The wandering physician, Ser Alder Kemp, sat atop his destrier. He was covered head to toe in heavy cloth, deep green surcote flowing over the sides of his horse’s haunches. Stepping carefully into a lush thicket of forest, the morning light slowly disappeared into the canopy. The ground was still wet from the previous night’s rain, hundreds of prints still visible overlapping in a muddy mess.
Ser Alder pressed forward, his hands grasping, white-knuckled around a set dice made from bone in his pocket. They rattled for a moment between his fingers, sending a slight shiver down his spine. He dismounted the charger, retrieving his war sword strapped to the saddle. Adjusting his maille he took a sip of wine from his canteen, turned his horse the other way and sent it back the way they had come.
He knelt down in the mud and plucked out a battered bronze coin from his pocket, running his fingers over the fine lettering that had been stamped in. Straining his eyes on the collection of tracks, he flipped the coin onto the ground, sliced his thumb with a small eating knife; letting the crimson wound spill down onto the coin.
A cold hand gripped his shoulders, digging in as the overwhelming smell of soot filled his nose; Kemp’s eyes fluttered and a watery yet thick fluid leaked from his tear ducts, his eyesight suddenly becoming drenched in blue– outlining the large clawed tracks of a beast that had passed through recently.
Ser Alder stood and began carefully following the tracks, ears twitching at every rustle and snap from further in the woodland maze. Long scratches had been made down the bark of some nearby trees, deep enough that sap still oozed out of their crevices; turned black from the dried blood that covered it.
The blue began to fade from his eyes as he stepped further into the forest, now singled in on a long and ruddy line; wavering as whatever beast made them was brought closer to death. His grip on his dice tightened, the faint smell of ash and charcoal creeping into his senses– distinctly not his own. The physician drew his war sword, a four-and-a-half foot longsword, cross guard uneven and bent; the pommel digging in even through his heavily gloved hand.
The charred odour grew stronger as he approached an ash tree, split down the middle and splintered every which way. Black liquid seeped around its base, blanketed by an effervescent oily film. Kemp circled the tree and found his mark… flayed, scalped and crucified on its broken branches.
The monster had long, sinewy limbs– like that of a dog after being starved for weeks. Its face was an unholy mixture of horse and beak, bony struts running the length of it. Its ribcage folding inwards, skin stretched thin over-top; the physician knew not whether to admire the grotesque effigy or condemn it.
Kemp approached the corpse, prodding its appendages with the point of his blade. No movement. He found that it had been skewered length-ways down the spine into the trunk of the tree, holding it in place without disturbing the image it created. As he touched the leathery skin of the creature, the dice in his pocket shook violently. He ignored it.
Retrieving it from its mounting, he turned it onto its stomach; its tongue lolling out like a dead fish. Upon the relatively flat skin across its shoulder blades were many sigils carved while the beast was still alive, they were ancient and seldom used by the clergy.
A warning.
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The tavern in Ebbing had been there for many years, passed down through wagers and foolish yeomen with too much coin lining their purses. It was the oldest building in town, save for the chapel that overlooked the valley Ebbing was situated in. Its robust brown walls had been built from the towering fir trees that once littered the border between Sullea and Broghe, now a motley mixture of scorched earth and fresh growth. Inside, a tall mercenary eyed a game of dice; his skin turned a ghostly pale from a familiar sense.
Ser Gavin approached the table of the man with the burnt face, ‘Mind if I join you three? I’m unfamiliar with the game but I’m sure I’ll pick it up.’ He said, an awkward toothy smile forming across his face. The three players stared at him for a moment and then gestured to an empty seat at the table, a gruff man across the table handing him a pair of slightly moist dice from the inside of his coat.
‘Roll‘de dice, sevens and elevens means you win. Two, three or twelve: you lose. Before you start, put ya’ money in the middle…’ The captain tuned out the gruff man and made eye contact with the mysterious man to his right, the physician grinned and stood abruptly– knocking the dice off the table.
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‘Hey-’ The moist dice man began, before the physician grabbed Ser Gavin by the forearm and pulled him outside of the tavern. The captain protested for a moment but found himself unable to break free, until they were more than thirty paces clear of the alehouse.
‘You’ve something to ask me? All in good time,’ he said rapidly, ‘You’re a mercenary, yes?’ The question hung in the air for a while, the physician sizing up the captain leering around his waist for any sign of weaponry.
