Cursed

Introduce Curse to =][G][=. Ties into Caledonia's back story.

Vercingetorix opened his eyes.  He felt a sharp pain behind and above his temple.  He tried to put his hand to his temple to rub it away and found that he could not move.  He looked around and found himself on the floor of a rather large stone structure.  The room he was in was cylindrical and rose some 40’ into the darkness of the ceiling above.  He was bound tightly in cloth bandages. 

 

He brought himself up to his knees and looked around.  A large stone box lay about him on the floor, crushed as it was.  He now knelt amongst its broken pieces.  Something had knocked it off the low lying pedestal on which it was sitting, allowing it to be crushed under its own weight.

 

It dawned on him that the box looked a lot like a sarcophagus and a dark reality began to descend upon him.  Looking down at the bandages around him, he came to realize they looked a lot like a burial shroud.

 

Images started to flood his mind.  Unwanted images of the past filled his thoughts which would not be denied.  He shook his head but they refused to relent…

 

 

Caledonia lay on the stone cold floor, her hands clasped and tied behind her back.  Her hair was matted and dirty, not quite the beautiful strands of earthen brown hair she once had. The bruises on her beautiful face told any onlooker that she had been treated less than cordially over the last few weeks in her captivity.  That is, if there was actually anyone around that would pay attention.

 

She looked about the room to which she had been so unceremoniously dragged.  It was a rather sparsely furnished stone chamber, the remainder of the Gulan clan’s stone meeting hall.  The wooden throne which once sat the leader of the clan was long empty.  The decorations that adorned the walls were mostly torn and burnt, stark reminders of the bloody attack that had occurred here some 14 years prior when her captivity began.  The iron torch sconces were mostly torn from the walls, having been used to forge new weapons for the army that was then sweeping across the northern isles.

 

Looking towards the main doors, the sunlight blurred her vision.  The wind was howling outside plainly audible through the partially open portal and holes in the remnants of the thatch roofing.  The massive oaken doors were truly unable to be closed after all of the damage they had suffered and the intervening years of neglect.  Even so, the mighty gusts could do nothing to move the doors.  Where they were normally too heavy for such things, the hinges were also badly rusted over.

 

She knew what lay outside.  Even in her diminished state, she could sense the environs around the building and could feel the gallows that had been built the night before.  She could smell the hemp rope swaying in the breeze.  She had no doubt why her captor had brought her here in the night. 

 

He intended to end her life today and she was no match for him in this state.

 

The sole guard assigned to her stood nearby, a foul, rotting creature that reeked of undeath. The talons on its hands were sickly yellow and covered with dried blood.  This thing had no remorse and its gaze never strayed far from her.  Its master would be fairly unforgiving if it were to fail in its guard duties.  It had been her constant companion for many years now.  As frightening and cruel as it was, she had grown to pity it. 

 

It belonged to a race of long dead creatures from a time before the rise of mankind on this planet.  Its reptilian skin was peeling and putrid, a side effect of the process that brought it back from the grave and gave it the “gift” of undeath.  Although it possessed intelligence in life rivaling the humans that now dominated the planet, much of that had been lost over time and it now reverted back to its more primal nature.  It did not show emotion readily, but the pain it suffered with every breath was evident to the demi-goddess.  It made it hard for her to hate it.

 

She wiggled her hands behind her ever so slightly.  The bonds woven of Unicorn hair were taught.  Their magical nature exerted a constant drain on her strength, basically depriving her of her powers.  Fortunately, they weren’t very painful.  In addition, her captor had wisely kept her out of the sunlight for the most part.  Whether he knew that she drew power from the warmth of the closest star or not was a mystery to her, but the effect had rendered her fairly powerless for the last decade of her imprisonment.

 

Chances were that he did not.  She was at least hoping that was the case.

 

The wind outside the doorway was howling.  The day was blustery and cold, although she was used to the cold now.  The Beast between her and the door shifted.  That was odd.  This thing never so much as stirred a hair.  Something was up today. 

 

The door behind it slammed once as the winds shifted the pressure in the room. She could sense the magic in the air and the presence of men.  Something forced the door closed. Although it startled Cal, the beast seemed to be startled even more, actually turning to face the doorway.  For the first time, Cal could hear noises over the wind outside.  They were familiar sounds.  They were the sounds of battle.  Then she realized what she had felt. Something was approaching the hall and had set off a ward, one that closed the doors. 

