Massacre at Deathfist Citadel - Part 1

Lord Cromicon. He was known by many other titles too, but it was his reputation as ‘The Conqueror Cromicon' that made him the ideal person to be entrusted with this mission. Though he was a gnome standing at hip height of the average human, he commanded the highest respect. His ebony hair stood on end and he wore an expertly embroidered black robe with pink flames and eldritch runes next to anywhere that had stitching. Though he looked distinguished he was completely ageless.

Currently, his invisible eyes looked at the scouts from behind the tinted lenses of his wire framed spectacles.

"And what have you found?" he asked remaining completely expressionless. Every time Cromicon spoke there was always a strange turbulence in the air. It was as though his words could warp and twist the fabric of the world. His voice was a deep, hellish tremor. It was often said he could make you bleed with a single word. Given his knowledge of the black arts, he probably could.

There were three scouts standing casually around him, despite his nightmarish aura. All were dressed in sleeveless, manoeuvrable, leather body suits. They were tan in colour to match the terrain of the orcish wastes. However their appearances were far from similar. One was an indigo skinned dark elf whose black hair was short at the back, but swept across his left eye at the front. One was a powerfully built barbarian who's red mohawk styled hair birthed sideburns that enveloped his chin before rising into a moustache. His neck, arms and probably the rest of his body were decorated with a series of jagged and spiralling tattoos. They stood in silent respect as the lead scout, Optio, a human with blonde parted hair and a short goatee stepped forward to answer.

"Liege, as you can see..." he said gesturing down into the valley, "The Deathfist orcs have a well defended position. The fortress itself is a hexagonal wall with six towers, one at each point. The two central towers adjoin with the central keep via two more walls. The two foremost towers are mounted by mangonels. There is also a buttress at the rear wall with a turret-mounted trebuchet. However it looks uncompleted, and no signs of any ammunition leads us to believe it is not yet operational. The entire structure stands on that rock island within the moat, so once the outer gatehouse is breached we'll still have to deal with the drawbridge. Impassable mountains and rocky outcroppings surround the entire valley. So while there is only one direction from which an oncoming army can attack, there is also..."

"...Nowhere for them to run," Cromicon completed, an insidious grin slitting across his mouth.

Optio matched his Lord's smile before continuing, "This small clearing in the hills cannot be traversed by horses, and is impossible to set siege equipment. As such the orcs tend to overlook it. No usual attack can be mounted from this position. As we're under the cover of darkness, we should be able to operate freely while the rest of the unit arrives. However I would suggest that..."

"We attack at dawn," Crom interrupted once more, stating it as an order rather than advice.

"Very good sire," Optio said with a bow, "While here we can easily see the gatehouse from the front, the only other main attack route is along the Deathfist road that leads across the bridge and into the clearing. We only secured the lumber mills there yesterday so the garrison shouldn't notice any lack of traffic coming into the fort yet. The road itself twists right from the gate and leads to the bridge. There are barricades lined with pikes either side of it so mass cavalry charges aren't possible. They'll also hinder troops movements in general so the Deathfists have only posted small groups of skirmishers and patrols outside the walls. We can also confirm they are using equipment that was previously beyond their resources. It is true then that General Rujark of the Ro desert has been reinforcing the Bloodskull orc movements against Freeport, and the Deathfists under Emperor Fyst."

"That won‘t be a problem."

Optio chuckled, "No, I don't suppose it will be. However there was something else sire."

"Oh?" Crom asked, raising an eyebrow with feigned interest.

"Deep as the moat is the water's depth only rises halfway. While it was inhabited by a few razorfish a bit of poison soon remedied that." To which the dark elf scout Sreggid grinned and nodded his head. Even though Cromicon wasn't even looking at them he stepped in front of Optio and spoke over him, "And the banks overbite it all the way around, except for a slope at the right flank. When we investigated further we found a waste disposal hatch at the citadel's base. It could be possible sir for us to infiltrate inside without..."

"No." Cromicon said flatly. Meanwhile the barbarian Kaatishar's eyes began to wander with unhidden boredom.

"Sire?" Sreggid asked with more than a hint of annoyance.

"This is about more than just victory, Sreggid. Nor is it about the Overlords orders. Freeport can fall under the Bloodskull orc assault for all I care. This is about power and showing our strength to the world." He turned to face them but looked directly above their heads, as if the heavens were some kind of prize. "And having a little fun while we're at it," he said with a grin of childlike mischief.

Despite the dismissal of their alternative plan, Optio and Sreggid smirked. Though Cromicon's methods were sometimes questionable, he was a wise leader, and just in his actions.

"Besides..." Cromicon continued, "We mustn't let Vallasch get his hair wet."

Holding back his laughter, Sreggid suggested, "You sure you just don't fancy swimming in that dress?"

