Scythe Stories, by Bleys

Chapter 1

A lone figure stands atop the hill ...

He lingers just outside the reach of the glow from the city lights
down below. An experienced soldier, he sees no need to skulk behind
some bush or rock, rather relying on instinct to place himself just
beyond the limits of normal human vision. His eyes become like narrow
slits as he balefully considers the scene in front of him ...

A black, oppressive sky smothers the yellow light that emanates from
torches set at regular intervals along the walls of Nepeth. Many guards
have been placed at the gates of the town, and along the parapets of
the city wall, for it is tonight, like every other night, that they
fear a reprisal from the orcish hordes of the Scythe. Young lackeys
of Drin pace nervously along the wall top, bows in hand, whilst
corpulent knights saunter confidently behind the stone barrier, eager
to shed some orc blood on this dark night. A week ago, Drin the
Fascist had passed another in his latest of iron-fisted rules. This time,
he planned to make all of the forests in the land his 'preserves'
and that if not living in a walled city, it was illegal to 'loiter'
on his property. This was a thinly-veiled tactic to make the Scythe
camp a target for his 'hunting bands' that now prowled the forests,
slaughtering humanoids and animals alike to fill their trophy dens.
This new 'law', on the heels of his tax upon humanoids each time
they enter any city, and his decree that all unique artifacts were to
one day glorify his armoury, made more than one 'outlaw' upset.

The lone figure smirked as he turned the events of the past few days
over in his mind. "Yes, let yourself think we are chaotic rabble
that pose no real threat to your hegemony, dear King," he thought to himself.
"Let your guard down while you suck the marrow
from the bones of another pig at your dinner table!" The man had slowly
turned around to face behind him, looking down the slope of the hill to
the plains behind him. His green eyes flickered. A wicked grin slowly cracked
his face, briefly
shortening the scar that ran down his cheek and into his coppery
beard. Backlit by the hazy glow of the town, his cloak flapped gently
in the breeze. The mark of the Scythe, burned into his chest many yers
ago, glowed a dull orange, reflecting the torchlight. Or perhaps did it
burn from some deep inner anger? There was no question in his mind that
his clan, the Scythe, was the most powerful force in the land. It was
only a matter of 'flexing' their collective muscle that was needed ...

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Chapter 2

Flies buzzed greedily over the fresh remains of a fallen warhorse.
A heinous stench arose from the gory mess, and a trail of bloody
footprints could be seen leading northward away from the corpse.
One inclined in the ways of a ranger might also have noted that
these footprints were made in utmost haste.

Four figures stood ominously behind the dead horse, opposite the
bloody trail. Their breath came in short, quick bursts
that manifested as small clouds in front of them in the cold,
wintry air. Crimson staining their garments and the snow around
them, they sat and stared in repugnant silence at the castle in
front of them.

A snicker escaped from the curved lips of Slevyas as he set to smearing 
an amber salve over and inside the carcass, flies angrily swarming
around his hands as he performed his grim task.

"Heh, this one is quite a specimen. Actually might be worth a spot
in out trophy case," he said, with an undertone of excitement. Slevyas
was a massive orc, his muscles rippling under his leather jerkin as
he applied the balm, not without some measure of dexterity. He had a somewhat
brutish face, handsome for an orc, and his long black hair
was pulled into a tight braid that fell down to his waist. A tattoo
of a blood-red Scythe covered most of his right shoulder blade, and the
steely mark of the Scythe could be seen glinting in the cold afternoon
sun under his jerkin.

"Hurry up with that, Slevyas! How long do you think it will be before
that cowardly knigget alerts the whole city to what we've
done?!" said Laerk, a particularly stout dwarf, as broad as he was
tall and with a fiery beard and head of hair. He hefted a huge
warhammer anxiously in his capable arms, a weapon whose size and
weight must be more than his own, and his ability to wield it made
him all the more fearsome.

"Relax, Laerk. They knew we would come. This is but a small example
of what is going to happen to them now," said a raven-haired woman
of medium stature and exceptional comeliness. She coolly removed a
flask of oil from her backpack and lit a rag that came out of the
top of it. "Did they really think we wouldn't retaliate, after what
they did to our camp[1]?" Vlana, lit flask in her hand, casually 
surveyed the walls of Nepeth, searching for her target and seemingly
carefree of the now imminently deadly weapon she possessed.

Slevyas grunted. He had finished his morbid chore and now slung the
corpse of the horse over one shoulder, while he brandished what
appeared to be nothing more than a tree trunk with his other
arm. He glanced sidelong at the dwarf and said, "Besides, Laerk, we'll
let you ravage that serving wench you hate so much, if she's stupid
enough to let us catch her alive." He grinned wickedly as he spoke.

A crazy glint appeared in Laerk's eyes as he turned this over in his
mind, and he began to froth at the mouth. "Oh, don't misunderstand my
motives. I cannot WAIT to feel their bones crushing under my blows!" But
the look in his eyes betrayed other thoughts and motivations now ...

Vlana lobbed the flaming flask of oil expertly over the wall and onto
the rooftop of what appeared to be a guardhouse. "B O O M!!!" she
shouted excitedly. "That ought to warm things up a bit around here ..."
Desperate cries of alarm and fear rang out from within the city of
Nepeth, and a commotion began to rise behind the high stone walls.

