The city had fallen the night before. Only a handful remained. They had taken a ship and fled. Yzrenithan was lost in his own mind as the ship bucked on the tireless sea. Black daemons had come from nowhere. Torn through the very fabric of their world and poured into his, seeking blood and flesh. The troubles of the rest of the world were but stories in this land. He'd thought he would be safe here from the nightmares of his past, but evil had a way of dragging him back into the war he had no right to call a life.
Aside from himself, no one aboard the ship knew what he was and the true reason he had managed to take flight and escape with his life. They knew he wasn't one of them. Fisherman prepping to launch a ship and flee on the sight of the fire that covered the sky and blotted out the sun. The clouds of blood would cover the sky in black and the city would never seen the light again. A sacrifice to the powers that held sway over the monsters and daemons only dreamed of here. Dreamed of by Yzrenithan.
He was stirred from his waking nightmare by a hand pressing on his shoulder and a spouting of words. He didn't understand. He looked the man in the eyes and stared back at him with an inquisitive look. The wispy man repeeated his question. Or was it an accusation?
"I am sorry but I do not speak your tongue. I am a foreigner in your lands seeking refuge." He knew it was no use. That this fisherman would continue with his onslaught of questions, he assumed they were questions, until he got something serving as an answer. Yzrenithan had only been hiding in the city for a few months, and he did not have a gift for linguistics unlike some of his former companions. He didn't even have a gift for people. Probably would've left his companions eventually had they not all been consumed by the same fire that was on the horizon now.
He slipped back to the present. The man still talking at him. The language was strange to Yzrenithan. Unlike some of the languages he spoke, this was different. All the words seemed to blend together almost like song, if an angry fisherman could be considered singing into the face of a foreigner and strange man picked up in the desperate escape from the death and destruction fading in the distance.
"Like I said sir. Your native tongue means little to me. I am not of your land. Do you not speak the common tongue of the south?" He repeated the same thing in the few languages he could speak, though common and his own native tongues were the only two he spoke with any fluency. The fisherman just stared back at him a look of confusion on his face. Abruptly he started yelling down the ship to another one his fellows. The other man turned and rushed over toward Yzrenithan and his hysterical friend. The chatter started between the two loud and rushed at first, then becoming hushed. Whispers in each others ears. Sly glances across to where the foreigner was sat. They then seemed to reach an accord.
The newcomer began grunting at Yzrenithan, motioning with his hands, pushing them from his ears back down to his shoulders. He kept repeating the motion while grunting at him. Yzren closed his eyes. This wasn't the first time he'd seen this gesture and it wouldn't be the last he was sure...
"Reveal your face murderer! And I wouldn't try anything stupid if I were you. I've got four archers trained on you and I don't want them filling you with holes," a wide smirk grew cross the guard's face, wrinkling the skin of his nose. It was likely he wanted Yzrenithan to make a move, but Zren wasn't as stupid as he thought the guard was. He grasped the front of his hood and slowly drew it back across his head. The guard's smirk left his face as he saw the man stood before him for the first time true. Scarred markings covered his face, possibly letters in some crazed foreign tongue, each stitched with thread through to make the marking look like letters raised on a patchwork. Though seeing it on a human face was a cross between comedic and unsightly. The blood messed in with the thread made it look more like the latter.
As the cowl revealed more of Yzrenithan's head it was clear it wasn't just the face, but the whole of the head that was in fact covered in these bizarre scars. Patches of hair cut away to allow for the scars to be made was growing in tufts around them, all in various lengths as if new symbols were being added all the time. And each one was smaller than a fingernail.
He moved his hands down by his side now that the cowl had been removed, relaxing at the look of the guards face. Not what he expected it seems. "What the hell are they? Why did you...Who are you?" The guard sounded both disgusted and frightened, the slight stammer in his voice was more than enough for Zren to calculate the situation was playing more to a bloody outcome for himself.
"They are wards. Protection from demons and elements. You do not recognise them I take it? I am unfamiliar with the Gods you worship here. Maybe they don't speak the language my deities whisper in the lower circles of Hell. Perhaps I can explain them to you in detail?" Yzrenithan knew being cocky might not be the best thing after speaking, "I am not your murderer. The ones I am being pursued by are more likely to fit the bill."
"And just who are you being persued by freak?" The guard raised his fist.
Yzrenithan stood up and flipped back his cowl to reveal shoulder length, greasy hair, the colour likely dark, but the night didn't leave up much light. A heavy growth of beard was covering his face across the chin and majority of his cheeks. There were a set of symbols cut and sewn into his face, a dull grey with smatterings of blood in the thread. One on either cheekbone and one on the forehead. But even seeing this wasn't the strangest things about his appearance. His eyes were perfect pearls of white. He looked each of the fishermen directly in the eyes, thoguh whether they knew this was beyond him. He looked blind to most who met him and he was to a sense. He could not see the same way mortals do anymore. He could thoguh see everything around him in his mind. The dark skies, the threatening storm approching, sails bursting with wind, the sea crashing across the deck, the burning fire of the city on the horizon.
The men had a look of sheer terror on their face and were pointing at his face. He could make out two words in their inane babble. Émo Rén. These words he knew. He had heard them many times in his travels. The words were part of a prophecy that had turned to a myth and a tale and was now now spun by bards in taverns across the world. The words meant Daemon Man. The one who opens the gate to the lower cricles of Hell and brings forth the armies of the Lord of destruction. He had heard the tale many times over his travels. His escape. Never had he thought that it could be him, but it made sense in the eyes of these poor men. Their words became cries and they ran about the ship screaming it. Yzrenithan for the first time in a long time felt fear.
"A cowled man, the language of the underworld inscribed into his face, blinded by the lust for power, will destroy the northern city and bring forth the armies of Hell itself to serve the one who brings the end of the world. The daemons will purge the city of all life, feeding on the chaos to fuel their hunger and fury. They will descend on the worlds of men, burning hellfire through everything in their path. The Lord of destruction will have his will done by Émo Rén, the caller to the feast.
"But that isn't the whole of the text. There is more that speaks of one who will banish them back to the depths. It is omitted from the commonly know story, though spun into more tales of bards and spinners to make it more of a rounded story, yet there is truth in this. Most of these bard tales can all be traced to something in the end."
The old librarian smiled to Zren as he waited anxiously at the table. The end was coming he knew and studying the old texts was the best way for him to be prepared. He had done bad things in his life. He had tried to escape his fate and it was catching up with him now. The only way he thought he could escape was to find out how to put the dark lord back in his pit.
"I honestly thought there was more to this than there is but I think this may be all we have to go on." He came back into the room. He carried a large book with him. Bound in red leather, strange symbols across the spine, sewn into the leather with a grey thread. "It was written about long ago but all I seem to have is this. In our tongue we call this 'The Chronicle of Emoriss' but it's origin is not anywhere in the southlands. The true name 'ShúaHuíka Émo Rén' or in the common tongue 'Redmption of the Daemon Man'."
