Lets be Legends

“I hate plans.” Herod said, not really talking to Tarkus as they strode down the hall to the only tavern in the safe zone. “I mean, its a good plan, the best fricken’ plan, but going in dick in hand with no idea what we’re gonna do sounds far more entertaining don’t it?” He said with a smile on his rodent face. He was still wearing the burlap jumper that he was given when he was condemned, but slung low on his hip from a crude holster was a revolver. It looked older than time itself and probably would explode the moment it was fired, but the simple fact he had it and had gotten it so quickly was something of note. Tarkus was wearing make-shift armor, scrap plates welded or nailed together with spare thread tying the gaps. Hardly anything to write home about, but combined with his size, scales, and the hammer he held he still cut an intimidating figure. The salamander replied, ignoring the jokes from his companion, “Is Briareus and Yaga in position?” His tone was blunt, straight and to the point as his thudding foot steps and clanking armor.

“By Baitaal, friend, lighten up. But yes, Yaga sent me a beam, Ravagers are drinking and Bertra is with them. Knowing you, the plan’ll go off without a hitch. Bertra might be a beast but she is no Toragg. How’d that fight go by the way? Heard you faced the Linebreaker himself on the battlefield.” Herod became less joking and more curious sounding with each word spoken, he glanced at Tarkus, the rodentfolk studying him. “Linebreaker Toragg is everything his legend speaks of.” Tarkus replied, saying no more on the subject as they continued. The halls of the safe zone were not empty, the stone corridors had a few people milling about, all of which gave the pair curious and sometimes fearful glances. Herod and Tarkus were walking with purpose and that alone sent most ducking into side rooms and hurriedly moving out of their way.

“Stick to the plan, Herod, when this is over I’ll be sure to remind Briareus how much he’ll owe you.” Tarkus said quietly as they neared the saloon doors to the tavern. A sign on the wall had been crudely carved and hung up, “World Enders” it said, the salamander sparing it a glance as Herod merely chuckled. “It’s in the bag, my friend, my bag.” He said with amusement before the pair shoved the swing doors open. Tarkus hit both wings hard, the metal hinges screeching as the wood doors kicked open and clattered against the stone with a loud bang. They both stepped in, side by side, glancing about the room.

Of course, they knew already what they would see, but making as if they didn’t was part of the plan. They gazed around and confirmed everything Yaga and Sad King Briareus had reported. The gathered faces looking back at them were the toughest fighters and brawlers of the Ravagers gang, the current big dogs of the safe zone. Most were orcs, ogres, and minotaurs, but scattered among them were scarred and vicious looking humans and salamanders. Those were the dangerous ones, because skill or madness alone earned respect for those physically weak in a lawless under world. Across from the doors at the bar a singular hulking woman who didn’t look back at the bang. A hush fell over the crowd as all eyes fell upon the two new comers and only then did the huge troll turn. The leader of the Ravagers, Bertra the Beast, a woman whom was feared through out the safe zone for being dangerous even by the standards of a troll. A towering nine feet tall that carelessly turned on her bar stool to face them, appearing relaxed.

Grey mottled skin, a black pelt of hair as greasy as a frying pan pasted to her misshapen skull dominated by two bull-like horns. A cow-like tail swiveled behind her, red eyes staring at Tarkus while a tusked mouth grinned. “Tarkus.” She cooed, a voice like mud. “Heard ya was down here. Came to get killed swiftly then?” She said, her goons surrounding her all taking the cue to laugh as if their boss said something witty. Berta was huge and had about her powerful form what amounted to scrap armor, not that she needed it being a troll, but it put her on par with Tarkus. The ash lord said nothing, looking back at the troll while he spun his huge hammer in his palm. The laughter died away now as even the dim-witted gangers were realizing this was about to become a brawl.

Several stood up, some drew weapons, clubs, shivs, the kobold that had been serving drinks behind the counter even reached for a rusted double barrel shotgun hanging from the wall before Herod broke the silence. “Bertra, Berta, Bertra. What gives?” The rodentfolk said, stepping out of Tarkus’ shadow. “You meet the legendary Bagman and… what was your title Tarkus? Lord of Dust? Ashes? Something like that. Anyways, you meet me and you’re not even going to offer me and my servant a drink?” The rodentfolk admonished with a smile, waggling his round ears at the armed assembly.

