The God of Sleep Has Made His House

(A change of perspective..........)

It was like a fire burned in his gouged eye socket as soon as the ointment was applied.

His talon shot upwards and grasped at the side of his face,twisting it into a snarl, as he growled in agony. And, once the cotton swab of medicine was removed, gods above, was the feeling of that relief blissful! A few dabs from a cloth caught the excess drip of ointment and blood that dripped slowly down the side of his face, staining the feathers around it crimson.

He exhaled a pent up breath, closing his one good eye in relaxation, as his other eye socket pounded and throbbed, almost like a little heart beat.

"Abe, I'm gonna have to dab it again," a voice pierced the veil of silence.

He sighed.

"Is that really necessary, Jobe? That last one hurt like a mother fucker."

The ointment, derived from the healing herb Mzelchevks Root, burned into open wounds, killing bacteria on sight, fast and efficiently......... at the cost of pain, though.

Agonizing pain.

"The stick he used to put out your eye was filthy, my Lord. I gotta make sure it is  cleaned properly, or an infection could set in. And we don't wan that, do we?"

He sighed, rubbing his temples, as he nodded his head in defeat.

"Just make it quick, will ya?"

Burning pain struck again, his face once again cringing into a grimace of discomfort.

"It won't be quick and it will be thorough. Now hold still, I don't waste what little of this shit that we have left. We're running short of supplies as it is."

The pain was excruciating.

Burning, twisting, biting, throbbing, searing!

It felt like a battle was being waged in his gouged eye socket. A battle that his body's natural painkillers were losing.

He could hold back his screams for so long before he cried in out agony.

"FOR FUCKS SAKE, HURRY UP!"

The cotton swab was removed, as a towel was placed against the side of his face once more.

"Don't rub the area too hard, Abe. Let me just grab a patch from the med kit and we'll cover that wound of yours. Make sure you look nice and pretty, and what not."

The Bandit Lord merely groaned in response, clutching the cloth to his eye.

It had been about five days since his eye was put out by the Un-Prince of Allerseen. He hadn't expected to receive a wound like that after his blade pierced Lucifer's stomach, but the Un-Prince was always full of surprises.

Always......

He frowned, his mood souring even more, just thinking about that creature.

Lucifer deserved that rusted, twisted blade, more so then any post war veteran fighting on the side of King Braig.

Venom Falls........

Gods above, he could feel the anger the rising in him.

Venom Falls should have never fucking happened.

That......travesty of wasted lives....

It made him cringe is despair, and seethe with rage.

He hated Lucifer and the Sparrows.

They slaughtered his comrades and friends like animals.

They killed his lover, and left her broken body in a mass grave, a long with the rest of the Second Army of the Dominion.

The destroyed the ideals he and his soldiers fought so hard over, and drove him into the Wilds of Allerseen, hated and loathed by the all.

Traitorous scum.

Fucking bandits.

He rose his fist and slammed it back down onto the arm of the chair that he was sitting on, shattering it into splinters.

His face reddened in rage, as blood dripped from his now wounded claw.

He didn't care.

He was too angry to feel pain.

The Un-Prince, the King, the whole goddamn kingdom despised him and his lads,  as well as the many others of his kind that stalked the untamed Woods of Desolation.

After the fall of the Dominion, and the end of the Great Civil War, many of the disgraced soldiers fled the into the wilds, forming various Bandit clans, all fighting Allerseen and each other for a piece of land they could call their own in the unforgiving Wilds.

Though Bandit clans were many and varied, only five great clans rose out of the ashes of Post-War Allerseen: The Ten-Fold Thieves, the largest of the Clans, boasting five hundred fully fledged members, whose tales of robbery had begun to spread outside of Allerseen's borders; the Gnashed Shields, led by disgraced Dominion General Thrush Folloch, they were cut throats and murderers that worked as mercenaries, taking contracts from any customer who had the gold to pay for their services; the Tragic Idol, most of them being former members of the Dominion's Ex-special force's, the Nightingales, made in protest to the Red Sparrows (they had been subsequently destroyed recently through the efforts of the Lucifer and the Sparrows); Lastly, there were Abinchova's very own Black Talon's Company, ex-soldiers of the Second Army who survived the Massacre of Venom Falls and other battles of infamy, and the Eaters of the Dead, the second largest and arguably the most violent of the Clans, who openly raided large settlements and cities, attacking Allerseen soldiers on sight. Like the Tragic Idol, all but few have been wiped out throughout past year and a half since the Great Civil War's end.

Allerseen is still trying to pick the pieces up, to return everything back to order.

And because of that, crackdowns on the various Bandit Clans and gangs have begun to increase to further and further success, driving them either further into the Woods of Desolation, or in to the neighboring Minotaur Empire or the Gem Vale.

Abinchova had other plans.

Better plans.

"So you busted your claw, too?"

Abinchova opened his good eye to see Jobe, his second in command, standing at the entrance to the large tent that he currently resided in.

