Omanes stood awkwardly on the raised dais, his throne behind him. He was not used to all this armour; leather, chainmail and steel attachments were quite a bit heavier then his normal fine clothing. But, with the daemon-worshippers on the loose, it was probably for the best.
He surveyed his Hall, looking once more for any sign of a guilty party. But there were only his trusted bodyguards before him; Zain armoured much as he himself was, Faction in heavy plate mail. They rested their eyes on the other plate-armoured man in the Hall, Tran, ready to attack when the moment came. There was savage Shaterus, his shield and breastplate replaced this morning; loyal Draconian with crossbow slung over his back; the pageboy Andres, standing out in the crowd because of his lack of armour or weapons; mercenary Amazing, armed with the possessions of the dead; and lastly the oddly familiar-looking Kommodus .
Omanes watched as these few remaining suspects headed for the doors, and felt a flicker of fear. Would it work? ‘It has to,’ he thought fervently, ‘It has to.’
Amazing walked to the door that would take him almost straight to the Guest Quarters; no point in making himself look even worse, although it was probably time to skip out on this job. Wondering how best to avoid the guards stationed around the Castle and make a break for it, he opened the door, feeling the presence of several others behind him.
Before him stood six guards, swords drawn and shields strapped to arms. One took a step forward, into the Hall as Amazing moved back to give him space.
“My Lord, you ordered that all exits to the Hall be guarded, so that no daemon-worshipper could escape. But for all we know, the daemons have taken you, so we’re just gonna sit out here and wait for y’all to die.”
He grinned, revealing yellowed, rotted teeth.
“Have fun now.”
He stepped back and the door slammed closed, followed by the two at the other exits. Amazing turned around to face the group of scared and confused faces behind him. He was the first to do so, and was therefore the first to see Zain and Factionheir begin their charge.
“Betrayal! Treachery from the Lord!” he bellowed, stepping back to let the doorway secure his rear and drawing his weapons.
Zain felt a flash of anger for the mercenary; Faction should have killed him when he had the chance. But he pushed aside the anger, and ran towards Tran, readying his weapons. He was faster than his brother, and so would strike first. He had to weaken or at least unbalance him before Faction arrived, so they could move on to their next target. Throwing the dagger in his left hand, he tensed to follow with the right, but he saw a blade flashing at him from the side and turned it desperately, flinging his arm upwards to block. The blade bit half-way through his dagger, the strength of the blow sending him sprawling to the floor, right in front of the now armed and ready Tran. Almost four feet of sharpened steel came whistling down…
A flash of pain and a spurt of blood, as blade bit through skin and bone...
Faction stepped past his brother’s body, willing himself not to look down, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand; eliminating his brother’s killer. To that end, he sent his twin shortswords whistling towards Tran’s head, intending to ‘scissor’ it off in one brutal maneuver. But the cursed bastardsword, still point-down in a pool of blood, moved twice to stop them, strummed steel echoing throughout the Hall.
Clang! Clang!
Now, however, Faction was inside Tran’s reach, and exploited that fact ruthlessly, blades flashing towards chinks and joins in the man’s plate as he desperately moved them out of the way, instead sending them rebounding off broad, thick plates of steel.
Factionheir smiled behind his featureless greathelm. The moment was nearing…
Tran was in a bad place. The plate-armoured bodyguard of Omanes had drawn too close for him to use his sword, while pummeling him with continuous blows. A Knight of the Realm, spoiled nobles for the most part, would have died in this situation, knowing not how to break free. But he was not a knight, though armed as one; he was a daemonically-Altered follower of the Blessed One, and he would not fail.
Tilting his head to the left to avoid a lethal stop-thrust, he bunched up his free hand and slammed it into Faction’s chest, sending him back a few steps as breath left his body. Using the same hand to push him back more, he swung with the suddenly-usable bastardsword in his right. Now it was Factionheir on the defensive, dual swords unable to get close to his body, forced to block and block again as he drew on his daemonic gifts, blade moving with greater speed as he switched hands for unpredictable attacks.
