400 views, not bad.
Chapter Nine: The Cursed Place
“Are we there yet?
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
“Yes.”
After four and a half days of travel, they had made it to Har Ganneth. But it wasn’t easy. After the Manticore, the group had to face a chimera protecting its nest. That was closely followed by an attack from a band of rabid minatours. This was followed by an attack by cutthroats and bandits shunned by the greater cities. And finally, a massive boar the size of a supply wagon broke into their camp, causing much destruction before it eventually was roasted over an open fire. All of the travelers were ready for a break, even if it meant taking it in Har Ganeth. The Executioners, on the other hand, were ready to make a killing.
An event that Ronin was sure to happen. Even a mile away, the stench of blood filled the air, and winged scavengers blotted out the sky over the dreaded city. As the travelers came closer, the screams of victims to appease the Lord of Murder became louder and louder. By the time they had reached the main entrance, the Ronin had long since speculated that a death back in Ulthuan would have been a more merciful fate.
The walls looked to be made of marble, but their white color had long since been washed away with the red blood and gore of countless victims. Crows and ravens rested on the deserted ramparts, squawking “Skulls and Souls, Axes and Swords”, or “Blood, Blood, Blood.” They eyed the caravan hungrily, but warily. They had learned whenever the shiny elves came out there would be plenty of food to go around.
There was no gate to stop trespassers. While other cities bared intruders, this one dared them to enter as it gave them an opportunity to spill blood. Just the same, there was a withered crone, and sizable number of Draichnyre Na Khaine, the order of Executioners, stationed at the front gate. Had the aged mouthpiece of the Lord of Murder not given them her permission to enter, these heavily armored guardians would have offered the travelers to him.
“Welcome to Har Ganneth, will you and your posy be staying for business or pleasure this time Lord Har Harkon?” asked a board Executioner to the noble who first suggested this trek. He was falling asleep, and with one hand propping his head up, with his other in reach of his great sword.
One of the main duties of the Executioner, as the boy had learned on this long journey, was that of the guardians of the Temple of Khaine, but because there so many of them in this city this often meant doing double duty as city guard.
A fact that didn’t go bode well with the guard at the main city gate. There hadn’t been an enemy invasion in years, save for a lost band of Skaven rat men and the normal random attacks from various Chaos worshiping warlords. In either scenario the guard didn’t see much action as main artillery of the psychotic Skaven ended up blasting three thirds of the overgrown rodents to the hereafter, leaving the rest as target practice for the shades and crossbowmen. As for the human and beastmen followers of Chaos they generally came in small enough numbers just to warrant a small fighting force to meet them in the field of battle, and not the whole city.
It had been three weeks since anything like this occurred, and he couldn't take it anymore. To busy himself, he had carved a good number of little figurines out of the bones of prisoners.
The Noble who spared Ronin at the bar and first suggested this whole endeavor in the first place, walked up to the elf. “You knew the deal Tiko; it all depends on whether or not Uncle Tularis had a slow day at work or not. If he did, then we need to watch our necks. If not, well then we still need to watch our necks, but he’s hells of a lot less angry!” He placed a reassuring hand on his comrade. They had trained in the same phalanx for years, and had saved each other’s lives more times then he cared to count.
“Tell me about it!” Tiko stamped the noble’s paperwork, leaving the symbol of the Hag Queen Hellebron, the Ruler of Har Ganneth and the leader of the Cult of Khaine. “Just the other day he cut my cousin in half because of ‘perfuming sloppy executions,’ and decapitated one of my best friends, a Hag herself, for questioning his request for a larger barracks for his personal detachment!” The elf shrugged his shoulders. “But then again, he is the best fighter next to the Assassins we got out here. What are you going to do?”
“Bring a dozen roses, and hope it’s not for my own funeral pyre.” the noble chuckled.
“Hay, that’s not funny!”
The group began to move again, with Har Harkon and the Ronin leading from the front. “So, how do you like the ‘City of the Executioners?” asked the noble.
“It’s interesting…to say the least,” the child lied. “Would you care to tell me more about the Cult of Khaine, and this city?”
Har Harkon gave a wry smile.”In every city, there is a temple dedicated to the God of Murder, Khaine, for he is our patron god. Of all of the temples of the six Great Cities, the three largest temples are the Bloody Palace located in Naggarond, where the Dark Elves first landed upon the new world; The White Palace of Icy Death located in Ghround, where the cult had its former headquarters; and finally the Palace of Skull in this city, where The ancient crone Hellebron, resides. She was awarded command of this city over a thousand years ago for her success over her raids against the Northmen, the Bretons, and our cousins in Ulthuan. She casted out the nobility from what was once their section of the city, and expanded upon it for her new temple.
“Around fourteen hundred years later, your former kin came to our shores with an invading force the size and grandeur on par with a large Chaotic incursion. It was their first offensive against our people on our home front. Ironically, it would also be their last.
“The imbeciles leading their so called army were half dozen princes of Ulthaine. While their desire for glory beyond measure was something to be admired, they knew little of the dangers of this unforgiving place and knew even lesson on the art of war. Hells, I heard stories from autarii spying on them that they didn’t even know how to properly hold a damn blade, much less lead an army.”
“I’ve heard of it.” said the boy. “We call it the ‘Accursed Battle’ back in Ulthuan. My grandfather was one of the lieutenants leading the invasion force. He died from the wounds he received their soon after he came home, but my grandmother said he had been dead long before that. Since then, everyone I knew called this city ‘The Cursed Place.’”
“Hmm, if they had any real military talent, then that wouldn’t have been the case. At the time it was believed that Har Ganeth was the least defended, thus the easiest to capture and turn our home into their base of operations. Unfortunately for the invaders, the City of Har Ganeth was filled with the most blood thirsty of warriors of the Druchii people. Even by the standards of the vicious Immortals, whom I’m sure have you have seen in action by now, the inhabitants here seemed to never be able to quench their thirst for blood. After several days and nights of nonstop combat, over half of the invading force was either captured or slain. A quarter more would pass out from exhaustion and blood loss. As for the rest of the Asur invaders, they returned to our ancient homeland to lick their wounds.
“That explains why the villagers remember him being so quiet after that. My grandfather never told my father nor my grandmother much about what he saw, only that there were cruelties performed that were beyond imagination.”
“Hmm, that description is for children still sucking on their mother’s breasts. The tale I tell is one my father and uncle told me as bed time stories, and would probably give the rest of your former kin chills. But first, let us get something to eat. I feel like I could have gorged myself on that manticore you kill all by myself!” Har Harkon signaled the group to enter a nearby tavern. Once seated, he ordered a meal for himself and the boy.
“Those who were unlucky enough to survive and not escape back to their ships awoke in cages all around the city. Oh it was a glorious sight! I wished I could have been born in that period of time to watch their faces as their comrades butchered in front of them! Every man, woman, and child feasted upon on the raw flesh of the high elves, and became intoxicated from both the excess of wine and blood pouring down their throats. Oh there was so much ecstasy that night, and everyone was enthralled and intertwined with one another. Now that I think of it, everyone was so intoxicated and euphoric I think that it might have caused the Har Ganneth baby boom a couple centuries back!” The executioner would have continued on that subject, but the look on the Ronin’s face made him realize that was a discussion for another time and another place, namely when the boy was older.
“In any case, there were rivers of blood flowing down the thousand steppes off the great temple of Khaine, as heads would be tossed down to the depravity below. By the end of the celebration the city streets would be stained red with the blood of thousands.
“Years later Hellebron, wanted an elite guard unit that was both powerful, yet restrained. Almost everyone in the city volunteered, with only a third of the populace either being dropped from the program within the first few months of training, or died in the process. Since that day, the city has been overflowing with my ilk, making us Executioners as common of a sight in this city as common spearmen in any of the others. And just like any other common warrior, corsair, or dark rider was the core of most warlords’ armies and city defenses, the Executioners are the core of all of all the armies spewing out of Har Ganeth, and they were its main defense force!”
Har Harkon quickly raised his massive blade, wrapped in a durable, white cloth. “Each one of us carries a large seven foot long sword, like this, or a massive battle ax which we affectionately call a Draich.” All elves knew that word, for it was an act all too familiar to the reserved Asur, the mysterious Asri, and the cruel Druchii. The Draich: literally the act of execution. It was an appropriate name for these great weapons.
By now the first of many courses had arrived. The Ronin stabbed at his fish. It didn’t take long before his taste buds told him to shovel more in. “I’ve noticed you and your ilk tend to be more reserved then the other Khaineites.”
“That was the whole point of our establishment. The Witch Elves we serve and much of the common berserkers who have joined our cult are too feral, too uncontrollable. Once on the battlefield they seek out all foes, caring not for their own lives. And while the Assassins have the finesse to counter all but the occasional blow, it takes too long to train one. Instead, you have us. While we train harder than the common Druchii in the act of killing, our training is as defensive as it is offensive. Now tell me Ronin: what do you notice about those Executioners over there in the corner?” he asked, raising a goblet to his face.
The boy looked at the two men in the corner. Both wore heavy breast and arm plates. Guessing from the rustling sound made as one of them crossed his legs, their chain mail dress had to have had several interlinked layers. Both elves had the traditional coned helm. The one closest to the wall wore a veil made of chainmail to protect his face from stray arrow or a sword trying to skewer him in the head. Ronin also noticed something else: They were big. Ronin figured they had to be to wield the massive swords leaning next to them, but their muscle mass still took the boy by surprise. When he was done examining them, Ronin reported his findings and forced another serving of fish down his gullet.
“Good. What you see before you is the standard attire of the Executioner.”
“I can see that. Just why do you and your fellows look so, so, so…”
“Strong?”
“Something like that.”
“Half of the waking hours of an Executioner are to his duties as either a guardian or living up our name and slaying a few traitors or scarifies. The rest was spent on training, to build up our strength and stamina, and to perfect ours skills with our chosen weapons. The remaining hours are spent resting, with little to no time spent on ay leisure activities. After a while all work and no play make for cranky Executioner.
“If you’re noble born like myself, you tend to get all the crap work as well. Namely attending ceremonies and parties in the name of some great Draich Master, or some Hag because they were too busy or didn’t want to come but had to save face. Hells, I figure if I had practiced my swordsmanship as many hours as I was in those damn get-togethers, I would be able to put my superiors’ skills to shame!
“And then you have my Uncle Tullaris. As a young boy, he was among the spectators that were allowed into the temple as the city celebrated conquering the would-be conquers. He was so enthralled by the slaughter that he stole a knife from one of the guards, jumped onto a poor captive’s chest, and carved him open. He said the moment the spray of blood bathed him was the happiest moment of his childhood. Hellebron, was so impressed with his bloodlust that when she ordered to have the Executioners established eighty years later, she chose him to be the captain.” Har Harkon ordered a pitcher of water. He also asked that he be given an elixir to deal with the intoxicating qualities of his last few drinks. After all, a true swordsman never drinks himself to a stupor.
“Over the eleven hundred odd years since that day, he has become so skilled with the blade that my uncle could cleanly sever the heads of five practice slaves in one swipe of his massive sword: The Blade of Har Ganneth.
“But alas, his temper gets to the better of him. It isn’t uncommon for him to lash out at his fellow Executioners for sloppy swordplay. He once had a whole town in a human realm razed, with its populace butchered simply because he didn’t like the name. Even the brides of Khaine have to watch themselves as their necks were just as likely to go on the chopping block anyone else’s.”
“And you thought it was a good idea to bring me to his home? The home of the ‘Drakiur’” retorted the boy.
“Oh yes, ‘Dread-Bringer’. That is the name given to him by the Asur. It’s been a while since I last heard that title. Well, I figure if he can’t take away any of your Asury weaknesses out of you, and trust me you still have a lot of them, he’ll make sure our hands our clean of you.”
Ronin jaw dropped. He had come to expect such callousness from such a people, but it would take time before he would truly get used to it.
Birth of a Dark Elf
Moderators: T.D., Drainial, The Dread Knights
I'm enjoying this as a story and as a travelogue 
A tour around Naggaroth. Just the place for a summer holiday!
... unless you're an Asur.
Just one tiny point: it's actually Hellebron, you might want to change that before she notices ... her temper is only slightly less vile than Uncle Tullaris' ...
A tour around Naggaroth. Just the place for a summer holiday!
... unless you're an Asur.
