A barbarian's pain III

A barbarian's pain III:
[ Follow Ups ] [ Post Followup ] [ Dioxide's CForum ]

Posted by Thror HammerSong, the Barbaric Warlord of Rage on December 08, 1999 at 14:56:45:

Blood slowly streamed down my back, trickling from my wounds as a testament to my pain. The still in the air was unnerving, yet my destination had been reached. The light dance of the whistling wind caught my hair, whipping the fiery mane about my shoulders. I was battered, clawed in most places and exhausted from my journey, yet before me stood the stronghold of my foes. I then realized I was clenching my charred fists, alert to every movement at the base of the tower that spiraled before me. Smoke drifted from my leather tunic and it was burnt in most places. It would be unlikely that it was salvageable. Grime would curse me again for destroying his wares.

The immovable mass before me stood twice my height, staring down at me as if mocking my very existence. I crouched low, sizing up the granite foe at the end of this mystical path. To my back were the rushing waters of the Murky River. Many a villager had drown in a retreat from the tower, in that very river. It was a wonder it had not become known as the Red Waters; in my eyes it was more fitting. My breathing echoed through the base of the tower. I gasped for breath, likely a punctured lung, or a couple of cracked ribs from my scuffle in the city. It would not be the first time. Damndable mages. Like the Whitecloaks, they come in hordes. If I could not strangle them with their robes, I would rather grab the books from their grasp and beat them senseless.

A movement caught my eye.

From behind the granite golem came a group of robed figures. Ageless faces, those of drow, even shorter gnomes and light-skinned humans. I spread my feet, positioning myself for what I knew would be a bloody battle. Some were clad in robes of gray, others in archaic robes of black. The wizened faces of the gnomes stared at me curiously, as if examining how my body functioned. It only served to anger me further.

"Where be yer leader?" I snarled at them. Still, I received no response. Most of the mages before me looked young with not a scrubble of a beard on a single face. Soft words were uttered as the air crackled about me as energy was manipulated about the granite being before the entrance of the tower. It was then that I noticed the figure standing among the students. How he managed to come among them without my knowing was beyond me. Light-footed drow damned them and the Abyss they came from!

His face was smooth, like the black eog found among the stones of the earth. Velvet robes flowed down his frame, coming just short of reaching the muddy earth beneath him. Within his left hand was a gnarled staff, topped with the head of a dragon. How long his fingers were, ebon, like the pitch of the Underdark walls. His face was humble, as if nothing in Thera could break his focus, even my very presence.

"Serafim!" I spat. His name tasted like filth upon my lips. He was the leader of the tower, and a drow at that. "Ye'll die this day. The pain O' a thousand years has festered in me lad, en ye'll be knowin that the floodgates will be dropped this day."

"And tell me how you plan to do this dwarf," Serafim responded. "You are one barbarian, among a tower of sorcerers, claiming to bring war and havoc in your wake, yet all I see in your wake is a trail of blood."

Again I was amazed at how easily this drow could enrage me. He had a way of twisting words to bring about my anger. My guess was that if I ripped his tongue out, it would prevent him from continuing.

"First ye cause Athrakagar te go insane! Then ye burn me huts, callin' pillars O' lightnin' te rip me village asunder, finally, ye bring en army O' soldiers frem a citadel, te rape en pillage me home! I'll strangle ye with yer own robes ye filthy elf!" Charging forward, I reached for the dark robed mage, only to be thrown back by a massive gust of air.

"I think not Dwarf."

There I lay, sprawled among the filthy mud, as Vizzagoth's shadowed form stepped from the banks of the river, to join Serafim's side. A rift appeared in the earth, a shower of dirt and debris covering me, as two robed forms stepped into view. Zhaeliyn and Mordack appeared to join the two. Pulling myself to my knees, I realized my time had come, and for the first time in my life, fear grasped my hand, prepared to lead me into the realm of death.

A small beast then skittered into view. It appeared to be a ferret, yet moved as swift as any creature I had seen.

Mongoose. The thought raced through my mind. Danialyn.

Courage is the absence of fear; let that absence be your strength.

