Dark Fantasy Ep. 01

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At the edge of the Shadowlands.
5.7k words
4.36
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4

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 11/22/2005
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At the edge of the Shadowlands

A great plain of grass lay bare and featureless across the northern, southern and western horizons. A soft fog hung over the plains like a draping ceiling, obscuring the vision of anyone who might dare to look to the distance. To the east, the gray clouds turned black, the grass turned to ash, and the fog thickened and turned into poisonous vapor. To the east was the boundary into the Shadowlands, where no human dared to venture too far into. It was a place of perpetual darkness, and the further one penetrated, the greater the perils and the evils became until you reached the gates of Hell itself. Not that the rest of the world had its dangers. A cold and viscous world it was, full of greed, lust and wickedness. The inhabitants of this world wouldn't have it any other way.

Everything was still at the edge of the Shadowlands. It was vast, void and empty. So it was unlikely that a wagon creaked along being dragged by two horses where there were no roads. It was even more unlikely that a human was driving this lonely wagon through the grasslands. His frame hunched over, his eyes weathered and weary as the wagon trudged along. His lips were dry and cracking and his skin seemed pale, and his face had aged too much over the past few years. Inside the wagon were his buxom, beautiful and brunette wife and their two young children, who sat around crates and baskets of various loot that the old man had salvaged from some wreckage. The wife did not approve of coming this way, but her husband was also in debt to some powerful aristocrats who were hunting them. This was the only way they could travel northward without having to constantly dodge thugs and assassins. Though, there were much greater dangers if they ventured too far to the east and too close to the Shadowlands border.

The man stopped his wagon abruptly and started digging around in the sack of supplies that sat next to him in the archer's seat. He found an old map and immediately opened it wondering just how far he had to go before he reached the Sea of Serpents. With his finger he traced his path along the border of Grodei Planes and the Shadowlands and estimated that he must have traveled at least two thirds of the way there. He took a deep breath ignoring his wife's nagging and continued on northward where in a day and a half, he should be greeted with the smell of saltwater. He slumped back over and dreamed of the riches he would get when he sold the sacred symbols he carried to the Cult of Qeullin whose temple sat on the edge of the Sea of Serpents. The man's head suddenly perked up as something became somewhat visible in the fog. The man's eyes narrowed and squinted as to his delight, just ahead in the distance was a broken down and more importantly abandoned wagon. He howled with delight, snapping the reigns so his horses would hurry over to the site of the wreckage.

"What are you doing?" The wife hollered out to her husband.

"There's a wrecked wagon, looks old to. There might be some good loot in it." The man laughed.

"We should just keep going; I'm tired and want to get somewhere that we can set up camp and rest!"

"Oh shut up woman! I'm doing business now!" After he snapped at his wife he quickly leapt off of his wagon and hurried over to the broken down one.

The wind began to pick up, and the tattered canvas that covered the wagon began flapping in the southbound wind. It was a merchant's wagon, twice as long as the pilgrim's model which he drove. The front was completely busted down and the back of the wagon remained sticking into the air like the backside of a woman awaiting penetration. The wheels were also badly damaged, and by the holes in the sides of the wagon it could be easily deduced that this wreckage was the result of an orc attack, orcs who lived a little bit into the Shadowlands along with their kin of goblins. This made the man a bit nervous, but this wagon was attacked at least a year ago, and that gave him some comfort. The wind picked up even more, a storm was coming. The sky grew darker and a thunder crashed across the grasslands. The man was determined though, and climbed into wagon through the busted front. The floor was still stable as the wood hadn't rotted too badly. It was dark inside the wagon, and difficult for the man to see. It didn't help that the sky was growing darker by the minute from the on coming storm, but he could make out most of the wagon except the very back, which was obscured by pure black shadow.

The man began his search of the wagon not finding anything; it had already been well looted by the orcs no doubt. Not finding a single item of value in the lighted area, the man turned and began to walk upward towards the back of the wagon. The wood floor creaked under each of his careful footsteps. He neared the black shadowed area and began to reach towards it to feel if there was anything beyond it worth taking. His hand slowly inched towards the shadow, and a chill ran up his spine. His skin began to sweat and his breath began to shorten. Just as he sensed something was wrong, two glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness. The man took a step back, and the last thing he ever saw, was the blades of two hand axes swing from the darkness meeting at his neck.

