Grassus Narkold and the Cave of Demons

This is an excerpt from my partial attempt at completing NaNoWriMo in 2014. It was supposed to be a High-Fantasy setting, borrowing elements from the Dungeons & Dragons campaign I was running at the time.

Grassus Narkold, Protector of the Sermons, holy warrior of the God of Justice, soldier in the army of Arskesia, survivor of the Battle of the Rose Headlands, husband to beautiful Silas, father of four healthy children in Dragonspire, and Dragonkin. A horde of titles earned over a lifetime of battling the evil things that crawl upon the land. These achievements bring me some contentment as I watch a trickle of crimson flow down my armour.

I shakily bring my blue-scaled hand into view, and I am reminded of the pride I felt when I first learned that the God of Justice also had blue coloured scales. All Dragonkin claimed their ancestry from the great ancient Dragons of the world, and there were certainly many other blue-shaded Dragonkin in Arskesia. But only a rare few bore the bright light-blue shade that is associated with the ascended Dragon that became the God of Justice.

From that day onwards, I began the long arduous journey to become a holy warrior for the Justice God. Master Sorkash was a harsh trainer, but under his tutelage I learned how to wield both sword and divine power. My family was honoured when I was being ranked first among the Initiates. My first assignment was to travel to the lands of the humans and protect the newly-founded ministry there. My last for the temple was to found a ministry in the lands of the halfmen. It was the assignment I remember most fondly, as it was where I fell in love.

And then the war began. The war so ferocious that it seems like it will consume the whole world.
Ancient stories tell that the Fellborn were once human, but they made a dangerous compact with the devils and demons of the underworld in exchange for power and wealth. The humans and the fiends then bred together, and out sprang the tainted Fellborn. The Fellborn went on to found the Empire of Turak in the far east, and eventually their borders stretched to touch the fringes of Arskesia.

Peace and Mercy did not seem to not be words in the language of the Fellborn. They knew only about domination and power. Border skirmishes were frequent and deadly, and there were plenty of rumours about captured Dragonkin being sold as slaves in far flung depraved citadels. Hatred simmered among the Dragonkin, and parents began to teach their children that the only good Fellborn is a dead one.

Silas and I also taught our children to hate the Fellborn. Gods forgive me, if there is one thing I regret the most it is teaching my children to hate. Those innocent minds, eager for nourishment and knowledge, gladly supped at the hateful tales told by their parents. I had personally ended the lives of many Fellborn, and then boastfully retold the tales to my eldest son. Maybe the sword sticking out of my chest is punishment from the God of Justice, fated to die so far from home for the sin of Hate?

I remember the anger towards the Fellborn that boiled inside of me, and anger so hot it threatened to burn all those around me. I was a ferocious tempest on the battlefield, an avatar of the God of Justice meting out punishment to the enemy. I thought that the Fellborn were creatures without emotion, without a single trace of good in them. That they were no better than the rabid beasts and the mindless undead.

Oh, how wrong I was.

My gaze fell upon the body of Walla, the Fellborn who warned my squad of an ambush earlier in the underground cave system. His throat was now a gaping hole, blood gushing out of his body. He had fought beside me. He sacrificed himself to protect me. He will die while under my command.

The mission was to stop the Fellborn from unleashing a terrible weapon that was supposed to end the war. My squad, respectfully named “Grassus’ veterans”, were tasked with locating the weapon and to destroy it if possible. But upon finding the cave system and venturing inside, we learned that it was a Cult who worshipped Demons that were going to unleash the weapon. The Fellborn had also learned about the weapon, and had sent a squad of Fellborn to stop the weapon.

Walla’s squad arrived before mine, and they were captured. The Captain of the Fellborn squad was executed, and before they could kill the rest the Demon Cultists heard my squad trample towards them. They had set up an ambush, but Walla had given us the warning that allowed my squad to easily defeat the rest of the Cultists.

Walla and the other Fellborn survivors joined my squad, and we managed to make it to a large chamber where a ritual was taking place. We tried to stop the ritual, but one of the cultists summoned a Fiend from the underworld. It was a large four-armed ravenous beast that could cut an unlucky warrior to ribbons and was as fast as a horse. The evil thing was tough, and most of the warriors fell trying to distract it while Walla and I could get close enough to land a killing blow.

The Fiend was now lying dead in front of me, it’s life coming at a cost of a sword in my chest and the rest of the squad are dead or dying. And yet the ritual continued.

