Berserker Part 26

Kyle was drawn by strange noises wafting from the front wagon taking him away from his work, hitching up what horses they had left to the wagons. He was not looking forward to telling everybody that they would need to abandon a wagon unless they wanted to stay where they were. He found Lars, Jarn, and Tyrel standing around the Gnoll. It had been tied to the axle of the front wagon and was thrashing violently. It arched its back and screeched, eyes closed and jaws foaming, babbling mindlessly.

He overhead snatches of the conversation as he walked up. “How long has this been going on?”, asked Lars.

“Started just as soon as it fell asleep”, said Lars”.

“Are you sure you didn’t give it the odd nudge or kick?”, asked Jarn.

“No, I thought we might be able to use it in pulling the wagons”, Tyrel confessed with a sheepish grin.

“I remember my father used to sleep walk”, Kyle said. “Maybe this is sort of like that”. They all gave this some thought.

“Then how do you fix it?”, Jarn asked after a while.

“Isn’t there something about not waking someone sleepwalking or their legs will fall off?”, Kyle asked tentatively. They all stared at him for a moment, taking in what could have possibly been one of the dumbest things any of them had or will ever hear. Then, like so many things that don’t make sense or fit into someone’s perception of the world, it was ignored.

“Then we just leave it to yell and scream?”, asked Tyrel.

“I think so”, Lars replied.

Tyrel glared at Lars. “Bloody hell!”, he shouted. “I just finished my watch not an hour ago while it was raving on about its master, and I want to sleep!”.

“What about its master?”, Kyle asked in an attempt to diffuse the situation. The thing was completely asleep and paid no mind to outer stimulus, constantly contorting in seizure.

“Lot of nonsense really”, Lars interjected. “Kept saying that it must get back to its pack and chanting, um what was it? Lurach and Bellet?”.

Jarn gasped, surprising the rest of the group. His face white as bone. “Do you mean Beleth?”, he asked between short breathes.

“That’s it”, Lars said smiling. “It’s a good thing you figured that out or I would’ve gone nuts trying to think of it all day”.

“Are you alright?”, Kyle asked concertedly.

“Maybe”, Jarn responded. “Do you know anything about this Beleth?”

“I think it’s from that old prophecy of the end of all things”, said Kyle. “Rumor says the story is millennia old”.

“What’s a millennia?”, asked Tyrel. His brow furrowed in thought.

“Isn’t it some sort of bug?”, Lars asked

“It’s a thousand years”, said Millienya in disgust, apparently having heard his question as she joined them. Surreptitiously she placed herself out of reach of the contorting creature and directly between Jarn and Lars.

“Well what about the story?”, asked Jarn impatiently.

“Oh it’s a tale of terrible death and destruction to come”, said Millienya. She took up the well known pose of all students who memorize and recite by rote, with hands behind her back and face forward. She cleared her throat and began to speak loudly and clear as a bell.

“The Four demons of torment, Dommiel, Leraje, Zepar and Beleth. It is said that a long time ago the four demons walked upon Gaia, letting the myriad hells of the world beyond merge into this one. Man was hunted for sport. But one night, a great warrior had a dream. In it, a spirit, the mother of all creation, told him what must be done to banish the demons from this world. Leraje the demon of fear and insanity, Zepar demon of rage and bloodlust, and Dommiel demon of plague and rot were invincible, but Beleth was not. It was he who had the power to keep the portal between worlds open. Without him, the others would go back from whence they came. The spirit told the warrior that Beleth could not be killed with any mortal weapon, thus his own weapon was imbued with the power necessary to vanquish the monster. After a long and arduous battle Beleth was killed, with his final words he claimed that through the body and soul of the warrior’s kin, would he be returned to life. After his death, Zepar, the strongest of the three remaining found that he could not destroy the blessed weapon, but he did place a curse upon it so that any of the warrior’s line who carried the weapon would have an insatiable lust for blood, combat, and death, through this the bearers of the weapon would be warped by the dark powers, eventually becoming their thrall.”

