Vignette - Terrors in the Light

The townspeople of Paradise stood solemnly around the great fire. Nearly 450 strong, they filled the amphitheater to the brim. Despite the crowding the lowest circle was left untouched, occupied only by Oscar and Lotsee. They stood quietly in the waiting silence, watching the rising sun approach its zenith.

At last Oscar judged the time to be right. “In the brightest light of the day we have gathered to face our fears, our terrors and our hidden worries.”

“We will face them together!” The crowd chorused the expected response.

Lotsee picked up a grime coated dream catcher from a pile of its peers. Each was a slim branch tied into a circle, webbed with a smattering of plant fibers and strung with bone beads and feathers. “Through art and spell our nights have been restful and unbothered.”

“We have been protected.” The crowd responded en masse.

“But to simply trap these night terrors, these fears, is to deny their relevance. To deny ourselves. We are the sum of not only our hopes and dreams, but also our fears. Fear makes us cautious, it teaches us to avoid danger and to plan for catastrophes.” Oscar took up the narrative and the crowd responded once more.

“We are ready, in the light of the day.”

Lotsee threaded the dream catchers onto a long pole, one at a time. Making a long roll of soiled charms. She and Oscar grabbed it by its extended ends. They stepped to opposite sides of the fire pit holding it like a spit to be turned through the purifying smoke of the ever burning blaze.

As the fragrant, almost transparent white smoke rose it faced an opponent. Black smoke, dark odorous and oily streamed from the tainted nets and struggled to break free. Struggled but failed as the dark shapes twitched and took the form of the fear that bred them.

First were the common forms of the jungle. The familiar enemies that surrounded them and had laid to untimely rest so many of their brethren. Great hogs, Shadowy snakes and nearly invisible Cats. Raptors fought for space with birds of prey as carnivorous plants sought to root themselves in the sky.

“We see you beasts of the Jungle. We acknowledge your strength and your danger. Your lessons will be passed down. We respect you and you have taught us well. Pass on with pride.”

“With respect, pass on.” The crowd chorused.

Some of black smoky figures dissipated while a small few streamed over to a series of staves. Each stave had a larger, more elaborate ebony black dream catcher that gleamed in the fire light. New shapes took their place, symbols of hunger and disease. Of missing relatives and relationships greatly damaged or broken by seven years of separation.

Each was recognized, respected and allowed to pass on. They faced their fears, and were stronger for it.

Chapter 45

“It’s about that time isn’t it?”

“You are not wrong, unfortunately.”

That was really too bad, Timothy was hoping he was mistaken. It had been a little under four months since the last beast wave and the signs were again beginning to surface.

And those signs were not good.

“Please tell me this is not what I think it is?”

Arthur snorted, “I am not in the habit of lying to make you feel better. If you think this looks like actual tactics from wild animals then you are completely correct.”

The pair of them stood over the greatly improved map table. Along with covering considerably more space it also now sported a three inch thick sheet of compacted essence glass above the topographical features. Like heaven looking down on the world. A heaven that was rife with small stone tokens carved with the likeness of the more common beasts. Figurines that were currently streaming away from the river.

Normally that would be a good thing as all the known settlements either lined the river, its tributaries or the lake that fed it. The problem was that they were all streaming towards the same point north and west of Runehold. A gathering point.

And all meant exactly that. Multiple species that normally ate each other streaming to a common location such in such numbers that the tokens were actively blocking each other from sliding across the glass. Timothy reached over to lift a few up, stacking them to provide room.

Regi broke the pensive silence, “You’re sure they aren't attacking a settlement we don’t know about?” His voice sounded almost hopeful.

It wasn’t a terrible question. A bit dickish, if Timothy did say so, but reasonable. “You would rather see another settlement get pounded?”

“Of course not! I just don’t like this mystery. We have been winning fights without massive casualties because our opponents have been stupid and predictable.

“Pre-dict-able.” He enunciated each syllable distinctly.

