Herremann the Wise
First Post
Lucifus's Prisoner - The Alienist Part II
Author’s Warning: The following passage contains material more adult in nature and is recommended suitable for a mature audience only.
Later that Evening…
Drunk on the heady brew of years of toil coming to fruition, Lucifus felt the need to celebrate. While amused by the enthusiastic joinings with the shamaness, he felt the need to expand upon his carousing. With Ugari resting blissfully in meditation upon her pillows, Lucifus left the rough hide tent. The night air was chill, with a steady wind sweeping across the heights of the hilltop overlooking the scene of Tunthi’s dramatic victory against the former yet quickly forgotten leader Klorgan. The lack of sentimentality would have disturbed Lucifus at one point in his life but now he found the cultural variety refreshing. He descended from the shamaness’ lodging down to the lower level, a scene of roars, bellows and general feasting and festivity.
The area was a confusion of activity with numerous torches flickering, fluttering, being picked up, thrown, doused, bursting and flaring to create a chaotic coruscation of radiance like some orgiastic festival of light and shadow. There were several scenes amongst the illuminated chaos that drew Lucifus’s eye as he floated towards his intended destination.
The first was a colossal spitted ox, roasting since the early morning. Several figures dug around the hot coals with sticks trying to provoke a fiercer heat, while the massive form of a clansman, orc-blood rich in his veins turned the massive beast single-handedly. Several clansmen walking past were harried away by the stick-wielders, collectively waiting for the “cook” to determine when the beast would be ready. Several fights had broken out only stopped when the muscled half-orc turning the beast threatened to get out his axe. The cook’s threats were taken seriously.
The next scene near the cliff’s precipice was a group of clansmen revelling in the torture of several captives: fresh from an early morning raid against a merchant craft traversing the Sea of Amber in search of now unfulfilled profit. A small number had already been decapitated, the bodies discarded while the heads had been bashed upon stakes. Those captives still conscious from semi-crucification painfully looked about with panicked glances between the limply extended and bloody faces of their former comrades, the heaving brutal demeanour of the jubilant clansmen and the as yet unsullied stakes dug deeply into the craggy ground a few unwelcome strides away. Others watched and roared at the spectacle and sport cheering as another captive was blooded. A few moments after, the head was off and jammed into another empty stake. Lucifus thought it would not take them long now to kill the rest.
As he floated past the other side of the sodden sward, a large and powerful clansman was having his way with some poor girl. Other girls and women{1} ranging greatly in age waited patiently nearby for their turn. He was obviously one of the more successful raiders claiming his due. His muscled body was wet with sweat, the dark streaks of dried blood further evidence of his participation and success. His frenzied animalistic rutting with the girl kneeling beneath him was momentarily disturbed as she was discarded and replaced. He had blindly reached out at the closest form before forcing her underneath him as he continued, his rhythm barely interrupted.
Lucifus who had floated past the scene was looking for a small tent amongst the large number of hide dwellings on the leeward side of the clan’s peninsula. He saw the unadorned doeskin shelter he was looking for in the distance and headed towards it. Several Clanswoman left out of the evening’s festivities were milling around the encampment. They gave the floating wizard wide birth. The majority of the clan rightly feared Lucifus, his obvious “spirit” power augmented by his status with the shamaness. While still a stranger of sorts, he had “Gurtha”. This effectively meant he was officially part of the clan although the term does have several other expanded connotations. He opened the flap without fear of consequence and floated inside.
The form of a small human man lay on the ground sleeping, naked except for an iron manacle around his neck chained to a nearby granite boulder. In reality, the little man was so weak that the chain was most likely more than enough to keep him fettered; the boulder completely in excess of necessity. In all likelihood, neither was necessary. He had nowhere to go and no way of getting there even if he did. The final stage of his life had been spent attempting to honour his God amongst these savages who knew nothing of faith or kindness. It took several moments for him to awaken to Lucifus’s presence.
“May I be of service… master?” he habitually croaked, his body shifting slightly. The frail old man, once from the Beltratian hinterlands east of Larksale in a different lifetime opened his eyes fully to reveal wells of deep amber that unhurriedly focused on the floating wizard. He did not act surprised but his eyes revealed a certain revulsion and disgust.
