Return to the Nachtmer author: Ian, Teri Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 22:52:23 EDT * * * Cirrus and Cumul crouched on their knees, faces pressed to the red dias. In the waking world, they appeared amorphous, their inhuman forms surrounded by a second skin of dark mist. Cirrus was curled by the right foot of his master, the spiny ridges of his back obscenely visible in his arched position. Cumul, framing the other side, made the crouch seem too graceful for words, as the creature was truly more fluid than skeletal. At the motion they felt rather than saw, they lifted their heads to the Ghanril. The cold draft of the fortress toyed with the skrims at their back. The Ghanril drummed red-gloved fingers against the scuplted arms of the throne while sweeping a cold gaze from one kneeler to the next. The two at the Ghanril's feet were vastly different- yet created from the same abstract stuff. If they moved in tandem, all the better for the Ghanril's purpose. "You will return to the Dream," The Ghanril began, fingers pausing their drumming long enough to scratch the skin under heavy chain mail. "Your report and my Dreamer's have been of great use. There is no need for you to remain, now, in Narada. Grib and his Four will await you in your usual chamber-- take them with you to the Nactmer." Cirrus and Cumul pressed their lips once more to the rug. The Ghanril had briefed them. They were to take the landliving Naradans to the dreamworld, to the fortress of the Nachtmer, and let them loose on the elementals. Cirrus's forked tongue danced around his scaled lips, and Cumul's gummy eyes danced with anticipation. There would be feasting. Whatever died in the Nactmer or Aethyr alike, never escaped. *** Kant rang the chime outside the General's Tent for yet another time that day. The barked command to enter saw him striding past the oiled flaps to a crisp salute at her desk. "General Lieh- reinforcements have arrived. I have the list of troops. Assembly will occur in five minutes." "Very good, Kant," Lieh said, taking the sheafs of paper he profferred. Long ago Kant had learned that Lieh wasted no time, ever. And she did not expect others to waste her time by asking when she wanted to do something. She wanted to do it now. Kant had seen many a second in command end up in the Passing for wasting too much of Lieh's time. She scanned the first sheaf-- scanning names and races and skills. Many of these soldiers she had worked with before. The Ghanril had done her a service by including them. It meant that she didn't have to retrain common scum to her standards. She had twenty five mages, three necromancers, two illusionists (for they usually came in pairs, to the north), 50 calvary and another 125 foot, comprised of humans, elves, Darnals, Mountain Grogs, and a few other species. She also had one Nuller, she noted with a proud tinge of surprise. Nullers were rare- very dangerous and very fragile. If close enough to an enemy mage, a Nuller could wipe out the effects of a spell, sometimes even clamp off the mage's Talent for a time. But it had to be close, and it had to use its energy wisely. They didn't have much. Lieh flipped to the second page, skimming lists of supplies and weaponry. She nodded, and placed them on the desk. Kant's jaw relaxed slightly- not enough to be visible, but enough to release tension in the muscles. No matter how many missions he had shared with the General, her displeasure was the one thing he was most terrified of. "And the young Captain?" Lieh said icily as she pushed back her chair. In three snaps, her clothes were free of dust and creases. "The general, you mean?" Lieh's eyes met Kant's with a look of agreement- but one that clearly conveyed her doubts that the boy had any right to the title. "I will have the report by evening. Tall is in the palace now." "Evening," Lieh stated, and left her tent. * * * Grib shifted uneasily in his post and looked over to his four subordinates. A mottled crew, no doubt, but effective none the less. Relgarth stood out the most though. A seven foot tall Minotaur has a habbit to. But despite his lack of...discrecion, Relgarth was one of his best men. The Minotaur had been hired at first for a routine sacking operation. In truth, the whole thing ended up being far from routine. Their opponents had been tipped off somehow, and they were waiting. It was only later that Grib found out it had been one of the more shifty of his troops that had sold him out for such a simple thing as protection and a bag of gold. Grib smirked as he remembered how loudly that scum had screamed as Relgarth, enraged at having been betrayed, broke his legs in three different places before snapping his neck. Yes, Relgarth had proved very useful, especially during battle. Grib was still impressed that the Minotaur could wield a two handed blade in each arm, and still move as quickly as he did. So, after he had collected his commission from that job, Grib had signed him on permanenetly. The second in his