AC 2021 - Final - Storm Veritas

[Storm Veritas]

Everything had come together far too quickly, and Storm felt violent tugs from within regarding a lack of planning. This wasn’t poker or some boardroom negotiation; no clever calculations on return or reading of his adversary’s eye would bely right from wrong. This was a simple matter of raw instinct. Had he stayed the plan, there was a very real possibility that he, Sorian, and Elite Optic could have quelled the demon uprising, and possibly driven them back into the gate, leaving the dwarves without the numerical advantage they would have relied on to overthrow the elves and tip the balance of power.

Or, Elite and/or Sorian get a taste for the power and enjoy it, rolling through Ettermire.

Hell, or YOU do.

Like alcohol or nicotine, power was a dangerously addictive drug. Storm didn’t trust himself with it; certainly not in the vast quantities the dwarves were talking. His thoughts flashed back to Shinsou near dead in Tylermande, or the ashes of Whitevale, a city leveled to cinders under his watch. Power was something he had sought his whole life, until he had it.

It was a few more moments of riding slowly when the adventurer realized how cold it was tonight. He had been sweating in the rush, adrenaline driving his heartbeat as the dwarves had momentarily come in firing range. Now that they were lost (for now), the cold air rolled across the plains and cut through him, the beads of sweat burning cold.

“Easy boy. Smooth, quiet, easy.” Storm rubbed the neck of his horse, whose name he hadn’t learned. He had taken well enough to “Boy”, and broke easily for the wizard, listening well to commands and driving forward dutifully. Had he not needed the speed, the graying electromancer would love to release the horse, sending him back north to the dwarves, and relative safety.

His nose still burned from the sulfurous fumes here, he couldn’t enjoy the pleasant odor of tobacco as he lit his pipe and moved slowly. The little orange flicker remained within the pipe – an advantage afforded to pipes when trying to move stealthily. Riding forward, there were still moments where the starlight failed them, and the wizard was forced to conjure white light from his hands to guide the path. He tried to be judicious; with each little cast he expected a torrent of trebuchet fire.

Not yet. Not till we reach the gates, or damned near them.

He was going to draw the dwarves to the gate, and make them fire upon him and the demons alike. It would trigger war, likely razing the demon gates and hopefully obliterating the uprising of demons, decimating the dwarf army in the process.

A perfect plan except for the stupid asshole in the middle.

He had resolved himself to die here on the plains tonight. It was a sad form of actualization, but an inevitability he was forced to embrace. His story would go untold, and unknown, but remain impactful all the same. The smooth taste of tobacco filled his mouth as he enjoyed what may be his last smoke.

“You’ll be off as soon as I see them, boy. Let you ride home, let you out to stud somewhere. I made this bed; you deserve better.”