…” ‘Jin grinned but otherwise ignored his commander’s sarcasm.

“He possesses two very valuable firearms,” he continued. “He’s a deadly shot with them. Furthermore, I’ve heard rumors that he’s been making deals with Haidian demons, though that seems hard to believe considering the fact that he didn’t seem very fond of them when I met him.”

“Excellent! Now we’re getting somewhere!” Chris grinned energetically, setting his knife aside to focus on the conversation. “What else do you know?”

“He’s an arrogant bastard, even worse than you.”

“Damn, that’s pretty bad.”

“You’re not kidding,” Temujin chuckled. “Also, I’m all but certain that he’s got a competent telepath in his ranks.”

“Wait,” Chris interrupted, holding his hand out in front of him. “How do you know that?” he inquired.

“I have psychic abilities as well, though not the kind that can read thoughts or anything like that. I’m sensitive to other psychically talented individuals, though.”

“I… didn’t know that,” said Chris, tilting his head. Temujin laughed.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, kid.”

That statement was very true. They’d only met a little over a month ago. Chris had returned to Salvar with the hopes of finally starting a new life in light of his mother’s death at the hands of agents from the Ethereal Sway. He soon realized, though, that he would never have peace until the chaos in country ended and something at least resembling a free and just regime was put into place. Since neither the monarchy nor the church fit the bill, the formation of a new order was necessary. Temujin was one of the chef’s first allies. He’d helped the strange man against a band of violent monarchy loyalists. With his years of mercenary experience under his belt, he proved to be instrumental in both recruiting and running the army of Cipher Nex.

Cipher Nex became their name and calling card from the very beginning. They became a militant secret society, hunting down and mercilessly punishing agents of tyranny and oppression. Of course, he had Sir Ciaphas in his ranks, who seemed to focus far more on being merciless than on punishing agents of tyranny. He would have to put up with the noble’s bloodlust for now, though; he provided a large portion of the organization’s manpower and capital. At least the younger of the two Gellunberg brothers, Alexander, was honorable, if a bit naïve. Yet, ironically, the one person that he trusted the most was perhaps the one he knew the least about: Temujin.

“’Jin?” the chef asked after a long silence.

“Yeah?” the mercenary answered, his low, rough voice taking on something of a paternal quality.

“Why do you think Dirks is here?”

Temujin shrugged. “You’re guess is as good as mine, kid,” he replied. “Maybe he sees your growing power as something of a threat to whatever his plans in this region are. Perhaps he’s come to get rid of you before you get too dangerous.” Chris grinned, leaning back and scooping up another potato to peel.

“That’s an encouraging thought.”

* * * * *

By the time Christopher left the food tent, the last traces of sunlight had vanished, chased from the sky by relentless tendrils of darkness. Warriors in black cloaks patrolled the grounds silently, contrasting the chef’s casual walk and white cooking garb.

Torches and lanterns dotted the ruins, illuminating the sprawling shell of a fortress. Where most saw rubble, though, he saw potential. Legend had it that four hundred years ago, the site was the headquarters of a society of powerful monks. Their members were unrivaled warriors who kept the surrounding lands safe and struck fear into the hearts of tyrants and criminals. They kept their domain virtually independent of Salvic rule for several decades before being wiped out by the king’s army.

We will continue their noble work, Chris promised himself, running a hand over the cold stone of keep’s only intact wall before heading for the forest.

First, though, they would need to deal with the threat at hand. Whatever this Max Dirks was doing here with an army, it probably wasn’t to hold a bake sale. The chef was inclined to agree with Temujin’s assessment; they were there for a fight. It couldn’t have been a worse time for it, either. He’d just started reconstruction of the castle, not only meaning that they had very little defense, but what the complex was crawling with non-combat personnel. Because of that, he would need to make sure that the fight stayed away from the ruins. Charging headlong into battle as Alexander suggested wasn’t a good idea either. Then there was the enemy telepath that ‘Jin had mentioned. Who was it and what kind of powers did he, or she, possess?

He sighed and massaged his temples, wondering who would rule the night by dawn.

[Max Dirks]

“It’s just a gang war,” Drax Piston explained to his mentor, Phagan De’bron. The two were walking south, away from the castle. Their trek through the dark forest was slow, but that was not what bothered the young commander. Drax sighed, “They’re just a couple of tools squaring off to see whose junk is longer.”

Phagan, who was mute, shook his head in response.

“Oh?” Drax asked. “You believe all of his nonsense about clan activity influencing the world, too? Come on, Vice is just a cult of action junkies. Just look at that Logan guy. When he and Dirks are together it’s like watching a posse of has-beens trying to re-live the “good ole days.”

Phagan shook his head again, clearly not amused by his young friend.

“Suit yourself,” said Drax. “I think you’re starting to fall off the rocker too.”

Despite what the old man thought, Drax knew that Dirks was just trying to use him again. Dirks had lured Drax into battle with a promise to lead an army that could change the face of Althanas, but the gambler had no idea that meant playing patsy for that adrenaline charged hack, Logan. Personally, Drax had never been fond of clan wars. To him they were a useless waste of time and resources. He preferred tournaments where a single victory could make him a legend, and winning meant taking home some of the greatest treasures on Althanas. No one would care if Vice won this battle, and the only treasure Drax would receive is dirty tapestries from a run down castle.

Soon Drax saw the light glow of a lantern ahead, indicating the two had finally arrived at their destination. They were met by a demon holding the reigns of a large white stallion. The stallion whinnied when it saw Drax, lowering its head to be petted. Drax reached up and stroked the horse’s mane while cautiously looking towards the demon. He had his reservations about the demons’ participation in this war, but did not want to test loyalties without his men by his side.

