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Oliver D. Bernuetz's Stories Back to my home page - back to stories Whitewall - A Lunar Hero Approaches The Young Pup was mucking out the latrines.
His punishment for abandoning his post. His superior hadn't agreed
at all with his and the Old Hand's actions in the situation involving the
Orlanthi hero who had come up the Goat's Path. The Centurion had
expected them to try and stop the maniac. The Pup shuddered as he
remembered the stories his barracks mates had gleefully told him about the
man who had called himself Gunnar. Gunnar Deathsinger they insisted
and they told him of all the people he'd killed. If he had killed
only a quarter of the people he was rumoured to have killed he was still
too damn scary for some kid right off the farm. The Pup sighed, at
least he wasn't face down in the hospital tent recovering from a flogging.
The Centurion had declared that he'd been led down the wrong path amd
latrine duty would be sufficient. He'd visited the Old Hand and when
he'd asked him how the pain was he'd whispered, "Ah, this is nothing lad.
Now crucifixion there's real pain for you." The Pup shook his head
in rueful admiration. Now there was a bullshitter for you! He
was still nodding in bemusement when a hollow, echoing voice spoke in his
ear. He almost leapt high enough to visit the Goddess. He
dropped his shovel and turned around. Before him he saw a nightmare.
The figure who had addressed him was over six feet tall and covered from
foot to head in close fitting black iron armour. The armour was covered
with spikes and strange decorations. There seemed to be no sign of
humanity in the suit. It looked like nothing more than an animated suit of
armour. There were a trio of pale looking followers of Yanafal
Tarnils behind the suit. They looked the worse for wear and seemed
exceptionally nervous for followers of such a stern god.
"Pardon?" mumbled the Pup swallowing his fear. "Where is the command
tent?" repeated the figure impatiently. "The last idiot gave me the
wrong directions and I am tired of punishing slackness. Tell me
where the tent is or I shall cleave you in two." The Pup
noticed that the armour did seem to be splattered with an awful lot of
red. He'd assumed it was some kind of decoration. He bobbed
his head quickly and dropping the shovel. "This way." He'd
take his chances with the Centurion for deserting his post. He
hastily led the way to the command tent and was amazed how quickly the
normally busy camp became quiet and deserted. He'd have to spend a
few hours chewing on the notion that Shargashi could actually go pale and
hasten off to find something else to do besides intimidating people.
After an anxious trip through the camp, was the suit breathing or not,
they arrived at the tent. The guards snapped to attention and
presented arms. The Pup turned to the figure and asked. "Who
should I announce?" The helm turned towards the Pup and the echoing
voice said. "Tell them that Merodach the Black is here." Last updated October 07, 2016 Glorantha is a trademark of Chaosium, Inc. Gloranthan material on this page is copyright ©1997-2016 by Oliver D. Bernuetz or by the author specifically mentioned on an individual page. Glorantha is the creation of Greg Stafford, and is used with his permission. Email me at bernuetz@mymts.net
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