 

They were coming to save her.  She had not been forgotten after all.

 

Cal struggled to sit up and looked around.  Normally, such a motion would have caught the attention of her sentry.  Occasionally, it would have produced a swift response that would result in her back on the floor with another trophy bruise on her crown.  This time was different.  The beast paid her no mind.  Its gaze was firmly fixed on the hall’s sealed enterance.

 

Looking around, she saw slivers of light filtering through the broken ceiling throughout the hall.  The wood and thatch roof was worn and decaying.  She carefully and quietly rolled over to lay in one of the streams of light.  Despite the cold wind, it felt warm on her skin.  Looking up, she could see the sun.  She could feel the heat.  She could feel warmth and strength.

 

The beast turned back to look at her.  Seeing her laying back on the floor, it turned once again to face the doorway.  It apparently had no clue that the sliver of sunlight was all she needed to begin recharging.  The sounds of battle drew closer.  She closed her eyes and concentrated on the light, absorbing it.

 

From her vantage on the floor, Cal could sense its agitation.  She focused her energies, pushing everything from her mind.  She could strength returning slightly.  The bands holding her hands drained some of it, but the drain was weak after all these years and only worked if she wasn’t drawing power from the natural world around her at the same time.  When she was first captured, she was weary from the battle and her opponent had used dark magic to keep her sedated while she was slowly drained.  That was not the case now.

 

She rested her head on the cold stone floor.  She could feel her hands heating up.  A spark of energy broke a single hair binding her hands together.  Her captor did not notice.  She concentrated harder.  Another broke.

 

A loud noise heralded the opening of the main doors as they flew open, hitting the clan hall wall with a resounding thud.  Her guard turned to face it as two large men burst into the room, both wielding traditional sverds and round shields.  Blue paint adorned their faces, marking not only the fact that they were warriors but the exact clan to which they belonged.  Both were from different clans.  They charged the beast, screaming primal battle cries. 

 

Cal sat up, facing the door.  She looked up at the hole the roof and whistled.  A skittering on the roof of the building let her know that she wasn’t alone.  Moments later, two small chipmunks poked their heads through the opening.  She whistled a little more to them and they excitedly began pulling thatch and loose wood away from the opening. 

She turned her attention back towards the battle before her as the beam of sunlight grew around her.  In the last few moments, one of the warriors had fallen, impaled by the undead beast before her.  It was very swift.  The other warrior was much younger and had so far evaded its menacing claws, but the beast was a much more accomplished predator and Calcould see it was only a matter of time.

 

She felt the warmth of the sun on her back.  She was nowhere near full strength, but she felt better than she had in years.  She looked up.  Those little rodents were doing a fantastic job. She closed her eyes and focused her energy.  This time, a cluster of unicorn hair broke. 

 

The young warrior placed himself between her and the beast.  “Lady Caledonia, we’ve come to rescue you!”  His thick accent left no room for questions.  She knew his clan.  Honestly, she thought that they had been wiped out.  Fortunately, she was wrong. 

 

The sideways glance and wry smile he gave her nearly cost him his head.  He ducked and rolled out of the way just in time as the beast lunged.  Brining his sverd up, he sliced into its midsection.  Black bile came rushing forth and spewed into his eyes, blinding him.  The backhand it sent at him sent the warrior flying across the floor. 

 

Weakly, she spoke for the first time in years, “It seems you need to save yourself first.”  She was surprised at the rough sound in her own voice and regretted that he allowed himself to be distracted by her.

 

He drew himself up to his feet just in time to block a claw aimed for his throat with his shield. He wasn’t so swift as to block the second and it buried itself into his thigh.  He screamed involuntarily.  The beast that knew no mercy pulled back for the killing blow. 

 

The young warrior opened his eyes to face death and watched as the beast lit up with sparks of light and heat.  Jolts of electricity coursed through its body and it shook uncontrollably.  He took the opportunity and shoved his sverd up through the creature’s skull.  It dropped hard to the floor in a charred mass and he fell to his knees.  Looking up he saw Caledonia walking over to him.  Lightning danced from finger to finger on her right hand.

