Lycanthrope
The jarring jangle of chains filled the city streets, punctuated rhythmically by the heavy clank of metal footfalls as the procession proceeded through the Royal Road. Those were the only sounds as the contingent of armored guards marched slowly through the streets, thronged around two captives captured in their wooden prison. There was not another soul in sight; the citizens of the once-grand city had long since abandoned it, and those who still stayed knew better than to reveal themselves.
One of the prisoners was unconscious, battered and bruised, lying sideways on the floor the contraption that bound the two. His breathing was heavy and laboured, but present; the other prisoner took comfort in that. Despite all that had happened, his son yet lived.
Yet, he had no idea how long that would remain a truth.
Laboriously, the man stood, nursing his left side. A rib had broken there, causing his flesh to swell painfully against the padding of his armor. A long gash in his right calf meant he would never run again; not that he expected to be able to run anywhere after all this had ended. Grunting in pain with every step, the man limped to the side of his cage, where the moonlight illuminated him in full.
He was a tall man, well-groomed and handsome, with a buff physique that told the lie to his age. The streaks of grey in his side whiskers and hair was the only evidence of his true years, yet even those had a sense of dignity and power to them. His armor was broken in some places and splattered with blood in others, but the ornate crest on his left breastplate was still intact. He reached across with his left hand, long stripped of his gauntlet, and traced the howling wolf that adorned his armor slowly. That was yet another small comfort; no matter what had happened, here was proof that he, Bane Ambry the Fourth, was yet the Count of the distinguished House Ambry.
Bane transferred his right-handed grip to the bars of the cage, clutching at the sturdy wooden bars as if pure strength alone could have crushed it to pieces. But that was not his purpose; he sought only to vent his frustration and anger. He knew that his fight had been lost, but he could not understand why. They had had the element of surprise. They had vastly outnumbered the number of men in the city, and all of their reports had concurred with the conclusion that victory should have been inevitable.
They had been ready. But still they had lost.
"Are the men ready?"
Loire bowed low. "As you instructed, my lord. The scouts have returned; all is quiet within the city. There is no sign of alarm, and everything goes on as usual behind the walls. Or, what passes as usual these days." The last was said with a sorrowful shake of the grizzled veteran's head. Count Bane knew all too well what that meant.
The kingdom of Slom had once been great; the late king Salimas had been a wise and just ruler, and had brought about the kingdom's golden age. Under his rule, the kingdom had prospered. Being a country with limited resources to call its own, the King had shrewdly decided to capitalize on the one advantage Slom had: it was positioned in just the right location, literally sandwiched between the three neighbouring, richer kingdoms. Instead of showing himself as an enemy, he opened his borders freely to Slom's neighbours, even building roads to ease access. As a result, trade flourished; Slom's coffers swelled, and the kingdom's future seemed bright. The capital of Slom had been the kingdom's pride and joy with its sapphire spires shining a dazzling azure, a hub of trade and commerce. But all that came to an abrupt end, when King Salimas fell to a mysterious malady that took his life as suddenly as it had manifested.
King Salimas II was nothing like the ruler his father was. Spoiled since birth, he had developed a fancy to various pleasure inducing drugs at a very young age, and was fascinated by the "wonders of the arcane", as the addled monarch was oft to put it. The old King's officials were replaced one by one by those who gained the new monarch's fancy; eventually, the kingdom's day to day matters were left ignored, as the corrupt officials spent the kingdom's treasury on their own base desires. Towns under the King's own jurisdiction became overrun with crime and strife, while the seven lords struggled to keep their own towns and cities afloat as the monarchy raised taxes year after year. The kingdom's capital itself had lost its own energy; the spires still stood tall, but they no longer gleamed a bright sapphire, rather a dull blue which somehow cast a shadow over the city. Count Ambry himself had gone to the edge of the ridge and looked out at the city in the distance, and had ridden away seething in anger.
"Then tonight, we shall set things right." Count Bane rose from his seat in the tent, careful not to upset the mug of water he had placed near his map. Reaching down, he picked up the heavy helmet that had serviced him throughout the years; he had not thought he would ever have need of it again. "Gather the men. I will speak to them. And send my son to me." Loire bowed in acquiesence and left the tent, barking orders as he went.
