StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Carandin squinted and looked through the heat haze. "Boy," he said to his sister's son who sat next to him, "you've got young eyes. Do you see what I do?"

The younger man, barely twenty squinted ahead. The caravan was passing in an ancient groove between the hills that had been a trade route before the Scourge and occasionally after. The hills above had seen their shares of ambushes, but the men who traveled in this caravan were not prey. They were predators.

"Two Namegivers," said Monard, who hated it when his uncle called him boy. He had always been a little bit in awe and a little bit afraid of Carandin. After joining him on this expedition he was now very afraid of him. It had been an exhilarating and terrifying adventure of bloodshed and mayhem. He had come into his majority in the old way, in the traditions still followed by his family, killing a man and taking a woman. He still hadn't really come to terms with that.

"What else boy?" his uncle rasped. Caradin wasn't a tall man, but his frame was squat with iron hard muscles and he was surprisingly fast. He was olive skinned and dark haired, wearing a hauberk of sturdy ork forged mail. A short, curved dwarf sword hung on his right side and a striaght double bladed elven broadsword on his left. A charm of blood speckled crystal in a silver setting was attached to his left wrist. Gold glinted on his ears and throat.

"Tall, but not obsidiman or troll tall. Orks I would guess. This is ork country."

"Not very many orks here any more," said Carandin. "And there on foot. Since when do orks not ride?"

"When we have them chained to the back of the wagon?" Monard quipped.

"Be serious boy," he said glaring at his nephew.

"Yes uncle. Maybe their horses died. I think one of them is carrying a saddle."

"Hmmm," his uncle pondered. "No harm in letting the merchandise get closer."

The two travelers looked at the approaching wagons and outriders. "Don't see caravans much in these parts," said the elf. He was golden skinned and wore his black hair in a braid that fell half way down his back. He wore a dusty robe of dark blue marked with herons. A sword hung from his waist.

His companion was a touch taller than the elf, both of them close to six and half feet tall and about average height for their respective races. His skin was slightly lighter than the elf's and his hair and short cut beard were red brown. His face was flatter than the elf's and his cheeks were marked with ritual scars. Tusks protruded from his lips. Upon his head he wore a conical helmet with a horsehair pennant and upon his body he wore a stout mail hauberk that had seen much hard use. A curved blade hung at his waist and a bow and great axe hung over his back. He bore a saddle across his shoulders.

"No we don't," said the ork in the same language, the dwarven tongue of Throal. "Three gets you five they are slavers."

"No bet," the elf sighed. "Are you ready for this Rathik?"

"My horse died. It can't get any worse," said the ork. "What about you? Got the stomach for this? Or is your flighty elf ass going to run?"

"Maybe," said the elf. "Wouldn't sound good in my Legend though."

"The Great Hero Shahen the Coward? No, wouldn't sound so good. Wouldn't go well with the rest of it."

"True. Also, I should help you find a new horse and they seem to have plenty."

The wagons were closer now. Two outriders broke away, coming towards them. Both were orks wearing armour of hardened leather and armed with lances. They stopped a half dozen yards from the pair, their lances aimed low. Behind them were a pair of human archers.

"Throw down your arms," said one of the lancers in Theran accented Dwarven. "We'll stick you and your elf friend before you can do anything. Your just men on foot."

Rathik dropped his saddle. "Unless we are more," he answered. "You slaver piece of shit." Shahen gestured and shouted and stars sprayed from his hands. They burned through the lancer's armour and flesh. The horse screamed as the nethermancer's magic burned through its flesh. Man and beast fell, blood spurting from a dozen wounds.

Rathik darted inside the lancer's reach and seized the shaft of the weapon, jerking the rider forward. With the other hand he struck with his sword and opened his belly. He jerked the dying man of his steed, cursing as his feet caught tangled in the stirrups.

The archer's let loose. One arrow narrowly missed Rathik. The other struck the elf's left shoulder. No blood flowed. A shaft of cyan light appeared in the elf's hand. He loosed it at the archer. The astral spear punched through the archer's left lung and dissipated. Blood pumped out of the dying man as he dropped his bow and cradled the wound.

