A:The Children of Apep

1

The desert of Razraht is an unforgiving place. During the day the sun
becomes a celestial hammer of heat beating down against an anvil of
burning sand, and against anyone foolish to brave its wrath. There are
few things that can survive its glare. At night, the temperature
plummets to unbearable depths. All heat from the day vanishes beneath
the harsh gaze of a cold moon. Anyone who would cross the sandy
wasteland was either in a hurry, or stark raving mad. Vohl had been in
a hurry. Money was at stake and he needed to build his funds back
up.
Fate had other plans
Vohl braced himself for the attack of the abominable horde. There had
to be at least 10 of them. Hissing things with greenish scaly hides
rushed toward him on two legs. Forked tongues darted in and out of
diamond shaped heads on short thick necks. Rows of razor sharp teeth
were set beneath amber serpentine eyes. Their powerful humanoid frames
were of average height with arms ending in savage reptile-like
talons.
Vohl waded through them in a berserker's rage, his massive seven-foot
frame dwarfing the tallest of the things. The wickedly hooked
assassin's blade became a shining web of steel death. Soon, though, it
darkened to a deep crimson as it performed its dance of the dead. After
the first five were felled quickly, the rest became more cautious:
circling their newly found prey. Vohl's keen senses were unhindered by
the burning dessert heat.
Years of training in the art of death gave him almost supernatural
agility and strength. Hearing one of the reptilian demons attacking
from behind, he whirled, bringing the bottom blade of his assassin's
sword around in a fierce horizontal arch that nearly cut the creature
in half. Blood and viscera followed in the blades wake as Vohl
continued his movement back to the remaining four. Four more demons to
send back to Hell. He was still out numbered. But the lizard-things
were dealing with the Shadow-Dragon; last of his kind and last of The
Guild. He knew he would survive!
A quick glance beyond the mob told him that the girl he'd acted to
rescue was unconscious. She wasn't moving. Hopefully she wasn't dead.
He turned his concentration back to the group of creatures before him
just as three of them suddenly rushed him; teeth gnashing, talons
poised for death strokes. Vohl swung his blade in a figure eight
pattern and then brought its hook across in a straight line, tearing
through the throat of the first creature, while knocking it into the
second. Advancing in his attack, Vohl brought the mighty weapon down
upon the third creature, ripping a diagonal valley of blood and gore
across its torso. It shrieked in a final sound of agony as it fell. One
of the fallen creatures suddenly leaped upon Vohl's shoulder, tearing
into it with its alligator-like teeth. Claw like hands and feet grasped
his upper arms and torso. A gasp of pain escaped Vohl's lips as razor
sharp teeth bit into his shoulder and collarbone. A few inches closer
and the demon would've clamped onto his neck. Dropping his sword, Vohl
reached back with one hand while prying a talon free with the other. He
then tore the thing away from his shoulder, snapping its neck with his
powerful hands.
The pain in his shoulder was excruciating. The burning sensation told
him that the bite was probably poisonous. He hoped the protection marks
on his body would ward off any permanent damage. He heard what almost
seemed to be a chuckle come from behind him. He whirled around to face
his enemy. That's when he noticed his sword.
It was in the claws of the last lizard-thing.
It advanced upon the Shadow-Dragon, the assassin's blade switching from
hand to hand, its rattling laughter ending in a bone-chilling hiss. The
hot dessert sand formed tiny dust clouds with each step. Vohl raised
his hands as if to surrender, from the folds of his dark crimson pants,
he had removed a small bladder filled with liquid. A copper nozzle,
sealed by a paper-thin coating of wax, was attached to it. The nozzle
was protruding from his closed fist, between his third and fourth
finger.
The creature rushed forward, the blade held high fir its fatal cut.
Vohl squeezed the bladder. The pressure broke the wax seal, and a
highly acidic liquid spewed onto the demon's face and neck. Raising a
hideous scream, the creature instinctively covered his face trying to
clear his eyes. With lightning reflexes Vohl retrieved his sword before
it hit the ground, then brought it in an arc upon the pained creature.
