[RP] The Rise of Cutthroats

[bloodedIrishman]

...Fourteen years past...


His head crawled with the need to itch, sweat running profusely down his face. Looking around, Kull awoke to the ambient noise of the forest; the birds in their chattering; the whispering sound of a breeze caressing the forest leaves. What? For how long was I unconscious?

And then he remembered. The night before, a pair of refugees-become-bandits chased after him, threatening to kill if he did not surrender. At twelve years, Kull was not full grown, yet long isolation and a constant, present danger had suppressed any fear conceivable. Or so he thought.

That night he was terrified of those Ynnwn armed with cudgels, who would probably slay him no matter what did for them. So he ran, and with the thieves in pursuit, he entered a dark cave at the bottom of a hill for safety, which rose above the forest.

…

As Kull penetrated the deep blackness, his skin began to prickle; tingling with the sensation of what he had felt only once before in Ojaveda: magic.

It was his mother, then, in actuality, who knew the means of magic, which she said was oft-referred to as “Dark” but by no means associated with evil. In his childish pleading, she wove a small spell, and in his terror of the dark threads she wove, he never asked again.

…

Its effect grew and grew, until Kull felt as if his skin were being stabbed with a thousand needles. The sensation of heat rose quietly, and in an exploding moment, flourished like fire in his blood; until it boiled. He felt as if his brain were being invaded by the magic, by the sandstone hands which wove it so expertly.

In utter terror, Kull struck back with every force he could muster: physically, and with magic. A wave of blackish fire spread forth from Kull’s body, and struck the attacker. The caster fell back, crashing against the cave wall, and a lull occurred for a moment. However, another, another and another joined with the first who assaulted, and Kull became overwhelmed. For the longest time, pain was his entire existence – the only thought, the only feeling, the only thing there was. It blossomed in his chest, and spread throughout his agony-racked body.

It retracted to his heart. Again, it spread forth; and every fiber of his body sheltered a pain so fierce Kull could not even scream. Wordlessly, his jaw dropped; his head lolled back and his body turned limp in the onslaught.

…

Finally, the assault stopped. Kull fell to the ground.

He began to shake and writhe on the dirt floor. To him, the body on that ground was not his; but that of a wild beast. It was an animal of fangs and claws and mindless snarls. In seconds, the writhing stopped, and the body lay motionless. In the next second, Kull assumed the body again, and he groggily stood, unable to see even his own hands in the deep blackness of the cave.

He felt…odd. Different. His body was changed. They had changed it, he could sense it.

He heard the shuffling of feet in the cave; the sound of their moving bodies retreating into its shadowy depths.

…

Duren looked at his companion, and back into the entrance of the dark cave ahead of them, at the base of a high hill, which loomed over the forest behind them. Jeg stood attentively. His lithe Ynnwn body was covered in sweat from the chase.

“Damn menki-child can run, huh Jeg?”

“Yess…but now he is oursss.”

“Heh…you first.”

Jeg snorted, and hefted his club. He moved toward the cave, but stopped, as a figure of small height stepped out of it.

Duren grinned broadly, his yellow-black teeth revealed in a sickly smile. “So he came out to us, eh?”

Jeg stepped forward, speaking as he walked “Come here menki boy, and we will not kill you for your ssstupidity.”

He did not answer.

Duren always had a temper. Beating his wife was a daily exercise he thoroughly enjoyed. That was before the raid, when bandits such as themselves slaughtered many in the village and robbed everything of value, leaving behind a scarred image of what once was. "CHILD, COME HERE, DAMN YOU!"

Jeg and Duren both strode forward confidently, and suddenly, the boy fell to all fours and launched himself at the pair.

…

Duren half-opened his eyes, his head laying against the ground. He tried to move his head – his body, but was unable. All around him on the ground, blood lay in pools. Jeg’s body was a shattered mess of broken bones and severed cartilage laying in piles of flesh. The menki-child held Jeg’s head in his hands.

The boy looked down at Duren and smiled. “You’re a mess…” With a spat of disgust, the menki-child, still carrying the severed head of a bandit, strode away from the field outside the black cave. Duren just barely noticed his arms and legs were scattered next to Jeg’s massacred corpse before sleep took him.

…

Not a hundred paces from the field where he slew his pursuers, Kull fell to the ground in a small alcove inside the forest, a patch of ground without grass or flowers, but surrounded by tall, thick trees and foliage. Shadows flitted across his eyes before he fell asleep.

