Captain Solveig bounded forward like a giant ape, and Redmane met him in the center of the bridge.

Huge arms whooshed just over his head, or out to the side, and every time he evaded, Redmane felt how much air those limbs displaced. Being struck by one would likely knock off half his Corpus, and send him flying from the bridge. Solveig was far nimbler than his stature would suggest. Redmane closed the distance and he would angle out or hop over his head, use his vast reach advantage to thwart him while pounding the bridge and swinging huge claws through the air.

He was going to connect with one of those, sooner or later.

Also of note, one of Solveig’s immense hands was covered in pitch black Abyss power. It didn’t move any faster than his other arm, nor did it look like it would hit terribly harder — he already knew Solveig would hit hard just by feeling those arms whoosh by. All the same, it was something to be wary of.

No sooner did that thought cross his mind, did one of those arms come barreling down at him.

It was too late to evade. Solveig could attack with blinding speed when he wanted to. Redmane raised his arms to block the blow at the last instant, and the impact made his teeth slam together, his feet flatten against the ground, made his legs flex to keep from sprawling across the stone.

Redmane caught that arm with a rake of his claw before Solveig could draw it away, but like it had with Fedor, Bloodthirst flickered on and then off again. Erased, likely by Abyssal Resilience.

For his trouble, Solveig sent him hurtling across the bridge with a swift backhand.

Corpus: 7063

He did indeed hit hard.

Redmane thought he felt his brain flatten against the inside of his skull.

He rolled and skidded to a halt, sprang to his feet just in time to avoid a leaping two-fisted blow from Solveig. The beast had given chase, it gave him no room to rest and regroup. It attacked, and attacked, and attacked, oppressive in speed and reach and power. Redmane gave his utmost to defense, and his claws at times scored wounds on Solveig’s long arms and legs. But without Bloodlust to speed him up, or Venom to slow Solveig down, this was going to be a long and dangerous engagement indeed.

Unless he engaged in a completely different way.

Redmane ducked another swipe of Solveig’s claw, glanced off the bridge.

He jumped.

And once airborne, he called forth the wings of the Manticore.

Carnivorous Metamorph

Gnosis: 89

Redmane fell and then swooped up into the air, above Solveig. On his way by he slashed down, clipping the back of the giant Mongrel’s head with a claw. Solveig wheeled around and swung back, but struck empty air. The winds gusting up from the canyon floor were strong, and Redmane found that the wings of the Manticore were equal to their might.

He flew by and struck with another claw. Going the opposite way, he hosed down Solveig with Flame Breath. It wouldn’t leave stacks of Burning, but it would hurt all the same.

Gnosis: 64

He couldn’t do that much more. After this fight, it would be prudent to return to Häerz Castle to refill his supply of Gnosis.

Which meant that in the here and now, he would have to give Solveig a death of a thousand cuts. It would take time, but there weren’t many options he could see.

Fortunately, this option was working.

Redmane’s fly by attacks landed at a speed even Solveig had a difficult time reacting to. Again and again the huge Mongrel hung precariously off the side of the bridge trying to swipe at him with a claw, or grab him out of the sky. He supposed he might get the beast to slip and fall off the bridge. That would make things simpler.

But then another idea struck him.

Redmane stretched his wings out wide to catch the air, ride the updraft. It carried him high above Solveig’s head. Then he turned and angled himself downward, folded his wings in tight against his body and fell like a stone.

He landed on Solveig’s head and tore into it with claws flying.

The great Mongrel shrieked and reached back to grab Redmane, pull him off, but he held fast with one claw while striking down again and and again with the other, carving gashes out of Solveig’s tough hide and fur, making a trickle of black blood into a river flowing down the Mongrel’s back.

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Solveig threw his head skyward, screamed so hard Redmane’s ears rung, and threw himself back against the bridge. As if to crush Redmane against his falling back.

Redmane had to leap off of him at the last instant before Solveig crashed down, hitting so hard he shook the bridge itself.

He leapt to his feet to rush back in, but Solveig brandished his shadowy hand. The one covered in Abyssal substance.

Solveig threw it at him.

Redmane didn’t have time to register what it was doing. All he saw was a black blob, and an instant later it smacked into his face, and then enveloped his head and shoulders as if a heavy blanket had been thrown over him. An ice cold, leaden blanket, which made the world turn to black, sapped the energy from his limbs. Redmane stumbled back, flexing his arms, trying to get a grip on it to peel it off, but his claws found no purchase on the Abyssal substance.

He’d seen darkness this deep today. But it was unlike the dark of the Abyss itself, there was no sense that it stretched off into eternity. No, this darkness was close. It crowded in on him, constricting him, suffocating him.

And more alarmingly, it constrained his wings.

Something struck him hard, and Redmane began to feel the sensation of falling.

