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Snippet #2420520

located in Pelobus, a part of Isles of the Black Sand, one of the many universes on RPG.




Characters Present

Character Portrait: General Eckhart Character Portrait: Lord Gammon Character Portrait: Rek
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Eckhart felt sick, as he usually did when entering the castle. As loyal as he was to the Lord of the Black Sands, something dark crawled and writhed about inside him whenever he was in the man's presence. Not that Eckhart was a perfect or even moral man under any definitions, but Gammon, the Demon Lord, took being "evil" to extremes that made even the most heartless and bloodthirsty men cringe. Inside, the castle's floor and walls were a dense black material that seemed to absorb the lighting from the braziers positioned every few feet in the hallways and took every inch of heat from within the walls as well. Stifling a shiver, his metal bound boots made heavy clinking sounds on the polished obsidian as he sauntered with more confidence than he felt, deeper into the fortress.

Arriving to his Lord's chambers and after a few solid knocks, he was finally admitted into the evil man's presence. Eckhart was a tall man, solidly built, towering over the other man in a physical sense, yet Gammon's whole demeanor and aura of authority was enough to dwarf the general. The room had one lone torch within, and as large as it was, the blackness of the decor still swallowed every inch of the light that was not necessary; details were a frivolous thing not entertained by this Lord. Still, from what he could see, the walls were sparsely decorated and a humungous bed dominated the right side of the room, banisters holding up dark, purple and blood red velvet curtains - both colors almost black in their darkened tones. A tall window sat on the left wall, with the Lord standing before it looking out at the desolate and storm cloud shadowed land beyond. It was noon when he arrived, which made Eckhart swallow thickly to realize how much darker this place would get at nighttime; a blackness so deep, it probably warped a man's sense of existence.

Turning around to greet him, eyes black as ink with red irises turned amber in the dim lighting, the Demon Lord gave him a large, illustrious smile. "General Eckhart! How good of you to answer my summons! I have a new assignment for you but before we get to the nitty gritty, how goes the war?" he spoke with the echoes of several voices speaking at once, some deep and graveled in tone and others high and womanly, all of them blending together in a monstrous harmony.

Madness filled that grin as he stared at the general fiendishly, his youthful features, well groomed with golden eyeshadow and dark eyeliner making him look almost feminine, if not for the heavy brow-ridge and large nose that dominated his face. The velvet cloak he wore draped over him, all the way to the ground, shoulders topped with spikes and large feathers, and elegant, manly hands emerging from the sleeves with long, pointed nails on each finger. His exposed stomach and chest were slender yet muscled, a thin trail of dark hair dusting above his groin, disappearing beneath his trousers, and a golden ring put through his right nipple glistened in the available light. The entire package was alluring, tempting and sensual and yet at the same time made him feel sick with fear and shame.

Without missing a beat during his quiet inspection, he answered, his deep voice, normally making other men seem girlish in comparison now seemed unnatural and bizarre when compared to the Demon's multiple voices. "We have overtaken the Gillians and the Welks and have squashed all rebellions in their territories. Our forces are moving steadily north and we should reach the capital by the Tide months, as planned, my Lord."

Stalking forward, like a large and dangerous cat, the Lord made his way closer to Eckhart, now standing merely a foot or two away, his closeness only increasing the level of intimidation and seduction radiating from his being. Looking up at the general with a wicked grin, the voices echoing from Gammon's throat asked, "And the recruits?"

There was absolute delight in his master's anticipation of this response and it was another thing that filled Eckhart with an eerie chill and made his stomach revolt in disgust. Gammon didn't use regular soldiers, instead, he infected the strongest and most able-bodied men in the newly conquered territories with his blood, turning them into shadow-monsters that never died. Gammon had difficulty trusting people and preferred to take the entire choice away from those who might abuse his generosity in letting them live. Thankfully, those who lived in the Black Sand Isles, having already declared allegiance to their Lord for several years, were absolved from this paranoid distrust. Still, the human forces on their side were dwindling as the battles raged on, and their warriors died, until Eckhart found himself mostly shouting orders to undead shadows rather than real men.

Keeping in a sigh of discontentment, Eckhart said, "We have added 60,000 more Shades to our numbers."

Gammon stuck his tongue out and bit it, smiling gleefully in triumph. With him being this close, Eckhart could now see that the Demon Lord's tongue was forked and all of his teeth were sharpened like a garwolf's. "And the Gillians are tall too," he said in approval, walking over to a dark, blackish red cabinet and pouring himself a glass of a thick, sickly green liquid and taking a tender sip. "It'll be a great advantage to add that height to our forces. Now, about why I called you here..." Walking back over to Eckhart, with glass in hand, his demeanor changed to become more hungered than before as he spoke of his new desire, the tones of his voices sounding eerie as his voice lowered. "I'm rather lonely, in this castle by myself with nobody except Shades to play with. Since I'm going to be ruling the whole world soon, I've been thinking a lot about my future. About producing progeny. Actual brood." As opposed to the shadow-clones he turned other men into and disgustingly called his "children". "Since you're right on the frontlines of newly conquered lands, I figured you were in the best position for this task."


"I want you to find me a bride," the deeper echoes of his voices sounded louder than the rest as he spoke this sentence, his red eyes seeming to flare bright as freshly shed blood. "The perfect companion for your Lord. Can you do that for me, Eckhart?"

