Tearlach (Chapter 2)

Template:Tearlach nav The moors outside the tiny Rogue fortress were flat and swampy, full of puddles of muddy water. For one accustomed to the clean air of the high mountains, these lowlands were naught but wearisome bogs full of pestilential insects. Growling curses at the uncaring gods, Tearlach splashed and stomped his way through the muck in search of prey. It was not long in coming: as he went past a small animal not unlike a porcupine, it flicked its tail, flinging a long quill at him. What is this? Can these pathetic excuses for mountains not provide worthy foes? A crushing blow from his axe sped the thing to its next life; it would remember never again to deal so lightly with a son of Harrogath.

A few Zombies walked the moors, but they were so slow and stupid they may as well not have been there at all. The whole country was empty of worthy foes; Tearlach couldn't help but laugh at the Rogues, cowering in fear behind their walls. These lands were exactly as the tribal elders said: weaklings, walling themselves off from the threatening wilds, terrified of the merest scratch. Now that evil has come, as the age-old prophecies said it would, they have all run and hid, hoping it will go away and leave them in peace. His people know peace comes by nothing less than a sword dripping with an enemy's blood. Constant vigilance is their way, the only way any people ever breathe free.

The Rogue camp wasn't just full of comely young lasses. A small caravan of merchants, fat sellers of pleasing luxuries not tolerated among true men, was hiding with them. They were "led" by a soft and smiling coin-clinker named Warriv. He spoke with a golden tongue, as all who get their meat by talking do.

"Hello there! With all the strange goings-on in this part of the world, I'm not surprised to see one of your kind here."

"And what kind is that, little fat man?"

"Fighting men, of course! Why, men-at-arms have been coming out of the woodwork."

"Why would a fighter hide in the woods? Do you sell anything worth a man's time?"

"Oh, I mostly deal in foodstuffs and clothing. Nothing you'd be interested in, especially the clothing. For weapons and armor, my compatriot Gheed has a variety of wares, all beyond reproach. The Rogue's smith also has some things. She's over there."

A woman smith? These women may like their "sisterhood" idea, but a woman smith is taking things too far! How could they expect a woman to pound and mold steel for them? A few barrel hoops might not be beyond one, but sword-smithing takes strength; no female could possess the sheer power needed to bend unyielding steel and make it obey. A woman trying to smith was something Tearlach had to see, if only for his own amusement.

The Rogue's smith, to her credit, was larger by far than these other little wisps of femininity, with strong shoulders and tendons standing out in her arms. Her hair was blonde and short, tied out of her way behind her head. Southlanders came in many colors, in their skins, eyes, and hair; Tearlach had heard of some islands where almost all the people have blonde hair like this. Perhaps this girl was descended from them. If so, they were a sturdy stock to be sure, though not nearly so powerful as his own. She was making arrowheads as Tearlach approached, but dropped everything at the sight of him.

"Oh, wow! You're a Barbarian, aren't you?"

"Of course," Tearlach said, puffing out his chest. "You're claiming to be the smith here."

"Yeah!" she replied, eyes wide with excitement. "I can't do as much out here, most of my tools are still in the monastery. Are you here to help us take back our monastery?"

"Sure, whatever. There are many foes here, though they are of poor quality."

"I'll bet they are, for someone like you! Oh wow, I never thought I'd meet a Barbarian! My dad was one, he came from the wild mountains of the north! Have you heard of a place called Sescheron? My name's Charsi. I'd love to help you any way I can. Do you need your stuff fixed? That's a nice helm, I could make those when I had my tools. I'm really good at fixing things, in wood and metal and leather or anything! That's what I do, 'cause I'm kind of clumsy with bows. Do you use a crossbow? No, wait, you probably don't, do you?"

"No. A hunter seeking meat may use a bow, but they are useless on the battlefield. What kind of coward must prick a rival to death from afar with tiny sticks? And those confounded wooden contraptions you lowlanders use are too confusing. Who can make sense of all those cranks and levers? It would be quicker to tear a foe to pieces with your bare hands."

"Wow, I'll bet you could, too! Oh wow, oh wow, this is so great! Do you go out on wild adventures all the time? You must have done so many amazing things! I wish I could go out with you, that would be so great! I've got plenty of swords, and there's my armor hanging over there! Do you think I could? Would that be all right?"

