The Curse of the Wounded King

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Though the task was simple, it seemed as soon as Tristan had entered town, he was surrounded by a cluster of random allies, all in search of the scroll together. Prianne had managed to pick them off one by one, though he replaced them just as easily as she could take them. The assassin knew that this would be nothing but an excuse to her superior- so she bothered not to mention it.

"I'm sure it would please you if I did handle my father by spreading my legs, but we both know I was chosen for a reason. The horse fucker did fail Shiv, But I didn't give up. That is more than I can say of your brother..." Prianne lifted herself and sat back on her haunches, readying herself for the hand of furry that she knew would come with bringing up Shivs younger brother Jace.

Jace, who served as a teacher in her late teens, was Prianne's first love. She had been infatuated with him since their first training session, his swiftness pinning her against the splintering wood of the abandoned shack within seconds from the start. Their love had been breathtaking and completely devastating. It sent a haunting shiver down her spine and even now, she remembered the feel of his body against hers.

Ultimately it was her love for Jace that forced her to murder him. The deed had come to her in the same perishing flight that her current mission had come. A carrion bird dropping out of the sky in a twisting tornado of perfectly timed, poisonous death. It was against the rules of the order to find emotionally compromising relationships; especially ones as deep as the one they had developed.

Jace had been attempting to find a way out for them, a new life, despite everything they had been told. It was his life for hers, and he willingly gave it. Prianne dispatched him from his earthly form with a quick and painless stab to the back of the neck, knowing exactly how to relieve him as honorably as possible. An attack he had taught her himself.

She took Shiv's brutality with pride, knowing that was the reason for her underlining hostility. After a quick moment to roll her neck and pop her jaw back into place; prianne continued.

"Atop the hill. They have been watching and talking...about what, I can only assume to be a plan of action. Untie me and I will assist you..." Her eyes narrowed persuasively as she waited for a reaction.
 
"I think you've assisted enough, my dear." Shiv came behind the kneeling Prianne, running her fingers through her hair. She leant down, whispering softly in her ear. "And spare me your taunts. Who do you think gave the order for Jace's death?"

She let that hang there, as around them the barbarian skirmishers arrived. Three families - more than twenty men, fed, rested and ready for blood. They wore skull helmets and furs, their weapons jagged and cruel. With them they dragged horses and hunting dogs.

"You see, Prianne," Shiv whispered. "A woman is subtle. She does not dirty her hands. As with the huntsman, and the people of Elswich. A real woman gets others to kill for her."

The assassin master pulled away, straightened with her grip on Prianne's hair. Her voice lifted, to address the savages around her. "THERE IS A MAN ON THE NORTH HILLTOP. HE WEARS THE RED SASH OF THE WEST." She pulled Prianne, showing her to the men. "HE WHO BRINGS HIS HEAD TO ME WILL HAVE THIS WOMAN IN HIS BED TONIGHT."

The champions rolled back their heads and gave a shrill and howling cry. The barbarians lifted arms, slammed swords on shields, then swung up onto their horses. And as they rode the hunting dogs were released, barking and slavering at the head of the charge.

And as the warriors rushed and vaulted the rocks around them, Shiv pulled Prianne to her feet. "Sit with me awhile, Horse Fucker. We always had so little time to talk. We must make amends."

She pulled her back towards the centre stones, where the Chieftain was conducting his ritual. "And besides... you simply must see this."



* * * * *​



"No..."

Tristan did not hear Brill's answer, whatever it was. His gaze was drawn back to the foothills as he heard the clamour of horse hooves and warcries. A band of marauders were peeling out from the rocks, descending to the valley dip that lay between them. Twenty, perhaps more, with hunting dogs at their head.

His hand went to his falchion. "Oh gods..." He looked to Kendrick, to Brill, to any who would listen. "What do we do?"

How did they know? How could it end like this, lured into a trap by laughing gods, his venture for nothing, his vengeance thwarted.

He didn't even know how to use his sword.

"WHAT THE HELL DO WE DO?!"
 
Prianne grimaced as Shiv pulled her hair taut in between her lithe fingers. Her offering to the disgusting Barbarians made the seasoned assassin feel sick to her stomach, gritting her teeth as the cheering of the Champions hit the air. Shiv was certainly a devil, but Prianne wasn't going to let her create fear where there was none. As she pulled her over to where the war-chief stood, Prianne sighed as Shiv made light of the woman ceremonially getting their throats opened.

"You know I've seen worse travesties Milady... " Prianne was blunt, but still revered Shiv with respect. It was a terrible thing; what they did. But Prianne could not find it in her heart to ever hate lady Shiv or any other member who raised her. She simply couldn't fight what had been beaten into her as a child. "You yourself showed me things much more gruesome..." Prianne waited, standing next to her superior as the roar of battle rang in the air. She knew Tristan would have been alerted by now and she could only hope her life would not be lost with him.
 
