🩸 [Crown Province] We Choose Violence

[Kruol]

The speck of gray was easy to miss against the overcast sky.

Orcs, bandits, and other threats came from the dark woodlands, far off mountains, and treacherous roads. They never came from above. Only beauty and gods came from the heavens.

Not today.

Kruol soared high above the outskirts of the big cities with their stone walls, castles, and keeps. They could keep their shitholes. But he would happily partake of the rest.

Earlier that cycle, he awoke to the sound of thunder that shook the foundations of the Primus Countryside.

As an Orc, he took that as his cue. So anyway, he started raidin'.

Today, Kruol was looking for sweet, sweet loot and plunder in the form of fleeing refugees on the Kingsroad. Arrrg, his sphinx-ified warg was tense with anticipation. His winged wolf could sense its rider's excitement, his itch for first blood.

He wore little more than hard leather with light mail on these outings. Plate and heavy armor tended to slow down his sphinx-brother. What they lacked in protection, however, they made up for in speed and cunning.

Besides, Kruol never used protection.

While it would be tempting to raw dog the first caravan they found, Kruol was picky.

So he looked for something light and preferably unarmed to start things off. It was best not to go for the heavy stuff during appetizers.

You don’t want to ruin your appetite.

 

[Kour'el Kha'Serith]

The city was fading behind them. Good riddance, any fondness Kour had for the imperial city had been thoroughly stamped out. Quite literally in one case. The less she had to dwell on that occurrence the better, instead the black and scarlet draconess only wished that more explosions would wipe the rest of the tumor off the map, taking the rest of the populace with it.

Not everything was bad though. Kour had found a real, honest to gods long lost friend, the first since she had been resurrected. Darian did not count as a friend, more like a sticky turd she couldn't quite scrape all the way off her foot. Mini, it seemed, had her own story to tell of the intervening decade or so since they had been together in Tirsfal or Tearsfall or whatever the city was being called these days.

Careful not to cut the elf's skin with her talons, Kour nevertheless held Mini close to her chest as her wings pumped fluidly up and down. For once Kour was glad to be in an elf's presence, since they were so much easier to carry, given how slight they were. Her penchant for eating what she killed had given her some insight on how to bodily carry a corpse as well.

Talking though was not something Kour much did these days and she found it hard at first to open up to the elf she was ferrying away from the city. Several attempts at small talk were made and left to die the painful deaths they deserved. Such a banal thing like remarking on the weather and how good the winds were just made the draconess want to go back into the mountains and shrivel up and die in some forgotten crevice. Even her voice was husky from disuse. Kour’el had prodded Mini to tell her tale first, given the elven woman’s better social graces. The draconess had listened intently, asking few questions and accepting the changes in her friend rather well.

Still she managed, in fits and starts to tell most of the important bits of her tale, turning into an elf, descent into insanity, the restoration of her body but with a fractured, broken mind, her capture, imprisonment and death at the hands of the lich of Arkdun and his demon partner and how she had come too in the void and spoke to Ainlar whom had resurrected her. She faltered slightly with the task she had been given by the being, the ridiculousness of it still rankled and felt like a joke. Complete destruction of the elven race. Absurd. Most of the cities were gone anyways, ruined by the Xet, fog and themselves.

Now she just found herself alone, drifting from place to place, leaving a trail of bodies behind to mark her progress. It was all darkly amusing to the draconess in a tragic sort of way, that both of them would be so changed and yet still end up together in the least likely place, both changed forever from the carefree spirits that had danced on table tops all those eras ago.

Silver eyes swept the skies and the ground below for threats as they covered more distance. Some paranoia from their mutually disliked ugly bastard Darian had rubbed off on the ebony draconess and she was ever vigilant. Especially when it came to less than good intentions. The flight from the city and the added exertion of carrying the elf was causing Kour’el to become hungry faster than normal. Picking off a caravan would satisfy both her and the vampire's hunger. Mini could have the blood, and Kour would have the meat afterwards. There were lots fleeing the imperial city. They could have their pick of the litter so to speak.

So when she spotted another person in the sky, though no pings meant it was a dracon, instead a rider on some flying beast, Kour’el stopped, shifting her hold on the elf and hovered in mid air. ”Someone is ahead. A griffon rider maybe? They have them in Arkdun. Shall we introduce ourselves?’ Introductions could be made the old fashioned way, or the fun way. A dive bomb with a knife to the skull from behind. Or whatever tricks Mini had up her sleeve. Kour’el didn't much care.

