Massacre... [Ulrik's Story: Chapter 1]

A small town that once was. At one time it used to have a name, but now it's just a memory. A dark memory for a dark night. Even though the night is cloudless, the smoke billowing up into the sky blots out the stars. The waning moon giving off but a sliver of moonlight provides almost no light as well. The earth scorched by fire and all the buildings raised. No longer will anyone inhabit this place. The sheer brutality of the devastation is a sight that few can stomach. Hundreds of people, massacred for no logical or apparent reason. The crisp and normally cool night air this time of the year, is now tainted with the stench of burning flesh. Screams and moans of those dying echo throughout what is left of this town. Most people are dead, with limbs severed or broken. A few bodies appear to be cut in half, or gutted like a fish being prepared would be. Headless bodies can be spotted. And while all of this is horrible, upon closer inspection reveals that quite a few of the bodies are children or the elderly. Mercilessly slain in various horrible ways, anyone else left alive won't be for very long.

Dragging himself across the ground trying to get out from under the debris of his destroyed home, is a middle aged man. Wendell Jerosh, tailor by trade but at one point was a solider of the lord’s army. No stranger to pain, he keeps as silent as he can while trying to get to some form of safety. Judging by the intense sharp pain coming from his legs, Wendell surmises his legs are probably broken. The town was a small riverside trade stop. He spots his target, a small skiff tied to the edge of the docks. Problem is, he still has just over 50 yards to go and his assailant is closing in on him. Wendell glances behind himself, and spots him. The fires behind the enemy clearly outline this man. There is no mistaking who he is.

Ulrik the Fallen.

Ex High-Captain of the royal guard, and hand chosen to be one of the lord’s personal guards. Ulrik had turned. For no known reason he slaughtered his wife and unborn child, then upon his incarceration at his trial he managed to break free of his bonds, dispatch his guard, and began wholesale slaughtering of nearly everyone in the court. He was unstoppable. Having been the top master of combat tactics and the best warrior in the lord's service, there truly was no one who could stop him. Ulrik had killed the two guards that had been posted to restrain him during his trial.

It was believed that the two guards, Eric and Hemet, would solicit a little compliance from Ulrik, as these two guards were also his best friends in the garrison. They all grew up together, and they were like brothers. In battle they all worked as one. A triad of perfection. Where one stopped, another began. Turning and twisting in combat, when one stepped away from an opponent leaving an "obvious" hole in their defense, at least one or both of the other two would strike the enemy that would try to take advantage of the apparent hole in defense, falling for the bait.

Apparently that wasn't the case. Ulrik overpowered and killed both Eric and Hemet. He struck with such brutal power and speed; the former friends had no chance to defend themselves. Ulrik killed the head prosecutor, a court wizard, and several councilors, while the remaining participants fled for their lives. Ulrik dispatched all the combatants without a scratch upon himself. Since his escape he has been spotted in various towns and cities. Anyone who tries to confront him so far has ended up dead, and everyone within swords reach gets the same fate. But this time, this is the first time where he's has destroyed an entire town. Brandishing armor and weapons of ancient power, he has become unstoppable. A murderous machine, for which there has been no way of turning off.

As fast as Wendell can crawl, he knows he won't make it to the skiff. Ulrik has spotted him and is even now, making his way to strike Wendell down. Arm over arm, dragging himself despite the pain shooting through is body, Wendell is determined to live. Forty yards. He can hear the clinking of the armor, the creaking of the leather boots, and even Ulrik's breathing. Panic sets in and he tries to crawl even faster. But it doesn't help. Within moments Ulrik is above him. An explosion of pain in his side, and a heavy boot kicks him over and on to his back. Wheezing, and barely able to see through the pain, Wendell looks up and sees the emotionless face of Ulrik. "Please! Spare me! I've got a family to care for! I'm NOBODY!" Cries Wendell, bringing his arms up as if to try to defend himself in some meager way. Ulrik brings up a large claymore in front of himself, sword point down, "Of course you are." he states simply. Wendell closes his yes and Ulrik begins his thrust downward into Wendell.

