From: bradkwillis@aol.com (BKWillis) Date: 19 Dec 2001 05:02:40 GMT Subject: Re: A story we can all create.. ---- "Whither from here, Overworlder?" Rahaaz asked, peering warily into the unlit plaza outside. Babydoll stretched a kink out of her back as she joined the big Servii at the doorway. Across the plaza, the buildings seemed, from what she could tell in the dark, to be in a better state of repair than the half-ruined wrecks they'd been creeping through. A few blocks beyond that, they could see the glow of streetlamps and lighted windows from what was obviously an inhabited sector of the vast city. Further in the distance, at the city's center, a bright pillar of radiance marked the main towers, the Witch- Spires, as the Servii called them. "We should--" Babydoll began, then broke off into a deep yawn. "We should stop here, I think," she finished. "While thy master still be captive?" the War Captain demanded. "Yeah," the blonde replied simply. "We should stop and rest and recover our strength. I'm assuming old One-Eye is up in one of those towers, right?" "Captives of the Skyborn are taken to the Witch-Spires, yes," Rahaaz replied. Babydoll nodded. "And at the rate we're going, it'll be well into the morning before we get there, even if we keep moving all night. We'll be in the thick of these sky-rats, outgunned, with Bella's powers at low ebb and all the rest of us tired as Hell." Rahaaz looked back at his crouching soldiers. Many of the Servii were rubbing at sore muscles and one or two had sprawled out to take the weight off their feet. Even the iron constitutions of the Servii raiders had been sore tested by the hours of hard riding, two arduous climbs, and a night march through unfamiliar territory. "Thou speak'st true, Overworlder," the War Captain said at last. "It be a hard thing to be unblinded by the glorious moment before us." His mouth twisted into a rare and rather unnerving Servii smile. "Our elders teach us that it is a weakness to give not thy soul to the madness of battle-joy, but I begin to think it may not be so. Perhaps a cool head may win battles that the hottest fury cannot?" Babydoll merely shrugged, too tired to be concerned with Servii philosophy, while Rahaaz turned and slipped back into the shadows to see to his troops' disposition. The building they were in had evidently been a factory of some sort in the dim past. The pitted hulks of great machines loomed at every turn, some falling to piles of rust at the smallest touch. There was a lower level of sorts, accessible by crawling down a fallen mechanical carcass, that seemed a good enough place for concealment and the Servii bedded down among the crevices and hollows formed by the tangles of pipes and rotted conveyor belts, leaving two of their number atop as sentries. Babydoll was trying to work out that troublesome kink in her lower back as she settled into one of the corners, putting her shoulders against the safety of two walls. She could just make out the dim bulk of the Servii nearest her in the sickly streamers of moonlight that filtered in from above. She tried not to dwell on the fact that their hiding-place would make an excellent dead-end trap if they were discovered. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on getting the tension out of her muscles enough to get a decent rest. The climb up the rope had put a tremendous strain on her arms and back and it wouldn't do to be at less than tip-top fighting trim... Her eyes snapped open and she stifled a cry as she felt something touch her lightly on the shoulder. Her machine pistol was already out of its holster by the time she realized it was just Bella crouching over her in the dark. Putting the gun away with a muttered oath, she whispered, "What are you doing, Fangs? Trying to scare me out of my pants?" Bella laughed softly, night-quiet. "I might say something about that, but I won't, Pigtails," she murmured. "I merely bring my report to my commander, as a proper scout should." Though Babydoll could barely see the smaller woman, she somehow caught an impression of an ironic smile. "Yeah, and...?" "And the area around this building seems completely deserted. I saw no signs of life and the only human scents are old and fading. A week or more since anyone was last here, Madam General." Bella swept her arm up in a languid salute, thumping her bare heels together. "Good report, bad sarcasm," the blonde grunted, wincing at another twinge in her back. "You're hurt?" the vampire asked, a hint of concern in her voice. "Nah, just a sore muscle, is all," Babydoll replied, rubbing at the spot. "That climb was-- What are you doing?" Bella had slipped down beside her and was tracing a hand down Babydoll's shoulders and back, her touch like falling