Ancient Furled Fingers - A sword and sorcery short story

A couple of months ago I posted The Battle for Illmire--a session prep post for what ended up being the end of a mission arc from a game I'm running. The characters and events involved gave me lots of ideas for a short story, which I present below. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I - The Temple

Illustration by BertDrawsStuff

On the top of a hill, there was a monastery. Walls of stone surrounded a large temple and a collection of smaller buildings. The bricks of dark basalt were tainted green from mold and moss and slippery from the humidity. In this region of Somaria, the skies were nearly perpetually clouded and bouts of rain arrived and left unannounced throughout the day.

Two hooded figures leapt easily over the stone wall. They hid in bushes that lined the inside of the monastery and moved silently. There, they found a dead body dressed in purple robes tucked away in the bushes. When they reached the large temple, they found the back door slightly ajar--someone had beaten them here.

Zorf and Rick were mercenary brothers. Zorf had mastered the sword while Rick had mastered the bow. Together, they had gone on countless dangerous adventures and made riches as fast as they could squander them. Their current job was a fat cash cow, paid by the Followers of Wingal, a powerful religious organization with a strong foothold across Somaria. The Wingals, as they were often called, generally paid well, but paid even better for dirty, secret jobs like those that Zorf and Rick specialized in.

This was primarily a rescue mission. Nine priests had been taken captive by a group of cultists that were at war with Followers of Wingal. Zorf and Rick were tasked with rescuing as many priest as possible and ensure, at all costs, that the head priest Randius was rescued alive. Their payment depended on it.

Zorf and Rick snuck in and through the temple until they found themselves deep at a guarded corridor. Two purple-robed cultists stood flanking a heavy iron-banded door, behind which surely were the prisoners to be rescued, or at least Zorf thought. One guard carried a sword while the other showed the brandings of sorcery on his head. Zorf hated sorcerers, for they always fucked everything up in unpredictable ways. In fact, magic is how Zorf lost his right arm. 

Zorf and Rick remained crouched with their backs to the stone contemplating their options.

"Just like the time at the bandit camp in Corcosas Bay" whispered Rick.

Zorf smirked excitedly, "finally, this sneaking shit gets boring." He tightened a leather bracer that secured attachments to his amputated arm. He swapped a hook for a short sword with a basket guard, quietly screwing it in. 

"Take care of the fucking sorcerer" whispered Zorf, then charged, crouched as much as possible to give Rick a clearer shot. Simultaneously, Rick stepped out, bow and arrow ready.

The cultists were taken slightly aback by a muscular, barbaric warrior with a sword for an arm charging them. The sorcerer began motioning to cast some eldritch magic, when Rick's arrow pierced the sorcerer's chest cutting the spell short. Seconds after, Zorf and the other guard clashed swords in the middle of the narrow corridor. The guard swung his sword down amateurishly giving Zorf an easy block with his arm-sword's guard, then twisted, breaking the cultists stance. Zorf had done this a hundred times, at least, and knew to follow with a kick to the knee. A loud crack from snapping knee ligaments forced the cultist to his knees, letting out a cry in the process. Zorf then spun and slashed to cleave the cultist's head off. Blood pooled on the gray, pocked stone as Rick caught up.

"HELP!!" a feminine voice shouted from a wooden door embedded on the side of the corridor.

Thud! "Shut ya mouth, wench, or I will cut ya tongue out" demanded a raspy voice.

"Leave it. All the prisoners are male. Let's finish the job," suggested Rick.

"But, this is the best part of the job" counterargued Zorf with a wink.

Behing the wooden door was a young woman tied to a wooden post and a one-eyed cultist. The cultist had punched the woman to quiet her, dazing her momentarily. He then approached the door to peek through the keyhole. What he didn't expect was to see a heavy foot accelerating towards the keyhole as soon as he put his eye to it.

The door splintered around the key's escutcheon in sharp wooden fragments. A fragment about half a foot in length and slightly narrower than a finger impaled squarely into the cultist's only eye scrapping the eye-socket's bone and funneling into his brain. Searing pain consumed the cultist as he twitched on the ground. Then, Zorf's foot came down again driving the splinter further into cultist's brain and producing a loud crunch.

Zorf's gaze became fixed on the woman, whose arms were tied to a wooden beam above her head. She was stripped naked, revealing defined muscles and chiseled abdominals. A blindfold kept her from witnessing the savagery. Zorf reached for the blindfold but was bitten in instinctive defense by the dazed woman.

"Woah, we are here to help you."

The woman quickly recognized that Zorf's deep voice was not the cultist and allowed him to gently remove the blindfold. Zorf saw a pair of beautiful hazelnut-colored eyes that curved slightly at the ends.

