Dench took in a deep breath, inhaling all the moist air the night had to offer. He preferred the dark of night than the light of day. It really set the killer in him free. Notwithstanding that, he also found the daylight less bothersome than most of his tribe did.
Thinking of his tribe caused his face to darken, those fools could not understand his thoughts in the first place. He sometimes wondered why was he blessed with such intelligence while others of his tribe could not even learn a single alphabet of the human language. Maybe it was because he was an half-orc?
It was often true that a bit of human blood gave a warrior just the right mix of cunning, ambition, and self-discipline to go far indeed, as Dench had. He was the chosen inheriter of his tribe's heirloom, the Bloody Sickle, and his strength almost surpassed that of a rank-five fighter. So maybe his assumption was really spot on?
Anyway, what's done is done, those brutes were too dim-witted for my aspiration to begin with.
Recollecting his thoughts, he took the stock of his surroundings. The fire had almost died out, ashes flitting about in the air. No sound could be heard, except for the swish of distant leaves and some occasional activity of nocturnal animals. Utter darkness enveloped the area.
However, thanks to his orc blood, he had superior vision in dark and dim conditions. He could see in dim light within 60 feet of him as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light, albeit he couldn't discern colours in darkness, only shades of gray.
Huehuehue, it seems like all of them fell victim to my drow sleeping poison.
He had paid in blood to get a few drops of this poison from the merchants on their way back from that evil land of drows. All one had to do was to merely expose it in the air for it instantaneously vaporize and take affect in a few hours.
However, the evil of this poison was that it didn't differentiate between a friend and a foe. So to defend against it, you'd either have to possess an extremely strong immunity to poisons, or some kind of a powerful spell to negate the damage inflicted by it. However, an easier way to protect oneself from the poison was to hold one's breath for a few minutes, which was exactly what he had done when he used it on those humans.
Those naive humans...
Detecting no movement from the other tents, he felt proud of his cunning. He had deceived the humans to make them lower their guard against him. His initial plan, however, had been to fight them, or run away if things didn't go well, alas, it seemed Lord Gruumsh's blessings were with him.
He looked up at the sky. The two moons appeared to a have a tint of red as they now hovered a lot more close to each other than they had ever been. Beyond them rose a hue of white that made the sky above look errie.
''When the mortals rebel, the gods unleash their wrath…" he murmured to himself, silently thinking of a daunting legend.
This phenomenon was a rare occurrence that was only sighted once every three years. The first time it had been witnessed was after that demon and his family had been annihilated by the joint effort of all those nations. Thinking of those rumors caused even him to tremble in fear.
Like hell a being like that would exist!
He shook his head, forcefully dragging himself out of his reverie. Remembering what he was here for, he closed his eyes, trying to sense the location of its mark. It seemed like it was still nearby. According to the imprint he left on it, it was not moving. The animal must be slumbering right now, he figured.
After shooting a second glace at the tents—but not detecting anything out of place—he slowly melted inside the forest.
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This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Late at midnight, a man emerged out of dense thickets. He trod forward with a heavy gait, as if every step consumed a great deal of his energy. Moonlight shone on the mutilated carcass of an animal, possibly a boar, that rested upon the man's shoulders. In comparison to the man's size, the animal looked humongous. However, the man carried it as if the animal's size did not matter. Drops of blood dripped down the animal's body at every step.
If someone studied the man's walk carefully, they'd notice that there seemed to be no specific pattern and rhythm behind it. The man walked around the campsite in an erratic manner, taking a few turns after every few seconds and leaving behind a trail of red blood. The man would ocassionally mutter something in a harsh and grating language with hard consonants.
Eventually, the man's walk ceased. He dropped the animal onto the ground with a thud and chanted a spell, which caused the corpse to instantly catch fire. Within seconds, the corpse turned into ashes which quickly dispersed into the air.
"The preparations for the ritual have been completed," Dench murmured and released a sigh of relief. "All that's left is the sacrifice..." He licked his lips in anticipation.
He willed it and a blood-coloured sickle appeared in front of him. With a curved chine and sharply pointed toe, the sickle emanated a baleful aura. Every time Dench tried to earnestly look at the weapon, he felt as if a demon was gauging him up with a glint of dark, malevolent eyes. It honestly made him feel uncomfortable.
The weapon so evil that all those who forcefully tried to lay their hands on it went insane, their souls devoured by it in a flash.
Only in his hands could the world witness its true terror. Not to mention, after the ritual had been successfully carried out, the weapon would become even stronger.
Smirking evilly, he went inside the tent where the female human was sleeping in. Due to the inside of the tent being compact, he was forced to incline his head down a little. The adventurer slept soundlessly with a tranquil expression on her face, unaware of the dangers that lingered in the night.
As he lifted her body up in his arms, the woman grunted unconsciously and her eyelids twitched in response. Realizing that she had no more reaction to offer, Dench let out a sigh of relief and slowly made his way out of the tent.
He put her body on down on to the ground. The ritual required him to sacrifice offerings at different intervals, so he thought it was better to commence the ceremony with the female adventurer first. He bit his thumb, causing dark red blood to spill forth, and smeared the woman's face with it. The blood was so dark that one would might even mistake it for black.
