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Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 13
They who meddle
The four companions shared an unanimous sigh of despite.
“Oh, not you again!” – Rolan spat at the seemingly immaterial voice, his magely eye staring straight at a nearby, and otherwise completely normal shadow.
Hissing and crackling, the magical circle of fire twitched as soon as he said this and, a shadow within a shadow vilely slithered across the floor. Whatever the nature of this spell, it was clear that did not affect neither it, nor any of the trashy bits rolling there. Yet the tiniest of sparkles popped as soon as the fire swept over a bug, through a crumb of bread, leftover droplets of blood or flesh.
That elaborate magic spell Rolan employed in order to fix broken table and chairs, even it had its limits.
“Matreas, caerelthee yeold elthe thielhs warme handeh!” – Joel raised his hand and words quickly poured out of his mouth, for that sorcerous chill, it was turning their very blood as thick as sludge!
Red and orange, a wholesome glow shrouded the four and they felt as if their own mothers had embraced them, for such was the power of Mother Mara’s touch. At last, they could feel warmth and their life-blood marching back within their appendages and in a most vigorous, cozy manner.
There was no laughter or theatrical clap of hands when their shadowy would-be murderer spoke – “Let me assure you, we have had this part of town under tight surveillance for months and missed you slinking about. That I was even to come here, it was a fluke, a cruel twist of fate... for you, that is. Now, that prayer will only prolong your inevitable demise, yet I am quite glad that you uttered it, dwarf.”
With a nasty to lay eyes upon cracking slither the aforesaid spell devoured corpse after corpse, leaving only the clothing, weaponry, and otherwise all mundane possessions of the dead. In a few moments the ring of fire would tighten so, that even the slightest of movements could end with one of our companions getting violently disintegrated. Whoever designed that incantation, they were a wizardly genius most vile...
“Since we are about to die, why not boast of your elaborate master plan?” – asked Joel as he hastily tied the looted chest on his back using his priestly cloak.
The shadow unleashed a disgruntled moan – “Why do you meddling types always assume right before your last moments, that everyone owes you a theatrical declaration of their intent? Suffice to say, you have intruded into our affairs for the last time.”
Rolan gave the unconscious murderer he carried to Joel since Dalen carried their second captive and reached inside his potion box. Fingers found the proper phial by memory of touch and he gave Lady Thaliel a tell which only his wife knew. He had a wizardly backup this time and, would not allow himself nor any of his friends to fall.
The priestly dwarf readied himself to chant another prayer, taking a few deeper breaths before he attempted to steal more information from the shadowy wizard – “Oh, then that orkish sorceress really does work for you?!”
Only silence followed his question, quiet which quickly died when first the flames inched closer and Dalen snarled at the invisible man – “What, too scared that Father Kan would bring us back and we’d haunt your squiggly ass to death?”
“How naïve.” – replied the shadowy mage, tightening his grip over the flames – “Rest assured, even if somehow Kan sends you after me, my repertoire includes certain arcane rituals, quite nifty when dealing with the vengeful holy undead.”
The fire was so near, they dreaded nary a twitch. So close were the companions to unearthing more, important clues about that wild magic mistress, that they would not dare err. No one knew, but each of them felt deep in their gut, had this venture of theirs in the dead of night failed, the orkish sorceress would commit yet another terrible misdeed. But her first test, the one which Dalen and young Keryln barely interrupted, cost over a hundred innocent lives alone!
“Now come pitiable pleas for mercy and desperate wriggling, last moments before painful, inevitable doom.” – unfeeling stated the shadowy killer and with formidable calm in his warped by magics voice, added – “Not that I care.”
“I will remind you of these words,” – said Rolan with a wide grin, as he snapped the vial open, its smoky contents immediately becoming one with him – “last before I smite thee, reprobate!”
Instead of quickly disintegrating them, however, the flames halted. Though it was clear to Rolan’s companions since even they caught a glimpse of the magical shadow, this wasn’t for lack of trying on their killer’s side. Diminished and unresponsive, yet the spell remained very much alive and flames fluttered in the air, smoldering around them.
