The Dark Cult of Hisseesha by Adam Janus

ome

tories

ostumes

alloween

eddings

rtists

-zines

indred

ec.

st «

inks nbsp;

ontact

iction

ubmissions

ankla

eatured

rtists

***Chapter one***

The stomp of booted feet, and raised voices was soon followed by the clangor of steel on steel, grunts of exertion, cry's of pain and feet shuffling. Telltale sounds of street fighting as the night watch engaged a knot of loitering, drunken sailors, in their usual heavy handed, tyrannical method.

As quickly as it began, the fight was over. Outnumbered and inebriated, the sailors were overcome and disarmed, (some literally). As they were dragged off to the local jail, despite the fact that many needed immediate medical attention and some would not make it through the night. There was no need to tell any onlookers to disperse, anyone with half their wits about them fled at the first sign of Isegoth's city guard, who enforced the law with an iron fist and cold steel. Everyone familiar with the law enforcement on this side of the city knew the sailors would never be seen again, but no one would speak of it above a hushed whisper, the guard ruled these streets through fear and paranoia, the walls had ears.
***
Hidden in the deep shadows of a narrow alley between the Dragon's Den tavern, and the Sea and Sand pawn shop, two sets of beady red eye's watched the fight with interest. As big as large dogs, the short haired, jet black creatures were decidedly rat like in appearance. Instead of a rat’s typical, elongated front teeth, these giant rats had opposing, saber like tusks protruding from their top and bottom jaws, which rubbed grindingly together when opening and closing their large mouths, naturally sharpening them to razor sharp points. Pointed, bat like ears poked out around horns that jutted out and back from their foreheads. Each of the three toes on their four feet ended in cruelly curved claws, uncanny intelligence gleamed in their hell spawned eyes.

One of the creatures, the smaller of the two, licked the saliva from its muzzle and took a step forward, toward a tasty morsel left behind by the night watch, a bloody arm, severed at the elbow. The larger beast snapped at its smaller pack mate, grinding it's tusk's menacingly while issuing a low rumbling growl. Lowering its head submissively, the smaller hell rat slunk back into the shadows.

Cautiously, the dominant rat poked it's twitching, whiskered nose from the shadows, scanning up and down Dock street with it's heat seeking night vision. Besides wind swept garbage, the only thing moving on the street was a large, feral dog, loping its way toward the severed arm from the rat's left. Sniffing and pawing at the limb, oblivious to the danger lurking only a couple of yards away, the starving dog lowered it's head to take a bite, only to be disturbed by the gnashing of teeth, and the clicking of talons on the cobblestone sidewalk.

Responding on instinct, the dog lowered its head and flattened its ears, showing yellow teeth as its jowls curled up on its scarred muzzle in a fierce snarl, a snarl which had won the mongrel many meager scraps of food without even actually fighting. But this new challenge did not back off, as the rat slowly turned its body sideways. Contrasting its slow deliberate movements its hairless tail flicked out with blinding speed. Flesh ripped and ribs cracked, puncturing lungs and tearing internal organs as the lightening fast tail impacted with the dog's right side, sending it skidding across the street, coming to rest on the stone curb.

Whimpering, the dog urinated blood and lost control of its bowels, as the hell rat scuttled over to the prone animal. Sinking it's teeth into the fatally injured dogs neck and skull, the mutated rodent dragged the now dead canine back to the alley, as the smaller rat ran from the shadows to snatch the almost forgotten human limb, leaving streaks of blood and pulp in the street and on the sidewalk, not an unusual sight in this part of town these days. Mouths full, the two demon tainted rats dragged their prizes down the broken grate at the back of the alley, into the sewers, where they proceeded to eat. Sounds of slurping and gulping, bones cracking and flesh tearing, floated up to street level, these sounds would have sickened even the most hardened warrior, if any had been around to hear it.

***Chapter two***

Avoiding the sparse yellow pools of light, casted from the gas lamps and the open tavern bat wing doors along Isegoth's seedy Dock street, the unusual pair moved at a steady pace, staying to the shadows casted by the two and three story warehouses along the docks. A chill, early spring wind carried the salty smell of the sea, as well as the stench of garbage barges and rancid whale fat. Only the potential for profit, and an invitation from someone known to have no connection with Isegoth's corrupt government, would bring these two outlaws of the empire within the city walls.

Ignoring the occasional beggars and prostitutes, and keeping eyes and ears alert for any signs of further guard patrols, the taller of the pair, a frost elf by the name of Sarel Duthar, pulled his black hood and cloak tightly around his lean frame, more to hide his distinctive features then to ward of the cold. His companion, whose short stature, broad shoulders and barrel chest marked him as a dwarf to even the casual observer, glanced up at the elf with barely disguised humor.

"Elves are so thin skinned, a little bit a wind and yer bundled like ya was back home on the tundra", remarked the dwarf known as Khaz Axzen in his deep, gravely voice. Wearing nothing but leather boots, deer skin pants and a worn leather vest, exposing hugely muscled, tattooed arms, chest and bald scalp, the dwarf never seemed to be overly affected by the weather.

Before the elf could reply, a hooded figure slipped from the shadows of an abandoned warehouse ten paces in front of the odd pair. With a quickness belying his muscled bulk, the dwarf pulled his axe from the sheath on his back, growling like a wild animal.

Hearing the oiled clicks of crossbow safety's being released from the windows above them, and the stretching of bow strings from the tavern roof directly across the street, Sarel quickly stepped between the violence prone dwarf and the hooded stranger, letting his own hood fall back, revealing the long, snow white hair and pale, ice blue skin of a frost elf. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he felt the sights of several crossbows leveled in his direction.

"We are seeking Kimba Truehart, from the druidic order of the cheetah", spoke Sarel, voice barely above a whisper in case there were any unwanted observers, "we are answering her summons".

"Well met Sarel Duthar, it has been a long time", responded the stranger in the lyrical, female voice of a wood elfess. She turned to the still bristling dwarf and addressed him by name, "and you must be Master Khaz Axzen, greetings, let us talk inside".

After some reassuring words from Sarel, Khaz replaced his axe in its fur sheath on his back and stomped after the two elves, rubbing his bald head, and grumbling about elven witches.

Kimba turned and strode to the corner of the warehouse, she moved with casual, feline ease. Her full length cloak, which appeared black in the shadows, shimmered and seemed to change color and hue, turning dark gold with cheetah like spots in the yellowish street light, before fading to black as she turned down the dark, garbage strewn alley between warehouses.

They navigated their way through debris and refuse barrels, the sounds of reveling and music from the taverns on the street were replaced by scuttling, squeaking rats and the soft pad of feral cats on the hunt. The smell of garbage and feces was strong in the narrow, high walled space.

Sarel's keen elven night vision caught fleeting glimpses of furtive movement from the roof tops flanking them, as the trio came upon a dead end in the form of a red brick and crumbling mortar wall. Extending her right arm, the druid traced elven runes on the wall with her long nailed pointer finger, making the sign of Doona Cheetahsoul, the patron goddess of the druidic order of the cheetah. The outline of an arched door appeared, and silently slid open inward on a dark, empty corridor, leading to a heavy wooden door at its end. Stepping through the doorway, Kimba turned and gracefully motioned for the other two to follow. Sarel quickly stepped over the threshold, Khaz hesitated, glancing behind him before entering.

Once all three were inside, the brick door slid shut of its own volition, locking with a barely audible snick. As soon as the brick door shut, the heavy wooden door was opened from within by a large man with short cropped, military style black hair, and a fresh looking scar on the left side of his face, running from his forehead, through his eye, ending at his chin. He was wearing the red leather armor of the city guard, noticeably missing the blue and white crashing wave insignia of Isegoth. His hand resting on the hilt of a huge broadsword.

Warm, inviting torch light spilled into the corridor from the room beyond as the trio entered. The large man shut the door behind them and barred it with a large steel beam, before retreating to the opposite side of the room, where he stood with his back to the wall, eying the two strangers warily.

Triangular in shape, the room had a high ceiling. Two sides were made of thick, mildewed timbers, lined with dusty shelves. One long wall, now occupied by the large human with the scar, was made of brick and held a sconce, holding a lit oil torch. There was likely another secret door on this wall, of the same type as the one in the alley. In the middle of the room was a square wooden table, laden with black bread, cheese, fruit and a large pitcher of a golden liqueur, four sturdy looking chairs surrounded the table. The room was probably used as a hide room, or safe room by the former merchant owners, where they would hide valuables or contraband they didn't want taxed by the empire, like imported hallucinogenic drugs sold out on Dock Street. Sarel sensed strong magic in this room, the druidess probably had warding and anti-detection spells at work, and magical alarms on the doors.

Kimba Truehart swept her hood back and motioned for her guest's to sit at the table in the center of the room. Khaz studied the tall druid, noting the golden, almost white blond hair and dark skin of someone who spent many years in the elements. She turned and looked the dwarf in the eye, searchingly, he returned her stare, then gasped, the color draining from his red bearded face, her eyes were yellow, flecked with black spots, and slitted like a cats!

"Shape shifter", Khaz whispered aloud, I knew she was an elven witch, he thought to himself, displaying mountain dwarves inherent distrust for magic. Sarel on the other hand sat back and relaxed, smiling at his friends obvious discomfort.

"Yes master Axzen, I am a shape shifter as you call it", Kimba replied with a warm smile while removing her cloak, revealing the live wood breast plate and armor favored by warrior druids of the northern forest's. A slender sword was sheathed at her slim waist.

"This is a friend of my order", indicating the large man in the livery of the city guard who opened the wooden door upon their arrival. "Dev Von Fritz, formerly a knight of the empire of Khor, and officer in Isegoth's city guard".

Sarel nodded in the big mans direction, but got an icy stare in return.

