The Raven, the only name Neivibleing Von Gronszvert would permit on this play-world, was turning a corner in taking down one of the most interesting of foes on the oversized globe of Nel'Ferral. It had been good practice for his corporate spies to find people to blow up the lynchpin of the otherwise fearsome imperial defenses, letting him take the understaffed wall with only a few thousand casualties. Almost as important as both parts of his two step plan succeeding was that his men managed to secure the mangled remains of the prince. It was that detail that gave him the confidence to push south further. History was full of reckless idiots who over extended, but there was also a time to be bold, and if he was far enough south as summer came he'd be enjoying the spoils of war on sunny beaches.

Those spoils being beautiful, delicious, slightly better baked southerner women. He did like pale ginger flavors too! The Raven understood the appeal of variety! However, he had heard The Empire had a whole bevy of useless princesses and royal consorts and concubines that would no doubt fall into his hands if he started taking core cities, and that sounded to his liking.

These were the thoughts he had as he watched prismatic fumes sizzle off the walls. The Raven knew he was an odd fellow but thought any man who used a crystal shaft like his to, ah, penetrate the wall would also be under the same affliction that was keeping him sitting on the throne rather than riding closer to watch his men push into the breach. He pulled from a pouch on his waist a white tablet to help him calm down. While sometimes he'd play with the little white joys, roll them around his tongue and push them into all the nooks and crannies of his mouth, he needed to relax immediately. With a chomp, the strong mint made his mouth feel clean, and The Raven's shoulders sagged a little in relief. Soon he'd be able to stand up, with none the wiser how happy the destruction had made him. He did that! With his hands! A power he'd use to break every regular wall that stood against him.

Then again, who would judge his bulging pants? He sipped his wine and folded closed his paper package, his long fingers meticulious in resealing it, even if he had a device to keep it fresh. Partially because he wanted the joy of opening it again, the intoxicating juxtaposition between bleached white paper and it's bright red contents a treat to his eyes. His black gloved hand for a moment hesitated with the parcel. A royal indulgence, begging him to partake...

No! He must not waste it. Back into the stasis cooler it went, the gray and blue trinket a neat little gift from a rift he had conquered long ago. Perhaps this world had untapped rifts? He had years to find out! Who would stop him? The locals were weak, divided, and easily conquered. Life was good! Life was good! He sat up straighter as he saw his men moving like a carpet of army ants to the perfect circle he had punched into the walls. From his spot he the hole in the wall looked like it just ran out to the sky. Only by moving a little could he get hints of all the objects he had skewered with that wonderful beam of light. That and hints of it as his men started rolling over the wall. Any defenders trying to hold that gap had almost no archer support, with most of the keep in orbit somewhere past the horizon. So he didn't think they would have any trouble securing the bridge here, or making on of their own.

“Rupert! Map!” He cried and snapped his fingers.

His right hand man and translator stepped forward, gray beard streaked with wine. Well, perhaps not RIGHT hand man, as the ugly old drunkard had only been helping him learn Nel'Ferral and running the occasional errand rather than giving him advice. He considered Rupert as the other man studiously averted his eyes. Perhaps he'd throw that vile woman he had kicked off his fun-cart the man's way. Even Rupert deserved a little spoils now and then!

Taking the map from the man's shaking hands and drawing it into his shields with a little will, The Raven considered what was beyond his new city. A few more miles of farm, then a long road through nearly unmarked terrain with a drawing of a mesa or something with a lot of rivers coming out of it. Probably another tapped out magical ruin. South though... he had heard there was a fresh dungeon spitting out treasure from pirates who roosted in Osteria. Maybe he'd see if he could get there before the slippery adventurer's guild stole another march out from under his nose.

He patted his giant glass... well it looked like a dick and even with his less than stellar understanding of Nel'Ferralian he knew his men agreed... well then, he would treat it just as well as his own treasure, as it was a weapon fit for gods! He did have to considered his ammo. How many shots would he have? Perhaps fifty? Sixty? It was more than enough for now, AND there was still one more user left. His sources had told him that the man was dying, but he understood that mostly meant the capital was off limits until their protector croaked. Six months and he'd have a smorgasbord board of royals to himself!

He stopped himself from licking his lips, instead snapping his left hand so that his left-hand-man would fetch him his toothbrush and paste. Gilcrest, whom The Raven though of as his valet, bowed.

Both his helpers were silent as The Raven mentally tried to pick the right set of words. “Brink meee my truth brush and truth paste.”

Gilcrest looked confused, but Rupert understood and leaned closer to the man.

“The mouth brush. Get him the good one from the tent they are setting up. In the brass and wood case.”

Gilcrest started to turn to walk back the way they came, but there was a sort of glass-breaking noise and a soft squelch, and he saw bits of his left-hand man splatter on one of the speaker carts as the headless body toppled over. Rupert cried out and ran to hide under the cart, but The Raven simply stood up, sighing. He'd have to find another lackey now. He looked at the headless man.

“A new, actually interesting spell? Or did some boring sniper bumble onto my world?”

As one of his knight escorts was knocked off their mount leaving a trail of blood he saw the tell-tale entrance and exit wounds of a bullet flying through both body and armor and thus had his answer.

He stood, eyes narrowing. A cheater! Well, he was one too, but... another cheater!

There was a ping as a bullet hit his shield then rebounded. It was too far for it to perfectly rebound into whoever fired it, sadly, but what was perfect besides his smile? The thing didn't even put a dent in his belt's reserve power. He put on a glove and reached down into his boot, drawing his backup tooth brush and paste, and started working on his teeth.

