The Horde

 

Ricmo pulled the goggles firmly down over his eyes and gunned the engine of the massive infernal machine on which he rode. From up here in the drivers cupola he had a great view, as his massive red-iron monstrosity tore over the hellish wasteland. The beast belched black smoke and hot steam, huge treads crushing anything unfortunate enough to get in its way, bushes, spindly trees, even solid rock giving way before it. The thing ROARED. Ricmo smiled and gunned the engine some more. 

"This is awesome!" he thought to himself. 

Ricmo had figured out the yoke and throttle, with some help, but had zero idea what most of the gauges, buttons and levers in front of him did. He was totally making this up as he went along.

From somewhere below him, through the hatch that led to the secondary driving compartment, their new ally, Max Zombie was desperately yelling instructions at him, but between the creature's thick accent and the roar of the wind and engine, Ricmo could only make out one word out of three. 

He ignored him.

"Wonder what this does?" he thought, pulling a large black lever. Behind him the twin tailpipes of the machine belched a massive cloud of black smoke. One of the fast, two wheeled pursuers Max had called a "Warbike" ran straight into the smoke. A second later, the unfortunate engine re-emerged, careering head over heels through the air before smashing into the ground and erupting into a pillar of fire and greasy black fumes.

"Nice" Ricmo thought to himself and them frowned, glancing behnd him. Through the huge cloud of dust that filled the horizon to his rear, he could see the gleam of metal, his pursuers. There was PLENTY more where that one came from. They were being chased and their pursuers were legion.

The Wasteland Horde to be precise, at least according to Max. 

"They are like locusts, devouring the wasteland,  consuming everything in their path. But not mindless, there is strategy and tactics at play."

"Lord Humongous will attack in three waves" Max had warned. "The first wave is cannon fodder. Warboys, damned souls yet to be bloodied, cheap Warbikes, lightly armed and armored. Their only job is to slow us down, soften us up. 

Then come the Warbuggies, heavier and harder, but still fast. Harder to kill but still Damned Souls, still expendable. 

The real hammer is the third wave, the Battlewagons, and the true demons. If they ever get to us, we're done. But they're slower then us. 

Even the flyers, Ricktus Erectus, he's that big flying bastard that leads the flyers, ain't fast and he holds them back. 

So the main goal will be to slow us down"

Ricmo heard a "spang" sound, loud enough to be heard over the racket he was making, and saw some kind of harpoon like thing trailing a heavy cable bounce harmlessly off the heavy armor of the Cannian Interceptor. This beast was TOUGH. But its hull was not exactly streamlined, covered as it was with jagged spikes intended to rip flesh and frustrate would be boarders. Those harpoons might not penetrate but they could still find purchase among all the spikes and plates, they were still a threat. 

Ricmo felt the War Machine tug left, looking to his left he saw, sure enough, another harpoon had been more successful, managing to tangle in the spikey protrusions. A cable attached it to what Ricmo could only think of as a land anchor, a massive tangle of huge metal spikes that bounced along the wasteland behind them.

The Interceptor noticeably slowed, as the anchor dragged at it. "So that's what those things are. At least each of them only has one."

"Gods dammit" Ricmo yelled, fighting the yoke to pull them back on course. Out of his peripheral vision he saw another Warbike lining up a shot with a harpoon. With his left hand, Ricmo drew a pistol and fired, blowing the zombie like driver's head clean off. The bike careened out of control off into the red desert waste.

"SOME HELP UP HERE" Ricmo yelled down into the main cabin. 

--------------------------------------------

The Sturg was frustrated. He knew a fight was happening above but he had to been told to strap into this metal chair and just wait. He heard the fight, he smelled the fight, but he wasn't IN the fight. It was hot and noisy in the dark compartment that took up the majority of the vehicle, but despite the fact their lives were in danger, there was nothing for him to do.

The rest of the party was on either side and across from him, also strapped into the metal seats that line the sides. 

He looked over at Dakhir radiating frustration.

"Too many to fight this time Sturg. We need to run" Dakhir answered the silent question.

The Infernal Machine swayed violently to port. Over the din of the engine, The Sturg thought he could hear Ricmo shouting. 

"We are slowing. The halfing calls for aid" Merus remarked.

"We can't do much, this thing doesn't even have any weapons and the only widows point forward?" Dakhir countered.

"This device IS a weapon" Tello countered. "It's essentially a single massive ram. Very cunningly designed."

"Which unfortunately is completely useless when you are trying to RUN AWAY." 