"Fuck."

Brill spat the word as the horses came charging from the standing stones. Briefly he'd been interrupted from Tristan's order to kill Marrow. A whirlwind of emotions rose and rages across his scarred face. He stood, turning and drawing his blade in one motion, facing down the barbarian. Marrow stared at him, grim faced. He had accepted that his life could end at any moment. He would not beg, now, so close to a people who had abandoned him, to the man who had spared him. It seemed fitting.

At least he wouldn't get eaten by that damned tiger.

Down came the blade, parting the robe from between Marrow's hands and freeing him. Dumbfounded, the barbarian, Tristan, and the rest were frozen for a moment. Marrow grimaced, looking down to his hands. He opened his mouth to speak, but Brill was stepping forward, bringing the pommel of his sword around to Marrow's temple.

He dropped without a sound.

Whirling on Tristan, Brill tore the sash from his body with all the savagery of desperation, pushing him back against his horse. The red sash, the only visible identifier of the Caldrane order. If they were coming here, they had to have been warned. They had been allowed to plot too long and the calamity at the camp suggested someone had shadowed them from beyond. "Memorize the scrawling of your scroll," he growled at the young man, "And then swallow it. Oblivion to you and your entire damn village if you let those savages have it."

Turning to the rest, he threw himself over the saddle of his horse, pressing the red sash to his body and trying its ragged ends around one shoulder. "Scatter. To the winds. Meet beyond the trees, at the first bog. They will seek out the crimson, and I'll give them a chase."

Tearing his flask from his belt, he took two swigs and grinned, "Ten gold coins to the first man who comes up with a plan to get me out of this mess."

Wheeling, pausing only for a brief wink at the healer woman, the only female who'd been tender to him, Brill gallopped from the hilltop and streaked off toward the west. The moonlight caught the glare of his crimson sash, and the barbarians immediately veered towards it, twenty strong charging amid the baying of hounds.

The rest had their chance to scatter.

He found himself, bemused as the horse thundered beneath him. Why had he bothered to take the sash, to save Tristan, to save the barbarian even. Sometimes his own actions seemed mystifying, more the valorous acts of his older brother than his own. True, that man would not have stood for Hillfolk with a Wound, not for the savagery of taking women and children prisoner either. He would have spared a defenseless man, swore his life to protect him...all of it without doubt, without reproach.

Brill missed him.

"Gods and Spirits be damned," he muttered to himself, melding against the horse like one shadow, separated only by the gleam of his steel armor and the red flapping sash, "I've left that poor monk to die with incompetents." The roars of the savages grew closer, rising over him like the waves of the Southern shores. Crash, ebb, Crash. But these calls never ebbed, only rose and rose, a never ending deluge of approaching danger.

"I'm not drunk enough for this..."
 
xav.jpgXavier noticed Tristan's mouth moving, but he did not pay attention to his words for a large group of barbarians, some on horses, others on foot with their dogs, charged towards the party which was outside the barbarian camp. He squinted before shaking his head in disbelief. How could the barbarians know that they were outside the camp if they were not even that close to it, nor had made any attempts yet to step into their area. Obviously there was someone on the inside who knew about their presence, but who exactly was that person? He would have to find out later, for they now had a serious situation to handle.

Xavier, after pausing to look at the barbarians who were coming closer, looked back to notice Brill ripping off the red sash of the Caldrane Order from Tristan's body. He then saw him attempt to put on the red sash before mounting his horse and rode off. Xavier widened his eyes before nodding in Brills direction as he rode away.

He was trying to divert the barbarians attention from the group and towards himself, by using the red sash. And it seemed that the blood thirsty idiots had fell for the trick, as they took the bait and turned their way towards the escaping "monk". He then had now realized that Brill might die in this situation, considering he had a large group of barbarians chasing after him. He then thought "At least I will not have to dirty up my hands...". He then looked back at the group before nodding towards them, and spoke with haste, hoping the barbarians would not turn back towards them.

"Everyone, it is now our time to scatter, for Brill has given us a chance to escape. Do listen to what he said though, about using the bog as a rendezvous. Now I suggest that we get in groups though, just for the greater safety of us all. I will attempt to go to the barbarian camp with stealth, and try to figure out what is happening there. Do not worry about me though, I will come back with information."

Xavier nodded towards his companions before popping his fingers. He then mounted his black steed before small beads of water started to fall from the sky. It had begun to rain and started to become eve, but Xavier didn't care, for these conditions would hinder the barbarians sight as he journeyed towards their village. It may seem as a dumb decision to the others, but if they barbarians did send anymore troops out, they would go for himself and not for the others.

A personal sacrifice in Xaviers eyes. He then smacked the behind of his horse before setting out towards the eastern most side, which seemed to be shrouded a bit from sight. He pulled on the reigns from time to time to slow down the speed of the horse.

