One Hundred and Sixty-Three – It’s all Black and White

Today we set up the Camp at the edge of the Dichromatic Plains.

The ground ahead of us was all black. Some were stretches of sand, dunes whipped back and forth by planar gales visible in the distance, parti-colored lightning visible Over There where the Rift was, at the edge of Yle Tyorm. The planar gales in that area never really went away.

Other stretches were simply fused black, cracked and broken, as if God's Own Fireball came down and fused the whole place. It had swept the ground pretty flat, only the occasional hill and slope left, although jagged cracks formed canyons that eventually ran into lower points here and there, as if the land below couldn't stand the heat and just gave way.

What stood out were the leaning white pillars of crystal.

They jutted up everywhere, the least of them at least three feet wide, and some of them ranging up to twenty. The smallest of them was fifteen feet high, the vast majority twenty or higher, the biggest ones ranging up to sixty feet long. Their crystalline white was almost blinding against the broken black ground and shifting black sands, the latter of which wouldn't get within three feet of them.

All of the crystals nearby were leaning at exactly three degrees, away from a certain point.

Briggs came strolling up the last of the wave-hills, where a force of javelin throwers thought they'd be cute and toss things down in ambush, and were now strewn across the top, burning messily. His heavy boots idly kicked them out of the way, which generally meant over the side to a crunchy ending which would help them burn up all the faster.

"So, what are you thinking this is all about?" he asked me, sitting down beside me to look at the scene.

"Airburst magical effect, some sort of Law/Chaos conflict. Chaos won, but Law is sticking around. The pillars are all basically at right angles to the Burst effect. As we get closer, the angle should change. I just haven't measured it with how far our scouts have gotten. The Brothers say they end at about forty-five degrees, just before we reach the city proper, so I'm thinking above the Wards of the city. Might even be the crystallized remnants of the city Wards, dunno."

"Huh." He looked at the closest one. "Can we salvage the Law energies inside? The Warp must hate them."

"Doubt it. There isn't a single scoring or scratch mark on them, and how many warbands have passed this way? There's no way they wouldn't try to score them or see if they could ruin them."

"Yeah, that's totally true. Pity, they'd be decent material for the Obelisks we have to make..." I looked at him, slowly arching an eyebrow. "Oh, right, they need to be of the Land, in harmony. Not axiomatic. Sorry, was anticipating working with a new kind of stone."

"Well, if you can split or carve it, I'll cheer for ya. I'm thinking explosive axiomatic crystal siege bombs for the catapults, introduce the Warp to some Lawful luvvin'. However, pretty sure the crystals keep the Chaos Storms contained." I pointed at the literally knife-sharp split between the Dichromatic Plains and the wave hills of the Badlands below us. "We can't see the greater pattern, but what do you think the odds are that those varying crystals are NOT a part of some greater Formation?"

"Ugh, pretty damn low." He shook his big head, glancing over at the river winding its way toward Yle Tyorm, where fairly normal banks gave instant way to waters turning almost silver, its bed turned inky blank. The dichotomy was obvious. The river was also waveless, all extra motion totally gone, flat and smooth as a mirror. Pretty creepy, really. Gusts of wind blew black sand past, and it skimmed over the river water without going in, like eternally pure ice.

"How many more coming?" Our frontal area was down to five miles for the moment, Nulls and Brothers out scouting.

"Brothers say four bands more closing in. The hole we're making in the sky is pretty obvious." We both craned our head upwards, where blue sky had jutted out into the strange purple-grey sky and the black clouds that overlaid the Plains, very clearly denoting the edge of the Corridor formed from multiple Interdictions fed by vivicizing hundreds of thousands of Warped.

"That looks both inspiring and terrifying. I don't want to do the math on how many Warped we'd have to kill to open up the sky."

"Mmm." He looked at me, I looked at him, and I flashed five fingers twice. He grimaced, and then grinned. "Damn! That is going to be a BIG explosion when it all goes. Do the Warp Gods have any idea how much they are going to be helping us here?"

"I'm sure they are writing it off as a charitable contribution on their tax returns even now," I replied loftily.

"I heard that the Ferals have finally reached the area, too." He rubbed his chin.

"Their pace is quicker since they are barely establishing a Corridor. All the stuff they have to fight that just drops out of the storm is just interesting potential meat."

"How we planning to deal with them?"

"I haven't a clue. Making first contact with them now."

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His name translated to Blackheart in the higoblin tongue. He was an illrigger, a dark knight of Hell, blessed with killing magic, assassination skills, lethal combat ability, and a set of hell-forged armor that proclaimed his status to all his people.

He was what they all wanted to be: a servant of their gods, a disposer of his rivals, a great commander, and a lethal warrior.

He eyed the human in the distance, a white flag hanging from his spear, both suspiciously and with interest. His troops stewed behind him, some calling for the head of this Borderguard, the grey-green color of his cloak unmistakable. The Rangers of the elven lands had killed countless numbers of goblins from the three races over many centuries, and their enmity would never fade.

Generally, such warriors would kill goblins on sight, and the favor would be mercilessly returned, if possible. But few goblins got to live after killing Rangers, who were implacable trackers and hunters.