The other archer fired at the nethermancer and missed as Shahen dodged out of the way. Another shaft appeared in his hand and then struck the archer on the neck, decapitating him. Meanwhile Rathik flung the corpse from the saddle and mounted the horse.

The slavers hadn't been idle. Four more horsemen came riding their way and a dozen on foot poured from the wagons. Rathik let out a yell of triumphant as he drew his great battle axe. Magic flowed between him and the horse, binding them together. A touch of his knees was all the physical contact he needed. He urged it towards the slavers.

"Fucking adepts," Carandin swore. "Ordrin, Scar! Kill them!"

Shahen wove a shield of mist around him as Rathik charged the horsemen. His first blow almost cut a slaver in half, the second shattered a shield and the arm behind it. He fended off another blow and took a second in the chest. A link snapped and he grunted from the force of it. He smashed the man in the face with the flat of his axe and then buried his axe in his chest. The man with the broken arm hit his shoulder weakly with his sword. Rathik pulled the axe out of his victim's chest and finished off the other man by smashing him in the face with the other blade.

A half dozen men swooped down onto Shahen, Scar at the lead. The swordmaster adept was darker skinned than the elf and his face was marked with a scar that cut diagonally across his nose. He wore a hauberk of light mail and carried a great curved sword. Stars spat from the elf's hands and the other men fell screaming as the motes of light burned through steel and flesh. Scar grimaced in pain and struck.

The shield of mist blocked his blow. The nethermancer shouted a spell and his hand clenched. Scar fell screaming as pain wracked his body. He writhed on the ground at the elf's feet, his body convulsing.

Rathik decapitated the last horseman and turned to footmen. A dwarf with a short brown beard wearing a yellow robe red mountain motif stepped out from among them. Ice formed in his hands, forming a pair of spiked mace heads connected by a chain. They flew at Rathik and wrapped around his limbs, striking with bruising force and entangling his arms.

The ork pulled the ice weapon off his body and dropped it as Shahen threw another astral spear. The spear struck the dwarf in the shoulder and blood sprayed. The swordmaster at his feet, no longer crippled by the pain spell, regained his feet. He feinted high and drew away the shield of mist. He then struck the elf just above the hip, his blade biting through the enchanted mail underneath the nethermancer's robes and drawing blood.

Shehan raised his hands and conjured forth more burning stars. Scar fell, his body riddled with smoking wounds as Rathik rode into the foot men. The calvaryman's axe brained the dwarf elementalist as he trampled another man. The slaver's began to break.

Carandin rushed forward and stabbed the horse in the neck. Blood sprayed over the slaver and the horse buckled and then collapsed. A calvaryman adept was bad, but he was twice as bad mounted. The ork kicked free of the dying horse and rolled to his feet and. "Horrors take you! I didn't have that horse under me for a hundred heart beats!" Rathik swung at Carandin, who dodged back.

The slaver drew upon the power of his blood charm and stabbed with his broadsword. The blade pierced the ork's guard and his mail, driving deep into the meat of his thigh. Rathik fell, blood pumping from the wound. Rathik swung his axe clumsily and Carandin parried with his broadsword. He closed in to slash with his dwarf sword. The ork parried with his mail clad left arm. Carandin kicked him hard in the chest and knocked the ork down on his back.

An astral spear pierced the slaver in the heart. He staggered and gasped, blood pouring out of his mouth. He legs buckled and fell forward on his face. Rathik got to his feet, blood slowly flowing from his wound.

"Take it easy on that," said Shahen. "At least until I'm finished." Blue thread of lights danced around his hands as the elf began to weave a spell. Magic poured through the elf's hands, blending with the magic augmenting the ork's own prowess. The wound closed and the bleeding stopped.

"Better," said the ork as he tested his leg. "Not as good as riding though. Good thing you didn't kill all the horses."

Decent if rather unbalanced fight scene. In a way it's a good thing it's just one scene, because writing an Earthdawn fic without windlings must be some kind of crime.

Rathik began stripping the dead slavers, first slitting their throats in case they were feigning death. With brisk knife strokes he freed rings and other jewelry that was not easily parted from their previous owners. Shahen stood watch surveying the area with his life sight. "Live one of the other side of that wagon. I'll take care of it."

Rathik grunted in acknowledgement. The nethermancer's life sight wasn't infallible, but it was usually accurate. Shahen warily circled the wagon, his hand on his sword hilt.

