The Battle of the Grove

The first horns broke the morning calm—long, guttural notes echoing across the valley like a distorted roar. The Grove was mustering their defenders in answer, the tension rippling through every stone and leaf.

Zevlor barked orders, voice booming down the line. He, I, the girls, the druids and a few bow-wearing tieflings scrambled for the top of the walls, finding positions overlooking the field below. Tiefling fighters took cover behind the gate at a safe distance from the explosives—ready to charge should the goblins manage to break through. Karlach hefted her bow with a grin, Lae’zel stood beside her statuesque, Shadowheart whispered a prayer and Kagha drew the Sanguine Blade, the shiny edge drinking in the morning light. Auntie Ethel stood at the rear, humming a lilting tune, her redcaps crouched beside her, their too-smooth faces fixed in eerie smiles.

Beyond the walls, drums pounded—a hundred feet, a tide of chaos. Goblins howled in chorus, their shrieks mixing with the stomps of wargs and the guttural bellows of ogres. The smell of sweat and smoke reached us before the first shadow crossed the ridge. It was the scent of war—metal, rot, and fear.

“Ready yourselves,” I called out. My voice barely carried over the rising noise. “Wait for my signal.”

The first ranks crested the hill—a mob of goblins waving crude blades, their bodies branded with war symbols and filth. Behind them lumbered the ogres, muscles slick with grime. Bugbears fanned out to the flanks, human archers and skirmishers following behind like carrion birds. I could see Minthara’s banner rising in the distance—or rather, several corpses strung together, swaying like trophies on long spears.

Moments later Minthara came into view, her black armor swallowing the light rather than reflecting it. White hair bound in a messy bun, framing a face both beautiful and cruel—too dangerous to look at for long. Even from this distance, I felt the kind of dread that came from knowing someone enjoyed every drop of blood they spilled. Her skin gleamed a pale purple under the morning light. Her eyes, a fierce shade of red, found me atop the wall, narrowing with recognition. Her mouth twisted into a wicked smile. She raised a mace in salute. “Hail the Absolute! I see you’ve successfully infiltrated the Grove. Now, open the gate and fulfill your purpose!”

I smiled thinly, lifting my hand toward her. “Oh. Yeah,” I said. “I got your invitation right here.”

My eldritch blasts screamed through the air, arcing straight into the goblin ranks. Two unlucky—well, lucky compared to the rest—goblins took the blasts full on. They dropped instantly, writhing on the ground in twitching bliss. Behind me, the corrupted druids raised their hands and fired with wild abandon, several volleys of red energy tore into the mob. They didn’t aim—it didn’t matter. There were too many goblins to miss.

Minthara’s voice cut through the chaos, full of fury and disbelief. “Traitor! You dare turn your back on the Absolute?!” Minthara’s voice cracked like poisonous thunder. "Ogres—bring down that gate! Tear the Grove apart!” At her command, the ogres thundered forward, the ground trembling under their charge. The goblin horde surged after them, roaring in mad devotion to their dark goddess, and the sky erupted in our answering fire.

The air crackled and hisses. My eldritch blasts ripped through the front line—not killing, but overwhelming. Every fourth blast unleashed a surge of crackling lightning from the Spellsparkler, striking wherever my magic had landed, doubling the chaos. Goblins stumbled and fell, shuddering, faces twisted in blissful confusion as the magic overtook them and lightning danced across their bodies.

Kagha was glued to me like a shadow, her movements precise and predatory. At first, she only took care of my leftovers—each time my blasts left a goblin writhing on the ground, one of her own blasts followed, ending their bliss with cold precision. The Sanguine Blade at her hip pulsed brighter with every kill. When it was fully charged, she started sniping goblins on her own, methodically carving through the mob with growing delight. She glanced at me, serene and playful. “Once again, you are the seed of my power,” she purred.

I smirked back, now fully understanding why the blade was cut from the game. It triggered on each of her kills no matter the method.

Further down the wall, Ethel’s laughter rang out, bright and sharp. “Oh, my darlings, such fun!” she sang, raising her staff. Her voice warped into a screech as she called forth a Swarm of Locusts. The sky darkened as a living cloud of wings and hunger descended upon the charging goblins. The swarm devoured flesh in seconds, leaving only armor and bone behind. The air reeked of iron and decay. Her redcaps braced the stone gate just as the ogres slammed against it, their grotesque faces slick with glee.

Karlach’s Titanstring Bow thrummed a few paces from me, every shot like a cannon. Goblins burst under her arrows, limbs snapping as she whooped with joy. “You seeing this, soldier?” She shouted over the screams.

Lae’zel reloaded her massive crossbow, lips curling into a thin smile. “You’re slow.” Another bolt fired, pinning a goblin to the dirt. “And loud.”

Karlach laughed, feral and bright. “I'll beat you to ten,” she challenged, loosing another arrow with enough **** to punch through chest-plate.

Lae’zel’s crossbow clicked with lethal precision. As a bolt hit its target, dropping a goblin mid-stride with a clean thud. “One.” The second hissed through the air, nailing another square in the chest; it crumpled without a sound. “Two.” The third bolt flew faster still, piercing the final goblin’s shoulder and sending it spinning to the dirt. “Three...”

