STRIKEFORCE: MORITURU
SEGMENT 056
“Vander’s Torment”
The black and putrid water lay still in the deep shadows. Then a few air bubbles rose. The wary frogs leapt away and the dragonflies quickly zigzagged away. Then the large armored figure broke the surface. He gasped for air then floated there very still. He was more dead than alive. A brave (or very stupid) purple and black colored frog hoped onto his chest and peered at the bloodied and defeated human.
Keeer-rupp. The frog said as its air sack filled and emptied several times. The man did not answer. He did not even stir. The rippling of the water around him then began to slow down. As such the heavy body began to sink once more. The frog just went for the ride.
The man sank below the surface once more. The frog let out a few quick quirps before leaping onto a lily pad. Only a few bubbles marked his passing as he sank once more under the surface and into the darkness. The eternal darkness.
Sometime later …in a hidden lair.
The barely clad woman lifted the Gloves once more. She ran her hands over the surface with great care and feeling. She then brought the leather gloves to her face. She smelled the leather and the sweat of the person that wore them last. She caressed her face with the glove as if worn by her lover still. A smile flashed from under the glove and her long black hair. She placed the gloves down and moved to a leather bag with strange runes or markings on them.
She slowly and cautiously opened the pull string and peered into. A surprised and pleased smile outlined with purple lipstick grew. She held the pouch to her forehead as if to think and commune with the bag. Still with her smile she reaches in bag and pulls out a rough edged gold coin. A coin that was not there before.
“Acheron? You have traveled a long way my sweat.” The woman purrs.
Nearby, in a dark cell lays a large naked man in a fetal position. One would think he is dead except for the pulsing of his large muscles and his grip on his forearms and shins. Whether it is sweat or stale water is unknown but he covered in it. Hundreds of criss-crossing scars travel over his body’s surface. It appears much like a chaotic spider web. Tattoos appear here and there. Many broken up and torn asunder by scars that appeared after the tattoo was inked. Others seem to thrive and move on their own on his skin’s surface.
Strips of light appear into the room as a barred window is opened at the door. A figure steps to the window and peers inside. The viewer’s hand reaches to the head. A ring worn on the finger begins to glow and is pressed to the viewer’s head. The ruined man stops quaking for a mere moment before starting again.
Images flash without form or function in the mind of the woman at the window. Then like a top losing its spin the images become clearer but unsteady.
“Vander is a sissy pants. Vander is a sissy pants!” cried a child nearby.
“Am not!” The viewer, looking down, sees a cut knee and the hands of a child with blood on them. The view changes and allows her to see the boy. To see Vander. He is a mere child of about 5 years. He has fallen off of a series of rocks that make for a water break. The salty water moves slowly at these rocks. The pain of the fall and the salts in the cut knee are clear. Though the child appears to be overweight, he easily and quickly scales the rocks once more to the level where the other four boys are playing.
These children are older. Perhaps 8 to 10 years of age. One looks like a sibling. All are dressed like nobility. Fine clothes and well-kept hair. Behind the boys, a large building can be seen. She knows it to be the home of the small boy named Vander.
He and his older brother, Vassos, live on the estate of the Stormbringers on Waverly. Their father was a military leader. The island nation of Waverly had not known war in five generations. His mother was a political leader and in charge of the islands import and export trade. They were the most powerful family of the entire nation.
A strange looking female called to Vander and Vassos. A half-breed of human and elf. She was obviously dressed as a servant. ALL of the servant staff was crossbreeds. Mainly half-elves. The boys went inside to the marble and gold lined home. The home itself was worth millions of gold and platinum. It had been in the family for about 8 generations. Vassos went to his martial classes. Vander cried and carried on. He wanted to go with his big brother but his mother insisted he learn the will and the way.
A faint smile creased the viewer’s lips. A psion.
