Month: July 2019

“You are permitted in time of great danger to walk with the devil until you have crossed the bridge.” 
― Balkan proverb

The lone traveller was making Gunther nervous.

They were far from any town or village worthy of a proper name and the local hunters were the only group who spent any time in these hills. Boredom and poverty meant most were happy to dabble in banditry when the opportunity arose, so outsiders usually curved south for several days to follow safer paths. On the rare occasion a group needed to travel in a direct line from Namburg to Vicetina they did so in large bands. In 40 years he’d never seen anyone walk this route alone.

At his side his eldest son already had an arrow notched but Gunther waved him down. This didn’t feel right. Travellers normally dressed in plain practical travelling gear but this one wore a red silk cloak which danced in the wind like a flag as he gestured and argued with the air. Worse still, as he drew closer it became apparent that the air was arguing back.

“… Clearly don’t give a shit about your promises. We could have hopped in your tower and been there and back in an hour. Any one of your fancy friends could have sent us there with a click of their fingers. But instead I get a front row ticket to watch weeks of Ernie’s-go-fuck-yourself-Tarnik walking tour, just to rub in how little this partnership means to you! At least now…”

“We’ve been over this Tarnik.”

“Well excuse me for bothering you with my petty grievances! If it is not too boring for your worship, can I just say that the only consolation I can see on the horizon (and it is a very small consolation, considering the magnitude of the distain which you are currently showing after I have done so much to help you) is the prospect of upcoming entertainment. There’s a band of losers lurking on that ridge about to jump out and attack us. So do you want to take a break from your relaxing stroll to boil their blood, or do you want me to start ripping off heads?”

Gunther and his sons were already sprinting away from this madman who walked with ghosts. Tarnik spat.

“See how I still have your back in spite of such rank ingratitude? Where would you be without me? Trying to fight them off with a frying pan as you try to wriggle out of your bondage gear.”

“Tarnik prodded the dimaterium chains draped over Ernodal’s shoulders for emphasis.”

“C’mon boss. Enough of the shackles and mud look. The only Navigator of his generation doesn’t need to crawl through this shithole like some brokeass farmboy.”

Ernodal sighed.

“Tarnik, my mind is made up. I am walking to Vicetina to talk to Conan and see what he knows about my parents and the Herald. I have not forgotten my promises to you. This is something I need to do.

I am walking because it is a normal thing for a mortal to do. I need remind myself that’s what I am. I need to feel tired at the end of a long day, feel hungry and foot sore. I need to feel like myself to face the night. I don’t sleep anymore, not really. I just drift through his thoughts. And that’s seeping in.”

“I know you hear his voice, but that’s only for a little while longer. Once he’s gone, no more voices.”

“It’s not his voice. It’s me, thinking like him. You know my first thought when Willem reported on the food shortages? Cull the weak, plenty of meat for the strong.”

“Hey it ain’t pretty but sometimes you gotta…”

“People don’t think like that! I shouldn’t be thinking like that! And it’s not just the thoughts. Do you know that I don’t bleed anymore? I ooze. I cut myself cooking and the blood slithered back in!”

“Oh geez Ernie. Look, these changes you’re going through, these urges you are having, it’s just something that happens to kids at your age. It’s perfectly natural. Well, more supernatural I guess. But perfectly harmless unnatural changes are a part of life.”

“I’m slipping Tarnik. Can’t concentrate. Can’t taste food. The chains stop the minor demons getting through and running riot. They can feel how distracted I am and they’re getting out of hand.”

“Okay, fine. We’ve been working hard, you need a break. But all the way to Vicetina?”

“Truenames are important to demons right? Family is important to mortals. The past is important. Conan might not have all the answers I want but he can tell me something of my parents. Trust me on this. I’ll speak to him and get my head straight. We’ll meet the others back in Namburg and then get back to work.”

“That’s the other bit I don’t like. Why couldn’t your friends come? What am I supposed to do if you have another one of your late night visitors?”

“That’s why you’re here, right? To watch my back.”

The falling rubble from the red moon had buried half of Namburg. Survivors crawled through the wreckage, heads bowed to avoid looking at the ruined palace floating overhead. Black blood flowed in a steady stream from the palace dungeons, polluting the ruined city further. Demons capered in the falling blood and drank from the pools of gore in the shattered streets. At the highest point of the palace a single figure lounged on a throne made from the skulls of gods.

Ernodal’s vision kept shifting. He was huddled in a shattered slum hiding from the demons. He was on the throne, sneering down on the vermin that fled from his gaze. He bled in the dungeons. He hunted through the streets. He writhed in pain, impaled on an iron spike in Wilheim’s throne room. He bowed low to the massive figure of Tarnik, the imp so bloated and swollen from a never-ending stream of sacrifices that he had to squeeze into the throne.