"Please, help yourselves to food and drink", Kimba continued, pouring herself a small amount of the golden liqueur in a metal goblet. She downed the liqueur in a gesture aimed to show Khaz it wasn't poisoned or some kind of witches potion.

"Let's cut to the chase, I'm sure ya didn't call us here to catch up with your old friend Sar here", blurted Khaz impatiently, referring to the fact that Sarel and Kimba had crossed paths before.

Pouring himself a drink, the frost elf agreed, "excuse my friend druid, patience, as you know, is not a dwarven virtue, and I would be a liar if I said the same thought did not cross my own mind".

"I'll get right to the point then", stated Kimba, sitting across from Sarel, "I was sent by the druidic council in Stonemeet to investigate activity in the demon blasted wastes to the south, and it's possible connection to the cult of Hisseesha and their leader". The elfess paused, pushing her long hair back from her face and tying it back in a loose knot before continuing, "have either of you heard of a wizard called Primus Creed"? She asked.

"I haven't, but not to many people in these parts are very eager to speak to a frost elf", said Sarel, referring to his peoples unsavory, if deserved reputation.

After a moments silence, Khaz spoke up, rubbing his bald tattooed head as if it pained him. "During my enslavement in the arena's of Siraq and Saumecca, the locals spoke of a powerful mage called Primus Creed, who was exiled into the Ikpycgen desert for planning to assassinate the Siraqen sultan Ali Kademnon. But I figured it was just local folklore", Khaz paused and looked around, the torchlight reflecting off the dwarven runes and tribal designs tattooed on his head. He cleared his throat before continuing, "I never heard any tales a what became of him, and I wouldn't know if it's the same Creed that you speak of, but legend said he was a necromancer who communed with the dead, others said he was a vampire, but the lands of the sultans are steeped arse deep in superstition, ya can never tell what’s real and what’s fertilizer. Most times it's a little of both".

Kimba smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry if my inquiry's have evoked painful memory's of your past Khaz Axzen, it is not my intention", she purred soothingly.

"Pain is for humans and tree hugging' elves, don't pity me", Khaz said as if insulted, but the liqueur must have loosened him up a bit, he smiled and indicated she should continue with a wave of his meaty hand.

Folding her hands in front of her, the druid continued, "we have discovered some of the cults clandestine ritual sites, and bloody alters in the Twisted forest south of the city, demon tainted, mutilated corpses have also been found". She quickly glanced up at Dev as she mentioned the corpses. The big man, almost forgotten by the trio, seemed to stiffen, and a fleeting look of sorrow passed over his face like a wisp of cloud floating over the sun, before returning to it's former stoic expression.

Taking a deep breath, the elfess asked, " have either of you heard any of the legends, or rumors pertaining to the sewer systems beneath Isegoth, particularly the older sections that run below the southern and eastern quarters of the city"?

"It's whispered that the old sewers still run under portions of the ruins on the coast". Of coarse Sarel didn't have to mention which ruins he spoke of. Infamous and feared throughout the Khorian empire, the ruins were once a part of Isegoth, located along the mountainous south east coast, over looking the Khorian bay. Called the heights in it's hay day, it was overrun and decimated thousands of years ago, by the army's of the demon high lords boiling out of the southern wastes, during the demon wars. The same wars that gave birth to Sarels race of mortal elves. Having been walled of from the rest of the city, the ruins were avoided by the locals, most of them anyway.

Kimba silently nodded her agreement as Khaz spoke in his stone scraping stone voice, "them ruins is haunted, ya can see witch lights flickerin' up there, and howlin' carried on the wind", his voice trailed off to a whisper as he visibly shuddered.

"Our information leads us to believe that Creed headquarters the cult from beneath the south eastern quarter of the city, in the old sewers. The elven druid produced a rough map of the sewers from a pouch hanging at her belt. "This is an old maintenance area", she said, tapping the western edge of the map. "My orders seers are unable to see or detect anything from this entire area, due to powerful warding and anti-detection spells". She tapped the western edge one more time, "this is where he is".

"We", she paused before continuing, "I, need your help in this matter, I sought you two specifically because of your...Unique talents involving stealth and muscle".

"Thieving and killing", Dev spoke for the first time, startling the seated trio. "Thieves and murderers is what the good lady has resorted to in order to rid the world of other demon spawned scum", finished Dev with a sneer.

Khaz exploded from his seat, sending his chair sliding across the room. "We ain't never thieved nor killed nobody that didn't deserve to be thieved or killed, or wouldn't robbed or killed us first", he growled, clenching his fists and taking a step in Dev's direction.

Sarel and the druid were quick to get between the angry dwarf and sneering human, who's right hand never left the hilt of his sword. Kimba spoke angrily, first to Dev, "You too have blood on your hands Dev Von Fritz, and you too are an outlaw of the empire, albeit for different reasons", she turned to Khaz and apologized, gesturing for him to sit, and please excuse Dev's outburst. Glaring at the large human, Khaz righted his chair and sat heavily.

When she was sure everyone had cooled down, Kimba returned to her seat and continued. "You are both renowned warriors, Sarels stealthy talents as well as his kens knowledge of the dark arts could be invaluable", she was referring to the frost elves worship of dark gods, and dabbling in the dark arts. "Khaz Axzen, your inherent subterranean dwarven senses, and mastery of explosives, could mean the difference between success or failure, I need you both".

"What's in it fer us, and why wouldn't you just tip off the city guard about this Creed and his nasty little cult"? Asked the dwarf, his face still flushed with anger at being called a thieving murderer.

"We have good information that leads us to believe that Dandyar Pharus, Governor of Isegoth, and King Pharus' favored nephew, belongs to the cult of Hisseesha, and the corruption runs deep through the guards ranks. As for what’s in it for you, besides ridding the world of a depraved, demon tainted madman, he exacts tribute from his followers, I'm sure there's enough imperial gold to satisfy even two mercenary's like your selves", the druid paused to let the information sink in.

"Before you agree, I must warn you that Primus Creeds lair is well guarded", Kimba leaned forward on her elbows to make sure Sarel and Khaz where listening. "He has many hell spawned fiends in his employ, not to mention his mindless followers and the magical and alchemy deterrents".

Khaz and Sarel just looked at each other and shrugged, always up for adventure, especially with the potential to line their pockets, the two mercenary's agreed.

"It's done then, you can meet Dev and I outside the gates to the old cemetery, on the edge of the Twisted forest, south of Isegoth, at midnight, two days hence, now I suggest you two get some rest, dawn is almost upon us, and I don't think either of you wants to get caught within the city limits, especially knowing what you know now, I bid you good night".

***Chapter three***

Khaz sat cross legged with his back resting on the rear wall of the cave he and the frost elf, Sarel, had called home this past winter.

After carefully mixing the volatile ingredients of his explosive flash powder, the dwarf poured measured amounts in small, hollow, perforated steel arrow heads, usually used by assassins for poison. He then fitted a wooden quarrel, with small piece's of flint embedded in it, in the arrow heads sleeve, leaving about a thumb's width of space between the flint and the sleeve. Shot from a small, one handed crossbow, the small, sharp dart didn't look like it would be more than an annoyance, but upon impact, the shaft would slide the rest of the way into the arrow. The embedded flint would strike the steel of the sleeve, causing a spark, igniting the black, sulfurous smelling flash powder. The ensuing, small explosion would leave a gaping, shrapnel filled wound in the unfortunate target.

In sharp contrast to the dwarfs calm preparations, Sarel paced back and forth past the caves entrance like a caged animal. Wearing soft, well traveled leather boots and dyed black, sheepskin pants, the frost elf barely made a sound, except for the scraping grind created by the stone he used to compulsively sharpen his throwing knives, which he wore in belts that criss-crossed his chest, under his light leather vest and over a white linen shirt. Khaz had noted a change in his friend since their meeting with the druid. Sarel had withdrawn within himself at the reminders of his dark heritage. A fire smoldered behind his almond shaped, sky blue eyes, in anticipation of possible violence and death.

As the sun set in the west, stars began to appear in the darkening sky above Khorian bay. Under cover of darkness the pair would make their way south, along the coast. With warriors stealth they would skirt Isegoth and the ruins, to rendezvous with Kimba Truehart and Dev Von Fritz in the ancient cemetery.

***

Oiled and sharpened, Dev's two handed broad sword lay across the table in front of him, torch light dancing along it's carefully polished length. Next to it was the short, leafed shaped sword, favored by the city guard, easier to use in the close in street fighting and peace keeping.

After escorting Sarel and Khaz back to Dock Street, Kimba returned to go over their plans with the taciturn, former knight. She reached across the table, and put her hand on his muscled, gauntleted forearm, "I know what your thinking Dev, and you need to let it go", she said to him, "not everyone that lives outside the law is a criminal, that’s the guardsman in you, clouding your better judgment. I have seen into the frost elf's heart, he has forsaken the ways of his people". She then told Dev the unlikely tale of how a druid, champion of light and everything good, came to befriend a feared, decadent, frost elf, denizen's of the night, and worshiper's of dark gods and demon lords like, Hisseesha, Zaranoth and Cruxuzule Mamnibia, in the wilds of northern Brynhalla...

***

…Tucking her long hair behind her pointed elven ears, Kimba began her tale, “about a decade ago, I was ambushed by a roving pack of brezu. Exhausted as I was, probably the reason the beasts were able to get so close to me, I ran deeper into the foothills of the Graode Mountains. If I could put enough distance between myself and my attackers to "shift" into my cheetah form, I would be able to quickly outdistance them. But they were closing in on me”…

Winded, the fleet footed elfess reached the end of the rocky trail she had been following, here, she could put her back to stone, a good defensible place to make a stand. Turning to face her closest assailant, she sent the man-beast a telepathic message, the creature skidded to a halt at the mental barrage. Panting from exertion, red tongue hanging out of it's mouth between nasty looking, elongated canines, saliva dripping to the gray rock at it's huge feet, it cocked it's hairy head to the right, as if hearing something in the distance. But, unlike it's more docile, herbivorous cousin, the sasquatch, brezu were black of heart and soul, malicious and violent, more akin to tundra grendels and sand yeti's, so Kimba's druidic powers over beast's would not save her here, combat was her only remaining option.

