Pagan O RourkeChapter 2
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Pagan O'RourkeChapter 4 free porn video
The attack, when it came, failed to catch them unprepared.
Shliiiiiiist, Shliiiiiiist, Shliiiiiiist, the smoking blade whispered, as it sliced through flesh and bone - leaving cauterized ruin in its forge-spawned wake. Spinning, almost too fast for the eye to follow, Pagan performed his deadly dance. His opponents barely had time to replace the fallen, ere he sent them on their way.
The twins were a whirling pair of roaring Tasmanian Devils. "O'Rourke!", they shouted, as their flashing daggers sliced and diced their hapless prey. The attackers may as well have been unarmed toddlers, for all the effect they had upon the Dual Divas of Death. Occasionally giggling and ragging each other on, The Lethal Lolitas left death and mayhem in their wake.
Blackjack and team were left with little, save an occasional brief engagement, as the Dragon Spawned threesome took center stage. Not to say they were idle - far from it - but in comparison to their young cousins, they could just as well have sat the whole thing out on the sidelines.
Flanked by his rampaging Shields, wired to the max by adrenaline euphoria, Pagan was free to tramp out a bloody vintage from the human crop in his path.
Quite a few of the demoralized antagonists attempted to turn and flee, only to be confronted by Blackjack's efficient crew. The back door had been slammed shut, and bolted fast!
With no alternative destination, the desperate assailants took their seats, one by one, on the Hellbound Express
Running out of available targets, Pagan turned to seek fresh prey.
It was all over! Save for twitching, bloody corpses, there wasn't an enemy in sight. The twins were happily engaged in cleaning their daggers, wiping them with strips torn from the clothing of the slain. Blackjack, and his crew, were already beginning to dispose of bodies, dragging them to a nearby crevasse, except for one woman, who was calmly stitching up a gash in her own arm.
The entire engagement hadn't lasted more than a few minutes. The final tally was; fifty three dead would-be-assassins, and one moderately wounded Shade.
"How progresses the new Forging, Mother?", inquired the beautiful young woman.
"See for yourself Rhiannon.", Brighid replied, "Our grandchildren are near approaching the proper temper. Soon, they'll be ready to take the field."
"They bring honor to their Houses!", came another voice, "It's wonderful, to see that time's ravaging assault has failed to pollute their Blood!"
"Yes, old friend,", Brighid agreed with the scarred, regal warrior at her side, "The House of The Dragon and your own noble House of The Phoenix, are well championed by those three young scions of our combined lines. They only await the quenching, to achieve their true mettle."
Nodding her agreement, Boadicca, erstwhile Queen of the Iceni, returned to her contemplation of the mortal plane.
"Believe me! The secret of reaping the greatest fruitfulness, and the greatest enjoyment, from life, is to live dangerously!" - Nietzsche
The place was one of those dark, moldy dens, which cater to the lowest dregs of London's slums. There was no dancing, nor laughter, as such was not the nature of those who sought, in alcoholic oblivion, escape from the weary burden of existance.
One patron, however, did not blend in with the faded décor.
Seated alone, in a booth at the rear, was a large, well dressed, middle-aged man. He alternated between watching the entrance, and taking an occasional sip of the poor-quality sherry, sitting on the scarred table before him. His eyes constantly scanned the crowded room, ever alert for possible threats.
Clayton Andrew Madison, Lord Bramley, was not a happy camper. In point of fact, if such a common term could be applied to a Peer of the Realm, one could say that he was pissed! He berated himself constantly, for having paid those incompetent fools in advance.
He still found it inconcievable, that fifty three well-armed men had been annihilated by nine defenders - five of whom were bitches. He didn't even consider including the boy, and his sisters, in the affair. It was bad enough that five sluts had dared attack his men - he certainly wasn't going to entertain the notion that three children might have been involved as well.
Suddenly, his attention was focused on an approaching figure.
"About time!" he snapped to the man, who'd just joined him in the booth, "You're late!"
"Sorry, Milord," the man responded, "But you did say to make sure I wasn't followed. That's time consuming, it is."
"Never mind!" Bramley exclaimed, "What did you find out? Who are they?"
"Nobody knows, Milord!" the man replied, "My usual sources haven't got a clue. Everyone agrees that such a highly trained group can't possibly have slipped past the experts' notice, but they obviously have. There are only a rare few who might've pulled it off the way they did, and we know who all of them are. They're certainly not from any of the regular agencies, none of whom utilize women on assault teams. I'll keep digging, if you wish, but I don't have any idea of where to look next.
"What about the terrorist community, could they be one of the fringe groups we know little about?"
