Post by Monday
I was puttering around a bit with Pulses in the Deep, but I couldn’t get anywhere. I tried to write a new post for The Book of Markoth, but I couldn’t get anywhere with that either. I sat there thinking to myself… “What do I want to write?”
“Well,” I told myself, “I want to write about… Stormcross! Yeah! But I also want to write about my good friend Henry Markoth.”
I sat and pondered some more, and then came up with the solution to my dilemma.
“A crossover!”So here’s a quick description of the characters, since it has been quite awhile since I’ve written a Stormcross piece.
Stormcross:Fünden:- Short for a dwarf, with a braided black beard and long hair drawn into a ponytail, with blue eyes. He is a competent axeman, but his skills, like his son, are better used for marksmanship. He uses a scoped rifle, but will switch to his axe if needed.
- He’s the leader of the band, and as such has to keep a firm grip. He feels for each member of his little party though, and will emotionally beat himself if they get hurt because of him.
Khaz:- Average height for a dwarf, he has a long, intricately braided brown beard. He will use a rifle if needed, but much prefers his, fine, but well used, sword. He is the best swordfighter of the bunch, and often engages in any one on one duels required for a job.
- He tends to wear finer armor and better weapons than the others, and acts more sophisticated, only drinking high end ales and staying aloof of the typical banter between the two dwarves. Harbors a seething grudge that Fünden left him to die in Andorhol, yet cannot reckon that with his longstanding friendship and the many things they’ve been through together, leaving him conflicted.
Thorgrim: - He has short blonde beard and short hair, and wears heavy leather armor to protect himself from his main occupation, demolitions. He creates and deploys the explosives and incendiaries used by the group. He has a small axe, but prefers the use of his rifle, which fires explosive rounds, or his shotgun, which is loaded with dragon’s breath rounds for use against Scourge. Has a debilitating fear of the undead and large spiders, and as such stays near the back of the group and fights from afar.
Fjarn:- Fjarn has a long black beard and merry green eyes. He utilizes a gatling gun loaded with blessed rounds, which tear apart low power enchantments, burn undead, and kill the *!@# out of anything else.
- He was once a priest of the Holy Light, but decided the church wasn’t for him and went rogue. He blesses his rounds personally, but has lost the ability to heal or shield his allies, or to smite his opponents with the Light. When not using his gun, he uses a large two handed mace, the head forged of pure mithril and the haft made of ironwood, which was consecrated while he was a priest, and as such is lighter and stronger than a normal mace.
Markoth and Co.:Henry Markoth: - Human, inquisitor and witch hunter, he believes everyone is a sinner at heart. He has a deep and burning hatred for warlocks and heretics, and often calls others out in their love of the Light. He has long brown hair, a duelist mustache and goatee, and wears a long coat and wide brimmed hat. He keeps a brace of pistols under his coat and a sword belted to his waist. He prefers to use the pistols, but will engage in swordplay if needed.
Khazran: - A dwarf with long blonde hair and a wild beard, he is a Templar of the Light. He wears heavy chainmail armor, and uses a large two handed mace. He follows Markoth’s lead in all things, but is a little more tempered than his zealous companion.
Bane:- An oddity among the inquisitor trio, Bane is a shadow priest with a heavy emphasis on psionics. He has long black hair, is clean shaven, and wears long black robes. He carries a runed staff with him, which he uses for a walking stick and to call shadow fire down upon his foes.
- At first, he was an unwilling companion to the witch hunter, but eventually both personalities rubbed off on each other, tempering Markoth somewhat from before, and making Bane more aware of evil in the world (although not to the degree of Markoth). Bane often is the only one that can stop Markoth from going into a murderous rage.
“I don’t see why we have to work with these, these… heretics!” Markoth spat. Markoth, Khazran and Bane were strolling down a simple pathway in the afternoon light of the Howling Fjord, with the sound of the ocean roaring just at the edge of hearing and the warmth of the sun slowly fading.
“Markoth, you’ve heard of their reputation,” Bane replied, exasperatedly. “If we’re going to storm the lair of a darkfallen, I’d like to have some extra firepower at my back than just us three.”
“Aye, I have to agree with Bane,” Khazran piped up. “I’ve fought with them before. Damned good fighters, all in all. I heard they tore up Andorhol a few years back, and almost killed Araj. That’s pretty impressive.”