Just one tiny point: it's actually Hellebron, you might want to change that before she notices ... her temper is only slightly less vile than Uncle Tullaris' ...
RIP Group 28
~ We Never Slept ~
~ We Never Slept ~
I think it's time for the next chapter, don't you?
Chapter Ten: Warm Welcome
Ronin had learned the city was split into five sections At the center of the center of Har Ganneth was the Temple of Khaine, known simply as “The Bloody Palace,” which took up several large city blocks. In fact, the area that encompasses it used to be the highborn quarter before the Cult of Khaine became the dominant sect of the Druchii faith. The other areas were equally split amongst the rest of the denizens: The commoners getting the docks and the market, the Highborn lived in their own section, and finally the “Grand Palace” of Tullaris the Dreaded.
The home of Tullaris lived up to its name. It was reminiscent of the old castles of Ulthaine, with its spires, and smooth shapes and texture. On the other hand it kept up with the Druchi ascetics with long spikes that protruded off the castle walls with the impaled remains of fallen rivals and chaotic beasts that covered the top of the outer wall like scavengers on a garbage heap.. As the group got close enough, a warrior shot a massive bolt out of one of the reaper bolt throwers on the wall: a warning shot.
“Who goes there?” yelled a guard.
“Har Harkon of house Hark Kana; son of Caloss of house Har Kana and Kar Hara of house Kitari; The Brother of Tullaris the Sacred Slaughterer!”
“Oh, he’s been expecting you! LOWER THE DRAWBRIDGE, FRAIL’AINKN!”
The other soldier did as he was told, and lowered the wooden drawbridge. It was wide enough for a pair of chariots to cross side by side, yet strong enough for a pair of hydras to stay on it for extended amounts of time to hold off any would be attackers without breaking.
Ronin’s group marched across it. Piece of concrete that fell from the entryway was accidentally kicked in the murky water below. Suddenly, the ground began to tremble
“Get in the castle now!” yelled Har Harkon, running at full speed towards the castle gates.
The Shades and the Ronin didn’t need any orders to move, as they were already motivated to get to safety. Most of the Executioners and any other spearmen accompanying them on the other hand were not so lucky. Some had managed to get to safety as quickly as the others, some managed to climb aboard he rising drawbridge while the rest were left behind.
Most of the guards dropped their spears in favor of the repeater crossbows next to them, or manned the various war machines they had lined against the wall. “Close and brace the gates, and make sure that thing doesn’t breach the walls!” yelled the most commanding Guard Master. He loaded his crossbow, and prepared for the worst. He glared at the black water below, desperately trying to find his predator.
“I doubt he’s going to jump out now. There were thirteen elves that fell into that sludge. It should be pretty well fed by now.” said the Ronin, priming a repeater crossbow that was on the ground. “Or would you like me to find out?”
“Go ahead, if it makes you happy, wait! What are you…”
Ronin dropped the crossbow and took his leap of faith. A few short moments after the boy entered the mote, the water exploded violently, sending the lad back over the castle wall and into a phalanx of spearmen.
He was covered in slime and had a sore rib but was otherwise ok. “It said I was too small, and threw me back.” He declared in a slightly slurred voice. He didn’t quite know what that creature was, but it had left him very punch drunk.
A single Executioner broke out into a chuckle. The rest of his phalanx followed suit, unable to maintain their stoic disposition.
Chapter Ten: Warm Welcome
Ronin had learned the city was split into five sections At the center of the center of Har Ganneth was the Temple of Khaine, known simply as “The Bloody Palace,” which took up several large city blocks. In fact, the area that encompasses it used to be the highborn quarter before the Cult of Khaine became the dominant sect of the Druchii faith. The other areas were equally split amongst the rest of the denizens: The commoners getting the docks and the market, the Highborn lived in their own section, and finally the “Grand Palace” of Tullaris the Dreaded.
The home of Tullaris lived up to its name. It was reminiscent of the old castles of Ulthaine, with its spires, and smooth shapes and texture. On the other hand it kept up with the Druchi ascetics with long spikes that protruded off the castle walls with the impaled remains of fallen rivals and chaotic beasts that covered the top of the outer wall like scavengers on a garbage heap.. As the group got close enough, a warrior shot a massive bolt out of one of the reaper bolt throwers on the wall: a warning shot.
“Who goes there?” yelled a guard.
“Har Harkon of house Hark Kana; son of Caloss of house Har Kana and Kar Hara of house Kitari; The Brother of Tullaris the Sacred Slaughterer!”
“Oh, he’s been expecting you! LOWER THE DRAWBRIDGE, FRAIL’AINKN!”
The other soldier did as he was told, and lowered the wooden drawbridge. It was wide enough for a pair of chariots to cross side by side, yet strong enough for a pair of hydras to stay on it for extended amounts of time to hold off any would be attackers without breaking.
Ronin’s group marched across it. Piece of concrete that fell from the entryway was accidentally kicked in the murky water below. Suddenly, the ground began to tremble
“Get in the castle now!” yelled Har Harkon, running at full speed towards the castle gates.
The Shades and the Ronin didn’t need any orders to move, as they were already motivated to get to safety. Most of the Executioners and any other spearmen accompanying them on the other hand were not so lucky. Some had managed to get to safety as quickly as the others, some managed to climb aboard he rising drawbridge while the rest were left behind.
Most of the guards dropped their spears in favor of the repeater crossbows next to them, or manned the various war machines they had lined against the wall. “Close and brace the gates, and make sure that thing doesn’t breach the walls!” yelled the most commanding Guard Master. He loaded his crossbow, and prepared for the worst. He glared at the black water below, desperately trying to find his predator.
“I doubt he’s going to jump out now. There were thirteen elves that fell into that sludge. It should be pretty well fed by now.” said the Ronin, priming a repeater crossbow that was on the ground. “Or would you like me to find out?”
“Go ahead, if it makes you happy, wait! What are you…”
Ronin dropped the crossbow and took his leap of faith. A few short moments after the boy entered the mote, the water exploded violently, sending the lad back over the castle wall and into a phalanx of spearmen.
He was covered in slime and had a sore rib but was otherwise ok. “It said I was too small, and threw me back.” He declared in a slightly slurred voice. He didn’t quite know what that creature was, but it had left him very punch drunk.
A single Executioner broke out into a chuckle. The rest of his phalanx followed suit, unable to maintain their stoic disposition.
Who needs sanity? I have a Hydra
Right about now. I update this about once every 50 views, so I'm a little surprised I need to update this one this fast.
Chapter Eleven: The Dread Bringer
“Uncle Tullaris! I’m home!”Yelled Har Harkon. The group had entered the main court room of the Captain of the Executioners. The room was dimly lit by a few touches. It was also huge, with enough space to fit several hundred individuals, with thirty foot tall marble pillars holding up the sealing. During the day, when the drapes are pulled back to let in the morning’s rays, one could see a mural on the sealing of the Dreaded Executioner leading his troops through a desolate high elf village; his boot stepping in the crushed head of a woman. The Ronin could tell, from the size of his castle and the ornate paintings and drapes that Tullaris made a killing at killing.
“What is the meaning of this?” said a cold, heartless voice. “I sent you in my stead to that dreadfully boring party of Malakeith’s, and you have the nerve to bring me this runt as a trainee? I should have you flayed, and your body hanging next my two traitorous sons’ corpses.”
“Our Lord wishes to invade our ancient homeland again, with the aid of the North Men to soften up our Kin. This boy, though a member of that bastard race, is seeking vengeance against the Asur prince that left him and his hometown to the mercies, or the lack thereof, of our corsairs. He spent one week being tortured by the “Twins” onboard the formerly named ‘Green Plague,’ where he still refused to tell them anything more than the word ‘Ronin,’ and even killed one of them. He fights like a Druchii, slaying forty corsairs and an apprentice assassin before his capture. More importantly he apparently has a similar hatred of the daemon that killed aunt Louasaninia, or at least a Daemon whose description matches the one you gave me and the ‘sisters.’”
“Is that so?” blurted Tullaris. He stood up from his great thrown, leisurely grasping his massive sword. He was slightly taller than the average elf, possibly five feet and nine inches in height. The little light that pierced its way into the room reflected off his black armor. “Guards!” several dozen Executioners stepped out of the shadows, their blades thirsty for blood. “Relieve them of their weapons, and bring the boy forward.” They did as they were told, going as far as strip searching a few of the Autarii to make sure there was nothing they were hiding.
As for Ronin, they forcibly removed his shirt, chain mail, sea dragon cloak, and the scimitar he had hidden under his cloak. The only thing he had on was his traveling trousers. He tried to grab one of his gauntlets but one of the gauds kicked it out of the way, the slammed the butt of her great ax in his back. Two of the Draich Master brought the child forward, throwing him towards their Captain’s feet.
Tullaris the Sacred Slaughterer, The Dread-Bringer, The Butcher, and various other names used by the various races and cultures around the world placed the flat of his blade under the Ronin’s chin. “Now what should I do with you? Should I just lop your head off now, or should I carve your spine out with a dull knife first, then pull your head off by hand?”
“How about neither!” yelled the boy, pushing himself away just as Tullaris was about to lop off his head. On his feet, the boy ran headlong landing a single blow to captain’s face.
The Sacred Slaughterer took a step back, grasping his bleeding noise. A natural reaction, especially when very few people have had the ability to perform such a feet. Before he had time to recover, a single blade slid under his chin. With some speed and adrenaline, the boy placed its tip at the center of Tullaris’ throat.
With a vicious glare, he looked down at the child’s weapon. In the little time Ronin had already stolen the captain’s short sword. With a deft hand he had already outpast the more experienced elf, and kept the business end within slitting distance of the foe. Amazed, shocked, and afraid, the master killer just stood there.
“Now what?” he asked in a stoic tone.
“I can kill you now, or I can make some requests.”
“What can I offer you, Asur?” he asked, signaling his men to stand down.
“First off, spare the lives of my comrades here. All of them.”
“Done.”
“Return their weapons and have your men back away from them.” With another hand gesture, the Executioners returned the group’s weapons, and took a few steps back into the shadows.
“Grant me the privilege of training under you so I may find my niche in this culture of death and destruction.”
“Why would a weak blooded runt like you want to be a true warrior?”
“It is the only life I am allowed to have since the day a vile daemon destroyed my village. Then there is one responsible for abandoning my second home. I want to kill them both! After all, what’s the famous Har Ganeth saying? ‘We’re the most civilized race in the world. We have the most ways to kill!’”
“So you’ll sell your soul to do this then?”
“Nothing is ever worth that, but I am still willing to walk down paths others refuse to travel to achieve my goals. If that means I must join the ranks of your kin, so be it, and swear fidelity to your Witch King, so be it. I am his weapon, direct me the foe he wishes smite.”
Tullaris gave a cruel smile, one that would send chills down lesser beings. “Granted. And the final request?”
“My Lord?”
“The Look in your eyes. You want something else, don’t you? Well, spill it out! I don’t have all night.”
The Boy handed the weapon back to its owner, handle first. His next move would take the seasoned Executioner by surprised. The Ronin placed his hand over the left pectoral muscle. With a sudden movement, he gouged away at the flesh, ripping out a trinket he had hidden there. He tossed the blood covered jewel over to the Draich Master. It was a gold ring with a large square on top of it where a black family rune was located.
“I want to find out which family that rune belongs to. I learned how to read drhuer , but I have never seen that symbol before, and I want to know where it came from.”
“How did you get a hold of a hightborn’s signet ring?” demanded a still surprised Executioner.
“It belonged to my father.”
“It shall be done then. You have earned your stay. I will personally train you in the art of war, but my training can only go so far. I promise you that if you lack the will of a ruthless soul, you will not last long in this unforgiving place.” declared Tullaras. The boy nodded in agreement. “Harkon, tell me how long will he by staying with me?”
“A year. At which point I will send him to another to train under, and so on until he has a well rounded rundown of our people. He will be sent city to city, warlord to warlord until he has found his niche in life, at which point he will be given his first Rite of Iron.”
“So be it.” Tullaris clapped his hands, summoning several slaves of Elvin origin. “Take my guests to their rooms, and bring them some food and drink. I would normally join them, but I still have some business to attend to.” They did as they were told, leading everyone, save Har Harkon and Tullaris, to their rooms.
“So uncle, what do you think?”
