Raxtull's First Stand (PG, some violence)

[Raxtull]

Raxtull slumped against the wall, bleeding from the cracked scales at the edge of her mouth. A mixture of fear and hatred wracking her body, along with her sobs. Trembling, she straightens her posture and wipes the tears from her eyes.

Xylung, her elder brood-brother, loomed over her laughing. “So, what did you think of the new move Master Raska taught me? I figured you should be the first to see my new skills as I learn them.” One of the scaled wolf young wandered by and started licking at the blood that lay on the ground. Xylung brought his leg back and kicked the wolf as hard as he could into the wall. A sickening crack could be heard as the wolf’s bones snapped from the impact. Xylung laughed again as the wolf thrashed in its death throes.

Raxtull just mumbles a half-hearted praise of his skills and starts to walk away. Xylung grabs her arm and throws her back into the wall. “Did I give you permission to leave? I sure don’t seem to recall doing that.” He draws back his arm and strikes Raxtull again, this time on the other side of her face, cracking more scales and drawing more blood. Pain and tears blinded Raxtull as she slumped once again against the wall.

The flapping sound of froglok feet drifted over to the pair and Xylung looks around to find the slaves wandering by on another task from the Toilmaster. Xylung grins, letting Raxtull loose and starts chasing after the frogloks. Raxtull takes the opportunity to make a run into the nearest building and hiding before Xylung returned. Breathing a sigh of relief, she thanks Lord Cazic for instilling a greater hatred for frogloks in Xylung than his hatred for her.

A soft chuckle was heard in the room. “Broodling. Hey, Broodling!” Raxtull looked around to find the person who was speaking. On the upstairs platform, a robed Iksar was leaning over the railing and staring at her. “Come up here, I would like to have a little talk with you.” Raxtull looked around for her brother again, then moved out of hiding and up the stairs toward the robed one, who motioned her to take a seat at the table he was sitting at.

“Having a little trouble with a young Swift Tail?”

Raxtull glanced at the robed male and said, “He’s my brood-brother. He’s just showing me the new skills he learned.”

The robed Iksar laughed. “And I’m a froglok. I’ve seen you two around, and I certainly have never seen you without fresh blood and cracked scales.” A glint came to his eye. “How would you like me to tell you of a person who can teach you what you need to get revenge on your brood-brother?”

Raxtull looked at the male with interest, thoughts of revenge adding glee to her voice. “If I could be rid of him, that would be the greatest thing that could ever happen to me.” The robed Iksar took a parchment, quill and ink from a bag next to him and began to write. Raxtull attempted to see what it was he was writing, but he wrote hunched over the parchment, and her angle did not let her see it. When he finished writing, he allowed the ink to dry, then folded the page and wrote more on the outside.

“Go to the Tower of Death, and hand this note to Harbinger Glosk. If the Nihilists give you any trouble, let them know that it was Grype who sent you there. They should let you pass.” Grabbing the note, Raxtull carefully headed out of the building, keeping an eye out for Xylung and headed around the city, guessing that he would be near the Court of Pain, and wanting to avoid him at all costs. He probably wasn’t very happy that she didn’t wait to be his practice dummy.

[Raxtull]

Raxtull strode purposefully towards the entrance of the Tower of Death, ignoring the Nihilists while fixed on her goal of finding Harbinger Glosk. The butt end of a spiked staff in her chest stopped her short of entering though. “What business does a pathetic broodling have at the Tower of Death?” asked Nihilist Zeegarn.

“Grype sent me here with a note to Harbinger Glosk,” Raxtull answered, indignantly.

Zeegarn glanced at her, taking note of the cracked scales on her face and the blood trails that ran down her chin and chest. “Why Grype would think that a punching bag would be of any use to the Brood of Kotiz is beyond me. So where is this so-called note that he gave you?” Raxtull showed the note and Zeegarn waved her in, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath.

The stench of decay and formaldehyde nearly overwhelmed Raxtull as she passed the archway into the Tower, bringing tears to her eyes. Zeegarn looked back over his shoulder at her and said, “You’ll get used to it. The Harbinger is at the top of the tower, the smell is less noticeable up there.”

