Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

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Raithial
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Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#1 Post by Raithial »

Prologue

The Fleet sets sail

At the sound of steady drums, black armoured warriors marched forward into the bowels of a gigantic black-clad vessel. Golden edges on it's bow showed the emblems of Khaine and his brides. A space away from the ramp with the warriors, slaves, and giant beasts were loaded in. One of the slaves squeeled as the Hydra bit his leg and tossed him in the air. Two heads caught him and ripped him apart and swallowed. The dreadlord chuckled for a moment, as he caressed the pummel of his sword.
A young sorceress watched over the events and showed hardly any emotion. She was more pre-occupied with the order in which they entered the vessel, and to which quarters the soldiers were shipped. Her mind was clear, and carefull. She hardly wore any garb, revealing her feminine shapes to the entire shore was no trouble to her. With only a few cloths hanging from a cord around her waist, and a golden top, hardly covering her chest, she felt more than capable of harnessing the winds of magic that streamed all around her. She smirked for a second.
The dreadlord called her over, and he sat back in his throne. "Syriscia, come to me." He said with a sharp tone in his voice.
The sorceress walked over to him, her garments fluttering in the shore-line wind. "What is it, my lord?" She asked.
"Come, sit with me." The dreadlord said, as he patted his lap. he licked his lips and had a lustfull smirk across his face.
The sorceress laughed for a second. "If you wish to do that with someone, get yourself one of those witch-elves, they care for your lusts, while I care for your troops." She held an arrogant contemptious look at the Dreadlord. "You have not earned the right yet to bed me, that will come áfter this war...íf you survive."
She turned around and looked at the troops again.
Several witch-elves stood around looking as the dreadlord stood up, reaching his full height. The sharp metal juds of his armour gleamed in the pale sunlight and he clasped a hand around his sword, to pull it. The sorceress waved one hand for a second wove a carefully crafted spell around the handle of the sword. The dreadlord felt a sharp pain sting through his hand, and soon blood dripped from between the segments of his gauntlet, but he continued to advance towards her, pulling the sword from it's sheethe, and he put it to her throat. "I will have you when I so chose!" He roared viciously.
The sorceress put a hand around his neck, smiling seductively at him. Her heart pounded, knowing full well that one wrong move could cost her her life. Her eyes flitted over the iron mask of the dreadlord and then focussed on the eyes peering through the holes. "m'lord." She said with a deep voice. "My effords are not to keep myself from your bed, but rather to motivate you for the war... why would you wish to spoil your prize for winning the war now, instead of pleasing yourself with the many slaves we have on the vessel, who are doubly eager to please you..." She said.
The Dreadlord fell still for a second, and he then retracted his sword, leaving a slight cut across her throat by one of the barbs of the blade. "When I have one, you shall be mine." He said as he turned around, ordering two slaves to please him.
The sorceress sighed a moment of relief. That was too close for comfort. She glanced over her shoulder as the dreadlord and slaves engaged in various acts of debauchery, right on the deck of the mightly Black Arc. The sorceress returned to her quarters, and smirked for a second as she looked out. The lock of her quarters was magically sealed, only she and her servants could break it, in here, she was safe, as far as that word had any meaning on a black arc.
She opened a covet and took out a gold-lined crystal glass, and a bottle of blood-red wine. With a fluid motion she uncorked the bottle and poured it into the glass. For a moment she braught the glass to her lips, but she soon retracted. She then smelled it for a second, and poured some of it into the bowl of a large almost saurian beast in the corner of her room. The beast snarled and sniffed the bowl. It then licked the red fluid, and drank from it.
In a moment of hessitation the Sorceress sat down on a black chair, and looked at the beast, to see any changes. When it stood up and seemed perfectly fine, she poured herself another glass and drank from it herself.
She turned to the Cold One, sitting in the corner. "... What do you think, Kelath?" She asked. "our lord seems not particularly intelligent, and too quickly angered. This war we are about to engage in, might be lost because of him, before it even begun. Do you think it's time for -new leadership?-"
Moments passed untill finally she heard a multitude of horns clamouring around the vessel. As she looked out she saw the land slowly leaving the side of the ship. A magical current sweapt across the vessel, pulling it forward to it's destination, and the war.
Last edited by Raithial on Sun Dec 09, 2012 7:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#2 Post by Aicanor »

You paint a fairly good picture of the life on the Arc. The Sorceress really is young, is she not? That Dreadlord will soon regret testing her temper, I guess. :lol: Does she really have a (fully grown?) Cold One in her chambers? Scary girl.
If you want the story to be in accordance with the canon, you may change the parts about Brides of Khaine, they are not a cult of pleasure and generally do not allow this kind of behaviour. You may have a reason for it though.
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#3 Post by Raithial »

Aicanor wrote:You paint a fairly good picture of the life on the Arc. The Sorceress really is young, is she not? That Dreadlord will soon regret testing her temper, I guess. :lol: Does she really have a (fully grown?) Cold One in her chambers? Scary girl.
If you want the story to be in accordance with the canon, you may change the parts about Brides of Khaine, they are not a cult of pleasure and generally do not allow this kind of behaviour. You may have a reason for it though.
so you're saying that the girls who go around in metal bikini's, in what is described in the Big Rule Book as "a frienzied orgy of violence" don't allow for that sort of thing..? who knew? ~w~ Guess I'll change it into slaves then.
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#4 Post by Aicanor »

Witch Elves are like Sirens. :mrgreen:
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#5 Post by Raithial »

