Fellblade

IV

Pool of Dreams

Morgan set his tankard down on the bar and rubbed his forehead. The pains were sporadic, coming and going. It was a small price to pay for immortality, but damn, it was annoying. He looked up as a poorly dressed man approached him, somewhat fearfully. Realising his sword was leaning up against the bar; the knight rolled his eyes and waved at the man.

'Sit down, old one, what do you want?'

The greybeard glanced momentarily at a notice pinned to the wall near the door.

'Are…are you the leader of the Red Wolves?'

'Hah, I'm not surprised you thought I was the leader. I'm pretty tough-looking, aren't I?' He grinned. When the man didn't respond, he rolled his eyes again.

'I'm a member, but I don't lead us. You want to talk with Merideon. Him, over there.' Morgan pointed casually at the noble at a nearby table. Merideon was laughing heartily, Gabrielle at his side. An empty wine glass stood on the table in front of him.

'Ah. Thank you.'

'Don't mention it.' Morgan turned back to his drink. Bloody greybeards.

Legless, Kurt and Merideon were having a thoroughly enjoyable evening. The drink was flowing, the air was warm and they'd just been handed a reasonable bounty for the rat-man heads.

'Where's Skurdi, then?' Merideon looked about jovially.

'I think he had too much to drink!' Legless scoffed, producing a burst of laughter all round the table. 'Those dwarves, huh?'

'Talking about drink,' Kurt said, 'you! Bring us another tray of beers, eh?' Kurt settled back in his chair, nursing his tankard. 'So, what's with the old man for a pet, eh? This some sort of new fashion?'

'What old man?' Merideon asked, before seeing the old man trying hard not to be noticed but at the same time trying to get a word in. Gabrielle shifted along. 'Oh, you there, peasant, what's the problem? Need someone to buy you a drink?' This was followed by another round of mirth. For a moment the old man's eyes hardened. Then he spoke.

'A sorcerer, one no doubt from the recent chaos invasion, has made his lair beneath my village of Bokel. Who will save us from his threats and daemon-summoning?'

There was silence.

'Well that wasn't very funny,' Kurt spluttered, 'what's wrong with you, greybeard?'

'This is no joke, young fool,' the old man snapped. 'I saw your notice, you are mercenaries, yes?'

'Apparently,' Legless cut in before anyone else could speak. He narrowed his eyes at Merideon.

'Of course we are, of course we are,' Merideon said softly, 'we kill things for shiny gold crowns. What is it you want us to kill?'

'The sorcerer beneath my village, you dolt!'

'Are you calling me a dolt?' The noble's jaw tightened. Gabrielle placed a gentle hand on his chest, but he brushed it aside and stood, towering over the old man.

'Merideon, this is not the time for your easily offendable character traits,' Legless hissed. 'We could get something out of this human.'

'Like what? What do you have to offer us, if we do this, greybeard?'

'We are just a humble village, good sir,' the man replied, backing off a little. 'We are helpless to prevent the sorcerer summoning his filthy…'

'Yes, all right, all right,' Merideon snarled. 'They must have something we can get off them later,' he added conspiratorially to the others.

The catacombs of Bokel were narrow, and dank. The air smelled of rotting vegetables, and water dripped down the slimy walls. It was foul.

'Did we really have to come here?' The elf wrinkled his nose in disgust.

'It's just some sorcerer who needs his backside whipping,' Merideon responded.

As the party crept stealthily down the darkened passageways, they came to a set of richly furnished double doors. The edges had been decorated in brass and gold, leering skulls and double-headed axes. The décor was new, and had been added recently.

'Anyone like to guess what sort of thugs the sorcerer keeps in there?' Morgan said sarcastically. 'Any fool can recognise the tools of the Blood God's minions.'

The knight promptly raised the Soul Edge.

'Prepare to defend your souls!' He sliced downwards, hacking a huge gash in the wood. A further blow from his boot smashed the doors inwards. 'Charge!' Morgan rushed into the chamber. Immediately the hot stench of blood filled the air. Nothing was intact in the room; long since destroyed by its hellish inhabitants. The walls themselves were scoured by huge gouge marks and scratches; evidence that the daemons did not approve of their temporary captivity.