Bryce spat blood onto the ground. "I want to taste knigget blood," he
spoke quietly, with an eerie calm that drew glances from his three
companions. He was a tall man with a sturdy build, and a serious look
belied his cool, tan features and dark green eyes. He hadn't once
removed his gaze from the city, nor had he bothered to sheathe his twin
blades or clean the equine blood from their shafts. A strong armor made
of gold could be made out under a golden cape, and a soft glow emanated
from a ring on one of his fingers. Even in his heavy metal wardrobe, 
Bryce seemed as unencumbered as if he were swathed in silk. He moved
like mercury, taking a few steps forward. "Even now they come, the fools.
Prepare yourselves!"

Vlana sidled up alongside Bryce, as a small parade of knights made their
way angrily out of the south gate, trudging through the snow in a beeline
for the Scythers. She slid one hand inside of his armor and squeezed him.
His body tensed as she whispered to him, "You know how crazy it makes me
to watch you fight ... Do not disappoint me, and we shall celebrate
victory later in my chamber ... "

The group of knights, about 8 or 9 of them, wore shocked and angry
expressions
upon their faces. As they approached, they realized that not only were these
Scythers attacking their village and mounts, but that they also were using
some of the very unique artifacts that Drin himself craved for his treasury!

"Renegades! I am Evaleigh, Knight of the Rose! In the name of good King Drin,
you will surrender yourselves and your equipment to us at once for your
crimes!" the leader of the group said, a half-elven woman who seemed like
she had seen a fair number of battles. She bore a stern expression and could
barely bring herself to look the marauders in the eye, her hatred for them
so fierce.

"Stupid savages ..." one of the knights muttered under his breath, as another
knight cuffed him on the back of his helmet, warning him not to speak while
'Sarge' was speaking.

"Come take them from us, you pointy-eared little freak," Slevyas said
ominously, as Bryce began to slip around the knights' defenses, somehow just
outside the range of vision.

"Know ... Death!!" Vlana growled, an eerie orange glow alight in her eyes
now as she began to murmur a guttural incantation, her Scythe mark burning
bright red upon her chest.

Laerk let out a huge war cry, charging head on into the now advancing knight
force, his warhammer coming alive with a crackling blue energy ...

A great battle ensued ...


[1] Archiver's note: It was noted afterwards that "what they did to our 
    camp" was actually referring to some Knight having killed the stray cat
    (dubbed Scurvy) hanging around Scythe Camp, and according to the rumour 
    its fur was turned into a pair of gloves which were then given to Drin. 
    --Fir

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Chapter 3

Night began to fall over the forest surrounding the Scythe camp. Tall,
gnarled trees served as not only cover but as the base for many of the
fortifications of this clan. From the treetops of one particularly large
cluster of trees came the pale orange glow of torches and the guttural sounds
of the Scythe elite, reveling in their cabin. Through the windows of the
cabin could be seen huge, lumbering shapes that occasionally glared out into
the rapidly darkening forest, causing many a denizen of the woods to run for
cover. The laughter and howls emanating from the wooden cabin shook the very
trees and the ground below it. 

Boki grinned as he leered again into the pool in the center of the cabin.
Actually, it wasn't so much a pool as it was a swirling miasma of dark
energies, and it had a roughly circular shape to it. The huge ogre took
another swig of his drink, a curious reddish-yellow beverage, as he beheld
the images that were displayed at the center of this murky display..

A knight, encased in armor, gurgled blood from his gaping mouth as a sinister
looking figure ran his blade through his rib cage from behind. The knight
slowly slumped forward, onto the ground, as he slid off of the end of a
wicked stiletto. An eerie, black glow emanated from the knife, and its
wielder grinned evilly down at the now twitching corpse. Sounds of a fierce
battle raged on about the lone man, and blades and axes could be seen
flashing in a steely whir all around him, but the details were fuzzy and only
his form could be made out clearly.

Boki squinted, as in disbelief, then grunted in half surprise as he regarded
what took place next. It took a lot to shock Boki, a fierce mountain of scar
and muscle that had slain many a man and beast alike in his day. His lips
curled up slowly into a snarl, pleased at what he was witnessing..

A murderous look entered the eyes of Bryce as he knelt down over the fallen
knight. He thrust his blackened stiletto out in front of him, into the
remains, and the black radiance grew more intense. A hollow, demonic voice
began to scream "Blood! I need blood to grow stronger! FEED ME!" The
platemail which the knight had worn became filled with darkness as the black
blade sucked the bones and blood and sinew out from within. Bryce stood
again, almost recoiling. His muscles rippled and his face hardened and he
appeared to have a supernatural energy about him. He immediately began to
survey the surrounding battle, his only focus seeming to be to feed more
souls to his satanic blade..

Glock spat a piece of gristle, freshly picked from between his sharp teeth,
into a nearby brazier. The flame hissed and simmered brightly for an instant
as it burned and digested its fatty prize. "He has promise, that one," Glock
rumbled, absentmindedly fingering one of many long scars on his face. Glock
was an enormous orc, his prowess on the battlefield legendary and unequaled
in his time. He gazed longingly to his scythe in the corner, its curved blade
giving off a cool metallic glow in the light of the cabin fires.

Boki grunted. Outside, some more branches fell off of a tree near the cabin.
"You might get chance to use dat knigget-picker again, Glock," the large ogre
said, noticing Glock eyeing his favorite weapon. "Me think dis fight here
going to turn into big war! Me think we need to bash Drin's skull in for
good!" Boki snapped his fingers, and a woman scantily clad in dirty rags, her
generous figure barely concealed, stood and opened a nearby cabinet. She
reached in and grabbed a bottle of orcish brew and tossed it to the ogre,
slyly smirking at him. A dumb grin slowly spread over Boki's round face.

