To War

[thanuk]

Thanuk sat in the crowded Hippocampus Inn. The warrior sat alone at the large table, holding somewhat of a conversation with the seven empty chairs before him. The tavern itself was filled to the brim, mostly older gentlemen of an uglier sort, enjoying a few of the cheap ones before they headed across town, to the brothel which was coincidentally just a stone's throw from the mayor's tower.

"And a fine racket he has here" Thanuk spoke to his non-existant companions, and raised his mug for a toast. "To the mayor!" He bellowed, and swallowed the contents of the mug in a single swig. Thanuk then tossed the steel cup over his head and behind him, in the general direction of the bar, as was his usual method of ordering another drink. The mug flipped end over end into the air, and came crashing down into the forehead of an unsuspecting patron. An angry and somewhat drunk older gentleman glared about the bar, looking for the source of the new bump on his head. His gaze came to rest on the barbarian, and he shoved his way through the crowd.

A bit too intoxicated, the man took little notice that although patrons packed in shoulder to shoulder and halfway up the stairs of the little pub, there was a 5 foot radius around the lone man who sat at the largest table in the house. A waitress brushed passed him, and meekly delivered another mug of ale to the barbarian's table, quickly and quietly. As she scuttled passed, the drunken patron swaggered up to the barbarian's back, and bellowed out in a drunken slur, "Whats-she big idear, dere, trowin' yer glash at meh, ya big oooaaf!" As he spoke, spittle flew out of his mouth and into the hair of the barbarian. Thanuk didn't even flinch, as though completely unaware the man even existed, much less that he was speaking to him. The patron, now visibly red from anger, spoke as he slammed his hand down on the barbarian's shoulder, "I shhaid, whats the big idear-" A loud crunching sound drew the room to a dead silence, as Thanuk reached up without turning and crushed the hand of the patron into an indescernable lump of flesh. The now humbled patron, glanced down at his mangled paw, and feinted at the sight of it.

Thanuk reached over and claimed his fresh pint, completely oblivious to the groans of the men behind him, who attempted to lift the patron up and out of the bar. His mind was going a thousand directions at once. He absentmindedly fingered the bright red dragonscale in the center of his otherwise weatherbeaten armor, which patched the hole the Thanatar's stinger had punctured a few nights previous. He had "died" countless times, if that's what one would call it. It wasn't all that unpleasant really...a bit of blackness, and then the tug of life as his soul was drawn back into place. But this time was very different.

Instead of blackness, Thanuk found himself face to face with another barbarian, in a place bathed in light. The face before him had no body; neither did Thanuk of course, and he could not turn his gaze from the barbarian's unforgiving stare. That stare, he would not forget it soon. The face did not speak to him for what seemed an eternity, it just looked at him, piercing his eyes, piercing his very soul. The ghostly face finally twisted in a terrible rage, and his voice echoed through Thanuk's head, "Your honor binds you! Go!" And with those words, Thanuk found himself back inside his body, in the safety of the farmer's home.

Thanuk did not know who he faced, nor did he care much. A God of some sort or another, that much he was sure, but he had cared little for the activities of Gods or their worship anymore, so wrapped up was he in his own feuds. "Time spent servin' others, is time lost servin' yerself!" the barbarian bellowed out loud, and downed another mug of ale. Again he tossed the mug above his head behind him, but the now wary patrons ducked out of its way, and it landed upright on the surface of the bar, with a loud, circular rattling as it came to rest.

He knew what the ghost had meant, of course. As the last of the Pantherclaw clan, he was sworn to uphold the ancient promises of his ancestors, and defend the lands they held sacred, even if it meant his own life. And Thanuk planned to honor those bonds as well as he could, although his recent encounters with the Thanatars had planted the seeds of doubt. He had appeared at the meeting, which he had imagined to be the gathering of a great army, only to find a ragtag group of fools and pickpockets. A few he recognized, many he did not. The shadow wizard Jalahon was present, which brought little comfort to the barbarian. A force to be reckoned with he was, but a man of shadows is not someone you entrust with your life. There was the shaman Bilraex, respected among all of the north, but Thanuk was suspicious of his ties to Kralgar. The rest of them were a swirl of strange faces and old enemies.

There was the two pickpockets, Nilan and Cirath. One knew too little and talked too much, the other knew too much and spoke too little, and Thanuk didn't trust either one as far as he could throw them, which subsequently was quite a distance. Then there was the bard, who although clever and quick, stunk of fear at the nearest sight of danger.

On top of that were the dark races, in all their glory, led by the idiot king Artikerus. Never was such a monarchy so deserving, as the caniving little orcs and their fool leader. These, Thanuk knew, would be more trouble than whatever worth they could muster. And of course, the paladin, Karae. Thanuk did not know this one, but it mattered little. Paladins were all the same, with their grand statements and long winded diatribes on honor, they were all in a rush to have their heads removed from their necks. Thanuk had complied with the wishes of more than a few of them in his years.

"Ones as good as another!" He bellowed out loud and cackled, taking another sip of his mug. The serving girl who was walking passed his table at the time quickly dissappeared into the crowd when the barbarian spoke, hoping Thanuk realized that the brothel was indeed down the street.

The rest of the faces were somewhat familiar, but it was all a blur. He thought back to that night, as he recalled watching them dive headfirst into the portal, one by one. As the army piled in he got the itch and, not wanting to lose any bloodshed to such ranks, he dove in along with them, only to fall to the bottom of a dark, dark pit. When light was finally restored, he watched in silent amazement as they stood there, like pigs to the slaughter, as the great mechanical beasts picked them off one at a time. He retreated to safety, hoping to regroup, only to charge back in to meet his doom as he found himself alone, listening to the death cries of one fool after another from above. An offensive charge would've still been possible, had the adventuring fools any discipline to them. But no, they behaved like a pack of reindeer who'd just discovered an ice bear within their ranks, running around wildly, and getting slaughtered.

And as Thanuk made his last stand, attracting the attention of all the mechanical beasts, he lost his resolve. Instead of running, instead of retreating to re-group, the fools just stood about and watch him get overrun by the golems. Thanuk looked down, at the shiny new dragonscale over his chest, and thought back to when a steel pincer had filled that gap. His lasts thoughts as his soul left his body he spoke aloud at his empty table, "If this is our only hope, then we're all doomed!" But the patrons had long since stopped paying attention to the crazy barbarian.

Thanuk thought again of the face before him, and of his duty. He must protect his home. But in all his days as a mercenary, he had never been a member of such a fighting force. They were outnumbered, undisciplined, uncoordinated, and unsure of themselves. This was a recipe for destruction on the battlefield, even the lowliest steward could tell you that. But he thought back to the face before him, and he knew the words the barbarian figure spoke were true, and he was bound to this group, like it or not.

He raised his mug once more, accepting his fate, and made one last toast. "To war I go then, and certain death!" He cackled insanely as he downed the tankard. He rose to his feet, kicked the table up into the air, threw a handful of platinum in the general direction of the bar, and lumbered out into the night.

[Gurns]

Then there was the bard, who although clever and quick, stunk of fear at the nearest sight of danger.

Really, Nukkie, you shouldn't insult Tharrin like that.