Note: this story picks up from my previous entry A Guarded Morning. The story is set in the Hour of the Wolf background, the third part of a series of online 'what if'-campaigns run on what used to be Ulthuan.org. As such, the background of the Druchii is different from canon. For one, the Druchii actually won the Sundering, driving the traitors into the Old World.
Although this isn't very important to the story (it could easily be retconned to fit canon more closely) it is useful to be aware of this, if only to prevent being confused when a Druchii calls Ulthuan his home.
This part is the first of what will probably be three parts.
I hope you'll enjoy the read.
°°°
The four friends were sitting in the mess hall, enjoying the end of a good day's work with a game of cards. The room was nearly empty; dinner time was over and only those who've had to work overtime were munching on their chow.
The clattering of dishes and cups rose from the kitchen meaning the crew was still busy cleaning up.
“She doesn't know,” Cirles maintained while he leaned back in his seat.
The cards on the table were looking good, very good. Two hearts on the table, two in the hand. Just one more and he'd have a flush.
“She knows,” Rezael insisted. “She walks in the room and stops right in front of you while talking about how the temple is off limits?”
“I was at the centre,” Cirles stressed. “Of course she stopped in front of me. Raise.” He dropped a few coins on the heap.
“And she looked at you,” Rezael added amused. “Call.”
Silas fought to keep his laughter down to a chuckle. Cards flipped up on the table. No hearts.
“So what?” Cirles defended himself. “What else did she have to look at? The ceiling?”
“I'm sure she looked at your flawless poker face and basked in your innocence,” Rezael laughed.
“There's nothing wrong with my poker face,” Cirles grumbled. “Raise.”
“Is that so, mister Glamber?” Rezael grinned. “Call.”
Cirles frowned. “What?”
“You never heard of him?” Caern asked amused.
Cirles' vacant expression left little to the imagination.
“Glamber, or mister Glamber as he calls himself, is an agent in her majesty's service,” Caern explained. “He gets things done quick and sometimes clean. Some people say he used to be a temple assassin but got lured to secular society for the perks. No idea whether it's true or not.”
“Anyway,” Rezael cut in. “He's known for riding around on the best horses in the kingdom, his custom-made beverage, his success with the ladies and his annual poker tournament – which he always wins by the way.”
The final card flipped on the table. No hearts, no luck.
Cirles watched the cards a moment, took a calm breath and threw in more coins. “Sounds like I should visit him and sort him out,” he boasted. “Raise.”
“Really?” Rezael grinned lopsided. “So, you're not bluffing with two hearts in your hand?” He threw a stack of coins on top. “Raise.”
Cirles' eyes involuntarily dropped to his hand, then back to Rezael's smug grin. Oh, how he wanted to wipe that off that face.
Caern and Silas laughed amused as Cirles dropped his cards on the table and leant back with his cup of wine, finding solace in the dark-coloured liquid. “Fold.” He looked at the others, feeling the corner of one side of his lips curl up. “Shut up.”
“All right,” Caern chuckled, and he heaved himself back on his feet. “We should turn in.”
“Yeah, we've got a long day ahead of us,” Silas joked.
“We do?” Cirles asked. “I thought we had the day off.”
“Tomorrow's the party, remember?” Caern probed. “The one for which they ordered hundreds of barrels of wine too many?”
“The brass didn't know what to do with all of that so we offered to take a few off their hands,” Rezael joked.
Somehow, Cirles doubted that's how things went down.
“Of course, in return, we have to help put everything in order and serve drinks at their party,” Silas added. “But I don't have a problem with that.”
“Just please don't try and pick someone up, would you?” Rezael pleaded.
“She wasn't really going to put my pants on fire,” Silas argued.
“P...pants on-” Cirles blinked.
“We don't talk about that,” Caern cut in and he led the young recruit away to the barracks.
°°°
“Again.”
Cirles moaned tiredly, staring blandly at the dark ceiling. His back was getting cold, which was normal since the floor was cold. Floors were supposed to be cold.
“Again,” Caern repeated himself, some impatience seeped in his voice. Cirles pulled himself together and heaved himself back to his feet. He swiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and rejoined the ranks of his patrol unit, in between Rezael and Silas.
The three of them formed part of the first line facing their sergeant. Shields were risen to form a wall, and blunt staves – stand-ins for real spears – were brought in position.
Dozens of soldiers, trainees and veterans alike, were labouring away to hone their skills of being unpleasant to whoever wasn't on their side. Cirles glanced with some envy at the elite troopers practising their hand-to-hand techniques some distance off. They moved with grace and confidence, their bodies a weapon as much as the blades they usually carried.
A sudden blow on the helmet brought Cirles back to his senses. “What?” he growled.
“Pay attention!” Caern shouted. “You want to make it out of a fight alive, you listen to what I say.”
Cirles swallowed a curse and dug in with his friends. He usually liked Caern, but now, now not so much.
“Now, come at me again and this time don't come barrelling forward,” Caern ordered, loosely swinging a wooden sword. “Your job is to hold the enemy in place.”
Training had been going on for hours already. A new lieutenant had been assigned to the unit and had dragged them from their precious and exceedingly rare day off and decided today was a good day to work on their combat skills. Or perhaps she just wanted to show everyone who was boss.
“How much longer are we going to march up and down the square?” Rezael complained.
Cirles glanced at the new officer, Feidar Haraleth, overseeing the drills with her arms crossed. She seemed young, like the three of them, but she was clearly of noble birth, unlike them, and was fully decked in heavy armour. Her cold blue eyes seemed to see every little detail and with her glossy, raven hair tied back, she seemed very stern.
“If I didn't know any better, I'd say we were being prepared for battle,” Cirles panted.
“Stop talking nonsense,” Silas countered.
Although their unit was like any other unit of soldiers, it rarely participated in battle. Instead, it was trained in maintaining order and policing, with a focus on non-lethal hand-to-hand combat.
The unit was sometimes jokingly referred to as the 'Grey Guard' because of its duties, but it was more commonly just called the guard.
“Why are we training like this?” Rezael cursed again. “We're the guard, for goodness sake. We police the army, we don't fight alongside it.”
“You.”
Caern signalled the unit to stop and looked at the young woman who was pointing to someone in the first rank. Eyes skipped about; packed together as they were, it was hard to see who she was pointing at. “You, second from the right,” she repeated with a clear voice. “Do you have a problem?”
Rezael shifted uneasily. “Ah, no sir - ma'am, no problem.”
“You don't, but I can see one,” she said. “I see a bunch of slackers, growing fat and soft.”
Feidar threw an icy look on all of the unit. “You are the guard and that means you maintain order. But you are also soldiers and I will make sure you start acting like it, even if it is the last thing I do.”
She nodded back to the sergeant, who faced his unit.
“Again!”
Hours later Caern gulped down his mug of water and refilled it right after that. He looked around at the small table and saw nothing but tired, disappointed faces. Not only had the training taken most of the day, Feidar had left few opportunities to point out shortcomings whenever they were perceived. He doubted anyone had avoided getting at least one of the knife-like remarks, except for Silas, who had uncharacteristically shone like a beacon for others to follow.
“Sore throat?” Cirles probed.
Caern nodded. “It's been a while since I've had to run drills.”
“Well, she was right to run them,” Silas said while helping himself to some wine. That remark earned him a set of dirty looks he expertly and unwittingly ignored.
“Bet you my pay you wouldn't say that if it was the old man running them,” Rezael jested.
“That's got nothing to do with it,” Silas defended himself.
“Ah, the captain, now that was a good man,” Rezael smiled slightly.
“So, why isn't he here anymore?” Cirles asked. “I mean, my letter mentioned I would serve under captain Sarelu but he was gone before I got here.”
“Retired,” Caern said. “Too bad, he was good at his job. Solved more cases than anyone I've ever seen.”
“I'm sure she'll be just as good,” Silas said.
“Actually, she wanted a frontline position,” Rezael put forward.
“Really?” Cirles asked. “How do you know?”
Caern smiled slightly. “Sarathan.”
“What?”
“We are Sarathan,” Caern explained. “We're in the same room with the generals making their plans, we serve them their meals or we patrol the halls; we are the men nobody realizes are there and so they talk as if we're not.”
“So, you were there?” Cirles asked Rezael.
He nodded with a slight smile. “And it wasn't pretty when she found out she was to replace Sarelu,” Rezael explained. “A guard position.”
“Sucks for her then,” Cirles understood.
“And us,” Rezael added.
“She makes us drill once and you nag like some old hag,” Silas defended the lieutenant. “You could use some exercise by the way.” And to add weight to his words, he pointed at Rezael's stomach.
“Drop it, you two,” Caern said, stopping Rezael short of taking the discussion to the next level: armed conflict.
“So, what do you think?” Cirles asked his sergeant.
“We'll see,” Caern shrugged. “Give her some time to get to grips with her new position. Let her thaw out.”
“Thaw out?” Rezael laughed shortly. “Did you see her? She's not just cold, she's freezing. I'm sure that if she cut herself, she'd bleed icicles. In fact, I think that armour she's wearing has been enchanted to keep her at subzero temperature at all times.”
“So, I'll have to get her out of that armour,” Silas thought out loud.
Everyone stopped suddenly and looked at Silas.
“What?”
“What is it with women you can't get?” Cirles chuckled.
“The greater the challenge, the better the reward, right?” Silas said.
“Is that right?” Rezael smiled amused.
“All part of the greater balance,” Silas grinned broadly.
“I'm just glad we're done with her for the day,” Cirles sighed.
“You jinxed it,” Caern muttered, and he heaved himself to his feet to greet the new lieutenant. The others followed suit and faced the so-called ice-queen who came walking up to them.
She was still wearing her fully plated armour as well as her icy look as she made her way past a dozen small tables towards theirs.
“Lieutenant,” the sergeant nodded politely.
“Corporal Eluminaith told me his unit was down a man to scout the lower caves,” she stated, and she turned her gaze towards Cirles. “I volunteered you to accompany the man.”
Cirles' heart sank. No party, no wine.
“You are to report to him in ten minutes at the lower plaza,” Feidar went on. “Your equipment will be waiting for you there.”
“But … but I'm no scout,” Cirles defended himself weakly.
“You have shown an apt talent to get into places you're not supposed to be,” Feidar retorted coldly. Her blue eyes seemed to pin him in place. “If there's anything we're not supposed to find, I'm sure you'll find it.”
With that exchange, Feidar turned away, cutting any discussion short.
Cirles blinked a few times, watching the fully armoured lady leave them behind. The whole discussion was done in less than a minute; she clearly was not one to waste time.
