02-27-2018, 01:08 PM
The drow priestess shrieked as the blood boiled her flesh. Swollen mounds of ebony skin burst, and as they did, they spread the pestilence to nearby tissue. Within a matter of minutes, there was nothing left but mounds of ruptured flesh.
“Is it over?”
Shang furrowed his brow and turned at the sound of the softer tones. His Spartan companion shared his gaze, and in those eyes, the sorcerer saw that the storm had passed once again. With the squalls calmed, the captain sailed the oceans once again. “He left?”
Atelos nodded his head as he reached a hand down to his side. “The fighting taxed him—taxed us both.” The bronze armor had failed in more than a few locations, but it was there that it had been compromised down to his flesh. Blood had dyed the dull yellow plates with streaks of orange, and the warrior’s meaty hand was likewise smeared red. Unlike with a normal human, the Spartan’s lifeblood was a thick ichor, undoubtedly some side-effect of his bond with the entity Hades. “He’ll return once again when the killing fields are rife for his harvest.”
“Lovely,” Shang muttered as he took a step forward. Almost instantly, he felt his right leg buckle.
“Sorcerer!” Atelos rushed to catch his friend, but in doing so, the Spartan lost his own equilibrium. With a dull thump, the Grecian clipped Shang, pitched sideways, and collapsed into a heap. A few yards away, Shang had likewise toppled over like a stack of cards struck by a strong breeze.
There was a moment of silence as the two stared up at the green-tinted blackness of the skies.
Then the two fully grown men started to laugh at the top of their lungs.
Neither really, truly knew what was funny about the situation, but that didn’t stop either of them.
By the time they caught their breath, the Defenders of Darkshire pull themselves up into a seated position and glanced at one another.
“Old times?” Shang inquired.
“Old times.” Atelos responded. “Although I am fairly certain I threw a hip.”
“You are capable of hurtling your pelvis?” The sorcerer deadpanned, eliciting a scowl from his companion.
“You think those recruits are still alive?”
Shang winced as he sat up off the ground. He was bloodied in a few places, and his right cheek had swollen, partially obscuring his vision. The wound would heal in soon order, but that didn’t stop him from being annoyed. “I hope so. They should be able to handle a few panicked drow if they hope to survive on the walls of Darkshire.”
“Aye.” Atelos shot back as he clutched at the laceration in his side and stood up off the ground. When it seemed as if the Spartan would falter, Shang moved to catch him only to be stopped by the other hand. “I’m good. I’m not a pensioner just yet, Sorcerer.” Once he was on his feet, the Bronze Age warrior flicked the blood from his hand and grinned at his friend. “You okay coming out of retirement? You’re not going to go gray again, are you?”
The sorcerer scowled. “That was one time.”
The Spartan merely grinned as he collected his spear. While he didn’t complain about the pain, Atelos leaned heavily on the weapon as he limped alongside his equally banged up companion. In silence, the two made their way through the trees back toward their recruits. Although the region had felt sinister and foreboding on their initial march, their exeunt seemed almost tranquil. With the drow slain, the other creepy crawlies of the forest must have scattered as well. The result was a calm environment that likely would have felt at home somewhere in the pleasant climes of Camelot.
“Imagine what this place would be like without the evil,” Atelos whispered.
“I don’t need to imagine,” Shang replied, prompting a curious glance from his partner. “We’ll live long enough to see the monsters exorcised. Trust me. We’ll purge every last fel creature from this place and make it the envy of the Omniverse.”
“Nice stump speech. I didn’t know you had to run for election.”
Shang fought the urge to jam an elbow into his friend’s ribcage. “You’ve never given a rousing battlefield speech before, Spartan? Never boasted about standing strong against the enemy hordes. Didn’t you and your sword brothers stand tall against the Persians? Or were you fighting those Athenians and their damn democracy?”
The Spartan shook his head. “Those events were history to both of us, Sorcerer. My grandfather fought with the fleets at Aegospotami.”
“So where does that put you? The Corinthians? The Thebans?”
Atelos clenched a dirty, blood-stained fist. “Vile, just like the damn Athenians. They could have worked with Sparta, but they wanted our blood.”
“Damn Athenians.” Shang muttered. The sorcerer didn’t broach the topic of how the Spartans had eventually allied with the Persians to wage a war of intimidation against the other Greek city-states. The pair had swapped countless war stories, but Atelos rarely gave names to the foes he had fought. Shang had always assumed that the Spartan had been born into the glory days of his people—standing with King Leonidas at Thermopylae.
