HOHKMAT AND DRUSCO; WAR IN OUR BACKYARD

[ToodIes 1188]

Hohkmat, as seen from the battlements of Fort Drusco; 1960

 

Faeryel frowned over the remains of a shattered mana obelisk, deep under the Chamber of Fire. She had put hours into its engineering and construction, and now it was so many rocks.

 

A note stuck out from the scattered stone.

 

LEAVE THE WAR. DONT [sic] SUPPORT WARMONGERS. GO BACK TO BEING PEACEFL [sic] AND THIS ALL STOPS.

 

“They’re not good at spelling, huh?” asked one of her lieutenants, leaning against a wall, watching her with an easy smile.

 

“It’s to be expected,” replied Faeryel, as the note burned to ash in her fist. “Violence is the only language these people understand; not Common.”

 

“Add more doors. This won’t happen again.”

 

 

Fort Drusco after the battle, seen from the valley-bridge; 1960

 

“Now, isn’t this damned convenient?” joked one of Faeryel’s officers as she inspected the crisp crystal-lines of the arcane circle she’d be leading. Around them, cannon-metal creaked and armor clinked as the Covenant prepared their artillery assault. “I was picking rocks out of my boots for weeks after Balian. This time, I walked out of my front door and found myself in a siege camp!” 

 

He fell silent when the order came down to prepare for the first salvo. Faeryel closed her eyes, and sought that familiar power within herself. Light spiderwebbed across the ritual-array at the feet of the Hohkmati battlemagi as they funneled mana into her, casting harsh shadows on the cavern walls.

 

When the order came down from on high, alongside the screaming cannonballs of the mundane artillery was flame. Fireballs roared across the river valley, hissing, crackling, thrumming with arcane might, before detonating against the walls of Drusco. And detonate they did, flinging showers of sparks into the air, blasting and burning wood and stone. 

 

The fort smoldered. Faeryel assessed the damage, eyes narrowed, hunting for a weak spot; somewhere the wall had been picked away by flame. “There,” she barked, as churning earth manifested within the shining mage-array. “Let’s add a door there.” 

Long had Hohkmat been plagued by raiders and vandals. Time and time again had the Uruk and the Veletzer brought the might of nations to bear against the small city-state. But they can’t win where it counts, Faeryel thought to herself as her sorcerers charged a teleportation spell, to follow the soldiers scurrying up the mountainside towards Drusco. How infuriating that must be.

 

[Minuvas 2884]

The Grand Magister did conjure a looking glass from a voidal pocket, surveying from his throne room the bedlam and mayhem below as flames streaked from the lower walls of Hohkmat towards the distant fortifications across the river. 

 

A runner would carry orders to him shortly after, marked with the symbol of fire "RITUAL - COMMENCED". Although at this point - couriers were less frequent than voidal flames cracking across the sky. 

 

His own ziggurat was so close to the front that the dust shook in  from the walls due to explosions of returning fire from the enemies encampment. 

 

It was an exciting time to be a Mage. 

[Hom 519]

The tips of Atticus' fingers buzz with unseen energy as he places his hands flat to the arcane circle, specks of his own golden aura flickering in his eyes. Heat surges through the ritual chalk as they prepare for the next volley- And the next, and the next, until the combustive flames have carved a door large enough for an army. When the call for "CEASE FIRE" rings through the lower levels of the encampment, he takes a moment to gather himself. Sweat sticks to his brow, from both the small, overheated caverns and the exertion of his energy.

And still, there was work to be done. As the portal appears over the ritual circle, he unsheathes his blade and stands. "I'm going to regroup with the Laurel." He gives Faeryel a Petran salute, fist over the heart, a bow of his head- Counting himself lucky such a mage stood on their side. "Drusco took issue with the presence of Hohkmat- Perhaps, in the end, they should have taken that as a warning."

[Dj_McMuffin 111]

It was the Druscans that had first demanded that the bridge to Hohkmat be destroyed. Alas, Isabella was a bridgebuilder, and it would soon return, whether the receivers of her gift liked it or not. 

[H 746]

Ayche’s armor is stained with black powder residue when he rejoins his Chamber’s magi, shortly after the ceasefire command is first given. He finds Faeryel in the crowd and grins.
 

The other Hohkmati magi have been slinging spells towards Drusco Keep. Ayche has not. The ritual that has returned his strength has also crippled his magic, and the most powerful of voidal spells are now beyond him. So he’d put his muscles to work moving ammunition for cannons instead.

 

He’d left his Chamber’s magi in good hands. Faeryel's been invaluable ever since he was appointed to the Chamber of Fire, and he’s decided - one day, when this war is over - that she’ll take his place as Vizier when he decides to retire.
 

But until then, there’s still work to be done. 
 

His magic is no good at range, anymore. His mana pool is too small for a proper fireball. But a blast of sand to the eyes can be just as deadly as a boulder, given the right circumstances. A jet of air to redirect an incoming arrow can make just as much of a difference as a compression spell, if it saves the right person.

And, of course, steel can be as deadly as mana. It's a philosophy he's tried to drill into the men and women of the Chamber of Fire; never underestimate the danger of a blade. Never let your magic blind you to the value of mundane tools. Never use a fireball when a blast of sand to the eyes and a quick jab with a spear will do. 

It's a philosophy the battlemagi under his command have learned well.
 

“CHARGE!” Someone calls. Ayche's grip tightens on his warhammer.

And the rest, from there, is easy.
 

Spoiler