Left alone in the tent, the aged Count circled the immense map spread on his table, studying it from every possible angle. In his mind's eye, he saw the battles taking place; he weighed the possibilities, saw the counter-measures to his plans, developed strategies to react, came up with other events that could circumvent his strategems-
"You wished to see me, Father?" The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Banehallow Ambry lifted the flap of the war tent and entered, pausing at the door to salute respectfully to the man he called both Lord and Father. Count Bane stopped his pacing, and turned to face his son. The Count was a tall man, but his son was yet taller, with refined features befitting the most royal of bloodlines. But tonight, the suave, handsome young lad who had charmed many of the ladies at his court was gone, replaced by a warrior whose cold determination burned fiercely behind his deep black eyes.
"Yes, my son," Returning the salute, Count Ambry gestured to one of the camp-chairs in the tent, and himself took one. "The time for the attack draws near, and it is my wish that you lead the men on a flanking unit, to lead the reserves into battle should we need it." Banehallow began an angry protest, but the Count held up his hand. "No, my son, hear me. I do not do this to keep you from harm's way; I do this because yours is the only mind I trust. Lieutenant Loire is already leading the archers; he is needed there. I have none other who can take on this task. Will you do it?"
Banehallow struggled internally for a moment, but then bowed his head in assent. "As you command, Father. I ask only that you leave command of the reserve unit to me; I shall lead the men and join the fray as I deem fit."
"You have my confidence in this, my son." Count Ambry stood, and embraced his heir in a rare show of emotion. Banehallow clasped his father in return, and they shared a brief moment together. With a sigh, the elder Ambry released his son. "And now, I must see to the main issue at hand."
Count Bane left the tent, his son falling into place behind him. His soldiers, 6,000 strong, stood gathered in a huge mass of glinting steel in the firelight. His trusted lieutenant, Loire, stood at the head of the army, and saluted his lord as Count Bane climbed the few steps on the makeshift podium that had been built for this very purpose.
The cage jolted, sending the Count stumbling against the walls and his son rolling halfway across the tiny cage. Gasping in pain, Bane clutched his side, fighting the red haze that sought to overcome his consciousness. As his vision cleared and the pain subsided slightly, he hastened to his son's side to check if he was alright. Despite the pain that the jolt must have caused him, Banehallow did not stir; instead, his breathing simply grew quicker and more laboured. Bane worried about him; if he did not get any medical aid soon, there was no doubt that his son would perish. But trapped as they were, there was no hope of that at all.
Death. Count Ambry knew that it was a possible consequence of his actions, and he accepted it without fear. It was not death that he could not accept, but the fact that he had failed; he had failed his country, failed the late King Salimas, failed his family. Undoubtedly, the King would exact his wrath on not just his soldiers but the entire line of Ambry as well. He clasped his head in his hands, wondering where the battle had gone wrong.
The battle was going wrong.
Even as Count Bane had drawn forth his blade and held it aloft, screaming the war cry that would be the trigger to his assault, the city gates burst open, and armored men began to spill out of the city. The shock of the sudden assault registered in every man; none of them had expected the enemy to be prepared and ready to meet them. They had been prepared to begin their assault on the city walls; the archers were not ready to fire, and the ones at the foremost were not the heavy knights but the more lightly-armored soldiers who held the battering rams and scaling ladders. That one moment of shock had proven to be fatal, as a sheet of arrows rose from the city and rained death upon these front ranks, killing most of the unshielded soldiers outright. Panic and mayhem ensued, as the heavy knights fought to get to the front lines while the light soldiers scrambled to get out of their way. A second wave of arrows descended, this time with minimal casualties as the heavy knights raised their shields as one to fend off the projectiles, but it had served its purpose; so focused on the initial onslaught of arrows were they that the knights were caught unaware as the wave of armored men crashed into the Ambrian knights. Battle was joined, but the House of Ambry had already lost a third of its forces.
