Alright, here's the surprise I promised few chapters ago. I think this is as good a time as any to release it. Special thanks to j0nn0 and AMP for commenting and to people who have voted no in the previous chapter. The poll is, of course, still open.

This story is dark, gritty and somewhat vulgar. It should give you and idea of how the fic would turn out if I wrote it dark.It is set in Sturmhelm, the country of Scythians. That should give you some idea about the scythians too. Eventually, I hope, this story will tie in to the main story.

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A vengeance unfulfilled I

Felgast stronghold glittered like a gem in the daylight that day. The city walls hung with banners and tapestries, manned by storm troopers that marched haughtily along the ramparts and paraded the golden emblems upon their red armor. They basked in warm ceremonial fires under pillars and pedestals that extended far and wide. The flames crackled jubilantly, tearing firewood and scarring gladstones. Magic worked its way through these, and glyphs spun a golden dazzle in the air, fed by the very gladstones they inhabited. It was a dazzle that caught greedy eyes and blinded honest ones.

People flocked in merriment to the roads and passages that flowed with minstrels and bards, like serpents charmed by pipers. Their eyes dazzled deliriously from the magnificence around them. It was a dazzle that glorified the light and hid the darkness.

These men couldn't notice me in a hundred years, for I was a part of that darkness they ignored and insulted. I was the grime below their feet and the beggar below their knees. I stood in their midst but they would not deign to look upon me. How far the Thaal had fallen that they could not look below themselves.

“And by the mighty blade of Jzeth, forged of the dragon's flames, So dulled the sun lost its might, and Thaal had made acclaim.”

I caught those ironic lyrics with a bitterness, noticing a bard in gaudy cape wink at me as he lowered his cap just to his right. That bastard Krodell always had a way with disguises that made him even more infuriating. I slipped towards him slowly as my muddied boots squelched in disdain, and my dirty, rugged shawl brushed against the throng in tugs and thrusts.

“A coin for the needy,” I asked Krodell in thick, fake accent that reeked of hypocrisy. As my lips parted in a hideous display of hungry teeth that would have sent a grown bear whimpering, I formed the signs of query from my outstretched hand.

“Mercy upon you brother,” Krodell said as he dropped a copper sildem into my hand. “The Legion's here too,” he warned in a faint, cruel whisper, “Don't mess this up boy.” He didn't need to. I was prepared to do my part even if the Emperor himself had come to Felgast.

“The Divine bless you,” I told him and my long fingers formed a sign for agreement. Then I bowed in a sycophancy that beggars often practiced only to receive a kick from someone. “Shoo, shoo, wretch,” a guard said with a snigger as he watched me fall over limply on the road. “This is no place to pester gents.”

“Mercy,” I begged in the same nauseating accent and scurried away from Krodell. I noticed the guard apologize politely to Krodell while Krodell winked with a sickening smile, then voiced a few silent words at me. I knew them without needing to hear him. Clothes make a man.

As I merged once again with the ignorant crowd of Scythians, I pulled my spirit in. It made me seem even more insignificant and dull. Unlike most Scythians who could only augment a single faculty at once, I could simultaneously augment strength, speed and senses, and even limit their effect to a single part of my body. Among those I knew, very few could do so. And even they could not do what I was doing.

Krodell thought I could augment stealth. A dumb guess. I actually reversed augmentation, making myself appear feeble and spiritless to draw away attention. In another life, all this would have made me a great stormtrooper. In this one it made me a rotten assassin. Scum of the world.

I did not mind. I did not live for honor, wealth or prestige. I lived for vengeance. And I would gladly die for it.

I slipped between the stalls and shops until I finally neared the podium. It was a platform raised a dozen feet or so above the ground, with six sets of stairs leading up to it and eight pillars surrounding it. In the center, sculpted out of red stone, stood a pedestal engraved with the symbol of the Stormtroops. A shield with wings and a star within. It was nicked in a corner, where an old blood stain had yet to leave it.

I knew this place better than I knew myself. I knew the number of strides it took to cover it, I knew the number of steps on each stair, I knew the texture of its surface and the smell of its bricks. This was the place where Jzeth Un'Thaal laid the foundation of Felgast. Where every Stormlord took his oath to the Emperor of Sturmhelm. The place where my father died.

In his days, Jzeth had made offerings to the poor here. Now it was decorated with carpets and tapestries. And these ignorant bastards were celebrating another century of Jzeth's majesty at the very place where Jzeth's own had bled.

