Ulgrom

Introduction of something I'm in the middle of doing at the moment

Slave

Pushing his foot hard against the shoulder of the downed and dying man, he pulled hard with his left hand, trying to wrench the blade free. The bones it had bit through groaned and then, with an audible crack, the axe came free. Blood came shooting from the gouge in thick spurts, covering the now dead man and the sand in which he fell. Raising both arms in the air, holding axes high, a cheer erupted from the crowd. He closed his eyes and drank in their applause. Ulgrom lived for the adoration heaped upon by the spectators and he had known but a few short months. He was a slave. Sold to the highest bidder and then owned till they saw fit. In younger life he'd tended stabled, cooked, cleaned, waited on fat and pompous earls. None of it was like this. He was loved by the masses and he revelled in it. Now Ulgrom was a pit fighter.

His first bout had been hard fought. He was not expected to last long. After all, who would wager an unknown slave to beat a monster in the arena. Sold cheaply to be rid of the beast who'd defied his owner, he was brought by his new master to the Blood Pit, a coliseum in a dry port of some hell forsaken town on the fringe of the world. Fighting was in his blood they'd said after that first match. They'd seen his sort before, though not for ages past.

Some of the matches that took place, the early ones, to whip the crowd into a frenzy, they called “Bout of the Doomed.” No one survived. They pit slaves against all manner of beast in those fights and there was always gore. Great cats would shred them limb from limb and feast on the corpse. Rabid dogs would surround them and tear at arms and legs and overwhelm the combatant. Sometimes they would arm the slave and set him against a proven gladiator, who would hack then to pieces and cover the ground with their blood before crushing the skull between their hands. They even had huge birds, wings the size of grown man crush the ill fated creatures with their mighty talons. Of course they always needed to keep the beasts clipped, to stop them flying away.

Ulgrom thought of his first bout now. Walking into the pit full of fear. His eyes darted between the rocks on the sand, until he heard the jeers from the crowd above. Disgusted shrieks of children, boos from the elderly, insults from young men that would bring a mother to tears. Ulgrom turned back to the door to leave. He'd seen what happened in arenas before and he'd never been in a fight in his life, unless you counted the beatings from previous owners, and there were many. Guards were raising the door from the ground, pulled up with the chains that held it in place. He was overwhelmed, fell to his knees in the sand. Boos resounded about the place and calls of craven and weakling echoed in his ears. He wished for the home he'd never known.

That was when he heard the doors on the other side crash down, and the excited roar from the crowd. He turned his head to see before him a spider taller than a man. He'd heard tales of the giant spiders before, but they seemed a far cry from the households he tended. He got to his feet, looking about him for somewhere to run or hide. There were boulders around the arena, left about in place for beasts to hide and catch their prey unawares. This beast had no need to hide and play games. Huge eyes the size of a man's fist glared. Black, soulless eyes, a void in the huge skull of the creature. Covered in coarse, tan hair, each spindly leg moved of it's own accord it seemed as it moved closer to Ulgrom. But worst of all, the huge dripping fangs in that terrible mouth.

Fight or flight he thought to himself, and there was no way he could fight such a beast without some sort of weapon. This was a cruel joke. He ran at full sprint for a boulder on his his right, hoping he could find a way to escape the beast, or climb up. It echoed him, it's movements awkward in the sand, not able to get the purchase it needed. Ulgrom's hands found the boulder and he looked about from some way to climb, but it was smooth enough to the touch that he could find no purchase. Keeping his eyes on the beast again he edged around the boulder, the boos of the crowd echoing in his ears, but all he heard was the clack of the spider's joints as it moved closer to him.

He was not one to panic, but his mind was in tatters, unable to think of a way out. He wished he'd not defied his last owner, wished he'd done as was asked. He could have never done what he was asked though and now he was going to pay with his life if he couldn't think of something.

Ulgrom edged around the boulder, his bare feet painful with the sharp of the sand against the soft skin. He lowered himself, squatting as he moved around, putting any distance between himself and the spider he could. He could hear the beast on the other side of the huge rock. He let out a whimper and closed his eyes. His eyes stung from the heat of this place, the dust and the wind. He rolled his eyes within, trying to wet them on the inside and then opened them, blinking them a few times and looking about again. A great hiss from above made him look sharply up, to see the creature climbing over the top of his rock to get at Ulgrom. He turned to the right to run but a huge leg was batting against it for some purchase. Looking left, the way he had come around he saw the same. Above him the dripping fangs, wet for his flesh. He had to choose. Left or right.