"True but this is not a design flaw but rather a flaw in utilization."

"We could open the big door in the rear" Whisperleaf observed."

"Let me scout first" Merus replied. "I will determine if it is safe". Without waiting for permission, the elf unstrapped herself, undogged the circular hatch in the roof and climbed out onto the exterior of the vehicle.

Dust and smoke poured in from the open hatch, making The Sturg cough inside his great helm. 

A few moments passed before Merus re emerged.

"So what is happening?" Whisperleaf.

Merus considered how to reply. She had seen many things in her almost four hundred years of life, some beautiful, some terrible, some both. She had never seen anything like this. She didn't even have the words. 

Finally, she replied. "Chaos". She considered for a moment. "You need to open the door and attack. I go above to hunt." And she disappeared back up the hatch.

As the great double doors at the rear of the Interceptor swung open, Whisperleaf whistled. 

"What. IS all that?" he marveled.

Dakhir joined him, holding on to the door frame with one hand and taking in the scene. Chaos indeed. Behind them was a massive cloud of dust, stretching in a huge arc from left to right, dust kicked up by a score of infernal machines. Some were of a small two wheeled variety, others further back were larger, with four wheels. They tore over the wasteland at a prodigious speed, ramping over the dunes, becoming airborne momentarily, only to land neatly and continue the chase. 

"Fascinating" Tello remarked from immediately behind them. "Really a matter of metallurgy I suppose. This infernal steel is very strong, and the demons must have means to manufacture it in great abundance. Stronger steel means stronger boilers, greater pressure, more energy, the rest follows. One does wonder about the heat source though."

"That's all well and good but how do we kill them?" Dakhir replied testily.    

Tello pointed and the small cannon perched on his shoulder barked. One of the two wheeled warbikes fishtailed, the driver trying desperately to regain control, failed, and exploded in a fireball.

"The usual way" the Artificer replied, satisfied. "Only you need to kill them harder."

Dakhir nodded, "You take the right, I'll take the left?" he suggested to Whisperleaf, who nodded.

The two spellcasters chanted in unison, infernal syllables mixing with elvish in a demonstration of antithesis and cross denominational solidarity. Sickly red energy dripped from Dakhir's hands, verdant green from Whisperleaf's. The smell of roses mixed with brimstone. Almost simultaneously they both finished their respective incantations, hurling their magics backward at their pursuers.  

Where Whisperleaf's spell landed, thorns and bramble immediately sprouted from the desert. Growing faster than could be imagined a great wall of thick, gnarled brambles stretched into the sky, higher then a man, sixty feet wide and five foot thick. Sprouted directly in front of a group of four warbikes. One of the bikes, taking advantage of a convenient hillock, managed to jump the wall. The other three were not so lucky, smashing into it at full speed. The five inch long thorns eviscerated the riders and the bikes themselves were trapped in the wall like a fly in amber. One of them exploded and the wall began to burn. 

On Dakhir's side, the results were slightly less spectacular but still effective. A large patch of wasteland directly in front of three warbikes glowed a sickly green. As the bikes rode into the green glow, the riders began screaming. The bikes began to smoke. Then, one by one they exploded. 

Both casters sat back, nodding to each other in satisfaction.

"Fascinating. They can even fly" Tello exclaimed, pointing. What looked like a large warbike, suspended by rapidly whirling rotors was skimmed over the burning thorn wall and closed incredibly fast.

"Could those be, why I do believe they are. Rockets! How fascinating. I've experimented with such but I can never get the stabilization to work. Oh my, we best close the door" Tello remarked. Then his hands arms and head, quick as a snake, pulled back into his shell. 

Dakhir stared in horror as a half dozen flaming streaks leapt from the nose of the flyer, corkscrewing through the air at them, trailing smoke. He grabbed the door, attempting to swing it closed.  But it was heavy, and too slow.

The rockets were none too accurate, two missed entirely, slamming into the wasteland in a fiery explosion, harmlessly detonating. Three more slammed into the heavy armor of Interceptor. But the sixth, as if guided by the hand of a vengeful deity, flew straight and true, through the still closing door and detonated inside.

------------------------

Ricmo felt the entire massive machine kick forward, accompanied by what sounded like the largest gong that had ever rung. The yoke shuddered in his hands, the Interceptor fishtailing wildly. A burst of smoke and fire erupted from the hatch at his feet.  He glanced over his shoulder to see dense smoke trailing behind the his vehicle.

For a moment he also saw Merus, standing on the central roof behind him, quickly loosing a flight of arrows while she swayed gracefully to the erratic movements of the machine. 