Taking advantage of the creature's momentary confusion, she whipped her druid's staff from her back, "Sulia fuere"! Kimba shouted the magical words, igniting the tip of the staff in greenish tinged fire. Hurling it like a spear, it struck the creature square in it's chest, setting it's greasy, charcoal gray fur aflame. It's anguished howl of pain and fear echoed throughout the foothills as it ran about, batting at the flames and bouncing off rocks and trees, igniting dry brush, before falling in a charred heap.

The acrid reek of burning flesh and hair stung Kimba's nostrils, as the remaining five hungry brutes advanced, more cautiously. Unsheathing her sword, the druid held it in a two handed grip, swinging it back and forth in great arcs while back stepping, keeping the setting sun behind her and the hungry brezu at bay, until she felt the cold stone of the rocky outcropping on her back.

A fleeting shadow passed over the closest beast, shielding it's eyes from the sun with it's hairy, clawed hand, it looked up, just in time to see the crude, but expertly balanced stone knife flying end over end, before burying itself up to the wooden handle in it's left eye socket, killing it instantly.

Following the knife was it's thrower, leaping the twenty feet from the rocky outcrop to the trail below. Arms and black cloak outstretched like a giant vampire bat, he landed in a crouch in the midst of the parasite ridden, smelly creatures. Sun glinted off steel as the newcomer slashed the curved blade held in his right hand up and out to his right, parting flesh and muscle, disemboweling one brezu. Staying low to avoid a clawed swipe, he punched up and to his left with the stone skinning knife protruding from between the pointer and middle fingers of his left hand, making solid contact with the swiping beasts crotch, he twisted the blade. Warm blood and fluids spilled over his hand and arm as he rolled to avoid the howling creature, as it fell, writhing and howling in pain.

Quickly turning from hunted to hunter, Kimba stepped forward, slashing her long, slender sword from right to left, she felt an almost imperceptible tug as the razor sharp tip of her weapon passed through fur and hide, nicked off bone and came free, ropey strands of thick blood trailing in it's wake. She aimed her back swing a bit higher, neatly slicing through the already fatally wounded, wide eyed brezu's wind pipe.

Having seen four of their pack slaughtered, the remaining two brezu turned tail and ran. Kimba's rescuer, adrenaline and battle lust still coursing through his blood, took a couple of steps in pursuit, before coming to his senses, and turning back to the druidess, "are you alright"? He asked in an elven dialect slightly different then the common elvish. Stooping over one of the dead beast's and wiping the gore and blood from his blades, suspiciously never taking his sky blue eyes off her.

Still catching her breath, Kimba studied the newcomer, his elongated, pointed ears poked through long snow white hair, that framed a youthful, pale, ice blue angular elven face, a frost elf, she thought, and wondered if she had been rescued from the frying pan, only to land in the fire. But there was something about this frost elf, or Timborian elf as they were once called, something that contradicted their unsavory, depraved reputations.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you", she replied, still unsure of this frost elf's intentions, then she realized what was different about him, his aura was light and good, not dark and sinister like she had been taught frost elves, as a race, were supposed to be...

***

..."You see Dev, do you think if Sarel was dark of heart and soul, he would have selflessly risked himself to aid me? Kimba asked Dev, "I have seen the light in his heart, it is good".

Dev seemed more relaxed after hearing the elfess' tale of how the two met, "and what of the dwarf, you don't get those scars and tattoo's from doing good deeds", the former guardsman stated sarcastically.

"Khaz Axzen is a different story, I can see the goodness within him, but he has a shadow over his soul, he struggles with his own demons", Kimba replied. "The first century of his life was spent as a slave, the last thirty five in the barbaric arena's of Siraq and Saumecca as a gladiator. Unlike Sarel Duthar, who is running away from his heritage, Khaz is searching for his, but right now he is clan less, and to a dwarf, that makes him worse than a criminal, at least in his own eye's, and the eye's of most of his ken".

"In all mother natures creations, there is planted two seeds. Both seeds grow as we grow, like trees in the forest. Each seed struggles with the other to take root in the rich soil of our souls, one tree is evil, it grows black, and twisted, that tree bears the ugly fruit of anger, jealousy, greed, arrogance, inferiority, lies, ego and hatred. The other tree is good, it buds with the fruits of joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, kindness, benevolence, generosity, truth and faith, it shines with the warm, white light of goodness. Which seed wins this struggle, is up to us Dev, the seed we nurture, feed and water will overcome the other and flourish". Kimba sat back and sighed, exasperated and tired.

"Khaz Axzen's hard life has dictated which seed to nurture, for survival, but the good one is still in there, fighting for supremacy. The good in you Dev has been nurtured all your life, you can't allow it to be overshadowed by events you can not control or undo".

Cold, early morning wind off the bay howled outside, causing the wooden walls to creak, and the torch light to flicker. The druid saw the firelight dancing in Dev's dark eye's, which momentarily softened and moistened, as the memory's of his murdered wife tumbled through his mind. Murdered at the hands of Primus Creed, and the cult of Hisseesha. She could see the war being waged within him, and said a silent prayer for his soul.

***Chapter four***
"Spooky"! Khaz said aloud, his voice sounding loud in the eerie silence, a silence broken only by the distant lapping of sea water on rock, the ever present bay breeze, rustling the high, unkempt grass, and softly blowing through the still bare branches of the Twisted forest. Although some of the strange trees bore vile purple buds, the largely naked branches rubbed against each other in the wind, sounding like dry bones scraping and clacking.

"Where are those two anyway? It's what I get fer mixin' up with elves and druids, talking about demon mutated warlocks, cults and treasure, bah! Tree devils are probably sneakin' up on us right now"! The dwarf ranted, looking up at the trees, half expecting the goblinoid Tree devils, or Trehun Delvaheem as their ancient race was called, to leap on his back.

"Shss"! Sarel hissed at Khaz, silencing his nervous, chatter. The pair had arrived at the rendezvous early, they retreated from the rusted, creaky cemetery gates to the shadows under the outer boughs of the forest, to wait for Kimba and Dev. Originally passing the time by discussing, in low tones, Khaz's many scars and tattoo's. Every victory in the arena was documented in ink on the dwarf's burly body, as well as every scar received in gladiatorial combat, each had its own story. It managed to keep Khaz's mind off his superstitions, but the later it got, the harder his over active imagination worked. "They’re coming".

Sarel's acute elven hearing picked up the tramp of Dev's boots long before he heard any sound of Kimba's light foot fall, and even then he was hard pressed to differentiate between her steps, and the rustling grass. As they came into view, the frost elf noticed something different about Dev; he seemed to have left the ever present black cloud that hovered over his head, back in Isegoth. Although he moved with as much stealth as his hulking frame allowed, his gait would never indicate he was about to infiltrate the lair of a warlock, and possibly face death. His hair, which was combed military style, straight down in front and sides during their first encounter, was now slicked back, and there was a thick stubble growing on his face, broken noticeably by the still pink scar on his left cheek. He shed the livery of Isegoth's guard, donning instead a light, waist length, black chain mail vest, with hinged shoulder plates hanging down to his biceps, over a soft, black wool shirt. Black leather pants and boots completed his stygian attire. He looked like a mercenary.

Sarel and Khaz left the cover of the trees and made their way down hill, toward the road that led to the cemetery gate, not bothering to keep their movements quiet. Kimba's elven senses would pick them up immediately, and the dwarf's silhouette and boots, sucking in and out of the spongy earth were unmistakable, even through the wispy tendrils of fog now snaking in from the north east, obscuring the ruins.

"Greeting's", Kimba greeted the pair warmly, smiling; "I hope we did not keep you two waiting for very long".

"Let's get this over with", Khaz said impatiently, nervously eyeing the thickening fog rolling off the cliffs toward them.

Sarel bowed before the druid, “good evening m'lady", he said in direct contrast to the dwarf's gruff demeanor. "And to you sir", this to Dev, who nodded in return. Although vigilant, the former knight was not nearly as stiff and unapproachable as he seemed in their previous meeting.

"M'lady's and sirs", Khaz mumbled under his breath, "We ain't in the king's court drinkin' tea and eatin' crumpets". His voice rising in annoyance as his discomfort increased. "That there fog's rollin' right over them ruins, they say restless spirits travel with the fog"! As if on cue, strange lights started to blink and shimmer within the fog bank.

"That's probably just a trick of the moonlight reflecting off the bay and getting caught up in the mist", said Dev, looking over his shoulder. "But I agree with master Axzen, we really should get going, the less we linger in one place, the better".

In silent agreement, the quartet turned to the rusty iron gate The left side hung from one hinge, the top hinge having rusted through, it looked as if it would only take a nudge to dislodge it completely, and send it crashing to the ground. Squeezing through the gap, they made there way down the main, center lane. Weeds had long ago grown through the cracks to obscure the once well tended cobble stones, making it hard to follow, none of them wanted to trod over any graves, even if the deceased's names had long ago been worn away by the elements, and forgotten.

Kimba confidently took the lead, Khaz and Sarel walked side by side, as Dev fell back to the rear.

"How'r we gonna get to the sewers from a derned bone yard"? Asked Khaz, to no one in particular.