Thunk comes the noise that Wendell did not expect. He also is not feeling any stabbing pain other than his legs, and is almost scared to open his eyes. In disbelief Wendell opens his eyes and looks up to Ulrik. Odd is the look on Ulrik’s face. It's more of a look of annoyance, like a small nagging child that simply will not stop begging for something from a parent. Inches from having the sword tip pierce his belly, Wendell being unable to do anything but look in disbelief, watches Ulrik turn around and notices a small group of warriors that have shown up brandishing crossbows. The source of the thunking noise is now apparent, as a heavy crossbow bolt protrudes squarely from the middle of Ulrik's back. His jaw drops in amazement as Ulrik simply flexes his shoulders and the bolt dislodges and drops to the ground! Where the flesh was torn by the bolt, the wound closes and in moments isn't even there, like it had never happened!

With impossible speed, Ulrik closes ground to the new attackers. Wendell looks on in disbelief and he only counts Ulrik making about five steps to reach the newcomers that are about sixty yards away! During the dash towards the new warriors, a few more bolts are fired at him. The shots are dead on target, but something unexpected happens. A quick flash of blue light appears in front of Ulrik right as the bolts would strike him, the bolts shatter as if they had hit a stone castle wall. A shoulder slams in to the front warrior with such force, his crossbow breaks, and he is sent flying backwards about fifteen feet or so. Quickly pivoting and rolling behind to his left, Ulrik brings the claymore down and out wide, in a long but fast sweeping arc towards the next warrior on his left. Trying to deflect the attack with the crossbow, the warrior is only partially successful. He did manage to deflect the attack away from his upper legs, but unfortunately he couldn't stop the swing completely, Up came the blade higher, cutting into his arms and squarely across his chest. The most unimaginable pain sweeps across the warriors face.

This is no normal hit. As if the sword itself was reaching inside him and ripping his life out of him, the poor warrior screams in agony. His face begins to look a little thin and his cheeks are beginning to look sunken in. His brown hair now showing gray. Looking down at his wounds, the final breath escapes his lungs as he looks on in confusion at his hands looking old and decrepit.

Ulrik pulls his blade from the dead body as it slumps to the ground. The last warrior standing just looks on in horror and turns to run. He doesn't get far as he takes a few steps and stops. Confused for a brief moment as he is suddenly unable to move. Then he feels life being sucked out of him through his back. Looking down, he now notices the point of a sword sticking a few inches out of his chest. Moments later, another aged corpse hits the ground. At this point the first warrior is barely picking himself off the ground, when he finds Ulrik standing over him. "Run." is the only word that Ulrik speaks. He turns and runs as fast as he can, fear fully motivating him at this point. Ulrik reaches down and picks up the heavy crossbow left on the ground with a bolt that was trying to be loaded into it. Slinging the claymore over his back for a moment, he then proceeds to pull back the draw cord with one hand and latches it. This is something that normally takes both hands and some time to do! Flips up the crossbow, slides in the bolt, takes a bead on the warrior running away and fires. The bolt whips through the air, striking the fleeing man in the neck. "That'll do I suppose." mumbles Ulrik as he watches the warrior fall to his death.

Turning around and focusing on his prior task, Ulrik notices that Wendell is nowhere to be seen. Quickly getting back to where he last left him, Ulrik sees the drag marks in the ground leading to the dock. Gone is the skiff that was tied there. "Hmpf. I'm sure this one will be looking for me eventually. I'll deal with him then." Pulling open a small pouch on his belt, Ulrik removes a small statuette of a black horse. He places it on the ground before him and mutters, "Provanti Merosa". Thick black smoke begins to pour out of the statuette, quickly engulfing Ulrik and growing to about ten feet in diameter, swirling about him. The smoke starts to dissipate and standing where the statuette once was, is a jet black steed, a full 15 hands high, with flames emitting from its hooves and nostrils. Glowing red eyes, piercing the soul of anyone trying to make eye contact. This is what is known as a Nightmare. A horse born and bred in the lower levels of hell, bound by evil magic’s and pulled into the world from such magic’s. Ulrik climbs up on to it's back and proceeds to ride off, leaving this once small and prospering town to burn to ashes and be blown away in the chill night wind.