Amid the Falling Snow, A Tale of Cold Murder

[Verdict]

“Ged,” she said, “such vows are unnecessary. You need not risk your honor for my sake.” The smile she gave him was wan, tired. “If what I am might be doubted then I must give such proofs as I can, or do without. Elenduriel would not send me here this distance were it not possible that I could resolve this quest. And I do believe it was for this purpose, these attacks, that I was sent.” She lifted a tired hand to forestall any words. “Understand to whom I am dedicated, though. It is not the desire of Retribution’s aspect to bring peace here to Forestfall – that would be Justice’s domain – but rather to bring revenge to the one who causes the action.” Her smile was wan. “In your case I believe it amounts to the same thing.”

She moved to a chair, and sat down gratefully; her legs were tired. “The lack of paladins in the world can be directly traced to the lack of gods, since we require them to exist,” she pointed out, a little wryly. “I an assure you that in the decades to come there will be more of us, and some will certainly be more hardheaded and set in their pride than I.” The look she gave Runner was apologetic. “Even if you prefer that I rescind my claim to that title, I would not undo the healing of your brother that the Dragon’s aspect of my goddess has granted.” She raised her eyebrows. “Nor do I think you would have me do such, either, were it even in my power.”

She pulled the braid over her shoulder and rested her tired arms on her legs. “Not that I do not wish to solve this problem with all alacrity but I am, I’m afraid, only human.” Her glance was amused. “Not to mention much younger than all but you,” she said to Runner, whose stare, though still hostile, had softened. “For now all I can say is, keep close, and don’t wander off alone. Until I’ve had a chance to go through anything you might remember about the attack… I don’t want to pick up fragments and come to the wrong conclusions. I would ask now but it is late and I am tired, and bound to miss important things. The goddess’s blessings do not come without their toll; I would have to rest, and eat.” She looked at Kilead. “If I am too much trouble to you,” she put simply, “I would be more than willing to make up the difference between myself and a regular customer in coin.” At least it would not be a bar to her, financially.

“Besides which,” she said, trying to keep the tiredness from her voice, “it would be better if Ged and I” she deliberately included him “quested all three of you together. And that will have to wait until Jos wakes.” Her grey eyes took in his quietly resting form. “Sometime around dawn, I would guess. Watch over him, please, and let me know if anything happens; I will return if things turn wrong.” Mayella’s expression showed her fear. “He will be well,” Verdict said, softly reassuring, though in the back of her mind the irony of her comforting the married woman was strange indeed. “Watch over him, and send for me if he wakes.” She touched Mayella’s arm gently; the woman nodded slowly, searching her face as if for reassurance. Verdict kept her private worries and her tiredness carefully masked, remembering when Elenduriel had first explained and taught her to do so.

The mere act of thinking of her Goddess gave Verdict enough strength to rise to her feet. “Ged,” she said, beckoning him away from the others so they could talk unheard in quiet tones. “I will say straight out that whatever it was that attacked Jos, Will, and Runner was no ordinary thing. The stain of corruption on that wound was virulent and deep.” She said the words swiftly and without mincing them. “I do not think much aside from the gods could have healed him.” Her voice was flat to drive her point home. “It would be foolish to think that this attack and your miller’s murder are unrelated. And if that’s the case, this is much bigger than a mere grudge between one man and another. Do you know anything, anyone, that might have animosity for more than just one person here? I don’t care how far fetched our outlandish it sounds. There are powerful forces in the world aside from the gods and they have strange ends and stranger means. I do not want to leave anything out. It is something powerful enough to enlist the aid of a paladin, remember.” She smiled faintly. “There is only one of me, so it is not likely to be minor.” She touched his arm with one hand to forstall him from talking. “Don’t tell me now. Speak in the morning, after you have given it thought. Before I ask questions of the Dersons I must rest and more importantly… pray.”

She nodded to the others, clustered now around the sleeping Jos, and went quietly for the door. Kilead was waiting for her outside, giving her an inscrutable look that she didn’t feel obligated to answer. They walked back through the growing dusk to his inn, and she took a seat, and he served her from stew that was slow-heating from dinner over the fire; and neither of them spoke. She out of tiredness, and he for reasons he did not reveal.

“Will you need anything else?” he said at length, unwilling to disturb the silence. She shook her head, and he vanished through one of the doors. Once through he leaned against the wall and murmured. “A paladin…” and shook his head. Verdict looked in his direction, and then turned back to the food; she was so tired she almost could not taste it.

She didn’t remember stumbling up the stairs or shedding her armor, but she must have because when she woke she was tangled in the coverlets on her bed, still in her day clothes but not wearing the chainmail or her sword. She blinked at the darkness outside, still disoriented, and decided it must be an hour or so till dawn. No one had come to wake her during the night; that might mean that Jos was well.

She rose, stretching, looking again out the window at the silent streets below. The rest had done her wonders; she felt more alert with every moment. Considering, she knelt quietly beside the bed to pray for fortitude, endurance, and certainty. She had the distinct feeling she would need all three… and more… before the day was out.

[Ged Winterfell]

After Verdict had left the Derson homestead with Kilead, silence had reigned. Everyone had stood still, each with his or her own thoughts. Jos was still unconscious by the fire, his breathing even and deep. Then Mayella moved, going to her husband’s side to whisper a short prayer. She then looked up.

“Well. There’s nothing more we can do. We might as well all get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

The family jumped into action, Dana and Emily kneeling down to pick up the remnants of the herbs Ged had used and the water bowl. Runner and Will both came up to the battlemage. Will spoke first.

“Goodnight Ged, and… thanks.” The hunter then turned and went upstairs.

Runner stepped forward, his face a myriad of emotions. He held out his hand, which Ged shook firmly.

“Thank you Ged. And when you see her, the paladin, Verdict I mean… Thank her for me will you?”

“I will” answered the mercenary “It’s fine, really. She understands.”

“Yes” replied Runner “but… it’s just right I suppose. Goodnight Ged, I’ll see you later.”

Mayella was last. She pulled the mercenary into a tight embrace, which Ged, if tentatively, returned. She looked up into his eyes with her tear-streaked face.

“Thank you” she said “For everything. You and your friend have done something miraculous this night. I will not forget that.”

Ged could not find anything to say, everyone’s words had put him at a loss. He just nodded dumbly. Mayella nodded in understanding and led him to the door in silence. Outside, snow had begun to fall again lightly, the moon and stars covered by dark clouds. Ged stepped off the Derson’s porch into the falling snow and when he reached the small wooden gate at the property’s entrance, he turned.

“Be careful” he said to Mayella, who was standing in the doorway watching him.
Jos’s wife nodded sadly before closing the door.

<>

Ged did not return home. There were too many things on his mind for sleep, even though his body screamed for rest. He wandered the snowy silent streets of Forestfall, his path illuminated by the warm glow of golden light that splashed over the ground from building windows. Snow pelted his face softly and his breath misted in the air. The crunch of his black leather boots the only sound that rang off the surrounding building walls.

Even among all this chaos and uncertainty, there is still peacefulness and beauty. Thought Ged. He smiled with the irony of it all.

He wandered for over an hour, alone with his thoughts. After a while the comforting glow from building windows receded behind him and he found himself outside the village on the trail to the Icewater. He could hear the roar of the river’s powerful current even from this distance. Far ahead of him, a small pinprick of light that grew ever larger cut the darkness and provided a goal for Ged’s wanderings. Minutes later Ged stood before the mill, it’s windows dark and cold. The light came from a lone lantern hanging over the entrance. It, like everything else, was dusted with a light covering of snow.

The battlemage brushed some of the white powder off the door handle and turned it. It was not locked, and opened inward with a creak of unoiled hinges. The interior was pitch black. Ged held out his palm. “Light for me.” He whispered.

A small yellow flame burst into life above his outstretched palm. The flames did not burn but provided an ample enough amount of light. The illumination cast long shadows on the walls and all the corners were patches of inky blackness. He walked quickly to the flight of stairs to the second floor. There he found the door to Kullen’s office ajar.

Ged’s summoned light fell across the noose that had killed the miller, its length still tied to the rafters eight feet above. Pools of dried blood, their stains dark black in the poor light, were spattered under the noose. Behind it, on the wall, Ged saw the message.

The mercenary went to the wall, peering closely at the text written in blood:

MAY RETRIBUTION FALL ON THE ONES WHO DESERVE IT. THE VERDICT HAS BEEN NAMED, MAY THE ACCUSED FEEL ITS WRATH.

Ged studied the grim words, pondering an answer to Verdict’s question. He could find none.

Finally, after a half hour, Ged turned and left the mill, closing the entrance door with the same loud creak. He extinguished his magical flame and headed down the trail to the small points of light that marked Forestfall.

<>

Nynaeve was still awake when Ged arrived. He stepped through the front door quietly, as to not wake Dern who was fast asleep by the fireside. She ran into his arms, burying her face into his chest. He held her close, both saying nothing. Trouble (who Ged had given to Dern to watch over when he arrived in Forestfall) was sleeping peacefully on a perch in the room’s corner. Nynaeve looked up, her face questioning.

“Will everything be alright?” she asked.

“I can’t say.” Replied Ged. “But you’ll be fine, I promise. How was the ceremony?”

Nynaeve’s smile at his reassurance faded some into a gloomy look.

“It was fine. Brother Jerald said a few words, along with Elder Lasterman and a few others and the body was placed within the tomb.”

“Well, that’s good, I suppose.” Ged replied somewhat lamely. He yawned.

“Come” said Nynaeve “I’ve gotten the cots out for tonight. It’s too cold everywhere else in the house. She led the mercenary to two single-man cots laid out by the fire on each side of Dern. The two climbed in and drifted off to sleep to the sound of the wind outside picking up speed to a howl.