Left, right, two-handed, right, left, left, always moving him back. The first bodyguard’s throwing knife had been easy enough to avoid, surprised though he had been, and he had fallen soon after. This one, it seemed, would soon follow suit…
Faction sighed mentally, needing all his physical breath to power his defence. There was one option remaining to him, and it would mean his death. If he didn’t take it though, he would most likely die anyway, and the murderer would go free.
He tensed, ready to throw himself on the man’s dancing blade before closing in and striking his own killing blow. But then he saw something behind Tran, and froze, mind uncomprehending…
Zain staggered upright, clutching the side of his head with one hand. Luckily the target hadn’t had a chance to check him over, otherwise he would have seen that he’d merely taken an ear and sheared off some skull.
Turning drunkenly, he saw the two plate duelists fighting furiously. Walking forward, he focused his eyes, making sure he had the one with one sword, not two.
He found the target, found the join in his waist armour. Dropping his blood-slick hand, he gripped his sword with both hands and thrust upwards…
Tran smiled; the bodyguard was about to die by his hand. Then he felt searing pain, a swordblade piercing a join in his armour from behind and seeking his heart, missing it by a bare inch as the tip poked out through the meat of his neck. Black spots danced across his failing vision, but he would not die alone. His right hand fell from its striking position, hilt rolling over his fingers as his body weakened, but he would not die alone.
Gathering his last reserves of strength, he acted. His fingers snapped closed around the hilt of his sword, now point-down, and he thrust backwards as hard as he was able. He felt the shock through his arm as blade bit steel and bone, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.
He would not die alone…
Captain Arthua frowned.
“What do you mean, I am forbidden entry? Fool, the Lord requires aid!”
The guard smiled.
“How you know he’s not one of ‘em? You ain’t goin’ in. An’ don’t think those three pretty-boys behind you will change nuthin’.”
He added, nodding to the six gold-trimmed Elites behind Arthua. The Captain turned to face the only troops seemingly still loyal to Omanes in the whole Castle.
“Well men, it seems we urgent business awaiting us somewhere other than the Hall.”
He paused, gathering his breath and courage. They were outnumbered, after all, and the enemy already had weapons drawn. The Elites nodded at him, indicating that they were prepared.
“Cleanse the Traitors! For Lord Omanes!”
He whirled, sword leaving its sheath and entering the traitor’s neck…
Draconian was dimly aware that the charging bodyguards had met resistance and were even now fighting to a stand-still, but he was more interested in Andres. Andres, who had counter-charged, slashing at Zain as he moved past with unbelievable speed.
He unslung his crossbow, slotting a bolt into place in seconds. It would be a difficult shot, but he had hunted unnatural creatures for a long time now, and he could make it.
He raised his weapon, sighted down its length, and centered it on Omanes' chest, seeing a blur out of the corner of his eye.
He inhaled, exhaled, and let his finger squeeze the trigger…
Andres had seen his chance when both bodyguards left their positions to attack Tran; his chance to complete his mission. Drawing strength from within, he abandoned any pretense of being an innocent page, and ran for Lord Omanes, taking a shot at Zain as he passed; Tran could use the help.
In two seconds, he had crossed the distance from entrance to dais, and was only a few feet from Omanes. The fop, weighed down by unfamiliar armour, was still quick to draw his rapier and lung forward, the tip of his sword aiming for the eyes.
Andres didn’t stop moving, taking another step even as he arched his upper body backwards, drawing his longknife with his left hand and using it to slam the thinner weapon away. Taking another step forward and coming upright once more, his keen senses warned him of danger and he took a step to Omanes’ left as he whirled, right hand grasping the bolt and redoubling its speed as he guided it into the Lord’s neck.
The fool would die by his hand; no-one else’s…
“Nooo!”
Faction turned at the shriek, still seeing the intertwined bodies of his brother and his murderer, their swords thrust into each other at reverse angles; forming a steel ‘V’ of gore-soaked steel. He staggered at the new horror his eyes showed him; Andres letting Omanes' body drop from the dais as he released a crossbow bolt, Draconian screaming and holding his head, crossbow on the floor next to him.
He turned as the two main doors to the Hall burst open, disgorging a wave of guards, led by Captain Arthua and three blood-spattered Elites.
“They’ve murdered Lord Omanes! Kill them all!”