Ernodal snapped awake, disorientated in the darkness. The chains across his chest were red hot. Tarnik flapped around his face in a panic.

“Oh shit Ernie oh shit this is bad you gotta hold him off this is a big one Ernie just hang in there he can’t get through those chains yet WHAT ARE YOU DOING DON’T TAKE THEM OFF!”

Ernodal could barely hear the imp. His ears filled with the bellows of the manifesting demon as it battered against the exit of the Winding Path. It hadn’t expected to find dimaterium chains barring the final step. He could let it scrabble there on the edge of reality until the force that propelled it was spent. But this challenge was the other reason he had come alone to the middle of nowhere. He wanted to break this creature that dared attack him, make it beg under his boot. A few weeks ago he might have pretended to himself that this was vengeance for his village, or the voice of his patron tempting him to disaster. But he wanted this fight just to prove to himself and his rebellious demons where he stood in the infernal hierarchy. After a lifetime of knowing his birth made him inferior the demonic system was darkly appealing. The strong rose and the weak fell.

He unslung the chains, ignoring the searing heat blistering his hands. He hissed a challenge in Infernal words he could barely understand, harsh syllables of contempt and defiance. Something huge erupted from the earth in response, massive horns and slabs of muscle fused with chitinous claws and shell. Grass withered and died as the demon infected the air. Ernodal balled his fists, his lesser demons tense and ready behind him. Before he could move the bull demon spat a word and Ernodal’s vision went blurred. He couldn’t move.

The tip of a huge claw stabbed into Ernodal’s chest and heaved him off his feet. The serrated edge caught under his ribs. He tried to scream but it came out as a bloody cough. The demon’s breath burned his face.

Pathetic. All this trouble from one little mage? So insolent and fragile…

The pain was horrendous but the feeling of helplessness was worse. The demonic element growing inside him railed against the notion of defeat. He welcomed the surge of arrogance, felt it swell into a torrent of defiance. He could not die like this. The world snapped into focus and he spat a command to his choir of demons. A glittering spectral serpent yawned out of the night, swallowing Ernodal whole and dropping him on the ground clutching his ruined stomach.

He rolled to the side as an enormous hoof pounding into the ground by his head. Before the second blow descended he gasped another command, the serpent demon flickering him out of existence for another instant. His wounds were already closing. The Bull demon seared the earth with a burst of hellfire but Ernodal was already behind him, power flaring from his fingertips as a trio of golden demons wearing the faces of dead friends streaked towards the bull demon. Staggering from the impact the enormous demon spun around to face his foe but the half elf was a blur, winking in and out of existence in a widening circle. Snarling golden demons streaked in from all sides, repeated impacts cracking demonic shell and scorching flesh.

The serpent demon slipped away as the spell ended, depositing Ernodal on top of a nearby hill. The bull demon had been battered to the ground but it rose slowly, purple ichor dripping from terrible wounds. His eyes still burned with defiance.

“Run all you want little mage, you might as well try to flee from your shadow. I’ve tasted your blood and will pursue you across all existence if I have to. Mortal magic cannot harm me. Best me now and I will be reborn in my homeland to come for you again.”

Ernodal started to walk down the hill.

“I’m not running. And you will kneel in my presence unless I give you leave to stand.”

A swarm of feathered gargoyles appeared around the bull demon, swooping down to perch on his shoulders and tearing at his wounds with hooked claws. He swatted the first few aside before the flock dragged him to the ground and pinned him there with sheer numbers. Flat on his back he continued his stream of insults and threats as Ernodal approached, lighting arcing around the warlocks’ fingers.

“I don’t know anything about mortal magic. I draw this power straight from the one you serve. I hear his thoughts. Some of his memories too. I can remember him sending you. I can almost remember your true name… but I don’t think I need it to harm you.”

Ernodal reached down and pressed his finger to the struggling demons’ chest. Massive muscles sizzled and dissolved into oily smoke. The demon screamed in pain and confusion. Ernodal ignored him.

“Interesting… It seems I can destroy you here. Not just the shell you wear on this plane, but your trueself. Or I can diminish you. Demote you down through the ranks until you are a crawling maggot for the imps to hunt.”

Mercy great one! Anything but that!

There was genuine terror in the demon’s voice. Even Ernodal’s gargoyles were cowed. Demotion to the rank beneath them was a constant fear for all demons. For a creature like this, losing multiple ranks would reverse millennia of unending toil and scheming to get ahead. It would mean an eternity of torture as thousands of enemies and former servants sought revenge.