The blade bit into its exposed belly, the hook disemboweling the demon,
sending it to Hell. Vohl wiped the gore from the blade and placed it
back into its scabbard. He then went over to the girl lying prone on
the sand. She had a few scrapes and bruises, but her breathing was
regular, pulse strong. The gentle giant treated her lacerations with a
healing salve purchased before he had set out on his journey.
After making sure that she was all right, Vohl began to tend to his own
wounds. The burning had subsided which told him that the bite was not
poisonous after all. The protection marks would accelerate his natural
healing process. Due to the darkness of his skin, they were barely
discernable. But the big warrior could feel the slight pulsing of their
presence. He recalled the elaborate ceremony of their being formed.
Chants, incantations, sacred styli, and mystical pigments were all used
to inscribe the tiny markings that lined his body. Received upon his
ascension to the high assassins level of the Guild, they had spared
Vohl's life on numerous occasions.
He turned his attention back to the girl. Her hair was long and black,
her face round with high cheekbones. Her nose was small but had the
telltale shape of a Semite. Her body was well developed and strong from
the years of dessert life. She was more woman than girl and Vohl saw
that she was quite attractive. Not that this mattered to him. As one of
The Guild, Vohl had taken a vow of celibacy. Thus all of his energies
could be devoted to the Art of Battle and Death. His years of training
gave him an iron control over his desires. He focused on getting her
back home to her people. She stirred, her eyes fluttering to reveal
irises the color of dates drying in the sun. Vohl spoke to her: "Can
you stand?" he asked, keeping his voice low and soothing. She nodded
and proceeded to rise. She stumbled a bit, unsteady on her feet. When
Vohl reached out to help her she recoiled and fell upon the hot dessert
sand. "Here now," said the ebon warrior, "I'll not hurt you. It's time
to get you back to your family."
She struggled again to her feet and stepped toward him. She'd never
seen a man like this before. He seemed more than human. She eyed him
warily. He was a giant shadow with green eyes, his muscles large and
solid. His broad shoulders had a noble, almost regal bearing. In the
sun, she could make out marks that seemed etched into his black skin.
They were deliberately placed on his arms, his breast above the collar
of the wine colored vest he wore. A mark was on either foot, visible
under the criss-cross straps of his sandals. His trousers were somewhat
ballooned and held in place by a wide leather belt. A darker stain of
crimson showed that he'd been injured when he came to her rescue. Beads
of sweat glistened on his highbrow and shaved head. Despite the
kindness of his eyes, and voice, it was plain that he was a killer.
That fact made her nervous. Since the Blackman had just saved her from
a fate worse than death, she managed to trust him a little. As they
walked to his horse, some yards away, Vohl explained how he happened to
be nearby to come to her aid.
Having concluded business in the city-state called Riis, the hired
assassin, last of his Guild, set out westward across the dessert. He
attached himself to a caravan in need of protection from the scores of
marauding bands roving about. When the caravan turned north, Vohl's
contract ended. Thus he continued west toward his ultimate goal, the
city of Dierkstaag. For three days the black colossus had ridden
through dessert sands, he was growing weary. Having reached the
outskirts of the oasis town, Vohl needed to rest and replenish his
provisions.
She kept silent as he spoke, still accepting the reality of her no
longer being captive to the lizard-men, and that this man was sincere.
The horse that had borne him was huge; the largest of any of that breed
she'd ever seen. Bred to withstand the rigors of the dessert, it stood
high off the ground. Vohl helped the woman onto the ash colored dessert
steed. After adjusting his packs of supplies, he drank water from a
skin, and offered her some. It was then that she started to cry: at
first slowly, then in quiet sobs. She continued to cry as Vohl lead the
horse all the way to the oasis.
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2
The first thing Vohl notice about the town was the silence. The air of
despair was a cloak draped over every house, every stable, every
building. Even the palm trees of this oasis village seemed limp and
heavy despite ample water supply and a burning sun in a molten dessert
sky. At first the big assassin couldn't put his finger on it. The young
woman made no attempt to speak, much less explain the situation. But
soon, he realized what it was.
There were no children.
