Dark Age Year 871
Fifteenth day of the First month
Another week had passed of travelling through the Deadlands with nothing of interest or note, aside from the harsh weather conditions. It was a stark contrast to the journey thus far, which had been marked by encounters with savage cannibals of unknown blood and origin. Their misshapen humanoid visages were more beast-like than human, with their piercing bloodshot eyes and stares as cold as ice. Their weathered faces resembled the cracks and crevices of mountains, their torn and shabby clothing that was once colourful now faded into dull grays or browns. Their rusted and misshapen weapons, once well-crafted instruments of war, were now reduced to nothing more than blunt implements held with clumsy hands. Or the encounters with the various creatures that inhabited this wasteland, such as scorpions whose carapaces were as black as onyx and were the size of chariots with sharp pincers that could cleave a man in two, or the camels with leech-like mouths filled with rows of jagged teeth, and long tongues with acidic bile dripping from them, whose humps stored the blood of their victims. Encounters that left him both fascinated and horrified. He was fascinated by the absolute lengths the people living there would go to survive. There was almost something beautiful about it, something admirable. The indomitable will of the human spirit to survive at any cost. But what horrified him the most was the beauty of the human form stripped down to its most basic essentials, leaving only the most primal aspects. Seeing this sight served as a constant reminder to Tharos about the duality of man, and made him wonder why people would want to live there in the first place. Was it because they had no choice, was it because this was the only life they knew, or was it because they wanted to live a life on their own terms? This question gave Tharos much to think about in reflection of his own life and the choices that led him up to this point.
“If I weren’t trapped in the city of Zarbar and was left to wander the world for untold ages without the nurturing bosom of civilization, with only my thoughts as my sole companion, I wonder if I would have turned out like them. More beast than man, fueled by nothing more than instinctual desires and feral cunning. In such a state, madness would be preferable. Or perhaps, maybe I have already gone mad,” Tharos pondered to himself.
While it would have been a relief for anyone else to no longer encounter such unpleasant things, Tharos, however, had a different perspective. He found it odd. It had been quiet, almost too quiet, like the calm before the storm. This could have been because they were now starting to reach the outskirts of the Deadlands, where the wildlife and weather were far less hostile than usual, at least according to Cenric, Rayner, and the books he had stolen from the mage Eilis. Perhaps he was being overly paranoid, but his intuition rarely led him astray. There was something out there, something he couldn’t see, watching and waiting for them. The golden sands and dry dirt beneath their feet held many secrets, secrets that neither he nor anyone else could truly comprehend. What untold treasures of ages long past could be buried right underneath their feet, awaiting those with the wit and courage to claim them.
“However, a second opinion would be useful,” he thought to himself.
As Tharos turned his head toward Cenric and Rayner, he established the mental link again. Though maintaining it with multiple people at once was more taxing on him than with a single person, however it was the only way he could communicate with them for now.
(“Have you two seen anything yet.”) he noticed Cenric and Rayner clutching there heads slightly as he began to speak
(“No I haven’t seen anything.”) Cenric said in a confident tone with a reserved smile painting his face.
(“No, I also haven’t seen anything milk drinker, but….”) Tharos saw Rayner sniffing the air, his pronounced noise was twitching as he breathed in the dry Deadlands air. (“There has been a strange smell in the air.”)
(“What kind of smell Rayner?”) both Him and Cenric asked at the same time.
(“My, my, aren’t I popular all of a sudden, that even milk drinkers and whelps are hanging on my every word,“) Rayner said with a loud and audible snort. As he did, his elongated canines were on full display, gleaming with a feral brilliance as the sunlight hit them. (“However, this smell,” he continued, “is rather odd. It has a musky scent with a mix of horses and bronze in it.“)
(“Do you think we are being followed?“) Cenric asked.
(“I don’t think so, Cenric. I haven’t been able to sense anything, but it’s possible that whatever this is, it’s out of my range,“) Tharos replied. He didn’t want to leave things up to chance and turned his head toward Rayner.