“Since you have learned humility so quickly I am inclined to be merciful. I shall give you a chance to consider the error of your ways. You may yet be of use to me.”

Ernodal reached inside his cloak and removed the Chalice of the Void. A dull moan echoed from the cloud of swirling liquid as the trapped spirits struggled in vain to escape. The Bull demon tried to protest but the words slurred as it melted into a greasy stream flowing upwards into the chalice. The moaning from the chalice grew slightly larger as another trapped joined the chorus.

The lesser demons were frozen in place around Ernodal.  As his gaze washed over each of them they bowed their heads or slunk to the ground baring their throats in obeisance. This was the moment a demon lived for, servants cowed and enemies destroyed. The sense of complete power was intoxicating. When he spoke his voice was thick and harsh.

“Tarnik.”

“Yes boss!”

“I walk to Vicetina. Then my path leads back through the swamps and on to the Dreadfort. I will learn his truename and I will destroy him with it.”

“Yes boss!”

“Ernodal exhaled and his shoulders sagged. His voice returned to normal.

“But I am still myself. And you, all of you, are free to leave if you don’t want to be part of this. This is a partnership and you aren’t slaves.”

“Yes boss!”

“…At some point you are going to stop agreeing with me and snap back to complaining, right?”

“Yes boss!”

Ernodal shook his head and looked away to hide his grin. Power was still worryingly tempting, but the prospect of demons fawning over him like this made him want to run for the hills. He might be going mad but was nice to know he wasn’t cut out to be a tyrant.

Sitting at the bow of the ship sharing the first watch, the moons in the sky sank slowly, Throkk and Deruzz gazed upwards sharing a tankard.  It always refilled and the thick beer was growing on Throkk.  “Needs some blood” muttered Throkk.  Deruzz leaned across and took the tankard as a distant gull cried out in the twighlight. “My friend, you do know we don’t do that, we haven’t done that for years!”.  The boat listed further to the port side. Throkk gave a long inhale, flaring his nostrils. The air was heavier, more moisture in it. He knew instinctively he was nearing his destination. He raised his hand to give the signal to hoist the jib. He needn’t have done it. After all this time at sea the crew had a finely tuned sense for what Throkk wished for. This suited him, he was a man of few words and the crew of the Santoku had grown around him. He took a quiet satisfaction is the discipline he had instilled into the crew and the respect that he had earned. Throkk’s massive bulk had grown more lean these past weeks at sea and his thigh still ached from where it was pierced by a length of the ship. His blood had poured out from the artery nearly killing him, that very blood know stained the side of the Santoku. The crew were sure it gave the ship preternatural strength. The quartermaster took a long draft from the tankard and pointed to the horizon. “You’re tense Throkk, you’re clenching your jaw. We’re still two days out, are you sure you want to go through with this”. Throkk forced himself to release the tension in his muscles and turned. “Yes Deruzz, there is a great need. We must go. The Armada is no longer trapped but we cannot rest in Porta Verde. Not now”. Throkk cast a glance upwards to the third Moon, now alone in the sky. Closer it seemed. He didn’t dare tell of his visions, his nightly communications with his ancestral spirts, he didn’t want to believe it himself.

Deruzz broke the long silence, “Throkk…” he paused “we never discussed your… skill. We saw what you did to the Kraken it was godlike…”. Throkk snorted, “I nearly died. It died first though”. Deruzz paused, drawing closer “We have lost this ability. Please, tell me. Tell me about your rage. Where does it come from?  What does it feel like?”. Deruzz trailed off under Throkk’s gaze.  The grim redlight flickered and cast shadows over the two unlikely friends both mentoring the other, one on the Orcs of the modern age and the other on the Orcs of the past. The waves in the dark sloshed against the side of the ship as the sounds of a muted bell rang out marking the chage of the shift. Throkk picked up the stick he had been whittling and shaved another careful slice; the beginnings of a spoon. Deruzz lost hope of an answer and stood in the comfortable silence, he had grown used to this.

“It starts with a drumbeat.”  Throkk paused for a moment and sighed, staring into the distance at something only he could see.  His gaze lifting to the moon now, the light of it always reminded him of battle.

