The sad saga of the witcheater.(These happened long ago.)


Townsmen with the shakes huddle around the glowing embers of what may have been a roaring fire. Speak quick, lest thee be to long in the open!

Moderator: Admin

User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Mon Jan 18, 2010 9:54 am

The sad saga of the witcheater.(These happened long ago.)

The night air was so cold that the elven scout could see his breath. He was crouched in the near darkness, illuminated only by the tiny magically generated fire, a fire that couldn’t spring out of control. The scouts had been in these woods for almost a year. They were deployed on the Caledonian side of the city once called Haven to keep out interlopers and keep in humans fleeing the occupied lands.
In the shadows, he snacked on some dried berries and a few pieces of stale bread. With only the wine to wash it down, it really didn’t make for a tasty meal. But it was better than the nothing that the most of the humans were going to get if they didn’t work their hands to the bone.
The scout smiled, and stood up, walking out of the firelight to take a piss. Leaning into the wind, so it would be carried down stream, he unhooked his sword belt and his magic pouch and let them drop to the ground. All the long nights of nothing had made him lazy and stupid, and so, he wasn’t really paying attention when there was a loud crack in the forest. Since it was probably nothing more than a falling tree branch or animal still active as the temperatures got lower.
He really should have seen the shadow that loomed in the darkness, but he didn’t. The scout just closed his eyes and let the urine flow out. He did manage to open his eyes a second before the shadow struck him. It was as though he’d been struck by a boulder. The solid weight of stone in the shape of a fist shoved him back across the tiny camp and into in a tree.
As the creature stepped forward into the firelight, it stood nearly nine feet tall, with terrible horns, and a drooling jawed mouth filled with razor sharp shark teeth. Its scabbed scarred hide, was carved with arcane runes, and it had breath so foul that it was like a cloud a maggots. Its claws were black all the way to the elbow stained with blood. The monster looked at the scout with deep red eyes, and a slobbering tongue. The creature had wings, tiny deformed wings that couldn’t possible have given the eight hundred pound beast flight. Taking a step forward it roared.
Crossing it looked down at the scout, the mouth so close to his face that he could see bits of cloth and meat stuck in the jaws. Maggots crawled around its maw like symbiotic fish on a shark. The scout was lucky he’d already voided his bladder, since he was about to do so again.
“RUN!” came the bellowing voice, deep and gravelly.
The scout turned and ran with the full speed of panic. Scrabbling over the forest floor he cut the flesh of his hands. He ran so hard that he was panting, and it seemed like forever. He came to rest again behind a boulder. There was a crack from behind him, and he whipped around, pointing his hand. A flare of magic glowed in the darkness as the creature loomed up out the night. The scout threw the magic, scorching the very air as it passed and struck the creature.
The elf screamed in horror as the bolt struck the monster and slipped across its skin, doing nothing. A roar, and a single high pitched scream later, the woods were silent.


Two Elven soldiers walked through the frosty woods early in the morning. The sun was beginning to crest the sky, leaving a horizon of purple hues in the distance. They walked spears held at the ready, following a trail of red blood. The blood had frozen in the cold, and never had a chance to turn black. Each food step crinkled on the light ice, leaving a red and brown smear on their heavy leather boots. The men were guards, laid out in the woods, on the Caledonian sides of the old city of Haven. Their job was a simple one, keep the branded humans from making it from Haven to the enclave at Caledonia. Sitting in the woods stabbing peasants was not exactly a fun job for the soldiers, but it had its perks. They saw enough real action s the various and sundry resistance groups had to pass through the dense woods. The fighters could at least make battle a worthwhile endeavor, but mostly the task was sitting out in the cold, freezing your nuts off and stabbing farmers.

This morning was different, in that the scout who supposed to arrive never did. The scout had left their patrol three days ago in order to run a quick reconnaissance mission. Given that he had been missing for two days, the soldiers had become nervous and went out looking for the scout. They had walked for two hours that morning, the frost biting at their toes like spiders. Their breath came in waves of clouds and the quiet frozen sounds of the pre-inter forest filled their ears.

As the two men crossed over a rocky surface, they looked up , and spotted a small cave tucked in the mountain side. They stormed up to its mouth and peered into to hungry darkness. Inside the cave was like a charnel house. Blood and bones littered the floor like old decorations. The bones looked gnawed upon by a great big set of teeth. The two men slipped inside, spears up heading towards the back of the cave. They could hear a scratching sound of bone on bone.

