The Siege of Samarik: The Forlorn and the Damned

The Forlorn and the Damned - A Story by Mark Barber

In the fiery hellscape above the rocky ground of the Plain of False Judgment, red lightning flickered moments before the rolling of thunder. Lava snaked in thin paths between the jagged, black rocks of the staging area as perhaps a thousand demonic warriors stood in rough gaggles. The lower Abyssals formed the first ranks – perhaps a quarter of the entire force – a sacrificial wave ready to plough through the portal as soon as it opened. The previous attempt to take the city square of Samarik had met in failure; partly due to the unexpected ferocity of the city’s defenders, but mostly because of the completely unexpected arrival of an entire host of Elohi.

Many had fallen, hacked bloodily apart only to have their matter surge back to the Abyss to be reborn again at best; a process that would take much time and the expenditure of much Abyssal energies. And almost invariably, it would come with a loss of rank and status for those who failed. Berserkers, molochs, Abyssal Guard – all would be reborn as peons within the ranks of the lower Abyss’s seeming masses. Many had fallen, but not all. A few had fought well until they were pushed back into the Abyss through the portal itself. Teynne was one of them.

“Warriors!” a cry was issued from ahead somewhere amidst the sea of red-skinned demons ready for the next charge. “Stand ready!”

Teynne knew that voice. Say’eth – a seductress who he had promoted from the ranks of succubi when he himself still held the status of Abyssal champion. He glanced around at the other five molochs who he commanded – four new additions and one fellow survivor of the retreat from the square. He looked across at the other survivor, a mortal-born demon who Teynne’s own trickery had condemned to an existence in the Abyss. He flashed the other lumbering moloch a mocking, sharp-toothed smile.

“The best of us wins descension, old friend. Do you think it shall be you?”

With a deafening explosion, the hobgoblin machine perched atop the rocks behind the small army shot out a beam of energy. The portal opened and with a combined, guttural roar, the reinforcements charged from the Abyss and into the mortal realm. The first waves ploughed through the red-tinged, shimmering oval of light, disappearing in their ranks as the army shuffled forward. The lower Abyssals, the guard, the hellequin riders all in turn. The portal loomed ahead. With his pig-nosed snout twisted into a sneer, and thoughts of bloody triumph in battle finally restoring his status as a warlord of the Abyss, Teynne charged back into the mortal realm.

The shrieks and screams of Teynne’s demonic brethren being torn asunder reached his ears before the noxious purity of the mortal realm’s air punched into his lungs. Pillars of bright light plunged down from the clear skies above, illuminating the corpse-strewn city square as the battle raged bloodily on. Bodies of defenders lay amidst those of not only Abyssals, but also the ratkin and orcs who had joined them. The Basileans had taken the west wall, and lines of crossbowmen shot salvos of bolts down into the flanks of the charging lower Abyssals caught in the open. On the left flank, the damned Elohi of Mount Kolosu swept in with their blades of fire, carried on their angelic wings with a speed that seemed unfathomable even to a monster of the Abyss, born in bloodshed. Completing the cordon of destruction was a line of feraun hunters, two ranks deep and directly ahead, pelting the faltering lower Abyssals with sling-launched rocks. The Green Lady – that accursed harpy of whims had sided with the Basileans…

“With me!” Teynne grunted gutturally to his band of molochs. “Follow me, you dogs!”

To the one side, red-armoured hellequin riders charged toward the Elohi host whilst beneath the west wall, Say’eth led her succubi in a desperate sprint forward toward the warriors of Galahir. Stones and crossbow bolts tore open wounds in Teynne’s thick skin as he rumbled forward, his hammers held high and ready to strike. They could still turn the tide of battle – they had to. Not because Teynne believed in any cause; not because he feared the repercussions of failure – because victory in battle was the only way he would ever descend back to his rightful place as a warlord of the Abyss.

The Siege of Samarik summer campaign is live now - click HERE to read more about it!

Mark's new novel, 'Blades of Samarik', which tells the story leading into the siege, is also out now - click HERE to grab your copy!