Gorthorik Last of the Dragon Blood

Gorthorik Last of The Dragon Blood 

                                     A reason for redemption

    Ice glazed the window of the secluded fortress of confinement in a subtle thin coating like an opaque film of dull glass. Even though the squat iron bars partially blocked the view Gorthoric could see the endless rolling hills swathed in thick layers of snow. The layers of ice caused the prison guards and its inhabitants to slip and slide like toddles bumbling about which is what roused Gorthorik from his sleep minutes earlier. To Gorthorik, it made no difference if he slept or not. Truth be told the rust-riddled iron bars of this forgotten prison couldn’t truly hold him if he wished to escape, but his slaughtered will had kept him at bay for these three long years. Loss of loved ones had quenched most of the burning berserker rage coursing through his dragon-kin blood.     

  Ghosts of dreams of epic battles still clung to him, torturing his restless mind with promises of untold spoils of war followed by a victory roar that echoed in his ears long after he had awakened.  He barely had enough will to continue living if you could call rotting in a frost dungeon living.

  Purpose and honor use to plague him, like the cold parasitic winds and stiff joints plagued him now. The bitter cold constantly eeled up inside him with a deep penetrating chill, but it wasn’t the worst part of his punishment. No, the absence of violence had lulled him like a blade growing dull from lack of use.

  However; even fate has a funny way of finding us, like smoke from an extinguished candle sending wisps of phantasmal tendrils meandering into a room under the cracks in the doorway to choke its unsuspecting victim. Fate has fickle fingers, and destiny desires to dance. They have their ways of reaching the unreachable. Sometimes destiny doesn’t knock, it just kicks the door down claiming its next victim.

   Gorthorik felt the odd itch inside of him that once signaled him of any danger and kept him alive through countless battles. It gnawed awfully annoyingly in the pit of his stomach and sent alarm bells ringing loud and clear. It hadn’t burned in ages but even now it was different than before. It throbbed with less urgency and more of a slow spreading awareness that eked into the very fibers of his damaged soul.

  He sat up alert but still light headed and listened to his surroundings. The continuous storm of ice shards pebbled the outer stone walls chipping it away with endless pecking echoes.

    Tears collected in the canthus of Gorthorik’s eye sealing it with a black frost that limned his thick reptilian lids, and he rubbed it emphatically. He caught a glimpse of two monstrous dark figures bounding down the shadow-laden corridor. Wisps and chill plumes of fogged breath preceded the guards.

   A hefty guard with a prodigious girth roughly jammed a jangle of clanging keys into the frosted lock until it clinked open. The big brutes burst in the cell thrusting a bloody hulking visage that snarled and bared his jagged teeth.

“This will hold you for now until we come back for a bit of sport. Night princess.” The bigger guard sent one last kick into the fallen beast’s side.

The beast waited until the guards left, before he slumped to the floor and leaned against the frosted stone wall.     

   He gazed down at the squat muscled creature whose fanged muzzle carelessly drooled blood on the stone floor. His green soulless eyes stayed staring at the guards whose heavy forms clanked loudly down the ice-crusted tunnel.

  The ensignia burned in the shoulder of the beastly man’s skin bared the crest of his most hated enemy, the Demon King. 

     This roused Gorthorik and he leaned closer toward the beast almost his equal in size.

   “Where did you get that mark? He hissed through clenched teeth. Gorthorik pointed a sharp talon claw to the branded shoulder festering ripe with infection. The creature didn’t meet his eyes but spit out a mouthful of blood. “The bastards that killed my family did this to me.” Now his eerie gaze met Gorthorik’s.

  For the first time in three years Gorthorik’s eyes gleamed with a primal burning behind his dark onyx lens. The warm vibrant glow replaced his icy piercing stare and he allowed himself a rare smile of confidence as he pondered the mayhem ahead of him. 

  “We are kindred spirits then, but I thought the Demon King was dead. He extended his huge rough hewn hand. “Come my brother we must plan our escape.” 

   “I’m Salindar, and it was the demon kings son I think. What’s the plan?” he growled 

  Gorthorik’s dark eyes scoured the cell and noticed the elongated frozen daggers protruding from the leaky pipes lining the ceiling. A grim smile spread across his wide face, for they would serve his dark purpose well. He meticulously worked the icy thin tips to needle points. Only four could be salvaged and constructed worthy enough to do any damage but they would have to do.

    He flexed his rippling steel muscles and envisioned the dance of death he had done a thousand times before.

   Thudded steps of the guards invaded his preparatory battle thoughts.

“Time to die pigs.” The guard roared. A guard’s ferocious sneer provoked Gorthorik and he met his leering stare of hatred evenly, but he wondered why the guards had come to their cell so unexpectedly.

   “Which one do we take?” One of the younger guards whispered. “The shorter idiot with red hair, you blithering numbskull, I already told you and don’t be all day about it. “ He pointed to Salindar.