They stood a foot taller than the humans, their skin blood red and awash with the slickness of one who has just bathed in another's life essences. They stamped the ground with brass hooves, and horns of the same substance crowned their infernal brows. In their clawed hands they gripped axes that gleamed with a malevolent light: hellblades. And their eyes glowed with white hellfire.

With an inhuman, bestial roar, one of the daemons raised its weapon to meet the attacking knight. A burst of sparks ignited as Soul Edge clashed with its cousin. Then the hellblade slammed into Morgan's side, throwing him across the room. The Bloodletter shrieked with hellish vigour, a sound that hurt the mens' ears. The second daemon thundered into the attack, and soon the party was engaged in a desperate fight for their lives. Blood stained the floor, the clash of steel was deafening and the daemons' iron hides turned many blows. The hellblades very nearly finished the Red Wolves, their owners striking again and again with furious passion. War cry after war cry ripped from fanged mouths and the sheer terror exuded by the daemonic minions of the Blood God shook them all. Never before had they had such a difficult battle, and all of them feared that this would be their last.

Merideon ducked a swing that would've taken his head off. He rolled aside and pulled the trigger on his pistol. The blast tore a hole in the daemon's side, and it snarled viciously, raising its axe for the fatal blow. Then an arrow impaled its neck, flying straight through and plunging into the wall behind. A stream of ichor vomited bloodily from the creature. There was a swirl of daemonic energy and a bestial howl. Merideon's cape whipped up as if in a breeze and then there was gory splatter of blood as the beast imploded. He wiped sticky blood from his face with the back of his glove. Nearby the other daemon bellowed as its neck was severed and it followed the departure of its companion in a typical display of bloody gore.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by heavy breathing as the Red Wolves came to terms with the horrors they had just vanquished.

'I believe the human term is…lucky.' Legless shouldered his bow.

'Very,' Morgan agreed. 'By all rights, we should not have survived such an encounter.'

All of them were wounded. As they spent the next hour or so recovering, they hoped that the fight with the sorcerer would not mean battling more Bloodletters. If it did, it could mean certain death and an eternity of slaughter for their souls.

The next room's entrance was bordered by seductive, naked nymphs. Strange, twisting runes were etched into the panels, lit softly by a pair of purple candles. Morgan, automatically opening his mouth before he could stop himself, revealed his thoughts.

'Slaanesh, the god of pleasure. This room will contain Daemonettes, then after that it will be either horrors of Tzeentch or Plaguebearers of Nurgle. This is a pattern.'

'How do you know so much, Magnus?' Legless was suspicious.

'Uh…' Morgan knew he had been caught out. 'My father had an extensive library.'

'Interesting library,' Kurt spat. 'Trafficking with slightly dubious parties?'

'Like you can talk, Waldheim.'

'Enough!' Merideon shushed his companions. 'We enter, we kill the peasants, then we continue on.'

'It will not be that easy,' Morgan began, but the noble had already opened the door and strode through into the chamber.

It was a garden. The walls were covered in delicate vines and creepers, flowers of utmost beauty decorating their sinewy lengths. The flowers were pink, purple and yellow, contrasting with the deep, fleshy tones of the floor. Flagstones that looked disturbingly like bare skin ran from wall to wall, and beautiful statues of scantily clad maidens stood in each corner. There were luxurious sofas and armchairs arranged against the walls and a stand with an exquisite musical instrument.

Lounging decently were the Daemonettes. They were pale-skinned and slender, their bodies painted with swirling symbols and their eyes glowing with lust. Of course, their appearance wasn't all pleasing to the eye. Their arms ended in monstrous lobster claws and their feet were elongated and tipped with razor talons. In a trice the daemons were stalking towards them.

For a moment the comrades paused, awed at the sight of the seductive creatures. A strange aura of magnificence wafted through the air. Then an arrow flew past the gaping men and struck the closest Daemonette in the shoulder.

