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Post by Witcher Wolf on Jan 3, 2006 16:29:06 GMT -5
She shook a little and Josef embraced her in a bold manner, this would have earned anyone else more pain than they could imagine. She was weak from her tapestry however and his strong arms offered a powerful intoxicating embrace, after all, why shouldn’t she indulge in her prize?
“Teach me all the glories of your Order.” He said into her ear and held onto the woman as if Gwen’s death meant nothing. In truth, it meant less than nothing as the seductive threads of Varsil washed over them both – they had no way to know they were being manipulated for the Demon’s delight.
Marisa broke the embrace should one of her peers stumble upon them out in the open and adjusted her robes. “One rule, do not openly show me any affection or they will kill you. Only in the privacy of chambers can we let our mask of perfection slip – remember Josef – no weakness.”
“I shall remember.” He looked to the drifting grey smoke that had once been a woman he would have gladly died for and then looked at the slim temptress. “What now Master?”
“Keep using that word and you’ll get further than any of my students before.” Marisa chuckled dryly and turned to walk towards the dark centre of the Anshada domain where the black pyramid waited in lurking stone silence.
Through the shrouded streets of their quarter she walked and led Josef along in her wake, each footstep that took him away from where the cinders of Gwen still smouldered regardless of the rain brought him closer to the dark beating heart of the Anshada elders and they all sensed this new apprentice.
The pyramid rose against the sky as the hour turned to two and the world seemed to hold a breath back for a moment as the rain intensified. Marisa stopped a few feet before the central courtyard of the impressive structure and gestured towards it, her robes clung to her body in the rain.
Josef found her rain-drenched shape most distracting but followed the woman’s pointing fingers, looking upon the darkness of an arched doorway set into the side of this lurking edifice.
“Once you enter you will never be able to leave, not even death can truly save you from the Anshada.” Marisa said with an amused tone putting her hand on Josef’s arm again. “You can still turn back.”
“And die like her?” He spat into the rain towards the direction his wife had fallen. “I have come this far, no darkness is going to stop me. I will learn all there is to know and rise to such power that I shall make the Demon King quake in fear.”
“Let us begin at the bottom of the ladder Josef. Your words are powerful and full of spirit, but I would rather you knew how to apply the weave of the world to a tapestry rather than blowing your brain-meat out of your ears when you attempt to weave your first tiny magic.” Marisa found herself admiring the man’s resolve and marked to test it at some point, as well as testing his other attributes.
Josef nodded in agreement and said nothing further he gazed in wonder at the pyramid and the whole structure seemed to beckon him with eager whispers. He looked at Marisa and spoke after a long moment of silence. “I am ready.”
To those words spoken, her smile grew and she began to walk towards the darkness allowing it to wrap around her as the doorway beckoned. He followed in obvious deference to the woman’s position before him, allowing her to lead the way and keeping his eyes level.
The barrier between the city and the interior of the great edifice rippled as both walked through it, tearing the veil aside and entering the deep shadows of the pyramid proper. Josef beheld an impossible array of stairs and winding passages that defied logic and even science.
Marisa put a hand on his arm to steady it and laughed a little at his reaction to the interior. “Welcome home Josef.”
“What manner of place is this?”
“The beginning and the end,” she whispered and began to walk along a pathway towards another dark door. “We remain here between the world of Demons and men, to study and manipulate the weave of the world. We divine the source of their power and learn how to lessen the cost of weaving.” Her explanation was of course simple and left much more to be spoken.
Josef obediently followed his new master to the end of the pathway and waited for her to shove open the door; she pushed against it and entered a black room beyond where no light filtered in and nothing moved.
He froze for a moment until she stopped by his side and said softly. “It is here where you are judged and if found worthy, you will begin to learn under me.”
Josef’s heart skipped a beat and he lowered his hood waiting for something to happen, he could feel beads of sweat standing out on his forehead and a shiver passed from the tip to base of his spine.
Marisa could sense the invisible eyes of the Anshada elders upon them both and she began to relax a little, it would do no good to tell Josef of his fate if they found him unworthy.
Their presence began to lessen in her mind and slowly they studied the newcomer in the chamber, they poked and prodded at his mental defences and found some residual talent there already. This pleased the fickle spirits of the order and they marked him as potentially suitable.
“Why have you come?” A disembodied voice rang out in the darkness, it sounded faint as if coming from somewhere far distant.
Josef stood straighter and he spoke out boldly. “I have come to learn and come to make the Demons bow to me.” He said this honestly and his mind bristled at the thought of Crow’s Foot and how easily they had been butchered. “I tire of having no say in this spit-pool of life.”
“Interesting...”
“And you brought him here?” The spirit now turned her questions towards Marisa and a pair of glittering deadly eyes illuminated in the darkness. “Why?”
“I can feel the potential inside him,” she answered and suppressed a smirk at the thought of how easily he’d watched her dispose of his wife. “He is not weak…Masters.”
“How do you know?”
“He killed his own wife.”
There was a moment’s contemplative silence in the chamber as if a number of energies conversed behind their hearing, after a long moment the voice responded with a dark edge.
“He did not.”
“Had I have not stopped him my Masters, he would have beaten her to death.” Marisa continued to explain and mentally chided her overconfidence.
“Better.”
Josef kept deathly silent and reigned in his thoughts while they spoke to his Master, he folded his hands behind him and gripped his fingers together nervously. He tried to show no weakness but inside his chest his heart rode on like a black stallion.
“He has weakness but it is not to be his undoing.” The voice explained and fell silent again as if conversing once more. “We shall accept this one into the shadows of the Anshada, you will train him and you will be responsible.”
She knew the enormity of their decision and nodded just the once. “So shall it be.”
“It will.” The voice retreated and the eyes faded into nothing leaving a small after-burn of light against both Marisa and Josef’s vision.
Marisa tugged gently on his arm and turned to leave, Josef followed without question and as they broke from the chamber onto the twisting path embroiled in blackness he let out his breath.
“Well done.” She crooned and he detected a tiny smile of satisfaction. “I knew I had a good feeling about you Josef Haldry.”
“Thank you,” he replied and lowered his head once more. “I am honoured to join the Anshada and hope that our relationship can lead to many fruitful things.”
“You had questions?” She sidestepped his obvious innuendo and moved to take the intersection of another pathway.
“Yes.”
“Then join me in my chambers where we may celebrate your first moments as a student of the Order.” Marisa sounded as if she had just won the greatest prize and in all honesty the power that Josef could channel was already starting to attract her – in many ways she sensed his connection to the Shaper as if he were directly linked.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Jan 17, 2006 16:21:17 GMT -5
Josef gave a nod and fell into step as they traced the interior rooms and corridors of the Pyramid, some of the sights could have driven a lesser man mad but all they did was tug at the corners of his desires and curiosity, lighting the candle-flame of expectation with a wicked glimmer.
“You are well suited to this Josef.” Marisa noted as they swept down a dark pillared chamber where other hooded figures paid them little attention, showcasing the secretive and dark nature of these manipulative magicians.
“Why do we not greet each other?” Josef couldn’t help but ask as he drifted after the woman.
“We do…but only when we need something from another.” Marisa chuckled and stepped lightly through another door. “We are not a social brotherhood, unless we require aid and even then we reserve the right to walk away from one of our own in need. But you and I will be a little different as you learn the weave of the world.”
He blinked and regarded Marisa anew as she unlocked her chamber door with an iron key.
“Such talk leads to trouble,” she whispered and stepped inside beckoning Josef to follow in a trail of black robes.
He ducked into the room and let his eyes become accustomed to the darkness as Marisa moved like a velvet shadow, lighting a couple of oil lamps and stretching over to pull a red cloth from a tall crystal cylinder, it whispered with the sound of water and coloured lights.
“It is beautiful.” He admired the room, sumptuous and ostentatious with red and gold walls, her chambers were in stark contrast to the woman herself.
“Does it compare to me?” She laid cat-like down on a small chair and curled her legs under her.
“No.” Josef knelt on the floor before the woman and looked into her oddly compelling eyes, finding he was no longer disturbed but drawn into the snowy depths.
“Good,” Marisa crooned and allowed herself a moment to relax before she spoke again. “Now we are behind closed doors we can be as weak as we wish.”
“Why is that?”
“It amuses them,” Marisa answered and her light laughter tinkled briefly. “I do have a question however?”
“I will answer if I am able.” Josef kept looking into those eyes lustfully.
“Why did you choose me over her?” This would be the final act and the final seal of doom upon Gwen’s fate, she was a vain creature like Varsil and loved to hear compliment after compliment.
“You offered me a road to revenge,” he said plainly and then for a moment his heart fell, he brushed that aside. “Gwen and I had been having troubles before we met you – I saw a way to rid myself of baggage and gain the upper hand…not to mention I think you are what my heart truly wanted in life.”
“Oh Josef, such wonderful words for a farmer,” she laughed once more and stretched touching him with a foot. “You have no idea what that means to me. I was worried that you’d begin to think I was a monster for forcing you to kill your wife.”
He shrugged his shoulders and again repeated. “You are what I want, had I not met you I would not have truly realised who I really am.”
Her slender hand ruffled his hair under the hood. “You will certainly make an interesting student, if I can keep my hands off you,” she laughed darkly and stood up to move away and stand across from him. “I could have any man I wanted, why did I choose you?”
“I do not know…but it pleases me.”
“You have something that draws me…since my eyes were opened to the Demon world, you are almost part of it Josef…why?” she stepped right up to him, brushed her lips against his neck and flitted off again to whirl in a turn and briefly reveal she wore naught but her skin beneath those black robes.
“Part of the Demon world?” Josef stuttered a little and chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “I was never a good man.” He lowered his head as if this admission would earn him chastisement.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Jan 17, 2006 16:22:49 GMT -5
“Oh?” Marisa peered and her curiosity drew her back over to lift his chin with a finger. “Tell me? What happened, what did you do that was so bad?”
He met her eyes and stuck out his chin defiantly, before his shoulders slumped and he began to smile wryly. “I killed a boy with a pitchfork as he raped a girl in my hayloft…”
Marisa shrugged her slim shoulders and drifted off again with a smirk, “so what? People die every day in Hestonia; you killed the rapist and were quite heroic yes?”
“No.”
“Oh?” Her milk white eyes flickered for a moment and she shivered a little – but not in fear. “There was another reason?”
“I killed him because they were making too much noise.” Josef reiterated as if remembering and his hands moved into the motion of the act. “Then I strangled the girl because she wouldn’t shut up.”
“How utterly delightful,” Marisa laughed a little and patted the man’s hand.
Josef quickly blinked and his jaw opened a little, he had been expecting some kind of horrified reaction but none came, only another question.
“So why do you have one foot in the Demon’s world and one here?”
“I was wracked with guilt and tried to escape but the locals found me and they knew what I’d done. They were shocked but worse they…they caught and hung me.” Josef spat the words as if they choked him as he revealed a history of sordid details.
“You escaped?” Marisa sank into her chair and she couldn’t believe her luck, this man was perfect and he’d been dropped into her lap all wrapped and boxed.
“No,” he replied and closed his eyes. “I saw the Taker come for me as I dangled on the rope, he reached out and something happened. I woke the next day with a ruin around me and all my accusers were dead…only a black feather lay in my hand.”
Her eyes went wide at this and she rubbed her hand over one leg as if pins and needles shot through it. “You wove a tapestry without training and without paying the price, without the risk?”
He shrugged and sat down on another chair. “I do not know Marisa…I cannot remember anything except the black feather.”
“This warrants further investigation.” Marisa said gleefully and swept her robes around her feet so only her toes poked out. “You are marked then, for something…but what?”
“I don’t know.” He repeated.
“Dear Josef…do not sound so sullen, this is wonderful…you’re a killer and a reborn, you’ve escaped the Demons as well as done heinous things with your life and no cost…you beat the game!” She giggled madly for a while and threw herself at him landing with a light impact in a mass of limbs.
“The game?” he made a groaning grunt as the lithe Anshada curled about him as if he were a precious toy.
“This is what we play, life if you want to call it that and death, you beat the Taker and you beat the Demons that come for your soul every time you dip into the shadow of our magic,” Marisa was all over him pawing and caressing with obvious intent, as if the very knowledge of what he represented made him the most desirable creature in the world.
“You will help me understand?” He asked almost overwhelmed by the sudden attention from this woman. “Why now do you paw me?”
“Don’t you like it?” She bit at his ear drawing blood and grinned with the red on her teeth.
“I like it.” He said and then yelped as she bit him, “what the?”
“A love bite,” Marisa giggled again and slid her leg over his crotch almost purring like a cat. “We have such things to learn together you and I…you will make a fine member of the Anshada, perhaps even becoming a Master yourself in time.”
He felt as if suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place and a soft honey-voice danced into his mind, with it came an image of a naked fire-haired woman urging him to give in.
“What will you teach me first?” He breathed heavily and one hand fell onto the woman’s shoulder, feeling the shape of her beneath the black.
Marisa reined her desire in and pulled away a little sensing that for now the time was not right, his questions still grounded his ardour in the mass of possibilities; she knew she would have to answer them if she hoped to win him into her bed.
“First comes how to weave with little cost to your soul Josef.” She said and draped herself over him rather loosely. “Just small tapestries at first and then the bigger ones come later, but you should have no trouble with those.”
The confident tone in her voice emboldened the man even more and Josef smiled a little, content to feel the closeness and still his rapidly running heart, there would be time for other pleasures – the road to his revenge must take priority.
“I do not think I shall have to teach you of control overly much.” Marisa allowed a pout to appear on her lips, her mad smile burning brightly. “If you can ignore the wanton Anshada in your lap; you must have a lot of focus.”
“I want revenge and to learn my craft.” He answered and then added in an appeasing tone. “Permit me to savour the wine of my Master for when the day’s learning is over?”
She laughed at this and flashed him another bright but odd grin. “Josef…you and I will be between those covers later or I will kill you.” She left him to wonder of her intent in that respect and her expression remained to taunt him.
“No doubt you would. But I must embark quickly on this path, time is not our friend and it should be our slave.” Josef gave a half-chuckle and danced his lips onto Marisa’s gently. “We will dally in your bed later.” He promised.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Jan 17, 2006 16:24:14 GMT -5
“Or you will kill me?” She chuckled darkly while caressing his lips with her own.
“Yes.”
“What a way to begin,” Marisa laid her head against his chest and then stood from the embrace to smooth down her robes. “If that is how you wish it.”
“I do.”
“We shall train and then we shall lie together.” The note of finality in her voice brooked no argument and hung like a sword in the air before them.
“That is correct Master.” Josef lowered his head and waited for the first instruction to begin.
The woman turned her white eyes to him and gave a swift nod dropping back into her cooler demeanour, a certain level of respect due between master and student. She gathered the tomes from her shelves and laid them in a pattern on the floor, before putting out every light in the room.
“Sit.” Marisa demanded and pointed to the floor.
Josef moved over and sat cross-legged in the position that had been indicated, looking expectantly at Marisa.
Her white eyes glimmered in the dark of the room and flashed into life as she adopted the position of the teacher. “I Marisa of the Thirteenth Circle of Anshada accept Josef as my student and call upon the Shaper to witness his rebirth into the order.”
Josef looked from side to side as he felt the darkness growing in power and strength; he felt his heart slow and almost stop. Panic overcame him and then the skip passed as his heart thumped again.
“I call upon you Josef to accept my humble teachings.”
“I accept.” He said it without hesitation and the room fell away revealing a wasted plain of impossible angles, shapes and fire. He had seen something similar in his life before he tried to settle down with Gwen, the near-realm where the Taker had come for him as he hung like a worm on the end of the rope.
“Then let us begin,” Marisa closed her eyes and her face remained fixed upon him. “The Shaper grants us all our power and has the right to take our soul should we be weak.”
Chapter Ten: In the footsteps of madness
Josef felt the heat upon his skin and the pull of the Shaper against his soul already, the mad god hungrily lapped at the man’s spirit seeking to snuff it out. He took several breaths as his heart lurched again, as if claws tried to pierce the outer fleshy walls.
“What you sense and feel Josef…“ Marisa began but he cut her off with a grunt.
“Is the Shaper trying to claim me already?”
“Correct,” her voice was colder than a harsh north wind. “Do you give in to him?”
“I will never give in!”
Tendrils of dark energy tried to wrap around Josef’s being and draw away his soul; he thrashed his head from side to side against the numbing pain and bit his lip until blood flowed freely.
“You can’t have me!” He bellowed and roared defiantly to the insane landscape, the black tendrils whipped at his skin and cut it deeply.
Marisa could not intervene and she watched the man battling the energy of the mad God, as it tried to tear him limb from limb and sate an impossible yawning hunger with his soul.
In defence Josef’s mind whirled all of its own, he pulled at the threads that assaulted him and shoved them away. Again they returned to beat at the man with horrific intent, slashing him across the throat but only drawing a tiny trickle of blood this time.
He was getting stronger.
He stood from his seated posture and began to flail his arms; again Marisa couldn’t hope to help him. If she did the Shaper would likely consume her soul so she was forced to watch almost detached as the man fought for his life.
It was not long before her weave attuned eyes picked up the threads being formed around her student. Josef was pulling the weave of the world about him instinctively – could this be it?
Josef’s innate mastery of this difficult pattern was compelling and she watched it form in seconds, threads of all colours and denominations, those that a mere apprentice could not hope to grasp in a hundred years of training slipped into his fingers as if they were already meant to be there.
The Shaper’s tendrils began to slam against an invisible wall of force instead of the bleeding student. Josef screamed out in frustration and his mind coiled around the Shaper’s own threads, pulling at them as if to sunder the tapestry of his making.
Marisa watched as eddies of power crackled between Josef and the lunatic God. The man’s bloody-minded spirit driven by revenge so strong formed an impossible pattern in the ethereal winds; it shone with the light of creation and destruction.
Yet the Shaper pushed against his defences with all his power, latching onto the tapestry and trying to rend it to get to the powerful soul beneath, it was driving the God to desperate lengths and the whole Demon world sensed this sudden unexpected battle.
Even Akas on his throne paused for a moment in his contemplations and stared wide eyed at the pool of blood he used to scry destiny and outwit fate.
Smoke rose from it and the battle was revealed in the crimson depths, he felt a twinge of respect for the mortal man doomed before him.
But Josef was far from beaten as he subconsciously drew out the hidden threads that only Demons could touch and mould, he pulled them into his eyes and their colour darkened until they were as black as Marisa’s robes.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Jan 17, 2006 16:26:59 GMT -5
Marisa could not believe what she saw and remained rooted to the spot as this impossible turn of events played out a breath away from her trembling body. The energy that crackled around the Demon plane broke parts of it into shards and sent them off into the ether in a slow spin.
The weave flowed like water in Josef’s mental hands and he continued to work upon his tapestry, winding the threads of power as easily as a child could play cat’s cradle.
The shape was complex and even Marisa with her knowledge could not understand parts of it, the madness that burned brightly in her soul helped her at least remain alive when she looked into the hidden depths of the tapestry.
“By the Elders,” she whispered and fell silent again as another section of the floor drifted up into the crackling sky, only to be blown apart by a snatching tendril of black insanity from the Shaper.
The Elder spirits of the Anshada had already understood the human’s potential and they were wise enough not to challenge him, they had been waiting for a man like Josef for some time and knew that if they stayed their hand – it would lead to greater things. Marisa’s student was something of a catalyst.
With a last ditch attempt to break the man and his magic the Shaper summoned up one final assault, drawing almost all of his power into one strike and lashing out to pierce through the barrier and into Josef’s heart.
It failed and broke upon the mystical shield as if it were pottery hurled against the wall. Josef took the final thread of his magic and pulled at it, as he did so he wound the Shaper’s tendril into the weave he’d wrought and uttered a cry of triumph.
The whole pattern shuddered with a violent cosmic outburst; the very fabric of creation came undone for a moment and then whipped back together. The energy unleashed from this ‘weave’ thundered into the God and turned the dark shadow into a bright pyre of screaming soul-rending agony.
It could not destroy him for he was bound to the very magic of the world, but this was to teach the Shaper a valuable lesson. As part of the God’s power was torn from him and thrust down the tapestry’s threads and into Josef’s eyes, a normal man would have been killed instantly and his brain steamed from his ears, but Josef had control.
He countered the backlash of the pattern and snubbed the energy sending it back along the conduit and into the Shaper again, the result was like a physical blow and slammed the mad God’s form out of the plane and back to his own home.
Marisa saw the wings of dark energy drift around Josef for a moment before they broke into falling feathers of magic, to drift away and swirl into nothing. He stood there as if he’d hardly broken a sweat and it set her to wondering what manner of man he really was.
All across the face of Hestonia this moment was recorded in liquid time as everyone felt the sudden shift in the fabric of the world; those that were conducting experiments in the Anshada’s domain sensed a balance whip madly to one side and then settle again.
Even Talon Mane felt a cold shiver pass over him as he prepared to scour the Port City for likely sources of information or allies.
Akas watched his pool of blood explode upwards in a fountain of bubbling red, like a gruesome geyser it reached his ceiling and he raised a dark brow.
“Interesting…”
Marisa remained on the floor of the plane and just looked at her student, the power he had summoned burned brightly around him and he raised his hands to look at them, there were magical sigils burned into the flesh of his palm, they ran all over his fingers and from what she could see they covered his arms.
Josef was far distant and lurked between the Demon world and the planes of immortality; he heard the whispers of the cosmos and saw the bright temples of the Gods where they in turn noted him. Part of the Shaper’s essence had infected the man and the result would be unknown for a long time to come.
The physical manifestation was evident however and Marisa beheld mystical writings that burned into his skin, forming smoke as they appeared. The tapestry he had woven now formed part of him so he was a living, breathing copy of it.
“Josef,” she said weakly after the power subsided enough for her to even speak. “Can you hear me?”
He said nothing to her for a moment and then his head turned, where his once human eyes had been were black orbs, the opposite of her own milk white eyes. His face was a mask of symbols and patterns; they covered every inch of his body now.
“What did you do…I saw some of the patterns but the others…I have never seen anything like it, where did you even find those threads?” Marisa was full of questions as the sky overhead roiled and the landscape suffered under the throes of the magical chaos.
“From within,” He said distantly and then coughed a little spitting up a small amount of blood, even his tongue was covered in those symbols. “I looked inside myself for the will to fight.”
“Josef,” Marisa said from the floor and didn’t rise. “You fought the Shaper…you are only supposed to defend against him, he wasn’t supposed to attack you like that.”
“Deep inside me I could feel something burning.” Josef answered and slowly he came back to himself with a groan.
“What?”
“Like a fire at my heart…he wanted it…badly.” Josef sat down with a heavy thud and flopped over onto his back breathing hard.
“I am sorry.” She said finally and blinked in the rolling half-light.
“Do not be.” Josef reassured. “No weakness, remember?”
“Of course,” she nearly choked on those words.
“Did I do well?”
“Did you do?” Marisa laughed at this and rolled onto her back collapsing in fits of harsh sharp giggles. “Josef you bested a God – if that’s not ‘well’ then I do not know what the fuck is!”
Josef smiled a half smile and shrugged. “I really don’t remember how I did it…except flashes…it will clear perhaps in time?”
“I hope so,” Marisa sat back up and moved her hand over her face, to rub at her cheek. “I watched the whole thing; it was beyond my wildest imagination. And here I thought you’d be a simple man, a good lay and a passable student!”
“I am glad I do not disappoint then.” Josef replied and curled his hands around his knees, rocking slightly. His whole body was on fire and he felt the raw energy buzzing about him like grave flies.
“I doubt any Master could be disappointed with her student beating on the Shaper and driving him off.” Marisa said brightly with another giggle, she drifted between serious and almost psychotic at times.
“Good then.” Josef said and smiled darkly. “Where do we go from here?”
“I vote for back?” Marisa said hopefully and tried a wink. “You know there’s only so much excitement I can take for one day, let’s have some fun?”
“Odd thing to think about at a time like this,” he peered at her suspiciously.
