A Savage Code Ch. 01

The radiant midday sun beat down upon The City, the rolling dunes beyond Its walls shimmering with heat like an open oven. The Market was alive with activity, and its lively, cobbled streets would have been dancing with heat waves as well were it not for the looming aqueducts above, whose gently burbling waters insulated the citizens below with a gentle, cooling mist. From where he stood on a flat roof garden sheltered in the shade below the aqueducts massive column, Twigülv gazed with wonder down into the Market and marveled, as he so often did, at the sheer strangeness of these foreigners.

"Barbarian, hark!" rang a clear, baritone voice from the rooftop across from the shaggy watcher, and his mismatched eyes squinted through the heat to see a tall, robed figure beckoning with a waving hand. "The you at are is wrong Illjet, hkerr!" the irate figure shouted, his limited grasp of the gutteral Northern tongue causing Twigülv to pause and ponder the message. The roof. He was on the wrong roof. With an irritated snarl the barbarian stalked to the roofs edge, peering across the wide gap and the three fold drop to the ground below.

"Get make to proper Illjet, hkerr, time broken!" Mozzeffi shouted to his beast-for-hire, his temples pounding with stress and the noonday heat. The tall dark merchant tapped his foot impatiently as he watched the barbaric cur eye the distance, sizing up the space between rooftops. He blanched when the shaggy mercenary began to step back away from the ledge while still facing it, and realized the fool meant to jump! His sharp mind raced to recall the words and gestures of the uncouth tongue, but all he could do in the moment was wave his long slender arms in their billowing sleeves and shout a wordless admonition against the foolhardy leap.

If Twigülv understood the warning, he gave no indication of it. He was already halfway to the gap by the time his employer realized his intentions and began to rush forward, waving his arms and calling out in a mix of High Elven and broken Tribal. For a brief moment both men's hearts stopped in their chests as the barbarian leapt. His squat, stocky figure seemed even less suited for flight than it was for the harsh desert environment. With a thud that sent tremors through the dusty rooftop, the grinning heathen landed past the ledge in front of his breathlessly panting comrade.

"Stupid barbarian!" Mozzeffi vituperated in Elven, his heart still pounding at the death defying stunt. Twigülv definitely understood that phrase, and the tall, dark elfs heart skipped a beat again when he saw the flash of rage darken what little of the foreigners countenance visible beneath his greasy mop of tangled hair. Thinking quickly he flashed a series of gestures imbued with Magical Will, his slender black fingers dancing like a spider in its web as a shimmering pattern emerged from the air and swirled within his palm. Looking into it, Twigülv was helplessly fascinated, his mismatched eyes widening from their usual squinted scowl to a look of pure wonder.

Relaxing somewhat, Mozzeffi chided his mesmerized lackey in the most soothing version of Tribal he could muster, "Calm, Twigülv, still. Not as fighting, still. Mozz only fear of that is hurt, Twigülv. Still..." the suddenly placid barbarian simply stared wide-eyed at the patterns of swirling magical colors, only coming to reality when the hand holding them snapped its fingers and they light show vanished. Startled, Twigülv glanced around, helplessly lost, until Mozzeffi rallied his attention with a polite cough. "This way come, Twigülv." He intoned, and the odd pair headed down the buildings interior and out into the alleyways between the bustling streets.

In a quiet alley behind a gleaming marble bathhouse, two assassins waited impatiently for their contact to arrive. Being so close to the palace made them nervous, and the secrecy around this job didn't alleviate their apprehensions. From the adjoining alleyways behind the complex of businesses flanking the marble structure emerged two more figures, one tall and obviously a fellow elf, the other shorter by almost a head, but so broad and stocky that the two killers had little doubt he'd be difficult to bring down if this deal went sideways.

"Gentlemen, good evening..." Mozzeffi said to the killers for hire as he sized them up. They were elves, like he, but he was tall and slender with the dignified poise of a noble merchant, while they were scrawny and sullen, clearly ill fed and from the lowest of the slum castes. Smiling with barely hidden contempt he continued "I am pleased to see you have accepted my offer. Should you perform your duties well, you'll be lounging in a Palace District inn with more silver to your name than you've days to your life. The task is a simple one. In this very bathhouse is a...woman. You will find her, and dispatch with her swiftly. You'll know her by this mark..." the tall noble conjured a brief sigil, one clearly belonging to some connected family or another, and the two silent killers took it in and memorized it.

