The old man awakened and looked upon the stricken sky, as dark and smoky as it ever was. He longed so badly to see daylight, but he knew that it was not to be. He had lost all hope of ever basking in the glory of the incandescent sun or laying hands on the fluffy snow of Corobath. No, this was his fate. To be trapped in Keldracht for the rest of his days, forever avoiding the demon scourge of this foreign plane.

Pheston sat up and, with a heavy groan, stretched his arms and twisted his body. He climbed to his feet as he scratched his thick beard and brushed down his rags so that he would look presentable. Presentable to who was a question he couldn’t answer, but it made him feel better about himself. Even after forty years in this plane, he could not shake those habits that made him human.

He looked around, surveying the trees before him. He had spent the last three months camping in a small clearing at the back of a particularly wiry forest filled with many trees that would sooner eat him than provide him shelter, but that was to his advantage. After all, who would dare seek him out when they were far more likely to be eaten than they were to have a chance at eating him.

“Ah,” he said, flexing his jaw muscles. “Ee. Ai. Oh. Yu.”

With no one to talk to, he made sure to use his voice at least a couple of times a day. Sometimes it was as simple as saying a couple of random syllables, other times, he would have entire conversations with himself. Talking out loud staved off the madness, but he had not gone mad yet, so going insane didn’t seem likely at this point. No, he was a survivor. Certainly not a thriver, but a survivor.

It was time for his pre-breakfast workout, so he dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups. He started with a nice round hundred before taking a minute to breathe and then going right back at it for another hundred. After five full sets, his body was feeling warmed up. He went the extra mile with his squats and grabbed a fallen tree that he then balanced on his shoulders. He squatted deep and slowly rose back up, doing five sets of ten before tossing the tree aside for tomorrow.

After that early morning exercise, it was time to find something to eat. He could use a good breakfast if he wanted to maintain his figure. Pheston was not a small man by any stretch, although his rags that covered so much of him may have left many thinking that. He was remarkably well built, so much so that men half his age would be incredibly jealous of his physique. He had always been this way and being sent to another plane was not going to stop him from looking like a demigod. Back home, it had helped him with the ladies, and here, it helped him survive.

He grabbed his hammer from the ground and started twirling it around. It was no more than two feet long, but it packed a punch. Particularly when he revealed its secret, but he saved that for special occasions. Ready to go on the hunt, he strolled through the forest, keeping his watchful eyes darting from tree to tree to see which would dare move as much as a branch.

As he walked, he listened carefully for the sound of skittering. He was not a picky eater, so anything that moved was fair game to eat. Unsure of what many of the fauna of Keldracht were called, he had come up with names of his own for them. His favourite thing to eat was the water-lurking snappajaws, but he would settle for a peskyrunner considering where he was camped out.

Pheston stopped, having heard a faint creak. It was not the creak of a heavy creature climbing on a branch. No, it was the branch moving of its own accord. Was it so foolish that it would risk being uprooted for a chance at a single human?

The branch lurched for him and the old man reached up a hand with remarkable speed, catching it before it could pierce his flesh with its sharp end.

“I don’t think so,” Pheston chortled as he raised his hammer high.

The tree tried to pull its branch free, but Pheston would show it no sympathy. He held on tight; he was much stronger than the carnivorous tree. With a mighty swing of his hammer, he struck the branch, snapping it with ease as the tree let out a grim screech.

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It dared to unearth one of its roots, aiming for the old man’s ankles, but he was wise to its tricks. Pheston drew up a foot and smashed it into the root, cracking it and pinning it. He decided that the tree had made its final mistake.

Pheston reached low and grabbed the broken root. He twisted it like a rope around his wrist and gave it a tug. Yes, he might just be strong enough to do it. With a chuckle, dropped his hammer, hunkered down and then leaned back, putting all of his effort into pulling the tree.

The tree screeched and wailed, flicking its branches madly. It was too pained to fight back as the old man unearthed the rest of the root. The tree could feel itself falling toward the man against its will. How could a fleshy human like him stand against it? With the loudest scream yet, it opened a large orange eye within its torso.

“Got you,” said Pheston with a smile. He let go of the root with one hand and retrieved his hammer. He swung it around a few times and unleashed it.

The hammer spun rapidly as it flew towards the tree which, try as it might, could not close its eye. The hammer struck it in the eye, making it wince. So weakened by the blow was it, that it could no longer resist Pheston’s pull. With a final heave, the old man pulled the tree free from the ground.

Gripping the root tightly with two hands, he started to drag it around by twisting himself. He pulled harder and harder, spinning around. The tree lifted from the ground and took to the air as Pheston spun faster and faster. It was so dazed from being disconnected form the soil that it was unable to move a single, tiny branch.

Pheston released the tree and it flew into the air, soaring over the treetops before falling back into the forest fifty feet away with a mighty crash. There was a series of yelps and the sound of rustling as bird-like creatures fled in terror and small six-legged mammals ran through the foliage.

“Aha!” laughed the old man as one of the hairy peskyrunners came close.

He pounced on it and pinned the little beast down. With a single punch to the head from his thick fist, he killed it. An evil tree dead and breakfast sorted, all in the space of a couple of minutes. It was going to be a great day if things continued this way.

Pheston thought that considering the weather was nice—which meant murky and dry in Keldracht—that he would look over the barren planes while he ate. It was a pleasant sight to see…sort of. At the very least, it was as pleasant of a sight as he could expect.

With his catch held by its feet in one hand and his hammer in the other, Pheston walked free from the dark wood and ascended a hill. He watched the land before him with the many metal towers dotting the mountains in the distance. If there was anything to fear in this strange land, it was the watchful towers. The darkness that dwelled within each of those outposts was nothing by itself, it was who the devilish watchers of the towers reported back to; the Lord of Horns.

The Lord of Horns was the ruler of this region of Keldracht. He was a horrific creature that Pheston had escaped once before, narrowly keeping his life. It was only due to throwing himself from a cliff that he could buy himself enough time to escape. He floated down a river and dragged himself to safety, spending months nursing a broken wrist, a snapped femur and too many cuts and bruises to count. As terrible of a time as he had, he was still alive. And that mattered.

He looked to his peskyrunner and tore it in two with ease, letting the crimson blood flow onto the soil. With any luck, there would be no beastie dwelling underneath the ground just waiting to taste blood. Once the blood had drained, Pheston threw the front half onto the ground and looked at the organs inside the back end of the creature.

He plucked out the intestines and looked at them hungrily. He smiled as he brought the entrails up to his mouth, but stopped just shy of touching his tongue. He stopped and stared toward the more curious sight.

“Surely, not,” he said to himself.

He clenched his eyes shut and reopened them, watching the wagon rolling along. Sitting upon the back of the wagon, beside a cage filled with bones, was a golden creature. It was a creature that Pheston had not seen for almost half a century.

“What do you call those things?” he muttered to himself as the golden, bushy-tailed animal peered from around the cage at the demonic rider as he whipped his reptilian carriers. “A fox!” Pheston said louder than he had intended.

Something so normal was such an oddity in a place like this. What in Baldir’s name would a fox be doing in Keldracht? And was it hiding from the demon? It looked to be, as it pulled its head back behind the cage where it could not be seen.

Was it looking at him now? It was. The fox knew he was there. He had to know more. If a fox could find its way here, did that mean that there was also a way out? If not, at least the fox would be a tastier meal than the beasts he was used to devouring.

Knowing there wasn’t much chance of catching up to the wagon, Pheston chomped down on his meat. Once he had finished his breakfast, he would follow the trail of the wagon and locate that fox. Oh, he was looking forward to seeing it up close. He was looking forward to it very much.