He spoke to himself as he sighed.

"Now it is time to see why the barbarians suddenly came out of this camp... And as soon as I find out who gave them the information about us, their blood shall be painting the ground.."
 
The ride had been uneventful, until now. Kendrick was peaceful listening to the rest of the group, to mull over their idle banter on the ride, or to discuss their plans for the future. Excess talking had a problem of revealing far too much about yourself, something he had learned in an adage from his father. "Take every mans opinion, but give none your own." The uproar at the barbarian's approach brought him out of his reminiscence, staring at the back of his horses head before he realized the truth of the situation.

Before he could speak, Brill was off. It was a good plan, for the whole of the group. For Brill though, his life certainly was starting to suck right about now. Reaching aside before Tristan could make his move, Kendrick spoke his advice: "A sizable part of the force just diverted, either we scatter now and find someway to beat them later, or we advance and take the grounds, deal with the barbarians who remain and confront their leader. We need to act now or Brill will be doing his part for naught. Thirty is still a force too large for us, we should retreat for now and find a way to increase the odds in our favor."
 

They had been plotting planning, taking their numbers and odds into account with every intention of having the upper hand. How quickly that had faded as they were sold out by some informant, someone that surely none of them could know. This little group of mercenaries cobbled together, many of them not used to the brutality of the barbarians, some of them having lived their lives in the Heartlands. Despite being counted in the nine mercenaries in the band, Arlette had not felt the part. What could she, a simple apothecary, contribute to a fight against barbarians? Even then, she had reservations, but now the time of their potential upper hand had passed and she was even less certain what she could possibly do to make herself useful.

The brilliant red sash, something she'd had to assume was moderately important to Tristan that he be wearing it since it seemed to serve no other purpose, was a brilliant marker against the grass and, thinking quickly, Brill ripped it away and rode off on horseback before Arlette could say a single word. Brave man, fool man, I don't know if even my shop would have the materials to heal the wounds he'll incur at that rate. She would have sighed, but there was no time for that. All of a sudden, the barbarian was free - when had that happened? She must have missed something somewhere, so caught up in her own thoughts.

Clutching her herb pouch in hand, she ran over their uses a million times in her head. How could she be helpful when she'd gathered nothing poisonous? She bit her lip and her fingers found the anthirrim, known for causing a fever to lower and to help ease pain. When burnt, the sweet smell caused drowsiness, numbness, and slowing of mental capacity. It was the best thing she had, when left without any other options. The only other thing she could wield was an axe, and certainly she'd never been trained in combat. All she'd done was chop wood for a fire when she lived with her parents - what sort of use would that be? She tensed and took a step back, searching for something simple enough for one untrained to use.

"You would happen to have any spare things for stabbing, would you, Juliet?" she inquired, smiling nervously.
​
 
Desmond rolled his eyes at Brill once he finished his remark."We need to decide something before they notice us." Then he heard the barbarians coming for them.

Desmond pulled his katana from his side and held it to his side watching to see if any more of them were coming anywhere else. He turned to the group and saw them getting ready too. There was a feeling inside of Desmond then, heroic, strong, mighty, nothing like he has ever felt before. What would happen to him in this battle, would he hurt? No, he felt that this group was capable of bringing down this group easily.
 


Again, Prianne felt it - that smile beneath her mistress's veil.

Shiv shoved her shoulder and forced her sit against the rocks at the edge of the ritual circle.

"I never showed you this."

Before them, the Chieftain turned in slow circles, the dagger held aloft and thick with gore.

His hands were raised to the heavens, his eyes glazed.

Other barbarians moved around him.

They collected the blood and painted lines across the stone plateau.

Three bisecting curves - an irregular triangle around the menhir where the slaves were tied.

A chill breeze cut across the Tor.

Prianne felt it in her bones.




* * * * *​




Events moved beyond his control, a swirl of action. Brill rode west; Xavier rode east. Kendrick and Desmond were drawing blades. And even the girls, Arlette and Juliet, were improvising weapons.

He moved to the latter pair first, heart thumping against his ribcage. "Stay close to me - both of you!" Gods, he was taking civilians into battle.... he was taking HIMSELF into battle! Sweat broke and he panicked suddenly, reaching over his own shoulder, looking around. His falchion sheath had dropped when Brill tore off his sash. Tristan stooped and reclaimed it from a thicket.

The world was shaking with the noise of horse hooves. He could hear the subtle shift, the cavalry peeling west, shrieking and laughing as they gave chase to Brill. And though the dogs barked and strained their leashes, scenting the rest of them behind the crest, their beastmasters pulled them after the horsemen.

Brill... who the hell are you...?

