Icemule invasion training

“Wakey wakey.”

“Mmmph.”

“Wake up!”

“Huh?  Mmmhmm.”

At this point a slight prodding accompanies the next bit.  “Wake up.  NOW!”

“Alright.  I’m up.”  This typically buys at least ten more minutes of sleep.  Not this time.

“We’re gonna be late.  Wake up.  Get out of bed.”

In and of itself, that wouldn’t have been too bad, except the cottage was cold, and the covers were unceremoniously ripped from my body.  The cocoon was involuntarily opened.  COLD.

“I said I was up.”  Maybe this will work.  Nope.

“We have invasion training.  Get your tail moving.”

Reluctantly, one lid parts.  I see about what I expected to before me: Cheesecake crumbs ground into the blanket, check.  My overly white legs peeking out from under the messed up covers, check.  My wife at the foot of the bed with a stern look imploring me to get my tail moving, check.  Clothes scattered to the four winds strewn all about the bedroom, check.  Wife frowning as she glances at said clothes, double check.

“You really went on a bender last night.  The crumbs kept me tossing and turning.”

Mildly, I protest, “A bender?  Why I barely had 8 or 9 whole cheesecakes!”

She gives me the look.

“Ok.  Ok.  Maybe 14 or 15.  But I was HUNGRY.”

She scoffs.  I let her.  She lets me eat in bed and do lots of other things I probably shouldn’t.

Hastily I gather up today’s clothes, dressing in the chill of the air.  It wouldn’t have been so cold except in my cheesecake coma, I’d forgotten to put enough wood on the fire last evening to keep it warm.  Curse you cheesecake!  After all, it couldn’t be my fault…no sir.

Patiently she waits just inside the door.  I suspect what’s coming and race to draw my cloak tight.  Too slow.  The door is flung open accompanied by a cold draft and handfuls of snow being blown inside.  Sometimes I hate the routine - even moreso when it’s freezing.

Completely roused and grumpy because I didn’t have my requisite 10 cheesecakes to start the day, we trudge to town.  First things first, a quick stop at the bank and load up on cheesecake.  With the forthcoming events of the night, I figure we’ll be busy.  30 should suffice.

The baker gawks as I manage to dump all 30 inside my cloak.  I give a quick wink and murmer “magic” as we leave the shop.  A long walk to Town Center.  I figure at least 8 or 9 will be gobbled by then, and as usual when it comes to my appetite, quite accurate.

Hibbits is there.  I wonder if he knows how many times I’ve thought about seeing if I could actually squish him beneath one or both boots.  Granted, he’s pretty rotund, but short even for a halfling.  I’d probably have to spend a week or so cleaning the various gunk and goo off my clothes, so the fantasy is tabled for another week or two.  One day it might be worth it, but today isn’t time to give it a try.  Invasion training.

I’m coming along to babysit.  Maybe to ensure the less experienced don’t wander off.  Or perhaps stub a toe.  Maybe even accidentally call down an avalanche while their battle cry still echoes off the valley’s walls.  My guess is at least two or three will become hopelessly lost.  I figure watching an icicle drip will likely be more fun, but we had given our word.

Hibbits is droning.  Blah blah,cast, arrest, beware.  And then it happens…

Who here would like to tell them what it’s like to be in an invasion?

My ears perk.  Pulse quickens.  I practically start hopping around like a child.  Raising my hand like I did during the first lecture in ecclesiastical school.  Without a word practically shouting to be picked.  Lo and behold, I am.

I try not to gush but am not entirely successful.  Maybe babysitting won’t be so bad.  Should I give them the warrior captain speech explaining that I expect them to put their all into the training and likely less than half will make it?  Nah, too authoritative.  Do your best and don’t worry if you fail?   Too wimpy.   Make sure you bring the Priest of Charl LOTS of cheesecake?  Hmmm, looks like I’m onto something here.  Probably won’t fly.   Ok, I have it.

“Invasions start out easy.  Lots of monsters will be heading your way and easily killed.  Wave after wave, and you’ll dispatch them handily.  And grow overconfident.”

“Then the creatures will grow meaner, and harder, but we’ll still win.   Your confidence will soar.”

