The Saga Of Tallia The Unwilling

Disclaimer:

Everyone is over eighteen. If you are not deeply into fantasy pulp fiction, gender fluidity and pansexuality, you are in the wrong place. Gals, guys and those who flit gleefully between will eventually fornicate freely in every foreseeable formation. Also, though I name drop actual mythological and historical terms to give the story the most vapid veneer of verisimilitude, understand this tale is rooted firmly in fantasy land. I did try to set it somewhere other than your typical faux Western Europe. But don't confuse any culture or persons herein as real. Monsters, mystic swords and magicians abound. It's all ultimately make believe.

BEHOLD! I, Thutmose-Neferkare, royal scribe, chief librarian and high priest of the divine Ra who lights the whole world with the blessed sun (that modern science hath proven is actually a big fiery sky-boat), do attest to the accuracy and worthiness of this scroll. Also I pray that immortal Lord Thoth, the great god whose head is sometimes a bird but also sometimes a baboon but nonetheless did not let this disability prevent him from inventing writing, will bless this endeavor. And may the big scary Crocodile-Hippo-Lion eat the hearts and souls of any who taketh forth this scroll from its proper place but returns it not hence or, worse, returns it hence but puttest it back in the wrong spot for, lo, I doth hate that shit.

The age between the destruction of the so-called Undying King Kereth'Uul and the rise of the great house of Uruk between the two rivers can only accurately be called a dark age. What few sources exist are scant, fragmentary and often written down only centuries after this mythic span of years. One source that claims to record an epic of that age is "The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling" as penned by the poet-adventurer Hilarius the Swift. Truth told, this document is like unto the droppings of donkeys in both plausibility and historicity. Hilarius himself is obviously an inserted character likely invented by some later author of dubious literary talent and boundless perversion. But if you can get past all the raunchy sex, juvenile humor and blatant wish fulfillment, the Saga remains revealing of the character of this lost age and even (the translator hopes) entertaining. I particularly like the parts with the gender-swapping priest of love in later scrolls. Forsooth, by sacred Thoth, that shit is most hot.

Thus I, the exalted Thutmose-Neferkare, have commanded my sub-priests (verily, who usually riseth only to relieve their bladders and to acquire snacks) to copy the whole damn thing into the Pharaonic Library (yay, even the naughty bits). So, since only like twenty people in this whole blasted sand-choked kingdom are literate enough to actually readeth this bitch, yay, I pray thee enjoy "The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling". And know that any critic who carves less than five heavenly stars upon the sacred Wall of Thoth regarding this most accurate and correct translation shall be swallowed eternally by the big god-snake who is only kept at bay by the mighty Ra in his awesome fiery sky-boat.

Yay, let it be written! Yay, let it be done!

Chapter One: Coming Together

Tallus the Grim for years to come never forgot this day, even though it was the last day of his life.

The grey-eyed killer crept quietly towards the wide crack in the rock, spear in hand, certain at last that this was the beast's lair. The heavy six-footed tracks, flecked with blood from recent kills, led straight to the riven face of this imposing grey slate wall. And now, Tallus pressed against that same wall of natural stone, keeping to the deep shadows and stepping slowly and purposefully trying to ensure that his leather sandals did not unsettle even the smallest pebble. His plan was one of ambush and a quick kill. It had to be. He had seen the results of prolonged battle against this monster and had no desire to recreate such a massacre.

Alas, he was not alone.

"Is this it?" whispered his small, slight red-headed companion not nearly quietly enough for the grim Tallus. The warrior turned his head and gave no audible answer save a scowl that conveyed angrily and succinctly, 'one more damned word and the first thing I'm going to slaughter today is

you

.' Hilarius called the Swift, uncharacteristically, got the message and shut up. For now.

Tallus peaked carefully into the deep darkness of the cave, patient as a stalking panther, silent as grim death. There was good news and bad news. The good news was that the great six-legged horned bear slumbered, no doubted sated on the meat of man and mutton, and deep low breathy snores reverberated thunderously through the entire cave. The bad news was that the den was deeper and larger than he hoped. It went back at least sixty steps. And the floor was strewn with debris -- broken stone, gnawed bone, bent metal shards and shattered shields doubtless from others stupid enough to disturb this murder machine.

