Pariah, Character Background

[Draig]

((For those who are interested, here are the events leading up to the start of WAR for Draig. Warning, it's long!))

Ethics Gradient

'I wake: The flood-plains
Of your departing form just
Now alive with song'

They moved through a limited world; a heavy driving snow obscuring everything but a small circle of visibility perhaps ten meters in diameter, beyond that, only darkness. A long line of shapes ghosted through the negative landscape, the small fires of their torches sputtering and flaring in the night as the snow tumbled onto the flames, sending small seething tendrils of steam writhing up into the air. Occasionally progress would halt as a torch winked off, blown out by the howling wind or smothered by the thick blanket of snow that rained down from the heavens, and, after a muttered curse, it would be re-lit and the column would move forwards once again.

The attack came without warning - hundreds of indistinct shapes flowing silently from the darkness to fall upon the column, the disembodied screams of the dying and the ringing of steel muffled by the soft pattering of the falling snow. Draig smiled ruefully as a branch of lightning arced downwards from the heavens, illuminating waves of demons pouring down the sides of the valley, stacked back towards the horizon. He had fallen far. He belonged here now, in the darkness, with the demons. He had time to wonder what Goomb might think of him now, fumbling through the darkness so very far from home as the night-air around him solidified into a host of nightmarish shapes and the first demon threw itself at him, howling, its axe descending in a glittering arc until there was no more time for thought. He smiled and flowed out of the way of the clumsy blow, his fist crashing into the creatures jaw and sending it spinning away into the night. He was alive in the moment, moving through a limitless world and nothing could touch him there.

==

Draig looked down in disbelief at the dagger embedded in his ribcage, feeling the warm throbbing pain spread lazily down his side like spilt liquid. Trembling, he staggered and fell to his knees, his hands sliding through the snow as his body pumped blood uselessly out onto the ashen field, staining the monochromatic landscape with a stark splash of crimson. The creature held another dagger to his throat, the gently curving blade filling his vision as it glimmered wetly in the darkness. Draig blinked and in that endless moment between heartbeats he knew he was going to die.

There, caught in the benediction of a sudden shaft of light that lanced through the darkness, Draig turned. Away from the creature, away from his end; back towards his memories, towards his life, towards his home. As Orcs and demons swarmed over one another, living and dying for every inch of ground the early-morning sunlight illuminated Draig like a vision, his armour ruined by scores of blows but still glowing like spun gold in the sun. One arm hung limp and useless at his side as the escaping blood forged a red river down his broken body; his cloak, tattered and blood-stained trembled in the breeze as he raised a weary head to the heavens, teeth bared in rueful defiance. There, in the balance of fragile autumn twilights the litany of battle unfolded across the landscape like a song and mournfully Draig thought one last time of the price of mortality and his own quiet need for repentance. His failure yawned up beneath him like a chasm, a swirling black pit that would finally claim him, here, at the very edge of the world. Once more he looked into the void and for the first time it spoke. The voice seemed to echo inside his head, the ringing syllables completing a hauntingly familiar refrain.

“All the souls that were, were forfeit once, and shall be so again.”

Something inside him broke. A single tear came unbidden to his eyes as his trembling body surrendered to the darkness and as his broken soul collapsed inward upon itself, fracturing into a thousand pieces that recoiled in terror from the simple truth that formed the cornerstone of his existence, he fell. Into darkness. Into death. Into himself.

As if in response the sky began to weep; great pregnant drops that tumbled down to earth to patter mournfully off his armour, ricocheting down towards the muddy grassland like a flood of tears. High above his head, jagged forks of lightning flared across an ink-black sky, the flashes of blue-white light illuminating tangled masses of dark, billowing clouds stacked up towards the heavens and beyond, into the darkness.

This post has been edited by Draig on Oct 14 2008, 04:03 AM

[Draig]

At the Gates of Heaven I (3 Hours Earlier)

'I saw da Gates of Heaven fall. Bent and broken' I watched da sky split open az da heavenz wept. It haunts my dreams. Dere faces. Da faces of da dead. Dey whisper to me in da night, tellin' me I was dere at da end. Da end of all things...'

From the account of 'Sixa', Draig's Spotter Goblin at the Battle at the Gates of Heaven - COTEC Campaign


The wind was born high in the mountains, rising up from toothy black peaks to swoop past outcrops of contorted stone, tracing the outline of rock folded back on rock by the force of aeons before whistling onwards, avalanching down the mountainside to dance through the lowlands, driving the wispy autumn rain-clouds into the sea. As the gritty wind roared over the edge of Miannantus’ cliffs like a waterfall it tugged at a solitary figure perched on the cliff-top, his battered, golden cloak dancing about his head like a dirty halo as he sat silhouetted against the horizon. The questing rays of morning sunlight splayed out behind him like angels wings as the wind sent small waves of fur rippling through the Wolf hide he wore across his broad shoulders, howling almost beyond the range of hearing as it whipped through the jagged shapeless hunks of metal bolted to his muscular frame. Draig sat motionless atop a shaggy black boar, the slab of an animal all muscle and sinew as it stamped and snorted impatiently in the rising heat. A shock of spiky black hair jutted up from the creature’s head like spines but the rest of its patchy mangled fur was covered, like its master, in rough rusting metal plates, crudely daubed with red paint and primitive white war glyphs.