Glock began to laugh, dryly at first, then more heartily as he began to
consider entering battle again. Squirrels and rabbits in the nearby woods
began to scurry fearfully for cover, even though none of their usual
predators lurked nearby. Glock grinned, yellow teeth shining, as he stared
fully into the dark pool and regarded its visions..

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Chapter 4

A crimson sun began to set moodily into the horizon, casting a red glow
across the snow-covered fields surrounding the village and castle of Nepeth.
Where the red sunlight ended and the dark stains from blood began in the snow
was unclear. A steadily growing number of corpses dotted the area outside the
town walls and now inside as a bloodthirsty Scythe war party hacked its way
closer to the heart of town. Many buildings blazed brightly in the rapidly
darkening sky, some having nearly burned to the ground already. Some of the
remains bore the steely mark of the Scythe burned into their chest, many more
wore now-crushed and dented helmets and breastplates bearing the insignia of
Drin and his allies. The odd corpse of a horse was mixed in here and there
amongst the battle remains. More and more Scythe clan members streamed in
from the surrounding forests and plains, joining into the fray in the city.
The walls and streets were alive with the chaos of battle, battlecries mixed
in with screams of agony and pain. Many fought along the tops of the walls
and the roofs of buildings that were not ablaze, while others still clogged
up the streets and alleyways of Nepeth.

A red dwarf slung a huge warhammer fully into the head of a warhorse, killing
it instantly and causing it to throw its rider headlong over top of him. As
the dazed knight awkwardly tried to gain his balance, the dwarf turned slowly
on him, a maniacal grin on his face and his eyes wide open, their whites in
stark contrast to his red hair and beard, and to the blood on his face. A
particularly large pile of dead knights was strewn about Laerk, their useless
armor bearing huge rents and welts from his fierce warhammer. The knight had
his bearings now, and he screamed "For the love of Drin!!" at the top of his
lungs as he took a wicked cut at Laerk's head with his broadsword. Laerk
ducked quickly, and he countered by swinging his hammer at the knight's
temple. The knight reacted in time and lunged to his right as the hammer
swept by and collided with the castle wall. A low rumbling shook the ground
at their feet as the wall began to crumble under the force of the hammer
blow. The broadsword bit deeply into Laerk's leg as the knight flashed his
blade in a swift counterstrike. The dwarf gnashed his teeth, seeming almost
to enjoy the pain, and he waved the huge warhammer high above his head, his
quickness belying the true weight of the object he wielded. A blue lightning
bolt shot from the hammer and struck the knight square in the chest, over the
emblem of a rose, and he dropped to his knees, his helmet falling forward.
Laerk swung the hammer down from over his head and through the space the
knight's head occupied in a vicious circle, spraying the wall to his left red
with gore. He turned and gazed in satisfaction at the smear on the wall, then
slowly raised his eyes to the top of the wall. There, a sergeant and his
squire quickly retreated down a ladder on the other side, eyes full of fear
at the sight of Laerk. He raised his arm into the air and sniffed at his
armpit, then began to ominously pick his way through the rubble of the wall
toward the courtyard..

A tall, lean human, dressed in a black robe and carrying a large staff,
smiled contentedly, his mouth a thin line within the fu manchu that decorated
his face. His dark eyes flickered briefly with a yellow light as he waved his
hand over the swirling pool before him, and the scene within changed. Boki
grunted interestedly as he took another bite out of his haggis, his eyes
riveted on the magical scryings. The robed mage frowned briefly, and quickly
touched his Scythe mark. He lost himself in concentration and his features
paled visibly for a moment..

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Chapter 5

Slevyas fell back a few steps, sweat beading off his brow and blood oozing
from many cuts on his hardened body. His black pony tail whipped back and
forth as he dodged and slowly retreated from the intensifying stabs and
swipes from the blades of the six knights in front of him. A small, bony-
chested dog tugged fiercely at his leg, trying desperately to drag him down.
Slevyas grunted irritably, torn between the dog, the rapidly approaching
alley wall behind him, and the advancing lackeys of Drin before him, cocky
grins spreading across their faces. 

"We have you now, orc scum!" one of them shouted out, the feathers on his
helmet waving in the air as he threw back his head and laughed.

"Throw down that maul and die with some scrap of honor, you lice-infested
pig!" another knigget offered, his armor obviously forged specially to fit
his round belly and fat waist.

His condition improved visibly for a moment, his Scythe mark glowing orange
in his skin, but another blade point wove its way through Slevyas' defenses,
opening up a new gash on his right forearm. He bit back the pain,
strengthened his guard, and took yet another step backwards. 

The scene appeared impossible to escape, the bodies of the six knights barely
fitting four abreast and clogging Slevyas' only escape as the high back wall
of the alley loomed not ten feet behind him. The dog became more determined
to devour the orc as it sunk its fangs deep into his heel, causing him to
howl in pain.

"To hell with this!!" he shouted. Growling, he kicked the canine swiftly in
the head, shattering its skull and sending its body flying limply into the
adjacent wall, knocking over some rubbish bins. 

This briefly froze the knights, their faces full of shock at what the
colossal orc just did to their mascot.

