The Butcher of Gadobhra

"This is a stupid plan. Have the witches seen this fortress lately?"

The assault force Alchemarx hired was led by Marko, a level 13 Battle Master. Marko had a healthy disdain for the missions they'd been given in the past, but pointing out errors in the 'corporate approved' plans had gotten him nowhere. When one of the witches noticed he had a class designed for leading raids, they gave him command but still made him follow their plans. He realized later that he'd earned himself the position of 'convenient underling to blame.' Since it didn't affect his pay, and he didn't work for Alchemarx except for in-game mercenary work, it had simply annoyed him. If things went wrong, they'd try to blame him, and if he succeeded, they'd take the glory. Which sort of summed up mercenary work in general. He liked playing this role in games and liked getting paid in the real world. He could put up with some corporate bullshit. Tonight, though, hewas staring up at the high walls of the keep and having second thoughts about the plan they were supposed to follow. None of the players getting ready to assault Rowan Keep disagreed with him. 'Run at keep screaming threats while assassins go over the walls.' was a bit...simplistic. No, downright stupid at this point. They'd used the same plan nine times before this.

To make matters worse, there were no weak points left. The fortress was nearly finished, with only interior work to complete. There were no gaps in the defenses and no half-built walls. This wasn't a raid to burn stacks of wooden beams, kill the workers, or ambush a supply train. They were assaulting a fully functioning star fortress with a Legion garrison four times their size. There wasn't a chance in hell that this plan worked.

"No shit. That place could hold off hundreds of attackers. They have walls, siege engines, and magical protections. It looks like a quick trip to respawn if we just run screaming at the keep. Might as well put glowing bullseyes on our chests." His companion, Jerry, aka Slysnake, a level 14 Shifter-Druid didn't need a class built around strategy to come up with a decent plan. He'd played strategic tabletop games for fifty years, maneuvering armies of little toy soldiers and rolling dice. Playing Hail Caesar, Squad Leader, and War Hampster might not count in the real military, but it was enough to make you a veteran commander tonight.

"Which, of course, is the plan they gave us. We have a chance, though. The soldiers are only Levels 3 to Level 8. All of our people are at least 11, and we have two at level 16."

"Keep telling yourself that, Marko. We're cannon fodder again, which is fine, as we still get paid. We just have to create enough havoc to get their attention. Of course, I have no idea what killing a couple of people will do. We need to hurt the teleport technology, not the people building it. They've got a dozen specialists in there, and in this crazy world, guys in lab coats are probably crazy, mad scientists with death rays."

"I'm thinking we can do better than that, Jerry. Look, this is the last raid and we get paid either way. I'd love to get the bonus for success we negotiated, but I gave up on that a long time ago. But, if we toss this plan and go with a different strategy, it will be fun and might even succeed. We'll make it look like one of the witch's plans, toss some spells, and assault a gate, but I also want to try getting three specialized teams over the walls and take a shot at the prize. Are people up for that?"

Marko heard several 'hell yeah' and no dissent. That was enough for him. "Ok, this is what we do..."

The central tower of Rowan Keep was one hundred feet taller than the top of the walls and fifty feet higher than any other building. From this vantage point, keen-eyed scouts could look out over the surrounding area, where brush and trees had been cleared for a hundred yards. This was less effective in the middle of the night with only a partial moon and stars to provide light, but the basic enhancements available to members of Emperor Gus's Legion was Low-Light Vision. While it was rare for standard soldiers to earn many enhancement points, the Gopher Wars had seen a lot of promotions as those soldiers who came to the Baron's aid earned at least two levels and a bounty of enhancement points. Some spent their points immediately, while others saved them until they could talk to the older veterans and gain some advice. After all, they'd manage to stay alive this long, so it was expected that they knew something important.

Usually, that advice was to take things that helped you stay alive but also benefitted your fellow soldiers. Higher perception, Low-Light Vision, and On-Guard perks, along with the Lookout skill, were some of the old-timers' favorites. A soldier with good sentry perks and a high perception got promoted quickly. They also found themselves on guard duty all the time, but there were far worse duties in the Legion than standing on a wall or tower and scanning the surroundings for enemies. There were two men on lookout duty tonight, high above the fortress on the top of the central tower. As they scanned the darkness for anything moving, they carried on a running conversation about the things near and dear to a soldier's heart: Food, sleep, women, and avoiding extra work. They drank their tea and chewed their dinner and breakfast of salted meat and bread, not taking their eyes off the surroundings. But it was harder to concentrate tonight; they had visitors and possibly a chance to have some fun.