His attention was drawn by the suppressed snickering of Silas.
“A good thing she didn't look through that poker face of yours,” Rezael jested. “You'd be in real trouble then.”
Silas burst into laughter, holding his sides.
Cirles slumped his shoulders and sighed. “Shut up.”
Story: Penitence
Moderators: T.D., Drainial, The Dread Knights
-
Nightcall
- Malekith's Personal Guard
- Posts: 844
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:16 pm
- Location: England
- Contact:
I really like the segment about their drills and training. Your description is really nice, as is the flow of dialogue.
The only "criticism" I would throw in, is that the reference to poker and the language used in the dialogue, seemed a bit too contemporary and modern for my tastes. I could imagine them sitting around a table in a modern day kitchen. But I do see why you used it; it's instantly recognisable to the reader, and the reference to poker face wouldn't work otherwise.
Excuse my ramblings! A nice read.
The only "criticism" I would throw in, is that the reference to poker and the language used in the dialogue, seemed a bit too contemporary and modern for my tastes. I could imagine them sitting around a table in a modern day kitchen. But I do see why you used it; it's instantly recognisable to the reader, and the reference to poker face wouldn't work otherwise.
Excuse my ramblings! A nice read.
Casaythe Blackstorm - Warrior (Corsair) - Group 22
Skills: Awareness, Endurance
Equipment: Short Sword, Glaive, Medium Armour, Sea Dragon Cloak, Repeater Crossbow, clip of bolts [11/20], 405 gold, Talisman of Darkness, Tool Kit, 2 months' rations
Stats: WS4, S4, T5, D3, I4
Mod, Group 38
Skills: Awareness, Endurance
Equipment: Short Sword, Glaive, Medium Armour, Sea Dragon Cloak, Repeater Crossbow, clip of bolts [11/20], 405 gold, Talisman of Darkness, Tool Kit, 2 months' rations
Stats: WS4, S4, T5, D3, I4
Mod, Group 38
-
Sleekdd
- Highborn
- Posts: 637
- Joined: Sat May 21, 2005 7:33 am
- Location: Belgium, the only country where surrealism is a way of life.
Thanks for the advice, Nightcall.
The contemporary references are indeed intended; it is more important for me to get the point or gag across than it is to stick to authentic language.
Giving the reader the idea they're sitting in a modern kitchen, however, was not. So, thanks for pointing that one out as it was a mistake on my part.
And without further ado,
Part two!
°°°°°°°°°
With a heavy heart and an uneasy stomach Cirles made his way to the lower plaza. The loss of his one day off was bad enough without the knowledge of spending said day dragging his feet through some abandoned, dusty caves – where chaos cultists and invisible demons roamed, if the rumours where anything solid.
Granted, they seldom were, but there is usually some grain of truth behind each rumour.
On the plaza, a small band of cloaked soldiers were checking their equipment. Their outfit stood in stark contrast with Cirles' uniform. The clothes made of dark cloth, silk and leather fitted snugly and left room for nimble and quiet movement. Cirles was still dressed in his dark blue tunic – not a very good choice to go rock climbing – his chainmail and breastplate and, on top of that, a shield and spear.
Quite a few of the scouts looked in disbelief at the soldier.
“Cirles?” one man smiled amused.
“Corporal Eluminaith?” Cirles bounced back.
The man shook his head and pointed to someone seemingly trying to strangle his backpack into obedience.
Just perfect.
“Your uniform and equipment is over there,” he added, his smile still lingering. “It should be your size.”
“Thanks,” Cirles said. He set off to the heap of clothes and began to take his armour off, replacing it with the new uniform.
“So, you're my buddy for this trip?” the man fingered as Eluminaith walked up to him with a confident grin on his lips. “Looking to learn the best job in the whole army from the best guy on the job?”
“Hm?” Cirles frowned a moment. “Ah, sure, I guess, sir.”
“Don't worry, we'll go easy on your maiden trip,” he patted Cirles jovially on the back. “It takes a lot of nerves to be a good scout and not everyone is cut out for it.”
“Nerves?” Cirles asked.
“Just think about it,” Eluminaith said while making a grand gesture with his hand towards infinity. “You're alone, behind enemy lines, you don't know what's behind the next corner, it could be nothing, but it could also be a deathtrap, or a monster just waiting for a nice and tender meal to walk in its gruesome, slimy mouth. And that's without taking into account getting lost and left behind.”
Cirles nodded a little.
“All right, folks,” the leader of the group called out, making sure everyone listened closely. “Here's how we're going to work. Tanya and Ricon, you take the mineshaft on level eight, see how deep it goes. Sifter and Kino, there's a passageway on the seventh level on the south side that hasn't been searched thoroughly. Malron and Jesser, same passageway but north, and be careful, it looks like there have been a few cave-ins. I'll take the prospector outpost on level ten with Lupon.”
Cirles noticed everyone had been assigned a task, except for him and his 'buddy'.
“And last but not least,” the man smiled, and Cirles noticed quite a few were trying not to smirk. “Fenthus and Cirles, you scout out this plaza and the surrounding chambers, see if the previous teams missed anything.”
“Yes, sir, right away, sir,” Fenthus Eluminaith saluted. “You can count on us, sir.”
More smirks.
“I know I can, corporal. And look after our guest,” he added. “I know sergeant Caern personally and I'd hate to have to tell him he's not getting him back.”
“Don't worry, sir,” Fenthus grinned smugly. “I'll make sure our boy doesn't get turned around.”
Cirles pressed his lips together.
“Right, move out and report back here in four hours.”
Cirles nodded in unison with the others and walked off with his 'buddy'. The others left without another word, all heading to their own starting points.
Fenthus was all too eager to lead and show 'how it should be done' but Cirles was more occupied with the whole 'four hour'-thing. Four hours would cut it close to join his friends in having a little afterparty.
Cirles frowned when seeing Fenthus carefully peek inside an empty room.
“Hasn't this area been scouted already?” he asked.
“Sure,” Fenthus answered. “But you can never be too careful. It's easy to miss something so it's vital we do a doublecheck now and then. Sergeant Menlusenth usually assigns me because it's so important.”
Cirles nodded slightly, understanding a lot more now. “So, you have a map, compass, light?”
“All in here,” Fenthus tapped his temple.
“Not sure about the light,” Cirles muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Fenthus asked.
“Ah, you must have keen sight,” Cirles lied through his teeth. “It's somewhat dark in here.”
“You have to let your eyes get used to the low-light environment and everything becomes as clear as day,” the scout explained. “So try not to stomp the place to rubble.”
“I'll try,” Cirles said levelly.
Room by room, Fenthus and Cirles went. Finding each and every one of them still there.
As Cirles followed Fenthus into yet another room, he noticed a row of bunks lined to each wall with a small dresser and a bare mannequin doll next to each bunk.
The guard frowned and rubbed his chin, wondering why the room was located here. What's more, grooves and marks on the flagstone floor indicated other furniture had stood here but was moved. The grooves did not match the legs of the bunks either. Tables and cupboards maybe?
The ceiling was also considerably higher, meaning a larger volume of air needed to be heated.
“Even you have to get what this room is for,” Fenthus rolled his eyes.
“It just doesn't make any sense,” Cirles admitted.
“Why not?” Fenthus shrugged. “It's a sleeping hall for the miners. These shafts go pretty deep.”
“I don't think that's it, sir,” Cirles pressed his lips while he looked around for clues.
“Hello? Bunks? Deep underground? Mines?” Fenthus tried.
“It's a sleeping hall, all right,” Cirles agreed. “But it was used by soldiers. Heavily armoured soldiers and that's what's puzzling.”
“Wait, what?” Fenthus shook his head shortly.
“See those mannequins?” Cirles pointed out. “They're used to hold armour. You can't fold full plate armour like you do chainmail or leather, and it gets damaged just dropping it on the ground. Armour is too expensive and valuable to handle with so little regard. Really expensive armour even gets handed down generations.”
“Okay,” Fenthus admitted reluctantly.
“But that doesn't make any sense,” Cirles went on. “If soldiers were to be stationed anywhere, it would be near to upper levels, closer to the surface. That's where the threats would be. Instead, they converted this room into a barracks, meaning that something made it worthwhile to keep heavy troops nearby.”
“Maybe they were pushed back,” Fenthus guessed.
“No signs of any fight were found on the surface levels,” Cirles said, going through his knees to check the grooves more closely. “There was something below them that warranted this. I think it used to be a dining hall or bar.” Cirles looked up to the high ceiling. “The space would be useful to clear the air of smoke and smell.”
“Now you're just full of it,” Fenthus concluded.
“These grooves here show something heavy was here and the marks don't match those of the bunks,” Cirles pointed out.
“Maybe the invisible demon scared them off,” Fenthus tried.
“Could be,” Cirles nodded and he pulled himself back on his feet. He decided against telling Fenthus he'd find it odd to see an entire settlement this size clear out for one monster. Especially a people as stubborn as Dwarves. It would be better to take it up with his own sergeant, Caern.
The corporal looked around, seeing the room anew and fitting the clues together.
“We should move on,” he finally said. “I have to get you home for dinner. We, scouts, are flexible. We're not so hung up on a fixed timetable for eating and sleeping. Others, not so much and we don't want you getting grumpy.”
Armed with this new perspective, Cirles paid more attention to these abandoned quarters, not to see whether they were still there or some nook or cranny was still uncharted, but to find out what exactly happened.
“Whatever it is, it isn't interested in the hold itself,” Cirles said, more to himself than Fenthus.
“Ah, I'm pretty sure it is, buddy,” his partner retorted. “Remember the invisible demon? It took offence to our presence here and killed a bunch of people.”
“You mean the demon the Arhakuyl sisters brought low?” Cirles pondered.
“Yeah.”
“The one they could keep out of the residential areas by closing and barricading those doors?” Cirles pointed at two heavy doors leading to the lower plaza.
“U-huh,” Fenthus nodded.
“And we are talking about 'a' demon, as in singular, right?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Fenthus was losing his patience. “You know any other?”
“So, a single demon, which could be barred from any sensitive zones by a mere set of doors – let alone a controlled cave-in, and was defeated by three girls, could send an entire settlement of Dwarves packing,” Cirles shrugged. “From their own home, no less.”
Fenthus thought on it, and after a few seconds, he blinked slowly, realization dawning on him.
“Maybe they got scared,” Fenthus tried.
Cirles swallowed a moan of desperation. “Perhaps, sir. Or there's more trouble below.”
