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The Spear that Roars for Blood Part 2 |
Posted by: JasonZavoda
on Saturday, March 04, 2006 - 09:47 PM
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Needs intro
Posted - Aug 02 2004 : 8:20:17 PM
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Part XI
Sharptooth grumbled as they ran down the rutted dirt road. It had been hours now since they had left the other rangers waiting for the orc clan to come. As they jogged along Arawn had one hand pressed against his wounded side when a stray thought crossed his mind, a question that had bothered him since they first saw the orcs.
"Sharptooth." Arawn said. The orc just grunted as he ran along. "Sharptooth, why did you go that way through the woods?"
"What you say?" asked Sharptooth. "Oh...we go for silver, chief like silver."
"How were you going to get the silver?" said Arawn
"Kill Dwarf, take silver." Sharptooth thought little of the question.
"But how were you going to get there?" Arawn pressed his companion.
"Oh, we not go through front door, dark ones show chief secret way. Give him map and piece of glass that glows black." the orc replied.
Arawn thought on this, he regretted their quick departure from the scene of battle, no time to loot the dead. He'd thought that these orcs must have meant to come on Draupnir's mines across the mountain, or under it, so it seemed from what Sharptooth had said.
A few minutes more down the road brought them to a small three-walled shelter, a stopping place for wagons and travelers. A small spring was nearby and a streamlet had been diverted to run into a trough. The sun was rising high and the shelter was dark but several men appeared to be resting within its cool shadows. Arawn sighed with relief, he could see a longbow sitting against the shelter’s wall. They'd take this cursed orc off his hands and he could rejoin his friends and whatever fate that lay in store for them.
"Hail there!" Arawn called out not wanting to alarm the travelers. "I am Arawn a ranger, don't be worried by this orc..."
A tall and lanky formed separated itself from the shadows and reached out a thin and grey-furred arm to grab the bow resting against the wall.
"Dogmen!" Sharptooth yelled.
"Damnation!!!" Arawn exclaimed as four more gnolls stepped from the shelter. They had been sleeping and were slow to react. They blinked in the early afternoon sun and gave toothy yawns. The one who had grabbed the bow realized that it had left its quiver inside and had no arrow at hand. It ducked back in, its head almost reaching the roof.
Arawn had only his sword and Sharptooth had no weapon, five gnolls, and at least one with a bow, the odds were too steep.
"Follow me, Sharptooth." He yelled and ran straight at them. "YAAAAAAAA!" Arawn screamed, he'd drawn his sword and pelted down the road not looking to see if Sharptooth followed.
Two gnolls jumped back into the shelter for weapons, two others stayed put and braced themselves for Arawn's attack. The ranger came on with fury and anger at himself for such incaution. His sword cut away a hand, then with a back-stroke took the arm off at the elbow. The gnoll howled and collapsed, not dead but soon to be. The other gnoll threw its arms around Arawn and bore him to the ground, its thin muscles held surprising strength. A long-fanged snout snapped then took a bite, the teeth gouged across his head, hitting bone and leaving a long flap of scalp hanging loose. Arawn's arms were pinned, he struggled to break free, then a thick-booted foot kicked the dogman’s head, striking it in its face and snapping off a fang. Sharptooth grinned above Arawn then offered him a hand.
"Thanks..." Arawn began but an arrow stopped his words. A feathered shaft appeared in Sharptooth's chest, he looked more shocked than hurt. Arawn turned and saw a gnoll pulling back his bow. The two who'd jumped inside for weapons came back out, and at his feet the one-fanged gnoll began to rise.
Arawn yelled again and charged the archer gnoll, it fired short, the arrow had no force. It struck the ranger, pierced through his leather shirt and pricked the skin, but caused no hurt of note. Arawn cut the gnoll from head across the shoulder as it ducked aside, its bow fell to the shelter floor. A spiked ball on a length of chain sailed past ranger’s head. It took a chunk of wood from off the wall, and turned the gnoll half around as it brought the weapon back for another swing.
The one-fanged gnoll gave a hiss and Sharptooth gave it another kick, this time to its ribs as it tried to push itself from the ground. It was lifted up and then dropped flat and groaned. Sharptooth kicked it once again across its shaking head, but as he did a blade thrust out, the gnoll’s long reach extended by three feet of blade. It punched him hard but the point was dull and Sharptooth's coat of chain kept him from a bitter wound. The blow knocked him back, he let out a woof, then seeing the grinning dog-like face and length of sharpened steel, he turned and ran away.
The dogman barked and took off with long strides after Sharptooth. The orc had a small lead but knew that he had no chance to outrun his pursuer, so Sharptooth ran off the road and into the woods, the gnoll followed after, hot on his trail.
**
Arawn lunged and felt his sword push through the center of the gnoll. His blade came out its back, the ball and chain it swung passed near his head, but the gnoll fell back and the handle hanging loose in its grasp.
Two badly wounded gnolls were before him, but neither made any threatening moves. Arawn took a step back and then another, he left the cover of the shelter and the bright midday sun flashed in his eyes.
The one-fanged gnoll had awoken and, as Arawn came near, it reached out and grabbed his legs. Both wounded gnolls rushed out, they'd dropped their weapons and prepared to fight with tooth and claw.
"Cursed dogs!" he yelled at them. Arawn struck down the gnoll who's bow he'd knocked away. His sword stabbed up and deep into its chest and in its rush it pushed the blade up to the hilt then all seven feet and more of gnoll came crashing down, bearing Arawn to the ground. He landed on one-fang who'd caught his leg, it gave a groan as both man and gnoll fell back and pinned it face first in the dirt..
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Aug 05 2004 : 11:22:54 PM
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Part XII
Sharptooth's breath came in racking heaves, the gnoll was close behind. He ran on though the pain was great. The arrow in his chest dug a furrow inside of him as it stabbed with every jarring footstep. There was a dull metal taste in his mouth and he spat out a mouthful of blood.
