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Written by MutantMaggot
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Sunday, 22 June 2008 |
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Page 2 of 9
The hooded figure watched Arhia as she grew closer. The undead elf unleashed an arrow from her bow, yet it did no harm to the figure, who merely stood watching her with interest.
The elf hissed. "Who are you, and why have you summoned me?"
The vampire's voice was a low whisper, barely audible above the rippling of leaves in the trees. "I need information, Arhia. And you will give it to me."
The undead elf smiled a mocking smile. "And if I choose not to give it to you? You can do no more to me than you already have."
At once, all sounds in the atmosphere grew quiet, but for a single, mournful scream, like a howl of a thousand banshees on a moonlit night. Arhia covered her ears in pain, and the vampire smiled, standing there, as motionless as before.
Arhia fell to the floor, and the scream slowly faded. She clutched her ears in agony as a voice spoke into her mind, filled with power and ancient mystery. "Believe me, what you have suffered is nothing, elf. There are far worse torments in the pit of Nagashizzar than becoming a mere wraith. Just because you are ethereal does not mean you are invulnerable.
An arm was raised, a shrivelled hand becoming visible beneath the black robes. The elf screamed as a wave of intense cold shot through her body, followed by a wave of energy that triggered every nerve in her body, sending signals of intense pain into her agonized mind.
The vampire smiled a twisted grin, his red eyes gleaming with malice.
The elf gasped through her agony. "Who ... are ... you?"
"I have no name," replied the cloaked vampire. Clearly he wasn't going to divulge any more information. "Now ... information. What is the significance of Coreaux's spear, and who is Jean? Where is Coreaux?"
An hour later, the elf had gasped out everything she knew relating to Coreaux and Jean, waves of agony enticing more information from her, some of which she hadn't even known herself.
"Good," the vampire stated in his low voice. "That will suffice." He began to turn away, yet stopped when he caught sight of the wraith. "Ah yes, I forgot. Your reward ..."
A wreath of green flame materialized around Arhia, and as it began to die the form of the wraith vanished. The dying elf smiled, and whispered a single word, that was carried by the wind to the ears of her interrogator.
"Thankyou."
+++++
Jacques dodged the whip, and stabbed the overseer - tried to. The guard captain had thick leather armour on that no stab would penetrate: or not without snapping the sword, anyway.
The stab did no damage, and d'Eperon jumped back as the whip lashed down, nearly catching Jacques on the shoulder.
Barret took a step forwards, pressing d'Eperon back against the wall. The overseer's grin returned as he drew a short stabbing sword.
But Jacques was prepared. He dived into the overseer's chest, knocking the hefty man backwards, and brought his sword down on the man's right arm before he could respond.
Blood fountained from the deep wound as d'Eperon stood back, still wary. Barret's whip arm was useless, flopping by his side, but that didn't mean he was harmless: Jacques had been unfortunate enough to see what he could do one day when exploring Nagashizzar's underground. He never went upstairs. He didn't need Mallobaude's warning to know that his destruction would come far sooner than he intended if he ventured higher into the fortess.
Barret grunted, gritting his teeth. The blood-soaked arm at his side swung back and forwards as he dived towards the vampire, short sword prepared.
Jacques leapt to the side, dodging the wild thrust. He quickly leapt onto the overseer's back as he regained balance.
Barret roared, and tried to knock him off, but to no avail. D'Eperon slit his throat swiftly, and leapt away from the dying guard captain.
Taking out the keys, he quickly searched for a large and rusted specimen that would unlock the prison.
"Hurry," he said, "Someone will have heard that."
+++++
Bardanas barely thought about it as he killed another of his hated kindred, blood splattering on his spiked armour as his draich chopped the elf almost in half.
The lethal blade carved through armour like a hot knife through butter as Bardanas chopped down on another warrior's head. His green, scaly cloak protected him from harm as a high elf attempted to stab him. It was too late for the elf as the draich took his head from his shoulders.
