One Moo'r Plow - Book 2: Chapter 20: red Sun, Red Blood II.

There remained little trace of the warband at my farm. All that lingered were the tracks, and the thick scent of the fear in the air. The workers hovered far out on the fields, almost among the trees. I lay little blame on them.

These minotaurs were not me. The warband had been seen, recognized and largely avoided. And thank the Gods ABove, for they had not stopped here. I bellowed for them to approach, so far away were they. Wary and frightened, they drew near.

It was the first time I had ever seen a Drow nervous. It took precious moments to confirm that they had done little except pass through, headed in direction of the Verdant Dawn’s camp.

Where I had sent Ishila with a load of supplies this morning. There was no merciful realization that she may have returned early. The cart remained gone, and so did she.

“Do not follow. You will perish,” I grunted. It took several more moments to grab my pack, now boasting a plethora of fleshknitter draughts and healing milk, among other things. I considered my armor, but decided it would take too long.

There would be blood. That much was certain. I knew my own kind, knew how they thought, and how this would all end. I would be a fool to delude myself otherwise. Any words spoken and any peace that attempted to be made was only delaying the inevitable.

They had come for me. This I was certain of. And in my absence, they would be happy to shed the blood of others.

Pack over my shoulder and claymore in hand, I strode off, nearly at a slow run. Gol followed close behind, and with a heavy heart I growled at him until he slinked away. I did not want those close to me involved in this.

Minotaurs I considered little more than sentient monsters, so tainted was my perspective of them through Garek’s memories. Good for little more than violence, bloodshed and thinning their own herd through infighting when there were no monsters for them to battle. One could argue they did the world a service by culling so many dangerous creatures through neverending wars.

I was not so sympathetic. Garek’s many memories spoke to that, and the brutality I glimpsed within shocked me everytime I foolishly went looking. This was a harsh world filled with dangers, yes. But minotaurs had abandoned all facade of civilization, of giving a single damn about anything other that dealing death en masse.

Perhaps no one despised my own race so much as I.

I was the anomaly, and even then only because I happened to be a foreign soul inside this body.

This, I was distinctly aware of as I half-ran up the trail toward the monster hunter camp.

Velton’s farm stood uuntouched. That much was a relief. I scanned for a horse and cart, hopeful that perhaps Ishila had stopped to visit her parents. Once again, I was denied relief. She was further up, still in the path of danger. My nostrils twitched as I fought off thoughts that intruded on my mind now. Whisperings of what might happen.

Hand clamped tight around my weapon, I stomped onwards, already hazy vision tensed. The only saving grace of this was that all my Skills were unused. There was some vague soreness as I had just spent the entire day travelling, and only taken light rations for the road. Not particularly well-rested, but still able to do what was required of me.

I feared the worst, and rightfully so. After an agonizing length of time, the Verdant Dawn camp came into sight. Sound and smell superseded it. Blood already tinged the air, just a few hints that crept into my nostrils.

I approached, hand on my claymore’s hilt, eyes taking in everything before me.

A large, broad bull stood before the camp’s closed gates, bellowing at the defenders on the wall. I counted a over a dozen full-grown minotaurs behind him. A small warband. And that was if more hadn’t split off somewhere. Armed, thought not necessarily armored. They traveled light after such a long journey.

Fur matted with dust spoke of long roads. But there was already blood spilled here. Humans I didn’t know lay dead in front of the walls, pushed right up against them.

“Open!” Bellowed the bull I assumed to be in charge. “Send your mightiest warriors to die before me or I will come in and find them!”

Bloodthirsty. Cruel. Vicious. Just like Garek’s memories showed.

“He is already here!” I bellowed and watched them turn. A distraction to buy time for whatever the Verdant Dawn had planned.

If they had a plan.

“You come here, seeking me.” I stated. The letter and their presence here led me to put everything together. I was a traitor to their ways, and minotaurs were not known for being persuaded. Especially away from violence.

“The traitor.” Rumbled the lead bull.

“One cannot betray something they never held allegiance to.” I rumbled.

He shrugged, uncaring.

His companions -if that was the right word- parted to let him through, towards me. Large, broad of shoulder. One broken horn. He carried a large axe, its blade alone the size of most human shields. Black fur distinguished him from the duller colors and paint that most of his fellows sported. He wore armor, unlike most of his kin here.

There were no introductions as he sized me up, his body loose and relaxed in sharp contrast to my tense, ready to explode stance.

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“What do you want?” I almost spat, my voice a snarl. Their presence threatened me and mine. I did not welcome it at all. The bodies that already lay in the dirt spoke that I was right to do so. These brutes knew only one solution to every single problem they encountered.

Gratuitous amounts of violence.

Blood was the lens through which they saw the world, and everything lesser than they did not deserve to live.

“Glory.” He answered, his voice a rumble. “And I will drag it from your cold corpse.”

