The long and lonesome journey of T'Sobem Soots
Chapter 1
The bridge was vast, yet narrow. The chasm it spanned was deep and winding. And upon that rickety, narrow bridge that spanned the vast chasm stood a lone figure. A tired and lone figure who bled from a hundred cuts and yet gripped his shield and spear with great ferocity.
His nest brothers were dead; of this he was certain. His vast bulk, armoured after the style of the S’Nickthian school of warfare, spoke of a life as a soldier and a career as a front line combatant. But the ankh of Ing’nass on his right shoulder and the mantle of Ponsible also spoke of a scholar, a digger and a searcher of artefacts and knowledge. The spear of A’butl looked like an extension of his arm, like they had spent a lifetime of practice, for this very moment. And they had indeed. And now, he needed every item in his store, every piece of knowledge, every trick of the mind and every ounce of strength from his body, if he were to survive this.
This, of course, being the enemy arrayed against him. An enemy that was an army. A conquering, invading army bent on the destruction of his race, his beliefs and even his Goddess.
And here he was, the one thing standing between them and deicide.
His Goddess stood alone, bereft of her servants, her priests and her army. All dead and accounted for. Except for one lone warrior, on a long, narrow bridge, standing between her killers and her sanctum.
The bad news, was that he had been fighting for the past three months, almost without respite. And three days without sleep or nutrition. He verged on exhaustion, and only his immense willpower and his stubbornness stood between him and her demise.
A man, every bit a weapon, as the spear and shield he wielded, was all that remained of what was once a great kingdom. And right now, she was grateful that he remained still.
But for how long?
The shield wall in front of him parts. His tired eyes widen fractionally. Oh Goddess protect him.
Chapter 2
It'Ikl Likt clung to the walls and shadows in equal measure. Bridges are meant to be crossed on top, not underneath. But such things meant little to one as It. That is how it thought of itself. It was neither male nor female, neither tall nor short. It was exactly what the mission demanded of it. Even the name it currently wore, was not It's real name, merely assumed. When one is an assassin, it is worth discarding all measures of identity and self. It had pretended to be kings, priests and even, on one memorable event, an elephant. But today, it had a mission that demanded stealth, not subterfuge.
And stealth was made quite easy by the roars of the crowd. The cries of 'Kaosh! Kaosh!' drowned out the minimal sounds that It's nails made on stone. Kaosh was the distraction. It's job was to get behind this one Xel warrior and kill him with great gusto. And it was almost in position to do so. It wanted a name for itself. A name it had earned, not a name it was assigned. And bridge-taker or throat-slitter seemed to have such a nice ring to it.
But then the general started to talk and It realized that the general had gone off the script. Plan B was in effect. It grinned widely and continued on it's way down the bridge.
After all, it was rare enough for someone like IT to be named God-killer.
And stealth was made quite easy by the roars of the crowd. The cries of 'Kaosh! Kaosh!' drowned out the minimal sounds that It's nails made on stone. Kaosh was the distraction. It's job was to get behind this one Xel warrior and kill him with great gusto. And it was almost in position to do so. It wanted a name for itself. A name it had earned, not a name it was assigned. And bridge-taker or throat-slitter seemed to have such a nice ring to it.
But then the general started to talk and It realized that the general had gone off the script. Plan B was in effect. It grinned widely and continued on it's way down the bridge.
After all, it was rare enough for someone like IT to be named God-killer.
Chapter 3
Ka'Osh! Ka'Osh! Ka'Osh!
The cries of hundreds and thousands of soldiers crashed into him like a physical thing. Ka'Osh Sebit, the juggernaut of the West himself. And true enough, the legend itself heaved into view through the gap in the shield wall.
T'Sobem Soots had been lucky so far. He had occupied the bottleneck at the center of the bridge, the Null gate. Magic thrown at it was absorbed, and the gate itself was narrow enough for him to shield himself from most of the infernal fletchery that they seemed so fond of. But this was an enemy not easily disposed of, not this one.
The people that Kaosh had descended from, were born of the mountains. They made for ferocious enemies and implacable attackers. They were seigers, sackers of cities. They knew the strength and weakness of stone from just looking at it. And so, standing there, under the crenelations of the Null gates, T'Sobem had a distinct feeling that his luck had run out.
As a warrior and soldier, he couldn't help but feel a small amount of satisfaction that his end was to come at the hands of a legend like Kaosh. But for it be glorious, he needed to fight his best. He looked with renewed interest at the greatest opponent he had ever faced.
'Hello T'Sobem.", a voice growls. Kaosh knows his name.
The cries of hundreds and thousands of soldiers crashed into him like a physical thing. Ka'Osh Sebit, the juggernaut of the West himself. And true enough, the legend itself heaved into view through the gap in the shield wall.
T'Sobem Soots had been lucky so far. He had occupied the bottleneck at the center of the bridge, the Null gate. Magic thrown at it was absorbed, and the gate itself was narrow enough for him to shield himself from most of the infernal fletchery that they seemed so fond of. But this was an enemy not easily disposed of, not this one.