Chapter 1
The Temple
Syriscia sat atop the Black Arc, looking over the side of the ship, down at the encampment. Warriors were strewn across the grounds in tents, while slaves were hard at work. They dragged large boulders and plates of blackened stone, as dark as night. Logs were pulled away from the forest to construct a baricade around the camp.
the battle had been going on for some time now, and the high elves were merely giving inches of ground for the hundreds that were killed in the efford to attain it. Chrace is a very dangerous place.
Syriscia grinned for a second, at the Dreadlord Carnyle as he raged across the other side of the ship, shouting and cursing many of his servants and commanders for their losses. "At this rate we'll need reenforcements from Naggaroth to keep up this campaign!" The commander said in fear.
Carnyle grabbed his throat with his gauntletted hand. "Are you telling me, that an entire Black arc filled with troops isn't enough to land even a foothold on Ulthuan so close to Nagarythe?!" His voice was loud and booming. The commander made a gurgling sound. "If you can't get to the shrine of Khaine by nightfall I'll have your head!" He threw the commander on the floor and he turned around.
Syriscia then walked up to him. "let me aid him; if we can get to the temple, I am sure to put it to good use in order to secure our victory." She said with a confident voice. "My spells are sure to be of use on the battle. Forget not how I aided in the landing."
Carnyle looked at her. "I cannot risk you to that fool." The dreadlord said. "I have other uses for you."
For a second Syriscia felt a shiver run down her spine again as he says this. A taste of disgust fills her mouth. "Then why don't you help out yourself?" she asked, as she stepped back. "show the men why you are left in charge of this attack."
Carnyle looked at her, measuring her up. He hesitated for a moment. "... yeah." Carnyle mumbled. "that might be a good idea." He turned around with a jerk and walked into the ship. "Get my Cold One, saddle it up." He told the slaves, and they rushed off while Carnyle continued to walk with large steps to the exit.
Syriscia walked after him at her own pace, holding the shaft of her staff tightly in her hand. Her plan was coming together.. if the High Elves are still resisting as much as they have been, it's a good chance Lord Carnyle will die and I am the next one in charge. She thought. She moves to her room and grabs a single scroll from the table. She then saddles up her own cold one, and climbs on top of it.
She rode the beast to the entrance where Carnyle was already gathering the troops and having them march forward. His banners fluttered in front of the regiments. Syriscia rode the beast in the back ranks, keeping her head down as she moved amongst the troops.
They traveled for two hours through a dense pine forest. Scouts had been sent forward, and returned every once in a while. As they went deeper into the forest the shadows became darker, and the road became tighter and tighter, untill the regiments were a mere one man wide, marching forward. The men were getting nervous of the journey. They knew full well how vulnerable they were right now; and chracians are exquisite woodsmen.
Syriscia cast a quick spell on herself, weaving a protective shield to keep her safe. She had no intention of dying here before she saw Carnyle's corpse.
A few more hours passed and the road led them up alongside a mountain of dark stone. They were led around the mountain and they came out at the back of the mountain, revealing a small shrine. It was overgrown with weeds and run down, but it most definitely was a shrine to Khaine that was erected in the time of the Sundering.
Syriscia dismounted and tied her mount to one of the barbed poles of the shrine, as she walked up to the small altar. With a hand she swept off some of the vines and she looked at Carnyle. She nodded.
Carnyle roared orders to the slaves to clear the shrine and get to work at restoring it. He then set up his troops around the perimeter. He walked up to the commander. "We walked here without trouble, what happened to the troops?" He asked with a suspicious look.
Syriscia untied her beast again, and patted it's neck. "maybe it was too easy, and we're the ones walking into a trap..." She said with a carefull eye scanning the perimeter.
She felt uneasy, but Carnyle seemed perfectly fine with the ease of this capture. Syriscia felt a presence moving about though, someone was watching them....
As the slaves continued their work on the temple, Syriscia walked about, already weaving several spells to protect herself in case something were to happen. A few scouts returned, reporting no sightings of anyone, no high-elf camp, and only one town which was up and about as normal, with only an average guard.
This did unsettle Carnyle quite a bit.. The army wasn't where it was supposed to be; and that could only mean two things; either they left, or they were out and attacking the black arc itself...
It was then that Carnyle decided to head back with a small portion of the troops, leaving Syriscia to care for the restoration of the altar. He quickly left and Syriscia ordered a restructuring of the troops, ordering them to make a solid circle around the altar in order to keep a constant vigil, resting one half, and keeping the other half on guard.
A day came and left, and soon another and another. Four days had past and there still was no sign of the high-elf army, aside from the disappearance of all the scouts that are sent out.
On the fifth day a number of ragged and bloodied dark riders showed up, their rags torn and their armour shattered at several places. They looked alarmed, and Syriscia immediately raised the alarm. Warriors sprung up, grabbing their spears and shields, crossbowmen loaded their weapons with wicked bolts, and stood ready. The men looked vicious, their black armours gleaming in the sun and their blades of black steel jutted forward menacingly.
Syriscia's heart pounded in her chest. Her eyes flitted across the shadow of the trees and the hand around her staff gripped it tightly... had she fallen for the trap?
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#6 Post by Aicanor »

They are asking for disaster... Good for us. :mrgreen:
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#7 Post by Raithial »

Bestial roars came from the woods. Images of threatening beasts came to mind. White fur occasionally showed and while the crossbowmen shot at them each time they appeared, they just as soon disappeared and no screams of pain of death were heard. Syriscia's fingers clasped around her staff. These woods were a grave danger. The edges of the wood were thick with foliage and one could hardly see more than a meter inside. Furthermore, She knew full well where they were; Chrace... The White Lions are fierce, and their neighbors, the Nagarythe were excelent marksmen with a deadly acuracy...
The air was tense, and even the slaves feared for their lives.
Syriscia remembered back to the words of her teacher; "Never trust the high elves to attack, they will lure you out so you're on their turf, and that is when you die." ... Syriscia grabbed a torch, and pushed it roughly in the hands of one of the slaves. "Run in there, and torch the entire forest." She ordered with a cold callousness towards the slave's life. "that goes for all of you!"
The slaves grabbed the torches and moved between the regiments of warriors, however, they became hessitant when they reached the front ranks. They clutched their torches and trembled in fear. Their rags offered no protection against the high elves weapons. Eventually some started running towards the woodsedge. He pulled back his arm to throw the torch when a black-fletched arrow pierced the fore-head of the slave and it died instantly, falling to the ground.
Volleys of arrows now flew from the woods, and Syriscia ordered to return fire. The exchange of arrows then commenced. Cries of anguish were heard on both sides. For a second the sorceress bit her lower lip, enjoying the sound of it to her bones, empowering her.
Then suddenly, the arrows stopped coming. Syriscia ordered her troops to advance, disciplined and with a cool and collected pace they moved forward, when from the undergrowth, there ran the high elves. Wielding great axes and with great pelts of lions covering their back, they ran at the blocks of troops. Syriscia caught herself thinking that these were not soldiers... they were brawlers. The lion-cloaked elves shouted and cursed as they swung their axes. Dark elf spear and sword rended their flesh and utterances that were even profane for the dark elves were shouted.
Syriscia thought she saw a moment of victory and she ran forth her elite troops, the executioners. She ordered them into the brawl and they assaulted the white lions with acurate decapitating strikes. At the moment they made contact with the White lions, a horn sounded and Syriscia's heart sank. She saw the flaw in her strategy too late; she had opened a gap into her troops, and from a small opening in the trees now poored high elven horsemen. Their lances pointed forward as their large banner fluttered once it exited the forest.
In front rode a fierce looking prince; His high helm elegantly decorated with eagle's wings, and his armor shimmering with enchantments. The Prince's horse was equally imposing, it's mail armour glittered in the sun and even it's head-gear was decorated with the same wings as it's rider.
Syriscia immediately started casting her spells. Dark lightning arced from her fingertips towards the prince, but the man seemed not to care as he charged headlong into the flank of the Executioners. The blade he wielded dismembered and decapitated the executioners with a precision that could only come from years of combat in the field. Arrows now started to fly from the forest again, striking down several attendants of Syriscia herself. She once again cast a spell, as her words crystalised into shadowy swords, rushing into the undergrowth, hacking and slashing wildly.
A horn sounded once more from the riders, and when Syriscia looked over, she saw the high elven cavalry coming at her. Attendants fled, slaves threw themselves at the spikes on the altar in fear, and Syriscia, in a last act of defiance, attempted a final spell. She focussed all her might but the winds seemed to slip from her fingers, drawn away from her hands, and before she had regained the magic, the sword of the prince flashed by her head, shattering her staff, and grazing her neck. In her fear she closed her eyes and for a moment, she thought this was her end, all too soon, but the final blow didn't come. When she opened her eyes, she saw the prince standing in front of her, having dismounted and holding the tip of the sword against her chin.
"Don't move, or I will press forth a meagre three inch." he said with a vicious look in his eyes. Syriscia had seen this look before, She had feared it all her life; this was the look of a man who had seen many battles, and who was mere moments away from killing her. It reminded her of her father. She knelt down, and soon another elf tied her hands up and gagged her with a cloth. Her sacrificial dagger was taken from her, and she watched the prince mount his horse again. She felt a heart-ache, fearing what they would do with her...
Her family had told her tales of what the high elves did to their dark elven prisoners. Tortures of unspeakable pain, psychological raping and brainwashing..
She was tied down to a tree with others of her kind who had survived the battle, while the high elves undid the work on the altar, and rummaged through the bodies.
"Burn the dead, heal the injured and the imprisoned." The prince said. An elder wizard walked up from between the trees. His face was gnarled like an old pine, and bits of leaf and twig were stuck in his hair. His sea-green robes were ragged and muddy, but he had an air of respectability over him. Several of the lion-cloaked soldiers started piling up logs, as the wizard walked up to the prince. "m'lord, the nagarythe request the execution-rights for the prisoners."
"there will be no executions, Lenerior." The prince said with an almost casual tone. "too many have died today already..."
A black-cloaked archer came towards the prince, and he looked furious. "Are you tell us we're going to keep them alive?"
The prince turned around to the archer and Syriscia saw, even from this distance, the sorrow and pain on the prince's face... She heard the words he said.. "yes... Even if they might one day become our enemy again, the killing of unarmed elves I will not condone, under any circumstances."
With those words, Syriscia felt more fear for that single prince than she had felt on the black arc. A tear ran down her face, as she started to break.
As the elves prepared a funeral pyre they piled on the dead of both sides. The mage uttered a prayer, before the flames were lit. The prince then turned to his prisoners, and had them tied up to the horses, before starting the trek back to the encampment.
"Listen up, for those of you who are in shackles, I have only two rules. Drink enough, and when you can't walk anymore, signal it by holding three fingers up or falling. If you resist, you'll be tied up to a tree and a torch will be lit near you, so your allies can find you. This journey will take little over seven hours, so don't overdo it." The prince then led his horse on, riding down the path into the woods. Syriscia felt asthough her feet had turned to lead. While she had given up any hope to become a great name, her mind still furiously raced to find ways of escaping or rebelling in some way..
She thought back to home, as they walked into the deep forest. How her mother had never been sattisfied with her. that she should always do more, and always be better than the rest... She was only grateful that the high elves had not invited her mother to mock her.
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#8 Post by Aicanor »

