From hell's heart I stab at thee

[Nicholas Woodruff]

Breathing. All around me stood impossibly brave dwarves, elves, thieves, halflings... foolishly brave. I should have been brave, too, but I was not. I was terrified, absolutely terrified... not so much for my own life as for the governor's.

The mist swirled, the night sky filled with clouds. All sounds of life seemed to stop for that few seconds after the explosion sounded. Suddenly, like a curtain from a stage, the smoke cleared, and there was a ghostly red portal emanating all shades of colour unto the arena; purples, blues, greens, pinks, whites, and even blacks... It was a display of arcane magnificence even the most skilled of the Magnus Order could not match. From it erupted a smoky trail of spirit, dark as Coloth's heart and yet bright as the false Sun god's lies. Eyes and nose and mouth came from the portal in a swift, lithe fashion. Hands punched through and grasped the ground, pulling up an array of green flesh and yellow bones; these undead formed a circle around the spirit that was spawning from the center. Finally came the last trail of smoke from the portal, and yet it remained.

The undead were as tall as a horc and wide as a dwarf, yet with nary a stomach to match their size. Their escortee stood as tall as the Arena itself, his face barely visible for the height; fifteen men could stand side to side and still be short of its width. It was a horror for all horrors, a spectre of fear to even the most fearless knight. The dwarves, the elves, the thieves and the lings, the wretched adventurers of Cear stood unperturbed by its awesomeness, and for such a display I cannot express my wonder. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity before the beast spoke.

"Hear me, traitors!", said he in a voice that could be heard for miles. "The time for false emperors has ended. Prepare for the return of your true Master!"

Shouting started, and the governor spoke words, but I heard nothing. He fell... the emperor fell... a great light exploded out of his chest, wailing, screaming, into the mouth of the Master... My eyes remained fixated the beast. He stared me back in the eyes, his hatred equal to mine. I feared him, though, and he fed on this fear, I could feel it. But I struggled to keep eye contact, just a little bit longer--- sharp pain from my side, I fell... I fell, and all went black.

...

Nicholas' finger hesitates to turn the page, and ultimately decides to close the blue book. He then strides out of the Fleet house and to his regular post in North Cear.

"In Eternus Muneris ut Etoth... Let the hunt begin."

[Shorn]

(( damn that was a good read

[Bobzim]

Luteus stood in the middle of the arena with Kira Cassidy, having prevailed in the Nex Ut Proditor Free-For-All as the last combatant standing. He waited for the announcement of his trial against the great wolf, beast of the Nex Ut Proditor. He demanded to face this test for himself, as was the rightful claim of the previous two winners, Elvith and Ebannon. Kira tried to gather the attention of the arena spectators. She implored the fleetsmen to restore order. But it was hard to ignore the smoke, dust and intense light emanating from the portal.

The arena floor had morphed into a cauldron of pure chaos. The light blinded eyes and seared brains, though it had no affect on Luteus. He could see perfectly, even when blinded. Same for many other combatants in the tournament, as blind fighting is a common skill among such experienced and grizzled adventurers.

But the governor could not see anything, and many of the spectators in the arena screamed in agony as they gazed toward the arena floor, their heads pounded, eyes burned and ears rang loudly from the chaotic energy emerging from the glowing vortex.

As the orcish horde emerged from the portal into the arena, the battle was on. Combatants from the Nex Ut Proditor still gathered, awaiting the governor's ending ceremony when the mayhem erupted. There were numerous fights at all points on the arena floor and within the upper gallery.

Orcs surrounded Luteus on all sides, attacking with reckless abandon, mindless of the mortal danger they faced with so many hardened and battle tested warriors and casters on hand from the days activities.

Luteus stepped back and merged with the shadows and smoke and dust. He moved quickly and quietly around the group of momentarily disoriented orcs. Once he had an advantageous position, he eyed a particularly vulnerable spot on the backside of the largest orc and thrust his rapier deep and true into the orc's torso. His hand pressed firmly against the rapier's hilt until it flushed up against the orc's armour.

Using the rapier hilt as a fulcrum, Luteus leveraged himself up and wrapped his legs around the orc's waist. He squeezed tightly around the monster's midsection, supporting his own weight, while in his offhand he clutched a particularly sharp blade, short and apparently magical, if it's glow was any indication. He had purchased the short sword the day before the Nex Ut Proditor from Amnon Meshullam, of the Order of the Diamond, the guild that had sponsored the day's event.

Luteus nimbly swung the blade toward the orc's head, jamming it hard into the side of it's neck and thrusting it also toward the hilt. Once he felt it hit bone, Luteus withdrew the blade slowly while drawing it across the orc's throat and with a sure-handed motion yanked it out from the other side ushering a spray of dark, putrid orcish blood and corpuscles from the now severed neck. Orcish fluids spewed from the gaping wound and its head fell backwards, unhinged and somewhat detached. Luteus gracefully pulled back his short sword, and allowing his body to swing in counterpoint to the successful attack, he released the grip from his legs, dropped to the ground, landing sure-footed in the dust and with a mighty pull, withdrew the rapier from its fatal stroke deep within the orcish bulk.

The moment Luteus' rapier emerged from his body the orc dropped into a heap, slain, and Luteus once again quietly merged with the shadows and dust and smoke. The battle had just begun, the sounds and chaos swirled around the arena.

It was just then that Luteus looked upward from his spot near the portal, and noticed the Governor, cowering and trembling behind his arena throne. A sympathetic Cearian might have been moved by this sight, driven to the governor's aid out of a sense of lawful obligation and of duty to protect the empire's representatives.

But Luteus hated the Varanites and all their representatives, especially the governor. With battle fervor rushing through his being, the blood lust hardly satiated by killing that pathetic orc, Luteus smiled, a crazy look of control in his eyes. He moved swiftly and quietly out of the arena, up the short flight of steps to the gallery, heading around to the far side.

He spotted the corpse of a fallen mage and used his robe to wipe clean both the rapier and the short sword. He then moved to a spot behind some gallery benches and withdrew a small vial of viscous liquid from his satchel. He applied the liquid evenly to both weapons, and then resealed the empty vial and placed it back into his bag.

The battle raged around him. The Voice of the Master commanded a small army of orcs and other evil creatures. He had beset the city of Cear with an assault from inside the gates, in the heart of Trades and Commons, at the greatest tournament of the year. Nobody had the time or inclination to figure out how or why, they just acted on instinct and joined the orgy of killing. The City would not fall to this onslaught, but the governor would not survive the battle.

Merging with the shadows Luteus made his way toward the governor's perch, where he found the pitiable figure still trembling behind his throne, pathetic and weak, afraid and impotent. Luteus paused a moment, perhaps to allow the battle to reach a deafening climax, or maybe it was his sense of responsibility for the act he had chosen to undertake.

While the Constable and other fleetsmen as well as a host of veteran adventurers kept the advancing horde at bay, Luteus moved toward the governor's side. Smoke and dust from the battle on the arena floor choked everyone involved and coated their throats. Luteus fought back the urge to cough.

His eyes held a look of fierce determination. He wasn't on a mission, claiming the political allegiance of some mysterious alliance. He acted on impulse, driven by his disgust for the tyranny of the empire. He seized the opportunity presented by the chaos surrounding him and engaged his personal sense of righteous indignation.

Deftly and quietly he sprang into action.