“At some point something nasty, or several nasty monsters will slip in, and everyone will die.  We’ll all get resurrected and head back to the fray.  In a nutshell, that’s an invasion.”

“Injured and dead will be screaming for help.  Clerics and empaths will be aiding the fallen, all organization will break down.”   I see blank looks and whitening faces all around.  As a priest of Charl, somehow the described carnage helps calm and focus me more.  I don’t bother to tell them I’m a cleric of war.  They will see soon enough.  Plus it’s fun to watch them practically wetting themselves.”

Hibbits seemed to think that was about enough discussion on what an invasion was and began casting various magics to call forth hidden denizens toward town.  Watching the younguns play with their food filled me with a great joy.  They were pretty rough about the edges, but definitely a force to eventually be reckoned with once they worked some rust out and learned a bit more.  Maybe they’d even survive the day.

It seems that repeated magic being cast to summon critters had other plans in mind.  Hibbits kept calling forth wave after wave, some growing more tough for the younguns to handle.  Imploring those of us watching to aid some, defensive spells to keep the inexperienced alive began being hurtled about faster than a dwarf would bounce off a wall during a bar fight.  Unfortunately not fast enough.  One of the young ones died.  Impudent rogue that thought he could hide from everything.  He found out, to his chagrin, that he could not.  The cost?  His life.

Hibbits began another spell.  It looked like the others.  An attempt to call forth more of the local wildlife.  However, this time something appeared amiss.  His gesticulations grew less and less like a mage performing a spell and more and more like one attempting to stave off doom.  Ofttimes doom will not be kept at bay.  Hibbits fell.  Well, too much wild magic cast at once, what else was expected?

Surely not what happened next.  I chastized myself for calling myself Shirley, and continued to watch.  A rather loud roar accompanied by the very earth quaking and knocking us off our feet was the reward for my patient viewing.  Dusting myself off, I hurriedly grabbed my runestaff and threw on a few protective wards.  If we were all going to die, I’d try and do it with dignity.  Or at least look decent when I fell.

Not that I thought anyone would be watching me when I shuffled off the mortal coil.  They’d be too busy fighting for their lives.  But, who knew?  We’d find out quickly enough.  Over the ridge they came.  Hoardes of trolls, various undead, and even a rabbit.  The rabbit definitely looked like it wished to be elsewhere.  One thought raced through my brain when I spotted him.  Appetizer?  I mean, I had dessert covered.  If only I could race through the various creatures and pluck up the little bunny, dinner was served.

A cry of another of the younguns falling broke my focus.  The rabbit escaped the stew pot.  Ok.  Ok.  Time to get myself under control.  I mean, I was hungry, but it’s hard to eat if you’re lying there with lifeless eyes staring at the snow as it slowly coats your face.  Survival, always a good thing.  The fallen.  Maybe I should help them.  Hmm, could I put away the runestaff long enough to drag a corpse with one hand and still manage to gobble down some cheesecake with my other?  No time.  These darned things were mean.  Alas, the cheesecake would have to be put on the back burner.  Curse you Hibbits!

I grabbed Hibbits and another and fogged to the temple.  Another cleric with me.  I really didn’t want to stay there and raise the dead.  I mean, I CAN do it.  But gads it’s boring.  I’m a BATTLE cleric.  War is here.  Fight.  Win.  Kill.  Maim.  CHEESECAKE!  Crud, I’m being asked to help.  Ok, raise one, then go out and maim.  There’s always time for a good maiming.  Dusting off the battle leathers, I figured the corpse would know that was me attempting to tell him telepathically that I wanted back to the fray.  No such luck.  I still had to help.  Ok, up you come buddy.  Tick, tick, tick.  Gah the same thing other priests revel in, the moment they are closest to the fallen when raising their lifeless corpses.  By the Arkati, how I loathed it.  Tick.  Will it ever end?  Tick.  Is this take an inordinately long time?  Tick.  FINALLY!  Free.  Without a word I fog back to those still living and begin blasting things.  This is my life.  Praise Charl.  Lightning, flame, fire, more lightning.  Glorious life, let me take theirs.

Did I say that aloud?  I hope not.  Do they know what a bloodthirsty bastard I am?  I try to spout out the doctrine, the holy faith spiel that I know some expect.  I do revere life, but even more love the smell of battle.  No.  Kept it to myself that time.  Good job.  Time enough to bask in the glory later.  There’s killing to be done.