In the corner, a huge creature hunched, nearly nine feet tall and with razor sharp teeth. It had floppy little wings that clearly couldn’t do anything against it’s great bulk. Arcane runes had been carved in its marble like skin. It had great horns that twisted up from its head which scored the stone as it tore the meat from a leg. An eleven leg by the shoe.

It stood up and roared, one hand holding its meaty leg, the other dragging a body that had been skinned. Muscle and sinew could be seen on the rag doll thing, and elf who’s skin had likely been chewed off like on a dog’s toy. The creature roared and charged the two men, dropping the meat and sinking six inch claws into the one on the left’s head. The other soldier ran hard and fast, clearing the area with more stride. He had to make it back, and warn them. The WitchEater was loose, and they couldn’t stop it.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Sat Jan 23, 2010 10:31 pm

Hatch

A group of Elves gather around a large stone egg, black as night and as deep as the ancient voids. The egg weighs upwards of four hundred pounds and took six stout warriors to move. It sits inside a magic circle, entrapped within a web of magic.
Chained to the egg is a single long Tsunotaur, wounded in battle and captured alive. His face is a roadmap of purple bruises and his nose leaks blood, the nose bent crossways as though it was broken.
When the time comes, the egg begins to hatch. Something horrible claws its way out of the stone covered in a black viscous membrane. The creature is tiny, maybe two feet, but all teeth, claws and horn. Miniature wings flap liquidly as it forces its tiny, twisted monstrous head out of the shell. The creature smashes the shell, finally making its way into the open air.
The little horrid thing climbs on to two feet, wobbling, and nearly blink from the tacky fluid still covering its eyes. After a few lumbering twitching movements, the monster sniffs at the air like a hungry dog. It crouches and charges the chained Tsunotaur, who tries to fend it off, but the creature rips into his soft parts with tooth and talon. Blood fills the circle like a pool as the thing devour the Tsunotaur while he is still kicking. The elves watch, laught among themselves as the tiny thing slurps down the man’s intestines like a string of pasta.
They watch as the thing over the next five minutes consumes the whole of the body. Every piece of gristle cartilage bone and meat is eaten. The creature is bigger and heavier now. It flaps its wings a few times, and launches into to the air, before slamming into a magic barrier. The elves laugh for a moment until the little abomination reaches out with his long slobbering tongue and the magic wall fails.
The creature starts to get away before its wing is pierced with a harpoon, and dragged one click a time back toward the elves.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Wed Jan 27, 2010 7:58 pm

The creature lands on its side, breathing heavily, wounds from the cat of nine tails burned into his flesh along with the arcane runes. Blood trickled down the shattered folds of its wings in thick black clots. Several of its claws were broken off at the finger, and the creature’s left eye was swollen closed.
Garold, a human healer who the elves had picked up a few weeks ago, daubed at the creature’s wounds with a tincture made from water, and his own urine. The creature mewled like a broken animal while Garold worked its wounds.
“Maybe you should yield creature.” The healer said. “It would spare you the pain.” Garold sat down in the cell across from the creature. They’d been penned up for two weeks, and each night, the creature was tossed back in here, bruised, broken and one step closer to being a fully trained slave.
“GGGRRRRR.” The creature managed to say with a mouth full of broken teeth. Though, like a shark, they would grow back, the creature was still in agony.
“Yes my friend. You have not been fed.” Garold said.
“Hungry.” The creature said, looking at Garold with its mouth agape. There was no sentience there, only the raw hunger of an animal.
“I know.” Garold said. What could the human do against the creature? He certainly can’t fight back.
“MEAT.” The creature said, struggling to its feet, and growling.
“I forgive you.” Garold said as the creature tore into him. Blood meat and entrails washed the room. Once the human was butchered, and consumed, the creature regained his sentience and looked at his claws in horror.
An elf clapped behind him slowly. The elf was tall, with stark white hair, and the sight of the cat of nine tails made the creature want to rip the bars down.
“You ate the only being that was nice to you. Ohh you’ll do beast. You’ll do, your nothing more than a monster, and I have so many plans for you.” The elf said, waking away, leaving the creature in agony and defeat.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Fri Jan 29, 2010 9:22 am

“That is enough of that!” The elf said clutching the bloody flap of skin that was the left side of his face. The creature was bound hand and foot into a small stone crater, and there was a slick of blood along his wings, outstretched and ready.

“Those wings are more trouble than they are worth.” The elf said. “Make them in operable.” The elven man walked off toward the tent that had a few healers to have his face stitched back up.

Six guards rushed in to subdue the creature. Two of them were smashed with the edge of his massive wings. Two of them stuck their spears into the leather folds of the wing, and two more jammed their spears into the wing arcs.

