There are five countries in this world. The human kingdom Stalia, dwarven kingdom Morrock, Elven kingdom Enlux, beastmen kingdom Binod and demon kingdom Xin.
For some reason, members of these races often have the subconscious notion that they are somehow superior to other races without a centralised leadership.
…They do realise that if the other races did establish their own kingdoms, their militaries would be just as powerful as those in the current kingdoms, don’t they?
Putting that aside, the only other ‘civilised’ race (that is, one that has constructed cities and is at a modern or almost modern level of technology) are the gnomes. Their race has no leaders, but each of their cities has a council which oversees its development and protection. Said cities are notoriously difficult to find, often deep in the mountains or the wilderness, but the residents are very welcoming to other races.
The wide range of other races: Halflings, fairies, centaurs, giants, satyrs etc, live in small communities or on their own, and are most commonly seen roaming the land…
-An unknown scholar
“Yer holdin’ it the wrong way up, brother! Those mountains be south of us, not north. We passed by them las’ night, don’t yeh remember?”
Boaz is trying to demonstrate the proper way of reading a map to Jakin, who is turning it this way and that as he tries to find some prominent features of landscape to use as reference.
Meanwhile, Greg and I are just watching. I’m sure they’ve got it covered.
Looking at me, Greg notices my empty sheath.
“You don’t have a sword?” He asks.
“It broke in all the fighting yesterday…” I say sadly. I liked that sword.
Not that it was a very good one, but it got the job done. And I’d gotten used to the feeling of its weight in my hand.
“Oh…” He unstraps the smaller sheath on his left side and offers it to me. “I have a knife I could spare until we get to town, if you like?”
I take it and strap it to my own belt.
“Thanks. Should come in handy.”
I smile at him, but he just gives a small nod and looks away.
Huh. He’s changed quite a bit since I last saw him.
“Alright, looks like the nearest town is to the east of here. It’s across the river and the closest bridge is a bit to the south, so we have a way to walk today by the looks of it.” Says Boaz, finished ascertaining our location on the map.
We start off at a light jog. Right now, we are moving through a nice soft grassland, dotted with the occasional trees and bushes. On any other day this would be a relaxing trip, but with the column of smoke still rising from the city off to our right serving as a constant reminder of yesterday’s events, we can’t help but be on a constant lookout for any wolves or werewolves that could be wondering around.
Usually, werewolves would only be deep in the forest, but now… we can’t be sure.
The soft sounds of running water and treetops rustling in the wind are interspersed by the sharp clopping of hooves and the quiet scraping of shoes against the ground as refugees trickle across the bridge in front of us.
It is wide, constructed of sturdy rock and barely touched by age.
The people crossing it have a motley variety of clothing and apparel. Some of them are in nightgowns, clearly unable to pause to get dressed during the panic caused by the tolling of the emergency bell. Some are wearing everyday clothing, others still wear various pieces of armour.
Barely anybody is carrying a significant amount of luggage with them.
As we walk across the bridge, I notice Antonio working his way towards us through the groups of people, earning him dirty looks and not a few curses as he nudges his way forwards. I don’t need a crystal ball to predict this will be unpleasant.
Finally reaching us, he calls out, “Greg! Are you alright? Have you seen the others?”
He sounds considerably distraught, and his face looks haggard, eyes resting on Greg for a moment before darting around frantically, Greg again…
Well I’ll be darned.
Registering his appearance, shock flickers across Greg’s face for a moment before he replies. “No, I haven’t seen anyone since I split up. And rather than me, are you alright? You look… terrible.”
But he isn’t listening. As soon as he hears the first part, he just collapses against the side of the bridge, sitting and cradling his head in his arms. I can just barely hear him sobbing.
The rest of the people ignore him. They have their own sorrows to deal with without adding anyone else’s on top of it all.
Greg moves to crouch down beside him, then turns his head to say to us, “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up in a bit.”
I shrug, and we moved on. After maybe ten minutes, we see Greg jogging towards us, trailed by Antonio.
“We can barely keep an eye on one. Two is too much… besides, they should be able to protect themselves with two of them. ‘Specially considering what they managed to do to those werewolves…” Cautions Jakin.
Boaz nods along, and I can hardly deny their logic, so I agree as well. This world isn’t such an easy one that you can trust strangers. And even if I know them… well, nobody knows that, so what does it matter in a situation like this?
Greg reaches us, and introduces Antonio to us. “This is Antonio, he’s a… Friend, of mine. Is it alright if he travels with us?”
“I’m afraid not,” Says Jakin. “Apologies, but we just can’t trust you so easily. We’ll be splitting ways with you here.”
Greg looks shocked for a moment, then calms down and nods slightly in understanding.
