IC: -2401
Gazing across the blood-soaked field as the bodies of countless savage greenskins littered its surface, the crude fortress that had once stood so defiantly before them, now burned with smoke rising high into the sky and as it did, Rahkan-hotep could not help but smile in satisfaction as he observed his handiwork. The siege had been fierce and brutal for the barbarians had outnumbered his army by at least ten-to-one and yet through courage, discipline and faith in the Gods, they had proven victorious. He then turned his eyes towards the gathered army where men dressed in uniforms of gold and whites stood at the ready with spears, swords, axes and bows glittering under the glorious gaze of Ptra.
Like many people in the land of Nehekhara when compared to the northern tribes, Rahkan-hotep was a swarthy and dark skinned man with black hair and eyes that were the colour of dark brown. He had a strong and impressive build that would have matched those of the men of Ka-Sabar and with it; he easily carried a mighty double bladed, gilded glaive which resembled the ones used by the Ushabti that guarded the Priest Kings. In battle, the glaive would ignite with divine fire once it tastes the blood of the corrupt, the guilty and those black of heart as it desired nothing more than to bring judgment down upon the wicked.
His gilded bronze armour was highly stylized to resemble the wings of a hawk around the breastplate and the imagery of the same creature was prominently displayed for the bird of prey was the favored form of his patron deity. Golden pauldrons that were shaped like the heads of the same hunting bird adorned his shoulders which was connected to sleeves of scale armour that and plated gauntlets that ended in talon-like claws. His lower body was protected as well by a kilt of gilded bronze scales and his greaves which covered his knees and feet were also adorned with the likenesses of hawks.
Raising his gilded double-edged glaive to the air with one hand, he let loose a load triumphant roar that was echoed by his legion. He waited for a moment to allow his soldier their moment of triumph before finally, he turned his gaze towards the rabble that awaited him. Huddled together like lambs waiting for the slaughter, he felt nothing but pity as he looked to the sea of weak skeletal beings that awaited him.
In the years since he had begun campaigning within this land north of Nehekhara, Rahkan-hotep had found nothing but savagery and barbarism. Whether it be from the brutish greenskins, the mutated monstrosities that blended the features of men and animals or even just simply other human beings, all he saw was a land in need of stability and order, something which he easily could deliver. Clearing his throat while ignoring the pain in his chest for he had earlier been hit by a hammer, he then began to speak in the crude tongue of the barbarians.
'To the barbarian people of the Borderlands!' he shouted while drawing their attention 'I am Rahkan-hotep of Mahrak! I am a General in service to the Khemrikhara, the Eternal Sovereign, The Lord of Earth and the Monarch of the Sky; I serve the will of Settra the Imperishable! And before you all I offer, two choices.'
The crowd of barbarians grew silent as they listened with many he could see had the dead eyed looks of those who had lived for too long as slaves to the greenskins. He then continued and spoke 'I offer you all the choice of freedom to return to your lands and rebuild your homes!' The crowd then stared at him for a moment some likely wondered whether it was a cruel trick while some broke down in tears of relief and joy.'
'But know that if you leave!' he added 'you will have to fend for yourselves from the greenskins, the beasts that walk like men, other human tribes or the warriors of the Blessed Land.' The crowd then looked to the readied legion of Nehekharan soldiers that stood before them and if Rahkan-hotep desired it, he could have each and every one of the barbarians put to the sword.
'And what is the other choice you give us!?' asked the voice of a barbarian woman who stepped forward, unlike the other barbarians, she did not have the look of one who had been in captivity for long for she had several lengths of black braided hair, war paint and the toned muscles of a warrior.
'The other choice I offer is this' said Rahkan-hotep 'swear fealty to Nehehkhara! Swear to become subjects of the mighty Settra the Imperishable! And if you do! I swear to Phakth, God of Justice and to all the other Gods of the Blessed Land that I, Rahkan-hotep and the legions that follow me will keep you and your families safe!' A murmur then began to break out among the slaves with many not knowing quite what to do.
The barbarian woman who had earlier spoken stepped forward and she gave one long appraising look towards the General. The woman then thumped her right fist over her heart and she bowed to Rahkhan-hotep in fealty. The crowd then whispered to one another as they discussed amongst themselves before finally, more and more of them began bowing down to the General.
