Aaron Dennis's Blog - Posts Tagged "mercenary"
Eternus end of chapter 1
This time we're going to go ahead and provide the rest of chapter 1 of Eternus: The Dragon of Time.
If you haven't had a chance to keep up all you need to know is that Scar, the amnesiac mercenary has been hired by Zoltek, tribal leader of Zmaj, to lead an ambush on Kulshedran forces...or you could read the previous few posts ;)
Nightfall came. The men gathered behind small hills. To the north-only hundreds of yards away-the first outpost stood prominently. Wavering orange light cast by torches within fluttered throughout the windows.
It was a clear night, and no moon shone. Scar set his jaw. With a nod, he dashed over small rocks. The dry soil of the southern territories kicked up in his wake. Thirty men followed close behind. Booted feet resounded like a small stampede. Scar made for a hill less than one hundred yards from their destination. Hunkered down against the mound, the men took a breath.
“What do you see?” Scar asked.
One warrior produced a telescope. Looking through glass for a moment, he was silent. Then he turned to the mercenary.
“The three lookouts on the roof have not seen us, and I did not see anyone looking to the south through their windows,” the soldier answered.
“Excellent,” Scar breathed.
He stood, and towering over the soldiers he then slowly climbed the hill. At the top, amidst stunted shrubberies, he laid on his stomach. A beaten path through the thin chaparral rounded the tower. Two more paths curved to the east and the west. It was evident that supply wagons came about on a regular basis. Scar maintained his observation. No wagon was in sight, and it was too dark to see any other tower. The silence was his only concern. They may yet hear our approach, he thought.
He climbed back down, and addressed his group, saying, “Men, we must move slowly, lest our heavy feet draw unwanted attention.”
They nodded in understanding. Scar rounded the hill, and skulked to the outpost. His eyes were wide, ready for any movement. The soldiers behind him grit their teeth while doing their best to remain quiet. Before long, they reached the beaten path. With backs pressed to the brown stone of the tower, they waited for Scar to mount the attack.
He approached the massive entryway at the base, and peeked inside. The structure of the tower, as was similar with those in Zmaj’s territory, was a four-entry crossway at the base with a staircase leading to the top. The size of the entrances also allowed the supply wagon to pull into the tower proper. From his position, Scar saw two men with bronzed skin clad in brown, leather armor.
The guards sat at a table chatting about the recent drought. They had no clue a platoon had arrived with slaughter on the mind. Scar turned back to his men and pointed to round the other side. He counted ten seconds after they moved. Then he rushed inside, great sword at the ready.
The Kulshedrans had not even the time to comprehend the situation. Scar slashed his blade, and one’s head fell from his body. The other just came to his feet, but Scar had kept the momentum of his swing going by carrying the sword overhead. With a vertical slash, he killed the second man. In less than five seconds, the base of the outpost was secured.
Scar held his left fist up. In silence, the men waited a moment. A lantern sat atop the wooden table. Plates with dried fruit were neatly arranged. When no clamor from above resounded, Scar took the lead again. He rushed up the steps with his men taking the rear. Aware of the plan of attack, four remained at the base in the event of Kulshedran support from whatever sights unseen.
Twenty steps up was another large room, similar in design as the base only with windows in place of doorways. Coming off the steps, the Zmajans fanned out, and slew three Kulshedrans. Drunk from too much wine, the enemy gave no resistance.
Once more, Scar waited. There was no sound indicating their presence was known, and he proceeded up more steps, only with four less men to remain on the second the floor. Twenty more steps up, he spilled into the third room; it was lined with rows of beds.
Caught unawares, a Kulshedran guard gasped and made to grab his spear. A Zmajan warrior chucked his javelin. It struck the guard high in the back, and he crashed to the floor with a great deal of noise. Roused by the attack, the slow waking guards tried to resist, but Scar and the soldiers made easy of work the enemy.