There was the sense of being admitted into his Lord's confidence, as if a lot of trust weighed on him being awarded this task and he felt honored to be chosen for it. He couldn't help it, despite the rabid, bloodthirsty light in his master's eyes. "Absolutely, my Lord. I will find only the best."

"Good." And just as simple as that, the moment was over. Gammon turned away, striding back towards the window and drinking thoughtfully from his glass, casting Eckhart out of mind, simply confident that the man would perform as expected. "Then you are dismissed. Keep moving north and continue on as planned. We will launch the attack on the capital city of those pathetic sunshine people on the eclipse during Tide Month. The frilly bastards won't know what hit them." He let out a mean chuckle, his forked tongue sticking out in excitement as he laughed at the landscape outside his window, no doubt imagining the whole world corrupted and twisted in his image.

Taking that as his cue to leave, Eckhart murmured stout agreement - love of war and bloodshed; it was one of the things he would always admire and agree with his Lord about - and turned to head for the door. As he turned the handle and opened it, the echoed voices addressed him once more and he glanced back. "Oh, and Eckhart?" Gammon purred, looking at him from over a shoulder. "Remember: I like them young."

With a shudder he couldn't contain, Eckhart nodded his assent and left the room, trying his best not to run sprinting for the castle gates like a little boy scared by the dark.


The sun shone high in the sky, seagulls looping and swaying overhead, like ghosts over the field of water. The massive ship rocked with the motions of the waves but by now, on the very last leg of his journey and nearly to the port which he could see in the distance, Rek had gotten used to the movement, his body automatically adjusting to the sway. The air smelt crisp and fresh, tinted with saltiness and now with other, more human smells as the harbor drew nearer. 3 months on the seas and he'd been ready to get off, bored by the endless ocean and suffocated by occupying the same spaces as the other soldiers who rode this vessel. But now as land came into view, he realized he wasn't ready for it. Fighting wars over the ocean in the lands to the west and now they were coming to more lands wrapped tightly in conflict. Against his will, his blood began to pound heavily, excited for more combat, even though he was growing wistful for the months of quiet mornings, sweat stink and drunken sea shanties.

Another warm breeze came flowing over the railing where he stood, watching the ship's progress, blowing the loose strands of hair from his face. Most of his dirty blonde hair was tied back in a tail at the nape of his neck, but a few small portions of it were teased free by the ocean winds. Small, blue eyes always filled with a stern look, squinted in the sun, a serious frown on his lips, surrounded by a halo of facial hair that covered his chin and upper lip. At 30, he was at his prime, still attractive, although he never though of anything except war now, with a couple scars here and there that spoke of the many battles he'd been in. With broad shoulders and average height, Rek didn't look like much, but when he pulled out his axe, then it became a different story. In some countries, his nickname was "Death Angel" - "angel" for his fairer hair and good looks and "death" for the trail of slaughter he left behind everywhere he went. In other places, they called him "Mad Angel" for the madness that sometimes took over him during battle, his fear nonexistent, turning him and his blade into an unstoppable force rather than a man of flesh and blood. Either way, he had a reputation for spilling blood and not only was it something he was good at, but if Rek was honest with himself, it was something he enjoyed as well.

"I hear they're not men but demons made of pure shadow." A small group of soldiers was slowly walking towards him and he caught the end of one of the men's statements as they drew nearer. Rek rolled his eyes as this superstitious nonsense was brought up again. For 3 months, he'd had to deal with these rumors swelling like rotted meat in the sun, just blistering and getting more ridiculous by the day. "Swords swipe through them like cutting into empty air and they disintegrate when struck, only to form again in another place and keep on charging."

"And every state conquered adds another hundred thousand to their ranks."

Rek couldn't take it anymore and without turning spoke loud enough to be heard. "Bullshit. If you believe that, then it's time to let go of your mother's apron strings and actually learn to walk in the big world, boy." The man he addressed was a burly soldier, more muscle than fat but wide of girth, with his balding crown shining in the sun.

"You don't believe the stories then? It's all we hear from the men coming across the ocean. They say the army of the Black Sands is indestructible." One of the younger men spoke up and Rek had the urge to pinch the lad's cheeks for being so naive and stupid.

"Well, that's unfortunate, eh? If the battle is already lost and we're on our way to join the opposing side, then you might as well throw your weapons down now. It's not like you've ever used them before anyway."

The older man wasn't pleased by Rek's doubts and pointed a defensive finger at him. "You calling me a liar? One of my cousins saw them with his own eyes and I believe 'im! They're not human, I tell you!"

"Right," Rek said with a shake of his head. "Will you be joining the Shade Army right away, then?" The ship had docked already and they were lowering the plank, so he was ready to get off, plenty bored with this conversation and the other men's defensiveness. "Human or not, even shadows bleed. Good day, gents." He gave them a fearless smirk and sauntered away, spitting into the water as his feet touched the boardwalk.

The dock was full of activity, other ships lined up along the waterway and men busy loading and unloading goods, the air thick with smells and sounds, filling Rek's head with noise and dusting his tongue with an acrid taste. With his large battleaxe against his back and his pack under his left arm, Rek chose a direction and began walking, going in search for good food and a place to stay for the night before he headed out to join the nearest military effort. He'd see for himself these demon creatures they all said were conquering the East and then he'd cleave them with his axe until all the boogeymen were nothing but meaningless bumps in the night.