Slevyas took this opportunity and swung his maul, the size and diameter of a
large tree trunk, in a backhand motion into one of the knights' heads,
sending a large "CLANG!" out into the nighttime air. The force from his blow
carried his follow-through into the next knight, catching her chin and
spinning her around completely. One of the knights from the back ranks lunged
ahead, his sword plunging right for the orc's belly. Slevyas caught the blade
in his left hand and squeezed, drawing blood, and pulled the man forward off
balance. He brought his maul down fiercely and drove it into his outstretched
arm, which gave off a sickening crack as his bones were shattered. A high-
pitched whimper escaped the knight's throat as he fell forward, fainting from
the pain. 

Of the four remaining knights, three cowered uncertainly behind their
comrade, still spun around and staggering from Slevyas' initial blow to her
face. He stabbed a finger at them and laughed loudly, blood dripping from the
cut on his hand. He then lowered his face and sneered, beckoning with his
finger for them to advance. Not wanting to challenge the orc, the knights
began to backpedal slowly, as if shying away from a wild animal. Slevyas let
out a huge war cry and swung his maul forward with both hands, smacking it
into the back of the elven knight who staggered before him. The top half of
her body bent backwards at a crazy angle from the force of his blow, a loud
crack emanating from her lower back as she was snapped in two. 

Slevyas spat blood on the corpse of the elf as the three cowards turned and
fled back up the alley. He tore a shred of cloth from her undergarments and
began to bandage his left hand, walking slowly out of the alley and eager for
more battle..

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Chapter 6

Boki slammed a brutal headbutt with Glock, a loud and hollow "Thunk" sounding
out in the woods around the camp. Birds of the night swiftly took flight and
headed for safer perches. "Dat is where we belong, Massacrator! Let's go
fight! Me want to devour their corpses!"

The massive orc raised a beefy hand, not even fazed by the ogre's skull
ramming into his own. "Wait," he uttered quietly. "Wait until they need us.
If they need us." But the crooked figure of his scythe, standing quietly in
his corner for so many years, did not escape his vision nor his thoughts..

A strange glow surrounded the voluptuous figure of Vlana as she strolled
casually through the mayhem about her. She laughed gaily to herself as she
gestured blandly toward some building or tower, sending forth a huge fiery
ball in its direction and setting it aflame. Axes and stones and arrows,
hurled from the shadows of the buildings around her and from the many knights
swarming along the parapets of the castle, seemed to warp in their path just
as they were about to reach her, falling harmlessly shy of their mark. Other
members of her clan fought ardently around her, clearing a path for her as
she slowly approached the castle gates. 

Armored figures poured out of one building, obviously the guard barracks, its
roof ablaze and timbers crashing all around. They leapt into battle with the
attacking Scythe clan, trying desperately to reach the mage and snuff her out
and, ultimately, the growing fires she was feeding around her. She lit
another flask of oil and heaved it expertly at a guard of the castle gate,
catching him on fire and sending his screams into the air. She raised one
hand above her head, fingers outstretched, and began to slowly raise her
other arm, index finger pointing. Dark clouds began to gather and swirl in
the sky high above, white and blue veins of electrical energy coalescing in
their center. Her finger raised until it pointed directly at another guard,
and the electricity from the clouds above concentrated into a blinding white
beam that for an instant lit the entire city up in ghostly daylight as it
shot down into Vlana. Her body became as a conduit for the energy, and the
beam redirected and shot out from her finger and into the guard, his body
convulsing as he fried inside of his metal skin.

High above in a tower, King Drin frowned sadly at the sight before him. The
upstart Scythers had soiled his lovely town and were making a run for his
castle and very likely for his own life. Even now he marshaled his escape
corps about him, his wife glaring sternly at the advancing outlaw force. "Let
Gilbert and his army fend them off, my dear, we shall hie ourselves away for
now. We will crush those brutes once and for all, I swear it by the Orders of
the Heart and the Rose!"

Queen Alisha grumbled angrily, looking as if she desired to take up arms
herself and fend off the warmongering Scythers. Her gaze over the crowd
contained more than hatred, however. Her face flushed and her heartbeat
quickened at the sight of a swordsman. He wore a golden cape over a set of
strong fieldplate armour, and he wielded a beautiful rapier with a jeweled
hilt. He gazed up at the balcony where the King and Queen now stood, his
green eyes locking for a moment with hers. He smiled smugly at her as she
recognized him, and he raised the tip of his blade to point at the King's
throat. 

"Bastard," she muttered under her breath, at once hating and desiring the man
she knew well in the courtyard below. 

"Come, my love, we must away now!" Drin shouted, a secret panel sliding open
in the tower wall behind his entourage. 

She tore her gaze away from his, and stormed angrily into the hidden passage
beyond the tower wall..

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Chapter 7

Bryce lowered the Sword of Gilian as the figures of the King and Queen
disappeared from the balcony above. The Sword's song rung out in his mind,
its lust for battle egging him on. He shot a sideways glance at his lover,
Vlana, who continued to burn a path through to the center of the castle
courtyard, and he winked at her. She grinned lasciviously back at him, even
as he melted into the shadows of the castle wall. 

A few hundred feet down the wall, nearer to the gate, the tall captain of the
King's guard barked out orders to his lieutenants as they frantically tried
to beat back the Scythe challenge. He knew his forces would not withstand the
onslaught, but his sense of honor and duty ran deep and he was devoted to
stalling long enough for his King to escape. A bastard sword served as his
gauge as he directed his men in the battle that ensued around him. 