“It starts with a drumbeat. I can feel it in my chest as my heart increases, not panicked but steady, almost deliberately, like a drum, like music, beating out a rhythm, it calls to me.  I feel it in my chest and it grows. Harder, louder, trying to rip out of my ribs, like being lashed with a whip there.” Deruzz, held his breath, not wanting to break Throkk out from the distant stare and his uncharacteristic talkative mood.  “I can feel my blood thicken and my arms and lips go cold, the music rises to my ears, it sounds like a river in a cave pulsing.  I feel a hunger and sickness deep in the pit of my stomach.  My mouth dries out and I can taste metal. I can hear a song in the music, a beautiful note driving through me, ever movement feels like that of someone elses. Then darkness descends, the world turns to shades of black and white, the only colour is the deep red of blood.” Throkk looked up at Deruzz who couldn’t help but shift uneasily under that intense glare and step back as Throkk approached him.

“Everything is heightened even the pain, the pain is the most glorious of all. It drives the music to new heights.  It is like being underwater and all I can hear is my breathing and my heart growing faster, more urgent.  I can feel each sinew and fiber of my muscles and above it all is the hunger, that dark hunger that can only be satisfied by driving my spear through the heart of another foe.”

Throkk now towerd over Derruz grasping him by his shoulders, squeezing too tightly.  Throkk blinked and pulled himself back from the edge of the black rage, taking a staggering step backwards and stared off into the distance once more, as if willpower alone could make land appear.  Deruzz could feel his own heartbeat growning and swallowed.

“You appear to have broken your spoon dear friend”.  Deruzz gestured with the mug. Throkk looked down and unclenched his fists to reveal the shattered remains of the spoon and shook his head slowly.

“It was to be a gift for some old friends.”

Deruzz smiled,  “never mind, around you there are always more splinters in need of carving to be found”. Throkk grimmaced darkly and looked up once more to the lights of the moon.

In the back of his mind he could still hear the distant sound of the drums.

“Not good enough!”. Clinks boots clacked down the marbled hallway of the grand ballroom as his assistant Tanken tried to keep up. His scrawny body too lanky for the billowing robes of his station. Appointing this 16 year old to his right hand man had been one of many slaps in the face to the old ways but the kid was bright and honest, two rare commodities. A retinue of clerks and servants scrambled to keep up. Their scrolls flapping in a trail behind him. He paused suddenly for a second as the washermen looked up. This was the third time they had scrubbed the floors this week and it still wouldn’t get rid of the dark red stains. He knew some of that was his father’s blood. No time for that, not now, there’s never any time any more. Another emergency to sort out, complaints to deal with, factions to soothe or strategic promises to make. Clink hated the word bribe but that is essentially what they were. Mario played a clever game, spinning plated and pulling every so gently on every thread in the Palace.

Clink picked up the pace again, the welcome breather for the clerks was over too quickly as they all jostled for his attention. “The oilstains are on fire still and you’ve redirected the fire crews to the pits? We need the economic boost to ensure a strong and stable future..” clink waved his hand flippantly, “we need the people more, once they’re done we will enlist them to take care of the docks.” His voice was clipped and stern, it was getting more and more difficult to maintain his bardic charm. What was it now? 3, 4 days without sleep? His body ached and he knew that if he stopped moving he might not be able to start again. His cloak wrapped tightly around him as he ascended the stairs. The clerk’s knew not to follow to the Kaiser’s chambers. It transpired that the cure for the slow-acting poison was worse than the poison itself. The Kaiser was on his last legs as his system was learning to live without the Widow’s Crutch, so called because it was often used to kill off your husband in a natural and undetectable manner. He would likely be incapacitated for a month or more.

He entered the room past the two justicars and gave a faltering bow. Wilhelm stood by the bedside looking up as clink entered. The boysish looks of the heir were gone, his beard had grown white in parts lending a regal air, his once friendly eyes now caused clink to pause when they regarded him, it was as if all the joy had been bleached from the man as he kept vigil over his father. In the aftermath Wilhelm had appointed clink to be the Master of Accounts, the title still rankled for clink, definitely not fitting for the amount of responsibility it carried, not at all grand. All the administration that mario did and trained his whole life for was now on Clinks shoulders and he had to learn fast. This was made all the more difficult by Wilhelm’s purges. He was determined to eradicate any trace of Mario’s influence. It had taken Clink his best levels of tact with more than a few magically enhanced suggestions to at least make sure people had a trial, there were too many people caught up in Mario’s schemes accidentally or otherwise to put them all to death or every chambermaid, scullery boy and postal clerk would be on the block. The fires, the looting and the outbreak of disease where enough of a distraction without a coup being added into the mix.

Wilhelm flared his nostrils, “so, vat iz dis about the dockyards still burning?”. He clasped his hands behind his back raising his chin and peering at clink with one eyebrow raised “I appointed you to fix zis mess not ruin our economy!”

