Scion in a Hyborian Age
Part 1: Washed Away in the Tides of Time
Lightning flashed all around the falling figures, strobbing weirdly as time seemed to slow... stop... or was that reverse? Suddenly the crash of thunder eclipsed the world as The Storm fought with The Eternal as god and titan clashed. The female Dodekatheon was flung to the edge of the four corners of an ancient age that existed only in myth and legend.
Her lone figure splashed into the middle of a massive tropical storm just off a verdant island hidden in black drenched rain. Cold wave after wave crashed over the drained figure, only punctuated by the crash of thunder and lightning. The water was cold and draining of strength, even for a robust athlete. Almost all of her strength had already been expended. Despair had almost set in, sapping what little will she had as she realized that the ichor of her birthright was also depleted and drained by her journey.
The young heroine kicked off her shoes which helped quite a bit. It did not seem to be a cold, northern sea, so she slipped out of her jeans and socks quickly. Now able to cut through the water much more easily, she started swimming 'uphill' to the top of a massive swell and quickly glanced around to see if she could spot land.
The warm glow of a spark of fire in the far distance was better than she expected. Pacing herself, the eleven year old athlete started the laborious effort of moving in the tropical storm. It seemed like it went for hours, but was really only about forty minutes before she spotted a spar of wood from a mast over the next wave.
The burning hulk of an ancient (and fantastical) galley from thousands of years ago hove over the next massive crest, flames licking over the ship as it lurched out of control. Screams from the sailors and slaves aboard it showed that it was no port in the storm, especially with the clash of metal on metal as men fought and died.
The lone figure's blue-green eyes studied the fight and the ship. It appeared that there was going to be no real winner, as everyone was going to end up in the drink as another wave of rain knocked over a dozen people and swept a few into the ocean. One big fat man held off several slaves, but it was more the fact that he had a good saber in his hand rather than any skill on his own.
A massive hillock of dark water built up and then smashed down upon her head with almost no warning. Spitting brackish cold water, the young scion of Athena realized she really needed a plan. And just randomly swimming in the dark storm as rain and waves tried to drown her was just not the way to go. The six foot spur of wood from earlier bumped her shoulder. Grabbing a hold, she nodded to herself and quickly tied herself to the wood with her t-shirt.
The sun was beating down on the brilliantly white beach as the girl came to. She was laying face first after finally having gotten to solid land. Off in the distance screams of battle and the sound of wood hitting flesh echoed over the water. She looked up carefully, but did not see the fight so took a moment to recollect what had happened.
"Right. Drifted through the night until I saw the beach this morning. Got loose and swam to shore then crawled to the edge of the beach," she said to herself. She had thought she was further into grass. Though she had to admit, she must have been more tired than she thought. She was only sort of out of sight from the beach and trail. She quickly took stock as she realized she only had her panties, necklace and pistol, which she pushed itself back into other-space. "This couldn't be more embarrassing."
"And take that, you scum-sucking slaver," a female was yelling, the voice punctuated by the heavy smack of wood upon flesh. The sounds finally faded for a minute. "Now where is that key so I can free the slave."
Sheila studied the dark-haired woman who was as bedraggled as she was and wearing only a crude loincloth of crude leather. The dark-haired woman leaned on the remains of what looked to be a broken off fence post as her chest heaved while catching her breath..
"Hello?" the younger girl asked, even as she realized that she was looking her almost eye to eye.
"You don't look like a slaver." The dark-haired woman chuckled at her black humor, as the girl looked as close to a slave as you could without shackles.
"And you are screaming about freed slaves trying to kill them, so obviously a concern," the younger girl noted casually.
"I don't... remember you on the ship? You another native of Tortage?" The woman was eyeing the slim figure in front of her, noting the silver necklace about her neck and strange white garment.
"No, I'm just as castaway as you, it appears. Did that man really deserve to be beaten to death with a fence post?" Sheila asked, pointing to the man on the ground.
"First, it's not a fence post. It's the handle of an oar that he had forced me to use. And yes, he did." The woman frowned at the figure before her. "I am Liasandur, the Cimmerian."
"Sheila, the American," the blonde girl replied adroitly.
"Eh? I have never heard of that land. Bah, what do I care of far off lands. You look a bit pale, like you live in a city like the Acquilians or the far north like myself." Liasandur set the broken oar over her shoulder and started walking along the white sands. "Were you pulled from the ocean too?"
"No, I swam ashore and then hid in the grasses to sleep," Sheila replied. She then pulled a thick board from the rubbish that had swept ashore. It would do as a club so she could keep her pistol as an ace in the hole. Then with a fist-sized rock, she was all set to get slightly violent. She had a feeling that she was far back in time, where guns did not exist.
Liasandur led them back to the slave she had promised to free, only having to fend off an albino crocodile on the sands. "Bah, why do I remember such a creature being almost nothing to my fury?" the barbarian complained to herself as she came up to the bound slave on the path. "I've returned, Casilda. He had the key just like you thought."
"Then you really are going to rescue me?" the blonde woman asked, standing up from her chains that held her to a post over her head over an almost gate that led to the path in the jungle.
"You have been treated badly and I promised," the Cimmerian said simply. It was only a moment's work to remove the manacles from her wrists and leave the chains hanging.
Sheila casually broke off the key in the lock as she listened to the ex-slaves talk about the dangers on the way to the city of Tortage. "So trappers, slavers and Picts?" she asked, just to be clear.
"And the apes, don't forget them," Casilda said with a nod of her head.
"None of them matter, it is my old slave master I care for. I was told that if he made it to the city, I would be hunted down." Liasandur spat on the ground. "He's a waste of fat flesh anyways. I'll take pleasure in killing him."
The screams of the violent trappers and huntsmen was their only warning as the tough looking men charged out of the brush. Liasandur roared right back, even as she swung a huge club she had taken from a seven foot tall warrior earlier, crushing a man not much smaller than she was. The girl from Tortage screamed like a little girl, ducking behind a rock even as Sheila threw a fist-sized rock and knocked out another trapper turned slaver, the crude bronze dagger blocking an attack from a wicked and hooked staff.
"I won't be enslaved again!" the dark-haired barbarian shouted, hitting another trapper so hard he was lifted off his feet as his ribs were crushed and broken.
Sheila dashed forward faster than the enemy in front of her could have expected, the dagger burying itself in his chest with superhuman force. Not one of these people had tried to talk to them, so this appeared to be the worst of the lawless eras of pirates and cut throats. She sidestepped an arrow, then spun out of the way of a second. She charged the last two thugs, slashing quickly with her dagger to end their lives in a spray of blood from their necks. "And that is it."
"You are both so fast and strong," the street-walker from Tortage said in shock. The poor hunters and trappers had not the slightest chance against their savagery.
"I'm a trained heroine," Sheila said glibly. The rank smell and fleas she could see on the felled enemies made her disinclined to wear anything, though she and Liasandur had added a pair of sandals at the very least.
The barbarian just nodded. "These dogs are nothing before a Cimmerian and American." She casually used her top as a headband to keep the sweat out of her eyes as her eyes studied the jungle for more attackers. So she was already moving when the first Pictish arrow came whizzing out of the foliage.
Sheila sent another rock flying, smashing the nose of the brutish, gray-pained Picts that would have looked right at home on a bad pulp movie about the savage and dark continent of Africa. She then charged across the intervening hundred feet in just three seconds, dodging three more arrows from the enraged and violent natives. Her dagger cut two Picts to the quick, even if they weren't immediately killed.
Liasandur was not far behind, screaming as her new club crushed an archer who tried to feebly block with a crude club. She spun in a large circle and with another smash, sent two more Picts screaming into oblivion.
The remaining savages quickly took into the bush in an effort to survive even as Casilda cheered her heroines on in the background.
The Cimmerian just chuckled at the street-walker's antics. "Luckily we are not weak nor dainty like yourself, young woman."