…

Now morning, Kull stumbled to a small pool in between a ring of reddish trees. He fell to his knees, weaker than he ever felt in his life, and absorbed the image reflected back at him in the clear-water pool.

A male-child Enkiduai, not yet grown, but with eyes a clear yellow. The fur was wild and uncombed. His teeth were no longer, but replaced by fangs. His paws retained claws sharp as knives. His back arched in such a way that charging on all fours was easy, and, in fact, reliable.

Though Kull was exhausted and every fiber of his being ached and longed for rest and rejuvenation – his mind was completely awake. He was entirely conscious of everything around him. At this moment, when he was close to death, he was the most alive.

After drinking heavily from the pool, Kull laid against one of the trees and fell, again, into a deep sleep.




                                                  

The Rise of Cutthroats

                                                                        

                                      

~The Great Work~

Solestar bellowed "This is no peace!"
"A sinister quiet,
the insidious lie must cease." Raising arms to the air,
"For the end is nigh,
In command I decry: a battle has begun,
a devious web to be undone,
our terrible foe to the depths be flung;
For the Great War of our age has come."

Kull observed the pass, gazing at the path in between the cliffs, void of any life or passerby. Verigan stood aside, slobbering over a piece of fried meat.

To the left, a sandstone-colored Kran approached. He was garbed in a simple brown robe, and at his lower right hip, a short-sword was sheathed in a well-used case.

Turning Stalwart, Kull spoke in a commanding voice. "Who goes?"

The Kran stopped, not fifteen feet from Kull. "I do. I am Solestar of the Citadel."

Kull rested his right paw, lightly, on a long dagger, still sheathed. The Kran's eyes seemed all-too knowing. His presence was more than confidence, beyond self-assured.  "You wear the uniform of a priest of Talad. What business have you here?"

The Kran laughed, his voice deep, carrying over the ground easily. Verigan looked up with a start, bits of bitten flesh embedded in his beard, and a mixture of saliva and grease dribbling down his chin. "I have worn garb such as this for over a hundred years, and been mistaken for a Taladan priest many a time." Continuing, he spoke. "I am Solestar, disciple of our god Dakkru, Lady of Passing Souls."

Taken aback, Kull inclined his head in respect. "Not many speak of her in such tones or with the honor title. My respects to you, supplicant of our Goddess. But again, what business have you here, Solestar?"

"I come to speak with you, Kull, of your duty to the Lady."

Kull cleared his throat. "I go by no name - I am not Kull. You mistake me, Solestar."

Solestar laughed once more, bellowing his deep, basso voice. "You are Kull Rhundin, brother of Manxs, son of Rhull Rhundin, who spent six years in the wildernesses, and is the leader of a cutthroat gang. Are you not he?"

Drawing a long dagger, Kull leapt off Stalwart and started toward Solestar while speaking. "Few can know my true identity, and you are not among them. My apologies, Solestar-of-the-Citadel."

Solestar's voice boomed across the area. "You transform once more, don't you, Kull?"

Kull stopped, shocked.

"Once more your body changes into its animal state. You once more are losing part of yourself to the cycles." Observing Kull's inability to speak from shock, he continued. "You were to be a great servant of Dakkru, yet now you succumb to greed. Where is your devotion, which you so faithfully displayed in the Citadel, those eight years ago?"

"I have not forsaken the faith. I am as true as I ever was."

"False. We, the Darkstar, have seen your life since your apprenticeship in the Citadel. You have slowly digressed into the pitiful life of a bandit and a common manipulator."

"You dare insult me?"

"I will say what I will say for I am a true Hand of Dakkru. You are not. I come with direct word from the Mistress of Death."

Kull's expression changed. "A-a-a Hand of...Dakkru?" He sheathed his blade and kneeled. "I...do not know what to say."

"There is no time for apologies. We must discuss your duty, and your condition."

"But who are the Darkstar?"

"A sect of Dakkruists, we are those who carry out the Lady's greatest wishes in the living world, from beneath it."

"Ahhh...so it is you. I see. Why do you seek me?"

"Because you have been chosen for Dakkru's great task in this level."

"Why?"

"Do you remember, fourteen years past, when a small menki-child became transformed through magic in a dark cave?"

"That was you! Damn you!"

"It was a gift. An indirect gift from the Lady herself. She desires something of you, Kull. It is important - it is the Great Work."