 

Laying her glowing hand on his thigh, he felt warm energy coursing through him.  “Lady Caledonia, we’re here…”

 

“… to save me, yes, I know.  You said that already.  Now let’s get you out of here.”  Cal could feel her strength returning quickly now yet she was still weak.

 

Helping him to his feet, she glanced down at the fallen warrior who had given his life that she might be free and said a prayer for him.  They limped towards the door and the sunlight outside.

 

 

The images faded and he found himself once again in the darkened room. Although his vision was filled with sunlight, not one sliver of light penetrated the stone roof.  No roots grew down through the clay bricks.  He didn’t even sense moisture.  Whosoever had sealed him away was a master of the art.  He could sense a dampening field of some kind surrounding his chamber, although he was unsure how he could possibly know this.

 

He shook his head again.  His arms were still tightly bound to his body and he couldn’t even hold it. He knew this woman in his visions.  Anger and hatred filled his heart at the thought of her.  He rolled to one side and propped himself up.  Using a jagged stone, he tore at the bindings around his legs to free them.  Moments later, he shakily stood up. 

 

Staggering forth, he found the opening of a tunnel before him.  He entered it, knowing not what he would find.

 

He hadn’t gone but a few steps when the images returned.  He fell into the wall as they overwhelmed his thoughts…

 

 

Vercingetorix looked out over the battlefield before him from astride the Nightmare that was his mount.  The equine’s nostrils flared and thin wisps of smoke rose from the corners of its mouth.  The hellish steed’s skin was jet black and its eyes radiated an unearthly orange hue. It stomped the ground impatiently.

 

“Patience, Necron.”  Vercingetorix patted him on the side heartily.  He was a very large man, cresting seven feet.  On this large horse, easily the size of a Clydesdale, he sat some 14’ in the air, easily capable of surveying his ground troops.  He wore jet black armor with the visages of demons engraved in the metal.  The sword on his back was also jet black and made of a metal not of this world, a gift from Legion.  His helmet was massive, with giant horns sticking out from the sides.  He had acquired them by force, eye teeth from The Maw, a massive demon he had slain in a distant land. Although it covered his eyes, it left the rest of his face open.  He wanted his foes to see the chiseled features and the devilish grin of the man who would shortly take their lives.  Jutting from his back were two gigantic wings resembling those of a bat, again gifts from Legion and his journey through the Hellmouth as a youth.  Each leathery protrusion was pierced several times with rings and jewelry, allowing them to shine brilliantly even on this partially cloudy day.  He did not fly with them often, but was becoming very adept at doing so when necessary.

 

The field of battle was a barren plain, with the sole exception of a rocky outcropping in the distance.  A rather small band of clansmen had made a run on this fortress overnight and were approaching the clan hall at its crest as he watched in the early morning hours.  Their opium laced blue battle paint made them stand out in the throng of combatants.  Although they were outnumbered by his undead legion a hundred to one, they each fought to the death as a true warrior should.  Even so, they were slowly wearing out.  It was only a matter of time. 

 

He had to admire them.  There were few warriors left in the isles.  For even these few clans to band together like this must mean that they had a spark of hope left.  He could only surmise that they were trying to retrieve Caledonia.  He had hoped this would happen.  The trap was sprung and closing.  They would die with their wretched witch.

 

He smiled.  The thought of the day that he had trapped the crone was a pleasant memory. She had proven to be the only challenge he had faced in this land.  Her fall marked the beginning of his empire.  He knew she drew power from the natural world around her.  The plants and fauna gave her energy.  He had imprisoned her in a dungeon of stone.  He had even removed the sight of the land from her.  He had carved glyphs of magic in the walls to even force the dirt away from the cell.  Binding her in the hair of a unicorn, he had slowly sapped her energy over time, rendering her harmless.  Now, just a withered crone, she wouldn’t prove to be the savior these fools think she is.

 

He had announced it far and wide that she would be executed today in hopes of drawing out the last remaining warriors.  Once they attacked, some 70 or 80 in all, he brought forth is own army and surrounded them.  Thousands of gibbering undead had clawed their way up through the earth to surround them in the remains of the Gulan clan village.  Trapped as they were on the plain, there was nowhere to run or hide.  Today, the isles would be his. Tomorrow, he would begin stretching out over the rest of the known world.  Nothing would stand in his way.

