It was a day like any other, though the afternoon had started to warm up quite a bit despite how late into autumn it was. The bandits enjoyed the last glimmers of warm weather before the cruel winter of the Altix hit them.
With the amount they’d looted from travelers this year, though, they were already planning on enjoying a nice, comfortable winter in the city. Their chief and his lieutenants gave them wealth, community, and a few pretty xio and xia to have in their tents every now and then. They sang songs, drank, and ate to the torment they inflicted on whatever sorry traveler they targeted.
It was not an easy life by any means, but it was better than being under the boot of some noble. The strongest ruled out here, and the highwaymen thought themselves moral that they had not killed more than they had to.
But it was always fun to torment those who tried to cling to some semblance of morality, bravery, or justice and fight back. They threw horrid parties laughing as they humiliated and committed every deed their laws deemed profane.
In reality, they killed whenever they felt they could. They raped whenever their chief didn’t buy a whore for them. They were not at fault for their circumstances under the oppression of their local lords, but they were lawless and cruel just the same.
Just as they had been taught by the former lords of their lands, the strong were also entitled to indulge in whatever vice they had without repercussion.
Everyone they killed, raped, and tortured was all a small way to get back at those who had done the same to them.
It was how the world worked. Even if they thought themselves free of it, they were now a part of that oppression.
Their chief dreamed of the day he could amass a force strong enough to conquer a city. To establish his rebellion and make his name known as the Bandit King.
But on this day, the clouds themselves descended to blanket the land in roiling fog so thick the highwaymen could barely see one another in it. Soft whispers, sorrowful whines, and horrid inhuman groans hit their ears. The ghosts of those they tormented swirled and swarmed around them.
The fog itself was alive, and it was omnipresent.
The bandits thought themselves safe during the day, but this fog was an artificial night. One in which twisted figures loomed just at the edge of their vision. Their blackened silhouettes barely visible before they melted back into the grainy sea of white.
When the bandits with water magic moved to dispel the fog, a horrible black creature descended down on them, grabbing them by the ankle and dragging them away. It sank its teeth in, snarling and ripping their tendons to shreds, ragdolling them in the dirt until they stopped moving.
Tendrils of water lashed out like whips to the others, snuffing out flames, and muddying the earth so that it too could rise and swallow them whole. One by one, each bandit saw their allies taken by the fog.
The camp was in chaos, more and more highwaymen poured from their tents to fight the monsters in the fog.
And the fog gave them a monster.
A heart-rattling roar echoed out as the fog clung to their skin and chilled them to the bone. A formless creature of twisting anger loomed over them all. Before they could run, it crashed down onto them and swept them into its body.
Those brave enough fought back. Others ran, only to be picked off and dragged by their legs.
“Malaki! Malaki!!!” They shouted.
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With another terrifying roar, the monster sank into the ground.
And just as quickly as the fog had come, it vanished, leaving behind a message in the dirt written in their own blood.
First comes fog
Then comes flame
Then comes the sick and insane
Repent, Repent
Leave these lands
Or be forever haunted, hunted
Now that I have your scent
Many of the bandits, believing only in the superstition which had kept them alive, were chilled to read such a message. However, among their ranks were more logical people. The leaders of the camp, former mercenaries and deserters of the military.
The bandit’s wounds healed, leaving no trace of the monster’s jaws behind. They were alright, and none of them had been killed.
Their leaders explained that a powerful water magic user was likely to blame, sending search parties to scour the forests looking for any trace.
There was no trace to follow. Wind magic couldn’t detect their scent on the wind, nor the beat of a xiozian heart. Earth magic couldn’t find prints in the mud, nor cavities underground.
This was no normal water magic user. This was a ghost.
After a shouting match, the leaders proved themselves stronger in a primal struggle for power. The strong still lead, and that law would not be broken as easily as the bones of the weak.
Certainly not by some fog either.
And yet even the might of the bandit chiefs was not enough to fully unroot the seed of doubt the fog had planted in them.
A seed which only further ingrained itself when the chief’s belongings spontaneously combusted. Right down to the furs on his back.
Those with water magic extinguished the flames, thinking their job was done, only to turn around and see one of their tents burning.
Soon enough, the night sky loomed overhead, illuminated by trick flames which kept reigniting and sprouting up like weeds no matter what they did to extinguish them.
They made efforts to rescue all that was valuable and useful. Treasures, food, armor and weapons.
And yet it all kept burning. Some bandits took advantage of the chaos to run, others stayed behind fearing starvation and whatever monster still lurked in the lands around them.
When the flames finally subsided, they were left with only a day’s worth of food and water. Some didn’t trust what was left behind for them, fearing that it might ignite in their bellies or cause the foretold disease.
A group split off to go hunting. The Chief and his lieutenants would eat fresh elk tonight. They would weather the storm and capture whatever sorry sods decided to fuck with them.
Oh the things they would do to them.
Only those who showed their utmost loyalty and trust to their rule would be granted a portion of their hunt.
Those who were disloyal had to make due with what was left of the rations.
The divide between the leaders and those they commanded widened ever more. Their chief was acting like a nobleman now.
But whether the food they had was freshly hunted Elk, or stale hardtacks, they all ended up deathly ill just the same.
Those skilled enough with fire magic could expel the poison from their bodies, but their fate was not disease.
Their fate was insanity.
Others woke in a pool of their own vomit, feces, and blood. Those with fire magic had awoken with red in their eyes, frothing at the mouth as they went berserk on the other bandits.
More chaos, more infighting. Those who had previously defected from the military were long gone by now. Nothing could make them loyal if their lives were in danger. The strongest of them had either fallen ill or abandoned the camp. All but the chief and those most loyal to him.
But even then, loyalty was worthless out here in the Altix. This was a lawless land. Only the strong survived and ruled.
And now their leaders were weak.
The chief and his lieutenants were too ill to corral their subordinates. Outnumbered by their own ranks, they were overwhelmed and cut like lambs. Offered as tribute to whatever creature tormented them.
The bandits, weakened by a restless night and dehydration, saw the fog roll in once more. Angered by what they had done. They scattered, repenting for in the hopes that they would survive the cruel wilderness of the Altix and get back to civilization safely.
Dreiki hoped they really had, at least.