Yzrenithan looked up the book. It looked brand new but he knew this wasn't the case. The strange symbols upon the spine was a language. That of the daemons. He hadn't seen it in an age. Not since he had escaped from Hell.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Star Wars
Right. This is just a quick draft of the idea, mainly for my own benefit, but I thought I'd stick it here incase anyone wants to see what I'm going to be working on as of monday. Obviously as most will know I'm working on clone wars at TT and i've been a bit inspired. So without further ado, here is what I'm looking to start atm.
Luten born on an outer rim world, inteh makori, to isilme, human, and arikai, presumed human. 15. Buzzed, white hair and skin. Home attacked by pirates and destroyed. During the defence his father tells him to find a jedi master on Coruscant who was his old friend to request fostering and training. Sends him off in a ship with auto guidance to coruscant. On arrival meets with several masters who sense no force in him but a human jedi named dergometh meets with him. Sensing something odd in him and asks for him to be made his padawan to see how he fares despite his age. Council disagrees but dergg convinces them. An old master by this time being 52. Tests his force capabity at first and finds nothing. Then tests him in combat training to find he is unsurpassed, fighting with an old technique he remembers from his youth but doesn't know where. Takes him to build his first lightsaber. He picks odd crystals never thought to work and derg then knows there is something in him worth training, though has no idea how to tap into his force sensitivity. They go on missions together ridding places of threat and meet the sith on a planet building up a strong fortress. Derg wants backup but luten charges into battle with some of the scout guards. Beats them both easily with his prowess and manages to evade all the force used against him to the shock of his master. They take out the key defences of the base and infiltrate the base to stop their plans as a jedi force arrive and purge the sith. Luten is honoured finaly by the council for ridding them of this threat and is granted the title of jedi, despite lacking a connection to the force, however he will be unable to take a padawan or be sent on missions without a true jedi. He travels to the jedi temple for more studies into the force and learns more about the dark side, finding in his studies it's a misconception that it is truly dark. All practitioners are just evil. He meets vereyu metaeguer, a twilek jedi here and falls in love, but thinks nothing of it due to his alienation from the ideals of the light and dark side. During this time, though still travelling with derg he does missions with other jedi, including vereyu. After some time he goes on to teach combat in the academy, purely with lightsaber combat, at which time he takes to using the sith favoured saberstaff. War breaks out in several systems and the jedi are dispatched. Here derg and luten barely escape death by many sith hands and luten thinks of vereyu in danger. A sign of the force awakening in him. Dergometh protests at first in going but seeing as their post has been reaffirmed they depart to a nearby system. Upon entering the system they see a sith blockade bombarding the planet. Hurrying to vereyus last known post they find a huge battle. Rushing through the fire and calamity they see vereyu fighting alongside 2 more jedi onset by numerous troopers. They smash through a wave of them in time to see vereyu shot several times and cut down by a sith blade from behind. Luten screams and reaches out with force, breaking the siths neck, then charging to her, dropping his saber as he reaches her body. Turning to the shocked platoon of troops, who see a burning blue jedi, he stands arms at sides, pulls vereyus saber and his own to his hands. The troops begin firing as luten charges them. He throws a wave of force knocking the entire wave down and destroys them all then rushes to vereyus corpse. Dergometh asks him what happened, the blue fire now gone from luten. He doesn't realise he's just used the force to destroy the troops and dergometh says nothing. They head back to coruscant with vereyu for a burial. The council are told what happened during the fight and they confront luten, telling him that he is straying a dark path. He tells them there is no dark and light. He knows the boundaries of the being good and evil. He dismisses the jedi as fools. He stays to see his love burn then leaves the council, renouncing their stupidity.
Right, I know the ending is a bit more fleshed out but coming home this is what i was thinking of one night. And it's a long way home. I currently have that end scene where luten sees vereyu die and he slaughters all the troops playing over and over in my head, day in day out. So i'm gonna see if i can't get something coherent written down. Also this is likely going to be set in the old republic era. Just need to choose one of the sith wars with the republic to choose that it'll be set in. who knows, thousands of years to play with so i could make a minor insurgency or some such. Cheers
Luten born on an outer rim world, inteh makori, to isilme, human, and arikai, presumed human. 15. Buzzed, white hair and skin. Home attacked by pirates and destroyed. During the defence his father tells him to find a jedi master on Coruscant who was his old friend to request fostering and training. Sends him off in a ship with auto guidance to coruscant. On arrival meets with several masters who sense no force in him but a human jedi named dergometh meets with him. Sensing something odd in him and asks for him to be made his padawan to see how he fares despite his age. Council disagrees but dergg convinces them. An old master by this time being 52. Tests his force capabity at first and finds nothing. Then tests him in combat training to find he is unsurpassed, fighting with an old technique he remembers from his youth but doesn't know where. Takes him to build his first lightsaber. He picks odd crystals never thought to work and derg then knows there is something in him worth training, though has no idea how to tap into his force sensitivity. They go on missions together ridding places of threat and meet the sith on a planet building up a strong fortress. Derg wants backup but luten charges into battle with some of the scout guards. Beats them both easily with his prowess and manages to evade all the force used against him to the shock of his master. They take out the key defences of the base and infiltrate the base to stop their plans as a jedi force arrive and purge the sith. Luten is honoured finaly by the council for ridding them of this threat and is granted the title of jedi, despite lacking a connection to the force, however he will be unable to take a padawan or be sent on missions without a true jedi. He travels to the jedi temple for more studies into the force and learns more about the dark side, finding in his studies it's a misconception that it is truly dark. All practitioners are just evil. He meets vereyu metaeguer, a twilek jedi here and falls in love, but thinks nothing of it due to his alienation from the ideals of the light and dark side. During this time, though still travelling with derg he does missions with other jedi, including vereyu. After some time he goes on to teach combat in the academy, purely with lightsaber combat, at which time he takes to using the sith favoured saberstaff. War breaks out in several systems and the jedi are dispatched. Here derg and luten barely escape death by many sith hands and luten thinks of vereyu in danger. A sign of the force awakening in him. Dergometh protests at first in going but seeing as their post has been reaffirmed they depart to a nearby system. Upon entering the system they see a sith blockade bombarding the planet. Hurrying to vereyus last known post they find a huge battle. Rushing through the fire and calamity they see vereyu fighting alongside 2 more jedi onset by numerous troopers. They smash through a wave of them in time to see vereyu shot several times and cut down by a sith blade from behind. Luten screams and reaches out with force, breaking the siths neck, then charging to her, dropping his saber as he reaches her body. Turning to the shocked platoon of troops, who see a burning blue jedi, he stands arms at sides, pulls vereyus saber and his own to his hands. The troops begin firing as luten charges them. He throws a wave of force knocking the entire wave down and destroys them all then rushes to vereyus corpse. Dergometh asks him what happened, the blue fire now gone from luten. He doesn't realise he's just used the force to destroy the troops and dergometh says nothing. They head back to coruscant with vereyu for a burial. The council are told what happened during the fight and they confront luten, telling him that he is straying a dark path. He tells them there is no dark and light. He knows the boundaries of the being good and evil. He dismisses the jedi as fools. He stays to see his love burn then leaves the council, renouncing their stupidity.
