Post by Nuggets Card on May 23, 2006 22:18:47 GMT -5
Here's my first story in a long time, so don't expect much...
Forty warriors had set out on the overlord Amir’s orders, to invade the encampments of Elves that had been set up on the outskirts of the human territory. Little did they know they had been sent on a suicide mission. Trolls, orcs, and scores of goblins awaited them at Deadmans pass, a narrow pass about 50 feet wide and 30 miles long, with mountains on either side. “Hold together!” shouted the captain “CHARGE!” All 40 armor clad men surged forward smashing into the front line of armored trolls. Unfortunately, they had not men enough to claim victory. The trolls were smashing men left and right while the orcs and goblins rushed in swarming the warriors. It only lasted about twenty minutes until the captain had to give the order to retreat. The archers rained arrows on the fleeing men while trolls hurled great stones that crushed all that had the misfortune to be in their path. All men died, save one. His name was Cynric, meaning ‘Warrior’ and he is well named, for he is one of the greatest warriors that ever lived. Some say that he took on a black dragon, the most fearsome of all dragons, and killed it with the fork he had been using to eat his lunch in the Great Northern Cave. Or as most name it, ‘The Accursed Cave.’ Cynric ran for his life. Arrows fell from the sky all around him, and three times he came just mere inches from being crushed under a boulder. He moved swiftly out of range from the boulders, but arrows still hailed down. He took a path to the right into the woods and found cover up in the great trees of Deadmans pass.
In the morning Cynric was woken by the sound of an arrow hitting a tree. “Who goes there?” he shouted out. His answer was another arrow that pinned his leather armor sleeve to the tree. He pulled it out and looked around, searching for his assailant. “I come in peace.” Called a soft yet strong elvish sounding voice. “Then why in the name of lord Amir are you shooting at me?” Called out Cynric, “Show yourself!” out of the shadow stepped an elf. He was tall, about 6’6” if he had not been wearing his leather knee-high boots. He had long light blonde- almost white hair that fell to the middle of his back. And like all Elves he was fair-skinned. He carried a bow, quiver of arrows, and twin scimitars, which were of Elvin steel, making them lighter, stronger, sharper, and impossible to notch, scratch, or dull. “I am Thanroe, ranger from the east side of the rapids.” Said Thanroe as he put away his bow. “I heard the battle as I was traveling through, and thought you might be one of the shape-shifting Shifters. Which I know now is impossible. ” He finished. “ How can you be so sure of your self when no living being can tell? Be it human, elvish, orcish, or dragon. None can see through a Shifter disguise save only the few wizards that still roam this earth.” Answered Cynric suspiciously while putting a hand on his two-handed Scottish longsword (also made from eleven steel, with a sharpened crossbar). “To see how you would react.” He replied with a slight smile. “I knew that even a Shifter would a least blink an eye if an arrow struck just mere inches from his head. But I see that you are no imposter. Come down and follow me, I wish to show you something.” Cynric slid down the trunk of the tree and sized up the elf, concluding that if this was a trick he could probly take him if came to a duel. “Lead the way elf, but I’ll warn you, I’m not one to take as a fool.” He said with a hint of a threat in his voice. “Understood. Follow me.” They walked in silence for about a half-hour until Thanroe said, “here we are. The encampment of Elves.” Three Elves pulled out their swords as Cynric and Thanroe approached. “I have brought the legendary Cynric, the dragon slayer! Our time of vengeance is at hand! We shall slay him as he slayed our high ruler Dracul!” Cynric pulled out his sword and slashed at Thanroe, which he easily blocked and countered aiming for Cynric’s neck. He ducked, spun aside and rushed in slashing Thanroe’s legs out from underneath him. A dark mist rose from Thanroe’s body evaporating in the air as he slipped into unconsciousness. The three Elves had just arrived slashing in unison at Cynric, but they had no chance against Cynric. For they were over shadowed by a fell mist. Their skill in combat was reduced to that of the mist and the only way to free them was to draw blood. But if blood is drawn by someone possessed by the mist, then it infects the new victim therefore giving a new living puppet to the Shadow Lord, master of all things evil. After he had scratched the overshadowed Elves Cynric went exploring throughout the encampment. And found hundreds of Elves locked in cellars. Before Cynric had time to wonder why there were cellars in an encampment he was grabbed from behind with a knife pressed up against his throat. “Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t