Robed figures, each with hoods drawn as they chanted in unison, gathered around Alterez as he stood over his latest victim. A pretty young thing, the naked woman before him remained gagged, her wrists and ankles shackled to the stone slab that made the altar for this ritual. Illuminator crystals cast eerie shadows as two other robed figures walked towards him. The taller of the two, a kobold, held forth a wickedly curved blade known as a kris, which remained the favored implement to deliver ritual sacrifices. The woman’s eyes widened at the sight of the blade, and though she struggled against her bonds, her efforts yielded no results as she found herself helpless before her captors.
The chanting increased as Alterez drew the blade high overhead, which admittedly wasn’t very high on account of his short stature, but it still carried with it the terrorizing effect. In one swift motion, he plunged it down at the woman, where the blade buried itself deep in the offering as liquid, red and warm, sputtered forth from the sacrifice. Muffled screams escaped the gag on the woman, her body trembling and thrashing until she eventually stilled.
“And so we implore you, oh great and powerful Vomithrax, to accept this sacrifice freely given unto you.”
“And so it be given.”
The chant echoes forth seven times from those assembled in the matching robes. The offering accepted, the remnants of it disappeared as the god took his due.
More muffled sounds came from the woman as she stirred once more. Alterez removed her gag to listen to what the woman would say.
“That really tickled,” she uttered as soon as the gag was torn free of her mouth. “What was that, a cherry pie?”
“A good guess, but more nuanced than that,” explained Alterez as he removed the shackles from the latest initiate. “We have plenty more; you should try some.”
With the ritual complete, Alterez signaled the one who gave him the knife to turn the illuminators up. The figure lowered his hood, as did the one next to him, and none other than Gambino made his way to the control crystal and rotated it until the lights were all the way up. Bambina remained behind to offer the naked woman her new robes which matched those of everyone else.
“Who wants some pie?” shouted Alterez excitedly as the crowd cheered.
Moving over to the nearby table laden with pies, Alterez began handing them out to the grateful members of his ‘cult’. Really, it was just a little club for people who wanted to relax in a way that was fun and felt taboo. The god, Vomithrax, was real enough, but being a god of Food and Fellowship, he appreciated the pie more than a living sacrifice, same as most gods. The woman being naked was just her personal choice, as most kept on their undergarments during initiation.
As Alterez handed out the pies he had made and greeted people, he thought back to the beginning of this whole cult business. He had first recruited the kobolds, each of whom eagerly accepted the opportunity to perform in front of others. Together, they recruited bored and hungry people who wanted an exotic and private means to hang out after work. This being their 18th camp so far, The Bossman, ever knowledgeable that Alterez was a [Cult Leader], had snuck in a secret underground chamber under the dining hall to help Alterez facilitate his occult hobbies. It also technically doubled as a safe room in the event of an attack, but The Bossman just happened to ‘forget’ to tell everyone about its existence.
The kobolds had somehow secured fabric for robes; the bolts of cloth were dark red with two yellow stripes going down both the front and back. Alterez, being the leader, had more embellishments on his hood and sleeves, and overall, they looked the part of cultists. The tricky part had been making the cloth into robes, but the kobolds seemed to be rather adept at making costumes and handled it well. Gnomes, dwarves, kobolds, miccen, and a scattering of humans, orcs, and remnimi made up the bulk of the cult, with Alterez being the sole goblin.
Someday, Alterez promised himself, there would be more goblins. It was only a matter of time before the road went through goblin territory, and by that point, Alterez would have the Skills to charm and recruit some of them to live in civilized society. Until then, he would bide his time and continue the experiment with his trial-run of a cult. The worthy among them would be invited to his next cult, and the even worthier would be invited to his true and hidden cult. It was all cults hidden within and behind other cults, the secrecy and duplicity coming naturally to his superior goblin mind. The gods had ordained his work, and so he would not fail in the task. As the kobolds would say, ‘the show must go on.’
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Vultures gathered in their masses as air currents created updrafts to facilitate their constant circling. Down on the ground, Nabonidus gazed up at them in contemplation, for there was not much else to do this far from camp. Soon, because of his mistake, they would feast upon the flesh he provided, for while he could see the future, he could not always control the outcome. One simple mistake was all it took to end a life, and for Nabonidus, that mistake would nurture new life as countless hungry bellies devoured unearned flesh.
“Feel like talking yet?”
The ogre remained silent, continuing to play dumb as he lay staked out on the ground. A quick blow to the back of the head had been all it took to fell the ogre, and so incapacitated, the simple task of restraining him remained the only chore between the deed and the interrogation.
“Have it your way then. I’ll be here when you are ready.”
Doubtful that the ogre would last long under the withering glare of the oppressive sun in this desolate and forsaken land. If that didn’t kill him, then the freezing night winds when the temperature plummeted would finish him off. Not that Nabonidus cared much, for death was always the end result at this point.
