Part I: The March Begins

Arms crossed under his think cloak with one leg resting on the other, a light drizzle started to fall from the sky and began to wash away the dirt and grime down the sides of Thuran's tan face as he waited for the rest of the surviving soldiers to arrive. The rain that fell in between the sides of his cape often found a home under the straps of leather covering her arms and legs, making Thuran increasing upset and moody. His eyes beamed jealousy as he looked towards the abandoned village sitting in the distance, and the dry and warm buildings that sat within. He saw no signs of life from the village, no people had been seen walking the roads while clothes hung on lines outside in the rain. It had been a rough week for the Lithleethian, starting with the massacre at the Fields of Amarillis.

The sell-sword remembers clearly where he was when everything went to hell. He stood in the middle of the giant army fighting alongside his employer, the young general Cavat of the Firen people. He was hired as a bodyguard for the General, and thanks to some issues with the Glamhoth general, found his skills tested early when a horde of cultist managed to break through the Lavas lines and into the midst of Cavats army. While the fighting was intense, it paled in comparison for what came next. Skies filled with flame and ash filled the air around him. Each night he is tormented by the images of dragon fire and monstrous beasts straight from hell emerging from the mountain. His mind still see's the faces of those crushed by the falling stones, those dragged away by the shadows and even the lucky ones burned to ash in an instant. The days that followed did not spare him any nightmares either. With the frantic running, and the constant threat of a shambler army creeping up on him kept him alert, and without much rest.

Though a few days after the battle he ran into a few surviving soldiers, then into a surviving and mostly intact army from the city of Lavas five hundred strong. They were late to the battle and were spared the initial attack, according to the general at least. Various survivors had fallen in with the army as they made their way back to their city. It was here that Thuran found himself thrust into the role of a scout, something most unknown to him. He was an assassin yes, and possibly the most athletic member of the group, but he worked with the shadows to find a target not against them in locating a threat. He had mentioned this many times to the general over the past few days to no success, even when he pointed out that there was an elf who was an experienced scout. Thuran figured this was due to his western heritage over anything else. The Lavas general was right to be wary of the Lithleeth man, their reputation proceeded them even in these dark days.

His thoughts were dragged away by the sounds of the approaching allied soldiers, their footsteps splashing through the wet road as they neared his position. “Again, here we go.” He said as his body turned to face the approaching unit, and waved his hand to signal the general.

Glancing across the approaching soldiers, the westerner quickly noticed the tall heavyset man whom was in charge. He was a Lavas general named Dorius, a well regarded man by his fellow Lavas, and a well hated man by anyone else. The man towered over his bodyguards as if he was a Glamhoth berserk standing in the middle of a group of goblins. On his face, each tracing line and obsolescent tissues were proof of the long life that he has endured thus far. His once strong, and muscular frame, had began to grow frail as each step brought about a slight limp and a face full of pain. The general face quickly turned to match Thurans, and a frown quickly developed.

“Why have you stopped scouting, desert rat?” Dorius shouted out as his pace quickened and his limp grew more obvious.

“Empty village ahead, sir.” Thuran responded with his tell-tale Liltleeth accent. “Could be trap.”

“Why have you not scouted it out then? If there is a threat ahead it is your job as my scout to find them, boy.” Dorius responded, talking down to the Lithleethian in the process.

“Because if it is trap, then I do not want to spring it alone.” Thuran responded as his hand motioned for the general to come have a look at the village.

After a short pause, the General turned around and shouted for all the soldiers in the group to stop. He motioned for his bodyguards to follow, and he began to trudge his way through the muddy path towards Thuran. “Tell me, what is it that you see that makes you think this village is a trap?”

“It's not what I see, but what is missing.” Thuran said as he pointed out across the village. “No villagers, clothes still on the lines in the rain.” Thuran said as he turned towards the general. “If the enemy has caught up with us again, then this is where I think they would come from. We are far from the battlefield now, and this village is remote. I think the news of what happened might not have arrived yet.”

“You make little sense. We sent out runners a few days ago down this same path. They would have told them of what happened on their way to the capital cities.” The General replied as he turned towards one of his bodyguards. “Grab the Elven Nobel, the Siren bitch, and the Mûl mongrels and every other expendable soldier and bring them up here. We shall humor the dog and let him play in the village for us.” The general finished as he tossed Turan a look of disgust.

“None of your soldiers will come?” Thuran asked as he raised his right eyebrow, questioning the decision.

