The plan for the beastmen did not resemble the plan for the Gruu, but it sounded equally effective to Redmane.
They let night fall. Firelight took over the encampment in place of sunlight. Down by the longhouse they lit a big bonfire, a handful of brigands sitting around it, drinking ale and chatting. Elsewhere they lit lanterns and braziers, and the ones on patrol carried torches as they did their rounds on the suspension bridges high up in the trees.
Those would go first. It wouldn’t do to have archers raining death down upon them from every direction.
It was far too long of a jump to get from the ridge to the nearest treetop, so Redmane took wing to get there. For a moment he even enjoyed it, now that he could focus on what he was doing without a Great Gruu pursuing him through the air.
He quickly learned not to look down. A glance made his gut lurch.
His gaze fixed on his intended landing spot, he beat his wings a few times to get there, more forcefully than was really necessary, but he was learning. When he alighted on a branch thick enough to support his weight, he dismissed the wings and they dissolved into motes of Corpus and Gnosis which quickly dissipated into the air.
Redmane thought he heard the distant voice of Vengarl making a remark to his brother, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying from this far. Whatever it was, it made Valtr laugh.
The Hunters seemed to be surprised and alarmed at the things Redmane could do. Their reactions, and Magister Helmold’s, made it plain that he was an oddity among the Imbued.
No matter. If they turned on him, they could meet the same fate as Monsters.
Redmane crouched and snuck onto the deck of the nearest tree house. He peered into its open door, and found it empty.
A brigand patrolled in his direction, coming toward the treehouse across a suspension bridge, a torch in one hand, the other resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword.
Redmane slipped around a corner and lay in wait, soundless. When the brigand walked past, Redmane grabbed him from behind, a hand clamped down tightly on his prey’s mouth. He dragged him into the treehouse and there was some muffled screaming and a series of ripping sounds. A spray of red flew out the open window.
They took them all down like this, one by one.
Valtr and Vengarl were his overwatch. With bow and crossbow, they picked off the ones who might have caught Redmane unawares. Though there weren ’t many of those. The Predator was in his element. One by one, the torches roving across the upper level of the brigand encampment went out as their bearers fell to claws, teeth, arrows, bolts, and the merciless edge of Morholt’s axe.
It would have gone faster if he could use Stalk with impunity. He really did have to figure out his Gnosis problem.
Level Up
Level 28 —> Level 29
Quality Points awaiting allocation: 1
Might was nearly 20, so he fed the point to his muscles.
Might 18 —> 19
In the aftermath, Redmane helped himself to appetizers.
Corpus: 1268
Corpus: 1573
Corpus: 1779
Corpus: 2133
In an admirably brief time, the upper defenses of the encampment were no more, and so far as they could tell, they had done so without raising the alarm. The ground level of the camp remained quiet. Now they had to move into position for the next step.
Valtr signaled from the ridge, and Redmane nodded back, before he and Vengarl struck out for the mouth of the canyon to provide closer cover fire for when Redmane made it down there. The simple way would be to take one of the ladders or carved staircases down the side of a tree, but the endpoints of those routes would be the most likely to have unfriendly eyes waiting for him.
So he climbed around a tree trunk with his claws until he was on its dark side, and slid all the way down while making as little noise as was possible, landing with a thump in a patch of tall grass at the bottom.
Before going anywhere, he thought he’d check on the villagers.
He closed his eyes and reached out for the body of his Spawn.
It was right where he left it, crouched in the corner of the chapel cellar. A look around showed him the hostages hadn ’t yet been moved. While he was here, it would be prudent to climb the stairs and check on the ground floor of the chapel to see what was going on.
It looked like they were prepping for some manner of religious observance. Involving an altar and a knife.
Redmane scampered up the stairs and peered out into the chapel.
And one of the cultists looked right at him.
He’d been sitting there at the altar surveying his handiwork, the ritual circle on the floor, a ring of braziers on wrought iron pedestals set up in a circle around it. The front doors to the chapel were wide open, as if they were awaiting someone.
When Redmane popped his head up, the cultist happened to be looking precisely in his direction.
His eyes went wide.
His mouth fell open.
“By Kraal…” he said, breathlessly. “A sign!”
Redmane didn’t know what else to do, so he scurried out of the chapel through the nearest window at top speed.
A sign? A sign of what?
He made for the far corner of the camp, behind the tree where his main body crouched in the grass, hidden. But on his way he glanced to the side and noticed again the Warg cages. Out of curiosity he had a better look at one of the beasts sitting inside.
Forest Warg
Beast
Level 27
They weren’t classified as Monsters. Interesting…
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
He scuttled back to himself and the two Redmanes became one again.
Redmane opened his eyes and snuck through the tall grass, backtracking toward the Warg cages.
They smelled him before they saw him, but none raised their hackles or growled. They merely looked curious. Redmane wouldn ’t have cut an imposing figure against Wargs, each one was roughly the size of a horse.
What is that, one of them said to his cell mate, looking right at Redmane’s hiding spot.
The other Warg sniffed the air. He ’s got the stench of Gruu all over him. But… He smells like a man. And a Monster. And one of those new things. The ones who look like men and talk like men but aren’t.
The first Warg dipped his muzzle in a kind of nod. The soulless ones. Made of power. Yes, I've smelled them too.
Redmane emerged from his hiding spot and crept toward them, keeping low, in case a brigand happened to come around the corner.
If I got you out of there, would you fight for me? he asked.
The Warg tilted his head to the side, examining Redmane curiously.
Why would you free us, he said. Are you not one of them.
Redmane shook his head. They're my enemies. My comrades and I slew Grandmother Gruu. Now we’re here for the beastmen.
