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Demonfall (RedOnesGoFaster and EverUndine)

R

RedOnesGoFaster

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Dec 22, 2014
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhnUgAaea4M
The assault came with surprising swiftness, forcing him to take the first blow on his shield. Claws raked the steel bulwark and clattered over the boss, a second swipe making another pass that scratched at the painted sigil and dug a deep groove in the metal. The third strike... the third one, he was ready. With a grunt of effort the warrior swiped with his shield, batting away the ragged claw and sending the arm attached to it reeling back. It left his foe wide open, and there was no hesitation in him. The strike was swift, grimly satisfying in the way it carved a black gout across the abomination's torso, laying innards bare. It wailed its ragged death-howl, clawing at vitae in a desperate attempt to keep it from tumbling out, though tumble it did, dirtying the warrior's boots in black foulness. The finishing blow was two-fold: a slam of the shield's sturdy rim into the screaming maw of the beast, and a stab that crushed through breastbone to puncture the foul heart. Stunned and gurgling, it crumpled to die in whatever manner it would.

There was no time for even a breath. Another beast, some horror with too many arms and not enough eyes, had quit its feasting on the intestines of a battle brother and turned its attention on him. A wise choice, seeing as he was the head of this assault, though he reckoned it had more to do with a primal, sickening hunger for death than it did anything resembling tactics. It leapt at his back with an ear-rending shriek, something like half a dozen arms looping around to latch itself onto the warrior. A pity for the clever beast that he was no simple warrior.

A short bark of rage leapt from his mouth. A simple, monosyllabic incantation. No sooner had the sound left his lips than he was wreathed in a roaring orange inferno. The flame made a quick burst outward from him, incinerating the spidery limbs of his foe and leaving the torso to fall in a blackened heap behind him. "Bastard," he spat in a breathless tone, whirling to face his rear with shield raised. The battle - for this hall, anyhow - was more or less over. His men were mopping up the last of those demons who still fought, crushing the remaining resistance.

After releasing a breath that he could swear he'd been holding for the whole of his life, Mage-Knight Commander Aldric Blackwold took a moment to simply get his bearings. The sword's song still rang in his breast, and he needed to have his head for the last leg of the battle to come. His suit of heavy, burnished plate and chain suddenly weighed on weary limbs, his longsword and shield falling limply to either side as his stance slackened. The tip of his blade was momentarily driven into a fallen enemy's corpse, leaving his hand free to wipe sweat from his forehead, fingers passing back over thick, wild hair that swept back over his shoulders in a curtain of stark blackness that stood out against the ragged crimson of his cloak. Hard green eyes stared out of weary sockets, hand scratching lightly at the short, neat beard that covered his strong jaw and encircled his mouth. Aldric had a reputation as a grim bastard, hard but fair and utterly unafraid to be blunt. It showed in his face, which looked to be cut from a block of iron with its sharp edges, heavy brow and blunt stub of twice-broken nose. A tall, broad man in his late twenties, some had reckoned the northerner handsome, a description he had little time for. So long as warriors followed him, he could be pig-ugly and be satisfied.

The corpses of a dozen twisted fleshbeasts littered the floor of the stone hall, each more hideous than the last, black blood running in rivers between the bricks. Two of his own men lay dead, while six stood at his back, likely gathering their wits just as he did. One sat weeping over one of the fallen, hands clasped over his face as he moaned the name of his younger brother time and again. Harald, he cried, Harald please wake up, Harald please... it was useless, he'd been felled in the earliest fighting, his torso a half-eaten mess while glassy eyes gazed up at the ceiling, face frozen in that last instant of pure terror.

"Up, lad," Aldric rasped, taking those few steps over to plant a gauntlet-clad hand on his shoulder. "There's naught to be done for 'im." His words went almost utterly unheeded, the man crying over his fallen brother as he lost himself to grief. Aldric's face tightened, as did his grip as he shook the man. "Get up, damn ya. Ya wanna get the bastard what caused this mess, aye?" He'd left four men behind him on this mad quest. Four good soldiers who'd pledged themselves to a northman known as the Iron Mage in hopes that he could do something. Four good soldiers who had lost their lives fighting the good fight. "His ain't the only pyre we burn tonight, but we'll all need bleedin' pyres if we don't finish this."

"He was my brother!" came the indignant cry from the weeping man, and Aldric's countenance grew hard as tempered steel, curt words booming in the small hall. "Then avenge him, ya stupid sod!" There was a shove, sending the younger warrior sprawling on his rear. "Bloody divines, next I'll hafta re-learn ya what end of the sword does the killin'." The battle-mage whirled away from the weeper, reaching to his belt for a shining silver flask. A bracing swallow of dark whiskey burned its way down his throat before he replaced it, hand reclaiming his sword and flicking the black blood from it. A few long strides were taken towards the great iron door that stood before them, and he rolled his head on his shoulders, sizing it up.

"Once I bring this damned thing down," he started, licking his lips nervously, "you leave the wizard to me. I don't want none of ya playin' hero, not with blood magic in the mix. Keep whatever friends he's got in there offa me long enough to stick him, and then we'll mop up." There was a murmur of agreement while his six remaining fighters, heroes all, formed at his back, the familiar rattle of sword, axe, spear and shield reigniting that fire in his chest. A fire that crawled up his arm, focused on his sword, and left him in a brilliant gout of blazing flame that smashed into great barricade before him, ripping it right off of its hinges and sending it cartwheeling into the belly of the beast, the clattering metal acting as their war horn.

"RED RUIN! RED DAWN!" The mage-knight bellowed his words as he charged headlong into the room, leading his men to finish this grim task. "BRING ME THEIR HEARTS!"
 
It was like a scene from her darkest nightmares, her kin lying dead scattered across the floor. Ten of her kind, their lifeblood draining out onto the floor, filling the deep carvings in the floor made by Orius' evil magic. He chanted, drawing power from the lives he had sacrificed. She knew what he wanted: to open the door he had carved into the stone, to let out the demons and to gain control over them. He thirsted for power, it was an unending craving that would never be quenched for the evil man. Ieran knelt at her place by her master's side, the heavy, cold shackle around her neck tied to Orius' belt.