 

He spurred his mount into action.  With each trod of its hooves, sparks erupted on the ground as if the living earth rebelled at the steed’s presence.  Leaving scorched prints marking its path, it accelerated into battle. The soil it touched would never spring forth life again.

 

As he charged by the first warrior, his wicked sword, forged in the Hellmouth itself, left its scabbard and in one fell swoop the man fell to the ground, headless. 

 

He let forth a battle cry that curdled the blood of those men remaining.  Today would be good indeed.

 

 

Vercingetorix brought his mind back to reality and shook the cobwebs from his head.  It wasn’t really a metaphor in his case seeing as he had been trapped in the throes of undeath for over 5 millennia. Once again, he had no idea how he knew that.

 

He continued to stumble forward in the darkness of the tomb, unsure where he was.  He was still too disoriented to get his bearings.  He managed to free one arm from the dry bandages that bound him, then the other.  Putting one against the wall, he surveyed the hallway in which he found himself. 

 

His hand brushed up against something sharp.  Pulling it from the cubby in the wall in which it rested, he felt the curvature of the battle helmet he once wore.  The horns were still sharp.

 

Putting his hand to his head, he attempted to push back the images that were flooding his mind.  He needed to focus on the now, not the past.  It was a fruitless attempt to stop the inevitable flood of memory and vision…

 

 

The scene shifted.  It was now much earlier in his life.  He was nothing more than a youth when he saw the Hellmouth open for the first time. 

 

He was in a small hamlet at the time, his family’s home, when it happened.  It was winter and a thick layer of snow covered the ground.  The few areas not covered were iced over. 

 

He sat on a small log on what was normally their lake.  Using a crude fishing pole, he was attempting to coax dinner out of a hole in the ice.  So far, he’d had some success. 

 

To his amazement, three men rode by on horseback.  They paid him no mind as they passed.  Two were wearing fur baldrics, large men from the north.  They looked rugged and had the scars of battle.  On their backs were massive battle axes made of metal.  They too, showed the signs of use.  There were most likely mercenaries, bandits for hire.

 

As menacing as they were, he was afraid of the small man they flanked even more.  Garbed in black, he radiated a sense of despair and longing.  Vercingetorix grabbed his fishing pole and ran towards the woods.  Planting himself behind a beaver hovel covered heavily in snow, he watched as they dismounted.  They had taken a particular interest in the obelisk of obsidian that had marked the boundary of the hamlet as far back as anyone could remember.

 

Nobody knew where it came from or what the symbols on it meant.  A few men had attempted to chip pieces from time to time with no effect.  It seemed impervious to even the iron battle axe his father used.  Everyone pretty much ignored it.  That was not the case with this man.

 

He strode up to it with his arms outstretched, speaking in a foreign tongue.  The strange stone began to glow an unearthly color Mother Nature never intended.  The glyphs on it burned a fiery red and blue.

 

Vercingetorix looked on in horror and awe, unable to pull himself from the scene.  A swirling mass of tendrils erupted from the sides and rose into the air in the shape of a “U”. Between them, the air began to shift like it often does on a hot summer day, but this time an image formed in the center of fire and death.  Heat erupted from it and the three men covered their faces.

 

Then the most frightening thing he could imagine put a foot through the doorway.  It was large, very large and had massive talons on each of its three toes.  A claw came through and grabbed the side of the doorway.  Then a large mouth filled with rows of razor sharp teeth jutted out.  It reminded him of the horror stories his parents would tell him as a very young child to get him to obey.  It was a creature of darkness.  He was paralyzed.

 

“Slave… the doorway is open.  I have freed you!”  The smaller man held up a wicked talisman into the air, as if it had power over the beast.  He apparently had no fear of it, or was unwilling to show it.  “You will do my bidding!”

 

The eyeless creature turned its toothy head towards the three men.  The two larger men drew their axes and took a step back.  It hissed, “I need something before you issue your first command.”

 

The three men looked at each other.  With hesitation, the smaller man asked, “what could you possibly need?”