“I’ll take the roof,” Scar whispered.
He walked slowly. Time was of little matter to him. The tower had been secured, and even if the Kulshedrans rang their gong, the aide was too far to provide help. Coming close to the last steps, his bald, white head poked through the floor.
“Hey?” a Kulshedran asked in shock.
One made for the gong, while the other swung an axe at Scar. He parried by simply pointing his blade forward. Following up with a lunge to the top step, he stabbed the guard in the midsection, leapt up to the floor, and spun with a slash across the back of the man about to ring the gong. In doing so, Scar left his flank open.
The remaining Kulshedran slashed at exposed skin. With a groan, Scar twisted his sword hand. The action brought his pommel against the guard’s head. Staggered from the blow, he was susceptible to a kick in the gut. Scar’s immense foot sent the man into the tower’s guardrail, and over it. The enemy plummeted close to a hundred feet, where he died upon impact.
The four Zmajans at the base saw the guard hit the ground. A large puff of dust came up, but was quickly carried away by the subtle winds.
“Guess he’s done it,” one soldier chuckled.
On the roof, beneath a thin but whipping cloth for day time shade, Scar took the rotating ballista. A bolt was already loaded. By pushing against a horizontal beam built into the framework, he pointed the giant weapon to the south, where the remaining Zmajans along with General Dumar waited for the signal that the supply wagon was on its way. Then, Scar went down a floor.
“Someone, gather oil and cloths,” he ordered.
While they did so, he went back to the roof and took a seat in a wicker chair. Frowning, he checked his flank. The blood was already dried, and the wound no longer ached. He scratched it. Dry blood crumbled away revealing a new scar. Why does it heal so quickly? A moment later, a young woman handed him the supplies.
“Gratitude,” he said.
She bowed her smooth head in welcoming, but did not leave. He looked at her. The black leather was laced about her firm body in aesthetically pleasing ways. Her bosom was small, but her shapely bottom caught Scar’s eye. He smiled. Zmajans were nearly as hairless as he, but the chocolate hue of their skins was breath taking.
“Will there be anything else?” the young woman asked.
“What is your name?”
“Kaviri,” she answered.
Her eyes were very dark green, and the swirling patterns of gray and purple graced her skin like veins on a leaf.
“Have a drink with me,” Scar suggested.
There were clay jugs of wine sitting on the long table by the guardrail. The fine clay craftsmanship-a product of Kulshedran creativity-was sublime. The jugs were triangular in design, but tall and elegant. Kaviri took one, and sat in Scar’s lap. After a few sips, they munched on the dried fruits and nuts.
“How long before the wagon comes?” Kaviri asked.
“We probably won’t see it until tomorrow.”
“Then we have plenty of time to rest before the next fight?” she asked.
“I believe so.”
They looked at each other. He was practically forbidden fruit to her. Romping with those under the blessing of different Gods was not usually frowned upon, unless they were enemies, but Scar was a very strange individual. His appearance was confusing to all who saw him. He did not look as though blessed by any God, and so some wondered if perhaps that was exactly the case. A man rejected by all the Gods was something to fear, but Kaviri was not easily frightened.
She stood, and took a couple paces over to the table. Scar looked the area over. The relief of a successful mission objective put him in the mood for fun.
“Maybe I should rid us of these corpses,” he chuckled.
Kaviri gave a nod of mock resignation. They smiled then hurled the dead over the tower. The impact startled the Zmajans at the base, but they quickly resumed their own devices.
“Now, you wanted to know if I needed anything else?” Scar asked.
“Mmm, what does one such as you want?” she asked with graceful movements of her butt and belly.
“That and more.”
After a moment of dancing, she climbed his form. They gave into each other while cool winds caressed their skin.
There you have it...
Certainly there was quite a bit of action in this first chapter, and there's still more in the next few chapters...these tribes are all at war, but the following few chapters, I think from 4 on, the action dies down to nill and a great deal of story line progresses quite well.
