Tales of Eslo

[Tornado]

These are the tales of Eslo Rudkey. A trapper from the swamps of Michigan Territory. Cursed to carry a demon infused double barreled flintlock pistol. He can not die, for long, his companions are not so lucky.

Eslo and Eldgrim encounter a new Marro threat.

Spoiler Alert!

Thorny branch and sticky vine blocked his path and tangled his feet. A warm drizzle hangs with the faint stench of wet death. Born and raised in the swamps of the Michigan Territory, he had been through much worse. Moving swiftly through ever closing gaps in the brush with blood oozing from numerous abrasions, Eslo presses on. This was relatively easy for he was able to sense the closing wilderness before it could trap him.
His companion was not faring as well. A dwarf like human known as Eldgrim was hacking his way along in full armor. They were investigating the disappearance of troops traveling through the forests of Bleakewood.
In the last month none who entered had returned. This was unfortunate for the area had recently been made relatively safe by eradicating the Shades that once haunted the woods. This quest was fulfilled by Ana Karithon and Rhogar Dragonspine, who were supported by a small contingent of Knights of Weston led by Eldgrim.
His familiarity with the area was one reason why he was chosen for this. That and he was the only one who volunteered to join Eslo.

Eldgrim was growing tired of getting lower tier assignments and the growing disrespect among the Knights serving under him. They all wanted to follow Sir So-and-So and some felt that they would be a better leader than some little Viking. He jumped at the chance to join the new loner in Valhalla.

In his short time Eslo had made quite an impression. Upon being summoned by Vydar, Eslo drew his hunter's knife and looked into the ArchKyrie's eyes and said "I'm going to cut you three ways, long, deep, and repetitively." Since then many followers of Utgar have been consumed by the midnight death flame expelled from Eslo's double barreled flintlock pistol. The weapon holds an evil force and a curse. Eslo can never separate himself from the gun nor can he die, for long. Each death is filled with pain and darkness. When life is restored the curse is always in his hand. Oddly enough this was not Eslo’s first time being transported to another world.
Perhaps this previous experience was why he was adjusting so easily to his new life. A sip from a WellSpring cured his thirst of fire-water and improved his disposition. However his cursed gun was not affected and it was not long before it claimed its first friendly victim. As the casualties of friendly fire piled up it became apparent that it was best to send Eslo in solo. Rumors spread amongst the troops that he was summoned by the wrong General. Vydar claimed that the entity in Eslo’s old flintlock was akin to the evil of MitonSoul but that Eslo’s heart was mostly pure.

Nature's defense ceases as the forest gives way to a clearing containing the corpses of their missing troops. Most of them looked like they had been run over by a mountain. Amongst the carnage not one skull was to be found. Upon discovering a crushed shield bearing the Crest of Weston, Eldgrim dropped to a knee.
Just then tremendous crashing came thundering from the woods to the pair’s left. With a mighty Viking BattleCry, Eldgrim rushed off faster then Eslo thought possible. In an instant he disappears into a wall of brush. For a moment Eslo saw a dark form above the tree line, and then the land was shaking beneath his feet.

The forest parts for death. Before Eslo stands a massive Marro resembling the creature Tor-Kul-Na uses as a mount in appearance but much larger and without a rider. It is carrying a tremendous Morningstar with a handle the size of a small oak. The flail consists of dozens of chains with up to eleven skulls on each, many dripping with Eldgrim’s remains.
Ironically Eslo had heard tales of this incarnation of war during his travels before being brought to Valhalla. On that world seven were summoned by desperate elves to destroy the enemies of the druids. The monsters had a peculiar ability to resurrect victims with a blue ball of light that emerged from their belly only to kill the reborn again. They would be known as the Kisserflee (flee or kiss death). They could not be controlled. The remaining armies of the Druid Wars were forced to stop their struggle and together destroyed, imprisoned, or ran off the terrible seven. What people there called demons were really members of the race of Marro.
“Run, you fool. Run!” Eldgrim’s voice rattled inside his head.

Eslo runs, faster then ever, firing the old flintlock over his shoulder, never looking, allowing the gun to aim. The wail of impending death and pain lets him know the gun is hitting its target. It sounded as if the whole woods were falling behind him. A chain linked skull whistles past his ear tossing sod into the air as it collides with the ground. A falling tree sends Eslo sprawling and tumbling onto his back. Looking up, the Kisserflee is looking down, salivating, smoking from fresh wounds. Hundreds of skulls darken the sky before avalanching into Eslo's helpless body

The black of nothing becomes blue light and life. Eslo's eyes open, the curse lying near his feet. Confusion and joy overwhelm him as he realizes he is free of the gun. Unfortunately the still present Kisserflee is already in mid-swing and laughing evilly. The death dealing skulls howl soulefully with air rushing through eye sockets with blank stares. Pain. Death. Pain. Black. Out of this darkness a small flicker ignites in the distance, drawing closer it splits into two pinpricks glowing angry red.

