Revenge of the Gamer

Servant of the Unconquered Sun

Marette scratched the blanket hanging over the doorway to Drevin’s hut to announce her presence.  The villagers here had been surprisingly welcoming, and had given them both separate dwellings.

“Enter.” Drevin called.  She slid the blanket aside, and slipped into the dimly lit structure.  It smelled heavily of sweat and smoke, but mixed in was Drevin’s not unpleasant scent.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Better.  The wound is healing faster than I thought possible, but I think that I’ll have a scar.”

“Good.  That will remind you not to be an idiot next time.” She said with an air of mock severity.

“I guess so.” He grinned. “So, how goes the research?”

“Fascinating, but at the same time alarming.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you.” She reached into a satchel at her side and removed the journal. “Listen to this.  Its an account of the last days of the Solar by The Wanderer.”

“Never in my vast time on this earth could I have imagined such treachery.  The Sidereal, our trusted advisors, must have planned our deaths for months.  They held a great feast ‘in our honor’ in the capital, and only those busy with work or in the hinterlands of The Realm didn’t go.  Luckily I was busy with my research, and it saved my life.

“During the feast they poisoned the food, and drugged the wine.  When my brethren were at their most vulnerable they attacked en masse.  Backed by innumerable Terrestrials there was nothing the Solar could do but die fighting.  The imperial city now lies in ruins, as do many of the greater manses and the cities around them.  Most of my Twilight brothers are even more paranoid than I, and appear to have trapped their sanctums with such treachery in mind.

“We thought that we had come so far, and yet it seems that it is all lost in a fleeting instant.  With their death throes the Solar have decimated the Realm that we built, and its remains are firmly in the hands of our treacherous underlings.  So much knowledge lost, and so much death.  Who will guide creation now?  Who will protect it from the Wyld, and the ever-devious Yozis?

“I go now to the aid of Telrin, as word has reached me that he still lives.  Perhaps we can retreat into the deep forests of the east, and there gather our strength…” Marette trailed off.  Drevin’s eyes were far away, and she could tell that he was reliving some terrible event.

“The Sidereal.  But why?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know, but if this is to be believed than everything that the Realm has taught us is a lie.”

“Oh, its true.” Drevin voice was tight with anger. “I remember enough to know that.  But the time has come for retribution.”

He scared her when he was like this, so full of the light of his deity.  She could only imagine the glory of the Solar in the first age, and seeing him speak she believed that he might truly bring it with him to the present.  His anger was terrible to behold, and his words were impossible to ignore.

“What do you intend to do?”

“I will spread the word of the Unconquered Sun.  Those who take up his banner will help me to rebuild the Realm.” He didn’t say what would happen to those who didn’t, and she really didn’t want to know.  The Realm was corrupt, and reading this history was only one more reason to see it fall.

There was a scratching at the entrance, and a voice called to them. “Mighty warrior, may I enter?”

“Of course.  Come in.” Drevin called back, and his earlier anger seemed to fade like it had never been.

An elderly man hobbled in.  He was out of breath, and leaned heavily upon a walking stick.  In his youth he had probably been a powerful warrior, and had many scars across his bare chest and legs.  His skin was the dark ebony of the plainspeople, and his head was shaved as seemed customary.

“I have come to ask a great favor.” He began, but was interrupted by a fit of coughing.  When it subsided he continued. “The Ghost of the Plains hunts my people, and we are powerless to stop it.”

“The Ghost of the Plains?” Drevin asked.

“Yes, the great cats called lions.  Normally they only kill livestock, but when they become angry they come after us.  Many have been dragged from their huts into the night, and not even our bravest warriors can stop them.”

“Lions?  I have heard of them.  Some of the Dragon-Blooded in my legion hunted them when we were stationed northeast of here.” He explained to Marette.

“So you will help us?” the old man practically begged.

“Of course.  But I will need one of your cows.”

“A small price to pay.  Thank you ever so much.  You have my gratitude.” The elder fawned.  He backed awkwardly out of the tent leaving them alone.

“What is the cow for?” she asked him.

