Joined: Jun 22, 2010
Posts: 2
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Axiene's camp on the summit of one of the mountains of Dhoom had gone undisturbed since his last foray into the civilized world. He lived on scarce rations, but thought it fitting for one of his station. One day perhaps a palace would rise from somewhere nearby this campsite, but for now he would eat close to the same dust as the spawn he had as a secondary thought in mind for his most recent trip into Illian. Stocking the makeshift shelves with newly purchased rations, he did so quickly, for the freshness of his gift would wane as the time passed. He saw no real need, as it were, to do as he had already partially done and intended to finish, but there was a certain satisfaction in it, and the lust it would bring to the creatures he intended the gift would certainly be worth the little trouble he went through to prepare it.
The last of his rations settled, Axiene opened a gateway from the ground he had used since his arrival here, into the shop in Illian from which he purchased his rations. This was not the way he entered before, and the gash it left in the floor of the shop would be easily serviced by the coin he left behind for his most recent purchases, assuming it was to be a shop by the next man or woman to purchase it, and assuming they were man or woman enough to keep the coin. Perhaps that would be collected by the local authority, though. So much for pleasantries. He was no thief, besides. Funny, he thought, how those who walk in the light fear such ill omens as the disappearance of the previous owner, portions of his blood the disappeared the less.
Entering the gateway, he found the man, throat still purple from the lashes of air used to squeeze it closed, chin still bloodied from a cough or burp, and next to him the four of his guard, killed each in a slightly similar manner. One wore purple and yellow bruises on the entirety of his exposed skin, dead from a frenzied beating with lashes of air. Another was bloodied from the mouth and down his shirt, and wore a slight crimp around the ribs and abdomen. The shop's door was still locked from the inside, the till still open and partially counted. Satisfied that the meat had not yet gone cold, he wrapped the men from head to toe in flows of air, lifting them slightly from the ground. This done, he closed his gateway and opened another.
Looking out on a bleak landscape, he knew he must do what he came to do quickly, else be discovered by those who surely didn't know he served the same master. His intent was to feed, to be sure, but he had plans beyond satisfying some part of this particular fist of trollocs with his own flesh. He had found this campsite surveying the lands near the blightborder, cloaked in folded light, and it was folded light he wove now, letting the gateway close. Surely the Myrddaal that commanded this fist would sense his presence before long, if he hadn't already, so he walked with haste, the four men dragging along behind him, feet in the air. As he came close enough to see a cook-fire he let himself pause at a distance far enough to give him time to weave a gateway to safety, should it be needed. Drawing deeply on the power, he lofted the four men high into the air and floated them towards the somewhat distant beacon of light. As the men entered its globe of light he let them drop with a crash, weaves dissipating. Sure that some with whom he served would hasten to label him as some tender of scullery or other feeder of men, he smoothed his black coat with his hands and formed a gateway back to the summit, keen to be done with this task. If those earlier mentioned should have a label for him, perhaps it wouldn't be too much for them to find something more pressing for his time, or feed the horde he may continue to do, and wear the badge proudly. Stepping through he let the gateway close and opened the flap of his tent to walk inside.
Settling to the floor he crossed his legs and meditated after releasing the source. He had never been told what Fades like to eat, floated a thought through the void. A strangled cry, a new memory, floated by next, linked closely to the clink of coin. He let these pass and waded along in the void, awaiting the end of this night and the start of a new day; one certainly ripe with opportunity. |
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