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.
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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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