Furious life roars through Eslo. He is on his feet firing the old flintlock before consciousness returns. Eyes blaze open. They reveal two relentless rivers of Hellfire, as black as the demon hate which spawned them, tearing holes into the stumbling Kisserflee's back.
"Hurts, don’t it"
The Marro turns about and advances, step by unyielding step. An unstoppable juggernaut, disregarding Eslo's never ending assault. Snatching legs in one hand, arms in the other, the Kisserflee pulls and Eslo Rudkey becomes two parts. Death. Darkness. Life.

One eye opens as the other slowly melts from its socket The Kisserflee is preparing his skull to add to its weapon. Bending low, it drools corrosive saliva, dissolving flesh. With his face falling off Eslo shoves his arm elbow deep in the Marro’s mouth. In seconds his arm would be no more than bone but not before the back of the Kisserflee's head becomes a volcano of black fire and brains.

Before blacking out Eslo watches as the Kisserflee crumbles into a million spiders that scuttle off into the undergrowth.

Sprauge searches for Eslo (a story in a story) -comments on this story are between posts #4 through post #12-

Spoiler Alert!

Drix's skull reclines compelled upon the bar. Drool is dangling from the corner of his mouth complemented by serious rhythmic snoring. "Must have been a good night if Drix is out cold," declares a dumpy older woman. She departs the back kitchen and infiltrates the bar. Signifying to the large young man with a nod towards his inert form passed out where he sits. Currently she endeavors to chafe her hands clean with a well used greasy rag.
"Doris" a bulky graying, balding man standing witnessing his tavern, rumbles rearward in his pressing baritone badger. "Go and dish me up some of that Mu stew and be quick about it." Not burdening himself to bother and acknowledge her presence any further than glancing back and noting her furious gape. Doris barks back "Tis always your stomach." Her temper obviously flaring "youse forever thinking with that over grown gut. My Fat Jack, fitten name tis too, my husband." Brazenly fuming, she gives him a that look again and battles back toward the kitchen muttering further complaints beneath her breath. "Make it fast women." He snaps at her as she disappears threw the kitchen doorway, content that he'll eat at least some time before the sun comes up.
Fat Jack faces the nearly empty tavern, grabs up a filthy rag that lays where he left it crumpled. He leans over and spits upon the counter and begins wiping with deep-rooted motion, scanning the couple of remaining occupants. It's late and most of the regulars had stumbled home hours ago. This leaves only the local hardcore drinkers. Incoherently telling each other loud and obnoxious jokes where they all squat at the far end of the bar. Then there is of course Drix, a newcomer, a farmer from the east, who’s stoned again.
Business has been bad and there hasn’t been much to speak of with this war going on. Everyone is scared. Those filthy druids have made a fine mess of things all across the Northern Kingdom. Nearly every able bodied man in every province has been called to arms. The few remaining left behind are old, barely able to keep the fields up and tend stock. Fat Jack unconsciously ceases cleaning, lost once more in the bars deep-rooted, rigid counter, as his mind ambles on to other thoughts. His sons both marched off together for the front lines months ago and since then there’s been no word, good or bad. Stir-crazed being stuck here, dependent upon the sprinkling of rumors that filter in from the maimed and wounded whom drift home on Old Thieves Road. Their whisperings muted over strong drinks telling tales of the unwanted wickedness of the Druids and pure stark horror of fighting an army of wild murderous beasts. No, things don’t look good, not good at all. Except for the occasional traveler most of the local folk don’t have a G-note to their name, nope not good, not good at all for anyone these days.
Fat Jack had ceased to clean, sightless, lost in one of those dark corners of the mind. The tavern's door opens with its long telling whoosh of night air rushing in. Silhouetted against the night stood a robed figure of good height. The locals took notice but turned back to their ramblings with out pause. These were troubled times and no one wanted trouble. Fat Jack found himself suddenly busy, the bar needed scrubbing and the mugs arranged. The newcomer enters, pulling back his hood revealing a bald head crowned with the tattoo of a simple black disk.
"Ah Fat Jack I see you have not missed a meal" the clear voice that carried across the bar just louder than a whisper was known by all. On cue Doris returns with a mostly clean plate piled high with her husband's steaming supper. Surprise causes her to fumble her tray barely recovering saving Jack's precious meal. "Good to see you Doris, you look well." Now close to the bar the dark robed man's voice wrapped around them like a cocoon of words. Doris knew this feeling all too well. Jerrak Sprauge was once her priest and she as well as many in town loved to attend his sermons. Now she stood in fear of him, hands beginning to tremble, trying to summon the courage to speak. "D-D-Drink m'lord?" she managed to squeak out. "You know I do not imbibe alcohol and call me Sprauge."
In the midst of their conversation Fat Jack edges his way to the kitchen where a burning odor is making its presence known. "Just a moment Jack, it is late and I am in no mood for games." The last of the locals decide that neither they nor the night is young and quickly make haste for the door. All but Drix whose puddle of drool was now running off the edge of the bar.
"I hear you have a resident that goes by the name of Eslo." Sprauge's voice had lost every bit of kind politeness, replaced by terse conviction. "Yes, I did. Haven't seen ‘m in a week or so, still has rent paid with me." Jack's reply was steady and he knew he had nothing to fear from the fallen priest who now only worshiped death.This fact, however, did not stop thick beads of sweat from forming on his brow. "Indeed, he seems to have an annoying habit of getting drunk and wandering off". A weariness infects the statement as the traveler takes a well worn bar stool next to Drix. "What else?"

