C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 2

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.92T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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“You killed her,” said Retaak, standing. In the silence of that moment, as a new Dread Lord crowned himself, his voice was heard by all. His defiance was noted.

Ushochhushi, the crown settling on his head, turned slowly to Retaak. His eyes were cold and his lips twisted into a sneer. “Ah, Wildborn, I had forgotten about you. You could have lived for a few more days if you had the brains to shut up.”

Retaak ignored Ushochhushi, walking past the new Dread Lord to kneel beside Albyursia. He touched her face, once, just to make certain that she was well and truly dead, shaking his head sadly as he conformed the worst.

Behind him he heard Ushochhushi, angry at being defied and ignored, pick up the Dread Blade and march toward him. Anger surged through Retaak, molten in his veins.

“Why?” he asked.

“She was a means to an end,” said Ushochhushi. “Why do you even care?”

Retaak stood, his hands curling into fists. “She meant something to me.”

Ushochhushi laughed, it rang out across the multitudes, still held in thrall by his Kasuukak, loud and bitter. “She fucked you because she thought you could help her escape. How like you to think that it meant something Retaak. I am going to enjoy killing you.”

“No tricks, Ushochhushi,” growled Retaak.

Ushochhushi laughed, “No tricks, only power. Suffer, Wildborn.”

And Retaak felt the power of the compelling wash over him again, stronger than anything that Ushochhushi had ever used against him, almost as strong as that of the Dread Lord. It was as if his head was stuck in a giant vice, slowly being crushed. But he did not kneel.

Ushochhushi stalked toward him with the Dread Blade…

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.91T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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“–No,” the words rasped out of Retaak’s throat as his eyes fell upon the crumpled form behind Ushochhushi.

There lay Albyursia. Her body was not blasted or burnt like those of the unfortunate Spawn too close to the the conflict between the Dread Lord and his former Seneschal, and yet the life had left it. Even at a distance Retaak could see that a spark was missing, that the green maiden who he loved… loved… was gone. Her voice had flashed through his mind a moment before, touching him, an apology for something that should have been but now would never come to pass.

“No,” said Retaak again, a lance of anguish ripping through him. “No.”

Ushochhushi, ignorant of Retaak’s feelings, shook his head as he stood over the form of the dying Dread Lord.

“You will never know how much I regret this, old friend,” said the Seneschal, bending down to pick up the Dread Lord’s blade.

“Spare… me… the theatrics… betray–“

The Dread Lord’s words were lost as the Seneschal rammed the Dread Blade into his mouth. There was another ripple of power and a strange gargled cry and then it was done. The Dread Lord was no more. All was silent across the great gathering as the Fellspawn watched the new Dread Lord take the crown from atop the Heaume of the old Dread Lord.

“All hail the New Dread Lord,” intoned Ushochhushi, his voice heard in every ear. He set the crown atop his head and every spawn felt the weight of it. Kaasukak, the compelling, settled upon them all once more.

All save one…

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.90T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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The Dread Lord stormed toward Ushochhushi like an avalanche of ebon metal, swinging a blade that a bull Ogre would have trouble wielding. The astonished faces of thousands of Fellspawn, frozen in shock and disbelief were reflected in that terrible weapon as it descended. They all knew what would happen next, and they all feared what would happen to them once Ushochhushi fell. The Dread Lord would not take kindly to anyone witnessing this moment of weakness; one did not want to invite more rebellion, after all.

And so as the mind of every right-thinking spawn had turned to self-preservation in the face of the inevitable, what Ushochhushi did next came as a shock. Most of the Fellspawn were watching that blade, a weapon of legendary power that had ended the kingdoms of Dwarves, the nations of men, and taken the heads of the greatest of the elf lords. Most of them were picturing themselves facing the wrath of the Dread Lord, fearful of his Kasukaak.

But Retaak kept his gaze on the Seneschal, straining against the Dread Lord’s compulsion to do so. It felt as if he might rip a muscle with the strain of it. He could make out Albyursia standing half-hidden behind Ushochhushi, but little else. As the Dread Blade sliced downward, Ushochhushi shifted bracing himself and raising a small dull grey buckler in one smooth motion. Such was the economy of motion that the Dread Lord had no time to react. The Dread Blade swept down and smashed into the comically small shield that Ushochhushi presented. There was a sound like thunder and a flash of light. Retaak and every one of the Spawn around him fell.