‘No,’ Faction wanted to say, ‘it wasn’t all of them.’
But he could not voice the words, and his eyes had found Andres, slipping unobtrusively towards the Lord’s Door.
‘Just him.’
“Guards! To me, to me!” He yelled as he charged, echoing his brother’s call of only three nights before.
Kommodus backed away almost without thinking, seeing his death in the sea of rage-filled faces coming towards him. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, the pressure bringing him back to himself. He looked up into the face of Amazing, old beyond its years.
“Stay by me, follow my instructions, and maybe we’ll get out of here alive.”
Kommodus glanced at the guards again, then looked doubtfully back to the mercenary. Who half-grimaced, half-grinned.
“Well, we can at least make them pay for our deaths.”
‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘we can at least do that.’
His eyes drift to the body of his late father, and something inside him hardened. The man had deserved to die, but with his death had come a great calamity, one that would be felt hardest of all by the scum of the world…by those who had raised him.
‘And maybe, just maybe, we’ll get out of here alive. And then, then I can begin to help...’
Andres laughed with glee, ducking under a guard’s wild swing, coming up within his reach and quickly plunged his dagger in then out of his eye, dancing away even as the body collapsed. Three more already lay dead in his path, but now he was face-to-face with that plate-armoured bodyguard, Factionheir, and one of the cloaked Elites.
A grin split his face and he laughed again, running off into the crowd of surrounding guards, ducking, dodging, cutting, stabbing; killing.
Amazing blocked the thrust with his shield, taking off the man’s arm in a return blow from his bastardsword. Taking one step back and to the right, he turned to face the right of his old position, slapping down a sword with the rim of his shield while keeping the rest back with a wild swing from his own.
At his back, Kommodus had changed position also, his longsword slightly less adept at killing opponents but still with a greater reach then theirs, allowing him to land several crippling blows while avoiding them himself.
The two fought back to back, circling constantly, shields dancing to block blades and swords flicking out to land the occasional blow. Already five men lay dead or dying, but there were more, always more coming, eager to kill the ‘murderers’.
‘How the ***ing hell did I ever think we’d make it out of here?!’ Amazing thought wildly, taking a slash across his arm in order to literally disarm another guard...
Draconian watched the guards coming towards him dully. He had failed in his task, in his mission to destroy the vampire inhabiting the Castle, and now he had killed the only thing stopping the evil daemon hordes from overrunning the Kingdom. He was a failure, and he could not see any reason to fight for his life.
Three guards were ahead of the rest, infront of even the Elites and Arthua. Sound seemed to almost disappear as they closed in, weapons waving wildly, mouths moving soundlessly, heavy footfalls making the quietest thumps. The guards were no more then four strides away now. It would all be over soon.
Suddenly, something stepped into the way, half-obscuring his view. The faint rasp of leather on steel as Shaterus' sword left its sheath seemed deafeningly loud, and Draconian watched as the blade arced outwards, ripping out the right-most guard’s throat as Shaterus slammed his shield into the left-most. The first guard hit the ground noiselessly as Shaterus continued his movement, turning on one foot and driving his bastardsword down through the man’s heart. Letting go of the hilt, he moved forward to confront the last guard, shield-bashing his weapon away and landing a punch to his face. Before the man could fall, he grabbed him by the tabard near his neck, lifted him into the air, and sank his rapidly-lengthening canines into his neck.
The following guards stopped in their charge and stood watching, horrified, as the captured man became paler and the vampire became less; a healthy flush filling his skin. Finishing his meal, Shaterus raised his head and regarded them for a moment before tossing the man carelessly to one side, the shriveled sack of flesh and bones sliding along the floor until it hit the wall, propelled by the weight of its armour. He smirked, and his eyes flashed crimson as sound returned to Draconian's world.
“I think we shall be friends.”
Arthua let out a yell, leading the renewed charge on evil.
Shaterus half-spun, whipping free his sword before turning to face the guards again, weapon in hand.
Draconian hesitated. His path should be clear; destroy the vampire who even now exposed his back. But how could he betray someone who had already saved his life twice?
“I don’t know what to do…” he moaned, head in hands…
Cimmerian cocked his head. From his hide-out in Shlin’s room, he could hear the sound of fighting in the Hall. Lots of fighting.