"Eslo Rudkey he said his name was, paid in advance to stay two months, asked for the end room, room 7. He would stumble up to the bar before the oven was even stoked for breakfast. Passing out over and over again like he has no care in the world. At last he would crawl up to his room before dawn breaks and then do it again. Never did say much and seemed to have little to say. Strange man, but his money is good and he hasn't caused a scuffle. Heard from some locals that they saw him leaving the area with a group of young Barbarians. Drix here was his drinking buddy may’b he could tell ya more." "I asked you" was Spauge's reply.
A smooth hand pulls back folds in his robes revealing a bone handled silver sacrificial dagger and beside it a coin-purse. Sliding over a small blue gem Sprauge inquires "What are you not telling me?". Fat Jack slowly glances to Doris looking for support. His wife had already retreated to the kitchen. Looking back to his former prayer singer he tried hard not to stare at the top of his head. The tattoo was sucking his sight. A great black hole covering the holy symbol of his church once displayed there. Noticing this Sprauge grins "Let us hurry with your story. By the looks of you, I would say your meeting with the Silent Lord will be sooner than later."
Pouring himself a strong drink, no longer interested in his dinner now growing cold. Fat Jack begrudgingly recants a tale told by Eslo on a night two weeks past when Mr. Rudkey was strangely talkative.

Eslo swayed in his chair, sloshing half the contents of his mug of Dwarven ale upon the table. “Tis so,” slurs he, “I do too know King Med and sure as Mu squat got stinking drunk with King Louie.” Drix, a thin man, balding, yet ruggedly built, leans forward and grabs his ale. He has proven these past few days that he is almost capable of holding his liquor as well as Eslo, which is no small feat. Drix takes a mighty slug from his mug, slams it down empty, tilts forward “No bloody way, there is no way in 7 sins you meet them.”
“Fat Jack,” Eslo hollers as he turns towards the bar, “another drink for my friend”. He raises his arms up, spilling more ale and shouts “make that a round for all my friends.” The dozen or so patrons, bellied up to the bar raise a hearty hurrah. Everyone appreciates a free drink, especially during these dark and dangerous days. He returns his attention to Drix and relays “I did so, though let me tell ye, I had no intention to, nope none at all. A king is the last stock I wish ta rub shoulders with.”
Whilst the two men are absorbed in conversation, Fat Jack waddles up to their table, handling two full mugs of ale, “The boys at the bar bought ya a drink Eslo.” he declares, setting one down in front of Drix and handing the other mug to Eslo. “Do ye cares for any thing else, Mr. Rudkey?” Fat Jack pauses. “Put it on my tab.” Eslo says as he waves him away completely absorbed in his tail.
Continuing, “I had gotten good and drunk in Ashburn; ya knows where that is don’t ya Drix?” Drixs head nods as he tips back the fresh draft. Eslo’s dark brows squint, immersed, “It was getten late and I presume I‘d might of pissed off a couple of toughs at the tavern”. Laughing, he takes a long drink. “Don’t remember the name of the place but I killed ‘em, right dead, quick, but Drix as I’ve said to ye’s afore, bad luck follows when I pulls this cursed thing out”. Eslo’s right hand mechanically strokes the hilt of his pistol. He goes on expressively, “and somehow during all this, I accidentally injure the proprietors kid. Well all hell breaks loose and I have to hit the road and hit it fast cause the whole darn town was a com’n for me. Therefore, off I went, snuck past the gate guards and headed on down the road. Few hours latter and it appeared there was none com’n for me and it twas get’n light.”
Drix interrupts, “where were you?” “Somewhere outside of Mashburn, ya know, Ralics road, 'tween the Southern and Northern Kingdoms, where the edge of the grass ends.” Eslo says as he motions north of him with his finger. “Anyhow, I didn't have much senses left to me so I decided to take a nap at this bend in the road. There it looked like I might get at least some shade from a small copse of trees. I found out it was real small latter... So there I slept."
“You slept right out in the open in the grass lands?” Drix’s head shakes back and forth stirring his waist long blond braided hair. “Tis ye mad Eslo? You know what roams the grass.”
“Well,” Eslo leans forward, intently swaying, “I was awoken by the horns of war,….”

Fat Jack sweats, breathes, and takes another long drink. "If you are pausing in hopes I will give you another gem, you are mistaken, finish your story" the words were as cold as the night and the former holy man was growing impatient. "That's it" replied the fat one. "Doris called me to the back and I missed the rest of the story." "Drix here claims Eslo got in the middle of the Battle for Balifar." "As you know it is fought every ten years between the Northern and Southern Kingdoms for control of Ashburn.

