Army Battle: Argentum Astrum v. The Bandit Brotherhood

[Call me J]

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

[Saxon]

As fiery and restless as it was, the yellow rays of the sun that trickled downward steeled the jaw of every man as dawn approached the desolate wasteland. The place was dry and unforgiving, and the soon-to-be crystal blue sky that would hang overhead seemed like an unattainable dream as death lurked under every rock, and around every corner. Though the winds had died down for quite some time, there was a rumor that gale force winds could pick up during a storm and were so powerful it could strip the flesh from bone so quickly that'd it'd be left in time to bleach under the unwelcomed gaze of the sun in a matter of minutes. But, it could've been just that; a rumor.

Stationed upon the fringes of a dry, forgotten riverbed, an encampment of tents, supplies, and a horde of warriors of every shape and form were rife with activity as each creature slowly began to awaken for the day ahead. Forgotten, calloused earth cracked under the approaching footsteps as two men broke away from the camp, their conversation set at a low tone.

" Good news or bad news?" The red-sashed, weathered man asked as he stared into the azure eyes of his superior officer.

" Just say it."

Absent mindedly, the reputable warlock reached for the jug and prepared to pluck the cork as he nodded his head in the direction they were facing, his accent similar to that of a salvarian," No water for miles, in fact I think if there was any it'd be trapped in cacti or in an isolated spring of some kind. Looks like we're in the middle of a drought."

" Perfect," his commander replied as he popped the front of his akubra up with a thumb and began to survey the wastes. Normally, a man who commanded an army would find himself in a bad way if presented with a situation like this, but it was fortunate that the bulk of the creatures that populated his company had little need of such luxuries. Besides, as a specially requested terrain, the officials of the tournament felt it a necessity to provide each army with enough barrels of water to keep them from dying of thirst in the event this battle turned from a fight for survival into that of attrition.

Thirst, Saxon had thought. He'd never been in a place that demanded such adaptation to its harsh conditions. But, as Boris had told him earlier, the raw savage nature of such a place could become a blessing in disguise. The place they had requested was akin to the home turf of both the Khazban and the pyromancer, making the untapped resources and knowledge of its dangers for the eldritch's taking.
" So what're we going to do?" The drunken vagabond muttered as he took a quick swig of the jug he revered so greatly.

Kneeling down, the pallid figure opposite of him picked a chunk of earth from its face and crumbled it into pieces, rubbing it into his hands as he stared towards the only landmass that loomed in the east. Still gray and blurry from the effects the blanket of night had in the wee hours, the mass that was casted in sunlight gave off a deep, rusted red and revealed rocks stacked or grown in archaic patterns as they came by in a crescent fashion, attempting to conceal something," We're going to send out our first wave of scouts to find out what it is we're dealing with. Trackers would be best suited for it," he said.

" And then?"

Digging his finger back into the earth, Saxon drew a massive crescent and then three separate circles standing together, just out of reach of the square. Marking the middle of the scene with a crude X between the two, the weird wiped a dirt, clodden finger on the side of his pants and then pointed towards the landmass," If that’s what I suspect it is, it'll be an ideal place to fight the opposition should we get the leg up."

" So we're herdin' em'?" Boris said with a trace of anticipation etched in his voice.

" Yup. First we find out what it is we're facing, then we work a way to uproot them and drive them into a rout east. By then we'll have set rockslides along here and here with our giant friends, trapping whoever it is we manage to get there. After that its a matter of how exactly it is we want to mop them up," The eldritch said as he stood and scratched out the markings habitually with the heel of his foot.

" How sporting," Boris said with a snort as he gazed at the shadowed formation that'd be the stage of the final battle field.

" Go get the trackers, tell them to fan out and search every nook and cranny and to return by sunset with their reports," Saxon said as he tugged the akubra downward to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun.

" What about the wurm?" The warlock asked with a grimace upon his face. It was true that Thamuul would be the one variable in the weird's plan that he couldn't control down to the last letter, but they had something they could use to track it.

Staring downward, the eldritch lifted the pendant he had been given and saw the deep, opaque red that shimmered over the rock. Taking it in hand, he could feel the dull, steady thump of the creature's heartbeat through the amulet. It was the only way he knew, short of mobilizing the entire army and marching them around the landscape, to tell where it was. It'd act like a dowsing rod when the creature was near and the hue of the stone gave a dim outline of what exactly it was doing. Dropping the pendant, the weird looked at him with cold, smouldering blue eyes," Thamuul sleeps, but not forever. Once we're on the move it is sure to awaken, but fortunately for us, we have mass and might on our side."

