Blackguard Rising

A freezing wind blew across the field as snow gently fell from the darkened sky above. An endless plain of white covered the land; save for upon a particular field that had been stained crimson as countless corpses littered the terrain. The clash of steel followed by savage or terrified cries echoed into the wind as horns were blown and booming thunderous roars joined the cacophony.

It was a battlefield where two armies clashed where blades met, flesh torn asunder and the very air was filled with an unnatural charge as sorcery was used in great quantities. Figures clad in black armor or wearing thick furs moved about upon the blood soaked field, some fought on foot while others were mounted upon the backs of horses or other trained beasts. Even the very sky above was an extension of this battle as winged creatures clashed in aerial duels that caused a rain of gore and bodies below.

Some fought on in fear, knowing that each breath could be their last as desperation gave them a frenzied strength while others exulted in the carnage of war. At the heart of this bloody clash there was a most fearsome figure in brass armor that was adorned with spikes and wearing a cloak of black feathers who swung about a heavy two handed sword that was more akin to a massive meat cleaver, its long blade was the color of obsidian as crimson glowing runes were etched along its surface while fresh gore stained it from top to hilt. With every swing of that nightmarish blade, a warrior clad in the black armor of the foe was cut down with limb or heads cleanly severed as red torrents gushed out from their bodies and with each strike, unnatural vitality filled this figure.

A jagged brass crown rested upon his brow, the top of it was shaped into five claw-like jagged points as a single amethyst gem which gleamed with arcane energy. Bearing pale skin, angular features, pointed ears and eyes with the same colors as the precious stone upon his crown, he reveled in the death around him, a mad grin of genuine joy was etched upon his face as his sword claimed more lives. Corpses mostly those of the foe or those of expendable Orcish, Goblin or Undead slaves surrounded him while before him stood a terrified host of black armored goat headed Beastfolk, their hands trembled as they could barely comprehend the savagery and the brutality which they faced as an unnatural dread created by dark sorcery gripped their hearts.

His movements were a blur as he was already upon the goat headed warriors, cruel laughter emanated from his lips as entire torsos were bifurcated or heads split in twain while the enchanted blade cleaved through bone and metal just as easily as flesh. Those of the goat headed warriors whose weapons had managed to strike the brass armored one merely scraped against enchanted plates that were harder than either dragonscale or mithril. Soon their bodies would join the growing numbers of the dead as hordes of slave warriors pressed the advantage to join their master in battle.

Behind the frontlines of the battle, grim figures in dark purple robes adorned with bones clutching crystal tipped black wooden staves intoned foul words of power which infused the dead with unholy power. Stiff fingers began to twitch as once lifeless eyes that turned into amethyst orbs opened and soon, the corpses of those who had fallen would rise up and join the assault. Discarding their weapons, these freshly raised zombies would attack the goat headed ones with bare hands, their fingers seeking to dig into eye sockets and teeth biting into flesh as hunger drove the dead things on.

It would be more accurate to say that this was not a true battle; no it was a massacre, the feeble attempt of a desperate army that had been sent to die, to stall a seemingly unstoppable advance. In the distance, a few miles to the west of the battlefield there was a city of snow covered stone towers standing tall and defiant in the freezing cold of the north with one structure bearing a great brazier that burned like a lighthouse by the sea. The goat headed inhabitants busily scrambled about to fortify its various defenses as best as they could with none knowing the futility of their actions.

Death itself had come to the defenders who knew that should they fail, an orgy of violence, slaughter and destruction would fall upon the populace where any who would survive would be met with slavery, regardless of whether they still lived or not. What they did not know was that their fates were already sealed for The Witch King himself had come and it was not only their lives but even their very souls that would be forfeit…

Ecstasy coursed through the body of Elia as she let out several short exhales of breath, her eyes were closed as her teeth were tightly gritted and tried to bear the newest delights which the Necromancer, Kellanion visited upon her. She was in a kneeling position on top of a linen bedroll with the Elf magician’s face was firmly buried between her legs, his tongue eagerly tasting the flesh and juices of her arousal. Her own hands were held around the head of the sorcerer to help guide his movements while his own hands grasped her thighs.