"I'll stay with the horses," Scar cried, readying her bow and notching an arrow. "And cover you from high ground!" She had one foot on Marrow's back, indicating that it was not just horses she would be guarding. She and Kendrick exchanged a brief glance.

"Okay..." Tristan's voice broke with the adrenaline. He looked to Kendrick and Desmond. "Okay... we go to the camp!"

There was a slight breath - the noise of a satisfied smirk - and Sable rushed ahead, the tiger at her side. Kendrick and Desmond followed, hunched low with their hands on their hilts. Tristan wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded to Juliet and Arlette. They moved as one.

Through dry grass and old river beds they stalked, the silhouettes of the hunting cavalary looming to their left and vanishing beyond the hillsides in pursuit of Brill. There was no sight of Xavier, who skirted the low ground to the east, and the slightest glint of arrowhead was all that showed Scar watching over them. The valley between the hill and the Tor was no more than five hundred feet, but it felt like many leagues, painful minutes in which they were exposed.

And they were almost to the edge of the Tor rocks when the orange streak of the tiger gave them away. A marauder group, chewing bones around the outermost campfire, spotted their approach. They flung down their food, snatched up their weapons, and came striding down the incline towards them.

Sable hissed a command, and the Tiger Kinicki surged forwards, a ferocious growl as it charged the lead barbarian.
 
"Stay close to me - both of you!"

Desmond nodded to Tristan and began following him. He had never really talked to Kedrick before this would be a good time to see what he was like, through battle that is. Step by step he moved toward the camp keeping a good pace and keeping his head low. He would often look behind him and see if those marauders were either shooting at him or coming right at him. Desmond held his sword close as he approached the camp. He watched as the barbarians began to ready for battle and so did the warrior trio. He looked at Tristan and Kedrick readying himself for battle. This reminded him of home oddly enough...

That day would be him in the classroom looking out the window and seeing the boys play. He wasn't that social and all he did most of the day was read books. He saw the little boys with long sticks hiding behind trees ready to fight. "Charge!" All of the little boys ran at each other with sticks and they started hitting each other and yelling at each other.

Why is it that he wanted to do this?

Was it that he wanted to be involved? This couldn't be it, he was only concerned with his books and what he needed to do that day. Soon he would find out that it was just the fact that he would be with people having fun. This battle, will probably not be fun.

Desmond awaited orders from Tristan on what to do and they had to act fast.
 
Juliet had quickly unbuckled the the throwing knife pouches that fell carelessly on her hips. Reaching around Arlette, she secured them tightly around the apothecary's waist. "There's seven of them. I wouldn't advise throwing them far, but they can help." Then taking her left handed dagger, she thrust the hilt in Arlette's hand, wrapping the woman's shaking fingers around it. "This will help for more stabbing stuff since it's longer. Don't lose this." With a wink and a smile, Juliet trotted off to where Tristan stood.

Oh God, what were they going to do?

The contortionist knew entertainment. She knew how to swallow swords and throw knives at a spinning wheel to avoid a person, not actually kill one. This whole trip Tristan and her hadn't spoken. She hadn't even bothered to get to know the rest of the group; having friends wasn't something Juliet found solace in anymore.

Before she knew it she was running aside Tristan and Arlette, her short sword drawn and shaking. Blonde pigtails swung wildly behind her head; dirt covered her colorful clothing helping her blend in. As the barbarians grew larger in the distance, she muttered a simple prayer for the entire group.
How long has it been since I've prayed?
Kinicki pushed past her towards the first barbarian. Images of Mordecai and the rest of her troupe flashed in her mind.
Oh help us.​
 
xav.jpgAs Xavier neared the camp, he pulled on the reigns of his steed to signal it to stop a few meters in front of the camp. He dismounted his black horse before stroking its mane. Although it did not seem like it, Xavier did have a soft side. He looked backwards in the direction where he left the others, to see if they had made their choices as to what they wanted to do, and it was pretty clear what they were going to do. They were making their way towards the camp, and it seemed as if Tristan was turning his head around, looking for something. It was probably himself, but he could do nothing to signal the others now, for that would give away his position.

"I can not jeopardize myself now, when I am so close to reaching my goal..."

He still watched the group, and noticed them come in contact with a group of barbarians by the looks of it. Kinicki, the bright furred tiger was the first to attack. It was too bad that he could do nothing to help. He shrugged off this slight feeling of sympathy, before crouching down, and slowly crept towards a large rock that lay in front of him, so he could shelter himself from the sights of the others. He eyes looked over the top of the rock to look at the camp. It seemed as if more than half of the forces left to go deal with the others of his group, and he smirked at this fact. His eyes then scanned the village carefully to see if there was anyone who seemed stealthy in any way, a person who could alert the barbarians of his group.