Monard was crouched behind a wheel and shaking. His sword was clenched in both hands. "Throw that down and play nice and I'll probably let you live," said Shahen in elven derived language of the Theran.

"Probably?" asked Monard as he got to his feet. He steadied his blade with both hands and pointed it at the elf.

"Yes, probably. If I find out you were raping kids, for example, I won't. If I let you run with a full water skin, you have a decent chance of making it to civilization before dying. Rough justice, but its what you buy for cooperating."

"And you'll kill me if I don't, right?" said Monard. "All I have to do to live is put down this sword and render myself completely helpless, huh? Make myself completely helpless? Give up my fighting chance, right?"

"What fighting chance? You're not an adept, let alone a skilled one. I'll give your bones to the earth with all the rest. You're buying your life by making things easy on me. Nothing more."

Monard hesitated. Shahen sighed, muttered something, and clenched his fist. Monard fell screaming and thrashing. "Fucking small brained piece of shit slavers," the nethermancer muttered as he stepped over to Monard and kicked away his sword. He stepped back and then relaxed his hand and the spell he was holding.

Monard surged to his feet and fumbled for his knife. His limbs were shaky and slow. A shaft of blue light appeared in the elf's right hand. The spear of shaped mana struck Monard in the chest and came out through his spine before vanishing. "To think human bigots say that orks are dumb," the elf muttered.

He walked over, bent down, and searched the body. There was some coin, a healing booster potion, as well as a gold and a silver ring, but no keys. "Fuck." He raised his voice. "Found any keys yet?"

"No," Rathik bellowed back. "Check the head wagon." The elf strode over to it and leapt on the driving bench. He then checked the back.

There were a plethora of tools useful to the slaving profession including cloth rapped clubs, nets, bolas, and rope. More manacles and finally keys as well. A few locked chests, one of which probably contained alchemical healing agents. Slavers didn't like to loose really valuable merchandise if it got damaged by bad luck or sloppiness. It was all about the money.

There were four other wagons in the caravan of misery. Each one held around twenty filthy young men and women manacled to metal struts riveted into the sides of the wagon. One key fit all manacles. Shahen unlocked the closest to him, a human woman with brown skin and dark hair. Probably a teenager. She had haunted eyes. "Unlock the rest. The slavers are dead. You're free."

She nodded dully and unlocked the woman next to her. A low keening sound passed through the group and several of the former slaves began to sob. Shahen turned away. Such displays of emotion made him uncomfortable. He leapt of the wagon. Rathik was there, matching his stride.

"The runners haven't decided to come back," the ork said.

"Would you?"

"No, especially not once the slaves start grabbing weapons." He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "Bad?"

"Yeah. Boys in the worst shape than the girls I think."

"Figures. Human women grow up knowing they might be some predator's prey. Boys don't." There was a certain ugly inevitability to the situation. Most slavers were heterosexual males, but once you got a large enough group together it was certain it would contain a few females, bisexual males, and homosexuals. Factor in the use of rape in breaking the will of the newly caught slavers as well as the personality types that tended to be involved in slaving and no more needed be said. Everyone knew slavers raped a lot of the women they took. That they did the same thing with young men was less well known.

The humans in the area that had been the Kingdom of Landis before the Scourge didn't have much of a taboo on homosexuality, but they did have a code of masculine behavior. Being the victim of rape didn't fit into any of that. The women would be expected to get abortions, but their clans would accept them back without burdening them with shame. Not so the boys.

"Humans," said the elf.

"Yeah," said Rathik. "Poor screwed up bastards. The haul's looking pretty good. We'll take the best, leave the rest for them. And take some horses. The best four." He spat. "The quality is shit though."

"They're not that bad," said Shahen.

"Says a man with no eye for horse flesh. Which one of us is the ork?"

"You're right. They're okay, by human and elf standards. I defer to the Scorcher in matters of riding beasts."

Rathik smiled broadly. "Good. I always knew you were a bright boy."

"They might not making back to a civilized place without help," said Shahen.

"Probably right about that. I guess we play nursemaid then?"

"Your Legend will sound better if we do."

"We better find a troubadour with some fucking talent to tell this too," Rathik grouched. "Humans are always a pain."

