Hero Of The Frozen Wastes

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Heh,this is what happens when you have too many ideas and too little time. Shura and hopefully Mikealus will be back next week. In the meantime, here is an entirely new story. Do tell me what you think.


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Hero of The Frozen Wastes


Warrior of Chaos
Champion of the Song
Ware his wrath, Frost Sentinels!
Fear his blades, Ice Fangs!
Ogardin Saga

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The chill wind howled like a thousand tortured souls across the icy plain. Amidst the swirling frost, a lone figure clad in a snow-white cloak trudged her way across the hellish terrain. A gust of wind caught her hood and blew it off her head, revealing a lean angular face with inhuman, slanting eyes and thin lips. Long, pointed ears perked at the harsh howling of the wind. She hissed in irritation and replaced the hood atop her head.

Grumbling bitterly, Aeselar pulled the hem of her cloak up as she continued on her way. The elders of the Whitekeep had sent her to observe the battle between the warring Humanitas tribe and the Ice Fang tribe. A massive avalanche had obstructed her way and she could only return home with no report. She cursed the two bloodthirsty and primitive tribes again and again with each step.

In her self-imposed misery, the denizen of Whitekeep was rightly startled as four huge figures burst from the snow around her. Aeselar yelped and put one hand on the hilt of her fine sword, a magically enchanted blade that far surpassed the primitive weapons of the Humanitas and Ice Fang tribesmen. To her dismay, she found it frozen stuck in its sheath. She had neglected to loosen the weapon every once in a while. A huge green hand shot out, seizing the Whitekeep warrior by the collar and lifting her into the air. She flailed vainly for a while before her limbs were pinned as her assailant’s comrades came forward to assist him. Aeselar found herself looking upon the glowering visage of an Ice Fang.

The tribesman was heavily muscled and had a greenish complexion. A single eye adorned his forehead and the hand tangled in her collar was but one of four that jutted from his bulky torso. The Ice Fang held a flint knife in two of his hands and he wasted no time in bringing them menacingly close to Aeselar’s face.

“ The Fang Chief would know your intentions, Whitekeep spy!” He growled. Aeselar gagged as his foul breath fanned her face.

“ You dare to treat me thus, primitive savage?” She snapped back. In the howling wind, their words sounded puny indeed. The Ice Fang backhanded her across the face. He was at least four times her weight in mass and the blow was heavy for one of her stature. Aeselar slumped in the grasp of her captors.

“ Speak, Whitekeep spy! Speak and your death shall be swift!” Aeselar spat in the single eye of the Ice Fang holding her and he recoiled, bellowing in pain. His comrades hurled her to the ground.

“ Kill her! But do it slowly and painfully!” The tribesman screamed. Cruel grins split the grotesque faces of the Ice Fangs and they reached for the fallen Whitekeep warrior.

“ Some humbling might do this haughty bitch good before the wind claims her soul!” One of them leered at Aeselar. His fellows laughed heartily. Their mirth was cut off, however as they spotted another cloaked form making its way through the swirling snow towards them.

“ A Humanitas! I can smell their filthy kind!” An Ice Fang bellowed. His fellows bared their teeth in snarls of hatred. The two tribes have warred for generations and the animosity ran deep. They pulled swords fashioned of a brittle crystal from their belts, wielding one in each hand and they charged across the snow to attack the newcomer, all thoughts about Aeselar forgotten.

The newcomer pulled back his hood to reveal a mass of long, flowing silver hair. His face was wrapped in a scarf but his eyes gleamed fiercely as he regarded the Ice Fangs. He ripped two flint axes that were strapped to his thighs out and hurled them with deadly accuracy, sinking their edges into the eyes of two Ice Fangs. The remaining two leapt forwards to circle around the Humanitas tribesman, feinting with their blades.

