Lo'Ref's ears rang as the tank rumbled westward, the young soldier's excited chatter was barely audible over the grinding of gears and treads. Boss had angrily regained consciousness, his mood more putrid than ever as he nursed a throbbing headache. Kellog remained silent, his one good eye fixed on the horizon as if it were calling to him.
The unforgiving Buritian sun beat down on the metal beast as it crawled across the desert, kicking up clouds of ochre dust in its wake. Lo'Ref's borrowed uniform clung to his tawny skin, damp with sweat and dried blood. He found himself longing for the familiar discomfort of his old rags.
"We're approaching the western base," Kellog announced curtly, his voice tinged with relief and apprehension in equal measure as the controls whined with their use.
Boss grunted, adjusting his position fully upright, changing from his slouched stature. "About fuckin' time. These Rebel bastards better have some decent grub!"
As they crested a final shimmering dune, the western Vascan base sprawled before them. A stagnant mess of tents, prefabbed structures, and hastily erected fortifications spread across the desert floor like a vulgar patchwork bedcover. The new crimson banner of King Huckleberry Vasca fluttered alongside various tribal standards, a visual reminder of the uneasy alliance forged in blood and necessity.
Lo'Ref was surprised, only a short few days of being monarch and the Demon king had already aligned warring factions that had seen at least 2 centuries of civil war. He tried to shake the feeling of awe due to truly knowing the sheer power the creature wielded, if the others had seen what he had; they would have all turned and run from this country instead of fighting together under it.
The tank ground to a halt at the perimeter. A group of soldiers approached, their expressions a mix of curiosity and hostility as they were clearly rebels and not the normal Vascan forces that had been run out years ago. Lo'Ref noted the diversity in their appearances--some bore the dark skin and intricate facial tattoos of the muddy southern tribes, while others had the pale complexions and icy eyes of the northern Steppelands.
"State your business," barked a burly man with a thick accent Lo'Ref couldn't quite place, his face was like that of a statue but his eyes were wild with animation as they flicked across the embattled tank and its crew.
Boss heaved himself out of the tank, anchoring heavily on the orangey packed sand. "We're here on King Vasca's orders, you inbred sand rat. Now get out of our way before I use your skull as a piss pot...The battle went to shit, your intel is SHIT!"
The welcoming committee tensed, hands inching towards weapons as Boss flung spittle their way. Lo'Ref felt the acquainted tingle of impending violence prickling along his backbone, he would defend Boss and the others with his life; no matter the fear Lo'Ref felt.
"Easy now," a new voice cut through the strain. A tall, lean woman with close-cropped silver hair and the bearing of authority strode towards them. "I'm Captain Naia. You must be the reinforcements we were told to expect."
Boss nodded anxiously, showing clear signs of his discomfort at seeing this woman in charge. "That's right. We've got wounded that need tending to...Where is General Stain?"
Captain Naia's keen eyes swept over their battered group, lingering for a moment on Lo'Ref in his shambled uniform that marked him as a northern tribesman. He fought the urge to shrink back under her scrutiny as she undoubtedly saw through every inch of the silly disguise he was now just using as clothes at this point.
"Very well. Get your men to the medical tent. We'll debrief once you're patched up." She turned to the hostile welcome party. "Show them where to park that eyesore--and help with the wounded."
Boss flinched, his hands tightening into orbs of rage. "Hey--I asked a fuckin' question! Where is General Stain? This entire base was under his command until you nut job Juntamen took over Hill..." There was an apparent threat in the way Boss spoke now, replacing his annoyed tone.
Captain Naia turned with a bone-chilling look that would have frozen Lo'Ref's veins instantly if it was not so sweltering hot; her skinny fingers found themselves pointing all digits down toward him. "The same exact thing that happened to whoever had that uniform first...Replacement. I am in fact the acting General--Does this upset you, we can have you retrained if needed."
Boss immediately quieted down, Lo'Ref could tell that the information of his leader's death and his own irrelevancy had shorn Boss' horns in a way. "No...Just wanted to know if my uncle was still alive--I will need a slight leave of--" Boss paused for a moment, feeling the weight of Naia's words.
Naia glared on, chasing his silence with a brisk pace onward.
As they made their way into the camp, Lo'Ref couldn't shake the feeling of being a stranger in a bizarre land. The base was a melting pot of cultures forced together by circumstance and the will of a king many still viewed as an outsider himself.
Near the center of the base, a group of dark-skinned warriors with elaborate scarification sat sharpening curved blades, eyeing the newcomers with undisguised contempt. To their left, pale-skinned Svet-mixed soldiers huddled around a small fire, muttering in their guttural tongues and casting furtive glances at their tribal allies.
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Lo'Ref helped Kellog limp towards the medical tent, acutely aware of the stares and whispers that followed them. The young boy-soldier who had found them in the tank bounced alongside, seemingly oblivious to the tension surrounding them.
"This is so--Cool!!" the boy exclaimed. "I've never seen so many different types of people in one place. Look at those guys with the face paint! And those ones with the weird hair! I wonder if they'd teach me how to do that?" his smile reminded Lo'Ref of his own kid brother, it caused him to pause. He wondered only for a moment how Davis faired but quickly pushed the thought away.
"Shut your hole, Pip," Boss growled. "This ain't no cultural exchange program. We're here to kill SandHounds, not make friends--The Juntamen still are not our allies, yet."
As they entered the medical tent, the smell of antiseptic and blood assaulted Lo'Ref's nostrils. A harried-looking medic directed them to empty cots, muttering under his breath about "more cannon fodder for the grinder."