In turn, the woman saw a pair of giant mercenary men with leathery skin from decades of wilderness exposure. Zorf was clad in thick leather armor, specially chosen for the mission. Her attention was quickly drawn to Zorf's bloody sword-arm, which started at about the middle of the forearm. Then she examined his face, brutish and slightly deformed from brawls. On his scalp, a black mohawk and a couple of tattoos that gave away his origin as a Velian--a people of fearsome warriors. Rick was more modest but still combat forged; he wore a studded chest piece and had several scars on his face. Rick wielded a short, recurved bow and spiked knuckledusters.

Zorf untied the woman, "The name of your rescuer is Zorf. I hope you remember it in case we ever meet again," said Zorf with a giant smile, "Now leave; danger looms ahead."

"Absolutely not. They have my brother. I'm going with you."

"Suit yourself," responded Rick while handling her a dagger. He never turned away willing companions, who, more importantly, worked for free.

"I'm Arabelle, sorry about the bite," said the woman while clothing herself and picking some of her things from a nearby table. Among the things were lockpicks and small clay balls, each about the size of a walnut.

"You had your reasons, but I will forget it if you buy me an ale after we are out of this mess"

Slam! A reverberating sound traveled from the end of the corridor. Zorf and Rick hurried to the iron banded door.

"It's locked. Damn!" Exclaimed Zorf.

"We could pry it off its hinges," suggested Rick.

"Is it all brute force with you two?" Arabelle worked her lockpicks and within seconds unlocked the door.

The trio entered a large room lightly illuminated by a dozen oil lamps. This, the altar room, had been desecrated by the cultists. Statues worshipped by Wingals were defaced; dark runes were painted on the walls; and the floor was littered with dead chickens. In the back they spotted a priest inside a small cage and in the center, a lithe, nude priest bound to a stone altar. A robed cultist stood over the altar holding a dagger with a wavy blade overhead with both hands.

The cultist stabbed the bound priest while uttering a dark speech. Then, in the blink of an eye, the priest's body shriveled like a prune transferring some dark energy into the cultist who began contorting unnaturally. Quadrupling in size, with bear-like claws, gnarled horns, and crimson skin, the cultist had transformed into a giant stygian monster.

Rick fired an arrow, striking the monster in the abdomen, but the monster, seemingly unaffected, simply snapped the arrow with its heavy claw. It growled loudly and stomped forward. 

"Fuuuucking hate magic, maaaaan!!" screamed Zorf with a charge to meet the monster in close combat.

The monster swung its claw with a right hook, but Zorf ducked the easily telegraphed move and dove towards the monster's right leg. He landed with a roll and slashed the monster's Achilles tendon, making it roar in pain and anger. The monster responded by swinging its claw like a hammer sending Zorf flying back to Arabelle's feet. Then, the monster lost its footing on the injured leg.

Rick had been peppering the monster with arrows, which now looked like an urchin of arrows. When the monster fell from slashed leg, Rick used the opening to drive his spiked knuckledusters into the monster's mutated skull. Blood sprayed out with every strike as the spikes created clean holes throughout the cheeks, forehead, crown, and jaw. 

The monster recoiled, regaining its stance out of pure adrenaline. Its head, full of holes, flowed with blood. One of its eyes had exploded from a strike and the other was veiled in blood. Unable to see, the monster went berserk, swinging its heavy claws in every direction and slamming its giant body against any surface. Rick evaded the unaimed attacks and retreated in wait of another opening.

Meanwhile, Zorf regained his footing, producing a slight groan, and winked at the woman. Arabelle smiled, pulling from her pocket one of the small clay balls, lit the stem, and winked back at Zorf.

"Make it roar again" said Arabelle.

"Fuck yeah!"

Zorf grabbed a nearby oil lamp and crashed it near the monster's injured leg. It recoiled as the flames enveloped its injured leg, giving Zorf an opportunity to jump near and drive his blade deep into the monster's abdomen. It roared wide again in anger and pain. At that moment, Arabelle shot the bomb straight into the monster mouth and Boom! Brains and fragments of bone rained in the desecrated altar room.

Zorf and Rick stood by the shriveled priest.

"Shit, we're not getting paid for this one," Zorf started.

"But there is the one in the cage and seven more somewhere," reassured Rick. 

Meanwhile, Arabelle had unlocked the cage to free the other priest.

"He says he heard the others were being taken to a cave in the swamps after I got captured," interrupted Arabelle, "I know the swamps well and could track them if we go now to catch their tracks."

II - The Swamps

Illustration by Ombremonde

The trio waded through muddy, flooded swamplands that were covered by a thick fog. Zorf could see only a dozen paces ahead and thought of how easy it would be to get lost. Having Arabelle, who seemed to be a trained tracker, perhaps a Survivalist, surely helped.

