Ragnarok Fan Fiction ❯ War in the Fields ❯ Another Day, Another Slaughter ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

War in the Fields
Disclaimer: I don't own RO. ^^ I'm happy just playing it, lovably brainless hack-and-slash game that it is… :3
The grim sounds of battle filled the air. War seemed to fly up in a burst of sparks every day now. The wars of the Emperium had long been ceased. The last castles that where held by whatever guilds stayed in the keeping of those guild masters…at a price. If you where in a guild, you must participate in the war…the one against the dark lords of Glast Heim. These where assorted and few. Any who veered towards eviler nature and glory of power and dominion went into the Army of Glast Heim. There, these people would become corrupt and spiritually rotted beyond liberation.
A lone Assassin Cross clad in red sat on the southern-most wall of Prontera near the gate, staring down into the bloodshed from her perch. She folded her phoenix wings behind her back neatly and glanced around at the hint of someone's presence nearby, someone she obviously knew. Never was she alone these days. Many guilds sought her help.
But it was no guild representative that watched her. It was one whom is her brother, the Stalker that called himself `Malevolent'. Sure enough he made himself apparent by leaping up at her and tackling her against the stone. “I'm the better sneak.” He teased. “Out here again, Cru?” She and sat up. “Yeah. I thought you where Emuil for a minute there.” Mal wrinkled his nose. “That slime? He's very close to being banished out of Prontera you know. The guy doesn't know the meaning of restraint…on anything. That poor Gypsy…” Cru groaned at this. Emuil, the filthiest monk ever, had been haunting the shadow of the slender gypsy Mirea who had a heart of gold and a mind full of innocence. “He keeps asking how much he needs to pay her to bed her. The girl's a virgin, she doesn't honestly understand what he means, I've heard her getting all flustered and concerned over it in the town square when she's sitting with her friends. No no, I'm not eavesdropping, it's just difficult not to overhear.” Cru held her hands up in defense. She looked much as though she could be a fire demoness of some sort. “Emuil keeps appearing at bad times. Like when I was at home, with my husband, the guy came knocking on the door…” Mal perked up a little bit at the mention of his brother-in-law. He liked him a lot because that guy was a true gentleman, and seemed to be with some wisdom of his own. “Where is your husband anyways?” Malevolent inquired. He hoped that she didn't pick up that…
“You forgot his name again, didn't you?” Cru sighed. “Kageshin is in Lighthalzen, helping keep the defenses up there. Apparently the enemy is planning on taking over Lighthalzen.” Mal's head dropped, chin on the chest. “It's going to be Aldebaran all over again. Anyways…” He gestured with his head towards the war happening below, beyond the closed gates. “We aren't in a guild. We aren't obligated. But WE want in on the action.” Cru's grin was an evil one. Her Katar glimmered coldly in the midday sunlight. Malevolent's bowstring bent. His small shield and numerous knives where at the belt and quick at hand. Neither where ill at ease. The one thing they excelled at was this…battle. They lived for it. And as an Assassin Cross, Cru was a master of slaughter.
Down, down into the mayhem they leapt, bringing weapons to bear, shredding through the three unsuspecting dark priests in their way. The men gave an unearthly wail together as they collapsed to the ground in a tangled mess of blood, bone, muscle, and vein. Together, brother and sister leapt over the dead lumps of flesh and smote whoever was in their way that didn't bear the proud banner of Prontera Chivalry (or the banner of a guild). Whoever didn't appear to be good went down to hell packed up into a neat little meat basket.
Men and a woman where being hewn down by the mighty scythe of Baphomet, a beast to be reckoned with, surrounded by his many small and murderous children who also hacked with little curved blades of their own. Whenever an assault came, it was spearheaded by one of the strongest and great-in-stature beasts that had proven themselves already to the masters of such an army. Baphomet was, however, one of the greatest ever to them, and was dear to the army as a leading general. Malevolent and Cru had one thing in mind as they watched across the sea of gore: attack.
Together they raced, weaving through in and around the grand clusterfuck of battle until their goal was within five feet away. Mal strung three arrows to his bow and put an arrow through three Baphomet Juniors at once. He was able to fire off arrows at a good clip, like how even the most experienced Hunters, Archers, Snipers, Rogues, Thieves, Bards and Gypsies could (as all of these have the capability to use a bow).