“Are you ready?” Drax asked. Phagan nodded in response. “Good. This man…” Drax coughed when he realized his mistake. “This warrior…will prepare you for the battle.” When he finished, Drax turned to the demon. “Don’t eat him, please.” The demon frowned and handed Drax the stallion’s reigns. Without a word, the demon took Phagan’s hand and began to lead him away.

Drax mounted the horse and watched Phagan and the demon disappear before beginning his trip back to his troops.

-----

Logan McCloud ran swiftly through the forest, carefully dodging enemy patrols. The magic he’d been infused with amplified his telepathic abilities to such a great extent that he could literally feel where his enemies were hiding, making them easy to avoid. Several times during his trip, however, Logan was tempted to reach out with his mind and touch the creatures hiding in the shadows. If he could find them, then he could certainly hurt them.

Dirks said Logan shouldn't use that power. He told Logan to stick with what he knew. “That bastard’s just holding me back.” Logan cried out, his voice echoing through the trees. A bird resting nearby flew off into the air, squawking for its life. Logan cursed. He should never have doubted his friend. It was Dirks who suggested Logan receive the treatment in the first place. The criminal obviously wanted to have an equal at his side in Vice rather than that idiot, Piston.

Logan continued onward without breaking stride, but the closer he got to the castle, the more convoluted his mind became. Instead of feeling his enemies, he began to hear them. A moment later, a hundred different voices suddenly filled his head all at once. His mind automatically tried to decipher each thought one-by-one, but the process was too burdensome. Logan grabbed his head and fell to the ground in mid stride, sliding several feet before slamming hard into a tree.

“Get out of my head,” Logan called out, slamming his hands against the tree. On command, the voices disappeared, and the telepath’s own thoughts returned. Surprised, Logan shook his head and climbed to his feet. He brushed some leaves off his coat looked himself up and down. Apparently he’d managed to survive the fall without a scratch. “Interesting…” he mumbled. His eyes fell down to his hands. When he moved his fingers, it felt as though surges of energy were running from his knuckles to his nails.

Then he felt them. One, two, possibly three enemies were closing in on his position. They moved quickly, advancing from tree to tree. Soon they would be upon them. Logan longed to fight and test his new powers, but he had a purpose. He had to get the to the chef. But how? He didn't even know who he was looking for, he was chasing a feeling. With a frown, Logan reached to his back and pulled the “Silence Blades” from their sheaths. In two swift movements he threw each blades at a nearby tree. One sword piercing the trunk inches away from an approaching troop's head.

“I surrender,” Logan growled, throwing his hands into the air.

(Bunny of approaching troop(s) approved by Christoph)

[Christoph]

Bunnies approved.

“Master Knighton, we have a prisoner.” The whisper of one of Christopher’s agents carried on the breeze to his ears. At first, the chef was annoyed that his quiet time had been interrupted. Once his brain processed what had just been said, however, his mood instantly changed to intrigued amusement. That was fast.

“Present him to me,” he commanded, his breath freezing in the Salvic air. Within moments, three Shadows and their Shade master emerged from the darkness like phantoms. Heavy cowls covered their faces and their cloaks swayed as they moved. Their feet were so silent and their steps so smooth that it was as though they were gliding over the ground instead of walking. The captive was a young man with the look of a criminal. His long silver hair and tattered street clothes did little to make his appearance any more conducive to trust. His hands had been bound tightly behind his back.

“We heard him babbling to himself while sneaking through our forest.” The Shadows knelt before Chris while their master spoke, his crossbow pointed at the prisoner’s head. The only feature that distinguished the Shade from his underlings was the fact that his cowl was dark blue instead of black. “He said his name was Logan.”

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” mused Chris, strolling casually up to their captive. “I doubt that you were just out for a stroll. What are you doing here?”

“I’m hungry,” said the intruder. “You haven’t seen a chef around, have you?”

The commander smirked. “I’ve heard rumors of one. I don’t know why he would associate with the likes of you, though.”

“So you have seen the chef!” he exclaimed. Chris raised an eyebrow; the prisoner’s tone made him seem like he wasn’t joking, after all. “I’d love to meet him.”

“Oh, so would I. He’s a great guy.” The chef repressed the urge to chuckle as he decided to have some fun with the captive. If he were, in fact, actually joking, then it would just seem as though he was playing along. It was be amusing either way. “Tell you what, just tell me what it is you want, and I can pass the word along for you.”

“I was wondering if he would make me a ham sandwich,” he replied. Chris sighed. Then again, perhaps the street rat was stupid, after all.

“Well, I’d have to say no on that one,” chuckled the cook. “After all, he’s a very busy man. As important as a ham sandwich is, it would have to be a little more urgent than that.”

“I'll make it simple for you,” growled Logan, suddenly going from flippant to impatient and serious. “If I don’t meet with the chef, you and your entire army are going to die. Now run along and fetch your master.”

Immediately, all four crossbows were leveled at the interloper’s head. The situation was getting even better. No longer able to contain himself, Chris exploded into near-hysterical laughter. If his stone-faced warriors found the situation amusing, they gave no signs.

“You're bold,” said the chef. “You’re very stupid, but at least you’re bold.” He smirked devilishly. “But do tell me, how do you suppose that's going to happen?”

Logan blinked several times, his pupils dilating for a moment. “Ah, Christopher Knighton,” he said with a grin. “Max Dirks would like to have a word with you.”

* * * * *

Separate from the small scene, Sir Ciaphas and Temujin watched. They both stood back, away from it all, cloaked in the shadow of an ancient tree with branches gnarled with age like a twisted old man.