'Cease your childish staring, and engage them!'

Merideon shook his senses free from the illusion of beauty and slashed outwards at the Daemonettes. His rapier cut a criss-cross of bloody lines across the flesh of his opponent. A massive claw nearly caught his neck and he jumped back out of the way, blade flicking out. The claw fell to the floor, neatly severed with a spray of ichor.

Nearby Morgan's gold sword twirled in deadly arcs. His blade hacked and chopped, a machine of destruction as he carved his way through the enemy. The daemons' attacks scraped off his armour and he sliced the legs out from beneath one, then reversed the blow upwards to cut the hellish maiden in half. Ichor spattered his armour.

Kurt's mind reeled. The constant echoing promises of eternal pleasure reverberated around his head, ringing like tiny bells in a light breeze. He hesitated, sword in hand as the Daemonette strode towards him, its hips swinging. He struggled to maintain control of his body as his foe passed him and laid its arms around his neck. Slowly, he dropped to his knees, the daemon massaging him with something warm and wet. A sigh of contentedness escaped from his lips, even as his friends battled against their own daemons. His gaze fell to the side. Suddenly, he caught sight of what was massaging him. It was the daemon's tongue.

With a start, he broke free from the daemon's embrace and turned to face his adversary.

'Vile temptress!' The daemon's expression turned dark and with a shrill scream of rage it leapt at him. He side-stepped its attack and promptly plunged the orcish sword into its side. Pulling it free, he circled the daemon as ichor fountained from its gaping wound. Before the daemon could close with him, he pulled out his pistol and fired. The Daemonette's head exploded in a shower of ichor.

It was Legless again that ended the battle with a well-placed blow of his elven greatsword. As he tried to collect used arrows he found that they vanished along with the bodies of the fallen. Cursing richly in Eltharin, he made a mental note to use his greatsword rather than lose precious ammunition.

'Look,' Kurt said, holding up three bottles of a reddish liquid. He had found a drawer in one the base of one of the sofas. 'Healing potions. At least there's something of worth in this god-forsaken place.'

The next daemons they encountered were the terrifying Fiends of Slaanesh, rather than Tzeentchian monsters as Morgan had postulated. The many-limbed beasts lashed out with pincer-claws and talon-like hooves, their luminous, green eyes flashing.

'Get in close, then they can't use their pincers!' Morgan roared, deflecting a barbed scorpion tail with a flick of his golden sword. He rolled aside as the pincers went to cleave him in half. Struggling to his feet, he hacked down viciously as the thing turned its centaurine body to face him. He was enveloped in a spray of ichor as his sword smashed its way through the scales and into the daemon's body.

The other Fiend faced Legless while Kurt and Merideon stayed back, half glad that it wasn't their fight, half exasperated that the elf was taking all the glory. Once within the arc of the massive pincers, Legless easily penetrate the creature's defences and slew it with an upwards thrust to the head. Dodging its lashing tongue, he cut it off and leapt away as the beast's tail stabbed downwards in a last effort to sting the elf warrior.

Then there were the Flamers, inverted mushroom beings with avian heads and arms that spouted incinerating jets of multi-hued flame.

'What are these devils?' Kurt breathed, goggling at the evil beasts of the god of Sorcery. As the daemons bounced irritatingly around the cave in which they had been imprisoned, the outlaw followed the elf's example and back peddled from the doorway. Merideon and Morgan stumbled into him from behind.

'Back, get back!' He shouted before an incandescent wave of flame spewed from the chamber.

'We're safe on this side of the doorway,' Legless mused. 'All the rooms so far, the daemons were contained by some dire spell. Cross the threshold and they can attack.'

'Then we use missile fire,' Kurt snarled. He pulled out his flintlocks. Merideon also took up his pistol. Legless nodded and the three of them stood side by side.

'Open fire!' The noble roared and the blasts of gunfire filled the air. Struck down by arrow and shot, the daemons melted into a pool of yellowish-orange ichor.

