Sniktch
First Post
New Blood, pt 2
Welby had not been on the road very long when he felt the wagon shake as something landed atop it. The halfling didn’t flinch or react to the dark figure that hopped down onto the seat next to him other than to say, “Hi Art.”
“You know, Welby, some day it isn’t going to be me who lands beside you. Haven’t you ever thought of that?”
“Nah. Smell you coming.”
The wizard snorted in amusement. “Very funny. You don’t exactly smell like roses, either.” Neither adventurer had received the opportunity to bathe on their journey, and the accumulated filth and grime lay thick on both of them. “Your suggestion was a very good one, my friend,” he continued, dropping a ring into his companion’s waiting palm. “I believe we can count on that... creature’s assistance when we return. Now, stop the wagon a moment. I have things I need to do and I must get inside.”
Welby obediently pulled the horses to a halt and waited patiently for the wizard to enter the cart before setting them back to an easy canter. The evening’s horrors were already fading in the mind of the rustic and resilient barbarian, and soon he was humming under his breath pleasantly as the soft spring breezes tickled his tattooed pate.
Inside the cart, Artimas hesitated, carefully considering his next move as he scanned the interior of his traveling lab. It did not take the man long to decide to continue with his planned course of action, and he moved to the back table, where the body of the dark elf priestess lay. She had not changed at all during the past day, but of course, he thought with a sly grin, she wouldn’t have. Standing overt the inert form, he began to utter the words to one of his more complicated spells, falling into a slight trance as he wove the art to disrupt a magical effect rather than create one. He finished the casting and reached down, touching his index finger to the mark of his hand left on the body of the priestess.
Tierak Morcane sat up, gasping like a land-bound fish. When she recovered her breath she stared around wildly as her eyes slowly came into focus again, relaxing slightly when she saw the necromancer standing before her and realized where she was.
“I had thought to be deep underground by the time you awoke, but there has been a slight change of plans. The minions of Kiaransalee were more powerful than perhaps I had expected and slaughtered my companions. Remember what I said about revenge? I need your help, Tierak, this is your chance,” the mage spoke slowly and firmly to the disoriented drow
She answered, “When I felt the pain of your spell coursing through me I thought myself betrayed. Now I see that you are darker and more devious than I believed possible for a human. Perhaps we are of like mind, but how am I to help? Remember, I am a cleric without a god.”
He leaned forward and smiled disarmingly, “We are going to a human city named Brian’s Stone not far from here. A small chapel dedicated to my god is built there. I am sure that if you throw yourself upon the mercy and wisdom of Arawn, learn his teachings, and beg to be accepted as one of his flock he will take you under his wing, so to speak.”
“Don’t be too sure, human,” she emphasized the word. “Why would your god care about me?”
“Because he is a god, and draws his powers from his worshipers. And because, as you said, perhaps we are of like mind. The choice is yours: take the offer I present you and gain revenge on your enemies, or live alone and in strange environments, a refugee from the home where you’ve spent your entire life.”
The jab hit home and her eyes narrowed dangerously. When she responded, her voice had taken on the musical quality of glittering razors. “Your point is taken. Teach me of your god, then, and I will make a decision when we reach this Brian’s Stone.”
The necromancer nodded and reached for a book that he considered the best place to begin. He remained composed and expressionless, but beneath the veneer his heart leapt in exultation. She had not said yes, but she had swallowed the bait; he could tell. She would be his, he knew, and another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
*****
As the first soft hues of dawn crept over the horizon, a very tired halfling pulled his weary team of horses to a halt outside the manor house of Lord Bryson. He turned and rapped upon the wooden boards behind him, shouting, “Hey Art! We at Bryson’s house. Welby goin’ sleep.” Not bothering to confirm that the mage had heard him, the small fighter pulled his cloak tight around himself and drifted off where he sat.
A few moments later the door of the cart swung open and the necromancer stepped forth. He shut the door securely behind himself and made his way to the house, knocking loudly with his walking stick once he reached his destination. A groggy guard answered and reluctantly left to announce the guest to Lord Bryson, Artimas following on his heels despite repeated protests that he remain outside.