“I want to see if those symbols cover all of you.” Marisa laughed a little dirty laugh and wriggled up from the floor. “Teaching then love-making...that was the deal.”
Josef shook his head as the tension left his body. “Teaching then love-making,” he echoed and resigned himself to that fact and passed his coal-black eyes over her shape once more. “Yes Master.”
“That is much better.” Marisa drew her thoughts to the chamber and began to unravel the connection to the Demon world, partly glad to be out of the impossible landscape since some of the changes the battle had wrought were a little disturbing even for her.
Her chamber faded in and she turned the lights back on pulling the cloth from her water and colour lantern. When she’d done this she actually left Josef alone for a while and vanished into another adjacent room with a swish of her hips.
He sat in silence on the floor and looked to his hands; every inch of skin had a pattern burnt into it. He read the text with out trouble and murmured the words under his breath, small sparks of energy leapt between his fingers startling him.
“Am I a living tapestry?” He said to himself and expected an answer; he got only silence for his troubles.
Marisa returned a few minutes later without her usual robe and she was dressed in a slender silken black kimono-like dressing gown, a small belt of red velvet wrapped around her slim waist. She alighted on her favourite chair and let the robe tantalise Josef for a moment before pulling it closed.
“I did not expect this.” Josef said and took a few breaths into his lungs before he felt the fire deep within them.
“I did not either.” Marisa purred in reply and wove a finger around her belt.
“I am not sure how well I will please you.” Josef said and looked shyly upon the woman, almost coy in his approach.
“I do not care for how well, there is time to teach you all the things that you will need to know.” Her voice took on the silken tones that mirrored the Demon Varsil, even down to the flip of her robe to reveal a tanned leg. For a woman that walked in shadows and worked with the darkness she had almost golden skin.
“Then I am ready to learn.”
Marisa spent the rest of Wyrden’s stormy night with her own storm of sorts, they rolled between the black silk of her dramatic four poster bed and discovered how much of intoxication the release of power had been for the both of them.
Their love making became like a catharsis or a valve for pent up frustration and desire, bursting forth at the end with a roaring climax of sweat-streaked joy – an offering to the Karnate who worked in her own ways behind the sheen of Marisa’s eyes – behind the eyes of every woman and man in Hestonia.
And while Marisa’s tempestuous night wheeled on about her, far across the Sea of Aden in the burning lands of Vikart at the makeshift encampment of Fenaric, plans were being drawn for the next stage of the man’s campaign against the free people’s of Hestonia.
The storm that rolled over Wyrden was mild compared to the cataclysmic display of thunder and lightning that lit up the skies with flashes of blue and white across the Broken Mountains. A harsh wind tore at the flaps of the warrior’s tents as they nestled in a small clearing in those ragged grey teeth-like stone peaks and threatened to pluck the large marquee style tent that served as their headquarters, into the air and across the nearby valley.
Even Fenaric’s men that claimed they feared nothing but the wrath of their master had trouble sleeping while the Shaper’s anger lit the sky, flashes of the mad God’s form burned across the clouds and set even the General’s teeth on edge.
He stood in the driving rain and screaming winds looking up at the sky outside of the main tent, a bitter expression across his face and water running across his body and armour. The blood red of his plate mail was a stark contrast to the harried night, icons of death woven with an eye for intimidating detail across the burnished metal.
A single gauntlet rested on the wood of the outer tent’s awning pole and Fenaric viewed this display as no more than a tantrum, something had happened he surmised that brought on this butchery of the sky – something pivotal had transpired in the very ether of the world.
At length he grew bored with watching this childish storm and turned to head back inside the marquee. The interior was a simple affair with none of the pomp one might have expected for such a prestigious commander and a single lantern swayed in the wind to cast long shadows over a table covered with maps and war paraphernalia.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Feb 2, 2006 7:38:38 GMT -5
The main bulk of his forces were camped in and around the port of Jakarta, he had taken only a hundred men North West to the Broken Mountains, here he planned to strike north and siege the city of Rhuul one of the more defiant concentrations of his enemies.
It was marked clearly on the map by a pointed dagger thrust into the icon of a large stone circle. A single gem from the pommel gleamed in the lantern light and reflected red onto the map’s parchment, staining the area in a bloody crimson flicker.
His one obstacle lay before him cutting the land in two halves with a watery slash, the river known as the Bannadan bisected Vikart and prevented a direct assault by land, against the city.
It lay across his path and almost mocked him with a smug satisfaction, unlike the hamlets, villages and cities of Hestonia that he had crushed for his master – this enemy of his campaign was not one he could physically harm.
He would have to follow the river until he reached the causeway bridge, if his enemy had any inkling that the General’s forces were coming there would likely be a trap laid and there seemed a likely enough place.
He mused upon this and set his hand onto the table top thoughtfully drumming at the parchment with steel-clad fingers. It amused him to take only a handful of his troops to accomplish a task that was better left for thousands if not tens of thousands, but he had external help.
At the critical juncture of his plan lay the support of his Master, at last earned by slaking the fertile soil of Vikart in a river of blood and death. The carrion ate well over this short amount of time and he had still much more left to do.
Rhage had granted him another army. This army was to illustrate to the rebellious rulers of Vikart that their days were ending swiftly, the Taker reached out behind the Demon lord and readied his soul-hungry claws.
The attack on Rhuul would not happen for a few weeks yet, he still had other smaller fish to deal with and his battle map was marked with red crosses and lines, the cancerous spread of war against a weak people.
Soon the reports from allied generals and his own elite would come flooding in and then he could plan for the final swift stroke. He smiled a little and turned to the tent flap, moving to secure it against the harsh weather.
After this he took some time to pour a glass of fine brandy and sit in black wooden chair, drinking deeply of the liquid and then closing his eyes to drift into a dreamless rest, not quite sleep and not quite wakefulness.
His rest continued until a silent grey dawn crept across the lands of Hestonia and brought with it a glassy-white misty morning. The fog boiled in through rocks of the Broken Mountains and whispered quietly under the flaps of tent and marquee.
The general opened his dark eyes and rose from the chair, sniffing at the air and noting the shroud of white. He pulled the fastenings upon his tent and stepped into the billowing cloud, it clung like a cloak about his form before shuffling off to tug at his feet.
He waved a hand to clear some of the cold morning mist away from his face and surveyed the landscape. The sun was trying to pierce the grey sky and failed against the armour of a heavy cloud layer.
He stood like this for a while in the freezing cold and took deep breaths of the mountain air, a wry smile was allowed a brief flicker as the man relished the crispness of the day. He watched his camp come to life before his eyes as his loyal men rose from their slumber and went about their regimental routines, washing and cleaning from the night’s revelry.
At length he was approached by a tall woman clad in simplistic leather armour and sporting a long flow of dark auburn hair. Her face was marred by a singular scar that curved from her mutilated right ear down to under her chin. At one time she had been a beauty but fire had claimed the right side of her face and it was now pulled behind a simple metal half-mask.
The way she moved and every motion indicated her obvious command position; she gave Fenaric a salute and headed into the marquee without a word. He turned on his heel and followed within offering a dark chuckle as he did so.
A flash of dark brown eye caught his attention and he found the woman standing by his map, already part of his brandy had been consumed straight from the bottle. She fixed him with a steady gaze and picked up the dagger from the circle of Rhuul.
“What do you want Kenthya?” Fenaric asked, his manner becoming brisk and businesslike.
“The same as every one of your men general,” she downed another part of his brandy while flipping the dagger up and over. “To murder and destroy in the name of our Master, or were you asking another question?”
“You alone have the honour of entering my marquee without need of permission,” Fenaric crossed the space between them and looked down at the map. “I will ask again and only this once, what…do…you…want” as he phrased this question for the second time, the tone he used was cold and unfeeling.
“I am bored,” she yawned and drank the rest of his brandy putting the bottle down on the map, over Rhuul. “When do we move?”
“Such eagerness to spill blood, Rhage will be pleased.”
“I would say delighted,” she shot back with a dark smile and tossed her head, her one eye flowing over the armoured man approvingly. “I always did like the colour you chose for your armour.”
“It is fitting.” Fenaric moved the brandy bottle and walked around to the other side of the map. “We will move when I have gathered the reports from my other forces. I will not run blindly into Rhuul, even if it means delaying our battle for a week or so.”
“Rhage will be…irritated,” Kenthya toyed with the dagger and flopped into Fenaric’s command chair, locking one boot around the other. “He will take it out of your hide.”
“Rhage will understand if he wants to win this campaign,” he stated and looked to his officer with a quick glance. “We must plan the time for when there is more to gain, after all…at the moment the ruler of Rhuul is away from his city.”
“Oh?”
“I thought that would get your attention.” Fenaric gave another chuckle and put both hands on the map. “You live for war and bloodshed, we all do. But I live for victory,” he added as an afterthought, “in the name of Rhage.”
“I see now why he has you as his bloody hand,” Kanytha offered a grudging nod of respect and stood from the chair. “So we wait?”
“Yes…but not for long…a week extra if that,” he soothed.
“It seems like an eternity.” Kenthya chuckled and started to walk towards the tent-flap. “I will go and amuse myself in many ways. I have some men to instruct in the finer art of swordplay.”
Fenaric ignored that, “we will also have to cross that damn river. The bridge is a technicality that we cannot overlook.”
“I have faith in you my general,” Kenthya quipped, ducked under the flap of the marquee and vanished from sight.
He turned them towards the map and began to study the parchment intently. In a few days time he should be able to plan more thoroughly as his troops brought word of their victory to his ear, he would of course execute any leader that had failed him one iota.
In that way the law and word of Rhage was kept and no one argued the Demon lord’s decision for putting Fenaric in charge of his armies.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Feb 2, 2006 8:00:55 GMT -5
Chapter Eleven: Strife
In the first light of the grey dawn that blew over Vikart and brought about such a vaporous morning Wyrden was gifted with the same tenuous mist and miasma. It transformed the Demon ridden night into a thick insipid morrow.
The cloying clouds of white drifted like ghosts through the by-ways and alleys of the port, trying to rise as high as Wyrden’s sky ship dock but failing to do more than roil about its second storey.
The Mist Reaver remained quietly on one of the metal discs that linked to the main tower, the large vessel sat like a brooding bird of prey, landing claws extended and locked around bars of strong steel.
Talon’s ship disgorged the errant captain and the Kelanari wandered down the ramp onto the dock, rubbing at his hands in the cold morning air.
The events that transpired last night had given the lady Nightshade a playground of wicked dreams to sow, she had done so across all of Hestonia and even Talon’s sleep was full of strange pictorial signs and portents.
He breathed deeply mirroring Fenaric’s own breath in far off Vikart, as if the actions performed here were echoes of that blood-stained land.
After adjusting his hat to a more acceptable angle he walked to the edge of the dock circle and looked down, any normal man would have suffered a severe moment of vertigo – but not Talon, he was used to this kind of height.
Wyrden stretched out in a sprawling circle of buildings, low and high as the mist danced gaily through the streets below. He saw the barest flicker of sun try and break through the heavy cloud layer and for a while it seemed as though it might succeed.
Today would bring a few more interesting tangents Talon thought idly as he waited for the others to wake and leave his ship; he was usually the first to set foot on the ground – his prerogative as the captain.
Silver slinked down the ramp and looked up at the sky; she gave a little cough at the cold air and pulled a face. “Wonderful!”
“Is that sarcasm I hear in your dulcet tones my lovely?” Talon turned his head from his perch and tipped his hat. “Morning Silver and how are we today?”
“Bloody cold!” the woman snorted and crossed over to stand next to Talon, she looked down and blew a harsh breath. “Mist, that’ll make traversing these streets fun…what’s the bet that I get to kill some idiots today?”
“We’re in Wyrden. I’ll be highly disappointed if we don’t get some trouble,” Talon chuckled and blew on his fingers as he pouted. “I forgot my gloves.”
“You pout like a woman,” she whispered into his ear. “It’s attractive!”
Talon gaped at her in mock displeasure before he replied with a canny smile. “So do you.”
Silver laughed a little at that and clapped him on the back, almost sending the man off the edge of the tower. Talon offered an irritated growl and kept his balance, looking at Silver reproachfully.
“I’d have caught you captain,” she purred.
“I would hope so, do you know how hard squashed Kelan is to get out of cobbles?”
“Always a joker, it’s one of the things I truly admire about you my captain,” Silver pulled him closer for a moment and offered a brief kiss before setting him on his feet. “There.”
“A fair trade for almost pitching me to my doom,” he chuckled and stepped back towards the centre of the ring. “We have a lot to do, are Adam and his lady bothering to join us or are they taking advantage of my ship’s warm beds?”
“I think it’s a little too early for that honestly,” Silver replied and followed Talon back towards the Mist Reaver; she leant on the side of the vessel and adopted a lazy posture. “Adam and Amber are matched yes, but our young Karnate friend has a lot to learn. They both do, they will suffer greatly if they let their hearts rule their heads.”
“Oh my,” Talon clapped his hand over his heart and it was his turn to laugh, “Silver, concerned. What is the world coming to?”
She gave him an acidic look and made a disgusted face. “I know…don’t ask me why, perhaps it’s because she reminds me of me and he reminds me of you.”
Talon raised one elegant brow and drifted closer frowning a little. “He does?”
“Only you’re the most handsome one.” Silver said with a wink and ran a hand down the Reaver’s hull.
Talon seemed to be rather pleased by this and preened a little like a cocky bird; he turned around, “from all angles?”
Silver wrinkled her nose and pushed off the hull of the ship, adjusting the Kelan’s hat with a flick of a finger – right down over his eyes. “Now that’s much better,” she purred in dulcet tones.
Talon re-adjusted his hat with a snort and shoved his hands into his black coat pockets; he kicked one foot out as if mimicking an unruly child pouting. “No one touches my hat!”
Silver guffawed and it took her a full minute to calm down from the vision of the proud Talon Mane, suddenly appearing to throw a tantrum.
“Thank you!” she said when she could speak again tears streaming down her face, “you bastard!”
“It is a true pleasure to entertain and serve my lady,” Talon whipped his hat off his head and back on in one smooth movement, a trademark bow of his. “Don’t choke there, it wasn’t that funny.” He grinned cat-like in the morning light.
Silver drove her elbow into his ribs in a sudden movement and knocked the wind out of his sails for a moment; he blinked a little and began to laugh. “I take it that’s a hint to get about our business then, my lovely?”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes and stalked off grinning towards the exit to the dock tower looking down again at Wyrden below her.
Talon followed rubbing at his ribs and making a great show of the love-tap she’d given him; he waited for the woman to reach the first step and then followed her down as she walked resolutely to the bottom and out into the swirling mist.
The streets of Wyrden seemed to be even more cloying in this early white blanket and the pale shroud reached almost over their shoulders. They were dimly aware of motion all around them as the people woke from slumber and tried to continue their daily lives, eager to be indoors or at least in a nearby tavern.
“So where do we go from here then Captain Mane?” Silver levelled her gaze onto Talon and stood just outside the dock tower doorway.
“We have to somehow accomplish the impossible my dear Silver.” He replied and thrust his hands into his pockets. “We have to convince a den of thieves that working together will ultimately benefit them more than trying to kill each other.”
“So we’re trying to walk up a steep slope with cook’s grease on our heels and soles?” Silver rolled her eyes again. “Why are things never simple? Why is it always so gods-be-damned complex?”
“The very answer to that question my dear would take us all night and a good few drinks to get to the bottom of,” Talon gave a cheeky kind of grin and turned his head this way and that looking at the streets. “They have always been the same here; no one wants to help anyone but themselves. Well that’s not technically true; they’ll help you to loose some weight – usually in ikons.”
Silver snorted and blew a thread of mist away as it slunk around her, she followed Talon’s gaze and pouted thoughtfully. “Do you have an idea where to begin?”
“Not a breaded sausage my dear but something will present itself. The art to doing in Wyrden is to wait like a cat about to leap on a mouse that’s about to steal the cheese from another mouse,” he replied brightly.
“You could have just said no.” She huffed.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She’d been expecting this answer and it earned a slow sigh of disapproval from her as she turned and walked a little towards one of the streets. “I am not standing here at this crossroads just waiting.”
“I am a bit gun-shy of taverns after what happened in the last one.” Talon lied and grinned widely at the woman. “Do you think we should lurk in one of those?”
She was about to reply when a short figure drifted through the mist and gave her a quick appraisal, he was about to say something when he caught a look in the woman’s eyes that changed his mind. Shaw turned and found that he was staring at Talon Mane who was now playing with the mist, bored.
“Captain Talon Mane!” he burbled and blinked at the ostentatiously dressed Kelanari male. “As I stand here and breathe, it is you!”
Talon looked at Shaw with a puzzled expression that quickly vanished upon hearing the magic words: his name. He dropped into his usual bow and quipped back with a light dulcimer tone. “As I stand here and breathe, yes it is!”
Silver remained silent but ever watchful, she wasn’t fond of strangers and there was something that instantly put her on edge about this man. It was in his eyes and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“And you would be?” Talon preened a little and adjusted his hat to the best angle he thought might make a good impression, even though Shaw looked as though he’d broken out of a workhouse.
“I’m Shaw my good captain,” the other began and grinned darkly. “I have heard a lot about you, all of it good but in a bad way of course. Now let me offer you a rare chance if you’ll but give me a tad of your time good Sir?”
Talon was now intrigued and he nodded his assent to Shaw, standing in the swirling mist and putting his hands on his hips. “I always have time for an interesting tale, we have time don’t we Silver?”
“Oh of course,” she huffed and blew out an exasperated breath.
“Good!” Shaw burbled again and began to pace a little becoming slightly furtive as he did so; he leaned in close to Talon and whispered. “I presume you have heard of the troubles in Vikart, such a travelled and informed man as yourself?”
“I have,” Talon replied with a nonchalant nod and rubbed his chin. “You see Silver, what did I tell you?”
“All too convenient if you ask me captain,” she answered with a sour expression on her face.
Shaw looked between them both and attempted to keep his Demonic side from lurking in, he shut it away behind this skin and bone vessel. “So what do you think of all that?”
“I think it’s a terrible shame and something should be done. But what can we do, how do you fight such a monster?” Talon flicked the feather in his hat bored again and shook his head setting it dancing madly. “He’s coming here isn’t he?”
“Oh yes.” Shaw wheedled and dipped lower for a moment. “But have you heard of Karl Johanson?”
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Feb 2, 2006 8:18:14 GMT -5
“The Rat?” of course Talon had heard of the self-styled flesh-peddling crime boss that had a finger in every dirty scam and dealing in Wyrden. He grinned a little and had a couple of plans for Karl of his own, but simply smiled. “I certainly have, what does the flesh-peddler have to do with this?”
Silver narrowed her eyes at the mention of the Rat and tapped a finger on her right leg, almost thoughtfully – her thoughts were full of the various ways to end his days.
“Fenaric’s going to come here and he’s going to siege this city. We know that for a fact, it’s a perfect headquarters to strike out at the rest of Hestonia from here,” Shaw continued on and waved his hands madly as he spoke. “The Rat’s calling on all those with an interest in protecting the city to come forward; he’s summoned a grand meeting and kind of enclave of all the interested parties.”
“That’s a first,” Talon chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, took out a piece of sweetmeat from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. “Has he managed to get the rival factions to stop killing each other long enough to listen to reason?”
“Not that I know of,” Shaw muttered and sounded a little defeated. “But some people have come forward to listen.”
“Well that’s good,” Talon enthused.
“Put them all in one place,” Silver chuckled and swept her hand forwards. “Kill the lot of them and you stop the strife in Wyrden.”
“Now that’s an interesting idea,” Talon grinned wickedly.
“I am glad you think so,” Silver inclined her head. “I was being serious.”
“So was I,” Talon’s bright demeanour slipped for a moment and he narrowed his one eye. “Wyrden could be so much more in the right hands.”
Shaw looked from one to the other and suddenly had the feeling even in his Demonic soul that there was far more going on, that he knew about. But those were the machinations of mortals and he didn’t care what they did to each other.
“You,” Silver arched an eyebrow and smiled inwardly, she suddenly realised why her vain and arrogant Captain Mane had come all this way. She thought he’d gone soft on her and developed a desire to help people, but now at the core of his eye she could see the true reason for Talon’s desire to stop Rhage’s plans.
“Excuse me?” Shaw butted in but was thoroughly ignored.
“Who better eh Silver?” Talon grinned again and turned around to Shaw. “When is this meeting set for?”
“Three hours time,” Shaw replied and looked at them both. “In the Rat’s gambling den, you want an invite?”
“It would be best for you if we did have an invite,” Talon smiled enigmatically and then added with a whisper into Shaw’s ear so only he could pick it up. “I would hate to use the soul bottle I picked up from an old friend. I hear they do terrible things to Demons.”
For the first time in his existence Ssharan felt a twinge of fear from the threat of a mortal, it was a highly unpleasant feeling and he hissed back defiantly. “Akas would rend your soul if you dared.”
“Oddly enough Akas is the one that gave me the bottle,” Talon smiled brightly and stepped back. “Just think on that.”
Silver perked her ears and frowned a little with her usual exasperated sigh coming after; she stepped to Talon’s side and pulled him closer. “You told me you got that bottle from a street vendor in Moorhaven!”
“Did I?” he said with an innocent tone. “I am sure I told you I got it from Akas…in exchange for something that I found a while ago while treasure hunting.”
Shaw bristled with fury at the way he had been treated but what made it much worse was that in the back of his head, where his Demon-self resided in the fleshy shell he could hear a low mocking laugh that all but confirmed the Kelanari’s boast.
“You did not!” Silver pondered grabbing Talon’s collar and shaking some sense into him, but she was mostly confident that the Captain had some kind of plan up his sleeve and she snorted softly.
“Oh well. Here’s the truth,” Talon put his hand over his heart and then drew out a black and silver bottle; it was tiny and unique in every detail, covered in small symbols and pictograms. “Our friend here is a Demon.”
Shaw hissed softly at them both and backed off from the bottle. Silver could see the glass and metal vibrating slightly, the vibrations lessened the further that Shaw moved from Talon.
“I keep it close to my chest so that I happen to know who or what I am dealing with,” the canny Talon replied and grinned as he put the bottle away again, tapping his coat pocket with slim fingers.
“So then my friend you’re going to invite us to the Rat’s party and you’re not going to say a word to him, or Akas,” Talon tapped the bottle again as if to illustrate what would happen. “Or I introduce you to a very small space with horrible facilities.”
“I get you,” Shaw growled inwardly and spat on the floor. “You are a clever bastard Captain Mane.”
“Of course I am,” Talon began, but Silver cut him off.
“He’s Talon Mane!” she stole his line and stood there grinning as Talon cast her disapproving looks.
“I’ll be going then.” Shaw slunk away without a further word and waiting until he was out of sight, only then did he gouge a six foot slash into the nearest wall.
Silver watched the Demon leave and nodded once. “I knew I didn’t like him. From the moment he appeared I thought about gutting him on the spot.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t be bothered.”
“Ah…”
Talon cast his glance to the rest of the streets and when satisfied that no one else was going to show up, he relaxed a little – but only slightly.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Feb 2, 2006 9:05:54 GMT -5
“You really have a plan for Wyrden?” She asked him after a few more moments of silence, moving away to stand against one of the walls as the mist began to dissipate.
“Of course I do Silver,” Talon said with a reproachful tone, putting his hand on her shoulder, “I always have a plan, this one requires a lot of thought and it might take some time – but by the end of it you’ll be looking at the Pirate King of Wyrden.” He took off at a brisk pace whistling.
They wandered into the heart of Wyrden as a pair and none challenged their presence, no one stopped them or even spoke to the tall couple. Talon exuded an air of control and masterful poise while Silver just stalked like a demented wildcat.
Talon took Silver to some of the market stalls and lavished gold ikons in her direction, buying her a few things that took her eye and for a while they were almost able to pretend they were a normal couple out enjoying the gaily coloured market and dying mist.
