The Pact of Blood

[Wolfchild]

In order to siphon off some of the creative build-up I am experiencing lately, I have chosen to write this story separately to occupy the time it takes for Beren's computer to become fixed or replaced. On the basis of this being a successful piece of work or not, I will judge whether to continue it after that time- but for now, please enjoy, and offer your comments. Contributors will be judged by myself accordingly. (Please note, this contains violent imagery, and possible expletives (that's swear words, people)).

The moon settled in its full state, bright within the night sky; an almost unnatural light beaming down to the stone plinth being used as a makeshift cradle for the pale infant that struggled uselessly upon it, cold and crying as the wind ruffled the hair of his captors. They now surrounded it upon kneeled legs, whilst in rapid synchronisation they chanted the same words over and over under breath, "Daichor ak nitheln, daichor ak nitheln, daichor ak nitheln...".with eyes closed, blocked temporarily from the horror of the bloodstained ground around them. The child's poor, deceived mother was not far away- but the woman useless to help against anything they might do now. They had taken her son by force, in both brutal and barbaric manor, and killed her in the process with not a second thought whatsoever. She was of no further use to them, and her lack of purpose in their eyes meant sacrifice, for these were beyond conscience or feeling of heart. These were the damned souls that lurked like a disease upon the earth, rotting in the shadows and crevices of the world until that despicable time came that meant they took leave to seek out the one and only thing that still kept them alive: blood, and blood alone. What particular importance there was in the stolen young could only be assumed by the most broad of imaginations, but it seemed crucial that this primitive ritual took place before the infant too, would meet the same premature death, as with life. Such was the monstrosity of the Shadowed.

Ironically, it was a female amongst the group who was destined to take the babe's life, and she proceeded thus by rising from her knelt position, and drawing out a dagger from her belt made her way closer to the platform upon which the cradle rested. A long, black robe, identical to what all the others wore, draped muddily around her ankles, and a hood of it shielded her face, which was invisible except the faint shine of slow red eyes gleaming within their black nothingness. The chanting increased its pace further, and added uncomfortable rhythm to the situation like the impending message of a drumbeat. The others rose their heads to witness, and their eyes bore the same expression of hatred, the fire infused color coming from eons spent in loathing and torture, growing ever more weak to resist as souls became consumed. Slowly, the dagger was raised, but as it was, so also came the other arm of the woman, and instead of falling upon the child, was drawn with a swipe across her own wrist, without even a whimper. Blood flowed without question, and with the dagger still clutched, she used the other hand to paint with it a line across the chest of the infant, curved slightly, and then lines were matched below both his eyes, which made it seem like he was crying blood , or had fallen to terrible injury. Now that the markings were complete, she drew the weapon ahead a second time, intending to do the deed now with haste, completing this murderous blood ritual. She closed her eyes, and others did the same. With the voices pounding, ferociously, she swung it swiftly down to kill her victim. To her immediate horror, there was no impact. She opened her eyes to look over her mistake, and cursed words in black speech at the sight that greeted her, if sight it could be described as. There was no child. Her shouting ceased the chanting of the others, and they broke position to overlook the blank cradle, devoid of the boy. Cursing loudly and searching around with no avail, the snarling group were at a loss for what to do next. Into the night they disappeared, back to whatever forsaken hovel they made their home, but increasingly bloodthirsty now, for nothing had ever deprived them of a meal before. Something was out there, and it was asking for trouble. The Shadowed would be sure to meet it, unquestioning their master's will.

"Congratulations are due, Olcia, yet again" a rough voice uttered "You are indeed a credit to us with your lifesaving abilities. Though I do pity the mother of this one. Poor thing is this, who has not even the honor given to enter the world by nature". The source of Olcia's invisible character answered calmly,
"You say that as if the Shadowed were honorable creatures, Augrim, when evidently they are not". She smiled at him as she said thus, and it was lucky that he could see it, for they fortunately shared the same enchantment.
"The boy will be raised like the others, I understand?" 
"Of course" answered Olcia "All the orphans will, as long as we are there to do so". There was a silence.
"Damn the Shadowed..." muttered Augrim "By the stars those bastard scum will not meet good end!"
"Your sentiments are shared, Augrim, though I would ask you to keep your voice down. Bear in mind whose forest we are still in, and the clue is, it is not ours". Another silence followed, which continued for the length of their journey, although Augrim grinned to himself when he thought he heard Olcia whisper to herself "Typical centaur" under her breath.