The ogre continued to play dumb, perhaps foolishly hoping that some rescuer would be arriving, but such was a vain hope. Nabonidus had seen the futures, seen the ones where the blow came to the back of his head, and so had taken measures against it. The fact that the other ogre pinned down on the scorching ground never got a chance to act upon it was not a moral problem for Nabonidus, for the truth of the visions spoke enough as to the intent.
The question now became, who had put this ogre up to the task? As Nabonidus took refuge in the shade of a tree, he wondered if the ogre he had gone hunting with had truly planned this all himself or worked on behalf of another. No visions of the future could pierce the veil of that mystery to see the face behind the scheme. Perhaps no such person existed, or perhaps said individual contested Nabonidus with Skills of his own for Divination.
Few ogres had survived the entire year and some change that Nabonidus had been alive. Such a life expectancy could be attributed to luck, but with ogres generally being extremely stupid, Nabonidus found such odds to be low. His instincts told him that those ogres were like him, masquerading as simple brutes in the struggle to discover and kill one another. Nabonidus considered himself a master at the game, but even he had made a mistake.
This other ogre, Glombo, had witnessed Nabonidus stashing some food under a rock outside of camp. Such foresight in saving food for later, a seemingly basic concept for survival, still remained beyond the realm of creative thinking for most ogres. Nabonidus had noticed his onlooker, but yet feigned ignorance. As he left camp this morning for a hunt for food, he had grunted in the direction of Glombo in invitation to hunt together. Nabonidus took them far away from camp where there would be no prying eyes.
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Just over the next ridge, Glombo had planned to strike Nabonidus in the back of the head. To distract his foe, he had simply pointed in a direction and said, “look, water”. The oaf had turned to look, since they were both parched, and that is when Nabonidus struck down Glombo. And now Nabonidus waited to see if the hot sun would loosen that tongue and cause it to wag favorably. Returning to camp alone would not draw suspicion, for all too often, fewer ogres returned than those who left. Now Nabonidus just had to be patient and remain vigilant lest the oaf did actually have someone following to aid in a murder.
In the world of kill or be killed, Nabonidus killed each and every time. There was no hesitation or remorse, nor was there needless cruelty or delight. Current circumstances deemed torture prudent to extract information, but Nabonidus didn’t feel wicked pleasure well up within him at the thought of it. It was just business after all.
Danger lurked around every corner, not just in the wilderness, but in the ogre camp. Many times had Nabonidus tried to leave, but each time, something had stopped him from going too far. It wasn’t just a force, but an intelligence with intent. For weeks, Nabonidus had tried to ascertain what manner of being this specter was, and with countless looks into the future as he tested destroying one thing or another in the camp, he had finally isolated the source.
The fire. In the home of the chieftain, which itself appeared to be a giant jar that had been smashed through on one side, a fire burned in a fire pit. No wood had ever been added to it, but it burned just the same day and night without end. Many hours had been spent staring into the flame for insight, but only when sleep threatened to distract him from his vigil, he would see it. A face in the flames would laugh and leer in his direction. Truly, some foul spirit had made its home there and kept the ogres captive, for what else could explain how none ever left?
Killing or destroying it proved difficult. There were always ogres around the flame, those that licked the feet of the chieftain. Even if he could get past them, some manner of compulsion restrained his hand. Any desire for violence against it had been quelled, the connection between thought and action severed no matter how hard Nabonidus had tried. He could not destroy it on his own, and neither could the other ogres. He would need to find an ally and convince it to perform the deed for him. But where would such a person be found?
The only other sentient creatures Nabonidus ever noticed were strange individuals hauling bones down south. Sometimes they were alone, other times, they traveled in caravans. Despite the ogre raids, they continued their task, always returning empty-handed when traveling north. Those beings were intelligent, yet they continued to travel through the territory of the ogres. Some fought back, most managed to escape more often than not, but they persisted in traveling this route.
Nabonidus had contemplated the ‘why’ of it for many hours and could only come to one conclusion. The lands beyond to the east and west must hold impassable terrain, whether it be poisonous swamps, great rifts into the earth, or creatures so dangerous that no sane person would dare intrude. A myriad of possible circumstances existed for the nearby lands, but the end result had to be that traveling through the territory of the ogres was ultimately safer. Nabonidus had made the perilous journeys to the four corners of the limits of his range, and though he extended his sight as far as he could with his Skills, the effort yielded no discernable insight, for the land appeared the same for as far as he could see.
He had tried to talk to those people, but they could not understand him and did not linger to engage in peaceful attempts of communication. They remained devoted to their tasks, and while they never attacked him first, they still refused to give him the time of day. Perhaps they saw him as a boon, for a peaceful ogre was a good ogre to have around. If they killed him, a new ogre would spawn to fill his place, and the new ogre would doubtlessly be violent.