“Oh shit!” Karlach’s eyes flicked sideways, realizing Lae’zel’s pace, she steadied her aim on the nearest ogre and released, the arrow punched clean through its head with a wet crunch—skull detonating in a spray of bone and brain, the headless corpse toppling to crush three goblins beneath its bulk. “Hah! Beat that!”

Lae’zel turned to Karlach, eyes narrowed. “Tch’k. Still only counts as one.”

Down the line, Shadowheart’s hands glowed as she traded fire with Priestess Gut. Their magic collided midair, bursts of light scattering sparks across the battlefield. Gut’s laugh echoed. “Weak little half-elf-ling,” her voice thick with mockery. “Can’t aim for shit!”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed. “I’m aiming at exactly what I should be,” Shadowheart shot back coolly. “Goblin scum.”

They hurled insults and spells in unison—Gut’s dark missiles meeting Shadowheart’s flaming bolts. The collisions sent both staggering. I pointed toward the Firewine barrels camouflaged at the low ground. “Shadowheart—light it up!”

She grinned and loosed a bolt of fire. The barrels exploded in a chain reaction, consuming the first wave of the attack in a roaring inferno. Flames rolled across the field, swallowing goblins by the dozens. Smoke and burning hair filled the air. The screams were brief.

“Too easy,” Karlach laughed, basking in the heat.

But it wasn’t.

Priestess Gut raised her staff, chanting. Water poured from the air, a sudden deluge that drowned the flames and turned the ground to slick, sucking mud.

Shadowheart snorted, her voice dry. “Of course they brought their own weather.”

“Cute trick,” I chuckled. “Get her in the muck.”

Shadowheart raised both hands, sending a big fireball near the goblin. Gut laughed, casting a shield spell around herself, leaving her untouched as the explosion rippled past. But the leftover fire licked at her feet, forcing her backward—straight into the mud. “Now!” I shouted. “Silence her!”

Shadowheart's reaction was instant. A bubble of magic enveloped the area. Gut’s laughter cut short, her mouth still open but silent. She flailed, trapped in the sucking mire, the corrupted druids noticed the easy target and unleashed their combined blasts overwhelming her shield. She crumpled into the mud. Priestess Gut was gone.

Cheers rippled along the wall, but they were short-lived. The next wave hit—Goblins assisted by a surge of bugbears and ogres, bellowing as they smashed into the barricades. The tieflings fired arrows into the advancing mob. The corrupted druids added their blasts, painting the air with more streaks of red light. I joined them, each strike pounding into the horde like a demonic drumbeat. Goblins dropped across the field, their ranks hastily depleting.

Two silhouettes stormed through the battlefield, Dror Ragzlin and Minthara—a brutal partnership of fury and faith. Ragzlin roared, his skin turning a deep crimson as barbarian rage consumed him. With a monstrous heave, he hurled Minthara and several of the strongest bugbears upward, their armored forms crashing onto the wall with heavy thumps. The ground shaked under their impact, and chaos broke loose.

Minthara landed on her feet, eyes alight with divine wrath. Before anyone could react, she raised her weapons high, dual maces crackling with black light, and smited two druids where they stood. Their bodies hit the ground smoking. Then her gaze locked on me, and she charged, armor clattering like a storm. Kagha moved to intercept but a tall bugbear slammed into her, forcing her back in a clash of muscle and fur.

I barely had time to lift my hand before Minthara reached me. She swung for my head, power flaring along her weapons. Just as she struck, Zevlor lunged into her path. The double smite landed with a sound like crying thunder, carving deep into his armor. He grunted, blood sprayed, but he refused to fall. Through sheer will, he held her there, horns locked against her mace, forcing her back one inch at a time. The light from her weapon flickered across his face, catching the stubborn fire in his eyes, his strength born of loyalty and bravery. When his knees finally gave, he still smiled, a faint, proud thing, before the light faded from his eyes. He fell, not as a man cut down, but as a shield that had done its duty.

“ZEVLOR!” I yelled, voice breaking, but there was no answer. The air burned in my lungs as I threw out both hands. My twin eldritch blasts tore through the space between us, the Spellsparkler igniting with a crack that split the sky. Lightning erupted from the impact, searing through her guard and lighting the wall in blinding white. The **** drove Minthara back a step, her armor sparking from the impact. Lae’zel and Kagha recovered and joined the ****, striking in tandem, but Minthara was too quick. She parried, sidestepped, and vaulted from the wall, retreating into the melee below. Where she passed, three more druids lay dead, their violet eyes fading to gray.

I leaned over the wall, trying to gauge the state of the battlefield below, but before I could make sense of it, a deep rumble shook the ground beneath me. The gate exploded in a single violent flash—splinters, flame, and dust filling the air.

When the smoke began to clear, a single dark shape came into view. Auntie Ethel stepped forward in her true hag form—tall, twisted, and terrible. Her green skin glistening, her hair wild and matted, her grin full of crooked, yellow teeth. “You've been a naughty little worm.” she hissed, her voice slicing through the chaos. “I heard the little birdies sing that you wanted to snuff dear old Auntie. And here I thought we was getting all friendly” She tilted her head, eyes glowing like swampfire, and chuckled low in her throat. “Now it’s time you learned what happens when you try to trick a hag—twice."

In Memory of Zevlor, Chapter 102-134.

Goodnight Sweet Prince.