The pair continued, with Augrim holding the young child in his arms and Olcia walking by his side, until they reached the familiar gates of Rubeiyn, which had seen its share of battle for all the dents and scars that grazed the wood and stone walls surrounding it. This was one of many scattered sanctuaries for the people of the world not tainted by the evil that lingered elsewhere, but it was evident that the same evil had still tried to conquer this place many a time, fortunately without success as yet. Just as they approached, something flickered about their bodies, and temporarily startled guards looked at them with raised eyebrows as the elf and the centaur appeared out of nowhere, the spell that had hidden them both finally coming to an end. Inside, a great fire smoked away in the centre of an open space, around which in circular fashion various buildings were placed; the first a tavern for the wayward traveler and local, of which a comforting orange glow emanated from inside, and near to that a build up of houses and market stalls where traders sold wares and other accoutrements. Conveniently separate to this was a smithy, which advertised the skills of its occupants with armor and various weapons leaning, hanging and arranging themselves in every available direction within distance. More houses neared the other side of this too, but the unmistakable gathering of children outside one of the last buildings gave the clear impression that it was the orphanage both Augrim and Olcia had spoken of. The beauty and position of Rubeiyn meant however, that the children here were not human young alone. All around the main door were human orphans indeed, but with them were elf, centaur, dwarf, faerie and many more of unknown origins and odd race. Such was the diversity of the world in these times, but all knew that the children were the result of wars, or worse, the Shadowed actions. Smiling as similar thoughts entered his head, Augrim walked through the crowd of young to a smiling maiden in the doorway. “Another one” his expression seemed to say, handing the boy over to her. She turned to take him to be washed and fed, but looked back round at Augrim, saying “And do you have a name for this one?” to which he replied, as if he had thought nothing else for the last few hours “Nytah” which, to those that knew the language of the centaurs, meant ‘Night’ and nothing more. Indeed, it seemed appropriate.

[Beren One-Hand]

*Nartes stood upon the hill overlooking the quaint and unscathed village of Rubeiyn.  It had been many years since he had ventured to this place.  In fact, it had been many years since he had journeyed into the wider world.  He was an exile, originally from these lands, but was forced to flee many decades ago.  Many of the kingdoms of the good were destroyed and darkness had covered most of the regions of the world.  Only a few outposts of welldoing folk remained.  Some, like Rubeiyn, had been discovered by the Shadow, but had been spared up to this point.  There were also secret places, though, that had not been found by the blood-lustful Shadow-people.  Nartes was both sage, wizard, guide and warrior to this secret brotherhood.  His full appearance and features were hidden under the brown hooded cloak that he wore, so that all that could be seen were his two green eyes, his elf like nose, and his short, yet rugged beard.*

*Nartes knew that the Shadow had been here, for he had been tracking them for three days.  He had lost them temporarily due to a scuffle on the main road, whereby a group of bandits attempted to rob the wizard, to their doom.  Nartes cut them all down with his sword with much ease.  Immediately after the skirmish, he climbed the hill overlooking the town, to where he now stood.  He was looking for something, or someone.  For it seemed that this place represented the last alliance of the good, and the last hope for an ailling people.*

[Wolfchild]

