Bashiku
1st Level Orange Feather
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This is my newest story. It should develop into a series of stories, some including torture, some heart swaying scenes, but all will include your most precious thing... tickling scenes. Now because this is only teaser/prologue and introduction of all my main characters. I implied and had some animal help me to do tickling, but for more you will have to wait the next issue. All comments are welcome.
Storm ravaged the land around him, wounded land from countless battles waged on its soil. The grass was no more, only scorched remains, the once fruitful land was now barren wasteland. This was storm like none before, wind furious and angry, air dry as the sand, and not a drop of rain in sight. Indeed this once beautiful land was gone, forever. No more shall the farmer cultivate here, no more will cows cheerfully eat its emerald green grass, and no more will kids cherish and play here. Especially not now that they were dead.
A black cloaked person stood in the middle of ravaged ruins of once a peaceful village. It was village like the one before, and the one before, and it ended like them, in demise. No person was spared. Soon everyone will hate him, despise him, but that is what he wanted. It should not be any other way than that. His goal was still far, but slowly he advanced, knowing full well about the things that will haunt him in the future. So many innocent bloods spilled, bodies torched, no mercy delivered even to the pregnant girl. Soon so many people will hate him that their hate if made into power, would be greatest thing after Overgod, but still he wanted it that way.
He walked slowly over crisped corpses, showing no respect to the dead, there was no use for that anymore. He defiled them more than enough and angered the so called spirits to the end already. He walked to the center of the village square, still hearing the innocent cries of so many people, men, women, children, everyone filled with fear and terror as he burned them alive, some of the strongest amongst them wetting themselves in front of him. Even then, there was no mercy. He touched with his black leathered glove the white scorched marble of once proud statue of the goddess of fertility, Moray. It was a beautiful statue before destruction, a fountain with naked girl at its center, releasing the water from her jug of prosperity and smiling at every viewer innocently, looking at him with her stone eyes like they were alive, motherly and caring. Her wavy hair was up to her waist, covering all the juicy parts how man called them, but great deal of respect was presented to her holiness. She was his first target. Destroying the object of affection, he enraged everyone, he shattered their so called link to their goddess, and he started to erase their hope. Suddenly he noticed something glittering in the hole in front of him. Under the ruined statue a child was captured and killed by its weight; in its hands a necklace was barely covered. Curios he took the necklace, simple in design, but beautiful artwork. A bronze chain run all the way around, while the amulet was of unique shape, shaped as two bronze wings with a blue shiny, but worthless stone in its center. Slowly he cleaned the necklace from scorch marks and as he was prepared to return the necklace back he found himself unwillingly holding the tight grip onto it. After moment of silent thought he stood up and put the necklace around his neck, his blood slaughter now completed and marked onto him and the land respectively. He would have left that place forever, leaving only the memory of that place behind were it not for a familiar voice yelling at him through the sudden gush of the wind.
“Damn you!” voice yelled. He didn’t have to turn around and face him to remember who it was, but he did, if not for sake of their bond, then for respect to the warrior who came all this way to him. “Is there no end to your evil!? Is there no end to your hunger for sadistic pleasures!?”
He was as he remembered him, a bit older, but still flowing with the powerful aura as before. Not even thirty feet from him the warrior stood, giant amongst humans, champion of champions, Median the Great. With his indestructible black painted adamant armor, his ten feet long and six feet wide black bastard sword he was truly the sight to fear, but not the cloaked person. He knew all full well that under all those artifacts, all that power lays an old man, more than forty winters old. His face was stern, but mixed with anger and disappointed, his moustaches twitching with each gritting of his white teeth. He was furious that was for sure, but did he have enough heart to attack, that was the true question.
“Why are you doing this? Why you…” Median asked, but his final sentence interrupted by the hard blowing wind, words carried away from the ears of anyone who would be interested or alive enough to hear them. But he knew what he wanted to ask, but the answer was not to be given. It seemed like Median would crack for the moment and chicken out, but in the end his warrior honor and code overwhelmed every other thought he had. Now he was just a pure fighting machine.
“If this is what you seek then I have no other way, but to kill you here and now.” Median said, as he looked at his opponent with hawk-like glare. Median was quite confident in his skills, so confident that he knew it wouldn’t last long, but that is where he was wrong. Strongly he swayed his bastard sword over his left shoulder, his usual position while running in battle, causing the incredible rush of the wind hurling toward cloaked person. The wind was so powerful that he had to use all his skills just to stay at his feet, trying to grip his sword handle, his Edgeless sword, Kusanagi. The swords properties were quite unique, for as the name suggested it had no blade, only spiritual energy that flowed through it and formed the specific imitation of the edge, depending onto user. As he pull it through the blade started forming, carefully avoiding its master and illuminating with black color, radiating with evil intent. Quickly he stood in battle stance, trying to focus onto Median who was now jumping high, using the gravity and the weight of the sword as a power up for his blow. He landed fast, barely giving enough time for cloaked person to avoid the hit by jumping backward and somersaulting into solid ground. This was where the real battle started. Quickly he charged at Median and threw few quick, but sloppy blows, just enraging him before he counterattacked and swung with the giant sword. It was warriors cats grace that saved him again, for in the moment of swung he jumped up using all of his strength combined with magic to fly onto nearest stable building. Due to force used to perform such a blow, Median made full rotation around his axis before standing stable again. His stern face showed some clue to agitation, but nothing like that would falter his will. He knew that child’s play was over now and that true fight has begun.
