Open Chronicles A Feast for the Crows and the Carrion

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denheim

The Wendigo
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'I need to get away from this place!'

Easier said than done, he thought, cutting down another slaver with a well-timed riposte with a dagger he'd nabbed from the Inn that now lay burning at his back. The village, whose name he'd now forgotten, lay in ruins and flames at the sudden arrival of Slavers and Blight Orcs - no doubt hailing from the outer fringes of the Blightlands, come for plunder and loot and slaves. Arathos didn't care...at least, he didn't want to care. But the flames that raged in and around the village had made it so that approaching was suicide - his curse would kill him before he could even save another soul.

So the best thing to do would be to just run away, right? Run away and find a place to rest and recuperate - run away to the hills, into a nice, dark, cave where there were no flames. He was lucky these slavers arrived just as the sun had set, otherwise he'd be nothing but ashes now; the perfect plan would've been to find a perfect hiding place and wait for the next sunset, wherein hey may move on to the next village and hope it doesn't suffer the same fate as this one.

So why was he running back towards the village with a dagger in one hand and a sword in another?

He didn't know the answer; it was stupid and impulsive, but 400 hundred years of life had done little to remedy both of those traits, it seemed. Despite his curse, Arathos still very much cared about the lives of the innocent.

A Blight Orc roared and charged at him, but his superior reflexes allowed him to lunge diagonally - avoiding the orc's war hammer as slammed unto the ground. With a hiss, Arathos leapt forward and sunk his fangs into the orc's exposed neck.

If he was going to save these villagers, then he might as well feed...
 
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Zafira let out an angry shout as she heard another row of glass bottles shatter by her head. The sounds of feminine, piercing screams pierced her ears as the monster glared at her with its hideous, red eyes. The Orc was large, its hammer gripped tightly in its gray, mole covered fist. She saw its eyes travel to an older woman who was clutching her purse tightly.

"Hey ugly!" Zafira yelled, hurling one of the glass bottles at him. It broke against the Orc's back and Zafira bit back a scream. All her hard work......

The amount of time it took to create those potions, elixirs- finding just the perfect herbs and plants, standing in front of a cauldron for hours on end, and mixing - all tarnished because some stupid beasts had decided to attack the day she had restocked.

It was a superficial thoughts Zafira had when she realized that now the Orc's murderous intent was set on her.

Zafira's green eyes morphing into a golden hue, she raised her hands, finding the life thread of the great monster and tugging at it. She saw the Orc fall, her own energy draining as she forced the beast to his knees. Lifting a sword from the sword, she let it fall against the Orc's shoulders, cutting his head clean off. Still, the beast managed to claw at her arm roughly,
 
An orange glow was visible in the distance from his vantage point on a stone outcropping, a dais like the ones that held legends that often said giants built them from wounds in the mountains. Whatever the story was with these stones they now allowed him to have a look above the tree line to see black smoke rising into the sky. A village was burning.

The bronze mask of the towering freelance adventurer reflected the orange glow and gave his "face" a look of burning anger. The mask that was shaped in the likeness of some long dead king looked out with painted eyes shadowed by a heavy bronze brow. If there were ever an enemy that deserved to be the fuel that renewed the enchantments on his weapons and armor, it was lawless raiders whose only goal was to rape, kill, and loot.

Though his "face" immitted the picture of rage he felt no such emotion, but the sense of injustice was a strong motivation to the man he was. So he marked the location in his mind, adjusted his mental compass, and leapt from the top of the dais into the trickling stream at the feet of the stones. As soon as his feet touched the ground he took off in the direction of the village, his gilded cape and robes fluttering out behind him in the wind of his rush.

The painted eyes stared straight ahead as he gave up following the winding road for the direct rout straight through the forest, dodging trees left and right but always returning back on track to his destination.
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He burst out of the tree line and saw the burning village. He could pick out silhouettes of people rushing this way and that through the smoke filled streets, occasionally a villager would break free of the village boarder, screaming as he was chased and cut down by a raider.

This was a sight he had seen many times in his life and he still hated every moment of it. A village barely equipped to fend off monsters is finally beset by an actual enemy and is found wanting. Sometimes he didn't know what he hated more, the raiders, or the lords that refused to arm their citizens or fortify their holdings in the event that the people must defend themselves. This was such a rule that he had built when he was a king of Amol-Kalit.

His hand instinctively went to the Khopesh on his hip, but he reconsidered when he remembered that the enchantment on the blade had degraded long ago. As he approached the village instead he reached behind his back to another sheath that held a different weapon. He drew forth a small double bladed rod that on the releasing of a latch extended into a spear as tall as he was, which is to say, it was about eight feet long.

