Captain Larson found himself holding back a smile as he surveyed the recruits. Things had been progressing better than anticipated, but he didn't want to unsettle the men by smiling when he was known for never doing just that. The Outrider Corps were looking good, and that made the captain happy. He could hear a tiny voice in the back of his head, a tiny voice with venomous, serrated edges that had invaded his mind that night when the star fell on the Endwood.

"These fine men will surely die in that blasted place", the voice said. "You're happy now, but you will cry when you return their savaged remains to their grieving families."

Captain Larson spoke up to drown out the sound of the voice.

"Outriders", he thundered, and every single recruit grew an inch as they clacked their heels together and straightened their backs with speed.

"You all come from different backgrounds, and you have different experiences with life. These differences are sometimes regarded as a weakness in military matters, but I regard it as a strength. The threats you will face are unlike anything in the history of our great nation, and all hands will be needed. All experiences valued, and all voices counted." The men looked from side to side as subtly as they could, looking at their comrades in arms. The captain was completely right, of course. The military usually recruited from specific places, and had very few of the bottom-rung peasantry and even fewer pureblood nobles. The Outriders had both.

"These differences in experience and in skill should be embraced and fed by every man. These differences might come from places you don't understand, and they might prompt behaviors that you disagree with, but no single man in the Outriders knows best. Dismiss the thoughts of your comrades not, despite what you have been told before."

Captain Larson's eyes fell upon a particular man when he said the last part; Felix af Brightsteele, as much of a Carlean nobleman as a man could possibly be. He was tall and handsome; fair-haired and blue-eyed with a cleft chin and an aquiline nose. He was also the man Captain Larson thought of when he thought about who would start throwing their weight around first. Felix met his gaze, his blue eyes betraying an arrogant anger at being quietly singled out. The nobleman's gaze broke before the captain's did, and he continued.

"Know that you are all here because I believe that you deserve to be here. You are all here because I deem you fit to safeguard the people of this nation, and until I am proven wrong, I will stick to that analysis. I suggest you do the same." His eyes once again landed on Felix, and the nobleman's eyes met his again. This time, his eyes betrayed a silent gratitude.

****

Splinters flew as Felix stabbed and hacked into the wooden dummy, the slender, slightly curved blade dancing a silver dance in the morning sunlight. His eyes were still heavy, and much of his swordplay was automatic at this point, but he refused to let it show. Felix was tired, but he'd be damned if anybody else realized that. He stilled his sword hand and took a breath. He knew full well that his entire family was asleep at this hour, and that the only people who'd see him practice at this hour, before the rooster crowed and everything, were servants who's honest opinion of himself he'd never hear from them. That's just how it was. If he asked, they'd say that he looked proper, and that his swordplay was as illustrious as ever. Buttering your superiors up was a time-tested and safe play to make, and Felix was immensely tired of it.

The dreams from that night were still somewhat fresh in his mind, or as fresh as dreams could be. Parts would always drift away as soon as you woke up, and you'd be left putting the stray pieces together. Felix knew he had dreamt about his family gathering around the rich, dark wood dinner table. He had heard his father gregariously announce his retirement, and the family had applauded as the patriarch had removed one of his old medals and pinned it to the lapel of Felicia, Felix' older sister. Felix began going through the motions again, hacking and slashing at the wooden dummy, and more little bits and pieces spiraled and pirouetted through the air. He wasn't sure why the dream bothered him so. The real event, in the waking world, had taken place months ago, and he felt like it hadn't bothered him then. But maybe it had, and it had just taken time for him to process it. He had always known that he wouldn't inherit the business, that wasn't surprising. He knew that his sister knew, and she had slipped into the role of company head as smoothly as everyone had expected her to. Felix younger brother, still very much a child, didn't much care about any of it and had just enjoyed the meal. Felix was a tad jealous of his younger brother in that sense. Filip was so innocent and so unbothered, and the entire household never stopped cooing about what a calm, happy, level-headed child he was. Felix bit the inside of his cheek, and his sword made a wobbly sound as he messed up the edge alignment resulting in a off-center strike.

He hoped Filip was as happy as he seemed. He'd hate for anyone else in the family to be boiling on the inside like he himself was.