The noble was awakened by the sound of tapping at his chamber door, followed by a heated, “No! I told you, you can’t just barge into the -” and the sound of his bedroom door slamming open. The wizard’s visit was brief; Artimas explained the reason for his visit and the results of their mission as briefly and brutally as possible, then left as the lord rose and dressed hurriedly, yelling at the guard to prepare his horse so that he could ride to court in the city.
Artimas stopped when he got back to the cart, staring at the slumbering figure in the front seat and shaking his head. Well, he thought, I suppose he could use the rest, and my ‘pupil’ has plenty to chew on right now. He climbed up next to the halfling and got the cart moving again, guiding it toward the distant silhouette of the town in the distance.
*****
Many miles away and deep underground, a door swung open, revealing a battered, naked elf. Malobar lifted his head and strained to see as the stunningly attractive dark elf stepped inside, leaving two males to wait in the corridor. She stood over him and looked down, sneering, “What have we here? Another of our weaker cousins forgotten where he belongs?” Her voice was smooth and silky, like the rustle of a cobra through high grass.
Malobar tried to spit at her but his mouth was completely dry. He remained silent, staring at her defiantly and determined not to speak or give her any satisfaction no matter the pain visited upon him.
“Ooh, tough guy. So proud,” she mocked. “Maybe you can provide me with some momentary entertainment. Now, I know that at least one of your friends escaped - that pathetic excuse for a dwarf. But I’m thinking that he wasn’t the only one; I’ve never seen a group of heroes so stupid they didn’t bring a wizard underground. Make this quick for yourself, elf,” she lied, “tell me who they were.”
Malobar refused to answer and only gazed at her mutely. She crouched beside him and raised his chin with one forefinger until their eyes locked. The rogue was instantly smitten, and couldn’t understand why he had been acting like such an unreasonable fool. This was the fairest being he’d ever laid eyes upon, how could he ever withhold anything from her? She grinned smugly when she saw his eyes glaze over and jaw go slack, her upper lip curling upward to expose the extremely well-developed fangs that gently dimpled her lower lip. He would tell her everything she wished to know.
Still coming: New Blood, part 3 and the prisoners’ fates revealed.
Welby had not been on the road very long when he felt the wagon shake as something landed atop it. The halfling didn’t flinch or react to the dark figure that hopped down onto the seat next to him other than to say, “Hi Art.”
“You know, Welby, some day it isn’t going to be me who lands beside you. Haven’t you ever thought of that?”
“Nah. Smell you coming.”
The wizard snorted in amusement. “Very funny. You don’t exactly smell like roses, either.” Neither adventurer had received the opportunity to bathe on their journey, and the accumulated filth and grime lay thick on both of them. “Your suggestion was a very good one, my friend,” he continued, dropping a ring into his companion’s waiting palm. “I believe we can count on that... creature’s assistance when we return. Now, stop the wagon a moment. I have things I need to do and I must get inside.”
Welby obediently pulled the horses to a halt and waited patiently for the wizard to enter the cart before setting them back to an easy canter. The evening’s horrors were already fading in the mind of the rustic and resilient barbarian, and soon he was humming under his breath pleasantly as the soft spring breezes tickled his tattooed pate.
Inside the cart, Artimas hesitated, carefully considering his next move as he scanned the interior of his traveling lab. It did not take the man long to decide to continue with his planned course of action, and he moved to the back table, where the body of the dark elf priestess lay. She had not changed at all during the past day, but of course, he thought with a sly grin, she wouldn’t have. Standing overt the inert form, he began to utter the words to one of his more complicated spells, falling into a slight trance as he wove the art to disrupt a magical effect rather than create one. He finished the casting and reached down, touching his index finger to the mark of his hand left on the body of the priestess.
Tierak Morcane sat up, gasping like a land-bound fish. When she recovered her breath she stared around wildly as her eyes slowly came into focus again, relaxing slightly when she saw the necromancer standing before her and realized where she was.
“I had thought to be deep underground by the time you awoke, but there has been a slight change of plans. The minions of Kiaransalee were more powerful than perhaps I had expected and slaughtered my companions. Remember what I said about revenge? I need your help, Tierak, this is your chance,” the mage spoke slowly and firmly to the disoriented drow
She answered, “When I felt the pain of your spell coursing through me I thought myself betrayed. Now I see that you are darker and more devious than I believed possible for a human. Perhaps we are of like mind, but how am I to help? Remember, I am a cleric without a god.”
