NOVEL FROG 221 - Illusory Gambit
Battle Report:
Rootborne Warrior (x199)
Rootborne Scout (x44)
Rootborne Behemoth (x100)
Total XP Earned - 10,690
The first of many trials awaiting them on the way to the Black City, Lieze assumed. More than anything else, she was concerned about what other tricks the Head Shaman had up his sleeve. The Scion of transmutation was bound to be a master of deceit and delusion - creating decoys was most likely the least of his abilities.
Much like before, the Rootborne corpses were unusable for thraldom. Lieze would have to focus her mana into another Great Oak if she wanted to summon more of the Fae for herself. The assassins Baccharum killed during the battle, however, were fantastic candidates for Briarknights.
“Hoh… so the supposedly retired assassin still has what it takes to battle his own kin, hm?” Drayya prodded one of the mangled corpses with her foot, unsure of where it began or ended, “If you’re so strong, why didn’t you kill Lieze when you still opposed the Order?”
“Excuse me?” Baccharum probably raised an eyebrow - Drayya couldn’t tell through his blindfold, “Let it be made clear that I never opposed Lieze. She was a useful ally in Tonberg, and our goals happened to align perfectly. I only had my doubts about her when the city was falling, and that was only because I didn’t fully understand her intentions.”
“What do you mean? She still wants to kill everybody.” Drayya folded her arms.
“-With the corrupt nature of the Gods exposed, I have trouble finding fault in her methods. Granted, the Order’s ways may be a tad sadistic at times… I’m sure we could have united many of our foes against a common, true enemy, but what else did I expect from necromancers?”
Drayya couldn’t argue with that, but something still nagged at her, “I’ve never met anyone sympathetic to the Order before.”
“Be honest with me - how many new people did you ever meet in the Deadlands?” Baccharum asked.
“Plenty!” She asserted.
“-Not counting overconfident merchants foolish enough to deal with necromancers.”
Drayya shuffled her lower lip, “...Okay, that’s not fair. You’re moving the goalpost.”
“Are the two of you done bantering?” Lieze poked her head into the conversation, emerging like a shadow from the darkness, “It’s time we were on the move. Those Rootborne won’t be the last we’ll run into, and I don’t want us being caught unaware.”
“This Black City can’t arrive fast enough… I’m already dying for a nap.” Drayya replied, “Couldn’t we get away with stopping just for an hour or two? I doubt the Elves are going to attack us now that Baccharum’s scared off their assassins.”
“That’s exactly what they want us to think.” Lieze asserted.
“Hm. She is right.” Baccharum finished wiping down the blood from his daggers and stood up, his head wreathed in shadows beyond the meagre lamplight, “We’ll be enduring many more battles like that on our way there, so speed is of the essence.”
“Come on…” Drayya stepped towards Lieze and intertwined their fingers, “Can’t we just take one break, Lieze? We won’t get another opportunity like this until the Head Shaman is dead, and even then, there’ll be no point with the end of the world at hand.”
Her plea was innocent and selfish - it was precisely the sort of thing Drayya would say. Lieze tilted her head to peer over the girl’s shoulder, “...What’s that?”
“Hm? What’s what?” She replied, craning her neck.
With finesse that surprised even herself, Lieze unsheathed the dagger from her waist and pushed the blade between Drayya’s locks of raven hair, piercing her neck in a strike that was remarkably bloodless given its location. Baccharum - a man so used to death that he had once made a career of it - recoiled in shock, “Lieze! What are you doing!?”
His answer came not a second later, when Drayya’s body disintegrated into a fine ash that disappeared on the wind. Lieze exhaled - a sigh of restrained relief, as she returned the dagger to her waist, “Convincing, I have to admit. Very convincing indeed.”
“What the-” Baccharum paused, “...An illusion?”
“A pathetic gambit, but not one without its merits.” She began, “The Head Shaman must have learned of our appearances by scrying our location. If I’d relented to that request and ordered you all to set up camp, we’d have been killed in our sleep.”
“Even so… I couldn’t tell that wasn’t Drayya.” Baccharum placed a hand on his chest, “How did you know? And even if you did, wasn’t there always the possibility that you were about to murder the real deal?”
“The illusion wasn’t perfect.” Lieze said, “Drayya has a habit of chewing the skin off her lower lip whenever things become tense, but that copy had an unblemished mouth. Also, when the wind blows her hair over her shoulders, she doesn’t push it back. But the illusion did.”
Something like a reserved chuckle escaped from Baccharum’s mouth. Lieze responded reflexively, “What’s so funny?”