Lo'Ref sank onto a cot, his body finally registering the full extent of his damages now that the adrenaline had worn off. As the medic began cleaning and dressing his wounds, a commotion outside caught his attention.
Raised voices and the sound of scuffling drew closer. Suddenly, the tent flap was thrown open, and two men stumbled in, locked in a furious grapple. One was a Buritian, his face a mask of ritual scars and rage. The other was a Tahuli soldier, his brown skin flushed with exertion and anger.
"Heathen dog!" the Tahuli spat. "Your barbaric rituals have no place here!"
The tribesman responded with a guttural curse, driving his forehead into his opponent's nose with a sickening crunch. Medical staff rushed to separate the brawlers as more curious onlookers crowded the tent entrance. Lo'Ref caught snatches of conversation amid the chaos.
"...desecrated our shrine..."
"...savage superstitions..."
As quickly as it had erupted, the fight was quelled. Acting General Naia arrived, her voice cutting through the din like a whip crack that many were too familiar with. "Enough! The next person I catch fighting will be strung up by their entrails for the SandHounds to find. Am I clear?"
A chorus of grudging assents followed her declaration. As the crowd dispersed and the injured fighters were tended to, Lo'Ref couldn't bounce the feeling that he'd witnessed merely the tip of a much larger iceberg of discontent. What had the Demon King Vasca done? Meshing all these dangerous factions was way too volatile to only be used to destroy the SandHound 'Threat".
With his impairments properly dressed, Lo'Ref was directed to a small tent he'd be sharing with Kellog and Pip. As he settled onto his Durik-skin bedroll, exhaustion finally overtook him, and he slipped into a fitful sleep much like he had done only one night before.
The dream came swiftly, more vivid and terrifying than any he'd experienced previously. Lo'Ref found himself standing atop a great craggy plateau, the vast expanse of Buriti-Vasca spread out before him like a rumpled blanket of churning sands. The sky above spasmed with unnatural pigments-- pallid greens and pulsating purples that hurt his eyes to even behold.
A voice like a grindstone filled his skull, familiar yet alien as the same demon overtook his psyche. "WITNESS, MORTAL."
The landscape below began to shift and swirl. Lo'Ref watched in horror as great fissures opened in the earth, swallowing entire settlements whole. The western base where he now slept appeared in the distance, a tiny oasis of burning light in the encroaching darkness around.
As he watched, shades began to coalesce around the base. They moved with limitless purpose, converging on the camp from all sides like an imminent deluge. Lo'Ref tried to cry out a prophecy, but no sound escaped his lips.
The voice spoke again, each word reverberating through Lo'Ref's very being. "THE PAWNS MOVE. THE GAME BEGINS. CHAOS FEEDS ON DISCORD."
The shadows reached the camp's perimeter, and Lo'Ref could now see they were men--hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. SandHounds, but not like any he'd encountered before. These warriors moved with an eerie synchronicity, their eyes gleaming with a sacrilegious light.
As the horde fell upon the dozing camp, the sky split open. A great eye, pupil blazing with crimson fire, gazed down upon the carnage. Lo'Ref felt the weight of the gaze settle upon him, charring into his spirit.
"WARN THEM," the voice commanded. "Be my mouthpiece or watch them all die to agents of Bakal!"
Lo'Ref jerked awake with a strangled gasp, his body drenched in cold sweat. The confines of the small tent felt suffocating after the vast expanse of his dream. Kellog and Pip still slept soundly, oblivious to his distress.
Moving on unsteady legs, Lo'Ref stumbled out of the tent. The cool night air did little to calm his racing heart. The base was quiet, with only the occasional drone of discussion or clink of equipment breaking the hush.
He had to warn them. But how? His damaged throat made long-form speech nearly impossible, and who would believe the ravings of a mute desert wanderer wearing the clothes of a dead man?
Lo'Ref's eyes fell upon the command tent, where a dim light still burned. Boss would be there, he was sure of it. The gruff soldier might be a brute, but he wasn't stupid. If Lo'Ref could make him understand the danger...
As he approached the tent, voices drifted out to him. "...You want us to what?! Captain...They'll turn on us the moment they--" Lo'Ref could hear Boss audibly swallow, possibly the idea of what he was attempting to say was too severe even for his own liking.
"That is the goal--Need I remind you how quickly word spreads. Our ranks swell with vipers. With the added numbers of women and outland draftees, there is a need to crush brewing dissent." Naia's voice sounded frigid to Lo'Ref, much like a serpent herself.
Boss angrily stomped his foot. "General Aiko would never okay the order! Operation Crimson-Cascade is older than the King's own molten father! The men already whisper of impending war up north...This mission will only push us closer to the border! We will be asking for conflict with Svetlan, OUTRIGHT!"
A heavy sigh escaped the tent, breezing into Lo'Ref's keen ear. "We follow orders, Commander. King Vasca's methods may be... unconventional, but he's kept the realm together so far...Buriti has not seen such peace in 90 years."
Lo'Ref hesitated at the tent flap, suddenly unsure. The conversation within spoke of deeper currents, of secrets and mistrust that ran through the very foundations of this fragile alliance.
Before he could make a decision, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Lo'Ref spun, coming face to face with a sneering soldier. "Well, well. What do we have here? A little spy, perhaps?" The soldier's breath reeked of cheap alcohol. "Maybe one of them tribal savages sent you to gather intel, eh?"