Cru went for the father's jugular though. Mal could hold them back, he was content to do just that. It would spend too much time and effort to slay the great goat demon. Cru was easily and nimbly able to hop up onto Baphomet's huge, hairy arm just as a bright crescent of metal came whistling towards her. She stabbed into his muscles as she went, snapping a sinew here and there, it made it harder for him to hold such a heavy weapon with even a modicum less of the muscle strength needed.
“DIE, BASTARD!” Cru screamed, having climbed onto the demon's shoulder with much effort (it had tried vainly to throw the sinx off) and she buried her blades into his neck. Baphomet's maw opened wide and a massive bellow like the rolling of immense thunder was loosed from his lungs. The sound boomed across the fields and through the city before them. But it was not enough. What was enough, was for Mal to put five of his last arrows right through Baphomet's eyes, into the soft brains.
With that…the demon slumped foreward and collapsed as a corpse to the ground. However. The bloodshed was hardly to end there for the day. Soon, it would end for Cru and Mal. Forever.
A sharp pain later, Cru found herself pinned full of venom-edged knives, a few of the tips of which pierced right through her slim body. Her body fell to the blood-wetted grass like a sack of potatoes. Mal was too much in shock to do anything but stare, dumbfounded, at the body, and crouch beside his fallen sister. “Cru…” He vainly hoped she was merely knocked out somehow, but he knew the truth. His sister was now dead, and soon he would be too. He knew who her killer was right away, in fact. There was one amongst the enemy ranks whom favored poisonous throwing knives above all other weapons, and it meant to Mal that at least one of the Sigil Syndicate was here.
“Vassago…” Mal hissed through tightened teeth, glaring towards the direction that the wrapped handles of the knives pointed in. Vassago was surely there, standing easily balanced upon the top of the south gate. She smiled, pleased with herself, and swept back some of her baby pink hair from her face. The woman was a mockery of a Assassin, that was for sure, everyone said it, no matter what side they where on. She was so conceited, and noticeable as well: a fluffy little Lunatic followed her everywhere, an oversized silk ribbon tied around its small white throat. The thing was truly insane, like it's mistress, and was a fitting pet through and through.
“Oh dear! Did I do that? Such a shame! …not! Now that little slut is dead and I have you alllll to myself…” Vassago laughed a high, witchy laugh. It was actually more like a cackle. “Stop clucking, you pink sicko! Your outfit is no better!” Mal stuck his middle finger up at the pink `uniformed' assassin. This only caused her to laugh harder.
“I can't believe you killed the TRUE Vassago. Now that was a real—AGH!” Malevolent's choking scream of pain was cut short by five well-placed knives. Vassago sniffed and whipped her lengthy hair back into a ponytail. “And I wanted to keep him, too. Such a shame! It's a shame, isn't it Moomoo?” The Lunatic bunny looked up at her and offered a bucktoothed grin. ”Sure did! Sure did!” That was all the bunny knew how to say. `Sure did.' Sometimes it could form full sentences. It was one of the dumber animals of Rune Midgard.
“C'mon Moomoo! Let's go and tell them that yours truly eliminated the potential threat!” Yes, a tad insane. She talked to a half-wit of a monster rabbit named Moomoo after all!
It was an hour later during while the `clean up crew' had come for the bodies of their dead that Cru and Mal where found amongst the slain. They where well known by many and it was a great tragedy to young Mirea, and she grieved at length for them. Mirea went to her friend Miserati, a High Priestess at Prontera Church, and asked her what happened to those that died without honor in war. Miserati only smiled sadly. “If they are vengeful enough, they will rise again until their bloodlust is quenched. From the sight of it, I see your friends died a dirty death. If we are unlucky, they might enter into the service of the Dark Ones.” Miserati raised her eyes to the painted glass of the nearest window. “Mirea. I want you to try and find a way to stay as far from the bloodshed as possible. There are a few places that are yet left untouched by the war…” The Gypsy nodded, golden bells and ribbons in her hair tinkling sorrowfully. She turned and headed out. “But wait, Mirea? Be careful, I beg of you. It would be a shame for you to die. I think that you could ask Lady Rikuz, leader of the White Cross Brigade to bring you away with them and drop you off at a place where they think you'll be safe. She owes me one anyhow. I think I shall call upon that favor.” Miserati smiled gently, and then also bade her a good evening, and that she should come back to the temple in the morning. Mirea agreed to this and left, the large doors closing quietly behind her.