"Once slain, we shall exit the way we came in, with none the wiser. Any questions?" Mozzeffi concluded. Eyeing both the well dressed noble and his savage lackey, the older of the two assassins nodded and replied "You make it sound easy, but there's a few problems. One, you said 'we' would exit the way we came. I take it you're wishing to attend this task with us?" The noble's smile faded, and he nodded curtly. "I must see for myself the deed is done. This is not negotiable."

"Very well, high born, but take care to not get in our way. And that brings me to my next question. Why do you have a troll in your thrall, and what was the purpose of bringing it along? We'll be noticed for sure with the beast in our midst." Mozzeffi's grin returned, and with a wry gleam in his eyes he answered: "The outsider is our way in, and out. I shall send him in first, to cause a scene. In the ensuing commotion we shall slip in and do what must be done. We can leave him behind for the guards to deal with, perhaps they'll assume the beast slew the Pr...the target. He has served me well these past weeks, but trolls make damned unpleasant company and I'd as soon be rid of him."

The two assassins glanced nervously at the feral humanoid, his oddly miscolored eyes looking between the three of them with no particular interest, a sign they took to indicate the thing didn't speak any Elven, or at least not enough to grasp his imminent fate. Convening quietly, the two killers soon agreed to the terms for a slightly higher fee, "For babysitting a high born during a job." they explained, and through a mirthless smile Mozzeffi agreed. Turning to his burly charge he spoke clearly, carefully even, using the imprecise and guttural tongue of the North to explain as best he could "Twigülv, hear, make go inside here, seek such as there sight this Mjuor-Ai, here..." flashing the same sigil he'd shown the two assassins. "To break, Twigülv, all you as found, to break. Yes?"

Twigülv understood the gist of his orders, and though he was considered simple by these elves he quickly understood that he was meant to be a distraction. He was not excited by the prospect, remembering none too fondly the cramped cell he'd spent time in after being caught by the guards on another town along his journey. Quietly nodding, he waited for the signal from the elves to begin his task. As he stalked up the marble stairs and beyond the columns that marked the threshold, he could feel the shocked, puzzled glares of the patrons, all having fallen silent at his approach.

"Ho there stranger, this..." was as far as the doorman got before a rough, hairy hand clamped onto his shoulder like a vice, its twin grabbing him by the crotch as he was hoisted above the shaggy head with no more effort than one might expend to lift a sack of beans. With a deafening *crack* of his fine gilded breastplate making catastrophic impact with the far marble wall, all Hell broke loose. Patrons ran screaming past the shaggy brute and out into the street, the mass of their panicked bodies nearly bowling over the three would be assassins who were trying to follow behind their beastly battering ram.

They couldn't make headway through the panicked crowd, and Mozzeffi quietly cursed his decision to use the barbarian in this scheme: as a distraction he was performing all too well! He hardly had time to finish the thought when an errant spear thrown by a guard sailed past its feral target and nearly took the noble in the shoulder. Bellowing his challenge, the now hackled beast beat against his chest defiantly, locking his small, keen eyes upon those of his Elven opponent. The poor lad, barely old enough to shave, stalled long enough for his unarmed opponent to close the gap before he could draw his sword.

For his error, Twigülv rewarded the young elf with a closed fist to the bread basket that sent him tumbling, his breastplate visibly dented with a row of coin sized impressions where the knotted knuckles left their mark on the Elven steel. His beady eyes darted around wildly, seeking the sigil that was his quarry, or the next body in his path upon which he could vent his seemingly bottomless rage. Turning a corner it was the barbarians turn to pause, as amassed in a tight fan were six Elven guards, all of them bearing upon their fine armor the very insignia the brute sought. At last! His goal and a good fight, he thought, as he strode implacably forward, seemingly undaunted by the odds before him. A few of the younger soldiers shot nervous glances to their leader at the fore, a grizzled veteran of many battles now put to pasture in what should have been a comfy job babysitting aristocrats.