And then she looked up in horror, Orius laughed with pure elation as the portal opened. A grotesque being emerged from the dark, whirling tear in the fabric of this reality and she trembled before the beast. A greed demon. She should have known, it was responding to Orius' desires. It's great black eyes bored holes into her soul and she had to look away, the stench of it's flesh was unbearable and as it fully emerged from the portal she couldn't help but to bring her eyes back to the monstrous creature. It's body was rotund, gathering in large rolls in most places, it's gaping maw formed a wicked approximation of what she deemed to be a smile.

Ieran felt the need to retch the contents of her stomach onto Orius' feet but refrained, she would be badly beaten if she did. As far as the treatment of slaves went Ieran was treated better than most especially considering her unfortunate birth. An elf was considered sub-human and being a woman only made things worse but being Orius' she was spared the multiple rapes that most women of her kind received. Orius preferred young boys but he could never admit that to anyone else, so he kept Ieran at his side to fool his peers. She was used as a decoy and an emergency blood bank for when he needed to use blood magic and had no one else near enough to use. He also liked to beat his frustrations out and he often used her to accomadate that need.

The rough fabric of her tunic rubbed her soft, pale skin and she tugged at the hem trying to cover her thighs. She tried not to think about the creature that hovered above her as Orius attempted to make a deal with the demon. It was then the doors of the inner sanctum burst open and a group of large men barrelled through them. Ieran allowed herself the smallest glimmer of hope that she may see the end of her murderous master.

Taking the opportunity she knew she would never get again, she closed her eyes and focused all her energy on breaking the shackle around her neck, the symbol of her servitude. It fell from her neck with a clatter and she stood, her neck felt light and for the first time in ten long years she felt free. She didn't care if she died now, this was the happiest she'd been in her 25 years. Her violet eyes flashed with bottled up anger and she yanked the dual-bladed staff that Orius carried on his back off of him and the training from her clan came back to her.

With a fluid movement she spun the weapon, cleaving her master's head from his shoulders without regard for the demon a few yards before them. Her black hair rested at her collarbones in front and at the nape of her neck in the back in an angled bob that her master had liked to show off her collar but now it showed her slender, pale neck. She felt a moment of joy and elation as she watched Orius' head roll across the floor.

Life found its way back into her amythest eyes and she looked back at the man at the head of the group: her liberator. He had reminded her what it was to be free, had given her the opportunity to reclaim her life. It was the deep rumbling laugh behind her that reminded her of the Greed Demon that stood there still. She turned back toward him and took a few steps backward. She had to undo what her ma- what Orius had done. He and the other blood mages had conspired to release the demons into their world and she had no idea how many of them had succeeded. If Orius had then others had most likely suceeded as well. She cast a defensive aura around herself, and fell back in order to protect her ill-defended, lithe body.
 
Luck, for the first time since this all started, seem to be on their side at last. It seemed the blood mage had put all of his summoned allies on alert outside, rather than keep a force to himself. Aldric's boots splashed in the spilled lifeblood of nearly a dozen elves, taking care not to foul up his footing by tripping on a corpse as he powered towards the blood mage. The portal was wide open, a gaping hole torn in the fabric of reality itself through which one could glimpse a realm of madness. It seemed an endless sea of blood, dotted by islands of black fire that licked towards a crimson sky. Wailing spirits floundered in the soupy abyss, screaming their anguish in long-forgotten tongues. They sought bodies, physical bodies to take to the lands of mortals and indulge in terribly missed desires. One such wraith was given the opportunity, striking some deal with the wizard known as Orius. The one whose head the battlemage would take this day.

It happened all at once. So single-purposed was his mind in that moment, he'd hardly noticed the elf. The elf who stood up, took Orius' staff of blades, and took his head with one devastating, graceful swing. The body crumpled messily, blood spurting across the cobbles in a red tide while the decapitated head rolled lazily off of the dais he'd been standing on.

Aldric stood stunned, having expected... well, a great deal more. His face broke out into a wild smile, a laugh tearing from his throat in place of his war-bellowing. Betrayed by his plaything! The thought was delicious and he would have taken a longer moment to relish it, had it not been for the great, lumbering oaf that had been summoned, as well as the portal that remained open at his back, still fueled by the blood of the slain elves.

"Form up! Form up lads! This fight ain't over!" The mage-knight put himself between the foul fat creature, shield raised with his blade poised to strike. "Bring it down!" His blade burst into crackling flame, and he struck out at the beast with a cry of rage.
 
Ieran fell back, she would help the men destroy the demon as well as try to close the portal. The man at the head of the group erupted into laughter, the sound booming through the room and grabbing the attention of all in the room, including the Greed Demon. The elf shot a dirty look at the man, getting the feeling that he was laughing at her, which was irritating. She focused her thoughts at the problem at hand, deciding to deal with the man's apparent rudeness later. Just because she was a former slave didn't mean that he could disrespect her like that. She pushed the thoughts from her head. She thought that it would help to send the demon back through the portal. She gathered her strength and prepared to undo Orius' evil work. Using the bladed staff to channel her magic, she threw a slowing spell at the lumbering demon. "Push it back through the portal!" She shouted, her voice stronger than it had been in ten years. She noticed a few of the men, including the leader of the group, shoot her a look.

She went to the edge of the portal and took the staff, spearing one end into the whirling, gaping hole. She used the blood magic that she had seen Orius use so many times before, using the souls of her fallen kin to help her begin to close the portal to that dark and terrible place. She felt the magic draining her and she hated doing this terrible magic but she didn't know another way to close the portal. The demon waved it's arms around, knocking a few of the men to the ground violently. It stumbled forward a few steps, though still far from the portal.

Ieran gasped painfully, tears falling across her cheeks as the spirits of the murdered elves passed through her body. She knew they were trying to help but the overwhelming pain and confusion they felt from the needlessness of their deaths hit her so intensely she couldn't control herself. The elf let out a loud cry, mustering all the energy she had left and pushing the staff in further. Her amythest eyes turned blood red with the enormity of the blood magic she was attempting and she didn't know if she would be able to close the dark portal. "Get it through the portal NOW!" She screamed, unable to hold off on closing the portal and yet unwilling to close it without the demon inside it.
 
