Fiction:Tales of Champions/Adamantine Age

Ahmalhrich: Conquering the Witch
"Many people have claimed that it was me and my blade that tamed the storms of dark, feral magic that had terrorized the land. Little do they know that heart and spirit craft a much more potent weapon than any smith will ever grant you."

Date: Around 6,000 BNA

Bones clattered to the floor, marrow spilling from their insides as the skeletal figures were cut down with precise efficiency, their rusted and enchanted armour unable to sustain the brunt of the man's colossal blade. They had made the mistake of attempting to challenge the human primarch within the confines of one of the lengthly, extensive corridors that were mapped across the castle's elven architecture. While dimly lit and largely obscured with darkness, most of which happened to have been generated through the use of enchantments, Ahmalhrich had seen and heard the skeleton warriors coming from both his front and rear - they did not stand a chance. The human warrior had invaded somewhere none ever thought about ever approaching, the lair of the mad, dark witch Clotholaire, who had terrorized the land for years. Her lair was protected by all kinds of things, from skeletons to experiments, yet Ahmalhrich had emerged victorious through his whole trek, approaching the witch's chambers the deeper he went into her lair.

Before he could progress any further, though, a blackened smoke entered the chamber he was currently on and started taking shape. Soon enough, Ahmalhrich gazed upon what many would describe as being one of the dark s who live east, but this immense lion-like beast had a black coat of fur. Its eyes were also as black as black could be, having no visible pupils or anything which indicated at what direction it was really looking at - Astalak the Black was its name. Ahmalhrich stirred, initiating a stance that readied him for whatever the beast had to assault him with while his firm hands clasped and coiled around the hilt of his colossal elven zweihander - the very weapon he had been granted upon his first engagement within the human slave legions, prior to his grasping of a reputation. As the titanic manticore approached him, the Slave King grew a sharp grin across the features of his face and he watched the beast's every step with an eage yet keen accuracy.


 * Ahmalhrich - She sends a cub to fight a lion! Heh, if you are lucky, creature of the night, I will handle you as gently as your mistress does.
 * Astalak - Who dares set foot on my mistress' inner sanctum?
 * Ahmalhrich - Who in the many elven hells do you think I am? Word spreads wide of the name of Ahmalhrich Stormsword in recent times, amongst both men and elf. Although it would appear plainly that you are neither.
 * Astalak- Ahmalhrich Stormsword. Your name carries weight. You will surely be a succulent meal.
 * Ahmalhrich - Hah, there are many who wish to feast upon a part of me, kitten. You will have to wait within the line of many maidens.

The gigantic lion roared as Ahmalhrich spoke, leaping at his direction with his claws revealed. The monster's voice was quite clearly not like one of a normal lion or even manticore. It was far more vile, more malevolent. The barbarian lord did not faulter; he swung his colossal blade, maintaining a firm stance where he stood as his sword cut through the air. The mere human had raised and swung his blade with the speed of guiding a knife and the force of a guillotine, refusing to move from the space he had claimed. The lion beast showed little interest in Ahmalhrich's determination and sent one of its large clawed paws at his direction, hoping that a single strike would be enough for his meal to be served. Ahmalhrich had his blade initiate a descent as the beast closed the distance between them, glancing the titan in its eyes of utter darkness with unrelenting confidence. The brief moment between the two of them caught the lion off-guard for a mere moment, allowing Ahmalhrich to effortlessly dismember one of the tendrils that writhed from the creature's head and drive the edge of his blade deep into his opponent's forelimb, almost dismembering the leg entirely.

A feral scream came from the monster as he threw himself away, agonizing and wincing. No blood came out of his wounds, except for a luminous, magical dust which evaporated in the air around them. The lion, furious roared once more at the Slave King, and out of its maw came a breath of darkness which was blasted at the human's direction. The human threw himself to the side, the darkness barely piercing the flesh on the man's cheek, and rushed to tackle the gigantic creature with his shoulder. As he came into contact with the creature, he raised his sword, grazing the beast's own shoulder and managing to penetrate through another of the beast's cranial tentacles. The lion screamed again in clear, agonizing pain as he was thrown off his feet, thrashing his legs and his three tails in what appeared to be a state of complete confusion. The sereving of his ear tendrils almost seemed to have reverted the being into a completely unintelligent state. Ahmalhrich readied his blade and plunged it into the beast's hide, resting a powerful foot upon its side in order to keep the creature restrained in some manner or another. While the beast was his enemy, he would not let his enemies suffer - he had made a promise to finish his enemies, not torture them. The idea of having such a proud, dignified monster lose the pride it had sought and gained through pitiful and spiteful acts was unimaginable to Ahmalhrich, even if he was a barbarian. And a human. The creature let out a final roar before his body disappeared in a flash of light, dissolving itself into the same magical dust which came out of its wounds. With the lion defeated, Ahmalhrich now could progress into Clotholaire's chambers.