“Castigator, truly you were the most interesting specimen to observe. Why, to even halt the flame of clensation requires a dispel chant of the highest order, let alone counter it, which, according to my research, is nigh impossible.” – though still quite emotionless, there were tiny slithers of joy sneaking into the shadow’s voice, when he said – “I would’ve really loved to see you struggle fighting against the mistress of raked hopes and then die by her hands.”
“So cocksure, these masters of lofty towers are!” – Exclaimed Lady Thaliel, as she found a way to caress her husband’s face, before this one was completely transmogrified.
In a flash, Rolan and his mighty Zweihänder became glorious to behold golden smoke! This emanation spread throughout the disintegrating flames and, while the shadowy wizard gasped, smothered and fully consumed it. Suddenly, the deadly danger was no more!
The Castigator made a step towards one much more visible and no longer that shadowy wizard, saying – “I beg to differ, for my research says your spell is quite... dispellable.”
“Then I will have to test another.” – grumbled his enemy and aiming one appendage at him, shouted – “Come, let us see how few counted minutes you can survive me!”
Burst of blackish and yellow glow left the barely materialized wizard. Colliding with Rolan’s golden fumes it caused a mighty clangor and the two vanished, only to appear somewhere outside and up in the air, the echo of booming spell and flesh-melting incantation reverberating throughout the entire building.
Without sparing nary a moment of contemplation, the companions rushed to leave this store, their captives in tow. They found the battle maids safe and sound, guarding their exit, and, together, hastily they rushed out on the back street. There, however, they were greeted by a nasty-looking company of mercenaries.
“Brolf!” – shouted Dalen, dropping the thug he carried as a bag of rocks and reaching for his loaded crossbow.
Standing in command of over thirty heartless warriors, cloaked and clad in armor, the man called Brolf sniggered back, as he aimed his alchemist gun at Dalen’s chest – “Dalen, ol’ boy, ‘ere do you think you’re haulen’ our mates to-eh?”
Dalen returned the favor and aimed straight at Brolf’s gob – “To their first and last singing gig, where else?”
“Realize dis not gonn’ ‘appen, ol’ boy. Also,” – and the merc waved his free hand, gesturing at the gnarly faces of his warriors – “last time we seein’, cos your gonn’ be very dead. No more trouble for our lady boss, I say.”
“That lady boss of yours,” – asked Joel, carefully placing his captive on the ground and reaching for his blade – “might she be a comely, armored orkish noblesse?”
Brolf sneered as his troop slowly closed in, undeterred by the loaded alchemical revolvers of the battle maids and Lady Thaliel aimed at them.
Yet, in stark contrast with the shadowy wizard, who kept his gob tightly shut, Brolf yapped – “Why yes, an she pais real good that lass! Don care wut she’ll do wiff all them stupid people an their little trinkets, while we stil git our coin.”
A wave of dark worry gallivanted across Joel’s grizzled face when he asked another question – “These trinkets she needs for her weird magic, yes?”
The mercenaries unleashed a bout of unfeeling laughter, they and their weapons now quite close, the three companions and their battle maid friends basically surrounded in the backstreet.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Dalen ol’ boy... and ‘ere be me thinking yer priestly friend was a wee bit more brainy. Evan I knows dat when some sorcerous type hoards certain stuff, dat be super important for spells. By now, we had dem crappy items spread all ovar Trades’ Quarter and Workers’ District. T’morroh morn, streets will be swarming with ensorcelled. Evah’ ye do now gonn’ be an afterthought, the useless wriggle of one dying snot stabbed in deir gut.” – chuckled the mercenary and changed his posture so if Dalen actually hit him, his cuirass had a better chance of deflecting the bolt.
“You were always a blockhead, Brolf, but this is daft even for you.” – hissed Dalen and following a menacing wince, warned him and the mercenaries – “Have you, any of you morons, even considered what would said employer do next? Why... where you’ll even spend your bloody coin when she burns entire city blocks to the ground, throngs of blood thirsty magical fiends slaying everyone on sight?!”
Amazingly, the mercenaries kept chuckling, some even playfully elbowed each other even with guns aimed at their stinking gobs, point blank range.
“Don’ knows, don’ cares. Krart, ‘tis a big city! Always dere be a wench for comfort and a pub to drink dry, ain’ me right, boys?!” – laughed Brolf and from his body language, it was beyond clear that talking time was over.