He focused again on the smoke, Was that fire licking out of the rear? 

"That can't be good" he thought. He glanced back again. His friends had been busy he saw, burning hulks of warbikes littered the desert. But the second wave of warbuggies was almost upon them, and these guys seemed to be much more heavily armed.  

The Interceptor was slowing dramatically, he still had that damn anchor on him plus he was pretty sure whatever explosion had happened had done some serious damage to whatever propelled this monstrosity. 

He looked down at the controls and hit a prominently displayed button at random, which was immediately rewarded by the massive shriek of a steam whistle. It startled him so badly he almost jumped out of the cockpit. 

He felt the gust of a bullet passing by his left ear. Looking down, he saw a surviving biker had come alongside, the rider aiming his pistol at him.  With a savage jerk of the yoke, he sent the Interceptor careening into the bike, crushing it.  

There was a thunk though, and he saw that while he was distracted a second harpoon had found him from still another biker. The Interceptor slowed even more. They were barely moving as fast as a galloping horse now.

"A little help up here already!" he shouted down into the burning smoke erupting from the hatchway.

----------------------------

Dakhir regained his senses to Radiant Lightbringer shaking him by both shoulders. The chamber was filled with smoke and steam. The clerics mouth was moving, but all the Warlock could hear was an immense ringing sound. Dakhir shook his head and placed both hands over his ears. Radiant looked at him blankly for a moment, still soundlessly moving his lips, then suddenly Dakhir could see the light dawn. The cleric nodded and touched Dakhir on the forehead and with a rush, sound returned. 

"That was nearly the end of us my brother" Radiant said, grimacing. "None have perished, praises to Mithras, and His graces have restored us somewhat, but I fear this infernal device has been grievously wounded.  It bleeds." The cleric pointed to one of the two large cylinders that framed the rear hatch, which was venting blistering steam and making an ominous whistling noise. 

Dakhir remembered that Tello had called those devices "boilers" and had had a lot to say about the extremely bad things that would happen if they were punctured. 

"That can't be good" he replied. "Where is the Artificer?" Radiant pointed to a other boiler, where the Dakhir could now see the Tortle's shell deeply wedged head first into the crack between boiler and wall, at about chest height.  The Tortle had extended his legs, which kicked helplessly, dangling in empty space.

"STURG!" Dakhir bellowed. "Some help here!"

The Sturg, who had stayed safely strapped in to the crash couch, as ordered, nodded and got to work. Tello was surprisingly hard to extract. The Tortle was really wedged in there, and his shell was difficult to get a grip on.  Eventually The Sturg managed to pry him loose using a shard of what had formerly been the rear door. The Tortle shell popped to the ground, spinning slowly, and hesitantly, Tello's head emerged.

"We probably should not have opened the door" he remarked. "Can someone flip me over please?"

The entire vehicle rang again as something massive impacted outside. 

"Friend. Those buggies are very close and one of them has two gigantic cannons mounted. It's trying to get behind us and shoot through the door. Whisperleaf reported from where he was cautiously looking out the now open back of their vehicle.

"I think a boiler breach is imminent" Tello reported tranquilly. "That would be extremely fatal. I will repair it first, then see to the doors."

"Quickly! I don't think we can survive another strike through this breach!" Whisperleaf replied. 

"Sturg. Door." Dakhir barked. The Sturg looked at him, then nodded, walked over, grabbed the largest fragment of door, and wedged it into the gap. Dakhir could hear the metal scream as The Sturg forced the rigid sheet of infernal steel to conform, wedging it in. Then he did the next largest. As he was affixing the third piece, the makeshift barricade rang with the blow of a cannon ball. 

"Now where did I put that Sovereign Glue Gun" Tello muttered to himself, rummaging through the many pouches he adorned himself with. Eventually  from a pouch that could not have been more then six inches deep, he withdrew a foot and a half long glue gun. "Now don't jostle me, my friends, this is extremely difficult to remove once it sets, and I'd hate to accidentally glue anyone to the wall." 

Carefully the Tortle worked the pump, and laid a long strip of a milky white substance over the damaged part of the boiler. Then he quickly slapped a thin strip of metal before the glue set. The whistling steam immediately stopped. 

"There good as new. Now about that the door"

-----------------

The Sturg had had enough of sitting around. He felt useless, just getting shot at and occasionally exploded. As he turned door repair over to the Tortle, rather than resuming his seat he made his way up the ladder and through the hatch that led to the roof of the behemoth in which he was riding. 