Augrim took a firm step forward onto the stone threshold to the inn, bowing his head so as carefully not to scupper himself on the wooden beam that hung low over the ancient doorway. Upon them, in the runes of which many understood, was written the age old phrase "Bheata, ond nafre bersta" meaning, to all who remembered it, "Beaten, but never broken"; a simple motto that most held true to in these times, but Rubeiyn swore to it particularly well in account of its history. The warm glow that was particularly enticing from the outside shone through greater within, and as the centaur followed through the entrance, he was greeted by a jovial cheer from a cornered host of familiar faces. His friends all raised a glass nobly in his honor, and as the barman, a stout satyr, gave to him a well earned -and much desired- tankard of ale, he joined them, smiles beaming, as they talked openly of their days.
"Naught would cross you, Augrim, were it twice a' big, and the same of clever!" One of two halflings larked. His name was Rhyse, and cut the spitting impression of his brother, Nhevi. They had seen much of the world in their time. Short, ochre hair was typically ruffled by their breed, but both wore theirs as if it was nothing to care for. None minded.
    The next chair by the fireside was old Gheriss, an aging man long past his time, but who had lost none of the vibrancy in his life as his age demanded it so tediously. He preferred these days, to smoke a pipe and ponder over old stories like they were yesterday's news, seeing it to nostalgia to tell of 'better times'. He was a welcome fellow if one needed cheering up, or sought to reminisce, as many would do. "Fool or braveheart" He muttered, "Something shines on yer', I'll give you that."
    Gheriss had his son by him, the last survivor of his family; a man who had learned early that in order to live in this modern world, you had to adapt quickly to it. At the age of nine, the boy had watched as his heavily pregnant mother was taken away by the Shadowed in one most violent raid, to which not even her mutilated corpse had ever been discovered. They called him Daulyn to his face, and Raven by nickname. This was on account of his pure black hair, and a thin beard of the same tone. The man also sported braids laced with small beads by his ears, and a variety of rings in his ears, eyebrows and nose. He’d grown fifteen years since the day his mother died, but if his concentration was elsewhere, silence and distant expression would overcome him. Yet this man was as best a friend to Augrim as was known, and showed no sign of dismay as he embraced the centaur in congratulation. “Well done old friend” he said, simply. “Well done.”

Olcia joined the close-to-singing-shambles of a group late in the evening, followed by her brother Hleian, whose mottled dog loomed like the hunting beast it was over the meager tables, giving every impression that a wolf had just crept in to the tavern. Hleian himself was a gentle sort by trade, but looked the opposite, sporting a dark leather coat, and other black and umber fabrics. Known for his love of drinking, he joined in the festivities too, receiving smiles much as his sister was.*

[Beren One-Hand]

*Nartes had observed the inn earlier, but decided now was the time for him to venture in its direction.  Besides, he was starved to death on account of his recent skirmish with the bandits ealier on.  In all likelihood, none would remember him in these parts, so he could get by on being vague about his origins and where he was from.  Thus Nartes walked quietly into the inn and found himself a seat in a quiet corner of the inn.  Several of the regulars, Augrim among them, observed this peculiar character upon his entering the inn.  The peculiar character, did not pull down his hood, but seemed rather content to smoke his pipe and socialize with no one.  The waiter approached him, and Nartes said only the following words to the man: "Mead and salted pork."  The waiter nodded and went into the kitchen to take care of his order.*

[Wolfchild]

Gheriss raised his eyebrows at the sight of the dark ranger rather quizzically, but was boldly unfazed by his presence, unlike the majority of those he sat with, who eyed the hooded one from behind their littering flagons  and a swathe of pipe smoke. Hleian's dog, a beast known as Isha, yawned from the fireside, and brought their concentration back to the table.
"Y'eat pork, brother?" asked Gheriss. Nartes did not respond. "Ah, I was intrigued, for thee. T'is my work what puts that meat 'pon your plate. Don' have the farm whats we used to, but folk manage 'nuff to get a good meal, thath's what I says!" the old man chuckled, to the sounds of "Hear hear" from those around.
"Excuse my father's brashness sir, it's the ale what makes him so bold" confided Daulyn. "Come, have a drink with us mate, you'll do no good on your own in these parts".