Sheila just rolled her eyes at them. One of the pairs of burlap pants looked like it might fit her, so she cleaned it as best as possible in a puddle, still cringing at how unclean it made her feel. She had to rush to catch up to Liasandur as club clashed with a gleaming saber.
"Hold up," the young woman for Tortage said, putting her hand on Sheila arm. "This is personal. I can't believe he was willing to throw her to monsters so that he might run away and live. He's the worst sort of slave-master."
Liasandur took a vicious cut to her bicep, but the massive double-handed swing of her club could not be blocked once it was in motion. The fat, mauled Stygian slave master screamed once and then burbled as blood leaked out his lips as he fell to the ground. The savage woman kept hitting him.
"You must die so that I must live!" she shouted as she punctuated each word with a strike, the manacles on her wrist jangling with each strike a discordant melody of death. "Damn. Now we have to get the key to this gate from some monstrous Pict."
"I can't believe he expected you to just lead the way so your death could let him get into the city," Casilda said, shock still on her face as she followed the two warriors away from the locked gate.
Sheila glanced at the wall, thinking about just leaping up there, but the comment about monsters... it would be better to destroy it. And the excuse of a key was best. "I grabbed one of their bows, so I'm a little more dangerous at range now." The weapon looked incredibly flimsy and probably could not shoot an arrow sixty feet with any accuracy. (Of course, her version of accuracy was a bit skewed since she had been awakened to her divine nature.)
The next half an hour, the two warriors basically depopulated the tiny village of savage Picts, moving into the ancient ruins of a style that Sheila actually did not recognize. Archers, howling natives with daggers and axes along with shaman with fiery magics that had actually surprised her at first.
"It can't be far," Liasandur said more in hope than in any real knowledge.
The young demigoddess gave her a raised eyebrow at. "Yes, but there are some things that look like zombies. Animated dead," she said, pointing at the gateway between massive gray blocks of stone in the Archeon ruins.
"By Mitra's holy light! Undead demons? Things are worse than I thought," the young whore of Tortage said, literally shaking in fear in her scanty and enticing gold-seeming costume.
Sheila knocked an arrow, narrowed her eye as she sighted carefully, and plunked an arrow into the eye of the demon.
"By Crom!" Liasandur shouted gleefully as she charged one of the undead looking things. "Have at you!" The club came down with massive, gravity-amplified force and smashed the black-skinned thing like a bug.
Then it was time to charge at the actual demon that had been brought forth by the Picts. The massive, ten foot tall thing was a horror of blackness, claws and sharp teeth in the center of its courtyard, in front of a bloodstained altar. Its roar shook the ancient, Archeon ruins even as it started to sprout arrows while the massive four foot jungle club hammered home left, right and then down... down... again and again.
The Cimmerian hissed at the burn of her muscles, but tried to ignore the worry about the blood leaking out of the massive gash that the demon had inflicted upon her calf. "Die, damn you hellspawn! Die!" she screamed as she almost went into a frenzy of attacks.
Sheila paused for a moment in her shooting, touching her amulet about her neck. Most of the grievous wound on Lisasandur faded to mere bruises. Then she was back to plunking arrows into the monster as quickly as she dared while still being fairly accurate.
Not that it took much longer, as the monster crashed to the ground in a deafening thump, blood spurting out from its form.
"I feared it had lamed me," the barbarian declared as she wiped away the blood on her leg. "But it appears it only scratched me."
"I might have been able to help with that," the scion admitted.
"You really defeated it," Casilda said in wonder. "Come, let us get out of here.
Part 2: Tortage and Tyrants.
The gate opened to the key from the altar and they continued up the path. No more trappers or huntsmen bedeviled them, only strange white apes. They showed no fear, even when the pair of warrior killed them with impunity. The white-pelted apes, of course, had no clothing to offer, just piles of bananas occasionally. Even the 'king ape' was no match, though the large, red gem looked to be of some value.
The trio came to another gated wall in the steep crags of the island jungle. This one was merely latched, but not locked.
"Well, I can make it from here," Casilda said with quite the happy smile upon her face. "I didn't want to mention this before, but escaped slaves are not allowed in Tortage by decree of Strom." She looked down at Liasandur's manacles still on her wrists. "But I'm sure you can figure a way around that."
"You little-" the Cimmerian started to snarl out, only to stop at the light touch on her forearm.
"Let me take a look at these. The iron they are made is pretty cheap," Sheila said as casually as possible. "I think we will see you inside Tortage."
Casilda swallowed nervously and then quickly trotted off.
"Now what am I going to do?" Liasandur complained gruffly, the blinked her blue eyes in astonishment at the sound of the manacle snapping off.
"It's a bit brittle, you just have to have the correct leverage and now how to snap it," the younger girl lied through her teeth. Her supernaturally tough muscles flexed so hard you could see them under the skin of her forearms and snapped the second manacle off. "You probably better cover your scabs with dirt until the abrasions heal.
"You are stronger than you look, girl. Though we are a sight. Covered in muck, drenched in sweat from this Crom forsaken heat and wearing bare rags." The barbarian brushed her matted, black hair out of her eyes.
"I've had better days," Sheila admitted as she tossed the remains of the manacles up on the top of the ancient gate. "Come on, let's go."
The path down the jungle choked path led to a great fissure in the ground where molten lava churned past below them. The path led to a ramshackle wooden bridge. It seemed sturdy enough and was not new, so they trusted it. As they walked down the hill just a bit they saw a strange sight of a huge man fitting huge, stone blocks in place.
"Ho and well met," the bald man called out as he continued to chisel a block to a square form with his hammer.
"Do I detect the accent of a true Cimmerian?" Liasandur called out, waving to the man who towered over fourteen inches above her height.
"Ha, you do. I am Turach. You managed to get past the blockade?" he responded asked casually.
The two females looked like they had been dragged through the muck and mire and did not have a full outfit between them.
Liasandur put her hands on her hips and shoulders back proudly. "Shipwrecked. We had to fight past trappers, Picts and the white apes to get here."
"I notice you don't have a good weapon," the smith said casually. "I'd be willing to part with a couple of daggers or a sword if you can take this wagon to the quarry for more blocks. Without the retaining wall, Tortage will die a fiery death. Not that anyone will thank me for my efforts." He shook his massive, bald head. "Ah well, I will have to content myself with surviving." Turach gave out a deep, huge laugh.
"A sword?" Sheila asked casually. "That's a princely sum for just blocks."
Liasandur blinked at that, then realized it was true. "What aren't you telling me, smith?"
"There might be some pirates holed up there. Strom has been looking for them, so they decided the jungles were a better bet than his dungeons," the huge man admitted. "But they aren't probably anything you would have to worry about."
And they really were not, as the two were quite a bit more dangerous than any two-bit pirate with a rusty blade. They were back by late afternoon
"Sorry, no escaped slaves allowed in Tortage," the tall and muscled captain of the gates said. The guard dog at his side growled. The towering, forty foot walls looked impressive, except there was a crude scaffold that would make climbing them quite easy. "So says Laranga, wall-captain of the watch!"
Liasandur opened her mouth to rebut that, when Sheila beat her to the punch.
"I have never been a slave, guard. In my lands they are illegal and we stamp out such activities wherever we can," the young blonde girl snapped out angrily.
"Be careful of your words here, girl." His gleaming eyes studied them both. "It is true you don't have any manacles on your wrist, but I can see the mark on your forearm," the intense man said.
"Those burns are from me tying myself to some wood so I didn't drown in the storm last night," the scion replied frostily.
"Ah, castaways? Where were you headed?" Laranga asked smoothly.
"I'm headed back to the Americas," Sheila replied as she swiped her blonde, bedraggled bangs out of her blue-green eyes.
"Eh?" That was not the response Laranga was expecting as it was someplace he had not even heard of. "Well, then I guess I'm clear and free. Try to stay out of trouble." His eye was mostly on the swords that Liasandur and Sheila were wearing on their hips.
The barbarian just smirked at him. "I'm sure we'll be hired in no time."
