Chapter 1 - Every Road Must Start Somewhere
The man gestured toward the stool and Tyrdek sat down.
“Anything to drink?” he said.
“Water, please,” Tyrdek said.
The man waved for the waiter and ordered water and a glass of wine.
“The subject I have in question is a peculiar woman. A sorceress. She rules over a territory some hundred kilometers away from here. It’s pretty hard to get there. I advise you bring a guide. Autarii, preferably. I know an autarii tribe that lives halfway there. The Sukh tribe. You call for them by clapping your hand thrice and whistling once.”
The waiter arrived with a glass of water and a glass of wine. The man thanked the waiter, took a sip from the wine and leaned back into his couch. The man caught breath to speak, but Tyrdek interrupted him.
“How do I even find this Sukh tribe, do I not need a guide to get there?”
“The Sukh tribe protect a shrine, the shrine of Saint Kurion. Getting there is pretty easy. Just ask your way there. Everyone in the area will know. Travel up the Spear Road for twenty kilometers, then undoubtably someone on the road will have come from there. The way there is standard, so from the Spear Road to Kurion’s Shrine is populated by people who know. Hah, by the way, they say that if you touch the bones of Saint Kurion you will become a monster in combat. So perhaps you should go there.”
“What about the woman?”
“Yes. Contact the Sukh tribe. They will take you to her, no doubt.”
“Anything I should know about her?”
“Yes, as I said, she is peculiar. Don’t look her in the eyes.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Tyrdek swigged the glass of water.
“How about payment?”
“I give you fifty silver coins now. Fifty gold coins when you get back with her head. Another thing. Bring some friends. Makes it easier for you. And you never know with those autarii.”
“Will you pay my friends, too?”
“If you show them to me afterwards I will. Fifty gold coins.”
The man reached for his belt, untied a jingling purse and gave it to Tyrdek.
“If you run away with the money I wil find you. So don’t bother.”
“Can I tell the autarii that I know you?”
“Tell them Usha-Draua sais you’re okay.”
* * *
A gang of five individuals with sea dragon cloaks squatted around a game of shark teeth. One of them, with an orion-belt of earrings at the top of his right ear, heard Tyrdek coming.
“Well well, look-a-here! What have you got for us?”
“Get ready, boys. We’re leaving.”
All five were looking at him, with slitted, deep-set eyes. They rose up. Except for the sea-dragon cloaks they all wore coats of mail over kheitans of various colour and carried assortments of daggers in leather belts. Each had two swords in unadorned sheaths. The man with ear-rings shook Tyrdek’s hand.
“Erendil, greetings,” Tyrdek mumbled as he went on to greet the others.
Erendil was a bit taller than the other ones. Aside from the piercings in his ear he had a piercing in his left nosewing, fashioned into the miniature head of a shocked maiden. He had a horsetail tied at the top of his skull. His stern had shallow furrows and at the top of his nose were two furrows aswell. His nose was slightly irregular after having been broken. A pink scar ran diagonally across his stern, paused, and continued a bit on his cheek.
Andarleth, the second elf, released a handful of shark’s teeth, sending them clattering onto the cubbed quai. He slapped a handshake with Tyrdek. A topknot adorned the top of his skull. A scar adorned the rim of his cheek and interrupted his jawline. Another scar ran horizontally across the side of his neck. His face was oval and unfurrowed, his cheeks sunken in beneath high-set cheekbones. The brooch fastening his cloak was the only one that wasn’t functional of the five. It depicted two intertwining snakes, each biting a disc. Supposedly one was the sun and the other one the moon. Originally Andarleth had planned to make one disc silver and the other one gold, but his economy had not allowed for it.
The third elf was Trubdil. He had a round face, a piercing in his left eyebrow depicting a grinning skull and a scar running across his mouth as if someone wanted to strike it out. Narsil, the fourth elf, had voluminous grizzled hair flowing to the base of his neck and two serious eyes. His eyebrows were nearly invisible. Urian, the last elf, tucked away a jug, wiped his mouth and shook Tyrdek’s hand. “Nice to see you, ol’ devil!” Urian, named after the champion, had a rotund face and a ring in his lower lip.
“So, Tyrdek, where are we going?” Erendil said.
“We’re gonna whack some sorceress hundred kilometres away from here. On the wa-“
“By Khaine! One hundred kilometers,” Urian said.
Tyrdek lifted a finger to signal attention. “On the way there I thought we should visit some bloke named Kurion’s sacred shrine.”
“Kurion’s shrine! I heard that if you touch his bones, you become a monster in combat,” Narsil said. “My grandmother told me.”
“Kurion? Who is that? I knew a guy named Kurion. Perhaps you remember him? It was the small guy who dropped the captain’s vase the time before the last we went to Ulthuan,” Trubdil said.
“You will get fifty gold coins each. That’s enough to cover all our debts and more,” Tyrdek said. “By the way, thanks for helping me out yesterday,” Tyrdek said and nodded to Andarleth, who nodded back, serious.
Fifty Gold [A dark elf story]
Moderators: T.D., Drainial, The Dread Knights
Fifty Gold [A dark elf story]
Last edited by Uruthi on Wed Feb 03, 2010 7:24 am, edited 4 times in total.
Chapter 2 - Threading On A Path So Wicked
An ice-cold wind whipped into their faces and drove masses of snow across the Spear Road. The gate was well behind them now.
“Fifty gold? That’s our salary? Hope it’s worth it,” Trubdil said and spat on the ground.
“It was the best offer I could find. I pressed him for the money and he affirmed it. The guy must be pretty rich. He refused to give up his name. He said the autarii called him Urda-Gala or something.”
“Hey, my butt is getting cold!” Narsil came running from behind. “Did you think we were gonna walk all the way?”
“Well, I can’t cast spells,” Tyrdek said and wiggled his hands. “No, I’m kidding. I thought we’d hitch a ride. It’s just that none has arrived yet.”
The company worked their way up the snowy road. They looked like forward slashes in the hard wind. Before they left Naggarond, Tyrdek had purchased five woolen, hooded mantles for five of the silver coins. The sixth mantle Andarleth could produce himself. It was a gift to him by a grateful sailor. They wore their helmets over the hoods. The chainmail had been replaced by a breastplate. The brooches for the sea dragon cloaks now functioned as brooches for the mantles simultaneously. Their assortments of daggers had been joined by bloated sacks of food. A couple of journeyers, both on foot, horse and carriage had already met them on the road, but all had been travelling in the wrong direction. The company passed a few robbed corpses on the road, too.
“Watch out. There may be rakshas around whenever you see bodies like these,” Narsil said once and pulled out a cruciform pendant which he kissed.
The wind had abated a while later. Darkness had fallen, a band of orange and yellow was lying, mutilated by the Iron Mountains, in the horizon. Tyrdek hear the clatter of hooves nearing them from the opposite direction. Four riders stopped in front of them.
“Hey you! Little friends. Where are you going?” one of them rode forward and said.
“None of your business, you filth!” Tyrdek shouted and kept going.
The man seized him by the shoulder as he went by.
“What did you say to me?” he said, feigning agitation.
The man was leaning in an awkward position. Tyrdek scanned the environment. The man’s three friends were wearing amused smiles. His own companions had stopped. Everyone was absolutely still.
Tyrdek jerked the man’s arm and he fell from the horse. Like a cobra Tyrdek drew his blade and stabbed it into the armoured chest of the man. He died drooling blood. The horse pranced, touched ground and pranced again. Tyrdek smacked it across the back so that it ran away. The man’s three friends initiated a charge but Tyrdek’s friends were quicker. Their blades sank into the chests and sides of the horses, who collapsed onto the gravel. One rider got his foot crushed under a horse and Erendil rushed forward to finish him. The rider’s gurgling screams were heard as Andarleth, Trubdil, Urian and Narsil cut down the men who were still trying to maintain their balance after skipping off the horsebacks. One horse convulsed a final time and its blood leaked out onto the snow, creating a curious pattern.
“This bloke ain’t got no money!” Andarleth cried.
“Neither has this moron,” grunted Tyrdek.
“Did you think we were going to ride there?” Narsil came up to him and asked.
“Are you serious? I can’t ride. I’m waiting for a carriage.”
“This one’s got a piece of dried fish!” Trubdil cried, almost at the top of his lungs.
“Keep your dried fish. Stuff it up somewhere!” Tyrdek shouted back.
* * *
At first, the wind deaded the sound of grinding wheels. Tyrdek stopped dead.
“Hey guys! I’m hearing something!”
The men stopped and looked at him and his upraised hand. The carriage came slowly grinding towards them. Two lazy horses dragged it, their heads and manes lolling. The driver held the reins slackly. His blushed cheeks showed under a rustic helmet.
“Hey you! Mind if we join?” Tyrdek said.
The rider showed with his thumb at the rear.
“Yeah!” Tyrdek cried. All five followed him like they were small fish dodging a shark.
Inside the wagon the floor and three benches were layered with furs. A man was sitting farthest in. There was not enough room for all seven of them. Erendil reclined on the floor. Trubdil had to sit on Andarleth’s lap.
Tyrdek’s shoulder jammed painfully against the wall and his knees were cutting into the thigh of the man. The man had flat, white hair flowing down to his chest. His facial expression was unchanging and sombre.
“So, who are you?” Tyrdek asked.
“I am a merchant. I’m going to Ghrond to sell furs.” The man’s voice was calm, and lacking in intonation. He just used two different intonations.
“Yea, these furs are nice. Hey, can you tell us when we’re twenty kilometers away from Naggarond?”
“Yes of course I can,” the man said.
“By the way, what is your name?” Tyrdek said and stretched out a hand.
“Corwin,” the man said and seized his hand.
“Okay, my name is Brauglir. This is Toril, Ysar, Feurind and Maltus,” he said motioning at each person in turn. “Him there on the floor is Casar. So, what are we gonna do now. I bet it is pretty far to where we get off. Toril, tell us about your sword.”
Urian fidgeted with his belt to produce his sheathed sword, but gave up after his elbow had contacted Tyrdek's face too many times.
“I call this sword, which I cannot demonstrate to you now, The Bane Of All Things.”
“Is not that name a bit too ambitious?” Andarleth remarked from behind Trubdil.
“Perhaps.”
“How does it merit to be called the bane of all things? From what I have seen, it is not,” Narsil said.
“No – I can’t be everywhere at the same time,” Urian said. “I’m gonna be just like Poisonblade, but succeed where he failed. That’s the whole point of my life.”
“You are already over a hundred years old. By your age, Poisonblade was a master and you are still a private corsair,” Narsil said.
“I’m a private just because the general won’t promote me.”
“Ok, end of discussion,” Tyrdek said and waved a hand as if to fan away the irritated ambience.
A long time went by. Complete night had settled. The driver had litten a latern. Tyrdek felt the wagon enter uneven terrain. The warning bells inside him tolled. The wagon stopped.
“I have planned a little stop here,” Corwin said. “If you will please get out.”
Tyrdek calculated desperately but could find no good plan. He put each of his hands on their respective hilt. Erendil bounded out from the wagon. Nothing was heard. Perhaps the ambushers wanted to wait until they were all out? All others left the wagon in turn until only him and Corwin was left. Tyrdek acted casually so as not to let Corwin know that he suspected anything. He pushed the cloth covering aside with his head and jumped out. It was as if he crossed a magic barrier – a chilly sensation entered his stomach.
But there was no blow from the sides, the front or behind. All his comrades were alive. Corwin stepped out, too, as calm as a cat. The helmeted driver brought the latern. They were on a lawn by the side of the road. At the end of the lawn a forest began. There was also a formation of boulders, at the base of which was a pool of transparent water. A stream continued from the pool into the forest.
“Throw a coin into the pool. You can wish something,” Corwin said. “Saint Ureth died a martyr’s death here, and this pool and stream were created.”
Tyrdek looked into the pool. It was scarcely populated by coins. No valuable coins, only copper coins.
“I refuse to throw anything in here,” Tyrdek said.
“I can give you coins,” Corwin said.
“Give me one,” said Erendil. Corwin gave him a copper coin.
Erendil tossed the coin into the pool. “I wish to die a painful death!” he said.
“Nice wish!” Trubdil remarked.
“I don’t believe in this crap anyway. We’ll see if it happens!” Erendil said.
After Corwin tossed a coin, they all moved into the wagon again.
An ice-cold wind whipped into their faces and drove masses of snow across the Spear Road. The gate was well behind them now.
“Fifty gold? That’s our salary? Hope it’s worth it,” Trubdil said and spat on the ground.
“It was the best offer I could find. I pressed him for the money and he affirmed it. The guy must be pretty rich. He refused to give up his name. He said the autarii called him Urda-Gala or something.”
“Hey, my butt is getting cold!” Narsil came running from behind. “Did you think we were gonna walk all the way?”
“Well, I can’t cast spells,” Tyrdek said and wiggled his hands. “No, I’m kidding. I thought we’d hitch a ride. It’s just that none has arrived yet.”
The company worked their way up the snowy road. They looked like forward slashes in the hard wind. Before they left Naggarond, Tyrdek had purchased five woolen, hooded mantles for five of the silver coins. The sixth mantle Andarleth could produce himself. It was a gift to him by a grateful sailor. They wore their helmets over the hoods. The chainmail had been replaced by a breastplate. The brooches for the sea dragon cloaks now functioned as brooches for the mantles simultaneously. Their assortments of daggers had been joined by bloated sacks of food. A couple of journeyers, both on foot, horse and carriage had already met them on the road, but all had been travelling in the wrong direction. The company passed a few robbed corpses on the road, too.
“Watch out. There may be rakshas around whenever you see bodies like these,” Narsil said once and pulled out a cruciform pendant which he kissed.
The wind had abated a while later. Darkness had fallen, a band of orange and yellow was lying, mutilated by the Iron Mountains, in the horizon. Tyrdek hear the clatter of hooves nearing them from the opposite direction. Four riders stopped in front of them.
“Hey you! Little friends. Where are you going?” one of them rode forward and said.
“None of your business, you filth!” Tyrdek shouted and kept going.
The man seized him by the shoulder as he went by.
“What did you say to me?” he said, feigning agitation.
The man was leaning in an awkward position. Tyrdek scanned the environment. The man’s three friends were wearing amused smiles. His own companions had stopped. Everyone was absolutely still.
Tyrdek jerked the man’s arm and he fell from the horse. Like a cobra Tyrdek drew his blade and stabbed it into the armoured chest of the man. He died drooling blood. The horse pranced, touched ground and pranced again. Tyrdek smacked it across the back so that it ran away. The man’s three friends initiated a charge but Tyrdek’s friends were quicker. Their blades sank into the chests and sides of the horses, who collapsed onto the gravel. One rider got his foot crushed under a horse and Erendil rushed forward to finish him. The rider’s gurgling screams were heard as Andarleth, Trubdil, Urian and Narsil cut down the men who were still trying to maintain their balance after skipping off the horsebacks. One horse convulsed a final time and its blood leaked out onto the snow, creating a curious pattern.
“This bloke ain’t got no money!” Andarleth cried.
“Neither has this moron,” grunted Tyrdek.
“Did you think we were going to ride there?” Narsil came up to him and asked.
“Are you serious? I can’t ride. I’m waiting for a carriage.”
“This one’s got a piece of dried fish!” Trubdil cried, almost at the top of his lungs.
“Keep your dried fish. Stuff it up somewhere!” Tyrdek shouted back.
* * *
At first, the wind deaded the sound of grinding wheels. Tyrdek stopped dead.
“Hey guys! I’m hearing something!”
The men stopped and looked at him and his upraised hand. The carriage came slowly grinding towards them. Two lazy horses dragged it, their heads and manes lolling. The driver held the reins slackly. His blushed cheeks showed under a rustic helmet.
“Hey you! Mind if we join?” Tyrdek said.
The rider showed with his thumb at the rear.
“Yeah!” Tyrdek cried. All five followed him like they were small fish dodging a shark.
Inside the wagon the floor and three benches were layered with furs. A man was sitting farthest in. There was not enough room for all seven of them. Erendil reclined on the floor. Trubdil had to sit on Andarleth’s lap.
Tyrdek’s shoulder jammed painfully against the wall and his knees were cutting into the thigh of the man. The man had flat, white hair flowing down to his chest. His facial expression was unchanging and sombre.
“So, who are you?” Tyrdek asked.
“I am a merchant. I’m going to Ghrond to sell furs.” The man’s voice was calm, and lacking in intonation. He just used two different intonations.
“Yea, these furs are nice. Hey, can you tell us when we’re twenty kilometers away from Naggarond?”
“Yes of course I can,” the man said.
“By the way, what is your name?” Tyrdek said and stretched out a hand.
“Corwin,” the man said and seized his hand.
“Okay, my name is Brauglir. This is Toril, Ysar, Feurind and Maltus,” he said motioning at each person in turn. “Him there on the floor is Casar. So, what are we gonna do now. I bet it is pretty far to where we get off. Toril, tell us about your sword.”
Urian fidgeted with his belt to produce his sheathed sword, but gave up after his elbow had contacted Tyrdek's face too many times.
“I call this sword, which I cannot demonstrate to you now, The Bane Of All Things.”
“Is not that name a bit too ambitious?” Andarleth remarked from behind Trubdil.
“Perhaps.”
“How does it merit to be called the bane of all things? From what I have seen, it is not,” Narsil said.
“No – I can’t be everywhere at the same time,” Urian said. “I’m gonna be just like Poisonblade, but succeed where he failed. That’s the whole point of my life.”
“You are already over a hundred years old. By your age, Poisonblade was a master and you are still a private corsair,” Narsil said.
“I’m a private just because the general won’t promote me.”
“Ok, end of discussion,” Tyrdek said and waved a hand as if to fan away the irritated ambience.
A long time went by. Complete night had settled. The driver had litten a latern. Tyrdek felt the wagon enter uneven terrain. The warning bells inside him tolled. The wagon stopped.
“I have planned a little stop here,” Corwin said. “If you will please get out.”
Tyrdek calculated desperately but could find no good plan. He put each of his hands on their respective hilt. Erendil bounded out from the wagon. Nothing was heard. Perhaps the ambushers wanted to wait until they were all out? All others left the wagon in turn until only him and Corwin was left. Tyrdek acted casually so as not to let Corwin know that he suspected anything. He pushed the cloth covering aside with his head and jumped out. It was as if he crossed a magic barrier – a chilly sensation entered his stomach.
