163 One Hundred and Sixty-Three – It’s all Black and White (1/2)
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.