“Mystery and it do not go hand and hand. So please tell me you understand what we’re seeing? Because if you can't, I see more names on the Obelisk!” His voice rose to almost a shout by the end.

“Alright, my bad bro. I get it. No, there is no settlement there. Not much of anything there frankly. Just a smallish lake fed by a mountain stream in the middle of a large meadow. Maybe somebody said Parlay.” His attempt at levity fell resoundingly flat.

“Can you show me?” He gestured at the scrying pool, but carefully avoided looking. It was currently flickering with nausea inducing colors and alien incomprehensible shapes.

“No I can’t, and I assure you that bothers me far more than you. I can get a clear view of the critters streaming in, but I can’t get a view of the mob itself. I don’t have a ward stone close to that location and the magic field is getting churned and turbulent. I don’t know enough to say what's causing it. Could be something new or it could be an effect of numbers. We have not seen that many magic critters massed in such a small space. Trust me, I am trying to figure it out. Like always, it takes time.”

“Time, time, time. Time we might not have. How long for them to get to us from there?”

“Depends on too many things for me to say. It's about thirteen miles off the river but a lot of the critters gathering there don’t really move at the same speed. That and the Jungle itself will slow down big groups. How much will it slow them? I’ve no idea. I can’t really make an estimate that's more than a wag.”

Seeing Arthurs momentary blank look Regi translated. “Wild ass guess. I’ve heard it too many times at the dinner table.”

That got a snort and a “HA” that lacked any sense of good humor. “Guess I prefer your honesty to some intel I’ve received. All surety and no accuracy. Now you give me perfect accuracy on zero surety. I’m with Regi on this. I prefer my opponents to be predictably dumb.”

“Don’t we all. Boring and lethal is such a weird combination. Wasn’t there a quote about enemies coming in the same old way?”

“Duke Wellington during the Napoleonic Wars. ‘They came on in the same old way and we defeated them in the same old way.’ Not sure why the man would complain about his opponents being stupid.” Arthur rattled out from his apparently endless chest of obscure military trivia. “Especially amusing when you consider his opponent, Napoleon, supposedly said ‘Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.’”

“As interesting as that is, it doesn’t help us prepare for whatever -this- is.” Regi drawled. “How are our defenses looking?”

Arthur half turned to snag a wooden tablet. When used with the removal pen and joiner sitting next to it, it was the next best thing to an etch-a-sketch. This particular tablet was a cherry red color to distinguish it from other similar but less important tablets, and was lined in copper on five sides.

He tossed it to Regi without looking and began to rattle off its contents by rote. “Both boats are lashed down and all trips are canceled for the duration. All guardians are on standby, but the additional eighty-three new recruits won’t be very useful alone. Some of them can manage triggering a tier two rune once. Maybe. Instead of risking their minds they are in four man teams. Their brotherhood bonds and pooled mental strength should make them almost as useful as one of the old guard. Almost. They take up considerably more room on the firing line and have less stamina. ELR’s are plentiful and ammunition is very abundant. Same with motion wards and shovels. All the bunkers are staffed and the gates to the undercity are closed, locked and guarded. Current deployment pattern has twenty newbie groups on the firing line spaced with forty veterans to stabilize them. Another ten veterans are guarding the passages down to the undercity. The remaining forty eight and a few odd men out newbies are waiting in the gardens as a reserve. Hot food, massive amounts of Jenney’s headache tea and pallets have been prepared in the med bay along with our doctors and their load of healing potions. Current plan is to cycle troops off the wall for drinks and a rest every hour by sections.”

Timothy stared for a few long moments. No notes, no stops for a breath… really? “Can I get you a cup of water after that Arthur?” Timothy finally joked.

“You underestimate my capacity, youngster. I assure you I can stand here and spew hot air with the best of them.”

“I wouldn’t bet against you Sergeant. Timothy, you mentioned you had some new tricks as well? Mist and confusion or some such?”