I was starting to feel light-headed, and I the temptation grew to just lie down and sleep it all off. The Death Goddess’ whispers were calling to me to take my place in her realm. And I almost fell to that temptation until I heard a gurgled cry from Walla. I knew I could let our sacrifice be for nought. But I had no strength, and little will.

I closed my eyes and called upon the God of Justice, imploring for aide. I prayed for Justice, for peace, and for the ritual to be stopped. And, for the first time since my initiation, I felt His reply.

My body surged with holy power, my life essence bolstered by the spirit of the Dragon God. Strength returned to my weary body, and will coursed feverishly in my veins. Divine knowledge flooded my brain, and I knew what had to be done. I could feel that part of the ritual was complete and that an unnamed horror was set loose upon the world, but the worst was yet to come. The ritual was meant to unleash the Demon Lords of Undeath upon the world, where they would sacrifice mortals in their plan to ascend to Godhood.
But the God of Justice had just infused my body with the divine power necessary to disrupt the ritual and destroy the portal to the underworld. I just have to step forth and sacrifice myself to do it.

Without a second thought I lifted myself up from the ground and rushed to the centre of the ritual. I could see the formation of a portal, and from it I could smell the foul stench of Demons and Fiends. Before any of the cultists could stop me I leaped up towards the portal, resigned to my fate.

As my body entered the portal, the divine energy made contact with the foul things of the underworld. I could feel my skin and bones and muscles rupture as the divine energy exploded, destroying the large chamber behind me and whatever it was waiting in the portal.

And for the fleeting second of consciousness I had left, I thought about Silas. My beloved, may you forgive me for my sacrifice.

Zombie dilemma

"Bill....?"

"Yes Bob, what is it?" I asked while I gnawed on an arm. Or at least that was what I intended to say as my jaws crunched down on the forearm.

"... Are we.... are we evil?"

Oh geez, he we go again.

I stopped my chewing, sighed heavily and looked pleadingly towards Susan, but the daft git was gazing towards the setting sun while sucking marrow out of a femur. I knew she was pretending to not have heard the question, and if I pressed her she would just plead ignorance.

Why must I always get stuck with the newbie questions?

I gave up trying to palm this problem off to someone else and looked at Bob. He was the new guy to our horde so most of his flesh hadn't rotten away yet, and both of his eyes had managed to stay in their sockets. I felt a jealous pang as his dark brown hair fluttered in the wind and my hand unconsciously reached for the top of my head to gingerly touch the exposed brain.

The stupid git took that as a sign to continue. "I mean, when we were all.... Livies.... we didn't need to kill and eat each other. It was, like, in the Bible and the constitution and stuff. It was wrong. So why must we...."

I groaned loudly and stuck up my half-chewed hand to interrupt him. I placed the severed arm carefully on my lap so that Susan could not steal it away while I did the dirty work of answering inane questions.

"Mate, we're zombies. This is what zombies do. We hunger for the flesh of the Livies. Simple as that, mate." I gave him a knowing look, hoping that that would be the end of it and I could continue shredding the still warm carcass in front of us.

Bob gazed pensively towards the sunset. That should keep him occupied, I thought as I continued masticating on the bicep. My mind had wandered to which organ I should eat next when Bob suddenly turned towards me.

"So we have no souls? That we are not who we were when we were living? But then why do I remember? Why do I remember everything? And why am I not reviled by...... that", he shouted as he pointed towards the pile of flesh and bones.

"Because it's dinner," Susan helpfully replied, although it came out a garbled mess since she had a mouthful of toes.

I was suddenly self-concious of us as I noticed the stares from the rest of the horde. I could feel the disapproval from my fellow zombies as Bob made a scene. The oldest zombie, Rupert, was shaking his head and tuttering (well, I probably imagined the tuts as the old fellow didn't even have a tongue).

Susan gave me a look with the questioning eyebrow. Well, the eyebrow itself was chewed off long ago but the sentiment was easy to read. I just shrugged my shoulders, hoping the moment would pass so that I could eat in peace. Susan then leaned towards me and whispered, "You sired the bastard".

"Oh fuck off, I did no such thing! I was just the one who was nibbling on him when he re-animated!" I protested, but it seemed to have only made things worse. I could hear the disapproving mutterings around me as the horde gossiped about our outburst.

I rubbed the sudden tiredness from my eyes with the remains of my hands and then looked morosely towards Bob.

"Ok, mate, we're zombies. We were made to eat humans. Do you blame the tiger for eating the rabbit? Then why should we be judged for our natural appetities?"

