Forged in Hell, Tempered in Blood

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Horray!
Is this the last Shura story by any chance? It seems like your looking to wrap it up.

 

Not yet, Aikanaro. I've had Shura's tale planned out in its entirety. There wil probably be another 3 parts...

 

Cool! The best news of the day. I can eventually look forward to another three threads to spam in with a brilliant story in between

 

Dude this suff rocks!

 

My god, I can't get enough of the stuff you write! Hazzah! (don't ask what that means)

 

A great post, can't wait for more! I just wantto see harmony and discordance, fighting agianst each other

 

Righto, folks, this is not the next part...it's just some flavor text that I have written for the world in which Shura's story is set...
This should be the intro of the next story but I just thought you all should read this first because I will not be able to write for the next few weeks.
Here ya go, then.

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The Empire of Blades

Our people stepped forth from the mists of time, one of the oldest races to set foot on the soil of this world. They were created to bask in the endless beauty of creation and life and they did, savoring and nurturing the land, shaping it to their will. With their supreme intellect, their contemplations lead them to wrought artifacts of great power and towers of virtually metal that soared to the heavens. Prose and literature that would move the hearts of the gods were written. All prospered, all were happy and the world itself rejoiced with them, for their creations were in harmony with it. No water was corrupted with waste, no air fouled and no soil desecrated. They were the elves.

A being of great power and malevolence beheld this and he was displeased. Little is known of this being, save for his title, the Anarchist. He spoke to a number of elves and planted in them the seeds of hate and doubt. He taught them the notion of murder and war. Above all, he led some to adore Chaos, and the elves adored him, for he was beautiful and might.

Depraved they became. Life lost its sanctity. Reckless and vile experiments were performed on the beasts of the world in their pursuit of self-gratification. They sought to emulate the gods in their hubris and their hearts grew black and evil like the Anarchist. Their children were cut apart and their flesh offered to the Anarchist and he partook of it, for he was pleased.

The vast majority of the elves, though, saw the evil that the Anarchist brought and they pleaded with their brethren to abandon their road of folly. Their pleas ignored, the elves had no choice but to sever all contact with their brethren, for they were a peaceful people and war was foreign to them. Those that had followed the Anarchist saw this as a betrayal and cried out to him.

“ Oh lord of Beauty and Art, we have been abandoned by our kin! Give us might that we might seek vengeance upon them!” They begged and the Anarchist was delighted.

“ Forge blades sharp enough to sever the air and siege weapons capable of annihilating existence itself!” He said.

“ But we lack the knowledge and strength to use it, Glorious One.” They protested. The Anarchist laughed and turned his power upon them, warping and twisting their bodies. Great strength now coursed through their veins and every one of them was a master of weapons. Their skin turned an ashen gray and their hair became blood red, along with pupils. They had become the Fell Elves, the Dark Elves, and the sworn enemy of our kin to this very day.

“ We still lack the numbers to exact our vengeance!” The Dark Elves cried. The Anarchist laughed once more and opening a doorway between the worldly plane and the infernal plane, revealed to the Dark Elves a virtually infinite host of fiends.

“ I shall teach you how to forge compacts with them and bind them to your will. Of course, there is a price to pay.” He said. The Dark Elves, utterly twisted by now, paid the price of their souls and a mighty and vile army was formed. The foul horde marched, gibbered, crawled and flew towards where the elves lived. All of the land was fouled by their touch.

The elves could not resist. They had no weapons and no concept of conflict. They died in their thousands until their once great numbers dwindled to a mere handful. Before long, their last settlement was surrounded by the vile horde. Soon, the last of the elves would be consigned to oblivion and only darkness and chaos would reign upon this world.

A single elf came forth. A peaceful scholar and dabbler in the musical arts, this elf had seen his wife and child defiled and eaten alive by fiends before his very eyes. Lifting his head to the heavens, he cried for justice and aid, his heart filled with righteous anger. And he was answered. The Heavenly Lord, father of the Celestial Knight so widely worshipped in the lands of the West in current times, answered his call. He too, gave the concept of war to this lone elf. He put a long, curved and burning blade into the elf’s hands and bade him go forth and smite his foes. The name of this elf is lost to the mists of time. We now know him as Bu-Shin.

Bu-Shin strode from the gates of the settlement, right into the midst of the horde. The Chaos general, a mighty fiend laughed at him and raised his fell blade to cleave him into two. Bu-Shin leapt forth and struck off the fiend’s head with a single blow. For a moment, the horde stood dumbfounded as their general fell, then they converged on Bu-Shin. It was then that the Angels descended, their silver wings tearing into fiendish flesh, sending the hordes of the Dark Elves scurrying away in defeat and terror.

“ Teach your people war, elf. Harden your hearts and your arms, for that is the only way you can survive.” An Angel told him and Bu-Shin nodded, for he agreed. The elves forged for themselves silver helms, lances and blades. With the aid of the Heavenly Lord’s Angels, they began to bring the offensive to the Dark Elves. Seeing his nemesis intervene, the Anarchist knew fear and abandoned the Dark Elves to the wrath of their kin. The Dark Elves still had their strength, though and fell allies.

Epic battle after epic battle was fought. The seas churned with the fury of their weapons and the sky broke apart. Much lore was lost and elf fought elf in savage hand-to-hand battles. What the elves lacked in physical prowess, they compensated for with skill and grace, for they had turned the use of a blade to an art and like any other art, they pursued and perfected to a great extent.

The greatest artist of all was Bu-Shin. In his hands, his burning blade struck down countless fiends and dark elves. None could stand before him as he gained strength and skill in battle.

Eventually, the Dark Elves were crushed and the fiends slain or driven from the world. Few of the Dark Elves remained for the elves had learnt the concept of wrath from the Heavenly Father and they were swift and merciless in their retribution. Of these Dark Elves, a small number saw the error of their ways and fled. They came across the Balancer, the Ruler of Scales and he brought them to the depths of the earth where he once again warped their bodies so that they could survive within. These Dark Elves became the Shadow Trolls, as we know them today.

The few surviving Dark Elves who were adamant about their stand cast themselves into the darkness, ever lurking out of sight of their kin, ever hateful and ever watchful.

The war was over, or so they thought. Bu-Shin knew that the terror had just begun for the elves. From the seas, simple creatures had crawled onto the shores. These creatures turned into land dwellers and they grew limbs. Eventually, they were able to walk on two legs. The time of Humanity had come. They reproduced in great numbers and their appetites were savage and violent. With the Humans, came the Orcs. How similar they must have seemed to the elves then. Through their demented creativity and intellect, the Humans soon forged themselves weapons with ores torn from the earth. Trees were cut down and shaped with fangs of metal and stone to build their dwellings. Soon, the Humans had dominated the Orcs, with their superior technology and grew curious about their neighbors, the elves.

Troubles plagued the elves from within, as well. With the concept of conflict known to them, dissension grew among their numbers. A significant number of the elves condemned the war-like and vengeful teachings of the Heavenly Lord, claiming that they were becoming more and more like their dark brethren. They left, seeking the forests, where they dwell to this day.

Gathering the remainder of his people, Bu-Shin brought them to a place that was infested with Humans and Orcs. He smote them with his burning blade and massacred them in their thousands of thousands. The Humans and Orcs knew fear, then and they cowered and called the elves master. From among the elves, a promising young elf was chosen by Bu-Shin to lead them all. He was his sacredness Emperor Torihito the First. The Empire was built in the eastern lands, across a vast expanse of sea that the boats of Humans and Orcs could not traverse. It was just as well, then, for in the Western lands, a barbarian warlord known as Magnarus came to power. Through blade and fire, this canny and mighty human founded the Kingdom of Gryloas.

Bu-Shin saw that the Humans of Gryloas would come in time and he bade Torihito to enslave the Humans and Orcs in the Empire. Torihito saw that the Humans were quicker witted than the Orcs and laid down the caste system that stands to this day.

