Giga Pack/Giga Pack CD1.iso/action/death/dbstory.txt

Text File | 1991-10-22 | 13KB | 361 lines

     DEATHBRINGER: THE SWORD OF ABADDON


   Archmagician   Nephros,    acting   Grand
Commander  of what remained of  the  Society
For  Creative  Armageddon,   stood  silently
watching   the   faces  of   the   assembled
sorcerors.
   "Fellow masters of the uttermost  circles
of enchantment", he began. Someone sneezed -
Jarkad Thorn,  necromancer-general from  the
League   of  Exceptionally   Evil   Wizards.


Nephros  glared at him,  and made  a  mental
note  that  as soon as  it  was  politically
possible he would turn the rake-thin Leaguer
into    something   unspeakably   nasty    -
preferably  several miles under the  ground.
He started again.
   "Fellow  masters,  as  we  are  all  well
aware,  times  are not what  they  were.  In
recent years we have witnessed the  complete
destruction of such noble enterprises as the
"Alchemists'   Anti-Environment   Alliance",
"Thaumaturges Against Justice", and even the
"Curse   of  the  Month   Club".


Our  own  activities have been  thwarted  to
such an extent that we are compelled to join
forces  - a situation unprecedented  in  the
annals of both Society and League.  And  all
this - this mischief, has been caused by one
man - KARN THE BARBARIAN!"
   Nephros paused dramatically, and listened
with satisfaction to the murmur of agreement
that ran round the Wizardly throng.
   "Kill him!" shouted one of the  Leaguers.
An idiot, thought the Archmage. His eyes met
those of his second-in-command.
   "Yesss...   he   should  die.   But   not
quickly," said Melizon the Cruel.

   "Fellows," smiled  Nephros.  "Fellows,  I
understand your frustration - believe me,  I
share  it  - but this Karn leads  a  charmed
life.  It  will not be as simple to  destroy
him as you seem to think."
   "Do you then propose that we give up  our
ways  and  become  merchants?"  said  Jarkad
Thorn, contempt in his voice.
   "Not   at  all,"  said   Nephros,   still
smiling.  He had been preparing this  speech
for  some  time,  and was proud  of  it.  He
reached   into  his  pocket  for  the   all-
important letter.


   "Fellows,  I have just returned from East
Thrasnia.  I spoke to the king who made  his
position quite clear." He raised the letter.
   "I have in my hand a piece of paper which
guarantees Armageddon in our Time..."

                  *   *   *








   A   week   had   passed.    His    ritual
impurification complete,  Melizon the Cruel,
demonist  extra-ordinaire,  strode into  the
chamber.   This  was  his  big  moment;  the
Archmage  might have pulled the rabbit  from
the hat with his Grand Design for Vengeance,
but it was Melizon who had to nail it to the
wall.
   King  Aelfric was in for a  surprise.  He
wanted a magic sword to help him in his  bid
for   world  conquest,   and  that  he   was
certainly  going to get;  but a  great  lord
from  the  Netherworld would demand  a  high
price for allowing himself to be bound  into
weapon form.
Melizon  was  the only  demonist  alive  who
could arrange such a transformation, and he,
too, would receive his fee...

   The  imposing figure walked slowly  round
the  chamber,   inspecting  the  complicated
pattern painted on the floor.  It  resembled
nothing so much as a rat's lower  intestine,
thought  Melizon...which meant that  Nephros
was standing exactly where he belonged.
   Everything was in place.  He strode up to
the  altar,   raised  his  arms  wide,   and
whispered, "Bring in the ssacrificesss..."


In they came.  Seven virgins,  being carried
by a mule;  a baby pig;  and, of course, the
side salad.  It was amazing how many  lesser
demonists ignored the trimmings - it was one
reason there were so few left. Melizon began
chanting:
 "Yarva demonicusss Abaddon,  ofano, oblamo,
osspergo, great lord attend!"
   All  the mumbo-jumbo was for the  benefit
of  his  audience -  Melizon  had  privately
arranged  the manifestation  with  Abaddon's
secretary two days previously. Still, it got
the others good and frightened,  and he  was
enjoying every second.