The two of them were in a room that must have once been the private quarters of someone important, possibly the commander of the knightly order which, now serving their sleeping chambers. Simple wax candles lit up the darkness, its light caused the sweat upon their bodies to glisten as the warrior woman made no attempt at hiding sounds of her enjoyment of this act. Only she was the one fully undressed, save of course for the enchanted Torc around her neck while the necromancer was dressed only in trousers where she had seen that he was certainly just as aroused as she was with a noticeable bulge from his manhood but yet again, the Elf simply did not pull it out and continued to be the one giving her pleasure.

It had been a whole week now since she had been captured by the magician and in all this time she had only been physically with him during times for meals, for bathing or such as now at night before retiring to sleep. During the day, he mostly left her alone to wander the monastery or to engage in physical exercises to stay in shape. Eventually the adventurer began to reach her peak and she tightened her grip around his head with his long black hair between her fingers and she let out a loud audible moan as she climaxed in a spray of fluid onto his face.

Exhaustion and contentment was all she felt now as she rolled over to a lying down position while trying to catch her breath and shortly afterwards, the sorcerer planted himself atop her with his face nestled between her breasts. Privately, Elia had to admit that she was not expecting her captivity to be enjoyable but at the back of her mind, she was disturbed by how easily she seemed to just accept her current situation. It had crossed the adventurer’s thoughts that she had been bewitched; that her very mind had been compromised.

In her own travels, she had been forced to slay former comrades, men who had been enthralled by the supernatural charm of feminine monsters such as a demonic Succubus or the man eating Sirens that lived in the ocean. Elia was particularly aware of how fey beings such as Nymphs infamously use similar enchantments to rob travelers of their wealth, where even a knight and his steed could be entranced. Even mortal bards, priests and other magicians could employ arcane means which allowed them to control the minds of others, something which there were kings who took advantage of to swell the ranks of their armies.

She wondered if perhaps the Torc around her neck could have performed such an alteration of her mind. It seemed capable of sensing her thoughts if she wanted to attack the sorcerer and it made sense if it could change her way of thinking, to make her submit. Yet despite this, she could not deny that to an extent that necromancer did not lie and he had made her time with him to be a pleasurable one indeed.

Soon she would once again find herself held in the sorcerer’s warm embrace, his milky pale flesh pressed tightly against her own as they shifted positions to be laying next one another with her face pressed against his chest.

“There is something you should know” the sorcerer then said as he gently pulled away while still looking  into her eyes, the two of them still lying down upon their sides. “I had received word from my lord that I am to return to the Northlands and by the morrow we will leave.”

“Will I go with you?” quietly then asked Elia who hoped that he might release her.

“Yes you will, and I will present you to the Witch King” responded Kellanion. “Be on your best behavior for he will most likely seek to hire out your service, if you do, you will have your freedom.”

“But what about the treasure!?” blurted out Elia which caused the Elf to chuckle in amusement as he placed his left hand upon her cheek and gently ran it down to her neck.

“It should be obvious that it has been claimed by my lord” then said the necromancer with some amusement and then continued in a reassuring tone. “But worry not; the Witch King is magnanimous to those who prove themselves worthy in his eyes.”

The adventurer knew she should have felt disappointed but somehow deep down she was not surprised. Throughout the week the thought of claiming the wealth of the dead knights was what kept her going but she supposed that this should have been expected after learning of the magician’s presence. But if it was any consolation at the least, it seemed that this Witch King might be a very lucrative employer.

 

“I suppose I will have to accept the offer then” quietly then responded Elia and the magician gave an amused grin and he leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.

“You will not regret this decision” said the Elf with a smile.

A morning sun now bathed the world in its life giving light where around the monastery, a great host of the dead had gathered in a fetid horde. Zombies and Skeletons numbering in several dozens, possibly even hundreds stood in silent vigil as both Elia and the Necromancer oversaw the last of the undead carrying out sacks of gold, trinkets, jewels, weapons, armor and anything of value. Holding up a perfumed handkerchief to cover her nose and mouth, the adventurer was fully dressed in her armor once more which had been mended by the Necromancer’s minions, her helmet rested on the left side of her hip while kept in place by hand.

The Elf Necromancer busily held a tome and a quill in his hands and had been busy keeping record of everything that had been brought out from the monastery. Leaving him to his work, the adventurer looked to the ancient monastery where she wondered what would become of it. Perhaps in the future it will become some hideout to a group of bandits or perhaps a tribe of Goblins might make a nest out of it or who knows, perhaps one of the nearby kingdoms might restore it to its former glory.