The Elves were the nobles. They were the Daimyos, feudal lords who owed their allegiance to the Emperor. Those of lesser rank became samurai, warriors in service to their Daimyo and in turn, to the Emperor.

The Humans became the merchants and laborers. When required, they were drafted to serve as foot soldiers in the armies of the Empire. Due to the tactical wit and courage forged from ambition and greed, many Humans were granted the status of a lesser warrior, a kenkyaku. In the later years, a considerable number of humans would ascend to the rank of samurai.

The Orcs, possessed of great strength, were bent to menial work deemed too degrading for the elves. During times of war, they to were drafted to serve as foot soldiers. Since they had lost much of their lore in the war with the Dark Elves, the elves had to resort to tearing apart the bowels of the earth to extract what they needed for their survival. Orcs made perfect and expendable miners.

The Empire has been threatened time and time again since its founding. Emperors have risen and fallen, their minds too taxed by the great burden of their duty or in battle against the enemies of the Empire. One elf, however, has defended the Empire till this day. When the barbarian hordes of Gryloas came in their sea boats after many years of improvisation, Bu-Shin led the forces of the Empire against them. He slew King Faringell the Fourth and his two sons, leaving the throne of Gryloas without an heir. This brought about the War of Succession in the western lands, a series of unending battles among the humans that lasted hundreds of years until a young warlord called Arkados Blackmire seized the throne only very recently.

When the lizard-like people came from the seas, Bu-Shin once again drove them from the borders of the Empire. The lizard men retreated to the south of the continent where the Empire was built and enslaved the Humans and Orcs there as well. Their leader, a gargantuan serpent with shining golden scales called Xi-Huang-Ti called his new domain the Dragon Empire. The border scouts of the Empire of Blades have to frequently repel raids from the Dragon Empire even now. But no major offensive has been launched by Xi-Huang-Ti, for he fears Bu-Shin.

A Human samurai called Tokugawa had an insatiable thirst for power. Through treachery and sorcery, Tokugawa trapped Bu-Shin outside the Empire. He stormed the capital with a horde of Humans and Orcs and imprisoned the Emperor. Calling himself Shogun, he proclaimed that the time of the elves had come to an end. And it did indeed seem so, then. But another hero arose. The bastard child of the Yagyu family, the half-elf Magatsu was an outcast everywhere he went. He defeated the Seven Kensai of the Empire, direct students of Bu-Shin himself, in seven consecutive duels and forged a legend.

Elves, Humans and Orcs flocked to his call, for Tokugawa was a cruel and unjust tyrant. They called him Kuroi Itezeru, for his banner bore a Black Crane. Kuroi Itezeru defeated Tokugawa’s army and slew the Shogun. He released the Emperor and rescued Bu-Shin from his captivity. When the Emperor asked him what reward he would like, the entire court, consisting of only elves, sneered. My people are quick to forget their saviors, it would seem. Kuroi Itezeru only bowed humbly and left, much to the Emperor’s chagrin and amazement. The Black Crane got onto the next ship heading for the west and he was never seen again.

In all the instances except the last, Bu-Shin the War God has been the invincible guardian of the Empire. When the most recent heir to the Empire fell to an assassin’s blade, Bu-Shin was dishonored for the young elf had been placed in his charge. The assassin’s identity was soon exposed, thanks to the ninja spies of the Yagyu clan. He was a young human known as Shura. He fled to the western lands and Bu-Shin, brimming with rage and wrath, pursued him. After a chase of many years, Bu-Shin tracked down the assassin. To the amazement of the Imperial Court, the War God did not cut him down on the spot. Instead, he challenged the assassin to a formal duel before the Emperor himself. When the courtiers demanded to know how Bu-Shin intended to make the assassin keep his promise, the War God would only remain silent.

The Dragon Empire is marshaling their forces and the Kingdom of Gryloas still seethes with war and conflict. Will Bu-Shin guard us once again through these troubled times? Only time, and perhaps two blades, will tell…

Do not come to the duel, Shura…do not come, my friend…

Tamako Matsu, Imperial Shugenja

 

Always good to have a bit of background information, and it is rather overdue. It's nice to see elves portrayed as royal pricks for once instead of the defenders of all that is good

 

brilliant background story to the land uve set shura's story in. cant wait for more of shura's story.

 

Well i cerainly didnt know Bu Shin was That old.

 

Well, I have no doubt that Shura's work is good - all these fans of his writing can't be wrong. But looking over all of his previous writings... Pfaugh! Is there any way someone could, well, give me a short summary of it? I can't digest such long works of fanfic well.

 

No no no thatts not the right way to get to know a story such as Shura story. Find yourself time (like 3hours) and click on this link:
http://www.sorcerers.net/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=12;t=000010

and enjoy. time well invested

By the way... I've just watched The Ninja Scroll (1995) and i couldnt not to notice the similiarity betwen Shura and the guy in the film.

Could you confirm this Shura??
Or Arkados Blackmire?

[ December 28, 2002, 21:35: Message edited by: Gothmog4230 ]

 

Well, I've never watched Ninja Scroll before...the greatest influence upon my concept of Shura would have to be Gattsu from the Berserk Manga.

Drizzt and Salvatore taught me that 2 swords are better than 1. David Gemmel's work let me pour blood into my tale and Micheal Moorcock made Shura a twisted, twisted person indeed.



*I've admitted to my unoriginality! No!*

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“ Must you go?” Jo-annia asked, fear and reluctance in her eyes. Feros smiled uneasily and nodded, adjusting his pack upon his shoulders as he did so.

“ The City Guard will need every bit of help they can get.” The mage patted the pommel of his sword in a gesture that was meant to exude confidence. He failed miserably. Feros looked utterly ridiculous with a sword belt of tanned leather strapped around the middle of his gray robe. “ They could definitely do with an additional warrior.” The words were unconvincing to Jo-annia. She still recalled the time when the mage had asked the Captain of the City Guard to instruct him in swordsmanship. After a day of practice, Feros had lain nearly unconscious in his bed for nearly two days and it was a week later before the bandages on his hands could be removed.

“ You know you are no swordsman, husband.” She said. Feros wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“ Don’t worry.” The mage stroked her dark hair as he spoke. “ I shall protect you and our home. Go along with the rest of the citizens and await our victorious homecoming, my love.” Jo-annia sighed but she inclined her head slightly in agreement.

“ Be careful, Feros.” She said. The mage forced a smile on his face and nodded. All around them, similar farewells were being said as members of the City Guard and volunteers from the citizens of Terun said their goodbyes to their loved ones. Many of them were young, barely out of adolescence. Here, a guardsman sheepishly tucked a packet of cakes that his grandmother had given him into his haversack. There, another one hugged his young wife.

It had been three days since Feather rode into Terun. The City Council had convened and arrived at a decision far more swiftly than the elf could hope. The doubts cast on Feather’s claims were blown away by the arrival of more refugees from settlements that had been sacked by the Blood Hounds. Resistance was futile upon hearing of the enemy numbers and the Council had arrived at its verdict: the people of Terun would flee and the City Guard would stay behind to buy them some time, fighting a running battle as they moved along the main road that led to the capital of Gryloas.

Feather knew immediately that the plan would not succeed. The Blood Hounds consisted of mainly light cavalry. The City Guard, outnumbered as they already were, would be outflanked and crushed within an hour of engagement, leaving the straggling non-combatants of Terun easy pickings for the ravenous Blood Hounds.

“ If we are to buy time for the people of Terun to flee, the City Guard must hold the fort, barricading the gates of the city and making it as hard a nut for the Blood Hounds to crack their teeth upon as possible!” The elf had proclaimed to the Council. The Captain of the Guard, a middle-aged man in an impeccably pressed uniform that was more for a parade than for battle, had protested, his neatly trimmed moustaches quivering furiously.

“ That will leave my men with no avenue of escape!” He said. Feather slammed his fist down on the heavy oak table at which the council members sat, startling every one of them.