But always whirling in the back of Talon’s mind were plots and counter-plots, ways to an end and a means to achieve his lofty goals. He would sometimes grin as they passed a guard or representative of the city government, but not even Silver knew what that dark little gesture meant.
He was playing a dangerous game and Adam had come along at a perfect time, his friend would help him win this particular chess struggle and to do that he needed to enlist the aid of Adam’s mother, the Countess Arabella.
He resolved his conscience by telling it that he was not using Adam he was simply neglecting to tell him the full extent of his plans, after all he had a lot of worries and he didn’t want to upset the boy any more than he had been – he would explain it all in time, but it was a matter of the right timing.
“Excuse me Talon?” Silver broke into his thoughts cutting through them like a warm knife through butter. “What do you think?”
She stood swirled in an elegant black cloak with the hood down; it shrouded the woman from view until she twirled a little in almost girlish delight.
Talon appraised her and the garment; he put his best smile on and nodded enthusiastically. “Marvellous, do you want it?”
“I do,” Silver purred a little in reply and swirled the cloak again. “It is lovely and so dramatic.”
“Then it’s yours,” Talon paid the merchant and selected a new pair of black gloves for himself as a little extra. “It suits you perfectly.”
“Thank you,” Silver gave a tiny smile and then pulled the hood up, her face falling into a half shadow, “how about now?”
“Very mysterious,” Talon nodded approvingly and began to trail off towards the direction of the Rat’s gambling den.
Silver followed him in a sliver of black and chuckling a little as she did so. “You seem a little distracted?”
“Plots and plans my dear Silver, a plethora of delightful little avenues open themselves with this meeting,” Talon grinned brightly and swept his arm around her shoulder in a conspiratorial manner. “We should take advantage of it.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed. We should use it as an opportunity to see who our strongest competition or greatest ally could be.” Talon replied to her questioning tone and swept his arm back from her shoulder, settling it onto the woman’s backside for a moment.
“You are really going to try and take the city?” she whispered into his ear not bothering to move Talon’s hand.
“Of course!” he gave her an affectionate squeeze and strode ahead, falling to a stop and casting his eye to the side.
She stopped and looked to see what had Talon’s attention this time. He was looking at the edges of the road and where a circle of streets formed the direct centre of Wyrden. It was in this centre that the construction of a building had begun, it looked as if it might be a church or cathedral of some kind.
A sliver of sunlight broke through the heavy cloud and illuminated the beginnings of a stained glass window; the figure of the Taker had been embossed upon it using a mixture of coloured glass and lead trimmings.
“Interesting,” Talon mused more to himself than Silver. He tapped his chin thoughtfully and spoke once more. “Why would a city such as this that believes in no Gods suddenly want a holy place?”
“I say Fear?” Silver replied and wandered a little closer. “They know that Fenaric is coming.”
“Perhaps,” Talon answered and then looked to the sunlight for a moment. “I have a feeling there’s even more to this than meets the eye, suddenly I feel like a worm on a big barbed hook.”
“That conjures up all sorts of odd images.” Silver couldn’t help herself; the thought of a worm in Talon’s ostentatious hat brought her into a low grumble-like chuckle.
“It does rather,” Talon wasn’t thinking on the same level as Silver of course and he filed a few of those away for later thought. “I think we should have about an hour to wait now.”
“We could take a walk to the north and see what’s happening in the upper class part of the city?” Silver chuckled again and picked up a loose stone from where it had fallen, putting it back with the others.
“That sounds like a plan to me.” Talon took her advice and began to walk northwards, past the circle of the new building and towards a district of the city where all sorts of nobles made their homes.
The next hour passed as if it were molasses or treacle being poured from the sticky jar of time, it rolled onwards in a slow and lazy flow as Talon and Silver wandered the noble district, interacting with a few of the folk there and generally appearing as if they were looking to buy some property in the area.
The guards approached them just once and quickly found out that Talon had a rapier-sharp wit, not to mention a bawdy sense of humour as he turned their suspicions into light-hearted banter, by the time he was done they acted as if they’d known the rogue for years.
The last few seconds of the final hour ticked on past as Talon bade farewell to the now chatty noble’s guardsmen and returned to the centre of Wyrden, where he found the Rat’s gambling den and entered the courtyard.
There were lots of armed guards for this time in the early afternoon and he caught sight of Shaw hopping backwards and forwards, looking nervous. He adjusted his hat and stepped boldly into view.
Silver followed him as his hooded dark shadow; she was taking note of every single person outside and looking for knives and other hidden weapons.
They in turn were appraised by the Rat’s own bodyguards as they walked calmly into the central courtyard, the sway of unlit paper lanterns slowly dancing in the barest breeze followed their footsteps.
“Captain Talon!” Shaw bounded over and grinned from ear to ear outwardly, inwardly the Demon was still seething. “Good to see you…you damn bastard!”
“Hello!” Talon said flicking his hat with a finger. “I trust you’ve told these fine gentlemen and ladies, who I am?”
“Oh yes,” Shaw hissed through gritted teeth and then nodded brightly. “Of course I have Talon. How could anyone forget you?”
Talon stroked his hand down his inside pocket and grinned. “Marvellous. So you have made all the arrangements?”
“I have,” Shaw felt a twinge of fear again from the presence of the bottle and quickly changed his attitude. “You’re both guests of honour, very sudden last minute ones but non-the-less.”
Talon clapped the man on his back and let go quickly, moving away to stand back by Silver. “I do so love being the centre of attention.”
“I never guessed.” Silver said acidly from the side but kept her smile in place.
Shaw moved off again and winced, the slight contact even from the bottle hidden under Talon’s jacket pulled against the Demon’s spirit and he felt it as a rapid pain passing through his body.
“My good Ladies and gentlemen,” Shaw began and moved to the door. “The Rat calls you into his lair, please follow me.”
That was Talon’s cue and he moved like a racing dog out of the box right towards the door, becoming the first to enter with Silver just behind him keeping anyone else back. The lithe pair dominated the corridor and even some of the other interested parties dropped back a little, mostly to observe.
Shaw led them all to a large room where there were a number of chairs, tables and even a small buffet – as if Talon would trust the Rat not to spike his food, he narrowed his eye towards the table and whispered to Silver.
“I bet it’s poisoned.”
“More than likely, do you want me to check?” she replied softly.
“Not yet,” Talon grinned. “It might thin out the competition.”
Talon guided Silver to a chair right at the front of the room and skewed it off to the side so they both sat away from the others; he hooked one leg over and tapped one boot against the other, waiting.
Silver sat down and folded her cloak tightly around her body; she was playing the mysterious bodyguard to Talon and oddly enough enjoying it.
Over the next half hour the room began to fill with all kinds of men and women, some more obvious about their profession than others. There were a mix of cloaks, hoods and those who went without either. Shutters were drawn and just as the doors were about to be closed upon the proceedings a slim figure slipped inside and stood at the back.
Talon looked across at this sudden entrant and studied him, he was tall for a Kelanari and his skin was a watery mottled blue colour. He had braided short dark blue hair and luminous bright turquoise eyes, his clothes were simple but effective. A light armoured jerkin rested over slim shoulders and his leggings were dark green, almost black. He didn’t seem to bother wearing boots but had coloured his toe-nails with black lacquer.
He tapped Silver with his foot and whispered quietly, “have you seen him?”
“Yes. He seems to be someone important; we should watch that one carefully,” Silver replied and then pretended to look somewhere else for a moment.
Her attention was drawn quickly to the back of the room where a door snapped open and two large armed men strolled out. They flanked the doorway and waited for the bulk of Karl Johanson to waddle through the gap, his blubbery form barely made it through the door.
Shaw stepped up to the big main table and cleared his throat, “presenting: The Rat!” he began to clap and all but Talon, the newcomer and Silver joined in.
“Goddess,” Silver hissed into Talon’s ear. “Is that a man or a mound of flesh?”
“I think it’s a bit of both,” Talon chuckled back and then put his finger to his lips. “Hush, I think it’s about to speak.”
Karl stopped at the front of the table and his jowls wobbled a little as he surveyed the room, he felt almost all-powerful having summoned so many of the people here on this day. He couldn’t have done it without Shaw’s help of course and there were quite a few delicate morsels amongst the crowd, his eyes fell onto the slender shape in the long black cloak and he smiled.
Silver scowled under her hood and her one hand slid to rest on Talon’s leg, she gave it an impromptu squeeze and snorted. “Just one request…I get to gut this bastard?”
“Of course Silver, now as I said, hush,” Talon chuckled darkly. “There will be time for that later.”
She huffed and dug her fingernails into his leg for that remark, snapping her hand back with another audible snort.
Karl Johanson smiled another smile and clapped his hands. “Do you know why I have called you here?”
“To bore us to tears fat-man…get on with it before I change my mind.” The speaker was a Scandish gentleman with the look of a pirate about him; he wore loose clothes and carried a cutlass
“Good one Kravetz.” Karl snorted and his jowls wobbled again, he was forced to mop his brow already and the heat of the room immediately set his heart racing. “You have heard of Fenaric?”
A low murmur rumbled through the room and broke out into chatter, the lines of Wyrden had been drawn already and the atmosphere felt as thick as smog. With so many rival gangs and leaders in one place an opportunist could make a play for power and spark a dangerous confrontation.
Talon was almost counting on such a thing happening and sat there with a neutral expression upon his face, while the banter flew by.
“He’s not going to come here,” argued the head of one of the wrecking crews, she was a plump woman who had seen better days and probably a few sailors in her time.
“How can you be so sure Ganna?” someone else answered with a hacking cough thrown in. “How can any of us?”
“You’re soft Flith!” Ganna shifted her rump on the seat and it creaked under her weight, her voice was like a screeching cat.
And so it continued on in round-robin pointless debate and petty rivalry as the minor gangs picked at each other, forgetting that the real menace even existed. Accusations of deceit and treachery flew around the room and the only one to remain silent was the stranger at the back, he leaned on the wall and folded his arms looking as bored as Talon Mane.
The Rat looked to Shaw who just shrugged his shoulders and then made for the back door vanishing outside. Neither of them could do anything with the mix of egos and power in the room and Karl surmised that Shawie had gone for help.
The clamour grew in mounting fury until the first weapons were drawn, concealed ones.
“Enough!” Karl bellowed and his men moved forwards, for their part they looked menacing enough but it didn’t stop the wreckers from threatening the poachers and so on.
The Rat was ignored and he looked around wildly for a moment trying to maintain order in the middle of chaos, his blubbery body sagging into a chair as he realised this wasn’t as easy as it looked.
“He made one mistake,” Talon said to Silver as the arguments continued, his tone was bored and disinterested. “Actually, he made many but the most important mistake and I can’t believe he missed this…weapons…he let them in with weapons?”
“I know…fool,” Silver spat in hissing tones. “It would serve him right if he paid for it with his life.”
“What a wonderful idea!” Talon grinned and as if Silver had given him permission to act he stood up, whipped his six-shot pistol from under his coat and emptied one shot into the Rat’s forehead without even stopping to make a comment.
The fat man’s eyes went wide and he toppled backwards off his chair to land with a resounding crash onto the floor, a pool of red trickling from his forehead where Talon’s sharpened shot had penetrated his skull.
The report from the smoking gun stopped the argument dead and the Rat’s men turned around to find that Silver now stood guarding Talon with her knives glittering in the half-light of the room.
“One move and you’re both dead.” She promised with a cold flicker settling in her eyes.
“And now that I seem to have brought an end to the argument!” Talon yelled then realised it had gone quiet, he adjusted his hat to a very jaunty angle using the barrel of the gun and gave them all a wicked grin – in his eye was the glint of madness Silver knew and cared for.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Ganna rose from her chair and with her several wreckers stood up, “a treefer with ideas above his station?”
The mysterious figure at the back of the group hadn’t moved until now but at the woman’s crude term, Silver saw him sneer and a glittering object dropped into his fingers.
Talon sighed and moved his pistol down from under his hat. “Excuse me?” he muttered under his breath. “If there’s one thing in this world that thoroughly annoys me…it’s people like you…with your treefer this and darker that!” He pulled the trigger and shut the leader of the wreckers up for good.
She mirrored the Rat’s slump and her men looked around for a moment trying to work out what to do, the figure at the back waved a finger at them and they reluctantly sat back down with a mutter and grumble, they might have been brave when Ganna had been alive but now the wind had been truly blown out of their sails.
“Thank you,” Talon said towards their mysterious ally and benefactor. “Do you have a name?”
“Strife,” he said and nodded to Talon. “I like your negotiation technique there my friend, you beat me to it by a few seconds. I was about to start opening throats.”
Talon gave him a lopsided grin and turned to address the room at large, kicking the fat body of the Rat out of the way and booting it to the end of the table area.
“My assembled delegates of Wyrden, the Rat brought you here today to illustrate a particular point!” he leapt onto the big table and stood there triumphantly. “You’re going to die unless you bloody well work together, put your differences aside and fight back against a common enemy for once.”
“Where’s your proof treef…” A dissenter rattled out and Talon promptly disposed of him the way he’d shot Ganna and Karl Johanson.
“Anyone else?” Silver purred quietly and gave the Kelan a nod.
The rest of them were mercifully silent and Talon continued to stare into the crowd. “I don’t want to have to shoot most of you, since you seem like reasonable people all in all but you’re going to listen to me.” He narrowed his eye and every one in the room knew that he had blood on his mind.
“Go on?” Strife said from the back of the room and moved forwards to stand close to the table, acting as an honour guard for Talon. Silver watched this and moved to the opposite side, flicking her knives against each other.
“You can trust me that when I, Captain Talon Mane,” he paused for effect and smiled as a number of faces blinked in recognition and understanding. “Tell you that Fenaric is going to come here with slaughter in his heart and raze Wyrden to the ground. He’s a Demon-spawns filthy lackey so I expect he’ll have a large army to back him up.”
The murmurs began again but quickly stilled as the remaining delegates quietly debated now, more fearful than anything else.
“He’ll come here to wipe us off the map and claim Hestonia for his lord Rhage,” Talon jumped down off his table and landed with a soft thump. “I am willing to fight him but I am going to need allies, we’re going to have to look to places we never even thought possible to defeat this monster.”
The low rumble passed over them again and one by one they suddenly seemed to understand what Talon meant, they realised without putting their swords side by side, they were all going to die.
“We are not saving the world or any of that heroic bullshit,” Talon said as he looked to them all. “But we are carving a piece of the city for ourselves, look at Wyrden and think as I have done! She could be so much more than she is already!”
“Aye!” Flith bolted up out of his chair and looked to everyone. “He’s bloody right. What has that snivelling Mayor done for us? We’re in a Demon-infested playground because of that snot-weed!”
“Not to mention the Wizards, them Anshada,” another rallied to the side of Flith and this was exactly what Talon wanted to see and hear.
“Bastard weavers,” more voices clamoured.
“Yes!”
It spread through the room like a bushfire and soon every one of those delegates were looking towards a common foe. They began to despise what Gustav had let happen to their city and even though the pickings were rich, Talon’s speech had set them thinking.
“We shall need a leader!” Flith spoke out above the growls and dark mutterings. “I nominate that man there,” He pointed to Talon, who for his part was quite touched and had been expecting to have to shoot a couple more people to make his point.
Strife pursed his lips and said quietly. “Impressive. Quite a negotiator, your friend is.”
“Oh I know,” Silver said proudly and then added with a chuckle. “Not as though I don’t trust you, but what is your part in this?”
“I am concerned just as he is,” Strife answered and sat on the table, leaning now with a decidedly menacing posture, he had his eyes on the Rat’s men.
“What’s curious is that no one has come to check upon the gun shots,” Silver said and looked to the door behind them, and the doors into the room. “Do you not find that odd?”
“Yes. I am sure there’s an answer.”
They looked around for Shaw and found that he had vanished, possibly he took flight as the shooting started or he slipped out not long after the first weapons were drawn by the wreckers.
“The Rat’s little friend,” Silver muttered and cursed the fact he’d vanished.
“Are we quite done?” Talon addressed the delegates and grinned again waving the still smoking pistol. “We have a lot to do and I don’t want any stupid egos getting in the way, you will all work together and please stay out of the unlit areas of the city at night – the Demons are just waiting to drag you off.”
There was another murmur of assent and the crowd seemed to understand Talon’s warning. Not only that they seemed to accept it, since already three people were dead in a short amount of time and they were sure the Kelan’s pistol had more shots.
“That’s about it then. I’ll call another meeting in a couple of days and reveal the plan,” Talon waved the pistol to the door and looked back to Silver smugly. “That would be your cue to leave, meeting adjourned!”
The room emptied much faster than it had filled and Talon watched them all leave, he dropped into another chair and drummed his fingers before he realised that Strife was still there. “Hello again, you have my thanks for the help and support. Just one question of course, why?”
Strife shrugged his shoulders and admitted in a low laugh. “It seemed like you were the only one with a plan, a good idea at the time.”
“See Silver, I told you so.” Talon said and waved his hand nonchalantly.
Silver remained curiously aloof from comment and just watched the doors, and then her gaze went back to the dead man on the floor. “You own a gambling den,” she said softly.
“Oh yes,” Talon smiled brightly, “I do, don’t I?” he chuckled and looked to Strife. “Congratulations you’re now the owner of the Rat’s establishment, if you have men and so on feel free to move them in. I expect a small cut of the profits and of course your unwavering loyalty, love and adoration!”
Strife raised a brow but nodded. “That you have. All of it.”
“Honestly?” Talon blinked.
“Yes.”
“And just like that?” Talon blinked a little and looked for the catch.
“Except the love,” Strife chuckled darkly. “I swing towards women not men.”
“Good show,” Talon grinned a little more and leant back on his chair. “I have a plan for this city. I plan to grow it and make it a prosperous and healthy place…if you join with me I’ll take you to the top of the pack and make sure you’re well looked after.”
“A bold claim but I have heard of you Captain Talon Mane and I know you are a man that does not make one lightly,” Strife let a slow smile of his own form and looked to Silver. “This has to be Silver?”
“I am.” She replied and preened a little at the recognition.
“All joking aside,” Strife smiled a little more openly. “I will take the Rat’s gambling house for now and you can have ten percent of my profits. I require your support as well and we will be allies in this?”
“Yes!” Talon clapped his hands together. “At last a man that understands my own sense of righteous anarchy!”
“You will make sure that I and my men are looked after, we will do the same for you. In turn we shall watch each other’s backs and when the time is right, Gustav will lose control of Wyrden and you will gain it. I don’t want the city, but I know you do.” Strife chose his next words carefully. “All I want is a small part of it…preferably a district to call my own?”
Talon mused on this looked at Silver and then shrugged, “Very well, done!”
Silver gave Talon a long suffering sigh capped off with a smile and gave up trying to argue, he was already playing with fire. She wouldn’t be able to stop him if he decided to put his head down the barrels of several lit cannon to see what the noise was about.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Feb 5, 2006 11:25:45 GMT -5
“I just hope that you know if this all goes wrong, we’re all dead,” she muttered and slunk down into a chair moodily.
“Of course,” Strife chuckled and then added with a low whisper. “I trust you both not to stab me in the back and you…must trust me.”
“That’s the fun!” Talon patted Silver on her arm and then looked to Strife. “You could have tried to kill us any time after they all left. I would wager you’re looking to make a name for yourself and I am the best option in that respect?”
“You are correct,” Strife turned and walked towards the back door. “I will see what state this place is in and who I have to beat down to convince I now own it. It has been a pleasure to meet you both.” He offered a curt bow and left Talon and Silver in perfect silence.
“I like him!” Talon broke the silence with that comment and rummaged in his pocket for another sweetmeat.
“You would,” Silver hissed and put her knives away with a shrug. “Just do not trust him too far Talon.”
“I only trust you that far Silver.” He reassured her with a winsome smile and relaxed in his chair for a while, yes. All in all this day had turned out to be a very profitable one indeed and he had a great deal of planning ahead: Fenaric wouldn’t wait for ever. He still had to pacify the rest of Vikart and the city of Rhuul could put up a good fight, which would give them all some more time.
Chapter Twelve: Burning Bridges
Time was no one’s ally in the grand scheme of things. It remained an annoying constant in every interested faction’s plans, hopes and desires.
It passed in the grey sky of morning and the dark embrace of night once again, the days turning to weeks and allowing Rhage’s servant to further tighten his grip and consolidate his position on Vikart.
Talon Mane for his part was as good as his word and spent those weeks increasing his influence within the Port City, he was a master manipulator and with the aid of Silver and Strife to protect him from rivals and those who sought to try and take the Rat’s holdings for their own, he quickly rose to prominence.
Of course it wasn’t easy at first; the Kelan Captain had to convince the various fractious humanoids in the city that he wasn’t just a pretender. He had to prove to them that he’d got the brass balls to take what he had, and keep it. Several key members of his opposition were found dead in their beds, throats slit from ear to ear and the only calling card was a slender tiny thread of hair left on the pillow, as white as snow.
The rogues of Wyrden made their final fatal mistake when they sent an Assassin of their own to kill Talon. The woman they chose had not heard of Talon Mane’s capable bodyguard before, or the fact that her plan was already doomed to failure since his heart had already been given to Silver, a while ago. The Assasins seduction failed miserably and she lost her life in a desperate attempt to wound the Kelanari Captain and flee.
Silver added another notch to her belt and Talon’s reprisal was swift and bloody, he tracked the source with Strife’s aid to a group of wreckers, who were still smouldering over the loss of Ganna. They thought they were safe in their hidden headquarters, the belly of a nearby moored pirate ship.
It made an impressive pyre as Talon ordered every cannon on the Mist Reaver to take aim and fire at it, the vessel was blown to smithereens and he presumed a lot of wreckers were killed in the volatile blast. Those that swam to the surface met a volley of shots as the Reaver hovered there over the ocean, a darkly gleaming bird of prey.
The example of the Wreckers was certainly enough to deter anymore problems during the following weeks, as grudgingly the various factions in the city began to accept that Talon and his ruthless methods, not to mention a small army of loyal followers – were here to stay.
Amber and Adam spent the time aiding Talon in the city and also grew a little closer, the young Karnate nobleman was given several opportunities to test the control of his new found darker side and with the Kelanari knife-fighter’s help he managed to fight back all but the most severe of his rage fuelled red-haze episodes.
Strife quickly took over the rest of the Rat’s businesses in Wyrden and brought them under the joint control of his and Talon’s newly formed cartel. The wily pair quickly realised that they were suitable business partners and in their own way mirrored each other.
Thus the Saltwater Guild was formed in the port and brought with it ample rewards, each member paid a small sum of their earnings into a large pot and with both Talon and Strife keeping an eye on the bank as it were, nothing was stolen.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 2, 2006 8:44:12 GMT -5
The Anshada remained as ever perfectly aloof and concentrated on their own schemes, pulling at the Demon world still in greater effort to break and control the many mysteries of their magic and dominion.
Marisa instructed Josef in the finer arts of being one of her order, and he was a capable student. Josef himself became a much darker soul and all the joy and light that had been a mask in his marriage to Gwen was forever extinguished, he had been suitably seduced by the Cabal as well as the white-haired weaver he now doted on.
Shaw was forced to serve Talon both as man and Demon, with Talon’s possession of the bottle it meant that the servant of Akas had to do all that the Kelanari asked of him or risk an eternity of agony greater than even his master could bestow. Ssharan wondered if this was some penance for an imagined slight or just plain bad luck.
Akas cared not and his plan was already in motion with or without Ssharan’s help, the ambitious Demon would be kept in check by the mortal with the bottle, everything was happening as he had directed.
The Lady Varsil continued her game of cat and mouse with the Demon king, the results so far had been predictable and somewhat boring thanks to Akas’ curse. It did not stop her trying every trick that she knew, she would have him and rule over all Demon kind, she was bloody minded and stubborn in that respect.
In far off Vikart the reports that the general Fenaric had been waiting for came flooding in, his men had broken all but the last of the great bastions across the blood wake soil of the land. Every single campaign had ended in victory, a great triumph that left thousands upon thousands of innocents dead.