Count Bane roared, and swung his heavy broadsword downward in a heavy double-handed arc that sheared through a man's armor and flesh easily, cleaving him nearly in two. Spinning quickly, he let the point of his sword slam into the grass, and used it as an anchor to deliver a powerful kick to another man's mid-section, sending him stumbling backward into the waiting blade of one of his knights. With a powerful heave, he brought his sword out of the mud in time to parry yet another enemey's blade. Around him, his knights fought ferociously, and it was clear that the Ambrian knights had the upper hand in terms of numbers and combat expertise. Trumpets from within the city blared, and the King's Soldiers began a hasty retreat while yet a third rain of arrows rose from the city.
"Defend yourselves!" came the cry, as the knights brought up their shields once more to defend against the attack. When the last of the arrows had fallen from the sky, the enemy forces were still on the retreat. Count Ambry spun to his flagbearer. "Raise the red! Tell Lieutenant Loire to fire a volley of our own to prevent the retreat! MEN! TO ME!" Even as the flagbearer hastily brought up the pole flying the red flag, Count Ambry was already vaulting into his saddle, ready to lead the charge on the retreating enemy.
That was when the second wave struck.
From the west suddenly came another trumpet call, and more soldiers seemingly erupted from the ground, throwing off the covers of grass that they had been hiding under and revealing the sloped pits that they had been waiting in. From the city came a fourth volley of arrows, and this time more Ambrian soldiers fell as they turned to face the western threat. The King's Soldiers who had been retreating before turned abruptly in their tracks and once again charged at the Ambrian forces, and Count Bane abruptly found his forces caught in an attack from two sides. Snarling in frustration, he whirled to face his flagbearer to signal a retreat, only to find the man as a crumpled form on the grass floor, an arrow through his throat. Count Bane literally leaped off his horse and raised the yellow flag himself; two long blasts of a horn was his response. The Ambrian contingent began to draw back, and as the Count himself decapitated yet another enemy soldier, he wondered where his son was.
The wooden cage came to a gradual halt outside the immense double doors of Slom Castle. As the soldiers pushed the door slowly out of the way, it was apparent that it was badly in need of maintenance. The cage lurched once more into motion, and Count Ambry glared at the wooden doors in disgust. As he rode through the halls of the castle, he found little to his liking. Gone were the flowers and the tapestries that were the doings of the late Queen, who had insisted that the castle had been too "dreary" and "major refurnishings were in order". Gone were the valuable paintings and statues that had been gifts to the late King by travelling merchants. In their stead were little pots which emitted cloying yellow smoke, filling the hall with a sickening haze that filled the lungs and made it difficult to breathe. Not a servant was in sight; perhaps they had all been let go, as no cleaning seemed to be required by the current "King"'s rule, as was evidenced by the amount of dust and cobwebs filling up the corners. Truly, nothing remained of the old Slom Castle that had been a joy to visit before.
When the wooden cage reached the doors to the throne room, the cage stopped once again. The door to their prison was flung open unceremoniously, and the solders ordered the two prisoners to step out of the prison. Count Ambry crouched by his son's side.
"He is not conscious. He will not be able to get up."
"None of our business. Get out, and we'll drag him there if we have to." This from a young upstart. Judging from his voice and from his looks, he could not have been more than eighteen, but he already had a sneering, nasal quality to his voice that spoke of arrogance. Two soldiers reached into the cage and, grabbing the Count by both his arms, forced the count out of the cage and between them. Another two grabbed Banehallow in a similar manner, his feet dragging along the stained carpet due to his height, and in this fashion the duo entered the throne room. The throne room was devoid of people, other than soldiers who lined the long pathway to the throne and the King who sat on his throne.
And Lieutenant Loire.
"The King wishes to see you."
Those were the only words that the soldiers had offered him as they tossed him into the cage, a wooden contraption that had not been around in the previous King's time. Count Ambry gasped in pain, and fell to his knees as his right leg gave way from under him. Dots floated across his eyes, and he fought to keep them from blotting out his vision entirely. When he had his senses under control again, he became aware of another man's breathing in the cage. Glancing up, he saw a sight that stopped his heart.
"My son!" Lunging across the small cage, he went to his son's side as swiftly as he could. Banehallow's face was badly bruised and battered, and his armor had been torn off him in several places. Where his flesh showed, innumerable cuts shone angrily under the moonlight. "What could have done this to you...?" he murmured as he cradled his son's head.
Banehallow stirred, and opened his eyes. His deep black eyes had gone bloodshot, and when he spoke it was with an obvious effort.
