[Memory] Blood & Ichor, Part II

[Masagh]

13th Day of Season, 351th Year of the Age of Sundering

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Crash.

Tangled limbs and armor. The sounds of fighting coming from within the open doorway directly ahead of him. Masagh set his hands and feet under him and righted himself. Grabbing his sword and ignoring the pains of the impact he looked up. Ahead, inside the main rooms of the safe house Masagh saw Cleon battling with another Vampyre. Blood flew and the ghoulish Knight’s claymore sang in the air. Beyond him more tangled bodies. The house seemed to extend long and narrow. The first floor seemed full of combatants, at least another four. Above him the silhouette of the Inquisitor glared down at him. Her naked blade held at her side.

Masagh moved into the doorway, avoiding the line of sight. Vasile was sparring with what looked like two more Inquisitors at the same time. Dexterously moving about to deny them any advantage. Sabrione and Cleon were both fighting a blood wielding Vampyre. Masagh stepped forward and plunged his blade quickly into the unguarded back of the nearest Inquisitor fighting Vasile. The woman groaned and collapsed, her body sliding off his claymore.

Vasile’s eyes barely flickered to him for a moment before he was once again deflecting blows from his second opponent. Sabrione’s worried gaze followed Masagh for a moment. Her worry was not for her younger brother though, it was for the three enemies above. The Inquisitor had not pursued him off the balcony, which meant Calliope now fought both a Vampyre and the Inquisitor above.

Masagh shouldered past Vasile’s opponent, hopefully knocking him off balance as he did so. The ghoul did not stop to see. If Calliope fell and the Inquisitor escaped with the crate of lodestones, their messy raid would be for not. Also, five Knights would be four. A loss they could not abide.

He scrambled up the tightly turning stair to the second landing. Calliope was there on the stair now, standing over the crate. She had the Inquisitor’s long blade pinning her to the wall. As Masagh appeared around the corner, the remaining Vitalitasi companion of the Inquisitor lunged to strike Calliope a killing blow through the heart. Masagh lunged forward to deflect the blow. A scraping filled the air briefly as the claymore sent the smaller blade’s tip sliding along the sandstone. Masagh angled his sword and shoved through the longsword towards the Inquisitor at the top of the stairs.

The woman had to step back, withdrawing her sword from Calliope’s side. Masagh saw the dark gleam of rotting flesh and ichor on the blade and felt the cold focus of rage within him. He swung viciously in an arc that was meant to keep both at bay. He felt a tap on his shoulder, Calliope signaling her return to the fight.

Masagh stepped onto the landing and faced the Inquisitor.

“Not had enough, undead filth?” She asked in common.

“Make your peace with your god, redvein.” He did not hear the trepidation he felt in his heart reflected in his voice and was thankful. It was only gravel and acid. She frowned and drew in her off hand a two pronged blade. Akin to a fork, it had a thick prong and a thinner prong with an edge. A sword-breaker. Used to catch blades and disarm opponents, the device was a devious weapon he had not faced before.

He could not let his weapon be caught in it. His blade moved swiftly, and hers caught it just as swiftly. The strength of his blow jarred her one-handed longsword and she brought the sword-breaker up to help deflect the blow. His hilt high and blade low, he strained against her. Then he brought the pommel up hard into her face, as Sabrione had done time and time again to him. The blow sent her reeling back.

Finding his blade pointed directly down, Masagh thrust in that direction. He aimed for and found the tendon and bone of her ankle below the greave. His claymore drove home into both her ankle and foot with a popping resistance. It tore through tendon and ligament.

The Inquisitor cried out at she stumbled back. To give her credit though, she did not fall. Grit and tenacity, an impressive specimen. Perhaps she would earn an elevated role when they inevitably bound her to undead service as a thrall. She thrust forward with her longsword, but he battered it away. Then he made to slash her across the torso and she deftly brought the sword-breaker up. He heard his blade grate as the cold iron met steel. It was enough to keep her life for the moment, but without the longsword she could not manipulate the larger claymore.

She brought it up with a crash against his blade. They fought on, their sparring growing more and more haphazard as their strength flagged. Claymore met longsword and sword-breaker with momentous blows and the pair came in quick and precise in return. Masagh had never fought so hard in his existence. He could feel the strain in his decayed body.

Finally she managed to catch his blade near the hilt. Her gaze lit as she twisted and pulled the sword free of his grasp. With only a fleeting moment of panic, Masagh stomped down on her wounded ankle. Hard.

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[Masagh]

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The Inquisitor cried out in raw pain. Her blades slacked in her hands and her knees buckled. Masagh snarled in victory as his hand shot out to impact her tenuous grip on the sword-breaker. She slumped down as the weapon shot out of her hand. Masagh moved to pick it up. Hefting it, he examined the thing briefly. It was heavier that a regular sword of similar size and the thin prong was thick and slightly unbalanced in weight. He turned it about before discarding it into the corner. Retrieving his claymore, he held it beside himself and turned back to the now pale form of the Inquisitor.