Rathik threw his saddle over the back of a chestnut stallion and cinched it around the horse's belly. "He's not a bad one," the ork said as he patted the horse's nose. "Slavers usually have shit for horse flesh."

The former slaves were blinking in the bright sunlight. "Those of you who can handle weapons, take them from the fallen," said Shahen The rest of your prioritize water and then food. Loot last. Put the worst off on horseback. The sooner we get moving the sooner we can get back to civilization."

The former captives moved slowly around, a few stopping to pick up weapons or take food or water from the stores. "Move it!" Shahen shouted impatiently. "We don't have unlimited time."

Eventually the group got organized and everyone was carrying supplies. There were nearly sixty people, almost all young men and women. Most of the former captives were in fairly good shape, but a half dozen of them had been badly mauled by the slavers. They were placed on the horses, which were lead by the reigns by others.

"We're burning time," said Rathik. "That will cost."

"I know," said Shahen, "but do you want leave them?"

"No. You never know when you might be coughing up blood and could really use some love from Garlen."

"Besides, we have to find that fucker. Who knows how long that will take?"

Rathik nodded. "The world has no shortage of evils. Ending this one is nothing to be ashamed of. Either way, we need to back track to find where we lost the trail. We have company coming. Single rider."

"Yeah, I see him. Riding hell for leather."

The ork drew his bow and nocked an arrow. The rider came closer. She was a human woman wearing black plate armour over leather. He skin was a shade or two lighter than Shahen's. The rider slowed as she drew closer.

"Maren!" a girl shouted. "Maren! Here!"

Rakith lowered his bow. The warrior-woman advanced warily, looking the adventurers over, and then slid off her horse to embrace the other woman. It was easy to see that they were sisters. Both shared the same angular face and dark. "They saved us Maren," the girl said.

"I can see," her sister replied. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she said. "Some of the others, the slavers, they. . ." she couldn't finish.

"I know. You don't have to say it. And if they hurt you, you bear no shame." She looked into her sister's eyes. "Say it."

"They didn't-"

"Say it."

"I bear no shame."

"Good." Maren turned towards the adventurers. "I owe you for this."

Shahen inclined his head. "It was pure dumb luck on our part."

"It is appreciated nonetheless. I am Maren Katrinsdaughter."

"Shahen. My friend is Rathik Tenblows."

"You're adepts."

"Yes," said Shahen. "Rathik is a cavalryman, I follow the Discipline of nethermancy."

"And I am a warrior."

"I could tell," said Rathik. "You don't ride well enough to be a cavalryman and no one but an adept would think they can take a whole slaver caravan single-handed."

"What are your intentions?"

"Take them to Zabu. Safe enough there and some will have kin or friends there."

"Not a bad plan. And what next for you?"

"We have to deal with other matters."

"The matters that brought you out here in the first place?"

"Yes," said Rathik.

"Which wasn't slavers or Therans," said Maren.

"It's a bad business," said Shahen. "Its been the death or worse of many."

Her gaze narrowed. "A Horror. There's a Horror stalking the region?"

"Maybe," said Shahen. "We thought we were following it, but it gave us the slip."

"I know the land," she said, "and I live here. Let me help you."

"It's a Horror," said Shahen. "Don't make that promise lightly. It could cost you everything."

"Could cost me everything if I don't."

"I don't know how smart you are," said Rathik, "but you've got courage enough for me. And you're right about us needing your help. Your in, if you're fool enough not to change your mind."

Shahen shrugged. "As he said."

Maren swung back up on her horse. "Tell me about it as we ride."

I don't know anything about the setting of this story but its been interesting so far.

Evening approached and the travelers made camp in the grass lands. Fires were lit for warmth against the evening cold and meals were prepared. Shahen shed his robe, exposing the coat of fine mail links he wore underneath. The elf broke out a needle and thread and began to go to work repairing his robe.

Rathik settled in beside him and resumed whittling on an stick marked with grotesque faces. Maren rose from her own fire and approached them, noting their activities. "I suppose I should reciprocate."

Shahen gestured for her to join them and went back to repairing his robe. During the time leading up to the Scourge it had been learned that most people touched by the Horrors were unable to create things of beauty while they remained under their influence. This knowledge and lore spread and now everyone possessed some skill or craft with which to produce art of some sort and thus demonstrate their untainted status. It wasn't fool proof, but it helped.