The bushes crashed and rustled behind him, wildly Sharptooth glanced about for some weapon, but all he could find was a branch, too small and light to use as a club he jammed its end beneath a tree root and brought his heel hard down across it. The end snapped off leaving a jagged point. The gnoll came around the tree, it had its sword raised and slashed at Sharptooth, but the orc leapt aside. The sword cut into bark and Sharptooth brought the wooden branch around like a spear. He stabbed up below the gnoll’s outstretched arm into the pit of its shoulder. Its hand flinched and it dropped the sword, Sharptooth swung his stick and broke it across the dogman’s snout. He left it howling mad and dived for the fallen sword.
***
The smell of wet and dirty fur filled Arawn's noise, the creature’s chest was across his face, for a moment he could not move. He pushed up with one hand still on the pommel of his sword, the other against the dead gnoll’s chest. With a heave the body lifted and his sword came free. Above Arawn a grinning orcish face looked down.
"You not dead." Sharptooth laughed, "Lucky! Dogman think you dead."
"I never thought I'd be glad to see an orc." said Arawn. "Friend, help me up."
"Sure thing." the orc pulled Arawn to his feet. The ranger grimaced and grabbed his side, then held up a hand red with fresh wet blood.
"You hurt." said Sharptooth
"Oh damn, the stitches have all gone." Arawn cursed, then looked over at the orc." What about you?"
Sharptooth touched the arrow haft that still sticking from his chest. "Yeah, me hurt too."
A whimpering moan brought both orc and man around. The one-fanged gnoll still lived but lay half conscious, beaten by Sharptooth and buried beneath man and gnoll till it had passed out cold.
"Kill it?" Sharptooth asked about the gnoll.
"Leave it. Are the others dead?" Arawn looked about, two dead gnolls and the one which lay unconscious, there should have been at least two more.
"One is, one got away." said Sharptooth, he gestured with a notched and rusted sword. He pointed first up the road then to the east and south where a trail of blood lay drying in the sun.
"How long was I under there?" Arawn asked the orc.
"Not long, I kill, gnoll, who chase me, then come right back. Saw this dogman move." Sharptooth kicked the corpse to emphasize his point. "Think it live and gave it chop."
"Are you any good with a bow?" Arawn picked up a bow taller than himself, these gnolls stood seven or more feet tall, all fur, muscle and bone.
"Can't shoot straight." Sharptooth shook his head. "Have little rats to shoot the sticks."
"Well no need for me to worry about the stitching coming loose now." said Arawn in the Geoff tongue, to himself but loud enough for the orc to hear.
"What you say?" Sharptooth wondered.
Arawn tapped his bleeding side. "Cut open, might as well use bow."
"Better wrap wound, blood still coming out." Sharptooth cut a dirty cloak from off of a dead gnoll.
"Thanks." said Arawn, he took of his own clean cloak and handed it to the orc. "Please use this instead."
Sharptooth crumpled the cloth between his hands and rubbed a corner against his cheek. "Soft," he said, then with his knife he cut off a long wide strip. Arawn took off his vest and his bloodsoaked jerkin beneath. The cloth which Daghdha had wrapped in place was soaked clean through, the poultice a sodden mess, it fell to the ground like a clump of black wet mud.
"Take my canteen, wash this away." Arawn told the orc.
"I have better." Sharptooth took out a long thin flask that was hidden in his belt, he pulled the cork and held it out for the ranger to smell. Arawn took a cautious sniff, and snapped his head back at the powerful scent. Alcohol, some dark woodsman’s brew. It was said to help a wound, but it hurt like the Nine Hells.
"Water first, then just a little of that." said Arawn.
Sharptooth shrugged his head. He poured the lukewarm water across the wound and washed the clumps of bloody muck away. "String still there." he told Arawn. "Pulled back, a little."
Arawn sighed in relief, then gave a small scream as Sharptooth poured the liquor on the wound. "Enough! Enough!" he said.
"Okay!" Sharptooth took a hefty swig before he corked the flask and put it back within his belt. He wrapped the ranger’s cloak, which he’d cut into a thick bandage, around and around Arawn's wounded side, then tied it off like a grey-green sash.
"I look like a Sea Prince in a minstrel show." Arawn said and pulled his leather vest over the wound and sash. "That was my last shirt." he told Sharptooth and poured some water over the blood sodden half. He wrang it out and stuffed it away in his pack, still wet and red with blood.
"We chase dogman?' Sharptooth asked, anxious to be in pursuit.
"He won't go far with that stomach wound." Arawn said. "But he is going the way we want, so yes, but I'd rather not run. And what about you? That arrow better come out!" Arawn had been concentrating on his side and now he saw the black feathered shaft that the orc had not removed.
"It fine, not hurt." Sharptooth backed away.
"You lie." Arawn reached out a hand and waved his fingers. "Come on its your turn now. Better get out that flask again."
Sharptooth shook his head, but gave up under the ranger’s unflinching eye, and let Arawn take out the arrow and treat his wound as Sharptooth had treated his.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Aug 10 2004 : 10:18:17 PM
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Part XIII
"Slow down!" Arawn called to Sharptooth. The orc jogged on at an unrelenting pace. The ranger could have matched him with ease, but he kept back, trying to keep his wound from opening up again.
"Sorry." Sharptooth slowed, he wanted to race ahead and chase down the dogman which had run away. The trail of blood was less distinct, it must have bound its wounds the way that Arawn and he had bound theirs.
They ran, but slowly, then the blood trail veered off and along a small side path.
"It go this way." Sharptooth said to Arawn. The ranger rolled his eyes but bit back the retort that was on his lips.
"Yes," he said instead, "It goes to an old hunting lodge, no one lives there but it's used several times each year." Arawn thought a moment, would anyone be there now, he asked himself. "No," he said aloud, "this time of year, it's to early."
"What early?" asked Sharptooth
"Too early for the townsmen to be out hunting." Arawn said.
"Dogmen, maybe they use it now." Sharptooth looked about the place, he bent and put a finger to a spot of blood. "Wet, the dogman very near."
Arawn set the bow aside. He'd taken it from the gnolls and it was huge to match their size. An unfamiliar bow, larger than any he'd ever used before, and with a wounded side. No, he decided, this was not the weapon to take into a fight.
"Not use?" Sharptooth asked. "Why take along?"
"Why indeed." said Arawn. He drew his sword.