“Yep. Dialed in and ready to go. I’m playing some games with where the collection of stored mana appears to be. That plus some serious fog banks and I hope to… spread the wave out. A steady diet of small manageable groups rather than a massive concentrated blow. That plus the usual tricks with spikes, exploding motion wards and shovels all set up for remote activation. Harder, better, faster and all that jazz.”

“Good!” Regi smiled, “I’ll warn Paradise.”

“How?” Timothy grimaced at the confused look Regi flashed him. He decided to explain in more detail, “How do you tell them we see a big ass tide of beasts forming up over ten miles away in the deep jungle without giving away a lot about our capabilities?”

“We don’t. Secret is all well and good Timothy, but if you never use it then you might as well not have it.” Regi slowly explained, looking somewhat surprised he had to explain such a self evident concept.

“We’re using it right now, Regi. I have not kept it a secret from the council or reputable members of our guard core. It's a completely different issue to spread it to another town. No matter how friendly they are.”

“This tide is a threat to their existence, Timothy. It’s not a small threat either. Is your secrecy worth their lives?”

“Maybe. Don’t look at me like that Regi. I actually like Oscar, his insight into the magic field is quite deep. I would very much miss our conversations. Even if his wife Lotsee makes me nervous.” He shuddered slightly thinking of the iron willed old bat. “ I have met and genuinely like many others from the place. Our world would be smaller and more drab without them. I’m in favor of helping them where we can, but we still need to make a rational decision. Breaking secrets should never be an automatic thing. Secrets won’t stay secrets if you don’t stop and think every time before you decide to release them.”

“On top of that there will come a time where we would have to greatly endanger our own people to help another. When that time comes you had better have thought about what's important and what’s not.”

“Can the philosophy, Timothy. We can talk about it after we survive this debacle. Since you do agree, I'll let them know.”

Timothy combed his hands through his hair in frustration. It wasn’t just philosophy. It was critically important. They had an obligation to protect their own. A sacred trust. Violating that to help others may scratch the do good itch, but it needs to be done in moderation. Not on automatic. He sighed, he had to pick his battles and this was one he wasn’t going to win. “Fine, ignore it for now, but I will be bugging you about it later. After you spill your guts to Tucker and the lot, then what?”

“Then we wait. The worst part of combat.” He gave a wry, sad smile and continued “You know, except that other part.”

Timothy glanced back and forth between the two large men, both wearing a similar look as he waited for the other shoe to drop. His waiting did not produce an explanation so at last he asked, “Allright, what other part?”

“The Dying.”

The waiting lasted for several hours. Time enough for troops manning the bunkers to be relieved in cycles several times. Enough time for the residents down below to come up for a breath of fresh air and a quick visit with their loved ones. Enough time for fear to settle and leave only a mild sense of dread behind.

Then the tipping point was reached.

“They’re moving!” Tall stacks of kinetic boar tokens began to shudder and glide on the glass surface above the great map. Each tied not to a single beast but rather to a passel. Each passel being in the area of fifty monstrously sized boars and older sows with a penchant for force magic. Interspaced between them were other racial tokens. Ones for chameleon cats and shadow snakes. These were a much less reliable source of quantity. Neither of the other beasts were pack animals. As such the tokens were usually used to find if any were in a given area rather than to determine how many.

Timothy, Regi, Arthur and Joe stood tensely around the map table, ignoring the chairs scattered against the walls. Even the sideboards stocked as usual with a selection of cold meats, colorful vegetables and assorted drinks was mostly untouched. The fighters below had been able to release their tension in the interminal wait, but those responsible for them had not. Every extra moment had tightened the screws in Timothy’s guts.

Mostly untouched, Timothy reflected with some jealousy as Arthur took a large crunchy bite out of a Jicama relative. Timothy often thought his guts must be of some magical material. Something about eating iron and shitting nails. Some people appeared unbothered by something so mundane as normal human emotions. Timothy was frankly more jealous of that trait than of his ability to eat. Something to work on. He mused to himself, as he closely watched the chits slide apart in a very odd cascade. Each chit fighting between gravity and the force of symbolic attraction. Like a dozen iron rings falling near a magnet. They didn’t even bounce when they hit the glass.

