Part 1: The Ways of Witch
There was a road that made its way from Drewsport to a rest stop on the coast. Then the road left the rocky coastline behind, and curved and curled up through some Canyonlands before opening up into open desert. This transitionary landscape was an ideal place for an ambush. And the caves that dotted the canyons made excellent campsites hidden from view.
They were cloaked in shadows, obscured in the Leyas, and hidden along a ridge. The ridge gave her a perfect view of the road. She could see the coastline in the distance, and noticed a large ship moored there. Another worry? Possibly, but was it worth killing another of her olgogs to gain the knowledge…?
Of course it was, thought Witch Gogkiller, the Uthvelor Katheron and slave-Captain of the Mirror Crystal Karovians. She was barely five feet tall, dressed in heavy armor made from the carapace of a Mighty Yadol. Her hair was held up by multiple bone spikes, and she held a chain leading to a stooped undead Olgog. She made a set of hand gestures at the nearest GulTor’Gor.
They dragged over an Earther dressed in church of one pilgrim’s robes. Witch reached out and gently caressed the gagged human, her long fingers traced the line of his jugular. He stiffened under her touch as Witch’s eyes grew wide.
The Uthvelor maiden entered a trance flowing into the stream of consciousness. As her cursed nature took hold, Witch could suddenly see and feel the memories of someone aboard that ship.
She knew it was called the Revenant, and the pirate whose memories she experienced was concerned about his captain.
It seemed, Olgog Pirate Captain Dol Kuglock had caught wind of an attack that may affect her income. “This must be corrected, quickly” she said to her crew. “We have many options open to us, however, the best path for us will be to take out the GulTor’Gor. Do not misunderstand me, it is in no way to aid the…” she paused and spat on the deck and said with a cringe “…Church of One.”
“It is simply that we have a good chance of taking them out. As such, we must prepare a few tricks that I have set up” she said with a smirk.
Witch listened to the plan through the Pirate’s eyes and ears, as the pirate had heard it hours before when Dol had commanded her crew into position.
Then Witch found herself seeing out the eyes of the Earther pilgrim. Awww, she thought as she felt his thoughts, He truly doesn’t know how violent his faith is in this region. Too bad she also had to experience her own fingers slash his jugular, feeling his lifeblood flow out like it was her own.
As his dying body tumbled to the ground, Witch was puilled back into her own mind. Then her Tor’ol used his training as a Wintermute Re-Animator to raise the dead pilgrim as yet another undead shuffler in the growing army of the GulTor’Gor.
There were so many good sources of flesh for the undead army, the Tor’ol supposed, between the Oners and their pilgrims, the nomadic Olgogs, and the traders moving back and forth between Bartsport, Rhug Town, and Drewsport. This timeline was so like his own, and yet so different. In his timeline, this entire region had been forced into service to the UtR. There were no Oners, no Pilgrims left, and the only merchant in the region was the Merchant of Death. The Tor’ol supposed his Gulmagtor Witch was doing well. Then again any plan that involved a side mission into a different timeline seemed inherently dangerous and just a little bit wrong.
But Rapi’og was sure of himself. What he had seen in this timeline had led him to one inescapable fact. The only force that could stop the evil Tyrant Lalder of their own timeline was the UtR in this timeline. Though the Tor’ol wondered if it would just be easier to meet with the Lalder of this timeline and ask him, he knew what Rapi’og would say. He was sure Rapi’og would say Lalder is a tyrant in every timeline. But then again the Tor’ol wondered if there were any timelines where he and the rest of his tribal family ever got their own names. Or did Rapi’og in every timeline beat the names out of his subordinate tribals.
Witch Gogkiller grabbed him by the chin fur with her bloody little hand. “You look distracted, Tor’ol. Are you troubled?”
“No my Gulmagtor,” replied the Tor’ol, “I simply worry because I hear the sound of Earther machines in motion.”