Sharptooth ran with his blade in his hand, he'd taken the scabbard and wore it on his back, but had not sheathed his blade since he'd fought and killed the gnoll who'd owned it.
The trail was narrow, the woods encroached on either side. The two, orc and man, walked abreast but both stepped half on the verge of grass and ducked beneath long branches reaching out from tree and hedge-like brush.
The path meandered and sloped down, a roar of water could be heard from somewhere ahead. The scent of burning wood drifted through the forest and above the line of trees a long finger of smoke rose up into the sky.
Arawn stopped and put out his hand for Sharptooth to do as well. Silently he motioned for the orc to follow him off the path and into the thick wood. Sharptooth nodded his agreement and the pair disappeared from view.
Sharptooth was no woodsmen, his home was high among the mountain peaks to the south. He lived in caves that had been dug from the rock and dirt so long ago that his people believed that they had dwelled within since time began. He could run, sure-footed as a mountain goat, careful and quiet as a drifting cloud, so as not to dislodge a rock or stone, but these dratted trees and thorn filled brush, he had no skill with them. Branches broke around him, twigs pulled at his clothes and sought to poke him in the eye, thorns left long cuts or gouged across his skin. He held in his curses and kept sword from slashing anything that lay within his path.
A twig broke beneath the orc’s heavy tread, its snap sounded like a thunderous boom to Arawn's ear. They made slow time, Arawn drifted through the trees and Sharptooth crashed along, but their destination was close at hand.
They'd turned away from a downhill slope and came out of the woods along a rocky cliff. Below them the path left the trees, sloping down and curved around where it met a river, the Olvewater, flowing from its mountain lake till it reached the lowlands, West Town and far away joined with the mighty Javan.
A large long hall had been built above the flowing stream, a waterfall crashed to its one side and a long line of stairs had been carved from the top of the falls down to the hall itself. The wounded gnoll stood in a large clear space before the house, it sat upon a stump, and barked out its tale to a large audience.
Two score at least of gnoll archers stood around the wounded one. They howled with anger as he told of the human’s attack and the dead he left behind. Along the stair leading down the hill a column of hobgoblins marched, there seemed to be no end to their number, and atop the fall a giant stood, rough hide clothes dark brown hair and wild beard. I clapped its hand and gestured, and as Arawn watched another giant came. This one was armored in soot black chain, it wore a mighty helm and carried a shield that side to side was taller than a man, but looked small upon the giant’s arm. It pulled off its helm and shook out a red mane, its face was charcoal black, its chin covered with a small goats beard of orange fringe.
"Big One." Sharptooth whispered. "Gi-ant." he said in the common tongue.
The howling of the gnolls was drowned out by the roaring of the water. As the wounded gnoll finished its tale it slumped then rolled to the ground. A shorter squatter version of these dog-like creatures, a flind, walked to the body and kicked it hard in the side. The gnoll did not awaken and the pack let loose a keening wail. The flind barked and cut the lamentation short, it pointed toward the path back to the road and a dozen gnolls ran off.
"I've seen enough." Arawn said. "Come, we have no time to lose."
Sharptooth merely grunted. He'd told his friend about the big ones and the tribes they'd gathered. A vague disquieting thought passed through the orc’s mind about this friend of his friend, but Sharptooth hated dogmen and the orange kind fought with his own clan back in his mountain home, he had no loyalty to such as them. But this human, he hated humans, this one was his friend, at least for now.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Aug 15 2004 : 10:01:00 PM
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Part XIV
They made their way through the thick woods and hid at its edge looking out onto the path. The gnolls had run back up the road to the shelter and the bloody scene of the fight, but along the path more came this time with the flind at their head, leading them.
As they left the small side path the gnolls spread out across the road and waited in small groups. The flind paced back and forth looking first down the path then up the road to where his scouts had gone.
The sound of marching feet and the grumble of voices could be heard. A long file of hobgoblins appeared, two abreast, along the narrow path. They marched out onto the road and spread out till they filled it side to side, then kept moving south and east toward West Town and the lowlands beyond.
A large and heavily armored hobgoblin detached itself from the front rank. It shouted an order and the orange faced monsters began to march twice as fast, almost at a trot, their feet rose and fell as one and the ground shook beneath their heavy tread.
The flind looked eye to eye at the hobgoblin chief, its muzzle-like mouth coughed out words the hobgoblin could understand. It pointed to the north and shook its head. The hobgoblin shouted back, but Arawn could understand neither tongue.
"What they say?" Arawn whispered to Sharptooth.
"Dogman chief, it not want to go south," Sharptooth almost laughed, "It want to look for you and me. Orange one, he say, dogman told to scout ahead, big ones be mad."
The flind gave a loud barking shout, the gnolls gathered themselves and began to run up the northern way. The flind gave one more coughing yell and the hobgoblin shrugged, and shouted at its hairy back.
"What was that?" asked Arawn
"It say, 'your funeral' when the big ones catch up with them." this time Sharptooth did laugh but he hid it in his hand. "What we do now?"
Arawn watched the hobgoblins walk by, their numbers were great and growing with every passing moment. They cut the ranger and the orc off from the south and the east like a mobile wall.
"They are coming along the river, and this path keeps us from crossing to the south." Arawn looked around. "We will have to go back north and cut across the road where they cannot see, then head back east and south through the woodland on the roads other side."
"Maybe we go find friend. He know what way best." Sharptooth said with conviction.
"Friend already want us to go south." Arawn replied and eyed the bespelled orc. Was Daghdha's charm wearing thin? he wondered.
**
Arawn and Sharptooth paralleled the road and moved north. The ranger kept them out of sight and far enough inside the wood so that Sharptooth's noisy passage would not call down the attention of the gnolls upon them.
They'd traveled for several minutes before Arawn stopped them and checked the road. "Stay here!" he told Sharptooth. "I'll see if the road is clear."
Sharptooth nodded, but as soon as Arawn had disappeared the orc took off heading north.
**
Gnolls, curse them, Arawn thought to himself. The flind chief and its patrol had met the scouts returning with the wounded gnoll that Arawn had left behind. They barked back and forth, what did they say? Arawn wished he'd picked up some words of their uncouth tongue.