The boy became older and stronger. Much stronger. He had the ability of the will and the way but he preferred martial activities. His father convinced the mother to get a new teacher. This teacher was a military man from Bodach. He specialized in using the mind’s gifts to bolster the body. Vander was going to become a psychic warrior.
The new teacher was hard on Vander. He demanded discipline and self-control of one’s emotions. “You are not a Wilder- you a warrior of the mind.” He would preach.
War came. A trade war that was separated as much by race as trade house. His father hated the crossbreeds for this. Two of the three factions against him were lead by ½ elves and used muls, human / dwarf cross breeds, as their muscle. It was not until Vander was 16 that he discovered much of the world was drawing lines and choosing sides. A racial and trade war was brewing.
When the war did arrive on Waverly, the Stormbringer home was destroyed. Mother and father were hung up in a make shift gallows. His brother was slain by the very crossbred staff he had thought he could trust. Vander escaped only because he believed to be dead and lost at sea. He sneaked back to the seaside home that had burned for five days without any water ever touching it. He found enough food and supplies to live for a few weeks and escaped the island on a stolen boat.
The female viewer, shaken and sweating paused. She looked at the large man before her and had a few quiet and sympathetic thoughts cross her mind. Then she went on with her magic as she uncovered more about this mysterious man before her.
Vander’s psionic education came to a halt but he continued to study war and fighting. He had chosen the falchion as his weapon. It matched his physique and method. He found himself becoming a mercenary. There was much call for it in the battles that had been rising almost daily now. There was rumor that Guistenial had fallen. The lion headed giant killed by a man with Vander’s style and thinking. He very much wanted to meet this man. General Dregoth was his name. Instead, he found himself marching to Utopia. General Irikos was threatening to take down the Peacemaker council. This city was lead by Pyreen and druids. They welcomed ½ breeds to join them. No wonder the city needed to be destroyed.
The night before the attack, there was a large party. Men and women both drank and danced to the early hours of the dawn. Vander was no longer a man-child as his father would have put it. The girl was another human with long white hair. The memory of the long white hair is strong in his memories.
The next day, the legion of warriors, over 100,000 strong marched. Powerful mages and psions from both sides began the war while Vander and his battalion were still 100’s of miles away. Something happened. Something horrible and unnatural. Vander could not put a word to it.
The viewer knew. The crazed mages and psions opened a rift to the negative plane. A plane otherwise was unattainable to Athas. Once opened, they could not close it. She gasped and placed her ringed hand down away from her face. For the first time all-day she spoke. “You are truly special to have survived the opening of the negative plane onto your world for the first time.” She looked the man before her. He was shaking and distraught. Her reading of his memories were making him relive them. She was …tormenting him. She continued on. A new smile on her face.
Chirping birds and the rustle of leaves on a gentle summer eve. Vander, still in his armor and with his falchion, sat up on an elbow. Several others were there looking at him. A dwarf in armor was leaning over him. Fruit juices were on his beard. As he spoke, pieces of a pear spat out at him. A human or possibly ½ elf leaning on a bow watched over the wide dwarf’s frame.
Introductions were made by all. These adventurers were also planar travelers. They came from various worlds and planes and found themselves here on Alion. They were on their way to Skydock to resupply themselves. There was a humanoid war developing and they asked if Vander wanted to join them. He did so out of security of numbers in a strange land.
+++++SPOILER WARNING TO READERS++++++
This was the first time the goddess Infiniti aided Vander. She saved his life by moving him to another plane of existence even as his fellow mercenaries were dying around him. He still can see the face of the long white haired woman as she silently screams at him. She is in brown and yellow washed colors. Her face breaks apart revealing the bones below that then shatter into dust. This is one of many things that give Vander the nightmares he often has.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
He came to befriend the Dwarven Warrior of Rkard. Vander found great amusement listening to the dwarf talk about a god of strength known as Kord. Vander knew otherwise. The dwarf was a psychic warrior under the dwarven king Rkard. They trained together and played games of chance together. Snak was his name. Vander did not trust most of the party however. There were two ½ elves and a half-orc in the party. He secretly hoped for their deaths. Especially the mage.