“I’m sorry, Retaak, perhaps in the next–” Retaak heard Albyursia’s voice, a tickle in his ear. At that moment the compulsion broke. He surged to his feet. She wasn’t there. Most of the spawn around him were struggling on the ground. Movement drew Retaak’s eyes.

The Dread Lord stood before Ushochhushi, the Dread Blade stopped on the dull grey buckler. The armoured figure towered over the Seneschal. Blood dripped on the ground between them. Retaak saw that a slim blade, one of Ushochhushi’s favourites, had been thrust into the Dread Lord’s heart. Around them the ground was scorched and battered.

“How?” asked the Dread Lord, his voice pained and almost normal sounding.

“I told you when we started this,” answered Ushochhushi

“Bastard–” growled the Dread Lord, the eyes on his helm glowing flaring red.

As Retaak watched the great armoured figure surged up, grabbing at the blade. Ushochhushi pulled the weapon out with a deft motion. A fountain of blood spurted from the hold in armour. The Dread Lord stumbled, crashing to his knees, still reaching for Ushochhushi. He struggled, blood still pouring from him and then he fell.

It was then that Retaak spotted Albyursia.

…

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.89T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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If Ushochhushi feared the Dread Lord’s blade any more than he heeded the compelling, he gave no sign. He did not even draw his own weapon. Instead, he carried on as if this were a discussion instead of a lethal confrontation in which he had antagonized the very being from whom his power flowed.

“You called us here for Tribute, Waachhuraak, but what have you done to deserve Tribute from us?” continued Ushochhushi. Using what Retaak had to assume was the Dread Lord’s real name was an unexpected insult. “You have not added much to the lands of Bemachhorak. You have not increased the wealth and prestige of the Spawn who follow you. The elves still plague our shores and raid our lands. Greyrock stands unbroken. Your only success was taking the crown from your predecessor and I know the truth of that betrayal.”

Theatrics, thought Retaak, most of the Dread Lords have died to betrayal. But the words had the intended effect and a ripple of shock rang out through the assembled crowd. Ushochhushi’s smile was triumphant. He had what he needed.

“I would be content to seek my own path, and break from your control,” said Ushochhushi. “I have already cast off your Kaasukak and I–“

The Dread Lord had stood silent this whole time, as if frozen by the effrontery before him, but now he gestured, waving his arm and compelling the spawn between him and Ushochhushi to part.

“Your insolence will be your death, worm!” snarled the Dread Lord, stalking toward Ushochhushi. The ground seemed to shake with every footfall, but still the rebellious Seneschal did not act as if he were in mortal peril. Retaak was sure it was a ploy and equally certain that Albyursia, standing next to Ushochhushi, was part of the plan.

“I do not seek a fight with you, old friend,” said Ushochhushi.

The Dread Lord gave a sound of inchoate rage and charged, covering the ground between them with ground eating strides. Retaak watched Ushochhushi, unable to move as the Dread Lord descended upon him like an avalanche. Unlike all of the other Spawn watching, he was certain that there was some sort of trick up the Seneschal’s sleeve.

The Dark Lord descended, raising his blade. At the last moment Ushochhushi moved.

Time itself seemed to shift in that moment.

…

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.88T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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The weight of the Dread Lord’s gaze fell upon Ushochhushi. Retaak could feel the weight of those eyes, even though they were not on him. The presence of the Dread Lord was terrible and irresistible and no one stirred on the vast plateau, save The Dread Lord and his seneschal.

But Ushochhushi did not seem cowed at all. “I no longer kneel to you, old friend.”

The words were simple and yet the meaning was staggering. Retaak dreamed of such defiance, but he was considered a fool for it. Even he would never dare resisting the Dread Lord himself, at least not like this. Powerful spawn sometimes challenged the Dread Lord, and sometimes won, but not in such a fashion. There was a proper place for a challenge. At tribute, any challenger would meet with a swift death. It was terribly strange for defiance to come from Ushochhushi, a spawn who was known for his dedication, loyalty, and above all, caution.

