Starybogow.
They were looked upon as mad for even attempting the trip, yet it can be said that their bond with one another kept them going even into the maws of such an enigmatic place. Villages began to speak of the Mad Brothers as they passed through, three travelers on an unending quest that would bring them to the steps of the Old Gods so as long as they remained companions. It was upon the trail for the lost woman, nicknamed Sun by Cyril, for her flowing, blonde locks, that this tale begun.
For countless moons now they had traveled through many kinds of terrain, but they all agreed that this particular forest was the most difficult. If it weren't for Nikola's seasoned traveling experience, they assured one another they would have been lost some time ago.
As the sun began to set and the sky turned to a kaleidoscope of oranges and faint purples, the three decided to make a fire and set up their bedrolls. A quick kill at the hands of Cyril's bow made venison their dinner that evening. The skin was beginning to crisp and the meat grew tender as they expelled the last of their salt and spices that Radomir brought as a bit of a reprieve from their harsh journey. The seasonings brought a curl to Cyril’s smile. They had learned early on that their priorities in civilized locations were each very different.
Cyril would take to the tavern for a drink and to converse with the locals about rumors and often come back with news of the Inquisition or the Teutonic Knights attempting to eradicate another area of the Slavic tribesmen; sometimes even hopeful word of the Knights Templar striking back to defend the Slavs. Luckily the young man's skills with people and his natural charisma would often net them with something useful to their journey, and more than once they were able to dodge the Inquisition or worse, the Teutonic Knights.
Nikola would often be quick to the blacksmith to assure his weapons were in top shape, and he was often chastised for his ability to spend far more coin than they had to spare; whether it be for a new scabbard, a piece of armor, or even just get them kicked out of town for criticizing the smithy's work. But, if it weren't for his constant need to perfect his craft of killing, the other two might have ended up dead some time ago.
Wise Rad was a curious case, for he was always hard to locate when the three decided to make a brief nest for themselves at a town. Whether he was busy adding more script to his journal, or sketching a particular type of leaf, the man was always out and about; usually getting himself lost among the local foliage. Or in one particular case, arguing with an elderly man about the history of the Knights Templar and dismissing the man's wild accusations against the Romani.
But this particular evening however, sparse on supplies, and weathered from their battle with the leshiye, the three sat in their usual formation with their dim fire in the center. A whetstone in each of their hands, the fire danced and made shapes upon their faces.
“You know what I don't understand about you, Cyril.” Nikola said in a brusque but not accusative fashion. “The skill you have with your sword is some of the best I've seen in a long time. You can dodge, roll, even pirouette yourself out of an enemies swing or swipe. Yet you adhere yourself to the use of a curved blade, a weapon that is extremely foolish to use against someone wearing plate. Why never invest in something you could stab with? Even a short sword.”
Cyril smiled and stared into the fire, longing for their dinner to be ready. “I was taught that there are many creatures, monsters if you will, in the world which are feral and attack with the utmost rage in their black hearts. Spirits whose sole mission is to cause harm or to drive a man mad. My teachings with a sword are explicitly meant to be the opposite. Flowing, like water - some might even say dancing - I can weave in and out of an opponent’s reach and strike back before they even realize where I am. I can move in a way that my enemies cannot and that gives me an advantage. Besides, I do well to not pick fights with men in plate, Nikola.”
“Smart words, they are.” Rad chimed in. “I've seen you fight and it is quite a sight. I've read from time to time that there is a group of individuals out there who disguise themselves as mere peasants, merchants, and sometimes even royalty. They stick to the shadows; they operate in pure darkness and can poke you full of holes before you even realize they are there. To be so attuned to the elements around you? That, my brothers, that is true skill.” Wise Rad said, with a wry look at Nikola who sat with his short sword across his lap, the newly oiled surface shimmering in the fire's light.
“That's not to say that your capability to run up toward a fiend and overwhelm them with ferocity is not effective.” Cyril smirked, Nikola nodded his head in approval.