“ Then you shall all die, gutted and strewn all over the dusty roads!” He shouted. “ Your children shall be slaughtered and your women raped!”

“ Your speech is uncouth and utterly atypical of your people, master elf!” The Councilor of Urban Planning protested. Feather cast a baleful glare upon him and the councilor blanched.

“ Aid is coming. My friend Oal now sails to the capital. She will return with soldiers from the royal army of Gryloas.” He forced the words out through gritted teeth.

“ So now we look to the heretics for aid?” An old priest known as Father Attucks demanded angrily. The other Councilors shushed him with much swiftness and no small amount of embarrassment.

“ Your news is welcome indeed, Feather.” Feros had interjected. “ If the City Guard can hold out until the royal army arrives, Terun shall prevail, after all.”

“ The City Guard must hold out. Even now, one man battles the Blood Hounds to buy enough time for the whole lot of you to sit at a table and quibble!” Feather’s voice rose again.

“ One man?” Feros asked. His eyes narrowed in curiosity. “ Who might this hero be?”

“ His name is…” Just in time, the elf remembered Shura’s instructions.

“ Your welcome in the city shall wear off very swiftly the moment my name passes your lips, Yagyu. Speak not of me!” The swordsman had told him. Feather coughed uneasily once.

“ He has no title of interest to any of you.” He said quickly. Feros stared questioningly at the elf for a few moments longer but when it became apparent that Feather had nothing further to say, the mage turned to address his fellow Councilors.

“ Time is short, my friends. I, too have sent messenger pigeons to the Mage Guild in the capital, requesting aid.” He said. “ It would seem as if our best course of action would be to do as Feather says.” The influence the young mage had on the Council was astounding. The call to arms was issued within an hour and the evacuation had begun before the day had darkened. Now, a line of wagons and carriages made their way out from the northern gate of Terun, heading towards the capital. Feather stood atop the battlements of the southern wall, gazing into the distance, his thoughts absorbed by the coming battle. The elf’s keen senses did not detect the presence of an old priest standing behind him until a gnarled hand laid itself on his shoulder.

“ I know that sword.” Attucks said simply as Feather turned to regard him, eyebrows rising in curiosity as he beheld the old priest garbed in an ancient and ill-fitting suit of armor, a battered mace hanging from his hip. Attucks smiled at the incredulous look on Feather’s face. “ I was a warrior priest once, elf. I have fought for many years against the most vile of foes in my lifetime.”

“ What do you want?” Feather asked. The priest’s eyes roved to the hilt of Whispering Edge once more.

“ I know that sword, elf, but I do not know you.” Attucks mused. He rubbed his chin with his gauntleted left hand. His right arm was left bare and bereft of armor so that he could swing his weapon more easily. “ I do know, however, that Whispering Edge will not let itself be wielded by someone unworthy.”

“ My name is Jubei Yagyu, nephew of Magatsu Yagyu, the Black Crane!” Feather cried, throwing his arms out wide. “ If I am unworthy of Whispering Edge, I shall strive to be, for I could do no less!” There was a glint of approval in the old priest’s eyes and he nodded.

“ Do not do any less, then.” Attucks said. He turned and walked off. Feather studied the priest’s frame. Once, Attucks would have been a giant of a man, rippling with muscles. Now, the priest was a fat, wrinkled ancient who would not see ten more winters. The realization of what he had said struck him then, and the elf blanched, burying his face in his hands. He had put himself forward as Jubei Yagyu, a name that he had abandoned for years.

“ Who am I? Two names I bear and yet my identity is beyond me!” He gasped.

**************************************************

“ What?” Krugar demanded. The Blood Hound that brought him the news shrank back from his wrath. Krugar leaned forward; his bestial features less than an inch away from his underling. “ They are all dead?”

“ Yes, boss. I went out to find ‘em, as yerself told me to and I found old Dolman and his lads all lying about in bits and pieces.” The Blood Hound replied.

“ Three scouting parties! I have sent out three scouting parties and the last one numbered fifty men!” Krugar roared. “ Have you lot grown so soft as to fall victim to the militia of some settlement?” The Blood Hound blubbered senselessly for a few moments and terror came into his eyes as his leader laid his hand on the haft of the huge axe hanging by his waist.

“ Your men did not fall to villagers wielding pitchforks, Krugar.” Zakkan entered his tent, pushing aside the leather flap as he did so. Krugar’s eyes narrowed.

“ You seem to know more than I do.” He grunted. Zakkan strode forward smoothly, reaching for a flask of wine on Krugar’s makeshift table. Picking up a spare cup from one of the mercenary leader’s traveling chests, he poured himself a drink.

“ Carnexos is dead.” Zakkan said conversationally. Krugar was startled.

“ What? He can’t be!” The necromancer laughed at his denial. Krugar got to his feet and began pacing the length of his tent, a worried expression on his face. Seeing his leader so distracted, the Blood Hound made a hasty and discreet exit, pausing only to heave a sigh of relief as he passed through the tent’s opening.

“ Why so distraught?” Zakkan asked.

“ I would never have thought that Carnexos would fall in battle. You know how deadly he is.” Krugar replied. The necromancer laughed again, swilling the wine in his cup.

“ The arrogant fool was never half as good as he made himself out to be! If he had not gotten himself killed, my blade would taste of his blood sooner or later!” Krugar refrained from any comment. He knew who the victor would be if Zakkan faced Carnexos in a duel. The necromancer would not be the one walking away.

“ What else do you know?” He demanded, his patience fading rapidly. “ You did not come to talk about Carnexos!”

“ The bodies of your men bore wounds caused by a curved and keen blade. The angles upon which they were placed suggested that their killer wielded more than one such blade.” Zakkan told him. “ Does that sound like anyone we know?”

“ Shura!” Krugar clenched his mighty fists before his face. “ The assassin still lives!” A deranged smile twisted the necromancer’s handsome features.

“ Your army languishes here, frightened of your own shadows. There is only one man standing in your way. Give me command of a hundred men, Krugar. Ride your main force on and leave him to me.” He promised. Krugar sat down and thought. The True Father’s patience was wearing thin and the Blood Hound had no wish to cause him the slightest displeasure.

“ Very well, then. We ride at dawn tomorrow. Your warriors will move out first. If you spot him, move in and kill him. Even he cannot stand against a hundred men.” Krugar unfurled a map retrieved from one of his traveling chests and jabbed a huge finger at a point on it. Zakkan leaned forward for a closer look.

Krugar pointed to a depiction of a town called Terun. Zakkan knew that place. It was a rich and heavily populated city, famous for its trading port along the river that ran through its length and its university. “ Money and women in plenty. We will enjoy ourselves. I have wasted too much time on the cursed assassin.” The Blood Hound’s voice was eager.

“ Do you not wish vengeance on him?” Zakkan asked slyly. Krugar waved his hand airily, a look of apparent boredom coming over his face.

“ I prefer loot, rape and murder to fighting that insane maniac again and again. He’s all yours, Zakkan. If you’re fast in killing him, I’ll be sure to save some soft, pliant women for you and your hundred warriors.” Krugar’s words belied the edge of fear that crept into his voice and the necromancer sneered. The giant of a man had lost much of his reckless nerve since he lost his enchanted ring. The Blood Hounds had been camped at their current position for days, as their leader feared a possible ambush by an army lying in wait for them down the road to the capital. Now that Krugar knew the truth, the Blood Hounds would not hesitate in re-embarking upon their journey of pillaging and destruction. No matter how deadly Shura was he would be nothing more than a nuisance against the full strength of an entire army.

A nuisance that was easily swatted.

**************************************************

Arkados opened his eyes, severing the mental contact between him and Sylurae. The green-skinned woman had been using her psionic powers to eavesdrop on the conversation between Krugar and Zakkan. A look of worry came over Arkados’s face as he considered the knowledge that he had gleaned.

