A feeling of rage.  At least that’s what he figured it was. 

            Everything around him had a red tint to it and the tight feeling in his gut couldn’t be anything else.  He was standing outside his home.  A shack really. He could see the sneering faces of those who so often took advantage of his deleterious situation, scamming him of his time.  The only thing that was his.  It was their fault that he lived in this straw thatched shanty.

            A neighbor and his wife, who had just given birth to her first child.  A son.  Scoffing on the misfortune of his birth.  In front of the bakery, the pig of a man who went out of his way to make sure he got the smallest loaves.  At the slaughterhouse, the cheat who had taken the only rabbit that he had ever managed to catch – years after anyone had seen one in the wild.  ‘It must have been stolen’ he said.  The feeling in Emmeran’s stomach intensified.  These people deserve to suffer.

             Somewhere a baby cried.

             ‘Cried?’ 

            Emmeran awoke to the smell of smoke.

             It would be good to see those miserable louts receive what they deserved.  Emmeran had tried – once, when the town herbalist tried to “do Emmeran a favor” and “dispose of the poisonous mushrooms that you so naively attempted to poison the village with.”  He felt sick remembering the outcome.

            A scream ended his musings. 

            He threw off the blankets as he scrambled out of bed and up the ladder.

            He wasn’t ready for the sight that greeted him.  ‘fire!’ 

            Emmeran recoiled from the sight of the burning roof above his head, a shaky feeling permeated his body. ‘This… What… How!’ his sleep addled mind refused to clear as he careened out of his home.  He gazed around as the reality of the situation dawned on him. 

            His family wasn’t anywhere to be seen, small mercy that it was, but what he could see chilled him to the bone.  The entirety of his village had been become a great conflagration.  Deep gray smoke clung to the ground making it impossible to see even the other side of the street.  Soot permeated his senses. A blood red sun watched as gray shadows trotted through the haze brandishing rectangles – killing anyone they saw.   There were people, but few were alive. 

            A tight feeling began to grow in Emmeran’s stomach as he took in the slaughter in front of him.  He must do something.  Stumbling back against the burning wall behind him, he drew up a shaky breath as his hand touched a charred stick that had fallen from the roof.  He would do something.

            Swallowing rapidly, he charged into the miasma brandishing his weapon at the vanishing shadows that presented themselves, slicing through them and leaving trails in the mist as the phantasmal assailants dissipated. 

            The world was eerily quiet.  The screams of terror and cries for help had faded as Emmeran continued his reckless charge into the village.

            He barreled down the street swinging at anything that moved.  The mist was playing tricks on his eyes, swirling mysteriously as he flailed at the air around him.  A street.  He took it.  Another intersection.  He went right.  There was no one around.  An alley. He turned. 

            Bile burned in the back of his throat as saw what awaited him. 

            “What have we here?” sneered a creature stepping over a body concealed by the darkness.

            Emmeran froze, unable to move at the sight of the terror in front of him – his heroic charge at an end, as he stared speechless at the monster in front of him.

            The creature was just over six feet tall and his earth colored skin was cracked.  In these fissures could be seen red, glowing lines flowing like magma across his skin.  His ears sat as triangles on the side of his head.  Eyes glowing out from what looked like a mask made to resemble a skull.  His wicked sharp teeth pulled back into a loose grin that didn’t bode well for Emmeran and in his muscular hand he casually swung a sword that curved gently back to its square end.  A weapon made for reaping lives.

            The demon’s lips curled into a sneer as it closed the distance and swung for Emmeran.  In a moment of blind panic Emmeran grabbed the two ends of his stick and blocked the attack of the demon, getting thrown against the rubble lining the alley.  His head spun as he rolled to his side and spit out blood that had collected in his mouth.  He felt like he was about to vomit.  The demon confidently strode towards him - his sword at the ready.  An uncontrollable shudder swept through Emmeran’s body as the gravity of his situation became apparent. 

            In the haze of the moment, Emmeran missed the moment when a woman and her crying child made the mistake of entering the alleyway.  The demon’s cold, dead eyes turned from him towards this new distraction who had blundered into his arms.

            The demon’s face took on a cold smile as he grabbed hold of the mother’s arm.  The temperature dropped as she shook her head back and forth in denial.  The demon’s smile morphed into a predatory grin as it leered at the baby.

            It took the child from her mother’s arms and turned toward Emmeran.  It took on a look of disinterest and without even watching, drove its sword through her skull; the mother’s lifeless body collapsed with a look of terror frozen on her face for all eternity. 

