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Matt..
Old friends.
Three days ago Mortloc rode across country to see an old friend.
The pair went their separate ways after the war and hadn’t seen one another in over a decade. Although the trip took him four days, Mortloc prayed he wasn’t too late.
With him he brought news that whilst ‘maintaining the frontier’ he and his patrol ran into a scout party for a marauding war band of Maglamor.
After a short and bloody skirmish, the surviving scout was, with a little ‘encouragement’ more than happy to tell him everything he knew.
It was while questioning the bandit he heard the rumour that a priest inside the holy city of Lamis had been marked for death.
The last time Mortloc had seen the white walls of Lamis was when, as a younger man he joined the imperial army and marched from the city to war.
As soon as he passing through the gates, he sought out his friend and told him his unwelcome news.
Geblin after thanking his friend immediately sought council with Cleric Meer, the head of his order.
Upon hearing the report, Meer could hardly contain his outrage and promised the pair that he would have the matter investigate fully, and those found responsible would be dealt with.
When Mortloc thought it prudent that Geblin should be protected. Cleric Meer agreed that the threat was to be taken seriously, but didn’t see the need to assign any chapter-guard to ‘look after’ Geblin. After all he argued, ‘I do think it best that Geblin should keep out of sight for a few days, but where else would a priest of Haeeleb be safest than in the walls of Lamis’.
Satisfied with father Meer’s assurances, Geblin considered the matter closed and thanked Mortloc for alerting him.
Mortloc however wasn’t so easily convinced and after he bid farewell to his friend, he took leave from his position as an Outland Judiciary, so that he may secretly keep an eye on his friend.
Unwelcome attention.
Carefully collecting up the papers in front of him, Geblin places them in a leather satchel and hands it to the figure sitting opposite him.
“I’m afraid that about covers everything?” concludes Geblin as he stands.
“Aye, it does” rumbles the stout dwarf. And with that he drains his tankard, wipes clean his ruddy beard, then readies himself for the cold outdoors.
“Geblin me lad, we both know that war is coming and I know what my people offer has a price, but there isn’t enough men in the Empire to fight another war” says the Dwarf solemnly. “Is it not said that his army is greater than before and that many of those who fell in battle against him now fight for him.”
“Indeed, I find myself waking every night, fearing the worst. But what else can I do? What else can the Empire do? We must fight.” Replies Geblin.
Once farewells have been exchanged, the front door is heaved open and needing no second invitation the north wind billows in and extinguishes all but one of the lamps.
Closing the door Geblin can’t help but let out a tired smile as the dwarf trudges off into the night complaining about the, “bastard cold wind” and “it being warmer under ground”.
No sooner has the heavy front door been locked and bolted, than someone or something begins hammering upon it.
With the threat of an attack still playing on his mind, Geblin collects his quarter staff from beside the hearth. Feeling somewhat safer he quietly pads over to the door. As he does so the lack of light gives the cramped room a sinister edge.
It’s been a good few years since he last handled a weapon and the staff does feel somewhat awkward and unwieldy.
“Who is it? Have you no home to go to?”
The hammering stops.
“Geblin, let me in.” replies a familiar voice.
Knowing his friend’s voice, he unlocks the door and before he’s able to say a word, Mortloc over turns the dining table, sending the contents to the floor, and drags it toward the larger of the two windows.
“Don’t just stand there, help me block the window” snaps Mortloc.
“Why are you still here?” questions Geblin as he helps with the table.
“Well” starts Mortloc as he jams a dining chair under the door handle. “I didn’t leave three days ago as I’ve been keeping an eye on you. This evening I fully intended to head back to the frontier, but no more than a few moments ago I saw something moving through the shadows towards your house.”
“And you think they might be connected to the rumour regarding me?” replies Geblin fidgeting uncomfortably.
“To be honest I’m not sure, but what ever it was knew I was watching and soon disappeared.” Fishing about in his pocket, Mortloc takes out a small, thick glass bottle. “This I use to track the dead and the half dead plague carriers.”
Mortloc gives the small tear drop shaped bottle between his thumb and fore finger a gentle shake, as he does so the liquid inside begins to glow with an eerie blue light.
“When it glows so, it means a plague bearer is close bye.”
As Mortloc puts the bottle back into a pocket, a gust of wind buffets the windows and rattles the roof tiles. With that the sound of a dislodged tile that skitters its way down the roof, before smashing on the causeway, startles both men.
Making ready his shield, Mortloc draws his blade. Mortloc gestures in silence for Geblin to move away from the window and to stand in the far corner of the room.
”What do you mean a plague bearer?” mouths Geblin in a hushed voice.
“I mean anything that carries the taint. It could be anything, could be a ghoul, a ghast or a blackling. Who knows.” Replies Mortloc.
“That’s impossible. This is the safest in the empire.” Laughs Geblin. “With the wards, the glyphs and the blessings to protect the city, no undead could ever step foot within.”
No sooner has Geblin’s pressed his back against the cold wall than an upstairs window shatters.
Both men look upwards into the dark stairwell.
“Well doesn’t much matter now as whatever it is, it’s inside the house.” Mutters Mortloc.