Tearing his gaze away from the city in the distance Draig glanced back over his shoulder. At the line of the horizon the lazy morning sun finally heaved the last of its circumference out of the water like a weary bather dripping with light and as the remains of the cloud-cover evaporated into vapor the streaming sunlight began to push back the darkness that had shrouded the trees. Slowly at first, then more and more rapidly detail leafed from the darkness, illuminating scores of tiny figures dotted amongst the trees. Piecemeal, the rolling shadow revealed first one row of Boar riders, then ten, then a hundred as the glinting touch of sunlight on metal shot backwards away from Draig like an explosion, picking out in a galaxy of twinkling lights the helmets and spear tips of the thousands of Orcs that had lain hidden among the trees.

Shattering the silence with a resounding cry he dug his heels into Sawtoof’s flanks and leaned forward in the saddle, feeling the taut rippling of muscle and sinew beneath him as the powerful animal surged forward. The sibilant hiss of the creature’s escaping breath punctuated by a regular percussive thud that reverberated through his body as the thundering boar made contact with the ground, sending small shivers of adrenaline racing up his spine. Lowering his axe towards the gentle arc of the Gate in the distance he roared again, his guttural war-cry carried by the light morning breeze to echo across the valley floor. Behind him, the better part of five thousand Orcs took up the cry as they poured down the gentle incline, the clouds of snow thrown up into the air by the clattering hooves of their boars shrouding the clear morning sun in a hazy, choking cloud. Once again Draig felt the cold rush of the wind on his face, the sheer exhilaration of reckless animal speed coursing through him like a drug. He was alive in the moment, moving through a limitless world and nothing could touch him there.

Without warning the Gates flickered into life. One by one across the stillness of the ramparts, a string of torchlights winked into existence, bathing the battlements in an eerie crimson glow that raced along the bulwark like a forest fire. At the front of the horde furrows of boar riders skidded to a stop in billowing clouds of snow, their faces masks of worry and surprise. Yet the city stood silent and nothing stirred in the pre-symphony hush save for the hissing and spitting of the phantom flames dancing in the wind. Confused and directionless the thundering charge began to falter as the bewildered riders piled into the back of one another, looking desperately around for leadership. Then, high above them, the city groaned to the almost imperceptible creaking of thousand unseen bowstrings.

A thick oppressive silence rose with the billowing snow clouds until the riders either side of him began to fade into indistinct and insubstantial shapes. It was then, released like an escaping breath that the city sang to one almighty note and all at once the air was filled with a hissing, seething buzz as an immense flock of black-shafted arrows arced gracelessly across the ruined walls, jostling for position like a crowd of angry ravens. Along the city walls, spell-flashes flared like miniature suns in the gloom as scores of magical discharges whistled upwards into the sky.

Everything seemed to slow down, fracturing. Eyes wide. Panic on faces. Heads upraised. Cold sweat. Fear. Time ran like treacle and as the arrows hung heavy in the air Draig hauled back on the reins sending Sawtoof rearing upwards in surprise, front legs pawing wildly at the air as the bridle bit deep into the creature's mouth. He turned in the saddle, feeling his body move like lead as he roared an order at the huddle of Orcs who stared, mouths agape, into the heavens as everything began to fall.

Time reasserted itself in a dizzying blur as the first three rows of Orcs fell to the ground like rag dolls, black-shafted arrows protruding at all angles from their broken bodies. The sickening crunch of arrows biting into skin was quickly drowned out by the titanic roar of firebolts exploding in the darkness. Huge funnel shaped explosions lit up the gloom as all along the line plumes of Orcs and Boars were tossed upwards into the air like leaves on the wind to tumble, broken to the ground. Draig roared over the din, urging them on towards the ruins. As if in response the gates opened, like a cavernous mouth breaking into a lopsided, mocking grin the massive wooden doors spread wide. Out of the breach a legion of twisted, shapeless things poured forward like water, men who had become something more, and something less, than human. Twisted and deformed things ran howling towards them, weapons upraised, their mutated bodies oozing and dripping with bloated sores and pustules. The banners of Nurgle fluttered in the wind as the sky became dark, the very air turning thick with a chocking swarm of angry buzzing flies.

Behind them came something else. Shrouded in darkness almighty the massive shapeless thing glided towards him, and with it came death. Grass withered and died, disintegrating into ash as the creature’s advance pushed back a circle of decay and darkness that left the land parched and scarred. Foliage fell wetly to the ground, breaking apart under the weight of its own corruption as it withered through yellow to red to black. The trees became tortured crippled things, leaves weeping into dust, twisted branches clawing at the sky as they were folded into crumpled black cages. Ooze slid like pus from bark that cracked and split, and, as if nothing truly solid was left to them, the skeletal trees trembled at the passage of the monster whose very presence stripped them to the bone. Across the battlefield the fallen Orcs began to crackle, shriveling into decaying, corpulent husks, their withered bodies laid out like crosses sacrificed to the encroaching darkness.

It was then, a soft counterpoint to the mournful patter of the snowfall and the incessant droning of the flies that the chanting began. A whispered, honeyed voice boring into him. Soft at first, below the range of hearing the words indistinguishable, overlapping, running into one another like a phrase half-remembered but growing louder, louder, more insistant, louder, burning through his mind like fire as the creature moved towards him. Draig closed his eyes tightly as the ringing syllables pulsed through his mind, finally becoming words that he could understand, words that he had heard before, words that had echoed through his life since childhood.

'All the souls that were, were forefit once, and shall be so again.'

Draig opened his eyes and screamed.