He noticed that the air had grown much colder all of a sudden. No night animals disturbed the silence with their cries, an observation that set Dench’s nerves on edge. Griping the sickle in his hand, he brought it closer to the female human's neck, wanting nothing more than to get this over with. With a quick swing of his hand, he had already decided the fate of the human just when his attack stopped halfway through.
—A naked finger was blocking his sickle from granting the female the swift release of death.
He caught the sight of someone standing only one feet away from him. Blue eyes that glittered with an otherworldly presence in the dark, looking at him with a tinge of amusement flickering across them. He backed away a few steps in panic, while feeling frightening at the same time. He recognized the man; he was one who persuaded his warrior companion not to resort to violence. The only impression he had of this individual was that of a meek man.
How did my poison not affect him? More importantly, how did he block my strike with his puny finger?!
"…who are you?" Dench asked, a hint of grim playing across his face. He reckoned the man to be formidable opponent, so it was better to feel him out first before taking any other sort of action. He was indeed cautious, otherwise he would've long been roasted alive by those of his tribe.
"Oh? That's what I should be asking you, don't you think? To keep trailing a four-star dventurer party for more than six hours without them noticing takes some skill and a sinister motive at the same time," Completely undeterred by Dench's menacing glare, the man calmly stated.
How did he know that?!
It was certainly true he had been following them for quite some time to ascertain their strength, but for the man to know exactly how long he been stalking them for and yet, do nothing in response gave birth to a profound sense of unease in Dench's heart.
Seeing him pondering, the man went on, "Not to mention, for you to escape the power of Shihle's spell, while still being in its range indicated you had something to hide. Though, after seeing what you have been up to all this time, it seems like you have been hiding a lot from us, eh?"
Dench now had a gloomy expression on his face, his leisure attitude had long since faded into dust. It was true that his presence went undetected when he stepped into the range of the spell-caster's spell, but the members of Silvar Cavalry, including Shihle herself, had been under the impression that Dench must have been outside the spell's range for him to go completely unnoticed. Yet, this anomaly did not escape Malazan's eyes.
"So what if you know?! All of you are not living past this night! Just surrender willingly and I will leave you with an intact corpse," Dench said in annoyance. Albeit the man came off clever, but this was all he had going for him. Dench naturally considered Malazan to be far weaker than himself, so it really irked him the wrong way when an inferior being tried to put-him down like this. Gathering his wits, he prepared his body for fight. He would just end this with one swing to the man's throat.
"Hahaha, I see. It's good to have some arrogance. Certainly, Cloven wanted to kill you the moment you started following us, but I held him back as I wanted to see what you had in store for us," the man said cheerfully, as if he was talking about something worth celebrating for.
What the heck is he blabbering about?!
Dench furrowed his brow slightly. He did not like how the man showed a complete disregard for him.
"But, your actions so far have declared your intent kill these people that I took the time to save. Does that strike you as a very nice thing to do?”
Malazan's hair flapped dramatically in the wind. The same gust maintained its force and blew through Dench as well.
The wind blowing over the forest had just happened to come from Malazan’s direction, that was all. Feeling the chilly wind all over his body, Dench cleared away the thoughts that had popped up in his head.
That wind didn’t actually smell like death… It was just my imagination.
"S-so what?"
Although he was feeling a bit overwhelmed, he maintained his taunting attitude with a sneer. As a former chief of an orc tibe, who possessed the strength nearly surpassing that of a rank-five individual, he was not going to be fazed by one guy—no—he couldn’t afford to be.
"But, do you know what angered me the most?" The man took a step forward. It was only one step, but he looked huge now. This presence was unbelievably overwhelming. Dench himself had never been so overawed. Having gone through countless life-or-death situation and taken countless lives, Dench for the first time felt like he was going to be crushed by the pressure exerted by this unknown man, Malazan.
"Who in the world gave you the audacity to threaten me?" Dench's scalp went numb, his hair standing on end. Cold shivers shot through his body and his hands and legs were trembling. The sensation of a thousand cold needles penetrating every inch of his body spread no sooner than it took him to gather his thoughts, or at least gather enough of them to think a little clearer.
The man stood there, his lustrous black hair glittering with sparkle of red while his piercing blue eyes appeared to be as cold and hard as sapphires. For a moment, Dench couldn’t believe his own eyes. The image of dignity and otherworldliness Malazan currently portrayed formed a contradictory contrast to his usual mild front.
This man—no this godly being—possessed a strength every other being dreamt of, yet he now knew how impossible it was for them to reach this peak. Realizing the significance of this power, he prostrated on the cold hard ground: "O' Forsaken One, please let this lowly being aid you on your bloody path to carnage."
"You have already forfeited your right to do so," the godly being declared in a chilling tone.
A feeling of great disappointment gushed inside him. He had been a fool. How could he dare to plot against a man of this caliber. Dench smiled bitterly as he realized that he had missed a chance of a lifetime.
"Now, then, I shall bring you to judgement for all the sins you have committed," a cowing voice reached his ears. Soon, a blinding light seared his eyes, forcing him to close them.