Defensive Measures

"The Brotherhood of the Ancient and Most Salubrious Art of Fishmongery just sent us three white-trimmed herring in a small barrel. Their messenger made sure to announce that it was a gift of recognition. Congratulations, lad."

Brenden, having just come downstairs after waking up, stared at Fang blearily for a couple seconds. He'd only manged to get a few hours of sleep since coming back from his fight against the giant flesh monster. His sleep had been interrupted by by Mike's follower Selene, who had a jarring message to deliver. At the moment, had neither the patience nor the desire to divine the meaning of the old beastman's words.

Shaking his head, he wandered over to a table and sat down, ordering breakfast in the process. "Griselda! One of whatever you're serving."

The matronly innkeeper quickly brought out a plate of fresh baked bread, accompanied by a helping of butter and a mug of ale to wash it down. Placing it all in front of him, the de facto leader of the criminal gang known as the Hunter's Paw gave him a warm smile. "We're in the process of cooking up those fish he's talking about, but it will be a few minutes before they are ready. In the meantime this should tide you over. Let me know if you're still hungry afterwards."

Brenden nodded his thanks before cutting himself off a piece of bread and slathering it in butter. As he was chewing, he glanced up at Fang, who was still hanging around as if unsure of how to respond to being ignored. Sighing, he finally replied, "I don't really have any idea what that means, but thanks? I guess?"

The bear beastman blinked before letting loose with a relieved chuckle. "Ah, I forgot you aren't from around here. I was worried there for a minute. Well, lad, the Brotherhood is widely regarded as the most pre-eminent force in the Old City. They are an ancient gang, dating back to the Pyrathian Empire, and are known to be some of the richest and most powerful inhabitants of the city's underworld."

"...Really?"

"I know what you're thinking. How could a bunch of fishmongers rise to such prominence? Well its actually a long and interesting story..."

Brenden was massaging his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "Can you abbreviate it?"

Fang was momentarily taken aback, but continued with his usual energy. "Right, well its not important at the moment. The big thing is that, they were the only major gang who hadn't joined up with us yet. Them giving you those fish, especially as a gift of recognition, means they're accepting you as the ruler of Almirn's underworld. Its their traditional method of swearing fealty. This means that all the members of the council are backing you."

[Seriously? Why do these gangs have the most ridiculous rules and traditions? If they tried to pull this stuff in Wyrport, they'd be laughed out of the city.]

He groaned slightly. "So I'm officially in charge of things now? Is that right?"

"Well, not exactly. Technically there still needs to be a council meeting where the leaders of Almirn's biggest gangs recognize you as their ruler. But don't worry! I've already got the meeting set up. In just a few days time we can make this official."

Brenden took a long swig of ale, buying himself some time to think. [If what that Selene woman said about the undead was true, then we have much bigger problems to worry about.]

It occurred to him that the ruler of the city's underworld would probably be able to mobilize the gangs to help the war effort. With how desperate things were seeming to become, every bit of support was going to be needed.

"Is there any way to move the meeting up?" He asked, a plan forming in his mind. "The sooner the better."

Fang frowned, but nodded. "I'll see what I can do, but are you sure lad? We'll need time to make a proper ceremony of the event. Anything we could rig up on short notice is going to seem pretty undignified."

"I'm sure." He replied solemnly, before breaking out in a smile as the tantalizing smell of cooked fish started wafting in from the kitchen. Apparently, lunch was nearly ready.

----------------------------------------------------

Mike flexed his will once more, and the last of the solid stone walls rose to join their fellows. This completed the hilltop defenses, or at least the outer portion of them. He was planning on reinforcing them a bit, and maybe even putting up some towers and a keep. Assuming he had the time, he was also thinking of a number of ways he could lay some traps for the enemy, and was hoping to do some experimentation before they arrived. For now though, he decided it was time to take a break.

"Good work." Morris commented from his folding chair, eyes still on the pile of documents he was slowly sorting through. He absently gestured to the other side of his camp desk, where a similar chair sat empty. "Have a seat."

"Thanks."

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, only the rustle of Morris's papers breaking the silence. Finally, Mike spoke. "So, what do you think of our chances?"

His friend glanced up at him and frowned. "Honestly, I'm not sure. The sheer difference in numbers is going to be hard to overcome."

He'd said as much during the battle planning that had concluded a little while ago. The Lacotians would outnumber them by a factor of ten, and therefore wouldn't really need to do anything unorthodox. They could simply force the coalition army into a battle of attrition.

"The walls should help, but we don't know what to really expect from the enemy."

Mike stared off towards the northern horizon at the brooding grey presences of the Ash Mountains. "You mentioned a weakness. Something we can exploit."

Morris sighed, "I don't know if its exactly a weakness, but it might be our best bet of winning this fight. It goes without saying that an undead army has a number of advantages, right?"

[Here comes lecture mode.] Mike thought while nodding. He was having the oddest sensation of nostalgia.

"They don't have to worry about food, shelter, or rest. They don't know fear or pain. Worst of all, every battle gives them a chance to replenish their numbers."

He set his papers down and rose to his feet, taking a moment to stare off into the west, as if he could see the distant enemy already. "The vast majority of the Lacotian military is composed of the weakest kind of undead, mindless animated corpses. They are called zombies or skeletons depending on their state of decay when raised, and are extremely easy for necromancers to make. If our assumption is right, and the enemy used the war as a cover to infiltrate Tenundi and convert a large portion of its population into an undead army, then its probably almost entirely composed of these animate corpses."

