Chapter 9:
Search and Rescue.
I had to find those damned Warlocks – I'm not stupid because I know for sure that unless I could find those Warlocks that would allow me to develop a Library, there was no way I was going to go home. Never mind that my little posse of Dragons would wind up deserting me in favor of another keeper which would put me at a severely disadvantaged position, considering the strength of the Lord of the Land who seemed to have a ridiculous number of followers.
Scouts and extensive reconnaissance had proven to be virtually futile. It was after I had found myself considering what I would have to do to keep those Dragons loyal to me. But I found myself wondering whether the one piece of intelligence gathering through the use of magic, might have revealed my presence to those heroes living in the land above. There seemed to be a party of imprisoned Warlocks in the realm above, but I lacked the necessary warriors and support to actual mount a jail break to get them to safety, and add them to the ranks of my warriors. There were several different angles I could take, but I found myself becoming somewhat desperate as to what to do.
There are moments when I wonder which side I really was on, considering that God – don't ask me if its God the Holy and Almighty, or God the Unholy and Demonic – threw me one for a loop, as one of my imps sent a warning that was literally forced in my head, making me see stars for a minute. I almost wished that the damned thing had a volume control. It was an advance party of heroes, relatively small but there was something that was unique about it… something that just grabbed my attention. They were definitely an advance party, but there were too many of them to just be considered a recon-in-force. I noted the Imp was also injured, not severely but a glancing wound to one of its arms – no wonder it had been more than able to outrun the heroes chasing it. If that little three foot high brown and black colored midget makes it back to friendly territory I will make sure he makes it back safe.
Fortunately for me, heroes around here seem to lack intelligence in more ways than one, as not only did they run screaming holy warcry in pursuit of an Imp, a measly unimportant imp, but I could actually make out the words of the leader of this group, who was busy screaming that the party of Warlocks they had in custody where being moved to another Land and the control of another Lord, for interrogation and something about protecting the prisoners. Something that would, if they broke under torture, reveal information of useless value due to the fact that the previous Keeper that they had served was obviously no more.
Being a Keeper means that control and command of my minions is extremely easy. Now Gazz, to be perfectly fair, is not somebody that I just order around. We have a good working relationship with each other, and I like to think that it is based on respect for each other. And this was definitely one of those occasions where he would have been more than happy to follow my every lead. I sent him the images of what I had seen, and also the key detail: Warlocks. That detail actually made his tail twitch in unbelievable eagerness. I could actually hear him moving like he had never moved before as he made his way directly to the principal lair and began rousing my troops. I'd never seen such eagerness in him before, and I know why he wants them rescued so badly. To think that he wants to do work in the form of a rescue, so that he can do more work in a library – never thought that I would actually see the day that I would have so loyal a warrior at my command.
I grinned to myself as I had made certain spells available to Gazz as a rewards and incentive to bind him and his loyalty closer to me – damn hell the Black Flame Dungeon. I could afford to loose that, but I cannot afford to loose the loyalty of my troops. In an ideal world there would be no need for me to employ such subterfuge to bind a "friend," but in this place, I'd rather not take any chances at all, because one mistake would most certainly wind up costing me my life. Having such "friends" meant having someone I could trust to watch my back, and to politely inform me that besides rival keepers and Lords of the Land, when somebody else was looking to stick a knife or really big sword in my back.
We both teleported to the only entry point in my domain and reappeared just beyond the massive maze of tunnels that lead into my Dungeon proper. I'd yet to see a hero party successfully find its way to my dungeon complex and then live to tell the tale. Gazz was leading his rescued party of Skeleton Warriors, undead that radiated a serious malice that made every living creature around just a little bit twitchy with their trigger fingers or claws. The Insidious Six were walking bone with shields and sword, more than able to live up to their role of being a living wall that the enemy would beat their weapons against to no effect. Their nature, being composed of pure magic, means that physical blows do little harm to them.
I could recall the name of that Imp, Cepat for some reason, and had complete access o his memories. I'm just hoping he's NOT dead yet. He had been out of his way reinforcing walls to ensure the security of my dungeon, to avoid a potential breach in the walls that could allow the heroes easy access in to my domain. In this case, Cepat had heard the heroes moving around and curiosity had nearly gotten him killed. It's times like this that being evil is truly fun. I called to me the Keeper's Hand. The Keeper's Hand is a truly wonderful, evil little tool, as it allows me to transport my warriors to any where within my territory within a matter of seconds, faster, quicker and much smoother than any spell could possibly do, especially since there is no disorientation. Gazz knew full well that we would not only be mounting a rescue, but also trimming the number of warriors that this particular Lord of the Land has at his disposal – not that he seemed to have a shortage of them, considering the number of scouts, and raids that he had been carrying out since Gazz was discovered on his quest.