 

Arabelle stopped intermittently to look for clues. In soft dirt, she looked for footprints. In thickly vegetated areas, she looked for broken or folded branches. It soon became clear to her that about a dozen persons had moved through leaving a clear trail for her to follow.

They followed the tracks for what seemed like a long time. It was impossible to say with any certainty since the position of the sun was blocked by the fog. However, Zorf had finished the contents of his waterskin, which contained several liters. He estimated they must have been moving for about an hour.

"Stop!" called Arabelle pointing ahead, "there is a body."

A still lake opened and floating in it was the body of a cultist, face down. They turned it and saw a face so swollen that even water could not enter the nostrils and mouth. 

"These swamp lakes are infested by every mortal genera of aquatic animals you can imagine. Giant crocodiles that will leave no piece of you to be found and highly venomous snakes that make death agonizing. This bastard was likely bitten by one and suffered a painful death. We must avoid them, once bitten, there is nothing anyone can do to save you, no matter how big your muscles may be." She winked at Zorf.

"But how? The lake stretches widely, going around may get us too far off their tracks, if we are lucky to even find them on the other side," replied Rick.

"Watch and learn."

Arabelle backtracked a few hundred yards in search of long branches to use as stilts. Rick and Arabelle picked up on it quickly. Zorf's heavy, muscular frame, however, broke a branch. Then, he took a few falls trying with a new pair of heavier branches. Part of the issue was his hook, which he wore most times, but made handling the stilts complicated. With his patience depleted, he swapped his hook for a barbed spear, like a small harpoon, which he jammed into the end of the branch allowing him to use it as a five-foot long extension of his arm. He swung the branch over his head, showing off his strength, then got on the stilts and moved much more gracefully.

The murky waters of the lake were dotted by bundles of grass, moss, and the occasional cypress tree. Step over step moved the trio slowly, slower than wading through waist-high water, for the stilts stuck to the mud and were sometimes difficult to release. Their attention, heavily locked on the waters beneath.

In the water, snakes, fish, and unnatural crustacean forms scampered when the stilts disturbed their territory. Then, something moved at a slight distance where the waters had been generally still. Not something abrupt from fear, but a slow, inconspicuous retreat. Some nearby grass then rustled near Zorf. Rick and Arabelle saw a giant crocodile lunging at Zorf. The croc's mouth closed on the stilt snapping the branch. Both the crocodile and Zorf hit the water at the same time splashing water and mud everywhere. The waves caused by the two giants pushed Arabelle and Rick off their stilts and into the water.

Zorf and the crocodile engaged again within seconds. Zorf stopped a bite with the piece of wood that remained attached to his harpoon. The crocodile bit hard on it crushing the wood and giving Zorf an opportunity to pull the harpoon out and reveal the sharp barbed end. He grabbed the crocodile by the throat digging his fingers up to the knuckles into the soft underside of the crocodile's body. Blood poured down Zorf's arm as he secured an inescapable grip. He raised the animal over his head and drove the barbed harpoon into its chest. Zorf twisted and turned the harpoon until the sharp point found the heart. Arabelle and Rick emerged from the water to see Zorf in an incredible pose, holding up the limp crocodile with a single outstretched arm.

The commotion had aroused the inhabitants of the lake, sending hundreds of venomous snakes fleeing in all directions. The surface splashed everywhere like boiling water from the snakes' abrupt retreat. It was only a matter of time before someone got bitten from the commotion.

"Run forward! To land!" exclaimed Arabelle.

They ran and swam and exited the swamp safely but winded, each requiring a minute to catch their breath. Over long breaths, on her knees, Arabelle saw something on the ground. An impression of a heavy boot, and then another. The trail continued.

III - The Cave

Illustration by Chaoclypse

Arabelle tracked the trail to a cave, the entrance of which descended into a curved tunnel. Mumbling came from within, voices of chanting, in a repetitive and synchronized rhythm.

The tunnel opened into a wet cave with tall ceilings and pillars of stone carved by water that trickled naturally over millions of years. Lanterns illuminated a few areas.

On one end were a group of seven cultists on their knees, their hands and foreheads to the ground, chanting in dark speech. Weapons, armor, and stolen good were scattered between them. 

On the other side were six priests, stripped of all their clothes and each of their heads covered with a burlap sack. One lay already dead from a knife to the throat. Behind them, the executioner sharpened his knife. He sat on a short wooden stool near a ledge, grinding away with a whetstone. The sound of his actions silenced by the sound of rushing water coming from the darkness beyond the ledge. 

The trio hid behind a clammy stone pillar. Zorf and Rick with their backs to the stone once again looked at each other in consideration.

"Herlian's maneuver?" suggested Rick.

"How I loved Herlian; it's a shame he was dissolved. But, yes; these guys are--"

Zorf was interrupted by a scream, a cry of pain, coming from the side with prisoners.

