shredded beef.
The ancient warrior sighed and a crisp blue light came from the runes carved deep into his stone skin, glowing faintly in kind with his exhale, shining through his armor of ice like some long-frozen anomaly.
He stared at the large, blood-soaked wooden pillar in the center of his chamber. Hundreds of five-inch rail spikes were driven into the wood - countless red headstones - he thought - each representing a fallen enemy.
The oldness in him had wrung out his lust for battle, but not the pride he felt in victory. Each red nail represented not only a fallen yeti warrior - but also one of his own kind who had made it back alive to hammer it.
He walked to the window of his room and stared long across the subterranean courtyard to the opposite tower - its windows peppered with the hanging fetishes of the yeti. The monastery belonged to his people, not those beasts. It was theirs by birthright - the last remaining of Ezekiel's Way. The yeti, indigenous people of the mountain range known as The Saw, were there only by circumstance. They were an infestation.
He huffed. The glass-like mask of ice which covered his broken visage did not betray the emotion.
He felt the presence of the sorcerer before he sat down. Unimpeded by the interruption of his thoughts, he casually took his place behind his desk and waited for his silent visitor to make himself known.
Lucrien limped forward, death wheezing through his cracked ribs and whistling out of the holes in his body. It took most of his concentration and energy to maintain the spell which kept him from falling apart, so his movements were cautious and slow.
“You're tracking blood on my floor.” Warned the Winterspawn leader.
Lucrien chuckled, an action which cost him, he felt his lungs fill with fluid. The minotaur spat and removed his hood, revealing his offset muzzle and shattered nose. The assault of the Hate-God had brought him closer to true death than he had ever been. “This is somehow inappropriate?”
The Winterspawn brought out a red nail and laid down next to it a mallet.
Lucrien eyed the intent with bulging, discolored eyes. “I'll make this quick, old friend.”
“Do.”
“I come only asking a small favor.”
“I don't do favors.”
Lucrien wheezed again and sat down. “Please. I...” His spell fluctuated with a flareup of nervous energy and the minotaur winced as a bone slipped out of place. “Soon the Accomplices will arrive.”
The Winterspawn stood, enraged. “Says who?”
Lucrien smiled. “I am not as I am now, but from someplace... further. I speak only of what has already happened.”
“Then The Hammer?”
“Yes. I have been guiding them up to this point, as a prophecy would, silently, sightlessly.”
The Winterspawn took his seat. “Its too soon.”
“We both knew this day would come.”
“They'll be looking for the Shard then, and the Vessel.”
“As intended. They are of course, as the original Companions were, under the impression that coincidence and fate are leading them onward.”
“Playing with the lives of men. Just as the first Librarian did. It sickens me.”
“The Companions, the War of Flames, the Dragons, even you and I, all are part of The Process. Don't be sickened, my oldest friend, no one is ever in control of their own life. All we can do is believe in coincidence.” The minotaur smiled, his sneer even more snide with jagged and hanging teeth. “My favor?”
“Have a choice?”
“No.”
“Then ask it.”
“Reveal to the living construct his true lineage, let them have the Shard and grant them passage through the Saw to dispose of the Hag.”
“The Odopi guards the Shard.”
“They are strong and we are running out of time. The HellDungeon has already risen in the east, and Disasterious Faust has already begun sewing the seeds of the Brotherhood.”
“And then?”
“And then your part is done, no great amount of effort but just as important to everything and everyone involved.”
“And what of you?”
Lucrien stood and turned. “I now must come to terms with what I have done in search of the child. My plan has fallen apart you see... I myself tried to fight against 'coincidence' and paid dearly for it. I have little time to set up the sequence of events which will come next, which...” He paused - as if his next words were heavier and harder to lift up from his thoughts. “Which will mean the end of me.”
“Who will be the new Librarian?”
Lucrien laughed and coughed blood into his palm. “Even I don't know that.”
As the minotaur stepped out into the hall the Winterspawn stopped him once more. “Lucrien, wait.”
“Yes?”
“I'll never forget what you did for me, I mean, for my family.”
Lucrien lowered his head and pulled his hood back over his horrible, gaping countenance. “I... loved them, you know... They were my brothers, my sisters, and I betrayed them. Its all I can do to make up for my mistake.”