To make matters even easier, they were taking a direct route, traveling down a straight tunnel with no side passages or branches that would have given them a way to escape. The path that lead North West away from my territory and other Black Flame conquered lands, to the land of yet another, aggravatingly sunshine tarnished land. That path had only one branching that took it west, towards the old facility from which the Skeletons had been released from. Using the Hand, I whisked away Gazz and the Skeletons. They would form the anvil, and my Dragons, now numbering five in strength, along with three demon spawn and myself, would form the hammer, that would squish these irritatingly inbred heroes to a bloody pulp.
It took moments and the Keeper's Hand had my warriors in perfect position to strike. My Imps were already waiting to be dropped in to the battle zone, strictly to recover the Warlocks, who would either be bound, wounded or unconscious. Regardless, I found myself unwilling to have them in the fight, considering their undoubtedly weakened state. The heroes were quiet, almost too quiet, but while they made no more sounds than those coming from their wooden torches, it proved to be ample warning when they were but a corner away from my Anvil, and Gazz knew well enough that they were close when light began to spill at the limit of his sight, "Keeper, we have sighted the heroes and are prepared to engage. What are your orders Keeper?"
I could feel it within me. A hunger, a lust for battle, not for food or sex, but to shed blood, crush, kill and destroy my enemies who were arrayed before me. These so called "warriors of light" that pray and preach to each other and the cowering "people" all about their false gods and deities, who did not bow before the true power of the Dark Gods. It mattered not, as I gave my warriors leave to do what they do best, "Kill them all!"
Gazz held his position, letting them just turn the corner before unleashing a roar that echoed through the cavern, the signal to charge as his skeletons advanced eerily silent as they crashed in to the enemy line. They were barely able to brace themselves against the onslaught, as their first line of defenders were ground beneath the skeletal feet that thundered against the flagstone tiled ground of Black Flame controlled territory. Those few rouges and dwarves that survived the initial stampede were immolated, their armor turned to molten metal as their flesh dripped from their bones.
Having been struck once already, and nearly overwhelmed before they could muster a defensive line, the heroes recovered quickly, bringing their stronger Barbarian warriors forward, ending the charge and forcing the skeletons, still silent, to engage their heavier and stronger foes, using their agility to evade the blows that would grind bone to dust.
Fear has an interesting scent to it, part sweat and two parts something else, perhaps trousers stain. Hopefully, I would figure it out sometime, but it mattered little to me, even as I roared a challenge, the few Dragons with me releasing cones of flames that burned down the corridor, while my paired blades hacked and slashed through the ranks of the sword wielding Rouges, a predatory grin upon my face that sang the song of lust and battle. It was easy and, for a disconcerting moment that passed all too quickly, fun. A reverse spin let me avoid one amateurishly swung sword that I captured with ease on my own short blade, using my momentum to drive it in to the chest of one of his fellow Rouges, while my long blade followed through on the spin, easily parting the man's head from his shoulders, before kicking the headless corpse in to another rouge, blade aimed low, pushing it across to parry the heavy two handed war-hammer blow of a Barbarian.
It would only take me a few more minutes of distraction to allow my imps to retrieve the captured Warlocks. Suddenly, it dawned on me why I knew that name: Cepat, the leader of the imps in my Dungeon would be the one leading that little snatch and grab operation, right now, "Cepat: Retrieve my prize!"
Yeah – they are my prizes. Keeper's Law dictates clearly that the minions of a Keeper, if rescued by another, will have to serve their rescuer, unless they want to try their hands at a more persuasive venue – namely the Torture Chamber. It's a well known secret that Warlocks don't really like any kind of abuse, and that they tend to convert rather easily and willingly. In this case, it would be simple for them to turn since the Keeper they served had been crushed beneath the boot of the very heroes who now seek to crush Keeper of the Black Flame.
Dodging left helped me avoid the overhead blow which was clearly a cover for the two handed crosswise war hammer strike. It was easy to duck below the strike, rising with my blades crossed to cut through both wrists. He looked at me in shock for a moment, staring confusedly at the bloody stumps where his hands used to be attached, but only for several short seconds, as I drove my crossed blade in through his neck and then pulling back, leaving his head attached to the rest of him by the merest flap of flesh and skin.
By the barest of fractions, I was able to bring my blades to bear, deflecting the duet of magic missiles. A Fairy, a part of my mind noted almost absently. It's magic projectiles could have successfully gouged my eyes out, even as I felt the fast moving breeze that marked Cepat weaving between my legs, his haste spell more than ample to ensure that he would be able to out maneuver any blow or clumsily cast spell. And besides, heroes have always had a tendency to ignore the imps simply because they're always seen and heroes have always considered imps to not be worthy of anyone's attention. I pulled my left arm back and hurled my short sword, sending it spinning through the air, scything a path of destruction through her wings.