“I could kill him from here, you know,” whispered the senior Gellunberg brother. He stroked his bowstring. “Who does that lowlife think he is? We captured him and he expects not only for us to let him go, but for Knighton to follow him alone right to the enemy.” The noble glared at the scene, longing to end the interloper’s pitiful life.

“I don’t doubt that this intruder, or at least the man he works for, has a hidden motive in mind,” replied the mercenary. “For now, though, I think that it would be prudent to not kill the messenger.”

“And why not?” growled Ciaphas in a hushed tone. This ‘messenger’ was someone of importance; the knight was sure of it. They should just off him right then and let his masters wonder what happened.

“Because, my young friend, perhaps Chris would be able to negotiate with Max and settle this without a battle that we could ill-afford,” Temujin explained. “If we can avoid a fight, we should.”

The knight scowled at the mercenary as much for calling him ‘young’ as he did in response to the seeming pacificm the man advocated. “I swear, you can be so stupid sometimes. They just want to lure him away so that they can take him out.”

“Now, now,” chuckled the dark-haired mercenary. “Do you not trust our leader’s ability to take care of himself?”

“Of course not,” the knight snorted. “Not out on his own against an entire army. He’s good, but not that good.”

“Then go with him and our guest to go meet Dirks,” replied Temujin as though it should have been obvious. “Keep an eye on our chef and keep that other punk in his place.”

Ciaphas grinned and nodded. “Now you’re starting to make sense.” With that, the knight left Temujin’s side and headed for the chef and the captive. The two were still talking as he made his way over.

“So Dirks would like to see me, would he?” asked Chris. “Would you care to tell me why?”

“I have no idea, I'm just the messenger,” replied Logan. “But if I had to guess, I suspect it would have something to do with the army that's surrounded your castle.”

“Oh, you mean that imaginary army that I’ve been hearing about?” asked Ciaphas, strolling up behind him. He spoke in a snide tone, scowling at their prisoner. “We’ve all been very worried about it, since none of us could notice an army massive enough to surround out entire domain.”

“Ah, you’ve decided to show up after all,” the chef commented as the knight approached. He turned back to Logan. “Tell me why I should trust you and your people not to just ambush me as soon as I enter your camp?”

“I trust you can handle yourself should that be the case.”

“I'm flattered, by that's hardly practical,” Chris replied. “I actually have an accurate view of my limitations.”

“That’s why I’m going to go with you,” Ciaphas interjected. He let out a shrill whistle with his fingers. Moments later, his giant Panther emerged from the gloom like a shadowy specter.

“No! Dirks wanted to see you alo— ” started the captive, but he was interrupted.

“This isn’t up for debate,” Chris cut in, letting the satisfying silence settle in for a moment. “He’s coming with us. If your master has any objections, he can raise them in person.”

* * * * *

Temujin’s muffled footsteps pounded against the forest floor with more weight than would normally be expected from a man of his size. The mercenary was heading away from the Chris, Ciaphas, and their captive. They seemed to have things well under control. If there was one thing that he could rely on to keep his charge, the chef, alive, it was Ciaphas’s paranoia. The faint whoosh of flapping wings brought him back to the present. The lithe, sensuous form of the Harpy Matron landed silently to his left, her grace nearly inhuman.

“Good evening again, Celaena,” said the mercenary. He was the only man in the army to know her name. Such a trust came only from saving her life and her entire flock from a band of Salvic demon hunters. He was the reason that the Harpies had joined the ranks of Cipher Nex. He trusted the Matron to be his eyes and ears over any other. “Your promptness is admirable.”

“Isn’t it always?” she replied in an amused hiss, circling around Temujin and dragging her clawed fingers playfully across his chest. “My Harpies are back on their patrol, heading further out toward the village and staying out of the moonlight.”

The mercenary nodded, stepping away from the feminine creature’s teasing fingers. “Good,” he said. Celaena sighed drew her hand back, folding her wings irritably.

“When are you going to tell me what you’re coming up with?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“I haven’t even figured anything out yet,” he answered, his voice eerily casual. “And when I do, I can’t risk letting you know yet.” The Harpy raised her black eyebrow, glaring at the man with her red eyes.

“And why not?” she huffed.

“Because you’ll think about it, and I can’t risk anyone listening in.”

His answer summoned silence from dark night. Celaena stared at him, tilting her angular head. Her gaze was confused and concerned. Temujin could tell that she wanted to ask him how he knew; she wanted answers and explanations. Yet, at the same time, she knew that they couldn’t be given yet. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and low. It sounded very… human.

“And you think you can keep them from ‘listening’ in on you?”

He nodded again, summoning all the confidence that he was able. “I hope so.”

The Harpy took to the ominous sky once more, leaving Temujin once again alone.

[Max Dirks]

((The dialouge between our characters was completed VIA IM and is approved by Christoph))

((Please note, this thread was edited after Christoph's post with permission to do so.))

Max Dirks was awakened by a jolt so powerful that it rattled the entire vehicle. The jolt was followed by a loud bang and soon the steel doors to the steam-powered car slid open. Startled, Dirks stood up and reached for the Beretta 950 hidden beneath his trench coat. There was a short pause and then a disheveled Logan McCloud climbed through the doorway. The telepath’s hands were tied behind his back. Dirks lowered his hand from his coat and walked over to the Logan, somewhat taken by the man's disposition. “Did you bring him?” Dirks asked, reaching to his side and withdrawing his dirk from its sheath. Logan nodded and Dirks’ smirked. “I suppose this is one way to get his attention,” he said, assuming the telepath intentionally allowed himself to be caught. “Where is he?” Logan pointed to the door after Dirks had finished cutting through his binds.

Dirks holstered the weapon and stepped into the doorway. The chef looked the part, but there was another. This one was more built and heavily armed. He must be Christopher's lieutenant. “You must be Dirks,” the chef said. “I believe this one belongs to you.” He pointed to Logan, who had just appeared in the doorway next to Dirks.