‘Yes but-’ The captain started-
‘No buts, I am Ser Alder Kemp. I believe you might be a man interested in some coin,’ Kemp interrupted, ‘I need assistance with some grave matters.’
Ser Alder motioned the captain to follow him and they moved wordlessly through the town, escaping glances of bored farmers and shepherds. ‘You would have asked me what happened to the Baron’s men on the armour,’ he whispered, ‘Which you helping me here would allow me to uncover, strangely enough.’
‘I don’t understand, it wasn’t divine retribution?’ the captain replied, his hands searching for his knife only to realise it was with the rest of his men.
‘Dear me, no! A powerful creature? Certainly. But not a higher being.’ Ser Alder assured him, a small comfort for the mercenary. The captain tried to think of a response, eventually resigning himself to silence as the pair trudged out of the town. They walked for a short time before stopping at the tree line that encircled Ebbing, Kemp drawing his sword from his hip and handing Ser Gavin a crudely made dagger from his boot.
‘There was a Fyrk in these woods, dastardly creatures,’ Kemp said, distracted by movement atop the trees, ‘It was flayed, skinned, then carved. Still alive.’ They began stepping carefully beyond the threshold of the forest, the captain doing a poor job at staying quiet.
‘A fyrk? I’ve never seen one, but I hear they’re not easy to take down. Did a hunting party come this way?’ The captain asked, laser focused on shadows in the scrub that seemed to morph any time his attention scattered. Ser Alder stuck out his hand, both of them coming to a stop. ‘That’s what I thought, until I seen it scratched to the heavens with sigils,’ he replied, ‘Means we might’ve a territory dispute on our hands.’
‘Well, fuck,’ Ser Gavin exclaimed, ‘We need to evacuate and burn the barony to the ground.’ A low thrum emerged from the darkness, rhythmic like a heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound drew closer, the two readying their weapons for the incoming threat. Branches snapped as a huge shadow morphed into a lumbering, scaly beast. Hooked snout protruding from a brutish head, lined with crooked glass-like teeth. It lifted its front limbs, a pair of chunky claws curled into a heavy fist.
Leaning back until it was standing upright, the captain glanced at the beast’s hind legs; a smattering of scorched fur ending in ebony black hooves, sinking into the mud. It twitched for a moment and burst into an unnatural speed, charging directly for Ser Gavin– the beast hanging in the air for what seemed like seconds.
Kemp gripped the captain’s aventail dangling around his neck, throwing him across his body and into the mud. The beast crashed past the both of them, the mercenary appreciating the size of the creature - tall as a house and as wide as three men - before scrambling to his feet. Wood chips sprayed everywhere as its claws dug into a tear, shredding it to pieces and turning to face the humans.
Ser Alder dashed forward, slipping underneath a wild swing. Blade trailing behind him. He crouched underneath its armpit and thrust upwards, legs springing into action; the blade sinking in deep before he was swatted away sending his body tumbling. Ser Gavin, on one knee, hurled himself towards the wall of flesh and leapt onto its back.
He gripped a thick lump of skin on its nape, using it as leverage, and sunk his dagger into the crook ‘neath its skull. Finding his mark, once, twice, and again until the beast clawed at his hip, raking his flesh and causing him to detach. It loomed over him raising its meaty claws.
He rolled.
The mud next to him exploded.
He rolled again.
Pain ripped through him as his spaulder popped off his shoulder and a heavy weight crushed his maille.
Ser Alder recouped himself, saw his companion writhing in pain and ran for his sword still neatly sitting in the creature’s armpit. Stepping out of range from its flailing arms, he yanked the sword from its place; spraying an ooze over his cote and covering the blade. It leaned over Ser Gavin for a final blow and Kemp swung down as hard as he could, biting into flesh and bone– cleaving head from shoulders.
A great lump fell onto Ser Gavin’s chest and he suddenly felt warm, opening his eyes he was met with a greasy eye rolling around in the now severed beast’s head.
Alder limped over to the captain and rolled the head off of his chest, gripping his arm and hauling him to his feet. They were both covered in mud and guts, stained from head to toe. The creature lay limply at their feet, haunches still spasming and grating against the soil.
‘I bet that’ll fetch a fair price.’ The captain grimaced