The pair found their way back to the meeting point and sat down, waiting for the others to show up.
The contemporary references are indeed intended; it is more important for me to get the point or gag across than it is to stick to authentic language.
Giving the reader the idea they're sitting in a modern kitchen, however, was not. So, thanks for pointing that one out as it was a mistake on my part.
And without further ado,
Part two!
°°°°°°°°°
With a heavy heart and an uneasy stomach Cirles made his way to the lower plaza. The loss of his one day off was bad enough without the knowledge of spending said day dragging his feet through some abandoned, dusty caves – where chaos cultists and invisible demons roamed, if the rumours where anything solid.
Granted, they seldom were, but there is usually some grain of truth behind each rumour.
On the plaza, a small band of cloaked soldiers were checking their equipment. Their outfit stood in stark contrast with Cirles' uniform. The clothes made of dark cloth, silk and leather fitted snugly and left room for nimble and quiet movement. Cirles was still dressed in his dark blue tunic – not a very good choice to go rock climbing – his chainmail and breastplate and, on top of that, a shield and spear.
Quite a few of the scouts looked in disbelief at the soldier.
“Cirles?” one man smiled amused.
“Corporal Eluminaith?” Cirles bounced back.
The man shook his head and pointed to someone seemingly trying to strangle his backpack into obedience.
Just perfect.
“Your uniform and equipment is over there,” he added, his smile still lingering. “It should be your size.”
“Thanks,” Cirles said. He set off to the heap of clothes and began to take his armour off, replacing it with the new uniform.
“So, you're my buddy for this trip?” the man fingered as Eluminaith walked up to him with a confident grin on his lips. “Looking to learn the best job in the whole army from the best guy on the job?”
“Hm?” Cirles frowned a moment. “Ah, sure, I guess, sir.”
“Don't worry, we'll go easy on your maiden trip,” he patted Cirles jovially on the back. “It takes a lot of nerves to be a good scout and not everyone is cut out for it.”
“Nerves?” Cirles asked.
“Just think about it,” Eluminaith said while making a grand gesture with his hand towards infinity. “You're alone, behind enemy lines, you don't know what's behind the next corner, it could be nothing, but it could also be a deathtrap, or a monster just waiting for a nice and tender meal to walk in its gruesome, slimy mouth. And that's without taking into account getting lost and left behind.”
Cirles nodded a little.
“All right, folks,” the leader of the group called out, making sure everyone listened closely. “Here's how we're going to work. Tanya and Ricon, you take the mineshaft on level eight, see how deep it goes. Sifter and Kino, there's a passageway on the seventh level on the south side that hasn't been searched thoroughly. Malron and Jesser, same passageway but north, and be careful, it looks like there have been a few cave-ins. I'll take the prospector outpost on level ten with Lupon.”
Cirles noticed everyone had been assigned a task, except for him and his 'buddy'.
“And last but not least,” the man smiled, and Cirles noticed quite a few were trying not to smirk. “Fenthus and Cirles, you scout out this plaza and the surrounding chambers, see if the previous teams missed anything.”
“Yes, sir, right away, sir,” Fenthus Eluminaith saluted. “You can count on us, sir.”
More smirks.
“I know I can, corporal. And look after our guest,” he added. “I know sergeant Caern personally and I'd hate to have to tell him he's not getting him back.”
“Don't worry, sir,” Fenthus grinned smugly. “I'll make sure our boy doesn't get turned around.”
Cirles pressed his lips together.
“Right, move out and report back here in four hours.”
Cirles nodded in unison with the others and walked off with his 'buddy'. The others left without another word, all heading to their own starting points.
Fenthus was all too eager to lead and show 'how it should be done' but Cirles was more occupied with the whole 'four hour'-thing. Four hours would cut it close to join his friends in having a little afterparty.
Cirles frowned when seeing Fenthus carefully peek inside an empty room.
“Hasn't this area been scouted already?” he asked.
“Sure,” Fenthus answered. “But you can never be too careful. It's easy to miss something so it's vital we do a doublecheck now and then. Sergeant Menlusenth usually assigns me because it's so important.”
Cirles nodded slightly, understanding a lot more now. “So, you have a map, compass, light?”
“All in here,” Fenthus tapped his temple.
“Not sure about the light,” Cirles muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Fenthus asked.
“Ah, you must have keen sight,” Cirles lied through his teeth. “It's somewhat dark in here.”
“You have to let your eyes get used to the low-light environment and everything becomes as clear as day,” the scout explained. “So try not to stomp the place to rubble.”
“I'll try,” Cirles said levelly.
Room by room, Fenthus and Cirles went. Finding each and every one of them still there.
As Cirles followed Fenthus into yet another room, he noticed a row of bunks lined to each wall with a small dresser and a bare mannequin doll next to each bunk.
The guard frowned and rubbed his chin, wondering why the room was located here. What's more, grooves and marks on the flagstone floor indicated other furniture had stood here but was moved. The grooves did not match the legs of the bunks either. Tables and cupboards maybe?
The ceiling was also considerably higher, meaning a larger volume of air needed to be heated.
“Even you have to get what this room is for,” Fenthus rolled his eyes.
“It just doesn't make any sense,” Cirles admitted.
“Why not?” Fenthus shrugged. “It's a sleeping hall for the miners. These shafts go pretty deep.”
“I don't think that's it, sir,” Cirles pressed his lips while he looked around for clues.
“Hello? Bunks? Deep underground? Mines?” Fenthus tried.
“It's a sleeping hall, all right,” Cirles agreed. “But it was used by soldiers. Heavily armoured soldiers and that's what's puzzling.”
“Wait, what?” Fenthus shook his head shortly.
“See those mannequins?” Cirles pointed out. “They're used to hold armour. You can't fold full plate armour like you do chainmail or leather, and it gets damaged just dropping it on the ground. Armour is too expensive and valuable to handle with so little regard. Really expensive armour even gets handed down generations.”
“Okay,” Fenthus admitted reluctantly.
“But that doesn't make any sense,” Cirles went on. “If soldiers were to be stationed anywhere, it would be near to upper levels, closer to the surface. That's where the threats would be. Instead, they converted this room into a barracks, meaning that something made it worthwhile to keep heavy troops nearby.”
“Maybe they were pushed back,” Fenthus guessed.
“No signs of any fight were found on the surface levels,” Cirles said, going through his knees to check the grooves more closely. “There was something below them that warranted this. I think it used to be a dining hall or bar.” Cirles looked up to the high ceiling. “The space would be useful to clear the air of smoke and smell.”
“Now you're just full of it,” Fenthus concluded.
“These grooves here show something heavy was here and the marks don't match those of the bunks,” Cirles pointed out.
“Maybe the invisible demon scared them off,” Fenthus tried.
“Could be,” Cirles nodded and he pulled himself back on his feet. He decided against telling Fenthus he'd find it odd to see an entire settlement this size clear out for one monster. Especially a people as stubborn as Dwarves. It would be better to take it up with his own sergeant, Caern.
The corporal looked around, seeing the room anew and fitting the clues together.
“We should move on,” he finally said. “I have to get you home for dinner. We, scouts, are flexible. We're not so hung up on a fixed timetable for eating and sleeping. Others, not so much and we don't want you getting grumpy.”
Armed with this new perspective, Cirles paid more attention to these abandoned quarters, not to see whether they were still there or some nook or cranny was still uncharted, but to find out what exactly happened.
“Whatever it is, it isn't interested in the hold itself,” Cirles said, more to himself than Fenthus.
“Ah, I'm pretty sure it is, buddy,” his partner retorted. “Remember the invisible demon? It took offence to our presence here and killed a bunch of people.”
“You mean the demon the Arhakuyl sisters brought low?” Cirles pondered.
“Yeah.”
“The one they could keep out of the residential areas by closing and barricading those doors?” Cirles pointed at two heavy doors leading to the lower plaza.
“U-huh,” Fenthus nodded.
“And we are talking about 'a' demon, as in singular, right?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Fenthus was losing his patience. “You know any other?”
“So, a single demon, which could be barred from any sensitive zones by a mere set of doors – let alone a controlled cave-in, and was defeated by three girls, could send an entire settlement of Dwarves packing,” Cirles shrugged. “From their own home, no less.”
Fenthus thought on it, and after a few seconds, he blinked slowly, realization dawning on him.
“Maybe they got scared,” Fenthus tried.
Cirles swallowed a moan of desperation. “Perhaps, sir. Or there's more trouble below.”
The pair found their way back to the meeting point and sat down, waiting for the others to show up.
-
Nightcall
- Malekith's Personal Guard
- Posts: 844
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:16 pm
- Location: England
- Contact:
Very nice character building in this part. And the build up to sinister goings on keep the readers interest. I've figured out what the language sounds like to me... it makes me think of a band of soldiers in something like Black Hawk Down or Band of Brothers. You certainly get the feel of militaristic chat across, even if it is done in a contemporary manner.
Casaythe Blackstorm - Warrior (Corsair) - Group 22
Skills: Awareness, Endurance
Equipment: Short Sword, Glaive, Medium Armour, Sea Dragon Cloak, Repeater Crossbow, clip of bolts [11/20], 405 gold, Talisman of Darkness, Tool Kit, 2 months' rations
Stats: WS4, S4, T5, D3, I4
Mod, Group 38
Skills: Awareness, Endurance
Equipment: Short Sword, Glaive, Medium Armour, Sea Dragon Cloak, Repeater Crossbow, clip of bolts [11/20], 405 gold, Talisman of Darkness, Tool Kit, 2 months' rations
Stats: WS4, S4, T5, D3, I4
Mod, Group 38
-
Sleekdd
- Highborn
- Posts: 637
- Joined: Sat May 21, 2005 7:33 am
- Location: Belgium, the only country where surrealism is a way of life.
Again, thank you for the comment, Nightcall.
The following part is a bit trickier and actually the reason why I wrote the first two parts of the story.
I must admit I feared I'd lose the reader's attention and goodwill during the first two parts since nothing much happened in the form of action but I'm glad to see someone slugged it out.
And here's part three.
°°°
Cirles sipped from his flask while he sat on the ground at the meeting point. The other scouts had been trickling in, relaying their reports to the leader of the expedition, Sergeant Menlusenth, before hanging about and relaxing.
“Hey, you all right?” one of the scouts addressed him.
Cirles looked up and found the woman named Sifter looking down at him with a friendly smile.
“Yeah, just waiting for the last ones to come in,” Cirles said.