The two elves on the ground , got up, and each one brandished a red hot blade, heated in a fire until the metal was nearly white. They dug the blades into the flesh of the wing, cutting it off along the edges of the metacarpal bones. The Creature cried out in agony, and pulled at the stone.

Each elf took a turn, hacking at the wings until they were nothing more than a shattered ruin of their former glory. Blood and ichor ran in black pools, and the creature made a horrific mewling noise as they hooked it up to a team of horses and dragged it back to its cage, bleeding.

Those wings were a tangled mass of scars and bone, and even the creature’s impressive regenerative abilities would never allow it to fly again. One less thing to remind it who or what it was. One more step to being a mindless slave.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Mon Feb 01, 2010 10:26 am

“We are going to go in and kill them all.” The elf says, yanking hard on the chain. The chain is hooked to a metal collar with spikes on the under side, sharp, so a single twisting motion and the creature’s neck begins to bleed, even through his marble like skin, the spikes dig into the flesh. The collar is made of reinforced heat tempered steel, and not even the creature could break it.

“Yes.” The creature growled. The two of the snuck into the enemy encampment, a town filled with a nearly random conglomeration of different peoples. And to the creature many smelled like meat. He only did as he was commanded.

They walked up from behind a group of three, and the elf used his magic to blast the first of them. The creature turned on the closest, attacking her with his savage claws and beating her down into the ground. The temperature was hot, and muggy, and thick clouds of gnats swarmed like great demonic halos.

The warrior dropped as the Elf attacked him with blow after blow. The creature turned into the blast of energy from the side. The green crackle of magic washed over him and did nothing. The creature charged the mage, but he ran away, screaming for help. The creature continued to attack, taking two then three stalwart warriors down. But their luck did not hold.

The elf fell back, letting go of the chain and commanding the creature to defend him. The creature stepped forward with claws out, and attack the surge of reinforcements. It took six men to put the creature down, and even then it crawled away as they rained blows down on its scarred back like blows to an anvil.

The creature, out breath, felt his blood dripping out onto the hard pack, and rolled over on his back. The hunger was up, and it turned the world red even as a warrior stood over him, and then beheaded him. The creature’s head dropped away from the body, bounced twice and landed face down on the rock, blood spraying fun his neck. And then, as quickly as the fight had begun, it was over.

Death went on like an endless void of unceasing hunger. Until the light came in the shadows. A single perfect ray of white, true white, not the mixed illusion of white light the sun provides, but real, white light pierced the darkness light a white hot flame. The light was as unending as the hunger, and the darkness. The warm sweet sense of life washed though the eternal night void, and something pulled the creature back from the void.

He opened his eyes, crusted with blood, and coughed. His neck was fixed and he lay upon the ground. He looked up and saw intense eyes, open and loving staring down at him. The creature’s mouth was dry and his bones ached, and the hunger rose like a snake.

“Welcome back. I’m sorry about my compatriots’ enthusiasm. “ The woman said. The creature could see that she was an elf, but the normal smell was drown out by the aura of light. “Are you going to be civil?”

The creature tried to nod. She laughed and the creature heard the sound of little bells, and when she smiled, the hunger slowed, just a little.

“Hungry.” The thing tried to get out.

“I imagine. Gabriel would you get him some meat?” She said. “My name is Orien.” The man came over and tossed him some meat. Animal, not that it mattered, the creature devoured it in a single swift bite.

“Do you have a name?” Gabriel asked. The creature shook his head, not really understanding the question. “Fine. How about…Spike.”
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Thu Feb 04, 2010 2:04 pm

The woman’s head rolled a few feet from the elves who were standing to the left. The warrior laughed and slipped his blade back into it’s sheath as the men rolled with amusement.

In the woman’s arm, a baby still squirmed, wet and warm soaked with blood. It’s fat human fingers were waddled in cloth, and it began to cry. The elves laughed and threw rocks lazily in the direction of the cooling corpse and the child. The cries of the baby could be heard ringing through out the frozen woods even as the sun slowly began to set.

One of the elves drew back his bow and sighted in on the fat blod soaked head of the baby.He loosed the arrow, and it sailed through the air in an arc of perfect grace, twisting a little as it rocketed over the frozen ground. Then there was a sound of a snap and thump and the baby kept crying, and the arrow was gone.