He pushed off to the right, bashed his hands against the leg, hitting it into the rock as he moved past. The leg recoiled and the spider clambered from the rock, away from the pain that had shot through it's leg. Ulgrom turned and ran as fast as he could to the next rock he could see, this close to the wall. Looking over his shoulder as he sprinted he could see the thing regaining balance on the sand. It seemed he had done nothing to the leg as the spider started after him again.

He slid to the ground near the boulder as he'd finished his short, sharp flight. It was close to the wall, but there was room for him, just barely, to slide behind. Surely his pursuer would not be able to get at him from behind here. He pushed his weight into the gap, on hands and knees stinging now from the hot, shard like sand. In his hiding spot he allowed himself to breathe, trying to think. He was in an impossible situation. He sobbed quietly, the arena shook with the boos of the crowd. They wanted to see blood. His blood or the spider's, and most matches he'd seen it was the slave thrown in the pit who died.

It was dark and shaded from the sun here. He wiped his eyes, brushing almost made tears from them. He did not want to die here. He wanted his freedom. He wanted children and a home and a wife. Forbidden him as a slave and a lesser being.

A scrabbling leg of the spider was behind him, he could feel the pounding of it on the sand, but could not see, now looking through out onto the other side of the arena. It was there he saw it, near the wall, half covered in sand. The glint of metal was it? He edged out more, still feeling the banging on the ground behind him as the spider tried to pull him from his hole. Drawing closer he saw it clear, even a hairsbreadth from the boulder he lay under, a knife. Did the god's smile on him or was it sheer dumb luck? This was his answer and his salvation.

He crawled forward the last feet and darted his hand forward to brush off the sand and pull the blade toward him. It was small, but it was sharp and it was a weapon. He felt renewed. He'd butchered animals before. To be sure a spider was different, but in essence he didn't think it would want stabbing. He pushed out from the boulder, could still hear the monster on the other side, desperately scraping inside the hole to get at him. He could see legs outstretched, supporting it while it was trying to coax out it's dinner.

The side of this boulder he noticed wasn't quite so smooth. While there was no purchase it was so close to the side of the arena he was sure he could push himself up on top, so he could leap on the creature. Then it would be a matter of jabbing it in the skull and ending it's life. He thrust the knife between his teeth and began to push off the arena wall onto the side of the rock, using everything he could muster to get atop. His back scraped and he could feel his skin coming away on the surface. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he grasped hands for something to grip, finding the top to be far rougher and then he saw it, bashing at the ground. It was far more horrifying up close than he had anticipated. He felt his stomach turn in knots and all the courage of finding the knife was fast leaving him.

Getting to his feet, Ulgrom steadied himself, pulled the knife from his teeth and jumped onto the body off the spider. It reared back, nearly tossing him to the ground, and he stabbed. The carapace of the monster was too thick for such a small blade to pierce and it was angry, tossing him around trying to shake him. Ulgrom clung on, his dignity being flung away as his pathetic cloth tunic tore, leaving his nether bare, but he didn't notice, so was he fighting to stay on it's back. He grabbed a leg with his other arm and kicked at another, pushing himself to one knee. The rear of it's abdomen was raised and puckered at the end. Ulgrom jabbed with the blade and it bit into soft tissue. Black blood spurted across his hand and the knife and pissed across the floor, as the beast started backward and spun, trying to meet the attacker. It shot across the close wall of the arena and it tried to shake him off again.

Pushing the leg with all his strength, Ulgrom managed to get around some and there it was staring at him, one of the huge black eyes, and they were black. Pools of the darkest depths of the hells. He startled and recoiled back as much as he could in his awkward position, then looked at his knife. Bringing it down hard, it bit into the hard jelly of the eye. He pushed and tore and the sound of it tearing was like a snap. He bashed the point of the knife into it, juice and blood flying out and into Ulgrom's face, and the spider reared back with a screech made by man nor beast he'd ever heard. His body was in the air for a moment but he held fast and crashed back into the spider's hairy spine. He grabbed again at another leg and dragged himself up and brought the knife down into the eye once more. Again the spider reeled in pain, screeching and spinning. This time it shook Ulgrom free, and he flew through the air, bouncing hard against the wall of the arena, a good way from the monster.

Pain shot through his back and side, as he tried to get to his feet. The spider still spun on the spot, blood soaking the ground beneath it. His side was on fire as he found his feet and blood dripped from his nose. His jaw ached and his teeth felt looser than before. Realising he didn't have his knife, Ulgrom looked about himself. It was nowhere to be seen. Then he heard the sound. Or more, didn't hear. The crowd was dead silent and the spider was rounding from where it stood, to fix it's eyes on him. And there on the ground between him and it was the knife.

