Tales Of Grimea (5 page)

I wondering where his story would go, but
had I known what he would say, it is likely I would have asked him
to still his tongue and spare me his teachings. The man’s voice
gained strength, although he still spoke in a whisper.

“One day, she and I went to see a play. Upon
leaving, I realized that I may have had a cup of wine too many, and
had chosen a roundabout manner of reaching our manor. Of course, at
some point she tried to warn me, but the man I was didn’t listen.
There was too much love, if you could call it that. I just wanted
to impress her, and in my pride ignored any indication that I could
be wrong, ignorant, stupid, stupid
stupid!
” That last word
was exclaimed with venom, and I had to calm the furiously
whispering man, cooing and shooing as he babbled. When he’d calmed
down enough to be coherent, he moved away from the window, where he
couldn’t be heard as well due to the icy wind. Naturally, I was
bewildered by the master’s fits today. He is prone to them, but
rarely and only when teaching something complicated. Today, the
revolved around a single recollection and the core of that iron
will of his. Part of me dreaded the knowing, yet allowed him to
press on. “Thank you, boy.” He always called me boy, despite being
twenty years my junior. “So, where was I? Ah. My pride took us in a
route next to one of Xera’s rougher neighborhoods. Now, being a
criminal yourself, I’m sure you’re away of that city’s rougher
area, home to thugs, rogues and mercenaries. In fact, since Greta
to the north fell to some unknown calamity, only the roughest there
had survived and made their way to our city like beasts. But I
digress: they came and so Xera had become worse than ever, with
gangs like the Reds and Fingers. Well, that day we went through and
there were seven drunk men awaiting on the icy road. One called
out, for my lovely was fairer than they’d ever seen, as nobles only
could be when compared to the mongrel whores such men are used to.
There was a light of fire far behind them, and we made for it as
they leaned against a wooden back of whatever tavern it was and
watched us. The tavern’s wall was of dark brown wood, which I
remember clearly for whatever reason. The ice was white, although
her skin was paler still, and her eyes were captivating.” My fists
hardened at the dismissive manner he used when addressing those of
my ilk, for my own mother had been forced down unfortunate paths
and I knew us to be no beasts. However, I kept those fists firmly
against the cold, chipped stone floor. The master could doubtlessly
sense my rage, and could force me to jump through that window
towards a cold death in an instant. I had seen him do it
before.

“We walked further past them, she holding my
arms and I tipsy and moving my feet as fast as possible. Then
something stirred in me, a desire to comfort her. I told her that
such scum would never dare harm her, and no sooner were the words
out of my mouth than did I hear a crash that took my consciousness
with it. My eyes opened a few times after that, and it was always
to a gap toothed grin and another punch or kick. Behind them the
starry sky beckoned, and I could heard screams and laughter,
although of what I knew not. That could not have been the screams
of a man, such pain they conveyed. Behind the men, orange fire and
safety beckoned, but I could not reach it.

“When I awoke finally, it was to a
physician’s room, white and sanitary. The man himself had painted
the cabin, I knew, for he was my family’s physician. I don’t recall
his name, but I do remember his grim sadness. He told me of
gladness from my survival, although I was bandaged from head to
toe. Every bone in my body had been broken or nearly so. I could
not see much through the bandages, but when I asked him of Helia a
softness entered his sadness. Perhaps he didn’t like me, but there
no doubt that his heart had been moved to tears by her ordeal.

“She was raped. Not unheard of, but shocking
all the same. The old fool told me of how she’d been taken by all
seven of them in turn and in tandem, screaming and crying all the
while. Naturally, I was devastated, and my thoughts turned to
imagination. Of her lying in the cold snow, shouting for me,
begging and pleading. That set my heart aflame, and I hated them
with a passion. The pain from my own broken fingers vanished as I
clenched them, and shattered teeth ground together in anguish.
Those filthy worthless scum, her as I lay there?”

“You were unconscious, master.” My words
were meant to soothe, but he chuckled instead. I noticed for the
first time scars on his browned skin, subtle yet numerous on his
face, and I was sure his body would be covered in more. It was
curious that a man of his heritage would be a noble in Xera, for
the land was covered by pale men, both blonde and brown headed like
this man’s lover.