Markoth frowned, irritated, and his face was red with anger. “That doesn’t matter! The one, Fjarn, is a heretic! He turned his back on the Church! And for what? To travel the world with a bunch of filthy dwarves?”
“Travelers we are. Filthy we aren’t,” replied a pleasant baritone voice, and a short dwarf with a braided black beard stepped out from behind a rock. He wore a short axe at his belt, and a rifle slung over his shoulder. “Evening, Khazran,” he said, tipping the brimmed hat he wore at the Templar.
Khazran nodded back. “How’re you doing, Fünden?”
Fünden shrugged. “Not bad, but I’m not sure ‘bout th’ company,” he said, gesturing at Markoth, who was stonily silent, but glaring at the dwarf with anger.
“Don’t pay attention to him,” Bane interjected, holding out a hand. “I’m Bane, the only sane one here,” he said.
Fünden chuckled as he grasped the hand and shook firmly. “I would contest tha’, but I’m not sure I’m completely sane. Oh, there’s th’ rest of th’ band.”
Three more dwarves came into sight along the road. “I’d like to introduce me companions,” Fünden said, encompassing the dwarves with a wave of his hand. “Fjarn, Khaz and Thorgrim.” Khaz gave a short nod of his head and kept a watch out. Thorgrim grinned and waved to the group, and Khazran waved cheerily back. Fjarn carefully avoided eye contact with Markoth, which was just as well, as Markoth was glaring at the dwarf with abject hate.
“*Ahem*, shall we get movin’ then?” Fünden said, feeling the sudden rise in tensions. “The darkfallen we’re lookin’ for is hidden in an abandoned cave in the mountains just to th’ north. ‘E’s got some goons guardin’ th’ entrance. We know ‘e’s in there, and we’ve got a map, written by a good friend o’ mine, one Ironbeard the tracker.”
Khaz grinned. “If it’s Ironbeard tha’ wrote tha’ map, then it’s accurate.”
Bane nodded. “Lead the way,” he said.
The company crouched in the cover of some rocks and low trees just outside of the cave. Khaz kept a watch out, while Fünden squatted on the ground, scratching a small map into the dirt. “Right,” he said. “Me ‘n’ th’ rest will go first. Bane, Khazran and Markoth, ye three will stay behind for a few minutes until we’ve sufficiently cleared th’ cave. We need ye fresh fer th’ darkfallen, while we take care of th’ cultists, although we’ll give any help we can.”
Markoth frowned. “Why don’t we come in at the beginning with you? The Light will protect me from harm until we reach the darkfallen.”
Fünden shifted uncomfortable. “Well, th’ thing is, th’, uh, Shadow is really strong ‘ere, ye see. It might be able to counteract th’ Light.”
Markoth slammed a fist onto the ground, eyes bright with rage. It was the wrong thing to say. “The Light is never bested by the Shadow! I will accompany you on the first attack.”
Fünden sighed and pressed his face into his palm. It took a couple moments, but eventually he pulled away. “Fine, ye’ll come in at th’ beginnin’. Now, the cave splits along here,” he gestured to a point on the map, where it split into three tunnels, which wound for a bit before ending back up into a main chamber. “So we’ll need to separate in pairs. I’ll go with Khaz, Fjarn with Thorgrim. Khazran, ye’ll accompany Fjarn and Thorgrim. Markoth and Bane will be th’ last pair. Any objections? Then let’s get movin’.”
Fünden stood and started along the rock wall, keeping close so he was out of sight from the cave. The others followed, and as a whole they moved silently, even Khazran in his full chainmail, which he had quieted with several strips of cloth he kept in a bag for just such occasions.
Fünden reached the entrance to the cave and laid flat, peering just around the corner. Three men in dark black robes stood in a small group, speaking quietly, yet animatedly. One was watching the door, yet with the sun in his eyes, he was unable to see the dwarf’s head poking around the corner.
Fünden stood back up and held up three fingers. He pointed to himself, then at Khaz and Thorgrim. Middle, left, right, he signed to them, pointing at himself, then Khaz and then Thorgrim. They nodded and unslung their weapons. Fünden pulled his axe from its sheath on his back and held it at the ready. He held up three more fingers, dropped one, and then dropped the other.