At least there were no male children. Of the girls, it seemed as if
there were only a handful. They appeared to range from ages ten to
twelve years. The rest of the females were moving beyond child rearing
years. Unlike village children elsewhere, these moved about with the
listlessness of the damned. In fact, the whole town seemed as if
awaiting some inevitable end. The traders whom he had contracted with
part of the way gave warning about this place. They had rerouted their
paths to avoid it despite its much-needed water supply. Their strange
tales reminded Vohl of his own experience with the creatures called
"nephilim", by some, the "kunjai" by his own people. The last assassin
shuddered as he remembered what happened so many years ago. Something
was dreadfully wrong here, and the Shadow Dragon decided to find out
what it was.
Azhad's daughter was dead. He knew this to be true even as she stood
there before him. He could see that she'd been weeping. Appropriate, he
thought, since she had narrowly escaped certain death - if only
temporarily. But as for Azhad, he was tired of crying, tired of
wailing, tired of this dying oasis, an oasis called Yezroud. This town
in the middle of a wasteland had been his home since birth. He'd once
hoped to become a wealthy innkeeper and build a better place for his
family. His wife had been such help, such a blessing in this. They'd
worked tirelessly to make a fine reputation as having the best desert
inn throughout the entire region. His sons would all be rich men with
droves of sheep clear to the horizon. His daughter would marry a
wealthy merchant and bear him many grandchildren. He would die old and
satisfied with days. Then came the abomination.
The creatures of an obscene god slaughtered his sons and most of the
townsmen of Yezroud. The hideous lizard like things, led by an old but
powerfully built human, raided the village. They carried off most of
the women of childbearing age. Only a few were left. Of these, his
daughter was one. Nothing could be done to fight off the things, so
powerful and fearful were they. When the horde withdrew, after a swift
and terrifying attack, everyone had half expected a routine of attack
and defense, much as any marauding band. A week went by. Then the
demand came; one girl per year. The strong old man, flanked by a
creature on each side, made the decree in the public square. Anyone who
dared defy this order was dealt with swiftly, mercilessly.
Of course this first thought was to move, to abandon the town and
migrate east or west. Safiq, Azhad's brother tried this. It was the
last that they ever saw of them; but not the last that they heard. The
screams lasted for days. First, that of Safiq, then the combined cries
of his family being tortured to death. No one dared leave the oasis
after that. Better to sacrifice one girl, one woman each year than an
entire people.
In the five years of their enslavement, Azhad and his neighbors had
learned much about their masters. They were called the Children of
Ahpep. They resided in the outcropping of rock that had once served as
a temple. The Temple was half a day's journey from the village of
Nablis, the name of Azhad's oasis home. The old man who spoke in their
behalf was their priest. His name was Nagh and he was the last of the
cult of Apep. The Children of Ahpep were sexless, Ahpep was not; and
Ahpep was hungry.
Azhad's daughter, whose name was Mara, now stood to be the death of all
of her kinsmen in this town. The creatures had come for her early that
morning. Now she had escaped with the aid of the big stranger who sat
listening to his tale of woe. Azhad knew that the creatures would
attack with Nagh urging them on. The destruction would be complete and
bloody. There would be nothing left of their Yezroud. The big stranger
said nothing as he took it all in. Vohl brooded over the plight of this
people as he heard Azhad's story. He saw the despair in the man's eyes;
had seen it in all the inhabitants of Nablis. These were not fighting
men, he thought with pity. Their fight had been taken away from them
five years ago by a wave of indescribable horror. They were resigned to
be dead by tomorrow afternoon. Vohl was not. He pondered their
circumstances for a long moment. Then he spoke. " You said that the
attacks come during the day?" "Yes", came the reply. The old man looked
bitterly into space. "Nagh, the accursed sorcerer, will bring his
masters upon us. We're as good as dead already." "Why not tonight?"
asked Vohl, his eyes narrowing under a furrowed brow. Azhad looked
puzzled, as if never having contemplating the thought before.
"We don't really know", he said hesitatingly, I for one have always
been too afraid to consider it. Anyway, we're just merchants, our sons
who may have been able to help us were killed in the first
onslaught."