It was good to be getting some of the respect he deserved, but escorting a starry-eyed girl around was a waste of his time. Tearlach was about to tell her to mind her place, when he noticed the Rogue's leader, the red-haired one, glaring from across the camp. Hmmm... perhaps a display of kindness towards her underlings might impress that fierce beauty, and overcome some of her resistance. "Young... Charsi, I am Tearlach, and I have sworn by the Light and the spirits of my forefathers to take back your monastery. You need not do a thing, it is all in my hands. Tell me... what is your leader's name?"

"You mean Akara?"

"Akara. The name is sweet but strong, and speaks truly of the one who bears it."

"Um, yeah... she's really nice."

"The fires of war dance in her eyes; her words are like well-honed steel. Truly, of all those here, she is most worthy."

Now Charsi looked confused. "Huh?"

"Her strength and pride, her nobly-endowed form... she would give many strong sons to the man who took her."

"Uh... she's kind of old..."

"Do not speak of your betters thus! Age has not touched her enough to wilt her beauty. True, she is my senior by a few years, but I am sure my clan would understand."

"A few years?" Alarm began to creep into Charsi's voice.

"Those lips, red as blood... skin white as snow... even her hair springs from the burning fires of passion within."

"Wait a minute! Who are you talking about?"

"Your fiery-tempered leader! Who else could I possibly speak of?"

Charsi started laughing. "Oh my gosh... that's Kashya! Akara's over there!"

As he looked beyond Kashya, to a sorrowful woman wrapped in a purple cloak, Tearlach's face fell. "That crone?"

"She's our head priestess. She's really nice, but she's taken the loss of the monastery really hard. Kashya's the war leader and chief trainer. If you haven't talked with Akara yet, you really should. It would help her so much if she knew you were here."

Off to the side, Tearlach's keen senses detected girlish giggling. Kashya was still glaring at them, tapping one foot. "Ah, yes," he muttered, "among my people, tribal elders are also not war leaders." Clearing his throat noisily, he proclaimed, "I go to visit your chief... priestess, and swear service to her. As chief, I must honor her, but have no further interest in her. None whatsoever! It would just be impolite not to speak with your most honorable elder, so I am going to do that, right now."

Completely unlike Kashya, Akara had the calm and majestic presence expected of an elder, wise in the old ways. Huddled against the rain in a huge cloak, she had a hood pulled down over her face, obscuring her eyes from view. Her tent barely covered a variety of potion bottles and leather-bound tomes, with no room for her; she must think it more important to keep these things out of the rain than herself. That was a bit respectable; most lowlanders cower from cold rain like it was made of spears.

"I am Akara, high priestess of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye. I bid you welcome to our camp, though we can offer you but poor shelter within these rickety walls."

"I am Tearlach, son of Grignr, son of Gor. I come from the far north to your lands in search of demons to kill. It seems I have found some."

"You have. A few weeks ago, our monastery was overcome by evil which struck us from within our own ranks. I cannot explain it... our sisters were possessed by demonic spirits, and attacked us during the night. Now the monastery is home to some force beyond our comprehension. Only a few have straggled in here from the wilderness, in what used to be our most remote outpost."

"It is easy to explain. Your soft, weak ways left you vulnerable to corruption. Relying on magic spells and strange devices enfeebled what little resolve you ever had. You forgot and abandoned the ancient ways, and have no honor. I am sure the demons found taking your monastery from you child's play."

Akara meditated on this. "Your were not taught to respect your elders, I assume."

Very patiently, Tearlach crossed his arms and explained. "In the mountains of the north, a man who has lived long has suffered many hardships, and survived by strength and cunning. In the south, a man may reach a great age simply by never putting his nose out of doors. Elders are great and respected men, but lowlanders give us no cause for respect. Among us, esteem must be earned."

"I see. Do you believe you have earned our esteem in any way?"

"Of course not. Actions speak louder than words, and the foul beasts in your marshes would not test a stripling. I cannot believe you fear them."

"Quill Rats are not a serious danger. The walking dead are more to be pitied. It is what lies behind them that we fear. There is a place of evil in the moors, a cave where demons are gathering their forces for an assault on this camp. If you wish to demonstrate your good will, that is where you will go, and empty the cave of the evil within it. If not... you will be just like the others who have come, and slain a few Zombies, thinking to impress us."

Tearlach laughed. "You think I am afraid. I fear no man, no beast, and no whelp of Hell's deepest pit. That cave will be empty before I return."