It was a classic case of mixed signals between the man and elf, though Aldric certainly didn't have nearly the time to dwell on it. He'd laughed out of joy, seeing her so handily dispatch the bastard, with even a touch of admiration. That could all wait, however. The demon needed tending to. It was a foulness in this wounded world, one that needed immediate expulsion. A flabby paw lashed out at the Iron Mage, and he batted it aside with a smack of his shield, though it left a foul-smelling sticky residue behind on his shield. This beast was greed and gluttony incarnate, and the stink rolling off of him was enough to make even a hardier man than himself feel ill.

The elf launched into action then, spearing the end of the portal and beginning to invoke rites of blood magic. A dark sensation reverberated in the air as she set to work, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end while he sidestepped a crushing blow from above that cracked the pavement where he'd been standing. The thing was so fat it could hardly move, his rotten, broken teeth gnashing. No doubt he hoped to simply get ahold of the human and feast on his flesh. While the demon recovered from his great swing-and-a-miss, Aldric darted inside of its defenses like a charging bull, shield held before him. Even with all of his might... all he succeeded in doing was rocking the demon back on its blubbery haunches.

She was screaming now, room shaking fitfully as the portal threatened to close prematurely. Sticky, fat fingers latched themselves onto Aldric's shoulders and threatened to pull him closer, only for the mage to carve right through an arm with a desperate stroke of his sword, wrenching away from the other while it reeled in pain. "SPEARS! NOW, YA BASTARDS, NOW!" Two warriors closed on his flanks, spears at the ready. One spear right through each wobbling, disease-ridden breast, the men behind them beginning to tip the heavy, flailing demon back towards the portal. It was roaring madly, desperately clawing for anything to hold onto in this world while Aldric made another charge, putting his full weight behind his shield. It was halfway into the portal when it grabbed him by the scruff of his neck with a powerful grip, trying to pull the battle-mage to its mouth. He hacked at every inch of available flesh, an honest fear in him while it pulled him closer and closer, the portal growing smaller and smaller... until at last, the hole in the world closed.

Its howls were cut off immediately. The torso was gone... but the lower half remained, sliced cleanly in half in a way that even the sharpest blade couldn't have hoped to accomplish. Half of an arm still clutched at Aldric, though he had collapsed against the lower bulk of the belly, eyes still wide with horror. Scrambling away from the half-corpse, he wrenched the arm away, flinging it to the floor with a sickening squelch. By the divines, he was tired. So terribly bloody tired. He went to a knee, his sword clattering to the floor while the fire was extinguished. A few heavy breaths were all he managed before the stink of the corpse began to reach his nostrils, and with a sickened expression, he extended both hands and channeled what little of his energy remained. A gout of fire engulfed what remained of the corpse, turning it into a funeral pyre of its very own while its corruption was burned out of the world once and for all.

It was only when the fat began to bubble that he turned away, eyeing the elvish woman. "You did good," he said wearily, feeling himself begin to droop. The physical toll was weighing on him, both from the battle as well as the magics he'd used throughout the day. Fire was a demanding element to channel... but he preferred it above all others. "Very good. You got a name, lass?"
 
Ieran gasped for breath, as if she couldn't get enough air into her lungs. She leaned onto the now half staff, the other half of it gone into the void like the top half of the greed demon. Blood was pounding in her ears and she struggled to stay conscious, the blood magic had taken much out of her and she was not keen to do such a spell ever again. She didn't realize the half-corpse of the demon was aflame until the heat reached her skin. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

She used the broken staff to help herself onto her feet and looked over at the man, her savior, though even though he had liberated her she still did not trust him. He was a man after all and human at that. She pointed the shortened staff at him, blade pointed towards his face. "I am Ieran and you will let me leave this place untouched by you and your men. I have more blood mages to kill, and more portals to close." She would finish what she had started here today if it killed her.

With the eyes of so many men on her now she wished she had more to wear than just the rough brown tunic, it barely covered her body and she felt many of his men undressing her with their eyes. She had been spared rapes by Orius because of his specific orientation, but she was sure that not all these men suffered from the same affliction. "I will not be sent back to the market. If it pleases you, I will take my freedom and my safety as payment for helping to save your little lives." She held her chin high, if she was going to be free now she would certainly act it. She was no snivelling coward, no weeping woman, no cowed slave. Not anymore. She was an Elvish Mage, a proud Woman, and no man could ever take that from her again.

If she had to, she would resort to blood magic. She would gladly drain herself of her own lifeblood if it meant escaping the slave market. Her jewel-like eyes studied the man more closely now, he was a large man, very tall and very strong. He had seen many battles judging by the look of his nose and his many scars. His hair was long and black as raven's feathers, like hers, but it was his eyes that made him different than the others. They were hardened by battle but they still held a sort of kindness she had never seen in a man before, and they were green, so brilliantly green that they seemed not to fit the rest of him.

"Please, I have no quarrel with you or your men. I wish only to leave...unscathed. I do not wish to kill the man who helped to free me from my servitude." She lowered the broken weapon as a sign of good faith, hoping that she was reading this man correctly.
 
Stinking ruin was replaced by smoke and ash, the beast burned down to blackened bones that crumpled on the floor in a heap. Elvish corpses littered the room still, and there was the monumental task of disposing of the bodies of man and demon alike that marked the brutal path to this sanctum. Too many pyres... a lot of wood needed to be cut. At least, if nothing else, the demons could be piled and burned in a great heap. That was a problem for the near future, however. Right now, his concern was focused solely on the woman before him. The elf who'd turned her half-severed weapon on him. A hard face met hers, and he didn't so much as flinch. Unlike many of his men, his eyes were not on the mostly bare thighs of the elf, but boring into hers with a steady, unwavering resolve. "Aldric. Charmed. If it's blood mages yer after, Ieran, then ya'd do us all a great deal of good by lowerin' that weapon. 'Cause I reckon that puts us on the same side."