Vohl stood up from where he was sitting in the empty tavern that was
also the lodging registry. "There must be a reason for those thing to
attack only during the day," he said, "perhaps I'll rest a bit and
examine this temple."
The old innkeeper looked at the towering dark figure in astonishment.
"Why would you help us? What price do you want?" he said suspiciously.
The big assassin looked down upon the man and his daughter; His eyes
hard with a silent rage. "It was creatures such as these that murdered
my people. I am last of my kind, the Denduiae are no more. I will have
my revenge."
Azhad and Mara gazed upon the dark giant before them. For the first
time they sensed his deep anger. They also felt their first inklings of
hope.
3
The temple rose like a set of jagged teeth out of the sands, its
surface gnarled and pitted in the silver moonlight. Once an
out-cropping of solid rock, it had been hewn out, creating an elaborate
system of halls, chambers and tunnel-like hallways. The architects of
the work were a race long dead, their history, forgotten, their name,
and a whisper. In an age where gods walked the earth, these ancient
ones worshipped the serpent god called Ahpep. Ahpep wanted women; they
gave him virgins. His offspring, lizard-like creatures who walked
upright like men, were revered as god-lings. The temple was the lair of
Ahpep and his brood. The race of humans served them ardently until the
battle known as The Deity Wars found Ahpep on the losing side. His
offspring as well as his idolaters were annihilated. Ahpep was
banished, weakened by the lack of energy from worship, into Limbo. His
consciousness trapped in the structure of the temple.
In this state Ahpep reached out with his psyche, searching for just one
weak-minded individual to give him the energy that he needed. Centuries
past as Ahpep's awareness reached, searched, unfolded as a Venus
flytrap. He touched many minds over the ages, few were willing, none
completely suitable. Then he touched the mind of Nagh.
Bordering on madness, Nagh was the perfect candidate to suit Ahpep's
needs. The man, considered old by dessert standards, was a drifter. His
weathered face was angular in appearance, his head bald except for the
shock of white that seemed to grow only from the center of his leathery
scalp. He was once an outcast, his dishonest ways of business creating
a reputation that prevented him from trading with anyone. He was
consigned to living as a thief and a beggar?until the voice of Ahpep
spoke to him. The visions came to him at night first, visions of him as
a high priest. The visions were sketchy at first, glimpses of an
ancient race that worshiped a serpentine deity that lived within an
outcropping in the dessert. Nagh saw himself as a great leader, a
priest with special powers and abilities. The visions he received
showed him scenes of unspeakable glory as he served his newfound god.
Then the voices came into his head. Hissing whispers telling him where
to find the temple of Ahpep. Hissing whispers guiding him through
ominous rites of worship long forgotten by mankind.
The first time that Nagh brought a sacrifice to Ahpep, he had to abduct
one of the local whores from the town brothel. She was young, just
barely initiated into the business of pleasure. Ahpep accepted his
tribute. Nagh's madness became severe when he witnessed firsthand what
befell the woman. After ravaging the woman, Ahpep left her to be cared
by Nagh. The craven priest watched as it became apparent that the thing
had impregnated the woman. Within a short time her belly began to
swell. Then one morning she began to scream incessantly. Blood began to
pour from her mouth, nose, and genitals. When, at last she lay still,
and dead, Nagh's madness became complete when he witnessed the emerging
of the first children of Ahpep. He noticed at first movement within the
corpse that was once a beautiful young woman. He thought for a second
that she might still be alive. Then her belly began to slice open from
within. The hand-sized creatures ate their way out from their dismal
mother/host. Their tiny cries sounded almost human. Nagh, compelled by
the psychic prodding of his iniquitous god, began the task of caring
for the reptilian newborns. He brought them the flesh of stolen cattle,
goats, sometimes even children who had gone astray. Ahpep's hunger for
women grew as time passed on. His lust for power over the dessert and
the world became evident to Nagh as well. Nagh enjoyed the prospect of
having power over the entire world. He envisioned walking as a god
himself: spokesman for the serpent god Ahpep. All would bend knee to
him. All would fear him. And there would be riches and women for
himself and Ahpep: an endless orgy and begetting of lizard creatures to
rule the world and crush all who opposed.