“I thought I’d come along for a little chat, brag of my final success so to speak”, Lucifus smiled. He then added a further simple yet ominous statement of his victory. “I have gone beyond”.
There was a quiet between the two, only broken when the wind’s icy tendrils reached into the pathetic shelter with a dramatic hiss. Lucifus pulling a cloak around his chest then replied, “You were one of the first people I had in mind to visit actually. There are several others of course but they can wait a little longer for a more comprehensive display.”
“You have turned your back on sanity”, the man uttered. “May Galasso have mercy upon the tattered cinders of your soul.”
“My soul as it were is quite my own thank you and well out of the reach of your god. While I respect your faith, I am happy to leave you to enjoy its meagre benefits. No, I have come for a different reason. I have come for a request actually. I have need of your wisdom once more, except this time I will have it.”
The old man, a once mighty priest of Galasso looked over the wizard shaking his head, a frail shell of what and who he once was. He was tired of this game that the wizard insisted upon playing. “You have not heeded a single word from my lips so far. I will not waste what is left of my faith and wisdom on you.” And with this he rolled over attempting to finally dismiss the wizard from what remained of his life.
Lucifus however altered from his usual routine at this point. He must have the name. “I can secure your freedom. I will help you return to your former life. It is now within my power.”
For several moments there was no reaction as the man lay there as still as the corpse he almost was. Lucifus’s patience however was rewarded as he turned over once more, the chain clinking. “I will not give you what you want. Not for my freedom and not for anything in this mortal world. My soul is worth more to me than that.” There. He had said it. If Galasso were good it would come true.
Lucifus sensing the man’s inner battles tried a different tact. “I am bound by my own contract to give her this creature. If I am unsuccessful, I will be dead but the creature will be loosed upon this world. Do you wish that to happen? Will that not equally stain your soul? I intend to call it tomorrow night come what may… I know how to reach it; you have at least helped me with that much. You can help me control it though… a simple request. What is it's name; one of these beasts that destroyed your little batallion before you ran away? Think of it as the purest revenge, they hate being called to do a mortal's bidding. I might even let you watch my dominion over it.”
The priest looked utterly pained, destroyed by the bitter memory. For eight months he had been imprisoned here, a harmless traveller seeking solace aboard a raided vessel. Lucifus had saved his life once much to his shame. He had bargained with the wizard out of fear and a lack of faith but never again. He couldn’t. His faith must be strong. It Must! It was then that a terrible and horrific idea occurred to him, the last flicker of his will extinguishing. Doomed. He would give the fool a name. He would give the fool a devil he could never control and one that would destroy this god’s forsaken place and all those within it. He remembered for the last time a distant past{2}, when he had been an idealistic cleric and more a fool himself – had he changed that much?
He looked up at the wizard, one frail and speckled arm upon the ground and bespoke a single name, “Sarrash”.
Lucifus who had been about to say something was caught surprised but only for a moment as the simple yet most powerful utterance registered. He started laughing, a low insidious laugh at his final victory over the man. The laughter soon grew in pitch and timbre as he finally repeated the name, “Sarrash…”
The old priest of Galasso collapsed limply upon the ground, his arm lacking the strength to support his body a moment longer. He could feel his sight diminishing to grey, his soul blackening and the mumbled words of the wizard fading to silence. What had he done? WHAT HAD HE DONE his mind shrieked in tortured faithless agony. He felt what was left of his senses leave him.
Lucifus who had by now left the bitterly cold shelter with the knowledge of a double victory gleefully displayed upon his rapturous features failed to notice that the little man had expired and passed away; the agony of his final sin wracked across his features.
{1} The dedicated anthropologist would be fascinated at the variety of culture, honour systems, social mores and vibrant customs within the many and varied Derman clans. Those of the Strauchn however were fairly typical in terms of their treatment of women and thus useful in terms of a study of the generic Derman culture – although variances and specific customs were still here and there individualized and at times unique.