<>

The day dawned bright and cloudless. Ged rose before both Nynaeve and Dern though Trouble was awake and alert, her golden eyes piercing. The mercenary took his companion off her perch and placed her on his shoulder. He then wrote a quick note telling where he had gone.

Outside the snow had rose to a height about calf deep. The wind last night had been something fierce and had brought a minor blizzard along with it. As he struggled through the snow to Kilead’s he could see ominous clouds gathering around the Direspike. More snow was on the way. Probably would arrive sometime late this afternoon.

The streets were empty, everyone holed up in their respective houses to wait out the coming storm. When he arrived at Kilead’s, he found the place deserted and no lights on in the common room as he looked though the window, which was oddly, broken. Cold wind blew through the opening along with stray flakes of snow. From inside he could hear something. Was that sobbing?

Unnerved, Ged opened the door and stepped inside. The noise, most definitely sobbing now, was coming from behind the common room’s counter. Looking over, Ged found Kilead with tears running down his face into his short beard holding the body of a young man in his arms. A look of shock and pain was on the dead man’s face, as if he had been taken by surprise.

“Kilead, what happened?” asked Ged with concern.

The tavern owner looked up, grief in his eyes.

“I don’t know. I left Jack in charge of the place when I took you two to the Derson’s last night. When I returned with Verdict I went strait to the kitchens to get her some food, then went to bed. I didn’t see Jack so I guessed that he had gone home. I didn’t find the… the… the body until this morning. No one had been in the common room last night, I closed up shop when the crowd arrived, remember? I just wanted Jack here to make sure nothing happened. And I found this stuck in his back.” Kilead indicated to the counter, on which rested a dagger. A small green band was wrapped around the hilt. Ged recognized it immediately. All hunters in Forestfall color-coded their weapons so if they were lost then found later they could be returned. Green was the Derson’s color.

“What am I going to say to his mother and father?” Kilead moaned “He was the best help I had. When I retired I was going to give him the place. He always loved it here.”

Ged could not find consoling words for his friend, but Kilead continued, his grief-stricken face changing into one of anger and hate.

“Whoever killed Jack will rue the day I find him. I won’t rest until the sick twisted bastard that did this rests in the bowels of Hell. That I swear!”

[Verdict]

(apologies for the delay)

She came out of a strange trance of power, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. There was so much to be accomplished and so little time in which to do it. She had revealed herself with her acts the night before for better or worse; there would be rumors enough about her now. Let them know me for what I am.

Sighing, she stirred at last, stripping out of her old clothes from the day before and pulling new ones neatly rolled from her pack. The red wool, reinforced with leather, was soft against her skin. She unraveled her braid, brushed it out, and reworked it, wrapping the end with a bit of string. Carefully coiling it about her head she pinned it neatly into place, patting it to be sure nothing came free.

She turned to the armor she had so neatly laid out two days before, running her fingers over it. It was well made but there was no power laid in the steel aside from that. The strength of this armor came from the person within. Retribution’s sigils decorated it, but it was the aspect embodied in the wearer that made them true and fierce. If she donned the armor she would accept that aspect and her pursuit would be unrelenting.

A dragon and a panther fought in gold on the breastplate; they climbed the backs of the gauntlets with the heads on the backs of her hands. On the ridge of her right shoulder the Panther stalked; on her left, a figurine of the Dragon hunted. In their tiny claws they clutched the edge of a crimson three-quarters cape falling to mid-thigh. She looked at herself in the fragment of mirror over the washstand, really little more than highly burnished metal. All the gold and crimson flashed and gleamed even in the weak pre-dawn light. She could have walked into a king’s court and not been out of place, but here in Forestfall…

“Let them know me,” she told the reflection with serene smoke-grey eyes, and set the helm on her head. It was fashioned in the shape of a panther so that her face was framed by the gaping maw; and on a hinge inside the helmet rested the mask that she pulled smoothly down to hide her face. So she stared out of a dragon’s narrowed eyes, her expression hidden by the armor.

Last she picked up her sword, and wrapped the belt securely about her waist. Automatically her hand sought the hilt. On the right side she was the Panther, and the panther came to slay; and on her left she was the Dragon. Calling down healing with one hand and death with the other.

She looked at the armored figure in the mirror and did not recognize the girl from the tiny village at the feet of the mountains. She saw the Verdict of the Stars, the Paladin of Retribution, Emissary of the Shadow Hunter and the dark side of Justice. And what would they see when they looked on her? She could only guess.

She walked into the common room to the sound of an oath that would turn any mind attuned to Retribution. “Take care, Master Kilead, what words you speak,” she said distantly. “There are those who hear them, who you never imagined might be listening.” The innkeeper turned towards her, and she watched the expression that broke through even his sorrow and masked his emotions behind the tears still trickling down his face. “Don’t sacrifice your humanity for the sake of revenge.” Her smile was invisible behind the dragon/panther helm. “That is my prerogative. Let me bear the Verdict for which I’m named.”

Her head shifted just enough to look at Ged. “I have questions for the Dersons,” she said. “After which I would go to the mill.” She read the inquisitive glance. “The storm will not bar my way.”

As inhuman as stone she crossed to their side, and knelt before the still body of the young man. “Much that might have been can no longer come to be,” she said softly, almost a whisper, and laid the backs of her armored fingers along his cold face. “Avari guide your endless dreams, Pathos guide your hand, and may the Shadow Hunter watch over you. Let your spirit ride to the netherworld on the Dragon’s wings.” She looked down on him a moment longer, as if searching for something in the still lines of his face; and then she rose. Aware that Kilead, still holding the boy’s quiet form, looked up at her. Wordlessly she picked up the killing knife and slid it into her belt, behind the sheath of her sword. “The mill, Ged,” she said, and turned to go.

She stepped out into the snow, reaching out in wordless pleading to Elenduriel. The violent drifts veered away inches from her armor, leaving her wrapped in a cocoon of unmoving air as she crossed the violent wind to the Derson’s house. She closed her fist and banged on the door once – twice – and heard someone scrambling to answer it on the other side. She waited.

And walked in when Runner stared at her with wide eyes, banging the door shut behind her. “Master Derson,” she said in a voice cold and high as winter in the mountains. Eyes like smoke met his from behind the dual mask. “I am here in my capacity as Elenduriel’s paladin to investigate the murders and attacks occurring in or near the vincinity of Forestfall. I am to understand you and your brothers were witness to one such, and require their presence.” She didn’t make it a request, but rather a command. And she put an edge on her voice to make it clear that were it not fulfilled she would see to it herself.

He nodded and vanished up the stairs she remembered leading to Jos’s room. She withdrew her hand from the hilt of her sword, pacing, and looked out into the storm. Nearly eight inches had come down in the night and early morning and the sky threatened more before the day was out. Even Elion would have difficulty in that kind of weather. But then she would find a way; as she always did.

She turned at quiet sounds behind her to see the Dersons crowd into the room, examining her with wide or stoic eyes by turn. She faced them, folding her arms across her breastplate, looking at them evenly to absorb their scrutiny. Do you see me for what I am? her grey eyes asked them; hunting about for chairs and stools to sit on they didn’t answer. Jos sank back into the most comfortable one, his face still pale; he looked as if he had woken only moments ago. Runner and his wife went to stand protectively by his side. Will found a place by the fire. They all looked at her expectantly.

“A young man was found dead this morning in the inn,” she said without preamble. She raised her voice to override the whispers. “I do not know his name, only that Kilead’s grief was acute. And that he was killed with this.” She pulled out the knife and tossed it on the floor; it skidded a few feet and spun to a stop. The Dersons eyed it as if it were a viper. “Whose is it?” she asked, her voice iron.

Jos, leaning back heavily in his chair, said very quietly, “I think it’s mine…”

Verdict turned to him, nodded, and clasped her hands behind her back. “As I thought,” she ground out in that dead even voice.

“You can’t be suggesting that I…”

“Don’t be a fool,” she snapped. “You were unconscious and near death yourself at the time. I am merely pointing out that it is as close to proof available that your attacker and the one who killed Jack are the same. By association it is likely that your miller is entangled in the same killing plot that almost ended your life.” She didn’t soften the words and he sat back, looking at the red-armored figure and remembering that her presence was the only thing that had kept him from dying.

Runner did not seem so sure. He fixed Verdict with a cold glance. “Or it could be that…” he hesitated.

She paused, turning to face him. “That I am the killer?” she finished in cold simplicity; no one moved. She laughed and the metal distorted the midnight sound. There was no mirth in it. “Rest assured Master Runner if I had intended any person in this village dead they would no longer be breathing. If I had wanted Jos killed—” the sword came out of the scabbard in a blink. Will was on his feet in an instant the knife in his hand. She could read the fear so easily on his features, though hers were blank, even behind the dragon mask. Elenduriel had taught her and she had not forgotten.

She spun the blade in her hands, so that she was holding it out to them horizontally; she ran one armored finger just behind the leading edge. “See how it glows,” she said quietly. “The edge is mythril, elven-enchanted; it betrays the presence of enemies of its bearer. Look; the glow is there but distant. Up in the hills I would guess, in a cave to wait out the storm. Longing to come here and douse its hands again in blood. The blood of friends…” her head pivoted to look at Jos, who shifted uncomfortably. “…or brothers,” she added. The blade whispered home in its sheath, extinguishing the eerie light. They all stared at her, still very much on edge. She didn’t blame them.

“The storm rolling in will keep everyone close. Do not wander alone. Take no chances. Go armed. Do not leave the house if need not be. And…” her glance strayed over them. “If you remember anything at all about your attacker, now would be the time.”