“He’s everything Mill’Scion said he would be. Had it been anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed it, but I never knew an elf as serious as he was. Once again, he has provided me some entertainment.”
“Yes well, I wish you would have told me about this little act of yours. I don’t think the Autarii are going to be working for you for a while after this stunt.”
“It was a necessary risk. I wanted to see what the runt was capable of. It was a little close for comfort, but I’m impressed none the less. Still, he will pay for that blow to my face.”
“Is that so?” the other lord forged a terrible grin upon his lips. “I’ll have to make note of being there on that day. I wonder if he’ll last longer than the last one you forced into ‘The Gauntlet?’”
Chapter Eleven: The Dread Bringer
“Uncle Tullaris! I’m home!”Yelled Har Harkon. The group had entered the main court room of the Captain of the Executioners. The room was dimly lit by a few touches. It was also huge, with enough space to fit several hundred individuals, with thirty foot tall marble pillars holding up the sealing. During the day, when the drapes are pulled back to let in the morning’s rays, one could see a mural on the sealing of the Dreaded Executioner leading his troops through a desolate high elf village; his boot stepping in the crushed head of a woman. The Ronin could tell, from the size of his castle and the ornate paintings and drapes that Tullaris made a killing at killing.
“What is the meaning of this?” said a cold, heartless voice. “I sent you in my stead to that dreadfully boring party of Malakeith’s, and you have the nerve to bring me this runt as a trainee? I should have you flayed, and your body hanging next my two traitorous sons’ corpses.”
“Our Lord wishes to invade our ancient homeland again, with the aid of the North Men to soften up our Kin. This boy, though a member of that bastard race, is seeking vengeance against the Asur prince that left him and his hometown to the mercies, or the lack thereof, of our corsairs. He spent one week being tortured by the “Twins” onboard the formerly named ‘Green Plague,’ where he still refused to tell them anything more than the word ‘Ronin,’ and even killed one of them. He fights like a Druchii, slaying forty corsairs and an apprentice assassin before his capture. More importantly he apparently has a similar hatred of the daemon that killed aunt Louasaninia, or at least a Daemon whose description matches the one you gave me and the ‘sisters.’”
“Is that so?” blurted Tullaris. He stood up from his great thrown, leisurely grasping his massive sword. He was slightly taller than the average elf, possibly five feet and nine inches in height. The little light that pierced its way into the room reflected off his black armor. “Guards!” several dozen Executioners stepped out of the shadows, their blades thirsty for blood. “Relieve them of their weapons, and bring the boy forward.” They did as they were told, going as far as strip searching a few of the Autarii to make sure there was nothing they were hiding.
As for Ronin, they forcibly removed his shirt, chain mail, sea dragon cloak, and the scimitar he had hidden under his cloak. The only thing he had on was his traveling trousers. He tried to grab one of his gauntlets but one of the gauds kicked it out of the way, the slammed the butt of her great ax in his back. Two of the Draich Master brought the child forward, throwing him towards their Captain’s feet.
Tullaris the Sacred Slaughterer, The Dread-Bringer, The Butcher, and various other names used by the various races and cultures around the world placed the flat of his blade under the Ronin’s chin. “Now what should I do with you? Should I just lop your head off now, or should I carve your spine out with a dull knife first, then pull your head off by hand?”
“How about neither!” yelled the boy, pushing himself away just as Tullaris was about to lop off his head. On his feet, the boy ran headlong landing a single blow to captain’s face.
The Sacred Slaughterer took a step back, grasping his bleeding noise. A natural reaction, especially when very few people have had the ability to perform such a feet. Before he had time to recover, a single blade slid under his chin. With some speed and adrenaline, the boy placed its tip at the center of Tullaris’ throat.
With a vicious glare, he looked down at the child’s weapon. In the little time Ronin had already stolen the captain’s short sword. With a deft hand he had already outpast the more experienced elf, and kept the business end within slitting distance of the foe. Amazed, shocked, and afraid, the master killer just stood there.
“Now what?” he asked in a stoic tone.
“I can kill you now, or I can make some requests.”
“What can I offer you, Asur?” he asked, signaling his men to stand down.
“First off, spare the lives of my comrades here. All of them.”
“Done.”
“Return their weapons and have your men back away from them.” With another hand gesture, the Executioners returned the group’s weapons, and took a few steps back into the shadows.
“Grant me the privilege of training under you so I may find my niche in this culture of death and destruction.”
“Why would a weak blooded runt like you want to be a true warrior?”
“It is the only life I am allowed to have since the day a vile daemon destroyed my village. Then there is one responsible for abandoning my second home. I want to kill them both! After all, what’s the famous Har Ganeth saying? ‘We’re the most civilized race in the world. We have the most ways to kill!’”
“So you’ll sell your soul to do this then?”
“Nothing is ever worth that, but I am still willing to walk down paths others refuse to travel to achieve my goals. If that means I must join the ranks of your kin, so be it, and swear fidelity to your Witch King, so be it. I am his weapon, direct me the foe he wishes smite.”
Tullaris gave a cruel smile, one that would send chills down lesser beings. “Granted. And the final request?”
“My Lord?”
“The Look in your eyes. You want something else, don’t you? Well, spill it out! I don’t have all night.”
The Boy handed the weapon back to its owner, handle first. His next move would take the seasoned Executioner by surprised. The Ronin placed his hand over the left pectoral muscle. With a sudden movement, he gouged away at the flesh, ripping out a trinket he had hidden there. He tossed the blood covered jewel over to the Draich Master. It was a gold ring with a large square on top of it where a black family rune was located.
“I want to find out which family that rune belongs to. I learned how to read drhuer , but I have never seen that symbol before, and I want to know where it came from.”
“How did you get a hold of a hightborn’s signet ring?” demanded a still surprised Executioner.
“It belonged to my father.”
“It shall be done then. You have earned your stay. I will personally train you in the art of war, but my training can only go so far. I promise you that if you lack the will of a ruthless soul, you will not last long in this unforgiving place.” declared Tullaras. The boy nodded in agreement. “Harkon, tell me how long will he by staying with me?”
“A year. At which point I will send him to another to train under, and so on until he has a well rounded rundown of our people. He will be sent city to city, warlord to warlord until he has found his niche in life, at which point he will be given his first Rite of Iron.”
“So be it.” Tullaris clapped his hands, summoning several slaves of Elvin origin. “Take my guests to their rooms, and bring them some food and drink. I would normally join them, but I still have some business to attend to.” They did as they were told, leading everyone, save Har Harkon and Tullaris, to their rooms.
“So uncle, what do you think?”
“He’s everything Mill’Scion said he would be. Had it been anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed it, but I never knew an elf as serious as he was. Once again, he has provided me some entertainment.”
“Yes well, I wish you would have told me about this little act of yours. I don’t think the Autarii are going to be working for you for a while after this stunt.”
“It was a necessary risk. I wanted to see what the runt was capable of. It was a little close for comfort, but I’m impressed none the less. Still, he will pay for that blow to my face.”
“Is that so?” the other lord forged a terrible grin upon his lips. “I’ll have to make note of being there on that day. I wonder if he’ll last longer than the last one you forced into ‘The Gauntlet?’”
Who needs sanity? I have a Hydra
No need to apologise - I might not have been clear there. I just meant that he hid his real plans behind letting the boy get close enough to punch him, and he even had me fooled for a bit there That's all.
I actually completely agree, even Unc- er, Tullaris has to have more in his life than killing. (If only so he doesn't get the sword-wielder's equivalent of Tennis Elbow!) I'm sure all the major characters of Naggaroth society are up to their necks in politics, for a start* - it's the Druchii way to strive to win at everything
*But rumours that Kouran of the Black Guard likes to breed fluffy kittens are probably exaggerated.
RIP Group 28
~ We Never Slept ~
~ We Never Slept ~
Chapter Twelve: The Basics
The next morning, the Ronin was led to the main courtyard, where a several assassins, Executioners, and other foot soldiers practiced their deadly craft. Most of them were practicing with large wooden swords, others were lifting weights. Others still chose to hone their deadly skills on human slaves. When they ran out of humans, they brought in goblins wrapped in black cloaks to quench their blades’ thirst. It was a sickening sight to the youth.
As expected, Tullaris was practicing on some of the unlucky slaves himself. This time, he decided to up the ante and take on a behemoth the youth could only assume was an ogre of some sort. However, this was no ogre he had ever seen. Back in that port city he called home, he worked at a pub at first to clean up after the messy bar fights, then latter to kick them out; ogres being a common source of trouble. But most of the ones he was use to dealing with were bulky beasts, with large guts they proudly showed off.
The creature that was trying to take off Tullaris’ head was not that kind of Ogre. The beast was sickly, thin, and lanky. It was not a proper ogre by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it was about the height, and had the same amount of hygiene.
With a deft stroke, he managed to leave a large gash into its side. However, despite the creature’s frail appearance, it ignored the wound and began wildly trying to tear the Dread Bringer apart. For several minutes the large creature toyed with the elf like a cat does with its prey. But as it was to bring its massive clawed hand upon the Draich Master, Tullaris smote the monster’s arm off, and then stabbed it in the abdomen.
Despite such grievous of wounds, the beast hit the Executioner with the back of its hand, and sent the elf flying fifteen feet. With a triumphant roar, it lunged at its meal, only to have it take it’s head off with a much smaller blade. Whistling a simple tune, Tullaris wiped his short sword with his cloak, and then sheathed it.
“I must be getting out of shape to let a Gorger do that to me. What did you think Ronin?”
“If that’s out of shape, I’d love to see what you look like when you are at you best! I have never seen anyone dispatch something that size that quickly! And look at that sword? How do you decapitate something like that with such a small blade?”
“Well, this is what you get after four hundred years of service to a power much greater than we mortals can simply imagine. Thought, I have to say the imagination my nephew has of you seems to be more unimaginable. Thus, the reason I had you roused from your bed. Corsairs tell such tall tales, espesialy about your prowess. Let’s see if you earned that hype.”
Tullaris lead the Ronin to a rack with a variety of weapons ranging from knives and clubs, to lances and swords. Ronin picked up a scimitar and shield. “You know how to use that thing, right?” asked the Dread Bringer.
“Yes,” replied Ronin. “The pointy end goes into the man I’m trying to kill.”
Tullaris took his cupped hand and buried his face in it. “This is going to take a while.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Ronin showed them what he could do with the blade. During which time, he managed to disarm, or wound several of the other warriors training in the courtyard. However, against the Draichnyr na Khaine, the sacred Executioners, the youth’s skills were found in wanting. While he could stand up against them for a little while, it was more than obvious who had the greater skill. Still, he had some talent with the sword and shield combo. Tullaris would keep that in mind with future lessons.
With the other hand weapons, Ronin was fairly proficient with, but found the most pleasure wielding a pair of black daggers. Not weighed down by the sword, or the heavy shield, he could run circles around the executioners.
“I see you like the daggers.”
“Yes sir. They feel so light, and balanced. It’s been a while since I could fight with something like this.”
“Then they are yours. Keep them. Consider it a reward for passing most of the hand weapon training. We just need to improve your swordsmanship as that’s what you have the most comfort wielding next to the daggers.”
Over the next month, Tullaris drilled Ronin in druchii military tactics, and combat. He showed him how to fight, and how to care for and repair his weapons, and if needs be, forge new ones. The mornings would all beguine the same: build muscle, stamina, and endurance, then train with what weapons they were focusing on. In the afternoon, he would have scholarly elves, both free Nagarythians and those captured from Ulthuane, teach the boy linguistic skills, writing, and the arts. When that was finished, the youth had some leisure time, than was sent to his Spartan bed chamber to rest. To the Dread Bringer’s surprise, the boy took to the heavily regimented lifestyle like a fish to water. Had it not been for the fact the youth was still too nice, and too merciful he would have wished to have him join his detachment of warriors. But no matter how much he improved in the martial arts, the Ronin would never give up his gentility. It was a shame, but it was only the first two months. He had another ten of training to ferret that out of his system.
At the two month anniversary, Ronin had learned enough swordsmanship to satisfy the death lord, and it on to the next subject: Pole Arms. It took the Ronin some time getting used to as he had never used such armaments before. Within a week he was used to it. Within a month, he learned enough to be able to use them to some degree. After two and a half, Tullaris was satisfied with his basic skill with them. While Pole arms were not his strong suit on the ground, he knew enough to handle most enemies. Mounted on the other hand, he had some skill. Granted, he was on a decrepit dark steed, but it might have been enough to kill something out in this great world of theirs.