even breathe,” Said a gruff voice. “If you value your life you’ll do exactly as I say.” But to his attacker’s dismay, Cynric would have chose death rather than be held captive. He flipped his attacker over his back disarmed him and pinned his arm to the ground. “You shall not take me alive,” Said Cynric in a grim tone, “get up and fight me like a man.” He finished, rising to his feet. The man rolled to his feet, turned, and drew his knives. For the first time, Cynric got a good look at him. He was about 5’11 in height, slender in build, shoulder length shaggy pitch-black hair, and carried six identical knives with 7” blades on his belt. They squared off seizing each other up with weapons drawn and ready. An ordinary man would say Cynric had an advantage in both skill and weapon. But that ordinary man would be very wrong. Cynric slashed a couple times at the knife man, testing his skill. The man just dodged the attacks without any sign of doubt or worry, almost a thingyy confidence. Cynric called out, “great knife master, it would be dishonorable to duel a man without first knowing at least his name.” The man stood his ground, not letting his guard down for even a second, “your manner of speech suggests royal blood while your ragged appearance suggests otherwise. They call me Sheridan meaning ‘untamed’ and I will assume you’re the legendary Cynric, dragon’s bane. I thought you were dead. Well no matter, you shall die now anyway.” He threw himself at Cynric, who moved aside easily bringing his sword down for a killing blow only a Shifter could survive. But Sheridan seemed to move at the same speed as a Shifter, twisting himself in such a way that even a hyper flexible elf could only begin to imagine. Sheridan rolled to his feet slashing Cynric’s ankle on his way up. Cynric took a step back drawing his Elvin dagger and throwing it towards Sheridan’s head. It would have hit him in the left eye, had he not put one dagger away, and executed a perfect back flip catching the knife in his free hand. “Your ability is uncanny Sheridan, but something tells me that you are human.” He rushed at Sheridan thrusting his blade his chest, faking the blow and whipping his sword around in a fluid arc slashing across Sheridan's neck. But Sheridan anticipated the move and shifted his stance back, leaped forward and kicked Cynric on the chest, then across the face while still in the air sending him spiraling into a tree. “Human is but only a race, not a limitation.” Cynric pivoted to the left as Sheridan slammed his knives into the tree, exactly where Cynric’s head was. Cynric stabbed Sheridan in the foot twisted to the side and slammed his fist into the back of Sheridan's head, who stuck his one of his knives into Cynric’s leg twisted around, grabbed his sword hand, and disarmed him. They started fighting knife to hand at first but eventually Sheridan had lost all of his knives and they fought for three long hours until the Elves started waking up and seeing the two men fighting, they rushed in to stop them. Thanroe stood between them scimitars in hand, “Cynric, Sheridan, stop fighting, lower your guard, you’re on the same side.” Sheridan glared at Cynric, “I’m not allied with the Shifters. Cynric, the real Cynric is dead.” Cynric picked up his sword, “I am not dead. But all the others are. We were slaughtered in Deadman’s pass.” Sheridan surveyed him suspiciously, “Deadman’s pass, no one has fought there in a hundred years. Cynric's Last Battle marked the fall of humanity. They found Cynric’s body in the middle of six elite armored black dragons. All of the dragons were dead, but ones sword stuck through Cynric.” Thanroe looked at Cynric, then Sheridan, “all believed him to be dead. Even I did, until I met him in the forest this morning. He has been invisible to all eyes for a century, in an enchanted sleep. I found out that he is still alive.” Sheridan looked at Cynric and said, “Fine. Let’s test him, with something only the real Cynric could do.”
The following day, they led Cynric to an arena. It was a circular pit, about twenty feet deep and twenty feet across, with wooden walls all around. In the middle of the pit was an elite Shifter. He stood as human does and was around 7’ in height, with piercing red eyes and cat-like claws that extended from black, scaly hands. Blood dripped from his razor sharp fangs, and he stood there watching them approach with a look of pure hatred on his scar covered face. He had no weapons or armor, just some loose fitting travelers clothes.
“You will fight him,” said Sheridan without a hint of concern or mercy in his voice, “if you are who you say you are you should be able to kill him. But if you lose the fight, chances are about one in a million that you will live” “then it leaves me no choice does it? I’ll just have to kill him.,” replied Cynric firmly, throwing his weapons aside. Thanroe threw down a rope ladder and Cynric climbed down, turned and faced his opponent, and waited.