Nagh pulled his mantle close about himself against the cold night air.
Gazing off into the distance, he wondered what had happened to the
small party sent to procure the latest sacrifice from the oasis. Had
some of the men mustered a bit of courage and routed the group? That
was the only answer for their not returning. Anger boiled up within
Nagh the priest. He would visit the town tomorrow with a terrible
vengeance. Many will suffer for days. All the women will be given to
Ahpep. They will learn the horrible price of defying his god. He turned
and went into the cave-like entrance closed the double wooden doors
behind him. Inside the cave, the walls were almost polished smooth.
Torches hung at intervals to provide light for Nagh and the creatures
that he served. He moved quickly down the corridors, glancing at the
creatures that now remained in a state akin to hibernation. Once the
dessert reached began to cool the creatures slowed down. He watched
over them during part of the night. They huddled together like masses
of rotted flesh. Now would be the perfect time for the townsmen to
mount an attack on the temple, Nagh thought, but the cowardly folk knew
better than to try that. His god would awaken and slaughter them the
lot of them. All it took was for Nagh to say the right incantation to
allow his deity to enter into the statue and bring it to life. He
crossed the threshold into the main chamber. The darkness that hung
there was more than the absence of light. The walls were covered with
shadows that pulsed with a life of their own. In the center of the
chamber stood a large sculpture. It was that of an enormous serpent.
The eyes were carved jewels that glowed dully in the distant
torchlight. The image was cast out of an ancient alloy. It seemed
almost alive as the walls pulse slightly.
"Soon my master, soon", Nagh said into the air. There was a rustle that
came from the walls and beyond. It was the sound of a restless demon.
Nagh shuddered involuntarily.
4
No guards? Careless, thought the dark assassin as he observed the
Temple from his vantage point upon a high dune. No sentries, no guard
posts, nothing to give the impression that someone was protecting the
structure. Having left his mount secured some yards away, Vohl made his
way down the sandy slope cautiously moving so as not to disturb any
sand or slide forward. He had changed into garments that blended in
with the desert and the night. He knew there had to be something
guarding this place. His senses, heightened by the protection marks
upon his body, gave him the feeling of someone or something slumbering
lightly - very lightly. Warily he crossed the desert sand. The moon
played tricks with the shadows as he crossed. Far off in the distance,
a nightjar cried it's haunting cry. Vohl knew off the desert bird's
reputation for predicting impending doom to the hearers. He hoped this
night that his quarry heard it first. As he reached the entrance of the
massive shrine, He searched for some way of access. A light gleamed
faintly from an opening above. Some sort of vent no doubt, he thought
as he dug his fingers in to climb toward it. The wind brought the smell
of rotting flesh to Vohl's nostrils. It grew stronger as he neared the
vent. The Evil of this place was all pervasive. He willed his heart to
keep a steady rhythm, his blood not to run cold at the thought of what
lay within. The opening was the end of a long tunnel-like vent even as
the Shadow-Dragon surmised. Its diameter was large enough for his broad
shoulder to snake through. He pulled himself along the serpentine
channel; his assassin's blade strapped to his back so as not to scrape
the walls and give away his infiltration. The surface was roughhewn,
without any sign of recent passage. Strangely enough, there were no
signs of inhabitance by desert creatures; not ants, or snakes, or even
scorpions dared dwell within this hole. The foul wind blowing from
inside the mountain-refuge seemed to bode off anything that would take
up residence in it. As Vohl pulled himself up over the lip of the round
opening, his eyes rested on the source of the powerful stench. The bile
rose in his throat at the grisly sight before him.
5
" You should have never agreed to this!" the man speaking stood in a
circle of his peers. All of them were older men of the town of Yezroud.