He caught them off guard, the building tension suddenly released when one of the gangers snickered before Bertra shut him up with a glare. “Herod.” Bertra said, looking to him and then to the revolver slung to his hip. “That thing even loaded?” She said sarcastically, earning a few smirks from her gang, yet more than one look worried. Guns were rare, loaded ones even rarer, catching a bullet was a death sentence for even the tougher ones. “What the hell do you want? A drink? Sure, toss me that toy on your hip and I’ll have my lizard serve you a shot.” The troll rumbled, her red eyes shifting between the pair.

Bertra wasn’t stupid, despite being a troll, she was clearing sizing them up while they spoke. Weighing the numbers of her present gangers and the pairs weapons. Tarkus was clearly the bigger threat, between his armor and enchanted hammer, but even he could be taken down with numbers. Herod would be easier, even if his gun was fully loaded their were at least fifteen ravagers besides her, she’d survive a bullet and losing six men would be an acceptable loss. The jade kobold behind the bar, a long time servant nick-named Booger by the less creative gangers for his green scales also had his hand on the only shotgun the gang had. It wasn’t loaded, but Bertra wagered the pair didn’t know that for sure. One of her clawed hands rose, picking at her tusks with indifference while she said, “Maybe if you throw in that hammer too I’ll let you join my gang. How about it?” More of her men were rising to answer the signal of Bertra picking her tusks, some not so subtly moving to flank the pair now.

“Wow, you’ll let us join up? Fucking sweet… Counter offer.” Herod said, glancing at the men moving to their left and round to half encircle them, his hand drawing the revolver halfway from its holster. “You fuck off with your drooling retards to the lower levels to feed the monsters, maybe then your miserable fuckin’ lives will have served a point.” The gun moved swift, drawing up and level to Bertra’s head, the hammer cocked back with a loud click. The gangers who had been moving halted, few of them thought it was loaded, but even risking it with the barrel leveled at their boss was dangerous enough to make even the crazies hesitate. Tarkus hoisted his hammer, a grin forming on his black lipped face, the ash lord ignited his hammer now.

Bertra stared back at the gun, looking calm despite the tension building in her shoulders at the insult. Her anger was rising but she knew the rodent was making a ploy. Her red eyes narrowed before her tusked mouth spread into a vicious looking grin, “You fucked up rat, I can see the cylinders, that gun ain’t loaded.” The gang boss chuckling now as her men now openly drew their weapons and the few patrons in the tavern who weren’t with the gang slowly retreated to the walls and beneath tables, away from the battle that was about to be had.

“Oh, yeah, it ain’t.” Herod admitted without skipping a beat, the confidence in his voice making those gangers that started moving halt once again. “That one is though.” He said before a deafening explosion went off behind Bertra. Booger the kobold was standing on the bar, the mistreated and often ignored servant had the supposedly unloaded shotgun aimed at the spurting neck stump where Bertra’s head used to be. The single buckshot round that Yaga had given him earlier doing its job before Herod and Tarkus began moving. Herod dropped his revolver and withdrew a blade from his waistband, a make shift shiv, yet in the stunned surprise of the gangers he was darting passed as several gasps and howls of pain were heard while his blade found purchase in ankles, knees, and groins. Yet it was Tarkus that drew the full attention.

“Upon my pyre you shall burn!” The salamander roared, the war cry of his lineage sounded before his armored foot hit a tables edge and sent it crashing into several still stunned gangers. He followed with it, slamming his hammer into the back to launch it before it collided with an ogre and orc, sending both men crashing into more of their number. All hell broke loose as the more cunning ones began to try and fight. Herod was a whirl of blades, a brown blur that shifted through the crowds with his dagger flashing at every opening before the rodent was bounding away, darting beneath tables or rolling out of the way of clubs and swords trying to find purchase in his flesh. The men Tarkus charged tried to rally, but the ash lords flaming hammer was crushing bone and skull with brutal efficiency, the salamander bellowing oaths and curses as his killed his way through three more.