Sifter sat down with him and glanced at Corporal Eluminaith, who was explaining something to the sergeant with many big gestures and no doubt excruciating detail.
The sergeant managed to listen patiently and attentively, which earned him a point on Cirles' people list.
“How was your trip?” she asked.
“Fine,” Cirles lied.
“He's pretty proud on being a scout,” she apologized for her colleague, seeing right through him.
“I noticed,” Cirles agreed dryly.
“But he's a good guy deep down.”
Cirles briefly wondered whether she meant scalpel-deep or pickaxe-deep but refrained from asking. Humour tended to be dependent on local culture and customs.
“Find anything useful?” Cirles asked.
“The passageway led to a small prospector outpost and another mine,” Sifter said. “I don't know what they mined; we only found rocks, no precious metals.” She reached for her own flask and twisted the cork off. “Kino thinks they mined gold,” she added. “We did find some gold dust on the floor.”
Cirles nodded and gazed around at the setting.
“Maybe they left because they ran out of gold to mine,” Sifter thought along.
“I doubt it,” Cirles said. “Unless they also suffered an insurrection among the miners.”
“What makes you say that?” Sifter frowned but the conversation was cut short when sergeant Menlusenth walked up to them.
“Have you heard Fenthus' new theory on what happened here?” he smiled amused, his heavily lidded eyes looking kind but also a bit creepy. “He seems to think there were soldiers stationed below, heavy troops that even got a barracks not far from here.”
Cirles swallowed his surprise. “He ... he thinks so?”
“Yes,” Menlusenth smiled while eyeing Cirles. “He has had a lot of … interesting new insights all of a sudden. Useful insights too. But sadly, it will have to wait. Tanya and Ricon are over time by over half an hour. We're moving out to look for them.”
Sifter and Cirles stood back up and straightened their equipment out. It looked like this time there would be real work to do.
Together they marched out towards the mineshaft on level eight. The tension was far more present now and Cirles felt out of place. He really was going into the unknown now, as were the others. But they didn't seem nervous.
“How often does it happen that someone doesn't make it back on time?” Cirles asked Fenthus.
“A real scout can't be expected to follow a strict timing,” Fenthus said importantly. “We don't switch off the second our shift is over, unlike you regular jocks.”
Cirles pressed his lips but kept his peace.
“It is not unheard of teams reporting in a little later,” Menlusenth explained calmly. “But given the circumstances, half an hour is too much not to be concerned about.”
The chambers were getting darker as they made distance from the plaza. Torches and braziers were getting sparser and when they turned out of the passageway, any source of light was limited to some kind of fluorescent liquid safely confined inside a glass box.
“Fire needs air to burn,” Menlusenth explained when seeing Cirles' puzzled look. “The air circulation here isn't high enough to allow for both the fires to burn and the miners to breathe.”
Cirles nodded, looking at the cold, white light that sported only a hint of blue. “Do you know what's in there?”
“We've found some kind of fungus being farmed on the fourth level,” Menlusenth answered. “They glow with the same colour. After some kind of chemical treatment, it gets bright enough to be used for lighting. Be careful you don't get it in your eyes, it is quite sticky.”
Cirles nodded again and cast his eyes away. The light was harsh and painful if you looked at it directly.
The ground was getting uneven and the walls were roughly hewn out; getting deeper quickly was more important than leaving an impressive structure, although a glance around told Cirles that it was doubtful they'd stumble upon a single pebble of gold, silver or metal in this place. The Dwarves had obviously spared no effort in finding anything of value, leaving a myriad of mines and rails all leading up to the large hub they were now standing in.
The air was heavy and the sparse lighting gave the scene an ominous atmosphere. In the hold, the architecture and masonry was so elaborate, one could at times forget he was underground. The roughly hewn rock, on the other hand, made it all too clear.
There was something uncomfortable about being aware you're hundreds of yards underneath the surface with only the rock not cut away to hold tonnes of granite in place over your head.
“This way,” Sifter pointed out to the others.
Cirles wondered how she could make that call but the others seemed to take it for granted and headed into the mine.
It was only when Cirles got closer that he saw a small rune etched in stone with a name and date.
“From here on, we keep quiet,” Menlusenth ordered.
As the whole team began to move quietly, the pace slowed down considerably. Eyes and ears were put to their fullest use, trying to find signs of where Tanya and Ricon went, but other than the reverberating sounds of their own footsteps on the rocky grind, the ticking and shifting of pebbles there was nothing to find.
The tunnel wound down every direction and often it would split up into two or three more entrances. Luckily, there were always marks that pointed the way for them to follow.
“Those tunnels must be going on for miles,” Cirles whispered. The silence pressing in on them was making him uncomfortable.
“Be quiet,” Fenthus snapped quietly. “You're making enough noise to raise the dead from their slumber.”
Cirles grumbled quietly.
The group stopped to look at one of the walls in the tunnel. Some strange runes where etched in the dark rock, clearly not elven in design.
“It's Dwarven,” Sifter whispered. “To go … forward … go back.”
Fenthus blinked. “That doesn't make sense.”
“Why would anyone carve that here?” Sifter wondered.
“Maybe it means the mine is empty,” Cirles guessed. He also hoped it would be that.
“That does make sense,” Menlusenth smiled pleased. “But Ricon and Tanya went through here so we're moving on.”
The team set back on their path, filing on both sides of the rail.
Unlike before, the rail here was in disrepair. The wooden beams were often cracked and broken, the rails were bent or shaken loose. It made Cirles wonder what kind of use could cause that kind of damage.
As time passed, Cirles was getting more and more paranoid. The darkness, only pierced by the harsh, bland light, felt as if it was hiding something and the more he thought about it, the more he thought he heard something; the shifting of a pebble or a distant and ghostly moan. Especially the low hum of the dusty air moving was unnerving.
“Is something wrong?” Sifter asked.
“Doesn't this spook you?” Cirles asked.
“If you keep up looking so often over your shoulder, you're going to have a sore neck,” Sifter joked quietly.
“Sorry,” Cirles apologized and he glanced over his shoulder again out of sheer habit.
“I'll take the rear,” she said, suppressing a giggle, and she stopped to let him pass.
There was still no sign of life, despite a full hour of tracking. The only sign of their friends passing were intermittent runes discreetly etched on rocks whenever a choice of directions presented itself.
This time, however, Menlusenth just hunkered down.
The others formed a semi-circle around the leader, looking around for possible threats and trying to find what their officer was looking at.
“What's going on?” Cirles whispered to Sifter.
“No directions,” Sifter whispered back.
“Did we read the signs wrong?”
Sifter shook her head. “They went this way but they didn't leave a sign.”
Cirles nodded. “Does that happen often?”
“We specifically started using the signs in here,” Sifter explained. “It's too easy to get turned around, and we don't want to waste our time scouting out the same zones.”
“Except just now with Fenthus and myself?”
Sifter didn't answer but just smiled warmly.
A pebble shifted some distance behind them, ticking just twice before coming to a halt. Cirles snapped his eyes to the source of the sound. The dark, gaping mouth of the mine stared blindly back at him. He peered his eyes, willing them to pierce the blackness. Was there something just beyond?
“Is something wrong?” Sifter asked, a bit concerned by the sudden reaction of the newest addition to the team.
“No, nothing,” Cirles said, his eyes still glued to the darkness before he pulled them back to the scout. “Just my mind playing tricks. Again.”
Now that the team had stopped moving, the only sounds were of their own breathing, the rustling of the clothes and the occasional shifting of pebbles and dust under their footsteps. Every sound seemed amplified throughout the cavern and made one all the more aware of the deathly silence there would be if they weren't passing through.
That same silence made it feel as if Tanya and Ricon were far off.
“This way,” Menlusenth whispered and he set off into one of the tunnels.
Slowly, the unit got back in motion, walking in two files along the sides.
They were getting uncomfortably far from what Cirles understood to be home. No doubt they had walked for miles already, following the twisted turns and bends of the tunnels. If something happened to them, there would be no backup for them.
Actually, “Why aren't we calling in backup?” Cirles asked Sifter.
“What?”
“Why aren't we calling in backup?”Cirles repeated. “We're miles out. Nobody knows we're here.”
Sifter smiled. “Welcome to the Shades.”
Cirles swallowed once and looked over his shoulder. If things ever went wrong, he'd be hard pressed to ever find his way back on his own. And crying out for help wouldn't get him any closer to home. Who would hear him this far from their base?
It had to be said, though, as gloomy and imposing this system of mines was, the Dwarves knew how to build to last. Wooden and stone beams supported every entrance and mine carts were still scattered around as signs of a once industrious operation.
He still preferred the solid domed ceilings in the hold.
A doorway came up on the left side of the mine. It led to a large, roughly hewn room. Fluorescent glass lamps hung from the walls and lit a large pile of rubble gathered in the far corner.
A set of heavy tables were spread around, on them a few larger hewn rocks, all laced with a greenish ore.
Next to those specimens there were scales, balances and lenses: all equipment necessary to examine the ore.
The scouts spread into the room, their curiosity drawn.
“What's this?” Kino wondered, observing one of the rocks closer. “Gold?”
“Maybe they're checking the purity of the ore they found?” Sifter wondered.
“Why would they do that here?” Kino rubbed his chin. “The tunnel ends a few dozen yards further. Even for the Dwarves this is the middle of nowhere.”
Cirles closely examined a scale on the corner of one of the tables. There had been a small pile of the ore dust gathered on it but now it was clearly disturbed. He took a pinch and rubbed it in between his fingers.
“Feels like tiny orbs or droplets,” Cirles said. His upbringing as a baker's son left him ruefully unaware of the finer points of the earthly riches.
“Perhaps this isn't gold,” Menlusenth guessed. “If they brought it here and examined it, they might have considered it dangerous.”
Cirles quickly slapped his fingers clean on each other.
“Do we bring some back, sir?” Fenthus suggested. “Our smiths can take a look at it.”
Menlusenth looked at the ore, thinking it over. Bringing some back could yield some answers, but if it really was dangerous, would they be bringing home disaster?
“We take home one of those rocks,” the sergeant finally decided. “Let the smiths worry about what it really is. Who knows, maybe it's worth something.”
“Is there a finders fee involved?” Kino joked, momentarily forgetting why they were here in the first place.
Cirles' eyes fell on a particularly dark piece of rock, laced with the green ore that seemed to pulse subtly. The surface was impeccably smooth as polished marble, shaped much like a small obelisk, and next to it lay a few damaged tools: a cracked hammer, a broken rockhammer and a chipped chisel.
If these tools were used on this piece of obsidian, it was clearly not simply hewn from the rock.
