Kullen the Shaman

In the city of Resk, located in the land of ruins, a man hid. He, Kullen, hid in the corner of the tavern, the torch lights illuminating the spilled ale and broken chairs. Kullen shielded himself with a turned table as the drunk and meaty men fought.

As those drunk and unfortunately armed men fought, a lithe figure flitted between them, avoiding lusty hands and countering with her own nimble fingers. But only coin that dropped from the brawling men like their spilled ale interested the tavern wench.

She had caused the brawl that Kullen saw coming from leagues away. The dark blond wench had entertained the men since he began frequenting the Armed Wench tavern. And yet, he still came, knowing the dangers, as much to glimpse her as to fill his stomach with cheap food.

Kullen ducked as a cup flew over his head. That made the third time he'd done so. He needed to find a way out. On his hands and knees, he crawled, taking pains to draw no attention to himself.

One of the brawling men had dominated the others, standing over them with bloody fists and dressed in only a loincloth. Bare-chested, muscular, and triumphant, he eyed the wench, ready to take his prize.

The wench, Joslie, like Kullen was on hands and knees, looking for more coin rather than escaping. Her attire covered little more than the man who loomed over her. Joslie made a tempting figure.

Kullen would use the man's distraction to make his own escape. Kullen should have known better, for Joslie desperately searched the tavern for aid. Then she set her bright green eyes upon him. Kullen promptly turned away, already regretting his choice to leave the safety of the tavern's dark corner.

Kullen saw the door and rose to his feet to make a dash for the door. Too late, for Joslie got to him faster. She threw herself to him, pressing her slim body to his and entrapping him with her arms.

Joslie peered up at him with those green eyes. "Kullen, you brave soul, protect me from this brute."

Curse it all! The wench had taken their brief eye contact as an offer of protection. Kullen of all people was no protector.

As a man of the Wurksi shrublands, Kullen looked the part of a man few would trifle with. Tall and of tanned skin, he donned lean muscle in contrast to the bulky frames of those that visited the magical smuggling city of Resk. That frame, bonded with hard dark eyes that naturally viewed the world with what others thought of as menace, forever placed him in danger.

Joslie squeezed herself tighter to him. With only a silver chain holding the fabric covering her chest and rings holding up the slip of cloth around her thighs, Kullen could not help but grow excited. Her thighs cradled between his and the moisture of her breath on his chest highlighted their closeness.

The brute Joslie spoke of was far from pleased. Like a slow storm, he came to them. "Give me the girl." He did not growl. He did so natively.

"She is not mine to give," Kullen said.

Curse it all again! Kullen had spoken truth before thinking. Throwing Joslie's body from him and into the man was the right action. Joslie, as if reading his mind, wrapped herself tighter around him and turned her blond head to the man in challenge. She only made things worse.

This time, the brute did growl. "Then take her, I will!"

He rushed them, bearish arms outstretched. Kullen acted on a brew of fear and instinct.

Kullen took his staff in hand and directed it to the brute. Joslie had released him enough to do that much at least. The staff had ancient runes carved all along its smooth-oaken length and almost matched Joslie's height.

Kullen let a power take him and forced it through his staff, causing the runes to glow gently. But then, the runes shone a bright purple. The power, the magic that had gotten him banished from his homeland of Wursk, took him in a flood.

Never before had Kullen felt such power. He had to release it or risk bursting into blood and light.

The brute had halted. Like most men in living in the ruins of Resk, he traded in forbidden magics and knew a spell when he saw one.

In those eyes, the brute battled between lust, pride, and common sense. Common sense won, but victory came too late for the brute. Kullen released the spell, his staff completely illuminated in purple energy. The spell released toward the brute, viciously impacting his bare midsection, doubling him over, and sending him away and into the tavern wall.

The man yet lived, barely.

If the brute died and others discovered Kullen's involvement, the city of Resk would protect him no longer. It could lead to Kullen's banishment for magic twice in a lifetime.

Joslie had released Kullen to spring at the man and retrieve his coin then skipped back to Kullen on strappy sandaled feet. "I knew it! You use magic."

"I use no magic troublesome wench, magic uses me. Is that why you called out to me?"

"No." She handed Kullen the stolen coin. To that, Kullen had no objection.