But there was no blow from the sides, the front or behind. All his comrades were alive. Corwin stepped out, too, as calm as a cat. The helmeted driver brought the latern. They were on a lawn by the side of the road. At the end of the lawn a forest began. There was also a formation of boulders, at the base of which was a pool of transparent water. A stream continued from the pool into the forest.
“Throw a coin into the pool. You can wish something,” Corwin said. “Saint Ureth died a martyr’s death here, and this pool and stream were created.”
Tyrdek looked into the pool. It was scarcely populated by coins. No valuable coins, only copper coins.
“I refuse to throw anything in here,” Tyrdek said.
“I can give you coins,” Corwin said.
“Give me one,” said Erendil. Corwin gave him a copper coin.
Erendil tossed the coin into the pool. “I wish to die a painful death!” he said.
“Nice wish!” Trubdil remarked.
“I don’t believe in this crap anyway. We’ll see if it happens!” Erendil said.
After Corwin tossed a coin, they all moved into the wagon again.
Last edited by Uruthi on Mon Feb 01, 2010 11:01 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Chapter 3 - Touching The Bones Of The Saint
“This is where you get off”, said Corwin.
The company exited the carriage. They were standing at the sinuous shoreline between a nearly still Sea of Malice that reflected the light-grey sky and a dark forest. Scraps of snow lay on the ground, but there was a lot less here than further down the road. The company watched Corwin’s wagon depart.
“Where did you get those names from?” asked Andarleth.
“Old comrades from the sea,” said Tyrdek. He made an artificial break. “From here we are supposed to ask our way forward. Let’s just sit down and wait.”
Nobody came for a while. Tyrdek sat rolling his thumbs as a couple came from the same direction that they had travelled.
One was a woman with dark-blonde, dreadlocked hair, voluminous and going past her jawline. She wore a red, brooched woolen mantle over a red and blue velvet robe. Attached to a leather belt was a small flask and two swords, whose hilts looked out from the mantle. Accompanying her was a man, slightly taller than her, with blue eyes, a slightly open mouth, a high, polygonal stern and chestnut hair partially tied into a horsetail and partially running behind his ears. An axe was tucked into his belt. He was dressed in the same way as the woman. Both had blue eyes.
“Greetings, fellow, travelers!” Tyrdek said. “Say, do you know the way to Kurion’s Shrine?”
“We are going there,” said the woman.
The company made a deal. Four of Tyrdek’s men would walk in front of the couple, and two would walk next to them as they walked together to the shrine. That way the couple had control over the corsairs and the corsairs had control over them, should anyone have something malicious in mind.
The woman’s name was Aina and the man’s name was Cal. They were sister and brother. She was older than him by ten years. Aina’s voice rasped as she talked, so that she sounded arrogant in an acted manner. Cal had a mellow voice, but he didn’t talk very much except when he approved of something Aina said. Aina had a peculiar stare, as if she had taken some drug. It made Tyrdek think of the sorceress they were going after.
“Why aren’t you wearing armour? The Spear Road…” Tyrdek interrupted himself as he started to laugh mid-sentence. What he was saying was just far too obvious.
“I know that the Spear Road is dangerous. But Kurion will protect us. His holy light shines upon us. Me and Cal have worshipped him ever since we were little. When our parents died we only had him to turn to, and we have, for two hundred years.”
“These are ceremonial robes,” Aina continued. “We are conducting a pilgrimage. Blue and red are the colours of Kurion. Blue for the sky – that is, be outside and be active. Red for bloodshed. Those are the holy dogmas of Kurion. Be outside and shed blood. Don’t stay inside and do nothing. Or whatever people do when they are inside. Play backgammon, or something.”
“If you want to shed blood, why haven’t you shed ours?”
“Because you are six and we are two. It would be irrational.”
“I heard that anyone who touches Kurion’s bones will become a monster in combat. Is it true?”
“Not anyone. Kurion will randomize between all who touch his bones. In every hundred persons, four will get the blessing.”
* * *
They had long since left the Spear Road. They were walking off any track, through wilted bramble and coniferous bushes. On some places ice had melted, creating patches of mud. On others, solid snow lay packed. The route would have been utterly impossible to find without Aina and Cal. As they came up from behind a rocky hill, they saw a black building some hundred metres away. It looked like it was dimensioned for some forty people. It had a hexagonal tower, perhaps two stories high, with a hexagonal pepper-pot roof and ogive, paneled windows. The short side of a rectangular part ended in the tower and began with an entrance. It, too, had ogive windows. As he came neared, Tyrdek saw there were arabesque stuccos on the façade. The entrance was an oak door, looked heavy and was at least thrice as broad as an elf. Aina knocked. A man with a sly smile opened. He had a hooded, dark-blue robe with exaggerated sleeves. A strand of black hair fell across his face.
“Welcome, pilgrims. I am the warden.”
The warden allowed them to pass by. A red carpet ran the length of the rectangular part. It ended in the tower-part, lying over two steps before leaving over to a circular red carpet. The sun was shining on a pile of yellow bones there. There was no furniture. The floor was made of large stone slabs. The windows were not so large, so they allowed for a lot of mural. The walls were covered with murals. The murals combined to make out one single piece of art. They showed scenes from Kurion’s life, starting chronologically to the left of the entrance, going around the building and ending right of the entrance. The level of detail was high. Wherever one scene went over into another, the colour became blurry. Most scenes were about Kurion killing somebody. On different scenes he was painted in different size. Perhaps the most spectacular part of the mural was near the tower. A miniature Kurion challenged a gargantuan creature shown only from the chest upwards, the chest beginning at the horizon. The creature was painted in weak white and light blue tones and transparent – stormclouds showed through him. Kurion stood in the jumbled ruins of a city.
“I see you are looking at the Challenge at Tysabis,” the warden came up to Tyrdek and said as Tyrdek had been standing transfixed in front of the painting for a while. “Kurion’s faith was so strong that it shielded him from even the Chaos God Yrek’s assaults. Experiencing failure made the God weak and it dissolved into nothing. I refer to the Chaos God as it – for what are they but abominable ‘things’.”
“Do all of these pictures have a name?” Tyrdek asked.
“Yes, they do.”
“This is the largest part of the mural .” A smile came onto Tyrdek’s face. He went to the right side of the entrance. The mural on the wall there depicted Kurion being split in half from head to groin by a shaggoth. The blood was flowing abundantly on the picture, too much to be realistic. That was the last mural.
“How about the afterlife?” Tyrdek shouted to the warden who was coming his way.
“Irrelevant,” said the warden.
“If he killed a God, how come he didn’t cleanse the world of creatures and ruled the universe and the Warp alone? With, perhaps, a few handpicked women to amuse himself with?”
“His faith faltered.”
“So if I have faith, I can rule the universe?”
“You must have real faith. Khaine is uncheatable.”
Tyrdek’s gaze shifted from the warden to the pile of bones. Trubdil was just walking away from it. Tyrdek walked up to the pile of bones. He put his hand on the pile. “Let’s hope for the best!” he said.
Cal and Aina were sitting crosslegged, mouths agape and staring at the walls. Following their stares, Tyrdek realized he had missed looking at the roof. The roof was some six metres up and covered with more scenes from Kurion’s life.
“Aren’t you going to touch the bones?” Tyrdek said to the couple.
“We want to feel the ambience first,” Cal said dreamily.
All of Tyrdek’s friends had already touched the bones and were standing in a corner, looking bored.
“I feel nothing,” said Erendil.
“You haven’t been in combat yet,” said Andarleth.
“So, what do we do now,” said Narsil.
“Wait for the pilgrims and then we look for the autarii,” Tyrdek said, who had joined them.
It took a while for the pilgrims to walk forward and touch to bones. They said nothing for a while afterwards. It was starting to get dark outside. Spontaneously, everyone had formed a sitting circle in the middle of the building. Trubdil was joking with the warden, who proved to be jocose. Erendil could not wipe the sour look off his face.
Finishing his laughter, the warden said: “I have kept you here for too long. Perhaps you should stay here. The autarii are kinkier at night.”
“That’s all right with me,” Tyrdek said.
A salvoe of affirmations was heard, with the members of the company except Erendil nodding to each other.
“So it is true that the autarii guard this place?” Tyrdek said.
“Yes, it is.”
“I think I need to reinvigorate. Good night, guys,” Erendil said and lay down prostrate.
“I will tell you others the story of Saint Kurion.” The warden made an artificial break. “Kurion’s mother was married to a highborn, with whom she had three children. She cheated on the highborn with a lowborn and had Kurion with him. At first, the highborn suspected nothing, but by chance he came into contact with a hag who told him of her deceit. He became furious, but did not show his fury. Under the pretext of wanting to make love to her and make up for all the times he had wronged her he got her away from all means to protecting herself, that is, all weapons. But she had seen through his mask of calm. The lowborn waited for him in the bedchamber. But the highborn had in his turn seen through her act, was prepared for the ambush and cut down the lowborn. As an additional punishment, he threw Kurion’s mother out the window. She broke both legs and froze to death. Remember that by this time Kurion was still an infant. So already Kurion’s existence had resulted in a death. But perhaps that’s a bit too spurious,” the warden admitted and looked down. “Anyway the highborn wanted to know nothing of Kurion and went to slay the infant. But as he entered Kurion’s room the child was missing. An assassin had entered the building and taken the child to the school of assassins. By chance, I must remark. It was pure coincidence that he chose the same night as the murders.”
Then followed the story of how Kurion escaped from the school of assassins, cut down his father and three half-siblings, joined the autarii, went on crusades with them, joined raiding expeditions to various places in the old world and all their gristly details, was paid to recover lost artefacts in various places. All the while the warden pointed at the proper place on the wall or in the roof that described the scene he was talking about. It got darker and darker in the room. Finally, the warden produced a taper and put it in the middle of their circle. He went on to describe how Kurion got into conflict with the God Yrek and how he embraced Khaine, and the story of how Kurion killed Yrek in the ruined city of Tysabis, a city from before the sundering. Tysabis had been an elven colony. After the Sundering Yrek had made it his home. Kurion had started to worship Yrek beside Khaine, since they had similar ideologies. But Khaine got jealous and forced Kurion to kill Yrek. Tyrdek asked at this point how Kurion could have faith in Khaine if Khaine was being mean to him. “Faith is a matter of belief, not liking,” the warden had answered. Kurion lost his faith when a sorceress snuck poison into a drink he had. Got paralysed in his left arm. Because Khaine had not protected him then he lost his faith. He took revenge upon the sorceress but couldn’t defend himself the day the shaggoth surprised him on a walk in the forest. The warden stirred up an applause and shouts of fascination as he had finished. He had convinced everyone with his dramatic way of telling the story. Erendil was sleeping as a log. Tyrdek found it best to do the same the few hours of night that remained.
“This is where you get off”, said Corwin.
The company exited the carriage. They were standing at the sinuous shoreline between a nearly still Sea of Malice that reflected the light-grey sky and a dark forest. Scraps of snow lay on the ground, but there was a lot less here than further down the road. The company watched Corwin’s wagon depart.
“Where did you get those names from?” asked Andarleth.
“Old comrades from the sea,” said Tyrdek. He made an artificial break. “From here we are supposed to ask our way forward. Let’s just sit down and wait.”
Nobody came for a while. Tyrdek sat rolling his thumbs as a couple came from the same direction that they had travelled.
One was a woman with dark-blonde, dreadlocked hair, voluminous and going past her jawline. She wore a red, brooched woolen mantle over a red and blue velvet robe. Attached to a leather belt was a small flask and two swords, whose hilts looked out from the mantle. Accompanying her was a man, slightly taller than her, with blue eyes, a slightly open mouth, a high, polygonal stern and chestnut hair partially tied into a horsetail and partially running behind his ears. An axe was tucked into his belt. He was dressed in the same way as the woman. Both had blue eyes.
“Greetings, fellow, travelers!” Tyrdek said. “Say, do you know the way to Kurion’s Shrine?”
“We are going there,” said the woman.
The company made a deal. Four of Tyrdek’s men would walk in front of the couple, and two would walk next to them as they walked together to the shrine. That way the couple had control over the corsairs and the corsairs had control over them, should anyone have something malicious in mind.
The woman’s name was Aina and the man’s name was Cal. They were sister and brother. She was older than him by ten years. Aina’s voice rasped as she talked, so that she sounded arrogant in an acted manner. Cal had a mellow voice, but he didn’t talk very much except when he approved of something Aina said. Aina had a peculiar stare, as if she had taken some drug. It made Tyrdek think of the sorceress they were going after.
“Why aren’t you wearing armour? The Spear Road…” Tyrdek interrupted himself as he started to laugh mid-sentence. What he was saying was just far too obvious.
“I know that the Spear Road is dangerous. But Kurion will protect us. His holy light shines upon us. Me and Cal have worshipped him ever since we were little. When our parents died we only had him to turn to, and we have, for two hundred years.”
“These are ceremonial robes,” Aina continued. “We are conducting a pilgrimage. Blue and red are the colours of Kurion. Blue for the sky – that is, be outside and be active. Red for bloodshed. Those are the holy dogmas of Kurion. Be outside and shed blood. Don’t stay inside and do nothing. Or whatever people do when they are inside. Play backgammon, or something.”
“If you want to shed blood, why haven’t you shed ours?”
“Because you are six and we are two. It would be irrational.”
“I heard that anyone who touches Kurion’s bones will become a monster in combat. Is it true?”
“Not anyone. Kurion will randomize between all who touch his bones. In every hundred persons, four will get the blessing.”
* * *
They had long since left the Spear Road. They were walking off any track, through wilted bramble and coniferous bushes. On some places ice had melted, creating patches of mud. On others, solid snow lay packed. The route would have been utterly impossible to find without Aina and Cal. As they came up from behind a rocky hill, they saw a black building some hundred metres away. It looked like it was dimensioned for some forty people. It had a hexagonal tower, perhaps two stories high, with a hexagonal pepper-pot roof and ogive, paneled windows. The short side of a rectangular part ended in the tower and began with an entrance. It, too, had ogive windows. As he came neared, Tyrdek saw there were arabesque stuccos on the façade. The entrance was an oak door, looked heavy and was at least thrice as broad as an elf. Aina knocked. A man with a sly smile opened. He had a hooded, dark-blue robe with exaggerated sleeves. A strand of black hair fell across his face.
“Welcome, pilgrims. I am the warden.”
The warden allowed them to pass by. A red carpet ran the length of the rectangular part. It ended in the tower-part, lying over two steps before leaving over to a circular red carpet. The sun was shining on a pile of yellow bones there. There was no furniture. The floor was made of large stone slabs. The windows were not so large, so they allowed for a lot of mural. The walls were covered with murals. The murals combined to make out one single piece of art. They showed scenes from Kurion’s life, starting chronologically to the left of the entrance, going around the building and ending right of the entrance. The level of detail was high. Wherever one scene went over into another, the colour became blurry. Most scenes were about Kurion killing somebody. On different scenes he was painted in different size. Perhaps the most spectacular part of the mural was near the tower. A miniature Kurion challenged a gargantuan creature shown only from the chest upwards, the chest beginning at the horizon. The creature was painted in weak white and light blue tones and transparent – stormclouds showed through him. Kurion stood in the jumbled ruins of a city.
“I see you are looking at the Challenge at Tysabis,” the warden came up to Tyrdek and said as Tyrdek had been standing transfixed in front of the painting for a while. “Kurion’s faith was so strong that it shielded him from even the Chaos God Yrek’s assaults. Experiencing failure made the God weak and it dissolved into nothing. I refer to the Chaos God as it – for what are they but abominable ‘things’.”
“Do all of these pictures have a name?” Tyrdek asked.
“Yes, they do.”
“This is the largest part of the mural .” A smile came onto Tyrdek’s face. He went to the right side of the entrance. The mural on the wall there depicted Kurion being split in half from head to groin by a shaggoth. The blood was flowing abundantly on the picture, too much to be realistic. That was the last mural.
“How about the afterlife?” Tyrdek shouted to the warden who was coming his way.
“Irrelevant,” said the warden.
“If he killed a God, how come he didn’t cleanse the world of creatures and ruled the universe and the Warp alone? With, perhaps, a few handpicked women to amuse himself with?”
“His faith faltered.”
“So if I have faith, I can rule the universe?”
“You must have real faith. Khaine is uncheatable.”
Tyrdek’s gaze shifted from the warden to the pile of bones. Trubdil was just walking away from it. Tyrdek walked up to the pile of bones. He put his hand on the pile. “Let’s hope for the best!” he said.
Cal and Aina were sitting crosslegged, mouths agape and staring at the walls. Following their stares, Tyrdek realized he had missed looking at the roof. The roof was some six metres up and covered with more scenes from Kurion’s life.
“Aren’t you going to touch the bones?” Tyrdek said to the couple.
“We want to feel the ambience first,” Cal said dreamily.
All of Tyrdek’s friends had already touched the bones and were standing in a corner, looking bored.
“I feel nothing,” said Erendil.
“You haven’t been in combat yet,” said Andarleth.
“So, what do we do now,” said Narsil.
“Wait for the pilgrims and then we look for the autarii,” Tyrdek said, who had joined them.
It took a while for the pilgrims to walk forward and touch to bones. They said nothing for a while afterwards. It was starting to get dark outside. Spontaneously, everyone had formed a sitting circle in the middle of the building. Trubdil was joking with the warden, who proved to be jocose. Erendil could not wipe the sour look off his face.
Finishing his laughter, the warden said: “I have kept you here for too long. Perhaps you should stay here. The autarii are kinkier at night.”
“That’s all right with me,” Tyrdek said.
A salvoe of affirmations was heard, with the members of the company except Erendil nodding to each other.
“So it is true that the autarii guard this place?” Tyrdek said.
“Yes, it is.”
“I think I need to reinvigorate. Good night, guys,” Erendil said and lay down prostrate.
“I will tell you others the story of Saint Kurion.” The warden made an artificial break. “Kurion’s mother was married to a highborn, with whom she had three children. She cheated on the highborn with a lowborn and had Kurion with him. At first, the highborn suspected nothing, but by chance he came into contact with a hag who told him of her deceit. He became furious, but did not show his fury. Under the pretext of wanting to make love to her and make up for all the times he had wronged her he got her away from all means to protecting herself, that is, all weapons. But she had seen through his mask of calm. The lowborn waited for him in the bedchamber. But the highborn had in his turn seen through her act, was prepared for the ambush and cut down the lowborn. As an additional punishment, he threw Kurion’s mother out the window. She broke both legs and froze to death. Remember that by this time Kurion was still an infant. So already Kurion’s existence had resulted in a death. But perhaps that’s a bit too spurious,” the warden admitted and looked down. “Anyway the highborn wanted to know nothing of Kurion and went to slay the infant. But as he entered Kurion’s room the child was missing. An assassin had entered the building and taken the child to the school of assassins. By chance, I must remark. It was pure coincidence that he chose the same night as the murders.”