The flind became enraged, it pushed at the wounded gnoll, knocked it from the supporting arms of its fellows and began to kick it unmercifully. There was a growling discontent, the flind carried an iron rod and swung it suddenly without warning. It struck down the nearest gnoll, brought the tall beast to its knees. The flind struck again and again till the gnoll's head was a bloody pulp. The other gnolls all backed away, some whined in fear and cringed. With a loud deep bark the flind set them running, back to the south and the hobgoblin troops. But before it disappeared down the road, Arawn saw the flind glance back north with a look of fear on its own face, the mirror of the cringing gnolls.
Two bodies lay upon the road. As Arawn watched the one-fanged wounded gnoll pulled itself along the ground and off the road. When it reached the woods along the eastern verge, it collapsed and lay still. Arawn knew it couldn't have died, that gnoll was born for hanging, since sword and savage beatings could not seem to end its life.
The road was clear at last. Now to collect that dragon –footed clumsy orc from where he'd left him, thought Arawn.
The trail led to a three boled tree, a hollow center stump whose limbs had grown when the parent trunk had died. He'd left the orc leaning back against it, propped up like some woodland king upon a bark covered throne, but the seat was vacant when he returned.
"Sharptooth." Arawn hissed. He looked around the tree, no orc in sight. "Sharptooth, curse you orc. Sharptooth!" he said as loud as he dared. The orc was gone, Arawn circled the tree once more but with a ranger's eye. There! A branch pushed back, broken, the orc moved north. Arawn set off in pursuit.
He had not traveled far when the sound of feet upon the road came through the wood. Had the hobgoblins turned north? Arawn paused. No, the sound came from the north and grew louder with each moment. There were shouts and rough bits of song and many, many voices calling back and forth. The footsteps rang out, a distant drumming sound, but imprecise, a wave of noise, not the ground shaking rhythm of the ordered hobgoblin ranks.
Arawn came to the wood's thin edge and crawled across the underbrush to view what creatures passed along the road.
Orcs, curse them all. These were the rest of Sharptooth's tribe. They bore painted shields carried on their backs and some had colored banners that showed the bitten sword, the symbol of their clan. They packed the road and moved as a great crowd, some ran ahead, then dropped back, others marched arm in arm and drove all from their path, some ran and tried to break the line, some with success forcing the marchers apart, others thrown to the side or on the ground. It was like some festival, a merry drunken crowd that laughed and sang, and had all day to get there and no place they had to be.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Aug 19 2004 : 01:49:50 AM
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Part XV
The trees gave a rustle behind Arawn and to his right. Sharptooth came crashing out, he shouted and called to the approaching band and topped before them in the center of the road.
"That orc, I'll be his death." Arawn swore. He lay in wait but drew his sword and prepared for one last desperate fight to make them pay as dearly as he could before they took his life.
**
The orcs did not stop but several ran ahead and greeted Sharptooth merrily.
"Chief send you?" A large orc asked.
"You hurt?" another said.
"Look!" one called and pointed to a ragged gory banner, a gnoll's hide uncured and still dripping with blood was held aloft upon a spear. "We find in road back there." it said.
"Chief dead, I escape." Sharptooth told them.
"The chief dead!"," What happened!"," Good!" all three said at once.
"Humans, warriors, they come, kill chief, kill many of tribe...." Sharptooth explained.
The roar of the approaching orcs drowned out what else Sharptooth said from Arawn's ears.
The others must be dead, Arawn felt it in his heart. They would have found him along the road, or at least made some try at slowing these beasts' advance. Word must make it through to the lowlands, Arawn knew he must live long enough to tell of these monsters. The river was the only way.
Arawn crawled back into the woods. With his last glance at the road he saw Sharptooth surrounded by his clan and a new shout of anger and concern rising above the bouts of song and laughter. Out of sight, he stood and began to run.
The river was not far off, not here aalong this length of road, but a little further and the path curved and twisted around the sides of hills. The river flowed down an almost straight course till it reached the walls of West Town and ran north following a valley basin where the Dim Forest and the town of Hocholve lay. The water would be the quickest way.
No boats sailed down the Olvewater from its source, the river was fast and teamed with falls and rapids, but there was no other way. The hobogoblins would be before the walls of West Town by dawn if they marched all night. The river would take but half a day if he could survive the passage.
The woods thinned again as he neared the water's edge. They ended in a cliff that stood a good two score of feet above the rushing water. A narrow bank below was lined with marching troops. More Hobgoblins, but to the north their rearguard marched along and a troop of giants followed at a leisurely pace.
"The mountains must be empty. Will this line of monsters never end." Arawn said to himself. The wooded cliff rose higher further to the north and jutted out closer to the river's edge. Arawn cursed the loss of time and turned his back on West Town, heading north. He weaved his way through the trees till he reached the jutting ledge of cliff. He heard the giants and the steady thrum of the water far below.
Looking down he saw a giant struggle past the narrow curve of path, though any human, hobgoblin or orc would have had room to do a dance. Arawn dropped his pack and took of his leather vest. The pommel of his sword he tied down and then made his belt into a baldric and pulled it secure over his shoulder. His boots he laced together and held them tight, then with one final glance below, Arawn threw himself from the cliff, out far as he could go, and fell past startled giants then splashed into the stream.
**
Cold, a sudden shocking breath-stealing cold, this close to the river's source, all melting ice and run-off from a mountain lake. Arawn gasped, a stream of bubbles escaped, he'd sunk deep and grazed the very bottom of the stream in his fall.
The current shoved him along as he swam up, his air was gone, his lungs emptied by the crash and the shocking icy water. It was not far to the surface but every moment felt like an eternity.
His head broke free, he coughed, spit water and gasped for air. He gulped it in and sputtered, he drank down a mouthful of both with every breath. The water roared about him and downstream, not far ahead the roaring sound increased.
"The fall!" he shouted to himself, the words were faint above the broken chorus of the stream. Another dive, such as his jump from the cliff, lay straight ahead, but now he would be joined by countless tons of foaming river.
**
A hill giant, an average looking brute, heard Arawn's splash, it turned it's head to see what made the noise and a spray of water caught it right across its face and chest. The giant's eyes were blinded for a moment by the unexpected dowsing, it bellowed out a roar of shock and lost it balance on the narrow path. An out-thrusting wall of rock made the river's edge a tight squeeze for his massive kkind. Its arms flailed out but its head struck the stone cliff wall, the giant reeled and with a bloody scalp fell backwards into the river's speeding course.