" Guess the damn stone-skins are good for something after all," The warlock muttered under his breath as he spat on the ground and silently cursed the Khazban's name. It had taken awhile to get Boris to accept the fact they were on his side, if only temporarily, but neither the ogres nor he would go out of their way to save the other's life if they had the choice. But, as long as they cooperated, Saxon would turn his attention else where.

After a brief period of silence, Boris turned back towards camp and strolled off to inform the men and organize the scouts before he sent them off in every direction. The eldritch suspected none of them would find anything, and if such a thing were to happen, they'd be sent out again until they got some reliable intel. Left to his own devices, Saxon simply looked back towards the canyon one last time that would be made into a killing grounds. But, the road to the end was long and winding, and even in battle the eldritch had learned never to expect anything to have any sort of certainty. Especially here, he thought with an air of pragmatism.


Squaring his shoulders, Saxon knew the work ahead of him wasn't going to be easy or a pleasant sight, but it needed to be done. The Brotherhood wasn't the only one depending on him to win the tournament, and the eldritch was never one to disappoint. Turning back towards camp, the weird gave a small smile at what was to come; either way he looked at it blood was going to be spilled within a few days time. Lives were going to be lost, and for the first time in who knows how long, the sound of steel against steel would spark life back into these treacherous badlands.

" All in the name of the Brotherhood."

~*~

[Zook Murnig]

It was hot, almost unbearably so. Caduceus and a few members of his excavation team had gathered in a small tent, hastily raised to ward off the burning sun and parched winds while they discussed the situation at hand.

"It would be best to send the dolls in first, I should think," a slow, deliberate voice spoke up. Chic Cicero was always the wise and cautious man, the younger magician had found. As his mentor all those years ago, and even now in this desert. "They are easily our most expendable resources. Send a quarter of each variety's force, and fifteen draconians. They can scout the area and call for help if necessary."

"Ah'll be goin' wit' 'em, if tha'll be tha case," one of the squat foremen said. The Kachuk dwarves had been most helpful up to now, keeping the horde of dolls in line. Even the unruly Chromanon replicas. Somehow, they commanded even the respect of those cloth kender, where Caduceus could not begin to get them to shut their mouths all at once.

A young face peered into the tent, dark red robes evident beyond the tarp. "Master Grimaldi," he called, "we have a bit of a situation out here." His voice sounded panicked, and the Practicus Magician could only imagine what was going on outside.

"Excuse me, it seems I have business to tend to elsewhere," he said as he made for the exit. Even as he emerged from the meager structure, the heat of the sun struck his face, just as the memorable squeals of laughter struck his ears.

The scene was at once horrendous and hilarious. Stuffed dolls were everywhere, terrorizing draconian and shifter alike. Not to mention the way all of the Tel Han mages were fighting desperately to keep from being the next victim of their pranks. Several of the kender abominations were busy carrying one of the water mages off to "play" in the remnants of the once-mighty river that had carved the canyon. Now, it was little more than a trickling stream that struggled to even exist. Caduceus could feel the frustration rising within him, and he knew what he needed to do to get their God damned attention. Latching onto that fiery feeling, he let it fuel his efforts to summon the Tejas elemental energies that suffused this place. His blood boiled, and his palms began to sweat even more profusely than they had been already. Raising a hand, he traced a quick pentagram, uttering the divine name for his spell. "Yehovoh Tzabaoth!"

From his heat-stricken palm shot a pair of flaming projectiles that exploded into the ground just out of range of the rioting automatons. SPLASH! The dark blue robed captive fell into the water where the mini-Chromanons left her to focus on their new point of attention. The yammering and singing stopped. All beady little eyes were on him.

"What in the Abyss do you think you're doing?" he began to reprimand them, though he knew full well that it wasn't worth the effort. "Twenty-five of you, follow Torgun and the others into the tomb. The rest of you, find a corner and put your noses in it." Knowing how these things think, Caduceus figured they would be too busy trying to fit their noses into corners to cause anymore trouble.

The excavation director found Torgun, the dwarf that would be leading the first inspection team, and explained to him the orders. "You know how to keep them busy, and I'll trust you with that. What I need from you is to send me a messenger once you're sure it's safe for the rest of us to come in." He glanced around before continuing, "Pick twenty warriors from among the draconians and the shifters, and you can take them with you to deal with any trouble you find."