Sylurae opened her eyes a moment later. She had pressed her forehead against Arkados’s so that he could see through her mental eyes and hear her thoughts. The physical contact had not been necessary, but she had desired it. Her fingers stroked Arkados’s face as she recognized the look of anxiety, an expression so uncommon for the confident Arkados, in his blue eyes. His features softened under her soothing gestures but not by much.

“ Your friend will not be caught by the Blood Hounds. I have faced him in battle and have seen the way he moves. Krugar’s clumsy warriors will not even glimpse the shadow of his shadow.” She assured him, though she felt that Arkados would know better, having fought beside the swordsman for so many years.

“ He will not hide.” Arkados said, shaking his head slowly. He will stand out there in the open and wait for the Blood Hounds. He will fight and he will die.”

“ Why would he do so?” Sylurae’s tone was disbelieving. “ He does not strike me as someone short of wits.”

“ Shura is not unintelligent, but he has exhibited many suicidal tendencies in the past. Standing alone against overwhelming numbers is one of his favorite pastimes!” Arkados’s voice grew grim and for a moment, his confident veneer seemed to crack. “ Yet another friend lost! Ander, Kalvairn and now Shura! Perhaps this is my retribution for my past deeds…” Seeing his distress, Sylurae reached out and drew him close, hugging him tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“ You are beyond retribution, Arkados Blackmire.” She spoke softly into his ear. “ The heavens tremble when you gaze skywards and the earth shakes at your command. Your greatness is beyond justice and fate!” Arkados smiled slightly. Sometime after the deaths of Kalvairn and Ander and Shura’s departure, greatness had become less and less important to him. Kalvairn’s thirst for arcane knowledge warped and deformed him both mentally and physically. Katherine, his sister, had pursued power so obsessively that she ha paid the ultimate price. Her contract between her and the Crimson Tyrants, vampire gods from another plane of existence, was irrevocable. Even with the powers of an Archfiend, there was little Arkados Blackmire could do for his sister the day the Crimson Tyrants deemed that their fee was due. All of her stolen time and blood would be for naught, at least in his eyes.

At the lowest point in his life, Arkados Blackmire, usurper King of Gryloas, High Lord of the Blackguards and Grand Master of the Ravager looked back upon his past with a sense of abhorrence that surprised himself.

There had been so many lives damned, so much suffering wreaked by his hand. He had built his dreams upon the corpses of his enemies. The cadavers of his friends made up their foundation. On his road to glory, he had sacrificed those loyal to him like so much chaff and rubbish. In his dreams, Ander and Kalvairn had slit their wrists and had offered the blood for him to quench his thirst. Shura had reassured him calmly that all his problems would be solved if he would only take the heart torn from his chest and use it as a stepping-stone. The swordsman would try to press the bloody organ into Arkados’s hands, ignoring his horrified protests, an eager smile on his dead, ashen face, viscera pouring from his open rib cage. “ Your dreams…we shall die for your dreams…” Kalvairn had told him once, many, many years ago when he had first met the elf.

If the bricks and stones that made up the bridge to his greatness were made of his friends and enemies, the mortar and plaster that held them together comprised of the countless innocent folk that had somehow become embroiled in his mad grasping for power. The late queen of Gryloas, a child barely out of girlhood, had been sacrificed to his father, body and soul. By his orders, entire towns have been razed and the inhabitants put to the sword. Their cries and wails for pity had availed them nothing at all, for Arkados did not allow them to touch him.

Yet, the amount of sorrow he would have caused would have been much greater if not for Shura. The swordsman had not allowed the taint of evil to creep into his soul despite the company he kept. His presence held Ander and Katherine back from many of the atrocities that they had been poised to commit. Ander, his heart big and broad where his friends were concerned, had taken the swordsman’s objections with a big smile and a shrug. He would defile no women and kill no children if the swordsman did not want him to. The repeated friction between Katherine and Shura had led to hatred and eventually, open enmity upon the battlements of Cypher.

His neatly executed assassinations made many large battles unnecessary. Thousands of warriors would not perish in armed conflict at the cost of the lives of their leaders. Political objections when Arkados ascended the throne had been widespread and he would have had a hard time holding onto his power if not for the fact that the generals and lords that opposed him died mysteriously and violently with little collateral loss of life.

“ I hang from utter damnation by a single thread…” He thought. Arkados shook his head, clearing his doubts and looked into Sylurae’s luminous eyes. They glowed slightly within the dim interior of the wagon.

“ You believe your words?” Arkados asked wryly, a downward glance pointing out the heavy chains that bound his arms and the enchantment upon the metal links that made him powerless.

“ I believe them.” She replied, an equally wry expression coming upon her beautiful, if strange face. “ And this,” Sylurae ran a finger down the chains. “ Simply makes things more interesting. I can touch you any way I want and you have no way of responding.”

“ That is not entirely true.” Arkados quipped. With Sylurae’s face so close to his, he leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips. He studied her shocked expression as he drew back and was surprised. Sylurae, for all her prowess in battle, had never known any intimacy with a man before.

“ My apologies…” He began, a note of uncertainty in his voice, for he feared that he had offended her. His words were cut off as Sylurae pulled his head forwards to resume the kiss. It went on for some time before she pulled away and leaned her head on his chest, her eyes bright. “ By two threads…perhaps…” He dared to hope.

“ Release me.” Arkados said, his voice low. Surprise came over her face.

“ What?”

“ Release my chains and we shall leave this place.” Sylurae shook her head furiously at the request.

“ What madness are you speaking?” She demanded.

“ I want no part of the True Father’s insane plans.” Arkados’s sapphire gaze bore into Sylurae. “ And you do not as well, you know it.” The statement was true. Sylurae was not a person who reveled in terror and bloodshed like so many of the other Children of Travesty.

“ I can not…” Tears shone in her eyes as she replied in a subdued voice.

“Release me and we shall go anywhere you desire together, be it to a queen’s throne in Gryloas or on an endless journey into the wide, wide world, hand in hand.” Arkados pleaded, looking into Sylurae’s eyes. “ Release me and let me hold your hand.” Sylurae tore her gaze away.

“ I owe the True Father too much!” She cried. The longing in her heart warred with her reluctance and it wrenched at her soul. She got to her feet and turned. “ I owe him everything…even myself.”

“ Sylurae!” Arkados called after her but she was already making her way out of the wagon. As the canvas flap fell over the exit, she spoke again.

“ I can not…”

**************************************************

Sylurae found a secluded spot amongst the woods that surrounded the campsite of the Blood Hounds. There, she sat down and wept bitterly, her tears rolling down and off her cheeks to moisten the soft earth at her feet. With her mental powers, Sylurae had no illusions about human and was no naïve, gullible maiden. Arkados had used his charm as a means to his ends on many occasions but his motives and heart were transparent to her mind’s eye. And they were true, resulting in the deep longing within her soul.

Soon enough, her weeping ended and a bitter smile formed upon her lips. Arkados had the power and wisdom of an Archfiend, one of the greatest demons in the infernal planes and even with the True Father’s chains, he possessed enough mental discipline and knowledge to mask his thoughts or to distort them into what he wanted them to appear as. How could he have any feelings for a deformed freak like her? Most of the other Children of Travesty bore no outward sign of their taint, save her and Carnexos, who had been as an elder brother to her. She had grieved over his death but his mind had reached out as his life fled and Sylurae had felt such overwhelming peace and joy in his thoughts that it washed away all her sadness.

“ We all bear a taint.” He had told her, his blind, milky eyes gazing into nothing, once. “ I for one prefer to bear it on the outside then on the inside.”

Yet, the recollection was no salve to her agony. Perhaps Arkados was simply using her, filling her head with false promises and hopes to facilitate his escape. The mere thought of it brought on a fresh surge of weeping. She felt a slight nudge in her mind suddenly.