“Your softness, your cowardice does not deserve the love of the Gods Above.” He continued.

“And you somehow think that they will shower you with their affection if you kill me?”

Those uncaring eyes met mine once more as he straightened and shook his frame.

“One way to find out.”

“I demand first combat!” Another bull stepped forward and bellowed. This one had short, brown fur. Somewhat shorter than the other, but with fire in his eyes. He carried a towershield and lance, helm covering his upper face. A warrior with something to prove. “It was I that found him! I that led us here.”

The lead bull’s axe touched his throat a moment later and he stopped in place.

“I am leader of this warband.” He spoke. “You may have my scraps.”

He had garnered their respect, I found as the smaller bull retreated, glowering.

And so, as all in all matters that involved minotaurs, we arrived at the inevitable conclusion. The dealing of death.

This one was strong, I could tell. He carried himself with the swagger of confidence that only came with the knowledge you were able to kill everyone in the room. His Class, Levels and Skills were unknown to me. Perhaps the same was true in reverse. But he was a minotaur, and well accustomed to slaughter.

“Stand and die then.” I rumbled. “A godling could not strike me down. Neither will you, hiding behind the skirts of your warband. Coward.”

He proved quick to anger. Like every single other minotaur I could ever recall.

Fur exploded forward as he closed the distance and swung, axe splitting into three spectral projections that swung from different sides.

Cloven Crash stopped him in place as half a dozen other skills were called at once. I stomped forward and swung the claymore across his chest. His form flickered backward, just out of the blades path. Short-range displacement that prolonged his life a moment longer.

But no more than that. He was still frozen by the shout as I stepped in and thrust the great blade into his chest, piercing through the metal armor with ease. I could see his eyes bulge and muscles attempt to thrash about, skill after skill firing off.

Gold is Power fed strength to Cloven Crash and kept him locked in place as I took his life.

I needed to shock these warriors. Make them think twice about facing me. Their leader lay dying, dispatched in seconds. Traces of Cloven Crash had bled over to the warband, leaving them frozen in place, able to do naught but watch. This was the conclusion of a life.

Dead, just like that.

“Who wishes to die next?” I raised the claymore and let it’s tip point from one warrior to another. “Make peace with your Gods, then step forward to follow his fate.”

The short, stocky bull burst forward, eager for blood. I had hoped this show of force would dissuade them.

Not so. I needed to make it clear that this was not a battle. But rather, butchery.

“Hold, fool.” Another one growled at the over-eager minotaur.

“I will fell this traitor!” He announced in return, eyes locked on me. None of them bothered to watch the walls. And really, neither did I. What could the humans do? To engage in melee with minotaurs was suicide. Their ranged weapons were so weak that they would only serve to anger the warband.

“You will do nothing.”

Velton twisted into reality next to me, sleeves rolled back, tattoos fairly writhing on his skin. The elf looked exhausted, a perpetual tiredness that I had noted on him ever since the dungeon. But more than anything, he looked furious.

“Took their messenger long enough to get up the mountain.” He grimaced and glanced at the sealed gates.

“An elf.” A minotaur deeper in the warband commented on the obvious.

Velton said nothing. He merely stared at the warband, simmering with cold anger.

“Brutes.” He spoke, voice devoid of emotion.

An eagerness stirred in the herd. Instead of fear, this stirred excitement in them. To come into combat with an elf was a death sentence, but these bloodthirsty fools simply lacked the capacity to care.

“Run or die.” He snapped.

I echoed this sentiment, standing over the body of their leader.

I was nervous, deep down. This was a full two dozen minotaurs and change. Each of them possessed enough of a threat to actually hurt, even kill me if any sort of control slipped.

“They will sing of our glory!” The stocky bull bellowed to persuade his fellows. “A traitor and an elf! Crush them beneath our hooves, and-”

His words were cut short as Velton clenched his fist and invisible force yanked the bull upwards. He hung in the air, weapons dropped as he thrashed, the air ripped out of his lungs. Blood and fluid rose from his mouth, the liquid inside his body forcibly extracted.

He died slowly, in complete silence.

In agony.

There was no brave warrior’s death for this one. Just another life snuffed out.

They would beget no glory, no virtue from facing the elf. This much was made clear.

Even as the warband moved backwards in chaos, some looked eager for the fight. I could see their hands clenched one weapons, smell the excitement on them. Velton’s display of sorcery shocked them with its sudden brutality, but these were minotaurs. Slaughter and death were close friends to them. I ndded a tipping point. Something to convince them that this was not worth what it would cost.

The Behemoth crashed into existence behind me. Gargantuan, filled with bloodlust and hunger. Only then did they back away.

I repeated Velton’s threat and slowly, few by few, they backed off. But this was not the last I would see of them, I knew. We had come too late to prevent all bloodshed, but just soon enough to stop more.

And to me, that was good enough.