(“Rayner, how long has this smell been in the air for?“) Tharos asked
(“About a few days, I reckon,“) he saw Rayner’s nose twitch again, (“and they’re close, maybe a few leagues behind us,“) Rayner stated with the same bluntness as an unsharpened battle axe.
(“Why didn’t you bring this up before, Rayner?“) Tharos sighed, his voice tinged with a hint of annoyance.
(“You never asked, milk drinker,“) Rayner chuckled to himself.
(“I don’t understand why you’re so worried, milk drinker. We can handle anything this blighted sand pit throws at us, well, except for the whelp, of course.“)
(“Hey,“) Cenric sighed in slight protest.
(“Look me straight in the eyes, whelp, and prove me wrong. Typical soft southerner.“) Rayner taunted again.
(“Speaking of that, how old are you actually, whelp?“)
(“Why do you ask?“)
(“Just humour me, whelp.”)
(“Well, the last time I checked, I was thirteen years old, but it’s been several months since then. So I might be fourteen now,“) Rayner gave with a loud snort in response.
(“When I was your age, whelp, I had already killed 20 men by that point. But you, who wouldn’t know the difference between the back end of a sword and a plough even if it hit you in the face. You couldn’t kill a single man, let alone protect yourself. No wonder you got made a slave.“)
Before Cenric could respond, Tharos cut him off, sensing that this was a topic of conversation would go on for ages.
(“That’s enough of that topic for now,“) Tharos stated in a commanding tone.
Rayner gave a snort and a shrug. (“Whatever you say, milk drinker.“)
Although Tharos didn’t entirely disagree with Rayner’s assessment, he believed there was a time and place for such discussions. After a long and awkward pause, no one said anything until Tharos finally broke the silence.
(“Back to the original topic at hand, Rayner, next time you notice something suspicious, please let us know.“) Rayner let out a hearty chuckle at that.
(“Oh, you worry too much, milk drinker. I wouldn’t be so rude as to have you miss out on all the fun,“) Tharos saw Rayner sniff the air again.
(“It looks like you might not have to wait long, milk drinker. The smell is getting stronger. This time.”)
(“Which direction is this smell coming from?“) Tharos asked.
(“It’s coming from the south,“) Rayner stated.
As Tharos turned his gaze south and honed his senses in that direction, he felt their presence and detected their hostile intentions not only towards him but also towards his companions. They were swiftly closing in. He also sensed another presence underground, rapidly advancing towards them. However, unlike the group that was advancing towards them, this presence was radiating with magical energy. “It seems like they have brought some sort of magical creature or construct with them. That is going to be annoying to deal with,” Tharos thought to himself.
“Get ready, we are about to have company,” Tharos said.
“At last, I was getting bored of all this walking around and talking,” Rayner bellowed, his axe ready in hand.
Cenric stood behind Tharos, his hand on the dagger that Tharos had given him weeks ago in the city of Zarbar. “Both of you, be careful and watch your step. I suspect they have some sort of magical creature or construct hiding below the sands, waiting to ambush us from below,” Tharos said.
Tharos saw Rayner give a wide, toothy smile at that, while Cenric stood just a bit closer to him.
