‘Here is some fluff for ‘The Brazen Bastards’
I see them drawn from all settings and times and able to be dropped into any of our settings by any member to have fun with. So I wrote this.
The Brazen Bastards
A Beginning
Part 1.
Zhiekward of Cath-Arin
‘Some things want to die.’ That is what Herewolf used to say. ‘Some things want to live. Some things want to die. Some things just want to take you with them.’
Zhiekward pulled his sword free from the offal at his feet. The skittering creature that had attacked him had definitely been one of the them. What else it had been who knew. Flesh, blood, guts certainly. Claws, teeth, tentacles undoubtedly. Beyond that who could say? Everything about it was wrong. But then again everything here was wrong. The sky was wrong. It was the wrong colour. Zhiekward closed his eyes. He knew it was the wrong colour. But he no longer remembered what the right colour was. He opened his eyes again. The land was wrong too. Yes, there were rocks, hills even mountains in the distance. But the angles were wrong. Somehow. Sometimes he thought they moved. Out of the corner of his eye. Then he would look and… nothing. But he could swear they were different to what they had been before he looked away. He just could not remember just what they had looked like before. Maybe he was mad. Everything else certainly seemed to be. Everything seemed to want to die and take him with it. Human, dwarf, animal… thing. It did not matter. How many had he killed? How long had he been here?
‘Some things want to die.’ That is what Herewolf used to say. ‘Some things want to live. Some things want to die. Some things just want to take you with them.’
Zhiekward stared at the bloodied form at his feet. It was, or had been a dwarf like him. Wielding an axe and screaming something unintelligible. Where had it come from? No matter, it was dead now, like the others. How many had he killed now? He couldn’t remember. That was wrong. He always remembered. Mind you everything was wrong here. Zhiekward closed his eyes. He did not like looking at the sky. The sky was wrong. He could no longer remember why. There was so much he could not remember. Maybe he was mad?
‘Some things want to die.’ That is what Herewolf used to say. ‘Some things want to live. Some things want to die. Some things just want to take you with them.’
Zhiekward stepped back from the twisted daemonic form that was leaking black ichor over his feet. That had definitely wanted to take him with it. Like all the others. They had all wanted to die and take him with them. How many? He could not remember. But they hadn’t. Taken him. He did not want to die. He remembered that. He wanted to live. Zhiekward looked up and immediately regretted it. The sky was wrong. He closed his eyes. Everything was wrong here. Maybe he was mad?
Zhiekward opened his eyes. Everything here was…. different. He looked up. The sky was, blue, well mostly. Was that right? It did not feel wrong. The hills and mountains. They didn’t feel wrong either. Nothing was familiar, but it was … right. Zhiekward hefted his blade and glanced around cautiously. Nothing leapt at him. No screaming, snarling creatures desperate for his blood. Just rocky scrub land. A few wind twisted trees clinging to slopes and a faint column of smoke. Zhiekward tensed. A fire could signify many things. Battle, raids, sorcery. Or a camp fire. When had he last eaten? Whatever, if there were others there he could either seek them out or let them seek him. Zhiekward rolled his shoulders and headed towards the smoke.
The fire was set in a pit in the centre of a circular paved area. There was a spit placed over it with meat slowly and deliciously roasting. An armoured figure crouched by the fire slowly turning the spit. It’s back was to Zhiekward but it’s size and build suggested dwarf. Around the paved area Zhiekward could see concentric circles of rough hewn stone pillars. Those on the other side of the area seemed shaped somehow. Seats maybe? Beyond the pillars the ground disappeared. Sloping down he presumed to the river he could see glinting in the distance.
Zhiekward slowly edged forward, keeping the boulders between him and the spit turner. Occasionally he risked a glance round one of the rocks but the dwarf seemed absorbed in his task.
‘Welcome my friend. ‘
Zhiekward froze. The voice was deep and rich and coming from the paved area.
‘We have been waiting for you for some time. ‘
The language was his own but oddly accented. The speaker seemed to roll the vowels round his mouth.
‘Come now. Do not skulk in the rocks. Join us for dinner.’
Zhiekward risked a glance. The spit turner had not moved but next to him now was another dwarf. His black beard was full, oiled and intricately curled. Above that sat a haughty visage dominated by a cruel nose and wide mouth. The blessings of chaos clearly visible as two tusks protruding from the lower jaw. The figure was dressed in rich purple robes trimmed with a golden fringe and held a rod, topped with the eight pointed star surrounding a glowing red gem. Zhiekward swore under his breath. Sorceror. He would have spat if he was not in a full helm. Arrogant self important bastards the lot of them.
‘Unzi Al-Ashrar offers his hospitality. ‘
Powerful, arrogant self important bastards. Touchy too. Zhiekward stepped out from his cover.
