7th Day of Searing, 351st Year of the Age of Sundering
The pair stared ahead of themselves, their eyes flickering over the Weaponmaster and her Knight as they paced around them. These were decayed and rotten, with horrific rictus smiles and boney protrusions, but they were not Ghouls. They eyes were silky and slow where the ghoul burned with an angry and agile focus. Thralls, cadavers, zombies. Not always mindless, but these particular ones were just shy of it. Masagh viewed them as what they were, cattle. Perhaps in some way more akin to him than a living human, but in other ways, more beast or monstrosity.
“They’re dunderheads, but they will suffice for our purpose this day.” The words grated. Masagh’s sister indicated the thralls. “You have mastered the basic steps to this dance we do. However, the living have weaknesses I do not, and it’s best to exploit those to bring them into the fold of our thrall horde as quickly as you can if you find yourself topside in a city alleyway or whatnot.” She said sardonically.
Masagh waited expectantly. He was eager to advance his training. More knowledge of the human weakness meant more tasks under the night sky. So far he had only gone on deliveries during which they had barely spent time outside. The more seasoned Knights were sent on retrieval and patrol missions alone or in pairs. They would spend dusk til dawn prowling the city.
He was eager to join them.
“Right, today’s lesson.” Sabrione said, casually drawing her blade. “The femoral artery.” She tapped the tip of her blade against the thralls inner thigh. “It is a major passage of blood in the leg of the soft fleshed humans. Cut it and they will die in minutes.” Sabrione touched a dragon shard embedded in the thralls throat and it immediately focused on her. It held a crude short sword they had taken off some dead alley grifters who had tried to mug the wrong cloaked and cowled late night pedestrian. As a matter of fact, Masagh thought scrutinizing the zombie’s maimed face, that might be the very same grifter.
The zombie began swinging haphazardly at Sabrione. They were capable of making much deadlier thralls, but these two had been given rudimentary motor skills for training. The Weaponmaster let it swing at her a few times, dodging lazily. Then she raised her blade and blocked one of its slow strikes, hilt held high and tip low. Then she caught the offending blade with her cross guard and pushed both down with one fluid movement. When she ripped her sword back the edge parted the flesh of the zombies leg to leave a red gash. Though it did not bleed, the living version would have. Even Masagh could see that.
“Not instantaneous, not quiet.” Sabrione stepped back to admire her work. “But it send them on their way.” Sabrione finished and looked at him. Then she caught the writ of the zombie who was still making its lumbering attacks. Slapping the dragon shard on its throat she turned back to him. “Any questions?”
“Does it have to be this angle?” Masagh asked, moving forward and crouching beside the zombie to examine the depth and angle of the cut.
“No, but it has to be the inside there, and best to be deep.” Sabrione advised.
“I think I’ve got it.” Masagh said, still examining the wound.
“We’ll see.” The rasp carried humorous menace that he was all too familiar with. Masagh shuffled back precariously as Sabrione slapped the throat of each in turn.
Sabrione laughed like sanding paper rubbing against itself. Masagh drew his sword and cursed.
A shortsword arced through the air, Masagh parried it away, Another thrust and he deflected it towards its comrade. Masagh shifted his stance and began working around the side of the pair. He had been taught early that when faced with more than one opponent, always stack them up behind each other if you could. It is better to cross blades on one side than two.