feathers. "It's no wonder you're sore," the vampire remarked. "Your muscles are bunched like sailors' knots. Here, turn a little." "I asked what you were doing," Babydoll whispered dangerously, making no move to obey. "I am trying," Bella sighed with just a hint of asperity, "to get you to turn around so I can do something about this pain in your back, Madam Stubborn General." "I'll be fine," Babydoll snapped, trying to shrug off her touch. "No, you won't. You'll be stiff and sore and slow and get yourself killed and the rest of us into the bargain." As she spoke, Bella's fingers kneaded and pressed along the taut muscles of Babydoll's shoulders, blithely ignoring her patient's attempts to shake her off. Even as she started to protest more, Babydoll had to admit that the girl's touch was making her relax more by the second. The vampire's hands were small and gentle, but surprisingly strong and she seemed to know just where all the sore spots were. Against her better judgment, Babydoll found herself letting go of her tension and allowing honest sleep to creep up on her. "Damn it," she mumbled around a yawn. "We've never gotten along. So why are you being nice to me now?" "Because you're letting me," Bella eventually answered, but by then Babydoll was asleep. ---- Xel was asleep in the back section of the Overworlders' so-called 'office' when she was awakened by the sound of several people rummaging about in the main room. Creeping to the door, she peeked out to see several ornately-armored Servii sorting through a large iron chest that sat by the table while another Servii, more plainly-armored and covered in dust, leaned against the wall, coughing, a leather sack clenched in one clawed fist. One of them had lit the lamps, casting a flickering radiance over the scene. "It is here!" exclaimed one of the searching warriors, straightening up with a large scroll in his hand. As he turned and unrolled the parchment on the table, Xel recognized him as War Chief Ghorlok, while the other was one of his War Captains. The lesser Servii was still coughing and the War Captain glanced around the room, finally noticing Xel's frightened face. "Slave!" he shouted. "Fetch drink, at once!" Hurriedly, Xel, cast her eyes around the anteroom, finally noticing a jug of the bitter orange Servii brew. Though it was always best to avoid the Servii altogether, quick obedience was the best policy when given orders by one. She grabbed up the half-full jug and darted out to hand it to the War Captain, who took it with a grunt and gave it to the dust-covered warrior. Xel had time to see that the parchment was a large map before she hastily skittered back into the shadows and hopefully away from further notice. The warrior stopped coughing long enough to take a long pull from the jug. When he finally set it aside, his coughing abated and he seemed to revive a bit. He wiped his mouth with the back of one dirty arm and joined the others at the table. "Where, Zulkaat?" Ghorlok demanded, pointing at the map. The warrior peered at the map for a moment, tracing a route with a claw, then finally stabbed his finger decisively at one spot. "There, War Chief!" he declared. "At that point, where the ridge doth curve to the south. There our patrol didst come upon them!" Ghorlok snarled a low curse as he examined the location. "And thou wert certain of thy foe's numbers?" he asked. "Aye, War Chief. At least five hundred did I make them, ere we withdrew." The warrior grinned wickedly. "But thou might count them less by threescore, now. Our blades and muskets did fearful work!" Ghorlok was caught in his own thoughts, though, tapping a claw on the map. "An thou didst see five hundred, there shall be thousands more thou didst not," he muttered. "Let there be a hundred thousand!" exclaimed the War Captain. "We shall sweep them before us, no matter their numbers." "Aye, War Chief," agreed Zulkaat. "The brutes know not steel nor powder, nor even the bow. They have not armor nor riding-beast, either." "Well might we crush them," grunted Ghorlok, "did we battle them in desert or open plain. But an we must dig them from a fortified ridge-line, the battle will be the harder." "The greater the glory, then," argued the War Captain. "Mayhap. But the Cause of the Sacred Land be not their destruction, but the conquest of Vale and Skyborn. How shall we strike the Vale if we expend our strength in the breaking- through?" As the other two Servii paused to consider this, another figure entered the room. It was a small Servii woman, bent with age and draped in a cloak of rough-stitched animal-skins. She leaned heavily on a staff of gurvuk-bone and as she hobbled into the light, Xel could see that her deep-seamed face had been tattooed with strangely twisted