Scale Singer

Chapter 1. The Slaughter<

It was a slaughter. The little village of Oakridge was being quickly over-run by the Hordes of the North. The villagers

where not completely over-run, however, as those not taken down within the initial strike, were fending the best they could

with what weapons they had. Pitchforks, pickaxes, hatchets… the tools they had used for so long for work suddenly becoming

instruments for their own defense and livelihood.

One small child runs over the hills towards the town’s only Tavern Inn, where perhaps the travelers that stay might be

able to help the village before it was too late. The occasional flash of light lighting up the path of darkly-hued grass in

the night, allowing the lad’s feet carry him to the door, throwing in past the music and the drinking folks into a heap on

the floor.
Everything stops… Everyone turns to see a kid, no older then eight or ten, dressed in earthen colours, hair matted

against his face, as well the rest of his clothing from the hard rains that pound outside, fall to his hands and knees.

“H-help!” he cries slowly trying to get to his feet. The first to answer the cry was a stocky dwarven male, clad in

beast-hide, and a beard that was as red as rust braded into three separate spokes.

“Aye, lad… wot’s wrong…?” The entire Tavern was silent, and almost everyone’s eyes where turned in the direction of the

two.

“T-t-t… gnolls! They’re attacking the village!”

This causes the dwarf to nod back to the two fellow dwarves he had been traveling with… seeming to think all that would be

needed is three dwarves, “Aye, go back ta drink’n! We dwarves can ‘anle this!”

From the back, one man stands up, “I’ll come too…” A human man, dressed within Celtic tunic and pants, boots that would

ride up into his upper calf with the pants leg shoved down inside… a large sword strapped to his backside that would make any

Scotsman or dwarf blush with its elegance and size. The sheath it’s attached to being only a long strip of leather to protect

the backside, and two more, one to hold it in place, and one to hold the sharp tip in check. If the man had been a tall or

even overly muscled Scotsman, then perhaps no one would take notice, though even as such… the long, mid-back length hair that

was white. Not like snow, but white, like silver or mythril, or even platinum.

“Nah, lad. We dun need ya ta come along.”

“I insist…”

To that the dwarves just shrug, “’right ‘en.” Nodding as they walk to their rooms for a while to equip themselves quickly,

though upon returning, the man stands as they left him, clothed only in the shirts and pants he lounged in. “Oi, lad, this be

no picnic!”

“I’ll be fine.”

The dwarves only shrug, “’right… ya funereal.” So thus the three shorter dwarves and man make up the party, leaving the

merchants and pilgrims to their ilk in the taverns.

A good night to stay indoors it was, as almost instantly the rains would fall, battering against those with armor, and the

one without. The boy followed close behind, worried about the wellbeing of his own family. It didn’t take them long to reach

the battle, which had been ever pressing closer to the further ends of the village itself. The rains washing away the

blood-soaked ground as the gnolls could be seen, slowly making their way up the hill, a few farmers and their sons fending

off with what they had.

The dwarves, weapons ready-drawn, start running down the battle field, as the lone man takes his time, and pulls the

length of the claymore-sized sword from his backside, wielding it within both hands, and bowing his head as if a silent

prayer.

The dwarves made their time, fighting off a few of the gnolls, but their sheer numbers where too much of a match for even

the dwarves, though in spite of the fact that the man saw the horrible scene before him, he looks back over his shoulder, the

rain running down his face.
“Head back to the Tavern… we’ll meet you there…” Terrified, the boy complies and sprints back to the warm tavern, as the long

stranded haired man slowly strides down the hill. The gnolls, large two-legged Hyena looking creatures, where only slowed

down as the dwarves clanged their mighty battle axes, cleaved, and hacked through the s, ts, though all eyes lift up as the

single man strides down the hillside, muttering something it would seem to himself.
“Hee! Looksies!” they cried, “There be easy killses for uss!” Though, gnolls be tall and strong, intelligence is not their

strong points. Lighting would flash, illuminating the battle field, before the once walking man would jump, using gravity to

let him fall and cleave the archer from head to crotch, in perfect symmetry. The other gnolls, of course notice this, and

turn to swing. Much to their surprise, the swordsman jumps back, swinging the sword once through one of the gnolls, cleaving

him from mid-back, to neck.
The commanders were no where near ready to give up, and thus presthe the attack forward. The silver man pulled up a lip in

disgust, but says nothing as he sprints forward, holding the sword within both hands (as one would have to with such a large