“ Hear me…” The psychic voice was weak and wavering. “ Hear me, Blood Hounds…Children of Travesty…” Sylurae recognized the obvious strain in the voice, as if the use of the mental power took great effort. “ Hear me, celestial scum…”

“ Who is it?” Sylurae projected her thoughts out. The psychic speaker registered surprise as he felt the response.

“ Here I am…” And Sylurae’s mental eyes soared over the plains and hovered above the black-cloaked figure of Shura. The swordsman stood with his arms folded and eyes closed, veins bulging in his forehead with effort. “ Know that I stand in your way…know that I seek your deaths…” Blood started to flow out of one of his nostrils and Sylurae immediately knew that the swordsman had ruptured a blood vessel in his head.

“ The Blood Hounds ride tomorrow at dawn! Do not seek to oppose them! Lose yourself in the wilderness and they will ride by without seeing you!” She thought. There was a small surge of surprise from Shura again.

“ No…” Came the answer. “ No…” The swordsman’s thoughts became less and less coherent as his reserves of mental energy wore down. “ Never…”

“ What do you want?” Sylurae’s mental cry was frustrated as she sensed the unwavering resolution in the swordsman.

“ The release of Arkados…” Shura thought. Before Sylurae’s sight, the swordsman staggered slightly and blood started to flow from his right ear. “ The Blood Hounds tucking their tails and running…the celestial scum’s head on a platter…” Sylurae felt a new presence entering the mental conversation and she cringed from its obvious power.

“ Ah…you live still, insignificant lackey.” The True Father thought. “ You are foolish to stand against me.”

“ Bastard…” A defiant grin came over Shura’s face even through his agony. “ Whoreson…”

“ I could reach out and crush your mind with ease!” The True Father roared mentally. Sylurae could feel his powerful mind racing across the plains. It rushed towards Shura’s consciousness and she knew that the swordsman’s mind would be torn asunder. The True Father’s psychic claw halted before it could touch him, however.

“ Bastard’s weapon…to kill…a bastard…” Shura now gripped the hilt of a sword strapped to his back. Syn Vinac’s hilt flared and a yellow flame flayed the skin of his hand, stripping it of flesh and bone. It grew back as it tore, however, due to the ring he had stolen from Krugar. The True Father gave a mental scream of frustrated rage tinged with fear for he recognized the weapon. So long as Shura had the paladin’s sword with him, no angel could touch him with any of his or her powers. The True Father would have to wrest the weapon from him in direct combat.

The fear was gone in an instant, however and mocking laughter reverberated in Shura’s head.

“ You are no paladin, fool. Throw that weapon away before you kill yourself!”

“ No…” The swordsman answered defiantly. “ Death…for you…”

“ Die on the morrow then, lackey.” The True Father withdrew for he could not be bothered to carry on the conversation any longer. Sylurae lingered for a little while more to see Shura collapse to one knee and cough. Dark red liquid spewed from his lips but he had a somewhat triumphant grin on his face.

“ Come get me, you bastards.” He said, before breaking out into low, maniacal laughter. Sylurae’s mind fled back to her own body.

[ January 05, 2003, 15:34: Message edited by: Shura ]

 

Damn am i quick to spam

I sure have luck

Shura as always - extraordinary

and i would adwise you to watch Ninja Scroll if you can get your hands on it.

[ January 05, 2003, 18:42: Message edited by: Gothmog4230 ]

 

Aww, how come I'm never the first to spam anymore?
Great stuff of course, I can't wait to see how the next wave of killing ends up

 

Brilliant! More, please!

 

Well, folks. Here is the next part.

**************************************************

The vile army rode at dawn and their hooves thundered down the dusty roads, raising great clouds of dust. Among the filthy and grizzled killers and rapists that made up the Blood Hounds, a collection of strange, outlandish individuals rode. They had not the slightest tinge of uniformity amongst each other, their weapons ranged from the mundane to the exotic and their skills ranged from the warlike to the arcane. Their evil surpassed that of the Blood Hounds, for it was bred in their flesh and they were born of it. The True Father’s Children rode amongst the most depraved specimens of humanity, radiating their collective darkness, which was an even deeper shade of black than their allies.

A slight shift of the sun’s position in the sky brought the Blood Hounds within sight of a single figure, cloaked in black, standing directly in their path. He had drawn his blades and now stood alone to face an army of thousands. In the center of the Blood Hounds, astride a great horse warped by foul sorcery into a flesh-eating abomination, the True Father spotted his adversary and with a word to his mount, brought himself soaring into the air, high above his army. Shura caught sight of the True Father instantly and raised his swords, bellowing out a challenge with his puny human voice that was drowned out by the din of steel shod hooves upon dirt.

The True Father pointed a finger and the ground erupted beneath Shura’s feet, throwing the swordsman into the air, his body cut and shredded by a thousand rock fragments. The injury meant little to Shura, for his flesh healed as it tore and his bones mended as they snapped. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind and sheathed his shorter sword, all the while keeping his gaze focused on the True Father’s form. Lightning flared from the True Father’s hands and Shura drew Syn Vinac, bringing the paladin’s sword to meet the bolt of energy. Sparks crackled and the swordsman was flung a great distance away, out of the path of the Blood Hounds. He hit the ground with a terrific impact, breaking every bone in his torso. His internal organs were cut to shreds by the broken bones. Still, the enchanted ring brought him back from the realm of death and he leapt to his feet a moment later, totally restored.

Krugar’s horde had passed him by and Shura could not hope to catch up. A slight grin pulled at Shura’s lips, though. He had a surprise for them down the road. The grin widened as he saw a column of warriors break from the army and gallop towards him, waving their weapons in the air and bellowing their ferocious war cries. Shura sheathed Syn Vinac and drew his wakizashi.

The first of the Blood Hounds that reached him was cut into half at the waist before he could even begin the downswing of his mace. Shura leapt onto his horse and spun it about, bringing it into a full gallop towards his opponents. He did not rein the horse in as he neared the awaiting lances of the Blood Hounds. Instead, the swordsman leapt from his saddle, letting the heavy bulk of his mount impale itself upon the lances of the Blood Hounds, tearing the weapons from their startled hands. The black katana and white wakizashi swung dazzlingly while Shura was in mid-air and half a dozen corpses toppled from their saddles as the swordsman landed in the middle of his enemies.

Cries of alarm issued forth from the mouths of the shocked Blood Hounds as they flailed about with their swords and maces, seeking to strike Shura. The swordsman was a dark blur of motion as he wove his way through the press of horses. He crouched low as he dashed, cutting the legs of the Blood Hounds’ horses out from under them. Equine shrieks of agony filled the air as one warhorse fell after another, creating a mound of writhing, bloody flesh upon the ground. The Blood Hounds so caught were struck and crushed in the death throes of their mounts. Shura leapt atop the mound so that he could face his enemies on the same level and hacked down one startled Blood Hound after another. In a matter of minutes, Shura had slaughtered thirty men and caused such panic among the rest that it might have been a rout if not for a single rider, cloaked in black like the swordsman had not galloped forward and swung at him with a scythe, knocking him from his perch. Shura caught the blow on his katana and flipped over in mid-air once to land on his feet.

The fighting ceased as the Blood Hounds drew back to regroup, wondering if they had been ambushed by a hidden army and not a single man. Fear and disbelief were apparent on their faces as they surveyed the carnage that Shura had caused. Zakkan rode forward, an expression of joy and rage twisting his handsome features.

“ I have awaited this moment for a long time.” The necromancer said. Shura laughed.

“ You have been awaiting death? Fear not, then. I shall grant it shortly!” He replied.