The concepts of marriage, fidelity and monogamy were unknown amongst the Strauchn as it was amongst all the barbaric tribes of Derman. The possession of the female was by the clan and not by any individuals there within. As such, bloodlines were impossible to determine and not of importance in the judgment of position and authority. It would be true to say that might, power and physical prowess were the perfect determiners of prestige and place amongst the tribe.
The women are separated from the men in terms of domestic duties and are rarely involved in the day to day decisions of the clan – such things are the province of the clan’s leader and direct subordinates. The clan’s shamaness would bless occasional pregnancies and with a certain degree of luck and fortitude a babe would be born. The women as a whole would look after the children although the use of a term such as “Childhood” has little meaning amongst the clans. The bond between mother and any progeny was weak at best. As soon as a youngling was large enough to wield an axe or desired enough to be bedded, they were part of the greater tribe. In essence, age like bloodlines was of little consequence in determining ones rank. The old and sick in fact were quickly discarded from the tribe.
It is to be noted however, that there is one very important exception to this concept of power within the clan and that is the position of the Shamaness. Most tribes have a shamaness, witchwoman or wangateur who is considered to be the beacon or soul of the tribe. To lose one’s shamaness is to have the spirit’s turn their back upon the entire clan. The Clan would be disbanded and most likely become simple prey to neighbouring tribes. Through obvious power and general superstition, the Shamaness was never challenged and all followed her command. The passing on of power from one shamaness to another is a complete study in itself and maybe of further interest down the track.
{2} The Church of Galasso was historically known for many heroic virtues and ventures. One faded ritual in particular was the irregular and small crusading made against the servants of darkness inside the very realms of Hell. These gallant efforts were performed by young and idealistic clerics known as Storm Soldiers of the Eagle (The Eagle being the representation of Galasso). In their raids, they were given power to defeat their enemies, using the real names of these devils and dark entities so as they could be smited from existence. As such, it was not uncommon for such holy warriors to know the precise nomenclature of several powerful manifestations. However, those that returned from these crusades were normally deeply affected. It would be years later that such priests would have issues of faith, most eventually leaving the service of Galasso as broken men; some never to return, others to be tormented forever by their knowledge of pure darkness. The practice of such foolhardy expeditions had since been abandoned by the Church.
***
Author’s Warning: The following passage contains material more adult in nature and is recommended suitable for a mature audience only.
***
Later that Evening…
Drunk on the heady brew of years of toil coming to fruition, Lucifus felt the need to celebrate. While amused by the enthusiastic joinings with the shamaness, he felt the need to expand upon his carousing. With Ugari resting blissfully in meditation upon her pillows, Lucifus left the rough hide tent. The night air was chill, with a steady wind sweeping across the heights of the hilltop overlooking the scene of Tunthi’s dramatic victory against the former yet quickly forgotten leader Klorgan. The lack of sentimentality would have disturbed Lucifus at one point in his life but now he found the cultural variety refreshing. He descended from the shamaness’ lodging down to the lower level, a scene of roars, bellows and general feasting and festivity.
The area was a confusion of activity with numerous torches flickering, fluttering, being picked up, thrown, doused, bursting and flaring to create a chaotic coruscation of radiance like some orgiastic festival of light and shadow. There were several scenes amongst the illuminated chaos that drew Lucifus’s eye as he floated towards his intended destination.
The first was a colossal spitted ox, roasting since the early morning. Several figures dug around the hot coals with sticks trying to provoke a fiercer heat, while the massive form of a clansman, orc-blood rich in his veins turned the massive beast single-handedly. Several clansmen walking past were harried away by the stick-wielders, collectively waiting for the “cook” to determine when the beast would be ready. Several fights had broken out only stopped when the muscled half-orc turning the beast threatened to get out his axe. The cook’s threats were taken seriously.
The next scene near the cliff’s precipice was a group of clansmen revelling in the torture of several captives: fresh from an early morning raid against a merchant craft traversing the Sea of Amber in search of now unfulfilled profit. A small number had already been decapitated, the bodies discarded while the heads had been bashed upon stakes. Those captives still conscious from semi-crucification painfully looked about with panicked glances between the limply extended and bloody faces of their former comrades, the heaving brutal demeanour of the jubilant clansmen and the as yet unsullied stakes dug deeply into the craggy ground a few unwelcome strides away. Others watched and roared at the spectacle and sport cheering as another captive was blooded. A few moments after, the head was off and jammed into another empty stake. Lucifus thought it would not take them long now to kill the rest.