“Is that so?” rumbled the Dread Lord, his voice booming and echoing.

Retaak knew that Ushochhushi had been planning something, but a brazen betrayal of his master was unexpected. And yet, Ushochhushi had always been ambitious. What truly held him in check was the same power that held every other spawn under the sway of the Dread Lord: Kaasukak. No, Retaak considered, if Ushochhushi could usurp the Dread Lord’s power, he would not hesitate. The seneschal was too canny and too cautious to gamble with his life, which meant that he must be confident that Albyursia gave him the edge that he needed in this confrontation.

“It is,” said Ushochhushi. “You know me well, Dread Lord Yelrek, seventh to wear the crown. You all know me. I would not do this lightly.”

“SILENCE!” roared the Dread Lord. The shock of his voice, rang out over them. Retaak felt as if he had been struck by a hammer. He heard a strangled sound from nearby, but could not turn his head away from the Dread Lord. The power of Kaasukak was overwhelming. That same power had called his parents out of their happy life far away from Bemachhorak and bound them to servitude and death. Retaak grit his teeth and tried to resist, he moved his head, just a little with his utmost effort.

“No,” said Ushochhushi, plainly. “You sit here in your tower and brood, while we do your bidding. I have grown tired of it. Bemachhorak could be great. We could rule the whole world. We could turn our might to other pursuits. All we do is fight and die for your whims. Tell me Dread Lord, do you even have a plan?”

“ENOUGH!” howled the Dread Lord. And Retaak could feel him bend his will to compel Ushochhushi. He could feel that power, the power to control countless spawn and bend their will to his, focused on the seneschal. It was immense, like a mountain falling or the light of the sun itself. No one could resist that. And yet, Ushochhushi did. He stood against that pressure, unyielding and unbending. It was like watching a tree stand up to a hurricane. It should not have been possible, and yet it happened.

The compelling stopped. The silence that followed was a still as death. Then the Dread Lord lifted his blade and pointed it at Ushochhushi.

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.87T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

<>

The sudden hush was like a kind of thunder, spreading across the multitudes with supernatural swiftness. It was so quiet that Retaak could hear the crackle of a fire and distant birdsong. Even the sound of so many breathing or coughing spawn should have been louder. It was an unnatural silence, pregnant with fearful anticipation; Kaasukak compelled them all, binding them, and the Dread Lord was its source.

Footfalls sounded in the silence. A menacing sound, metallic and echoing, from the foyer of the Dread Lord’s abode. Retaak found he could not look away, but through the corner of his eye he saw Ushochhushi slip away. He steeled himself and tried to resist the Dread Lord’s call, but at that moment the footsteps paused and the great doors at the bottom of the tower swung open.

For a moment Retaak could only see the yawning darkness beyond the mouth of the doorway and then the shadows seemed to separate and the obsidian armour of The Dread Lord resolved in his vision. Despite himself Retaak forgot about Ushochhushi as he gazed upon the self-proclaimed master of all his kind.

As the doors settled, the Dread Lord marched forward into the light, his footsteps echoing off the basalt steps and rolling over the silent multitudes. Taller than a bull ogre, but not nearly so heavy, The Dread Lord moved with grace in spite of the thick armour that encased his form from head to toe and the weight of his steps. In his right hand he carried the Sword of the First Dread Lord, a weapon that seemed to seethe and rage in his gauntleted hand, full of power and malice. In his other hand he carried the Scourge of Bemachhorak, nine lengths of spiked chain dragging on the ground sparking on the stone. There were a host of other relics on The Dread Lords person, but aside from the weapons Retaak’s eyes were always drawn to the Dread Crown, a spiked crown of plain iron that sat upon The Dread Lord’s heaume. It was the symbol of his power and the source of Retaak’s oppression.

The Dread Lord walked down the stairs into a raise dais that let him look down upon the great horde of the Fellspawn that had assembled for Tribute. The silence seemed to deepen as they watched, expectant. Retaak knew that he was not the only one who resented the Dread Lord’s power; any Spawn would take it, given the chance — but he held them all down. As he came to stand at the end of the Dais, the Dread Lord gaze out at them, waiting, letting the anticipation grow. Finally, he spoke “kneel.”