“ Fool!” Zakkan bellowed, pulling on the reins of his horse so that it reared. He swung his scythe in the air. “ I AM DEATH!” With a gesture from the necromancer, the rest of the Blood Hounds thundered forth again, a wall of lances charging towards Shura. The swordsman laughed once, as if proclaiming the doom of his enemies and leapt high, higher than any man could have, landing on the length of a lance held by a shocked Blood Hound. Shura stabbed him in the throat with his wakizashi and ran down the row of outstretched lances, using his amazing agility to leap from his perch atop one lance to another, all the while decapitating, dismembering and disemboweling their owners. The Blood Hounds shrieked in terror at the sight, for they have never seen such a warrior before. A few soiled themselves as they saw the swordsman come towards them. They emptied their bowels and their heads and limbs flew from their bodies within moments of doing so.

Zakkan stared in disbelief. It was as if the Blood Hounds were riding into a meat grinder. He shouted for them to pull back and his minions were only too eager to agree. Shura stabbed a few Blood Hounds in the back as they turned to flee.

“ Bows! Shoot him down!” The necromancer bellowed. A fair number of the Blood Hounds produced horse bows from their saddlebags and strung them. The sheer press of numbers prevented Shura from rushing forward and cutting down the archers. A Blood Hound fitted his short bow with an arrow and let it loose. Shura struck it from the air with a sweep of his wakizashi almost casually. The Blood Hound cried in terrified surprise and his fellows echoed his fear.

“ Silence!” Zakkan screamed. He swung his scythe in the air. “ I shall have the soul of anyone who tries to flee!” The necromancer’s foul reputation brought his minions in line. “ Keep shooting! Circle him as you loose your arrows! We shall see how many he can deflect. Two-dozen riders broke from Zakkan’s force and galloped around Shura, surrounding him.

“ Kill him!” Two-dozen arrows flew from their bows upon the order. The swordsman moved like a darting shadow, his swords striking many shafts away and his body evading more. He could not block every arrow, however and one caught him in the left eye, knocking his head back. The archer gave a cry of elation and a rain of arrows poured into Shura’s staggering form. The swordsman’s body was bristling with arrows and he took a faltering step forwards before collapsing. Cheers of victory rose amongst the ranks of the Blood Hounds and Zakkan laughed in triumph.

He was about to turn and order his minions to rejoin the main army when he caught a flicker of movement from the swordsman’s apparent corpse. Shura rose, a twisted grin on his blood drenched face, an arrow protruding from his left eye. Dropping his katana, Shura gripped the shaft and tore it out. The empty socket churned with blood for a moment before a new eye filled it.

“ No…” Zakkan hissed in denial. The triumphant look upon his face faded away. Terror placed its clammy grip upon the remaining Blood Hounds as they saw the swordsman seemingly rise from the dead.

“ You…can’t kill me like this…” Shura said, the words almost incoherent due to the three arrows lodged in his throat. “ Cut off my head or burn me to ashes if you wish my death.” He picked up his katana and advanced, his blades held out wide. “ Come and do so…if you can…”

The sight drove the Blood Hounds into a frenzy of terror. Many of them started frothing at the mouth and more leapt from their saddles and ran towards the swordsman, brandishing their weapons. Their foul and twisted minds overcome with fear, they sought to escape it by hurling themselves blindly at Shura. The swordsman snarled at their frothing visages, more than happy to oblige them. His swords cut and slashed, moving in a rapid blur. Shura did not bother with defense. He took a sword in the gut and a mace cracked his skull, causing blood to flow from his ears. Still, he did not relent. He slew and slew, the bodies piling up at his feet and all of Zakkan’s threats and cries could not rally the Blood Hounds.

The hundredth man fell, his skull cleaved by Shura’s black katana and the swordsman cast his baleful glare upon the necromancer sitting alone upon his horse. Zakkan’s jaw twitched as he sought to regain his composure. Eventually, the necromancer broke out in laughter that went on for many moments.

“ Krugar’s ring!” He said, between bouts of laughter. “ Even he could not utilize it to such an extent. The pain of the wounds would have overcome even his great strength after a while!” Shura plucked the arrows from his throat and began removing the rest of the shafts from his body.

“ Time to die, necromancer.” He said. Zakkan’s laughter began anew. He swept open his cloak and produced a human thighbone, cleaned and polished so that it shone a glaring white in the light of the sun.

“ Forty nine maidens died for this!” He brandished the thighbone and Shura could see intricate runes carved into its surface and it had been hollowed out like a flute. “ Their shades are bound to my will for eternity! Though I have no taste for men, your soul shall join theirs!” Zakkan brought the bone flute to his lips and produced a slow, keening dirge. Shura felt the fell arcane energy gathering in the necromancer and he ran forwards, intent on killing him before he could complete his spell. A cold hand seized his ankle then and Shura looked down. The gray, ashen face of a Blood Hound looked stupidly at him, even though there was a huge, gaping wound in his chest. The necromancer had animated the corpses of his enemies! Shura rammed his katana into the zombie’s face and tore its head off. The zombie’s hand still maintained its vice-like grip upon his ankle and Shura lopped it off at the wrist with his wakizashi. Bringing his attention back to Zakkan, Shura found a wall of moaning, staggering zombies between him and the necromancer.

“ It is your time to die, Shura!” Zakkan screamed in triumph. The zombies moved in and Shura brandished his blades, knowing how useless his weapons were against such opponents.

**************************************************

Krugar could not believe his eyes when he saw the leading ranks of his men cry out in terror and agony and topple from their saddles in bloody halves. Death and carnage occurred likewise down the length of the column as Blood Hounds found themselves mysteriously cut in two, sliced open so cleanly that they felt no pain as their body parts separated.

“ Halt!” He screamed, his mighty voice carrying above the thunder of the hooves. “ Halt!” His orders took some time to register and many terrified Blood Hounds were pushed by their confused brethren forwards into death. Hundreds perished in an instant and many others followed in the ensuing moments of confusion. Amidst the shocked and confused cries of the Blood Hounds, Krugar rode forwards to the head of his column and inspected the air above the dirt where so many of his men had died. He reached forwards tentatively with the haft of his axe and the weapon fell into pieces.

“ Carnexos!” Krugar hissed as he realized the cause of this disaster. The former Child of Travesty’s weapons could stretch almost indefinitely due to their powerfully enchanted nature and Shura had trapped the width of the entire road. “ What is the death toll?” He asked one of his minions, a Blood Hound that acted as the equivalent of a sergeant. The Blood Hound wiped his face with the back of his hand nervously.

“ Almost eight hundred, boss.” He reported. “ We were riding in ranks of a hundred abreast and no one really knew what was happening until the fifth rank got…shredded, boss.” Krugar roared in anger. From the battle at Earl Corza’s castle until now, the swordsman had cost him more than a thousand men, fully one third of his entire army! He was about to roar again when he noticed the True Father cantering forwards to approach him. His rage evaporated into fear.

“ What is the problem, my Child?” He asked, his voice low and quiet. Krugar gulped in fear and pointed at the nearly invisible web that Shura had woven in their path. The True Father raised his hand and a column of fire tore down the road for as far as the eye could see. Carnexos’s weapons were no more. There was a slight tremble to the True Father’s hands that Krugar correctly associated with near uncontrollable rage.

“ Move on, my Child.” The True Father said softly. Krugar nodded and began bellowing orders to his minions, disguising his fear with fervent eagerness.

And the rest of the Blood Hounds proceeded onto Terun, a city less than a day’s ride away.

**************************************************

The horde of zombies hardly thinned as Shura wove his dance of death amongst them, avoiding their clumsy, grasping hands and swinging fists. His keen blades parted their flesh but did little to deter their onslaught. After a few moments of frustration, the swordsman leapt backwards, regarding his undead opponents with a sense of helplessness. Zakkan laughed at the sight and continued his playing his gruesome flute. Shura could feel the Negative energy building up in the necromancer’s flute and knew that there would be dire consequences if Zakkan was allowed to complete his spell.

A thought came to Shura and he sheathed his blades. Combining the techniques of the Second and the Third Sphere, he drew upon his life force and let it suffuse his entire body. He dodged a flailing arm and planted his palm upon a zombie’s chest. The swordsman channeled his life force into the undead creature, seeking to neutralize the Negative energy that animated it. The creature’s tortured features relaxed into a state of blissful release and it crumbled to the ground. Shura gasped as he felt the drain upon his life force and he staggered backwards, his face pale and ashen.