His eyes could not find that person, but what they did find was a disgusting sight for anyone to lay their eyes upon. The women that were taken from Elswich were now being used in some sacrificial ritual. Their throats were slit open, but the cuts were not clean. It seemed as if a very dull or damaged blade tore at the throats of these poor souls, and he sighed before shaking his head. He then noticed a large barbarian who held a bloodied dagger, and was wearing a headdress.

"He must be the barbarian chieftain, this is my chance..."

Xavier than reached for his back with both of his hands, one grabbing the bow, the other an arrow from his quiver. He then put the arrow in the bow before pulling back, and sighed slowly, trying to take slow and steady breaths. He then nodded to himself before taking one last deep breath, and stood up before closing his left eye and aimed for the head of the barbarian.

He waited too long. More barbarians circled around the head of their group, and he watched as they took the blood they had retrieved from the women and drew lines in the stone plateau, with a few victims in the middle of it all. He laid his bow and arrow down beside the rock and sighed, slamming a fist into the ground. He sighed, and had to take a chance. He took back the bow and arrow into his hands, before pulling back on the string again. This time he did not try to control his breathing, but stood up once more, without closing his left eye as well. He let the arrow go flying through the air, and bury itself in the arm of a barbarian who was participating in the ritual. A yell rang through the air, as the barbarian slowly seethed in pain.

"I think I just gave myself away..."
 
brae.jpg

The barbarian staggered, Xavier's arrow in his arm. And total silence fell across the Tor. Everyone looked to the man.

"No..." Prianne heard only the slightest whisper from Shiv.

The barbarian dropped the bone he had been using to draw the blood glyphs, and looked dumbfounded at the wound. Then his face twisted to anger. He gripped the shaft of the arrow and wrenched it from his flesh.

"No!" Shiv yelled.

From the ragged wound, a couple of droplets fell, the man's blood spattering over the ritual lines.

The Chieftain lowered his dagger and his eyes went wide. "NO!"

And all at once a freezing wind passed across the Tor, startling the barbarians, and chilling Xavier to the bone.


* * * * * *​


Brill's horse plunged into marshland, the grass to the west sodden and submerged. His speed slowed. The cries of the huntsmen grew louder. Then a javelin sailed through the air and impaled his horse's rump. It squealed. It fell. Brill was brought down into the quagmire, one leg trapped beneath the flailing beast.

The twenty savages crested the hill and, laughing, rode down in pincer-shape towards him, each man eager to claim Brill's head and the rewards it entailed. Brill got his leg free and scrambled backwards from his dying horse, on hands and knees as the thunder of his pursuers drowned him.

It was over.

His heart was thumping... the barbarians howling... and.... he could swear... the ground beneath him was trembling...


* * * * * *​


Kinicki, no! Tristan's heart sank as the tiger surged ahead and got itself spotted by the outer sentries. Sable was spurring it with impulses violent and foolhardy, and he wondered now if she was truly mad, driven to psychotic recklessness by the torments she had suffered. As the tiger reared and brought the first savage down by the throat, Sable plunged a knife into the back of a man trying to flank it. Beast and mistress ended up surrounded, swiping at marauders on all sides.

An arrow flew overhead from Scar and thudded into another sentry's chest. Kendrick and Desmond were engaging, while Arlette and Juliet remained behind him.

I've got them all killed, Tristan's mind whirled. He had thought more had come out in pursuit of Brill. He had underestimated the number remaining. Shapes were rising behind the rocks, ten - twenty - thirty - an army of hardened warriors. Oh god...

It was over.

And then he felt the breeze, cold and forceful, that rushed like breath between the rocks. He paused mid-step, and saw some of the barbarians do likewise.


* * * * * *​


"You fools!" Shiv shouted, kicking Prianne aside as she stormed to the edge of the ritual circle. "Unclean blood is shed!"

The wounded champion was clutching his arm and wheeling desperately, not understanding what he had done, while the Chieftain was simply backing away, eyes wide in horror. The ones nearby were torn between searching for where the arrow had come from, or beholding their Chieftain's shock. They all felt it...

... something was coming.

The plateau cracked, thin lines running out from the menhir at the centre. The Chieftain stumbled and fell. Air rushed upwards from the cracks, escaping in great hisses of dust. There was the sound of rumbling. The Tor shook. Screams rang out from the slaves around the menhir.

Then Shiv turned on her heels and ran for cover, knowing before anyone else... that the thing they had come here to appease.... was now very...very offended.

There was sudden silence. And then the man who had been injured lifted up his head and screamed. A crack opened between his feet, and tendrils of eldritch light snaked up around his limbs, shooting into his flesh, wriggling into his mouth. His body convulsed. His arms went wide. He was like a ragdoll, crucified in light. His skin began to twist. His screams became gurgles.