He heard footsteps behind him, and he put on his most nonchalant face as he turned around. A servant, an older rotund man named... Martin? Mikael? Something along those lines, stood there with a silver tray in his hands, on which stood a steaming cup of coffee.

"Something rousing, sir?" the servant said. "Nothing better to shake the sleep off of you." He bowed his head slightly as Felix accepted the cup of coffee. It was ferociously bitter, the way he knew his father liked it, and he struggled to keep his face plain as he sunk the whole thing.

"Rousing indeed", Felix coughed. "Thank you...?"

"Melker", said the servant and bowed again.

"Right, right. On that note, have you been to the market yet? I believe someone goes there around this time." Melker shook his head, and his combover fell slightly out of place. "No sir, not quite yet. It was decided that since you were up so early, we would make some breakfast before we left." He made a gesture towards the kitchens, and Felix could indeed smell something cooking. He shook his head.

"Actually, Melker, I was thinking to accompany whoever is going to the market today. I need a change of scenery, and I haven't been to the morning market in ages." If Melker was surprised, he didn't show it, firing off a smile that mostly disappeared under his prodigious moustache.

"But of course sir" he said, "you may naturally accompany any of us at all times, should you desire." Felix nodded, sheathed his sword and went to wash his face before this most untraditional of excursions.

The streets were bustling with people, and Felix balked at how awake everyone seemed to be. In his opinion, it was still too early to do anything of worth. But on the other hand, if nobody was at the market, his servants wouldn't be able to buy anything, so maybe it was for the best that his opinion wasn't very important right this moment. The air smelled of coffee and cooked food, combined with a much less desirable stink of mud and manure. Melker seemed to dodge the piles of horse dung without even looking, but Felix had to really do a complicated jig in order to not ruin his fine boots. They were on the hunt for fresh bread and some produce, and Felix genuinely didn't know the first place to look, so he felt a bit silly tailing his servant like a confused child; a servant who was also doing his best to make sure Felix knew he was in charge. Felix was taken aback slightly; it seemed like nobody paid him any real attention. For whatever reason, he had a completely different image in mind, the kind where the commoners bow and scrape and "how do you do milord" as soon as he walked by, but people seemed way too busy to do any of that. It felt great, and Felix found himself relaxing and letting his shoulders sag a bit. If they weren't expecting a nobleman, he wasn't gonna force one on them.

Melker snaked past peasant after peasant to pick up some fresh bread, and the scent was so inviting that for a moment, no animal dung existed in the entire city, nor had it ever existed. Melker couldn't hide his shock, nor could the woman who sold the bread, when Felix insisted on paying with a large, gold coin. It was many times the bread's worth, but at the moment he didn't care. He also enjoyed seeing the face of absolute joy on the woman's face, but he'd never admit that. Melker sidled up to him.

"A very generous act, sir", he said with a voice that implied he didn't really like it.

"The bread smells delicious", replied Felix with a shrug. "It seems worth it to me."

"Oh, most certainly sir. But sometimes, throwing gold around can have undesirable consequences."

"Undesirable consequences? Gold? Are we talking about the same thing?"

Melker didn't answer, but made a subtle gesture with his head towards something behind Felix, and the nobleman chanced a glance. Several men were staring him down, looking profoundly offended for some reason. Felix didn't get it at all, but he decided to defer to Melker's expertise in commoners.

"Some people dislike being reminded of the difference between you and them", Melker explained. "Most of these people have never held gold in the lives, nor will they."

Felix wasn't sure what came over him at that moment. Maybe it was some kind of desire to bridge the gaps between the nobility and the peasantry. Maybe it was just his own childish curiosity. Or maybe he was looking for someone that wouldn't hesitate to talk down to him for once. Whatever it was, Felix turned around and approached the men. Melker almost dropped his basket onto the muddy street.

Felix could tell the men weren't expecting him to approach, but they quickly regained their scowls and their threatening postures.

"Greetings, good people", said Felix with a practiced yet bored nobleman's rhythm. "I couldn't help but notice that you were giving me and my servant quite the evil eye, and I was wondering what seems to be the problem?"

One of the men, a big rectangular brute with several missing teeth and a stench of cheap drink about him, took at step forward.