In an arcane room with a circle inscribed upon the floor, they discovered the Horrors of Tzeentch. Like nothing they have ever seen before, the daemons' hides were constantly shifting and changing with a thousand faces, all of them screaming with horror and woe. Books lined the shelves and eerily lit candles that burned with rainbow flames cast eerie light upon the walls.

'The devilry of the master changer,' Legless told the others. 'They will most likely try to blast us with magic first, then when that fails they'll engage us. We must take down these creatures quickly.'

Legless' theory proved to be correct. The infernal, pink creatures cast fiery spells upon the companions, but the rune of Spelleating upon Legless's shield glowed bright and dissipated the magic. Furious, the daemons launched themselves across the floor to attack but were quickly cut down by the defiant warriors. These were truly horrifying creatures born of the corrupting power of Chaos, but after surviving the attack of the Bloodletters it seemed that nothing could stop the comrades carving a bloody path through the daemons. When the Pink Horrors split in two and the Blue Horrors took their place, Legless whirled amongst them with practiced ease. In a short period their steaming corpses had dematerialised, back to the Realm of Chaos.

Legless held up a hand. They were outside the next portal, a diseased affair that stank of decaying wood, pestilence and maggot-filth.

'Behind this door will be the daemons of the plague god.' He rummaged in his pack until he found a vial of lamp oil. 'This should deal with the Plaguebearers.' He grinned knowingly.

'Lamp oil?' Merideon was baffled. 'And how, exactly, is that going to help us?'

'Watch and learn. Magnus, would you do the honours?'

The knight nodded. Kicking the rotting, wooden doors open, he knocked one off its rusting hinges. The elf smiled as he saw the daemons. They were like walking corpses that had been rotting forever and yet never fully decomposing. Their bodies were slick with slime and crawling maggots. A single horn erupted from the cyclopean monsters' heads. With a deft motion, the elf hurled the lamp oil at the nearest daemon.

There was a tinkle as the glass shattered over the daemon's head. Legless pulled out an arrow from his quiver. The head was wrapped in a rag. Lighting it on a wall torch, he aimed at the Plaguebearer.

'Burn, you foul spawn of chaos!'

The fire arrow flew straight and true. Coming to rest in the daemon's eye, it quickly ignited and an explosion tore through the room. The companions made for cover, ducking back from the doorway. Flames consumed the daemon and billowing clouds of fire destroyed its companion in a burst of disgusting filth.

When the flames had died down, Legless strode imperiously into the charred and blackened chamber. The walls were scorched and the only thing remaining intact was the mysterious, stone well in the centre of the room and a heavy, iron chain descending into its depths.

'Now that's how it's done when you're dealing with daemons,' Legless smirked.

'There's only one way to go,' the elf informed Merideon, who was shining his lantern down into the well. 'Down.'

'As dark a prospect as that is,' the noble replied, his face twisting with distaste. He dropped a pebble down. Straining his ears, he grimaced when he didn't hear a sound.

'Do we really have to go down there?' Kurt looked worried. 'Surely there's another way that we missed.' He glanced back into the corridor.

'Well, you can go if you like,' Legless stated. 'I'm vouching for the well.'

'It doesn't bother me whichever way,' Morgan said casually. 'Give me the scum we're after. I long to return to the surface.'

'Feelings I myself share,' Merideon sighed. 'Well, Legless, you go first.'

Legless leapt up onto the well's edge. He crouched and clutched the slimy chain. The shaft's opening stank like a privy that had just been used.

'I'll tug the chain when I reach the end. See you at the bottom, friends.' He disappeared into the darkness.

It seemed like an eternity passed as he descended into the depths. The stench was unbearable, and he wrapped a cloth about his face to mask the odour a little. It was pitch black, the only light source being the diminishing glow of Merideon's lantern above. The only sound he could hear was his own breathing, and below was utterly dark, as if he was descending into a bottomless pit. It was frightening.