“Well… I thought you didn’t care much for your comrades, but if you’re paying that much attention to Drayya, then I suppose you can’t be completely heartless.”
She grimaced, “...We’ve known one-another since we were children. It’s only natural that I’m familiar with her habits.”
“There’s no need to act defensive.” He held up both hands, “I’m not judging you.”
“Good.” She nodded, “I’ll give the order to continue our march. In the meantime, I want you to keep an eye on the Deathguards and report any suspicious behaviour. There’s no telling if someone we lost during the battle hasn’t been replaced by an illusion.”
“-You’re not worried that I might be an illusion?”
“You proved yourself with that cloth you used to clean your daggers.” She pointed to the shred of fabric in question, “Illusions can’t interact with anything that isn’t included as part of their construction. If you suspect someone, just give them a nudge harsh enough to dispel any transmutation magic.”
“-So, you didn’t need to thrust a blade right into that illusion’s brainstem?”
“I used it as an opportunity to practise my technique.” She answered, “Thankfully, it wasn’t the real Drayya. She wouldn’t have been very pleased if I did that to her.”
Unsure of whether to treat that as a joke or not, Baccharum could only smirk, “I doubt it.”
Lieze could tolerate being ambushed once by the Rootborne, but she wasn’t certain the army could cope with constantly fending off attacks without time to prepare. She first thought to send Baccharum ahead as a scout to determine if another battle was on the horizon, but as the thought crossed her mind, another possibility reared its head.
The corrupted Rootborne under her command retained their magical connection to Akzhem and the Great Oaks. If she instructed them to charge ahead of the army, there was no reason why they wouldn’t be able to detect others of their ilk lingering beneath the soil. That would allow her all the time she needed to prepare accordingly for an upcoming battle.
The idea was made more effective by the fact that her Rootborne weren’t utterly mindless. Without having to waste time organising them, the Fae interpreted Lieze’s orders meaningfully and created a kind of subterranean relay. Arranged in a line travelling towards the Black City, one Rootborne could communicate signals of danger or caution to its brethren, running down the queue until the information led back to Lieze - though in what form, she couldn’t be certain.
-That was, until a scream pierced the darkness. A human scream - a living scream - like the wail of a woman seconds from her demise. Its origin was, as Lieze soon discovered, one of the Rootborn, which remained still with his gnarled head poking out from the soil. The scream echoed out from nowhere in particular, and certainly not from its grin, which remained as still and woody as the rest of it. No, the wail came from within, as if a lost soul trapped under the Fae’s shell had been granted permission to speak - or in that case, cry for help.
Lieze didn’t care much for the implications. She was more concerned about why the Rootborne would be screaming at them to begin with. At the very least, she knew the reason had to be nothing good.
“Another attack…?” She wondered, “It hasn’t even been two hours.”
“What a racket!” Drayya covered her ears, “Tell that damnable thing to be silent!”
“I’m not sure it would listen to me…” Lieze recoiled as the scream bored into her eardrums, “We’d best move into a formation suited to battling Rootborne. I want our heaviest hitters organised towards the front, with Dark Casters prepared to create a wall of fire to dispel illusions once the enemy approaches. Send Grotesques towards the canopy to look out for assassins, and have a pair of Deathguards escort the Stalkers around to our flanks so we can close in with a pincer attack.”
[Levitation] would have been useful for overseeing the army, but Lieze’s mana burnout was still affecting her ability to cast spells. Instead, she settled for using the Manticore as a vantage point. Once all was in place, she ordered a forward march with the intention of wandering right into an ambush. The prediction wasn’t off, per se, but the circumstances of the ensuing battle defied her expectations.
Great shelves of dirt sloughed from the earth, peeling back Akzhem’s damp worldskin to reveal colossal silhouettes rising above the pitiful range of Lieze’s lantern. She shielded her face from clumps of dirt cast like cannonballs from the soil as an entire legion of gnarled titans dragged themselves free of their earthen tombs.
Hesitantly, Lieze squinted both eyes to examine their statistics.
Rootborne Titan
Level 68 Fae
HP - 19,210 / 19,210 MP - 0 / 0
BODY - 68 MIND - 0 SOUL - 0
Ten - twenty - thirty in total. Lumbering imitations of the Great Oaks themselves, graciously slow but armed with as much destructive power as Lieze’s Flesh Golems. She had experienced many close battles over the past few months, but rarely had she ever felt outclassed by her enemies.
“...We need to retreat!” She broke out from her stupor, “Remain in this formation, but put as much distance between us and the enemy as possible! Use the Dark Casters to attack from a distance!”