The freezing water brought the monster round, but its injured head made all the world look hazy and doubled in upon itself. The giant swam, but the river was not so deep that its feet would not have reached the bed and let it walk if it could manage against the rushing force of stream. Its stomach heaved like a traveler's might upon the sea, and cold though the water was, a fierce heat beat between its eyes and in its chest.
Great arms rose and fell, the giant speeded on, the water pulled and pushed it fast down toward the fall close ahead. Some bit of jetsam bobbed in its path, it tried to veer aside but the giant moved to fast.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Aug 25 2004 : 7:41:10 PM
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Part XVI
Arawn shook with cold, his teeth chattered though he held them tightly clenched. He bit into the leather of his boot to keep them still. His body felt mostly numb, his wounded side was a dull ache that ebbed as the water chilled it to a senseless lump of flesh. A small cloudy splash of red hung around him as he was rushed downstream.
***
Two swimmers crashed, one small and riding on the stream, the other of giant size and with massive arms splashing forward at great speed. Arawn did not slow the giant down at all, he was buffeted by the bleeding head and caught against a shoulder the size of some great tree. The ranger reached out and grabbed onto a thick hide vest then pulled himself up by handfuls of the giant's sodden hair. With a heave Arawn made it to the giant's back and like a child with arms around its parent's neck, held on for his dear life.
**
The giant's back was wet and cold and its arms sent up great splashes which rained down upon Arawn as he clung to the giant's neck. Still the day was warm for the time of year and the sun felt good between the chilling drops.
The roar of the fall grew louder and the shouting from the shore was drowned out. A long line of hobgoblins stopped and pointed at Arawn and his unlikely living watercraft, they screamed and roared themselves hoarse but the river's voice was stronger. Some sound of it must have reached the giant's ears, it shook its head and Arawn flailed about like a small dog on a stranger's trouser leg. The giant turned itself and fought the current, it swam for the river's edge, the hobgoblins hooted with a glee that the ranger could not hear.
Arawn clutched at the giant's neck and thought to choke away its breath. It gave a gag and stopped its swimming but with one hand broke his grasp and badly wrenched his arm. Arawn slid back hanging on only by a strand of the giant's hair.
The giant rolled and suddenly Arawn was beneath the water, he held his breath and tried to pull himself to the surface but the giant was in the way. Hand by hand Arawn climbed up the giant's head by using the sodden hair like a boarding net. The giant rolled again, Arawn was spun and with his feet lashed out. He struck the giant's neck and hooked first one leg then like a scissor trapped the tree-like throat. Arawn squeezed, the giant began to thrash wildly about. It twisted and clawed at Arawn's legs. One mighty hand enclosed his calf in a crushing grip, the giant's fingers tightened, Arawn clenched his teeth in pain. He tried to reach around the monster's head and claw at its eyes, but the river caught both unaware. A crest of foaming white dowsed their heads and then they were falling free.
Arawn released his grip, the giant did the same and for a brief second they hung upon the air, the boiling water came rushing up and swallowed them.
The world exploded red. Arawn landed on the giant's chest beneath the pool, the giant landed on its back and a rounded boulder broke its fall. The river pushed them on. Arawn grabbed for the giant's beard but his arm did not obey. He grabbed again, his left hand answered, the giant, dead with a broken back, floated to the surface with Arawn hanging on. The ranger's right arm dangled limp, his legs were half submerged. He lay across the giant's neck and twisted its beard around his wrist. With his left hand tangled tight, Arawn leaned back upon the giant's chest. The shining sun beat down, the current rushed them both along, Arawn closed his eyes and a red-rimmed darkness was what he took into his dreams.
**
A face of icy living blue hung before him. The water sent long curling tendrils of greenish silver hair streaming with the current. Her eyes were wide, they shone silver on green, a reflection of her silky hair. Her face was fine and fairer than any Arawn had ever seen, her lips were green as well. She brought them to his own and with her kiss she brought him life. The water in his lungs he breathed like air, he gasped. This was no pleasant dream. He'd drowned, or near enough. She laughed, Arawn heard it clear though muffled by the water between them. He tried to pull away but his arm was dead and his other arm was trapped. Arawn broke her kiss, a sudden sense of loss assailed him, he tried to free his arm.
A pair of bulging eyes looked down. Somewhere in their course the giant had been flipped over sending Arawn beneath to drown. His hand was still knotted to the giant's beard but it only served to keep him trapped below the massive bloating corpse. A gentle hand reached out and turned his head he looked deep into the silver eyes and lost himself.
Arawn gave a deep sigh and let the lovely vision draw her hand up his arm and touch the knotted mess of beard. "Ahk-Kee."" she said and th tangles all came free. She took Arawn's hand within her own and led him away from the giant's corpse, down the river and to a branching stream.
***
Arawn lay upon a bed of grass, a small tussock pillowed beneath his head. He reached out dreamily with his left hand and stroked the nymph's silken hair. His right arm lay across his chest, bound in a sling of leaves and vines. He watched her as she lay beside him, Nantosvelta, the upper reaches of the Olvewater had been her domain for ages. Her eyes were open and she stared into his own. A distant memory assailed him, he frowned and looked away. She reached out her hand and touched his cheek, then ran her fingers down his chin.
"Arawn," she said, "you need have no concerns. You are safe here, think only thoughts of love." Nantosvelta turned his head and put her fingers against his lips. She kissed his eyes, then as he slept, kissed his lips and let him rest and heal.
They lay upon a grass covered hill above a small brisk stream. The Olvewater had many such children across the hills and lowlands, like branches from a mighty many fingered tree. Nantosvelta rose and dressed herself in a cloth of shimmering blue, she said a word, "Pit-Ze." and the grass that Arawn rested on grew long and covered him like a blanket of living green. She bent and put her hand upon his brow "Rak-Kas." she said and Arawn stirred and tossed, but slept.