Then came the week after that.
“Now, for the great weapons. Pick up that wooden sword.” commanded Tullaris.
“Shouldn’t I be practicing with a real…whoa!” As the youth picked up the blade, its heavy, and cumbersome nature made him loose his balance.
“I allowed you to use the real weapons for the earlier weapon’s training when I judged you were at a competent level. However, with larger blades, there is still some work to be done. The wooden sword is a perfect weapon for beginners as it is larger, and heavier then the sword you will be using. This allows you to build up strength, muscle memory,” Tullaris had to duck as Ronin swung wildly out of control. “And coordination.”
Ronin finally stopped spinning. “I see your, poie, poie, Whoa!” he said, lifting the blade over his head, the momentum forcing him backwards into a box of armor.
Tullaris could do nothing but cup his face in his hand. He would do that a lot for the next three months. While Ronin still didn’t have the skills needed for the task, the wooden sword exercises build up stamina and endurance, and he had learned enough coordination where the Dread Bringer no longer needed to stay fifteen meters away to not get hit.
Desiring safer tasks for the youth to learn, Tullaris in his wisdom moved to range weapons. This was easier then he thought. While it took some time to get use to the repeater crossbow, once the youth had, there was no stopping him. However, throwing blades were more of his style, and his skill was impressive.
For the next several months, Ronin continued to practice his skills with the weapons he had the greatest skill with, focusing more on his speed and precisian then on power alone. By the time he would leave Tullaris’ care, he would be an expert in this field. Until then, he had much more to improve on.
The next morning, the Ronin was led to the main courtyard, where a several assassins, Executioners, and other foot soldiers practiced their deadly craft. Most of them were practicing with large wooden swords, others were lifting weights. Others still chose to hone their deadly skills on human slaves. When they ran out of humans, they brought in goblins wrapped in black cloaks to quench their blades’ thirst. It was a sickening sight to the youth.
As expected, Tullaris was practicing on some of the unlucky slaves himself. This time, he decided to up the ante and take on a behemoth the youth could only assume was an ogre of some sort. However, this was no ogre he had ever seen. Back in that port city he called home, he worked at a pub at first to clean up after the messy bar fights, then latter to kick them out; ogres being a common source of trouble. But most of the ones he was use to dealing with were bulky beasts, with large guts they proudly showed off.
The creature that was trying to take off Tullaris’ head was not that kind of Ogre. The beast was sickly, thin, and lanky. It was not a proper ogre by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it was about the height, and had the same amount of hygiene.
With a deft stroke, he managed to leave a large gash into its side. However, despite the creature’s frail appearance, it ignored the wound and began wildly trying to tear the Dread Bringer apart. For several minutes the large creature toyed with the elf like a cat does with its prey. But as it was to bring its massive clawed hand upon the Draich Master, Tullaris smote the monster’s arm off, and then stabbed it in the abdomen.
Despite such grievous of wounds, the beast hit the Executioner with the back of its hand, and sent the elf flying fifteen feet. With a triumphant roar, it lunged at its meal, only to have it take it’s head off with a much smaller blade. Whistling a simple tune, Tullaris wiped his short sword with his cloak, and then sheathed it.
“I must be getting out of shape to let a Gorger do that to me. What did you think Ronin?”
“If that’s out of shape, I’d love to see what you look like when you are at you best! I have never seen anyone dispatch something that size that quickly! And look at that sword? How do you decapitate something like that with such a small blade?”
“Well, this is what you get after four hundred years of service to a power much greater than we mortals can simply imagine. Thought, I have to say the imagination my nephew has of you seems to be more unimaginable. Thus, the reason I had you roused from your bed. Corsairs tell such tall tales, espesialy about your prowess. Let’s see if you earned that hype.”
Tullaris lead the Ronin to a rack with a variety of weapons ranging from knives and clubs, to lances and swords. Ronin picked up a scimitar and shield. “You know how to use that thing, right?” asked the Dread Bringer.
“Yes,” replied Ronin. “The pointy end goes into the man I’m trying to kill.”
Tullaris took his cupped hand and buried his face in it. “This is going to take a while.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Ronin showed them what he could do with the blade. During which time, he managed to disarm, or wound several of the other warriors training in the courtyard. However, against the Draichnyr na Khaine, the sacred Executioners, the youth’s skills were found in wanting. While he could stand up against them for a little while, it was more than obvious who had the greater skill. Still, he had some talent with the sword and shield combo. Tullaris would keep that in mind with future lessons.
With the other hand weapons, Ronin was fairly proficient with, but found the most pleasure wielding a pair of black daggers. Not weighed down by the sword, or the heavy shield, he could run circles around the executioners.
“I see you like the daggers.”
“Yes sir. They feel so light, and balanced. It’s been a while since I could fight with something like this.”
“Then they are yours. Keep them. Consider it a reward for passing most of the hand weapon training. We just need to improve your swordsmanship as that’s what you have the most comfort wielding next to the daggers.”
Over the next month, Tullaris drilled Ronin in druchii military tactics, and combat. He showed him how to fight, and how to care for and repair his weapons, and if needs be, forge new ones. The mornings would all beguine the same: build muscle, stamina, and endurance, then train with what weapons they were focusing on. In the afternoon, he would have scholarly elves, both free Nagarythians and those captured from Ulthuane, teach the boy linguistic skills, writing, and the arts. When that was finished, the youth had some leisure time, than was sent to his Spartan bed chamber to rest. To the Dread Bringer’s surprise, the boy took to the heavily regimented lifestyle like a fish to water. Had it not been for the fact the youth was still too nice, and too merciful he would have wished to have him join his detachment of warriors. But no matter how much he improved in the martial arts, the Ronin would never give up his gentility. It was a shame, but it was only the first two months. He had another ten of training to ferret that out of his system.
At the two month anniversary, Ronin had learned enough swordsmanship to satisfy the death lord, and it on to the next subject: Pole Arms. It took the Ronin some time getting used to as he had never used such armaments before. Within a week he was used to it. Within a month, he learned enough to be able to use them to some degree. After two and a half, Tullaris was satisfied with his basic skill with them. While Pole arms were not his strong suit on the ground, he knew enough to handle most enemies. Mounted on the other hand, he had some skill. Granted, he was on a decrepit dark steed, but it might have been enough to kill something out in this great world of theirs.
Then came the week after that.
“Now, for the great weapons. Pick up that wooden sword.” commanded Tullaris.
“Shouldn’t I be practicing with a real…whoa!” As the youth picked up the blade, its heavy, and cumbersome nature made him loose his balance.
“I allowed you to use the real weapons for the earlier weapon’s training when I judged you were at a competent level. However, with larger blades, there is still some work to be done. The wooden sword is a perfect weapon for beginners as it is larger, and heavier then the sword you will be using. This allows you to build up strength, muscle memory,” Tullaris had to duck as Ronin swung wildly out of control. “And coordination.”
Ronin finally stopped spinning. “I see your, poie, poie, Whoa!” he said, lifting the blade over his head, the momentum forcing him backwards into a box of armor.
Tullaris could do nothing but cup his face in his hand. He would do that a lot for the next three months. While Ronin still didn’t have the skills needed for the task, the wooden sword exercises build up stamina and endurance, and he had learned enough coordination where the Dread Bringer no longer needed to stay fifteen meters away to not get hit.
Desiring safer tasks for the youth to learn, Tullaris in his wisdom moved to range weapons. This was easier then he thought. While it took some time to get use to the repeater crossbow, once the youth had, there was no stopping him. However, throwing blades were more of his style, and his skill was impressive.
For the next several months, Ronin continued to practice his skills with the weapons he had the greatest skill with, focusing more on his speed and precisian then on power alone. By the time he would leave Tullaris’ care, he would be an expert in this field. Until then, he had much more to improve on.
Who needs sanity? I have a Hydra
“Yes,” replied Ronin. “The pointy end goes into the man I’m trying to kill.”
Tullaris took his cupped hand and buried his face in it. “This is going to take a while.”
Poor Uncle Tullaris
I enjoyed this, it's a good insight into how the Draichnyr na Khaine train too.
And I see you've got your titles back
RIP Group 28
~ We Never Slept ~
~ We Never Slept ~
Chapter Thirteen: The Warrior
“…Thirty three…thirty four…thirty five…thirty six…thirty seven…thirty eight…thirty nine…forty…forty one…” counted off a tired, sore, and hungry warrior.
He was in complete darkness save for a single beam of sunlight that braved its way through a crack of a window shutter. The silence of the early morning was shattered by local version of a roaster’s crow: The roar of a local lord’s black dragon as it prepared itself for the hunt. It was here the warrior meditated, bringing focus to his noble cause. After an hour of reflection and purification, he was ready to beguine the rest of the days training with a hundred pushups. His hard work paid off as he could lift his preferred blade of battle for almost a whole day, and could dodge any blow that came his way.
“…Fifty six…fifty seven…fifty eight…fifty nine…sixty…sixty one…sixty two…sixty three…sixty four…sixty five…sixty six…sixty seven…I …hate… this…seventy one…seventy two…seventy three…”
Suddenly there were three quick knocks to his door, forcing the warrior to lose his concentration. With a thud and a common elfin coursing, he was on the floor. He didn’t hear the sound of armor against the stone steps, so it couldn’t be one of the castle’s guards. As for the servants, they had been told never to disturb him till he rang for one. “Come in, the door isn’t locked.”
The door creaked wide open. There was nothing there. “Child’s play.” The warrior took out throwing knife, and tosses it out so the enchanted handle would ricochet against the wall and towards any one on the other side of the doorway. It worked. With a muffled cry a would-be assassin fell down the steps. “Let’s see here, there should be more of you out there. I’ll let you inside and fight this out properly if you wish, but you better decide quickly here. Otherwise I’ll hit you with another throwing knife…in the face!” Another black clad individual walked towards the warrior. He quickly unsheathed a yellow blade that was dripping venom. With a few quick steps he was in range to cut the warrior down in half.
Unfortunately for him, the warrior thought differently. He took out a highly decorated dagger, grabbed his foe’s sword arm, and slit his foe’s wrists, stomach, and neck.”Anyone else?”
A scared girl entered the doorway. From her garb, ears, long brown hair that went to the small of her back, and soft, peach colored skin, he figured she was a recently captured Asri or wood elf. She was in a green dress with blue trim. While this was an unusual garb for a slave, household servants in manors like this were often garbed in more pleasant cloths. She must have been at least a hundred and thirty or a hundred and forty, the equivalent of young human teenager. Before her capture, she might have been a decent warrior before becoming a servant girl, if not worse. He noticed a recent knife gash at her chest. It didn’t cut the skin, but instead made her ripening bosom more visible.
“Stay still.” he commanded her, and she did as she was told. With a hand going through her hair, and a dagger at her throat the warrior gave a cruel smile. “You’ll have to do better than that!”
He dropped the blade, and sent a fist past her neckline. In the other hand he held the knife of an assailant, who quickly doubled over; his crushed Adam’s apple blocking his airway. When he was done he simply walked around the frightened, yet otherwise unharmed girl. Satisfied with her condition, he walked towards his towel on the other end of the room.
“You let me live?” asked the girl, falling to her knees from the shock of being held hostage one moment, then released by one who aspired to be a vile warlord in another. “Why?
Her savior dropped his enemy’s knife, blood dripping from the gash in his hand that was made when the assailant tried to kill him. “No real reason really. I just don’t like killing when I can avoid…it…Manbane!” he fell to the ground.
All dark elf assassins were masters of poisons, and often coated their blades with vile toxins to either kill out right, or provide them entertainment as their prey died of a slow painful toxin. The toxins found in the manbane plant in particular, a favorite of the Temple of Khaine, often assured such slow, drawn out death in small amounts. If a concentrated concoction of this poison was applied to a weapon, then it would outright kill the victim. The warrior would not be so lucky.
The girl ran to the warrior. She called out his title, trying to wake him. She opened his eyes, which were quickly covering up with a film. Death would soon claim him.
Behind her a dark entity played silver lute, ringing a tune all too familiar to the young warrior. She couldn’t hear him, for he played his song only for those entering the Underworld. “Come, young Ronin. It is time to guide you to the eternities.” he said calmly.
