AC 2021 - Final - Storm Veritas

[Storm Veritas]

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before the horseman moved in the dead of night. Pressure from the dwarven north wasn’t about to stop, and he had to pull them in without being struck by their range. The painful reality sat in his stomach like a rock, an undigestible fact that endangered the whole, half-thought “plan”.

And what if the dwarves let you go early? Or if the demons are already on the move? How do you guarantee that they actually engage?

It was painful and undeniable, but he had to accept the risk at this point. If the dwarves had let him roll away, they’d still have the demon army coming to them. Perhaps they’d let the demons thin the elven numbers first, but based on the massive camp he had just left, they were prepared for war. Conversely, if they had released him, then he’d be able to beat a path east of everything down the mountain ridge to Etherea. Maybe some humans and elves still lived there. Maybe they could get him the hell off of Alerar and home to Corone.

“No safe bet any way we want to wager, boy. Just keep beatin’ south until we find what we’re looking for. You’re almost home, boy.” The horse seemed to bray gently as he marched ahead, obedient and docile.

The stars lit a path for them that became more pronounced, until the tandem came upon the first orange flickers on the horizon. The demons had set fires about small camps, dozens of them scattered about the plains. Storm instantly halted the horse at the first sight of one some four hundred yards off, squinting in the darkness to assess the situation. No demon chatter could be heard above the blowing winds, which offered a perverse whisper and steady cold.

Dismounting, the wizard felt his hips ache in the cool as the slowly led his horse forward by the reins. He took a long drink from the flask in his satchel, pouring more water into a hard packed divot on the plain, a puddle which the horse eagerly consumed. Squatting and staring, the first camp ahead was bizarre and terrible. Four large rocks had been torn from the earth, positioned about a fire to limit the air and block the winds. Three large abominations lay by the fire, and a fourth figure to their side – one of those horrible wolves – sat on his haunches, head in his massive front paws. The beast was demonstrably larger than the horse that Storm guided, a fact not lost on him.

To both the right and left side of the first camp lay other fires, some two hundred yards between each other. From here, only the flicker of flames and faint outlines of rock formations could be discerned, each promising something terrible.

This far north and they’ve got scouts packed this tight? Gods, there must be tens of thousands of the awful things. It’s over. It’s fucking over.

“OK, boy. Time to go.” The magician turned his horse to face north, and slapped him firmly on his right haunch. The horse galloped ahead some ten yards, turning to gaze back at the wizard. Frustrated, Storm pulled a thumb sized rock from the ground and whipped it forward, harmlessly scaring the horse with a strike to the ribs. The aging electromancer felt a tug at his heart as he watched the horse run away northwards; his last friend in the world was gone. The dwarves were still a good distance back, or had left his trail entirely.

Gods, so this really is -IT-, then.

A strange sense of peace filled the wizard as the goosebumps upon his flesh subsided. Alone, he stared down the small camp dead ahead. His fingers pulled his hair back taut against his head, managing a few straggling tendrils of a white color he pretended he hadn’t seen. The eyes of Storm Veritas were a distant gray, so light that they nearly appeared white. Walking slowly, he lifted his hands high and wide to the sides, his body forming an exaggerated “T” as he instinctively used his ability to float his daggers from his hips to his hands. He was alone, the echoing sound of his metal soles clicking on the shale like surface of the plain marking every step. His face transformed, moving from placid and tranquil to focused and hawkish; a sneer scoring across his face finally as the wizard deliberately walked to the mouth of the beast.

“Come and get me, you bastards!”