Silence held court over the congregation, some in puzzlement and some in fear. For many long moments they stood there, looking at each other, not sure of what to say. Jarn, his face white as a sheet and his trembling legs no longer able to support him sat down heavily upon the earthen ground. Millienya and Kyle knelt down to check on him.

Tyrel, paying no heed to the stunned boy looked at Millienya, “Where did you learn all that?”, he asked with suspicion. “I have not heard of such a story before”.

Millienya looked up from the near catatonic boy, frowning. “I am the chieftain’s daughter”, she replied. “We pay attention to history so the same mistakes are not made”.

“Where did these demons come from, if you’re so smart?”, Tyrel challenged.

“Simple”, she shrugged her shouders as if the answer were so obvious. “The world of magic, the Empyrean. It shadows our own world and through it all things can possibly be brought into being. But it was believed that the demons were the culmination of the evils and sin in this world.”

Kyle produced a small flask from a pocket and gave Jarn a draught to settle his nerves. After a few minutes some color had returned to his features. “Millienya”, he asked with an air of urgency. “How does the warrior’s kin bring Beleth back?”

She stammered for a few minutes, trying to correctly remember the old tale. “No one knows entirely”, she said finally. “But the skalds of my home believe that the kinsman must be sacrificed upon a dark alter”.

“That’s why I was spared”, Jarn murmured, then passed out.

“What was that about?”, asked Tyrel.

Berserker Part 25

Jarn awoke to the sweet, sweet smell of griddle cakes. Something Gerda didn’t make often, she claimed they were below her skills as a cook. Little did she know they were quite possibly the only food in her repertoire that tasted better after being cooked. So today was an exception. Physically he was drained and beaten, but his head was spinning with the thrill of victory, cut only by the peril in which Seryan lay.

He quickly got out of his bedroll and dressed for breakfast. As Gerda handed him his plate, he heard a strangled whining coming from around one of the wagons.

“What’s going on over there?”, he asked, gesturing toward the front of the lead wagon.

“Oh, the boy’s are having a little bit of fun with that runt you captured”. she replied, smiling in approval. “Serves ‘em right too. They totally destroyed my kitchen, this was all I could scrape together”.

“I think these are great”, Jarn replied, digging in with gusto.

“Flatter all you like young man, that still won’t get you out of helping me clean the kitchen up”, she returned with a smirk. Jarn groaned, having forgotten how much she liked tormenting people.

“I suppose you’ll have me pulling the wagons too”, he quipped.

“You might just have to”, she replied seriously. “Turns out some of the mules were killed in the attack yesterday”.

“What will we do then?”

“I don’t know”, she replied.

Berserker part 24

Bertrawr knelt in front of the chieftains of the Dog nation, his head lowered in respect for the ancients. The heads of the different tribes sat at a semicircular table, all facing him. Their grayed fur given a ghostly aura by the raging quiet fire behind them, he could feel sawn planks underfoot and felt no breeze and saw no moonlight, so they must have been in one of the luxurious longhouses in which the chieftains congregated. He couldn’t be sure for he dare not look up. The punishment for insolence would be grave. Bertrawr fairly vibrated with excitement and nervousness, he had never come anywhere close to the heart of the Dog nation, having been born and bred in what the humans called the Bretolian Forest.

“You have been chosen to be the leader of a great army”, One of the chieftains said in leaden tones.

“But don’t go putting airs that you’re worth any more than you already were”, seconded a peevish voice.

“Arise”, said the first voice. Bertrawr did so, only then seeing what the fire was doing behind them. A single tendril of flame linked itself to each chieftain. One of them noticed his scared expression.

“Do not be afraid”, said a soothing third. “This is our master, he is allowing us to communicate to you over a great distance.”

“What about this army?”, asked Bertrawr.

“Our glorious lord, Dommiel, The One Who Comes By Night, Leaving But Husks, has chosen you to lead his holy campaign.”, came the response. Bertrawr instinctively dropped to all fours when he heard the name of the gnoll’s patron deity spoken.

“You and all of your kin will be branded as belonging to him”, the voice continued. As he spoke a crest formed itself in the smoke of the great fire, a crescent moon being devoured by the head of a giant wolf.

“You will be supplied by His Grace, to assure you do not fail”. A large bow thunked into the wood before him.

