Darkness: Chapter 18 - Hubris

She stifled a yawn, waving a dismissive hand at Brusk. The Dark Shaman adept was the only student of Mala’kal, and insufferably jealous. Ever since she had begun warming their leaders bed the other males had been whispering, snarling in their corners at how lying on her back had allowed such sudden advancement and gifts.

Bitter fools.

They entered the main chamber of the cave complex, turning into its massive space from the main corridor, its three braziers sat around the fringes burning low. It was time to feed the animals, so she brought  Brusk and the grunt Vorg to do the heavy lifting.

That’s the only use they have, ha!

”Go on, put those strong arms to use for once.” She barked, waving a hand at the pair to get a move on.

The two males snarled and muttered as they took their places by the large, flat boulder that covered the entrance to their very unique prison. As they strained with their muscled arms to push that rocky mass aside, veins rose on their necks and teeth were gritted. After an initial click, and the groan of scraping stone, the first glimpse of the dark below came into view.

What shall we gift them today, hm?

She turned, striding over to the short table nearby, planting a wicker bag of discarded chicken legs, stripped bones and half rotten vegetables. Drawing the sword she kept ever at her hip, she prodded the scraps with the deadly tip.

Today, let us separate the good stuff from the bad, and give them only the rot and bones...

She grinned widely, amused at her own devious malice. Starvation was good for them, it taught them what happened to those who stood in defiance. They would be throw down, and left to wither, rot and fight among themselves. No more than savage dogs, Ghosts of Orcs.

This be far more fun than it should be.

She turned the gleaming, pristine sword in her hand, shifting aside all the ‘good’ bits of food, and using her hand to place all the true rubbish back in the basket. Behind her the grinding of the great stone continued, accompanied by the snarl and growl of the males.

I wonder how much this would fetch for on a market...

Teshka held the sword up again, the low glow of the braziers danced on its shimmering blue surface. A thousand folds, each like a wave of ice cold water. It was mesmerizing, eye catching, alluring. What she did not understand however was the emblem, and its demonic connotation. The face of a twisted, snarling Orc baring huge fangs sat at the base of the blade, Its head was mounted by a pair of twisted horns atop its head.

Why would a Blademaster pick such a symbol?

She resolved not to worry about it, but the question kept bugging her. What did it mean?

Brusk and Vorg groaned as the stone finally ceased, the grinding of rock due to its motion ended and silence descended on the chamber. Without turning her back, Teshka wafted a hand, signal for the pair to be at ease. They grunted and panted in return.

Then she felt it, a chill ran up her spine as wind rustled in her ears. A growl, a low, menacing growl... then the hellish echo of a word, rolling like thunder from some deep place. It built up like the rumbling of a storm, then struck...

”MALA’KAL!!” it roared.

Teshka shuddered, her blood froze.