Then followed the story of how Kurion escaped from the school of assassins, cut down his father and three half-siblings, joined the autarii, went on crusades with them, joined raiding expeditions to various places in the old world and all their gristly details, was paid to recover lost artefacts in various places. All the while the warden pointed at the proper place on the wall or in the roof that described the scene he was talking about. It got darker and darker in the room. Finally, the warden produced a taper and put it in the middle of their circle. He went on to describe how Kurion got into conflict with the God Yrek and how he embraced Khaine, and the story of how Kurion killed Yrek in the ruined city of Tysabis, a city from before the sundering. Tysabis had been an elven colony. After the Sundering Yrek had made it his home. Kurion had started to worship Yrek beside Khaine, since they had similar ideologies. But Khaine got jealous and forced Kurion to kill Yrek. Tyrdek asked at this point how Kurion could have faith in Khaine if Khaine was being mean to him. “Faith is a matter of belief, not liking,” the warden had answered. Kurion lost his faith when a sorceress snuck poison into a drink he had. Got paralysed in his left arm. Because Khaine had not protected him then he lost his faith. He took revenge upon the sorceress but couldn’t defend himself the day the shaggoth surprised him on a walk in the forest. The warden stirred up an applause and shouts of fascination as he had finished. He had convinced everyone with his dramatic way of telling the story. Erendil was sleeping as a log. Tyrdek found it best to do the same the few hours of night that remained.
Last edited by Uruthi on Mon Feb 01, 2010 11:03 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Chapter 4 - Meeting With The Autarii
Dim light fell in through the windows. Tyrdek awoke. It was early morning. The sky was pale blue. There was no noise of any kind outside. No birds, no wind. Tyrdek shook his companions.
“Let’s move!” he said. Aina and Cal bowed toward the relics before exiting.
Outside, Tyrdek noted something peculiar. There was indeed wind – treetops were shaking significantly further away, in every direction that he looked – but about the shrine it was still.
“I’m gonna contact the Sukh tribe,” Tyrdek said. He clapped his hands thrice and whistled once, as the contractor had instructed. Immediately there exited three camouflaged elves from a treeline further away.
“Usha-Draua sais hello!” he said. Tyrdek felt Trubdil giving him a look.
The elves, one man and two women, all had black hair. Their faces were tattooed with convoluting lines, sometimes ending in spiral patterns.
“Hail!” the man said. “I remember Usha-Draua.”
“We would like to talk to you about a sorceress who controls a territory not far from here. I understand you are at war with her.”
The man coughed a laugh. “Used to be. We can take you to the camp. You can meet the urhan.”
The man and women never said anything during the entire walk to the camp. Tyrdek found it best not to initiate a conversation. The company walked through terrain that was sparsely wooded for a while. The growth consisted mostly of young saplings and different kinds of bushes. It was difficult to walk because of the rugged ground. Barr that had fallen down from firs populated it, aswell as occasional currents of ants and parties of moss. After a more heavily wooded area, with firs standing out as spears from the ground, came a large glade, partially man-made, where the Sukh tribe had their camp. The camp consisted of some wigwams that outnumbered a few timber buildings. Most timber buildings were small, square structures with pyramidal, thatched roofs. Magazines, evidently. One timber building had a rustic porch. Judging from the tools that littered on the porch, it was a smithy. The autarii in the camp gave the newcomers suspicious looks. Men and women were there in equal number, and knots of children were running around. Everyone except the children had facial tattoos like the man and women they had just met. The man and women led the company to the largest tent.
Inside the tent sat a man with black, horsetailed hair. His face was richly tattoed. A thick, jagged-line tattoo crept up his neck from under a leather gambeson. Over the leather gambeson the elf had a purple cloak, fastened by a pin. Tyrdek saw that even his fingers were tattooed. Grey hides were spread out across the floor, overlapping each other. Crossbows, two swords, five spears with different heads and a multitude of axes were lined along the wall. On an earthenware dish at the urhan’s feet lay the bones of some small creature along with the ends of two parsnips.
“Greetings,” said the urhan. His stare was riveted on Tyrdek, who entered first. Their guides, the man and the woman, left. Tyrdek sat down opposite of the man. The entire company did not fit inside the tent. Aina and Cal stayed outside.
“Usha-Draua has sent us. We would like to meet the sorceress who rules a territory not far from here.” The urhan did not flinch. “Thirty kilometers away, it is said,” Tyrdek continued. “All we ask for is a guide. I can pay you.”
“You will need an army to meet Arwen. She has three armies protecting her.”
“Sounds interesting. Tell me more,” Tyrdek said and leaned forward, propping his head on his arm.
“The first army is her retainers. They have been with her for a long time. Perhaps it is wrong to say that they are an army, but they are very skilled. The second army is the forces of Chaos. She can call for them at any time. The third army is the population she rules over. They are so afraid of her that they have been brainwashed. Now they are her fanatic devotees. She can kill people with her gaze. I saw her kill a man like that once. She looked at him in a special way, and then he died. On the battlefield, she will seek eyecontact with everyone. Never meet her gaze, that’s the only way to be sure!”
“How come that she can call for the forces of Chaos? I believed that such an alliance would destroy you?”
“To an ordinary elf, they would. But Arwen is educated at the sorceress’s convent.”
“Why isn’t she still there? I thought it was forbidden to leave.”
“She came in contact with Chaos and rebelled. She fled from the sorceress’s convent to here, where she subdued the autarii population.”
“Well, we just want to meet her. I’m sure it will be possible.”
“Very well. Kalai, the man who took you here, will guide you. But first, it is custom for all our visitors to have a tattoo.”
The corsairs shared enthusiastic glances.
“By the way, I saw you have a smithy here. Can we borrow it for a while?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What are you talking about?” Trubdil interjected.
Tyrdek ignored him and craned his neck to look at Andarleth. “I have some silver. We can enhance that moon of yours.”
Andarleth looked down at his snake-sun-and-moon brooche, looked up again and smiled. The company exited the tent, the urhan following. The urhan waved at some men and women who joined.
“Where would you like your tattoos?” the urhan asked.
“I’ll take mine on the upper arm, said Erendil and started to loosen his right vambrace.
Dim light fell in through the windows. Tyrdek awoke. It was early morning. The sky was pale blue. There was no noise of any kind outside. No birds, no wind. Tyrdek shook his companions.
“Let’s move!” he said. Aina and Cal bowed toward the relics before exiting.
Outside, Tyrdek noted something peculiar. There was indeed wind – treetops were shaking significantly further away, in every direction that he looked – but about the shrine it was still.
“I’m gonna contact the Sukh tribe,” Tyrdek said. He clapped his hands thrice and whistled once, as the contractor had instructed. Immediately there exited three camouflaged elves from a treeline further away.
“Usha-Draua sais hello!” he said. Tyrdek felt Trubdil giving him a look.
The elves, one man and two women, all had black hair. Their faces were tattooed with convoluting lines, sometimes ending in spiral patterns.
“Hail!” the man said. “I remember Usha-Draua.”
“We would like to talk to you about a sorceress who controls a territory not far from here. I understand you are at war with her.”
The man coughed a laugh. “Used to be. We can take you to the camp. You can meet the urhan.”
The man and women never said anything during the entire walk to the camp. Tyrdek found it best not to initiate a conversation. The company walked through terrain that was sparsely wooded for a while. The growth consisted mostly of young saplings and different kinds of bushes. It was difficult to walk because of the rugged ground. Barr that had fallen down from firs populated it, aswell as occasional currents of ants and parties of moss. After a more heavily wooded area, with firs standing out as spears from the ground, came a large glade, partially man-made, where the Sukh tribe had their camp. The camp consisted of some wigwams that outnumbered a few timber buildings. Most timber buildings were small, square structures with pyramidal, thatched roofs. Magazines, evidently. One timber building had a rustic porch. Judging from the tools that littered on the porch, it was a smithy. The autarii in the camp gave the newcomers suspicious looks. Men and women were there in equal number, and knots of children were running around. Everyone except the children had facial tattoos like the man and women they had just met. The man and women led the company to the largest tent.
Inside the tent sat a man with black, horsetailed hair. His face was richly tattoed. A thick, jagged-line tattoo crept up his neck from under a leather gambeson. Over the leather gambeson the elf had a purple cloak, fastened by a pin. Tyrdek saw that even his fingers were tattooed. Grey hides were spread out across the floor, overlapping each other. Crossbows, two swords, five spears with different heads and a multitude of axes were lined along the wall. On an earthenware dish at the urhan’s feet lay the bones of some small creature along with the ends of two parsnips.
“Greetings,” said the urhan. His stare was riveted on Tyrdek, who entered first. Their guides, the man and the woman, left. Tyrdek sat down opposite of the man. The entire company did not fit inside the tent. Aina and Cal stayed outside.
“Usha-Draua has sent us. We would like to meet the sorceress who rules a territory not far from here.” The urhan did not flinch. “Thirty kilometers away, it is said,” Tyrdek continued. “All we ask for is a guide. I can pay you.”
“You will need an army to meet Arwen. She has three armies protecting her.”
“Sounds interesting. Tell me more,” Tyrdek said and leaned forward, propping his head on his arm.
“The first army is her retainers. They have been with her for a long time. Perhaps it is wrong to say that they are an army, but they are very skilled. The second army is the forces of Chaos. She can call for them at any time. The third army is the population she rules over. They are so afraid of her that they have been brainwashed. Now they are her fanatic devotees. She can kill people with her gaze. I saw her kill a man like that once. She looked at him in a special way, and then he died. On the battlefield, she will seek eyecontact with everyone. Never meet her gaze, that’s the only way to be sure!”
“How come that she can call for the forces of Chaos? I believed that such an alliance would destroy you?”
“To an ordinary elf, they would. But Arwen is educated at the sorceress’s convent.”
“Why isn’t she still there? I thought it was forbidden to leave.”
“She came in contact with Chaos and rebelled. She fled from the sorceress’s convent to here, where she subdued the autarii population.”
“Well, we just want to meet her. I’m sure it will be possible.”
“Very well. Kalai, the man who took you here, will guide you. But first, it is custom for all our visitors to have a tattoo.”
The corsairs shared enthusiastic glances.
“By the way, I saw you have a smithy here. Can we borrow it for a while?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What are you talking about?” Trubdil interjected.
Tyrdek ignored him and craned his neck to look at Andarleth. “I have some silver. We can enhance that moon of yours.”
Andarleth looked down at his snake-sun-and-moon brooche, looked up again and smiled. The company exited the tent, the urhan following. The urhan waved at some men and women who joined.
“Where would you like your tattoos?” the urhan asked.
“I’ll take mine on the upper arm, said Erendil and started to loosen his right vambrace.
Last edited by Uruthi on Mon Feb 01, 2010 11:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Drainial
- Prophet of Tzeentch
- Posts: 4641
- Joined: Fri May 19, 2006 3:51 pm
- Location: I am the voice inside your head
It has some potential, and it is good to see anyone writing on the forum. That said I think it could be better. Your writing is, in my opinion at least, too descriptive. There is a line to be drawn between painting a picture for your reader, and listing a set of features; the first draws the reader further into the story, the later breaks the flow of the piece and has the opposite effect.
The other problem I have is with the characters, it is difficult to describe, I simply don't care about them, at all. I think perhaps you are trying to introduce too many at once, you never go into any great detail about any of them, aside from their physical features. Ok perhaps that is harsh, the story is only just beginning after all, but one of the first things a good story needs to do is introduce you to your hero/ anti hero/ ordinary guy.
So it boils down to this, when I read what you have written so far it is just that, reading, much like reading the paper. What I look for in a fantasy story is to draw me away from the everyday world.
My advice is this, cut down on the physical description, people will fill in any details you do not describe mentally anyway so all you have to do is give them a general form and an idea of what they are like. At the same time you should step up your character building.
Just so you don't think that there is nothing I like (which is far from the truth) I do think that the plotline is a good one, so far at least, but the characters need motivation and personality.
I hope you carry on writing.
The other problem I have is with the characters, it is difficult to describe, I simply don't care about them, at all. I think perhaps you are trying to introduce too many at once, you never go into any great detail about any of them, aside from their physical features. Ok perhaps that is harsh, the story is only just beginning after all, but one of the first things a good story needs to do is introduce you to your hero/ anti hero/ ordinary guy.
So it boils down to this, when I read what you have written so far it is just that, reading, much like reading the paper. What I look for in a fantasy story is to draw me away from the everyday world.
My advice is this, cut down on the physical description, people will fill in any details you do not describe mentally anyway so all you have to do is give them a general form and an idea of what they are like. At the same time you should step up your character building.
Just so you don't think that there is nothing I like (which is far from the truth) I do think that the plotline is a good one, so far at least, but the characters need motivation and personality.
I hope you carry on writing.
Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.
Arch Deacon of the RPG forum
Gentleman of Moderation
Arch Deacon of the RPG forum
Gentleman of Moderation
Andarleth’s brooch had received a moon. Tyrdek had melted one of the silver coins and applied it to an iron disc on the brooch. The result was not perfect, but acceptable. Toc-toc-tocs were echoing as Erendil, Trubdil, Urian and Narsil were becoming tattoos. The autarii used hollow sticks and hammers to apply the tattoos. All except Urian chose to have the tattoo on their bicep. Urian tattoed his shoulder. The tattoos were of the same kind as those of the Sukkh tribe: convoluting lines with spiral patterns. Tyrdek tattoed his bicep, too, and Andarleth tattooed his shoulder. Cal and Aina had at first tried to talk their way out of a tattoo, but noticing the rising anger of the autariis they chose to cooperate. The company thanked for their tattoos and left together with Kalai.
Kalai brought a draich, an axe and a crossbow. Tyrdek raised an eyebrow as he saw the draich. Kalai seemed to have no problem carrying around the equipment, not even after five kilometers of walking across sometimes very difficult terrain. Tyrdek felt the silence as uncomfortable.
“Isn’t your equipment heavy?”
“I’m used to these kind of marches. Wherever Arwen is around, you need to be prepared. There is no room for slacking.”
Tyrdek nodded. “For how long were you at war with her?”
“For a year. It’s pretty long ago.”
“That’s funny. Usha-Draua told me you were still at war with her.”
“Usha-Draua is a funny guy.”
“Who is he?”
“He is a merchant. He trades in gold and silver. Guys like him need to be alert twenty-four-seven, if you know what I mean. He still thinks it pays off to be a goldtrader, because so few compete with him on the market. He wanted to make a deal with Arwen. Few people wanted to make good deals with him, but Arwen lured him with a good price. But Arwen, in the end, cheated him and stole some very unique items from him. Usha-Draua still wants to get paid, and reasons that since she didn’t pay him in cash she must pay with her life. That’s an autarii wisdom, else. He likes us. He lived for a while with us but he left when the war started.”
“Why did you fight a war with Arwen? The prospect seems pretty hopeless.”
“That was before we knew about her alliance with Chaos. She tried to make our territory hers. What’s ours is ours. We lost the war in the end.”
“Didn’t the urhan say that she subdued an autarii tribe? That alone should have warned you.”
“No, she didn’t. She exterminated them. Those that she has subdued are local peasants. They are all working for her now.”
“So the peasants are her workhorses? They supply her and her retainers with food, weapons, raw materials?”
“Yes, they do.”
“That gives me an idea. The peasants seem to be the weak link in her power structure. If we take out the peasants, then the supply of weapons and food will stop to the retainers. Ahem, I was wrong, she will still have her most powerful asset then, the forces of Chaos. I assume these supply themselves.”
Kalai smiled. “Yes, they do, but you reason correctly. If we take out the peasants then at least you will have weakened her. And without the labour of the peasants, Arwen could never make the sacrifices necessary to maintain her favour with the Gods. So take them out and you will take out her entire power structure.”
“Arwen must be aware of this, since we just figured it out in notime.”
“Yes, she is. She is very meticulous about what her servants do. She has them guarded by the retainers and her Chaos allies.”
“But still, we can infiltrate the camp and eat them up from within, so to speak.”
“Possible.”
“Arwen likes to cheat people. I will say I am a fur trader, wanting to make a deal with her. I have some very rare furs. She will be interested in cheating me, letting me meet her. But then again, if I avoid eye-contact with her, won’t she suspect I’m up to something, since I know this trait of hers?”
“You must take that chance with her. You must gamble with death if you want to get close to her. She will suspect anyone who will not look her into the eyes.”
“Thank you for the information, Kalai. You are a valuable asset indeed! My goal is actually just to take her out. I’m not looking to defeat her in combat.”
“You can try the trader-thing. If the trader-thing fails, then you can try the peasant-thing.”
“Will Arwen even see me? Won’t she see through my plot immediately?”
“With Arwen, you have to gamble. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Since she worships Chaos. I just wonder what came first, her affinity for gambling or her affinity for Chaos.”
Tyrdek noticed the trees becoming increasingly twisted. Puddles of green water were scattered across the landscape, increasingly reflecting the sky the farther away you looked. Strange birds chirruped and hooted in the trees. Some of them darted into the sky as the company came near. Finally, they came to a road.
“This is where Arwen’s realm begins. It used to be ours. As you can see, we’re pushed back pretty far,” Kalai said.
“Will you join us? It might be interesting. You can witness first-hand if we succeed or fail.”
“Yes, I will. It will be a pleasure.”
Kalai brought a draich, an axe and a crossbow. Tyrdek raised an eyebrow as he saw the draich. Kalai seemed to have no problem carrying around the equipment, not even after five kilometers of walking across sometimes very difficult terrain. Tyrdek felt the silence as uncomfortable.
“Isn’t your equipment heavy?”
“I’m used to these kind of marches. Wherever Arwen is around, you need to be prepared. There is no room for slacking.”
Tyrdek nodded. “For how long were you at war with her?”
“For a year. It’s pretty long ago.”
“That’s funny. Usha-Draua told me you were still at war with her.”
“Usha-Draua is a funny guy.”
“Who is he?”
“He is a merchant. He trades in gold and silver. Guys like him need to be alert twenty-four-seven, if you know what I mean. He still thinks it pays off to be a goldtrader, because so few compete with him on the market. He wanted to make a deal with Arwen. Few people wanted to make good deals with him, but Arwen lured him with a good price. But Arwen, in the end, cheated him and stole some very unique items from him. Usha-Draua still wants to get paid, and reasons that since she didn’t pay him in cash she must pay with her life. That’s an autarii wisdom, else. He likes us. He lived for a while with us but he left when the war started.”