“Indeed,” said Dirks. “We need to speak. Please come in.”

"How stupid do you think we are?" demanded Ciaphas, crossing his arms defiantly at Dirks. Logan began to speak, but Dirks raised his arm to cut the telepath off. In response, Logan secretly balled his hands into fists.

"What my associate means," Christopher interjected, "is that we wouldn't feel comfortable intruding on your private space."

Dirks shrugged. “We can speak out here if you wish." Christopher nodded, and Dirks stepped down from the car. “I’ll be frank,” Dirks said. “I want Cipher Nex to hire Vice.”

“Hire you…” Christopher tilted his head, “Whatever for?”

"I don't know. To spy, loot, murder...whatever it is that you do." Dirks replied candidly.

"Brilliant, so we're going to hire you to do what we can do ourselves?" interjected Ciaphas snidely.

Logan took offense to this. "You can’t do anything unless someone’s holding your hand,” he snapped. “Did you forget that I had to let you catch me?”

Dirks bit his tongue and glanced at the telepath. Logan’s mouth could break the deal. Dirks was beginning to question his decision to infuse his comrade. "Something like that…” Dirks said to Ciaphas before turning to Christopher. “What Logan means to say is that we both have common goals. I don’t see why we can’t help one another to achieve them.”

“It would have been painfully easy to just kill you instead of humoring you like this." Ciaphas said to Logan. In response, the telepath jumped down from the car and stepped towards Ciaphas. He stopped, however, when he saw Dirks give him a livid glance.

Christopher, however, ignored them and continued, "There are two reasons that I see that we can't help each other. First, Cipher Nex is perfectly capable of taking care of itself. Second, trusting you would be more foolish than I can comprehend."

"Then don't," Dirks replied, "but we'll always be loyal so long as we're being paid.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Think of what you could accomplish with Vice at your side." Dirks turned away. "While you attack one group, we attack another, stripping away at their resources and dividing their alliances.” Dirks turned back to the chef. “It would be foolish to pass up this opportunity.”

Ciaphas scoffed. "So we advance our agenda but lose money, while you advance whatever your agenda is while gaining money until you decide to stab us in the back for your own gain."

"The chef lost money when he hired your ass off the street," Logan replied. “At least this time he’d be hiring the best.”

"Unlike you, I am not some gutter trash sell-sword..." spat Ciaphas.

"When I want mercenaries, I got out and find them," Christopher interrupted, looking wearily at Ciaphas and Logan. "I give them the contracts that they need in order to survive. You, however, came to me uninvited. I don't trust that."

Logan began to speak, but Dirks cut him off. “Enough Logan!” he said. The telepath had blown the deal. It was too late to recover. “Look around you, chef. Althanas' clans are caught in a false equilibrium. No one is willing to make the first move. In a world like this, someone has to take the initiative.” Dirks said, irritated.

“I don't give a damn about these other 'clans.' They mean nothing to me and neither does Vice.” Christopher replied.

“I’m sorry to hear you say that,” Dirks replied. “I’m afraid you leave me no choice…” he paused. Logan was fuming. He was opening and closing his fingers together and cracking his knuckles. In the modest light of the forest, it looked as though the telepath face was glowing red. Christopher raised his eyebrow. “…but to seek business elsewhere. I cannot promise they’ll be friendly to you.” Dirks said quickly, realizing the chef might have construed his pause as a threat.

As Dirks finished, Logan growled. To Dirks' dismay, the telepath ran at Ciaphas, causing the knight to draw his sword. Logan must have used his powers because the next thing Dirks felt was a sheering pain running up his temple. His sinuses flared and he fell to his knees, unable to stop Vice's young commander. He looked up to a startled Christopher and shook his head. “Just…go…” Dirks said, motioning to the forest. He was unaware if Logan’s telepathy was affecting the chef or not.

“I’ll consider your proposition,” Christopher said.

Logan stopped two feet from Ciaphus and glared at the knight. Unbeknownst to those present in the small corner of the forest, at that moment the telepath sent a single thought to Drax Piston that would start a war. Attack!

"I believe that concludes our meeting, gentlemen," Christopher said. With that, the chef grabbed the Ciaphus and dragged his him into the night. Logan watched them go with a crooked smirk on his face.

Moments later, three separate units began to advance in the forest towards the castle. Mages and demons marched from the southwest, rowdy mercenaries from village in the southeast, and a veteran gambler with his knights came right up the middle of the forest. The signal to attack had been given. Vice was about to flex its muscles against its unsuspecting foe without the approval or knowledge of its leader.

[Christoph]

With the pale light from the village at their backs like the glow of a false dawn, the well-bred noble Ciaphas and his commander, the chef, made their way back to the forest and the crumbling remains of the castle. For the second time that night, the irony of the fact that the blue-blooded knight was taking orders from a man who could have just as easily wound up among the lowly kitchen staff at his manor took residence in his mind. What was he following a commoner for? Surely he was better than that. What did this cook truly have to offer?

More importantly, why was he beginning to question his loyalties now of all times? Perhaps it was their first encounter with a potentially unfriendly force filling him with doubt. If these men from Vice were there for trouble – and Ciaphas was quite certain that the were – then the outcome and the manner in which Knighton handled it would be crucial. He was impatient and frustrated, and his head still hurt more than it should have from an average blow to the head, but it wasn’t the time to bail out yet. As much as the word put a bad taste in his mouth, for the time being, he would need to be optimistic.

“I think that went well,” said the noble cheerfully, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The whole encounter had left him with quite a headache.


