23/09/2019
Chapter 3 from Nightlight
III
The sickening stench of death still hung around the candlelit coven meeting hall as Sket sat pondering in his great chair. His skin hung sourly off of his age spotted figure and his sharp teeth were the only thing that revealed he had any goblin blood at all, other than the fact that he was 93 courses old and still able to swing a staff with purpose. The pale fingers of his wrinkled left hand allowed his long nails to twist through his pointed gray
white mat of a beard. His beard was the only hair left on his head besides the stray straggles coming off of his ears at odd angles. He achieved a foreboding figure by design when he was in that room. In front of him was his hated asset that he suspected would end him horribly some day, but for now his will ruled. Within the undervoid cavern all the light came from the crystals thousands of feet below which would glow only when they received the flesh offering that day. Some old hatred had created that binding in them and so at the same time once a day one poor doomed soul was mutilated and hurled to its doom on sharp pointed prism rocks which would devour it within minutes. The pale diseased light would then fill the great cavern revealing all of the great towers and their surrounding hanging cities carved out of massive stalactites. In the center was the great hanging statue of the maiden of pain, Varr. She lead the creatures of the dark in the first great blood feast 1000 cycles past so she became their matron seductress. Everything that existed in that place was an offense to the Maker and wanted it that way. Each cruel thing was descended from any unnatural combination of evil men, goblins, undead, ghasts, rat-men, cursed elves, dragon-kin, hate gnomes, and giant arachnids. The balance of power was maintained by the constant infighting amongst the towers which was sometimes sponsored by the Silent Fangs who lived on the surface around the great black mountain which houses the undervoid cavern.
Most of the assassinations are performed by the vermin spawn rats. They stood on two hind legs but stooped so that they were two thirds the height of a man and their thirst for death was matched only by their ability to deliver it. There were special occasions however when more sadistic pleasure was desired in the killing process and young blood drinking warlocks would compete mortally with one another to attain the rank of hand. There were only eight still living, and they were ruthless in maintaining their posts. The most subtle and cunning, known to his tower as Ni’hilo, was kneeling silently before Sket. He had killed two former tower masters with many onlookers and still none of them knew how it was possible for a master warlock to instantaneously explode into a bloody conflagration and end in a miserable pile of flesh. This cloaked young creature carried only a 5 foot razor sword outside his garb. The rest of his nightmarish tools must be beneath the folds of the cloak Sket thought. Seldom did Ni’hilo remove his hood, and when he did his face could not be distinguished from the shadow and also hidden by his long pitch black mop of hair. During a duel his ears poked through the strands during the deathblow giving away his elven ancestry. He had come to Sket’s ownership after being tortured almost to the point of death weakening his spirit to allow for a binding. The Fangs had wanted the dark maiden’s tower master to bind a wily shadow drake into his flesh, but even in his weakened state they were only able to achieve a minor spirit bond which resulted in the death of the drake’s body and furious psychotic madness in the youth. The dark maiden master was going to deliver him to be sacrificed by the blood mistress and her secubi witches, but Sket could see the uses of such strong spirit even if it was mad. He bet the ownership of the boy on the head secubus witch’s ability to seduce him. She anointed herself in enticing bound oil and whispered dark promises into the ear of the motionless standing figure. He didn’t even flinch or move toward her. His eyes, if they were able to be distinguished were staring into the void between him and the rest of the world. She danced in front of him and even brushed herself against him for over an hour and no response showed. He won the boy and the use of the witch th
r shame of failure. When asked what he wished to be called the boy responded, “Ni’hilo,” which means void in common tongue.
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“No, no, no, darling you must wear the RUBY necklace…” Yl’ni was saying as Cei’le slipped on different jeweled sandals. “Elven beautiful feet were never meant to be covered,” Cei’le said commandingly. But if she wore the green gemmed ones then it brought out her eyes, but if she wore the red, then the ruby necklace would bring out her amazing hair, but also her embarrassing freckles. Chas’ai was trying to convince her that freckles were utterly enticing to the male population, and that she was jealous, but Cei’le would never believe it. Finally the two convinced her to wear or rather drape the white gown onto herself and wear the ruby necklace and red gemmed sandals. With that accomplished they lazily left the room taking the next round of juicy discussion to the balcony. The festival grounds were amazing even to those who lived in absolute opulence. They were set in the heart of a forest of gigantic trees covered in all types of vines and flowers, not to mention apartments, stair cases, and trellises. The ground was carpeted by thick grasses and flower beds that seemed to have waves like the ocean. Bindings allowed long elaborate banners to hang in the air along with ever-burning candles of all different scents and colors. Birds, squirrels, or even young fawns would carry summons for different events to all the participants. The gaps in the great high canopy above would let columns of moonlight or sunlight through depending on the time. Each column was designed in its location to give the area a constant romantic feel. The festival itself was to celebrate the beauty of life given by the Maker. It had been practiced for longer than the royal houses had been in existence. It was supposed that the love of the fair folk could enlighten even wild animals to be able to hear the voice of the Maker. The voice was said to be like a great torrent of Wind that poured into a person, but the existence of other wynds discouraged all but the monastic orders from pursuing the ability to hear it.. The creation of the grounds themselves however was the result of exactly such power flooding into King Iel long ago from a great torrent of the Wind-voice of the Maker.
