01.151 Feral

Thursday, July 7, 2022

Throne, The Hidden Kingdom of the Emperor

Two weeks passed, then a month, in a miasma of smoke, war, and grimly eating the corpses of their enemies.

The orcs began to try and take their dead with them, and those that were interrogated subscribed to some sort of complicated belief around sanctity if their dead, the Aqrabuamelu’s acts a desecration of the highest order.

The forest burned and burned. Ella kept feeding it with magic and the aberrent weather patterns she had set up were now the power of an avalanche. The Emperor had ceased trying to oppose it, and instead focused his actions in clearing the castle of flammable material and funneling clean air to him and his troops.

Ella and the Aqrabuamelu oddly enough thrived. They had lost more of their numbers, but those that remained were stronger and faster and more than any Aqrabuamelu had any right to be. Ella herself felt the same: she had been in combat with an orc and had reached out faster than she thought possible and broken the orc’s ribs in one punch and then snapped his neck without much effort. It should have been disturbing or shocking but in this world of blood and smoke, reality was violence and she welcomed the additional strength.

Kothin was dragged along, but almost seemed to be in shock watching them butcher hundreds of orcs. First, they revelled in their victories, but then, over the days that passed, they became their actions — violence and sleep were their lives. The rations went to him since he was the only one that refused to eat the food.

Ella wore her mask all the time now. It felt right. She was just the mask now, a killer who tore swathes through the enemy, killing with her sword staff, her fists, and twice her teeth. When she had pulled up her ballistic mask to take a bite, she had a moment of clarity and a miasma of shame and fear almost overcame her. Pulling the mask back down made it all go away and she ruthlessly stomped the knee of the next assailant before cutting his throat.

The Dagger of Veils sat at her side. She was reluctant to use it, it just didn’t feel ready.

She began to sleep with the mask on to be prepared for battle. The orcs kept attacking and they were constantly seeking opportunities to assail the Aqrabuamelu. But the fires and smoke had taken their toll on the orc and the Aqrabuamelu were channeling thousands of years of bitter, hard earned cunning.

Tuesday, July 19, 2022

Ella was supervising the interrogation of an orc captain. Some orc had detailed white tattooing on them, indicative of elites.

Davcina was flaying the orc. Ella flared her eyes and could see the magic in the tattoos. They had the same feel as the Emperors other magics, made of ritual and sacrifice. She wasn’t sure what the magic did, it was too different from her understandings of quantum superposition and causality.

The orcs voice was hoarse and almost gone from screaming. Davcina was taking the skin and roasting it over a fire and sharing it around.

Ella absentmindedly grabbed a bite as it was passed around and regarded the orc. Information about troop dispositions was consistent with their other interrogations.

“Let’s not waste more time. Feed him out,” the mask said.

Then the Emperor decided to act.