Post by Nephallim on Mar 25, 2009 19:54:58 GMT -8
Richmond Bensen and the Eye of the Void
The badlands of southern Blin are an exercise in contradiction. Rocky, often jagged, foothills riddled with caves and tunnels rise to lord over expanses of putrid marsh riddled with all sorts of sinkholes and unpleasant creatures. Putrid marshes give way to dark swamps, home to all manner of dark spirits and mad fey. Deep in one such watery arbor lay a crystal clear pool, surrounded by the gnarled roots of the hardy cypress trees that surrounded it. This was a sacred place, in a sense. Years and years ago, before the troglodytes of the region had flocked to join Tereus, they had believed that the pool was the hole in the Dark Force’s prison through which it had expelled its cold blooded progeny. In those days this place had been the site of countless sacrifices to Proteus. There was no telling how many innocent humans, both Celeisian and Blinian, lay at the bottom of the unholy spring. Richmond Bensen preferred that it stay that way. He'd heard stories about the pool, or rather the Eye of the Void as religious nuts called it. They said it was crystal clear because nothing could live in it. Not fish or frog. Not lily or weed. Something about the water killed anything that tried to make its home there. It wasn't that the water in the rest of the badlands was safe, mind you. Richmond knew just as well as the next schmuck that you had to boil the marsh water and scrape the scum off at least three times over before the stuff was even close to safe to drink. The best bet was to try and vapor distill it, or use it to brew a bitter ale. The thing about normal water in this place was that it was dangerous because things lived in it. The water of the Eye was pure, and something about that terrified Richmond. This was the last place in all of Blin he'd like to be.
Richmond had been a smalltime guard out in Weleis, a little border town that had been Celeisian once, before Tereus rose to power. Richmond's family had been there for ages, ever since the Darkest Suffering had lifted the troglodytes over, well, everyone else that had mattered. His family had been up there once. The Bensen's had been knights of darkness with strong minds, stubborn enough to shrug off the deformities and insanity that usually came of serving the shadow lords personally. Ever since Tereus and his followers had set up shop, things had been different. Tereus raised up the troglodytes, the troglodytes ate everyone in a position to challenge them, and the Bensens had quietly retired to the border where they had taken over a Celeisian barracks town and set up shop. Everything had gone relatively well since then. For awhile there had still been supply caravans shipping out to stock other border towns, and they had made for fat pickings. After those had stopped coming, the Bensens had raided further south, rounded up some displaced civilians, and set up fields. No doubt the land was not so fertile around Weleis, but it wasn't poison the same way it was farther north. For a few hundred years the Bensens had gotten on fine living off the fruits of their dubiously acquired labor when, three weeks ago, a message had arrived from up north. A heretic, a troglodyte heretic, had fled into the badlands north of Weleis. The Bensens had a month to capture the creature before a shadow lord arrived to institute martial law. Now here he was, a hundred miles north, two brothers, and a good deal of sanity later. Here he was, creeping up to a hooded figure sitting on the edge of the Eye of the Void, longsword held in a white-knuckled grip.
Richmond Bensen was not a sneak. He knew nothing of moving silently. Every step he took made a slight sucking sound as the muddy ground of the swamp tried to swallow him. The hooded figure never shifted. Maybe it was to engrossed in the Eye, Richmond thought with a grimace. Richmond Bensen was not a warrior. He knew enough of how to use a sword to ward off rebellious slaves. A rat scurried out of his way as he shifted his feet into a wide stance, centering himself as he lifted his blade high. This hooded figure was the heretic, Richmond knew. He would have no second chances. If he didn't kill the thing in one blow, his life would be over. If he could kill it though... if he could kill troglodyte in 'single combat,' then he'd be recognized. Maybe even rewarded. His home would not be subjected to a shadow lord's tainted attentions. He'd be a hero!
The sword came down and struck the hooded figure with a dull thud. A thud! A sword shouldn't make that sound, not when biting into flesh...
Richmond grabbed the hood and pulled it away from the figure, revealing a particularly tall cypress root.
His face went white. His hands went numb. He turned around to see the largest troglodyte he'd ever seen exploding out of the corpse of a rat. Scales as black as night shimmering in the dull swamp light. Eyes red as blood boring a hole through his chest, straight to his soul. Teeth like arrowheads and claws like daggers menaced him to the edge of insanity. A lazy swipe of the creature's arm sent Richmond's sword flying off into the dark of the swamp as the thing grinned.
“Thacrifithe,” it said just before it delivered a quick shove, sending Richmond Bensen tumbling head first into the Eye of the Void.