With that option exhausted, only one path remained to Nabonidus. The dragon approached, slowly but surely. Some day within the next few months or years, he would reach Nabonidus. In his visions, the dragon would talk to him and listen, and so Nabonidus had one shot to ingratiate himself with his new lord and implore him to destroy the fire that held him captive. To that end, Nabonidus had to survive until such a Destined day would arrive, and then he would choose his own Fate.
All of those considerations circled back to Glombo. Was he working with other intelligent ogres? Were they in league with the spirit in the flame? Nabonidus would know what Glombo knew, and when satisfied that nothing more remained to be learned, he would kill Glombo, for that was the way of the world.
Hours passed, but finally, Nabonidus was rewarded for his patience. Glombo tried to speak, but his mouth, parched from the hot sun, could not properly form words. With a hollowed-out horn that he kept on his person, Nabonidus delivered water to Glombo and encouraged him to speak. While Glombo did speak, his words were naught but the ramblings of a madman. Try as he might, Nabonidus could not parse through the incoherent thoughts for a deeper meaning. Wary of a trap, Nabonidus remained vigilant as he constantly looked around for any signs of danger. Hours passed, but then Glombo ceased speaking.
As Nabonidus went to finish the job, Glombo spasmed, his body straining at his bonds as white froth formed within his mouth. The seizure lasted perhaps half a minute before Glombo perished. Just to be safe, Nabonidus used a rock to crush Glomgo’s head into pulp. The last thing he needed was an undead ogre chasing after him.
The experience had not been entirely fruitless. Glombo had spoken with a rich vocabulary, one far beyond what normal ogres used in their vernacular. As far as Nabonidus could tell, Glombo had not been possessed by another being and spoke with his own words. That meant that Glombo had indeed been intelligent. With that tiny morsel of a clue in mind, Nabonidus would keep watch for anyone who expected Glombo to return. Even a slight disturbance in the composure of another ogre was enough to give away the ruse, but that worked both ways.
With nothing else to be gained, Nabonidus made his way home. Finding food had become trivial in a sense, assuming food was to be had. If any animal worthy of being eaten were to cross his path on the way home, Nabonidus would know of it and would be able to be in the right place at the right time to strike. Nabonidus had to be careful to not be too successful at hunting lest he draw suspicion, but eating smaller animals out here in the wilderness or stashing food away helped to maintain his cover.
He just had to survive, one day after the next, until the dragon arrived. Nabonidus knew not what god to pray to, but he prayed anyway to those who would listen that he would survive that long.
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“Now on to the matter of the late Count Vladislav,” spoke the senior among them to his peers. “It would seem that he failed in his task. What do you have to say for this, Margrave Conrad?”
Margrave Conrad cleared his throat, his nerves on edge at being called out by his superior. “My apologies, Uncle, for the failure of my son. The research data is corrupted, for someone tore my son’s heart from his chest and later ate it.”
“Not just someone,” interrupted the other dragon, “But none other than Princess Nanu. Her escape and adoption by the new Emperor is an unacceptable outcome.”
Wilting under the irate glare of his superior, Margrave Conrad lowered himself in submission, his wings and tail tucked close in subservience. “A thousand apologies, Uncle. I will dispatch our finest dragon hunters right away to recapture her and the new Emperor as well.”
“No.”
Margrave Conrad looked up at his displeased uncle, but did not dare to speak.
“No,” his uncle repeated as anger filled his voice and caused the walls to shake with his power. “You will not simply dispatch them! You will lead them and see to it personally. Do not dare return without my prize recovered. I had loaned her to you to help further my research, and it is your head that will roll if she is not recovered.”
“As you wish, Uncle,” replied Margrave Conrad meekly as he cowered.
“Why are you still here?” roared his uncle. “Begone from my sight before I can no longer contain my rage!”
Margrave Conrad scurried away as fast as he could, his body staying low to the ground the entire time. His peers laughed at his craven retreat and disgrace, and though resentment burned in his heart, he remained in no position to strike back. Though it would bankrupt his savings, his life and the fate of his children hinged upon his success. Best that one failure not compound upon another and see his progeny purged for having inferior blood.
There were many knightly orders of dragon hunters to choose from, each capable of ensuring success. Margrave Conrad would hire all of them, lead a grand hunt for the most favored of prizes. Although the hunt would be highly illegal and the various churches would try to intercede, the most daring and ambitious of hunters would still flock to the challenge.
With a small and silent laugh to himself, Margrave Conrad relished the day he would cross paths with the new Emperor and clear his own name. With a plan forming, he chanted his flight’s mantra.
“Glory to the Blood!”