"Well, milord", he said with plainly unconcealed bile, "we couldn't help but notice you throwing your money around here at our market." He cleared his throat and spit on the ground.

"Is that how you get your jollies, huh? Overpaying for common goods, the blatant nonchalance?" Felix knew the right way to handle a situation like this. He knew how to be a proper, courtly man, and he could apologize and brown-nose with the best of them. He decided to not do that.

"Nonchalance is a big word for a peasant." He inhaled sharply through his nose. "An unwashed, piss-stained peasant at that." The man's eyes shot open and he swung an angular fist at Felix who took a practiced fencer's step back to avoid it. His training didn't count for the man closing the distance, stomping on Felix' nice boot and shoulder checking him straight into the dirt. Felix heard the peasant crowd erupt in laughter as he fell, and someone yelled "Get 'em, Brandt!"

"Got some peasant mud on your nice clothes there, sir", said Brandt with an uneven grin. Felix realized he looked quite pathetic sitting there on his ass in the marketplace mud, but on the inside he felt incredible. Someone actually attacked him. In public, no less! This Brandt fellow clearly didn't give a damn, fearing nothing as he swung on a man far, far above his own station. A very fun guy, really. It would feel quite bad to see him get hauled off to prison by angry guards. Felix got on his feet, and the crowd quieted as he drew his sword.

"Excellent form. Brandt, was it?" The peasant eyed Felix' gleaming sabre and nodded slowly. Felix smiled.

"I'm sure you're very well aware of the usual punishment for putting your grubby little hands on a man of my position", Felix continued, gloating. "I'm sure you're very well aware of the time you're gonna spend wasting away in a dungeon cell for doing what you just did. But what if we just skipped over that?" Brandt raised a confused eyebrow.

"I'm not sure I follow, sir". Felix handed his sword to Melker who quickly accepted it, and clapped his hands.

"Does anybody carry a sword or similar weapon that they find it their heart to lend to our good man Brandt here? He is woefully underequipped for a duel and I would see that remedied!" The crowd rustled for a bit, and someone tossed a woodcutter's axe at Brandt's feet. He jumped a little, and Felix beamed.

"Excellent, good people, excellent!" He retrieved his sword from his manservant and took a few practiced swings in the air, and Brandt slowly picked up the axe. His face was pale and sweaty now, as the reality of the situation dawned on him. Felix focused his blazing blue eyes on the peasant.

"Now, put your best foot forward, peasant. Do your best." As Brandt gripped the axe with both hands, sweat no doubt accumulating in his palms, a voice cut through the crowd.

"What the devil and all his dogs is going on here on this fine day?"

The voice was stern and booming, and the crowd was almost pushed back a collective step by the sheer force of it. An older man in military clothing cut through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, walking briskly. His tricorne hat was dinged and nicked in places, and the great horned owl he carried on his left shoulder certainly made an impression as it stared at the confused peasants with its enormous hunter's eyes. Behind the man were other people in similar military fatigues, but the man with the owl was clearly in charge. His granite eyes swept from Felix to the increasingly nervous Brandt, and back to Felix again.

"Are we interrupting a duel?" the older man said. Even when close and quiet, his voice had an almost physical power to it. Brandt let go of the axe, and it smacked into the muddy pavement.

"No, sir, not at all sir, milord was just showing me how to hold a weapon proper's all", said Brandt with a practiced stare at Felix that said "please just let this go". Felix didn't feel like letting it go at all.

"Actually", he said to the older man, "I was about to teach this peasant a lesson for putting his hands on me."

"A lesson taught with a sword is awfully permanent", said the older man.

"I wanted him to remember it well", said Felix. The older man sighed, and with a shrug of his left shoulder, the big owl screeched and took of, silently like a ghost despite it's size. The older man put his hand on the hilt of his own sword.

"Well, since it's clearly a duel you want, son, I guess I can spare one." One of the other's in military fatigues took at step out of the crowd.

"Apologies, captain, but we are on a bit of a schedule." This man was younger than Felix, maybe barely past 18, with curly blonde hair stuffed under a standard issue hat. The old captain waved him away with a casual hand.