"Since the cemetery lies in a shallow valley", the druid answered, "they devised a drainage system, which leads to the sewers. Later it was used and maintained by smugglers seeking secret access to the city, before it became easier and cheaper just to pay off the corrupt city guard. There are hundreds of entrances and exits to the sewers, they were designed and built by dwarven engineers you know". She added the latter bit of information, hoping to peak Khaz's curiosity. "Dwarven architecture, as I'm sure you know, often has hidden and unmapped sections and tunnels, known only to the architects and engineers who created them".

She led them left, off the main road to a smaller intersecting lane. Turning right a short distance up on a path leading to what appeared to be a tomb, indistinguishable from the rest of the plain, but well constructed eternal resting places. Comprised mostly of marble and granite, the tomb had a wrought iron gate, intricately designed and adorned with warding gargoyles and archaic runes, made unreadable by rust and time. Kimba tried the latch, but found it was rusted securely in place.

"Your strength is needed here Khaz, I can open the inner door with magic, but I'm afraid the gate will need to be broken open". The elfess said to Khaz, who was still gazing at the incoming fog.

"Let the dwarf do it", Khaz mumbled. Ruling out hewing through the latch with his axe as to loud, he planted his feet and rubbed his large, calloused hands together, before grasping the rusty bars of the gate. The muscles of his huge arms knotted and bulged with the exertion, veins popped out along his temple and thick neck and sweat beaded on his forehead. Groaning in protest, the metal latch bent, before snapping under the pressure. Rusty, unoiled hinges squealed loudly, echoing through the night, sending Khaz flying back where Dev caught him before he tumbled to the ground.

As if in answer to the now open gates squeal, an inhuman, haunting, anguished, howl reached their ears, carried on the wind, seeming to bounce off the tombs. The tortured, mournful cry trailed off, seemingly absorbed by the fog which now billowed thickly around their feet. All four companions looked around nervously, hair standing up on the back of their necks.

“I reckon that was a trick a’ the moon", Khaz said sarcastically while brushing himself off. He turned his angry gaze on Sarel, "or the dumb dwarf's over active imagination". He roughly shoved the frost elf aside and stomped up to the iron shod, wooden door in the tombs recessed entry way. Putting his shoulder down, the dwarf slammed into the ancient timbers. Magically sealed or not, the door exploded inward, showering the interior of the tomb with rotten wood splinters and rust. The remains of the door hung from bent hinges, resting on the inner wall of the tomb's vestibule.

"Let's go"! Shouted the dwarf from within, "I'll fight anything made a flesh an blood, but my axe can't do nuthin' about banshee's and ghost's"!

Kimba and Dev hurried inside, but Sarel lingered momentarily, studying the fog, and the sickly greenish yellow lights blinking within it. Necromancy and restless spirits, banshee's as Khaz put it, were a part of his life for the better part of three decades. His people actually summoned and enslaved restless spirits and tortured souls. It was a part of life he thought he left behind, when he left his people and their evil depravity back in the Frostbite mountains over ten years ago. With a sigh, he joined his comrades in the stale air and cobwebs of the mock tomb, determined to do his part in ridding the world of at least one abomination of nature.

***Chapter five***

Primus Creed let the young girl slip from his long nailed grasp, her limp body, that once housed the unbridled exuberance of youth, was now nothing more than a dried up husk, devoid of blood and life.

Head tilted back, with his eye’s closed, Creed’s thin lips parted in an evil grin, exposing elongated, blood stained canines, he basked in the warmth of the teenagers life force as it flowed through his veins. Wrinkles in his face smoothed, as the dark skin of his desert heritage replaced the sickly, pale yellow of the infirm. Gray and white streaks in his long hair, and goatee slowly returned to luxurious black. Small horns, poking through the hair at the top of his forehead, evidence of his demon taint, seemed to grow just a little bit longer.

Opening his eye’s, the wizard adjusted his silken, purple robes, and looked down his hawkish nose, checking to see if enough blood had been spilled within the ring of runes, painstakingly etched in the stone floor, to please Hisseesha. Satisfied, he carefully stepped over the corpse, and outer ring of runes, lifting his sandaled feet so as not to smudge the evil looking glyphs.

Stone tables, set with hundreds of candles, lit Primus Creed’s lair, which was rectangular in shape, with a high, domed ceiling; too high for the candle light to penetrate the shadows. Originally it was used as barracks for the dwarven engineers and laborers who constructed the sewers, later as a maintenance and storage area. Tapestries portraying ancient Ikpycgen warriors, legendary spell casters and the great pyramids of his desert homeland adorned the walls, obscuring the several exits, entrances and bookshelves, laden with ancient tomes and spell components. The largest and most colorful depiction was of his goddess, Hisseesha. Fiery hair framed an impossibly beautiful, horned face, and naked torso. Her pale flesh, slowly transformed to scales at her waist, as the demon deity’s lower body was portrayed as a great snake, tail ending in ringed rattles. Spread out before the silken tapestry was an incense laden alter, made of skulls, treasure heaped at its base.

Shaped like a pyramid, the disturbing alter was actually many layers thick, pyramid’s within pyramid’s. At the center were the smaller, animal skulls Creed used to regain his strength, after making his way through the unforgiving Ikpycgen desert, and the Demon wastes. Orcs, tree devils, and then later, human skulls replaced the animal heads as he grew stronger, and was able to seduce and snare bigger, smarter prey. Some of them still retained scraps of dry flesh, and strands of hair.

Clapping his hands sharply, twice, Creed shouted: “Krog”, summoning his faithful orc servant. Entering the chamber from behind two thick tapestries, opposite the alter, the bull orc stood at attention, squinty eyes averted to the floor, waiting to do his masters bidding.

At seven feet tall, Krog was an imposing figure. Clad in spiked bronze plate, the reddish armor stood out against the orcs black hide. Not the rich ebony color of the warrior humans of Kothopia, Krog’s skin was more the purplish black of rotting meat. A thick mane of black hair, shaved from the sides of his huge, tusked, porcine head, flowed back, between pointed, bone adorned ears. Massively muscled arms sprang from broad shoulders, his gauntleted forearms ended in huge, four fingered, clawed hands. Thick, brown, horse hide pants, were tucked into iron shod, spiked boots. Strapped to his back was a heavy scimitar, cruelly serrated near the human bone hilt.

Folding his hands within the wide sleeves of his robes, Primus Creed turned to face his patiently waiting slave. “Get rid of that”, the mage said, indicating the dried up corpse on the floor, “and remember Krog, return the head to me, undamaged”.

“Yes master”, the orc replied, sounding more like, yef maffer, as the beast’s savage mouth, struggled to form words in a language not meant to be spoken by his kind.

Careful not to touch, or enter the rune ring, Krog, with one clawed hand, lifted the body straight up like a rag doll, and strode from the chamber, parting the tapestries, and closing the large, arched door as quietly as possible.

Creed chuckled as he remembered enslaving the hulking brute, some six years earlier. Stumbling upon the orc tribe in the Twisted forest, it only took a couple of minor spells, and a few charred orc warriors, to convince the tribe’s shaman and chief that the warlock needed a champion to escort him through the treacherous wood.

Jarring him rudely from his reverie, the wizard’s eyes snapped open, an alarm sounded, a magical alarm, intruders had entered the sewers. Like a fisherman with many lines in the water, Creed had many magical lines out, snaking their way through the subterranean labyrinth under Isegoth and the outlying areas. In his minds eye, he located the still quivering tendril of magical energy, and then followed it to its source. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he recited the words of the spell that would allow his mind to travel through the magical conduit.

“Kriazcht naga sembeka zool”, recited the mage in the language of hell. He felt his mind leave his body and race through the sewers with stomach churning speed, noting each life force as he passed, until he reached his destination. In a forgotten area of the sewers, outside the city walls, beneath the ancient grave yard, Creed sensed four separate, unique life forces. Two were masked to him, likely elves, their inherent magic inadvertently blunting Creed’s own, but still unusual in their uniqueness. One was unmistakably dwarf, the fierce life force rolling off him in waves. The third was human, and familiar. Like a tracker picking up an old familiar footprint, Primus Creed recognized this rage filled human.

“Dev Von Fritz”, said Creed aloud, breaking his mental link and opening his eyes. It all came flowing back to him, the night watch had mistaken Von Fritz’s wife for a traveling merchants daughter, following a masquerade party, at the governors mansion, a little over a year ago.

“Overzealous, half wits and dull witted thugs”, spat the warlock, referring to the corrupt city guard.

It had been to late, the blood ritual of the full moon almost complete, the ceremonial dagger in Creed’s right hand already in its deadly descent, when she whispered her true identity with her last, dying breath.

One mistake followed another, as Creed bade Barras Von Luogo, knight of the empire, and head advisor to Governor Pharus, to dispose of the mutilated body, and see to it, that there were no adverse repercussions.

When the corpse was found at the edge of the Twisted forest, Creed made his second mistake, letting that perfumed fop of a Governor, Dandyar Pharus handle the situation. When Governor Pharus ordered the matter closed, and ruled that Mariana Fritz had died from wolf attack, her grieving husband went berserk. Trying to get at the arrogant Governor, Dev killed two of Dandyar’s body guards, paid mercenary’s, not of Khorian descent, and wounded six others, as Dev’s fellow knights stayed out of the fight.

Finally subdued, Dev was imprisoned, and sentenced to hang for treason and murder, also against Primus Creeds advice. The wizard knew this man meant trouble, and urged that Dev meet a tragic end during his stay in prison, in the form of a shiv in the back. But before any plot could be set in motion, the fallen knight escaped from the dungeons, allegedly aided by rebels and spell casting druids.

“Could that be the masked life forces I sensed in the tunnels”? Creed muttered to himself. It didn’t matter now. The troublesome human was now within his grasp.

