The Yogi said:
I was hardly able to read anything in december, but I shall go and read it now.
Thanks, DW
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I was hardly able to read anything in december, but I shall go and read it now.
Thanks, DW
Simon_Jester said:
Heh. Sorry, I have the same problem, I get a little annoyed with the katana crowd myself on occassion.
As for who were allowed swords, in 1815 all officers and gentlemen. Officially this excluded midshipmen, but midshipmen of noble birth or good family could get dispensation on grounds of family background/gentle birth. The dispensation was cancelled after an incident in a wardroom in 1843, I believe. After that, lieutenant and up. (All services) The Master as well in the navy.
The standard weapon of this era would be servicable but not exceptional in quality. (Not up to Wilkinson standards) The Patriotic fund and various burghs and boroughs did vote swords to famous sons of their parish though. Better quality weapons came into officers' hands that way. Poorer officers who had a good dress sword would fight with it rather than with a normal weapon because the quality was often better. (Forester got that right, Hornblower always fought with his Patriotic fund sword once he had it.)
WW I swords were actually quite good, especially the cavalry. They were expecting action with them. Some very fine weapons were lost in the mud of Flanders with some very fine young if foolish men in those first bloody days of august 1914.
I agree that the WW II era sword could be lousy, there is one famous example of a French general drawing his sword dramatically in 1938 to get a crowd of young men to enlist and waving around his bladeless hilt for a bit before the laughter made him realize anything was wrong. And he injured his hand on the tang when he tried to get it out.
OT again, Sorry Yogi... In Defence, he did ask.
DW
see discovery1's answer below. Getting into the Dreamland might well be their only chance to go back to the Empress in time once air extraction went out of the picture.Karelian said:
Very shrewd of you, Sir. Good to see readers follow the story and its stragenesses with such attention to detail.discovery1 said:
That indeed is a problem. A big one.Dinglehoff said:
It's hard to fathom how such an alien being will reason, but BN has shown some propensity to follow the easy path to instant gratification, and that is bad news for the Empress and her boys. Even harder is to guess what the powers of BN are regarding Dreamland. As far as I understand, the Dreamland is at least to some degree a creation of the collective Human psyche, and as such might be wholly uninteresting to a multidimensional being from the stars. On the other hand, the fearsome Other Gods do have an interest in the Dreamland, to the point of having taken the feeble (man made?) Gods of the Dreamland under their protection. On the whole, the Old Ones and Great Old Ones not being of this Earth makes it likely they will have little interest in Earth's Dreamland. But I could be wrong.Simon_Jester said:
Skorzeny had a good time in Ulthar, at the beginning of this story, but ever since his experiences of the Dreamlands have gone steadily down hill. He never wanted to go back there EVER, and then blind dumb bad (?) luck threw back into the worst part of it. He's just blowing off steam, protesting against unkind fate in the way he's most familiar with - sarcastic bitching.Mettermrck said:
His previous experience of Leng were NOT good. To the point that is even possible, this is the behaviour of a traumatised Skorzeny.Simon_Jester said:
Or HE could lead them to a ghoul gate, but perhaps not one in Burma.Dinglehoff 4th Dimension said:
What he said.Simon_Jester said:
Oh, come on, what's a few years/decades worth of being ripped to shreds for a proper Aryan superman like Duhrn?Dinglehoff said:
Thank God I can still surprise at least some of you on occasion (not DW though...Deus said:
)They don't.Simon_Jester said:
How wrong they were!korppi said:
Good to hear that you still enjoy the story, despite the fact that you're able of predicting the plot so remarkably wellDead William said:
NOTE: That does not imply I admit to including the Druid Council into the story. ....ate some Nazi chumelbasto said:
Down came the cliff-sides and crushed spiders to scum.
Time passed in Dreamland, spiders multiplied
Now itsy bitsy spider eats a Gurkha fried
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Plateau of Leng
Earth’s Dreamland
Time indeterminable
The compasses were working again, Skorzeny’s theory being that they had only ceased to function in the transitional zone of the portal, where time and space (and presumably the magnetic fields of the two realities) had shifted gradually in some not understandable manner. Led by compass, they had made their way southwards across the waste, making for the entrance to the Underworld. On the way they had avoided a few small, grim villages of low stone huts in which eerie fires burnt at night. On the third day though, Bond and Skorzeny decided to raid a small village for provisions and more clothes. Two lightly wounded soldiers had already succumbed to the cold, and Fah Lo Suee was growing weaker; they badly needed to replenish their stores. The villagers, abominable creatures with horns, hooves, slanted eyes and mouths far too wide and with far too many sharp teeth in them, scattered in terror and none had to be slain. Apart from various slightly suspect but edible foodstuffs, torches and warm clothes, they found in a base temple some crudely fashioned statues depicting blob-like amorphous beings which were apparently revered as gods by the devil-men. To their fortune, the Company did not encounter any of the bloated purple spiders of Leng – perhaps their numbers had still not recovered from the slaughter inflicted on them by Xaltotun and SS-Kampfabteilung Traumland, although it was hard to tell how long a time had passed there since then. They reached their objective on the fourth day of their march.