And progress he did. The Slave King walked on, leaving the beast's dusty remains of the erroneous, giant lion and approached the door that would inevitably lead into the black witch's residence, perhaps her office or her private quarters, he was not aware. Nonetheless, he had not feared the unknown since he was a boy. By now, he had suspicions that the unknown feared him. From the shadows of the chamber, balls of flame were thrown as Ahmalhrich heard a feminine, chanting voice. Witch Clotholaire herself launched blasts of magic at the Slave King's direction, her eyes burning intensily in a blood red colouration.


 * Clotholaire - Hexus Diabolus!

Ahmalhrich saw the shadows ignited by the spheres of fire and threw himself from their path, although as he swung his sword in a defensive maneuver he caused several of the magical orbs of fire to dissipate, heating the edge of his blade. Sparks flew across the room and Ahmalhrich chuckled as he took cover behind a wall, looking past the bricks slightly in order to catch a glimpse of his assailant, her voice ringing in his ears.


 * Ahmalhrich - And in which language does that mean "hello"?
 * Clotholaire - Die, intruder!

From the witch's fingers came out blasts of electricity which destroyed the ground around the human warrior, quickly reducing his cover to ashes. Her power was as noticeable as her appearance, as unlike what one would imagine, Clotholaire was not an ugly crone of any nature. Instead, she appeared young, lively, though an aura of darkness could be felt around her. Ahmalhrich smirked as the cover he had undertaken was incinerated and he stood tall, towering over the witch and appearing to not even flinch when faced with the sparks of dark energy that struck from her fingers. Grasping the hilt of his sword, he reered and proceeded to throw the huge zweihander at the witch's direction, spinning through the air like a discus. As it penetrated the air, Ahmalhrich charged after it, his eyes set on his opponent. As she watched the large greatsword coming at her direction, all that Clotholaire did was throw a hand to her side. A blast of force was launched out of the witch, and the zweihander was thrown backwards back at Ahmalhrich's direction. Ahmalhrich's eyes widened and he attempted to make a sidestep - as a result, several locks of his fiery red hair fell to the ground and a wound stretched across his masculine face, blood spitting on the ground as his weapon tore a thick scar that started and ended at his cheeks, his nose suffering from the attack alongside. The sword collapsed at the other side of the room and Ahmalhrich glanced towards the dark witch, his eyes locked onto her tight-fitting gown and the ratio of her shoulders and wide hips. Her juicy legs and pillowy breasts also caught his eye.

Spheres of dark magic manifested on top of Clotholaire before launching themselves at Ahmalhrich's direction, each orb seemingly having a face locked in a screaming position it. Clotholaire herself frowned as she glared at the human warrior, as she appeared to notice how he stared at her. The barbarian wiped the blood from his wound, wincing as he did, and made a run towards the witch. While he narrowly avoided several of the spheres, two managed to collide with his thick, heavy armour, blasting chunks of it across the chamber and throwing the human back, impacting against an inches-thick wall. Ahmalhrich grunted as he fell to the ground, grasping the back of his head and spitting a glob of blood and saliva from his mouth.


 * Ahmalhrich - Why is it always the fair ones?
 * Clotholaire - Many have tried to slay me, but failed. What makes you think you stood a chance?
 * Ahmalhrich - Well, for starters lady, slaying you was not written upon my list of intentions. And, second, Ahmalhrich Stormsword is always thought to never stand a chance. But somehow, he ends up winning anyway. What a lucky bastard.
 * Clotholaire - Not only you're an idiot, you're also completely egotistic.
 * Ahmalhrich - And you just so happen to be the most gorgeous, seemingly delicious crone I have ever laid my eyes upon, did you not know?
 * Clotholaire - ...What?!
 * Ahmalhrich - What? Surely a pleasant woman such as yourself must be in possession of a mirror that shows her the extent of her appeal, no?
 * Clotholaire - How dare you speak to me in that tone? Die!