"Perhaps. Could you do me a favor? I need a letter delivered to the waitress Tina at the inn just inside the gate. I can't leave my post..." he drawled out. "Mayhap she could see you a bowl of food and some ale for your quick assistance."
Inside the main city gate was a massive area with small stalls in a u-shaped depression on the level of the front of a forbidding castle, overlooked by a crude platform and more guards wearing the red-hand upon their shirts. Beggars called out their alms from the edge of the shadows with sharp, gleaming eyes. Several bars and a house of ill repute were to the right, while a smithy had been set up in front of some huts on the left.
Sheila was a bit surprised to discover that she and Liasandur fit in fairly well to the crowd, though perhaps a bit more filthy as they had just fought their way through the jungles. The bustle of bodies as people were calling out back and forth across the way was shut out into the dimness of the interior of the bar and inn, the Thirsty Dog.
Liasandur narrowed her eyes as she studied the people walking around. "Her." She walked right up to a woman unloading a platter of cups and plates. "Ho! Are you Tina?"
Only Sheila saw the flash of fear in her eyes for just a second, but it was quickly hidden. "Perhaps. Who is asking?"
"Laranga wanted me to give you this letter. Said it might be worth a bowl of stew and a cup of ale," the boisterous barbarian called out. "And I'm sick and tired of bananas."
"Let's see this letter," Tina replied carefully.
Sheila took note that several people looked worried and tense, but the atmosphere in the whole city had felt oppressive. Something was up.
After reading the letter, which seemed to convey something of import, the waitress looked up. "Well, I wish I could give you some food, but our stores are nearly empty. Strom has set up a blockade, thinking to bleed the city and its resistance... Perhaps though, we can come to an agreement. Some of this ships that were carrying supplies have gone to ground on the White Sands, a small island just north of Tortage harbor. A quick, strong person might be able to recover some supplies."
"There must be a reason no one else has gone there," the younger girl said as she looked around the bar.
"Of course. Crocodiles, panthers and the Panther tribe of the Picts lives there... along with rumors of far more evil and dark things on the far northern end. I would suggest staying away from that," Tina warned as she shifted her ill-fitting studded-leather armor top that really looked quite uncomfortable in the sweltering heat. "But quick people... can get in and out. Unless you don't feel up to the dangers, of course."
"We just fought through an entire village of Picts and their monsters. I think we'll be fine," Liasandur said with a smirk.
Sheila rolled her eyes at that bravado, but she was a bit hungry.
Sweat rolled off the young, pale girl's back muscles as she rowed the boat across the bay towards the white, sandy beach ahead at a fast clip. A grim warship was off to their east, easily keeping pace with their sails and dozens of oars. Liasandur was watching the girl closely, noting she was not getting tired and was much, much stronger than appeared. But she seemed a friendly sort and was on her side, so Liasandur was not going to complain.
The barbarian turned back to the island up ahead. "Let me borrow your bow to clear off the rabble on the beach."
The twang of the bow and thunk of the arrow hitting white-painted, Pict flesh was a deep contrast to the absolute beauty of their battlefield. The young Pict's courage was not strong and they retreated off past more Achereon ruins and deeper along an inlet and then into the jungles.
They hit the sand and quickly dragged the row boat up onto the blindingly white sand. Lia's suspicion that the other girl could have lifted it easily by herself was born out when she tripped and let her side fall and the girl did not even slow down while continuing to hold up the boat.
"There's the wreck," Sheila called out, looking down the curved beach at the remains of the ship. Her glide across the ground was as fast as the barbarian's run and they quickly started to make a stack of the casks and crates. If they had more people, they could have left someone to watch the jungle, but that wasn't feasible for two.
"Now isn't that a pickle," an older man's voice from behind the wreck said casually.
"You are no Pict," Liasandur noted lamely, whipping around and pointing her steel saber at the old, bald man.
"And I'm no enemy of you," he replied carefully. "My name is Arias and I was sent out here to die by Strom and his Red Hands as a spy. Death by the savage Picts, a fate worse than death." He carried himself like a warrior and had powerful shoulders, even if he was now old.
"And are you a spy?" Liasandur demanded bluntly.
"To the quick. I like that. Yes, I am. I was sent here by Conan, the king of Aquilia to investigate an army all marked with the same red hand that you bear," Arias said with an off-hand gesture to the Cimmerian barbarian.
"I have no memory of this mark, nor where I got it. I awoke on a beach after some sort of storm and I am here," Liasandur finally said as she looked off to the jungle past the prow of the shipwreck.
"You are quite different from the slaves that bear that mark, not the dull louts that only follow Mithrelle's orders. I believe your fate and past are tied to understanding that mark. If you are not yet another slave of the Red Hand," Arias said grimly.
"I'm no man's slave," the Cimmerian barbarian almost shouted out angrily.
"Aye, that's a barbarian's fire. And maybe with that fire, you can regain your memories," the spy noted. "But unfortunately, Strom appears to have tired of waiting for the Pict's to slay me as is the custom of Tortage and has sent assassins."
Out of the jungle strode eight of the Red Hand, their black tunics showing their crimson allegiance proudly.
"It's time to die, spy for Aquilonia," the leader shouted as he led the charge. "No witnesses!"
Arias only had a crude Pictish dagger, but Lasandur had her saber out instantly, while Sheila had the shorter blade that Turach had paid them for their work as they met the onslaught. The first Red Hand assassin blinked and missed the cut that opened his throat from Sheila, while Liasandur's saber stabbed deeply into the heart of a second. She placed her foot on his chest and kicked him back into the next assassin.
Arias was proving that age and experience, feinting and attack and then with three quick cuts, killing another. In just thirty seconds, the assassins went from outnumbering the old man and his friends handily to only having one extra person to the trio.
That broke their will as they tried to retreat back into the jungle on the edge of the beach, but only one made it to the fronds and grass and two arrows took him in the back before he could escape.
"Well, I'll be, you two sure know how to fight," the old man said approvingly. "I'll probably be safe for a little while. Strom will likely think we all died here. There are some fearsome horrors on the south end of these white sands."
"We're here for the food, not to hunt down horrors," Liasandur said as she saw the gleam of excitement in Sheila's eyes.
Said scion was pouting at that. "I suppose. But monster and horror hunting is part of my job as a heroine."
"You can always come back. It's almost a rite of passage and there are many animals here for the hunting. I'll try to keep alive here," Arias said.
The trip back with barrels and crates of supplies was heavy, but the Picts seemed to give them wide berth so they could work in peace.
The Cimmerian barbarian had taken to doing odd, violent jobs with a gusto. Recovering supplies had only been the first thing that Tina of the Thirst Dog had started her on. Tortage had a plethora of thieves and pirates that were caught behind the blockade, so had set their sights to whatever was valuable within the city. Liasandur was more than happy to recover these items from the various town folk and regulars who had taken her and her pale, blonde companion as heroes of the people.
Currently they were entering the labyrinthian corridors below Tortage where cellars, sewers and the dungeon all interconnected in a vast maze. The Red Hand patrolled the area, but the two were wraith-like shadows as they creeped through the dark, avoiding torches and lights.
"Captain Redrick is sure the pirates took his jewels and furs into the deeper section of the catacombs," Sheila reminded her dark-haired friend. Both of them walked with their weapons ready through ancient aquaducts, the guttering of flames leading them onward. The pirates in this area were supposed to be the most vicious and brutal. Not even the Red Hand dared to patrol in this section.
The fighting was fierce, but the two heroines were almost a supernatural force, spilling the blood of the pirates to recover the booty. They were almost to the cellar below the temple of Mitra just outside the city. Another figure was just entering the 'almost a secret' entrance.
The very dark-skinned woman was dressed a simply as they were and obviously had little money. She carried a staff, like several of the mystics they had seen.
Her dark eyes, outlined to accentuate her light blue eyes were watching them closely. "You are just out of the under halls of Tortage? Recovering treasure..."
Liasandur just smirked. "Those particular bandits, if they survive, will think twice before robbing people again."