The battle didn't go well for the girl, but it was colourfully described! Just do not let any Chracians read it! :D

I have the feeling it would be just like High Elves to bring mothers of their prisoners to torment them. :lol: That was great ending to the chapter. Hehe.
If you resist, you'll be tied up to a tree and a torch will be lit near you, so your allies can find you.
This, on the other hand, could be fatal.
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#9 Post by Raithial »

Aicanor wrote:
If you resist, you'll be tied up to a tree and a torch will be lit near you, so your allies can find you.
This, on the other hand, could be fatal.
and I know, but it sounded nicer than "if you resist, we'll kill you" ~w~
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#10 Post by Elithmar »

I like her. She certainly has ambition! :P She's the kind of person though who only believes what they do because they've been brought up to think that (although do we all believe a large part of what we do because of how we are rought up?), and she has to work it out for herself when it is challenged.

This should be interesting. I look forward to seeing how it develops.
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#11 Post by Raithial »

thanks ^^ I am already working on the next part :3
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#12 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

The battle was short and vicious, nice work. Not sure what the Prince is thinking taking prisoners. I liked his idea of tying them up and leaving them for their allies.
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#13 Post by Raithial »

The path wound up along a cliff. As several packs of lion-cloaked warriors patrolled the edges of the convoy, Syriscia felt uneasy about the forest.
The prince's voice was then heared. "Take a break, five minutes." He said with a clear sound.
Immediately a short burst of the horn sounded and the convoy wound to a slow halt. The prince rode along the colomn with two other knights as they conversed. The prince glanced over at the woman, and he climbed off his horse. Syriscia felt uncomfortable with the prince taking an interest in her. She had sat down in the meanwhile, and rested for a second on a root. The prince ducked down, and looked at her feet. The sharp edges of her boots were scratching into her skin, causing it to bleed and blister. "Keldarior, get me a pair of boots from the supply-cart and some bandages." The prince said.
Syriscia notioned to the cloth obstructing her mouth, and the prince untied it. "I don't need your pitty." she said with a sneer.
The prince simply looked up. "you're not getting it." The prince said. "This is not an act of pitty, it's an act of mercy."
"Such acts will get you killed." Syriscia said quickly. "if you're not careful another might find a chance to stab you in your back."
Rethon stood up, as the mage returned on his horse, carrying a small coiled up bandage of bleak white, and a pair of turqouise boots. They were long, even for Asur standards. The prince took them, and undid Syriscia's boots with careful movements. As he slid the boot of her leg, he could see the clear skin shimmer in the light, shining through the leafs of the tree.
He used a small towel he cleaned the wounds. Afterwards he sprinkled a potion on the towel and he dabbed it on the wounds. Syriscia clenched her fist; it hurts. The sting was like that of a wasp sting. "hold still." the prince said. "its a healing brew. It stings, but it's good for you." He said with a soft voice. It reminded Syriscia somewhat of a human servant she had seen, long ago; who had a daughter who was injured.
After the prince had put bandages over the wounds on her leg, he helped with the boots, and by the time that had been done, the five minute break was over, and the horn sounded once again.
Syriscia could feel a notable improvement in her walking. The boots were less cramped and did not hurt as much when she moved. It felt odd to her, but not unpleasant.

After another four hours riding through the forest, they had come past a waterfall, from which clear cold water fell down, coming from the Anulii mountains. The forest had become lighter again, and eventually they gave way to herbal plains and grasslands. Syriscia could feel the magic swirling in the camp; mages were casting spells there.
The camp had been ordened into four destinct rows of tents, and a small fortification of wood. They were guarded by a number of archers who scanned the surroundings of the camp with eyes like eagles. The fortification had a hexagonal shape, and on each corner there was a small tower erected. Atop these towers there stood eagle-shaped horizontal balistae. Their arrows shone in the sun, which was now starting to descend closer to the sea, giving the wood a beautiful red glow.
From within the walls billowed several pillars of smoke, and the sound of hammers hitting steel was evident, though not as noisy as on the Black Arc. Here it sounded less like preparations for war, but more, in a way, musical. Around the fortifications walked heavy axe-wielding elves, resting their axes on their shoulders as they walked. Several white lions roamed the surroundings with small groups of these axe-wielding elves.
As they entered the fortifications Syriscia noticed that there was a calmth she had never known. People seemed at ease.
The shackles around her wrists were painfull and her feet were sore from the long walk. They were led to a group of tents that were different. The wooden supports were replaced with thick steel bars, and the cloth simply laid over it.
The prince and his riders separated from the prisoners; apparently he had more pressing matters than to tend for a bunch of druchii.
Syriscia was led into the caged tent, and immediately she felt a nearly magical warmth as she entered the tent.