Big talk from the knife-ear without any trousers. He was unmoving, however, sword held at his side. If she thought to strike, there would be precious little time to parry the blow... but he was confident he could manage it. "Got no bloody interest in sayin' what you can and can't do. An' I certainly got no interest in flesh peddlin' in them filthy markets, even if things weren't this bleedin' bad." So, she had been a slave. It certainly showed... but she handled that weapon with no shortage of experience. Not to mention the fact that she's closed the portal. That was a skill that precious few held. Aldric had had to delve into studies about the foul field of blood magic, and he still had difficulty closing the things.

"Leave, if ya like. But if you think yer gonna be able to waltz about th' land, closin' portals all by your lonesome?" He shrugged his shoulders, sliding his sword home into its scabbard to mirror her own lowering of arms. "I left eight good men back there, stormin' this place. Dead hard, every last one of th' bastards. You reckon you can do what they couldn't, all by yerself, and still close the portal?" The mage-knight's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his jaw firming as he gave a quick shake of his head. "Won't be a quick death, y'know. An' a big bloody waste, too."
 
She was intrigued by this 'Aldric', she had never before met a man who spoke to her as if she were an equal and it was strangely refreshing. Same side or no, he was still a warm-blooded male and she didn't trust him, though he kept his eyes on hers and not on her long, slender body and that, at least, earned him a little respect from her. He was fearless and he seemed to care little that she had been a slave. All of these things gained him a little more of her respect.

"With Orius gone there is no limit to what I can accomplish on my own," she said, her voice indignant and harsh, echoing loudly in the hall. She listened as he attempted to convince her that she would fail on her own, she knew he was right but she would never admit it to him. "If you wanted to join me in my newly found purpose you had only to ask," she said with a small smirk gracing her full lips, "I have a few stipulations, however." Ieran pushed a lock of dark hair behind a pointed ear and stared straight into Aldric's eyes. She would have him know that she was not one to be trifled with and that she would be treated with fairness.

"You will let me say the rites for my murdered kin. You will also buy me clothing and a weapon or two of my choosing. I will be treated with respect by all in your company. And I will retain the right to cut off the hand of any man who dares to lie a finger on me without my consent. These are my terms and if you do not like them then I will be on my way." She stared him down, awaiting his answer. "If you do not agree, then you will at least let me say the rites for my murdered kin. I would allow you the same, were I in your shoes. There must always be mercy when it comes to the dead."
 
The she-elf proved that she was more than a mere slave with every word she spoke. Indeed, she had quite a high opinion of herself, and of her prowess. The commander snickered, though not in a cruel way, at the way she avoided any admission of the fact that she would, indeed, need assistance. "Oh, aye, of course yer majesty." There was a small flutter of laughter from the gathered men, though it was subdued. None truly felt much like laughter in the wake of today's events. "But, just in case we can't keep up with ya, you might consider just easin' up the pace to let us all in on the fun." The message was clear: In her, they had an ally. One who knew the rites required to close these gates, and knew them well. How well would she really take to a human's command, though? That remained to be seen.

Her stipulations were reasonable. Hell, they were downright necessary. Her current weapon had been dimensional-rifted right in half, and her ass might as well have been hanging right out of that ragged imitation of a dress. "Rest of th' company's ridin' out this way soon as they get word. You'll have yer proper weapons and clothes then, on my honor." He turned to face his men then. "I won't stop 'er takin' yer hands if you get grabby, neither. Keep it in yer pants, lads." Finally, his eyes turned back to her. "The elves are yours. You do what'cha need... I've got enough corpses ta deal with on m' own."

He breathed a long sigh, then, starting down from the dais past the black bones of the demon and a gutted elf. "Welcome to Blackwold's Bastards, yer majesty. Grub's in an hour, but I'm expectin' yer help with cleanup first. That goes for you lot, too, ya bastards." There was the clattering of all manner of equipment as the remaining force moved out. This place would be scrubbed of all of its taint, the corpses of the slain put to rest. Then... it would become their vanguard.
 
Ieran crossed her arm over her chest, her hand making a fist over her heart as she inclined her head slightly to Aldric. There was a mutual respect there and she was glad to be in the company of one so honorable. She had never met another human who would care if dead elf had the rites said for them, most were dumped in the mass graves which were the normal burial for slaves. Digging deep into her memories, she pulled the knowledge from before she was enslaved when she lived with The People.

She looked around at the sad sight before her, so many lives wasted for such an evil purpose, it was no surprise that their souls were ill at ease. Holding her arms open, she chanted softly in elvish and each body began to rise into the air. They hung, suspended like limp ragdolls, devoid of life. Ieran's violet eyes glazed over, turning a milky white, and she drew each elf to her, kissing their cold foreheads one by one and watching as they were consumed by brilliant white flames. Their bodies burning bright until they disappeared, turning into ash. When the rite was done she took a deep breath, her eyes returning to their normal color, and exited the inner sanctum as a free woman of Blackwold's Bastards.

As she walked through the halls she saw the bodies of those who would have been her comrades. Her eyes gravitated toward one, a man weeping over the diemboweled body of another. Ieran knelt at his side and placed one hand on the distraught man's shoulder while waving the other over the fallen. Her magic couldn't bring him back, but it could repair the mangled body and make him whole again before he met the Maker. When she was finished it looked as if he could've been asleep, he looked peacefull and it calmed the bereaved substantially. It was all she could do to help and she visited the eight who had fallen, doing her best to repair the bodies and to prepare them for their fiery burial.

By the end her hands were soaked with the blood of the dead, she raised her eyes only to find Aldric's. The look he gave her was unrecognizable to the elf and her brows drew together in confusion. She had seen many looks: anger, sorrow, contempt, disgust, but this one was something she did not know. She fled the room, not knowing how to feel about the man, and busied herself with building the pyres.
 
The elf's handling of her people was a stark contrast to how the demons were cleaned up. Partly because, with the sheer number of demon corpses, it was a literal clean-up. Not to mention the fact that there was no rite for their disposal... it just needed to be done. Even while Ieran saw to the slain man, Harald, another two were trying to shift a large, cumbersome body with far too many limbs. "Hack 'em off and load 'im on the cart bit by bit," the younger man suggested.