"The Cimmerian and the American," the mystic said carefully. "Have you heard of the Thunderer? I hear Strom seeks this person."
"The 'Thunderer'? No, I had not heard of that," Sheila replied to the slightly shorter woman. She appeared to have the look of ancient Egypt.
"Supposedly an envoy from Thoth-Amon has been seeing Strom in his fortress and Mithrielle up on the mountain." Dark, liquid eyes studied them both. She leaned on her staff, her dark skin oiled with sweat under the tepid heat of the torches. "I heard it is some demon from the deepest pits of hell of Archeron."
Liasundur swore profusely, as only sailors could. "My thanks. I have no trust for those of the dark lands of Stygia, but knowing of such things makes guarding against it easier. I am Liasundur of Cimmeria."
"Call me Tira," the dark-hued woman said.
"And I'm Sheila." The young girl leaned up against the wall as she thought. "What brings you to this entrance to the sub-realm of Tortage?"
"Strom has a mystic of his own that is doing foul rituals deep in the bowels of the dungeons. Such blood magics empower him as the Tyrant of Tortage and are an affront against nature." Tira smiled darkly. "Even by my own nature, which some people call depraved."
The pale-skinned barbarian nodded her head, her short bob of black hair bouncing. She took her simple steel weapon in her hand. "Then perhaps we can work together. We have no love for Strom, but need to recover some purloined treasure for Rodrick." Muscles flexed on her chest as she tensed and readied for battle.
"And I would like to hear more of this envoy and this Thunderer. What do they look like?" the youngest heroine asked curiously as she took out her own sword. A brace of cheap bronze throwing daggers were in bandoleer across her bare chest. She had become inured to displaying her body days ago.
Tira studied them, then nodded. "The death of the blood-mage first, then the hunt for your trinkets."
The demonoligist was a bit surprised by how stealthy the two larger and much more pale women could be in the dark. They ghosted around Strom's Red Hand, then struck with the lethality and precision of a viper. That was definitely something she could appreciate.
They ignored the rambling of a wandering crazy woman that kept cooing to any body (dead or alive) about her healing arts as they skulked deeper and deeper into the sweltering and dimly lit stone corridors. The feeble torches seemed to make things darker, rather than bring any light to such an evils place.
"The stench of blood up ahead is very strong," the young demigoddess called out.
Around the corner and down a long (and quite open) corridor stood a man with his back to them. Powerfuly muscled, he wore little more than the three women; a loin cloth, straps of leather and crude boots. On his head he wore a fearsome mask that seemed to resound with demonic succor. He was chanting as he worked at cutting out heart from a dead slave in front of him. Three body guards from the Red Hand stood ready.
Liasundur and Sheila skulked forward, swords angled to not reflect any light on their bared swords. Suddenly, as if perfectly planned, they both charged forward and two of the bodyguards died as they started to pull their iron swords from their sheaths. The last Red Hand managed to get his sword out and desperately blocked the young girl's fast and furious attacks with ease. The tall barbarian was surprised to find herself being driven back by the supernatural strength of the spell caster.
An unholy spark of malevolence was lit beneath the mask as he started screaming gibberish. Liasundur was having to use both hands on her sword to not get knocked back on her feet. A spark of fire suddenly erupted in front of her as the ritualist cried out in pain.
Tira was intoning her own words of power and abhorrence even as a female figure appeared from the shadows. Her familiar, a dread succubus demon spat fire of her own even as her inhuman claws on feet and hand slashed out at the Red Hand ritualist. Her bare green skin was soon covered in splatters of blood, making her a savage, evil beauty of demonic evil. Her wings would rise up and block the torchlight, confusing him even more.
The Cimmerian shouted a battlecry, charging back in and stabbed deep as her enemy flinched back. The ritualist's left them arm then departed as Sheila entered the battle against him. In moments, he was bleeding out on the floor.
"We should cleanse this section. Who knows if someone else might come and start to use this obscene alter," the young blonde noted, idly wiping some blood splatters off her face. She looked as savage as they. Mostly naked, covered in blood and gore, they looked more the villains than heroes.
The dark-skinned woman from the deserts and jungles of magic-steeped Stygia narroed her eyes at that. "How do you intend to break the altar?"
"Brute force and a sledge hammer," the taller girl instantly replied.
"I like the way you think," the barbarian said with a wide, vicious grin. "Are you sure you aren't Cimmerian?"
"Americans are very, very good at breaking stuff," Sheila replied in artful innocence.
Sheila led her companions in to the back entrance of the Thirsty Dog under the cover of night again. They had been carefully approached by what the small group of misfits figured were the heart of the resistance.
"Ah, Liasundur. How are you and your companions?" Tina the quick witted waitress said. She was wearing a light leather armored top, even in the sweltering heat. "I have grave news. The Tyrant moves against us, seeking our weak points. I fear my poor brother has been caught in his web of danger."
Tira just rolled her deep brown eyes that were marked for her station in Stygia. "And you want us to rescue him?"
"Just Liasundur and Sheila. You, Tira, must go back to Mithrelle and convince her of your sincerity of your service. We must discover more of why the mystically marked slaves are coming here to Tortage," the freedom-fighter declared, even as the bartender behind the bar nodded.
"Where do we go and who do we kill?" the Cimmerian barbarian asked in a gruff manner as she played with her new leather bracers that had already saved her life once.
"There is a warehouse on the very end of the dock. The Red Hand is using it to house the victims of the plague. In truth, they are waiting for the slaves from the ship to expire from the poison. As you well overheard."
They nodded back at Tina.
"I can cure them if we can get there in time," Sheila promised, surprising them both.
"I did not realize you were a priestess, girl," Liasundur said with a frown on her face. She was not a fan of the southlander's gods. Crom was her god, wielded in her sword.
"It's nothing so mundane as that," the girl said with a grin on her face. "It's a gift I inherited from my mother." Who happened to be a goddess, of course.
"If you can save my poor brother, I beg of you to do so," Tina said with a final hint of hope.
They slipped out the back. Tira headed out the gate and then up the volcano for her meetings with Thoth-Amon's apprentice. The pale-skinned duo had immediately drifted into the shadows of the ramshackle coastal city, invisible to the seeking eyes of the Red Hand and Strom's assassins. Already they had made a name for themselves and the ire of the undead Tyrant.
Sheila just shook her head as they passed a bar that was made of a ship that had been pulled ashore some time ago for repairs. The owner must have decided that the damage to the bottom of the hull was too much to fix, so had converted it into a pirate watering hole. The very off-key singing from inside signified that some people were trying to find the dawn at the bottom of a cup of ale.
They passed several docked ships with their crew slumbering on deck. As silent as ghosts and as deadly as night panthers, the prowled the dangerous docks. Serious guards in the black and red tunic of the Red Hand were keeping an eye out as they walked around with torches.
Finally they found the small house used to store freight off the low-decked ships in the harbor. The natty-looking structure looked like everything but the foundation would wash away should a strong storm appear again. Black tunics adorned the Red Hand soldiers that were quite aware they could be attacked at any time.
To Sheila's inhuman senses there was another presence, a darker shadow that was watching it.
"Only ten men. Strom must be running out of good guards." Liasundur smirked at that. "Good. That means the end of this shadowy farce is almost over."
"There is a demon in the shadows, but I think it is just watching. From what Tira said, it's looking for the Thunderer. So as long as it doesn't think we are that personage, we should be fine," Sheila said carefully even as she dampened her supernaturally beauty. Now she was merely pretty under her near naked grime.
"We'll destroy it, too," the Cimmerian barbarian promised.
A pat on the shoulder and they glided forward like earth-bound raptors that leaped at their prey. The first four soldiers died with barely being aware of any danger. The youngest (and likely fastest) Red Hand on the far side leaped to his feet to start running away, only to cry out as Sheila threw a bronze throwing dagger into his back and sent him off the nearby pier. He would not be running for the ship on the quay behind the warehouse to rouse its fanatical soldiers to fight for Strom.