few was Lokos. A shrimp of a thief, the only reason Grib had decided to keep him in service was his uncanny way of getting exactly what he was told to get. That and the fact that the rogue could backstab like no one Grib had ever met. Lokos sometimes rammbled on about knowing exactly where all the soft spots were or some such, but Grib usually just ignored him. Despite his loyal record, Grib made it a point never to turn his back on that one. The last two were Grib's personal favorites. They were brothers, from some tribe across the seas, and two of the most vicious killers Grib had had the pleasure of meeting (himself excluded, of course). They practiced some sort of ritual magic, and knew a whole slew of tracking and trapping methods. That was primarily the reason that Grib had brought them along, to track these so called Chosen and get rid of them. The older one was named Il-Dalun. His skin was as dark as coal, and was covered in colorful tattoos and markings. 'To better find my prey' he had explained when Grib had asked about them. Grid had shrugged, himself not believing in that sort of superstition, but said nothing. The most disturbing aspect of this one was his absolute calm, and businesslike manner. Killing didn't bother him one bit. He wore a fetish of teeth around his neck like some macabre piece of jewelry. His brother, Sira-Ak-Oh, was the crazier of the two, if there was such a thing. Unlike his brother, who stood leaning against a long bone pole arm, this one crouched low, and walked with a visible stoop. He resembled a dog when running, a rabid one anyway. Oh, at the moment he was sane enough, but give him a taste of combat and bam. Grib recalled when Sira-Ak-Oh, in a fit of animalistic madness, had eviscerated the object of their assignment because the man had refused to give them his overdue tribute. They had found the money eventually, but Grib had taken it upon himself to dicipline the man severely. Hopefully that wouldn't happen again. However, Grib reminded himself, if the object of their assignment actually WAS killing, Grib would have had nothing against looking the other way if Sira-Ak-Oh decided to have a field day. Just then, the doors to the chamber opened to admit their field guides in this excursion. "Comander Grib," Cirrus hissed in acknowledgement, "have you briefed your men?" Grib nodded curtly. "Aye. Let's get this over with," Cumul smiled slyly. "As you wish," they agreed in tandem. Grib signalled to his troops, and they took their places. Cirrus and Cumul went to opposite sides of the chamber to stand upon two circles that had been drawn on the stone floor. A single line drew out from these circles, linking them to the rim of the much larger circle that housed Grib and his four. "You might feel a slight bit of discomfort," Cumul warned, chuckling. Cirrus smiled at the humor, then started the spell. The circles in which they were standing flashed to life. Black mist condensed out of no where, soon growing to carpet the hard, cold floor. Grib felt his stomach churn and the floor invert, but kept his statuesque demeanor. He heard Lokos groan, then the world went black. *** The night rolled on in the Nachtmer. Ever present and ever continuous, like the presence that rode the night. An almost-presence, for even when present, it was never quite there. It had created the Nachtmer, and everything it touched became part of the storm. Thunder rumbled softly over the blackened hills, and It was there in the thunder, even as it was here. The not-quite-presence could sense every entry into the Nachtmer, and most those in the Aethyr as well. That is, when it could tell that it was sensing something. Things were and weren't, and it only knew either when its own transient consciousness was present. It was conscious, now. Over the Hematitic Desert it knew that the venemous Scynn was waking from sleep, stretching scaled coils against the polished surface of the desert-the horrible screech of scale against stone was the Scynn's paralyzing cry. On the Netherward Rims, "netherward" for there truly was no direction in the Nachtmer, the Acid Clouds huddled and grumbled around the crests. The Rims had begun as the Razored Mountains, but even Time touched the Nachtmer as the Acid Clouds clustered there over centuries. It sensed just as clearly the exact moment the two hunters returned. Cirrus and Cumul, they called themselves-two creatures frighteningly conscious for being Nachtmer-born, conscious enough to give themselves names. Cumul stretched, feeling the soggy grey air reach his lungs and lubricated his limbs. Cirrus cracked a few joints and a toothy grin. It saw too, the four that had followed Cirrus and Cumul, and knew that Cirrus and Cumul had brought them. It did not wonder why, for wondering was quite beyond its capabilities at its present manifestation. Instead it simply absorbed the nature of the Naradans, and turned its limited consciousness back to its primary focus-that of another group of Naradans. And a Unicorn.