“Why did you fight a war with Arwen? The prospect seems pretty hopeless.”
“That was before we knew about her alliance with Chaos. She tried to make our territory hers. What’s ours is ours. We lost the war in the end.”
“Didn’t the urhan say that she subdued an autarii tribe? That alone should have warned you.”
“No, she didn’t. She exterminated them. Those that she has subdued are local peasants. They are all working for her now.”
“So the peasants are her workhorses? They supply her and her retainers with food, weapons, raw materials?”
“Yes, they do.”
“That gives me an idea. The peasants seem to be the weak link in her power structure. If we take out the peasants, then the supply of weapons and food will stop to the retainers. Ahem, I was wrong, she will still have her most powerful asset then, the forces of Chaos. I assume these supply themselves.”
Kalai smiled. “Yes, they do, but you reason correctly. If we take out the peasants then at least you will have weakened her. And without the labour of the peasants, Arwen could never make the sacrifices necessary to maintain her favour with the Gods. So take them out and you will take out her entire power structure.”
“Arwen must be aware of this, since we just figured it out in notime.”
“Yes, she is. She is very meticulous about what her servants do. She has them guarded by the retainers and her Chaos allies.”
“But still, we can infiltrate the camp and eat them up from within, so to speak.”
“Possible.”
“Arwen likes to cheat people. I will say I am a fur trader, wanting to make a deal with her. I have some very rare furs. She will be interested in cheating me, letting me meet her. But then again, if I avoid eye-contact with her, won’t she suspect I’m up to something, since I know this trait of hers?”
“You must take that chance with her. You must gamble with death if you want to get close to her. She will suspect anyone who will not look her into the eyes.”
“Thank you for the information, Kalai. You are a valuable asset indeed! My goal is actually just to take her out. I’m not looking to defeat her in combat.”
“You can try the trader-thing. If the trader-thing fails, then you can try the peasant-thing.”
“Will Arwen even see me? Won’t she see through my plot immediately?”
“With Arwen, you have to gamble. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Since she worships Chaos. I just wonder what came first, her affinity for gambling or her affinity for Chaos.”
Tyrdek noticed the trees becoming increasingly twisted. Puddles of green water were scattered across the landscape, increasingly reflecting the sky the farther away you looked. Strange birds chirruped and hooted in the trees. Some of them darted into the sky as the company came near. Finally, they came to a road.
“This is where Arwen’s realm begins. It used to be ours. As you can see, we’re pushed back pretty far,” Kalai said.
“Will you join us? It might be interesting. You can witness first-hand if we succeed or fail.”
“Yes, I will. It will be a pleasure.”
Chapter 5 - Inside The Valley Of Kur
A group of figures sat in a jumbled heap a bit further away. Tyrdek couldn’t quite make out their details yet, but one of them, squatting, was significantly larger than the others. He, or it, moved in a peculiar way, Tyrdek couldn’t quite trace it, but it was something with its head.
It bolted upright and, with a roar that might have echoed up from some abyss, charged at the company. Tyrdek felt a chilly sensation pass through his body and darted his hands to the swordhilts.
The creature jerked still and was thrown off his feet. Something rattled musically behind him. The creature was a troll. Tyrdek now saw why he had perceived its motions as peculiar. It had two heads. It was manacled at both of his heads, the chain running all the way to a tree fitted with a third ring of iron. Tyrdek saw there were cuts to the tree from the ring.
A handler savagely tore at the chain, yelling as if he called to a horse. The handler was a human, with a bare, tattooed upper body and a shaved head. The other creatures were beastmen, perhaps ten of them, and one chaos warrior in full chaos armour.
“Greetings, travelers!” the chaos warrior said. “Excuse Grynlir!“ The warrior’s voice sounded like two voices speaking at once, the one Tyrdek was hearing was the loudest but there was another one, saying something in another language at the same time.
“I would like to see Arwen. I am a fur trader and I have an excellent deal for her.”
“Well, where are your furs then,” the warrior said and laughed, like a robot.
“For practical purposes I have chosen to take them with me at a later date.”
“Well, that sounds fine with me. Question is if it sounds fine with Arwen, but that’s a risk you have to take. I like your style. You can pass. Tull will guide you. Tull!” the warrior barked, and a squatting beastman bolted upright.
The company was about to leave as the warrior pointed at Kalai. “Stop! You can’t pass. Filthy Sukh tribesmen are not allowed.”
Tyrdek looked at Kalai.
“That’s okay,” Kalai said.
“See you later!” Tyrdek said and waved.
“How are we going to get back if we leave Kalai?” Erendil said.
“Perhaps Tull can guide us,” Tyrdek said and smiled. Tull was a pretty small beastman. He had an unchanging, intense gaze and small horns. He was armed with a spear that he used as a cane. The rhythmical sound accompanied them all the way into Arwen’s realm.
Fields of rye stretched out on both sides of the road. Tired farmers with bare chests, and half their faces painted white, were looking at them from the fields or plantations with rows of green growth sticking out. Collections of houses were interspersed with the fields, built in timber. As the company came up from behind a slope they saw the whole expanse of the realm.
Numerous black buildings were crammed into the flat valley. The valley was dotted by lights now that evening had come. Most buildings were not so high, but five of them stood out. In the middle was a stone castle with towers in the corners. Tyrdek could spot four square, domed building roughly located in each quadrant of the city. They soon entered the outskirts, the buildings being scarcer here. Tyrdek saw the portrait of a naked woman on one of the walls. She had black hair flowing well past her breasts, white skin and a seductive stare. She had her legs crossed and a finger was at her mouth, as if she was making some erotic invitation. A small boy, half his face painted white, lay down a bundle of flowers below a niche in another wall. The niche was already abundant with wilted and fresh flowers. A brass statuette was inside the niche. As they walked on, Tyrdek saw several more niches like the one they had seen and several more murals depicting the lady.
Well into the city, Tull led them on many narrow streets, walking past children with running noses, roaming dogs and goats, old wooden fences and lines with laundry. They finally stopped in front of one house.
“The mistress will not see guests on the first day they arrive,” Tull bleated. “You will stay for the night with this family.”
Tull knocked on the rustic door. A man, with half his face painted white, opened the door. He first looked at Tull and then the company. His eyes widened.
“Oh, visitors! How wonderful!”
He stepped aside and the company flowed past him. Tyrdek went in last. He saw Tull hobbling down the streets.
Inside it was warm. A goat was resting on its haunches in the middle of a small room. Child-like paintings were lining the walls, lying on the floor. Some of their frames were broken. A chair with a basket-seat was standing by a wall, a hole in its seat. Next to the chair was a ladder, leading up to a hole in the roof. Tyrdek heard something crack under his foot. It was a toy made from a cone and a couple of twigs. There was a rectangular opening in the back-wall and behind it, another room. Tyrdek stepped over a canvas, paint distributed messily across it. The second room was slightly larger than the first. In a corner stood a rectangular table and two benches. Five children were sitting on the innermost bench. In the opposite corner stood an easel with a nascent work of art. Brushes were strewn around it. A line with fresh laundry was tied to two hooks at that corner and the adjacent. Under the washes, a basin of dirty water was standing. In the last corner stood a bowl on a pedestal, containing hazelnuts and raisins. Tyrdek stuffed a couple of raisins into his mouth. Along almost the entire length of one of the walls ran a two-rowed rack. A myriad of earthenware plates were stored in it. In the middle of the roof, there was an opening. An iron bar crossed it, and a hook was fastened to the iron bar. From the hook hung a chain, which suspended an iron pot over a fire.
By the easel, folding a piece of cloth, stood a woman whose eyes widened at the sight of the company.
“Well! Visitors!” said the woman, in a kind and strained voice.
The man’s voice was just the same. “My name is Imrik! I have the pleasure of welcoming you to my home! This is my family. This is Naida, my wife, these are Niniel, Shanna, Isilvar, Irion and Narleth, my children. You have perhaps met my goat, Coran,” the man said with a bemused smile.
“Naida, what are we having for dinner?” Imrik said.
“A soup, dear, a soup!”
“Let us get seated, you are just in time,” said Imrik.
The company packed themselves tight on the two benches. Naida gave all of them plates and soup with a ladle.
Erendil took a mouthful of the soup.
“So, what do you guys do all day? Ow! Damn it. What’s this?”
He spat a nail onto the table.
“What do you guys put into your soup? This is hazardous.”
Erendil stopped eating, crossing his arms.
“Come on, Erendil, it’s not that bad,” said Andarleth.
“No, it’s not that bad. It’s really not that bad,” Imrik said. “Our Mistress is favourable to us. She gives us harvest every year. She cares for our children. It couldn’t be better. I mean, we have everything we want. Right, honey?” he said and nudged Naida. Naida giggled.
“Yes, yees,” he said, laughter still in his voice. “We couldn’t ask for more. Hey, have you been thinking about this: why does everything have to be so dangerous? Why is everything so dangerous? I mean, look around you. What do you see? Shields, spears. Means of protection. I mean, weapons. Swords. Our local smith made a sword the other day. Can you imagine?” Imrik burst into the most riotous laughter.
“Yea, right,” Tyrdek said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “Hey, Imrik, where are we gonna sleep?”
“Upstairs. We have plenty of room. Don’t you want to hear my story? About people being dangerous?”
“Yea, yea, go on,” Tyrdek said, trying to sound nice.
“I paint things. I am an artist. I paint masterpieces, actually. Look at this!” Imrik rose up, jostled past the people on the bench and picked up the canvas on the floor. “This! I painted this last night, in a spurt of imagination and inspiration! Look at it! What do you think?”
“Yea, neat,” Erendil said.
“Inspiration is the first and foremost trait of the artist. You must have inspiration to become an artist,” Imrik said and sat down again. “Imagination – it is secondary. Inspiration is a must.”
“Nice dinner you have here,” Trubdil said and leaned back against the wall.
“Dinner, winner – sinner! E-he he he he!” Imrik exploded. He batted his spoon repetitively against the table and nearly suffocated of laughter. His children joined him. Naida smiled. After a while the cacophony had gone on so long that Tyrdek felt a bit strange.
“Hey- let’s go upstairs,” he said tacitly and started to rise.
“No! Don’t leave,” Imrik said. “The best is yet to come! I have a joke – “ he burst into laughter again. Tyrdek rose up again. Imrik pulled him down.
“No, don’t go! I have a – “ Tyrdek batted away his hand and left.
“I will wake you in the morning! Tomorrow, there is a service,” he shouted after the leaving company.
A group of figures sat in a jumbled heap a bit further away. Tyrdek couldn’t quite make out their details yet, but one of them, squatting, was significantly larger than the others. He, or it, moved in a peculiar way, Tyrdek couldn’t quite trace it, but it was something with its head.
It bolted upright and, with a roar that might have echoed up from some abyss, charged at the company. Tyrdek felt a chilly sensation pass through his body and darted his hands to the swordhilts.
The creature jerked still and was thrown off his feet. Something rattled musically behind him. The creature was a troll. Tyrdek now saw why he had perceived its motions as peculiar. It had two heads. It was manacled at both of his heads, the chain running all the way to a tree fitted with a third ring of iron. Tyrdek saw there were cuts to the tree from the ring.
A handler savagely tore at the chain, yelling as if he called to a horse. The handler was a human, with a bare, tattooed upper body and a shaved head. The other creatures were beastmen, perhaps ten of them, and one chaos warrior in full chaos armour.
“Greetings, travelers!” the chaos warrior said. “Excuse Grynlir!“ The warrior’s voice sounded like two voices speaking at once, the one Tyrdek was hearing was the loudest but there was another one, saying something in another language at the same time.
“I would like to see Arwen. I am a fur trader and I have an excellent deal for her.”
“Well, where are your furs then,” the warrior said and laughed, like a robot.
“For practical purposes I have chosen to take them with me at a later date.”
“Well, that sounds fine with me. Question is if it sounds fine with Arwen, but that’s a risk you have to take. I like your style. You can pass. Tull will guide you. Tull!” the warrior barked, and a squatting beastman bolted upright.
The company was about to leave as the warrior pointed at Kalai. “Stop! You can’t pass. Filthy Sukh tribesmen are not allowed.”
Tyrdek looked at Kalai.
“That’s okay,” Kalai said.
“See you later!” Tyrdek said and waved.
“How are we going to get back if we leave Kalai?” Erendil said.
“Perhaps Tull can guide us,” Tyrdek said and smiled. Tull was a pretty small beastman. He had an unchanging, intense gaze and small horns. He was armed with a spear that he used as a cane. The rhythmical sound accompanied them all the way into Arwen’s realm.
Fields of rye stretched out on both sides of the road. Tired farmers with bare chests, and half their faces painted white, were looking at them from the fields or plantations with rows of green growth sticking out. Collections of houses were interspersed with the fields, built in timber. As the company came up from behind a slope they saw the whole expanse of the realm.
Numerous black buildings were crammed into the flat valley. The valley was dotted by lights now that evening had come. Most buildings were not so high, but five of them stood out. In the middle was a stone castle with towers in the corners. Tyrdek could spot four square, domed building roughly located in each quadrant of the city. They soon entered the outskirts, the buildings being scarcer here. Tyrdek saw the portrait of a naked woman on one of the walls. She had black hair flowing well past her breasts, white skin and a seductive stare. She had her legs crossed and a finger was at her mouth, as if she was making some erotic invitation. A small boy, half his face painted white, lay down a bundle of flowers below a niche in another wall. The niche was already abundant with wilted and fresh flowers. A brass statuette was inside the niche. As they walked on, Tyrdek saw several more niches like the one they had seen and several more murals depicting the lady.
Well into the city, Tull led them on many narrow streets, walking past children with running noses, roaming dogs and goats, old wooden fences and lines with laundry. They finally stopped in front of one house.
“The mistress will not see guests on the first day they arrive,” Tull bleated. “You will stay for the night with this family.”
Tull knocked on the rustic door. A man, with half his face painted white, opened the door. He first looked at Tull and then the company. His eyes widened.
“Oh, visitors! How wonderful!”
He stepped aside and the company flowed past him. Tyrdek went in last. He saw Tull hobbling down the streets.
Inside it was warm. A goat was resting on its haunches in the middle of a small room. Child-like paintings were lining the walls, lying on the floor. Some of their frames were broken. A chair with a basket-seat was standing by a wall, a hole in its seat. Next to the chair was a ladder, leading up to a hole in the roof. Tyrdek heard something crack under his foot. It was a toy made from a cone and a couple of twigs. There was a rectangular opening in the back-wall and behind it, another room. Tyrdek stepped over a canvas, paint distributed messily across it. The second room was slightly larger than the first. In a corner stood a rectangular table and two benches. Five children were sitting on the innermost bench. In the opposite corner stood an easel with a nascent work of art. Brushes were strewn around it. A line with fresh laundry was tied to two hooks at that corner and the adjacent. Under the washes, a basin of dirty water was standing. In the last corner stood a bowl on a pedestal, containing hazelnuts and raisins. Tyrdek stuffed a couple of raisins into his mouth. Along almost the entire length of one of the walls ran a two-rowed rack. A myriad of earthenware plates were stored in it. In the middle of the roof, there was an opening. An iron bar crossed it, and a hook was fastened to the iron bar. From the hook hung a chain, which suspended an iron pot over a fire.
By the easel, folding a piece of cloth, stood a woman whose eyes widened at the sight of the company.
“Well! Visitors!” said the woman, in a kind and strained voice.
The man’s voice was just the same. “My name is Imrik! I have the pleasure of welcoming you to my home! This is my family. This is Naida, my wife, these are Niniel, Shanna, Isilvar, Irion and Narleth, my children. You have perhaps met my goat, Coran,” the man said with a bemused smile.
“Naida, what are we having for dinner?” Imrik said.
“A soup, dear, a soup!”
“Let us get seated, you are just in time,” said Imrik.
The company packed themselves tight on the two benches. Naida gave all of them plates and soup with a ladle.
Erendil took a mouthful of the soup.
“So, what do you guys do all day? Ow! Damn it. What’s this?”
He spat a nail onto the table.
“What do you guys put into your soup? This is hazardous.”
Erendil stopped eating, crossing his arms.
“Come on, Erendil, it’s not that bad,” said Andarleth.
“No, it’s not that bad. It’s really not that bad,” Imrik said. “Our Mistress is favourable to us. She gives us harvest every year. She cares for our children. It couldn’t be better. I mean, we have everything we want. Right, honey?” he said and nudged Naida. Naida giggled.
“Yes, yees,” he said, laughter still in his voice. “We couldn’t ask for more. Hey, have you been thinking about this: why does everything have to be so dangerous? Why is everything so dangerous? I mean, look around you. What do you see? Shields, spears. Means of protection. I mean, weapons. Swords. Our local smith made a sword the other day. Can you imagine?” Imrik burst into the most riotous laughter.
“Yea, right,” Tyrdek said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “Hey, Imrik, where are we gonna sleep?”
“Upstairs. We have plenty of room. Don’t you want to hear my story? About people being dangerous?”
“Yea, yea, go on,” Tyrdek said, trying to sound nice.
“I paint things. I am an artist. I paint masterpieces, actually. Look at this!” Imrik rose up, jostled past the people on the bench and picked up the canvas on the floor. “This! I painted this last night, in a spurt of imagination and inspiration! Look at it! What do you think?”
“Yea, neat,” Erendil said.
“Inspiration is the first and foremost trait of the artist. You must have inspiration to become an artist,” Imrik said and sat down again. “Imagination – it is secondary. Inspiration is a must.”
“Nice dinner you have here,” Trubdil said and leaned back against the wall.
“Dinner, winner – sinner! E-he he he he!” Imrik exploded. He batted his spoon repetitively against the table and nearly suffocated of laughter. His children joined him. Naida smiled. After a while the cacophony had gone on so long that Tyrdek felt a bit strange.
“Hey- let’s go upstairs,” he said tacitly and started to rise.
“No! Don’t leave,” Imrik said. “The best is yet to come! I have a joke – “ he burst into laughter again. Tyrdek rose up again. Imrik pulled him down.
“No, don’t go! I have a – “ Tyrdek batted away his hand and left.
“I will wake you in the morning! Tomorrow, there is a service,” he shouted after the leaving company.