(stopping for sheer length reasons)

[Tabum]

(OOC: Just a quick note, these “dark gods” that Tabum refers to do not exist, though some of them are rooted in actual demons that dwell somewhere in the lands, whether in this plane or the other. Also, a WARNING; three murders in a short period of time, two of which are rather gory and disgusting for the weak-of-stomach. I will highlight the two gory ones in red.)

Dawn was beginning to illuminate the sky, and then the mountains themselves. Tabum sat looking out across the town, seeing as it began to be buried in snow. He wasn’t paying too much attention to the town, however, but was rather thinking about exactly who would warrant their own sacrificial slaughter to the Blood God. He had noticed that the male visitor, Ged Winterfell he had heard him be called, seemed to have a lover.

Immediately, when Tabum had first learned of this, he thought that she would be the one to kill, to give her blood to bring forth a blood demon, but she wasn’t pure enough, for she had a child. ‘Twas a shame, really, that the dark gods tended to lose their interest in female sacrifices if they had given up their purity. Tabum could never figure out why, since that meant that it was either easier to strike at their hearts, and rip their souls to shreds, filling them with gloom, despair, and sorrow for all eternity, or it would mean that they would do whatever was willed of them, because they had no sense of self-pride, or if they did, then it could be bought from them, or persuaded in some other manner. Tabum laughed coarsely. Oh how deep corruption ran in the hearts of mortals!

However, she had a child, which meant that even if she was useless, the boy was not. Yes, the boy would serve a suitable sacrifice, and it would tear at the heart of this Ged Winterfell. Even so, something else troubled him. Either Ged was polygamous, or this other visitor was some other force on the battlefield, something that would need to be neutralized. He had his suspicions about who she was, but none of them were confirmed.

Tabum decided not to worry about who she was just yet, but noted that he had to remain cautious with her. He moved his chaotic mind, with difficulty, back to planning about how to execute the sacrifice to Khorne, the Blood God. He would need a suitable manner in which to bind the boy to prepare his body and soul. Something dark, something maleficent. He knew what spell would be needed, and what material. Tabum would need a black, cast-iron chain, and, with the slaughter of tree souls, a spell-ritual to corrupt the chain so that it would burn with malevolence powerful enough to sear flesh, twist the mind, darken the soul, burn cloth, and corrode metal into rusty, useless chunks. He had seen it work. Such darkness could eat through almost any metal, even those thought indestructible. But, of course, they are indestructible…by natural means. Such darkness was hardly natural. Only the gods, or their servants and aspects (OOC: Hint for Verdict), could harness the power necessary to vanquish such darkness.

Tabum gazed off in memory as a pale-skinned humanoid with silver hair and oil-black eyes dangled upside down from the ceiling, bound in black chains growing a vile purplish-red. His odd teeth were gritted in pain and anger, and his armor had been eaten away in many places. The being, Tabum’s old arch-nemesis, Rashne, barked an order to be released. It had almost worked, too. Something odd took over Tabum’s mind, making him want to release the Arbiter, but he came back to his senses before anything was done. Unfortunately, Tabum had underestimated Rashne’s mastery over metal, and the chains were quickly dissolved at the Patronus’ will. What a bloody fight that ensued! Tabum recalled with joy that in Rashne’s rage and attempt to bind the Chaos-servant by law, the Arbiter had annihilated half of the small elvish settlement, and must have killed at least eighty innocents. Tabum cackled at the thought of such destruction, filled with wicked glee.

Tabum decided it was time to prepare the chain, now that it was past noon. He stood, clothed himself in black, and stayed to the shadows, slowly making his way to the blacksmith’s shop he knew was there. After a few minutes of walking, he noticed that it had been quite some time since he’d eaten, but that wasn’t too important, yet. His stomach complained slightly, but his fist quieted it, as well as added another bruise to the massive human’s body. He walked by the building he knew was the hunter’s house. It was there that he first noticed that the female wasn’t any old person, she was magically gifted.

The man crouched under a window to listen inside, hiding himself in the boughs of a pine tree. He could hear a voice speaking, female, rather young, talking as if she was the ultimate authority. He placed it as the visitor’s, and listened to her words. “I am here in my capacity as Elenduriel’s paladin to investigate the murders and attacks occurring in or near the vicinity of Forestfall.” So, she was a paladin of Elenduriel? How interesting. It seemed, then, that it was fortunate for him to have spoken of retribution is his earlier message. Perhaps it was time for another.

Tabum pressed on towards the blacksmith’s, and, once he arrived, he silently opened a side door into the forge area itself. There was his man, as well as several chains already made, how convenient. Tabum decided that this man would have to die, now. He nonchalantly, though silently, walked up behind the smithy. As if helping Tabum out, he moved over to the forge and leaned forward to add more coal. Tabum raised a large hand and, with a (to him) gentle shove, pushed the smith into the burning hot forge, or at least his head, arms, and torso. The skin of his lips must have burned, melted, and fused, because he never screamed, though his legs where twitching and thrashing and flailing all over the place. After a few short seconds, the top half of the smith had been completely incinerated, and the severely burned remains of his pelvis and hips lay on the ground before the forge.

“There’s one soul,,” Tabum thought with a grin.

The hulk started to examine the chains, seeing how strong each one was, and how long. He had just picked one off of a hook on the wall when the front door popped open and a young man’s voice said, “Master Smyth, I’m back from supper. Shall I continue working on those links for the Derson boy’s chainmail, or do you want me to-” The boy stopped dead when his eyes came to rest on Tabum and the burned remains of his master. He was about to shout when Tabum quickly reached for a metal-working hammer and threw it at the boy where the ribs became the gut. He gave an, “Oof!” and he fell to the ground as the wind was knocked out of him. The boy had the look of a fish placed on land, gasping, trying to breathe. In that time, Tabum had located a thick cloth, as well as two lengths of rope, and had bound and gagged the boy. The insane man took a poker that was sitting in the forge and began to write on the boy’s chest. The cloth sufficiently muffled his screams of pain. Tabum wrote, “Do not resist, for it will only make your passing more painful and more brutal.”

Tabum paused, then flipped the boy onto his stomach and wrote on his back, “I am Retribution’s will made flesh. Those who are still alive will not be much longer, for all of you have wronged me. I will come for you in the night, and like a-” He paused again. What was Retribution’s aspect of death? He recalled it and continued writing. “-panther I will stalk you and claim you, for you do not deserve life.”

The man flipped the boy back over. The teen was pitiful-looking, red-eyed with tears of pain and begging streaming across his face. Tabum’s stomach got the courage to speak again and remind him of its hunger. Tabum remembered what the boy had said. “I’m back form supper.” Tabum wanted it, and would have it, as well as a second soul. He knelt on the ground and looked at the boy’s abdomen. It turned and worked the food that Tabum sought, and he would have it. Pressing down on the boy’s thighs and chest to keep him from flailing, Tabum lowered his head and bit into the flesh. Muffled screams continued to fill the room as he ate this apprentice’s dinner, as well as his intestines. During the whole thing, Tabum had used the poker to cauterize the wounds to make sure the boy wouldn’t die from blood-loss, all the better to prolong the suffering.

When he had eaten his fill, Tabum wiped his blood-stained mouth and looked down at the still-alive boy. He spotted the aorta still throbbing slightly, still filled with blood. Tabum looked around for a needle and found one. Kneeling down and lying on the ground so as not to block anything, he quickly lanced the massive artery, causing a fountain of blood to erupt and cover everything in the room. However, he hadn’t thought that there would be an outline of his body on the ground where no blood had landed.

The boy dead, and chain in hand, Tabum was about to leave when another person opened the door. This man was cloaked in green, and had many symbols of nature on his person. He seemed…druidic, almost. At first, he had a polite look on his face, one of someone going to buy something from a long-time friend. It took a few seconds for the image that greeted his eyes to sink in. Finally, his brain recovered from the shock and he opened his mouth to shout. Tabum panicked and grabbed the 200-pound anvil in the center of the room. He invoked the powers of darkness, filling himself with the unholy strength, and causing his eyes to glow red. All the druid had time to shout was “Murd-” before the evilly enraged man hurled the massive anvil at the other visitor, throwing it as if it were no lighter than a small rock found in a brook.

The sheer force of the solid steel object hitting the man knocked him off his feet and crushed his face, but the energy continued to travel through his head, causing the skull in back to rupture open and also causing much brain matter to fly out as well, staining the snow-covered street behind him red.

Tabum quickly grabbed the chain and body slammed the wall next to the forge. Still strengthened by chaos and darkness, the wall exploded outwards, but his power quickly fell away not a second later, and he felt absolutely exhausted. But there was no time to wait. He pushed his fatigued body out into the night, made darker by a blizzard storm, and into the trees. Someone would have heard the shout. He waited in a copse of fir trees, both to catch his breath and to see if anyone would follow. He thanked the Dark Gods for the storm, which quickly filled his tracks.

Tabum made his way back to his shelter and collapsed on a bed of moss and pine needles, the chain still in his hand. He fell asleep immediately. This night’s deeds were done. And there was more to do tomorrow, always more to do. He dreamed of a land where all was under the sway of chaos and darkness, and thought with genuine satisfaction that he was helping that reality become true.

(Was this too long?)

[Verdict]

(and I shortened my LAST post for length reasons...!)

Will looked at Runner the youngest Derson shook his had. “I don’t remember anything,” he admitted. “It was dark and the attack unexpected. One instant we were walking and laughing and the next…”

“I remember” Jos said suddenly. The others looked at him. “He was huge—tall—far taller than I. Seven feet, maybe. Maybe more. He moved so quietly to be so big… and he was all in black. The bulk of him was massive. As if he were half-giant.”