Contemplating the drunk still passed out at the bar Sprauge is reminded of a moment with his father. He was a ranger, hunter, and guide in the savage lands, but that was before he had a child and developed a fondness for wine.
A younger self examines the teeth of a 'devil in the grass' fascinated by the trophy mounted over the mantle.
"Father, How did you slay the beast?" "Jerrak, my son, to kill a lion you must become a lion."
As the present returns, Sprauge whispers "Eslo Rudkey". The words came out as if spoken by another.
"Barkeep, bring me a beer"
"I'm thirsty"

Eslo and the Barbarians (this was my original post, comments on post #2 and #3) This one is a little more intense/adult but still PG-13. I did extensive editing on the tense, thanks ollie and GRF

Spoiler Alert!

Where's the book ?"
It is the third time I asked, the third time I died, today. I stand at the gently rising base of a lonely mountain, marking the end of the grasslands. Here before a massive cave towers a giant of a demon. The essence of myth it is red and scaly, reeked of brimstone, and spoke with a forked tongue.
"Never will I tell you" the words spat and began to sizzle my face where the spittle lit. I never flinched when both talons collided with my head in an open hand death clap.

Unknown to me a small group of barbarians were watching the whole event, crouching down in the last of the tall grasses on a nearby hill. They were a rag tag bunch of youngins', wet behind the years. It seems they 'lost their honor' and were trying to redeem themselves by hunting down the baby nabbing demon I was trying to question..

Long days and nights I searched out and interrogated anyone who might be able to help me end my curse. Rumors and most of my money later I learned of an ancient tome known as the Black Book. Now the whereabouts of said book was completely unknown or perhaps those were unwilling to tell. People apparently consider the book to be evil and that I would need to ask something equally evil. More money and more questions lead me north in search of this demon. Finding the fiend was the easy part. He refused to converse and seemed as annoyed as I about having to kill me multiple times.

The BarBars are in awe. As they watch me die and revive over and over they found a kindred spirit, a god. I return to life and hear a battle-cry of a ferocious nature. The crazy youths come rushing in, a half dozen strong. A puzzled look appears on the demon's face. So strange it was upon his visage that I begin to chuckle. Grabbing my flask I take a long pull.
" You better answer me quick, there's a hundred of them a comin'" I lied.
"Never"

My flask is quickly replaced by my cursed double barreled flintlock. Where words failed perhaps pain would succeed. Pulling the trigger releases midnight fire veined with crimson. The evil thing is fast and is merely grazed in the leg. Putrid yellow smoke rolls from charred ruby scales. A swift backhand sends me to the dirt with cracked ribs. Two BarBars come hurtling in when the first is snatched up by his legs and used as a club to demolish the other. The sound sickens me as their blood sprays my body. A third goes down in writhing agony, coiled in bolts of lightning from open talon. I was a bit bewildered and unsure how to handle these crazed berserkers. "How much damage could they do?", I think. Just then another leaps in using a body of his fallen brethren to gain extra height. A large ugly brute with one eye and wielding a hefty red flamberge. That sword was as big as I and split that demon down the middle.
“Bloody bottles and Shallow graves” swears Eslo,
I'm pissed, dead demon, no information. "
Seeking out my previously stashed keg from some nearby bushes I pour myself a drink and find myself surrounded by the remaining riffraff. "Crum , Crum , Crum "they all seemed to be saying. I don't know what they are saying and their accent was worst than an Appalachian. "You guys got any alcohol?" I ask them in Common. "No" they all responded. I leave them, bitter, and walk up to the cave mouth. It is as black as a Michigan swamp at midnight. The light just seemed to stop at the entrance.

I step in and with that step I entered Hell. The heat is grueling, sweat boiling off my forehead. Through blurry waves of heat all I can see is hill after rolling hill. Glancing over shoulder I am happy to see a portal leading back to the mountain base. I am not too thrilled to see the Bar-bars following behind me. Looking forward I can feel the gun pulling my hand to its hilt. An army of demons is cresting a nearby hill led by a fearsome creature with long curved horns. The double barrel is loving this, it is home, it longs to be fired and I let it. The black tidal wave of destruction homes in on the general and obliterates him along with all near and behind. Leaping back through the portal I roll onto my feet and spin around pulling the trigger. Aiming high my shots smash into the mountainside well above the cave. The repeated concussive blasts cause a landslide. The Bars barely escape before boulders bury the gate to Hell.

Seeking out my keg again I get drunk. These guys weren't half bad when I'm loaded. The youths cook up some grub and I try some demon flesh, terrible but the best thing that could happen would be that it killed me. Feeling warm and generous I offer up some drink and one asked me "Why Crum talk to Demon?" They all cringed back as I drew the old flintlock. "This is why" "And it's Eslo"
"What is magic thing?" "Death"

I didn't want to tell them about how I came here from another place, chasing a witch who cursed me to carry this gun forever, to die but never stay dead. I wanted to pass-out. The morning came too soon. My head rests awkwardly on a rock and the kink in my neck was nothing compared to my splitting skull and the pain in my chest. Both barrels went in my mouth.
Boom. Death. Darkness. Pain. Life. Light. Beer. Better.
The Bars seemed to be searching around the mountainside. "Whatcha lookin for up there, careful you might cause another landslide"
"Look a hole" they replied pointing out a large basket sized opening in the mountainside. "I will cover it" says another. He does as the rest look about pointing to an area outside of camp where it looked like something had laid in wait leaving no single track but a tangled depression. A scream spins me around and I witness a man sized kraken fly down and envelop a Bar. The grotesque horror gobbles up the poor sap in seconds. I trip over a rock and my shot went goes scorching towards a Bar carrying a small white shield. The buckler absorbs the blast with no ill effect. Another swings true with a wicked two handed blue battle-axe cleaving deeply into its side causing great spurts of green ichor to spew forth. The rest is a red haze with streaks of black, blue and green. That will wake you up in the morning.