The Humanitas was not bothered by the seemingly overwhelming odds. He raised his fists and adopted a fighting stance. The Ice Fangs saw that their opponent had no further weapons and charged forward, their eight blades cutting and slashing in perfect harmony. To their utter horror, the Humanitas stepped within the reach of one of the Ice Fangs who found his blades clashing against those of his comrade. The shorter Humanitas looked up into the eye of his opponent for a moment, and then unleashed a devastating uppercut with his right fist, crushing the Ice Fang’s windpipe. Placing his hands on the shoulders of his dying opponent, the Humanitas leapt over the Ice Fang. He landed lightly and turned to face the last Ice Fang, his fists readied again. The last Ice Fang’s single eye narrowed in concentration as he stepped forward, eager to bring the attack to this unexpectedly dangerous opponent.

Palms slapped into the flats of the crystalline blades, knocking them from their respective paths. All the while, the Humanitas parried, dodged and sidestepped the Ice Fang’s blows. Eventually, the green-skinned warrior lost his patience and with a great roar, brought all four of his blades into a mighty downward cut simultaneously. The Humanitas sidestepped the blow, letting the swords strike the snow and sink in deeply. He snapped his foot against the flat of one of the adjacent blades and they shattered from his mighty kick. The Ice Fang stared stupidly in shocked disbelief as shards of his weapon flew into the air. His opponent leapt up and caught a shard lightly upon his furred boot. With a violent twist of his body, the Humanitas sent the broken shard streaking into the throat of the Ice Fang. The green-skinned tribesman scrabbled at his ruined throat with two of his hands while the remaining two reached forward and tore the scarf of the Humanitas’s face. Bright blue tattoos that ran down the sides of his face, over each eye and tapering to a point onto each cheek glowed in the dim light of the storm.

“ Matu…Ogardin…” The Ice Fang rasped. “ It is an honor to die in battle…against you…” The light went out of his eye and he slid to the ground, his lifeblood spreading on the white snow.

“ Rest well, warrior of the Ice Fangs. You have fought bravely.” The man’s voice was deep and resonant. He retrieved his flint axes and walked over where Aeselar lay. She was still dazed by the Ice Fang’s blow and she blinked groggily as she regarded the burly form of the Humanitas tribesman that loomed over her.

“ I shall tell you nothing, savage!” She proclaimed. The Humanitas dropped a small pouch beside her.

“ This concoction will ease the pain and swelling, High One.” He said. Grudgingly, the Whitekeep warrior opened the pouch and swallowed some of the bitter powder that she found inside. Instantly, she found the side of her face go numb, though the pain was greatly lessened.

“ I would be honored to escort you back to your home, High One.” Matu Ogardin said. “ I am on a journey there myself.” There were flashes of instant distrust in Aeselar’s large, slanted eyes.

“ You have no business in Whitekeep, savage!” She snapped, her words slurred due to the nature of the medication. Matu grinned at her confidently.

“ But I do, High One. I go forth to claim the Cerebral Blades from the elders of Whitekeep.” The tribesman told her.

 

Oooh very nice. Can't wait for the next part......if there ever will be. lol. Lets try and get a second art to this one shall we.

Still, very impressive.

 

very good indeed, hope the next part is just as great as this one.

 

Sura, how on earth do you intend to finish three stories at once. Well, I guess it doesn't matter but anyway, this is yet another grand and great story of yours that I can spam in so continue.

 

The Whitekeep Elder exhaled heavily as he came out from his meditative trance. His spartanly furnished chamber was awash in a dim blue light, thanks to the glow-orb that hung from his ceiling. It was an ancient relic and the mere fact that he possessed one spoke highly of the status he had among his people. He felt a slight pulse in his consciousness and recognized it as the mental call of a fellow Whitekeep Elder. Getting up, he slid open his screen door to find that the one who summoned him stood right outside his chambers.

“ Blade-master Cotaris. I bid you the most pleasant of greetings.” The other Elder said politely. Cotaris hissed in irritation. The pretentiousness of his peers got on his nerves easily.

“ Say what you have to say, Ryfellin.” He responded laconically. At the raised eyebrow of Ryfellin, Cotaris coughed once into his hand and corrected himself. “ Mystic Ryfellin.”

