3. Specter of the Nars

Specter of the Nars


  • 2.2

    He pushed the door open, quickly yet fluidly moving into the warmth of the Pissing Goat, away from the biting wind that was full of Auril’s chill fury. He unconsciously brushed a bit of the snow from his golden robe, thankful at least that the elven crafted helm he wore kept some of his heat in.

    His head scanned the room, seeing the typical patrons of the goat at this night. Drunkards and street rats that had no where else to go because society has scorned them, married men out for a night of carousing before heading back in a stupor to rape their wives, thieves and murderers who thought the night was still young for their hour was still to come. It was a festering hole of human society, one that he thrived in. But not now, not in this guise, in this persona. No, he saw the one he came for and let a small smile form under his golden head piece. Moving over slowly, the robes billowing before giving the impression of his simply gliding over.

    ”Ah, Cara my dear. How lovely it is to see your exuberantly warm face in the steed of all this frigid weather.” The words trailed out like honey but behind the mask there was a small smile that would’ve chilled Auril herself. The game had begun.


  • 2.1

    It had been a long day for Cara. Some of the dwarves from the south came up to the city and they always caused a huge ruckus. Loud and boisterous, spilling ale everywhere and leaving bones of turkey legs scattered about like some crazed feast. Still, for all the trouble and annoyance they may cause at times she still enjoyed when they came up. They had a quaint fun to them that always brought her joy through the weariness of tending to them. The fact that they also were rather good tippers once drunk helped out as well.

    The fiery haired lass headed over to their now deserted table, cleaning up a bit as the candles around the inn finally began to reach their last few embers. She slipped her hand over the half a dozen gold coins and plopped them into her pouch. The thought brought a smile to her face as she thought of the shopping spree that would come the next day.

    She let her minds eye wander as she cleaned, slowly drifting to thoughts of her current lover Richard. He was a strong man, a loading boy at the docks. His broad shoulders and thick chest were a perfect match for her delicate young boy and the thought of his shining green eyes sent her alight. The sound of the door clicking open and the bell ringing sent her from her small reverie as she turned her head. It was then that she saw him again.


  • **1.6

    Those traveling the Nars this day saw a man hanging upon a cliff along the path just after Jiyyd. Burnt into the back of the corpse was a simple message:

    “Darkness is ever Watching”**


  • **1.5

    He held the two eyes in his hand, peering at the strange organs as he rolled them in his hands. This was truly what he needed, the torture of the creature hanging behind him was simply a bonus. Taking a thin needle he pinned one into the middle of the mutilated corpse, a sigul, a sign, a token. He took the helm back into his hands, replacing it with a relieved smirk as it blocked out the blinding light of the sun. Quickly performing a ritual of summoning he pulled forth from the hells a minor devil. The thing quickly bowed at the service of the mage, hoping to do his biding in exchange for some time in this land. The mage bid the imp to cast a simple spell, one of invisibly, then set it on its way to have whatever vile fun it would wish. Himself, his time in this area was done now, it was time to retreat back and continue with his rituals and prayers.

    “After all,” he mused, “I have another to add to my focus.”

    Chuckling coldly as he rolled the remaining eye in his invisible hand**


  • **1.4

    Korgath’s eye fluttered open. Eye, because one was completely swelled shut. The one good one remaining instantly had blood dripping down into it, obscuring his vision as the pain came back within him. He looked through the red haze, watched as his lifeblood spilled out through different points and dripped down under his head.

    It was then he realized what was happening. He pulled his head up a bit to see his body hanging upside down, suspended by a rope tied to a tree branch. He instantly tried to move his hands to his great sword but found them tied.

    “Ah, good. Awake once more. I was beginning to wonder how long it would take you.”

    Who? Wait, no. He knew who it was. It was the specter that descended upon him, the thing with the head like a dragon that he saw before the damned club smashed into him with unbelievable accuracy. He tried to scream out, to call for help, to demand to know why this was being done. Despite his attempts though, nothing more came then simple wheezing and coughs.

    A cool, collected, calm yet purely wicked chuckle came from behind.
    “No no no my barbaric prey. There will be no speaking, no rallying cry for the other brutes from the south to come.”

    At that Korgath saw a bloody dagger thrown under him, teasing him.

    “That is the weapon I used to cut out that voicebox of yours so I no longer had to hear your screams. It would’ve been fun to listen to you beg for your life but such luxuries are not able to be had out here in the wild, but I’ll just have to make up for it.”

    Korgath confusion set in. Witch craft was obvious involved in this, he knew that the moment the red aura surrounded him and the darkness befell him. How was his throat cut out though and yet still he lived. Of course Korgath was a simple southerner, the typical barbarian that knew little of the extent of magic, so there was no way he knew that the man simply cut the useable parts of his voice box then healed the skin, sealing it so that the blood would not trickle out and deprive his captor of the pleasure of his torture.

