Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.58T)
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.
<>
“You must accept it first.”
Retaak frowned.
“Well, little Ogre?” asked the Karniloth, her great maw stretching into an approximation of a smile, twitching mandibles and all. “Will you accept my gift?”
“I will accept nothing without seeing it first, Karniloth,” said Retaak, sounding more defiant than he felt facing such a creature. Could his sword even pierce that hide? What about the eyes?
The Spider-demon hissed. and clacked, taking a few steps toward him. Retaak held up his blades and prepared for the worst. Then she said, “you test my patience, why refuse a gift, Wildborn?”
The Spawn had many tales of Karniloth. Retaak had though many of them fables, especially the ones where she played games with or bargained with her prey, until today. Now he wondered how much of it was myth and how much contained a nugget of truth.
“Because some gifts bring only humiliation and destruction.”
The Spider-demon’s eight eyes narrowed angrily, but then she laughed uproariously. “It does not know what it says. Yes, yes. The gift that destroys is already in play, Wildborn. I simply want to join in the fun.”
“Fun?”
“The game that you are a but a pawn in, little Ogre. A contest played by your Dread Lord, his minions and rivals, the Archmagi of the elves, and even some you have not met. It is the most exquisite fun.”
“You wish me to carry something harmful back to the warrens for your amusement? I will not!” Retaak bellowed the last words, his voice echoing off the ruins and rock walls around him.
“No, that never works,” said Karniloth, matter-of-factly. “Fellspawn were created to destroy… disease and dark magic will not earn us a seat at the table.”
Retaak shook his head. He understood what Karniloth wanted, he thought. but it seemed like another of her tricks. Was she so bored that the antics of the spawn excited her?
“I am no fly struggling on your web, Karniloth,” growled Retaak.
“No, not on my web, little Ogre,” said Karniloth. “And by my gift, none will enmesh you again. What I offer you is freedom. That is all I will tell you.”
Freedom.
Retaak knew it was a trick, a lie, or part of some gambit. And yet he was still inclined to gamble his life for the promise of freedom. What else was worthy?
“If it brings me freedom, I will accept your gift, gladly, Karniloth.”
The Spider-demon laughed. As she chortled a dozen smaller spiders, each the size of a goblin, scurried out from her shadow and off through a side passage in the ruins. As he watched them go, Retaak realized that the opening in which he stood was once a city square and that it was also filled with bones.
Soon enough one of the spiders scurried back, a glimmering piece of metal that looked very much like an over copper horse-shoe, over-large and smooth with round balls on the ends.
“It is a torc,” said Karniloth. “It fits the neck of a human, but should work as a bracer for you. Wear it and be free.”
Retaak took the Bracer from where the spider dropped it. The metal was cool to the touch. He saw faint etchings on it, but could not make them out.
“Retaak!” came shouting from nearby, the voices of Uyage and Kuzat. He looked up, Karniloth smiled as she backed into a side passage and disappeared, leaving him with one last, horrible wink and the memory of her cackle.