The little winged midget had no chance as my blade severed both its wings, reducing an eight foot wingspan to zero; it took her a few moments to register the fact that her once white angelic wings were reduced to useless stumps. They were her last thoughts as the bolts of lightning flew in from three different directions, melting her flesh from her bones before they turned to dust, leaving only a stain of dried blood and severed, bloody wings to have marked her existence. I ducked low, scooping up a handful of the soft, downy like feathers and pocketed them. Interesting souvenirs and a necessary reagent in certain spells and incantations. I barked for an imp to retrieve those wings and to harvest the feathers. Whichever Imp got those orders would have an easy few days, if it managed to recover the wings from the middle of this melee.
One of my Imps whisked around my ankles dragging a pair of Warlocks along with him at breakneck speed. A part of my mind told me that having your head bouncing off the ground, especially here with god knows what lying around, could have some very nasty side effects that could include winding up with a sword or an axe buried in your head. But for those poor unfortunate Warlocks, a quick death while still unconscious would be a much better fate than the contents of an enemy Torture Chamber and the inevitable execution that would follow after they cracked under pain that would have made any kind of death welcome.
Psychically, I barked the question at Cepat – it needed an answer to avoid problems. "Cepat! Where are my Warlocks?" It has always been easier for me to actually enter the mind of an imp to gather the information that I need. Unfortunately, that puts me in the less than enviable position of actually have to listen and hear their thoughts. That's never a fun thing to have to do, especially when you're in the midst of a wild melee with swords swinging and spells phasing the air around you. Cepat opened his mind to me, and I went directly for the thoughts and memories that held the information I sought. Unfortunately for me, getting there meant that I also had to go through a lot of irrelevant garbage. It's a speedy process that takes only a few seconds but still, reading the garbage in the mind of the simplistic creature….
"Hop to the left! Hop to the left Cepat, and watch out for that crazy Fairy casting spells everywhere! Why couldn't I get Gold Mining Duty or even Housekeeping duty? Instead I wind up getting stuck dodging swords that aim to impale me and spells that would vaporize me to rescue a bunch of Warlocks. I'm already dragging another two and that makes a total of six of these semi unconscious creatures."
"I'm an Imp and I do what I'm told, but it does not mean that I have to like the fact that I'm actually rescuing creatures that will either use me for target practice or to test out some new spell. Oh the Keeper doesn't know and even if he did know, I doubt that he would do anything about it, considering that I am beneath his notice, his word, his praise and most definitely his time. The heroes are one thing, but when every other creature, especially the lower and stupider ones like Flies and Beetles, decided that we would provide amusing entertainment in a game of catch. The Warlocks are worse still, when they decide they need to experiment test subject. Don't get me started on the Dark Mistresses - whenever they get bored, which has a habit of happening often – they'll work on refining their "play time techniques" which means us Imps wind up on the receiving end. And I am not one of those kinky Imps."
"Be that as it may, I am an Imp and where my Keeper leads me, to work or to battle, I will follow for I am born of the Keeper's magic and he can snuff me with but a snap of his fingers. And Death is not something that interests me. The Warlocks are all accounted for too. The Heroes had six of them and we have recovered six, and it's going to be a long tiring run back to the Dungeon, where I hope something has been arranged for these "temporary prisoners," to avoid things from getting ugly."
All of that drabble, just to learn that the six warlocks have been recovered and that they are speeding their way towards my Dungeon. It brings a warm smile to my face, I'd like to call it a paternal, or perhaps a "grandfatherly" smile as there is no need for further restraint. A mighty roar came from within me, exploding outward with a raw animalistic fury behind it, and it drove my warriors forward, tearing in to the shattered ranks of my enemies, the ferocity of our assault went up a notch, and the enemy now realized why we had forced them to battle. Now that we had what we wanted, death was here for them, brought forth in the claws of my warriors. In that instant, I could see it in the eyes of these worthless fools, and pathetic opponents, that their morale had been irreversibly shattered with it having no hope of recovery, especially since they had no champion, no leader amongst them.
The slaughter was fast and furious, leaving nothing behind but corpse fragments and a paltry trio that had thrown down their weapons while my minions had closed in upon them. My Dragon's had kept them pinned in place, and I could only smile as I strode forward as the Avatar of Death who had made his fair sacrifice to the Gods of Darkness this day, battle testing new swords that had performed admirably. I held my blades, the weapons that I had crafted from pure mana into actual weapons that I could wield, that I named somewhat affectionately, Sange and Yasha. The blood of close to a dozen foes had stained them red, and the blood had started to dry, giving the blades the appearance of bloody butcher knifes, especially since the serrated edges upon both still had chunks of flesh attached to them. These blades were effective at stabbing and parrying, but the serration along their edges meant that these did not cut, but did something more akin to tearing, and I was about to have a prime opportunity to demonstrate.