Climbing the tower, she eventually came to stand in front of the Harbinger. He made a rather imposing figure, with blood splatters covering his robes and exposed hands, an evil look in his eyes. “You have one minute to state your business or I shall steal your life and give your body over to the researchers.”

Raxtull took the note she was given out and handed it to him. Glosk took the note, read it, and then glanced again at the broodling that stood before him. “So, what makes you think you will be allowed into the Brood of Kotiz?”

Raxtull, somewhat flustered, replied, “Well… I was told that you could help me get revenge on my brood-brother.”

“That’s all? You have the nerve to come to me and waste my time just to get revenge? What will you do after that?”

Taken aback, Raxtull considered what Glosk had said. She had never really thought of what she would do after killing her brother. Years of being beat up and ordered around had left her only wishing his death. But thinking about it, she doesn’t necessarily want his death, more his enslavement. Make him the one who does what she says for once, and takes the punishment. “I want to turn the tables, make him my slave.”

Glosk grinned and began chanting, the words sounding dark and terrifying to Raxtull. Green sparks rose and coalesced around Glosk. At the end of his chant, a pile of bones in the corner began to move, standing up and coming to a stop next to Glosk. “This could be your slave. Of course, it is just an animation, so it has no understanding and can only follow simple commands” Glosk begins another chant and the skeleton falls back to the ground, lifeless once again. “Would you like to make your brother like this?”

Raxtull looked at the pile of bones, and realized that she wanted his enslavement in soul, not just in body. “I want to make sure he knows that he is aware that he does my bidding, and is helpless to resist.”

“I have been told that some of the softskins have the ability to control a living being’s mind, but Lord Cazic has not seen fit to grant our people with that ability. However, reports have come to me that perhaps there is a capability to ‘Wake the Dead’ as it is rumored. I have not the knowledge of this magic, but I am sending out messages to the wandering members of the Brood to report whatever they can on this. Nevertheless, such power, I am sure, would be well beyond the ability of a broodling such as yourself.”

A fire lit in Raxtull’s eyes. A possibility to get complete revenge on her brother. “What must I do to become powerful? I will do whatever it takes.”

“I still have not decided whether or not to accept you into the Brood. I can feel that you have some ability, as not just any broodling can learn to harness these magics.” Glosk began to walk around the room, rubbing the scales on his chin. A slow grin spread on his face as he stopped to turn back to Raxtull. “So, you say you will do anything to become powerful?”

“Anything you ask of me,” she replied.

Picking a dagger up off the table, he strode towards Raxtull, handing the blade to her. “If you wish to join the Brood of Kotiz, then you must complete this task. First, you must get a body bag from the Mortician. Second, you will fill the body bag with the corpse of your brother.”

“But you were supposed to teach me how to take my revenge.”

“That is what this dagger is for. If you are not smart enough to figure out a way to kill him with this, then I’m afraid you will only be a detriment to the Brood. We will, of course, preserve his corpse for your use as you see fit. If you will do this, then you will be taught the magics of the Brood, and if you continue your studies and practice your magics, you will gain power.”

[Raxtull]

Glosk continued to hold the dagger out, handle first. Raxtull stared at the handle, fear of her brother and desire for revenge waging a battle within her. Desire won out, and she grabbed the dagger from Glosk’s hand. Determination fueled her steps as she left to carry out her tasking.

Body bag and dagger tucked into her clothing, she strolled through the city. Glancing about nervously, she gathered the nerve to pass the Court of Pain. The normal sounds of aspiring Swift Tails practicing with each other echoed off the walls. A brief glance inside showed Grandmaster Glox at his usual meditations, the Masters praising the better students and scolding the worse ones, with the occasional outburst of Master Raska calling the particularly slow a “Whiff.” Xylung did not appear to be at lessons at the moment, so she continued on, keeping against the walls to appear to be hiding from him.

Nearing the bank, a sudden hard blow to her back laid her out on the stone of the street. She turned over to see Xylung standing over her, furious. “And where did you disappear off to without my permission?” His voice was loud and full of anger, as she knew it would be. He grabbed her by the throat and hauled her into the alley behind the bank.

