//------------------------------// // Act 4- Chapter 5: To Find a Butcher // Story: Icon: Remnants of the North // by Vixavior //------------------------------// To Find a Butcher Proofread by TehSporkBandit Far from the darkness of the caves under the mountain or the oppressive pall of a few soot-blackened lamps, the inside of the monolithic tower lays bathed in light. Torches rest in wall sconces while iron rings suspend a myriad of tealights which lather the cold stone in soft autumnal hues and banish the abyssal shades from the farthest nooks and crannies. Dozens of tiny lights sit on two large trestle tables flanking the doorway, watched over by a plethora of large tapestries hanging on the adjacent walls, the blood-red fabric are each emblazoned with a slanted cross and embroidered with black wings. The ceremonial-looking arrangement leads up to a single winding staircase that overshadows a half dozen innocuous doorways. Despite the brightness, a pervasive chill draws the warmth from your bones and saps your strength. The castle might have all the brightness of a midsummers day, but it is still as cold as the grave. “Somepony really tryin’ ta keep all this real warm. Look at them candles.” Applejack whispers harshly. “They ain't doin' a good job, but ah guess they're tryin'.” You clear your throat to silence the mare. “I guess we head upstairs. Which way is north?” Trying to be quiet is difficult in the stony halls; every sound seems like it's amplified by the corridors and your whisper turns into a veritable proclamation to the rest of the room. “Left.” Applejack motions in that general direction. The myriad of doorways and the sheer size of the tower presents a problem. A Gremlin could appear from any quarter and run in any direction. You quickly check the axe again; tinges of red remain around the handle where the paint hadn't been cleared off, but for the most part the weapon appears perfectly fine. You rewrap the leather thong around your wrist. It's time to confront the raider, the kidnapper, the murderer. Ulf. With a single wave, you motion everypony towards the stairwell. The regular clap of hooves on the dim granite floor makes a racket in the hall, but that can't be helped. It doesn’t take long to reach the second floor. Your companions catch up a few moments later. Fluttershy pants as her wavering steps catch your ear and Applejack isn't much better off. The sharp incline and human-like architecture barely registered in your mind as normal but this wasn’t an effortless climb for your companions. “Are you two alright?” Applejack nods, but her muzzle twitches as her hind hoof spastically taps the floor a few times. “R-right as rain.” It might be best to ignore her as she catches her breath with a visible twitch on her muzzle. The wave of discomfort was plain to see crossing her face. You peer out beneath the archway entrance of the second story. There is a door that can close the whole floor off, almost like a fire escape in an office tower. It rests back on its hinges, kept open by a block of stone. The hallway is laid out in front of you like a cross: back to the stairs, left, right and straight ahead. It's lit in much the same fashion as the ground floor, banks of wall sconces and tea lights suspended by cords light the way with remarkable clarity and yet disappear in a curving hallway before you. Something slightly unfamiliar wafts past your nose. It isn't the fecund stench of death and decay, but a cloying pall with a sharp acrid tang. The scent settles on your tongue like ash. Someone, somewhere nearby, is burning oil and incense. “Smell that?” Applejack steals a glance down each hallway. Sure enough, it isn’t just you. Fluttershy peeps in around the corner, eyes fugitively darting left and right in a hope that there was no Gremlin or other monster that would sneak up on her. Applejack scrunches up her nose and gently reaches out to touch Fluttershy's withers. She ‘eeps’ and goes rigid as Applejack's eyes glaze over in thought, “That’s one of them stickle shrubs, licorice, hmm. Nope... huh. Balsam, maybe?” Fluttershy’s nose seems to wiggle like a rabbit's, a little sniff, a pair of awkward breaths, then a petite sneeze. She wrinkles her nose again, “Excuse me.” She brushes her muzzle with the back of her hoof, “Balsam of cicily.” Fluttershy sagaciously nods back, “Myrrh.” Your eyes widen further, “Myrrh?” So it has to be incense of some kind. “Is that normal?” Both Fluttershy and Applejack exchange a mutual look of surprise, “Shoot, ain't nothin like a drop a' myrrh ta' set a toothache right in no time.” The farm mare smiles thanks to the supportive albeit non verbal agreement of the Pegasus caretaker. That wasn't the first thing that came to mind. “It's not that common where I'm from. Ulf's behind