"Are you mad? We'll already be sponging up the blood for weeks. There's no sense making more." In the end, the decision was made to butcher the demon after all, though a bed sheet belonging to no one was used for the blood. Limbs were hacked off with grim efficiency and dumped neatly on the cart, the demon's torso hoisted up so that they could move on to the others. Their path had been singular, and had attracted every damned demon in the keep. Much of the work was done in the hall leading to that sanctum, and the foyer at the start of that long hall. The foyer had proven a holdout zone, where careful half-second planning had allowed them to fortify their position and slaughter demons as they streamed in, always in small, disorganized groups.

The cart, fully loaded up after that room, was taken out into the courtyard, where those first demons lay slain. Then there was the smoldering hole in the wall, where Aldric had made their breach. There was no pit dug out here, no ceremony. Demon bits were dumped into a pile, and once it was of decent size, Aldric was called to light the first fire in their flesh. The man himself had gone out to hack branches from the trees with two others, and in the end, that was where he met back up with Ieran. He'd shed much of his armor then, down to a sweat-soaked grey tunic and black trousers with fine leather boots and gloves. A lumberman's axe was gripped in his hands, and a cart full of wood that ought to have had an ox pulling it stood behind him while he worked.

He offered the elf a nod, having been unable to express his gratitude earlier about Harald. "Ya did good," he said matter-of-factly as he took hold of a long, sturdy branch and hacked at it with the axe. "With Harald back there, I mean. That was th' lad's name. Bloody business, that was..." His face went to stone again, and he said little. Aldric was a poor mourner for others. It was kept within, and from the moment the pain began, he worked to push it all right on down until he could feel it no more. That was the mage-knight commander's duty to his men, and he did it well. Too well. "You get your kin squared away alright?" Somewhere off behind them, another load of corpse-parts were dumped onto the pile, one of the men laughing as a particularly hefty one splattered messily onto the growing fire.
 
Aldric's compliments made Ieran feel awkward, though they were not ill-recieved. She had felt for Harald's brother and she wished she could have saved Harald, but it was impossible. "I could not save him, but he will be whole in the after life," her face was as stony as Aldric's, she had had a hard life and had learned that weeping never brought the dead back. She helped to stack the wood on the pyre as Aldric pulled each cart load to her, she couldn't help but to admire the strong curve of his muscled arms.

"My kin are with the Maker now, their souls are at rest now that I have said the rites," she paused awkwardly and her cheeks were tinged red as she managed to get out the next part of her sentence, "Thank you. Most wouldn't care about the souls of elven slaves." She tried to hide the embarrassment she felt, she hadn't had a real conversation with anyone in all her years of servitude and she was very out of practice. There had never been an opportunity to make conversation before. Orius had liked her to be silent and she had that fact beaten into her at the beggining of her servitude. The only times she had been able to talk to others was when she had been able to sleep in the slave quarters with the other elven slaves and that was a rare occurance.

It took them hours to finish burning the demons and building the pyres, and when the pyres were finally finished it was nearly sundown. The bodies of the fallen warriors were placed on the pyres, Harald's brother placed the young man's body atop the pile of wood and Ieran was glad that she could make his body whole. She couldn't imagine what it would've been like to put his disemboweled body up there. The human's said their words for the dead and lit each pyre one at a time. The men of Blackwold's Bastards stood in front of the pyres and watched them burn while Ieran stood apart. She didn't feel like she was part of this company, she was of a different race and gender and therefore felt she shouldn't stand among them.

It was Harald's pyre which affected her most, he was such a young man, barely in his prime and yet now his soul was gone. She looked through the fires at the face of the man who had given her all she had asked for, she could tell that the deaths of his men had affected him more than he admitted or cared to show. He was an enigma to her, so strange, so different. Everything about him contradicted all she had experienced before and she found she quite liked that. He was full of surprises to her and she was eager to see how he would surprise her next. Suddenly his eyes found hers and she knew now that he would realize she had been staring at him. She lifted her chin, deciding not to look away, she would not feel shame now that she was free.
 
There could have been no saving the boy, Aldric knew. Harald's brother, Ulfric, would hold a grudge against the Iron Mage for the rest of his days. Maren would never speak it, and if pressed would loudly decry it, but Aldric knew that deep down, whether the lad would admit it or not, he was blamed for the death. Another duty of the one in command. Bloody divines, if she could have done something for one of his men, for any of them, he'd have kissed her on the spot, but they both knew that every man here, laid out for the pyres, had been beyond saving long before then. She had made them whole, though, and they would go to the golden hall up high with swords in their hands and a full body to enjoy. "Aye, well... I still owe ya thanks." He tilted his head briefly in Ulfric's direction, his voice low. "An' so does Ulfric, though I don't reckon you'll ever get it. I wouldn't push fer it, neither."

With the cart loaded up, he was helping Ieran unload the great bundles of newly cut timber. Most didn't care about elves, no. Aldric had had more contact with them than most, though he'd been known to toss around the slur knife-ear from time to time for chuckles. Still, as he'd said in the past upon seeing elves at work, if they truly were sub-human, then someone had to explain to him what that made him, because some elves were just plain better than he was. Not many... but they existed. "Oughtta be everyone carin', these days," he grumbled, a few big branches clattering as he lowered them. "World in the state it's in, we don't have th' luxury to be shitty to one another."

Conversation was kept light, considering he only spoke to Ieran in the times he came back from the woods with a cart full of kindling, and within a few hours they'd both finished the burning of the demons and the construction of the pyres. Night had fallen as Aldric lit each pyre, one by one, and the commander came to stand with his men in silent vigil. He'd reclaimed his cloak, wrapping it around himself for warmth in the night's chill, his eyes shining with the lights of the flames as they consumed his dead soldiers. Aldric stood, hard and still and silent as a statue, eyes on that fire as his men began to slowly trickle away in search of their night's meal. Once Ulfric had gone, he was alone, and at last he registered that feeling of eyes on him. The elf, far off to the side. The fires were fading now, their smoke trailing high into the starry sky. He always liked to think of that smoke as the last gasp, the soul finally leaving the body to begin its journey to the halls of the divines. It gave him some comfort, seeing it now.

