The cool, crisp air of the evening was a welcome difference to the group in contrast to the stale, musty air of the cell. The feeling of the night air against their faces and it’s positive impact on their moods was soon interrupted by snapping back into reality.

They were being led by rope and chain towards the center square of the town. If you could call it that. The sandy center was marked by a medium-sized well, a newly erected statue to the Saints and now, a row of three tall logs of wood stood up into the ground, with several small piles of wood stacked up against them neatly. Their execution spot.

A small crowd gathered around the stakes. The faces in the crowd ranged from young to old, scared to excited. This was probably the most excitement these small frontier towns had, and probably some were afraid that just simply not showing up could brand them as a heretic or degenerate.

In front of the stakes was the Inquisitor-Captain and his three subordinates, dressed in that ornate white armor. Surrounding them was a gaggle of other Imperial soldiers. The local garrison. No smudges of dirt or blood could be found on any of their armor. The Captain’s face was stoic, but there was a slight tinge of excitement underneath. His posture indicated that he would fling the gas lamp in his hand onto the pyres as soon as he allowed himself to do so.

The guards behind the trio pushed them forward, prodding them towards their doom. Untying them briefly, there were several spear tips and guns pointed their way from the soldiers. They had no choice but to step up onto the pyre. Sheridan and Lun’s wrists were tightly tied to the pillar in a basic knot, while Abel was wrapped around the waist into the arm.

As this dragged on, the crowd began to murmur and talk amongst themselves, causing a slow rumble of noise. The Inquisitor cleared his throat loudly, raising his hand up and balled into a fist. Silence overcame the crowd. After a few minutes, he spoke.

“By the order of the Church, and witnessed by it’s people, and by the Saints in their home, I decree these three men to be cleansed of their sin by purifying flame. They have denounced our Saints, murdered a man in cold blood, and attempted to spread heresy. We have no need for that in our Empire. Let this be a lesson to those on the frontier who think they are safe from the Inquisition.”

Turning back to the three, he sneered. Underneath the mask of fanaticism, there was disgust.

“You may now use this time to repent if you wish. The Beggar will hear your words, and the Arbiter will consider them. May the Matron comfort you after.” The Captain said as if it was done under duress.

Sheridan sat there with sunken eyes. The years and violence carving him down like a toy soldier. His eyes became fixated on the Inquisitor for a moment.

“Go fuck yourself. I hope you all realize that you betrayed your Queen for this. Traded peace and safety for witch hunts and violence. Hope you’re happy you ungrateful shits.” He said, spitting below with what little wetness he could conjure from his dry mouth.

The Captain’s eyes shifted to the other two, awaiting a response from this. Lun adjusted himself amongst his binds, trying to straighten himself up as much as possible.

“If you’re trying to get some sort of rousing death speech or long, winded crying repetendance. You’ll get neither. I’ll leave you with this. A dog walks into a saloon. He says to the bartender, ‘I'm lookin' fer the guy who shot my paw.’

There was no laughter. Cold, dead silence. Next the Inquisitor looked towards Abel. Staring out at the group before him, Abel was drenched with sweat. Even with the cold air, his nerves and synapses were firing like a cannonade. Thoughts swelled deep within him to try and repent, maybe it’d get him out of this. Maybe if he said that Sheridan was the heretic, and he didn’t even murder anyone, he could get out of it. Glancing over at him, words began to try to force themselves out of his throat and through his mouth, but he bit down on his tongue.

‘Why am I such a coward? That’s what almost got me killed multiple times.’ He thought to himself.

The Captain stared at Abel much longer than he did the other two, expecting something, but his face turned to temporary disappointment before holding up the gas lamp in his hand, ready to toss it onto the pyre.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“So be it, on the behalf of the Church of Ducavi and the Magistrate of Last Hope, I condemn you three to death.” He said.

The dam broke and Abel began to blurt out his repentance, but before a sound could crawl out, a cacophony of screeches filled the air. The beating of leathery wings joined the screeches in chorus and soon a large mass descended onto the crowd. A stomach-churning chomp was heard as one of the creature's massive jaws clamped down on a person’s shoulder, spraying hot blood into the air, exposing wiry sinew and bone. Afterward the person was heaved into the air, carried with it, chewing noises following. After a few moments, the sound of wet meat slapping against a wall was heard as the person’s partially consumed corpse was dropped.

The deathly quiet while this had occurred was broken by a sudden burst of panic from everyone involved. Chaos overtook the area in a wave. Bat like creatures swooping down, grabbing and munching on people left and right. Abel caught a quick look at one of them that snagged a person in front of him. It was the size of a horse, complete with thin, gnarled wings. The skin barely stretched over it’s bones which jut out at odd angles. The creature itself defied logic, there was no eyes or nose, just a mouth. Stranger even was that there was some natural camouflage to it’s skin, it was painted similar to the starry night sky, and due to it’s thin skin, allowed this to flourish at night.