"Aye, Mister Grimaldi," the seasoned miner confirmed in his gravelly voice. "Ah'll be keepin' an eye on the rascals, ye can be sure. An' Ah'll be havin' fifteen o' th' dragonmen, and five o' th' bahr shifters. They be good comp'ny, them grizzly fellers."

As the team entered the ancient structure, the young magician found a rock and plopped down on it to think. It was times like this that made him wish someone, anyone, were there to help him keep a handle on things.

At least he had his health. For now.

[Saxon]

Boris watched as plumes of dust hued like that of rust were kicked up as five tiny specks that were once Trackers trailed off into the distance in every direction. The H'Mosep were a peculiar bunch, the warlock had realized as he witnessed them go. They were throwbacks; ancestors of man that had been discarded by Nature as another failed experiment, but for some reason they continued to live on with the inability to evolve any further. Saxon had said they hunted and gathered like most tribes, only most of the time on the flats they were the prey to much bigger predators. It was odd for the pyromancer to see the aftermath of what it'd be like if humans were on the low end of the food chain.

Turning his gaze back towards the camp, Boris caught sight of a pair of Trackers scurrying back into their tent, each angrily making complicated hand gestures towards one another. It occurred to him that the tall, lanky creatures were often hard to discern from each other as male or female, given they all looked like the former with lean, powerful muscles and each dressed in only a loin cloth. Still, that hadn't been as shocking as the time he first realized how the trackers fed with no mouths and those gargantuan noses pressed on their expressionless faces.

The warlock shuddered while he felt bile well up in the back of his throat," Never goin' to get that image out of my head," he mumbled. Moving back through the crowded encampment, Boris passed by crowds of ogres and men alike that continued to prepare for the battle to come. It wouldn't be before long that they got their chance to spill some blood, and he was only thankful that neither man nor beast had turned on each other.

Yet.

~*~

Stretched across the red, radiant surface of the wasteland three massive ships dubbed zeppelins sat grounded just forty yards from the main camp. The glare of yellow sunlight glinted off the side of the steel plating that sat bolted against the wooden frame of the ship, leaving it impenetrable to arrows or other backwater projectiles aiming to pop the giant, gray balloon roped over head. Each ship looked to be the length and size of two full-grown whales stacked on top of each other, making them far more imposing by sheer mass alone then the fearsome weapons kept secured within.

Crates, drums of fuel, cannons and everything else anybody could think a ship having lain stacked outside within the shade of the silver balloon while they waited to be brought aboard. Upon one of the ship's planks known as The Lead Deluge, a group of six roared 'Heave! Ho!' as the ropes tied upon the cannon began to fray. Again and again they inched up towards the deck, the chant becoming ominous as the crack in men's voices led to some sort of uncertainty.

Nearby, a young crew member dressed in a striped shirt and trousers a size too small for him looked at his captain pleadingly and pointed towards the ship," Look, all I'm sayin' is that the longer we 'eep em' up, the more fuel we use and the less time we see in battle!"

Arching an eyebrow, the burly, barrel-chested man standing before him scratched his wavy red hair and eyed him carefully," Mister Kronkike, are yew our first mate?"

" Sir! I-"

" Are ya'?!" The captain barked as he rummaged into one of pockets in his brown frocked coat and pulled forth a cigar. The small, lanky sailor watched helplessly as the leader of the pirates scraped a match against the edge of one of the humongous steel plates and held it close to his cigar before stuffing it between his fat lips.

" No, sir," the young man bleated as he felt the next answer of his superior officer coming like a blow from a sledge hammer.

" Good, then I won't have to tell Mister Percy that yer tryin' to do his job, eh? I don't think he'd be too thrilled to hear about such things from a greenhorn like yerself, lad," The pot-bellied man replied with a chuckle and a faint accent akin to those belonging to the city of Dumoth ringing in his voice.

" No, sir. He wouldn't, sir," The young man, looking only to be on the last leg of the age of sixteen, had said with a petrified look in his eyes.

Grabbing him by the shoulder, the tall captain took a puff upon the cigar and blew a ring of smoke into the air, leading the young sailor along with him like a father to a child," Ya' see, you need to have a little bit of faith, boyo. It’s how we do things here and you can trust in ol'e 'Arry here, I've never stirred this crew wrong yet and I would be beside meself if I saw you stumbling into a patch of doubt. Now that wouldn't be the case, would it mister Kronkike?"

" But, sir!"

Spinning back around with a vein throbbing upon his forehead, the captain that looked to be in his mid forties turned a shade of deep purple as he roared," But what?!"