Creed could not afford exposure, as there was growing rebellion in Isegoth, opposing the city’s corrupt, heavy handed governor. He could not allow these four interlopers to leave the sewers with fuel for the rebel’s fire. Creed had lived to long, been through to much to allow his plans of ruling the city through his puppet, Dandyar Pharus, to be jeopardized. Not only would the mage take care of Dev Von Fritz, but he would drink the blood, and absorb the substantial life force of his unusual companions, adding their skulls to his pinnacle of power.

“Surround, divide and conquer”, thought Creed aloud. He was once a respected war sorcerer and strategist for the glorious Siraqen army of Ali Kademnon. As his mind worked out the details, his body quivered in anticipation.

***Chapter six***

“It’s about time”, growled Khaz, as the undeniable sounds of pursuit reached their ears, echoing through the moist tunnels, drowning out the incessant drip-drop of water all around them. Since they entered the sewers, several hours ago, there had been no sign of resistance, even though they knew Creed was aware of their presence. Like the soft touch of a cobweb tickling their faces, Kimba and Sarel had felt the tell tale signs of magical detection, once, upon entering, then again a short time after, then nothing but squeaking rats, and buzzing fly’s, until now.

Sarel, who had fallen back, to scout out the nature of their pursuit, now rejoined his companions, running nimbly along the two foot walkway that bordered either side of arched sewer tunnel’s.

“I counted six horned, saber toothed rats”, the frost elf paused, catching his breath before continuing, “and the biggest bull orc I ever saw”.

“That’s it”? This from Khaz, “that’s all an evil warlock can bring to th’fight”?

“That’s just all we can see Khaz, and that sounds formidable in itself”, said Kimba, reassured by Khaz’s bravado. “But I have to admit I expected more, it may be a trap, to lull us into overconfidence or push us into ambush”.

“Whatever it is, we should move ahead, to a more defensible position”, suggested Dev, short sword already in hand. “This is too tight of a spot, we’ll be hewing each other”.

“That’s a good idea”, agreed Sarel, “when I scouted ahead, I saw there’s a four way junction, not to far up, a tunnel on the left, and a ramp leading up to a flood grate on the right. The tunnel widens for a dry well drain in the floor”, the magical green light from Kimba’s staff glittered in the frost elf’s blue eye’s as he prepared mentally for violence, “that’ll give us room to swing”, he said over his shoulder as he turned and headed up the tunnel to check for any hidden surprises.

Pulling the wet rags they had tied around their necks, up over their noses and mouths again, to combat the overpowering stench of the sewer, the three companions leaped off the narrow walkway, into the foot deep, thick brownish muck of the tunnel’s floor, stirring up the smell, and making their eye’s water. They had been loathe to touch the noxious liquid before, but being caught from behind by hell spawned, saber toothed rat’s overwhelmed their reluctance to wade, shin deep, in human waste, and muddy spring run off.

Hastening ahead to the conjunction Sarel spoke of, they found the frost elf waiting for them, crouched on the walkway on the right side, below the steep ramp heading up, some fifty or sixty feet to street level. Khaz quickly unshouldered his pack, and pulled out the water proof leather sack containing his hand crossbow and flash darts. Laying the sack gingerly on the ramp, he carefully took out three, individually wrapped darts and laid them in front of him, then he strung the bow, and fitted a quarrel on the spine.

Dev took the point position, standing in the center of the wide tunnel, about twelve feet in front of his companions. He planted his feet before sheathing his short sword in favor of the huge broadsword on his back. The light from Kimba’s staff, which the druidess wedged into a crack in the ancient stone wall to free her sword arm, glinted off the oiled edge of the former knight’s blade, as he swept the weapon back and forth, in wide, swooshing two handed practice swings.

Sarel took position a couple of feet behind Dev, and to his right, up on the walkway. He held his slender, slightly curved sword backhanded in his left hand, a throwing knife ready in his right hand.

Khaz crept along the walkway on Dev’s left, crossbow aimed ahead, two darts held in his teeth, as Kimba stayed back, guarding the rear. Her mind quickly going over the large repertoire of defensive spells at her disposal, wondering if any would be safe enough to use in such close quarters, especially with her powers being diminished so far from the open air. Nixing the idea of using magic, the druidess drew her slim sword and said a prayer to Doona Cheetahsoul, as the tension grew, the passing seconds felt like hours.

“C’mon”! Khaz challenged as loud as he could through gritted teeth, clamped down over flash arrows, as the rats came into view from around a bend in the tunnel. Red eye’s gleaming as their heat sensing vision picked out the four outlines of their warm blooded prey. Opposing saber tusks gnashing in anticipation of fresh meat, the hell spawn charged, no longer heeding the commands of their orc overseer. Four of the creatures charged down the middle of the gradually widening tunnel right at Dev, heedless of the muck splashing around their black underbellies. Two of the foul creatures scrambled up to the walkway on both sides, razor sharp talons scraping the stone in search of footholds.

Opening its maw impossibly wide, the rat closest to Khaz roared, exposing the blood red tongue and soft flesh of its mouth. The dwarf pulled the trigger of his crossbow, sending the arrow whizzing through the air, embedding itself in the roaring beast’s throat. Before the rodent could react, the right side of its face exploded, spraying the wall with blood and teeth. Heated metal fragments from the arrow head tore through its brain, killing it instantly, as the force from the repercussion sent the corpse rolling off the walkway, into the muck below.

Khaz howled his pleasure, momentarily forgetting about the two remaining darts clenched in his teeth: “Yeah! How’d that taste ya filthy pile’a dung”! He yelled at the dead rat, as the quarrels fell from his mouth, rolled off the walkway, into the water at the bottom of the tunnel.

Dwarven curses ringing in his ears, Sarel hurled his throwing dagger at his advancing adversary. Preparing to charge, the hell rat lowered its head at the last second. Passing through the creature’s horns, the knife sunk into the hard flesh of its back, between the shoulder blades. Still advancing, the giant rodent turned its head to snap at the protruding knife, taking the elf’s second hurled blade up to the hilt, in its neck. Roaring in pain and frustration, the injured animal lunged forward with murderous intent, clamping its salivating mouth shut with enough force to tear flesh and crush bone. Instead its powerful jaws shut on nothing but air. The fleet footed frost elf had leaped off the walkway, tossing his sword up in the air, the weapon flipped once, and landed in his waiting right hand as he alighted on the balls of his feet in the sewer water.

As fast as a striking serpent, Sarels blade licked out twice, in a criss-cross pattern. Parting flesh and grinding off bone with each hit, opening two gaping wounds along the rat’s side and hind quarter. Exposed, gleaming white bone, was quickly obscured as the wounds quickly filled and over spilled with blood.

Bleeding profusely, the horned rat jumped at Sarels throat. Anticipating this, the seasoned elven warrior dropped to one knee, and twisted his body sideways, gripping his sword with two hands, he thrust up, sinking his blade in the lunging creatures chest. Using the beasts own momentum, the frost elf hurled the rat off his sword, across the tunnel, where it slammed into the wall with spine cracking force. Its broken, lifeless body came to rest in a heap on the walkway.

Dev wasn’t about to sit back and wait for the hell spawn to come to him, he strode forward and waded into the rats with the pent up fury of a berserker. Growling like an animal, he swept his sword back and forth in great arcs, driving the rodents back with his sheer ferocity. One of the rats reared back on its hind legs, razor sharp talons slashing at the former knight’s throat. Dev brought his heavy sword down on the creatures head, cutting through its skull and neck, splattering himself with blood and brain matter.

Pulling his blade free from the still twitching rat, Dev swung his sword down, and to his right, as another beast closed in, turning sideways in an attempt to tail whip the enraged human. Sweeping his sword out, he neatly cut through the whip like tail, but took the brunt of the hit to his right knee from the stump, impacting with the force of a club. Dev’s right leg buckled, and he went down to one knee, as the rat with the severed tail turned on him, roaring in pain. Still kneeling, Dev thrust forward with his sword, grunting with exertion, he stabbed the rat through the roof of its mouth, the tip of his blade exploded from the back of the creature’s skull, and wedged there.

Sensing a third rat approaching, Dev released the grip on his wedged sword and turned his attention to his left, instinctively raising his hands just in time to save himself from the lunging beasts jaws. Hot breath reeking of spoiled meat almost made him gag, as he grasped a yellowed tusk in each hand, he couldn’t let the rat close its mouth, as the opposing tusks would likely shear the fingers from his hands. With Herculean effort, Dev forced the rodents head slowly downward, trying to submerge it in the noxious water of the sewer, which on his knees, now lapped around his waist.

“Rhohadon”! Bellowed Khaz, invoking the name of the dwarven god of battle, he jumped high in the air from the walkway, single bladed, curved axe held above his head. The dwarf came down, with all his weight and strength, bringing his axe down as he descended, directly on the broad back of the rat now wrestling with Dev, severing its spine, and cleaving it in half.

Sarel engaged the remaining monster, slashing and moving with lightning fast strikes of his sword, drawing blood with each stroke.

Still hanging back, watching for an opportunity to aid her companions, Kimba felt, more than heard, something approaching from the tunnel to her left. Her sharp ears picked up the clinking of armor, and marching in cadence. Her almond shaped eyes widened in horror as her elven night vision cut through the shadows and pin pointed the source. Undead, skeletal warriors advanced from the murky gloom of the adjoining tunnel. Ancient black armor still clinging to yellowed bones and tattered dry hides, their jaws clacking open and shut under high helms as they sang a voiceless battle chant. Fiery red eyes of hell spawn, burned deep within fleshless skulls, peering over rectangular wooden shields, embossed with copper, now oxidized a pale green with age.

As the undead warriors neared the widening conjunction of tunnels they picked up their pace, banging their shields in rhythm with long, curved sabers.