He ran and as he pushed off so did the monster, rushing toward each other, murder in all eyes. Ulgrom slid again, scrabbling hands grabbed the knife and then the spider was on him. It's forelegs grabbed him, as he slashed every way with his blade, and brought him to it's mouth and those horrid fangs. Ulgrom kicked out hard at it's face, again and again but the spider brought him closer. He kicked and slashed, trying to keep his flesh from the dripping teeth. As panic set in, and fear engulfed him, Ulgrom saw the chink in the spider's armour. In the arms that held him, the cracks in the carapace at the joints looked soft. Grabbing the left forearm, still kicking at the face, his blade dipped into the crack and he twisted. It threw him again, and his leg gashed deep against one of the huge fangs as he tumbled from the air to the ground beneath the spider flailing it's injured leg.

Face impacted sand and Ulgrom felt his nose burst blood. He grabbed his leg, dropping the knife. Not bitten, just gouged, he scraped at the wound with his hand, flicking blood to the floor, hoping to stop the poison taking. His eyes watered and blood streamed across his face. His leg was agony, his nails biting into the gash, fresh blood pursing up to fill what he flung out. Looking up was when Ulgrom saw, the fleshy crack in the underbelly of the spider. Bloodied hand grabbed knife as he pushed to one foot and he thrust up with his last strength, straight up and into the soft and wet. Ulgrom roared and pushed harder, the spider wailed it's otherworldly scream of pain, feeling the knife and hands inside it, cutting into organs and flesh.

Ulgrom set himself on his other leg and dragged down the knife, bursting it out of the creature arms length away, still roaring at the top of his lungs, covering himself in blood and bile and bile and shit. The spider's wail stopped and it reared, shaking hard, as Ulgrom panted below, then it crashed down too heavy for Ulgrom to stop it. There in the middle of the pit lay a huge spider, spilling it's wet guts out across the floor, soaking into the sand. It was a horrid, bloody mess for the first bout of the day. The crowd was still quiet, every eye on the monster. They loved the blood and the pain and the sport, but they wanted a victor.

Of a sudden the spider shuddered and the crowd gasped. A leg lifted and then a bloodied hand clutching a knife emerged. Ulgrom pulled himself from beneath the corpse, covered in all manner of puss and juice, and got to his feet. Eyes opening he looked at the fallen beast and roared in triumph, at which point the crowd roared with him. Stunned he looked up at the people stood above him, cheering and clapping. Standing there, his tunic torn in half down the front and back, leaving him all naked but for his shoulders, the strangest feeling washed over him and he started to wave with his left hand, still clutching the knife in his right. Waving and looking at all of the people in the rounded arena, he began to smile.

Ulgrom remembered that now as the people chanted his name. They threw flowers and money into the pit in front of him and he stood, tall and proud, much more than the slave who had come into the arena on that day, which seemed to have been a lifetime away, despite being only a few months ago. He dropped his axes to the ground and waved again, like he had waved in his first bout and he roared at the top of his lungs again as he had done then.

The door to the combatants cellar opened and he dropped his arms to his sides and walked toward it. Strange how now he went down of his own free will, when back then they'd had to drag him back in a net after knocking him down. He'd taken down three men with his knife before they finally threw the heavy rope web over him and beat him into a senseless slumber, dragging him into the cellar below. His master had told him he'd held that knife throughout the days he'd slept. He wondered what happened to that knife now as he entered the entryway. Turning around he raised his arms once more to the crowd, erupting even louder as he went inside to the echoing cries of his fans chanting. Ork, Ork, Ork, Ork, Ork.

The Roamer

It finally came into view, as the crest of the hill fell before them. The huge walls of the Trade Palace of North Boundary stood on the horizon. Lord's knew why they were called Palaces. They were more like ramshackle forts, built back up to serve as a stopping point for merchants on their way to bigger cities. In this case between the great cities of Harhast and Grey Peak, in east and north respectively. The two of the most prominent cities of the North Boundary, the declassified lands of the once great kingdom of Karresslia, now split in two by the sons of the late King. Brothers warring over who was rightful to the throne once their father had passed.

Merchants had decided long before he was born there should be neutral ground, where all could meet and trade goods, where swords would be laid down and no blood be shed and the only god would be profit. The concept was agreed on and these shrines to the lord of all, money, were erected upon sites across all the lands. They were called the Trade Palaces and they were a huge sprawling mess of shops and hawkers, inns and brothels, princes and beggars. Peace was kept in the walls by the House of Coin, specially trained guard who watched over the people within and stopped any trouble with deadly force. Here was the destination of the small party.

