Commission art by thos
Also known as Leucrotta on Furaffinity.

Accompanying short tale by me. Part 10 of the Call to Adventure Series

This episode, The army of Fort Renton is on the march.

A Call to Adventure: Marche!

The great march began on an early evening, four weeks before the Summer Solstice. Nearly two Centuria of Velite foot solders, several dwarfs and a few horse mounted officers set off from the now abandoned Ft. Renton to march around the head of the mountains. We were a motley mix of men, half-orcs and cyynophalites from Podenco. All were seasoned soldiers from previous postings. After a year of listless guardianship of the trade road, nearly all welcomed the opportunity to march to battle.

The canid Podenco's formed the Engineering battalion; charged with racing ahead to prepare floating log bridges to cross the swollen mountain tributaries. Others with shovels followed, leaving behind fire pits at various rest breaks. Stones buried in the coals. The cooks would unfold light weight leather bags, fill them with water, dumping in the hot stones to boil and make stew.

Time was of the essence. No wasted hours making fires and carrying heavy pots. Our brief rest stops spent draining stew from leather bowls, eating dwarf-made biscuits that felt lead heavy, but quite nourishing. Then the march would begin again.

Evening spent napping under the stars, awakened under moonlight to march through the night. A cynophalite or two patiently awaited our arrival at the hastily built log raft bridges to ensure we marched, out of step of course, over those trembling rafts without falling into the cold mountain waters.

Despite the pace, the mood was optimistic. Almost boisterous. What ever was in the dwarf cakes made us feel well rested after that nap. A trip of three days around the mountains shortened to a day and a half march.

The half-orc Uhran marched beside me. He offered to take my backpack for the first leg of the trip, till I felt recovered from my previous grueling marathon trip through the Dead City. Along the way, he mentioned the Witch King and his embued army.

The art of magic is a strange and difficult one. As a scribe, I've read into the difficulties that spell making requires. Time and resources spent to wrought a spell. How one can only hold a few key spells in one's head at a time. The time taken is exhausting; men become aged and not ambitious. Even for dwarfs. The art of pouring spells into an embued object to act as a dispenser is just as difficult.

But every dozen generations, there's one born who becomes skilled at a young age and with ambitions of Empire somehow manages to find a rare natural object swollen with Mana. With ease that such an object allows, that gifted individual can sway men, muster armies armed with powerful embuements to wreak havoc, conquest and destruction.

Uhran surprised me with his musings that rather than plunder the rich, inner provinces of the Empire, the Witch King had marched to the outer reaches, desperately seeking Mithral at Argentium and other rare objects to replenish his magic.

A very shrewd observation. I could not tell him of the Dead City, nor my role in delivering Oeru's message to the Centurion commander. Carried again by a Raven, it had been allowed to fall into the Witch King's encampment. A ruse claiming we would march into the Dead City from Ft. Renton with instructions to secure and activate the 'gadget'. My mood darkened when a stanza from the dwarf's written words upon that message scroll started to echo in my head like an ear worm.

Within the Tower sanctuary, where flat crystals are tiled upon a metal wall.
Stand forth in front of the Oracle.
Declare these words. "Daemon! Initiate! Code word Castle Bravo."
The daemon will ask thrice if you want to initiate.
Answer yes three times.
Finally, spake loudly. "Begin count down."

The power of words merely thought upon. Why Oeru, are you giving the Witch King what is likely a true spell?

Thankfully, a nudge from the half-orc broke the repetitious words running through my head.

"Hey Dog scribe, are you muttering an old song?" Uhran said.

"Trying to forget," I replied.

"Well, I've got a song to sing. Just follow my lead."

Uhran launched into a bawdy rendition of a bonnie girl who didn't just lie or dwell, over the distant ocean, but was big enough to cover the sea. And I couldn't help but add words about being the big enough man to full fill her tidal desires.

A welcomed change that briefly lifted my mood.

---

By the next evening, our army had rounded the mountains. Then, messenger ravens arrived, carrying the news that the Witch king had split his army. He along with personal guard and selected best were marching up the valley, around the dam reservoir and through Neima pass into the Dead City. The other half was left to guard the lower region of the valley.

More strategy orders delivered by Raven. Argentium with it's larger army marching from the South with ours rounding from the North, closing in on the valley mouth. If all went well, by mid-morning, our combined armies would be positioned and on the signal; become like great fang like pincers to mash upon the rear guard.

Or at worst, we'd become like voles and swept up into a wolf's maw.