* * * * * *​


The ground convulsed, like it was all one flesh recoiling from some painful blow. The waters rippled out from Brill in all directions. He watched, amazed as the hill before him unsettled. Part of the grass subsided. A great trench opened. The lead horses of his pursuers stumbled and fell, their riders tossed to a rolling heap. Dust shot up in a wave, masking him from his foes, the sound of churning rock and soil around him.

His blood ran cold. The waters drained in the space of seconds, sucked down into the earth where he lay.

More dust, exploding in lines to north and south, as if someone had set a million connected demolitions. It took Brill a moment to realise what was happening. Soil was subsiding... in lines... topsoil collapsing over older breaches.

They were tunnels... being exposed. A whole network of them, stretching across the valley.


* * * * * *​


Tristan and the girls came to a stop behind Kendrick and Desmond. They were all frozen, at the edge of the Tor, watching the gleam of light that had possessed the wounded barbarian. They felt the earth shaking, rocks cracking, dust erupting as holes in the ground were uncovered.

And then... something shot from the earth by one of the sentries. A hand, fleshless and decayed, latched around the man's ankle. He was pulled onto his back, and then, from the soil, a body hauled itself up. Bleached bone shone in the evening light.

wight.jpg

The creature drove it's rusted iron blade into the sentry's heart, slaying him in an instant. Then it pulled itself upwards, unfolding body and limb from the grave.

Another hole tore open behind them. Then another. And another.

The dead were rising.


* * * * * *​


Prianne got back to her knees, hands still bound. There was no sign of Shiv or the Chieftain. The slaves around the menhir were screaming and thrashing against their ropes. And the cause of their terror was clear.

Only a few feet away, swathed in the chill of the ancient dead, the injured barbarian took on new form, his hair flowing back into robes of darkness, his bones snapping and reknitting, his blood and entrails falling out to be replaced by coagulate shadow.

She looked into the eyes of the one they called God.

spirit.jpg
 
"You fools!" </SPAN>Hearing the smallest amount of doubt in Lady Shiv's voice was almost disturbing, but when Prianne heard her call out in fear, she became truly worried. </SPAN></SPAN>

"Unclean blood is shed!" </SPAN>Anxiety seemed to set in almost instantly as Shiv pushed Prianne to the ground, her face coming inches from smashing upon a smaller stone, piercing the soil at a deadly angle. From her place face down in the dirt, Prianne could feel the trembling of the earth, her long black hair vibrating in thick strands around her face. </SPAN></SPAN>

Prianne got back to her knees, hands still bound. There was no sign of Shiv or the Chieftain. The slaves around the menhir were screaming and thrashing against their ropes. And the cause of their terror was clear.

Only a few feet away, swathed in the chill of the ancient dead, the injured barbarian took on new form, his hair flowing back into robes of darkness, his bones snapping and reknitting, his blood and entrails falling out to be replaced by coagulate shadow.

She looked into the eyes of the one they called God.</SPAN></SPAN>
_____</SPAN></SPAN>
Prianne reacted swiftly, Rolling quickly behind a boulder and twisting her wrists to try and squeeze her way free from her bindings. She checked behind her often, watching the twisted vision of God for any movements.</SPAN></SPAN>

Unlike Skiv, Prianne had seen this before. Though it was never in the fabrics of reality, the young woman was plagued by visions of the living dead within her dreams. Nights of calming sleep were rare and inconsistent, often viciously torn by the bodies and souls of the people she had killed, coming back to haunt her. Despite her dreams, Prianne could never be prepared for the disgusting vision of horror that stood only feet from her. Prianne was getting desperate, suddenly standing up and running in a short zig-zag pattern to avoid being attacked. She tucked and rolled yet again into a nearby tent, finding an assortment of chipped and broken swords stuffed into a weak looking barrel, no longer good for battle. </SPAN></SPAN>

"Thank the Spirits" She exhaled, quickly turning her back and rubbing herself against one of the dulled half-blades. </SPAN></SPAN>

From outside the tent she could hear the guttural sounds of death, both old and new, beginning to surround her. </SPAN></SPAN>

"Come on you piece of shit!" She swore under her breath, rolling her eyes and feverishly shaking her arms behind her in an attempt to free her hands. Slowly, she felt the layers of rope breaking and falling away and when she felt it was close enough, she started twisting, finally shaking off the frayed rope and clenching her hands. Just as Prianne was getting the feeling back in her fingers, the tent was intruded by a member of the living dead. His body rattled as he moved, his skeletal fingers wrapped around a rusted brass handle fitted to a long soil tainted blade.</SPAN></SPAN>

The swift woman quickly kicked the barrel, knocking it over between them and used her foot to latch to the inside, flipping it up and into her hands. The opening was facing the ground and as the undead swordsman took his first swing, Prianne pushed the barrel at him, blocking the sword with the weak wood. Despite her size, Prianne managed to push the monstrosity back, catching it off balance and using it to her advantage. The sword had cracked the side of the barrel, but it didn't matter, at least not where it was going. She needed to escape, not kill. </SPAN></SPAN>