KNEEL

And the weight of the command came down on Retaak like an avalanche. He tried to resist, to stand against the Kaasukak, but blood began to drip from his nose immediately and the sheer power of The Dread Lord drove him down. He hated himself for that, but he hated the Dread Lord more. So intent was Retaak on his own misery that he did not notice the ripple of shock that ran through the spawn, and the drama unfolding, until the Dread Lord spoke again.

“What is this?”

Retaak snapped back to the present and there he saw Ushochhushi standing where all others knelt, save for the elven woman at his side.

…

Domains of the Chosen Systems Remastered

Here is some of the stuff that I have been working on lately for my Domains of the Chosen series. These will be going to the appropriate sub-pages on this site, but here they are for now. I am going through and rationalizing the systems within the book for a special reason that I will be announcing later this year.

Structure of a MatchGladiators enter the Arena where they pass through several check-points including having their weapons and armour, weight, and attunements examined by deliberative officers. If the checks are passed the Gladiator attunes to the Keystone and proceeds to their arming room.In higher end games there will be series of matches, with special entertainment, political speeches, advertisments prior to each match.The Gladiator readies themselves in an assigned arming room. Each group of Gladiators is kept apart and well guarded.The first trumpet, the call to arms, sounds. Each group pf Gladiators moves to their entrance gate.The second series of trumpets, the call of the people, sounds. Gladiator groups enter the arena in ascending order of popularity. The direction from which they enter is determine dby match. The Gladiators are announced as they enter, and in high end matches there is often some sport’s centre style announcing. With multiple teams this can actually last some time and involve several calls to the people.Entrances are heavily emphasized by many Gladiators.In a standard Hunter’s Match the Gladiator enters first and the monsters are released after the salute to the crowd (6). Gladiators come in from the East (Krass) and monsters from the West.In a Gladiator’s Match the most popular Gladiator enters from the South and comes on last, alternating entrances (N, W, E, S) as required.In a Gladaitor’s Match all Gladiators now salute the crowd.In a Gladiator’s Match a short time is given over to banter so that the Gladiators can show off their wit and insult each other. Banter ends when one of the Gladiators does not answer or draws a weapon or enough time passes. The more prestigious the fight the more time is allowed for banter.The fight begins with another trumpet blast, the call to battle. Fighting continues until one participant wins or a pre-determined time limit expires. If a victory by KO/Kill/Clear win is not achieved then points are awarded depending on the match type. The side with the most points wins. Ties are are determined by appeal to the crowd.In a deathmatch a gladiator who is defeated but not killed may survive if they win an appeal to the crowd. In most leagues Gladiators are rarely killed this way, although executions are often talked about.The match ends with a call to the ancestors, a final Trumpet blast. Deliberatove officers leash the Gladiators, stopping them from fighting, often mid-swing.Gladiators go back to their arming room, and then to the baths.Naming Conventions for the Gifted in the Domains

Arenabound (Gladiators): Gifted who choose to fight in the arena. They are leashed by the Watchbound. Master Arenabound do not necessarily have to fight in the Arena to maintain their status; many of them teach or provide other services, still bound be the laws that regulate Gladiators.

Domainbound (The Chosen): The Chosen are occasionally referred to as the Domainbound, in that they are bound by oath to serve the Domains of the Chosen. Their Thaom is enhanced by the collective oaths of the Domains, particularly the Oathstone of Krass.

Taskbound (Includes Taskbound Serfs and Vassals, as well as Free Taskbound): The Taskbound are those who have had their Gift Girded so that they cannot draw on magic quickly or weave certain types of spells.

Lifebound (Replacing hearth and heartbound): The lifebound are Gifted who are bound to a Chosen. Their Thaom is enhanced by connection to their Chosen.

Scornbound (Replacing Heretics): The Scornbound are Gifted who exist outside the system imposed by the Covenant. Their very existence is illegal. Scornbound refer to both Gifted living illegally in the Domains and the Gifted of nations outside the Domains.