            Finished with his business, the demon slowly turned back toward Emmeran, assuming a bored expression.  Without batting an eye, the demon discarded the child like a piece of trash and drove his hoof into the child’s head with a sickening pop. 

            The tight feeling in Emmeran’s stomach snapped as he heaved up what was left of his previous day’s meal.  No one deserves an end like that.  Their sum total nothing more than blood seeping through the cracks between the cobblestones.  Pointless.  His life flashed before his eyes.  Everything went red as his back spammed and a ripping sound emanated from him. His nostrils faired as he let out a primal roar.  This was unpardonable.  He must do something.

             He could have done something.  If he had done something, anything, it would have been his useless body lying in the alley, staining the cobblestones with his blood, not someone with their life whole life in front of them.  Emmeran averted his gaze from the red slick spreading across the alley to the demon in front of him.

            They can not get away with this. They wouldn’t get away with this.  He felt stronger than he had ever felt in his life and with his newfound strength, he turned and ran.

______________________________________________________________________________

            Catlia gazed at the plume of smoke rising above the village in the distance from her position flying behind Xillmeth.  Her stoic expression stood out amid the cheerful sounds of those around her.  They had spent the night setting an ambushing for a column of soldiers sent by the humans to protect a small village in the middle of the forest from the threat of the Demon Lord.  The humans were too late.  In the middle of the night, their unit had sprung their bloody trap for the soldiers.  None had survived.

            Ever since their conversation as the sun rose that morning in the Dark Mountains after she was assigned to him, Xillmeth had gone out of his way to teach Catlia all that there was to know about fighting.  He had taught her how to ride the air currents that blew her shoulder length locks into her face as she soared over barren mountain peaks, alpine meadows and glacial valleys.  He had invested himself in her, teaching her how to make a wise decision and how to lead from the front.  His example had helped shape her – who knows who she would be without him.

            But last night she had seen a new side of her mentor.  Her smile wavered as she thought of the events of the last twelve hours.  Their plan had been simple.  The humans were trying to fortify the borders of the demon lands in hopes that they could box them into their own dark caves, preventing them from ever being truly free.  To prevent this, Lord Thokos had been forced to plan a two pronged assault, lest he concede victory before the war even began.   His best troops were to ambush the column sent to hold the village of Eastborne, while a full assault was prepared on the outpost.  The village certainly wasn’t of much strategic value to the demons - without any walls or defensive forces to speak of - but the threat of a new fortress on their doorstep could not be overlooked.

            Xillmeth and Catlia had spent the last week planning.  They surveyed the overgrown forest around the road to Eastborne and found where the forest was thickest.  They had sent their best scouts to watch the humans as they neared.  The demons planned to divide their forces with Xillmeth leading one third of the force and two thirds under the command of Catlia.  Xillmeth would attack from the flank of the column and drive them into the heavily fortified position of Catlia and her fighters, creating a vice that would decimate the human forces.  The demons were prepared to fight.

            However, the humans had, in an attempt to set up their fortifications sooner, exhausted themselves been marching day and night.  When the trap was sprung, the sleep deprived and hungry troops put up little to no resistance.  Most simply threw down their arms in surrender.  Herein lay the problem that haunted Catlia.  The demons weren’t used to fighting a race that willingly took the disgrace of surrender over the honor of a well fought death and as such were unprepared for the situation that precipitated.  Xillmeth ordered that no quarter be given, while Catlia told her fighters to only kill those who fought back.  Xillmeth despised the cowardly humans lack of honor while Catlia respected their zeal for life.  Chaos resulted.

            A shrill cry had rung out as Xillmeth’s forces, unconcerned with taking prisoners, pushed the bulk of the human soldiers into Catlia’s position faster than expected, leading to heavy losses with the fighters that were with her. After killing all apparent soldiers, Xillmeth’s forces had come to slaughter the prisoners taken by Catlia’s force and a great deal of confusion and embarrassment resulted.  Her cheek still stung where her mentor had slapped her displaying such weakness.  The view of the prisoners she had given her word to protect having their heads liberated from their bodies was a sight she wouldn’t soon forget.  Xillmeth’s heavy sigh had proved to all his disappointment in his protégé.  The one in whom he had invested so much time and effort.

            With a dry mouth Catlia studied the rising column of smoke as it dissipated into the sky. Her cheeks turned red at the thought of her recent humiliation.  At least she could solace herself in that all the objectives were secured.   Their soldier should have quelled any rebellion in the village and forced the inhabitants to vacate what will be their foothold into the human lands. 