He took a deep breath and prepared to will the first defensive lines to activate. He had set them to trigger much closer to the hold, but hours of waiting had been plenty of time to move them to outer runestone links. Now they stood in a series of thin lines between the hordes and runhold. A series of long flat chits carved to look like cloudbanks. Made from very thin pieces of metal and carefully pressed down on the glass they should allow the beast tokens to slide right over them. The effects in the real world would hopefully be considerably less easy to pass.

“Hold up! They aren't coming for us. That's a direct line towards Paradise!” Joe’s deep gravelly voice shook Timothy out of his mental preparations. In disbelief he stared at the advancing tokens. Tokens that for once were not coming straight for Runehold. “I guess miracles do happen, fate decided not to make us her bitch this time?” He muttered.

“You think not?” Arthur grunted, “We just threw snake eyes. You want your enemies to charge the most heavily fortified location. We’re still going to help… and alot less of our strength is available to do it with.”

..Well shit. He wasn’t wrong. Timothy started to scramble. He immediately used a small spatula looking tool to pry up one of the metal cloud tokens. In a rush he misjudged the grab and the sharpened metal slashed a shallow gash across his palm.

“Fuck” Snapping his hands back from the table he quickly ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of his rough vine cloth tunic to wrap the cut before blood messed up the view. Blood smeared glass was not going to help.

Finishing an inexpert bandage job he heard his Da call down the ladder for a first aid kit. Ignoring it for now he glanced back at the table to see that between them, Arthur and Regi had already carefully chivvied the metal clouds into a series of long, thin lines between the beasts and their target.

“Thanks.” He muttered while quickly reaching for a hanging medallion. He ignored the quiet “don’t mention it’s,” or other such polite BS. He took a deep breath and began to activate the first cloud restriction. He smashed his will into the medallion, cursing himself for the shoddy work. It took far more will to activate then it should have. The amount was dependent on understanding. He understood movement to a degree, he understood the basics of hardness and compacting materials. He even had a decent depth of understanding into what condensing something did to its essence.

But he was reaching for these myst wards. The clouds portion was easy, using the runestones in the forest to dance around the largest source of magic he also understood. But he had wanted more than that. He wanted hallucinations and redirected steps. Illusions and nightmares. These were not things he had a deep understanding of. He’d been too ambitious, but time would tell what price he would have to pay for it.

His will filled the amulet, mixing with the previously imbued intent to create true magic. Moisture, omnipresent in the jungle, evaporated into mist, then thickened into fog banks that floated beneath the massive overarching trees. Small lights flickered within as odd phantom sounds bounced and echoed. The timing was not perfect, but it would have to do. The vanguard had passed before he managed to finish. Some 200 hogs and a large but unknown number of cats. Their greater speed meant they were over represented in the vanguard just as the shadow snakes' slower movements meant they were not represented at all. Just a half minute slow, a minute that he could have saved if he had not fumbled and cut himself. Recriminations later Timothy, get your game face on.

Taking a deep breath he fed more of his will and his very conscious into the medallion, embracing the effect and driving it to succeed. This was not a fire and forget measure. He had to constantly guide it. Reinforcing the intent carved into the medallion as runes while adjusting the effects over the affected area. He was patching over the cracks in his understanding with raw will even as he focused on the portions he could neatly control. The tide of beasts were no longer just tokens on a map. They swirled within his conscious in eddies and great curls. They mist became myst as magic had her way.

He could not, nor did he want to, hold them all within the myst. That would just delay the inevitable, instead he allowed a few at a time to escape. What was once a solid wave became a dripping rainstorm. A symbol he fastened on. Clouds took moisture from oceans and lakes and made rain. His clouds took an almost solid wave of beasts and rained them out in dribs and drabs.