Maren unwrapped a flute from her pack and played a high, sad tune unfamiliar to both men. They listened carefully and when she finished she repacked the musical instrument. "Satisfied?" she asked.

"You're running from something," said Rathik. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. She was far too eager to join up with strangers to hunt a Horror. She wasn't just doing it to forge her Legend or to rid the land of an evil, she was searching for an honourable reason to flee.

"That's none of your business," she replied.

"It is if trouble follows you," said Shahen.

"It doesn't. It's over and done with."

"So its living with what was done?" asked the nethermancer.

"Yes," she replied. "And is my business and done with, as I said. Is your past something you wish to share, elf with no family name?"

"No," said Shahen, "but if you travel with us you will need to hear it so I will tell you."

"Then tell me."

"How much do you know of Horrors?" the elf asked as he stirred the flames.

"Not much more than most. They came from other worlds, building bridges to ours when the magic was at its peak. We retreated to kaers before the worst came and we stayed their for centuries. When we reclaimed the world, it had been marked by them. That was the Scourge. Some remain in the world. The least primarily consume flesh. The greater ones eat torment and suffering. The greatest are the Named Horrors."

Shahen was silent for a moment. "True for the most part. We hunt a Horror that has been Named Kinstrife. He is a bloatform, a class of Horrors of great power and cunning. His depredations were so terrible that we Named him. He is like the other Horrors of his ilk, a hideous floating mass. He resembles a cross between a jelly fish and a cluster of rotting heads."

"Kinstrife likes to hunt at night and he hunts in pairs. He kills one and then marks the other. The survivor he torments with his powers and cunning from a distance, breaking the survivor to his will. Finally the survivor succumbs. They always succumb. He makes them kill their enemies. Starting with enemies makes things easier. Then friends. Then family. My mother murdered my father and my sister at his behest."

"Garlen have mercy," she whispered.

"Rathik was luckier. Kinstrife didn't take any of his family, but he lost kin to his victims."

"I take it the Horror hides well?"

"He strikes at night, hiding during the day. He uses its magic to gain surprise and mark its victim. After the marking is done, he doesn't need to be close to use his powers on his victim."

"And you two are trying to track it?"

"Yes," said Rathik.

"How to you intend to deal with it if you find it? It sounds powerful."

"It is. We might die. Or worse."

She nodded. "And what were you doing way out there? Following a false trail?"

"Tracking a man it marked," said Rathik. "We thought it might lead to Kinstrife. It instead lead into an ambush. We won. Barely. Jehuthras killed my horse."

"Jehuthras?" she asked.

"Horror construct," said Shahen. "Reshape a living Name-giver or a fresh corpse into an undead minion. In this case a spider-like creature the size of a horse armed with ice magic."

"That sounds bad."

"It was."

"And you're still going after it? Even if its minions are that bad?"

"Surprise counts for a lot," said Rathik. "That time it had it. When we strike, we'll have it."

"I hope so," she replied.

"You don't sound like you have much hope," said Shahen.

"Neither do you."

The next day passed swiftly. By late afternoon they reached the farmsteads and fields around the walled town of Zabu. Most of the inhabitants were humans, although there was a significant ork minority. More than a few stopped to stare and some edged towards where they had weapons, but the adventurers lead the liberated slaves to the town without incident.

As they neared the town walls, Shahen rode up beside Lycen, Maren's sister. "Can we talk?" he asked.

"About what?" she asked. The girl was carrying a light pack, a dagger, and a crossbow.

"About your sister."

"You can trust her."

"So you say. But she is hiding something from us and we need to know what it is."

"It is nothing that concerns a Horror."

"You don't know Horrors. They will use any weakness, any wound, against you. Especially this one."

The girl chewed her lip for a moment. "Our parents own a large amount of land, but have heavy debts. My sister was going to begin training with the Siblings of Steel when an offer was made. Most of our parents' debts would be settled in exchange for her hand in marriage to Nios's son Krano. She agreed."

"Bad marriage?"

"The worst," said Lycen. "He beat her, although not where it would show. Not at first. She was a faithful daughter. She stayed in the marriage instead of running. She should have left."