Clink sighed, he was doing that more and more these days. “Wilhelm my dear, you are listening to far too many boring people, I told you not to listen to boring people, you should sleep. You appointed me because I saved you, your father and this kingdom from the chaos that Mario caused! You have to trust me. There will be no good saving the glorious docks if we lose the support of the people, they have lived in fear for far too long”

“Zat is not what the cardanalis sayz”

“Ah… Well yes of course the Cardinalas would say that..”

“If I am to be king some day I must know all that happens under my rule” replied Wilhelm.

“Yes, of course…”

Wilhelm raised his hand cutting him off “zat will be all” he waved him away “and be sure to inform me of all your suggestions for my decision, I will have ze final say” clink blinked slowly, Wilhelm had certainly grown up but the influence of the church was still too strong for his liking. He would have to play this very carefully.

As he made his way back to the gaggle of clerks he chewed over his plans. First, save the people that’s what matters but he knew if he ignored the politics now he would be granting the other players too much of a head start. He couldn’t help but feel it would be better off with the others around but since the fall of Namthar they’ve all had their own roads to walk, at least for now while they try to research how to kill the moon. The ominous dark red alien moon even shone through the clouds these days spreading on the sky like the blood on the ball room floor. Some crackpots had taken to interpreting them and a new faith had sprung up with sub Optima seen as heralds of the new god to come, he’d even caught one of his messages grasping a necklace in the shape of Chortle. It was a bothersome distraction, one to add to the pile.

Clink made his way back from the chambers to his offices, a few weeks prior these belonged to Mario, they seemed grand then but now they felt like a cave. He didn’t dare to sit down as petition after petition came to him. The reduction in the food stores were alarming but the lowering water levels even more so. He’d have to send some sellswords to discover the reason for that, where were the moon pirates now? He’d lost track of them after the battle.

A slender young man approached and coughed. He wore the robes of the church of namthar. His thin eyebrows died white and grown long, slicked upwards and out beyond his ears made his dark waxy hair look like it had white streaks. He had made it a daily ritual to come here. Clink enjoyed giving him the run around.

“Cornelius, what do I owe the pleasure”

“Master of Accounts, the Cardanalis of the one true God, the church of Namthar has ordered you to appear before him and explain these new… songs.” He spat the last words from his mouth.

Clink rolled his eyes, he did that more these days too. He lent forward and took a deep breath, feeling the wood beneath his fingers. Mario did have exceptionally good taste.

“I’ve told you before. That’s not really how one asks someone to pop by for some wine and a chit chat. I don’t like being ordered to do anything! Least of all meet with an obease man wearing far too much lace who worships something I killed a few weeks ago. And as for the songs? You really think they were me? They are far too crass, weak imagery, poor timings, terrible pacing and rhyming ‘clod-tucker’ with ‘god-fucker’? So weak! No one calls farmers clod tuckers these days. Hmmm how about Obese treatsie, diet of cakes, pitfiful pontif, necrophiliac nonsense, all phrases that are better than that and I’m not even trying”

Cornelius gritted his teeth, he was growing accustomed to the daily admonishments but both of them knew that while clink had the favour of the Kaiser and Wilhelm he was largely impotent in ordering him to do anything.

“You would be well to remember your place in things tiefling, the church was here long before either of us and will outlast us both, you insolence will not be forgotten”, Cornelius rose his voice, he had gone too far this time.

The chamber was still, a few nearvous clerks looked on, this was the most open hostility there had been, a verbal slap on the cheek, an barely veiled threat. Clink looked up from the perfectly polished table and moved behind the chair, flicking his cloak out behind him as he dragged the chair out, sitting ceremoniously as he crossed his legs and placed them on the table as he slid a knife from his boot. The messenger gulped as a trickle of sweat rolled down to meet his moustache. Clink skewered an apple and began peeling slices off it slowly whole eyeing Cornelius intimidatingly.

“You’re welcome” he said through a fanged smile.

Cornelius blinked, confused at the seemingly innocent statement.

“You may pass the message to the Cardanalis that he is very welcome. His gratitude for my saving the city is greatly appreciated, and I relent, I shall give in to his wishes and send him an autograph” clink plucked a pen and scroll from a nearby scribe and cast his signature across the page.

Cornelius span on his heel spitting venomous words under his breath as he stormed out.

Clink couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t his wisest move but his smile broadened in genuine amusement as he hummed ‘clod-tucker, god-fucker’ to himself as he composed a new verse in his head. It really was hard to try write songs badly but the people loved them. Keep this up and the people will soon see the church for what they really were. Charlatans and thieves.

“Now, where were we? Ah yes, Tanken, pass me the latest draft of the new bill pass. The cardanalis will be thrilled to know his tax exemption is lifted in order to better fund the repairs and restitution of the city, how very pious of him”.