As he began walking down the main street of the village with spear in hand all he had to do was be patient, he wouldn't allow himself to be trapped inside a burning building, fire was no friend of his either. But in a raid such as this, he wouldn't have to wait long before he was challenged. His patience was paid off almost immediately as a hulking Blight Orc smashed through the wall of a building a few blocks up and noticed him through the smoke. A primal bellowing war cry was unleashed as the brute charged the walking figure with Warhammer raised high over his head.

He felt almost insulted at the complete lack of tact or strategy that this brute was attempting to kill him with, but he had to remind himself that he wasn't a king right now and didn't have an army at his back. An echoing chant began to reverberate from behind the bronze mask as arcane words were spoken with command. Hieroglyphs were illuminated along the shaft and blades of the spear as the chant summoned magic from within himself.
"Kuasa darah hidup, memulihkan kekuatan saya."
With these words spoken the screaming orc was almost upon him, so he raised the weapon and sliced open the exposed belly of the orc with the glaive end of his spear, stepping to the side as the creature went stumbling past.

It wasn't a fatal blow, not to a creature of that size and strength, but the enchantment took effect and instantly drained the lifeforce from the body of the orc, turning the fallen beast into a skinny dried and shriveled up corpse clutching at a massive hammer. Instant mummification.
The power of the impromptu sacrificial blood offering coursed through the staff of the spear, this is how it was supposed to feel. It practically hummed with life in his hands. He used the power in the spear to restore the depleted enchantments of his Khopesh. Golden light streamed out of the spear head and flowed like water into the bronze blade on his hip.
 
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Arathos stepped back, dodging another massive swing of the orc's cleaver, and lunged forward - sinking his teeth into the orc's exposed neck and draining the creature in seconds. It couldn't even scream as its green skin turned pale and withered without blood. In hindsight, if staying here meant he could feed as much as he could, then it might just be worth it; after all, it's been some time since Arathos could feed and kill at the same time. Usually, he'd take a sip from the victim's blood without either killing and feeding directly - lest they turn into monsters, like himself. But here, he could unleash the full brunt of his powers and bloodlust upon these savages and feel no guilt or sorrow for his actions.

"Yes!"

He raised both arms to the side, an inviting gesture towards a party of orcs. The dull brutes took the bait, charging towards him with their crude weapons raised up high. Arathos tilted his head to see the remains of their victim, a poor and hapless villager who'd once served drinks at the nearby inn - now ravaged and gored beyond recognition. He couldn't save all of them; no, that's impossible. But if he couldn't, then he was sure to avenge their fallen. The people here were kind and hospitable, not once raising insults or provoking injuries to his person. Heck, this has been one of the few villages were he'd joined in on the songs they'd sung at the tavern, merrymaking as the night went on.

Those he couldn't save, he'd be sure to avenge. These were good, honest, kind-hearted people the marauders were killing and enslaving. And he'd be damned before he let it go unpunished.

"COME!"

With a bestial howl that echoed far across the Blightlands, Arathos transformed into his monstrous form and tore through the orcs as if they were but wheat to the scythe. He drained them all of their blood and ripped out chunks of their flesh - devouring the bloody morsels as he moved on to the next group of orcs. He stopped, however, when he felt a powerful presence in the village - powerful enough to warrant at least some of his attention. Whoever it was, they were doing a splendid job of killing these brutes. He'd have to thank them later. For now, there was much food and drink to intake, and the vampire would indulge in all of them!
 
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"Asshole," Zafira growled, looking at the terrible cut on her arm. She enclosed her hand on her upper arm, eyes morphing into a pumpkin hue as she healed herself. The cut mended itself quickly, and Zafira stood up, looking at all the broken glass around the shop.

A deep sense of mourning filled her. She'd worked hard to open up a shop here, but it wasn't important now. There were still people in trouble. Sliding two knives, and a few elixirs in her cloak, Zafira stepped out into the dark night.

Green flames bursting from her hands, she set it on the first Orc she saw. He was about to hit a figure who was wrapped in....bronze? Zafira couldn't be sure, but the man was taking care of two Orcs at once.

To her right, Zafira noticed a creature ripping at some other Orcs. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene. The man was draining them!

Zafira's attention went back to the Orc she was dealing with. It let out a terrible scream, focusing instead on two kids with black hair. Soot covered their body, eyes wide with fright and tears. Zafira grabbed a small, purple vial and smashed it into the Orc's back. The skin burned quickly, revealing white bone. Zafira grabbed her knife and slammed it down into the spot, the Orc's blood splashing onto her arms and the bodice of her dress.

The three of them had managed to take care of most of the Orks. The other ones had succeeded and left or fleed because they noticed that they were losing.