Effective as their ambush was, as skilled as they may be, they were still vastly outnumbered. The kobold dropped behind the counter, choosing to duck and cover and hoping others feared he might have a second shell in his double barrel. The gang was rallying now, falling back on old tactics as they began to split into formations. Those embattled with Tarkus began to surround him, avoiding his hammer and baiting the salamander into swings that would give an opening. Meanwhile, those dealing with Herod quickly shifted to the backs of those encircling Tarkus, covering their gang mates from the cutting rodent and forcing Herod to fight them on even footing. The ash lords armor began to be tested, clubs, knives, and makeshift swords that could not be dodged or parried clanging off the scrap plate in ear ringing pings.

Herod was darting between the tables now, using the terrain to his advantage as the gangers surrounded Tarkus did not break ranks, those watching him were waiting for him to try and attack, hoping to catch him head on or encircle them like the salamander. Then one of the men screamed and collapsed, his throat filling with blood before he fell onto the ground. “About damn time Yaga, that last one almost got me!” Herod exclaimed, half laughing before a minotaur suddenly broke ranks and charged the distracted rodent, bowling tables and stools out of the way with his club held high. Boss Yaga suddenly appeared, the hulking lagus seeming to materialize from a sudden gathering of shadows shaped like crows, her blade sank into the charging minotaurs side while she caught his arm, swinging his dying carcass with her weight to send his bleeding form crashing into the stones away from Herod.

Now the battle was turning in favor of the lords, not that it had ever been a question. Those that stood on the side lines watched as the remaining members of the ravagers were butchered to the man. Herod was a blur, an almost vibrating lightning bolt whose blade severed flesh with precision before he pulled his supposedly empty revolver and began to blow out the kneecaps of the remainers with blasts of magical fire. He laughed all the while, making jokes as Yaga worked in tandem with him, her own speed and blade work far deadlier as flesh and bone parted like wet paper beneath her dagger. She seemed to fade in and out of the shadows, a dark figure that was coated in blood and gore from her grizzly work. Yet Tarkus cut the most impressive figure, surrounded by men unaware of their comrades being slain, he stood alone wreathed in flames. What his flaming hammerhead did not kill his dragon fire did, the lord of ash bellowing a massive torrent of flame from his maw, those watching swore up and down that his fire took the shape of dragons before it scorched the gangers to ash.

What few knew was that those people were entirely right, they did see it shape into dragons, just as they saw Herod moving faster than the eye could follow or Yaga appearing in a swarm of magical shadow crows. None of it was real, of course, as Briareus was weaving his own magical illusions from behind the bar. Invisible and chuckling to himself while he sampled the swill that passed for booze. It was dreadful, truly dreadful, he had told as much to the kobold cowering beneath the counter clutching their empty shotgun. The king of ogres was there to weave his magics to make the other three into far grander lords than they already were. They appeared majestic, ruthless, extraordinary, the king's illusions ensured that every witness there would see these lords as they were, grand beings above the common man for whatever reason. Sad King Briareus found the whole business enjoyable, making his fellows appear so grand to service their ultimate plan of letting rumors feed into rallying prisoners and downtrodden underneath their new banners. There was subtle art that the invisible king appreciated even if his drink was so poor he considered the possibility of seeing if it could strip paint between his muttered spells.

In the end, the tavern was a charnel house, bodies in various states of mutilation and burns littered the ground and the three lords stood above them unharmed. The witnesses stood frozen, waiting to see if they would be next because every gang up until now had been more ruthless and crueler than the last, so why would this be any different? Yet that never came to be, the plan from the start had been to inspire fear and awe into them, so when Tarkus began phase two of what he outlined to his fellow lords, they fell in step with him. Tarkus began to speak, he told them of their plans, what and who they would be. He offered them hope in an otherwise nightmare that Hammer's Fall had been for them, and all fell in line without question.