“ It is about your…pupil. He…it offends our senses with it’s coarse mannerisms and unsavory appearance.” Ryfellin told him.

“ You lot have put up with him for six mortal years!” Cotaris snapped, rapidly losing his patience. “ The Council has been over this issue umpteen times! I shall tolerate no such talk of my pupil!”

“ It…he would be tolerated in better times, Cotaris…but the flow of Mana bodes ill for our world.” Ryfellin spoke in cryptic tones that would drive even the normally steely composed Blade-master insane with annoyance. Before he could raise his voice for a brusque end to this conversation, the Mystic spoke again.

“ The Ice Fangs and Humanitas wage war upon each other with greater frequency and intensity. Thousands of them die every year. Soon they shall be driven to extinction!”

“ I never knew you as an individual to be so concerned with the survival of the ‘lesser beings’ as you so scathingly term them.” Cotaris quipped.

“ When they are gone, who shall stand between us and the Terror Gates?” Ryfellin demanded. His slanted eyes were large with hysteria. “ You were there, Cotaris! We fought side by side against the Tyrant Fiends! Thousands of mortal years have passed since then but we of Efarlos blood are beyond the grasp of time! Have you forgotten the carnage, the terror and destruction?”

“ Get to the point.” Cotaris refused to let himself be so easily fazed by Ryfellin. His old comrade in arms was overwhelmingly apocalyptic at times.

“ Some unknown force is driving the two races to war. The Humanitas fight the stray monsters from the Terror Gates as often as they fight the Ice Fangs. The same applies to the Ice Fangs as well! With the extinction of both, there shall be no buffer between us and the hordes of the Tyrant Fiends!” The Mystic explained.

“ What does this have to do with my pupil?” Cotaris demanded, seeing little relevance in Ryfellin’s ramblings to the issue at hand.

“ I plan an annexation of the Humanitas and Ice Fang tribes, bringing them under the direct control of Whitekeep forces. They shall be trained to serve as grunts in the defense of Whitekeep!” Ryfellin said. “ Your pupil’s first loyalty lies with his people! We have no wish to see your very own skills turned upon our warriors!”

“ You suggest slavery!” Cotaris bellowed at the top of his voice. A few young Efarlos walking down the corridors of Whitekeep threw shocked glances at the Blade-master for his outburst. “ I shall have no part in your plans, Mystic! Present them to the Council, but know that I, Cotaris the Blade-master, shall oppose your ideas every step of the way!” He turned and stalked off, having lost the mood for further meditation.

“ His first loyalty, my friend!” Ryfellin called after him. “ Know that you shall be betrayed!” Cotaris ignored him and continued on his way, his thoughts coursing bitterly.

“ The first loyalty a swordsman has is to his sword! Of course he shall betray me if it aids him on his pursuit of swordplay perfection!” The Blade-Master muttered. “ As would I!”

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Gensaro, the Ice Fang tribesman, put down the book he had been reading. It was a volume of convoluted Efarlos philosophy and cyclical schools of thought. With two of his four hands, he closed the thick book gently, viewing the room that had been his with a critical eye. It was meticulously neat, the small bookshelf free of dust and the sheets of his bed tightly pulled so that not a crease was visible.

His screen door slid open and the Ice Fang saw his mentor, Cotaris enter. Gensaro got to his feet and bowed, his huge frame towering over the Blade-master, who was no dwarf by the standards of his own race himself.

“ Greetings, teacher. I have completed my training for the day and now await any further instructions you might have.” Gensaro rumbled in his deep voice. Cotaris nodded approvingly. He had taught him well.

“ Sit, Gensaro. I merely wish to ask you a few things.” He said. The tribesman did as he was told and Cotaris sat on a rarely used chair in the corner of the room. Gensaro did not sit on any chair, as there were none in Whitekeep that catered to his size.