The lair reeked of old death, fresh blood and rotted viscera. Inside, the faint sunlight of the dying day revealed that the grey stone was not as natural as the entrance appeared. Some of the stone was worked tile and even a single great pillar stood, worn and weary, still supporting the vaulted ceiling of this chamber. Who had built this great hall of stone into the living rock and when, Tallus neither knew nor cared. All that mattered to the hunter was his quarry and the kill to come.

Grim Tallus took stock of his chances. The creature was in there, yes, and asleep, yes, but also distant and shrouded in total darkness. Could he close the distance without awakening the monster? Probably. But failure meant a painful death and he couldn't be sure. Nothing about this abattoir conveyed anything to Tallus' senses that made him want to enter. And yet, if he wanted the silver promised for slaying the beast, in he must go.

The wary warrior looked over his shoulder, then pointed at Hilarius and then emphatically pointed at the ground where the rogue stood. Tallus hoped this conveyed, 'stay here, shut up and don't move a damn muscle until I say otherwise, you worthless little git.' Hilarius nodded back sagaciously, sporting his usual sly grin. It was difficult to be entirely sure exactly what that meant, at least not without the exchange of speech, and once you got Hilarius talking, there would be no end of it. Gods on high and in hell, why had he brought the man with him? Oh, right. Tallus had discovered, since they both escaped the gladiatorial pits together, no way to be rid of him.

He took one tentative step forward into the cave. He shifted his weight carefully, silently, deliberately and crept closer to the teeth of the monster. He took a deep breath near the entrance so he could breathe spare and shallow in the moments to come. He just had to get close and drive his razor sharp war spear deep into the horror's head. This beast may have crawled out of hell but twelve inches of sharpened bronze shoved into its brainpan would send it right back. 'Yes,' Tallus thought, 'one good thrust, the job is done and the silver is yours.'

He closed the distance, patient and purposeful, profoundly aware of the nervous sweat steaming on his brow beneath his bronze great helm. His heart pounded within his battered and battle-scarred bronze breastplate. One false move and a ton of angry hell-beast was going to wake and charge. One mistake and the all too brief legend of Tallus the Grim ended here.

He eased ever closer towards the sound of the great snoring beast. His eyes adjusted to the twilight gloom of the den and he finally saw the full glory and horror of the abomination itself. It was more massive than the largest oxen or auroch he'd ever seen. Its fur was thick and clotted with blood and viscera from its many kills and yet still in many patches shock white. It had six legs with met beneath its powerfully built, stout frame each terminating in a paw of wicked dagger-claws. And in the center of its massive ursine head was a single, sharp curving ivory horn longer than Tallus' arm.

Around its neck, revealing its unnational origin, was a great black iron collar graven with jagged letters doubtless invoking blasphemous sorceries in some ancient, demonic script. The beast was scarred and old and the heavy collar now bit into its flesh. The great fetter told Tallus only one thing -- sometime in the past, this beast had been conjured forth by the dark sorceries of the Undying King himself or one of his surviving damned disciples. It was no beast of the natural world, but a hate from an elder time, bred for slaughter by the most wicked of wizardry. It had to die.

Closer and closer, he halved the distance between himself and his monstrous quarry. Each step was an opportunity for calamity, to slip on the uneven stone and awaken the great beast. But this was instinct for the grim warrior. From his days stealing bread as an orphan on the uncaring streets of Yaath'Xin to surviving in the brutal gladiator school and arena to becoming a monster hunting free-man, his life was a straight line to this kill. He pictured the moment of monster murder, savored it, lusted after it. The kill was only seconds from him now. Soon, the beast would be dead and he'd be guzzling wine and fucking whores, flush with silver, back in Zhang Zhen. His grip tightened on the heavy ash shaft of his broad-headed war spear. Closer and closer. 'Now, Tallus... Now!'

His focus was briefly distracted by the sound of falling stone near the cavern's entrance. The clatter of slate hitting slate emitted a high pitched, sharp noise almost like a bell. And he saw then what he had hoped to never see -- the huge open dark eyes of the massive beast looking straight at him. Its roar ripped forth like the voice of a demon -- cacophonous, full of ancient primal fury and unnatural eldritch anger. It wasn't like a bear or a lion or any natural beast. No, it had its own horrid voice impossible to describe but equally impossible to forget.