Prianne used the ledge of a nearby chest to launch herself up in the air, slamming the barrel over the head of the warrior and skillfully sweeping it's feet from underneath it as she landed. She wasn't expecting her plan to work- considering the insanity of it all, but she supposed the warrior lost his touch after all those years in the ground. </SPAN></SPAN>

The skeleton hit the ground with a thud as she took off in the other direction, slipping underneath the back of the tent and sprinting as fast as her legs would take her. The ground still shook, and the undead still seemed to be popping up out of the soil like worms after a decent rain. Prianne avoided the reaching hands that tried to grab her ankles and feet, to drag her down to what she assumed was oblivion. </SPAN></SPAN>

"Marduk!" She screamed, calling for her trusted stead, hoping that he was alive and able to come wisk her away like times before.</SPAN></SPAN>
 
xav.jpgXavier watched the scene commence from behind the rock. The barbarian whom he had shot looked slightly confused, but wrenched the arrow out of his arm. He saw the blood running down from the wound in his arm, but what he didn't see was the blood from the warrior drip onto the ritual lines. Instantly the Chieftain went into a state of panic, backing away from the stone plateau and shaking his head vigorously. And he didn't know why, but he felt a coolness run through his body, making his shiver slightly and his hair stick up on their ends.

He then felt it, the sudden shaking in the Earth. The ground seemed to split, and Xavier frantically looked around for his allies, yet he could not find sight of them. He turned his sight back to the camp and guffawed at the sight. The ground seemed to be tearing in two, and the women and children who were still captive began to scream for their lives. He noticed the barbarian that he injured was the first of all to go. The man screamed as snake like vines of light pierced through his flesh and erupted from his mouth. Xavier gagged as he watched the mans flesh tore, and his screams were no more. His limp body seemed to resemble that of a cross, and Xavier shook his head at the sight.

It seemed to him as if the world was ending, and he had a front row seat for it.

He watched as a barbarian who was partaking in the ritual seemed to be sucked into the ground. And all around from the rifts that were torn into the earth, undead beings clawed their ways out of the Earths wounds.

And Xavier turned his eyes right, to see a skeletal figure. Was this the being that the barbarians were paying homage to?

"Damn, what the hell is going on..."

He shook his head before looking downward, and shook his head. This was all his fault. He couldn't help but feel that the arrow that had hit the barbarian caused all of this.

It was all his fault.

He grabbed his bow before placing it back around his quiver and whistled for his steed. The dark horse was not in the area of the cracks in the earth, so it was unharmed, but he could sense the fright in his trustful beast. He stroked his mane before mounting it, and noticed yet another figure running from what seemed to be one of the undead warriors. He squinted as he watched it dart into a tent, the undead being following. Obviously this ... figure interested the undead thing. And he was also wondering what was going on in the tent. After a few minutes, the figure popped out the underside of the tent and began to run, probably seeking refuge from the beasts that were still clawing their way out of the ground.

The ground began to shake even more, and more things began to pour from the cuts in the ground. He watched the figure stop before screaming something, though he was too far away to hear it. He assumed that it was help, and he contemplated on whether he should assist, or leave the pour soul to die.

"This is the only time I am doing this. Ever."

He gulped slightly before whispering in the ear of his horse, and pointed towards the figure. He then slapped its rump before he rode in the direction of the figure. He looked at the tearing ground, and watched as hands reached for the legs of his horse. He gave it another slap, to speed up, and tried to avoid as many cracks in the ground as possible before nearing the figure.

As he stopped in front of the individual, he held out his hand before looking behind himself, and saw that some creatures were tailing him. Prianne, obviously smart enough to take this males help, took his hand before Xavier hoisted her up onto the horse. He then kicked hardly at the side of his horse, urging it to make haste out of the camp, and into the valley behind it. He would ride around the Tor and go back to the front to check on his allies later.
 
Getting struck in the head twice in a scant 24 hours tends to leave one with the same memorable symptoms as a particularly vile hangover. Gritting his teeth against his pounding skull, Marrow gradually came to, trying to make the awful noise stop.

It took a minute to realize that it wasn't all in his skull--and as he stumbled to his feet, he became aware of more--the shrill whinnies of fleeing horses, the groaning of the still-rumbling earth, and battle; far more battle than he had anticipated from the idea of the band he'd been introduced to, challenging his tribe.

The sight of the dead rising from their graves to give battle did nothing to improve his mood. Barbarians did not deal with spirits and magic; they were simple, brutal folk, who preferred to stay firmly grounded in what they could see and fight. But now spirits and the dead were quite rudely forcing their way into the domain of the living, and attacking those they found here.