"The gift is a curse. I lose myself in it. No longer can I pursue my desires."

Solestar smiles. "Correct. But not entirely. Your mind becomes clearer, more focused. Your body is stronger, faster. In return for that gift, you are cursed with lack of some control of yourself. Nonetheless, it does remove, significantly, your great penchant for money, for women, for beauty. You become what she desires you to become."

Kull shrugs. "I may not want it. I may not want to be this vessel. It robs me of who I am."

"Your true identity is not yet revealed. You are not who you pretend to be now. But you can reject this gift, reject Dakkru's blessings, and remain a thief, a bandit, a greedy, lustful nothing."

Kull bared his teeth.

"What say you, Kull?"

"First - what is my duty - what is the task?"

"You are to bring war to this level of Yliakum. The guilds, the clans, the alliances, the small factions - they have fallen into a sinister peace. They are being manipulated by forces which we fight even at this moment. It is through our way - the way of death - that true peace is made. This "peace" is a lie. Through death is life. I speak of the equitable two: Xiosia and Dakkru."

Kull nods. "Of this I know - but what I do not know of, is this sinister force. Who are they?"

"I shall not speak of them. But know they exist, and they are a threat to our lady, to our balance, to our peace. With their increasing power, our Lady's weakens, and so does that of our Gods."

"I shall take this task."

"So be it, Kull Rhundin. Bring war to this level, bring tribute, give all glory, all honor, and empower our Lady, our Goddess of Death."



(This is the backstory to our storyline. It is Dakkru-themed. More to come..)

[bloodedIrishman]

Our Cutthroat storyline started from its founding but the important parts are up ahead. Kull's in jail for a RL week so be patient 'til then.


We're looking forward to roleplaying with our Planeshift people.   

[Roled]

This is a terrific storyline.

A week is not THAT long for slitting Roled's neck open and eviscerating him.. unless it is for other crimes Kull is imprisoned...

RR probably doesn't look forward to our next meeting but I do! 

[bloodedIrishman]

I figure you should keep that charge quiet. I want to do time after I do some stuff. If everything I did was reported I would be forever imprisoned. So please, take pity on the menki who slit your neck. 

[Tessra]

I know a certain axe-happy Ylian who is willing to help convince RR to not press charges for a time, should the elf require some persuasion.     I do so look forwards to seeing the rise of the Cutthroats... and having a cookout with Verigan. 

[bloodedIrishman]

I'll be attaching a poem to each chapter of the story.

I know a certain axe-happy Ylian who is willing to help convince RR to not press charges for a time, should the elf require some persuasion.    I do so look forwards to seeing the rise of the Cutthroats... and having a cookout with Verigan.  

You're are life saver, and Verigan would be most pleased to BBQ Roled's rather discombobulated brain.

[bloodedIrishman]

~A Simple Exchange~

The masked menki rode ahead on his rivnak, letting Cinade and Kelpi drag Hardt between them, sharing his weight. No one in sight, except the clear view of men sitting inside the long-avoided and oft-feared Banished Camp.

Kull arrived to see a pair of usuals, garbed in full black and staring at nobody in particular, sitting by the fire enjoying cooked meat, their backs to an open, airy tent, with a table inside. He ordered Cinade, a red-haired Dermorian lout whose foul-mouth had gotten him into trouble many times, to set the unconscious Hardt inside the tent, right where he could be watched with ease.

Kull stood behind the sturdy wooden, gray-colored table, which rested in the middle of the medium sized tent. The rogues at the fire picked up their goods and began to walk off, understanding the nature of the situation, Kull thought.

Hardt stirred, his lips muttering, his throat uttering moans. Kull chuckled. "A hard knock on the head takes 'em out." Nodding, Cinade punched the unconscious dreamer in the head with strong force, and he fell to a deep sleep once more. Now sated, Kull waited, back by his two henchmen, both masked, their eyes flickering around the tent and ears attentive to noises. Kull felt his jaw crack; the sound filling his ears. It caused him to recall the memory of slaying his first Vilenaut, that week ago, whose skull he used and tempered to create a strong-helmet for himself: stalwart, like his rivnak which was so aptly named. The bone helmet would serve for his purposes, painted with grotesque images of dying and slain foes, to terrify his enemies. Those without tough backbone, at least.