Garett looked back over the caravan following his horse. He led a broken band of Roamer, the nomads from the south, and a caravan of goods, bare half what they'd set out with. The guards they'd hired had turned out to be a gang of bandits from the Halfway Hills, near the White River. They'd put up a fight, but Garett's men were more than up to the task of beating them back. Since then, they'd moved off the roads, leaving some of the less precious cargo behind for the filth, in hopes they'd give up the chase. He'd failed to mention in the contract what they were truly transporting, and if the bandit's had found out it could've been terrible for Garett and his men. Bringing such contraband into the land without a king was seen as a grave offence. An affront to either of the brothers, who would pay handsomely for the capture of the carrier.

Wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his arm, he wondered once more why he'd taken this on. He had no love for witches, but he found it hard to say no to a fellow Roamer. Even one who had set up a home in the north. Even more so one who indulged in dark arts and black magic. Roamers did what their name suggested. They never settled. They were constantly on the move, whether it was with their animals, or trading, or just keeping ahead of the seasons. Some settled down, stopped their life on the road. Garett didn't treat these as he would other Roamers. Sure they had the tattoos and the traditional dress, but he felt sceptical of people who stayed still to long.

He turned to see Robert ride to the fore, away from the cart being driven by Kayven, one of the merchants from the town of Breeze they'd left the few days before. Robert was older, going grey at the temple and had a several day growth of beard covering his face. It was still bloodied somewhat from the fight two days earlier and made him look battle hardened. Shave the growth and clean him up though and he looked young despite his years, and had soft features. Odd to think he was such a beast on the field.

“Should be there before the sun sets. In time for mead and a wench.” Robert's face perked at the idea. He was well known throughout the palaces for his love of mead. And his love of wenches. Which he looked forward to more at that moment in time was anyone's guess.

“You think so Rob? I wasn't quite so sure when we crested the rise.” Garett knew they would be there, but it did good to keep spirits up with idle banter. The mood over the group was grey and maudlin since the fight.

“But of course. I've been caravanning the palace's since you were a wink in your daddy's eye lad. Hit the rise on this hill and you're there before sundown. No doubt.” He winked at the younger Garett. They knew as well as each other why they bantered. It passed the time and lifted the spirits. An old rule of the road.

Caller to the Feast - Part 2

  Funny the things you forget.

Zren didn't move as the cries were being shouted across the deck. The men frantically looking for the rest of their crew. Their cries were in vain. They were entering the storm. The sails were rattling hard on their masts and the ropes were taut in most places. Soon this would become a frenzy of rain and wind. This ship would need to be manned if it was to survive. He flipped his cowl back on and started to move toward the men he'd scared by the mere sight of his face. The sight of a prophecy made flesh in the eyes of men. Men of the land, he now knew, that were the keepers of the Redemption of the Daemon Man.

From below deck several men began to appear, looking around in the storm, realising they weren't safe from the flames of the city if they were to be consumed by a storm. Zren was in the same boat, in more ways than one. If he was to be free from death and the eternal embrace of fire he would have to do his part too. He reached the panicked fishermen, "There is a storm! You must help with the ship!" They stopped their tracks and seemed to almost understand what he said. It was an almost that was too brief. One of the men jumped at Yzrenithan, catching him off guard and knocking him to the ground. The other at the sight of his comrade tackling the Daemon Man, he followed suit. Grabbing a nearby bucket he clobbered him over the head, knocking Zren's world to stars and black.

Pain cut through his head, bringing Zren round once again. It throbbed with quick, sharp pangs across his left temple and he could feel blood had dried on his neck. Again he was racked by a hard stamp of pain on the head. He opened his eyes and saw the two men who had accosted him and one other standing by. The bucket was still in the hands of the man who had hit him, a corner of his weapon bloodied slightly. Zren gathered it was his blood. He tried to move his hands to his face to protect from the blow, only to find they was tied. "Not again. Don't hit me. I'm not trying to harm anyone."

"You are Daemon Man. One from prophets." The third man was the one talking. His words were jilted and heavily accented, the same as the other two and those that were the people of the city.

"I am a traveller. I do not consort with daemons."

"You came after Kai Tan burn. It was you!" He was accusing Zren of causing the chaos he was trying to escape. It may have been true for all he knew. The city was assaulted barely three months after his arrival in the foreign land and it wasn't the first time he had seen this happen to a place of it's size.