The Shifter charged. Cynric stepped aside and spin-kicked him in the back, sending him into the wall. Unfortunately Shifters do not mind pain, but get angry when someone attacks them. The Shifter jumped up and grabbed the rope ladder (that Thanroe was pulling up) and ripped it down, pulled it apart, and grabbed two of the sticks that had been used for the steps and rushed at Cynric. He stepped aside, and using the Shifters shoulder for support, jumped up on his shoulders and got him in a chokehold then broke its neck. The Shifter threw Cynric off, adjusted his head so his bones repaired them selves correctly, and delivered a crushing blow to Cynric's head. Cynric was knocked back ten feet, slammed against the wall, and fell to the ground. The Shifter rushed in to finish him off. But his attempt proved unsuccessful. Cynric rolled aside, swept his foot around, tripping the Shifter, grabbed one of the 1’ long closet-pole shaped sticks lying next to him, and rammed through the Shifter’s eye penetrating its brain. The Shifter rolled up, and ripped out the pole. Its eye slowly re-grew, so in about 20 seconds its eye and brain had healed themselves. The Shifter roared and charged slamming into Cynric knocking him over, then aimed a downward punch. Cynric rolled aside as the fist slammed into the earth making a small crater in the ground. Cynric grabbed the Shifter by the neck, planted his feet on his stomach, and flipped it backwards. He rolled back and with one hand grabbed him by the neck, and the other beating its head with another stick with all his might. The Shifter grabbed the stick, ripped it from Cynric's hand, and smashed it into Cynric's skull.
When Cynric woke up he looked around wondering if he was still alive. When the pain in his head started to come back he remembered what was happening and flipped up to his feet expecting the incoming attack. But it never came. “Where am I?” he asked himself. “Ah the great Cynric, you have met your match.” Said Sheridan, “and as to were you are, your right outside the arena in which you were defeated” Cynric looked at Sheridan with satisfaction, “so you believe me now even though I lost. That’s good and all but, why am I alive? I should have died back there. Shifters care not for life or death, pain or enslavement, and above all else, hate everything. That Shifter did not spare me, you did.” Thanroe stepped out of the shadows, “I knew you were real. You almost disabled it. None have gotten even that close, and they all had weapons.” Sheridan was not impressed, “your story may be true, but I’m not impressed. I have always been told you were invincible, that you killed the great black dragon Dracul in the accursed caves with no weapon, save a fork. But your skill is not enough for that.” Cynric eyed him and said, “I did not kill Dracul, I fought alongside him in the accursed caves. Twenty mountain trolls attacked us, and we beat them off. I was armed with my sword and dagger and slayed five, wounded three, and ten more were impaled, decapitated, and incinerated by Dracul, the rest fled. Since then Dracul and I have fought together in many a battle.” Thanroe smiled and replied, “Great lord Cynric,” he knelt down, “your fortunate to have such a powerful friend, Dracul is the one who saved you from certain death. He scorched the Shifter, swooped in, and ripped it in half, then ate its head preventing it from healing itself.” He looked up at Cynric in awe, “it’s far more impressive to be close friends with a dragon, especially one so powerful as Dracul, than to slay one.” Cynric walked over to the arena, and saw Dracul lying there, “Dracul! Its good to have you back.” Dracul looked up, stretched his wings, and said, “Ah Cynric, you have awoken at last. I was worried you might end up like that…,” he said with a slight smile, motioning towards the bloody remains of the Shifter. “But my worry was in vain, for you showed more resilience than expected from a human your age, one-hundred-thirty-five now are you not? Yet you seem to be blessed with ageless immortality for you look the same as the last time I saw you.” Cynric looked at his friend with a smile, “You’re not much different than the last time we met, but you’ve grown wiser. You’re not the daredevil that you once were. Yet I sill sense that fire burning within you, refusing to be put out.” Thanroe was looking into the distance while Cynric and Dracul were talking, when he saw scores of dark figures, “I think we’d better hide.” No one paid any attention, “really, we should move,” Sheridan looked over to see what he was talking about, “what is it?” he asked. “RUN! Winged orcs! Take cover!” “Sheridan let me see where you’re true strength lies.” Sheridan nodded and turned to face the incoming orcs. There were seventy in all and all were armored and armed with scimitars, short swords, spears, and other weaponry. They drew swords, landed, and sent in a five-man test attack. Sheridan leaped forward, and jump kicked one in the face. Another orc rushed in, sword swinging, Sheridan stepped aside, punched the orc in the face, breaking its nose, spun around to the orcs back, grabbed it around the neck, and performed a deadly neck break technique. The last three retreated to the rest of the company. All of the rest of the orcs charged. Sheridan rushed at them screaming, “DEATH!” and pulled out two of his daggers, threw them into the foreheads of two orcs. And without hesitation or concern for his own safety slammed into the orcish ranks, and ducked behind one orc, and in a blur of motion that orc had two daggers through his head. And six others had orcish swords imbedded in their limp, lifeless bodies. Sheridan rushed at a cluster of fourteen orcs, dodging incoming spears, and grabbed the closest orc, used its shoulder for a boost, and leaped clear over the orcs. He came down screaming like a tortured madman. Flashing knives around, slitting the throats of dozens of orcs. Most orcs were slain from behind as they fled in fear For about half an hour the battle went on like this, orcs to afraid to fight him and orcs to afraid of the punishment they would receive if they returned to the Shadow Lord without Sheridan's head on a black pike. Most decided that it wasn’t worth staying and flew away. Until only one orc remained, the orc threw his spear at Sheridan who stepped aside, and with uncanny speed caught the spear. He ran at the orc, threw the spear into the orcs chest, drew his last two knives, and planting his feet on the orcs chest, rammed his knives into his brain. Sheridan landed on top of the orc, flipped off, wiped his blades on the grass, and sheathed them.