The people that Kaosh had descended from, were born of the mountains. They made for ferocious enemies and implacable attackers. They were seigers, sackers of cities. They knew the strength and weakness of stone from just looking at it. And so, standing there, under the crenelations of the Null gates, T'Sobem had a distinct feeling that his luck had run out.
As a warrior and soldier, he couldn't help but feel a small amount of satisfaction that his end was to come at the hands of a legend like Kaosh. But for it be glorious, he needed to fight his best. He looked with renewed interest at the greatest opponent he had ever faced.
'Hello T'Sobem.", a voice growls. Kaosh knows his name.
Chapter 4
That single line wipes out any chance T'Sobem has, of facing his enemy without fear. That voice speaks of age and strength, of incalculable foes and an equal number of graves filled. It speaks with certainty , of his most certain demise. The voice, and the man it belongs to, knows his name. And that, is not good.
T'Sobem shifts his weight and adjusts his grip on his spear. No options appear, to shift the weight of doom upon his chest.
"I come in peace.", the voice grinds out. T'Sobem stifles the urge to give in to hysterical laughter. It might not be well received. The people of Kaosh are not well known for their sense of humor.
"What peace do you speak of, wall breaker?", T'Sobem queries. "My people and my brothers lay slain behind you. The only peace you bring, is that of the grave." Brave words from a thoroughly terrified individual.
"And yet, I mean you no harm T'Sobem. I merely ask that you rest a while and recuperate. For truly, if you and your brothers had not fought me, we would all have been alive. It isn't only your blood that stains the plains behind me, after all. Stand down, and let us pass, and I promise upon my honor that you will be treated as a fellow soldier. I promise you a place in my own camp."
That voice, and the calmness behind it. He must break it, he decides. He will tear at that calmness and perturbate this imperturbable mask. He does not know how he would do it, but he resolves to do so. His last act of defiance, a scratch upon that rocky hide. Not much, in terms of achievement, but under the circumstances, it'll have to do.
"I apologise General, but I will have to pass upon your offer for peace, however generous. I am Xel, and we fight for no one but our Goddess. It must end in violence, this conversation of ours."
"I will not fight you in your current state T'Sobem. You are exhausted and wounded. And it would not do, for my honor to be sullied by the disrepute of killing an almost dead one, such as yourself."
"What do you propose we do? Meet here again, in a month's time?", T'Sobem's loud voice carries to the end of the bridge.
The mirthful laughter seems out of place, both because of the battlefield behind, and the person it issues from.
"Ah, Xel humor. Truly, I am most remorseful for stubbing it out. But nay, I would fight you as soon as you are able. Preferably today. So, if you would permit me, I would pass you an orb of healing. So that we may clash with no stains on my honor."
An orb of healing would do nicely, the traitorous side of his brain supplies. We will not trade our honor for comfort, the warrior's side of his brain asserts.
"And how am I to know that what you send my way is an orb of healing? And not a nice package of poison?"
"You wound my honor, T'Sobem. I promise upon my shield brothers, that there be no harmful magic in the orb. I promise that it will only help heal you. For, without it, you stand no chance against me. And maybe, just maybe, it is just the edge you need, to meet me as an equal, such as your are, upon this fine bridge."
T'Sobem shifts his weight and adjusts his grip on his spear. No options appear, to shift the weight of doom upon his chest.
"I come in peace.", the voice grinds out. T'Sobem stifles the urge to give in to hysterical laughter. It might not be well received. The people of Kaosh are not well known for their sense of humor.
"What peace do you speak of, wall breaker?", T'Sobem queries. "My people and my brothers lay slain behind you. The only peace you bring, is that of the grave." Brave words from a thoroughly terrified individual.
"And yet, I mean you no harm T'Sobem. I merely ask that you rest a while and recuperate. For truly, if you and your brothers had not fought me, we would all have been alive. It isn't only your blood that stains the plains behind me, after all. Stand down, and let us pass, and I promise upon my honor that you will be treated as a fellow soldier. I promise you a place in my own camp."
That voice, and the calmness behind it. He must break it, he decides. He will tear at that calmness and perturbate this imperturbable mask. He does not know how he would do it, but he resolves to do so. His last act of defiance, a scratch upon that rocky hide. Not much, in terms of achievement, but under the circumstances, it'll have to do.
"I apologise General, but I will have to pass upon your offer for peace, however generous. I am Xel, and we fight for no one but our Goddess. It must end in violence, this conversation of ours."
"I will not fight you in your current state T'Sobem. You are exhausted and wounded. And it would not do, for my honor to be sullied by the disrepute of killing an almost dead one, such as yourself."
"What do you propose we do? Meet here again, in a month's time?", T'Sobem's loud voice carries to the end of the bridge.
The mirthful laughter seems out of place, both because of the battlefield behind, and the person it issues from.
"Ah, Xel humor. Truly, I am most remorseful for stubbing it out. But nay, I would fight you as soon as you are able. Preferably today. So, if you would permit me, I would pass you an orb of healing. So that we may clash with no stains on my honor."
An orb of healing would do nicely, the traitorous side of his brain supplies. We will not trade our honor for comfort, the warrior's side of his brain asserts.
