C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 4

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.77T)

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Retaak gazed up at the grinning form of Waachear, his worst tormentor among the caste of spawn who enforced fidelity to the Dread Lord through torture. Waachear had broken him many times, taken memory after memory from him. Just looking at Waachear made his skin crawl and bile rise in his throat.

Waachear laughed. “Ushochhushi said that you would still be feeling defiant. I’m glad he called me though. I enjoy breaking you, Wildborn. Your disgusting memories deserve to be extinguished.”

Retaak stepped toward Waachear, growling. The four Ogre Bulls moved to intercept, a wall of flesh that he could not muscle his way past.

“Shall we kill him?” asked the largest of the Bulls.

“Unnecessary,” said Waachear, smiling. “I have a leash for this dog. Stand aside and see.”

Torturers like Waachear all had some measure of Kaasukak against the Dread Lord’s servants. Waachear walked forward, grinning.

“Would you defy the Dread Lord’s will, Wildborn?” asked Waachear through an ugly grin. “You’ve tried you will against mine many times before and each and every time I have put you in your place. You are nothing to me. Come, strike at me if you dare.”

Retaak roared and leapt forward, his sword raised. Waachear, his tormentor, would die by his blade at last. And yet as he tried to finish his swing a gruesome wedge of pain seemed to drive into his skull. His arm froze. The power of Kaasukak held his blow; the pain was too much. But Retaak fought against it nonetheless.

“You never learn, Wildborn,” sneered Waachear, stepping forward. “Hold him” he said to one of the Ogres.

Retaak felt strong hands grasp him as Waachear slid forward and brought his painstick up, slamming it into Retaak’s groin. Even through the armour it hurt and Retaak felt the wind go out of him.

“Yes, that’s right, give up Wildborn,” sneered Waachear. “Perhaps this time the Dread Lord will let me kill you. Maybe the thought of what Ushochhushi has planned for your elf-friend will break you for good. I’ll let you know–“

The thought of Albyursia, good natured and wise, and Ushochhushi sent a shock of righteous anger through Retaak. He felt strong again, unexpectedly and he stared at Waachear as the Hob came in to hit him again. The Kaasukak broke as Retaak’s will proved too much for the torturer. The backlash staggered Waachear as he lunged with the painstick. Deftly, Retaak stepped out of the way of the painstick and then he grabbed the Hob’s arm, redirecting his thrust into the leg of the Ogre holding him.

The Bull grunted as the painstick hit him, ignoring most of the shock, but Retaak was in control and rammed the stick into his knee again, pulling Waachear with it. This time the Bull stumbled, the knee giving way and his great weight making it hard to regain balance. Retaak curled downward and pulling the Ogre over his shoulder and throwing him over his hip.

With surprising strength and technique, Waachear twisted out of Retaak’s grip, and as the Ogre slammed into the cobbles the Hob scrambled up the stairway leading into Uzaagwaar. Retaak leapt after him, evading the grasping hands of the other Ogres, climbing onto the stairs behind the Hob.

“I’m coming for you Waachear!” he roared and chased the torturer into the tower.

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Thrall of a Dread Lord (1.76T)

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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In the end, Retaak could not turn away from his desire. He needed to see Albyursia again and could not abide that she might be enslaved by Ushochhushi, or used as a pawn to further his ambitions. Despair wracked him, but he would not give in to it. If he had to confront Ushochhusons.

He had a knife and his falchion, a sturdy blade that he had come trust. His leathers were worn, but still offered a little protection. He did have much else on his person; it would have to do. He set out toward the tower.

He passed troop of Fellspawn on patrol, their arms and armour gleaming with polish. They ignored him, save for a voice calling out ‘Wildborn’ like a curse as he passed. He stopped and looked them over coolly, his hand on his weapon. The challenge was not repeated.

Soon, Uzaagwaar loomed above him. The Tower of the Seneschal was one of the mightiest in all of Bemachhorak. Made of seamless black stone and clad in weathered iron, it was as much of a statement as it was a fortification. The tower dominated the landscape around it, inescapable and menacing. Even the mountains seemed to draw back from it from this distance.