Last edited by Uruthi on Mon Feb 01, 2010 11:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Chapter 6 - Looking Into The Eyes Of Death
Tyrdek was lying on a sheet of hay. Moonlight was falling in through a window above him. He watched it fall ethereally across even more laundry that was competing for space in the room. Outside the window was a balcony, and even more laundry. The neighbours must negotiate with each other to strap up their laundry like that, Tyrdek reasoned since the lines were crossing the street. His comrades were all lying, sleeping, around him. Tyrdek thought it was best to stay alert. He felt uncomfortable being in the midst of enemies.
Somebody was standing right above him. Tyrdek twitched, panic seizing him.
“Be calm,” said a familiar voice. The moonlight fell over the convoluting and spiral tattoos of the newcomer.
“Khaine bless you!” Tyrdek hissed. “Why were those fools sitting at the road like that? Are they still wary of you?”
“No, they are watching so that nobody from here leaves the area. The peasants are pretty brainwashed, but they might still get the idea to leave. There are several such watchposts around the entire area.”
“Heh, I just thought of something funny. That troll that we saw. Should you think of him as one troll with two heads or two trolls in one body?”
Kalai smiled. “Never thought of it.”
“This Imrik is a funny guy. Have you seen him?”
“Yes.”
”Is everyone around here like Imrik?”
“Yes.”
“There must be thousands of them around. Imrik mentioned something about a service in the morning, what is that?”
“Every seventh day, a service is held in the honour of Arwen. They are held in the domed buildings you probably saw on your way here. Those buildings are temples.”
“Temples? To Arwen? Is that why they paint their faces white, too?”
“Yes. It distinguishes them as followers of the Arwen Cult. Her skin is white, so they want to look like her.”
“I don’t get one thing. The buildings are so tightly packed here that there is no room for anything to grow. I can’t imagine the whole community is supplied by the fields of rye we saw in the outskirts.”
“There are backyards. They grow stuff there. This house has one, too. You just couldn’t see it for the laundry that hung over the back door.”
“Did you enter that way?”
“Yes, it’s the safest.”
“I must ask you one thing. These retainers are bothering me, how many are they? Do you know?”
“They are ninety-six.”
“That’s pretty many retainers.”
“Arwen is a gregarious person.”
“Wow. I have to digest that. Good night, Kalai. I have to get some rest. Can you keep the night watch?”
Kalai nodded and snuck into some cranny.
* * *
A cock signaled the coming of dawn. Imrik came up with a little bell that he was dangling. The company went down and had breakfast with the family. Coran the goat had a meal on the floor. After they had finished, bells started to ring outside.
“That’s the signal! Time to go,” Imrik said.
The sound became stronger as they exited. Along the way, Tyrdek saw a couple of rustic belltowers, crewed by serious-looking pairs. The domed temple they came to had an empty façade. It was perhaps forty metres high without the dome. The entire area in front of the temple was crammed with people. Everyone wore the same clothes, yellow velvet robes. Most of the cultists had shaved their heads. Some had only shaved half their heads. There were two entrances next to each other, accessible through a semicircular staircase. Between the entrances, a fire was burning in a bowl on a pedestal.
Imrik, who was walking next to Tyrdek, said: “The walls are unornamented. Arwen detests the luxurious. You must possess no riches, because that is a sin.”
Tyrdek pushed his way past the people in the entrance. He looked over the heads of the crowd inside. In the middle, there was a raised, round dais. A fire was burning on a pedestal there aswell. Two boys with trumpets in their hands were standing there. Open colonnades were going from every direction to the dais. Sconces with witchglobes were attached well above head-height to each column. Tyrdek came near a pillar. He stepped on someone’s foot. He looked down and saw a boy sitting by a pair or drums. The boy looked at him inquisitively. He had shaved his head, too. There was a constant murmur in the hall. Shouts of weird laughter interjected it, sometimes accompanied by someone throwing up his or her arms, waving them in a strange manner.
“Do you see? The hall changes, from quadratic to circular! That is another one of the dogmas of the Mistress. You have to change from faithless to faithful,” Imrik said.
They had stayed on a place halfway to the dais as drumbeats came, from all directions. Tyrdek noticed the crowd becoming agitated. Some lifted their hands and clapped above their heads. A couple before him started to dance. The drummers were beating the same part over and over again, exactly synchronized. Tyrdek felt how he was getting calmer and calmer.
A man was walking up a staircase, onto the dais. Tyrdek peered to get a good look at the man. He wore a white velvet robe. His head was shaved. Half his face was painted white and the other half blue. Tyrdek scoffed at the man. He stopped on the dais and looked at the crowd. The drums beat a whirl and stopped.
“Are you faithful?” he yelled.
“We are faithful!” the crowd said like a gunshot.
“Are you flawless?”
“We are flawless!”
“Are you ready?”
“We are ready!”
The trumpets blasted a flourish and the crowd cheered. Then, the priest started to recite a prayer, and the whole congregation spoke with him.
You, Arwen, who are the sun upon the heaven and the comforting moon at night,
Watch over us and guard us from all evil
We, your faithful followers, know that your faith is the only
And we will guard you with our lives
And work for you eternally.
A psalm went up to the sky, accompanied by the trumpets.
Our Mistress, she is the only one
She is the hope we have and the hand we hold at night
We sacrifice our lives for her
She rules the ether always.
The second verse.
Our Lady, let her kingdom come
The world is her battleground where she holds a fiery sword
We know her will is good
She rules our hearts forever.
Another cheer went up. A boy stepped up on the dais with an opened book. As the cheer had died down, the priest spoke again.
“We have taken a certain amount of time to gather outside the limits of real space. Let us take this time and read from the book of all books.” He grasped the book and started to read with an artificial voice. “Thus, Arwen left the dungeon of the heretics. She knew that the time was ripe. A brilliant star guided her way to the valley of Kur, that she purged of all evil. She cleansed the taint so thoroughly that there was nothing wrong with the valley afterwards.” He looked up. “What conclusions can we draw from this?” He gave the boy the book and struck out with a fist. “We can draw the conclusion that we live in the best of places in the best of times! What we do right here, right now matters a lot! So let us work and stop at nothing to do that work as well as we possibly can. Let us pray.”
You, Arwen, who are the most cunning of sorcerers
You, whose powers outbest them all
Let your light shine upon us as if it were eternal day!
The crowd cheered again, but was snuffed short as the drums began to play again. Tyrdek saw worried looks upon the faces of the cultists in front of him. People started pushing him back. Tyrdek looked over the heads of the attendants and saw that a path had been created to the dais. A woman, with a long cylindrical headdress, was pacing the pathway. She looked like the woman on the murals he had seen. A procession of armoured men and women were following her.
The woman positioned herself on the dais. Her followers stayed below. She stretched out her arms and spoke.
“Hail, loyal followers!” There was no small amount of confidence in her voice.
“This is the Restatement of Loyalty! It can occur at any random time,” Imrik whispered. “Look her in the eyes. Else, you are faithless.”
It was completely silent in the hall. Everyone had their eyes fixed on the lady. Despite the distance Tyrdek could see she had grey eyes. She was wearing a smirk. She scanned across the sea of followers, walking around the dais. Even though she had her back turned, people still kept on looking.
After a while the trumpets started blowing the fanfare. The people looked off and started to file out of the building.
“That was interesting,” Tyrdek said to Erendil.
“So that’s the one, right? It will be interesting indeed,” Erendil said.
Tyrdek was lying on a sheet of hay. Moonlight was falling in through a window above him. He watched it fall ethereally across even more laundry that was competing for space in the room. Outside the window was a balcony, and even more laundry. The neighbours must negotiate with each other to strap up their laundry like that, Tyrdek reasoned since the lines were crossing the street. His comrades were all lying, sleeping, around him. Tyrdek thought it was best to stay alert. He felt uncomfortable being in the midst of enemies.
Somebody was standing right above him. Tyrdek twitched, panic seizing him.
“Be calm,” said a familiar voice. The moonlight fell over the convoluting and spiral tattoos of the newcomer.
“Khaine bless you!” Tyrdek hissed. “Why were those fools sitting at the road like that? Are they still wary of you?”
“No, they are watching so that nobody from here leaves the area. The peasants are pretty brainwashed, but they might still get the idea to leave. There are several such watchposts around the entire area.”
“Heh, I just thought of something funny. That troll that we saw. Should you think of him as one troll with two heads or two trolls in one body?”
Kalai smiled. “Never thought of it.”
“This Imrik is a funny guy. Have you seen him?”
“Yes.”
”Is everyone around here like Imrik?”
“Yes.”
“There must be thousands of them around. Imrik mentioned something about a service in the morning, what is that?”
“Every seventh day, a service is held in the honour of Arwen. They are held in the domed buildings you probably saw on your way here. Those buildings are temples.”
“Temples? To Arwen? Is that why they paint their faces white, too?”
“Yes. It distinguishes them as followers of the Arwen Cult. Her skin is white, so they want to look like her.”
“I don’t get one thing. The buildings are so tightly packed here that there is no room for anything to grow. I can’t imagine the whole community is supplied by the fields of rye we saw in the outskirts.”
“There are backyards. They grow stuff there. This house has one, too. You just couldn’t see it for the laundry that hung over the back door.”
“Did you enter that way?”
“Yes, it’s the safest.”
“I must ask you one thing. These retainers are bothering me, how many are they? Do you know?”
“They are ninety-six.”
“That’s pretty many retainers.”
“Arwen is a gregarious person.”
“Wow. I have to digest that. Good night, Kalai. I have to get some rest. Can you keep the night watch?”
Kalai nodded and snuck into some cranny.
* * *
A cock signaled the coming of dawn. Imrik came up with a little bell that he was dangling. The company went down and had breakfast with the family. Coran the goat had a meal on the floor. After they had finished, bells started to ring outside.
“That’s the signal! Time to go,” Imrik said.
The sound became stronger as they exited. Along the way, Tyrdek saw a couple of rustic belltowers, crewed by serious-looking pairs. The domed temple they came to had an empty façade. It was perhaps forty metres high without the dome. The entire area in front of the temple was crammed with people. Everyone wore the same clothes, yellow velvet robes. Most of the cultists had shaved their heads. Some had only shaved half their heads. There were two entrances next to each other, accessible through a semicircular staircase. Between the entrances, a fire was burning in a bowl on a pedestal.
Imrik, who was walking next to Tyrdek, said: “The walls are unornamented. Arwen detests the luxurious. You must possess no riches, because that is a sin.”
Tyrdek pushed his way past the people in the entrance. He looked over the heads of the crowd inside. In the middle, there was a raised, round dais. A fire was burning on a pedestal there aswell. Two boys with trumpets in their hands were standing there. Open colonnades were going from every direction to the dais. Sconces with witchglobes were attached well above head-height to each column. Tyrdek came near a pillar. He stepped on someone’s foot. He looked down and saw a boy sitting by a pair or drums. The boy looked at him inquisitively. He had shaved his head, too. There was a constant murmur in the hall. Shouts of weird laughter interjected it, sometimes accompanied by someone throwing up his or her arms, waving them in a strange manner.
“Do you see? The hall changes, from quadratic to circular! That is another one of the dogmas of the Mistress. You have to change from faithless to faithful,” Imrik said.
They had stayed on a place halfway to the dais as drumbeats came, from all directions. Tyrdek noticed the crowd becoming agitated. Some lifted their hands and clapped above their heads. A couple before him started to dance. The drummers were beating the same part over and over again, exactly synchronized. Tyrdek felt how he was getting calmer and calmer.
A man was walking up a staircase, onto the dais. Tyrdek peered to get a good look at the man. He wore a white velvet robe. His head was shaved. Half his face was painted white and the other half blue. Tyrdek scoffed at the man. He stopped on the dais and looked at the crowd. The drums beat a whirl and stopped.
“Are you faithful?” he yelled.
“We are faithful!” the crowd said like a gunshot.
“Are you flawless?”
“We are flawless!”
“Are you ready?”
“We are ready!”
The trumpets blasted a flourish and the crowd cheered. Then, the priest started to recite a prayer, and the whole congregation spoke with him.
You, Arwen, who are the sun upon the heaven and the comforting moon at night,
Watch over us and guard us from all evil
We, your faithful followers, know that your faith is the only
And we will guard you with our lives
And work for you eternally.
A psalm went up to the sky, accompanied by the trumpets.
Our Mistress, she is the only one
She is the hope we have and the hand we hold at night
We sacrifice our lives for her
She rules the ether always.
The second verse.
Our Lady, let her kingdom come
The world is her battleground where she holds a fiery sword
We know her will is good
She rules our hearts forever.
Another cheer went up. A boy stepped up on the dais with an opened book. As the cheer had died down, the priest spoke again.
“We have taken a certain amount of time to gather outside the limits of real space. Let us take this time and read from the book of all books.” He grasped the book and started to read with an artificial voice. “Thus, Arwen left the dungeon of the heretics. She knew that the time was ripe. A brilliant star guided her way to the valley of Kur, that she purged of all evil. She cleansed the taint so thoroughly that there was nothing wrong with the valley afterwards.” He looked up. “What conclusions can we draw from this?” He gave the boy the book and struck out with a fist. “We can draw the conclusion that we live in the best of places in the best of times! What we do right here, right now matters a lot! So let us work and stop at nothing to do that work as well as we possibly can. Let us pray.”
You, Arwen, who are the most cunning of sorcerers
You, whose powers outbest them all
Let your light shine upon us as if it were eternal day!
The crowd cheered again, but was snuffed short as the drums began to play again. Tyrdek saw worried looks upon the faces of the cultists in front of him. People started pushing him back. Tyrdek looked over the heads of the attendants and saw that a path had been created to the dais. A woman, with a long cylindrical headdress, was pacing the pathway. She looked like the woman on the murals he had seen. A procession of armoured men and women were following her.
The woman positioned herself on the dais. Her followers stayed below. She stretched out her arms and spoke.
“Hail, loyal followers!” There was no small amount of confidence in her voice.
“This is the Restatement of Loyalty! It can occur at any random time,” Imrik whispered. “Look her in the eyes. Else, you are faithless.”
It was completely silent in the hall. Everyone had their eyes fixed on the lady. Despite the distance Tyrdek could see she had grey eyes. She was wearing a smirk. She scanned across the sea of followers, walking around the dais. Even though she had her back turned, people still kept on looking.
After a while the trumpets started blowing the fanfare. The people looked off and started to file out of the building.
“That was interesting,” Tyrdek said to Erendil.
“So that’s the one, right? It will be interesting indeed,” Erendil said.
Last edited by Uruthi on Mon Feb 01, 2010 11:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
After the ceremony, Imrik guided the company around the city. Neat rows of two-or three story buildings lined spear-straight roads. The streets generally intersected at awkward angles. Everywhere were niches with statues of Arwen and flowers. Tyrdek saw more murals along the way, small and big. Women with amphoras on their shoulder met them or walked past them. The women came from pumps that were scattered around the city. Clusters of women could be seen around the pumps, one of them always frenetically laboring with the device. The pumps came with a fountain. The fountains were either built into facades or standing on small squares. On one square, a bloodied woman lay among a collection of stones. She had a sign around her neck that said “punish me – I am a sinner”.
Goats were walking from door to door. Lordless dogs were running around, sometimes barking at an invisible thing. A man with shaved head sat by a road with long needles driven through his skin. A handler like the one they had seen at the road before came with a manacled ogre. Beastmen of varying sizes walked past them. Some of them had a bundle of tentacles for an arm, or hook-like protrusions. Twisted humans walked past them, sickly green or milk-white in their skin, with absent gazes.
“We must accept Chaos. That is one of the Mistress’s holy dogmas,” Imrik said.
“What more dogmas do you have? You never seem to run out of them,” Tyrdek said.
“Oh, it’s pretty simple. The dogmas I have not told you yet are that you should never steal and you should be generous.”
They kept on walking past a choir of minstrels, singing a song that Tyrdek recognized: “Our Mistress, she is the only one, she is the hope we have…” They walked past a place with a broad window, from which a current of heat was leaking. Imrik waved and greeted a man inside. The man was standing by a furnace, putting something into it with a long shovel.
“Calaturdil makes bread here! He is an excellent servant of Arwen!” Imrik said.
On one place, the rows of black houses was interrupted by a conic building. It was festooned with Chaos icons. A beastman hobbled out of it. Imrik bowed down in front of the building.
“It is custom to bow in front of every shrine they have. These are places for meditation and worship to our Chaos brethren.”
“I feel like going in here,” Erendil said. “I want to see what this place is like. Come on, follow me,” he said to Tyrdek.
Inside the building it was equally full of items, hanging from hooks or knives jammed into the wall. Flies were buzzing around some crumpled, dark-brown object. Fluid had leaked from the object, over the floor of the crammed niche it was lying on, and down the wall. Probably someone’s old spleen, Tyrdek reasoned. There was just enough space for two persons in the shrine. On a shelf stood a green crystal ball. Erendil touched it.
“I wonder what this thing is. Oh! Hey, look at this!”
The image of a bloated, brown-skinned figure with moose-like horns appeared. Its chest was heaving as it breathed.
“What is this, is this some kind of communication device?” Erendil said.
"Hey there, you fat devil! We're gonna get you!" Tyrdek shouted at the ball.
“Come, let’s get out of here,” Erendil said.
As they had come further down the road, three armoured elves were pulling a grizzled, wrinkled elf through the dirt.
“I have given her all I could!” the man wailed. “I gave her every last piece of bread, my slaughtered hen and my vegetables! I could have given her nothing more!”
The armoured elves stopped pulling the male. One of them had a cane. He lifted it and flogged the man so that it echoed against the walls. A chaos warrior came running and, with an insane cry, jammed his sword into the man. He kept lashing out several times more, so that the blood flecked the walls. The armoured elves and the warrior left, walking in different directions.
“Those are Angels,” said Imrik and pointed at the armoured elves. “There are only a hundred of them. The Mistress holds them dear and therefore we must, too. The Angels are here to do us good.”
Tyrdek nudged Erendil and looked at him with a disgusted frown.
The street they were walking on was cleft by another block of buildings. The foremost building was covered by a mural that depicted Arwen, with the same sensual stare as before, hugging a snake. The snake coiled around her. This mural was different from the one they had seen upon entering the town in that the colours were more diluted. One could see the black brick-wall behind the painting.
“The owners of the houses sometimes do these murals, to honour Arwen,” Imrik said.
Further down the street, a house had collapsed. The road was covered in broken masonry.
“We may not disturb this site. It has become holy to our Chaos brethren,” Imrik said.
They carefully crossed the site. As they came a bit farther down the road, Imrik stopped.
“I want to show you this place.”