 

[Ministra]

Okay, so whatever that was was now behind them. Why was it that every time Ministra dared to step foot in the Capitol, something ridiculous happened? One would think she’d learn her lesson and avoid the place altogether, but year after year, she found herself returning. Perhaps now that half the place was burning cinders she’d finally be free of its intangible hold on her. Perhaps she should be the one to finish razing it, salt the earth, and hold eternal vigil over the carcass, eating anyone who dared try and rebuild.

It hadn’t all been bad, though. If Mini was to be perfectly honest (a rarity), reconnecting with Kour’el was one of the best outcomes she could have hoped for. Even better was the realization that the draconness no longer seemed to have those pesky little morals that used to hold her back from really wreaking havoc with Mini back in the day. Ministra, even before her murder at the hands of a blue-skinned vampire, always had a penchant for blood and chaos. She was proud of Kour for finally joining her on the dark side.

Not usually one to tell her life’s story to anyone, she’d quickly slipped back into a time when she and the draconness were comfortable enough to share deeper thoughts. Mini might have preferred to keep her ascension past Death a secret, but it did feel strangely good to have someone around who actually knew her (and still wanted to be around her; murder, it turned out, was a lonely sport).

The only problem now though, was the small fact that elves should not fly. Ministra heartily begrudged being carried around like a small toy. Not to mention the fact that her head was nestled between two scaly breasts. It was humiliating and she was not amused in the least. Sure, the view was fantastic-- panicked townspeople, charred buildings, the scent of death shrouding around like a heavy cloud-- but it did not make up for the fact that she was practically defenseless here in Kour’s arms. When one is ruled by a lust for power and control, having it taken away can be a hard pill to swallow.

Arms crossed and frown firmly fixed to her face, the pair soared through the air in blessed silence, circling around for something to strike their fancy. They weren’t the only ones it seemed. Kour spotted another making aerial loops: an orc on some sort of flying thing. Was Ministra the only one who preferred her heels to remain planted on solid ground?

Speaking of heels, one of Mini’s fell from her foot and subsequently landed on a poor refugee’s head. It was a shame really. Mini’d loved that shoe, it was of the fashion that went well with nearly all of her outfits. Lips curled into a sneer as she maneuvered her foot to drop the other shoe. It seemed she would have to go barefoot for the rest of this endeavor. Pity.

Kour asked if they should introduce themselves and Mini shrugged. In her experience, orcs were some of the blood-thirstiest creatures. It might serve them well to temporarily ally themselves with this one. At least then they could be sure not to get in one another’s way while terrorizing the locals. A little honor amongst criminals went a long way.

”Yoo hoo!” she called out, wiggling slender fingers in the air to grab the orc’s attention. Affixing a charming smile to her mouth, she continued, ”You wouldn’t happen to be thinking of doing anything horrible to those miscreants down there, would you?”

 

[Kruol]

Kruol slowly turned his good eye toward the source of the yoo-hoo.

An expression between bewilderment twisted with dour amusement met the draconess and vampire. Forged among the Warg Raiders of the Horde, Kruol was an immense beast with black skin corded with lean muscle. The exposed flesh of his face and arms were lined with a miniature constellation of scars.

Yet it was his mount that might have caught the two women's attention. The winged beast, for all intents and purposes, was a miniature sphinx with wings the color of storm clouds and fur that shone like polished stone. Or rather, actual stone. The saddle that it wore was meant for warg but crudely modified to keep its rider strapped in while they were airborne. When its wolfish head turned toward the draconess and her passenger, the creature's tongue lolled from its fanged jaws.

It may have been smiling.

Then it emitted a few high-pitched chirping sounds, its lion-like tail wagging excitedly at the newcomers.

Flashing his own tusked teeth, the Orc raised a cruel steel mace toward the ash-colored heavens in a mock salute. Then both Uruk and Sphinxified Warg dove toward the column of refugees -- wordlessly responding to Ministra's question.

 

[Kour'el Kha'Serith]

Luckily for Mini, the breasts she found herself nestled in would barely fit a training bra. Well endowed Kour was not, that seemed to be a softskin problem. One of many that blighted their weird bodies. Kour had not liked the boobs she had as an elf, they annoyed her almost as much as the hair, so they had been strapped down to an inch of their lives. Kour’el did however smell nicely like sandalwood and cedar, the oil she most frequently used on her scales to keep the matte blackness polished and supple.