As always, thanks for reading and all feedback and comments are welcome.
If you haven't had a chance to keep up all you need to know is that Scar, the amnesiac mercenary has been hired by Zoltek, tribal leader of Zmaj, to lead an ambush on Kulshedran forces...or you could read the previous few posts ;)
Nightfall came. The men gathered behind small hills. To the north-only hundreds of yards away-the first outpost stood prominently. Wavering orange light cast by torches within fluttered throughout the windows.
It was a clear night, and no moon shone. Scar set his jaw. With a nod, he dashed over small rocks. The dry soil of the southern territories kicked up in his wake. Thirty men followed close behind. Booted feet resounded like a small stampede. Scar made for a hill less than one hundred yards from their destination. Hunkered down against the mound, the men took a breath.
“What do you see?” Scar asked.
One warrior produced a telescope. Looking through glass for a moment, he was silent. Then he turned to the mercenary.
“The three lookouts on the roof have not seen us, and I did not see anyone looking to the south through their windows,” the soldier answered.
“Excellent,” Scar breathed.
He stood, and towering over the soldiers he then slowly climbed the hill. At the top, amidst stunted shrubberies, he laid on his stomach. A beaten path through the thin chaparral rounded the tower. Two more paths curved to the east and the west. It was evident that supply wagons came about on a regular basis. Scar maintained his observation. No wagon was in sight, and it was too dark to see any other tower. The silence was his only concern. They may yet hear our approach, he thought.
He climbed back down, and addressed his group, saying, “Men, we must move slowly, lest our heavy feet draw unwanted attention.”
They nodded in understanding. Scar rounded the hill, and skulked to the outpost. His eyes were wide, ready for any movement. The soldiers behind him grit their teeth while doing their best to remain quiet. Before long, they reached the beaten path. With backs pressed to the brown stone of the tower, they waited for Scar to mount the attack.
He approached the massive entryway at the base, and peeked inside. The structure of the tower, as was similar with those in Zmaj’s territory, was a four-entry crossway at the base with a staircase leading to the top. The size of the entrances also allowed the supply wagon to pull into the tower proper. From his position, Scar saw two men with bronzed skin clad in brown, leather armor.
The guards sat at a table chatting about the recent drought. They had no clue a platoon had arrived with slaughter on the mind. Scar turned back to his men and pointed to round the other side. He counted ten seconds after they moved. Then he rushed inside, great sword at the ready.
The Kulshedrans had not even the time to comprehend the situation. Scar slashed his blade, and one’s head fell from his body. The other just came to his feet, but Scar had kept the momentum of his swing going by carrying the sword overhead. With a vertical slash, he killed the second man. In less than five seconds, the base of the outpost was secured.
Scar held his left fist up. In silence, the men waited a moment. A lantern sat atop the wooden table. Plates with dried fruit were neatly arranged. When no clamor from above resounded, Scar took the lead again. He rushed up the steps with his men taking the rear. Aware of the plan of attack, four remained at the base in the event of Kulshedran support from whatever sights unseen.
Twenty steps up was another large room, similar in design as the base only with windows in place of doorways. Coming off the steps, the Zmajans fanned out, and slew three Kulshedrans. Drunk from too much wine, the enemy gave no resistance.
Once more, Scar waited. There was no sound indicating their presence was known, and he proceeded up more steps, only with four less men to remain on the second the floor. Twenty more steps up, he spilled into the third room; it was lined with rows of beds.
Caught unawares, a Kulshedran guard gasped and made to grab his spear. A Zmajan warrior chucked his javelin. It struck the guard high in the back, and he crashed to the floor with a great deal of noise. Roused by the attack, the slow waking guards tried to resist, but Scar and the soldiers made easy of work the enemy.
“I’ll take the roof,” Scar whispered.