Growling, he took stock of his immediate surroundings and located Scar firing off arrows just a few feet away, and drew his sword. "Do I even wanna know what you lot started here?" he grunted as he approached her, looking past her to try and figure out where the others were--the others of this sorry crew that took him prisoner, his own tribe's champions, where any of them were in the field of battle, and which side was winning. "Or was this the chief's doing? Can you even kill what's already dead!?"

This last question was what rankled him. He didn't like the idea of an enemy that could not be slain. Perhaps the best route would be to try to claim one of the frightened horses and flee on it, before he joined the ranks of the dead himself.
 
When the ground pitched, Brill was already tasting mud. His horse squealed beside him, ruined with one of the thrown javelins. Burly men tumbled along the marshland, their horses throwing them when holes rose up to claim their legs. The screams of the beasts echoed madly across the field. Brill came up cursing, rubbing muck from his face as some of the unhorsed barbarians got their footing and charged. Certainly, this was a better throw at destiny than before. All staggered and disorganized, the Hillfolk moved with the confusion of stupid creatures, torn between remounting and surrounding their quarry.

It was in their swings, their attacks, indecision that slowed the weapons for moments, precious moments. Brill dodged an axe swing, narrowly keeping his footing. His hand went down for his blade, but he pitched over his dying horse, falling onto his back. The gleeful barbarian crested the beast, axe raised to swing down. Switching hands, Brill released the guard on his crossbow and fired the quarrel up into the brute from the clip on his belt. The shot was a lucky hit, catching him in his throat. Pitching out of sight, Brill had time to scramble up and draw his sword, tearing his shield from across his back and discarding the sash. The red was a moment of color, followed only by cold steel. Brill launched himself into his opponents, battering a fellow back with his shield as he intercepted a falchion. They were strong, too strong to fight for a prolonged time. Twisting the shield up and across, Brill created an opening to stab his first opponent, dropping his blade to let the shield cross over his arm and intercept the falchion blow aimed for his neck. The shock numbed him, but he pressed, pushing the barbarian over and bringing the edge of his shield down on his face. Again, again, and again.

Grabbing his blade, he caught the next barbarian and skewered him, letting the body fall away.

He hadn't the stamina to fight them all, instead grabbing for the reigns of a riderless horse and swinging himself to the saddle. In the distance, melee roiled in the barbarian camp. The only explanation was that the daft Tristan had charged into battle like a fool. Digging his heels into the horse's flank, he spurred it toward the stones, cursing under his breath.

That boy was going to get them all killed.

Dead for a legend.
 
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Arrows whizzed by, like horse flies on a warm summer night. The chain of events unsettled Kendrick, but he knew damn well that he wouldn't lay down his sword and accept any fate, not to man nor abomination of the like of this ilk. He clamored for Scar to focus her fire on the group attempting to flank them, just as one of the burly men charged and caught his blade within it's guard. Kicking the man back, Kendrick drew his blade and dropped it upon the barbarian with a great lunge. The claymore broke through his defense, cleaving into shoulder and bone. The man moved no more.

Another arrow came, snapping with a distinctive twang as it bounced off of his shoulder guard. About to yell again to Scar, he lost the ability as the earth erupted, his eyes transfixed on the tor, now a beacon for the dead. If it were not for the large slab of stone he stood upon, Kendrick was certain one of the dead would have grabbed his ankles before he regained his senses, and even after, he was nearly certain one was knock under his feet. Doing all the could, he began severing hands as they rose from the ground, grasping at Tristan and the girls. When the heads started to expose, he moved on to decapitating them at the neck. Though the vicinity was contained from the effort, the sweat of his brow started, and the fields around them remain as an eerie display of the futility.

But the disruption might have been exactly as they needed, Kendrick grabbed Tristan by the shoulders, shaking awareness back to himself. "We need to keep moving, the path is littered with these ghouls but we can finish our push to the Tor if we don't slow down." He turned to the girls, repeating himself as his voice slowly wore into a bark. "Cut them down! Cleave through each body in our path, and move before the others can raise to join them!" Striding forward to the horses, he gripped the reigns and hoisted himself onto his steed. Xavier had already taken off, but with the confusion Kendrick opted for a more direct route. He brandished the sword in his right arm, left hand holding the reigns.

With a sigh, adrenaline building in himself, he started the charge, cleaving at flesh as it rose. "This is a bother." Approaching the stone steps to the Tor, the bodies had risen. The horses became spooked, making the travel both slow and dangerous. They stumbled upon a contingent of barbarians, caught in a semi circle of the rousing bodies. Kendrick ignored them completely, happy for the slack in attention from the zombies. As a thank you, he let his blade lop off a few risen bodies as he charged past, the party reaching the stone steps that were the front door.

Kendrick dismounted his steed, unable to move any further on horseback, ascending two steps at time.
 
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