Power Awakens

Death and terror hung in the air. It was almost physical in its intensity. In the semi-darkness dimly lit by oil soaked lanterns, the smell of blood and excrement made his throat constrict in an attempt to quell the impending vomit threatening to erupt from his stomach. Sergeant Hackid knew that to show weakness was to die; he once more quelled his churning stomach and turned to the latest prisoner. Gripping the prisoners sweat soaked hair, Hackid dragged the wretched and half starved man into Grakkor’s torture chamber.

Hackid, the number one swordsman in the regulars, had three wives and eight children. He was not comfortable with his twice-monthly tour of the Palace and he hated being on dungeon duty. This particular tour had been the worst one he could remember, Seventeen Necro Warriors dead, all brutally tortured by Grakkor and Precktis, Grakkor’s Head Priest.

Grakkor showed total apathy to the torture, he saw it merely as a means to an end, he almost didn’t register the terror and agony etched on his victims faces. In direct contrast to Grakkor, Precktis revelled in the torture, smiling and laughing at each new torment and scream. It was sickening, Hackid couldn’t decide which was worse. Apathy in the face of deprivation, or enjoyment at the terror and pain each victim showed. Hackid verdantly wished that he didn’t have to face another three days of this brutality.

Hackid chanced a glance at Precktis as he ordered Hackid to pick up the prisoner. “Over there, on the altar.” He growled, “Make sure he’s strapped down tight.” Hackid conducted his work as quickly and efficiently as possible. He went about the work as though his life depended on it, which of course it did. “Leave us,” snapped Precktis.

Looking at the discarded bodies of the previous prisoners, Hackid started to collect his soldier’s kit and weapons off the bench at the side of the dungeon door, he inwardly shuddered as Grakkor’s deep voice carried to him. “There is no need to continue this torture Precktis, we have learned what we need to know. The Nexii will occur in two days time and its on Cromus. The Vardis Warrior Clan of Dublain is the source, the Nexii focal point is in Bruk and his name is Jaac. Eight of my elite Necro Warriors are dead at the hands of the Vardis. They never managed to cull the family as the Vardis Warriors proved to be more formidable than we thought. We cannot journey to Bruk in force, we do not have the time and its over five hundred leagues from the Gate even if we could get through, and if we did, you know that it is one of the best defended towns in Bruk. It would not withstand my Necro’s or even my Krondonian regulars, but it would take years to battle our way past the gateway and halfway across the Rodina continent to reach Bruk. Is there something you haven’t told me...?”

“Yes my liege” whispered Precktis as he glanced at Hackid making his way to the door.

“But it is better that we talk alone” Hackid closed the door behind him and allowed himself a sigh of relief. He was glad to be away from Precktis and his evil. He wondered how the Krondonian race had allowed itself to become so cruel and apathetic to suffering. Crushing such dangerous thoughts from his mind he wandered towards the eating hall. Amazingly as soon as he was away from the torture chamber his appetite had started to re-assert itself, food, yes, that will help.

Precktis watched the departure of the soldier with his deep set almost totally black eyes. “We could use a Demolt” smiled Precktis.

“Are they not extinct on Cromus?” asked Grakkor.

“On Cromus, no, there are two left alive, but they are in stasis. Allow me to commune with a Werd of Command through the gateway and the Demolt is only two days from Bowltown although it will leave a large trail of devastation, as it will have to take a direct route through whatever gets in the way,” again a smile appeared on Precktis face.

“Is this not a dangerous ploy, we will be hard pressed to destroy a Demolt once we enter Cromus” Grakkor asked nervously.

Precktis turned reverently to the altar of Elvan, and answered. “Once we are through, and our Masters are once again in dominance, the Demolt will be destroyed with but a single thought”

“Do it then” whispered Grakkor “What do you need”

“Five hundred under the age of ten, slave children will be sufficient” Precktis seemed to revel in this. “And what of this prisoner, why do we continue the torture?” asked Grakkor.

“That my Liege is purely for my pleasure,” replied Precktis as he reached for his sacramental dagger.