The short trek to the stronghold wall was long and nerve wracking. The road here was no less uneven than the ravine. My body screamed in pain with each step I took. The skin on my face was peeling and my eyes throbbed incessantly. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t bring forward any tears.

The nearer I grew to the stronghold, the clearer the little figures upon the wall became. Backlit by a setting amber moon and a half dozen oversized purple lanterns, the silhouettes were human, much to my relief. Following my encounter with the deadly creature, and having observed the dark, brutalist-mediaeval architecture, I hadn’t been sure any humans survived out here. In this desolation.

Those guarding the wall were evidently soldiers. Many wore the same neutral leather gear I wore, minus some ash and blood. A few sported more protective iron banded armour. Although even from the ground I could see the rust.

A select few wore sleek, dark robes and gowns which fluttered in the breeze. I even spotted a great droopy witches hat on a small woman with vibrant blue hair. That lone hint of what could be magic brought a slight smile to my face that was promptly wiped clean as I recognised that all the armoured soldiers were grasping dark longbows. Longbows pointed towards me.

I stopped walking forward and stared up at them. I limped to the side of the road. As I moved, I could see the glistening arrowheads track me.

Behind me was the decaying hill slumped over the body of the creature. Beyond that, more sweeping ashen deadlands.

I had nowhere else to go. Not that they would let me leave now. I turned back to face the stronghold and marched forwards again. It wasn’t a pretty march, but the intent was there.

As I crested the top of the shallow hill the stronghold rested upon, I received my first proper look of the wall in its entirety. Composed of large, rugged slabs of stone half my height, the bricks, if you can even call them such, were porous, steeped in soot and glued together with a black, indistinct mortar that was largely intact.

The blackstone wall stretched out a couple of hundred paces either way from the gate at its centre. The gate and its adjacent walls receded a couple dozen feet inwards creating a chokehold point where the soldiers could stare you down from three sides at once.

The gate itself had seen better days, that was certain. Its surface was riddled with dents and splinters. Rust corroded a large portion of the iron, and there were even a few narrow holes in the thick wood. Soldiers armed with long pikes took advantage of them.

The road broadened before the entrance and became smooth and even. Up close, I could see that the walls surrounding the gate were far more weathered than the rest. Scorch marks covered the stones. Large sections of rock were patched up with the thick, tar-like mortar. Mixed through the filler were chipped arrowheads, splintered shafts and minced limestone.

I looked up at the legion of soldiers all aiming down at me and raised my hands, hoping that gesture of peace translated across worlds.

Dried blood, soot and dust coated my metal arms, but there were still a few patches where the grey lustre shone through. A few stiffened at my gesture, others stepped back, and I spotted one man misfire his bow, and the weapon flung backwards into his face. He collapsed with a crash and hushed voices snapped at him from behind.

It was only then, as I stood frozen just before the entrance of the stronghold that I had the horrible revelation that I didn’t know what language these people spoke. I dropped out of pure shock, sinking to one knee. In my moment of weakness, the agony tormenting my body successfully landed a strike.

This, thankfully, bore some results from up above. Murmurs diffused across the wall, and a name, a strange, but rather English name circulated amongst them: Shale. A hush chased the whispers soon after.

I looked up, confused but hopeful. A clear, sharp voice called down to me in perfect English at that moment. “Stay there. Take not a step further.”

I remained still, and raised my arms again. The voice shouted, “Put your arms down by your sides! If you hope to survive this night, do exactly as I say.”

I hastily obeyed and looked up, trying to spot who was talking to me, but there were too many figures. Most wore rusted helms or large skull caps that obscured their eyes. A few taller figures looked on behind the archers, presumably those in command. The few robed individuals were hunched over to the Eastern wall, to my right, scratching at something on the ground.

A short, grizzled bald man caught my eye for a moment. He held no weapon. He merely leant on the battlements, leering down at me with a savage grin.

My stomach turned and I looked away. That was definitely not the one who had spoken.

“I want no more violence today.” Declared the voice. “You are a valiant warrior who deserves great respect. Felling a Greybone Stalker is no easy feat!”

Greybone Stalker. The name rolled around in my head. That creature down there was known here. A local inhabitant of some sort. A tingle went down my spine and my hands closed into fists.

“We know who you are. But in order to see you returned, I’m going to ask you some questions which you need to answer to my satisfaction. Understood?” The voice emphasised the question loudly.

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I nodded, and stumbled out, “I understand! What do you need to know?” I very much didn’t understand, and the consequences appeared lethal, but I had no choice. Nor did I have a bloody idea what the hell anything was, or the first thing about myself. My heart beat wildly in my chest, I felt it in my throat.

“Tell me your name!” Came the first question.

I blurted out, “Shale!” I instinctively attached myself to the discontent muttering of the soldiers.

A silence followed and I tensed, slowly bringing my arms up to cover my chest.

The voice continued. “Do you know where you are, Shale?”

I had no answer. I didn’t dare pull a name out of nothing. I could feel the bloodlust above me, the tension in the bowstrings.

“Well?”

“I. I don’t know!” The truth came out.

“You don’t know?” The voice sounded disheartened. I needed some sort of justification, I could feel things slipping away.

“I awoke in… the mortuary! I thought I had died, but I did not! But I have lost many things… due to injury. I no longer know where I am, or how I came to be here at all!”