Magic was bad. He had seen magic only three times before finding himself on Alion. The first time an apprentice tried to project energy from his finger to strike a moving target. A mere rat in this case. He instead fired the magical missile that turned on him and killed him. Another time, near seaport of Balic, a mage burned down an entire building when he tried to caste a spell of explosive fire. He and five others died that day. Then there was Utopia. MILLIONS died. Millions in an instant. He tried not to think about what that had to have done to the area.
His distrust of the ½ elf mage was proven shortly after reaching the outer markers of Skydock. She had found a box of magical clay plates. The finding excited Snak. He recognized them as an item called a Deck of Wondrous Things. A decision was made to try it. Snak talked Vander into picking a card from it. The cards were unpredictable. Sometimes good things came from it. Other times …not so good. Snak was always a gambler. He wanted to pick as many cards as he could. Vander wanted none. Snak convinced him to choice one card. “How bad can it be good buddy?”
Vander reached unsteadily for the card. Growing impatient, Snak reached for cards himself. He accidentally bumped Vander’s arm and Vander drew three cards. Even as the cards were being turned over Vander felt pain and a sensation of being moved. He never saw the powerful dwarven war axe appear or the gleaming magical armor. No. He awoke to find himself naked and hanging in a warm cage suspended from the ceiling. Sulfur and fumes made him cough and become sick. He looked down and saw a large creature that he knew was evil. He was the prisoner of a fiendish creature of legends. Worst yet, he was alone and without armor or weapon.
The viewer looked through the bars at the bare man before her. The irony did not escape her notice. She continued to read his memories and mind.
The Pit Fiend below was known only as Bartacuss Filthy. He was not the normal Fiend. He enjoyed games of chance and being on the Prime Material plane. He found mortals, especially humans, would bet on anything no matter what the chances were.
Vander was found outside of his domain near a portal than was unpredictable at best. The Fiend considered him a free gift and with great relish, placed him in study. He was hung from the volcanic ceiling and had various creatures study and report things to him. His mind and memories were mined by memory wyrms. These wyrms could cause complete memory loss in some cases. To Bartacuss’ best judgement, they erased his memories of his childhood.
Bartacuss would beat and break the mortal over and over. Sometimes the human healed normally. Other times by means of a clerical healing. So long as the plaything still entertained him. He used the human as an instrument of chance often. He became something like a specialized gladiator. He found fiends, creatures and other captured souls. Vander rarely loss. When he did, he was given special treatment. Demons that looked like female humans with long white hair seduced him then did unspeakable things to him. Soon, he came to distrust women and even feared them. Soon, he came to lash out at the temptresses. Bartacuss and his sick and demented gambling friends were especially cruel one day.
Vile Victor Villainous, another Pit Fiend and fellow gambler had received the soul of a specific white haired woman from Athas. Seeing potential for new levels of depravity, Bartacuss bought her and forced her onto Vander. Vander literally tore her apart with his great strength. Learning whom this was soon after; he tried to kill himself over and over. Bartacuss had won a bet with several other Pit Fiends on this outcome. Vander hated the Pit Fiend more than he had come to hate himself. He came up with a new plan. A plan borne out of desperation.
He allowed the seductresses to come to him. He allowed his flesh to be torn. He allowed everything to occur to him but without giving in. He was going to beat Bartacuss Filthy at his own game.
In the beginning, Bartacuss found great amusement at this. Especially as Vander would give in after long periods of torture and pain. But he used his mental skills to block it out. He blocked out the pain. He blocked out the horror. He blocked out the emotion. He was winning.
Bartacuss would scream in rage. How dare this lone human do this to him! For two weeks straight, he would kill and heal the determined human every hour on the hour. He was bathed in acids. He was burned. He was sliced. He was crushed. He was dissected. He never gave in.