“Shouldn’t you wait until he has the opportunity to take in his last breath Nethu?” inquired another entity in the darkness, his left hand eternally dripping blood.
“A surprising question from you, oh so honorable Blood God. And while I should be grateful for giving me a job that pays the bills, and got me out of mother’s basement, I must ask thee, why?”
“He is different. While he lacks the desire and the thirst for blood needed to be a great warrior, he however knows how to fight well, and is willing to do what is necessary to achieve his goals. He wishes for piece, but to achieve such a horrid thing, the blood of hundreds of millions must be shed. He’s definitely not one of my devotees, yet I can still foresee glory and desolation beyond measure in his future. He is a rarity, and to lose one such as he would be a great shame.”
“He is one in a hundred thousand: a true warrior with a conscience and a righteous anger. If you wish I will set my appointed time to reap his soul later, Khela Musla Khaine. Now if you excuse me, one of your more ancient brides is about to choke to death on some poor fool’s kidney in Hag Greif. If you don’t mind…” Nethu, the son of the Ereth Khail, Goddess and ruler of the Underworld, made his leave into the shadows in which he came. In his place the heavily armored God of War kneeled beside the dying warrior.
“I spared you this day.” he said, his long black hair falling into the warrior’s face. With his outstretched sword hand, he plucked the venom out of the elf’s system, discarding the black ooze that had infected him. Khaine’s remaining hand dripping blood into the boy’s mouth. “Don’t disappoint me.
“…Thirty three…thirty four…thirty five…thirty six…thirty seven…thirty eight…thirty nine…forty…forty one…” counted off a tired, sore, and hungry warrior.
He was in complete darkness save for a single beam of sunlight that braved its way through a crack of a window shutter. The silence of the early morning was shattered by local version of a roaster’s crow: The roar of a local lord’s black dragon as it prepared itself for the hunt. It was here the warrior meditated, bringing focus to his noble cause. After an hour of reflection and purification, he was ready to beguine the rest of the days training with a hundred pushups. His hard work paid off as he could lift his preferred blade of battle for almost a whole day, and could dodge any blow that came his way.
“…Fifty six…fifty seven…fifty eight…fifty nine…sixty…sixty one…sixty two…sixty three…sixty four…sixty five…sixty six…sixty seven…I …hate… this…seventy one…seventy two…seventy three…”
Suddenly there were three quick knocks to his door, forcing the warrior to lose his concentration. With a thud and a common elfin coursing, he was on the floor. He didn’t hear the sound of armor against the stone steps, so it couldn’t be one of the castle’s guards. As for the servants, they had been told never to disturb him till he rang for one. “Come in, the door isn’t locked.”
The door creaked wide open. There was nothing there. “Child’s play.” The warrior took out throwing knife, and tosses it out so the enchanted handle would ricochet against the wall and towards any one on the other side of the doorway. It worked. With a muffled cry a would-be assassin fell down the steps. “Let’s see here, there should be more of you out there. I’ll let you inside and fight this out properly if you wish, but you better decide quickly here. Otherwise I’ll hit you with another throwing knife…in the face!” Another black clad individual walked towards the warrior. He quickly unsheathed a yellow blade that was dripping venom. With a few quick steps he was in range to cut the warrior down in half.
Unfortunately for him, the warrior thought differently. He took out a highly decorated dagger, grabbed his foe’s sword arm, and slit his foe’s wrists, stomach, and neck.”Anyone else?”
A scared girl entered the doorway. From her garb, ears, long brown hair that went to the small of her back, and soft, peach colored skin, he figured she was a recently captured Asri or wood elf. She was in a green dress with blue trim. While this was an unusual garb for a slave, household servants in manors like this were often garbed in more pleasant cloths. She must have been at least a hundred and thirty or a hundred and forty, the equivalent of young human teenager. Before her capture, she might have been a decent warrior before becoming a servant girl, if not worse. He noticed a recent knife gash at her chest. It didn’t cut the skin, but instead made her ripening bosom more visible.
“Stay still.” he commanded her, and she did as she was told. With a hand going through her hair, and a dagger at her throat the warrior gave a cruel smile. “You’ll have to do better than that!”
He dropped the blade, and sent a fist past her neckline. In the other hand he held the knife of an assailant, who quickly doubled over; his crushed Adam’s apple blocking his airway. When he was done he simply walked around the frightened, yet otherwise unharmed girl. Satisfied with her condition, he walked towards his towel on the other end of the room.
“You let me live?” asked the girl, falling to her knees from the shock of being held hostage one moment, then released by one who aspired to be a vile warlord in another. “Why?
Her savior dropped his enemy’s knife, blood dripping from the gash in his hand that was made when the assailant tried to kill him. “No real reason really. I just don’t like killing when I can avoid…it…Manbane!” he fell to the ground.
All dark elf assassins were masters of poisons, and often coated their blades with vile toxins to either kill out right, or provide them entertainment as their prey died of a slow painful toxin. The toxins found in the manbane plant in particular, a favorite of the Temple of Khaine, often assured such slow, drawn out death in small amounts. If a concentrated concoction of this poison was applied to a weapon, then it would outright kill the victim. The warrior would not be so lucky.
The girl ran to the warrior. She called out his title, trying to wake him. She opened his eyes, which were quickly covering up with a film. Death would soon claim him.
Behind her a dark entity played silver lute, ringing a tune all too familiar to the young warrior. She couldn’t hear him, for he played his song only for those entering the Underworld. “Come, young Ronin. It is time to guide you to the eternities.” he said calmly.
“Shouldn’t you wait until he has the opportunity to take in his last breath Nethu?” inquired another entity in the darkness, his left hand eternally dripping blood.
“A surprising question from you, oh so honorable Blood God. And while I should be grateful for giving me a job that pays the bills, and got me out of mother’s basement, I must ask thee, why?”
“He is different. While he lacks the desire and the thirst for blood needed to be a great warrior, he however knows how to fight well, and is willing to do what is necessary to achieve his goals. He wishes for piece, but to achieve such a horrid thing, the blood of hundreds of millions must be shed. He’s definitely not one of my devotees, yet I can still foresee glory and desolation beyond measure in his future. He is a rarity, and to lose one such as he would be a great shame.”
“He is one in a hundred thousand: a true warrior with a conscience and a righteous anger. If you wish I will set my appointed time to reap his soul later, Khela Musla Khaine. Now if you excuse me, one of your more ancient brides is about to choke to death on some poor fool’s kidney in Hag Greif. If you don’t mind…” Nethu, the son of the Ereth Khail, Goddess and ruler of the Underworld, made his leave into the shadows in which he came. In his place the heavily armored God of War kneeled beside the dying warrior.
“I spared you this day.” he said, his long black hair falling into the warrior’s face. With his outstretched sword hand, he plucked the venom out of the elf’s system, discarding the black ooze that had infected him. Khaine’s remaining hand dripping blood into the boy’s mouth. “Don’t disappoint me.
Who needs sanity? I have a Hydra
Chapter Fourteen: Rewards
Tullaris was more irritated than usual. He glared at two standard Executioners and one of his commanders he had guarding the main entrance to the dining room, making them more nervous by the minute. Fortunately for them his anger was not their fault nor was it going to be unleashed upon them. The young warrior he was placed stewardship of was late. It was only for the first meal of the day, but the idea of keeping the impatient lord waiting was infuriating to the point of severing the youth’s head!
This wouldn’t be the first time the Master Executioner had done this with his charges, nor would it be the last time. It wasn’t the first time he had given the orders from the dining room table either. As he was about to give the order, a thought ran through his mind that forced him to hold his tongue: The youth should have been at the dining room table at least half an hour before he was there!
It had been nine months since he had taken the youth in from his nephew, during which time he had the child educated in art, writing, reading, poetry, and more importantly, the art of war. Strategy, swordsmanship, archery, evasion, and the proper use of any and all bludgeoning objects; while he stilled needed to make improvements, it was obvious he had some training in the martial arts, allowing him to quickly master most of the skills expected of him. The Arts of Language on the other hand were not the boy’s strong suit, but neither was it Tullaris’ so he had paid for the best tutors, both free Druchii and captured Asur, to train him in such areas.
Moreover, he was well regimented in his training. His schedule was so fine tuned even a fully disciplined Executioner like Tullaris had to wonder what was wrong, or right with this child. The fact he was never late impressed the Captain even more, and made him shift his feelings of wrath to that of concern.
“Commander.” he called out. “See what is keeping the Ronin. This isn’t like him at all to keep me waiting.”
“Oh, is something the matter Captain?” ask a condescending voice. “I certainly hope your new protégé is feeling well. Oh, how will our dark lord ever react to his untimely death?” The voice belonged to a middle aged elf. He was of the average height of five foot five, and had the muscle of that of an Executioner. He wore an expensive purple noble’s gown. A large golden tree with a hangman’s noose was embodied on the breastplate.
Tullaris didn’t need to turn his head, to figure out the elf was standing just a few feet behind him. Had he been deaf, he might not have noticed to clicks his guest’s shoes made as he walked across the fine marble floors. Had he been blind, or if the drapes had not been pulled on the dozens of glass pained windows he may have not noticed the other elf’s shadow as it moved onto his prized hardwood table. He knew who the voice belonged to, knew he told his guards to let him in, and knew he wished he didn’t set up this appointment with him as well!
“I do not know. Our divine Lord Malakeith is often fickle. But if the child is truly dead, then you’ll be the first to know.”
“How so?”
“Because, my first Lieutenant, I will have wasted ak\almost a year’s worth of my precious time. Time it turns out, I could have spent of training that raising star in the Hiri Kari family, Khell’Aithian. And frankly I will need to vent my anger on someone, and you look just perfect for the job.”
“Ma, me, ma, ma, me? Why not him?” stuttered the officer, pointing to one of the Executioners keeping guard in the room. When the Foot soldier realized who the first Lieutenant was pointing at he did everything he could not to soil his armor.
“Seow Lohull? He hasn’t done anything to warrant a dirty look yet, much less my wrath. You on the other hand are a back stabbing, condescending, self-serviant ass that is more at home in the dens of the Cult of Pleasure then in the field of battle.”
“Well then. I guess I don’t have a choice but to…”
“Put the knife down!” ordered a young voice from the main doorway. It belonged to the warrior who faced the three assassins. He tossed a knife at the officer’s unguarded arm. The shock of the attack made him drop the blade he had in his own hand. “I have more where that came from.”
“Good morning, Ronin. I was beginning to wonder where you were. How was your morning workout? asked Tullaris. He groped his goblet of blood wine, the commoner’s drink, and brought it to his lips.
“Not too bad. It could have been better if three adepts of Khaine didn’t try and kill me! The one with the manbane almost did me in, but I managed to get the toxin out, with a little divine help from the looks of it.”
The Ronin had grown fast in those nine months. While he was still a child to the eyes of other elves, he was almost the height of an adult. Even through his white middle class shirt one could see he had developed warrior’s physique. His horned sea dragon cloak was not with him, but the blade he kept sheathed on his back was. To add to his mobility he wore a warrior’s skirt instead of the gowns, robes, and tunics most elves were accustomed to wearing. His hair was kept short as Druchii culture forbid new recruits to grow their hair until their training was complete.
The wood elf servant girl walked in the room behind him. In her hands was loaded repeater crossbow. The tip of the weapon was pointed at the officer. While she was not fond of the dark elf race, she owed the boy her loyalty. Moreover, she wanted to send a bolt in between the officer’s eyes. The tare in her dress was hastily stitched up. One could guess, from the Ronin’s prior actions during his stay in the palace, he did it.
The Ronin pulled another throwing knife out. “So, care to tell me why you paid for three assassins to take me out, and why you were about to stab your superior in the back?”
“No. Warriors! Kill them all!
A dozen Executioners, loyal to the First Lieutenant pushed their way from the opposite entry way. Their traditional blades were in hands and thirsty for blood.
“Well, isn’t this going to be fun!” The Ronin tossed a knife at a Draichmater’s face, killing him. “You know how to use that thing?” he asked the girl.
She turned the safety off, and took a head shot at another warrior, then another. “I think I know its use, master.” By the time she finally missed the clip of bolts was already empty, another two warriors fell to her prowess, while another lost the use of his dominant arm.