As Cirles came closer to examine it, it felt as if it was giving off heat.
It looked ominous and foreboding. Perhaps it was magical?
“Sir, more crazy talk on the wall over here,” Fenthus said, bringing one of the lamps closer to the wall.
Sifter walked closer and peered her eyes, trying to decipher the runes. “This doesn't make any sense.”
“That's a strange thing to write on a wall,” Fenthus frowned.
“No, I mean, it says: 'my sanity is too valuable to be handled by myself',” Sifter said. “But that …”. She shrugged her shoulders.
The others were standing just as baffled as she was.
“I don't mean to offend you or anything,” Cirles tried; “But are you sure you're translating this right?”
“I'm no expert,” Sifter admitted. “You're welcome to try.”
“Me? I'm hardly fluent in Eltharin if my teacher's opinion holds any sway,” Cirles declined.
Quizzical looks traced their way to Cirles.
“...It's a joke.”
“Right, we've wasted enough time in here,” Menlusenth said and he pocketed one of the samples. “Let's go out and find Tanya and Ricon.”
“Sir,” Cirles said. “This sample looks like it's worth investigating.” He pointed at the small obelisk on the table nearby.
A low, whistling noise drew the collective attention to the doorway. Which was blocked.
Cirles' eyes grew wide when he saw what it was that blocked their exit: it was a monster like nothing he had ever heard described before.
The lower body looked like that of a fat caterpillar and was an uneven, eerie green with a faint glow. The body was suspended on a row of spindly spiderlegs, each joint forming into a morbid skull with the next segment growing from the open mouth.
The creature's upper body resembled that of a muscular man covered in a rough, lizard-like hide, complete with scales, a spinal ridge and two strong arms shaped like those of a preying mantis.
The head was flat and covered in coarse, greyish hair, having no features save a set of four bulbous and unblinking, black eyes that reflected the gleaming lights and a mouth extending a set of thin, slick tendrils. Underneath those tendrils, a set of mandibles ticked together, sounding just like shifting pebbles – exactly the same sound he had heard before. Had this creature been hunting them?
It completed its entry into the room, moving with perfect control and precision. And then it stopped.
It just stood there, completely immobile, reaching a full height of eight feet and its shoulders as wide as at least two strong men.
The only way out was through the horror and it was cunningly aware of that, having patiently bided its time until the prey would trap itself.
Nobody dared move as it whistled its alien tune again.
A split second later, all hell broke loose; the monster leapt forward, embracing Jesser into its arms and cutting the cry of surprise short with a loud, soppy crunch.
The others burst into action as well, levelling their crossbows at the creature and letting loose.
The monster was already munching down on Jesser before the bolts hit it. It dropped the headless body and burst into action with a low whistle. With a quick jab, it impaled Lupon through the gut and pinned him to the dusty floor where it slammed its forearms into the screaming elf.
More bolts flew across the room with dull thuds, some of them finding a mark, but it seemed to do little more than anger it further.
It was fast but moved in quick jerks, lethal and unpredictable.
Cirles fumbled with his crossbow; having had only basic training, using one under stress was harder than he imagined.
“Cirles! Dive!” Menlusenth called out.
Cirles didn't even look, he just jumped to the right. He was still in the air when he heard a loud slam on the floor. The creature swung the arm backwards and hit Cirles in the side, casting him aside like a ragdoll.
With a loud cry, Cirles hit the wall and then the floor four feet lower. His head was ringing and he tried to shake off the daze while in the background more screams and noise seeped into his ears.
“Get on your feet!” Fenthus ordered as he grabbed Cirles by the shoulder and pulled him up. More bolts flew around while Cirles was trying to get his bearing, finding the horror staring at him, preparing to spring forth once more with such slight, subtle preparations. Blood was trickling down his head, running into his brows and over his eye. “Here it comes!”
Cirles pushed Fenthus away, using the impulse to dive into the other direction and out of the way of the mutant that crashed full force into the wall, sending a rumble through the rock from sheer speed and size.
It stumbled back, momentarily dazed.
Cirles saw an opening and pulled out his sword, slashing at one of the spidery legs and biting deep.
The creature jumped away, pinning Fenthus against the wall, whistling angrily. It tried supporting itself on the leg but failed and it snapped off, leaking a dark, greenish slime.
Cirles looked at the broken leg and then into the blank, black eyes, a feeling of doom washing over him, but then it reared again and jumped away from the wall. Fenthus had buried his blade deep in its lower body and was clinging on for dear life.
“Hang on!” Malron shouted and he ran forward, sword drawn, to help out.
The creature twisted its torso around and flicked its arms out. It grabbed Malron around the chest and legs and simply tore him apart with a loud crack and wet tear.
“Oh, Khaine, help me,” Kino muttered terrified and he scrambled away. The terror of being trapped in the mine with such a monster drove him into hysteria.
The monster made a swipe towards Fenthus. The scout let go of his sword and ducked out of the way. The monster turned around to protect its more vulnerable lower body.
“Attack the legs!” the sergeant bellowed and he moved in to set the example.
The creature lashed out at one of the heavy tables, sending it flying towards him. Menlusenth ducked and watched the table crash into the wall, sending two lanterns down to the floor. One crashed open, its bright, sticky fluid spreading over the floor. The other one just cracked but didn't leak yet.
Menlusenth didn't proceed with his attack, noticing the creature was too fast to approach.
“Keep your distance!” he changed tack. “Keep firing!”
Cirles looked for his crossbow and found it lying in the far corner, the cord snapped and the handle cracked. The only use it would have would be to feed fire.
Sifter took a shot, hitting it straight in the chest but the bolt bounced off one of the scales. Menlusenth did the same but a dodge from the creature made him miss. The creature was not only fast, it's many eyes gave it an accurate view of the situation.
It sprinted up to the officer and swiped at him. Menlusenth rolled aside, dodging the serrated arm once and then a second time by stepping back when it tried to pin him to the floor.
When it was about to try a third time, it was interrupted by a glowing, cracked lamp flying at its head. It saw it coming and slashed it to pieces, sending the sticky residue flying over itself and its eyes.
The creature reared, whistling a hellishly loud and shrill tune that was so filled with pain and rage that it chilled them to the bone. It shook its head, trying to get the stuff off but it clung on too tightly. The eyes were used to low-light environments and the harsh light burned into its retina.
In its trashing, it turned over tables and equipment, wreaking more havoc. Sifter ducked backwards to dodge a scale aimed at her throat.
Cirles stood frozen, amazed at the effect his throw seemed to have. His head was throbbing painfully but he ignored the warning signals thanks to huge amounts of adrenaline being released into his veins.
It's not every day you get faced with a superpredator.
Despite being partially blinded, it was not down yet and it was getting to terms with its reduced vision.
Kino saw his chance and crawled frantically towards the only exit, whining unintelligibly.
The horror, shaken by the sustained injuries, was not about to let anyone escape, and the moment Kino's face bathed in the pale, sharp light in the doorway, it jumped forward and slashed both his serrated blades through the upper body.
Sifter cried out in shock when she realized the creature was not down yet and forgot for a moment to keep fighting. She didn't even move when Kino's body was flung straight for her at high speed, knocking her off her feet and throwing her with her back against the table with such force the table shifted back a few inches with a heavy groan.
This time, the monster didn't pause and followed up. With a frighteningly quick run, it approached and slashed at Sifter, cutting her narrowly across the chest and digging into her leg.
The girl cried out weakly, the air knocked out of her lungs a mere second before.
With events unfolding so rapidly, the scouts had a hard time even getting in a position to respond, much less making up their mind on how to respond. And that was without counting the paralysing effect the fear had of having a predator making clear the foodchain was structured differently down below.
Fenthus threw caution to the wind, grabbed hold of another sword and ran up to the predator.
Menlusenth came up from behind, sword raised as well. With only three men left standing, it was this or nothing.
Cirles stood frozen. Some little part in the back of his head told him that this was his best chance to get a strike in but his legs refused service. His instinct was telling him very clearly this was suicide.
The monstrosity twisted its torso and made a backwards swipe at Fenthus. The elf was lifted off his feet and thrown back on the floor at least ten feet further.
A twist the other way, another swipe, and Menlusenth was making a triple pirouette before crashing down.
With the last attack stopped dead in its starting blocks, it looked around for any more prey.
Cirles shrunk a little when the unblinking eyes looked straight back in his.
The complete lack of emotion was unnerving. You couldn't say what it was thinking or whether it was thinking beyond what it was biologically programmed to do: hunt and feed.
The sound of a pebble ticking twice spread from the mandibles and it let out a low whistle. Cirles gripped his sword tightly.
“Cirles!” Fenthus cried out, having pulled himself up to his shoulders. “Duck!”
Cirles jumped a step backwards and sideways just as the creature pounced once more with a pitched whistle. The scything arms scraped hard over the floor, delving two grooves over the surface.
Cirles struck out fast towards the head. The monster counterattacked, trapping Cirles in one of his claws. The barbed surface cut painfully through the leather protection and his skin but the blade thrust into the monster's mouth to the hilt, through the tentacles and in between the mandibles.
The creature jerked, snapping the blade clean off with its mandibles and throwing the little prey backwards into the air.
Cirles felt his leg hook on a table and he slammed flat out on the surface, hitting the back of his head as well. The breath was knocked out of him, as was all his energy. His senses were numb and the world was spinning around. He felt warm and sluggish, his eyes falling on the obsidian pyramid poking up through his ribs as greenish flecks of ore twirled down lazily.
Cirles frowned slightly. Wasn't this supposed to hurt?
And with that thought, it got dark. Sounds became dulled and colour drained away until there was only darkness and quiet.
°°°
“Don't cry, mother,” Cirles whispered while he hugged her tightly. The plate armour made the embrace uncomfortable for both involved but it didn't stop them.
The sound of orders being barked from outside seeped in the little bakery-slash-home through the open front door, accompanied by the marching of a few dozen boots.
His father stood a few steps back, fighting back his tears and flashing a broad smile.
What to do when you're both proud of your son's courage and enthusiasm while being horrified at the chance he might not come back?
“You … you look good in your uniform,” mother smiled through her tears. She finally let go of him and joined her husband.
He put his arm around her and pulled her a little closer.
“Thanks,” Cirles smiled back and he put his helmet on. “It's time for me to go.”
“Give 'em hell, kid,” dad said.
Cirles picked up his shield and spear, looked one last time at his parents. He turned around and stepped out into the sunfilled plaza. The beautiful summer day felt like heavenly praise and encouragement, surely a good sign.