The badlands of southern Blin are an exercise in contradiction. Rocky, often jagged, foothills riddled with caves and tunnels rise to lord over expanses of putrid marsh riddled with all sorts of sinkholes and unpleasant creatures. Putrid marshes give way to dark swamps, home to all manner of dark spirits and mad fey. Deep in one such watery arbor lay a crystal clear pool, surrounded by the gnarled roots of the hardy cypress trees that surrounded it. This was a sacred place, in a sense. Years and years ago, before the troglodytes of the region had flocked to join Tereus, they had believed that the pool was the hole in the Dark Force’s prison through which it had expelled its cold blooded progeny. In those days this place had been the site of countless sacrifices to Proteus. There was no telling how many innocent humans, both Celeisian and Blinian, lay at the bottom of the unholy spring. Richmond Bensen preferred that it stay that way. He'd heard stories about the pool, or rather the Eye of the Void as religious nuts called it. They said it was crystal clear because nothing could live in it. Not fish or frog. Not lily or weed. Something about the water killed anything that tried to make its home there. It wasn't that the water in the rest of the badlands was safe, mind you. Richmond knew just as well as the next schmuck that you had to boil the marsh water and scrape the scum off at least three times over before the stuff was even close to safe to drink. The best bet was to try and vapor distill it, or use it to brew a bitter ale. The thing about normal water in this place was that it was dangerous because things lived in it. The water of the Eye was pure, and something about that terrified Richmond. This was the last place in all of Blin he'd like to be.
Richmond had been a smalltime guard out in Weleis, a little border town that had been Celeisian once, before Tereus rose to power. Richmond's family had been there for ages, ever since the Darkest Suffering had lifted the troglodytes over, well, everyone else that had mattered. His family had been up there once. The Bensen's had been knights of darkness with strong minds, stubborn enough to shrug off the deformities and insanity that usually came of serving the shadow lords personally. Ever since Tereus and his followers had set up shop, things had been different. Tereus raised up the troglodytes, the troglodytes ate everyone in a position to challenge them, and the Bensens had quietly retired to the border where they had taken over a Celeisian barracks town and set up shop. Everything had gone relatively well since then. For awhile there had still been supply caravans shipping out to stock other border towns, and they had made for fat pickings. After those had stopped coming, the Bensens had raided further south, rounded up some displaced civilians, and set up fields. No doubt the land was not so fertile around Weleis, but it wasn't poison the same way it was farther north. For a few hundred years the Bensens had gotten on fine living off the fruits of their dubiously acquired labor when, three weeks ago, a message had arrived from up north. A heretic, a troglodyte heretic, had fled into the badlands north of Weleis. The Bensens had a month to capture the creature before a shadow lord arrived to institute martial law. Now here he was, a hundred miles north, two brothers, and a good deal of sanity later. Here he was, creeping up to a hooded figure sitting on the edge of the Eye of the Void, longsword held in a white-knuckled grip.
Richmond Bensen was not a sneak. He knew nothing of moving silently. Every step he took made a slight sucking sound as the muddy ground of the swamp tried to swallow him. The hooded figure never shifted. Maybe it was to engrossed in the Eye, Richmond thought with a grimace. Richmond Bensen was not a warrior. He knew enough of how to use a sword to ward off rebellious slaves. A rat scurried out of his way as he shifted his feet into a wide stance, centering himself as he lifted his blade high. This hooded figure was the heretic, Richmond knew. He would have no second chances. If he didn't kill the thing in one blow, his life would be over. If he could kill it though... if he could kill troglodyte in 'single combat,' then he'd be recognized. Maybe even rewarded. His home would not be subjected to a shadow lord's tainted attentions. He'd be a hero!
The sword came down and struck the hooded figure with a dull thud. A thud! A sword shouldn't make that sound, not when biting into flesh...
Richmond grabbed the hood and pulled it away from the figure, revealing a particularly tall cypress root.
His face went white. His hands went numb. He turned around to see the largest troglodyte he'd ever seen exploding out of the corpse of a rat. Scales as black as night shimmering in the dull swamp light. Eyes red as blood boring a hole through his chest, straight to his soul. Teeth like arrowheads and claws like daggers menaced him to the edge of insanity. A lazy swipe of the creature's arm sent Richmond's sword flying off into the dark of the swamp as the thing grinned.
“Thacrifithe,” it said just before it delivered a quick shove, sending Richmond Bensen tumbling head first into the Eye of the Void.