it, he has to be.” Already there are those portraits, the painted posters in the city and the proclamation; everything seems to be pointing towards more of a religious or ideological facade with every passing moment. Holding a finger to your lips, you call for silence then proceed back to the stairwell before trudging up the steps. The lengthy climb gives way to quietness and concern. The second, third, four, and even fifth story all yield the same perplexing silence but none appeared notably different. Each hallway likely has some immeasurable worth and value; whether stores of food or vast vaults of gold, yet neither are your goal. You don't care about some hoard of wealth, just a pair of precious gems: a white diamond and the amethyst jewel of Equestria's Crown. Still, each door could have been locked tight, but they aren’t. It was safe to expect a prominent guard detail given how much effort they'd gone to in order to capture the Unicorns and the Alicorn. Surely there wouldn’t be just a few haunting echoes of scuttling feet, sounds that eat at the edges of your senses. Of course, that's assuming they're alive. At some point between the mountain and here, your optimism had given way to the quietness of concern and a rising discomfort. Soon, you arrive at the sixth floor. All the rooms you’d passed had been honeycomb-like, each the same and easy to mistake for one another. As you stop on the verge of the sixth floor the cloying grip of incense hits you hard and sends your head swimming from the noxious vapors. Applejack’s rather loud sneeze breaks the monotony of foot and hoof falls. You turn and look back at the Earth-pony behind you as she fans her stetson in front of her face. “Sorry. It's gotten a bit warmer in here and that burnin’ smell is gettin’ mighty strong.” “Yeah, I guess it did get warm, didn't it?” You had barely felt that incremental change, you'd been too busy listening to four different sets of steps. … four sets? You look up sharply, nearly colliding with a gangly red figure. A Gremlin, toting a mountainous stack of dull pewter dishes, had turned the corner of the hallway and blindly walked into the stairwell. Now it just stares at you, and you stare right back. The momentary bewilderment that grips both of you is snapped in less than a heartbeat. “G-” your warning is cut off as the impish creature drops the plates which clatter and bounce down the stairs in a hideous cacophony. The beast itself takes to its feet with superhuman speed, sending up a wailing shriek as it dashes pell-mell away from you and bounces dumbly off the wall in its mad flight upwards. You take a lunging step forward only to step on an overturned plate. You wobble, but quickly regain your balance before taking off after the screaming figure. The Gremlin has a headstart of no more than two seconds, but it’s running as if chased by all the furies of hell. “Ah can't get 'em with mah rope in 'ere! The stairs're too narro-Woah!” As if to prove a point, Applejack stumbles in the narrow and unfamiliarly steep climb. You rush up the steps, passing the seventh story, then eighth. Slowly, you gain ground until you could practically reach out and grab the imp. It doesn't look back as you stretch out to catch it by the ears. Its lightning-quick reflexes kick in as it flings itself into a door as the staircase abruptly ends, leaving your hands grasping air where a long dagger-like ear had been just a fraction of a second before. The stairway ends in an alcove with a bank of wax candles and a iconographical painting identical to the tract you saw in the warehouse. You ignore it and race after the Gremlin. Your nails rake across the creature's leathery back, bearing it to the ground as it squeals in terror. It lashes out with its feet in blind panic, catching you across the brow more by luck than skill. Its nails open up a small stinging cut before you bow your head to protect yourself from several more panicked kicks. You dig your fingers in and wrench the beast's leg to the side, awkwardly trying to restrain it as it wails. “AJ! Rope!” “Ah'm a’comin’!” Applejack shouts. Admittedly, the clattering of her hooves on the rough stone would have been evidence enough. You immediately look around and take stock of your surroundings as the sound of rushed cries and pattering feet dies. If they didn't know that you were here, they sure did now. To the left is a short hallway ending in a thick oak door bound in wide bands of iron. To the right is a great room some twenty feet tall with a single radiating fireplace that crackles with life. Another grand trestle table is laid out with a red and gold embroidered cloth just in front of the large hearth. Beyond that lies another iron banded door. Yet in front of you is one last wide dual door that two