"It is not me. I am being pursued. I am not responsible."

The man who spoke common gave him a long look, then barked a few words at the other two who turned to leave. He barked again and the man with the bucket placed it on the floor and the pair left. He waited to hear the door slam shut then turned his gaze back on Yzrenithan. He was weighing up his captive. Zren could tell, even with the bucking of the ship on the choppy seas, with his head spinning. He'd been persecuted before. Back in his home country when he had performed the rites of passage for his coming of age. When everything went wrong. When his world descended into this chaos. He wasn't sure if it would ever stop.

"You have a choice," the man's words seemed more measured now. Less full of rage. "We need to calm ship for the storm. You stay quiet here or I throw you over side." He continued to stare.

He weighed his options. Going over the side was dangerous. Almost certainly death. Staying here could be the same. The other two men were likely telling everyone they had a daemon on board. The one who starts the end of the world proper. Drown now or be clubbed to death later? He didn't even need to think it over. They would have trouble killing him now he was aware of their distaste for him. "Would you not prefer my help? I have been at sea before and know my way round a ship." Yet.

The remaining captor untied the binds holding Zren's arms to his side. "Stay!" He said as he turned and left the room, leaving his prisoner alone in the cabin. For the first time Zren noticed the room he was in. A cabin with several hammocks and cases around the edges of the walls, leaving the centre of the room mostly empty. He tried to stand but the pain in his head was great and he bounced down again to the floor as the ship rocked under his unsteady feet. Better to wait a while. Gather my wits again.

"This book. It isn't of this land. I recognise the symbols on the spine."

The old man looked in Zren's eyes. They were small and calculating, likely from years peering over the tomes that lined the walls. Scholars were an odd bunch he thought to himself, but in this occasion he needed someone who could let him know something about the prophecy. How he could cage Baal. "You have studied? I didn't know the natives of the Dreadlands had such things."

"What your nations know of the Dreadlands can't exactly be called a composite knowledge," Zren smiled to himself as he said this. The people of his country were seen very rarely outside their borders, except for the brutal mercenaries that dotted around. His people didn't seem altogether too different however. While most were barbaric, there were few isolated tribes who had pooled together to create what was one of the most advanced in the so called civilized world. However they hid from the outside world. Outsiders didn't bring anything good as history had shown in his land.

"That is true. All too often we think we know everything there is to know about the world, but still I am sure there are lands none have discovered. Alas the frozen sea is a harsh mistress. Exploration is somewhat difficult. But I'm sure you want to know more of the book. And you are correct in your assumption. It is not of this land. I'm not even sure it is of this world. Can you tell me what you think these symbols are?"

"They are the language of the dead and of daemons. They speak this in the underworlds and in the planes beyond the physical. I recognize these two." He pointed at the topmost and centre symbol of the seven on the spine of the old book. "The top one says 'Invocate' and this middle one says 'Baal'. I am unsure of the others."

"You are observant my friend. I have never met anyone who speaks them from outside the learned and those skilled with magic. We call this language 'Hrkshai' and few know of it. One of the secrets we keep within the circles of scholars and magi. It reads as you so say 'Invocation Summon Man Baal Lord Destruction God'. It means these words in common, but pairings of Hrkshai words have other meanings when paired together. 'The invocation of man summoned the lord of destruction and made him a god'."

His eyes glazed somewhat as he was speaking these words. Zren looked down at the threads weaved through the spine and words echoed in his ears. Khor Shkreetan Mortal Gorma Blesaithe Baal. It repeated. A whisper on the wind. A memory seared into his mind. "I have heard this before. 'They spoke to him in the depths and told him of his destiny. He would be the apprentice of his God and make him an army rivalled by nothing seen in the world. Mortal men would tremble before the might of the feasters, but a betrayal would mark the end of Baal's reign.' I don't know why I've only thought of it now."

"Are you alright my son? You seemed to drift for a moment then."

Yzrenithan drew back his cowl from his head once again, allowing the scholar to see his face in the light for the first time. “My name is Yzrenithan Entikeni Mathinmaer. I seek redemption,” he looked into the man’s eyes, filled with shock at the sight of the demonic script sewn and cut into the face of his pupil, “I am escaped from Hell and with me I have brought Baal. I would know how to find what I seek.”

