Brokentooth March

[Strazio Rockwell]

This Rook guy was a strange character no doubt. Strazio stole sideways glances at him through the rain. The man look haggard and wirey, almost like a starved dog. His accent, if you could call it that, mangled the english language in ways that Strazio didn’t think possible. He wasn’t a foreigner, at least not from what the defender could tell, he just had a disastrous way of speaking. Still the scout held himself confidently and trudged through the pouring rain as if it didn’t exist.

“So what are you doing outside Darkshire?”

“Ah,” he cleared his throat and spit a grey wad of snot, “there’s been reports’a’undead ta tha south and they sent ol’ Rook to check em out.”

“Find anything?”

“Whole lotta those bastahds,” Rook responded, “they ain’t undead, but they ain’t humans neither.”

“What are they then?”

“Not sure,” Rook pointed towards Darkshire in the distance, “whatev they is, I don’t like em.”

Strazio nodded and turned his sights towards the approaching town. Darkshire was the final bastion of resistance against the unending tide of darkness. It was really the only place that the Defender could call home. His veins pulsed with anticipation and every step dug deeper into the earth. Dante’s Abyss and the Colosseum gave him a platform to champion for Darkshire, but it left him unable to truly fight for them. Today marked his homecoming, it would also mark the beginning of his campaign. With an army or by himself Strazio vowed to eradicate every last trace of evil in Darkshire.

But the journey ahead would begin with a single step, the retrieval of his journal. The mere thought of Shang boiled his blood and sent minute sparks across his flesh. Even beneath the pouring rain the Avatar raged with the intensity of a crucible.

“I’ll have these for you in Darkshire.”

The sheer fucking arrogance of the man sent shivers down Strazio’s spine. His core tightened and his tongue felt so awfully dry. Stealing the Necronomicon was to be expected, the power it held was disturbing , but the theft of his journal?

Unacceptable.

The pair came to the towering gates of Darkshire and announced their presence. The enternal skeletal guard was strangely absent, but Strazio cared little for their presence. The undead in any form were abominations only spawned through the twisted misuse of magick. Perhaps they had bolstered their forces to a point where the skeletons were no longer needed? This small thought brought a smirk to the Defender’s face, the thought that perhaps Darkshire was no longer on the back foot in this war. The thought of pushing back the darkness and turning The Pale Moors into a haven of light was an inspirational one to say the least.

The two entered through the gate and Rook turned to his companion, “this’is where we’ll split defendah, I gotta report back ta the Junta bout me findins.”

“Junta?” Strazio cocked his eyebrow, “who is Junta?”

“Eh? Didn’t ya hear?” Rook began to turn, anxious to escape the downpour, “old man Skenda was murded, the town’s led by a council’o’equals now.”

“And Junta leads them?”

“No, no, Junta ‘nother name for tha council,” Rook turned his back on Strazio and began to walk away, “take care defendah.”

“How much has changed since I left?” Strazio asked quietly, his words drowned under the oppressive rain. “Fuck the rain.”

Rumford’s house wasn’t far from the center of Darkshire. He was one of the few sergeants that didn’t live within the barracks, no doubt a side effect of having to care for a child. A series of rapid knocks thumped against the door, signaling the defender’s arrival. Groggy eyes greeted Strazio, but surprise cut through the sleep dust as Rumford smiled ear-to-ear.

“Sorry to wake you,” Strazio smiled sheepishly, “I didn’t want to stand in the rain all night.”

“Nonsense! Come in, come in.” Rumford pulled his sopping companion into the house.

“Thank you, friend.”

“Hopefully you brought a change of clothes, you can have the guest room upstairs.

Strazio thanked his friend and followed the soldier to the guest room. He was soaked to the bone and he had neglected to bring a change of clothes. Certainly nothing that a liberal application of omnilium couldn’t fix. He peeled his drenched clothes from his cold flesh, revealing a scarred and bruised body. Almost every inch of Strazio’s form had a scar or burn of some sort. The grisly cost of his magick was carved into every pound of flesh and evident in every pained movement. Rumford turned his back upon the naked prime, offering the man some privacy as he summoned a fresh set of clothing.

“So, what brings you back to this hellhole?”

“I made a promise that I intend to keep. I’m not leaving until I have Dracula’s heart in my hand.”

“Ambitious,” Rumford spoke, “you going to crash his castle by yourself?”

“If I have to,” the avatar laughed, “I’ve got a bad habit of making poor decisions. But first I have to get my journal back, that bastard Shang Tsung stole it after he killed me.”

Rumford furrowed his brow and asked, “did you say Shang Tsung?”

“Yeah, I fought the fucker at the Colosseum. The prick beat me and stole my journal.” Strazio started to fume, “he said that he would have them waiting here for me. Why, do you know him?”

“Well, you aren’t going to like this.” Rumford rubbed the back of his head, hoping that the avatar wouldn’t wake Rika, “he’s a member of the council that was put in place after Skender’s death.”

A deep bone-rattling sigh escaped Strazio’s chest. Of course his target for revenge was a political figurehead in Darkshire. He couldn’t very well knock down the front door and slay a council member. What kind of game was Shang playing? He very clearly wanted Strazio to return to Darkshire, but for what purpose? The thought of being manipulated by the sorcerer played havoc with the defender’s mind. If worse came to worse, would he be willing to forsake his allegiance to Darkshire in order to recover his journal?

“What about Demetri, how has he been?”

“Well,” the soldier smiled, “he’s been promoted, he’s part of the council now as well. He was one of the few that took charge when everything went to shit. You should get some rest, you’re liable to catch a cold if you don’t rest. We can go see him in the morning, besides Rika is going to lose her mind when she sees you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, after your performance in the Abyss and Colosseum she’s been wanting to learn magick and be a badass like you. Maybe you can teach her a few things?”

“Yeah,” Strazio responded, his mind already lost in thought, “thanks for letting me stay the night Rumford, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night defender.”

“Night.”

The door was shut and Strazio was left with his gnawing thoughts. Fuming and silently raging against the thought of being subservient to Shang. A defender lived to serve and protect Darkshire, and the sorcerer had a direct hold over the local government. These scratching thoughts sent dark machinations through the avatar’s head, visions of worst case scenarios and escape plans. But the most terrifying thought of all was the fear of defeat. Shang had no doubt grown stronger since their fight in the Colosseum, how could he hope to emerge victorious? He had given everything, offered pounds of flesh and thrashed violently against his opponent, and yet he was unable to claim victory.

Pathetic.

“No use worrying now,” he muttered and crawled into bed. With sleep-filled eyes he flipped open his dataverse device and scrolled through the recent news. Three days worth of current events filled his news feed and he lazily scrolled through each item. A certain headline caught his notice. Nippur had fallen, and it appeared that LAW was responsible. Gilgamesh was reported to have been banished.

“Thaal you bastard” Strazio growled and tapped a furious message to the red-skinned warlord.