“We’ll slaughter it, and spread the blood around the edge of the town.  That should bring the lions.”

“Oh” she shuddered. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Drevin dumped another bucket of blood in a wide circle around the carcass of the cow.  It was nearing sunset, and the villagers had already fled back to their huts.  They were more than willing to let him face their nemesis alone, but he didn’t fault them for it.  He had been Exalted by the Unconquered Sun, and part of his responsibility was taking care of these people.

When he had finished spreading the blood about he donned his breastplate, and took a seat on a stump near the cow.  He buckled on his golden shield, and unsheathed Kyo-Jun.  The tall grass so common in the savannahs surrounded the village, and he would likely have little warning before the beasts attacked.

The sun finally gave way to darkness, and cicada began to drone hypnotically all around him.  He could hear muffled conversation from a few of the huts, and saw firelight through the gaps in the structures.  He stood and stretched, and noted that his chest still ached slightly.  Considering that he had been near dying from a wound two days before he didn’t mind.

Drevin froze suddenly, and it took him a moment to realize what had startled him.  Dead silence.  The insects had ceased their endless song. He stood slowly, and hefted his ancient Daiklaive.  Something was approaching.

There.

In the brush ahead of him he could hear something.  It crept forward in near silence, but his senses seemed sharper than normal.  He took a step forward, and assumed a combat stance.  For just a moment he thought he saw something huge move through the tall grass, but just then the wind picked up and he wasn’t sure.

Had his attention not been focused on the grass ahead of him he may have seen the threat from behind, but as it was he had no warning.  The next thing he knew he was knocked sprawling as something heavy bore him to the ground.  He felt sharp claws dig into his back, and rolled desperately to avoid the gaping mouth of the beast.

He was only partially successful, and it clamped its mouth over his shoulder.  Drevin gave a grunt of pain as the fangs dug in, and willed his essence into Kyo-Jun.  Both he and the blade burst into white-hot flame, and the beast released him in surprise.  He rolled to his feet, and saw that another lion had emerged from the grass.  He tried to keep them both in sight, but they were maneuvering to keep him between them.

The Zenith felt the essence stir within him, and his anima became a towering inferno as he spun around.  He felt rather than saw the attack coming from the rear, and brought his shield up smoothly.  The beast leaping at him was easily six feet tall, and dwarfed the other two lions.  Its eyed glowed an unnatural red, and saliva dripped from its massive fangs.

All this he noted in the instant before he slammed his shield into the lion spirit’s face.  The great beast dropped to the ground, and he pivoted to deal with one of its mortal brethren.  He let his essence guide his blows, and spit the lesser animal through the heart as it leapt for him.  Its skin smoldered from the flames surrounding him, and it was dead before it hit the ground. 

The huge spirit beast shook its head as if clearing it, and let forth a deafening roar before launching its next attack.  A mighty paw swiped faster than he could follow, and glanced off the top of his shield into his arm.  It left bloody furrows, and pain flared where its claws had passed.

Drevin responded with a flurry of attacks, and his blade moved so quickly that the essence formed streaks in the air behind it.  Once, twice, and a third time it cut into the spirit.  It roared weakly in pain, and fell back several feet. 

The last lion tackled him from behind, but he managed to come down on top of it.  Releasing Kyo-Jun he seized its jaws with both hands.  Its claws dug into his side, but despite the pain he slowly twisted the beast’s head until the neck snapped.  The lion went limp, and he pushed it off of him.

Drevin rolled to his feet, and looked around for his largest foe.  He could see a path broken through the brush where the spirit beast had fled, and he sprinted after it.  For miles he pursued the unnaturally large lion, and cornered it at last near the base of one of the stunted trees that grew here.  It lay panting heavily, and a thick trail of blood smeared the ground behind it.

“Syran will hear of my death.” It spoke to him defiantly, and he could see that the red glow of its eyes had dimmed.