This added to the confusion. Soldiers desperately raised their halberds and guns, trying to catch some of the monsters in their descent. People were scrambling all over, getting grabbed left and right. It was unadulterated madness.

Abel saw both Lun and Sheridan struggle against their restraints. After some delay, he attempted to do the same. His arm struggled against the rope toughly. It was then he heard it, the droning, the screeching. In front of him, the head on figure of one of the creatures going right for him. Bait on a fishing pole. His eyes widened. It was now or never. The rope began to burn into his skin, exposing raw, red flesh. The monster was within seconds now. A realization flashed across his mind that this was it. Going from possibly being burnt at a stake to getting munched by a creature of the Scar. What a ride. Abel closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

Suddenly, a massive, hairy fist jutted upward and grabbed the creature by the throat. A crunch was heard as it’s neck was being smashed by thick fingers. A flick of the wrist and it was thrown backwards.

The hand belonged to a massive person on top of a horse. Much larger than your average human, this person was covered in hair from head to toe. One bright red eye stuck out of the matted brown fur, next to an eye patch. The lumber figure was clad in a hodgepodge of sewed together, mismatched armor pieces.

“Jaqri!” Abel shouted.

“Abel, my boy, and boss! What the hell did you get yourselves into? You said you’d be back soon.” Jaqri yelled back.

“Talk later? First, get us out of this so we don’t get eaten by Gruts. Then we can have all of the conversations you want.” Sheridan snapped.

Jaqri nodded, drawing a massive hunting knife, cutting off the robe of Sheridan and Abel. The fighting continued throughout the background. A set of five Imperial soldiers marched forward, wielding large shields studded with amber colored crystals. Placing them down in a shield wall with their spears jutting out, a Grut flew forward into their formation at full speed before smacking into an invisible wall. The soldiers advanced as the creature struggled against the invisible force. Another row of soldiers appeared behind the shield wall, with long guns studded with larger red crystals. A shout was followed by an organized roar of fire erupting from them, sending red hot ammunition at the creature at the speed of the train. They smacked into it, peppering it and knocking it to the floor. The group advanced forward to the next group of Grut.

“Too focused on them to pay attention to us. Let’s go.” Sheridan said.

“Hey, hey.. Hey. Can you, uh, help me here?” Lun pleaded.

Jaqri looked at Sheridan, who gave him a quick nod of approval before drawing a large hunting knife and removing Lun’s bonds. The storyteller stretched slowly before bowing before everyone.

“Not much for me here. Mind if I come along?” Lun said smiling.

“Suit yourself. It’s your funeral.” Sheridan responded as he grabbed a sword off of a dead soldier. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

More hoofbeats behind the group as another horse-bound figure approached, with two other horses tethered to them. As the fire that began to erupt in the town shined light on them, it revealed a stocky woman of average height, with frizzy brown hair. Dressed in a ragtag assembly of plate armor, half of which could be confused with a stovetop, she halted the horses.

“What are you dawdling around? The haloheads are beating back the Gruts. Better get this shit moving before I leave your asses behind.” She shouted down at the group.

“Oya! Man, I am glad to see you.” Abel yelled out, his face beaming with happiness.

“Can’t say the same, getting us into more trouble.” Oya responded callously.

“Okay enough berating. Let’s get going.” Sheridan said as he mounted one of the spare horses. “Sorry storyteller, you’re going to have to ride with someone. My friends didn’t think we’d be bringing another along.”

Oya shot a stern glance over at Sheridan. He smiled in response and began to adjust himself in the saddle to get ready to depart. Abel climbed on his, sitting firmly down and picking up the bridle in his hand. He looked down at Lun and laughed.

“Looks like you get to go with me bud.” Abel said down towards him.

“Yeah, looks like it. Are you sure you can ride a horse with one arm?” Lun asked as he climbed onto the back of Abel’s horse.

“Pretty sure.” Abel said plainly before shaking the bridle to make the horse pick up speed.

The group of them began to race out of Last Hope rapidly. Passing by civilians attempting to put up a fight from the monsters, or organized sets of Imperial soldiers giving them resistance. The flames of the town lit up the night sky, sending smoke everywhere in a thick haze.

“I’ve never seen creatures from the Scar out en masse like this before. I didn’t think it was common. I heard of excursions that make it past the Forts but never like this.” Lun remarked. “Gonna take those bastards a long time to recover, lots of good people are going to die.”

“Good people who sat back and let the Church win. They were content enough to let us burn, so let them worry about monsters and let’s get out of here in one piece.” Abel coldly responded as he ushered the horse faster, following behind the three others.