Only the defiant Rhuul stood between him and total dominion over Vikart. So one week later than he’d planned he broke camp from the mountain clearing and took his small force of one hundred fanatics North West towards the bridge that spanned the Bannadan River.
A total of three weeks had passed and now Hestonia’s blazing sun brought with it a suitable orange and gold tint to the mid-morning. High in the sky it blazed and cast a watchful gaze over the armoured nightmare that strode ominously towards the bridge – at the head of the column were Fenaric and Kenthya.
The general resplendent in his blood red armour eschewing a helm as always, his hair tossed by an idle wind as his horse clopped slowly on, metal shod hooves grinding away at the ground.
Kenthya walked at his side as usual refusing to ride a horse, she paced stoically in a sombre shroud of dark colours, a stark contrast to the man by her left hand. Her half-mask in place and gleaming as the sun caught it from time to time.
Over her back she sported a large ebony coloured long bow with a quiver of arrows; each was fletched with a crimson feather in honour of the General’s legion.
Behind him in a small number for such an endeavour were the trudging soldiers of this man’s bitter campaign. They had been well paid and well looked after, well rested but they knew that against such a massive defence as they would find within the city – this was a form of suicide.
It was a hundred against thousands, if not more. The odds seemed immeasurably stacked in the favour of the defenders, but regardless of their feelings upon this, Fenaric’s men feared their leader’s master far more than death.
They neared the first obstacle that prevented their direct route to Rhuul, the bridge that spanned the mighty rushing river of Bannadan. It was a magnificent edifice carved and created from white marble flecked in places with grey stone chips. At either end of this massive span there were two statues of great white horses, upon them sat the icons of riders of old.
The bridge curved across the river for over half a mile and glistened under the golden light of the sun, catching each ray and sending them dazzling off the pristine surface. Fenaric hated it almost immediately; it stunk of the rotten goodness that Rhuul represented, the last bastion of so-called heroes.
Fenaric stopped his men and brought his small force to a halt just under a quarter of a mile from the bridge itself, where he caught sight of banners and riders. His lips turned into a sneering scowl and he looked to his second in command.
“It is the King’s son,” he spat in venomous tones, digging his heels into his warhorse to stop it from moving. “Addarach wants blood.” he chuckled under his breath and then leant back in his saddle as he looked at the woman by his side. “Do you want blood Kenthya?”
She answered with only a snort and began to un-sling her bow for the coming skirmish. “They outnumber us by about two hundred men, one hundred against three. You like your uneven odds don’t you my leader?”
“I have always preferred a challenge.” Fenaric snickered and looked to the bridge with a renewed hatred, the King of Rhuul’s son was a pompous heroic type and he could see the way he strode back and forth along the ranks of his men, he was delivering a stirring moralistic and moral building speech – he could smell the stench from here.
Fenaric was not wrong; the king of Rhuul’s son, prince Caspian was a man who had lived through war and bloodshed to the age of twenty six. He had lost his eye in the last war with barbarians from the north and wore a leather patch to cover the brutal scar, he had been a prisoner for many days before he was able to escape and butcher his way out of their camp.
Many thought Caspian would succeed his father and become an even greater king than Hareld leading Rhuul and the surrounding lands of idealists and hopefuls into a golden heroic age.
His men looked upon the silver armoured and white cloaked leader with adoration and respect, he had a way with words and his fresh faced looks regardless of the scar coupled with his long silken blonde hair stirred the hearts of men and women alike.
He now walked confidently back and forth between his soldiers and smiled at each and every one of them, swirling his long white cloak with each and every step of his armoured boots. His sword gleaming against the harsh rays of the sun, he appeared to them all as an unstoppable godlike being.
One of his men thrust out a hand when he caught sight of Fenaric’s dark armoured warriors stop on the long road, in the distance. He handed a long thin brass telescope to the Prince who took it and set it to his eye.
“Fenaric,” he muttered softly and passed the device back. “That butcher will be made to pay for what he has done.”
“He has only brought a handful,” the officer said and turned to look at their three hundred. “This day is ours.”
“We have never fallen and nor will we fall to the likes of this worm,” Caspian turned to regard his warriors and smiled again. “We are the brave souls that have kissed our loved ones on the lips, giving them each a red rose to symbolise our hearts in their hands, as long as we remember that sweet taste to come home to – we will never lose.”
A cheer went up from the assembled men and their bearers raised the kingdom’s banner high, shaking it towards the dark shroud in the south.
“Fenaric has brought his butchery to our fertile soil and we have resisted to the last, we have done so because we were chosen by the Gods to be their right flaming hand of retribution upon these shores – we will drive this Demon-licking spawn out of Vikart and bury his head in the Sea of Aden.” Caspian’s voice rose to a crescendo and he pointed his blade in the direction of the lurking general and his men.
From their position under the hot sun Fenaric and Kenthya could see that Caspian stirred his men with brave words and promised deeds, the general snorted from the back of Addarach and put one hand on the horses’ mane.
“Look at him playing at soldier boy,” Fenaric’s voice was thick with disgust and he looked down at Kenthya. “Are the men ready?”
She turned her head and looked to the solemn group behind her, when she turned it back she wore an ominous grin. “Not quite, they require a little morale booster of their own I think.”
Before Fenaric could react and before he could order her to stop she whipped up her bow and fired one of her crimson fletched arrows, it sang from the string and thrummed through the air screaming softly.
The tapestry within it unbound and unfettered now forged a wicked line towards the ultimate goal, the throat of the proudly peacock-stalking warrior prince. Where the laws of physics demanded that the arrow dip or be blown by a strong wind, the dark weaving within pulled it in an unerring direction until it slammed into its target.
“Now we meet our destiny and know…” he never finished the speech as the arrow penetrated his throat, passing neatly through and causing him to choke on the last words.
His men watched in mute horror as their proud leader crumbled to the ground like a leaf in an autumn wind, the screaming missile transformed into a black mass of gel-like substance and burned away at the skin, muscle and tissue raising an acrid smoke.
Fenaric gripped Addarach’s reins and turned with rage fuelled eyes towards the smirking woman, she stepped back a pace as a chorus of cheers and laughter broke out from the men behind her, they were clearly pleased and a dark voice within the back of the general’s head warned him to stay his hand.
“Well done.” He spat towards Kenthya and turned his eyes northwards forced to yell the command of, “charge!”
And as Fenaric’s column roared into a headlong charge towards the bridge the defenders broke and ran, despite their officer’s best attempts to keep order. The death of prince Caspian drove an icy spear of fear into the hearts of even the most stalwart defender; they ran back across the bridge hoping to reach the far side before the Demon spawn’s leader sent them to meet the Taker.
Caspian’s closest officer and best friend, screamed as his heart was torn in two as he watched the dark liquid mass devour the Prince almost as if it were alive. He raced to the back of his horse and mounted it, driving the beast towards the other side of the river, pushing past men in anguish and toppling some of them into the frigid waters of the Bannadan.
“Out of the way!” he bellowed and drove his mount onwards through men and their own horses, knocking two riders and their beasts into the cold embrace of the river. His eyes were maddened and he sought one goal now, to stop Fenaric from reaching Rhuul and his king.
He could hear a lush laugh in the back of his mind as he fought back tears and anger, the horse was driven on harder and harder as Fenaric’s column rode forwards towards the bridge – he must reach the other side.
Two men tried to stop him seeking to calm the man down; he lashed out with his short sword and gave one of them a wicked gash in his arm. The second of the pair staggered backwards avoiding the loss of his outstretched hand; he could feel the sing and sting of steel across his fingernails.
He finally reached the other side and leapt from the back of his horse, his landing was far from satisfactory and he felt his knee give out for a moment. Now in physical pain he stumbled towards the back of the bridge and frantically pulled at the stonework, smashing at it with his sword until it broke away.
The tumble of marble revealed a small hidden compartment set into the back of the right side statue, it was a small sigil of some importance covered in tiny spikes and the tapestry within it glimmered as the man put his hand on the stone.
The secret was known to only a few of Rhuul’s select officers, Caspian had entrusted Julian with this fact should they ever need to cut their lands off from the southern part of Vikart and prevent the bridge from being crossed.
A tactician would have waited for Fenaric to cross the bridge but Julian was in a ragged frame of mind, he pushed his flesh of his palm onto the symbol and felt the small tiny spikes penetrate into his hand, blood trickled down the stone and his world became an onrush of white-hot pain.
He was consumed in moments to feed the hungry magic within the last trick of the bridge, his life force flowing forth and into the stone sigil. His skin burned off in floating embers and twisted away on the ethereal winds, his bones turned to ash and blew away towards the river, and his soul fled into the stone and was torn apart as the tapestry was unwoven.
The magic unleashed did not care for friend or foe; it was a blind destructive force and tore at the bridge with rippling bright flashes. The whole structure shook and began to crumble into the onrushing water below, casting men and their horses into the depths. Only fifty out of the three hundred defenders made it across to the north bank, they were forced to watch in horror as their comrades toppled into the foaming waters.
Men and women died that day to protect the kingdom across the river but they died without falling in battle, their souls became the fodder for Demons and the Taker alike – of those that perished in the watery grave, none made it to stand at the side of their forefathers and live for eternity in legend.
Fenaric stopped his charge the moment he saw the bright burning flare from the bridge, he brought Addarach to a rough halt and the horse almost screamed in frustration, sensing the loss of his prey.
“Easy my friend,” he rumbled to the creature and looked to Kenthya. “It seems that your arrow brought down more than Caspian.” Fenaric narrowed his eyes and then thought further upon this. “But then again if they had such a trick, no doubt we’d have fallen prey to it…you may have done us a favour with your…insubordination.”
Kenthya shrugged her supine shoulders and flicked her bowstring so it hummed again. “If I had not laid low the Prince we’d have been cast into those waters, some of us might have made it to the shore…most of us would have drown or be picked off by their archers – you owe me General, more than you can repay.”
Fenaric looked at her and then back at the last remains of the bridge as it crumbled and fell into the water, cutting off a direct assault across the deep and treacherous river. “We are now cut off from our goal…unless you have any other ideas or tricks you would like to show me?”
Kenthya tapped her mask with a fingernail and smiled thinly. “I lack the skill of a Weaver. I am not one of the Anshada…but do they not traffic with Demons? Do not some of them serve our master?”
Fenaric clambered down from the back of Addarach and mused on this, a tiny ember of a plan formed in the back of his mind as he walked to the edge of the rushing waters, looking at the depths and watching the last of Rhuul’s men drown as they called to the gods for help.
“I will not contact Rhage this time,” he said and folded his arms smiling benignly at Kenthya. “You will…you caused the chain reaction that burned their bridge…you deal with the master’s ire.”
She smiled back at him and tossed her head back. “I do not fear his ire. I embrace it.”
Kenthya walked off to a respectable distance she lowered her head and stood in silence, just listening to the wind and the sounds around her; at length she became aware of a soft whispering breathing.
“My Demon lord Rhage.” She began and knelt upon the ground, putting one knee into the soil. “I have failed you.”
A hot wind blew across her and it brought to mind the agony of the fire that marred her gorgeous face. A voice whispered into Kenthya’s ear and sent shivers down her spine; it rippled with power and feral dominance.
You have failed me, how?
“I let my lust for battle override my loyalty to Fenaric.” She whispered and expected a dark clawed hand to rise and strike her down, she felt something but it was like a soft caress.
You have not failed me, you have slain Caspian in my name and thanks to you his small force has all but perished.
Kenthya blinked a little and moved her head with the motion of invisible clawed fingers, almost purring in response to the odd comforting touch.
They died in screaming agony – what better end could I have wished for, Fenaric is not as omnipotent as he thinks – he may kill and slaughter in my name – but he does it without true conviction in his heart.
A sliver of a self-satisfied smile rolled onto Kenthya’s lips for a moment and flickered like a candle-flame; she looked to where the red armoured general stood now speaking to his men and then felt another touch against her, a tiny red line of blood appeared across her right cheek.
I felt deep in your heart the true desire to serve me in all things, to bring bloodshed in my name and to spark wars, small or large for my pleasure not your own. Yes you do enjoy the thrill of the hunt, but each kill you offer comes to my doorstep.
“I live and die to serve you master and Lord Rhage.” She spoke quietly, suddenly aware that Fenaric might hear her; it felt so conspiratorial between them both now, exactly as Rhage desired it.
Kenthya you alone have the dark heart to make this campaign a success, compared to you Fenaric is a butcher – you are a skilful killer and should you close this chapter with the death of king Hareld and the destruction of his city – your rewards would be great indeed.
“Forgive my impertinence master, but what rewards?” Kenthya felt another soft touch on her skin, she took a sharp breath.
I will make you one of mine.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 5, 2006 8:09:40 GMT -5
Those words spoken with an almost feline thrum stilled Kenthya’s heart for a few moments, until she felt it beat again and a vision of the true shape of the Demon lord flitted into her mind’s eye.
His masterful ruse was played with a card-sharp’s hand.
To Kenthya he appeared as a tall red skinned masculine man of corded powerful muscles across every inch of his dominating frame, clad in loose billowing cloth black trousers leaving his chest bare.
Atop this bare chest and strong neck sat a large black tiger’s head with blood red eyes and sharp cruel fangs, jet black whiskers flickered amused at some hidden joke. A mane of smoke-dark fur billowed down and over his shoulders, marked with darker stripes.
His vision gave Kenthya a unique insight into the creature that she had vowed to serve; he was a hunter like her and desired not only the kill but the thrill before the vanquished were torn asunder. Fenaric had failed to provide such a thing and now he planned to replace him, such was the way of life in the Demon lord’s service – the weak were purged.
“I serve you my Lord,” Kenthya replied with a soft chuckle and then added slyly. “Will you give me a sign?”
For you yes…you will know it and must act upon it come the time…
The Demon lord’s presence broke from her and left the woman ragged and gasping on the ground, a new tapestry had also formed in the back of her mind one that Rhage had placed there as a special gift, he required a way to get his servants to the city of Rhuul.
Kenthya could feel the dormant lurking magic there and wondered at its presence, there were jumbled vague instructions to its use but they were just out of reach – was this the sign she had been told of?
She was aware of Fenaric marching towards her and she stood up letting out a shaking breath as the red armoured man stopped.
“Well?” He demanded.
“A place from which you draw water,” she spat and raised her chin defiantly, showing the small scar on her right cheek.
“I see you still live and your tongue flaps as ever,” Fenaric chuckled and turned his back to look at the roiling waters. “Did Rhage give you any insight how to cross that damnable torrent?”
“Yes,” Kenthya said with a tiny ice-like smile directed at the General’s armoured back, her fingers twitched towards the dagger that she’d taken from the war map for a moment.
“Then I suggest you do that which our master demands of you,” Fenaric walked away and out of the range of her knife, he strode back towards his men and shook his head impatiently.
Asks…
Rhage’s voice was soft and feline in nature, cajoling and filled Kenthya’s mind with a sudden swirl of dappled colours. This new tactic was so unlike the violent nature of her master it swept her mentally of her feet, odd for a woman that vowed to be the plaything of no being.
Then again it could be said that Rhage was no ordinary being, he had never been and never would be. The Demon lord was brutal and savage but over time had come to realise that slaughter was nothing without a loyal servant to direct his massive armies, Fenaric served that purpose very well but Rhage was not above making another think they were needed.
If Fenaric had bothered to look of course he’d have noted a subtle difference in Kenthya, her eyes had shifted and not even she knew it. They were now a hot burning gold bisected by a slit of black, feline and calculating, Rhage’s mark that would speak well to her of his other promise, if she knew the Demon’s true plan for her she might not be so eager to be so swayed.
Again Kenthya spat on the ground and cast a murderous gaze in the direction of the General, she ignored him and walked quickly to the edges of the Bannadan River where she saw the roiling turmoil of water clashing below as it roared onwards.
The sun wavered behind a cloud for a moment and the wind stilled until not even a breath was felt, it was as if the world of Hestonia waited for some monumental moment. Kenthya felt a sharp tingle in at the base of her skull and put a hand there as it grew into ringing agony, blood ran from her nose and dripped over her boots.
Fenaric watched all of this dispassionately, as far as he was concerned the woman was now paying the price for disobedience. He turned to one of his men and snickered in an amused tone.
“Do you think we should push her in and save her the pain?”
“Let the Demon lord rip her heart out,” the rider answered and tapped his sword against his arm in a mocking salute. “If she is weak she will be removed.”
Her vision swam and all sound was directed in faint distorted whispers as the dormant tapestry in her mind began to unravel and take it with portions of her soul. It was a small price to pay for serving her master, she trusted him to take what measures he needed to secure victory.
In glorious pain she now swam and drowned in the sensations it brought to her, small slashes appeared in her skin and from them her blood trickled forth to slip down her leather armour and drip on the floor, pooling at the edges of the river.
She screamed and that sound birthed a feral growl which appeared to be more in pleasure than agony. Kenthya threw back her head and bit her lip so hard more blood trickled forth from the rent, the wellspring of her being now full of burning magical essence.
At last the tapestry came forth and she felt a year of her life torn away with it, again a miniscule price to pay for such a deliberate torment that wracked her whole body with pain and pleasure.
Where her blood had touched the earth it began to move in a sinuous snake like manner, fragments of ground crumbled away into the water and rock crept across the gap, a bridge began to form linking both sides of the river.
Fenaric watched in dumb-founded silence as Kenthya wove this tapestry when she claimed she did not have the power, he was painfully reminded that it had not been her doing when the image of his master slashed across his mind bring with it a sharp whip of reprimand
My doing!
She continued to ride the euphoric wave that Rhage had created for her and poured more of her being into the spell, it slithered across the river and pulled at the other side – two great fingers of stone now wove towards the middle where they joined with a sudden smash of splintering granite.
The power subsided and Kenthya was left breathless at the edges of a stone causeway, covered in blood and looking worse for wear. She was however laughing and shaking her head with a feeling of rapture passing through her body.
She breathed at last and just knelt in the disturbed earth and her own blood, not even daring to speak a single word.
Fenaric recovered quickly and moved forwards to the causeway, he looked at it with a critical eye and noted there was enough room to march three-abreast across “I thank the Demon lord,” he said and then waved his men on. “When you recover you can join us.”
In a rattle of horses, armour and metal upon metal the general’s forces ungratefully left Kenthya alone in the damp ground as the sun returned from behind a long span of cloud. She watched them go and dug her fingers into the soil, pulling out large clumps of it and vowing to wipe the smirk from Fenaric’s face.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 5, 2006 8:13:17 GMT -5
When she could walk again she stood up and took a shaky step onto the stone bridge, her head felt light and her vision swam for a while. She thought she could hear Fenaric and his men laughing at her as they continued on, the arrogant and eager general moving towards the north east and the city of Rhuul.
Every step he took away from her cemented the woman’s hatred and further drove her bitter heart to one conclusion; she now eagerly awaited Rhage’s sign that would turn her from a simple servant into something more.
Out of breath and ragged she limped in bloody minded defiance after the slow moving war-band until she reached the furthest ranks, where she fell into line with the rear guard and moved onwards with them all.
Fenaric marched his forward column of men for a few more miles until the sun was lower on the horizon and he called a halt, tents were pitched and his giant marquee was erected, he watched all of this with an amused look and ignored Kenthya’s plight – he had seen the woman’s weakness punished by his lord’s magic, she would be dead soon and he would have to find a new second.
She was a strong spirit but after losing a year of her life to power the tapestry bound in her by a Demon lord, she started to sag behind and this caught the attention of one of the helmed warriors, he wheeled his horse to the side and dropped back as the woman sagged to her knees breathing harshly – her chest on fire.
His dark studded leather armour barely glinted in the dying sunlight and he jumped down off his horse, the beast whickered in annoyance and stamped his hooves. He seemed as if he were one of thousands of faceless and nameless followers of the Demon lord, but when he walked and knelt by the coughing woman he proved his individuality.
His shadow caused her to instinctively reach for one of her daggers, she drew it from her boot but her fingers wouldn’t quite work. With a low and ominous growl she spat blood and coughed again.
“Come to finish me?”
“Hardly,” the voice was a slight tone lower and hummed with a soft lilt. Aden pulled off his helm and with it there was a spill of blood red hair, so red that it stained his shoulders in thin whispers.
His eyes had none of the gleam of madness that Fenaric’s had and they were a dark grey in colour, a sharp contrast to the man’s vibrantly coloured hair. He appeared to be Scandish in his looks but lacked the usual harsh lines and broad build, he was carved from another kind of frame one with a slim but heavy muscled body.
“I came to help, are you alright?” he mentally chided himself for a moment at the sound of his voice, he rolled his eyes.
“What do you think?” Kenthya snorted and rolled onto her back looking up at him as the sky darkened over head. “You enjoy watching your commanding officer struggle for breath?”
“Honestly…it is amusing to part of me.” Aden chuckled thinly and pulled a water skin from his belt; he dumped a small amount of it in his hand and washed the blood from Kenthya’s face.
“What the hells are you doing?” she hissed and spat a mix of bloody water across his hand, wrenching her face away with a snarl.
“Being an idiot obviously,” he replied and locked his fingers into the back of her hair, dragging her head up and forcing her to sit. “I don’t want to see my commander die out here and have Fenaric choose his fawning favourite.”
She brought the dagger up to Aden’s throat finally getting her fingers to work and drove the point at it, he ducked his head to the side and a graze nicked along his neck.
“A woman after my own heart,” he chuckled and poured the water down Kenthya’s throat suddenly, forcing her to cough and splutter, but a lot of the fluid found its way to soothe the pain.
She hissed spitting water and smacked at the hand with the hide skin, her own palm thudded against an armoured gauntlet.
Aden let go of her and slipped back out of striking range. “At least you’re back in a fighting mood, what happened?”
“It is none of your concern,” she growled and shoved herself up on her elbows, vigorously shaking out her wet hair. “I should kill you for that.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Aden said lowering his tone ominously and met her eyes. “Nice eyes you have, full of the Demon lord’s mark.”
She was half-way to her feet at the challenge and ready to meet it, what truly stopped her and stayed her hand was his remark about her eyes.
Kenthya narrowed them in obvious confusion and rasped a single word. “Explain?”
He did not answer instead he chose to remove a small mirror from his pack and throw it at her feet. It was small and hexagonal; a slim surround of ebony ran around the edges.
She took it from the floor and looked into it, studying the metal mask and then looking at her eyes. They were golden in colour and burned with a cunning intensity, the cat-like slit narrowed a touch as she realised the sky was getting darker but she could still see.
“Rhage’s mark,” she whispered and threw the mirror back towards Aden; he caught it in a gauntleted hand and put it back in his saddlebag.
Aden grinned at her with a crooked smile. “Do you still want to try and kill me?”
“You’re just a soldier,” Kenthya snorted and studied the arrogant warrior who stood by his horse. “Get back to the front lines…before I change my mind.”
“I won’t tell the General that you almost passed out on the way to Rhuul then,” Aden laughed and it was a bitter sound. He put one foot into the stirrup of his horse and began to mount it.
“Stop!” she ordered and then added harshly. “Get down and come here now!”
“First its get back to the front, then it’s come here and wag my tail like a dog. Which is it to be? I hate indecision,” Aden growled and put his foot down again with a soft thud.
“Just who do you think you are?” she hissed and pointed to the ground before her booted foot.
“Someone that saved your life, but I know that Rhage doesn’t give a damn about yours and why should he. What did he promise you, to make you a Demon at his side?” Aden sneered and turned to face Kenthya in a smooth motion; he flexed his fingers and looked at his helm on the ground.
“You know nothing!” Kenthya bristled at the tone of Aden’s voice and she narrowed her eyes even further, her breath catching in her throat again.
“I know enough that you lost a year of your life to open a bridge so Fenaric could claim glory in Rhage’s name. Do you think that you’re so special in your master’s eyes that he would reach forth to stop you from meeting your death?” Aden sneered again and offered a mocking bow remaining where he was. “Rhage will use you and cast you aside as he has done to all before…you’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”
“Enough!”