“I don’t know who Syran is, and I don’t care.  These people are under my protection, and you will prey on them no longer.” With that he thrust forward with all his strength and drove his blade through the beast’s neck.  He waited until the light fled its eyes, and then withdrew Kyo-Jun.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Cathak Shinjen pushed through the ranks of men before him toward the front of the column.  The 500 men comprising his Dragon had been marching through this accursed desert for nearly a week now, and he found himself more irritable every day.  More than one junior officer had felt his wrath, and most were trying to avoid him.

So he wasn’t surprised when Major Shiago looked uncomfortable at the sight of him.  The Major had called the column to a halt, and had passed the word back that there was something that he might want to see.

“What is it Major?” Shinjen asked curtly.

“Sir, I thought that you might be interested in this.  One of our scouts found it.” The man stepped aside, and gestured behind him.  Lying in the sand was a massive suit of Superheavy plate.  It was the heaviest type of armor, and only the strongest Dragon-Blooded wore it.  Normal mortals could barely move while clad in it.  It was prohibitively expensive to make, and most suits dated from the first age.

This particular one was the color of dried blood or rust, and he found that curious.  Superheavy plate could only be made from the five magical materials, yet this one did not appear to be any metal that he knew.  Still, he could sense the power emanating from it.

“Major, have that armor brought to my tent.  Tell the men that we are halting for the day.” Shinjen ordered.  For some reason he almost felt like the armor had been waiting for him.

The men began pitching large tents as he retraced his steps through their ranks.  They seemed relieved to be stopping, and the mortals were visibly weakened from their long exposure to the harsh sun.  By the time he reached his command tent his underlings had finished erecting it, and he ducked underneath the flap.

It was noticeably cooler inside, but the heat was still oppressive.  A chilled goblet of wine had been set on his desk, and he drank it greedily.  By the Dragons marching was thirsty work.  He longed for the chance to finally corner the cursed Anathema, and didn’t feel like tromping through the desert was getting him any closer to his goal.  He should have finished him in their fist encounter when he had had the chance.

“Colonel,” Major Shiago called from the doorway. “We brought the armor as you requested.  This was also found with it.”

He turned and saw the major holding the largest weapon that he had ever seen.  Shinjen had known of other Grand Daiklaives, but for some reason this one was much more majestic.  Its blood hued metal seemed to call out for him, and his hand twitched in response.

“Leave it and the armor, and go.”

Several legionaries carried the armor in piece by piece, and stacked them in a corner of the tent.

“Sir, what of the body that we found with it?”

“Leave it.” He snapped, and the Major looked surprised.  An improperly cared for corpse usually resulted in a hungry ghost, and those ghosts sought revenge indiscriminately.

“I said leave it. Now get out of my sight.”

The men left as quickly as they could, and the Major didn’t meet his gaze on the way out.  Despite being Dragon-Blooded, and a veteran of several campaigns Shinjen felt that the man was weak.  He had neither the stomach nor the ambition to seize power when it was placed before him.

Shinjen began buckling on the armor, and to his surprise it seemed made to fit his large frame.  When he donned the helmet he felt a tingle go through him, and knew it to be the thrill of power.  He picked up the Grand Daiklaive, and within moments it resonated in tune with his anima.

I have waited a long time for someone of your stature to claim me.

“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously. 

I am Maladrieve.  I was forged long ago, and I can bring you power undreamt of.

“Tell me more.” Shinjen asked, and he could sense that Maladrieve was pleased.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Drevin awoke to the sound of cheering.  It took him a moment to remember where he was, and he relaxed when he did.  Last night he had dragged the huge lion back to the village, and left it with the corpses of the other two.  He wondered briefly who Syran was, but then dismissed the thought as trivial.

“Drevin,” Marette called from outside, “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” He pulled on his shirt, and as he did so noted with wonder that his wounds from the night before were healed.  Before he had attributed his rapid recovery to Marette’s skills as a healer, but now he wasn’t so sure.  He seemed to heal unnaturally fast.

His companion slipped inside, and she was wearing the bright skirts of the villagers.  Her midnight hued hair was tied in a tight coif behind her head, and she carried the silvery staff that she had found in Celene’s tomb.  Trying not to be obvious be admired the shapely curve of her legs.  What he wouldn’t give to stop running long enough to be with her.