This post has been edited by Draig on Oct 14 2008, 04:02 AM

[Draig]

Hymns to the Silence (2000 years ago)

‘Unto the houses of the holy will be born a vessel who will deliver us unto evil, though she know it not… for on the seventh day of the festival of light, in the cavern of the crucifixion she will become the instrument of his deliverance.’

--- the Prophecy of the Demon Prince Har'krun'rsh, Sixth Parchment, circa 465 (before the breaking)

My name is Priya Ss’suuvian, and this is the story of how I died.

-----

The pen stopped moving, hovering hesitantly over the page in the guttering light of a single candle. All around her scores of shapes moved purposefully through the gloom as they prepared for war, her family, her friends, her kin - experienced hands checking weapons their hushed voices breathing fervent prayers to the Gods as they wrapped the faces of their loved ones around them like shields. She smiled to herself and sighed. Today was the festival of light, a day of thanksgiving and salvation. It seemed an appropriate end for one who had fallen so far into darkness. Fighting back the tears she scribbled her epitaph in the dying light.

‘All this has happened before, and it will happen again. I have seen it many times, in my dreams. The lithe snowy elf-child clad in white. The sunny caves of ice. A sudden darkness, embracing and embraced. The purity of motion too fast to see. The blood of my blood tumbling to the ground like rain. And behold, his deliverance…

I feel the darkness closing in. It whispers to me. I am all that remains it says, the last of the Shadow Guard. The past holds painful memories for us all but I feel the full weight of my crimes and the pain is more than I can bear. Priya viethen alunhana amethelliandrin my love. I am the false god that follows my name around. Do you love me still?’

As she set the quill down she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. ‘My Lady, we are ready. We have found her, alone, in the cavern ahead. The rangers are moving into position. We can only hope that we are enough…’

Naea closed her eyes and nodded, her mouth working silently, whispering one word into the darkness.

‘Priya…’

-----

Crouching down beside the snarling black bear Naea sighed, a look of intense sorrow etched into her face as the wind ruffled her jet-black hair. The creature's ragged patchy fur sagging from its bones as it struggled weakly in the cold, its limbs held fast by the hunter’s trap that lay half concealed in the snow. Eyes rolling it frothed at the mouth, half-blind and weary, its jaws opening and closing uselessly. Her daughter stood behind her, head tilted to one side, her brown eyes wide and curious as Naea drew her dagger and knelt down beside the ruined creature.

'What's it doing mummy?' Alaya said, pointing at the dagger, her finger trembling slightly in the cold. Naea sighed and placed the weapon at the base of the bear's skull, her hands gently moving through its fur.

'It's putting her to rest, my love'

Alaya nodded, her lips pursed. 'Why mummy? Why does it do that?'

Naea turned to Alaya as she patted the bear softly.

'Because she knows nothing but pain, my love, and that makes her dangerous.'

The dagger penetrated with a sickening crunch and as the rabid bear slumped lifeless to the floor, its spirit soaring into the heavens Alaya's bottom lip trembled and she began to cry.

-----

Naea stepped into the cavern. High above her molten sunlight streamed in from a single jagged hole in the roof throwing back the darkness, the crimson light refracted by the glittering ice crystals that lined the cavern walls casting an achingly beautiful rainbow of shifting blue-white light across the cold stone floor. All around her stalactites and stalagmites rose and fell majestically from the rock, static but somehow encapsulating the idea of motion, the damp formations heavy with moss and lichen that fluttered serenely in a breeze that smelt faintly of jasmine. But Naea saw none of it. For the first time in a year she opened her eyes upon the woman she loved, dressed all in white.

Priya stood in the center of the beam of light, resplendent, encircled by a phalanx of swords, the gently curving blades glinting faintly in the sunlight. Ignoring the score of rangers who surrounded her she looked up at Naea through her snowy white fringe and smiled. The lights went out.

Naea bit off a startled curse. She felt the air ripple and a spray of dampness across her face. To her left something moved in the darkness, impossibly fast and all around her bodies fell softly to the floor. The caves. The darkness. She had seen this before, in her dreams. She knew how this ended. Muttering a prayer to the Gods she closed her eyes. The lights came on.

-----

Naea pulled back the heavy drapes and let in the sun. Behind her a gaunt figure stirred weakly, her skin frighteningly pale in the harsh morning sunlight. Her eyes flickering restlessly behind a sunken, bloodshot face - her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Naea bent smoothly and kissed the woman’s forehead, grateful that Priya could not see the angry red lines that had begun to creep across her face. Naea settled down in the chair by the bed, leaning wearily against the carved oak.

'Do you want me to lie to you now my love?'

Priya drew a painful breath and smiled slightly, shaking her head. She reached out and took Naea's hands, her skin freezing cold to the touch as she gripped them weakly. 'I am loosing Naea. I can't hold him back much longer. He is inside me somewhere, whispering, always whispering. Unspeakable things. All the souls….. When... when it happens, do not let me hurt our child. Promise me, whatever it takes, you have to promise me.' She reached up, one trembling hand cupping Naea's cheek as she choked back a sob. 'Oh Light, but I don't want to go. Naea my love, did I do right?'

Naea blinked back the tears and opened her mouth to speak but Priya silenced her with a smile. 'No matter. Tell me a story about a cottage, my love. With windows overlooking the quiet hills. Tell me a story about a family. Weave me a happy life and a happy end - not this sickness, not this end. Lie to me now, my love.'