Soon, I would remind them of that.

I would kill the Stormlord here.

With a guttural bellow of horns that sounded thrice, the earth shook and drums resounded. People raised giddy cheers towards the ostentatious procession that came into view. The stormtroopers marched in attention and filed themselves into solid formations that parted the crowd and corralled it.

“Silence all! Let silence be in honor!” the crier howled from the podium.

Two large Gremorian wyverns came into view, decorated to hide the ugly collars at their necks and marching stiffly on the ground, as if their wings had been clipped. The Stormlord sat atop the second one. Rumor was it that wyverns loved the new Stormlord. I'd certainly see if they loved his corpse more.

“All hail the first above stormtroopers, Stormlord Gromdail Drasden, ruler above wyverns!”

I felt instinctively for my weapons and ran the plan through my head over and over again. My fingers slipped under my patched up tunic and through the cuirass beneath it, till they could touch the blades and needles concealed within. I had an assortment of smuggled dwarven weapons that would have made the border patrol vomit blood. I counted eleven throwing knives, six stilettos and two dirks, along with a halfsword and two dozen needles, each in carefully wrapped sheaths, ready to draw blood.

A map of the city played constantly inside my head, depicting the routes of both the stormtroopers and the city watch. The guild itself had planted some men within the city watch but they couldn't infiltrate the stormtroopers. With reason. All stormtroopers had taken an oath upon the Word. They would never betray. And they were the biggest obstacle here.

Their dreadful stares scanned the crowd methodically. I saw them on the ground ahead and the walls high above, and the watchtowers in between. I breathed calmly, keeping my composure despite it all. I knew where each bow of theirs aimed, where their blades pointed, and where their shields faltered. I had waited a decade and more for this. I would not fail. I could not fail.

At about forty feet from the podium, I stood the closest I could without drawing attention, and kept a keen eye around. The guild's helpers were present at every corner. Krodell was here. So were many of my cronies. They were each a part of the plan. I, was the inevitable conclusion.

“All hail the sons of Jzeth!” the crier roared. I sniggered. The sons of Jzeth did not hide behind stormtroopers, they stood before them.

With another three bellows of the horn, the guests finally ascended the stage.

“Lord Logurd Riftale the Third, honourable Lord over Felgast holds.”

Matching his name, a large, heavy scythian lumbered up with his guards, and claps obeyed his twisted smile. His two dorky sons, Rolseud and Friarborg, followed their own flowery descriptions up the stage to stand beside him. His scheming vixen of a wife Dwena followed in her long, sleazy gown that licked the carpet like a dog's salivating tongue.

“Lord Yorden Ulir, secretary to Lord over Felgast, and Lord over Treasury, honor to his name.”

The pig Yorden walked up in stubby, greedy steps, his fat lumps swinging through his gaudy robes. I wondered how many cuts I'd have to make if I needed to kill him, and if his fat would fetch more prize than his life.

After him was Grisalva, the head of merchants in the city. He owned over half the mills among many other commodities. He had clashed with both Gromdail and Logurd in past by resisting their control. Perhaps more out of pride than honor.

One of these treacherous scumbags had probably commissioned the guild for assassinating the Stormlord, and I could not tell from the look on their slimy faces which one. Nor did I care.

“Hail Gromdail Drasden, sixty fifth Stormlord of Sturmhelm, first above stormtroopers and ruler above wyverns, sworn to the Emperor of Sturmhelm, highest of honor to his name, honored be his name.”

I could barely contain my thirst as Gromdail descended from his seat on one of the wyverns and walked up. There were six personal stormtroopers stationed around him. Even after years, I recognized that blond hair and those muck brown eyes, and that crooked nose. The way he carried himself looked as if the very world should bow to him, prostrate in deification.

Excitement throbbed through my heart in pulses. I would have his life under my blade. I would see his face turn pale and his lips shudder as I reaped him. I would see him whimper as he bled, if only momentarily. I had sworn I would. A scythian never betrayed his word. And no matter how low, I was still a scythian.

“Hail Sinaya Vey Emberdine, second princess of Sturmhelm, the Flower of Iskidra, blessed be her grace.”