The prince Rethon rode towards the largest tent, coupled with a small hall. He dismounted and stabled his horse before moving to the entrance. Several other princes awaited him.
"you look like a troll took a dump on you." A large brawny elf said. His face was grim and his golden hair was braided at several places. Over his shoulders there was draped a large white lion's fur.
"I just returned from the field of combat Tarlas." Rethon quickly said.
The Chracian prince put a hand on his shoulder, and smiled. "Go tend to your wounded, We know it is what you want to do." He said.
"I need to talk to our guests first." Rethon quickly said as he entered further into the tent. It was warmer here, and a small fire was lit at the centre of the tent. A large number of princes had gathered here from several nations, and they all laughed and drank, celebrating victories and thanking Lileath for the few losses where they had suffered them.
A young prince stepped forward to the Cothician. The young one's hair was long, and his face was in an arrogant smirk. "Ahh, there he is, the man of the hour. Rethon. Come, drink with us. Keldarior was just telling us of your excelent victory in the northern woods."
Rethon nodded uncomfortably at the man. His nostrills picked up the scent of wine. "yes, well,luck was on my side." The prince quickly said, as he attempted to turn around.
"Come." The young prince said as he pulled at Rethons arm. Rethon gave him a slightly irritated glance. "My father can't wait to hear all of your exploits." The words stung Rethon like the stinger of Wyvern. For a second he thought to himself what a disgraceful game these people play. Feasting and drinking while men lie in agony and fear for their lives. The taste for talking to his guest had all but disappeared from his mind as he became disgusted by the festivities. Wine tasted like horse-piss and the food was not much better... Though he knew it was no shortcoming of the cook. It was the taste of battle still clouded his mind... and he knew he had to leave this party, and take care of the aftermath of the battle first...
Rethon pulled his arm free from the Eatainian prince's hand. "Your father can wait. He is no danger here. My men; they are injured and dying, and I will tend to them first." The prince said with a quick jerk, as he walked out irritated with the political game.
The Chracian at the door intercepted the prince, and walked with him. "It's good that you showed your face there just now. That will give the princes and mages a feeling that you also have some attention for them."
Rethon stepped outside and the cold breeze swept across him, and it now seemed colder than ever. "I don't care for politics." The prince said with a quick handwaving gesture. "let those pompous princes have their parties while I tend to my wounded."
Rethon walked into a red coloured tent.
The ground was soaked with red, as the injuries caused by the Druchii were vicious, and extremely painful. The screams of the injured were grave and loud, and the smell of blood filled the Prince's mind.
An attendant walked up to him, and took a bow. "M'lord, do you need any help?" He asked.
Rethon shook his head. "no, I came to see if I could help anyone here."
"There is little we can do to stop the bleeding." one of the attendants said behind the prince, and he turned around, walking towards the man.
The healer had a sad look on his face, shaking his head. "Soldier, what is your name?" Rethon asked, as he grabbed a hold of the man's hand.
"Celdrior, m'lord." the soldier said. His face was pale and smeared with blood. The Prince lifted a small piece of blood-red cloth from the man's chest, and looked at it. There was a deep gouge, the edges were torn from it, and it had pierced between the ribs.
"Celdrior, tell me of your home." the prince said. His eyes teared up, and his face has come red. His hand clenched around the man's hand. "where are you from?"
The soldier forced a smile on his face. "I'm from Yvresse, M'lord.. I have a family there." He caughed, and spatters of blood appeared on the prince's chest armour. "My. My wife, She has golden hair." He stuttered. His body was wracked with pain but he did his best to not upset the prince. "And my daughters and wife, Tell them, tell them how I died." The man said. "I will tell them how you lived and faught, Celdrior." Rethon said. He swallowed painfully and he could feel the aching pain in his throat. "Now, think of your wife, and your daughters, Celdrior, think of home."
Rethon saw the attendants grabbing hold of a chisle and hammer, and he lifted up the man's head, pressing it to his shoulder. "M'lord, it was my honour." The soldier said, as he started to cry.
The prince hugged the man, as tears streamed down his face. "It was an honour fighting beside you, Celdrior. Your ancestors are proud." The attendant then settled the chisle's end against the man's neck, and as the hammer impacted on the object, in an instant, the man's life slipped from his body. When Rethon put him back down, and closed his eyes, he saw that the man a smile still on his face.

In the tent, Syriscia sat near the entrance, looking out. She could see the elves having their party in the large tent. The smells of the place were enticing, but she knew she'd have none of that feast that went on in there.
Then she noticed the prince walking out of the medic's tent. He hands shook and his breath trailed small billows of steam. Snow slowly started to descend from the now ever darkening skies. Syriscia noticed the emotion on the prince's face. It was one she was unfamiliar with except from a child. Then the prince let out a howl. But this was no battlecry; this was a cry of sorrow and grief, and it struck Syriscia at her soul. This man had been so merciful towards her and soldiers, while grieving so intensely. She couldn't help but see the strength in his ways, contrasting it with her lord Carnyle's. Those who couldn't be more different...
The prince walked to his tent, followed by two nobles from Chrace. "You." Syriscia said. The two nobles grabbed their axes instinctively. Syriscia backed off none, and she looked at the prince's red eyes. "What's your name?"
The Chracians opened their mouths to reprimand her, but a mere gesture from the prince made them close their mouths just as quick. "why do you wish to know?" The prince asked.
"I saw you crying like a child that had lost his mother... I wish to know the name of the man who goes through such agony, and still grants his enemies life above death." Syriscia spoke with earnest words, though her voice had not lost it's sharp tone of condescention.
"I am Rethon... And now I ask you the same, what is your name?" The prince said after he was sattisfied with her answer.
Syriscia looked at the two Chracians. "I am Syriscia.. I am the court-sorceress of the Dreadlord Carnyle." She said.
The prince's eyes shimmered for a second, and then turned around. "please excuse me, I need some time." He said as he walked off. As he walked off she could see the still wet blood dripping from the edges of his fur-lined cloak. She caught herself trailing the edges of her bandages as she saw the blood on the cloak, and she wondered... What is it that stops him om simply striking her down... or any of the soldiers that are imprisoned here?
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#14 Post by Aicanor »

Nice chapter! I am very curious what all the princes are doing there beside drinking? :mrgreen:
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#15 Post by Raithial »