The mass of muscle and fur shifted and Tallus did not hesitate. He struck hard with his war spear. But instead of hitting it in squarely in the head, the spear point instead drove deep into the shoulder of the beast and as it rose, the spear shaft bent and splintered like a twig snapping under the tremendous strain of the beast clawing at the weeping wound.

A massive paw lashed out and only luck or maybe instinct saved Tallus from instant death. Instead of breaking his neck or clawing his face off, his helm took the brunt of the blow. Claws scrapes against bronze, gouging deep furroughs into the metal. Two more paws followed the first and impacted upon the warrior's great round bronze shield. The stout shield bent like a child's toy and Tallus felt his left arm twist unnaturally and sing out in pain as the bone broke. The two paws had strength enough to also toss the powerfully built Tallus like a discarded doll almost ten paces. He slammed against the slate wall, slid down its smooth face and roughly landed in a pile of gravel, bone and discarded cast offs from the beast's many victims. He had no weapon now save for a broken spear shaft and his long knife at his belt. Staggered, bleeding with his left arm broken and with half the life knocked out him, he knew that death and the beast would soon be upon him.

He heard screaming from the entrance. "Watch out, Tallus! Watch out! It's awake!"

'Thank you, Hilarius, I hadn't noticed,' he thought groggily, still reeling from the force of the beast's blow, adrift on a sea of his own agony.

The shrill cries of Hilarius, while telling him nothing, did serve him. The beast, likely assuming him dead (near enough the truth), charged not the short sprint to his dazed and battered self, but instead towards his companion -- the little red-headed snack cake yelling at the entrance. Tallus paused. All he had to do was rest here for a few seconds and his Hilarius problem would be solved forever. This bone pile was actually rather comfortable, all things considered...

No, damn it. Time to face the undefeatable horror in its own lair with only his lucky long knife in hand. Time to die, Tallus, not on your ass but with a blade in your hand. Maybe the mad priests of the gods of war were right and this would earn him eternity in a warrior's paradise. But they were probably just larcenous liars like every other priest he'd ever met. He would know soon enough if any of the gods were real and whether he was in their favor or had somehow pissed them off.

Then fate granted him a moment of a rare fortune. Lying beside him amongst all the other litter of this den of death was a heavy blade still gripped by the bony severed hand of its former luckless master. It was a broad sword, naked and filthy, but still sharp. It resembled, he thought, the heavy broad blades of the northern tribal peoples and was long-handled in ivory to be wielded either one or two handed. It was also covered in strange and unreadable writing along the befouled blade. It was not his preferred weapon but it was better than a broken spear or a knife that could barely tickle so massive a beast. He hefted the weapon and staggered to his feet.

His head still rung from the force of the blow and for a moment he thought he heard some weird, feminine voice say something like: "Know this worthy warrior, if you wield the Sword of Celaeno in battle, forever will you be bound to the blade by blood." Tallus took no heed of these strange, half-heard words unsure if they were even real or simply his pain-addled imagination. Besides, what did it matter? He was likely seconds away from dying in the jaws of a hell-beast.

Sword in hand, he saw the mad beast charge towards his companion and away from him, towards the lighted entrance. Hilarius was not completely harmless and threw a volley of sharp daggers at the creature. These little knives could be deadly against men but against so massive a beast only profoundly pissed it off. The creature roared in now blood-blind fury, still bleeding from the spear point imbedded in its shoulder and scrambled across the gravel and bone floor. For so great a beast, it galloped with stunning alacrity.

Hilarius screamed another shrill and high-pitched scream and leapt an impressive distance straight up, scrambling up the slate rock face like a desperate monkey. He was then out of Tallus' sight and trying to be out of the beast's reach. The beast slammed through the stone crack and pounced upon its prey who much to its surprise was no longer there. It roared in frustration and then turned to see its prey ascending straight up the rock face. Hilarius was scrambling upwards at an impressive rate but it mattered not. The great beast reared upon it hind legs standing its full height, well over twice the height of the tallest man. It blocked almost the entire cave entrance and blotted out the sun. Of course, it utterly dwarfed the delicious little rogue.

