Caleb's Journey

Assembled

Nostarius sat on a precipice on Yord’s Gulch with his feet dangling over the edge. He looked down some several hundred feet and thought of the fear others might have of falling. It gave his face a chance to flash a wicked smile. Like most everything in life, he chose to defy things out of vanity or hatred as he saw most everyone and everything as beneath him. He half-wished there was somebody nearby to throw over the edge and watch them fall.

Flying ahead of the skeletons, Nostarius never went beyond their line of sight enabling the skeletons to reach their destination while giving him separation from those he deemed his lesser as well as his general disdain for performing tasks. He knew that they had their instructions from Xerax and he felt more like a nursemaid than the temporary overseer of an army. Curiosity had gotten the better of him in regard to finding out whom Xerax had chosen as the general of his forces and he wanted enough time to engage in a dialogue to assess that individual.

Erelong a creature appeared on the horizon, a dragon, or something like a dragon, for it had once been a dragon, but now it was nothing but the skeletal remains of the creature. Nostarius also spied a rider on the dragon. However, Nostarius could only focus on the dragon, for he had never seen the like of such a creature, nobody had. For the first time in centuries he stared in awe and silent wonder. Under his breath, he mouthed a single word, “Unreal.”

Even something as grand as the remains of a giant, long extinct serpent enthralled Nostarius for but a moment. His keen intellect engaged and he thought, “So that’s how the buffoon is going to take over the world. He will use Uua’s Tear to return the dragons to life. He probably had the power to raise one, but will need much more power to raise an army of the monsters. I know your secret, my dark adversary and after I kill you, I’ll steal your plan. Thank you in advance for giving me the means to rule the world. I may even give you a proper burial.”

The rider of the dragon hailed Nostarius by holding his Wand of Darkness in the air to signify that he had come in peace. Nostarius thought it a showy bit of stupidity as he had already deduced the rider’s purpose. Alighting from his beast he bowed to Nostarius, “Eman-Sadal, at your service.” The bowing being remarked.

“

You are known to me, lichmaster,” Nostarius replied.

Lichmasters lived between two worlds, a slowly rotting corpse that marched to bony immortality by means of shedding its skin. The transformation took centuries started by imbibing a potion of immortality either by concocting their own or by the more typical means, purchasing one from an evil alchemist. Alchemy proved to be quite profitable for the seasoned veteran, but it was not without its hazards as a client might kill the provider once he or she had procured the product. Thus, many an alchemist either had hired bodyguards or also dabbled in dark magic as a means of protection.

Eman-Sadal had half of the skin left on his face, the right side that is, eyes still remained in both sockets, he had thinning brown hair, a greenish hue to his skin his left arm had the bones exposed from the forearm down to the tips of the fingers. Had he not worn a rotting gray cape one could see clear through him as his entire chest cavity was empty, as were his bowels. Nearly shed of his former self, he still had the fleshy remnants of his pelvis, legs, and feet. For that reason he wore gray cloth breeches and brown leather boots of fine craft.

“

I see you brought your friends,” Eman-Sadal dryly remarked.

“

I have done what was required of me by our master. As you can see the legions march towards us and will await any instructions from you. Your link to them is your wand. Xerax saw to that. I leave them in your competent hands and look forward to coming to review your success after I have returned to Xerax. I’ll be sure to give him your regards.” With those words and a desire to spend as little time as possible with Eman-Sadal, Nostarius flew off into the sky, somewhat weakened from having spent so much time in the sun. He knew he had to feed before too long. “There is always good hunting on the way home,” he told himself.

Eman-Sadal had a mutual dislike for Nostarius. He viewed him as an arrogant, condescending, and entirely unworthy ambassador to serve Xerax. Whether it was contempt or jealousy, Eman-Sadal really couldn’t say, only that he knew this much, he had a great enmity towards the vampire. He half hoped that Nostarius would die from the exposure to the sun before he fed thereby leaving a vacancy for the position with Xerax. Spitting in defiance as he watched Nostarius sail off into the cool morning air contented him. For his part, Nostarius wanted to turn around and hurl a fireball at the lichmaster and watch him burn alive in magical flames. As for the dragon, well, Nostarius hoped his fiery missile wouldn’t miss its rider for Nostarius felt a chilling effect emanating from the creature.