“Bow before me old man, bow and beg for forgiveness.” Cloaked person said with the pleased voice as he spread his free hand toward Median. As he did that countless bats emerged from hiding all around the village, going like a black stream and charging toward the old warrior. Median didn’t have much time to think about this predicament, but faced with countless other challenges before he improvised, planting his sword in front of him, using it as a barricade, while taking his short sword from its cover into his left hand. Unlike his main weapon this was nothing special, barely the addition to his fighting skill, the spare in cases like this. As predicted the swarm of bats did run toward the improvised shield, some avoiding it skillfully but circling wide way around, but many crushed themselves into it before getting the chance to change their trajectory. Median slashed like a madman, seemingly trying to destroy as many bats as he could, but in reality he wanted them closer to him. He got scratched several hundred times, over his armor, over his face, neck and hands, before he decided that it was time to counter attack. He grabbed the hilt of his bastard sword, and swung it around like it was nothing more than a paper piece. As he did that he made a wide clearing for himself, a circle free of bat that now ran away, free of control of their master. But making the clearing was a mistake Median knew, as he was now open to attack by his true foe, which used the opportunity and slashed Median over his left shoulder from behind. It was only thanks to his equipment that Median avoided any serious wound, his skin barely scratched. Quickly he ducked, slashed in the direction of the attack and missed, for his foe already jumped back to safety, but this time Median followed him. His first slash with bastard sword was avoided due to enemy’s deflection while they were rising, but his second hit while they were landing was unavoidable. The figure crushed so hard into the ground that the poor ruined house they jumped over has turned into rubble. Fast pacing, Median rushed toward the rubble after he landed to finish the fight quickly before his opponent could recover, but a surprise awaited him there. When he approached he didn’t see any body, nor trace of its existence excluding the edgeless sword, another trick of his opponent, a mere illusion or an evil clone. Median instinctively leaped left, rolling down as he heard the sound of fire, then an explosion. A fireball landed at the site where Median stood just few moments ago, it’s yellow and red colors hiding the caster as he slowly walked to his sword and picked it up. Its hilt was still cold, its three meter long black blade still hungry.
“Tell me what you see with those eyes old man. Tell me what kind of future you perceive.” Median’s foe taunted him as he strolled toward him, still acting cool and cold. In a single moment of fury Median threw his short sword toward his opponent, its trajectory going right between the eyes. Were it not for his foes lighting reflexes the battle would be over, for the blade just grazed his hood, stripping his face of its concealment. Now he could see his opponent, his pale skin white as the snow, dead cold blood red eyes and his long raven hair.
“Samael you bastard! You will die!” Median said, barely kneeling before his opponent. His every muscle ached after that explosion and now he couldn’t even lift his sword. He was getting old.
“Is that what you see?” Samael asked, smiling and slowly approaching his foe. His eyes were filled with combination of underestimation, pleasure and for some small part sorrow. But sorrows die fast. “Let me then prove you wrong, let me show you that all that you perceived was just an illusion.”
He swung slowly, his sword barely reaching the highest point when it plunged him. A single desperate blow, more a reflex than an intention made Median thrust his bastard sword forward and through the Samael’s body. He fell down, backward, only now realizing what kind of fatal mistake he made.
“You cocky bastard! You should know better than attacking a cornered tiger!” Median said as he slowly rose and dragged his sword alongside him. He walked besides Samael’s wounded body and watched with pity as he coughed blood.
“I will not die without realizing my goal…” He confidently said as Median raised his sword for final time and beheaded him. After that he kneeled there, beside the body of a killer, destroyer, a madman. Still even though he knew all that and convinced himself it was true, it still hurt. He kneeled there until the dawn, when the Royal guards came to escort their king, king Median back to his capital, victorious. The body of the traitor was burned, its ashes confined into a metal jar and that same jar was buried deep below the capital city, believing that it would confine its spirit and protect them all from its corruption. Fifty years later kingdoms waged war once more, devastating each other beyond recognition. It was the war that was fairly named Bloody Bath, thousand of thousand lives wasted for no reason at all. In the end only one kingdom prevailed, religious kingdom of Brahm, the state that started the war after the death of Median the Great. Two hundred years after the world is still ruled by one and only Immortal Emperor Gaius, Voice of the God. This is where the true saga begins.
It was the thickest darkness when she woke up, just the kind of the darkness that ruled before dawn emerges. Her nightmares always made her wake up at this specific time, every time remembering whole incident while watching the illusion of light defeating the darkness. There was no truth in that occasion, darkness just fled for another time, for another moment when it could strike again. It was the same in her life also.
Slowly she rose from her resting place, a furry skin designed to resemble the comfort of a bed, but it was almost the same as sleeping on the grass, only difference was what you liked more. Fleas or every other bug in vicinity. She stretched her slim body, releasing every tension she had left in her body from long and horrible journey yesterday. First what happened to her last day was never before told tale. She woke up in the middle of an ape pack. In that kind of predicament it would be better just to ignore them and go back to sleep, before they realize you are alive and are in their territory, but she couldn’t do that with every damn ape walking across her body. After they were done with their march she could finally get going, but as luck would have her she had to go the harder way, she had to cross a river that had no bridge at all. It was a fast stream, so she had more luck than skill in crossing it, but in the end she conquered it, but was conquered by a cold. After all that she decided to rest on a safe looking field, releasing herself from her wet tunic and pets, from her leather boots and armor, but still clinging tightly to her sword, a basic equipment of every novice adventurer. When she went to sleep it wasn’t even evening, but she needed a good night rest. Only problem was her luck, for when she first woke up she felt a slight tingling sensation on her foot. She scouted with her blurry vision across her campfire and onto her foot, slightly giggling along the way. What she saw was her only lucky thing in that day. What tickled her foot was a stupid turkey, walking besides her small and smooth foot, almost intentionally caressing it with its feathers. The girl barely survived without laughing from tickling and from turkey’s stupidity. In the end the turkey ended in her warm belly, like every nice dinner.
