One Moo'r Plow

Book 1: Chapter 46: IV

The dreams of death were the sweetest Ishila had ever tasted. She skimmed along its calm surface, enthralled by the song of those silent depths below. Far-off melodies that promised peace eternal called her further down, even as she left the light behind.

Calm. Still. Quiet.

An expanse of gentle darkness bubbled soundlessly around here, a beautiful song sounding from further down. She hung here now, all the worlds weight lifted from tired shoulders. Slumbered within their cool embrace.

There existed no feeling here, only calm. Only contentment. Surrounded by oceans blue, she drifted along just beneath the surface, following that silent song.

Water was shorn apart as chaos descended. Black dread steel grasped her neck and ripped her back to the surface.

Ishila felt blood within her mouth as Valencia slapped her again. Roars, howls and worse sounded through the stone corridors, followed by the rank stench of rot and ichor.

Open your eyes, greenskin. The dreadknight snarled. I will have my dues before the void takes you.

She was back in the dungeon. Deep inside its stone guts. Dragged by a woman who despised her. Her mind a hazy fog, Ishila fought to keep her own eyes open. There was blood everywhere. The wounds that were supposed to have healed seemed barely contained, about to split open once more. A scream longed to rip itself free, but her throat refused to work.

She vaguely lolled her head as Valencia straightened, dipped under a striking claw and splattered the monster across the rock wall. The dreadknight reeked of desolation and malice, cold hatred focused on anything that dared bar her way.

Things that vaguely resembled corpses decorated the dark corridor around them, torn asunder by the sheer force of the Dreadknights savagery. Ishila could not bring herself to summon emotion as she watch a black-clad fist close over a horrors head. It was shaped into resemblance of a crushed grape a heartbeat later.

What remained of the corpse slumped forward and sent up dust

On some level, Ishila realized that the true monster here stood before her now. Evidence lay all around her in the broken and torn bodies of the very horrors that had pursued her mere moments before. There had been an ambush, she was certain of. Spikes from the walls, horrors that emerged from all sides.

Valencia had simply not cared. There had been contemptous laugh upon her throat as she ground them down to heaps of skin and bone, ripped ancient nightmares limb from limb.

Now, this fiend above Ishila, her very presence able to pierce the veil of apathy that draped across the orc.

Stay awake, girl.

Nary another word was given before Ishila found herself slung over the other womans shoulder once more.

Vague blinks were all she could muster as the blackguard carried her through pitch-dark corridors. The elfs spell had run dry, and now the darkness grew deep around them. They descended downwards, deeper into this hellscape. There were bodies here now. Old ones. Bounced along like a rag doll upon Valencias back, Ishila could only just make out vague shapes as the woman strode overtop them. But the smell showed what sight failed to see.

The orc faintly registered ichor and decay as she was carried along, the scent almost suffocating in intensity. They were not headed back the way she had come, back to the light above, but down another path. One that Valencia seemed to know well.

Here was silence, now. If she had the energy to think, Ishila might have wondered why. But for now, she let herself be carried through corridors of carnage. Even at her full strength, she knew that trying to oppose the blackguard would have been the image of futility.

Stone corridors faded abruptly as she was carried through a blasted section of wall, up dirt tunnels and then wrenched across Valencias back. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a pinprick of light in the distance, only to lose it once more as the dreadknight began to climb.

Consciousness faded, then was torn back to life a steel fist slapped her awkwardly.

Fight, greenskin. The woman snarled. Surely you can do the one thing your kind adores.

Ishila watched the ascent through a thin haze, barely able to see the ladder being climbed. It took so, so long before they emerged inside rounded stone walls, barrels and weapons stacked all around them. She blinked blearily as Valencia carried her to a table and then felt pain inside as her body was deposited upon its surface.

Upwards she stared, eyes blank as the dreadknight circled and sniffed the air. She leaned over Ishila and jabbed one clawed finger into the massive gash upon her front. Steel dug through the scab, ripped it away and felt at the clear liquid beneath.

I expected some sort of intelligence from a half-elf. She snorted and tore the partially healed skin away. Ishilas eyes widened in pain and another scream died before it could be born. You continue to quash even those meager expectations.

Fleshknitters were the worst thing you could have consumed. She spoke in a conversational tone even as her steel claws raked along the wounds open flesh. These mongrels were made with these potions in mind. This recipe, this alchemy, has existed since your kind was young upon this world, halfbreed. Did none of you ever think, in all your arrogance, there would be one who could turn it against you?

She spoke on as Ishila lay twitching, her claws prying open every wound barely sealed.

Quickly, and efficiently, Ishila found her armor stripped off, and she lay oozing clear fluid atop the wooden slab, unable to move as Valencia circled.

Even if you kill them, their intent is to ensure your demise. Heed this lesson, little girl. She bared her teeth and tore open another wound. There a flaws in these potions. And where there are imperfections, there will be those like me to wrench them wipe open.