Though the veteran didn't show any of his nerves to his young squadmates, he had more reason than they for trepidation. He'd encountered trolls before, long ago, and a steamy bathhouse with marble floors and walls wasn't the ideal ground to face the beasts. Without breaking his gaze from the approaching brute he shouted an order to one of his soldiers: "Jsetheya, fetch us torches if you can find them, anything we can set alight we need! We'll hold him in this hall, remember your oaths and protect Her at all costs!" No sooner had he finished this command when the shaggy intruder came within melees reach, and two of the soldiers lunged to pierce his broad chest and flank with their short hafted, wide bladed fighting spears.

The exultation at their fine form and expert targeting was short lived, for rather than falling dead by their wounds the squat, stocky interloper merely snarled with irritation, pushing forward upon their weapons until the shaft of one spear was bent to breaking. Two more warriors rushed to pinion Twigülv, hoping to stay his advance, and these blows were ignored just like the first. Grunting in exertion they braced their feet, but soon found themselves all being pushed backwards by his unstoppable advance. The captain drew his sword and pushed through his squad to deliver a killing blow to the beasts thick exposed neck, his heart momentarily hopeful this fight might be mercifully quick.

Those hopes were dashed in an instant with a gruesome popping noise accompanied by the loud *snap* as three of the polearms transfixing the creature burst through his torso completely, and the one stuck dead center of his chest that acted to lever him at bay bent further than it could stand and cracked in half. The captains swing might have landed true, but the troll injured and enraged was faster than he'd anticipated, and with a sweep of his shaggy forearm the barbaric warrior knocked back two of the soldiers and caught the sword as it buried itself between his wrist and elbow.

Reaching out with a grasping, clawed hand the beast grabbed one soldier by the head and with a jerk flipped him bodily into his comrade beside him. Without losing momentum he kicked off from the ground, his short, thickly muscled limbs propelling him bodily into the captain whose sword was wrenched from his grip as he was bowled over by the savage assault. A swift one-two punch sent the captains helmet ringing off the marble floor like a bell, where he lay still and incapacitated.

To their credit, the remaining soldiers fought heroically against the long odds, their short swords and broad steel shields hacking and bashing their feral opponent at any opening. But each blow that landed was shrugged off seemingly without notice, and if they could have seen through the haze of combat they'd have realized that their foes wounds were healing shut even as the fighting raged. With closed fists, mighty throws and bone-shattering head-butts, Twigülv made the Elven warriors pay dearly for their blows, and within the span of three minutes the last upright soldier was laid low on the marble floor, groaning and clutching a shattered arm.

Though his heart still pounded from the melee, a clarity filled the curs mind as he pulled free from his body the tattered remains of the enemies weapons, their blades stained a deep purplish red and their wooden hafts splintered to bits. He then heard the familiar voice of his employer approaching from behind him, commanding in his thickly accented Tribal "Much well made, Twigülv! Finish that is here, make of death these, then flee!" Mozzeffi's confident command barked as he stalked down the hall of carnage flanked by his nervous looking lackeys. Though Twigülv understood the command, and he dearly wanted for meat to sate his burning, howling hunger from the rigors of the battle and the toll incurred by his rapid healing, he stalled as the Elven noble and his reunite stalked past him.

"These foes are done, I have made it so. What purpose killing them?" the troll asked towards his employers back, but no answer was offered. Annoyed but unsurprised by the nobleman's slight, he growled softly and padded quietly behind them, his bare feet making little noise as he followed the trio into the open sauna terminating the hall. Appearing wordlessly behind them, Twigülv was struck dumb by what he saw.

There before him, the three elves had cornered a fourth, though this one was a female, naked but standing defiantly as if clad in shining armor. Not just any female, he saw, but the most beautiful woman the troll had ever seen, with smooth, dark skin unblemished by a single sign of age or stress. She was tall, even by elf standards, with long silvery wanted of hair cascading over her broad shoulders and elegant, muscular neck held high in a stance of defiance as she stared daggers into Mozzeffi. Her breasts were smallish, but pert and perfectly set up her composed figure. She wasn't lean, but was incredibly proportional, with sturdy limbs that showed a formidable strength, and a small pot belly indicative of being well fed. Her hips were wide and sensual, with the slightest hint of her ample buttocks visible from the front, and long muscular legs that hinted at reserves of power and speed born of dedicated exercise.