“Exactly what I thought at first. But was I?
I imagined her screams so vividly, so perhaps I was at the edge and
could hear. Maybe my mind blocked the vision, or perhaps I could
see her there, stomach against the ground and a man twice my size
destroying her as she tried to push away. Was she pushing or
pulling? Was that begging to stop or to continue? Was she asking
for that other one too? Such blasphemy, it could not be! How could
I think that about the woman I love? No, in the first place, who
would enjoy the rape? Surely the human mind would detest such
unwanted intrusion? But maybe? I was filth, they were scum, and she
should die! I Hate my weakness and their evil, and want nothing
less than murder for them.” With the darkness of his words came a
glitter to his sight and a pain within my skull. I realized that
not only were these the exact thoughts he had back then, my master
was lucid no more and the formidable power of his mind was running
rampant. In horror I listen, fixed and place and begging silently
for release, but not through the window. I could hear footsteps far
away, coming from the corridor leading further down into the
dungeons.

“I want blood and blades and burning and
dancing and carnage I could watch in glee. I want them dead and
tortured whilst I laugh. no!” As he exclaimed the word, the
footsteps grew numerous and close. I turned first in relief then
horror as the first prisoner, blank eyed and bare footed, stepped
slowly into the dungeon, bowed to my master… then leapt headfirst
through the portal and to his doom, shouting “Hail Gregerovitch!”
with a voice growing so hoarse that I feared his throat had turned
bloody before he struck the ground. One by one they went, prisoners
large and small and weak and smart. One man even crawled, for
Footless was exactly as one could imagine from his nickname.

“I want us all tortured and killed, slowly.
I want to see destruction, then justice for those who abuse it,
then more and more! I want hate, hate, hate, hatehatehhahahahaha!
Then,” he continued with a calm smile and quiet voice as if nothing
happened, to my horror. The few prisoners left in line were
released, and the fled to their cells in terror of my master. I was
close to fainting myself, but listened still. “I howled. The sound
was guttural and base, and there was only one word in my mind.
Hate. I hated everything and everyone, and in my mind countless
visages of death arose, each horrid and strangely satisfying. When
I shouted, my mind expanded for the first time and the hate within
me dropped the physician and his aides. They were dead before
hitting the floor, of course. Still the scream continued unabated,
and my mind stumbled along it with more raw insanity than you could
possibly imagine. For the first time, the world was mine to shape,
and the walls of logic melted away. Then the breath ended and I
inhaled. With that, all the hate was directed inwards, and it broke
everything. There was nothing left to fear, for I was to become the
stuff of madness itself. All would fear me, and all was required
was to share.” His smile then was innocent, and set my legs
a-shaking. Whatever he could do, I wanted none of it.

“You see, my boy, the thing I hated the most
was my own weakness, and so my mind sought to compensate. I became
strong of mind. The first thing I did was erase my existence so as
to become no one and be able to spread things in anonymity. My
wife, parents, friends, even those dogs who’d taken Helia. All took
their own lives in numerous and enjoyable ways. Directly
afterwards, I came here, and here I shall remain until ready to set
out for the task at hand. Naturally, all here will die then, but
that’s hardly a pity. You all are a sorry lot, barely worth the
breath, guards and prisoners alike. Except for you, my child” he
reassured me, “You shall live and spread the word long after I’m
gone, when none can stop me anymore. You shall speak of your master
when what I want is accomplished.”

“a-a-and what is it you desire, my master,
lord, and god?” I sought to appease him, but that monster of a man
was bemused.

“Don’t call me a god, that’s just plain
silly. Why, I thought my want was simple enough to understand.”
With a grin he turned to look at the window, then stepped over to
overlook the mound of dead bodies barely visible far below, then
tutted. “One of the buggers lives. Another one must have broken her
fall. No matter, a slow freeze is fine as well. Where was I? Oh,
yes. Many people live in the realms, you see. I just want to hear
all of them cry in unison before it becomes quiet. Now, administer
my daily beating and then run along, child.”