"Father... ware... treach..ry..." Was all he could manage before he faded once more into unconsciousness.
But Count Bane only knew what it meant now.
"Treachery!" He lunged against his restraints, straining to reach the man who had betrayed him.
"You traitor, how could you betray the house of your anc-" Count Ambry's words were cut off as one of his captors gave him a solid backhand; he felt the pop of his jaw, and a searing pain followed immediately after. Tasting blood in his mouth, Bane could do nothing but pant. Loire smiled, an unpleasant curling of the lips. The King smiled as well, but his face was vacant and his expression vapid, as if his mind was elsewhere at the moment. Glancing once at his monarch, Loire's smiled deepened, and he took the few steps down to stand in front of his captives.
"But my lord, I have not. You are the one who has betrayed the house of your ancestors and broken your ancestral vows of fealty, for are you not the man who knelt here in this very room and gave your loyalty to your King? And now you plan to kill him, and replace him. What tragedy!" Loire's voice was mocking, and brought a rage to Count Bane's that he had never experienced before. He roared, and struggled once more against his captors. This time, however, Loire backhanded him personally. "Manners, my lord! You stand in front of your King!"
"You have no right, none at all, to even call him your King. You are a traitor to your people, and your sins shall weigh heavy upon your soul!" Bane's reply was furious, shaking with rage.
"Oh no, my lord, I assure you I have not betrayed my King in any way. For is it not a vassal's duty to ensure his King gets what he wants, when he wants it?" As he spoke, Loire casually picked up a pot of acrid smoke, and brought it closer to the King, who inhaled deeply and sighed in stupified satisfaction. Loire's grin grew wider, and he replaced the pot in its original position.
"As for you, my lord, you deserve a punishment befitting your status. Receive your punishment!" The last words were spoken in an officious tone, and the soldiers holding both Count Bane and Banehallow forced both of them to their knees. Holding forth a piece of imperial parchment, Loire unfolded it and began to read.
"Bane Ambry the Fourth and his son, Banehallow Ambry. The two of you are guilty of treason of the highest order, and you shall be sentenced to death. Your family will be subject to similar punishment, affecting those of the Ambrian line up to thrice removed. The form of execution..." Here, Loire paused, and lowered the parchment to his side.
"By wolf."
By wolf?
Banehallow was only marginally conscious when he heard the words. This was no manner of execution that he had heard of before; was he intending to feed them to wolves? But this did not seem likely; wolves were not native to the land of Slom. He suddenly felt a heavy hand on his head, and he glanced up to see Loire looming ominously over him.
And then he felt pain, pain worse than anything he had ever felt.
A roar ripped forth from his lips, as he felt his body structure snapping and crunching into something inhuman. He could hear his father cry out, but the words did not register in his head; the pain covered everything else. He could feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing except for whatever torture that Loire had devised. Surely, it was killing him.
As suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. Banehallow tried to stand, but found that he could not. So he tried for the next best alternative: to at least steady himself on all fours, and he found that this could be done with surprising ease. He raised his head to look at his father, who was staring at him in horror. He then realized he was free of his captors; for some reason, they had let him go. Not only that, his father was released as well, but he was making no move to assault the traitor Loire. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a low growl. As he looked down at his body, he saw that he was covered all over in purple fur, and that his hands were not hands but-
Paws.
He had been turned into a wolf.
Loire's maniacal laughter snapped his attention to the man. Now Banehallow knew why the soldiers had released them; they were probably just as frightened and shocked as he was. When Loire's laughter subsided, he commanded, "Now, my pet, tear out the throat of this man! You are my creation, and your spirit is bound to me!"
Banehallow felt something pull him from within, pull his head to stare at his father, who had a sorrowful look on his face. A snarl started from deep within his throat, one that Banehallow had no intention of starting. He felt himself gather into a crouch and his muscles bunch, ready to leap at his own father's throat. He fought desperately to resist.
"You!" Loire ordered, "Drag his head back! Give my new pet a decent target!" Obediently, a soldier grabbed a fistful of Count Bane's hair and drew it back roughly. At this, something snapped in Banehallow. He leaped.