" S-s-sir.."

" Y'know what yer problem is, boyo?" The captain snarled at him," I'll tell ya' what yer problem is! Yew have no backbone or bollox. Ya' can't see the forest through the trees and yet yer tellin' 'Arry 'ow to do his job. We've got the ships to load and then we set off for the 'anyon like mister Saxon ordered. No more, no less. Respect the chain of command, Kronkike, or the last thing you'll witness is my men buryin' here when the battle is over and done with. Got it?!"

" Yes.." The man began to answer before the loud crash drowned out his voice and caused the burly figure to turn on his heel and not even register the situation as he ran hurriedly away towards the sight. Barking orders and insults into an enigmatic weave, Captain Harry Fijino disappeared behind a crate and began to berate the Khazban ogres who had dropped the cannon on its head, leaving his crew member who was still wet behind the ears to sulk with the plain truth staring him in the face.

~*~

[Zook Murnig]

In stark contrast to the sweltering heat of the canyon outside, Torgun was quite comfortable once he and his team had penetrated beyond the entrance hall of the dirt dungeon. It reminded him somewhat of the more developed tunnels of Kachuk, though the sandstone that surrounded him now brought stark contrast to the granite and other, harder minerals he was accustomed to.

Bringing his lantern forward, he peered into the deep darkness. A whisper of cool air issued from within, suggesting an alternate entryway. "Oy, bahr-man," he called. "Ye smell anythin'?"

A shaggy mountain of a man answered his summons, ambling forward with his overlarge nose practically molesting the air. This shapeshifter from Dheathain had, like his brethren, been afflicted with lycanthropy since birth, giving him a bestial nature and an unnaturally large frame, as well as the ability to change his form into that of a great grizzly bear.

His eyes, previously closed in concentration, suddenly opened wide with recognition. He spoke, then, his voice like a rumbling growl, but much gentler. "Trees, sir. I smell..." He sniffed again. "Pine and fir. The mountains to the north are full of evergreens."