A house on the moors supplied Tearlach with a ring of strength, which its owner had thought to hide among the blankets on his bed. Even if the owner weren't dead (which he almost certainly was) Tearlach would have considered the ring his by right of combat. With it, he could finally wear the entirety of the legendary Berserker's Arsenal, which he had hidden in his pack. Now, this was power; nothing like the true power of a berserker's fury, but it felt damned good. Confidently, he entered the cave.

There were a few walking dead in the cave, and beasts like the Yeti of home, only smaller, weaker, and brown. True demons were hiding there too, little things that ran in terror at the very sight of him. Shamans led them, and resummoned their followers after Tearlach killed them, but killing the shaman solved that problem easily enough. It was so pathetic, he had to laugh at the "sisterhood" again. These things were even weaker and more frightened than the southlanders themselves, if that were possible. One zombie gave him trouble, more for its endurance than anything else; he bashed it around the caves until it finally burst against the wall.

In the Rogue encampment, Kashya and Akara were having a little talk. "Sending him into that den of evil is not going to get rid of him."

"Kashya, my goal is not to 'get rid of him.' We have here an arrogant stripling who needs a few lessons in life."

"He needs my boot in his... did you hear what he said about me?"

"Yes, along with the entire camp. He obviously does not believe in discreet conversation. However, I know I can count on your discretion, as I have many times in the past."

"You don't think he can help us... you CAN'T think that."

With a sigh, Akara slowly explained, "Barbarians are renowned for their physical prowess and great ability with combat. But little else. I believe he will move against the demons or die trying, and may be too foolish to know when it is time to die. Either way, he will drive very deep into the territory our enemies hold, and possibly inflict great harm on them. Even if he does not, the alternative is to have him here in our camp, trying to work his charm on the sisters. I would rather we did not have to kill him."

Kashya snorted. "You never approved of using people before."

"I do not approve of my actions. But we are in desperate circumstances, and I am sure the Eye will understand. The Eye sees our plight, and knows our difficulties."

"This stinks."

"I agree completely. If it bothers you too much, let him work as your assistant, only tell him you are assisting him. Find some pretext to have one of your scouts 'help' him."

"I wouldn't go anywhere with that lout, and I'm not asking my scouts to do something I wouldn't do. If I did send someone, he might try something with her."

"So keep his amorous inclinations focused on you. That shouldn't be difficult; just insult him and tell him he's not good enough for you."

Kashya smirked. "Just tell him the truth, then?"

"Tell him those parts of the truth which can be told."

As they spoke, both heard a great noise enter the camp. Tearlach had returned, bearing a pack full of loot and a cocky smirk. "Your cave is empty, priestess. I'll wager that didn't take nearly as long as you thought."

"No, young man; your prowess is truly remarkable. A sign of our gratitude is called for."

"I know what would be most fitting," Tearlach said, smiling at Kashya.

Definitely looking ill, Kashya snarled, "Yeah, I'm going to teach you how to use an axe!"

"What? You look here, my proud beauty, men of the Shadow Wolf tribe are born knowing more of the axe than you ever will!"

"Young man..." Akara said, "even I can see your grip needs improvement. Power is all very well and good, but skill focuses that power for its best use. Kashya, I order you to give our young friend the benefit of your experience."

"Fine," Kashya said. "Meet me by the chopping block in two minutes."

"I do not need any lessons from --"

"Young man," Akara said softly, "are you turning down the chance to be alone with her?"

"Of course not," Tearlach said, with a crafty gleam in his eye. "Fair Kashya, I stand eager to learn. I look forward to it."

As he left, Akara whispered to Kashya. "What are you doing? That was your chance to assign him one of your scouts!"

"I am NOT going to assign one of my scouts to that meat-head! I can barely tolerate him in camp, I don't want anyone near him outside. And that is final!"

By the chopping block, Kasha demonstrated something Tearlach had not seen before. She could toss a piece of wood up, and split it while it was still tumbling in the air. When he tried it, he sent the wood careening off the wall and into his own head. There was a trick to it, angling your wrist like you were throwing the axe-head instead of chopping. This gave the blow more speed and accuracy, with no loss of power. Throughout the lesson, Tearlach was on his best behavior. He smiled, assured Kashya that age had not spoiled the bloom of her beauty, and even though he never got that wood-splitting trick down right, it was probably not because she was a bad teacher. She hardly said anything, but he could tell her resolve was weakening -- she started to develop a tic in her left eye. Once again, Tearlach had to congratulate himself: he just had a way with women.