Crimson Blade

by Corey Soreff

  Rorik was also in the plane of shadows, but couldn't see Ginin anywhere. Two people using stealth in the same area would not necessarily see each other in the shadow plane; For even though the surroundings looked the same, albeit darker with a violet tinge, this was merely to assist in their fighting. The actual location of the shadow plane they were in was quite different. That's part of what made being a rogue so difficult.

  A beginner would enter the plane of shadows after years of training, only to realize that they are in a completely different place than they left. They could remain invisible, and move around, but they wouldn't exactly know where they were going or where they would end up when they ended the effect. To compensate for this, rogues spent a great amount of time developing their own intricate spell to add to the stealth. The spell took a real-time accurate reading of the mortal plane, and projected it to the caster in the shadow plane, making them able to see as if they had never left. Most aspiring rogues never made it past this step, for developing the spell required took both superior intelligence and concentration. And considering how vast the shadow plane is, it is highly unlikely to enter the same general area as your opponent.

  So this left Rorik with a decision. Sit and wait, hoping for Ginin to release his stealth first. Or release his own and wait to be attacked by Ginin. Waiting to be attacked by Ginin the Shadow himself didn't seem like such a smart idea. But what if Ginin interfered with Eucibous's fight, or attacked the knight? This is my fight, I need to keep it that way. With a sigh of resolution he dispelled his stealth, and began waiting for the surprise that would surely come.

  Twelve bodies lay scattered around the sturdy dwarf, and he showed no signs of tiring. Seeing his valuable axe, they had thought to take it from him. Bad idea. Five more bandits stood at a distance, eyeing the dwarf warily.

  One of them shot nervous glances to his left and right, wondering if his comrades would flee, hoping they would. But his eyes stopped on his friend Mosh, and his hopes went out the window. Mosh had never backed down from a fight, not once. He was going to be dragged to his death, all over an axe.

  "Are ye just gonna stand there and look stupid, or are ye gonna come at me like men?" Asked Grymmbeard.

  "Shit," the nervous bandit whispered to himself.

  Mosh screamed, and charged forward.

  Grymmbeard smiled. Fool.

  Mosh's four comrades weren't left with much of a choice, and they joined his assault. After all, they only had to kill one dwarf, right? One dwarf…that had killed twelve men alone.

  Mosh arrived first, and almost fell on his face when he swung his longsword with abandon and missed. The dwarf had dived under his legs.

  Grymmbeard rose behind him and cleaved off the reckless human's legs with a heavy swing of his large axe, and the torso slid to the ground. Spinning without a moment's hesitation, Grymmbeard turned the way he had swung, aided by the momentum of the axe, and caught one of the bandits that was about to attack him right in the chest. The man was blown off his feet, dead before he hit the ground. As the body fell, Grymmbeard ripped the axe out of the man's chest, then spun again in the opposite direction, catching the next man in the side of the head with the other side of the blade. Three down.

  The fourth realized their folly, and he resorted to risky tricks. He took his sword, and heaved it like a throwing knife straight at the dwarf. Surprisingly the man threw it well, with the blade staying straight throughout its flight.

  Grymmbeard laughed, and then spun in circle. When he finished one complete rotation, he let go of his axe, heaving his own weapon straight at the man. The axe collided with the sword in mid-air and easily knocked the much lighter weapon away. The axe however, stayed on course. It hit the surprised brigand in the side of the ribs, and he was no more.

  Grymmbeard had noticed since the beginning of the skirmish that one of them had been reluctant to fight, and he noticed the man was still a short distance away. Grymmbeard took advantage of the distance to retrieve his axe a few yards away. As he bent down to pull it free, the last bandit spoke.

  "I'd love to just leave, but unfortunately I have this thing about honor, and you just killed my best friend. Honor, funny coming from a bandit, right? Quite a pain in the ass really." The nervous bandit pulled a hand crossbow from his pack, and leveled it at the dwarf. "Sorry, but avenging my friend is more important than a fair fight with you using blades. Not that it would be fair anyway." He said as he noted the sixteen men that had fallen to the superior skills of the dwarf. "Ah, why didn't I just join the city guard? I figured something like this would happen one day."