"I will remind you, August", said the captain, "that our duties include the protection of the people of this fair city and beyond, and if I have to duel some snotty nobleman to do that, then I absolutely will." Felix hated to admit it, but he loved the insult the captain put in there. It wasn't as good as getting clobbered across the chin, but it was still pretty fun.

"I'm sorry grandfather," said Felix venomously, "but it would seem to my eyes that you might be a bit past your prime. I'm sure you make a mean commander far away from the frontlines, but duelling is a young man's game." The captain raised an eyebrow.

"Young men who survive these games become old men, I'll remind you. There was a time when the only thing I wanted was to strut around town like a rooster, cockfighting with the first person to give me a funny stare, but I grew out of that foolishness as I hope you will do one day." Felix grinned and the captain drew his sword. A sabre, much like Felix', but plain and undecorated. A military sword for sure, and quite used.

"So what do I get when I win?" Felix asked, eager to goad the older man further.

"You get my formal apology in front of the entire city. I will grovel in the dirt at your feet and sing your praises, and everyone will hear it."

"Sounds good to me."

"However, if you lose-"

"I won't lose, grandfather."

"If you lose, I will simply ask you a favor. No money, no services, just one favor."

Felix nodded and assumed a fencer's position, light on his feet. The captain stood very differently, planted firmly like an oak. Felix made the first move.

The crowd gasped as the two men clashed swords. Felix was swift, but the captain was strong. Felix was well-trained, but the captain had years of experience. Felix faked a piercing stroke, and then angled his sword upwards at the last second, and the captain grunted as a bloody cut opened on his cheek. Felix felt great, and steadied his breath to speak.

"First blood is mine, grandfather. I trust you're satisfied?" The captain simply shook his head, took his hat off and threw it to one of his underlings who caught it with strangely practiced ease.

"No", said the captain. Felix smiled.

"Good!"

And then something strange happened. Felix could see the older man move towards him, his heavy footfalls a far cry from his own feather-light steps. He just advanced, a greying juggernaut, unstoppable on his path. Felix almost forgot to breathe, and reaffirmed the grip on his sword. The captain stabbed at him, and Felix deftly parried to the side. He tried to step back and riposte, but his foot was stuck under one of the captain's heavy boots. Not again, thought Felix, and then everything came crashing down as an enormous fist connected with his nobleman's chin. The crowd gasped as Felix collapsed like a sack of bricks, the sword clinking from his grasp. When Felix had blinked the tears from his eyes, he saw the captain stand over him, with his plain sword dangerously close to Felix' neck.

"I trust you are satisfied?" said the captain. Felix nodded sheepishly, not even realizing that he was crying. From the pain, maybe. From the embarrassment, certainly. He had never been put on his ass like that, not in training and certaintly not in real life. The crowd began to cheer for the captain, and quite a few of them began laughing and pointing at Felix. The captain, surprisingly, silenced them with a gesture.

"None of that. He fought the duel honorably, let that be it. Clear out, if you please!" He exended a large hand and pulled Felix on his feet. One of his military underlings held Felix' sword, and the nobleman took it. It was still beautifully gilded and lacquered, but it seemed to matter a lot less now.

As the crowd dispersed, still tittering and whispering about what they had seen, the captain took a foreboding step closer to Felix.

"So, about that favor you now owe me", he began. Felix shrugged.

"You're probably going to have to go through my father if you want anything. In truth, I have very little to offer you on my own." The captain smiled somewhere under his greying beard.

"Actually, the favor I want is one only you can supply."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. My name is Captain Mikkel Larson, and I command the Outriders..."

****

Larson continued his surveying of the recruits. Indeed, the nobler parts of the outriders were definitely on top of the list of those likely to cause trouble, but they certainly weren't alone. Larson's eyes wandered to a certain man, half a head taller than anybody else around him with long, wild hair and beard that had survived repeated orders to shave. The big man's brown eyes were wandering all about before they met Larson's. Unlike the noble af Brightsteele, there was no challenge in the big man's gaze, just a quiet, powerful understanding. Gunnar Four-Fingers knew exactly who he was and what he was about, but he also knew exactly what those around him were about. Larson gave him a nod, and the giant nodded back. Larson fought down a smile as he reminisced at how different Gunnar had been when they first met, and figured that maybe some of his calm had disappeared with his finger.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

****

Chopping wood was a strangely relaxing task, Gunnar thought. He was probably somewhat alone in thinking that, but that was ok. He enjoyed the repeated, powerful, somewhat mindless motions and the smell of sap in the evening air. There was also a certain feeling of beating nature at it's own game. It took you years to grow this tree, and I will fell it in an hour. Then again, Gunnar reminded himself that his outhouse had burned down due to a lightning strike last year, so maybe tempting mother nature was unwise, even if you did it quietly.