patterns in red and blue, joining in a starburst pattern around her middle eye. Unusually, the three male Servii gave back a little before her as she clumped to the table, keen old eyes watching them like a circling gallows-bird's. "You have need of the Portents, War Chief?" she asked in a cracked yet still very strong voice. "Aye, Exalted Greatmother," Ghorlok replied. "The Golden Apes fortify the approaches to the Snouted Devil's lands and the Overworlders be not here. A strike against their works might gain us swift lodgement and buy time 'til the Overworld wizard's return--" "But all thy strength be not assembled," the crone finished. "A chancy thing it be, then. I shall read the Portents for thee, that ye may choose the wise course." The War Chief looked to Zulkaat, who stepped forward and placed his bag on the table, then swiftly withdrew. Cackling softly, the old woman upended the sack and dumped out its contents, a shaggy, yellow-furred head. The thing was still oozing slightly from the neck, leaving a smear where it lay. It had a long-jawed, apish face with three yellow eyes under a heavily-ridged brow. The crone smoothed out the bristly fur as she ran her fingertips along the skull, then finally pointed at a spot just above the right ear. "That be the spot, War Chief," she grunted. "Strike ye true!" The War Captain grabbed the ape's head and held it still as Ghorlok drew his broadsword and swung it down onto the spot she'd indicated. The blade bit deep, splitting the skull nearly to the jawline. Nodding her approval, the old woman next held out her arm over the gashed head and jabbed a long needle into her flesh. A tiny dribble of blood welled out and dropped into the split skull. Then she poured a small vial of dark powder in after it. Zulkaat handed her one of the lamps and she carefully held it down against the bloody ape head, letting its flame play across the gash. There was a sudden blast of sparks and an odor of singed meat. "All is as it should be," the crone intoned, setting aside the lamp. She then thrust a hand through the sword-gash and into the head's brain-pan, where she rooted around for a long moment. Finally, with a cry of triumph, she withdrew her gore-spangled hand and smeared the mess of blood and brains along the table-top. The other Servii crowded around as the Exalted Greatmother stared at the gray-red streaks. "The Portents are clear," she declared. "I see the sons of the Sacred Land storming the great ridges and carrying all before them! I see the Golden Apes and their masters dying under the guns and swords of the Servii! I see the Lord of the Vale confounded in his aims! His way is barred by a man thrice-born and a child of broken flowers! Strength shall arise from the hearts of the people! Allies both expected and strange to ye shall fight at thy side!" "Shall victory be ours?!" the War Captain eagerly demanded. "'Tis in the laps of the gods," the old woman replied. "As are all things ever. But they show favor, gifting us with a charm for good fortune." "What charm do the gods grant, Exalted Greatmother?" Ghorlok asked. "The gods have set their mark... _there_!" the old woman cried, thrusting a withered finger at Xel, who was watching the proceedings from the back room. "What, the slave child?" asked the War Chief. "Aye," the crone replied, not taking her eyes from Xel's. "Step out here, youngling," she commanded and somehow, despite her instinctive fear, Xel found herself almost compelled to obey. She walked over and stood trembling before the Servii. "'Tis but a spratling!" scoffed Zulkaat. "Who art thou, slave-child?" the Greatmother asked. "I-I'm Xel. I'm the s-servant to the Overworlder, Lady Bella." Xel tried not to pull away as the crone set an age-spotted hand on her head. "So thou art," the old woman replied. "Thou hast the scent of her 'pon thee and doth bear a mark, dost thou not?" Xel glanced at the cut Bella had made on her hand and held it out for the Greatmother to see. "Ah," the crone sighed. "'Tis as I saw. Thou art marked by the gods and the Overworld and art sure to bring fortune where thou dost go." She reached out the blood-caked hand she'd used for the ritual and marked a sunburst in ape-blood on Xel's forehead. She then turned to face War Chief Ghorlok. "When thou dost ride against the Vale, take this child with thee. She shall be thy talisman, bringing thee the boon of the gods!" "Aye," whispered Ghorlok, face full of superstitious awe. The Greatmother took Xel by the arm, not ungently, and began to hobble for the door with the girl in tow. "I shall present her to thy troops on the morrow, War Chief," she cackled. Turning to Xel, she muttered, "Come, child, and let us get thee looking the part of a proper Servii battle-charm..."