by ViralEnsign_ Mon Sep 17, 2012 10:03 pm
Next piece of lore that dough asked me to do. Of course its not my best seeing as I just pushed it to be finished..... but here it is
"Amidst the massacre of Knights Avrik chuckle quietly to himself.
It had been too easy getting into the Archives. The Knights had invited him in, then opted to ignore their new prisoner.
He remembered it all too well.
Siephre, as he had been know that very afternoon, knelt over the dead knight, scanning his body for any sign of gold or coins, quickly rummaging through the leather pack beneath the knights breast plate. Finding nothing he had intended to leave in search of another unfortunate victim of fate, but a cold steel touch against his throat told him that he had been caught.
The sun was low in the sky when the small band of knights dragged him back to the Archives, bruised and bloody, threw him bodily to the floor in front the sentries.
“This one was found pillaging the dead” said the lead knight gruffly “The scum had already taken Ser Branden’s talisman and family crest....”
Around him half a dozen knights muttered their disgust.
“Take him below” a thin reedy voice, this time a Bane Knight, fingering his Shotel “He will serve his time in the cells, then Oscar will decide what to do with him”.
A Plated boot smashed into his head and he knew no more.
Hours later he had woken in the dark.
The cell was small, rusted iron bars; the stench of filth permeated the air.
He smirked to himself. They had fallen for it. Allowed him into their stronghold. Now was his time.
He pulled the ragged cowl over his head, let out a long, high pitched whistle.
From high above a crow flitted down, through the iron bars, landed on his arm.
“We know not what we take, the murder feeds, as I feed on the murder” he intoned. With a snap he ripped the crow’s head clean off, began to gorge on the bloody flesh.
The blood was hot and thick as it slid down his throat; it warmed his body, made him feel alive again. He tapped on the iron bars of his prison, the loud echoes reverberating off into the darkness, smirked to himself when heard the rattling click of chainmail.
The guard came into sight not a second later and Astoran by the look of his armour, turning to face the prisoner, glowering at him from beneath the steel visor. Done with his charade Avrik looked up from the fold of his hood, a feigned mix of madness and fear in his eyes.
“Please Ser Knight” he pleaded “Don’t keep me down here no more, I can’t stand the dark, the crows they are too loud, and my chains they are too tight.”
A look of disgust appeared on the Astoran’s face.
Avrik knew the man was his.
The man’s visage suddenly changed from disgust to a look of horror and pain, he glance down and that scythe blade that had pierced his plate mail, thick black blood leaking from the grisly wound. His lips quivered and looked as if he was trying to speak.
“Shhhhh,shhhhh my friend. Death is not the end. I’ll be sure to make use of you” Avrik’s voice was not a sibilant hiss in the dim light.
Near on half later Avrik had fled the prison in the Archives and was making his way slowly through the Archives upper floors, intent on finding the elevator winch, which he assumed was heavily guarded. All about of the lower floors the knights and Lifehunters swarmed to and fro in a hurry, carrying weapons, ballista bolts, and seeing to the hurriedly prepared defences.
Footsteps alerted Avrik to company. His visage at least would not give him away as it had done before, his new body would ensure that only the highest ranking clerics would sense his corruption. Hurriedly he made of a sack containing half a dozen long swords, and resting his Great Scythe over his shoulder he continued toward the ornate staircase ahead.
A few knights stopped to question him, though his answer was always the same, he was amongst the servants and free riders of the knights, delivering weapons where his lord told him. None bothered to stop him though he assumed the Brotherhood of the Blade was ever watchful and was careful not to arouse their suspicions.
Finally he made it to the lower concourse. The balconies were thick with Knights and the myriad Lifehunters, warriors and healers now, every one of them heavily armed.
Avrik quailed as he spied Oscar and Gabranth below him walking with a pair of Havel Knights in tow. Oscar glanced toward him, as if aware of his presence, searching the crowd for the intruder, but turned away when another knight approached him in a rush.
Grimacing to himself Avrik made the long walk out to the first defensive line, across the empty threshold and down into the winch rooms. Below he could hear the ring of steel on steel and the Gravesworn engaged Oscar’s preliminary troops.
It was time. All about him the ballista operators gathered close to take a weapon from his arms.
It wouldn’t do to kill unarmed men; he thought wryly, the Gravesworn would never respect that, but if they must die then so be it.
A second later his Greatscythe was cutting a swathe through their ranks, amidst the screams of the dying, a crow began to caw."