He leapt around the corner, followed by Khaz and Thorgrim. Fünden grabbed his opponent and clamped a hand over his mouth, then slashed downward with his axe, splitting open his head. He let the cultist down slowly, and nodded in satisfaction as Khaz and Thorgrim both lowered their targets. Not a word had been said.
Markoth, Bane, Fjarn and Khazran entered after them. Markoth nodded approvingly at the corpses. "Not bad, dwarf," he said.
Fünden thanked the inquisitor quietly, then said “Right, here’s where we split. Khaz, yer with me. The rest of you, split, and let’s get movin’.”
Without looking back, he started forward, and felt more than saw Khaz join him. “Scary, that one is,” Khaz muttered. Fünden didn’t need to ask to know who he was talking about.
“Aye,” Fünden said, checking back over his shoulder to make sure they split into their right groups, which they did. “Wee bit zealous. We’ll have to see how he does in a fight, though. I was readin’ some info on him, and apparently he’s a pretty badass duelist. Dueled another darkfallen one on one, and won, or so I heard.”
Khaz raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Damn, I’m not sure even I could do that.”
Fünden shrugged. “Either way, he’s suited for a fight like tha’. I have no doubts that ye’d win if ye dueled.” An oblique glance at Khaz showed him that the dwarf had swelled slightly with pride. Fünden smiled slightly and kept walking, unslinging his rifle as he went. “It doesn’t matter if they hear us now that we’re inside. Overwhelmin’ firepower is the mode from ‘ere on out.”
Khaz nodded and unslung his own rifle, checked it, and kept it at the ready,. He had barely done so when two cultists turned a corner just ahead of them, and stopped in surprise. Khaz froze for a moment, but Fünden didn’t miss a beat, and raised his rifle. A roar and burst of light accompanied him pulling the trigger, and one assailant was thrown back, a large hole gaping in his chest.
The other cried out and leapt forward, yanking a dagger hidden in his belt with one hand. Khaz stepped forward to meet him and reversed his rifle, swinging the butt at the attacker. The cultist’s eyes widened in sudden understanding, but gravity and inertia held him in check, and Khaz’s rifle hit him right in the face. There was a nasty crunch, and he toppled to the ground. Khaz brought it down again, and the cultist jerked once, then laid still.
“More’ll be comin’,” Fünden said, checking around them. He had no need for reloading, as he had recently upgraded his rifle with a new gadget called a “clip,” which stored twenty rounds inside of it without the need to reload. No sooner than he had appreciated the value of his gadget than another two came charging around the corner. Fünden raised the rifle and fired twice. The roar deafened all four, and both attackers were blown from their feet, one with a hole in his neck and the other with half his head missing.
“Move, move, move!” Fünden said, and charged forward. Khaz kept just behind him, sword in hand. A dark clad attacker appeared from the side and swept a knife down at Fünden, but Khaz blocked it and punched the cultist in the diaphragm. As he doubled over, Khaz brought his sword across, downing the assailant in a welter of blood, and continued running towards the cavern.
Thorgrim and Fjarn moved more slowly than Fünden and Khaz, but were also much more heavily armed. Four cultists, wearing dark cloth shirts and loose pants, appeared ahead of them and dropped to a crouch, lifting crossbows. Before they could fire, Fjarn opened fire with his gatling gun. Thunderous reports echoed throughout the cave as the rounds tore into the four cultists, and quite literally tore them apart.
Another attacker jumped from the ceiling above, and thudded to the ground in front of them. A large vrykul, wearing nothing but a kilt and hefting a large, double bladed axe, roared a challenge at them. “Insignificant gnats! Do you really think you can defeat us!
?” he roared.
Thorgrim raised his shotgun in answer and pulled the trigger. A roar filled the air, and the vrykul took a burst of fire and superheated metal to the chest. He let out a roar, which turned into a hacking cough, and collapsed against the wall. “Well *cough* played, dwarf,” he choked out, hampered by the large smoking hole in his chest, and toppled over.
Khazran nodded approvingly at Thorgrim’s back as they continued along, but neither Fjarn nor Thorgrim saw it.
The last group, Markoth and Bane, moved more quickly than either of the other groups, and nearly avoided fighting altogether. As they neared the entrance to the cavern, four attackers dropped from the ceilings. Markoth’s sword was out in a flash and deflected a thrown knife, and he closed with his two attackers.