She of course was eager to leave this place for she was certain it had been haunted and the Necromancer had enslaved whatever spirits had lingered there. Eventually after about ten or so minutes of just waiting for the undead minions to finish their task, she heard a thud from the Elf as he closed his tome and looked to her with a nod. Understanding the gesture, the adventurer stepped towards the magician until she stood next to him as the horde converged upon them and after a few more moments she felt a sudden charge of magic in the air.

The next thing Elia knew, he vision was blinded as she was instantly engulfed in light, there was a disorienting feeling of weightlessness followed by sudden feeling of intense cold. Momentarily had she been blinded and the next thing she knew, the monastery and the green land around it was gone, replaced by a darker more foreboding place. Finding herself standing upon snow covered black stone masonry in what seemed to be a plaza of sorts, she looked up to behold a gloomy grey sky above with imposing dark towers surrounding her.

“Welcome to the City of Ammath-Lur” announced the Necromancer, whose right arm was extended outwards, beckoning for her to take in the sights.

A freezing wind blew past them, chilling Elia to the very bone yet the Elf did not seem bothered by it. Surveying her surroundings, Elia could see white snow covered plains in the distance while much closer she could below them several structures of dark stone building, many of which were adorned with jagged blades. They must have been high up she realized, perhaps upon a terrace at a castle but the area certainly was wide and open, so perhaps this was meant to be a place where armies mustered.

Passed the surrounding hordes of zombies and skeletons which stood at attention, Elia saw numerous tall, slender pale skinned figures dressed in garments of dark purple with many wearing armor of bright brass. On one corner, she saw a band of what looked to be mounted knights wielding gleaming red bladed swords riding upon demonic horses, Nightmares which bore manes of fire which did not burn the riders. Elsewhere she saw a truly bizarre creature that looked like a giant rust scaled centipede but its head was single massive white masked face with two black horns and a dark mane of long hair growing from its back as eerie blue flames danced around it while accompanied by a patrol of halberd armed  armored warriors.

Even the air was filled with activity for she saw screeching wyverns of different colored scales, gryphons, manticores, great eagles and several black feathered birds ranging from unusually large crows to massive ravens whose bodies crackled with lightning. Her eyes widened in surprise when she noticed that upon some of the towers, she saw the unmistakable forms of Dragons roosting upon the rooftops with many looking to be asleep while others gazed down upon the city with imperious contempt. To see so many strange creatures gathered here at once astounded the adventurer whose experience with armies tended to be more upon the mundane where in her homeland of Gwen, the King’s forces were like in most other Human Kingdoms composed primarily of infantry, horse mounted cavalry and war machines with only a handful of magicians who sometimes bound animals or magical entities to their will.

As she continued to look about the city, Elia suddenly felt another chill run down her spine and she felt a sudden pressure within her as heart began to pulse. A sudden sense of deep, primal dread filled her very being as she frantically began to look about to find the source of it until her gaze fell upon an approaching figure. Clad as well in armor of brass worn over purple garments with a cloak of black feathers around his shoulders, she beheld another pale skinned dark haired elf but one who wore a king’s crown and he hefted a crimson rune etched cleaver-like sword that rested over his right shoulder.

The eyes of the woman became locked upon the sight of this figure as an unexplainable terror began to build up within her and thoughts of fleeing began to cloud her mind as a cold sweat beaded upon her flesh and she could not help but begin to tremble at the sight of this dread figure. He was accompanied by an entourage of more armored warriors along with other figures but Elia’s eyes remained primarily focused on this dread figure. As he drew closer, she could see those deep amethyst eyes which were same color as a single gem upon his crown and over his chestplate was a fearsome fang mawed demonic face wrought in brass with crystalline eyes of the same hue, it was then that she realized that those eyes like those of the approaching figure bore the same color as those of the Undead that surrounded them.

“And that would be my liege” quietly then came the voice of Kellanion which surprised the adventurer who had briefly forgotten that he was even there. “When the Witch King arrives, kneel before him, look to the ground and treat his majesty with respect.”