It took a moment to register what he saw between those muscular thighs, and when it clicked Twigülvs bearded jaw dropped. This elf maiden had a penis! The realization stuck him harder than any of the guardsman's blows, as he realized she must be one Blessed by the Mother: those born to one sex but taken by the spirit of another! He'd seen others before, mostly humans, and had always treated them with due deference and respect. They were gifts of the Mother to her people, creatures of both worlds who were said to have holy powers and pure spirits.

The elves spoke coldly between themselves for the briefest of moments, Mozzeffi and this beautiful creature, none taking notice of the brutish figure lurking just outside the periphery. Their conversation concluded, the Elven noble spoke to his visibly nervous lackeys with a curt command that even Twigülv understood with his limited grasp of the civilized tongue. "Kill her." Suddenly the pieces fell together, the picture they formed becoming clear to the barbarian and igniting a smoldering rage. The guards were witnesses, this living goddess was their target, and his erstwhile allies meant her harm.

The troll had no plan of attack before the red mist formed at the corners of his vision, his beady eyes narrowing upon his first target. A need deeper than instinct kicked in and his stout body gave an order he had no choice but obey. He would destroy these vile blasphemers, but he needed blood and meat to continue his healing. The first assassin didn't have a chance to scream as double rows of short, sharp teeth and powerful jaws closed around his throat and shoulder, even as the hairy hands grabbed both of his arms. With a savage ripping sound and an explosion of viscera he tore the assassin nearly in two, his powerful jaws grinding through leather armor as easily as flesh and bone.

The fallen killers comrades spun on their attacker, momentarily struck dumb by the hideous display of savagery that left flecks of blood and tissue splattered across their stunned faces. The assassin screamed in rage and vengeance, and lunged with his long curved knife, darting past a sweeping paw and getting close enough to bury the blade through the orbital socket and clean through the beasts head. The last thing the elf saw before the powerful arms closed around him with a spine crushing bear hug was the single baleful green eye burning with rage as the beast squeezed the breathe from his shattered body.

Mozzeffi drew his own blade and momentarily hesitated before remembering the task at hand. He sidestepped the entangled combatants and rushed the woman, slashing at her twice in rapid succession. Though she dodged the first slice handily, she couldn't avoid the second and was forced to turn aside the blow with her forearm, opening a cut from her wrist almost to her elbow. She screamed with an angry mix of pain and defiance without a hint of fear or plea for mercy. Mozzeffi pushed the attack, sending her reeling over a marble bench to land on her back, knocking the wind from her.

As she looked up into her killers eyes she betrayed no sign of fear, raising her head proudly she made to accept the killing blow. She was certain it would come, as certain as her attacker was, when a dark hairy missile collided with the tall elf, sending him hard into the wall where he found a pair of rough, hairy hands tightening around his throat. He couldn't say a word, but slashed feebly at the beasts wrists as he stared into the green eye, it's pinkish twin already reconstituting from the knife thrust.

With an ear splitting roar, Twigülv slammed his thick, broad forehead into his former employers face, again and again even as the skull gave way with a sickening squelch and he began to make contact with the slick marble behind the ragged corpse. By the time his rage cleared and he dropped the gory parcel at his feet, the trolls thick purplish blood was running down across every inch of his shaggy body and pooling on the floor, mixing with the bright red blood of his foes.

The elf maiden, cut off from escape by the grisly melee blocking the doorway, could only look on in horror as the squat, dark figure released his prey. Turning as if in a daze, it locked it's eyes upon her and began to stumble forward in her direction. Her breath caught in her throat and her stomach dropped as their eyes met, and for a moment she was taken aback by the strangely mesmerizing gaze of the frightful figure. Though little of his pale face could be seen beneath the blood that saturated his nearly waist long tangled mane and the equally long beard, his eyes bore holes into her soul. One was green, like wrought copper. The other was flashing gold, like the desert sands on the banks of the great river Yksotii.