sword) and almost dragging it behind him, before jumping and wide swinging, taking three of these things with him.
Now, it would be foolhardy to say he was swinging it around like a long sword, even from what the villagers that had stopped

and turned to watch would say. More accurately, he would use the momentum from this upward swing, kick down the next gnoll,

then make a curve, starting vertical, then cutting to a horizontal slice in a small curve of the blade. Seemingly

defenseless, one of the gnolls decides to help his fallen war-buddy, and charges screaming the most unearthly noise, causing

the villagers to squirm, only more as the battle cry stops. The swordsman is then seen on one knee, leaning forward, the

sword hilt deep within the commander, obvious by the markings and tattoos upon his naked upper-torso fur. The swordsman makes

no pity mark, as he twists the blade, letting the blood and entrails fall from the guts, emptying out onto the floor below

him. The commander’s face goes white, eyes dilating as his life essence literally spews out onto the ground.
“Tonight you pay for your sins…” while the man twists the blade further, a few more lengths of bowls falling into a heap on

the ground. “With your blood.” Pulling arms, and body downwards, making a point to slowly cut through the rest of the body,

letting the blood seep down the length of the long blade, the other gnolls (which are weak without a leader) just stare in

horror, as their champion falls to the hand of one man. Not only that, but seeming to cake his sword in the blood as it flows

down like molasses, dripping around the once golden hilt, and towards the ground, as the man would stop just shy of the neck,

and slide the long, thick blade out with a loud sucking noise, before the beast would fall, clutching to what few entrails he

had left, the breath of life leaving from the abomination’s black lips.

With hair matted against his face, trundles slowly melting into the rain as the drops fall away from the face via the hair

strands, peering through the messed hair, once pure, now washed with rain of blood dotting across his entire body. A small

snarl pulled across lis lips. The dwarves even freeze, looking toward each other, then back to the blooded man. Sword swiftly

jabbed for the closes gnoll along with the hand, and knee. Within order, he grabs the beast by the snout, and presses the

blade to the throat beneath the fur. The man’s eyes, now visibly silver with the hair, stares into the beast’s own, anger

flaring up within the recesses of the glass orbs.

“Why are you here?” The gnoll only sneers. Angered, the swordsman shakes his head, pressing the neck slightly against the

creature’s throat. “WHY ATTACK A DEFENCLESS VILLAGE?” Voice full of anger, yet, a strange sense of control hidden behind the

deep voice as he shouts.

“Graahh!! Wesa no know!!”

“Lies!”

“Noooo! We no know! Wesa only doos what wees be tolds we does!”

That forces him to stop… eyes narrowing. “What where you told…?”

“Wesa no knows, only Ugar know!”

“Where’s Ugar then!!?” The gnoll only points down towards the dead champion.

“Damn…” He throws down the gnoll he had within his hand to the ground. Moving over to the fallen over body of Ugar, and

wiping both sides of his blade off on is wet fur. One more gnoll in his outrage sprints towards the swordsman as he cleaned

his blade.

All within a split second, the man drops the blade, moves his arm around and with his fist alone, moving around and

upwards towards the gnoll’s jaw. There is a loud sickening sound of bone shattering and muscle tearing, the canine-esque jaw

skewing to the side, before it would fall to its back in pain, holding its jaw like a delicate babe.
“Take back to your shaman that I wish not to see your face in this village again, or more of your champions shall fall!” With

a loud series of yips and Hyena-esque type laughs of nervousness as they ‘high-tail’ out of the town, slipping over each

other in the mud and rain as they leave. Huffing, the swordsman watches them leave, and droops to pick back up his rain

cleaned blade, before sliding it into the open sheath. “Damnable…” Looking over what was left of the ba fie field, shuddering

as he looks over the human bodies and turns to leave, the dwarves almost dumbfounded as they clean up after the battle.
Though, he doesn’t make it too far, as one of the villagers from atop the hill… the same messenger child clinging to her

blouse. “S-sir?”
“…Yes?”
…”
…”

“What?”

“W-w-what’s thine name?”

A soft smile plays across his lips, “Kirimadd Du’Guthall.”


Kirimadd Du’Guthall and all related topics are © by me. No replication or duplication without my

permission please. Everyone else I just made up, so feel free to steal their names, they’re dead or don’t care either way.

This is Chapter 1 of a book I’m writing chapter by chapter, and releasing. Mail is Vexz at email dot com if you wish to leave

comments. Also, please do not redistribute across the web, as I have worked hard on this, and would like it to stay where I

put it (also as I don’t put warnings in my stories)