Speaking of Lady Rikuz, the paladin was riding back into Prontera after recovering her wounded. The White Cross was needed here, but they where only in any place for a short amount of time. Rikuz knew that the aide of such experienced warriors was needed anywhere that was embroiled in war. And currently, such regions encompassed most of rune Midgard these days; the disease of war was a fearsome plague that spread like wildfire in a field of bone-dry brush. There was, however, one safe haven away from it all, and that was a castle in Morroc, strangely…one unheard of. Due to the layout of the land, unless you knew where you where going you would be lost, in which case, only strong wings and resistance to flying sand would save you. The sandstorms deepest into the desert held a mystical power of their own, and there where tales of people getting their skin and clothing stripped by the fury of the storms. Thus, there where also tales of the White Cross Brigade. Some who are religious think they where sent by the gods to assist them…in Rikuz's opinion, those people where full of crap. There's tell that there might be another city out there. The Brigade members never said anything upon interrogation. And only skeletons turned up on the sands months after travelers left to find it.
Rikuz sighed deeply and reigned her pecopeco in to a halt. It clucked its approval towards the idea of rest and relaxation. They had been riding around most of the day. The peco rustled his feathers, armor clinking, and stretched his neck out towards the huge brown-grey flagstones of the street, investigating a single piece of grass that had sprouted up between two of the stones. The rest where fitted so well together that no other visible pieces of grass where to be found. Rikuz hopped down and led her steed by the reigns. Er own armor wore heavily on her today, and the black cape that fanned on the flagstones at her feet felt like it had been woven with thread of lead. She took off the Helm of Andvari and held it in her other hand, black devil wings drooping behind her. It was then, when she looked up, that she saw a pair of acolytes approaching her, each with their hands folded before them and chins parallel to the hard ground. “Hello!” One called. “Are you the Lady Rikuz whom we seek?”
“It depends on whom sent you.” Rikuz answered, barely in any mood at all to deal with more warm bodies. Or cold ones for that matter. “Well, who is it…pipe up, I've things to do!”
The two polite acolytes couldn't be much older than twelve. They where actually admiring her, taking in the glimmering armor streaked with the blood of enemies, the traditional trailing Paladin's cape, the heavy crucifix hung around her neck, the large and evil looking wings, the black helm and reigns in hand, the pecopeco that dwarfed them both in height. Indeed Rikuz looked like a walking contradiction: a dark paladin? Such people of her race where usually heretics, or so these two where told. “We come on behalf of High Priestess Miserati. She asked us to seek you out and ask you to follow us, if you can.” Rikuz despaired inwardly. She yearned for a good drink of water, her body ached for rest, a grey dusk hooded the sky and there was still much to take care of. “Miserati can wait. I'm very busy—“
“Please, Lady! It's important. Please? I'm sure it won't take but a minute!” The female acolyte that had been silent before spoke pleadingly in her childish voice, and though Rikuz's heart was still hard from the day's fight, she couldn't resist. It was more the fact that apparently this was important. She, after long thought, nodded.
“Very well. I will follow you. Lead on.” She tugged Sliepvier's reigns (Sleipvier, her Peco) and set off at a slow pace after the two young ones with her steed in tow.
<Well…> She thought to herself. <I hope that this doesn't take long...knowing her, it might.>
Either way, with the church looming up out of the rapidly darkening atmosphere, Rikuz would be soon set to a more perilous journey than she thought.
- A/N: Heya. n.n How was that? Please let me know with a review. :3 These are characters of my own making, and I know there's a lot of god/donator items in here, and many things I will use in context of specie. I think it can be more interesting that way, and a little more realistic, even if this is a fictitious story. So…feedback?