Cromicon looked down at his bell-sleeved robe. Then all four men began snickering. They were hard pressed to stifle themselves in case one of the orc patrols below heard them. Fearsome as he was, Cromicon always had a good sense of humour.

"Where is Vall anyway?" Optio asked, still fighting outright laughter.

"With his mistress," Crom smirked.

"Heh, you mean we're better off not knowing," though Optio's mind began to wonder anyway.

"They have their orders, as do you. We begin at dawn," Cromicon said dismissively.

--

At the height of mountain the two Teir'dal, dark elves stood. From here they could see the left side of the citadel. Male and female, both with skin like the midnight that engulfed them. The only indication of their presence was the illumination or their pure white hair.

"Death may await us mistress," Vallasch murmured, still studying the Deathfist patrol movements and toying with the chain attached to his armoured bracers. The chain gave as much length as his forearm, between his wrists. Beyond that he was naked from the waste up, dressed only in his ornate crimson leg plates. The armour was shaped like the scales of a red dragon. Looking against the strong wind, his shoulder length mane whipped behind him.

She turned to look at him before giggling, "Well I certainly hope so." Her icy eyes glanced at Vallasch's cobalt ones. He was avoiding her gaze. He obviously had something he wanted to say to her, but was afraid. Good.

"Speak your mind, my love," she urged.

"Mistress, I'm nothing without you. I could never live with myself if something were to happen... Please reconsider..." Vallasch spoke with little more than a whisper. He continued to avoid eye contact with her until he trailed off, seeing her expression change.

She clapped her fingers against his mouth before he could continue. Her stare grew wide and full of malice, though she took a moment to rub against the softness of his lips. "What slave?" Her raised voice had an insulted tone. "Do you doubt my prowess? You dare imagine that I could fall to those green skinned vermin?!" she demanded, pointing to the fort down in the valley with her free hand. With the other she uncovered his mouth but kept a firm clasp around his jaw.

Vallasch decided for his own safety it would be best not to point out that most orcs of Zek's wasteland were in fact grey, not green. His mistress's merciless eyes continued to stare him down, not blinking once.

"Mistress please, I...I meant no disrespect but..."

She stifled him with a vicious squeeze. "On your knees when you beg for my forgiveness, slave!" As he sunk down looking at the ground in front of her, she stood up straight and folded her arms. Out of Vallasch's sight, a diabolically playful smile spread across her face as she listened to his frantic pleas for forgiveness. She was in fact quite touched by his protective concern. However inflicting fear in others was one of her greatest pleasures, especially when it was Vallasch. It was simply too much fun, and with him, oh so easy.

Realising his mistress had remained silent Vallasch raised his eyes. He slowly began looking up at her, taking in each part of her form slowly. Her black armour was master crafted in the dark elves customary style. Before the fall of the city of Neriak they would often don equipment that was both alluring as well as functional. She stood in a strange combination of sabatons and greaves that ended just above her knees. The sabatons themselves had heels that brought her five inches off the ground, though to her credit she was nearly as tall as him without them. How she could manoeuvre as well as fight in them was a mystery, but just as interesting was the tension they created in her legs. Skull-like pads were strapped at her joints.

Over her body she wore a sleeveless chain mail shirt that was elongated with split sides towards the bottom, creating a kind of metal loincloth that dangled between her exposed thighs. Over the top she wore a black breastplate that was sculpted like her naked torso, even with a small indentation at the naval. Another pair of death's countenances served as shoulder pads, while on her arms she wore simple bracers with short spines spiking from the sides.

Finally looking up but still kneeling, he saw the wicked grin on her face. He kept silent but felt relieved when he saw her eyes seem to warm in his own from behind her black ball mask. It was a small one that just reached down to the bridge of her nose and decorated with thin, curved, silver lines that particularly traced around her already striking eyes. The mask vanished under her hair tied in a bun behind her head and miraculously pinned in place with a pair of short, ornamental daggers.

She hunched down and rested the tips of her fingers under his chin. "You are forgiven my pet," she whispered and lifted his head up in a gesture for him to stand. As he did she watched the taught muscles of his body un-tense themselves from his crouched position.

Vallasch turned away from her and looked to his breastplate on the ground before his mistress caught him and turned him back to her. "Leave that my love," she purred, stroking his face.

"You want to see me in pain mistress?" Vallasch asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Don't I always?" she replied with a playful smile. She pushed her body up against his, the two metallic protrusions of her breastplate rubbed against his nipples.

She kissed him, opening her mouth against his, inviting his tongue. She bit down on the tip just enough to draw blood and drank his rich, young life. Biting again if he tried to withdraw, she subconsciously unclasped the chain between his wrists allowing him to embrace her. She brought her arms under his and dug into the soft flesh just below his shoulder blades, momentarily raking his back so she could drink his moans as well.

There was a battle to come, and she wanted to savour his taste beforehand.