But today she decided to change her luck only to the best. Nothing will make her sad, cold, scared for her life or tickle her as long as she has wee bit strength in her body. She sat onto the ground only dressed in her now dry tunic and pants, combing her chestnut colored hair and humming her favorite song, ‘Salute for lute’. It was a short, but beautiful poem about a bard who sacrificed his life for his work, truly poetic. She swayed with her hands elegantly, like she didn’t have any roughness of a warrior inside of her, but only the grace of the princess. The comb made from solid oak wood and horse hair floated happily through the brown ocean, taking away the dead weight and managing the split ends. After she was done with her ritual at very last, she dressed herself fully, prepared to continue onto her journey, to finish her quest. Her only goal in her life.
Hiding last of her traces at the campsite she was prepared to leave, slowly strolling through the woods. It would take her day or two to get to the first nearby city, her next goal and hopefully her last. But before her accomplishment, she would have to be haunted by the nightmares she wished to fade, fade away like her name. Now she was known only as Fade.
Graveyards are rare places where people want to stay, afraid of folk’s tails about zombies and angry spirits. One such graveyard was Ceresta’s graveyard, filled with countless corpses some old enough to tell the tale of the dragons. Only kind of persons who would want to be in this kind of place are necromancers, chanting and raising their servants, army, or if they are necrophilia’s, their lovers. Like luck would have it dear viewers we have one live specimen just right here around the corner. Already she had rose one corpse back from the dead, well preserved one due to excellent measures taken upon burial, but she still had to cover most of its body with bandages. He wasn’t a mere zombie, he glowed with great aura, great strength, but he had a blank mind, she couldn’t bring back those things, not so easily. And she didn’t care about them, she needed man’s power, not a talkative madman or something similar.
She rested her bottom on one of the nearest gravestones, she didn’t have to respect the dead for she was already defiling their spirits with her presence. The night soothed her well, moonlight caressing her light blue skin and her sapphire like eyes, wind caressing her revealed flesh under her dark robe, her long slender legs, her belly, her neck and whole back. Her feet were cushioned inside her warm boots, for they got cold easily, her arms embraced by long white bandages with endless inscriptions upon them. Her private parts were safely hidden in leather skin, enhanced with outer light metal plate for additional protection. She continued with her habit of chewing blue tobacco leaves, leaving dreadful taste in her mouth, but acting energetic onto her, making her awake for days if used properly.
“What are you looking at buddy?” the dark elf asked her zombie, raising her head and striking him with her cold glare. The poor thing was lost in this world, like an infant and without its master to guide it, it will be stranded like a lifeless doll. But it didn’t know what to do at this moment so it just stared emptily into space.
“You want some of this tsk?” she asked while biting harder onto blue leaves in her mouth, producing stronger sensation, and grabbing her metal encased boobs “I didn’t think so. You probably couldn’t even raise it. And even if you could it would fall off before you have any opportunity to use it.”
She spent some time like that, relaxing on the cold stone slab, teasing her first servant, thinking about next thing she could do. She could go home and be content with just raising one servant, like every beginner necromancer, or she could go for more, become greedy and surpass her competition. Greed of course overwhelmed her sense of reason, for she was warned about instability of ghosts and undead essentially. No newcomer amongst necromancers should try and raise more than one zombie at the night of their trials, not now anyways, but who would listen to old almost dead bags of useless flesh. All she could use from them was in her head, all she didn’t learn from them, she could find in some better suited library. For that reason she stood above another grave and started chanting her dark and soothing song. Her voice while chanting was deep, commanding and echoing with magic, each word rune repeated again and again, stronger and stronger. Each word pulsated, vibrated through the realms, seeking the shadow spirits, non intellectual spirits that would obey necromancers without a word of complain. They were grateful they existed, yet alone serve in material world. But now her chant seemed stronger, less commanding, more soothing, and motherly. Something was wrong she concluded, but stopping now would cause a magical rip that could kill her. Rituals always gave great rewards, but if a mistake appears, even the slightest, you are doomed. She couldn’t stop now, so she chanted stronger, more commanding, but no matter how hard she tried it didn’t seem right. Finally she finished, exhausted and confused, waiting for the results. At first there was no sign of any effect, but she knew better. The ground started vibrating, a small part of it lowered and finally a boney arm emerged. It grabbed onto the ground desperately, like a drowning man, but this man was just gaining his life, not losing it. He emerged slowly, shadowed by the stone plate that used to be his. Yes, used to. He was alive once more. He stood up proudly, unlike any ghoul she saw before. He was thin, but still she couldn’t perceive his appearance. He turned to the side, his profile illuminated by the moon, opening his mouth slowly, like a beast he is and yelled.
“DAMN! Where are my cheeks!?”
“Huh?” the necromancer wondered. It was highly unlikely for a zombie to have a brain to think with, but to speak an actual sentence. This was something new even in her world.
“Where are my cheeks? What kind of beast ate my cheeks… yum worms… I never knew they were so tasteful.” The figure continued, to apparent dissatisfaction of necromancer. She stepped before him and faced him, commanding him.
“Bow down servant!”
“Heya girly, you didn’t happen to see my feather? I seem to lose my feather quite a bit. You get forgetful after dying you know?” Zombie asked. She could see him now, his old aged face ruined by death and worms, once a smiling face turned into just skull, for most of his lower parts were eaten by the worms. His upper face, from nose upward was well preserved for a person who was buried few months ago. She could still see some spark of life in his eyes, she could see the cunning and untamable sensation. Something new, something that she would wish she never found out. Upon closer inspection she noticed a blue long feather emerging from his ear, or what was left of it. She pointed it to him, just so that she could finish all this quicker and gain a new servant.
“Thanks little one. By the way my name is Eldenorm ‘Smiley’ Huseldorf…” Zombie explained, but was rudely interrupted.