The pine tree groaned and creaked as it succumbed to the repeated axe blows, and Gunnar wiped his brow with a free hand. Normally, a cart would be summoned and several men would help each other in loading the felled tree onto the cart, but Gunnar didn't want that. The tree wasn't that big, and he didn't want to bother anybody else, so he simply grabbed hold of the fallen tree and began hauling it towards the camp. It was grueling work, even for someone of his impressive stature, but it felt right.

The foreman sat on a fresh tree stump with his pipe in his mouth when Gunnar showed up. The older man raised a bushy eyebrow. "Heaven's sake, Gunnar, your back will be in bits in a few years if you keep doing that you know." Gunnar let go of the tree and straightened his back with an audible pop. "Then I have a few years to haul as many logs as I can's how I see it" he said and gave an uneven smile that mostly disappeared into his big beard. The foreman shook his head with a smile and offered Gunnar the pipe. The big man accepted and took a deep, slow puff that he didn't really like, but the gesture was kind, so he smiled through the taste. He gave the pipe back to the foreman and looked around. Some other boys were carting back lumber to the camp, and a dozen people were busy hacking and chopping at the ground to make furrows for seeding. A kilometer or so away, Gunnar saw the high walls of Carlea with a bunch of peasant houses lining the outside like brown mushrooms. This camp was the furthest away from the safety of the city's walls, and Gunnar felt proud about it. Nothing bad had happened, much to the chagrin of various doomsayers. This area was often maligned for its high quantity of ravenous wolves, pestering crows and other unpleasantness in the forests, but Gunnar had seen none of these things so far. Sure, he had heard a wolf or two howl in the night, but nothing had come of it. The foreman spoke up.

"Hell, it doesn't feel right to make you work harder than you've been. Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" Gunnar was genuinely surprised, but he smiled at the foreman.

"Can hardly turn that down" he grinned. He stuck his axe in the tree he had hauled to the campsite, and went for the newly built cabin with the bunks in it for a well-deserved nap.

****

An explosion shook Gunnar from his sleep, and he almost fell out of the small bunk. People were screaming outside, and flashes of firelight stung Gunnar's eyes. He looked around and found himself alone in the cabin. Human voices outside were drowned out by the howls of beasts. Or, no. Not beasts. People? Gunnar cursed his ears that he couldn't pick it out, but what he heard was such a strange, inbetween sound that he genuinely couldn't place it. The door to the cabin slammed open, and a horror of a man stood there. A farmer, judging by his clothes, was covered in a thick, oily sludge. This sludge burned with hellish fire, and the man screamed as he died a meter from Gunnar's uselessly outstretched hands. The cabin quickly became terribly hot, and the stench of cooked flesh and oil forced Gunnar outside.

Outside was worse.

Gunnar could see shapes darting around in the blackness, dog-like and incredibly fast. The same oily, black slime he had seen covering the farmer was dripping from their rail-thin canine bodies, and their eyes were a blazing red. He saw one launch itself at a metal lantern that was still smoldering, and when the sludge that covered its wolf-like body came in contact with the open flame, a fiery explosion burst forth, forcing Gunnar to avert his eyes as the creature perished with a scream that was just human enough for Gunnar to shudder despite the heat.

"What in God's name", he said quietly under his breath.

Many of the log cabins were on fire now, people were screaming and coughing from the smoke, and prayers could barely be heard over the baying-screaming of the wolf devils. Gunnar felt a jolt of energy in his limbs as yet another wolf-thing touched a man's torch and exploded in a hail of sludgy chunks, and he ran for where he left his axe. It was still there, stuck in the tree he had pulled to camp by himself. Did he lead the devils here? Was this all his fault?