Then, just when he thought it was fruitless and his mind turned to climbing back up, he glimpsed the slightest hint of light below him. Using his night vision, he thought he could just make out a rough-hewn corridor. Then, sliding down a little faster, he came out into the corridor. Dropping to the floor, he glanced around warily. He could see barely three feet in front of him, but he saw that the passage veered down and to the left. Straining his ears, he heard what might've been the low hum of chanting.

'This is it,' he mused to himself. 'This is the sorcerer's lair.' He walked back to the chain and waggled it back and forth. Then, hoping the others would catch on, he edged down the steps into the hazy shadows.

Kurt banged his fist on the wall. He hadn't found anything. He would have to go down the stinking well. He cursed the villagers of Bokel for making their catacombs such a warren of labyrinthine passages and stormed back to the well room. Soon all three men were descending the rusty, slime-encrusted chain.

'Istanius, irradeum, daemonicus adjoor, bellanora el daelum…'

There was a bang as the door crashed open. Zhar swore. His summoning of the Slayer Hounds had been interrupted. Turning, he motioned and the Bloodletter, the Horror, the Daemonette and the Plaguebearer started moving. His eyes flashed with rage. In the doorway stood an elf, clad in shining mail. A High Elf?

'I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?'

'Elf swine. You have no idea what I intend to achieve here.'

'And what is it, exactly, that you intend to achieve?'

'That is not for you to know, Asur scum. Prepare for assimilation!'

'For what?' But he didn't get a reply. A bolt of black fire flew towards him and he rolled aside as the dark magic scorched the wall behind him. The daemons were in motion, and he knew there would be no escape. The only option was to send them back to where they came from. Issuing his Asur war cry, the elf drew his sword and rushed into the attack.

'Now that was one dirty climb,' Kurt spat, brushing filth from his black coat.

'Keep your voice down, Waldheim,' Merideon retaliated.

'It doesn't matter,' Morgan growled. 'Can't you hear it? The battle has begun!'

The three men entered the vast chamber and looked at the swirl of melee. Daemons of all four Ruinous Powers hacked and slashed at the weaving elf, who was surrounded by enemies. He was bleeding in numerous places where daemonic weapons had torn gashes in his armour. On a dais stood a dark-cloaked figure, his head crowned with two curving horns. In front of the sorcerer was a pool of chaotic energies, its hellish glow casting the man into stark relief. Even as they watched another Bloodletter erupted into existence with an infernal howl.

'Attack!' Merideon waved his rapier. 'Legless needs our help!'

Without a further word the men charged down the stairs into the chamber. The clamour of steel split the air as the battle raged. It was intense, a fight to the death as the forces of Darkness strove to slay those who would interfere with their arrival. Zhar laughed maniacally, his hands moving in complex gestures as he continued his spellcasting. The Storm of Chaos might've failed, but he would succeed. He would take the village of Bokel as his base, and from there he would launch raids into the Empire. The power was his to command, he would have entire legions of daemons at his beck and call! Archaon would be nothing compared to him and soon the gods themselves would be forced to acknowledge his greatness! As another Daemonette ruptured the fabric of reality and tore its way into the mortal ream, he smiled and offered prayers to the Gods of Chaos for blessing him. None would be able to defeat him, he thought, none in the world!

Suddenly an arrow tore through his concentration, imbedding itself in his throat. His eyes went wide with horror. What was this? This couldn't be happening…

The last thing Zhar saw was the elf lowering his bow. Then darkness consumed him and a great evil claimed his soul.

With a churning of purple energy, the Pool of Dreams vanished. Bestial shrieks ripped themselves from the daemons' throats as the last of them were dragged back to the Realm of Chaos. Bleeding heavily from numerous light wounds, the Red Wolves collapsed, exhausted on the bloody flagstones of the chamber floor.

'Well, that was something heroic,' Merideon gasped. 'Gabrielle will be pleased.'

'Although Legless seems to have got all the glory,' Kurt mumbled. 'How much did you say the peasants are paying us for this?'

'Not much. It's probably not worth mentioning it until we get it.'

'HOW MUCH?' The outlaw was annoyed.

'Ten gold crowns, five schillings and tuppence.'

The look on Kurt's face was priceless.

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