A few hours passed as the prince sat in his tent. The tent was lit by a number of candles on a small crudely made wooden table, and the prince held in his hands small clay figurines. One of Lileath, and one of Asuryan himself. "Blessed mother and father, watch over the men who died today. I take full blame for their deaths and ask your forgiveness for I have failed them. Blessed Father and mother, please forgive me for the pain I've caused them at their deaths and the pain that will come of the news of their death to their family." He murmered as he looked at the figurines. His voice was filled with remorse and sorrow. His mind was still very much stricken with guilt over the deaths that had happened, and while the festive sound of the other tent was still heared and the smells still emanating form it still filled his nostrils, he felt little to cheer about.
He put down the figurines and stood up then. He changed his clothes and undid his armour, before he stepped out through the cold and back into the large tent. Several of the men had opened a clearing in the room and a large map of Ulthuan was spread out on a table. Several figurines were standing on the map, indicating the presence of the armies of each prince and mage present. A large number of the armies were now gathered around a single point in Chrace, where this gathering was held.
As a revered mage, Helthestion, brought silence to the princes, who still ate from the pork and drank from the wine asif the victory had already been achieved with one day. "Let us not forget why we came together here at this moment." Helthestion said. "We are not for festivities but for a council of Warriors. Each of us is a skilled warrior, but none can stand against a black arc on our own. We have united, Chrace, Nagarythe, Cothique and Eataine, for this purpose. To drive off this Black Arc." His voice was strong and very charismatic. Rethon stood in the back, his eyes focussed on the map. "Now has come the time in which we decide what to do."
The Eatainian Prince Elralior stood up. "What we must do is attack them. Drive them off the coast of Ulthuan! We can send a message together to that treacherous king Malekith that we do not tolorate his feet on our land!" His declaration was met with enthoused cries from several princes and mages, but Rethon raised up to his height and looked at the Eatainian prince.
"We cannot simply attack, Prince Elralior." Rethon said grimly. "We have neither the manpower nor the information for a decent assault. We don't even know where the black arc is situated, let alone how many men they still have on there. We must dig in, and send for aid. If Yvresse or Avelorn can send aid, we can find their arc, and then we can rouse the army for the attack."
Rethon's voice had kept the room silent. "We cannot simply let them roam around Chrace." One of the princes offered.
"No, indeed we cannot, but for now, to quarantine them and keep them contained will give us a greater opportunity to make a more directed assault, and to strike them where it hurts the most." Rethon said. "I implore you not to act on your feelings, but to listen to your reason. If we attack too early they will conquer our armies and Chrace will fall. And with Chrace falling into the hands of the Druchii, Cothique will be next, as they will send a multitude of arcs when they have gotten that foothold. It will be a tidalwave of Druchii covering our forests and field and men women and babes will fall to their blades or suffer worse fates."
Elralior looked at him. "then what do you propose? We sit here, do nothing?"
Rethon looked at them. "In Cothique I once saw a sea-serpent." Rethon said. "And a predator was hunting it. As the predator came closer, the serpent waited, coiling up. The Predator came close, sniffing it, and yet, the serpent did nothing. Finally the predator opened it's mouth, and the serpent struck the beast at it's nose... And I propose, that like the serpent, we coil up, and we wait and look. We prepare for when they attempt to strike, we will hit them where it hurts."
A young dragonmage stood behind Elralior. "The gods favour us in this war." He exclaimed. "If we strike them now they will run. We already have their wizard! Their dreadlord will fall to our blades tomorrow and they will learn to fear our blades! It is the gods will that we be victorious here!"
Helthestion hit the table, and the princes and the dragonmage sat down. "We cannot know the gods will, but we are pretty strong here at this place. Prince Althran, you are the greatest prince among us; what is your opinion." Althran's blue cloak fluttered on his back as he looked over the map. "We will attack." He said with stern eyes.
Rethon stood up with a jolt. "M'lord, I emplore you, heed my warning. If we attack now, we will leave our camp open for assault."
"I understand that, but if we can deal them a grievous blow now, then we should do it." Althran said. "I will leave you two regiments of seaguards and archers, so I won't be leaving this place undefended, and if you wish to stay here, which I anticipated, we will be strong enough to hold it here."
Rethon nodded. "It does not ease me, but I will accept your propposition." Rethon said with a serious face.
Helthestion declared the prince's strategy, and that evening, the camp emptied completely, with the exception of Rethon's army, and the two regiments of Seaguards and Archers that were left with him by Prince Althran.
Rethon sat near the prison when they left, and Syriscia came up to him inside her bars. "this place is pretty poorly protected.." Syriscia said with a sharp tone. "and a descent dreadlord could easily assault this place now.."
"That's what I tried to warn them for..." Rethon said. "but do you not fear it? .. if your allies find you here, what will happen to you?"
Syriscia smiled. "I will easily regain my freedom and the slaves will probably be sacrificed to Khaine to appease my capture."
Rethon looked at her. "and what of that Carnyle?... what will he do when you return?"
Syriscia realised the dreadlords lust for her, and what she had promised him.. For a second her heart nearly overcame with fear. "He will celebrate my return."
Rethon looked at her. "you lie." He said. "your mouth says he will celebrate, but your look fears his very mention."
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#16 Post by Aicanor »

Our stories really go very different routes. I got my answer and think I can guess what happens next, but let's see. :D
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#17 Post by Raithial »

Syriscia looked around from behind her bars. Boredom had struck, and she noticed a restlessness inside of her. Only two days had past since her capture, and she felt nausious.
Rethon had taken a personal caring for the sorceress, who was feeling ever more ill. Thunderclouds were gathering in the north, but this was no natural storm. The distant rumble was present in the camp already, and on occasion the land was illuminated by the shafts of green and purple lightning.
A silence had fallen over the camp. Guards had holed themselves up in the towers which were illuminated by a few well-crafted torches, and servants and soldiers alike spent their time in the tents. Reading scrolls and keeping to themselves, and only the crackling of the torches and the nearing thunder was heared. In the prison Syriscia could feel the thunderous clouds moving closer to the shore, enclosing on the camp. The clouds were heavily laden with magic, but the twisting writhing magic felt sickening.
The wait was nervewrecking, but Rethon was alert the whole time, and his eyes were keen as he stood out under one of the watchtowers, overlooking the exit out of the forest, hoping for news or troops from the other princes.
"Sir, I mean no disrespect, but this is not your task." The guard offered up. Rethon put a strong hand on the guard and smiled at him.
"I know, but if I can't lead with my troops, then I am not worthy of them. I will endure every harshness you people go through with you." Rethon's voice was honest and his eyes shone slightly. Rethon looked up at the stormclouds that were slowly drifting in towards the encampment. "Looks like we'll have a rough night.." Rethon said. "Get some rest, soldier, I will keep watch for now."
The guardsman, scared to disobey his lord, walked down the ramp and into the soldiers tents, leaving Rethon in the hut.

