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> Ambush at Eagle Claw Village, Broken Lands
post Jul 16 2019, 02:35 PM
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<<The following occurs in the early hours of tomorrow morning>>

The crimson cowled cultists chanted to their demonic master, each dripping blood from a cut hand as they did so. Dranark of Vulch, Master of the Cult, threw a handful of sulphur into the ritual fire and four demonic figures materialised around him.

“Brethren it is time. We seek to harm this land, this Empire, and what better way than to send the souls of their children to Our Lord. We shall start with these petty tribes, then on to the towns and then the cities! These many souls shall fuel his might, their innocence and unfulfilled lives making it all the sweeter.”

With that he raised high his hands and called “May the Dark Lord of Blood take us hence!” They vanished.

The tents fluttered in the breeze. It was early in the morning and all was quiet in the Eagles Claw village. Two tribesmen sat by the dying embers of a watch fire sharing a large cloak.

With a dull “WHUMP!” the cultists arrived. One of them, pale and drained like a husk, fell to the floor. Dranark smiled. Someone had to pay the cost of being transported. “Gather the children & kill everyone else. You” he pointed to one of the demons “Kill those two.”

Whilst the cultists ran to do their master’s bidding the large Demon of Blood & War raised his blade to the still unmoving pair by the fire. No he thought…. Not a pair. One. But two heads?

The Ettin slowly turned. “Afta yu” said the first head. “Na…. afta yuse.” “T’anks”. The huge club glowed suddenly with Totemic power and smashed the demon’s arm clean off. Ichor poured out burning the grass and staining the earth.

Dranark was concerned. Where were the screaming villagers, the warriors dying to his demons….? The pitiful weeping of children? Then he heard the thunder. The sky was clear though. Then the earth began to shake.

From the nearby woods forty Ogres of Ogs Fallen, led by a very enthusiastic Troll, were charging them down. He still had time though and his rites would protect him if not his followers...

Where were his followers?

Dranark called to the nearest five who were sitting by a tent. Sitting? Looking closer he could see the crimson robes stained a darker red. Each face had a surprised expression…. save the last…. it was green…. and smiling…. Not a nice smile either.

“Nine so far Master!”

Dranark sneered “You are not one of mine. I am not your Master.”

Shank nodded. “No… but he is” pointing behind the cultist.

Meanwhile the first demon had run out of limbs against the Ettin whilst the others had met the charging ogres. Izrok hacked his to death in four neat axe strokes whilst the Ogres had nearly finished eating the other two.

Dranark turned to see the figure of a Goblin. Dressed in black, with a somewhat sparkly spider broach. Sha’grot smiled at him. Again that goblin smile… it was…. unsettling. “Good morning, and a fine morning it is. I’m Sha’grot, High Witchdoctor of all the Tribes and you are?”

“Names have power you fool! You cannot hurt me! I have….”

“A ritual that means no weapon can kill you nor any creature of flesh and bone harm you? Yes I know Dranark. And now, whilst I have your attention… Shank?” The blade cut deep into Dranarks leg. Painful but causing no real harm as the ritual sealed the wound.

Dranark’s turn to smile. “You see! I shall leave now and return in force to places you never expect!”

“Thirty” said Shank.

Dranark raised his arms “May the Dark Lord of Blood take us hence!” The last remaining cultist nearby screamed and died as the toll was exacted. “Hence!” repeated Dranark. “HENCE! Now!!”

“Twenty” said Shank.

“Oh you’re not going anywhere” said Sha’ in a conversational tone. “It’s just you and your toy dagger against a held of Ogres, The War Haft of the Broken Lands and the most powerful Ettin on Primus…. or anywhere.”

“Ten” said Shank.

Dranark leered. “They cannot kill me! None of those can breach my wards. There is still time to sell your soul to my master. Great power can be yours! All these lands yours to rule! Your enemies dead at your feet, their screams and lamentations…..”

“Times about up” said Shank.

Dranark shuddered. His leg went stiff as green veins bulged and crept up his torso. One eye burst and green ichor trickled from both nose and ears. Spasms of pain threw his body about like a doll. Breath caught in his throat as he gasped his final death rattle. As he slumped, lifeless, to the ground Sha’grot spat a curse at the fallen figure. An ethereal demonic claw sought out the soul to return another day…. only to find it ripped and useless.

“The leg Shank? Really?”

“Oh yes Master. Best place for Scorpion death venom. It may take a little longer…. But the pain and the shuddering….. so worth the wait.”

<<With thanks to Tim T for an awesome write up>>

Will Power - rednax1984@gmail.com
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