Things have degenerated into sheer and utter chaos.  Folks are falling left and right.   Yet somehow I still stand.  Not only stand, but seem to be dealing decent damage to the wraiths and other nasty things trying to breach the gates.  I’ll die at any moment, I’m sure.   More bodies to bring in.  Spells bouncing off my runestaff, off the wards, off the very ground itself.  Still alive.  Joined with many others.  Half of them still standing.  Most injured.  Most asking for healing.  Something is very wrong.  I’m uninjured.  This will not do.  Time to run in heedlessly to the largest group of critters and blast them until I fall.  No such luck, yet again.

All the while, fog back to town, raise a body, return to the fray.  It becomes almost a song in my head.  The heat of battle is upon me.  Praise Charl.  Blast a body.  Raise a body.  Blast some more.  Did I remember to praise Charl.  It’s the heat of battle.  If not, I am sure he’ll understand.  I will make it up in offerings later.  At times like these, briefly I wonder if this is what the V’tullian priests feel.  I hope so.  It feels good.   Alas, no others fallen, no other creatures.  Except that, hmm.  What is that?  Some shadow.  Some apparition.  Looks familiar.  Looks like one that had entered the dome in Town Center awhile back.  KILL!.   NO!  I… must… refrain… maybe.

My fingers twitch in protest while I attempt to wrest them back to complacency.  Under control once more, I realize that during my internal battle, the shadow has spoken.  It asked me, or those of us listening, to come and learn.  Learn what?  Shadows are the province of the lack of sunlight.  Of Luukos.  Of evil.  Or even worse, of sorcerers.  Who in their right mind would want to be one of those?  Nobody, that’s who.

Did I say that out loud?  Who cares.  Everyone around me seems to have disappeared except for the shadowy apparition.  It’s asking me to come and learn - yet again.  I wonder if it realizes it’s repeating itself.  Or himself.  Or herself.  I have no intention of getting close enough to lift its garments and discover the truth.  Another joins me.  The apparation beckons and floats away.  We follow.  It’s a trap.

Surrounded.  To the west, east, north, south, and maybe even above and below, creatures burst through the drifts.  Glory, time to cast every spell I know and go out fighting.  The battle lust again takes hold.  The guy next to me is blasted from his boots.  Something vague runs through my noggin.  Save him!  But… but…  There may or may not be time later.  It depends if I still stand.  I don’t plan to be standing.  There are things to kill.  Alas, the apparition has floated away.  Control.  Wrest control.  Follow.

Barely contained, I do.  But… The shadow is gone.  Where?  If it’s prevented my glorious expiration, I must know.  Someone blabs in my head that it’s in Town Center.  Since the guy who fell next to me is in that general direction, I go to check on him.  He’s gone.  Rescued by another, I assume.  Ok, the shadow.  To Town Center I go.  Sure enough, it is there.

It asks us to watch and learn.  Learn what?  I try to ask.  Too late.  The shadow merges with the dome.  Before our very eyes the dome grows.  It becomes practically a behemoth.  The eye-shape depression in its side now nearly big enough to be a bay window.  The height reaching taller than I am.  I’m pretty tall for a giant, so it’s pretty big.  I wonder if I can enter it.  No.  It will not allow me within.  How am I supposed to learn from the shadow if it’s inside and I can’t get in.  Silly shadow making no sense like that.  I’m hungry.  I need more cheesecake.  Since I can’t discover anything from the shadow, time to eat.  Mmmm.  This is good cheesecake.  Oh gosh.  Bodies.  The battle seems to be over.  Guess I’ll help raise the dead.  This I definitely can do while gobbling down the delectable cake.  So good.

After everyone is returned to life, various townfolk start spouting something about Hibbits running off to Pinefar.  We follow.  All we manage is to anger a cat and Belle.  Hibbits is nowhere to be found.  I sense his death from a distance.  As if he’d entered a confluence.  Shame he’ll decay in there.  I’m not going inside.  Things is there will try and kill me.  Death not in the heat of battle seems pretty pointless.  I rationalize this in a moment and return to town.  The battle is over.  Return to my wife.  Return to sanity, mostly.