Bill vigorously shook his head. "But we are smart enough to find other sources of food. We could become like vegans, and then Livies and zombies could live together ethically and peacefully!"

I let out a loud guffaw despite myself. The idea was ridiculous. "Zombie vegans?! Fuck me mate, that's the stupidest thing I've heard since Susan last opened her yapper. Who has ever heard of zombie vegans?"

Bill scowled, and jumped to his feet in a huff. "I'll show you! Being vegan is a perfectly valid life choice. I'll show all of you!". And with that, Bill spun on his heels and stormed away in the distance.

Susan took her eyes off the sunset and glanced towards me. "It would probably be a bad time to tell him that we are possibly eating the remains of his family and friends, right?"

I chuckled at that. "Well, we don't know that. We just found him here with the rest of them. For now, I just feel like nibbling on some liver."

Sila's capture by the Blood-Oath Orcs

This short is based on a Dungeons & Dragons tabletop role-playing game that I Game-Master for.

“Bring the Ale, Bring the Mead!
Grimbold is all we need!”

The raucous chant echoed throughout the tavern as Skanut entered. The fresh coat of paint above the door proudly proclaimed that this was the ’Kord’s Axe’. Skanut smiled broadly as his brother Orcs lifted their mugs in salute.

“Kord’s Paladin,
Easily pleased,
Jus’ make certain
You ain’t diseased!”

The room bawled with laughter at the clever little chant. The scrawny looking half-elf who shouted it was met with slaps on the back and offers of copious amounts of ale. It was not long before the whole room managed to twist the lyrics into something much more dirty and depraved.

“Why are you so happy today?”

Skanut turned to see Sila smirking, her hands full of jugs of sweet smelling mead. She was attractive enough for a Dragon-woman, and Skanut would admit to thinking about bedding her. Although he wasn’t too sure about those scales….

“I’m glad be home,” replied Skanut, before his thoughts drifted away. His knowledge of Common was getting much better, although it was still heavily accented.

Sila’s smirk dissipated into a knowing look, and she sighed heavily as she looked around her tavern.

Her gaze must have caught something, because she snapped back to Skanut. “Those Orcs by the far wall wanted to discuss something with you. Asked me to let you know the second you came in”

Skanut nodded and left Sila to work in peace. There were 5 Orcs, two of them wearing ridiculous looking cloaks and hoods. The other three just had a dumb, grim look about them. Skanut sighed, preparing to receive some sort of complaint. Why did he ever agree to become a knight?

“May your ancestors provide you a strong arm in battle,” greeted Skanut in Orcish as he sat opposite the 5 mysterious Orcs.

“May your battles be bloody,” replied one of the hooded strangers. They both seem to bow their heads lower so that Skanut could not see their faces.

There was long pause, and the three uncloaked Orcs began to look uneasy. Skanut could feel the battle tension in the air, and he clenched his fists underneath the table. He cursed as he remembered that he left his axe at the smith’s for repair.

“I’ve been told you were looking for me?” Skanut asked, hoping to break the tension.

“Waiting, to be more precise,” replied the other hooded figure. He then nodded.

The tavern suddenly erupted with screams.

Half of the Orcs overturned tables and drew their blades, striking down any armed man or woman they could see. Some were too drunk to react quickly and they fell where they sat, mugs toppling over to mix alcohol with blood.

Skanut leaped back and readied himself to face the three, now armed, Orcs as they surrounded him. The two cloaked figures removed their hoods, revealing the red woad-like tattoos that they had painted on their faces.

“The Blood Oath”, spat Skanut in Orcish, “What brings your foul stench to these halls?”

The reply was the swift thrust of a blade that Skanut barely dodged. The three Orcs were rash and impetuous, and Skanut used Dendy’s training to skillfully avoid their attacks. But then a sudden roar from behind put Skanut off-guard and he mistimed a dodge, receiving a deep cut to his side.

Luckily the roar was part of Dorgrim’s charge. He and the other Ironhide dwarves must have been using the private drinking room at the back of the tavern. The charge of the dwarves made short work of the three Orcs, outclassed by the stout warriors. Once Dorgrim was finished he gave a brief nod to Skanut before rushing to help the other victims.

Skanut jumped back to his feet and grabbed a sword. He looked around for the Red-faced Orcs, catching a glimpse of a coat escaping through the side exit. Skanut barged through the exit to see an unconscious Sila being carried down an alley-way by shadowy figures.
Leaving Skanut alone with the two red-faced Orcs opposite him, blocking his way.

“Blood for the Blood God”, said one.