“The truth hurts doesn’t it?” Aden continued to stare at the angry commander, he was aware that he pushed hard against her; he was hoping she’d bend and not break.
“You spin naught but lies!” Kenthya gripped her dagger tightly and felt the cold steel beneath her fingers, but curiously the Demon lord’s presence seemed to be a dark space now and it was as though he’d left her.
“Looking for him?” Aden shook his head. “He’s busy cajoling Fenaric to turn you against each other.”
Kenthya stepped forwards and ran full pelt at the armoured Aden, he ducked to the side and put his boot into her backside and sent her sprawling on the ground. “Too slow, you’ve let Rhage infect you with his bloody temper!”
She slammed her hands into the ground as the sun finally gave her last glinting beam and sank away leaving the land in near darkness. Kenthya jumped to her feet and pulled her short sword, throwing the scabbard down.
“Better,” Aden cricked his neck and studied the woman’s stance, he noted that she was still too angry and found that amusing. “Well commander do you intend to make good on your threat and kill me?”
“You did help me. I did not ask you to help me, that weakness is what will see you dead this night.” She hissed and set her dagger into her right hand, leaving the sword in her left.
“Still a lapdog or cat as the case may be.”
“I should cut your tongue from inside that mouth of yours,” Kenthya growled and began to stalk forwards. “I need some sport to settle my stomach from my master’s magic.”
“Good, now you’re starting to use that grace and dexterity I have observed in you for a while now,” Aden offered her a mocking bow and folded his arms. “Are you really sure you want to test my mettle?”
“You speak as if you’re someone.” Kenthya began to advance upon Aden and noted his cocky demeanour, his open stance and the fact he’d refused to draw his blade.
Aden flicked a lock of his red hair from in front of his face and offered the woman a dark smile. “Who is to say that I am not, for all you know I could be Rhage himself dallying in mortal form…have you ever seen me before?”
This stopped her dead for a second and she looked at the strange warrior, she couldn’t recall him amongst the throngs of Fenaric’s men but that was often the case.
“No. But I do not often look at men.”
“A pity,” Aden chuckled harshly and reaffirmed the line in the dirt. “But I assure you that I am not Rhage in mortal form. I would not dishonour the one that I serve with such a crass shape.”
“Again you blaspheme against my master,” she hissed and continued to move towards the mocking Aden quicker now, nearing the line.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 6, 2006 8:19:46 GMT -5
“To blaspheme would require your master be a god, and he is no such thing,” Aden cricked his neck one last time and his face split asunder with a sudden roar, a creature super-imposed itself over the shape of the man and propelled itself forwards knocking the startled swordswoman flat.
She was forced beneath a massive monster that made Rhage pale in comparison, the obvious shape of a Karnate battle form growled and slavered above her now, her hands were pinned and her sword and dagger smashed from her grip.
Aden’s hot breath rained down along with drips of thick saliva and slicked the woman’s half mask where he snarled. His armour had transformed along with the shape-shifter and provided a dominating image now against the dark sky above him.
Her hands futilely scrabbled for her weapons where long claws ripped into the ground and gouged into her leather armour, she tried to kick against something vital but her knees only thumped against Aden’s protected legs and abdomen.
“Let go of me you bastard,” Kenthya snarled and tried to smack her head against the jaws that raged an inch from her face.
A low rumbled and devious chuckle followed from Aden as he sniffed at the woman’s neck, tracing a tooth down the flesh and cutting a deep gash into the skin. He was only repaying her earlier slash with the dagger, an eye for an eye as some would say.
“In kind,” he rumbled with a soft growl. “I repay you hell-cat.”
She tried to smash her head into his maw again and he angled his neck so her face met the hard bone of his skull, Kenthya’s eyes went wide at the moment of impact and she barely stopped herself from getting concussed as her mask dented.
“Finished?” Aden’s dark throaty growl ended in a long slavering lick over her face, he tasted the blood and sweat from her skin.
Kenthya felt a shiver of revulsion but at the same time she felt the same kind of shiver from her earlier encounter with Rhage. “No,” she hissed. “I am his.”
“He doesn’t want you,” Aden pressed his mass down over her and licked an ear. “If he did then he would intervene, the truth is…he is scared.”
“Rhage fears no one,” Kenthya balked and tried to struggle again, this only excited the Karnate more and he put his teeth either side of her throat.
Kenthya might have been a powerful warrior and slick killer but at this gesture she froze and didn’t move a muscle, a small twinge of fear shot through her.
She could feel the lupine’s long tongue slather down her skin and closed her eyes, it was revolting but part of her burned when she felt it. It was that part that scared her the most; she had always been a woman that prided herself in being a true ice-queen. Fenaric had her loyalty but never her.
“Now I have your attention,” Aden snarled softly and gave the woman room to breathe again, rising up on his clawed hands the muscles in his arms creaking. “Listen to me unless you want to end up dead.” His tone set forth in the snarling guttural nature of the creature he was, spoke of ‘no argument’.
“You better make this good cur,” she hissed under her breath and turned her head to one side. “And do not think that I will not try to get even.”
“I could kill you now?” Aden warned with another low growl.
“Why do you not then?” Kenthya shoved against him with her legs and gave up after it felt like trying to move a herd of cows.
“I have my reasons commander.” The mockery in Aden’s tone was evident as he spoke her title with a soft snarl-like chuckle.
“Go on?” She was forced at this point to concede defeat until she could find a way to pay this creature back.
“That’s better.”
“Do not push your luck oaf.”
Aden nipped at her throat as if to silence her and then spoke again, this time softer. “Go to Fenaric’s command tent in an hours time and you’ll learn the truth of what he and your so-called master plan for you.”
Kenthya stiffened again as the teeth touched her neck; she bit her lip and turned her head in his jaws so he was forced to open them.
“Very well,” she sighed and pushed up on her elbows. “I will do as you request, this time.”
“Good,” Aden rumbled one final time and stood up, towering over the woman, he lashed his blood red tail and turned towards his horse, oddly enough the creature didn’t flinch as the giant wolf beast melted back into the form of the armoured warrior.
“You will understand soon enough Kenthya.” Aden mounted his horse and offered the woman a hand.
“What?”
“Would you rather walk three miles to the camp?”
“No,” she frowned and pulled herself off the ground dusting off her armour and narrowing her cat-like eyes. “What kind of man are you?”
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 6, 2006 8:23:24 GMT -5
Chapter Thirteen: Bitter truths and rank betrayal
It was that question many had asked of the man before and had always been lead a merry chase regarding the answer. Aden was another of the Goddess’ prime children and unlike Adam, who had a lordly manner and followed a code of honour, Aden did not – he was perhaps the most base of all Karnate’s offspring and revelled in all of the Goddess’ aspects with more than a religious fervour.
He chuckled a little at Kenthya and shook his head. “I am not sure I should answer until you and I have had a chance to settle our differences, and come to some agreement for good or ill.”
She growled and walked towards the horse taking Aden’s outstretched hand and sitting in front of him. “I suppose you find this amusing?”
“I do.”
“Bastard,” she snorted. “I will settle our score as soon as I am able.”
“Do you have another word instead of that?”
“It fits you perfectly,” Kenthya snapped her head to the front and ordered. “We go to the camp…if your information is to be trusted.”
“My information,” he gave a soft sigh and spurred his horse on with a snort. “It comes from a reliable source indeed.”
“It better be.” Kenthya reaffirmed, her tone was one of disgust.
Aden rode on now in silence and his thoughts were all upon their rocky encounter, he was highly amused that Kenthya was taken down so easily – but then again she wasn’t expecting a simple soldier to be one of the Goddess’ many chosen followers.
She had potential if only she could be made to see that her bloodletting would be better suited serving Karnate instead of the Demon lord. This was the true reason he’d been sent to join Fenaric’s army and had remained quiet until now, an opportunist to the last and the aloof woman was an interesting hunt indeed.
Karnate had bade him to follow the blood thirsty warriors until the one she sought had been found, since then he’d been drifting from army to army in the hope that the Goddess would have given him a sign.
He found out however that like most mortals on Hestonia he required only his intuition and not the aid of gods, his nose had lead him right to Kenthya as she blazed a trail with Fenaric across Vikart and he knew the moment he’d seen her that this was the one his master desired above anything, now he just had to woo her and draw her into Karnate’s web.
This would be a lot easier when Kenthya saw the true extent of her master’s plans, she would have to be quiet and move silently through the aware guards but Aden was counting on the woman’s inherent suspicious nature to fire her curiosity not to mention her desire for the truth.
The horse ride was a short one and Aden galloped towards the camp with a singular purpose, he spoke no more to his companion and they maintained an uneasy silence, heavy with the pregnant pause of mistrust.
He stopped his mount just outside of the camp and sat there with an almost imperious look upon his face, he snorted a couple of times as he saw general Fenaric stride from the mess tent to the command tent, pull the flaps and turn on a bright burning lantern, he watched the man’s shadow settle into a seated position and growled.
“You’d best be quick or you’ll miss the Demon Lord’s plan for you, precious,” Aden sneered slightly and pushed Kenthya down off the horse, she landed with a low-growl of her own and said nothing.
It was enough for her to get away from this infuriating creature, to distance herself from the conflicting emotions that were part and parcel of the Goddess’ followers. The Karnate’s power lay in their ability to take the strongest male or female and bend them around their clawed finger until they submitted; some did it with a powerful charm and wit, others with raw appeal.
He watched her go and noted the way she moved, she was an appealing creature and quite capable of keeping his interest. She was a frost-queen and that was even more of a challenge, for both him and his capricious goddess.
Kenthya silently made her way into the makeshift camp and slipped passed the guards unnoticed, she stuck to the shadows and used the available cover of rocks and broken trees, until she was – at last – as close as she dared to the massive marquee tent. She lay on her belly off to one side and settled in, her bones aching from the earlier ordeal and the blind obedience to Rhage still plucking away at her soul.
The filter of chanting reached her ears and the woman began to pick out the General’s condescending voice, she was the subject of his ranting and while she had steeled herself for such an eventuality – it was a bitter pill to swallow still.
“I tire of her insubordination my lord and master,” Fenaric growled in the back of his throat, he was displeased and by the tone of his voice it was not enough that she had been left the ‘buttress’ of his men’s mirth.
Soon she will be of no further use to us and then we may dispose of her, as you see fit. I was rather hoping to cajole the woman into leading the assault on the city, so that she became the first to die – her potent blood and energy would form a suitable catalyst to allow the rest of my forces to cross over and assist you.
Fenaric’s musing laughter caused Kenthya’s jaw to tighten somewhat considerably and she drew her nails along the ground, it wasn’t the fact that Aden seemed to be right – it was the way that both Demon and man had obviously used her, a Demon and man she’d grudgingly trusted enough to serve.
“So you’re saying that we can use her to draw more of your Demons to assist me, in crushing Rhuul?” Fenaric questioned as he remained seated for now, he arched his neck and cricked it violently.
I am…saying that we may use her to empower a gateway, her blood writhes with the weave of the world my general, it hisses with the power that I have imparted, you saw the bridge she created – it was her work not mine that made that possible.
“Your Demons need human hosts or did I miss the part where you slaughter my men, to crush the city?” Fenaric boldly ignored Rhage’s self-satisfied gloating over the creation of the bridge and narrowed his eyes as he spoke.
Your forces would be sacrificed so that my superior Demons may walk this world, gut the living and render Rhuul into a useless pile of stones.
“And me?”
I need you and as long as you remain as useful as you are to me, then we shall not have need for your death. I have simply blinded the woman with lies of transformation and acceptance into the Demonic ranks; she dotes on me and has become a willing supplicant to the cause.
“We shall see, don’t be surprised if she betrays us.” Fenaric wasn’t convinced and he kept his tone civil, Kenthya to him had always appeared far more cunning than she let on. He did desire her in one way and now she was no-longer in his master’s favour, he desired her even more to add the last capstone of victory.
Outside, she kept her anger under control but the realisation that her death loomed closer; because she was to be some Demons catalyst burned in her stomach and made her nauseous, she felt sick and furious all at the same time.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 6, 2006 8:41:32 GMT -5
“Bastards,” she whispered under her breath and was now torn between remaining to hear more, or finding Aden and throttling the man for being right.
I am the lord and master here Fenaric, you doubt my word?
“I do not, but regardless I am not complacent and I urge you master, to be careful with this one. She is a cunning bitch,” Fenaric couldn’t help but chuckle as he openly defied his master, carefully choosing his words.
There was a long silence and it was finally broken by a rumbling chuckle from the Demon lord’s ethereal voice.
We shall see…
Kenthya took to her heels and quietly sprinted back towards where she knew the horse and rider were, part of her hoped they’d remained watchful of the General’s camp and part of her wished that she’d died while making that damned bridge, she had been betrayed many times in her life and this stung the most – she couldn’t quite fathom why.
Her mocking companion was still regally seated upon the horse, his eyes upon her in the gloom as she slipped from a shadow nearby.
“I was right,” he said flatly.
“You were right, they plan my death as some form of catalyst to allow Rhage’s children to fall upon the City of Rhuul like jackals,” she wiped her hand across her face and almost knocked her mask loose. “Now I am at a loss what to do. I thank you and despise you in one breath.”
Aden knew he was right; his information came from the Goddess herself and he relished in the woman’s suffering, her lack of direction, everything that she had known of Rhage and Fenaric had proved to be a lie in a moment’s breath.
“If I were to say I feel any kind of sympathy for you commander, it would be a bold and bare-faced lie, perhaps in time I might have a twinge or pang of sorrow – but you chose poorly in serving those rat-bastards in the first count,” Aden spoke slowly and deliberately, the edge of goading apparent in every tone, enough to make the woman’s lip curl into a sneer.
“I expected no less from a mongrel,” she snarled.
“Oh dear lady you wound me with words,” his retort was followed by a yawn until he was made painfully aware, by the sudden headache that overtook him, that he really wasn’t helping ‘woo’ the woman at all.
“We have a score to settle still it seems?” she chose those words carefully, gauging his response, caught between a fire and a pit.
He relented a little and allowed a tiny smile to play on his lips. “It would be a terrible tragedy if you were not at the coming battle, but then both Rhage and Fenaric would suspect something was amiss,” Aden sighed a little for effect. “You would be unprotected unless of course, you gave Rhage a reason to fear you.”
“I see you sidestepped the question, but you have my ear for now…what reason?”
“Karnate,” Aden made his pitch carefully and smiled a little wider now adding in a sly tone. “After all, Rhage fears her because still you have not been contacted since we met, now have you?”
She had to admit that the Karnate was right, the comforting caress of the Demon’s mind had not touched hers for a long time now, she felt empty and disconnected for the lack of it – a void that ached to be filled.
“I have not,” Kenthya grumbled softly and put one hand on the horse for support, Aden’s mount nickered quietly. “I have felt nothing of the Demon since we met.”
“Excellent,” Aden chuckled and patted the horses’ neck.
Kenthya narrowed her one eye and turned her back on man and horse, to watch Fenaric’s camp, the lantern had been doused and the General was on the move, he strode cock-sure through the ranks of his men and paraded his title as if it meant more than anything else in the whole world.
“If I leave they will be sure to follow,” this was no question and Kenthya spoke it as if it were a death sentence. “What guarantees can you give me cur?”
“Aden,” he answered with a growl.
“Very well, Aden.”
“I can offer the support of my kind and the worship of the Goddess comes with many benefits,” Aden chuckled thinly and arched his head to see what she was looking at. “The most important being that she does not demand you die on some battlefield to serve her.”
Kenthya’s laughter was cold, harsh, almost unforgiving as she turned again to face the Karnate on his horse. “That’s a persuasive argument, as much as I live for battle – I don’t live to die for some Demon or god to put more of his spawn on the planet.”
“There are other ways to increase your numbers, that are much better than death,” Aden laughed softly and offered the woman his hand. “We may not yet like each other but we can tolerate each other, until we truly learn if our dislike stems from a simple misunderstanding or something deeper?”
She looked at the hand as if it were a striking cobra and then took it allowing herself to be hauled onto the horse. “Agreed,” that’s all the reply he was going to get for now. “I feel a new port of call summons me, if you can get me off this spit of land you’ll be rewarded no doubt by your goddess – show me how clever your kind are and I’ll think of joining your ranks.”
“If you truly want to hide,” Aden smiled in a quiet victory; this was better than he had hoped. “Wyrden is the best place to run, since Moorhaven is a little far away and a little too sedate for my taste.”
“I don’t want to hide and I don’t want to run, but I do not want to die needlessly. I will no longer be used by anyone, even your goddess – the deal is simple, you get me out of here and you get me,” Kenthya’s voice lowered to a menacing iron-toned whisper. “If you fail, then your goddess had best find another chosen – your hide is mine, do you understand?”
“Now that’s the fire we like to see,” Aden’s loud laugh almost alerted the sentries but his voice stilled before it could. “Very well commander, you have a deal – you won’t regret any of it.” He paused and then added with a wry grin. “Of course you’re going to have to kill some of your old comrades no doubt.”
“So?”
“That’s settled then,” this night was turning out to be much better than he’d expected, Aden smiled one last time and nosed his horse towards the open plains, back towards the woman’s bridge and with that act of defiance they changed the fate of thousands.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 7, 2006 6:34:21 GMT -5
It took them no time at all to reach the bridge and Aden’s mount rocketed across it in a blustering clatter of hooves, sparks flying from its metal-shod feet as it raced onwards he urged his mount faster and faster.
Kenthya had resigned herself to this course of action, her heart was heavy and mingled in with those feelings were the white-hot fires of anger, they threatened to overwhelm and break her down into screaming fits of rage. She fought them at every turn vowing to find a way to get even with both the Demon and the General.
The sky had become overcast and their escape was shrouded in the shadow as the stars vanished behind a grasping hand of cloud. It was as though the Goddess had closed the curtain of night and blinded the minds and eyes of would-be pursuers. The cajoling voice of the Demon lord did not enter her mind and she felt a strange tinge of wariness when a mental ‘test’ passed over her, she found this amusing.
Meanwhile in Fenaric’s camp the General sought his men, questioned them all and found no sign of his first commander. He summoned two scouts and bade them ride fast and hard to where she had last been, he would have words with the woman if she had passed out upon the ground there, weak and feeble as a newborn.
Kenthya and Aden had been gone now for over and hour and they rode under the cover of darkness. The two scouts reached the bridge and found no sign of the woman, they scoured the area for over an hour and left no stone unturned, their search revealed the horses’ tracks and their deepness – it was a long shot to link that with the woman’s disappearance, but it was better than going back to Fenaric empty handed.
Both men returned to the General and imparted the news with a kind of grim satisfaction; they awaited the man’s displeasure as he fell silent for a long time. But it was not Fenaric’s anger they should fear, but that of Rhage.
Rhage however was silent himself for he felt the power of Karnate blocking his access to the woman, the Goddess flaunting her dominance of his subject in a typical snide manner, the female was beyond him and his plans had been ruined because of complacency.
His anger roiled around inside seeking an outlet, he wanted to rend the two scouts into bloody strips and Fenaric with them, and this would not assuage his blood-lust this time – he settled for leaving his servants to bumble in the dark while he at least knew the reason for Kenthya’s vanishing act.
“I have had the camp searched, the tents and all,” Fenaric strode backwards and forwards, attired in his loose tunic and breeches. “No sign of her…and now you tell me a horse rode back the way we came, bearing a heavy weight of at least two?”
“Aye my lord,” the first scout spoke with a broad accent and clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “A fast beast and one that crossed the new bridge, my life is staked upon the claim it’s her and one other.”
“It is,” said Fenaric with a cold tone. “You had best take yourself and your brother, find Kenthya and if you cannot bring her back – end her run for good, do I make myself clear?”
“As a crystal tear,” the other scout sneered shaking his head and putting one foot into the stirrup of his horse. “What of the other with her?”
“Slay them as well,” Fenaric ordered and then added with a snort. “Lord Rhage demands it.”
“Well now,” the first spoke up again and mounted his horse. “We can’t be having us disappointing the both of you…”
“Your lives hang upon a thread,” Fenaric snarled and turned in a foul mood towards the rest of his men. “Break camp, we move towards Rhuul tonight. Your commander has deserted us, her love of battle naught but a lie – we will slake the streets of the city with the blood of the City’s defenders and mount Kenthya’s head on a pike when she is dragged back to us in chains.”
The scouts looked to each other and were glad for the moment, they were out upon a different hunt, they did not relish the idea of being sent against the city – Rhuul had proven time and time again in the past to be nearly unbreakable.
As Fenaric and his warriors broke camp Aden spurred his horse on, driven now by the will of the goddess and his own defiance of the Demon lord they all battled in their own ways. Rhage was the diametric opposite of his goddess and their fiercest opponent in the dark games they played, to gain Kenthya as a follower would mean a bitter blow to the Demon lord and could very well signal Rhage’s undoing.
“You are silent?” Kenthya broke the mood with this odd question. “No mocking words left for me?”
Aden had expected such and he shook his head. “I am true to my word, when I speak of a truce – I mean it, what is to be gained by useless rancour?”
“Diplomatic,” this is something Kenthya hadn’t been expecting. “I will, for the sake of getting out from Vikart ‘relatively unscathed’ remain true to our truce, but we will settle our other score.”
“I look forwards to it.”
“I believe you do,” she shook her head and lapsed into silence for a while, looking back at the rapidly receding landscape as their journey took them on a less direct route, heading towards the eastern side of the kingdom and hopefully escape.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 7, 2006 6:37:54 GMT -5
Without the burden of an army to hold them back and with a spirited horse, Aden and his charge made excellent time through the night unawares that already, a pair of trackers set off from Fenaric’s camp and sped after them like hounds baying for a fox.
Two days passed as quickly as an arrow shot from a bow, the skies lightened and darkened in rapid succession, for the travelling pair bound by a common enemy and the goal of freedom. The weather remained overcast and rainy, aiding their journey and making it difficult to track them; the scouts remained barely upon their heels.
Across the eastern plains and towards the port they raced and so too the scouts turned their attention to the barest of tracks or trails, unwitting as to the fate The Dealer had in store for them.
It would be decided swiftly upon the third night of the chase while the two horsemen were riding side by side, keeping a low profile against the darkened sky, they had almost caught up with the fleeing pair now and already sharpened their blades in anticipation of the slaughter to come.
Aden and Kenthya rode past a pair of travelling merchants on their way to the port and paid them no mind, or heed. This was not of course the case for Fenaric’s men who were so full of the coming slaughter that they decided two more stragglers would be fair game out in the wilds, after all they were the invading force and these people were naught but tools to be used.
“Hey you there,” Jandu said trotting ahead of his partner, “stop and spare some time to talk with us.”
While Jandu distracted them his friend, Kassa would sneak up from their blind side and deliver a crippling blow to the shortest of the pair. The merchants were hidden in the folds of heavy travelling robes and their hoods hid their faces from plain view.
Both merchants stopped and the tallest of them uttered a sigh, he pulled back his hood and revealed a slim and foreign face with almond-shaped dark green eyes set in regal, hawk like features.
“We do not really have time to talk to strangers’ honourable traveller, we are on an urgent trip and our master will beat us if we do not arrive upon time,” his voice was a flowing cross between a common Imperior dialect and something else.
“There’s no need to be like that friend,” Jandu smiled again and moved to get down off his horse. “I mean you no harm.”
A babble of incomprehensible nonsense to the scout’s ears trickled from the shorter merchant’s hood, and the small four foot seven figure moved slightly to one side.
“My friend does not share your optimistic appraisal of yourself and wonders why your dung smelling companion attempts to blind-side a fox with a strong nose?” Lishen spoke plainly now and boldly, he even added a little humour that he was sure these barbarians would understand.
“Do you have a name then?” Jandu inquired ignoring the man’s last comment, he was just fishing there’s no way he could detect Kassa. He gave a strong smile, disarming or so he thought. “I just find it odd that a pair of merchants is travelling without guards or cargo? Don’t you usually have a cart or wagon?”