The shoe thing was another softskin problem, given that Kour’s three-toed feet with their talons would not really fit into a shoe. Still it was highly amusing to see one of the downtrodden cretins below get a shoe to the face from above. She giggled, a bit breathlessly, unused to really being happy without carnage surrounding her. Prime had proved that. The explosions had made her exuberantly happy, and then, well whatever the hell had happened next and stripped that away quick.

Poor vomit baby.

The stone-dog-bird? Thing was rather adorable with it’s tongue hanging out like that. Kour’el kind of wanted to boop it on the snoot, provided the thing didn’t have rabies and wouldn’t take her arm off in the process. It’s orc rider, not so much. Orcs in general were an ugly lot, pig faced as they were, but this one, with a missing eye and blackish, scar covered skin was even more so.

Still, Kour had a soft spot for the greenskins, mostly because of her acquaintance with Hazudar and Balthazar. They could also be incredibly ruthless and violent. A plus as far as Kour was concerned. Perhaps she would not approached one quite like Mini was doing, but then again her disposition was far more introverted and dour, than the more flamboyant elf vampire.

However odd the situation seemed, the orc seemed keen on a partnership at least, no matter how brief it would be. As he first saluted and then dove towards the fleeing ants below, Kour’el giggled again. ”I suppose he does plan on ravaging those below. Best not to keep the gentleman waiting. Hold on.”

Tightening her grip on Mini, Kour’el angled her wings to bank around to follow the orc before she too folded the leathery membranes closed and entered free fall. The wind rushing around the pair was incredible as they dove, the kind that forced tears to the eyes and the wind from their airways, almost like drowning and suffocating. Something Kour’el was all too familiar with, though probably not the elf in her arms. She did try to shelter her passenger as best she could, wrapping the leather and bones around the pair to prevent the worst of the buffeting. She wasn’t that bad of a friend after all.

Then she spread her wings out, feeling the strain across her chest, shoulders and back from the extra weight. Their forward momentum was stopped rather abruptly, with a grunt from the black draconess as she flapped several times before plopping down on the ground. Kour’el released her hold on the elf as gently as she could, letting Mini steady herself on her feet for as long as she needed before drawing her two long knives and baring her fangs in a fearsome grin.

Time to hunt!

 

[Ministra]

At no time during this foray into the sky did Ministra want to be there. Especially not when the orc gave his silent salute and dove away from them. It wasn’t so much the orc’s fault as it was what happened next. A terrible thing that she never could have been prepared for.

The draconess’ wings folded around her and she felt like a caterpillar stuck in a cocoon. Would she be a moth or a butterfly after this? A silly thought and one that was immediately flung from her mind because of the wind that now whipped her flesh back against her skull and pulled at her features until she was certain there was nothing beautiful about her face at that moment. Thankfully there was no way anyone would be able to see her in such a state.

She didn’t scream though. She was better than all of that. The only sign she gave of her discomfort was when Kour landed and her feet finally touched the ground. Her knees wobbled and she took several steps away while pushing a hand through her hair to try and salvage what remained of its updo.

Right! They were there to do some murdering: her favorite thing. How pleasant to be among like minded people once again.

She wriggled her hips enough to shimmy her skirt upward so that she could get to the twin daggers she kept strapped to her thighs (don’t try to make sense of it, Mini was a mystery in many ways). She did not, however, bare her fangs. Quite the opposite! Her lips remained sealed together, pressed into a frown. Her daggers held nonchalantly at her side, she glanced around at the chaos, looking for the tastiest one to appear.

 

[Eyvind Redbeard]

The Principality of Prime. The proudest, riches and most populous province of the Allerian Empire. A vast stretch of fertile lowlands and tamed woods from the high peaks of the Khardran Mountains to the shores of the Eastern Sea dotted by countless hamlets, villages, towns and some of the largest cities on the continent.

Prime's place as the beating heart of the Empire had always granted it a measure of safety from the disasters that had befallen Alleria for the past thirty years or more. When High Queen Fire Mystia decided to set a city alight like a match against the night sky she had sent her dirigibles to Aslangrad in Arium, when the Jaedaxians had declared their independence the Imperial Legions had walked over the corpses of their sons and daughters, and when Sherian had stood defiantly against usurpation of the Crown its population had been punished and turned into walking dead.

For all that time Prime had prospered.

Not anymore.
​

Times change.​

The explosions in Prime rocked the Principality to its core. Thousands were obliterated in an instant, sucked into gaping holes straight to Aeternia before Cyraxians poured out to rage mayhem and destruction across the First City. At the same time from tunnels long forgotten and unguarded the Dwarven Throng of Daelagia marched out to take by assault the prosperous and ancient agricultural colony of Agerburg, now called Candaceburg in dubious honour to a rebellious Queen. The Sons of Cetheron were not alone in their attack as from caves deeper still rose the Ratta warriors of the Rodenti Realms Below. In their thousands they poured out of the ground to battle Man and Dwarf alike for the prize that are the fertile plains on the banks of the Ioannes River.