He walked slowly. Time was of little matter to him. The tower had been secured, and even if the Kulshedrans rang their gong, the aide was too far to provide help. Coming close to the last steps, his bald, white head poked through the floor.
“Hey?” a Kulshedran asked in shock.
One made for the gong, while the other swung an axe at Scar. He parried by simply pointing his blade forward. Following up with a lunge to the top step, he stabbed the guard in the midsection, leapt up to the floor, and spun with a slash across the back of the man about to ring the gong. In doing so, Scar left his flank open.
The remaining Kulshedran slashed at exposed skin. With a groan, Scar twisted his sword hand. The action brought his pommel against the guard’s head. Staggered from the blow, he was susceptible to a kick in the gut. Scar’s immense foot sent the man into the tower’s guardrail, and over it. The enemy plummeted close to a hundred feet, where he died upon impact.
The four Zmajans at the base saw the guard hit the ground. A large puff of dust came up, but was quickly carried away by the subtle winds.
“Guess he’s done it,” one soldier chuckled.
On the roof, beneath a thin but whipping cloth for day time shade, Scar took the rotating ballista. A bolt was already loaded. By pushing against a horizontal beam built into the framework, he pointed the giant weapon to the south, where the remaining Zmajans along with General Dumar waited for the signal that the supply wagon was on its way. Then, Scar went down a floor.
“Someone, gather oil and cloths,” he ordered.
While they did so, he went back to the roof and took a seat in a wicker chair. Frowning, he checked his flank. The blood was already dried, and the wound no longer ached. He scratched it. Dry blood crumbled away revealing a new scar. Why does it heal so quickly? A moment later, a young woman handed him the supplies.
“Gratitude,” he said.
She bowed her smooth head in welcoming, but did not leave. He looked at her. The black leather was laced about her firm body in aesthetically pleasing ways. Her bosom was small, but her shapely bottom caught Scar’s eye. He smiled. Zmajans were nearly as hairless as he, but the chocolate hue of their skins was breath taking.
“Will there be anything else?” the young woman asked.
“What is your name?”
“Kaviri,” she answered.
Her eyes were very dark green, and the swirling patterns of gray and purple graced her skin like veins on a leaf.
“Have a drink with me,” Scar suggested.
There were clay jugs of wine sitting on the long table by the guardrail. The fine clay craftsmanship-a product of Kulshedran creativity-was sublime. The jugs were triangular in design, but tall and elegant. Kaviri took one, and sat in Scar’s lap. After a few sips, they munched on the dried fruits and nuts.
“How long before the wagon comes?” Kaviri asked.
“We probably won’t see it until tomorrow.”
“Then we have plenty of time to rest before the next fight?” she asked.
“I believe so.”
They looked at each other. He was practically forbidden fruit to her. Romping with those under the blessing of different Gods was not usually frowned upon, unless they were enemies, but Scar was a very strange individual. His appearance was confusing to all who saw him. He did not look as though blessed by any God, and so some wondered if perhaps that was exactly the case. A man rejected by all the Gods was something to fear, but Kaviri was not easily frightened.
She stood, and took a couple paces over to the table. Scar looked the area over. The relief of a successful mission objective put him in the mood for fun.
“Maybe I should rid us of these corpses,” he chuckled.
Kaviri gave a nod of mock resignation. They smiled then hurled the dead over the tower. The impact startled the Zmajans at the base, but they quickly resumed their own devices.
“Now, you wanted to know if I needed anything else?” Scar asked.
“Mmm, what does one such as you want?” she asked with graceful movements of her butt and belly.
“That and more.”
After a moment of dancing, she climbed his form. They gave into each other while cool winds caressed their skin.
There you have it...
Certainly there was quite a bit of action in this first chapter, and there's still more in the next few chapters...these tribes are all at war, but the following few chapters, I think from 4 on, the action dies down to nill and a great deal of story line progresses quite well.
As always, thanks for reading and all feedback and comments are welcome.