"Let me guess. Because they are mindless, if we kill the necromancer that created them, they cease to function, right?" Mike interjected during a natural pause in the lecture. He'd seen this pattern in a few stories, and figured he'd speed the process up a bit.

"Close, but not quite. Animate corpses that lose their masters revert to whatever instinctive behavior survived the transition. Unless the Lacotians spent a fair amount of time cleansing their victims of any remnant soul before they reanimated them, they would begin acting based on their previous personalities."

Mike frowned in thought. "So for a bunch of human non-combatants, that would mean they'd try to go back to their old lives, or something? Should I expect to see a bunch of zombie farmers in the near future?"

"No, unfortunately." Morris replied solemnly. "I haven't seen it myself, but I've talked to a few veterans who've hunted down renegade necromancers in the past. Supposedly, the moment of cognizance is so traumatic to their leftover bits of psyche that most end up destroying themselves as soon as they are free of their master's control. The remainder typically just wander randomly, passively watching the world and not even lifting a finger to defend themselves if attacked. Only on rare occasions do you see one capable of taking independent action."

"That's a bit...horrific to contemplate."

"Indeed."

The pair lapsed into silence for a few moments, before Mike spoke again. "So, we just need to eliminate the necromancers, and their army will fall apart. That's what you meant by a weak point?"

"Pretty much, but it doesn't help us a lot since the Lacotians are aware of this fact as well. They will do everything in their power to protect their necromancers, and we have no means of knowing exactly what kind of monstrosities they have in reserve. Our only saving grace is that we have a powerful force of our own, capable of penetrating deep into enemy ranks and escaping with near impunity. With you and your dragon, we might actually have a chance of striking that weak point."

"I don't know." Mike replied hesitantly. "I'm not sure if we can count on air superiority. They will have had plenty of time to come up with countermeasures."

"Like I said, we have a chance. A lot of this will depend on what the Lacotians brought with them to augment their corpse army. Until we get a good idea of that, everything I say is largely conditional. We'll know more once the scouts come back."

"I could still take Red on a flyby investigation. Judging from their positioning, it wouldn't take long to get there, and I could see a lot more from the sky than scouts on the ground."

Morris shook his head. "I know, but the benefits don't outweigh the dangers. You are our ace in the hole. We can't afford to risk you on mere information gathering when we don't know how serious this invasion is. In the worst case scenario, and the Archlich himself is involved, you won't be able to take him on directly."

His frown slackened and transformed into a wry grin. "Of course, if he's here in the flesh, there's not much we can do about it besides pray that the Archmage or another high Tier 4 entity decides to intervene before its too late."

"Speaking of which, where is the Crimson Disaster? Surely she could help us now that the entire continent is threatened."

Morris sat down in his chair again, and rubbed his face. "Unfortunately, she has the honor of being the only Rank 9 adventurer that hasn't retired yet, and is therefore the person of choice when considering missions that are too dangerous or difficult for weaker adventurers. In what can only be described as suspicious timing, she was given one of these tasks a few weeks ago."

"You think someone set this up?"

"Possibly, but its hard to say. Apparently, the guild has been receiving reports from adventurers in Dovistan, stating that the monsters of the Vale of Silence were behaving unusually. I'm not really certain on details, but they supposedly commissioned several parties to investigate deeper into the forest to see if they could locate the origin of the disturbances. None of which returned. This continued for nearly two weeks before the Dovistani branch began requesting help from the Guild's headquarters. They, in turn, decided that the scouting parties simply weren't strong enough, and hired the Crimson Disaster to get to the root of the issue."

"That seems a bit excessive."

"A little, but you have to understand, a lot of adventurers had already gone missing, and gradually increasing the strength of the scouting parties could have increased the number of casualties. I'm guessing the leaders of the guild decided to play it safe and put forth their strongest asset from the start."

Mike didn't necessarily agree that the best solution to this issue was to continue blindly sending people into a dangerous and unknown situation, but he couldn't think of a better way that would be practical. "Is there any way we can call her back? Emmanuel, our Marshal, is an accomplished Space Mage that should be able to assist the logistics, if need be."

"The guild should have a means of getting in contact with her, assuming they want to." Morris muttered bitterly.

"What do you mean?"

"I imagine that the guild would be hesitant to act unless we can confirm the presence of the Archlich. After all, they wouldn't want to provoke a response from him by bringing a Tier 4 into a national conflict."

Mike took a few moments to work through the implications of that statement. It kind of made sense, if one thought about a Tier 4 individual as being equivalent to something like nuclear weapons, but he still found it frustrating. "So we are basically on our own until a being capable of destroying the entire country decides to make his presence known."

Morris shot him a pained look, likely sympathizing with the bitterness his friend felt. "It is possible that they attackers aren't acting with the permission of the Archlich. In fact, that's how they've gotten away with launching periodic attacks on other countries in the past. Although this one is a bit bigger and more ambitious than in the past."

"We can only hope." Mike replied while standing. "Anyway, I should be getting back to work. Don't stay out here by yourself for too long. We don't know if they have another of those assassins, and you'd make a tempting target."

"Considering my unimportance to the war effort, I'll probably be fine. Now get out of here before Talgratha finally tracks you down. I'd like to avoid being caught up in the crossfire of your fight."

Mike chuckled as he walked away.