Giorxon and The Slaughterer by Indrapramit Das

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SUMMARY: A short piece I wrote a few years ago--pure swords and sorcery pulp fiction, as focused through one of my fantasy "worlds" in which I am writing a novel. A pulp fairy tail, if you will, concerning a mad mage, a demon, a princess and all manner of dark cri

Giorxon And The Slaughterer

By Indrapramit Das

Every world has its tales and fables. Worlds of swords and sorcery have even more, for the breath of Gods hang in the very air of such places, and their tears flow in their rivers.

And surely enough, such is the history of the world of Ezulroth, rich in tales. Such as that of Giorxon and The Slaughterer.


Yticmor, 1236 AC (After the monarchy of Calvendar)

The portal opened like a blossoming flower, searing orange petals of furious flame and energy unfolding into a swirling circle before Giorxon's eyes. The light was too bright for mortal eyes, making his head ache and nearly blinding him. If it weren't for the fresh juice of the feloniya grass that he had so tremblingly squeezed between his lids prior to the opening of the portal, he would surely have lost his sight, as the pages of dusty tomes assured.

The portal, howling like a thousand wolves, blazing and gaping like a giant eye before him, tendrils of orange lashing and spinning out of its infinite nexus. He had managed it. For the first time.

It was open. Hot winds blasted against his skin, biting. He raised his arms to his face, trying to keep the light and heat from tearing into his face. There was a shape in the burning circle, out of the nexus a blurred shadow emerged.

Around him, the candles leaped with renewed flame before winking out, thin lines of smoke running out of their wicks. The beheaded doves fluttered away along the floor on the tide of infernal winds, looking grotesquely alive as they did so. The shape emerged, and abruptly, the portal closed, the flower folding into itself, the eyes rapidly shutting its invisible lids to seal the fury beyond. The hot wind, the light, all disappeared.

It was done. He had succeeded. After ages, he had managed to cast a Ninth Level Summoning. He had opened a from worlds far beyond the mortal plane. Some said Summoning portals opened from Hell itself. It was most likely; for what other dimension, what other world could spawn forth the creatures sorcerers and magi extracted into the mortal plane for their protection, or other needs? If it was true, then Giorxon had looked into the very fires of Hell for a second.

It was not the first time he had done so, for Giorxon had summoned before, but never a Ninth Level portal. He could not believe he had finally succeeded.

Giorxon, sorcerer and mercenary mage. Giorxon, tall and proud, born and bred in the western city of Yticmor, looked upon those he had summoned. Fresh from fiery depths, metal and muscle steaming.


Giorxon Danermuk was practiced in the forbidden art of summoning. Many times in his career had he brought forth from blazing portal those that were known to men as demons. The baser denizens of Hell, servants to the Lords of the Realm of Chaos, minions of the Daemons. Or so mortals of the world said. There was no proof, in fact, that the beings that emerged from the experimentations of humans gifted in the magical arts, were from the mythical plains of Hell.

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