Standing, he checked his daggers and restocked his shuriken.
“Time to go kill some people.”
Andres half-decapitated a man with his knife, using his bare hand to rip out another’s throat. Stooping to pick up one of the shields, he whirled around and flung it discus-style at his pursuers, clipping top of the Elite’s skull, snapping his head back and breaking his neck. As the man fell, Andres decided he’d had enough games; time to destroy that pathetic bodyguard who was following him doggedly through the melee.
Lunging back along his path, he dodged around a now-dying guard and was met by two swords thrusting towards his chest. Side-stepping the main blow, he still felt two trails of fire traced along his side, added to the dozens of other minor gashes and slices in his host body. His return blow, battered longknife flashing out towards throat, was blocked by both of Faction’s swords. Snarling in annoyance, he leaned over their straining weapons and stared through the helm’s eyeslits.
“You cannot defeat me, human. I killed your Lord, I killed your brother. You shall soon follow them.”
Faction grunted with exertion, pushing the knife further away from his body with all his strength.
“Yes, you’ve killed my Lord, you’ve killed my brother, and thus ended my desire for life.” With a heave, he pushed the pageboy away, their respective weapon flicking up into guard position.
“Now I only want death.” He continued, pointing a sword at Andres. “Your death, my death, the death of everyone responsible.”
“You really think you can kill all everyone here, or any of my superiors who ordered those deaths?”
“No,” Faction sighed, lowering his arms and bowing slightly under the sudden weight of mail and duty.
“But I’ll settle for you.”
Andres was forced back by the sudden attack, longknife jumping from side to side in an attempt to block every attack, but with a single blade even he was not fast enough; more cuts were added to his collection, and he thought with a laugh that any human would have died from blood loss by now.
This sudden onslaught was worrying however, and Andres wondered with concern if this God of theirs had intervened. But then he saw an opening, and in that moment the tables turned.
Blade flashed along forearm, through combat straps and tendons, and Faction’s left sword dropped from nerveless fingers. His right arm was enclosed in a steely grip, and his head snapped upwards from a vicious uppercut, taking his helm and exposing his neck to the knife.
Andres smiled. What God would let his followers die?
“…I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do..”
Shaterus warded off the guards with a serious of savage, double-handed swings from his sword, then whirled.
“You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”
Draconian stared at him, uncomprehending.
“Hunt!”
Shaterus yelled, pointing to where Andres was decimating several squads of soldiers.
Yes, that was right. There was still evil in this place, still a task remaining that needed to be done.
Draconian retrieved his crossbow, slotting in place his most deadly weapon; a pointed steel stake, blessed by the holy Bishop Andorn.
Sighting towards the carnage, ignoring the fighting not two feet from him, Draconian saw the deadly series of blows as Faction was laid low, saw the possessed one pause to savor his triumph, and fired.
Sudden, shocking pain, as he was transfixed through the heart, host body failing, fading, dying.
No.
He drew strength from the Warp, dropping his old prey and seeking his new. Sighting the man, he snarled and flashed across the intervening space, ignoring the agony he felt.
He lunged…
Draconian lowered his weapon, watching calmly as the possessed approached in a blur of movement. Shaterus stepped up next to him.
“Well, ****.”
Draconian smiled.
“No, it’s good. He’s bound to this plane now. Here,” he added, holding out a vial. “holy water. You’ll need it.”
And then Andres was there, and they were fighting for their lives.
Andres felt his connection to the Warp failing, and drew as much power into himself as he could. He fell upon the two before him, slashing with his knife. Fast as he was, one of them was just as quick, blocking with shield and, when the blade stuck, throwing it aside. A flash of movement to his right, and he flung his hands in front of his face, feeling glass smash against them before the liquid hit. Andres screamed in agony as the flesh burned away, leaving his fingers talons of bone and tattered muscle.
He turned on the one who had attacked him with wicked speed, fingers serving as weapons, flaying flesh and leather, his victim staggering back in a spray of blood. Sensing the other readying his attack, he grabbed the man’s shortsword and whirled, grinning as he saw the inscribed blade and the creature before him.