Right, I know the ending is a bit more fleshed out but coming home this is what i was thinking of one night. And it's a long way home. I currently have that end scene where luten sees vereyu die and he slaughters all the troops playing over and over in my head, day in day out. So i'm gonna see if i can't get something coherent written down. Also this is likely going to be set in the old republic era. Just need to choose one of the sith wars with the republic to choose that it'll be set in. who knows, thousands of years to play with so i could make a minor insurgency or some such. Cheers
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Chapter 1 (part 1)
Just setting this stuff into parts so it's easier to read on the quick. Here's portion number 1.
Mines
“Slop’s up scum!”
Madrokai stretched his tired limbs. Hardly even three hours sleep tonight. Swore it was more last week. ‘How can they keep working us like this?’ He thought to himself.
“I said slop’s up filth!” yelled the foreman, delivering a swift kick into Mad’s ribs, “Now get up before I send you to the superior.”
Mad winced as he tried to stand. The combination of not much sleep, terrible food and being beaten raw almost every day wasn’t helping him much, but he’d rather get up now than be sent to the superior. Some of the things he’d heard went on there weren’t worth the extra ten seconds of rest. Though, most of the things he had to put up with in his life weren’t worth a lot. Life as a slave wasn’t really much of a life at all.
He forced himself past his foreman, Lyle. Bastard if he’d ever met one. He had thought no one could be that mean spirited; he was wrong. He might’ve been Mad’s foreman, but he was by no means a big man. Very short, with wiry hair and a lean, rat like face. Suffering from being bullied a lot in his youth Mad assumed, though didn’t help him much now. Lyle wasn’t to be argued with by any of the slaves. Last time someone had tried he got beat to an inch of his life. He wasn’t here anymore. If you can’t mine you’re not worth your salt. Can’t even remember why he got beat now? Probably just asked for some water, knowing Lyle. Bastard.
Mad trudged out of the sleeping quarters after the rest of the slaves. He didn’t even think of them as miners any more. If they were miners they’d have some liberties. They’d be paid too. Outside the sun had barely even come up, still quite dark as it’d only get really light at midday, when the sun came up over the peaks, though Mad wouldn’t see that. He’d be underground when any sort of light made it into the prison. Underground in the mines, hacking away at the rock to find the iron buried within. Iron that they were mining for weapons for the army the high king was building in Ranril. He called himself a king, but really he was nothing more than the son of another baron who thought himself higher than his position. Yet another man who thought he could tame the clans and unite the land. Must admit though, he’d done better than many of the others.
“Mornin’ Mad. Nice day, what?” It was Moril, another one of the slaves. He was one of the few in Madrokai’s group who hadn’t quite resigned himself to death yet. He’d been here longer than Mad by a few months apparently. Used to be a thief down in Erith or maybe Terith, Mad couldn’t remember. He’d been brought to the high king’s court in Ranril and sent here to mine after a short stint in the king’s jail. Why did the bugger have to be so happy all the damn time though?
“Aye, could call it nice. That’d be apart from the fact that we’re eating shit from the hand of the high lord bastard himself and being condemned to his mines to dig for as long as he sees fit.”
Moril’s smile faded. “No need to put such a damper on it.” He looked gaunt, face a slight grey tint to it, probably from malnutrition, and his blue eyes were sunken with dark bags under them. His smile returned, making him look even more drawn. “Then again, might be shit but at least they feed us.”
Mad smiled. Moril could always make the best out of anything. Suppose that was why Mad liked him. He never seemed to give up, even when he’d been beaten, starved, imprisoned, beaten again, taken to the superior and thrown back into his bed unconscious, he’d always get back up with that crooked grin and go back to it. Must’ve been crazy, though then, working here didn’t exactly leave you the same as you were. The line trudged slowly on, moving closer to the cooks. The word cook is a loose term. They weren’t much more than criminals themselves, just given a cauldron and some oats to try and maybe make something edible with. Most of the time they failed. “Yeah, at least we get fed.”
“Come on scum! You’ve had more than enough time to eat. Get your arses in gear!” Mad hated that voice. Lyle’s damn whining, rat squeal of a voice, barking over them, as if he thought he was better. But then again, here he was better. Here Lyle was as good as the king himself. Everyone has to bow and scrape, be humble and submissive before him, laugh at his jokes and thank him for the beatings they get. Well, no use thinking bad on it. It had been Mad’s own stupid fault getting himself here and he wasn’t going to get back whining about it. He had to wait out his opportunity to get out, his chance to escape and be away, back home across the sea.
But there was the point again. There never was a chance. They were under constant guard, chained together, fed just enough to keep them working, but nowhere near enough to help them survive out in the cold for more than a few hours. It was one of those situations that was impossible to get out of. And Mad was thinking he should stop being quite so optimistic about escape and resign himself to death, like the majority of his companions.
Just then he was jerked by his neck as the slave next to him stood up, forcing Mad to get to his feet to prevent him from being dragged away by the throat. He was up and the column was moving toward the mine at the usual slow, sludgy pace they were submitted to. He spent this time, his only time outside, always looking at the surrounding buildings, checking guard routines, hoping to work out the changes in shifts. Unfortunately time seemed to shift together here. He never got enough sleep to stay quite focused enough to take in any details, and he never got quite enough food to keep his mind active enough to remember anything. He felt his life spiralling into an abyss as he walked into the mouth of the mine, another day in the choking dark.
“Lights out scum!!”
He was back in the worker’s quarters with the rest of the slaves. Thirty six of them to a room and only twelve beds between them. Mad spent every night in one of the corners, the one furthest from the door. Moril was fighting over who got to sleep in the bed tonight with three other slaves. Most of the others had been taken by now, mainly by the elderly or the ones who weren’t coping as well. Most of those would be dead in the next week. They all seemed to drop, but were soon replaced by others, so you barely noticed them coming and going. Moril was one of the few who were here when Mad had first come a few months back. Other than him there was a young lad named Dan, too young for a beard, a middle aged fellow called Denil who couldn’t speak, or maybe just wouldn’t, and a man a bit older than Denil named Fardulas. He was apparently a noble from somewhere in another land, here to broker some sort of trade agreement and had been arrested for a reason that he wouldn’t elaborate on. He didn’t talk much either, though a lot more than Denil.
The lights went out, only a little showing from the windows at the top of the walls, too high to see outside, only serving to let light in during the day. Why they bothered was a mystery to Mad, seeing as no one was here during the day. The quarters were otherwise completely bare apart from the beds on the floor. Well, not beds really. More just a blanket on the floor with a thin mattress beneath it. Most of the time in here everyone just spent the time arguing who will be allowed to sleep under it tonight and who gets the floor. Mad thought they did it more for something to break the monotony of the endless digging and breaking rocks.
Now was the wait. Either try to get to sleep with the rest of them, or try to find a way to escape. Mad already knew the latter wasn’t worth the effort. Not now at least. He’d tried every night since getting here and all he’d earned were beatings. He settled himself back into the corner of the building, trying to get some mild form of comfort out of the hard wood. He was exhausted but knew sleep would be a long time coming. Images floated through his head when it got to the night, time to sleep. For Mad, it was time to remember how he got here, how he could have avoided it, died trying.