“Silence servant! You have no name, you have no memories, only thing you have is me, your master!” She was infuriated. Never has one necromancer been talked back by their servant and she isn’t going to be the first.
“Is that so?” Eldenorm said, now serious “Well my ducky has something else to say about it. Do you know why they call me ‘Smiley’?”
Quarter of an hour later dark elf found herself tied spread eagle on one of the tomb stones. She actually had luck because this tomb stone had a long and smooth surface. The previous candidate for her to be tied onto was a stone slab that looked like it was artistically made for Count Vlad the Impaler. But what worried the girl was the stupid zombies actions.
“What?! Where the hell is my d*#%?” he asked furiously as he inspected his pants. Some things are better left unanswered, but the girl didn’t have time to think about that neither. She tried to call upon her other slave, but he didn’t want to comply to her wishes, only to zombies one.
“You can’t control him. He is lucky he doesn’t remember anything, but I do. You see… Gods and goddesses alike have stopped working for some reason, their reactions are no longer felt and we can go to neither heaven nor hell. We were stuck in the limbo, hopeless, just waiting for some sucker to summon us. And here I come from limbo and witness the most beautiful dark elf to satisfy my needs. I was expecting some butt ugly guy, but you are… well unique to me now.” Eldenorm said.
“So what are you going to do? You don’t even have your precious tool, you can’t do squat, so just let me go and serve me!” necromancer tried to convince him.
“Ah, but that isn’t my precious tool.” He answered waving the blue feather “This is. Now tell me your name girl or else you will find out why they call me ‘Smiley’.”
“Go suck your unattached d*#%!”
“Very well… time to laugh.” He said as he came nearer and nearer. Because this is the trailer, no further scenes including tickling fetish or implication on it will be posted in this trailer. For full scene please wait for next edition. We thank you for your patience :ggrin:
He wandered deep in the crypt, forgotten remnant of the old civilization. He caressed the two hundred years old dust of the cold stone wall, feeling each rune dancing under his fingers. Slowly he advanced, he had all the time he needed to finish what was started, and he had all recourses. Now what he sought was guidance from the only person who perceived it before. Cautiously he stood before two winged iron door, examining its workmanship, the exquisite details imbued into it, countless white diamonds and golden threads. Were he a grave robber this would be a perfect scavenger hunt, but from what he heard no man dared to enter this place. A corrupt spirit roams there, they said. A smile grew on his face just from the thought of it, corrupt spirit. They didn’t have any idea about this at all.
Demonic blood rushed through him as he used quite an effort to open the door, unopened and probably never meant for that. Some doors exist to be opened, this one, they were meant to shut things behind it forever. Using all of his strength he barely pushed the door just enough for him to pass. If he wasn’t slim in build he would have had great trouble with the passage through this part. On his travels to this level, thirteen if he counted right so far, he encountered many traps and minor guardians protecting the passage, but last line of defense was a bit disappointing. Or it would be if he didn’t witness the very sight he was excited to find.
In front of him were four azure pillars, almost seeming alive for their interior changed, images and words changing randomly on some ancient language. From those four pillars sixteen chains sprouted to the center of the room where a black sphere stood. Only thing that was unique on this sphere was an eye, evil red looking eye that followed his movement. It seemed interest in him, his every movement, while he on the other hand was not. He watched the work of so many good masters, carpenters and mages go to waste, all this just for a so called corrupt spirit.
“YOUR NAME!” sphere yelled its voice echoing the room, almost shaking it. It was a sealed dread-knock, a lower demon that served to many mages for eons as a guardian of treasures. Many of them served as the guardians on the doors, treasure boxes, but this specimen was exquisite to the young man. It was the largest, greatest, and most powerful of them all, most powerful of them capable of using some magic except Banshee’s wail and Darkness Sphere, both of spells being sensory deprivation one. This one probably could cast some kind of offence magic, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that moment where he would find out that.
“Typhex… Typhex Tyrrandan, at your disposal.” He said courteously, bowing down to the sphere. No dread-knock did have a true form, so they had to take some basic items of the world they were summoned in to survive. This was one important thing about them, second to that was their pride. Even though they were nothing, not even as powerful as lower demons, their egos were greater, considering themselves most powerful, almost godlike.
“WHAT WISHED THOU?!” sphere asked, obviously satisfied with current path that conversation was lead.
“I desire a small favor from you, oh great one. Inside your bowels is an item that I wish more than my very life. Please grant me the honor of taking it and letting you go back to your domain.” Typhex smooth talked under his robe. He rose slowly, letting the hood down and letting his short silver hair light the dark blue domain.
“THOU INSULT ME! BY WISHING WHAT IS MINE AND MY MASTERS THOU INSULT ME PUNY HUMAN!” the sphere answered, the eye glaring at the young man’s dawn red eyes. They had some distinct warmth in them, totally oblivious to danger and depraved from sadistic pleasures, like the one it witnessed before, eyes of Samael the Traitor. Even demons of this region didn’t dare to say his name, and humans forbade it from usage for all generations. “WHY SHOULD I GRANT THOU SUCH PLEASURE DO TELL ME?!”
Typhex didn’t answer to that question. He just blinked for a moment and returned the glare to the sphere. One moment passed in silence, two moments, and three before finally sphere spoke in a unique tone.
“TAKE IT! TAKE IT! IT IS NOT WORTH IT! TAKE IT!” it spoke before it disappeared in black smoke, returning to its realm. This was no small feat, making dread-knock return from their duty, for they were as headstrong as the mountain golems, adamant made giants without single thought in their head, only instinct. What was left behind was a metal urn, large as a head, engraved with countless sealing runes. Typhex finally found it. He kneeled before the urn and spoke in quiet tone.
“Greetings my master.” To which he was answered by a voice beyond “Greetings my disciple. It is time to finish what I have started.”