Nantosvelta ran along the riverbank, the morning sun was bright, the air blew warm, an early spring had come upon the land. She laughed and danced, it had been long since she had found a man to love and this one, no crude hunter, or miner who cut away the hills. This Arawn had a hero's blood, and a hero's wounds as well. His wiill was strong, he wanted her she knew full well, but some duty pulled him from her arms. She'd cast her spell, twice now, when for most men just a kiss or a mere glimpse of her would do. This strength made him a greater prize, he would pay a debt she owed.
Along the southern bank of the Olvewater she ran, fast as a hart and nimble too. The monsters who trod along the northern way had passed, she grimaced at the damage they had caused. Ahead, upstream, her mother lived beneath the cold and crysstal lake from which the rive came. Nantosuelta, she was a queen among their kind, and cold as the lake she made her home.
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jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Aug 30 2004 : 7:32:32 PM
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Part XVII
Arawn dreamed or thought he did. A woman green of hair and eye, she brought him to a bed made of living grass and he took her in his arms. But something nagged at him, the dream of love seemed out of place. He tried to clear his eyes of sleep, his arm was bound, his left arm thrashed beneath the covers made of woven grass. He did not wake, but his dream quickly changed.
Darkness covered a sleeping town, guardsman nodded at their posts, no harm had come in living memory to this place, why guard when they knew well that all was safe. Perhaps no greater vigilance could have saved them from their fate. They did not hear or see the thousand sets of padding feet or notice the click and clack of tall waving ladders as they came to rest against the walls. A face of brutish orange-red appeared above the battlement, followed by a thick-muscled arm. The hobgoblin stood above the town, a large curved sword held in its hand, a dozen others joined it around the wall and then a dozen more. They ran for towers that sat astride the western gate. A guardsman, waking from a snoring sleep gave a muffled scream but was cut short, choking on a length of sharpened steel. Ahead, a door, heavy and thick enough to take a ram to knock it down, it was unlocked, unbarred, unwatched. Both towers fell, the screams within alerted none. The lower doors were flung open wide, the hobgoblins raised the main gate's massive bar and pushed each door aside.
An arching bridge crossed the Olvewater as it flowed along the edge of town. Across it a band of giants came, they marched without order and without concern, already as masters of this their new domain.
Arawn tried to scream, too late. He knew his warning would not be heard.
**
Nantosvelta stood before a roaring fall. High above, the frozen lake had begun to melt and the river swelled. A wide pool lay beneath the fall, it boiled white, water crashed down and foamed.
In her smooth, long fingered hand the nymph held a green translucent stone, a circle, two fish chased each other head to tail, just quite catching a tailfin tip within a grasping mouth. "Mother." She said to the green fish charm. "Mother, I seek an audience."
A whirlpool formed, the waters began to churn and sweep the foaming waves aside. A hollow space appeared at the center of the spiraling water. Nantosvelta leapt and graceful as a diving bird plunged headfirst down the vortex in the pool.
**
Arawn could not wake. Bespelled, he struggled against his giant foes. He walked the streets of West Town like a ghost, witness to a thousand deaths and screams as the sleeping populace wakened to their fate.
Too long the town lay secure among the western borders of the realm. The horror that descended now was stuff that happened only to other folk in minstrels' tales. The monsters spread out and circled round the inside of the walls. They seized the gates to Pregmere and to Tika Town, then slowly fought their way further in, driving the fleeing citizens to the monastery at the center of the town.
From the Olvewater scores of creatures rose. Beslimed and lank-haired the scrags, a type of water troll, stepped upon the river bank and ambled to the open northern gate. The hill giant guard whose tedious duty was to sit and wait and keep the humans trapped inside their dying town, held closed his nose and mouth as the filthy stinking creatures passed. They smelled of marsh gas, sludge and bloated putrid flesh, he gagged.
As they passed he called to them. "Hey, you're late. You'll have to fight your four-eyed cousins for a decent meal." They ambled on. If they understood his call they didn't pay it any mind.
**
The tunnel moved beneath Nantosvelta's feet, but she was sure-footed and had played along these swirling walls before her mother chased her from her home. No other nymphs resided here, just her mother, the servants and her sculpture garden of once living flesh, now lifeless stone. She sighed, she would not waste such a one as rested in her bed, but her debt was overdue and her mother's wrath was something she could not face let alone survive.
The crashing fall was far overhead, the whirlpool tunnel ended in great doors of water-polished stone. She shuddered at its sight. The frame, which arched high above her head, was adorned with nymphs of stone, her sisters who had failed to pay the debt of life they owed to their mother-queen. They paid it with their deaths. A dozen statues, sad faced, poignant, carved from flesh and set stiff in hard cold stone. Some had looks of fear or terror, one beauty laughed, harsh and brave. Another's lips curled in contempt, a fist raised against her fate. This one was set against the door, her raised arm, a handle to pull open the heavy valve. Beside her stood a hand-masked face, one hand hiding fearful eyes, the other outstretched to keep away the numbing death that claimed her.
Nantosvelta grabbed her sister's defiant hand. She would not share this fate, but if she somehow did, she'd stare it down bold eyed and not cower back like some mayfly human maid.
The passage seemed unguarded but the nymph knew better. Her mother's pets kept watch. A mated pair of monstrous basilisks laired within the queen's palace, their offspring allowed to roam at will along this hall. The greenstone charm Nantosvelta held in her hand felt warm, it glowed and sent out a sound beyond her hearing that kept the basilisk brood away.
The walls were lined with examples of her mother's art. Above her head a flock of geese, frozen forever in flight, winged their way across a ceiling colored a cloudy blue. She was running out of room, thought Nantosvelta. The walls were heavy with the bodies of countless victims, the tiled pathway lined with such as well. The nymph shuddered, she remembered playing games among these creatures whose flesh, now stone, once lived, whose eyes once shown, chests heaved with air and voices sounded, now rendered stiff and silent for countless years.
She came at last to a mighty door, two golems made of stone stood at either side. A statue set in the door itself shimmered and came alive. With a smooth graceful step it moved across the floor, behind it, a hollow man-shaped space was left. The statues features changed, no longer a bare-chested man of dark grey stone, now, warm reddish flesh, with feline golden eyes, small horns upon its head and a pair of wings that a dragon chick might possess, upon its back.
