The Black Adder
Thengil had remained tranquil after his awakening, observing the other members of their motley crew as they awakened. A curious collection they were, some certainly more villanous than others, but hardly monsters. Two were eager to get moving; the blue woman conjuring a bird for scouting, and the armored man seeming sure of himself. It seemed wise to Thengil to get their bearings before moving, so he took another more focused look around. The mountains to the west caught his attention - he knew them. Granted, he had never seen them from below before, but some of the peaks were unmistakable even from this angle. He pointed at them and raised his voice somewhat to be heard over the clamor.
"That over yonder is the Spine" he said, unused to the sound of his own voice. Was he really as old as he sounded? "They sit on the eastern border of the Westerlands. Which means we are on the Kasan plateau, southwest of Sulfrey."
This, it seemed to Thengil, was not good. The plateau was home to many a tribe of barbarian easterlings, raiders displaced by the two great nations they bordered. These were fierce folk, bloodthirsty nomad horsemen with no love for settled people in their hard hearts, and one would be unwise to attract their ire. Thengil had also heard it said that the Sulfreyans patrolled these lands from time to time with mounted warbands, sometimes led by wyverneer knights. As lowly as wyverns were among more esteemed winged reptiles, they were still deadly to any man. Although he could deduct the general direction for Sulfrey, Thengil had never before heard of the city of Malasta and didn't know where to find it. He reckoned, however, that he ought to share his insights on the dangers of the plateau with the rest of the group. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, a cold shiver ran down his spine. A premonition. His head snapped to the east, staring intently at a ridge a ways away.
"There's something coming" he said, turning fully towards the ridge and putting a hand on the hilt of his sword, "I've got a bad feeling about this..."
Out of the Ashes...
Thuk Meuch-Tok sat atop his steed and looked out into the distance. They were still quite a ways ahead, but he could see them now; a band of easterling raiders, stealing across the plain like a plague. Or at least what was left of them. He and his warriors had been pursuing them for over a week since they had intercepted them near the border. Hoping to sneak across for some fun and games, no doubt. Well, fun and games it had been all right. But not for the raiders. They had put up a good fight at first, but their primitive weapons and uncivilized ways of warfare had been no match for the Sulfreyan knights. Before long they had broken and ran off, presumably thinking they could outrun the heavy riders. Thuk had entertained the thought of sparing some of them for interrogation, or to take some of them as slaves to be sacrificed in the glory of Ael-Gol atop the pyramids of Galgat, but had decided against it. It was heads on spears for the lot of them. Damned savages.
True, it had taken him some time to find them. Say one thing for the barbarians, they knew the lay of the land. They had been smart, keeping to thickets and hidden caves, covering their tracks impressively. It had been chance that brought them out into the light at last. Chance and their poor morale. He had simply passed overhead, and the mere sight of the wyvern had made some of them lose it and take off in a panic, no doubt racing for what they hoped was better ground. Or they were just running wild. They weren't much better than animals anyway, these barbarians.
Ordering his men to start persuing and eventually charge, Thuk gave his wyvern a sharp smack with the butt of the spear and took flight. The great winged reptile hissed menacingly, but did as it was instructed. He had trained it well. Once airborne, it stretched its long neck, a full ten feet of serpentine scales and spikes, its wings beating like war drums on the wind. The tail, along with its lethal barbed stinger, flowed elegantly behind, subtly steering its path through the sky. They were marvellous creatures, wyverns, but ugly. Or terrifying.
Having gained some ground on the fleeing raiders, his two dozen horned knights following behind, he spotted something peculiar further ahead. The barbarians were about to scale a ridge, and beyond it - not yet visible to the landlocked - was a strange gathering of... individuals. Some small, some big, and what was that tall blue thing? Thuk was surprised, to put it mildly, but soon shook the sensation. Whatever they were, they were too strange. A group like that belonged in a funny tavern yarn, not on his border. He didn't know who they were and what they were doing there, but it didn't matter. It would have to be heads on spears for the lot of them too.
Having seen all he had to, Thuk circled back to his knights. He would lead the charge coming in low, as was the custom. Let the barbarians and the strangers fight it out first. He and his knights could handle the leftovers.
...And into the Fire
You hear them before you see them. There's a rumble on the wind, and then the distant warcries of bloodthirsty raiders. They spill over a ridge to the east, still some distance away, but closing fast. Easterlings. Barbarians. Two score perhaps, maybe less, maybe more. Some mounted, others on foot. All armed, that you are certain of, and possibly dangerous. They're coming your way, too. Just your luck.
A quick scan of the landscape leaves few options. There's a hill a bit further north, and a small thicket a ways south. The west offers nothing but rolling grasslands for miles upon miles, a poor deal for anyone looking for an escape or an advantage. A fight seems inevitable. Death, a possibility. But... are those really war cries? There's something off about the way the barbarians move, the way they sound. The band moves in your direction, yes... But are they coming for you? Then again, do you have the luxury of doubt, with potentially fifty or so murderous savages seemingly bearing down on you.
Time to think fast, or maybe not think at all. Sometimes, instinct is the voice of reason. Then again... Sometimes it definitively isn't.