Knowing full well to obey the magician’s words, in a matter of seconds the ruler of the Drucharian stood before them and Elia realized how much he towered by at least a full head over her and every other elf gathered here. Kneeling before him with eyes lowered to the black stone ground as a nervous look of fear was etched upon her face, she had also quickly pocketed her perfumed handkerchief and was able to smell the stench of the undead around them which was mixed with the scents of wild beasts, burning wood, brimstone and a thick coppery smell she realized was blood. Soft song like words in a tongue she did not know of were spoken, the voice she knew that must have been the Witch King’s was deeper, harsher, stern, yet there was an undeniable strength to it one that commanded those who heard to listen.

She then heard the voice of Kellanion speaking to the Witch King in the same foreign language. There was a brief exchange between the two of them with the Necromancer saying something that sounded like an apology but one without fear in his voice. The Witch King then responded and there was brief moment of silence, save for the blowing of the wind, the flapping of wings and the distant marching of armored warriors.

“Rise, Human” then commanded the Witch King and Elia obeyed as she slowly stood up to look upon his face. Where the Necromancer, Kellanion had softer features one that was both inviting yet carrying a hint of predatory danger at once, the monarch before her had sharper more angular features while his expression was a grim, dour one that scrutinized her with contemptuous disdain. His very presence was more than enough to put her in a state of fight or flight with her instincts telling her to flee.

“I am Naranair, Lord of the House of Arrenak, Witch King of the Drucharian and I am told that you are the one who interfered with my servant’s work” continued the monarch and that feeling of dread which she felt had suddenly increased, almost to the point of being ready to panic.

“I… I did not know y-your grace, p-please forgive my action” replied the adventurer in a borderline hysterical manner as her eyes darted to the many elves around her and she knew that there was no escape. In an instant, countless horrifying images of her own death, of countless methods of torture and murder flashed through her own thoughts and then suddenly, it was gone. The unnatural fear which had threatened to consume her had vanished; the pressure she felt had been lifted as her heart slowly began to return to a normal beat.

Before her eyes, the face of the Witch King suddenly seemed to change, taking on a more welcoming, almost fatherly appearance which made her realize that she must have been bewitched. Now the warrior woman was not sure if what she saw was real where for all she knew, her perception, her very mind was at this moment being affected by sorcery again which made her even more concerned.

“Consider your transgression forgiven” then spoke the monarch whose very voice suddenly seemed gentler and more caring which only heightened Elia’s concerns that once more, her thoughts were being clouded. “I have need of capable warriors and I am told that you are once such individual.”

Taking a moment to consider her words carefully, the warrior woman remembered what Kellanion had said while bearing in mind the legion of soldiers and beasts around her. Knowing it would be folly to refuse, even without the enchanted Torc around her neck, she knew she had no choice in the matter.

“Do I really have a choice?” Elia then asked. In response, the right side of Witch King’s lips curled into an amused grin as he gave an approving humph sound.

“There is always a choice, but only for those with the strength to seize it” replied the Witch King and there was a sudden blur of moment where the next thing she knew, she felt cold metal upon her neck and she realized that his clawed gauntleted left hand was around her throat. Elia knew that if the Elf king wanted to, he could easily choke the life out of her yet something told her that he did not intend any harm.

Staying still and making no movements save for breathing and her eyes looking down upon his extended arm, she then returned her gaze to the monarch whose lips began to move as he whispered arcane words. Suddenly, she heard a familiar hissing noise from the snake-shaped jewelry around her neck and she could feel it moving as the metallic serpents uncoiled and slithered around the Witch King’s hand before settling around his and wrist to form into a semi circular shape again.

The Witch King then retracted his hand while holding up the magical Torc like a bracelet and he turned his gaze to those who had followed him and began to speak orders in the foreign tongue of these elves. Clinking metal sounds were then heard as one of the Drucharian came forward, this one was quite clearly a woman and one scandalously dressed in barely anything. The Elf woman wore only shiny silken strings that connected some metal discs over her large breasts which made Elia feel a bit inadequate which only covered the nipples and a piece of purple cloth over the other woman’s pelvic area.