Kull's ears twitched to the soft pat-pat sounds of feet touching the ground. The stillness exaggerated the noises. Kull waited - reasoning it would be Shangshi. Soon enough, a diminutive Dermorian bearing oddly-formed armor and a seemingly arrogant manner entered the tent. Raising his chin, Kull spoke, "Your request for a subject." Kull waved to the immobile body at his right, sprawled on the ground inside of the tent. "The requirements have been met. A healthy, strong Dermorian male."

Shangshi looked to his left, observing Hardt. He spoke, without looking at Kull. "He will do."

"The payment."

Kull waited a moment before speaking again.

"Instead of common tria as the price, I desire that my reward be a favor, of yours, owed to me, in equitable quality to the debt made."

Shangshi shook his head. "I will decide whether the favor I give is equal to what you gave."

Kull nodded.

"Take your prize and leave first."

Shangshi shook his head again. "I will need little time. And this table will do."

Kull laughed. "You pragmatic sack of bossy dung." He motioned for Cinade and Kelpi to follow as he walked out of the tent, Shangshi's eyes never leaving him. Kull smirked as he walked by. He leaped onto Stalwart and reined around, back turned to the opposite facing Shangshi. Cinade and Kelpi walked out and took up to their mounts as well, looking to Kull for command.

Shangshi spoke. "Thank you, Dawn."

"I keep my word, and I hold others to theirs as well, Shangshi. That you should remember." Without a word more, Kull began to gallop, increasing in speed as he rode out of the camp, trailed by Cinade and Kelpi. Stopping behind a small hill, a decent ways from the camp, Kull turned to them, and waited for the two's arrival. When they halted before him, he said. "Shangshi understands little. He thinks I am a fool, but he has played well into my hands. Could he really believe that I would trust him with a promise?" Kull snorted.

"Remove your disguises when I give the order to part ways. Only take them off in a secluded place, where you do not believe pursuers follow you. Now, disperse." Kull watched the two run their steeds in different directions, wrapped in deep thought. One question which remained lodged in the back of his mind, nagging him, as he plotted, was the curiosity to know what would befall Hardt, fool though he was.

[Tessra]

Please tell me we get to find out what Shangshi, that nefarious sammich-demanding deviant, will do to poor Hardt, Gote-Boi of epic renown.

[Caraick]

Excellent storyline, and a brilliant write-up!  Keep it up, and I hope Caraick has the chance to meet up with the dashing Cutthroats again soon 

[bloodedIrishman]

~The Blood Crystal Tavern~

Kull opened the still-swinging door of the Red Crystal Den, the sound of creaking iron hinges behind his loping walk. Miners, journalists, Octarchial bureaucrats, professional fighters, storekeepers, merchants and drunkards were leaving the taverns, of which were closing, to find other places for warmth and shelter, most likely their homes or the inn at which they were staying.

His feet caused the floorboards of the upraised entrance platform to creak, causing the bartender, a slender fenki of small cycles to raise her head. She greeted him, a menki she had met before, a month and a half earlier.

Without reply, he ordered a single beer, and followed with a comment, rather, a grumpy mumble, about women. The bartender, probably well-versed in the ways of bitter men in their relationships with women surmised his need for a stronger drink. She asked him if he needed one, and he agreed. She walked to a cask of liquor and began to pour, filling a clean-looking mug with cool liquid.

After paying forty tria, Kull took his drink, and quaffed a fair amount of it. His throat no longer parched, and his body adjusting to the alcohol, he relaxed after a minute. She took her own drink and sat herself down in a chair, opposite Kull, who leaned against the bar. Asking him about his female troubles, he asked if her name was Ayria, if he remembered it correctly, and she nodded. Sighing, Kull began to talk, telling of a girl he loved who was more than trouble. Inquiring further, Ayria attempted to learn more, yet Kull gave little information; not even a name, or what she looked like, though, he happened to remark, rather ruefully, on her great beauty. This going on for some time, both were calm and chatting away, when suddenly…

Kull’s body crumpled to the wooden floor, feeling as if his head had been hit by a heavy hammer. His once-held mug also fell to the floor, breaking apart, and spilling its contents on the ground as well. His vision waned and waxed, leaving him unable to see, but his hearing remained. Faintly he saw the outline of an arrow, with perhaps a blunt head, lying on the ground near him.

The sound of a bow twanging reached his throbbing ears. A voice: a foul-mouthed man, by the sound of it. Ayria fell near Kull, as he tried to raise himself upward, struggling with the pain of the impact. On her knees, the masked Dermorian male, bow in hand, walked closer, and raised his bow. He shot a blunt arrow, striking her square in the forehead. Ayria landed, unconscious, to the ground.

