excerpt - fantasy

A fire raged on, both inside and out, sending glowing hot embers swirling into the inky night sky and to the furthest reaches of both my body and my mind.
We danced and capered around the roaring inferno, howling, cackling and chanting.
Faster and faster we went, whipping the ashen smoke and sparks of flaming dust into a tornado that surged upward with howling fury.
Glistening with sweat, my skin painted with swirling red and black patterns and the beads, bangles and bone jewellery that decorated me clattering as I moved, I danced feverishly with my fellow young warriors well into the night.
Before the frenzied merriment reached a crescendo, each of us was led in turn by chanting warriors, to where Karthak sat upon her carved throne.
There we were anointed with poultices and smeared with unknown substances, then for several hours, were fed potions and brews that had been carefully prepared by the older, veteran Gnolls. They chanted and sang throughout the whole ritual, scattered sparkling dust over us and breathed pungent smoke in our faces as the eight of us stood beneath a great old tree in a semicircle.
I coughed and choked on a foul tasting thick liquid that caught in my throat and burned within my belly, I choked on the acrid black smoke that surrounded us and blurred the night air with the haze of a thousand burning herbs and reagents.
Karthak the warlord leered before my face, an orange inferno flickering in the pupils of the massive monster, her jagged ivory teeth glinting in the wide grin she wore.
My vision swam, the scarred and hideous face of the great warrior taking on twisting, alien shapes, her features sliding and shifting on her bestial visage.
I felt as though I was going to fall, but the earth beneath my feet reached up clawing tendrils that rooted me in place.
My sweat began to boil, and became hissing and moaning spirits that dissipated into the smoke of the bonfire, joining the vortex of liquid obsidian that slowly swirled around us.
“Breathe it in deep, war-child” Karthak spoke. But it was not with her own voice, rather it was the low rumble of mountain stone grinding and grating over millennia, it was the dry and hollow creaking of the ancient oaks, the thunder of a wrathful hailstorm.
The voice filled my ears, wormed its way inside my mind and then grew from within me, becoming a deafening chorus of sounds that didn’t so much speak the words as allow me to feel their intent.
“Breathe deep the world. Breathe deep the magick that gives all life. Breathe deep the strength of the warrior.”
I sucked air in through gritted teeth. Cold air, like that of the frigid glacier that twisted and changed to the dry and dusty air of the mighty sweeping desert even as it passed my tongue.
I had no time to be confused, no presence of mind to do anything but heed the wishes of the spirits that commanded me.
Karthak slid away from the space before me, her form replaced with a heaving mound of bubbling flesh and gore, the surface of which constantly folded in on itself, spilling jagged bones, broken spear shafts and rusted blades that disappeared as quickly as they emerged.
I wasn’t afraid.
I merely watched as the colossal oozing mass grew and shifted before my wide unblinking eyes, spilling from the warlord's mighty seat and pooling onto the dirt below. Faces briefly formed on the skin of the shapeless entity, each wide eyed and afraid, quickly swallowed up and replaced with grasping limbs or flailing tentacles of glistening flesh.
“Witness the echoes of a thousand defeated foes. This is the legacy of the despoiler.”
The cacophony roared within me.
“Witness your destiny - Scion of the free.”
I forced my gaze from the horror that shuddered and spasmed in the dirt before me and looked down at my own body, my upturned palms.
Within each one, blood began to pool, syrupy and crimson.
I clenched my fists and the hot liquid pumped from between each finger, flowing in hissing rivulets to the blackened and charred soil at my feet.
I glanced around, hoping to catch sight of the other pups. I wondered briefly how Mazgar was handling the sensory assault. I wondered if the rituals would have had a different effect on Gnoll young, if perhaps my own state was as a result of the herbs and potions being not made for my kind to imbibe.
I couldn’t see through the swirling fog, unsure of whether it was the smoke or was something behind my eyes that blurred and twisted my vision.
My breathing quickened, I could taste nothing but the foul ichor that had coated my mouth and tongue. I tried to speak, tried to question my failing grasp on reality, but my voice was lost, and I croaked like a dying frog instead.
The burning within me gave way to a sparkling that filled my entire body with energy and excitement, from the core of my being to the tips of each finger and toe I felt alive and powerful.
There seemed to be trails of luminous light that danced around me, slivers of energy arced from my outstretched hands to the ground, trailing glittering dust and wisps that faded into the night.
My chest heaved and my limbs trembled, as I tried to fight the ocean of sensation that swallowed my consciousness but I was wracked with shuddering spasms and my eyes rolled back in my skull.
I finally let go of the struggle and slipped into the welcoming embrace of oblivion.