[Beren One-Hand]

*Still no words came from Nartes, who continued to sit in a dark corner of the inn.  He was a kind and honourable man, but did not know who he could trust.  But these folks seemed legitimate enough.  Nartes pulled something out of his pocket, it was a gold coin, with the emblem of the Shadow upon it.  Only those in the ranks of the Shadow could obtain such a treasure, or someone who had robbed or killed a Shadow warrior.  It seemed by his persona, that Nartes was of the latter.  He looked straight at Gheriss with his hawk-shaped green eyes beneath the hooded cloak and with his thumb flicked the coin toward the old man.  The old man caught it, and looked with awe upon it and upon the one who had tossed it at him.  Was he of the Shadow?  Or one of the few that resisted them?*

[Wolfchild]

"C'n see you've had 'bout as much trouble as we 'ave soldier" spoke Gheriss. "This 'ere is one o' thems piece've shine, ain't no mistake."
"Aye, our folks have seen them before" interrupted Augrim, who took no time in removing an almost identical coin from a pouch strung across his shoulder. "I think they carry them as talismans rather than currency; or at least that's what I suspect."
"I thought they received them as reward for a successful murder?" mused Hleian.
"Well there's that too" Augrim added. "But what talk is this? How my mind does wander before introductions have been made! Sir, if I could introduce you to Gheriss, his son Daulyn, my good friend Olcia, her brother Hleian, and the halflings Rhyse and Nhevi. My name is Augrim, part of the crusade against such creatures I assume you too have witnessed. Dare you tell us your name young master, for I'd vouch you've seen your share of stories as much as we have?"

[Beren One-Hand]

*Nartes still did not stand up, but pulled back his hood, showing his bright green eyes, and longish brown hair.  "Stories I have had my share, old man.  Once I was familiar with these lands in times of peace.  But since the Shadow corrupted it, my story has been that of a nomad, wandering the wild and many strange lands and places.  Many names I have been called.  For now, call me Wanderer.  For that is all I wish to reveal for the time being.  Your fellowship would be an added pleasure.  Being opposed to the Shadow means loneliness for many.  But more to the point.  Or my point of returning to these cursed lands.  Where lies the Witch Tahgrim?  Surely she was behind the attempted sacrifice of the babe, some time ago.  I would give many more of the sacred coins to have her head on this platter!"*

[Wolfchild]

Augrim's eyes widened "You know her name, Wanderer? We thought they were beyond such things. But aye, we've seen her. Half the population of Rubeiyn have done the same, t'is why we have an orphanage in this place. The lad is there, if you wish to see him. That  babe was not the first however, and I doubt he will be the last. You want to get your head on a pike of theirs, you go south, and through the woods until you reach the point where sunlight ceases to exist. It's through our dab handed enchantress here" he hinted at Olcia "that we made it safe with the last one."
"Plus they're damn good at catching your scent, providing you haven't masked that too" Hleian intervened. "Guards won't even scout over there 'ny more. Just bloody no-man's land from tree to tree."
"Don't stop 'im from going alone" Gheriss nodded in the direction of his son. Daulyn made for the defence.
"I need to stay with the forest, father. I cannot abandon the trees when they are my sanctuary for meditation."
"Yes, well let that be your epitaph, boy" Hleian counteracted. "You've heard the warnings more than anyone." Daulyn held his tongue, and kept quiet. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence in the group.*

[Beren One-Hand]

*"I might have to venture there soon.  For I have my own quarel to settle with the witch.  The instance with the babe was the tip of the iceberg.  But what you say is true.  Many foes lies in those woods between here and there, and it would be certain suicide to go there alone.  Though I have done so before.  Even I do not recommend it.  Who would wish to journey with me there?  The Shadow will be weakened without their "will."  The witch is that which motivates and drives the soldiers.  With her dead, the soldiers might not be so bold.  The empire of the Shadow will start to crumble.  What say you?"*

*Outside the inn a soldier had been eavesdropping and heard some of the conversation.  He could arrest them all immedialtely if he liked.  But he would wait to see if they would carry out their treason upon the Shadow, then they would all be tortured for days, then executed in the Witch's castle.*

[Wolfchild]