He was soaked in black blood from head to toe, his hair was a mess, and he smelled like death. “COME BACK COWARDS!” he roared after the fleeing orcs, “I’M NOT DONE!” he walked back to the rocks where the rest were hiding. “That wasn’t so hard” Cynric stepped out and said, “I couldn’t have done it better myself.” “No you couldn’t.” replied Sheridan shortly. Thanroe and Dracul came forward and Thanroe said, “We must get going before more orcs come.” He pointed to Deadman’s pass, “we should go through there, to the great city of Heron. It lies to the north, as you must already know. The overlord Uisdean son of Ryan son of Amir the everlasting son of…” “Okay Thanroe that will do,” interrupted Sheridan, “we don’t need the history of man right now. Besides, Cynric is history. He won’t need to hear it.” “Wait, wasn’t Amir immortal? He was overlord for a thousand years.,” asked Cynric. “Yes he was. He was being controlled by the fell mist, sending you and all the other elite soldiers to seemingly, their death. He fought the mist and managed to get his blood drawn by one of his guards. When he was free he massed up a huge army of 600,000 trained soldiers. Two-hundred-thousand of which where cavalry, 150,000 longbow men, and the remaining 250,000 were infantry. It was the greatest army ever assembled. None returned from the war in the orcish territory one ranger saw what happened, and the largest piece recovered from his body was his bloody severed hand, still clutching the hilt of his now bladeless sword.” Said Thanroe in a grim tone, “as for Amir, he died an unexplainable death. According to our top elvish healers, he was not poisoned. There were no wounds or cuts of any kind. And he cannot die of old age, which leaves only one possibility. Magic. Not ordinary magic, such as the branch that I posses. But a dark fell magic. Magic only the Shadow Lord can wield.” He ended with a solemn silence. Sheridan was only half listening when he noticed something, “Hey, why is it that the Shadow Lord, as he so unoriginally names himself, would so suddenly take an interest in overlord Amir when he’s let him live for a thousand years without so much as a border dispute?” Dracul, who had been listening in silence, said, “Young Sheridan, you may be right about the ironic name that most evil wizards give themselves, but you are sadly far-off in your assumption that the Shadow Lord had no problem with men for a thousand years. He’s been plotting Amir’s death for hundreds of years. He had neither the resources nor the power to assassinate Amir until last century when he invented the fell black mist. He used the mist to infect mankind and cause civil discord. The kingdom quickly descended into anarchy. Cases of murder sprang up everywhere as people were driven insane by the mist. Infected people where killing everyone they could, non-infected people were forming gangs and waging war with the ‘infects’ as they called them. No one knew how to free them, so they killed everyone. In all the chaos Casualties reached into the thousands over only a few years. The police force was thinning, and the army was dieing. Its still going on to this day, but not as bad for it didn’t take long to figure out how to free them. The Elves have just recently started to be concerned about the mist. The Dwarves are safe up in the mountains, and the fiery Halflings aren’t affected by the mist. So were all here and the revolution will now begin.” Dracul finished with superior tone in his voice. “What revolution?” asked Cynric and Sheridan in unison. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying? We must stop this outburst of infestations before The Shadow Lord invades. He’ll choose to attack when there are about four or five million humans capable of fighting.” A cloud past overhead, “come, let us go Slap Some make-up on our cheeks, then we must find the T.P. and kill that queer link dudey.”
to be continued...