With those words Samael’s ghost floated above the urn, with intrigue watching his follower, the soul of a person who will finish his life’s work. The battle continues.
*****
Dawn of Darkness - Renewal
Prologue
Dawn of Darkness - Renewal
Prologue
Storm ravaged the land around him, wounded land from countless battles waged on its soil. The grass was no more, only scorched remains, the once fruitful land was now barren wasteland. This was storm like none before, wind furious and angry, air dry as the sand, and not a drop of rain in sight. Indeed this once beautiful land was gone, forever. No more shall the farmer cultivate here, no more will cows cheerfully eat its emerald green grass, and no more will kids cherish and play here. Especially not now that they were dead.
A black cloaked person stood in the middle of ravaged ruins of once a peaceful village. It was village like the one before, and the one before, and it ended like them, in demise. No person was spared. Soon everyone will hate him, despise him, but that is what he wanted. It should not be any other way than that. His goal was still far, but slowly he advanced, knowing full well about the things that will haunt him in the future. So many innocent bloods spilled, bodies torched, no mercy delivered even to the pregnant girl. Soon so many people will hate him that their hate if made into power, would be greatest thing after Overgod, but still he wanted it that way.
He walked slowly over crisped corpses, showing no respect to the dead, there was no use for that anymore. He defiled them more than enough and angered the so called spirits to the end already. He walked to the center of the village square, still hearing the innocent cries of so many people, men, women, children, everyone filled with fear and terror as he burned them alive, some of the strongest amongst them wetting themselves in front of him. Even then, there was no mercy. He touched with his black leathered glove the white scorched marble of once proud statue of the goddess of fertility, Moray. It was a beautiful statue before destruction, a fountain with naked girl at its center, releasing the water from her jug of prosperity and smiling at every viewer innocently, looking at him with her stone eyes like they were alive, motherly and caring. Her wavy hair was up to her waist, covering all the juicy parts how man called them, but great deal of respect was presented to her holiness. She was his first target. Destroying the object of affection, he enraged everyone, he shattered their so called link to their goddess, and he started to erase their hope. Suddenly he noticed something glittering in the hole in front of him. Under the ruined statue a child was captured and killed by its weight; in its hands a necklace was barely covered. Curios he took the necklace, simple in design, but beautiful artwork. A bronze chain run all the way around, while the amulet was of unique shape, shaped as two bronze wings with a blue shiny, but worthless stone in its center. Slowly he cleaned the necklace from scorch marks and as he was prepared to return the necklace back he found himself unwillingly holding the tight grip onto it. After moment of silent thought he stood up and put the necklace around his neck, his blood slaughter now completed and marked onto him and the land respectively. He would have left that place forever, leaving only the memory of that place behind were it not for a familiar voice yelling at him through the sudden gush of the wind.
“Damn you!” voice yelled. He didn’t have to turn around and face him to remember who it was, but he did, if not for sake of their bond, then for respect to the warrior who came all this way to him. “Is there no end to your evil!? Is there no end to your hunger for sadistic pleasures!?”
He was as he remembered him, a bit older, but still flowing with the powerful aura as before. Not even thirty feet from him the warrior stood, giant amongst humans, champion of champions, Median the Great. With his indestructible black painted adamant armor, his ten feet long and six feet wide black bastard sword he was truly the sight to fear, but not the cloaked person. He knew all full well that under all those artifacts, all that power lays an old man, more than forty winters old. His face was stern, but mixed with anger and disappointed, his moustaches twitching with each gritting of his white teeth. He was furious that was for sure, but did he have enough heart to attack, that was the true question.
“Why are you doing this? Why you…” Median asked, but his final sentence interrupted by the hard blowing wind, words carried away from the ears of anyone who would be interested or alive enough to hear them. But he knew what he wanted to ask, but the answer was not to be given. It seemed like Median would crack for the moment and chicken out, but in the end his warrior honor and code overwhelmed every other thought he had. Now he was just a pure fighting machine.
“If this is what you seek then I have no other way, but to kill you here and now.” Median said, as he looked at his opponent with hawk-like glare. Median was quite confident in his skills, so confident that he knew it wouldn’t last long, but that is where he was wrong. Strongly he swayed his bastard sword over his left shoulder, his usual position while running in battle, causing the incredible rush of the wind hurling toward cloaked person. The wind was so powerful that he had to use all his skills just to stay at his feet, trying to grip his sword handle, his Edgeless sword, Kusanagi. The swords properties were quite unique, for as the name suggested it had no blade, only spiritual energy that flowed through it and formed the specific imitation of the edge, depending onto user. As he pull it through the blade started forming, carefully avoiding its master and illuminating with black color, radiating with evil intent. Quickly he stood in battle stance, trying to focus onto Median who was now jumping high, using the gravity and the weight of the sword as a power up for his blow. He landed fast, barely giving enough time for cloaked person to avoid the hit by jumping backward and somersaulting into solid ground. This was where the real battle started. Quickly he charged at Median and threw few quick, but sloppy blows, just enraging him before he counterattacked and swung with the giant sword. It was warriors cats grace that saved him again, for in the moment of swung he jumped up using all of his strength combined with magic to fly onto nearest stable building. Due to force used to perform such a blow, Median made full rotation around his axis before standing stable again. His stern face showed some clue to agitation, but nothing like that would falter his will. He knew that child’s play was over now and that true fight has begun.