Warbound (Includes fighting Warbound, Blackcloaks, and some Legion Taskbound): Gladiators who reach veteran rank can become Warbound. The Blackcloaks swear to a banner as well, and function like Warbound. Warbound can draw on additional Thaom from their Oath and the Legionnaires who swear on the same banner.

Watchbound (Grey-Robes, but not Black-Cloaks): Initiates and Taskbound can all become Watchbound, often later in life. Watchbound have some of their Thaom restored and can leash Gladiators and Taskbound to them.

Gladiatorial Terms

Rank: Gladiators are ranked from 1 (Novice) to 10 (master), which denotes their relative experience and how many ranks of training they have. To qualify for ranking the Gladiator must partake in at least 5 official matches, one of which is a special ranking match.

A Gladiator is allotted a training advancement every rank.Ranking tests occur every 5 ranked matches and have special requirements and grades.

Ranked Match: A match that is entered into a Gladiator’s permanent record.

Technique Rating: Techniques, the physical moves that Gladiators are trained in are also given ratings based on how powerful they are, what level of skill they require to use and counter, and any special requirements they have.

A rating 1 technique gives a slight situational advantage, rating 10 or higher is a technique of incredible strength.Skill ratings are novice, adept, veteran, and master.Example: Wall Running: Movement 5, Adept, Sui-Thaiune 1. Allows wall running at full speed.Example: Bulwark School Technique: Defence 6, Adept, Sui-Thaiune 1. Allows spell-blocking.

Training advancement: Training is heavily regulated for all Gladiators save for masters. The allotment of training that a Gladiator is allowed each rank is called a training advancement. Obviously different Gladiators learn at different rates and some pick up certain techniques better than others, but a training advancement is only allocated when a certain competency in the school is achieved. Gladiators learn special techniques during training, many of which are semi-magical and require use of Sui-Thaiune while others require mastery of difficult mundane skills.

Master Gladiators and Chosen are not bound by training advancements, but there is a limit on how much anyone can learn and retain.Chosen Mazurin is said to have mastered the teachings of no less than twenty schools.Magic Glossary

Bodysculpting (Formal Term: Sui-Thaiune): Gifted in the Domains, especially Gladiators, are able to permanently alter their own bodies. This is different that spells and power that transform the Gifted Temporarily, like those exhibited by Riritaka and other shapeshifting Gifted. Bodysculpting is a permanent change in the character’s physical form at the pattern level. It is very slow, but very stable, nigh impossible to unweave, dispel, or disrupt. Gladiators use bodysculpting as part of their physical conditioning, becoming even stronger, tougher, and faster than a regular Gifted. Many also make changes in their appearance, from the sublime to the monstrous, based on personal taste or lack thereof.

Cosmetic Bodysculpting requires a negligible amount of Sui-Thaiune. Even horns, gills, or claws require less than 1 Sui-Thaiune.Thaom/Thune Investment: Functional Bodysculpting requires a great deal more investment. Each level of Sui-Thaiune turns a potion of the Gifted’s Thaom and Thune inward (The exact proportion varies by Gladiator, but remains the same once established). It is possible for a Gifted to Gird themselves if they push it too far.1 point of Sui-Thaiune requires 2 points of Invesment.Krassian Gladiator Training involves a lot of Sui-Thaiune at a very basic level. Even the Krassian  Taskbound have more Sui-Thaiune invested than the Gifted from other cultures.

Girded: Taskbound and Watchbound exchange their freedom for service and having their Gift Girded which weakens the Thaom and makes using certain uses of Thune very, very difficult. Gladiators, especially novices, look down on any Gifted who has been Girded, possibly because they fear it.

Limitations: While the Girded still enjoy the basic benefits of the Gift, they do not heal as fast and eventually die from old age, usually very suddenly as age catches up to them all at once.

Spell-Weave/Spell-Pattern: All things have a magical pattern, made up of strands of Thune. The more stable the thing the stronger the weave. A spell is made up of Thaom energy pushed through a spell-weave that the caster makes from their own Thune. A caster who has strong Thune can keep a pattern stable even after casting a spell, reusing that pattern by directing more Thaom through it.