Gremlins duck inside of before slamming shut. “H-Help!" The creature’s squeal bounces around the cavernous hall. “Hold ‘em there.” Applejack darts up and into the room with Fluttershy a few paces behind. The latter gasps from the climb, but the sturdy farmpony flings herself at the Gremlin. She slams into the creature with her shoulder and swiftly slips the ropes around its arms and legs like it was just a rodeo act. The clack of the opening doors heralds the arrival of something else. Something unwelcome. There is nearly no other possibility, and as you glance up from the struggling Gremlin, those suspicions are confirmed. Seven Gremlins spill from the gaping maw of the large double-doors, each clad in ragged patchwork grey habits cinched with frayed lengths of rope. The septet halts as an eighth shuffles out from behind the clique. Burdened with a living cloak of twitching wings and spasming beaks, the figure plods towards you as the procession parts. A raw, rasping tone wheezes from scabrous lips, “None but the Carrion Lords shall remain. Your cities will crumble, your people will writhe in agony, and their death throes spasm and seep their malignant waste to the uncaring ground. I see it, I see it in your eyes, earth-born, and you sky-born. But you,” it points a hooked claw at you while you wind the thong of the hand axe around your wrist and slowly stand, “you are nothing more than a transcendent redundancy. Certainly nothing more than a mistake, birthed upon the world and fated to blight it. You will disappear, unmourned and forgotten.” Applejack looks like she had been ensorcelled while her neck keeps jerking backwards. Fluttershy trembles as the Gremlin's cracked lips twist into a thin smirk. You had felt the weighty prophetic words before, too. It's nothing but a threat. Just an empty threat. The creature spreads its arms out, face still obscured by an onyx sackcloth cloak, “Cry, rejoice and scream. For your doom has co-” Surging up from your knees, you throw yourself at the cloaked figure. The grey figures stand stock-still, mouths agape as you bring the war axe high over your head. The Carrion Lord’s eyes widen as he hops back, sending up a plume of obsidian birds that sweep around him and shroud him from sight. A howl tears itself from your throat as you sweep the hand axe left and right. The weapon's keen blade hisses through the air with a deathly whine, just short of clipping through flesh and fabric alike as the agile creatures are finally awakened from their stupor and scramble away from the seeking blade. Many take to wing and flee from the onslaught, you barely even catch a glimpse of the cloaked figure from the corner of your eye as it crooks a gnarled finger at you. A few incandescent wisps of blue form around its fingertips as your hair stands on end. “Look out!” You are already starting to drop as a whirl snaps the air and a sudden grip tightens around your leg. With a sure tug you are tackled face first to the floor. A blinding flash of light and smell of burning ozone are enough to make you sick, but the ringing crash and discordant pulse of nervous energy swamps your senses. It is disorienting for a moment, but it's the vengeful calls of a swarm of Ravens that cuts through the fugue. You hear the washed out drone of a garbled voice, but whose is impossible to tell. The onyx swarm of raking talons and snipping beaks never descend. Instead, one or two grey habit-clad figures are the only assailants as the considerable weight on your back rolls off. A shock of orange fur isn’t a concern as the snarling visages of the uncertain Gremlins greet you, and you greet them with several hacking swings. One such stroke sweeps across one creature's arm as it hops back a moment too late. It yowls and recoils while clutching its forearm, the only evidence of what happened being the light red smear across the leading edge of your axe. As you pull yourself up to your knees, the Gremlins edge back. The fervent voice turns into a roar, and slowly, you make out its words: “That's right, I'm talking to you! All of you!” Fluttershy’s commanding tone rings out in the stone halls. “By Hugunn, find your enemies and tear out their eyes, rip their hides, feast on their flesh! Your Lord commands it!” Like a sudden cloud obscuring the sun, the reinvigorated tide of Ravens circle and croak all the more ferociously as they’re driven into a frothing frenzy. They swirl around you like a tornado, reaching the tallest vaulted ceiling and sweeping by inches from your face. Applejack backs herself against Flutteshy, who the Ravens seem unwilling to attack. “... Ashamed, you hear me, you should be ashamed!” The Pegasus cries out but is once more countered by the demagogue who picks up an eerie dirge. “The Carrion Lords will not suffer