The great towers were built by the second Dread Lord to permanently expand his power beyond the reach of the Fellspawn Warrens. They housed warbands, supplies, and all that was necessary to wage war or exploit the surrounding lands. Uzaagwaar oversaw the richest mines in Bemachhorak, stolen from the Dwarves of old, and had many of the finest smiths. Ushochhushi had added vast herds of sheep to the Dread Lord’s riches, gaining great favour in the process.

Even though the mighty tower rarely faced any real threat, it was heavily guarded. Most of the armed spawn simply ignored Retaak though. He moved through the camp at the foot of the tower with ease, as welcome as any who served the Seneschal. Even so, the hairs of the back of his neck stirred and he was ready for violence to break out at any moment. A few of the other spawn grumbled as he passed, but none stood to bar his way until he reached the entrance to the tower itself.

Four Bull Ogres, their armour straining to contain their bulk, stood watch over the tower doors. A venerable orc, one of Ushochhushi’s first bodyguards stood watched Retaak as the Ogre’s stood and lowered their poleaxes to bar his way. The orc peered at him, scarred face twisting into a grimace.

“What business do you have here, Wildborn?”

Retaak looked at the four massive ogres, all of them larger than him and clad in heavy armour, then back to the old orc.

“I have business with your master,” he said.

The old orc chuckled. He looked to the door, which opened. Retaak’s breath caught in his throat as he saw who stepped out.

“Retaak, Retaak, Retaak,” said Waachear, gazing at him. “Will you ever learn?”

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.75T)

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 rest of his time on the mountain was made up of long hours of icy handholds and hanging over the abyss, seeking toeholds punctuated by glorious sliding down icy slops where the angle of decent or the softness of the landing permitted it.

Sliding down steep, but not exactly vertical inclines was a dangerous way of saving time. The powdery snow hid rocks and other debris in some places and poor judgement would see him plunge off a drop when he could not stop in time. Still it was exhilarating, the cool air and fresh snow brought back foggy memories. He could not quite touch them thanks to Waachear and his ilk, but they were happy, he knew that at least.

By the time he reached the road to Ushochhushi’s Tower, well on the other side of the mountain, Retaak was tired. Dawn had not yet broken though, and thus he was making good time in spite of his encounter with the Deathseeker.

After eating the last of the waybread and building a small fire behind an icy redoubt, Retaak dried his clothes as bets he could. His garments were durable, but they showed signs of wear from the grueling travel that he had undertaken. He did not have the time to fix them and the moment, which was a waste.

Sometime while he was considering the holes worn in his clothes, Retaak drifted off to sleep. He dreamed of Albyursia, of escaping with his friends, and of a green land beyond the reach of any Dread Lord. Kuzukaak did not harm him in his dreams.

He woke some time later. It was light and the small that he had built was nothing but cold ash now. Retaak’s body ached as he stood, and he was hungry and tired, but he judged himself ready to walk. The road to Uzaagwaar would be an easy enough walk after his time in the mountains. He could see patrols of Spawn, but those would be Ushochhushi’s guards, who would not challenge their master’s errand-runner.

He was so certain that he had beaten Uyage, Uyaashie, Kuzat and Albyursia to the tower that it came as a surprise when the Kazukaak lifted. The weight of the compelling, tangible despite being formless, fell from him suddenly as he walked toward the road, Retaak stumbled, unsure of what he was feeling and experienced a moment of confused panic before he understood what was happening.

“Uyage…” he said, understanding then that his band had delivered Albyursia to Ushochhushi. He had been a fool to think that he could beat her to to her goal.

He fell to his knees. Fatigue and frustration finally crashing down on him.

Was it all for not?

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.74T)

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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“Should have called it Rothgrim’s Rise,” grumbled Retaak, looking around the small area carved out between the sheer mountainside and the cunningly wrought turret jutting from a hidden wall. Within that fortification lay one of the old Dwarven realms, long fallen into ruin. It was a place of great danger, whose rumours of treasure had lured many Spawn to their deaths over the years.

While the point itself was plain to the eye, the view it offered was truly spectacular. Built close to the peak of Cloudspear, the largest mountain in the Gumaatayut range, he could see an incredible distance to the west and east. He could see the smoke shrouded shape of Greyrock and the town of Oystkivat around it. He could see the great green forests flowing down from the mountains and the shadowed Desolation nestled within them, pale and lifeless by comparison.