Kullen weighed the coin; the brute had come into some good trade. "In a city of brutes like this you should take more care of yourself."

Joslie showed him her own spoils and gestured to the slippery tavern floor, its wood soaked with blood and ale. "I do."

Kullen conceded her point and went for the door before any more trouble could find him.

Joslie's feminine arm hugged his. "How about some company?"

He stared down at her, down into those inviting green eyes and promising smile. Joslie walked with him out into Resk's streets, knowing his answer.

He should have said no and saved himself the future grief.

***

The streets of Resk held only vice be it morning or night. Its source of income centered on the smuggling of magical goods for trade with the kingdom of wizards. The trade provided great wealth for the men and women of the old city. Wealth wasted on yet more vice.

Gambling, whoring, brawls, all favored pastimes for the misbegotten wretches that called Resk home.

Joslie pulled herself onto his arm again, a habit of hers it seemed. "Tell me, Kullen. What is a man like you doing in a place like this?"

"Is my foreignness so obvious?"

"Not your looks, this city has more residents from the steppes than most. It is how you speak that gives you away. Your voice is cultured, even polite. You also didn't join in the brawl for me like the others."

"My mistake. But my people are hardly cultured. I am an oddity in that regard." Kullen felt her behind, feeling boldness course through him as it always did after using magic.

Deftly, Joslie swayed those smooth hips away from his groping paws. The pleasant movement of those fine hips made the rejection sting less.

Joslie carried on as if Kullen had not just tried to fondle her in the street. "Why have you come to this city?"

"You know that magic uses me. I am a shaman. For that sin, my people banished me. I hope to find a place here among people who survive off magic."

"People fear what they do not understand. I am sorry your people have treated you so."

Kullen shrugged and his arm rubbed against her chest as he did so. "People also fear what they do understand too. They are usually right. If I am fortunate, and I rarely am, I can find a way to banish my ability for magic."

At his words, Joslie released his arm to look at him with stunned eyes. "How could you cut out your own heart! Your magic is a part of you!"

"It is not my magic. As I said, magic uses me. My control is weak. What control I do have is but an illusion."

"Controlled or not, that magic saved me from that brute."

"It has also doomed others. That is the way of magic."

Joslie green eyes pooled with turmoil. It warmed him to hear another defend his shamanism. That warmth wouldn't change the bitter cold of truth. Magic came with danger, death, and despair.

Opportunistic eyes watched them from the shadows, or rather, they watched Joslie. Kullen took her arm to hurry them on their way.

They continued along the cracked stone path and passed the grimy walls of the once majestic city. In Resk, nearly every man had lived like kings and the servants of their servants had homes with plenty of space for the criminal inhabitants. Only a few fools or well-prepared groups lived in the large palace homes. For only few would risk the shades that lurked in the walls, waiting to catch humans alone and unprotected. It was why many they passed on the streets traveled with others.

Foulness hit Kullen's senses and Joslie stiffened. Turning to the source of foulness, Kullen saw a dog. No, not a dog. A hound. And a foul one.

Kullen heard of such beasts. Hunters of magic. The death of fleeing wizards. One of the many beasts of night.

"Let us go, Kullen."

They left it swiftly, taking care not to run and inflame the beast's hunting instincts. Much magic rested in the city of Resk. The foul hound could be searching for some other prey, some other source of magic to feast on.

Kullen should have known better.

Joslie'd decorated her perfumed home with magical protections. Kullen saw expert runes painted on the cold walls. Trinkets hung with the thick curtains at the window, jingling lightly at the gentle push of wind.

Joslie lit the room and it let him see her bed clearly. It reminded Kullen what was going to happen. What he hoped would happen.

Joslie smiled, knowing he had not forgot. He got on the bed, ignoring its firmness. He wasn't here to sleep.

With a simple sway of her hips and gesture of her shoulders, Joslie's clothes fell away from her and pooled on the floor as if removed by invisible hands. The rings and jewels of her clothes rang out as they hit the ground.

The flickering of the torchlight showed off her body to pleasing effect only leaving teasing shadows hugging her fine curves. With the practiced ease of a tavern wench she softly joined him on the bed, barely shifting the weight of it.

In his distraction, Kullen forgot to remove his own clothes. She cared not. The same nimble hands that stole coin without the notice of the brutes curled up his tunic. She kissed up his chest as she did so.