Finally, his eyes flicked away, dried out from the long vigil at the fire. They came to settle on Ieran, who did not do as he'd expected. He got the feeling she would simply look away... but she only lifted her head, her eyes glued on his. How long had she been watching him, he wondered? Why? He breathed a long sigh, finally shifting towards her. "C'mon, lass. Ya stay out 'ere dressed like that, you'll freeze yer arse off. Let's see about raidin' ol' Orius' larder, eh? Bastard's gotta have some food 'round here someplace."
 
Ieran scoffed at the mention of her freezing, she had been in colder weather than this but she followed him inside anyway. She had more hardships in her life than he could probably imagine and he was standing there worrying about how cold she felt. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the concern, but she had never had anyone to be concerned about her after she was taken from The People and she didn't know the proper way to react. "I am not bothered by the cold, but thank you for your concern."

She strode forward with her head held high. It was difficult to feel proud when one was wearing a brown sack, but if anyone could it was Ieran. Freedom had a certain effect on her, there was a way she carried herself and a look in her eyes. Even with her clothing her long, pale legs moved quickly toward the food stores and her bare feet padded queitly on the cold stone floor. Aldric's heavy boots stomped behind her and she pushed open the door, revealing plenty of breads and dried meats. There were even some fruits and a dozen bottles of fine wine. It was something she had always wanted to try but was never able to.

The room adjacent to that one held the plates and goblets and she brought two of each out, setting them down on an island counter top. She opened Orius' finest bottle of wine and poured a glass for herself before setting the bottle before Aldric. She grabbed the freshest peach for herself and took a large bite, juice rolling down her chin. "You can serve yourself," she would not serve another man again. She wiped the peach juice onto the back of her hand and took a gulp of the wine. It was the best thing she had ever tasted and she immediately felt the effects. It made her feel warm and slightly silly.

"This is so good!" She exclaimed with a wide smile on her face. She scratched at where the rough tunic touched her long, graceful neck and sighed, "When do I get new clothes, these are itchy and not at all flattering." Her eyes met his and she realized he was grinning at her and she immediately felt self-conscious and slightly irritated. "What?" She demanded, glaring at him.
 
Aldric was no stranger to hardships, of course. Though they never got mentioned, unless questioned while deep in his cups. He was a man who played most everything close to the chest, not wishing to weigh anyone down with what he saw were his to bear. Cold was a constant in his ancient home in those far off northern lands, where snow covered the land more often than not. This was cloak-weather at best, though he couldn't imagine having his ass hanging out of his tunic, either, and still having the same resolve. Ieran was either putting on a front or genuinely did not care, and either way, he headed inside with her to make a feast.

Granted, that tunic of hers did give quite a sight while he walked behind her.

They were in the pantry soon enough, a sight that made Aldric's eyes go wide. They'd been low on supplies as it was, having resorted mostly to hunting on the trek here. Their own stores were low... but this? "Divines bless us," he whispered, a grin on his face. "The spoils of war are sweet." Orius was doing well for himself, as far as his stores went. Aldric's mouth watered hungrily, and the mage could be seen licking his lips while she went for the wine. A good wine was a rare thing to him... and he had no doubt that Orius had plenty of it.

Two glasses, and a bottle. She poured for herself, and rather than do the same for him, took advantage of her newfound freedom. A good natured laugh left him, and he had to admire the declaration. "You don't need to worry 'bout that. Day I need a nursemaid waitin' on hand an' foot is the day I fall on my own sword." The commander poured himself a tall glass, deciding he'd take the bottle with him once he'd picked out a meal. A wooden plate was piled high with peppered meats, sausage links, a carrot, an apple... hell, two apples, he was celebrating. It was rare that he was treated to fruit, and he would take advantage of it.

The plate was brought to the countertop, where he began to eat and drink like a man starved. There was nothing quite like a good meal after a hard-fought battle. Food, ale and a woman. Well, he had the food, wine rather than ale - though that was quite alright - and... Ieran, which... well. At least she was easy on the eyes. "It's excellent," he agreed, taking a long sip of the wine to wash down a bite of sausage. "Ain' bloody often I get a good wine... ol' Orius is gonna spoil me." Another drink, and back to his food. She brought up the clothing issue once again, and he couldn't help a grin. One that she caught. "Aw, well, I wouldn't say it ain't flatterin'... does wonders for yer legs an' rear."

Hey, she'd asked.
 
Ieran huffed at his comment about her body. "You've been looking, your men too. I know they like what they see but I meant what I said about cutting off hands. I won't hesitate to cut off more than that if anyone touches me without my say so." She took another long drink of wine, it made her tongue feel loose and her clothes all the more uncomfortable. "I've never been a bed slave, you know. I know everyone thinks I was but that's what they were meant to think. I was Orius' decoy you could say." She bit into a strip of dried venison and stared pointedly at Aldric.

"He always had darker tastes. Young boys, 15 at the oldest. I was just a glorified blood bank for emergencies and a travel companion and a punching bag. I was taken from The People when I was fourteen years old. Because I was pretty my virginity was sold to the highest bidder, this fat man. I could barely breathe when he laid on top of me and it only took him ten minutes. After that Orius bought me for his little pretense." She took another drink of wine, in any other situation she would have never told anyone that, but she was drunk on only one glass, having never had wine before.

She drew a chair to the counter top and sat in it, letting her amythest eyes roam over Aldric. "I would let you touch me. You're good looking, honest and honorable. And you can defend yourself. And you're brave. I would never let a coward touch me. Truth is, I've never had time for pleasure, a slave's time doesn't belong to her, it belongs to the master." That made her realize that now she would have time, now her time was her own and she could do with it as she pleased. She also knew she wouldn't know what to do even if someone were to touch her in that way.

Ieran licked her fingers as she swallowed the last bit of the peach, placing the pit on the table. The alcohol made her giggle and she let her head fall back and her eyes close. "I wish I could cut off Orius' head again. It felt good." She itched furiously at the tunic she wore and wished desperately she had something else to wear so she could take it off. "Why did you promise to buy me what I want? No one's ever done that before."
 