The two guards entered the fray. The one who the Officer tried to turn Tullaris’ rage towards disarmed one foe, or as the Ronin would put it, sliced both his arms off in two swift strokes. Instinct guided the guard’s blade to parry a would-be fatal stroke. Pushing his opponent back, he pierced his unbalanced foe’s skull. His comrade split in one elf in half at the belly before he was hewed down himself.
By that time, Ronin had joined the fray. He dodged an incoming blow and proceeded to Peirce the Executioner’s chest plate and heart. Two more tried their luck, but their cumbersome blades couldn’t do much if they were two slow to hit him. They swung again, nearly hitting the youth. They swung again, taking some of the youth’s scalp off
Irritated at not being able to do their duty, they prepared to skewer the boy. Sadly, he rolled out of the way at the last possible second. Unable to stop, the two Executioners ended up piercing each other instead.
Just when he was about to get his bearings, an Execution who took a flesh wound on the arm, whacked the youth in the back of the head. With a short sword in hand, the Draich Master was prepared to squash this pest. “Time to go on thy journey into the Underworld, boy!”
Just as he flipped his blade downward, a barbed bolt just forced its way out of his temple.
Another one of the traitorous Executioners prepared to bring his blade crashing down onto the youth, but a single stroke of the remaining loyal guard’s own blade denied him as it sever his arms and head.
Another traitorous Executioner stepped out of the darkness. The Guard took his attacked first. Oddly enough, neither the loyal nor the traitorous Executioners were able to land a blow on each other. The wood elf took her shots, but none of the barbed bolts could get past his plat mail armor or his unusually thick hide. Even the Ronin couldn’t harm him! He on the other hand was not as invincible.
With one swift blow, Ronin’s saber was cut down to the guard. This was a gift made from some of the strongest steel around. It had also been one of the few things he was able to keep from his last home. Then it hit him. He doubled over from the sucker punch to his gut. The loyal Executioner rushed to the boy’s aid only to have his belly cut open, and his innards sticking out.
The wood elf reloaded and fired again, knowing she would hit her mark with all five bolts. The Executioner simply smiled and swathed them away with his blade “You Got to do better than that girly.” Suddenly a bloody swoosh echoed though the room. The smile on the warrior’s faded as he knew he was going to make his own journey to the hereafter.
“Listen to you own advice for a change!” said the Guard, keeping one hand on his bleeding abdomen, the other on his sacred blade.
With all of his henchmen dead, the remaining traitor prepared to make his escape. Unlike Tullaris, he never kept himself in prime, fighting condition; ergo not a match for any of the remaining warriors. Before he moved away, a bolt whizzed past his face and into a stone pillar.
“That was a warning.” said the girl in broken Druchii.
“Wench, they should have just killed you when they had their chance!”
“Hired second rate assassin’s again?” asked Tullaris. He placed his massive sword against the traitor’s neck. Any close and the sword would have severed his head. “What a Shame. Three hundred years, and you still haven’t learned.”
At that moment, Tullaris’ commander forced his way in. “My lord, I have been unable to find the youth, but there are have been several traitorous causing havoc in the palace, and we found the bodies of three slain assassins in Ronin’s training room …oh my.” As he was about to reveal the rest of his findings, he saw the blood covered battle scene. “Are you all right My Lord?”
“I am fine. But your three fellow loyalists in here could use a healer. Actually, make that two healers.”
“I have already thought of that sir!” sixteen bloody guards secured the room. Behind them entered four sorceresses trained in the healing arts who attended the she elf, Ronin, and the wounded Guard. “Because of the nature of our enemy I brought additional pair that has been trained in poison removal; just in case if there were other assassins.”
“You mean these assassins?” said a jaded, black clad individual. He threw two mangled bodies in similar garb as himself onto the table. “Guessing from their envenomed swords, they are the aspect of the Desert Scorpion. The others I took out are of the Executioner and the Striking Crane. All of them were Bottom to moderate tier killers.”
“Thank you Russ Merdarum. As always, your services are appreciated. As for you, my disloyal officer, you have moved your timely death up one too many times!” With a little push upon the massive draich, the traitor’s head was rolling the ground.
“Guards!” yelled their lord. “Have the girl cleaned up and sent to the Ronin’s private chambers. He owns her now. And when Private Seow Lohull has recovered, bring him and a bottle of our finest to my office.
“In the Mean time, I would still like to have breakfast with my charge.” The remaining guards and servants cleaned up the area the beast they could, and brought their master and the youth their normal dishes: Deviled eggs, with a three slices of salted ham, and black bread for Tullaris, and a bowl of grapes, raw fish on rice balls, and another loaf of black bread for Ronin.
When the servants, spell casters, and warriors had left, Tullaris began to speak. “I know you are going to ask: Why do I always eat commoner food? I guess because I like it won’t suffice anymore.”
“You could bet money on that one. But even by the reserve nature you and your men have, you have a taste for the finer things of life. And isn’t it a bit anticlimactic to go from vicious mortal combat to a calm morning meal?”
“Hmm, maybe so, but I’m sure you want to talk about something else for a while.”
“Yeah, like what the hells are you thinking? Not that I don’t mind my own servant, I don’t think I’ll be using her in the way I think I’ll be using her for. I have not gone through the stage of Urnings Yet for crying out loud, and what will happen to that one guard?”
Tullaris gave a grim smile in response. “I expect all of my warriors, both male and female, new recruits and veterans, the rich and the poor to work and train to their limits. I maybe a hard task master, but I put myself under even more scrutiny then I do my servants. I often deem my subjects incompetent and therefore deserve death. But, if I see the rare occurrence of a soldier or other servant impresses me, I award them with equal measure.
“In this case, you will keep the wood elf girl as your own, to do as you see fit. Because of the rumors spreading around about you, this will keep the other soldiers from having their way with her, which is the real reward for you when you stop to think about it. As for the Executioner who saved not only your life, but tried to defend mine: I will bring out my hundred year old bottle of bourbon, share a drink, and christen him a Master of Draich! Speaking of sharing drinks…” He pored the youth a glass of his well aged blood wine.
Ronin thanked his teacher, and put the drink to his lips.
Tullaris was more irritated than usual. He glared at two standard Executioners and one of his commanders he had guarding the main entrance to the dining room, making them more nervous by the minute. Fortunately for them his anger was not their fault nor was it going to be unleashed upon them. The young warrior he was placed stewardship of was late. It was only for the first meal of the day, but the idea of keeping the impatient lord waiting was infuriating to the point of severing the youth’s head!
This wouldn’t be the first time the Master Executioner had done this with his charges, nor would it be the last time. It wasn’t the first time he had given the orders from the dining room table either. As he was about to give the order, a thought ran through his mind that forced him to hold his tongue: The youth should have been at the dining room table at least half an hour before he was there!
It had been nine months since he had taken the youth in from his nephew, during which time he had the child educated in art, writing, reading, poetry, and more importantly, the art of war. Strategy, swordsmanship, archery, evasion, and the proper use of any and all bludgeoning objects; while he stilled needed to make improvements, it was obvious he had some training in the martial arts, allowing him to quickly master most of the skills expected of him. The Arts of Language on the other hand were not the boy’s strong suit, but neither was it Tullaris’ so he had paid for the best tutors, both free Druchii and captured Asur, to train him in such areas.
Moreover, he was well regimented in his training. His schedule was so fine tuned even a fully disciplined Executioner like Tullaris had to wonder what was wrong, or right with this child. The fact he was never late impressed the Captain even more, and made him shift his feelings of wrath to that of concern.
“Commander.” he called out. “See what is keeping the Ronin. This isn’t like him at all to keep me waiting.”
“Oh, is something the matter Captain?” ask a condescending voice. “I certainly hope your new protégé is feeling well. Oh, how will our dark lord ever react to his untimely death?” The voice belonged to a middle aged elf. He was of the average height of five foot five, and had the muscle of that of an Executioner. He wore an expensive purple noble’s gown. A large golden tree with a hangman’s noose was embodied on the breastplate.
Tullaris didn’t need to turn his head, to figure out the elf was standing just a few feet behind him. Had he been deaf, he might not have noticed to clicks his guest’s shoes made as he walked across the fine marble floors. Had he been blind, or if the drapes had not been pulled on the dozens of glass pained windows he may have not noticed the other elf’s shadow as it moved onto his prized hardwood table. He knew who the voice belonged to, knew he told his guards to let him in, and knew he wished he didn’t set up this appointment with him as well!
“I do not know. Our divine Lord Malakeith is often fickle. But if the child is truly dead, then you’ll be the first to know.”
“How so?”
“Because, my first Lieutenant, I will have wasted ak\almost a year’s worth of my precious time. Time it turns out, I could have spent of training that raising star in the Hiri Kari family, Khell’Aithian. And frankly I will need to vent my anger on someone, and you look just perfect for the job.”
“Ma, me, ma, ma, me? Why not him?” stuttered the officer, pointing to one of the Executioners keeping guard in the room. When the Foot soldier realized who the first Lieutenant was pointing at he did everything he could not to soil his armor.
“Seow Lohull? He hasn’t done anything to warrant a dirty look yet, much less my wrath. You on the other hand are a back stabbing, condescending, self-serviant ass that is more at home in the dens of the Cult of Pleasure then in the field of battle.”
“Well then. I guess I don’t have a choice but to…”
“Put the knife down!” ordered a young voice from the main doorway. It belonged to the warrior who faced the three assassins. He tossed a knife at the officer’s unguarded arm. The shock of the attack made him drop the blade he had in his own hand. “I have more where that came from.”
“Good morning, Ronin. I was beginning to wonder where you were. How was your morning workout? asked Tullaris. He groped his goblet of blood wine, the commoner’s drink, and brought it to his lips.
“Not too bad. It could have been better if three adepts of Khaine didn’t try and kill me! The one with the manbane almost did me in, but I managed to get the toxin out, with a little divine help from the looks of it.”
The Ronin had grown fast in those nine months. While he was still a child to the eyes of other elves, he was almost the height of an adult. Even through his white middle class shirt one could see he had developed warrior’s physique. His horned sea dragon cloak was not with him, but the blade he kept sheathed on his back was. To add to his mobility he wore a warrior’s skirt instead of the gowns, robes, and tunics most elves were accustomed to wearing. His hair was kept short as Druchii culture forbid new recruits to grow their hair until their training was complete.
The wood elf servant girl walked in the room behind him. In her hands was loaded repeater crossbow. The tip of the weapon was pointed at the officer. While she was not fond of the dark elf race, she owed the boy her loyalty. Moreover, she wanted to send a bolt in between the officer’s eyes. The tare in her dress was hastily stitched up. One could guess, from the Ronin’s prior actions during his stay in the palace, he did it.
The Ronin pulled another throwing knife out. “So, care to tell me why you paid for three assassins to take me out, and why you were about to stab your superior in the back?”
“No. Warriors! Kill them all!
A dozen Executioners, loyal to the First Lieutenant pushed their way from the opposite entry way. Their traditional blades were in hands and thirsty for blood.
“Well, isn’t this going to be fun!” The Ronin tossed a knife at a Draichmater’s face, killing him. “You know how to use that thing?” he asked the girl.
She turned the safety off, and took a head shot at another warrior, then another. “I think I know its use, master.” By the time she finally missed the clip of bolts was already empty, another two warriors fell to her prowess, while another lost the use of his dominant arm.
The two guards entered the fray. The one who the Officer tried to turn Tullaris’ rage towards disarmed one foe, or as the Ronin would put it, sliced both his arms off in two swift strokes. Instinct guided the guard’s blade to parry a would-be fatal stroke. Pushing his opponent back, he pierced his unbalanced foe’s skull. His comrade split in one elf in half at the belly before he was hewed down himself.
By that time, Ronin had joined the fray. He dodged an incoming blow and proceeded to Peirce the Executioner’s chest plate and heart. Two more tried their luck, but their cumbersome blades couldn’t do much if they were two slow to hit him. They swung again, nearly hitting the youth. They swung again, taking some of the youth’s scalp off
Irritated at not being able to do their duty, they prepared to skewer the boy. Sadly, he rolled out of the way at the last possible second. Unable to stop, the two Executioners ended up piercing each other instead.
Just when he was about to get his bearings, an Execution who took a flesh wound on the arm, whacked the youth in the back of the head. With a short sword in hand, the Draich Master was prepared to squash this pest. “Time to go on thy journey into the Underworld, boy!”
Just as he flipped his blade downward, a barbed bolt just forced its way out of his temple.
Another one of the traitorous Executioners prepared to bring his blade crashing down onto the youth, but a single stroke of the remaining loyal guard’s own blade denied him as it sever his arms and head.
Another traitorous Executioner stepped out of the darkness. The Guard took his attacked first. Oddly enough, neither the loyal nor the traitorous Executioners were able to land a blow on each other. The wood elf took her shots, but none of the barbed bolts could get past his plat mail armor or his unusually thick hide. Even the Ronin couldn’t harm him! He on the other hand was not as invincible.
With one swift blow, Ronin’s saber was cut down to the guard. This was a gift made from some of the strongest steel around. It had also been one of the few things he was able to keep from his last home. Then it hit him. He doubled over from the sucker punch to his gut. The loyal Executioner rushed to the boy’s aid only to have his belly cut open, and his innards sticking out.
The wood elf reloaded and fired again, knowing she would hit her mark with all five bolts. The Executioner simply smiled and swathed them away with his blade “You Got to do better than that girly.” Suddenly a bloody swoosh echoed though the room. The smile on the warrior’s faded as he knew he was going to make his own journey to the hereafter.
“Listen to you own advice for a change!” said the Guard, keeping one hand on his bleeding abdomen, the other on his sacred blade.
With all of his henchmen dead, the remaining traitor prepared to make his escape. Unlike Tullaris, he never kept himself in prime, fighting condition; ergo not a match for any of the remaining warriors. Before he moved away, a bolt whizzed past his face and into a stone pillar.
“That was a warning.” said the girl in broken Druchii.
“Wench, they should have just killed you when they had their chance!”
“Hired second rate assassin’s again?” asked Tullaris. He placed his massive sword against the traitor’s neck. Any close and the sword would have severed his head. “What a Shame. Three hundred years, and you still haven’t learned.”
At that moment, Tullaris’ commander forced his way in. “My lord, I have been unable to find the youth, but there are have been several traitorous causing havoc in the palace, and we found the bodies of three slain assassins in Ronin’s training room …oh my.” As he was about to reveal the rest of his findings, he saw the blood covered battle scene. “Are you all right My Lord?”
“I am fine. But your three fellow loyalists in here could use a healer. Actually, make that two healers.”
“I have already thought of that sir!” sixteen bloody guards secured the room. Behind them entered four sorceresses trained in the healing arts who attended the she elf, Ronin, and the wounded Guard. “Because of the nature of our enemy I brought additional pair that has been trained in poison removal; just in case if there were other assassins.”
“You mean these assassins?” said a jaded, black clad individual. He threw two mangled bodies in similar garb as himself onto the table. “Guessing from their envenomed swords, they are the aspect of the Desert Scorpion. The others I took out are of the Executioner and the Striking Crane. All of them were Bottom to moderate tier killers.”
“Thank you Russ Merdarum. As always, your services are appreciated. As for you, my disloyal officer, you have moved your timely death up one too many times!” With a little push upon the massive draich, the traitor’s head was rolling the ground.
“Guards!” yelled their lord. “Have the girl cleaned up and sent to the Ronin’s private chambers. He owns her now. And when Private Seow Lohull has recovered, bring him and a bottle of our finest to my office.
“In the Mean time, I would still like to have breakfast with my charge.” The remaining guards and servants cleaned up the area the beast they could, and brought their master and the youth their normal dishes: Deviled eggs, with a three slices of salted ham, and black bread for Tullaris, and a bowl of grapes, raw fish on rice balls, and another loaf of black bread for Ronin.
When the servants, spell casters, and warriors had left, Tullaris began to speak. “I know you are going to ask: Why do I always eat commoner food? I guess because I like it won’t suffice anymore.”
“You could bet money on that one. But even by the reserve nature you and your men have, you have a taste for the finer things of life. And isn’t it a bit anticlimactic to go from vicious mortal combat to a calm morning meal?”
“Hmm, maybe so, but I’m sure you want to talk about something else for a while.”
“Yeah, like what the hells are you thinking? Not that I don’t mind my own servant, I don’t think I’ll be using her in the way I think I’ll be using her for. I have not gone through the stage of Urnings Yet for crying out loud, and what will happen to that one guard?”
Tullaris gave a grim smile in response. “I expect all of my warriors, both male and female, new recruits and veterans, the rich and the poor to work and train to their limits. I maybe a hard task master, but I put myself under even more scrutiny then I do my servants. I often deem my subjects incompetent and therefore deserve death. But, if I see the rare occurrence of a soldier or other servant impresses me, I award them with equal measure.
“In this case, you will keep the wood elf girl as your own, to do as you see fit. Because of the rumors spreading around about you, this will keep the other soldiers from having their way with her, which is the real reward for you when you stop to think about it. As for the Executioner who saved not only your life, but tried to defend mine: I will bring out my hundred year old bottle of bourbon, share a drink, and christen him a Master of Draich! Speaking of sharing drinks…” He pored the youth a glass of his well aged blood wine.
Ronin thanked his teacher, and put the drink to his lips.
Who needs sanity? I have a Hydra
Sorry for the Slight delay.I decided I wanted to get this story published a couple months ago (all the views, and no one ripping this apart like an angry manticote tells me there is a market for this story).
So I've been getting out all the kinks, and trying to add in 40,000 words to the mix.
So here's the next chapter to this exciting tale of blood shed.
Chapter Fifteen: The Assassin
“Hay, have you heard the rumors?” asked a guard as he pulled out a pipe. It was a bad habbit he picked up from fighting the dwarves, and a nervous one as well.”
“You talking about rumors, and your taking that filthy thing?” gawked anither. He knew the other warrior well enough to keep an ear open when his friend smoked while retelling the rumor mill. “Well, spit it out, solider.”
“You know that kid Tullaris has been training.”
“The Asur traitor we got about eight months ago, what of it?”
“Well, while we were patrolling the south gate, Tullaris’ second in command tried to take over.”
“No wonder the slaves are still cleaning up gore. I wondered what happened.”
“Yeah, well, apparently he hire a few cheap assassins from the temple, three of which attacked his charge. The kid killed them, then went and saved Tularis.”
“Well, well. He’s not doing to bad for himself. What about the Sacred Slaughterer?”
“Oh, to him it just another Tuesday. He still killed the traitor himself though, so we won’t get a shot at him. The rest of the traitors have also been dealt with.”
“Figures. The Drayach na Khaine get all the fun jobs, and we’re down here waiting for the next war.”
“Oh, that one has been around the mill as well, and it’s no longer just a rumor.” This piqued the other guard’s curiosity like the smoking elf knew it would. “malekeith has made an alliance with the forces of Chaos. They do most of the fighting, soften our weak blooded kin up, and we come in to finish what they start. In the mean time, there is a sign up sheet to join Har Harkon on a raid on our ancient homeland. Care to join?”
“I thought he was going to…”
“The hag Queen’s orders. He is given the opportunity to become a Draich King. This is not an opportunity to pass up, my friend.”
“Ok, when our watch ends, we’ll join up. Do you know where we’re going?”
“No, but I hope the sands are white, the sun is bright, and the women are inviting!”
As the two guards continued to make small talk, a black clad individual slinked across the darkness. He quickly dashed across the terraces and palace walls, trying desperately to find his target. It was a simple task, but this was not a simple place to find anything.
However, he was an Assassin of Khaine, and as of such was an opportunist. He heard a scream of a servant, the jerin laughter of a fw guards. The woman cried for help, but non came to her aid. Well, o good turn goes unpunished.
“Hello boys. Got room for one more?” said the assassin, slamming to helmeted heads together.
“Bastard! Boys, kill him…” With that, spearmen’s leader had a dagger go through ihis eye, and lodge into his brain. The Closest warrior had his neck snapped while another was used as a living shield. The glaive cut the victim in half, but not the assassin. He pulled the spearman closer to him, and sent a hist into the warrior’s incoming throat. An audiable crunch confirmed he wasn’t coming back up.
“I thank thee, my good sir.” said the woman, trying her best to hold her bleeding arm.
The assassin bandaged it, then covered her with his cloak. “Don’t get me wrong. I am a killer, and love everymoment of it, but killrs should have at least standards. Now, can you tell me where the trainee is being housed?”
“This way. I was going to bring him a bottle of wine, but…”
“All work and no play makes for dull warriors. I know. Such ingrats should never have the nerve to call themselves Druchii.” With that, he pulled out a battle of of some of the Stongest Dwarven ale. “I think this will do nicely instead. Care to take me there, my lady?”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
After the events of the previous day, Ronin was given some time off to mend his wounds. The healing powers of the medics and white sorceresses were second to none, but most of the healing spells they used were meant for emergencies and frontline battlefields. When it was possible plenty of time and bed rest was always the best cure for bruised and sore body parts (it was at least less painful if anything else).
In the case of Executioner, he took his bed rest with ease. In a day and a half, he will grow restless and ask for some simple exercises to pass the time until he fully heals.
In the case of Ronin, he had to be restrained. The assassin’s poison, though out of his body, had left him in a weakened state to beguine with. The fact he had several near fatal encounters with an Executioner’s sword, the butt, guard, and blade of it, afterwards didn’t help his body heal any faster. Just the same, he was happy not to be doing anything for a couple of days.
His new slave was busy putting her things in place. Even with her attempts to bring life to the room, it was still a fairly Spartan place. His clothing was kept in a simple wooden cabinet, while a wall mounted Stag’s head was used to hang his robes, cloaks, and the two feminine gowns of the wood elf Girl. His feathered bed, which he was stuck in, was as simplistic as Ronins room, were draped with sheets the national color of the dark elves: Royal Purple. The Girl’s bed was much smaller, and less comfortable, but still better then what she was used to. Fortunately for her, themoment she could more fully trust the stripling, she’d take his offer to trade beds. All in all, she was grateful for everything he did for her, despite fully embracing his new life.
“How long hve you been here, pray tell?” Ronin humbly asked.
The girls smiled. “A girl never tells her age.”
“It’s not that. I just want to know how long you hve been in this dreary land, that’s all.”
The wood elf had to think for a moment. “At least five years.”
The look on Ronin’s face said it all. Most slaves died within a few months from the hard labors and horrors they were forced to endure. Even household servants fired little better, as the so called nobility never tired of their cruelties. No wonder the girl never trusted him. He was just another warrior in this cursed city. It wasn’t until the events of the last few couple of weeks where she began to warm up to him. How she kept her sanity was beyond him.
“Executioners are sadists, but they are not cruel. Tullaris also has a taste for the…finer things in life.” It was then official, Ronin was going to kill him. At least until the girl put a hand on his shoulder. “I know how to make the best tasting blood wine he has ever had. He also spends too much of his time killing to go after trivial pursuits such as the desires of the flesh.”
“She’s got a point. He’s only fathered three kids and he’s how old?” said a new voice. The two elves turned to his direction.
His attire was similar to a body tightly fitting robe, but the sides had large chunks of fabric sliced out to aid in the assassin’s mobility. Black pants and boots would prevent his legs from exposure to the elements. His muscular arms were kept bare, save for some leather straps wrapped around his hands and wrists. Tied down in one of these layers of straps was a set of three claws with fresh blood dripping off the tips. On his face was a pair of black tattooed lines that started just below his brass colored eyes, and went downward till they reached his jaw.
For an elf, his black hair was kept short and pulled back into a top knot. Ronin could see a hand held scythe like blade, and a pair of wickedly curved black daggers that hung snugly in their holsters. Neither of the youths knew who he was, but he had overstayed his welcome. Ronin reached for his sword, while the girl groped for her crossbow.
With a smug look, the stranger whipped out a compact repeater hand bow and pointed it at the two. Like its larger cousin, the repeater crossbow, it was light weight and could fire off multiple darts before it needed to be reloaded. All it lacked was range and the armor shredding capacity of the larger model of repeater. Despite that, it served its deadly purpose well against lightly armored foes, just like the black powder pistols of the dwarves and the realms of man. The stranger took one of the barbed bolts from the magazine up top, and tossed it beside the two.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you. I just dipped these in Diamond Back venom. It’s not common up here, as say manticor and the giant black widow venoms. That said its anti toxin is also hard to come by in these parts, but that’s a discussion for another time and place.”
“Who are you!?” demanded the girl.