Kullen let out a pleasured breath when Joslie settled on his nipple. Still bold from the magic entering his body, Kullen cradled her breasts. She stopped playing with his nipple when he started playing with hers. He took the pink tips between thumb and forefinger, remembering to treat them as gently as she treated him.

She let out her own pleasured breath. Kullen smiled at his ability to please her with his scant experience. "Move your hips to my mouth."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Confused, she did as asked. Her sex, damp and pink, lay within reach of his mouth. Kullen extended his tongue and played with her outer lips.

"Oh, that's..."

He stopped to answer for her. "Unexpected?"

"Don't stop. Put it in."

With her encouragement, Kullen darted his tongue inside her, tasting her and liking it. She bucked her sex into him. He let her.

Nuzzling his face into her, he pushed himself deeper so that his nose brushed up against her shaved mound. With hands placed on Joslie's supple buttocks, Kullen increased his pace until she cried out into the night.

When his mouth dripped with her pleasure, Kullen knew she was ready. Then his mind started working again through the fog of lust.

Kullen had never had luck or skill with women. All that had laid with him had their own goals, their own motives. A potential fun night with him had little to do with them joining him.

Women of Wursk pillage men on raids if they believe he will bear them hearty children and bring her honor. The shrine maidens of the mountain temple divine their partners from the devilish stars. At the bottom of those mountains in the sparse forests, girls attain adulthood sacrificing their men like spiders.

What would this night with Joslie cost him? Fear of death brought him out of lust and into alertness.

Before Joslie could ask why he stopped and Kullen could question her, howls froze them both.

***

Joslie freed him from her parted thighs and Kullen took the chance to check the window. There he saw a foul hound and the tails of others as they entered the door-less apartments. The one hound left below made a great leap. Kullen backed away. Then he turned to run.

Joslie, already dressed, threw his clothes back to Kullen who quickly donned them. "Is it the hounds?"

Struggling with his trousers, Kullen nodded in a panic. He had to find safety.

By the time he had slipped his tunic on, the hound had reached the inside of the home and he got a closer look than he ever wished to at the night beast.

It fixed Kullen with its coal eyes, eager to rend his human flesh with its snarling teeth. It scratched its paw on the floor, preparing itself to pounce like a horse did to run. The heavy pants of its breath moistened the air and explained the source of the foul odor it produced.

The light of the room shifted, taking the attentions of Kullen and the hound that faced him. Joslie ran past him, torch in hand, green eyes alight, snarling as loud as the hound. She swung her torch and tried to bat at the hound who parried easily, used to such attacks.

Kullen grabbed the torch above a pot of water as well. He looked back to Joslie. The hound continued to avoid Joslie's torch. Her relentless attack that took advantage of her quick feet and nimble hands kept it from sinking its teeth into her.

Foul hounds hunted magic. They hunted him.

It made his choice to flee easier.

By leaving Joslie to her own defense, Kullen protected her. That is what he told himself as he entered the hallway and dashed down those halls and away from the hounds.

A scream traveled down those claustrophobic walls. Bloody was the scream. It paralyzed him, and his already thundering heart echoed with the scream. The scream had a partner, many partners. For soon the halls were a chorus of nightmare.

Kullen knew the cause, if not the faces of the poor, unfortunate humans. The foul hounds from outside had made their way up the floors and had their feast along the way.

Exiting the gate of shadows, the hounds appeared at the end of the hall. The wall of dark, now bloody, fur waited for him. He said nothing and heard the nightmare chorus no more.

The messy chunk of flesh fell away from the mouth of one of the coal eyed hounds, a morbid signal to the others to end their wait.

Then Joslie screamed. The wench still fought.

Kullen's options were scant as they were simple. Face three hounds or face one.

Rune carved staff in hand and directed to the current threat taking great, killer strides toward him, Kullen let loose a streak of purple.

Purple crashed into dark fur, and this time, beastly, not human, cries filled the halls. Little comfort for its mauled victims, but satisfying for Kullen.

Another scream from Joslie. Another streak of purple shot from Kullen's staff. Another downed dog.

But to Kullen's dismay, as one hound fell, the other rose. Hunters of magic had resistance to what they hunted. Kullen had wounded it, yes. But killed it, No. Only a slight slow-moving stream of blood showed any sign of damage on the hound.