Disruption: A Gifted who is strong in Thune can disrupt patterns. This can destroy spells or interfere with their casting. The stronger a pattern is, the harder it is to disrupt. Enchantments are harder than spells, with body-sculpting being difficult and natural patterns being very difficult.

Thune:  Thune is a rating of a Gifted’s ability to weaving spell pattern. Thune applies to all forms taught in the Domains of the Chosen and most pre-reckoning forms of magic. Gifted with high Thune can weave complex spells faster. Some spells are simply impossible for those without a developed Thune. Thune is woven. Thune is more difficult to rate than Thaom, especially since some Gladiators show special aptitude for certain spell patterns that lets them cast at a much higher Thune, but there are certain benchmarks.

Thune 1 allows for only simple spells or have to take a long time to weave higher Thune spells while a complex spell can be rated at ten or more. Gladiators are said to have achieved a certain Thune rating when they can cast any spell of that rating 19 times out of 20 in their primary form.

Multiple Weaves: High Thune Gifted can maintain multiple spell-weaves, one at Thune 10 and another at Thune 25. Some Chosen can do more.Multiple Casts: Some High Thune Gifted can weave multiple spells at once. This almost always requires special training for all but The Chosen and is never seen below Thune 18.Example ranksAverage Novice Gladiator Thune 5Average Master Gladiator Thune 15Average Chosen Thune 25Some of the more complex spells, such as Antidilluvius’s void magic orb, require Thune 70 or more.Gavin in book 10 is Thune 105 able to weave at least four spell-patterns at once and maintain four non enchantment spells while casting another.

Thaom: Thaom is a rating of how swiftly a Gifted can call on magical power. Most spells require a set amount of Thaom to cast. Thaom is rated by a Gifted’s average time to cast the prime spells of the mystic form. All Gifted can sense Thaom and channel it to use magic. Thaom is channelled.

Thaom 1 is the lowest rating and can gather enough Thaom for the required spells no faster than three seconds. Thaom 1-2 usually indicates Girding or a lack of training. The minimum Thaom rating for a Gladiator is 3 (1 sec) with most Rank 1 Gladiators measuring at least 5 (0.6 sec)

Thaom Math: Snap spells cost 3 Thaom. Thaom rating is the amount of Thaom a Gifted channels in 1 second.Ur-Thaom: The maximum amount of magical power that a Gladiator can channel at once. This is highly subjective and theoretical for each Gifted since it can be pushed to the point where it can harm or kill the wielder.Benefits of High Thaom: healing factor, senses, and physical prowess increase slowly as Thaum increases. Even the least physically capable Gladiator is much stringer than a normal person and can regenerate from near fatal wounds while a Chosen or a Master Gladiator are super-heroic. Other benefits can accrue based on the forms the Gifted relies on.Example ranksAverage Novice Gladiator Thaom 5Average Master Gladiator Thaom 25Average Chosen Thaom 100Upper levels of Thaom are harder to gauge.

Thralls back next week, magic update Sunday

I am super tired, and have been working on something related to the good news that I will soon announce. Thralls will be back next week, but on Sunday I will be posting an update to the magic system for the Domains and perhaps some new Gladiator stuff as well.

My fatigue is partly work related and partly Skyrim related lol.

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.86T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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Uyagi’s eyes found Retaak with the swiftness of a bird of prey on the hunt. If she felt any guilt about leaving him in the forest and stealing away with Albyursia, she did not show it. For Retaak’s part, he did not feel anger at her. When a spawn was under Kaasukak, their life hung in the balance. To ask Uyagi to rebel with him would have been her death. Perhaps it was better this way. His orcish friend frowned as she saw him, and Retaak unexpectedly felt his heart sink.

He stepped forward, but Uyagi pulled up her hood and brushed past. The look in her eyes and her silence spoke volumes. Retaak watched her go, words frozen in his mouth. He had thought of so many reproaches on his way to this moment, but none of them was adequate to Uyagi’s glance. He starred at her back as she vanished into the throngs.

“Are you so willing to throw your life away for a stranger?” Ushochhushi’s voice came from behind him.