It was moments away, doubtless, from grabbing its prey with either paw or jaw, pulling him down to the ground and thoroughly eviscerating him when it paused as if deep in thought. It did not roar but instead made a low gurgling noise. And then its belly opened and its guts spilled out in a truly impressive torrent of gore. Tallus, wielding the sword one-handed, had crossed the cave in a determined charge and in one stroke made a cut nearly eight feet long from just below the neck almost all the way down to its nether regions. The cut was masterfully deep and murderously quick. The great beast teetered and fell back. Still not entirely satisfied that the beast was bereft of life, Tallus leaped forward upon its still twitching carcass and did exactly what he had meant to do before everything went terribly wrong. He drove his weapon through its maw and deep into its brain. The blood-adorned blade pushed with surprising ease through flesh and bone and quickly did its grisly work.

Tallus angrily turned to his still climbing companion. "You woke the damned thing up!"

"I woke it up? It was waking up on its own! I warned you!"

Tallus was about to angrily explain that this was, in fact, bullshit when he suddenly felt extremely strange. His world began to spin and weave. He touched his neck and he was still bleeding from the beast's earlier blow. His head began to spin and he could no longer feel his broken left arm at all.

'Ah,' he suddenly understood, 'I'm dying. It was a mortal wound after all and only fear and fury has afforded me a few more moments.'

He staggered forward a few steps and then passed out falling onto the blood-stained loose slate piled at the cave mouth. The strange sword fell from his hand and its bright metal clattered against the broken stone. He thought, perhaps for a moment, he heard that strange woman's voice once more.

"Well done, worthy warrior. Behold, the bond is made."

Then darkness took him.

***

Tallus awoke with a start. Where? When? There were no answers in this hazy, half-formed world.

His vision then slowly came into focus and fixed upon a dark star-swarmed sky and the faint crescent of the diminishing spring moon. The warrior felt strange beyond easy description but at least he did not feel in pain. His head swam and spun, but he was alive and for that he felt vastly fortunate. He was also completely parched, as thirsty as he could remember ever being. Still he possessed an even deeper thirst for answers.

"Where am I? What happened?" Tallus managed. His own voice sounded very strange, maybe a little unusually high pitched and hoarse. He needed water.

"By the seven gods of fortune, you're awake!" said the very familiar voice of Hilarius. "How do you feel?"

"The bear?" Tallus croaked hoarse and uncertain.

"Quite dead, my friend!" said Hilarius. "Do you not remember?"

"I remember... You... you bastard, you woke up the damned bear," he hissed.

"You're not still going on about that, are you?" said Hilarius more than little defensively. "Listen, if I hadn't distracted the beast with my knives, you'd be dead right now. Not that you weren't amazing. What a charge! What a strike! Real hero stuff there, my friend! Anyways, we're past the hell-born murder-bear and on to a brand new calamity. Or maybe it's not a calamity. It's definitely... a development. Yes, not a calamity -- a development. Yes."

There was more prattling chatter from Hilarius, but Tallus could no longer endure it and interrupted. "Water..." said Tallus again in a voice that remained not entirely his.

Hilarius obliged and tossed Tallus a well-travelled leather water skin that he quickly and entirely drained. The water, cooled by the night air, tasted almost sweet. He sat up... wait, he was naked beneath his grey cloak that had so often served as his blanket. The cloak also seemed somehow smaller. He looked around blearily, still dazed and delirious, unsteady and uncertain why he felt so... weird. They were in camp beneath a small tree, yes. There was a small crackling fire, yes. And Hilarius was staring at him intently like he had grown a second head.

"What? What are you looking at?" What was wrong with his voice? Even the water had helped little.

"Well, my friend, you. That beast must have hit you harder in the head than I thought. I mean just look at yourself!"

Tallus did exactly that. He looked first at his left hand. There had been a long scar down his left hand and onto his upper arm where that scary fellow with the two scimitars had cut him almost mortally years ago in the arena. He had almost bled to death before he cut that guy's head off and used his turban to staunch the bleeding. That scar was gone. And the arm, it seemed no longer broken. Maybe it had just been sprained after all by the bear's mighty strike. And his hand seemed different also in a way he was having trouble exactly figuring out. It did not seem to be his hand, though it clearly was. He could feel it and move it and... then he looked down. Oh, yes, there were the tits.