Someone on the battlements was firing at him, likely. They were not with the keep or they'd be dead or fried enough that they'd be cooked crispy. He flicked the bristles into his gums, getting the stubborn bits of meat out before he polished the front, working up a froth. If there were guns, and they waited to open fire, then... well then he was going to lose a bunch of useless mouths to feed, wasn't he? But they hadn't moved to cover the breach.... what would he do?

He made a hand signal and his knights took to the air. Not a moment too soon, as the thumps of mines going off started in earnest. Black clouds of dirt and mud and smoke shattered the dull roar of an army charging, turning the nice ASMR of a hundred thousand bandits into discordant screaming and thumps. He switched his grip on his toothbrush, getting the tops of his teeth, pushing some of the gunk out of the cracks and plying whiting cream that would bleach his enamel to a perfect snow white. He looked down at his cooler on one side of his game-throne, and the death-crystal-cock on the other. He could fire again, but each attack was a resource he might not have when he needed to take the final town. Oh, it would be his, but it was so hard to rally his men whenever too many of them died.

Damnit! His tongue had found rough enamel on the back of one of his bicuspids. He'd be licking it for weeks now until he forced a new one to grow in!!

He stopped licking that tooth, and focused back on what commands he should relay as the mine blasts died down in frequency. “Perhaps I should just take this spot and hold, eh? No no, let's see how they do.”

The Raven spit a small glob of leftover toothpaste onto his dead left-hand man, and turned his attention to the blood splatters. The sniper was on the wall, no doubt, but he hadn't seen much movement up there. So they probably were laying down, no? What section lined up best with it?

There was a bell ringing sound as another bullet hit his shield.

Well, he could just fry the whole wall. He still had some juice left from his treat. Picking up the crystal gun, he lined it up with the battlements, the inner ones that had were flanking the rounded stump that remained of the keep. He felt the juice in his stomach mature, and reach out into the weapon, connecting it to his hands and his will. At a thought he fired off another shot, the device creating a huge white circle where it was focusing radiance a billion billion times stronger then the sun. He swept it a little before he was spent, having demolished the wall as the light spurted then thinned with little flare ups into a point before vanishing.

He was supremely annoyed to see two flying objects already whizzing away as the beam flickered off.

“Fine. Sky Knights! Get hem! Hem... ah! THEM! Get them!” He gestured, and his twenty remaining sky lancers hovering behind him darted out on their drakes, flapping wings a pleasing cover for more mines going off.

Besides his good knights running in, a few of his men were running away, and then getting blasted by mines behind them. He shrugged. A sizable number had made it into the breach before the explosions had ruined his offensive, and once he put the fear of him into his men he'd have the main bridge by the afternoon. If not? He could just flatten the city itself to form a dam and cross the stupid river that way.

He looked up and saw the first of his airborne knights get shot down, and he tapped his jaw. That's why there were nineteen more. As often was the case, good planning during the previous encounters meant there wasn't much to do here. He could watch his sky-knights take a few more losses before they got close to the modern tech using heroes and filleted them, but he had done simulations with his knights and hover-transport mounted troopers and the magic ratio was five to one, no matter how good the gunners were.

He decided to go have sex with one of the receptive locals to pass an hour without annoying interruptions. Maybe he'd see to the fanatical follower of the local love goddess who had been tagging along and had taken to putting her very bright pink tent near his? He had taken her once before, and she didn't seem to mind that he enjoyed biting. More importantly, despite her small frame she was sturdy and seemed to... quickly bounce back from their sessions.

After an hour well spent, he left her to tend her injuries and went to find Rupert as well as the general he had dumped most of the work on and get a report about what was happening. That and he wanted to make sure they hadn't destroyed the kitchen cart. He wanted a nice breakfast looking at the ruins of his new town.

He had organized his camp so that everyone important had banners, and Rupert was waiting by his own lovely black and red raven, and the general had moved his own black and gold... was Osterian how you'd say things from the old kingdom? Well, his new 'Gron-land' banner was planted spot where he could stand in the cover of trees. The man didn't need to use a rifle to see how well some of The Raven's old world friends put them to use.

“Reports? Gentlemen?” He said, confident in those two words.

The general started talking and Rupert surged to action, casting [Understand Languages] on The Raven.

“-We were pushing well at the bridge, but we lost a large number of irregulars trying to take it. Whatever weapons they used killed a thousand men before we backed off. The second charge took the bridge, but no signs of the defenders.”

The Raven reached for his right boot's mouthwash. Gargle, swish, gargle, spit. “Are you requesting me to blast it?”

“No sir, I said we took the bridge.”

“They just gave it up?”

The General nodded, looking confused as well. “I felt like they could have held for longer. Perhaps they didn't have the Bolt-lets to hold it.

He heard distant thunder. “Oh, I see. That's the sound of no bridge. Go send a messenger north to find those stone shapers and divert them from the canyon. We'll worry about the northern pass later... I want this bridge here back up in a week.”

The general gulped, which was stupid. The Raven valued him and was fine with bad news. The general hadn't figured out that all the dead Oster... Ostanian? Ostuernian? All the dead Gronland nobles he had culled were sycophants and useless traitors. So he made his voice buttery and spoke. “Please say it.”

“Sir, you must know... We don't have a good way to deal with whatever weapon they are using.” The general mimed the finger gun motion that The Raven himself made, which made the sort of roman soldier outfit he had wiggle on the older man. It helped bouy his mood to see some hand gestures were just universal.

So, besides the fliers who no doubt were being eaten by Sky-Knights... there were some more on the ground then? The Raven thought about it, and pulled out a black coin. Pure black, absorbing all light. “Pay The Dark Camp a visit. All the men this buys to find the gun-carriers across the river.”

Nothing under the sky was safe from his wings, and nothing that hid from the sun was safe from his shadows. He chuckled, then started moving to follow his men into the town. His enemies were as good as dead, and he was going to miss all the fun in pillaging the town if he didn't hurry!