“I have come to challenge you for Albyursia, Seneschal,” growled Retaak, turning to to stare at Ushochhushi, whose lean form was encased in a suit of imposing plate armour. “I invoke the sacred rites–“

“Albyursia is my tribute,” answered Ushochhushi, his lips curving slightly. “If you want her, then you will have to fight the Dread Lord for her, Wildborn.”

Retaak shook his head. He’d felt so confident after killing Waachear. Now this. “What is you game, Seneschal?”

Ushochhushi’s guards bristled, weapons pointed at Retaak now, but the Seneschal merely laughed.

“Power, Retaak, my game is power and I play it very well,” said Ushochhushi. “The question you should be asking is what are you playing at? Do you even know what the Elf is?”

“I know that she deserves freedom!”

“Not even her own kind would agree, as you have seen.”

Retaak longed to draw his weapons and spring at Ushochhushi, but the Seneschal was too well prepared. No rite of challenge could take a tribute meant for the Draed Lord either. Albyursia was close but she might as well be shut back in Greylock again for all he could do to help her.

“Think of killing Waachear as a consolation prize, Retaak,” said Ushochhushi. “I can forgive that, since you have served me well in this…”

It was a generous offer, especially since the Seneschal could simply have him killed, right here. And yet it angered Retaak.

Before he could respond though, drums began to sound from the base of the Dread Lord’s tower. The call to to tribute had begun. The Dread Lord Himself was coming. Retaak could feel it. They could all feel it.

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.85T)

Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.

Here is the first post from this series.

Here is last week’s entry.

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Retaak had no difficulty making his way through the thronging crowds and wary camps spread out in the grim shadow of The Dread Lord’s Tower. Each group of spawn that had been called was too concerned with guarding whatever they brought as tribute to pay much attention to single person passing by.

He skirted the edge of the Dread Lord’s Moot, a great amphitheater carved into the rock near the foot of the tower. There, when tribute was to be Given, the Dread Lord would hold court with his favored spawn and their retinue winning a place seated near him, where all on the great plateau could see them. Retaak hoped to spot the seneschal there, but Ushochhushi’s banner was not visible near his master’s favorite stage.

His stomach rumbled and Retaak decided that he could no longer resist the desire to eat. His nose led him to a cooking pit where the carcasses of boar, goat, and sheep cooked slowly above hot coals. Each of the meats were lathered in special sauces and alchemical rubs, of which many of his fellow Spawn were inordinately proud. Belly Rumbling, Retaak joined a line for roast boar with a mustard and maple sauce. The line was filled with over a hundred spawn of various factions, all armed to the teeth. They jostled and growled at their rivals but none dared shed blood here, and least not without the Dread Lord’s permission.

Retaak wrapped his cloak about him as a pair of Bloodaxe Warband members marched past, snacking on pungent sausages. They did not glance at him.

“Fiveweight for this, tenweight for that,” said the pit master, drawing Retaak’s attention back to the food.

Retaak handed him some coins, taking the larger hunk. He bit into it immediately, raising the meat to the pit master to show his appreciation, earning him a grin in return.

Retaak ate slowly, but with great Gusto, eyes roaming, looking for signs of Ushochhushi. Normally the seneschal would have one of the most prominent spots, wanting to show his banners near those of the Dread Lord to demonstrate his favor for all to see.

He still had no idea where to look when his stomach began rumbling again. Days of long travel and depravation had left him especially hungry. He started sniffing around the cooking pits for his next meal. Perhaps some of those delicious spiced sausages from so far away; a rare treat. Then, as he moved toward the line he caught another scent, one of deep earth and spring. He stopped, sniffed again. It was unmistakable; Albyursia was somewhere nearby.

Retaak followed the scent. It was clear, even with the myriad smells of thousands upon thousands of spawn, their fires and their weaponry. He followed it through the camps of Great Clans and tiny Warbands, past cooking pits, latrines, and animal posts. Soon enough he found himself standing in front of a grand tent bearing a familiar symbol. It was Ushochhushi’s tent, but it bore none of the heraldry of his office, only his personal symbols. How odd.

Retaak did not care. He was here for Albyursia. He would kill Ushochhushi if he had to. He strode toward the tend, full of purpose.

As he approached the tent flap flew open. Retaak’s hand flew to his blade, but stopped as Uyagi stepped through the guards…

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