She looked up at him, fear settling into her eyes. She made an attempt to stand but gasped and fell back. Masagh held the blade before him and felt the aether in his body swirl again, unbidden. It sealed into the pact weapon and his blade began to shimmer. He felt the change before he saw it enacted physically. The blade of his claymore shimmered as if seen through the haze of heat. The aether imbued itself within the blade and when it solidified again, the top half of the blade was pronged just like the sword-breaker.

Masagh hadn’t been aware that was possible. He stepped forward with the newly changed blade and made a tired, haphazard thrust at the Inquisitor. She broke the longsword up to block, but it was not enough. It slid between the prongs of the claymore, but the great weapon kept sliding. The twin points of the prongs slid right into her shoulder, puncturing her chainmail with a grisly grind. She gasped and stared wide-eyed up at him. He twisted and her eyes fluttered shut. The longsword fell from her grasp and her head slumped back.

He saw her chest was still rising and falling quickly. Alive, but unconscious. He pulled his blade free even as it shimmered and returned to its normal state. Masagh could feel the biting ache of arcane strain. He had pushed himself with his use of the Rune as well as his physical strength this night. Much more and he would be slumped down beside the redvein. Turning, he jolted in surprise.

Calliope was on the floor struggling against the Vitalitasi. Her eyes shifted to meet his and he saw in her macabre visage the wide eyes of fear. Forgetting the arcane ache of Runestrain, Masagh stepped forward and lofted his blade.

Calliope was under the vampyre, her leg in shambles. The blood mage had stabbed her above the knee, deep and vicious. Her ghoul gift was still doing its work there and she was unable to stand. The Vitaloitasi had since given up on using its ineffective blood magic. Instead it was attempting to rip her throat out with his teeth. Masagh ran it through from behind. Reaching down he grabbed the thing’s arm and pulled back and up.

Seizing the opportunity, Calliope curled her torso up and she clawed at the Vitalitasi’s chest , shredding its tunic. She hissed in triumph and looked up at Masagh.

“Kinvaren scum.” She said. Sure enough, the sigil of the Kinvaren Coven was inked onto the chest of their victim. Masagh spat out an oath. “Do we keep it intact?” Calliope asked as she achieved a grip on both the Vitalitasi’s wrists.

“No, another downstairs.” Masagh said, staring at her leg. “We will need to move fast. Recover.”

Calliope smiled in glee. Then she lunged forward and began the grisly work. Masagh maintained his grip on the victim until he felt the resistance falter and the weight grow slack in his hand. He left Calliope to finish her meal and approached the crate that had been dropped.

What could be held on these lodestones to warrant such a strong guard. Or did they simply come at the wrong time? Perhaps the squad of Inquisition swords was here to transport it. In that case they had come just in time. He picked up the small crate under one arm and half his sword in the other. Catching his breath he yelled down to the others below. “We’ve got the crate here!”

“Vitalitasi with them!” Sabrione’s voice responded. There were a few brief sounds of swordplay, then a thump and finally the gurgling sound of the living meeting their end. “Did you capture one?” Sabrione’s voice proceeded her face around the corner.

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[Masagh]

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“One Inquisitor down and injured. A dead Vitalitasi… Calliope is regenerating a wound.” Masagh responded, glancing back at the now unconscious and bleeding out Inquisitor.

Calliope stood next to him and Masagh stared at her. He had never seen her vital self, and now off the blood and flesh of a Vampyre she was as vital as she would ever be. Her hair was luscious and platinum, her eyes a vibrant green, and her cheeks were smooth and rosy. She could pass for a redvein. She gave him a wicked grin. “I feel better than I have in a hundred years.” Her voice did not have the usual rasp, but maintained the sinister edge he had grown used to. “We slew two Vitalitasi this night? A good victory.” Calliope was still grinning.

“Two to our five.” Sabrione chided, eyes roving over the grisly remains and the chest. “Not much of a victory, even if they had redvein help... Where’s this unconscious Inquisitor?”

Masagh turned back to the wall where the Inquisitor was slumped. A pool of blood and grisly smear towards the door was all that was left. The ghoul felt his withered gut drop. He and Sabrione ran out of the doorway onto the balcony. The small landing and the alley below were both empty.

“Damn redveins!” Masagh cursed. “Weaponmaster, I’m sorry-“ He began.

“Get Calliope and get downstairs. The two of you guard the box back to the hole.” Sabrione’s gaze was fixed on the opposite end of the alley. “Someone will have heard the fighting, or she has gone for aid. Go!” Sabrione gave him a powerful shove.

Masagh tucked the chest to him and joined Calliope in her descent onto the first landing. Out in the alley Cleon and Vasile were peering down either end. He did not hesitate. Tearing down the alley back towards Tritinker Square Masagh heard the faint swoosh of air and saw on the granite stone of the alley wall the purple flash that meant Sabrione had stepped the slipspace. Glancing back as he ran, he saw the Weaponmaster step out of a purple slash in the air onto the street at the opposite end of the alley. Calliope, Cleon, and Vasile were close on his heels.