At the same time that Nostarius left, the skeletons marched up the hill to reach their commander. With the raising of his wand all of the skeletons ceased to move. “Amazing!” Eman-Sadal thought as he looked over the breadth and depth of rows and rows of warriors at his disposal. Throngs of skeletons swayed to and fro, enthralled by their master and awaiting his next command. For now they had to wait for the other armies to arrive. He dismissed his dragon and told it to keep a safe distance and to not let its presence be known to his allies.

They didn’t have to wait long for Skarlarth, Segtui, Manaan, Wulu, and Lortaag all appeared on the horizon, marching over the hot, arid, baked, caked landscape towards the army they all beheld. As they marched the ogres beat their war drums made of animal hide stretched over a deep wooden bowl. Both ogre and the gnoll alike moved to the rhythmic sound of the instrument. Their faces were angry and snarled, the gait in perfect lockstep to the music, producing a thunderous noise across the plain as both races felt an innate sense to exact retribution from those that had vanquished them in the past. Conversely, the skeletons stood like lemmings, blindly following each other no matter where the path led. What had they to fear? Their feeble brains lacked the capacity to consider it and moreover, they already were dead.

As the groups converged the leaders of their respective armies met in the middle of a vast circle of beings. Eman-Sadal bowed politely and spoke first, “Greetings noble allies. I am Eman-Sadal, emissary of Xerax and the commander of his great army. I will lead us to victory. Many battles have I fought and won and I have a superior knowledge of tactics, an area I find lacking, if I may say so politely, in both of your armies. Follow me to victory comrades. Let the skeletons lead the way. After all, they are merely fodder for the campaign.” The others stood in silent awe, stupefied by Eman-Sadal’s biting remarks.

With those words he slowly lowered his staff and the skeletons turned and began their march towards Attalis. An ogre herald blew his bone horn, the deep bass of which reverberated through the morning air. The united front of ogres and gnolls waited for the skeletons to take the lead. The sound of the hide covered drums resumed and the collective humanoids formed into ranks behind their unholy allies.

Skeletons, the infantry units marched at the head of the army, followed by the missile columns composed of gnoll slingers and ogre spear brigades. Trogdon had seen to the creation of the spear brigades as he wanted a greater presence of ranged attacks. Ogre strength, while not allowing for their hurled weapons to sail as far as the human bow, did allow the weapon to cover a great distance with fierce velocity and inflict mortal wounds.

Flanking the missile column were gnoll riders and ogre cavalry mounted on evarks. Behind this force came the siege weapons, the tools necessary to attempt reduce Attalis to rubble: catapults, battering rams, and siege towers all pulled by the aforementioned creatures. This formidable force plodded forward towards the forest, the clearing that lay beyond the edge Attalis, then once that landmark was crossed, towards the human frontier stronghold and their collective fate, taking refuge.

As they moved, Skarlarth’s chest swelled with pride at the size of the assembled host. He longed to conquer the humans and to establish himself as the head of the new, dominant race, the ogre race. In his estimation the gnolls would fall in greater numbers than his ogres as they were not nearly as tall or hardy. Turning his head towards Lortaag he thought to himself, “He fears me. I’ll have no trouble bending him to my will.”

“

What say you now, Segtui?” Skarlarth inquired.

“

It is just splendid my cousin.”

“

We are mighty together,” Lortaag said, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. All three of them rode at the rear of the army, Manaan and Wulu, leaders of lesser tribes brought up the rear and soon the lichmaster joined them. “When Attalis falls to us, we will use that as our base of operations. Let’s see how the humans like trying to regain their stronghold,” remarked Eman-Sadal to all of his compatriots, with a gleam in his eye. “I will orchestrate the siege and try to minimize the damage to the structure. Those pathetic souls guarding their precious keep are no match for the armies of Xerax.”

“

And his allies,” Segtui added.

Eman-Sadal shot him a chilling stare, “That goes without saying.”