They were standing outside an opening. The opening was flanked by two caryatids, holding up a broken pediment. In the gap, there was a sun of gold, its rays many and sinuous. A goat came out from the opening.
“This is where we bury our dead. They are buried along with their professional tools so that they can keep serving Arwen beyond death.”
Tyrdek looked inside. It was almost as narrow as the opening. The walls were filled with drawers and stretched a considerable distance.
“Doesn’t this building cut off all the streets?” Tyrdek said.
“The other streets have staircases that lead over it,” Imrik said.
“Not very much to see in there,” said Urian.
“It is a holy place to us. It is a celebration of work. My grandmother is lying in there, my mother, too.”
“Your mother? You are not very old. Was your mother old?” Tyrdek said.
“The Angels took her. They saw it fit that she began her afterlife. The Angels are always right,” Imrik said, his face serious.
“Come, let us head home. It is getting dark and you must be tired after this long walk,” he said, lightening up.
Goats were walking from door to door. Lordless dogs were running around, sometimes barking at an invisible thing. A man with shaved head sat by a road with long needles driven through his skin. A handler like the one they had seen at the road before came with a manacled ogre. Beastmen of varying sizes walked past them. Some of them had a bundle of tentacles for an arm, or hook-like protrusions. Twisted humans walked past them, sickly green or milk-white in their skin, with absent gazes.
“We must accept Chaos. That is one of the Mistress’s holy dogmas,” Imrik said.
“What more dogmas do you have? You never seem to run out of them,” Tyrdek said.
“Oh, it’s pretty simple. The dogmas I have not told you yet are that you should never steal and you should be generous.”
They kept on walking past a choir of minstrels, singing a song that Tyrdek recognized: “Our Mistress, she is the only one, she is the hope we have…” They walked past a place with a broad window, from which a current of heat was leaking. Imrik waved and greeted a man inside. The man was standing by a furnace, putting something into it with a long shovel.
“Calaturdil makes bread here! He is an excellent servant of Arwen!” Imrik said.
On one place, the rows of black houses was interrupted by a conic building. It was festooned with Chaos icons. A beastman hobbled out of it. Imrik bowed down in front of the building.
“It is custom to bow in front of every shrine they have. These are places for meditation and worship to our Chaos brethren.”
“I feel like going in here,” Erendil said. “I want to see what this place is like. Come on, follow me,” he said to Tyrdek.
Inside the building it was equally full of items, hanging from hooks or knives jammed into the wall. Flies were buzzing around some crumpled, dark-brown object. Fluid had leaked from the object, over the floor of the crammed niche it was lying on, and down the wall. Probably someone’s old spleen, Tyrdek reasoned. There was just enough space for two persons in the shrine. On a shelf stood a green crystal ball. Erendil touched it.
“I wonder what this thing is. Oh! Hey, look at this!”
The image of a bloated, brown-skinned figure with moose-like horns appeared. Its chest was heaving as it breathed.
“What is this, is this some kind of communication device?” Erendil said.
"Hey there, you fat devil! We're gonna get you!" Tyrdek shouted at the ball.
“Come, let’s get out of here,” Erendil said.
As they had come further down the road, three armoured elves were pulling a grizzled, wrinkled elf through the dirt.
“I have given her all I could!” the man wailed. “I gave her every last piece of bread, my slaughtered hen and my vegetables! I could have given her nothing more!”
The armoured elves stopped pulling the male. One of them had a cane. He lifted it and flogged the man so that it echoed against the walls. A chaos warrior came running and, with an insane cry, jammed his sword into the man. He kept lashing out several times more, so that the blood flecked the walls. The armoured elves and the warrior left, walking in different directions.
“Those are Angels,” said Imrik and pointed at the armoured elves. “There are only a hundred of them. The Mistress holds them dear and therefore we must, too. The Angels are here to do us good.”
Tyrdek nudged Erendil and looked at him with a disgusted frown.
The street they were walking on was cleft by another block of buildings. The foremost building was covered by a mural that depicted Arwen, with the same sensual stare as before, hugging a snake. The snake coiled around her. This mural was different from the one they had seen upon entering the town in that the colours were more diluted. One could see the black brick-wall behind the painting.
“The owners of the houses sometimes do these murals, to honour Arwen,” Imrik said.
Further down the street, a house had collapsed. The road was covered in broken masonry.
“We may not disturb this site. It has become holy to our Chaos brethren,” Imrik said.
They carefully crossed the site. As they came a bit farther down the road, Imrik stopped.
“I want to show you this place.”
They were standing outside an opening. The opening was flanked by two caryatids, holding up a broken pediment. In the gap, there was a sun of gold, its rays many and sinuous. A goat came out from the opening.
“This is where we bury our dead. They are buried along with their professional tools so that they can keep serving Arwen beyond death.”
Tyrdek looked inside. It was almost as narrow as the opening. The walls were filled with drawers and stretched a considerable distance.
“Doesn’t this building cut off all the streets?” Tyrdek said.
“The other streets have staircases that lead over it,” Imrik said.
“Not very much to see in there,” said Urian.
“It is a holy place to us. It is a celebration of work. My grandmother is lying in there, my mother, too.”
“Your mother? You are not very old. Was your mother old?” Tyrdek said.
“The Angels took her. They saw it fit that she began her afterlife. The Angels are always right,” Imrik said, his face serious.
“Come, let us head home. It is getting dark and you must be tired after this long walk,” he said, lightening up.
Chapter 7 - The Game
The company was sitting around the table again. Naida was preparing a stew in the pot. The children were helping her. Imrik sat and conversed the company.
“Hey Imrik, I have to ask you one thing. Why are the people putting flowers at the votive niches?” Narsil asked.
“Arwen said that you shouldn’t bring her flowers after she’s dead. So now the people bring her flowers now.”
It banged on the door. Naida opened.
“The angels are here!” she said, artificial joy in her voice.
Imrik tried to smile, rose up from the bench and said: “Welcome! Do you want anything?”
A group of ten armoured elves noisily filed into the room. One of them pushed Imrik aside so that he fell over Urian. The group sat or stood in the corner opposite of the table, around the bowl of raisins and walnuts. It was silent for a while. The retainers scrutinized each member of the company.
“So, you are the newcomers? Like it here?” one of them said, stuffing raisins into his mouth. He was looking amused, but his voice was normal.
“Yea,” Trubdil said, nodding with a disgusted smile.
The retainer exchanged an ironic glance with one of his fellows, then looked at the company again.
“What have you seen? Have you seen the temples?”
“Yea,” said Urian. “It was neat.” His voice was low.
One of the retainers mimicked Urian. Urian gave him a poisonous look. The talkative retainer went on.
“It was neat? So you have only seen one? Well, they all look alike anyway,” the retainer said, feigning surprise, and roused a chuckle from his companions.
“Have you seen the Chaos shrines? No? Okay.” The retainer look away for a while and ate some more raisins. One of his friend’s armour was shaking as the man stifled a laugh.
“Fur trader, were you? Who is the fur trader? Is it you?” the talkative retainer said and nodded at Urian.
“It’s me,” Tyrdek said. “Are you coming to pick us up?”
“Why would we pick you up?” The retainer roused a chuckle.
“Because I wanted to see Arwen.”
“Why would you want to see Arwen?” The retainer added a mocking smile.
“I want to sell furs to her.”
“She doesn’t want any furs,” the retainer said. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.” They filed out of the building as noisily as they came.
“Man, I’d break that guy’s head any day! I want to nail all of them to crosses,” Urian said after they had left.
“Can’t agree with you more,” Trubdil said. “But I think that for now, we have to swallow it down.”
Imrik added a last ingredient to the stew and the company ate, silent. Tyrdek became sleepy.
“Hey, how about sleep?” he said.
“I’ll have a hard time sleeping after meeting these scum!” Erendil said, but Tyrdek didn’t believe him. They all climbed the ladder and went to rest on their hay beds. Tyrdek wondered if Kalai would show up so that they could chat, but he never did. Tyrdek closed his eyes and felt inevitably drawn to sleep.
* * *
Tyrdek was hanging upside down. It was dark and dank. A cold draught chilled his entire body. He was naked. A woman was standing in front of him, her blonde hair reflecting the light from two braziers. Tyrdek could see she was holding a yellow object in one hand, fidgeting with it and something she held in the other hand. Her other hand intermittently went down to pick something up and then the fidgeting began again. There were at least five other people in the room. It was too dark to see any details on them. The walls were made from coarse stone, moss growing in the cracks.
Nine sharp stings hit him like lightning. The pain continued to burn, burn, burn. The woman paced around him. She went out of his line of sight. The yellow object must have been a lemon, and the thing in her other hand a cat-o-nine-tails. She could be anywhere behind him. Where would the next blow land? Tyrdek braced himself for the second impact. He swallowed down an upsurge of fear. He must not be afraid of the pain. He must endure.
Nine sharp stings whizzed at his arm. Tyrdek twitched like a caught fish.
“How do you like it?” the woman said, her voice teasing and feline.
Tyrdek said nothing. He tautened.
“Do you think we believe your lies?” she said. She stepped in front of him. She raised the whip like a pitcher a baseball, turned her torso and lunged furiously. The pain at his stomach multiplied. His whole body was aching.
“Your friends are all dead! We killed them in their sleep. There is no hope for you to be rescued, she said and struck like the whole fury of Khaine was contained in her.
How he longed to be on the quai of Naggarond, playing shark’s teeth with Narsil and Erendil. He remembered their stay in the shrine of Kurion, how the warden had told them the story and how Andarleth had smiled, fascinated.
Another blow rent his body. The woman shouted something, but Tyrdek didn’t listen.
He wished he were in the autarii camp, chatting with the urhan. Inside his tent full of furs. Even walking around in the valley of Kur with Tull would be better than here and now.
Yet another cluster of blows hailed across him. The woman was saying something about being stupid. Tyrdek had to muster strength. He must not give in to these bastards. He mustered strength, and, although it hurt, spat with swollen cheeks onto the floor.
There was a pause. Another retainer took over the whip. He took a run and rained a blow. In utter silence, the retainer walked around Tyrdek and intermittently dealt him blows.
The retainers were taking shifts punishing him. Blood was running into Tyrdek’s eyes, from over his lip and over his chin. A drop of blood was tickling the entrance of his ear. He had to take some droplets into his mouth, tasting their metallic flavour. His body felt like world war two. His thighs were cut open. His loins. His feet. The rope he was tied to cut into his ankles, certainly drawing blood.
The woman placed herself in front of him again.
“What is this long scar you have here?” she said, pointing to a scar he had across his stomach, from a battle a long time ago.
She moistened a finger, went up to him and traced the scar with her fingertip. “I want to try something,” she said and interrupted the tracing. She stretched out a hand. A retainer gave her the lemon.
She applied the lemon to his fresh cuts. Tyrdek tried to hold back a scream, but he couldn’t. It sounded like a foghorn.
Like a turned on light one of the other retainers loosened the ropes. Tyrdek dropped to the ground like a wing-clipped bird. His head and shoulders produced a jolt of pain. The retainer hauled him over the moist rocks and gathered dirt. Small stones were digging into his skin.
He was thrown into a small stone cell. He rolled and slapped into the wall and the retainer slammed the door shut. It went charcoal dark.
* * *
Andarleth cursed himself. He had fallen asleep too easily the other night. The sleep didn’t feel quite right. Tyrdek had looked sleepy, too. But Tyrdek had stayed awake for long the other night, perhaps he had also – a sensation of unrest passed through Andarleth. Tyrdek’s hay bed was empty. Andarleth shook the other corsairs.
“Hey, have you seen Tyrdek?”
“No, man,” Erendil said and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s the problem?”
“He isn’t here,” Andarleth said.
“Perhaps he is downstairs?” Urian said.
Andarleth went and looked downstairs. Imrik was standing in the living room.
“Have you seen Tyrdek?” Andarleth said.
“He is out with Naida and the children. They will be back soon,” Imrik said with an affirmative voice.
Andarleth went upstairs again.
“He sais Tyrdek is out, alone, without telling us. They’re playing some sick game with us. Let’s turn the game on them,” Andarleth hissed. The corsairs climbed down the ladder, into the living-room.
“Where is he, you little rat, where have you taken him?” Erendil barked and seized Imrik by the jaw. “You put some drug into our food last night! I saw you do it!” Erendil shouted, agitated. Imrik looked shocked, his cheeks pushed upwards and wrinkling under Erendil’s iron grasp.
“He is out with Naida,” he said, muffled.
“I know how to do this properly,” Urian said. He took down the chain and the pot from the hook, brushed off the clothes from the laundry-line and untied it. Erendil held Imrik’s hands behind his back and Urian tied them. They tossed the line over the hook and hoisted Imrik up, under his objections. They tied the laundry-line to one of the hooks on the wall anew. Coran was walking around the room, brushing against the table or eating at Imrik’s canvas. The corsairs sat down by the back-wall. Urian brought the bowl of raisins and walnuts.
“We can stay here forever. You might just aswell talk,” Urian said, stuffing a handful of raisins into his mouth. A tear was running down Imrik’s cheek.
Someone was descending the ladder. Erendil bolted upright and rushed to the door, sword poised. Kalai was standing below the ladder.
“Dude, I didn’t know you were here!” Erendil said.
“I know where Tyrdek is,” Kalai said. “They took him to the castle. What I don’t know is how to get in there.”
“So. The question changes,” Erendil said philosophically. “How do we get into the castle, you piece of dirt?”
“We’re gonna make this bug talk,” Narsil said and threw a raisin into Imrik’s face. “Hey, this is pretty funny,” he said and threw another one.
“Try these,” Urian said and threw a walnut. Imrik blinked as it hit above his eye.
Narsil took a walnut and threw it full tilt on Imrik’s nose. The raisins soon heaped under Imrik and the walnuts lay scattered around the floor. Coran went and snacked on the raisins. The corsairs banked up the walnuts in the bowl again and re-used them.
“I have too pee,” Imrik said between the sobs.
“Go ahead, there’s nothing to stop you,” Erendil said. Imrik hesitated for a while. Then, a dark spot grew on his robe and urine dripped down from it onto the floor.
The door from the street opened. Naida and the children were coming in. Naida was paying attention to one of the children who was upset about something. Urian hurried to shove them in.
“Get more laundry-line!” he hissed between his teeth.
An array of strings were soon running from both wall-hooks across the room. The family hung from the roof-hook like a raceme. The children were crying.
It banged on the street-side door so that it quaked. “What is going on in here?” a voice yelled. The corsairs stirred like a shoal of fish. “Merciful Angels! Save us,” Imrik wailed. Kalai skipped to behind the door and poised his draich like a golfclub. The door rocked under violent trauma. The corsairs scrambled to press flat against the living room’s front wall. The door busted into three pieces and two armoured retainers were rushing in.
Kalai swung, fury in his face, his draich. It took off the entire head of the rearmost retainer, biting through his neckguard. The first retainer spun around with upraised sword. Kalai reversed the blow and batted the light sword aside, opening up the throat of the man. He fell down in a widening pool of blood. The corsairs charged into the fight with ululating cries. A third retainer spun on his heels in the door and dashed away. Kalai noticed him and set after him like a mad dog.
The corsairs pursued Kalai like a tail. The retainer was waving to a pair of boys under a belltower. His armour was wearing him down. Kalai raised his blade and brought it down on the man’s head, opening up skull and helmet like paper. The retainer fell down in a clattering heap and Kalai rushed at the boys, who were jumping up on the rope to the bell.
The bell tolled. Once. Twice. Unfazed, they continued to toll even as Kalai charged. He added his entire bodyweight and momentum as he arced the draich, cleaving one of the boys. Unmercifully, he lifted his draich and opened up the other on from head to groin. The bell shook lazily and the boys were bathing in a single pool of gore.
“They have tolled the bell! It is their warning system aswell. We must leave now!” Kalai said. He second-swiftly assessed the streets and then bolted up one of them. The corsairs were hot on his heels, like hunting dogs.
Two currents of Arwen-devotees poured from two buildings, screaming and pointing their swords like a flêche. Kalai batted the swords aside like they were ping-pong balls, ducked low and swooped the legs off. His heavy draich easily outreached and batted away axes, spears and swords of the devotees. Erendil charged into the fray, dodged aside as the first fleche charged him and jammed a sword into a surprised devotee’s back. The second fleche punched against his sea dragon-cloak. Him and the devotee reeled. Narsil caught the devotee off-balance and stabbed him in the chest. Trubdil took the brunt of a wedge of devotees. He batted aside the sword of the first but the second and third jarred against his breastplate. Trubdil was knocked back, trying to regain balance. Aina charged in with a crazy look in her eyes and stabbed both devotees. An ungor stood broad-legged in front of Urian and pointed a spear at him. Urian batted it aside with a furious blow and stormed inside the beastman’s guard. He lunged before the foe could retreat enough and punched into his chest. Whinnying, the beastman hit the ground. Narsil locked the sword of a devotee outside his guard and made a riposte into his arm. The devotee reeled back with a grimace of pain, dropping his sword. New devotees took his place as he sank back into the mass of bodies. Narsil answered with unbending fury. Two spear-wielders jabbed at Kalai. He brought his draich up from below and shore through the spear-hafts like matches. The devotees jabbed at him with their spear-stumps. He outreached them and opened them up. Mad devotees took their place and hefted their axes at Kalai. His draich was longer and sharper. They ended up legless or lifeless. One devotee charged him with a dane-axe. Kalai chopped off the head of the axe and drove the blade into the wielder. Another knot of devotees came running around a corner, so quickly that they almost toppled in the turn. Screaming, they maintained the charge. Aina, Cal and Urian rushed to meet the charge and clashed with the fanatics like two colliding freight-trains.
The sound of steel on frenetic steel rang off the facades. Blood-curdling screams superseded each other. The cries of freshly wounded created a dirge with the moans of the mutilated. A chaos warrior came running full tilt with his mace raised. He failed to notice Kalai who bit through his armour, taking an arm off. The warrior turned and continued the charge armless, knocking Kalai to the ground. Cal jammed his axe into the warrior’s head several times until the armour opened. Kalai stepped up on his feet, shielded by Narsil and Aina.
“For Arwen!” a devotee cried and skipped from a building. Erendil parried his blow and cleft his head. The coast was temporarily clear.
“Quickly!” Kalai said, blood staining his face and running from a cut in his face. The company shoved a number of goats out of their way, jumped over chickens and pushed amphora-wearing women out of the way so that their amphoras became ostrakas. Sporadic beastmen and cultists were coming in from the left and right. Severed arms kept falling to the ground and jets of blood drew patterns on the cobbles. The clamour of battle kept going on behind Narsil as he dashed. He chanced a look over his shoulder. Cal and Aina were staying.