So, a white flag. The rules of war were well known among his people, if rarely ever called on. Blackheart turned his pupilless black eyes to the sky above, blue against the purple-grey, thinking.

Waving to the green-blooded soldiers behind him, he kicked the sides of his bulox, and the horned brute trotted forwards expectantly and fearlessly. He had to rein it in from starting a charge at the unfamiliar rider, slowly and calmly making his way over, showing no fear, only discipline and control.

The human rider had his spear in his stirrup, bow on his back, and grey-green cloak over leathers on display. His horse was light and built for speed, and could certainly outrun his heavy bulox without trouble. He had obviously not come here to fight. A fight would involve eating armor-punching arrows while the archer stayed out of range, but Blackheart knew that he could easily survive such an attack... and the elves were not known for treachery at parley, when they rarely offered it.

He reined in sixty feet from the Ranger, flipping up his helm to show his purple-black skin, a noble color among the higobs, and his prominent fangs. "A white flag is a strange sight from you tree-kissers, Ranger. These lands have never been claimed by your kind. Do you seek to deny us passage?" Blackheart spat out, testing the waters here, showing he was ready for a fight.

"By no means. If you seek to continue forwards, please do so." The Ranger's voice was coolly amused.

Blackheart narrowed his eyes, looking past the Ranger at the sky far behind him, a good twenty or more miles away. There, like a sharp spear, a length of blue extended across the horizon, and plunged a short distance into the black clouds ahead, ominous and waiting.

The blue sky was tied to burning the dead creatures in this land with the unwhite fire. The more were burned, the wider and further the blue sky extended.

Without the protection of the blue sky, the Chaos Storms would swallow them. They'd already had to put down hundreds of fools caught in them, who were variously possessed, mutated, turned into undead, turned into elementals, made into puppets, turned into living bombs, became hosts to strange creatures, or just plain went insane and started killing everything.

Their deaths did help make the blue a little wider, however. Practical lessons all around, and even fools had their uses.

"Then why are you here?" He was surprised the human dared the Storms, but the Ranger seemed unfazed by the threat they posed, which was intriguing.

"You are not the only force closing in on the source of the rabid warriors who plague us both." He gestured into the distance. "The Warp Gods and their Rift are waiting fifty miles that way."

Blackheart licked his fangs eagerly despite himself. He'd rarely eaten so well as he had in the past few months. The vivic-burned flesh of the outlanders was quite a treat, a sign of plenty that had drawn many, many tribes to the banner of his clan, and even more clans of other tribes – orcs, hyen, kobolds, huul, tauren, ogres, trolls, even some Jotun, all eager for meat, more meat! These outlanders were savage, cruel, and merciless... but every weakling they killed was one less they had to share the meat with, so nobody cared.

Still, the Shamans had spoken, and he knew the gods had confirmed that the incoming invaders would never stop. They might be feeding well now, but every warrior killed now was one that took years to replace, and the invaders were coming in more and more numbers. They were being given a feast, but they would die gluttons if they ate too long. The invaders had to be stopped, the Rift closed, while they were still strong and numerous enough to fight.

"So, they despoil the lands of the tree-kissers and rock-humpers?" he guessed uncaringly. "And you expect us to fight your battle for you?"

"My commander merely wants to know if you have given any thought to a plan to close the Rift," was the cool and unimpressed reply.

Blackheart narrowed his eyes, and just gestured curtly. "That is a matter for the gods. The Shamans will come up with a plan once we have slaughtered all of them!" he declared confidently.

"Divine power can't close the Rift, or it would be closed. The gods of the Warp are enemies of all the gods," was the instant retort, taking Blackheart off-guard with the response. "If it could be sealed by divine action, it would have been slammed shut long ago."

Blackheart growled, feeling that this was both a challenge and an uncomfortable truth. "How do you know this, human? The gods have been silent about the Rift itself!" Which, now that he thought about it, was a bad sign. Precise directions on how to destroy it would have been very appreciated...

"The Void Brothers."

Blackheart's black heart skipped despite himself. He had no desire to test his skill at murder against the merciless swords of the Land. Those who tried, died. Those who ignored their warnings died catastrophically, and generally took a lot of tribes with them. Loathe them they might, but when the Void Brothers came, their words, though cold, callous, and uncaring, were treated with great caution. Despite their mutual hatred, the legacy of blood between races, their hot tempers, and their ready blades... the Void Brothers had never lied.

If they spoke of a disaster coming, they spoke only the truth. Those who did not believe them died, and generally died very, very badly. They had warned the tribes of Things controlling their leaders, tribes delving into matters that would threaten all the Feral lands and tribes, magicks that could rend the world, ancient beings who saw them as less then sand, fallen gods seeking new slaves to raise them back to glory, and horrors from the deeps preying on them like cattle.

Those who listened had the chance to fight and live. Those who didn't, died, and then many tribes had to come together to deal with the problem, often as not finding the Void Brothers dealing with the heart of the problem in a bloody manner only after they proved themselves willing to fight.

Blackheart thought about all of this, and knew the Void Brothers would not say anything that was not true, or important, and they would be utterly merciless about it.

Regardless, they would still have to fight!

"What is the plan?" he asked, and wondered how many would have to die to kill this threat. At the very least, they would die not hungry, full of the meat of their enemies!