"Can't stop me lookin'," he said with a shrug, taking a bite of his first apple. "Might as well try tellin' me not to breathe next, it'll get th' same response." She made that same promise from before, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "I ain't stoppin' ya. But you better have a damned good claim if ya start geldin' my men, not that I think you'll need to. No bloody time for some bloody tribunal on account of a pinched arse and a sliced cock." He ate then, listening to her story. Hard life, this girl. A far cry different from his own hardships, too. His own had been a great deal more basic. Hers? Well... it was just good to see her with such an outlook, after all that.

Orius, a boy-lover. Well, nobody said blood mages had to be right in the head. There was a momentary thought of what he'd have done in Orius' position, with her - no, no. Not like that, divines help him. He was better than that, and he knew it. The bit about how she lost her virginity, however, made him cringe. "Aw, gods... bloody disgustin' buncha savages," he said sympathetically, giving a shake of his head as he had his wine.

The topic turned around almost as fast as Aldric's head when she spoke her next words. Either she was drunk and spouting nonsense, or he was too sober to just accept a pretty girl's advances. "Aw c'mon now, lass, let a man get his second drink started 'fore ya go givin 'im false hope." He grinned, having a big gulp of his wine in an effort to finish what remained. "'Course, I ain't supposed to tell you what to do an' what not to do, now, am I?" He gave her a little wink, rather enjoying the heavy petting his ego had just received. Seeing her good idea, he went ahead and got himself a chair as well, pulling up next to her so he could stuff his face in peace. That, and finish his wine.

He poured that second glass they'd talked about, and he looked over at her. "You'll get th' chance with plenty more just like him, I promise. Only good blood mage 's a dead one." She kept plucking at her tunic, bringing up clothes again. His eyes went down to her thighs again, pointedly this time, before roving back up. "Ya think I'd make all my recruits jus' walk out onto th' battlefield with their arse hangin' out, dear? Everyone needs a decent set o' clothes. Armor, too, if yer good."
 
Ieran scowled at the idea of lying, "Elves do not give 'false hope' as you say, Aldric. And elves only geld cocks that need gelding, just like we punch faces that need punching and take off heads that need taking off." The elf watched as the human beside her shoved food down his throat and she caught herself admiring his long black hair and his rugged beard and the way his shoulders curved under that grey tunic. Her eyes got stuck on the tunic and she decided she couldn't wait any longer. "Give me that," she pointed at his chest. He looked down, confused as to what she was pointingt at. "That, THAT, give me that!" This time she tugged on his tunic.

She heard him grunt with displeasure and he mumbled something about wanting it back as he pulled it over his shoulders leaving his hard, muscled chest bare. Ieran stood, wobbling slightly on her feet, and held it to her frame. It would be long on her, a good 6 inches longer than her current one, and it was soft from being worn often. She put it on the table and, not thinking about where she was or who she was with, grabbed the hem of her own tunic and peeled it from her body leaving her naked before Aldric. Ieran shivered slightly feeling the cool air on her, the soft swell of her breasts lead to the tiny waist and the gentle curve of her hips. She was hairless as elves were wont to be and she tried to pull the grey tunic over her head but her drunken coordination wouldn't allow her.

She shoved it roughly back into Aldric's chest, "Put it on me." She ordered him and he stood to do so. Again, there was a look in his eyes she couldn't identify and she held her arms up to put them through the sleeves of the tunic. She felt his large hands glide over her body, pulling the fabric over her head and lingering at her waist as the tunic slipped down to cover her completely. She grabbed a fistful and brought it to her nose, it smelt of him, his sweat and his body. She found she quite liked his musky scent. "Thank you," she mumbled before swaying a little on her feet.
 
Aldric couldn't help but laugh, nodding his head towards her before finishing off his wine. He had to admire her blunt mannerisms, only hoping that his own were half so charming. With a good portion of his food wolfed down, he worked to refill his cup with wine. It was just getting full when she... asked for his tunic. "Come again?" She made her intent clear enough, however, beginning to tug at the garment he wore. Good gods above, really? "You want this bleedin' thing? All covered in m' sweat and foulness?" She did indeed, it appeared. Well... she had him in just that sort of mood. That rare mood, with one glass down and another on the way, where he was willing to be pliable to such a request.

"You'll be givin' this back soon enough," he growled, pulling it off over his head and handing it to her. His chest was bare, muscled like stone and criss-crossed with a pair of scars over his left breast. A dusting of curly black hairs covered his chest and stomach. Well, he had nothing to hide. Hell, with a glass of wine in him, it was a chance to show off. He swallowed another sip, though he almost choked on it a little when she did the same. Naked as the day she was born, right before him. No more sideways glances, no more pretending like he wasn't looking. Aldric looked shamelessly at her, drinking it all in. Gorgeous. It put a fire in his blood, as well as a little pep below the waist.

Put it on her? Oh, great bleeding divines. "Oh aye, yer majesty," he said with a smirk, giving her the same nickname he'd used when she'd first started giving demands. Well, he could do that... but he was going to get him a little bit, too, oh yes. His hands slid up her sides lightly, bringing the tunic up and over her head. It didn't stretch, so she was made to bring her arms up as he lowered it down over her, and there was definitely a little feel taken at her breasts as it came on down. She pulled it up to her nose, taking in a deep breath... and then thanked him.

"Well, don't say I never gave ya nothin'," he teased. "That there's the shirt off m' back, as the sayin' goes. I'd tell ya to dress me in yers, but I don' reckon it'd be so flatterin'."
 
Ieran would never tell him, but she actually liked it when Aldric called her 'your majesty'. She knew it was in jest but she also knew that he meant no disrespect by it and she was glad that he could laugh with her and not at her. "I would never say you gave me nothing," she raised her eyes to look at his, "That would be lying because you have given me my freedom and that is everything to me." She giggled lightly at his jokes, trying to imagine him in her small brown tunic. "I don't think it would fit you very well."

She had not failed to notice that the bulge below his belt and wondered if it had been her who had caused it or if it was merely because of the wine. She supposed she didn't care, she found him quite handsome and she was quite drunk and that was all that mattered at the moment. "I could be a lover, you know. Never a wife, that is just another form of slavery, but I could be a lover." She knew it was the wine that had let her say all this, that she would have never said it otherwise. She didn't even know if he was attracted to her at all.