The elves could hear the snapping of trees above them. Branches shook frozen snow down on them as through it was storming once again. A tiny piece of ice jammed in one of the elves’ eyes, making him blink. That was all the time it took for the great shadow to pass over head. Feet, feet with razor sharp talons dug into the elf’s shoulder, drawing blood. Like a fish by a hawk, he was snapped from the ground and slammed into the tree by thick legs.

The creature landed at the base of the tree, one thin elven arrow sticking from its skin. The creature’s eyes flickered with the tiniest light, and its roar drown out both the crying of the baby, and the sickly, dying gurgling sound from the elf with the crushed skull.
The remaining elves panicked. How could they not when a nine foot tall horned monster with dozens of scars and the breath of rotting meat just showed up. One of the warriors attacked, and the creature grabbed him, lifted his head to its mouth, and bit it off in a single moment. Arrows danced, some scoring hits along the creature’s rock hard skin, others striking trees around it.

The beast suddenly changed direction, and charged toward the blood-soaked human woman’s body. Arrows lined his back like a porcupine’s quills. It reached down and grabbed it, with its claw, holding the waddled up padding in a single hand.

Turning around, the creature faced an elven warrior who rammed a spear home so hard that it penetrated its forearm and pinned it to its chest. With a kick the warrior was flung back, and the creature shattered the half of the spear, but it was still deep in the hard flesh, oozing blood that was as black as the night sky.

The creature stomped on the head of the warrior, his brains and skull squirting out in a spray under the creature’s enormous weight. Another volley of arrows, but the creature turned its forearms up and the arrows stuck into the skin.

The baby howled, still in the giant, deadly palm of the creature. With a swing of his arm, the creature smashed the elves cart, sending it hurling in splinter bits as they dove for cover. All at once their magic lanterns failed, going out suddenly, and the creature who came in a storm of fire and hale, was gone. The elves could hear the baby screaming somewhere out in the darkness, but so many were dead, and they had splinters to dig out. The let it go, and it quieted down soon enough.

The baby was found wrapped in blood soaked bandages near a human refugee camp, along with two dead deer that seemed like they had their necks broken. None of the people who found the baby saw anything.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Thu Feb 11, 2010 9:31 am

The creature looked at the tiny group of people in the warm room. His mouth dripped with fresh kill, given to him by the strange lizard man, who stood, his eyes reflecting the light of the slowly burning camp fire.

“Who is master?” The creature managed to say though a mouth filled with shark teethe.

“Ohh. We don’t have masters.” The blind human human said.

“Don’t…underdstand.” Spike, as they started to call him said.

“You’re not a slave anymore.” Orien said, touching the creature’s shoulder. He could feel the light, the pure light dance on his hard skin when she touched him. She smelled like meat, like all elves.

“Right. You make your own decisions.” Gabriel said. “Have you ever done that before?”

“No.” Spike said, staring to the fire.

“Well stick with us, no one makes their own mind up like me.” Gabriel said. “Lets go kick something’s ass.”

The creature followed the blind man out the door, dragging his broken chains behind him. He didn’t understand, but in, time, maybe he would.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Fri Feb 12, 2010 9:00 am

The creature followed the blind man out the door, dragging his broken chains behind him. He didn’t understand, but in, time, maybe he would.
The elf master stood in front of three kneeling half elves, petty, worthless dogs that have the unfortunate luck of bearing the elf blood. The creature kneels in the snow just behind. His knee is iced over and the steel chain that connects him to the master sways in the bitter wind. The creature can smell the taste of magic on all three, the man the woman and the child. The little girl has a mop of blonde hair, frozen as her mother holds her to her chest, to shield her from the bitter wind.

“You tried to hide from us. That is unfortunate.” The Elf Master says, his voice harsh. His hands twitch on the chain connected to the spiked collar the creature has on. “Maybe you’d like a taste of witcheater.”

“Please let my family go.” The man says, crying tears that freeze on his mostly human cheek. Burns and cuts mar his face from the severe beating the elven guards gave them before the Master arrived.

“Witcheater, take him down. DO not kill him, and then kill them in front of him.” The master says, letting go of the chain. The creature bolts forward, using his hands as feet like some kind of animal. Its pointed tongue tastes the air, the scent of magic filling the creature with the raw hunger. The creature suddenly steps to the side, as the woman and the girl bolt into the woods.
The Witcheater hit the man with the full force of his might, claws spraying an arc of red on the pure white snow. The man goes down, and the creature puts both hands on his shoulders and lets go with a horrible growl. The hunger consumes him, and the creature rips the throat of the man out in a sudden motion. The Elf Master runs forward and grabs his leash, and the half elf mouths, “thank you” as he dies, his blood freezing as it pours hot over the ice, causing a red steam to form.