“Lishen,” he smiled and bowed a quick-snap bow.
“I’m Frax, a lone horseman from the plains around here,” Jandu lied through his teeth and even added the regional accent to prove it, “so what about this cargo of yours?”
“We are not at liberty honourable horseman, to discuss the contents of the package that we transfer to the city of Rhuul,” Lishen bowed again and cast his gaze either side. “It is a matter of great importance and secrecy.”
Jandu was rapidly tiring of this man’s arrogance and he waited for his partner to make his final run, he had to keep them distracted at all times.
“What about your companion then, what’s his name?”
“My companion does not deem it fitting to lower herself to speaking to such creatures as yourself, she is beyond your kind and would rather we spoke to you, if at all, through an appointed intermediary – namely me,” Lishen smirked a little as he spoke, delighted by the offended reaction from this troublesome traveller.
“You’re not very friendly to a lonely horseman are you?” Jandu shifted now and made contact with the ground.
Kassa had begun to move stealthily up, low to the ground in the darkness so they would be harder to spot, quietly and gently approaching the back of the shorter merchant. Jandu watched this and barely disguised his amusement.
“I think you and your companion should be a lot nicer to me, after all, you could be talking to a lord or something?”
“A lord would not attempt to waylay, murder and steal from a pair of merchants however – usually because most lords we have met have been too frightened to look at a blade, yet alone use one,” Lishen stepped away from the short woman and kept his eye on Jandu. “I must thank you however for one thing, taking the time to indicate with your eyes the potential of threat.”
This earned the talkative merchant a snapped babble of language from the short woman, as she turned around and faced Kassa in a smooth movement, his knife was just about to plunge into her back and the sudden motion caught him off guard.
Without taking the time to think about it the woman flicked a hand out and her thin knife traced a crimson line across his throat.
Jandu watched the other scout die gasping for air as he stepped back into the dark, the woman didn’t even bother to finish him off – so confident was she of the man’s death, she turned to face the other.
Another soft spoken whisper of the nonsensical tongue and Lishen offered another bow. “The honourable Zhia Ren regrets that you and she had to cross paths, but now you have seen her skill in action it is imperative that you do not live to tell the tale. We did try to discourage you but your ears are full of self importance and your ego could smite an ox.”
Jandu blinked and in that time he looked down to see he had sprouted a new kind of fashion accessory, a small thin knife had penetrated his armour and bit deeply into the bone – with it a sudden burning sensation began to fill his body, his skin was on fire and he let out a scream.
“The honourable Zhia Ren bids you a quick and eventful trip to the afterlife and hopes that The Taker uses your skull as a drinking vessel,” Lishen gave the dying man a swift bow as another lilting flow of dialogue danced from the woman’s lips. “She regrets that she was unable to finish you personally like your friend, but you smell worse than ten-thousand rabid monkeys and she did not wish to get that close.”
Jandu couldn’t reply as his tongue refused to move and he watched in distracted horror as Zhia Ren divested his horse of everything it carried, mounted the animal and hauled her companion upwards onto the back.
She spoke again to Lishen and these words were the last that Jandu ever heard.
“The honourable Zhia Ren would thank you for the horse, but the animal has told her you are not worthy of such a bountiful gift – this nameless creature shall now be known as swift-wind. As you die a slow and agonizing death she asks you to remember it was your foolish actions and barbaric nature that lead you to this final conclusive end.”
He tried to reply but his eyes closed and he heard the screams of The Taker come for his soul, his spirit ripped effortlessly from his corpse and devoured as if it were meat roasted upon a spit.
“I think that went well,” Lishen offered. “But do we have to be so insulting to these commoners, I know they are not fit to lick the boots of your most exalted self – but perhaps we can find someone that will not earn your ire?”
This forced the woman to laugh and she spurred the horse on, lightly tapping it upon the neck with one of her slim hands.
“Lishen,” she bubbled softly in her own language. “Of all the people from across the sphere, you are the last who should tell me to offer respect where none has been earned.”
Lishen blanched under the reprimand and lowered his head, “I know, I know, but you’re right – they must earn respect to be granted it, that will be a long and hard task for any being I think most honourable one.”
“And so it should be,” she smiled a little under the hood. “My respect comes only when it is truly earned, now be quiet, we have a long road ahead of us and we have been well paid for the trip.”
“Yes honourable one.”
As time passed once more across the face of Hestonia it was now a matter of two separate pairs of travellers, one pair moved away from the battle yet to come and the other directly towards it, while Aden and Kenthya rode unawares, both of the trackers and their fate Lishen and Zhia Ren had a definite purpose, not one driven by honour or a need to make things right in the world – but by the gleam of ikons and the challenge of penetrating the most dangerous and fortified bastion of justice in the whole of Vikart.
The City of Rhuul was their final goal and they cared not if the hordes of Rhage himself were clamouring at the gates by the time they reached it. It had all been decided in a dingy, seedy backwater tavern in the port of Jakarta where they had met with a potential employer.
The man had identified himself only as Craven Howe and wanted no more than a simple extraction, his wife had been taken unjustly (he felt) from him and by luck he heard of Zhia Ren’s unique services, scraped (stolen or intimidated) enough ikons to afford the woman’s skill and sent a message to her agent.
It amused the pair to learn that the woman that had been unjustly taken had killed six watchmen, three peasants and murdered another two bounty hunters when they tried to collect on her bounty – Dalia Howe it was revealed was a notorious bandit leader and Craven, her husband, was loosing control of the gang without her.
But the money was good and Craven had more where that came from, the morality issue never bothered Zhia Ren, she had very few morals to begin with. Now she set her sights on the so-called impregnable city and crooned to the horse, it had been mistreated by the former scout and she quietly hoped his suffering at the hands of the soul-eating Taker was painful.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 8, 2006 7:14:36 GMT -5
Chapter Fourteen: A sharp-eyed shadow and a fleeting nightmare
Zhia Ren made sure that as she trailed her way towards the city; she kept to the open plains and only crossed the newly formed makeshift bridge at the Bannadan River. This barely took her notice even though it was a marvellous feat of magic; she had little time to appreciate such things when she was working.
The days fell off the calendar of time and moved swiftly onwards, just as Fenaric’s battle-machine of loyal men rumbled towards their final confrontation with the defenders of Rhuul. Zhia Ren was nothing more than a swift shadow and she spurred swift-wind onwards when she needed to, rested when fatigue overtook them and still managed to strike out ahead of the warmongering general.
She arrived at the city a little before Fenaric and waited until the cover of darkness rolled in and the clouds blotted the moon from sight. This was a perfect night for what she had to do, the plan was simple, scale the shortest and less defended wall, where only a few guards were and strike swiftly.
Lishen looked up at the dark skyline and the rugged lines of the city; he looked back at Zhia Ren and coughed.
“Is it not always your plan to approach the weakest point and move swiftly and surely to eliminate the sluggards that guard it,” he teased a little knowing that it might well put him on dangerous footing with the woman.
She cuffed him at the side of the head but laughed a girlish mocking sound afterwards. “Dear Lishen you are the only one that I would not kill out of hand for making such a comment, but to make your ears sting so you remember your place is always a pleasure.”
“Oh,” he didn’t know what worried him more, the speed of her strike or the laugh which sent cold chills down his spine. “I will wait for you here oh honourable one, as always.”
She gave Lishen a tiny pat on the head and slipped out of her merchants robes; underneath she was attired in her working garments. Plain and simple, without flounce or any ragged edges to catch or tangle.
She was a beauty some had described as almost ‘too’ perfect, yet to herself she was not perfect at all, her nose found disfavour with the rest of her face and to her it was slightly too big. Her almond shaped eyes had a core of steel which was deep within pupils the colour of a frosty blue sky.
Her face had all the regal perfection one might assume from a noble or royal, she accented her eyes with dark eyeliner and her lips with the barest hint of cherry-red. Her lithe frame was adequately formed and she had almost girlish curves and slender hips, every inch of her physique had the thrum of a warrior about it. A sleek dark clothed sliver of a woman, with murder on her mind. Her long dark hair was neatly piled up onto the top of her head and held in place with a slender silver pin, adding the final touch to her looks.
King Hareld’s men were busy on their patrols as they paced the thick walls of the city, bored and listless – they had done all too good a job of protecting Rhuul and the crime within its walls was next to nothing. Now they walked the endless miles of stone with a lifeless step and clanked within their heavy plate armour.
Zhia Ren tied a silk scarf around the lower part of her face and from the moment she donned it, the woman seemed to change. All the light in her eyes went dark and the steel core within the blue came to the surface, Lishen had seen this before and knew exactly what it meant – it was time.
She was off and running across the ground towards the weakest part of the wall, just as a guard came past. Zhia Ren stopped dead in her tracks as a focussed beam of lantern light played across the floor, in a tense few heartbeats she bent herself into odd angles and lay across a broken clump of tree and rocks.
The guard paused and craned his neck to look out over the landscape, muttering to himself, “damn night creatures.”
Lishen waited off to one side and looked after the horse, he watched the woman pause and the guard’s scrutiny wishing that the man would just move on, then he would be safe and Zhia Ren would be able to move into the city freely – he was bound by an honour oath to serve her, otherwise he would still have been a simple farmer and not party to such a dishonourable service.
Zhia Ren did not care of course, if the guard remained on station too long he would learn first hand of the woman’s impatience. She began to count and slowly from within her belt-like sash slender fingers withdrew a six pointed black iron star.
After a few more seconds of bored investigation the armoured man gave a nod, walking stiffly along the top of the wall and into a small arch mid-way along it. Zhia Ren tucked the star away and unfolded herself from the uncomfortable position, stretching her limber arms and legs before she continued to work towards the base of the wall.
When she finally slunk to the rocky base of the shortest city wall she allowed her fingers to work along the stone, finding that it was suitable for climbing, she did just that. With a quick series of motions she gripped the rough surface and began to haul herself up, against the dark wall Lishen could barely make out her shape.
She made entry into the massive bastion and paused for a few seconds at the top of the wall, surveying the streets below. Rhuul was a sprawling fortified city that was utilitarian in design, big buildings with very little character about them stood in regimental rows and offered the assassin a perfect route to the central keep, where she knew the Howe woman would be held.
The glitter of lantern light marked the return of the guard and the black clad woman turned her head slightly to one side, she flipped over to the other side of the wall and slid down a nearby street-lamp, it was as if the designers that laid the plans for the city had built it to be the playground of those who could see the invisible pathways in a place such as this.
He was joined by another guardsman from the other side of the wall and they stopped for a moment in the middle, the first took of his helm and revealed the sharp features of a blonde woman beneath it – so it was true, Rhuul allowed its women to perform the same duties as the men.
“Quiet night again Captain Grissom,” Dana spoke softly as she leant against the wall, looking out across the land. “But something doesn’t quite feel right.”
“You haven’t yet heard the news Dana?” The captain spoke with an incredulous tone to his voice.
“What news, I was away visiting my sister – I only got back yesterday?”
“The King’s son,” Grissom trailed off and looked away for a moment, growling in the back of his throat. “Fenaric’s bastard troops slaughtered our force like dogs; the far-seer saw it all!”
Zhia Ren paused before she moved on, not one for idle chatter but this seemed interesting enough to hold her attention for a brief few moments.
Dana gripped the wall tighter and almost dropped her helmet. “Fenaric,” she hissed. “That lapdog, he’ll come sniffing at our gates wagging his tail and trying to mark his territory next.”
“We’ll meet him with no quarter,” Grissom said encouragingly. “We have never fallen to the dark yet, and when ere he comes it will be no different.”
Dana’s young face lit up with a bolstered smile and she nodded, her hair flicking in the breeze. “We will avenge the King’s son,” she stated plainly.
“Aye, that we will girl…that we will!”
“Pardon me for saying this Sir, but why is he doing this?” The question came to her throat unbidden and in a sense, uninvited, it took the other guard by surprise and he blinked.
“Who is to say what is on a madman’s mind, warmongers do things for their own dark reasons – he serves a twisted master – I would wager it is part of that, young lass.” He tried to rationalise it in his own head, failing miserably, his face set into a grim dark expression.
“I see,” her face fell a little and she shrugged. “I just wish for once there was something we could do, we can’t wave a magic wand and make him go away…I know this, but just something that would assure us victory.”
Zhia Ren gave a quiet snort and started to move off, the girl moved with her head in the clouds and knew nothing of the price of such a victory. Against the likes of Fenaric it would be a cold day in the hells before Rhage let his little ‘war dog’ come to any harm, or at least that’s what she believed.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 8, 2006 7:16:32 GMT -5
“Fight with heart young lass that’s all, any of us can do,” Grissom smiled a little and turned on his heel. “The wall’s going to wonder where our feet have gone, come on it’s time to get back to it, only a few more hours left and you can have a nice draught of ale.”
Dana nodded, replaced her helm and moved off the opposite direction plunging the lower part of the city into darkness again and all was silent as Zhia Ren continued on her way, slowly stalking the cobbles and alleys.
She did not just have to contend with the guard upon the walls, the streets were all well lit and only a few patches of shadow provided any true place to hide. Added to this were the problematic regular patrols of guards, she wanted to do this quickly and quietly with as few bodies as possible – while she was not adverse to killing, she preferred a subtler approach in this case.
A few darkened street corners later and Zhia Ren finally made it to a place where she could take a few moments rest; she could hear the booted feet of the watch coming closer and pushed herself up against the far wall into the darkest part of an alley. A loose stone dropped onto her boot and just as a lantern lit the street, she scooped it up and palmed it.
There were only a few seconds before the tell-tale glow would illuminate her hiding place, unless she acted swiftly she would be forced to end the watch’s perfect record of captures in a quick and terminal manner.
A metal awning gave her an idea however and as the watch paused beneath it, she hurled the stone at an angle so it bounced from one surface, hit the awning with a resounding clatter and ricocheted off to strike the lantern, smashing the glass and causing the man holding it to curse and drop the remains on the floor, the light crystal broke into several shards.
“What in Gerin’s beard was that?” Johannes’ gruff tones grumbled from beneath several days’ growth of beard.
“I have no idea friend, but it came from over there,” Halar drew his sword, it took a few moments to wrench it from the scabbard, the cold had made the blade uncooperative. “I plan to find out though, come with me.”
Johannes watched his fellow guard and narrowed his eyes, clicking his teeth. “It’s probably a loose stone, but if the shadows offend we must slay them,” he chuckled and moved to follow.
“No time for jokes, we’re at war,” Halar said dourly, he was a younger man, fit and lean with no beard and a short crop of well-groomed brown hair.
“You don’t think I know this,” Johannes sighed and scraped back his hair with a dirty hand. “Fenaric’s got the whole of Vikart in his pocket, Caspian’s dead and we’re next – of course I know we’re at war, doesn’t mean I won’t meet the Taker with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart.”
“What’s the point?”
“You sound as though you’ve already given up Halar, what would your wife think eh?” Johannes looked around the area where the stone seemed to have come from and shook his head. “She’d be spinning in her grave that’s what and you know it.”
Halar gave a cough and a snort; he stopped himself from punching his fellow on the nose and just glared darkly. “Shut it,” was all he could say in the end.
While the two guards were distracted Zhia Ren once more detached from the shadowy alley and slipped across the street, right under their noses or rather behind them. She paused to survey the intersection and found what she was looking for, a way up onto the rooftops.
Zhia Ren made her way to the flat rooftops and gables, she flipped upwards and caught the edge of the stone, a few moments later she was perched like a bird at the edge of the roof and looking down. Away from the hateful lantern light and the searching guards, her ice-blue eyes took a few seconds to adjust and she began to pick out the salient features of the city.
Now she was given a clearer route to the central keep and it lay almost like a red carpet stretched out before her, she could see the route perfectly, they couldn’t have made this any easier if they had actually designed the city with her kind in mind, and this caused her to grin under her scarf.
While the guards continued on their patrols to keep intruders out of the city, Zhia Ren made a mockery of their carefully laid security by exploiting the most obvious features of her sky-born domain. She nimbly leapt from roof to roof, slid down angled tiles and flipped onto handily jutting flag-poles, their flapping shrouds of material enough to hide her from any opportunistic voyeur.
A few circles around the flag-pole and she’d built up enough momentum to hurl herself clear from one building to the next, the pump of her heart pushing her body to even greater feats of athletic endurance, her feet pounding on the roof as she landed and took off full pelt near the edge, kicking against the stone to propel herself forwards.
There was never any doubt in her mind as she left the safety of the roof’s edge that she’d land on the other side, her direction was crystal clear and her faith in her own ability as steady as the hand that caught the edge of the roof, she dangled for a while and hauled herself upwards.
By the time she took another breath she was grinning like a fox under her scarf and her heart was beating so hard and fast, her whole body felt alive with the thrill of the rooftop marathon. Sadly however it was almost at an end and the dark shadow of the king’s keep, where his dank dungeons awaited the foolish lay across three more rooftops.
It was lit by the constant moving wan-light of the crystal lanterns, carried by numerous guards. Zhia Ren began to realise that this time, no matter how carefully she played it, there may be no choice but to kill some of them – time was pressing on and Fenaric’s war-machine would soon be here.
The woman didn’t know how right she was, just behind the horizon in the shadow of the night Fenaric’s war-band lurched to a halt and the red-armoured general smirked under his full plate helm.
They were both unawares of each other and neither would care a jot about the other, they were both doing the bidding of a master. In Zhia Ren’s case it was the thrill of the entry and the jangle of ikons.
Fenaric served Rhage and that was all the motivation the bloodthirsty general needed.
Under Fenaric’s watchful eye the sky darkened considerably as if sensing the presence of the coming slaughter. He tapped his finger on the leg of his armour, looking at the city, so peaceful with everyone asleep in their beds – some of them would be under the careful ministration of the Dream Weaver.
“Do we attack now my general?” One of his many men looked up to him.
“Not yet, let’s wait a while and give them a few more hours sleep…so they are truly ready for what’s to come,” Fenaric began to chuckle softly.
“General?”
“Do not question me!”
“Of course general,” the man melted back into the throng and attempted to focus on the killing to come.
From her vantage point Zhia Ren turned to look out across the plains outside the city and saw an inconsistency on the horizon, she blinked a couple of times and lay flat across the roof – she was just able to pick out the first few ranks of horsemen in the distance and she cursed under her breath, the mere presence of Fenaric so soon would complicate her simple task, considerably.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 8, 2006 7:18:02 GMT -5
She could not waste time crying over split milk and she stepped back from the edge, three rooftops stood between her and the furthest windowsill of Hareld’s Keep. Zhia Ren took this in her stride as if they were just a stepping-stone to the final goal, her swift feet allowing her to perform feats of acrobatics that would have stunned many an onlooker, had there been any.
At long last she stood on the edge of the tallest tower that made up the keep, her footing was precarious at best and she wasted no time in finding a safe route to a more stable platform. Zhia Ren was allowed a few moments of breath before she was forced into action, a patrolling guard from below looked up and saw the lithe shadow perched there – before he could shout out in alarm, his life was taken from him quickly and cleanly.
She took the body and stashed it in a dark shadowy area of the topmost wall, by tying a cord to the stone and looping it around the man’s ankles as she hurled the body over the side to hang. Come the morning he would be found, by then she hoped to be long gone, it would do no good to be caught in Fenaric’s bloody onslaught.
Now from this high position on the tower wall she was able to take time to survey the layout, the biggest central building was a tall square keep and according to her client that’s where his wife was being held, she ran a hand over her hair and adjusted the silver pin.
She was not superhuman by any stretch of the imagination, she was mortal but gifted with a slight understanding of the weave of the world, and it had always been there in the back of her head, a tapestry she could call upon to allow her to float upon the wind, like a falling leaf or downy feather.
Zhia Ren called on it now and began to breathe with a soft rise and fall of her chest, she felt the weight come away from her and a slight dizziness fell quietly over her eyes, she closed them and stepped off into the air, floating gently to the ground – yet she paid no price for the cost of this magic, the Shaper did not draw from her soul as it did to the Anshada weavers.
The woman’s feet made contact with the ground and she snapped her eyes open, warily coming back from the edge of euphoria, her landing had drawn no attention and a small gaggle of guards kept vigil in the courtyard. A few lights marked their only solace in the dark of the night, some of them shivered under the cold wind.
“I’ll be glad when this long night’s over,” one of them piped up, rubbing his hands together, even in his leather gloves the chill bit at his fingers.
“I wouldn’t be so eager to see it gone just yet, this long night is all that stands between us and more fighting,” a fellow in black armour strode out of the central keep and paused, he threw back a deep hood and allowed a short crop of hair to spill out just past his shoulders.
“Captain Madrin, what news?” The first speaker, a man known as Ash spoke up saluting the other.
“The King is furious and the world has gone mad, nothing has changed.” Madrin said after a while, shrugging his broad shoulders and fixing Ash with a barely disguised gaze of irritation, his grey eyes didn’t blink once.
“Sorry to have asked sir,” Ash held his tongue and looked out of the keep’s main gate. “Nothing to report, all is in order.”
Madrin Halyane shook his head and sighed. “It is my fault Ash, forgive me, this whole…situation has me in a foul mood, the King rails on us day and night. He wants to hunt Fenaric down personally.”
“Sir, I can fully understand,” Ash said with a frown. “It must not be pleasant to be the focus for the King’s anger and grief?”
“It isn’t at all.”
“You have our sympathies,” Ash spoke up again and stood resolutely in the shadow of Madrin’s gaze, he tried to smile but it didn’t quite come out right.
Madrin let out a slight snort and shook his head. “I don’t really need sympathies right now lads, what I need is a group of alert men ready to throw down and give it their all should we be called to battle soon,” he gripped his sword hilt reflexively. “Even the King feels the need to avenge his son; he’s in the keep now and getting ready for war.”
The rest of the talk followed on along those lines and Zhia Ren slipped from the shadow of the wall quietly across the courtyard to the back of the keep, there were a few entry points and she picked the highest arch as the most likely to succeed, there were bound to be fewer guards since they seemed almost too complacent in the city – what thief would be fool enough to try and enter a prison?
The back wall was a gift to the woman’s keen senses and she forced a chuckle down from the back of her throat, the guards must have really kept the miscreants in line here in Rhuul, for in Wyrden or Moorhaven it is likely the building would have been stripped of anything valuable long ago and even the metal bars across many of the windows would have been sold on some dark back-alley market stall.
Up she went and once more took to the various handholds and bricks, within a few minutes she was hanging just under the topmost arch, looking at the way the window worked, the fools had not even secured it – there were no bars across the gap to prevent a bird from flying in, let alone her.
Zhia Ren squeezed into the gap and turned around until she lithely slunk through it, she was now in an upper corridor and the air stank with the smell of human fear. Regardless of the purity of the city’s heart, the heroic nature, this place reminded her of the worst parts of the port city of Wyrden.
Dappled light played in thick swathes cast from the uncaring faces of crystal lanterns, illuminating the wooden walkway below her as Zhia Ren alighted with no sound upon the floor, she crouched low and put her hands against the wood to feel the vibrations through her fingers – there were none so she assumed for now that it was devoid of patrols.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 9, 2006 7:13:03 GMT -5
Cat-like she crept forwards and took her time to slide closer to the first of many steps leading down into the tower keep proper. There were no footfalls or shadows to indicate a guard, so she slipped onwards into the building, pausing at corners and listening once more.
After several floors of this Zhia Ren finally made it down to the back hall, taking the indirect route and hanging off a balcony before dropping onto the floor behind a statue of the king’s son. She heard the lowered whisper of voices and a pair of grubbily dressed balding men lead by a strong looking red-haired woman strolled out from a lower arch.
“So she’s going to swing tomorrow eh Cassandra?” Bertho, a rotund and really sickly looking one-eyed man spoke with a spittle-flecked voice.
“Yes,” the woman answered and turned her head away striding across the hall towards another door.