“Skulls for the Skull Throne”, replied the other.

Then they attacked, but Skanut’s training had prepared him for two-on-one combat. He countered the overarm strike coming from his left, leveraging the momentum into an attack on his right. The cut went cleanly through the Orc’s guts, felling him instantly.

“Fire! Fire! Tavern on Fire!” The cry was quickly spread through the camp, and Skanut became aware of a seering heat at his back. But all of his focus was trained on the last remaining Orc in front of him.

The Orc backed away and smiled. It was a gruesome smile, a smile of foreboding.

“Blood for the Blood God”, shouted the Orc before slitting his own throat. He went down, gurgling the rest of the chant.

“Skuths… faw…. da… Skulg…. groan…..”

Sariel discovers the Blood-Oath Orcs

This short is based on a Dungeons & Dragons tabletop role-playing game that I Game-Master for.

Sariel ran through the streets and past the hastily-built shacks, ignoring the shouts and cries of the adults. He was being pursued by a Kobold child in a game of chase, and Sariel was determined to not be the first elf caught by a lizard.

The camp built outside the walls of Castle Dark provided plenty of little alley ways to duck and weave through. There was no time for the Knights of The Order to plan out an orderly town for the refugees; Father blames the Orcs for the chaos, saying that they are simple minded savages.

The camp was also alive with the sights and smells of all the places of the world, and it was also the first time Sariel laid eyes upon Kobolds. Kobolds! The little lizard men were far, far smaller than the Dragonborn, but Father says that they are far, far cleverer than the brutish Dragonborn and to never trust one.

Sariel ducked underneath the canvas of a tent, popping out the other side to the astonishment of the Orc shaman and his human customer. The elf rushed out the other side, nimbly ducking away from the Shaman’s feeble attempt to grab him. Sariel beemed as he heard the Orc grunt and growl what could only be insults.

A few corners later and Sariel decided to stop and catch his breath. He hid behind a couple of barrels in a secluded path that was directly underneath the Castle walls. No-one seemed to walk along this path, so it should be a perfect hiding spot!

Sariel smiled as he imagined the Kobold child futilely searched for him, and crying in despair. He then saw himself emerging from his hiding spot to the cheers of his friends, and his father beaming with pride at his son’s skills as a stealthy elf.

“Blood for the Blood God”.

Sariel almost cried out in fright at the sudden intruding voice.

“Skulls for the Skull Throne”.

The elf boy peeped over the edge of the barrels to see a gruff orc wearing a cloaked hood. The funny thing was that this Orc seemed to be red, even though everyone knows that orcs are meant to be green. The other voice belonged to a shady looking Tiefling; Sariel knew the Tiefling was shady because he had a goatee, and Father said that people with goatees are never up to any good.

“The Knights have intercepted some of our forces, but the leadership managed to sneak away with help from the were-quokkas” said the Tiefling in a low voice, keeping a wary eye on all the exits.

“The Blood Oath needs no reinforcements, demon-born, and especially not those followers of the Mad One-Eyed God. This camp is full of piss-weak cowards. The Blood Oath demands that we take their lives as sacrifice to the Blood God!”, the Orc replied.

“Be that as it may, the Soulmancer has spent considerable resources in securing the services of the Oathbreaker. Apparently he has intimate knowledge about the Knight-Paladin of The Order that you could use…..”

The Orc guffawed, waving away the offer. “Sila. We know Sila. Everyone know Sila. No secret.”

The Tiefling smiled wryly. “Regardless, the Soulmancer wishes her captured as per the deal struck with the Oathbreaker.”

Then the Tiefling grew more cautious, and drew nearer to the Orc. He whispered to the Orc, who let out a sudden gasp at the end.

The shock passed quickly, and the Orc began to guffaw again.
“Well, fighting alongside dead elves is better than fighting with live ones!”

The Tiefling shook his head, “Just keep it a secret, you oaf. The Blood God will soon arise, and will take his seat on the Skull Throne we will build for him.”

“Blood for the Blood God”, whispered the Orc reverently.

“Skulls for the Skull Throne”, replied the Tiefling.

With that they quickly departed. Sariel began to notice that his heart was beating rapidly. When he was sure that they have left, Sariel scrambled to his feet and headed towards the little hut he had memorized.

The hut was the home of a quirky man who called himself the Investigator. He had asked the children to report any weird things that they might have heard; this definitely counted as something weird….