The next two minutes were a brutal slaughter. The two warrior looked over their fallen enemies as their blood pooled on the cobblestones and into the dark earth. The barbarian was grumbling, as she had a few more scrapes than she had expected. It appeared as they winnowed Stroms guards, only the weak were being culled leaving stronger and stronger foes to face.
Her blue eyes blinked into the darkness that had appeared in front of her, inky claws in front of her face. "Grazk-grazk," the demon croaked. "You are not the Thunderer. And I was so sure. The stars are showing that we shall face each other soon, but..." The demonic undead glared at her. "Bad it will be. Stars are turning bad. The black star of Veclumin is waxing and the non-star rises."
Liasundur stumbled back a step. "So you are going to kill me?" She saw Sheila moving up behind the undead-demon of Acheron.
It hissed at her. "Noooes. You must live. If Strom betrays Thoth-Amon, you will strike him down. So speaks the songs of the stars of your fate, I think. Not the Thunderer. Marked but you have your soul. How do you have your own soul, Marked of Acheron?"
"What are you speaking of, demon?" she demanded right back.
"You know nothing. You are nothing. But pawns must be moved to kill other pawns." With that, the eight foot tall shadowy demon-thing crouched down and then leaped to the roof, disappearing in just moments.
"Good, it didn't find the Thunderer," Sheila said to the slightly taller woman, then smirked.
Liasundur frowned, realizing that there were tricks within tricks being played tonight.
Sheila then headed to the locked door, opening it up to find it filled with groaning, sick slaves. "Poisoned, but they will only be sick. And you must be Tina's brother." She held up the medallion at her neck, channeling a little of her divine spark to wipe away the toxins, then healed his shaking limbs and raspy lungs.
"Please, are you here to save me?" the boy asked.
"Indeed we are. Let us get off to the Thirsty Dog," the Cimmerian declared as she finished cleaning off her sword on one of the dead Red Hand's tunics.
"Back up the mountain to talk to Arias? I never new there was so much damn walking to fight the Tyrant of Tortage," the barbarian was complaining later. She pushed a frond out of the way on the edge of the jungle path. "Ah, there is his camp. It really isn't that well hidden."
"Arias? Are you there?" the young blonde girl called out.
The old, sturdy man stepped out of the jungle behind him. "I am. You two were loud, but at least you weren't followed." His gray hair looked even more haggard over his deeply weathered skin.
"Strom can barely hold the city, much less the jungles with the picts out here. Liasundur and I had to deal with a demon in the Acheron ruins earlier today," Sheila replied as she studied him closely. Nothing but a bit of weariness. Arias was probably not sleeping too well.
"One of the other Resistance members just returned not an hour ago from Mithrelle," Arias explained carefully. "Thoth-Amon is raising an army the likes the world has never seen."
"Tira found that out?" Sheila mused to herself.
"We must try to figure out a way to remove this sword above our heads," the old spy explained. "And I may have figured a way out. Mithrelle has to do regular rituals to appease the god of the fire mountain. With her mastery of those occult arts, she has been able to base her army out of the area that is riven with rivers of molten fire with some impunity. Tina's apprentice spy has discovered Mithrelle's ritual and I think I have determined the most easy way to destroy her ritual." The bald man had a nasty smile upon his face at this pronouncement. "We just have to replace the blood of her virgin sacrifices."
Liasundur nodded eagerly. "How will this work?"
"By putting the tainted blood of a non-virgin in the ritual, Mithrelle will anger the spirits instead of quelling them. If it works correctly, the fire mountain will give off its anger and might well wipe out the whole army for us," the Acquilion spy-master explained with a smile on his face.
"Tainted blood?" the Cimmerian barbarian shouted out angrily.
Sheila winced at that. "He means its mystical components. It is not virginal, so is tainted as magic would see it."
That seemed to only slightly mollify the big woman as she clenched her fists tightly. "So it is."
Aria nodded. "Just so. The witching hour approaches and Mithrelle will soon enact her ritual. We must quickly find this unclean blood and then sneak a replacement before Mithrelle finishes this night."
"We can use mine," Liasundur pronounced happily.
"Are you sure you are not a virgin? You have no memories, after all," the old spymaster asked, thinking of any pitfalls.
Sheila coughed at this point. "She's not a virgin. I know this as a healer that took care of a few... problems she had." She really wished she did not know of the STDs that the virile woman had before hand.
The barbarian nodded. "Besides, if you are worried, we can make sure that I am not, old man. Unless you can't get it up?"
"Bah, I'll trust your healer, girl. We have no time for a quick roll in the grass," Arias said with a dirty grin on his face. "Hurry yonder to the fire mountain. We have a sorceress to foil."
The path up to the side of the volcano was patrolled by mindless drones of men and women, each carrying the mark of Acheron upon their chest. Unlike Liasundur, they fought with no thought of self-preservation. In fact, Sheila thought she could detect a small hint of demonic possession in their eyes.
They skirted Mithrelle's lair in an ancient ruin that had new doors added a several sturdy looking guards. The demons that possessed them seemed to give them no special powers, other than animating the bodies they had been summoned into. Even so, Liasundur signaled that they should sneak past them and up the trail.
Bypassing the last guardians (vicious spiders and scorpions in the tall, jungle grass) they came to an ancient gate of Acheron.
"It's not guarded," Sheila whispered over to her. Her keen eyes could see many physical things, but the mystic arts to show invisible, magical barriers were not part of her abilities.
"So probably a trap. I'll go first," Liasundur said even as she crept up to the gate. She shook her head, unable to believe they had not even locked it.
On the other side of the gated stone wall it seemed to be another, hellish world. Lava glowed a hungry, bright orange and red in rivers that flowed down into the sea. And they discovered why no one appeared or cared to guard the gate.
Thousands of men and woman sat in scattered camps, crude tents of leather and hides their only protection from the chill night air that would suddenly turn too hot if the winds changed. There were guards, but at a more formidable choke point than a mere gate in a wall. The bridge over the searing lava had a large group of bored men and women drowsily chatting with each other.
"Can we go around?" Liasundur asked her smaller companion.
"I think so. There are vines and rough outcrops." The lankier female drifted near the group and then down one of the shear faces.
It was a tense hour of creeping around in the night as they moved around fountains of lava, over thin outcrops and up and down several cliffs. Their only interruption was when the slave master turned a corner abruptly in front of them. He managed to get a scream off before he was killed.
Liasundur plundered his body of jewelry and booty, then tossed him into the lava while Sheila quickly kicked sand over the blood on the ground. They then quickly started climbing up, avoiding a group of semi-curious Marked of Acheron that had come to investigate the shout.
The last path to where Mithrelle was preparing for her ritual was very heavily guarded. Sheila might have been able to get around them, but her barbaric companion took that option away from her by charging the first group of guards and killing him by stabbing him through the heart with her saber.
"I guess that's one way to get this going," Sheila muttered darkly, even as she appeared in a flicker of too-fast motion and cut down two more Slaves of Acheron.
In such a quick, brutal fashion they proceeded to fight the last three hundred feet up the stairs and paths over lava floes. Liasundur fought against a brutal bodyguard, finding herself nearly over matched while two slaves attempted to warn Mithrelle. For their efforts, Sheila threw bronze knives into their backs and then turned to help her Cimmerian companion with the brutish Stygian.
"We are almost out of time," the young demigoddess warned Liasundur. "I'll finish this fight! Go!"
The barbarian grimaced, but nodded, dashing up the final stairs to where Mithrelle chanted to purify herself in preparation for her ritual. Sheila intercepted the huge Stygian, steel meeting steel in a muted cacophony even as they each tried to push each other into the roaring lava flows. The young girl crouched and then pushed with her legs, sending the surprised guard and his heavy bronze armor over the edge to disappear into the roaring lava below.
Liasundur staggered down the pathway even as she tied a bandage upon her wrist. "It is done."