“Bow before me old man, bow and beg for forgiveness.” Cloaked person said with the pleased voice as he spread his free hand toward Median. As he did that countless bats emerged from hiding all around the village, going like a black stream and charging toward the old warrior. Median didn’t have much time to think about this predicament, but faced with countless other challenges before he improvised, planting his sword in front of him, using it as a barricade, while taking his short sword from its cover into his left hand. Unlike his main weapon this was nothing special, barely the addition to his fighting skill, the spare in cases like this. As predicted the swarm of bats did run toward the improvised shield, some avoiding it skillfully but circling wide way around, but many crushed themselves into it before getting the chance to change their trajectory. Median slashed like a madman, seemingly trying to destroy as many bats as he could, but in reality he wanted them closer to him. He got scratched several hundred times, over his armor, over his face, neck and hands, before he decided that it was time to counter attack. He grabbed the hilt of his bastard sword, and swung it around like it was nothing more than a paper piece. As he did that he made a wide clearing for himself, a circle free of bat that now ran away, free of control of their master. But making the clearing was a mistake Median knew, as he was now open to attack by his true foe, which used the opportunity and slashed Median over his left shoulder from behind. It was only thanks to his equipment that Median avoided any serious wound, his skin barely scratched. Quickly he ducked, slashed in the direction of the attack and missed, for his foe already jumped back to safety, but this time Median followed him. His first slash with bastard sword was avoided due to enemy’s deflection while they were rising, but his second hit while they were landing was unavoidable. The figure crushed so hard into the ground that the poor ruined house they jumped over has turned into rubble. Fast pacing, Median rushed toward the rubble after he landed to finish the fight quickly before his opponent could recover, but a surprise awaited him there. When he approached he didn’t see any body, nor trace of its existence excluding the edgeless sword, another trick of his opponent, a mere illusion or an evil clone. Median instinctively leaped left, rolling down as he heard the sound of fire, then an explosion. A fireball landed at the site where Median stood just few moments ago, it’s yellow and red colors hiding the caster as he slowly walked to his sword and picked it up. Its hilt was still cold, its three meter long black blade still hungry.
“Tell me what you see with those eyes old man. Tell me what kind of future you perceive.” Median’s foe taunted him as he strolled toward him, still acting cool and cold. In a single moment of fury Median threw his short sword toward his opponent, its trajectory going right between the eyes. Were it not for his foes lighting reflexes the battle would be over, for the blade just grazed his hood, stripping his face of its concealment. Now he could see his opponent, his pale skin white as the snow, dead cold blood red eyes and his long raven hair.
“Samael you bastard! You will die!” Median said, barely kneeling before his opponent. His every muscle ached after that explosion and now he couldn’t even lift his sword. He was getting old.
“Is that what you see?” Samael asked, smiling and slowly approaching his foe. His eyes were filled with combination of underestimation, pleasure and for some small part sorrow. But sorrows die fast. “Let me then prove you wrong, let me show you that all that you perceived was just an illusion.”
He swung slowly, his sword barely reaching the highest point when it plunged him. A single desperate blow, more a reflex than an intention made Median thrust his bastard sword forward and through the Samael’s body. He fell down, backward, only now realizing what kind of fatal mistake he made.
“You cocky bastard! You should know better than attacking a cornered tiger!” Median said as he slowly rose and dragged his sword alongside him. He walked besides Samael’s wounded body and watched with pity as he coughed blood.
“I will not die without realizing my goal…” He confidently said as Median raised his sword for final time and beheaded him. After that he kneeled there, beside the body of a killer, destroyer, a madman. Still even though he knew all that and convinced himself it was true, it still hurt. He kneeled there until the dawn, when the Royal guards came to escort their king, king Median back to his capital, victorious. The body of the traitor was burned, its ashes confined into a metal jar and that same jar was buried deep below the capital city, believing that it would confine its spirit and protect them all from its corruption. Fifty years later kingdoms waged war once more, devastating each other beyond recognition. It was the war that was fairly named Bloody Bath, thousand of thousand lives wasted for no reason at all. In the end only one kingdom prevailed, religious kingdom of Brahm, the state that started the war after the death of Median the Great. Two hundred years after the world is still ruled by one and only Immortal Emperor Gaius, Voice of the God. This is where the true saga begins.
*****
It was the thickest darkness when she woke up, just the kind of the darkness that ruled before dawn emerges. Her nightmares always made her wake up at this specific time, every time remembering whole incident while watching the illusion of light defeating the darkness. There was no truth in that occasion, darkness just fled for another time, for another moment when it could strike again. It was the same in her life also.
Slowly she rose from her resting place, a furry skin designed to resemble the comfort of a bed, but it was almost the same as sleeping on the grass, only difference was what you liked more. Fleas or every other bug in vicinity. She stretched her slim body, releasing every tension she had left in her body from long and horrible journey yesterday. First what happened to her last day was never before told tale. She woke up in the middle of an ape pack. In that kind of predicament it would be better just to ignore them and go back to sleep, before they realize you are alive and are in their territory, but she couldn’t do that with every damn ape walking across her body. After they were done with their march she could finally get going, but as luck would have her she had to go the harder way, she had to cross a river that had no bridge at all. It was a fast stream, so she had more luck than skill in crossing it, but in the end she conquered it, but was conquered by a cold. After all that she decided to rest on a safe looking field, releasing herself from her wet tunic and pets, from her leather boots and armor, but still clinging tightly to her sword, a basic equipment of every novice adventurer. When she went to sleep it wasn’t even evening, but she needed a good night rest. Only problem was her luck, for when she first woke up she felt a slight tingling sensation on her foot. She scouted with her blurry vision across her campfire and onto her foot, slightly giggling along the way. What she saw was her only lucky thing in that day. What tickled her foot was a stupid turkey, walking besides her small and smooth foot, almost intentionally caressing it with its feathers. The girl barely survived without laughing from tickling and from turkey’s stupidity. In the end the turkey ended in her warm belly, like every nice dinner.