Within a minute, Tharos could see a group of about thirty riders on horseback, with a few of them manning chariots, rushing towards them, kicking up a massive dust cloud behind them. They were about a hundred feet away and closing in. Unlike the savage cannibals that Tharos had battled, these riders were well-armed, armoured, and organized. They were clad in glinting scale mail armour with a rich trim of greens and yellows. Their weapons included a wide assortment of well-polished axes, clubs, and spears. Their horses were healthy and well-fed, their coats shining in the rays of the sunlight, and their majestic manes flowing in the air, unlike the malnourished creatures that stalked this wasteland. Tharos drew his sword and got his shield ready. As the chariots and horsemen began the charge, the thundering of their hooves could be heard for miles, and the ground beneath their feet shook and quaked. The next several minutes were a blur for Tharos as the chariots and riders charged at them with great speed and force. Tharos witnessed Rayner charging head-on into one of the chariots, swinging his axe sideways. The axe sliced through the chariot, horses, and riders, splitting it in half. Frozen chunks of horse, man, and chariot flew through the air, knocking some riders off their horses and causing other chariots to tip over or flip due to the debris. The battlefield turned into a storm of blood and sand. Seizing the opportunity, Tharos swiftly finished off the fallen riders with his sword and then quickly grabbed their spears and any daggers he could find, hurling them at the mounted riders in an attempt to kill or dismount them. Meanwhile, Rayner skilfully fended off any rider who dared to approach him. His axe flew through the air, cutting through armour, man, and horse alike, with the same level of ease as a hot knife through butter.
Cenric was behind him, his soft face painted with a look of panic and fear, his emerald green eyes reflecting the endless sparks of blades clashing and armour being scraped, resembling a cluster of stars. He tried to parry or block any rider attempting to attack Tharos from the rear with one of the spears that had dropped on the ground, achieving some success. Tharos would often glance back at Cenric, giving him a knowing smile and nod of approval, to which Cenric would respond with a firm nod of his head.
The sounds of men screaming and shouting in unknown tongues, the clanging of metal on metal, and the neighing of panicked horses were the only things Tharos could focus on. His vision clouded by the flashing of blades and ever-rising dust clouds that stung at his eyes. As he and Rayner started cutting down more riders like blades of grass. After killing most of them, the riders started to break away. However, little did Tharos know at the time that the riders had gotten what they had come for. Before he could catch on, Tharos felt the ground shake, and the magical presence he had felt before was coming to the surface. A massive snake burst out of the sand, about 30 feet long with a body as thick as a wagon. Tharos saw Rayner’s face, covered in blood, twist into a wide smile. The two of them then charged at the massive serpent with weapons raised, cutting and cleaving into the beast with a level of relentlessness that was only matched by their serpentine foe. In retaliation, the serpent struck at them with the end of its tail or spewed forth torrents of acidic cloud, which melted everything it touched. As the serpent lunged at Rayner, its mouth wide open showing sword-like fangs. However, this was the chance Tharos was waiting for. Using this opportunity, Tharos ran to the side of the snake, jumping on and rushing up to its head as it was about to strike Rayner. He thrust his sword, stabbing into the creature’s thick skull. The snake recoiled back, trying to shake Tharos off. Rayner swung his axe, hitting the creature straight into the body, cutting halfway through. With that hit, the snake stopped moving and started to crumble to dust, with Tharos falling into the sandy dunes below.
As Tharos was helped up to his feet by Rayner, they shared the smallest smiles with each other, as if the heat of battle was one of the few things that cut through some of the tension between them. As Tharos started to regain his bearings and dust himself off, he noticed something missing. More precisely, it was the absence of something—a presence he had grown accustomed to in a short amount of time. Where was Cenric? Tharos scanned the battlefield before him, unable to find him or sense his presence. Looking towards the direction in which the riders had retreated, he could still see them in the distance, leaving a small dust trail behind them.
At that point, Tharos realized their intention was not to kill him or his companions, but to capture them, or at least one of them, for purposes he couldn’t imagine. The possibilities were as endless as the sand beneath his feet, but he knew it wasn’t good. Tharos turned his head towards Rayner and noticed him standing behind him, his rough face slightly softer, as if he was conveying understanding without being able to show it clearly. Tharos sensed it, even amidst the bestial rage emanating from Rayner. He began to suspect there was more to the Axe than met the eye, or that Rayner wasn’t entirely human. No words were needed between them; they both understood the situation and what they had to do. There was no time to waste. They ran, keeping the dust cloud in sight as it slowly disappeared on the horizon.