“Like I said, expendable soldiers only.” He responded as he turned around and began to walk back towards his soldiers. “Set up a perimeter. We hold for twenty minutes.” He walked into the middle of the soldiers, barking orders as he went, before he went out of sight for Thuran.

On cue, Thuran disregarded the commander and his eyes were drawn back to the village. The village itself was rather large, shaped like a giant oval with a small creek separating the buildings inside the village from the forest, with a small stone bridge as the only way across. On either side though, farming fields, horse stables and small markets crowded the edges of the village. At the end, one large house stood out from the rest. He assumed it was the village elders house, as it was in remarkably good shape compared to the surrounded buildings.

His eyes were drawn away once more by the sounds of footsteps coming from behind. His eyes quickly darted back and took in the sight of twenty odd soldiers, of various races and backgrounds with the remarkable exclusion of a single Lavas soul. A small smirk formed across his face as he admired the fact, before he turned around once more and took off in a slow walk towards the village.

“Let's see if anyone is home, no?” He asked to the soldiers behind him.

As Thuran was about to head off on his own, the sound of numerous footsteps moving through the mud from behind entered his ears. Quickly turning about, he surveyed the approaching group as their questions began to fall upon him. His eyes first jumped to the face of the Siren who sarcastically responded to his earlier statement. He eyes betrayed him for just a second as they looked over the mask that the Siren wore. But they soon darted off to an Elven man, who was asking a question in a way that removed all doubt as to his importance. They finally fell upon a woman befit of a pleasure den, not a war torn land. In his mind he joked of his luck.

“A warm, dry place to rest would be a welcomed luxury from this.” Thuran responded as his eyes darted to the skies. “But I fear such a luxury would be, how do you say, a trap.” He accent betrayed him, and he signed a sigh of relief escaped his lips as soon as he found his words. Even after all these years he still had issues with the Eastern Languages, the simple differences in word pronunciations yet the massive differences in meanings. Turing his body to face the Siren once more, this time eyes under control, he addressed her directly.“But if a warm and dry trap is what it will take to hear the sweet songs of the Siren once in my life then a warm and dry trap it shall be.” He finished as he gave a slight bow. The legends of the Sirens was a common one in his homeland, though they did not have quite the fearsome reputation here that they had there. In his home the legends of the Sirens was more of a promise to an aging soldier or an old man. He often heard many a man speak of traveling east to be taken to the throne of their god by the songs of the Siren. Even though he has become wiser to the original intentions of the Sirens as he spent time in the East, at least those that the common folk believe in. He still gave the Siren a genuine Curtsy none the less.

“But I think it is I you search for, Elven man.” He spoke directly to the Elven man. “I was tasked with scouting ahead for our gracious General.” He said as he let out a small bit of laughter. “I came across this village a little while before the main body arrived, yet something fells off.” He said as he motioned for the group to look. “There are clothes hanging on the drying lines yet, even though the rain falls from the heavens above.” He then motioned for them to look at the streets around the houses, pointing out the market places among others. “No people walk the streets, no people remove clothing from the drying lines, and not one sign of life is to be seen here. Begs the question, where are the people?” Pausing as he shrugged his shoulders. “If they ran from the Mad King, why not take their clothes?” He began to make his way towards the village. Step after step he could feel something was wrong. He was taught to always trust his gut as an assassin. If something felt off he would simply postpone his targets fate until another day. But he no longer had the courtesy of luxury, the Mad King stole that from him.

“But what do I know.” Pausing as he shrugged his shoulders once more. “I am but a simple sell-sword.” His head turned around to those that followed, some ten in number including a few last minute additions to the group. They looked to be simple folk who had joined up at the last minute. His guess was they only decided to fight the Mad King so they could tell their grandchildren that they fought along side the Great King Baelnorn in his final triumph. He knew they would not speak when he asked his next question, they were already defeated enough for them to mention their names.

"But who are you that our gracious General saw fit to send off in a scouting run?" He asked as he looked back to the village, this time eyes carefully scanning the shadows.

Part I: The Village

“I know a thing or two about tracking.” Thuran said as he allowed a second to pass. “But that is inside a city, out here I am most useless.” Pausing as he turned towards the scantly dressed woman. “What do you wish to be tracked, if I may ask.”

Almost immediately as he finished his sentence did a pair of Lavas guards start to make some crude jokes at the expense of those within the scouting party. They first targeted the Mûl courtesan with talks about certain activities they could partake in when she got back. Then they targeted a young looking Andrann woman holding a staff, and offered for her to join in. Thuran was then the next target, with the pair of guards suggesting that there was a horse who was willing to put up with a Lithleeth man.