Forty warriors had set out on the overlord Amir’s orders, to invade the encampments of Elves that had been set up on the outskirts of the human territory. Little did they know they had been sent on a suicide mission. Trolls, orcs, and scores of goblins awaited them at Deadmans pass, a narrow pass about 50 feet wide and 30 miles long, with mountains on either side. “Hold together!” shouted the captain “CHARGE!” All 40 armor clad men surged forward smashing into the front line of armored trolls. Unfortunately, they had not men enough to claim victory. The trolls were smashing men left and right while the orcs and goblins rushed in swarming the warriors. It only lasted about twenty minutes until the captain had to give the order to retreat. The archers rained arrows on the fleeing men while trolls hurled great stones that crushed all that had the misfortune to be in their path. All men died, save one. His name was Cynric, meaning ‘Warrior’ and he is well named, for he is one of the greatest warriors that ever lived. Some say that he took on a black dragon, the most fearsome of all dragons, and killed it with the fork he had been using to eat his lunch in the Great Northern Cave. Or as most name it, ‘The Accursed Cave.’ Cynric ran for his life. Arrows fell from the sky all around him, and three times he came just mere inches from being crushed under a boulder. He moved swiftly out of range from the boulders, but arrows still hailed down. He took a path to the right into the woods and found cover up in the great trees of Deadmans pass.
In the morning Cynric was woken by the sound of an arrow hitting a tree. “Who goes there?” he shouted out. His answer was another arrow that pinned his leather armor sleeve to the tree. He pulled it out and looked around, searching for his assailant. “I come in peace.” Called a soft yet strong elvish sounding voice. “Then why in the name of lord Amir are you shooting at me?” Called out Cynric, “Show yourself!” out of the shadow stepped an elf. He was tall, about 6’6” if he had not been wearing his leather knee-high boots. He had long light blonde- almost white hair that fell to the middle of his back. And like all Elves he was fair-skinned. He carried a bow, quiver of arrows, and twin scimitars, which were of Elvin steel, making them lighter, stronger, sharper, and impossible to notch, scratch, or dull. “I am Thanroe, ranger from the east side of the rapids.” Said Thanroe as he put away his bow. “I heard the battle as I was traveling through, and thought you might be one of the shape-shifting Shifters. Which I know now is impossible. ” He finished. “ How can you be so sure of your self when no living being can tell? Be it human, elvish, orcish, or dragon. None can see through a Shifter disguise save only the few wizards that still roam this earth.” Answered Cynric suspiciously while putting a hand on his two-handed Scottish longsword (also made from eleven steel, with a sharpened crossbar). “To see how you would react.” He replied with a slight smile. “I knew that even a Shifter would a least blink an eye if an arrow struck just mere inches from his head. But I see that you are no imposter. Come down and follow me, I wish to show you something.” Cynric slid down the trunk of the tree and sized up the elf, concluding that if this was a trick he could probly take him if came to a duel. “Lead the way elf, but I’ll warn you, I’m not one to take as a fool.” He said with a hint of a threat in his voice. “Understood. Follow me.” They walked in silence for about a half-hour until Thanroe said, “here we are. The encampment of Elves.” Three Elves pulled out their swords as Cynric and Thanroe approached. “I have brought the legendary Cynric, the dragon slayer! Our time of vengeance is at hand! We shall slay him as he slayed our high ruler Dracul!” Cynric pulled out his sword and slashed at Thanroe, which he easily blocked and countered aiming for Cynric’s neck. He ducked, spun aside and rushed in slashing Thanroe’s legs out from underneath him. A dark mist rose from Thanroe’s body evaporating in the air as he slipped into unconsciousness. The three Elves had just arrived slashing in unison at Cynric, but they had no chance against Cynric. For they were over shadowed by a fell mist. Their skill in combat was reduced to that of the mist and the only way to free them was to draw blood. But if blood is drawn by someone possessed by the mist, then it infects the new victim therefore giving a new living puppet to the Shadow Lord, master of all things evil. After he had scratched the overshadowed Elves Cynric went exploring throughout the encampment. And found hundreds of Elves locked in cellars. Before Cynric had time to wonder why there were cellars in an encampment he was grabbed from behind with a knife pressed up against his throat. “Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t even breathe,” Said a gruff voice. “If you value