It smiled at the nymph, its teeth were white and even, but it had long needle-pointed fangs, its hand had claws that curved like little scimitars.
"Caliban!." Nantosvelta exclaimed. She had not expected to see her half brother here again.
"Svelta!" cried the cambion, half nymph, half demon, sired by some hellish lord. "I am glad to see you, but I wish it was not here."
Svelta, as her brother called her, ran to his embrace. He lifted her from the floor and swung her around, then set her back on her feet.
"Do not be sad brother." Svelta said. "I come to pay my debt."
"Ah, so you have found a toy for our mother to add to her collection." Caliban smiled. "Good, will it do? She has become jaded by our other sisters gifts."
"I believe that this one will redeem my debt in full." Svelta said with regret.
"Ahh! This one must quite a catch if it has touched your heart." Caliban caught her wistful tone.
"Nonsense. I have had him only a few days, he needs to rest and heal." Svelta rejected her brother's judgement.
"So quick! It truly must be a special toy." Caliban then frowned. "But damaged. Just what is it that you have found?"
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jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Sep 08 2004 : 4:15:07 PM
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PART XVIII
Arawn dreaming mind drifted on. He could not close his spectral eye though the land he loved had become a nightmare of pillage, slaughter and destruction. He rose, floating on a wind of thought, above the ravaged streets of West Town. The last defenders fell and the center streets were packed, panic roamed at will and terror ruled the night just ending. He heard the gonging of the great bells above Pelor's temple, one last peal to greet the dawn, but there would be no tomorrow.
Up he went, rising high into the paling sky, below the town shrank to a child's toy. The cries of fear and screams of pain became remote then disappeared. Arawn looked across the land, Hocholve, Tika Town and Gorna, all were besieged. To the north of Gorna the town of Oytmeet fell as West Town had. Its guardsmen sleeping out the last hour of their watch, orcish knives saw that they would never wake again.
**
"I have found a hero." Svelta said and smiled.
Caliban laughed, the sound echoed strangely along the hall, a hundred stone-frozen faces looked on and listened with ears that could no longer hear. "My sister, I never knew you to be so romantic." He saw her frown. "He may well do, mother is a romantic herself."
"Mother? Romantic?" the nymph could not believe her ears.
Caliban waved his hand in a sweep to include the macabre decorations in the hall. "All this is a romance, though dark and grim. You are very much like our mother, and that is no insult. She is cruel, yes, but I have walked along the layers of Hell and the Abyss. They have romance there as well, but they make such things as this," he pointed to their sisters' stony form, "look like a sunny day or a pleasant dream."
**
Arawn dreamed, but it was not fair or pleasant. Time came and went, quick then slow. He floated high to see the entire land then dropped down low and, helpless, watched a farmstead south of Tika Town be overwhelmed by a howling pack of gnolls.
Further south he watched as fires began to grow and swept through the Hornwood. But the forest was full of life and it took a magic flame to keep the blazes lit. Fire giants from the southern mountains led packs of red eyed monstrous hounds whose breath was the flame of Hell. They fought their way along the Blue Oyt river to the center of the wood.
Pest's crossing, a lumber town. It's defenders were driven out and with eyes shamed at the sight, Arawn watched the elders of the town open the gates and surrender to the giants, begging for their lives. A towering red-haired giant with skin black as coal in a forge lifted up a foot and crushed the leader of the town beneath. The people cried out, but at the giant's growl they hid their faces and whined in fear, submitting to their fate and their new master's harsh decrees.
All across the land the story was the same. Defenders fell, from the Stark Mounds to the Dim Forest and across the fields between. Just before he wakened his eye fell on Gorna, the capital city, its wall were breached, its gates thrown down. The Duke's guard fought beside shopkeepers and fishermen, but to no effect. At best they slowed the giants advance, at worst they increased their wrath. Wagons used as makeshift barricades were flung aside like childrens' toys. The living, wounded or hale, man, woman and child were killed when found and some were made into a hasty meal, fighting was hungry work.
Arawn's eye flew above the ruined streets till he reached the Duke's great keep. Already fire touched its walls and massive stones thrown by giants heavy arms had left the battlements with broken teeth, the fallen merlons knocked into the yard below.
The Duke himself stood upon the parapet and looked into the street below and as Arawn watched the Duke turned his head and stared him in the eye.
"Arawn." The Duke spoke and called to him by name. "Arawn, find the druidess Blodeuwedd, for all our sakes. Ask her help and tell her this:”
*I am a Spear: that Roars for Blood,
I am a Salmon: in a Pool,
I am a Lure: from Paradise,
I am a Hill: where Poets walk,
I am a Boar: Ruthless and Red,
I am a Breaker: threatening Doom,
I am a Tide: that drags to Death,
I am an Infant: Who but I
peeps from the unhewn Dolman Arch?
The Duke wore Daghdha's face. "You are as a son to me Arawn."
And in a sweat, Arawn awoke, starting from his grassy bed.
**
It took Arawn an hour to find his clothes. He fretted over every wasted minute. If that nymph returned he did not think he would have the strength to resist her charms.
Finally he found his boots, they were lying by the river bank, and as he put them on he paused. What was he to do now? He thought. How long had been here, it all seemed like a dream, but his side was partly healed. A long purple-bluish scar ran from ribs to hip. The wound looked like it might have been a week old or even twice that, but he could not believe so much time had passed.
"She must have healed me with some spell." Arawn said. "She must have."
The waters all ran south, and that way lay his home as well. But this Blodeuwedd, her legend placed her among the daunting Barrier Peaks where man, elf, dwarf or gnome seldom roamed and never dwelled. He shook his head, legend, that was all she was, and what sent him to her, a voice speaking in a dream.
Going would be slow without supplies. He had some odds and ends within the pouches on his belt, some line, some fishing hooks, a piece of flint and a honing stone. But the jerked meat, nuts and dried fruits were in his pack, left to rot high above the river where he'd jumped. A weeks rations there, all gone. His stomach rumbled, he'd lived on love, but little else, during his time spent with the nymph.