They must have barely made it in time, as Mithrelle found her vial of 'virgin' blood and went through her ritual over the cooling corpses of other slaves, chanting an appeasement to the hungry and evil god of the volcano. Her promises were lies this time, as the barbarian's unpure blood were not virginal at all.
The roar of the mountain (and its god) was nearly deafening in its anger. Instead of slumbering, it awoke with a quake and explosions as the volcano erupted in fury. Fire and rock were flung into the sky, then started to rain down death upon the encamped army below.
Sheila shaded her eyes as she studied the eruption. "We are lucky. The wind is blowing in the direction of the army, not Tortage." She suddenly reached out and pulled her companion out of the way as a fist sized rock exploded from hitting where she had been standing.
"Good! The army is finished. Let's not wait and join it!" the barbarian shouted even as she started to run down the worn steps back down the volcano. It was a hellish run, dodging screaming, burning bodies and volcanic rocks that were spewing from the mountain.
They laid low the next two days, avoiding the frantic search by the Red Hand at Strom's behest. The entire city seemed to teeter on the edge of some momentous calamity, even as the volcano rained dust and ash everywhere. Turach's wall kept the lava from flowing down into Tortage itself, though many people had problems breathing in the acrid air and it seemed almost futile to keep the ash from caking their bodies.
So when night fell on the second day, Tina was prepared to ask them to visit the local wise woman, a seeress of some small power.
Here Liasundur learned that her near death and then rebirth had allowed her original soul to push out the Archeron demon that had inhabited it before the shipwreck. The old woman Nadina explained that this had only temporarily granted her freedom from the dark magics of Stygia and Thoth-Amon.
"So what would you have me do?" Liasundur demanded in the old woman's cottage by the dim candle light.
"You must seek something that was thought lost, an amulet from drowned Atlantis. Strom has just discovered it and found himself suddenly freed of the chains of slavery that have held him since his resurrection," the old woman said, sounding slightly creepy and eerie as she seemed to give a scene life where Strom entered a cave and found something. "Tell Tina that Strom must not figure out what he has, lest a greater darkness take over the world. Acheron comes! The cast out into ever darkness hunger for the life and light of the mortal world!"
A sudden wind flitted through the cottage, sending the candles a fluttering and nearly out.
"The demon that seeks the Thunderer is here, outside," Sheila said in a low voice. "He must be getting guidance to lead him."
"Set hates Thoth-Amon, but has greater hate for the stranger that fell through the cracks of time. He has learned that the Thunderer is a danger to Stygia and its priesthood," Nadia exclaimed. "So he has sent one of his thousand-demons. In truth, it is also something from Acheron, but now calls the Snake God its master so that it can feed upon the blood of the living."
"So Set allies with Thoth-Amon against the Thunderer." Sheila frowned at that. She carefully palmed a tin coin. She jerked her head up and looked out the window, causing Liasundur and Nadia to both look away. She gestured her hand at a shutter on the far side of the cottage, willing the wind to rattle it as if someone was leaving. With a flick, the small tin coin made a metallic ping as it bounced off the wall by the shutter. "A spy? We should leave."
"Yes, we should," Liasundur declared.
Outside on the old stone walls of Tortage near the shutter on the wall, the shadow-demon hissed in frustration. Where was the Thunderer? Had he used the pair as a distraction again? He almost leaped down to rip the two females to bloody hunks, but hesitated as he worried that they may be being used to bait a trap. Then they were gone, disappearing into the shadows like thieves in the night.
The demon landed in the narrow alley behind the house and the support wall of the district, sniffing at the window.
Nothing! How can the Thunderer have no scent! It was impossible!
Part 3: Rebellion
Liasundur stepped out of Ulric's apartment, back in a dark corner of Tortage's docks. For this, she had left her companion behind. She was-
"Did you have to murder him in his bed?" Sheila asked disapprovingly as she stepped out of the shadows, the only sound was the lapping of the ocean just seventy feet away behind her.
"Yes. I thought I sent you across town to pick up that crate of poisons?" the barbarian asked.
"I'm pretty fast when I'm alone," the young girl admitted.
The Cimmerian barbarian just grunted at that. "That's what I get from trying to not offend your civilized morals. Come, let's go back to the inn."
The moon was full over head, comforting and normal to Sheila in a way this ancient and uncivilized city was not. The Red Hand guards were easily snuck past as the two of them slipped into shadows like born cutpurses. They waited for five minutes for a patrol to clear out as it returned from outside the city through the main gate. The clatter as the portcullis and metal bound door dropped into place was deafening.
Just the distraction that the two needed to slip into the front door of the Thirsty Dog. Tina stepped out of the shadows behind the bard, her studded leather armor worn at this late hour in obvious purpose. "Good. Is he dead?"
"Yes. He'll murder no more for Strom," Liasundur replied with a frown. "What is your next move?"
The curvy vixen smiled at the pronouncement and nodded to her question. "A bold move. Nadina has told you that Strom has found an ancient Atlantean amulet? This has infuriated Mithrelle, Thoth-Amon's apprentice. It seems she can no longer snap her fingers and control him at a whim."
"She mentioned this amulet before. I take it we need to steal it?" Sheila asked as she leaned up against a square and rough wooden post in the dim light of the inn.
"Aye. We are going to play a game of switching cups. There is no way a thief can directly steal it from the scholar that Strom has hired. It's just too far into the fortress and surrounded by an army. But Mithrelle herself also fears this, so she sends her apprentice in. Tira will be able to get the amulet from the scholar while Mithrelle is wont to act as a distraction by starting an argument with Strom in his main hall," the spy-master for the Resistance explained.
"Perfect. We don't want Mithrelle to take it either, so we shall take it from her. I hope she can lie convincingly," the dark-haired warrior woman said as she considered the matter.
"I do to, she has been nearly as great an aid as you have been. Strom believes his fortress is impregnable, but if you are wiling to climb there is a long path up the back that overlooks the harbor." Tina just smiled at this.
"Then let's get to it."
Sheila had climbed up the rickety ladder first, as she was fastest. By the time that Liasundur had made her own trip, both guards had been dealt with and the placed in such a way that it looked like they were just unconscious.
The Barbarian snickered. "Not a bad effort for an amateur." She reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a small drinking skin. A bit of splashing of red wine on their lips and the pair looked like they had drunk themselves into a stupor.
The pair then entered a door and skulked down a set of narrow stone stairs, two shadows among the sleepy yet tense depths of darkness. They moved down several passages and then down two more sets of stairs to wait by the entrance. Then it was time to wait under the threat of being discovered and overwhelmed at any moment.
"She's coming," Sheila called out softly. She took out her crude saber, just in case the Stygian decided to turn traitor. Beside her, Liasundur frowned as she tried to see or hear what the lanky, near naked girl had spotted, to no avail.
The dark-skinned beauty had a sheen of sweat, even in the cold of the night. Her familiar was walking beside, her cloven hooves somehow quiet even on stone as the green-skinned succubus flexed her wings instinctively as the pair stepped out of the shadows.
"Good, you are here. Quickly, take it so I can truthfully say I do not have it, that it was stolen," Tira said as she handed the amulet to the Barbarian.
"Finally. Good luck, Stygian. Though I normally loathe people from your lands, you're not a bad sort," the rogue said, giving her a quick grin.
Sheila nodded also. "Be safe. We hope to see you later."
The demonologist nodded jerkily, then went to speak with her 'mistress'. Cold, demonic eyes from her familiar looked back, glaring at the two of them.
The trip back up to the top of the fortress was only slightly stressful, with them having to kill a pair of guards that had moved to protect a door. They were just opening the door to the watch tower exit when they heard a scream outside of alarm.
"Go!" Liasundur called out as she pulled out her blades and charged the two guards that had spotted their charade with the murdered watch. "Die for your tyrant, scum!"
Sheila was only a moment behind her as she used one of her bronze throwing daggers to jam the door behind her. Then she joined her murderous companion in a quick running, swashbuckling fight across the escarpment back to the egress point. Liasundur was direct, just killing three of the guards and kicking a fourth back to momentarily stymie the advance of a half dozen more. The young demigoddess dispatched three more and then, with a quick grab and throw, tossed one hapless fellow right off the cliff face and into the water over a hundred feet below.