“ Try that again, fool! How much more of your life can you afford to give away?” Zakkan shouted, amusement apparent on his face. The horde of zombies pressed in and Shura had to scramble frantically to avoid being surrounded.

“ I shall not fall here!” The swordsman snarled. He drew his blades again, preparing himself for a desperate charge towards the necromancer. Just then, a deep guttural voice bellowed a bestial war cry and a huge host of warriors charged into the fray. Shura and Zakkan had been so intent upon their battle that they had not noticed the arrival of the newcomers until now. The warriors were clad in black armor decorated with cruel spikes and they wielded heavy war-hammers and maces that made short work of Zakkan’s undead force. Shura blinked his eyes in utter bewilderment as he realized that his saviors were orcs.

A moment flashed past in which the path to Zakkan was clear and Shura dashed forwards, his blades extended before him. The necromancer’s eyes widened and he screamed the final word of his spell and pointed his flute at Shura. A stream of translucent white mist issued forth, the visages of women shrieking in agony visible within and the swordsman ran right into its midst. The wraiths of the forty-nine women bore into Shura’s soul and drank deeply of his life force. He gasped as a deathly cold began to race down his limbs and he staggered, dropping both his swords as he did so. Zakkan leapt off his mount and started walking towards the fallen swordsman. There was no way Shura could drive off the wraiths using his mastery of the Second and Third spheres: there had been three wraiths in the tavern in Plaelu; now there were forty-nine. An orc lumbered into the necromancer’s path and he slew it with a sweep of his scythe.

“ So cold…” Shura’s thoughts swept through his mind wildly in his agony. The longing for warmth became nearly unbearable and Shura knew that it would become his only desire and hunger if he succumbed to the wraiths, becoming an undead, life-draining creature himself. His fingers instinctively reached for the hilt of Syn Vinac and the sword burnt and scorched them. “ Warmth!” The killing fire of the paladin’s sword was as a shining beacon to the swordsman’s fading consciousness. He grasped it fully, welcoming the sword’s fury as it blistered and tore at the flesh of his right arm, welcoming the sword’s flames that seared agonizingly into his soul. Shura surged to his feet and drew Syn Vinac with a defiant cry. The sword’s blade flared with a bright yellow light at being in such close proximity to the wraiths and its radiance caused the spirits to disperse. The tortured visages of the forty-nine women faded as Syn Vinac pointed the way to oblivion for them.

Zakkan stood still, stunned with horror as Shura banished the wraiths with the paladin’s sword. The necromancer recovered quickly as he realized his dire circumstances; the orcs were finishing off the last of his zombies. He snarled in anger and rushed forward, intent on cutting down Shura. The swordsman, still weak from his ordeal, attempted a feeble parry with Syn Vinac and Zakkan swept the weapon from his grasp. Pulling back his scythe in readiness for a great slashing blow, Zakkan screamed in triumph. Shura leapt inside the reach of the cumbersome weapon and caught hold of the scythe’s haft. The necromancer snarled and attempted to wrest the weapon away and Shura knew that he could not stop him. He could only delay the inevitable.

Suddenly, there was a curved, serrated blade protruding from Zakkan’s chest and a look of disbelief came over the necromancer’s features. He lost his grip on his scythe and Shura fell backwards, holding onto it.

“ What…” Blood bubbled from his lips as the blade was withdrawn and he turned to regard his killer. A huge armored orc raised his visor and studied the dying necromancer for a moment. Then he brought his sword around in a great sweeping arc that decapitated the necromancer. A gout of blood arced into the air and disregarding the grisly shower, the orc started walking towards Shura.

The swordsman leapt to his feet, his strength returning. He had only Zakkan’s scythe in his hands and he was now surrounded by the black-armored orcs. He hissed in anger and frustration. Was he to die at their hands after all he had gone through?

The orc that killed Zakkan neared Shura and the swordsman could now make out the insignia of the Blackguard upon his breastplate. The orc was a Blackguard! Stunned by the realization, the swordsman could only stare numbly as the orc slammed his mailed fist upon his breastplate before bringing it to his visor, the traditional salute of the Blackguards.

“ Lord Shura.” The human tongue was strange and distorted in the orc’s mouth. “ War-mistress Millene has been informed. My band was in the immediate area and I have been mobilized to intercept and destroy the Blood Hounds.” Lord Shura? The swordsman could hardly believe this was happening. Apparently, the War-mistress had a higher opinion of him than he believed.

“ You are remarkably well-spoken for an orc.” He said bluntly. A few orcs nearby growled, recognizing the insulting tone in Shura’s voice. The Blackguard raised a hand to quell the ire of his soldiers.

“ I have studied for two years at the Officer Academy that his majesty King Blackmire established upon his ascension, Lord Shura.” He said. “ I am Captain Kulgore and my men,” the Blackguard waved his hand in a sweeping gesture. “ Are members of the thirtieth Battalion out on long-range patrol.” Shura’s eyebrows twitched furiously as he sought to digest the information. Arkados had been very liberal about his army.

“ How many…men do you have under your command, Captain?” He asked.

“ Five hundred.” Came the reply. “ We are to join up with a much larger force coming from the capital and catch the Blood Hounds in between.”

“ No.” Shura said. Kulgore was taken aback. “ We must catch them before they reach Terun.”

“ We will be heavily outnumbered, my lord.” There was no fear in the captain’s voice as he voiced that fact. Shura swept his gaze over the host of orcs that surrounded him and felt a mounting sense of awe. Arkados had actually succeeded in turning the savage, dull witted brutes into loyal soldiers willing to die for him!

“ Do you fear death, captain?” The swordsman asked. Kulgore did not bat an eyelid.
“ No.”

“ Then get your men ready to move!” He snapped. Kulgore saluted again and turned, barking orders to his men. The orcs ran rapidly towards a small crevice, where Shura could see a few hundred giant wolves awaited their riders. Shura could only shake his head in disbelief once again. As the orcs streamed past him, the swordsman noticed that they gave him a wide berth. Kulgore explained as Shura retrieved his weapons.

“ Many of them were at Cypher, Lord Shura.” The Blackguard said. “ Your reputation precedes you.” Shura had to work hard to keep his amazement from showing upon his face at the bizarre turn of events. He found a horse that belonged to one of the Blood Hounds and clambered atop it, fixing the cruel spurs that he found in a saddlebag to his heels as he did so. He would need them to persuade the horse to ride beside the gigantic wolves.

“ Can they understand the human tongue?” Shura asked Kulgore, forcing his mount to canter beside the Blackguard’s monstrous steed. The orc nodded and Shura drew his black katana. “ Good!”

“ Ride!” He bellowed, pointing his katana in the direction Terun lay. “ Ride or die!” With a great chorus of war cries, yet another dark host thundered towards Terun, hot on the heels of the Blood Hounds.

**************************************************

“ They come!” Feather ‘s voice was harsh with anxiety as he addressed the young guardsman atop the walls of Terun. His keen eyesight had detected the dust clouds raised by the Blood Hounds long before anyone else could. The guardsman gulped nervously; sweat running down his youthful face.

“ Shall I pass the word?” He asked. Feather nodded and he ran off, his armor clattering noisily as he sought his superiors. The elf placed his quiver at his feet and strung his bow.

“ You shall make your stand here?” Attucks’s voice interrupted his thoughts. The aged priest stood beside him with his hands resting upon the wall’s railings.

“ Yes.” Feather replied, gazing off into the distance. A clamor soon rose up among the ranks of the guardsmen atop the walls as the news of their enemy’s arrival spread. A few hasty prayers were audible amidst the din of men readying their equipment. Attucks smiled as his few disciples, young priests of the Celestial Church, led groups of soldiers in low hymns and songs of praise to his god.