Such sudden offensives had startled the local peasants. With their town centre taken and held in the midst of battle by these two invading forces, and with the Imperial Legions slow to respond the farmers and herders had taken upon themselves to protect their families. A soft people, unaccustomed to war and its violence by decades of plump wealth the only way most knew how to save their families was by flight. Few if any knew how to hold a spear as fewer and fewer were the veterans native to these parts. People here lived dull lives of toil paused only by the cyclical harvest festival.

They were the perfect prey for any hunter.

When the herd cries the wolves howl in return and already they gathered like crows over the fleeing populace. Descending from the Southern Khardran came Kruol of the Horde of Orckon. His snout sniffing the air and smelling fear and panic. Of the Orckish Assembly he was the only to come this time, a sign of his initiative and continual lustful hunger for carnage and man flesh. A scout for future conquests perhaps. His mount, the Warg turned Sphinx made him the singular flying Orc, but already the stone wings tired and pressed the need for violence below.

From the opposite direction escaping the ruins of the capital came an odd duo. Scales and leather wings held this strange pair of friends aloft to perch down on the unsuspected. She a Draconess and she a Vampire with a friendship forged in a strange place under stranger circumstances, at least for what those about to be feasted upon would consider.

The peculiar team had been flying about for long enough to have spotted their sweetest target. Of all the disparate groups of refugees heading West this was by far the easiest prey. A band of old men, women and children pulling hand-held carts and a couple wagons and bringing a handful of cows along. From high above they couldn't see a single glint of silvery steel. This was a defenceless bunch, but they weren't by far the only bunch.

There were several bands about, some on the Kingsroad some treading the wilds and fields while keeping to themselves. On the road a few miles to the East the trio could spot a band of men treading lightly and following the path of the small convoy of families. Farther to the West also on the main road was a carriage surrounded by riders. All three groups of travellers were heading West to what seemed a small holdfast perched on a rocky outcropping watching over the plains before the foothills of the Khardran. What had once been a lookout for attacks from the outside the Principality from Orcs and mountain brigands was now sheltering those attacked on the inside.

They had to get there first though and as the trio descended like a thunderstorm the odds of that happening dwindled awfully fast. The Warg turned Stone Sphinx's wings were tiring from flight, but it's paws still held all their danger. It crashed into one of the oxen pulled wagons like a marble meteorite and a silent grin instead of a roar instantly panicking the poor souls already running for their lives. The ox moan and tried to escape but it was tied to a pole stuck under the stone monstrosity.

The miscreants weren't yet recovered from their scare when in gracefully dropped a Draconess the colour of a burning ember and a fancy skirted woman with a skin so pale it could be made of opal. Black and White came the death from above. All motion was held for a second that lasted for eternity as old men and pregnant women clutched their children closer. Then Ministra flashed her fangs and they were all running for their lives carrying babies over their chests while letting go of toddlers.

Children cried all around and more than a handful were abandoned on the spot by the stampede.​

 

[Kruol]

A bestial howl filled the dark skies as brother and sphinx-sister fell on the refugees.

This was no merchant train, though. Merely a herd of cattle. Once they touched down on solid ground again, Kruol began the familiar routine of drawing wide circles with the tip of his mace. The crude, back steel of the flanged mace was equal parts axe and hammer. It felt at home in his grasp, especially while mounted atop his warg-brother-turned-sphinx-sister. Using his knees to steer and urge his mount, Kruol held tight onto the corded rope of Aaarg's reins as they wove a path of bloodshed and mayhem among the fleeing peasants and their livestock.

His eyes widened with excitement as children were abandoned, the screams and cries of the whelps boiling his blood with hungry anticipation. If they happened to do a sweep, Kruol would allow Aaarg snack on a baby or two. She was a growing girl and needed the protein. Soon, both his sphinx-sister and his flanged mace would be drinking the blood of innocents. Kruol spared a sideways glance at the unusual pair. Normally, the big black orc did not like to share ... but those were during leaner years.

Chaos reigned here -- and there was plenty to go around.

Kruol bared his tusked teeth as he wheeled Aaarg around, pulling hard on her reigns. He saw a pregnant woman then charged.

Nothing was better than a two-fer-one.