"And how am I to know that what you send my way is an orb of healing? And not a nice package of poison?"
"You wound my honor, T'Sobem. I promise upon my shield brothers, that there be no harmful magic in the orb. I promise that it will only help heal you. For, without it, you stand no chance against me. And maybe, just maybe, it is just the edge you need, to meet me as an equal, such as your are, upon this fine bridge."
Chapter 5
D'lec Bwo Sao stands on the wrong end of the bridge, watching the conversation between the rock and the soldier. His mind is busy, calculating trajectories and velocities for his formidable artillery units, stranded on this end. He plots the potential exit paths for reinforcements from the mountain, and the maximum carnage that he could achieve with boulders and bolts. An idle exercise, since he knew no more reinforcements would emerge. They all lay dead on the plains behind him, torn apart by sword, sorcery and science.
But it stimulates his cells, allowing him to create detailed strategies that fill the emptiness of his mind between battles.
This was the first time that he had cause to use his siege units, not against walls, but against a moving. mobile army. It had been great fun to plot angles on the fly, hitting troops that weren't as accommodating or forgiving as immobile walls and bringing down beasts of war even as they rushed his defensive earthworks.
That had been the masterstroke of this campaign. Lies within lies, shadows in the dark and a swift stab that killed the opponent before he knew that he was in danger.
Luring out the Divine Consort, not that the title was anything more than a lie, for what appeared to be an easy battle and quick victory. Turning that battle into a ambush. Anticipating that the frightened Goddess, which was a lie too, would rush reinforcements to the aid of the beleaguered Divine Consort. Letting the Divine Consort live long enough to think escape was possible with a few more troops, leading to them draining their defensive troops for a last ditch breakout attempt. Ambushing the relieving army. Chasing the stragglers down before a sizable force of them returned to their mountain fastness. It was all a matter of science, predicting their behavior and responses. It was a matter of sword to apply the execution to those lessons. And it was a matter of sorcery to ensure that the sword got close enough the enemy, that death came a close second to defeat. And through it all, his siege units had carried the day.
It had been a new experience, to have the knights and sorcerers seconded to his command. To keep them on a tight leash and ensuring that they sallied out only when the moment was just right. And so was covering their charge with his ballistae and catapults, stone flying overhead in perfect arcs to disrupt enemy formations, making them ripe for a cavalry charge. It had been glorious, wonderful carnage.
And even his firepots, useless against mobile troops, had played their part in the final ambush, where they had been buried in the ground and triggered at the opportune moment, to catch the lizards flatfooted. The army that was supposed to relieve the besieged one had been incinerated along the flanks and chopped to pieces down the center. Sure, he may have lost a few sappers, but the losses were predicted and well within acceptable numbers, compared to the knowledge gained from such a maneuver.
All in all, it had been a good campaign. And all that planning now came down to this. This last, tiny fight. He grinned at the expected outcome and sat back, already calculating the best placements for a theoretical defense against an imaginary foe.
But it stimulates his cells, allowing him to create detailed strategies that fill the emptiness of his mind between battles.
This was the first time that he had cause to use his siege units, not against walls, but against a moving. mobile army. It had been great fun to plot angles on the fly, hitting troops that weren't as accommodating or forgiving as immobile walls and bringing down beasts of war even as they rushed his defensive earthworks.
That had been the masterstroke of this campaign. Lies within lies, shadows in the dark and a swift stab that killed the opponent before he knew that he was in danger.
Luring out the Divine Consort, not that the title was anything more than a lie, for what appeared to be an easy battle and quick victory. Turning that battle into a ambush. Anticipating that the frightened Goddess, which was a lie too, would rush reinforcements to the aid of the beleaguered Divine Consort. Letting the Divine Consort live long enough to think escape was possible with a few more troops, leading to them draining their defensive troops for a last ditch breakout attempt. Ambushing the relieving army. Chasing the stragglers down before a sizable force of them returned to their mountain fastness. It was all a matter of science, predicting their behavior and responses. It was a matter of sword to apply the execution to those lessons. And it was a matter of sorcery to ensure that the sword got close enough the enemy, that death came a close second to defeat. And through it all, his siege units had carried the day.
It had been a new experience, to have the knights and sorcerers seconded to his command. To keep them on a tight leash and ensuring that they sallied out only when the moment was just right. And so was covering their charge with his ballistae and catapults, stone flying overhead in perfect arcs to disrupt enemy formations, making them ripe for a cavalry charge. It had been glorious, wonderful carnage.
And even his firepots, useless against mobile troops, had played their part in the final ambush, where they had been buried in the ground and triggered at the opportune moment, to catch the lizards flatfooted. The army that was supposed to relieve the besieged one had been incinerated along the flanks and chopped to pieces down the center. Sure, he may have lost a few sappers, but the losses were predicted and well within acceptable numbers, compared to the knowledge gained from such a maneuver.
All in all, it had been a good campaign. And all that planning now came down to this. This last, tiny fight. He grinned at the expected outcome and sat back, already calculating the best placements for a theoretical defense against an imaginary foe.
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