The Moonlight Horde: Part 2
At the pace of the world itself, the night wore on for Zurubaal. In spite of the gifts his Dwarven physique granted him, his head still pounded which was exacerbated further by the blood rushing to it and his limbs ached, feeling as if he had held the mountains up for the entire season. The clouds were now smothering the three moons, making Zurubaal's mood even grimmer. How long has it been? He thought. How many solar embraces have befallen us? The Endrashil'Zhár pondered this, given that they were on the outskirts of a forest, it must have been for at least two weeks since the Khamags had taken them from Enkid'üruk. Something foreboding then crept into his hearty girth; the younger kinsman hadn't spoken since the dragonskins made camp.
He made no response, Zurubaal formulated another sentence around his lips but then heard a very slow dripping noise upon the soil. Painfully, he craned his head around. Though he was no miner, the elder warrior's Dwarven sight could still make out the creeping red stain, spreading throughout the fabric underneath the younger's lamellar. A good look at his bruised face revealed a very pale pinkish tone, compared to the dark reddish tone toted by a healthy, living, Endrashil'Zhàd. The younger warrior was dead, or so close to it that not even the power of the Mystics could bring him from the threshold of Hashari's realm. Lad must've only been fifty floods old, he thought mournfully. As if on queue, the Khamags began to bellow excitedly. Like desert vultures, it seemed they were waiting for one of the Dwarves to breath his last. That last breath signalled the mealtime call for the dragonskinned barbarians. The Khamags cut down the young warrior, he seemed like a human child or Elfling in their monstrous grip, and then hoisted him towards a great roaring fire. Zurubaal shuddered inwardly at the thought of what will happen next. It is the next deed that that boiled the elder Dwarf's blood. One Khamag drew a crude-looking knife and began to cut off the beard of the dead warrior. His fatigue forgotten, Zurubaal saw red and frothed at the mouth as he bellowed.
"Defilers! You dare to remove that which Ishadük has blessed us with!?"
A part of him told him that the barbarians probably didn't understand his words, the rest didn't care.
"When my hands are unbound, by the three sisters, you will not live past this night! I shall..."
Another Khamag fist smashed into his face, distorting Zurubaal's perception of the world. Dimly, he felt his arms and legs loosen up. Before he could move them, darkness finally took him.
Coughing, Zurubaal slowly returned to consciousness. If he thought his head felt painful before, now it felt as if it were in splinters. A coppery taste was prevalent in his mouth, in disgust he spat it out; it was blood that flew out of his mouth. A deep, growling voice emerged from towards his left. It seemed to laugh as well.
"I believe it is rude to spit in the domain of your host is it not Dwarf?"
Zurubaal was flabbergasted, the voice knew his people's tongue as accented as it was.
"Not in the presence of an enemy."
The voice burst into laughter, the Dwarf looked up. The Khamag before him was more grizzled. A shock of white hair was tied into a top knot, his beard bound in the skulls of children. The rest of his face spoke of a harsh, war-filled life, his left eye was glazed over with a white layer, no doubt the result of whatever caused an ugly scar to appear from each side of the eye. The Khamag then broke into a grin, bearing his tusks and fangs.
"Now now little one, even we 'savages' disapprove of spitting. Dear Yaltuç was quite offended."
Zurubaal bared his teeth.
"Yet your...warriors desecrated one of my kin!"
"Ah yes, you Dwarves have a pedantic veneration of your beards. It is amusing how the little people of the western deserts care more about a beard being shorn than being devoured."
The Dwarf spat at the Khamag, his bodyguard moved to punish him. Clearly their chieftain, he barked an order at them, causing the warriors to stop. The barbarian leaned forward.
"Let us speak, as one prince to another. I have many names but you may call me Çirak-Uldü."
More like a glorified savage chieftain, thought Zurubaal. Çirak-Uldü continued to speak.
"You have no need to introduce yourself, I know you are the elder brother of the king."
The Dwarf prince sneered.
"That explains your assault on my city Khamag."
Çirak-Uldü simply laughed.
"How little you know, your fickle gods must despise you if they delivered you into my grip. We could not believe that we acquired you during our raid."
"You know nothing of my gods Sharmazzan."
Either unfamiliar or uncaring of the Dwarvish word's meaning, the Khamag prince stroked his beard.
"True, but it seems your gods are hollow and empty, caring little for the people they created..."
Çirak-Uldü's wicked grin widened
"But I will spare you humiliation from a mere barbarian such as myself."
Zurubaal simply sighed.
"Just kill me and be done with, let us not delay the inevitable."
"You misunderstand me Prince Zurubaal, I have no intention of killing you. You are far more valuable alive."
Enraged, the Dwarf spat again.
"As a bartering tool; as much as you Dwarves value honour, I know you value family even moreso."
Zurubaal was somewhat astonished. For a being who believed his people came into being when dragons forced themselves onto their ancestors, the Khamag prince was clever. Çirak-Uldü then spoke to his warriors, they went in separate directions.
"I am not one to mistreat his guests, soon you will feast and drink dear prince."
Well, this is the end of Moonlight Horde. Don't forget to comment!
When the sky falls down, The Dead sleep no more.
Can you survive as your world slowly tears itself apart?
"When life gives you lemons...BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD"
Last edited by Farseer Ulthris; 10-20-13 at 07:16 AM.