 

[Ministra]

Ministra spent so much of her time in isolation, brooding and mourning the things that she had lost, that she’d almost forgotten what it was like to have fun. To reign chaos and death upon unsuspecting citizens. She supposed that now was as good a time as any to remind herself of the elf she’d once been, the mischievous miscreant whose Trysvalian antics left a bad taste in everyone’s mouths.

She watched as the orc swooped into the crowd of innocents, his warcry invigorating her. Taking a moment to enjoy the scene, Mini listened to the blood rushing through terrified veins. The hearts that beat so wildly they could have been war drums. ”It’s good to be back amongst the living,” she said to no one in particular, but her voice did turn the head of a fleeing woman. It was the last mistake she would make.

Ministra spun in the air, her twin daggers whooshing around herself in a whirlwind, catching the woman’s throat with a blade and slicing a neat line from ear to ear. Blood gurgled from the wound and Mini was quick to attach her mouth to the vein. She didn’t drink long, just enough to whet her appetite, before a child rushed past. This one, Ministra stabbed in the back, impaling him on her dagger.

Retrieving her weapon, she raced closer to the caravan where the majority of the hunted remained, cowered amongst their possessions. ”One, two, three, four,” she pointed a dagger at each person, a devious grin twisted onto her plasma-stained visage. ”I declare a blood war.”

With that, she pulled upon the mystic side of her magic, weaving psionic energy into a mind control spell and unleashing it upon one of the women. Her superior vampiric ability to detach herself from emotion made entering a magical frame of mind infinitely easier than it had ever been. ”Now fight,” she told her minion, pointing at the other three. She wanted them to die by the hands of someone she presumed they knew.

 

[Kour'el Kha'Serith]

A deep belly laugh errupted from the black draconess' snout as the waves of panic and fear spread. The stone creature was an effective battering ram, flattening the oxen and starting the panic. The very good girl would have her choice of meat later, when everything lay dead at her feet. Kour'el would see to it that the creature got her just reward. And perhaps belly pats , if stone creatures liked that sort of thing. Unless it was truly like a cat, in which case the belly may be trapped.

But that was a later problem. For now the carnage was already begun, Mini and the orc claiming their own kills. Kour'el felt a tinge of competition enter her broken soul and she grinned ferociously. She would not let the brute or even the elf turned vampire best her, a dracon raised from the dead to exact vengeance on the softskins. That these people had never harmed her before did nothing, likely they would have given have the chance cut her wings and displayed them on church doors, like so many of her kind had been mutilated and killed over the years.

Nor was she squeamish about the children. They would grow up to be their parents all over, spouting sanctimonious bullshit about the inherent evil of her kind, doubly so since that bitch Diana had saved them and then fallen herself. Kour'el's own children would endure hardship because of these miserable mewling sacks of meat and so she killed them, the long knives flashing in the light. The children though were dispatched quickly. Kour may have been a monster but she was not that bad a monster yet. She didn't toy with the youngsters as she cut them down, instead they were methodically killed as quickly as possible when they got in her reach.

Not so much the older ones fleeing, they were dealt with in a more gruesome fashion, the knives went in low on the body. Gut wounds festered and killed slowly, the heavy blade of the sax severing the spine and rendering some crippled from the waist down. These ones, the maimed she dedicated to Ainlar himself in a crooning whisper in their dying faces. They would die with her twisted horns and flashing teeth filling their eyes with terror in their final moments.

All the while she laughed as the blood coated her weapons and scales.

 

[Eyvind Redbeard]

By three they came. By three, they open the way. By blood of the unwilling they call home the destruction they call divinity.

The cacophony of sounds was deafening. People scrambled about like scared sheep overturning carts and breaking carefully stored pottery. Babies screeched like moribund Goblins. Old men stumbled in their distress to get away. Children were abandoned by their mothers' in their desperate flight. It was not the idealised image of Humanity standing bravely against all odds, this was the stampede of a people already broken, wild and naked of all pretences of civilisation. There was no dream of Empire and mighty Legions protecting this people. They had known fear when their houses were set alight by attackers from the underworld, but they now experienced a wholly new sensation...​

Terror​

With a swing of his mace Kruol started the dance of Jalat by sending a perfectly good ox down with a crushed skull. Next were the driver and his companion who couldn't escape the onslaught of the Black Orc. Like the legendary Grek this savage from the Khardran carved a bloody path amidst the fleeing peasants as Aaarg fed with mouthfuls from the dead or dying, that was until their rampage found the children. Three in number they huddled under a wagon in a collective hug. Their faces were smudged with dirt and ash and apathic at the growing ruin around them. There was no attempt at escape, no cry for help, no struggle or resistance as Aarg opened its maw to start feeding on the still breathing bodies of the children. They didn't fight, they didn't flee. They just remained silent with a single tear rolling down their faces. Resignation maybe? Trauma and shock most likely. They had survived Candaceburg but lost their lives there and then, Kruol was just tying loose ends. Aaarg didn't complain at all, rejoicing in the free meal. Bones cracked and crunched under its stone fangs as three innocents were added to the feasting list of the Worg turned Sphinx. Next came the pregnant woman...