“Warriors approach”! Yelled Kimba to her battling companions, “we need to retreat”! She turned back to the advancing skeletal soldiers, sheathing her sword, and hoping morning had dawned on the surface, she mouthed the words of a defensive spell, calling on the power of the sun. Holding her right arm outstretched, a ball of brilliant white light began to form in her open hand, growing larger as she completed the spell. Drawing her arm back, the elven druid hurled the ball into the tunnel, pure, good magic crackling and sparking as the ball of light hit the column of undead. The front line, marching two abreast, exploded, flaming bone fragments ripped into the following ranks, igniting several others in flames so hot that they were reduced to ashes in seconds. But many more followed, treading over their fallen comrades.

Sarel and Khaz skidded to a halt beside the druid just in time to witness the fireworks. “Where is Dev”, Kimba asked the pair between breaths, trying to recover quickly from the energy expended from her spell.

For the first time, Sarel and Khaz noticed that the former knight didn’t retreat with them. Gazing back down the tunnel they had just traversed, the frost elf could see the outline of Dev’s broad back moving away from them, toward the bull orc, who thus far had hung back, and did not participate in the fight.

At that moment more great horned rats poured from the ramp leading up to the flood grate, cutting them off from the battle maddened human. With the skeletal warriors closing in, the trio only had one option remaining.

“I’ll not leave im”! Exclaimed Khaz, gripping his bloody axe, and taking a half step toward the snarling rats, brandishing his weapon menacingly. He was stayed by Kimba’s hand on his muscular arm, pulling him away.

“Dying here will serve no purpose”, Kimba said to Khaz, nervously glancing at the rats, then down the tunnel to the undead warriors. “Dev has chosen his path, he would not want us to die in vain”.

“I must acquiesce”, said Sarel, as he hurled a dagger, scoring a hit on the closest rat’s snout, “we can come back for him”.

“What the hell does akwese mean”? Grumbled Khaz as he joined the two elves in retreat, ascending the tunnel that, according to their map, would lead them to the maintenance area, and Primus Creed.

Kimba paused long enough to conjure and hurl another fire ball at their pursuers, aiming low, to ensure the fiery missile would not miss its intended target, and harm Dev. She effectively slowed down the pursuit, as the trio lengthened their lead.

They ran on in darkness, having left the druids staff behind. “Maybe my staff can still be of use to him”, Kimba thought aloud, trying to make herself feel better about leaving her friend behind them.

***Chapter seven***

Thus far, Krog had stayed out of the fray, watching from a distance. It’s not that he wanted to be an observer, he had no choice. Master had told him to hold back, wait for a sign. Disobedience was not an option, the hulking brute knew that even if he thought about disobeying, he would be greeted by immense, blinding pain, which usually started behind his eyes, before rolling throughout his skull like thunder, bringing him to his knees, before the blessed darkness of unconsciousness.

Krog spat in disgust, being a slave, in a sewer stinking of humans and their foul waste was no way for a proud, orc champion to live. The victor of many challenges to his title, he was now reduced to lighting candles and disposing of corpses. There where small rewards, a drop of drool dripped from his tusked mouth at the thought of the marrow extracted from Creed’s latest victim. It could not compare to the cheers and admiration of his warlike people when he bested another challenger, or led his tribe to glorious victory in combat.

Watching the battle intently, he had to admire the intruders’ ferocity, especially the human. Krog watched the display of strength as the large man wrestled one of the huge, vicious rodents, holding it by its teeth no less! Krog then cringed as the bellowing dwarf came to the human’s aid, and hacked the rat nearly in two.

He heard the female elf yell something, and picked up the distant sound of marching, the female then conjured a ball of fire and hurled it into the adjoining tunnel. “Is that Krog’s sign”? Krog asked himself, his hand reaching to the bone handled scimitar on his back. When he felt no pain behind his eyes, he answered his own question: “That sign”.

Skeletal warriors emerged from the adjoining tunnel where the female elf threw the fireball, and more rats scuttled from the shaft on the other side. The orc wouldn’t have to wait very long, the two elves and the dwarf retreated away from him, as the big human, cut off from his friends, was stalking right towards him, brandishing his sword menacingly. “Good”, Krog said aloud, “Krog fight now”.

Preferring to meet the human in hand to hand combat, Krog placed the bone tipped spear he was carrying on the walkway, and drew his sword from his back. After taking a couple of practice hacks, loving the way the human thigh bone handle felt in his big, hairy hands, the orc pulled the visor down on his bronze helmet and walked toward the advancing human.

They met with a ringing clash of steel on steel that reverberated loudly through the damp tunnels. Sparks flew wildly as the combatants hacked and slashed at each other savagely, each taking hits as well as giving them. Momentum went back and forth, first one giving ground, then the other, but it was Krog who was slowly gaining the advantage. His full armor allowed the orc to take more hits, while the serrated edge of his scimitar poked through Dev’s light chain link in numerous places.

Dev redoubled his efforts, trying to use his speed and mobility to gain the edge over the Orcs greater size and superior armor. Growling like a feral animal, the former knight launched an offensive, battering the orcs sword and armor with blow after blow of his own heavy blade, searching for an opening. But the orc fought with the pent up fury and determination of a caged animal, a fury that had been un-vented for six long years of degrading servitude. Krog swept the humans sword aside and jumped into his own offensive flurry.

Unbeknownst to either of the battle maddened combatants, a single skeletal warrior had detached itself from the rest. It stood looking at the druids abandoned staff in rapt amazement, staring at the dark green light flaring from the end as if hypnotized. Something called out to the long dead being’s damned soul, crooning insistently, overriding the commands from its summoner. Casting its shield aside, the un-dead creature slowly reached for the staff, it opened and closed its mouth and cocked its head mechanically. Ragged pieces of rotten flesh hung from its skeletal arm as it extended its bony fingers.

At first contact, the flame at the enchanted staffs tip flared brightly, green light traveled down the creatures arm, and spread to envelope its whole bony frame. Brilliant light seemed to gather and roil in the things empty chest cavity. The ancient warrior threw its head back and silently screamed its pain, before exploding in a flash of brilliant green flame. Flaming bits of bone and armor flew in every direction, each particle burning so hot, that it was completely reduced to smoking ashes within seconds, even the pieces that fell in the thick sewer water were completely consumed.

The brilliant light from the explosion momentarily blinded the two combatants further down the tunnel, and then the following repercussion sent Dev slamming into the orc, driving the wind from both their lungs. Shaking his head and gasping for breath, the former knight disentangled himself from his hairy opponent and stood, sword at the ready, trying to blink away the stars obscuring his vision.

At first, Dev couldn’t locate his fierce opponent, until he almost tripped over the orcs prone form, lying in the muck at the bottom of the sewer. Its crude, demon head, bronze helmet was dented, and blood leaked from under the neck guard. Dev poked the bull orc with his sword, and the large creature groaned and stirred, causing the former knight to raise his sword for the killing blow. But something stayed his hand, something deep within Dev screamed through the battle madness and blood lust.

“Honor, and my knights oath”, Dev said aloud as the blood lust faded, leaving an adrenaline headache in its wake. His oath as a knight would not even allow him to kill a defenseless orc. He stood over the unconscious beast, realizing for the first time that he had been separated from his companions. Head pounding, breathing heavily, bleeding from a dozen minor wounds, Dev looked around him, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. He then sat down heavily on the walkway, to contemplate his next course of action, and his current situation.

***Chapter eight***

“I need more time to unweave the web of protective spells on this door”! Kimba shouted to her two companions.

They had quickly outdistanced the slower moving legion of un-dead warriors that pursued them up the ascending tunnel, as it gradually widened, and leveled out, they left the noxious, thick, brown water of the sewer behind, but the stench remained. Finally, after an hour or so of running, the trio reached a huge, iron door, lit by two torches on either side. According to the map, this was the entrance to the old maintenance area, and Primus Creed’s lair. Though rusty and very old, the door was magically sealed. The great horned rats had either fallen back, or were destroyed by the druid’s magical fire balls, and Khaz’s explosive arrows, but the un-dead still followed, and were catching up.

“We’ll hold them off as long as we can Kimba”, Sarel answered, gripping his sword with two hands, like a club.

“This ain’t no place fer that slashing sword o’yers elf”! Khaz said sarcastically. “What’re ya gonna do, tickle em? Now yer gonna see how a dwarf fights up close. Watch my back elf “. They had discovered that the only way to stop the unrelenting horde was to sever their spines, a task more suited to Khaz’s heavy axe, than Sarel’s light sword.

Khaz met the enemy with brute force, bellowing what could have been dwarven curses, or just incoherent growls of rage. Swinging his axe back and forth, up and down, he cut a path of destruction into the hordes ranks, throwing their well formed lines into chaotic disarray. The dwarf was soon lost to sight as the skeletal warriors engulfed him, all Sarel could see of his friend was his death dealing axe rising and falling, followed by bone fragments and armor flying wildly about the tunnel.

Protecting the druids back while she concentrated on opening the door, Sarel noticed something odd while hewing the head from an advancing foe, “ they want us alive”, he said aloud, before repeating himself louder, “they want us alive Kimba, they are loathe to deliver a death blow, why”?!

“There”! Kimba exclaimed as the iron door slowly opened inward on rusty hinges, the druid drew her sword and joined Sarel before answering: “Who can tell the insane machinations of a demon tainted mind, lets us retrieve master Axzen before Creed summons any more hell spawn”.

Her enchanted sword cutting through bone like linen, Kimba and the frost elf began hacking their way through the skeletal fighters standing between them and the bloody, berserking dwarf. Khaz stood, back against the right wall of the tunnel, surrounded by fallen foes, his axe was a blur, glinting in the torch light as it weaved a semi-circle of destruction around him. The crazed glint in the dwarfs eyes, and gleeful look upon his face was a little disturbing to even Sarel, who had witnessed many abominations and horrors in his life.