“The people are ecstatic.  They can’t believe that you killed the lions!” she beamed, but her gaze grew troubled when it reached his forehead.

“What is it?”

“Your Caste Mark is still visible.”

“So?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Aren’t you afraid of what people will do if they see it?”

“No.  I am done hiding.  They will accept me or not.  But either way they won’t stand in my way.”  He pulled his breastplate on, and buckled Kyo-Jun’s sheath over his shoulder.  His picked up his shield last, and then stepped past Marette into the morning sunlight.

At the sight of him many of the villagers dropped to their knees, and began chanting his name.  More and more of them paid homage as he moved among them, and the chanting grew louder.  If they saw the Caste Mark they either didn’t know the significance or didn’t care.

“Chosen.” The elder called, “You have saved us from the Ghost of the Plains. How can we repay you?”

He thought for a moment before answering. “Ages ago a great injustice was done, and my God was forgotten.  If you would repay me, then pay homage to the Unconquered Sun.”

“We will build a shrine in his honor, Chosen.” The elder bowed low.

“Chosen,” Spoke one of the men from the crowd. “I am Hamil, a warrior of this tribe.  My brothers and I would travel with you.”

He was a well-built man, and bore a spear nearly as tall as he was in his right hand.  His left held a small wooden shield of stretched hide.  Like the rest of his people his head was shaved, and his skin was dark ebony.  From behind him stepped several other warriors.

“Very well.” Drevin replied, and walked to his horse.  He found that it was already saddled, and water skins had been hung from it.  The saddlebags bulged, and he guessed that they contained food.

“Chosen, we have one more gift.” The elder told him.  He gestured towards one of the village women, and she stood and approached him.  In her hands he saw a necklace made from the claws and teeth of the lions that he had slain.  “Wear this in honor.”

“Of course, elder.  My thanks.” He put the necklace over his head, and mounted.  Marette had already done the same, and they walked their horses out of town.  Hamil and the other villagers that had elected to join them followed several yards behind them.

The Unconquered Sun’s return had begun, Drevin thought.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

It had been a week since they had left that first village.  In that time Marette had studied both the spell books and Celene’s staff.  One of the books contained the Terrestrial circle spells that she could eventually master, but that would take months of intensive study.  The other was filled with spells of the Celestial Circle of magic, and were forever beyond her ability.  

She was fairly certain that she had worked out the secret to the staff, and if she was right it was a treasure beyond value.  From what little she could make out of the runes that ran along its surface she knew that it was meant to defend against spells.  If she understood it correctly the staff would absorb any spell that passed within a certain distance of her.  In theory she should then be able to release that spell back at its caster by concentrating on the staff.

While she had been busy unlocking the secrets of Celene’s legacy Drevin had not been idle.  He had preached the return of the Unconquered Sun in every town that they passed through, and had made many converts.  Some towns agreed to erect shrines, and inevitably some of the younger citizens would join the growing throng of people following them.

There were over sixty of them now, and Drevin had taken to drilling them in the arts of war every day.  Most were farmers or hunters with only a nodding acquaintance with combat, but from what she could tell they were making rapid progress. 

Drevin had appointed Hamil the head of his followers, and had picked several others as officers.  They had been set into five man fangs as per legion organization, and if things continued this way they would soon be a force to be reckoned with.  Just yesterday a Tyrant lizard had attacked, and they had made short work of it.  Drevin had struck the killing blow, but no one had been hurt and no one had panicked.

Right now they were making their way over the thick grasses of the savannah towards the largest town that they had yet seen.  Marette was still adjusting to the harsh midday heat, but Drevin and his followers didn’t seem troubled by it.  She took a moment to wrap a shirt around her head, and doused it with water.  The cool garment provided some relief, but it dried quickly.

“Hamil,” Drevin called from his mount several yards ahead of her, “that town in the distance, what’s it called?”

“I believe that it is known as Chaka-dura, Chosen.”

“Will they let us stay the night?”

“Yes, it is considered bad luck to turn away travelers in this land.  If a man were to die because he was refused shelter, then he would return to haunt that town.”

“A wise custom, I think.” Marette said.