 

“A sacrifice…”  His answer sent chills down Vercingetorix’ spine and before he could take another breath, the demon was upon the three men, rending them asunder.  The battle was quick and one sided.  The snow ran red with blood.

 

It then turned, its jaw dripping in the fresh red fluid, and pointed at the young boy.  “Come here youth.”

 

Vercingetorix was frozen in place.  He tried to run but his legs were made of little more than wet twine.  He couldn’t stop shaking like a leaf in the wind as the creature extended a claw towards him, palm up.  “You rightfully fear me, yet I have a gift for you.  You will take pleasure in it.  I am about to bestow you with power.”   It manipulated its claws and smoke rose from its palm.  A helmet materialized from the ether.  It was made of a shiny black metal and was mesmerizing.  The youth had an instant desire to possess it.

 

He knew it to be a lie.  He knew it was a trick.  He also knew he was about to die no matter what he chose. Vercingetorix girded himself and pulled the small stone scaling knife from his side.  It would be no use against this beast, but he would die a man so as to make his father proud if that is what it took.  What would his father think, him being afraid of a beast such as this?  He stood up, fishing pole in hand, and stepped forth.  He would meet his death with honor.

 

 

Curse hit the floor hard.  The vision had overwhelmed him.  The floor had graciously brought him back to this bleak reality.  Anger swelled up in him.  His dead eyes glowed a deep purple as he flexed his muscles.  In one motion, he tore the wrappings around his torso and freed his arms. 

 

He reached back and ripped them from his back and flexed.  His wings, once frightening and unearthly, stretched to his sides.  In his prime, the simple sight of them would cause men to tremble and fall to their knees. 

 

He felt strange.  Something was amiss.  He pulled one wing in front of him and felt it.  Concentrating, he focused his vision and saw to his own horror the reality to which he had become.  His once beautiful wings were now nothing more than skeletal remains.  He examined his hands and found that they too were desiccated and rotten, little more than claws.  Trembling, he tentatively touched his face. 

 

The primal scream he let forth was like nothing on this Earth.  He rushed forward and saw what appeared to be a door, barred from the inside.  Hitting it hard with his shoulder, he felt the stone crack.  Dust settled from the ceiling.  Still enraged, he hit it again and again.  More dust and rocks fell on him.

 

Finally, he reared back and kicked it with all his might.  Although the door did not come apart, the ceiling over his head did.  Tons of rock, dirt and soil came down upon him, crushing him under its weight. 

 

A vision came to him at that moment.  He closed his eyes as the earth pressed down on him…

 

 

 

The youth opened his eyes.  He found himself on a hill overlooking his village.  The serene scene below him gave his heart no warmth.   His uncle was hauling in cut logs for the hearth and his sister was churning butter under the awning of their hut.  Several of his friends and family were moving about the small village, oblivious to the fate about to befall them.  Legion moved up beside him and a slew of other, smaller demons gathered around him.

 

His small scaling knife had been replaced by a black sword.  Light as a feather, it was engraved with glyphs and wards he could not begin to understand.  He knew that it was as destructive as it was beautiful and meant for one purpose.  He was no longer a small child, but rather a very large man.  Legion had pulled him through the Hellmouth and bestowed him with power he could feel coursing through his new body.

 

“You know what must be done my warrior…”  Legion’s words were hypnotic.  The youth was solidly under his spell as he descended the hill, sword raised, with an army of demons at his back.

 

His life ended that day.

 

His glory began that day.

 

 

The ground near Stonehenge had been undisturbed for ages.  A prehistoric monument located in the English county of Wiltshire, about 2.0 miles west of Amesbury and 8 miles north of Salisbury, it is one of the most famous, and ancient, sites in the world.  Composed of a circular setting of largestanding stones set within earthworks, it is at the centre of the most dense complex of Neolithic andBronze Age monuments in England, including several hundred burial mounds.

 

Today was a cold, lonely day.  Normally, Stonhenge was abuzz with tourists and visitors. Fortunately for them, the Crown had decided that it was time for some renovation.  Equipment was laid around the site whose sole purpose was to eradicate a fungus that had begun popping up in the last year on the stones.  Left unchecked, it could pose a long term risk to the monument that was unacceptable.