Chris chuckled. “Oh yes, definitely,” he replied. “I was particularly impressed with your amazing negotiating skills.”

“Who cares?” retorted Ciaphas incredulously, sneering through the darkness at the cook. “Those two were fools and deserved to be treated as such.”

“Of course they did,” said Chris, still laughing softly. “I’m just glad you were here to say all the nasty things that I wanted to say, so I could just pass the blame onto you if anything goes wrong.”

“How charitable of you,” sighed the noble. Silence stretched on for a few moments afterwards as they neared the edge of the forest.

“Why did you come along, anyway?” asked the commander. “What was your motivation?”

“What, can’t you believe that I was concerned about your safely?” snorted Ciaphas, crossing his arms.

“Ha, of course not,” the chef replied. “I’m not stupid.”

“Fine, fine,” grumbled the knight. “If you must know, Temujin told me to.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah… I’m not buying that either.”

“Fine!” said Ciaphas, both exasperated and amused. “I just wanted to cause trouble.”

“And the truth comes out.”

“Yes it does.”

“Wait, hold on,” said Chris, his tone lowering. He stopped walking abruptly, causing Ciaphas to nearly trip over a rock as he came to a sharp halt as well. “Did ‘Jin actually ask you to come along?”

“He did; he practically instructed me to cause trouble, too. How could I refuse?”

“Yes… how could you refuse?” mused the chef, grinning mischievously and beginning to walk again.

“Uh oh… I don’t like that smile. What are you getting at?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet, but I get the feeling that I won’t be taking Max Dirks’s proposition into consideration after all.”

“Right.” Ciaphas nodded. “You mean you were actually going to consider his offer?”

Chris sighed impatiently, as though frustrated with a slow-witted child. “No, of course not.”

“Then why did you say—”

“It was just a play on words to be dramatic, all right?” grumbled Chris.

“Well, it was stupid.”

“Shush. The point is that something is going down.”

“Such as what?” asked the knight.

“I have no clue, yet.” The chef laughed again. Ciaphas sighed. At least the man had a sense of humor, as incomprehensible as it was sometimes. “Oh, and I believe your kitty is here.”

“My what?” A low feline snarl followed by a guttural purr answered his question from the dried, dead brush at the forest’s edge. The massive and silent form of the panther slipped from the shadows like a ghost. The giant cat stalked up to its master. “Oh, Actaeon. What the hell are you doing here?” The knight scratched his mount’s ear and hopped on its back.

“Who knows?” Chris shrugged, offering his hand for the creature to sniff. “At least you won’t have to walk the rest of the way back to the castle, you lazy bastard.” Just then, the panther changed directions, heading east along the edge of the forest. With deadly grace, the animal darted through the gnarled trees and jagged rocks.

“What the hell? Stop!” protested the noble, but to no avail. The chef sprinted after the cat and rider, barely able to keep up with what was a likely leisurely pace for the panther. “Where are you taking us?” The feline mount finally came to a halt – nearly knocking Ciaphas off with the abruptness of it – inside a tight cluster of thick pine trees.

“You’ve arrived, good,” said the familiar voice of Temujin. “That cat is very smart.” He faced Ciaphas. “Did you keep that idiot Logan occupied?”

“I guess so?”

“Good. Everything is going as planned. We’ll need some plynt arrows.”

“’Jin,” Chris cut in, still catching his breath. “What… is going on?”

“I can’t tell you yet, kid,” replied the mercenary. As he spoke, seven black-clad, longbow-wielding rangers emerging from the trees. “But I think you’ll like it.”

* * * * *

With the silence grace of a deadly hunter, the humanoid tiger stalked through the forest. Her white and black stripes were dulled and grayed with mud and dirt, allowing her lithe form to melt into the night. All but invisible, she lurked through dead bushes and between ancient trees, stalking her prey like a solitary predator. The Calgrar Tigress Asari wasn’t hunting alone that night, however.

The other eight Caelgrar warriors, all male, were taking up their watchful positions as well. They were taller and far broader than she with massive muscles rippled through their sculpted bodies. Despite their bulk, they were just as invisible as Asari.

There were others, too. The army’s entire compliment of one hundred Shadows and Shades, cloaked in black and armed with deadly repeating crossbows were there, obscured by the night. Further back, sixty-three of the Dark Rangers crouched in behind rocks and brush, arrows notched and ready. Closer in were the seventy glaive-masters, the dreaded Stalkers and Reapers, slinking in the shadows of the trees with their short pole arms tucked into their wiry frames. The entire assortment of warriors moved in small, silent squads as they formed a half perimeter around the target that they had been watching for quite a while.

The target, if it could be accurately referred to as such, was one of the three large groupings of soldiers that had massed in the forest – Cipher Nex’s forest. Around two hundred or more in number, the harpies had reported it as the primary concentration of spellcasters in the intruding force. They had already identified these dangerous arcane artists and relayed the information to the squad commander; they were to be the first targets.

Without fully explaining why, Temujin had assembled over half of the standing troops in the Cipher Nex army right after Christopher Knighton and Sir Ciaphas left with the captive. He sent them to track and observe the army group gathering to the southwest of the ruined castle. His cryptic nature irritated Asari, but she trusted his judgment, especially when it looked as though a fight was brewing. She had little doubt, either, that even if these intruders were not here for a fight, Temujin would surely give them one. It was his way.

That was why, as they all waited in silence for countless minutes, Asari kept her orange eyes locked on the sky. She knew the wily mercenary had something planned; it was only a matter of time before a message was sent to order the attack that they’d planned as a supposed “just in case” scenario. While her pack-mates were probably naïve enough to believe that they were on nothing more than a recon mission, the female Caelgrar knew that Temujin didn’t make plans if he didn’t fully intend on carrying them out. As he would say, “hypothetical scenarios are for amateurs.”