I looked as the Empire's princess emerged from her carriage, two Imperial guards on each side, and walked up in precise, faked elegance. Her red hair was braided into three pigtails in old tradition, and a coronet stood upon her pretentious face. The Stormlord offered her help and kissed her gloved hand in a vulgar display of affection. Raucous cheers erupted around me but I kept watching the Stormlord, knowing full well the blush upon the princess's face. That wench would find her prize dead before she found her legs spread.

When everyone had settled down, the ceremony began and Gromdail walked forward. I followed Krodell's signal to step ahead till I was just in range. At this distance, I could throw a knife through Gromdail's forehead, if not for the stormtroopers in between.

“Thaals of Sturmhelm! Today, is an auspicious day,” Gromdail declared loudly. “It is the day when Jzeth Un'Thaal laid the foundation of Felgast. It is the day when he won the Emperor's favor. It is also the day he established the Stormtroops name. But more than that, it is the day where he gave us something he considered most precious.” The Stormlord drew his gilded sword and it sparkled with corrupt gems. He pointed it towards the stony pedestal in the centre. “It is the day he gave us his brotherhood,” he spoke in his deep misleading tone.

I clenched my teeth and gripped a knife. Krodell stilled me with one hand, then pointed a few signals that evoked a response within a crowd. A slight unrest grew to one side and stormtroopers marched in to quieten it. I advanced further, to the edge of the audience now.

“Today we do not stand here as sixty two warring tribes of Thaal. Today we stand here as Un'Thaal,” the Stormlord continued like a demagogue. “We stand as one. As the brotherhood of Thaal. And we won't fall to any might in the world!” He raised his sword high, drawing in cheers and accolades.

I took a step just outside the edge, brushing a stormtrooper who was ready to push me back, and paused as a stone flew at Gromdail. Krodell winked.

“Keep your petty words to yourself,” an old man cried behind me. His stone hit invisible air and faltered. There was a mage here I realized, someone well versed with barrier spells. Not a scythian. Was it the Legion? I had heard it employed humans in good numbers.

“You are no Thaal you rascal,” the old man roared as I dug my eyes across the podium. I re-counted the six stormtroopers around the Stormlord, four Imperial guards for the princess and ten other personal guards among the nobility. Some others were probably hiding behind the podium. But none of them were mages by my knowledge. Where was the mage?

Egrall who commanded the city watch, directed some guards at the old man, and they dragged him to jail while he continued to cry. “Fools, do you not see he is a Vega! Fools!” I knew when I heard it that the old man would not live. He may have been insane in most eyes but he was a threat in others.

Egrall climbed the podium to exchange a few words with the Stormlord. The latter nodded understandingly and Egrall took a position behind the Stormlord now, among the chosen few, with a smile.

The stormtrooper pushed me back and the ceremony continued unheeded. I had lost the first chance. But I had two more.

Servants appeared on the podium, carrying bowls and trays laden with delicacies. Fruits and foods of all kinds. Once in a decade, in fond mockery of Jzeth, the nobility would serve these treats to the poor. It made the nobility magnanimous and left the beggars craving till death, until another decade came with false hopes for new beggars.

I joined the horde of eager vagrants pushing over each other as they tried to rush in like hyenas, only to be restrained by the stormtroopers. I felt the pokes of hilts and boots guiding my route towards the podium, and proceeded hungrily myself. When I could, I glanced and signaled Krodell and others. This was the closest I would get to the Stormlord, and if this failed we would have to resort to drastic violence, which in this case involved hysteria and mass murder.

Krodell signaled back a warning and a choice. I chose to kill. He accepted.

Upon the stage, Yorden the pig picked up a bunch of turgid grapes for all to see and dropped it in a bowl with grandeur. The Stormlord accepted the bowl and plucked a few of those grapes for himself. He would share the rest with beggars in old Jzeth tradition. I held my disgust. Jzeth did not condescend filthy leftovers for the poor. He ate with the poor, among them, in the same earthen plates and bowls.

Grisalva the merchant added some berries to the mix and again, Gromdail ate a few. I would eat my dirty boots before I ate his leftovers. And chew them till the last morsel of their soles.

A few guards moved in the periphery of my vision, bribed ones. I shifted closer to the podium, keeping my eyes on each stormtrooper nearby and still searching for the mage.

Logurd and his dorky spawns proceeded to add oranges and sugary treats to the bowl, and his vixen added a goblet of wine, true to her toxic nature. Gromdail tasted them and extended the bowl towards the princess. The wench eagerly removed her gloves and tried to grab something to add but an Imperial guard caught her hand and shook his head. He picked up a piece of steak and placed it into the bowl in her stead.