Verdict considered. “Did you notice if he carried—”

Whatever else she might have said was obliterated by the crash of masonry, splintering wood. She was out the door in two instants, the Dersons crowding behind her. Mayella disappeared into a side room and came back, sensibly, with her arms full of heavy capes that she passed out quickly to her family.

The source of the commotion was as obvious as the tall shadow vanishing into the trees. Verdict stared after it, almost determined to plunge directly in pursuit, but checked herself in time, and turned towards the ruined wall.

The room within was soaked in blood. The smell was disgusting, from the cries of those who had gathered at the noise and now backed hurriedly away. She walked in, careless of it, grey eyes scanning the scene. She knelt to trace a dry outline on the floor, what might have been the silhouette of the killer, a massive being, crouched forward. Jos’s description seemed apt.

She looked from one body to the other, and carefully pushed the blood-slicked hair back from the boy’s face. He was younger than she. He reminded her of her brother, dead at the hands of the violet-eyed black thing that had decimated her village in a single night. She traced with one finger the words that had been burned into his chest.

She rose, staring down at the mutilated corpse. Games within games. Was there a new god rising determined to undermind the power of the others? If so he played a fool and chose a vicious enemy. It might have been only a paladin before but he now tried to misrepresent the Goddess’s name. Was he begging to draw the Shadow Hunter herself into the game?

I am sure she could conceive of an eternal existence sliding on the edge of life, a thread from falling into an eternal abyss when the mind and soul and body are torn slowly to shreds and healed again, only to be destroyed… a retribution exacted against her own name cannot be withstood. Whomever attempted to play this dangerous game might well find it so. The next time she called for Elenduriel’s aid she might receive it. Literally.

She walked out of the ruined, blood-smeared, charred wall, towards the gathering crowd of ashen-faced townsfolk.

She burned with a feeling she had not felt nor quantified since waking in the Temple, since dragging herself halfway up the mountain in the snowstorm in search of it. It lit her veins on fire and made coals of her bones and her expression was ash, and her eyes smoke. She gave the feeling a name: hate.

She gave the hate a purpose.

“Tell,” she said, her voice strident and hard and sudden, “what great wrongs he committed.” One armored gauntlet pointed viciously at the blacksmith, half-charred to oblivion. “Or what grievous crimes were his,” she said, gesturing at the boy – or what was left of him. “Who he cheated, or murdered,” she demanded, and her gesture took in the last of the victims, sprawled by the broken wall. She burned beneath her armor, her gaze accusatory, flicking from one citizen of Forestfall to the next. “What had they done?” she asked; no, demanded. “In the name of Elenduriel and by the power of the Fate Wind, if you know it, speak!” They did not answer, only stared at her.

She cast back her head, and the wind whipped the scarlet cloak behind her like a banner of war. “What is the name of my Goddess?” she asked them. They didn’t answer. Her hand went to her sword and she pulled it free with the high ring of it shrieking over the sound of the wind to split the air. “Name her!” she roared.

“Elenduriel,” someone said in a rush, and someone else, “retribution.”

The sword went back; its metal scream subsided. “Yes,” she said. “Retribution. You know as well as I what that word means. Punishment demanded in repayment.” Her eyes pinned them. “But we know that these men you knew, you loved, who were your friends – we know they owed nothing. And what becomes of retribution when it is merely punishment and not recompense?”

“Chaos,” she said. She heard the jingle of armor and tack; Elion came up to her, tossing his head back, fully geared and saddled. She had learned not to question the anomalies in the Eldar steed. Her ‘paladin pony’ as Elenduriel had called him. She caught the reins, set one foot into the stirrup, and mounted.

“What are you saying?” someone had the nerve to challenge her.

She settled into the saddle. “I am saying this is not a petty grudge gone sick. That you have a chaos demon in these mountains, or something controlled by one.” That drove them back a step, murmuring. She wondered if they actually believed her. “He has demanded a punishment from you underserving, a punishment in lives. Now that he has spoken his claim it is time I pursue mine. He has recompense to serve, not only to you and to Forestfall but to me as well. And to She who sent me. It will be paid in blood, his blood, and I intend to see it paid in full.” She ignored the pain and the pity alike in the expressions that watched her. She did not regret what she had chosen.

“Verdict!”

It was Kilead. She turned Elion in a sharp circle; the red horse pranced eagerly. “Do not try to dissuade me, Kilead,” she called out. “Whose death would you next care to see? A friend’s, a brother’s? or will it be your heartsblood that stains the rough-hewn floor?” The wind was cold, cold and biting, and those gathered clutched heavy cloaks close to themselves for warmth. Her voice was colder still.

The inkeeper’s face was pinched with the ice in the air. “Verdict, consider,” he begged her. “The path—”

“Is obscured by snow and fading every moment you hold me back,” she snapped. “If I do not go now it only becomes more difficult to follow.”

“Not even the Derson boys and their hounds could follow it now,” he said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the wailing wind and snow.

“The hounds I use, Kilead, are of a different caliber,” she said, and the gray eyes behind her mask were inscrutable. “He could walk over bare stone and ascend into the sky, and they would hunt his trail between the stars and drive him cowering from the moon’s darkest edge.” She felt them, drawing near, and was as awed this time as when she had first seen them in the icy silence of Retribution’s halls. “Shall I name them for you?” she asked, and urged Elion forward a few paces; those townsfolk gathered at the scene of brutality pulled back before her. Then their slow motion became a scramble and the thin circle shattered at one end, pulling back to reveal the snowy woodline, and the reason for their hurried retreat.

“Mirevorn,” she said, naming them, “and Tress.” Her eyes glided over the edge of the village. “The three named for powerful times – Eclipse, and Equinox, and Apocalypse.” They glided towards her as she named them, death in black fur with golden eyes and wide paws that sifted silently through the snow. “And their leader,” she said softly, “Eillonen, whom no stalking hunter will cross.” They converged around her, almost as big as the horse she was riding, but they were built for speed and endurance and death; near twelve thousand pounds of flesh and bone in all. They were the Rescued, Mother Hunter’s children, the living, breathing, magical embodiment of the aspect Verdict even now vowed to serve.

She had not expected them to come. Had not dreamed they would. And whether Elenduriel had sent them or they had merely felt her need and responded to the call they were here. She wondered if those with whom they strayed would miss them, while they were with her. If, somewhere, a ravishing singing girl would wonder where Mirevorn had strayed, or if a Cheban Gelydh would search his shadow for Tress’s greater, absent darkness; if a dreaming Goddess would glance up from her Watching Pool in search of Eclipse, or a dark general of the greatest assembled armies in the known lands would reach out for reassurance and find Apocalypse had passed on for a brief moment. Whether the Songweaver and the Shadow Hunter might be crossing swords in their version of ‘friendly combat’ and be utterly aware that Equinox and Eillonen hunted in these snowy mountains, side-by-side. She could only guess.

She wheeled Elion again to face the woods, and the red steel of her armor gleamed in its casing of frost. Her hand dropped to Anckhelek, to ensure it would be free, for sometimes the frost would keep a blade locked home. She moved it half an inch and felt the slide of steel and leather, as if the blade were newly-oiled, and the first note of the low hum that would rise to a ringing cry should she draw the sword. The blade that held a dragon lord of ice locked in its deadly lines longed to sing free in the snow and wind that was its home. No, it would not remain locked. Behind the dragon-mask it was impossible to see her smile. She lived for this.

Her eyes leapt skyward. The sky unfolded before her, brilliant, tumbling its snow-heavy burden down towards her in a myriad of flakes destined to settle on her path, and be ground to watery slush beneath Elion’s hooves. About her the Rescued ranged, never quite still, and the rumble that was their readiness shook the earth beneath her horse’s feet. The townsfolk were well back now, looking on her with something like awe and fear alike. Did they read the promise of revenge in the stern lines she cut against the sky? Or was that still to them only a vague and distant hope?

“Verdict,” Kilead said a third time, but his voice faded and he found he had nothing to say.

The dragon and the panther turned to look at him. “Do not come after me.” Gauntleted hands closed about the reins; one by one the Rescued slid into the trees; and like that she was after them, the jingle of her armor faded into silence, the deep tracks of Elion’s hooves filling up with snow. Then even that was gone.

[Ged Winterfell]

((OOC: Ged…polygamous?!?!?!?! I don’t think I will ever be able to stop laughing! Nice touch there Tabum.))

“The storm will not bar my way” She said. Well, she said nothing about my way.

Thought Ged wryly as he struggled through the wind to the Dersons. The snow flakes slapped his face along with the biting wind. The storm from the Direspike had arrived earlier than expected. On his shoulder Trouble “kakked” irritably and launched herself from the mercenary’s shoulder. Her form, silent as a ghost, was quickly obscured by the falling snow as she flew ahead of him.

The battlemage could not even make out Verdict’s-

No, not Verdict. The Paladin of Retribution. Verdict isn’t there anymore.

-tracks. All the buildings around him were dark shadows and the cobblestone streets a memory. All was a white of some shade or hue. Ged could almost physically feel the spirit bound to Coldmark shiver in delight. The cold was its element.

Ged stumbled, his face falling into the bitter cold powder of the fallen snow. Instantly his black clothing was covered in a white coating. Coldmark half-slid off his body, hanging by its baldric from his elbow. Righting himself, the battlemage spat snow from his mouth and corrected the greatsword’s position.

Ahead of him, just vague outlines because of the snow, was a silent crowed of village folk. He wandered closer, politely pushing his way to the front. The surrounding air was calm and light, the snow quelled from its usual course by some un-seeable magic or power. Only stray flakes crossed his vision. Mounted in the center of the crowed (with a large clear space separating the two, Ged noted) was Verdict atop a grand red-haired horse.