“ Your training nears its end, Ice Fang. Over the years I have imparted the Way of the Sword to you, along with all the knowledge and philosophical insights I have gained throughout the course of my life. Under my teaching, you have become a master of tactical warfare and the most fearsome warrior the Ice Fangs shall ever see!” Cotaris said loudly, pride shining on his face. He leaned close to Gensaro and lowered his voice. “ Now tell me, my student, do you feel any pride in your achievements?”

“ No, teacher. I have learnt much, of that I am sure.” Gensaro replied resolutely. “ But all my strengths pale when I measure them up against yours.”

“ Oh? And what do you lack, then?” The Ice Fang cupped one of his four hands under his chin and rubbed it slowly, pondering the question. At length, it came to him and his eye lit up in understanding.

“ The only answer I can give would be to say that I lack perfection.” He said. Cotaris frowned at the strange answer.

“ What is this perfection you speak of?” The Blade-Master asked.

“ The perfection of Self. In a world where an individual is too weak to effect a great change about it, I seek perfection within myself, in the arts martial and mental.” Gensaro told him. Cotaris laughed at the answer, but it was not a mocking laugh. It was one of appreciation. It was the same goal he aspired to, though he knew that it was not the most worthy one.

“ Your quest for perfection will have to wait, Gensaro.” Cotaris got to his feet and walked to the door. “ Many responsibilities await you. The salvation of your people lies in your hands.”

“ I know, teacher.” The young Ice Fang said. “ I shall let neither them nor you down, this I swear!” Cotaris smiled and touched his hand to a panel upon the door. It slid open.

“ From this day onwards, I am no longer your teacher, Gensaro.” The Blade-Master announced. “ Rest well, Blade-Master Gensaro.” He left the stunned Gensaro in his room as he left, to ponder his new title with awe.

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“ What makes you think that the Elders will hand over the Cerebral Blades to you, human?” Aeselar shouted over the howling wind. She trudged through the snow, trying to keep up with Matu Ogardin’s long strides. The sunlight glinted off the peculiar metallic tattoos etched on the man’s cheeks.

“ They belong to my tribe.” The Humanitas tribesman answered her. “ My Grandfather told me to retrieve the holy artifacts.” Aeselar blinked in surprise as an old legend among her people came to her mind.

“ Who are you, human?” She bellowed. “ What is your role among your people?” Matu reached into his cloak and produced a talisman in the shape of a Chill Raven’s claw.

“ I am Matu Ogardin, Guardian of the Humanitas Tribe.” He said. The Efarlos’s eyes widened. A Guardian was the champion of the Humanitas, a wielder of their peculiar brand of sorcery. “ My Grandfather is Hago Ogardin, also a Guardian.” Matu continued.

“ Has the prophesized time come upon us at last?” She wondered. Matu halted abruptly, causing her to start in surprise.

“ What’s the matter?” Aeselar asked. Her own keen senses detected the reason for their halt swiftly, and she gaped in wonder. The pair had come across a crystal heron, a four winged, single legged bird whose translucent flesh earned its name. The crystal heron’s organs pulsated with life for all to see, beneath its glasslike, light bending skin. The Efarlos woman sighed in awe. She had been cooped up in Whitekeep for the majority of her life and a sight like this was rare indeed. The crystal heron spread its wings and seemed about to take off. The bird had a wingspan longer than the height of a fully-grown Humanitas tribesman. It was a magnificent spectacle indeed.

Matu’s hand slid to a flint axe strapped to his thigh. He tore it from its bindings and drew back his arm, his huge muscles flexing powerfully. The action caught Aeselar by surprise and she yelped in protest, reaching out a delicate hand to stop Matu. The Guardian’s teeth were bared in a snarl of effort. He shook off Aeselar’s grip easily and snapped his body like a whip, sending his flint axe hurtling.

The weapon streaked past the startled crystal heron and embedded itself into the fang filled mouth of a furry, worm like creature that had burst out from the snow behind the crystal heron. The would-be predator roared in pain and fury and the crystal heron took off, its mighty wings carrying it from the furry monster. Its flight carried it past Matu and Aeselar. As it passed, it glanced gratefully at the Guardian, and there was much intelligence in that glance.