Coming to Tenil was a bad idea. Going to Ranril was an even worse idea. And getting drunk there was quite possibly the stupidest thing he’d done in his life. Madrokai had come from his home in Herfuer, across mountains and the great northern sea to the fabled northern land of Tenil. Still a wild land of tribes and beasts, this was the perfect place to seek his fortune. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as wild as he’d been made to believe. Or, perhaps it was wilder, given what he’d found. A warrior calling himself king of the so called civilized lands of Tenil. Almost as bad as the crazy bastard they had down in Smorain a few years back. If this escalates to that kind of state it’ll be terrible. That Calvados fellow was crazy, but he’s got nothing on Nalenbet. The self styled king is a damn tyrant. Enslaving anyone who doesn’t agree with him and pressing them into the mines for his little war.
Mad thought about home then. How would his sister be faring without him there? They’d had enough trouble with ardent admirers then, but without him there for any length of time? He hoped his father would come back again and help her to keep the estates up and running. And he wondered what had happened to his brother in the army? At least Smorain wouldn’t be moving anywhere for a time as long as Candor was controlling them, but still, the region was unstable at the moment and anything could happen. Madrokai regretted ever leaving. ‘I should’ve just accepted my lot in life and never tried to better myself.’ He settled down to get some sleep, closing his eyes and trying not to hear the snores of the rest of the room’s sleeping bodies. Another busy day in the mines awaited them all.
“Get up you lazy scum! Get up!”
Groaning, Mad got to his feet. He felt surprisingly more alert than usual, and after last night’s musing, surprisingly upbeat. He joined the throng as they stepped over the still sleeping bodies and moved on toward the door, out into a somewhat brisk morning. They got in line to the cook’s pots again for their breakfast of gruel and hard biscuit, being chained as they got their food, all the while to the roars of Lyle’s underling Jing, Lyle nowhere to be seen. Obviously having a sly bit of time off, while his pupil in the art of bastardism woke up the rest of the slaves.
“I said get up you lazy bums! I will not tell you again,” Jing could be heard yelling from inside Mad’s quarters. A few thumps were heard, presumably Jing kicking those still sleeping. One man came out, a slim fellow by the name of Yrus, rubbing his ribs. Lyle must’ve shown Jing how to do that just right too. Bastard. Then Jing came outside. “We’ve got two more dead in here sir!” He shouted in that strange accent he had. Every g pronounced as a kh, and never saying an r. Mad looked around. Indeed there were two men missing. He looked across the gathered slaves in turn, chained together and eating their slop. He couldn’t tell who wasn’t there, then it dawned on him little Dan was nowhere among them. How he hated to see the young ones go. For the elderly it wasn’t as bad, they’d lived a full life and while dying here…in this place, wasn’t an ideal death, at least they’d had some time spent in the world. Mad doubted if young Dan had ever felt the tender touch of a woman. Or the not so tender as he‘d been more prone to prefer. They’d get more slaves in now. Probably be a couple of days, but true enough they would. At least it’d help those who wanted a bed.
Lyle came storming out of the superior’s office, which was a large building set on the second floor with the stairs outside, huge iron railings to stop one from falling. By the looks of things Lyle wasn’t happy. “Right scum. Jing is your foreman from now on,” with that he left. Not another word, but he went into the arms of two of the camp soldiers, who seemed more to be guarding him than escorting. ‘Good,’ thought Mad. ‘Hope they hang him.’
Mines
“Slop’s up scum!”
Madrokai stretched his tired limbs. Hardly even three hours sleep tonight. Swore it was more last week. ‘How can they keep working us like this?’ He thought to himself.
“I said slop’s up filth!” yelled the foreman, delivering a swift kick into Mad’s ribs, “Now get up before I send you to the superior.”
Mad winced as he tried to stand. The combination of not much sleep, terrible food and being beaten raw almost every day wasn’t helping him much, but he’d rather get up now than be sent to the superior. Some of the things he’d heard went on there weren’t worth the extra ten seconds of rest. Though, most of the things he had to put up with in his life weren’t worth a lot. Life as a slave wasn’t really much of a life at all.
He forced himself past his foreman, Lyle. Bastard if he’d ever met one. He had thought no one could be that mean spirited; he was wrong. He might’ve been Mad’s foreman, but he was by no means a big man. Very short, with wiry hair and a lean, rat like face. Suffering from being bullied a lot in his youth Mad assumed, though didn’t help him much now. Lyle wasn’t to be argued with by any of the slaves. Last time someone had tried he got beat to an inch of his life. He wasn’t here anymore. If you can’t mine you’re not worth your salt. Can’t even remember why he got beat now? Probably just asked for some water, knowing Lyle. Bastard.
Mad trudged out of the sleeping quarters after the rest of the slaves. He didn’t even think of them as miners any more. If they were miners they’d have some liberties. They’d be paid too. Outside the sun had barely even come up, still quite dark as it’d only get really light at midday, when the sun came up over the peaks, though Mad wouldn’t see that. He’d be underground when any sort of light made it into the prison. Underground in the mines, hacking away at the rock to find the iron buried within. Iron that they were mining for weapons for the army the high king was building in Ranril. He called himself a king, but really he was nothing more than the son of another baron who thought himself higher than his position. Yet another man who thought he could tame the clans and unite the land. Must admit though, he’d done better than many of the others.
“Mornin’ Mad. Nice day, what?” It was Moril, another one of the slaves. He was one of the few in Madrokai’s group who hadn’t quite resigned himself to death yet. He’d been here longer than Mad by a few months apparently. Used to be a thief down in Erith or maybe Terith, Mad couldn’t remember. He’d been brought to the high king’s court in Ranril and sent here to mine after a short stint in the king’s jail. Why did the bugger have to be so happy all the damn time though?
“Aye, could call it nice. That’d be apart from the fact that we’re eating shit from the hand of the high lord bastard himself and being condemned to his mines to dig for as long as he sees fit.”
Moril’s smile faded. “No need to put such a damper on it.” He looked gaunt, face a slight grey tint to it, probably from malnutrition, and his blue eyes were sunken with dark bags under them. His smile returned, making him look even more drawn. “Then again, might be shit but at least they feed us.”
Mad smiled. Moril could always make the best out of anything. Suppose that was why Mad liked him. He never seemed to give up, even when he’d been beaten, starved, imprisoned, beaten again, taken to the superior and thrown back into his bed unconscious, he’d always get back up with that crooked grin and go back to it. Must’ve been crazy, though then, working here didn’t exactly leave you the same as you were. The line trudged slowly on, moving closer to the cooks. The word cook is a loose term. They weren’t much more than criminals themselves, just given a cauldron and some oats to try and maybe make something edible with. Most of the time they failed. “Yeah, at least we get fed.”
“Come on scum! You’ve had more than enough time to eat. Get your arses in gear!” Mad hated that voice. Lyle’s damn whining, rat squeal of a voice, barking over them, as if he thought he was better. But then again, here he was better. Here Lyle was as good as the king himself. Everyone has to bow and scrape, be humble and submissive before him, laugh at his jokes and thank him for the beatings they get. Well, no use thinking bad on it. It had been Mad’s own stupid fault getting himself here and he wasn’t going to get back whining about it. He had to wait out his opportunity to get out, his chance to escape and be away, back home across the sea.