Suddenly, from out of the shadows behind him, a figure leapt out in a blur
and thrust a black blade deep into his side. "STAB! I need to stab! I must
have CORPSES!" the demon inside the brand wailed. The captain spun around,
the wound not lethal but stinging him deeply. He regarded Bryce with contempt
and spat in his glove as he brought his huge sword to bear on the thief.
"Spineless rogues, always skulking your way into battle like that. Meet your
match, Scythe trash."

Bryce smirked back at the captain in silence, his sword now giving voice as
it shouted, "What a bozo! Trash him, boss!" Their blades locked as they began
a deadly duel in front of the castle gate.

Laerk and Slevyas emerged almost simultaneously from the city streets beyond
and into the outer courtyard. They witnessed Vlana and their other brothers
and sisters finishing off what was left of the castle guard. Behind the
castle gate, as Bryce beheaded the captain of the guard neatly with his
rapier, they could see the Prince and his elite regiment of noblemen
assembling near the winch mechanism for the portcullis. Laerk's eyes widened
in excitement at the prospect of joining Gilbert and his pansies in battle,
and Slevyas helped Vlana finish off the last of the knigget rabble before
them. 

Prince Gilbert glared at the Scythers mockingly. He and his assortment of
noblemen were a deadly and intimidating force that could not be so easily
brushed aside. Armed and equipped superbly with what unique items they had
hoarded from the land, they confidently approached the now-rising castle
portcullis. 

The four Scythers and a handful of others were all that were left of the
raiding force that had overtaken Nepeth so far. They grimly awaited the
advancing noblemen, panting and wiping sweat and blood from their palms. 

As the portcullis slammed into the ceiling of the gate with a loud metal
ringing, silence fell over the courtyard as the two sides regarded each
other, each unmoving. 

Prince Gilbert unsheathed his blade and shot it into the air, screaming
"Pendragon!!".

The two sides closed on each other, emitting battlecries and calling for each
other's blood..

Glock's eyes grew wide and he snapped out the word "NOW!" as he moved with
mind-numbing swiftness to the other side of his cabin to snatch up his
scythe. 

Boki stomped his feet passionately on the floor, shaking the tree violently.
"Now, mage! Open da way!"

The thin mage stroked his goatee one last time and then snapped his fingers,
uttering an arcane phrase. A shimmering blue portal opened up in the fabric
of space in front of them, and through it could be seen the corpse-laden
fields in front of the burning city of Nepeth. All three figures leapt
through and the portal snapped shut behind them, leaving behind only sparks
and silence. 

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Chapter 8


A metallic clang rang out as the blades of Bryce and the Prince collided in
mid-air above the snarls and shouts of the battle in the inner courtyard.
Bryce took on an immediate defensive posture in his duel with Gilbert, as the
enraged Prince used both hands to swing his sword, Pendragon, with deadly
force and uncanny accuracy at the Scyther's head. 

Meanwhile, the rest of the courtyard came alive as Scyther and noble knight
locked in a struggle to the death, the knights fighting to salvage what was
left of their city and castle, the Scythers on a bloodthirsty quest to
eradicate the tyranny of Drin from the land once and for all. The cadre of
elite knights that were left were the best-equipped the Scythers had seen
yet, and they were two dozen in number. Of the original throng that began
sacking Nepeth, only twelve remained, including Laerk and Slevyas, who were
now planted back-to-back, swinging their heavy weapons in wide, deadly arcs,
keeping their foes at bay for the moment.

The disciplined noblemen viciously pressed their attack, cutting the battle-
weary Scythers off from each other and teaming up on them. Their beloved
village and castle going up in flames about them, and not yet having tasted
battle, the knights now had the momentum as they began to pick off the
marauding Scythers, one by one. 

Vlana tried to position herself, to get a perfect angle, so that she might
launch a well-placed fireball or toss another flaming flask of oil into the
fray and annihilate a few of the pompous bastards without taking out any of
her own kin. But try as she might, the opportunity did not present itself. As
it was, she had to settle for calling forth another blazing bolt of lightning
and the sickening smell of burnt human flesh filled the air once again as a
knight keeled over, his weapon clattering at his side as it fell from his
blue-black fingertips. A crooked smile spread across her face, her dark eyes
alight with excitement and malice. "That one will taste good .."

"Ugh, these pretty boys make me want to puke!" Slevyas spat, as he brought
his maul down in a quick chopping motion, snapping the blade of an advancing
knight in half. The knight blanched and quickly retreated as two more knights
pushed in to take his place, each eager to have the orc's ears as a prize. 

Laerk could only grunt in agreement, as he had his hands full with his own
array of knights before him. The two warriors still stood, backs to each
other, steadily keeping a five foot radius clear about them as they succeeded
in only fending off the noblemens' charges. Mocking barbs and insults were
hurled at the orc and dwarf, outnumbered six to two, as they met blow after
blow with perfect timing, only their legendary strength keeping them alive as
they forced back each challenge.

High above, beyond one of the castle towers, a mighty griffon took flight in
the air, beginning a slow, winding spiral upwards into the darkness. It
seemed to have several riders upon its back, and if it were daylight and one
were not engaged in a battle to the death, one could see that King Drin and
his Queen were among the passengers on this beast, bound for the forests to
the south.

