Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.14T)
Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.
It is a grim tale, so be warned.
Here is the first post from this series.
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Biugichaag led Retaak, Uyage, and Ashoktyaar up into the middle of the Lower Warrens, the vast series of interconnected holes, caves, and chambers in which most of the spawn dwelt. Wechegak’s chief assassin moved with grace and surprising ease as the crowds became thicker. Some of those she passed recognized her and gave signs of respect that rippled through the stream of spawn like the waves cause by pebbles tossed into water. The killer did not hide keep herself apart from her community.
The Lower Warrens were far less homogeneous than the rest of the Fellspawn Warrens, or anywhere else in Bemachhorak. There were Goblins, Orcs, Hobs, Ogres, and even Trolls in abundance in the maze of tunnels and domiciles deep beneath the Dread Lord’s Throne. Some of these spawn were of breeds that Retaak had never seen before, such as a pair of goblins with hair like orange flame and tiny horns. The variety of his people down here was a feast to his eyes and he smiled. The low warrens were dirty and chaotic, and often terrible, but this was the true heart of Bemechhorak in his mind.
“There it is,” said Buigichaag, pointing to their destination.
Ashoktyaar whistled.
Wechegak lived in a fortified gambling den, an opulent palace carved into ceiling of a large cave. To reach it, they had to pass through Etachoyur, the only large marketplace in the Lower Warrens. This sprawling bazaar sold the collective leftovers from the rest of the Fellspawn warrens, as well as the wares of those who lived the the Lower Warrens. It was full of shoddy merchandise, as well as hidden treasures. Some of Retaak’s fondest memories were of playing amidst the stalls, running and exploring, forgetting his troubles.
“It is good to see you smile,” said Uyage, ever watchful beside him. Retaak laughed and beamed down at her, forgetting for a moment that they were on their way to see a Goblin who might just kill them.
As always, Etachoyur was filled with music and art. They passed a Long haired orc woman singing an old tune, voice soaring as her hands deftly danced across the strings of her Zumochuk. The song was of both sad and glorious, a tale of three brothers and their deeds in a great battle in the age of the First Dread Lord, and how it changed them. Retaak longed to simply listen and dance with Uyage, but Wechegak waited for no spawn.
As they neared the carved stairway that would take them to Wechegak’s lair, Retaak caught sight of a commotion ahead of them, a crowd forming around a Hob wearing the robes of The Eyes of Dread. Buigichaag seemed intent on skirting the incident, bringing them close enough to hear what the functionary was saying.
“Spawn, heed me! We are nothing in the eyes of the The Dread Lord. He gave us life, but he made us to serve him. We are born to to do battle in his name!”
The small crowd roared. Retaak frowned. He did not like any of the cults of the Dread Lord, and the Eyes were no different, even if they were just out pushing the latest war.
“Do you want o earn the blessing of his gaze? To kill and to bleed is to serve him and grow whole in his eyes. You can do this by joining us in battle. Now is the time to retake what is ours! We will expand great Bemachhorak and take the next step in his grand plan. We will spill the blood of the hated elves and take them as our slaves…”
“Fools,” muttered Ashoktyaar, coming to stand next to Retaak, who was having trouble turning away from the hate-spewing preacher, “The spawn recruited down here don’t stand a chance in battle. Without a warband to back them up, they will end up in a fodder squad like we did.”
Retaak growled at the thought. He met Ashoktyaar after being recruited into one of the loose groups of unaffiliated Lower Warren spawn that were often used as shock troops by the more ruthless generals. They were poorly equipped and poorly trained, send to disrupt enemy lines with little hope of victory while the more disciplined forces took advantage of the chaos. Retaak had barely survived that battle, teaming up with the battle-mad Ashoktyaar. He carried scars from that day, inside and out. He hated the Eyes of Dread.
“Keep moving,” growled Buigichaag, leading up the stairs toward where Wechegak, the lord of flesh and coin, awaited them.
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