But there was the point again. There never was a chance. They were under constant guard, chained together, fed just enough to keep them working, but nowhere near enough to help them survive out in the cold for more than a few hours. It was one of those situations that was impossible to get out of. And Mad was thinking he should stop being quite so optimistic about escape and resign himself to death, like the majority of his companions.
Just then he was jerked by his neck as the slave next to him stood up, forcing Mad to get to his feet to prevent him from being dragged away by the throat. He was up and the column was moving toward the mine at the usual slow, sludgy pace they were submitted to. He spent this time, his only time outside, always looking at the surrounding buildings, checking guard routines, hoping to work out the changes in shifts. Unfortunately time seemed to shift together here. He never got enough sleep to stay quite focused enough to take in any details, and he never got quite enough food to keep his mind active enough to remember anything. He felt his life spiralling into an abyss as he walked into the mouth of the mine, another day in the choking dark.
“Lights out scum!!”
He was back in the worker’s quarters with the rest of the slaves. Thirty six of them to a room and only twelve beds between them. Mad spent every night in one of the corners, the one furthest from the door. Moril was fighting over who got to sleep in the bed tonight with three other slaves. Most of the others had been taken by now, mainly by the elderly or the ones who weren’t coping as well. Most of those would be dead in the next week. They all seemed to drop, but were soon replaced by others, so you barely noticed them coming and going. Moril was one of the few who were here when Mad had first come a few months back. Other than him there was a young lad named Dan, too young for a beard, a middle aged fellow called Denil who couldn’t speak, or maybe just wouldn’t, and a man a bit older than Denil named Fardulas. He was apparently a noble from somewhere in another land, here to broker some sort of trade agreement and had been arrested for a reason that he wouldn’t elaborate on. He didn’t talk much either, though a lot more than Denil.
The lights went out, only a little showing from the windows at the top of the walls, too high to see outside, only serving to let light in during the day. Why they bothered was a mystery to Mad, seeing as no one was here during the day. The quarters were otherwise completely bare apart from the beds on the floor. Well, not beds really. More just a blanket on the floor with a thin mattress beneath it. Most of the time in here everyone just spent the time arguing who will be allowed to sleep under it tonight and who gets the floor. Mad thought they did it more for something to break the monotony of the endless digging and breaking rocks.
Now was the wait. Either try to get to sleep with the rest of them, or try to find a way to escape. Mad already knew the latter wasn’t worth the effort. Not now at least. He’d tried every night since getting here and all he’d earned were beatings. He settled himself back into the corner of the building, trying to get some mild form of comfort out of the hard wood. He was exhausted but knew sleep would be a long time coming. Images floated through his head when it got to the night, time to sleep. For Mad, it was time to remember how he got here, how he could have avoided it, died trying.
Coming to Tenil was a bad idea. Going to Ranril was an even worse idea. And getting drunk there was quite possibly the stupidest thing he’d done in his life. Madrokai had come from his home in Herfuer, across mountains and the great northern sea to the fabled northern land of Tenil. Still a wild land of tribes and beasts, this was the perfect place to seek his fortune. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as wild as he’d been made to believe. Or, perhaps it was wilder, given what he’d found. A warrior calling himself king of the so called civilized lands of Tenil. Almost as bad as the crazy bastard they had down in Smorain a few years back. If this escalates to that kind of state it’ll be terrible. That Calvados fellow was crazy, but he’s got nothing on Nalenbet. The self styled king is a damn tyrant. Enslaving anyone who doesn’t agree with him and pressing them into the mines for his little war.
Mad thought about home then. How would his sister be faring without him there? They’d had enough trouble with ardent admirers then, but without him there for any length of time? He hoped his father would come back again and help her to keep the estates up and running. And he wondered what had happened to his brother in the army? At least Smorain wouldn’t be moving anywhere for a time as long as Candor was controlling them, but still, the region was unstable at the moment and anything could happen. Madrokai regretted ever leaving. ‘I should’ve just accepted my lot in life and never tried to better myself.’ He settled down to get some sleep, closing his eyes and trying not to hear the snores of the rest of the room’s sleeping bodies. Another busy day in the mines awaited them all.
“Get up you lazy scum! Get up!”
Groaning, Mad got to his feet. He felt surprisingly more alert than usual, and after last night’s musing, surprisingly upbeat. He joined the throng as they stepped over the still sleeping bodies and moved on toward the door, out into a somewhat brisk morning. They got in line to the cook’s pots again for their breakfast of gruel and hard biscuit, being chained as they got their food, all the while to the roars of Lyle’s underling Jing, Lyle nowhere to be seen. Obviously having a sly bit of time off, while his pupil in the art of bastardism woke up the rest of the slaves.
“I said get up you lazy bums! I will not tell you again,” Jing could be heard yelling from inside Mad’s quarters. A few thumps were heard, presumably Jing kicking those still sleeping. One man came out, a slim fellow by the name of Yrus, rubbing his ribs. Lyle must’ve shown Jing how to do that just right too. Bastard. Then Jing came outside. “We’ve got two more dead in here sir!” He shouted in that strange accent he had. Every g pronounced as a kh, and never saying an r. Mad looked around. Indeed there were two men missing. He looked across the gathered slaves in turn, chained together and eating their slop. He couldn’t tell who wasn’t there, then it dawned on him little Dan was nowhere among them. How he hated to see the young ones go. For the elderly it wasn’t as bad, they’d lived a full life and while dying here…in this place, wasn’t an ideal death, at least they’d had some time spent in the world. Mad doubted if young Dan had ever felt the tender touch of a woman. Or the not so tender as he‘d been more prone to prefer. They’d get more slaves in now. Probably be a couple of days, but true enough they would. At least it’d help those who wanted a bed.
Lyle came storming out of the superior’s office, which was a large building set on the second floor with the stairs outside, huge iron railings to stop one from falling. By the looks of things Lyle wasn’t happy. “Right scum. Jing is your foreman from now on,” with that he left. Not another word, but he went into the arms of two of the camp soldiers, who seemed more to be guarding him than escorting. ‘Good,’ thought Mad. ‘Hope they hang him.’
Something different
If anyone is at all interested here's something I've been working on more recently and think it is more likely to be pursued. A prologue to the main story, it's centered around Thogrim, the companion of the hero of the story. A hunter from one of the indiginoous tribes of the isle of Tenil. The first chapter will follow this, which will introduce Madrokai. The main protagonist.
Prologue.
It was cold. Not just cold, but a bitter, freezing cold that could turn the blood in your veins to ice in a minute. But then again, when wasn’t it cold. Just that today, it was far colder than was usual. This far north few people could tolerate the weather. The only things living up here seemed to be the great elks. Near twice the size of a grassland buck, thick fur hides and enough meat on them to last a family for weeks, and this is why Thogrim was here. Though he didn’t have what one would conventionally call a family, he did need to eat. And the fur of the great elk would make another layer of warmer clothing for him.