Bryce was tempted to mop the sweat from his brow as he stubbornly gave ground
to the maddening onrush of the Prince, who seemed not to tire though he swung
his blade with incredible energy. The duel was only a few minutes old, yet
Bryce felt as if he had already faced three opponents. As his rapier belted
out glorious songs of conquest in his mind, Bryce could also hear the evil
rumblings of his stiletto, with which he so artfully parried every stroke the
Prince made. "You must feed me .." it moaned. "I want to taste his blood!
Feed me his corpse!" Bryce feinted low with the bejeweled rapier and then
managed to slice through Gilbert's parry and opened up a long gash on his
left cheek with the black blade. "YES!!!" the demon inside howled in lustful
anticipation.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 9

A sudden cloudburst of smoke appeared off to one side of the castle gate,
atop which sat a pair of stone gargoyles with permanent leering grins, as if
they were viewing the carnage below and laughing at some inner joke. From out
of this grey cloud, now dissipating rapidly, shot forth a figure in a flowing
ermine cape, a tall, ancient man with a long silvery beard and a laughable
pointed hat that was decorated with astrologic symbols. His demeanor,
however, was not at all humorous as he began to conjure forth a series of
magical bolts of energy and fire which he hurled at Vlana, his only apparent
sorcerous counterpart. Vlana screamed in agony as she went down in the
magical flames, the attack coming from behind and catching her unaware. 

"Zarkan! It's about time, you old fool! I assume you've been helping my
father to escape all of this time!" Gilbert snarled at the mage, never once
taking his gaze from Bryce's cunning, patient defense, lest he end up being
fed to that foul black blade of his ..

Zarkan only ignored the Prince, satisfied that he had neutralized the Scythe
sorceress for now, her still form lying at his feet. He turned and looked
upon the mob in front of him, eager to help the arrogant young bastard
Gilbert but his path cut off by the desperate combat between the knights and
Scythers. 

At the center of the battle two strong Scythers kept most of the noblemen at
bay, and at the fringe most of the knights were having their way with the
renegades. One knight in particular, clad in black platemail and a shimmering
surcoat that both seemed to glow from some inner light, was having much
success hurling white bolts of light at the Scythers. He seemed to conjure
the light from the air itself, and his eyes and open mouth blazed with a pure
white glow as he worked his saintly magic. 

Zarkan decided to turn his energies next upon a ghoulish looking dwarf that
had somehow managed to animate one of the fallen knight's corpses and was now
directing it in its mindless attack against his former brethren. How
appalling! It was even using the coveted Starblade itself, Drin's most
favored treasure that he had sent many a knight to their grave to obtain for
his royal treasury. The Scyther leered at the mage, the dark bags under his
eyes and his pallor making him seem like a zombie himself. "Nice hat" the
necromantic dwarf mouthed at Zarkan, then he snickered as he ran a dark blade
into the back of a noble knight that was busy defending herself from her
undead attacker and former friend. This angered Zarkan deeply and he growled
as he began to assemble all of his magical energies and focus them on
demolishing this blasphemous Scythe wretch.

 The knights, reinforced by their powerful spellcaster and paladin, began to
grow confident in their ability to finish off the last of the Scythers. Bryce
staggered backwards, his foot catching on a fallen corpse as he beat back an
exceptionally stalwart attack by Gilbert. This momentary loss of balance
caused him to lose his grip on his blade, already unsteady due to bleeding
from a minor gash on his forearm. The black stiletto went skittering across
the cobblestones of the courtyard off to his right. The Prince grinned
nastily and pressed his attack even more, backing Bryce right into the fray
with the other knights.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10

A low booming could at first be felt and then heard as the very courtyard
began to shake from some unknown and unseen force. Nobody could afford to
tear their gaze away from their opponent to try and identify the source. A
ferocious and primal battlecry then pierced the fiery nighttime air, and a
knight with a view to the south and beyond the castle gate became suddenly
wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He managed to scream out "Lower the portcullis!
For Drin's sake, CLOSE THE -- !!!" before Laerk massacred his head to a
bloody pulp. 

Zarkan, currently intent upon destroying the undead puppet controlled by the
necromantic Scyther, whirled and pointed his wand at the winch mechanism for
the gate, sending a small ball of concentrated electricity at it and frying
the rope in twain. Immediately, the thick iron portcullis came down with a
thunderous crash, just as two huge figures came lumbering up with surprising
speed from the other side. A third, shadowy figure glided along behind them,
his knuckles white as he gripped a large, iron staff.

The ogre, who stood to the right, snarled angrily at the court mage through
the bars, his face contorted into a visage of hideous rage. On the left, a
gargantuan orc calmly leaned the scythe he was wielding against the outer
wall and gripped the bars with both hands. The ogre followed suit and
together they jerked in one swift, backwards motion, and with a horrible
wrenching sound of metal on stone, the iron gate was bent and yanked out of
its stone casing and tossed over their heads into the darkness beyond. They
slammed a bone cracking headbutt with each other then charged through the
gate simultaneously, shattering the stones that got in their path on either
side. 

The sudden arrival of Glock and Boki, the Scythe camp's top two scar scorers,
sent a surge of strength and renewal through the ragged Scythers. Glock swung
his scythe in an ominous arc with awesome speed and brutal force, snapping
spines and disemboweling knights unfortunate enough to be in his sights. He
towered over his opponents and soon covered himself and those around him in
gore, his grim countenance the last image beheld by the trembling forms of
the dying knights at his feet. He drove the heel of his boot through the
teeth of an elven warrior and continued to wreak his bloody havoc.