"Aye," grunted the dwarf. "An' there be an openin' intae 'em somewhere in these tunnels." Swinging his light around to look at his team, he barked an order to one of the little magician dolls, his long black beard wagging back and forth as he spoke. "Run along back ta Mister Grimaldi an' tell 'im that it be safe ta bring the rest o' tha men along. Ah'm havin' a good feelun about this expedition."

~~~~~

Having receipt the message from the dwarven scouting leader, Caduceus had begun organizing the teams. Five groups, each with three Tel Han earth specialists. Caduceus entered with the first, along with his old mentor Chic, and the man's raven-haired warrior wife, Tabatha. Enough firepower was in that group, he had decided that he could devote more of his forces to the remaining platoons. Nonetheless, he thought, I am glad I chose to bring a few draconians and a couple of the wolfmen with me.

The journey into the depths of that cool place felt like it would never end, and just when he was about to call for a short rest, the unlikely leader spotted a soft glow in the distance, swinging back and forth as if searching its surroundings. "Torgun's found something, I take it."

When the magician reached the end of the narrow tunnel, he found quite a sight indeed. Torgun smiled that half-toothy grin of his and shone the light on a section of wall over another, much larger and more ornate, doorway. Tabatha Cicero gasped and fell to her knee, head down and refusing to gaze upon what everyone else gawked at.

A breathtaking mural spread overhead, depicting a woman in a wide-horned helmet fighting off a pack of spear-carrying warriors clad in wolf skins, while sitting astride a mighty and gigantic ox, all in what appeared to be a mountainous wintry scene. "The Auroch Queen," he breathed as confirmation greeted him that they had indeed entered her tomb.

[Saxon]

Jagged, primeval pillars of stone brushed against the crystal blue sky as if they were the fingers of the world itself, daring to reach out and grasp the sun that sat overhead. Blinded by the glare of the sun as he peered upwards, Gom shielded his hooded eyes with a calloused hand while he tried to get a lay of the land. Safe behind the cover of one of countless boulders and upturned rocks that sat in every direction, more out of habit than his own personal safety.

The canyon that sat at the center of the wasteland had been deceptive in its distance or so the tracker had thought. It had taken the creature the better part of the day to travel from the encampment to the site, and he could still feel his labored breath as his abnormally big nostrils sucked in as much air as they could, creating a strange sucking noise while the creature's bare chest heaved. Thinking back on it, Gom knew his orders to be rather easy; travel to the canyon, check to see if it was abandoned and then return to camp.

But, nobody had expected that the enemy would actually lay entrenched there.

Narrowing his gaze from the canyon to the tiny specks of movement from within the cover of its red, rocky surface, Gom stifled a breath and felt his primitive mind begin to race with the possibilities. The scout found life within the box canyon, and whether it was the enemy or not, he had to report it. Leaving the safety of the boulder behind, Gom gave one last shallow breath as he looked back towards the direction he had come and began to run. The primitive didn't know much about the outside world having lived in the wasteland most of his life, but he knew a key piece of information when he saw it.

~*~

The sun sank low overhead before all of the scouts returned to the encampment during the first day. One by one each of the primitive trackers had been ushered into the command tent where Saxon, Boris and the rest of the tacticians sat waiting and were presented with a chunk of charcoal and a massive piece of yellowed parchment that lay sprawled across a large, oaken table. Hours apart, the map began to take shape as each scout drew a portion of the map from their viewpoint.

Rocky mountains sat at the edge of the badlands in every direction, each hundreds of miles apart from the encampment and then canyon making the possibility of shelter a minimum. There had been no trees or very little foliage to speak of within the wasteland and any and all riverbeds that snaked across the landscape were bone dry, confirming the warlock's suspicions of a drought. But, as Saxon watched, the first four scouts all said the same thing; no enemy.

"Maybe we should send them out again?" Boris had suggested once he watched the fourth scout named Narr shake his head at the question that all his fellow scouts had been asked.

"Maybe," The weird managed to reply before the tracker called Gom walked hurriedly through the flaps of thick, leathery canvas that had acted as a door.

Stiffening in posture, Saxon gazed at the exhausted scout who stood in his presence. Slowly one of the tribesmen of the H'Mosep looked up from the table at the presence of his fellow brother and grabbed the charcoal like he had done with all the others. Proffering it to the young scout, the elder made several hand gestures in the silent language each of the primitives spoke and poised the same question he had asked all the other scouts.

"Have you found them?"

Saxon held his breath as he waited for Gom's response. It was the difference between awaiting another day for the scouts to find the enemy or to begin to formulate a plan of attack. He had sent too few to survey the land, and despite whatever the trackers had found, the eldritch would need the zeppelins to return to confirm their findings to draw the final map. It had only been a shot in the dark that they would find anything of use, he had realized.

But, despite whatever anxiety the weird had, he could feel it in his bones that this was it. Before Gom had even heard the rest of his question, the tracker's head bobbed as his dark, hooded eyes looked from his elder to the crowd of leaders and tacticians that sat before him.

Looking up from where he was seated to see Boris give him a toothy grin, Saxon remained stoic as he looked back towards the table and saw Gom quickly sketching a rough outline of the canyon and a sea of rocks that lay between Wolfshead and what the eldritch believed to be the enemy.

"The Lead Deluge was sent to survey the canyon, right?" Saxon asked pointedly as he turned to Boris.

"Yah, It just took flight a few hours ago. Want me to contact them?"

Nodding solemnly, the eldritch pushed his chair backwards and stood,"Yes. Get the captain of the Deluge on the horn and tell him what we found. Have no idea what kind of enemy lies in the canyon so he is ordered to not take any aggressive action until we understand what exactly it is we're dealing with."

With a curt nod, the pyromancer mumbled,"I'll get the boys on it right away, Saxon."

~*~

[Zook Murnig]

"Everybody, stay in your teams," Caduceus ordered. "Two earth mages per group in case of cave-ins, as before." The magician had found the tomb he had been searching for, and now he just needed to find what he was searching for in there. "The Helm of Aurochs is in here somewhere!" he called, reminding everyone of their goal.

He knew better than to try to force Tabatha from her reverent posture. It was part of the barbarian woman's heritage, after all. The Auroch Queen had been a fierce dictator, and a military force to be reckoned with. The woman in that mural was the same woman who ruled over Tabatha's tribe with an iron fist, and a dehlar hammer, a hundred years before the raven-haired warrior was born. She was merely paying respects to a great and terrible leader, before plundering her final resting place.

"Torgun!" Caduceus summoned the dwarf from the scouting party, knowing he could hold his own. The shaggy-maned miner ambled over, pickaxe in hand. "I need you and your team to stay here and watch the entrance," he muttered quietly, trying not to be heard. He didn't want the whole camp on edge. "I'll leave a pair of earth mages with you. Should anyone start to come down that tunnel, collapse it. I'll trust your judgment on how, when, and where. I've got a weird feeling about this whole thing. It's been too easy so far, and I feel like we're being followed."

It was more than a feeling, though. He'd seen someone or something far off in the distance, at the top of the canyon, while he had been waiting for word from Torgun. He hadn't brought it up before, but he knew it was a good idea to hurry up and get everyone inside. And besides, he could have been wrong. If he was mistaken, there was no sense in destroying the nearest exit and forcing themselves to take the long way out, into the mountains.