He scratched hard at his thick beard, pulling loose the ice and snow that was gathering in clumps. He’d been tracking one of the elk for two days, and it seemed the great beast was always ahead of him. The wind changed, bringing a fresh swathe of new snow into his face. Thogrim tightened his cloak around him once more and knelt down. Judging by the tracks he’d been following the elk was big. Perhaps too big even for him to take down alone, even though he would be hard pressed to find a hunter better in the flats. And the flats weren’t what you’d call a small place. The flats went on for miles in every direction. The entirety of the north of Tenil was covered in ice and snow all year round, and the south would also be like this for the best part of the year. The settlers of the flats lived down in the south, where it was more hospitable for humans to eke out a living. The further north you went, the less flat the flats became.
The wind changed again, putting the snow out of Thogrim’s face once more. ‘Where are you?’ He thought, shouldering his pack once more and setting off at a run toward the horizon and the Skaril Peaks, one of the more treacherous mountain ranges on Tenil, hardly explored at all, due to not only the inhuman temperatures, but the uncaring peaks, sending more than one intrepid explorer to his untimely death. As rumour would have it, some tribes of the east used the Skaril for rituals of some terrible nature, but Thogrim didn’t put much faith in this. Most of the tribes to the east didn’t venture more than a few miles from their villages, and the Skaril were the north most area of Tenil that had been seen by the eyes of men. If anyone went further than that he was sure they’d perish in the extreme cold.
It was the beginning of autumn, mating season for most animals. Thogrim assumed by the way the elk was moving north, they must congregate somewhere up here for this reason. Another discovery about the beasts of the land he’d made, if he was correct. It might be in his interest not to kill it right away. Maybe keep on it’s trail for a few more days and see whether he could find out more. Anything to help him find another of the beasts in the future would be much appreciated. He knelt down once more, squinting around and looking at the ground, thick with snow. He sniffed at the earth beneath him and felt his hands across the dirt. Hoof prints as he’d expected, moving still north. It struck Thogrim as odd. The tracks seemed to be spaced further apart now. Running? Why would the beast be running? Another oddity he’d seen during his pursuit of the animal, that couldn’t be explained by his limited knowledge of these creatures.
The Skaril loomed up at him from out of the darkness. It was an unsettling feeling for Thogrim as he sat beside the fire in the shelter of the overhanging rock. The wind had died down somewhat since the morning but the snow continued to fall. He’d stopped earlier than he had planned to by more than an hour as he’d found the shelter of the small escarpment, and it’d seemed like there wouldn’t be anything quite as suitable to camp in, and in this light climbing in the rocks of the mountains would be rather perilous.
What struck Thogrim as odd was the fact the elk was moving into the mountains. Surely these animals didn’t move into them to birth their young? Thogrim felt it was his duty to brave the Skaril to find out. While the large buck would be a fair prize in itself, if he could find out where the young were birthed, it may be possible to farm and maybe even breed the elk up here. Finding a female was rare and if he could find the grounds where the elk birthed their young, it could serve his village in a much better way than simply bringing back meat. This could ensure a future for his people unlike anything they already had. Breeder’s of the great elk of Tenil.
Thogrim shook his head. Daydreaming in the mountains at this altitude was dangerous. If he wasn’t careful he’d fall asleep without being wrapped up for the night and could die of exposure. He gave another look up to the Skaril, then turned to the fire once again. He looked into the kettle on the fire and saw most of the ice inside had melted. Reaching into the pack he took out a small bundle. Unwrapping carefully, he pulled some tea leaves from inside and dropped them into the kettle. A good drink of tea and then bed, before rising early to set out after the elk again. He fished in the pouch and pulled out some dried meat, taking it in his mouth and tearing a large hunk from it. Not much food left now after chasing the damn thing for six days. How the beast managed to stay ahead of him was astounding. Like tracking a damn ant through it’s hill. Can’t find the bloody thing for looking.
The kettle rocked a little. Tea was bubbling away nicely. Thogrim thought it would be a good idea to have a little look around for the morning, before the snow covered anything that could help him find the elk again. He padded his way over to the rocks, looking for scuff marks, broken blades of grass, anything that might give him clues. Then he noticed it, a footprint? Not a hoof mark, but a full human footprint, booted and all. Thogrim looked about himself. This wasn’t normal. Sign’s of humans up in the Skaril? He rushed back to the fire and brushed some snow onto it, dousing the flames quickly. If there were people here he didn’t want to be seen. The likelihood of it being another hunter like himself wasn’t high. Nothing usually lived this far north that was worth catching, and unless this man was chasing the same buck as Thogrim was, which wasn’t likely either, then Thogrim wasn’t sure if the man would be entirely good natured.
Thogrim crouched down in the rocks where he was camping and picked up his kettle. The tea was ready now and he thought it might be good to steady himself. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep tonight, and he really could do with the rest after a day running around in the cold. Taking a long draught of the hot liquid, he pulled his sleeping roll across to himself. ‘Best to get as far out of sight as possible’ he mused. If this bugger was out there, he probably knew Thogrim was here too. He grabbed hold of one of his knives and settled into a dozing, fitful sleep, never quite releasing enough for any sort of rest.
“God damned mountains! Can I not be done with you?” Thogrim knew it was probably not the best idea he’d had, screaming at the peaks, but he was at the end of his wits. He’d come awake freezing and wet and hungry, and, the worst of it all, there were no signs of the elk. He’d quickly eaten some of the dried venison he carried and eaten a handful of snow, then packed and carried on up further into the mountains. He’d been searching several hours and found not one sign of the elk. How it had just disappeared he didn’t know, but he was determined to find some sign of it.
Scrabbling over a large, jutting overhang of rock, Thogrim fell flat on his face. Blood poured from his nose, pooling in front of his face. “Bollocks.” He’d broken his nose. He blinked tears from his eyes and sat up, grabbing his nose with both hands and snapped it back into place. He gritted his teeth against the pain as the bone in his nose cracked. No way to see if it was set right, he just felt it and judged it to be ok, though he was now bleeding profusely from inside and from a large cut on his cheek. He pulled his pack off with one hand, holding the other at the bridge of his nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He poked around his pack, dropping bits and pieces around and found his bandaging kit. As he fumbled around he dropped a roll of linen. Reaching to pick it up off the ground Thogrim stopped dead. It had landed in a print upon the mud. A human footprint next to one of an elk. He shook his head. Was he dreaming again? No, definitely a print. Not the elk he’d been pursuing, but definitely the same person.
He quickly took the linen and wrapped it tightly round his face, covering the cut and his nose. He knew he’d look a sight, but there wasn’t much else he could do without a mirror. He threw his things back into his pack and examined the print. This was very strange indeed. A person and an elk together? Could it be possible? He’d found the elk’s birthing grounds and there were already people here? Shouldering his pack he looked around for more prints. There wasn’t much mud around, a few smatterings in the small dips across the rock, but here and there he could see prints or parts of prints in the mud, hoof scuffs on the rock. He set off in the direction the prints led, a relatively straight path leading to what looked like a valley. As he got closer to the valley, more prints revealed themselves, and…was that smoke?
Thogrim was worried now. If there was smoke, that meant fire, which meant people, and judging by the amount of tracks, a lot of people. They wore boots too, pretty sturdy looking from what he judged, not the leather and fur things he wore himself. “Careful now, Thog. Don’t want to draw too much attention to yourself.” Civilised man in these mountains didn’t seem like a good thing to him. None of the big cities were nearby here. They were all down south in the warmer regions. Why would there be city men here? He was careful as he walked along the impasse leading to the valley, his heart beating like a tribal war drum. He un slung his gun from his shoulder. If there were city men here he doubted that a blunderbuss would be of much use. They wore armour down there to protect from such things. More of a precaution than anything, it made him feel a little safer.