your life you’ll do exactly as I say.” But to his attacker’s dismay, Cynric would have chose death rather than be held captive. He flipped his attacker over his back disarmed him and pinned his arm to the ground. “You shall not take me alive,” Said Cynric in a grim tone, “get up and fight me like a man.” He finished, rising to his feet. The man rolled to his feet, turned, and drew his knives. For the first time, Cynric got a good look at him. He was about 5’11 in height, slender in build, shoulder length shaggy pitch-black hair, and carried six identical knives with 7” blades on his belt. They squared off seizing each other up with weapons drawn and ready. An ordinary man would say Cynric had an advantage in both skill and weapon. But that ordinary man would be very wrong. Cynric slashed a couple times at the knife man, testing his skill. The man just dodged the attacks without any sign of doubt or worry, almost a thingyy confidence. Cynric called out, “great knife master, it would be dishonorable to duel a man without first knowing at least his name.” The man stood his ground, not letting his guard down for even a second, “your manner of speech suggests royal blood while your ragged appearance suggests otherwise. They call me Sheridan meaning ‘untamed’ and I will assume you’re the legendary Cynric, dragon’s bane. I thought you were dead. Well no matter, you shall die now anyway.” He threw himself at Cynric, who moved aside easily bringing his sword down for a killing blow only a Shifter could survive. But Sheridan seemed to move at the same speed as a Shifter, twisting himself in such a way that even a hyper flexible elf could only begin to imagine. Sheridan rolled to his feet slashing Cynric’s ankle on his way up. Cynric took a step back drawing his Elvin dagger and throwing it towards Sheridan’s head. It would have hit him in the left eye, had he not put one dagger away, and executed a perfect back flip catching the knife in his free hand. “Your ability is uncanny Sheridan, but something tells me that you are human.” He rushed at Sheridan thrusting his blade his chest, faking the blow and whipping his sword around in a fluid arc slashing across Sheridan's neck. But Sheridan anticipated the move and shifted his stance back, leaped forward and kicked Cynric on the chest, then across the face while still in the air sending him spiraling into a tree. “Human is but only a race, not a limitation.” Cynric pivoted to the left as Sheridan slammed his knives into the tree, exactly where Cynric’s head was. Cynric stabbed Sheridan in the foot twisted to the side and slammed his fist into the back of Sheridan's head, who stuck his one of his knives into Cynric’s leg twisted around, grabbed his sword hand, and disarmed him. They started fighting knife to hand at first but eventually Sheridan had lost all of his knives and they fought for three long hours until the Elves started waking up and seeing the two men fighting, they rushed in to stop them. Thanroe stood between them scimitars in hand, “Cynric, Sheridan, stop fighting, lower your guard, you’re on the same side.” Sheridan glared at Cynric, “I’m not allied with the Shifters. Cynric, the real Cynric is dead.” Cynric picked up his sword, “I am not dead. But all the others are. We were slaughtered in Deadman’s pass.” Sheridan surveyed him suspiciously, “Deadman’s pass, no one has fought there in a hundred years. Cynric's Last Battle marked the fall of humanity. They found Cynric’s body in the middle of six elite armored black dragons. All of the dragons were dead, but ones sword stuck through Cynric.” Thanroe looked at Cynric, then Sheridan, “all believed him to be dead. Even I did, until I met him in the forest this morning. He has been invisible to all eyes for a century, in an enchanted sleep. I found out that he is still alive.” Sheridan looked at Cynric and said, “Fine. Let’s test him, with something only the real Cynric could do.”
The following day, they led Cynric to an arena. It was a circular pit, about twenty feet deep and twenty feet across, with wooden walls all around. In the middle of the pit was an elite Shifter. He stood as human does and was around 7’ in height, with piercing red eyes and cat-like claws that extended from black, scaly hands. Blood dripped from his razor sharp fangs, and he stood there watching them approach with a look of pure hatred on his scar covered face. He had no weapons or armor, just some loose fitting travelers clothes.
“You will fight him,” said Sheridan without a hint of concern or mercy in his voice, “if you are who you say you are you should be able to kill him. But if you lose the fight, chances are about one in a million that you will live” “then it leaves me no choice does it? I’ll just have to kill him.,” replied Cynric firmly, throwing his weapons aside. Thanroe threw down a rope ladder and Cynric climbed down, turned and faced his opponent, and waited.
