Gabriel and Edward
Gabriel made his way down a wide staircase, the light from his magical lantern casting a warm pool around him. He'd finally managed to convince that fucking idiot Mason to stop killing everyone they ran into and to conscript people instead. He thought back to the conversation they'd had a month ago.
"Look man,"
"SIR."
He sighed. "Sir, we are going to need people. We need people who can cast spells that are useful to us - things to help with the cold once winter gets here, light spells, spells to find powerful artifacts, all that kind of stuff. Plus, you can start building an army."
Mason had puffed out his chest at that last part. He had only gained one level, but seemed chronically short-sighted enough to notice that, no matter how many people his lieutenants killed, he just wasn't seeing the levels like he used to. A term Gabriel learned in his college days came back to him: diminishing returns. But this absolute Chad refused to see it.
"I have a fucking army! Me and my lieutenants can kill any fucking thing that we run into. Nothing has even come close to shaving a single ass hair off of me, and if they got close enough to do it I'd smash them into the ground. My Strength is 32 even before my bonuses!" He flexed an impossibly muscled arm.
Gabriel tried not to sigh again. Mason loved bringing up his Strength stat - always followed by a flex of his arm. Anyone who showed anything less than absolute amazement when he did was quick to find out that Mason wasn't exaggerating. He bobbed his head in faux enthusiasm. "Definitely, definitely. I'm not saying anything could take you out. I think we all know better than that!"
Mason's eyes narrowed. He could never tell if someone was being sarcastic, but he suspected that the pipsqueak was.
Gabriel realized he must have let his tone slip and had raised both hands, dropping his head. "I mean it! Seriously, I don't think there's anything out there that could take you in a one-on-one, but especially not when you have your lieutenants around!"
Mollified, Mason relaxed and Gabriel tried again. He'd been thinking about this next part and thought he had an idea of the best way to handle the ape.
"All I'm saying is that you are basically King Leonidas."
Confusion reflected in Mason's eyes, quickly followed by anger. It did not pay to make Mason feel stupid. He sputtered on as quickly as he could, forestalling the tantrum before it was directed at him.
"I know you know who the Spartan king of the 300 was - seriously the most bad-ass motherfucker to have ever lived. The way him and his 300 lieutenants took on tens of thousands of sand huggers from Africa or something? That was fucking epic man! That's you!" Gabriel was pretty sure he didn't have all that right, but he knew what stroked Mason's ego.
"Oh yeah," Mason's eyes were thoughtful now. "I remember that movie. That dude was pretty bad-ass! I think he was… Gerard Butler!"
"Absolutely!" Gabriel let out a mental sigh of relief. "He's known for being the best warrior to have ever existed, but the Spartans were known for something else too - they had two classes of people." He realized he'd have to dumb it down. "They had two groups - the warriors who fought the battles and the slaves that did all the work. Do you think Gerard Butler ever had to make his own bed or fetch his own food? He had women throwing themselves at him just to say they'd fucked the king. Him and his army never did any work except fighting. They lived the fucking life man, and the only thing they had to do was kill things."
Mason considered but Gabriel could see that he'd won him over. "I like that… I already have the women. But if I get bored of the hangarounds I could just have a… what's the word for when you have a whole huge bathroom full of women in like silky robes and shit?"
"A harem?"
"A HAREM!" Mason barked an excited laugh. "I bet Gerard Butler had a huge harem of all the women he conquered, just laying around waiting for him to come fuck them."
"And it gets even better," Gabriel continued. "You get the women, but you also get people who can do all the other shit too. We find people and we force them to take classes that will help us."
"That's all awesome, dude, but you still didn't tell me why we need an army."
Gabriel could have told him the benefits of having a standing army when swarms of creatures came at them, enough to overpower even their group. He could have brought up how an army would allow them to expand exponentially, by conscripting everyone they ran into until they'd expanded their reach across the entire state. He could have told him that bigger, badder things that this mook would be coming along at some point, or that even a strength of 32 wasn't going to save the idiot.
He could have, but he knew it'd have been pointless, so he said the only thing he knew would get through to the man. "You know how you gain experience from when your lieutenants kill?"
Mason nodded. "It's not a lot, but yeah."
The hook had been set, time to reel him in. "Now imagine that you had thousands of people, all killing in your name. Imagine how much stronger you'd get while you're just chilling in your harem."
A dangerous, gleeful glint had shone in Mason's eyes. "Fucking A, man. That sounds like some king shit right there. Let's do this. Turn me into Gerard Butler."
Gabriel shook his head as he walked down the stairs. They'd spent the next few weeks conscripting everyone they found. Some had joined willingly, ready to surrender to any group strong enough to protect them. Others had taken a bit more… incentive. They quickly filled their ranks with builders, chefs, craftsmen, and even a few brewers who had been turning out high quality hooch ever since. The majority ended up being worthless and were pressed into service under an army vet that had offered to take up their training. Major Tom - don't let him hear you make fun of his name - was a pure fucking psycho, but he did his job. You learned to fight or you became target practice. One of Gabriel's greatest achievements here had been to institute the Roman decimation tactic. He'd always thought it was so bad ass the way one of the Roman higher up military dudes had grouped everyone into groups of ten, then made them all pull stones from a bag. The nine who had black stones beat the one with the white stone to death. He'd always wished he'd been able to see that, and now he could! Major Tom grouped all new recruits into tens and made them fight it out. The nine left alive at the end got the privilege of joining their growing army. Besides being really cool to watch, Gabriel had implanted the idea into Tom while feeding his bloodlust, so he got a sliver of experience from each person that died.
All of that work had brought him this fancy little lantern he held - powered by magic and only needing to recharge after a week of use. It guided his way into a basement so large it may as well have been a house all on its own. He moved around pool tables, couches, and a now-dead 120-inch TV. He worked his way past a fully-stocked wine cellar and a walk-in humidor to the back of the basement where a series of washing machines and dryers lined the walls.
The light stretched to the end of the room to a nude figure laying chained to thick pipes on the cold marble floor.
"Hello, my son."