'My lord?' came the concerned voice of one of Rahkan-hotep's officers who understood some of the barbarian language and the Nehekharan General looked to the man with a curious expression. The officer then cleared his throat and he quietly asked 'isn't the High King awaiting for slaves and wealth?'
'And he shall have grateful new subjects who will work his mines, farm his fields, build monuments and pay their taxes, all while praising his name' was the good hearted reply of Rahkan-hotep.
'As you command my lord' nodded the officer who seemed more than a bit skeptical of the General's decision.
He then turned his eyes to the barbarian crowd again and he nodded to them with every intent on keeping his word. Under the sharp eyes of his god, he swore that so long as he still drew breath, as long as he still remained within this mortal world, he would continue to be a paragon of divine righteousness. And this was his pledge for he was Rahkan-hotep, Servant of Settra the Imperishable, Blessed of Phakth the Just, Bringer of Maat and Vanquisher of the Djinn, and none shall dispute his righteous cause.
Present day
Agony coursed through the legs of Karl Stoker as he ran faster than he had thought himself capable of. His body demanded respite from such strenuous physical exertion but in his mind, he knew that to stop would only mean a certain death. He looked back to see if his pursuers were still chasing him and despite the darkness of the night with only source of light being the moon of Mannslieb and the stars above, his eyes widened when he saw the sinuous forms of wolves with foaming maws and wicked goblins mounted upon them.
Loudly shouting a curse, the Stirland-born mercenary regretted ever leaving his home village in the Empire and joining a Free Company Band. If it hadn't been for the captain and his stupid plan about looking for lost dwarf treasure, they wouldn't have run into that goblin lair and Karl wouldn't be running for his life. He should have stayed a baker, he thought with terror as he prayed to all the gods to save him from these vile things.
Already, he could smell the foul animal stink of the wolves and their riders as they drew closer while the barking of the beasts was mixed with the cheering and snickering of the goblins. A javelin flew past him, a little above his shoulder and he heard the thud as an arrow struck the ground behind him. The goblins jeered and shouted encouragements to both Karl and their kin for the cruel little monsters liked to play around before they kill something.
Looking back towards the darkened ahead of him, he saw a hooded and robed stranger walking in his direction and he loudly called out while pleading for aid. The stranger stopped for a moment and it looked as if it tilted its head towards Karl. Another spear swished over the head of the Free Company mercenary and he saw it fly towards the stranger, Karl called out in warning but was too late as he saw the point of the projectile flying close to the robed figure.
A loud snap of wood echoed in the darkness as the stranger was staggered back by the thrown spear but amazingly, he still stood there. Karl's eyes widened in horror for it even a man garbed in plate armour should have been skewered. As the mercenary ran, he felt the tip of his boot strike against a rocky outcropping, tripping him, and the next thing he knew, he was falling to the hard earth.
Pain exploded across the mercenary's head as his face slammed into the ground and stars exploded across his vision which momentarily blurred. Quickly trying to get up, he heard the heavy thud of plated boots followed by the jingle of mail to his left and as he glanced to his side, he could have sworn that he saw a glint of gold. The robed stranger continued to slowly walk towards the oncoming goblin wolf riders in utter silence.
One over-eager goblin let loose a loud shrilling war cry as it leapt from the back of its wolf and towards the robed stranger with its spear held in both hands while its mount bared its fangs and leapt as well. Karl's eyes widened in horror for surely this stranger was doomed but then he heard a clicking sound from the robed figure and a twin bright flashes swiped towards its attackers. The Stirlander's jaw dropped as he saw the goblin split into two as both halves struck the ground rather messily close to him while the wolf dropped with its head severed.
Twin golden flames suddenly blazed across two blades which the stranger carried, both were of a design Karl had never even seen in his life. The other goblins cautiously began to encircle the stranger while their mounts growled and snapped with foam and drool covering their fang filled mouths. The stranger did not give them time to react and was swiftly on the assault.
One wolf rider leapt back while two others moved in for the kill with spears raised and the stranger swiftly spun its twin blades which felled the two wolves with skulls split in twain. The goblins now mount-less goblins shrieked in surprise and terror but their fear was short lived before the twin burning blades severed their heads from their necks. The remaining wolf riders quickly began backing away from this fearsome and silent stranger and Karl could have sworn that he had caught a glimpse of gilded gauntlets and armour as well.