Egrall dropped something into the bowl last. I could not notice it, I was too busy looking for gaps to exploit.

His bowl filled, the Stormlord started to descend the stairs towards me. Six stormtroopers were by his side and his servants followed behind with filled trays and bowls. My eyes met his. Both of us smiled, he in satisfaction, I in delight. He descended between disciplined files of stormtroopers that kept the beggars at bay. And I slipped through the chaotic mass of beggars till he was near. So very near.

I breathed giddily, savagely. Both my hands went to my weapons.

“Fire!” A guard cried as a watchtower exploded, then another, and both fell in blazing heaps of rubble around the crowd. That was my signal. I drew my spirit out, augmenting speed. The stormtrooper to my left collapsed before he could let out another word. I killed two more to give the beggars a gap and they wrested full force through it towards the food-laden trays, sending alarm through the stormtroopers.

“File up! Don't let anyone advance!” Someone was screaming orders.

The crowd went from joy to frenzy in a moment as the guards began to fall here and there and the fire caught the stalls in confusion.

I augmented sight and hearing. Spirit surged through my eyes and ears in a buzzing spark and hastened my senses. Logurd's wife screamed for help far away and the princess shouted orders at the Imperial guards. Arrows dove into the horde of beggars that continued to push at the stormtroopers, and swords pilfered their guts. I advanced unaffected.

“Do not falter!” The orders came. The Stormtroopers held and pushed. I knew more were coming. The city guards were done for though, and it took all of Egrall's might to keep a few of them organized.

I felled stormtroopers here and there, but against their numbers I would lose. I was not here to confront an army, I was here to kill its leader. A spark hastened my limbs as I augmented speed further and rushed in a blur through the throng. Behind me, my cronies had joined the fray. Some of the guards rebelled against the stormtroopers, sending a new wave of chaos.

Cries changed to howls of agony and rage. I pushed another beggar at a stormtrooper and finally reached the Stormlord. On his face, I could see the shock of my appearance and it paled his lips as he receded. Two of his six personal stormtroopers came at once, spears pointed my way. I heard the bowmen change their target as they called at my back. I heard the Imperial guards come out in droves to surround the princess while I evaded the spear's thrust and dug a knife into the wielder's neck.

“Keep him down!” “Break him!” They roared.

I augmented every faculty I could, and sprung like a lion into a herd of prey. An arrow went over my bent shoulder as I slipped beneath the next spear. My first stiletto pierced the attacker's knee and I kicked it in, against his augmented muscles, till he groaned and tried to wave his spear my way. By that time I was steps ahead of him, my back facing his. A backhanded blow left my stiletto in his neck before he could turn. And as he fell, I held him up as a shield for the volley of arrows that traced my position.

Then I ran at the still retreating Stormlord, blood-thirst screaming madly inside my brain. I augmented myself further and the next volley of arrows felt slow, desperate. I plucked them like branches out of air and dug them into two other guards that had neared me. With their crumbling bodies as a footstool, I plunged above the next two stormtroopers and dived for the Stormlord. He was even paler now. I smiled but hit the air full force and crashed.

That was a barrier spell. The two stormtroopers behind the Stormlord each held a staff in the air, nasty human mages parading in stormtrooper armor. Were they with the Legion? Before I could slay them, a sword dug my back ruthlessly and I grimaced, pulling myself out and away. The stormtroopers I had passed had gained on me, and surrounded the Stormlord again. They looked at me in a mix of daze and derision.

Blood wet my cuirass and blades, and I dodged the next few thrusts and slashes in caution. “Spineless mongrels,” I snarled. A greater snarl erupted behind my back. One which shook the earth and raised pure horror among the surroundings. With another burst of fire and a deafening roar, the wyverns behind me leapt ferociously into the air.

Helheim had used his last resort. It was do or die now.

Splinters and debris flew madly into the air. And flames fell like rain all around. Curses upon this wretched land. The mages at the back wasted their attention at the wyverns.

I darted full force, taking the brunt of a stormtrooper's shield with my augmented strength and kicked it to launch into the air again. This time however, I fell right behind the mages with a full spin in the air. They hastily raised a spell over their torso and I swept their legs under them.