You cant feel anything. She stated. A small mercy as it melts your insides. The venom paralyzes. Slowly at first. You expand energy, but are unable to gain any back. It is a testament to how fucking resilient you greenbacks are that you even have the strength to breathe.

It kills you. Slowly. Gently. A death, one handspan at a time. Unforseen. Unforgiving. She sounded almost..approving.

Heat approached from on high as Valencias stripped away her guantlet and brought her hand near to Ishilas gaping wounds. The flesh seared, the clear venom being burned away as a sun formed in the dreadknights hand.

Until finally, mercifully, Ishila could scream. She emptied her lungs of air as the woman knit her flesh back together and dried the fluid through sheer, focused heat.

Then the smallest wound was closed and the blackguard moved on to larger ones.

She could not tell if the dreadknight jammed a strip of leather between her teeth out of disgust or pity. Nor did she care. Teeth clench and eyes bulged as Valencia set about her work, brutally mending the orcs broken body.

A haze, a blur of agony was all she could remember. Gently being flipped and roughly sewn up were motions she registered through the mind-shattering sensation of pain. She discovered new depths of agony, found things about herself she did not know existed.

And then it was over, and the cold returned once more. She found her head forced up, drink poured down her mouth. Some foul concoction. And then came deep, dark sleep. Filled with restless nightmares and the faces of those she had seen killed.

Not for long. She woke and struggled, only for Valencia to force her back into the nightmares once more.

Sleep or your body will kill itself before I have the chance to. Came the command.

Ishila obeyed.

She awoke. Stone. Cold. Alone.

A thin sheet draped over her.

In so much pain.

Effort beyond anything she had ever expanded was needed to sit upright and groan, head held in her hands.

The sound summoned dread. Physically. The aura washed over her as Valencia stepped through a doorway. Tall, pale and terrifying. Whatever fear Ishila held for her before was now only exacerbated by what she had seen her do.

Monstress. She croaked. Almost a greeting.

That I am. Came the wicked smile in return. You live because of I.

Where? Ishila grunted, barely able to see.

A tower in the middle of nowhere. Came the reply.

How? Why. She couldnt form more than short bursts of speech. Too tired.

Too many questions, greenback. The other woman smiled, a sight that stirred no joy in Ishila.

Tell me everything. How you fools found the dungeon. How you woke it. Not a query, a demand. For a second, she was hesitant. But if not for Valenica, she would be a corpse inside a stone tomb right now. She owed her this much.

Slowly, painfully, she recounted all that she could remember. Valencia sat in silence, a still specter of gloom in the otherwise lit room.

And none of this surprises me. The woman intoned once Ishila fell silent. She was leaned backwards on a throne of piled chests, her arms draped over the sides.

Tiefling foolishness, Dwarven greed and Elven lack of near-term consequences. And you. When have orcs ever done anything but heap their platters high with death and destruction.

And the humans with us? Ishila tossed back, her face in a half-snarl.

Fools and corpses. Valencia shrugged. Their reward for trusting one of you. Bad as the orc within you, the elven half of you is perhaps even worse.

Close enough to human to fool those who would grant you some leeway, but never one of us. They hide it. Bury it. But there are those of us that know where the dungeons come from. Those who know the truth, though they hide it, lest one of the sunwood assassins visits their homes in the wee hours before the dawn.

They say I am a monster because I reject those who are not of my kind. She smiled thin and filled with malice. But they never ask why. You have glimpsed the evil your forbearers wrought, though you know it not. They were the Gods mistake, and the world has paid for it ever since.

She rose now, her presence an unbearable pressure on Ishila.

The others are dead. The dwarf has fled, and only a fool would touch him and risk their name being writ in the Book of Grudges. Only you remain. I could snuff the candle here, let the blame for this be placed on you all.

Tense and thick was the silence that spread now, only broken as ishila flexed the fingers of her guantlets.

Would seem like a cruel joke, to die here. Im sure the Gods Above will approve.

She loomed above the orc, a towering presence clad in blackest armor, strength beyond reason within her limbs. She reached out and grasped Ishilas throat.

You will not die this day. Not at my hands. Valencia tilted her head from side to side, as if examining a piece of meat.

I will ride you home, instead. Remember this mercy, orc. It will not soon be extended again.

She left her then, and Ishila fell backwards, exhausted. Hooves soon came outside, then rode away again. Once more, she was draped over and armored shoulder, then slid into a saddle as the light began to fade from the sky. There were no roads here as they trotted along, her tired arms wrapped around Valencias black form.

The sun sank, and moonlight began to rise before she finally recognized some of the scenery. They were near Gareks farm. And before she could blink, they were riding across the road, past the crops she recognized so well, towards a figure that stood in the darkness, a lantern held high.