The stranger then gazed towards the goblins with both blades still blazing and Karl could hear the whimpering of the wolvers and the fear that was etched upon the foul faces of the greenskins. One of the goblins then began to shriek orders at its kin and the greenskins swiftly turned away from the stranger and they fled with their high pitched voices filling the night air. The golden flames quickly extinguished and briefly did the mercenary see two curved blades that were etched with strange symbols.
The robed stranger then turned towards Karl and he heard it begin to speak in a dry, whispery tone, its speech was of a foreign tongue that he had never heard of and yet it was enough of send a chill up his spine. Waves of fresh fear began to course through him for he had begun to remember many dread stories of unnaturally resilient creatures that wore dark robed garbs and were capable of stealing a man's soul with but a glance. His fear lent him a frenzied vigor and before the robed stranger came close, he was already up and running away into the night once more as if all the daemons of the Realm of Chaos were chasing him.
Once more did the simple son of a baker look back towards that fateful day in Stirland and he regretted having made what was possibly the worst decision in his entire life and if he somehow managed to ever get back to the Empire, he was going quit the mercenary life. Little did he know that had he stood his ground for just a moment longer, his fortunes would finally have been found for in the gauntleted hands of the stranger, the glittering forms of small golden coins from an ancient age was held out in exchange for a simple service.
The crowd that had gathered around the Swine's Wine was perhaps one of the sorriest lots Yasmine had ever seen in her life. Mercenaries, Adventurers, Outlaws, Mule Skinners and Vagrants were the sort of people that often stopped by the inn as they traveled across the Border Princes and once she counted herself somewhere among the first two. Most of the louts had been so deep in their cups that more than half of them had already attempted to feel her up or make some rather lewd and unflattering advances towards her.
As far as she could tell, the only customers who had been close to real gentlemen was that band of dwarfs who passed by a month earlier. They had been very generous in their tips and they had kept their hands to themselves while nearly drinking the entire establishment dry. Yasmine softly smiled as she thought of one of the dwarfs who had even bothered to defend her honour from the rather crass attentions of a drunken group of Tileans; Belegar Gorrinson she remembered was the name of the chivalrous Slayer.
Wishing them a great success to whatever sort of quest they were on and hoping that they would return one day, she honestly also wished that she could have gone with them towards east. For over a year now, Yasmine had worked in this establishment to help her uncle, Bertrand, in keeping the place running. She had been a Ranger once, scouting for caravans and guiding travelers from place to place, just being outside in the wilds always made her just feel so alive for some reason.
All that changed though when her cousin, Claudio who helped run the inn, ran off with some girl from one of the nearby towns. Neither Yasmine nor her uncle knew whatever happened to Claudio or the girl he ran off with. Because of her cousin's sudden leaving, Yasmine had been forced to give up being a Ranger so she could help her uncle.
Life was though for most folk in the Border Princes and if it wasn't the famines or the plagues that would kill you, the various bands of outlaws or the fighting among the principalities would as much as the monsters did. For all they knew, her cousin and his girl could have been eaten up by something nasty or be living in some other principality. Often at night, she prayed to the gods to keep her cousin safe while offering one to Morr, just in case for she was realistic enough to know what sort of place the Border Princes was.
She briefly felt sad for a moment as she remembered her home back in Carcassonne of Bretonnia and the family she had left behind. Yasmine didn't quite remember why she had been forced to leave and her uncle had always been reluctant to speak of it, but there had been something about an enchantress or someone like that who was going to take her away from her parents back when she was a child. The person she also really missed was her twin sister who remembered as of looking quiet identical to herself, sometimes when she slept, she imagined seeing her sister and the peaceful life she lived.
With a sigh, she decided to get back to work and went towards the bar where a tray full of old wooden drinking steins (which probably were in need of cleaning) waited to be delivered. Lifting up the tray while balancing it on her right shoulder and supporting it with her left hand, Yasmine then moved towards a nearby table where a trio of newly arrived mercenaries from the Empire sat. This particular lot seemed even more miserable than the rest of the customers for their clothes were all stained with dirt, dried blood and torn in many places, not to mention how each of them had missing body parts with one having a right peg leg, another having a hook for a left hand and another wearing an eye patch to his right.