‘Thank you, Unzi Al-Ashrar. I gratefully accept your offer of hospitality.’ The niceties had to be maintained. Particularly when dealing with sorcerors who could melt your bones at 20 paces. At 2 paces, well that was different.
‘Well met…’ Unzi glanced at something to his left that Zhiekward could not see. ‘…Zhiekward.’
Zhiekward froze. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘Oh, I know many things.’ Unzi smiled.
Smug, arrogant, self important bastards.
‘Well, do you know where we are?’
‘Ah, sadly no. But I know where you have been. You have been…’
Just for a second Zhiekward saw the arrogant facade slip a little and a shodow pass over Unzi’s features.
‘….Somewhere, different. Somewhere, wrong.’
Zhiekward felt the sweat break out on his palms.
‘ You were there for a long time. No? Fighting, always fighting. Yes. I see I am right.’ He continued ‘We have all been there. Now, we are here. Here is better.’
Zhiekward walked slowly toward the sorceror. Two paces was always better than twenty.
‘How did we get here?’
‘Ah, I believe the God chose us.’
‘What God?’ Fifteen paces. Keep talking.
‘Hashut, Walhut, Hashoot.’
‘What all of them?’ Thirteen paces.
‘No.’ Unzi laughed.’There is but one God of our people. The wind blows over many countries. Each calls it by a different name. Each has its own myths and legends. But, it is the same wind. So the father of our people is in many lands, many times, many worlds. But always our father’
Talkative, smug, arrogant, self important bastards. Eight paces.
‘ Take Oss Crook Finger here.’
A figure moved out from behind one of the pillars. Zhiekward hesitated. It was another dwarf. This one clearly on some skull, death vibe. But Zhiekward wasn’t put off by the bone rib breast plate or skull mask and pauldron. He had seen enough skulls and fought enough idiots in skull themed armour. All that did was catch a blade rather than deflect it. No, it was the way the dwarf moved. Somehow too smoothly, too quietly. Sorceror? Seven paces from Unzi. Damn.
‘He does not hail from my world. Gorgoroth, Kislev, Naggaroth, Cathay. They mean nothing to him. He comes from a realm suffused with death magic. Ruled by…’Unzi hesitated almost imperceptibly ‘… necromantic powers. My people bind Daemons. His bind souls. Mine rule the Dark Lands from our obsidian fortress of Zharr Naggrond. His a dark sea from the floating city of Zharr Vyxa. Yet we share the same Dark Father. Time and space mean nothing to the Gods.’
‘Why has he brought us here then?’
If he could get between them? Three paces to each.
‘Who knows the workings of a God’s mind? They are eternal and capricious. However, I believe we have been plucked. As the wind plucks leaves from a tree. The last thing I remember was being in an alley on my way to buy a rather rare magical trinket. Then plucked. But not, I think, by chance. Chosen. Yes. Chosen and tested. That we are here means, I think, we have passed the test. No?’
‘Indeed.’ The one called Oss inclined his head.
Deep, creepy voice. Weird movements. Yep, sorceror. Zhiekward started moving forward again.
‘Why would he do that?’ Five paces.
‘Who knows? Maybe he needs us to do something for him Zhiekward of Cath-Arin
Zhiekward stopped again, frowning. ‘ How did you know my name?’
Unzi laughed.
‘Because it is written on the seat.’ He gestured to one of the pillars to his left.
Now Zhiekward was past the first circle of pillars he could see they were carved into rough seats facing the fire pit.
‘All our names were. Mine, Oss’s, Porco’s. ‘
At the mention of his name the spit turner grunted and looked over his shoulder. Zhiekward hesitated again. It was clearly a dwarf, big curly beard and everything. But the face. The face was that of a savage pig complete with snout and tusks. The Dark Father had been excessively generous with his gifts to this one.
‘Karpok’s’ continued Unzi ‘though I doubt he could read it, and yours. And we didn’t think that that seat was for the walrus.’
‘The what?’
As if on cue a large form heaved itself into view on the far side of the paved area grunting loudly.
‘The walrus. ‘ Unzi hardly blinked. ‘Holy animal of Walhut, and Karpok’s steed. Our Father works in truly mysterious ways.No?’
Two sorcerors, a pig warrior, a walrus and Karpok. Whoever he was. Zhiekward would have to rethink his approach. For now.
‘So what do we do?’
‘We wait, my dear fellow. We wait for a sign from our Father.’
‘How long do you think we will have to wait?’
Yes. Zhiekward would just have to play along with these fools.
‘It is difficult to say. Time is hard to measure here.’ Unzi shrugged.
‘What do you mean. Time is hard to measure here?’
“Oh. You have not noticed?’ Unzi chuckled his deep and thouroughly annoying laugh. ‘We are bathed in light. No? But there is no sun’ Unzi laughed again.
Suddenly Zhiekward no longer wanted to look at the sky.