"Mistress, are you allright?" One of the captured slaves asked Syriscia as she held her hands in her palms. The swirling feeling in the back of her head was making her feel ill.
"No... Khaine is calling to me... he vies for my mind..." Syriscia said. Several other slaves came over as Syriscia started to recite enchantments she had learned when she was a mere lass.
The Slaves were sill too, but they did their best to remain strong for their mistress, fearing her agression. They had already seen before what imprisonment did to other sorceresses. They'd slowly go mad, one of the slaves even remembered how one imprisoned sorceress had bitten and torn away the skin and flesh from her arms in madness. It was a fearsome sight, but Syriscia managed to supress the swirling feeling in her head. At that moment she saw a man walking towards her. She recognised him from within the forest. His painted face was dirty with mud, and he grabbed Syriscia's wrist from between the bars, pulling it out. Syriscia was overcome with surprise, leaving her arm outside of the cage as the man made a small cut in the tip of Syriscia's finger, and tasting her elven blood.
His eyes growed and light swirling around him. "You will be the witness of the rise of a great lord, and the fall of another. Who that lord will be, is not set. It will be your choice that determines it." The man said with a frown. "There is more..." Asif savouring the taste, the man curled his lips and moved his tongue inside his mouth. "The strands are already weaving in your mind... But I have said enough." The man turned around, and walked off. Syriscia and the slaves were dumbstruck, and had no idea what had overcome them...

Elsewhere in the forest, a Chracian Pride of hunters stalked through the undergrowth, observing the multitude of Dark elves near a number of large ships. There were a mere few ships for the large number of troops that they observed, when suddenly, one of them noticed that amongst the swirling waters, was an unnatural island. Several towers stood firmly into the rock and harpies swarmed around the towers.
"M'lord." Said one of the hunters as he notioned towards the island. "We need to return to the camp, The Cothician will not be able to withstand the attacks of an entire black arc with the amount of troops he has."
The pridelord nodded. "Yes, Take fourty hunters with you, and return."
"What of you, m'lord?" The hunter asked.
"I will keep an eye out in these woods. I'll send a hawk bearing message to the camp if we find something notable." Said the strong man, ducked under the cover of the leafs. "Now go."
The hunter left, gathering the fourty chracian hunters and heading back to the camp. Their route took them through the forest.

As black ships sailed in, Carnyle sat in his chair, smugly enjoying the fine wine he had plundered from a small Chracian vinyard. The corpses of the Asur littered the floor and he watched in joy as prisoners were slaughtered in large numbers for Khaine by some Witch Elves and sorceresses. A great host of Black Guards and executioners walked forth from the bowels of a number of ships. Their pointed black armours gleaming in the magical gloom of the thunderclouds. Carnyle threw his glass to the floor when the final sacrifice had been made, and he bellowed several commands in the language of the Dark Elves, spurring them on towards the trail in the forest. He followed the hoofbeats of a number of cavalrists that had come through here, his mind was set on a single thing; Destroy the central hub of armies in this region of Chrace, and gain dominion of the entire region. After that, He would continue marching on through Cothique, and then Yvresse and Eataine. At this moment, he felt so riled up in blood that he thought he could be able to take on Tyrion himself!
With the roars of Hydra's and the sound of harpieswings in the air he marched.
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Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#18 Post by Raithial »

time went by, and the guardsmen on the walls and in the towers stood by vigilantly. The prince's rotation was up, and he walked down a set of stairs, entering the plaza, when a horn sounded. Rethon turned around to look at the gate, and a few guardsmen opened it slowly. A number of warriors carrying axes and cloaked in lion-pelts walked in with a serious face. Rethon stepped forward towards the hunters.
"Where is the prince, and the regiments?" The chracian asked. His eyes flared slightly. He had an air of urgency around him and his hunters seemed restless.
"I am the prince." Rethon said. "I have been left in charge by Lord Althran, and these are the regiments."
The Chracian's eyes narrowed in disbelief, and his face went pale. "We have grave news, m'lord. The Druchii are launching an assault, they're following the trial and should arrive within hours."
Rethon's eyes widened, and for a second the camp went silent. The hissing of the fire in the smithy, and the rustling of leafs was all that was heard. Even the banner that waved in the wind fel silent.
Rethon, for a second realised the deaths that were about to come, and his mind raced through all possibilities.
"We have counted several lordlings and at least a dreadlord amongst their numbers." Rethon's breath was shallow, and his lips seemed to dry up immediately as his chest ached, edging on dispair. He closed his eyes and regained his body. "Sound the alarm." Rethon said calmly to Keldarior, who stood not far from him. "Have all guardsmen stand ready for assault. Wake the knights, and have them prepare their horses. We will begin evacuating this fort of any civilians now."
A second of silence came from Keldarior, before the man sprinted off and rang a clear silver bell. After that the camp erupted into chaos. Shields and swords were quickly distributed, and the guards armoured each other, checking their spears and stringing their bows. Fletchers quickly made new arrows, before they rode out on carts through the back of the fort, heading for Cothique.
The Chracians helped with what they could, taking guard on the wall for lookout while the regiments prepared for war as quick as they could, and as sure as they could.
Dark Clouds gathered over the camp and crackled with magic.
In the stables, Rethon cleaned his horse, and had yet to armour himself properly. He put a soft leather saddle on his horse, and stroked her neck. His heart raced, but he smiled at the horse. "hey.. If we die here today.. We've had a good run, and if you survive, find yourself a stallion, and stick with a good herd." The prince told his horse, as he layered the animal with leg-protection and a scaled cloak over her shoulders and hindquarters. He then covered the animal's sensitive head with a soft but sturdy head-armour and when she was all saddled-up, he took to caring for his own armour.

In the prison, Syriscia saw the chaos unfold. As the elves clothed themselves in fine silks and cloths, they oiled their bodies and cleaned their hair before putting on the shining metal armours, and helms. Her heart was overcome with surprise. These were not the preparations for battle... these were preparations for a funeral pyre. She suddenly realised, that these men were not expecting to survive... they were going to die making a stand for the citizens and civilians that were still escaping. These were no preparations for battle, but an orderened forceful guard to protect the fleeing populace.
She looked around and saw many an elf now standing ready. In the back of the camp she could see the knights of Cothique, the very knights that broke her own unit. Only now, she felt she could appreciate their imposing view. They had the same cold look in their eyes as the Black Guard.

The army stood ready, and the prince now strode out of the stables, with his horse in tow, and he clambered up a ladder to the wall. He looked out over the clearing in front of the fort, and he stood ready. A moment of silent tension came over the camp. Lightning rumbled above them, and a number of wizards stood ready, as the prince's eyes spotted the first Druchii walking out of the forest. The guardsmen all nocked their arrows, and the Chracian warriors gripped the handles of their axes tightly. Rain started to fall, ticking gently on the metal scales.
From the ranks rode forth a dreadlord, astride a great Cold One. The beast snarled and shook it's head as the dreadlord looked at the prince.
"Cothician!" The Dreadlord called out. "Your efford in stopping my coming here have failed! I will slay every elf inside that fort, or capture them as slaves! Prepare for your demise!"
Rethon looked at him with a cold disdain. "Then I hope your weapon is sure and your shield strong, because if I see you set one foot in this fort, I assure you, I will come for you, and you will know the wrath of my spear!" Rethon shouted back, and the Dreadlord's face showed a curl of pleasure, as he raised his hand, dozens of crossbows were raised.
Rethon gave a command, and in response, every guardsman raised his bow, nocked an arrow and aimed for the druchii forces.