Pushing open the door, having trouble keeping his feet on the deck reeling beneath his feet, Yzrenithan was accosted by wind and rain, flashes of purple lightning in the distance. The fisherman working their boat were rushing frantically about, pulling ropes and tying off to keep the sails from being destroyed and possibly bringing down the entire crew. The rain brought some sense back to Zren again, almost waking him from a slumber. His head still ached but the cold of the air numbed it to something more of a whisper on the chill night. He rushed to the nearest group of men, reeling in the sail, and tugged on the rope they were pulling with all their might. The final man needed, Zren gave them enough of a pull to notch the last part of sail into place on the foreign rigging, allowing another man to tie off the rope.

The men he had just been helping peeled away from him like he wasn’t their, moving on to their next task. Zren felt a shiver pass up his spine and he wasn’t sure they were close to anything like safety. He’d felt it before. And not just once. He’d felt it before the city fell, Kai Tan. He’d felt it before his home had been consumed by fires. He felt it the day he’d walked free of the flames of hell. He closed his eyes, almost in meditation, and looked to the sky. His eyelids flickered and the noise of the rain and wind about him stopped. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face and a voice whispered in his ear. “I have found you, Warder.”

Of a sudden he was back again. The wind and the rain and the bucking of the ship. His cowl had come free and he was soaked almost to the skin. Lightning crashed down, with the sound off a tree being spilt apart, just off the stern of the ship and the air grew warmer. Yzrenithan could feel it. They had found him again. This wasn‘t a storm. This was always how it began. They announced their presence to him and then they flooded the city and then he ran. But this time he had nowhere to go. This time they had him and the only thing he could do was fight. He had to stop running and face the daemons. He had to stop being a coward.

Great black smoke rose from the very centre of the deck, as though the soaked wood were smouldering. Yzrenithan watched, fear rising in his gullet, as the smoke turned to a door, and from the door walked a great horned satyr like daemon. The crew were bunched back to the aft of the ship together, paralyzed with fear at the sight of daemons and their Daemon Man before them. The great horned beast stretched it‘s neck, vertebrae cracked loud like the thunder about them, and it looked at his prey.

“I have found you Warder. You have led quit a chase but you will always be found in the end,” as he spoke more beasts walked through, shorter than the speaker and with no horns, but the same kind of bowed, hoofed legs. “None leave Hell without being dragged back screaming for the release of death, and you will beg before you leave this ship, Yzrenithan. You and your little…friends.” The beast smiled, seeing the fisherman for what must have been the first time.

“No.” Yzrenithan said. Looking at the great horned one before him, unflinching even though he had fear filling his belly like a find meal. “I will not go back. I will kill you and your children, then I will find your Lord and drag him back to the pit.”

The great beast laughed. It sounded like the booming voice of a giant. Load enough to make the wood of the ship creak and push back the rain. He cocked his head back and erupted with laughter, his massive, shaggy girth rocking back and forth in his glee. “How will you, a puny human, destroy me, let alone Baal? I enjoy the will of the human race. You are far more fun to break than the others who have been about on this world. And I will especially enjoy breaking you, Warder.”

It stalked across the short space of two metres between himself and Zren, took a deep breath and punched him in the gut hard enough to crack stone, throwing the man back into the wall, just next to the door to the cabin where he entered, splintering the wood and knocking Zren to the ground. It laughed again, though only a single roar this time, meant to add an insult to the crushing blow he had just delivered. “Feast children!” the great beast yelled and the other daemons that had poured through the black door stalked across the deck to the fisherman, the same gait as their horned leader.

“No!” Yzrenithan croaked, from his position on the floor. “Back to hell before I send you back myself.” He tried to push himself back to his feet, but barely managed to get back to supporting himself on his elbows.

The great horned one croaked in surprise. “You lack the grace to stay down when you are beaten. I truly wish I had the pleasure of tracking down more of you Warders, but I thought you’d actually put up a fight rather than just prove yourself stupid.” It cracked it’s fingers in it’s fist, making the sound of splintering bone. “I think it is time to remind you what pain is, as you didn’t receive enough in Hell. Children, you may feast on the men while I break this whelp.”

“Don’t touch them daemons!”

“You expect them to not only listen to a man, but one who can’t even bring his belly from the ground? You astound me Warder.” He was above his broken body now and delivered a sharp kick to his ribs. Again and again. Yzrenithan screamed so loud he swore he felt the sky break and the world collapse.

“You are the Daemon Man truly? I had thought these prophecies wild tales. Emoriss wasn‘t a mad storyteller of the older days after all.” The old librarian pondered for a moment, looking back at Zren, once again beneath his cowl. “You adorn yourself with these symbols to keep yourself safe from them, you say? To stop them from finding you?”