“You foul, one-pistol-carrying sir, you forget something of rather significant, death-delivering importance.” – uttered Lady Thaliel, her revolver aimed at the biggest, toughest, and most heavily armed merc of the bunch.
“Oh noes, the cunt and ‘er liddle whores haff guns! Woe be us, me knees buckle, I shart me pants.” – roared one of the mercenaries after the other, as Brolf silently snickered, his gun still aimed at Dalen.
“We haff thick armor, ye slow broads.” – spat out through his recently regrown teeth, which had speedily began to acquire their usual yellowish plaque – “More, we are at yer throats, so not even a shot can you shoot bifoar us cleave ye to bits!”
Armed with all sorts of weapons, most armored from head to toe in chainmail, these were a gaggle of experienced thuggish warriors after all. The mercs under Brolf’s lead were not about to be deterred by alchemical gunfire, nor anything else. Stuffed in this backstreet like pickles in a barrel, everything would soon end up in gore, pain, and the death of hope.
Yet by the grace of the good gods, it did not.
Amidst these last few terror-inducing moments there approached a clamor of arms, followed by angry murmurs. Over fifteen, a group of local citizen militia; fathers armed with long spears, their eldest sons carried shields and short swords, they blocked the backstreet and their eyes quickly overflowed with barely controlled rage. Leading them were three bounty hunters, one was that bulky dwarf knight named Lian, the same whom Dalen had previously sent one of Red Hood’s younglings to warn about Brolf.
“We have unfinished business, you and I!” – said the dwarven knight, drawing a wide-bladed basket hilt sword and pointing its tip at Brolf.
One window shutter clattered open and a crossbow carrying woman screamed, her shaking finger pointing at the mercenaries – “There, this be the filth who murdered our boys!”
As if the windows were waiting that pain-filled declaration, more of them swung open revealing this neighborhood’s elderly matrons. Each had two crossbows ready, a gaggle of grandsons or granddaughters with quivers, ready to reload them. Glimmering on the try-moon light, a dozen crossbow tips aimed at Brolf and his degenerate band.
The latter spat on the pavement, his aim unwavering, and eyes locked with Dalen’s, threatened them all – “Listen ‘ere... ye chumps bettah scram or on the morrow, yer neighbors will find ye in bits.”
Joel, his eyes aglow with holy Mara’s light roared – “What, they run away now, so your filthy Lifestealer friends, the ones your boss hired you to protect, can come later to rape, torture, kill them and their families?! Nay I say! Good people, I shan’t move until these fiends lay bleeding on the cobbled street which you paved yourselves.”
“Better I die now, weapon in my hands!” – declared one of the fathers and his long spear joined the rest, all leveled and ready to perforate the mercenaries’ armored hides.
Dalen gave the dwarven knight a friendly nod which prolly meant “I got first dibs” and got one in return. Lady Thaliel moved ever so gently, her trained body readying muscle, sinew and bone for the fight. Her three battle maids did exactly the same and there was not a speck of worry, nor doubt in their eye.
“Father Kan, guide my hand, for my only fear is nary a single degenerate to miss!” – sang one of the three girls, immediately followed by her fellows.
“Suicides!” – screeched Brolf and he and Dalen pulled the trigger nearly at the same moment.
The bullet bore a nasty hole in Dalen’s armor, lodged itself in his flesh but missed this vitals. A heavy crossbow bolt flew at Brolf yet instead of his chest, as this one assumed, it perforated his forearm. Squealing, the mercenary dropped his pistol and with reaction a bit too abnormally swift for a human, unsheathed a rapier. Left handed, the thug was nevertheless quite skilled and only the fact that Dalen relied on his off hand long dagger to help parry some strikes had so far equalized them.
With speed and skill did the three battle maids and Lady Thaliel open fire. Whatever the mercenaries assumed their ability would be, they were dead wrong. Indeed, their armor saved them from instant death, yet the maids and their mistress were so accurate, that in counted few moments a handful of thugs lay, their torsos or heads perforated. True it was that some blades grazed their swiftly dancing armored shapes, yet that wasn’t quite enough to best enchanted brigandine and magical fabric.
