Open Palm, dedicated to Zuhr. And he hoped by the legendary wisdom of his brethren that his contact did not give up anything before killing himself.
Hugh kept his wormroot -utterly harmless when not used in conjunction with a magical incantation- in the form of an accountant’s numbering stick, marked with the mathematical formulas one needed to keep accounts, records, and ledgers. A sense of dread passed over the man and he knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he was going to die. However, Hugh knew that death was not the end, rather it was a glorious beginning in an afterlife where he would be rewarded. Without hesitation, Hugh placed the wormroot stick to his throat; he was prepared to give his life for his cause. But, the moment he moved to place the wormroot stick to his throat he felt all of his joints lock painfully in place. Fear gripped his very soul and his heart pounded in his chest.
“Did we scare the little birdie? I wonder where the little birdie’s friends are. Seems to me a little birdie needs to be with ’is other little birdie friends, eh?” The brute’s hood slipped off in the breeze and revealed something that any other person would have paid no heed to. In fact, anyone but Hugh would have assumed the scarred Hother had succumbed to some mysterious disease causing the flesh on his bald head to become scaly like that of a serpent. But Hugh knew the truth. Anyone who could make his joints lock with a single word and bore the serpent scales on his head could be none other than a Soulbound Smiter, the Binder Mages in the secret employ of Qra’z. Yes, he thought with dread, Soulbound Smiters were known for their dealings with the demons of the Shadow Realms. They gained powerful abilities from the bargains they made with those demons. The most dreaded power a Soulbound Smiter possessed was the ability to take a person’s soul from their body and feed it to their demon host, leaving the mortal frame a lifeless husk able to be animated and manipulated, or possessed.
“Little birdie knows me, he does. Little birdie has knowledge, he does,” the Smiter laughed mercilessly. “Little birdie will taste good, heh, heh.”
Terror filled him as he frantically thought of a means of escape or death before the worst happened. Then another set of hands grab him from behind, as he was shoved through an inconspicuous door in the wall surrounding the temple compound.
Mentally kicking himself he thought over and over, Never wait for a late appointment!
Once inside the temple compound, Hugh was strapped to a cart and wheeled across the open courtyard to the temple itself. All the while his analytical mind was processing scenarios, deducing likely outcomes and waiting to take advantage of any way out of this mess; even if it meant falling on someone’s sword. His insides were turning to water at the thought of what might happen should the forces of the Arnathian Empire learn the secrets of his spy network. The worst of it, however, was likely worse than a mere compromise of his network. Should this man truly be a Soulbound Smiter, the devious bastards would likely gain control of his body thus gain access to all of his thoughts and memories and the considerable knowledge stored in his brain.
A very skinny man in the white and gold robes of a priest of Qra’z stood at the temple door, the morning light shining on his bald pate.
“Well, well, Hugh Renaul it is. Hmm.” The man’s squeaky voice and annoying accent revealed he was from the Arnathian Capital. Hugh tried to scowl at the man, but the best he could manage to do was growl with his jaws clenched tightly by the lock spell cast upon him. If he was going to die, he would do his best to die on his own terms and at the very least die defiantly. He would never, ever, sell his soul to the foul priest or this cursed Smiter.
“Very nice specimen, Hother.”
“Jus’ pay me, priestie. No time for games.”
Hugh took some comfort in
Hugh kept his wormroot -utterly harmless when not used in conjunction with a magical incantation- in the form of an accountant’s numbering stick, marked with the mathematical formulas one needed to keep accounts, records, and ledgers. A sense of dread passed over the man and he knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he was going to die. However, Hugh knew that death was not the end, rather it was a glorious beginning in an afterlife where he would be rewarded. Without hesitation, Hugh placed the wormroot stick to his throat; he was prepared to give his life for his cause. But, the moment he moved to place the wormroot stick to his throat he felt all of his joints lock painfully in place. Fear gripped his very soul and his heart pounded in his chest.
“Did we scare the little birdie? I wonder where the little birdie’s friends are. Seems to me a little birdie needs to be with ’is other little birdie friends, eh?” The brute’s hood slipped off in the breeze and revealed something that any other person would have paid no heed to. In fact, anyone but Hugh would have assumed the scarred Hother had succumbed to some mysterious disease causing the flesh on his bald head to become scaly like that of a serpent. But Hugh knew the truth. Anyone who could make his joints lock with a single word and bore the serpent scales on his head could be none other than a Soulbound Smiter, the Binder Mages in the secret employ of Qra’z. Yes, he thought with dread, Soulbound Smiters were known for their dealings with the demons of the Shadow Realms. They gained powerful abilities from the bargains they made with those demons. The most dreaded power a Soulbound Smiter possessed was the ability to take a person’s soul from their body and feed it to their demon host, leaving the mortal frame a lifeless husk able to be animated and manipulated, or possessed.
“Little birdie knows me, he does. Little birdie has knowledge, he does,” the Smiter laughed mercilessly. “Little birdie will taste good, heh, heh.”
Terror filled him as he frantically thought of a means of escape or death before the worst happened. Then another set of hands grab him from behind, as he was shoved through an inconspicuous door in the wall surrounding the temple compound.
Mentally kicking himself he thought over and over, Never wait for a late appointment!
Once inside the temple compound, Hugh was strapped to a cart and wheeled across the open courtyard to the temple itself. All the while his analytical mind was processing scenarios, deducing likely outcomes and waiting to take advantage of any way out of this mess; even if it meant falling on someone’s sword. His insides were turning to water at the thought of what might happen should the forces of the Arnathian Empire learn the secrets of his spy network. The worst of it, however, was likely worse than a mere compromise of his network. Should this man truly be a Soulbound Smiter, the devious bastards would likely gain control of his body thus gain access to all of his thoughts and memories and the considerable knowledge stored in his brain.
A very skinny man in the white and gold robes of a priest of Qra’z stood at the temple door, the morning light shining on his bald pate.
“Well, well, Hugh Renaul it is. Hmm.” The man’s squeaky voice and annoying accent revealed he was from the Arnathian Capital. Hugh tried to scowl at the man, but the best he could manage to do was growl with his jaws clenched tightly by the lock spell cast upon him. If he was going to die, he would do his best to die on his own terms and at the very least die defiantly. He would never, ever, sell his soul to the foul priest or this cursed Smiter.
“Very nice specimen, Hother.”
“Jus’ pay me, priestie. No time for games.”
Hugh took some comfort in
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