By the gods…

Six gargantuan black panthers, each with golden feline eyes and terrible toothed maws, circled the Paladin of Retribution and her mount. The only person between the crowd and paladin was Kilead, looking angry and fearful at the same time.

“Do not come after me.” The armored figure of red and gold said. Verdict’s voice had changed, filled with hate and power just kept in check. Ged could feel it almost tangibly in the air. As she said this, her helmeted head of panther and dragon turned in Ged’s direction. The mercenary got the message, loud and clear. This was her hunt.

With that, the six panthers faded into the trees. Verdict grabbed the reins and turned her horse. The footfalls of the animal were muffled by the snow and were filled as soon as they were made. The presence that had filled the area subsided as the paladin left and snow began to fall again in an uncontrolled rate. The wind did not pick up though.

Just then, Ged caught a whiff of something…burned. Like flesh kept too long over a cookfire. He looked to the blacksmiths shop to find it, surprisingly, with a gaping hole in its wall. Blood spattered the interior walls and ground before the opening. The body of Charles Jeggers was lying at the newly-made hole. An anvil obscured his face. Stunned, Ged turned to the crowd.

“What happened here?”

His question was met unanswered by a silent crowd.

<>

“Order! Order!”

Elder Edmund Lasterman banged the gavel on the stand, calling for silence. Before him sat over three dozen village folk all speaking in loud tones. Some women were crying. Two men were shouting at each other but Ged could not make it out over the overall noise. He sat next to Lasterman (who stood) in Forestfall’s town hall, the largest structure in the village other than the bell tower or the Derson’s home. The two men were on a raised dais before the people, who sat in wooden chairs before them.

On Ged’s shoulder, Trouble let out a long piercing cry. It rang though the room and everyone silenced. Lasterman gave a grateful smile to the peregrine before turning to the villagers.

“Friends. We are here to speak of the recent trouble that has befallen our community. Five are dead and one seriously injured yet we have no suspects or clues other than what the murderer himself has given us. I ask this once, does anyone know anything pertaining to these horrible crimes?”

The Elder was met with silence. Ged scanned the faces in the assembled crowd, looking for any who might be trying to hide something. He was met with only faces filled with grief, fear or anger. Mostly fear.

“No? Well then, on to the next part of our agenda. Ged, if you will.”

Lasterman stood aside and took the battlemage’s seat as he stood up before the stand.

“Fellow villagers,” Ged said in a calm reassuring voice, “we must create a plan on how to protect ourselves from this unknown threat. As you all know, a paladin of great reputation has come to out little village. She has vowed to find this menace, and I have also. I will be leaving in a day’s time if she has not returned by then. Until this threat is eliminated all villagers are hereby asked to stay in their homes with their families. No one, I repeat, no one is to go unarmed. I want even children of ten years or older armed with at least a knife. This killer could strike at any time, there seems to be no pattern. I want all ready at all times.”

Ged paused to let that sink in before continuing.

“We have lost too many already. We need no more death. Currently we are trapped within the village. Winter has come in earnest and this storm will not abate for some time. I would say about three more days at best. Until then we are at the killer’s mercy… unless we choose not to be!”

His last words were punctuated by his fist hitting the stand.

“Keep alert. Check on neighboring families. Have lights on at all times. If you have to leave the house make sure you all travel in at least groups of three. Strength in numbers in the key. And finally, report any odd occurrences to either myself, Brother Jerald or Elder Lasterman. Also, keep out of Verdict’s way and answer any questions she has. Be as accommodating as possible. Dismissed.”

As the crowd began to part, exiting through the back doors into the dark snow-filled night, a man in drab yellow robes came before the mercenary. His face was angled and sharp, his eyes of a brown hue. He walked with an ease befitting that of a priest.

“Brother Jerald, I hope you approve of that last bit?” asked Ged.

The priest returned Ged’s small smile with one of his own.

“That is no problem Ged. If you need me, I will be at the Derson’s. Jos is doing well but needs some more healing. It’s nothing I can’t handle though.”

“Thank you, Brother.” Said Ged. The healer nodded and left. The mercenary wizard turned to Lasterman. “And what about you, friend?”

The Elder gave Ged a look.

“I’ll be in my offices upstairs. I’ve already sent for Sara and the children. The Harbor’s are also coming to stay here. They felt that their cottage was too far outside the village limits. They should be here any time now. I’d best prepare for their arrival.” The Elder excused himself and left through a door at the far end of the hall.

Alone in the town hall’s gathering room, Ged said to his companion:

‘Well Trouble, let’s go home.”

[Tabum]

Tabum woke when the piercing rays of the sun managed to punch their way through the clouds and into his eyes. He cringed and immediately stood. This wouldn’t do. He had much work to do, and if the sun was planning on interfering, that would have to change. Without giving a thought to how much energy it would drain from him, he raised his hands to the sky and shouted in dark words of hate and wickedness. The effect was instantaneous. The ground around him rumbled, causing small avalanches to start all around the mountains. The sun began to fade away, and the moon burned forth through the clouds and falling snow like a bright, glaring eye. The moon was full, now, and red as the blood he sought to spill. Anyone casually looking at the sky would see its crimson rays, and its scarlet glower.

The man looked down at the chain, and picked it up. He pinned its ends to two trees using the hunting knives he had stolen, and began to speak the words to taint it and fill it with the powers of darkness. Before long, it was ready, glowing with malevolent forces that sought to harm. He ripped the chain from the trees, ignoring the searing pain in his hand, and charged into the town. Tabum was slightly troubled by the deep footprints of massive creatures. They seemed to belong to something feline, but he couldn’t be sure, and didn’t care.

Tabum came to an apothecary shop and forced open the door, fists raised in case there was someone to oppose him. He was surprised to find the no one inhabited the building. Odd, he thought. Was the town finally doing something in response to his presence? If so, this could potentially help. He set the chain down, which started eating away at the wooden floor. He looked around for specific ingredients. He’d need them for his ritual. He already had wolf’s blood, but went around, searching for the remaining materials, as well as containers to put them in. He said the list in his mind.

Volcanic ash.

Saltpeter.

Deadly nightshade.

Wolf’s blood.

Brimstone.

He was ready. The reddish-black powder was placed into two different containers, one larger than the other, much larger.

Tabum left and immediately went to the home of the hunters. He began to pour some of the powder in a circle around it. He then moved on to a bell tower, and surrounded it in a circle of the powder as well. He continued to do this at three more buildings: the inn, one he assumed (correctly) was the town hall, and the home of his target. That boy was his. Before he entered he connected the circles with lines, almost finishing the container. He realized with glee, as he made one larger circle around the other five, that he had made a perfect pentagram.

Silently, he finally entered the boy’s home. He found what he sought. He and his mother were asleep. However, he realized that she would need to be silenced as well. As gently as one would a baby, Tabum reached down and took her in his arms, and he began to walk quickly towards the bell tower. On the way there, she had awakened by a gust of wind, and was about to scream when Tabum struck her across the back of the head, knocking her unconscious. Finally, at the top of the tower, he tied her with rope and hung her upside down from a pole that jutted out from the top of the tower, parallel to the ground, though not before pleasing himself with a sampling of her “gifts.” Once there, dangling forty feet above the ground, Tabum returned for the boy. Thankfully, he had not awakened during his absence. The hulk grabbed the boy with no finesse. Immediately his ears were greeted with a shout of terror, which shortly turned into pain as Tabum wrapped the chain around him, constricting him.

The man grinned maliciously, but looked up and his face turned to one of anger when he saw that the other visitor was here, the “Ged Winterfell.” Tabum jumped backwards and out through the door, and slammed it shut, jamming it with one of the knives. The boy continued to flail and struggle and scream in fury and agony on his shoulder. Tabum pointed down at some of the powder he had placed around the home, and a bolt of purplish-black fire leapt from his outstretched and hit the powder. It, as well as the other five circles, the lines joining them, and the large circle surrounding it all, burst into flames, arcing high into the sky, as much as twenty feet in some places. The heat it gave off could be described by anyone as “unnatural.” The purple-black flames licked at the structures they surrounded, and they caught fire as well. Tabum charged through the hellfire he had summoned, hardly being touched by it thanks to his blessings from the dark gods, though the boy was less fortunate.

Tabum made his way back to his clearing, and immediately placed the boy down on the bare stone he had cleared earlier. He looked up at the spears and grinned. The boy cried slightly, possibly with joy, when the chains were removed, only to feel immense pain as his hands and feet were impaled over the spears, and the chain replaced.

Tabum raised one of the knives he had taken and began to cut runes into the young man, constantly muttering in some foul tongue. Soon, the Blood God would be released upon this town, and Tabum would be given great thanks and power for this deed, for the god had been trapped by the paladins of old, before the cataclysm, and sought to be released from his prison to rain his power of death, torture, and destruction upon the land once more.

Tabum raised the knife, ready to plunge it into the chest of the crying boy, when something in the corner of his eye moved. Something big. Something black. Something moving incredibly fast…

(Okay, I shortened it to one post. Do what you will, Carol, within reason. I want Tabum to live past this thread. )

[Ged Winterfell]

He was lightning incarnate.

In a flash the mercenary had snatched up the yew longbow that he had leaned by the entrance to the kitchen; from which he had just entered. In one fluid movement as he shouldered his quiver, Ged drew, knocked and released a white and red fletched arrow. Yet even as the shaft flew towards the black figure holding his step-son he knew he had missed. The battlemage caught a glimpse of a ravaged, scarred face twisted into insane glee partially disrupted by uncertainty; probably because of Ged’s arrival. The figure slammed the door shut, causing a thwack as the arrow’s point penetrated the oak where the figure’s face had been a millisecond before.