Hearing a noise come from the wreckage the wife stuck her head out of the wagon to take a peak. She called out for her husband a few times but there was no answer. She climbed out of the back and stood on the drivers seat and hollering for him some more, but there was no answer. Instead, all that came out of the wreckage was her husband's decapitated head that came rolling out and landed in the grass in front of her wagon. The wife let out a shriek and turned to look inside the back to find a halfling holding two knives to the throats of her two children. "Move and the children die" the halfling told her coldly. The wife sat still for a minute before greedy self preservation kicked in and she turned out of the back of the wagon and leapt off of the driver's seat. The halfling quickly slit the children's throats making good on his word and darted out of the wagon as well to give chase to the woman. The wife ran as fast as she could the first direction she faced and looked back over her shoulder to see the halfling following behind. When she faced forward again she ran straight into a large green hand that wrapped around her throat. Her feet flew up in front of her and she was slowly lifted into the air by a six foot five half-orc.

Although not as ugly as full blooded Orc, and having similar facial features to humans, half-orcs still had their massive frame and their putrid green skin color. The half-orcs's arm was fully extended and lifted the woman well over his head. She stared fearfully into his cold black eyes and watched as his long black hair, blew in the raging wind. The creature's free hand reached up grabbing at her clothes and ripping them from her body piece by piece exposing her naked flesh to the open air. The half-orc himself only wore a loincloth with two hand axes hanging from its sides. His hand reached up cupping and groping at her firm breast before being stopped by the halfling.

"Hold it!" He yelled at his companion. "She is worth more on the Goblin Black Market if she is unhurt and fresh. You're too rough with women; you'll bruise and hurt her. Let her down and let me chain her. Then you need to throw the bodies of the young ones into the merchant wagon. I got quick look around inside at their haul, I think we hit a jackpot my friend." The halfling laughed.

The half-orc begrudgingly nodded and dropped the woman to the ground where the halfling quickly ran over chaining her ankles and wrists and collaring her neck with an almost childish delight. Walking away the half-orc looked toward the east, gazing deep into its bleakness.

Dario the halfling and Maultooth the half-orc.

~

The City-State of Kahn (West Gate)

Kahn sat directly west of the Grodei Plains and sat as a gateway between them and emerging Borgo Mountains further to the west. Despite it being relatively small compared with the other City-States where the vast majority of the population resides Kahn was an important on it's own for two reasons. The first reason was its location as the gateway; the Masons Cult used the township for their merchant trades and the second being its library. The library stood at the center of the town on contained the majority of history books written in better ages across the continent. It was an ideal place for mercenaries to come looking for work, and that is exactly what Borden was coming for.

The bald headed mercenary wore chain mail armor and carried a steel broadsword and kite shield with him. He had a long scar down his crown reaching to his forehead, a scar of honor from his battles with the hordes of the Shadowlands. His blade sheathed and his shield strapped to his back the mercenary entered through the open west gate into the city. He had spent much of his time in the wild and didn't care for the cramped feeling of the cities when he could be in the wide open spaces of the country side.


Borden made his way through the crowd of people in the West Market only occasionally stopping to glance at the goods for sale by the various vendors.

One in particular caught his interest. A vendor was selling a particularly well made iron mace. If he didn't all ready carry so much weight it would make for a decent second weapon. He needed a servant to follow him around if he wanted to keep the arsenal he wished for himself. A servant he couldn't afford of course. Stepping away from the vendor bumped into a young aristocrat. The aristocrat had was fairly ugly with a long nose and long chin.

"Pardon yourself sir." The young aristocrat fearlessly and arrogantly commanded to Borden. When Borden didn't say anything but just walked away as if he heard nothing the young aristocrat scoffed and raised his nose. "The lower classes have no manners" he said to his companion, an older aristocrat with greying hair and handsome features. Both walked with canes and stood tall and straight.

