Synopsis: The story of Chazzen, a Leader vessel who gets freed to be a nightmare on the Dren'Throk. The dark souls of a human community that turned to demons to turn the tide of an ancient battle.
Inspired by so many things but not endorsed by any of them. © EmotionalStorm December 2019. This story cannot be transferred to any other site besides Literotica.com without the prior authorizations in writing from the author and EmotionalStorm must be credited for this work.
Prologue
My earliest memories were the sounds of the village. The ping of the hammer against the blacksmiths forge. The clucking of the chickens or squawking of other domesticated fowl. The smell of the dung from the horses and oxen that littered the lands and inevitably got tracked into people's homes.
The swoosh and thud of an ax; to split yet another of a thousand logs that would be needed to keep people warm during the cold winter nights headed our way. This was the everyday mundane life of those growing up in the village of Evergreen. An ironic name for a village that spent half the year covered in snow and ice.
Too far north for most Kings to care about and yet too close to trading routes to go unnoticed by the Dren'Throk. The local's name for the men who came through every few years. They raped, pillaged, and enslaved those they cared to capture. Smoke Riders, though the name hardly did them justice.
The smell was usually the first thing picked up upon; the smell of brimstone from the foul beasts these men rode. Their hoofs burned everything they touched; be it the ground, the crushed skull of someone not fast enough to get out of their way, or who fell to the black blades of their riders. Fighting them only led to more death.
Most tried to hide when they came or tried to flee. They seemed to know all of the hiding places. Those who fought were skinned alive if what could be found could be identified at all. The men born outside of these cycles within the village knew better than to fight; they kept the roles. The list of children born after these raids.
A child remained for 6 cycles, 18 years, they would cull those who would come of age to join their ranks. The bastard children of the rapists. My mother planned for this day. I was fourteen winters old the last cycle when I got branded on the right shoulder. That identified the fact that I was to be taken during the next culling.
I laid upon the ground in burning pain after that. I laid there beaten and in pain from being constrained as well. I watched as the men took turns gang-raping her one after the other while they laughed. I hated these men with every fiber of my being. Even if one of them was my father, which was highly likely.
She did not try and hide me in a cave or a hollowed-out tree. She sent me to the hills to hunt. It had to be days or weeks before their arrival but she told me not to return until the weather cleared. She knew a winter storm was coming. She knew they could not find or follow me in those hills; I knew them too well and the weather would shield me from there senses.
To find me would have been next to impossible as far as I had traveled away. The storm had been especially vicious and lasted two months. I returned to the village a week after the storm finally passed; a few weeks if not more since the attack. I returned to the burn out remains of the village as they left nothing alive this time. They even poisoned the well with the bodies of the dead.
I found her body, skinned and frozen in the drifted snow. Her face in a death scream. Next to her was the crushed body of my sister that was spawned in the night of that last violation. The only body of a child in the village from the rapists, they took all of the other bastard children. Obviously stomped to death by the horses. I buried their remains as best I could in the frozen ground but it was the wrong time of year for burial.
I went to the remains of our old home and found the loose stone by the fireplace where she kept the few valuables she had, which included her journal. That was when I learned she had been made a 'bride' to the leader of this group. He was that he was this 'leader's' son. She hated this 'man' and he warned her what would happen if I was not present when they came for me.
That first 'visit' he raped her nightly until she took with a child. After that, she was the property of his men. She wrote of rumors and speculation of those who escaped from other villages who met similar ends. These children that escaped they feared. These children could bring an end to the Dren'Throk. That was her hope for me because she saw the light in my heart.
I went to her grave and used my dagger and cut out the flaming brand given to me just three years earlier, a few months shy of my eighteenth birthday. I swore a blood oath. If there was a way to end these riders, I would find and finish them; that was four years ago. I wandered further south and away from Evergreen.
I lived in the woods. I sold my services as a scout and hunter to the trade caravans of the lower Kingdom. There it was warm near year-round. I learned that the Dren'Throk, while rumored about in this part of the kingdom, were nothing but folklore are rumors.
They mentioned that the riders would be seen for a few weeks and then disappear until suddenly returning out of nowhere years later. They were more than men; yet, they were less than men. They had no honor and no known homeland in which to track them too. I took the name of Chazzen, a local name of the southland, to distance myself from any who might be hunting me.
The Hunter is Hunted
The wagons slowly ground to a halt and Chazzen went to the Wagon Master to collect the last of his pay. The wagon master smiled at him, "I meant what I said. You are a damned fine scout. If you want a fulltime job, I would hire you in a minute."
Chazzen shook his head, "I have long term plans and I do not know where those will take me. I do appreciate the work. You pass through this way you can ask the locals if I am still around and available."