“And finally, you shall be assisted by our lord’s contemporaries, Leraje and Zepar, as well as their servants”. The smoke changed again to show thousands of goblins and orcs marching side-by-side, the orcs under a crest showing crossed swords, the goblins under a fist clenching the world.

“For all these gifts and power, we ask but one thing”, the voice said, becoming more animated as it spoke. “You may conquer the world or shatter it, do as you wish, but their is one person you must spare”. The smoke changed once again to show the hated Jarn, sleeping peacefully, He recognized the man-thing from the failed raid.

“Get him to the circle of summoning!”, the Gnoll shrieked. “The fiery blood running through his veins will allow for the coming of a power even greater than that of your master”. The voice became more frenzied and Bertrawr found himself engulfed in the white hot arms of the flames. He awoke yowling in fear, seeing only the comforting trees around him. It had all been a dream. But if that was so then why was there a huge black bow beside him, and the final words of the chieftain ringing in his head?

Bertrawr abruptly sat up, grabbing his newly found bow, it felt warm and not quite solid in his hands. When he looked at it he saw the surface was comprised of some otherworldly hellmetal, writhing and forming disturbing scenes of carnage, brutality, and torture as he watched it. He put it down in disgust, after a few moments picked it back up again, unable to bear the incessant feeling of despair that had swallowed him. Strangely enough, the despair and pain disappeared.

As he stood up, he felt the wind blow against his fur, creating a stinging sensation on his arm. He peered at it, finding a circular brand on his singed flesh, showing a wolf’s head eating a crescent moon.

He had enough proof, it was no dream. He quickly gathered together his pitiful looking troops and pointed them in a southerly direction, moving faster than anyone thought possible and without rest. After all, Beleth was coming.

Berserker Part 23

Deep in the darkest forgotten cellar, that had more akin to a crypt than a place to keep wine, was a circle. Unlike most other circles which were steeped in the blood of thousands and held the unknowable eldritch power of the void, there was no indication of anything wrong. No gold plated pentagrams, no skeletons chained to the wall, no red marks on the ground that could be mistaken for wine in a poor light. Not even the most adept wizard, if one were still alive, would be able to notice anything out of the ordinary except that whenever dust fell from the ceilings above, it had an unerring tendency to fall away from the circle, as if all the little dust motes were fighting with all their might against the drop, horrified for their tiny little lives. And recently, a slight phosphorescent rot visible out of the corner of the eye. Was it just the imagination or was it slightly brighter than the day before?

Berserker Part 22

Millienya found Seryan on the ground, back propped up against the wagon’s axle. Tyrel was kneeling next to him, unsure of what to do. She elbowed him aside and set to work, looking for blood, checking for broken bones. Tyrel pointed at the man’s left arm, a long cut had been scored from the side of his elbow to his wrist.

Millienya inspected the wound. “It’s too shallow to do this to him”, she said in puzzlement.
“Well, there’s nothing else that could do this”, Tyrel responded.

A soot stained Aniston walked over, carrying a blood gummed dagger. He handed it to Millienya.

“Smell”, he commanded.

She tentatively took a whiff, then tossed it to the ground in disgust.

“Poisoned”, she said. Now that she considered it she could see that the wound had become necrotic and veins along Seryans arm had turned a disconcerting purple.

“Will he die?”, asked Tyrel. A tinge of fear and anxiety had crept into his voice and demeanor.

“What do you care?”, challenged Lars, walking up to them.

“If he dies I won’t get paid!”, he cried, earning dirty looks all around. Lars was about to yell at him but Millienya quickly interrupted.

“For whatever reason, the poison hasn’t killed him outright.”, she stated. So either it’s slow acting or just watered down. If we can get him to an apothecary in time, there’s a good chance he’ll survive”.

“Well great!”, said Tyrel, throwing his hands up. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, lets just bury him now and save time!”

“Not exactly nowhere”, Anistons said as he stood up wincing when his knees cracked.

“What do you mean”, Millienya asked, impatience barely contained.