“Oh good, good, yes…that’s very good,” the other spoke, he was known as Fargel and his body was stick thin, undernourished and he had a wisp of grey hair hidden under a cloth cap.
Zhia Ren took a moment to appraise Cassandra and noted she was a short slightly overweight woman, pretty but not in a striking kind of way. She moved with a warrior’s gait but favoured her right leg, as if it pained her.
Cassandra stopped and kicked the door open. “I need more coals in the brazier below, make sure the blades are sharp and fetch me a mug of mead.” She commanded to Bertho and stomped into the room beyond.
“Right,” Bertho rumbled and turned towards another door dragging his lanky companion with him. “Come on Fargel, she’ll get uppity if we don’t sort her things out soon and quickly.”
Fargel followed his larger companion and they both vanished through another door, leaving the hall in silence again. Zhia Ren took a deep breath and inched along one of the back walls towards the doors that she now knew lead to the lower dungeons and the cells.
Whether it was a trick of fate or a sudden moment of stupidity on her part, she did not have time to question only act, for as she made her move to open the door, another figure pulled it inwards and for a long second she stood face to face with a furious looking stern faced man.
He had a thin crown of white hair and wore the armour of an important warrior, a general or leader perhaps. She didn’t even wait to find out who he was, Zhia Ren moved into action and stepped forwards, one hand went behind the man’s head and the other fell against his chin, there was a sickening crack as the assassin whipped his head to the side and he sagged in her arms – a barely formed question on his lips died with him.
There was no place to hide the body nearby that would stand up to the scrutiny of a search by morning light, so she left the armoured figure neatly tucked behind the statue of the King’s son. She did not know it at the time but the man that she had so ruthlessly eliminated bore a striking resemblance to the stone image of Caspian, the murdered prince.
Without so much as a backward glance to the dead man she once more made her way to the door and into the lower area of the keep. It did not take her long to work her way into the deepest corridors of the dungeon, making sure she kept to the dark places and shadows unless she had no other choice.
The lower part of Hareld’s keep was a grimy and dim bastion of pain and torment, the very air was thick with the smell of despair and the scent of futile hope. The darkness was all pervasive and lingered in perverse almost tacky thick shades, cluttering in corridors and alcoves – the barest light from fickle torches illuminated the passage that lead to Zhia Ren’s goal.
The regular ‘clockwork’ like patrols of the King’s men made travel down here a little more complicated than she’d expected, but the nimble assassin soon began to trail from shadow to shadow, dodging guards and once again mocking their so-called expertise, she felt as if they were children compared to her – in a way, she was right.
A lit doorway lay along the passage, dappled with the interplay of lazy flickers cast from a torch sconce on the far wall, a candle provided the illumination for the room and the two light sources created a warring conflict of radiance. A low murmur of voices trickled out from the open door, barely recognisable as Zhia Ren inched her way along the corridor ever closer to the light.
Another sound caught the woman’s attention as she paused to listen, the roll of dice, a smirk danced onto her lips and she flitted from one side of the corridor to press against the left hand side of the doorway.
The roll of dice happened again and a disgruntled mutter came from within, the occupants were engaged in a simple game and from the following chink it was for some coin or other, possibly ikons – but knowing jail guards it could be bottle tops.
“Ye’re a bladdin cheater!” A gruff heavy voice rattled from a dry, parched throat as one of the guards spoke up loudly.
“I did not cheat, you’s the one that fails to unnerstand the rules of the game halfwit!” The second blurted out in response, arrogance lining every tone of his voice.
“Barsteward!” The first snorted and there was a soft thud.
“Treefer!” Retorted the second brashly.
The exchange was music to the assassin’s ears and she found herself idly wondering if some power had decided to play a trick on the keep’s guards, she wasn’t going to jinx the fortunate circumstance by offering her thanks – she knew as well as any that luck was a fickle bitch and could just as easily rip away your fortune as she could bestow it.
She tensed as the sound of a chair rolling over dropped her from her thoughtful pondering, a scuffle broke out inside the room and she swiftly moved from the left hand side of the door to the right, taking advantage of the now clattering and crashing guardsmen within.
Zhia Ren moved now even more swiftly down the corridor breaking into a run near the end as her sharp ears picked up the sound of running feet from the far end of the corridor, as she passed further into the dungeon’s dank interior she could just make out a bellow from the woman Cassandra.
“Break it up!”
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 9, 2006 7:16:16 GMT -5
Chapter Fifteen: Demon bound
Dalia Howe’s cell was the last one in a broken-down section of the King’s dungeon; she lay on her wooden cot which had become infested with weevils and mites of all kinds and listened to the slow, steady drip of water from a broken pipe nearby. It was her lot in life to suffer she’d decided, saddled with an incompetent husband and a band of unworthy idiots – not one of them had bothered to try and rescue her, it wasn’t as though the keep was impregnable.
“Hey!” She bellowed from the cot into the darkness beyond. “Is it supper time yet, you slobs?”
There was no answer, so she gave another harpy-like screech.
“I said, damn it. Is it supper time yet you lazy bastards?” At the end of this second rant she planted her foot against the bars and hit them hard, rattling the whole cell.
“Silence,” a whisper from the shadows came back at her; it didn’t sound like the usual guards.
Zhia Ren dropped the body of the guard into the darkness for a moment, letting it fall as dead weight.
“So they’re hiring rakes as guards now?” Dalia scoffed and smoothed back her matted blonde hair. “Or have you come to do away with me, on behalf of a rival?”
“You mistake me for a common guard, or a common assassin,” Zhia Ren shook her head and knelt down by the cell door. “I am here on behalf of Craven to set you free, to get you out of the city and to make sure I get paid.”
“I knew it,” she laughed out loud and stood up to put her hands against her plump hips. “The fat bastard finally got off his arse and managed to scrounge up enough to pay a kinko to come and rescue his beloved?”
Kinko was a slang word that many folk of Hestonia used to describe Zhia Ren’s slender and slightly thinner people; similar in many ways to Treefer it had the same effect on her kind as it did on Amber Savarre’s.
“If you use that slang again I will leave you here to rot,” Zhia Ren’s nose wrinkled under her scarf as she appraised the porcine bandit. “Or I will be forced to gut you and use you to decorate the inside of this cell.”
Dalia wobbled a little as she stepped back, the ice tone in the woman’s voice was full of sharp menace and it struck her with a shiver. She tried to smile but it didn’t quite work, then a slow chuckle dribbled from her lips.
“You find something amusing?” Zhia Ren began to pull out a small set of thin picks and set about freeing the pins of the lock.
“Quite a fearful little flower aint’cha?” Dalia was certainly no flower; she was a rotund woman with wide hips and a gigantic expanse of belly. Her breasts spent most of the time trying to escape her badly laced corset and some often commented that they could be used as a table; usually this earned the offender a slap or a knife in his back.
“You continue to yammer woman, please do not say another world, or I will be forced to enter your cell and shut you up – permanently,” Zhia Ren’s patience was wearing thin and she pursed her lips under the scarf.
Dalia had seen something out of the corner of her eye, while Zhia Ren was distracted she caught sight of Cassanda limp slowly through the door and stop dead. The red haired jailer indicated to the fat woman, in no uncertain terms that if she warned the assassin, she’d be next.
She did this by drawing her thumb across her throat, and Dalia was caught between the choice and dilemma of what to do – if she warned the kinko, she could get out of here alive and have to suffer the woman’s obvious ego – if she didn’t warn her she could perhaps aid in her capture.
She chose…
As Cassandra moved closer to the distracted Zhia Ren, the assassin caught a glimpse in Dalia’s eye that something was wrong; she cursed herself for being distracted and turned to face the danger.
This was the moment that Dalia made her choice and leapt forwards with surprising speed for a woman of her girth, her big arms locked around Zhia Ren’s upper and lower body and before the assassin could react Cassandra’s fist impacted with her face, smacking her into unconsciousness as her head struck the bars.
“Ye chose wisely Dalia,” Cassandra looked at the slumped woman and shook her head. “A friend of yours is she? She one of your band perhaps?”
Dalia snorted loudly and moved back to slump down on her cot. “Don’t be daft woman, she’s a kinko and I would rather have a treefer than a kinko in my band any day of the week.”
“Fair enough, looks like we need to make room for another one down here, shouldn’t have been able to get in regardless – sloppy work, wait until the King hears about this – heads are going to roll,” Cassandra dragged the unconscious assassin to a cell and opened the door, she did a quick search and stripped her of her weapons, piling those in a chest in the far corner.
“Will what I did sway the King at all?” Dalia asked hopefully, grinning through the mass of her hair.
“No dear, you’ll swing soon enough; it’s not a bad way to go.” Cassandra shut the door to the cell and locked it with a big key.
“You bitch,” Dalia snorted. “If I had known that I’d have let that kinko gut ya!”
“Silly cow, don’t trust a jailer love, even if that jailer is your own daughter – don’t worry mother, I’ll see you get what’s coming to ya.”
Cassandra gave a tiny laugh and limped out of the room leaving the other woman to kick the cell again; her foot throbbed from the impact. “Bugger it.”
Dalia glared at the other cell now and crossed her arms, she had backed the losing horse it seemed and they were both going to swing from a rope. She gulped a little and wiped her brow, if the assassin didn’t kill her first.
Zhia Ren swam in a sea of darkness for a long time while the keep slumbered on and people went about their duties, heedless of the danger that now lurked a few miles outside. Lishen had wisely withdrawn a good distance away from the city and had caught sight of the war-band as they waited for a sign to begin the slaughter.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 9, 2006 7:18:11 GMT -5
The barest hint of dawn approached as Cassandra finally began to head down to the lower chambers; she was caught along the way by one of the keep’s many servants and questioned about the King – in her usual brusque manner she brushed the boy off and opened the door to the lower cells.
It was at that moment that Zhia Ren’s eyes flew open and she touched her face with soft fingertips, she was bruised but nothing was broken, the back of her head hurt like ten hells and dried blood stuck to her fingers as she searched her hair.
The tell tale beams of dawn’s first ruddy rays warned the assassin that she was out of time, she wasted no time in righting herself and exploring the cell – unlike Dalias’ hovel this one was a little stronger and a lot more secure. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and began to formulate a plan.
Cassandra limped into the room and eyed both cells with disdain; she picked up a bucket of water from the side and moved to Zhia Ren’s part of the room. She was somewhat disconcerted when she saw the woman was awake.
“I didn’t hit you hard enough…did I?” she snorted and pulled the bucket back to hurl the contents over the slender assassin.
“I would not, if I were you, do that or you will miss what I am going to say,” Zhia Ren did not open her eyes and her voice was as calm as a summer’s breeze.
Cassandra had met all sorts in her time, some begged for the pain to stop, others welcomed it but something about this woman forced her to listen. She emptied the bucket over Dalia instead and the large bandit awoke with a mouthful of bile and curses.
“You blaggin bitch!” Dalia burst forth from her cot sopping wet and growling darkly. “You could have just shouted or somthin!”
“Morning mother,” Cassandra said and tossed the bucket down. “Water had to go somewhere and mud, goes well with pigs.”
She turned to Zhia Ren and knelt down close to the bars. “Start talking dear or you’ll find that my tongue isn’t the only thing that’s sharp, we have ways to enjoy ourselves for hours here.”
“You do not have hours,” Zhia Ren opened her eyes and they were as cold and lifeless as always. “He is here, the war dog has come.”
Cassandra stood up and took a step back, mindful not to get too close to Dalias’ cell. “What did you just say?”
“Fenaric,” Zhia Ren stood and smiled. “The war dog that laps at the blood of Rhage, he has come and your lives are now measured – as is mine – by minutes and perhaps not even that.”
“Bloody…hells!” Dalia let out an oath and looked at her daughter, “so what you going to do now dear, you going to believe the kinko or you going to play torturer some more?”
Cassandra looked from one to the other. “It’s a clever trick dear, but it isn’t going to wash, you won’t spook us that easily – I am staying right here.”
“That is your prerogative, which marks you as stupid as the sow that sold me out, a fact that I am most displeased with,” Zhia Ren gave Dalia a glare that could have melted the steel between them. “It is a fact however that will be rectified in due course.”
With that ominous warning and threat Zhia Ren folded her legs back down onto the floor and closed her eyes, slowing her breathing down to the barest audible sound, which spooked Cassandra enough so that she sat down on a chair in the straggling beams of light that came from high above.
Over the horizon they came, but a hundred men with more on the way from Fenaric’s successful campaigns elsewhere in Vikart. One hundred armed and fanatical soldiers all with murder on their minds, the air stank rife with the smell of blood and they passed a hair’s breadth away from where Lishen hid, trembling under cleft of rock.
The ground shook with the force of marching feet and a horn bellowed into the air, a note of challenge to call the defenders of the city out to witness the army of Rhage’s might. It set the cat amongst the pigeons as the guard upon the walls began to rush for their alarms, ringing the bell furiously and causing a clamour – barely heard in the deep belly of the keep.
Veteran and youngster alike all turned up to regard the pitiful sight before them of the hundred men, only Fenaric on his massive warhorse at the lead filled them with fear and brought a lump of bile to their throats. The most experienced of Rhuul’s defenders began to laugh when they saw the war dog’s war band.
Their amusement was short lived as the General settled back into his saddle and gave the order to, “halt!”
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 10, 2006 4:06:40 GMT -5
“Are we ready men?” He turned and surveyed his warriors, “to spill blood, yours and theirs in the name of the Lord Rhage?”
“Aye,” the shout went up and echoed over to the city walls, it was a single unified voice that bordered on insanity.
“Then give your lives so the Demon lord may render these fools to naught but broken bones and split skulls!” Fenaric bellowed as he now rode down the line of men. “Who here will fall upon his sword in the name of Rhage?”
There was a moment of shocked silence from the ranks then a voice spoke up with conviction.
“If I will live forever in the memory of those that were too cowardly to, I shall be the first!”
And then like a sickness the offers came thick and fast, spurred on by the brave soldiers words each man and woman, young or old gave their solemn oath that their blood would be spilled to allow Rhage to claim victory.
Fenaric smiled a cold smile and turned his horse to face the defenders of the city. “Hear me,” he bellowed once again. “City of Rhuul and mark this well, this is true faith and conviction – the power of the Demon lord Rhage!”
He turned the horse back to the army and nodded. “Then fall upon your blades so the Demon lord may take you and make you his!”
The guards and soldiers on the walls looked on, bemused and horrified by what they witnessed as one, Fenaric’s army drew their blades and spilt their own blood to collapse on the floor in a pool of bodies.
“What madness is this?” Madrin made his way to the top of the wall and looked out at the scene of death. “They march like the insane to get here, and then fall on their swords before us?”
“Aye, they pissed themselves and heard how strong we were…so to scare us, they killed themselves!” One of the older warriors laughed and then shut his mouth as the armoured Captain gave him a withering look.
“There’s magic here, the stench is in the air,” Madrin leant his hand on the stone of the wall as the wind began to grow stronger. “Prepare yourselves.”
The general faced the wall and lowered his helm into place, it was a stylised tiger’s head made from strong metal, coloured as blood red as the man’s armour. He now waited for his master’s ultimate sign; a show of true force where the weak body and spirit of the living failed, the Demon’s servants would succeed.
The wind began to grow in strength and suddenly it whipped about the guards and soldiers, cold tendrils of fear began to take hold of every man and woman on the wall – they shuffled nervously.
“What in the name of all the gods?” The older soldier looked to Madrin. “What witchery is this?”
“Where’s the King, he needs to be warned?” Madrin replied and turned on his heel to leave the defenders. “Maddock, you’re in charge.”
“Oh wonders of wonders,” the old soldier, Maddock snorted. “Leave me in the thick of it.” He drew his blade and saluted, “as you command.”
He turned his eyes to the mass of bodies below and gripped his sword ever tighter, it would be a ruinous irony for his men’s morale if he pissed himself at this moment in battle.
An all consuming gaping hole opened beneath the bodies and sucked them down into the earth with a sudden rush of cracked ground and sundered stone, the foundations trembled and the walls of the city shook with a sound not unlike a bitter laugh. Fenaric wisely moved away from the ruined gap.
Some of the men on the walls looked ready to flee and Maddock bellowed. “Hold here, do not falter, we are soldiers of Rhuul…the King shall come and lead us to victory.”
Your king is dead…
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 10, 2006 4:08:32 GMT -5
The voice that replied to Maddock’s stout and stalwart morale boosting speech was thick with a soft purring accent, a seductive thrum of dark overtones; Rhage deigned to speak as if mocking everything they stood for.
Fear overtook most of them and they turned to Maddock for support, the older man trembled under the sound of the Demon lord’s voice.
But do not mourn him, for soon you will join him in the torment of the Taker…
Out of the hole poured a terrible sight indeed, hundreds and hundreds of roaring, screaming bipedal cat-like ruddy furred humanoid creatures spilt from the gaping wound and flowed like blood towards the city walls, it was as Zhia Ren had said, only a matter of time before their doom would come.
Now this red tide was upon them in a screaming howling frenzy it forced the stalwart defenders of the city to new levels of bravery, Maddock held his blade and screamed a battle cry.
“Slaughter them all, let none breach the city!”
Against a hundred men the city walls would have held for days, but this army seemed endless and spewed from the gap in never ending gouts. Madrin heard the first sounds of battle and threw open the doors to the inner keep, only to find a scene that filled his heart with a mixture of rage and sorrow. There upon the floor cradled in the arms of one of the servants was the King’s corpse, peaceful in a way and not a mark upon him, his crown still in place – he looked to the Captain as if he were sleeping.
“But…how?” Madrin said numbly and dropped to his knees by the servant. “How did you find him, where did you find him, who did this?”
The servant quailed under the furious gaze and assault of questions from the armoured man. “I…just sir, as I was cleanin behind,” he pointed to the statue of Caspian. “He was stashed behind there sir, didn’t look like he’d fallen.”
“An assassin,” Madrin hissed and rose from the floor. “Fenaric!”
Madness overtook the man and he turned from the scene without even stopping, he went to the stables and saddled his warhorse as if in a dream. He could hear the shouts of his men as they tried to beat back something, gods knew only what.
None of that mattered to him now, he was going to take the General’s head for this and end the conflict at its source. His own helm, a simple affair and plumed with a dark red feather sat upon his head and he kicked his heels into the warhorses side, it pranced forwards eager to ride out and do battle.
The servant kept holding the King’s body and crooning to it as if it were a sleeping child, the young man had obviously never seen death before and his mind refused to accept that his beloved ruler had been taken from him, so soon. At length more servants and guards happened upon the scene and the clamour from the mourning finally made its way down to the belly of the keep.
Zhia Ren inclined her head as she seemed to be listening.
“The end is coming, if you have a god I suggest you pray,” she said archly to Cassandra and began to tap her fingers against her leg. “You do not have long left.”
“Shut it,” the jailer snorted. “Until someone comes down here I am not letting you out of my sight, kinko!”
“Unfortunate that you choose to follow your mother’s steps, as large as they are, unavoidable – I suppose.” Zhia Ren smirked; it was a tiny self-amused smile and she opened her eyes again, only to close them.
The door flew open and one of the guards barrelled in. “Where the fuck have you been you daft bitch, the city’s under siege, the King’s dead, we’re in shit Cassandra!”
Cassandra nearly fell off her stool as the door flew open, she threw something at the guard that vaguely resembled a rotten pear and then stopped. “What?”
“You heard, the King’s dead, the city’s under attack – leave these two to rot and let’s get out of here before we’re next!” Havik looked at the jailer and offered her his hand. “Come on, Cass, you don’t owe yer mother nothing and we can get away in the King’s windchaser – if we go, now!”
Cassandra looked at her mother, and then at Zhia Ren, she shrugged and followed Havik to the door. “You’d better be able to fly that thing, or we’re dead meat.”
“I can fly it, been watching Gerald’s technique,” Havik chuckled a little and then added. “Hope the end’s not too quick for ya Dalia!”
“Go fuck yourself!” Dalia snorted from her cell grumpily and slammed the bars again. “I should have let her kill you and paid her to kill him!”
Dalias’ rant fell on deaf ears as the door slammed shut behind Cassandra; she sat back down on her cot again and glared at Zhia Ren. “How can you be so bloody calm?”
“I walk with death porcine one, the Taker and I are business partners – I assume that the man who’s regal neck I snapped, was the King…how…unfortunate…for him,” Zhia Ren touched her fingers to one another, tapping them.
“You killed the King?” Dalia began to laugh. “My daughter sat here like a broody hen over your cage and you…killed…the…King?”
“Yes,” Zhia Ren shook her head. “Now silence while I contemplate the structure of this cell.”
Outside the battle was fully joined, the city had been breached by the screaming hordes of cat-like Demons and they raced through the streets butchering guards and innocent people alike, revelling in the blood-drenched slaughter and yowling a furious kind of delight to the sky.
Madrin barrelled his horse towards the nearest group of cat Demons and began to swing his sword in several wide arcs, from side to side, not trying to kill any but to get them out of the way, he had bigger fish to fry.
He made an opening and forced his way through it, hurling a few creatures aside with a ferocious charge, and then he was through and bellowed to the gate Captain, to, “Open the gate!”
The gate Captain, Ludwen refused and shook his head, right until a cat Demon landed on his shoulders and clove it from his body, hissing softly and cutting the gate rope so the whole contraption rattled down – the weight and counter system yanked the gates open.
A sea of Demons poured through the now open barrier and Madrin dove at them, charging forwards again and hacking at anything that came too close. There were droves of them standing between him and the red armoured general, he pushed further on and began to bellow as he slashed and stabbed.
Fenaric watched this highly amused by the horseman’s last ride; he folded his arms over the reins of his own mount and remained at the rear of the legion of beasts. While he did not fear hand to hand combat, it suited him to appear as a controlling force behind the invasion, only moving forwards to strike when the enemy came to him.
Madrin was fighting like a man possessed, Fenaric idly wondered if Rhage leant him any of his strength and felt a chiding trickle of his master’s will travel through his mind.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 10, 2006 4:12:22 GMT -5
Of course I do, the bloody slaughter must be equal on all sides – glorious battle is no fun if it is but one sided, or have you forgotten who here is the lord of battle and war?
“I have not,” Fenaric snorted under his helm and he gripped his horses’ reins tightly.
Oh come now general, you are doing well, there is naught but a miracle that can stop this bloodletting – revel in it and smell victory from each belly sliced and each throat cut, every body that falls will rise again to leap from the damaged earth and join you in conflict.
“An army of Demons wrought from the souls of the dead?” Fenaric shivered a little under his armour, the thought of that repelled him and yet part of him revelled in it, was excited by it.
Yes, each one gives form to my own servants – your warriors’ sacrifice was the catalyst required, since we failed to use the other.
“What of her?”
She is beyond my grasp, beyond yours, I would concentrate on your own future – your enemy draws closer.
Fenaric looked up in time to see Madrin cleaving his way through the last few ranks of his Demon bodyguard, the General smiled a little under his helm and drew his newly polished sword; it whipped smoothly from the oiled scabbard.
Finally the Captain reached Fenaric on his horse and charged at him, bellowing a rousing cry of, “for my slain king!”
He rocked back in his saddle as Fenaric lifted his hand and a wave of Demon-bound energy lashed from the armoured warriors’ fingertips, swathes of red mist tainting the Captain’s armour as the man’s blood was drawn in painful rivers from every orifice and pore.
It flowed from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth and swirled in a dappled misty dance about him, Fenaric drove the blade of his sword forwards and through Madrin’s armour, piercing his heart and ending the man’s life in an instant, the blood mist slicked to the ground and the body was torn apart by the frenzied cat Demons as they continued to pour out of the hole.
I see you have been practising the Demon’s gift…
“I was not idle my master and lord,” Fenaric sheathed his blade and the blood ran down the side of the scabbard.
Wily one, you hid that power from even me…impressive, perhaps I will grant you the gift that you seek – the King is indeed dead, slain by an assassin – fortunate for you however I did not require the death of the King to be by your hand.