‘A blessed weapon and a vampire…perfect.’
Shaterus ripped the remains of his shield from his arm, throwing it and the embedded longknife to the floor before turning to resume the fight. Only to see Draconian falling to the floor, chest and arms shredded by the possessed’s bare hands. Andres turned, Draconian’s inscribed shortsword in hand and a grin plastered across his face.
“Still wish to challenge me? Your friend didn’t fair so well.”
Shaterus felt blood – blood! Sweet blood! – surging through his desiccated veins. His strength had been slowly draining away as the distance from his last meal grew, but now he was empowered anew.
“He was a mere mortal.”
Shaterus felt his rage unlocking the more…savage part of his heritage, one side of his mouth rising in a slow smirk.
“Try your luck with one of the Night’s Chosen.”
The blessed sword streaked towards him and he parried with his own weapon before replying with a sucker punch. Andres caught it in his bony grasp, twisting it and forcing Shaterus to turn, off hand behind him and back to his attacker. Before he could be spitted, he slammed his elbow back into the boy’s chest, followed by flinging his head back into his face then leaning forward and lashing out with his foot, sending Andres staggering back.
Shaterus whipped around, bastardsword scything through the air only to be slapped down by the possessed’s hand. They each leaped forward, trying to eliminate the other before their reserves of energy ran out. Soon Shaterus had picked up a collection of magical wounds, and he could feel the blood literally boiling in his veins as he tapped into only-just-replenished stores of power.
‘Perhaps an Elder would be better suited to this task,’ he thought wryly, jerking his head back to avoid loosing an eye; instead getting slashed from jawline to eyesocket…
Almost all other fighting in the Hall had stopped, noted Kommodus, but the reason for this escaped him. This was probably because the soldiers nearby still wanted his head, and while Amazing’s tactic had worked – they were still alive, weren’t they? – the fact still remained that few against many only really had one conclusion.
They had long since given up trying to land blows, and now only used their swords to parry and launch the odd distracting blow. Suddenly there was an emptiness behind him, as Amazing was slashed deeply across the chest and shield-bashed to the ground. Kommo slashed wildly with his sword to keep his share off their backs, then turned to try and deal with the rest, knowing already that their stand was at an end.
There was a buzzing sound as blades cut through the air, and then soldiers were falling, blood spurting from neck- and arm- wounds. The suddenly clear space in front of Kommo revealed a brown-armoured figure, draped in a hooded black cloak and reaching both hands around the back of it into a leather pouch from it’s position on top of a presumably dead guard. The gloved hands came back into view, holding a dozen star-shaped pieces of edged steel.
“Oh, not this again..” Amazing moaned, feebly pulling his shield over himself.
Vzzzzzzz…
Vzzzzzzz…
Vzzzzzzz…
Kommo swore and began raising his shield, hoping the throwing stars were slower than they looked. Sudden motion out of the corner of his eye, then…
Vzzzzzzz-chink!
Vzzzzzzz-chink!
Vzzzzzzz-chink!
A second set of stars hit the first not two feet away from Kommodus, sending them clattering to the floor harmlessly. Kommodus, Amazing and the gathered guards and soldiers arrayed against them all craned their necks to see this latest threat.
Standing casually by one entrance was a black-armoured, black-cloaked figure, a silk scarf hiding his lower features as he stared emotionlessly at the hooded figure. After a moment the nearer assassin sheathed his knives and bowed his head, hands clasped together, then moved to his sensei. Without acknowledging anyone else in the room, they left, disappearing through the doorway…
Three blows, and the fight was ended. Three blows; two slashing across the battered face of his breastplate, one biting into his side and sending him to his knees.
Shaterus' sword clattered to the ground as he used his hands to stop himself hitting face-first. Hunger once again ravaged his body, along with agony from the ever-burning wounds inflicted by Draconian's sword
‘Should’ve run when I had the chance. Guess I’ll sit up and die erect, at least.’
His gaze lifted as he shifted weight, showing him the hunter’s shattered body, still drawing unsteady breath.
‘Son of a….Well, it’s only pain.’