But today she decided to change her luck only to the best. Nothing will make her sad, cold, scared for her life or tickle her as long as she has wee bit strength in her body. She sat onto the ground only dressed in her now dry tunic and pants, combing her chestnut colored hair and humming her favorite song, ‘Salute for lute’. It was a short, but beautiful poem about a bard who sacrificed his life for his work, truly poetic. She swayed with her hands elegantly, like she didn’t have any roughness of a warrior inside of her, but only the grace of the princess. The comb made from solid oak wood and horse hair floated happily through the brown ocean, taking away the dead weight and managing the split ends. After she was done with her ritual at very last, she dressed herself fully, prepared to continue onto her journey, to finish her quest. Her only goal in her life.
Hiding last of her traces at the campsite she was prepared to leave, slowly strolling through the woods. It would take her day or two to get to the first nearby city, her next goal and hopefully her last. But before her accomplishment, she would have to be haunted by the nightmares she wished to fade, fade away like her name. Now she was known only as Fade.
*****
Graveyards are rare places where people want to stay, afraid of folk’s tails about zombies and angry spirits. One such graveyard was Ceresta’s graveyard, filled with countless corpses some old enough to tell the tale of the dragons. Only kind of persons who would want to be in this kind of place are necromancers, chanting and raising their servants, army, or if they are necrophilia’s, their lovers. Like luck would have it dear viewers we have one live specimen just right here around the corner. Already she had rose one corpse back from the dead, well preserved one due to excellent measures taken upon burial, but she still had to cover most of its body with bandages. He wasn’t a mere zombie, he glowed with great aura, great strength, but he had a blank mind, she couldn’t bring back those things, not so easily. And she didn’t care about them, she needed man’s power, not a talkative madman or something similar.
She rested her bottom on one of the nearest gravestones, she didn’t have to respect the dead for she was already defiling their spirits with her presence. The night soothed her well, moonlight caressing her light blue skin and her sapphire like eyes, wind caressing her revealed flesh under her dark robe, her long slender legs, her belly, her neck and whole back. Her feet were cushioned inside her warm boots, for they got cold easily, her arms embraced by long white bandages with endless inscriptions upon them. Her private parts were safely hidden in leather skin, enhanced with outer light metal plate for additional protection. She continued with her habit of chewing blue tobacco leaves, leaving dreadful taste in her mouth, but acting energetic onto her, making her awake for days if used properly.
“What are you looking at buddy?” the dark elf asked her zombie, raising her head and striking him with her cold glare. The poor thing was lost in this world, like an infant and without its master to guide it, it will be stranded like a lifeless doll. But it didn’t know what to do at this moment so it just stared emptily into space.
“You want some of this tsk?” she asked while biting harder onto blue leaves in her mouth, producing stronger sensation, and grabbing her metal encased boobs “I didn’t think so. You probably couldn’t even raise it. And even if you could it would fall off before you have any opportunity to use it.”
She spent some time like that, relaxing on the cold stone slab, teasing her first servant, thinking about next thing she could do. She could go home and be content with just raising one servant, like every beginner necromancer, or she could go for more, become greedy and surpass her competition. Greed of course overwhelmed her sense of reason, for she was warned about instability of ghosts and undead essentially. No newcomer amongst necromancers should try and raise more than one zombie at the night of their trials, not now anyways, but who would listen to old almost dead bags of useless flesh. All she could use from them was in her head, all she didn’t learn from them, she could find in some better suited library. For that reason she stood above another grave and started chanting her dark and soothing song. Her voice while chanting was deep, commanding and echoing with magic, each word rune repeated again and again, stronger and stronger. Each word pulsated, vibrated through the realms, seeking the shadow spirits, non intellectual spirits that would obey necromancers without a word of complain. They were grateful they existed, yet alone serve in material world. But now her chant seemed stronger, less commanding, more soothing, and motherly. Something was wrong she concluded, but stopping now would cause a magical rip that could kill her. Rituals always gave great rewards, but if a mistake appears, even the slightest, you are doomed. She couldn’t stop now, so she chanted stronger, more commanding, but no matter how hard she tried it didn’t seem right. Finally she finished, exhausted and confused, waiting for the results. At first there was no sign of any effect, but she knew better. The ground started vibrating, a small part of it lowered and finally a boney arm emerged. It grabbed onto the ground desperately, like a drowning man, but this man was just gaining his life, not losing it. He emerged slowly, shadowed by the stone plate that used to be his. Yes, used to. He was alive once more. He stood up proudly, unlike any ghoul she saw before. He was thin, but still she couldn’t perceive his appearance. He turned to the side, his profile illuminated by the moon, opening his mouth slowly, like a beast he is and yelled.
“DAMN! Where are my cheeks!?”
“Huh?” the necromancer wondered. It was highly unlikely for a zombie to have a brain to think with, but to speak an actual sentence. This was something new even in her world.
“Where are my cheeks? What kind of beast ate my cheeks… yum worms… I never knew they were so tasteful.” The figure continued, to apparent dissatisfaction of necromancer. She stepped before him and faced him, commanding him.
“Bow down servant!”
“Heya girly, you didn’t happen to see my feather? I seem to lose my feather quite a bit. You get forgetful after dying you know?” Zombie asked. She could see him now, his old aged face ruined by death and worms, once a smiling face turned into just skull, for most of his lower parts were eaten by the worms. His upper face, from nose upward was well preserved for a person who was buried few months ago. She could still see some spark of life in his eyes, she could see the cunning and untamable sensation. Something new, something that she would wish she never found out. Upon closer inspection she noticed a blue long feather emerging from his ear, or what was left of it. She pointed it to him, just so that she could finish all this quicker and gain a new servant.
“Thanks little one. By the way my name is Eldenorm ‘Smiley’ Huseldorf…” Zombie explained, but was rudely interrupted.
“Silence servant! You have no name, you have no memories, only thing you have is me, your master!” She was infuriated. Never has one necromancer been talked back by their servant and she isn’t going to be the first.