The Bars tend their wounds and I think long on my next move. I even go easy on the sauce for a bit until I get it all worked out. Deciding I didn't come all the way out here for nothing, I figure I would capture myself a demon and these Bars were going to help me. They were all too eager and we set to work. They create a pit trap and trip wire combo that even impresses me. Somewhere in my mind I knew one of us would end up in it. Up above boulders are prepped for a landslide. I am truly amazed at how powerful these men are and how easily they set the trap. All preparations are made and an opening is created for me to enter. All is as before in Hell and once again an army led by the horned one crests the hill. There is doubtless recognition as it points at me with an unearthly bellow. "Far too easy" I think and unleash the curse. The eruption floods the army but parts harmlessly around its leader who stands stoutly with a fierce grin. Behind him I can see countless demons cresting on hill after hill. I flee for they are already in pursuit and feel a claw slice open my back as I enter the portal. The pain is enough to make me stumble over the trip wire and into the pit. The fall is short but the punji sticks take their toll. I am barely able to pull myself off a stake before death. My eyes open to reveal a demon impaled next to me. The Bars have come through. Only one had gotten through before they resealed the hole.
"The Black Book, where is it?" I ask.
"What is it you speak of?" it replies.
I rest both barrels on its foot and fire. The pain changes it tune. "It is said to lie to the north"
"You lie well, where?" I relieve it of a hand.
"Never, This is nothing compared to what HE would do"
Where pain failed perhaps gluttony would work.
"Tell me where the Book is and I will release you and give you the barbarians to feast on" With a smile it responds "The Dwarven Fortress, release me" Its final words uttered as its face explodes in hellfire…….

Eslo and the Necromancers

Spoiler Alert!

“Simple”, that's what Ma said right before she was plucked screaming from my fathers grasp as a pack of rampaging hell birds raged across the farm massacring wantonly everything and anything that moved with their murderous pack precision. The memory of that day still brings about a cold sweat upon my brow understanding clearly that it was a mere stroke of luck that I had survived. Life is hard and brutal out here on the plains and I’m a figuring that’s why we farmers have large families’, need them these days, new recruits for the fallen.
It was a characteristically balmy summer afternoon with the sun near tipping towards dusk’s azure. I had been keeping a keen watch whilst I worked on repairing a cracked section in the old wooden fence where Sapphire’s broken body had been dragged through by that devil in the grass, unmistakable even now, two days latter, its gory path defined by a fine burgundy coating that dappled the tough savannah grass, she had been a good sister, one sorely missed. She had been disemboweled and dragged off wailing. I had just finished up, involuntarily I dab at a renegade tear escaping down my cheek utilizing the back of my dirty sleeve when I caught sight of three ominous figures approaching drawing a bulky covered cart. Even at that distance I could smell that sweat tang of putrid death born forth by the breeze obviously emanating from these strangers. Every one out here trying to beat nature knows that scent, the fowl odor of Necromancers and their walking dead scarecrow servants.
Sure, perhaps they have found a niche performing a service for us farming folk, the zombies do wonders at a keeping everything at bay, but they come at a steep price, not to mention the pure dread they bring upon a place.
Father has never agreed with the gains from hiring dead folk even if they do guard the farm but this year maybe different, Ma’s dead, sis too, John, my oldest brother drown in the river after the terrors took Marry Lou, crops needing harvest and fate leaves just me and him my youngest sister who’s not even of age to milk mu.


Necromancers, there could be no doubt. Once they were the scary stories told to children. Now they approached my farm.
Across the grazing fields I made haste to the house. A large rounded structure made of mud, resembling an upside down bucket of wet sand. Ma told me it was made by wizards from the schools in Climax for the last family of farmers that lived here. Performing such services was part of their training. When I asked what happened to the other family, Ma said they moved to the city but, I never believed her. "Pa, Pa, we got strangers. Necr-" I caught myself just in time. No reason to scare the little one. Pa was a stout man, strong for a human. He had bested a dwarf or two in arm wrestling and was damn proud of it. "Whatchya hollerin bout boy?". 'Necros" I replied pointing past our small mud barn towards the nearing group. "Stay here and take care of Ma".
It must of been the pain from losing another child but Pa made a deal with the grizzly trio. He agreed to the use of zombies on our land to ward off predators. These undead scarecrows were placed at the four corners of the farm. Fetid and rotted, yet they still moved and hungered. We were warned not to feed them, not to get too close. They were shackled to a large metal post with a heavy length of chains. Both were nearly ten feet in length and covered in strange symbols that glowed faintly at night. I hated them. 'Them', the zombies and the Necros, one of which was left behind to make sure we followed the rules.