He paused to consider his next words. If he did let these Wargs out, it would be unfortunate if they turned out to be friends with the final Monster he ’d have to slay in this forest. Better to find out while they sat in cages.
And next it'll be one of your own, a Warg they call Umber.
The mention of that name made the Warg growl for the first time. THAT ONE is not one of ours. That one is corrupted. As is his pack.
Redmane grinned. That was the answer I hoped for. So, shall I free you? Will you help me slay these beastmen?
The two Wargs looked at each other, then at the others in their cages. All of the Wargs had perked up and were listening. There were thirteen of them, corralled into five cages which had probably been fashioned for oxen or horses.
Not the beastmen, said the Warg. We make for Umber’s Hollow after. To slay the corrupted.
We have an accord, said Redmane.
He struck the lock with his claw and it broke into pieces. Then the other four, one after the other, running between them as quick as he could. The doors creaked open and the Wargs leapt out of them, shaking off their confinement, barking and snapping at each other excitedly. Taking a moment to revel in their freedom.
Redmane knew the feeling all too well.
A trio of beastmen happened to come around the corner, the one in the lead bearing a torch. They stopped in their tracks, wide eyed.
As the Wargs fell upon them, one of them managed to belt out a blood curdling scream as his torch went flying.
And now the alarm was raised.
Shouting erupted from all over. And hurried footsteps, pounding across the dirt in front and behind and to the sides, swords rasping from their sheaths. Fortunately they wouldn ’t be dealing with a hail of arrows from above, but still, being surrounded was less than ideal.
Redmane bolted for the chapel.
If he could accomplish anything before the brigand chief emerged, it would be to secure the hostages. in case those cultists decided to do something drastic, in light of the fact they now knew they were under attack. The Wargs appeared to be following his lead, they ran alongside him, fending off beastmen as they went with bite and claw.
Up ahead, Redmane saw two riders approaching the chapel, dismounting their horses as they looked around with alarm and anger at the state of the encampment.
The one in the lead was two heads taller than any beastman Redmane had yet seen, even Lord Morholt. His eyes burned beneath heavy brows and a mane of long black hair with a bushy beard to match. He wore a burnished breastplate over his furs, and a long black cloak flowed down his back. On his right hip hung a longsword, a battleaxe on the left.
Brigand Chief Dragunov
Monster Type: Corrupted
Level 32
His companion was his equal in height, but not in build. This one was far older, his hair and beard gray. But the eyes were as wild. He wore a robe similar to the ones the cultists in the chapel had on, only more embellished with talismans and baubles. The effigy of their god hung around his neck. He held a long, gnarled staff covered in swirling etchings and similar decorations.
Beastman Shaman Gorchist
Monster Type: Corrupted
Level 32
The cultist inside the chapel came running out toward the two of them, waving his arms excitedly.
“My lords!” he shouted. “There’s been a sign! A sign from Kraal!”
A moment after he said this, a Warg leapt on him from the roof of the chapel, shattered his spine with a single bite, and bounded off with the cultist ’s limp body held in its jaws.
Dragunov and Gorchist stepped back, aghast. The brigand chief drew his weapons and they gleamed in the torchlight. His feral eyes were equally bright, alert to danger.
They saw Redmane.
Then the shaman saw Redmane too.
They both looked somewhat awed.
“A sign!?” the brigand chief called out. “Then let’s show Kraal what we’re made of! Have at you!”
----------------------------------------
Lar Tathvaal laid a sheaf of scrolls on the Governess’s desk, and then bowed.
“This may come as somewhat of a surprise, but the land of Volos has been colonized before,” he said, with a smirk.
Governess Mecia sighed at the look on his face.
“Spare us the stage business and get on with the information I requested, please.”
“As you command, Governess,” he said, though his perpetually amused expression didn’t waver. “The peoples of Volos are descended from three distinct groups, the native Omeni and Volosi, and the colonial Stahlmen, who came to the continent some centuries past.”
Mecia nodded. “Let’s travel along this route briskly, please. To the place where its relevance begins.”
“Of course. Now, despite the Omeni and Volosi being native, it turns out that the overwhelming majority of the people of Volos today are descended from Stahlmen stock.”
“As is typically the case with conquerors,” said Mecia.
“Truly. But I believe this land is a special case. You see, the men of Volos nearly went extinct some seven hundred years ago.”
The Governess raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“It would appear that the Stahlmen ran afoul of a deity, a Class One Primordial at the weakest.”
Mecia winced at the words ‘Class One.’
Lar continued. “The deity nearly consumed the population of the entire continent. It was a rather indiscriminate eater. Historical reports describe the thing consuming whole cities, castles and all.”
“What became of it?”
“In the end, a band of five tribal chiefs, who had previously been knighted by the Stahlmen King, Sencis Karalis, rallied the people and brought the Primordial down using a combination of magic and military force. Records refer to this period as the ‘Five Heroes War.’ King Karalis perished at an indeterminate time during this conflict, but six of his daughters survived him, five of whom wed each of these chieftan-knights and founded the new government. And since the population had been severely depleted, these five families were uncommonly, ah… Prolific in their reproduction.”
“What happened to the sixth daughter?” she asked.
“I’m afraid there’s no record of her whereabouts beyond the ending of the conflict,” said Lar.
“Curious.”
Mecia sat back in her chair and digested the information.
So the blood of the Stahlmen carried the taint of a mad divinity.
And something happened, quite recently, to awaken that corruption.
“Go and bring me Jarel,” she said. “I don’t care if he’s still interrogating his hounds. It’s time I interrogated him.”
Lar smiled at the prospect, and gave her a graceful bow. “At once, Governess.”