Several hard punches, cracking scales and drawing blood, brought her to her hands and knees, sobbing. Fear seized her, as she thought that this time he might kill her. He certainly looked angry enough to. Xylung squatted down next to Raxtull, cupping her chin is his hand and jerked it up to force her to look at him. “Dear little sister, I had looked all over for you. I wasn’t finished showing you what I had learned.”

Xylung stood, at the same time dragging Raxtull to her feet. He drew back his other arm and delivered another hard strike to her chest, knocking her back into the wall. Rolling to one side, to disguise her movement, she reached into her clothing and drew the dagger Harbinger Glosk had given her. Xylung squatted down next to her again, and punched her in the side of her head. “Would I be correct in assuming that you will wait until I am finished before running off again?”

Hand clasping her dagger out of Xylung’s sight, still trembling head to toe from fear and anger at his treatment of her, Raxtull replied, “No, Brother, I think I will no longer be able to enjoy your showing off.” The look of shock on Xylung’s face was priceless as Raxtull brought the dagger around to bury the blade in his throat. He fell back, tore the dagger from his throat and started to crawl towards where Hierophant Granix spends his time, on the bridge over the water. Raxtull picked the blade up from the ground where it lay and deliberately strode after her slowly crawling brother.

“So, Brother, how is it? I believe that since you’ve been kind enough to show me what you have learned, it was time I returned that favor.” Raxtull bent down and sliced the tendons behind Xylung’s knees, forcing him to drag him self along using only his arms. Taking delight in seeing her brother’s struggling, she slices open more wounds on his back. Pushing him onto his back, she kneels on his chest, dagger hovering playfully in his view.

“Now, now, my dear sweet brother. You wouldn’t be thinking of running off before I’m finished, are you? Would be a shame if you didn’t stick around long enough to see all I have to show you. Well… while you still have sight that is.” With that, Raxtull jabbed the blade into his eye, just deep enough not to go into the brain. Xylung started flailing with what little strength he had left, though knowing that his death was at hand.

Raxtull leaned in and whispered, “I will see you again, Brother, and when I do, you will be my slave in un-death. I may not be powerful enough to raise your corpse just yet, but I will study and gain in strength until that day comes. Enjoy your rest while you can.” And with a last stab, the light went out in Xylung’s one remaining eye. Covered in blood, some of it her brother’s, but most of it hers, she puts him in the body bag and commences dragging her brother’s corpse to the Tower of Death.

Clothing clinging to her wounds, and weak from loss of blood and the exertion of dragging her brother’s corpse back to the Tower, Raxtull returned. Zeegarn stepped in to retrieve the bag from her, while Yeegarn began to chant. Both Raxtull and Yeegarn staggered as her wounds closed and similar ones opened on the Nihilist. Yeegarn groaned slightly and motioned for Raxtull to enter to tower. “The Harbinger awaits you. We’ll see to your brother’s corpse.”

Climbing the tower again, still weak from the exertion, but feeling much better after her wounds had been healed, Raxtull came to stand in front of the Harbinger once again. “Strip down, and kneel in the center of the room,” Glosk commanded. He moved to a table and picked up a bucket, bringing it back to stand in front of Raxtull. She saw that it was filled with bloodwater.

“As you had been born before, naked and washed in blood, so shall you be born again.” Glosk began pouring the bucket out over Raxtull, the bloodwater streaming down her body, wet scales glistening in the torchlight. With the bucket empty, he walked back to the table, set down the bucket and picked up a folded bunch of cloth.

He returned to stand in front of Raxtull, holding the cloth out to her. “You have now become one with the Brood of Kotiz. This drape shall be the sign to all Iksar that you walk with the Brood.” She stood and took the drape from him, donning it. She bent down to retrieve her old clothing, picking the dagger out and handing it to the Harbinger. “Keep it, young Broodling. I have many more, and I am sure you will find more use for it. Besides, it probably holds a certain value to you.”

“Master Xydoz shall see to your training, but I will keep track of how you are doing.” With that, Raxtull bowed low before Glosk and left to begin her training.