In the unnaturally stale and bitterly cold air of the Plateu of Leng, the Company of Gurkhas and their leaders crouched in the snow, hiding behind a number of half-ruined ancient towers or monoliths, tilted, decrepit and fashioned of black, time-worn basalt. They were arranged in a rough semi-circle around a great but squat and windowless construction of rough, grey, undecorated and ugly stone. It was perched like a malevolent spider on the edge of a great cliff, below which sprawled the shattered remnants of the once great city of Sarkomand of the Winged Lions, and the cold tranquil sea. Inside, Skorzeny had told them, were the black, nitrite-encrusted stairs leading to the Underworld of Dreamland, through which they could reach the Ghoul Realm and eventually a way back to the waking world. What Skorzeny hadn’t told them was who, or what he feared might still be sitting, for ever shrouded behind a saffron silk mask, on a throne of gold atop a stone dais in a pitch-black, domed room in which six blood-stained stone altars surrounded a yawning well. He did hint at the possibility of opposition though.
Even less he said about who he hoped to find in the fearful dungeons of that accursed monastery. If fate had lead him in the flesh where he hadn’t so far managed, or perhaps dared to go in his dreams, then Otto Skorzeny wouldn’t pass up the chance given.
‘Only one entrance, as far as I can see!’ Bond muttered, lowering his field glasses. ‘That means a frontal assault, I guess. But I don’t like it; isn’t there any other way down the cliffs?’
Skorzeny shook his head. ‘No, Commander Bond. No other way. But I doubt the entrance is guarded very zealously. This place has a sinister reputation. No one EVER comes here if they can help it.’
He sure wasn’t going to tell the Briton about the way he and his men had descended the last time he was here. It was quite possible Duhrn was in the monastery, and being in the Dreamland without the black-hearted son of a bitch and his arcane knowledge made Skorzeny feel vulnerable and exposed. Duhrn knew this place, and had the powers and knowledge needed to survive here. They needed him, it was as simple as that, although he doubted very much he could convince Bond or even Fah Lo Suee of that, so he said nothing.
Bond sighed. ‘Nothing for it then.’ He drew his bayonet. ‘GurkhAAS! Draw your weapons and follow me!’
He didn’t shout “charge!” for that would have meant a shouting and war-cries. No use alerting any lazy guards. In the event, there proved to be none.
They reached the entrance and pushed into the low-ceilinged room behind. There was a primordial, Neolithic feel to the construction, with great, roughly cut slabs of stone piled on top of each other forming walls and roof. There were no arches. On the whole, the monastery reminded Bond of the prehistoric temple of Ġgantija, which he had seen while on shore leave on Gozo, the smaller sister Island of Malta during his time as a Royal Navy ensign, although on a much, much larger scale. But while the Neolithic ruins of Gozo had just inspired awe through their prodigious age, the Monastery of Leng was also radiating an almost tangible aura of evil – and as the company pressed deeper into the maze of tunnels, they saw by the light of their torches some of the grisly frescoes seen by Duhrn and Skorzeny on their previous visit.
Skorzeny didn’t know the outlay of the apparently random chaos of corridors and passages, but he kept listening, periodically asking the others to stop and be silent.
‘What are you listening for, Major?’ Bond asked suspiciously. It seemed to him the Nazi officer was not searching for a flight of stairs at all.
‘I thought I heard something…’ Skorzeny asked, looking concentrated. ‘There it is again! Listen!’
Bond did, and immediately picked up the slammer of great chains winding up and screams, terrible, blood-curling screams, although so distant that the noises were hardly audible. The rustling of the entire company walking through warren of dusty, barren stone corridors had made enough noise to cover it up completely.
‘Good God, what is that?’ Bond asked, going pale.
‘I have no idea’, Skorzeny lied. ‘Let’s find out!’
Following the direction of the sounds, Skorzeny led the group deeper into the bowels of the dread monastery. If his dreams were correct, Duhrn’s torment had been automated, the High Priest not to described would not be present. That meant they never had to go near his throne room, which was just as well, the Austrian thought. He had no wish to confront the cursed thing.
Suddenly they entered a large, domed room. Pitch black until their torches lit it up it was apparently built with a less archaic building technique than the rest of the megalithic monastery. The walls were smooth and curved, but as dull grey and unadorned as any other place not covered in disturbing frescoes.
But this they all noted only in passing, for in the middle of the room, six altars abominably encrusted with brown-red spatters stood arranged around a black well, from which the horrid sounds emerged. Beyond that, in the far side of the chamber stood a high stone dais on which stood a golden throne, and in that throne sat a misshapen creature, entirely clad or wrapped in golden yellow silk. As soon as light fell on it, Pandemonium erupted.
The thing in yellow rose laboriously, extending a hand towards them. The Gurkhas began to scream in terror. Flickering torch light reflected in the polished blade of the Rune Sword as it flew out of the scabbard and Skorzeny charged, screaming in equal parts from terror and rage.
And then the torches were all snuffed out as if by magic. The room once more fell into complete darkness, and the screams began in earnest, shrill, desperate screams of pain and despair and soul-rending horror. Bond fought to control his panic, holding on to Fah Lo Suee’s hand as a drowning man to a length of rope while waving his bayonet in front of him. He couldn’t see what was happening, how his men were dying, but dying they were, there could be no question of that. There was a high-pitched growling sound in the room, like some incredibly angry and large dog, and other far more horrible sounds, sounds of brutal rending and horrid spattering and hideous splashing. The cacophony was enough to tell the British spy his men were being wiped out without any opportunity to fight back.