Syriscia had heard the voice of Carnyle, and while part of her was rejoicing her rescue, she knew that there was little she could do to regain her former position in the black arc. And suddenly, the sound of bows and crossbows filled the air. "so it begins.." She said.

Arrows flew both ways, and as guardsmen fell back on the wall, with arrows in their chests, throats, arms and faces, so too did dozens of Druchii fall down. Screams of agony started, and the High elves quickly nocked more arrows, as volley after volley was fired from the central plaza. The arrows neatly arching over the wall, and coming down amongst the druchii ranks.
Carnyle quickly ordered his corsairs up the walls. Grappling-hooks were cast, and the dark-armoured elves started climbing up the walls, to be met with spear and arrow to the face and throat.
Rethon's arrows took down champion after champion, untill Carnyle strode forward. A large Hydra soon came from amongst the woods, and it's heads spewed fire at the wooden door, setting it ablaze.
Many an archer shot at the beast, but it's skin was thick, and it hardly cared for the stings of the arrows. Rethon gave command of his walls to Keldarior, as he quickly slid down the wet ladder, and onto the saddle of his horse. He joined the other knights of Cothique. For a moment he gave a glance back, looking at the servants and civilians rushing out in carts. In his heart he longed to be among them, rushing to safety, rather than fighting here... His hand clasped tightly to his spear.
The hard bashing of the five-headed beast echoed across the plaza, and from the towers, balistae were firing their volleys at the troops and beasts of the dark elves. The leaf-like blades of the Balistae tearing through ranks and hide.
The Hydra finally tore through the gate, and one of the heads peered into the hole in the gate. It let out a vicious roar that shook the very spears of the Asur, and even Syriscia's heart was pounding away in her chest.
The Hydra finally tore through the gate, as wood splinters shattered about. The beast, however, was welcomed with a hail of arrows, and it backed off, as the arrows started injuring it's eyes. The guardsmen finally shot a balista right through the chest of the beast and it's blood exploded from the wound, as it's lifeless body fell to the floor.
A cheer was heard from the guardsmen, but now the Druchii were pouring in through the opened gate. The Seaguards quickly picked their spears and thrust forward with the weapons.
As Executioners and Black Guards swung their weapons around with skill greater than the guards, they had trouble getting to them, as they were welcomed with the shining ithilmar blades of the spears.
finally, the Black Guard came in range and their halberts tore through armour, cloth and flesh. Rethon ordered his charge, and slammed in the side of the guards, breaking the group in two. As the last civilians had left a horn sounded in the back of the fort. Cothician guardsmen were abandoning the walls and rushing for the back of the fortress, evacuating as well. Many guardsmen in the central plaza held their line, even as their support faltered and fled. Rethon kept his position, rushing past the gate time and again with his knights, to break the stream of enemies that were pouring through the broken gate.
The sounds of metal and the cries of people dying and writhing in agony was deafening. Finally the guardsmen of the central plaza started to back away, and slowly evacuate as well through the back gate. Many were struck down, and blood had coloured the white pavements completely red. The horses mouth's foamed and swords and spears swung violently, as the Black Guard advanced towards the aft-gate, cutting off Rethon and his knights from the exit. Rethon gathered his knights around him, and sounded his horn for the last time, signaling the last charge towards the exit, and their only hope for survival.
Carnyle rode among the Black Guards, cutting off the prince's path, but the prince was undeterred. He spurred on his horse, and his knights followed. As he strode past the prison he swung his spear and broke the lock, and the swung against with all his might. His horse jumped up over the black guards, and Rethon's spear clashed with Carnyles sword, sending it flying, as the gate's heavy metal bars smalled tight behind Rethon. As the prince turned around he could see his knights being cut down by the Black guards. They wicked weapons tearing through their horses and armours asif it was easy. The captain of his knights shouted to the prince. "Run! Flee!" To the prince, before a jagged black tip of steel emerged from his chest, and the captain's body fell limp.
Rethon could see the crossbowmen climbing up the walls and they fired a hail of arrows at the prince, as he spurred on his horse and fled. "I will remember you, Felandun.... and I'll avenge you..!" The prince cried out as he rushed away.

Inside the fort, Syriscia pressed open the broken door of her prison, and stepped out, gathering herself amongst the other sorceresses, before Carnyle could see she had returned. But the dreadlord's senses were too keen, and he came straight for her. "so, you survived." The dreadlord answered coldly. His face was grim, and his brow was creased. Hardly visible against his red cloak, was the blood dripping from his shoulder.
"I did, yes. And you should have come a whole lot sooner. If you had arived before the hunters did, you would have caught them off-guard." Syriscia said. "next time you decide to attack a fort, be a bit more agressive. That prince is not to be underestimated."
Carnyle gripped the sorceress with his left hand, letting his right hang loose next to his body, his eyes were ablaze with rage. "After attacking this you should've been more grateful that I would not hand you over to executioners right away, after what we found in your room." The man hissed at her.
Syriscia turned paler than she had ever done. "Unhand me, you brutish being. I answer only to Morathi, and the sorceress coven." Syriscia snapped back. "I will be expecting sacrifices for Khaine within two hours. Now, If you'll excuse me, I have some business to tend to, as I am behind on my reports. I think you will find the information I have gathered here to be most valuable."
Carnyle smirked, knowing he now had the upperhand, and eventhough she denied it, he was now in charge of the whole war-efford. Now he would start writing his name on Ulthuan in the blood of the Asur.

As the bolts disappeared, Rethon quickly rode on, joining the caravan of civilians. Keldarior strode at the very back of the column, and welcomed the prince, slightly disappointed. "My prince, where are the riders?" He asked, and Rethon took off his helmet, shaking his head as tears ran down his face. "They were cut down. It was my fault.. I closed the gate too quickly."
A black-cloaked group came emerging from the woods, carrying the sign of Finubar ahead of them. "My prince, there was nothing you could've done. Their horses were all cut at the ancles, they were at least four meters behind you when you came through the gate. They were lost from the first charge."
Rethon's grip of his spear tightened untill his knuckles turned white inside his gloved hands, and the leather of his gauntlet creaked. His chest heaved and he cried openly for the loss of all the men.