I took my time rising to my feet, coming to terms with the fact that I would die here this day. There would be no more eves of sparring with the White Tiger, Daerkshyn. No more would I see the light in the eyes of the young villagers, as I told a tale before the mighty Destructor. I would no longer bellow at the antics of silver-tongued Septach, or stagger back to the village, held up by Kastellyn. Nay, this was my final hour.

A rustle of robes brought me from my wandering thoughts.

"What will it be HammerSong?" Serafim murmured. To his side, Mordrack chanted softly, and the Leader of the tower began to rise above the ground. Three feet above the muddy earth, the drow drew close to me.

"Yer life!" I roared, once again charging the drow. A tangle of robes once again left me sprawled among the mud, as the leader of the tower sidestepped my attack. He raised an ebon-skinned hand, holding back the other mages of the tower. I leapt to my feet, lacing my fingers to strike him directly in the chest, a blow that should have crushed a rib, yet still he continued to fight.

The white of his hair stood out against the morning sky, the pitch of his robes blended into the dark earth about the base of the tower. Still, I could smell his stench. He knocked my fist to the side, a deft parry with his gnarled staff, though he could not fend off my growing fury. Again, words of arcane magic were uttered in the midst of the melee, and Serafim overcame a drastic change. A paw ripped into my shoulder as claws protruded from his slender fingers. The white of his hair became streaked with gray, and his pointed nose drew closer to his face, twisting into the form of a jagged-toothed maw. His robes bulked upward as his back arched, black hair sprouted from his ebon skin. A horrendous transformation, within just moments, left me fending off the vicious assault of a massive wolf!

Staggering back, I was overwhelmed by a mass of fur and teeth. The wolf ripped at my chest, his jaw snapping for my throat. I could barely make out the soft laughter of the sorcerers to my back, voices studying the display before them. The wolf darted back, circling around me and snapping at my hamstring. Pain lurched up my stubby leg, dropping me to one knee.

Courage is the absence of fear.

I reminded myself I was going to die. I tried to hold off the fear. Again the wolf struck, ripping at my side. Blood gushed from my wounds. I could feel it seeping through my hands as I tried to staunch the flow. I glanced up, only to see the wolf charge me, maw opened as it struck for my throat. I threw my arms before me, fending the beast off, to no avail. The jaws snapped about my forearm, ripping, tearing, gnashing. Hot fire raced up my arm. Again the grating of teeth on bone as the wolf tore into my other arm. I glanced down and realized that my arms were unrecognizable. Fires hotter then the forge raced through my body…

…And then numbness. The snarling died down, and silence filled the clearing.

"I do….

"I do believe…"

"I do believe you…"

"I do believe you have…"

Echoes drifted through my mind.

"I do believe you have slain the dwarf," someone said bluntly.

Light crossed my vision. I could taste the dirt on my lips. Lifting my face from the earth, I could make out the black boots that stood before me.

"No, though I do believe this dwarf will have wished I had," answered another voice.

The boots turned about, and within the blurry haze, I saw the shadows of robed figures walking away from me.

Rushing river waters brought me awake. My eyes flickered open slowly and painfully I took a moment to survey the surroundings. I lay before the base of the Tower, within a pool of my own blood, mingled with marshy grass. Lock of red hair drooped from my forehead, and I tried to pull myself to my feet. I reached forward, grasping at the earth with my hand.

I reached forward, grasping at the earth with my hand.

The pain was more from the realization. My arm was mauled, unrecognizable and a mass of torn flesh. Dark blood soaked my sleeves and the ground I lay upon. At each end of my arm was a stub of torn flesh, bleeding, yet numb.

The pain was more from the realization. No more would hold a hammer to forge alongside Grime. No longer would I climb the rocky cliffs of Mortorn. No longer would I spar among the villagers, in tests of strength and might. No longer would I know the forge.

I brought myself to my feet, tears streaming down my stubby face, to be buried in my fiery beard. Turning toward the tower, I bellowed in despair:

"Me arms!!!

The cry echoed about the riverbanks, it echoed about the forest and echoed within the tower. As I painfully walked away, with defeat bearing down on my shoulders, I could hear a soft laughter coming from within the tower walls.