For an age the only sounds come from the crackling hearth and low hum as the wind finds its way out under the door and up the chimney. Both men stand completely motionless, waiting for the intruders’ next move. Geblin’s eye is drawn to the few scraps of paper on the floor as there jostled by the draft.
Eventually a door being opened slowly upstairs breaks the uncomfortable stalemate. With both men’s attentions are firmly fixed on stairs, neither one reacts as the smaller of the two windows explodes inward. Amongst the hail of broken glass, comes a Boor-Ghast.
No sooner have its blackened, bare feet touched the stone floor than it contorts its emaciated body and throws itself towards Mortloc.
Being taken completely by surprise, Mortloc manages to half turn and instinctively bring up his shield between himself and the onrushing creature.
The impact knocks Mortloc off his feet and pins him against the wall to the right hand side of the stairs. Now coming face to face with his enemy, Mortloc knows all to well from past experience that its’ slight, emaciated frame blights immense strength.
Stepping forward Geblin brings his staff down, upon the creatures back.
The blow distracts the Ghast; this gives Mortloc the time he needs to free his sword arm and to slam the pommel of his sword into the side of it’s’ head.
The blow would stager even the sturdiest dwarven pit fighter, but does little more than dislodges the Ghast.
The Dead King is indeed kind to his champions.
The creature is on to its feet almost before it lands on its back. Again it launches itself toward Mortloc. This time the warrior is ready and from one knee, Mortloc brings his sword down in a sweeping arc. As he does so he mouths a few well used words. And the instant the last languid word drip from his lips, the ruins etched along one side of the blade flare into life.
The Boor-ghast seeing the emblazoned blade twists its body out of the way.
If the attack hadn’t been so swift then the creature would have evaded the blow with ease, but instead of avoiding the blow, all the Ghast manages to do is to expose its shallow flank.
The keen blades edge tears open the Ghasts knotted neck, before eventually leaving the creatures body mid stomach.
The Boor-ghast tries in vain to hold back the tide of blood and as it staggers backwards, slumps open mouthed at the foot of the stairs.”
Both men stand and stare at the leathery skin creature in complete silence.
Mortloc breaks the silence, “we need to leave, immediately” wiping his blade clean, he continues, “It’s not safe here. Whoever wants you dead knows where to find you. But I know a place that is.”
Nodding, Geblin replies in a hushed voice. “Give me a moment while I collect what I need to travel.”
Geblin opens the large chest beside the fire and reaching inside for his old travelling pack, a soft bundle drops out and onto the floor.
The touch of the cloth and the faint smell bring back a flood of memories; memories that if dwelt on cause pain but ones that never truly leave and will when ever possible find a way to refresh your memory.
Geblin holds the rich red bundle for a moment before tucking it back into the backpack. As he does so a slight movement on the stairs catches his eye, but before he’s able to make a sound a second Boor-ghast springs from its place of hiding.
Without warning the Ghast slams into Mortloc and immediately sinks its teeth into his exposed neck.
At the sight of his friend and protector pinned to the floor by the Ghast, panic tugs at his nerve and fear swells in his stomach.
Fumbling, Geblin struggles with the symbol about his neck. As his hand closes over the cold metal star, he begins a prayer in earnest to Haeleb.
It’s been months since Geblin last felt a sense of calmness or serenity when in prayer. Yanking free the symbol he holds it out at arms length. This time he begins out loud a prayer of fortitude.
“What’s wrong priest” mocks the laughing, blood soaked ghast as it looks up from its victim, “You lack conviction.”
Letting go the creature stands up and takes a step back from its victim.
“Silence, you bastard son of a false god. My lord will lend me the strength to banish you.” Bellows Geblin.
The wheezing laughter continues as the Boor-ghast steps back over its victim and into the light cast by the lamp hanging from the ceiling.
The Ghast at a glance looks no different to the one lying dead, but its not until it steps fully into the light that the differences become apparent. Physically both are similar in stature, both hunched over, with little or no hair, gaunt, drawn faces with hollow cheeks, painfully wasted limbs, hollow chests that show off every available rib and both are wrapped in skin to tight that has, due to their half dead state turned a putrid yellow.
The difference is held in the eyes. The first Ghast had dead men’s eyes, possessed with a frenzied, almost mindless glare. But this one seems at ease, even confident.
But the set now intently watching Geblin’s every movement, are sharp and malignant.
As the priest forces his gaze away from those dark pools of hostility, he notices a confused pattern of scripture that covers the creature’s body.
The text shift, twists and contracts until it’s nothing more than a fain pattern of intertwining lines.
Casually the Ghast looks down at the body of Mortloc, “Imagine my luck, two birds felled with the cast of one stone.”
“What do you mean? Why are you here?” Demands Geblin.
“Oh come now priest,” hisses the creature as a menacing smile threatens to split its face in two. “Geblin, it is ok if I call you Geblin isn’t it?” the creature begins again to laugh; an awkward, painful sound that chills the air.
“What” splutters Geblin, “How do you know my name dam you.”
The creature casually waves a gnarled hand, “Trivia my dear priest. Anyway you should be satisfied that with both your deaths by my hand, I will win my ascension.”