~~~~~

As the army of diggers made their way into the depths of the desert tomb, the paths branched off and two squads would go one way, two another, until all that remained with Caduceus, Chic, and Tabatha were a handful of the animated dolls, a pair of wolf shifters, noses ever twitching, three draconian lancers, and a couple of Tel Han mages. All of the magician plushies had been ordered to provide lighting via a series of heatless flames that they carried overhead.

The passage was narrow enough that they had to neatly file through, two by two, aside from the tiny automatons who could easily scramble between and around the legs of their larger companions. Tabatha and one of the shifters, named Logan, were up front with a gnome doll and a couple of kender dolls, which sang some "Hi-ho, hi-ho" song insufferably.

A soft howl of wind rang out through the labyrinthine structure as the ever present sandstone and limestone gave way to the harder, stronger granite of the mountains' roots. Veins of shimmering green plynt laced the walls and ceiling here and there, giving the corridor an eerie glow from the reflected light of the magical flames.

Soon, the magician thought, we will have the helm of the Auroch Queen, and we'll be able to prevent such a tyrant from rising again so easily.

[Saxon]

The gush of piercing static flooded the air and resonated throughout the entire bridge, causing pirates to and fro to wince and grit their teeth at the sound. Squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could to weather the vocal storm, Captain Harry Fijino ran a hand along his coarse, unkempt amber beard and to the side of the face in frustration. Feeling his brain beginning to thump against the waves of noise blaring at him, the pirate could take it no longer and roared over the static," Oi! That's enough! We got the message, shut it off already, ya' stupid git!"

Jumping at the sound of her captain's voice, a small, wiry woman bearing a headset pulled her hand reflexively away from the various knobs and dials of the radio as if it had been set on fire. Cursing quietly to herself in a foreign tongue, the olive-coloured woman lulled herself into a state of uneasy calm as she moved her arm over to the left side of the radio and flipped the master switch hanging onto its steep, metal slope and cut the drowning static in one fell swoop. Instantly the soft yellow light that radiated from the meters and gauges were snuffed out and all the red, thin arrows plummeted back to zero.

Shaking his head noisily with a snort, the captain rubbed his forehead soothingly and groaned with relief," Gah! Thank you, lass. Couldn't feel me head any more from all tha' din. Play it back fer us, eh?"

Already two steps ahead, the operator moved her hands nimbly towards the volume dial and turned it to zero before flipping the radio on again. Like a master at work, the sailor turned knobs and flicked switches as she went about her way in an attempt to make the message was clear and crisp as possible. Stepping into a vacant gaze as he watched her work, the captain looked up at a sudden whir of gears as two reels containing drums of black, striped plastic began to spin in opposite directions and the sound of nothing gripped the bridge before the woman who called herself Maris slowly began to turn the volume dial back to its normal setting.

Snapping back to reality, the aged buccaneer perked up his ear as he heard the crackling sounds of life in the tape. Raising his fuming, brown wrapped stogie to his lips, Fijino sucked the intoxicating miasma into his lungs and waited expectantly. It wasn't before long, however that the familiar sound of Boris' voice came upon the speakers situated on each side of the radio, his voice thick with excitement;

" To the captain of The Lead Deluge, this is HQ; we think we've found something and it’s in your sector. Your orders have changed. Once you reach the Bowl, do a quick sweep for life in whatever way possible for we may have found the enemy. Report your findings immediately. If found, do not.. I repeat do not... krrrrrrzzzzzzccccchhhhh..."

The rest of the message died in a soft hiss of static as the operator reflexively flipped a switch and caused the reels to roll backwards until they stopped and then played the same message again for confirmation. Once finished, Fijino snorted and looked about to see the entire crew that manned their stations looking at him obediently.

" That it? Whas' wrong with it?"

" Aye, captain. Appears that the mountains surrounding the badlands could be interfering with the frequency," The operator candidly replied.