Boki made straight for the light-hurling paladin and grabbed him up from
behind, arms locked around his waist in a giant bear hug. The paladin
shrieked in surprise and terror as he was lifted several feet from the
ground, then his face became flushed and his neck veins and eyes bulged as
the massive ogre began to squeeze. White energy shot forth from his
outstretched hands in random directions into the dark sky above as his bones
began to audibly crack in the ogre's grip. With a final, fading scream the
paladin's life was snuffed out. Boki gripped the limp form of the knight by
the back of the neck and dragged it over to the dwarven necromancer, who had
now teamed up with the robed Scythe sorceror against Zarkan. As the Scythe
mage brought one end of his staff up and into the chin of the magic-user, the
dwarf grinned evilly as he began to perform a dark ritual using the remains
of the fallen paladin.

Bryce ducked, barely avoiding the bite of Pendragon as it whizzed by his
head. He could not work his way around to his secondary weapon, lying nearby,
as the Prince was too shrewd a fighter to allow him near the blade.

"Ha! Without your little knife you are nothing against me, Scythe trash! Feel
my steel!" Gilbert fainted high then came in with a blinding thrust, right at
the rogue's heart. Bryce barely managed to beat back the attack, but not
without sustaining a large gash on his chest. Wincing in pain, he whirled
around as he parried a chopping blow by the Prince and reached into his boot.
He produced an object that looked to be a small nut or ball, and hurled it to
the ground between him and the Prince. Instantly, an acrid cloud of black
smoke arose, momentarily blinding the Prince and sending him reeling
backwards, blade waving wildly in front of him. 

Bryce seized his chance and somersaulted forward towards the stiletto,
grasping it with his free hand as he completed the tumble and regained his
balance. He could see the Prince hacking and spitting, still oblivious to the
rogue's whereabouts. Bryce felt more blood spill forth from the cut on his
chest and he became weak. He knelt and fed another corpse to his demonic
blade, drawing strength from the lost soul as it passed through him and into
the abysmal belly of the creature inside the stiletto. He slowly stood and
glared through the clearing black smoke at his enemy, who now locked his gaze
with Bryce, his eyes narrowing. 

"Thou will never kill me, pathetic rogue. I will have your head stuffed and
mounted above my father's hearth!" Gilbert shouted as he launched into a
sudden charge at the thief, his sword swinging in dizzying patterns.

Bryce spat on the ground as he met and parried the Prince's attack, this time
driving him back as he said, "No, dear sweet Prince, I won't kill you. I have
other plans for you .." The spirit of the dryad, set in a jewel in the pommel
of his sword, began to sing aloud a new song of battle as Bryce pushed
Gilbert further and further backward, for the first time causing doubt and
fear to flicker in the Prince's eyes.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 11

As Boki tore head and helmet from the body of another knight, and Zarkan and
the Scythe sorcerer growled at each other over the staff they were now both
gripping, the dark dwarf completed his evil ritual and the fallen paladin's
form shot up with sudden energy. In a hollow and demonic voice it intoned, "I
AM READY TO SERVE, MASTER!" Where once white and pure energies flowed in its
eyes, now a beady red glow shone forth from hollow eye sockets, and rotting
and tattered flesh clung loosely to a bony frame. His black armor still bore
the deep rents from where the ogre crushed and mangled his body, dried blood
caked around the seams and joints. 

The dwarf cackled insanely, and the Scythe mage caught Zarkan off balance and
rolled over on his black and flung him headlong into a loose stack of hay.
The mage stood and handed his staff to the undead paladin, then laid both
hands on its shoulders and muttered a phrase. The red energy flared with
extra intensity as the fallen knight wielded the iron staff. 

"Get up and kill!" the necromancer commanded, and the knight lumbered forth
with alarming speed and began to bludgeon the staggering form of Zarkan
senseless. Soon, the once mighty mage was reduced to a quivering mass and the
horrible death knight mechanically turned and strode into the battle
alongside Glock and the other Scythers. Between them, the mighty Scythers
finished off the last of the elite knights and turned to behold the last
battle between Bryce and the Prince. Not daring to interrupt Bryce in a duel,
and not offering any help, they stood and stared grimly as the two expert
swordsmen parried and riposted.

 Bryce, fueled by the dark strength the stiletto afforded him, effectively
erected a wall of steel around him as his rapier met and parried every blow
the Prince could afford. Gilbert was visibly shaken now, his eyes wide in
terror as he beheld the black glow coming from the stiletto. 

"You are afraid, aren't you, coward! Afraid that I will feed your pitiful
soul to my little knife here!" Bryce was grinning fiercely now, tasting
victory and waiting for just the right moment to disarm the Prince.

Gilbert sensed that the end was near, and also sensed the many pairs of eyes
watching him lose. He suddenly felt very alone, and his mind was filled with
a steadily growing panic at the thought of being fed to that infernal blade.
Years of excellent military training and swordplay kept his arms and legs
working, in spite of the yellow fears crawling up his spine.

Bryce swept the Sword of Gilian low, forcing the Prince to jump, and as he
came down, Gilbert made a bold, desperate counterattack and swung for Bryce's
head with in a backhanded motion. Having counted on this, Bryce then ducked
and rammed his shoulder forward into the now off-balance Prince, sending him
backwards and into the castle wall. Before he could recover, Bryce slammed
the pommel of his rapier down hard on Gilbert's head, rendering him
unconscious. His limp form slowly slumped down along the wall and then
forward, Pendragon falling from his grasp.