"Doubtful, Milord, though I'll look into that possibility," the man continued, "Don't have any resemblance to normal terrorist techniques. That crowd isn't into stand up, knock down and drag out tactics. They're hit and run specialists, not combat assault troops. As I said, I'll look into it, but expect to be disappointed. Whoever that bunch is, they're ghosts, as far as anyone can determine. They've vanished without a trace, leaving no spoor for our hounds to follow,"
"Very well," Bramley conceded, "What about the other matter? Have you located anyone who might be able to comprehend that strange script?"
"Perhaps, Milord. There's a professor in Wales, at the university, who specializes in old Celtic artifacts. But we'll have to convince him to go to Scotland, and he's too well known to just disappear. We'll have to find some alternative method of persuasion."
"Offer him an endowment," Bramley directed, "Those college chaps are always desperate for more funding. Ten thousand pounds to make the trip, and an additional fifty thousand if he succeeds in making a translation."
"Very well, Milord. I'll get right on it." the man concluded, and departed the room.
Bramley waited a few minutes, then made his own exit from the scene.
As darkness descended upon the Scottish Highlands, a neon-blue, brilliant light emanated from the entrance to the small cave. Gradually, it coalesced into a dimly glowing, dark-blue barrier, which denied access to any mortal who was not of The Blood.
Once the entrance was sealed, the six lines of ancient script began to reform and multiply, until the entire wall beside the picture, was covered with fine lines of script, which were incomprehensible to all mortals, save one.
"Rhiannon!", came the phantom voice, "Wake up you lazy layabout. Tempus fugit, and we have much to discuss. Come on, shake a leg, ere I have to find myself a new High Priest!"
Rhiannon ap Draigh, High Priest of The Sacred Grove, Master Harper to The Twenty Seven Clans, and Ambassador to the Mortal Plane, snapped one eye open, and considered ignoring the summons, which roused her in the depth of the night.
Unfortunately, as she had long ago discovered, a determined deity was impossible to ignore. Emitting an exaggerated sigh, she sat up and surrendered to the inevitable.
"And just what service does my divinely glorious goddess require of her poor humble servant?"
"Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?" Brighid resumed, with a chuckle, "There aren't any gullible mortals around to admire your exceptional piety. And, since you're obviously experiencing a bad-hair day, not to mention bare skin for ceremonial array, I much doubt they'd be all that impressed anyway."
"I surrender," Rhiannon chuckled, "What's so urgent, that it compels you to interrupt my sleep?"
"The conquering heroes are almost returned," Brighid continued, "They'll be here within two hours time, and will be consulting the council about a part of my riddle which confuses them. Pretend ignorance about the tree, as I'm not ready for them to open the way just yet."
"Tree?" Rhiannon exclaimed, "What tree are you going on about? I don't know anything about any damned tree!"
"Don't concern yourself too much about it," Brighid soothed, "The solution will occur to you, after you've read the riddle. Just remember to dissemble about it, when they ask for help. Several critical players have yet to take their positions upon the board."
"As you wish Milady, though I'm still a little confused." Rhiannon complied.
"Excellent, a little confusion is good for you, as it keeps you from getting too self-satisfied." Brighid chortled, as her presence faded from the room.
"Self-satisfied? Me?" the grumpy High Priest muttered to the empty room, "Nahhh!"
Pagan and the others were really glad to get back home. It was still lacking an hour till sunrise, when they disembarked from the bus, and everyone hastily sought out their quarters, for a good long soak in hot, reviving water. They all wanted to be at their best for the forthcoming meeting.
"Well child, we're all assembled, as you requested. What do you have for us?", began the High Priest.
Pagan presented himself, and handed over his notebook. As his grandmother read the contents, he reported their conclusions, and asked for further clarification.
Reading the translation, it suddeenly hit her. 'Of course, THAT tree!', she thought, 'I'd better caution some of the others, as they probably will get the connection as well. Many of them have spent a great deal of time there, especially the women.'
"Well, I'm glad the Bookends finally had something of value to contribute.", she chuckled, "But as for the rest of it, I'm as much in the dark as you are. Leave it with me, and I'll try to discover the identity of this elusive tree."
Nodding his compliance, Pagan retreated to stand with his sisters and Blackjack's crew.
"Liam Draigh, present yourself before the council!", Rhiannon commanded.
Blackjack advanced to the table, snapped to attention, and saluted his High Priest.
"Now, what's this I hear about you and the children cavorting with a bunch of Sassons?", she demanded, "Weren't you supposed to keep them from stirring up trouble? And Pagan's just as bad as those two double-demons. He was supposed to be your backup babysitter!"
"BABYSITTER!", came the indignant girlish chorus from Pagan's vicinity.
Blackjack fought an internal battle, to keep a grin from appearing on his face.
