Drums throb relentlessly, a heavy rhythm that works its way into your head. No ethereal elven flutes this time, this was the music of the Karsh...war drums. The cavern was once again filled to brimming with the flashing black plumage of the Karsh warriors, no female or slave was visible amidst the painted masses. The drummers form a semicircle at one end of the room, and torches flicker, casting their golden light on the floor. Within the halo, stands the clan leader, and beside him Adianna waits.
***
Coppery and rich, the thick blood arcs and splashes across the wall and ceiling, the savage blow that had nearly taken off the head of the guard now driving founts of ichor as he died wordlessly. Two more charge in, swinging hatchets and screaming battle-cries half-heartedly. So many dead by this beast! one of them thinks as he closes and hacks at the cloaked figure. He feels his blow miss and he turns his head in time to catch Chorak's face crumpling as it is stoved in by a blow from the beast's shield, the edge shattering beak and bone underneath its hard edge, arrow shafts protrudding from its surface. Pressure and a horrible pinch come next, the force of both robbing him of his breath and lifting him from his feet.
Soon, the floor stops his movement and his bowels release, Chunik is dimly aware that somehow he had been struck as well, Chorak he can see is dead and another guard has rushed the figure, now screaming like a calf, hands grabbing at his middle, as the broad blade of that terrible spear emerges through the dark leather armor of the Karsh warrior. Quick as a whisper, the blade is pulled back through his body and the other kestrel joins Chorak and Chunik, amongst others, dying and dead on the floor. Oblivion consumes Chunik as well, his last thoughts of the impossibility of it all, attacked in his own camp... and finally.. of the dice game he was to join in an hour.
***
A hush falls and the drums silence as Akmah raises his hand and addresses the tumultuous tribe.
"We da' Karsh a' a mighty tribe. We conquad a' enemies, the Kishvites an' thea' chillen' ha' been a' slaves fo' ten gen'rations na'. We fight an' we shed blood, we loot an' enslave those who try ta' stan' aggin' us...an' we triumph. We. A'. Karsh!"
A screeching cheer, hundreds of voices strong, rises into the air and echoes back in thousands as the cavern amplifies the sound. Akmah silences them once again as he continues.
"Yet in all this glory an' blood, we have lost many warria's, strong males who could ha' driven us ta' greata' glories. Not like in the days when a' seer led us inta' batte... but na' we will be led once agin'."
With a flourish, he presses Adianna forward and she looks out of the hectic press of bodies, her smile is mocking and scornful, but she holds her tongue and stands before her people in stony acceptance. The drums take up the exultation once again, blending with theululating cries of the warriors, the clash of spear and scimitar against shield, and the stamp of taloned feet. From the shadowy mouth of the northern tunnel, two Karsh emerge, dragging between them a young Kishvite kestress. Her piercing shrieks of terror ring shrilly above the beat. Adianna shuts her eyes, teeth grinding together as she tries to block out the sounds of revelry and bloodshed. Hands lashed behind her back, the child is bent over the breadth of a large stalagmite, the top has been cut down and the inside chiseled into a large trough. The cries are lost in a hideous gurgle as the razor edge of a knife slashes a gaping maw in her bared throat, and the arteries pump her life blood out into the stone basin. Latai's age, Adia shudders inwardly and cries soundlessly for the Kishvite, though her face remains a neutral mask.
***
The javelin has been used time and again since he had entered the camp; the Karsh so unfortunate to be the first he encountered lay twisted here and there, thrusts of killing psionic energy having shredded their minds. Others split open by fire and heat, the agitation of their bodies and organs too much for their paltry mortal frames to bear. Now he conserved and replenished his psionic energies, his shield and javelin are drenched in blood and other ejected fluids from the Karsh he slew ruthlessly. Brutes, no more than thugs, had never seen pitched battle and the wholesale, indiscriminate death of their comrades. Women, cowed old men and children had born the brunt of their savagery, broken peoples who had never had the wherewithal to stand against them. Now, Karsh warriors died in droves as he stalked the tents and alleys of the large encampment, threading his way towards the hall ahead.
***
The executioner dips a roughly hewn bowl into the blood, the blood filling it and glittering eerily in the fire's light. As he thrusts it into Adianna's hands, the overflow runs in warm rivulets down her arms, staining her talons a gory red. The heavy scent reaches her nostrils and she recoils, fighting both nausea and the undeniable seduction. Flashes of memory assail her, multitudes of similar ceremonies in which she had been a willing participant. Thrusting aside any further recollection, Adia throws her head back and drains the bowl. Blood thick and hot rolls across her tongue, rushing in a rich torrent to sing through her veins.
***
She must be there, he thinks, killing a man with a blow through the base of his neck; his back had been turned as he looked frantically around, rousing to the confused call to arms that had been slow to spread. Jolen had attacked mercilessly, force of his initial penetration carrying him into the camp on a tide of horror and shock, no organized counter had been formed as he continued to strike and cleave into the inexperienced bandits before himself. As potent as he was alone, Jolen realized to have a chance at escape, he would need to reach Adianna and free her, arming her in the process; the steel links of the whip he had scooped up jangling against the the blades and handles of the multitude of arms already hanging from his belt.
***
Her breathing hitches into a ragged panting and pupils dilate, her vision exploding outward, saturating the room in a vision of crimson and scintillating lights. The faces of the living blur before her and auras blend one into another, her focus shifting and tilting as hordes of spirits creep from the shadows, those dead and the echoes of those who soon will be. They groan and wail, throwing themselves towards her and filling her senses with their weeping. Everywhere...they were everywhere...reaching out skeletal arms and tearing at her, trying to pull her down into their midst, into the cold depths of death's realm. Arms spread wide and talons bared, Adianna screams her warcry, the wild tone rending the night, piercing the living and dead alike. Fighting back with a frenzy of will-power, she thrusts at the ghouls and skeletal visions. Their heartbreak washes over her, wave upon wave of sorrow capturing her mind, dashing it again and again against the fangs of her own regret until she thought they would drown her, suffocate her beneath the grasp of a thousand Karsh kills. Their blood fills her mouth.
***