  Grymmbeard grunted. "If yer gonna shoot, then shoot. And ye better make it a good shot, for if it ain't fatal yer dead."

  Here he was, armed with a crossbow, pointing it at a dwarf twenty yards away. Not hard, he was always a good shot. Yet for some reason he didn’t think he'd make it out of this alive. Shaking his head and smiling, he said, "Alright then." And he put his finger on the trigger.

  Grymmbeard prepared to attempt to dodge the arrow as he watched the man's finger for the moment of truth. Then, a strong and visible gust of wind blew by, no, blew through the man. Standing next to the bandit where the wind stopped was a man, probably in his late twenties. Dark hair with a green headband. Platemail the color of jade, and a large halberd. He wore a tabard over his breastplate that the dwarf didn’t recognize. A crimson sword on a black cloth.

  The bandit wore an expression of disbelief, mouth wide open. Then his head rolled off of his shoulders.

  The dwarf raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was friend or foe. "And who might ye be?"

  The man in green smiled. "I'm Lok, well met. I've been watching since the group first attacked you."

  And only just deciding to help now? "Glad to give ye a show," said Grymmbeard.

  "A good show," Lok replied. "Although I would have killed all seventeen of them within seconds myself."

  The dwarf studied the man's expression. He wore a straight face, and made the statement with confidence. We wasn't bragging or trying to show off, he was merely stating a fact. Either that or he was a really good liar.

  "But I'm not your average fighter, so don't worry about it. Just like you're not your average dwarf." Lok said.

  "I wasn't worried," Grymmbeard answered. "But it seems you have more in mind than just stopping that arrow."

  The wind again, Lok was gone.

  Grymmbeard's sharp eyes followed the blur that was Lok as it dashed in and out of trees, then coming straight at his back. Grymmbeard turned immediately and rose his axe to meet the threat, and not a moment too soon. The second he had his axe in place, that long halberd snapped down at his shoulder, blocked by the axe's head. Lok seemed to hover, then seemed to actually push off of the air itself as he did a back flip and landed several feet away.

  "Great, great!" Lok laughed cheerfully. "I knew you'd block it! He was right to have me check you out."

  "Huh? Who? Check me out?" Grymmbeard had been ready for a fight, and now the man's carefree attitude had him disarmed.

  "My err…boss? You see, we're a mercenary guild. The Crimson Blade. It's only a few of us right now, but we're always keeping an eye out for new talent. Eucibous asked me to see if you were Blade material." Lok pulled out a hunk of bread and bit into it, forgetting completely that they had been fighting a moment ago. Chewing the tough bread as he spoke, he said, "I say you pass."

  Grymmbeard watched as the newcomer acknowledged him, smiling as bread crumbs fell down his chin. Unbelievable. "You said Eucibous? Eucibous Dan'anti?"

  "Heard of him?" Lok asked.

  "Any decent warrior has," Grymmbeard replied. "They say the lad won the tournament in Darnath as a child, along with many other feats. Is it true he wears the teeth of a dragon?"

  "Yea, he killed a dragon. Well, more than one. But then again, so have I. And so too could you, most likely. Thing is, if someone couldn't kill a dragon, then they probably wouldn't be qualified for our guild in the first plac
e." Lok said.

  "So I assume yer tryin' to recruit me. I ain't no mercenary, sorry kid." Grymmbeard stated. "I'm a loner anyway."

  "Most of us are," Lok laughed. "You didn't think we travel around together like some circus troupe sharing campfires and songs? We usually take jobs on our own. And we only take the hardest jobs available. We have the best fighters, we take only the best jobs. Reputation, you know."

  "Great, well have fun with that," Grymmbeard said, and he turned to walk away.

  "Well, that's a shame. Considering we located your father's axe and all. His killers are still there as well, but I guess he won't be avenged. Godspeed, dwarf." Lok smiled and began walking himself, waiting for what he knew would come.

  Grymmbeard stopped, his heart beating fast. Turning his head slowly and resting his eyes on Lok, he spoke one word. "Wait."