As he plummeted toward the rocky canyon floor below, faces formed out of the dark— frightful faces, more terrifying than any he had ever seen, even in his worst nightmares. The effect of whatever Skill this was, he tried to tell himself. A trick of Gnosis. But the fear gripped him all the same.

The faces surrounded him, and they took familiar shapes. They became Lord Abrahm Morholt, they became Rodimir and Caslav and every other face from the old Häerz Castle. The largest face was Aric Morholt’s.

Little Redcap is wicked, they said.

Little Redcap is wretched. Weak. Pathetic.

Little Redcap deserves his pain.

Little Redcap deserves an eternity of pain.

An eternity of privation! Of suffering! Of despair!

The faces melded together and became a great one-eyed monster, a beast the size of a mountain, crawling the earth, devouring all in its path. Innocent folk ran screaming from its cavernous maw, its cyclopean eye.

They ran in vain.

The Devourer consumed them, one and all. It consumed their bodies, their homes, their livestock, their farmland. It consumed armies, siege engines, castles and keeps. Its teeth crunched through forests of bone, mountains of muscle. Rivers of blood flowed down its cavernous gullet. The pulped, masticated remains of generations stuck between its vast, yellowed teeth.

And yet its hunger could never be sated.

The faces did not return, but Redmane heard their baleful voices nonetheless.

Behold what you have wrought, Devourer!

Death is too good for you, Devourer!

May the suffering you’ve sown be avenged, Devourer!

May you suffer until the end of time, Devourer!

- - - -

Flora knelt down and brushed the dirt and leaves from the stone.

To her surprise, she could read the inscription.

“Thus did Five Heroes convene in the forest, and vow to slay the great menace of their time, Kraal the Devourer. Let them be named: Braga. Belskaya. Danesti. Vasarab. Holt.”

She looked up at the statues, who stood in a circle saluting each other with weapons drawn. The Five Heroes were covered in patches of moss and twisting vines, untold years of dirt and growth obscuring all but the basics of their figures.

Flora had found herself in Midva Forest on this fine afternoon, planting seeds of her own and seeds of other plants which came to her instinctively, trees and flowers and bushes and shrubs that had not been seen in the world for many a century.

The castle yard could no longer contain her, but the forest outside held great promise. Already there were thirty five of her, with plenty more on the way. As more of her sprouted, she felt her inner power grow, she felt the strength of her mind expand.

She was here in the forest, but she was also in the castle kitchen with Letha, helping her prepare supper. Tonight they were making Letha’s famous beef stew, served with freshly baked bread, and tarts and frosted fruit pies for dessert.

She was also traveling along the westron road with Valtr, Vengarl, Irina, Radovid and Vella. Just then they were searching for a place to make camp for the evening. They spent a lot of time talking about Blights and Monsters and Levels and other things she knew nothing of, and so she listened to their conversation most intently.

And she was in the town of Barograd, getting to know two cultists of the god Kraal, who were named Berek and Waldemar. It seemed the cult had been a small group, not taken seriously by the townsfolk of Barograd. But all of this changed when the Blight struck. Now the only remaining townsfolk had lost much of their previous mental faculties, and Beren and Waldemar tended to them like shepherds.

Something strange happened to them recently. They were briefly stricken by bouts of pain and confusion. But whatever the Lord Redmane had done to the town of Barograd, it had shielded them from further harm.

At least that’s what Helmold Brecht suggested.

She spoke to him about it at the castle, while simultaneously speaking to Berek and Waldemar in Barograd.

Flora carried on with all of these tasks and conversations, as was natural to her. And she was also aware that she was not alone in Midva Forest.

The red crow had been watching over her ever since she set out from the castle. Even now it perched on the limb of a tree, at what it must have thought was a far enough distance back for her not to notice. Flora suspected it was a servant of the castle’s master, Redmane.

Thinking of him made her smile.

Though he was a stranger, she found something alluring about him. Something that called to her from a time she could not remember. But such was the lot of a fresh bud. She may not have known the particulars, but she had a sense that all was as it should be. That she had arrived here, at this time and place, to be by his side in whatever capacity.

She rose, turned to look up at the red crow.

“How fares Lord Redmane?” she asked. “Doth his journey proceed well?”

The crow hopped in surprise. Its head tilted away, as if it had only been looking at her coincidentally.

Flora smirked.

“I did observe thee trailing behind me as I departed from the castle,” she said. “May I not beseech thee with a question?”

The crow appeared to be trying its powers of speech. It made noises which resembled words. Then it cleared its throat, very much like a human would, and spoke.

“Don’t know!”

“Canst thou inquire?” asked Flora. “I should very much like to know when I may see him again.”

The crow made a sound like laughter. Then its head cocked to the side, as if it were thinking. Concentrating.

Flora waited patiently for a few moments, watching the peculiar bird try to do whatever it was doing. Communicating, she supposed. Such things were not foreign to her.

But when the crow jumped, as if in surprise, her eyes widened a bit.

“Trouble!” said the crow. “Danger!”