Some distance away, the other newly recruited were already being put in formation by a stocky elf with a carrying voice.
Like Cirles, others were having trouble saying goodbye to their loved ones; wives and husbands, sons and daughters, fathers and mothers.
As Cirles glanced over his shoulder one last time, he saw his parents had followed him to the door.
He smiled touched. “I'll be back before you know it,” he nodded goodbye and then he walked up to the unit.
Adventure awaited him.
The following part is a bit trickier and actually the reason why I wrote the first two parts of the story.
I must admit I feared I'd lose the reader's attention and goodwill during the first two parts since nothing much happened in the form of action but I'm glad to see someone slugged it out.
And here's part three.
°°°
Cirles sipped from his flask while he sat on the ground at the meeting point. The other scouts had been trickling in, relaying their reports to the leader of the expedition, Sergeant Menlusenth, before hanging about and relaxing.
“Hey, you all right?” one of the scouts addressed him.
Cirles looked up and found the woman named Sifter looking down at him with a friendly smile.
“Yeah, just waiting for the last ones to come in,” Cirles said.
Sifter sat down with him and glanced at Corporal Eluminaith, who was explaining something to the sergeant with many big gestures and no doubt excruciating detail.
The sergeant managed to listen patiently and attentively, which earned him a point on Cirles' people list.
“How was your trip?” she asked.
“Fine,” Cirles lied.
“He's pretty proud on being a scout,” she apologized for her colleague, seeing right through him.
“I noticed,” Cirles agreed dryly.
“But he's a good guy deep down.”
Cirles briefly wondered whether she meant scalpel-deep or pickaxe-deep but refrained from asking. Humour tended to be dependent on local culture and customs.
“Find anything useful?” Cirles asked.
“The passageway led to a small prospector outpost and another mine,” Sifter said. “I don't know what they mined; we only found rocks, no precious metals.” She reached for her own flask and twisted the cork off. “Kino thinks they mined gold,” she added. “We did find some gold dust on the floor.”
Cirles nodded and gazed around at the setting.
“Maybe they left because they ran out of gold to mine,” Sifter thought along.
“I doubt it,” Cirles said. “Unless they also suffered an insurrection among the miners.”
“What makes you say that?” Sifter frowned but the conversation was cut short when sergeant Menlusenth walked up to them.
“Have you heard Fenthus' new theory on what happened here?” he smiled amused, his heavily lidded eyes looking kind but also a bit creepy. “He seems to think there were soldiers stationed below, heavy troops that even got a barracks not far from here.”
Cirles swallowed his surprise. “He ... he thinks so?”
“Yes,” Menlusenth smiled while eyeing Cirles. “He has had a lot of … interesting new insights all of a sudden. Useful insights too. But sadly, it will have to wait. Tanya and Ricon are over time by over half an hour. We're moving out to look for them.”
Sifter and Cirles stood back up and straightened their equipment out. It looked like this time there would be real work to do.
Together they marched out towards the mineshaft on level eight. The tension was far more present now and Cirles felt out of place. He really was going into the unknown now, as were the others. But they didn't seem nervous.
“How often does it happen that someone doesn't make it back on time?” Cirles asked Fenthus.
“A real scout can't be expected to follow a strict timing,” Fenthus said importantly. “We don't switch off the second our shift is over, unlike you regular jocks.”
Cirles pressed his lips but kept his peace.
“It is not unheard of teams reporting in a little later,” Menlusenth explained calmly. “But given the circumstances, half an hour is too much not to be concerned about.”
The chambers were getting darker as they made distance from the plaza. Torches and braziers were getting sparser and when they turned out of the passageway, any source of light was limited to some kind of fluorescent liquid safely confined inside a glass box.
“Fire needs air to burn,” Menlusenth explained when seeing Cirles' puzzled look. “The air circulation here isn't high enough to allow for both the fires to burn and the miners to breathe.”
Cirles nodded, looking at the cold, white light that sported only a hint of blue. “Do you know what's in there?”
“We've found some kind of fungus being farmed on the fourth level,” Menlusenth answered. “They glow with the same colour. After some kind of chemical treatment, it gets bright enough to be used for lighting. Be careful you don't get it in your eyes, it is quite sticky.”
Cirles nodded again and cast his eyes away. The light was harsh and painful if you looked at it directly.
The ground was getting uneven and the walls were roughly hewn out; getting deeper quickly was more important than leaving an impressive structure, although a glance around told Cirles that it was doubtful they'd stumble upon a single pebble of gold, silver or metal in this place. The Dwarves had obviously spared no effort in finding anything of value, leaving a myriad of mines and rails all leading up to the large hub they were now standing in.
The air was heavy and the sparse lighting gave the scene an ominous atmosphere. In the hold, the architecture and masonry was so elaborate, one could at times forget he was underground. The roughly hewn rock, on the other hand, made it all too clear.
There was something uncomfortable about being aware you're hundreds of yards underneath the surface with only the rock not cut away to hold tonnes of granite in place over your head.
“This way,” Sifter pointed out to the others.
Cirles wondered how she could make that call but the others seemed to take it for granted and headed into the mine.
It was only when Cirles got closer that he saw a small rune etched in stone with a name and date.
“From here on, we keep quiet,” Menlusenth ordered.
As the whole team began to move quietly, the pace slowed down considerably. Eyes and ears were put to their fullest use, trying to find signs of where Tanya and Ricon went, but other than the reverberating sounds of their own footsteps on the rocky grind, the ticking and shifting of pebbles there was nothing to find.
The tunnel wound down every direction and often it would split up into two or three more entrances. Luckily, there were always marks that pointed the way for them to follow.
“Those tunnels must be going on for miles,” Cirles whispered. The silence pressing in on them was making him uncomfortable.
“Be quiet,” Fenthus snapped quietly. “You're making enough noise to raise the dead from their slumber.”
Cirles grumbled quietly.
The group stopped to look at one of the walls in the tunnel. Some strange runes where etched in the dark rock, clearly not elven in design.
“It's Dwarven,” Sifter whispered. “To go … forward … go back.”
Fenthus blinked. “That doesn't make sense.”
“Why would anyone carve that here?” Sifter wondered.
“Maybe it means the mine is empty,” Cirles guessed. He also hoped it would be that.
“That does make sense,” Menlusenth smiled pleased. “But Ricon and Tanya went through here so we're moving on.”
The team set back on their path, filing on both sides of the rail.
Unlike before, the rail here was in disrepair. The wooden beams were often cracked and broken, the rails were bent or shaken loose. It made Cirles wonder what kind of use could cause that kind of damage.
As time passed, Cirles was getting more and more paranoid. The darkness, only pierced by the harsh, bland light, felt as if it was hiding something and the more he thought about it, the more he thought he heard something; the shifting of a pebble or a distant and ghostly moan. Especially the low hum of the dusty air moving was unnerving.
“Is something wrong?” Sifter asked.
“Doesn't this spook you?” Cirles asked.
“If you keep up looking so often over your shoulder, you're going to have a sore neck,” Sifter joked quietly.
“Sorry,” Cirles apologized and he glanced over his shoulder again out of sheer habit.
“I'll take the rear,” she said, suppressing a giggle, and she stopped to let him pass.
There was still no sign of life, despite a full hour of tracking. The only sign of their friends passing were intermittent runes discreetly etched on rocks whenever a choice of directions presented itself.
This time, however, Menlusenth just hunkered down.
The others formed a semi-circle around the leader, looking around for possible threats and trying to find what their officer was looking at.
“What's going on?” Cirles whispered to Sifter.
“No directions,” Sifter whispered back.
“Did we read the signs wrong?”
Sifter shook her head. “They went this way but they didn't leave a sign.”
Cirles nodded. “Does that happen often?”
“We specifically started using the signs in here,” Sifter explained. “It's too easy to get turned around, and we don't want to waste our time scouting out the same zones.”
“Except just now with Fenthus and myself?”
Sifter didn't answer but just smiled warmly.
A pebble shifted some distance behind them, ticking just twice before coming to a halt. Cirles snapped his eyes to the source of the sound. The dark, gaping mouth of the mine stared blindly back at him. He peered his eyes, willing them to pierce the blackness. Was there something just beyond?
“Is something wrong?” Sifter asked, a bit concerned by the sudden reaction of the newest addition to the team.
“No, nothing,” Cirles said, his eyes still glued to the darkness before he pulled them back to the scout. “Just my mind playing tricks. Again.”
Now that the team had stopped moving, the only sounds were of their own breathing, the rustling of the clothes and the occasional shifting of pebbles and dust under their footsteps. Every sound seemed amplified throughout the cavern and made one all the more aware of the deathly silence there would be if they weren't passing through.
That same silence made it feel as if Tanya and Ricon were far off.
“This way,” Menlusenth whispered and he set off into one of the tunnels.
Slowly, the unit got back in motion, walking in two files along the sides.
They were getting uncomfortably far from what Cirles understood to be home. No doubt they had walked for miles already, following the twisted turns and bends of the tunnels. If something happened to them, there would be no backup for them.
Actually, “Why aren't we calling in backup?” Cirles asked Sifter.
“What?”
“Why aren't we calling in backup?”Cirles repeated. “We're miles out. Nobody knows we're here.”
Sifter smiled. “Welcome to the Shades.”
Cirles swallowed once and looked over his shoulder. If things ever went wrong, he'd be hard pressed to ever find his way back on his own. And crying out for help wouldn't get him any closer to home. Who would hear him this far from their base?
It had to be said, though, as gloomy and imposing this system of mines was, the Dwarves knew how to build to last. Wooden and stone beams supported every entrance and mine carts were still scattered around as signs of a once industrious operation.
He still preferred the solid domed ceilings in the hold.
A doorway came up on the left side of the mine. It led to a large, roughly hewn room. Fluorescent glass lamps hung from the walls and lit a large pile of rubble gathered in the far corner.
A set of heavy tables were spread around, on them a few larger hewn rocks, all laced with a greenish ore.
Next to those specimens there were scales, balances and lenses: all equipment necessary to examine the ore.
The scouts spread into the room, their curiosity drawn.
“What's this?” Kino wondered, observing one of the rocks closer. “Gold?”
“Maybe they're checking the purity of the ore they found?” Sifter wondered.
“Why would they do that here?” Kino rubbed his chin. “The tunnel ends a few dozen yards further. Even for the Dwarves this is the middle of nowhere.”
Cirles closely examined a scale on the corner of one of the tables. There had been a small pile of the ore dust gathered on it but now it was clearly disturbed. He took a pinch and rubbed it in between his fingers.