“Is that so?” Eldenorm said, now serious “Well my ducky has something else to say about it. Do you know why they call me ‘Smiley’?”
Quarter of an hour later dark elf found herself tied spread eagle on one of the tomb stones. She actually had luck because this tomb stone had a long and smooth surface. The previous candidate for her to be tied onto was a stone slab that looked like it was artistically made for Count Vlad the Impaler. But what worried the girl was the stupid zombies actions.
“What?! Where the hell is my d*#%?” he asked furiously as he inspected his pants. Some things are better left unanswered, but the girl didn’t have time to think about that neither. She tried to call upon her other slave, but he didn’t want to comply to her wishes, only to zombies one.
“You can’t control him. He is lucky he doesn’t remember anything, but I do. You see… Gods and goddesses alike have stopped working for some reason, their reactions are no longer felt and we can go to neither heaven nor hell. We were stuck in the limbo, hopeless, just waiting for some sucker to summon us. And here I come from limbo and witness the most beautiful dark elf to satisfy my needs. I was expecting some butt ugly guy, but you are… well unique to me now.” Eldenorm said.
“So what are you going to do? You don’t even have your precious tool, you can’t do squat, so just let me go and serve me!” necromancer tried to convince him.
“Ah, but that isn’t my precious tool.” He answered waving the blue feather “This is. Now tell me your name girl or else you will find out why they call me ‘Smiley’.”
“Go suck your unattached d*#%!”
“Very well… time to laugh.” He said as he came nearer and nearer. Because this is the trailer, no further scenes including tickling fetish or implication on it will be posted in this trailer. For full scene please wait for next edition. We thank you for your patience :ggrin:
*****
He wandered deep in the crypt, forgotten remnant of the old civilization. He caressed the two hundred years old dust of the cold stone wall, feeling each rune dancing under his fingers. Slowly he advanced, he had all the time he needed to finish what was started, and he had all recourses. Now what he sought was guidance from the only person who perceived it before. Cautiously he stood before two winged iron door, examining its workmanship, the exquisite details imbued into it, countless white diamonds and golden threads. Were he a grave robber this would be a perfect scavenger hunt, but from what he heard no man dared to enter this place. A corrupt spirit roams there, they said. A smile grew on his face just from the thought of it, corrupt spirit. They didn’t have any idea about this at all.
Demonic blood rushed through him as he used quite an effort to open the door, unopened and probably never meant for that. Some doors exist to be opened, this one, they were meant to shut things behind it forever. Using all of his strength he barely pushed the door just enough for him to pass. If he wasn’t slim in build he would have had great trouble with the passage through this part. On his travels to this level, thirteen if he counted right so far, he encountered many traps and minor guardians protecting the passage, but last line of defense was a bit disappointing. Or it would be if he didn’t witness the very sight he was excited to find.
In front of him were four azure pillars, almost seeming alive for their interior changed, images and words changing randomly on some ancient language. From those four pillars sixteen chains sprouted to the center of the room where a black sphere stood. Only thing that was unique on this sphere was an eye, evil red looking eye that followed his movement. It seemed interest in him, his every movement, while he on the other hand was not. He watched the work of so many good masters, carpenters and mages go to waste, all this just for a so called corrupt spirit.
“YOUR NAME!” sphere yelled its voice echoing the room, almost shaking it. It was a sealed dread-knock, a lower demon that served to many mages for eons as a guardian of treasures. Many of them served as the guardians on the doors, treasure boxes, but this specimen was exquisite to the young man. It was the largest, greatest, and most powerful of them all, most powerful of them capable of using some magic except Banshee’s wail and Darkness Sphere, both of spells being sensory deprivation one. This one probably could cast some kind of offence magic, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that moment where he would find out that.
“Typhex… Typhex Tyrrandan, at your disposal.” He said courteously, bowing down to the sphere. No dread-knock did have a true form, so they had to take some basic items of the world they were summoned in to survive. This was one important thing about them, second to that was their pride. Even though they were nothing, not even as powerful as lower demons, their egos were greater, considering themselves most powerful, almost godlike.
“WHAT WISHED THOU?!” sphere asked, obviously satisfied with current path that conversation was lead.
“I desire a small favor from you, oh great one. Inside your bowels is an item that I wish more than my very life. Please grant me the honor of taking it and letting you go back to your domain.” Typhex smooth talked under his robe. He rose slowly, letting the hood down and letting his short silver hair light the dark blue domain.
“THOU INSULT ME! BY WISHING WHAT IS MINE AND MY MASTERS THOU INSULT ME PUNY HUMAN!” the sphere answered, the eye glaring at the young man’s dawn red eyes. They had some distinct warmth in them, totally oblivious to danger and depraved from sadistic pleasures, like the one it witnessed before, eyes of Samael the Traitor. Even demons of this region didn’t dare to say his name, and humans forbade it from usage for all generations. “WHY SHOULD I GRANT THOU SUCH PLEASURE DO TELL ME?!”
Typhex didn’t answer to that question. He just blinked for a moment and returned the glare to the sphere. One moment passed in silence, two moments, and three before finally sphere spoke in a unique tone.
“TAKE IT! TAKE IT! IT IS NOT WORTH IT! TAKE IT!” it spoke before it disappeared in black smoke, returning to its realm. This was no small feat, making dread-knock return from their duty, for they were as headstrong as the mountain golems, adamant made giants without single thought in their head, only instinct. What was left behind was a metal urn, large as a head, engraved with countless sealing runes. Typhex finally found it. He kneeled before the urn and spoke in quiet tone.
“Greetings my master.” To which he was answered by a voice beyond “Greetings my disciple. It is time to finish what I have started.”
With those words Samael’s ghost floated above the urn, with intrigue watching his follower, the soul of a person who will finish his life’s work. The battle continues.
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