The barbarian quickly started to climb down, even as Sheila defended the top. The Cimmerian finally reached the bottom and looked up just as Sheila started down. The young blonde American had only reached about a third of the way down before one of the bright Red Hand pushed the ladder off from the wall. Sheila had to scramble to the top side of the falling ladder and then leaped down to the ground sixty feet below.
Liasundur's heart seemed to stop. Then it restarted as the girl landed with a soft thud and into a crouch. "You should be-"
"Later. They'll be sending guards from the gate and the dungeons," the younger girl snapped out.
Dark eyes glared at her, then nodded. In moments they had disappeared into the shadows.
Sheila was impressed by her companions forbearance. They actually made it back to the Thirsty Dog without incidences, were debriefed by Tina and the inner circle. Tina took possession of the amulet to give to their most powerful mystic, Nadina. Finally they were secreted in a little storage room in the basement for the night on their pile of covered grasses.
"You are the Thunderer," Liansundur said as she took off her leather bracers. "No human could have survived that fall unscathed."
"True and true. Hearing that a powerful demon is after me has been a bit, um, worrying." The younger girl stretched out, popping her back. "I'm glad I hadn't used any abilities that would make me stand out. I think your Mark of Acheron has been overwhelming my own aura."
"So what is a Thunderer?" Liasundur asked as she sat on the threshes to unlace her sandals. She kicked them into the corner of the small room, but kept her sword and dagger close.
"It usually refers to a divine being that has control of thunder and lightning. I'm too weak to throw lighting, but I can do some neat things with what powers over the Storm I do have," Sheila replied casually as she started to remove her armored bracers and shoulder guards.
"Divine-!" the barbarian choked out.
"Oh, yes. My grandfather is a major god. King of Mount Olympus, Storm god and such. My mother is a goddess of war for the pantheon," the young girl explained seriously. "I'm half mortal, so merely a demigoddess. At eleven years old." After a moment of watching Liasundur stare at her, Sheila poked the much more muscular woman on her forehead.
"I thought I was showing you the ropes of how to do battle," she complained as she was jerked back to awareness.
"I have learned a few things. I am only twelve years old and I don't have any experience in living in this sort of situation. I definitely don't like using leaves in the outhouse." She gave a shudder at that.
Liasundur had no idea what you would use instead of leaves, so decided to switch subjects. "And Strom?"
"Is an evil man that needs to die again... permanently?" the demigoddess replied with an arched eyebrow that she realized the woman could not see in the dim light.
"Of that I can agree. What of the demon?"
"It has already sowed the seeds of its defeat. We just have to wait until we confront Strom," the girl replied with a hard grin.
"Good. Then let's get some sleep."
They were awoken by a pounding on the door. It creaked open, illuminating the two warriors grabbing their swords from the lantern the priestess of Mitra was carrying. The beautiful Belesa whispered, "It's starting now. Strom has sallied out of his keep with many wagons. It appears he wishes to flee Tortage this night."
"By Crom, will I get no sleep this night?" Liasundur complained as she starting throwing on her gear. Outside and muffled because they were in the basement, they heard the crash of arms and the shout of men and woman fighting.
In just a minute, they were both garbed. Valeria, the old pirate queen of Tortage that Strom had over thrown waved them over. "Hurry, I must be off to assist our men. But I have to get you both to Nadina first, as she has important information." She had obviously been out in the fighting already, her hair held back by a strip of cloth. Her heavy plate armor was already spattered in blood.
"The mystic can wait," Liasundur snapped out, obviously in a very irritated mood from her short nap. "Strom must not escape. His blood is mine to spill."
"He sent some men to threaten her. So if you aren't quick, she will take her secrets to her grave, barbarian," the blonde pirate snapped out. "Tina's brother managed to get here just in time with a message that says you must see her before you face Strom... or die!" Valeria countered angrily.
"Liasundur, let's go. The faster we resolve Nadina, the faster we can get to Strom," Sheila urged sincerely.
"Fine! Fagh to all mystics," the barbarian snapped out, pulling out her swords.
When they stepped out it was if into some sort of hellish inferno had descended upon Tortage as dust and ash drifted from the houses and buildings thatches that were on fire. The main square of the town had been taken by the resistance as the Red Hand had sallied forth from the castle itself to crush the rebellion.
The pair quickly moved down the southern main street towards the noble district where the eldest mystic of Tortage lived. Both women were brutal, taking out the scattered black and red garbed tyrants of Tortage, sending them to die screaming by blade or fire. Even the Aquilonian sergeant of the guard at the top of the entrance to the nobles quarters was a mere speed bump.
Sheila specifically did not react to the screech of the demon that flew overhead. Liasundur killed a final guard actually inside Nadina's home.
"I came as ordered," the barbarian stated in a deeply cold rage of a voice.
"And well it is you did, Cimmerian. For if you face Strom without the amulet from Atlantis... you would die. Now it is mere chance, not certainty," the old woman declared.
"I care only for the death of Strom. Say what you must so I may be on your way. I am sick and tired of this island," she stated.
"Yes, your fate will be determined in your home land. But you must take this amulet, this I now see. Mithrelle has removed the Mark of Acheron from Strom, but can still control you. She watches from the shadows for the opportunity." The old woman hobbled across the creaking floorboard even as someone screamed a deathcry in the distance. "Take it now and take up your destiny, barbarian." The single wing on the amulet looked unfinished or incomplete.
Liasundur felt that there was more she was not being told, but if it would make sure she could not be controlled by Thoth-Amon's apprentice, then she was willing to take it up. "Then I am off."
Nadina turned her almost blind eyes upon the thin and lithe form of the pale blonde next to the barbarian. "And you, daughter of War-Wisdom, you must beware. You can not leave Hyboria alive until the amulet is whole and its purpose truly fulfilled."
"I wondered if you knew more than you were saying," Sheila said cautiously. "Maybe we will have words later, witch."
With that, they strode back out into the red and orange hued nightmare. Back north out of the noble's quarters, past the Red Hand keep and then down the unblocked avenue to where a mass melee between the movers and shakers of Tortage against the tyrant's forces in the largest, open area of the city.
Turach, boastful and giant bald smith swung his hammer to a more deadly purpose as he pulped the black and red Red Hand with his 'hate' friend Redrick the Pirate. Tina the spymaster, Belesa the priestess and Ninus the priest of Mitra worked as a group as holy magic flared and the rogue's dagger drank deeply. Valeria and Laranga shouted encouragement from the front of the citizens that fought, bled and died for freedom from evil, vile tyranny.
Into this, Liasundur and Sheila smashed like a violent and sentient tsunami of death and destruction. A powerful priest that wore the Red Hand colors of Strom seemed focused on killing Liasundur.
Dark curses to his vile god spewed like unending anger from a rabid animal, punctuated by smashing attacks with his staff.
The amnesiac barbarian met him blow for blow with the yodeling warcry of the north. Three of his Red Hand lackey bodyguards charged in from further along the dock, only to be cut down in five quick, economical and brutal blows before she turned back to the priest. His eyes had gone wild and reflected the burning buildings of Tortage and his strength seemed unending.
Liasundur used low cunning, backing him over the prone bodies of one of his men, sending him stumbling for just a second on the blood-slicked form. Both swords stabbed out, the shorter to stop his staff and the longer saber to rip open this throat. He blood burned cold as she dashed past him down the docks.
Her companion lagged behind, intercepting a stray Red Hand soldier and his attack dogs, all the while perfectly keeping track of Set's demon that watched from the top of the castle. Bronze throwing daggers whipped out to impale press-ganged soldiers, shouting themselves hoarsely for some courage. Blue-green eyes kept an eye out as Liasundur dealt with more and more desperate of Strom's loyalists like the heavyset slaver who's ship had been sunk during the early part of the fighting. His fat, thick fingers weighed down with gold rings could not keep a good grip upon his sword as he died in vain to save his own sorry life.