-----

Priya blinked, her sword ringing in her hands, the jagged blade halted in mid-air inches from Naea’s head. Naea stood before her, eyes closed, arms at her sides, a nimbus of blazing light dancing around her. All around them the bodies of Naea’s companions, her family, were staked to the cavern walls, crucified in solid rock, mouths agape in surprise as thick puddles of blood congealed slowly on the cold cavern floor. Priya hissed.

‘Borrowed power. Last resort of the truly helpless. That will not stop me Elfling. This body is mine - she is lost to you now.’

‘Maybe’ Naea said, her cloak fluttering to the ground as she eased a pair of heavy half-moon blades over her shoulders. ‘But I will set her free.’

-----

In smooth practiced motions she pulled out the crumpled parchment and smoothed the thin paper against her tunic, her eyes passing quickly over the words she had memorised so long ago.

‘Naea my love,

Do not follow me. I go where I must and I do only what needs to be done. Deep in your heart, you know this. He has almost won and I fear I cannot control him much longer. The prophecy must not come to pass. If I die within our homeland he will be free. So I will go north and vanish into the darkness, alone. My soul is a small price to pay for so many lives.

Do not mourn for me. I have lived a full life. I have loved and been well loved in return. I could ask for no more.

Lie to yourself now, my love.

Priya’

As the first rosy fingers of dawn began to creep over the horizon towards her Naea sighed and started to rouse the others. It was time to break camp. Priya couldn’t be more than a day ahead of them.

------

Naea frowned as the creature circled her warily. So like Priya. So like her and yet so different - those empty, soulless eyes gazing back from inside her lover’s body. This creature, infecting her like a parasite, driving out the woman she loved. Yet still she fought him, even now, with all that was left of her. Driving him onwards towards the frozen North, towards their shared destruction, the last tattered pieces of Priya’s humanity battling to keep this thing from ever being born – it was her final wish that this abomination perish, and Naea was about to set it free.

There could be no reward. No afterlife. No remembrance for what she was about to do. She was condemning thousands to death but in the balance of this one, single moment their lives meant nothing to her. She could not let Priya fade, broken, into the darkness. She could not let her lover cast her soul into the abyss whatever the consequences. She knew the full cost of her actions and she paid it gladly.

Without warning Priya was behind her, appearing in midair as though she had simply not bothered with the intervening space - back arched, hair whipping out behind her, a pair jagged black blades descending in glittering arcs as her voice sung out inside Naea’s head, the ringing syllables completing a hauntingly familiar refrain.

‘All the souls that were, were forfeit once, and shall be so again.’

Naea smiled.

-----

Priya came at her with the fury of an unleashed God, her black swords howling as they carved great ragged tears in the air. She fought like an animal, consumed by the hatred of ages and in the face of her fury Naea stood her ground, eyes closed and simply moved. There was no emotion in her movements; none of the awkward stabbing of Priya’s all-out attack, there was only peace. Naea moved like water, exquisite and free. It was a dance, simple, pure, beautiful - the perfect economy of motion. A pivot, a turn of the shoulders, a graceful motion and Priya’s swords whistled millimetres from Naeas skin. As she moved, focusing on Priya's mocking smile and the fury of rage filled blows she pulled Alaya's face before her minds eye, wrapping the peaceful memories around her like a shield. Unbidden Alaya's voice came to mind as Naea flowed outwards with her weapons.

'What's it doing Mummy?

Naea ducked low to the floor, the wind of the passing blow ruffling her hair as she closed her eyes and lashed upwards with her blades, opening a jagged wound in Priya’s thigh and sending her opponent dancing backwards.

'It's putting her to rest, my love'

Priya roared and hurled herself at Naea, a pair of black ethereal wings seeming to flicker in and out of existence behind her. At the very last moment, with Priya’s black swords a hair’s breadth from her throat Naea flipped upwards, turning over in midair, her blades carving deep gashes in her lover’s shoulders.

'Why Mummy? Why does it do that?'

Landing inside Priya’s guard, Naea drove her elbow into Priya’s back, her follow up blow sending the other woman hurtling into the wall of the cavern, coughing up blood, the splash of crimson stark against her temple white robe. Naea stood motionless, arms extended and as the rock cracked and split beneath the impact Priya sagged, spent, her tattered limbs twitching uselessly. Naea walked slowly towards her, passing into the beam of sunlight that illuminated the two women. Naea stopped, looking down at Priya one final time, Alaya’s voice ringing in her ears.

'Because she knows nothing but pain, my love, and that makes her dangerous'

Naea closed her eyes and spun, her snowy robe fluttering out behind her like angels wings, twin half-moon blades glittering in the sunlight. As the blades thrummed through the air, singing Priya’s eyes opened, flashing their natural green colour once more.

‘Naea no….’

Naea closed her eyes as the enchanted blades struck home, biting deep into Priya’s chest, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek as a fountain of bitter black blood erupted from the broken body. As the other woman coughed once and slumped lifeless to the floor she murmured. ‘I know, my love… but now you are free.’

A deep booming laugh echoed across the cavern as Priya’s body cracked open like a chrysalis and the cavern became thick with flies. Naea coughed and looked down at her hands, her skin crackling and darkening as it peeled back from her body. She knew the price and she paid it gladly. Her last thoughts were of Priya, the soft lilting of her lover’s voice finally drowned out by the guttural cry of the emerging creature echoing through her mind as her body wept into dust.

‘I. Am. Free!’