Matu did not have time to return the crystal heron’s salutations. He leapt forward, the sun glinting off the metallic blue tattoos on his face and landed on the furry worm’s trashing back. He seized a handful of fur in a vice-like grip and tore his other flint axe from its bindings. The worm shook angrily, trying in vain to shake the Guardian from its back. From a distance away, Aeselar snapped a composite bow crafted from a shiny metal together and plucked an arrow from the quiver by her hip. She strung the bow, readied the arrow and loosed it in one swift motion. The shaft buried itself somewhere along the length of the worm’s body, with little effect.

“ They are scarcely more than walking digestive tracts, High One!” Matu shouted over the worm’s anguished bellowing. “ Save your arrows! The only way to defeat this abomination is to strike at its nerve vitals!” The Guardian looked down at the monster he stood one. He was familiar with this manner of beast. The flint axe crunched down once, on an unprotected portion of the creature’s skull and gray blood spurted, along with brain matter. The worm shuddered mightily, throwing Matu off. He landed heavily and rolled to absorb the impact, his heavy fur cape flying across the icy surface.

A final dull, stupid rumble passed for the worm’s final breath and it collapsed in a pool of fast spreading gore that bubbled and hissed and gave off unpleasant fumes wherever it touched the ice.

“ What was that?” Aeselar asked as she helped Matu up. There was an unpleasant look on the Guardian’s face as he regarded the corpse of the worm. It was decaying rapidly, despite the rarity of scavengers and parasites.

“ Terror spawn, a by-product of the influence of Terror. I had no idea that the taint of Terror had spread so far.” Matu frowned, rubbing his square jaw with one large hand. “ The Terror spawn heralds the coming of the Tyrant fiends. War is perhaps closer than we thought!”

Disbelief spread on Aeselar’s face. She shook her head in denial.

“ It cannot be! The Elders say that the Tyrants are sealed away for all time!” She said. Matu gave her a sardonic grin and gathered his heavy fur cloak about his shoulders.

“ How long has it been since the High Ones have bothered about the affairs of the Ice Fangs and Humanitas? We have been killing each other for almost two centuries and our respective peoples are bloodied and weary. “ The Guardian said. “ Something drives our people to war, and it is neither the War Chiefs of the Ice Fangs nor the Khan Lords of the Humanitas tribe! We of the Guardians have long suspected the influence of the Tyrants but without aid from the High Ones, little could be done!”

“ So you are blaming my people now, Matu?” Aeselar demanded. Her tone was defensive. She thrust her head forward to look the Guardian in the eye. It was not an easy task. Matu towered over her by at least two feet. He was a giant of a man and Aeselar was considered slight and scrawny even among her race. “ We have fought the Tyrants for untold centuries before you even had opposable thumbs, savage! You would just march up to Whitekeep and demand that we set things right for you, like the spoilt children that you are?”

“ No. The affairs of the Humanitas tribe are beyond the jurisdiction of the Efarlos. The Guardians have decided and their will has been imposed on the Khan Lords. We shall fight our own wars now.” Matu replied.

“ Then why the trip to Whitekeep? Sightseeing?” Aeselar mocked him maliciously. A sudden gleam flashed over Matu’s eyes so that for an instant, they were indistinguishable from the tattoos on his face. The Efarlos shuddered. The Guardian was formidable beyond his eighteen years.

“ I wish to retrieve our rightful property, the Cerebral Blades, an artifact of the Humanitas tribe. That is all.” Matu said. “ They are the only weapons of the Humanitas that can defeat a Tyrant fiend. By an ancient pact, the High Ones are required to give the weapon up to a Guardian who comes to claim it.”

“ But…” Aeselar began. Matu ignored her and with a flourish of his cloak, began to walk off in the direction of Whitekeep. She gritted her teeth in annoyance and ran off after him, picking her way through the snow.

 

Pretty good, though not in the same league as your Legend of Shura series.