Suddenly remembering the knife that I borrowed from him, I unbuckle it and proffer it to him. He refuses it, saying “You need it more than I do.”
“Hardly.” I say, lifting my other hand and emitting a small flame from it. “You’ll just get killed if you assume people’s professions by their appearance. Especially in this business.”
His expression freezes, then splits into a small smile as he takes his knife back.
I wave, and then we are jogging off into the distance again. Behind us, Greg is slowly drawing away from us, walking alongside a despondent Antonio.
(POV Greg)
Absentmindedly, I watch them vanishing into the horizon, feeling a faint sense of sadness that I can’t account for. Hardly knew them a day, but it felt like I’d known them a long time…
Ah well. In the end, they were just strangers to me. I’ll probably see them again one day. The world has a strange way of working out like that…
An old friend from university you haven’t seen in decades shows up across the aisle when shopping, the school delinquent passing by in the train station, a new friend happens to know an old friend of yours and invites him out to the pub without ever knowing you knew each other…
On a different note, I never thought Antonio had that side to him. He completely broke down, kept on repeating ‘he’s dead, they’re all dead’ in-between sobs. And that’s all I could get out of him for a while, until he suddenly got up and started following me.
I still have no clue what’s up with him, but hopefully I should be able to figure something out with a little prodding.
Every now and again while we walk along the road, I try asking a few simple questions. The first few times I don’t get anything, but eventually he starts being more responsive, and I manage to piece together a bit of what happened to him.
From what I can tell, back when the red werewolves came after us, one of them headed towards his group of friends. Antonio was getting ready to fight it off with them, but most of them just bolted. By the time he noticed, the last of his friends was shouting at him to run, which he did.
Then he looks behind him, expecting to see either the werewolf or his friend bolting in another direction, but instead he sees his friend holding it off on his own. He somehow gets out of the city, keeps running for a while, then stops to fight some wolves, then cook one out of necessity.
Unfortunately, he must’ve cooked it wrong, because a bit later he became sick, vomiting it all up. Then he couldn’t sleep all night, since he didn’t have anyone else to keep watch and he was still in a state of panic…
Poor chap.
He seems to be convinced that we’re the only ones alive. But obviously, that’s ridiculous…
I hope so, at least…
We should be seeing most of them trickling into this town over the next couple of days, provided they just followed the rest of the refugees.
Then again, some of them might not have had the presence of mind for that…
We can only wait, and hope.
(POV Aaron)
When we get to the town, we find all the inns and spare rooms are already filled to bursting, unfortunately for the many civilians flooding into the town. When we take a look, even the adventurer’s guild is packed, with scores brooding over a pint.
And this is just the beginning. With the time we made – The sun isn’t quite overhead yet – we are certainly among the earlier ones here, although I imagine some may have travelled through the night.
We aren’t quite as held back by luggage or exhaustion as many of the others here, so after a bit of a rest and – for once – a proper meal, we ask for some local knowledge on nearby towns and cities. As it turns out, we are right near the corner of a three-way border.
Anywhere south or west was human territory, travel a bit east and you venture into elven lands, and north… is the demon kingdom.
“So… Where are we thinking?” I ask the twins as we sit on some grass, a bit outside the western gates to town, where we came in.
“Honestly, we’ve just been wondering around ourselves, but I be hesitant about going anywhere close to that cursed place again. And the last time we went to the elven kingdom, they laughed at our beards. I can’t imagine why…” Jakin trails off with a confused expression.
I don’t know enough about elves to comment here…
“The demon kingdom, then?” I ask.
He scratches his chin through his copious beard. “I’ve heard much about them, but there was never a reason to go there before now… Alright then, let’s go to the demon kingdom, Xin.”
After filling up our water bottles, we set off to the north.
Back near Ginerbe city, deep within the forest, so deep that it has been undisturbed by outsiders for decades on end. Where the trees remember, and the grass sway in concert irrespective of wind or rain.
The wide assortment of strange plants here would cause even the alchemist of a king to drool. Flowers wreathed in fire that don’t burn, vines hidden by a cool mist, grasses that spark as they wave against each other and more, much more.
Within this ancient place, deeper, and deeper still, is a large clearing.
In the middle of this clearing, there is a lake. The lake is incredibly flat, and even the heaviest of winds doesn’t cause the slightest ripple.
It is as if it is filled not with water, but glass.
Reflected upon the surface, perfectly in the centre, is the moon.
Indeed, despite the sun being high in the sky and the moon nowhere to be seen… there it is, plain as day.
A jagged spire of stone juts from the earth near the lake, the flat top producing a platform overlooking the entire clearing.
Its usual occupant is currently absent, but a grey werewolf covered in scars is sitting in front of it, gazing at the image on the lake.
Other, weaker, werewolves lope about the edges of the clearing, carrying carcasses of animals… and humans. They go to feed their families, and themselves.