As with most societies of that region, the town was governed by a
council of older men or Elders. They sat in the meeting hall in a
circle of eight. These were the last of the ones who fought when the
Children of Ahpep attacked Yezroud. They were farmers and local
merchants who had once made a very handsome living from the now
diverted trade route. The ninth man, a short stocky fellow whose salt
and pepper hair covered only half of his head, stood in the midst of
them and addressed Azhad. His eyes were wide with fear.
Bimhi was the youngest of the Elders. He had worked in the family
business of fabric spinning and tailoring. His business dried up with
the moving of the route. Now all he was able to do was till the family
land and survive. His was the third of the daughters of Yezroud to be
sacrificed to the accursed devils. More than forty women had been lost
to the things in the desert. He remembered the warning that was given
when Azhad's came with his ultimatum. Escape would bring a slow
tortuous death to all who tried it. Resistance would bring swift
punishment that would make them pray for death. He remembered the
screams of his kinsmen who did try to escape? ? ? and he remembered the
only way to halt any reprisal against the dying town of Yezroud. Those
responsible must be sacrificed; bound to a stake out side the oasis and
left for the reptilian creatures and their mad lackey to do away with.
He pointed at Azhad's savagely. " You know what must be done now", he
hissed as he glared at the older man. Azhad's glared back at the man in
the center of the circle. He squared his shoulders as he took a deep
breath.
"This man is an accomplished assassin. He saved my Mara from those
things. He promised that he would end our terror tonight. I believed
him. Mara told me of how he cared for her in the desert; how he did no
harm to her even while she was insensible. This man has honor! How
could you just let our children be taken from us without even trying to
find relief? We've been enslaved far too long. Our wives have grown old
too quickly their time before our eyes. And what of the rest of our
children? Yezroud is a rotting husk, ready to blow away. There's
nothing for them but death. Is this what you call safe? Is the to be
our fate? I say that at least we have a drop of hope in this stranger,
this Vohl. None have ever even tried to help us before. All of our
so-called friends with whom we did business abandoned us to die here.
So let us pick up what weapons we have and follow him to give aid. We
at least owe him that.
The other elders listened patiently to both sides of the argument.
Their fear still held them fast to the decision to do nothing. Yet,
they had never seen Azhad so passionate before. Not even when his
daughter was to be married to old Ramal, the silk trader. Azhad's did
not believe in marrying off his girl just to enrich his household. He
wished for her to be of age to make her own decisions about such
things. The elders consulted with each other for about an hour and
reached a decision.
The eldest of them, Mahmed, approached Azhad. He was taller than the
rest. His deep-set eyes were black and serious. They bore into the
innkeeper's heart as he spoke; "Azhad, the council has decided that if
this mercenary does not return by first light, you will be fastened to
a stake outside the village to appease the demon horde?Both you and
your daughter." He lowered his gaze sadly, "May the gods work in your
favor." Azhad's face was a mask of disbelief. He said nothing as they
left the little council hall. He stood alone for many moments before he
could manage to walk stiffly to his home to tell Mara. On the way he
began praying silently the prayer of mercy for the dead.
VI
Unlike the cold dry air outside of the temple, the atmosphere inside
was warm, humid. The stench hung like a wet burial shroud over the
entire room. There were hundreds of them: bodies piled haphazardly
against every wall. They were in various stages of decay, women ranging
from just beyond puberty to full adult. Some had mummified from the
dessert air. All had faces twisted in impossible agony. What chilled
Vohl to the bone was the way that these poor women died: eaten from
within. Each corpse appeared to have been disemboweled from within.
Their internal organs were gone, mottled flesh fringed the edges of the
gruesome cavities that exposed their ribs. Each eyeball was eaten as
well. It was as if all the fleshy parts of these women were devoured
save for the skin, bone and hair.
Vohl crossed the death-chamber and warily passed through a doorway
covered by a stiff cloth. Finding himself in a dusty hallway, he
decided to follow the path leading off to his right. He asked himself
what manner of demon could have done this as he wandered the dimly lit
passage. He forced the images of tormented cadavers from his mind. The
images stayed before him, feeding his anger at the atrocities of nature
that had caused such suffering. This night would bring release from
Ahpep and his children, the ebon warrior swore. This night death comes
to the Serpent god.