Brass  jewelry adorned the arms and legs of this Elf woman who also wore sandals and in her right hand was a cruel looking whip while in the other was a length of iron chains that connected to the collars of a dozen of what clearly were slaves. Elia’s eyes narrowed at the sight of these thralls for she recognized them to be Khaprgors, a type of goat headed Beastfolk that were considered just as much a threat to most Humans as Orcs or Goblins. It was said that those in the Northlands were far smarter and more organized than those in the south which were mostly a threat to hamlets and other small villages.

The Beastfolk slaves shuffled forwards with wrists and hooves bound by chains while their bodies were covered in scars or other wounds that looked as if they had not healed properly with some already festering with infection. The Drucharian woman then barked some orders at the slaves, one in their bleating tongue and the thralls formed up into two lines of six, their eyes looking down with broken expressions on their bestial faces. Another order from the barely dressed woman was then given and from the gathered crowd two more slaves these ones clearly being bald headed Human males came forward hefting several wooden clubs and crude stone axes.

Unlike the Khaprgors slaves, the two Human thralls were dressed in thick woolen clothes that looked far more expensive than anything most freemen peasants could ever afford. The two men also had a healthy, well fed look to them which was a far cry to the pathetic wretches in chains where the only signs of their bondage were familiar brass serpentine Torcs around their necks. Dropping the weapons in front of the Beastfolk, the Human thralls held keys in their hands and began unlocking the manacles or shackles that bound the creatures and once they were done, they moved away from sight and the Elf woman began barking orders while pointing her coiled whip towards Elia which caused the creatures to give her confused looks.

“Draw your sword, Human” then commanded The Witch King. “These slaves have been told that they will be freed if they can kill you.”

Hissing a curse and quickly putting on her helmet, the adventurer unsheathed her sword and went into a readied stance as the unshackled slaves took a moment to comprehend what was happening before one of them; a male grabbed an axe from the pile of weapons. The Drucharian around them readied their weapon as well, save for the Witch King who did not seem concerned. Approaching her with a desperate look upon its face, the goat-thing gave a loud roar as it swung a stone headed axe towards her and the adventurer gave a quick, decisive thrust that impaled it in the throat.

The slave creature’s eyes widened in shock as it dropped the axe, it tried to reach for the longsword but Elia pulled it out with a harsh tug and hot blood sprayed upon the stone floor as the thrall collapsed to its knees before thudding to the ground. Cruel laughter emanated from the Elves who watched and the adventurer’s eyes looked to the remaining slaves who watched in horror of what had happened. Several of them began to rush towards the pile of weapons and Elia sprinted towards them with bloodied sword raised high.

Her blade chopped off the hand of a slave that had touched the handle of a club, the creature howled in pain as her left fist smashed into the face of another. The adventurer laid into them with a frenzied abandon, knowing full well that if they armed themselves then they could easily surround her. Blood spattered her armor as she mercilessly hacked and slashed at the slaves whose pained screams drowned out all noises.

An unarmed slave feebly tried to raise its hand towards her, pleading for her to stop but the attempt was futile as Elia split the beast thing’s hand in half and it howled in pain before being silenced by a stab to the gut. Another slave desperately tried to defend another, a female but the adventurer cared not and swung her sword to its belly which caused its entrails to fall out as it desperately tried to push it back. The female slave it tried to protect attempted to beg for Elia to spare it but in her frenzied state; she delivered a mordhau strike with her gauntleted hands upon her blood slicked blade and the hilt smashing down like a hammer upon the skull of the beast-thing.

In all of her years as an adventurer, Elia had killed many things, be it another human, an orc, goblin, beast-folk, regular animals, trolls, ogres, man eating merfolk and so many kinds of different things but never had she killed like this. These were not marauders looking to pillage or murder, nor were they savage beasts guided by base instincts. These were unarmed, already beaten creatures that would have posed no threat to her had they not been forced to try and kill her.

Soon silence descended upon them as the last of the slaves gasped it last; its death came when Elia plunged her sword into its back as it tried to crawl away after she had already cut off its right hoof. Her heart pounded as adrenaline coursed through her veins, she tried to catch her breath as her eyes remained widened in alertness as the rush of combat was still within her. Applause and laughter then broke out among the Elves who clapped and cheered as if she were an entertainer performing before a crowd.

Dark words of power were then spoken by Kellanion and the slaves she had just killed began to twitch and spasm before rising up and lurching off to join the undead army she had arrived with. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she gave her sword one last swing to shake off the blood before pulling out the perfumed handkerchief to wipe away the rest of the gore before sheathing it.