To the west he could see the mountains themselves, rank upon rank of jagged, snowcapped peaks. He smiled as he gazed out at them, serene and severe in their beauty. That views was only spoiled by the feat iron towers that shot from the ground throughout the mountains and all of Bemachhorak. They looked like jagged rust-coloured lances piercing the earth. One of the closest of these great edifices was Uzaagwaar, the Tower of the Seneschal, where Ushochhushi ruled when he was not in the Twilight Halls.

The largest tower, standing improbably high amid the peaks was the Spire of the Dread Lords, built atop the the Fellspawn Warrens. Unlike the other towers, this one glowed with fire and bellowed smoke from carved skulls the size of castles. It was said that the Dread Lord could gaze upon all of Bemachhorak from its heights. It was also said that the Dungeons of that Tower thrust deeper than even the lowest warren, down to the fire in the earth-mother’s belly, where the Dread Lord harnessed the secrets of molten rock and deep earth for his magic.

The wind and cold on Rothgrim’s Point was too much, even for Retaak and soon he was driven back to his task. Careful of the snow and ice, he climbed down from that hallowed place, aiming for the Seneschal’s tower. If he could keep moving at pace, he could reach it in less than two days, well before Uyage should.

Climbing down snow dusted rock with the winds howling above him required great effort, but Retaak never faltered. A slip or mishap could see him plunging off the mountain, joining Rothgrim in whatever mountain crevasse had swallowed his body. But Retaak was driven by his purpose and knew that the mountain was far less treacherous than what waited at the end.

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.73T)

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 woke before dawn, savouring the early morning sounds of the foothills. He heard birdsong and crickets and the rustling of what he thought might be dear some distance away.

He stood and checked his bandages and was well satisfied that his injuries were not showing signs of infection. He removed the bandages from the smaller wounds; he would not be lying down again for three days and it was better to let them get air now.

He ate lightly, beetle larvae from an old stump and a half-fermented honeycomb that was left over from what looked like a forgaing bear. The old honey tasted good, and he silently thanked the bees who had made it, and likely died defending it from the marauding ursine. How could they even understand what they were fighting against, tiny stingers against a mountain of fur and fur.

The rest of the waybread he kept for later. He would need it in the llong days ahead. To catch up and pass Uyage, Retaak would have to climb over Rothgrim’s Point, named after the last king of the Dwarves. It was more of a vertical ascent than a trail really, but it would save him several days. If he could do it without sleep, he would be able to get to the Fellspawn Warrens before even Uyage could navigate the regular trail. It was a daunting undertaking, but at the end Albyursia awaited him. Retaak was not sure what he would do–

Pleasant thoughts of Albyursia were interrupted then by a stabbing pain in his head. Kaasukak, the obedience that all Fellspawn were subject to, ripped through him. Blinding pain. In this case it was his obligation to Ushochhushi who wanted Albyursia for his own designs that caused him such suffering.

Retaak took hold of himself, working to clear his mind of thoughts. Now was not the time to fight the compelling. Now was not the time to challenge the power of the Dread Lord, or even his seneschal. He forced all thoughts out of his mind, let the sounds of the early morning wash over him. The wind in the trees. The scent of earth and stone. The freshness of the air. The pain subsided.

He looked own at the blood between his leg where he knelt as he cleaned his nose, then up at the mountains as his anger rose.

It was time.

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Retaak trudged up the mountain as the sun rose, making his way toward Rothgrim’s Point, a jagged scar in the rock which served as a pass. By late afternoon he was climbing more than walking, his hands finding cracks in the stone and the worn handholds used by others who had passed this way.

He kept climbing into the night and when the chill of the night and the mountain numbed him, he stopped for a meal of waybread. The magic of the elves, the kind of power lost on most of the Spawn, filled him with warmth and energy after a few bites and he continued to climb well into the night.

The dark did not bother him. Ogres did not not have nightvision as keen as an elf or some Spawn like Trolls and Goblins, but he could see the rock in front of his face well enough. As for following the path, he let his sense of touch and the silhouette of the mountain guide him. The trail was still used often enough to follow.

