The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post

Durelin · 08-25-2003, 05:23 AM

Pio's post: Bemah and Naramarth

Bemah was covered in blood. Fighting at the rear of the battle had been heavy work, and he and his men and dogs had moved in a long practiced way: culling the targeted creature, singling it out and wearing it down, dispatching it with an economy of strokes, moving on to the next.

At one point, the hair of his victim held tightly in his hand, the neck arched back, his arm reaching round to slash the throat from left to right, Bemah laughed, a dark grim sound, but a laugh nonetheless. It took his fellows by surprise - that sound, mixing in with the others on the killing ground. ‘So many dead,’ he said in an economy of words, no laughter etching the features of his face, as he let go the dead warrior. His chin nodded out at the carcasses of those whom they had killed. ‘They die at our hands just as the goats and sheep from our herds do. Their deaths are worthless . . . less than worthless. They will bring no profit even to their Dark Master.’

‘Come, Bemah,’ his brother called to him, wiping his crimsoned hands along the thighs of his breeches. ‘We are not yet done.’

One of the last they faced was a tall slender man bearing a black, two handed sword. The great red stone set in its hilt caught the mid-day sun as the blade arced and slashed at the foes that surrounded him. ‘One of the priests! Look!’ Bemah’s gaze turned toward the man in the long black coat, noting the dark red colors of the robes he wore beneath it.

Bemah’s eyes narrowed at the sight. ‘One of the bellwethers,’ he said, pointing to Naramarth. ‘Cut him down and there will be one less to lead them.’

The circled behind him, letting Naramarth’s attention stay on the tribesmen who stood before him. With a signal from their master’s left hand, Bemah’s two dogs moved in, swift and low, their mighty jaws finding purchase on the knee backs of the priest; their sharp teeth clamping down hard through the layers of robes to bring the man to his knees. He could not twist in time to fend them off with his blade, and it fell clattering from his grip as the third dog launched himself squarely at the back of the man’s neck, his weight slamming against the man’s back, driving him face forward to the ground. Bemah called back the dogs as two of his companions rushed to the priest’s head, crushing it beneath the blows of their ironwood cudgels.

‘Come,’ called Bemah, now, to his brother, who leaned heavily on his club, his breath ragged from the exertion of one more kill. ‘We are almost done.’

[ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

08-25-2003, 05:23 AM	#171
Durelin Estelo dagnir, Melo ring Join Date: Oct 2002 Posts: 3,083	Pio's post: Bemah and Naramarth Bemah was covered in blood. Fighting at the rear of the battle had been heavy work, and he and his men and dogs had moved in a long practiced way: culling the targeted creature, singling it out and wearing it down, dispatching it with an economy of strokes, moving on to the next. At one point, the hair of his victim held tightly in his hand, the neck arched back, his arm reaching round to slash the throat from left to right, Bemah laughed, a dark grim sound, but a laugh nonetheless. It took his fellows by surprise - that sound, mixing in with the others on the killing ground. ‘So many dead,’ he said in an economy of words, no laughter etching the features of his face, as he let go the dead warrior. His chin nodded out at the carcasses of those whom they had killed. ‘They die at our hands just as the goats and sheep from our herds do. Their deaths are worthless . . . less than worthless. They will bring no profit even to their Dark Master.’ ‘Come, Bemah,’ his brother called to him, wiping his crimsoned hands along the thighs of his breeches. ‘We are not yet done.’ One of the last they faced was a tall slender man bearing a black, two handed sword. The great red stone set in its hilt caught the mid-day sun as the blade arced and slashed at the foes that surrounded him. ‘One of the priests! Look!’ Bemah’s gaze turned toward the man in the long black coat, noting the dark red colors of the robes he wore beneath it. Bemah’s eyes narrowed at the sight. ‘One of the bellwethers,’ he said, pointing to Naramarth. ‘Cut him down and there will be one less to lead them.’ The circled behind him, letting Naramarth’s attention stay on the tribesmen who stood before him. With a signal from their master’s left hand, Bemah’s two dogs moved in, swift and low, their mighty jaws finding purchase on the knee backs of the priest; their sharp teeth clamping down hard through the layers of robes to bring the man to his knees. He could not twist in time to fend them off with his blade, and it fell clattering from his grip as the third dog launched himself squarely at the back of the man’s neck, his weight slamming against the man’s back, driving him face forward to the ground. Bemah called back the dogs as two of his companions rushed to the priest’s head, crushing it beneath the blows of their ironwood cudgels. ‘Come,’ called Bemah, now, to his brother, who leaned heavily on his club, his breath ragged from the exertion of one more kill. ‘We are almost done.’ [ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]