“Well,” the eldest sat up from his prone position and gently closed his journal. “Let’s get this deer in our bellies before the smell attracts some more unsavory monsters from the woods.”
“Hear, hear!” Nikola cheered, gently sheathing the blade.
*****
The three men ate their meals quickly and quietly, as was usually the case. Before they had even begun to douse the fire in dirt and call it a night, Cyril's eyes grew heavy. Within thirty minutes all three of the companions were asleep. The night carried on and just at the peak of the starlight, a faint crunching of twigs sounded some feet away. Cyril woke out of instinct, unaware of the sound that had disturbed him.
He rubbed his eyes, ran his hand through his hair, and sat up. His throat was dry and as he felt for his waterskin, the movement sounded once again. Alerted and at the ready for a leshy, wolf, or something far worse than both, Cyril slowly slid his hand to the falchion at his side. In the pure darkness he would not be able to defend himself well and so he sat as still as possible to allow his eyes to adjust.
I may end up dinner for something but at least I'll know what it is. He thought to himself, leaning toward Nikola's legs to shake him awake. But, before he could, his eyes met something in the woods, the very thing that had caused him to tense up in the first place.
There they were, two milky blue orbs staring at him from behind the thicket of a nearby bush. Unmoving and shadowed in the darkness of the night, the eyes seemed to stare directly at him. Judging by the height of them, Cyril observed, the thing was as tall as a grown man. In mere seconds he recollected the tales he had heard about in his youth, or that Radomir had taught him.
Baba Yaga? No, we haven't seen a house for days... Likho, maybe? Can't be that we have encountered anyone we have wronged or made a deal with... vampir? By the gods I hope-
But as the swordsman and the entity stared holes in one another, a shriek like nothing Cyril had ever heard sounded from deeper in the forests. The sound seemed to almost boil the young man's blood and filled him with instant dread.
It alarmed him even more when the two other Mad Brothers woke up suddenly, Nikola with a small knife in his hand pulled from his boot, Wise Rad lay with his eyes open and a single hand out to calm the others. Cyril turned his head quickly as the commotion at the bonfire caught his attention, but when he went to look back to the eyes, they were gone, only the faint sound of something bounding through the woods could be heard.
“Are we being attacked? Do I need the silver?” Nikola asked impatiently. Without a clear answer he was already searching wildly through his gear to locate the other dagger, discarding the pig-sticker he had in his hand.
“Calm yourself, you fool! Stay perfectly still,” Cyril demanded. Rad himself had sat up and monitored the surrounding area.
“Both of you shut your gobs,” the Wise rasped.
The three sat, half in their bedrolls, for nearly ten minutes before the only sounds to be heard were the chirping of birds, the rustle of grass, and the noise from insects.
“I think we are safe.” Cyril said finally. He rose to his feet and continued to look around. “I swore I saw something in the wood, there.” He pointed a finger in the direction of the eyes that stared at him.
Rad sat up and started flipping through his journal. Dragging a finger across the well-inked pages, he sat murmuring to himself, attempting to find an an
swer in his notes.
Nikola was already up and fastening his swords to his back, always anxious that he'd be caught unawares. “What exactly did you see?” he asked innocently.
“Eyes.” the single word caused Wise Rad to look up and bite his own lip.
“What kind of eyes? Yellow, red, one or two?”
“Blue. Two of them. Stood just as tall as a man, I'd say.” Cyril said, rolling up his bedroll. Dawn was a little ways off, but clearly the Mad Brothers were no longer safe, strange creatures looked upon them as they slept, and even stranger ones shrieked some distance away. Nothing would allow them a well rested night any longer.
“Great. We have ourselves an admirer. Maybe it’s a woodsman with a pet dog or wolf or something. Every man worthy of calling himself a woodsman can make a fine stew. Love me some of that.” Nikola said, tightening the small belts that sheathed his knives.
“I don't think woodsmen would stray this near to Starybogow, Nik. We have better chances..“
Rad held up one hand, his bedroll still sprawled out, his head shot up and slowly looked back at them. “You say wolf... and it comes.”