                 *   *   *

   Ten  minutes passed.  The sacrifices  had
been drugged to keep them quiet, but one was
beginning to recover and was feebly  licking
at  the  barbecue sauce which  had  trickled
down her face.  That's odd,  she thought; it
feels as if something's licking my  hair.  I
didn't think my tongue was that long.
   As  last  thoughts go,  it was  at  least
unusual.

                 *   *   *

   "Mmmm,  I  loove  barbecue  sauce",  said
Abaddon,  as he carefully wiped up the  last
remnants of blood and sauce with a piece  of
lettuce.  "A spread like that must have cost
you  a pretty packet.  Tell me  again  about
this DemonSword concept of yours, Archie."
   Nephros was visibly sweating. Abaddon had
already    supplemented   the    sacrificial
offering  with three of the lesser  wizards,
and  the Archmage was beginning  to  suspect
that Melizon had not been entirely  truthful
when  showing  the rest of  them  the  "safe
points" of the pattern.


   "Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago,  King
Aelfric's  father  brought forth  upon  this
land a new nation..."
   "Okay,  okay,  skip the speeches,  I'm  a
busy  demon.  The way I understand  it,  you
want me,  acting as a sword,  to kill, maim,
rend, tear, hack, and slash for this Eelface
character, and in return I get all the souls
I can drink. So where's the catch?"
   Nephros  couldn't  understand  it.   This
wasn't  the  way he thought a  Great  Nether
Lord would act!  All his carefully  prepared
speeches  had been shouted down;  he  didn't
know what to say.

   "There is no,  erm,  catch,  your demonic
excellency. All I ask is that you do nothing
to  harm myself or my  fellow  wizards,  and
that  when  the barbarian Karn  -  who  will
certainly  try  and stop  your  campaign  of
carnage  and slaughter - erm,  that when  he
has  been slain,  you should return to  your
own domain forthwith."
   "Well,  why  didn't you say so at  once?"
Abaddon  seemed  immensely  pleased.  "Let's
stop  putzing  around and get this  down  on
parchment before you guys change your mind."
   There  was  a  dash  for  the  doors,  as
several  wizards decided they ought  to  get
out - and, er, get the parchment, of course.
Most  paused  a fraction of a  second  after
stepping   out  of  the   painted   pattern,
realizing what they had done; Abaddon merely
smiled at them.

   Soon the contract was signed and  sealed;
the chamber had mysteriously emptied,  until
now  only  Abaddon,   Nephros,  Melizon  and
Jarkad Thorn remained. The demon breathed an
immense  sigh. "Right,  that's  that.  Stand
back, and watch me go!"
   Abaddon  took  a deep  breath.  His  face
contorted into the most ludicrous expression
of  effort the Archmage had ever  seen,  and
then the demon began to change.
   "Dith ibn't ab eaby ab it ookth," groaned
Abaddon.  He took another deep  breath,  and
completed   the  transformation.   A   huge,
glowing sword fell to the ground.
   "Allow  me," said Jarkad  Thorn.  With  a
twitch  of  his hand he  summoned  a  flying
servant,  who  snatched  up  the  sword  and
carried  it  away towards  King  Aelfric  of
East Thrasnia.


                 *   *   *



   The  wind howled.  That suited  Karn  the
barbarian;  it stirred the blood, and anyway
he was used to it.  Just like the mysterious
thunder  which  so  often  seemed  to   come
rolling  across  clear  blue  skies  for  no
apparent  reason.   The  Wise  Woman  Heggra
always  said  it was  a  poor-tent,  but  it
wasn't a tent at all,  so she was  obviously
just trying to be mysterious.
   The  mighty-thewed barbarian sat  on  his
horse and concentrated.
This   was   something   he   always   found
difficult,  and his little friend, the Black
Ratter,   wasn't  helping  by  singing  some
pathetic sort of song.
   "Bar-bar-bar,   bar-barian,"   went   the
little man.  "Bar-bar-bar,  bar-barian... oh
with a sword, in my hand..."
   "Sssh!" said Karn. "Karn is thinking."
   "Anything good?"
   The   Hero  didn't  bother   to   answer.
Something was wrong, he could feel it in his
belly. But what? There was something... yes.
   "Dinner! Karn is hungry."