Once he slipped and slid, almost tumbling off the mountain, but through luck or strength his fingers forced their way into a crevasse and he pulled himself back up, heard hammering. After that he stopped for a moment, looking up at the stars above and the darkness of the land spread out all around him.

He kept climbing, nursing fatigue, thinking back to his time as a footsoldier whipped into fighting in the shadow of Greyrock after a long forced march. He kept climbing, keeping to the safe handholds, desire for speed tempered by caution now.

A little after dawn he came to Rothgrim’s Point.

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Thralls –> Friday

Once again I talked to Dan far too late to finish Thralls tonight. I should be able to put it up Tomorrow.

Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.72T)

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 woke suddenly. It was dark all around. For a moment he was disoriented, almost fearful, until his mind cleared and he remembered what had happened. His companions, driven by their Kaasukak to Ushochhushi had been driven to leave him behind. In the process of trying to beat them back to the Fellspawn Warrens he had fought with a Deathstalker and triumphed, only to collapse later on.

After taking a long drink of water, Retaak became aware of a feral presence nearby, a certain smell that was familiar to those who travelled the forests: wolves. They were watching him, drawn by the scent of blood, but wary of the scent of steel, leather, and spawn. They were not hungry enough to attack him, it seemed.

“Noble wolves, follow my scent back a ways and dine on elf-flesh,” said Retaak, managing a grin as he stood. His muscles were stiff, and his wounds itched but there was no fresh blood or sudden pain. While he examined the bandages his belly rumbled. It was time for more grubs.

After eating, Retaak set out toward the Fellspawn Warrens. If he could cut across the steep, jagged peaks of the high mountains he might be able to arrive before Uyage led the company to Ushochhushi. The Kaasukak compelling them would not allow them to put Albyursia in danger by taking such a route. Retaak, although heavy, was a strong enough climber that he could take advantage of some of the less used goat-paths and sentry bridges up there.

As Retaak walked, the sky gradually lightened. Each stride carried him toward the mountains and to destiny. It was all he could do not to run. Around him the lush forest turned more and more to conifers suited to foothills and mountain cold. The air was crisp and no longer bore the taint of the Desolation or the taste of Ash that came from the siegeworks near Greyrock.

Alone with his thoughts, but unable to dwell on his plans with Albyursia without inducing nausea, Retaak’s mind turned to his companions. He did not see what Uyage and Kuzak did as a betrayal; they were following their own survival imperatives. Other spawn would have killed him and left him to rot at the first sign of going against the Seneschal’s will.

The Seneschal. Obviously Ushochhushi wanted Albyursia’s magic. He could not fathom why, however. He had no doubts about the Seneschal’s ambitions, but using the elf woman’s magic would undoubtedly bring the Dark Lord’s Wrath down upon him. It was a difficult gambit to understand, unless… the Senesvchal planned treachery against the Dread Lord himself.

As Retaak considered this thought carefully, the air grew colder and the trees sparser. Soon he felt snow crunching underneath his boots and saw the mountain pass looming above him. The great snow-capped peaks loomed high, eating up the Horizon. Retaak decided against taking them too quickly, he was still weak from his wounds and needed more food,

Once his needs were met, Retaak fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of Ushochhushi and Albyursia.

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.71T)

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 laughed and laughed, giddy and grinning. He could not wait to boast to Ushochhushi or the pitborn spawn that he had slain a Deathstalker with his own hands and guile. He laughed until he felt weak in the knees which cause him to look down. His smiled died as he saw the blood, his own, pooling at his feet. He felt lightheaded.

He set the Deathstalker’s corpse down gently and began to bind his wounds. The cuts had all been deeper than they seemed at first and he had lost a lot of blood while squeezing the life out of his foe. As his hands moved with swift efficiency, his mind turned to the past.

Hold the cloth like so, make certain that those do not get in the wound, tie it here and here… his mother’s voice, her likeness long lost to Waachear and his ilk. He still remembered her teaching him how to bind wounds, to make a poultice, which herbs to pick and how to prepare them. It always came back to him when he did this, made him wonder what else he could remember through simple tasks. Could he ever regain what the minions of the Dread Lord had taken from him?