It didn't matter to her, she wanted him and she wouldn't stand around wishing for it, not now that she was a woman free to say what she would. "I could be your lover," she hated it, but she couldn't help it when her cheeks turned slightly pink from both alcohol and embarrassment. She stepped closer to him, resting her delicate fingers on his scarred pectoral. She felt his warm breath ruffle her dark hair and traced the scars across his chest with her fingertips, wondering how he had gotten them.

She had scars as well, the lash marks across her back were common scars for those who were slaves. She knew Aldric had told her she would be giving his tunic back but now she was unsure if she even wanted to. She liked his musky smell and the knowledge that he had given it to her willingly, just because she had asked him for it. No one had ever given her anything, especially not simply because she had asked.
 
Aldric took only a slight step back from her, leaning on the counter as he had another drink of wine. The drink was going right to her head, it seemed. He called it quits once his second glass was done, rather enjoying the little buzz. "Naw, ya did that for yerself... watched you cut that bloody bastard's head right off. Good show, if ya ask me." He had a light smile on his face, looking over at her. She was a strange one, that was for certain. Not at all afraid to speak her mind, or take what she wanted. He had to admire that. He got the feeling he knew just what she was wanting right then, too. It didn't take a genius. There was a definite bump below his waist, one that couldn't be hidden. He'd seen her eyes wander down that way once or twice, too.

"A lover, eh? Well that's a good call... you ask half my men, marriage is pretty damned overrated." There was a pause, one where they locked eyes for a long moment, before she continued on with that train of thought. "My lover... well, now." Gentle fingers found their way to his chest, feeling along the old scars there. A story for each one, to be sure. She came close, and he brought her closer still, bold hands reaching down to cup her rear and pull her against him.

It wasn't how he'd imagined the night going, not even a little. The fact that she was even still here, willing to stay with his company, had been a surprise. This, though? This was truly a surprise. One he only hoped she wouldn't regret once the wine had filtered out of her. "A lover... now that, I reckon, wouldn't be so bad."
 
It was true, she had cut Orius' head clean off his shoulders and had enjoyed every moment. But it had been Aldric and his band of bastards who had given her the opportunity and for that she was eternally grateful. The elf was feeling slightly dizzy and she leaned into Aldric for support. "I...am not asking your men. I am asking you," she did not want to be a lover to any she deemed unworthy. It was only Aldric's lover she sought to be and she wanted that to be clear.

Ieran's heart was beating fast, faster than it had been during the battle today, and when Aldric's hands found her rear she felt a bolt of lust fall through her. At this proximity she could feel the hard bulge pressed against her and swallowed, it was a possibilty she had gotten herself in over her head, after all, she had only had one lover in her life, if he could even be called that. She wanted someone who could make her feel good. Aldric did that without even touching her, he made her feel equal to those around her. He was the first man she had encountered to treat her with respect.

Violet eyes met green and she studied him a moment before leaning up onto her toes to place her soft, full lips against his. Her slender fingers danced across his chest and along his strong shoulders, coming to rest at the back of his neck. She played with the thick black hair that fell there as she pulled her face from his. She hoped her attentions were well recieved and that she was not so completely terrible at this intimacy thing.
 
Oh, but she was adamant. It seemed the elf wanted there to be no confusion. She wanted him, and him alone. Well, he supposed he could humor her in that. The mage-knight shifted with her pressed so close, all-too aware of the way her body rubbed against the growing tent in his trousers. She didn't seem to mind in the least. In fact, she seemed to rather enjoy the notion. Well, that definitely made two of them. "All yours," he murmured, giving the tight little rump in his hands a squeeze.

Their eyes locked for a time, not a word passing between them as, slowly, the elf leaned in to kiss him on the lips. A sweet thing, almost chaste in its tenderness... and yet, it spoke of a desire for more. It lasted only a few short moments before it was broken, their hands lingering softly on one another. She'd put the want in him, and he embraced it. Her lips were reclaimed quickly by his own, resuming the kiss with a more fiery lust. Hands disappeared beneath the hem of the tunic, only to slide up her bare thighs to feel the smooth flesh of her rear against his fingertips. She was pulled tight against him, and all at once he knew that she would be consuming the rest of his evening. A fact that he relished.
 
All hers? Those were two words she had never heard before. Aldric was giving her many firsts. He pulled her even closer to him, his mouth was hot and wet and he kissed her in a way she'd never been kissed before. She gripped his shoulders tightly, hanging on to him as if she felt she might fall. Ieran's head began to spin and she broke the fiery kiss, gasping slightly as his hands pushed beneath the soft fabric covering her body to grope at her naked flesh.

Ieran used her weight to push him against the island counter, she would not be taking a passive role in this, but in all honesty she wasn't exactly sure what to do. She had never been taught in the ways of pleasure because she was not a pleasure slave. She felt a low chuckle rumble through Aldric's chest as he obviously found her enthusiasm amusing and she meant to quiet him. One hand found its way into his trousers, grasping at the hard flesh there and stroking gently across his length.

"Tell me what to do," she said, at a loss of what to do next.
 
Aldric was no simple kisser, oh no. He'd learned the tongue kiss from the far off maidens of Irgalel, a practice that would soon be sweeping the world if the blood mages could be stopped. A kiss that Ieran received now, his tongue probing lightly into her mouth as a tease, giving him a taste of the wine on her lips. The kiss was a slow-burning rush of heat for the two of them, as evidenced by the way she was gasping as it broke. He had a good, firm hold on her ass, a lustful grin on his face as he caught his breath. There was a shove, his back pressed to the counter by the elf's weight.

"Ooh... someone's gettin' a little feisty," he purred, a grin on his face. The elf sought to shut him up, however, and she managed, grabbing a handful of hard cock and beginning to play. The battlemage's words died in his throat, a little grunt leaving him as she began to please. Tell her what to do? Divines bless them all, she was already making fine progress. "Reckon yer already doin' a fine job," he hissed. "Now lemme just get this tunic off ya... I wanna see you."
 
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