    Gorthorik noticed the two crossbows trained on him and waited for the cell door to open. Two of the men grabbed Salindar and roughly pulled him out the only exit.

    When both guards had turned their backs, a chilling cold hate twisted in his mind.

A gorge of indignation and rage rose in his throat, burning with molten white heat of forged steel. He plunged the frozen stake clean through the guards throat, severing his jugular vein.

   The slurping sound of the man gasping through his gaping wound as unsettling as it was didn’t deter him from his mission at hand. Shoving his mammoth foot to the fallen guard, he sent a bone crushing kick that fractured the man’s spinal cord and dented the metallic sheen of armor to a wrinkled concave useless sheet of tin.

   A rush of indescribable fury swept over Gorthorik, kindling his inner rage. He bolted out of the cell.  

  Three guards saw their comrade fall to the floor of the cell and one gave a vicious screech sounding the charge as they tore into him. Gorthorik shimmied from side to side with viciously flailing arms and in an amazing stomach twisting display of acrobatic ability he felled the initial three guards. Grabbing his second icy stalactite of death, he swung it in an uppercut under the first guards jaw all the way to his brain. The guard fell twitching and kicking with violent spasms as he slung blood on the walls in his final death throes.

    Salindar had dispatched one guard with his frigid spear and only three guards remained. They gained the upper hand and knocked Salindar to the ground.

     A shot from a crossbow zipped past him. The explosive tipped arrow blasted the wall behind Gorthorik, showering him with stone confetti.

    A direct bolt from another crossbow hit his shoulder and sent him tumbling backwards. He smashed into the floor, rolling in agony and wounded pride. He tasted the warm salty metallic tang of blood and spit crimson tinged curses toward his attackers.   

   Following the source of his anguish he charged in leading with his shoulder. He sent two guards reeling backwards.

    Salindar hacked at the two fallen guards.

    The last one standing stabbed at Gorthorik with his sword but met only empty air. Their eyes met but Gorthorik’s burned with an unrelenting hatred. Gorthoric wrenched a sword from one of the fallen guards. The swords sparked as steel clashed against steel. They thrust with quick feints, and parried vicious slash after slash. The guard managed to spare enough breath to curse Gorthorik and his barbaric heritage.  

  Gorthorik thrust in a light feint then finished with an overhand shank.  He rammed the point of his sword deep into his attacker’s neck. His razor-keen blade was drunk with blood as he tore it free from the shredded flesh. A jet stream of blood erupted from the wound sending crimson rivulets trickling down his armored chest.

    The guard fell in spasmadic convulsions and writhed in serpentine undulations on the slick frozen ground. He gave a sputtering chocking gag then retched, disgorging voluminous plumes of blood. Feebly he tried to rise one last time, but exhaled his last foggy breath and succumbed to a cold cruel death.

  Salindar had finished off one and wounded the other, but the wounded man charged Gorthorik in a blind rage leading with his sword. The instincts of a trained killer took over and in one fluid motion Gorthorik dodged to the side and wrenched his wrist downward using the man’s own forward momentum to run him through and impale him to the wall. The sinister rage dissipated from the man’s eyes, replaced by the cold blank stare of death.

  Gorthorik coughed and felt his breathing hitch, followed by a flutter in his stomach. His veins pumped burning adrenalin laced-blood beneath his skin. The feverish sensation increased in velocity and kicked his primordial instincts into overdrive.

  His fevered mind was unable to cage the unquenchable volcano of emotions erupting inside him. The feral beast within had awaken from years of slumber with a hellish rage.

  They stripped the men of their weapons consisting of two swords, three daggers and two crossbows.

     Gorthorik eviscerated his mind of any fear. 

    “Come on, there will be others!” Without waiting for Salindar, he charged down the darkened tunnel, letting his all-consuming rage spur him forward and left the series of grisly deaths far behind him.

   They crept as stealthly as large beasts could and paused when they passed a closet of hanging Linens. Gorthorik pulled on white cloak lined with lamb's wool and a fur-lined cassock.. With difficulty, his thick meaty fingers fastened the button of the hooded cowl to his ensemble and girded his waist with an intricately woven golden spiral cord.

  Salinar was having trouble never having owned such fancy garment in all his life and Gorthorik snorted wildly as he clasped the outfit together.

 “What if they recognize us? They won’t let us walk out of here.” Salindar whispered.

 “If we act like we belong it will by us time and we can get close to strike. He tied his dagger to his inner thigh and pulled the crossbow under his outer robe.

They stumbled into an opening and a group of at least twenty guards were ravishing down roasted meat. Gorthorik’s hand clamped down on Salindar’s mouth as whimperings crowded in his throat and bubbled out in a shameless almost child like whine. Stiffling Salindar he pulled him back into the shadows not sure if they had been detected. Gorthorik felt the cold touch of sharpened steel on his back followed by a booming voice. “An just who in the blue blazes are you two idiots?” Gorthorik’s reflexes took over and with one powerful backwards jerk of his elbow he had rendered the lone guard unconscious. He quickly dressed in his uniform and dragged the body out of sight.