He felt weak and tired when he was finished. The elf had a bow, some arrows, and a pack of waybread. Filled with honey, nuts, and dried berries that seemed to burst to life as one bit into it, waybread was popular with any of the spawn who had worked up their distrust of elves enough to try it. Retaak considered that it could be poisoned, but the Deathstalker had been so arrogant, or angry that he had given up an easy kill with a bow. losing had never crossed his mind. Besides he had no choice.

He bit into the waybread. The flavours shot through him. There was a sharpness to the syrup; had they used maple instead of honey? walnuts and raspberry chased this, followed by the citrus tang of lemon. It was delightful. After the bread, he drank the elf’s water and set out, taking the elf’s knife and deathstalker mark.

The body remained behind, unburied. He owed the Deathstalker nothing and needed to make up ground before nightfall. He still had hopes of making it to the Fellspawn Warrens before Albyursia met her fate.

He walked for as long as he was able, until the sun sank, and then collapsed into a deep healing slumber.

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Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.70T)

Ruth Bader Ginsburg passed today, turning an already chaotic political landscape in the US into a maelstrom. My heart goes out to Americans who are being ill used by Trump and his cronies.

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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“Come then, runt. Fight me.”

The elf seemed in no hurry to finish him. He thought Retaak weak because he was not a bull. He had no doubt that the Deathseeker would use his bow if he felt that he was in real danger though, so he made a show of moving with difficulty.

The pain from his arrow wounds vanished in the flood of adrenaline and Retaak had to control his impulse to charge. The only way that he could win would be if he got a grip on his opponent. The Deathseeker would simply be too fast and too skilled for him to defeat without good weapons and armour.

“You should kill me quickly, with your bow, elf,” observed Retaak, stumbling a bit. “I may not be a bull, but I am strong enough to break you.”

The Elf smirked, an expression of practiced disdain showing. Retaak could not help but wonder how many Fellspawn had seen that face as they died.

“Come then,” gestured Retaak. “If you wish to dance so badly, then you should take the lead.”

The elf moved then, bursting into motion. So swift was he that he crossed the space between them in what seemed like the blink of an eye. His blade flashed out, and Retaak felt it slice him on the arm. The Deathseeker moved out of reach as Retaak swung his cleaver,

“The children where I grew up hit harder than you, Deathseeker,” growled Retaak.

This time Retaak stepped forward and swung as his opponent tried to bait his attack. In the wake of the Falchion’s passing, the Deathseeker lunged, stabbing Retaak right above the knee.

Ignoring the sting of the blade, Retaak said “Are you trying to tickle me to death?”

A slight twitch of the brow as he attacked again betrayed some of the elf’s anger. The Deathseeker’s behavior was due to some kind of personal agenda, He either hated Fellspawn to a fanatical degree, or it had something to do with Albyursia.

This time the elf slashed Retaak just under the ribs and then slipped under the Ogre’s grasping arms to strike him in the back. Retaak could not help but gasp at that.

“You could at least put up a fight,” snarled the Deathseeker.

“I’m too tired,” quipped Retaak, grinning and holding his sword as if it were about to fall from his hands.. “Albyursia keep up rather late into evening…”

The Deathseeker’s face twisted. He threw himself at Retaak. As the slender warrior closed, Retaak dropped his Falchion. He felt the knife bite and then he grabbed the elf into a lethal embrace. The Deathseeker realized his mistake, but he had no idea that Retaak was fast for an Ogre and he was caught and lifted off the ground.

The slender elf struggled, but with his arms pinned to his sides his options were limited. He tried to work against Retaak’s joints, but the Ogre was a good wrestler and knew how to keep his grip. He tried to bit and but his head against Retaak’s head, but he found no success in that. His efforts became more frenzied but less effective as Retaak squeezed, making breathing impossible. Then all at once there was a series of cracks and Retaak broke the Deathseekers back and ribcage. His opponent spat blood and his struggles rapidly ceased.

Retaak counted out a minute, still holding him still and then tossed the body up against a tree. Then he laughed, He’d beaten a Deathstalker. A particularly arrogant one, to be sure, but still worth boasting about. A fucking Deathstalker!

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Thralls moved to Friday this week…

Just exhausted from work and it took me 2 hours to get the boy to sleep.