Run I did, as fast as my legs could take an
old man after kissing the master’s feet, to where I immediately
wrote this passage. I do not know if he’ll keep his word and spare
me, for Krulov Gregorovitch is deep in the clutches of madness, and
what’s frightening about it was that I hadn’t even known till this
very day. I had thought him a capable psionic, if of dark
disposition, but his every word hinted at fury so deep it could
spell ruin for many. I yearn to stab him in sleep, even if the
attempt results in my own doom, but he may end up leaving me alive
when he decides to leave. Call me a coward, but life is precious.
Perhaps he knew of this struggle, perhaps he even wanted it. If I
do attempt the deed, and there are no more entries, then remember
Mardow Grame not as a thief far past his prime, but either a hero
who delivered many from certain doom, or a man who tried to.

Year: 850 Post Kerallus. 200 Pre
Adventus

What if nobody wants it?
Thought Hwosh
Ru’ub as he trudged along a tired, bitter dirt road. He could tell
the road was tired because it was in disuse, causing the wasteland
it ran through to try and eat into it here and there. Moreover, he
knew the road was bitter because it tried to spit up dust at him.
Hwosh sighed, allowing the sun to glare at him in disapproval.
Probably, if he waited here long enough, in time that same glaring
eye would grind him to dust, the same way that it took over
everything in this landscape. The man grunted, adjusting the Worg’s
corpse upon his back.

Worgs were dangerous creatures, large to say
the least. In fact, this one had stood a little taller than him,
boasted thickness at its torso equal to that of a tree trunk, and
was longer than two men could stand upon each other. Black fur
itched at the nape of Hwosh’s neck as he carried the thing with
him. Then again, Worgs were fearsome beasts only around here.
Beyond Ghata’s outskirts, there were creatures the likes of which
he had never seen outside of books. Even within the region’s
borders, there were many ways to die. He had no business getting
cocky just because he killed a minor beast.

As he made his way, Hwosh began to sweat due
to the wasteland’s heat. It was already mid-afternoon, but the sun
seemed reluctant to budge from directly above his head. “Shoo,” he
mouthed, throat caked with dust. Trees grew here and there, but
they were greyish and small and thorny by nature, meaning they
would provide no shelter. Of course, a glowing orb of heat wouldn’t
listen to his puny commands, and so the sun stayed stubbornly in
place, cooking him slowly. By the time Hwosh reached Lor’s
crossroads, he’d sweated enough onto his cheap hide armour that his
shoulder itched. Heedless of the southern and northern roads, the
dark haired man adjusted his red bandanna and pushed on east
towards his town.

Lor was an uncommon town, for it was
independent from surrounding countries, and was thus considered
unimportant in some ways. To the north and south rose two great
empires, and neither bothered with this small oasis town. Nor was
Lor easterly enough to actually be part of Ramlah, the desert with
its secluded nomadic societies, boasting the proudest and most
dextrous of warriors. Of course, Lor wasn’t part of the wastelands
stretching west either, and so was considered interesting in its
own way. Traders liked dropping by in caravans and bartering,
because goods from almost every surrounding region could be found
in the multicultural town. No desert wyrm talons or Regalian silk,
but a careful eye could, perhaps, spot crystal orbs from Indellekt
or a rare gem from the nearby western wastelands, where hidden
chasms led into long forgotten cave systems filled with wonders and
the dusty scent of death. That said, for Hwosh Ru’ub the monster
hunter, this town with its clay and wooden structures was little
more than good old boring home.

As he reached the town gates, Hwosh sighed,
because along the beaten dirt road a long line of people stood
between him and the town. Sometimes, due to how popular the town
was with traders, such things happened. Hwosh stood there, between
a wagon carrying turnips (which were actually halfway rare here)
and a woman carting over selkworm eggs. Both were surprising to the
monster hunter. A part of him longed to chat with the woman and ask
her why she’d brought these eggs to Lor, despite its lack of rookie
wizards needing a small safe familiar. In his mind, the
conversation would go thus: