TCoRO Book II, Chapter 19.

CHAPTER 19.

The Heir Emerges

For several days on end, ragged clouds of fog had been hovering above the overgrown and miry forest road. The yestertides had undoubtedly been the worst hitherto: already in ten meters' distance, a wavering whiteness had swallowed the landscape almost entirely. All the grander or lesser bands of highwaymen lurking behind the mossy, boulder-shaped gravestones that oftentimes fringed the trail had obviously believed that their supreme heyday had arrived. Ah, what easy looting, as the sodden buggers dauntless enough to dare place a foot in these woods would not even see whither to escape!

Or, thusly had these pathetic maggots of the yonderpits falsely deemed. Hrmhpf. Trice had they attacked the caravan during the yesterhours, brandishing their notched knives and battered axes, and trice he had hung up heads to dangle from the side rail of the cart. Such lamentably lamebrained lack-wits; had they not e'en beholden the ill-boding fate of their comrades from afar, or had the fog blinded also their reason? It had not been the single day when these trophies had been added to the collection.

Yet, these puny pests hardly were a grievance, merely a trifling of exercise amid all the sitting and waiting. Unto the hour the relentless need for head-chopping had become rather dull, though, as none was giving him any challenge and the frequent hitches were slowing down the travel.

However, this new second-handed otschnjgharv fur cloak be nay half too bad. The former tomnoddy owner whose blockhead now kept thumping against the thirty or so other souvenirs alike had been almost of his height, if rather more rawboned around the shoulders. Ah well, it was still a snug back-warmer on top of the plain canvas garments, and barely stank at all.

The Old Faithful fur cloak, which he had still worn in the battle of Gho-rhah'Duuz, had become so foul in its final days that even his sense of smell, which largely tended to ignore all odors emanating from the Master, had begun wrinkling its figurative nose. Hence a while back he had dug a worthy grave for the long-time companion, and recited a half-an-hour eulogy for the honor of the thus bygone fur cloak. Oh the grand solemnity! Even both his bodyguards had been snuffling profusely into their sleeves.

Lord Khran-Av'ees peeked out through a flap in the tarpaulin that sat akin to a tent above the cart. The hours were rolling towards the early afternoon, but beneath the high and jumbled everbrowns the road was for aye a dreary, misty brownish-gray, even without the accursed mist. The latter seemed however rather less dense than yesternoon, so perchance the winds of change were finally, well, changing the winds.

The presently prevailing dampness was furthermore a pest worse than saw-worms* when it came to his scrolls. Or course, the contents of the forsaken library in Rha-ghi'Leh had been in a poor shape from the start. About one third of the invaluable codices had rotten into unreadable brown lumps. Yet it be futile to pour ashes on top of one's head and compose jeremiads: those volumes hardly could have been saved even if the library had been stumbled upon a tad earlier.

Khran-Av'ees kenned well the worth of his discovery, and hence had thereafter re-concealed the vaults as if they ne'er had existed. Phth, and these sniveling lackeys cared nay if he pursued scholarly delights in his spare time. Only a few of them could read in a fair manner, and most certainly would soil themselves with horror if forced to take a peek at Ghobond’globo. Or the worst of all, its versed form Rghuunrha-tschz'Ugh.

Well... erm... not that poring over them be a paltry quest e'en for the grand savvy of Lord Khran-Av'ees, son of Khran-Ddu'h the Skullhammer. Nevertheless, he at least had the power of guessing on his side! Custom had taught that his mightful guesses were hardly ever wrong! Like this word of utter newness he had stumbled upon yestermorn... wossthething... odahlic. It sounded akin to some fragrant flower. If it would turn out to be delightfully purple, he might buy one when back in his palace.

Though, the pages that had incased this novelty had been e'en elsewise quite outlandish, seemingly ripped from some other book and placed perchance tens of millennia back hastily inside the codex of advanced spellcasting he had been rushing through these past few daytides. Yet they had to pertain to horticulture, what with profusely gushing over the importance of moistening the garden ere the planting of... the-uh... er... Ghraaargh, how in the brimstone-bleeding netherpits was he supposed to understand some lunacy akin to verse? Whoever in the deepest dungeons or highest heavenhalls of the yonworld lords ever scribbled gardening guides in rhyme, anyhow? Sodding fools.

He tied back the cords of the flap and adjusted his mind so that the little orb of light he had conjured to aid his reading rose back over his ersatz lectern consisting of a sack of straw for sitting and a box with a piece of slanting junk metal nailed on top of it to hold the manuscript. The spellwoven lights hardly ever went out these daytides, but tended to sink down onto the floor if his attention became distracted for too long a time. Yet it was the only means of doing aught; torches were a humongous nay-nay this nigh his precious traveling library.

Not that the book trunk encased everything worthwhile unearthed from Rha-ghi'Leh. Nay, merely a selection of texts he had trowed interesting reading whilst on the road: a dash of Rha-kan'Ockian history ere the Dusk, a sprinkle of lineages, spellbooks discussing various aspects of incantations and alchemy, and so on.

Now it seemed he ought to have been cramming merely the lore and arts of war-magic into his head for the past few months, instead of the fragmented chronicles of some yoretime kings that were nought but graying skulls and beetle-gnawed bones these days anyhow. Always the alarm bells rang too late. All these tricksy defense hexes and controlling the elements of the air... With a clammy wriggle creeping down his spine, Khran-Av'ees realized that learning even a few of these properly, akin to the spellmasters of eld, might require years, perchance decades.

Not that he be a complete nincompoop when it came to battling with a bit more than just a mountainful of muscle and a well-forged scimitar... Yet every time the image of the crushed barracks of Rha-mahghu'Miank crept into his consciousness, a cold sweat rose up to glisten on his brow. So much energy, so much thunder-force... Had Ugojh'umal himself allied that fifty-times accursed Gha'ugonak? Granted, it be quite tinny compared to the raw-churning energies of the elderdays. But even so...

The warlord, sitting inside the shoddily decorated cart hardly fitting even for the most bankrupt nobleman, found himself fidgeting with the canvas flap again. Rghubignjaamha'amach abaratdgh, he was supposed to concentrate on the reading, nought else! Mayhaps, just mayhaps, he might be able to devour some crumbs of knowledge ere it be altogether too late...

Namely, this ill sensation hight dread had been swelling in his inmost heart-chamber for too long a tide now. Too many suspicious pouts of ill luck, and the feeling that something sinister was observing his traveling companion from afar... This had nought to do with those lack-skill bandits to whom he had practiced his favorite sport head-chopping already as a greenhorn brat of forty, when nought but pappy fuzz had grown on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose had not yet resembled a broken corkscrew. Those talentless fools, bah, they were akin to the chittering of one-legged lamecrickets in the bushes.

Nay, it be the chittering of the otherkin that worried him. Some odd, if a very minor, uproar was sweeping through the Plane of Wyrds. Unto the daytide and hour, the tremors had merely been increasing.

Of course, some of the more eminent mages living millennia after the Duskfall had written about the occasional storms still ravaging the wells of magic. Regarding his nigh eighteen thousand years of experience, this case yet seemed more alike to some unknown party using magic in an undeterminable distance, and who mayhaps also attempted to cover the goings-ons with mufflements of somekin. This was merely a hunch, though, and might well be a false alarm due to some brigand trickster entertaining his little dirty harlots in the woods.

The one, overthick brow of Khran-Av'ees beetled with seething annoyance. Graargh, the lack of order and iron hand in this hinterland of his dominion! And now the destruction of the prominent soldier outpost would bring only more anarchy alongside. It had been a poor idea to found military colonies so far-off from the more stable cities in order to guarantee the spreading of his reign; he ought to have begun extending the old borders by sending soldiers only a wee bit further at a time, thus advancing in a tardier but sturdier manner. Bloody rebellion foiling all his well-wrought plans.

This damned dungheap of a westland was a sheer disgrace in its shortage of safety. That is, safety for him and his troops; those pestilential peasants scarcely mattered. To the netherpits with them! The nearmost base, even though an insufferably small one, lay in Rha-bhughsch'Obp. Yet e'en thither it took a good fortnight's tide for the road to wend its way, meandering through every stinking bog and forsaken shantytown imaginable.

Khran-Av'ees's caravan was already furnished with the fastest possible wherewith of the hour: carts and wagons drawn by mhohglhischkg. He could have sworn there had been ghamyrluuschk and even other flying steeds for sale in Rha-mahghu'Miank ere his companion had decided over the haste. The following morn after the moot, when he had sent men to inquire about the prices of such beasts, the bloody trade masters had done nought but shaken their shaggy heads. After blasting two of those niggardly bastards into ashes in his disappointed fury, Lord Khran-Av'ees had been forced to remain content with the ole draught beasts. The slowness had not mattered erenow, as hitherto all the traveling had been but leisurely adventures, a much-thirsted-for change to all the dull squatting in the high palace of Rha-ghi'Leh.

Yet presently... if that scum of Gha'ugonak had unearthed the verity about the decoy in the capital and caught a whiff of the true master of the dominion strutting around the unstable borderlands as a petty lordling... The abandoned lanes around the fallen barracks had already been dangerous terrains, and even then he had experienced the nasty wee sensation that some unknown snipe had stalked in the shadows, but mayhaps bidden his time then. If the rebellion that thusly could fly from place to place faster than the wind-steeds of Yl-maargh'Inegn struck here in this woeful woods, the end of the greatest conqueror Rha-kan'Ocka had seen since the elderdays would be but his own, foolish fault.

Dt'haigharav had ne'er been harked of afterwards. And on the morrow they had taken leave, the town had been akin to some haunthall of shadow-wraiths. Hardly anyone had traversed the streets, the marketplace had been as if swept by a sudden whirlwind, curtains and shutters had been tossed across the windows. Such ill signs all over...

When they had broken their fast this morrow, Qwertyui had calculated that they might reach the village of Mha-tdlha'Tdoch in three days, if the road became no less boggy and violent rains would not fall upon them. There Khran-Av'ees might be able to dig out at least a couple of emaciated airsteeds from some squalid stable, which would be enough to guarantee him and a select few men a quick travel to Rha-bhughsch'Obp.

Thereafter it would scarcely matter if he announced the true name of his house. His plan was to empty the outpost temporarily, so as to construct a powerful enough safeguard for the return journey to the bosom of his dominion. All that counted on this hourtide were the disrupted continuing of his heartbeats and not getting into the claws of the enemy.

Khran-Av'ees became alerted to the lack of light anew. Therewith he noticed he had not taken in a quarter of a word of the triple-lightning attack he had been supposed to study, and that the orb had slunk down inside a large bucket sitting in one corner. Frustrated, mouth drawn into a hideous rictus, he ran his filthy fingernails through his even dirtier hair. Nay, nay, NAY. Nought worked on this tide of-

On the same instant, a raucous brawl of what might vaguely be called singing burst out from behind the canvas.

"...Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride a bonny ride! Sais ol' Lhiekghi'oichnj to 'em wenchy by his side. Vanhvha'gah laughin' if he coul' gets 'is share, surely not his brother this maiden fair all alone take wou' dare!"

Snarling like an angry pack of lions, Khran-Av'ees stormed out of the cart, sloshed through the mud and rotten leaves that covered the road up to his ankles, and came to a standstill by the drivers' bench of the slowly onward-rolling vehicle.

"Hungry wizzar' brethren, ne'er enough gots, but ol' sly Lhiekghi'oichnj for aye won 'em ampler lots. Vanhvha'gah Vhai'noch, all tired o'em game, lef' yon fer 'em outerlands, grudgin' his brother's fame. Ride, ride-"

"And whyfor, if thy lord mayeth thus inquire, do ye have the yearning to hail every wart-wight e'en in the deepest yonderpits with this fascinating presentation of Lhietd's Bonny Ride? Hast not your lord stressed many a time the importance of stealth on these dire days of unhinged perils? Hrrrmh?" Khran-Av'ees frowned, his treetrunk arms akimbo and the seams of his overcoat making alarming popping noises.

Ghaagh'urih and some younger lad from the switch-troops sharing the seat fell quiet, looking sheepishly at one another. The beasts -- six-legged, slightly lizardous lumps with spare parts taken from elephants and kangaroos -- pulling the cart had ceased their dragging gait and were snorting and kicking clumps of mud around.

"Um, cos' o'em road bein' kinda bouncy an' elsewise kinda dull, we thoughts tis be a posh tune ta ge' inne good mood, 'cause o' dere bein' no inns'n bonny wenches aroun' fer mayhaps daytides, an'... Well, milord mebbe kens 'em things..." the younger man muttered, scratching at his beard.

Khran-Av'ees rolled his eyes. Someone verily should tie the manbits of these itchybreeches into a knot for a while. Did they ne'er dream of aught else but some goings-ons? What be the glamour in that anyhow? For once, they could have picked up an intriguing codex or something instead of speeding to fondle yet another strumpet.

"Thy lord doth be afraid he understandeth nay, above all when he endeavoreth to immerse into studying less than a yard away! Now, aroint thee thence, ere I get angry!" Khran-Av'ees needed but to place a finger on the hilt of the scimitar slung across his back, and the lad nigh fell over in his rush to flee the bench. Whilst doing so, he quite did not manage to conceal the flagon peeking out from beneath his cloak. The warlord's eyes flashed red with further irritation for a twinkling, and the undesired object flew into his outstretched hand from the folds of the lad's raiment.

"Haltest thou for a trice..." Khran-Av'ees unscrewed the cork of the flagon and sniffed. In the meanwhile, the fleeing one ran straight against what seemed to be an invisible wall hanging in mid-air over the mud. With an idle flick of his fingers, Khran-Av'ees conjured away the barrier. The boy, who had just caught the second to start foolishly fumbling at the wall, fell face first into the oozing, bubbling mud.

"As far as thy lord remembereth, he also hath put severe emphasis on the need for alertness and sobriety on this ill hour, when aught mighte come to pass. Drink, and feast on your wenches ye can anew when back in the strongholds of the innerlands, but nay on the hour and unto many a daytide henceforth!"

And yet, be these precautions of any use? Grarrgh, the foolhardy singing must have awoken even the Khalm'anch Vghaekg sleeping beneath some of those boulders, and most important of all, any fork-tongued sneakers on pursuit who by some whim of the wyrds might have, just might have, lost the trail. Even so, the flag of vigilance had to stay as high on the mast as possible.

He poured the spirits into the brown bog pretending to be a road, and barked, "Gha'laguckh! Vees-Uikg'veloch! Vees-Nagkh! Mead check; confiscate all ye can ferret out and throw it in the bushes. The lord shalt pay back the prize, and there beest... beeth a few extra pouches of keughktd'uhogh leaf in the lastmost wagon which ye can share instead. Compensations ought to be adequate."

Three elves with double-bladed war axes tied to their backs rose from the wagons afore like small new continents, and began grunting at each trooper in turn to hand in any momentarily illegal drinks. After quarter an hour, the initial grumbling started abating somewhat, as Vees-Uikg'veloch dealt out smudgy coins and pipe fillings for those who had lost their braincell mashers. Khran-Av'ees had conquered the now empty place beside Ghaagh'urih on the driver's bench. It verily was no use of attempting to proceed with much aught this past-noon, so he might as well try to gather up his concentration by staring at the dung-colored world.

Indeed, everything was suffering from this early-spring brownness syndrome now that the snow had molten away. The soil in these parts of the dominion had an evident allergy for flowers, so all that remained was the impression of every plant and rock being in the middle of a bad diarrhea.

The queue of wagons and carts soon jerked back into its teetering, gurgling motion. Khran-Av'ees rested his oversized chin upon a beringed steeple and glared absently at the back flap of the wagon before. Well, even warrior-smith Ghilkgu-Du'uschz famed for his whiny nature had at last halted his shrill-voiced complaining. Mandatory it be to keep the nitwit lackeys content unto some degree, lest they might abandon him on a tricksy moment. The previous, Khrandom-wide programs had thus far worked satisfactorily. Badges of dishonor, the granting of various nobility degrees he had invented himself, new weapons for the ones that had performed some remarkable misdeeds... An incessant competition rampaged around his massive army, and the strives about positions and wealth had to be encased within this melting pot of ninnyhammers, so that nobody would ascend to challenge him. Hrmph, as long as he and Qwertyui came up with some inventive new lord titles akin to the lower deputy-steward of underhighbaron, the barrel of worms might just remain closed.

***

Two-three hours waddled past quite uneventfully, if not counting the game two of Khran-Av'ees's soldiers speared nigh one of the brooks crisscrossing the forest and the further fading of the fog. At the brink of ghorvejuokz and Pichkergench'ghoitd however the half-snoozing Khran-Av'ees started to the abrupt, jerky halt of the cart. As he rubbed at his Sandman-dusted eyes with the image of a roasting, fat-seeping chunk of meat printed onto his awareness, Gho-Ni'ngobsch's slightly slurring voice reached out from the very front of the caravan,

"Oy, Sir! If yer high disgrace woulds com' o'er 'ere!"

"Grhnnnsmthbrrlf hnngh nwh woss inne unhallowed name o'all de-ssh pus-farting impsssh of the netherpitssh..." the warlord maundered under his breath ere finding the focus. "Mrrhrr... WHAT NOW?"

"Dere's sum trees puts across 'em path!"

"Eh? Sonds akin ta 'em brigands anew," Ghaagh'urih on the bench beside Khran-Av'ees read aloud his master's drowsy thoughts.

Khran-Av'ees, who had now managed to clean most of the miasma of sleep out of his consciousness, exhaled a derisory snort through his nose. Indeed, hauling trees across the road was just about the most commonplace idiocy those maggotbrains called modern highwaymen might do. Akin to the sloppy goldilocks youths hoting themselves heroes and which for aye squealed, "You won't get away with this!" when the evil caught them. Mrarh, yeartides of seventeen thousand and leftovers had he gotten away with most things, excluding a smattering of public barb-whippings and a few decades of prison sometime in his far-off youth. Yet those were but trifles.

More like his enemies had ne'er gotten away with aught. If a wight had dared make himself the rival of Lord Khran-Av'ees, the latter, as a rule, had sooner or later stormed back to butcher them. Even those brethren of his who had forced him to cover half of his face since a wee stump of a lad, or presumed to make a mockery of it. Survival of the fittest.

There certainly were four massive phokhel trunks blocking the way, two of them half-sunk in mud. The present draught beasts of the companion were not designed for mountain-climbing, so the damned barricade had to be removed by some means.

The elf crouched down to knock on the wood, sans any superstitions involved. If it were light enough, he might just be able to levitate-

"Whyfor, ithn't thith but a brave companion in dithrethh? Hark and behold, ath I therewith thall say unto ye: Thoothe your fate! Valuableth or your liveth, or perthanthe both!" a lispy, soapy voice slithered out from behind the bushes on the roadside.

Upon hearing the all too familiar opening words of a phenomenon ycleped gallant road plunder of the new ages, Khran-Av'ees seriously wanted to bang his head repeatedly against the trunk. Did these insufferable bastards of graveworms go to a school of somekin where they were taught the same, stupid rituals? Back in the good ole daytides, when he had traversed the country as a bandit, the custom had been just to attack furtively, slit the throats of the victims, and run away with the loot. There had been none of this flummery about chivalry, merry companions, and highway idyll. Count on it, that the chieftain of the bandit troupe would have

a) a hat with a feather on it

b) a black mask over his eyes

c) breeches and long white socks

d) a rapier.

There and then, an elf filling perfectly this description strutted out of the bushes, waving the toothpick sword around with a flourish. To add some bonus points, he even bore one of those long coats with lace in the hem and collars. The overall impression was however spoiled by his long buckteeth and ears, out of which the latter kept constantly pushing the hat off his head, requiring it to be crammed back about every ten seconds. Behind him, grinning heads yet connected to the shoulders were popping out of the underbrush akin to overswollen blueberries. As the conduct degreed, one held a knife between his teeth and one a long-stemmed paper flower** reserved for the ladies.

"Eh? Eh? Thoothe now, or perith!" the chief yapped as he pranced closer to the wagons, stabbing at the air with the rapier as if attempting to impale flies. His and his merry fellows' greedy grins nevertheless soon melted like an iceberg dunked to the sun when Lord Khran-Av'ees rose akin to a large new continent from behind the roadblock, and snarling, scarred faces emerged from beyond the wagons. And whilst the frames of the bandits currently visible were rather soft and scrawny -- thus telling tales of a considerable lack of age and experience -- these men were of a harsh, battle-hardened stock, and most had beholden a good fourteen thousand rough-time winters.

Lord Khran-Av'ees stepped over the woodpile, his bodyguards on either side, scimitars drawn out of their scabbards. The pipsqueak's neck stood yet intact solely because the honcho of the state had become utterly fed up with this incessant circus.

"Seest thou now here, brat. Haul these trunks away, and I might just not send thee and thy snotnoses into the gray halls of Tghuonegh'lchach."

The feather-hatted lad, who was about a head and a half shorter than his opponent, took one trembling step back, at the same time attempting not to begrime his shining red cloak into the bubbling mud. A wiser bandit would have begun running for his life on the erst glimpse of the trio consisting of Rhi-Szau'bisch, Ghaagh'urih, and Khran-Av'ees. Yet it seemed these woods were overstuffed with complete morons outright desperate in their attempts.

"Eh-uh... ye are... one, two, three, forty! But behold, thirra, ath we are a mighty daring theventy and ye thall be of no rethithtance to uth! Now, your money or your liveth?"

More figures arose from the thicket, this time on either side of the road. Raucous laughter and wolf-whistles burst forth from the unsightly, hairy mass of Khran-Av'ees's cronies when they heeded the sweeter gender of some. Another ill sign.

"Neither," the warlord responded. "Now wilt thou remove those wooden obstructions of utter insufferableness, or art thou verily so fraught with awe to meet the dread-lord of the netherworlds?"

The possible answer to Khran-Av'ees's inquiry would remain a mystery for forever and aye, as one of the bandits skulking in the forest erred to make that one fatal mistake which broke the Dark Lord's so short a temper it existed almost only in the negative universe. He fired a crossbow bolt towards the warlord.

Khran-Av'ees reacted before the arrow had whizzed halfway through the short distance. It ricocheted off a shield spell, and the archer-meister of his companion furthermore readied himself ere the bandit chieftain succeeded to utter a single squeak of orders or complaints to either side. The huge, metal-reinforced bow laden with twelve arrows sang, and a black shape dropped limply down from a nearby tree, as did a few of the stupidly grinning figures in the bushes sink backwards with gurgling groans.

The Rha-kan'Ockians were elves, after all, and their reflexes surpassed those of the plain human kin. As it was with the aptness to magic, such qualities oft matured together with the age, even if the skin might sag and the muscle mass of the prime time gradually melt away.

Khran-Av'ees, towering beside the chieftain who barely had had a blink of an eye to gather up his senses, yawned and flicked almost lazily at his fingers. A blue lightning crackled and coiled from under his nails, striking the ignorant lad full in the chest. Some of his comrades screamed, some made feeble attempts to flee during the few eternity-feeling seconds when the doom-fire consumed the squalling, trembling bandit whose skin and flesh blistered and burned away, leaving behind merely a heap of charred bones to sizzle in the mud.

Half-heartedly the warlord gazed at his smoking fingernails as if he had been merely roasting a sausage on a campfire and not an entire elf, garments and all. "Fine, let us end this mummers' farce. Keep the valuables or whate'er ye wish. However both mead and phohnghein shall remain gainsaid, and a check wol beest conducted hereupon. Shouldeth any wight come upon scrolls, he shalt bring them to his lord therewith."

It was over in about ten minutes. Forty versus seventy might have sounded akin to a supreme preponderance according to the maths of the bygone chieftain. Yet picking up a quarrel with the Cream of the State -- if rather sour and definitely stinking of something even fouler than rotting eggs -- was akin to tying yourself to a railroad and expecting the train to grow wings just when it was about to drive over you.

The patch of road and the edge of the woods were grim to behold: headless bodies sprawled willy-nilly in the reddening ground, together with a few piles of blackened bones where Lord Khran-Av'ees had decided to practice a dash of battlemagic. His men were cackling over the plunder whose ownership had thuswise veered upside down. The few females of the bandit group who had been spared from biting the mire for other purposes, were sobbing half-incoherently or pleading something with a thick westlander dialect the warlord scarcely understood.

Lord Khran-Av'ees, snorting loudly at the general doltness rate of commoners, was about to stomp back to aid with the tree removing. His ears however caught an odd rhythmic sound, which was slowly increasing in volume.

Someone was clapping his hands in the distance.

The warlord twirled about like a boulder wearing roller-skates, and squinted into the direction of the peculiar noise. Gray mist still hung amongst the tangled trees deeper in the gloom of the forest, and it took a moment ere he was able to discern the source: the advancing, still half-obscured shape of a male. The clapping was eerily loud compared to how far away the wight actually strode, as if some beyondworldish echoes had magnified the handslaps.

"Well met, 'lord' Khran-Av'ees!" The man's voice was just as singularly strident, and not even a deaf oyster could have managed to ignore the mocking emphasis underlining the honorary title. "Now, confess I must that your wee little trickery there with the sparkling lights was a trifle amusing, but this shall remain as the final and lastmost sample of the unpardonable bloodshed with which you have despoiled the plains of Rha-kan'Ocka, o thee bastard of pus-daimons and father of mongrels!"

"GRAAAAAGH! WHAT? What slime-maggot of dungheaps dareth thuswise soil the darkly sacred name of Lord Khran-Av'ees, son of Khran-Ddu'h the Skullhammer, the-ah..." Nigh stupefied with sudden anger and confusion, the warlord was to trip over his own tongue. He unsheathed Ghalowazahrh with an ear-rending zhwiiiiing and bellowed further, "And however wittest thou, o thee festering-filled wart with legs who hast nay the courage e'en to bring his repulsive face into the light, the name of mine, as in the deepmost chambers of secrecy hath it been kept for eons, beneath nine locks and eight iron bars?"

"Graaahhhahahhaahhhah hurrrgrrghaaah, horrgh-ah-ah-grah, ah, does 'my lord' verily reckon his wee little adventures could have thus stood buried beneath rock and treeroot unto the dimming of hereafter?"

The taunting character had loped now so close that Khran-Av'ees could discern some of its elementary features. It was some hoary gaffer, walking barefoot and clad in an odd assortment of garish clothing and trinkets, and even so appearing nought akin to the highwaymen in their jaunty mummers' raiment. Moreover, that loincloth type cut almost like a skirt had gone out of fashion at least twenty thousand yeartides past, and it was to wonder whether that peculiar hairdo belonged even to the right hundred-millennium.

"You in your mightful grace did not grant many an option for the wretched lad e'en if he be a sodden fool," the male went on, "But I shall lower down an offer of a better quality down by your loathsome feet: lower down your weapons, come quietly, and perchance your rank breath might even be spared, even though it shall nevermore befoul the lands of my forefathers with its putrid, flyblown stench!"

Khran-Av'ees's men had ceased the digging of valuables from the pockets of the carcasses, and were amassing themselves into a hulking wall behind their leader, waiting for orders. Fangs bared into a hideous growl, the half-giant elf himself could scarcely trust his senses. What in the seven bleeding firepits was this swaggering ninnyhammer who thuswise besottedly sauntered up to him alone, challenge on the palm of his right hand?

He tried to ease his rapid-gone breathing. Nay, this had to be some cockeyed jest emerging as an aftermath of the pathetic brigand burlesque. Psth, one good blast, and it ought to be all over.

"Begone, back into the abyss of Tghuonegh'err, o thee foul, crumpled spirit of yontides!"

Lord Khran-Av'ees whipped his arm, and a long streak of raw, sputtering doom-fire soon speeded towards the jeering grin of the ugly old man.

But with agility matching that of the Dark Lord, the gaffer made a quick gesture in the air the attacker for his ill luck kenned too well. The lightning clashed against an invisible shield with a booming THWUMMMMM which shook the nearby trees so that a gust of cones and other debris hailed down upon the troop. However, the danger was hardly over therewith. The foe had fended the strike off so that it became aimed back to its source. And by the looks of it magnified twice-trice, as the hoarfrosted male spun from his fingertips webs of what appeared like liquid mercury from afar, adding the load to the doom-fire.

Out of sheer instinct, Khran-Av'ees acted quickly enough and succeeded in blocking the assault. The impact with which the raw energy hit his shield was nevertheless horrible. He tottered several steps backwards as the ensuing THWANGGGGG made the whole forest echo. At the perimeter of the air-shield, a weaker remnant of the gaffer's spell made a few of the warlord's minions fly backwards several meters.

Khran-Av'ees stared transfixed at the onwards-marching male, his hands shaking and cold sweat rising up to glisten on his forehead. Never, ever in his days of living had he encountered such a blow aimed at him, and yet it felt like as if the wizard-- for one he verily be -- was merely toying with him. A dreadful, nearly insane grin split that wrinkled visage: a blood-red fire burned in the single good eye, and that unearthly glow seemed emanating even from inside that leering mouth half-full of broken, yellow teeth.

"Bwaaahhhahahaahaah hurrrgrooaah haarh, ah-ah-hah-grah, do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks, Av'ees of the house of Khran! One more favor shall I offer you: surrender now, or perish in the bale-lightning, which undoubtedly shall be your final wyrd when Tghuonegh'err brings you sniveling and wet-knee'd before the iron boots of Yl-maargh'Inegn in the last judgment..."

Lord Khran-Av'ees was oblivious to the dark shapes that had begun sneaking out from behind trees and bushes by the perimeter of the mist, whence the ole wizard had egressed. He was finally able to recognize the family crest embellished to the leather front of the male's kilt. A cupola of eight stars shone upon a rune whose shape tended to cause cackling even amongst the grouchiest of his men. Now it merely made his palate dryer than mummified pemmican under desert sand.

"G... G... G'Uhag... eid..." was all he could rasp.

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