Another one for the masses. I might have to enlist in an editor as this goes on. I look at the length of the sections, and it seems so wordy...
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Gerad – 2nd of Madrot, yr. 143 AV
Gerad instructed his brothers and the men of the other lances to the current fate of Krasburgh. Some had asked him to come along for the fun, but he had passed. Opportunities for theft and possibly rape did not attract him, even if they were standard reward to soldiers. Leaving them to their pursuits, he found himself in a country tavern, pondering the day’s conflict over a drink.
Some of the others soldiers had overrun the tavern, emptying the remaining stores that the Skirmishers had not stolen. It was meager offerings, but the men appreciated a chance to relax. Gerad kept a table to himself. He would have welcomed his brothers to sit down, but the other soldiers chose not to. They knew that Gerad was a Janissary, born to service. There was some distinction between the Janissaries and those men who had chosen to enlist in the Hegemony. It was hard to define, but it was there nonetheless.
One of the louder men from the second lance approached Gerad and gave him a hearty slap on the back. His name was Gallish. Gerad could smell the musky sweat surrounding the young man.
“Not out enjoying yourself with the ladies, Gerad? Some of them are very happy to see a real man instead of those mercenaries.”
Gallish shared a laugh with a few of men from his lance. Gerad gave him no response, savoring the sharp taste of the Darakeene whiskey. Hopefully, this ignorant braggart would simply leave him be.
“Oh, my pardons, Gerad. I guess you Janissaries don’t go for that.” Gallish paused for a moment. Perhaps he was reconsidering the dangerous road he traveled. “Is it true, what they say? I hear that they ‘unman’ you as boys?”
Gallish’s smile withered as Gerad rose from his chair.
***
Gerad – 10th of Enkilot, yr. 147 AV
Gerad turned his head slightly, surveying the men surrounding him without breaking attention. Ten lances in crescent formation was an impressive sight to behold. His eyes stopped for a second on Gallish, now the leader of the second lance. His misshapen nose distinguished him among the similarly armored soldiers. It brought back vague memories of Gerad’s first battle, so many years before.
Standing before the amassed unit was Commander Vagren, their superior for the past year. Dmitri had been elevated to field and oversee larger units for Calastia. It was a promotion long overdue, but it did not change the fact that Gerad and his brethren missed him. Vagren was a skilled tactician, but he seemed to lack the sheer determination that Dmitri possessed.
Vagren was introducing them to an experienced unit of Charduni that would be overseeing a series of engagements. Gerad did not stare, but this was his first time seeing the race of dark-skinned dwarves. Their skin ranged from grey to black in color, and for most it was contrasted by wild tufts of red, orange, or yellow hair. They only stood four feet in height, but Gerad was not fooled; their stocky forms belied great strength.
One of the charduni walked forward to stand beside Commander Vagren and address the army. His skin was darkened iron, accented by orangish-blonde hair and eyebrows. Rising from his back was a thick staff that held a round mallet at its end. Gerad noted with interest that the mallet was decorated with hair and drawings that made it resemble its owner.
“I am Davrok Warstone, field lieutenant. We root out titanspawn threats that encroach into peaceful territories such as Ankila. There is such a threat here that will require your aid.”
His voice sounded as rough as his skin looked. His presence captivated the men’s attention, much moreso than Vagren.
“Slitheren, the foul rat-men, have been found less than two day’s ride from this position. We will not allow them a foothold in Ankilan territory as they have in other countries. We will instruct you men in the ways of fighting under the earth, and the tactics of these cowardly foes.”
Warstone covered a few more details, then let the men at ease so they could meet the charduni who would travel with them. Gerad walked forward to greet Warstone, and found his handshake to be tremendously strong. Standing closer to him, Gerad noted that his skin truly did look like rock. When asked, Gerad introduced himself.
“Gerad Cademon. I’ve heard your name mentioned. They call you the Scourge, do they not?”
“They do.” It was not a monicker that Gerad liked, but battle had proven it an apt name. No enemies walked away from his fury.
“It is a good thing. When men quake in fear at your name, then you know you are truly blessed by Chardun.”
***
The largest rat-man that Gerad had seen so far lunged out of the darkness at his group. Many of the slitheren had only reached his chest in height, yet this one was nearly seven feet tall. His brothers raised a cry at their new enemy, and Tahni, damn his hide, dropped the lantern. It did not shatter, but instead rolled along the cavern floor, playing light across the walls and the combatants. Tahni would be punished if they survived this day. Levi would never have made such a mistake.