Not wanting to get in the path of Khaz’s axe, the two elves shouted to him while driving the enemy back, Sarel taking minor cuts and blows in the process, while the druids cloak seemed to protect her like armor. Recognition dawned in the dwarfs eyes as his friends dragged him, reluctantly from the fight, to the open iron door. They threw their combined weight against it, slamming it shut on skeletal arms and legs which Khaz hacked at with his notched axe, growling in frustration.

“Elves are always retreating”! Khaz shouted, his battle madness obviously had not dissipated as he threw himself against the closed door.

“You need to regain your composure Khaz Axzen”! Kimba said firmly, but at the same time soothingly to the angry dwarf. “The wizard will feed on your hatred and anger, and use it against you, we need to concentrate on the task at hand”.

If the druids scolding had not calmed Khaz down, the fiendish, purring laughter they now heard echoing through the corridors and reverberating within their heads did. Filled with joyous evil, it sent shivers down the trio’s spines, before trailing off, like dry leaves rustling in the wind before a storm, leaving them in the torch lit stillness.

“I wonder what he thinks is so funny”, Khaz commented nervously, breaking the silence.

They were now in a long, large corridor, one that looked more like a hallway in a modest castle than a tunnel leading to a maintenance area for the sewers. Arched and well kept, the hallway had support arches made of huge blocks of granite, at evenly spaced intervals of about 80 to 100 feet, well crafted dwarven architecture. Each support arch held a lit torch in a wrought iron sconce along its entire length, at least up until the tunnel turned abruptly to the left several hundred feet in the distance. A slight, foul breeze blew down the tunnels length, causing the torches to flutter, sending wild shadows dancing about the stone, and chilling the companions sweat covered bodies.

Ignoring the laughter, and the uncomfortable feeling they all had, knowing that Creed not only knew they were in the sewers, but likely knew their exact location, the trio set off down the long corridor, feeling very exposed. Kimba gazed down the corridor’s length, searching for any tell-tale signs of magical deterrents, Sarel joined her while Khaz studied the mason work of his people. The two elves caught movement from in and out of the shadows in the distance.

“Delvaheem”, the druid whispered.

“Cave devils”? Khaz growled, referring to the subterranean cousins of the tree devils.

“More than likely its trehun delvaheem, tree devils, enslaved by Creed”, added Sarel. “There’s no society in the sewers to sustain a population of cave devils”. Sarel was referring to the parasitic nature of the delvaheem, surviving for thousands of years on the periphery of society like rats. Although scavengers by nature, they were also vicious, opportunistic predators, driven by hunger, they had been known to snatch young from their cribs, and attack the injured and dying. When standing straight, on their short, powerful legs, they reached heights of no more than three feet, but delvaheem preferred to walk and run hunched over, using their long, spindly arms like front legs. Their hairless body’s varied in color, tree devils usually took on the greenish brown of the trees, while cave devils were often black. Evolving in a time when the earth was ruled by the rhexauradon, a predatory, bi-pedal race of reptilian origins, the delvaheem developed thick skin and acidic blood, so as not to be eaten by the reptile men. They lived in small packs, or tribes, and their long, pointed ears and pointed teeth, gave these creatures a decidedly sinister appearance, although they shouldn’t pose a threat to three armed warriors, like roaches, where there’s one, there are certainly others.

“Rats”, spat Khaz, “two legged rats”.

“Rats possessed of guile and cunning”, warned Kimba, “let’s not underestimate them, or their master, we should proceed with caution, even though it appears we are being led by our host”.

Weapons bared, Sarel and Khaz flanked the druid, searching the shadows for danger. The slight breeze felt by all three carried the scent of incense, and grew stronger as they approached the bend in the tunnel, which turned out to be a severe “S” turn.

“Defensible positions”, remarked Khaz. “Each turn’s more easily defended against invasion than one straight corridor, even when engineerin piss an scat ways dwarves are thinkin' defense”, he finished with a nervous chuckle.

As they rounded the last bend, the end came in sight. Large double doors, which stood open, the way was blocked by what looked like heavy tapestries, flapping slightly in the light, incense laden breeze, which now carried the scent of wax, from the candles flickering within.

Kimba passed her hand in front of her, palm open, and turned out. “Although I sense much oppressive dark magic all around, there are no deterrents I can detect”.

“I’ll enter first”, volunteered the frost elf, switching his sword to his left hand while unsheathing a throwing dagger with his right. “I will go to my left. Khaz, you come right behind, and move to the right”. Sarel looked Kimba in the eye, mouthing instructions silently, so as not to be overheard by the wizard or his spy’s, magical or otherwise. The druid could see the determination in his ice blue eyes, as she nodded her understanding and agreement.

***Chapter nine***

Creed saw the frost elf enter the chamber in a crouch, closely followed by the bloody dwarf, bellowing and swinging his axe on its wrist thong. They moved with practiced precision, obviously familiar with each others moves and infiltration tactics. Hovering near the high domed ceiling, in the form of a black mist which mingled with the shadows and candle smoke, the wizard almost finished his spell too early, the druid held back. “How many heartbeats does she hesitate”, thought Creed, “two, three, five”. Of course he couldn’t count his own heartbeat, the black lump within his own chest had not stirred for many centuries. But he could hear the pulses from his guests, felt the blood pumping through their veins, deliciously laced with adrenaline and salty fear.

“Destroy the alter”! The druid shouted upon entering, pointing to her right, at Creeds alter of skulls, dedicated to his goddess Hisseesha.

“Ahh”, mused Creed, “the hesitation was diversionary, giving her time to divine the location of my power”. He continued to observe as the frost elf hurled his dagger at the alter, only to have it bounce off the protective wards, causing them to flash angrily like wood thrown on the hot coals of a fire. The female elf advanced on the alter, her sword held high, the magical enchantments of light emanating from the blade would surely cleave right through the dark magic weaved around the skulls.

Without further hesitation Creed finished his earlier spell, and watched as the stone beneath the intruders feet began to swim like liquid granite. The heavy footed dwarf instantly sunk to his knees in the thick, mud like substance, while the lighter footed elves briefly danced upon the surface, before sinking to the ankles in the quickly solidifying slop. Tendrils of liquid stone snaked its way up their bodies, entwining them like the constricting coils of a python, before returning to its former rock hardness, effectively rendering the trio immobile.

Returning to his earthly form as he floated to the floor, Creed bemusedly scolded his captives, pointing one, long nailed still transparent, misty finger at the dwarf to silence the steady stream of curses and incoherent growls. “Did you think you would be able to just waltz in here and slay me”? Asked the wizard. Magical energies rippled around him, the mist swirling into human form. He then angrily turned in the druid’s direction. “Fellagchwendu”, he spat, summoning a foul, hot wind, reeking of death and sulphur that blew the druids long blond hair wildly about her head, and interrupted the enchantment she had been mouthing. When the wind subsided, she attempted the spell again, only to have her thoughts, and her words come out as mixed up, unintelligible gibberish.

“Save your breath pretty one”, Creed purred as he approached Kimba’s entrapped form, the wizard appeared to float across the floor. He stroked the druids face with the back of his right hand, smiling at the involuntary shudder of revulsion his touch elicited. “Your slow moving, simple druidic spells will do you, and your companions no good my dear”.

Creed then turned his attention to the bristling dwarf, the muscles in his huge arms straining in their bonds, sweat poured from his body, mingling with the blood from his many wounds. His axe had fallen from his numb hand, and dangled from its wrist thong, while his mouth formed silent curses. As the wizard approached, he was buffeted by his captive’s almost overwhelming life force, laced with hatred. But Creed sensed something else, something not common amongst dwarves, magic! But it was not just the natural magic that wove its way through the earth’s fabric, and intertwined with the life forces of all living things, but dark magic, necromantic magic. Of course the brute wouldn’t know how to use it, but Creed sensed, with his magesight, that the axe toting lout had the ability.

The wizard had intended to probe the dwarfs mind anyway, as he would not have the mental capacity of his elven companions to resist the assault on his mind, extracting what information, if any, could be learned about the rebellion, and any ulterior motives they would have had other than Dev Von Fritz’ foolish revenge. Creed placed his right hand on the enraged dwarf’s bald head, and scraped his long nails across the top, drawing fresh blood, and with the blood poured Khaz’s memories.

***

Khaz opened his mouth and silently screamed his anguish. Memories raced through his mind, rapidly passing the inside of his tightly shut eye lids. Faster and faster until they became a blur, his head spun around and around and the vertigo increased, until he started to lose consciousness, then it was over. He opened his bloodshot eyes and the candle light stung, as if he had been plunged into light after many hours of darkness and glared at the warlock with open hatred.

***

“You are full of surprises Khaz Axzen”, Creed said with a smile, while removing the spell of silence over the mentally drained dwarf, so as to hear his reaction to the information he was about to reveal. The wizard stroked the small horns on his forehead while he sorted out Khaz’s memories. “You are the bastard child, of an ill fated union. Your mother was a warrior priestess from the clan of the Bloody skull, who dwell in total darkness, and practitioners of the dark arts, and your father, a subterranean ranger from the elite slayers of clan Mauler, the most powerful and influential clan of dwarves in the world”.

Khaz stared at the wizard, wide eyed, Creed met the dwarfs stare, before continuing, in a purring, captivating voice. “Your kind will never accept you Khaz Axzen, as I am sure you know, which is why you were sold into slavery. So I have a proposition for you”. Creeds voice had taken on a hypnotic tone, and he noted that some of the anger had drained from the dwarfs face. “I give you a choice, join me Khaz. You can achieve greatness with my tutelage. Soon, King Pharus will meet an unfortunate end, opening the throne for his nephew, my pawn, Dandyar Pharus”.