The old man sighed and nodded and tossed him a small pouch with fifteen gold pieces inside. Chazzen did not want for much, there was little he needed to buy. What he could not build, he found upon the bandits he took down by keeping the caravans safe. This trip, he added to that with several swords to sell from a group of eight would-be thieves along with their horses.
The cargo they stole from a previous caravan he did not keep. He gave that to the wagon master who appreciated the opportunity to collect the recovery reward, as some of it belonged to some rich noble in the area. As well as the bounty on the bodies of those Chazzen killed. Chazzen did not need the attention, the hassle of court inquiries, or hero-worship.
Especially from some primped-up ostrich who felt entitled to the world's pleasures. He stabled his horses, sold 7 he did not need along with their tack and went to the local inn. He did not go to them often, usually to get a hot meal, a bath, to drink, and if he was lucky companionship for the evening. He was often lucky at this inn.
This time it was different. This time he smelled the horses. They looked like ordinary horses to those on the street but he saw them for what they were. Three horses, all black even though they were white and brown. Some type of illusion and for some reason, he could see them. He gripped his bow tightly as he walked into the inn.
His silvered sword, a recent trophy from the bandits, upon his back seemed to hum to him and seemed to sense what he sensed. He knew this was not the place to have a fight. The City of Rampart did not tolerate murder or rogue behavior but his anger only mounted as he entered the bar. The three of them were easy to spot. Like their horses, they appeared to be under some form of illusion. He could not tell how he could see them, but he saw them.
Their skin an ashen grey stretched gaunt across their bones. Their rotted smell nearly gagged him when he entered the place. They looked to be in brown leather, but he could see the heavy black plate and chain armor they wore. He also noticed the hooded figure at another table that seemed to be bouncing his head slowly from them to Chazzen. As if waiting for something to happen.
Chazzen set his white ash bow on the table with an arrow nocked. Not unusual for him or other scouts, but this was the first time he felt the overwhelming desire to strike first. He restrained himself, for now. The serving girl came over and gathered his order. Her name was Cecilien, or CC to her friends.
She and Chazzen had been friends with benefits for over a year now. She smiled at seeing him but saw that he was distracted. She looked at him, "You suddenly find yourself attracted to men?"
Chazzen looked up at her playful smile and shook his head. He leaned over to her, "Calling them men would be giving them too much credit."
CC looked at him and whispered, "You know them?"
He shook his head, "I know of them, and that is enough."
She seemed perplexed. She continued to stare at him, "I have never known you to judge a stranger like that."
Chazzen looked at them as his anger mounted, "I never said they were strangers. I know of them. Please leave it alone."
She sighed and nodded. He tried to put the pieces together. What had changed? It was out of cycle for them to be here and this far south. They also only had three of them. He thought about it as he ate. Then it occurred to him. They were scouts or they were a hunting party. Possibly both. They might even be looking for him, not knowing who they were looking for.
He could hear CC talking with the tavernkeeper about Chazzen's 'fascination' with the 3 men. Chazzen knew if he could hear her that they, who were only a few feet from her, could hear her.
Chazzen thought to himself, "She just could not leave it alone.'"
One of them stared in Chazzen's direction and he felt the old brand cut out years ago start to burn. He got up from his seat and his two friends appeared to be joining him. Chazzen saw his hand move toward his sword.
Chazzen grabbed his bow, stood, flipping the table in the process and had the creature facing the business end of his arrow.
He released before even thinking about it and struck him in the face. His two friends had swords coming out of sheaths as the first fell over dead. The holy arrow hissing into his flesh. The illusion of the man faded and became the man, a man he recognized. A man he had known from his home village, so many years ago. One of the men who had branded him and defiled his mother. He backed toward the doorway with them closing.
They brought around shields to block any arrow he might fire at them. All the while his shoulder burned hotter under there gaze. He made it out the door as the city guard arrived and surrounded him at a distance.
The sergeant of the guard yelled over to Chazzen, "Drop that bow!"
The two 'men' smiled at him. Chazzen drew back even tighter and the guard repeated himself, "Drop the bow! You kill one of them and my men will be forced to kill you!"
He swung his bow away and to the shock of the two men and put the arrow into the front leg of one of the horses they came in upon. That illusion broke. The guards saw the black steed with red eyes. They smelled the overwhelming brimstone and saw the flames upon the ground where the 'horses' hoofs remained.
Also, the front hooves as they flailed and traced eerie rings of fire and smoke in the air. The two 'men' ran and got on their horses. They got 20-feet away before disappearing into nothing just as the third broke free and was gone in a cloud of acidic smoke. Chazzen slung his bow and held up his hands as the guards came toward him and shackled them together.
The tavern owner came out, "The one body just disappeared from the floor."
The stranger in the hood called out, "No dead body or complaining witness. I will pay for the damages to the furniture."
The guard looked at him, "That is for the magistrate to decide."