Bane gathered violet fire around one hand and brought his staff from his back with his other hand. Pushing them together, he unleashed a torrent of flames upon his two attackers as they charged him. Both started screaming in pain, and Bane stepped forward, brining his staff around and striking both, dropping them.
He glanced back up to see Markoth pirouette and bring his sword around, slashing the neck of his attacker open. The other lay on the ground, a neat stab wound evident between his ribs.
Markoth wiped his blade clean on his assailant’s shirt and nodded grimly to Bane. He kept his sword out in one hand, and it started to shine with argent light. “Light, hear my plea,” he murmured. “This cave is a den of heretics and sinners. The Shadow saturates every stone, every pebble. Give me strength that I may cleanse this hole and all within. Amen.”
Bane clapped him lightly on the shoulder, and started forward. Markoth followed, and the cavern opened up in suddenly in front of them. It was large, at least a hundred and fifty feet across, and several bunks, boxes and other items required to keep people alive were apparent.
In the center, a circle was inscribed, and filled with what looked suspiciously like blood. In the center of the circle crouched an elf, who wore long black robes, which at first glance looked to be in tatters. However, if one inspected it closely enough, one would realize that they were made that way, to allow for freedom of movement.
The darkfallen rose from his crouch, and his eyes flashed from Markoth to another entrance, where Fünden and Khaz appeared, back to back. Fünden sent two shots back into the tunnel. The sound of metal striking flesh answered him, and he turned to face the darkfallen.
From the other tunnel, Fjarn, Thorgrim and Khazran appeared. Fjarn held his gatling gun out in front of him, and eyed the elf warily. Thorgrim kept a watch out on all sides, keeping his shotgun at the ready. Khazran looked relaxed, confident, and dangerous, with his mace clutched in one hand.
The darkfallen sent quick, assessing glances between the groups. “Why have you come here?” he hissed. His voice had gone rough from disuse and decay. Although undeath holds of the ravages of decay somewhat, it cannot stop the inevitable.
Markoth laughed a strident, full laugh which filled the cavern. “Isn’t it obvious, elf?” he asked, striding forward, blade held easily in front of him. “Cannot you feel the Light about us?”
The elf hissed again, sounding almost like a cat that has been cornered, but darker, and more sinister, as though three different people were hissing. “Be that as it may, you have not answered Arndalin’s question. Why do you desecrate this holy ground?”
Fünden shot a quick glance Markoth’s way, and chuckled as he saw anger flash behind the eyes of the inquisitor. “Holy ground?” the human asked, anger tinting his voice. “This is unholy, desecrated ground. We seek to purify it of your and your master’s taint. Have at thee!” He had been walking steadily forward as he spoke and charged forward as he said the last sentence, swinging his sword in a quick slash. His other hand, which had drawn a pistol from within his coat, fired at the elf.
The darkfallen leapt straight into the air, pulling a longsword and dagger from his robe as he did so, and latched onto the ceiling. “You think you have me that easily?” he hissed, and dropped from the ceiling at Fünden and Khaz.
Khaz pushed Fünden away from the slash of the longsword and parried the knife with his own blade, swinging a leg behind Arndalin’s and kicking the back of his knee, knocking the elf off balance. He recovered supremely, swinging his longsword at Khaz from behind while getting his feet back under him.
Khaz parried the blow and kicked forward, striking at Arndalin’s knee with his heavy boot. Arndalin turned so the blow was merely caught on his shin, but hissed in pain and anger. He jumped at Khaz, swinging his sword again while bringing his knife in below, stabbing at Khaz’s ribs.
Khaz parried the knife and ducked slightly. He had worked for many years with Fünden, and knew his style. True to Khaz’s hopes, Fünden struck the longsword aside with his axe, and stepped up beside his friend.
Arndalis hissed and scuttled backwards. He feinted at Khaz and Fünden again, but turned and struck at Bane instead. Bane brought his staff up just in time and blocked the blow. The runes worked into the wood blocked the blow but sent Bane reeling.
Markoth stepped in, weaving a complex and quick pattern in front of him. The darkfallen sneered at the tactic, but couldn’t find a weak spot to strike. Instead he scurried backwards slightly. Markoth stepped forward and sliced down, his blade making a subtle ringing noise in the air as it passed. The elf blocked the blow with his knife and sliced with his sword. Markoth, seeing no other choice, dropped flat on the ground and brought his sword up in an attempt to parry.