Grabbing the hilt of his sword as he rose to one knee, Shaterus leaped to his feet, sending his sword scything up and out. The edge bit through sinew and bone, Andres' arm spiraling through the air as Shaterus was carried forward by momentum, blessed shortsword entering neck, cutting through shoulder blade muscles and narrowly missing the spinal column.
Exploiting its own momentum and the few working muscles available to it, Shaterus' left arm rose up, slamming a glass vial against the side of Andres' head. The scream that followed was dual-voiced; the holy water burning the vampire’s hand and arm even as it melted away the possessed’s flesh…
Andres shrieked, agony driving him half-mad as his host form died, sinking to the floor and staring about with burned-out pits where his eyes used to be. Trying desperately to abandon the human child to its fate, he realized he could not. The blessed stake embedded in his torso was attempting to hold him, but it alone could not stop one such as he. Feeling a rising horror, he directed his senses to the walls, crying out in the silence of his mind at what he saw there.
Crucifixes. Hundreds of foot-long blessed crucifixes, fixed between the double-thickness walls during construction.
Andres cried with despair in the emptiness of his fading body. He had destroyed the mind of the occupant long ago, out of pity for its crying and pleading. He now wished he hadn’t, had kept the human around to suffer as he was; dying with slow agony in the grasp of the cruel, uncaring God and its worshippers.
All he had desired was to bring his people out of their shattered lands, all he had wanted was to take a piece of this vast, rich territory to claim as his own.
Just..a piece…of this..beautiful….
….all I wanted……..
“You’d think they’d be nicer.” Shaterus said from his position crouched over Draconian's body. “Considering I just saved their lives and all.”
Kommodus grunted non-committaly, focusing on binding Amazing's wounds. The vampire looked down at the hunter.
“He’s talkative.”
Draconian coughed, then drew breath to speak.
“He just doesn’t want to look at your ugly visage. For that matter; neither do I.”
Shaterus grinned; a rather disturbing action, considering he still carried his many untended-to wounds.
“You can have your sword back, by the way.”
Draconian groaned, waved a hand feebly.
“Not after you've bled all over it.”
Shaterus looked at the hilt, sticking from his shoulder.
“Yeah, that’s probably fair.”
“Are they still deciding what to do with us?”
The vampire grew serious, raising his head, squinting to try and make out the conversation between Faction and Arthua. They turned to a nearby soldier, gave him an order, then stalked off to some other part of the castle.
“We’re doomed.”
The soldier approached.
“Priests are being sent, to care for your wounds.”
“Well that’s helpful.” Draconian offered. Shaterus glowered.
“A little late for some of us.”
The soldier turned to him.
“I understand you drink blood?”
The vampire looks slightly surprised, nods. The soldier nods formally, gestures for seven others to join them.
“We offer you ours; a little at least. You saved us all back there, and we owe you.”
Draconian offered a liquid laugh from behind him. Shaterus whirled.
“You’re dying, damnit. You know who’s going to get the last word.”
He waits expectantly for laughter, but turns to find the soldiers all staring at him, stony-faced.
“I hate you all.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
The trainee hunter looked up from his desk, jumped. The tall, gaunt man before him lifted his arms slightly, displaying the body held within, wrapped in a tattered red greatcloak.
“I believe this belongs to you?”
The hunter peered at the body, before realizing what it was and yelling.
“That’s….that’s a dead hunter! I know this guy!”
The man nodded.
“Yes, he is dead. I’m told you have a place where you entomb honoured hunters.”
“Why, what did he do that’s so honour-worthy? Die?” asked the boy.
“He was fatally wounded by one daemon-possessed. Its dead now.” said the man, matter-of-factly.
“He killed it?” asked the boy, suddenly awed. The man cocked his head.
“Yes, I tend to think of it that way.” He placed the body on the desk and turned to leave, but some pieces finally clicked in the boy’s mind.
“Hey! You’re a vampire! You and him would have been enemies!”
Shaterus glanced over his shoulder and smiled sadly.
“Really? I like to think we would have been friends.”
Originally Posted by Draconian
Re: The Castle
(which means it will be long and worth waiting for(I hope))
.
This should kill enough people, so that at the endgame I should be able to take care of them.
Allowing me to become the supreme lord of the castle.
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