On top of the vehicle, he found he had a much better view. Spread out behind him were the dust trails of their attackers, who, despite the losses Whisperleaf and Dakhir had just inflicted, were still depressingly numerous.  He saw Merus off to one side, engaging in a long range duel with one of the rocket firing "choppers" as Tello had called them. The elven ranger seemed to be somehow holding her own, pitting her clothyard shafts against the hail of fire from the attacking vehicles.  

The Sturg mentally shrugged. Not much he could do to help there. He clambered over the spikey exterior of the roof of the Interceptor toward the driver's cupola where Ricmo sat. The Halfling, desperately struggling with the controls, didn't notice the huge form sneaking up behind him, until The Sturg tapped him on the shoulder. 

"HOLY SHIT" Ricmo screamed, almost jumping out of skin. The Interceptor yawed crazily almost tipping before Rimo got it under control "Sweet Mithras Sturg don't scare me like that."  Ricmo took several deep breaths, once his heart slowed down to the point where he didn't feel in imminent danger of a heart attach, he continued

"don't scare me like that bug guy! Those fuckers are trying to BOARD US BY RIDING ON TOP OF POLES. BOUNCY POLES! WHO FUCKING DOES SHIT LIKE THAT"

Ricmo pointed to the dead body of one erstwhile boarder, wedged in the treads where he had fallen after Ricmo shot him.

"What are you even doing up here anyway?".

The Sturg managed a shrug while holding on to one extruding spike. 

"Well you could do something about those anchors" Ricmo took one had off the bucking yoke he was wrestling with, and pointed to the tense cables that were attached to the Interceptor. "They are really screwing me up here."

The Sturg nodded, then carefully made his way over to the point on the hull where the first harpoon were attached. The vehicle was bucking crazily, from the effects of the anchors, the rough terrain, and also Ricmo's attempts to dodge the various incoming munitions the war buggies were firing at them. 

The Sturg considered the tangled mess of cable and pieces of harpoon that attached the anchors to the spikey exterior of the Interceptor. He drew his sword and swung and mighty stroke. There was a momentarily flash of light as the razor sharp edge of Welkin the Sword of Andronicus impacted the taut cable, With an ear wrenching "SPANG!!!!" the cable parted, both ends whipping violently as the mechanical energy was suddenly released.

"Good good" The Sturg heard Ricmo shout "Whatever you are doing is working!"

The Sturg started making his way toward the tether point of the second cable. The buggies were close now, one even pulling up alongside near where the cable was attached. The Sturg suddenly felt several sharp blows to his chest. He looked down and saw several dings on his chestplate. Looking back over at the buggy he saw the zombie in the passenger seat leveling a flintlock pistol, preparing to take another shot.

The Sturg swung his shield around to protect him. He'd never had much use for ranged weapons in the past, they had always seemed to complicate what was essentially a straightforward task. He was beginning to regret that decision. His magical plate armor and shield were remarkably resistant to firearms but there was always the chance a lucky shot or ricochet could find a chink in his armor or even worse, penetrate the eye-slit on his helmet. He braced his shield for impact, an impact that never came. 

Carefully peeking over the lip of his shield he saw the enemy shooter had dropped his weapon and was clutching at a familiar grey feathered shaft that now emerged from his throat. 

Merus was a missile weapon in and of herself, The Sturg thought with satisfaction.  With friends like that, he was probably fine. With another mighty blow of his sword he severed the last cable.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Ricmo smiled as speed and maneuverability returned to the massive hunk of metal he piloted.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw three of the warbuggies and the surviving three warbikes were tight on his tail now, pouring cannon and rocket fire into the rear of his struggling vehicle. The Interceptor rang like a gong being pounded by a troop of enraged monkeys. 

From below Tello stuck his head up into the cupola, from the hatch directly below Ricmo's feet. "No more of this" the Tortle bellowed up at him, competing with the roar of the engine and the chaos of the weapons. "No more!" The Tortle wagged a finger at Ricmo sternly, then disappeared back into the hatch. 

Ricmo nodded. "Hold on! Tell everyone HOLD ON!" he screamed back down. Then over to Merus and The Sturg. "HOLD ON! 

With his left hand, Ricmo pulled the smoke lever. As black smoke bellowed out of the rear of the Interceptor, he cut the yoke hard right, stomping the brakes at the same time.

The Interceptor GROANED and tilted as Ricmo sent it into a hard ninety degree turn. For a moment, Ricmo thought they were beginning to roll. But the beast was heavy with a low center of gravity, and it righted itself rather then flipping. 