Days and weeks passed by and the harvest looked to be plentiful that year. The Necro named Vik added a rank mixture to the soil. It was from the bottom of a heap of dead plants and animals Vik had made near the south-east zombie. Our crops thrived and everyone was happy, except for me. The zombies had done their job. There were no more animal attacks or even sightings. Beside our farm animals and the occasional black feathered bird, I had seen no other creature. I witnessed insects perish as they approached our land. My life would never be the same. Even the knowledge that Vik would soon be leaving, could not ease my anger. I plotted a way to destroy the zombies. I forced myself to listen to Vik in hopes of finding a weakness in his creations. Unfortunately he was more inclined to speak of the rising number of Necros and how they were "just as good as any other magic". "There is no good, no evil, only choice" was one of his favorite sayings. He was preaching about laws and chaos when with a thunderous double boom his head exploded in ebony flames, covering me in his steaming remains. Wiping Vik's brains from my eyes I looked in the direction of the sound and saw a dusty human male climbing over the nearby fence. Dressed unlike any other I had seen he carried a strange smoking wand. "Thank you wizard, I owe you greatly", I called to him still wiping the gore from my face. "Ain't no wizard. Name's Eslo.” “ You live?” he seemed surprised. “The Gun must like you" he grunted back. His speech was broken and the accent foreign. I gathered that gun must be what I thought to be a wand. He said no more as he made his way around the farm destroying each zombie in the same manner as their master. The power of Eslo's gun was fearsome to behold. When he had finished his task he returned to me to ask “Could I bother ya for a drink? I’m Thirsty”

This is the original version of the Eslo and Eldgrim story. No Eldgrim in this one. It is heavily influenced by The Frost Giant's Daughter by Robert E Howard. This is also of the PG-13 nature.

Spoiler Alert!

Crimson drips from a long green leaf by Eslo Rudkey's still chest. A warm drizzle mixes with the recent carnage to bring the stench of wet death. His companions, elven siblings, lay dead near him. Their corpses are mingled amongst dozens of slaughtered animals.
They were a family of demon slayers, trying to exterminate the evils unleashed by their brethren. Eslo had joined them on a hunt where they were ambushed by packs of mismatched animals skillfully controlled and coordinated by two Druids.
In swooped multi-colored birds who caused sufficient distraction for drop crocs and marsupial wolves to crush and disemboweled the group.
One Druid was dead. A gaping hole in his torso was still smoldering. He along with most of the animals were consumed by the midnight death flame expelled from Eslo's double barreled flintlock pistol. The weapon holds an evil force and a curse. Eslo can never separate himself from the gun nor can he die, for long.

Black nothing becomes light, pain, and life.
"How can you live? What manner of demon are you?" exclaims the remaining Druid seeing Eslo's now very much alive body rising from the ground.
"I'm thirsty. Here's the demon” shouts Eslo unleashing hot leaded Hellfire from dual barrels. Two well fed wolves leap up and intercept the blast . Their death screams cause Eslo to grin widely as the Druid slips into the forest before the wolven remains hit the dirt.
The last of the animals swarm in. Eslo torches them all without mercy until a drop croc stampedes in and shatters his left leg below the knee with one terrible bite.
Through stars of pain and descending blackness he struggles to bring the flintlock around, resting both barrels on the croc's skull. Dark fire fills the space where a head once existed.
The remaining beasts scurry for the depths of the forest as Eslo fights off unconsciousness. He loses, darkness swallows light, all except two red orbs in infinite black. Death.Life.Pain. Eyes snap open presenting a marsupial lion feasting on his innards. Without thought, almost without action, the gun raises and shoots. In an instant the lion is gone, no just smaller, not even a lion any more, it is a mouse. Amazed Eslo hesitates before firing, and once again too late for the mouse is now a bird flying over head.
"Where you going? Got'cha" cheers Eslo before realizing the bird he just winged was becoming much larger. Attempting to roll out of the way was futile for the giant lizard now hurtling down on him was too huge to escape. He squeezes off a last desperate shot before bone splitting death.