‘Retreat! Retreat!’ he shouted desperately, backing away the same way he had come. Some huge thing, ice-cold and covered in thick, coarse hairs brushed past the young officer, and that did it, he turned tail and ran back into the complete darkness beyond, never letting go of Fah Lo Suee’s hand. Running steps behind him told him at least some of the men had made it out, although the horrific screams of the dying never ceased, even if they grew fainter and fainter. In their blind flight, they were suddenly descending a flight of broad stairs, which doubled back on themselves again and again. Bond dared hope they had finally found the stairs they were looking for, and his hopes were confirmed by a weak grey light appearing at the bottom of the stairs. When he finally reached the source of the light, he found it to be a portal in the cliff side. Straight ahead lay the ruined city seen from the edge of the cliff, and the two colossal statues of winged lions guarding the entrance into the mountain only confirmed what he already knew – this was Sarkomand, and the stairs continuing down underground led to the Underworld.
He walked out into the feeble grey light and turned to face his panicked command as it emerged from the portal.
‘All right men, form up! Head count please!’
Half the company was gone. Bond could only hope that some more survivors were simply lost in the darkness, and would find their way out soon.
Fah Lo Suee grabbed his arm hard enough to cause pain. ‘James, where is Otto?’
All Bond could do was to look around helplessly. Of the larger-than-life Austrian there was no trace.
Earth’s Dreamland
Time indeterminable
The compasses were working again, Skorzeny’s theory being that they had only ceased to function in the transitional zone of the portal, where time and space (and presumably the magnetic fields of the two realities) had shifted gradually in some not understandable manner. Led by compass, they had made their way southwards across the waste, making for the entrance to the Underworld. On the way they had avoided a few small, grim villages of low stone huts in which eerie fires burnt at night. On the third day though, Bond and Skorzeny decided to raid a small village for provisions and more clothes. Two lightly wounded soldiers had already succumbed to the cold, and Fah Lo Suee was growing weaker; they badly needed to replenish their stores. The villagers, abominable creatures with horns, hooves, slanted eyes and mouths far too wide and with far too many sharp teeth in them, scattered in terror and none had to be slain. Apart from various slightly suspect but edible foodstuffs, torches and warm clothes, they found in a base temple some crudely fashioned statues depicting blob-like amorphous beings which were apparently revered as gods by the devil-men. To their fortune, the Company did not encounter any of the bloated purple spiders of Leng – perhaps their numbers had still not recovered from the slaughter inflicted on them by Xaltotun and SS-Kampfabteilung Traumland, although it was hard to tell how long a time had passed there since then. They reached their objective on the fourth day of their march.
In the unnaturally stale and bitterly cold air of the Plateu of Leng, the Company of Gurkhas and their leaders crouched in the snow, hiding behind a number of half-ruined ancient towers or monoliths, tilted, decrepit and fashioned of black, time-worn basalt. They were arranged in a rough semi-circle around a great but squat and windowless construction of rough, grey, undecorated and ugly stone. It was perched like a malevolent spider on the edge of a great cliff, below which sprawled the shattered remnants of the once great city of Sarkomand of the Winged Lions, and the cold tranquil sea. Inside, Skorzeny had told them, were the black, nitrite-encrusted stairs leading to the Underworld of Dreamland, through which they could reach the Ghoul Realm and eventually a way back to the waking world. What Skorzeny hadn’t told them was who, or what he feared might still be sitting, for ever shrouded behind a saffron silk mask, on a throne of gold atop a stone dais in a pitch-black, domed room in which six blood-stained stone altars surrounded a yawning well. He did hint at the possibility of opposition though.
Even less he said about who he hoped to find in the fearful dungeons of that accursed monastery. If fate had lead him in the flesh where he hadn’t so far managed, or perhaps dared to go in his dreams, then Otto Skorzeny wouldn’t pass up the chance given.
‘Only one entrance, as far as I can see!’ Bond muttered, lowering his field glasses. ‘That means a frontal assault, I guess. But I don’t like it; isn’t there any other way down the cliffs?’
Skorzeny shook his head. ‘No, Commander Bond. No other way. But I doubt the entrance is guarded very zealously. This place has a sinister reputation. No one EVER comes here if they can help it.’
He sure wasn’t going to tell the Briton about the way he and his men had descended the last time he was here. It was quite possible Duhrn was in the monastery, and being in the Dreamland without the black-hearted son of a bitch and his arcane knowledge made Skorzeny feel vulnerable and exposed. Duhrn knew this place, and had the powers and knowledge needed to survive here. They needed him, it was as simple as that, although he doubted very much he could convince Bond or even Fah Lo Suee of that, so he said nothing.
Bond sighed. ‘Nothing for it then.’ He drew his bayonet. ‘GurkhAAS! Draw your weapons and follow me!’
He didn’t shout “charge!” for that would have meant a shouting and war-cries. No use alerting any lazy guards. In the event, there proved to be none.
They reached the entrance and pushed into the low-ceilinged room behind. There was a primordial, Neolithic feel to the construction, with great, roughly cut slabs of stone piled on top of each other forming walls and roof. There were no arches. On the whole, the monastery reminded Bond of the prehistoric temple of Ġgantija, which he had seen while on shore leave on Gozo, the smaller sister Island of Malta during his time as a Royal Navy ensign, although on a much, much larger scale. But while the Neolithic ruins of Gozo had just inspired awe through their prodigious age, the Monastery of Leng was also radiating an almost tangible aura of evil – and as the company pressed deeper into the maze of tunnels, they saw by the light of their torches some of the grisly frescoes seen by Duhrn and Skorzeny on their previous visit.