“What are you going on-” a sudden snap of twigs and the shuffling of underbrush caused Nikola to put one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other wrapping around the silver dagger at his waist. Cyril too drew his falchion and stood, two-handing the weapon.
Wise Rad slowly got up and stood next to his 'brothers', axe in his hand. “Oh, mother of...” he whispered.
Out from the line of trees, it came. Its paws covered in thick, reddish fur ending in long black claws. It walked upon all fours, unaffected by the uneven landscape it traversed. Stalking them with its snout open, revealing yellowed fangs dripping with saliva, its body hunched, indicating its capacity to walk on two legs, ears perked up like a hound smelling a pheasant. Its eyes glowed that milky blue Cyril had seen... that was until it walked into the moonlight-exposed clearing that the Mad Brothers had made their camp where their true yellow shade came to be seen. Faint scars glistened in the pseudo-darkness along its back, bristling fur covering every inch of its muscled body. A low, and terrible, snarl came from its massive lungs.
“Vucari...” Nikola gulped, even the seasoned warrior was too tense to make a move knowing that the wolf-man before him could easily pierce the plate on his chest and turn his bare skin into ribbons. “...and here I am forgetting my shield on the ground...”
“Do not move. If the creature leaps we can easily overwhelm it... Nikola, have that silver dagger at the ready,” Cyril said. “Rad... any knowledge in that thick skull of yours that can help us out here?”
“Yes, pray to Porewit and hope Flins does not take us so soon.” the Wise said.
“I don't think your Old Gods are going to help us now...” Nikola growled.
With an ear-shattering bark and snapping of its jaws, the vucari startled all three of them so suddenly that instinct seemed to take them over, for Nikola moved in, sword in hand. He charged toward the beast belting a war cry at the top of his lungs.
“NIKOLA!” Cyril shouted, but before they could grab their brother from what would be certain death, the wolf-man turned its attention to its would-be attacker and simply back-handed him to his feet, and snarled.
“What the-” Wise Rad noticed the vucari hadn't had its eyes on them after all. He snapped his head around and even he couldn't help but let out a scream of sorts.
There was a second creature that had tracked them down and now stood flanking what escape they would have had. But unlike the vucari who was beast-like, a ferocious predator whose appetite was its driving force, this second one was not quite of the natural world.
“T-topielic...” Radomir shuttered.
Cyril had quickly gotten Nikola to his feet, but both froze when they saw the newest threat to reveal itself. When the creature let out a deafening shriek, they were forced to cover their ears.
It stood as tall as a man, with the posture and shape of one as well. Its grey, mottled skin was covered in hideous boils and carbuncles that hung to its joints like some ghostly armor. It was sickly thin with a ribcage that threatened to pierce its skin, and its collarbone seemed to protrude from underneath like a corpse that had been wasting away. Thin, soaked hair that was as black as pitch covered its head, framing the vilest feature of its already hideous appearance.
Just one look at the putrid, gaunt face made Cyril feel bile rising in his throat. If it weren't for the small reflection of the moonlight coming from the black orbs that sat in them, its eye sockets would have seemed to be empty with the gray skin stretched monstrously tight against it. The cheek bones and jaw seemed to too angular to be human, ears that were non-existent, and its mouth puckered with a lip-less grin; the skin seemed to split against its sharp teeth and leaked out some foul ooze. The nose was flat and almost fish-like, the tiny slits heaved as it watched the scene like a stone sentinel; webbed fingers curled around a tree branch that had been fashioned into a spear.
The vucari made its presence known once more by growling deeply and rose to its hind legs, revealing its true height. Cyril and Nikola's eyes went wide and their mouths opened in a gasp.
Wordlessly, the topielic tapped its make-shift spear against the earth five times. Before they could react, the Mad Brothers began to hear a low, gurgling moan come from seemingly all around them.