“I would gladly take your gift, if you offered the power and then I would stride amongst these worms and show them no mercy,” Fenaric dipped his head in mock supplication, a wry smile danced across his lips. “You have but to give me my lead.”
I have pondered this long and hard, you are ambitious and dangerous but I feel now is the time to…trust…you, so step down from your horse and welcome me.
“Master,” Fenaric did as he was bidden and stood now separate from the horse, it looked at him and stepped off to one side as if given a mental command.
Do not disappoint me servant…
He felt the power rush through his body and his skin burned with it, smoke poured from under the helm and he let loose a horrific scream – the pain was so great that Fenaric almost passed out from the intense agonies bestowed by the Demon lord.
He held strong and true however determined to show no fear, no weakness and the scream became a laugh of triumph as the last vestiges of his humanity were ripped away by Rhage’s Demonic will.
Fenaric the man ceased to be on that day, some would later postulate that he died but only his body suffered an agonising melding with that red armour. He was fused to it as the Demon lord infused him with raw energy, shaping by force of malign will the very form of the General and wrapping him in a shell of metal.
The armour took on a life of its own from the smoke and ashes of Fenaric’s body, living steel with a powerful spirit now encased within. This walking nightmare gave vent to a bellow of laughter and the cat-like helm’s eyes lit with a bright yellow glow, smoke poured from the nostrils and Fenaric flexed his wickedly clawed gauntlets.
“This is power!”
Yes and now you are as you always wished to be, my son, my trusted servant and the most powerful of my generals – go now and cleanse this city of the filth that infects it and bring death to all within, all bar the assassin, if you encounter her – let her go for now.
“As you wish,” Fenaric turned and ignored his horse; every step he took left a smouldering print in the ground of a clawed, cat-like foot. “I will not question your wisdom regarding the assassin, father.”
Good…
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 10, 2006 4:14:31 GMT -5
The battle in the city raged ironically under a bright sky, the blue shimmer of the heavens was an odd contrast against the bloodshed below. The city’s defenders lay in pools of their own blood, rack and ruin wrought upon them by Rhage’s Demon hordes; they really were not prepared for an endless tumult of relentless beasts spawning from a crack in the ground.
“Over here!” Dana called to one of the beleaguered guards; his face was bloody and slashed to ribbons. “Tanan, you look like shit.”
The blonde guard had her shoulder in a sling and she ducked under one of the walls. “Cap’n Grissom’s dead and the whole west defence broke and crumbled…what news from your side of the city?”
“The same story,” the young man coughed and vomited nearby with a sudden wretch, blood mixed with it. “We should fall back to the keep, protect the folk there?”
“The keep,” Dana had forgotten this and she got to her feet. “Ye gods, I had forgotten, something has got to be done about the prisoners – they might be scum but they deserve a chance to fight and hold their own!”
“Dana, you’ll be court marshalled if you so much as open one cell,” Tanan tried to follow but a group of cat Demons leapt over the rubble and fell on him, he died under claws and teeth – screaming.
Dana turned on her heel and ran, not looking back, small tears stung the corner of her eyes but she kept her feet to the cobbles and left them to devour their prize.
Her flight through the city was a perilous one and she made it to the keep by the skin of her teeth, the gate was swiftly opened and closed again as she made it through, not stopping for breath she was about to move on when she saw a couple of figures inching towards the royal windchaser platform.
Torn between inspecting what was about to happen and the fate of those inside the keep, she kept to her original plan and fled in a clatter of bloodied armour into the depths of the King’s dungeons, snatching a torch from the wall.
She found no one to oppose her and realised that all the guards had joined in the battle outside the keep, or stood waiting to die inside the stone walls of the King’s personal fortress – she wasted no time at all in making it further down and finally entered the holding cells, she systematically freed prisoners and gave them weapons.
One of the men tried to take her hostage and she calmly gutted him before his comrades explaining the situation in cold words, words that would have impressed Zhia Ren.
“I give you your freedom but this is how I am repaid?” She kicked the body off the end of her blade. “Fenaric’s monsters are in the city, you must fight against them to truly escape…fight or die down here like swine, tis your choice.”
The prisoners listened and it dawned on them that this was no time for heroics, yet they were able to fight to win their freedom. Cutthroats and murderers given weapons and a chance to escape the city, the King’s justice and the fate that was in store for them – they gave the woman an appraising look.
“You’d have made a good gutter girl, with action like that,” Mikos tapped the side of his belly with a rusty blade. “Nice an quick,” he giggled a little.
“I don’t care, go, the lot of you and what ever being you venerate,” she shouted. “Pray to them.”
Without any more time to waste Dana turned her back on the dangerous group and stalked through the last door, the door she knew lead to the deepest and dankest part of the dungeon – where the true scum resided.
Dalia Howe watched the pretty but battered blonde enter the chamber and scoffed. “Oh bloody hell,” she snorted. “Well look-it who has come to save us, Dana…pretty-face.”
“Shut up you stupid old sow,” Dana retorted and moved over to try and find the key. “I’m going to let you go and you better hope you can run with all that girth, because Fenaric’s bastard horde has taken the city.”
She unlocked the woman’s cell and Dalia shoved her out of the way.
“Shift it then!” Dalia was off and out of the cell room as fast as her stubby legs could carry her, she wanted to be no where near Zhia Ren when the slender assassin was let out of her cage, she pitied Dana somewhat.
Zhia Ren watched the fat woman go and arched a brow, turning to look as Dana opened her cell. Without a word, but offering a gentle bow, Zhia Ren stepped from the cell and ignored the dagger offered to her; she went to the chest and reclaimed every single piece of her equipment – painstakingly placing it where it had been before.
“Do you have a name?” She inquired of Zhia Ren, who was just tying the scarf in place, when the assassin turned back around she looked deadlier than ever.
“I ask that of you first?” A rare thing for Zhia Ren to deign to speak to a common guard but she had recognised this young one from earlier.
“Dana Featherton,” the young guard replied quailing a little under the intense scrutiny from the assassin.
“Zhia Ren,” Zhia Ren answered with her usual calm businesslike manner, a wry smile falling onto her lips under the scarf. “The woman that you let go, she paid a guard to kill the King…set up with her daughter, they now head for the King’s personal windchaser.”
It was a blatant lie but the assassin cared not, a modicum of revenge could be had if she persuaded Dana to help her.
“What?” Dana’s face grew red. “That blasted sow and her piglet of a daughter, oh my gods they’ll pay for this!”
“They came in here and discussed his death, broken neck, while he was out walking – they hid him by the Prince’s statue,” Zhia Ren let a catch sound in the back of her throat, as though the news upset her. “I was minding my own business, waiting for Fenaric to arrive when they caught me and dragged me in here.”
“Waiting for Fenaric, to do what?” Dana sounded suspicious.
“Kill him,” Zhia Ren answered and shook her head. “I was paid to assassinate the war dog, by any means but your jailer and her guard; they had other plans – to use me as a scapegoat in the King’s demise.”
“Those conniving bastards,” Dana ran to the door. “We might still catch them if the royal guard are keeping an eye on the platform, only my brother and I can fly the windchasers – we’re the only ones that can channel the right energy.”
“Interesting,” Zhia Ren replied and followed the woman quickly.
The path to the surface was quick and simple, both women made good time moving swiftly and with purpose, they happened upon a couple of battered guards close to the outside and they glared at Dana and Zhia Ren.
“Halt!”
“We’re about to be overrun and you waste my time with this bullshit?” Dana screamed and shoved the guard out of the way. “Either run me through or get the hell out of my way, yes, I let the prisoners go but no I am not going to be taken into custody for it.”
“I would move if I were you,” Zhia Ren warned the other guard, who saw the look in the slender assassins’ eyes and stepped to one side holding up his hands.
“Wise,” she purred.
The other guard clapped his hand onto Dana’s shoulder. “By order of kin…” he didn’t quite get the rest out as the woman’s armoured knee connected with his groin and buckled his codpiece, while her fist smacked into his mouth and dislodged a few teeth, knocking him to the floor in a clatter.
“I am sorry Allan but you’re not making your career out of me, and that’ll teach you for spying on me in the bathhouse,” Dana kicked him again for good measure and stepped over the groaning man’s prone form. “Come on Zhia, we have to move!”
“Zhia Ren,” Zhia Ren said with a snort. “I do not like my name shortened.”
“Oh, sorry, Zhia Ren,” Dana shook her head and shoved open the door to the inner courtyard, to find it swarming with Rhage’s Demons. “Oh shit.”
“An interesting turn of phrase, you take the stairs Dana Featherton and I will meet you on the platform,” Zhia Ren didn’t wait for an answer, she jumped onto Dana’s shoulder and leapt higher up catching onto a protruding section of wall and flipping off it onto a high part of the stone work.
Dana gave a yelp of pain and growled. “Are you a woman or a jumping Marlock?”
As she vanished over the other side of the platform, Dana thought she heard a chattering laugh, just like a Marlock, which was a cross between an odd rainbow coloured lizard and monkey.
She was forced to put her blade into action again and fought her way to the royal platform, just as the blue sky began to turn an angry shade of red; her thoughts were a miasma of burning questions as the heavens turned.
The first few flickers of fire danced amongst the clouds and Dana kicked a Demon off her sword in gouts of blood, she ignored the rest and clambered up the stairs with a clatter, throwing off one of her shoulder plates as it buckled from a vicious swipe.
Zhia Ren landed with a soft ‘pad’ of her feet and saw the jailer, her mother and the guard trying to convince a large stout man they needed to prepare the King’s windchaser for departure.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 11, 2006 5:41:19 GMT -5
Dalia saw her and bellowed. “Get her; she’s the assassin that killed the King!”
This of course was not the wisest course of action as Holmgaard, the King’s bodyguard and protector of the windchaser platform had just been told that the King required it to escape.
He was big but not all too quick on the uptake and now he gripped his double-ended axe and planted it firmly onto the ground with a whack.
“You lied to me,” he growled and narrowed his eyes; he was huge and broad across the shoulders. Balding and covered from head to foot in spiral tattoos, he was altogether an impressive sight and looked as though he could bench-press a large bull.
Holmgaard wore heavy leather armour and eschewed a helmet, his pate was polished and only a straggle of ginger hair remained in a slight plait as a casualty of his age. He growled again and pointed towards the stairs.
“Go and fight, the King cannot be dead.”
“Oh did I say the King?” Dalia back-pedalled away from her furious looking daughter and the angry looking bodyguard.
“You lied,” Holmgaard repeated and gripped his axe tightly, looking to the stairs again.
“Listen you dumb moron, we’re going to die if you don’t let us on the windchaser,” Cassandra slipped a dagger from behind her, the blade gleamed and Zhia Ren recognised the slow drip of poison.
The dagger snapped forwards like a striking cobra but it was knocked from the woman’s fingers by a sharp spike, hurled by Zhia Ren as she made a choice, an odd one for her perhaps.
“Get her, she tried to kill you!” Dalia tried again to be helpful but Holmgaard stepped back closer to the windchaser and growled again.
“Go away, or die where you stand!”
“Mother, will you, please shut the fuck up!” Cassandra nursed her wounded fingers and snarled softly to Havik. “Gut that bloody kinko, and stop gawking!”
Zhia Ren spat and her thin shoulders shook with barely disguised rage, she snapped another spike out and hurled it right at Cassandra, it was coated with a black sticky substance – it landed true and on mark right in the woman’s eye.
Holmgaard watched all of this slightly confused, he didn’t know who the threat was and it was better to regard everyone as dangerous, that way he couldn’t make any mistakes.
Havik stepped forwards and then turned on his heel and ran towards the door of the windchaser, as Cassandra began to thrash and scream on the floor, the poison taking effect quickly as it entered her bloodstream.
Holmgaard saw this and he swung his axe, Havik struck the curve of the first blade neatly and the slim man was propelled backwards, in a gutted heap to lie close to where Cassandra now lay dead.
Dalia clapped her hand over her mouth and turned to run, just as Dana drove the tip of her sword into the fat woman’s body, pushing hard against it and whispering into her ear. “So die all those enemies of the King, his death on your hands, so you perish by mine.”
Dalia’s blood bubbled onto her lips and she spat. “You silly cow, I didn’t kill the King, she did!” her stubby finger pointed to the assassin and she dropped to the floor clutching the wound.
“The King is dead?” Holmgaard looked to the guard, Dana was trustworthy and she was also quite pretty – his heart fluttered every time he saw her.
“The King is dead,” Zhia Ren repeated and she added with a sly whisper. “She paid to have him killed.” She pointed helpfully to the fat bandit woman.
Dalia was about to retort when Holmgaard, in a fit of rage neatly severed her head from her shoulders, kicking it off the platform with a yell of anger.
“A wise move,” Zhia Ren noted and bowed to them both, to her surprise Holmgaard bowed back.
“Holmgaard,” Dana said with softness to her voice. “I am sorry, but the King is dead and the city is lost.”
“Holmgaard save it!” He bellowed and rattled his axe.
“Not this time,” Dana said and then looked to Zhia Ren with a sad expression. “We will die protecting a ruin.”
Zhia Ren was about to respond when the fire in the sky grew fiercer and suddenly a catastrophic rain of burning debris smouldered from the clouds.
“Demon magic,” Dana hissed and looked to the exploding buildings and sundered walls. “That is it, we have failed.”
Holmgaard shook with anger and he hefted his axe. “Holmgaard go down fighting, you guard windchaser pretty Dana.”
Before she could even reply the massive barbarian brute had lumbered off and raised his axe to the sky, angrily.
“Brave but stupid,” Dana said and looked to Zhia Ren, putting her sword back in the scabbard. “I have nothing now Zhia Ren, the city I grew up in is broken and dying, do I fall with it?”
“Are you stupid enough?”
“Brave enough?”
“No stupid enough, you have no desire for revenge?” The wily assassin asked, inclining her head as more fire rained from the sky. “It is oddly pretty,” she whispered.
“Go on?” Dana questioned as the fire grew and more debris hurled from the depths.
“I offer you a chance for revenge, you can fall with this city or travel with me to Wyrden and speak to the Anshada, find a way to kill Fenaric and lay the ghosts of your loved ones to rest.” Zhia Ren waited a little before she spoke again; the fire in the sky lit her skin with wan flames.
“Marda curse me for a fool, but I am the only one that can fly this thing and you know it!” Dana growled. “You give me an offer I can’t refuse and all around me the city I love dies, you stand like some goddess of death waiting for my answer.”
“Yes,” Zhia Ren replied and bowed again. “I like that, goddess of death.”
“I throw my lot in with you and save my hide, only to return later and settle with Fenaric?” Dana questioned again as a large chunk of rock smashed half of the platform away in molten heat and cinders.
“The war dog will leave none alive,” Zhia Ren looked to the damaged platform and smiled. “But if we stand here and discuss things, further, you will be robbed of more than your chance of revenge – I am ready for my death, are you?”
Dana tried to meet the assassin’s eyes and failed; she gulped a little and nodded. “Very well, we will discuss this if we live through it…no hidden surprises?”
“I have a servant that will need rescuing, if he is not already dead.” Zhia Ren stepped in and through the hatch of the King’s beautiful sleek looking wooden and metal windrider, the windchaser’s were akin to Talon’s Mist Reaver but Talon’s vessel was far more advanced than any other windborne ship.
The vessel looked like a large and aerodynamic V of some kind, only the technicians of the kingdom actually knew how to build a windrider, it was said that science played a part or perhaps magic, a combination of both – the truth was most people had no idea and picked upon the first theory that sounded good.
In some circles of thought a windrider vessel was thought to be powered by the happy thoughts of those that sat inside it, other scholars postulated that it was gasses of some kind and a third school of thought said the power source were captured Demons forced to use their magic to make the thing fly.
Zhia Ren didn’t care of course what made it go just as long as the large windrider variant, the windchaser archetype, often used for royal barges and important vehicles actually got off the rapidly decreasing royal platform.
Dana sat down in the leather covered pilots seat and looked at the various rods, crystals and bewildering array of valves, tubes and other indicators. She had never really paid much attention to the lectures, preferring to steal a small windrider and joyride late at night when her brother wasn’t looking, part of her wanted to find him – but part of her knew his fate.
The desire for revenge outweighed the sense of family and she brought the windchaser to a ready state as Zhia Ren sat down.
Small glimmers lit the inside of the cabin and liquids bubbled in the tubes, the ship slowly rose just as the last part of the platform crashed down to the ground beneath it, several cat Demons made an attempt to grab on but failed and followed the twisted wood and metal down.
The sleek vessel swiftly took to the fire laden sky, twisting under Dana’s expert hands to roll out of the way of hurling balls of flame and debris. She looked at Zhia Ren and pointed as they soared out over the wall towards the Demon infested hole.
“Would your servant happen to be garishly dressed and hiding under a rock, trying to pretend to be a Gulnak wyrm?”
“That would be him,” Zhia Ren gave a tiny sigh and followed the woman’s gaze, a brow arched in a slender motion. “Are you able to swoop low over the ground, and come back again?”
“I can try,” Dana answered and dipped the craft lower, small tendrils of air whipped from the V shaped wings.
Zhia Ren took a breath and left her seat as the vessel dipped lower and lower, over the tops of the Demon creatures, they looked up to see a dark shadow detach from the hatch of the windchaser.
She was amongst them then, slicing and spinning, two sharp blades imbued with the tapestries laid upon them by an old master made short work of the resilient Demon spawn; they burst apart in showers of blood and fur.
Lishen saw the butchery and left his hiding spot, only to come face to face with a screaming Demon. It turned and hissed in his direction, before its blood splattered corpse tumbled to the ground, Zhia Ren span her blades and the blood spat from them in red globules.
“You are sloppy,” she chided her translator and shook her head. “I must train you to be more like me, and then you will be of some use.”
The windchaser vessel curled through the sky again and swept low over the Demon hordes, Zhia Ren sheathed her swords, smiled at Lishen and grabbed his arm. She gave a tiny bow to the advancing beasts and caught the edge of the ship’s hatch, as it came screaming overhead.
It was a miracle that her arm wasn’t torn out of its socket but the assassin held on, threw the man inside and followed him bolting the door into place.
“What fun,” she said archly.
“My honourable Zhia Ren, you still live. I admit, I feared the…”
She cut him off and put a finger to Lishen’s lips. “Do not say it, or I will be forced to kill you.”
“Oh,” he fell silent and gave the woman an odd look as he was forced to sit down, she fussed over him a little before she proclaimed.
“It is as I thought, not a scratch on you.”
Then she gave him a tiny pat on the head again and wandered back to where Dana was turning the ship towards the sky again, away from the furious battle below.
“So where do we go now?” Dana asked as Zhia Ren returned and sat down next to her, looking pleased with herself.
“Wyrden,” Zhia Ren gave a nod. “It is there that we will find the right people to forge the blade of your revenge.”
“You make death sound so poetic,” Dana curved the windchaser out and over towards the mountains, eastwards and finally left the fire-torn sky behind.
“It is,” Zhia Ren answered and looked out of the nearest window; she could see the ruined city receding in the distance and shook her head. “It is a shame.”
Dana ignored her and gritted her teeth, the loss of everything she’d held dear hadn’t truly hit yet and the woman focussed on keeping the windchaser in the sky – she wanted to cry, to scream, to hit things and pound the floor until her knuckles bled – but that would have to wait.
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Post by Witcher Wolf on Apr 11, 2006 5:43:38 GMT -5
Epilogue: Shades of things to come
Fenaric watched the sleek ship vanish into the clouds and thought for a moment about bringing it down, his master’s whisper dissuaded him and he realised the assassin must be on board, he drew his attention to the final blow against the city and strode in through the main gate leaving a burning trail behind him.
With Rhuul crushed and the defenders dead or dying, the General had wrought the last strike he needed to shatter the morale of Vikart and claim the continent for Rhage’s children. He finally understood the Demon lord’s plan and he hissed under his helmet, this sound was caught by the cat Demons and echoed all around the crushed city.
Rhuul was broken and they had won, the victory was as sweet as the gorging Demon’s taste for their fallen foes blood. It did not go unnoticed however, it caused some concern in darker quarters as the pool of red bubbled in the Demon king’s domain, and he sat on his throne and mused.
Rhage was growing bolder, by taking a complete kingdom and making a mortal into a Demon he was playing a dangerous game. But Akas liked that, it appealed to the madness he coveted so and for now, he was content to see how the whole game played out.
Varsil was still no closer to her goal of seducing him, not a flicker from the King of madness, not even a rise. Her frustration was music to the Demon king’s ears and he chuckled softly as the thought of her fruitless endeavours amused him greatly.
Akas’ eyes were also upon his servant, the Demon had been caught by mortals and that would not do – let him suffer for his transgressions and let the mortals think they had won a victory for now, in time they would all be made to regret their involvement – his plans were long winded and would take a few decades to complete, the wheel had only just started to turn and it was a long way from a full revolution.
Talon Mane and his cohorts were unawares of the Demon lord Rhage’s victory to begin with, but as time passed and Fenaric consolidated his power in Vikart over a few days the Kelanari Captain began to suffer reoccurring dreams, signs and portents of the fate of the city and conversations with dead kings and princes – the Lady Nightshade’s work, the Dream Weaver infecting his slumber with tasty tit-bits of things now passed and perhaps echoes of unrest to come.
And in her moon-washed forests and mountain planes, the Karnate brooded upon Rhage’s victory – she was none too pleased at the destruction, but the glorious thrill of the blood-letting had sung to her spirit like a bard to a chaste maiden, hoping to woo and bed her.
In that Rhage had succeeded even though she hated all the Demon of war stood for, her own plans were proceeding nicely and she kept a watchful eye on the two fleeing from Vikart’s soil, their story would be told soon enough and she would have a red-tinted fingernail in the telling.
The Anshada taught their promising new student everything that they needed to so that he could function as one of their order, the shadowy masters of the wizards conclave were cautious and sensed the raw power he held, the power to shape the world to his very whim – if they could control him, they could control Hestonia.
And the rest of the world moved on as the fires of war subsided, yet in terror they slept at night, those that knew – they were haunted by the Dream Weavers web of corruption and her whispering song, it danced at the edges of their vision and swam in the depths of their subconscious.
They could sense that this was only a respite, there was a feeling of closure as the reports of Fenaric’s massacre made it far and wide across the planet, sending cold spears of fear through the hearts and minds of those that heard – very few men and women scoffed at the news, there were a few that claimed until they saw the war dog, that he was just a ruse to keep them in line – invented by controlling governments and authorities.
There were no survivors of course to dissuade these old and young fools that their ideas were cocked and askew, veterans of a war that spread in a few short months like wildfire could have told them of the savage reign that Fenaric held over the land, all who opposed him, slaughtered like lambs before a feast.
There was no one left to speak of this but Fenaric’s own men, those that were not there when Rhage bound the General to his armour, or took the lives of a hundred of his men to spawn thousands of his Demon bred followers. The land of Vikart crawled with cat Demons and they quickly established themselves as the ruling body, being a cut above the rest of the mercenaries that the General had hired.
They turned most of the human occupants into food, slaves or entertainment, keeping some to breed for the cat-like pleasures they could bestow later on. The most ruthless of course, those that pleased Fenaric were kept alive and served the nightmarish Demon general, until he tired of them.
Zhia Ren, Lishen and Dana made it safely to the port city of Wyrden and drew the attention of Strife and his companions, the Cartel had begun to expand the city during this time based upon a dream that came to the blue-skinned kelanari warrior, a dream where he saw not one city, but a mighty edifice that rose above the circle of the old, three circles of Wyrden.
Wyrden was changing and all of them knew it, their lives were changing and all of them felt it – but for good or ill, this was a question that would have to wait to be answered as the sun set on the Kingdom of Hestonia for one more night and plunged the troubled city into the realm of the Demons. But not in this telling, the folk of Hestonia would have to wait until a second circle of the city was complete and the plans of Demon and mortal alike were once more thrust upon an unsuspecting world.
And that as they say is: The End. For now...
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