The rat-man smashed Gerad in the chest with a ball mace, but his armor soaked most of the fearsome blow. Gerad had quickly learned to despise fighting in these caves - there was not enough room to effectively wield the spears he carried. Instead he fought with shield and short sword, as were his brothers.
Gerad knew the others were pinned behind him, so the only way they could help was to move this beast. He roared and lowered his head, slamming his shield into the oversized rat-man. The rat-man squealed, foaming spittle flying from its mouth, as Gerad pushed it backwards until they met with a cavern wall. The slitheren fought, trying to bite over the shield, but Gerad kept it pinned as his brothers ran forward to assist.
This slitheren was immensely strong, probably bred for strength by the smaller fiends. Gerad would not have kept him there for long, but Leon and Pazzi had arrived and stabbed the beast from each side, while Tahni retrieved the fallen lantern. It took a number of hits that would have easily slain the smaller slitheren, but in the end it fell in a bloody heap of fur. Gerad spat upon the dead beast as the others ensured it would not rise again.
This would have been a good time for the strength of Barrikk, but he had been an early casualty of this mission. The cowardly slitheren had attacked from the shadows, shooting crossbow bolts into his larger brother. Gerad feared that they were poisoned, for Barrikk fell to delirium too quickly. When it was apparent that Barrikk couldn’t continue, Gerad had ended his life. Better a quick death than agonizing pain drawn out over the days. Also, Warstone had warned that the rat-men kept slaves. Gerad would rather he and his brothers all die than have them enslaved by these monsters.
After cuffing Tahni for the unacceptable act of cowardice, Gerad signaled for the lance to move through another tunnel. It wound to their left and soon opened into another cavern, where another battle raged. Gerad could barely see their ally, who was surrounded by six of the rat-men. A war scepter struck out, and one of the slitheren was thrown against a wall with a sickening crunch. Gerad wasted no time in decisions, signaling to his brothers to move and assist the charduni.
Quickly Gerad found that Warstone was the oppressed Charduni within the ring of rat-men. He was bloodied, but still fighting fiercely against overwhelming odds. Gerad’s men waded into the battle, flashing swords against their foes. After a few moments, the slitheren were dead at their feet. Warstone bled from many spots where slitheren swords had slipped past his black armor. Warstone stopped and uttered a short prayer in his language, a deep rumbling that made Gerad think of stone sliding across stone. As he watched, a number of Warstone’s wounds, including a gash on his forehead, stopped bleeding and sealed without a single scar. His magic was impressive. Warstone’s eyes opened and regarded Gerad with a slight smile.
“Good timing, Scourge. I believe this campaign is nearly at and end.” He glanced around at Gerad’s men, no doubt noticing that one was missing. Then Warstone’s eyes widened, and he quickly jabbed a finger past Gerad’s shoulder. “Behind you!”
Gerad spun, as did his brothers. Standing at the edge of another tunnel was a smaller slitheren. This one had stark white fur and its eyes seemed to glint with reddish light. It bore no weapons, but Gerad quickly noted that its hands moved with a crackling black energy. He started to step forward, but halted as a painful burning sensation struck his chest and crept down his arm. He closed his eyes and fought to overcome the pain. When it had passed, he looked down, expecting to find his body charred and armor melted, but there were no burns. The only mark of the magic was a sinuous form on his left forearm. It resembled a tattoo like the mercenaries wore, but he could not discern what picture this was.
He would ponder this later. Shrugging off the haze, he ran behind his men into the next cavern. Inside they found a number of soldiers, one of the other lances, all blackened and scorched along the ground. The men looked around, but there was no sign of the slitheren who had marked him. Gerad’s eyes caught a small flicker of movement from an opening to his right. He ran forward to a tunnel that went upwards like a small chimney. He started to climb, but quickly determined that his breastplate would prevent such travel. His hands moved to unbuckle the armor, but Warstone’s restraining hand stopped him.
“The coward is gone. Let us tend to the wounded and see if the others have survived.”
Grudgingly, Gerad agreed. He wanted to capture this witch-rat and find what it had done to him. And then he wanted to kill it. Brutally.