Joel, he chanted something, which, due to the terrible clangor of steel and alchemical gunfire came and went unheard. Giving her ear to one of her most faithful, Goddess Mara graced the priest with haste. Burning, the Deliverer swiftly parried many a mercenary strike, his torrent of ripostes stabbing or slashing their armored bodies where they were the most vulnerable. Thus, the priestly dwarf was somehow able to buy Lady Thaliel and her three maids priceless moments. Time, which they aptly used to reload their revolvers and shoot more of the reprobates dead.
And then the matrons let their crossbow bolts fly. Packed tight, the otherwise well armored thugs could not find cover, nor would Dalen, Joel, and Thaliel allow them so. A few bolts found criminal flesh and while these wounds were not mortal yet, bleed the reprobates did! Then, with speed more akin to professional soldiers, the ladies let loose another volley. Screech and curse the criminals did, however, until the militia and everyone else they’d engaged in melee was slain, the mercenaries could not give the matrons a bloody visit.
Unwilling to risk any of the mercenaries running away nor harm their families and neighbors, Lian and his bounty hunters charged with the militia. A row of long spears bit into the line of thugs and brutish clangor screeched across the backstreet. True to Brolf’s threat, the mercs were quickly able to squeeze between spear tips and hurt their wielders. Yet that did not work quite well since they have been pancaked and showered with crossbow bolts overhead. Though the filth managed to harm many a citizen, to slaughter, they could not.
With swiftness made possible by sweet Mother Mara, Joel lunged himself at them, preventing many a deadly strike. When a number of fathers and their sons were near collapse, blades hitting them badly, the dwarf held his blade high, chanting:
“Matreas, meye braethe ehst thiehne liefe!”
Those who suffered and were bleeding, they found their wounds closing by way of godly will and their hurt, gone. With renewed vigor, fathers and sons rejoined the fray, following after knight Lian and his bounty hunters. Blood raining from his eyes, nevertheless Joel stood tall and proceeded to assault the terrified mercenaries. Crossbow bolts raining down upon them, pressured by not one but two raging dwarves, what was left of Brolf’s band found their doom.
Impaled by spears, cut by blade and ax wielded by boyish hands, volley after volley of matrons’ bolts perforated their backs. Strange it was than none ran away, even if there was desperate willing in their eyes clearly telling—twas what their cowardly souls desired. Something or rather someone, Joel felt with his priestly being, forced these opportunists to fight till death’s cold embrace.
Behind, Dalen’s back and flanks made safe by Lady Thaliel’s maids, finally he could fully commit to the fight. Unnaturally resilient as he was, Brolf still bled, a thick crossbow bolt sticking from his forearm. With the aid of his long dagger, the bounty hunter managed to carve himself an advantage, for a short moment locking the enemy blade with its parry guard. Blinding quick, his skillful slash chopped Brolf’s hand clean off the elbow.
Disarmed, the merc roared in pain, yet he did not fall like his underlings. Blood turned into opaque sludge, his severed limb became miraculously reattached! Shapes twisted, face contorted, and bones snapping with terrifying to behold noise, what once looked like a man, now more and more appeared a monstrum. Armor ripped to shreds and cuirass malformed, with a vicious and swift strike he pummeled Dalen to his knees, yet before a killing blow was struck, roaring came the bullets of Lady Thaliel and her maids.
Before their eyes, Brolf’s wounds became healed and the monstrosity gargled with a horrid voice – “You cannot end me!”
Lian cleaved the thing from behind, yet he was swiped away with a single blow as if he weighed nothing. However, when Joel approached, his burning Deliverer emitting a wholesome glow, Brolf’s changing flesh smoldered. Dalen leapt to his feet and, with footwork the envy of many a duelist, broke into the enemy’s defense, cleaving and stabbing with viciously efficient speed.
“Everything and everyone has an end and tonight, we shall find yours!” – roared the bounty hunter, striking with relentless fervor.