The Black guards walked around the forest, searching for any survivors, and the few they found were injured. Only a couple of worthy candidates for sacrifice were found and handed over to the Witch Elves.
Inside the prince's tent, Syriscia sat behind the desk, having claimed his writing-tools and she started to write her letter. Her mind was however, occupied with other things, such as ensuring her safety after the the discovery of the her family ties, and the words of the Truthsayer kept echoing inside her mind. "You shall witness the rise of a great lord, and the fall of another." Somehow she felt that was she had seen was not that event yet... It felt wrong still, asif it hadn't come to pass just yet.
Carnyle then strode into the room, and pressed her against the wooden cabinet with his strong hand. "Now, you listen to me, and you listen carefully." Carnyle said to her. "I don't know what you said or did to survive here, but I want to know everything. I want to know what you ate, what you drank, who you talked to, who was here, and what you told them." The Dreadlord seemed furious, and his head was red with agression. Several slaves of the dreadlord walked around the tent, stripping it of any valuables before the dreadlord threw the sorceress to the floor after she had said "I told them nothing! I was held here, given bread and cheeze and meat and wine. We had furs to sleep on and that is all."
Syriscia felt the pain on her elbows and palms from having caught herself when she fell,but the Dreadlord put his foot down on her wrist, as the last slave left. "I knew it was too easy getting you... There was something awry with you, now, give me one reason not to turn you in."
Syriscia trembled, and the weight of the armoured boot pressing down on her wrist was tremendously painfull, as the edges cut into her skin. Her mind raced. "I will grant you my aid in battle, and my body in bed... I will grant you... the forbidden fruits that are denied to all others..." She said. Her voice shuddered and revolted as she said the words. Shame overcame her.
The dreadlord picked her up, and forced a kiss on her lips. "I will hold you to that, if you deny me once, I will turn you in." He then brushed her aside with force causing her to stumble across the tent and into the writing-desk, where a pot of ink fell down, colouring the paper black.
The tension and fear she felt at this point was so different from the feeling she had had in the prison, and for a second, she wondered if it had not been better to have died, or to have stayed imprisoned...
As night fell the winds only increased, and rain poured outside of the tent. She had taken claim of Rethon's bed and had wrapped herself in his warm blankets and rested her head on his soft pillow. Outside she could hear voices talking, and her breath stopped for a second.
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Raithial
Posts: 145
Joined: Thu Jun 30, 2011 9:52 pm

Re: Distrusted, part1: The Sorceress

#19 Post by Raithial »

Syriscia felt oddly secure in the bed, and was unsure of the reason. The smell of incense still hung in the pillow and the furs that laid on the bed were warm, and thick. She stood up and got dressed, putting the dark golden top on and fastering her skirt around her waist. She took a hold of a dagger she kept above her belt, and then walked out of the tent. She sighed for a second as the cold wind rushed over her flesh, giving her goosebumps. She suddenly realised that she hadn't felt this cold before in the Asur prison and with a swift hand she grabbed one of the furs from the bed, and walked over to the blacksmith, who had already laid claim to the Asur armory and was using the armours to fashion new items of conquest for the Druchii.
The blacksmith gave the sorceress a disinterested eye, but she soon rolled out the fur, and she looked at the smith. "Fashion me a cloak." Syriscia said. "you will be paid in coin for your craftsmanship."
The blacksmith nodded, and let his hand run over the soft warm fur.
Syriscia then moved to a small shrine which was being erected in the centre of the plaza. Statues of Khaine were put around in a circle, and a number of sorceresses were sacrificing prisoners and slaves to appease Khaine, but when Syriscia attempted to walk forward to make her sacrifice her heart started pounding. The sacrificial dagger felt heavy in her hand, and she hardly felt the strength to hold the prisoner down. She recognised the man, as one of the knights that the Asur prince had ridden alongside. The prisoner looked with defiant eyes, and spoke. "Rethon saw something in you. He saw your heart, and Malekith won't always be your king.."
Syriscia's eyes glared, and with a swift movement she slit the prisoners throat, and decapitated him, holding the knight's head high as a sacrifice. She felt the nausia and illness disappear from her body as she revelled in the blood.
She tasted the blood on her lips, the taste of it filled her mouth, and she felt a deep feeling in her chest, a cold bitter feeling.
The other sorceresses and Witch Elves made sacrifices as well, decapitating and disemboweling slaves, prisoners and animals for their favours, before each departed. The Witch elves returned to their coven, the large tent where the gathering had taken place the evening before was now all but changed. It's cloth was torn and runes of Khaine and the other dark gods were etched into the poles, and no longer came the sweet scent of honeyed figs from the tent. It had been replaced with the bitter scent of blood and noxious fumes.
Syriscia couldn't help but feel uneasy, as she returned to the smith. The cloak had been fashioned simple, but with a small jewel to her throat as she would wear it. She noticed Carnyle emerged from his tent, and Syriscia quickly hid, climbing up a ladder and holing up in one of the watchtowers...
The cloak she now wore was warm, and hid her silhouet from Carnyle quite admirably.
Up there, she had some time to think things over. She twirled with a finger through her hair as her mind wandered from the sacrifices and the words spoken by the knight, and those of the truthsayer who had appeared twice by now...
It kept returning to her; "Malekith won't always be your king" "you will witness the fall of a great lord, and the rise of another." It nagged at her mind, to the point where she stepped down from the tower, and went towards Carnyle.
"What do you want?" Carnyle asked with a sneer.
"I must return to the Black arc, I need to look into a number of books as I may have found a hidden magic amongst the properties." Syriscia lied.
She looked at the man with carefull tense eyes, hoping he'd not caught her lie. She sweated and her heart pounded in her pointed ears.
"If you must." Carnyle said. "But you will return within the week."
Syriscia nodded and turned around. After she reached the stables of the horses, she sighed of relief, that Carnyle had not caught her lie.
She had one of the slaves saddle up a horse, and then left riding it. Spurring it on with wicked thorns at her heels.
She rode out from the fort and for a moment travelled calmly through the woods, keeping a weary eye at anything moving between the trees. She knew that the White Lions of Chrace were a vicious bunch that moved through the trees like big cats, and would be able to overtake her with ease. Her path lead her back through the forest, past a trial where she saw her old boots still lying against a tree. They were muddy and dirty, and plackards of brown blood still clung to them.
She heard hoofbeats coming from behind her, and she felt uneasy. She lead her horse off the trail and into the wood, hiding it behind a bush and looking the horsemen that appeared, and they were Druchii. For a second she felt relieved, and wanted to come out from her hiding place. "She came this way." One of the horsemen said. Syriscia suddenly felt overcome with unease when the rider turned to face her way and his eyes glared with viciousness and she stayed hidden. She could see the intend to kill from the rider, and she kept looking at the riders as they travelled past the point where she had left the road, and went on towards the altar of khaine.
Suddenly Syriscia felt unable to return to the camp, or the black arc... Her heart sank into the mud and she sat there for a second. She trembled and sobbed about the misery had gotten herself into... She feared she would never get back to Naggaroth alive... And if she did, she'd be enslaved and beaten day by day. Her mind raced to all possible ways, but she felt too afraid of all possibilities. If she'd travel to the Asur she'd be shot on sight, and amongst her kin she would face greater peril, and her scheme had turned against her. For now, the only thing she could think of was to wander, untill she had made up her mind..

End of Part 1: The Sorceress
Continued in Part 2: The Wanderer
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