 

The site dates back to somewhere around 3,500 BC, long before written records existed of its purpose or use.  It was surrounded by hundreds of burial mounds and tombs, some of which had yet to be discovered by modern archeologists.

 

It was from one of these tombs that the earth began to stir.  At first, it was a small movement, and then a larger one as the dirt shifted.  Finally, and with a violent burst of rock and soil, a demonic claw burst from the ground.  Finding an anchor on the ground, Vercingetorix pulled himself up from his grave, screaming to the heavens as he did.

 

He pulled himself out, lying on the earth with his calves and feet still in the hole.  As he stared up at the cloudy sky above, a final vision overtook him.

 

 

How could he have let it get to this?  How could he have possibly been defeated?  He was promised glory!  He was promised destiny!

 

Vercingetorix knelt on the floor of Stonehenge, head held up in defiance as he stared into the eyes of the tribal elders.  His hands and feet were bound in a heavy rope and his wings were tied to his back with the same.  Ironically, the rope was interwoven with unicorn hair.  He found no amusement in the irony.

 

“Vercingetorix, your war is at an end.  Your army is defeated.  You will now pay for your crime.”  The chief elder of the clansmen before him was an old man, easily in his 50s. Thanks to the war, there were few men other than the very young and the very old.  That brought a smile to Vercingetorix’ lips.

 

With that signature devilish grin, Vercingetorix looked him defiantly in the eyes, “Feel free to try and kill me.  You will find it very difficult!”  His smugness was obvious to all.  They wouldn’t hold him long.  He would see to that and they would all perish as he rose again.

 

Caledonia stepped around a large pillar, radiant in her full power.  Vercingetorix took one look and sneered at her.  “I should have ended your wretched life when I had the chance, witch!”  Her presence complicated things, but not much.

 

“Then I’m very thankful that you did not.”  Caledonia was of medium build, with flowing brown hair.  Her garment consisted of a long green dress, shimmering in the evening light.  She stepped in front of the tribal elders and showed no fear.  It’s the one thing that Vercingetorix hated the most about her, the fact that even after all those years in captivity, he couldn’t make her fear him.  She had suffered torture and insufferable agony at his hands, but never did more than pity him.  It’s probably the reason he kept her alive, he thought to himself.  He wanted to break her and she would not be broken.

 

“And what do you think you are going to do?  You don’t have it in you to take my life.  I know you.”  Vercingetorix had beads of sweat running down his forehead.  Of all of the people here, she was most responsible for his capture and the destruction of his army.  His trap had failed the moment she emerged from the hall.  The witch had spirited away the remaining warriors and within a month they had raised an army to confront him.  Never before had every single human clan joined forces for one goal.  When they did, she had summoned a legion of earthly elementals to battle at their side.  He envied her in a sick way.

 

She drew closer to him and raised her hands.  “For the death you have brought on these people, for the lives you have taken, for the evil you have done, I declare you a curse on this land.”  She waived her hands over his head.  They began to glow and he felt dizzy.

 

“For the souls you have fed to demons, for the fallen warriors you forced to fight in your army, for the women who yet mourn the fallen, I declare you a curse on this land.”  Her hands glowed brightly now.  He could feel a tingling sensation in his limbs.  His strength was leaving him.

 

She leaned over and kissed his forehead.  “Killing you would just free up the demon to give the power you have to another.  I am stopping the cycle.  I give you no more than you gave others and you will not die.”

He tried to lash out at her, but even his words were slurred.  His eyes rolled back and his head hit the hard ground.  All went dark.

 

 

He stood up.  He was Vercingetorix no longer.  He was not human.  He was just a curse.  The promises of Legion had not been fulfilled.  He did not know where or when he was, but he did have one burning desire in his heart.  One primal instinct was tearing at him as if he were merely a puppet on a string.

 

Looking up to the sky, he outstretched his arms and screamed “Caledonia, I will find you!  There is nowhere you can hide!”

 

 

Below Curse, in the hole that he dug with his own hands to free himself from his own grave; a sinister laugh might have been heard from an eyeless beast with rows of sharp teeth.  A nightmare made flesh.  Legion was patient.  Very patient. 

 

So easy to manipulate these mortals were.  So easy…