Ged was crossing the room as he released, placing the bow across his back. He pulled the door open, the arrow shaft still quivering. A blast of intense heat made him jump back as purple-black flames erupted outside the doorway. Through the fire wall, the mercenary could make out the figure as a shadowy form with two extra arms and legs, the flailing figure of his step-son Dern. The first figure raised what Ged supposed was a fist and slammed it into the second smaller figure in its arms. Dern went limp.

Something within the mercenary snapped.

White hot rage filled Ged, an anger so great that he could feel the spirit within the greatsword across his back stir. Drawing Coldmark, the mercenary-wizard stepped outside so the flames were before him, the house to his back. The blade of the greatsword burst into flames. These were not like the purple and black flames conjured by the black figure, but light blue ones. Intense cold was emitted from the flames that countered the hellish warmth from the wall of fire.

He drew his anger from a deep well filled from the despair and terror and sadness of his mind. The deaths of Kullen, Smyth, Jeggers, Jack, the boy at the smithy and the attacks on Jos, Will and Runner. Now Dern. And probably Nynaeve too, Ged hadn’t seen her as he left the house and supposed the thing had gotten her also.

The rage grew to an almost painful height and then Ged felt Coldmark’s anger fill him also. The blade was feeling the injustice of what was going on around it. If Coldmark could manifest outside the blade Ged was sure it would. Power flooded through him, an intense wave that threatened to knock him to his feet. But he stood strong, raising the blade slowly over his head.

In one part of his mind, the part not washed away by the power, the only rational part left, thought somewhat fearfully:

This is too much. I don’t think-

Then he brought the blade down in an arc that ultimately connected with the wall of flames.

There was a roar and a bright flash of light that encompassed the mercenary’s sight. When it receded the wall of purple-black fire was gone, its remnants just small bits of scattered flame that quickly guttered and died. Ged stepped forward, breathing hard.

There was not any good way to put into words the sense of overpowering might that filled him. He felt invincible, like a god. He felt if nothing in the world could stop him from his target, the twisted thing that had stolen his fiancée and step-son and killed innocents. The mercenary-wizard broke into a run, Coldmark clutched in one fist.

He shouted something and a low dulled BOOM followed. A path in the calf-deep snow appeared as the white power was punched down by the spell into a hard-packed surface. He ran unhindered through the streets of Forestfall, Trouble flying above him.

He passed the town hall which was surrounded by the same flames that had encircled his house. He could see no one through the flames and guessed that Lasterman and the Harbors were already dead. This only fueled is anger and he ran on.

Passing the Derson’s, Ged saw with some relief that all the family had gotten out safely. Brother Jerald was with them and seemed to be treating Jos for burns. Runner was the only one who noticed as Ged ran by, but he only nodded gravely as the mercenary passed. The hunter’s eyes were wells of grief.

Kilead’s was also aflame. Ged could see the tavern owner and a few other village men throwing buckets onto the flames surrounding the establishment. The water hit the devilish flames and ran off like the fire was a stone wall. The water puddle at the base of the flames and quickly froze. Some of the flames had touched the buildings on either side of the tavern but, luckily, only produced regular fire that was quickly put out by the men. The village would not burn.

Trouble suddenly let out a piercing shriek and Ged looked up to see her swoop down a side street. He followed, for his companion had better hearing than he. Moments later he found himself before the belltower. A circle of flames kept Ged from running inside when he saw who was hanging from the structure’s top.

Though the black smoke created from the flames sometimes obscured her, Ged saw with a sense of horror Nynaeve hung by her wrists over the belltower’s highest platform. The flames had already moved forward and were climbing up the stone face of the building.

Ged felt the power within the blade and himself grow. He raised the blade and slammed it against the wall, where a portion of it abruptly shattered. Whatever power he had used to destroy the first fire wall was exhausted.

Leaping through the opening, Ged raced up the winding staircase in the interior. Flames had already burnt holes in the stone, giving him glimpses of the fresh snow beginning to fall outside. The uppermost platform was dotted with flames, even its massive bronze bell covered with a thick sheen of fire that was slowly turning it to a pile of slag.
Nynaeve was hung over the edge of the platform, her wrists chafed by the hemp rope that bound her to a reaching beam. She was unconscious, the smoke having doubtlessly knocked her so. Ged moved with all speed to the edge and reached out, grabbing a handful of her brown shift, and pulled her closer. Using a hunting knife at his belt, the mercenary cut the ropes binding his lover. She was like a dead fish in his arms, but she moaned slightly telling Ged that she was alright.

Looking around, the battlemage could see that the staircase was totally consumed by the conjured flames. The structure below him rocked a little. The belltower was going to collapse any second now. Peering over the edge, Ged saw a long drop to the snowy ground below. Flames were licking the heel of his boot.

Taking a deep breath, Ged leapt over the edge and shouted out arcane words.

He landed hard on the ground, his knees bending to absorb the impact. He felt his legs tremble as pain lanced up them but they held; the spell he had cast had kept the worst of the damage at bay.

There was a rumble and he looked back. Slowly, the belltower began to crumble, flaming chunks slamming into the ground to release a spray of snow. The bell tolled one last time before crashing though the top platform and down the tower stairs. With that, the rest of the tower fell. When the snow cleared, there was only a pile of flaming ruins where the belltower had stood.

Ged turned his back and began a quick pace back into the interior of the village, wondering how Verdict was doing.

[Verdict]

The storm grew stronger. The flakes were fine, thin little slivers against the gray sky, betraying that there was plenty of fury left in the clouds. It would be hours, or longer, before it dwindled. The sun was just a dream.

Oddly enough Verdict wasn’t cold. Part if it had to do, she was certain in the vague part of her mind that cared, with the thick wool and leather, and the insulating armor on top of that – even though the red steel had frosted over, and glittered as if it were cut of rubies, it was so cold. The other part was the fault of something else, of a fire burning in her mind or the pit of her stomach, searing just behind her ribs; she wasn’t sure. It made her immune to the bite in the air, just as she was immune fear or worry or despair.

The snow climbed Elion’s legs as the red horse carefully forged a path. The way was dangerous and that made the going slow… to slow. A big man on foot could force his way through the drifts without too much worry and make faster time. Her quarry was ahead of her – too far ahead of her. She could read it in the Rescueds’ restless pacing. They, of course, had no trouble, regardless of the snow. Black shadows, they ghosted from one tree to the next, little more in the growing snowfall than phantoms.

At last she brought Elion to a halt. The great horse paused gratefully, a lone sentinel at the end of his furrowed path. The panthers converged from amidst the trees. They seemed able to read her mind. Or perhaps they had the same thoughts. One of them – though they all appeared different she had not learned to tell them apart – came right up to her side, and lifted his feline face to regard her carefully. The golden eyes gleamed.

I have much yet to learn, she thought ruefully, and drew her sword. The air sang with the ring of that steel, a ring lìngering far longer than it ought, like tapped crystal caught in an echoing cave. The runes on the blade, archaic and spidery, cut and gleamed. She could not read them but Elenduriel had told them what they meant. “I command ice and lightning and the freezing wind.” Anckhelek, the sword was called. She did not know how to command the sword so she simply concentrated on her need – the need to move quickly, to force ahead.. The icy ground snapped and softly grumbled before her; a wind, sharp as a knife-edge, sliced into snow, sending it up in billows. Peeling it back. Beneath the snow the ground was hard and dirty. The path was clear.

She spun Elion and the horse was eager to obey. She held him at a trot for a few minutes – letting him warm - but then she knew it was not far and she gave him his head, like lightning in the cold wood. His breath came out in great clouds of steam; hers misted on her helmet’s dragon mask and froze. The panthers vanished between the trees.

They were hunters, and this was their element. These mountains, this ice, this enchanted air. They breathed it and walked it and there was nothing here more powerful than they. Muscles rippling beneath sleek black fur. Heavy paws gliding over silent snow. Golden eyes that saw all, ears that heard the snow tinkle through the barren branches. They ghosted out in a staggered line, fading in and out of the trees.

They hardly had to track. The heavy snow made the recent comings and goings of their quarry excruciatingly easy to pick out. The air smelled of iron, with the bitter underscent of bloçd. The place was thick with it – and something else – something the panthers had come to recognize all to well. Thoughts flew between them faster than arrows… and they faded into the shadows.

For he was there – unnamed to them, leaning forward, intent on his work. At the western edge of the clearing Equinox crouched in the shadowed lea of the trees, watching. He was tall, taller even than Pathos. But he was tiny as well, so tiny the great cat knew he could crush him under one massive paw. Then the silent word was passed, and one of his brothers was out of the darkness like a black arrow.

Tabum jerked upright, turning. But he had only a fraction of a second before two thousand pounds of fur and bone and flesh, claws and teeth, landed paws-first on his chest. He was a huge man. The panther dwarfed it. The impact sent him spinning in his crouch; the panther just kept running. A fleeting break, and the second panther sprang – and the third. The sound of bones fracturing was unnaturally loud even over Dern’s quiet, not-so-muffled sobs from the torturing chain that burned even now.

Tabum and his efforts at battle were hidden somewhere under that tangle of panther flesh. It was a flurry of motion too fast to follow, certainly too fast to make sense of it or determine what part belonged to what panther or even how many panthers there were. Till a clear dark voice called out wordlessly, or in words the furor obscured, and the panthers were back, spaced away, prowling. Tabum rose to his feet, dark and menacing even where he bled. It seemed impossible he could be alive, even if the panthers were not intending to kill, only to subdue.