“I have read that these symbols are used to protect against daemons and to invoke them. Used in the correct manner they are able to be plied to ones wishes. But I am unsure how long they will keep me safe.”

“We have a legend of men who do something similar. We call them Warders. They were being not unlike priests or warrior monks, but they had certain other skills that aren‘t found in the holier disciplines. Warders were the disciples of Baal long ago. He gave them power such as no warrior has ever possessed, but Baal is treacherous. He betrayed these Warders, his followers,” The old man walked to a shelf behind Zren and took down a thin book with greyed, almost decayed leather, setting it down in front of him and opening the pages. “He imprisoned them in Hell where there powers could no longer serve them and they suffered endless torments. But these Warders accepted this pain and used it to fuel themselves into divine weapons. They vowed to bring down Baal for his treachery and be his undoing.”

He seemed to move across the pages, searching for a certain entry on the pages while he spoke. “When Baal assaulted the world, they found the time they had been waiting for. They possessed the daemons, bringing their power inward to fuel themselves and broke free from Hell. They tore through the undead armies of their former lord and with the power they had taken from all the demons they had slaughtered, the confined Baal back to Hell.” As he spoke these final words he found the page he was looking for. A group of naked men, burning with black fire standing tall over a picture of a cowled and cowed man, who Zren could only assume to be Baal. The men were adorned with runes across their bodies. Hrkshai runes. “You, Yzrenithan, have the same power as these Warders and you can fuel your own power with that of the daemons who you are at flight from. You can banish the Lord Baal“

All he could hear was the laughing of the horned one. The sound of his snapping ribs under the bombardment of blows from the daemon was drowned out now, the laughter fuelling his rage, the pain fuelling his power. Yzrenithan thought back to the agonies he’d endured in Hell. The endless tortures that made every day seem a lifetime. He felt his eyelids flickering once more, his eyes turning up into his skull and he yelled aloud. “No!”

The horned one stumbled back, and his children stopped in their tracks, just about to attack the fleeing fishermen. Zren looked up at the beast before him, his eyes a blue fire. Standing to his feet in less time than a normal man would take to fall to the ground. He grabbed the beast by the neck and plunged his hand into it’s chest. The beast roared in pain for several seconds then turned to dust in Yzrenithan’s hand. He looked skyward and rose from the floor for a brief instant then turned to it’s children. The storm grew more fierce everywhere except around the Warder, who was now surrounded by a cascade of flame.

The other beasts roared in unison, abandoning their prey to attack the one who had felled their leader. The first who reached Zren was flipped into the air by and unseen hand and thrown high before plunging head first into the sea, slowing the few at the back just long enough to see the next two grabbed by the head and pushed to the ground at the feet of their now master, Yzrenithan. He uttered some words, speaking so quickly no one would be able to hear, upon stopping he clapped each hand against the head he was holding, exploding the daemons into a red mist. The remaining four moved around him, hoping to take him from all sides. Zren stood still and let them, apparently drained by killing the last three monsters. They looked to each other, each grunting in some sign of community then jumped at him as one.

Time seemed to slow for Yzrenithan. He could see each of the beasts face and what they were doing. He turned and crouched low, before springing himself upward, watching the daemons come hurtling to the space he was once occupying, before he crashed down upon one of them, liquefying it’s spine, forcing his fingers into it’s back. He drew from the beast, sucking it’s unholy energy from the carcass and drawing it into his fist. The other daemons had crashed to the floor with the blast of him coming down and were rising to their feet. The corpse on the floor turned to ash and black tendrils moved into Zren’s finger tips. His eyes rolled into the back of his head once more and he flung a great ball of black lightning into the three remaining beasts, trapping them in agony as they clutched their heads and fell to their knees. With one final sweep Zren took a step back, curling his fingers as if grasping something and flung the beasts back through the door in the black door in the smoke.

As they crashed through the gate bellowed forth sparks of fire and crumpled in on itself leaving nothing in it’s wake. Zren fell to his knees, barely stopping himself from falling flat on his face with his still outstretched hands. He felt himself being picked up and brought back into the cabin. It was now he noticed the rain had stopped.

“And what you do now?” The fisherman asked Yzrenithan, in his lilting accent. It was morning and the skies were clear over Xiansai once more. The ship was on the pier just behind them and the other crew were looking over the jib rail, still a look mixed between fear and curiosity over their passenger who was being left on the shores of their home country while they were making to flee.