The signal finally came in the form of a Harpy flying through the sky, too high for anyone not actively scanning to notice. The feral winged woman performed a graceful dance in the sky, spinning like an acrobat in midair. It was the signal to strike, one that everyone from the lowliest soldier to the highest members of the command structure knew.

Each squad commander recognized it instantly. Without a moment’s hesitation, whispered orders filled the entire detachment. In an instant, every Shadew, Shadow, and Ranger sprung into action. A cloud of arrows and bolts whizzed into the enemy grouping as they opened fire. Many arced over the demon warriors and targeted the mages exclusively. Without pause, the warriors of Cipher Nex shot off volley after volley from the cover of darkness. Meanwhile, the glaive warriors remained still while the Caelgrar hunters prepared to strike.

* * * * *

“Why are we setting the village on fire?” asked Chris, facing Temujin with a bewildered expression on his face. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait for their soldiers to return before we burn the place?”

“I can’t tell you much right now,” replied the mercenary, passing around Sir Ciaphas’s plynt arrows to the Rangers.

“I’m really starting to not like that answer,” stated the chef, narrowing his eyes. “This is my operation.”

“Trust me; you’ll see.” He motioned for the bowmen to take position at the edge of the tree cluster. “Fire at the straw roofs.”

[Max Dirks]

A sharp twang interrupted the rhythmic march of Vice’s western force. Both mages and demons alike stopped dead in their tracks as several hundreds more twangs rang out through the forest. “Is it raining?” one demon asked. He was answered by screams coming from behind him. “What’s going on?” another called out. Though renowned for their ability to see in the dark, the demon brigade was unable to discover the source of the commotion. That changed quickly when a demon lieutenant fell to the ground with an arrow through his heart.

“Take cover!” Commander Dlekthos, the leader of the demon unit, yelled. In the following moments, the army broke ranks and found cover under trees and shields. The bombardment continued throughout with arrows and bolts zooming by. Several demons and dark mages countered with their own devises, but were unable to hit any enemies. “Where are they?” Dlekthos cursed.

The assault died down for a moment, giving the demon commander time to issue an order. “Mages of Vice, bring the fires of heaven down upon these creatures. Reveal their positions with your light,” Dlekthos said in a heavy accent. Soon a chorus of mages sang out into the forest, chanting to power their spells. Then after a brief silence, the lightning erupted from the skies, coming down hard on nearby trees. Some bolts tore down limbs and others set dry leaves on fire. Several mages became trapped under the branches that had fallen. In the resulting flashes, however, many groups of enemies became visible. They had nearly surrounded Vice’s entire attack force, effectively cutting off a directed escape.

“Damn it,” Dlekthos cried. “Honorable warriors,” he said, turning to a nearby group of demons. “Circle around our attack force and pick off any enemies you can find. Do not directly engage them, though. If they discover you, keep circling.” The soldiers recited a “yes sir” in unison and then left to carry out their orders. Before they could all leave, however, Dlekthos grabbed the last one. “You,” he said, placing his hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “I need you to go to De’Bron, tell him to send for help.” The demon nodded in response. He was shaking. “He is in the steam car beyond forest.” Dlekthos continued. “Do not stop until you find him.”

The soldier raised his paw in the air and then turned. “Sir?” he said before he left. The commander merely grunted. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to rip the heart out of the one who killed Liuetenant ag’ Dignos,” he replied coldly.
-----

“Thank god we’re actually doing something,” a mercenary called out to his companion. The two had just finished loading an assault vehicle full of supplies they managed to salvage from the village.

“I know, right. What the hell Dirks was thinking? He put bunch of raggedy mercenaries in an unoccupied village and had them pretend to be townspeople. Honestly, Cipher Nex would have to be stupid not to notice,” the other ranted back while sliding the door shut.

“Wait!” the first mercenary said. “Did you just call me raggedy?”

“You’re damn right I did. When was the last time you washed up? You smell like burnt cabbage.” The mercenaries argued with one another for a few more minutes, but the conversation soon became irrelevant to the man standing on the other side of the vehicle.

James Marx, known to Vice as the enigmatic soldier “Spade,” was assigned by Dirks to personally oversee the village ploy. The two became acquainted during the criminal’s original Gisela run. An entry level soldier at the time, Spade saved Dirks from Prometheus in the second round. In the following years, Spade became Dirks’ best kept secret for all his military affairs. Disguised as a soldier, Spade would secretly act to ensure Dirks’ true plans were carried out to fruition, often in contrary to the criminal’s ranked leadership.

Throughout their campaigns, the criminal regularly told Spade things he kept from his generals, which is why he found Dirks’ order to attack particularly strange. The plan was remarkably simple: Dirks was going to invite Cipher Nex (“cN”) to hire Vice. Then when other groups sent their best to represent them in the upcoming Conquest Trials, Vice would go to war. With clans weak and divided they would easily fall, paving the way for a new order. cN would control, but Vice would accrue unlimited wealth and influence in the process. In short, it was a typical Max Dirks scheme, but this time it was directed at clans.

The mercenaries’ role in all of this was to give cN the impression that two separate armies were approaching the castle. This unit had been dressed down and told not to shower to make them look like typical members of the House of Sora (HoS). To show his goodwill, Dirks would offer to “take out” the HoS invaders. Piston’s group would invade the village while monk, Phagan De’Bron, would use illusions to make the mercenaries appear dead. If that failed, the demons (disguised as shadowy cN warriors) would stage a battle with the mages. Somewhere along the line, something must have gone wrong. Dirks had made contingencies if the negotiations failed, but none of them included an unprovoked assault. Had cN attacked Vice? He need to find out.