Kull, muttering angrily, recognized the man. Cinade, his Cutthroat subordinate. Eyes only for him, he began to swear, “Bloody ratscum, son of a filthy…you sack of…” Kull nearly fell once more, using the bar as support for his watery arms.

Cinade spoke “Sorry Boss.”

Muttering again, Kull shook his head. “Cover…its fine.” Viewing the tavern, Kull saw opportunity: empty as it was and the bartender out of commission, there were many ways to take it as striking fortune. His mind clearing, Kull formed a plan as he registered his strength.

“Take a cask, bring it to the stage, and cut her arm open, let the blood pool. And rip a chair leg off too, for a brush.”

Cinade rushed to hurry about the orders.

“Get to it.”

Seeing his slowness to act, Kull took his knife and bent to cut open Ayria’s arm, which lay feebly on the floor. After the blood gushed from the wound, he ripped a chair leg off its former attachment, and dipped it in the pooling blood. The stumbling menki, woozy-headed, moved to the stage. Reaching the back of it, Kull started to paint, repeatedly returning to dip his improvised paintbrush in her blood. After several minutes, the back wall of the Den toted the words:

The Dark Lady Comes for Vengeance, Beware the Soul-Reapers Dawn!

Satisfied with the message, Kull wrote on the wall behind the bar. It held a message, too.

Dakkru speaks in the Language of Blood – Hear her call you!

Kull and Cinade began to throw mugs and casks and shelves of alcohol to the ground, destroying most of the stock.

Finally regaining at least most of his strength, the black-hearted Kull stood over Ayria. “Kill her.”

…

Kull and Cinade walked out of the Den, into the night, masked, their weapons sheathed. Behind them lay a shattered mess of a tavern; the contents destroyed, chairs broken, blood in pools around the tables, the walls covered in written messages of a dead woman's lifeblood.

In his mind, Kull knew, this would only be the start. Only the beginning…

[bloodedIrishman]

~ A Righteous Execution ~

Shadow-Striker stood before Kull. Cinade...

Night-blade, relaxed before him. Lohapa...

Vile-horn, at attention. Kelpi...

The Lady, watching him, always watching him. Thidin...


These were his hard-steel soldiers, who rode aside Kull the Black-hearted. They knew him as their leader. And today would begin a campaign, of which they would soon be immersed in. Today was a day of righteous revenge, for the Gods. The true Gods.

...

A thin Nolthrir girl wandered out of the cave-carved walkway, which led away from Gugrontid, the fortress city of the Kran race. She was surrounded: by a crew of masked, armed fighters, two mounted, two not. Shadow-striker was off, searching in different roads.

Speaking without emotion, Kull stared at the girl. "Your name?"

"...Why do you ask?"

"Name."

"I am...Rula."

"To which guild, clan, house or society do you belong?"

After a lip-biting moment for the girl, she responded.

"The Brotherhood of Talad."

Kull smiled.

"Night-blade, take hold of her."

"Please, let me go!"

Kull dismounted. He drew his daggers.

"For the crime of defying the Gods, to your chosen Talad, for unbelieving, for false claims to faith and worship, to which you have shown no true devotion, for these ungodly actions, in your insulting of our celestial rulers, I call recompense upon you!"

Kull pushed Night-blade out of the way, the masked-man's face seemingly set in a sick grin. Kull slashed downward, and cut into her throat, as her last, pleading cries etched from her fear-stricken throat.

Kull's fist pumped into the air, a bellowing cry leaving his throat. "In the name of the Dark Lady!"

Lohapa, Night-blade, joined in, shouting in unison. "For the Dark Lady!"

Thidin merely watched, silent.

Vile-horn, Kelpi, handed his voice to the chant. "For the Dark Lady!"

Kull shouted once more: "In the name of Dakkru, Lady of Passing Souls!"

[garoninja]

Garosan sits on the edge of an old cliff talking to both himself and his firmiliar Ibanic as he watches the crystal dim.
"It's been quite some time since I watched the Crystal dimming Ibanic. I wonder how every one has been doing?"
Garosan sighs as the crystal finally reaches its dimmest "Well, we should get some sleep. Hydlaa is still a long ways off yet
and I have the feeling that all is not quite as it should be in the world."