And it hurt to do it. His mind was stretched as he fought, one man against a thousand beasts.

As more and more beasts rammed themselves into the finite area he began to lose space for the great circles to flow through. He allowed more beasts to leak through, drizzling rain became driving but still they rushed in.

Despite the pain it was working.

Then they broke in. The turbulence in the magic field that had denied him sight earlier crashed into his mysts. A swirling maelstrom of intent began to erode his control over the ward.

Intent? He winced as his stretching reached the edge of tearing. Intent was not something he had ever felt from a hog. He fought through the growing discordancy to hold, but it was a losing battle. He lost the inspiration, clouds and rain were corrupted and turned to cyclones and trampolines. The purity of desire and symbolic control lost in a hash of random images and conflicting thoughts.

He had no time to search for it again, the myst ward was not yet broken, but it would be soon. Turbulence was growing like an open feedback loop. Screaming, rising higher and higher until his ears rang with it and his head thrummed to an unseen base. He approached the end of yellow and the start of red. He let it go.

There was no wisdom in fighting head on against this beastly turbulence. They were many, he was one. They were blunt and clumsy instruments, he was a razor edge of precise intent. Head on put his weakness against their strength.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath he opened his eyes, feeling the chair beneath him and a cold cloth sponging the sweat from his head.

“Thanks Ma, how long?” he croaked, accepting the cup of ginger tea with shaking hands. Wondering as he did when she had appeared.

“Forty-five minuts, give or take. You did a real number on them though bro. Spread them out something fierce and separated the vanguard from the main body by enough that the Paradisians can get some experience before the real deal shows up. “ Regi answered for her from a pillow by the scrying pool.

A quick perusal of the map table confirmed it. The previous solid knot looked more like a fowling blunt. A large chunk in the vanguard followed by a steady stream of beasts until it reached the oversized fletchings and the real threat began.

He shook his head, trying to throw off the minor fugue. He felt like the world was looking at him through a damp rag. Everything was just that much less crisp and clear. Even simple thoughts took longer to come into focus.

He stumbled over to a cushion by Regi, careful to keep the precious tea from spilling. He needed it’s regenerative powers just as much as its pain relieving ones. They might need him again and he couldn’t afford a loss of clarity.

His original plans were shot straight to hell. That’s why they are called the enemy! He thought with a snort. A snort he quickly regretted as it echoed up through his head. He’d hoped to use multiple myst wards to turn the wave into a dowel not an arrow, no head, no fletching. Just a steady stream of beasts for the grinder. Defeat in detail at its finest.

It wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t manage to hold a single ward through its entire mana charge, much less the five he had prepared. That turbulent cloud of intent… Any enchantment directed at it would suffer coherency issues.

Much like Bensens’s statue.

He should have made that connection earlier. Would have, if his head would just stop banging. He wasn’t going to manage much magic in his current condition. He would need half a day at least to recover, and he didn’t think he had it.

Still, a mind was more than just the potential for magic. It was what separates men from beasts. Or at least, he reflected wryly thinking about that combative intent, it used to.

Sitting down he glanced at the pool for a brief moment… Then snapped his eyes back as his tired mind caught up to what it just saw. The vanguard came into focus through Regi’s adept handling of the pool's point of view. Frequent tree trunks blocked the quickly moving view, along with a spider web of odd colors and alien shapes that appeared and disappeared with no recognizable pattern.

It wasn’t enough to hide the sheer mass of beasts, nor the being who led them. Centered in the pool was a Boar of truly unusual size. It stood, or rather ran, head and shoulders larger than its contemporaries. It raced on, a bridge that connected multiple distinctly different passels, uniting them into a mega passel. Even as he watched it gave a loud rolling squeal and the front ranks veered to the left, bypassing an innocuous looking knot of vibrant underbrush. Likely one of a vast number of carnivorous plants, with experience came wisdom. No one in this room would have walked anywhere near that knot either.

