The Dell, Western Wilds.

20th of Samue, The Month of Planting.

2139 years since the new gods came.

I 'have' an army now. They are from Demonia. What caused me to play politics? Oh. Yeah. Innocent lives on the line. I've had a formal introduction to General 'Boots' of the 'Heretical order of Kittens', or something like that. I look to the universe and cry 'why me?', no answer as of yet.

After thinking on my conversation with Sarah, I find myself unable to come to terms with anything any more. Once things are settled with this “Scary thing from the west” business, I'm going to find a deserted island, and live there for a hundred years. I'm leaving everything behind. EVERYTHING. Probably even my chest. I just want done. I want to be left alone. Surely a century isn't too much to ask?

- - -

It was morning, and Maxwell was seated in his small boat, floating on what had become a lake, talking to himself. “There is an army at my door. They have come to 'assist' me. Assist me with what? What in the ever loving hells is this about?” He looked across the lake towards the campsite of the army. “At least they have their own food. But where are they going to find food for all the worgs? Those things are voracious eaters. And the green man, he looks familiar...Did he shoot me?” Max never even bothered to bait his hook, as it sat in the water suspended under a float, and contemplated his life.

- - -

Across the dell, a young mad was coming to grips with his own life. “Michael Sorenson. I am from the planet Earth. I died to a grenade. My team and I were rescued by someone who claimed to be a god, and given a new life hunting demons.” His audience of worgs were paying him little attention as they ate the carcass's of several large creature they had killed, and dragged to the camp to share.

“Those look like wild buffalo.” Michael sighed, “My little brother would have loved it here. He could have been healed, and been out of that chair.” He stood from his own chair, walked into the feeding pack, and petted several of them. “Now I am here. I can think again. How long did I wander? Now what do I do? I know, I can feel it in my bones, there is something coming. Am I supposed to fight? Am I supposed to die? Have I yet to pay for my sins?” He hugged a worg, and cried into it's fur.

- - -

Sir Reginald looked across the stream, more of a river now, and shook his head. “That is an army. 2000 soldiers strong. An elite force, no, The elite force of Demonia. I cannot compare myself or my knights to them.” He looked to the bunkhouse, the cabins, where his men slept. “Compared to them, we are naught but chaff in the wind.” Melancholy took him, and he wept.

*-*-*

21st of Samune,

I have started to level out ground across the stream...river for the army to make a semi-permanent camp. The worgs are being quite useful in bringing logs in from the nearby forest. This pack (can you call a thousand plus worgs a pack?) is quite agreeable.

The green man is helping with them quite a lot. Several of the Men of Repute are as well. Strange interaction between a couple of the Men and the worgs, they are quite leery of each other. All of them are leery of me. I'm not sure of the worgs, but I recognize a pair of the Men. When I greeted them by name, they bowed. I noticed several of their fellows giving them money as I left their company.

The Bards are an interesting lot. Nice people. Good taste in music. I miss that young man. I'm glad he was able to make it home. I am saddened that one of their own died so that they could find their way here. Stupid gods... It becomes harder for me to say that...

- - -

General Boots was looking on as the heretic, without much effort, raised and leveled first one, then three, then a full ten acres from the sloping side of the dell, into lightly banked, buildable land. He almost immediately fell over afterwords, but still, she was impressed. If he can do that, I wonder what he would be like in bed?

Sir Reginald, standing beside her, saw the look on her face and ventured, “I think I understand your thinking, General, but I would caution you not to try. He said 'No' to goddess Sarah of Shadows.”

“He...he refused a goddess?” Even though the shock didn't play on her face, it did flavor her voice. “That is so like the stories I heard. Did you know he once backhanded a succubi?”

“That wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.” Reginald answered. “I also heard from Brandywine that he turned down an quite lovely Elvin princess.”

“Her family didn't come for him for the insult?”

“They did. It failed.” Reginald smiled, “I believe the missive the assassin sent home was along the lines of 'I give up. He won't stay dead. I'm retiring immediately.' or some such.”

Boots laughed. “That fits everything in the catechism of the Heretic.”

“Your people really do treat him as a god, then?”

“He is held responsible for all that has happened to, and in Demonia.” Boots sighed, “Even in some border towns, he is referred to as a saint. Some worship him as a god, some pray to him as a saint, hoping he will intercede on their behalf to the gods.”

“You can't be serious!”

“Oh, but I am.” Boots chuckled, “Although, I've heard many a tale about the intercession not going the way they wanted.”

“Considering his track record with the gods, I am not surprised.”

22nd of Samune,

People are settling in. The worgs have herded an incredible number of 'tri-prongs' into the southern dell, and are treating them like sheep. I hope they can be sustained.

27th of Samune,

Mike's knights are starting to integrate with the Demonia troops, and vise versa. They are running joint patrols out to the surrounding villages. The refugees are due tomorrow.

28th of Samune,

Refugees. It sickens me to see so many destitute people. It's only a hundred or so in this group, but there are more on their way. I have dispatched some men and a pair of Men to procure supplies from the coast. They have plenty of money to buy goods, and hire wagons.

- - -

“Ladies, gentlemen, both and neither, I am Maxwell Smithson. Welcome to my land. The flat land on the west side is set up for the military. The flat on the east is laid out for your use. Mind the markers for your dwellings and the road. Once you are settled in, we will see about getting you on a work shift. All who can work, will work. Those who can't, will be taken care of.” Max sat down behind the table someone had lugged outside for the occasion.

The refugees came up to the table singly, in pairs, or rarely, in families. They gave names, place of origin, and former occupation to Brandy who write down, and in turn were assigned a tent for housing. The army took care of most of the details, and people were mostly thankful for the help, and the dry place to sleep.

Max kept to the sidelines for the operation, and listened closely to the gossip and rumors. What he heard shocked him to the core. Abuse after abuse upon landing. Rape, theft, and murder. Running in horror from things that took the form of centipedes, but on a scale to rival a dragon. He was sure that some of it was nonsense, but... there had been that tomb he and Tristan had cleared of undead, with the strange murals on the walls. Murals that had made his blood run cold.

- - -

29th of Samune,

The tent city is up and away. I've had to deal with a few malcontent individuals, but nothing abominable. Just people twisted beyond recognition, trying to regain themselves. Just like every other refugee I've seen. The children, at least, seem to be coming back more quickly. I place that firmly with Granny and her little ones. I'm glad they came.

- - -

Far across the continent, the demon lord looked around himself. “I am alone.” His eyes fixed upon a herd of goats, all female, all being followed by young. “Well, not alone. I have children.” A slight shudder moves across his body. “Now what? An army of half spawn? Can they preform as needed to conquer this place? How many more do I need? How long will it take? Can I sacrifice them and get what I need to open a portal?” He kicked off from his perch, and went looking for more beasts to breed.