This post has been edited by Draig on Oct 14 2008, 03:59 AM

[Draig]

Alone At the Gates of Heaven II

It was then, a soft counterpoint to the mournful patter of the snowfall and the incessant droning of the flies that the chanting began. A whispered, honeyed voice boring into him. Soft at first, below the range of hearing the words indistinguishable, overlapping, running into one another like a phrase half-remembered but growing louder, louder, more insistent, louder, burning through his mind like fire as the creature moved towards him. Draig closed his eyes tightly as the ringing syllables pulsed through him finally becoming words that he could understand, words that he had heard before, words that had echoed through his life since childhood.

‘All the souls that were, were forfeit once, and shall be so again.’

Draig opened his eyes and screamed.

Flicker.

'What's it doing Mummy?

Flicker.

Draig blinked. He looked around frantically as the cultists swarmed out of the city, flooding up the incline in a tide of bloated, twisted bodies.

‘Oi, did anyone hear….’

Flicker.

What sorcery was this? Draig spun around. Darkness and blue-white light. Sunshine in a cave of ice. A shapeless thing moving somewhere in the gloom. Jasmine. A voice.

‘Naea no….’

Somewhere off to his left Naea closed her eyes as her blades struck home, biting deep into Priya’s chest, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek as a fountain of bitter black blood erupted from the broken body. As the other woman coughed once and slumped lifeless to the floor Naea murmured something.

Draig frowned. Where was he? Who were these people? How did he know their names?

Flicker.

The cultists streamed up the incline towards him, closer now, their blue-black banners snapping in the wind, the cries of their howling, tortured voices overlapping into a single, pitiful wail. The creature was… gone. What? Draig shook his head, confused. What was happening to him? All around startled Orcs looked up at him, waiting for orders.

‘Er…. Boss?’

Flicker.

A deep booming laugh echoed across the cavern as Priya’s body cracked open like a chrysalis and the cavern became thick with flies. Naea coughed and looked down at her hands, her skin crackling and darkening as it peeled back from her body. As the black wind stripped her flesh from her bones she turned to Draig and smiled.

‘Know the price and pay it gladly’

The soft lilting of her final words gave way to the terrible cry of the emerging creature echoing through his mind as her body wept into dust.

‘I. Am. Free!’

Flicker.

Warm breath came rushing out of a wheezing chest in long ragged gasps. Trembling Draig dug his heels into the flanks of his boar and leaned forward in the saddle, his guttural war cry carried forwards by the swirling winds. He shook his head. Wherever the visions had come from they seemed to have gone. Magic wouldn’t work on him for long, his Shamans had seen to that. Lowering his axe towards the gentle arc of the Gate in the distance he roared his defiance at the skies and urged his boar onwards. Around him the ground began to shake as five thousand mounted Orcs surged towards the oncoming army, gathering momentum as they swept down the hillside, a heaving, seething mass of rage and ruin emerging from out of the billowing clouds of snow like a vengeful God. The Orcs crashed into the enemy lines like a hammer blow, sweeping the front ranks aside as they drove through the startled cultists, the momentum of the charge carrying them deep into the middle of the enemy lines as the snorting boars trampled and gored anything in their way.

All around him the dizzy whirlwind of combat swirled and spun in a flurry of blood, blades and bodies. Draig swung his axe in familiar, lazy circles, carving a bloody circle of destruction with the rhythmic rise and fall of his arm.

Leaning effortlessly to one side, his axe lashed outward and upward to cleave a gibbering demon in half as it leapt through the air towards him, arms outstretched. He paused for a fraction of a heartbeat, crouched low in the saddle, axe arm pointing high in the air as the creature’s body evaporated in a cloud of flies and black smoke. Moving with a liquid grace Draig spun around in a blur of motion, a brutal roundhouse blow slicing the head of a second demon clean off its shoulders before his startled opponent could raise its guard. The body stood upright, trembling slightly as plumes of bright burgundy blood pumped uselessly out of its neck. Draig was still moving as he turned once more, extending his arm with a snap of his wrist to send his opponents blood-spattered sword thrumming through the air in a tight, overhand spiral towards the head of a gibbering cultist whose multitude of shiny insect eyes grew wide in fear as they tracked the path of the spinning blade.

As the cultist’s body fell softly to the floor, a rasping wet gurgle escaping lips hanging open in surprise, Draig eased himself down from the saddle and looked down at his opponent. The creature lay half-buried in the snow, its armour dented, its clothing torn and bloodied as the life ebbed from its broken shell. Their eyes met and for long moments Draig stared down at his adversary, looking for answers in the void of those cold, calculating eyes. Neither creature spoke. Eventually, Draig put his foot on the cultist’s chest and swung his axe in a slow overhand stroke, sending a spray of blood jetting upwards across his armour. The eyes had shown him nothing. As he bent to retrieve his axe the honeyed voice returned, whispering in his ear, the words overlapping as they burned through his mind.

‘All the souls that were, were forfeit once, and shall be so again.’

Draig spun around with a startled grunt. The creature was in front of him, appearing in mid-air, back arched, wings outstretched, twin black blades descending in glittering arcs towards his head. Draig roared and raised his shield but the thing had already moved. Its blades cut deep into the back of his legs and as he whirled to face it, stumbling, the thing seeming to flicker in and out of his vision.