The feverish sensation increased in velocity and kicked his primordial instincts into overdrive.

  Spasmadic convulsions racked him as he writhed in serpentine undulations on the slick frozen ground. the gorge of indignation and rage rose in his throat, burning with a molten white heat. A chocking gag was followed by a retching and disgorging voluminous plumes of flames that hissed through his teeth and sent clouds of steam billowing upwards. His fevered mind unable to cage the unquenchable volcano. The beast within had awaken from years of slumber with a feral rage.   He opened his mouth to speak only to be choked off by the next spasm and another gush of scorching flames spewed from his mouth. Years of smoldering raw pent up energy released without control or purpose, desperately needing to escape. Fire lit up in the darkness, revealing dancing shadows of the oncoming horde.

Before the last light faded and the coldness ensued Gorthorik grabbed Selindar and dodged behind a rock cleft. Selindar tried to steal a glance and Gorthorik yanked him back. “Out of the way if you don’t want to get roasted. He barked in annoyance.

Gripping his jaw shut he stifled his hot breath and fought back the third tremor coming on. Clattering on the cobbled floor allowed him to gage that they were two meters away. The perfect range for his internal weapon to launch a lethal volley of flesh scalding flames right on top of the unsuspecting mob.

A blast of freezing air bit into his sculpted scales as his festering pain in him refused to subside, feeding off the fear and anger he resonated. He unleashed a nightmarish tidal wave of inferno, melting their skin and cooking the turgid prison guards to a gory mess that leaked a gooey gelatinous sludge of organs mingled with lumps of bones through the cracks in their metal armor. The two towering beasts tore into the flaming crew like possessed warriors on a death charge. Shoving the crisp husks aside Gorthorik closed his eyes and focused on the aftershocks in his stomach, calming the aching churning muscles, by taking deep breaths of the freezing cold air. The episode passed and he glanced back at the grotesque human pile of carcasses resting in a puddle of thick black ichor. Scales and muscles taut as they constricting get ready for more bloody chaos. 

A beam of flames stoked the wooden pillars at the entrance of the prison. Guards dumped buckets of snow to hinder the spread and destruction of the ravenous flames devouring the girded mouth of the prison. Falling debris and mounting flames blocked their reinforcements.

Broken wooden slats, and chunks of concrete tumbled down with bone crushing impact as they landed on the gang following them

They managed to leave out a side door but a patrol unit was monitoring the front of the fortress.

His initial plunge into the melee gave him a cold shock of reality, as several fists landed on his jaw. Spinning as a hellish whirlwind of death grew, and the dim

Nature spit particles of snow flurries like blinding shrapnel. Stinging ice pellets peppered the parameters. The edge of the forest and freedom was still a good distance away.

The familiar crisp crackling sound of breaking bones, sounded in his ears like a song from his past, igniting fond memories of epic battles. The cruel deadly slashes that left no witnesses came with unrelenting brutal fervor. Evidence of his expert warrior skills were the bloody heaps lying in his wake, and the victims would have to speak with their slaughtered carnal bodies rather than with their own rank breath and blood stained lips. Gorthorik winced inwardly knowing these were not trained soldiers but slovenly under paid prison guards and a small tinge of remorse crept up in his subconscious.  

           Several demons materialized and were the only thing standing in his way of freedom. Whichever sorcerer or wizard summoned them was staying out of sight for now.   

Gorthorik found himself surrounded by a ring of ghastly demons. He was quiet familiar with their tactics. He had dealt with this kind of glutinous demon spawn before. A group like them years ago had eagerly spread nightmarish seeds with a forcible fecundation into the minds of innocent children while they slept safely tucked away behind locked doors. He had heard rumors that they do it by whispering horrid abominations to the juveniles for hours on end so that even though the infant’s body is resting its mind perceives the vile and graphic images spewing out of the fowl creatures.

Gorthorik’s hatred dripped into every curse he swore at them. However immediate enactment would do no good as these enemies were masters at evasion. Three charged him. As soon as the nearest one got close enough Gortorik dropped his weapons and grabbed the squirmy beast. As the other rushed in hacking with vicious claws he used the creature as a shield. It kicked outwards at the demons slashing wildly at Gorthoric.  Another wave of monsters tried to keep Gorthorik from the edge of the forest but he had found a gap in their defenses and was only a few feet from the edge.

A blinding light erupted. The demons shrieked but Gorthorik knew it was the sorcerer making his appearance known. He used the distraction to hurl the demon where the sorcerer was materializing.  Screams filled the air as he darted into the forest. He didn’t stop running even when the sun lit up the sky. Freedom never tasted so good.