“They have some degree of intelligence.” Timothy grimaced, rubbing his forehead in a vain attempt to relieve the ache. He took another sip of the tea, letting the familiar burn distract him from his head.

“Can hardly give them a Turing test, but I would say so. No idea to what degree. It's a pain in the ass to keep the view on him. The… artifacting? It’s confusing as hell. Leads your mind in circles and you realize you're looking in the completely wrong place. That's with just one. If they have another couple like him I doubt I could get a picture. We couldn’t see the original gather so there are definitely a few more.” He sighed as he explained.

Ma settled, straight backed and gracefully onto the pillow next to him. She gave him a narrow eyed gaze, “You have anything left in you, Timothy?” Her tone was both doubtful and somewhat suspicious.

It was a good thing he didn't have to fudge this one, or rather that he couldn’t have even if he wanted to. “Very little Ma. Very little. That didn’t go nearly as well as I could’ve hoped.”

She snorted “It did well enough, Timothy. It’s not all on you. They’re big boys and they’ve prepared for this. We can, and will, help. But as adults they have to stand up for themselves as well.”

An assortment of voices all spoke in agreement to that. Timothy couldn’t argue, he had been on the other side of it not an hour before. Best to take his own medicine. Then again it was probably best not to mention what he had actually meant. He was annoyed that his enchantment had not worked as designed. Call it a craftsman pride but it irked him that it didn’t go as planned. That was his ego talking again, something he always had to watch out for.

“How are the Paradisians preparations going?” Ma asked Regi, taking a dainty sip from a tea cup of her own. Herbal rather than ginger from the smell.

“Hard to tell, they don’t need me lurking in their minds while they get ready. Still, they’ve been at it for nearly four hours. If they aren't prepared by now then there is not much hope for them. So, with hope in mind, I’m going to say that they are very well prepared.”

A snort resounded from behind Timothy where Arthur still stood over the map table muttering about rose colored glasses. His voice rose to normal levels to ask, “Any chance the rest of us could activate another of these, what did you call them? Myst wards?”

“On what they are called, yes.” Timothy called back over his shoulder unhelpfully. Every time he named something he got shit for it. He would be damned if he gave them more ammunition now. “On you lot activating it, unfortunately no. It's not a finished product and I had to manually patch over the cracks. That's not something I can teach you to do on the quick. Or even on the not so quick. If I could, there probably wouldn’t BE any cracks.” It took a much higher degree of understanding to teach something then it did to just do it.

He gave Timothy a small glare before responding, “Pity. Could be a real game changer if you could interrupt an attack midway. Give the defenders some time to reorganize and patch up any breaches. How long before you can do it again, even for a minute or two?”

“Too long. Half a day maybe. Even then, I wouldn’t bet that I could hold onto it long enough to matter. I could… never mind.”

Arthur turned quickly towards him, “You could what Timothy, this is not a good time to be holding back some new trick or toy you made.” His voice was carefully neutral, but his gaze was pointed.

“If things get desperate I have some backup plans. But if I have to use them it might leave me in bed for a week with… other costs I don't want to get into.”

Ma grew sharp eyed and her even sharper tongue began to move, “Arthur Dear, I do hope you won’t push my boy into killing himself. Or you, Timothy, be dumb enough to let him.” Her calm, polite tone did not hide the vicious warning that lay beneath it.

“Leave it be ma, trust me. I know how far I can afford to push. I won’t go beyond that. It just has a high enough cost that it’s not worth doing unless things get desperate. Desperate for us. I trust you Arthur as well. He just doesn't like surprises during a fight, Ma.” He looked down at the cut on his palm for a moment as he considered what he was willing to pay. And how much he needed to get in return to make it worth it.

“We need your boy, Patty, long term, not just for this fight. I’m not about to risk his life.” His voice was soft and placating. Timothy expected him to be offended, but he didn’t sound that way. Then again, every man had to make allowances for a mother. He would forgive him the ‘boy’ comment if it settled Ma down…. Just this once.