"I'm sorry Reverend One, but it was all the rest of us could do, just to keep out of their way. You know how greedy children are. They wanted all the Sassons for themselves, and barely let the rest of us have any at all."
Fighting her own battle, the High Priest merely nodded, and motioned dismissal.
"Master Healer, how are our newest residents doing?", she resumed, turning to R'hee, "Are they settling in yet?"
"Yes, Reverend One.", R'hee reported, "Peg is fully recovered now, and they've all expressed a desire to remain among us. The cook's a welcome addition in the kitchens, and the others are happily lending a hand wherever it's needed. The Demon O'Rourkes are probably in for some heavy competition, as they've all been licking their chops whenever Pagan walks by."
She paused briefly to direct a smirk toward her irate nieces, then resumed.
"They fit in well, and have already made a lot of friends among his other devoted conquests."
This last was the final straw for the crowd, and everyone, save the fuming twins, convulsed in unrestrained hilarity. Didi and Dierdre failed to see anthing at all humorous in the situation, which served to redouble the laughter.
Finally regaining her wind, the High Priest dismissed the council.
Lord Bramley was sitting in his study, inwardly raging over the waste of ten thousand pounds, when his butler announced that he had a visitor. Still smarting over the fact that no one could reenter the cave, he motioned the butler to show the man in.
"I may have found a possible source for our recent troubles, Milord.", the man began, without preamble, "The professor says that there are vague rumors of an unknown group in the upper Cambrian Mountains. His research has brought to light quite a few unsubstantiated reports which have occasionly been recorded over the last thousand years. He believes it to be superstitious myth, but it occurred to me that such a remote location could well conceal some sort of hidden base."
"How soon can you verify it, one way or the other?", Bramley perked up. Perhaps his money hadn't been thrown away, after all.
"It merely requires your approval, Milord. I can have a team up there in a couple of days."
"That's an awful lot of ground to cover. Won't it take a very long time to do a thorough search.", Bramley querried.
"We should be able to narrow it fairly quickly, once we're up there Milord. Surely the locals will be able to narrow the search for us.", the man concluded.
"Very well, but make sure they know to keep a very low profile. No sense issuing a warning, should our quarry be up there.", Bramley concluded.
"Consider it done, Milord.", The man acknowledged.
As his visitor departed, Bramley retrieved a large map of Wales from his cabinet, and focused his attention upon the Cambrian Mountains.
Sassons at The Gate
"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." - K'ung-fu Tzu (Confucius)
Historical note; in this next segment I refer to Longshanks' Folly (a fictional place). Longshanks was Edward I, King of England 1272 - 1307 C.E. He conquered and annexed Wales in 1284 C.E. His son, Edward II, became the first Prince of Wales in 1301 C.E., a title still applied to the heir-apparent of the English Throne. - Source; "Encarta Encyclopedia"
The scouts were absolutely amazed at the sight which met their gaze. Spanning the narrow pass, was a formidable wall. Easily fifty feet high, made up of massive stone blocks, and surmounted by two mirror-glazed watchposts, it was a truly intimidating aspect.
The narrow, stone-paved roadway passed through a barred archway, to continue beyond the horizon.
The four men had no way of knowing that the barricade was only fifteen years old, (having been built following the abduction of baby Pagan) as it appeared to have been there for centuries.
Carefully, being sure not to break cover, they retreated back to their vehicle. They were excited at finally having something to report, after weeks of fruitless search.
"Sion, Sion wake up!", Maefys hissed, as she shook her husband's shoulder, "Blackjack's in the hall, with an urgent message for you!"
Coming instantly awake, Sion leapt from the bed and began getting dressed.
"Have him wait for me in the study, and check on the children.", he replied, "See if you can pry Pagan from betwixt those two ferrets, without waking them up. We can always tell them anything they need to know later. I want Pagan present, as I've been working toward his eventually replacing me, but I don't need those magpies constantly interrupting us."
She nodded her agreement, as she hurried out the door.
Didi whispered to her sister, "Are you awake?"
"Oh no, I slept right through mom's sneaky little act!" Dierdre hissed, "Surely she doesn't think we're letting Bubba get very far from our sight."
Grinning at each other, the irrepressable duo jumped out of bed, hurriedly dressed, and crept toward the study, drawn by the light coming through the door.
"All right Blackjack, now that we're all here, what do you have?" Sion said.
"The watch at Phoenix Pass just posted an alert," Blackjack began, "Four hostiles just reconned their position, and withdrew."
"What makes them believe they were hostile?" Sion inquired.
"What else would they be? They were nightclad, well armed, and were actually fairly competent at concealment. We might have missed them entirely, if not for the IR beams. Besides, it's just gone three o'clock. No one with honorable intentions would've been prowling about this time of night." Blackjack replied.