The valley opened out into a huge clearing in the mountain, covered in fog and very low down compared to where he stood. The valley acted more like a path down and didn’t seem to be a natural formation. It appeared to be thick cut slabs of stone, hundreds of them laid together in a line, down to the clearing. He knew what this was, a road. City folk built them to make travelling easier on the merchants and traders who brought wagons and carriages around Tenil. Thogrim had never seen one himself, but it looked just as he’d imagined it. Very flat and hard, made of grey stones, all cut the same size and shape and laid together to form a floor.
That’s when he realised; the fog in the clearing wasn’t fog at all. It was smoke. Thick, white smoke, covering the whole clearing. Thogrim crouched low and ran down the road, glancing to his sides and behind at all times to check for anyone who might see him. As he came closer to what he now realised was some sort of village, he could pick out details in the midst of the smoke. Chimneys billowing great clouds of the smoke into the air, huge structures of steel piping rising up, roofs now coming into view, he was in the smoke. Then he saw men. Two of them, wearing armour as he’d guessed they would be, and riding great elk. He began to wonder if that’s what he’d been tracking all this time. The situation was becoming stranger by the second. If these city men had established some sort of community here the village needed to know. All of them needed to know. If men were at their backs now, the hunters of Thogrim’s people and the other tribes of central Tenil only had the east not habited by civilised men, as they called themselves. Thogrim pulled his hood over his head and slipping into the gloom as he entered the clearing.
Mining. They appeared to have set up a large mining community in this clearing. There were all the things a modern town would expect. Taverns, market, houses, guard station, everything he had heard the city folk built. Then there was the mine, a huge tunnel built into the side of the mountain. Thogrim assumed there were several more by the way the layout was in the town, but he’d covered barely half of it in the time he’d been sneaking around. The one thing he had noticed was that none of the so called civilised people were in the mines. They were working outside, sorting everything that was leaving the mine, running the huge building pumping out smoke; though what they did Thogrim had no idea, and generally just residing there.
It was a lot warmer down in the town too. Thogrim had no idea why, as this was still quite a way up in the Skaril Peaks, even though it was down set from the mountains that surrounded the town. Perhaps the smoke did it. It seemed to be everywhere. And it stayed just high enough to hide the town from view if anyone was walking close to the valley.
Just as he was planning to move on, he heard shouts from the mine. A large man walked from inside bellowing in some strange language, which he assumed was city speak, followed by droves of people. They were dirty as any pig in it’s own filth, and chained together, both at the ankles and neck, maybe enough give on the chains to go a few feet. Slaves. Perhaps hundreds of them, being marched out into the twilight in their droves by the large man and several guards, carrying spears, out of Thogrim’s view. Possibly toward one of the much larger buildings he’d noticed before. This was a large scale operation by the looks of things. But what were they mining up here in the frozen north. Thogrim decided to look around some more before he took the long journey back to his home to tell the chieftain of what he saw.
Prologue.
It was cold. Not just cold, but a bitter, freezing cold that could turn the blood in your veins to ice in a minute. But then again, when wasn’t it cold. Just that today, it was far colder than was usual. This far north few people could tolerate the weather. The only things living up here seemed to be the great elks. Near twice the size of a grassland buck, thick fur hides and enough meat on them to last a family for weeks, and this is why Thogrim was here. Though he didn’t have what one would conventionally call a family, he did need to eat. And the fur of the great elk would make another layer of warmer clothing for him.
He scratched hard at his thick beard, pulling loose the ice and snow that was gathering in clumps. He’d been tracking one of the elk for two days, and it seemed the great beast was always ahead of him. The wind changed, bringing a fresh swathe of new snow into his face. Thogrim tightened his cloak around him once more and knelt down. Judging by the tracks he’d been following the elk was big. Perhaps too big even for him to take down alone, even though he would be hard pressed to find a hunter better in the flats. And the flats weren’t what you’d call a small place. The flats went on for miles in every direction. The entirety of the north of Tenil was covered in ice and snow all year round, and the south would also be like this for the best part of the year. The settlers of the flats lived down in the south, where it was more hospitable for humans to eke out a living. The further north you went, the less flat the flats became.
The wind changed again, putting the snow out of Thogrim’s face once more. ‘Where are you?’ He thought, shouldering his pack once more and setting off at a run toward the horizon and the Skaril Peaks, one of the more treacherous mountain ranges on Tenil, hardly explored at all, due to not only the inhuman temperatures, but the uncaring peaks, sending more than one intrepid explorer to his untimely death. As rumour would have it, some tribes of the east used the Skaril for rituals of some terrible nature, but Thogrim didn’t put much faith in this. Most of the tribes to the east didn’t venture more than a few miles from their villages, and the Skaril were the north most area of Tenil that had been seen by the eyes of men. If anyone went further than that he was sure they’d perish in the extreme cold.
It was the beginning of autumn, mating season for most animals. Thogrim assumed by the way the elk was moving north, they must congregate somewhere up here for this reason. Another discovery about the beasts of the land he’d made, if he was correct. It might be in his interest not to kill it right away. Maybe keep on it’s trail for a few more days and see whether he could find out more. Anything to help him find another of the beasts in the future would be much appreciated. He knelt down once more, squinting around and looking at the ground, thick with snow. He sniffed at the earth beneath him and felt his hands across the dirt. Hoof prints as he’d expected, moving still north. It struck Thogrim as odd. The tracks seemed to be spaced further apart now. Running? Why would the beast be running? Another oddity he’d seen during his pursuit of the animal, that couldn’t be explained by his limited knowledge of these creatures.
The Skaril loomed up at him from out of the darkness. It was an unsettling feeling for Thogrim as he sat beside the fire in the shelter of the overhanging rock. The wind had died down somewhat since the morning but the snow continued to fall. He’d stopped earlier than he had planned to by more than an hour as he’d found the shelter of the small escarpment, and it’d seemed like there wouldn’t be anything quite as suitable to camp in, and in this light climbing in the rocks of the mountains would be rather perilous.
What struck Thogrim as odd was the fact the elk was moving into the mountains. Surely these animals didn’t move into them to birth their young? Thogrim felt it was his duty to brave the Skaril to find out. While the large buck would be a fair prize in itself, if he could find out where the young were birthed, it may be possible to farm and maybe even breed the elk up here. Finding a female was rare and if he could find the grounds where the elk birthed their young, it could serve his village in a much better way than simply bringing back meat. This could ensure a future for his people unlike anything they already had. Breeder’s of the great elk of Tenil.
Thogrim shook his head. Daydreaming in the mountains at this altitude was dangerous. If he wasn’t careful he’d fall asleep without being wrapped up for the night and could die of exposure. He gave another look up to the Skaril, then turned to the fire once again. He looked into the kettle on the fire and saw most of the ice inside had melted. Reaching into the pack he took out a small bundle. Unwrapping carefully, he pulled some tea leaves from inside and dropped them into the kettle. A good drink of tea and then bed, before rising early to set out after the elk again. He fished in the pouch and pulled out some dried meat, taking it in his mouth and tearing a large hunk from it. Not much food left now after chasing the damn thing for six days. How the beast managed to stay ahead of him was astounding. Like tracking a damn ant through it’s hill. Can’t find the bloody thing for looking.
