Men of L333t, Part XXXIII
Piro awoke with the world. It took his breath away. He could feel everything- every man, woman, child- everything, anyone from the northernmost tip of Scotland down to the Isle of Rong! He could even point to some Franks in the east. They were- ugh, let's not go there. At any rate, it was a startling discovery that took some time to completely assimilate. So he was still standing there in a daze when a large group of burly girly men came in and grabbed him roughly by the arms.
"Be careful!" A young man snapped, walking into the cell. "He might be the one!" The man stared at Piro. Piro stared back. He was ornately dressed in fine silk and linen, and wearing some of the most beautiful armor that Piro had ever seen. Somewhere in the back of Piro's stunned mind, a thought whispered and the most deadly. Something… something… something about that ring is dangerous. Ware him.
"I can't tell." The man muttered.
"I told you it wasn't him." Another man shadowed the doorway. "It's that 'maton of yours. She's dangerous."
"It wasn't her!" the first man snapped. "I have watched her the entire time, and she has not strained my spells once. This power is elsewhere!"
"You mean everywhere, and it's her magic. If it's so large you can't find the source, Dom, who's to say she isn't simply working out of your league?"
A voice matched a face and suddenly Piro jerked awake. "You- You're the man who tortured me! Dom!"
Dom looked irritated. "Hardly a torture if you're still in one piece, though I must have addled your brain somehow for you to think of this now." He turned away. "We have other business to attend to. We've got to find this wizard! Come!"
's got nearly all the mages buzzing, or at least when I heard before I vipped out of there… GAH! Piro snapped all his shields down before he even realized what he was doing. Dom stopped.
"It's gone…" He said in wonderment. His face darkened. "SEARCH THIS CASTLE! I want every nook and cra-"
A horn sounded. "An attack! We are under siege!" Voices and feet and armor clattered throughout the hallways. "The Scots invade!"
Dom growled and cursed in a language that literally scorched several walls. He smashed a chair and ran out to command the commotion. Ed shook his head as Dom swooped by. He turned to follow. "I'm telling you, Dom…" His voice faded away down the corridor.
Piro shook himself. What was I thinking? Lighting up like that for everyone to feel. I was- startled. Unprepared. Well, he was prepared now. Carefully, he flexed magically. Power rippled out into the room, dying just barely before the walls. He stared, and sat down. This is going to take a little while to get under control.
* * *
Shadow looked up. "He's gone." The land rushed past below them like a bad movie-reel. If you could actually see up twenty-thousand feet, it was an impressive sight. An entire fleet of magic carpets shot through the air, tassels fluttering and threads straining.
Miho sat beside her, browsing the ancient book she'd gotten a hold of. She unconsciously brushed a hair back into place. There was no wind to displace it, however, for a semi-translucent bubble protected each carpet in a light purple haze.
"Mm? Yes, I'd noticed." Miho turned another page. "One wonders if it was the boy's doing himself, or his captor's fear. Or discovery…"
"You aren't concerned for him then, milady?"
"I? Not really. He is more of a problem than a solution, and his death would fix things nicely. It is, however, unfortunately unlikely. We shall have to see when we get there." Miho looked up. "How long until we arrive?"
"I'm not sure. I think we passed Yorkshire just a half-hour gone." Shadow touched her pendant. Cryshalo? How long until we reach the target?
ETA One hour if we push the carpets three points past max. But they're having trouble with the weaves at two past right now.
Keep it at two for now. I'll inform the Lady that we will be there a little over an hour.
* * *
"KEEP IT UP BOYS! Aim the' forko'pults just a leetle closer an' stab a line straight up the side! We'll beat tha' blasted 34th Monster Battalion by a clean ten minutes o'er the wall! Tryin' ta use acid ta get in, pfah!" A swarthy Scot walked the ramparts of his 102nd Fork Catapults. They had so perfected their formation that one could walk from 'pult to 'pult without a single jump. They were supposed to be covering fire, but Commander McDavish had long had a feud with the 34th after losing a particularly bad Highland Dance to one Lt. Col. Jaime McDamish. After that, there was no battle to which he could play second fiddle. The result was a hideously effective defense turned offense. Well, you try standing up against a six-foot fork.
At any rate, he quickly had a path shot into the walls for the Axes to swing up, while the 22nd SteakKnives dug their way up with knives in mouth, hand, and toe. The only group left was the Bleach Division, something McFinnigan swore should never have come into existence, let alone made division. Fortunately, only a company's worth had come for the battle. Still, imagine 200 naked Scots with large imaginations.
Mr. Snow had begged for command of that charge, and since it seemed that he'd been Mind Destruct Special Ops in his vibrant youth, his wish was granted. So far, the castle's battlements had been left… writhing.
It was a good battle, until a haunting cry rose over the battlefield, and a thousand carpets blanketed the sky, unaffected by Bleach. This was fell magic. The Scots braced themselves, but nothing came. The carpets swooped overhead and into the castle without a moment's thought. The entire army cried in surprise and rage. It was obscene! UNFORGIVEABLE! The castle was their target, and DAMMIT, THEY'D BEEN IGNORED! The battlefield shook with fury, and the earth beneath them shook in fear. For a truly terrifying and unstoppable force had been born.