The slow rain had stopped and sunshine warmed Eslo's recently deceased form. When life returned he found the Druid's human corpse on top of him. While pushing it off he was surprised to see a woman searching one of his companion's body. Before he could raise a protest he was stopped short by her beauty. She was divine in appearance but more stunning was the fact that this woman was from Eslo's world, a Potawatomi, he was sure of it. He watched her float from corpse to corpse with the grace of milkweed caught in a light breeze. Wearing a simple native dress that showed no signs of dirt or weathering, she silently examined each of the dead, her long black hair filled with prairie flowers. A slow burn in his palm breaks the trance.
"Your gun knows" the voice was but a whisper in Eslo's mind.
"Her voice. That *****. The witch" Eslo's thoughts were filled with fury for the woman who cursed him. Her appearance had changed but there was no doubt in her identity, which she seemed to confirm with a smile and a nod.
Strength returning to his leg, Eslo springs to his feet drawing his long knife off-handed.
"I'm going to cut you three ways, long, deep, and repetitively"
Against his will, the pistol is in hand erupting into two rivers of flame as black as the demon hate which spawned it. Unflinchingly the witch smiles as the Hellfire coils around her body like two onyx fire serpents.
"Ahh my love, my toy, so simple" she mocks.
Burning flesh trumps blind rage as Eslo realizes his hand is scorching from the intense heat of the continuous gunfire. "Stop firing.
I can catch her. Kill her" Eslo screams as the flintlock just gleams, and then amazingly does stop. Silence fills the wilderness. A blistered and bloody hand returns the curse to its holster. The quiet is broken by Eslo's hearty laughter. "What's so funny?" questions the witch, her face showing irritation.
"I'm just thinking about what I'm going to do with your gun..... After I cut on you for a while"
A gentle gust of wind drops purple blossoms from trees with no flowers. They fall about the Indian woman, some catching in her hair long dark hair as it sways with hypnotic beauty. An outstretched arm and one slender finger beckons Eslo to come and get it. Reacting immediately he reaches for his hip and draws his trusty old flask to his parched lips and drinks deeply on elven brandy.
"Time to die" Eslo proclaims, the alcohol adding fuel to his seething hate.
"Indians never die, they dry up and blow away" her voiced danced through his brain as she slipped away, deeper into the foliage. Giving chase the forest itself worked to hinder his pursuit. Thorny branch and sticky vine blocked his path and tangled his feet. Born and raised in the swamps of Michigan, he had been through much worse. Moving swiftly through ever closing gaps in the brush with blood oozing from numerous abrasions, Eslo pressed on. Sensing the closing wilderness before it could trap him, the occasional purple petal or scent of wildflowers confirming the trail.
"No escape witch, no escape." Nature's assault ceased as the forest gives way to a clearing containing a pillar of white light encircled by five lifelike statues.

Each one was apparently of the same elf male gesturing with mouth agape. Playfully dancing near one was the Indian woman. Pistol in hand it belches forth a black fireball which the witch gently sidesteps as it smashes into a statue, exploding it into fiery rubble. In response the pillar shimmers with black light and vanishes revealing the horror once trapped inside. Before Eslo stands a massive demon vaguely humanoid in appearance and carrying a tremendous morningstar. The handle was the size of a small oak and the flail consisted of dozens of chains with up to eleven skulls on each. Eslo had heard tales of this incarnation of war, how seven were summoned by desperate elves to destroy the enemies of the druids. The monsters had a peculiar ability to resurrect victims with a blue ball of light that emerged from their belly only to kill the reborn again. They would be known as the Kisserflee and they could not be controlled. The remaining armies of the Druid Wars were forced to stop their struggle and together destroyed, imprisoned, or ran off the terrible seven.
Eslo ran, he ran fast and hard firing the old flintlock over his shoulder, never looking, allowing the gun to aim. The wail of impending death and pain lets him know the gun is hitting its target. It sounded as if the whole woods was falling behind him. A chain linked skull whistles past his ear tossing sod into the air as it collides with the earth. A falling tree sends Eslo sprawling and tumbling onto his back. Looking up, Kisserflee looking down, salivating, smoking from fresh wounds. Hundreds of skulls darken the sky before avalanching into Eslo's helpless body.

The black of nothing becomes blue light and life. Eslo's eyes open, the curse lying near his feet. Confusion and joy overwhelm him as he realizes he is free of the gun. Unfortunately the still present Kisserflee is already in midswing and laughing evilly. The death dealing skulls howl soulefully with air rushing through eye sockets with blank stares. Pain. Death. Pain. Black. Out of this darkness a small flicker ignites in the distance, drawing closer it splits into two pinpricks glowing angry red.

Furious life roars through Eslo. He is on his feet firing the old flintlock before consciousness returns. Eyes blaze open to reveal relentless streams of jet black Hellfire tearing holes into the stumbling Kisserflee's back.
"Hurts, don’t it"
The demon turns about and advances, step by unyielding step. An unstoppable juggernaut disregarding Eslo's never ending assault. Snatching legs in one hand, arms in the other, the Kisserflee pulls and Eslo Rudkey became two parts. Death. Darkness. Life.

One eye opens as the other slowly melts from its socket The Kisserflee was preparing his skull to add to its weapon. Bent low it drools corrosive saliva, dissolving flesh. With his face falling off Eslo shoves his arm elbow deep in the demon's mouth. In seconds his arm would be no more than bone but not before the back of the Kisserflee's head becomes a volcano of black fire and brains.

Starting in his heart and coursing through his veins was pure ecstasy and power. Full vision returns as his whole body is restored and rejuvenated. Eslo had known this feeling before when he had killed a demon. However it was never like this, so intense, so damn good. He never felt better, ever. Before him the Kisserflee crumbles into a million spiders that scuttle off into the undergrowth.
"Well done" came the witch whisper to his brain. "You're next," he bellows, spinning around. The witch gasps as she looks into Eslo's glaring eyes flickering with cold black flame.
"You want to meet the real me now?"

She ran. She ran fast and hard. Never looking back, escaping for mere moments before being tackled. Grabbing both wrists he pinned her to the ground with one hand, knife in the other. Bursting with lust and hate Eslo blurts out "I don't know if I want to cut you or ..?"
With a whimper the witch's image collapses and the magic veil dropped. Eslo sees her as she truly was, the old wrinkly woman who turned his life into a living hell.
Eslo could taste sweet vengeance as he holds the woman down with his knees. Kneeling over her torso , hilt in both hands, blade down, he raises the knife over head.