The kettle rocked a little. Tea was bubbling away nicely. Thogrim thought it would be a good idea to have a little look around for the morning, before the snow covered anything that could help him find the elk again. He padded his way over to the rocks, looking for scuff marks, broken blades of grass, anything that might give him clues. Then he noticed it, a footprint? Not a hoof mark, but a full human footprint, booted and all. Thogrim looked about himself. This wasn’t normal. Sign’s of humans up in the Skaril? He rushed back to the fire and brushed some snow onto it, dousing the flames quickly. If there were people here he didn’t want to be seen. The likelihood of it being another hunter like himself wasn’t high. Nothing usually lived this far north that was worth catching, and unless this man was chasing the same buck as Thogrim was, which wasn’t likely either, then Thogrim wasn’t sure if the man would be entirely good natured.
Thogrim crouched down in the rocks where he was camping and picked up his kettle. The tea was ready now and he thought it might be good to steady himself. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep tonight, and he really could do with the rest after a day running around in the cold. Taking a long draught of the hot liquid, he pulled his sleeping roll across to himself. ‘Best to get as far out of sight as possible’ he mused. If this bugger was out there, he probably knew Thogrim was here too. He grabbed hold of one of his knives and settled into a dozing, fitful sleep, never quite releasing enough for any sort of rest.
“God damned mountains! Can I not be done with you?” Thogrim knew it was probably not the best idea he’d had, screaming at the peaks, but he was at the end of his wits. He’d come awake freezing and wet and hungry, and, the worst of it all, there were no signs of the elk. He’d quickly eaten some of the dried venison he carried and eaten a handful of snow, then packed and carried on up further into the mountains. He’d been searching several hours and found not one sign of the elk. How it had just disappeared he didn’t know, but he was determined to find some sign of it.
Scrabbling over a large, jutting overhang of rock, Thogrim fell flat on his face. Blood poured from his nose, pooling in front of his face. “Bollocks.” He’d broken his nose. He blinked tears from his eyes and sat up, grabbing his nose with both hands and snapped it back into place. He gritted his teeth against the pain as the bone in his nose cracked. No way to see if it was set right, he just felt it and judged it to be ok, though he was now bleeding profusely from inside and from a large cut on his cheek. He pulled his pack off with one hand, holding the other at the bridge of his nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He poked around his pack, dropping bits and pieces around and found his bandaging kit. As he fumbled around he dropped a roll of linen. Reaching to pick it up off the ground Thogrim stopped dead. It had landed in a print upon the mud. A human footprint next to one of an elk. He shook his head. Was he dreaming again? No, definitely a print. Not the elk he’d been pursuing, but definitely the same person.
He quickly took the linen and wrapped it tightly round his face, covering the cut and his nose. He knew he’d look a sight, but there wasn’t much else he could do without a mirror. He threw his things back into his pack and examined the print. This was very strange indeed. A person and an elk together? Could it be possible? He’d found the elk’s birthing grounds and there were already people here? Shouldering his pack he looked around for more prints. There wasn’t much mud around, a few smatterings in the small dips across the rock, but here and there he could see prints or parts of prints in the mud, hoof scuffs on the rock. He set off in the direction the prints led, a relatively straight path leading to what looked like a valley. As he got closer to the valley, more prints revealed themselves, and…was that smoke?
Thogrim was worried now. If there was smoke, that meant fire, which meant people, and judging by the amount of tracks, a lot of people. They wore boots too, pretty sturdy looking from what he judged, not the leather and fur things he wore himself. “Careful now, Thog. Don’t want to draw too much attention to yourself.” Civilised man in these mountains didn’t seem like a good thing to him. None of the big cities were nearby here. They were all down south in the warmer regions. Why would there be city men here? He was careful as he walked along the impasse leading to the valley, his heart beating like a tribal war drum. He un slung his gun from his shoulder. If there were city men here he doubted that a blunderbuss would be of much use. They wore armour down there to protect from such things. More of a precaution than anything, it made him feel a little safer.
The valley opened out into a huge clearing in the mountain, covered in fog and very low down compared to where he stood. The valley acted more like a path down and didn’t seem to be a natural formation. It appeared to be thick cut slabs of stone, hundreds of them laid together in a line, down to the clearing. He knew what this was, a road. City folk built them to make travelling easier on the merchants and traders who brought wagons and carriages around Tenil. Thogrim had never seen one himself, but it looked just as he’d imagined it. Very flat and hard, made of grey stones, all cut the same size and shape and laid together to form a floor.
That’s when he realised; the fog in the clearing wasn’t fog at all. It was smoke. Thick, white smoke, covering the whole clearing. Thogrim crouched low and ran down the road, glancing to his sides and behind at all times to check for anyone who might see him. As he came closer to what he now realised was some sort of village, he could pick out details in the midst of the smoke. Chimneys billowing great clouds of the smoke into the air, huge structures of steel piping rising up, roofs now coming into view, he was in the smoke. Then he saw men. Two of them, wearing armour as he’d guessed they would be, and riding great elk. He began to wonder if that’s what he’d been tracking all this time. The situation was becoming stranger by the second. If these city men had established some sort of community here the village needed to know. All of them needed to know. If men were at their backs now, the hunters of Thogrim’s people and the other tribes of central Tenil only had the east not habited by civilised men, as they called themselves. Thogrim pulled his hood over his head and slipping into the gloom as he entered the clearing.
Mining. They appeared to have set up a large mining community in this clearing. There were all the things a modern town would expect. Taverns, market, houses, guard station, everything he had heard the city folk built. Then there was the mine, a huge tunnel built into the side of the mountain. Thogrim assumed there were several more by the way the layout was in the town, but he’d covered barely half of it in the time he’d been sneaking around. The one thing he had noticed was that none of the so called civilised people were in the mines. They were working outside, sorting everything that was leaving the mine, running the huge building pumping out smoke; though what they did Thogrim had no idea, and generally just residing there.
It was a lot warmer down in the town too. Thogrim had no idea why, as this was still quite a way up in the Skaril Peaks, even though it was down set from the mountains that surrounded the town. Perhaps the smoke did it. It seemed to be everywhere. And it stayed just high enough to hide the town from view if anyone was walking close to the valley.
Just as he was planning to move on, he heard shouts from the mine. A large man walked from inside bellowing in some strange language, which he assumed was city speak, followed by droves of people. They were dirty as any pig in it’s own filth, and chained together, both at the ankles and neck, maybe enough give on the chains to go a few feet. Slaves. Perhaps hundreds of them, being marched out into the twilight in their droves by the large man and several guards, carrying spears, out of Thogrim’s view. Possibly toward one of the much larger buildings he’d noticed before. This was a large scale operation by the looks of things. But what were they mining up here in the frozen north. Thogrim decided to look around some more before he took the long journey back to his home to tell the chieftain of what he saw.
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