She went to the two kids, recognizing them as the woodcutter's children. She offered them a soft smile, wiping the dirt from the youngest one. "Why don't you go back home, okay?" she said quietly. Reaching in her cloak, he noticed some candy she had form her journey to Elbion. She handed it to them with a bright grin. They gave her a bright smile, taking the candy with their small, pudgy hands and running home.
 
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The two orcs charged him, but as they drew near their charge faltered. He was deceptively much taller than he looked from a distance, and he veritably towered above the two brutishly muscled tusks. They stopped short of him, ending their momentum and this became a stand up fight, not a simple bull rush. They swung their heavy cleavers at him which he blocked with spear and Khopesh. Their weapons were low quality in the first place, so when the first sword struck his Khopesh it rusted immediately and the rust ate straight through the iron weapon causing it to fall apart at the middle.

Green flames engulfed an orc he hadn't detected coming up on his flank, but he quickly saw the caster and his mask gave her a nod of gratitude while he held off another thundering blow against his spear.

He returned his attention to the two orcs, seeing that his cleaver was useless the orc drew an axe from his belt. They both struck at once and he caught their blows again on his spear.
The two orcs had good teamwork, however...
"You two should have realized that you are outmatched."

With their weapons and hands locked high with his spear they left their stomachs wide open. With a staggering shove he pushed them back which gave him just enough room to do a full swing with his sword. He had to go to one knee for his strike to hit the mark, but it was successful nonetheless.
He slashed their stomachs with his Khopesh and watched as the enchantment took hold.

At first nothing happened and the orcs simply staggered from the heavy blow of a sharp weapon and strong arm, but in the next moment the effects couldn't go unnoticed. Their hair turned white in an instant, their faces thinned and wrinkled with age as their bodies also wasted away with the immediate onset of age. With their age their bodies weren't young or strong enough to shrug off their wounds and they bled more profusely.

In the end, they bled out before they had the chance to see the end of the enchantment and age into dust.
"From dust the humanoid came... and to dust they shall return."
He stepped over the withered bodies in time to see two children run across the street to find shelter, but with smiles on their faces. He wondered what could make a child smile at a time of death as this except the kindness of another.

Thankfully the children were out of sight when several decimated bodies came flying over the rooftops to land in the street. This was one monster he had never seen before, even when he was alive. He knew neither the name nor its origins. It was effective in battle, but he wondered if they had a very different fight on their hands now.
He glanced at the magic caster that helped the children and wondered if she knew or was familiar with the creature.
"You've a heart of gold, magic caster. I'm impressed that you can give children such hope at a time like this."
He pointed at the antlered monster with a skull head, "But I hope you are skilled in conjuration and that creature is one of yours, otherwise we may have a fight on our hands that could end disastrously."
 
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Blood

There was so much of it that Arathos was beginning to wonder why he'd ever thought of abandoning this village; heck, there was a veritable feast here, just waiting to be devoured. Sure, he'd avoid the villagers as much as possible, but the smell of the fires, the ashes, and the blood were all beginning to blur together as one tangible thing. The beast - the endless hunger within him - was beginning to stir; there was just too much blood here, and the beast within was loving every second of it. So much so that Arathos could feel himself losing control of himself - often slipping into maddened fits of bloodlust as he tore through every living thing he could see, just having enough self-control left to stop before he could rip apart a fleeing villager.

He'd found the source of the great power he'd felt earlier; a tall undead, an immortal, much like him - come to save the villagers as it seemed to slay the orcs left and right with its curved sword thing. The most interesting part, however, was how the entity seemed to absorb the life essences of the orcs as its weapon cut into their flesh - the beasts' flesh shrinking and drying before becoming husks, themselves. It reminded him much of what his victims often looked when he'd drink them dry of blood.

He'd have to think this entity later....if there was a later.

'Just how many orcs are there?!'

He'd lost count of how many bodies he'd drained and tossed aside, and yet there was still more of them pouring through. It was as if the beasts were actively looking for something in this village; something valuable enough to warrant this many warriors. But then what were they looking for? The reason why he'd even chose to stay in this village was because there was nothing of importance here - no lordling in hiding, no sacred artifacts of any kind, no secrets to be hidden from prying eyes, nothing. And yet the behavior of the orcs told otherwise.

Arathos lunged forward several meters and buried his hand into a marauding orc's stomach, before pulling out its spine from the front - along with its brutish head. The ancient vampire then whirled the bloody piece of bone and gore and hurled it towards an orc, who was just about to pounce on the strange potion-selling lady. He then turned his attention back towards the - literally - spineless and headless orc, and drank dry all the vitae from its corpse.

Blood

There was so much of it.

The wendigo howled into the night, eyes glowing red and mouth gushing with blood - his mind now dangerously close to becoming overwhelmed by the beast, but he wasn't over the edge yet.