Putting her hands together, a beam of energy came out of Clotholaire, blasting itself at Ahmalhrich's direction. It was not an usual beam, for it was made of a reddened liquid. Blood. Almost as reddened as Clotholaire's cheeks, which blushed from the Slave King's comments. Lifting and shoving his weight, Ahmalhrich evaded the blast and watched as it created a firm dent in the wall he was laid in front of. He took his opportunity and rushed at the witch, bare handed and without a weapon in his grasp. Electricity formed around Clotholaire's fingers as she attempted to attack the warrior, the witch confused as of why he would attempt to attack her unarmed instead of going for his zweihander. As Ahmalhrich managed to step into her vicinity, electricity shot through his armour and some of his wounds, particularly his right shoulder; blood spat violently from the hole created by the tendril of energy, steaming from the rapid increase of temperature. His armour cracked and blackened in places while other parts of the barbarian's body were left with marks of charring, steaming and smoking. It looked as agonizing as it felt.

However, he did not allow the electricity and the burning sensations to claim his ambitions so easily. Left still and motionless, yet standing, for a moment, giving the witch a suspicion that he had been finished by her assault, he suddenly threw out his arm and rested his fingers around Clotholaire's soft, pale neck, and grasped tightly. The witch gasped as she felt her neck grabbed by the warrior, and in an attempt break free, she began throwing her clenched fists at his chest.


 * Clotholaire - If you're not here to slay me, then why are you here? To abuse me? I will make you suffer thrice over!

Bringing her closer to himself, Ahmalhrich glanced into the eyes of the witch, her face now clear from beneath her large, obscuring hat. Each punch she delivered to his chest caused the scorch wounds to sting more and more fiercely. When he had done with examining the young woman's facial features - soft eyes, gentle cheeks and brow, full, dark lips, and raven hair as flowing as an ocean - he brought her forward and slid his hand from her neck to her shoulder. Pressed against his chest, Clotholaire could do little as Ahmalhrich brought his lips to hers. The witch's eyes widened at the Slave King's actions, and she struggled in place, trying to break free. Despite being quite clearly an adult, Clotholaire never had any form of physical contact with a man like this in all of her life. As their lips touched and she could not move, the witch's struggling slowly decreased as she seemed defeated. Or perhaps, enjoying the act. The smell of burned flesh filled Clotholaire's nostrils after several moments, although the kissing between the two of them lasted much longer. Unknown amounts of time passed - realistically, several seconds - before Ahmalhrich pulled away and smiled warmly, his own cheeks red.


 * Ahmalhrich - I have heard stories of a mad witch who terrorizes the land and plagues the innocent. A crone by the name of Clotholaire. Forgive me, my enemy, but I could not resist stealing a kiss if you are to end my trek here.

Before Clotholaire could respond, energy shined out of her eyes, mouth and other cranial orifices as a horrifying, demonic scream was heard. Ahmalhrich found himself pushed away as the shade of an immense, bat-like entity began seemingly being ripped out of Clotholaire, the witch screaming in seemingly agony in the process. Ahmalhrich gasped in a combination of shock and distress as he saw the beautiful assailant suffering at the wretched claws of the shade, her agonizing screams piercing his ears like knives cutting flesh. In desparation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Clotholaire, trying to ensure that she would not be torn apart by the utterly insane development.


 * Ahmalhrich - What in the elven hells?!

The witch's screaming ceased when she seemingly feel unconscious on Ahmalhrich's grasp. The shade was thrown into the ground and soon form. The form of a tall, slender, four eyed demon. , one of the twelve gods known as Simulacra. The demon's expression was of sheer confusion and astonishment.


 * Zran Kar - Gah... aaaahh... How... you... What did you do... to my puppet?!

Ahmalhrich's eyes widened - the tales of the Simulacra have been conveyed to his people from their former-masters in the elves - and grasped the dark witch tighter in his clutches before laying her down upon the floor. Panting, he looked over to his zweihander, buried into the face of a wall, and back to the avatar of the demonic deity that was laid across the ground.


 * Ahmalhrich - ... Who is this...? A demon, a trickster creature, an imitator? ... Like I care for what you are, you wretched fiend. Whatever hell you come from, I shall be certain to return you there should you touch the maiden with your filthied claws once again...
 * Zran Kar - You dare speak... to Zran Kar in that tone... you filthy mortal? What have... you done?! I don't actually know what... you did to my puppet!
 * Ahmalhrich - I dare, in fact! You are not worthy of my fear if you are so content to hide yourself within the bosom of such a pleasant woman. ...I may be a filthy mortal, but I am yet to become a coward.
 * Zran Kar - You touched your lips... against hers... And then I felt that... thing going through her body... What is this... and why can't I understand it! I am Analuhati! Zran Kar! I know... everything!