She offered a smile of acceptance, but her eyes maintained their hard cast. “Alright then, but pay attention to those risks. You push too hard and you won't just have a headache or a few days in bed. The worst that could happen might not be just death. Think about that for a minute. All your treasured intelligence gone as you drool on yourself in a corner. Do NOT play with that line!”

He suppressed the shudder caused by an overactive imagination. He could see it quite clearly. There really was only one response, even if it was a bit disingenuous, “Yes Mama.” He had no intention of burning out his mind. But then most people don’t intend to lose fights or get sick. That's why they called them accidents. Intent and reality did not always go hand in hand. Not even with magic.

Merely a few minutes later the pool flickered out of the forest and Regi adjusted the controls to give a clear overhead view of the new and improved Paradise. It wasn’t just Runehold who’d been making steady improvements over the last ten months.

The sheer sided bluffs were actually taller by a good twenty feet then they had been, and surfaced in smooth solid rock. A good bit of it was even essence rock due to various ongoing trades. The exact thickness of that rock wasn’t something he could say. Looking inside of a rock wall didn’t give much perspective.

The sheer granite walls of the bluffs were now topped by an additional twenty feet of battlement. Made from a much paler stone they resembled a castle of old, complete with crenellations. The walls even had a sturdy looking wooden roof to prevent issues with flying or jumping beasts. The curtain wall was breached by only two gates. One facing the river above the original stone staircases. The other a full gatehouse complex at the top of a long ramp that circumvented the bluffs from by the river to the east all the way to the north side.

Surrounding the fortress was a cleared killing field all of 200 yards wide, an impossibility considering the growth rate of underbrush and trees. Impossible at least until you saw their tamed porcine herds acting like mobile weed whackers. Or weed eaters rather. Into this well-cleared ground poured the first ranks of the vanguard, some forty odd hogs who caught sight of the town and barreled straight for it. A loud shrill squeal pulled them out of that ill advised charge. They came to a stop waiting till the follow up ranks made the clearing. They took almost a minute to trickle out and form into five rough lines, nose to tail. Then with another ear piercingly shrill squeal they broke into a trot, then a sprint as they circled towards the base of the ramp.

But that squeal signalled more than just the pigs. A loud drum bagan to throb, a massive hollowed out chunk of tree faced with thick boar hide. It’s deep voice could be heard for miles. And that voice was not merely noise. The wet green earth began to give up clouds of dust, pulsing in time with the beat. A heartbeat that pulsed and flickered through the rising brown clouds that swirled and compressed to take animalistic forms.

Coyote forms.

The coyotes did not pause to enjoy their new found life, they jumped and snapped at the invaders in ever increasing numbers. No more than knee high on a human versus the massive girth of a fully grown hog. David and Goliath writ large as life. And like that old tale, if it was one sided, it was not on the side of size. A jumping form puffed into a cloud of dust that ringed and clung to a porcine muzzle. Waiting.

Till, no longer able to hold out the hog inhaled and the coyote streamed inside with a barking laugh. The hog ran on for another few strides, panicked perhaps but still in formation and form. Until it tried to take another breath.

Tried and failed.

Panic gave way to madness as life's most basic requirement failed. Breath in, get breath. It flailed wildly, drawing blood and chaos from the packed ranks. It’s tusks and hooves, a weapon that had switched owners and the new owner used it to destruction. Tottering along, it collapsed into an unmoving pile.

Then a cloud of dust poured out, laughing, and went to look for another partner to play with.

“Well fuck me.” Timothy managed, dodging an elbow along with a muttered complaint about his language. “That's-” he paused, grasping for the correct words, “-terrifying? Gruesome? Chills the blood?”

“Horrific!” Ma declared. Horrified nods of agreement came from Regi, Arthur and Da while Ma looked away, still annoyed with his language.