Follow Ups:

A barbarian's pain III (Author's Note) Thror HammerSong 15:03:54 12/08/99 (3)
- Great work, keep it up! consider these archived n/t Dioxide(VIP) 17:40:39 12/08/99 (0)
- Good show. Keep it up. n/t Graatch(VIP) 16:40:48 12/08/99 (0)
- Begin writing away :) After finals though. (n/t) Starfyre 15:51:04 12/08/99 (0)

Post a Followup

Name:
E-mail:
Subject:
Comments:	> Blood slowly streamed down my back, trickling from my wounds as a testament to my pain. The still in the air was unnerving, yet my destination had been reached. The light dance of the whistling wind caught my hair, whipping the fiery mane about my shoulders. I was battered, clawed in most places and exhausted from my journey, yet before me stood the stronghold of my foes. I then realized I was clenching my charred fists, alert to every movement at the base of the tower that spiraled before me. Smoke drifted from my leather tunic and it was burnt in most places. It would be unlikely that it was salvageable. Grime would curse me again for destroying his wares. > The immovable mass before me stood twice my height, staring down at me as if mocking my very existence. I crouched low, sizing up the granite foe at the end of this mystical path. To my back were the rushing waters of the Murky River. Many a villager had drown in a retreat from the tower, in that very river. It was a wonder it had not become known as the Red Waters; in my eyes it was more fitting. My breathing echoed through the base of the tower. I gasped for breath, likely a punctured lung, or a couple of cracked ribs from my scuffle in the city. It would not be the first time. Damndable mages. Like the Whitecloaks, they come in hordes. If I could not strangle them with their robes, I would rather grab the books from their grasp and beat them senseless. > A movement caught my eye. > From behind the granite golem came a group of robed figures. Ageless faces, those of drow, even shorter gnomes and light-skinned humans. I spread my feet, positioning myself for what I knew would be a bloody battle. Some were clad in robes of gray, others in archaic robes of black. The wizened faces of the gnomes stared at me curiously, as if examining how my body functioned. It only served to anger me further. > "Where be yer leader?" I snarled at them. Still, I received no response. Most of the mages before me looked young with not a scrubble of a beard on a single face. Soft words were uttered as the air crackled about me as energy was manipulated about the granite being before the entrance of the tower. It was then that I noticed the figure standing among the students. How he managed to come among them without my knowing was beyond me. Light-footed drow damned them and the Abyss they came from! > His face was smooth, like the black eog found among the stones of the earth. Velvet robes flowed down his frame, coming just short of reaching the muddy earth beneath him. Within his left hand was a gnarled staff, topped with the head of a dragon. How long his fingers were, ebon, like the pitch of the Underdark walls. His face was humble, as if nothing in Thera could break his focus, even my very presence. > "Serafim!" I spat. His name tasted like filth upon my lips. He was the leader of the tower, and a drow at that. "Ye'll die this day. The pain O' a thousand years has festered in me lad, en ye'll be knowin that the floodgates will be dropped this day." > "And tell me how you plan to do this dwarf," Serafim responded. "You are one barbarian, among a tower of sorcerers, claiming to bring war and havoc in your wake, yet all I see in your wake is a trail of blood." > Again I was amazed at how easily this drow could enrage me. He had a way of twisting words to bring about my anger. My guess was that if I ripped his tongue out, it would prevent him from continuing. > "First ye cause Athrakagar te go insane! Then ye burn me huts, callin' pillars O' lightnin' te rip me village asunder, finally, ye bring en army O' soldiers frem a citadel, te rape en pillage me home! I'll strangle ye with yer own robes ye filthy elf!" Charging forward, I reached for the dark robed mage, only to be thrown back by a massive gust of air. > "I think not Dwarf." > There I lay, sprawled among the filthy mud, as Vizzagoth's shadowed form stepped from the banks of the river, to join Serafim's side. A rift appeared in the earth, a shower of dirt and debris covering me, as two robed forms stepped into view. Zhaeliyn and Mordack appeared to join the two. Pulling myself to my knees, I realized my time had come, and for the first time in my life, fear grasped my hand, prepared to lead me into the realm of death. > A small beast then skittered into view. It appeared to be a ferret, yet moved as swift as any creature I had seen. > Mongoose. The thought raced through my mind. Danialyn. > > Courage is the absence of fear; let that absence be