“Assuredly, Sorceress.” Hamil agreed.  They had started calling her that after Drevin had explained that she was a Dragon-Blooded and could cast spells.  She imagined that they would laugh if they were to learn that she had been expelled from the Heptagram.

The group made their way up the road, and an ever-present cloud of dust raised by marching feet preceded their arrival.  It was nearing sunset when they finally approached the town.  Many people were lining the top of the wooden wall, and looked down at them curiously. The palisade encircled the town, and was made from thick timbers.  It stood roughly twelve feet high, and looked like it would keep out most of the local beasts.  If she had to guess from the size she would say that the place housed perhaps five thousand souls.

As they approached Hamil turned to his men and started whooping.  The men took up the cry, and started banging their spears on their shields.

“Hamil, what are you doing?” she asked curiously.  Like so many other customs this behavior puzzled her.

“We announce our presence.  If we came to their walls quietly, then it would mean that we had come to invade.” He explained politely.

Two large wooden gates swung open to admit them, and they filed in behind Drevin.  Once all were admitted he turned to address them.

“We will be staying the night.  For those of you that are new know this; any man that steals or harms one of these people will answer to me.  Dismissed.” His recruits gave a salute fairly close to that of a Realm legion, and then broke up into many smaller groups as they explored the town.  They were adapting quickly to Drevin’s training, but still retained many of their own customs and practices.

“Hamil, will you join Drevin and I for dinner?” she asked.

“Of course, Sorceress.  I would be most honored.”

The town was large enough that it had a crude inn.  The place was little more than a large hut with a high ceiling and a smoke hole in the top, but it was far superior to sleeping on the savannah.  In the center of the building was a fire pit with a boar roasting over it, and in one corner stood several barrels filled with various spirits.  Scattered throughout the room were small tables and low stools, and many were occupied.  Sunset was approaching, and most of the patrons looked as if they had earned the right to a cup of the bitter ale that they served in this region.

She took a seat with Drevin and Hamil at one of the tables, and after a few moments a young girl hurried over.  She stared curiously at Drevin, and Marette didn’t have to wonder why.  His long black hair, golden armor and gigantic sword were hard to miss.

“Ale?” she asked timidly.

“Yes, and a shank off that boar if you don’t mind.” Drevin instructed.  She hurried over, and used a crude knife to cut off several slabs.  A slightly older girl of perhaps fourteen drew three mugs of ale, and carried them over.

“You are the Lionslayer?” she asked in awe, and her eyes widened at the sight of his clawed necklace.  Drevin shared an amused look with Marette.  Once again tales of his deeds had preceded them.

“Yes, he is the Chosen of the Sun.” Hamil answered for him.  The man seemed more proud of Drevin’s accomplishments than the Solar did himself, and wasn’t shy about regaling anyone who would listen to them.

The youngster gave a small squeak and hurried away to stand in the corner.  She and the other young girl stood giggling until they were called away to serve more drinks.

Several hours and several drinks later Marette was starting to feel more relaxed.  The heat had abated some as the sun went down, and she found this twilight time much more comfortable.  She was just beginning to mull over one of the spells she was studying when she heard a roar that shook the entire building.

Drevin leapt to his feet and ran for the door, and Hamil was right behind him.  She hurried after, and emerged in time to hear a voice like thunder from somewhere over the wall.

“I have come for the Lionslayer, and I will not be denied.  Give him to me, and I will spare your pitiful settlement.  Know that I am Syran- the guardian of my people. ”

In her studies she had heard of Avatars, and knew that they were extremely powerful spirit guardians.  They appeared in the form of their given species, and their duty was to protect those animals.  Powerful as the Terrestrial Exalted were an Avatar would rip one apart in combat.

She turned to warn Drevin of the danger, but he had already run down the street toward the wall.  She saw him leap over it, and raced after him.  By the time she scaled the wall he had already approached the Avatar.