“Feels like tiny orbs or droplets,” Cirles said. His upbringing as a baker's son left him ruefully unaware of the finer points of the earthly riches.
“Perhaps this isn't gold,” Menlusenth guessed. “If they brought it here and examined it, they might have considered it dangerous.”
Cirles quickly slapped his fingers clean on each other.
“Do we bring some back, sir?” Fenthus suggested. “Our smiths can take a look at it.”
Menlusenth looked at the ore, thinking it over. Bringing some back could yield some answers, but if it really was dangerous, would they be bringing home disaster?
“We take home one of those rocks,” the sergeant finally decided. “Let the smiths worry about what it really is. Who knows, maybe it's worth something.”
“Is there a finders fee involved?” Kino joked, momentarily forgetting why they were here in the first place.
Cirles' eyes fell on a particularly dark piece of rock, laced with the green ore that seemed to pulse subtly. The surface was impeccably smooth as polished marble, shaped much like a small obelisk, and next to it lay a few damaged tools: a cracked hammer, a broken rockhammer and a chipped chisel.
If these tools were used on this piece of obsidian, it was clearly not simply hewn from the rock.
As Cirles came closer to examine it, it felt as if it was giving off heat.
It looked ominous and foreboding. Perhaps it was magical?
“Sir, more crazy talk on the wall over here,” Fenthus said, bringing one of the lamps closer to the wall.
Sifter walked closer and peered her eyes, trying to decipher the runes. “This doesn't make any sense.”
“That's a strange thing to write on a wall,” Fenthus frowned.
“No, I mean, it says: 'my sanity is too valuable to be handled by myself',” Sifter said. “But that …”. She shrugged her shoulders.
The others were standing just as baffled as she was.
“I don't mean to offend you or anything,” Cirles tried; “But are you sure you're translating this right?”
“I'm no expert,” Sifter admitted. “You're welcome to try.”
“Me? I'm hardly fluent in Eltharin if my teacher's opinion holds any sway,” Cirles declined.
Quizzical looks traced their way to Cirles.
“...It's a joke.”
“Right, we've wasted enough time in here,” Menlusenth said and he pocketed one of the samples. “Let's go out and find Tanya and Ricon.”
“Sir,” Cirles said. “This sample looks like it's worth investigating.” He pointed at the small obelisk on the table nearby.
A low, whistling noise drew the collective attention to the doorway. Which was blocked.
Cirles' eyes grew wide when he saw what it was that blocked their exit: it was a monster like nothing he had ever heard described before.
The lower body looked like that of a fat caterpillar and was an uneven, eerie green with a faint glow. The body was suspended on a row of spindly spiderlegs, each joint forming into a morbid skull with the next segment growing from the open mouth.
The creature's upper body resembled that of a muscular man covered in a rough, lizard-like hide, complete with scales, a spinal ridge and two strong arms shaped like those of a preying mantis.
The head was flat and covered in coarse, greyish hair, having no features save a set of four bulbous and unblinking, black eyes that reflected the gleaming lights and a mouth extending a set of thin, slick tendrils. Underneath those tendrils, a set of mandibles ticked together, sounding just like shifting pebbles – exactly the same sound he had heard before. Had this creature been hunting them?
It completed its entry into the room, moving with perfect control and precision. And then it stopped.
It just stood there, completely immobile, reaching a full height of eight feet and its shoulders as wide as at least two strong men.
The only way out was through the horror and it was cunningly aware of that, having patiently bided its time until the prey would trap itself.
Nobody dared move as it whistled its alien tune again.
A split second later, all hell broke loose; the monster leapt forward, embracing Jesser into its arms and cutting the cry of surprise short with a loud, soppy crunch.
The others burst into action as well, levelling their crossbows at the creature and letting loose.
The monster was already munching down on Jesser before the bolts hit it. It dropped the headless body and burst into action with a low whistle. With a quick jab, it impaled Lupon through the gut and pinned him to the dusty floor where it slammed its forearms into the screaming elf.
More bolts flew across the room with dull thuds, some of them finding a mark, but it seemed to do little more than anger it further.
It was fast but moved in quick jerks, lethal and unpredictable.
Cirles fumbled with his crossbow; having had only basic training, using one under stress was harder than he imagined.
“Cirles! Dive!” Menlusenth called out.
Cirles didn't even look, he just jumped to the right. He was still in the air when he heard a loud slam on the floor. The creature swung the arm backwards and hit Cirles in the side, casting him aside like a ragdoll.
With a loud cry, Cirles hit the wall and then the floor four feet lower. His head was ringing and he tried to shake off the daze while in the background more screams and noise seeped into his ears.
“Get on your feet!” Fenthus ordered as he grabbed Cirles by the shoulder and pulled him up. More bolts flew around while Cirles was trying to get his bearing, finding the horror staring at him, preparing to spring forth once more with such slight, subtle preparations. Blood was trickling down his head, running into his brows and over his eye. “Here it comes!”
Cirles pushed Fenthus away, using the impulse to dive into the other direction and out of the way of the mutant that crashed full force into the wall, sending a rumble through the rock from sheer speed and size.
It stumbled back, momentarily dazed.
Cirles saw an opening and pulled out his sword, slashing at one of the spidery legs and biting deep.
The creature jumped away, pinning Fenthus against the wall, whistling angrily. It tried supporting itself on the leg but failed and it snapped off, leaking a dark, greenish slime.
Cirles looked at the broken leg and then into the blank, black eyes, a feeling of doom washing over him, but then it reared again and jumped away from the wall. Fenthus had buried his blade deep in its lower body and was clinging on for dear life.
“Hang on!” Malron shouted and he ran forward, sword drawn, to help out.
The creature twisted its torso around and flicked its arms out. It grabbed Malron around the chest and legs and simply tore him apart with a loud crack and wet tear.
“Oh, Khaine, help me,” Kino muttered terrified and he scrambled away. The terror of being trapped in the mine with such a monster drove him into hysteria.
The monster made a swipe towards Fenthus. The scout let go of his sword and ducked out of the way. The monster turned around to protect its more vulnerable lower body.
“Attack the legs!” the sergeant bellowed and he moved in to set the example.
The creature lashed out at one of the heavy tables, sending it flying towards him. Menlusenth ducked and watched the table crash into the wall, sending two lanterns down to the floor. One crashed open, its bright, sticky fluid spreading over the floor. The other one just cracked but didn't leak yet.
Menlusenth didn't proceed with his attack, noticing the creature was too fast to approach.
“Keep your distance!” he changed tack. “Keep firing!”
Cirles looked for his crossbow and found it lying in the far corner, the cord snapped and the handle cracked. The only use it would have would be to feed fire.
Sifter took a shot, hitting it straight in the chest but the bolt bounced off one of the scales. Menlusenth did the same but a dodge from the creature made him miss. The creature was not only fast, it's many eyes gave it an accurate view of the situation.
It sprinted up to the officer and swiped at him. Menlusenth rolled aside, dodging the serrated arm once and then a second time by stepping back when it tried to pin him to the floor.
When it was about to try a third time, it was interrupted by a glowing, cracked lamp flying at its head. It saw it coming and slashed it to pieces, sending the sticky residue flying over itself and its eyes.
The creature reared, whistling a hellishly loud and shrill tune that was so filled with pain and rage that it chilled them to the bone. It shook its head, trying to get the stuff off but it clung on too tightly. The eyes were used to low-light environments and the harsh light burned into its retina.
In its trashing, it turned over tables and equipment, wreaking more havoc. Sifter ducked backwards to dodge a scale aimed at her throat.
Cirles stood frozen, amazed at the effect his throw seemed to have. His head was throbbing painfully but he ignored the warning signals thanks to huge amounts of adrenaline being released into his veins.
It's not every day you get faced with a superpredator.
Despite being partially blinded, it was not down yet and it was getting to terms with its reduced vision.
Kino saw his chance and crawled frantically towards the only exit, whining unintelligibly.
The horror, shaken by the sustained injuries, was not about to let anyone escape, and the moment Kino's face bathed in the pale, sharp light in the doorway, it jumped forward and slashed both his serrated blades through the upper body.
Sifter cried out in shock when she realized the creature was not down yet and forgot for a moment to keep fighting. She didn't even move when Kino's body was flung straight for her at high speed, knocking her off her feet and throwing her with her back against the table with such force the table shifted back a few inches with a heavy groan.
This time, the monster didn't pause and followed up. With a frighteningly quick run, it approached and slashed at Sifter, cutting her narrowly across the chest and digging into her leg.
The girl cried out weakly, the air knocked out of her lungs a mere second before.
With events unfolding so rapidly, the scouts had a hard time even getting in a position to respond, much less making up their mind on how to respond. And that was without counting the paralysing effect the fear had of having a predator making clear the foodchain was structured differently down below.
Fenthus threw caution to the wind, grabbed hold of another sword and ran up to the predator.
Menlusenth came up from behind, sword raised as well. With only three men left standing, it was this or nothing.
Cirles stood frozen. Some little part in the back of his head told him that this was his best chance to get a strike in but his legs refused service. His instinct was telling him very clearly this was suicide.
The monstrosity twisted its torso and made a backwards swipe at Fenthus. The elf was lifted off his feet and thrown back on the floor at least ten feet further.
A twist the other way, another swipe, and Menlusenth was making a triple pirouette before crashing down.
With the last attack stopped dead in its starting blocks, it looked around for any more prey.
Cirles shrunk a little when the unblinking eyes looked straight back in his.
The complete lack of emotion was unnerving. You couldn't say what it was thinking or whether it was thinking beyond what it was biologically programmed to do: hunt and feed.
The sound of a pebble ticking twice spread from the mandibles and it let out a low whistle. Cirles gripped his sword tightly.
“Cirles!” Fenthus cried out, having pulled himself up to his shoulders. “Duck!”
Cirles jumped a step backwards and sideways just as the creature pounced once more with a pitched whistle. The scything arms scraped hard over the floor, delving two grooves over the surface.
Cirles struck out fast towards the head. The monster counterattacked, trapping Cirles in one of his claws. The barbed surface cut painfully through the leather protection and his skin but the blade thrust into the monster's mouth to the hilt, through the tentacles and in between the mandibles.
The creature jerked, snapping the blade clean off with its mandibles and throwing the little prey backwards into the air.
Cirles felt his leg hook on a table and he slammed flat out on the surface, hitting the back of his head as well. The breath was knocked out of him, as was all his energy. His senses were numb and the world was spinning around. He felt warm and sluggish, his eyes falling on the obsidian pyramid poking up through his ribs as greenish flecks of ore twirled down lazily.