Ricmo grinned, ducking down into his cupola. While the smoke cloud he was in was impenetrable, he could imagine the consternation among his pursuers, as they desperately tried to avoid crashing into the now immobile Interceptor as it turned longways into their path. 

There was a massive "crash", and Ricmo, glancing up through the circular cupola directly above his head, briefly saw a warbike occluding the sky, on fire and spinning end over end, flung high into the air by the force of its impact on the sloped sides of the Interceptor. He felt two more explosions, one so powerful it shoved the Interceptor, pivoting the machine a good thirty degrees.

Tello stuck his head up from below again briefly. "I'm not sure I'd call this helping" he said testily then disappeared again down into the innards of the machine. 

Ricmo carefully stuck his head up. The brisk wind was dispersing the smoke cloud. The rear of the Interceptor seemed to be on fire, but after a moment, Ricmo was relived to discover that the flames were actually the remains of a warbuggy that had spread itself over the spikes and armor. Two more bikes were in pieces and burning. A second buggy had wrecked trying to avoid him.

The maneuver had been successful, but less than he had hoped. Two buggies and one choppa remained. And they had lost all speed. For the first time, Ricmo could clearly see The Battlewagons, the heavies of the Horde, as they approached. They were still a bit out of range but the huge turreted cannon in the lead Battlewagon was firing nonetheless, sending huge hunks of metal hurtling over the wasteland.

The vehicles themselves were not the only threat., The exteriors of the two huge tanks were covered with demon; a cloud of grotesque demonic entities hovering and hanging off the vehicles like flies on a horse. 

And atop the lead Battlewagon a single huge demonic form, twice the size of a man, balancing easily on two immense goat legs. In one hand he brandished an immense sword, on the other he clutched a chain that bound several other figures that rode with him.

With a grinding of gears, Ricmo put the Interceptor back into gear, and turned the beast to flee once more.

"Musicians?" Ricmo noted in wonder. "That big one must be Lord Humongous, but he has pet musicians? Why?". And as he watched, the lead musician, the one wielding a guitar, strummed a deafening power chord and a jet of flame thirty feet long emerged from the tip of his instrument.

"Oh, that's why" Ricmo answered his own question. 

Freddy's head whipped up as, through the roar of the engines and the din of battle, he heard, sharp and clear, a power chord echoing. The meaning of the chord was unmistakable. A challenge. 

Without a second thought, Freddy unbuckled his straps, grabbed his guitar and climbed up the hatch onto the top of the vehicle. 

Sure footed, he picked his way to the peak of the roof where he balanced easily, swaying with the motion of the vehicle, looking backward at the approaching horde. He saw Lord Humongous. He saw Lord Humongous' four pet musicians flinging music and fire toward him. 

Freddy nodded. 

Taking his time, he carefully tuned his guitar, his flamboyant hat hanging loose from it's neckstrap his long hair billowing out around him in the harsh wind.

"Get down you fool!" Merus barked at him from the side where she hunkered, picking off enemies one by one with her great bow. Freddy ignored her, ignored the bullets whizzing past his head, the exploding rockets and shells. He took his time, finished his tune to his satisfaction, and then swung his guitar around him front of him, raised his hand, and struck a chord.

The chord echoed back over the battlefield, impossible loud. Challenged answered. 

"HELLO, HELL, MY NAME IS FANTASTIC FREDDY AND I'M HERE TO SWING!"

His voice was deafening, immensely loud, rolling over the battlefield like a hurricane, momentarily drowning out all other sounds.

Behind him, a rocket exploded, briefly outlining his form in fire and smoke.

And Freddy played,

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen other than his music, incredibly loud, rolling out across the wasteland. No lyrics, just pure guitar solo. The chords screamed and cried over the wasteland, over the horde, the smoke and the flames. Then a warbike, failing to make the neccessary course correction, crashed into another warbike, exploding. A warbuggy slammed into a rock, one it could have easily avoided. A choppa gently vectored into a hillside. 

From all across the battlefield, the fiends and undead souls, mesmerized by the song, ignored the intricacies of driving or flying their vehicles and crashed or rammed them into one another or the terrain itself.

Soon, half the horde was burning and broken behind them.

Freddy finished his song.

Then he bowed.

"THANK YOU, YOU'VE BEEN A WONDERFUL AUDIENCE!

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THE SHOW!

 AND THAT, IS HOW WE DO IT IN VALORIA!"