“No.” The elf shouts, yanking hard on the chain, spikes digging into the Witcheater’s skin. Black blood flowed down its neck, and it growled, shredding the man like meat, and pulling on his organs like a dog with a chew toy.

“You useless idiot.” The Elf says, spitting on the ground. “I wanted him alive.”

The creature says nothing, and devours the man, ripping sounds filling the hollow woods. When they are done, the Elf Master steps forward into the space the creature dodged on the way up. A glow of magic snaps, and he is trapped in the cage. A magic binding circle, which the Witcheater could smell.

“Get me out of here.” He said, jerking on the chain. The Witcheater ignored him and slurped down more meat, cracking the bones of the man with its teeth, sucking the delicate marrow out of the bones. Tiny defiance, but defiance never the less burned somewhere, in the part of the brain that knew it was more than an animal.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Wed Feb 17, 2010 1:06 pm

The burning smell of flesh and blood filled the nostrils of the creature as the Elf Master pushed the branding iron into his flesh. He cried out, in a roar, but could not move, chained and hooded.

The veil was pulled, and the creature was kneeling in front of three humans, each covered in tattered cloth and chained faced down on the floor. Blood seeped from their wounds, and the creature’s heart beat with each breath.

“Devour the mage.” The Elf Said, pulling a lever that released the chains holding the creature down. It fluttered the ruinous tangle that were once wings, and roared. The creature took a step toward the master, dagger like teeth bared, and mouth dripping thick viscous saliva. The Elf Master’s wrist twitched, and pain lashed the beast as the whip kissed its flesh. “No. The mage.”
The creature looked at the three, and took a step toward the one that was closest. The whip stung the monster’s face that time. The creature howled and took a step toward the farthest one. The Elf Master flicked the whip, and it caught the creature along the neck, razors cutting swaths in the beast’s hard skin.

The creature step forward toward the woman, who was kneeling face down on the marble, her skin ruined by the torment of the elves. She had dirty blonde hair that was filled with snarls, and one of her feet had been hobbled with a hammer. To the creature, she smelled like meat. Magic made the hunger rise, and he could smell it seeing out of things like a blood hound follows a trail.

“Yes.” The elf said as the creature’s pointed tongue nuzzled the woman’s back, tasting the blood. The creatures eyes were dilated as the the hunger took over. Claws buried into her flesh, as it tore her apart there in the noon day sun.The creature ripped her limb to limb in a sudden surge, tossing her entire left arm into his gullet in a single bite. The creature could hear the elf clapping.

“Bravo….Bravo.” He said. The huner drove out the words.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Tue Feb 23, 2010 2:46 pm

The human town of Fallsdale had seen better days. Horse backed elven soldiers walked the tiny trail that served as a main street, and the few thatch huts that made up the tiny hamlet. Sure there were farms outside of town, but the Sylvandar army had those under lock down too.

Norman, the bearded blacksmith, cursed as he worked. His lip was split from where one of the elven guards had bashed him with the pommel of the sword to make a point. Now he worked, using his sweat and blood to shoe the elves horses, fix their armor and sharpen their blades.

His wife looked on, too pale to speak, to angry to think. But what could Norman do? He had his family to think about and the elves said, they’d be on their way soon. He just had to hope that it was before they ate him out of hosue and home. Twelve elves was too damn many to feed in the winter time, as the snow froze and the harvest had already been taken in.

Ezekiel, the man’s oldest son, had come back from hunting with a few rabbits, squirrels, and sallow grass. That wasn’t enough for even them, and the elves took the food, leaving them to stew their boot laces and that old horse saddle Norman had in the back. His stomach growled, and he satiated it for a time with hot water poured through bitter root leaves. That helped quench the hunger, but sapped their strength for the winter frost.

The elves made camp on the north side of town, facing down a steep snow covered hill, able to get a good look to down their. They made the townsfolk get their firewood, and in these lands, wood was hard enough to come by already. But they didn’t care; they were here under the orders of the King.

The first night they had been here, it was cold, a bitter blizzard filling the tiny hamlet that sat on a creek inside the ravine. Normally, they managed to avoid such weather, but this year was special. That morning, the elves had discovered just how cold it can get in the human lands.

If food and work had been the only thing they took, that might have been okay, but one night, the captain, a tall elven man with a feathered hat in elven plate mail. Thin metal under a silk gambeson, he had a thin pointed face and dark eyes. The captain drank too much elven wine, and carried on into the night, that third evening they were there. His singing and dancing could be heard for miles as he giggled and gaped around the fire. He was bitter man, who did not want to be so far from home. Everone agreed it would have been better if he hadn’t found Shelby, the livery owner’s nephew, that night.