Granted a blessed moment of respite, Bardanas looked around to battlefield to see his target. The mage was still surrounded by his bodyguard, now using his powers to heal his warriors. The commodore cursed. That way the High elves could last for hours without being defeated: it would have been far simpler and easier if the mage had resorted to fiery blasts. That created a higher death toll, but in the long run, it was worth it.
The commodore panted as he hacked down another of the puny high elves, barely pausing as he ran towards the mage: this had to be finished, and soon.
He swung his draich in a long arc as he ran, killing another elf, and decapitating another who was too slow to dodge. But how many he killed was of little importance: what mattered was killing the mage that was slowly but surely killing replenishing the High elven host and killing his corsairs.
Blood sprayed across his face as he snapped another elf's neck with the backswing from his blade. Another died, skull crushed, as he brought his blade down onto the weak elf's cranium.
His matted hair whipped into his face as he began to run harder than ever before, sprinting to reach the mage. Around him, his own corsairs were dying in dozens, unable to kill their light kindred.
But something was wrong. Bardanas paused in confusion. The mage he could see was simply casting fireballs, not healing his warriors. There had to be ... there! A glimpse of white on the tower roof!
But the other mage stood in his way. The commodore frowned, then began sprinting, a manic run to get past the formation.
Then, he fell into a crouch next to the defensive formation. Unseen by the high elves, he used all the strength he had left in his body to propel himself upwards and into the formation.
Then he began swinging his draich in earnest, and chaos descended with the screams of dying elves and the cracking of skulls.
+++++
Jacques was right. Someone had heard them ... and it was the worst person possible.
The Herald of Nagash cast a black shadow over the chamber, his imposing form looking even more powerful than usual. Jacques couldn't help but notice that the Herald's robes were creased and ruffled: clearly he had just arrived back after a journey. Jacques swallowed: he had never seen the Herald administer judgement, but it seemed unlikely he would be sparing.
The figure's voice was filled with malice. Though Arda's teeth were chattering in fear, his red eyes only glared at d'Eperon. "Treachery ... I expected no less, fallen tactician."
The herald took a step forwards, dwarfing the lesser vampire. "You come into my halls ... and you betray me by killing my guard captain and stealing the keys for Nagashizzar itself!" His voice became a sibilant hiss. "A life of torment in the pits will not suffice for this betrayal of trust. But for now, it will have to."
D'Eperon shuddered, looking at Arda and beginning to understand what was going to happen to him. As realization dawned, he began to turn to flee - where to he had no idea: anywhere, everywhere - but the Herald was too fast, and raised a hand, red eyes glowing with hate and ancient evil.
Green light flashed from his withered hand, silhouetting Jacques' figure on the stone wall. Jacques tried to draw his sword, but the light reached him first, the lightning striking like a cannonball, and throwing him back across the corridor.
Jacques' last sight before blackness descended was of Arda being dragged away by two zombie henchmen.
++++++
A high elf flew through the air and landed with a sickening crunch on the hard flagstones.
Bardanas used his momentum to continue in a fluid movement, knocking down another three elves as he dashed towards the mage once more.
But something was wrong. The magician wasn't defending himself. He wasn't casting fireballs anymore. He wasn't even healing his warriors. He just stood there, a faint glow around him, staring into space. It was as if ... he was trying to control something, and failing.
But whatever the danger, he couldn't let the elf finish his spell. Bardanas roared in hate, and leapt towards the wizard. The leap took ages; time seeming to slow as the commodore dived at the mage.
The magician's head turned, and his eyes widened. An eerie wind seemed to blow, whipping the mage's hair into his face, and making his robes lash around violently. This wasn't a controlled wind, such as was used to move the ships: this was an erratic huirricane formed by pure energy.
Bardanas struck with his sword as he reached the mage, and time sped up in an awful convulsion that shook the docks.
Flame exploded from every pore in the mage's body as the sword struck. Bardanas was thrown aside by the force of the explosion, and his head struck the marble floor of the citadel.
And with a sound like reality itself being torn apart, a daemon began to materialize ...
+++++
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Last Updated ( Wednesday, 25 June 2008 )
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