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[Memory] Where the Living Bleed
Posted: Thu Oct 13, 2022 1:58 pm
by Masagh
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.
Re: [Memory] Where the Living Bleed
Posted: Thu Oct 13, 2022 1:59 pm
by Masagh
The zombies did not necessarily move as thinking, soul-possessing opponents would. They shuffled forward regardless of what stood in their way. Masagh had to quickly adapt to wild and precarious attempts of one made over the shoulder of the other. For a few moments he had to put the task out of mind to keep them at bay.
However, soon an opportunity presented itself. Both zombies swung in long arcs over their head and in a flash of instinct he knew what he must do. Surging aether into the claymore, he gave his strike the extra power he needed.
Masagh met both blades above with a clash. He stepped close and dropped his forehead into one’s face. The impact left a bit of gore on his brow but it did what it was meant to do. The zombie was knocked backwards. Seizing the moment, he brought the pair of tangled blades down, angling the tip of his own towards the remaining zombie’s leg. In its ineptitude the things arm got in the way.
His strike found the outside of the zombie’s knee rather than its femoral. Masagh stepped back and readied his blade again. They did not pause.
He was given only a momentary reprieve. He had to find another way in. The aether stirred now, the pace and flow through his grip to the blade had grown. Masagh stepped, and with the movement poured the aether into the incoming strike. The result was apparent immediately.
The jarring impact was lessened, and the recovery was swifter. Masagh gathered the aether again and began timing the release with his strikes.
“Good, good, but don’t be wasteful. We’ve got hours yet.” The prospect of hours of outnumbered combat with two tireless thralls set Masagh’s teeth on edge. The claymore came up once again to meet the thralls.
Perhaps aether in every strike would indeed tire him quicker, but timing his use of it to gain advantage was certainly something he would continue to explore here. The zombies stepped forward, raising weapons. The claymore danced as he parried.
The blows came in a haphazard cadence that Masagh was nevertheless adapting to. He could make them stumble with the strength of his parries. If only he could force the leg open. Blades clashed again and he continued to look for the opening.
As he worked another of the Knights stepped into the circular walkway around the Training Ring, his claymore naked in his hand. Masagh knew better than to divert his attention.
“What Cleon?” Sabrione asked impatiently, stepping over to him while keeping an eye on the combat.
Masagh heard Clean murmur something in her ear. The only words he made out were ‘Inquisitor’ and ‘dungeon’. Sabrione hissed something back with the upward tonal change of a question. Then Clean responded with some sort of explanation and Sabrione sent him away.
All the while Masagh tried to force an opening. The lesson was not merely in the femoral strike, but in fighting to a specific purpose with less that ideal conditions. He had understood that immediately, the Weaponmaster. never taught one lesson when she could teach two.
As they came in Masagh drew in aether sharply. He diverted the first blade left and with the backward momentum struck the second hard enough to stagger the cadaver back a bit. In the space of recovery he surged the gathered aether into his blade and struck downwards towards the first zombie. His tip met flesh and dug deep into the thigh at the place Sabrione had indicated.
Masagh stepped back, freeing his blade and rolling his shoulders forward. He felt the small surge of triumph.
“A good hit, brother.” Sabrione said from where she watched. “What is more, your pact grows stronger.” She stepped out into the ring with the grace of a born killer. Bewildered, he watched her. What did she mean about his pact?
The Weaponmaster stepped up, sidestepped a zombie, and proceeded to return them to their docile state with two sharp taps. Then smiling in satisfaction she walked up tp him and nodded down at his claymore.
Masagh raised the blade and started a bit. There on the cold iron blade, under the surface, the faintest hint of a pattern rose along the flat of the blade like smoke. Upon closer inspection Masagh saw that it had forms within it.
Countless ghoulish faces, crude in their lack of detain and faded to the merest hint, stared back at him from within the blade.
“You learn well, brother.” Sabrione said once he had noticed the change. “You will have to find a name for it soon, now.” She meant the sword. Creth tradition dictated once a Reaver’s weapon manifested the soul tie, it earned a name, as it was in the ancient Empire. “Tomorrow night we may go on a raid in the city. You are ready to come with us.”
Her words brought his attention sharply up. “You are certain? What did Clean say?” Masagh asked, glancing down the tunnel towards the sewer dock where Cleon had surely come back from patrol.
“They caught an Inquisitor alive. She gave them battle and lost. But Cleon thinks he can get some intelligence from her still. I’ll leave you with these two to train on your own for a while.” Sabrione said, jutting her chin towards the zombies. “Cleon requires my gentle touch to persuade her.”
Re: [Memory] Where the Living Bleed
Posted: Wed Nov 02, 2022 11:28 pm
by Rune
R E V I E W
Lore: 6
Points: 8, can be used for Reaving
Injuries/Ailments: None
Loot: None
Notes: Gruesome, entertaining and informative, great job!