Shelby was not a smart boy, he had a fat head, and drooled too much. But he was a sweet as new born baby, and maybe that was why the Elf decided to pick on him. But he found him that night as he emptied chamber pots into the mostly frozen creek.

The Captain walked up behind him, and laughed, with his svelte eleven laugh, and pushed him.

“Watch where your going boy.” He said, driving his foot forward so the boy tripped back into the creek, landing with a splash in the cold excrement.

“I’m sorry sir.” Shelby tried to say. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Humans are such clumsy clods, aren’t they.” The captain said, putting his heal on the child’s shoulder, pushing him down into the pile of shit and piss, frozen and clinging to Shelby’s back.

“I’m sorry.” He said, as he had been taught to do, crying tears that froze, it was so cold.

The Captain kicked the boy with the pointed metal boot, and he skidded face down. The raw smell of piss and shit filled the boy’s nose as he cried.

“Humans are so like pigs.” The Captain said, kneeling on the boy’s back, pushing his face into the shit covered ice. “If only you were half as useful as pig…” he said….suddenly seeing a dark movement inside the ice.

The claw came up out of the ice, smashing it like it was no thicker than tissue paper. The black clawed hand grabbed him by the face, and six in talons dug into the back of his head and he was pulled into the ice hole.

Shelby ran screaming up the path, crying, and soon, the elves began searching the creek bed for their captain. IN a way they found it. His face had been removed, and left behind bloody and tangled like a cheap leather mask, but no other signs were left behind. A feeling of primordial dread swelled over the hamlet, and that night, not a single elf slept.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Wed Mar 03, 2010 6:50 pm

That morning, Fallsdale was quiet and frozen over. The snow had stopped during the night, and the horrible wind had blown its self out sometime during the deep hours. The Elves didn’t sleep, their eye lids popping up at every twig and crack of ice during the night.

That morning they came to Norman’s house, angry, cold and hungry. Ezekiel opened the door for them, and new leader, the youngest of them at two hundred years old came inside out of the bitter cold.

Norman made a pot of Charchin, a thin tea made from dried tree leaves that they drank hot. The tea made them feel warm, and helped blood flow in the morning. The elf looked around suspiciously as he watched the other elves move up the hamlet to the next waddled thatch covered hut.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the Blacksmith step out side and chip off a piece of ice, to bring inside. The elf had no interesting in finding the old captian’s body, but he knew he had to, than he would be in trouble if he did not at least make the attempt.

Cupping the tea in his hand, he stepped outside, and listened with his elven ears. The wind had died down in the morning, and it was still. The Elf could hear no animals, and no sounds other than the slow breathing of the humans inside the hut. He turned his back to the hut, and then cocked his head to the side. He could here the tiny, frayed cracking of stone, and then a rustle. He should have jumped out of the way. But it as cold, and his armored boots stuck.

The huge clawed hand closed around his leg, digging into his heel, and cutting his tendon with the single grab. He screamed, he though. But his face hit the ice, busting his nose and his thin elf blood splattered on the frozen ground.

He was jerked under the hut, the wooden frame of the building skinning his back as the armor plate broke off under the strain. He was face down, and he could feel his black, flayed of all skin, blood welling up like a river as he was dragged under the house.

The Elf could only hear a sanarling sound, and the he felt the wriggling of maggots and slime as the creature drooled on his neck. He was flipped over, his collar bone broken as though it was nothing more than an old rotten stick. He could make out only the faintest light from under the lip of the hut, but he could feel the creature breathing, rotten spittle dripping down like a rain. The creature’s eyes, they glowed in the dark like a star in the night sky.

He was alive as it ate him, pinned down with one great paw, as his skin was shredded by razor sharp teeth. The creature pulled on his guts, spilling them out of his torso, as he wished for a sudden death. The creature did not abide, and he felt nothing but pain. The monster took its time, ripping the legs out of their sockets and crushing them with powerful jaws, and to the rest of the hamlet, it sounded like a dog with a bone. Only the weeping of the elf said otherwise.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Wed Mar 10, 2010 1:51 pm

A single arrow, feathered with the delicate silky plumage of a Lanna’am bird, light as swift. The arrow was long and slender with a finely pointed tip capped in Elven steel. These arrows were known to puncture the armor of dwarves at two hundred yards. The arrow flew across the space, arcing majestically and spinning to make it go straight. With the snap of the bow string, and the utter lack of any wind, time seemed to slow in horrible agonizing microns.