“ They do me proud.” He said fondly. “ I see great potential in their future.”

“ I hope they live to see it, priest. There is little hope of any of us surviving beyond this day.” Feather checked the feathers upon his arrows for the umpteenth time and loosened the straight sword upon his back in its scabbard. Anxiety was visibly plain upon the elf’s features as he scanned his surroundings, trying to figure his best course of action when the fighting began.

“ The Lord will see us through, Feather. By his grace and will, no evil men will triumph over the good folk of Terun this day.” Attucks assured him. Feather scoffed.

“ And was it your god’s will that the people living in the settlements south of Terun be sacked by the Blood Hounds? Was it your god’s will for their men to be killed, their women abused and their children slaughtered?” The elf said, turning his gaze balefully upon Attucks. “ Your little hovel,” Feather gestured in the direction of the city. “ Would not know of their approach if not for Shura, let alone be ready to repulse them! No, I will put my trust in my sword and bow, not in some distant and uncaring deity!” The priest’s startled expression told Feather of his slip of tongue.

“ Shura.” The name sounded flat on Attucks’s tongue. “ He sent you?” Feather cursed himself under his breath for his carelessness. The elf had no choice but to nod, noticing the disapproving light growing in the priest’s eyes.

“ He is an evil man, elf. Fear for your soul if you count him among your friends!” Attucks warned. “ The Lord’s vengeance will find him soon!”

“ He is out there, fighting the Blood Hounds and buying Terun time to brace itself!” Feather screamed at the priest. “ Beware your words, human!” Attucks was taken aback and he stammered weakly for a few moments before his expression softened.

“ If what you say is true, then my words were spoken in folly and I apologize, Feather. I can sense the nobility in your soul, elf and I fear that it will be tainted by the presence of the murderous madman that Shura has become.” He said softly. “ I shall thank him for this deed if I see him, though his crimes are beyond forgiveness.”

Feather started to reply but an alarmed shout rang out, catching the attention of every warrior atop the city walls. He traced the source of the shout to a guardsman pointing into the sky and followed his pointing finger to a rider, cloaked and with a cowl over his head, floating in the air astride a hideously warped horse. His mouth went dry with fear at the aura of menace that emanated from the rider and he knew that he was in the presence of the True Father.

The True Father galloped in the air upon his evil mount along the length of the city walls, letting every guardsman catch sight of him. When he was sure that he had the attention of everyone, the True Father halted his steed and spread his arms in a grand gesture.

“ Open your gates, people of Terun, and let my warriors ride through. Submit to my will and I shall be merciful to those I have conquered!” His powerful voice resonated in the air, filling the ears of every warrior that stood in the defense of Terun. Before any indecision could come upon Terun’s warriors, though, Attucks spoke, his voice enhanced by the power of his faith.

“ He lies! This foul spawn of darkness seeks to deceive us with his honeyed words and his grand presence!” The priest cried and his voice equaled the True Father’s in volume and conviction. “ Trust in the might of the Lord! The Celestial Knight shall shield us and by His grace, we shall smite His foes! Take the enemy to our bosom and we shall feel the bite of his poisoned dagger of lies! Stand fast, warriors of the Lord, pay no heed to this evildoer’s blandishments and threats!” The True Father laughed in response, a sweet, beautiful yet terrifying sound that caused more than one soldier to drop his weapon and start weeping in joy and fear.

“ I do more than threaten, foolish priest!” He pointed one finger at Attucks and a bolt of silver energy arced forth towards him. The priest took the bolt squarely in the chest, his head held high. There was a flash of sparks and Attucks still stood atop the walls, unhurt.

“ My faith shields me, shields us all from your evil, fallen one!” He cried. “ I know of your nature now and that simply makes you all the more fouler!” The True Father shrieked in rage at the priest’s condemnation.

“ What can you know about the deity you worship, foolish human?” He raged. “ I was there when he was created as my youngest brother, I bid him farewell as he was reborn as a mortal and I cursed the heavens when he rose to godhood! He is insignificant, as are you!” The True Father raised his hands and the ground began to shake. Loose mortar fell as the foundations of Terun’s city walls began to loosen.

“ I shall wear his ribs as a crown and bathe in his divine blood, priest! This I promise you!” The cloaked figure of the True Father began to laugh hysterically as he reveled in his power. Feather drew an arrow from his quiver and put it to his bow. He tried to get the True Father in his sights but the bucking stone beneath his feet made such an act impossible. A worried glance into the horizon revealed the coming hordes of the Blood Hounds. His elven eyesight could pick out the features of the lead riders and panic welled within him. Without the walls, the defenders of Terun would be overrun within minutes and the women and children would not have enough time to flee.

Attucks raised his voice in prayer and the words were clearly audible in the air despite the din of the heaving earth and the screams of men. The earthquake stopped and a golden glow suffused the priest’s form as he continued his prayer, mace held high. The True Father turned his cowl towards the priest and sent his will soaring forwards to crush his mind. He met great resistance in the form of the priest’s mental strength, bolstered by the power of his faith. The True Father sneered and exerted his will further, seeking to annihilate Attucks’s mind but he met a second source of resistance as he did so.

Another mind brushed his and the True Father quailed at the power it possessed. He flinched at the presence of his youngest brother. He fled before the glory of the Celestial Knight. Defeated, the True Father withdrew his mental onslaught, leaving Attucks triumphant, his eyes closed, still deep in prayer. The True Father gave vent to another cry of rage and wheeling his mount in the air, galloped back to rejoin his fell allies. The golden radiance softened around Attucks’s form and the priest opened his eyes. Feather was dumbstruck, regarding the priest in awe.

“ The gods exist.” He breathed harshly. Attucks regarded him with a kindly smile.

“ There is only one God, Feather and the Celestial Knight is his son and our link to him.” Feather tried in vain to calm his breathing as he returned his attention to the incoming hordes of the Blood Hounds. He spotted the True Father’s furious form amongst them and did a rough count of their numbers. There were slightly more than two thousand Blood Hounds: Shura had taken a heavy toll upon them.

“ The battle has just begun.” He said, loosing an arrow into the mass of men and horses below the walls. The shaft streaked through the air and embedded itself into the throat of a Blood Hound. The man fell off his horse to be churned into the dirt beneath. Along the walls, guardsmen braced their crossbows upon the railings and sent scores of quarrels into the ranks of the Blood Hounds as well. A hail of arrows answered them from the horse bows of the Blood Hounds and no small amount of Terun guardsmen plummeted from the walls, their bodies riddled by iron-tipped shafts. Siege ladders smacked against the railings and howling Blood Hounds made their way up them. The guardsmen fought back valiantly and everywhere along the length of the walls, warriors were engaged in bloody life-and-death struggles.

A ladder slammed onto the railing where Feather was and the elf heaved it off the walls. Another ladder appeared, and another and the elf soon found himself facing a host of shrieking Blood Hounds. He dropped his bow and drew his straight sword. A trio of nervous youths stood behind him, grasping their pole-arms with sweat-slicked palms. Attucks raised his mace and braced his shield.

“ Fight well, priest!” Feather called. Attucks smiled grimly.

“ Fight well, everyone! Let us do the Lord’s will this day!” The priest cried, his exhortation diminishing the youthful guardsmen’s fear and uncertainty.

Away from the city walls, the True Father sat atop his mount and was surrounded by the Children of Travesty. They shied away from his wrath for the True Father was filled with anger.

“ KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!” The True Father shrieked, his voice containing a rage and venom that only a fallen angel could have.

 

HURRAH I WAS FIRST TO POST A COMMENT. brilliant Shura its better every time, although i dont know how u can get better than the best ever

[ January 19, 2003, 22:15: Message edited by: Dalveen ]

 

I beg to differ, that last installment was no where near as good as the previous ones, I wasn't that impressed by it

 

Amazing, just amazing. I think we should make Shura a crown or something...