Another woman smiled, until her head dropped back opening a fleshy maw of death as Ministra's dagger forced its way across the thick neck. Her victim had been a thick woman and she dropped sideways like a stone, blood spurting out like a fountain after the vampire had sated her lust. Meat for the coyotes. More meat piled over the smiling woman when a child was impaled, skin, bone and flesh, by the raging descendant of Nakasha. Like any of the Seven Maids Ministra was devious in her destructive ways, letting her foes tear at each other for her own pleasure. Her Mystical weaves enthralled one of the refugees and her command sent what had once been a caring neighbour into a murderous bloodrage. "Clarissa, wait...no!" One of the others cried as the thrall mauled her with a rock. Clarissa, blue eyes turned red and teeth shattering from the uncontrolled drive to harm those around her move on to choke her next victim.

The last child dropped from the wagon they had tried to hide as Kour'el slit the last throat. They had died quickly, but not necessarily painlessly. They had been paralysed by terror as they saw a black monster riding a stone monster eating their friends nearby. Like rag-dolls they had been dragged, one by one, from under the blanket they tried to use as cover and slain with swift strokes. Jalat would be singing their lullabies that night. The adults and the elderly weren't so fortunate as most lay sprawling face down or belly up on the ground grabbing at deep incapacitating wounds. A man tried to grab at his own bowls as they spilled from betwixt his fingers while another attempted to crawl away to cover with motionless legs dangling beyond him. The Draconess' fury was neverending.

All seemed lost for the beleaguered refugees, and all probably still was. Most of them lay dead or dying, not few corpses lacked bits and chunks. Three brigands and a carnivorous mount had wrecked boundless havoc and ruin upon this people killing them one by one.

Yet, there were some who resisted.

A last alliance of man and boy elf stood their ground against the mountain of odds set against them. The man was a lone shepherd who had lost herd and dog in the first onslaught from the underground and had little to carry. Others had named him the leader of the most fragile group of refugees and he had reluctantly accepted. The other was an Elvish youth. An orphan son of another orphan who had in turn also been an orphan. His line was one of disaster and suffering since the fall of Coldmoon, the Elvish Rebellion and now the beginning of the Ratta War. Could be his son would one day become an orphan of some future war and carry on the long lived tradition of suffering from loss. He was the only non-Human in the whole convoy and had always been shunned within his community due to his Elvish heritage to the point he had cut off the top of one of his long ears until the shepherd came upon him and saved him from further self-mutilation. They made an intriguing duo, the man holding a staff with a piece of cloth hanging from its tip and the boy a similar piece of cloth in his hand.

Kour'el saw them first on the other side of the mock battlefield and noticed them placing something small on their respective pieces of cloth and start swinging them, but it was Ministra with her enhanced sight that saw the projectiles crossing through the air directly at the side of the Sphinx's head and torso making it stumble sideways and missing the pregnant woman. Kruol, for his agility fell sideways with his ride but avoided the worst of the crash. Luck had it his legs were not caught underneath the stone monstrosity. Aaarg shook its head and patted at the dents made by the lead bullets the slingers had tossed at it.

Shepherd and Elf weren't losing any time to glare at their own success and reloaded to shoot back at the Draconess and Vampire with a fluidity born of two individuals trained in moving their herds about with glancing hits of carefully aimed stones.

In the meanwhile the other refugees were slipping away in all directions, but most were running towards their destination, the holdfast perched on top a crag farther to the West.​

 

[Kruol]

He bathed in the blood, savored in every bit of gore and ichor. Kruol barked with laughter as he slew them like sheep. He was orc and they were snacks.

Then Arrrg whimpered and growled as something hard and small slammed against her stone head. The sphinx-warg fell sideways, rolling, and Kruol instinctively jumped and tumbled away from the crash. Even when his sphinx-sister was mere fur and flesh, the wolf creature was large enough to pin and crush his legs during a fall. Learning to survive such an eventuality was one of the first things any warg rider learned.