   "Again?" asked the  Ratter,  amazed.  "Ah
well,  I'll  just  have to see  what  I  can
rustle up."
   He  unslung his bow,  and looked  around.

"There!  Look, that's a mighty big bird just
to the north. Hope it's in season."
   In  one practiced motion,  he  fitted  an
arrow  to  his bow and  let  fly.  The  bird
dropped like a stone.  "Come on, old friend.
Let's get you fed."

   A short ride later,  they found the body.
Whatever it was, it was not a bird.
   "I  don't know about  you,  Karn,  but  I
certainly don't fancy eating that!" said the
Ratter.  His big friend wasn't listening; he
had  spotted  the  glint  of  metal  in  the
undergrowth. Drawing his own sword, he crept
carefully towards it.
   A sword. Big. And unowned.
   With  a glad cry,  the  barbarian  tossed
away  his  worn blade and took up  the  new.
Energy coursed through his body,  making his
blood sing and his muscles pump.  "Hah! See,
Ratter! Now Karn has even bigger sword!"
   He swung the blade to get the feel of it;
time slowed,  the swing seemed to go on  and
on, and Karn watched in horror as the weapon
in  his hand sank deep into the body of  his
one true friend.  There was a sucking sound,
and then, with an anguished look of betrayal
on  his face,  the Black Ratter sank to  the
ground, dead.

   "Who?" screamed the barbarian in anguish.
"Who makes Karn kill his friend?"
   "The League of Exceptionally Evil Wizards
and  the Society for  Creative  Armageddon,"
answered a voice.

                 *   *   *








   Nephros   was   trying   desperately   to
separate the other two wizards.  Melizon was
attempting  to  shove his shoe  down  Jarkad
Thorn's throat,  while the necromancer raked
his  skeletal  fingers  across  his  rival's
face.
   "Fellows,  fellows,  what does it  matter
whose fault it is?  We must make the best of
the  situation.  At least the sword  can  do
nothing  to  us - that's in  the  contract."
Nephros   gestured  at  the  crystal   ball,
wherein could be seen Karn staring round him
in confusion.
   "Who speaks?" grunted the barbarian.

   "Alas!" said a voice.  "Alas,  I am but a
poor  otherworldly  spirit,   doomed  to   a
torment of horror and violence.  I have been
cursed  by those dreadful sorcerors  of  the
Society  and League,  cursed so that I  must
take life after life."
   "Where are you?" said Karn,  frowning  in
concentration.
   "In  the  sword.   My  spirit  cries  for
vengeance!"
   "Sorcerors  are  Karn's   enemies,   too.
Come!"
   "Wait!"  cried  the sword,  just  as  the
barbarian  was  turning to  go.  "I  can  do
nothing to harm the sorcerors." It paused.
   "Oh,  what  the  hell.  After  all,  they
didn't  insist - they only asked me not  to.
Stupid of them."
      Nephros  stared  in  horror   at   the
parchment in his hand. It was true.
   "But that wasn't what I meant!" He cried.
The others looked at him.  "Erm, the Society
and League expects that every mage this  day
shall do his duty..?"
   Without a word,  Melizon and Jarkad Thorn
jumped him.

                 *   *   *


   The  Sword  hummed happily to  itself  as
Karn  rode  along  the path  that  led  them
towards  the  Valley of the Trolls  and  the
first  stage  of  their  journey.   It   was
amazing,  really,  how a body as big as  the
barbarian's  could keep going on  so  little
brain...
   An old woman stepped out into their path.
   "Hail  to thee,  Karn," she  said.  "Come
into my hut,  and I will read your future in
the stones."
   This  must  be  Heggra  the  Wise  Woman,
decided Abaddon,  as the barbarian, grunting
assent,  dismounted  and bent to  enter  the
hovel.
   I  hope for her sake that this  does  not
take  too  long,   thought  the  Sword.  I'm
feeling rather peckish...

                 *   *   *

   Meanwhile,   deep  in  the   subterranean
tunnels  where the remnants of  Society  and
League    had   set   up    their    command
headquarters,  Nephros was embarking on  his
most ambitious speech yet. He puffed himself
up,  looked seriously at his fellows, and in
a strange voice began:
   "We will fight him on the beaches..."