The elf watched his arrow sail over the icy and snow, even as the creature turned its mottled, broken head away from the impact. The arrow struck the creature in the jaw, penetrating up to four whole inches into the thick bony ridges. Still, even four inches into the super dense skin and bone of the creature was an impressive feat.

The monster roared and snapped off the arrows with a shrugging motion, then turned and darted after the archer. The elf ran, his lungs on fire as the creature came tearing behind him, the hard froze ground quaking under the making beast. The sound of the creatures horrible cry made the elf archer wet himself just a little as he ran, his hands pumping to either side to get as much speed as he could.

None of this helped in the end. The creature jumped, and hit him from above, bearing down on him with his elbows, ramming his soft elf skin into the hard ground. Blood spilled, rad, and the creature’s thick black blood splatted on the ice. The creature picked up the elf and broke him over his knee like a child’s toy, tossing the dying elf into a pile on the surface. The monster stood, stretched his shattered wings, and bellowed over the valley, the sound breaking the ice from the trees in sheets.

Sometime during the night, Lynn, the stableman’s daughter woke up from a horrible nightmare, covered in sweat. IN her dream she saw a terrible beast, killing the animals, and the sound of the dream screaming woke her up.

The girl snuck out into the freezing cold and entered the stables. The horses were whining, terrified, backing into their tiny that they were tied into to. The girl found the creature laying on the floor, clawing at its mouth, black blood a smear. As she came forward, it turn its head toward her and growled. At the first the girl was scared, but she saw something jammed in its mouth.

“I can help you.” She said, piling up a pair of metal shears they used to geld horses. The creature looked at the girl with hungry eyes, and loomed so far above her. She stood up an old footstool, and reached in with the shears. The girl had not fear, and grabbed the arrow head, pulling it out. The monster screamed and shoved the girl away, sending her flying into a wall.

But when she woke, she was uninjured, and the monster, was gone.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Tue Mar 16, 2010 3:54 pm

The Elf held up the magic light as it flickered off the cramped walls of the tiny mountain cave. The waterfall that led south out of Fallsdale was frozen solid, white, and deep blue, like a river captured in time and space.

The Elves found the little cave after following a train of thick, bloody red tracks on the snow. That the creature had black blood was not in their minds. No they were driven by the deep fear of prey, that uncanny knowledge that somewhere out there was something that needed desperately to consume you, to rip apart your meat and make you watch.

They squeezed in, both of them, only able to walk in one at a time. The magic light filled the room with s soft green glow. The center was a large open pool, frozen over I the clearest of ice. Around the pool were stalagmites and stalactites reaching from the rock. Formed from water dripping down over millions of years, it was not unlike they were in the earth’s closing mouth.

Strange and surreal rock formations were everywhere in the bulb shaped room. They had to climb over one just to get inside, and its shadow loomed over the ice like face of Cerberus. The two elves walked out on that thick ice, peering into the darkness, trying to see anything. The tracks stopped a few inches, and there they spotted a hand, an elven hand, sheared from the wrist, frozen in the ice like a time capsule. It was almost waving at them, and on it they could see their captain’s ring.

The shape, the outcropping they had climbed over suddenly moved, and the magic light snapped out as it roared. The end came in the darkness, leaving only the sound of bones and the squishing of torn flesh.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Mon Mar 22, 2010 1:00 pm

The troll walked forward, swinging club low, the creature, the scabrous skin and foul breath monster was a swamp troll, big, mean and hungry. It had a sheep tucked under its arm, and Spike had been promised that very animal if Spike could kill or drive off the troll.

Spike’s stomach growled as he watched the creature come up onto the farmer’s land. The land of Haven had been retaken from the elves, but to say it was safe was an exaggetation. These Swamp Trolls had been poaching sheep, and occasionally humans, for a few months. At least that’s how it was explained to Spike.

The humans often told him a great deal of the background, an when they were talking his eyes would roll up in the back of his head and he imagined eating them. But he was not allowed to eat just anyone, no, only the people who came to kill them. Which was okay, since they came often. Wave upon wave of monsters came to the town, any of which he was allowed to eat after killing them. Spike lived a simple life, standing around when not eating.

But this farmer thing was different. Kill the troll; eat the troll get the sheep to eat. That seemed like a pleasant enough task for the hungry one. And trolls were large, tough and stinky, all of which made it at least fun for Spike. As the tiny sheep under the troll’s filty are blatted, Spike moved around behind the tree. IN the little farm are, there were a few trees, and a couple of lazy sheep, to dumb to run from the predators.