The barbarian lived in a zone of hatred and anger, tempered cold by the crisp night air as she moved further along the dock. Up ahead she saw a single remaining ship left protected only by a few soldiers. She was nearly covered in blood but she seemed filled with limitless energy as the amulet of the phoenix jangled on her belt.
The last of the Red Hand saw her highlighted by the scattered torches and realized their doom. They had thrown in with Strom for riches and the pleasure of dominating those lesser than them, but now faced something that they could only dimly understand as implacable as death itself.
Liasundur was a dervish of death as she came upon them, howling death in their cowed faces. The last guards were barely able to slow her down and only nicked her shoulders and arm. She strode up the gangplank onto the swaying deck past treasures and supplies waiting to be loaded. "Strom."
The undead Tyrant of Tortage hissed out a breath through his skull-like nose. "The barbarian. Two weeks ago, I laughed at the stupidity of my men in fearing you. A week ago I cursed you for the loss of men and the strengthening of the rebel's cause. How can one person cause so much damage to me and mine?" He was a huge man, covered in the bones of Picts sewn together in a form of macabre armor. He drew his steel sword as he stood to his near giant full height.
The shriek of Set's demon stilled the fighting battle for a second as it leaped from the top of Tortage Keep. In only a few moments, it swept through the air to land on the aft cabin of Strom's getaway ship. "Mithrelle has bid me make sure that neither you nor the barbarian will live until morning, Strom. Without the Thunderer, your souls are mine!" It stretched itself to its full, fifteen feet height as black bat-wings seemed to cover the burning red sky in darkness.
The clap of thunder as Sheila landed at Liasundur's side was deafening, her fist crackling with discharged electricity from her flickering flight. "One Thunderer arriving at just the right time." Behind her on the docks, the battle was turning more and more as the rebels reclaimed their home.
"A child? I was so foolish to fear one so young!" the demon hissed even as it crouched low, red eyes studying the blonde girl.
The newly ensouled undead thing took this as an opportunity to try and bargain. "Barbarian, join me and we shall destroy this demon. All I ask is to be allowed to leave in peace-"
"Silence, Strom. You head will adorn a pike by first light. By Crom I swear this," the tall, blood-splattered Cimmerian swore as an oath. "Now just die!" She then charge forward, her blood pumping hot in anger as the night chilled her to a tempered steel.
The demon drew its wing into the air, sending a stunning dust devil at the much smaller and skinny figure. With a whoosh, the young demigoddess rocketed up into the air to avoid the attack, even as she pulled her silver pistol from its shadow space. The Cimmerian was not so lucky, being thrown violently to the edge of the ship. Her main sword clattered against the short gunwhale and then plopped into the water.
Strom started laughing at her predicament. "Barbarian, you should have chosen my aid. Now I will slay you and leave this wretched isle until I return at the head of a victor-"
Liasundur shouted out a Cimmerian battle cry, charging with her short blade held blade down. "Over my dead body!"
His skull-like face, covered in dried, dead skin seemed to smile at that. "Exactly." Then he was upon her as he returned her charge, smashing into her guard with his two-handed scimitar as he relentlessly pushed her back across the deck. The black-haired woman had to resort to holding her short sword by both hands and even then she could feel the impact all the way to her shoulder's socket. Small cuts appeared on her shoulders, one forearm and perilously near her knee.
She hopped over a dead body as Strom tried to trip her up over the dead body of one of his bodyguards. Her dark eyes narrowed in deep concentration as she hopped backwards and with intense timing landed on a small barrel on its side. The Tyrant of Tortage roared in delight as he charged, ready to bring his sword down upon her soon to be helpless form.
Liasundur whipped her body backwards in a tight reverse handstand, her feet rolling the barrel under Strom's rough booted feet even as thunder cracked in the sky. Sheila fired storm-amplified gunshots into the demon as they dueled in the air as the heavens seemed to quake in their fury.
The barbarian continued her handstand into a roll back to her feet, snatching a gaff-hook off of a bale of feed for a horse. Before the undead could get himself totally back on his feet, she was setting upon him like a demented dervish who had unleashed a cacophony of clangs upon his unsteady defense.
"Yi-yi-yi-yiyiyiyi!" the barbarian shouted tangling her foot behind his ankle. She flexed her whole body into smashing her forehead into his dessicated face, smashing his twig-dry jawbone. Liasunder leveraged her gaff-hook around his wrist and sword, pulling mightily and snapping it like a branch.
Her trusty shortsword then came up and kept stabbing at the undead abomination that was finally killable. Once to a lung, a second into his stomach, spilling his entrails and then finally she stabbed upward into his dry, black heart as her blood seeped down her brow and into her eyes.
Strom's dry eyeballs looked down as what ever foul necromancy had kept him alive finally faded, sending his body crashing down upon the blood soaked deck of the escape ship.
"YAAAAAA!" Liasundur cried to her god Crom, exulting in her victory, chipped sword held high.
The crack of thunder reminded her that hers was not the only fight this evening. Up in the air, Sheila had discovered that her pistol seemed to lack a reality in this far off place and time. At least against the unnatural flesh of Set's bat-demon. Even invoking the terrifying presence of the warrior only allowed her to bleed it a little bit with the steel saber in her hand.
Crack-crack went her pistol, even as she rolled over and twisted into a dive towards the battle torn city below. The demon screeched its anger at her attempt to flee, following as it pulled its wings in tight. Sheila glanced over her shoulder as the ground neared, angling to drop behind a thatched house that was afire.
The demon took the bait, following behind her closely. With a grasping gesture, Athena's Wisdom held tightly in her hand, the winds awoke and ripped up a large section of the roof and threw it into the demon's surprised face. Fire scorched him even as another gust of wind pushed him abruptly down and into the stone walls of another building with bone-breaking force.
Even that did not kill the demon. It took Sheila putting her full weight and a forty foot drop on the tip of her sword to meet the back of its neck. With a horrendous squeal, the demon breathed its last in front of the rebels and the last of Strom's Red Hand.
"Strom is dead!" the skinny demigoddess shouted. "You fight in vain for a lost cause! Surrender or die!"
A blood-crazed Stygian, taller than all but the Cimmerians Turach the Smith and Redrick the Pirate, charged at her with the intent to rip the young teen into bloody hunks. So the clap of thunder as Sheila discharged the fury of the storm through Athena's Wit in 10mm form killed him instantly and threw him back thirty feet.
"Is anyone else a dead fool?" she called out.
With a groan of despair, the Red Hand started to drop their weapons in a growing clatter. Valeria, once again Pirate Queen of Tortage, led a cheer.
"To Freedom! Death to tyranny!" the heavily armored warrior woman called out.
"To Freedom!" the crowd shouted back.
Sheila saluted them all, then shot back into the air to arrow over to Strom's escape ship. There she saw Liasundur talking to the old man that she remembered from the beach.
The Cimmerian seemed upset. "And was this demigoddess also part of your plan, Kalanthes of Ibes? Did your god tell you to bring her to this island to help overthrow Strom?" she demanded as she wiped some of the blood off her near naked body with stinging salt water.
"No, barbarian. She is something strange and unknown. But has she not been a friend to you, marked with Acheron? Seek out Rhiderch so that you may know your true destiny. He will know the signs and he will know you," the old Nemedian argued powerfully.
"I just seek to return to my lands, priest. If I see this Rhiderch, I will take a moment to listen to him," the prideful barbarian allowed finally with her reply.
"So off to your homelands finally?" Sheila asked brightly as she landed on the ground. "I hope you don't mind me tagging along."
"Could I get rid of you? Bah, whatever young girl." Liasundur smiled a the teen.
Sheila raised her hand, turning most of the cuts into deep bruises with just a wave of her hand. "There, now we can travel." She turned to talk to the priest, only to discover he had disappeared as if by magic. "Drat, I wished to know more of what is going on."