Spade stepped around the corner of the vehicle and made his presence known to the two mercenaries. “I’d give the General a bit more credit,” he said softly.

“Spade!” one of the mercenaries exclaimed, startled by his appearance. “You scared the shit out of me. I can’t see a thing. You actually think the old nut has a plan?”

Spade was about to speak again when the commander of the eastern force rode up on his stallion. “Everything is ready for our attack, prepare to move out. You three,” He pointed to Spade and the two mercenaries. “Stay and guard the village. You are to warn us if anyone comes from behind.”

After the commander left, the two mercenaries started complaining about their predicament. In the commotion, Spade slipped off in the forest. “Hey!” one of the mercenaries yelled, “where are you going? You have to stay here with us.” However, Spade did not respond. He had more important things to do.
-----

“You idiot,” Max Dirks yelled, “What the hell were you thinking?” Christopher and Ciaphus were long gone, but Dirks had managed to hold his tongue until he and Logan were safely within the armored car. “You ruined everything by toting it off with a dim-witted lackey.” Logan did not react to the insult. He merely stared at the wall of the car with the same crooked grin on his face. “I should have never had you infused…” Dirks mumbled.

Logan lifted an eyebrow in response, but otherwise remained dormant. The room fell incredibly silent for the next few moments. “Something’s happening,” the telepath said calmly, turning to face Dirks.

“What?” Dirks replied, “What do you mean, something’s happening?”

“Dhekthos and Piston,” Logan’s tone did not change. “Their forces have been attacked by Cipher Nex. Dhekthos is fine,” he lied, “but Piston has been forced back to the village. He says that he really needs our help.”

Dirks was shocked. It took a moment for Dirks to trust what he’d been told. “That dirty bastard,” Dirks finally exclaimed. “I thought we had an understanding. How the hell did he get the order out that quickly, anyway?” Dirks paused, directing his anger towards Logan. “The chef must have had this planned all along. Damn it, Logan, if you would have had your head out of your ass, you would have been able to see this coming.”

The telepath made a fist. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “but at this point we need to lead the troops. We should go to the village and help Piston.”

“Right,” Dirks said. Logan was acting particularly odd. Usually he lashed out, but now he was being humble and taking responsibility. Was he beginning to control the affect of the magic, or had it made him incredibly bi-polar? Dirks shook his head. “I’ll go to the village,” he said. “You should go help Dhekthos. Once you’ve won, make your way to the castle.”

“Oh,” Logan lifted his eyebrow. “You don’t want to leave me…unchecked” he said. “You trust me now?”

“I never stopped,” Dirks lied. Without saying another word, Dirks walked over to the door and opened it. He gave Logan one last nod, then jumped out into the forest. He would get to the village much more quickly on foot. Unfortunately, Dirks did not see the evil smile form on Logan’s lips as he left.

[Christoph]

Lightning lashed down from the sky like jagged knives. Trees burst into flames, scattering embers in a serious of vicious explosions. In the tumultuous light, the warriors of Cipher Nex were revealed in hellish glimpses. Even as the wrath of the gods seemed to be raining down around them, the dark soldiers did not even flinch. None of the electrical attacks even struck them. They hit the trees and ground closer to their enemies. The army of Vice was tying its own noose.

With their attackers at least partially revealed, the army of demons and mages scattered for cover. The ten-man squads of Shadows and Shades continued their attack nonetheless, circling and advancing inward, firing rhythmic volleys from their crossbows. The Rangers circled in the opposite direction, taking targeted shots at visible enemies.

At the forefront, the glaive-wielding Stalkers and their commanders, the Reapers, began to advance in a loose and staggered formation. With unison steps, they moved forward through the patches of smoldering and burning brush. Arrows and bolts whizzed by their heads as the haunting glow of flame gleamed from their weapons and the flickering shadows rippled over their cloaked forms. They were incarnations of Death’s image, mere mortals whose visage was more frightening than their demon enemies.

Asari and her eight fellow Caelgrar darted to intact trees and climbed up with supernatural swiftness that befit their feline nature. At that height, they were able to survey the entire battle. The forces of Vice were still moving for cover and had yet to make a real counter-attack. She knew that their advantage wouldn’t last, especially since many of the enemy mages were still alive. The sooner those dangerous spellcasters could be eliminated, the better.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a small detachment of about two dozen demon warriors breaking away and trying to arc around the Cipher Nex formation. She bared her teeth and snarled. Not tonight. She yelled a command to the other tree-perched warriors in her native Caelgrarian, a language that sounded like little more than a series of feral roars and growls. Instantly, all nine jumped into action. Asari and three others hopped from tree to tree and lunged at the maneuvering demon infantry, their deadly claws extended and their powerful jaws snapping. The other five descended upon the center of the enemy mass, right on top of any cluster of mages they could spot.

With over half of the massive tiger-men behind the enemy’s front line, the Stalkers and Reapers tightened formation and charged. Behind them, the Shades and Shadows put away their crossbows and drew their swords, charging in right behind their brethren. The Rangers, however, vanished into the night, their work there completed.

The terror of Cipher Nex was not over; their most fearsome allies had yet to make their unholy presence known, until now. Over fifty yards from the chaotic battle, fifteen Necromancers finished their vile ritual. They made up half of the secret guild that had joined Cipher Nex. How could the masters of death refuse an offer from the dealers of death? Five Masters, each with two Apprentices, worked in unison to unleash the chilling might that only mastery of death itself could bring.