Verdict came through a gap in the trees, one instant nothing and the next there through the snow. It bent away from her and from Elion, refusing to touch her or come close to her; a curtain in the storm. Light had swept up around her armored figure, pinned to every line and edge in brilliance, fading towards the smooth sweeps of leather and plate. As if she were a fire the world wavered like light in the path of heat around her form. A faint golden light clung to the nearby air; a physical aura of retribution.

The great panthers stalked in concentric circles, opening their lines to let her through – all except Equinox, who crouched carefully between them. His lips pulled back, exposing teeth, and he did not stir.

The paladin paused, ten yards between her and Tabum, and addressed the disciple of chaos. “I am not permitted to slay you.” It came from the air more than the armored figure, came in the twilight and shadow voice with which she had first announced I am the Verdict of the Stars to Elenduriel when she awoke in her Temple. “The stars do not demand your déath.” Her grey eyes like steel never even flickered to Dern. He might not have existed.

Her empty left hand lifted, the fingers closing into a fist. Chains, green and red and gold, snaked out of the empty air and twisted themselves around the thing, drawing tight, binding him to nothing and nowhere in a heartbeat. Tabum’s muscles bulged as he fought them, but he stopped a moment later, looking at her with greedy eyes. She could almost taste his desire for her bloçd, a paladin’s bloçd, and it should have made her afraid.

Her sword flashed out and hovered an inch from his left eye. “So you will remember me,” she said softly. He didn’t even flinch, just looked at her with that expression somewhere between desire and contempt, when Anckhelek flashed down to score a long mark on his cheek. If it healed wrong it would be infected and he would die. If it healed right he’d carry it the rest of his life and beyond the grave. She turned Elion as if about to go. And then paused in reflection, looking back. “So you will remember Forestfall,” she said, and raised the sword again, silver and gleaming, perfectly balanced in her hand. She measured him through the dragon’s eyes.

The strike severed skin, muscle, and bone, sliding like water, imbued with a divine force no mortal arm could muster. The blade was so cold it burned, closing the wound as soon as it was made. The pain was another matter but she did not care about the pain. What had once been a right arm shriveled into dust and the wind came, ushering even that into nothing. She sheathed her sword. It was like the life had gone out of the world. Verdict turned away; her eyes fell on Dern.

She did not have to do this, was not obligated by the pressure which commanded her. But she thought of Ged, so earnest; knowing what she was yet allowing her to work unobstructed. He could have made the whole business very difficult, but he didn’t. And he cared for the kid. So she dismounted and went to him.

He was bleeding from the runes Tabum had cut into him, his hair and clothes were partly burned away, and the torturing chain left behind charred marks on his flesh. His tears made tracks through the dirt on his cheeks; desperate eyes were fixed on her. She didn’t allow herself to feel pity, kneeling at his side. The chains seemed to have no beginning and no end; she studied them closely. There was something ugly, evil, about their very presence, like a sick thing twisting in her mind.

“By Elenduriel—” she said, and seized one link where it crossed over the boy’s chest in both hands. The darkness flared and he cried out in pain, but she focused on her goddess once more and white light flashed from her hands, white with a molten-red core. They glowed hot and then gave way, splintering into tatters, those tatters into tiny black fragments like a snowshower of obsidian. Dern was unconscious. She lifted him in her arms; he felt incredibly light. She set him in the saddle, and climbed up behind him, holding him close. One of the panthers reappeared, a dark ghost at her side. She turned to Tabum. “The chains should fade… in a few days,” she told him. “There may be a few from Forestfall who will want to pay you a visit before then.”

Hating him in a way she could not define, she urged Elion away, through the storm.

[Tabum]

Nothing could have prepared him for that explosive rush of energy that slammed into him. It was like some fetid, vermin-thing of hell, with many more legs than were necessary, or was it simply the same thing over and over again, or maybe many of the same things?

Tabum didn’t know, nor did he care. He was filled with a hatred that would make Isacc cringe. Many of his bones broke, but he had been through worse, and stood again each time he was assaulted. He summoned his hammer and began to fight back. The panthers that were attacking him were unbelievable fast. Only once was he able to make contact with one, but despite the resounding crack it didn’t seem to do anything but make the panther more furious, just like he. As he made to strike the thing again, it bit down on the hammer and flung it several yards away, disarming him.

A voice shouted out through the clearing and the panthers backed away. Tabum stood after being struck again and felt his skin wet with blood. He looked darkly at the woman that walked towards him, with one though in his head:

She deserves nothing more than to die.

Such was his contempt for this woman who dared to disturb his unholy vigil that he took in nothing of her words. She raised her hand, and chain sprang into life, wrapping themselves around him. They were too tight and too powerful to break. The last time he encountered metal like this was when Rashne almost fed him to the fiery soul of Iudex, those chains seemed almost exactly like this, but with some unique color, mostly silvery, but also with the appearance of steel and platinum. The giant toppled to the ground and he looked back up with nothing but lust for her blood. He ceased to struggle as much against them, now focusing on how much he wanted to kill her. Maybe the Dark Gods would hear him and release him so they could have another sacrifice this pseudo-night.

Tabum expected to be threatened with a weapon, expected to be attacked, as such were his customs as well, but he hadn’t expected the stinging pain in his face. It was as cold as the hellfrost he had worked with before, seen its effects at freezing flesh, sanity, and soul. Mortals went mad in the unholy hells of ice, losing their bodies and souls to the demons who ruled there (only to come back as allips, shadowy ghost-like creatures filled with nothing but insanity and contempt for the living). Then the pain exploded on his right arm, burning like icy fire. He looked down to see it shrivel into dust.

The woman began to ride away on her horse…with his offering!

“NO!” he bellowed, loud enough to be heard across the valley, roaring through what was left of Forestfall, “You will not take my prize!”

With a sudden burst of strength he was able to flex the chains around his body enough to stand. “He is mine! MINE!”

Tabum tried to lunge at Verdict, but a panther leapt out and knocked him away. The gods would be pleased with this.

“No! NO! I must kill him! YOU! You are of Retribution! You are of vengeance!” he laughed madly and then said with an unnaturally high voice, high enough to make the average person wince. “Revenge at ANY price!” His voice dropped again to its normal deep, intimidating roar. “Kill him! Quickly! Take you sword of solid hellfrost and cut open his chest! Cut out his heart! Quickly! There is still time! You must end him, then the blood god will come in his glory to fill the land with his sanguineous ichor! Do it! Now! END HIM!”

The gods filled him momentarily, causing him to spasm and convulse and spew sounds of nonsense and foam at the mouth. When he became himself again moments later, able to hear and see again, he was face down, unable to see the paladin anymore. He knew she wasn’t killing him…nor would she. A fire of malice began to grow again.

“You insolent little girl, do you not know who owns you, yours soul, and everything else about you? They are the Dark Gods! They will come for you, they will clutch you and haul you to the hell they have ready especially for you, where your flesh will be seared and burned, your hair singed from your body, your skin clawed at by demons, your soul filled with pain and agony and torment, your mind crushed, and where you will be ravaged again and again by demon upon demon, each seeking to bring a different hell to you!

“Then your pathetic goddess will follow. She will feel the same fate a thousandfold. Entire armies of demons will be devoted to her pain and desecration, as what holiness she bears is wiped away time and time again!”

Tabum’s maniacal laughter echoed through the mountain as he then cast his blasphemies on high. “Death to your weakling goddess! Death to all who oppose the Dark Gods!”

Tabum laughed uncontrollably, his mind even more utterly lost. He was filled with immeasurable glee at his curses to Elenduriel and her servant.

Tabum shouted once more, “Death to all who oppose the Dark Gods!”

[Ged Winterfell]

The black figure stood in the center of the forest clearing, snow falling around him. He stood perfectly still, his head bowed to the slight wind; the tattered black robes adorning his body fluttering weakly. The chains that held him were still strong after two days, and they pulsated with glowing light. The figure was still, and Ged thought him dead, frozen by the intense cold that had settled over the land. Yet he heard something, a low muttering, perhaps? Peering through the white, Ged saw the figure’s lips moving. He could not make out the words.

The mercenary was not sure of how he felt. Different emotions threatened to reign supreme: anger, hate, loathing, sadness, grief, and a small amount of fear and curiosity. Coldmark was dormant at his back, the spirit within quiet.

Ged stood just inside the clearing. Behind him, a small crowd of villagers had followed him to this site to see the creature that had inflicted such terror. They stood huddled in a small group, eyes wide with fear. Kilead stood out among the folk, for his eyes and his stance showed nothing but the deepest hate. Jos was there too, his arms held on either side by his brothers to keep him steady and from falling over. His face was contorted into a grim, neutral tone. It was an impassive mask, revealing nothing.

The battlemage moved forward, his boots crunching in the newly fallen snow. He stopped before the dark figure, and did not step back when it abruptly turned. The crowd behind him cringed.

The man’s face was a battlefield of scars and lesions, the ravaged look of one who has survived leprosy. One predominant mark was a long cut that ran down his left eye. Verdict’s mark.

The Paladin of Retribution had left yesterday, after making sure Dern was going to be alright. She had cast some protective wards on the boy, keeping him from any undetected harmful lasting triggers the chains the killer had wrapped him in might have bestowed.

She had ridden off on her warhorse, the great panthers that had aided her gliding between the trees nearby as she followed the trail down from the mountains. She had been unusually silent ever since her confrontation with the figure. Introspective, Ged assumed, trying to figure out something. Had it been something this abomination of a man had told her when they had confronted each other?

Such heavy duty such as hers must weigh on her mind long after. Ged had thought.

Verdict had told him something before she had left though, pulling him to a corner of Brother Jerald’s one-room house as Nynaeve murmured prayers for her son; who lay in a fever before the fire. It was to help him deal with the killer after she had left.