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Korr hurried his pace a bit and began to nervously sweat. Completely out of character for him was the sensation of fear. His face focused in the direction of intent showed his deep blue eyes and sun darkened face. His hair was almost black but showed hints of amber when the light caught it. The single angled slash scar on his face was part of the large family of scars that extended from his belt up and over his chest, across his left shoulder, and down his back. When he was smaller Cei’le had a horrid nightmare of a hellish creature and, being terrified, insanely swore in the binding tongue and brought it into reality by accident. He had never committed a violent act in his life at that point, but there he stood in his 11th autumn, knife in hand being, slashed by claws and gnawed upon in Cei’le’s room. The fact that he was a nul’ene had saved them because the creature could only use physical attacks. The knife in his hand eventually raised and tore out the beast’s throat but not before it had bloodied his young form and carved evidence of itself into his body. The rest of its writing however was rarely ever visible because of the dark green leather armored garb of the Stalkers and the leaf and twig covered cape that could be used to hide him at any moment within the wood. He was about to go into the shadow lands on a ludicrous attempt to find out what had exactly happened to the Nox lands if
that was even possible. He had missed the festival the previous cycle and Cei’le’s first trial for high maiden. He had also blamed himself a little that she had failed and wanted to make this next one. The mission might keep him for more than the two moons though, and then he would be absent again.
Korr had personally ended the existence of more than 24 goblins, 2 trolls, 8 cursed elves, and one absolutely hideous hag beast. He had fought in the conflict against the hunger worshipers for the pass of the Barren Mother in the north alongside the Ishai. He had even been woken out of sleep by a great bear in its process of trying to eat him and killed it. He had however never dreamed of going head on against the Flight of the Silent Fang. He had gasped dumbfounded when he heard in training that the stories were true. Great black dragons with ravenous power and unquenchable hatred that wished to steal every breath from the Maker in order to destroy actually weren’t harmless wives tails. The only thing they hated more than their own existence was the fair people. They had suicidally trashed all hope for treaties between the sand lords of the southern human tribes ending thousands of lives on both sides in the following wars and only lost 4 drakes. Their leader of old, known only in whispered legend as the great void serpent, had vanished 1500 cycles ago leaving the leadership to his twisted daughter Ath’Ly’a. She was the brood witch who spawned over a thousand years of hated illegitimate malefic children. Now Korr needed to stop shaking. He would meet his team and they would be headed into the scoured and haunted lands of Nox shortly after.
The Nox estate in 10 short cycles had gone from envied lush perfection, to a dangerous and avoided haunt. Whatever had scoured it did a complete job, that was for certain. Horses wouldn't venture near it, so all the traveling would be on foot, and not even the wild spine rangers would want to track that land. But, duty called. Arriving mid contemplation at his destination, Korr would have missed all indications of anything being out of sorts in the A'meni far post. He was able to notice that a storm was coming out of the north and would probably hit hard tomorrow early which was when they were supposed to begin. The team would be 5 as it had always been among the Stalker's. He entered the lodge looking quickly to the bar where the matron was filling pitchers, and then scanned around to see three familiar cloaks resting on capable shoulders. Teenek, Jar'el, and Hosh were all veterans and though shaken by their prospects he knew they would do well. They all gave him quick looks of greeting as he crossed the room signaling the host. “If you've got mint root mead I'll take it,” he said sitting down in the second to last open chair at the table. Hosh was always gruff for an elf, so his quick “winds to ya,” wasn't a surprise. Jar'el and Teenek were twins, and neither could speak very long without the other clarifying, so the both just nodded knowing Korr would get down to informing them of the plan shortly. Just then laughter came from the top of the stairs that a sc****ly clad elf and her apparently drunk companion were trying to walk down. Cursing under his breath Korr realized that Yaz'zi would complete the team. Yaz'zi was a young wild elf with no regard for anything that didn't bring a challenge or thrill. Women, strong intoxicating syrup wines, battle, and land tracking were the only things he was capable of paying attention to for much more than an hour. He had bleached yellow hair and hazel eyes. His black brows made him appear young which he was, but not as young as he acted. He had all the composure of a teenage hormone. But
he had lived for near 25 cycles now. Stumbling at last over to the table, he made some remark about his bedding ability that was brushed aside by all present who knew the seriousness of the occasion. Korr began to explain the directives in detail.