The Scythers erupted in joy and triumph as they howled victoriously. Nepeth
had fallen! With the last of the King's defenders slain and incapacitated,
they could now revel in their conquest. Of the original Scythe army that
began the onslaught, only Laerk, Slevyas, Boki, Glock, the necromancer, the
mysterious mage, and Bryce remained. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 12

Bryce lowered the point of his rapier and slowly turned, his comrades rushing
to surround him and slap him on the back. He scanned the courtyard and the
piles of bodies amidst the now-dying fires and wreckage, searching for the
form of his lover, the alluring sorceress Vlana. Irritably, he broke free of
the clasps of his friends and began to earnestly search the remains for her
body. He knew she must be dead, for she had never in the past succumbed to
anyone or anything in battle.

"FEED me the Prince, you fool! I hunger still!" the stiletto wailed at Bryce.

"Shut up!!" he shot back, uninterested in anything else but finding Vlana.

Amazingly, the dark blade relented, but not without first sending a seething
jolt through Bryce's veins that made him almost regret ignoring the demon
inside.

"Felt good to crush knigget skull again!" Boki grunted, throwing a meaty
shoulder into Glock, who stood grinning, the first beads of sweat just
beginning to show on his scarred hide.

"Yes.. yes it did, my bloodthirsty friend," Glock spoke quietly, eyeing the
gleaming and bloody blade of his scythe, replaying the favorite kills in his
mind from the recent battle.

Boki slapped the backside of the undead paladin, causing its massive form to
lurch forward briefly, as the ogre said, "And you, you still got to bag da
mage! I no squeeze you hard enough the first time!" He threw his head back
and howled with laughter, its horrible sounds pealing out into the forests
surrounding the burning city of Nepeth.

"She alive, Bryce?" Slevyas asked, somewhat timidly for such a daunting orc,
as he stood over the knelt figure of his rogue companion. 

"Yes, barely, but she is," Bryce said after inspecting the body of Vlana, her
skin scraped and burnt in many places. "Her pulse is weak but she lives, it's
going to be all right." Bryce touched her Scythe mark with his fingers and
closed his eyes and concentrated, and her wounds visibly began to improve!
She began to moan softly and stir, for the first time showing signs of
consciousness. Bryce groaned sharply and slumped forward, almost collapsing.

"Dammit, you fool! You let me do that! You got enough to worry bout, toting
dat foul Shadowspawn around wit you all the time!" the orc shouted at his
friend. "Here, eat" Slevyas said, producing some beef jerky from within his
vest and handing it to Bryce.

The rogue chuckled softly to himself as he began to munch on the salty treat,
feeling somewhat refreshed. He started to help Vlana to her feet, who was
still very groggy but now conscious. 

"Excuse me, Bryce, what shall we do with our handsome prize there?" Akul, the
Scythe sorcerer said, nodding to the still form of Gilbert.

Bryce chuckled to himself. "Well, he's going to have a pretty harsh headache
when he awakens. Take him to Halamander, below the camp, see if he can't make
him .. feel better." At this, Bryce grinned wickedly, and the other Scythers
cackled at the thoughts of what the sinister orc in leather pants would do to
the royal Prince. "Oh, and, be sure to take his toy sword away from him
first. I'm sure we can find a use for it carving new posts for the camp
fence."

"Of course, Bryce, what an excellent idea," Akul said with a mischievous grin
and wink. The sorcerer turned and touched his staff to the ground, then
traced it in a circle in the air, and a blue energy crackled within the
circle and a portal appeared, showing the inside of Glock's cabin on the
other side.

"What we gonna do about Drin, Bryce?" Slevyas asked, as the rogue nodded at
Glock and Boki as they carried the Prince through the portal.

"He must have escaped, I think I saw his personal griffon spiriting him away
during the heat of battle at one point." Bryce said.  "Fitting, don't you
think? No, we'll leave him for another day. For now, his city and castle are
ours for the pillaging, and his petty rule is over. Let's enjoy that for a
while first. We'll see his head on a stake outside our camp yet .."

The orc laughed heartily at this, then waved at the squat dwarf necromancer
as he led his new prized paladin out of the courtyard, into the blazes
beyond. "There go Flindach. Who knows when we see him again," Slevyas
grunted, knowing that the reclusive and creepy dwarf only showed up when most
needed, though his loyalty to the Scythe never wavered.

"Come, Scythers, I cannot hold this portal open for long," Akul said,
motioning for Bryce, Slevyas, and Vlana to enter his magical gateway. "And
what about Laerk, where the hell is he?!"

"Oh, I think he'll be all right for a while .." Vlana said, a sly grin on her
face. The others followed her gaze and they spied the dwarf in a far corner
of the courtyard. He had found the knights' lusty bar wench, Misha, cowering
under the wreckage of her kitchens and was busy propositioning her, his
deadly warhammer slung at his side. From the looks of her expression, she was
resisting him but enjoying the game, barely trying to fight off his advances.

"Let's go then," Bryce said, and the four of them stepped through the portal,
which then winked shut and out of existence behind them. 

The castle and city of Nepeth continued to burn and smolder, timbers crashing
and falling upon the broken bodies of the knights and Scythers that lay
strewn about in the snowy streets and fields. Laerk picked up his lusty prize
and slung her over his shoulder, and he jogged as quickly as a dwarf could
along a side street and out of the blazing town, into the foothills beyond,
his cackles echoing off of the walls.

Inside the castle, a mantle bearing the insignias of the Heart and the Rose
fell from the wall behind the thrones and cracked in two. Greedy flames
licked at the fallen crest and slowly began to digest it, soon turning it and
the memory of King Drin's tyranny to ash.

THE END