Instead, his ancient companion had lived in the twilight of Greek culture, where his people had gone at each other throats over influence and economy. Like many societies, the Grecians had eventually rot from within. They would be washed away by the Romans, who would experience nearly a millennium of hegemony before they themselves likewise eroded and collapsed.
The actors change, but so often, the story told by history is always the same.
The gift of history told Shang had had been born into one of his people’s ‘golden ages.’ He had returned various times over his lifetime, but there was nothing in those formative days that seemed to mark it as special in the grand scope. Was that the fate of a glorious culture? To be unaware that it was living at its zenith until it was already too late to stop the fall?
Atelos interjected into his ally’s train of thought. “Do you think we come from the same world, Sorcerer?”
It was a question that Shang Tsung had often pondered. “It’s possible, yes. If not the same world, I certainly believe we inhabited mirrored realms. As you said, both of histories of your people are the same.”
“Then tell me,” Atelos muttered before coming to a stop. His companion paused a few paces in front of him and glanced over his shoulder. “What befalls Sparta?”
Shang didn’t offer a response for a few moments. His hesitation told Atelos all he needed to know. “Who was it? Don’t you tell me it was those damn Athenians, Sorcerer.”
“You truly wish to know?”
“Aye.”
“You win the war with Corinth, but in the end, your armies overreach themselves. The Spartan military is soundly crushed in a battle that forever changes the balance of power in the peninsula.”
“We have lost battles before and recovered.”
Shang shook his head. “Your population had fallen too much by then. The helots became the majority and revolted.”
“That was the end? Atrophy and decay?” Atelos shook his head.
“A weakened Sparta remained free for centuries more than the rest of the Greek world, if it’s any consolation.”
“Sure.” The warrior grumbled. “And your people, Sorcerer? Did they wither away before being put out of their misery?”
“Just as bad,” Shang chuckled. “They had their periods of power, but then they spent centuries as the slaves of outsiders. It took them longer than the Greeks to regain their dignity.”
“May we learn from our peoples’ failures,” Atelos replied as they exited the forest. Before them, the recruits still breathed, and all around them, a ring of slain drow stood as testament to their resolve. “Now isn’t this a beautiful scene.”
“Is it over?”
Shang furrowed his brow and turned at the sound of the softer tones. His Spartan companion shared his gaze, and in those eyes, the sorcerer saw that the storm had passed once again. With the squalls calmed, the captain sailed the oceans once again. “He left?”
Atelos nodded his head as he reached a hand down to his side. “The fighting taxed him—taxed us both.” The bronze armor had failed in more than a few locations, but it was there that it had been compromised down to his flesh. Blood had dyed the dull yellow plates with streaks of orange, and the warrior’s meaty hand was likewise smeared red. Unlike with a normal human, the Spartan’s lifeblood was a thick ichor, undoubtedly some side-effect of his bond with the entity Hades. “He’ll return once again when the killing fields are rife for his harvest.”
“Lovely,” Shang muttered as he took a step forward. Almost instantly, he felt his right leg buckle.
“Sorcerer!” Atelos rushed to catch his friend, but in doing so, the Spartan lost his own equilibrium. With a dull thump, the Grecian clipped Shang, pitched sideways, and collapsed into a heap. A few yards away, Shang had likewise toppled over like a stack of cards struck by a strong breeze.
There was a moment of silence as the two stared up at the green-tinted blackness of the skies.
Then the two fully grown men started to laugh at the top of their lungs.
Neither really, truly knew what was funny about the situation, but that didn’t stop either of them.
By the time they caught their breath, the Defenders of Darkshire pull themselves up into a seated position and glanced at one another.
“Old times?” Shang inquired.
“Old times.” Atelos responded. “Although I am fairly certain I threw a hip.”
“You are capable of hurtling your pelvis?” The sorcerer deadpanned, eliciting a scowl from his companion.
“You think those recruits are still alive?”
Shang winced as he sat up off the ground. He was bloodied in a few places, and his right cheek had swollen, partially obscuring his vision. The wound would heal in soon order, but that didn’t stop him from being annoyed. “I hope so. They should be able to handle a few panicked drow if they hope to survive on the walls of Darkshire.”