"Dark One, please" screamed the old Indian shaman in ancient Elven. Eslo blinked and she was gone.

Overwhelming despair replace strength and power as Eslo's chance to end his curse slips into the past. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-----"
Eslo's cry stops short when he sticks both barrels in his ear and pulls the triggers.

Special thanks to ollie and The Grim Reaper's Friend and also Elven Lord and Orcs Blade. I appreciate your time and comments.

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Err... hmm...well... let's see. The first thing I notice is that it is DRASTICALLY different than any fan fic I have read. Eslo seems to me like your typical 'cool agent that doesn't care about death'. More so with Eslo since he can't die. Other than that, the content is fun to read (minus the swearing and drinking).
The next thing that I notice is repeatedly changing tenses. First it was happening and it is happening. This and the speech of the characters - which I realize is supposed to be like that - make the story difficult to follow in places.
I think, with a little improvement, it could be a fun read and get plenty of comments; but I'm sorry to say that right now, in its present form... well let's just say it could do with some revision.

[Tornado]

Thanks for the input Grim I agree with you this is most likely not the best format for this character. I was really just hoping to get some input on the hero and what people thought of him as a lead character for multiple short stories or novels. Sorry about the 'tense issues', I also tend to drift between first and third person. I try to keep a better hold of that in more official writings but this one was for pure fun and credit for double EXP in a an RPG.
I am taking this tale down for awhile and I am replacing it with an easier read. If interest arises I will post it again in the future. Thanks to everyone who took time to read this. I hope you enjoy this next one... peace

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

Well, the tenses got better, although it was hard to tell what was the story and what was the story-in-a-story. The long sentences were hard to understand too. I just grabbed a sentence at random and reworded it, to show you what I'm talking about.

Fat Jack had ceased to clean as his pondering led him to one of those dark corners of the mind, when the tavern door was opened and a gust of night air rushed in. Silhouetted against the night stood a robed figure of good height.

The main problem is the lengthiness of your sentences. If you chop your sentences into smaller bits, the whole instantly becomes far more readable. After that, the words need to be fixed a bit. For example, I took "pondering contemplating sightless," and made it "contemplating." I also added a period. Finally, correct any spelling errors (I'm assuming that the priest wasn't robbed (robbers), but was robed (flowing robes).). Do that, and you will encourage far more replies from people.

[Tornado]

Thanks again Grim. I truly appreciate your time and input. I should have noted that this has another writer involved. My friend who created the character had began this story about Eslo and I twisted it and inserted in Sprauge as the main focus. It starts as his writing then mine, his,mine, his, and ends with mine. I rarely edit his work but I will attempt to make the changes you suggested throughout the text. Many thanks

I have done a lot of editing and think I have tightened up the story. I think it will need some more but it has come a long ways. The run on sentences were too many and the story in a story was the whole point. I can not believe I messed up the editing on that. It is much better now. I hope you enjoy.

[The Grim Reaper's Friend]

It's definitely much better. There are still some grammar errors if you want to get really technical, but you can usually get away with that in a fan fic.

However, (I should have mentioned this sooner) I'm probably not the best judge of this particular fan fic for the simple reason that it's not... my type of fan fic you might say. The bar scene and a bunch of drunkards doesn't strike me as something I would choose to read. This is a good thing, though, because it means that you can describe the bar to the point where I don't like it because it is a bar. ... Confused?

[Tornado]

I understand Grim and will be stepping away from Eslo for a bit. I will write some Heroscape fiction and see how that goes. Maybe if I can get some readers from 'scape fiction, I can try to introduce some more original fiction. Maybe Eslo will make an appearance in Valhalla. Only thing is how do you summon an immortal? One more time, thank you, I am hoping this will all lead to more and better writing... peace

[Elven Lord]

I know I am. I go the main point of the story, and I enjoyed it very much. You certainly don't lack detail, but as Grim said, it could definitely use revision because of the GUM (Grammar usage and mechanics)

[Tornado]

Thanks Elven Lord. I can not take too much credit for most of the really descriptive writing. Most of that was written by my friend. My writing starts with the conversation between Sprauge and Jack. My friend also wrote the part where Jack talks about Eslo renting the room and the story in a story was his as well. Speaking of the story in a story, there should be an extended version of that on its way. My friend and I may post more stories elsewhere on the internet and if so I will provide a link. Thanks again for everyone who has read this.

[Elven Lord]

Did you revise this? It looks a lot better. I think I really understand much better what's going on here.

[Tornado]

Yes I did Elven Lord. Thank you for noticing and reading it again. Grim Reaper's Friend made some good suggestions and I cleaned up the story a lot. I am hoping to get the extended version posted soon and maybe some more tales. If anyone is interested in this character please let me know... peace

[Orcs Blade]

This story is looking very promising. I won't bother pointing out the flaws I found, as they have already been mentioned and mostly corrected. I think Eslo and Sprauge are very interesting characters, and I'm eager to hear more from them.

Keep writing!

~OB