The darkfallen battered his sword aside and cried out in victory, slicing his longsword down at the fallen inquisitor. Before he could do so, a roar of sound and burst of fire struck the elf from his feet and knocked him several feet away. Thorgrim racked the slide on his shotgun and fired another burst at the darkfallen, who dodged it with inhuman quickness.
The shots had given Markoth time to regain his composure however, and he sent a grateful nod the dwarf’s way. “You are outmatched!” he called to Arndalis. “Give up, and throw yourself to the mercy of the Light!”
Arndalis smirked and shook his head. “I know what the mercy of the Light is like, inquisitor. I have no wish to see it again.” With a sudden movement, he swiped a hand at Fünden and Khaz, covering them with dark chains and immobilizing them. At the same time, he dashed at Thorgrim, Fjarn and Khazran, sending them flying in all directions. He turned and swept his dagger at Markoth, who parried lazily and flicked it out of the darkfallen’s grasp. It stuck into the wall twenty feet away.
“The Light offers you salvation. You must burn away your impurities, but you can still have it,” Markoth remarked.
“No,” Arndalis replied. Something surged behind his words, some emotion that Markoth couldn’t place. “You will never trap me with your words. My Master knows all!”
At that precise moment, Fjarn opened fire with his gatling gun, not at the darkfallen, but at Fünden and Khaz. The bullets streaked by the two dwarves and severed the enchantment binding them.
Fünden promptly lifted his rifle and fired three times. The first two shots took the darkfallen in the shoulder and stomach, and the third hit him in the throat. Arndalis crumpled without a sound.
Fünden covered him with the rifle for another moment, then nodded and dropped it. He strode over to the fallen elf and inspected him grimly. “I think we got him,” he said, kicking Arndalis slightly with the toe of his boot.
“Wrong!” cried the darkfallen, and he leapt to his feet, knocking Fünden over. He swept the his longsword back for a killing blow, and brought it down.
The sound of a blade piercing flesh echoed throughout the chamber.
Arndalis blinked, confused, and looked down. Markoth’s sword protruded from the elf’s ribs, piercing the diseased organ once known as his heart. The blade shone with a soft silver fire that burned the flesh around it away into ashes.
“The Light purifies,” Markoth murmured. “All that is unclean and ungodly, the Light burns away. Good bye, Arndalis.”
Arndalis stared, stupefied, at the sword for a few moments, and then slid off of the blade and fell, face first, onto the ground, where he lay unmoving.
Fudnen glanced up to see Markoth holding out a hand, and he took it gratefully. Markoth pulled him to his feet and nodded in respect. Fünden nodded back, but neither said anything.
Thorgrim crouched down near the body, but far enough away that somebody could cover him, and grinned. “Let’s burn the body, shall we?” he asked. Reaching into his pack, he grabbed a large brick of some soft looking material and a complex looking timer. He sat it down near the elf and clicked a button on it. “We made it through in a minute. We can make it out in 45 seconds. Go!”
The group exited the cave and moved to a safe distance, crouching behind a rock spur, and waited. “Three, two… one,” Thorgrim murmured, and then covered his ears. The rest followed suit.
An explosion rocked the ground, and a tongue of fire lashed from the entrance of the cave, striking the rock face in front of them, but leaving them unharmed. Thorgrim smiled like a child during Winter’s Veil. “Did you see that one!?” he crowed, dancing a little jig. “Oh yeah, that was a big one!”
Fünden chuckled quietly as he got to his feet. “It was a pleasure working with you,” he said sincerely, holding out a hand to Markoth. Markoth stood, holding his hat in one hand, gripped it with the other, nodding. “Likewise. Good travels, dwarf, and may the Light watch over you.” He turned and slid his hat firmly back into place, and started off towards Valgarde. Bane followed.
Khazran waved at them, called, “It was a pleasure! Hope to work with you again!” and followed after the witch hunter.
Fünden turned to his group. “Well, where to next?”
Khaz shrugged. “I don’t know. Just no caves. No room to properly duel in them.”
Thorgrim shook his head vehemently. “Did you see that explosion? Who needs to duel when you can do that?”
The pair wandered off, bickering animatedly, yet without heat. Fjarn shrugged at Fünden and followed the pair, who were walking in the general direction of Amber Lodge. Shaking his head at the others, Fünden followed, stifling a chuckle.