He leaned forward and smiled disarmingly, “We are going to a human city named Brian’s Stone not far from here. A small chapel dedicated to my god is built there. I am sure that if you throw yourself upon the mercy and wisdom of Arawn, learn his teachings, and beg to be accepted as one of his flock he will take you under his wing, so to speak.”
“Don’t be too sure, human,” she emphasized the word. “Why would your god care about me?”
“Because he is a god, and draws his powers from his worshipers. And because, as you said, perhaps we are of like mind. The choice is yours: take the offer I present you and gain revenge on your enemies, or live alone and in strange environments, a refugee from the home where you’ve spent your entire life.”
The jab hit home and her eyes narrowed dangerously. When she responded, her voice had taken on the musical quality of glittering razors. “Your point is taken. Teach me of your god, then, and I will make a decision when we reach this Brian’s Stone.”
The necromancer nodded and reached for a book that he considered the best place to begin. He remained composed and expressionless, but beneath the veneer his heart leapt in exultation. She had not said yes, but she had swallowed the bait; he could tell. She would be his, he knew, and another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
*****
As the first soft hues of dawn crept over the horizon, a very tired halfling pulled his weary team of horses to a halt outside the manor house of Lord Bryson. He turned and rapped upon the wooden boards behind him, shouting, “Hey Art! We at Bryson’s house. Welby goin’ sleep.” Not bothering to confirm that the mage had heard him, the small fighter pulled his cloak tight around himself and drifted off where he sat.
A few moments later the door of the cart swung open and the necromancer stepped forth. He shut the door securely behind himself and made his way to the house, knocking loudly with his walking stick once he reached his destination. A groggy guard answered and reluctantly left to announce the guest to Lord Bryson, Artimas following on his heels despite repeated protests that he remain outside.
The noble was awakened by the sound of tapping at his chamber door, followed by a heated, “No! I told you, you can’t just barge into the -” and the sound of his bedroom door slamming open. The wizard’s visit was brief; Artimas explained the reason for his visit and the results of their mission as briefly and brutally as possible, then left as the lord rose and dressed hurriedly, yelling at the guard to prepare his horse so that he could ride to court in the city.
Artimas stopped when he got back to the cart, staring at the slumbering figure in the front seat and shaking his head. Well, he thought, I suppose he could use the rest, and my ‘pupil’ has plenty to chew on right now. He climbed up next to the halfling and got the cart moving again, guiding it toward the distant silhouette of the town in the distance.
*****
Many miles away and deep underground, a door swung open, revealing a battered, naked elf. Malobar lifted his head and strained to see as the stunningly attractive dark elf stepped inside, leaving two males to wait in the corridor. She stood over him and looked down, sneering, “What have we here? Another of our weaker cousins forgotten where he belongs?” Her voice was smooth and silky, like the rustle of a cobra through high grass.
Malobar tried to spit at her but his mouth was completely dry. He remained silent, staring at her defiantly and determined not to speak or give her any satisfaction no matter the pain visited upon him.
“Ooh, tough guy. So proud,” she mocked. “Maybe you can provide me with some momentary entertainment. Now, I know that at least one of your friends escaped - that pathetic excuse for a dwarf. But I’m thinking that he wasn’t the only one; I’ve never seen a group of heroes so stupid they didn’t bring a wizard underground. Make this quick for yourself, elf,” she lied, “tell me who they were.”
Malobar refused to answer and only gazed at her mutely. She crouched beside him and raised his chin with one forefinger until their eyes locked. The rogue was instantly smitten, and couldn’t understand why he had been acting like such an unreasonable fool. This was the fairest being he’d ever laid eyes upon, how could he ever withhold anything from her? She grinned smugly when she saw his eyes glaze over and jaw go slack, her upper lip curling upward to expose the extremely well-developed fangs that gently dimpled her lower lip. He would tell her everything she wished to know.
Still coming: New Blood, part 3 and the prisoners’ fates revealed.
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