“Is there no other way?”
“No,” answered the sorcerer, stepping back into the darkness. “Lucrien must die.”
He stared at the large, blood-soaked wooden pillar in the center of his chamber. Hundreds of five-inch rail spikes were driven into the wood - countless red headstones - he thought - each representing a fallen enemy.
The oldness in him had wrung out his lust for battle, but not the pride he felt in victory. Each red nail represented not only a fallen yeti warrior - but also one of his own kind who had made it back alive to hammer it.
He walked to the window of his room and stared long across the subterranean courtyard to the opposite tower - its windows peppered with the hanging fetishes of the yeti. The monastery belonged to his people, not those beasts. It was theirs by birthright - the last remaining of Ezekiel's Way. The yeti, indigenous people of the mountain range known as The Saw, were there only by circumstance. They were an infestation.
He huffed. The glass-like mask of ice which covered his broken visage did not betray the emotion.
He felt the presence of the sorcerer before he sat down. Unimpeded by the interruption of his thoughts, he casually took his place behind his desk and waited for his silent visitor to make himself known.
Lucrien limped forward, death wheezing through his cracked ribs and whistling out of the holes in his body. It took most of his concentration and energy to maintain the spell which kept him from falling apart, so his movements were cautious and slow.
“You're tracking blood on my floor.” Warned the Winterspawn leader.
Lucrien chuckled, an action which cost him, he felt his lungs fill with fluid. The minotaur spat and removed his hood, revealing his offset muzzle and shattered nose. The assault of the Hate-God had brought him closer to true death than he had ever been. “This is somehow inappropriate?”
The Winterspawn brought out a red nail and laid down next to it a mallet.
Lucrien eyed the intent with bulging, discolored eyes. “I'll make this quick, old friend.”
“Do.”
“I come only asking a small favor.”
“I don't do favors.”
Lucrien wheezed again and sat down. “Please. I...” His spell fluctuated with a flareup of nervous energy and the minotaur winced as a bone slipped out of place. “Soon the Accomplices will arrive.”
The Winterspawn stood, enraged. “Says who?”
Lucrien smiled. “I am not as I am now, but from someplace... further. I speak only of what has already happened.”
“Then The Hammer?”
“Yes. I have been guiding them up to this point, as a prophecy would, silently, sightlessly.”
The Winterspawn took his seat. “Its too soon.”
“We both knew this day would come.”
“They'll be looking for the Shard then, and the Vessel.”
“As intended. They are of course, as the original Companions were, under the impression that coincidence and fate are leading them onward.”
“Playing with the lives of men. Just as the first Librarian did. It sickens me.”
“The Companions, the War of Flames, the Dragons, even you and I, all are part of The Process. Don't be sickened, my oldest friend, no one is ever in control of their own life. All we can do is believe in coincidence.” The minotaur smiled, his sneer even more snide with jagged and hanging teeth. “My favor?”
“Have a choice?”
“No.”
“Then ask it.”
“Reveal to the living construct his true lineage, let them have the Shard and grant them passage through the Saw to dispose of the Hag.”
“The Odopi guards the Shard.”
“They are strong and we are running out of time. The HellDungeon has already risen in the east, and Disasterious Faust has already begun sewing the seeds of the Brotherhood.”
“And then?”
“And then your part is done, no great amount of effort but just as important to everything and everyone involved.”
“And what of you?”
Lucrien stood and turned. “I now must come to terms with what I have done in search of the child. My plan has fallen apart you see... I myself tried to fight against 'coincidence' and paid dearly for it. I have little time to set up the sequence of events which will come next, which...” He paused - as if his next words were heavier and harder to lift up from his thoughts. “Which will mean the end of me.”
“Who will be the new Librarian?”
Lucrien laughed and coughed blood into his palm. “Even I don't know that.”
As the minotaur stepped out into the hall the Winterspawn stopped him once more. “Lucrien, wait.”
“Yes?”
“I'll never forget what you did for me, I mean, for my family.”
Lucrien lowered his head and pulled his hood back over his horrible, gaping countenance. “I... loved them, you know... They were my brothers, my sisters, and I betrayed them. Its all I can do to make up for my mistake.”
“Is there no other way?”
“No,” answered the sorcerer, stepping back into the darkness. “Lucrien must die.”