Skorzeny didn’t know the outlay of the apparently random chaos of corridors and passages, but he kept listening, periodically asking the others to stop and be silent.
‘What are you listening for, Major?’ Bond asked suspiciously. It seemed to him the Nazi officer was not searching for a flight of stairs at all.
‘I thought I heard something…’ Skorzeny asked, looking concentrated. ‘There it is again! Listen!’
Bond did, and immediately picked up the slammer of great chains winding up and screams, terrible, blood-curling screams, although so distant that the noises were hardly audible. The rustling of the entire company walking through warren of dusty, barren stone corridors had made enough noise to cover it up completely.
‘Good God, what is that?’ Bond asked, going pale.
‘I have no idea’, Skorzeny lied. ‘Let’s find out!’
Following the direction of the sounds, Skorzeny led the group deeper into the bowels of the dread monastery. If his dreams were correct, Duhrn’s torment had been automated, the High Priest not to described would not be present. That meant they never had to go near his throne room, which was just as well, the Austrian thought. He had no wish to confront the cursed thing.
Suddenly they entered a large, domed room. Pitch black until their torches lit it up it was apparently built with a less archaic building technique than the rest of the megalithic monastery. The walls were smooth and curved, but as dull grey and unadorned as any other place not covered in disturbing frescoes.
But this they all noted only in passing, for in the middle of the room, six altars abominably encrusted with brown-red spatters stood arranged around a black well, from which the horrid sounds emerged. Beyond that, in the far side of the chamber stood a high stone dais on which stood a golden throne, and in that throne sat a misshapen creature, entirely clad or wrapped in golden yellow silk. As soon as light fell on it, Pandemonium erupted.
The thing in yellow rose laboriously, extending a hand towards them. The Gurkhas began to scream in terror. Flickering torch light reflected in the polished blade of the Rune Sword as it flew out of the scabbard and Skorzeny charged, screaming in equal parts from terror and rage.
And then the torches were all snuffed out as if by magic. The room once more fell into complete darkness, and the screams began in earnest, shrill, desperate screams of pain and despair and soul-rending horror. Bond fought to control his panic, holding on to Fah Lo Suee’s hand as a drowning man to a length of rope while waving his bayonet in front of him. He couldn’t see what was happening, how his men were dying, but dying they were, there could be no question of that. There was a high-pitched growling sound in the room, like some incredibly angry and large dog, and other far more horrible sounds, sounds of brutal rending and horrid spattering and hideous splashing. The cacophony was enough to tell the British spy his men were being wiped out without any opportunity to fight back.
‘Retreat! Retreat!’ he shouted desperately, backing away the same way he had come. Some huge thing, ice-cold and covered in thick, coarse hairs brushed past the young officer, and that did it, he turned tail and ran back into the complete darkness beyond, never letting go of Fah Lo Suee’s hand. Running steps behind him told him at least some of the men had made it out, although the horrific screams of the dying never ceased, even if they grew fainter and fainter. In their blind flight, they were suddenly descending a flight of broad stairs, which doubled back on themselves again and again. Bond dared hope they had finally found the stairs they were looking for, and his hopes were confirmed by a weak grey light appearing at the bottom of the stairs. When he finally reached the source of the light, he found it to be a portal in the cliff side. Straight ahead lay the ruined city seen from the edge of the cliff, and the two colossal statues of winged lions guarding the entrance into the mountain only confirmed what he already knew – this was Sarkomand, and the stairs continuing down underground led to the Underworld.
He walked out into the feeble grey light and turned to face his panicked command as it emerged from the portal.
‘All right men, form up! Head count please!’
Half the company was gone. Bond could only hope that some more survivors were simply lost in the darkness, and would find their way out soon.
Fah Lo Suee grabbed his arm hard enough to cause pain. ‘James, where is Otto?’
All Bond could do was to look around helplessly. Of the larger-than-life Austrian there was no trace.
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My goodness, what a terrifying scene, the poor Gurkhas. I have a feeling Skorzeny is ok, I just hope he's not in for some sort of diabolical torture.
He's probably trying to sodomize High priest of Lang with his Rune Sword.
Update as soon as you can. We wan't to know what happened to Otto.
Update as soon as you can. We wan't to know what happened to Otto.
As I was reading this update I got about half way and thought "now Skorzeny, you do realise it isn't going to be that easy don't you?". There is a certain literary inevitability for what just happened which is kind of difficult to avoid. It did leave me wondering what exactly mad high priests get up to in the days, months and years they have gained for themselves. Sitting on that throne for all enternity does sound kind of boring.
I hope Otto comes through all right but he's probably been killed or captured. Being captured here is as good as death anyway.
The whole team was outmatched against the High Priest and Otto's only hope alone is that his charge took the Priest by suprise.
The whole team was outmatched against the High Priest and Otto's only hope alone is that his charge took the Priest by suprise.
Yeep!The Yogi said:
[shudders theatrically]Good post![keeps shuddering]
No, it is not. It is a far inferior option in all ways, and indeed getting yourself killed here is far preferable to getting captured.Dinglehoff said:
4th Dimension said:
Ye gods! The Visuals!
A fine and nicely descriptive update Yogi. I like the comparison to Gozo, a marvelous megalithic structure if there ever was one.
As for predicting where the story is going, I am afraid it is what is called Dungeon Master's syndrom.