Bronze-cast alchemical bullets ripped burning holes in their swiftly transforming into an unseen monster adversary. More of the matrons’ crossbow bolts stuck from Brolf’s now huge back. Spears, oh they too found his flesh and sunk deep, deep into belly, legs and arms. Joel, though he had suffered greatly saving the lives of many, his mighty dwarven hand was steady and Deliverer scorched monstrous flesh. Wounds too many, which soon became impossible to heal and Brolf, or whatever this thing was, attempted to run away.
“Eine nammae ethe Maethera, Shatoen, Ich casthe dhie thow’ne!”
Even the holy glow in his eye committed to the strike, Joel lunged with his sword and ripped a giant gush across the creature’s chest. Godly fire consumed the monstrous flesh with an awe-inspiring speed, leaving nary a single speck of dust behind.
Brolf, however, instead of pleading for mercy or crawling away from his foes, he laughed with his dying breath, stabbing at Joel who knelt fatigued. Dalen partially deflected it with his blade, yet he was struck and his cuirass bent, nigh torn open by the hulkish strength of this monstrosity.
“Who... what are you?” – asked Lady Thaliel with tired breath, her revolver aimed at Brolf’s inhuman, still changing skull.
“Past... gargle... and future.” – sniggered the beast and with these last words, his flesh, bone, everything of his bar the armor and weapon on his self, it turned to burning sludge.
Panting, the battered everyday people gathered around, their startled gaze watching as Brolf, now a puddle, evaporated in a stinky poof.
High above them, there echoed a pain-filled cry!
Everyone looked up in the nightly sky, trying to see yet noticed nothing until a brutal squish of flesh hit the pavement. A robed, masked man or rather what was left of him, scorched by spell and cleaved by blade, had just made a forced landing. One which, by the looks of it, he would never walk away from.
Near floated bleeding Rolan, who managed to touch land a moment before his glorious to behold magical smoke evaporated.
“We are much obliged for your help!” – said one of the tired militiamen, his gaze darting between blood spitting Joel and Dalen who helped his dwarven friend on his feet, the three battle maids, Lady Thaliel, and a wizard who was obviously the famed Castigator.
“Would you help us by carrying these two ex lifestealers to the nearest guard tower? Captain Brelain would very much love to have a little chat with them...” – Dalen asked his fellow bounty hunter, Lian and relieved barely standing on his feet Joel from the small box tied on his back.
Mighty Rolan and his loyal wife shared one fleeting hug and she would swiftly apply a healing salve on his wounds inflicted by way of magics. The man pointed at the smoldering corpse, the one who would’ve disintegrated them all some minutes ago, and announced with a tired grin:
“Joel, my good priestly friend, though I much dislike the Sveg sniffers, they can have these vile wizardlings for all I care. See, as we clashed with spell and blade, while you bravely fought down here, sparing many a life, I managed to track his mana strings.”
Confused, but eager to help, the militiamen unceremoniously picked up the quite awakened and deathly scared criminals. Giving them heartless glares and a punch or kick from time to time when these would wriggle too much, fathers and sons swiftly delivered those who would’ve, Frost come, molested yet another innocent family, into the eagerly waiting armored hands of the city guards.
At their tower, the four companions were given assistance and as soon as their mage could spell a quick message to Captain Brelain, this one, a cavalcade of Mara’s Paladins, and the hired mage hunters rode where Rolan told them. Whatever happened there, they did not care at the moment since their minds agonized, remembering Brolf’s vile words. Though the four companions, aided by their good allies, they had achieved a victory, that orkish sorceress was still at large.
The mistress of raked hopes, they knew now her underlings called her. That, and she had somehow molested these handmade items, twisted them so they would further her deathly will. With everyone warned and up; the City Guards, Red Hoods, Dalen’s bounty hunter friends, and even some of the Castigator’s former wizardly opponents, they lay their heads for a well deserved, albeit shortish rest.
Morrow was wiser than evening...
[Ninth] — Krartian weeks are nine days.
[Turn] — This is a planetary rotation numbering seventeen thirty five day months.
[MWF] — The greatest magical wrestling federation ever!
What a fantastic chapter, well done!
WooooHooo what a Battle. The Castigator was Epic. Glad they all died. And was wonderful when all the windows open and the Mothers and daughters banned together. Wow. Yes they all need an healing rest. And then to to the bloody queen.