Filip, the first shuttle pilot

This piece of work is the result of the writing prompt from reddit: "It's the year 3000, and Galactic civilization has fallen. Kings rule vast kingdoms. Knights charge into battle on horseback. But the starships still work, those were built to last."

Filip nervously adjusted himself in the saddle as they slowly approached the rim. A brief glance at his companions confirmed that he was not the only one unsettled by the loud whirring coming from within the crater. It sounded like the high-pitched screech of a wounded animal, and the brilliant flashes of intermittent blue light threatened to blind anyone who dared to peek over the crest. Filip instinctively clutched at the amulet around his neck, a decorative wooden disk engraved with the letters R.T.F.M.

"It's your lucky day, Techie! Maybe you egg-heads will actually get us off this rock," shouted Krishna as he pulled his horse up alongside Filip's mare. The dark-skinned man then put on a fake grimace and pointed up at the night sky as he continued his mocking, "Although you might be outta time; it looks like those pieces of shit are falling apart up there".

"The Chief Engineer said that this is just debris that was broken off the ship during the Impact, and that it managed to achieve an unstable orbit before eventually landing here. The ships themselves have automated self-repairing sub-systems that, according to the Manual, should..."

Krishna let out an exasperated sigh and with a wave cut Filip off. "Oh, cut that techno-jumbo out. You Techies always harp on about how the Fleet are marvels of engineering and are indestructible, but what bloody use is all that if the blasted things couldn't even protect the Crew, may they never be forgotten!"

"Oh, Kris, just leave the boy alone," ordered Sir Salim of Forge's End, a giant of a man who had to ride a draught horse that could carry his weight. Salim jerkily dismounted as the mechanical actuators in his legs performed the unfamiliar manoeuvre. "You can't fault a Techie for preaching about the Fleet and the Manual. Our forefathers had hopes that they would be able to find a way off this planet, and the least we can do is continue that work."

Krishna held up his hands in surrender as he dismounted with the other riders. There were five of them in total; Filip the Techie, Salim the knight, and the escort of soldiers consisting of Krishna, Helga and Ling. They were all sent by their liege lord, Baroness Victoria of Forge's End, to investigate the debris that had fallen out of the sky a fortnight ago. There was hope that it may contain something that will help the Stranded gain access to the Fleet, but if nothing else the lessons learned from the debris would give the Kingdom an advantage over it's enemies.

Salim gathered the term around him and began to issue out orders. "Ok, Filip I want you to-"

A wooden spear suddenly landed four meters away Salim, and the team instinctively jumped into action. Krishna threw Filip over his shoulder as the other soldiers un-holstered their blasters and sought cover behind the crest of the crater. Helga took off her backpack, cursing as she began to hastily unravel the cables that had become tangled with the extra blaster batteries and their solar-panel chargers.

"Fucking Spear-chuckers! Fuckin' come get some!" roared Krisna, chucking Filip towards the rest of the group before laying covering fire so that they could all reach safety.

As they leaped over the crest of the crater the soldiers gaped in awe at the sight of the large tear-drop shaped craft that had cause the crater. Filip was struck by the elegance of it, the beauty of design that he had only ever read about within the musty pages of the Manual. The rear thrusters were still powered up, slowly driving the tip of the craft further into the earth. The multiple breeches were the only flaw in the shape of the hull. It was something that would bring Filip renown in all the laboratories of the world: a functional space shuttle!

Salim shook Filip out of his awestruck wonderment. "Get to that thing and see if it can help us!"

Filip just nodded dumbly, and then began to stumbled his way down to the shuttle. As he reached the bottom he realised that the Manual never prepared him for operation of a shuttle. Filip began to frantically search for an opening, sliding his hands along the hull to find any sign of a seam or an opening.

Suddenly, a hatch popped open from the hull with a loud hiss. Filip cautiously peered inside the dimly-lit shuttle but nothing else happened. Filip entered the craft, making his way towards the tip of the craft. Filip was almost giddy with anticipation at what was about to come.

The cockpit was as the Manual had foretold; a simple pilot's chair surrounded by an interface. Filip lowered himself into the chair and swung it around so that he faced the control panel. A simple query blinked on the screen: "SEVERE HULL BREACH. RELEASE REPAIR NANITES?"

Filip touched the part of the screen that indicated yes, and Filip could hear mechanical clunks that he assumed were the nanites repairing the hull. The blinking warning was replaced by a progress bar that shrunk itself to only the top-left portion of the screen, revealing what Filip could only assume was the shuttle's controls.

A large grin found it's way to Filip's face. He was about the become the first shuttle pilot in generations.