Spike’s razor sharp teeth salivated, and his long, pointed tongue could taste the troll in the air. The Troll didn’t taste like the elves, like a mage, which he preferred. But Spike had never been a picky eater. His claws extended as his stomach filled his brain with the red mist of hunger. The only thing holding it back was the light in the back of his brain. The light that felt good when he did something good. That was a new feeling, ever since the shining one stitched his head back on. Spike didn’t like that light very much. It made the meat sour, and filled his nostrils with the scent of vanilla which drove out the nice tint of rancid meat.

The Gargoyle waited until he was down wind of the Troll to strike. He slinked up behind him, and attacked him from hind, raining blows on the Trolls back as hard and fast as he could. The Troll turned and swung that club low. The thing was like an oncoming train, and even Spike was knocked back by the strike. Bits of Spike’s marble skin stuck to the wooden maul, and black blood seeped down his arm from the attack. Spike smiled through mouth full of shattered teeth, and lauched himself at the Troll’s soft side belly. His claws found purchase, tearing at the skin, and thick blood running down the Troll’s side.

Spike whooped in victory, and jumped back, only to watch the deep cuts close in a a matter of moments. The trolls smiled and swung that club again, and the little sheep fell t the ground.

Spike dodged the club this time, but the Troll got him with hard claws across the face, splitting open the thick skin around his nose. He could feel the burning pain even as he turnd around to face the Troll. The red mist of hunger and pain tore at Spikes mind, and his savage nature took over.

He charged, shoving the Trolls hard with his nine hundred pound frame, and the Trolled slammed back into a tree, Dropping the club. Spike grabbed the Troll’s neck in his jaws, ripping it out. H could feel the creature regerate, even as his mouth bit down, do he at it, like a child with a present. Bits of troll splattered all over the field.

When Spike came too, the Troll was dead, and he collected the little sheep, to eat later. With his stomach was full, he could think, he could feel.
"There are some who call me, spike."
User avatar

Regular Visitor
Regular Visitor

Posts: 31

Joined: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:37 pm

Post Tue Mar 30, 2010 12:29 pm

The man in the black leather armor, pointed at the creature, and chanted under his breath. Bolts of shadow launched from the tips of his fingers, and leapt at the creature. The creature smiled, a horrific thing to be hold with gangly teeth and rotting flesh caught in them as the bolt struck his thick marble like hide. The bolt did nothing, as did all the magic in this world.

“Curses.” The man said, and took a step back, and began to cast a spell. Apparently, the necromancer had not learned his lesson, and would need to be taught it again, this time with the rending of flesh and the shattering of wet bone.

The creature charged him, leaning his stupidly heavy frame forward to cover even more space, steeping on the graves as he ran, and even kicking down a few ancient moldering tombstones.

Despite the fact that the necromancer looked stupid, He was not, and just as the creature got within two arm’s length, arms tore from the ground, ripping their way through the loose soil and thick mud. Arms with scraps of flesh grabbed the creature’s feet, and bore his enormous weight to the ground, giving the necromancer a chance to move.

As the creature fought his way out of the tangle of dead hands, it stood, and watched as the dead rent themselves out of the ground, and circled him, heads broken and flesh rotten. They came at him, smelling unwholesome, and not like magic at all. They had sharp talon fingers made of dried and broken bones. And they moved in unison, like a hive of dead angry bees.

The creature tore into them with his usual fury, ripping and biting, but one mouthful of sour undead flesh was enough to turn its stomach. One by one, the creature savaged the dead, pulling them apart like child’s dolls. But they just came back together, and continued on.

The foul undead had a cold touch that could piece the creature’s skin, they soon began to wear him down. Bits of blood at a time, the tiniest crack, but the continual onslaught of death came for him.

The creatures claws glowed with magic, the magic of blood and death, filled his talons. And then then they came, they did not get up again. The horrible piled of dead twisted parts filled the graveyard with a stink.

“Too late.” Said a voice in the wind. “Now you will never find me.”

The necromancer vanished that day, and traveled far from their, going from town to town, forcing them to give him food in exchange for not dying. This was an easy life, except for that one stubborn gargoyle.

But one day, he awoke, to see the grinning maw above him, the stench of its mouth as pungent as any corpse, and little wriggling maggots in the monster’s saliva. When it bit down, the necromancer took a very long time to die.
"There are some who call me, spike."
Next

Return to Out at the Fire Pit

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest

cron
Powered by phpBB® Forum Software © phpBB Group

Designed by ST Software for PTF.