Thuran brought his body square with the guards and allowed a smile to break his face once more. “My friends, Lan hanna vor Thuran kan lan diman!” His words were in his own language, and if anyone in attendance could speak it than they would know he was going to kill them if he ever found them alone. Thuran then pointed towards the muscular guard with his right hand, before dragging it over the frail looking one next to him, before he used the same hand to wave goodbye to both in turn. “To our next meeting, my friends.” He finished the sentence as he turned around to face front. The smile quickly fell from his face and he silently spoke “Hanna zoul.”

A bright flash in the distance accompanying darker clouds revealed the strength of the storm was only going to get stronger, and a strong roof over his head sounded that more appealing.

“Alright everyone, follow me.” Thuran said as he motioned for the others to follow. “No point in letting guards throw childish jokes at us.”

Thuran was not a leader by nature but here in the East he often found that role thrust upon him by default. Whether it was the many misleading stories the bards sing of his people or the fact that an Eastern General has never won a battle in the Rolling Dunes that led to this predisposition, Thuran had no clue. This led to a few awkward situations early on where the role of leadership was heavily implied in the course of work yet Thuran never truly leading. Though with time, and much practice, he has enough skills to lead a motley crew of soldiers on a simple scouting mission to mixed results.

“Alright, let us form three lines behind me. If you have shields please go to the outside, if you are not skilled in combat go to the middle.” Pausing as he turned his head and flashed a sarcastic smile. “Simple.” The smile quickly fell from his face as he looked at a few, frail looking soldiers in the midst of the group. “Don't be stupid, don't wander off alone.”

His head turned back towards the village that seemed to grow in size with every step he took. Suddenly, and inexplicably, a strong feeling of unease fell upon his mind, forcing a slight slide in his feet as he quickly slowed down. A feeling in his gut told him that there were eyes looking out at him from the village in front, and it was not a villager. His assassin training as well as his thievery on the streets when he was young had drilled into him that his gut was right. His eyes quickly darted to the far right, resting for just a moment before it darted farther to the left. Every window could hold an enemy, and every building could be the source of this feeling. He could not drop the feeling no matter where he looked.

“Scan the buildings for movement.” He said before the area became light as lighting struck a far away tree and a loud thunder clap echoed through the area. “I do not think we are alone.” His upper body quickly turned towards the middle of the group once again and located the Elemental Archer who had introduced herself earlier. “Merilwyn of Estelle.” His accent butchered her name, both the first and the last, but it did not phase him. “Quick, come.” He said as he motioned for her to come to his side.

“You said that you can explode shot.” His accent was becoming more pronounced as the feeling of unease lingered.

“Keep an arrow ready, I might need your skills.” He said as his grip on his sword tightened as he entered the village.

The small group slowly crept from building to building, with both eyes and spears raised towards each window, door, and alleyway in between the houses. Each drop of rain and gust of wind brought quick eyes to the gutters and rafters, everyone ready for whatever tried to jump out.

The group continued along the straight and narrow road that ran from the East where they entered and exited towards the West. Slowly but surely the group made their way towards the middle of the village when a soldier shouted out “I saw something move.”

He was near the middle of the group facing North, and Thuran quickly called for the scouting party to hold. “What did you see?” He asked.

“A figure looked out from the window, sir!” The Firen soldier shouted as his voice crackled. His armor was of poor quality and it was plain to everyone that this soldier was either incredibly poor, and was pressed into service agianst his own accord or he was simply one of those farmers turned warriors he thought of earlier. His sword hand shook with fear as his eyes darted to Thuran.

“Anyone else see it?” Thuran responded. Initially skeptical of the man's claim, feeling that fear had taken hold of him, he waited for confirmation.

“Aye.” The Glamhoth soldier standing to the right of the Firen responded. This man was tall, standing somewhere near six foot four and had arms adorned with both the biggest muscles Thuran had ever seen as well as the most cheerfuller body art his eyes had witnessed. The man commanded respect, from his piercing gaze, to his loud and booming voice. “I saw someone move.”

Thuran thought for a second on what to do. Initially he was hesitant about sending soldiers in to investigate the figure. He knew not what that would bring. Yet this was a scouting mission, and he needed to clear a safe path for the soldiers behind him. So he pointed out the Glamhoth giant and a pair of Firen soldiers, both the one who had spoke up and a stronger looking one right next to him.

“You examine the inside of building, find whatever it is.”