“I am Drevin, and I am the one they have named Lionslayer.” He said defiantly.  His hair blew freely in the wind, and he glowed with a soft golden light.  With a swift stroke he drew his Daiklaive, and a moment later both he and the blade burst into white flames.  His brilliance was painful to look at, and she had to avert her eyes.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

Drevin assumed a combat stance, and waited for the lion to attack.  It stood easily nine feet tall, and probably weighed as much as a yeddim.  Its fangs were as long as his forearm, and he knew that one blow from those gigantic paws would cripple him.

“Ahh.  A Solar, that explains much.  Firan would not have been bested by anyone less.  Long has it been since I have seen one of your kind, or tasted of your flesh.” The beast growled.

Drevin stood his ground, but he felt a fear that not even Maladrieve had instilled in him.  This spirit was perhaps the most challenging foe that he had ever faced, and he wasn’t sure that he could take it in combat.  Still, he would not give up.  He uttered a brief prayer to the Unconquered Sun, and gave a mighty yell as he charged.

Kyo-Jun swept towards his foe, but the beast hopped nimbly out of the way.  He ducked under its return strike, and backpedaled to gain room to maneuver.  Syran’s reach was simply longer than his, and that gave his foe the advantage.  Drevin needed to offset that, and did so the only way that he knew how.

He called upon his essence, and willed himself to move faster.  This charm taxed both his essence and his will, and he knew that he would only be able perform it for a limited time before he was exhausted.  His blade began to vibrate with power, and he leapt at his opponent.

Syran dodged blow after blow, but eventually his Daiklaive bit deeply into the beast’s flank.  It gave a painful roar, and fell on him in a fury.  He managed to block most of its attacks, but his arm burned with every blow from the powerful beast.

Unexpectedly he somersaulted under his foe, and rolled to his feet behind Syran.  The lion turned quickly, but not quickly enough.  Kyo-Jun swung in a wide arc, and nearly severed Syran’s rear leg.

Drevin paid for his temerity, however.  Syran’s paw caught him in the chest, and his claws raked across the Orichalum breastplate.  The ancient armor saved his life, but he was flung like a rag doll into a small tree nearly forty feet away.  It gave way under the impact, and he felt several ribs crack.  He stumbled to his feet as quickly as he could, and found himself coughing up blood.

Syran approached warily, and the Avatar’s eyes were filled with new respect.  His flank bled freely, and the beast was careful not to place any weight on his damaged leg.  For all that he was still imposing, and Drevin knew that the fight was far from over.  The pair circled each other, and each waited for the other to make a mistake.  Long minutes passed without a blow being stuck, and then without warning Syran pounced.

Drevin saw the attack coming, but knew that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time.  He gripped Kyo-Jun with both hands, and dropped onto his back to brace himself.  Syran saw his danger at the last second, but it was too late to halt his flight.  His body impaled itself on Drevin’s blade, and was driven deeper than he ever could have managed on his own.  The lion’s bellow of pain shook the walls of the nearby town, and nearly deafened Drevin. 

Syran’s weight crashed down on him, and he felt his right leg snap in two places.  Yet stubbornly he held onto Kyo-Jun, and twisted the blade.

“Enough.” Syran cried. “I yield.  Ask from me what you will, I yield.”

“Very well.” Drevin doused the magical flames surrounding him, and slid the blade from his foe as gently as possible.  Syran still grunted in pain, but did not complain further.

“You have defeated me Solar, and you have spared my life.  What is your will?” the beast rumbled.

“These people are under my protection.  You will keep your minions from their walls, and hunt only the wild animals of the plains.”

“And?” the beast asked.

Drevin was confused and in pain.  He had no idea what else he was supposed to ask for.

“Very well, Solar.  You may name your price later.” Syran placed his paw in his mouth, and ripped out one of his claws. “When you have decided shed a single drop of your blood with this, and I will come.”

Without another word he bounded off into the night, and left Drevin to nurse his wounds.  He was having trouble breathing, and doubted that he could manage the walk back to the wall on his own.  Even though he had banished the magical flames of Kyo-Jun his own anima still flared in a golden inferno around him, and his Caste Mark burned painfully on his forehead.  It would be hours before the brilliant display subsided, and he hoped that someone would come for him before then.