Turning on his heel, the pirate captain sneered at the thought of taking orders from what he had called a 'magician' and made it apparent to his crew. Moving towards his giant, leathery seat that sat in front of the massive, concave dip of glass that stood between the people manning the dirigible and the world below, the captain felt the eyes of his crew upon him. Sitting with a thump upon his throne, Captain Fijino sat back and barked," Yew 'eard im', lads and lassies. Full speed to the canyon mouth and rise into the cloud banks. Not goin' to let those mangy bastards see us coming until it's too late!"

Obeying the corrupted message to a tee, the crew spun back in their swivel chairs and began to toy with the innards of the ship until The Lead Deluge leapt forward and made a beeline for the canyon. It wasn't before long that the entire zeppelin and its crew were engulfed in the thick, dense clouds that hung above.

~*~

" You do it?"

" Yeah," Boris replied with a worried look plastered upon his face," What with all the static, though, the radioeers weren't completely sure the entire message got through."

Stooped over the large, aged parchment that lay before him, Saxon dropped the piece of charcoal from his fingertips, having had added bits and pieces of new reports coming in and strategic markings onto the map himself. Looking up, he stared at his subordinate stoically before shaking his head," That can't possibly be good."

" No, Saxon, it isn't. But we did manage to get the rest of the zeppelin surveys in ten minutes ago. Can't see a thing in this darkness so they had to work with the floodlights installed upon their ships," Boris explained before proffering the package of papers he was holding to the eldritch and then added," Should be comin' back though."

Taking the transcribed notes that were scribbled by the radio operators, Saxon sat them down beside him and stared back down at the visage of the canyon that had a bold, large question mark penciled in over it. Giving a brief sigh, the weird felt himself at battle with his inner demons as he considered what he was about to do," Fuck it," he said abruptly," We can't wait for the Deluge to scout and sit around with our thumbs up our asses. For all we know, we could be wasting valuable time while the enemy has used it to gain a foothold of some kind; I'm not going to let that happen. Get it down to the squad commanders that we're mobilizing and that we begin our march to the canyon as soon as we break camp."

" Alright," Boris quickly said as he nodded in understanding, not feeling the need to question Saxon's leadership at this juncture, and moved towards the flap of the capacious command tent before he was stopped by the weird.

" Hey!" Saxon called, causing the warlock to stop dead in his tracks and turn towards the commander of Wolfshead," Tell the boys to send out to the captains to meet us there. If we don't find anything at the canyons, we're moving into the mountains. We won't let these pricks out from under our noses if I have anything to say about it."

Giving a salute jokingly, Boris turned and went about his footwork to carry out his orders. It wouldn't even be midnight before the entire army was on the move.

~*~

[Zook Murnig]

Drip, drip.

The corridor had run on for what seemed like ages when the sound of waterdrops reached the ears of the inquisitive intruders. It had twisted and turned, and though the path never seemed to rise or fall, Caduceus had the distinct feeling that they were quite a bit higher than they had been before they entered the tomb. Where sandstone had given way to granite previously, it had returned once more to the grainy, compact earth several times throughout the winding hallway.

Drip, drip.

The rhythmic sound of their steady march kept the magician's mind busy, and he was glad for it. He hated the paranoia that had begun to overtake him, wanted to purge himself of those pessimistic thoughts.

Drip...rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

It took a moment for anyone to register the break in the monotony. Finally, Tabatha spoke up, her voice strong and quiet, "What a strange sound for one to hear in a place like this..."

"What do you suppose it is, sir?" Logan growled questioningly to his employer. "The noise is familiar, but I cannot place it."

"But I can," the Qaballist answered. He had spent time in Ettermire, and knew well what would make such a racket. "Engines. Chic, you're in charge until I get back. I'm going up to check things out." His advisor nodded, and he seated himself in the middle of the tunnel, ignoring the confused stares of all but the little dolls.

Closing his eyes, Caduceus focused on the feeling of his heartbeat in his chest. His breath slowed and steadied, and he imagined a knot tied in a string that connected his mind to his body. Wrapping his will about the binding, he loosened its connection until the two existed separately, and his body slumped against the ground.

He was floating now, staring over his corporeal form, running on autopilot as it lay there. Only the draconians and Master Cicero seemed to understand what had happened, while all the other warriors glanced around in the dimly lit corridor, brandishing their weapons at the dark. The pair of kendergoyle replicas gazed at his semi-lifeless form, heads cocked sideways as they poked his midsection in curiosity.

Turning his attention elsewhere, the astral magician commanded UP! It was strange to see the earth coming at you from above and yet never strike. Stranger still was the experience of being enveloped by that suffocating substance, and never faltering in breath or feeling cramped.