            As the 3^rd Areal Cavalry of Lord Thokos’ army approached Eastborne her stomach hardened.  There must have been a struggle for there to be this much devastation.  The view through the smoke was almost impossible to comprehend, but through gaps and breaks the situation on the ground became apparent.  The whole village had been razed.  There was scarcely one wall left standing adjacent to another.  It looked like a great dragon had seen fit to level the town that found itself so unlucky to be in its path. 

            And there were bodies.  Everywhere.  Not demon bodies, there wasn’t a single demon to be seen through the smoke that obscured their view, but human bodies.  Laying in singles and groups, missing arms, legs, heads – there must have been almost a hundred of them.  Something led to this massacre.  This was never part of the plan – she attended the war council.  Her heart thudded at such thoughts of rebellion.  Xillmeth would kill her if he knew.  He mustn’t know. 

            A joke broke through her introspection.  “What do you call it when you win a new house” an Incubus ribbed his friend “Gnome sweat Gnome, get it?”  Their raucus laughter grated as Catlia’s face took on a pained expression.  Her heart thudded as her chest grew tight.  “Have you no respect for the dead?” Her jaw was clenched so tight she thought something would rip.  The Incubus muttered his apology under his breath as he turned away, the red coloring threatening to spread beyond his cheeks. 

            Through a break in the billowing smoke she spotted movement. An arm reached out from a collapsed building, pushing at anything it got ahold of.  Catlia slowed and watched as the arm grabbed a sizable chuck and pushed, muscles straining with effort.  It dropped limply back where it came from. 

            She swooped down to the pile of rubble and started digging.  She had seen cave-ins before and she knew that it was a frightful way to die.  Buried beneath the rubble, suffocating as the dust carried by the air that sustained life choked the life out of you.  It was almost the same as drowning.  Only you couldn’t move. 

            As she pulled an extra large piece out of her indent she was making when a pocket appeared, and the face of a young man greeted her.  The look of hope on his face turned to horror.  His skin blanched as he slumped back into his pit realizing his doom.   Catlia reached in and grabbed the man under the arms, pulling him from the confines of his prison into the freedom outside.  A hand dropped on her shoulder.

            “Drop him Catlia” Xillmeth commanded.  His order left no room for disobedience, but yet she hesitated.  The pointless deaths of the past few hours and the slaughter around her made her pause at the thought of taking another life.

            “Drop him, I said.”  She was trying his patience and if she didn’t obey, well, who knew what would happen but it would make the phantom feeling of her commander’s hand on her cheek seem insignificant. 

            “No.” 

            “I’m sorry?” Xillmeth responded. “I said, ‘No’” Catlia stated with a rising determination.  “Enough lives have been ended today.  This man offers no threat.  His life is unimportant.  He lives.”

            “It is not your call to make,” Xillmeth snarled, his skin flushed red as he began to visibly shake.  The veins in his neck stood out against his alabaster skin as he grabbed the young man and yanked him from Catlia’s hands, gripping so hard that bruises could be seen forming where he held him.

            “I am your elder.  I am your superior.  You. Will. Obey. Me.” Xillmeth punctuated his statement, rage apparent in his voice.  Catlia’s throat went dry as she saw where this would inevitably lead.

            Xillmeth struggled to control himself and a cold smile spread across his face.  “For your insolence, yours will be the hand that kills this one.”

            Catlia’s mouth fell open as she took a step back.  “This… No… I can’t” she stumbled through the fog that began to cloud her mind.  ‘I won’t,’ she mumbled under her breath.  She had worked to save this one.  To save someone.  Anyone.  And he would die.  In spite of her.

            Her body went numb as she stumbled back tripping over the rubble.  A crack sounded from where she landed and she looked down to see a picture.  Nothing more than a child’s drawing, showing his older brother and parents.  A picture that would be all that remained of this young man’s family. 

            Something broke inside Catlia.  As she saw the young man dangling by his shirt from Xillmeth’s fist she snapped.  She jumped up and snatched him from her commander’s grip and began to drag him to the edge of the forest. ‘Come on, come on.  It’s your only hope.’ She turned to see an irate Incubus strolling after her, making no effort to catch her quickly.  She turned to look toward the forest.  It was far.  Too far.

             Hot liquid sprayed over her and she spun, realizing that the subject of her protection no longer had a body.  Her commander had severed his legs from the waist down.  The young man screamed in agony and a cruel grin plastered itself on Xillmeth’s face as he looked her in the eye. 

            He smirked and a gawfing laugh emanated from his mouth.  “Run little one, for tomorrow begins the hunt.”

Stormrider787

Hello All,

In order to give a better idea as to geography of the world and the Continent of Oroya specifically here's a map that I made up with the help of Azgaar's Fantasy Map Generator.  It made my life so much easier.

Stormrider