The Uthvelor pointed at her pointed ears, “You think I have not heard them in motion? They are probably just the forward movers
Having listened to the plan as it was, Witch knew she herself was not much at threat. Short of being hit straight on by a cannonball, Witch knew she was fine. Her GulTor’Gors were far less resilient since their conversion to Wintermute’s lifestyle, but they would survive long enough to counter attack.
As she prepared to give orders to her GulTor’Gor to shadow walk to the vessel out on the coastline, her most trusted subordinate Gormagtor interrupted her train of thought, “Witch Gogkiller, mighties of Rapi’og’s Gormagtor, you must be told, one Gormagtor has engaged with a vehicle. One of the Strider Behemoths that the Earthers ride in and one of their deadly tanks. But the runner tells me, these are not just Earthers coming. They are Olgogs, and the Soul Scopes show Demons ride with them.”
Witch’s eyes went wide, true demons were rare. Usually the term was just bandied about to stigmatize a group for being different. But true fiends were infernal creatures, parasites upon this existence and those who inhabit it. And Uhryu Bill had warned her well against their evil nature. From inside her armor she withdrew a small crystalline magi cannon that had been fashioned for her by the Dark God Krodnok of her own timeline.
Witch said, “Send runners to three more Gormagtors and their Gortors, It is time their undead join the battle.”
Her Tor’ol looked at the subordinate Gormagtor with suspicion but bowed to Witch, and left through a shadow. He would send the runners, and he would make sure Witch Gogkiller was kept safe, as his Mag’ol had commanded before disappearing to this timeline.
Down on the road, the Strider and Tank and their comrades made their way up the incline. The rocky terrain upthrust into cliff walls rising to their left The Tor’ol was ready with the three squads, prepared to attack the Strider and the Tank. Their first attack was simple. It was one part human wave, as the undead rushed from the shadows of the cliff walls. They quickly swarmed the Strider. The.50 cal machineguns of its support troops fired in rapid succession, but as the undead were cut down, they seemed to reassemble and rise again.
The Tor’ol could tell the Strider pilot was beginning to panic, trying to swing its main cannon down to fire upon the wave of flesh. The Tank rolled backwards, crushing undead under its treads like so much soft meat. But once free of the undead horde, the Tank turned its main gun towards the back of the Strider. To the Tor’ol’s shock and amusement, the tank fired on its ally. The Strider was blasted apart, leaving little more than its angry legs.
The Tor’ol never knew the depths of the betrayal, but he could see a pair of red cloaked inquisitors firing
wildly with their grenade launchers at the Olgog defenders. With a rushing horde of undead on one side, and grenades coming down on their position, the Goblin Gunners were caught in the rush. They fought bravely but most were killed in those initial moments, and the Tor’ol said a prayer for their spirits.
Five Gunners fought back to back, their combined gunfire cutting down finally cutting down the pair. Bloodied and barely alive, they fought their way back from the battle. Their nanite syringes depleted, the five had no choice but to retreat.
The Tor’ol was tempted to chase them down, but the Steam Tank was still active. Luckily it seemed, its only desire was to retreat while dropping gas grenades. The tear gas had little effect on the undead who harried them backwards, preventing them from recovering the two red cloaks.
Tor’ol leapt from shadow to shadow until he was near enough to the inquisitors corpses. He collected them, hoping Witch could make some sense of it all. Then Tor’ol heard the sound of cannons over the hills. Glowing cannonballs slammed into the ground around him. Where they struck, the undead shattered and turned to dust, but they equally crushed the top of the Steam tank as it attempted its escape. Tor’ol dived into its shadow, hoping to keep safe from the raining death. He watched as one hundred of the finest undead slave army stock were destroyed by the cannon barrage. Surely this would mean more body collecting, to make up for the losses. Witch had promised her Mag’ol an army, and the Tor’ol knew he would have to deliver it.
Hearing the sound of breathing inside the shattered tank, Tor’ol supposed its pilot was still alive. A bit crushed, a bit trapped for now, but definitely in a state Witch would enjoy torturing for information. Tor’ol swore he could hear another voice breathing…something closer. He was sure it wasn’t the voice of an Earther. It was an Olgog breathing, but by that realization it was too late.