Caduceus rose quickly, and called upon his Etheric sight to allow himself a view other than darkness and stone. As he broke the surface, floating through sparse, but tall grass, he heard the rumbling of engines yet again, and more loudly. Looking up at the clouds above, he peered through the mist.

Several shapes emerged in the clouds. All of them dark and large. Very large.

The magician was speechless for a long moment before he said, voice thin and going nowhere at all, "Oh my..."

Astral Projection used in this post was gained here and approved by Saxon for use in the battle.

[Saxon]

The large, menacing blotch of darkness that hovered just out of sight of the clouds began to rumble louder and louder while it moved ever closer towards the canyons. It had almost seemed omnipresent to those who saw more of the huge blobs descend from the East and West as if they were vultures preparing to circle their latest victim that laid in its death throes. The sheer size of each behemoth testified to whatever power it had wielded, and it wasn't until one of the dirigibles closest to the scarlet wound that sat within the desolate badlands began to sink below the clouds did the full impact of just what was happening hit those that had witnessed it's steady progress.

Carving through the clouds like a searing blade through a hunk of flesh, The Lead Deluge came within sight of the canyons for the first time in a matter of hours. Sitting upon his cushioned throne, Captain Fijino could only watch as his destination crept ever closer, the canyons now so flush with crimson that they looked to be stained with blood. The zeppelin’s navigator held his brass sextant above a patchwork of crude maps that had been transcribed from the tattered bits and pieces of Wolfshead's latest transmission, attempting to plot a course that would give the entire crew a bird's eye view of the canyons.

They were nearly there.

Fijino's stubby fingers dug into the leather upholstery of his throne as he felt his ship continue to sink down into the abyss below while they prepared to cast the final survey that would make or break the battle that was to come. Both the Sky Fury and The Magellan were mere hours away from meeting at the agreed rendezvous, but it'd be too late. The pirate captain wouldn't wait that long for his bitter rivals to accompany him into battle; he had his standing orders, and he would relay the last piece of the puzzle needed for Saxon's horde to descend upon the enemy, but there was no reason to sit and wait for them to join him.

By dawn, the horde might've reached the canyons, but if the captain had any say in the matter, he'd give one last look upon the first life sign he saw upon the landscape and then give the order to pulverize it into oblivion.

Overhead, the zeppelin had reached the large, scarlet fingers of the canyon that sat profane amongst the rest of the wasteland. Turning with a whining groan as the steel plating felt the tug of gravity while the dirigible dipped right, the entire ship quickly swung right and moved into the cover of the pillars that had been formed to protect the canyon in the first place. In approximately ten minutes the zeppelin would make its first initial sweep as it circled the canyons, and once that had happened, it would ascend to the proper altitude to hover above the wasteland once more to make its final assessment.

And then The Lead Deluge would prepare to launch its first barrage.

~*~

The steady thump of hoof beats below the eldritch's feet gradually jarred him from his train of thought as he continued to plot and think of the various tactics he'd need to use to give his regiment the edge it needed in battle. Looking down to see the soft, powdered black mane of his young warhorse billowing in the wind, Saxon patted him softly and muttered," You'd better be worth the trouble.."

Ambrose merely snorted.

Pulling forward, the weird gently kicked the ribs of the horse into a gait as he held onto the reins, intending to catch up to Boris who had insisted in taking a portion of the army and using it to scout ahead. Glancing behind him, Saxon turned back to see the wall of shadows that was his horde that marched only minutes behind him, he knew that once the horde fell into battle formation things would become cohesive. That was if they wanted to survive.

Only a few tents remained standing at the base camp, mostly guarded by a few ogres here and there that had been assigned to protect the radio operators that had been unable to lug their cumbersome equipment to the battlefield. Once The Lead Deluge had trickled down the last of the information to the radioeers back at HQ, the message would then be transmitted through the huge, plastic handheld radios that both Boris, Saxon, and the lieutenants carried that had acted as the only landline and communications between the army and the ones the eldritch had handpicked for gathering intelligence.
Feeling himself able to control the wild spitfire colt more and more with each passing day, the eldritch gave one last kick and felt himself rock backwards as Ambrose broke into a mad gallop forward. At this pace they'd be within a stone's throw of the canyons in less than three or five hours, and the weird would do anything he could to insure that should they find the enemy, the first strike would produce fruitful results.

Or so he hoped.

~*~