Though it didn't make the fall any more pleasant.

The orc, interrupted, fell into a crouch. He was far too big and black and monstrous to ever make for a small target. But the slingers were decent at their coward's weapon. Shepherds, perhaps, or maybe even legion cowsons. Kruol remembered slingers and archers among the Empire's fighting forces. They died just like any other softskin. Though their meat was left as carrion for crows.

"DEZ!", hissed the One-Eyed Hammer in Orckish as he sprinted away from the peasants. Once Arrrg was beneath him again, he urged the sphinx-warg to soar upwards, higher and higher, beyond the range of the stone missiles. Their aim was to reach the clouds -- and rain death from above and behind the Shepherd and Elf.

They were two. They were three. If the Huntresses were smart, they would split the peasants and Kruol could take them from behind!

 

[Ministra]

”Clarissa, wait… no!” Ministra mimicked and teased the woman as her friend bludgeoned her face in with a rock. She snickered and watched her thrall decimate her other friend, then stabbed Clarissa in the back for her efforts; she’d served her purpose and the ground would now welcome her sanguine essence into its roots.

Glancing around for her next victim, she noticed a couple of men in the distance just in time to bear witness at their weak attempt to defend themselves. A projectile soared through the air and hit the orc’s flying gargoyle, sending the both of them sprawling across the field.

There was a time when Mini would have pointed and laughed at the orc’s predicament. Even now, she couldn’t deny how hilarious it was to see his thick legs flying through the air over his equally dense skull. But laughter, real genuine laughter, didn’t come as easily to her as it used to. Now, she had to make due with a malicious grin and a shrug of her shoulders.

The orc clambored to his feet, shouted something in his weird language, and then took off into the air above their attackers. No part of Mini wanted to join in an aerial assault and she felt the need to let Kour know as much. ”Don’t you grab me again!” she shouted to the draconness and grabbed Clarissa’s arm, tugging her from the ground to hurl the corpse across the field towards the shepherd and the elf.

Using her vampiric celerity and strength, Ministra pushed forward, tossing dead bodies in the air as cover from the projectiles until she could grab hold of the elf and sink her teeth into his neck.

 

[Kour'el Kha'Serith]

She was terribly methodical as she made her way through the bodies present, rendering them to so much inert meat. She was long past the point of feeling bad for the meeting cries of the children. Murdering her dream children over and over again while in limbo had done irreparable things to her psyche. At least they died quickly. More than she could say for the older people. The trail of their bodies told a tale of pain and terror. It was delicious.

Then a few people tried to be heros. A sneer graced her snout at the sight of the boy and man slinging stones their way. They managed to take the orc's beast down though she was back on her feet quick enough.

The flurry of bodies Moni began throwing about was darkly hilarious to the draconess. She laughed at the site before she turned her silver eyes to the other people fleeing. Mini was quite capable of taking care of herself and the orc had his stone creature.

So that left the few who had managed to flee for her. Kour flexed her wings and clawed her way skyward. Picking the farthest targets she headed in their direction, ready to swoop down and steal their hope first and then their lives. So close and yet no salvation would come their way.

 

[Eyvind Redbeard]

Cruelty did not become most people, except for Vampires. Cruelty suit them just fine. Of any kind really. Mocking the dying most become them, considering their unnatural immortality. Some scholars were pretty sure Vampires could make terrific dark comedy performers if they were not so busy feasting on the audience, as they made fun of it for attending in the first place.

Rather different was sadism. A more refined form of cruelty it hinged on squeezing a measure of pleasure from the suffering of others. Experts would list such trait under the label of sociopathy or psychopathy, depending on exactly how the pleasure was attained. As this writer lacks any kind of expertise on the matter he will simply claim the Draconess had something wrong in her. Kour'el was beyond revenge. She was beyond survival and the destruction of her perceived enemies. She was ultimately lost in a spiral of pain she probably regarded as part of her personality.

Skill is an interesting thing. It is the capacity of performing a task. Typically increased skill means the capacity of performing the same task in ever more rigorous circumstances and to a better conclusion. What they usually don't tell about skill in rigorous circumstances is that it is also the capacity of utilising and steering luck to enhance the performance of the aforementioned task.