The Shifter charged. Cynric stepped aside and spin-kicked him in the back, sending him into the wall. Unfortunately Shifters do not mind pain, but get angry when someone attacks them. The Shifter jumped up and grabbed the rope ladder (that Thanroe was pulling up) and ripped it down, pulled it apart, and grabbed two of the sticks that had been used for the steps and rushed at Cynric. He stepped aside, and using the Shifters shoulder for support, jumped up on his shoulders and got him in a chokehold then broke its neck. The Shifter threw Cynric off, adjusted his head so his bones repaired them selves correctly, and delivered a crushing blow to Cynric's head. Cynric was knocked back ten feet, slammed against the wall, and fell to the ground. The Shifter rushed in to finish him off. But his attempt proved unsuccessful. Cynric rolled aside, swept his foot around, tripping the Shifter, grabbed one of the 1’ long closet-pole shaped sticks lying next to him, and rammed through the Shifter’s eye penetrating its brain. The Shifter rolled up, and ripped out the pole. Its eye slowly re-grew, so in about 20 seconds its eye and brain had healed themselves. The Shifter roared and charged slamming into Cynric knocking him over, then aimed a downward punch. Cynric rolled aside as the fist slammed into the earth making a small crater in the ground. Cynric grabbed the Shifter by the neck, planted his feet on his stomach, and flipped it backwards. He rolled back and with one hand grabbed him by the neck, and the other beating its head with another stick with all his might. The Shifter grabbed the stick, ripped it from Cynric's hand, and smashed it into Cynric's skull.
When Cynric woke up he looked around wondering if he was still alive. When the pain in his head started to come back he remembered what was happening and flipped up to his feet expecting the incoming attack. But it never came. “Where am I?” he asked himself. “Ah the great Cynric, you have met your match.” Said Sheridan, “and as to were you are, your right outside the arena in which you were defeated” Cynric looked at Sheridan with satisfaction, “so you believe me now even though I lost. That’s good and all but, why am I alive? I should have died back there. Shifters care not for life or death, pain or enslavement, and above all else, hate everything. That Shifter did not spare me, you did.” Thanroe stepped out of the shadows, “I knew you were real. You almost disabled it. None have gotten even that close, and they all had weapons.” Sheridan was not impressed, “your story may be true, but I’m not impressed. I have always been told you were invincible, that you killed the great black dragon Dracul in the accursed caves with no weapon, save a fork. But your skill is not enough for that.” Cynric eyed him and said, “I did not kill Dracul, I fought alongside him in the accursed caves. Twenty mountain trolls attacked us, and we beat them off. I was armed with my sword and dagger and slayed five, wounded three, and ten more were impaled, decapitated, and incinerated by Dracul, the rest fled. Since then Dracul and I have fought together in many a battle.” Thanroe smiled and replied, “Great lord Cynric,” he knelt down, “your fortunate to have such a powerful friend, Dracul is the one who saved you from certain death. He scorched the Shifter, swooped in, and ripped it in half, then ate its head preventing it from healing itself.” He looked up at Cynric in awe, “it’s far more impressive to be close friends with a dragon, especially one so powerful as Dracul, than to slay one.” Cynric walked over to the arena, and saw Dracul lying there, “Dracul! Its good to have you back.” Dracul looked up, stretched his wings, and said, “Ah Cynric, you have awoken at last. I was worried you might end up like that…,” he said with a slight smile, motioning towards the bloody remains of the Shifter. “But my worry was in vain, for you showed more resilience than expected from a human your age, one-hundred-thirty-five now are you not? Yet you seem to be blessed with ageless immortality for you look the same as the last time I saw you.” Cynric looked at his friend with a smile, “You’re not much different than the last time we met, but you’ve grown wiser. You’re not the daredevil that you once were. Yet I sill sense that fire burning within you, refusing to be put out.” Thanroe was looking into the distance while Cynric and Dracul were talking, when he saw scores of dark figures, “I think we’d better hide.” No one paid any attention, “really, we should move,” Sheridan looked over to see what he was talking about, “what is it?” he asked. “RUN! Winged orcs! Take cover!” “Sheridan let me see where you’re true strength lies.” Sheridan nodded and turned to face the incoming orcs. There were seventy in all and all were armored and armed with scimitars, short swords, spears, and other weaponry. They drew swords, landed, and sent in a five-man test attack. Sheridan leaped forward, and jump kicked one in the face. Another orc rushed in, sword swinging, Sheridan stepped aside, punched the orc in the face, breaking its nose, spun around to the orcs back, grabbed it around the neck, and performed a deadly neck break technique. The last three retreated to the rest of the company. All of the rest of the orcs charged. Sheridan rushed at them screaming, “DEATH!” and pulled out two of his daggers, threw them into the foreheads of two orcs. And without hesitation or concern for his own safety slammed into the orcish ranks, and ducked behind one orc, and in a blur of motion that orc had two daggers through his head. And six others had orcish swords imbedded in their limp, lifeless bodies. Sheridan rushed at a cluster of fourteen orcs, dodging incoming spears, and grabbed the closest orc, used its shoulder for a boost, and leaped clear over the orcs. He came down screaming like a tortured madman. Flashing knives around, slitting the throats of dozens of orcs. Most orcs were slain from behind as they fled in fear For about half an hour the battle went on like this, orcs to afraid to fight him and orcs to afraid of the punishment they would receive if they returned to the Shadow Lord without Sheridan's head on a black pike. Most decided that it wasn’t worth staying and flew away. Until only one orc remained, the orc threw his spear at Sheridan who stepped aside, and with uncanny speed caught the spear. He ran at the orc, threw the spear into the orcs chest, drew his last two knives, and planting his feet on the orcs chest, rammed his knives into his brain. Sheridan landed on top of the orc, flipped off, wiped his blades on the grass, and sheathed them.