The first drink she delivered was to a rather portly and thickly mustached mercenary wearing a dust stained uniform of yellow and black and surrounded by a slight fog of tobacco smoke as the man and many of fellows smoked from pipes. The mercenary quietly offered his thanks in a rather despondent manner as he placed a few pfennigs upon the table before taking his drink and the other two mercenaries did so as well with none of them barely paying Yasmine anymore attention. A dead puppy dog would be even cheerier company to have than these poor sods.
Well it was not her business she thought while pocketing the coins and heading back to the bar where a fresh set of steins waited. As she moved, a loud bang resounded from the front door and all eyes within the tavern was suddenly focused on the newcomers with more than a few slowly reaching for their weapons. At the doorway, Yasmine saw a group of mean looking men wearing a mix of leather jacks, mail armour and a wide assortment of weapons from cudgels to black powder guns, most likely some Prince's paid bully boys or "Tax Collectors"
'And what's all this eh? Someone died or something?' asked a rather gangly looking man with lanky black hair who spoke in Reikspiel. The man looked like he had been in one too many fights with a nose that had been broken and improperly reset too many times, a nasty scar ran across his right cheek, cauliflower ears and an extravagant feathered hat which rested on his head.
The crowd then returned to their own businesses with none looking for any trouble with the armed gang of newcomers who soon had more members coming and each one looked just as armed as the first ones. The newcomers of whom numbered six in total, sat themselves along the bar stools where some of those who had already been drinking were "encouraged" to vacate. Judging by the way these newcomers seemed to carry themselves, Yasmine had a pretty sure feeling that they were in the mood for starting some trouble.
Seeing her uncle go up to the men and begin taking their orders, Yasmine went back to tending to the other customers and she hoped that the night would pass without incidents. Yet at the back of her mind, she had feelings of doubt that tonight would be anything but peaceful. Well hopefully, they would be nice enough to at least take it outside if or when trouble does start, but in her experience, that hardly ever happened and often they had to go clean up the teeth, blood or occasional corpse.
Lights could be seen through the glass windows of the hovel that lay before him and the memories of a previous, half-remembered life filled the mind of Rakhan-hotep. The building was certainly a far cry from the primitive huts that had once dotted the land so long ago, though not by much he thought. Despite the appearance of civilization, it seemed that nothing changed in all these millennia for the land was still inhabited by barbarians, human or otherwise who were constantly fighting amongst each other.
Perhaps when his quest was over, Rakhan-hotep would bring an army to this land again and restore the order he had once fought so hard to bring but that would have to wait for the retrieval of what he sought was of utmost importance. Months ago, an army of the barbarian followers of Isfet, Chaos, had come to the Land of the Dead in search of treasures and wealth. While most of what they had stolen have been reclaimed, there was one particular relic of great power that had remained missing, the Eye of Sakhmet.
All he knew about The Eye of Sakhmet was that it was already ancient during the living reign of Settra of the Imperishable and that it held great power. As the stories went, Sakhmet, the goddess of the green moon and witchcraft, created the Eye as a mean to spy on Neru, the goddess of the white moon. Eventually, The Eye fell into the hands of the jealous goddess's priesthood who would use the blood of slaves to empower it and that even Settra himself had used it at times to find political dissidents.
Hopefully, the mortals that were currently inhabiting the structure would prove more cooperative than the one he had met on the road for he had need of a guide for traveling through this land. As Rakhan-hotep took a step forward, he heard a loud crack from inside which was followed by the sound of a woman shouting something while several of those within began to frantically move about before another loud crack silenced everything within. Whispering a silent curse, Rakhan-hotep walked towards the structure while keeping his hands close to his weapons and he heard what seemed to be an argument going on.
'You call this ale!?' shouted the angry voice of the man who lead the gang of men by the bar as he slammed his stein to the bar counter and spilling quite a bit of drink upon the surface.
'You get what you pay for' shrugged Uncle Bertrand rather non-chalantly as he focused on wiping another stein.