I just thought it very unlikely Fu would have any unprotected sides to his lair
and then the Gate to Dreamland came ot mind. Logic and a good memory.
As for the Druid council, if I were really that good at predicting this, Peter Wimsey would have been bleating about chapters ago.
No doubt Otto is learning the folly of attacking He Who must not be Named with a Runesword while said High priest is having fun...
DW
Will Otto be captive or manages to escape? That is the question I ponder. Also what waits ahead in the Underworld? I guess unforeseen horrors.
There will certainly be some diabolical torture, rest assured of that. It kind of comes with the Fu Manchu franchise.Mettermrck said:
<shudder> Why can't anyone enjoy a straight old decapitation these days?4th Dimension said:
As far as I understand, THIS udescribable High Pries does indeed spend eternity sitting on that throne, with only occasional forays away from it. At least he arranged to have some audio entertainment from down the well...Kanitatlan said:
And a slim hope it is too...Dinglehoff said:
Thanks for still reading and commenting this bizarre story! And I have to agree, getting caught by someone who can create a real life approximation of the Eternal Torments of Hell is a GREAT DEAL worse than just getting killed! In fact, by comparision, getting killed is the near equivalent of winning the big one in a lottery.Simon_Jester said:
Hehe... Lord Peter was never on the map, but for a while there, there was going to be fiendish Si Fan plot taking place on a diplomatic conference arranged by a certain assisstant secretary of the Foreign Office Bertie Wooster... (mercilessly pressed into service by a certain relentless aunt, obviously). In the end, I decided that if I brought Jeeves into the story, the final defeat and destruction of Fu Manchu and his Empire would be a foregone conclusion and dropped the idea.Dead William said:
Plateau of Leng
Earth’s Dreamland
Time indeterminable
The torches went out, and Skorzeny found himself running in a pitch-black room in which he knew there was a well in the floor. He couldn’t help it; he all but stopped dead. While he still had a rough mental image of the room and his location in it, he turned slightly left to pass well clear of the well, but before he could bring himself to run that way, a terrific growling filled the room. Something huge, radiating intense cold passed so close to him he could hear it’s many creaking joints. The sounds, and the putrid horrible smell the thing gave off brought back extremely unpleasant memories from his last Dreamland visit. He knew what it was that was loose in the darkness, slaughtering and feasting on the unfortunate Gurkhas, perhaps on Bond, perhaps on Fah Lo Suee. He had to stop it, and he could think of only one thing that could possibly draw it’s attention; following his mental image, Skorzeny forced himself to run towards the five-stepped dais on which stood the Golden throne of the High Priest Not to be Described. A threat to the High Priest’s own person would most likely make him bring back his monster to protect himself.
He successfully cleared the well, brushing past one of the vile altars, while the horrid screaming reached unbearable levels. He hoped to God Fah’s voice wasn’t among that Hellish chorus, but had no way of knowing. As he ascended the first step of the dais, he achieved his purpose, sort of; something cold and hard slammed into his side, sending him flying half-unconscious through the room. He landed hard on a step of the dais, and sharp pain lanced through his left shoulder, but he didn’t stop there; the impulse kept him rolling down the stairs, and off them, into nothing… desperate, he dropped the sword and his fingers sought the edge of the well, but to no avail; he fell screaming and flailing.
His fall was long enough that he quickly lost all hope of surviving it. Suddenly he saw light approach from below, weak and flickering, but light. It rushed up at him at terrific speed. Below him, he could se the swirling silver filament that was his Rune Sword, preceding its master on his way to Oblivion.
He fell into a vast domed cavern, not unlike the Throne Room of the High Priest but much larger, through an opening at it’s apex. He expected to die in the next instants, but some unknown force slowed his fall considerably, and reaching the floor of the room took him several seconds. Realising suddenly he might not die after all, he tried to prepare for rolling with the fall as he had been taught in the Fallschirmjägerschule at Stendal. He heard the sword hit the ground interminable instants before he did – a stone floor, no doubt. He hit hard, but not bone-jarringly so, and was on his feet, looking wildly for the sword before he had time to take in is surroundings properly.
The light came from torches in ancient, pale green bronze fastening spaced around the ground level. In the middle of the room, a lone naked man hung from innumerable chains ending in cruel hooks deeply sunk into his flesh, and four thicker chains ending in bracers around his ankles and wrists. Peering out from under his unkempt white hair, Gunther Duhrn directed a feverish stare at the Austrian and spoke in a strained voice, barely kept from unarticulated screaming by the utmost exertions of an iron will.
‘What.. took you so… fucking long?’ His smile was something to make children burst into tears.
Skorzeny shrugged. ‘Ah, you know how it is. This and that, put it all down to good old Austrian Schlamperei if you want. Sorry, I know how that grates on you Prussians.’
Duhrn’s laughter was hideous, something between demented gibbering, and heart-rending sobs. ‘Always… such a joker! Now, if you… don’t mind… cut me… down!’
‘Aber Naturlich.’ The Austrian frowned. ‘But… how?’
‘Cut off… my hands and feet… they will grow back! The hooks… will rip loose pretty ssssooooon! Aaaaah!’
Skorzeny went as if to pick up his Rune Sword but Duhrn shook his head savagely.
‘NO! NOT! SWORD! ISENCHANTED! DAGGEEEEEER! AAAAAAAAH!’