Cirles frowned slightly. Wasn't this supposed to hurt?
And with that thought, it got dark. Sounds became dulled and colour drained away until there was only darkness and quiet.
°°°
“Don't cry, mother,” Cirles whispered while he hugged her tightly. The plate armour made the embrace uncomfortable for both involved but it didn't stop them.
The sound of orders being barked from outside seeped in the little bakery-slash-home through the open front door, accompanied by the marching of a few dozen boots.
His father stood a few steps back, fighting back his tears and flashing a broad smile.
What to do when you're both proud of your son's courage and enthusiasm while being horrified at the chance he might not come back?
“You … you look good in your uniform,” mother smiled through her tears. She finally let go of him and joined her husband.
He put his arm around her and pulled her a little closer.
“Thanks,” Cirles smiled back and he put his helmet on. “It's time for me to go.”
“Give 'em hell, kid,” dad said.
Cirles picked up his shield and spear, looked one last time at his parents. He turned around and stepped out into the sunfilled plaza. The beautiful summer day felt like heavenly praise and encouragement, surely a good sign.
Some distance away, the other newly recruited were already being put in formation by a stocky elf with a carrying voice.
Like Cirles, others were having trouble saying goodbye to their loved ones; wives and husbands, sons and daughters, fathers and mothers.
As Cirles glanced over his shoulder one last time, he saw his parents had followed him to the door.
He smiled touched. “I'll be back before you know it,” he nodded goodbye and then he walked up to the unit.
Adventure awaited him.
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Sleekdd
- Highborn
- Posts: 637
- Joined: Sat May 21, 2005 7:33 am
- Location: Belgium, the only country where surrealism is a way of life.
And here's the fourth and final part of this story.
I hope you enjoyed the read as much as I did writing it - if only to preserve the cosmic balance.
As ever, suggestions and remarks are always welcome; it's the only way to learn.
°°°
“We should go,” Menlusenth said after he checked Sifter's bandages one last time.
She tested her leg gingerly and collapsed almost immediately. Menlusenth grabbed her quickly.
“That's not going to work,” he understood.
“I'm sorry, sir,” Sifter apologized.
“It's all right,” he said with a kind smile. “We'll make it back.”
“A lot of us won't,” Fenthus said quietly as he looked at Cirles' body.
“He's at peace now at Khaine's side,” Menluseth comforted the corporal. “He died bravely in combat, slaying this abomination in his name.”
“I suppose.”
“There's nothing you could have done to save him,” Menlusenth said.
“We could have sent him back to camp,” he said. “He's a regular chump, not a scout.” He patted the wrist of the fallen soldier.
Cirles inhaled sharply and jerked awake.
Fenthus let out a hysterical cry of surprise and jumped back, flailing his arms around and falling down on his backside.
Menlusenth and Sifter looked surprised when they noticed Cirles pulling himself up to a seating position.
“What the hell!?” Fenthus shouted, his eyes wide in shock and his fingers clawed on his chest in an effort to keep his heart in its proper place. “I thought you were dead!”
Cirles patted himself down but stopped quickly; a multitude of wounds had made him feel tender and fragile. The hole in his chest was gone, as was the obelisk.
Did he imagine that?
“What happened?” Cirles asked groggily.
“The thing is dead,” Menlusenth filled Cirles in. “We patched everyone up and were about to leave when you woke.”
“You made me soil myself!” Fenthus cried out indignantly.
Sifter fought hard but her lips slowly curled upwards and then she broke into a helpless laughter, shocking as she clung on to Menlusenth. The stress, fatigue, pain and terror of the last few hours washed off her with a single, cleansing moment of hilarity.
Even Menlusenth smiled although the bandages and blue-and-black bruises showed he was in pain.
“When you're ready,” the sergeant smiled. “You can help Cirles on his feet and we're out of here.”
Fenthus took a few more breaths and pulled himself to his feet. “Great, now it's in my boots.”
More helpless laughter followed. Tears streamed over Sifter's cheeks. Menlusenth had to change his grip on the wounded scout to keep her standing.
“Easy now, soldier,” he cautioned her.
Fenthus helped Cirles off the table, giving him all the time he needed to collect his wits.
“Are you going to be all right?” Fenthus asked.
“Everything hurts,” Cirles grunted. “That's a good sign, right?”
“Right now, it is,” he nodded. “Careful now.” Fenthus put his shoulder underneath Cirles' arm and pulled him up.
“Let's move out,” Menlusenth said and together, the four survivors shambled their way into the gloomy mines.
I hope you enjoyed the read as much as I did writing it - if only to preserve the cosmic balance.
As ever, suggestions and remarks are always welcome; it's the only way to learn.
°°°
“We should go,” Menlusenth said after he checked Sifter's bandages one last time.
She tested her leg gingerly and collapsed almost immediately. Menlusenth grabbed her quickly.
“That's not going to work,” he understood.
“I'm sorry, sir,” Sifter apologized.
“It's all right,” he said with a kind smile. “We'll make it back.”
“A lot of us won't,” Fenthus said quietly as he looked at Cirles' body.
“He's at peace now at Khaine's side,” Menluseth comforted the corporal. “He died bravely in combat, slaying this abomination in his name.”
“I suppose.”
“There's nothing you could have done to save him,” Menlusenth said.
“We could have sent him back to camp,” he said. “He's a regular chump, not a scout.” He patted the wrist of the fallen soldier.
Cirles inhaled sharply and jerked awake.
Fenthus let out a hysterical cry of surprise and jumped back, flailing his arms around and falling down on his backside.
Menlusenth and Sifter looked surprised when they noticed Cirles pulling himself up to a seating position.
“What the hell!?” Fenthus shouted, his eyes wide in shock and his fingers clawed on his chest in an effort to keep his heart in its proper place. “I thought you were dead!”
Cirles patted himself down but stopped quickly; a multitude of wounds had made him feel tender and fragile. The hole in his chest was gone, as was the obelisk.
Did he imagine that?
“What happened?” Cirles asked groggily.
“The thing is dead,” Menlusenth filled Cirles in. “We patched everyone up and were about to leave when you woke.”
“You made me soil myself!” Fenthus cried out indignantly.
Sifter fought hard but her lips slowly curled upwards and then she broke into a helpless laughter, shocking as she clung on to Menlusenth. The stress, fatigue, pain and terror of the last few hours washed off her with a single, cleansing moment of hilarity.
Even Menlusenth smiled although the bandages and blue-and-black bruises showed he was in pain.
“When you're ready,” the sergeant smiled. “You can help Cirles on his feet and we're out of here.”
Fenthus took a few more breaths and pulled himself to his feet. “Great, now it's in my boots.”
More helpless laughter followed. Tears streamed over Sifter's cheeks. Menlusenth had to change his grip on the wounded scout to keep her standing.
“Easy now, soldier,” he cautioned her.
Fenthus helped Cirles off the table, giving him all the time he needed to collect his wits.
“Are you going to be all right?” Fenthus asked.
“Everything hurts,” Cirles grunted. “That's a good sign, right?”
“Right now, it is,” he nodded. “Careful now.” Fenthus put his shoulder underneath Cirles' arm and pulled him up.
“Let's move out,” Menlusenth said and together, the four survivors shambled their way into the gloomy mines.
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Nightcall
- Malekith's Personal Guard
- Posts: 844
- Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:16 pm
- Location: England
- Contact:
I really enjoyed your story. The 3rd part was touching when you made the reader think Cirles was dead. Personally, I would have put the bit about saying goodbye at the start of the story, but I can see how you are trying to draw the reader in emotionally by placing it where you did.
With regards to the obelisk... I was a bit unsure about whether you were hinting at it being warpstone? And whether by Cirles "coming back from the dead" fully healed and with the obelisk gone, that it had somehow magically healed him... maybe even leaving some corruption? That is the only thing I would suggest, perhaps be a bit more explicit with your hinting? Unless of course you are intending for a big reveal in the next part.
With regards to the obelisk... I was a bit unsure about whether you were hinting at it being warpstone? And whether by Cirles "coming back from the dead" fully healed and with the obelisk gone, that it had somehow magically healed him... maybe even leaving some corruption? That is the only thing I would suggest, perhaps be a bit more explicit with your hinting? Unless of course you are intending for a big reveal in the next part.
Casaythe Blackstorm - Warrior (Corsair) - Group 22
Skills: Awareness, Endurance
Equipment: Short Sword, Glaive, Medium Armour, Sea Dragon Cloak, Repeater Crossbow, clip of bolts [11/20], 405 gold, Talisman of Darkness, Tool Kit, 2 months' rations
Stats: WS4, S4, T5, D3, I4
Mod, Group 38
Skills: Awareness, Endurance
Equipment: Short Sword, Glaive, Medium Armour, Sea Dragon Cloak, Repeater Crossbow, clip of bolts [11/20], 405 gold, Talisman of Darkness, Tool Kit, 2 months' rations
Stats: WS4, S4, T5, D3, I4
Mod, Group 38
-
Sleekdd
- Highborn
- Posts: 637
- Joined: Sat May 21, 2005 7:33 am
- Location: Belgium, the only country where surrealism is a way of life.
Thank you for your comment.
I did indeed consider putting the goodbye-part further at the beginning but the intent of that part was - as you mentioned - to draw in the reader emotionally.
I've also considered putting in two flash-backs but couldn't come up with a short one that contributed something to the story, so I stuck with just the one.
Some of the hinting is purposely being kept ambiguous contrary to most other bits that were spelled out more. The case with the small obelisk is an element I purposely left shrouded in some mist, as you noticed.
The goal in this is to let the reader discover the consequences alongside the character - preferably gradually.
I'd like to thank you, Nightcall, for reading the story and putting in the effort to give me some pointers. And I thank the lurkers/readers as well - you know who you are.
I did indeed consider putting the goodbye-part further at the beginning but the intent of that part was - as you mentioned - to draw in the reader emotionally.
I've also considered putting in two flash-backs but couldn't come up with a short one that contributed something to the story, so I stuck with just the one.
Some of the hinting is purposely being kept ambiguous contrary to most other bits that were spelled out more. The case with the small obelisk is an element I purposely left shrouded in some mist, as you noticed.
The goal in this is to let the reader discover the consequences alongside the character - preferably gradually.
I'd like to thank you, Nightcall, for reading the story and putting in the effort to give me some pointers. And I thank the lurkers/readers as well - you know who you are.