'Yeah! This tastes as if someone decided to add a bit of vinegar to orc-piss and try to pass it off as a proper drink' interjected one of the lead man's fellows and the other men of his gang began to use a rather colourful series of words to describe the drinks they had been served.
Yasmine's palms began to itch much in the way they often did when she was entering a dangerous spot and she looked to the group of men who had gathered around the bar with a worried look.
'We want our money back! this stuff is just crap!' said another of the men and already she could see some of other customers contemplating the idea of leaving.
'If you don't like it, just leave then' her uncle replied as he looked the men in the eye with mocking expression, as if daring them to draw their weapons. One of the men then drew his pistol and aimed it at Yasmine's uncle, causing a series of gasps from both her and many of the other customers. 'You think you rats scare me!? I was a Herrimault back in Bretonnia! T'as pas de couilles, bâtards!'
The pistol went off and in a sudden moment, the head of Yasmine's uncle exploded in a shower of blood, bone and gristle as his body was knocked back to a counter where several bottles of wine stood and the glass containers fell with a series of shattering glasses.
'Oncle!' shouted Yasmine in complete shock at what had just happened and several of the patrons tried to vacate the inn but another shot rang out as the pistol of the lead man barked.
'Nobody move!' shouted the lead man with the busted up nose as he drew another pistol and thumbed the hammer of it 'anyone who tries to leave without my say so gets a bullet in the arse! Now hands up! All of you!' A tense silence then descended upon those within the Swine's Wine inn and after a moment, the lead man glared to the one who had shot Yasmine's uncle.
'You all heard what he said!' desperately explained the murderer as he looked to their leader 'that bugger was putting some sort of hex on us!'
'He was speaking in damned Breton you stupid, rabid bastard!' roared the leader with more annoyance than anger 'now how the hell are we supposed to start a racket when the people we are supposed get the money from are dead!?'
'Well what about her then? She looks pretty enough' said another of their gang as he pointed towards Yasmine who held her ground and was calculating her odds of being able to run for cover.
The gang leader then gave her an appraising look for a moment and she did not like the glint that was in his eye. In the Border Princes where life was cheap, it wasn't unheard of for there to also be some rather unscrupulous individuals who engage in a bit of human trafficking for the sake of making a quick coin. The sound of the front door opening was suddenly heard by those within the inn and a few of the armed men pointed their pistols at a large, robed figure whose every feature was concealed by an absolutely ancient looking set of rags.
There was something about this stranger that sent a chill up Yasmine's spine and she couldn't quite exactly say what it was. The men who had pointed their guns at the stranger then began making demands of this particular newcomer who remained unfazed. The stranger looked around for a moment before suddenly stopping at the general direction of Yasmine and that chill she felt began to intensify for reasons she could not quite say why.
'I am warning you!' shouted the lead man more forcefully towards the stranger 'keep those hands up where I can see-' a sudden shot rang out from the pistol of the the man who had shot Yasmine's uncle and the bullet struck the stranger in the chest with the loud sound of metal screeching and bones snapping.
Much to the collective surprise of those within the Swine's Wine, the stranger staggered back but did not fall to the floor dead and simply got back up. A dry whispering voice was heard from the stranger, the sound of it further set Yasmine's nerves on edge and she saw two gilded blades slide out from underneath the sleeves of its garb and another tingling sensation was felt as she saw a glowing white upon golden claw-like fingers. The next thing Yasmine and the people within the inn knew, the stranger was sprinting towards the pistol armed men with serpentine swiftness.
More pistol shots rang out as the stranger closed the distance across the inn's floor with tables and chairs being knocked over and a variety of cheap alcoholic drinks spilled all over the floor boards. A few patrons screamed in pain as some were struck by stray bullets and others tried to flee the ongoing fight.
Evading the shots of the miniature dragon staves which the mortals carried, Rakhan-hotep's movements were greatly hastened by a ring which had been blessed by the priesthood of Asaph, the goddess of vengeance, magic and beauty. He had some knowledge of the weapons these mortals carried, he knew were quite powerful but slow and after a single shot, it took time to reload. Another shot rang out as he drew closer and the miniature metal ball struck his left gilded pauldron but it did little to halt his advance for he was beyond the feeling of pain.
