Diesel DM

The captain rose early the next morning and made straight for the Kommander’s quarters carrying a breakfast tray. While he was not envious of being the camp liaison to Kommander Zoktavir, he knew it was safest to isolate The Butcher from the rest of the men. As he approached the newly built quarters he noticed the door was left open. He cautiously entered setting the tray on the table. Through the open door came sounds of a heated argument which had escalated to shouting. The captain sprinted to the mechaniks workshop. Zoktavir, Battle axe in hand, had three mechaniks backed against the rear wall, blocking the door to the cellar. The mechaniks brandished large wrenches and pipes as weapons, hoping to somehow defend themselves.

(more…)

Stepping out of the carriage he stretched his massive frame. The trip from outside Fellig had been nonstop, just himself and the lone driver. It had been a quiet trip. And the quiet had eaten away at him. Orsus Zoktavir could hear the whispers and agonizing cries in the silence. The rough, muddy roads through the Thornwood allowed for little sleep. Sleep was almost as bad as silence.
“Kommander Zoktavir.” An middle-aged Captain held a salute that Orsus did not return. He fixed his bloodshot eyes on the man.
“Kommander, your quarters are this way,” he said, dropping the salute hesitantly. “There will be a briefing in the morning.”
Orsus turned back to the carriage and pulled out his axe, Lola. A massive trunk had been unloaded from the rear of the carriage. The captain made an effort to lift it, but failed.
“My armor,” Orsus spoke like the rumbling of an avalanche. “Needs repair.”
“Of course, sir, not a problem. The 5th’s finest mechaniks are stationed here. It will be their top priority.” The Captain motioned two men over to haul the trunk away.

(more…)

The Greylord entered the grand hall, hurrying across the marble floor to a large table, covered in maps and troop deployments.

“Supreme Kommandant Irusk,” he began, bowing. It was a risk to address Irusk while he was deep in thought, but as with all audiences with the Khadoran military leader, he knew his time was brief.

Irusk kept his head bent over the maps, rolling his eyes up to the intruder. “What do the Greylords of the Thornwood require now?”

(more…)