Regi spoke up, “It’s one thing to see it used on the occasional beast that wanders in. Something else entirely when it's used en masse like this.”

Arthur muttered something about gas attacks that Timothy couldn't quite follow.

They watched more than mildly bothered as the massed charge began to steadily thin down, leaving a trail of bodies behind it. Timothy was beginning to wonder if they had overprepared, then a dust coyote jumped for hog closer to the chief. It’s form wavered and lost cohesion as it entered a faint circle of turbulent intent. The same effect happened again and again when the dust devils approached within a circle of fifteen feet of the oversized hog. There was still dust in the air, and there was coughing and weezing amongst the attackers. But it was well shy of the frightening suffocation from earlier.

“If that boss… aura is going to be a problem with one of them, it's going to be a real threat when the main horde gets here.” Arthur gave voice to Timothy’s fears. “Will it muck up our ELR’s?”

Timothy considered that as he watched the 200 hundred odd pigs get reduced to a bare twenty in the time it took them to get to the base of the ramp. “Maybe. Hard to say for sure. It might disrupt the bit of magic that keeps the light blast into a tight shape. The result would be alot less penetration on the shots. Instead of a one inch hole a foot deep you might get a six inch circle that is only a couple inches deep. Then again if you get some of the old overpowered rifles out and all blast the chiefs together, even if the shots are spread out it will probably cook the bastard. Do it fast and hope that the interference goes away when it dies. That's just a guess, we’ll no doubt get a n opportunity to find out soon enough.”

The hogs, undaunted by the massive casualties were sprinting up the ramp as he spoke. Thankfully the Paradisians were not a one trick pony. Several pails of liquid were poured onto the ramp ahead of them, a ramp that went from a well textured grit to the smoothe sheen of slate even as they watched. The rendered fat turned that mirror-like surface into a slip and slide. The boars were the unwilling contestants to try out the new ride.

Right up until they stopped with truly indignant and pain filled squeals. Long sharpened spikes of metal slid out of the ramp in back of them at fairly shallow angles. The force talent stopped the initial poke, but constant pressure, both from their own weight and the weight of their fellows did the trick. There was a word for it.

Impaled.

Finally in a fit of desperation the boar chief unleashed his stored motion to launch himself up the ramp, off the spikes riddled bodies of his underlings. Bleeding and barely able to walk he made a valiant effort to get in at least one blow.

A valiant effort, but one doomed to failure. The ramp was curved and he was nowhere near the top. He flew off the ledge and fell to his death, unable to absorb the force of the fall so soon after venting.

Timothy blew out the nervous energy he had held onto for the last several minutes. “That’s a pretty good start.”

“You spoke too soon. That's the hogs sure, but where are those damn leopards?” Arthur muttered.

His question was prophetic as screams peeled out from the battlements on the north west of the wall. A couple quick snaps of the view point brought them to view a mess of bodies intermixed on the fighting platforms. Heavy leather armored figures with spears were attempting to force a knot of five or so cats, camouflage still engaged, back. A few dead bodies of both species littered the ground.

The cats climbed up the sheer faced rock walls while the eyes were focused forward on the hogs. They had finally been spotted as they killed a pair of sentries. Once spotted their main talent had shot its bolt. They were being slowly pushed back by a solid wall of spears. What had to be normals pushed the spears forward while a canny man decked out in feathers, bones and other paraphernalia directed a green myst that stuck to the cat’s and glowed. Up and down the battlements similar mysts were flowing down from the walls. None too soon, they revealed another dozen climbers who had yet to reach the top.

Without the element of surprise, The chameleon cats were quickly dealt with. An outpouring of boulders dropped from the walls. Cats were not Hogs. A large rock dropping twenty feet made minced leopard.

A steady trickle of hogs were still dribbling from the woods, only to be bright low by suffocation. It was almost a calm before the storm. The vanguard had died but so had at least three defenders.

And many, many more were coming.

It was going to get interesting.