His words were horrid vocalisations forced on barely human shrieks as the hooks pulled harder and harder and muscles slowly ripped loose from bone. Skorzeny ran forward and began to saw through the articulation at the ankle with his razor-sharp SS dagger. He had just managed to sever the foot, making the chain and fetter clatter on the floor stones when Durhn pretty much exploded, showering the Austrian with blood and gore. The flesh and entrails hung in ruined bloody tatters from the shivering skeletal frame for a few instants, before they began to reassemble, flying back to their proper places on Duhrn’s body as if thrown by an invisible hand. The severed foot flew up from the floor to reattach itself to Duhrn’s ankle.
As soon as the muscles of the torso where back in place, Duhrn threw back his head and let out a seemingly never-ending howl of cosmic suffering. Then he drew one deep breath, and looked down on Skorzeny in fury.
‘What are you waiting for, a Führerbefehl? Keep cutting, you idiot! The hooks will be back before…’
The chains came as swarm of striking snakes, flying out from their holes in the walls and searching out Duhrn as if driven by a malevolent intelligence. The sharp hooks sunk again into his flesh with sickening sounds, but to Skorzeny’s surprise Duhrn only let out a small grunt. Seeing his amazement, the necromancer shrugged.
‘It’s true, you get used to almost anything with time. Now cut, damn you! If you hurry, maybe this will be the last time!’
This time, it was worse, at least for Skorzeny. The pain from the crude amputation was not yet blotted out by the immeasurably more intense agony caused by the pulling hooks. Finally the foot fell to the floor with a dull thud beside the blood-encrusted chain and fetter, but within a second or two, it flew back and bonded itself to the bloody stump.
‘I can’t reach your wrists!’ Skorzeny shouted, and Duhrn nodded once, fully concentrated on enduring his Hellish ordeal one more time. This time, after he had been ripped apart and reconstituted, Duhrn swung his body back and forth from the chains holding his wrists. When the hooks came searching for him, they all converged on the empty spot in mid-air where Duhrn’s body HAD been, and snapped back into the walls, except two or three that got caught in each other. They formed a web of chains just in front of the hanging Duhrn.
‘There you go. Climb on those!’ the white-haired magician said with boundless satisfaction.
This time, there was no overshadowing of the agony the amputations inflicted on Duhrn, but he bore the pain with equanimity and was finally free, with hands and feet back in their proper places.
‘So are you planning on taking up permanent residence or what?’ Duhrn asked. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here before the High Priest comes down to gloat over my “Punishment”. He used to stand in that door and enjoy a few rendings from time to time.’
They found the door unlocked, and leading back into the maze of unadorned tunnels that was the interior of the monastery. Taking a torch each from the walls, they left the chamber of horrors behind. Duhrn was shivering in his nakedness, but seemed cheerful enough.
The Austrian shook his head in disbelief. ‘You were in there for… what, a month!? In the waking world that is, how long it was here, I haven’t got the slightest idea. Why are you not out of your unholy little mind?’
‘Only a month?’ Duhrn shuddered again, then shrugged. ‘I suppose that at some level, although certainly not one I deplore, I am already quite mad. Then again, who can tell what is madness and what is reason? I see the world as it really is, not as “sane” men who dare not probe the Abyss wish that is was. Which is the reason, I take it, why you didn’t manage to go into the Dreamland by yourself, despite the Silver Key I gave you? How did you get in?’
‘How did you know I was here in the flesh?’ the Austrian asked perplexed.
‘Well, mostly because you’re wearing a British Army uniform, Army of India if I’m not mistaken. That’s one thing you’d NOT wear in your dreams, I’d bet. Also, you have your SS dagger, but I never gave you an enchanted one, like mine. I suppose Dr Scheel could have given you one, but it’s unlikely at best. So you found the Central Asian gate then?’
‘It was in Yunnan actually, next to Fu Manchu’s secret stronghold. No wonder he could move against us so quickly when we tried to establish a base in Dreamland!’
‘Hmmm… it also explains how the agents and assassins of the Si-Fan could appear as if by magic in any corner of the world, striking within hours of receiving their orders. The bastards travelled through the Dreamland!’ Duhrn snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it! Verdamnt, we must warn the RSHA, we need to post guards on all graveyards and cemeteries in the Vaterland! Si-Fan could emerge at any time through any of them!’
A calculating, almost shifty gleam appeared in the frighteningly blue Aryan eyes. ‘Don’t you think Heydrich and maybe even the Reichsführer-SS himself will appreciate such critical information?’
Skorzeny shook his head in disbelief. ‘What a mess! But you certainly haven’t changed much, I’ll grant you that. I don’t know if I should be glad or despair over that fact!’
‘You should waste time with neither, and instead find us a way out of here! Come, let’s see if we can find that chute to Sarkomand that the High Priest came down the last time, before I kicked his multi-dimensional Arsch!’
‘Yeah, lets. Speaking of Arschen by the way, I suppose sliding down a tube of icy stone with no pants on is no big deal after what you’ve endured, right?’
Duhrn actually looked downcast at the prospect. ‘Well, if nothing else, we will learn if the healing magic used on me is still in effect or not.’