He turned his head to his claw.

Small splinters of wood jutted from various places, while his life essence dripped from the points talons, forming a sanguine pool on the floor.

It throbbed like his eye.

"I was angry,"He replied,"And I had to hit something."

Jobe shook his head from side to side, sighing.

"Next time, just hit me instead. You don't need anymore injuries, Cap. Now, put on this eye patch while I fix that claw of yours."

With one claw, Abinchova slipped the black patch over the gored socket, arranging it slightly, while his friend turned his claw around, examining the damage.

"You know I wouldn't," He said, closing his eye again.

"Wouldn't what, Cap?"

"Hit you. No matter how angry I got, I wouldn't hit you."

Jobe stopped his examination to turn to his Captain.

His leader.

Abinchova still sat with his eye closed, leaning his head back.

"I've lost too much already. We all have. We're nothing but scum, with an eternity in hell to look forward to after we lay cold and dead in the ground.....or on the floor."

He opened his eye to look at his friend.

"You're my best friend, Jobe. We've seen sick shit together. We did sick shit together. No matter what problem we faced or obstacle we overcame, we did it together."

He exhaled a breath relaxing further into the chair.

"You've earned the right to be called untouchable."

Jobe smiled sadly, patting his friend's shoulder.

"You ain't so bad yourself, you old, grizzled fuck. It's always been an honor fighting by you."

"Til the World's End?" The Bandit Chief asked.

"Til shatters to a million pieces, Abe."

Abinchova smiled.

"That's what I like to hear."

"In other news," Jobe replied,"Your claw ain't broken, you damned fool. But you did sprain it pretty badly, got a shit load of splinters, to boot. I need to take em out and bandage the claw for a bit until the bleeding stops. Which means I have to head back to the med kit. So please, don't punch, smash or break anymore things, alright?"

Abinchova smirked.

"No promises. You how I like to hit things."

Jobe chuckled, before turning towards the exit.

"Wait, before you leave...."

Jobe turned once again to face his Captain.

"Whadda ya need, Abe."

Abinchova rose from his seat to stand before his second in command.

"Spread the word to the Nails and the others to pack up. We're leaving before the sun the rises."

Jobe looked perplexed.

"We're leaving the area already? I thought this was safe territory."

The Old Captain just sighed.

"There's no safe place with the Sparrows after us. It's already dangerous enough leaving with most of our Black Talons in tow, but you have to keep in mind that I stabbed royalty. Not just any royalty, but the Un-Prince. King Braig is out for blood. Our Blood. And I won't give him the opportunity to find us so easily."

"So you're still going with the plan, then?" Jobe asked.

"Yeah, I still am. We're still moving Black Talon into the heart of the Woods of Desolation. To the Black Lake Nidstang."

Jobe shuddered at the thought.

"And you still think it's a good Idea to send us to that cursed place? That's some dangerous territory, Abe. The men are not going to welcome that idea with open claws."

"It's the best chance we got at the moment. Not even the Sparrows would think of checking Nidstang. Which is what I'm banking on. Besides, we won't make camp besides the lake. Just close enough."

Ah, the Black Lake Nidstang.

An ancient lake from an ancient part of the ancient Woods of Desolation.

Many thousands of years ago, when the heathen Griffin tribes ruled the area, a great battle was fought on the ancient lake's shores, which lasted thirteen days and thirteen nights. When the Griffin heathens won the field, they cut off the heads of all their captive foes, and placed them on poles, which they etched with curses, carved in forgotten runes from a forgotten time.

Legend has it that the spirits of the dead haunt those dark shores, with knowledge of all that was, all that is, and all that will be. Yet none have ever reached the center of the Lake, save for three individuals whose names have long been lost to time.

The lake, shrouded in eternal mist, as well as many miles surrounding it, are touched by the Nidstangs' curse, and prowled by dangerous beasts and animals, bewitched by an Evil long since passed.

And which is also home to a Creature that Abinchova really wanted to meet.

"And you still plan on finding Him?"

The Captain turned his back to his friend.

"Yes. The Brujo will be found, and I will strike my bargain with him. Lucifer will suffer. Braig will suffer. For Venom Falls, Jobe. For the Republic."

"I've always fought by your side, Abe. I've always followed your orders without complaint or compromise, but I don't see any good in this. Even if the Brujo exist, why would he fight for us?"

Abinchova merely sighed, closing his eye again.

"Trust me, he exist. And he will fight."

Jobe felt worry for his commander.

"Abe, the War is over. The Republic is dead. We can all just leave, right now, and head to the Gem Vale, or Arkon. Hell, the plague is clearing up out west. We could head to the Kingdom of Firmament. Allerseen is filled with nothing but bad memories and broken souls. There's nothing left for us here."

A moment of silence.

A Minute.

An eternity, it seemed.

"The Republic may be dead, Jobe, but Lucifer isn't. And I aim to change that."