The Witch King who also had an amused expression then snapped gauntleted fingers of his left hand and one of the two male human thralls appeared again, this one was carrying a leather pouch in both of his hands. Looking to the slave with caution, the bald headed man came to a stop near her and held out the pouch which was left partially opened. Slowly reaching for the bag with her right hand, Elia realized what was inside as she picked up a gleaming golden coin that bore foreign marking which she did not recognize.

“Serve us well and you will know wealth beyond your imagination” then spoke the Witch King with a cruel grin as he looked to his followers and nodded. The elven monarch and his followers then departed towards one of the imposing black towers in the distance along with the undead minions.

“Congratulations are in order for you are free” then came the voice of the Necromancer, Kellanion and Elia looked to the elf who had a proud expression on his face. “I would suggest that you go to the Crimson District for there are many Humans residing there; otherwise if you are in need of lodging I have a residence in the Mage Tower which you may use.”

The Necromancer then pointed his pale slender left hand to the tallest of the dark towers, one located westwards which was wreathed in amethyst light and he then pointed towards a road going south which Elia guessed was where this Crimson District was. Giving a quiet nod to the magician, he gave a polite bow before turning around and walking off towards the Mage Tower while a confusing mix of emotions bubbled within the adventurer towards her former captor. Soon Elia stood alone within this dark, frozen city and she contemplated her current predicament.

Now here she was in the midst of a heavily fortified place, inhabited by cruel, black hearted inhuman creatures and who knows how many unnatural things. Even if she were able to leave, she knew that the Northlands, especially at this time of the year would be nearly inhospitable where the winters were longer and far harsher than in the south. It would be tantamount to suicide if she tried to leave now for a lonely death in the frozen tundras would be all that awaited her in these harsh lands.

Keenly feeling the weight of the pouch of coins she had acquired, it provided a strangely felt comforting sensation, one that relieved her of both doubt and apprehension. Judging by its size, there would have been enough wealth within it to let her live quite well back in the south for a month. Turning her thoughts to the wider city, she had to admit being quite curious to know what it was like for she had only heard stories of places like the Dwarf Halls that were said to be buried deep beneath the mountains or the supposedly idyllic homes of the Halflings that were said to live on the Isle of Avalen.

Another chill then ran through her as she shivered in the cold and Elia realized that perhaps the first order of business was to get something warm to wear.

Snow crunched beneath booted feet that walked in perfect unison behind The Witch King who was accompanied by an honor guard of numerous warriors who all strode beneath countless gibbets that hung from walls of a long open aired corridor.  Dark magic infused the cages where dead or dying slaves, mostly the native Beastfolk or Ashlari prisoners were imprisoned, their very souls denied the peace of the grave for they were his thralls even in death. Should an enemy army ever attempt to traverse this road of which was surrounded by high walls, the imprisoned undead slaves could be released to attack the invaders while archers and mages could rain death from above, if an army ever got that far in the first place.

The undead minions that had accompanied them after returning to the city along with the captured slaves they had taken had been diverted elsewhere. Taskmasters would already be prepared to take in the new laborers for the city of Ammath-Lur never truly slept. Whether it be in the slaughterhouses or the workshops, the fires of industry would never cease as long as the war went on or if there were profits to be made.

The only guards stationed along the corridor were skeletal warriors that maintained a silent vigil, they stood still as statues but The Witch King knew that the magic which binded the undead sentinels still held. Passing through a pair of gatehouses, his party entered a great courtyard where before them stood a massive black tower, the second tallest building in the city and his personal residence, at least while he still remained in this world. Awaiting his return was a large crowd of courtiers, envoys and other dignitaries, mostly those of vassal states or foreign kingdoms that had yet to submit before his domination.

This world, like others would be theirs for it, like others had been claimed by the Drucharian people. Coming to a halt before those who waited for him, a silent command was given and at once, every one of them knelt before him, save of course for his fellow Drucharian that bowed, as was their custom. This world would be theirs he thought again and no power in creation would stop them.

Even if the armies of another Godir sought to challenge the Drucharian’s claim then The Witch King would lead his people to drive the enemy back into the Astral Sea. This world would be theirs and may whichever gods have mercy on those who would seek to contest it for he would have none.