Earth’s Dreamland
Time indeterminable
The torches went out, and Skorzeny found himself running in a pitch-black room in which he knew there was a well in the floor. He couldn’t help it; he all but stopped dead. While he still had a rough mental image of the room and his location in it, he turned slightly left to pass well clear of the well, but before he could bring himself to run that way, a terrific growling filled the room. Something huge, radiating intense cold passed so close to him he could hear it’s many creaking joints. The sounds, and the putrid horrible smell the thing gave off brought back extremely unpleasant memories from his last Dreamland visit. He knew what it was that was loose in the darkness, slaughtering and feasting on the unfortunate Gurkhas, perhaps on Bond, perhaps on Fah Lo Suee. He had to stop it, and he could think of only one thing that could possibly draw it’s attention; following his mental image, Skorzeny forced himself to run towards the five-stepped dais on which stood the Golden throne of the High Priest Not to be Described. A threat to the High Priest’s own person would most likely make him bring back his monster to protect himself.
He successfully cleared the well, brushing past one of the vile altars, while the horrid screaming reached unbearable levels. He hoped to God Fah’s voice wasn’t among that Hellish chorus, but had no way of knowing. As he ascended the first step of the dais, he achieved his purpose, sort of; something cold and hard slammed into his side, sending him flying half-unconscious through the room. He landed hard on a step of the dais, and sharp pain lanced through his left shoulder, but he didn’t stop there; the impulse kept him rolling down the stairs, and off them, into nothing… desperate, he dropped the sword and his fingers sought the edge of the well, but to no avail; he fell screaming and flailing.
His fall was long enough that he quickly lost all hope of surviving it. Suddenly he saw light approach from below, weak and flickering, but light. It rushed up at him at terrific speed. Below him, he could se the swirling silver filament that was his Rune Sword, preceding its master on his way to Oblivion.
He fell into a vast domed cavern, not unlike the Throne Room of the High Priest but much larger, through an opening at it’s apex. He expected to die in the next instants, but some unknown force slowed his fall considerably, and reaching the floor of the room took him several seconds. Realising suddenly he might not die after all, he tried to prepare for rolling with the fall as he had been taught in the Fallschirmjägerschule at Stendal. He heard the sword hit the ground interminable instants before he did – a stone floor, no doubt. He hit hard, but not bone-jarringly so, and was on his feet, looking wildly for the sword before he had time to take in is surroundings properly.
The light came from torches in ancient, pale green bronze fastening spaced around the ground level. In the middle of the room, a lone naked man hung from innumerable chains ending in cruel hooks deeply sunk into his flesh, and four thicker chains ending in bracers around his ankles and wrists. Peering out from under his unkempt white hair, Gunther Duhrn directed a feverish stare at the Austrian and spoke in a strained voice, barely kept from unarticulated screaming by the utmost exertions of an iron will.
‘What.. took you so… fucking long?’ His smile was something to make children burst into tears.
Skorzeny shrugged. ‘Ah, you know how it is. This and that, put it all down to good old Austrian Schlamperei if you want. Sorry, I know how that grates on you Prussians.’
Duhrn’s laughter was hideous, something between demented gibbering, and heart-rending sobs. ‘Always… such a joker! Now, if you… don’t mind… cut me… down!’
‘Aber Naturlich.’ The Austrian frowned. ‘But… how?’
‘Cut off… my hands and feet… they will grow back! The hooks… will rip loose pretty ssssooooon! Aaaaah!’
Skorzeny went as if to pick up his Rune Sword but Duhrn shook his head savagely.
‘NO! NOT! SWORD! ISENCHANTED! DAGGEEEEEER! AAAAAAAAH!’
His words were horrid vocalisations forced on barely human shrieks as the hooks pulled harder and harder and muscles slowly ripped loose from bone. Skorzeny ran forward and began to saw through the articulation at the ankle with his razor-sharp SS dagger. He had just managed to sever the foot, making the chain and fetter clatter on the floor stones when Durhn pretty much exploded, showering the Austrian with blood and gore. The flesh and entrails hung in ruined bloody tatters from the shivering skeletal frame for a few instants, before they began to reassemble, flying back to their proper places on Duhrn’s body as if thrown by an invisible hand. The severed foot flew up from the floor to reattach itself to Duhrn’s ankle.
As soon as the muscles of the torso where back in place, Duhrn threw back his head and let out a seemingly never-ending howl of cosmic suffering. Then he drew one deep breath, and looked down on Skorzeny in fury.
‘What are you waiting for, a Führerbefehl? Keep cutting, you idiot! The hooks will be back before…’
The chains came as swarm of striking snakes, flying out from their holes in the walls and searching out Duhrn as if driven by a malevolent intelligence. The sharp hooks sunk again into his flesh with sickening sounds, but to Skorzeny’s surprise Duhrn only let out a small grunt. Seeing his amazement, the necromancer shrugged.
‘It’s true, you get used to almost anything with time. Now cut, damn you! If you hurry, maybe this will be the last time!’
This time, it was worse, at least for Skorzeny. The pain from the crude amputation was not yet blotted out by the immeasurably more intense agony caused by the pulling hooks. Finally the foot fell to the floor with a dull thud beside the blood-encrusted chain and fetter, but within a second or two, it flew back and bonded itself to the bloody stump.
‘I can’t reach your wrists!’ Skorzeny shouted, and Duhrn nodded once, fully concentrated on enduring his Hellish ordeal one more time. This time, after he had been ripped apart and reconstituted, Duhrn swung his body back and forth from the chains holding his wrists. When the hooks came searching for him, they all converged on the empty spot in mid-air where Duhrn’s body HAD been, and snapped back into the walls, except two or three that got caught in each other. They formed a web of chains just in front of the hanging Duhrn.
