Thursday, December 29, 2005

Tales of the Rancid Blade: Part Three: Captured

Succubus Ylanoo was breathing heavily. Standing in a field. Her upper torso rising and falling with each breath. Short stubby grasses surrounded her on the gentle slope. A line of blood and button sized drops were scattered on her burnt orange amour. The blood continued onto the flesh of her exposed shoulder. The blood of grots was everywhere. It covered the ground and amongst it lay the chucks and forms of the rag covered bodies of small green goblins. She held her whip Agoniser to one side catching her breath. It writhed of its own accord. Her gladiators stood nearby in similar states of recovery. The sheer volume was almost overwhelming. Every time she had drawn her whip it had felled scores of them and still there were more. During the fight she had seen Dylathu literally picking them up and cleaving them apart with his Hydra Knives. None of the elves had fallen but they had been taxed.

What trickery was this? She asked herself. She had fought vile orks before but this fight was beneath her. The grots offered no resistance beyond their sheer volume. She looked up to see her raider being pelted with small slugs, it jerked about in the air, the impacts not really damaging it. Then a massive shell hit the front scoop of the raider lifting the gunner from his position and pulverizing the craft. Two of the gunner’s limbs came free of his body as the impact carried him. The flaming wreck of the Raider hit the ground before the gunner’s body did. She turned toward the direction the shot had come from and saw another mammoth swarm of these insignificant grots. They were close. Shells started hitting her brethren. Her rage at being forced to fight these pathetic adversaries was almost equalized with being caught in the open. It was all that sustained her.

One of her sparing partners, Accolade Gumath was hit in the jaw by a slug and his head came apart. Another wych fell, a shell hitting his chest armor, searing through it, and clearing a massive cavity in his back. Ylanoo loosed a cracked armor plate from her leg and ran toward the grots. It fell away like so may of her peers. This fight was punishment for her disloyalty. Her lord had become displeased with her. He had sent her to fight the foe that was most beneath her. Having her kill these was his way of punishing her. When the wyches finally hit the grots there were only three of the gladiators left. Ylanoo’s Agonzier flew into the ranks of raging grots splitting one clear in half. It seemed like there were hundreds of them. One seemed to almost fly out of the crowd and hit her in the head. He hung on. Another leapt up fastening himself to her wrist with a bite. Ylanoo pulled them off but they came back faster than they could be removed.

She saw the nets fly overhead and glanced to see her last peer pulled to the ground. A long rusty knife slid into the side of his neck, the goblin grinning. The net pulled her to the ground, her shoulder striking the dense earth. The mob closed in. She screamed not in pain but in anguish. The ultimate punishment had been metered out upon her. She was a captive to the lowest, a prisoner of the weakest, a plaything of the playthings. As they holstered her bound form up over them she pined for that rusty blade.

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