"What happened?"

"One day he came at her with his fists and she killed him. Crushed his throat. A questor of Mynbruje was called in as judge. He ruled it self defence. And then he investigated further and fined Nios half of his wealth and made everyone of his abuses of his wealth public. Nios was furious, but Gaszeen was a warrior adept and a troubadour. She went to study with the Siblings of Steel, but in our village she is still the woman hated by the most powerful man in town and who killed her husband. She can live there, but few make her welcome."

Shahen nodded. "Thank you."

"You won't exclude her for this, will you?" said Lycen.

"If I did that, I would be doing her a favor. But no, I'm not such a hypocrite that I have a problem with what she did."

The town of Zabu had no love for slavers and was willing to host a bunch of ex-slaves for a while, especially considering that a few had distant kin or connections in town and all had coin to spare. Lycen hugged her sister farewell in the square in front of a modest shrine to Garlen before Maren broke with the group to join the two adventurers.

"I've said my good byes."

"Are you sure?" said Shahen.

"I'm sure," she replied.

"Then you will have to bind yourself to our purpose." The elf rolled up his sleeve and exposed a squiggle shaped scar on his left arm. Rathik did likewise.

"A blood oath," she said.

"And a pattern connection. More than blood seals this."

"I know of such things," she said. "Great power can lie in it."

Rathik nodded. "We are trying to do this and live."

"I shall make my contribution. What is the Name?"

"The Harrowed."

They filled up two travellers inns in Zabu, their way made easy by slaver silver. Rathik and Shahen took for themselves a single large room with two beds. After they had supped on a meal of thick stew and fresh bread, they made their way upstairs.

The elf took out a small pot containing a kernel of elemental fire and placed a kettle of water on top of it. He sat cross legged on the floor in front of the pot, his sword naked on his lap. The hilt was silver and crafted to resemble a rampant dragon. The blade was crystal and as black as night.

"You suspicious?" grunted Rathik.

"Of her?" Shahen replied. "She seemed uncorrupted. I think it is unlikely that she operating under his influence."

"She's got more going on than she's saying."

"Don't we all," the elf replied. He place two cups down, one in front of him and the other on the opposite side of the kettle. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift to the netherworlds as the tea came to a boil.

The faint whistle of the tea kettle brought his attention back to the physical world. He picked up the kettle and poured a cup for himself and the other cup for the spirits that had chosen to join him. He waited a minute for the tea to cool and then raised the cup to his lips to salute the spirits who had joined him. Then he drank.

As he did so, he could feel his energy increase as the spirits began to slip away back to the netherworld. He drained the cup and put it down.

"All powered up?" Rathik asked.

"Yes."

"Let's get some sleep and try to pick up its trail in the morning."

The woke the next morning and broke their fast with a meal of bread, cheese, and cold cuts of meat before leaving Zabu. "Where to from here?" asked Maren.

"Northeast," replied Rathik. "That's where he struck last."

"How did you end up picking the wrong trail?" she asked.

"We didn't," said Rathik. "He fooled us." She waited for further explanation. None was forthcoming.

"What Rathik is saying is that we followed the wrong being," said Shahen. "Kinstrife floats, he doesn't leave tracks. So we tracked its minions instead, a Horror marked agent and a pair of jehuthras. We thought that it would keep them close. It usually does. Instead it sent them away while going in a different direction."

"So Kinstrife knew you were tracking it and misdirected you."

"Yes," said Rathik.

"So how do we pick up the trail again?"

"One of two other methods," said Shahen. "The suffering a Horror inflicts contaminates astral space. We can attempt to follow that."

"Except contaminated astral space is everywhere thanks to the Scourge," said Maren.

"Yes," said Shahen. "Its not easy, but corruption fades. In a slightly damaged or clean region, he'll leave a trail that can be tracked. That's not how we usually do it and will be pretty hard here."

"What's the other way?"

"We follow his trail of victims."

The adventurers followed a dusty road across grasslands, over rolling hills, and down again to a mostly empty plain. The land was wide open and empty, with only a few herd animals being glimpsed at a distance.

"There is nothing like having a horse under you and the wide open plains beneath your feet," said Rathik.