The wolf that was once his son leaped, and Count Bane shut his eyes, unwilling to see the image of his own son choking the life out of him. He opened them again quickly, however, when he felt the grip on his hair loosen, and the soldier behind him gave a gurgled cry. Whipping his head around, he saw Banehallow close his jaws around the man, and with one final clench of his powerful jaws, the man shuddered and lay still. The wolf shook his great mane free of the man's throat, and dropped heavily to the ground.
Loire had stumbled back from the scene in dismay and horror. Snarling, Banehallow turned on the man who had transformed him into a beast, but before he could make that jump one of his original captors scored a deep cut on Banehallow's left flank. He yelped in pain, and turned around to face the soldiers as adversaries first. Unable to control himself, Count Bane started to laugh. Loire turned on him. "What are you laughing about, old man!" he demanded.
"Loire, you believe yourself intelligent, powerful because you traffic in magic. How you have hidden this from me, I will never know. But know this. I have met King Salimas the Second, before he came to this. As a youth, he was powerful; he was already skilled in the crafts you seek to master. You have kept him on a leash with your drugs and your poisons, but for how long? And now you have simply proven your ineptitude, when you made the folly of seeking to control a man of House Ambry. Now, your own mistakes are coming back to bite you. How can I not laugh?"
Loire glared at the laughing man in seething fury. "Well, if I should die in this-" Loire drew his sword, "-you will die with me!"
Banehallow heard the words, and quickly hamstringed the last soldier he had been fighting. Spinning back, he saw Loire run a sword through his father's body. With a howl of anger and despair, Banehallow raced toward the man who had caused so much evil, and clamped his jaws tight on his throat, not letting go until the man was finally still.
"Son."
Shaking himself free of Loire's corpse, Banehallow loped to his father's side. Laying a hand on his muzzle, Count Bane pulled his son's face closer to his own.
"Son. Go. Leave this place. House Ambry... cannot end here. You must... seek... justice, for us. You must... live." Count Bane forced out the words, each word softer and weaker than the last. As he finished with his last words, Banehallow lifted his great muzzle and let loose a howl of utter loss and despair. In response, the throne room doors burst open, and many soldiers came flooding into the room. Banehallow bit off his howl and sped off at full speed past the astonished men, past the hallways of acrid smoke, past the still-open double doors of the castle and into the night.
On the night the great kingdom of Slom fell, Banehallow watched from the same ridge his father had so many years ago, as mayhem broke out from within the castle walls. His time as a wolf had heightened his senses, and he could both smell the smoke and hear the screams even from this distance. He watched as "justice" was meted out for him, but he was not satisfied; this "justice" should have been carried out by himself, on his own, and now it had been stolen. His years had been lived for revenge, and he would not allow it to be stolen by anyone.
And suddenly, Banehallow's head filled with an echoing voice. The voice was strange, yet alluring; he could not help but listen to it. The voice told him to come, come to where it was, to join it and fight for it. And in return, Banehallow would be promised revenge on the man who had stolen his justice. The voice faded, and Banehallow turned away from the burning castle. The large man crouched on all fours and sat on his haunches; moments later, a violent red wolf let loose a long howl before running off, blurring into the night.
The Lycanthrope answered the call.
A/N: HOLY CRAP this one took me AGES TO WRITE. As you can see, I decided to scrap the whole idea of "making it several chapters long" because it would open a can of worms; each hero would eventually be getting their own 10-chapter-worth of stories, and I seriously don't have the time or energy for that. I honestly didn't intend to finish this in the first place, but it irked me that I had something left undone, so I finished it in one sitting. I apologize for the long wait, I've been super busy with life and school and only managed to find a bit of spare time to write this now. I'm also sorry for the ending, I don't really like it but I was running out of creative juice at the time.
You will also notice this time that I deviated slightly from the actual bio; in the actual story the King runs him through, while here I got the "magician" to do it. Slom is a featured kingdom in many character bios, and the Mad King is a very important character, so if I ever get the urge to do anything else with any bio that involves Slom or the Mad King, I assure you this story here is linked and relevant. This is my own concept, not DotA 2's, so... yup.
I'm not sure if any more of these will come out though, so don't get your hopes up I guess? :X Sorry for that too.
See ya.