The creature laughed and landed behind him, extending one clawed hand towards Draig, an impossible volley of pure magical energy erupting from its outstretched hand. Draig stood his ground as a blazing nimbus of green-white light erupted around him like a nova, the dark lances exploding into shards of prismatic light three feet in front of him, nullified by a small glowing pouch of feathers and beads lashed to the haft of his axe. As the force of the detonation pushed Draig backwards, his feet and hands leaving long furrows in the snow as he crouched down to steady himself the demon prince snarled, his wings beating in fury at the air.

'Baubles.' He spat. 'Feathered trinkets from your impotent gods. You think you can stand against me greenskin? Your soul will be forfeit. Run back to your dying people while you still can.'

Draig stood motionless as the snow tumbled down to earth around him. Head lowered, his cloak snapping and dancing in the wind he raised his wicked axe slowly, rolling it around his wrist, the morning sunlight flickering down the blade like flames. He smiled.

Mork was with him. This was his time. This was his moment. He had drawn a line in the earth and no enemy would cross it. This would be a fight for the ages. He smiled again. He had found his immortality. Laughing Draig hurled himself forwards, his axe singing in the sun.
Alone At the Gates of Heaven - Part II

It was then, a soft counterpoint to the mournful patter of the snowfall and the incessant droning of the flies that the chanting began. A whispered, honeyed voice boring into him. Soft at first, below the range of hearing the words indistinguishable, overlapping, running into one another like a phrase half-remembered but growing louder, louder, more insistent, louder, burning through his mind like fire as the creature moved towards him. Draig closed his eyes tightly as the ringing syllables pulsed through him finally becoming words that he could understand, words that he had heard before, words that had echoed through his life since childhood.

‘All the souls that were, were forfeit once, and shall be so again.’

Draig opened his eyes and screamed.

Flicker.

'What's it doing Mummy?

Flicker.

Draig blinked. He looked around frantically as the cultists swarmed out of the city, flooding up the incline in a tide of bloated, twisted bodies.

‘Oi, did anyone hear….’

Flicker.

What sorcery was this? Draig spun around. Darkness and blue-white light. Sunshine in a cave of ice. A shapeless thing moving somewhere in the gloom. Jasmine. A voice.

‘Naea no….’

Somewhere off to his left Naea closed her eyes as her blades struck home, biting deep into Priya’s chest, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek as a fountain of bitter black blood erupted from the broken body. As the other woman coughed once and slumped lifeless to the floor Naea murmured something.

Draig frowned. Where was he? Who were these people? How did he know their names?

Flicker.

The cultists streamed up the incline towards him, closer now, their blue-black banners snapping in the wind, the cries of their howling, tortured voices overlapping into a single, pitiful wail. The creature was… gone. What? Draig shook his head, confused. What was happening to him? All around startled Orcs looked up at him, waiting for orders.

‘Er…. Boss?’

Flicker.

A deep booming laugh echoed across the cavern as Priya’s body cracked open like a chrysalis and the cavern became thick with flies. Naea coughed and looked down at her hands, her skin crackling and darkening as it peeled back from her body. As the black wind stripped her flesh from her bones she turned to Draig and smiled.

‘Know the price and pay it gladly’

The soft lilting of her final words gave way to the terrible cry of the emerging creature echoing through his mind as her body wept into dust.

‘I. Am. Free!’

Flicker.

Warm breath came rushing out of a wheezing chest in long ragged gasps. Trembling Draig dug his heels into the flanks of his boar and leaned forward in the saddle, his guttural war cry carried forwards by the swirling winds. He shook his head. Wherever the visions had come from they seemed to have gone. Magic wouldn’t work on him for long, his Shamans had seen to that. Lowering his axe towards the gentle arc of the Gate in the distance he roared his defiance at the skies and urged his boar onwards. Around him the ground began to shake as five thousand mounted Orcs surged towards the oncoming army, gathering momentum as they swept down the hillside, a heaving, seething mass of rage and ruin emerging from out of the billowing clouds of snow like a vengeful God. The Orcs crashed into the enemy lines like a hammer blow, sweeping the front ranks aside as they drove through the startled cultists, the momentum of the charge carrying them deep into the middle of the enemy lines as the snorting boars trampled and gored anything in their way.

All around him the dizzy whirlwind of combat swirled and spun in a flurry of blood, blades and bodies. Draig swung his axe in familiar, lazy circles, carving a bloody circle of destruction with the rhythmic rise and fall of his arm.

Leaning effortlessly to one side, his axe lashed outward and upward to cleave a gibbering demon in half as it leapt through the air towards him, arms outstretched. He paused for a fraction of a heartbeat, crouched low in the saddle, axe arm pointing high in the air as the creature’s body evaporated in a cloud of flies and black smoke. Moving with a liquid grace Draig spun around in a blur of motion, a brutal roundhouse blow slicing the head of a second demon clean off its shoulders before his startled opponent could raise its guard. The body stood upright, trembling slightly as plumes of bright burgundy blood pumped uselessly out of its neck. Draig was still moving as he turned once more, extending his arm with a snap of his wrist to send his opponents blood-spattered sword thrumming through the air in a tight, overhand spiral towards the head of a gibbering cultist whose multitude of shiny insect eyes grew wide in fear as they tracked the path of the spinning blade.

As the cultist’s body fell softly to the floor, a rasping wet gurgle escaping lips hanging open in surprise, Draig eased himself down from the saddle and looked down at his opponent. The creature lay half-buried in the snow, its armour dented, its clothing torn and bloodied as the life ebbed from its broken shell. Their eyes met and for long moments Draig stared down at his adversary, looking for answers in the void of those cold, calculating eyes. Neither creature spoke. Eventually, Draig put his foot on the cultist’s chest and swung his axe in a slow overhand stroke, sending a spray of blood jetting upwards across his armour. The eyes had shown him nothing. As he bent to retrieve his axe the honeyed voice returned, whispering in his ear, the words overlapping as they burned through his mind.