The trio had been stripped of their weapons and armor, and sat there, a pathetic excuse for humans, and an even more pathetic excuse as heroes. Where the rest of their so-called "brothers and sisters" had fought, bled, killed and then ultimately died, these three had, it seemed, dropped their weapons and surrendered without a fight the moment they realized that they were undone. Cowards. I hate heroes, but I hate cowardly heroes more than heroes, "It seems that the light has little to offer to anyone at all, if amongst its warriors are men and," I paused, searching for the word to describe the Fairy that sat rather dejectedly upon the ground with its wings wrapped around itself, "creatures, that have neither the stomach nor the courage for battle."
They say that in every group, irrespective of its size, that there is always one loud mouth who never ever knows when to keep his big mouth shut. The old maxim proved its worth as the Dwarf in the group rose to his feet, which still had him at a severe height disadvantage though I did not for a second doubt his courage as he addressed me, "No. I can't agree with you there, you walking daemon possessed meat sack! It took two of your Demon Spawn to bring me down, and take my axe from me – and they got lucky doin' it. Else I would have caved in the head of that ugly little brute instead of being stuck here with these two pathetic looser turncoats! And I would sooner die that serve you, hell spawn from the pit!"
The art of inflicting torment and pain is about knowing where to strike. "Never go for the head" so the saying goes, but to "always go for the heart." I figured that this loudmouth had no heart, but all of these heroes do have a tremendous sense of honor that causes more problems than it could possibly be worth for them. I drew my short blade and gave him a smile that promised pain, but not death. Fear flashed once in his eyes, and his sweat reeked of the same. But he had no idea of the depths of my cruelty. When I'd been more human, such a thing would have been anathema to me. But now I am the Keeper of the Black Flame, and I do have, as much as I may dislike it, a certain image to maintain if I am to stay Keeper of the Black Flame.
Two of my Dragon's closed in, each grabbing the arm of a Fairy and hoisting her off the ground where she had curled to a little white feather covered ball. She struggled, determined to break free, but only injuring herself as the talons that made up a Dragon's claw cut into her flesh. She saw my approach and was confused, knowing full well that she had said or done nothing to incur my wrath, and it's said that many keepers are not truly heartless monsters. That if we had been born in to the light, we would be counted amongst some of the greatest Generals the mortal realms above would have ever known.
I wasn't exactly born here, so it makes no difference to me. But I am a bastard.
The cuts were anything but quick and clean, the serrations upon my short sword were more than adequate to hack through the vulnerable joins that sprouted from just above her shoulder blades, and my strokes severed them, from feather tip to nerve and bone, nothing remained of the poor unfortunate soul's wings. Her cries ripped through the copper tainted air – the copper being the fresh blood of her dead comrades and it was not necessary to turn to see the look of shock and horror upon the Dwarf's face, but beneath that mask I could already see, and it clear that he would never break, never serve the dark no matter what tortures were inflicted upon him or anyone else for that matter.
She trembled, the poor little thing. Deprived of her wings also meant deprived of her powers, including the all important ones about healing wounds. I turned my gaze back to the arrogant little dwarf, "I could strike you down, but I'd rather you be forced to live with the consequences of your bold words!" I spun, low, sweeping some dead rouge's sword up – not like he needed it anymore - before running the length of the blade through the neck of the Fairy, severing her spine, effectively killing her. There was little blood, the sword having severed her head from her neck so neatly, even as her frame went limp, it took several more seconds before her lifeless body struck the ground, the blood just now beginning to flow, as if she was a flower that had just come in to bloom.
"I have a message for your master, the Lord of the Land. Tell him to bring his finest warriors. It will be interesting sport to see how long the rest of you last in true bloody combat." I motioned towards the two would be prisoners, dismissing their presence nonchalantly as my warriors gathered, awaiting the arrival of the Keeper's Hand to return us all home.
The Rouge and Dwarf turned and began to flee back the way that they had originally traveled, when I turned to one of my skeletal warriors, and asked the rather pointed question: "How many heroes does it take to deliver a message?"
I could feel and hear the laughter around me at that particular question, since we all knew the answer to that question: "One." The Rouge was just visible as a volley of spells arched down the length of the corridor and very cleanly severed his legs, one barrage of magic carving through the leg at the knee, the sound of breaking bone audible. He began to scream as the second volley amputated his left foot just above the ankle. He fell to the floor, flopping there for several long seconds, screeching in agony before the homing magical projectiles punched in to his spine shredding flesh and cracking bone. I turned to my warriors, "We move. They'll be back to fight in less than a day and we have our work cut out for us." At my signal, the Keeper Hand swept us up and back towards my Dungeon. It's good to be home again.
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