The elder werewolf looks at the lake and thinks of times long past. His youth, back before the pack, before his fur had started paling, before… him.
Back then, it was every werewolf for himself. They were hunted throughout the forest, even to the innermost depths of the forest. It was rare enough to meet another of the same species, let alone a female to start a pack with.
It changed somewhat when he found this place. Strangely, not a single monster, werewolf or otherwise, were here when he found it. It was as if there had never been anything worthy of being born here.
Unlike other places in the forest, where you could always hear howls, shouting, wildlife… there was none of that here. Silence, complete silence, the likes of which he had never heard before.
And peace. For the first time in his troubled life.
It wasn’t only peace and quiet that this place gave him, either. The longer he looked into the lake, the stronger he seemed to get. It faded away as he left, but he used that power to protect his new home from adventurers and werewolves seeking to usurp him.
Battle after bloody battle, he defended his turf. He was the lone defender against a seemingly endless stream of invaders. As the years passed, he accumulated wound after wound, and as they healed, scars.
Others joined him, and his pack slowly grew larger and stronger. His fur turned grey, and his strength and wisdom were far beyond any of his brethren. Through his many hunts, he learnt their language, although he could not speak it.
Adventurers stopped coming. Werewolves flocked to the haven. He was the alpha, and he raised his strongest child to be the alpha after him.
One night, there was a full moon. The image on the lake shone brightly, as it did every time the moon was full.
He appeared on top of the lake, walking across the surface like a spirit. As he reached the shore, his crimson guards rose from the water to stand by him.
He challenged him to become the alpha of the pack.
One move was all it took him.
The elder werewolf raises his gaze tiredly from the lake. He is standing in front of him.
“I did not instruct you to retreat,” He snarls. “I instructed you to kill them.”
Baring his throat in subservience, the grizzled old werewolf speaks in the tongue of wolves.
His black fur shifts as he reaches out an immaculate claw, ripping out the throat of the elder werewolf in one casual motion.
As the old one’s lifeblood ebbed away into the dirt, he says quietly, “You are not the only one who answers to a higher power. Pray that your life is sufficient to pay for your failure.”
With a single sinuous leap, he crests the spire. Settling down in his usual manner, he gazes at the ever-present moon on the lake.
Watching.
Waiting.
(POV Aaron)
Walking for so long is painful. Honestly, I’ve got blisters in between my toes, the soles of my feet… I just hope it doesn’t get infected. I’ll have to make sure I wash them with clean water and dry them thoroughly after all this, I suppose.
And can you believe it took me this long to notice the swathes of bandages on my face? I’m just so used to having a bit of weight there, from my glasses and all. But this is ridiculous. I’d noticed the stuff on my arms and legs, but by the time I woke up, I didn’t need them anymore.
The wounds on my limbs were shallow, and had already stopped bleeding. Another few days and they’ll be right as rain. The ones on my face will take a bit longer, sadly. I can only be glad the claws didn’t get my eyes.
Excuse me from becoming blind so soon after recovering full optic capabilities, thank you very much.
We’ve been travelling for a few hours now, and we have slowed to a walk. The dirt road seems to stretch on forever, the landscape barely shifting, even as the sun tracks across the sky, glaring down at us.
Thank the heavens for an undamaged ozone layer, otherwise my skin would be crisping.
A breeze blows by, cooling sweat-sodden limbs refreshingly and sending waves rippling across the grassy earth in all directions, off into the distance.
As puffs of white cloud provide a brief respite from the heat, I see an overturned cart up ahead, between grassy hillocks on either side of the road, blocking the view beyond.
My first thought is about the well-being of involved parties. My second thought is that this smells like trouble.
A cart has collapsed… but where are the animals pulling it? What caused it?
I can’t see anything indicating natural causes, so that only leaves man as the cause. Bandits or highwaymen, then.
Interestingly, there isn’t much of a difference in definition between a bandit and a highwayman. Typically, highwayman is the term used for a mounted robber or thief, whereas ‘bandit’ is the term used for groups of the same, but on foot.
In the meantime, we have drawn close to the overturned cart, and there appears to be a woman pinned beneath it. She calls out loudly to us for help.
Yes, a cart just coincidentally overturned onto a woman, presumably minutes before we got here, since otherwise she would have become unable to speak so loudly and clearly due to lack of food…
Call me a cynic, but I’ll not bet on those odds.
“Is it just me, or does this look like a trap?”
“Indeed, a trap.”
“It be a trap.”
We are in agreement, so we get out our weapons. Or, rather, they do. I don’t have a weapon right now…
Instead, I surreptitiously ready several compact spikes of earth, holding them along my arms.