Bartacuss was losing standings within his sick circle of friends. The human was beating him. a …mere … mortal …human . To save face, Bartacuss traded him for a soul of an imp.
The trade was no picnic for Vander. He found himself on the Plane of Chaos. He was in Acheron.
The female viewer’s eyes glowed. This human was special. He was everything she wanted and more. He defied death. He defied a Pit Fiend. He defied it all. Her respect for this mortal was growing stronger. She was becoming caught up in the memories now. She did not notice Vander’s body had stopped quivering. She did not notice how his head went from being still now shook a defiant no to the world. She continued to probe and dig into his memories.
Now she saw the new owner of his soul. A wicked ½ orc that may have had some fiend or dragon in her. Her name was Queen Ten Bites. It was rumored that she chipped one tusk when she fought a dragon bare handed. She killed it by biting into its neck. On the tenth bite, the dragon succumbed and died. Vander cared little if it was true or not. He only knew this creature was truly sick.
Bartacuss Filthy told her that he was a sex slave and satisfied several sex fiends. Her own desires knew no limits and thus jumped at the chance to have this impressive human for a cucubine. Vander experienced things no mortal man should ever have to. He honestly began to wonder if Filthy was a better choice for him. Bartacuss did what he did for the joy of it. It was not personal. Ten Bites relished her ways and Vander was the most common receiver of her lustful needs.
Understanding that his spirit was not dead but hiding, Ten Bites decided to give him his pride back a bit. She had him join her army on the battlefield. He proved a very capable warrior and grew in power and ability. She rewarded with new armor. He rejected it as it was magical, not psionic in nature. She punished him for weeks in her private room then presented a psionic weapon and armor. It was taken from Athas after the great Cleansing Wars began.
+++++SPOILER WARNING+++++++
His armor and Falchion once belonged to a future Dragon-King on the world of the Darksun.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
With new pride he proved to be a better warrior. He began to show emotion in her private chambers again (horror more often than not).
Then a new memory rises. A cloaked figure steps carefully to Vander in an underground war bunker. Above, the Legion of Doom lead by a new foreigner from another plane waged war on Ten Bites and her tribe. Vander was weak and ashen. He was sick and diseased from a poison. The cloaked figure began to glow and he tried to heal the warrior. The cloaked figure tormented Vander by reminding him of whom he was. He was a powerful psychic warrior. He had taken on creatures and wars and survived them all. The cloaked figure convinced Vander not to do as Ten Bites wanted. He was to be free. The figure left as quietly as he came. No name ever given or said.
Vander rebelled. In fact, he struck down important members of Ten Bites army.
He died a painful death and was not to be resurrected by anyone or face Ten Bites herself.
The female viewer sighs. The effort of maintaining this magic was taxing on her. But the story obviously didn’t end there. He was after all there in her cell.
She began to see images of a fireplace in a lone quiet room. His armor and items polished and sitting on a table. A bottle of strong drink near by. Something he swore to never use to escape his horrors. This was a place outside of time and reality. It was….
“What is it Gortallis?!?” she says in anger to her familiar. She pulls away her hand and sees the hatred and anger on Vander’s face. He is at the door glaring at her. She moves to caste a spell of protection but it is too late. He pushes on the door and it breaks free of its rusty hinges and collapses onto her. The air is crushed out of her lungs as he walks over the door and thus her prone body.
She tries to caste a spell somatically only. Vander stomps on the heavy door several times until he hears no more chanting. The purple and black frog tries to escape notice but fails. He lifts and hurls a heavy chair at it. It splinters as it strikes the floor where the frog was. He knows not if it is dead or alive and cares less. He is full of anger now. He is tired of being manipulated and used.
In a quiet but harsh whisper he only says this-
“I …DEFY …THIS.”
Then he leaves to find his equipment and friends.