The assassin opened the door, and let in a scrred servant girl. She left bottle of dwarven ale on a bed stand, then left. Ronin could see why. Three skinned guards were hanging upside down from the sealing. It was a very unpleasant site, but not as unpleasant as the implications. The assassin had to have done this within moments ago as the blood from the corpses was still dripping freely. Moreover, he took out three guards, stripped them of their armor on a stone floor, and hanged them up without making one sound. Was this a warning, or simply showing off before the kill, the stripling thought.
“My name is Sevril’Relik, assassin of the Temple of Khaine.” The assassin said at last. “As of today, I will work as the boy’s body guard. As of two days from now I will be his trainer. And if he betrays us to our enemies, namely the Asur, I will be the one who takes him out.”
“I thought I was Tullaris’ pupil?” replied Ronin.
“And you still are, and you will still train under his watchful eye. However, he has done all he can for now. You have mastered or are about to master the basics, and you are too clumsy with a great sword or ax to be of any good there. However, you might do well with some more advanced training. That’s where I come in. I’m also more willing to accommodate your present condition then he is.”
“Two days? You want him to be able to fight in two days?”
“Tullaris still wants to get back at him for punching him in the nose the on the day of his arrival, and he wants’ him to go through the most grueling obstacle course he can think of: The Gauntlet! In case you are unaware, at the same time he is rather impressed he with the lad and he wants him to survive it. If he can survive me, he can survive the Gauntlet. I guarantee it.”
“But two days?”
“If you plan on making him a man yourself, then by all means I’ll delay it by another day or two. I may even delay it by three if you feel truly inspired by the goddess of good love making. But as he is STILL too young for such things from the looks of it, and by the look on your face you’d rather kiss a spawn of chaos. I’ll keep his appointment.” Before he turned to leave he remembered he had one more thing he had to do. “By the way, what’s your name, kid?” he asked pointing to the boy.
“Ronin. Just Ronin.” replied the Stripling.
“Ronin, just Ronin? Well it’s got to be better than half the ones they name us at the Temple. Oh yeah, girly. What’s your name?” This was more of a demand then a question.
“It is not necessary for me to give it up to you, nor will I until you show more respect for my master!”
“Whatever you say, Girly. By the end of this, he’ll either be dead, or my next full time employer. If it’s the latter, by all means, he’ll have earned all of my respect and more. Until next time.” he said, gesturing good bye.
Even after the assassin was long gone, they wished it was going to be a long two days.
“What a vile elf!” hissed the girl.
“He definitely needs to work on his people skills!” the boy cupped his face from the anxiety of everything hitting him all at once. Then a thought came to his mind that. “What is your name, my lady?”
So I've been getting out all the kinks, and trying to add in 40,000 words to the mix.
So here's the next chapter to this exciting tale of blood shed.
Chapter Fifteen: The Assassin
“Hay, have you heard the rumors?” asked a guard as he pulled out a pipe. It was a bad habbit he picked up from fighting the dwarves, and a nervous one as well.”
“You talking about rumors, and your taking that filthy thing?” gawked anither. He knew the other warrior well enough to keep an ear open when his friend smoked while retelling the rumor mill. “Well, spit it out, solider.”
“You know that kid Tullaris has been training.”
“The Asur traitor we got about eight months ago, what of it?”
“Well, while we were patrolling the south gate, Tullaris’ second in command tried to take over.”
“No wonder the slaves are still cleaning up gore. I wondered what happened.”
“Yeah, well, apparently he hire a few cheap assassins from the temple, three of which attacked his charge. The kid killed them, then went and saved Tularis.”
“Well, well. He’s not doing to bad for himself. What about the Sacred Slaughterer?”
“Oh, to him it just another Tuesday. He still killed the traitor himself though, so we won’t get a shot at him. The rest of the traitors have also been dealt with.”
“Figures. The Drayach na Khaine get all the fun jobs, and we’re down here waiting for the next war.”
“Oh, that one has been around the mill as well, and it’s no longer just a rumor.” This piqued the other guard’s curiosity like the smoking elf knew it would. “malekeith has made an alliance with the forces of Chaos. They do most of the fighting, soften our weak blooded kin up, and we come in to finish what they start. In the mean time, there is a sign up sheet to join Har Harkon on a raid on our ancient homeland. Care to join?”
“I thought he was going to…”
“The hag Queen’s orders. He is given the opportunity to become a Draich King. This is not an opportunity to pass up, my friend.”
“Ok, when our watch ends, we’ll join up. Do you know where we’re going?”
“No, but I hope the sands are white, the sun is bright, and the women are inviting!”
As the two guards continued to make small talk, a black clad individual slinked across the darkness. He quickly dashed across the terraces and palace walls, trying desperately to find his target. It was a simple task, but this was not a simple place to find anything.
However, he was an Assassin of Khaine, and as of such was an opportunist. He heard a scream of a servant, the jerin laughter of a fw guards. The woman cried for help, but non came to her aid. Well, o good turn goes unpunished.
“Hello boys. Got room for one more?” said the assassin, slamming to helmeted heads together.
“Bastard! Boys, kill him…” With that, spearmen’s leader had a dagger go through ihis eye, and lodge into his brain. The Closest warrior had his neck snapped while another was used as a living shield. The glaive cut the victim in half, but not the assassin. He pulled the spearman closer to him, and sent a hist into the warrior’s incoming throat. An audiable crunch confirmed he wasn’t coming back up.
“I thank thee, my good sir.” said the woman, trying her best to hold her bleeding arm.
The assassin bandaged it, then covered her with his cloak. “Don’t get me wrong. I am a killer, and love everymoment of it, but killrs should have at least standards. Now, can you tell me where the trainee is being housed?”
“This way. I was going to bring him a bottle of wine, but…”
“All work and no play makes for dull warriors. I know. Such ingrats should never have the nerve to call themselves Druchii.” With that, he pulled out a battle of of some of the Stongest Dwarven ale. “I think this will do nicely instead. Care to take me there, my lady?”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
After the events of the previous day, Ronin was given some time off to mend his wounds. The healing powers of the medics and white sorceresses were second to none, but most of the healing spells they used were meant for emergencies and frontline battlefields. When it was possible plenty of time and bed rest was always the best cure for bruised and sore body parts (it was at least less painful if anything else).
In the case of Executioner, he took his bed rest with ease. In a day and a half, he will grow restless and ask for some simple exercises to pass the time until he fully heals.
In the case of Ronin, he had to be restrained. The assassin’s poison, though out of his body, had left him in a weakened state to beguine with. The fact he had several near fatal encounters with an Executioner’s sword, the butt, guard, and blade of it, afterwards didn’t help his body heal any faster. Just the same, he was happy not to be doing anything for a couple of days.
His new slave was busy putting her things in place. Even with her attempts to bring life to the room, it was still a fairly Spartan place. His clothing was kept in a simple wooden cabinet, while a wall mounted Stag’s head was used to hang his robes, cloaks, and the two feminine gowns of the wood elf Girl. His feathered bed, which he was stuck in, was as simplistic as Ronins room, were draped with sheets the national color of the dark elves: Royal Purple. The Girl’s bed was much smaller, and less comfortable, but still better then what she was used to. Fortunately for her, themoment she could more fully trust the stripling, she’d take his offer to trade beds. All in all, she was grateful for everything he did for her, despite fully embracing his new life.
“How long hve you been here, pray tell?” Ronin humbly asked.
The girls smiled. “A girl never tells her age.”
“It’s not that. I just want to know how long you hve been in this dreary land, that’s all.”
The wood elf had to think for a moment. “At least five years.”
The look on Ronin’s face said it all. Most slaves died within a few months from the hard labors and horrors they were forced to endure. Even household servants fired little better, as the so called nobility never tired of their cruelties. No wonder the girl never trusted him. He was just another warrior in this cursed city. It wasn’t until the events of the last few couple of weeks where she began to warm up to him. How she kept her sanity was beyond him.
“Executioners are sadists, but they are not cruel. Tullaris also has a taste for the…finer things in life.” It was then official, Ronin was going to kill him. At least until the girl put a hand on his shoulder. “I know how to make the best tasting blood wine he has ever had. He also spends too much of his time killing to go after trivial pursuits such as the desires of the flesh.”
“She’s got a point. He’s only fathered three kids and he’s how old?” said a new voice. The two elves turned to his direction.
His attire was similar to a body tightly fitting robe, but the sides had large chunks of fabric sliced out to aid in the assassin’s mobility. Black pants and boots would prevent his legs from exposure to the elements. His muscular arms were kept bare, save for some leather straps wrapped around his hands and wrists. Tied down in one of these layers of straps was a set of three claws with fresh blood dripping off the tips. On his face was a pair of black tattooed lines that started just below his brass colored eyes, and went downward till they reached his jaw.
For an elf, his black hair was kept short and pulled back into a top knot. Ronin could see a hand held scythe like blade, and a pair of wickedly curved black daggers that hung snugly in their holsters. Neither of the youths knew who he was, but he had overstayed his welcome. Ronin reached for his sword, while the girl groped for her crossbow.
With a smug look, the stranger whipped out a compact repeater hand bow and pointed it at the two. Like its larger cousin, the repeater crossbow, it was light weight and could fire off multiple darts before it needed to be reloaded. All it lacked was range and the armor shredding capacity of the larger model of repeater. Despite that, it served its deadly purpose well against lightly armored foes, just like the black powder pistols of the dwarves and the realms of man. The stranger took one of the barbed bolts from the magazine up top, and tossed it beside the two.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you. I just dipped these in Diamond Back venom. It’s not common up here, as say manticor and the giant black widow venoms. That said its anti toxin is also hard to come by in these parts, but that’s a discussion for another time and place.”
“Who are you!?” demanded the girl.
The assassin opened the door, and let in a scrred servant girl. She left bottle of dwarven ale on a bed stand, then left. Ronin could see why. Three skinned guards were hanging upside down from the sealing. It was a very unpleasant site, but not as unpleasant as the implications. The assassin had to have done this within moments ago as the blood from the corpses was still dripping freely. Moreover, he took out three guards, stripped them of their armor on a stone floor, and hanged them up without making one sound. Was this a warning, or simply showing off before the kill, the stripling thought.
“My name is Sevril’Relik, assassin of the Temple of Khaine.” The assassin said at last. “As of today, I will work as the boy’s body guard. As of two days from now I will be his trainer. And if he betrays us to our enemies, namely the Asur, I will be the one who takes him out.”
“I thought I was Tullaris’ pupil?” replied Ronin.
“And you still are, and you will still train under his watchful eye. However, he has done all he can for now. You have mastered or are about to master the basics, and you are too clumsy with a great sword or ax to be of any good there. However, you might do well with some more advanced training. That’s where I come in. I’m also more willing to accommodate your present condition then he is.”
“Two days? You want him to be able to fight in two days?”
“Tullaris still wants to get back at him for punching him in the nose the on the day of his arrival, and he wants’ him to go through the most grueling obstacle course he can think of: The Gauntlet! In case you are unaware, at the same time he is rather impressed he with the lad and he wants him to survive it. If he can survive me, he can survive the Gauntlet. I guarantee it.”
“But two days?”
“If you plan on making him a man yourself, then by all means I’ll delay it by another day or two. I may even delay it by three if you feel truly inspired by the goddess of good love making. But as he is STILL too young for such things from the looks of it, and by the look on your face you’d rather kiss a spawn of chaos. I’ll keep his appointment.” Before he turned to leave he remembered he had one more thing he had to do. “By the way, what’s your name, kid?” he asked pointing to the boy.
“Ronin. Just Ronin.” replied the Stripling.
“Ronin, just Ronin? Well it’s got to be better than half the ones they name us at the Temple. Oh yeah, girly. What’s your name?” This was more of a demand then a question.
“It is not necessary for me to give it up to you, nor will I until you show more respect for my master!”
“Whatever you say, Girly. By the end of this, he’ll either be dead, or my next full time employer. If it’s the latter, by all means, he’ll have earned all of my respect and more. Until next time.” he said, gesturing good bye.
Even after the assassin was long gone, they wished it was going to be a long two days.
“What a vile elf!” hissed the girl.
“He definitely needs to work on his people skills!” the boy cupped his face from the anxiety of everything hitting him all at once. Then a thought came to his mind that. “What is your name, my lady?”
Who needs sanity? I have a Hydra