"You are a brat sometimes you do realize." The older aristocrat said to the young brat.

The young brat just smirked and continued on walking the opposite direction of the mercenary he had just brushed with. His head bobbled to the one side a bit as he walked, his companion walking alongside him. "Why not come to the slave auction with me? You may see something you like?" The brat asked.

"More than likely I'll be lending you coins." The companion laughed.

The brat just shrugged at the comment knowing it's truth and made his way to the center of the West Market where a large wooden stage was setup. "A new race has been added to the legal slave trade now. It seems dwarves have fallen out of favor in a few of the other City-States."

The companion nodded, "that they have. They can now join all half species under the collar. I await the day when full blooded elves are declared legal and not just half elves."

"Too true" the brat agreed looking up at the stage. "Creatures of arrogance such as the elves deserve such. Speaking of creatures of arrogance, have you heard of Lady Selk's new slave?"

The companion raised an eyebrow towards the brat, "I have heard murmurs of something."

The brat smirked. On the stage were standing nude bodies both male and female of half-elves, their heads shaved and the points of the ears cut off. "It seems Lady Selk has taken in a half-orc slave, by the name of Rogra. She bought him as personal protection of her bodily self."

"Half-orcs are good for that if broken in correctly."

"Too true, too true. However there is rumor she may use it for sexual purposes as well." The brat chuckled.

"I've never heard of anything so disgusting in my life." The companion said shaking his head in disbelief. "How powerful is this Rogra?"

The brat took his eyes off the stage looking to his companion. "Jarred, the captain of the guards is frightened to death of him. She is using the half-orc to frighten Jarred into arresting and executing her enemies. Lady Olivia was arrested last night. She is to be given the slum treatment. Selk wants her publicly humiliated and destroyed. Olivia's husband Reynolds has disappeared. They think killed by Rogra."

The companion stroked his chin listening to the young brat and nodded along. "She is becoming powerful. She is no fan of yours."

The brat nodded, "nor is she an admirer of yours. That is precisely why I asked you out for this stroll today. Hugo Millington, my dear friend, we need to band together and find a way to eliminate her power."

The companion nodded once more, "kill the half-orc and Jarred will become bold and exact his revenge on her for threatening him."

The brat laughed looking back up at the stage. "Finding someone powerful enough to kill such a beast, that is the trouble. I like her on the left, lend me twenty gold coins will you dear friend?"

The Brat and the aristocrat Hugo Millington.

~

The City-State of Kahn (Slums)

The whore's lips glided up and down on the Fatman's cock. Called that because of his great weight and ugly face he was also the most powerful crime boss in the slums of Kahn. Sweating profusely he gritted his teeth watching the whore on her knees slobber over his dick taking in every inch she could shove down her throat. Her head slamming into his lap he grabbed the back of her hair ready to explode in her mouth. He made a few pig-like grunts before shooting a load into her mouth. Finished with her, he pulled her off him and shoved her away. Taking her cue the woman quickly stood up and left the room, wiping away what little cum escaped onto her chin and bottom lip. On her way out she passed by a man wearing a cloak and scarf concealing all of his face but his eyes.

The Fatman had just pulled his trousers back up when the mysterious man walked into the room carrying a burlap sack. The Fatman waved the man in and motioned for him to sit in a chair across the desk from where he sat. The mysterious man declined and just tossed the burlap sack onto the desk. Puzzled at the sack the Fatman cautiously opened it revealing to him a severed head. "What in the Hell!?" He yelled out. "For the love of all that is gold man did you have to throw his head onto my new desk?"

The mysterious man walked over to the window looking out at the misery that made up the life of the slums. Streets of mud and dirt, shacks, poor trash disposal and overwhelming poverty. "You wanted proof of the work." The man said.

"But not on my new desk Hector. What do you think of my new office? I'm moving up in the world. Soon I'll be mixing with the aristocrats." The Fatman laughed covering the head back up and tossing into a chair. "I should put his head on display to let every cock sucker out there know not to fuck with me! Pay what you owe on time, that is my law."

Hector ignored the Fatman, instead he just watched the people moving on the street going about their business as usual. Workers, pick pockets, beggars, whores, mercenaries all tried their best to blend in with one other trying not to catch the attention of the city guards.

"You interested in more work?"

Hector turned away from the window and faced the Fatman finally hearing something worth paying attention to. He moved over to the desk looking it over. It was decent wood, decently crafted, probably bought for cheap in the East Market. After scratching a itch at the corner of his eye Hector finally said, "yeah sure. When?"

The Fatman smiled for a moment knowing that Hector never turned down work. Pulling a bottle of wine from a drawer the Fatman poured two glasses, setting one in front of Hector. "Tonight," he said putting the bottle away. "I need you to break into the city dungeon. Lady Olivia Reynolds is to be executed tomorrow. She is to be given the slum treatment. I imagine you remember the last one of those." When Hector gave no reply the Fatman continued, "her husband managed to sneak a cartload of money when he went into hiding here in the slums. He's offering it all to the man who kills his wife before daybreak tomorrow to save her from the humiliation she is destined to suffer. You're the only one who can pull it off, and it might be the most dangerous job yet. I'm willing to go half and half on the bounty."

"How much?"

"Fifty thousand in gold a piece. You pull this off you just bought me a mansion in the High End and a new wardrobe. I'll be a fucking aristocrat and also in your debt for a lifetime. Any other person would take that money and retire, disappearing in another City-State. I don't think you would though."

Hector thought it over for a minute. He glanced back out the window and then responded, "I'll take the usual five thousand and you can keep the rest. I have no need for that much money. Now what about the payment for him?"

The Fatman glanced over to the burlap sack and nodded taking a small pouch from the drawer of the desk and tossing it at Hector. Catching it, Hector turned leaving the wine offered to him untouched and made his exit. Alone, the Fatman started to giggle to himself thinking of all the money he was about to make. He could almost see it, piled in towering stacks upon his desk. His giggly fit however, was quickly interrupted when the bartender walked in and knocked on the wall. "What is it?" The Fatman snapped.


"There is this really creepy guy out in the saloon. I'm not sure if we should toss him out or what." The bartender explained.

"Does he have money?"

"Well, yeah he does boss."

"Then let him stay and drink you ignorant cock sucker!" The Fatman stood up walked over to the chair with the burlap sack on it. He picked up the sack, took out the head and finally threw the head at the bartender. "If they have money, we serve them."

The bartender tried to dodge the head but was struck in the shoulder. "But he wants a room overnight, with a whore and none of them will go near him."

Annoyed the Fatman took in a deep breath then stormed out of his office. It was the back room of a two story saloon and inn that was right in the center of the slums. The bartender quickly pointed out the man in question. Sitting at a table alone, holding a massive five foot sword was an old warrior in heavily damaged leather armor. His hair long and dark gray and his face rough. He sat silently while the other patrons of the saloon sort of watched him with both fear and curiosity. On the table sitting next to him was a large sack of gold coins, sitting their openly yet no one had dared to try and take it. The Fatman instantly recognized the man's oddity to which everyone objected. His eyes were a pure white, no color not even a pupil. He was blind.

Scanning the room the Fatman finally yelled out, "Gloria, take him up to the room and keep him company. He's a paying customer after all." With that the Fatman turned and went back into his office, the bartender shrugging went back to behind the bar. Gloria, a young prostitute still new to the lifestyle made her way over to the blind warrior's table. She played with her wild red hair a bit unsure of what to say to the man.

"Would you like to come upstairs mister?" Gloria finally asked.

"Yes," the man spoke in a gruff voice. He stood up taking his sword and sack of gold. Gloria reluctant, gently took hold of the blind warrior's belt and led him upstairs to a room. Once inside she locked the door behind them. The man leaned his sword against the wall then put the sack of gold inside the drawer of a cabinet inside the room. Gloria was amazed by how well he was able to find his way around just by guiding himself with his hands. He seemed to almost have a sixth sense about things. He slowly and patiently removed his armor setting each piece on the floor by the bed and then the small amount of clothing he wore under it. Once undressed, he found the bed and sat down on it waiting for her.

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