“Resist him Khaz”! Yelled Sarel, as he saw his friend’s expression softening, Creed was hypnotizing him.

Moving with almost blinding speed, the wizard approached the frost elf, and cuffed him across the left side of his head, tearing three gashes along his cheek, and banging the back of his head against his stone restraints. Sarel saw blinding lights, before his eyes, then slumped unconscious.

Kimba strained in her bonds, a fire burned in her slitted, cat like eyes, she felt responsible for their current situation, and helpless. Khaz continued to stare ahead, as if in a daze. Primus Creed chuckled at the druid’s discomfort, before returning his attention to the dwarf.

“This druid would have you wandering around the continent, fighting her fights, while you remain clanless, and family-less, impoverished, living in caves and sleeping in mud. She almost led you to your death today”! Creed’s eyes continued to hold Khaz’s gaze. “When my hold on the Khorian throne is complete, I will turn my sights on Ghan, and Reban. You will lead my army Khaz Axzen, only you will be known as Khaz the destroyer, Khaz the conqueror. Your name will invoke fear. Then our combined might will turn north, over running the horse barbarians of Brynhalla. As we speak, the Timborian elves are gathering an army to invade Ravenholt, and then, Khaz, the dwarves of the Graode Mountains, and the great city of Graodolin will lay between the hammer of the frost elves, and the anvil of Khaz the destroyer’s mighty army. You will walk through Graodolin’s ruined front door with your head held high, as Khaz the conqueror, instead of Khaz the clanless, and do what you will with the people who sold you into slavery.”

Khaz’s eyes were now vacant, they stared straight ahead, obviously completely enthralled with the wizards’ empty promises. Pleased with himself, Primus Creed turned to Kimba, and once again stroked her face with the back of his hand, pushing her hair from her face and neck. “And you, my dear druid, will be my consort”. Quick as lightning, the wizard grabbed the back of her hair and painfully yanked her head back, exposing her neck. He paused momentarily, watching the blood pump through the veins and arteries in Kimba’s neck, almost as intoxicating to him as wine used to be. His vision and mind clouded with delight, before he caught the glint of bronze armor to his right.

“Ah, Krog”, Creed said dreamily, Kimba could feel the wizards hot breath on her neck. “Prepare the frost elf for the next ritual of the full moon, and then leave us”. Suddenly his eyes shot open, Kimba felt him exhale sharply as he staggered back, a bloody bone tipped spear protruding from his purple robes. Losing his concentration, the companions stony bonds fell away to dust. Sarel sank to the floor, still dazed, while Khaz looked around, as if waking up from a long slumber.

Everything in the large chamber seemed to move in slow motion, Kimba noticed the bull orc known as Krog throw off his helmet, revealing the hard features of Dev Von Fritz, his face contorted with rage. He pulled Kimba’s staff from his back and tossed it her way, before dragging his own sword from its sheath, and advancing on the wizard, who had fallen to one knee, holding the spear tip that protruded from his abdomen.

Dev covered the distance between himself and the wizard in a couple leaps, he was so eager to exact his vengeance. His sword swooshed through the air and should have made Creed’s head explode with the force of the impact, instead it just caused the warlocks form to distort and reform, like mist, Primus Creed was slipping away.

Thinking on her feet, Kimba aimed the tip of her staff at the skull alter, and uttered the words of a spell. White light crackled up and down the staff’s length, before gathering at the tip, releasing a white bolt of lightning that seared the air as it shot toward the skulls.

A blood curdling scream echoed throughout the chamber as the bolt hit the protective wards around the alter, it shimmered and wavered as the druids energy bolt seemed to envelope the skulls, but the dark magic held up under the assault.

Pulling himself to his feet, Sarel rushed the alter, bringing his sword down with all his might. The protective wards flared violently, throwing the frost elf across the room, where he slid to a halt against a stone table, knocking the wind from his lungs, and several candles from their sconces, igniting the tapestries hanging from the walls.

Khaz looked around him, as if wondering what was going on. Dev was hacking away at a bloody, purple robed pulp, which used to resemble Primus Creed, while the druid pointed her staff at the gray mist which issued from the corpse. The mist was taking on a humanoid form, with huge, bat like wings, great horns, and burning red eyes, the form was laughing. Echoing through his skull, the eerie laughter seemed to trigger something in the dwarf’s brain. Seeing his friend thrown across the room after hacking at the skull alter, Khaz felt his axes heaviness hanging from his wrist, on its thong. In one fluid motion, he swung his axe into his meaty hand and stalked toward the grotesque alter. He brought the blade down with all his strength, his muscled arms bulged and strained as the axe bit into the pulsing protective wards, they held briefly, before giving way, allowing the dwarfs axe to come down right in the middle of the pyramidal skulls.

It seemed to Khaz that the rift in the wards created a vacuum, sucking all sound from the chamber. He turned and ran toward the heavy stone table where Sarel slumped, before the alter exploded, crackling loudly. The whoosh of wind blew out ward, and the companions could see ghostly figures flying within it, aiming directly at Creed’s misty form, rending it asunder, and scattering it, before dissipating altogether.

“The souls of all Creed’s victims”! Kimba shouted over the crackling flames, that where quickly spreading to everything flammable in the room. “Come, we need to hasten from here”!

***Chapter ten***

Sitting in a roadside inn, on the border of Reban, and Khor, the strange quartet drew many curious glances. They tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, border inns where usually filled with rouges and outlaws, so they felt safe, for the time being, but where there were rouges and outlaws, there were bounty hunters.

After hearing Dev’s story of how he loosely bound the unconscious bull orc and swapped his armor, before coming to his companions rescue, Kimba leaned back and sighed. “Are you two sure you won’t accompany us”? She pleaded to Sarel and Khaz, the latter just shook his head while shoveling horse stew into his mouth between huge gulps of watery ale. The druid and Dev Von Fritz were going back to Isegor, the Khorian capital, to clear Dev’s name, and present evidence of Isegoth’s corruption.

“See us off then”, Kimba said while standing, the former knight finished his flagon of ale and also stood. “I have parting gifts for the two of you”, she finished with a warm smile.

Khaz belched loudly enough for all to hear, before sliding across the bench of the booth they had been dining at, “Ahh, made more room for this donkey piss they pass off as ale”! He exclaimed, causing the bartender to glance nervously in their direction.

Leaving the inn, the companions turned right, and walked toward the stables, where Kimba and Dev’s mounts awaited them, the cold night air was refreshing but chill. As usual, the dwarf wore no cloak, his massive arms and chest exposed through his scarred leather vest. After tipping the drunken stable keeper, and leading their horses up the road a bit, out of the torch light from the inn, the druid stopped, handing the reins of her horse to Dev. She rummaged through her pack, and retrieved two packages, one she handed to the frost elf.

“Within is a druidic cloak, almost the same as my own. It will mark you as a friend of my order”. She then bowed before him, “my thanks Sarel Duthar, again”. Sarel returned her bow silently. She then turned to the obviously uncomfortable dwarf, and opened the second package, which contained a small axe. The slightly curved handle was obviously made of the same oak as her staff, the steel embossed head was fashioned from the claw of a giant ground sloth, as hard as any steel forged by the best dwarven blacksmiths.

“For you Master dwarf, a weapon worthy of your warrior skills”, she presented the axe to him. At first, the embarrassed dwarf hesitated, before grasping its haft in his meaty right hand, he tested its weight, then tossed it up in the air, moonlight glittered off the fine steel embossment while it flipped, end over end, coming down in his waiting hand.

Clumsily, the red faced dwarf bowed before Kimba and Dev, who were both smiling bemusedly at his embarrassment. “It ain’t dwarven make, but a fine weapon anyhow, me thanks”, he mumbled. “But I have a question fer ya, before yas ride off”.

Kimba held up her hand, “I don’t know if Creed was telling the truth about your lineage Khaz, I’m sorry”. She paused briefly before continuing. “What I can tell you is that axe you now hold in your hand is a druidic weapon, if you were black of heart or soul, you would not be able to wield it”. She then bowed at the waist and kissed Khaz on the top of his bald, tattooed head. He turned beet red, and grumbled something while kicking at the dirt, drawing laughter from his companions.

“What he said about Ravenholt however, is true. The black order of Ta-Teharun is growing in power, demons once again walk our plane of existence, they seek to upset the balance, and release chaos across the continent. I am sure, that the two of you have a role to play in the this struggle, our destiny’s are intertwined in this, and our paths will cross again”. She again bowed to her friends, before hopping gracefully on her horses back. “I bid you both farewell, and remember, Creed, or whatever demon possessed his body, was not killed. His spirit was torn apart, and scattered to the four winds by the avenging souls of his victims, but demons are vengeful, and posses long memories, so beware”.

Dev clasped both Sarels hand then Khaz’s before mounting up. “I am proud to call the two of you friends, thank you for your aid, I owe you both a great debt”.

Sarel and Khaz watched as Dev and Kimba galloped north, closely followed on either side of the tree lined road by secretive druids.

“We went an pissed of a demon huh”? Growled Khaz half heartedly as he turned and stomped back toward the inn. “I knowed I shouldnta got mixed up with derned elves”!

Laughing, Sarel followed his friend. “I’m sure if you drink enough donkey piss you will forget all about it Khaz”, the frost elf said, clapping the dwarf on his broad shoulder, “maybe we can get into a fight with some bounty hunters, that will make you feel better”.

~The End~

Please do not republish without permission.
Email the author: Adam Janus


« crypt ¦ guidelines ¦ kindred ¦ e-zines ¦ contact us ¦ fiction ¦ stories ¦

The Dark Cult of Hisseesha

©2006 Word Count: 15,800