Swinging his twin blades to the side, Rakhan-hotep felt his weapons cleave through mortal flesh and bone. His blades instantly ignited with golden fire as they tasted the blood of his victims and any possible feeling of remorse towards them had quickly evaporated. He then quickly pulled his twin blades out from the mortals he had struck and he ducked down and move to his left where another two were drawing hatchets and cudgels.
Spinning to his left with his weapons following him, Rakhan-hotep buried one burning blade into the gut of a mortal and the other found its way towards the neck of the other. The remaining two mortals that had dared to draw arms against him were swift to flee his wrath, one did not get far away as a mortal woman picked up a wooden chair and slammed it into the chest of the fleeing man while the other who was much faster picked up a lantern that lay upon a table and hurled it at Rakhan-hotep. The lantern shattered with glass near the hem of his robes and a small fire began spread.
Quickly discarding the robes before the flames could further spread onto himself, Rakhan-hotep was forced to reveal himself towards the mortals. Clad in the same gilded armour he had once worn in life, the General from Mahrak's once strong limbs were now reduced to withered bone and dry flesh which was concealed by golden scale armour. Ancient, mouldering cloth that had once been fine imported silks from the Dragon Lands of the East had also concealed his desiccated frame and his face was covered by a gilded war-mask that was shaped to resemble the visage of a hawk.
Still moving with the imbued agility granted by his blessed ring, Rakhan-hotep was like a hawk on the hunt, as he moved towards his target with taloned gauntlets outstretched. He quickly then grabbed the mortal by the back of his dark lanky hair and he slammed the man's head into the side of the doorway with a loud crack of bone and the mortal fell as limp as a puppet with its strings cut. He quickly noticed the writhing lights from behind him and he heard the crackling of flames as smoke began to fill the interior of the building.
The mortal woman who had struck one of dragon staff wielders with a chair had been beating the man with the broken legs of the piece of furniture before finally stopping to shout in a barbarian tongue as the flames further spread. The mortal woman rushed to the fires while continuously repeating a word which he did not understand but as the flames spread, Rakhan-hotep knew that he had to leave for he himself was very much flammable. Quickly grabbing the mortal woman, he felt her struggle uselessly in his grip before rushing out of the burning structure.
It all seemed so unreal to Yasmine as the fires that had consumed her uncle's inn had left nothing but a burned out ruin and she knelt there with glazed look. Smoke wafted upwards from the piles of charred lumber as the smell of scorched wood was dreadfully mixed with that of cooked pork. None of the customers who had come in had bothered to even help put out the flames and those who remained quickly ran away from the golden armoured warrior whose very presence sent an irrational fear into the very being of Yasmine.
The warrior silently watched her as he tightly held onto a glaive-like weapon with two blades that attached together at the bottom ends. From Yasmine's own experience in wandering the Border Princes, she recognized the armour and designs of the warrior's equipment as of belonging to one of the restless dead that inhabited some of the ancient ruins and barrows. Although she was still frightened by it, the fact that the undead warrior had not yet attempted to kill her and indeed had just pulled her out of the flames was rather puzzling for she would expect to have her brains eaten by now.
What was she to do now she thought for all of her money, belongings and everything had also been in that inn. As she knelt there, she heard the heavy steps of the undead warrior move towards her and Yasmine looked towards it with both fear and wariness. She gazed into the sculpted eyes of the hawk-masked thing as it began to speak in a dry, whispering tone and in a language unknown to her.
As the golden armoured warrior continued to speak she saw it reach a hand into a jingling pouch tied to its belt and her eyes widened when it removed several gold coins. It was more money than she had ever seen in her life and she noted how the pouch which the coins had come from still seemed rather full. The warrior then spoke once more with the gold coins still held out and it turned the mask of its beak towards the northwest.
'You… You need a guide?' asked Yasmine who found the idea of being employed by an undead creature to be strange at the least. The golden armoured warrior slowly nodded its masked head towards with the gold coins still so tantalizingly close to her own reach. Gulping warily, Yasmine slowly reached for one coin and the warrior allowed her to take it without any sort of hostile reaction.
Still unsure of whether this was going to perhaps be the worst idea in her entire life, Yasmine sure hoped that if things did not turn out well, she could at least run away as quickly as possible.