“There are more daemons here, and behind them Baal, and I brought them here. It is about time I stepped forward and did what I should have a long time ago.” He shook the fisherman’s hand then turned away, pulling his still wet cowl up over his face. “I’m sorry,” was all he said as he walked away. The fisherman stayed a while watching, until there was just a silhouette on the dark land, knowing that what he had seen on his ship was nothing compared to what would happen in the city before him overrun with daemons and the divine knows what else.

That Day in The Senate

Something new I'm working on. Not my usual fantasy business. Just a snippet from the start. An introduction if you will.

 

 “And pray tell why should humans not be allowed the rights to work? They have been out of the enslavement, brought on by our own hands, for over three generations yet still all they can muster is to pollute our streets and collude to commit crime. They have been stripped of all the dignity their race once had when we took their world from them in the Garden Purges, with enemies that have ages since become allies. The only way we can strip our homes of their ilk is to allow them the right to work and embrace them into the galactic community as we do with all sentient species. I move that humans be granted the rights that should have been forthcoming during the dark times of war in the galaxy, when “we” ousted them from their home, and that they be ingratiated into society, like we do with all space faring species we meet.”

The speaker stepped back and moved to his chair, shocked silence etched on the faces of the senators. Whispers came from behind the speaker, the viewers of the summons shocked at the demand brought forth before the Senate of Free People. The senators spread over two rows of seven, speaking to each other in hushed tones, debating the validity of the speaker's idea. Minutes passed in disquiet, the speaker, a smile across his broad face. That someone could bring up such an idea was almost heretical. Finally, the unwanted human masses covering the streets would be free to move and work as they pleased, they would finally be free of the injustice brought upon them over a thousand cycles previous, during the purges of the garden worlds, taking the species living there into slavery or worse so that those planets could be used as industrial farms. Humans, the last remaining of those species, most resilient and rebellious, needed to be brought into the Free Peoples Democratic Galaxy if they were to both survive and possibly thrive again as a species, and most importantly claim a world of their own.

Cameras were flashing around the room, the press from various news networks across all the provinces covering the latest of the summons, the time when the Senate decides on new acts, broadcast live across every planet, seen by every species. It was how everyone knew what took place in the Senate. It was how the mankind would learn of their new fate. It was the first time since the forming of the Free People's Democracy that the question of any species rights had come into question and everyone would likely be tuned in to see what was going on. Every street's network broadcasts would be showing the meeting in the Senate today, and that would mean that every human across the galaxy would see it. But how would everyone react, the speaker thought. How would the thronged human masses react when they learn that they too are one of the Free People? It could be disastrous.

The communing of the senate stopped and the presiding head stood, central and aloft of the others. He shot a look at the speaker, before addressing the whole of the gathered at the summons. Camera flashes stopped as every eye was on the speaker for the Free People. “We find the honourable speaker brings a point across that has been in need of address for too long. The Free People's nominated have discussed this and we find problems with the idea.” He looked down, a sadness, perhaps fear crossing his face. This didn't go unnoticed to the speaker, though he did not know what it would mean.

“In the case against, humans are not and have never been a space faring species. They have no longer a form of governance and their people are scattered wide across the galaxy without their own worlds. How if we give them the rights of the other species will they be able to use it? They breed too fast and they spread across the provinces like rats. However, what we did to the aliens during the Garden Purges was shameful, and we have a chance to atone with humanity that has been lost with those that have passed. They didn't relent and they fought us hard when we took their Earth, but they didn't die out like many of the other native species during the culling and even after enslaving them for a thousand cycles they still thrive, in the muck and the streets. We find that the only recourse,” He paused again, taking a breath. He looked down at the speaker, a hint of remorse in his eye, “is to allow the humans the rights of the Free People. While they can not join the senate, lacking both a home world and a government, they can freely move and work as they please and are granted all the privileges a member of the Democratic Galaxy would be given.” With this he banged down his gavel and turned to leave the seat, as did the other thirteen members of the senate, almost in unison.

Once again flashes came from cameras, presenters on the video feeds erupting into chatter. Pockets of outrage in the court, as members of different class shouted out against the decision. Soon everyone would know. Soon the collective human voice would join the already noisy and garbled voices of the fourteen species. The speaker stood, watching the rest of the summons leave the court, a mix of every feeling comprehensible. Humans finally had the rights they deserved and had the chance to be the people they were meant to be. But it seemed not everyone shared his feeling for this need. He had to move quickly. His people had been planning this move since the abolition of slavery. The Uan would begin the re-homing of mankind and hoped they would be grateful for it. They would put right what they made wrong.