Looking into the man’s eyes, Ged saw nothing but madness, this was something born of Chaos. He probably wasn’t even human, or if he was, had left humanity far behind in return for whatever powers he had.

The black figure grinned, his face twisting horribly in the mockery of a smile.

Ged spoke, his voice even and firm, resonating with a thread of anger.

“They say that those who visit the mountains and then depart are forever changed. That the mountains themselves leave a mark on the visitor that will never go away. Eternal ice and frost leaves an imprint too deep to touch, out of reach. They also say”, Ged forced himself to look into the Chaos-marked eyes of the madman, “that when one dies within the mountains, they never leave.”

The battlemage drew Coldmark, light blue flames immediately springing to life as it came from its scabbard.

“I believe this to be true. There is something about the ice, stone and snow that is surreal. Unnatural. The spirits of the dead linger long after their bodies have decayed into dust. Even the freshly-killed can be found with the right…bartering tools.”, he said the last words deliberately, making sure the man understood., “Let’s prove this theory, shall we?”

Ged raised the greatsword high in both hands, the blade shining brighter. The black figure before him did not flinch, but gazed at him with maniac intent. The air around them grew noticeably colder, but Ged did not feel it. He was invoking the power that Verdict had taught him, concentrating his entire will to the task. The village folk whispered with themselves but did not move.

The wind began to pick up, throwing flurries of snow into the air and becoming a howl. The clouds above began to swirl, their dark ominous steel color becoming a vortex above the clearing.

Ged’s arms shook as he held the blade over his head, his forehead beaded with perspiration that immediately froze. In one large hemlock, Trouble watched with a type of wariness, her golden eyes piercing.

His voice cried out, barely heard over the wind.

“Behold! The one who takes lives is before me. His body captive by powers he cannot breach. Yet before he was taken, he walked free. Free to kill as he did, taking the lives of the innocent in a whirlwind of bloodlust. You! Those who died, I summon you to this place, where your judgment shall be decided!”

Cloak flapping in the air, body trembling as the sword drew more and more power from its surroundings, Ged felt the spell complete; like a key clicking into a lock. Reversing his grip, he brought the sword point-first into the ground. The blade sank half its length into solid stone.

There was a low sonic BOOM as the blade made contact. A spray of snow was thrown up into the villager’s faces, and they brought up their hands as shields. Several women cried out in surprise or fear. The very trees around the clearing shook, unloading snow on the ground. Trouble screeched and flapped her wings.

The dark figure and Ged still stood, though the mercenary was slightly bent as his hands were still upon the hilt of Coldmark. His head was bowed. The ground around them was cleared of snow, bare rock showing, threaded with cracks originating from the power of the blade’s entry.

The ensuing silence was cut by whispers and mutterings seeming to come from the air, first imperceptibly quiet then increasing in volume. Emitted from every direction, the voices grew to a deafening crescendo. It was a chant, that being in a tongue Ged could not understand. Forms shimmered into being from the empty surroundings, appearing between the trees and forming an enclosing circle around the mercenary-wizard and the black figure. They were pearly white with a glimmering of blue, like delicate ice sculptures. The faces of these specters were filled with anguish and fear, and their dead eyes looked upon their killer.

Ged could make out the helf-elven form of Grak Kullen, Kilead’s apprentice Jack, Edmund Lasterman, the Harbor family, and others. They swarmed the cloaked man, brushing against Ged. Forming a tight prison around the man, Ged could not see him, nor hear if he was speaking. The chanting was a shriek, a dirge for the dead.

A brightening light began to form in the center of the specters, presumably where the killer was. As it brightened, Coldmark did also. Covering his eyes, Ged watched until the light was to brilliant to watch, and looked away. There was a flash, and a roar louder than an avalanche as it plummeted down a mountain. Then all was still, even the weather calmed.

The mercenary turned.

The dark figure was gone, as were the spirits of his victims. Nothing remained to mark their existence. Ged did not know what had happened, whether the specters had killed the man or taken him away. Verdict had not said, and he had not asked.

The greatsword Coldmark was still embedded in the ground, but pulled free when the mercenary gave it a good yank. He sheathed the now-dull blade thoughtfully, wondering how the sword’s spirit had played a part in this.

The townsfolk were a huddled mass, bunched together in fear and wonder. Ged walked back to them slowly, and stopped before them. No one spoke, for each was thunderstruck, awe showing on each face. Then, from the crowd, came Nynaeve. She pushed past the last few villagers and took Ged’s hand silently. Locking eyes, she smiled, of which the battlemage returned warmly.

Village folk in the back of the crowd began drifting off, vanishing slowly into the woods back to Forestfall. In seconds, only he and Nynaeve were left. Then, they too began the walk back to their home. Trouble lifted off her limb, winging her way behind the two, silent as a ghost.

Small white flakes of snow began to fall from the slate sky.

[Tabum]

(My apologies, I had completely forgotten to put in my final post.)

Cold…cold as he had only known once in the places of hell that even the Dark Gods had forgotten about… Those fortress-prisons covered to the top of their spires in grey snow, black ice trying to crawl its way up them, where one spent an eternity shivering, wondering if they’d ever know heat again. When human, Tabum had decided to rid himself of his mortal bonds. He was weak then; thin, gaunt, underfed, and believed by all to be insane. That was a lie, he was of perfect mind. He knew the way things worked; he had spoken with the gods before. He had committed suicide to free himself from the bondage of mortality, releasing his spirit. But he was once more imprisoned, there, in those fortresses. One did even have the energy, such was the chill, to try to escape. And the demons that watched there, those bitter, even more unnecessarily cruel beings of ice and rock, damned themselves to the forsaken place, made certain that no one felt any shred of hope, for those fiends so hated everything for being condemned to serve there, and frequently took out their anger on the souls present. It was worse to be whipped there because the blood would freeze and the open wounds would harden and frost over, and it was even more excruciating to move. It was there that the Dark Gods saw his worth.

Tabum’s reminiscing was interrupted by a footfall in the snow behind him. He turned and grinned at the man who approached him. The imbecile whose son he almost sacrificed. The grin widened as he thought of what he’d like to do to him. He ignored the pain in what was left of his arm as he turned more to see several of the town gathered. “The spirits of the dead linger long after their bodies have decayed into dust.” Tabum echoed in his mind. He saved his thought that came to mind for when Ged was finished speaking.

It was interesting seeing this pathetic being attempting magic that was beyond him. But…the humored musing faded when he saw the incantation had succeeded. The whispers…these damned were here, still? “Gods strike them down! Release me and I’ll send them to hell and worse!” he shouted.

As the spirits encircled him, he shouted out to the townspeople, “The spirits linger, you say? You really want my spirit to linger, so now not even blades or whatever animals you can summon can harm me and I can continue my sacrifice of the living in the name of the Dark Gods?” He wasn’t sure if they heard him or not over the howl that the chanting had risen to.

“Gods!” he cried as he could feel his sere skin tingle and light began to blind him, “Bring me from this place, I will give you all I have and more!” He could feel panic begin to feel him. Just as the light got too bright for him to bear, it all dimmed to darkness.

---------------

“Awaken, Tabum Cruor.” The voice was smooth, had a rich timbre, and spoke as if it knew all your desires, and wouldn’t hesitate to grant them.

“I…I hear you, Slaanesh.” Tabum opened his eyes, and, realizing the witch’s chains were gone, stood.

He looked around. The Four Gods…they were here: Slaanesh, Nurgle, Tzeench, and Khorne. He bowed before them. The blood-thirsty Khorne barked, “Stand, you imbecile!”

Tabum immediately obeyed; crossing the Blood God was not becoming for a long life. He looked at the god’s bestial appearance, the axe behind him on the wall drenched in blood, as always. The red film around the god in his Skull Throne he knew wasn’t his own power, but a barrier put into place by forces of great Good many millennia ago.

“You have failed to release our brother. He was meant to rise, Tabum,” Nurgle said. The Plague Bearer’s voice was sickening and sounded like he was speaking through a mouth full of mucus. Tabum fought down the urge to gag as the stench wafted to him. Tzeench spoke next, his voice distant and hoarse, but constantly changing in quality and pitch. “I set up the magic perfectly. How could you have possibly failed? You truly are incompetent.”

“Forgive me, Lords, but there was a paladin of Elenduriel there. She-”

“SILENCE!” roared Khorne. “I do not want excuses!”

Tabum obeyed wordlessly.

“This is but a minor setback, Khorne,” Slaanesh consoled, his supernaturally honeyed words already affecting the Great Berserker. “Each of us will be released in turn, and when the three of us are freed, I’m sure our combined power will be enough to release you so you mustn’t wait another five thousand years.”

“Perhaps you are right… But that assumes this weak fool doesn’t fail again.”

“I will not.”

“You best not, Tabum,” Nurgle belched, another cloud of noxious green gas fuming forth, “Or I will insure the worst possible fate for you.”

“We all will,” Slaanesh said, the warmth completely gone from his voice, now promising pain and torment.

“Now…what is it that this bitch has done to you?” Tzeench said. He looked at Tabum’s arm from his place behind a blue field. “Yes…cursed…it would never otherwise heal. But…of course, as you failed, I can’t make this painless, even for you.”

Before Tabum could ready himself, pain such as he had never felt before wrenched through his body, making him collapse to the ground and began twitching from it. He released a cry as it began to overwhelm him. It slowly faded, and Tabum looked down, seeing his arm back in place, drenched in blood and some indescribable grey slime.

“Now go, Tabum,” Tzeench said, “There is work to be done to release Slaanesh.”

“Yes, my Gods, it will be done.” He bowed to them.

Passersby in the street behind the alley he was in wondered what this odd, large man was bowing to, what he was talking to, and what drugs he must be using to make him scream and twitch like he had.