  The army of the dead would be destroyed in moments. After disposing of the undead King, the warriors had immediately gone to work on the remaining zombies. Ceric walked the battlefield, smiting any undead that he came across with his God's fury. Holy magic tore through the fibers of their being, undoing the evil that kept them fighting.

  Thundrin recklessly charged into every enemy cluster he could find, dozens of them falling to his hammer every minute.

  A hundred hellhounds followed Velion, who easily controlled them all simultaneously with his gift of compulsion. Everywhere he walked, the demon hounds surrounding him scattered and tore through undead throats, and ripped off limbs.

  Dennas sped to every area he could find that still had a sizeable amount of enemy troops. Upon arriving at each, he let out a fearsome combination of punches and kicks, resulting in powerful storms that shredded the enemy to pieces.

  The undead wouldn't last much longer.

  Lok stood behind the corpse of the wizard he had just slain, gripping his magnificent halberd tightly. Lok was a veteran warrior. He knew that one of the worst things for a fighter to do was to give in to his emotions during a battle. But he found he was having a difficult time doing so. He couldn't stop himself as he kept glancing over to his dear friend's body. Grymmbeard was dead, and he hadn't made in time to save him. Every time his eyes shot to the dwarf, rage filled every fiber of his being. His managed to finally keep his gaze steady, staring at the enemy General. He had been excited to fight this man, had been waiting for it. Now he felt no happiness in what would normally have been an exciting fight for him. Now he only felt anger, and he would direct all of it at the cause of his anger.

  "Lok! Get me out of this ice! We'll kill the bastard together!" Jarec screamed.

  Lok shook his head. "Like I told you in the beginning, the General is mine. If you had listened to me, Grymm would still be alive. You can watch, provided you are not like to die in this condition?"

  Jarec sighed, indeed the gift of regeneration given to him by the God Ahloong was preventing the ice from doing major damage to his body. The pain of the accusation regarding Grymmbeard's death however shot through Jarec like a dagger through the heart. It was true, technically. If they hadn't been greedy after losing the dragons they were supposed to fight, then his friend would still be here. They could have just went to help the knights in the main battle. No, he told himself. We're Crimson Blades! Of course we seek tough battles, it's our purpose! Grymm would have rather died no other way. He told himself this over and over again in his head, refusing to believe he had anything to do with the death of his friend.

  Marcovius was perplexed. Just an hour ago, he had been so confident in his skills as a fighter. He would have easily stated that he could defeat any warrior aside from his friend Seth, he might have even claimed to be better than Eucibous. But apparently the legends that surrounded this group of warriors were not exaggerated like legends usually were. They were monsters, and he had only fought the underlings. Lok was Eucibous's right hand, and this was the man he faced now. Marcovius had access to unlimited information from his network of spies, and he recalled never finding any account of Lok losing a fight. Not even a baseless rumor.

  Yet now he found himself doubting his own skills for the first time in his life. Jarec had almost killed him. Would have, if it wasn't for the convenient arrival of his mages. And now as he looked at Jarec, still stuck in ice, he saw fear. Not fear for himself. Jarec knew he was saved. Jarec feared for everyone else. It seemed as if Jarec watched his friend Lok, waiting for the disaster that would surely burst forth at any moment. With just one look at this man, Marcovius could tell that Jarec considered Lok to be on an entirely different level than himself. Lok was much stronger than the man who defeated him. Well, shit. He definitely wouldn't be holding back his gifts this time.

  Eucibous stood, confidence spilling out of him regardless of the serious wound he had received not a moment ago. He stared into the Liche King's eyes, and smiled at him. "You're the first," he stated.

  "The first?" Asked Seth'nerak.

  Eucibous laughed, sounded both happy and insane simultaneously. "The first to seriously wound me! I rarely feel such pain! This is…excellent." He clenched his right fist and flexed, and his defined biceps and triceps exploded with power. "This is a good day!"

  "You're a fool, excited to meet your doo…" the Liche King began, but was cut short. Eucibous had appeared behind him, and leaned over his shoulder.