No, that's impossible. Right?

He heard the patter of feet behind him and he swung around. One of the wolf creature stood there, looking at him in the murk. What was visible of it's head was almost skeletal, and black sludge seemed to seep from its nostrils and open mouth and, God, even it's eye sockets like it was crying oil. The creature growled and lashed its wiry tail, and it sounded just human enough for Gunnar to take an involuntary step back. The wolf leapt at the chance, and Gunnar swung his woodcutter's axe blindly. The creature yelped like a struck child as the axe bit it in the ribs, but it wouldn't stop. Gunnar felt a burning pain as he felt something on his left hand tear away, and as he and the creature separated, he saw it toss one of his fingers in the air and catch it with a content slurp. He looked down at his right hand, blood gushing from where his little finger had been previously. The creature gurgled and made a sound like it was almost laughing, and it dug into the ground with its claws, ready to leap again. Gunnar threw the axe at it as it jumped, distracting those slavering jaws for just a moment. The creature's maw snapped around the handle of the axe, and Gunnar's enormous hands clamped down around the creature's neck. They both fell to the ground, and Gunnar squeezed as tightly as he could, harder than he had ever done anything before. The creature whined and lashed, and when it began bubbling and crying like a child, Gunnar screamed as loud as he could to drown out that horrible sound. Before he passed out, he heard what sounded like gunshots in the distance, and a massive voice thundering over the din of slaughter.

****

Gunnar woke in a medic's tent, and sat up so fast he became lightheaded. The only other person in the tent, a woman in her 30s with short blonde hair, hastened to his side.

"Oh no you don't, you will stay in this bed until I tell you otherwise". Her voice was effortlessly commanding, like she's said that same thing a thousand times. Gunnar raised his right hand and found that he was not only bandaged, but clean. He remembered the texture of that horrible sludge in his hands, and the sound the creature had made. Surely, none of that had really happened. Surely, he had just worked too hard and passed out? He laid his head back down on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.

Two days later, Gunnar sat comfortably within the high walls of Carlea, eating soup in the mess kitchen of the military barracks. Opposite him sat a big older man, with granite eyes and a powerful, bearded chin. Gunnar had seen him throw a piece of pork on the floor, and an enormous owl had swept down from the rafters to take it, silent as anything. The older man had introduced himself as Captain Larson when they first met, and now he sat with his arms over the table, fingers steepled.

"I would like to congratulate you, Gunnar. You were the only one who killed one of those damned things." Gunnar shuddered.

"Doesn't feel like something to be congratulated for's how I feel." He could still feel the oily sludge between his fingers and the devilish creature slowly going still. Larson went quiet for a bit, then spoke again.

"Did you know", he began, "that the only reason we knew what happened is because we came to your camp in the night?" Gunnar looked at him and shrugged.

"It's true. By dawn, all traces of those infernal things disappeared. Melted away like fresh snow, bones and all." Gunnar could feel his eyes widening.

"So if you had come later-", he began.

"We would have known nothing", Larson finished. "Yes, it's true." Gunnar went quiet for a bit, taking small spoonfuls of soup.

"Is the forest evil?" he said finally, and Larson shrugged.

"Maybe, we don't know. I think we're all aware that after the star fell, things have changed, but nobody could foresee something like this. People are already clamoring to be let inside the walls for the night, and everybody you worked with, the survivors that is, have resigned."

"Did the foreman live?"

"No, I don't think so." Gunnar stood up, drank the rest of the soup and turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" said Larson casually.

"The foreman was nice to me. Let me off work early. Now he's dead, and I'm sitting here eating fucking soup." He slowed down.

"Sir," he added. Larson smiled warmly under his beard.

"Am I right in assuming that you feel like some kind of revenge is in order?" Gunnar nodded.

"Yes sir."

"You wish to figure out what the forest holds, and why something like this would come from it?"

"I've lived near the woods all my life, sir, and nothing like this has ever happened. It's not right." Larson stood up, and the owl swept down once again to sit comfortably on his left shoulder.

"Excellent, he said. Welcome to the Outriders. I just hope with have a uniform in your size."