He needn’t have worried.  Within minutes Marette, Hamil and a horde of people swarmed around him.  He heard cheers, and Hamil started a call that the people took up.

“Lionslayer!” they roared.  He had a feeling that he was about to recruit more followers than he could handle.

 

 

 

 

*          *            *            *            *

 

 

 

 

As the days passed Shinjen wore Maladrieve more and more often, and eventually stopped taking the armor off at all.  He felt invincible inside of her, and already she was unlocking many arcane secrets for him.  He had learned to summon flame, and could cast several Terrestrial Circle spells through her.

The other officers were increasingly uncomfortable around him, but he chalked their nervousness up to jealousy.  They were jealous of his rank, his noble birth, and now they were jealous of Maladrieve.  But that was all right.  The time would come soon when he didn’t need any of them, and he would gladly be rid of the sorry lot.

Maladrieve was taking him to a place of power and secrets, and promised that when they arrived he would be given all that he could wish.  For days they had been walking in the desert without rest, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long now.

“Sir.” A voice interrupted his thoughts, and he whirled around in anger. “The men need rest, sir.  Many have already passed out, and the wagons cannot carry all of them.”

A red haze of anger filled him, and it took him a moment to recognize Major Shiago. “If they can’t keep up, then leave them.”

“But sir, respectfully speaking…” the major began, but he never finished his sentence.  Shinjen drew his Grand Daiklaive from over his shoulder, and whirled it around in one fell strike.  The Major’s head was separated from his body, and landed several feet away in the sand. 

Insects swarmed out of the ground, and began feasting on Shiago’s still warm corpse almost immediately.  The skies around them turned black, and the sands grew cold.  As Maladrieve had promised they had arrived in the great living desert Cecelyne.  The sentient armor had explained that she was the Yozi responsible for imprisoning her brethren within Malfeas.

“You said that I should make a sacrifice when I arrived, right?” he chuckled to Maladrieve.

Yes, but remember to save one female.

“Of course.” He turned and scanned the ranks of the men that he had once led.  They were wide eyed with terror, and had bunched as closely together as they could.  Every last one of them had heard tales of Demons and of their imprisonment, and most knew where they were now.

At last he spotted what he was looking for.  Captain Yi.  She was lovely, and would do nicely.  He strode toward her, and saw her eyes widen as she realized that he was heading her way.  She looked about for some possible escape, but the discipline of the Realm kept her in place. 

When he was close enough he clamped one armored fist around her neck.  She beat on it with both hands, but could not remove his grip.

“Cecelyne, hear me!” he bellowed. “I offer all but this woman in tribute to you.”

The winds began to howl, and creatures of all sort emerged from the sand.  Insects, lizards, and other nameless things burst forth.  The men were running now, but it was far, far too late.  They were dragged into the living sands, and not a one of them survived.  The screams went on and on, and at some point he noticed that Captain Yi had begun to cry.  Her discomfort brought a grin to his face.

See, as promised Cecelyne has summoned Florivet.

Shinjen scanned the horizon, and saw something approaching in the distance.  As it came closer he could see that it was a boat skimming the surface of the sand.  Yet it was like no boat that he had ever seen.  It was built entirely of bones, and its captain was no less strange.  The demon on its deck had the head of a wolf, and his hands were the twisted claws of a bird.  His neck was covered with snowy white feathers, and he was too tall to be a mere mortal.

At last the boat pulled up along side them, and its captain called out, “Ah, Maladrieve.  It has been long centuries, my friend.  What’s that you’ve brought me?”

“My name is Shinjen.” He called defiantly, and Florivet chuckled.

“A new host, I see.” The demon said.

Offer him the woman, and he will give us passage to Malfeas.  There you will receive all that I have promised…

“Florivet.” He called, “I bring this woman for your enjoyment in exchange for passage.”

By now Captain Yi had begun thrashing, and Florivet hopped down into the sand next to her.  Shinjen dropped her in the sand, and before she could flee Florivet picked her up.  He slung her over his shoulder, and leapt back onto the prow of his land ship.

“Welcome home, Maladrieve.” Florivet laughed.

 

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