He set out on his way, dogging the stream back to the northwest. Somewhere he'd cross to the eastern side. Find his pack, see if the monsters had left anything behind in that hunting lodge, then see if he could pick up the other rangers trail. The last was a very forlorn hope in Arawn's mind. Even if they were dead the orcs would not let their bodies rest. He turned his attention from such thoughts and kept an eye out for some food along the riverbank.
An hour later he sat nearby a small pool, an offshoot of the rushing stream. He'd found frogs and turtles along its muddy shallow depths and now full, his stomach silent, he felt a weight pulling at his limbs, his eyelids drooped, and sleep called softly for him to rest. Arawn fought back, he ducked his face into the muddy pool, he'd wash off later when he was along the river once again, but for now the mucky water chased sleep away, though still his limbs felt weary.
The way was rough, no trail had been cut along this shore, though animal paths were frequent near the offshooting streams and pools. Those paths went south and west most often, Arawn felt he could travel just as quickly by breaking a new trail as following the twists and turns of the small paths he'd seen.
The water roared nearby, Arawn crawled on his belly and peered from behind a thick growth of weeds to see what moved along the rivers eastern side. All was quiet but for the stream and nothing moved. The river path was empty, no sign remained that orcs or giants had ever crossed that way. If the current had been less fierce he would have swam to the other bank right here, but his weariness had never left him.
Now as the day wore on his strength seemed to set with the light of day. He must find some place to rest, he knew, and soon. As he watched the waters he placed his chin upon his hands and closed his eyes, sleep claimed him and his head lay against the ground.
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jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Sep 13 2004 : 3:43:17 PM
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Part XIX
The sound of voices woke him from his sleep. It was nearly dark, the sun had dropped below the mountains and the last rays of daylight lit the clouds with a pinkish hue. Twilight had crept in while Arawn lay asleep.
The voices came again, a pleasant tenor and a lilting soprano, the nymph and someone else, another man. a surge of jealousy ran through Arawn, it woke him and cleared his head. He felt the urge to jump up and out, to confront the pair. Instead he closed his eyes and placed his hands against his ears, he hid from the sight of her and from her voice, they were weapons that he could not face. He thought of Daghdha and his friends, he brought his wandering dreams to mind, and let himself dwell on what was happening down below. These were his armor and his shield against the beauty and desire that the nymph possessed, they warred within him and he lay stunned and wounded while the battle raged, fought between his heart and mind.
Night settled down upon the river when next Arawn opened his eyes. Had he slept again, he yawned and wondered, but felt better and his limbs less weary. The night-talking insect life had not yet woken from their winter's sleep, the river sang its song alone, the woods were still.
Arawn stood and began his slow-paced journey up the river along its south-western bank. Silver moonlight danced over the river water, two moons chased each other across the starry sky. Arawn breathed in deep, the cold night air making him feel more awake and alive than he could ever remember feeling in his life.
He stood before a familiar scene. Across the river a log house, the hunters' lodge, the waterfall roared down unchanged. He never thought to see this place again. The current was strong, but Arawn could think of no better place to cross. Upstream, below the lake, the river was all falls and fast running streams. The water here was fast, but slower than any other spot the ranger knew. It was here or follow the river to its source and the mountain lake was fraught with perils both rumored and deadly true.
Arawn took off his boots again and tied them to his sword. He sat upon the bank and slid his feet into the chilly stream and pulled them out again, quick. "Oh great." he said aloud. "Now I have to go."
Several moments later he cinched his belt tight and sat on the bank once more. The water was still as cold, but Arawn slid in slow, without a splash. The current pulled him and he swam angled against its force. He made progress, but three paces ahead and two drawn back.
The far bank was high and slick, he'd been dragged far from where he'd thought to cross, his muscles burned, his hands and feet felt like icy blocks. Slick grass and weeds slipped beneath his numbing hands but an old thick root, projecting from a long dead stump of tree allowed him to wrap his arms tightly round its limb. He used it like a ladder to climb the bank and rolled onto his back once he had pulled his legs and frozen feet from the cold flowing stream.
"Fire..." he said with chattering teeth. He'd need a fire to warm himself whatever the risk might be. The hunting lodge would be best, he remembered the crude comfort of the place. He forced himself to stand, his boots forgotten still tied around his sword.
**
Arawn could not feel his feet as he stumbled through the woods. He shook with cold, soaked to the skin and freezing. The world was at an angle, disjointed. He fought through the thinning trees, half tripping, colliding with branches he hadn't seen or thought were to the side.
The moonlight sapped the color from the oerth, all was shinning silver and deep black. He knew he ran, but it felt as if he was standing still, the distant lodge came rushing toward him. Trees ran and buffeted him with their boles, scratched at his protecting arms and sought his eyes. His ears were filled with the water's voice, roaring, roaring, always roaring, it drowned his thoughts. Everything around seemed flat, like a picture on a wall, but rolling back and forth. With his arms raised in front of his face he collided hard with the lodge's wall and was knocked back. Arawn fell and lay looking up at the moons and stars, they danced and left sparkling trails like words of flowing script painted in glowing light against the dark backdrop of the night sky. He could not read what the stars were writing, his wonder turned to sickness and his stomach churned. He shut his eyes, but the lights remained, spots dancing on the inside of his closed eyelids.
Arawn rolled to hands and knees, he was sick and heaved till his numbed sides began to ache. It cleared his head though it left him feeling weak. He wiped his mouth and spat, then tried to stand. He fell then crawled. His hands touched the rough wooden timbers of the wall, he pulled himself up on cold shaking legs and dragged himself along, head and shoulder scraping across the bark.
The porch was high here at the southern end, its floor came to Arawn's shoulders and its railing was high above his head. He tried to grab the edge but his fingers were stiff and cold, still half-numb. He swung around the corner and plodded up the slope, as the ground became higher the floor of the porch dropped further and further down. Halfway up Arawn could lean over at his waist and place his head and shoulders on the wooden porch. He could barely stand but he could crawl, with his elbows and a small jump he got his right hip over the porch's edge.
The smooth foot-worn boards felt good against his back. Arawn wanted sleep, wanted it too much. The cold had begun to go away and he no longer shook but felt warm. Death could come this way, he thought, even in an early spring. Soaked in icy river water on a chilly night, not how Arawn expected the end to be.
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