    Suddenly pain, intense and intrusive seized his body. He felt fingers, each tipped in dripping acid running down his bare back, searing the skin straight from his body, tearing it from the bone. Korgath smelt the sizzle of his flesh, the putrid smell invading his nostrils. The torture went on for what seemed like hours though in reality it was mere minutes. Finally the pain ceased, the sound of his skin sizzling under the magicks stopped. He breathed a sigh of relief, but a short lived one, for just then he saw the boodly dagger picked back up.

    He tried to force his head up, to see who had done this so that he may curse the man to the gods upon his passing. The helm was off, and his one good eye opened slightly at the man beneath the wyrmish covering. The face was darker, the skin looking as if it was covered by ash, but it looked familiar. A face from norwick, years ago. A cleric of lathander that healed his wounds…but, even then, the man seemed to have a darker gleam in his eyes. These musings didn’t have much time to set in though, for the man was moving down, his dark face close to Korgath’s.

    “And now you sad excuse for a living creature, I shall have two things from you before I leave you be. First your lecherous eyes that shall never look upon the flesh of another to lead you to vile deeds of your kind, and to aid me in my endeavors to come. And second I shall take from you because all those of your town do not deserve to call themselves men…”

    He watched in terror the man begin to chant words he didn’t understand, and screamed at the first realization of what he meant. The arrow of acid shot forth from his devil in the skin of a human’s hand and tore into his most precious area, the sizzling of it sending a gurgle through his lungs, a scream nearly escaping despite the ruined voice box. The pain at least distracted him enough that he didn’t have a chance to be afraid of what was coming next, not until the blade struck. The tip of the steel diving into the soft membrane of his one good eye left within him, and the intense pain was finally to much as his consciousness left him…this time being the last ever.**


  • **1.3

    He let out a thin short smile as he watched his first spell slam into the blasted barbarian. Let out a small chilly chuckle as he watched the lumbering hulks entire body slump, the weight of the ore to much for his weakened body. However now was not the time to celebrate, the prey was still in sight and it need to pay for all of his kind.

    His words, speeded by the magical dweamor, flowed out in a blur as he let forth a globe of darkness over the weighed down Narsman. The barbarian screamed in rage at this point, the anger fueling the warrior for a moment. However this just increased the battle frenzy of the mage, letting forth with another spell of enfeeblement he sent the brute to the ground growling but unable to move. Now was time to enjoy.

    Quickly he grasped the weave, his hands still while his mouth spoke the arcane words to mold the intricate pattern into dark bolts of magical energy. Three then three more shot forth into the magical darkness and slammed straight into the barbarian, bringing a cry of anger and agony his prey. Once more extending his grasp onto the weave, this time hardening the air underneath his feet, he let himself slowly drop down to the ledge below him. Into the darkness he moved, as home to it as the light, if not more. The moment his feet hit his mouth worked another spell, sending forth a stream of acid into his target, sizzling and dissolving through the armor and into the skin.

    Moving forward, foot planting firmly onto the chest, feeling the rise and fall of the haggard barbarians lungs. Eyes flaring in pure arcane malevolence as the darkness subsided around them. There was his prize, there was what he wanted to see; Pure unbridled terror in the eyes of this creature, this being no better then pillaging orcs.

    He reached behind his back while speaking one last spell, ready for this to end the consciousness of the man. Seeing in his minds eye the exact location of where his prey's head will move he brought down his finely made club, grinning vilely at the loud CRACK of the wood connecting with bones of his victim. The nose of the barbarian almost disintegrated as the head of the club hit point blank on the target. Crimson blood gushing up against the helm and robe, deep red against the shadow black. Licking a bit of the blood that managed its way through the eye hole, tasting the fear of his victim in the liquid.

    Standing he grasped the legs of the unconscious man up along the hill. The first part was done but this wasn’t over…no where near over. More fun was to be had**


  • **1.2

    Korgath grunted as he trudged through the lands of the nars. He had departed from norwick earlier with a dour expression and a few unkind words under his breath. He had just got back from the Rawlins on a small crafting expedition, and the blood of dozens of goblins pointlessly slaughtered still was thick on his armor and upon the blade of his great sword. He was still unsure of this contraption one of the local wizards had set up for him, a “backpack” they called it. He figured any moment it would rip open and out would spill all the precious ore he had gotten. Still, compared it was easier then a damned sack for the march up to Peltarch.

    He let out another annoyed snort. The crafters had came in and taken over his town and his trade hall. Bought it up like it was some city instead of a home of his kind. He’d be damned if he had to join some organization just to practice the art of his ancestors long passed. Still, he hated the city. The cold stone and all the haughty elitists wandering around like they’re so much better then him.

    All these things were crossing his mind as he walked along the pass, the backpack snug to his back and the great sword set at his side. It was likely due to those thoughts distracting him that he didn’t realize the man standing over top of him like some type of specter, twenty feet above on the cliff. It is likely for those annoyed thoughts that he was completely surprised when the red and black pulsing energy swept up his body and sapped the strength from him like a leech draining blood.**