Ahmalhrich growled, his brow lowering in an obscure mix of disappointment, agitation and wrath. He took a step towards the demonic entity with a clenched fist and threw it, colliding with the hide of the creature although nearly stumbling himself as his wounds caused him to move seemingly off-balance. The punch had both intent and emotion packed behind it, and Ahmalhrich boasted in the immediate aftermath.


 * Ahmalhrich - There is a firm difference between knowing and understanding, cretin of the outer planes. You are no different to the elves; confident in your ability to predict us younger races yet never bothering as to learn to understand why we do what we do. Remember and know this, "Zran Kar"; I am Ahmalhrich Stormsword, liberator and king of the human barbarians! Touch the witch again, and you will answer to me!
 * Zran Kar - Hisss... I have no time... for such nonsense... I must study this weakness... I must learn what it is...

With this, Zran Kar beat his immense wings, covering the entire chamber in a black, dense fog. Only once it dissipated was that Ahmalhrich could see that the demon had vanished from sight completely. Ahmalhrich panted and swiped the messied blood from his face, falling to a single knee shortly after the enigmatic creature disappeared from his immediate perceptions. The floor shook somewhat as his knee crashed onto the ground. He groaned as the wounds across his body ached, although he risked causing further surges of irritation throughout his torso as he turned his head to glance towards the fallen witch. Clotholaire's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she could see was Ahmalhrich. The aura of malevolent previously present around the witch had vanished, and her eyes were no longer burning red. Instead, they were a charming, deep violet. The barbarian smiled, gathering his strength to perform a winking gesture towards the awakened Clotholaire before he fell onto his side, gasping sharply as pain rushed throughout his bodily systems. He writhed somewhat, but other than the tensing of his muscles, both audibly and visibly he was surprisingly calm regarding the extent of his injuries.


 * Ahmalhrich - Would you take... a glance upon that... Heh, sleeping beauty's awoke once again... By the gods, your eyes, your face... I could get used to that...
 * Clotholaire - ... Warrior... you saved me from Zran Kar...

Clotholaire immediately approached Ahmalhrich, placing a finger on his chest. The barbarian found a warm, pleasant feeling as his wounds began closing and his strength returned to his body, Clotholaire using her magic to heal his injuries. Her look showed almost childish, naive curiosity, almost as if she had no idea of where she was. Ahmalhrich grasped ahold of Clotholaire's entire hand and brought it to his face, stalling the process of healing. Her hand close, he leaned in and laid a kiss upon it, his eyes directing themselves at first to the witch's thoroughly-bloomed chest and then her soft face. He exhaled deeply, smiling.


 * Ahmalhrich - Is this how you treat all of your attempted slayers, my dear enemy? Or is Ahmalhrich Stormsword a distinguished snowflake amongst the rest?
 * Clotholaire - Why have you come here, "Ahmalhrich"? Tell me your true intentions.
 * Ahmalhrich - To convince you... to cease with the torment that you had shown to my companions and people. Burdening the lands with magic of a dark nature... it was anything but pleasant. You, on the other hand, sweet rose...
 * Clotholaire - I've been a slave of that demon since I was a little girl. And you broke me free from his grasp... please, let me heal you. I've hurt you too much.
 * Ahmalhrich - You can do something else for me first.
 * Clotholaire - Huh?
 * Ahmalhrich - Kiss me, again. But this time... kiss me as if you meant it, my curiosity desires to know what it feels like from such an otherworldly woman.
 * Clotholaire - Is this how you treat every woman you just met, Ahmalhrich?
 * Ahmalhrich - No; normally, by this time, we would have bedded each other several times. But you? You are certainly something other than a mere woman. ...A goddess, mayhaps?
 * Clotholaire - That's so crude... I've never... bedded anyone in my life.
 * Ahmalhrich - We can bed later, my dear goddess. As of now, all that I must request is a kiss. A true kiss. Something I had never received.
 * Clotholaire - Hm hm. You're quite rude, Ahmalhrich. But you've saved my life...

Approaching her saviour, Clotholaire's cheeks became red once more as she approached her head to his, placing her lips against his own. As she did so, she passed her free hand on the barbarian's chest, filling him with more of her healing, reinvigorating energies. Ahmalhrich returned the kiss wholeheartedly, his hand raising and resting on Clotholaire's own as she pressed it against the burned pecs of his chest. Reinvigorated he felt, indeed, and with it came excitement. Crude, barbaric excitement.