"How typically ork," replied Shahen.

"I forgot, you elves love your trees. Bah."

"Cool shade, fresh fruit, and easy hunting all at hand," said Shahen.

"A prison with wooden bars," said Rathik. "Why don't you go to Blood Wood if you like forests so much?"

Shahen's knuckles whitened as his hand clenched near the hilt of his sword. "What did you say?" he said through his teeth.

"Forgive me my friend," said Rathik. "A poor choice of jests. Look, the tree," he said pointing and changing the subject.

The tree in question was standing on a small hill. Its dried and twisted branches supported no leaves. Beneath the hill, two roads crossed. Other than that, there was nothing notable about this spot at all.

"So you might have lost Kinstrife at the crossroads?" Maren asked.

"Yes," said Rathik. "The west road-"

"leads to a bridge over the Silver Flow, yes I know," said Maren. "The north road follows the Silver on this side of the river and the east takes you east towards the rest of Barsaive. I am from Landis, or what is left of it."

"A dead kingdom," said Shahen. "The Scourge saw to that. Although its people survive." He shook his head and spat. "Death drown the Horrors and everything they brought."

Maren nodded grimly. "So what now?"

"We take another look a see if we missed something," said Rathik. "Come on." His horse lead the way to the crossroads, which were little more than an intersection of wagon tracks and a horse trail.

"Not much here," said Maren.

"Maybe on the astral," said Rathik.

"Hold," said Maren softly, he hand on her sword hilt. "The tree." A figure in a ragged robe had appeared from behind the tree, a human of average size or a short ork or elf.

"Tell me that looks healthy," muttered Rathik as he reached for his lance.

"Of course it is," said Shahen. "Just as healthy as it looks." The robed figure began to walk down the hill toward them.

"Hail traveller, explain yourself!" Rathik bellowed. The figure said nothing but continued walking. "Shahen!" the ork roared. "Lance it!"

A spear of cyan light appeared in the elf's hand. He threw it at the robed figure. The mana construct took the creature in the shoulder. It released a shriek and the ground at the base of the hill erupted.

"Dis!" Rathik swore as his horse shied away from the dark form with too many limbs rising from the earth. It was taller than a troll, a figure seemingly made up solely of writhing serpents. It stood on two trunk-like limbs and had four tentacles ended in gaping snake maws.

Maren leapt off her horse, battle axe in her hands. She was a blur of motion. A tentacle reached for her and snake heads flew. She swung again and blood sprayed from the monster's central trunk. Rathik drew his own axe and charged.

Two tentacles lashed out at Maren, but she danced away. Rathik took the end of another tentacle off with a ferocious blow and viper's maws spat venom. Poison smoked where it touched leather and flesh. The cavalryman grunted from the pain, but did not retreat.

Shahen threw another astral spear. Blood and goblets of flesh flew from the top of the monster's trunk. Rathik circled for another blow as the robed figure ran down the hill and sprang at Maren.

The warrior sprung to the side, but the robed figure was fast. A brown scaled arm with talon tipped fingers lashed out, striking along the breastplate with enough force to gauge metal and knock the warrior down. She rolled away and sprang to her feet, her axe dancing in her hand. The robed figure struck again and this time Maren got out of the way. Her axe struck the robed one's side and blood jetted from the wound.

Rathik roared and charged the snake-mass head on. He swing almost put his axe through the mass's trunk and blood spray coated him and his steed. The snake-mass quivered and then collapsed into its component serpents.

The robed one hissed and lashed out again, but the warrior woman kept her distance. An astral spear shot by her and caught the robed one in the stomach. In a flash Maren was striking. Blood geysered up from the creature's neck and a brown scaled head, bounced on the ground. The robed one swayed and fell.

Maren cautiously circled the body. It twitched, but made no move to attack. She turned the head over with her axe. The mouth held serpent's fangs, the nose was a mere pair of slits, and it had the eyes of a snake but it had once belonged to a human being. She backed away.

Rathik rode up and eyed the body. "Kinstrife was expecting us to be back."

"Passions," she whispered.

"Yes," he said. "Another of his victims, twisted into an horror construct when she was no longer of any other use."

"You've seen this before," she said. "You're used to this."

"No one is ever used to this. No one sane at least."