Tag: verdict of history

The viewpoint characters were getting so awful, I had to go ahead a few centuries and wash my mouth out with heroism.

Cunningham, Matthew (2420-2507)
Deseret scout, trailblazer, soldier, and guerrilla leader, Matthew Cunningham was the first Commander of the Danites (q.v.), a resistance organization created in the wake of the First Deseret-Dominion War. Captured by Universal Dominion forces in 2445 AD, he quickly escaped, reputedly with the help of the legendary resistance fighter Razor-Claw Singh himself. Cunningham’s heroic trek back to Deseret to warn of the impending war might not have saved the kingdom directly, but it did give them enough time to prepare the fallback positions that kept one-third of Deseret unoccupied.

After the Armistice of Moab in 2456, Cunningham officially broke ties with the rump Deseret government to lead the new Danite guerrillas. Despite the Dominion’s best efforts, he spent the next fifty years organizing and leading an effective resistance to the invaders. Cunningham was also the first guerrilla leader to hail Rex Fang-Blade as the True President of Deseret, for all that it would take two and a half centuries for the Smith Dynasty to rule again in Salt Lake City.

While he died (and originally buried) in what is now the Pacific Trade Confederation, his bones were moved to Salt Lake City in 2812 AD. His tomb is a popular tourist attraction, second only to Fang-Blade’s official memorial.

— From Notable Heroes of the Second Age (Erieson, W., 2879 AD, University of Philadelphia Press)

Setting up an attack run!

Razor-Claw Singh would never admit it to anyone, but he liked how spells couldn’t dig into him. Oh, it sucked when it came to healing potions and shit like that, but that was only sometimes. The rest of the time, it was like having weightless armor that nobody could see, steal, or strip off him. He had spent years fighting a doomed war against the Universal Dominion; he’d take what breaks he could get.

That got him through the first line of defenses around this Festering Lacewing (second, if you counted all those fucking brain-dead guards that used to be wandering around). It was supposed to only get harder from there, because next would be getting through Lacewing’s lackeys. Three solid mages, Firebrand had told him. Not Archmages, but they’ll kill you if they see you. And if you somehow kill one of them, the other two will know, and come running.

That was funny: Firebrand thought Razor-Claw was going to sneak past, or something. Like he’d leave anybody around to come after him afterward! Being told about the no-killing thing was good, though. He hadn’t planned on murdering any of them, but it never hurt to have a good reason for doing the thing you wanted to do anyway.

This might be important, later. Like, years later.

Razor-Claw knew how to get somebody off of a restraint frame. There was a trick to physically breaking the control spells you could learn, if you had enough time, and bodies to practice on. By now he could do it quick, and safe — safe to him, at least. The other guy? Well, they could usually tough it out. This fucker toughed it out. In fact, he recovered almost before Razor-Claw could slap a hand over his mouth.

Almost. “Shut the fuck up, and listen,” Razor-Claw hissed. “You got one chance to get the Hell out of here. I ain’t got no food, no water, no bandages, and I ain’t gonna help you find any of that shit, neither. I don’t even want to ever see your fucking face again. This is all you’re gonna get from me. You hear?”

The guy nodded. Razor-Claw gave back a tight grin. “Good. I’m gonna take my hand away. You try anything dumb, I’ll kill you.”

He wasn’t entirely sure about that — this fucker looked like he had been a hardcase before the Dominion bagged him — but the guy didn’t do anything dumb.

Another viewpoint character I loathe! Yay!

Wake up, asshole.

Razor-Claw’s eyes snapped open. He’d always been a light sleeper, and decades of being a raider, a raider boss, and finally rebel scum had honed that knack until he could cut throats with it. Shrugging off a weak Dominion daze spell that couldn’t bite him properly was nothing. Neither was popping loose the shackles that bound him to a circular frame at wrists, ankles, throat, and middle. Firebrand had told him they’d unlock as soon as he pulled at them, and the motherfucker hadn’t lied about that, at least.

He knew he didn’t have long to work, so he took a quick look around the tent. It was full of frames like his, stacked close together, and every single one of them had a twitching, unconscious captive on it. He recognized about half of them; men and a few women from his own last band of fighters, a couple of rat bastards from the other side, and one guy who just looked different. Too well-fed to be one of his, and he had on the remains of a uniform Razor-Claw didn’t recognize.

I need to get back to the orc and the reporter, soon. These two are horrible.

“Beef ribs it is, then,” Firebrand said, as a servant wheeled in a cart. Seeing Razor-Claw’s eyes linger on her tense form, the mage smirked. “Business and lunch before pleasure, I think. We have a schedule.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Razor-Claw dragged his eyes away from the girl, who promptly left the room. “You gonna start with a name?”

“Better than that.” The Warmage summoned an image ball, showing the image of an graying, bitter-looking woman. “This is Senior Warmage Festering Lacewing of the First Usurpation. My second-in-command, but you knew that already.”

“The Town-burner? Oh, yeah, I know her. She’d burn anybody who looked at her funny. Slowly. So why the Hell do you want her dead? She was a big reason why you kicked our asses.”

“That’s the problem.” Firebrand held out his hand, and a drink drifted into it. “Lacewing’s perfect for clearing land for settlement, but we’re starting a different campaign soon. One where I want to keep too many towns from being burned down.”

“Why?”

“Because squeezing them to death instead is more profitable,” Firebrand grinned. “More fun that way, too.”

I don’t remember if I’ve put anything up about this story already. It’s going to be tricky, because the two main characters are both absolutely horrible human beings. And I don’t mean ‘diamonds in the rough,’ either. Killing either one of these guys wouldn’t be murder; it’d be the penance you’d have to perform to be forgiven for committing murder.

Firebrand raised an eyebrow when Razor-Claw’s guffawing didn’t stop after a few seconds, but he let the mundane get it all out. Extensive experience had let him hear the faintest notes of hysteria in the bandit’s laugh, which was… reasonable enough. His self-control is remarkably good, Firebrand thought. It’s a real shame he doesn’t have any arcane potential. He’d be a perfect recruit, otherwise.

“Aw, this is gonna be good,” Razor-Claw eventually managed to wheeze. “What the Hell would you need me for? Killing somebody?”

Firebrand grinned. “Got it in one! That’s exactly what I need you for. I want it to be as filthy a death as you can manage, too. Legendary, if you can swing it.”

Razor-Claw squinted at him — then scowled. “Wait. Is this political shit?”

“That’s two in a row. Dammit, is there any chance you might have some magic?”

“Naw, muttering and waving my hands around never did nothing. Shit, spells don’t bite me as hard as… ohhh. You need somebody who magic can’t fuck up as much.”

Firebrand beamed. “Exactly! Except that I also need somebody who’s good at murder, and you are very good at murdering people.”