‘All the souls that were, were forfeit once, and shall be so again.’

Draig spun around with a startled grunt. The creature was in front of him, appearing in mid-air, back arched, wings outstretched, twin black blades descending in glittering arcs towards his head. Draig roared and raised his shield but the thing had already moved. Its blades cut deep into the back of his legs and as he whirled to face it, stumbling, the thing seeming to flicker in and out of his vision.

The creature laughed and landed behind him, extending one clawed hand towards Draig, an impossible volley of pure magical energy erupting from its outstretched hand. Draig stood his ground as a blazing nimbus of green-white light erupted around him like a nova, the dark lances exploding into shards of prismatic light three feet in front of him, nullified by a small glowing pouch of feathers and beads lashed to the haft of his axe. As the force of the detonation pushed Draig backwards, his feet and hands leaving long furrows in the snow as he crouched down to steady himself the demon prince snarled, his wings beating in fury at the air.

'Baubles.' He spat. 'Feathered trinkets from your impotent gods. You think you can stand against me greenskin? Your soul will be forfeit. Run back to your dying people while you still can.'

Draig stood motionless as the snow tumbled down to earth around him. Head lowered, his cloak snapping and dancing in the wind he raised his wicked axe slowly, rolling it around his wrist, the morning sunlight flickering down the blade like flames. He smiled.

Mork was with him. This was his time. This was his moment. He had drawn a line in the earth and no enemy would cross it. This would be a fight for the ages. He smiled again. He had found his immortality. Laughing Draig hurled himself forwards, his axe singing in the sun.

[Draig]

Litany

Har'kun'rush smiled as his blades but deep into the greenskin's flesh. He could feel the creature's heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Controlled. A worthy opponent. It had been a long time since he faced such a foe. Its soul would be savoured. Feeling his sword twitch restlessly in his hand, the demon-blade whispering fictions in the greenskin’s ear Har'kun'rush roared. Driving himself upwards, his wings beating at the air he stopped, unable to move, the Orc’s hand clamped around his foot like a vice. Suddenly he was upside down, hurtling back down to earth. With a sickening crunch Har'kun'rush felt his wings break as he slid across the snow, crashing into an ancient Willow tree that sagged and splintered with the impact. He growled, staggering to his feet.

'Puny mortal thing, I've walked with Gods. You cannot destroy me.'

The greenskin paused for a moment, brow furrowed in thought.

'Maybe not, but I've seen your godz, an I didn't care for 'em.'

The metalled fist game out of nowhere, smashing into Har'kun'rush's jaw and sending him spinning away into the darkness. The greenskin chuckled somewhere behind him.

'Hur hur hur.'

Har'kun'rush roared and hurled himself forwards unleashing the full magnitude of his fury against this small, green insect.

-----

Draig blinked and began to fall back, the demon’s blows falling like the rain as it roared and came onwards like a storm. He smiled. It was angry now. Draig ducked under a whistling stroke aimed at his head, another wave of darkness dissipating harmlessly against his axe haft in a shower of green-white sparks. As he moved, focusing on his opponent’s flickering black blade the words of the elf-child came inexplicably to mind, her face calm and serene in his mind’s eye as her body withered into ash like a cloud that had outwept its rain. Know the price and pay it gladly. Unbidden the phantom voices from the past echoed through his mind as he flowed out of the reach of the demon's blades and though the words were thousands of years old, uttered by those long dead they seemed for all the world to be talking about him.

'What’s it doing mummy?'

Draig ducked under his opponent’s blade, the wind of the passing blow ruffling his wolf-skin cloak as he crouched low and lashed upwards with his axe, carving a great ragged tear in the demon’s leg before his heavy iron boot connected with its chest, sending the creature spinning away into the snow.

'It’s putting her to rest, my love'

Har'kun'rush gasped and clutched his leg, limping heavily. Draig spun inside his guard, smashing his fist into the creature’s mouth and taking hold of its broken wings, driving the haft of his axe into the demon’s chest.

'Why mummy? Why does it do that?'

The Demon prince gasped, coughing up blood, the splash of crimson stark against the temple-white ground. It sagged, spent, tattered wings twitching uselessly in the snow as its broken body tried to rise. Draig walked slowly towards it, looking for answers in the void of those terrible eyes. He paused for long moments and shrugged, swinging his axe in a brutal overhand arc, the blade reflecting the molten morning sun into a flickering elemental wave. The creature smiled and moved, impossibly fast, his hand shooing out like a snake. Draig gasped.

'Because she knows nothing but pain, my love, and that makes her dangerous'

Draig looked down in disbelief at the dagger embedded in his ribcage, feeling the warm throbbing pain spread lazily down his side like spilt liquid. The demon’s face filled his vision its mouth hanging open in a wicked grin. It stood smoothly, wounds closing, tissue knitting itself back together before his eyes, broken wings cracking and snapping as they popped back into place, its mocking laughter filling his ears.

‘You think that was enough Greenskin? You think that toy can stop me? The only sword that can defeat me is my own.’