“Aye.” Atelos shot back as he clutched at the laceration in his side and stood up off the ground. When it seemed as if the Spartan would falter, Shang moved to catch him only to be stopped by the other hand. “I’m good. I’m not a pensioner just yet, Sorcerer.” Once he was on his feet, the Bronze Age warrior flicked the blood from his hand and grinned at his friend. “You okay coming out of retirement? You’re not going to go gray again, are you?”
The sorcerer scowled. “That was one time.”
The Spartan merely grinned as he collected his spear. While he didn’t complain about the pain, Atelos leaned heavily on the weapon as he limped alongside his equally banged up companion. In silence, the two made their way through the trees back toward their recruits. Although the region had felt sinister and foreboding on their initial march, their exeunt seemed almost tranquil. With the drow slain, the other creepy crawlies of the forest must have scattered as well. The result was a calm environment that likely would have felt at home somewhere in the pleasant climes of Camelot.
“Imagine what this place would be like without the evil,” Atelos whispered.
“I don’t need to imagine,” Shang replied, prompting a curious glance from his partner. “We’ll live long enough to see the monsters exorcised. Trust me. We’ll purge every last fel creature from this place and make it the envy of the Omniverse.”
“Nice stump speech. I didn’t know you had to run for election.”
Shang fought the urge to jam an elbow into his friend’s ribcage. “You’ve never given a rousing battlefield speech before, Spartan? Never boasted about standing strong against the enemy hordes. Didn’t you and your sword brothers stand tall against the Persians? Or were you fighting those Athenians and their damn democracy?”
The Spartan shook his head. “Those events were history to both of us, Sorcerer. My grandfather fought with the fleets at Aegospotami.”
“So where does that put you? The Corinthians? The Thebans?”
Atelos clenched a dirty, blood-stained fist. “Vile, just like the damn Athenians. They could have worked with Sparta, but they wanted our blood.”
“Damn Athenians.” Shang muttered. The sorcerer didn’t broach the topic of how the Spartans had eventually allied with the Persians to wage a war of intimidation against the other Greek city-states. The pair had swapped countless war stories, but Atelos rarely gave names to the foes he had fought. Shang had always assumed that the Spartan had been born into the glory days of his people—standing with King Leonidas at Thermopylae.
Instead, his ancient companion had lived in the twilight of Greek culture, where his people had gone at each other throats over influence and economy. Like many societies, the Grecians had eventually rot from within. They would be washed away by the Romans, who would experience nearly a millennium of hegemony before they themselves likewise eroded and collapsed.
The actors change, but so often, the story told by history is always the same.
The gift of history told Shang had had been born into one of his people’s ‘golden ages.’ He had returned various times over his lifetime, but there was nothing in those formative days that seemed to mark it as special in the grand scope. Was that the fate of a glorious culture? To be unaware that it was living at its zenith until it was already too late to stop the fall?
Atelos interjected into his ally’s train of thought. “Do you think we come from the same world, Sorcerer?”
It was a question that Shang Tsung had often pondered. “It’s possible, yes. If not the same world, I certainly believe we inhabited mirrored realms. As you said, both of histories of your people are the same.”
“Then tell me,” Atelos muttered before coming to a stop. His companion paused a few paces in front of him and glanced over his shoulder. “What befalls Sparta?”
Shang didn’t offer a response for a few moments. His hesitation told Atelos all he needed to know. “Who was it? Don’t you tell me it was those damn Athenians, Sorcerer.”
“You truly wish to know?”
“Aye.”
“You win the war with Corinth, but in the end, your armies overreach themselves. The Spartan military is soundly crushed in a battle that forever changes the balance of power in the peninsula.”
“We have lost battles before and recovered.”
Shang shook his head. “Your population had fallen too much by then. The helots became the majority and revolted.”
“That was the end? Atrophy and decay?” Atelos shook his head.
“A weakened Sparta remained free for centuries more than the rest of the Greek world, if it’s any consolation.”
“Sure.” The warrior grumbled. “And your people, Sorcerer? Did they wither away before being put out of their misery?”
“Just as bad,” Shang chuckled. “They had their periods of power, but then they spent centuries as the slaves of outsiders. It took them longer than the Greeks to regain their dignity.”
“May we learn from our peoples’ failures,” Atelos replied as they exited the forest. Before them, the recruits still breathed, and all around them, a ring of slain drow stood as testament to their resolve. “Now isn’t this a beautiful scene.”