"Alert the base at Longshanks' Folly. Have them intercept our curious visitors." he ordered.
"Already done Sir. We should be hearing from them shortly."
"Good man! Now, if there's nothing more, I'm putting my weary bones back to bed. I'm getting too old for this middle of the night shit." Sion declared, as he rose to leave.
Pagan and Blackjack traded grins, as the robust thirty eight year old Clan Chieftain left the room.
Pagan couldn't help smiling to himself, as the twins scrambled back to their room, barely evading their father.
"I wonder if I should let them know that, since the ordeal in Derbyshire, I always know where they are, and what they're doing.', he thought, "Nah, no sense giving up my advantage, as it keeps them from springing any of their little surprises on me, '
The snatch went off without a hitch. Dressed in the uniforms of local constables, the Shades blocked the road with their official-appearing patrol car, and settled in to await their prey.
When the four men arrived at the roadblock, the driver carefully brought the vehicle to a gentle stop. He wasn't worried about the coppers, so long as they didn't want to search the boot.
Checking to be sure the nasal filters were well seated, the Shade approached the driver's open window. Leaning down to speak, he placed his cupped palm upon the sill.
"Good morning gents, might I have a look at your papers, please?", he requested, surreptiously rupturing the small plastic ampule, concealed in his palm.
As the men reached for their wallets, an odorless, tasteless vapor inundated the confined space. As they succumbed to the narcotic influence of the gas, the faux Constable motioned the others to approach.
In less than five minutes, a black van was speeding away, bearing four unconscious bodies, and the pseudo squad car was returning to base. The scouts' car was towed behind the van.
"What do you have for us, Dragon Chieftain?" inquired the High Priest.
Sion rose to his feet, and addressed his mother-in-law.
"The men are fairly low ranking subordinates, Reverend One," he began, "They only know that they were assigned to do a search of the upper Cambrian Mountains, for any suspicious installations. They have no knowledge of who their ultimate superior may be. Their commanding officer, however, is a known lackey of Bramley's, so we can conclude that His Lordship's is the guiding hand behind their efforts. We know he's gone to ground somewhere in London, but constant surveillance of his townhouse, and known haunts, has failed to turn up a trace of him."
"What do you recommend, Clan Leader?" she requested.
"We wait for the hounds to be unleashed, Reverend One.", he continued, "Let him come to us! The Master Healer has performed a short-term memory alteration upon our guests, but their actual memories will resurface within a matter of several days. We propose to free them several kilometers beyond the capture point, and wait for the response occasioned by their restored memories. This will allow us ample time in which to prepare for their sortie. If we play with them long enough, Bramley's impatience will impel him to break cover, and he'll show up to take personal charge of the operation."
"Very well, do as you believe best. Needless to say, you are in possession of our absolute confidence." she concluded.
Bowing his acceptance, Sion reseated himself.
"From this point forward, all leaves and holidays are cancelled. Issue a recall to our absent kinsmen," she addressed the gathering, "We are now at full alert status. Craft Masters will report to The Dragon for their assignments. Master Healer, you will lay in a sufficient supply of trauma-treatment paraphernalia - prepare for the worst case scenario. School will continue as normal, but training excercises will be altered to fit The Dragon's needs. Clan Chieftains will get their houses in order, as per doctrine. I see no need to disrupt daily domestic routines at this point, but check with your Clan Leaders for any necessary changes. You are dismissed!"
As the assembly broke up, several individuals made their way to Sion's side, Pagan and the twins accompanying them.
Pagan, the twins, and Blackjack's crew, were having the time of their collective lives. Maintaining discipline, they had no problem evading detection by the hostile force, which had assembled below Phoenix Pass. They limited their excursions to the hours of darkness, and were wreaking havoc among Bramley's troops.
Slipping past unconscious senteries, they happily pilfered arms, ammunition, rations, clothing, and anything else which wasn't nailed down, even taking personal jewelry from the sleeping men.
By sunrise, the resulting tally of their depredations was truly staggering. A well-armed, disciplined force was reduced to an unarmed, almost naked, hungry mob.
Clayton Andrew Madison WAS pissed! The cost, in missing supplies, was unbelievable. Over one hundred thousand pounds worth had gone missing, not to mention salaries and benefits, and his people hadn't even scented the prey.
Enough was enough! He prepared for a speedy trip to Wales, looking forward to wreaking his vengeance upon the perpetrators of his recent defeat.
"It's time granddaughter," whispered the ephemeral voice, "When you awaken, lead the children to the appointed place. The cast is assembled, and the oil awaits the quenching. Our young Heroes are ready for the final tempering - only the final honing will remain. Finish your repose, for now, but remember when the night has run its course."
Alma
- 10.08.2022
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