‘There you go. Climb on those!’ the white-haired magician said with boundless satisfaction.
This time, there was no overshadowing of the agony the amputations inflicted on Duhrn, but he bore the pain with equanimity and was finally free, with hands and feet back in their proper places.
‘So are you planning on taking up permanent residence or what?’ Duhrn asked. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here before the High Priest comes down to gloat over my “Punishment”. He used to stand in that door and enjoy a few rendings from time to time.’
They found the door unlocked, and leading back into the maze of unadorned tunnels that was the interior of the monastery. Taking a torch each from the walls, they left the chamber of horrors behind. Duhrn was shivering in his nakedness, but seemed cheerful enough.
The Austrian shook his head in disbelief. ‘You were in there for… what, a month!? In the waking world that is, how long it was here, I haven’t got the slightest idea. Why are you not out of your unholy little mind?’
‘Only a month?’ Duhrn shuddered again, then shrugged. ‘I suppose that at some level, although certainly not one I deplore, I am already quite mad. Then again, who can tell what is madness and what is reason? I see the world as it really is, not as “sane” men who dare not probe the Abyss wish that is was. Which is the reason, I take it, why you didn’t manage to go into the Dreamland by yourself, despite the Silver Key I gave you? How did you get in?’
‘How did you know I was here in the flesh?’ the Austrian asked perplexed.
‘Well, mostly because you’re wearing a British Army uniform, Army of India if I’m not mistaken. That’s one thing you’d NOT wear in your dreams, I’d bet. Also, you have your SS dagger, but I never gave you an enchanted one, like mine. I suppose Dr Scheel could have given you one, but it’s unlikely at best. So you found the Central Asian gate then?’
‘It was in Yunnan actually, next to Fu Manchu’s secret stronghold. No wonder he could move against us so quickly when we tried to establish a base in Dreamland!’
‘Hmmm… it also explains how the agents and assassins of the Si-Fan could appear as if by magic in any corner of the world, striking within hours of receiving their orders. The bastards travelled through the Dreamland!’ Duhrn snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it! Verdamnt, we must warn the RSHA, we need to post guards on all graveyards and cemeteries in the Vaterland! Si-Fan could emerge at any time through any of them!’
A calculating, almost shifty gleam appeared in the frighteningly blue Aryan eyes. ‘Don’t you think Heydrich and maybe even the Reichsführer-SS himself will appreciate such critical information?’
Skorzeny shook his head in disbelief. ‘What a mess! But you certainly haven’t changed much, I’ll grant you that. I don’t know if I should be glad or despair over that fact!’
‘You should waste time with neither, and instead find us a way out of here! Come, let’s see if we can find that chute to Sarkomand that the High Priest came down the last time, before I kicked his multi-dimensional Arsch!’
‘Yeah, lets. Speaking of Arschen by the way, I suppose sliding down a tube of icy stone with no pants on is no big deal after what you’ve endured, right?’
Duhrn actually looked downcast at the prospect. ‘Well, if nothing else, we will learn if the healing magic used on me is still in effect or not.’
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The Yogi said:
Well nothing does it better then a few Arschen jokes.
A great update and answered my questions that arouse from the previous update.
Now on to Bond and Fah.
I have a question tho...
Yogi do you like your characters too much to expend the for the purposes of the story? A sort of "Lost" type of expenditure. So that nobody woulddare to guess when an how some character will die? What are your views on that?
A fantastic update!
Skorzeny isn't dead and Dhurn has been rescued.
Deus: the characters are really what drives this AAR so they shouldn't be killed off too often.
How often would you watch Star Trek or Star Wars if Kirk/Han Solo and company were being occassionally killed off only to be replaced by young red-shirt wearing punk junior officers?
I expect one or more of them to die facing off against Black Naga though. Probably Fah, maybe Otto too. But you never know, they have more elixer after all.
Skorzeny isn't dead and Dhurn has been rescued.
Deus: the characters are really what drives this AAR so they shouldn't be killed off too often.
How often would you watch Star Trek or Star Wars if Kirk/Han Solo and company were being occassionally killed off only to be replaced by young red-shirt wearing punk junior officers?
I expect one or more of them to die facing off against Black Naga though. Probably Fah, maybe Otto too. But you never know, they have more elixer after all.
I can see Gunther hurling down an Icy cold chute now. He will never be the same man again.
A cfine update, thank you.
No Lord Peter? I assume we won't have that annoying Belgy hanging around either? And of course we have yet to see Sam Spade or Philp Marlowe.
I can't remember, but did we get Rick Blaine already?
DW
A cfine update, thank you.
No Lord Peter? I assume we won't have that annoying Belgy hanging around either? And of course we have yet to see Sam Spade or Philp Marlowe.
I can't remember, but did we get Rick Blaine already?
DW
Holy moly, that was some diabolical torture. I agree with Skorzeny, I wonder why Durhn hadn't flipped out already under such agony.
Dinglehoff said:
Well, Dinglehoff, I agree with You on both accounts. Firstly that the characters are the driving force of this AAR, but it is possible to kill some of them off as a plot twist. And I agree that somebody will go soon. Just trying to pry Yogis mouth open, maybe he'll give us a glace of the future.
I cannot disclose anything in advance about the fate of any of the characters, although I will say that any character who's outlived his plot usefullness is an endangered species and that it's highly unlikely that they will all reach the end of the story alive.