It was a gamble, but I couldn’t see any other way out. There was something obviously taboo or ominous in my, or Shale’s return from death. There was little else that made sense. They suspected some ill intent, and I had to alleviate that fear. I needed to appear fragile. Be broken in some way.

“You claim amnesia?” Asserted the voice.

“It is the truth. I swear on it.”

I looked once again into the cold eyes of the soldiers, and scanned for the one who addressed me. The robed individuals drew my eyes again. They had stopped their hunching, and stood up straight, facing me. Bright light radiated from their feet, and in their hands they wielded brilliant orbs which turned, drifted and flowed up and down their forearms.

I grinned despite the circumstances. Magic!

A tall woman approached mages and began speaking to them in a low tone. She had long red hair tied back in a ponytail. Her cheekbones were high and pronounced. Her eyes flashed a brilliant green. The woman’s face was clear despite the ashen landscape, though a long scar ran down diagonally across the bridge of her nose to her jawline.

She wore a large, intact breastplate and greaves which seemed abnormal in this garrison. And in her arm was a massive bow that stretched from her ankles to her shoulders. Cool blue light gently glowed from scribbled symbols across its limb.

She faced towards me, and I met her eyes for the first time.

“Shale Kadran, we bear you, or any entity that walks these lands, no ill intent. Myself, Captain Thalia, and Third Order Mage Olindar will come down, alone, to conduct a simple, low-risk cleansing ritual to ensure you’re free of any-” The woman abruptly cut off.

She was now staring directly into my eyes, her emerald ones scouring my eyes. My two, intact amber coloured eyes. She stepped back from the battlement and whispered to the woman who looked like a witch. The witch nodded and flexed her hands. The ball of light began shifting, folding in on itself and curling around her hands.

As I knelt, entranced by the ephemeral imagery, the red-headed leader withdrew a handful of arrows from her quiver, nocked one, stoked the magic within and drew back. The bow flexed back sharply. The ends of the limb curved back and the bow’s figure reflected the crescent moon suspended in the sky behind her.

An ear-splitting, distorted roar ripped towards us and buffeted the stronghold wall. I fell forwards onto my front as a blazing arrow shrieked past my left shoulder, clipping my flesh with the edge of the arrowhead. The heat cauterised the wound immediately, and I felt it no longer. The arrow continued its arc and thunked into the ground behind me. The flame continued to burn in the soil.

The wall erupted into chaos at the sight of the mangled Greybone Stalker emerging from the ashes of Crooked Hill. It trembled and shook violently as it pushed itself off of the ground. The creature rolled its branched head, arched its crooked back and then burst forward with an explosive leap. Apathetic to its wounds, it stormed furiously towards the stronghold. Towards me.

Frenzied commands struggled to rein in the soldiers as a dozen of them instinctively let loose their arrows. Only a single arrowhead burned brightly, the rest had forgotten to strike the incendiary resin across the battlement stones to ignite them.

The arrows fell harmlessly into the ground less than a hundred paces away, scarcely clearing my own body. I rolled onto my back and gaped up at the commander who’d fired upon me, she glared back down, with another arrow ready to fire. Lingering on me briefly, she drew back her arm, looked up and fired outwards, far above myself.

The witch beside her threw up her arms and released a swarm of tiny blue butterflies that flooded the parapet. The commander’s voice suddenly rang out clear and loud, “Target the Stalker! I repeat, pivot to the Stalker, take it down!”

I lurched off the ground and snapped to face the incoming storm.

The name ‘Greybone Stalker’ made perfect sense, I thought.

I observed the creature pounce up the road at a frightening speed using its spear-like legs to throw itself forward off the ground. Dark bones gleamed from gaping wounds in its side and back. An entire sheet of muscle and tissue draped from its side exposing its ribcage. The block of flesh hung on by a sinuous strap of skin that tore further with each piercing step forward it took.

Whilst the wall’s focus was upon the creature, I scrambled over to the gate and bashed my fists on the wood.

I shouted out to the pikemen lurking behind it. “Hey, you’ve gotta let me in now! Don’t fucking leave me out here with that thing again!”

A few of them looked back and whispered hastily with a superior. Moments later, their answer was a resigned shake of the head, and a warning. “Keep off the wall, Shale. We’re sorry. We cannot permit you inside.”

“Damn you all!” I slammed my metal fists into the gate one last time. It shuddered and splinters sprayed out from the impact. One pikeman who had been too close bounced back as his helmet clanged into the shifting gate.

Another yelled, “We said get back!” They lunged forward with their pike and it bounced off my forearm with a spray of sparks.

I ran back from the gate and made towards the western wing of the wall, hoping to clear it before the Stalker arrived. I stopped just before I passed the corner and reeled back at the sight of the approaching Stalker. It had turned and was fixed directly on me.

Dread took a hold of me. The Stalker was tearing through the hail of projectiles. Several flaming arrows perforated its flesh. Many buried deep between exposed ribs. I glimpsed a fiery orange arrow streak through the sky and strike one of its head-branches. Its contorted charcoal remains shattered as the arrow drove down towards the base.

The creature pushed on. Shrugging off the damage it took. I had nowhere to run now. If I made for the edge of the stronghold, I would only manage to isolate myself and lose the cover of the archers.

Resigned, I unsheathed my dagger, and ploughed back towards the front gate. At the very least, if it dove straight at me, it might end up staked on the pikes. Provided the fools didn’t stab me instead!