No more followers were coming. It seemed like the ones that were pursuing them were being held up by the pilgrims, and the rest had not perceived the warning bell.
“It still pays off to run for it,” Kalai said, out of breath.
“We have given the cultists a taste. I think we should give those Chaos bastards a taste, too,” Urian said, nodding forward at the road block.
The company was sitting around the table again. Naida was preparing a stew in the pot. The children were helping her. Imrik sat and conversed the company.
“Hey Imrik, I have to ask you one thing. Why are the people putting flowers at the votive niches?” Narsil asked.
“Arwen said that you shouldn’t bring her flowers after she’s dead. So now the people bring her flowers now.”
It banged on the door. Naida opened.
“The angels are here!” she said, artificial joy in her voice.
Imrik tried to smile, rose up from the bench and said: “Welcome! Do you want anything?”
A group of ten armoured elves noisily filed into the room. One of them pushed Imrik aside so that he fell over Urian. The group sat or stood in the corner opposite of the table, around the bowl of raisins and walnuts. It was silent for a while. The retainers scrutinized each member of the company.
“So, you are the newcomers? Like it here?” one of them said, stuffing raisins into his mouth. He was looking amused, but his voice was normal.
“Yea,” Trubdil said, nodding with a disgusted smile.
The retainer exchanged an ironic glance with one of his fellows, then looked at the company again.
“What have you seen? Have you seen the temples?”
“Yea,” said Urian. “It was neat.” His voice was low.
One of the retainers mimicked Urian. Urian gave him a poisonous look. The talkative retainer went on.
“It was neat? So you have only seen one? Well, they all look alike anyway,” the retainer said, feigning surprise, and roused a chuckle from his companions.
“Have you seen the Chaos shrines? No? Okay.” The retainer look away for a while and ate some more raisins. One of his friend’s armour was shaking as the man stifled a laugh.
“Fur trader, were you? Who is the fur trader? Is it you?” the talkative retainer said and nodded at Urian.
“It’s me,” Tyrdek said. “Are you coming to pick us up?”
“Why would we pick you up?” The retainer roused a chuckle.
“Because I wanted to see Arwen.”
“Why would you want to see Arwen?” The retainer added a mocking smile.
“I want to sell furs to her.”
“She doesn’t want any furs,” the retainer said. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.” They filed out of the building as noisily as they came.
“Man, I’d break that guy’s head any day! I want to nail all of them to crosses,” Urian said after they had left.
“Can’t agree with you more,” Trubdil said. “But I think that for now, we have to swallow it down.”
Imrik added a last ingredient to the stew and the company ate, silent. Tyrdek became sleepy.
“Hey, how about sleep?” he said.
“I’ll have a hard time sleeping after meeting these scum!” Erendil said, but Tyrdek didn’t believe him. They all climbed the ladder and went to rest on their hay beds. Tyrdek wondered if Kalai would show up so that they could chat, but he never did. Tyrdek closed his eyes and felt inevitably drawn to sleep.
* * *
Tyrdek was hanging upside down. It was dark and dank. A cold draught chilled his entire body. He was naked. A woman was standing in front of him, her blonde hair reflecting the light from two braziers. Tyrdek could see she was holding a yellow object in one hand, fidgeting with it and something she held in the other hand. Her other hand intermittently went down to pick something up and then the fidgeting began again. There were at least five other people in the room. It was too dark to see any details on them. The walls were made from coarse stone, moss growing in the cracks.
Nine sharp stings hit him like lightning. The pain continued to burn, burn, burn. The woman paced around him. She went out of his line of sight. The yellow object must have been a lemon, and the thing in her other hand a cat-o-nine-tails. She could be anywhere behind him. Where would the next blow land? Tyrdek braced himself for the second impact. He swallowed down an upsurge of fear. He must not be afraid of the pain. He must endure.
Nine sharp stings whizzed at his arm. Tyrdek twitched like a caught fish.
“How do you like it?” the woman said, her voice teasing and feline.
Tyrdek said nothing. He tautened.
“Do you think we believe your lies?” she said. She stepped in front of him. She raised the whip like a pitcher a baseball, turned her torso and lunged furiously. The pain at his stomach multiplied. His whole body was aching.
“Your friends are all dead! We killed them in their sleep. There is no hope for you to be rescued, she said and struck like the whole fury of Khaine was contained in her.
How he longed to be on the quai of Naggarond, playing shark’s teeth with Narsil and Erendil. He remembered their stay in the shrine of Kurion, how the warden had told them the story and how Andarleth had smiled, fascinated.
Another blow rent his body. The woman shouted something, but Tyrdek didn’t listen.
He wished he were in the autarii camp, chatting with the urhan. Inside his tent full of furs. Even walking around in the valley of Kur with Tull would be better than here and now.
Yet another cluster of blows hailed across him. The woman was saying something about being stupid. Tyrdek had to muster strength. He must not give in to these bastards. He mustered strength, and, although it hurt, spat with swollen cheeks onto the floor.
There was a pause. Another retainer took over the whip. He took a run and rained a blow. In utter silence, the retainer walked around Tyrdek and intermittently dealt him blows.
The retainers were taking shifts punishing him. Blood was running into Tyrdek’s eyes, from over his lip and over his chin. A drop of blood was tickling the entrance of his ear. He had to take some droplets into his mouth, tasting their metallic flavour. His body felt like world war two. His thighs were cut open. His loins. His feet. The rope he was tied to cut into his ankles, certainly drawing blood.
The woman placed herself in front of him again.
“What is this long scar you have here?” she said, pointing to a scar he had across his stomach, from a battle a long time ago.
She moistened a finger, went up to him and traced the scar with her fingertip. “I want to try something,” she said and interrupted the tracing. She stretched out a hand. A retainer gave her the lemon.
She applied the lemon to his fresh cuts. Tyrdek tried to hold back a scream, but he couldn’t. It sounded like a foghorn.
Like a turned on light one of the other retainers loosened the ropes. Tyrdek dropped to the ground like a wing-clipped bird. His head and shoulders produced a jolt of pain. The retainer hauled him over the moist rocks and gathered dirt. Small stones were digging into his skin.
He was thrown into a small stone cell. He rolled and slapped into the wall and the retainer slammed the door shut. It went charcoal dark.
* * *
Andarleth cursed himself. He had fallen asleep too easily the other night. The sleep didn’t feel quite right. Tyrdek had looked sleepy, too. But Tyrdek had stayed awake for long the other night, perhaps he had also – a sensation of unrest passed through Andarleth. Tyrdek’s hay bed was empty. Andarleth shook the other corsairs.
“Hey, have you seen Tyrdek?”
“No, man,” Erendil said and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s the problem?”
“He isn’t here,” Andarleth said.
“Perhaps he is downstairs?” Urian said.
Andarleth went and looked downstairs. Imrik was standing in the living room.
“Have you seen Tyrdek?” Andarleth said.
“He is out with Naida and the children. They will be back soon,” Imrik said with an affirmative voice.
Andarleth went upstairs again.
“He sais Tyrdek is out, alone, without telling us. They’re playing some sick game with us. Let’s turn the game on them,” Andarleth hissed. The corsairs climbed down the ladder, into the living-room.
“Where is he, you little rat, where have you taken him?” Erendil barked and seized Imrik by the jaw. “You put some drug into our food last night! I saw you do it!” Erendil shouted, agitated. Imrik looked shocked, his cheeks pushed upwards and wrinkling under Erendil’s iron grasp.
“He is out with Naida,” he said, muffled.
“I know how to do this properly,” Urian said. He took down the chain and the pot from the hook, brushed off the clothes from the laundry-line and untied it. Erendil held Imrik’s hands behind his back and Urian tied them. They tossed the line over the hook and hoisted Imrik up, under his objections. They tied the laundry-line to one of the hooks on the wall anew. Coran was walking around the room, brushing against the table or eating at Imrik’s canvas. The corsairs sat down by the back-wall. Urian brought the bowl of raisins and walnuts.
“We can stay here forever. You might just aswell talk,” Urian said, stuffing a handful of raisins into his mouth. A tear was running down Imrik’s cheek.
Someone was descending the ladder. Erendil bolted upright and rushed to the door, sword poised. Kalai was standing below the ladder.
“Dude, I didn’t know you were here!” Erendil said.
“I know where Tyrdek is,” Kalai said. “They took him to the castle. What I don’t know is how to get in there.”
“So. The question changes,” Erendil said philosophically. “How do we get into the castle, you piece of dirt?”
“We’re gonna make this bug talk,” Narsil said and threw a raisin into Imrik’s face. “Hey, this is pretty funny,” he said and threw another one.
“Try these,” Urian said and threw a walnut. Imrik blinked as it hit above his eye.
Narsil took a walnut and threw it full tilt on Imrik’s nose. The raisins soon heaped under Imrik and the walnuts lay scattered around the floor. Coran went and snacked on the raisins. The corsairs banked up the walnuts in the bowl again and re-used them.
“I have too pee,” Imrik said between the sobs.
“Go ahead, there’s nothing to stop you,” Erendil said. Imrik hesitated for a while. Then, a dark spot grew on his robe and urine dripped down from it onto the floor.
The door from the street opened. Naida and the children were coming in. Naida was paying attention to one of the children who was upset about something. Urian hurried to shove them in.
“Get more laundry-line!” he hissed between his teeth.
An array of strings were soon running from both wall-hooks across the room. The family hung from the roof-hook like a raceme. The children were crying.
It banged on the street-side door so that it quaked. “What is going on in here?” a voice yelled. The corsairs stirred like a shoal of fish. “Merciful Angels! Save us,” Imrik wailed. Kalai skipped to behind the door and poised his draich like a golfclub. The door rocked under violent trauma. The corsairs scrambled to press flat against the living room’s front wall. The door busted into three pieces and two armoured retainers were rushing in.
Kalai swung, fury in his face, his draich. It took off the entire head of the rearmost retainer, biting through his neckguard. The first retainer spun around with upraised sword. Kalai reversed the blow and batted the light sword aside, opening up the throat of the man. He fell down in a widening pool of blood. The corsairs charged into the fight with ululating cries. A third retainer spun on his heels in the door and dashed away. Kalai noticed him and set after him like a mad dog.
The corsairs pursued Kalai like a tail. The retainer was waving to a pair of boys under a belltower. His armour was wearing him down. Kalai raised his blade and brought it down on the man’s head, opening up skull and helmet like paper. The retainer fell down in a clattering heap and Kalai rushed at the boys, who were jumping up on the rope to the bell.
The bell tolled. Once. Twice. Unfazed, they continued to toll even as Kalai charged. He added his entire bodyweight and momentum as he arced the draich, cleaving one of the boys. Unmercifully, he lifted his draich and opened up the other on from head to groin. The bell shook lazily and the boys were bathing in a single pool of gore.
“They have tolled the bell! It is their warning system aswell. We must leave now!” Kalai said. He second-swiftly assessed the streets and then bolted up one of them. The corsairs were hot on his heels, like hunting dogs.
Two currents of Arwen-devotees poured from two buildings, screaming and pointing their swords like a flêche. Kalai batted the swords aside like they were ping-pong balls, ducked low and swooped the legs off. His heavy draich easily outreached and batted away axes, spears and swords of the devotees. Erendil charged into the fray, dodged aside as the first fleche charged him and jammed a sword into a surprised devotee’s back. The second fleche punched against his sea dragon-cloak. Him and the devotee reeled. Narsil caught the devotee off-balance and stabbed him in the chest. Trubdil took the brunt of a wedge of devotees. He batted aside the sword of the first but the second and third jarred against his breastplate. Trubdil was knocked back, trying to regain balance. Aina charged in with a crazy look in her eyes and stabbed both devotees. An ungor stood broad-legged in front of Urian and pointed a spear at him. Urian batted it aside with a furious blow and stormed inside the beastman’s guard. He lunged before the foe could retreat enough and punched into his chest. Whinnying, the beastman hit the ground. Narsil locked the sword of a devotee outside his guard and made a riposte into his arm. The devotee reeled back with a grimace of pain, dropping his sword. New devotees took his place as he sank back into the mass of bodies. Narsil answered with unbending fury. Two spear-wielders jabbed at Kalai. He brought his draich up from below and shore through the spear-hafts like matches. The devotees jabbed at him with their spear-stumps. He outreached them and opened them up. Mad devotees took their place and hefted their axes at Kalai. His draich was longer and sharper. They ended up legless or lifeless. One devotee charged him with a dane-axe. Kalai chopped off the head of the axe and drove the blade into the wielder. Another knot of devotees came running around a corner, so quickly that they almost toppled in the turn. Screaming, they maintained the charge. Aina, Cal and Urian rushed to meet the charge and clashed with the fanatics like two colliding freight-trains.
The sound of steel on frenetic steel rang off the facades. Blood-curdling screams superseded each other. The cries of freshly wounded created a dirge with the moans of the mutilated. A chaos warrior came running full tilt with his mace raised. He failed to notice Kalai who bit through his armour, taking an arm off. The warrior turned and continued the charge armless, knocking Kalai to the ground. Cal jammed his axe into the warrior’s head several times until the armour opened. Kalai stepped up on his feet, shielded by Narsil and Aina.
“For Arwen!” a devotee cried and skipped from a building. Erendil parried his blow and cleft his head. The coast was temporarily clear.
“Quickly!” Kalai said, blood staining his face and running from a cut in his face. The company shoved a number of goats out of their way, jumped over chickens and pushed amphora-wearing women out of the way so that their amphoras became ostrakas. Sporadic beastmen and cultists were coming in from the left and right. Severed arms kept falling to the ground and jets of blood drew patterns on the cobbles. The clamour of battle kept going on behind Narsil as he dashed. He chanced a look over his shoulder. Cal and Aina were staying.
No more followers were coming. It seemed like the ones that were pursuing them were being held up by the pilgrims, and the rest had not perceived the warning bell.
“It still pays off to run for it,” Kalai said, out of breath.
“We have given the cultists a taste. I think we should give those Chaos bastards a taste, too,” Urian said, nodding forward at the road block.
Last edited by Uruthi on Mon Feb 01, 2010 11:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Chapter 8 - The Sword Is My Tongue
The fields of rye were bowing to the wind. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the farmsteads. Urian heard some cows mooing inside a building.
“What’s the plan?” he said.
“We’re gonna speak to them. In the language of the fist,” Erendil said, shaking a fist. “The sword is my tongue.”
The corsairs and autarii saw the jumbled heap of figures sitting, reclining against trees or squatting further down the road. They feigned a casual walk, hoping the Chaos worshippers would not suspect anything. The troll bolted upright and came running towards them, as last time. Urian swallowed a jolt of fear. The troll would jerk back, be thrown off its feet and stop.
It took a disproportionately long time for the troll to stop. The grotesque, drooling and double-headed monster was hemming in on them. The chain was trailing through the dirt behind it.
Kalai donned a defiant grin and poised his draich. The troll roared fiercely, strings of gelatinous drool detaching from its teeth. Kalai’s blade hissed through the air, shearing off the grappling hands of the troll. The hands landed slack on the gravel and Kalai tried a second blow, walking inside the troll’s guard and opening up its stomach.
With howls and bellows, the beastmen charged into the fight. They were poising a jumble of weapons. Narsil and Erendil blocked their way, grim-faced. They recognized the foremost beastman.
Tull poised the spear behind his back and hurled it so that he nearly lost balance. Narsil ducked down. The spear whizzed over his head and jarred into the Urian’s armour. The corsair was knocked off his feet and pushed himself upright quickly. Like a colliding car and a truck, the corsairs slammed with the beastmen. Narsil brought up his blades in a parade and the attacking beastman pushed him backwards. Tull, weaponless, hurled his bare body onto Erendil with a shout of defiance. Erendil’s blades stung through the ungor’s body, locking inside it. The second beastman jammed a blow into him, denting his pauldron. Erendil darted up a dagger he had and drove it into the wrist of the attacker as it rained another blow. Erendil took the axe from the slack hand of the beastman, pulling him close with a hand and dashing the axe between his enemy’s eyes. Blood flecked Erendil and he tasted some of it.
Slimy new hands pushed out from the gory stumps of the troll. The gash on the stomach knitted whole again. Quick as a cobra the troll lunged at Kalai, knocking him backwards. Urian yelled savagely and charged. He stabbed his blades twice into the exposed side and back of the troll, but the troll swooped with his arm and sent Urian into a field of rye, awkwardly. Trubdil uttered a warcry and fell upon the troll’s other side. The troll batted him aside so that he lost balance and had to drop his blades. Kalai renewed the attack in the troll, the corsairs having given him time. He raised his draich execution-style and charged the troll with a warcry. The troll retched, twitched and jerked forward, both mouths yawning wide and producing an initial burp. Kalai’s momentum carried him right into the deluge of turgid vomit. An oatmeal-like mixture spattered off him, soaking his face, his chest and shoulders. Kalai’s grip on the draich slackened mid-strike. Gobbets of vomit were dripping down the troll’s twine jaws, scattering in various directions as the trolls jerked around. Trubdil propelled his blade into the troll’s back, still holding it inside as the troll twisted. The creature roared. Urian charged, dirty, from the rye and added a howl. Both of his blades bit into the troll’s other side. The troll brought down both his fists on both attackers at once, slamming into their breastplates, creating cavities. The air was knocked from Trubdil’s lungs and he convulsively maintained the grip on his blade. One of the heads of the troll turned to look at him. Trubdil jabbed with the sword into one of the creature’s eyes, shedding a turgid fluid. The troll spasmed, enraged, and Trubdil’s second blade was wrenched free from his grip. Still with the blade in his body the troll twisted around and punched Urian so that he lost his blades and landed in the dirt anew, bruised and hurting. Not being able to regenerate the continuing wounds from the three blades in him, the troll collapsed, breaking Trubdil’s blade like a toothpick. With his single sword left, Trubdil charged into the fight with the beastmen.
Narsil and Erendil were being pushed back, hacking like frenzied at their equally frenzied attackers. An arm was coming off as Narsil gave it a savage blow, and blood sprayed in an arc about the corsairs. Trubdil stung his blade into an ungor who fell down lifeless. Putting his boot on the corpse for leverage, he jerked free the barbed blade that sawed through the lifeless bones of the fallen. A beastman bombed down a blow on him, making him fall back. Trubdil seized the initiative and countercharged the oncoming beastman, sinking his blade into the chest of the foe.