Now, Kullen panted as the dogs, knowing the hopelessness of the task. In a frightened hurry, Kullen returned to Joslie's room.

Joslie's small figure was covered with the body of the foul hound, whose mouth dripped hot saliva onto her soft face. It toyed with her, scratching its paw on the floors to terrify her.

Kullen could see in those eyes of bright green fear that matched if not dwarfed his own. Still, her face showed none of it. Instead, Joslie matched her green eyes with the coal blackness of the hound that prepared to maul her.

Staff held tight with both sweaty, panicked hands, Kullen let the staff end turn to a malleable clay and morphed the wood into a sharp spearhead. The glow of the runes along the staff length glowed in a different pattern from before. No purple streak of force for this hound. The next attack would surely finish it.

Kullen speared forward and plunged the tip of his staff-now spear-into the eye of the foul hound.

It howled in pain, in fury, and in promise. Resistant to magic it may be, but a wound to the eye had never done him wrong.

Joslie returned to her two feet in a rush. "You have come back for me Kullen! I thank you for keeping those other hounds away."

He turned away, face red, and backed up beside her. Kullen had no wish for her to see his shame and guilt and fear. "Three more are coming," the spoken truth an easier response than a lie.

Kullen saw her nod from the corner of his eye. She grabbed the pot of water. Now that he could smell it, he knew it for a chamber pot. The foulness of the hounds had drowned out his nasal senses.

Putrid water would do nothing against these beasts. He would have told her so, but the hounds had entered the room. The injured hound, eye leaking blood, joined them. It had run along the side of the room's shadows to avoid detection.

Kullen put up a brave fighting stance. His knees bent, one foot before the other and spear extended. If not for the shadows, the truth would have lent light to his sweaty palms, quivering knees, and shaking spear.

Wench and shaman faced off against the foul hounds. To Kullen, only death faced them.

Joslie let free a fierce scream. It reminded Kullen of the battle cry of Wurski women. She threw the putrid liquid on them, drenching their already foul dark fur with the liquid so that the hounds smelt of an evil wizard's sewer.

Even the hounds found the attack insulting. As they rushed them, magic took Kullen once again. That magic flooded him, filling him with ecstasy and demanding release.

Kullen complied with the wishes of the magic force. Rapidly he morphed his spear back to a staff and fired. What normally came forth as a purple stream, shot from his staff as a burst of purple force.

The hounds yipped in pain then ignited. They rolled around, trying to save themselves from the purple fire, their magical resistance doing little to aid them. The fire ate at them as they ate human flesh, swallowing them in its burning stomach.

Kullen whirled on Joslie. "You knew!"

"Come! We must go!" she had ignored his implied question.

So be it. He chose flight instead of answers. Down the hallway they went, over the bodies the hounds left them, and out into the night's chill. Kullen noted her lack of girlish squeamishness to the sigh of death. Then again, Resk made its inhabitants familiar with such morbid sights.

Behind them came a howl. Kullen ran, to where he knew not. "More hounds! Curse it all!"

Joslie proved light on her feet. She outpaced him with ease. He naturally began to follow her. In any other circumstance, he would have taken time to admire the flesh of pale bottom and legs as she ran in her scant wench's dress.

Kullen didn't have that time. The hounds were on their fleeing heels. He let loose every distance spell he could, the power from before dissipating.

Returning his eyes to his front he saw Joslie had slowed to match his pace. Joslie panted. "I will not leave you behind."

Joslie showed him true bravery. That bravery made his guilt burn as hot as the hounds. Maybe the will to prove her right provided him with power, because magic once again surged into him. His back straightened and eyes dilated.

With a yell of defiance, Kullen gathered light at the tip of his staff, let it settle as a small sun, sent it to the middle of the hounds, and let it burst. The light blinded their coal eyes and stopped their pursuit.

Kullen turned to Joslie, her soft facing showing amazement but no surprise. "Where are we going?"

"To a vault."

The vaults. All over the city of Resk these vaults lay, used by criminals to store their dangerous magic items and even creatures. The former inhabitants of the ruined city all had significant magical capability and used these vaults as their treasuries. The time of the original inhabitants of Resk had long passed. Their vaults now opened to all who wished to use them.