Two priests of Ares, God of War and Patron Saint of the Emperor's Legion, impatiently waited as a large man brought up a load of materials to the top of the tower. Rather than packing them up the narrow stairs, he was standing on a crenellation and hauling up the load with a thick rope. The priests were used to seeing feats of great strength from the Baron's special workers, but this level of fearlessness, strength, and balance was another thing altogether. If they saw nothing else interesting, this display of power was worth the long walk up the narrow spiral staircase. The Baroness had begged an hour of their time, and they had grudgingly come. The slight of a shrine to another god in a Legion Outpost was still a raw insult.

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In addition to the Butcher, the two priests, and two soldiers, the top of the tower was occupied by Baroness Layla and Jorges, the fortress's architect. As Ozzy got the load of tools and parts to the top and swung the load to the center of the floor, Jorges got to work putting things together. Ozzy dumped the roped down to begin bringing up the second load. The priests, Demetrios and Christos, became intrigued as they saw how easily the parts fitted together. They were familiar with all types of siege engines, and this ballista matched hundreds of others they had inspected as far as general design. The two arms resembled a giant crossbow. A metal cable drew back the 'string', forcing the arms to rotate, putting more tension on a thick collection of twisted cordage. But at this point, the resemblance to a standard Legion ballista ended.

Touching the different parts informed them of the materials: Ironwood that was imbued with so much smoke it had turned black and shiny. Dark Steel parts carved with dwarvish engineering runes. The string, cables, and twisted cordage were a strange material called 'Silverthorn Vine' that had been heated and reforged into strong but flexible parts. The ammunition was also well-made. The shafts of the long spears were made of Twilight Oak, a Tier three material imported from the fae lands. The shiny black shafts had also been imbued heavily with smoke to strengthen them and shape them into perfectly straight ammunition. The heads were made of an unknown alloy that Jorges explained was a type of dark steel.

"I got the idea from Damascus Steel. The ore used to make the steel is wrapped carefully in a type of grass. When the raw ore melts, the carbonized grass forms micro-carbon tubing that increases the hardness of the metal and enables it to take a better edge. I experimented using fresh-cut Silverthorn vines. Split several times into long strings, they function like the grass in Damascus Steel, forming very small layers that bond with the molten metal. I'm calling it Silvered Steel. The heads of the spears are better than most Tier 3 metals. Harder, sharper, and with a nasty poison on top of that."

The priests nodded to each other. They'd been very careful when handling the ammunition. There were few creatures that the Legion would face that would require such deadly bolts, but you didn't win wars by stinting on weapons research. This was a point where the Priests of Ares and the Office of Procurement were at odds. "Standard armaments" were just fine as far as the bean counters were concerned. And the miserly price they paid artificers was never going to afford a weapon like this.

Layla sauntered over to the two priests and smiled at them. "So, what do you think? Is this something that wins the approval of the God of War?"

Tentatively, Demetrios answered. "It does. This is a deadly weapon, and the changes to the cocking mechanism are intriguing, along with the aiming system that allows the weapon to adjust the angle of its shots at airborne opponents."

"I've got a dozen 'experts' in magic tech, engineering, rune work, and all sorts of other strange subjects. I gave them an applied problem in warfare and stood behind them with a large sword, tapping my foot."

Christos smiled at her use of a time-tested approach to motivation. "We can certainly put our blessing upon this weapon." He emphasized the last two words.

"But your still bent out of shape at adding the hermetic shield and a shrine to Hermes? I get it. But while it might seem like he's invading your turf, it's just the opposite: We're weaponizing his magic. The use of a hermetic shield in warfare puts Hermes to work for your god. This is still a fortress of the Legion and still in the province of the Wargod. You'll notice that Baron William and I like to do that. We've made good progress weaponizing our workers and turning several hundred farmers into decent fighters. We may shave off the license numbers and change the recipes a little, but in the end, it's the body count that matters."

Demetrios considered that statement and then looked over at Ozzy. "This is one of your weaponized workers? Let's see how he stacks up." He gestured extravagantly at Ozzy and said Body Count. The investigative cantrip considered the butcher and fed the basic information to the priest. Demetrios staggered backward, and Christos had to hold him up. The older priest spoke in a whisper.

"Blood, blood everywhere! So many dead! " His eyes glazed over for a full minute before he shook himself and stood back up. “What sort of creatures are you and the Baron creating?”

Ozzy shrugged his shoulders and patted one of his flensing hatchets. "I'm a Butcher."

"Indeed." The top of the tower seemed to get larger to accommodate the man who appeared. He was fair-haired with weathered skin and eyes that had seen too much. He wore only a simple soldier's tunic like many in the Legion wore while off duty but woven of fine cloth. A gladius in a weathered scabbard was on his belt and a quiver with three javelins on his back. Both priests went to their knees immediately, but before anyone else could kneel, he smiled and said, "At ease. I like to look people in the eye when we talk."

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