He was soaked in black blood from head to toe, his hair was a mess, and he smelled like death. “COME BACK COWARDS!” he roared after the fleeing orcs, “I’M NOT DONE!” he walked back to the rocks where the rest were hiding. “That wasn’t so hard” Cynric stepped out and said, “I couldn’t have done it better myself.” “No you couldn’t.” replied Sheridan shortly. Thanroe and Dracul came forward and Thanroe said, “We must get going before more orcs come.” He pointed to Deadman’s pass, “we should go through there, to the great city of Heron. It lies to the north, as you must already know. The overlord Uisdean son of Ryan son of Amir the everlasting son of…” “Okay Thanroe that will do,” interrupted Sheridan, “we don’t need the history of man right now. Besides, Cynric is history. He won’t need to hear it.” “Wait, wasn’t Amir immortal? He was overlord for a thousand years.,” asked Cynric. “Yes he was. He was being controlled by the fell mist, sending you and all the other elite soldiers to seemingly, their death. He fought the mist and managed to get his blood drawn by one of his guards. When he was free he massed up a huge army of 600,000 trained soldiers. Two-hundred-thousand of which where cavalry, 150,000 longbow men, and the remaining 250,000 were infantry. It was the greatest army ever assembled. None returned from the war in the orcish territory one ranger saw what happened, and the largest piece recovered from his body was his bloody severed hand, still clutching the hilt of his now bladeless sword.” Said Thanroe in a grim tone, “as for Amir, he died an unexplainable death. According to our top elvish healers, he was not poisoned. There were no wounds or cuts of any kind. And he cannot die of old age, which leaves only one possibility. Magic. Not ordinary magic, such as the branch that I posses. But a dark fell magic. Magic only the Shadow Lord can wield.” He ended with a solemn silence. Sheridan was only half listening when he noticed something, “Hey, why is it that the Shadow Lord, as he so unoriginally names himself, would so suddenly take an interest in overlord Amir when he’s let him live for a thousand years without so much as a border dispute?” Dracul, who had been listening in silence, said, “Young Sheridan, you may be right about the ironic name that most evil wizards give themselves, but you are sadly far-off in your assumption that the Shadow Lord had no problem with men for a thousand years. He’s been plotting Amir’s death for hundreds of years. He had neither the resources nor the power to assassinate Amir until last century when he invented the fell black mist. He used the mist to infect mankind and cause civil discord. The kingdom quickly descended into anarchy. Cases of murder sprang up everywhere as people were driven insane by the mist. Infected people where killing everyone they could, non-infected people were forming gangs and waging war with the ‘infects’ as they called them. No one knew how to free them, so they killed everyone. In all the chaos Casualties reached into the thousands over only a few years. The police force was thinning, and the army was dieing. Its still going on to this day, but not as bad for it didn’t take long to figure out how to free them. The Elves have just recently started to be concerned about the mist. The Dwarves are safe up in the mountains, and the fiery Halflings aren’t affected by the mist. So were all here and the revolution will now begin.” Dracul finished with superior tone in his voice. “What revolution?” asked Cynric and Sheridan in unison. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying? We must stop this outburst of infestations before The Shadow Lord invades. He’ll choose to attack when there are about four or five million humans capable of fighting.” A cloud past overhead, “come, let us go Slap Some make-up on our cheeks, then we must find the T.P. and kill that queer link dudey.”
to be continued...