The Orc Nob (yes, he was big and hardy and very hairy under his armpits, not to mention very manly, angry and hungry, but wasn't a Boss yet. Yet) was a skilled rider who knew how to turn luck into his own advantage. Falling was second nature to the Black Orc. Society had shaped him into becoming a fall expert by manner of fists hammering at the top of his head as he grew up. It built character, Orcs wholeheartedly believed regardless of not possessing words in their native speech to describe it. More big and more dakka were their proxy, and Kruol was all about more big and more dakka, but he was also agile for his size as all worg riders wont. Accepting the fall for what it was the Nob rolled into a crouch before sprinting back at his mount, jumping over it and kicking Aaarg into a tremor of a liftoff.

Kour'el and Ministra were left staring as the smiling Orc shot right up and out of the fight rising and rising and rising and rising! After all, the clouds were very far away.

The two Huntresses weren't incapable of putting up their own fight though, much to the contrary. Both charged at the duo shooting at them almost simultaneously. In spite of Kour'el's aerial approach the Vampire's preternatural speed and strength would have her win the race, if there was ever one, were it not for her curious corpse dance. It wasn't an easy charge though as more lead bullets rained over them. The first had Clarissa's head explode mere moments after being thrown who resulted a perfectly ruined dressed for Ministra as brains and blood covered her face, hair and most everything above her waist blinding her momentarily with what was essentially food. The second whizzed past Kour'el snout as the Shepherd miscalculated her take off speed.

Neither the Shepherd nor the young Elf had time to shoot a second time as the Huntresses closed on them, they weren't unprepared either though.

Bringing his sling staff up the man to parry the long knives of the Draconess and pushed back at her immense size, strength, weight and momentum, but not before being forced to place a knee down. Kour'el was pushed back, but not before denting severely the commoner's weapon. Hardwood or not, it wouldn't be usable as a staff for long.

Ministra for her part stumbled over the young Elf with her face looking more like a maddened queen or an Hungarian Countess grabbing hold of his arm and yanking it to expose the tender neck arteries. Her maw opened, her fangs shone almost like steel in the sun and then she noticed the shadow fast approaching from behind the two refugees.

Charging fast at them came Kruol. Perhaps too fast. Too fast really. Stone could fly, but it made for something very hard to slow down during a descent from such high place as the clouds!

A crippled man rose his head at the curious scene before him. A knife wielding Draconess being pushed back by a man with a staff, a boy being pulled by the arm and having his head pulled back for a bit by a blood soaked woman and a Black Orc astride a flying stone sphinx about to barrel into that whole mess.​

 

[Ministra]

Well, it wasn’t the first time Ministra had ruined a dress by getting it covered in blood, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. Quite honestly, she liked the added effect it gave her. A beautiful woman, covered head to toe in delicious blood, was there anything in the world more tantalizing? Not that she could think of and Mini had a wild imagination.

Of course there was the small fact that the gore ran into her eyes and momentarily blinded her before she could wipe it away. No matter though, both her elvish and vampiric graces helped lead her to the young elf’s side so that she could grab his arm and expose his neck. One didn’t need perfect vision to feed, after all.

It was just as she was about to sink her fangs into that supple carotid when she noticed the orc on his thing flying far too fast in their direction. Mini sneered and bit the elf’s throat, wrapping her arms around his body and then jumping out of the way as fast, hard, and far as she could, all while gulping on the blood that came rushing out of his vein.

 

[Kruol]

Let it not be said that Kruol did not know how to share. In fact, he was a very generous orc.

Pulling hard onto Spharrrg's reins, the rider and the stone sphinx angled their descent so that they swooped above the commotion below.

They did their purpose and distracted the cowards so that the two Huntresses could enact their bloodsport. If there was an opportunity, he would 'knight' one of the peasants by denting his skull with the tip of his mace!

 

[Sheng Kaldres]

The result of the mess was simple. The elf was dead, the shepherd would trip and pushed back by the force from Kroul's action and hit his head upon a stone and died. For those that jumped aside from Kroul's rush would get out of the away, unharmed. So what next?

 

[Kruol]

There was a lot of death and the big, black orc relished in it.

Kruol squeezed his legs around Spharrrg, urging her to fly upward again. Best not get greedy and get picked off by some courageous softskin while they were flying low and dirty.

The new plan was to regain air superiority and examine the fleeing, screaming chattel to pluck their newest, fattest targets!

 

[Sheng Kaldres]

Flying upwards, Kruol could not see any targets at first. It was until he reached a height high above the trees, feeling the wisp of clouds that formed at the lowest level, he could see specks of what seemed to be targets. One was towards the North, the other towards the left. At the height and distance, it was hard to determine what was moving but there was a number of them.

So a decision? If Kruol was lucky, maybe some humans. If not, some deers and such. Or soldiers with bows.