The trio slowly made their way towards the building. The two Firen had shields raised up to chest level, their swords poked out over top with arms cocked and ready to strike behind. The Glamhoth approached with his massive ax sitting idly out to his right, resting a constant foot from the right of his head. His head was on a slow yet constant swivel, swinging from the left his eyes darted between the building next to the one in-front while stopping on the window that he saw the figure. None in this trio were all that comfortable with checking the building. As the strong looking Firen soldier began to slowly open the door another soldier shouted out, this time from the south side of the group.

“I saw something move.” The Mul swordsman shouted.
“Me two.” Shouted a Firen soldier in the rear.
“I as well!” The Andrann mage in the middle shouted.

More and more soldiers kept shouting about the figures in the dark that they saw. Yet Thuran kept his eyes frozen on an open doorway near the end of the village, locked onto what his stomach felt was the source of his unease. Slowly but surely a black mist began to rise from the shadowed entrance-way, forming the figure of a monster that everyone in the group had only heard stories of. The black mist gave way to the vibrant white face mask and piercing white eyes of the creature.

Thuran mumbled in his language at first, too soft for anyone else to notice. But a quick second later he spoke. “Wraith's.”

Pausing as he backed into the soldiers behind him. His head spun around as his hand pulled Merilwyn back from her spot in front of the group. “Wraith's!” He shouted as he readied his weapon. “Circle formation now!” He shout echoed off the nearby buildings. His head jolted back towards the north, and his eyes rested on the trio of soldiers about to step into the building.

“Get away fro-” Thuran tried to shout but his voice was cut short by the squeal of pain from the lead Firen soldier as he attempted to enter the building. The man's back began to pour out blood from a now formed sword wound, slowing dripping from the edge of an unseen weapon. Black mist began to pour out of the wound, and slowly it began to take the shape the shape of the knife that was plunged into his gut.

The loud cry of the Glamhoth soldier echoed in response to the squeal as his ax cut in front of the Firen soldier. A shriek from the creature echoed in response, as the disembodied arm of the Wraith quickly formed on the ground in-front of the wounded Firen soldier. The Wraith fizzled into existence soon after, his only hand grasped around the wounded arm. It was met with no mercy by the Glamhoth, whose massive hands quickly grabbed hold of the creatures head. The Glamhoth soldier roared as he easily lifted the creature off it's feet and into the air. The creature grasped at the arm of the giant as the Glamhoth strongly gripped the skull before a sicking popping noise filled the air for a brief second, and all flaying of the beast stopped. The Glamhoth soldier quickly let go of the monster, and his free hand grabbed the wounded Firen soldier who had started to fall backwards. He quickly began to pull the soldier back towards the friendly formation as his head looked towards the second, not wounded, Firen soldier. “Come, Firen.” The Glamhoth spoke to the frail soldier still standing near the door. “Don't be stupid, come!” He commanded.

The Firen shuffled back a few paces before he turned his body and tried to run. His frame was quickly pulled to the ground, with his sword flying forward to the feet of the Glamhoth who looked on in horror. A look of fear fell upon the face of the Firen shoulders as his mouth opened. A loud, high pitched, voice bellowed out from the soldiers lungs as he was quickly, and without stop, pulled from behind and into the building. The door quickly slammed shut behind him and the screams continued for a second before silence fell once more on the area.

The Glamhoth soldier brought the Firen soldier into the middle of the group, and motioned for the Siren healer to come assist as he returned to his spot on the line. As he returned, another weak bodied Firen soldier tried to push his way past the line.

“Ruthord?” The man asked. “Ruthord are you in there?”

As he tried to get out of the defensive circle, the Glamhoth soldier grabbed onto his shoulder and threw him back into the middle of the group. “Don't be a bloody idiot, your friend is dead.”

The Firen shot up to his feet and retorted “How do you know?”

The Glamhoth turned his head and responded. “Tis' the truth. Our foe is without mercy.” He looked back towards the building as an eerie silence fell upon the group

The Firen was about to move again but stopped as the stone cold gaze of a Wraith looked out once more from the building. From the shadows surrounding the group more and more white masks formed into existence, eyes locked on individual members of the group. Their forms were revealed for just a moment, as light once again filled the area from a lightning strike. The figures slowly faded away as thunder broke and soon the group were staring at the shadows where the figures once stood.

Thuran's eyes remained fixed on the building for a few seconds after the soldier was abruptly dragged inside. His head quickly turned towards Merilwyn and he spoke.

“Fire exploding arrow into the sky. We need the Lavas soldier's help.”