“There’s a tow---”. Aniston trailed off as he saw Jarn trudging toward them, a limp bundle in his arms. The grouped parted silently before him, he carefully laid the dead child alongside the dying man. They all stared down at the wretched little travesty of life with lowered heads and haggard expressions, reminded of the value of life and the suddenness in which it ends.

“We’ve already lost one”, murmured Karnar with tears brimming in his pain-maddened eyes. The group all came to the same at once.

“Where’s this town you were talking about?”, whispered Millienya

“Two days’ ride south I think”, said Aniston as he regained his composure.

Lars and Jarn both stepped forward to pick up Seryan’s limp form, balking slightly at the sight of the other, but deciding Seryan to be more important. Jarn picked him up by the shoulders and Lars took the legs. They hadn’t moved but half a step before Aniston’s sword came swooping down behind Jarn, making him drop his friend and roll forward. The ancient blade passed through a hairy hand clutching a dagger protruding from beneath the wagon. Their was a now-familiar howl of pain. Jarn quickly grasped the stump of the injured arm, hauling on it until he had disgorged the malnourished, misshapen form of a Gnoll.

Jarn recognized it as the one he had hit on the head, it completely slipped his mind that it was still alive.

“How did you know it was there?”, Jarn asked in bewilderment.

“I heard it crawling around under there since you got back”, replied the old man, wiping his blade in disgust. “It was probably going to hamstring you and I couldn’t get a decent stroke until it reached out for you”.

Jarn shuddered at the cold, dead tone in Aniston’s voice. He used to hear the blacksmith talk about the proper way to make steel in the same voice.

Tyrel stepped forward with knife in hand, ready to slit the cur’s throat. His hand was stayed from the murderous deed by Aniston. Tyrel glared at the old man with greed in his eyes.

“The leathers and jewelry that thing is wearing could be valuable”, he complained. When looked at, the gnolls wore furs and leathers over their own. And they had little pieces of gold and silver woven into their fur.

“Even if we can get Seryan to the apothecary in time, we need some idea of what kind of poison was used”, Aniston explained. “Are you willing to give up your pay for protecting him for a few second-hand clothes a beggar wouldn’t accept?”

The group broke up, each getting ready to leave as soon as possible. They got Seryan and their prisoner safely stored and secured, buried the poor dead child and what remains of the inhabitants of the lead wagon. The mules and horses had to be rounded up, they had broken their reigns when the cannons went off. The cannons were moved out of the rode and destroyed with the aid of a few well-placed hammerblows. With this done they continued forward hurriedly, anxious to be free of the constricting trees as soon as possible.

Berserker Part 21

Fleek awoke with a pounding headache, cursing himself for being pushed into the first wave of attack. He had struggled with the man thing until it had knocked his head against one of their transports, it was a surprise that he was alive. It must’ve been because nothing could kill something as beautiful as a Gnoll, Fleek thought with pride, puffing up his chest and wincing at the bruises it aggravated.

He surveyed his surroundings, still under a wagon, and the air was heavy with the comforting scent of his packbrothers an blood. They must’ve won the battle and were busy looting the corpses. They would be left as sign not to cross the newly forged Dog Nation boundaries.

He carefully flipped himself onto his belly and wriggled toward the sound of others.

Berserker Part 20

Millienya perched in the boughs of an ancient oak, sending feathered dart after dart into any Gnoll she could see skulking at the skirts of the path. She smiled in satisfaction at a job well done. With her sudden attack from above and the unshakable defenses on the ground, the gnolls had lost heart and had become disorganized. They argued amongst each other, growling and yipping in their tongue. Ignoring the cajoling of their peers, they retreated farther into the woods, disappearing as if they were inconsistent as fog.

“Get down here”, a familiar voice cried from the trunk of her tree. She looked down to see Lars, cleaning his sabers. They had been put to use judging by the gnolls that surrounded the tree, as always he displayed some redeeming value in putting up with his stubbornness.

“What is it?”, she asked. It had taken a while to get up the tree and she wasn’t about to abandon her perch on account of something trivial.

“Seryan’s hurt”, came the reply.

Millienya hooked her bow around a small branch and just dropped, letting the bowstring slow her decent. When she got to the ground Lars wordlessly pointed to the left flank of the wagon.