The skies glowed eerily as thin strips of green hellfire swirled through the clouds. Unnatural energies rained down upon the battlefield. Within moments, the rising number of the dead moved once more, grabbing onto the forces of Vice, pulling, clawing, and biting without emotion or mercy. Some flailed at their targets like frenzied berserkers, while most simply latched in to immobilize and prevent them from defending themselves against the charging mortal soldiers. The forces of Cipher Nex only increased in their violent fervor; they knew that every slain enemy and every comrade killed in battle would only swell the ranks of the undead scourge.

* * * * *

The battle raged beneath Sandulf’s dark granite wings. The stink of blood, smoke, and unholy magic floated like a mist between the trees. Blood spilled all over the forest floor as men, beasts, and demons ripped each other apart. Chaos and terror reigned over the night like king and queen. By the dark gods, it was beautiful. Two hundred years of standing as a motionless statue in a cave had done nothing to diminish the Gargoyle’s appreciation for beauty and art – and this growing storm of bloodshed and violence was art at its finest.

He curled his stone lips into a sinister grin. He longed for nothing more than to swoop down and pluck an unsuspecting enemy from the ground and tear him to pieces. Yet, his duty was not there. Instead of descending into the fray, Sandulf caught a gust of wind with his mighty wings instead, allowing his heavy, muscular body to stay aloft.

His eyes burned like embers from the abyss as he gazed down at the landscape below him. His form was terrible to behold; stone skin, devilish horns and fangs, and razor-sharp claws combined to make him nothing less than what the stories described. He knew that his brothers were already closing in on their target. Sandulf wasn’t going to let pass his only opportunity to cause destruction and death before the rays of sun turned him into a statue once more; he wasn’t going to let the other Gargoyles have all the fun.

Within mere moments, the gothic beast spotted his target. It was a grouping of over two dozen knights, all armored from head to toe and mounted atop mighty warhorses and heading for the ruined castle from the south. The other stone demons were hiding themselves in the treetops all around the advancing horsemen. The Gargoyle master was surprised that they had actually waited for him. His underlings spotted him instantly; thirteen pairs of glowing orange eyes locked on him instantly.

With nothing more than a silent signal to command them, the entire brotherhood of Gargoyles sprung into action. They swooped down at their victims like birds of prey, dodging and weaving through the tree trunks as they swept into the knights from all directions without warning. Their powerful wings guided their heavy forms right at the knights, intent to forcibly dismount them. Then, the real fun would begin.

* * * * *

Sir Alexander Gellunberg rode through the forest with his six Ashkor knights behind him. The seven of them were all mounted on the massive green reptiles that their order was named for. Their mighty jaws were dripping with drool as their masters urged them onward with the promise of fresh blood. The knights were clad in heavy steel plate armor lacquered black and gold. Their massive kite shields covered them from chin to thigh with plenty left over. Their heavy lances were held vertically as they neared their destination.

The noble was pleased when Temujin requested that he lead an assault on the intruders. Harpies had relayed the message and told him the location and nature of his target. It was a large grouping of infantry at least a hundred in number along with a few strange armored mechanical transports. The geomancers had also been notified and instructed to head there.

Despite the fact that Sir Alexander and his six knights would be vastly outnumbered, he wasted no time departing for his target. Stealth, ambushes, and hit-and-run attacks were all well and good; his brother and the rest of Cipher Nex swore by them. However, sometimes it took out-and-out valor to strike fear into the hearts of one’s foes, breaking their will to fight. Sometimes it took displays of might rather than cunning to win the battle.

With that in mind, he and his band neared the southeastern edge of the forest and caught sight of the company of company of mercenaries. They were in full march, heading directly for the castle ruins. That much was certain. It appeared that most were on foot, though some could very well have been hiding in the transports.

Without giving their enemies the opportunity to reach the tree line, Sir Alexander issued the order. His formation charged from the forest into the open ground. Beasts snarled and warriors shouted as they formed up into a wedge with Alexander at the point. They surged toward the largest mass of mercenaries, lances down, shields up, and mounts roaring with voracious hunger. Valor would rule the night.

* * * * *

“Now can you tell me what you’re trying to do?” asked the chef. Protected and concealed within the cluster of pines, Chris, Ciaphas, Temujin, and their handful of Dark Rangers and Hunters watched as flame quickly consumed the village. The black-clad mercenary nodded and everyone turned away from the burning structures in the distance.

“I’m sorry for being secretive, kid,” said ‘Jin, sincerity in his voice. “As I said before, Dirks couldn’t be trusted. For that reason, I realized the best shot we had of driving the lot of them away was to blindside them first.”

“I can understand that, ‘Jin,” replied Chris, sighing in frustration. “But why didn’t you let me in on this plot of yours? I could have helped it along.”

“I told you that they had a powerful telepath in their ranks,” explained the mercenary, pacing back to the edge of the tree cluster. “It was the man we captured. While I have the training to protect my thoughts, I couldn’t risk telling you what I was planning and having him ‘overhear’. I sent Ciaphas along just to keep the man occupied while I put everything into motion.” The Gellunberg noble grumbled from off to the side.

“So you’re saying that the best way for me to have helped it along was to not know what was going on?” asked the chef commander.

“Exactly,” he replied. “Neither you nor Ciaphas could have knowledge of the plan because you were going to be the closest to him.”

“All right. So you’ve got my soldiers out there ambushing Vice’s armies. Fine. Why are we burning the village?”

“Two reasons,” said ‘Jin with a nod and a shrug. “Partially, it was to potentially lure some of the enemy forces back and cause confusion. Mainly, though, it was to cut off any line of retreat they had and deny their army its defensive qualities should they want to run.”

“Very clever,” commented Christopher with a grin. He folded his arms casually and gazed back out at the burning village. “So… now what?”

“You give me a raise, that’s what,” answered the mercenary. The chef laughed. “Other than that, we watch and wait.” And while they watched, Ciaphas slipped away unnoticed into the night.