As he floated past the other side of the sodden sward, a large and powerful clansman was having his way with some poor girl. Other girls and women{1} ranging greatly in age waited patiently nearby for their turn. He was obviously one of the more successful raiders claiming his due. His muscled body was wet with sweat, the dark streaks of dried blood further evidence of his participation and success. His frenzied animalistic rutting with the girl kneeling beneath him was momentarily disturbed as she was discarded and replaced. He had blindly reached out at the closest form before forcing her underneath him as he continued, his rhythm barely interrupted.
Lucifus who had floated past the scene was looking for a small tent amongst the large number of hide dwellings on the leeward side of the clan’s peninsula. He saw the unadorned doeskin shelter he was looking for in the distance and headed towards it. Several Clanswoman left out of the evening’s festivities were milling around the encampment. They gave the floating wizard wide birth. The majority of the clan rightly feared Lucifus, his obvious “spirit” power augmented by his status with the shamaness. While still a stranger of sorts, he had “Gurtha”. This effectively meant he was officially part of the clan although the term does have several other expanded connotations. He opened the flap without fear of consequence and floated inside.
The form of a small human man lay on the ground sleeping, naked except for an iron manacle around his neck chained to a nearby granite boulder. In reality, the little man was so weak that the chain was most likely more than enough to keep him fettered; the boulder completely in excess of necessity. In all likelihood, neither was necessary. He had nowhere to go and no way of getting there even if he did. The final stage of his life had been spent attempting to honour his God amongst these savages who knew nothing of faith or kindness. It took several moments for him to awaken to Lucifus’s presence.
“May I be of service… master?” he habitually croaked, his body shifting slightly. The frail old man, once from the Beltratian hinterlands east of Larksale in a different lifetime opened his eyes fully to reveal wells of deep amber that unhurriedly focused on the floating wizard. He did not act surprised but his eyes revealed a certain revulsion and disgust.
“I thought I’d come along for a little chat, brag of my final success so to speak”, Lucifus smiled. He then added a further simple yet ominous statement of his victory. “I have gone beyond”.
There was a quiet between the two, only broken when the wind’s icy tendrils reached into the pathetic shelter with a dramatic hiss. Lucifus pulling a cloak around his chest then replied, “You were one of the first people I had in mind to visit actually. There are several others of course but they can wait a little longer for a more comprehensive display.”
“You have turned your back on sanity”, the man uttered. “May Galasso have mercy upon the tattered cinders of your soul.”
“My soul as it were is quite my own thank you and well out of the reach of your god. While I respect your faith, I am happy to leave you to enjoy its meagre benefits. No, I have come for a different reason. I have come for a request actually. I have need of your wisdom once more, except this time I will have it.”
The old man, a once mighty priest of Galasso looked over the wizard shaking his head, a frail shell of what and who he once was. He was tired of this game that the wizard insisted upon playing. “You have not heeded a single word from my lips so far. I will not waste what is left of my faith and wisdom on you.” And with this he rolled over attempting to finally dismiss the wizard from what remained of his life.
Lucifus however altered from his usual routine at this point. He must have the name. “I can secure your freedom. I will help you return to your former life. It is now within my power.”
For several moments there was no reaction as the man lay there as still as the corpse he almost was. Lucifus’s patience however was rewarded as he turned over once more, the chain clinking. “I will not give you what you want. Not for my freedom and not for anything in this mortal world. My soul is worth more to me than that.” There. He had said it. If Galasso were good it would come true.
Lucifus sensing the man’s inner battles tried a different tact. “I am bound by my own contract to give her this creature. If I am unsuccessful, I will be dead but the creature will be loosed upon this world. Do you wish that to happen? Will that not equally stain your soul? I intend to call it tomorrow night come what may… I know how to reach it; you have at least helped me with that much. You can help me control it though… a simple request. What is it's name; one of these beasts that destroyed your little batallion before you ran away? Think of it as the purest revenge, they hate being called to do a mortal's bidding. I might even let you watch my dominion over it.”