you to live. Surrender yourselves and we may show your kin-folk some mercies.” The heavily-draped form still hangs back behind a wall of ashen-clothed servants beyond that living curtain that swirls around you. A flurry of beating wings streams all around you as a sharp pain throbs on the top of your head. A single peck tears off a bit of scalp as you blindly swing the axe in retaliation. It likely doesn’t hit that Raven in particular, but a spray of blood coats your knuckles and even spatters across your face, leaving several droplets on your glasses. One of the Gremlins reaches out, grasping your hand holding the axe. It twists and pulls at your limb, hoping to pry the weapon loose, but your free hand brings down a reflexive punch. It catches across its brow, gashing open its face and splitting open your knuckle on its bony brow. Another Gremlin surges forward to grasp you around the neck and yank at your collar. You twist and turn, feeling several more clambering, clawed hands grasp at your throat as Applejack's yowl breaches the crescendo of caws. “Y'all let 'em go! Ain't nopony, no one, gonna' lay a claw on 'im!” You set the axe to the inside of your collar and quickly slide it down, shearing off a dozen brass buttons and a flap of gnarled skin from a Gremlin's right hand as well. Twisting away from the vice-like grips, you pull yourself free of the blue and yellow coat, leaving three confused Gremlins in a single tempting line. Applejack’s quick charge through the obsidian cloud is masked as she pivots on the spot, using the twisting momentum before her hind legs shoot out and smash into the unfortunate Gremlin whose hand you'd bisected. The force of the impact catapults him into the other two Gremlin and tosses all three across the room like ragdolls. The trio smash into the nearby table. “Fer Land’s sake, Fluttershy, curb them things or they’ll cut us ta’ bits!” The swirling melee of feathers and claws is a constantly shifting myriad of dangers, and worst of all, in the sudden rush you'd lost sight of the Carrion Lord. It’s like being back in the forest fighting that Timberwolf. You don’t have to close your eyes, but you know you are being hunted. It is getting around, finding your blind spot, seeking out that one perfect position to launch itself from. Fluttershy is to your right, Applejack just behind you to the right as well. Where is its opening? The answer presented itself almost by reflex. You push Applejack clear and whirl the axe blade up behind you on the left. “Juoo-Daan!” Your instinctive bellow clears the squall of Ravens for a moment as the black figure materializes from the cloud. It hesitates, no longer an unarmed cleric, but a vicious imp clasping a narrow, twisted, stone hatchet in its skeletal hands. It holds it, poised over its head, aged brown stains and spatters of dried blood still clinging to the blade. The Carrion Lord's eyes open wide as the war cry resonates in its ears, the last it ever hears. You bring your own axe down in a savage arc. The shining blade screams down an inch wide of its neck, slamming deep into the Gremlin's collar and biting a full foot through its chest. The twisted stone handaxe clatters to the ground as a hush falls over the room like a veil had been cast over it. It’s broken only by an inhuman wheeze interspersed by a profane splutter. The Carrion Lord’s mouth opens with a froth of pink foam as it spasms and twitches. A mist of arterial blood sprays across your face, making you reflexively mop at your cheek and lose your graip of the axe buried deep in the Gremlin lord’s flesh. The creature quickly collapses into an ignoble pile of blood-stained fabric and ruined meat. No one says a word as the creature convulses and shakes. A bubbling rasp of breath whispers from its lungs one last time. The remaining Gremlins take flight, clambering over one another towards the stairwell while the Ravens swarm through the double-door frames in the exact opposite direction in their panic. Moments later, there’s nothing left but an impenetrable silence. A sanguine puddle spreads from the mangled body of the fallen Carrion Lord. Several more ragged scraps lay nearby; remnants of Ravens cloven in two or brained by the axe still buried in the creature's chest. It is sickening as the slow pump of adrenaline relinquishes its grasp, shaking your limbs and slowing your heart to a deafening arrhythmic heartbeat 'thump'. A bitter surge of bile crawls up your throat, stinging your mouth with its acidic bite. Though no more than five feet from your two companions, they remain terrifyingly silent. As you stare into those glassy eyes, it is all but impossible not to feel alone at that very moment. All the notions of rescue and heroism drains away with one sudden realization: I killed him.