“I will cast you back into the pit from which you were dragged.” Geblin, in an elaborate gesture strikes the stone floor with his staff and bellows, “Now be gone. Back to Dun-breek with you.”
With this the creature doubles over, the effort forces the air out of its decaying lungs, in a long, laboured groan.
Elated, Geblin steps forward and commands “Remove yourself from this city or face righteous fire.”
The creature drops down on to one knee and with one hand pressed flat against the stone floor and begins to shake as the life is choked from it.
“So be it” Geblin, steps forward staff ready to finish the creature. “An end to your suffering.”
Before he is able, the wheezing turns in to a guttering chuckle. The chuckle quickly gathers momentum and the Ghast, now laughing looks up with a smug, thin lipped smile.
Taking a half step backwards Geblin feels the wall against his back, “You mock me?”
“Come now priest, we both know your god has turned his back of his flock.”
“How do you know that?” replies Geblin open mouthed.
With a shake of its head the boor-ghast replies, “Do you seriously think I would face a servant of Haeleb if I thought he had his gods favour?”
“I’ll tell you something for you to think about as you wait in vain for your god to claim your soul.” The creature pauses, savouring each passing moment. “I know, but you do not, that your Arch-bishop, Moru Kalan, is dead.”
“You lie; he is the envoy of the god’s.” The priest looks into the eyes of the creature, hoping, searching for a sign that would suggest it’s lying.
“And if he were to die, you and your church would be powerless.” interrupts the Boor-Ghast.
“This cannot be. Haeleb will surely choose another...”
Geblin stop speaking as the room begins spinning, as it does so he lurches forward as the fear gets the better of him.
After a moment the priest, leaning heavily on his staff wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “If I’m to die, then do me the courtesy of telling me who you are”
In answer to the question the assassin lifts its’ chin and with a gnarled, digit points to a heavy scar that’s cut deep into the pock marked skin around its throat.
“Do you see?” the Boor-ghast picks at the scab. “You know what they are, don’t you?” Without waiting for a response the assassin holds out both of it hands to reveal star shaped scars burnt into each palm.
“That’s right cleric, I was hung and then nailed alive to a tree.”
The Ghast glares with such intense malevolence that Geblin is forced to look away.
The Boor-ghast laughs at Geblin’s discomfort, “All this for refusing to follow orders. Nothing but the harshest treatment for your own kind. I suppose I should be thankful, if you clergy hadn’t murdered me then my master would never have chosen me.”
“Then they should have burnt your body and spared you.”
“Spared me? Spared me?” the Ghasts face contorts with rage, “You don’t understand, I prayed to Maglamor to rescue me from damnation. And he did.”
With the outburst the creature steps forward, “Now to the void with you.”
Knowing what is to come next, Geblin swings his staff in a broad, sweeping arc. He knows full well that its’ already too late and the assassin will be tearing at his throat long before the intended blow is to strike home.
Springing forward, both tooth and nail ready, the Boor-ghast smiles with glee to see the laboured attempt made by the priest to defend himself.
However, unknown to both combatants, Rannik the dwarven architect, had after leaving Geblin, had realised he while searching for his pipe that he had left it back with the priest.
Rannik, seeing his friend, Geblin standing in the corner of the room, staff ready to strike and a naked, wasted figure moving towards him and away from a bloodied stranger left lying behind.
Due to the wind that barrels around the narrow streets he cannot hear the conversation. But he can see that the priest is in a great deal of danger.
As the figure launch itself toward the priest, Rannolk takes aim, then fires.
Through clenched teeth and half closed eyes, Geblin, whispers a final prayer, waits for death.
With the prayer still upon his dry lips, the small room erupts in an almighty flash of fire and is swiftly followed by an ear splitting explosion.
Bemused, confused and half deaf, the priest looks around the room in a daze. To his surprise sees a stocky dwarf dressed in a somewhat familiar winter cloak clambering through the broken window.
At Geblin’s feet now lays the twitching body of the Ghast. One side of its chest has been torn open and its clotted, black blood now soaks the flag stones.
Unable to hear, Geblin, bellows to the dwarf that he must attend to his friend.
By the time Geblin has applied a balm to draw out the poison and bound Mortloc’s wounds, the almighty ringing in his ears has subsided enough that he is able to hear.
“By my hammer, what are those?” the Dwarf points with a smoking rifle barrel toward the two dead Boor-Ghasts.
“My friend, these are soldiers of Maglamor and as far as I understand they were sent to kill both myself and my friend.”
“How can this be?” asks the dwarf as he kicks the closest Ghast.
“I will explain what I know but first I need to move my friend to a safety.” He motions to the creatures with a flick of his head, “I have fought these before and never have I ever seen or heard of them travelling together and if what I fear is true then there are dark days coming.”
“You are welcome to rest as long as you need at my home. You’ll be safe as I have friends who can watch over you.”
“Watch over me?” replies Geblin.
The dwarf looks from under his heavy brow, “look what came knocking on your door, if I were you I’d hide where your enemies are least likely to look.”
“Agreed, but first I need to collect the rest of my belongings”
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