Urian shouted a warcry and, raining down a flurry of blows, drove back two ungors. A gor brushed them brusquely aside, grunted and swooped diagonally down with his blade. Urian caught the blade with an iron hand and stabbed his other blade. The enemy batted it way out of its path with a cudgel. Urian pushed at the locking sword, suddenly changed the direction of his hand and tried for the bicep of the gor. Lightning-fast, the gor caught the blade, roared and sent down his cudgel. Knowing in a split-second this blow would nullify his helmet and smash his skull Urian somersaulted backwards. The gor lost his cudgel and slumped forward. Erendil pulled out his sword from the gor’s spinal chord with his hand and a stomping boot.
Andarleth chopped at his enemy’s thigh, opening it up and sending down rivulets of blood. Trubdil smashed aside the blade of an enemy and jabbed at his face. Narsil was fighting a beastman who howled and struck a savage blow at him. His pauldron was deformed and Narsil cried from the pain in his shoulder. Not wasting time, the corsair riposted into the beastman’s heart, twisting the blade spasmodically and pulling it out.
Erendil spotted the head-shaved troll-handler and, rage in his face, charged. The handler didn’t flinch and poised a mace savagely behind his back. But Erendil was too quick. The handler had opened up his guard too wide and Erendil, like an adder, lunged into the human’s heart. His eyes becoming unfocused, the handler went slack, hanging from the blade. It rattled as Erendil lowered the blade, letting the corpse slump off it and sawing the ribcage open.
Urian gave the last beastman a bloody coup-de-grace. The enemies were lying in malformed heaps, their limbs pointing in funny directions. Gristly blood coloured the road, giving the lush countryside a macabre new perspective.
The corsairs went to have a look at Kalai. His skeleton was partially showing through, between rags of clothes and bubblegum skin. One of his eyes was intact, but lidless. Where the other one had been there was a gruel-filled, overflowing socket. Trubdil picked up the draich. It was corroded on the places where flecks of vomit had spattered.
“Hey, wasn’t there a Chaos warrior around here, too?” Andarleth asked.
“I wanted to get the pleasure of enjoying you alone!” a double voice bellowed. The black-armoured Chaos warrior was standing among the trees. He started to sprint like an athlete, roaring frighteningly and brandishing his blade. Narsil scrambled out of the warriors path, the warrior missing him with a windy blow. Erendil lunged at the warrior, jarring strangely against his armour and producing a puff of red smoke. The warrior yelled with two voices and rained down blows rhythmically. With every blow he rained upon the viciously parrying corsairs he cried out fiercely. The clashes of the swords sounded like gong-gongs and the elves were pushed out of his path. He tried an angry swoop at Trubdil’s legs, who jabbed at him with the single blade he had. Trubdil skipped outside the warrior’s guard, stumbled upon a stone and fell down.
Urian lunged in between. One blade sought the eye-slit of the warrior, but the warrior jerked back, and the other slammed into his armour, creating a violent spurt of red gas. Erendil charged from behind, adding weight and momentum to the point of his blade. A red haze was around the warrior, who spun around. The dark blade hissed and arced. Erendil dodged limbo-style and tried a new blow. It only found the warrior’s black-laquered armour.
Andarleth got an idea. He sprinted to the littering draich and raked it in troll vomit. The warrior had his back turned. With a savage yell, he ran like a contest. He put his weight behind the blade, bracing himself for the impact and thundered the blade into the chaos-warrior’s back.
The blade jutted out on the other side, past an armour opened up in a tin-can-like way. Red smoke was blowing with massive pressure out of the warrior who uttered a final, double, sigh and gave up resistance. The body was so heavy that the draich was wrenched out of Andarleth’s grip.
“So. We have finished our little conversation with these guys,” Erendil said, masking his exhaustion. “What do we do now?”
“How do we find back without Kalai?” was Urian’s reply.
“Hey – what was it that Tyrdek did when we first encountered Kalai? I think he clapped thrice and whistled once. Was that it?” Andarleth said, a quizzical look upon his face.
“No, it wasn’t,” Trubdil said, confident, “he clapped his hands twice and whistled twice.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right. That was it,” Andarleth said. “Come, let’s go hunt for these devils.”
* * *
Tyrdek tried to straighten up. Jolts of pain shot up from the top of his head and his shoulders. He gave it up and kept lying on the damp floor. The cell didn’t give him very much space to move. He couldn’t straighten out. His legs longed for a good stretch. He tried to move them. It went fine as long as he was careful. One wrong move and the pain started again. He hoisted them up diagonally, else the wall would hinder them.
Satisfied over this small feat, he returned to resting position. He could still feel the lemon juice. An upsurge rage swelled in him. He wanted to kill these retainers. The woman who had whipped him first and called him stupid – he would break her back and let her live like that forever. He would break their fingers one by one. He would never give in to them. Never. By the way, he didn’t expect to be here for very long. Kalai would save him. Kalai knew everything about this place. He knew how to get into the castle. He would sneek into some ill-guarded place in the castle, snuff out any retainers that met him – in a painful way, Tyrdek hoped – and go on and unlock the door.
The door was solid iron. He had felt it with his feet. There was no way he could bust it open. A jolt of hopelessness shot up in Tyrdek, but he swallowed it down. Kalai would rescue him. Perhaps not right now, but in a little while. He must not be weak. The kind of people who gave in to torture had no balls. He had himself seen many such whimps. Another sensation changed Tyrdek’s thoughts. He was getting hungry.
The fields of rye were bowing to the wind. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the farmsteads. Urian heard some cows mooing inside a building.
“What’s the plan?” he said.
“We’re gonna speak to them. In the language of the fist,” Erendil said, shaking a fist. “The sword is my tongue.”
The corsairs and autarii saw the jumbled heap of figures sitting, reclining against trees or squatting further down the road. They feigned a casual walk, hoping the Chaos worshippers would not suspect anything. The troll bolted upright and came running towards them, as last time. Urian swallowed a jolt of fear. The troll would jerk back, be thrown off its feet and stop.
It took a disproportionately long time for the troll to stop. The grotesque, drooling and double-headed monster was hemming in on them. The chain was trailing through the dirt behind it.
Kalai donned a defiant grin and poised his draich. The troll roared fiercely, strings of gelatinous drool detaching from its teeth. Kalai’s blade hissed through the air, shearing off the grappling hands of the troll. The hands landed slack on the gravel and Kalai tried a second blow, walking inside the troll’s guard and opening up its stomach.
With howls and bellows, the beastmen charged into the fight. They were poising a jumble of weapons. Narsil and Erendil blocked their way, grim-faced. They recognized the foremost beastman.
Tull poised the spear behind his back and hurled it so that he nearly lost balance. Narsil ducked down. The spear whizzed over his head and jarred into the Urian’s armour. The corsair was knocked off his feet and pushed himself upright quickly. Like a colliding car and a truck, the corsairs slammed with the beastmen. Narsil brought up his blades in a parade and the attacking beastman pushed him backwards. Tull, weaponless, hurled his bare body onto Erendil with a shout of defiance. Erendil’s blades stung through the ungor’s body, locking inside it. The second beastman jammed a blow into him, denting his pauldron. Erendil darted up a dagger he had and drove it into the wrist of the attacker as it rained another blow. Erendil took the axe from the slack hand of the beastman, pulling him close with a hand and dashing the axe between his enemy’s eyes. Blood flecked Erendil and he tasted some of it.
Slimy new hands pushed out from the gory stumps of the troll. The gash on the stomach knitted whole again. Quick as a cobra the troll lunged at Kalai, knocking him backwards. Urian yelled savagely and charged. He stabbed his blades twice into the exposed side and back of the troll, but the troll swooped with his arm and sent Urian into a field of rye, awkwardly. Trubdil uttered a warcry and fell upon the troll’s other side. The troll batted him aside so that he lost balance and had to drop his blades. Kalai renewed the attack in the troll, the corsairs having given him time. He raised his draich execution-style and charged the troll with a warcry. The troll retched, twitched and jerked forward, both mouths yawning wide and producing an initial burp. Kalai’s momentum carried him right into the deluge of turgid vomit. An oatmeal-like mixture spattered off him, soaking his face, his chest and shoulders. Kalai’s grip on the draich slackened mid-strike. Gobbets of vomit were dripping down the troll’s twine jaws, scattering in various directions as the trolls jerked around. Trubdil propelled his blade into the troll’s back, still holding it inside as the troll twisted. The creature roared. Urian charged, dirty, from the rye and added a howl. Both of his blades bit into the troll’s other side. The troll brought down both his fists on both attackers at once, slamming into their breastplates, creating cavities. The air was knocked from Trubdil’s lungs and he convulsively maintained the grip on his blade. One of the heads of the troll turned to look at him. Trubdil jabbed with the sword into one of the creature’s eyes, shedding a turgid fluid. The troll spasmed, enraged, and Trubdil’s second blade was wrenched free from his grip. Still with the blade in his body the troll twisted around and punched Urian so that he lost his blades and landed in the dirt anew, bruised and hurting. Not being able to regenerate the continuing wounds from the three blades in him, the troll collapsed, breaking Trubdil’s blade like a toothpick. With his single sword left, Trubdil charged into the fight with the beastmen.
Narsil and Erendil were being pushed back, hacking like frenzied at their equally frenzied attackers. An arm was coming off as Narsil gave it a savage blow, and blood sprayed in an arc about the corsairs. Trubdil stung his blade into an ungor who fell down lifeless. Putting his boot on the corpse for leverage, he jerked free the barbed blade that sawed through the lifeless bones of the fallen. A beastman bombed down a blow on him, making him fall back. Trubdil seized the initiative and countercharged the oncoming beastman, sinking his blade into the chest of the foe.
Urian shouted a warcry and, raining down a flurry of blows, drove back two ungors. A gor brushed them brusquely aside, grunted and swooped diagonally down with his blade. Urian caught the blade with an iron hand and stabbed his other blade. The enemy batted it way out of its path with a cudgel. Urian pushed at the locking sword, suddenly changed the direction of his hand and tried for the bicep of the gor. Lightning-fast, the gor caught the blade, roared and sent down his cudgel. Knowing in a split-second this blow would nullify his helmet and smash his skull Urian somersaulted backwards. The gor lost his cudgel and slumped forward. Erendil pulled out his sword from the gor’s spinal chord with his hand and a stomping boot.
Andarleth chopped at his enemy’s thigh, opening it up and sending down rivulets of blood. Trubdil smashed aside the blade of an enemy and jabbed at his face. Narsil was fighting a beastman who howled and struck a savage blow at him. His pauldron was deformed and Narsil cried from the pain in his shoulder. Not wasting time, the corsair riposted into the beastman’s heart, twisting the blade spasmodically and pulling it out.
Erendil spotted the head-shaved troll-handler and, rage in his face, charged. The handler didn’t flinch and poised a mace savagely behind his back. But Erendil was too quick. The handler had opened up his guard too wide and Erendil, like an adder, lunged into the human’s heart. His eyes becoming unfocused, the handler went slack, hanging from the blade. It rattled as Erendil lowered the blade, letting the corpse slump off it and sawing the ribcage open.
Urian gave the last beastman a bloody coup-de-grace. The enemies were lying in malformed heaps, their limbs pointing in funny directions. Gristly blood coloured the road, giving the lush countryside a macabre new perspective.
The corsairs went to have a look at Kalai. His skeleton was partially showing through, between rags of clothes and bubblegum skin. One of his eyes was intact, but lidless. Where the other one had been there was a gruel-filled, overflowing socket. Trubdil picked up the draich. It was corroded on the places where flecks of vomit had spattered.
“Hey, wasn’t there a Chaos warrior around here, too?” Andarleth asked.
“I wanted to get the pleasure of enjoying you alone!” a double voice bellowed. The black-armoured Chaos warrior was standing among the trees. He started to sprint like an athlete, roaring frighteningly and brandishing his blade. Narsil scrambled out of the warriors path, the warrior missing him with a windy blow. Erendil lunged at the warrior, jarring strangely against his armour and producing a puff of red smoke. The warrior yelled with two voices and rained down blows rhythmically. With every blow he rained upon the viciously parrying corsairs he cried out fiercely. The clashes of the swords sounded like gong-gongs and the elves were pushed out of his path. He tried an angry swoop at Trubdil’s legs, who jabbed at him with the single blade he had. Trubdil skipped outside the warrior’s guard, stumbled upon a stone and fell down.
Urian lunged in between. One blade sought the eye-slit of the warrior, but the warrior jerked back, and the other slammed into his armour, creating a violent spurt of red gas. Erendil charged from behind, adding weight and momentum to the point of his blade. A red haze was around the warrior, who spun around. The dark blade hissed and arced. Erendil dodged limbo-style and tried a new blow. It only found the warrior’s black-laquered armour.
Andarleth got an idea. He sprinted to the littering draich and raked it in troll vomit. The warrior had his back turned. With a savage yell, he ran like a contest. He put his weight behind the blade, bracing himself for the impact and thundered the blade into the chaos-warrior’s back.
The blade jutted out on the other side, past an armour opened up in a tin-can-like way. Red smoke was blowing with massive pressure out of the warrior who uttered a final, double, sigh and gave up resistance. The body was so heavy that the draich was wrenched out of Andarleth’s grip.
“So. We have finished our little conversation with these guys,” Erendil said, masking his exhaustion. “What do we do now?”
“How do we find back without Kalai?” was Urian’s reply.
“Hey – what was it that Tyrdek did when we first encountered Kalai? I think he clapped thrice and whistled once. Was that it?” Andarleth said, a quizzical look upon his face.
“No, it wasn’t,” Trubdil said, confident, “he clapped his hands twice and whistled twice.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right. That was it,” Andarleth said. “Come, let’s go hunt for these devils.”
* * *
Tyrdek tried to straighten up. Jolts of pain shot up from the top of his head and his shoulders. He gave it up and kept lying on the damp floor. The cell didn’t give him very much space to move. He couldn’t straighten out. His legs longed for a good stretch. He tried to move them. It went fine as long as he was careful. One wrong move and the pain started again. He hoisted them up diagonally, else the wall would hinder them.
Satisfied over this small feat, he returned to resting position. He could still feel the lemon juice. An upsurge rage swelled in him. He wanted to kill these retainers. The woman who had whipped him first and called him stupid – he would break her back and let her live like that forever. He would break their fingers one by one. He would never give in to them. Never. By the way, he didn’t expect to be here for very long. Kalai would save him. Kalai knew everything about this place. He knew how to get into the castle. He would sneek into some ill-guarded place in the castle, snuff out any retainers that met him – in a painful way, Tyrdek hoped – and go on and unlock the door.
The door was solid iron. He had felt it with his feet. There was no way he could bust it open. A jolt of hopelessness shot up in Tyrdek, but he swallowed it down. Kalai would rescue him. Perhaps not right now, but in a little while. He must not be weak. The kind of people who gave in to torture had no balls. He had himself seen many such whimps. Another sensation changed Tyrdek’s thoughts. He was getting hungry.
An excuse to all who have followed this story up to now. I have to change it a bit so that it can go on in a good way. Thanks eveyone who has been loyal and followed it up to now. I think of continuing the story just on my computer. I've written just one chapter at a time and posted it up to now. I noticed that you get an eye-ache after like two minutes of reading on this forum, so perhaps this story should be somewhere else.
Some comments to the story: I just read through the beginning, after not having read it for a while, and I understand Drainial's criticism even more after reading it. Reading through those descriptions made me restless. I do think I have succeeded with the dialogue. Some things could be better, for example some sentences are too cumbersome. I'm gonna review the story on the computer.
Some comments to the story: I just read through the beginning, after not having read it for a while, and I understand Drainial's criticism even more after reading it. Reading through those descriptions made me restless. I do think I have succeeded with the dialogue. Some things could be better, for example some sentences are too cumbersome. I'm gonna review the story on the computer.
Hi! Well, I have enjoyed your story. I would very much like to know what happens next, which is something some published stories don't manage 
I understand if you want to review it first, but I hope you don't give up! I've been reading it day by day as it comes out.
I'm sorry that I don't have anything very constructive to say on how you could make it better right now - but if I think of something that might be useful, with your permission I'll offer what I know.
I understand if you want to review it first, but I hope you don't give up! I've been reading it day by day as it comes out.
I'm sorry that I don't have anything very constructive to say on how you could make it better right now - but if I think of something that might be useful, with your permission I'll offer what I know.
RIP Group 28
~ We Never Slept ~
~ We Never Slept ~
Thanks for reading and replying syjahel I don't demand that you offer criticism so it's okay!
I have skimmed through the story now and there are some points I would like to discuss. I am short of ideas. So any input from you guys out there would be great! I think of reviewing the basic plot of the story. I think the plot of the corsairs killing the sorceress is a bit too flat. I would like something that stirs the imagination a bit more. I am trying to avoid the "get the artifact" plot because that's a really standard one. I am thinking of a plot that involves delivering a message to someone. An alternative plot could be the main character going to see someone - a relative, an old friend or some business-related person. I think my plot now is a bit strange. Why doesn't the contractor just hire an assassin to kill the sorceress?
Some parts of the story are gonna hit the bin. The part where they travel on the spear road, and the shire of kurion are gonna go because they are irrelevant to the story, they just take up space. If I cut them, the action will come quicker!
Another part that's gonna go is the autarii camp part, for the same reason. And, it would be cooler if the autariis show up in another way. I want to include the autariis but in a different way.
I'm also looking to re-do the character portrayals.
Any comments and ideas are appreciated!
I don't demand that you offer criticism so it's okay!
I have skimmed through the story now and there are some points I would like to discuss. I am short of ideas. So any input from you guys out there would be great! I think of reviewing the basic plot of the story. I think the plot of the corsairs killing the sorceress is a bit too flat. I would like something that stirs the imagination a bit more. I am trying to avoid the "get the artifact" plot because that's a really standard one. I am thinking of a plot that involves delivering a message to someone. An alternative plot could be the main character going to see someone - a relative, an old friend or some business-related person. I think my plot now is a bit strange. Why doesn't the contractor just hire an assassin to kill the sorceress?
Some parts of the story are gonna hit the bin. The part where they travel on the spear road, and the shire of kurion are gonna go because they are irrelevant to the story, they just take up space. If I cut them, the action will come quicker!
Another part that's gonna go is the autarii camp part, for the same reason. And, it would be cooler if the autariis show up in another way. I want to include the autariis but in a different way.
I'm also looking to re-do the character portrayals.
Any comments and ideas are appreciated!