“You have gods that answer the prayers of the royally fu-…” Nikola's curse was cut short by the vucari suddenly pouncing from its spot, blowing past Rad like a whirlwind and sending itself crashing into the topielic. As the wolf creature caught itself on all fours and spun around for a second pass, the water spirit was already on its feet, carrying itself like the bones beneath its skin were too heavy for it.
Nikola went to join the sudden fray, but a gray-skinned arm rose from below him unnoticed. Pulling itself from the earth, a second topielic emerged, covered in dirt and slick as though newly bathed. Its clawed hand grabbed Nikola's arm and pulled as it wriggled free from dirt and mud.
Thinking quickly, Cyril swung his falchion and sliced a huge gash across the creature's face, sending it reeling, its grasp on Nikola broken. But this however, did not stop it.
“Get up you idiot!” Wise Rad shouted, but just as he finished his warning, a sharp pain erupted from his right arm, and he turned to see a third water spirit readying another thrust from its spear. Luckily, Wise Radomir was left handed and when the second thrust came to pierce his hand, he parried the blow with his axe, though the creature’s weapon of choice made it far too clear that he would not be able to amount an offensive from that range. He opted to back away, trying to remain just the right distance from the sharply tipped branch.
“I've never seen creatures mount such an attack!” Cyril said, finally pulling Nikola up off of the ground. It was then that he noticed two more of them shuffling through the forest, spears in hand. “There's more!? This is crazy!”
“No, Cyril!” Wise Rad shouted; awaiting the next thrust from the topielic that he faced, he managed to catch the branch in his right hand and forced strength into a downward slash from his axe, splitting the creature’s weapon in half. With all of his weight down on his right foot, he leapt slightly, shoving his shoulder into the creature, knocking it off of its clumsy feet. “This... this... this is what awaits us at Starybogow.”
Nikola, fuming from his humiliation, was finally on the offensive. Unfazed by the hideous enemies in front of him, he charged toward the two that Cyril had noticed before. Moving at a steady pace, he parried a thrust from the one he had put on his left, its spear bouncing away harmlessly. With a quick, full spin, he brought his short swords with him, using the momentum to thrust both forward into the spine of the topielic. Without so much as a cry of pain, it fell to its knees. The one on his right craned its neck and clumsily tried a thrust at his torso, the tip snapping against the breast plate. Without missing a beat, he took the sword out of the first dead one’s spine, and then in the same motion went for
a killing blow on the second.
In one quick, lion-like swipe, Nikola the weapons-master brought the silver dagger from his belt and planted it in the topielic's neck. With a shriek that caused Nik to wince, the creature’s mouth fell open unnaturally wide, as it seemed to convulse and shrivel. Taking the small blade out, it seemed to return to the ground from whence it came. Noticing the first topielic crawling its way toward his ankles, Nikola planted the silver into the creature’s skull as he half-turned and fell to one knee, using the momentum to utterly decimate it.
Meanwhile, Cyril had been busy with Nikola's original attacker. With almost serpentine like movement, the young swordsman allowed the creature only slight movements before he unleashed devastating slashes upon it. Skin, carbuncle, and bone splattered his overcoat. Gashes were open all over the creature as it mounted a mindless attack against him. Finally, with a quick flurry of one-two, one-two slashes, Cyril put all of his momentum into a quick spin that beheaded the creature.
At the same moment, as Wise Rad's target rose from where he had knocked it down with a shoulder thrust, he returned to his usual strategy of combat. Watch, and learn. As the small, grape-sized orbs bore holes into him, Rad walked closer, ever-weary of the still sharp spear he had split asunder. Just as he edged in closer, looking to cleave away, a reddish blur bounced on top of it, nearly sending him on his back. For the vucari had struck again, this time, covered in black ooze that he only guessed was that of the original topielic.
The bearded Radomir nearly leapt a foot when Nikola's hand came down on his shoulder and pulled him back toward the original campfire. The three of them stood, silent and weary, as all sorts of viscera flew through the air as the vucari slashed and bit its victim into a second grave.
City of the Gods - Starybogow Page 16