  "I'm going to rip you to pieces," promised Eucibous, whispering into the liche's ear.

  Seth'nerak then vanished, reappearing several yards away. "I suppose we shouldn't waste our time talking."

  "I'll let you live should you do one thing for me. The Gods tell me Kol'thakal was indeed truly alive, his soul intact unlike what you've done to Ginin. Bring Ginin back for real, and I let you walk." Eucibous offered.

  "You're delusional. You're not in any position to make such offers. Today you will learn defeat," replied the drow. "Animate," the liche said, filling his body with black magic.

  Eucibous looked around, searching for a body the despicable necromancer could be raising. He had his answer moments later when the first corpse, burned beyond recognition by powerful magic, emerged from the arena they had been fighting in before. Sargath's implosion had killed everyone inside, including the King. So many innocents had died. And now their bodies were being defiled. Eucibous cringed in disgust. Soon, there were hundreds of undead walking towards him.

  Eucibous spat at the liche. "Do you really expect to defeat me with such pawns?"

  Seth'nerak grinned. "No, I don't. I expect to play with you until I grow bored, and then dispose of you. I have waited a long time to fight the reason behind my torment."

  Eucibous wasn’t aware of anything Seth'nerak had gone through, but he could guess easily enough. The liche's God hadn't been a kind one, and supposedly he had trained the drow himself. No doubt he was a difficult teacher. But the drow was seriously underestimating him. Eucibous was not often underestimated.

  "Play with me? Play with…me? You should take this more seriously, drow." Eucibous said. "Fireball," he whispered, and pointed the palm of his hand at the oncoming zombies. He maintained eye contact with the liche the entire time, however, not even watching his spell and trusting in the results.

  For good reason. What began as a small ball of flame shooting from his palm quickly continued its evolution into a massive wave of fire. White fire, the hottest kind. Most mages were lucky if they ever learned fireball to begin with. Most mages were lucky to cast one with a length and width about six feet, the average. Most mages were lucky to cast one with basic flame. Eucibous was not most mages.

  A gigantic sphere of impossibly hot white flame, easily one hundred yards wide, swept through the approaching zombie ranks. The zombies were cremated instantly. The huge fireball then collided with the ruins of the arena and exploded, rocking the ground beneath their feet as if an earthquake was taking place. Heavy debris flew past them, easily flung into the distance by the powerful explosion.

  But Eucibous and Seth'nerak didn't budge.

  "I w
ould prefer you saved such large amounts of energy for the fight with me," said the liche. Such a powerful spell would leave most mages completely exhausted.

  Eucibous lowered his hand, still staring at the liche. He cracked his neck, then his knuckles. "Don't you worry, drow. Plenty more where that came from."

  Rorik materialized in the corner of the market area their battle was taking place outside the arena, expecting to be attacked immediately. Several tense moments passed, and he wondered if Ginin would attack someone else instead. His heart was beating fast, fast enough that it almost hurt. He was fighting Ginin the Shadow! His life had been nothing but death and depression, seeking solitude at the bottom of a bottle. Rorik hadn't known true excitement in a long time. But he felt alive again.

  Then he felt it. He had trained to be able to react to attacks instantly, for the slightest hesitation could cost him his life. The air pressure surrounding him shifted, and he felt a path being cut through the air behind his neck. Then he felt the steel. The point of Ginin's dagger had merely tapped the back of Rorik's neck before he reacted, spinning to the right as the dagger flew harmlessly past him as it slid across his neck.

  At the end of his spin, he snapped out his right wrist with his own dagger, aiming for Ginin's underarm. Most opponents would have died right then. Ginin, however, leaped into the air and side flipped to the right, soaring over Rorik's arm.

  The second Ginin's feet hit the ground, he pushed off the ground to hop backwards while simultaneously launching four throwing knives at Rorik's chest. Rorik spun again, and smacked away the knives with his cloak. But Ginin hadn't stopped his offensive. Ginin did a front flip, and ended it with a strong kick at Rorik's skull. Rorik blocked the kick with his forearm, and Ginin pushed off his arm and threw four more knives down at his opponent, spread out to surround him.