The priest looked utterly pained, destroyed by the bitter memory. For eight months he had been imprisoned here, a harmless traveller seeking solace aboard a raided vessel. Lucifus had saved his life once much to his shame. He had bargained with the wizard out of fear and a lack of faith but never again. He couldn’t. His faith must be strong. It Must! It was then that a terrible and horrific idea occurred to him, the last flicker of his will extinguishing. Doomed. He would give the fool a name. He would give the fool a devil he could never control and one that would destroy this god’s forsaken place and all those within it. He remembered for the last time a distant past{2}, when he had been an idealistic cleric and more a fool himself – had he changed that much?
He looked up at the wizard, one frail and speckled arm upon the ground and bespoke a single name, “Sarrash”.
Lucifus who had been about to say something was caught surprised but only for a moment as the simple yet most powerful utterance registered. He started laughing, a low insidious laugh at his final victory over the man. The laughter soon grew in pitch and timbre as he finally repeated the name, “Sarrash…”
The old priest of Galasso collapsed limply upon the ground, his arm lacking the strength to support his body a moment longer. He could feel his sight diminishing to grey, his soul blackening and the mumbled words of the wizard fading to silence. What had he done? WHAT HAD HE DONE his mind shrieked in tortured faithless agony. He felt what was left of his senses leave him.
Lucifus who had by now left the bitterly cold shelter with the knowledge of a double victory gleefully displayed upon his rapturous features failed to notice that the little man had expired and passed away; the agony of his final sin wracked across his features.
***
{1} The dedicated anthropologist would be fascinated at the variety of culture, honour systems, social mores and vibrant customs within the many and varied Derman clans. Those of the Strauchn however were fairly typical in terms of their treatment of women and thus useful in terms of a study of the generic Derman culture – although variances and specific customs were still here and there individualized and at times unique.
The concepts of marriage, fidelity and monogamy were unknown amongst the Strauchn as it was amongst all the barbaric tribes of Derman. The possession of the female was by the clan and not by any individuals there within. As such, bloodlines were impossible to determine and not of importance in the judgment of position and authority. It would be true to say that might, power and physical prowess were the perfect determiners of prestige and place amongst the tribe.
The women are separated from the men in terms of domestic duties and are rarely involved in the day to day decisions of the clan – such things are the province of the clan’s leader and direct subordinates. The clan’s shamaness would bless occasional pregnancies and with a certain degree of luck and fortitude a babe would be born. The women as a whole would look after the children although the use of a term such as “Childhood” has little meaning amongst the clans. The bond between mother and any progeny was weak at best. As soon as a youngling was large enough to wield an axe or desired enough to be bedded, they were part of the greater tribe. In essence, age like bloodlines was of little consequence in determining ones rank. The old and sick in fact were quickly discarded from the tribe.
It is to be noted however, that there is one very important exception to this concept of power within the clan and that is the position of the Shamaness. Most tribes have a shamaness, witchwoman or wangateur who is considered to be the beacon or soul of the tribe. To lose one’s shamaness is to have the spirit’s turn their back upon the entire clan. The Clan would be disbanded and most likely become simple prey to neighbouring tribes. Through obvious power and general superstition, the Shamaness was never challenged and all followed her command. The passing on of power from one shamaness to another is a complete study in itself and maybe of further interest down the track.
{2} The Church of Galasso was historically known for many heroic virtues and ventures. One faded ritual in particular was the irregular and small crusading made against the servants of darkness inside the very realms of Hell. These gallant efforts were performed by young and idealistic clerics known as Storm Soldiers of the Eagle (The Eagle being the representation of Galasso). In their raids, they were given power to defeat their enemies, using the real names of these devils and dark entities so as they could be smited from existence. As such, it was not uncommon for such holy warriors to know the precise nomenclature of several powerful manifestations. However, those that returned from these crusades were normally deeply affected. It would be years later that such priests would have issues of faith, most eventually leaving the service of Galasso as broken men; some never to return, others to be tormented forever by their knowledge of pure darkness. The practice of such foolhardy expeditions had since been abandoned by the Church.
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![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
, all in preparation for a mega pre-christmas update. 