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Ol'claw brushed his whiskers tauntingly. “How-s 'bout it, back birth?” he spat into the face of his challenger. The poor wretch was about to be dismembered and wouldn't even see Ol'claw's knives move before going into delirious shock. Someone had told one of the younger assassins that Ol'claw's skills were waning and his office was up for grabs. “Die-die!,” the doomed rat screamed as he lunged with all points at a statuesque Blackrat of the Kurnai clan. There were only 13 Blackrats in each clan, which would've suggested to any intelligent rat that this was a bad idea, but oh well, no broken whiskers on me, Ol'claw thought. In a perfected single movement Ol'claw seemed to just slip passed his foe, but when both severed hands and the large part of the left leg fell away in bloodied trails, the amount of wisdom in the decision hit the attacker. In another quick action Ol'claw smacked a point at the base of the skull severing the nerve chord. No one would have known it was out of mercy and designed to end the pain quickly. Ol'claw had never enjoyed violence or murder, he just showed an artisan's talent when performing it. Before his 30th summer that year he had decided to go to the surface and maybe learn how to swim, or do something that didn't involve blood. While he wiped his blades with a rag a hate gnome walked over and handed him a paper. He knew what this summons was, and he tried to keep the fur on his back from raising showing his excitement, but his tail would have given it away had anyone noticed. He quickly ascended the wall stairs and entered the rise pathways to visit the unholy tower where the paper had originated. Just as he rounded the corner he heard rodent voices accusing a hooded and caped rat. “You bumped us-s and took, yes!! Our moneys, yes-s!!!” chimed in the one pointing a gnarled finger. Ol'claw was never much for honor, but he couldn't watch a three on one without at least evening the odds a bit, and if the stranger wasn't thankful, then he would simply end him too. The next few moments were a familiar collection of rat like death screeches and collapsing bodies, which was nothing new to Ol'claw, but as the stranger was thrown to the ground in the tussle a cry came from it. Hitting the ground had thrown the hood from her head. She was a breeder!!! She was a strong young white rat, maybe 25? But what was she doing with a weapon, or an assassin's hood and cape?! Seeing his realization and understanding his office by his unmistakable shoulder brand, she whimpered softly and asked ever so politely for her end to be quick. Ol'claw was stunned, and had no idea what to do. His first thought was to just drag her to the tower and tell her to be quiet. And, if she was seen outside the breeding hovels she would be tortured if not killed along with anyone who had seen her leave. So, he went with his first thought and dragged the alarmed and terrified white rat down the hall and onto the tower entrance stair. Throwing and pinning her to the wall, he stared resolutely into her eyes, which were softly pretty. What was he thinking?! “You-s needs to stay hid, and quiet!” he murmured to her quickly. “Never speak-s and you might live-s.” “What-s you called?” he added, wondering for a moment why he had asked for such irrelevant information. “Tezi,” she squeaked back not knowing whether to bolt or do as he said. “Fine! Come with me-s!” came the immediate answer.
The door opened and Sket saw unexpectedly two of the clan assassins enter his meeting
room. The larger of the two rat-kin came forward and displayed the familiar gesture for their kind. Bowing and removing his hood to show his eyes and tattered ears, he bared his left shoulder revealing the branded seal of the Blackrat rank. Sket was intrigued by the surprised of the additional rat and began a sickening smirk. This would work even better, he thought. Between two rats and my hand I’ll be able to strike a blow making potentially the Fang’s jealous. “Bane rat,” he said giving the courtesy title, “you and your…underling? shall be in the charge of Ni’hilo until I release you or you are dead.” “Do we have an oath?” Ol’claw presented his scared hand taking the ceremonial obsidian shard and dug into the layered scar in his palm bringing out fresh blood. He then tightened his fist and shook his oath offering onto the floor leaving the distinct red splatter. “Excellent, then vanish, all of you and do not return without conquered flesh in one form or another.”.
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“So, I wonder who will be at our lovely opening dance,” offered Yl’ni striking her dreamy-eyed expression. What? Like it matters? Chas’ai thought, “They will all be casting duel rings at each other to dance with us, so we'll have our pick,” she added. Cei’le knew better though. Yl’ni, for almost four full seasons now, had wanted the youngest son of lord Qal. The elves of Qal were a hearty lot and lived on the edge of the southern deserts. They were known for having black hair, dark eyes, and golden brown skin, and Ny'tir was no exception. He was gifted in the art of poetweaving which made him the dreamy loving rescuer in many a fluttering hearted maiden’s imagination. Cei’le had spoken with him only twice, but had observed him plenty given her defensive instinct to protect her guard sisters. He was a brooder and seldom considered a pretty face. More often, he would simply leave without any polite gesture and walk alone for half a day, and then return as if nothing was the matter. If he was there tonight, she supposed it would be alright for Yl’ni to dance with him as long as she was within slapping distance, but that presented a dilemma. The two other girls knew all the stories, but living through the torture of being pursued so fiercely by the most f***l brained, lying lipped, chauvinistic pansies that were ever born to elven royalty was a curse only bestowed to Cei’le. And, almost every time, it started with a dance. She had only been reintroduced into this part of society two cycles ago, but she already had 12 images in her mind of males to avoid at all costs. Maybe she could dance with Korr’en. That was unusual, but it was accepted. Korr’en needed a pep talk in the area of romance anyway. After the whole thing with he and Chas’ai being alone in her room for an hour-just talking harmlessly of course-blew up into a scandal for their father, Korr had generally avoided the female population. It was so shameful that Korr’s attempt to comfort Chas’ai after her oldest brother died had turned into yet another thing all about politics. I wonder where he is right now, Cei'le thought, getting up from the laying couch.