your strength. > I took my time rising to my feet, coming to terms with the fact that I would die here this day. There would be no more eves of sparring with the White Tiger, Daerkshyn. No more would I see the light in the eyes of the young villagers, as I told a tale before the mighty Destructor. I would no longer bellow at the antics of silver-tongued Septach, or stagger back to the village, held up by Kastellyn. Nay, this was my final hour. > A rustle of robes brought me from my wandering thoughts. > "What will it be HammerSong?" Serafim murmured. To his side, Mordrack chanted softly, and the Leader of the tower began to rise above the ground. Three feet above the muddy earth, the drow drew close to me. > "Yer life!" I roared, once again charging the drow. A tangle of robes once again left me sprawled among the mud, as the leader of the tower sidestepped my attack. He raised an ebon-skinned hand, holding back the other mages of the tower. I leapt to my feet, lacing my fingers to strike him directly in the chest, a blow that should have crushed a rib, yet still he continued to fight. > The white of his hair stood out against the morning sky, the pitch of his robes blended into the dark earth about the base of the tower. Still, I could smell his stench. He knocked my fist to the side, a deft parry with his gnarled staff, though he could not fend off my growing fury. Again, words of arcane magic were uttered in the midst of the melee, and Serafim overcame a drastic change. A paw ripped into my shoulder as claws protruded from his slender fingers. The white of his hair became streaked with gray, and his pointed nose drew closer to his face, twisting into the form of a jagged-toothed maw. His robes bulked upward as his back arched, black hair sprouted from his ebon skin. A horrendous transformation, within just moments, left me fending off the vicious assault of a massive wolf! > Staggering back, I was overwhelmed by a mass of fur and teeth. The wolf ripped at my chest, his jaw snapping for my throat. I could barely make out the soft laughter of the sorcerers to my back, voices studying the display before them. The wolf darted back, circling around me and snapping at my hamstring. Pain lurched up my stubby leg, dropping me to one knee. > Courage is the absence of fear. > I reminded myself I was going to die. I tried to hold off the fear. Again the wolf struck, ripping at my side. Blood gushed from my wounds. I could feel it seeping through my hands as I tried to staunch the flow. I glanced up, only to see the wolf charge me, maw opened as it struck for my throat. I threw my arms before me, fending the beast off, to no avail. The jaws snapped about my forearm, ripping, tearing, gnashing. Hot fire raced up my arm. Again the grating of teeth on bone as the wolf tore into my other arm. I glanced down and realized that my arms were unrecognizable. Fires hotter then the forge raced through my body… > …And then numbness. The snarling died down, and silence filled the clearing. > "I do…. > "I do believe…" > "I do believe you…" > "I do believe you have…" > Echoes drifted through my mind. > "I do believe you have slain the dwarf," someone said bluntly. > Light crossed my vision. I could taste the dirt on my lips. Lifting my face from the earth, I could make out the black boots that stood before me. > "No, though I do believe this dwarf will have wished I had," answered another voice. > The boots turned about, and within the blurry haze, I saw the shadows of robed figures walking away from me. > Rushing river waters brought me awake. My eyes flickered open slowly and painfully I took a moment to survey the surroundings. I lay before the base of the Tower, within a pool of my own blood, mingled with marshy grass. Lock of red hair drooped from my forehead, and I tried to pull myself to my feet. I reached forward, grasping at the earth with my hand. > > I reached forward, grasping at the earth with my hand. > The pain was more from the realization. My arm was mauled, unrecognizable and a mass of torn flesh. Dark blood soaked my sleeves and the ground I lay upon. At each end of my arm was a stub of torn flesh, bleeding, yet numb. > The pain was more from the realization. No more would hold a hammer to forge alongside Grime. No longer would I climb the rocky cliffs of Mortorn. No longer would I spar among the villagers, in tests of strength and might. No longer would I know the forge. > I brought myself to my feet, tears streaming down my stubby face, to be buried in my fiery beard. Turning toward the tower, I bellowed in despair: > "Me arms!!! > The cry echoed about the riverbanks, it echoed about the forest and echoed within the tower. As I painfully walked away, with defeat bearing down on my shoulders, I could hear a soft laughter coming from within the tower walls.

[ Follow Ups ] [ Post Followup ] [ Dioxide's CForum ]