We keep walking towards the cart, stopping far enough away that we aren’t at risk of being pincered between two groups of enemies coming from behind the hillocks.
A dozen humans pop up along the crests of the hillocks, the majority of them holding drawn bows.
Now, if I were on my own, this is be about where I’d be saying, ‘Oh… crap’. Luckily, my companions have massive shields.
And massive shields are a fairly good counter for archers. Just a bit behind massive forcefields and massive walls.
So, I just hunker down behind the small shield wall, listening to arrows ping off them…
I don’t have a terribly good view from here…
At all…
Can’t really counterattack without a line of sight, guys.
You know what? Don’t need to. I’ll just wait until they run out of arrows.
A feminine face pops up around the right side of the shields holding a knife. She brandishes it towards Boaz, falling over backwards suddenly after I shoot a few spikes at her, which embed themselves with a nauseating crunch.
“Are you sure you can’t do anything about the ones up there, Aaron?” Asks Boaz casually over his shoulder as yet another arrow rebounds pointlessly off his shield.
“I can’t see them; how can I direct magic at them?” I shrug helplessly.
“Well then,” Says Jakin. “Time to take the fight to them!”
“Wai-” “YEEEAAAAAARGH!!!”
I can’t do anything but run up behind them in a strange crouch to keep my cover as they charge up the left hill, angling their shields slightly towards the other hill to protect against fire from the side.
A brief, quite terrifying sprint uphill later, we are within spitting distance of the five men at the top.
They are wearing random pieces of armour – even more mismatched than your average adventurer.
There is one guy with a leather chest piece, iron gauntlet – singular, what looks like a self-made bow, and a slightly chipped iron sword at his side, which he is currently pulling out.
But now we are in close range with nary a nick in our hides, I can do a lot more.
Now, all of them have armour protecting their torsos. Limbs are a bit hit and miss in terms of protection. But headgear? Nah.
I see a single guy wearing a helmet. He’s off on the other hilltop.
Whipping out the projectiles I have hidden along my arms, I send them out with deadly accuracy.
They don’t stand much longer with my spikes in their faces.
Oddly enough, despite it being my first time killing other people, I don’t feel anything. I’d often heard about how traumatic the first kill could be, but…
Oh well, not like I wanted to be traumatised.
And just like that, I forget about it. There are still the half-dozen people at the crest of the other hill, who have resumed firing at us now that their own people aren’t in the firing line.
It isn’t exactly like we can charge down the hill again and up the next… well, we can. But it would be exhausting.
I think about what I can do in this situation and realise that I’ve gotten much too caught up in using earth magic in the form of spikes.
There are some attacks that didn’t need to be aimed.
Now, most of the time with my attacks, I want to compress them as much as possible, resulting in a small projectile with a good amount of power.
This time, I reverse that. I spread out the earth mana into a cloud above our heads, and blindly throw it at the opposite hill.
“My eyes!”
“Damn it, I can’t see!”
Such shouts and more vehement curses echo across from the hilltop.
You don’t need power to blind someone. You just need one small bit of dirt to hit their eyes.
Without arrows pinning me down, I’m able to calmly stand and aim the rest of my earthen spikes, thudding them home one by one by one by –
oop, missed. Let me just curve that back around, there we are, and… hit.
“I thought yeh said yeh couldn’t aim at them?” Said Jakin with a smile.
“I couldn’t. But I figured out that I didn’t need to. Cloud like that, you don’t need pinpoint accuracy, just a direction.”
Jakin nods appreciatively.
“Well,” He says, looking around. “We should see what we can find on their bodies.”
He takes off a man’s gauntlet and compares it to the length of his own arm.
“Real shame we can never find armour in our own size.” He holds it out to me. “How about you?”
I take it, checking the fit on my own hand. It’s mighty uncomfortable, but it fits well enough. Jakin raises an eyebrow at me.
“You’ll want to be wearing a glove underneath that for some padding. Yeh don’t want to find out how much metal chafes, trust me.”
“You know what? I think I’ll find myself a glove.” I decide.
I don’t have to go too far to find one; the man he got the gauntlet from had one himself.
Tilting my head, I ask, “Why don’t you two wear armour, anyway?”
The two are just wearing normal clothing of a coarse fabric, giving them hardly any protection against… well, anything.
Sighing lightly, he says, “We used to be in the dwarven army, and had armour of tempered steel.” His eyes gleam as they look back into his past.
“When we left the army, we had to give it back. Even we have limited numbers of armour that fine.”
Shaking his head, he says, “It’s only because our ranks were high that we could keep our weapons. After we left dwarven lands, there wasn’t anybody who had armour for dwarves. Getting it made would cost extra, and besides,” He grins. “With how shoddy some of the smiths round these parts are, it’s barely worth it.”
Smiling, we continue searching the bodies.