Sabrione went to face whatever was coming by herself.

He hesitated.

“What are you doing?” Cleon hissed. His sunken face framed by a ratty, desiccated white beard. The Knight turned to look back where Masagh was looking and then shoved him hard. “She’s a Traverser, you lout! She’ll probably be back at the hole before we are.” He shoved Masagh again.

“You’re right, probably.” Masagh muttered, watching his older sister step out of sight. “Right.” He said again, refocusing his attention. Then he turned and followed Calliope.

Sabrione was not back at the well in Tritinker Square when they returned. Nor did she appear for the few minutes they waited there. “Come on, get that box below.” Vasile croaked, eyeing one of the entrances to the alley apprehensively.

“I’ll not go below before my kin returns.” Masagh shot back with agitation.

“She wouldn’t let herself get caught or tied down. We’ve got to be gone if some redveins stumble upon us here.” Vasile said, glaring at him.

Masagh shoved the box into his hands. “You take it below, I will stay and wait for my sister.”

Vasile glanced at Cleon. “Don’t risk more swords than we need to.”

“Do it, Vasile.” Cleon’s lower rasp. “Take Calliope and report to the Lady. I will stay with Masagh and wait for the Weaponmaster.”

Vasile tucked the box below his arm and his eyes shifted between Cleon and Masagh. “Don’t be destroyed!” He snarled and turned to go down the well. Masagh did not watch him descend. He crept down the way they had fled through and peered down the dark road. He heard Cleon creep up beside him.

“She will be fine.”

“Yes, yes, you said that before.” Masagh growled. Their trepidation was beginning to anger him. It was as though they had forgotten their wounds healed. There was a heavy silence that followed his words, and he was sure Cleon was watching him. Conversation was far from his mind though, and he was glad their bleating had dissolved into silence.

Someone with a torch ran across a the road a few blocks down. Masagh crouched lower in the shadows. Whoever it was did not slow to inspect the street. The stillness was complete for the two ghouls. Hearts did not thunder in their chests, breath did not rhythmically remind them of the passage of time. It was a pair of corpses gazing out at a night. Then it was not. A slight flickering in the night sky. It took Masagh a moment to realize what the disturbance was.

Smoke. The black column of a large fire.

“Cleon.” Masagh said, straightening and looking up at it. “A fire.” He pointed.

“Sabrione?” Cleon made the name a question.

What else could it be. “It must be h-“ Masagh began. But then there was a purple flash and a pair of figures stepped out of thin air in the street. For a brief, wild moment Masagh thought they were embracing. Then one tumbled to the ground and the long blade slid from its chest with a wet finality.

The Weaponmaster of House Creth stood over the corpse, blade held loosely at her side. Masagh stepped out of the shadow and began walking towards her.

“Weaponmaster!” He began “The box has been taken below. Are you alright?”

Her gaze flicked up to him, quick as a whip and full of scorn. “I told you to take it below, no?” Her voice carried an edge, but was calm. Approaching, Masagh saw she bore a few slowly healing wounds. He glanced down at the corpse. Not the Inquisitor but some city guardsman.

“You told me to get it back to the hole, which I did. Vasile and Calliope saw it to the Lady Creth.” Masagh said after a moment of hesitation. He knew he should not challenge her in the midst of an active mission. “Cleon and I remained to provide support should you need it…”

She quirked a slight smile and shook her head vaguely as he gave his explanation. “Too clever by half, brother.” The Weaponmaster sheathed her claymore and began moving her now free hands in a practiced motion. “I may have to beat more humility into you before I take you up again…”

“I won’t let you stand alone… sister.” Masagh growled, trying to thread his defiant tone with as much respect as he could. His voice did not lend itself to complexity in his decayed state, though.

“You don’t let me do anything, brother.” Sabrione finished her casting, not looking at him. She opened the slipspace on the ground and kicked the corpse unceremoniously through it before letting the casting disperse.

Finally she turned to look at him again. “I do, and you do as I say.” Her gaze was hard. “Don’t go diminishing my house by two Reavers when it could only lose one…” She said in a gentler tone.

Masagh ground his teeth together. “Understood.” He spat out the word in almost a single cramped syllable. “What of the Inquisitor?”

Sabrione shrugged. “Lets get below before we start grab-assing.” She shoved past Masagh and Cleon. All that was left of the seen was a small pool of blood on the cobbles. Masagh rolled his shoulders and peered down the empty street before turning to follow Sabrione and Cleon back down into the safety of their dark haven...

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[Rune]

R E V I E W

Lore: 6

Points: 8, may be used for Reaving

Injuries/Ailments: Minor Injuries, 'healed' hundred of years ago.

Loot: None

Notes: Thrilling conclusion! Your use of slang terms for living people makes me happy.