The first mage fell like a stiff log, while his spell faltered, and found my dagger in his throat before he could find words on his tongue. I parted half his neck in a terrifying spurt of blood and hurled him into the other mage with force. They flew disastrously and ended in a heap of burning rubble. Without their magic, humans were easy to kill. Their augmentation was a pale imitation of ours, and their bodies were weaker.

Louder screams grew into the air. Most of the stormtroopers were now busy with two crazy wyverns that swept up and down through the air, picking up prey wantonly among the chaos. Any who could afford to attend me were still far and their arrows were no longer a threat through the thick cloud of smoke that had begun to form. I smelled the burning flames as they ate through the ugliness around me and tasted blood on my lips. Some bastard had gotten a hit on my face in this confusion, or was it the barrier I hit?

When I faced the Stormlord again, the nobles behind me were shrieking melodiously and the Imperial guards were ready to safely retreat with the princess who was bawling.

“Do you remember me, Gromdail?” I asked in a sneer of my bloody lips.

He was too horrified to form a reply. The two remaining stormtroopers at his side were horrified too.

“I guess you do,” I told him softly as I darted yet again.

Two swords traced slow arcs in the air and I slipped between them, feeling pain course through my wounded back. A slash cut my clothes open and drew blood from my flank. My augmentation was starting to fade. I had pushed it too far. But I had time. I stabbed a stiletto into the left swordsman's shoulder, missing his neck narrowly, and forced him into the other, dragging them both towards the Stormlord in frenzy.

The one at back disengaged swiftly and stepped aside to leave a gap. There I spun, my hands gripping the neck I had missed, and wrenching it broken with a satisfying crack. I let the stormtrooper fall before his brother-in-arms, and dragged my stiletto out in a show of blood.

“My Lord, run!” the last stormtrooper warned the Stormlord bravely and turned to face his death. His shield was raised ahead of the Stormlord but his eyes were dead in surrender. One of the wyverns leapt over us that moment and I dodged while the stormtrooper fell to the claws of fate.

Now it was just me and the Stormlord.

I did not wait. The other stormtroopers would be here very soon.

“My family sends its regards,” I growled bitterly before leaping at him with my halfsword drawn, ready to part his head and hurl it into the crowd. The Stormlord formed words on his lips that I recognized with a leer. He did not run or even defend himself, and an astonishing shower of blood greeted my face immediately. My eyes went blind with red and I stumbled over awkwardly. The augmentation had worn off.

“Get him!” Somebody roared as I wrestled with the Stormlord's corpse. He was dead, without a doubt. I threw his flaccid corpse away, and it rolled over ominously, leaving trail of blood, froth and vomit.

Then I ran madly. My senses went numb. I killed three other stormtroopers before a wayward arrow caught my foot square and bloody. I tottered, unable to purge the bitterness in my gut. I could have escaped maybe. But I didn't have my calm anymore. I was seething and simmering. I was in shock greater than the Stormlord himself.

“Don't let him escape!” “Find him!” They cried. Bastards. Scumbags. Traitors.

A shield bashed me into the ground just as I tried to exit the podium and more stormtroopers rushed at me. I cried and howled and struggled in a daze. It was miserable. Why did he die? Why did they deny me my right? Why not give me a chance at all? I screamed and blabbered, unable to contain the madness anymore. I think I killed another few before they got me.

I was willing to die. To be executed. To be slaughtered. But not like this. Never like this. I had lived my life for vengeance. I had dreamt it. Craved it. Now I was empty like a cracked vessel, leaked out and abandoned.

The Stormlord was dead.

My blade hadn't even nicked his skin.

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Okay, I am going to stress a few things because sometimes people miss them.

1- How far the Thaal had fallen that they could not look below themselves. Quite possibly the most powerful sentence in this story. Think upon it. And give me a cookie.

2- "...like serpents charmed by pipers" Double meaning.

a) people blindly following after songs/attractions

b) if you have read about snakecharmers you will know that the song is distraction, the snakes are deaf and guided by the taps of their foot. Therefore while it might appear that people are following after the song, they are actually dancing to the foots of authorities.

3- "The sons of Jzeth did not hide behind stormtroopers, they stood before them." Double meaning again.

a) the sons of Jzeth are brave leaders that do not hide in fear behind protection

b) the really worthy sons of Jzeth are in the crowd before the stormtroopers not among the nobility behind them.

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How was that?

This is actually good in itself but I plan to write a few more chaps in sequel. Thanks for reading. ^^

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