Trembling, Draig staggered and fell to his knees, his hands sliding through the snow as his body pumped blood uselessly out onto the ashen field, staining the monochromatic landscape with a stark splash of crimson. The creature held its sword to his throat, the gently curving blade filling his vision as it glimmered wetly in the darkness. Draig blinked and in that endless moment between heartbeats he knew he was going to die.

Har'kun'rush smiled. ‘All the souls that were, were forfeit once, and shall be so again.'

Draig shook as the visions flooded before his eyes. He was a warrior. He was a thief. He was a Shaman. He was a servant, slave, outcast. He was a cripple. He lived and died a hero. He died mad. He died screaming. He died of sickness, accident, age. He was lost in battle and kingdoms cheered his passing. He proclaimed himself a Warlord and flung his banner across the skies. He waged war against the Orcs, against the Empire, against the night. He hid from himself in dark unholy places. He was seduced by death, by greed, by power. He lost his fight against corruption and fell to the encroaching darkness. He sinned and howling begged his Gods for forgiveness. He clung to life, he clung to hope, he clung to madness. He warred in distant, long-forgotten places, scarce imagined until he lived those lives. A hundred lives. More. So many he couldn’t count them. And at the end of every life, as he lay dying, as he faced the darkness and drew his final shuddering breath the honeyed voice of the demon sword whispered in his ear.

“All the souls that were, were forfeit once, and shall be so again.”

Har'kun'rush swung his sword as the kneeling greenskin trembled in the snow, a long lazy smile breaking one corner of his mouth. The puny creature’s mind was almost completely lost now, his consciousness dissipating in the flood of visions that pulsed through his primitive brain. The black demon-blade scythed through the air towards Draig’s neck howling out its imprisoned fury. Har'kun'rush blinked. His sword was not moving. The Orc’s arm snapped up to block the stroke, his massive green fingers closing around the naked blade. Harkun'rush’s eyes widened. This couldn't be; the visions should have paralyzed him. The sword should have sheared straight through his hand. This. Could. Not. Be.

The greenskin opened his eyes and smiled.

‘You made three mistakes demon... Wun. You picked a fite wiv a greenskin. Now dats bad but it won’t kill ya. Two. You thought dis little scratch an some fancy wurdz would kill me? I’m insulted. ‘Free, and ‘dis is da big wun so pay attention. All doze visions. All doze pastz n’ prezentz n’ futurez. Tryin to confuse me wiv yer gloatin’, tryin’ to make me quail alone in da darkness before I died. But despite all yer tricks in da midst of all that babbling you told me ‘ow to kill ya. I fink dat might av been a bit of a mistake, don’t you?

Har'kun'rush looked down at the creature, his eyes wide, arms trembling as he tried to force the blade down but the Orc’s arm was like a mountainside, immobile. Draig smiled up at him and closed his other hand around the demon’s wrists.

‘Know da price n’ pay it gladly, ya git.’

Har'kun'rush blinked and in that endless moment between heartbeats he had time to wonder how this simple creature had bested him before Draig lunged forwards with both arms and the jagged haft of Har'kun'rush’s own demon-blade buried itself in his skull with a sickening crunch, a soft lilting Elven voice cutting through the clamour.

‘It’s putting her to rest my love…’

Har'kun'rush fell twitching to the floor in a billowing cloud of blue-black vapour, his body shrivelling into a withered husk, his essence fleeing screaming back to the warp as a shining vision of the Elven girl floated serenely up from his body on a cushion of mist and shadow. Draig sighed and raised his head, a gaping wound finally opening in his hand as a fountain of dark blood poured out of his mouth.

As Orcs and demons swarmed over one another, living and dying for every inch of ground the early-morning sunlight illuminated Draig like a vision, his armour ruined by scores of blows but still glowing like spun gold in the sun. One arm hung limp and useless at his side as the escaping blood forged a red river down his broken body; his cloak, tattered and blood-stained trembled in the breeze as he raised a weary head to the heavens, teeth bared in rueful defiance. There, in the balance of fragile autumn twilights as the litany of battle unfolded across the landscape like a song the remnants of his army routed the dispirited cultists. He had done it. They would survive, all of them. Draig nodded once then toppled over onto the ground, the last of his life blood seeping outwards to stain the bruised winter snow a bitter crimson. He knew the price and he paid it gladly.

As if in response the sky began to weep; great pregnant drops that tumbled down to earth to patter mournfully off his armour, ricocheting down towards the snowy tundra like a flood of tears. High above his head, jagged forks of lightning flared across an ink-black sky, the flashes of blue-white light illuminating tangled masses of dark, billowing clouds stacked up towards the heavens and beyond, into the darkness.

-----

Draig vanished from the pages of history that day. With the death of Har'kun'rush the Gates of Heaven split open and the island of Miannantus fell into the sea. ‘Har’thel’lendrinelle’ the native scholars called it- the end of all things.

When Luther Von Hess’s Middenhelm fifth approached the Gates two days later the Orcs had already retreated back over the sea. They found Har'kun'rush's headless body but no trace of Draig or his armies. Later that year rumours came out of the east of a presence growing in the Badlands. An Orc Warlord mounting hit and run attacks against the Empire with devastating fury, leading his troops into battle from the back of a gigantic Wyvern and wielding a howling demonic blade. However there is no corroboration of these facts and this author believes them to be nothing more than the superstitious rumour mongering of a nomadic people desperate for a hero to call their own.

From 'A History of the Greenskin Tribes'. Volume IV, Chapter VII, ‘The End of the Green Armada’ by Kristoff Hamaar.