*"She's just a henchman like the rest, but with a bit more power" put Olcia, bluntly. Her eyes looked matter-of-factly at Nartes as she said it, and her tone added "You think you have debts to settle? We all do in this village. Like Augrim says, if we all wanted to play vengeance for a friend, or a family member, then there would be few left to man this place whilst we did so. But things are not that simple, brother. The Shadowed are growing, skies know how, but there are more of them each time we undertake a mission. Killing one might sound simple to you, but those methods have severe consequences when they're deciding which farms to plunder next."
"She's right, we can't just storm in and assassinate one of them. For a start, it breaks the enchantment. Then we'd just be a few fools to the mercy of an entire army, who have enough knowledge of pain and the curse to fill volumes." Hleian noted, to the universal sound of 'aye', albeit somewhat deflated.
"Watcher, you'd best come with us on the usual walk tomorrow. We scout the forest, if we can, and Olcia will be in better mood to protect all of us. Plus Isha has the nose of a dragon on her, so we'll not go wrong." Complimented Augrim.*

[Beren One-Hand]

*"Agreed.  I will accompany you on your patrol along the woods.  But know I mean what I say.  The witch will regret I returned to these lands.  My powers are more than the common man, and even more than the man with great prowess.  You might wonder, if I am from these lands originally, then why do none remember me?"*

*The soldier outside who had been eavesdropping finally had enough of the conversation and decided to shut-up the foolish townsfolk and their ridiculous chatter.  These few would be interogated and then brought to the witch.*

[Wolfchild]

"Maybe you exist only to haunt us Watcher, to tell of the future and fight for the dead" laughed Daulyn, innocently. No other would answer, and so the silence returned. Except when it was punctuated by Daulyn once again.

"Mahni! Brother, surely your hours have been spent enough in the guard of these walls! What time do you finish- six, seven? Come, come and drink with us, here, we brace for the morrow."

The soldier looked suspiciously in Daulyn's direction, before approaching his friend and switching his expression to a mirthful one. Only Gheriss of the others would have recognised the man, for he was seldom seen in the hours of daylight, excusing himself with patrol and other duties, when really he was deep in the heart of the forest, betraying the people of Rubeiyn. He had no remorse for any, save one. The same who embraced him with open arms, and who truly shared his love. Daulyn. This soldier knew he would have more than enough innocents whose blood would be spilled, but none other than Daulyn would be a mercy killing.

[Beren One-Hand]

*Mahni looked the Watcher up and down, and sneered at him as he looked into his eyes.  "Who are you, man?  Don't you know that those who trespass into our borders face jail or even death?  What do you say for yourself silent one?"  Nartes knew a confrontation was inevitable, and he wouldn't stand for being belittled or humiliated.  "Trespass.  Welll that is your opinion, guard."  Nartes stood up and face the soldier.  Nartes was about a head taller than the guard, and stared him down, his green eyes almost sending the soldier into a trance.  He grabbed the guard by his armor and pushed him into the bar, dumping a jug of beer on his head.  "Is that how you welcome guests?  Oh great guard of the Shadow?  Tell your commander that there are those who do not fear her.  And those that once again roam free along her borders.  Try and seek me out, and I will bring you down to the grave."  Nartes grabbed the soldier by the throat and tossed him to the floor.  He then disappeared out one of the back doors of the inn.*

[Wolfchild]

*Nartes turned back to the group, to see Daulyn, a once feeble looking man, standing forthright, readied with a hunting knife in one arm.
"What did you do that for?" He demanded, "Mahni is no traitor, he was born here, I bloody know him!"
"Watcher, your behavior is perplexing, not least to Daulyn alone. That man gives no cause nor reason for your accusation, he's just a guard- suspicious of newcomers as any." Augrim continued, "There was little need to insult him. In truth, I wondered why questions were not asked of you sooner. You do little to tell us your true name, and none here have seen your face before, even some of our eldest. I wonder sir, could we be seeing the true betrayer of Rubeiyn before us?"
Daulyn muttered some low curse to Nartes under his breath, and walked from the bar with furious expression.*