While Rick and Zorf had stopped to assess the situation, Arabelle had sneaked closer to the executioner. She shot a rock into the watery precipice behind the lone cultist. The rock clattered down the walls, splashing in an underground river that flowed through the cave, and the cultist stopped sharpening to look.

Arabelle immediately got within stabbing distance and let her borrowed dagger fall on the cultist. He turned at the same time the dagger stabbed him on the shoulder, digging in fully. He let out the scream and grabbed Arabelle by her shirt in an attempt to wrestle her down, but she was strong and held her ground. They pulled and pushed until the cultist lost his footing on the edge and fell. His grip, however, had been strong enough to pull Arabelle with him. Both fell screaming into the rushing waters of the underground river.

Zorf and Rick witnessed the short struggle and floated for a second in disbelief. The only reason they returned to their minds was the looming dangers of the other cultists, who had ceased chanting and began searching the cave. The two jumped into action--Herlian's maneuver.

Rick moved silently to another pillar only to emerge a second after shooting a couple of arrows. He struck one, two cultists before the rest brandished swords and wooden shields. They crouched, using the shields to cover most of their body and moved fast towards Rick. Arrows struck the shields until one hit a foot. In pain, the cultist dropped his defense for a moment giving Rick the opportunity to completely pierce the neck from one side to the other. The arrow came out the back end and the cultist blead out from both sides of the neck.

Zorf waited behind the original pillar until the cultists passed in pursuit of Rick, then emerged behind them, sword-arm attached. Within moments, he cut two down and distracted the rest giving Rick a clean shot. Most laid dead, but one was still squirming.

Rick shook the last living cultist by the robe demanding information before the cultist died: "How many more?"

"I will see you," said the cultists with his few remaining breaths whilst coughing blood, "in hell ... "

"No matter, we got them, we're rich!" said Zorf.

Rick uncovered and untied the priests while Zorf inspected the ledge. Water was rushing in through eroded holes to feed a rushing river. It extended into darkness for who knows how long. There was no trace of Arabelle or the other cultist. The priests rubbed the rope burns on their wrists and ankles while Rick asked them questions.

"They say Randius was taken deeper," informed Rick, "He's the main request."

"He's the golden goose. Damn!" replied Zorf, "Let's go get him."

"And the girl?"

"She's gone. I'll miss her."

The cave extended deeper through a single corridor, but this one manually carved. Steep, slippery steps descended deep until the air felt cold and the stone felt frigid. During their descent, they noticed runes and depictions of lost gods in sunk relief along the entire length of the corridor's walls. A wooden door greeted them at the bottom of the steps, where the air had gotten so cold that frost clung to escutcheon. Zorf tried it but it was locked, then kicked it in as was his wont. The wooden door flung open coming off one hinge to lay sideways inside a frozen room.

A perfectly cubed room of carved stone, covered in ice stalagmites, greeted them with a frigid breeze. A glass-like disk of ice was centered on the ground and just in front were two figures. One was clearly a priest, for he still wore his procession robes. He was kneeling close to the disk under the threat of a sharpened skeletal finger. The second entity, not a human, but a monster, had the features of a man, but its body was shriveled and dried. Despite its mummified state, the monster moved, appearing alive; it even spoke.

"Open it now!" the monster slowly dug its sharpened phalange into the priest's neck, releasing a slow drip of blood. It twisted to widen the wound and inflict greater pain.

Zorf didn't ask questions; he charged in. The monster was clearly an ancient sorcerer, so deformed from its power and greed that it could no longer be called human. Around Somaria, this monster was called a lich, and Zorf knew liches; they were all corrupted by extradimensional powers that would melt the mind of any commoner. Zorf knew, from first-hand experience, that liches are extremely dangerous.

The barbarian with the sword-arm got close but was stopped telepathically by the lich. Zorf levitated involuntarily and felt a crushing force around him that pinned his arms to his body. The lich furled its decrepit fingers to tighten the invisible hand and floated Zorf closer for examination. Zorf saw a pair of hollow eye-sockets filled with a stygian darkness seemingly staring back at him and a mouth without lips deformed from self-inflicted implantation of a dozen sharpened animal teeth.

Rick fired an arrow that was too fast for the lich to stop, hitting the skeletal torso. The monster recoiled, for there is still some life clinging to this world in the hollow body of liches. Zorf was released from the magical grip, dropped to his knees, then stood immediately swinging his sword-arm. He severed the extended arm of the lich. The monster hissed in response, filled its eye sockets with a bright light, and disappeared millisecond before Rick's next arrow could hit its skeletal head.

Father Randius was rescued alive along with six other priests. They were delivered to the highest Church of Wingal and the high priest Randius was moved to a new monastery to be hidden from the cult. Zorf and Rick received buckets of wealth, which they promptly spent on booze, prostitutes, expensive food, and every pleasure that could be bought.

The End